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optimism, pessimism; fuck that, we're gonna make it happen
tracking oswaldest
non lucror, exposita scientia, ad astra
Tʜᴀᴛ sɪʟᴠᴇʀ-ɢᴏʟᴅ ʜᴀɪʀ, ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ ᴇʏᴇs… Sʜᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴏғ ᴏʟᴅ Vᴀʟʏʀɪᴀ.
The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Drag-onstone, after the ancient citadel where she’d been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one. Scrub grass and thorny bushes covered its lower slopes; higher up a jagged tangle of bare rock thrust steep and sudden into the sky. There, amidst broken boulders, razor-sharp ridges, and needle spires, Drogon made his lair inside a shallow cave. He had dwelt there for some time, Dany had realized when she first saw the hill. The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him. […] She would sooner have returned to Meereen on dragon’s wings, to be sure. But that was a desire Drogon did not seem to share.
The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki Sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen.
Yes, Arya thought. Yes, it’s you who ought to run, you and Lord Tywin and the Mountain and Ser Addam and Ser Amory and stupid Ser Lyonel whoever he is, all of you better run or my brother will kill you, he’s a Stark, he’s more wolf than man, and so am I.
The snowfall was light today, a thin scattering of flakes dancing in the air, but the wind was blowing from the east along the Wall, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan used to tell.
“Will the king and I have children?”
“Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you.”
If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.
gtkmm ;; 2/15 female characters ;;
↳ sansa stark, princess of winterfell, lady of the valeShe still went nightly to the godswood to pray, and Tyrion wondered if she were praying for his death. She had lost her home, her place in the world, and everyone she had ever loved or trusted. Winter is coming, warned the Stark words, and truly it had come for them with a vengeance.
Margaery was different, though. Sweet and gentle, yet there was a little of her grandmother in her, too. The day before last she’d taken Sansa hawking. It was the first time she had been outside the city since the battle. The dead had been burned or buried, but the Mud Gate was scarred and splintered where Lord Stannis’s rams had battered it, and the hulls of smashed ships could be seen along both sides of the Blackwater, charred masts poking from the shallows like gaunt black fingers. The only traffic was the flat-bottomed ferry that took them across the river, and when they reached the kingswood they found a wilderness of ash and charcoal and dead trees. But the waterfowl teemed in the marshes along the bay, and Sansa’s merlin brought down three ducks while Margaery’s peregrine took a heron in full flight.
He’s me. I am speaking to myself, as I was, all cocksure arrogance and empty chivalry. This is what it does to you, to be too good too young.