chains and whips excite me, man

“I don’t want people to like her anymore, almost, that sounds really, really bad.I want people to realize that actually she’s not the same anymore. You can’t root for her forever, because she’s not there to be your favorite character. That’s not what she’s there for. She’s real. People go down bad paths and they make bad decisions, but it’s always justified in their head. I want the audience to differentiate that and not just be like, ‘Oh, it’s Arya, we love her.’ Because actually look at what Arya’s doing. She’s being eaten away from the inside out, and she’s not stopping it.” - about Arya

#A GAME OF CHILD ACTORS WHO REALLY KNOW THEIR FUCKING CHARACTERS

Go home, child. You have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days.

valar morghulis | valar dohaeris

“You must be as fierce and hard as the North”

If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you can not do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.  

littlebird-:

“Her tears streamed down her face, blinding her. And then a hand shot out of the press and closed round her arm like a wolf trap. Arya was wrenched off her feet. She would have fallen if he hadn’t held her up, as easy as if she were a doll. A face pressed close to hers, long black hair and tangled beard and rotten teeth. ‘Don’t look!’ a thick voice snarled at her. ‘I… I…’ Arya sobbed. ‘Shut your mouth and close your eyes.’ Dimly, as if from far away, she heard a… a noise… a soft sighing sound, as if a million people had let out their breath at once…” 

“We had to throw rocks,” she said miserably. “I told her to run, to go be free, that I didn’t want her anymore. There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so she’d have deer to hunt. Only she kept following, and finally we had to throw rocks. I hit her twice. She whined and looked at me and I felt so ‘shamed, but it was right, wasn’t it? The queen would have killed her…”

Jon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.” Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.” “Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?” He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. Arya ran to him for a last hug. “Put down the sword first,” Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses. The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

“Who is this father of yours, boy, the city rat catcher?”

“The Hand of the King,” Arya told him.

Both men laughed, but then the older one swung his fist at her, casually, as a man would swat a dog, Arya saw the blow coming even before it began. She danced out of the way, untouched. “I’m not a boy,” she spat at them. “I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if you lay a hand on me my lord father will have both your heads on spikes.”