40 Votes in Poll
What's on your mind?
Excuse me, what the ever loving fork?
I was looking at AGOT, and when I looked in Bran's section, I found that there was this guy in the songs known as star-eyed Simon, who put star sapphires in his eyes after he lost them, and fought with a staff with knifes at both ends, which sounds really like Arya's weapon. Maybe it was meant as a nod to her time in Bravvos, when she was blind. Also, it would be part of her arc.
47 Votes in Poll
14 Votes in Poll
42 Votes in Poll
36 Votes in Poll
Who else thinks Sir Duncan and his headstrong squire Egg would be an awesome show if done right keeping to the books (like GOT shld have) ?
Sansa gazed through the falling snow at the white banners flying above the grey stone walls, the direwolf there as it had always been, snarling at the distance at some hidden enemy that she could not see.
The snow landed and piled everywhere: The towers, the walls, the people, and the banners. The direwolf stared into the white nothingness.
Sansa wished Lady was there.
Lady would curl up next to her and lick Sansa’s fingers with her wet tongue, and would wait patiently as Sansa combed her fur. Lady would follow her around, and scare away anyone who dared touch her. Lady would lie under the table as Sansa dined, and beg silently for food. Sansa always gave Lady the food, even if septa Mordane did not allow it.
And now Lady was gone.
It’s my fault, she thought. Mine, and my stupidity. I should have never went with Joffrey on that ride. I should have seen the queen for the monster she was. I should have chased Lady away with rocks as Arya did, she knew. Lady had always been the most tame of the direwolves. A lot of good that did her, she thought bitterly.
The raspy, cruel voice of The Hound echoed through her head. “You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren’t you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite.”
It was true, once, when she was the naïve, innocent girl in King’s Landing. But then, after the girl went to the Vale, then the Boltons, the girl died, and in her place was Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Queen of the North.
Sansa stepped down the stairs, heading for the peace and quiet of the godswood. In there, it was always silent, and even the branches of the weirwoods seemed to notice the presence of the gods, scarcely rustling.
It was as if the godswood was another world, with the pale trees looming above her, their faces glowering down at her. A good world, Sansa thought. A pure one. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped forward and gazed at the faces... She could feel the cold breeze on her face, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of the old days. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams...
She wondered of what became of the Dothraki, the Unsullied. She wondered of what became of The Hound, and his brother, the Mountain. She imagined them getting crushed under the brick buildings, fire flickering around them, and the look of terror on the Hound’s face. She suddenly felt scared.
Not because of their fate. Because that she didn’t care, not anymore.
What have I become? She asked herself. A monster, no different than Joffrey and Cersei. In real life, the monsters win. Did she win?
No more than Daenerys, whose body was carried away by Drogon. No more than Cersei, who was buried in the ruins of her own castle. No more than Jon Snow, who was banished to the wall for ending the life of a tyrant. She was a vulture watching a fight, and she stole away all that the victor had fought so hard for. A crow, feasting on the remains of a battlefield. What would father think of me now?
Her father, Eddard Stark. Always doing the right thing, the honorable thing. And that had proved to be his downfall. He will always be remembered as a evil person, a would-be usurper, Sansa thought sadly. Not the man that he was. I have killed him, no less than Joffrey and Ilyn had. And suddenly the faces of the weirwoods glared down at her, and though they never changed, she felt as if they were angry, the bloodred eyes stern and disapproving . She resisted the urge to run, and backed away from the godswood, step by step, the red eyes following her every move.
Heart trees, she recalled. That was what her father called them. They did not welcome her here, just as they did her mother; she was more Tully than Stark, with her mother’s auburn hair and sky blue eyes. You have your mother’s eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes, Littlefinger had once told her. He was right..He did drown, never to be seen again. She found herself walking in the cold dark crypts, the dead Kings of Winter staring blankly ahead, with eyes of stone. She stopped in front of her father.
It did not look like him.
Aside him, a direwolf of stone stood guard, baring it’s teeth at Sansa. A longsword of steel lay across his lap, half covered in rust, the once shining colors now gone. It should be Ice, Sansa thought sadly. But Ice was no more, and so was Ned Stark, her father.
She looked up at the stony face of a stranger immortalized in stone, the one who was supposed to be her father. No one will know his great deeds, or who he was, anymore. No one but the Starks of Winterfell.
Ironically, that reminded her of the old days, which seemed a different world from now. She remembered going into the crypts with Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Arya. It had been terrifying at her age, and she had followed at the end. A ghost had came out of the coffins, and she had ran… and then she had heard Jon’s laughter, and Arya’s voice: “You stupid! You scared the baby!” Sansa smiled, despite everything.
“Your father was a good man,” a feeble voice suddenly said. Sansa turned to see maester Melwys standing next to her. The old man was remarkably good at catching people by unawares, despite his age.
“What are you doing here?” She blurted out before she could stop herself. Her cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry, I only meant to-“
The ancient maester did not seem to mind. Or hear her, for that matter. His eyes were half closed, and he was swaying slightly from side to side, as if listening to music. When he opened them, Sansa saw that they were a bluish grey, and were as soft as the nighttime clouds.
“You’re…you look like a Stark,” Sansa said, narrowing her eyes. She examined the maester’s solemn face, his long white hair almost floating off his shoulders. “But there are only four left.”
The maester chuckled. “No, but you are close. I was a Karstark, yet many say that I have more Stark blood than Karstark.” He continued to listen to the music that Sansa could not hear. “No one knew of me. I loved to read, and my father disapproved, and exiled me from my house, and the family that my roots hold sway is now gone from both the world and people’s hearts.”
. Sansa tried to think of a reply.
“Listen,” maester Melwys said. “Even now, the wolves still weep for their fallen king.” It was true, Sansa knew; she concentrated on the howls of wolves mixed with the whistling of wind; the sounds were cold and brittle, as if they were mourning. “Their king died?” She asked.
The maester allowed himself a little bitter smile. “A long, long, time ago,” gesturing to the statue.
Sansa felt stupid. She was always the slowest to learn, unlike her sister Arya, but she liked the way the old man thought, because it warmed her heart to know- no, imagine, that the wolves remembered.
“Eddard was a solemn man, seldom smiling. And a honorable man too. Once someone had a promise from him, he would avenge it, and he thought others would do the same. He was wrong.”
“He was,” Sansa said in a small, coarse voice. Jon Snow. “Did he know you?”
“Barely,” the maester replied. “But I knew him well. I would watch as he practiced sword fighting in the yard, and I could even tell him from the sound of his footsteps. Rickard did not let me near him, or any of his children.”
The maester fingered the chain slung across his neck. His shoulders seemed to sag under the weight of it, as if it were made of lead. Sansa could see gold, silver, steel, copper, bronze…and valyrian steel.
“He said that I was filling their heads with stories. They were fake, he told me. I remember that the children loved hearing them, save for Brandon, the oldest. He scoffed at them, and he said that wolves did not listen to such tales, if I remember correctly. Ah, well. At least Lyanna and Benjen did listen, Benjen most intensely of all. Maybe that was why he took the black. And Lyanna, what a fierce girl she was! She was clos-”
He was cut short by a young youth of no more than twenty. “Your…grace…” he panted, looking meekly up at Sansa. “It’s time for you to go back the throne room. I mean, get back to the throne room. I mean,-”
“The queen knows,” maester Melwys replied. “Don’t you, Stark?”
“I…yes.” Maester Melwys, if you please."
The maester bowed respectfully and moved aside for her. Sansa looked at her father one last time, and left for the throne room, with the maester trailing at her heels.
Winterfell had been built over hot springs; the hot water flowed through the walls and the floors like blood flowed through a man’s veins, filling the halls with steam, as it had before.
Sansa sat on a throne of iron, with images of direwolves engraved on it, and many patterns that were smooth to the touch, and it bore no blades as the iron throne had. Sansa did not feel worthy of it, though, no more than she felt worthy of the lady of Winterfell. The carved direwolves glared unwelcoming at her, and she knew why. There had been no queens of winter before.
A peasant was already kneeling on the ground, with tears in his eyes. His face was dirty and streaked with white marks that Sansa assumed were what tears had left on his face, and he wore a simple brown shirt that looked suspiciously like a potato bag.
“Rise,” Sansa told him. She pitied the smallfolk; they had to live with what they had, and they did not have much. The peasant arose, and Sansa saw that his face was swollen and bruised; his nose broken, and he had a black eye. It was gruesome to set her eyes upon; but Sansa forced herself to look. Queens have to handle this everyday. If I cannot bear to see even this, then what kind of queen am I?
“What have you come here for?” Sansa asked. The peasant seemed to be terrified by her voice; he was scared of her. She realized she must lower her voice down, and that was what she did. “What is your name?”
“I…I …I mean… my…name is… Cregan, if…if it please your…your…grace.” Cregan was shaking so badly that Sansa feared he might fall.
“Why have you come here?” Sansa asked softly. Cregan lifted his eyes to look at her, and whispered: “Raiders.” Sansa could see his eyes darting from left to right, as if the raiders were in this room, waiting for him.
“Raiders,” Sansa said. What could they want from the people?” “How many?”
“M…more than…fifty…your…your grace. A…all armed in…castle forged steel.”
Fifty, Sansa thought. All in castle-forged steel. They must be sent from some lord, but Winterfell is not a place famous for their riches. “Why? What did they do?”
“They murdered our women and children with knifes, and stole goods from the corpses. Then…then they just disappeared. There seemed to be a leader, though. A tall, thin man, all in black, with a hood pulled over his face.”
“Double the city guards,” Sansa raised her voice so all could hear. “And send Ser Simon and his men after a band of outlaws. The leader is a tall, thin man. If you see them, follow them at a distance, until you are sure that they are the same raiders that attacked last night.”
In real life, the monsters win. But not this one, I won’t let him. He will get what he gave to those people. He will pay, and I will not stop before he does. So what if I am a monster? As long as I devour other monsters and protect my children, I am not entirely heartless. Not good, but not ruthless either.
“Daggers…? Did the corpses, by any chance, have their faces removed?” Maester Melwys suddenly asked.
“Well… yes. Half of them.”
“Faceless men,” Sansa heard Melwys mutter under his breath. “A half-trained one, perhaps? Not likely, but still…”
“Make sure that the people get their earnings back. Two stags for every man, woman, and children who were robbed.” Sansa could see that the man’s jaw was opened in surprise. “If you do not have any other matters, you may leave.”
“Thank…thank y…you, your grace,” Cregan’s eyes were wide as he scrambled to his feet. “I w… will always be in you…your debt.” He disappeared behind the doors.
More people came and went, most telling of the outlaw band that attacked. Sansa listened, and consoled them, and listened, and paid them for their losses, and listened, and listened some more, until the noon sun was beginning to darken. Only then did Sansa arise to have meals.
She stood, and walked as queenly as she could to the door. Step by step, she felt the warmth of the stones even through her shoes, and she did not feel cold anymore. This was home to her. This was Winterfell, warm and safe and comfortable. No one- not the Lannisters, not the Boltons, not the Greyjoys, absolutely no one, could ever breach these grey walls, Sansa knew; she belonged here. Her mother, her father, Robb, Rickon, Bran, even Arya and Jon belonged here, safe and happy beyond it’s great stone walls. The sound of laughter once echoed through this very hall, Sansa thought. But now it was devoid of any sound, save for her own steps.
Clang. Sansa’s foot hit something metallic and cold, definitely not a part of the floor. She lifted her foot and saw the glint of iron, suppressed into a small disc, tiny and unsignificant, yet at the same time, seeming to glow with power, the crude carving somehow frightening. Sansa’s curiosity got the better of her, and she knelt and picked it up, in plain sight of all the lords and ladies.
A iron coin. The iron coin of Bravvos.
No. No, no, no no, no, no no no.
Littlefinger died here, this exact same spot. Littlefinger was supposed to be dead.
Littlefinger is alive, but he’s dead, I saw him die…Sansa stood immediately, scanning the room for those she knew. “Where was Littlefinger buried?”
Sir Dontos blinked. “He was buried in-”
I need to go, now, never mind the outlaws, never mind the thieves, never mind ANYTHING! Littlefinger is alive, and the north now faces a threat bigger than anything. “Never mind that. Bring me there, along with a few men with shovels. Now. Maester Melwys, you come too.”
The poor knight looked confused. “Your grace, may I ask-”
“No!” Sansa yelled, with a fierceness in her she knew existed. “Now!” She could see lords and ladies looking like her like she was crazy, and she hoped she was, but she didn’t care. She left, turning the coin in her hands as she went.
Sansa arrived by horse, and even though she rode her horse as fast as she could, and it only took a few minute, it still felt like an eternity. When she got there, she commanded the men to dig.
Sir Dontos stared at her as if she was a tyrant. “Your Grace, are you sure-”
Sansa was about to yell at him again, but she regained her composure. It’s just Littlefinger. Just Littlefinger. But what was Littlefinger? “You will do as I command.”
Dirt flew from the grave, and the passing people gave her strange looks, but she didn’t care. The ground sunk deeper and deeper as more and more dirt were shoveled away. And suddenly Sansa saw armored crows digging at her grave. She blinked, and they were only men again, scratching away at a mound of dirt. She wanted to jump into the hole herself, to dig at the grave with her nails, and see for herself what secrets were buried within.
Finally, the sound of dirt falling stopped, and Sansa knelt down to see who- or what, was within. A hooded figure, motionless in the ground, yet somehow not decayed. A black shawl covered his or her face, and Sansa brushed it away.
A stranger’s face stared back at her, her glassy blue eyes seeming to mock her, her long blonde hair curled around her neck as if to strangle herself. Not Littlefinger. And in the folds of her clothes…
“Faces,” Maester Melwys whispered, seemingly horrified.
Littlefinger had escaped. He always had some way to weasel out of every mess that he had caused, and he had weaseled out of this one too. I should have known. I’m stupid, Sansa thought.
She remembered Littlefinger, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei’s ear. Littlefinger, who had started the war between the Starks and the Lannisters. Littlefinger, who had captured her father, and brought him to the dungeons only to be beheaded. Littlefinger, who betrayed her mother though she once saved her life. Littlefinger, who pushed her aunt Lysa through the moon door. Littlefinger, who tried to pit Arya against her, before disappearing once more.
“Ready the horses. Send letters to the lords and ladies of the Six Kingdoms, and the Wall.” Sansa thought a bit. “And Arya, too.”
Hey people, this is my first time writing and if you see anything wrong, or something you don't like, (Littlefinger is mean, but he plays a big part in the events) then tell me in the comments!
I think that Dany will go (kind of ) crazy in the books, like she does in the show, but it'll be "helped" by some person, like Melisandre "helping" Stannis. For example, by the red priestess we saw for about one episode that disappeared right after. It (kind of ) makes sense, because Dany is somewhere in Essos (I think) , and the Red god is also worshiped in Essos, and in the show we see that the red priestess thinks that Dany is Azor Ahai, so she might make her burn people and stuff, like Melisandre did with Stannis. Also, Dany's family's words were “blood and fire”, and the priestesses both use blood magic(shown by Melisandre) and they burn people(so kindly shown by Melisandre again). And Dany happens to have three human eating, fire-breathing dragons.
68 Votes in Poll
"My lord. It's been 6 months since we received word of her disappearance. It is...unlikely that she will return from. Wherever she went." The maester was choosing his words and tone carefully as to not upset or lose the attention of Gendry. " you need an heir my lord. There are many worthy pairs available to you. You are the last Baratheon. It is, time my lord." The maester did his best to be sensitive and honest about the situation. Gendry slowly turned to face the maester. He knew he spoke the truth of things.
" Send a raven to Lord Ashwood at the Dreadfort. Tell him I wish to meet his daughter. No. Wait. Do not tell him that. Tell him instead I wish to meet with him to discuss the Den. It's a castle turned prison. I wish to turn it to a center of trade. I wish to rebuild it as such. Inform him we will arrive after the ceremony. I will have the opportunity to meet his daughter then. But let's not bring expectations. " His voice was soft and sullen.
"As you wish my lord. Though a few notes before I go. First matter is they no longer refer to it as the dreadfort. They felt it to be to harsh a name for a family house. It's known by the name winterwoods. Second. When you meet with Lord Ashwood and his daughter, perhaps not seeming so damn miserable might make your presence more enjoyable. For everyone. " Gendry shot the maester an unamused stare. "Send the raven." The maester bowed his head as he pulled close the door behind him. Gendry stepped to the window to view the ocean as if he were hoping to see her sailing in to port. One last desperate glance.
"Your grace. Your sister has arrived. Shall I bring her to you?"
"No. I will receive her in the throne room. "
"As it pleases you, your grace. However, why do we still call it the throne room? After all there is no throne, that is accept the one you roll around in. Why don't we call something better, something like the..." Tyrion was cut short by the glare Bran sent him.
"Before we go. Do we know when our master of coin will make himself present? I grow tired of always searching for him. Will he at least make the celebration? The ceremony seems not to be his priority. I'm wondering if he is the right person for the job. "
"In all the years I've known Bronn, he has never missed an opportunity for free wine or gold. Not that we are giving away gold, but he will find some way to hustle some poor souls purse. Probably many poor souls purses. As far as being the right person for the job. The crown owes no debt. That is something I can say I have never seen in my existence. "
"Fine. I will receive my sister now."
"Very well. To the throne room. " Tyrion opened the door so that Bran could roll out of the room and make his way to the throne room.
"Hello brother. "
"Sister. I trust you traveled well."
"I did, thank you. " Sansa had not been to kings landing since her brother had been appointed protector of the realm. She still couldn't get past his cold empty emotionless way.
"Boren, show my sister to her room so that she can get settled after her long travels. The city is yours sister. Anything you need, just ask."
"Thank you Bran. Your hospitality is appreciated."
Sansa spent what was left of the afternoon touring the gardens with her children. She showed them all the southern flowers, herbs, and decorative vines that can't grow in the north.
"WELL WELL WELL. You must be young Ed. My you are such a big boy, how old are you now? 10 maybe?" Tyrion's smile and jubilant demeanor made young Ed smile. They called him young Ed because he looked of his grandfather. He was all stark save the red highlights in his black hair.
"Im six my lord." His soft but firm voice boasted his pride.
"Six you say. Well perhaps its the direction I see you from that makes you look so much older, or perhaps it's all those muscles. " the boy flext his arm with gleeful pride and Tyrion gave him a satisfied look.
"And you. You must be Lyanna. Your beauty my dear is unmatched by any that an eye has seen." Tyrion turned as his words came from his tongue as kissed the little girls hand, making a princess feel like a queen. She looked every bit a Tully save the black hair of the starks. "Now. There are some rules that must never be broken here in the capital. It is very important see. I am hand of the king, don't ever ever call me that. You will call me..."
"Uncle Tyrion " Sansa interrupted. Tyrion smiled and may possibly have even blushed a bit at the honor.
"Uncle Tyrion. 2nd if there is anything you need, you need just ask me. And lastly, but by far the most important of all. If at the end of each meal, and sometimes in between, if you do not have a sweet or two, then I'm going to have to punish the servants." The children cheered joyfully at Tyrion. Sansa gave him a warm welcoming smile. Tyrion gave Sansa a hug. There was no need for formalities between them.
"Aren't you glad now?" Sansa asked a bit playfully
"Glad about what my lady?"
"If you are not to be called hand, I'm not to be called my lady. And glad our marriage wasn't consummated?"
"Well it would seem it worked out fine for both of us. Will your husband be joining us?"
"No. There are matters in the north that need dealing with. Only one of us could be here to see you wed. I wasn't going to miss it." Tyrion walked with Sansa for some time. They enjoyed each others company after all they had endured together. Tyrion's wife would arrive in two days from the twins under the escort of ser Davos Seaworth. He was lord of the twins now. He preferred an ocean view, but at least he had the river. It was his bastard daughter who would marry Tyrion. They had met while the remaining Frey's were being forced out of their ancestral home. Elarra was later legitimized and named heir to the twins.
She sat tired and alone. She was dirty and unkempt. Her hair in knots and tangled. 6 months had passed since she thought she cast a spell to take her home. The ancient symbols on her wrists had glowed and burned, and yet nothing. No ships had come. No doubt the word had spread of the absence of treasures on the island. The men would have been bitching about how hard they worked and how much they did only to find nothing. No one would bother to come here again. She had no magic abilities that could help her leave. She was truly stranded. Losing hope. She often wondered why she bothered to summon food anymore. Many days as she climbed through the forest and up the mountain she thought of jumping off the cliffs and plummeting to her death. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. She had stopped practicing her water dancing. She mostly slept, and ate when she felt like it.
The sun was hot at midday. No clouds to be seen. She sat slumped over in the dirt of the village she had created. The heat was intense and her water had run out. She didn't care to fill it. She thought " Today will be the day that I die." Then a shadow passed over her quickly. By the time she had put forth enough effort to look up, whatever it was had passed. She returned to looking down at the dry dusty dirt. The shadow passed again. This time Arya didn't bother to look. Minutes later she heard the dreadful screech, and seconds after that the winds were pushing against her back as the dust stirred up all around her nearly choking her out. She sprang to her feet turning to face what she new was behind her.
51 Votes in Poll
This is to any of the Game of thrones wiki moderators. Is there any thing at all we can do about the bots promoting websites and other company's. Or something you guys can do. It is getting very irritating and exhausting in all of our discussions.
60 Votes in Poll
Everybody was gathered at the feast. Small Council, Kingsguard, Bran, Arya, and her Queensguard, Syrio, Aelor and Baelar all feasted together.
"I'd like to raise a cup for Arya of House Stark, Hero of Winterfell, Sister of King of Six Kingdoms and Queen in the North. Eh, fuck the titles, let's drink." Tyrion announced and took a long sip of dornish wine.
There was so much food at the table that Arya couldn't name all of them. So many exotic fruits, ale, wine, meat, and bread."
"Eat and drink for your lives. All of this costed many golden dragons. How much it was, Master of Coin?" Tyrion asked.
"I didn't count," Bronn replied while eating. "Probably nothing, besides who cares? This is a feast and we are celebrating. You shouldn't worry that much, we have money thanks to my brothels. The finest girls from Lys, easy money to the crown."
"No no, that's not how Master of Coin keeps a record of crown's money! We must know where the money goes and where it comes from."
"It comes from my brothels and the Reach. The wine sells fine and gold mines remove our worries. So drink, eat and whore, because I will after this feast. Our guests are warmly welcome to share those pleasures."
"You should get a proper wife. Redwynes and Hightowers are willing to offer their daughters for you, Davos criticized. House Blacksteel* ends before it even started without heirs."
"I have learned that a wife can be like a spike in the arse and damn children want your lands and lofty titles." Bronn sighed.
"That's true only if you have a family like me where children are inbred and everybody hates each other. Trust me, I know a thing or two about it. For example, my sister and King Robert never loved each other." Tyrion spoke sense to Bronn.
"Fine, I'll take a wife. Are you happy now? No more whores. Damn it, I must be a fool when I believe you two."
People ate, drank and had fun. Arya told about her stories and everybody listened interested. Even Brienne had fun, she discussed fighting and swords with the valyrians who were quite excited about her Oathkeeper.
"I'm going to bed, we must continue our journey tomorrow and ships must be ready. Baelar, you watch that everything goes right." Arya ordered.
"Yes, my Queen. Anything else?" He asked.
Arya went to the bedroom which was luxurious, but less than a one in New Valyria. She woke up early in the morning and ate a couple of fruits and saw from the window how soldiers stowed the ships.
"Morning, you are awake," Tyrion said.
"I have to leave early if I want to see my sister."
"Will you stop at Storm's End? He loves you, gave his men to you.
"I can't after what happened, I broke his heart." She sighed.
"Yes, you did, but Gendry hasn't met any women after you left. I have to admit that he's quite a man, no whores and he drinks less than Robert. Oh, but he loves fighting, Gendry trains every day and knows how to use a hammer. To be honest, Lord of Storm's End is the most desirable man in Westeros. Every house in Westeros and Essos offer their daughters to him and every one has failed. Redwynes, Hightowers, dornish, noblemen from Pentos, Volantis and Braavos, all of them. Pentosi nobleman offered million golden dragons, but Gendry rejected the offer. His daughter was Blackfyre descendant, imagine that beauty: silver hair and purple eyes. Every man would kill to see her."
"I don't know if he is stupid or in love with me."
"Aren't those the same thing? You know that some men of House Baratheon can't think clearly when they are in love."
"Sure, that's why Robert started his rebellion. Because Rhaegar loved my aunt and he couldn't live with it."
"I'm afraid that Gendry's fate might be the same, his army is the strongest and vassals support him. If someone kidnapped you, he would crush him to death.
"The things we do for love."
"Yes, and it's sad. You remind me of someone. She had nothing and then she had an army. I still wonder how you ended up commanding 50 ships with 4500 men."
"It's not much, but it's a good start."
A couple of hours later ships were ready to sail. Arya walked into the harbor where everybody waited for her.
"Good morning, your grace. We are ready and men cannot wait." Baelar said.
"Yes, we are leaving. I want to thank King of Six Kingdoms for his hospitality. It was nice to meet you brother. Farewell if we don't see again." Arya hugged Bran and shed a tear.
"You never know, maybe we'll meet. When stones are together, blood is dry and the wolf has eaten an elephant." Bran stated mysteriously
*House Blacksteel is Bronn's new Great House, since he hadn't surname he created it. Blacksteel mirrors Bronn's history as sellsword and an fighter. Sigil of House Blacksteel is flaming arrow. Bronn's personal sigil is two black swords crossed and an bloody skull. Their words are: We follow no one
65 Votes in Poll