Queen Naerys—the one woman Aegon IV bedded in whom he took no pleasure—was pious and gentle and frail, and all these things the king misliked. Childbirth also proved a trial to Naerys, for she was small and delicate. When Prince Daeron was born on the last day of 153 AC, Grand Maester Alford warned that another pregnancy might kill her. Naerys was said to address her brother thus: “I have done my duty by you, and given you an heir. I beg you, let us live henceforth as brother and sister.” We are told that Aegon replied: “That is what we are doing.” Aegon continued to insist his sister perform her wifely duties for the rest of her life.


One of the most imaginative children’s movies we’ve ever seen was made in 1981 by the king of the bizarre, the grand maester of visual storytelling, the American odd man out in the Monty Python British lineup—the one and only, Terry Gilliam. With Time Bandits, the fantasy film he wrote with fellow Python Michael Palin, Gilliam created a classic that millions of people from all generations would return to gleefully in the years that followed. Time Bandits is truly a fairy tale, but in the tradition of the best ones, it’s a universally appealing story capable of satisfying the cinematic needs of people of all generations and from all walks of life, a film powerful enough to entertain children, but also completely envelop the adults that brought their family to the movies.

Considered by Gilliam as the first in his Trilogy of Imagination (followed by Brazil and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen), Time Bandits is a visually stunning tale of a dysfunctional society and the desire of individuals to escape it. As we follow an 11-year-old schoolboy and his six new dwarven friends in their journey through time, on which they encounter historical and mythical personalities such as Robin Hood, Agamemnon and Napoleon, we’re offered a unique vision of history decorated by instances of entertaining humor, as well as subtle social critique lending the movie an engaging and stimulating character that makes it enjoyable for the more serious members of the audience. On one level, Time Bandits is an exciting, unbelievable journey with fantastic set designs, heart-warming interactions and a bunch of heroes that effortlessly find their way to our hearts. If we scratch a little deeper, we realize Gilliam delivers a smart, cautioning commentary on a world obsessed with consumption and technology. But the commentary is given through eventful action in phantasmagoric landscapes, utterly generous to the eye and stirring the imagination chords in all of us. Time Bandits is, without a doubt, one of the best fairy tales ever produced in the medium of film, and as such proudly stands next to the very best classics of the genre like The Wizard of Oz and The Thief of Bagdad.

‘Time Bandits’: The Ever-Lasting Importance of Terry Gilliam’s Best Fairy Tale

themetaisawesome asked:

I wanted to ask a question about something you've talked about before: You pointed out that Stannis is the only character who has referred to Sansa as "Lady Lannister." Something feels off about that. He knows what the small council and the Lannisters are like, and he knows the union was forced to try to take Winterfell through marriage. Granted, Jon does think to himself that if Stannis found Arya, he might marry her off to one of his men, but still, for such a just man, that's pretty unfair.

Wait, are you telling me that Stannis is being a hypocrite and unfair? Stannis? Really?

Oh, I’m shocked, truly. Certainly Stannis would never show any sign of hypocrisy, like breaking vows or using magic to murder unsuspecting opponents. And unfairness? The very idea. What would Maester Cressen think.


(God knows I love the man, but Stannis is exactly the kind of pissy pedant who’d insist on calling Sansa “Lady Lannister”. (Even if it’s very incorrect.) Especially to press a point at someone, especially when he’s annoyed that person won’t just obey already. And yes, he is a hypocrite, and very often unfair.)

I told them to all go to Hell. I called in every maester on this side of the world. Every healer. Every apothecary. They stopped the disease and saved your life. Because you did not belong across the world with the bloody stone men. You are Princess Shireen of House Baratheon. And you are my daughter.
—  Stannis Baratheon (who truely should be named Dad of the year)

Samwell Tarly is Heimdall – the Watcher


As ever, she wore red head to heel, a long loose gown of flowing silk as bright as fire, with dagged sleeves and deep slashes in the bodice that showed glimpses of a darker bloodred fabric beneath. Around her throat was a red gold choker tighter than any maester’s chain, ornamented with a single great ruby. Her hair was not the orange or strawberry color of common red-haired men, but a deep burnished copper that shone in the light of the torches. Even her eyes were red…but her skin was smooth and white, unblemished, pale as cream. Slender she was, graceful, taller than most knights, with full breasts and narrow waist and a heart-shaped face. Men’s eyes that once found her did not quickly look away, not even a maester’s eyes. Many called her beautiful. She was not beautiful. She was red, and terrible, and red.

A Clash of Kings, Prologue