[ bloodiedwolf ]

                    lord stark.

       the correction is quiet, even hushed, testament to pulling her temper back
       under the set of her jaw, dimming the burn of her eyes ; yet, the sentiment
       that sears on beneath now-illegible countenance is bitter, barren, like an
       anti-seed, something one could plant to watch something die, spreading
       out from the nexus of her poisoned, twisted womb like the pain spreading
       from an arrowhead’s piercing bite.

       and still, the other feeling lingers alongside it, dread mixed with the
       anger – who is a man? he asked her, and she wants to say she knows
       that too, but doesn’t ; had thought she’d known half a dozen things,
       and had paid for them with much dearer lessons.

       she’d passed all their tests save one ; made it blind, made it barren, made
       it mute and passive and everything they wanted, played the fish seller played
       the beggar played the ugly rotten twisted girl and the slave and played the
       whore, too, served and served and SERVED but it was never enough to take
       everything from her, no, they wanted more, and it doesn’t matter to a single
       one of them that she wakes in the night not knowing where or who she is,
       doesn’t matter to a single one of them that she dreads the mirror lest she
       find ( as she has before ) a dead girl’s face staring back at her, a stranger.

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                    everything that happens in my realm concerns me, lyanna
                        explains, calmly, as patiently as she can muster.
especially
                        when old friends
– the emphasis, there, pointed, shedding
                        some scant light on her ever-growing suspicion –
from my
                        past stumble through my gates. your temple is very far from
                        here, and we have our own laws. now i can torture your pur-
                        -pose out of you if you’d like, many a bolton foot soldier has
                        found himself target practice for my arrows before i killed him,
                        but i think we can both agree that’s not the preferable course.

                       ◤ alar  orghulis. ◢

        Whilom characteristic upturning of lips’ edges ensues once
    the woman makes a correction of her words, her face; once she
    rules it. Of course she would. A child would cower when proven
    wrong by a superior, when told how poorly she was doing; she
    would immediately rectify the situation, perhaps get defensive
    and begin to spew more threats.

        Natheless, Merek looks blankly into Lyanna’s icy eyes. For a
    fleeting moment his flicker in past recognition of a man long dead
    GONE, but for only a moment. He refrains from judging her. He
    has no place to say how she should feel, how she should not feel.
    He has no place to tell her that she must have forgotten who she
    is dealing with. ( I know a killer. A REAL killer. He’d kill you with
    his little finger. You’d be a
KITTEN to him. )

        Thereafter he nods understandingly, taking in her words,
    remembering his temporary mien’s place concerning Winterfell’s
    social structure. He will not take chances nor will he think the
    threats to be idle. Visenya’s hot breath upon his neck but several
    minutes ago was not disregarded when dismissed, when she
    padded away as refined, hunterly sinew carried her weighty frame.

        A girl will weep

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            “ Lord Stark, ‘twould be a shame if friends could
    talk  in  secret  no  more — if a  friend  would  kill  the  other.
    I don’t think that sounds like  true  friendship,” he responds,
    the enigma of a man ever contradicting himself.

 

R U L E

INDEPENDENT
JAQEN H'GHAR
OF GRRM'S
A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.

Y O U R

LOW ACTIVITY.
MULTI-EVERYTHING.
#INFERUXS

F A C E.

PLEASE READ
LINKS 02., 04., AND 06.
BEFORE INTERATCION.