Growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all
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Jeyne Westerling
Yes, this pretty little girl is a queen, I must remember that. She was pretty, undeniably, with her chestnut curls and heart-shaped face, and that shy smile. Slender, but with good hips, Catelyn noted.
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Lies and arbor gold
Petyr picked up his quill again. "We shall serve him lies and Arbor gold, and he'll drink them down and ask for more, I promise you."
He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized.
Sansa I, AFFC
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Brienne, the Evenstar of Tarth
A highborn lady. Almost a beauty. Heir to Sapphire Isle.
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“She was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.”
“The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter.”
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Sansa + Dances
Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells.
She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord. In her dreams they had all been smiling.
Joffrey and Margaery led in their place. How can a monster dance so beautifully? Sansa wondered.
Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together.
And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Joffrey. Sansa stiffened as his hand touched hers, but the king tightened his grip and drew her closer.
Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne . . .
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Lady Jessica Atriedes and Lady Catelyn Stark
> husband killed after betrayal by someone they trusted (littlefinger and dr. yeuh)
> misled by "sisters" (lysa and bene gesserit)
> young son has to take on his father's mantle
> she would do anything for his survival
> "died" & resurrected as darker versions of themselves
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“She sinks. She sinks in holy sadness. Like an Ophelia in tears she sinks.”
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the beauty and the horror.
prints + merch
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“It's not the king who sits the Iron Throne these days, good sister. It's the queen,”
Amazing commission by JuanNide
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i must not fear. fear is the mind-killer.
prints + merch
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sweet, mourning lamb
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Sansa Stark and Brienne of Tarth
Help me, she prayed, send me a friend, a true knight to champion me . . . // I will find her, my lady, Brienne swore to Lady Catelyn's restless shade. I will never stop looking. I will give up my life if need be, give up my honor, give up all my dreams, but I will find her.
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“Blue is a good color on you, my lady,” Jaime observed. “It goes well with your eyes.” She does have astonishing eyes.
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And this is my robe, slightly singed.
And this is my prophet’s junk.
And this is my twisted face.
A face that didn’t know it could be beautiful.
Helaena targaryen, the doomed prophetess
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