º . ♔ ⸻ the capital of king’s landing welcomes MEERA REED of HOUSE REED, the LADY of THE NECK. news borne by a raven sends word that she bears a resemblance to MILLIE BRADY. the TWENTY FIVE year old CIS WOMAN is reputed to be PROTECTIVE and CHEERFUL, but with the eyes of court watching their every move, they might turn out to be RECKLESS and IDEALISTIC. when songs are sung, their verses speak of BOW STRING BRUISES, STORIES AND LAUGHTER SHARED EVEN IN THE DARKEST OF NIGHTS, LEAVES AND TWIGS KNOTTED IN WILD HAIR. whispers throughout the seven kingdoms claim that their allegiance lies with HOUSE STARK, where they conspire to HELP BRAN TOWARDS HIS DESTINY. but in the end fealty means little when you play the game of thrones.
STATS º . / AESTHETIC º . / PLAYLIST
you are a beloved child of a forgotten house, so elusive that even your castle cannot be found by outsiders. some people would grow to resent the bogs, but you revel in the moss and the mud and the freedom. even as the eldest, there are not many expectations placed upon your shoulders during childhood, and you live carelessly, getting to know the dangerous paths of the neck like the palm of your hand. greywater watch is an elusive homestead, with no knights or maesters, always floating from one place to the other like it is another living, breathing animal in the swamps.
your father gives you a spear and a net, and then a bow and arrows, and says you’ve got a knack for it. outsiders may say that crannogmen have no honour, poisoning their arrows and letting the lizard-lions deal with most of their enemies, but you know that is not true. a hunter can be as honourable as any knight, perhaps even more so, and hunting comes as naturally as breathing to you. but you’re not a fighter. for a while, that doesn’t matter. after all, the worst mistake anyone in the neck can make is trying to fight against the bogs instead of working with them. you don’t need to be a fighter. (until, of course, you do.)
here’s what you remember from childhood: green springs spent laughing alongside your brother, trying to catch frogs with bare hands, getting your hair braided by your mother’s dexterous fingers. dark nights where ale and wine are not enough to keep you warm, fireside stories that don’t let you sleep, getting lost in a patch of wilderness on the way home. jojen, with a sickly look on his face, dying. your mother, dead. all the memories bleed into each other now, love and joy almost always cutting through the grief and loneliness.
your father once said you were just like your mother: callused hands and a soft heart. his voice was fearful but you took that as a badge of pride. you can’t stop yourself from helping people, even though the rest of westeros is not like your home, where lizard lions and treacherous paths are the only things you have to worry about. you don’t want to be a hero like the ones in the stories your father used to tell by the firelight. but even as a little, perhaps insignificant, crannogwoman, you always try to stand tall.
your little brother has enigmatic dreams and sometimes his eyes seem old beyond his years. there are times when it makes you afraid, like destiny is an arrow that could be aimed at you at any point. the moment an arrow is shot there is no stopping it, and jojen’s dreams are sharp and silvery. you never let your fear show or your smile falter, but you spend your nights wondering how you can protect your family from something as heavy as destiny. the obvious answer, written into old stories and tales, is that you can’t. it won’t stop you from trying.
there is something special in winterfell, or at least that’s what your father seems to think when he sends you there. that’s what jojen’s dreams tell him. that’s what you feel fluttering in your chest the moment you see those grey stones. if destiny really is an arrow then you can sense its aim, pointing right to your heart.
TLDR; meera is a bit of a feral kid who is nonetheless very cheerful and always trying to get the people around her to laugh. for plotting reasons she is traveling alongside robb and his party at the moment (though with the sinking feeling that there are more worrying matters going on beyond what meets the eye).
1. Clarissa Pinkola Estés | 2. John William Waterhouse | 3. Franz Kafka | 4. Grigoriy Myasoyedov | 5. Mary Oliver | 6. John William Waterhouse | 7. Madeline Miller | 8. Aron Wiesenfeld | 9. Anna Akhmatova | 10. Friedrich Heyser | 11. Mary Oliver
