Let the Reader Beware
The Rantings and Ramblings of a retired student president of the Carleton College Science Fiction and Fantasy Alliance who is also studying to become a medievalist. Home for this year, but hopefully resuming my M.A. Program in York next year if all goes well.
Martinus (RL: Ross). 23. Male. Massive geek and nerd of many descriptions. Singer (but can't read music). Writer (fanfic). Chronic meta writer. Catelyn Stark/Samwell Tarly hybrid and proud of it. Callsign: Stan.
Resolute and stubborn stan of cerebral protagonists (and antagonists at times), honor-bound soldiers, flawlessly flawed 'righteous' warriors living in fear, walking identity crises (often of the morally-grey variety), children-at-heart, lost souls looking for somewhere to belong, lost souls who keep running, and those characters who take 'working inside the system' as a challenge, not a limitation.
This is not a spoiler-free blog for anything not currently airing.
I love nothing more than when characters reveal themselves while talking about someone else. And there is nothing more innately human than hypocrisy born of fear.
{ wear }
{ GAME OF THRONES }
THE RISE OF STARK by potterology-.tumblr.com
THIS IS FUCKING BRILLIANT. Thank you so much, this is absolutely amazing!!!!!
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.
” for my will is as strong as yours,
and my kingdom is as great
…you have no power over me “
[THE RISE OF STARK]
They came from the far reaches of what seemed like the world. Arya had risen a great force of Bravvosi warriors who called themselves the Faceless men. They ranged from big hulking brutes with heavy hands and thick spears, to thin, gaunt men with harsh noses and cold eyes; each was as capable as the last in a surprising range of skills. They were terrifying to behold, and even more so with Arya at the helm. She did not ride on a horse or in a carriage - she walked on her own two feet, the same as her men, with a crown of teeth and bones melded together in gold. She had no mercy in battle, save for the few moments after the fighting had finished and she whispered a prayer to the Old Gods.Bran had, as the Lord and Master of Wintefell, redeemed the Old Oaths and conjured an army of a hundred thousand strong. While they were nearly ten times the size of Arya’s entourage, they were half as lethal. Farmers, ferriers, stableboys: All had answered the call of Winterfell. Every stronghold in the North of Westeros, right up to the Wall, had answered Bran and given as many as they could.
Rickon helmed the smallest host, but they were rough and raw and ready. A thousand wildlings, each as smart and craven as the last. They held no allegiance to the fleet, and Rickon, wise as he was, never let anyone - especially Bran, who was a strong tactician in the art of war but comfortable in his position of Lord of Winterfell - believe otherwise. Rickon had asked them to join him of their own free will and never treated them as a commander or as a leader. They were his friends and allies, not his soldiers.
Sansa rallied the riverlands in the name of Tully. And they answered. It was that simple. They revered her, loved her dearly and bowed and kissed when she came through the camps. They adored her, called her Your Grace as if the throne had already been won. - potterology-
[THE RISE OF STARK]
She was lurking, he noticed, just outside of the room, her crown ever present. The Lady of Bravvos, he reminded himself, that was what they called her now. I remember when she was Arry, Weasel, Nan. He remembered her when she was naught more than an orphan boy; but orphaned boys did not conquer kingdoms. She was a Stark now: the War of the Four Starks they were calling it, but Gendry thought that was a gross exaggeration. This wasn’t a war, not really, it was a vendetta against the Lannisters and all Cersei had put in motion so many years ago when she let her abomination cut off Ned Starks head. Gendry wondered idly if Joffrey would have chosen differently had he known what would follow; Gendry couldn’t say it with certainty, but he had the nagging feeling that even if Joffrey had decided to let Ned live, the outcome would not have been much different.“You can stop hiding. I know you’re there,” he said, his voice gruff. Being imprisoned for so long had made him discourteous, but he didn’t much care. She never did want him to call her m’lady. - potterology-
[THE RISE OF STARK]
They stood, staring, together for the first time in what felt like centuries. Sansa remembered very clearly the last time she had seen Bran, a thousand years ago. He had been sleeping still, his fall fresh, and she hadn’t had the heart to kiss him goodbye. She’d squeezed his hand and whispered her love, then escaped before Arya could see her cry. But he was different now, colder. He was not the curious, excited little brother he had been, but a dark man, with heavy eyes and bad habits. A dark heart.Rickon was strange as ever, but there was wisdom in his eyes. He looked through Sansa, through the steel exterior and into her lionheart. It made her shiver; every secret she had ever had was plunged by his gaze, every depth was fathomed. She might as well have confessed every sin to him, the way he looked at her. He was strong, and wise and wild.
And Arya? She kept hands tightly to her sides, her face a mask of indifference, so much so that Sansa could have sworn she was as likely to kill them as to kiss them. The woman who stood before her - my sister, Sansa reminded herself - had a countenance that was darker than Bran’s, who was more of a curmudgeon than a villain, and the same wild nature as Rickon, but it ran deeper. She spoke with the voice of one who knew her own mind; moved in such a way that every action seemed premeditated. There was something in her step, in her presence, that set Sansa’s teeth on edge. The only other time she remembered feeling similarly was when she was alone with the Hound: Fear, but more than that: affection. Arya was her sister, but if Sansa was a lionheart, Bran a darkheart and Rickon a wildheart, it seemed Arya had no heart at all. There was no love in her eyes, no mirth in her smile and no gentleness in her touch. She simply was and was nothing.
#a man is regretting giving the power of life and death to a vengeful 11-year old #a man should have expected this to go badly
#A MAN DID NOT MAKE THE BEST LIFE CHOICE
A MAN LOOKS AT HIS LIFE, A MAN LOOKS AT HIS CHOICES
your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth.
In last week’s Game of Thrones, Arya told Tywin Lannister that “most girls are stupid.” When we heard that line, were we supposed to think, “This is why Arya is awesome”? After watching The Prince of Winterfell, I can’t help but think that the answer is “yes.” While the books series presents a huge range of dynamic and well-developed female characters, the show writers seem determined to edit the story so that all normal women seem weak and worthy of disdain. Girls, like Arya, who fight to throw off femininity and become “one of the boys,” are the only ones who are really strong or worthy of respect.
Although some of the show’s changes to the story have been positive and potentially even improve on the novel, many edits in the last few episodes have reduced the series’ selection of varied, challenging female characters into cliches and walking confirmation of the idea that “most women suck.”
