“A little bloody gratitude would be a start.”

all of us

Is that a palace?
Art found here.

catfromjapan:

favourite asoiaf characters; Jon Snow

“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” 

Bonus: 

bullknight:

they all just wanted to be loved - robert, stannis, renly… and they found it, in their own way. - a song of ice and fire

It was easy to forget sometimes, when they were laughing together, or kissing. But then one of them would say something, or do something, and he would suddenly be reminded of the wall between their worlds.

velificantes:

you were wrong to love her

I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell. She turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell, the taste of innocence, the taste of dreams.

favourite asoiaf characters; Arya Stark

“Who are you?” he would ask her every day.

“No one,” she would answer, she who had been Arya of House Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. She had been Arry and Weasel too, and Squab and Salty, Nan the cupbearer, a grey mouse, a sheep, the ghost of Harrenhal but not for true, not in her heart of hearts. In there she was Arya of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, who had once had brothers named Robb and Bran and Rickon, a sister named Sansa, a direwolf called Nymeria, a half brother named Jon Snow. In there she was someone … but that was not the answer that he wanted.”

songsofwolves:

t h e   b e a r   a n d   t h e   m a i d e n   f a i r 

gingerhaze:

i have been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Jaime’s head jerked round at the sound of a distant roar, faint but ferocious. It echoed off the walls of Harrenhal, and the laughter swelled up like the sea. All of a sudden, he knew what was happening. Have we come too late? His stomach did a lurch, and he slammed his spurs into his horse, galloping across the outer ward, beneath an arched stone bridge, around the Wailing Tower, and through the Flowstone Yard. 

“Up and down,” Meera would sigh sometimes as they walked, “then down and up. Then up and down again. I hate these stupid mountains of yours, Prince Bran.”

“Yesterday you said you loved them.”

“Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say.”

Bran made a face at her. “But you just said you hated them.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Meera reached up to pinch his nose.

“Because they’re different,” he insisted. “Like night and day, or ice and fire.”

“If ice can burn,” said Jojen in his solemn voice, “then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one.”

theongreyjoy:

there are some heroes