On a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a sceptre, and his eyes followed Dany with mute appeal.
No sooner had the music died than she heard Joffrey say, “It’s time to bed them! Let’s get the clothes off her, and have a look at what the she-wolf’s got to give my uncle!” Other men took up the cry, loudly.
Her dwarf husband lifted his eyes slowly from his wine cup. “I’ll have no bedding.”
Joffrey siezed Sansa’s arm. “You will if I command it.”
The Imp slammed his dagger down in the table, where it stood quivering. “Then you’ll service your own bride with a wooden prick. I’ll geld you, I swear it.”
The object of the game is to checkmate the opponent’s King by placing it under threat of capture which cannot be avoided.
#NOTHING MAKES ME HAPPIER THAN PEOPLE GETTING CHESS METAPHORS RIGHT #the pawn; least powerful piece on the board— but with one wild move and if you get it to the end it can become the most powerful #the bishop; amazing range but can only move on it’s color— a piece that will surprise you #the knight; the irrational piece— hardest to predict #the rook; who guards the king— a long range piece #the king; the ultimate goal— but can’t do the work itself #the queen; the most powerful piece on the board— the only piece that doesn’t emulate it in some way is the knight
As an ASoIaF fan and a (one time) tournament chess player, this makes me a happy lady.
the Stark family (green) → asked by flushwithcash
They say he came back from the dead the last and littlest of the Stark pups. I’ve seen him and I say hell spat him out. The Onion Knight brought him back from Skagos, a damned place. Seaworth led him out of the bones and ash and brought him back to Winterfell. His brother may have been the King in the North, but that one is the North. His eyes are like ice, his moods as sudden and furious as a winter storm. The weirwood trees weep as he walks by. They say the trees whisper his name.
He does not pay much heed to the whispering of trees. He does not pay heed to much of anything, except for the howl of his wolf and the screams of his prisoners. Those he seems to like. They light up those ice eyes and he looks like the Stranger himself. Beware the rage of the Black Wolf, there is little else in him but that. Whatever Southern blood the boy had from his Tully mother is long gone. That boy is more wolf than anything.
And wolves rule winter with gleaming teeth and sharp claws.
Beware the Black Wolf