the she-wolves were the only ones to come home when winter hit, in the end. the queen, who raised her sister up to lord commander, handed her the dreadfort after the lord commander won it in the stark name. strangers, they were, neither the silly girls they had been when they set off down the kingsroad years before.

but still, a stark is a stark and a wolf is a wolf. the pack is not easily broken. 

[x]

“It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time… but it wasn’t. Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

princessaryastark:

Winter is coming, warned the Stark words, and truly it had come for them with a vengeance. ~A Storm of Swords~

fearbreeze:

princessaryastark:

The Disillusionment of Arya Stark

#this is the exact moment that marked Arya’s disillusionment #when she asked the god for mercy back in king’s landing #all she got was her father’s head on the steps of Baelor #when prayed for home #she became a hostage instead #when she prayed for justice #she got injustice #the same smiling girl who gave ned stark flowers on the king’s road #is now actively praying for another person to die #and when the gods failed her #like every other person in her life #she decided to take matters into her own hands#she had every intention to kill the hound #and this is different from the stable boy that she killed #that was self defense #this was attempted murder #what good did praying to the gods ever do to her #nothing #there is only one god #and his name is DEATH

She paddled after the sharp red whisper of cold blood, the sweet cloying stench of death. She chased them as she had often chased a red deer through the trees, and in the end she ran them down, and her jaw closed around a pale white arm. She shook it to make it move, but there was only death and blood in her mouth. By now she was tiring, and it was all she could do to pull the body back to shore. As she dragged it up the muddy bank, one of her little brothers came prowling, his tongue lolling from his mouth. She had to snarl to drive him off, or else he would have fed. Only then did she stop to shake the water from her fur. The white thing lay facedown in the mud, her dead flesh wrinkled and pale, cold blood trickling from her throat. Rise, she thought. Rise and eat and run with us.

You should practice right.

princessaryastark:

I don’t think it works that way child.

thenorthdismembers:

lostwendy:

*clutches heart*

*falls down*

*claws at floor*   My feeeeeeels!

valar morghulis | valar dohaeris

“You go to hell, Hound,” she screamed at Sandor Clegane in helpless empty-handed rage. “You just go to hell!”

“He has,” said a voice scarce stronger than a whisper.

When Arya turned, Lord Beric Dondarrion was standing behind her, his bloody hand clutching Thoros by the shoulder.