the sleeping direwolf

Feels like home.


Daenerys had never experienced this before in her life. She had never had the safety, the joy, the simple pleasure of a meal with others that carried no pressure, no expectations. She had come to their table, her table given use to them, expecting a dinner of consequence of substance. She had treated it like a state affair, a step in their negotiations. She wore her hair with silver pins, a gown of red silks and skin tight leather. She looked the fierce soul of conquest and strength in her divine finery. Accompanied by Missandei, the queen went down to the King of the North’s apartments.

But what she found was the food already served, and a jovial company in their cups. 

Ser Davos was laughing as Tyrion told a story of a green boy named Jon Snow that got so drunk, his first time, that he climbed under his direwolf to sleep, thinking the beast was his sleeping roll. The King of the North looked far from offended upon the mockery that fell over him, laughing through bites of chicken at the revelry of his youthful mistake.

Daenerys felt guilty for having broken up the festivities by her severe appearance. The three men stood at attention upon her entrance, clearly unaware that the queen would take the invitation so seriously. After a long pause it was Ser Davos who retrieved her and Missandei, offering them an arm each, quickly catching Dany up on Tyrion’s story. She felt rather self-conscious from the way everyone stared at her dress, stared at her. But she felt a blush come on when she saw Jon’s gaze last the longest out of all of them. 

She didn’t understand what the point of it all, at first. They didn’t seem to be talking about the war, or politics, or compromise. They were just telling stories, laughing, and reminiscing. It didn’t occur to the young beauty that it was possible to do that. It was a foreign notion that people ate, shared Dinner Company, just to talk and laugh. They were a king, a smuggler, a dwarf, and an interpreter, sitting at a table together with no agenda, no interest in the seriousness of the world order. It seemed a strange place to a girl who spent her life with serious people discussing serious things. She felt out of place at first, but gradually, gratefully, they never once left her behind.

Now, hours later, Dany didn’t want it to end. She wished she could have this all the time. To forget the world for a night and listen to Ser Davos’s stories, Lord Tyrion’s wit, Missandei’s rare laugh, and the way Jon Snow smiled, looking across at her to assure her that it was okay to laugh, to smile, to be herself around him.  

“So there I was … killer surf that goes straight to the razor sharp rocks below and above me, three guards who hadn’t eaten all day with repeat’in crossbows.” 

“Sounds quite dreadful.”

“Oh, I thought that I would surely be at the end of a bolt or in a bowl of brown, true enough, Your Grace.” 

“What did you do?” 

“Yes, please do continue.”

“Well, you see, there was just a crack in the stone of the tower, so, I built up my momentum and swung across. I planted my feet right there in the crack and held on to dear life. Then, I reached over and climbed the railings.” 

“Such bravery …” 

“Oh, no, Missandei, it was stupidity, but well payin stupidity. And what lad didn’t dream of climbing the tall tower and rescuing the damsel?” 

“Well did you?” 

“Sadly, no …” 

“No?!” 

“No, Your Grace, see my rival Salladhor beat me to the punch, ran off with the Lady two days prior.”

“What did you do?”

“I introduced myself to the young woman that was there. She was Lady Croft’s Handmaid that she left behind to be used by the blood thirsty men so that she might escape.” 

“Surely you didn’t leave her behind as well?” 

“Yes, plenty of times, but she was waiting for me when I came back home.”

The table grew quite, but not awkwardly so. There was warmth to the end of the story that spread pleasantly across the small party that sat around the table. It was very late in the night. Lord Tryion was already passed out with an empty cup of wine. He half chuckled in sleep, trying not to appear rude in his subconscious by laughing at Ser Davos’s story.  The rest of the table stared and smiled at the drunken dwarf endearingly. 

“It’s such a lovely story, Ser Davos.” Missandei seemed enchanted by the tale of how he had met his wife. 

“She was a lovely person.” He drew off wistfully. 

Dany felt her heart twinge. “I’m sorry you lost her.” She said sincerely. The Queen had known many rogues in her day. She had varying degrees of sympathize for each of them. But the girl had only known Ser Davos for a week and yet she couldn’t bear to hear ill tidings happen to him. He was just that kind of man. 

The old man only smirked sadly. “Don’t pity me, Your Grace.” He sighed. “I loved a woman, a good woman, and she gave me a fine son. And maybe she’s gone, but I know she’s in some tower, somewhere, wait’in on me to come and get her.” He smiled sadly. 

“But how did you know?” Missandei asked gingerly. “How did you know, you loved her?” There was a timid lilt to her measured question. Dany smirked into her cup. Her handmaid and Grey Worm were a complicated story, but The Queen was never the less invested in the strange love affair. 

The old smuggler looked off for a moment. “It feels …” He drew off. “It feels like home.” He replied with assurance. 

“Like home?” She asked with a frown.

“Yes …” He said confidently. “Like, you’ve known that person your entire life. You meet, and it’s like …” He paused.

“You’ve already met, in another time, in another place  …” 

Everyone one at the table turned to Jon who had been sitting quietly, listening. His eyes were downcast, cradling his cup. He seemed conflicted, his breath uneven, trying hard not to do the one thing he wanted. But finally he broke, and he looked up …

Right to Dany.

“It’s like the world was created, you were created, to join that person, to become a part of their life, to share it. Nothing ever makes sense till you find him.” 

The Queen’s voice softened as she spoke with reverence. There was a glimmer of emotion in her bright eyes that reflected in candle light. They were two people whose eye contact could create worlds, entire universes, for only they two. 

A quiet fell over the table, the weight of such strong emotions, of destiny, lay heavy in the charged atmosphere. It seemed that in the late night on Dragonstone that a great truth was unveiling itself to the world over a joyous chicken dinner and wine. The deep intensity of longing and deep primal emotions lashed like the waves below the balcony.

“Ha!” 

Tyrion laughed again from his slumbering place. They all turned as the dwarf cuddled the empty wine bottle. The intensity of emotion faded and somehow it left the dining party breathless. Both Jon and Dany looked to be exhausted from whatever had overcome them. 

“Yes …” Davos cleared his throat. 

“It’s like home.”  

AWAKEN | a playlist for sansa stark and the iron throne (for kirkwoodisinoregon)

This time, when Littlefinger offers something to Sansa, she does not hesitate to take it. Slender fingers close around the out-held cloth with a complicity so deeply and secretly held that she is barely aware that it exists at all. Perhaps heroes do not exist, perhaps men are not honorable; perhaps monsters win. But there are other perhapses as well, Sansa is sure of it, even though she cannot begin to imagine what they are. Songs can lie to the bird that sings them. She has already learned this, and the lesson had been harsh. But perhaps the bird can lie back.

If there is appeal in the prospect, it is bittersweet at best, for somethings – whether they be rules or wishes or dreams – cannot be sloughed cleanly or quickly. Not all creatures grow by the simple shedding of skin. No, some must burrow, others sleep. Some must be consumed. Still others, consume instead.

Sansa finds some these thoughts distasteful, like a slab of raw meat that she is loathe to touch. (My hands are still clean.) To make this point, she gracefully wipes her fingers and then refolds the cloth that was given to her, offering it back to Lord Baelish in turn.

______________________________________

▹ Gaeta’s Lament | Alessandro Juliani, Bear McCreary (x)

But wish no more,
My life you can take,
To have her please just one day wake.
To have her please just one day wake.
To have her please just one day wake.

▹ Turn the Dirt Over | Sea Wolf (x)

You left your brother in a northern town.
Took the ferry o'er the water on the bay.
His body covered by the colors going down.
The statue in the square before the wind could change.

▹ Awaken | Dario Marianelli (x)

( Instrumental )

▹ Overture | Patrick Wolf (x)

Now after all these years, you are at last opening.
Was it worth all that war just to win?
So caught up in the speed of the days in your sin.
Don’t forget how the story begins, no.
Don’t forget now.

▹ Aprés Moi | Regina Spektor (x)

Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочущая слякоть
Весною черною горит.

(translation)
February. Get ink, shed tears!
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.

▹ Horse and I | Bats for Lashes (x)

Came upon the headdress.
It was gilded, dark and golden.
The children sang.
I was so afraid, I took it to my head and prayed.

▹ Woman King | Iron and Wine (x)

Hundred years, hundred more,
Someday we may see,
A woman king,
Sword in hand,
Swing at some evil and bleed.

▹ Goshen | Beirut (x)

You’re on in five, it’s time you rise or fail.
They’ve gone before, stood by your door all day.
For what it’s worth, defend your kind from shame.
The lights are down, go on inside, they’ve paid.
You’re the face in stone, through the land I own.
You never found it home.
You’re not the girl I used to know.

anonymous asked:

All the YESes in the world to a dicksa fix-it fic please!! It's so much needed right now

an: in which dickon bends the knee, manages to side-step Dany, joins Jon and later marries Sansa to unite the reach and north yadda yadda yadda. what i’m trying to say is - rip dickon, you fine piece of beautiful, simple man

Sleep clings to him like the morning dew outside the castle walls. The long summer has begun again, and the early morning light has begun to dapple the floor of the bedchamber as it streams through the small slit windows. Dickon pushes the furs to his waist and rolls over, his hand brushing against something soft and smooth - something that answers his groan of waking with a grumbling of its own. 

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Direwolf

Anonymous asked: Hi! Glad to see you’ve got past your writing block! Could I have a Sandor x femstark were they meet at winterfell. She’s out calling for her direwolf and finds him/her asleep by Sandor actually letting him pet him/her (I’m a sucker for tall, strong men with animals and babies *-*) and and they get talking and her wolf wakes up and kinda nudges her into him and he catches her . The ending can go anyway I don’t mind :). LOVE

Part ½ I do not own Sandor Clegane. He is the property of George R.R.Martin.

Warnings: Awkward fluff

Pairings: Sandor Clegane x fem!Stark reader.

Originally posted by murrdermaid

(a/n: I decided to name the direwolf Minerva…I’m on a Harry Potter kick.)

Your brows furrowed as you entered your chambers. Nothing. You let out a sigh of frustration. Your direwolf had a habit of disappearing. She always reappeared, but you really needed to find her. You needed her with you on the journey to King’s Landing with your father and sisters. “Minerva!” you called out, hoping she hadn’t gone far. You looked throughout the castle and Godswood. No Minerva. You called her name time and time again until you finally found her. When you did, you were taken back. She was lying on the ground, curled into a little ball, right next to the Hound who was leaning up against a tree. You stopped short, unsure as to whether it was wise to approach Sandor.

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Sweet Wolf

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader 

A/N: I think I rushed a bit on this story but I hope people still like it!! You can read my other stories here!! 

Request: “Hi! I absolutely love your writing :) I wanted to see if you could do a reader insert where the reader is Robb’s betrothed, but when the royal party comes to visit Winterfell, Jaime develops feelings for her and they actually have a lot in common, making Robb feel a bit insecure, but the reader only has eyes for Robb”?

Prompt: You and Robb couldn’t be any happier. It actually makes Theon gag sometimes at how cute you both are. Everything in Winterfell is actually perfect until the Royal Party comes to Winterfell and all the Lannisters with it. Jaime is just as charming as everyone says he is and for some reason he finds you just the same and all of a sudden Robb isn’t always so happy anymore.

She was everything he had ever wanted. In such a cloudy and cold place, she was the sun. Never once has he seen her frown, it’s like her mouth cannot turn that way. Everywhere she went, he would follow without a second hesitation. Her laughter was more beautiful than any song and it was a terrible day if he had not heard it. She was too good for the North, but here she was and this is where she would remain; with him. 

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coffeesugarcream  asked:

I'm all for some Percival hurt/comfort... just want him battered (as always) and taken care of with lots of cuddles. Go with it only if you feel like fluffing a bit dear :D

aaaaaaaah me too i want this a lot ??? it is past midnight though and me is sleepy but have the beginning of the fic and i’ll continue it tomorrow probably bc i love it ❤︎


When they find him, Percival is crying. It is Tina who leads the team in Graves’ house, and she despairs as each room they clear is empty, devoid of life or anything that could indicate Mr. Graves’ presence.

She hates herself for not noticing he’d been taken and replaced by a pale imitation of what the man is, as do all her colleagues, but now is not the time for self loathing.

The team splits to check both the cellar and the attic. Tina is with Newt and two other Aurors, and the small, cat-like creature Newt holds in his arms suddenly purrs loudly.

“We’re on the right track,” Newt murmurs. “She can smell dark magic.”

Tina shivers despite herself. Newt’s words are ominous, and she doesn’t want to think about what they could imply. “Come on.”

There’s a simple wooden ladder leading to the attic. Newt climbs in front of her, holding his wand between his teeth. Seconds later Tina hears him claim that the room is clear, and she follows suit until the four of them are standing in the dark.

“Lumos,” Tina says. “Mr. Graves, are you there?”

The four of them advance slowly, trying not to trip. Graves’ attic is large and filled with countless objects, half of which looking like they belong in a museum. Tina sees a couple of sleeping portraits, a stuffed direwolf which makes Newt hiss in disgust, and a statue of an old man wearing a crown that looks like it’s worth ten times Tina’s rent.

“Mr. Graves?” She keeps calling. The silence is a bit eerie, each of their footsteps making dust rise up like smoke around them. “Mr. Graves - Percival?”

“He’s here,” Newt says. “Winter is sure of it.” The small cat purrs again at the mention of her name, and Newt smiles at her. “He must be concealed somewhere. An invisible barrier, within the walls, inside a closet. We have to keep looking.”

Tina nods, and they split up again and settle down to work. She stays with Newt as they carefully levitate objects away from their paths and try to listen to anything that might indicate Mr. Graves’ presence. Suddenly, Newt stills and grabs her arm.

“Here, look. There’s no dust at all around this wardrobe.”

Tina looks at him, before pointing her wand at the furniture. Cautiously, Newt walks over the door of the wardrobe and opens it, stepping back quickly should anything erupt from it and attack.

Nothing does. Instead, all they hear is the echo of a sob, and Tina’s heart beats madly in her chest at the sound of it. She runs to the wardrobe, peering inside. She looks down, and her heart skips a beat.

Where there should be a floor there is but a gap, and Percival is laying down below the hole, small and naked, curled up on the filthy floor of what appears to be an old well. There is no bed, no food, nothing to cover him with. Tina swallows, feeling more guilty than ever - and then Percival coughs. It sounds painful, rattling his body and stealing his breath, and when it’s done Percival lets out another sob, breaking Tina’s heart.

“Mr. Graves,” she says weakly. Then she repeats, stronger this time. “Mr. Graves. Can you hear me?”

Mr. Graves doesn’t react, and now Tina feels frightened. What if this is their curse? They can see the man suffer, wither away and die, but they have no means of reaching out to him or saving him?

Would Grindelwald be that cruel?

“I know that spell,” Newt chimes in, tearing her away from those nightmarish thoughts. “If you’d just let me, this will take a moment. It’s foreign magic.”

For once, Tina doesn’t question it. She lets Newt work, brows furrowed and weaving his wand through the air in a complex pattern she does not comprehend. It takes thirty minutes. When Newt is done he falls to his knees on the floor, exhausted but victorious.

“That was,” he says weakly. “A particularly nasty one. But it’s lifted. He can hear us now.”

Tina immediately peers at the hole inside the wardrobe, relief coursing through her when she sees Percival looking up in shock. She doesn’t stop the tears when they fall, and Percival smiles weakly, thankful -

Then promptly faints.

-

It’s a bit of a blur after that.

Graves’ Aurors take turns to stay at his bedside, day and night. Newt also makes an appearance, seemingly sorry for the man whose life was taken from him.

Guilt hangs like a thick, bubbling cloud of smoke over the Auror’s department, making it unable to breath or see. Neither of them knows what to do. There’s no making up for what they’ve done - or didn’t do, when Graves was counting on them. They all failed him, without exception, and they all hate themselves for it.

But the worst thing, Tina learns, is that when Graves finally does wake up - hair messy, blinking sleep back from his eyes as if he’d just woken from a satisfying nap and not an induced coma - he smiles at her, soft and forgiving.

Tina can’t bear it. She breaks down and cries in front of him, spilling senseless apologies, only stopping when Graves holds his hand up.

The sleeve of his hospital gown slips, and she can’t help but notice how thin his wrists have become. Her eyes well up with tears again, and Graves lets his hand fall.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“It’s not okay,” she says. “With all due respect, sir, look at yourself! This is our fault. We should have been better, and I’m so sorry.”

“Tina,” he says tiredly. “I know it’s not okay. But it is what it is. Don’t blame yourself - this is my fault. I should have bested him.”

Tina blinks. “Grindelwald took on a team of our best Aurors and the President alone, sir - and he would have won if it weren’t for Newt and his Swooping Evil. You’re only human. I know you fought well and fairly. You are not to blame, sir. But us…”

She falls silent again, mortified.

“Tina.”

She looks up, only to find Graves smiling at her again.

“What’s a Swooping Evil, and what is Theseus’ little brother doing in New York?”

-


after that my point is they all try to make up for it and percival is just like. what. is happening. everyone suddenly cares. 

someone wraps him in a blanket when they notice him shivering slightly. 

“what” 

he finds food on his desk at the appropriate hours. 

“what” 

they all ring the doorbell at his new flat and he opens in pajamas and slippers, utterly bewildered. 

what the fuck” 

ADWD

I started rereading it today!

I only read the prologue and Tyrion’s chapter, but I have to say that some things about Varamyr’s brief POV were really fascinating.

After he tries to get control of Thistle’s body he seems to have an out-of-body experience:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting. A hundred ravens took to the air, cawing as they felt him pass. A great elk trumpeted, unsettling the children clinging to his back. A sleeping direwolf raised his head to snarl at empty air. Before their hearts could beat again he had passed on, searching for his own, for One Eye, Sly, and Stalker, for his pack. His wolves would save him, he told himself.
That was his last thought as a man.
True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake.

And, you know, as horrible as he was, I couldn’t help but find this part extremely interesting.

Not only because he briefly sees through the eyes of the weirwood in the abandoned wildling village or because of the brief nod to Bran and the Reeds on the elk and Summer. But also because of that part halfway through in which he is all the living creatures around him for a little while. And he remembers the words of the woods witch who had told his mother that Bump (his little brother) was with the gods:

“He’ll never hurt again, never hunger, never cry. The gods have taken him down into the earth, into the trees. The gods are all around us, in the rocks and streams, in the birds and beasts. Your Bump has gone to join them. He’ll be the world and all that’s in it.”

Which was both touching and incredibly upsetting, because it was Varamyr/Lump who killed his brother and when he first heard this explanation he only felt frightened by it, by his brother always being around him and being able to watch him. But I couldn’t help but be a little moved at the thought of him joining his brother again, as twisted as the whole situation is.

Also, it makes you wonder how much exactly this woods witch knew about the magic of the Children/old gods.

Another detail I couldn’t help but notice was after Varamyr started his second life in one of his wolves (One Eye):

When they reached the crest the wolves paused. […] The empty village was no longer empty. Blue-eyed shadows walked amongst the mounds of snow. Some wore brown and some wore black and some were naked, their flesh gone white as snow. […]
The things below moved, but did not live. One by one, they raised their heads toward the three wolves on the hill. The last to look was the thing that had been Thistle. She wore wool and fur and leather, and over that she wore a coat of hoarfrost that crackled when she moved and glistened in the moonlight. Pale pink icicles hung from her fingertips, ten long knives of frozen blood. And in the pits where her eyes had been, a pale blue light was flickering, lending her coarse features an eerie beauty […].

This may be nothing, but it struck me as odd that Varamyr-as-One-Eye doesn’t mention his own body moving again. I mean.. the man is still strong enough inside the wolf not to have started forgetting his memories and feelings. Wouldn’t Varamyr have remarked on his body rising from the snow? The way I read the scene, I just imagined Varamyr’s corpse remaining half-buried in the snow where he died (after trying to slip inside the sperawife’s) because there’s no mention of it moving. There’s no mention of it at all.

That’s weird, isn’t it? The guy just died and if he hadn’t felt like looking at himself, at least a part of the wolf would have recognized the man who had warged it. Varamyr takes the time to describe what happened to Thistle’s body, but not to his?

Is there a chance that Varamyr’s corpse didn’t rise again as a wight because his spirit was in the wolf? I wish we knew what happened to Orell’s body after Qhorin’s men threw it and the ones of the other wildling sentinels over the edge of that mountain.. (Are there other known wargs/skinchangers that came back as wights? I can’t think of any.)

(Am I reading too much in this? Watch me keep on reading and then stumbling on wight!Varamyr..)

anonymous asked:

can u please illuminate me as to where the other stark direwolves are? i've totally forgotten.

Itemized checklist - Stark direwolves:

at this point in the show

  • Robb’s direwolf Greywind is dead (red wedding)
  • Jon’s direwolf Ghost is with him at Castle Black
  • Sansa’s direwolf Lady is dead (second episode - Kingsroad)
  • Arya’s direwolf Nymeria is wandering the riverlands. In the books, there are many references to a “monstrous she wolf” leading a pack and attacking the armies while they sleep. It is likely that this wolf is Nymeria, who Arya unconsciously wargs into while she sleeps
  • Bran’s direwolf Summer is with him north of the wall
  • Rickon’s direwolf Shaggydog is with him wherever he is (most likely in Skaagos)