#trnslatr

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄  : 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝  𝐦𝐞  ‘  ✌  ’  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐢’𝐥𝐥  𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞  𝐚  𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜  𝐨𝐟  𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞  .  ➣ @trnslatr

                        it isn’t the kind o’ conversation,    no,    that gendry thinks he's often pulled in.    most o’ the time,    the tales o’ the knights he’ll mend their armours for,    or the lords he shape their steels ‘n exchange for a few coins,   they would come bearin’ him stories o’ their victories.    maybe some poker game they’ve won a few nights b’fore,    o’ the girl they’ve slept with who wasn’t at all their wives.     others,   were tales o’ battles:    of how their hearts had sung a thunderous sort o’ storm under their chest,    and how they’ve slashed their enemies dead t’ the ground.     either way,    ‘t wasn’t intelligent talks,   no.    lots o’ hums and grunts whenever gendry needs t’ respond,   aye    -   ‘t almost catches him off-guard.    he’d just said what he said t’ say somethin’ probably,   fillin’ the air o’ tension he knows are in existent ‘tween folks o’ the south and those from ‘cross the sea,    as he helps her fit into the armour he’d just assisted in fixin’.

                     she    -    is nice.    soft t’ listen to.    if gendry had met her any other times,    he’d mistaken her for a lady easily,    he would think.    or maybe she is.    he’s not too sure the customs they’ve got,   truly,   from essos.    but an advisor t’ a queen    -     that should mean somethin’.    gendry ought t’ bow,    really;   and he does,    a little:   his head is always down,   and his eyes    -    they n’ver quite met hers out o’ respect.    or maybe fear.     in his head,   he could still hear his master’s warning:    keep yer’ gaze down,   boy!    talkin’ to ‘em lords and ladies,   ‘nless ye’ want yer head off the next morning.

        ‘      ye’ve no reason t’ be afraid,    though.    you’ll be by the crypts   -   safest place ‘nybody could be.    ’     at this,    he adjusts a strap t’ her shoulders o’ her back.    frownin’ when he sees the hinge o’ metal not quite workin’ right.      ‘      though if it’ll help ease your mind,   m’lady,   ye’ can take a knife.    we’ve plenty to spare,   we do.     ’

me, through my tears: shut the fuckaroo up (iloveyoubb)

but now i need to give y’all codenames to tell y’all apart ok u ready

 ❛ WHEN I OFFERED WATER to one of the slaves dying on the walk of punishment, do you know what he said to me? .. ‘let me die.’ ❜

❛     does it hurt when i do this ?   ——    ❜

           ❛  —   yes!   ❜     it appears that 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐘 for defending winterfell against the army of the dead.   dislocating one’s shoulder should not be advised when taking down a giant.   thankfully, missandei is here to piece her back together again.      ❛  gods, thank you.   it appears i now have my arm back.  ❜

the  song  you  sing  with  such  uncanny  abandon  and  delight...     i’ve  never  heard  it.      where  did  you  learn  it?

“how are you liking winterfell?”     she asks,  when they’re alone.   it’s a rare thing,  admittedly;   sansa preoccupied with her people,  with lords and ladies and the inevitable.   the other woman stood at the  dragon queen’s  side more often than not.   she looks at her,  then.   makes it clear that she was talking to her.   sansa is aware that her...   hesitations are obvious,  that she doesn’t hide the way that she is wary of daenerys targaryen and her dragons.   those that follow her.   they are inside winterfell’s walls,  though.   that makes them her responsibility as much as the people of the north.   she needs to keep them all alive,  fed,  warm.   it’s getting difficult with the winter.     “if you need anything,  please do let me know.   the winter is affecting even those used to the snow,  as of late.”

  her  beauty,  her  grace,  overall  --   it  was  memorizing  for  the  young woman  she wishes  one  day  she  can  follow  in  her  foot  steps.

  “ missandei,  you  are  so  special.  ”