WORDS ARE ARROWS

THEY ARE SWIFT, THEY ARE STRIKING, AND OTHER INSTANCES THEY MISS THEIR MARK multi asoiaf muses by jo

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — 𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰​ || 𝔡𝔞𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬 𝔫𝔞𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰::

“the stormcrows are yours, fair queen, as is daario naharis.  i have pledged myself and all that i have to you, and i make good upon my word.” he smiles at her.  he is swarthy and untrustworthy and dishonorable, perhaps, but he is daenerys targaryen’s above that.

❇ — DAENERYS FINDS SOLACE IN THE WORDS OF her sellsword, though the weight of her circumstances is still so heavy and overbearing. she thinks of possible betrothals, the sons of the harpy, of her children, and of the seven kingdoms across the narrow sea. the latter feels impossibly faraway now. “ when we take westeros back from the usurpers, things will be different, ” she says. “ you shall see my ancestral seat, stand beside me by the iron throne. ”

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — ​​​𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰 || 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔞 𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔢𝔫::

and join him, she does.  shaena goes and rests her back against the pillar beside him, her eyes flickering to the sky at the floating lanters, before looking up to her brother. “i like her,” she says to him simply.  “your elia martell.  i do.  i think she will make a splendid queen, and that you both will be happy.”  she wants nothing more than for her brother’s happiness, of course; she knows he will be a good king.  he will be better than their father.  “do you think so?”

✹ — RHAEGAR SMILES, FONDLY.  “ I THINK ELIA AND i shall be exceptionally happy together, ” he says, for it is the truth. from an ancient and noble family aside, elia martell is a fine woman with a gentle spirit and yet a fierce demeanor. she carries herself with pride befitting of her house, though her smiles and giggles are girlish when they share rare moments alone together. already she listens in awe to his music and poems, whilst he admires her stories of dorne and of her sharpened wit; a true dornish princess. no doubt, they shall be content beside each other. still, with rhaegar intended to elia martell, it did mean his sweet sister was next ... rhaegar’s smile turns near sly. “ the council have no doubt sought out lords for you, shaena. perhaps they will find you a kindly lord ... or a noble lion. ”

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

✹ — 𝔧𝔠𝔶𝔫𝔢 || 𝔧𝔢𝔶𝔫𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔬𝔩𝔢::

“YOU ARE ENTITLED TO YOUR OPINIONS,” she tells him, her smile still apparent upon her lips.  jeyne is, perhaps, glad that he speaks them to her so frankly.  she is interested to see what sorts of thoughts jon snow seems to think; to know why he awakes so early before the rest of the world, or why he would so willingly accompany her to the kitchens when neither of them should be out of bed at all.  she finds she might enjoy his company, and perhaps would not have thought these things if she hadn’t awoken so early herself.

jeyne walks with him towards the kitchen doors and stands before it.  she feels a nervousness aflutter in her tummy which seems to conflict with her hunger.  she glances up at him.  “this is it,” she says, dropping her voice to a whisper just in case someone else might actually be in the kitchens before they have a chance to take their berries.

❇ — OPINIONS ARE SCARCELY ENTITLED TO A BASTARD, at least if lady stark would have it her way, though jon is mostly not shy of his own thoughts. still, it is an odd thing to share such views with a lady, surely well above any sense of his own entitlement, but jeyne welcomes it. he had half-expected her to scold him. “ i am, my lady. a fair few of them, at least, ” jon relents, allowing himself the luxury of a smile. the entirety of this morning is odd, frankly. he had taken to the yard for his own devices only to be discovered by jeyne poole, then to be whisked off into an adventure to seek berries. gods, if anyone were to find out, he’d likely be skinned.

       it adds a certain thrill, he must admit. “ that it is, ” jon says as they approach the kitchens. he dares to peer through the doorway, grey eyes flitting between corners and rounded tables. he glances back at jeyne, who appears both anxious and excited, with a girlish giddiness in her brown eyes. “ i’ll go in first. ” before she has a chance to reply, he slips into the kitchens, all but balancing on his toes. once certain there were none to disrupt them, he peers over his shoulder and quietly calls, “ come on, it’s safe. ”

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

✹ — ​𝔧𝔠𝔶𝔫𝔢 || 𝔧𝔢𝔶𝔫𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔬𝔩𝔢::

HER LETTER ?? it had been written of childish love that had never quite faded, even through all the darkness.  jeyne had had thoughts of jon to keep her warm when she would need to leave the moment and wrap herself up in a memory to endure the present.  her brown eyes fall down to their hands, she gives his a small squeeze in response.  “though we were different people when i gave it to you, i do still mean every word that i wrote.”

❇ — IN WINTERFELL’S YARD, HE HAD BEEN NEAR confident, near bold and stupid, enough to kiss jeyne goodbye. but he had thought better of it well before his foolishness could grip him too tightly. in hindsight, he wishes he had kissed her farewell, be damned the consequences he would have faced  -  he was intent to go to the wall, anyway, so what else could be threatened ? ? ?  the memory is only just that, and there is no going back to amend what might have been. here and now, what they felt for one another remains. gently, jon raises jeyne’s hands to his mouth and kisses them softly. “ i would’ve kissed you that day if i were a bolder man. or a fool, ” jon admits. “ i wish i could have protected you, jeyne. i wasn’t with you then, but i am now. ”

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — 𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰​​ || 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔞 𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔢𝔫::

“i worry for daenerys,” she admits and watches him.  “i wish illyrio had offered us a more civil way to get home.”  home, they had been forced away from home.  home was mother and rhaegar and elia and her children.  home was only in memory for shaena.

sometimes she sees pieces of their father in viserys and it scares her, but after their mother died, her fight had all but left her.  shaena hopes that home will bring her brother peace.  she smiles at him softly, “do you remember much of home?  it will be much changed when we do see it again, i suspect, but it will be a comfort to see you upon the throne.”

✹ — VISERYS HUMS COOLLY. “ ILLYRIO KNOWS BETTER THAN to jeopardize the dragon’s sister. i don’t like it anymore than you do, but what else can i do, sister ? ? ? we all have duties to fulfill. ” his tone is sharp, almost accusatory. shaena has always been compliant to his wills, as he has pulled his sisters through essos, home after home, begging and bartering, all to find a way back home. and now he has found it, with a dothraki army at his back, yet shaena doubts him.

       he averts his gaze from her to hide the fury residing in his eyes. she doubts him. “ of course it will be changed. i expect the usurper has destroyed all the dragon skulls and erased traces of us from the keep and westeros ... but illyrio says they drink toasts to us. they want the dragon to rule again. ” when viserys looks back at her, it is with hidden desperation in his eyes. the dragon must have three heads. perhaps he will be the next aegon the conqueror, with dany and shaena as his rhaenys and visenya. but they have no dragons ... so they must be the dragons. “ our banners will fly again. ”

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱​ || 𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔦 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯::

HIS HONOR CONFUSES HER, she both finds herself annoyed with him, but intrigued.  cersei finds that she does not like him any less; that is his truly an honest sort of man. perhaps she likes him more for it.  perhaps it is better that they limit their affections to letters and so on, rather than stealing sweetness from his lips half-hidden behind some tree.  her reputation, in order to be queen one day, must be free of muddy gossip.

“HOW DO YOU THINK I WOULD FAIR in a place so cold?” she asks him, humor touching the emeralds of her eyes as she looks up at him; she wants his honest opinion.  would ned stark keep her warm in the godswood of winterfell?  would he cloak her in furs and make her fires, but keep his kisses greedily to himself?  “would you ensure that i enjoyed winterfell, ned stark, if ever i could visit?”

❇ — NED CONSIDERS HER QUERY. IT SEEMS UNLIKELY that cersei lannister would like anything of the north; the food, the clothes, the climate. he can imagine her crossly regarding the summer snows with her furs held all the way to her chin, yet he is enticed by the idea of her in the godswood. they would stand together there, with her golden hair kissed by snowfall, and he would stand there like a fool. he feels very much a fool now, make no mistake. and he knows that his inquiries are foolish. the musings of dreams surely cannot do harm, not once they are separated again.

       “ i think you would be partial to the fires and the walls of winterfell, which are kept warm by the hot springs beneath the castle. i can’t imagine you’d be fond of the cold, but i would do what i could to keep you warm. ” ned fights back a flush, realizing the innuendo residing in his words. quickly, he amends them. “ you would be comfortable in winterfell, lady cersei.and i think you could find beauty in it. ” 

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — 𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰 || 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔞 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔶𝔧𝔬𝔶::

“the young wolf is dead, and these ones are as good as, theon.  you are as good as if you stay.” her words remind her of her favorite uncle – rodrik – who had tried to sway her once from attending her queens moot, to retire as heir to ten towers instead of fighting for her seastone chair as deserved.  rodrik could not move her, and she cannot move theon.  she could not have lived with the what ifs, even if these answers killed her.  asha reaches to squeeze his shoulder.  “you are my brother.  if we live through this, i will kill you myself for being so bloody sentimental.”

❇ —“ I ... ASHA. BECAUSE OF ME, HE’S DEAD. i can still do right by him, by keeping the rest of them alive. they need us. ” asha cannot understand. the grief that theon has carried with him, the self-loathing and quieted fury, is his alone; to have strayed so far from himself, to lose himself, all for a single choice. more often than not, theon has wondered what could have been if he had only stayed with robb, if he had sent a karstark to pyke instead, or even an umber. when asha reaches to squeeze his shoulder, theon then holds her wrist, gently. “ asha. you could’ve let me die. i was as good as dead ... please, help me. ”

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — 𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰 || 𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔨::

sansa hates to wipe her hands upon the already soiled skirts of her dress, but it is all that she can do for the grease that has trickled onto her fingers from the rabbit.  she sets the stick aside when she’s finished, and takes the drink from him so that she might quench her thirst.  hopefully they will find new water come morning.

when he promises to protect her, sansa lifts her eyes back to him.  she holds the water skin with both of her hands on her lap.  sansa is grateful for his protection, even if uncertainty still sits upon her shoulders.  if she can rely on anything, she knows it is the fact that he will keep her safe.  she thinks of arya; she thinks arya must be dead now too.  what good understanding had done her. sansa remembers the moment she had almost pushed joffrey to his death, the moment she would have been more than content to follow after – but could she truly kill someone?  she can’t be sure.  “i am not arya,” she says instead, though perhaps now she does wish she had some of her sister’s bravery.  “i – i couldn’t –”

❇ — SANDOR DOES NOT DOUBT THE LITTLE BIRD’S claim. she is, indeed, not that trifle of a sister, who he had spotted coated in dirt, and who had hated him so fiercely after he had run down her butcher’s boy. the hate that lived in her eyes is one that sandor is quite familiar with, because it lives in his, too. but that sort of darkness scarcely touches sansa stark. her eyes had been innocent once and now they are shadowed by the things she has endured, yet they still reflect trust. how odd it is that she had accepted his offer, that she had trusted him to pull her from the city. she ought to have turned him away. her sister would have. gods. her sister would have plunged a fucking knife into his eye, instead.

       sandor throws the stick aside, along with the rabbit bones which make little sounds across the ground. and he regards sansa with a tilted head, his expression considerate even as it be marred in its perpetual snarl. just as she does, he recollects the day she had approached joffrey with darkened intent. the prince had not seen it, but his hound had. her demeanor told all, and sandor had stopped her. sometimes he wonders if he should have let her do the little shit in, yet she would have died that day, too, and him as well if he tried to defend her. “ you’ll learn. i’ll teach you, ” he says. “ at least how to carry a knife. now, sleep, little bird. tomorrow we’ll find water. and ... clothes, for you. ”

[alyssatargaryens]

best girls [made by me and posted on my instagram @/nymherias]

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — ​𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰 || 𝔡𝔞𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬 𝔫𝔞𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰::

she is a quick, little thing, but daario deflects her blade with he curve of his arakh.  he gives her a bit of push back, and returns the strike with his stilleto. he sees to reason to hold back himself.  “how many lives have you taken ??” he asks, conversationally, as if he were asking her her favorite cake.

❇ — ARYA MEETS DAARIO’S BLOWS, BUT SHE ALSO dodges and moves swiftly. she is like water; fluid, curving around obstacles and ever moving, never stopping. she molds herself to her opponent’s movements. syrio would be proud. “ the first person i killed was a stable boy. ” arya still remembers that day. the clash of swords and the screams and her heart thudding shall forever linger with her, she imagines. “ the rest i don’t really recall. but i have a list. cersei lannister is on it. yourself ? ? ? ”

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❇ — ​​@aclashofmuses​|| 𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔨::

in this place where she has felt MOST HOPELESS, margaery tyrell has shed some light upon her.  even in the darkness, in the shadows of the gardens were they ought not be ( sansa most of all, for they watch her still diligently – a piece in their game to be bartered as they please – though she has moments to spare when they change the guard of her gilded cage ).  her heart does race, the fear of being caught overcome by the sight of the golden rose.  “lady margaery, you startled me – ” she admits, a bit bashful, blushing prettily as ever sansa must. her fingers quick to entwine both their hands together and pull her close.

❇ — “ HUSH. I AM JUST MARGAERY HERE, SANSA, ” says the golden rose, who smiles sweetly as her delicate fingers intertwine with sansa’s. the auburn haired she-wolf blushes quite prettily, even in the shadowed gardens where moonlight and candles are their only other company. “ i hope i did not keep you waiting. i am so sorry for having taken so long ... ” it is a risk for them both, yet margaery is, if anything, a risk taker. after all, she married a traitor who bedded her brother, and is now set to marry the alleged bastard of the queen and her brother. it is not an ideal circumstance, but her station will be without dispute. and, perhaps, margaery shall find new ways to help her dear sansa. “ walk with me. ”

[aish-rai]

[tlirsgender]

Large man character who knows like 129 ways to kill someone with his bare hands: *is good with kids*

Me, every time, without fail: ohh my god the large man character who knows like 129 ways to kill someone with his bare hands is good with kids.........

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — ​​𝔞𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰 || 𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔶𝔫 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔨::

CATELYN LAUGHS and lightly swats at his arm, before she is drawn up into his kiss.  “well, we cannot have that,” she says, not straying very far from ned’s lips, “you love my hair.”  her thumb brushes against his cheek, and she hopes that whatever had drawn him from their bed has gone to rest for the night – may it disappear with her own worries of their children growing too old, too quickly.  her hand moves to take his in her own, and she laces their fingers, though her hands are dantier and more delicate than his; she likes the way his callouses feel against the softness of her own skin, she always has.

❇ —NED’S FINGERS LIGHTLY BRUSH THROUGH CATELYN’S AUBURN hair, his thumb brushing across her neck in the process. “ i do, ” he says. her hair has always been a point of interest for ned, even when he first met her; it was the first thing that caught his eye. it was so vibrant and striking, particularly framing her fair features and bright blue eyes. she was truly tully, and against the summer snows she radiated warmth. he kisses catelyn gently, then lifts her hand to kiss her knuckle. “ i should take you to bed, cat. you’ll catch cold. ” of course she won’t. the halls of winterfell are warm from the springs beneath them, yet he finds himself content by the idea of taking catelyn to their bed where they might share more than kisses, or he might simply embrace her as she fall to sleep. either way, he is a man most pleased.

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — 𝔤𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔠𝔲𝔦𝔡​ || 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔯𝔞 𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔡::

The initial excitement and slight chaos that was caused by the king’s return to Winterfell has subsided a little. Though everyone is still somewhat on guard with so many unfamiliar faces around, caused more by the two scaled faces who are most often airborne more than anyone else, things are settling, and everyone is preparing. Meera often curses herself and Theon for bringing a child into the world which may so soon end in an invasion by creatures who know nothing but death and destruction. But some things cannot be avoided, and she takes heart in knowing that they have dragons now, and more men. Perhaps there is more chance than ever that a world will be left behind for her child to grow up in.

The people judge her for so often leaving the babe with one of the few remaining nurses in Winterfell, but she can fight as well if not better as many a man there and she intends to do so. They seem to forget her labours are long past - only a few months short of a year ago. She knows her own mind, and in her mind all there is to do is to fight.

Meera makes her way to one of the smiths preparing weapons, intending to have her fork sharpened and the handle strengthened, when she sees heads bow for the king as he passes through. A small smile - all of one that can be mustered in present times - is sent to him, and she wonders what he can want as he approaches.

“You look troubled, Jon,” she says in slight confusion.

✹ — JON IS TROUBLED. BUT THERE ARE NO words to properly convey as to why he feels this way, for how can he describe it ? ? ? the truths he has clung to for all of these years suddenly crashes all around him and he is left in this dense mist he can’t escape. bran’s words still echo inside of him, and, for the life of him, he cannot escape. he has tried to drown himself in plans, in discussing political strategies with sansa, in admiring the dragons with arya, in anything. it is as though pillars have fallen apart around him, leaving him trapped beneath the rubble. he can’t claw himself from it. he can only lay there, helplessly.

       what is he supposed to make of this ? ? ?

       he always knew he was no stark, but now he is not even a snow. he is a targaryen. his father was never his father. his mother, who he had always dreamed of and longed for, was dead. more than dead. how could lord stark have taken him in after all of that ? ? ? how could he have carried the child who killed his mother and raised her in his keep, protected him by giving him a new name ? ? ? but more so than this ... there is meera reed. perhaps jon could have found a way to manage with his truth, but the truth is hers, too.

       now more than ever, he wishes that meera would not see him. her face is haunting as she approaches him, as well-meaning as she might be. he starts to pick apart features; those eyes, the shape of her nose. he tries to scavenge similarities between himself and her. it is as if he is trying to find flaws in bran’s vision, but as he looks upon her, he sees only clarity.

       “ we need to talk about bran. ”

[patroqlus]

[vivitcnima]

[vivitanima]

❇ — 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 || 𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔦 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯::

“DID THEY TAKE YOUR EARS WITH YOUR HAND ??” she asks, and she moves from the table so that she may stand at full height; so that she may square her shoulders and raise her chin, lifting her glare to him.  still, there are crocodile tears blurring her vision.  she hates him; she hates what he had done to THEM.  she wants her jaime back; she wants THEIR SON back.

CERSEI TURNS FROM HIM, fighting the frown upon her lips, folding her arms tightly as her eyes focus on the flickering candle of a flame.  with one breath, she could snuff it out forever.  it seems as though all things she had considered permanent could be taken away just as easily – but NOT HER.  even if jaime will not do anything, she will not be taken so easily.

✹ — JAIME’S KNUCKLE CLENCHES. HE REMEMBERS THE SHOCK that followed after locke had swung his arm, after he had seen blood pool and his hand just lay there. he remembers being in the water with brienne of tarth and sharing his story, of her calling him kingslayer. jaime. his name was jaime. his name is jaime. it has always been jaime, and he has always dreamed of being a knight. but what is he now ? ? ? his eyes track cersei as she moves. she has always aspired to be queen. what is she now ? ? ?

       “ you’re a hateful woman, ” jaime says suddenly, yet so softly. he pushes himself to his feet. “ the gods have seen fit that i should love a hateful woman. and i have always loved you, cersei. ” he reflects on her hopes to marry rhaegar and how she would be a knight by his side, to be together, and how poorly this had ended. she had gained robert instead, yet she still wore a crown. but could jaime have compared to rhaegar if it was him cersei had had ? ? ? these questions plague him like ghosts.