Love is a weapon brought to bear. Love is blood spilled without remorse, and a kiss that’s so sweet they can ignore the taste of copper underneath.

[a tribute to dornish women; sainted, besmirched, or misunderstood] Doran went still in a temper; cold, steady as the mountain passes in the moments before lightning struck. Oberyn raged, louder than any storm. Elia smiled, thin and small, and struck.

Jonelle’s a bastard, right? So she’ll be at the back of the tent when Robert asks Sansa what happened with Joffrey and Arya and Nymeria. She’ll hear Sansa’s soft, quiet whisper- I didn’t see- and Arya’s scream, she’ll hear Cersei’s sentence, her father’s answer. And Jonelle’s as righteous and angry as Jon ever is, and so she doesn’t hesitate to turn around and leave, to use Robb’s parting gift to her- a sharp-edged Valyrian steel imitation dagger- to smash open Ghost’s and Lady’s chains and chase them away. [In which Jon Snow is Jonelle Snow, and goes south with her sisters.]

The day her mother gives birth to a horse is the day Persephone decides that she really needs a plan.