#dierwlf

[naiiadi-blog]

( a semi-plotted starter for @dierwlf & grey wind ! ) 

              there is a pounding in her head that has little to do with music. raucous, clanging, it drives her forward by sheer desperation.  slipping unseen through the twins is too complex and yet too easy, a game of shadows and stolen moments, light feet and darting eyes. any wrong moment would be her undoing, any unsure step. but the night is full of shadows and raised voices and blood that sings with wine and ale, and no one seems to see the slip of her shadow or hear the light step of her feet. it is a northern or a tully face she looks for, and yet not just any such face : she cannot tell her secret to just anyone - - - which of them would listen? it is for a familiar face that she prays as she slips from shadow to shadow, even a hard or a fearsome one. lord edmure, lady catelyn, robb stark, grey wind...

          it is the latter she sees first, and it is with timid steps that she approaches him, looks up from beneath the hood of her cloak as trembling fingers reach out to tug his sleeve. “please,” she whispers, with soft brown eyes made frantic by the knowledge locked within her. “please....a moment?” 

[northspride]

☎ - grey

name             grey ringtone         standard iphone ringtone

last text sent       pls tell me these aren’t yourslast text received          do you want me to lie?

Put ☎ in my ask for your muses info in my muses phone   ::  accepting➥  @dierwlf

[naiiadi-blog]

comforts them. - grey

          she is no stranger to tears : when they have come before, she has never tried to stem them. at every childhood hurt she had cried: every scraped knee, every bruise, as though she had been unable to stop it. now, though, there are no tears. now, when they might have been a comfort. no tears, only trembling - - - she shivers, though she isn’t cold. the frey girl who betrayed her family, who had been taken off as a reward….and now alone among strangers. there had been no wedding, but there had been no blood, and now she’s surrounded by the northerners whose voices all seem loud and harsh to her, whose ways are strange. forgotten, as it seems, and she knows not if she prefers it thus, or if she wants someone - - - anyone - - - to notice her. 

         no sooner does the thought occur than he appears, sits beside her and offers comfort. and is it strange, that in his presence she feels safer? when once she had been almost more afraid of him than any of the others? “my hands will not stop shaking,” she admits on a whisper, as though her voice cannot find the strength, in her shock, to take volume. her hand lifts up to show him: every pale little finger trembling. with that done she tucks it back beneath the folds of her borrowed cloak, pulls the fabric close around her. “….thank you,” she says, peering at him side-long. “for believing me. and for….for not leaving me behind. and for being here, now.” 

action meme (send for your muse to do one of the following) : accepting

[armourhound-blog]

sandor is now an unofficial direwolf, i dont make the rules

do u kno wat dog do 2 wolvies??

[northwarg]

          “ do you somehow have a better plan for luring the night king out? ”     your eyes stay rooted in the dancing of the hearth’s flames, and pointedly kept away from the steely gaze of your most loyal and trusted friend and guard. your brows are furrowed sternly.     “ killing the night king is our best chance at winning this war, and he will come for me if i am out in the open. ”

@dierwlf liked.

[fightsbck]

        ‘     ye brought ‘im back.      ’       osha’s voice isn’t drowned by tears.    no.    s’ not like that when ye’ve been livin’ o’er the wall yer’ whole life.     there,    in th’ cold wilderness,    tears won’t get you nowhere.     it is survivin’:    what yer’ guts tell ya’,     what yer’ instincts r’ showin’ you.     osha ain’t like the shiny knights and heroes of th’ south:     nobility and honour is lost on her,    and s’ what she shows th’ whole time she was wit’ the little lords.     she knows none o’ them could hate her for what she’s done    —    aye,    it ain’t proper,    not to th’ kneelers    (    not t’ the memory o’ bruni still laughin’ besides her as they stroll by th’ forest    )    ,    but it’d gotten th’ young starks alive.    if osha had t’ do it again,   she would ‘ave.     so,   no.    there ain’t tears that’s in her voice or eyes,    but there’s a crack t’ her tone.

           s’ been so long,    she thinks,   clutchin’ unladylike and desperate t’ the wool of a dress that ain’t much    (    she was dressed for the south,   she is;    but her youngest wolf had wanted t’ return t’ winterfell,    and it hadn’t been easy,   no,   but osha abides.   somehow,   lately,   she always does.    )   but it’d give her more room to move her legs and run.   and n’ this crowd,   n’ this tension,    s’ hard not t’ feel like she could run at any time.     (    she won’t.   she’s got her heart on the stark boys now,   and s’ like no matter what she does,   she knows she can’t get it back.    doesn’t want t’.     )      ‘     let me look at y’.    ’      /     from osha for @dierwlf !

     season eight episodes based starters.

[ladyrcd]

dierwlf ;ghost and melisandre

IT HAS BEEN A WHILE. but she once told jon snow that warmth calls for warmth and it will always come dow nto this. the priestess very own blue eyes shine bright, the same as her collar, glowing as red as ghost’s very own eyes as she hunches down; though the action is not needed, for ghost might be as big as she is. but this was always about bonding and trust. 

“hello, ghost. have you protected your master since we last met?“ her magic brought jon snow back. ghost would protect him. the direwolf is an ancient and strange creature, and the one before her is far more strange than any other creature. he had connections and powers to other realms and melisandre had always been fascinated by him since they met. the red woman lets a hand reach over, fingers scratching the back of the direwolf’s ears in tender manner.

[naiiadi-blog]

In war you must always choose sides. - grey wind

         he does frighten her, a little bit - - - how can she deny it? always she has been more prey than thing-of-prey: a field-mouse, a sparrow. soft-belied and vulnerable, and never more than now. hands fidget in her lap, eyes cast down upon them. he speaks of choice as every man speaks of choice, but there is little that she knows of it. little more than choice of food set out upon a table, one dress over another. in war, her sides had been always chosen for her. it had not been her choice to wed lord edmure, it would not have been her choice to wed robb stark, had he kept to the betrothal and had he chosen her. “in....in life, sometimes,” she says, and her voice is little more than a whisper, her eyes still upon her hands. (does he blame her, as so many will? for what her kin had tried to do?) “the sides are chosen for us.” 

( deathless! : accepting )