Asoaif Meta - Tumblr Posts
Not sure if the proposed order is mandatory but yeah that's the basic syllabus
Studying the hundred years war so I can study the war of the roses so I can read Shakespeare so I can read Macchiavelli so I can study the 30 Years War so I can appreciate Rembrandt so I can understand the rise of colonialism as a means of European hegemony so I can read Victor Hugo so I can read Marx so I can read Edward Said so I can read Dune so I can read Fevre Dream so I can read ASOIAF so I can write au fanfiction on the internet
This is really, really good. Arya seems fated to meet Lady Stoneheart and (I believe) kill her/give her the gift of mercy. The reason is just not as straightforward as you thought.
arya meeting lady stoneheart is about closure. it’s about coming full circle. its about the cycle of life and death and rebirth. it’s about family. it’s about purpose. its about mercy and justice and grief and, yes, vengeance. but i don’t think its in a “ohh arya needs to learn revenge is bad” sort of way and i seriously doubt thats the effect this meeting will have, at least from the character’s perspective.
arya already knows revenge doesn’t make her feel any better. she’s under no illusions about that. she associates the ability to kill with survival and with good reason because, for better or worse, that what it means.
Arya edged farther into the room. Joffrey’s dead. She could almost see him, with his blond curls and his mean smile and his fat soft lips. Joffrey’s dead! She knew it ought to make her happy, but somehow she still felt empty inside. Joffrey was dead, but if Robb was dead too, what did it matter? (Arya, ASOS)
arya is aware that joffrey dying didn’t bring robb back nor did it make her happy. she still feels empty. in her own way this is fairly similar to the comments made by catelyn and ellaria - grown women and mothers with a lot more life experience then her.
Continuar lendo
Love Life Parallels
What is love? Desire?
Dany ran her hand down his back, tracing the line of his spine. His skin was smooth beneath her touch, almost hairless. His skin is silk and satin. She loved the feel of him beneath her fingers. She loved to run her fingers through his hair, to knead the ache from his calves after a long day in the saddle, to cup his cock and feel it harden against her palm.
“I love the smell of you,” he said. “I love your red hair. I love your mouth, and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. I love your teats.” He kissed them, one and then the other. “I love your skinny legs, and what’s between them.”
Dany loved the way his gold tooth gleamed when he grinned.
She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love.
Dreaming of love and home:
In her dream they had been man and wife, simple folk who lived a simple life in a tall stone house with a red door. In her dream he had been kissing her all over—her mouth, her neck, her breasts.
When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him
Regretting love:
Did he love her, truly? Did he hate her for marrying Hizdahr? I should never have taken him into my bed. He was only a sellsword, no fit consort for a queen, and yet … I knew that all along, but I did it anyway.
Every day he spent among the wildlings made what he had to do that much harder. He was going to have to find some way to betray these men, and when he did they would die. He did not want their friendship, any more than he wanted Ygritte’s love. And yet …
Avoiding Love:
She found herself thinking of Daario Naharis once again, Daario with his gold tooth and trident beard, his strong hands resting on the hilts of his matched arakh and stiletto, hilts wrought of gold in the shape of naked women. The day he took his leave of her, as she was bidding him farewell, he had brushed the balls of his thumbs lightly across them, back and forth. I am jealous of a sword hilt, she had realized, of women made of gold. Sending him to the Lamb Men had been wise. She was a queen, and Daario Naharis was not the stuff of kings.
He wondered about Ygritte as well, and told himself that way lay madness.
Yet he was growing fond of Tormund Giantsbane, great bag of wind and lies though he was. Longspear as well. And Ygritte … no, I will not think about Ygritte.
Flustered Fools:
“The girl wants you in her, that’s plain enough to see.“ Too bloody plain, thought Jon, and it seems that half the column has seen it. He studied the falling snow so Tormund might not see him redden. I am a man of the Night’s Watch, he reminded himself. So why did he feel like some blushing maid?
She always felt a little foolish when she was with Daario. Gawky and girlish and slow-witted. What must he think of me?
Fear of Betrayal:
He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark’s son and a man of the Night’s Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk.
Just three nights ago she had dreamed of Daario lying dead beside the road, staring sightlessly into the sky as crows quarreled above his corpse. Other nights she tossed in her bed, imagining that he’d betrayed her, as he had once betrayed his fellow captains in the Stormcrows.
Differences that Matter:
I know one thing. I know that you are wildling to the bone. It was easy to forget that sometimes, when they were laughing together, or kissing. But then one of them would say something, or do something, and he would suddenly be reminded of the wall between their worlds.
Daario was war and woe. Henceforth, she must keep him out of her bed, out of her heart, and out of her. If he did not betray her, he would master her. She did not know which of those she feared the most.
Moral Differences:
The man is dead. What matter if it is my hand that slays him? One cut would do it, quick and clean
He turned his back on the man. “No.“
Three quick strides, and she yanked the old man’s head back by the hair and opened his throat from ear to ear. Even in death, the man did not cry out. "You know nothing, Jon Snow!”
[…]
How could he explain Ygritte to them? She’s warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. “She’s with Styr, but she’s not … she’s young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she …” She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy.
“Then winkle them out of their pyramids on some pretext. A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to Hizdahr and all the Great Masters will come to see you married. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon them.”
Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. “Do you take me for the Butcher King?”
“Better the butcher than the meat. All kings are butchers. Are queens so different?”
"This queen is.”
Gave up hope for Love:
She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman’s pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon?
A ragged cheer went up. Zei grabbed Owen by the hands, spun him around in a circle, and gave him a long wet kiss right there for all to see. She tried to kissJon too, but he held her by the shoulder and pushed her gently but firmly away. “No,” he said. I am done with kissing.