because you’re a lannister: probably the contents of tywin’s ipod.
the rains of castamere - the national | rains of castamere - malukah | the rains of castamere - karliene | the rains of castamere (dronelife cover) - irisarri | the rains of castamere (red wedding edition) (cover) - dan becker | the rains of castamere - major revan | the rains of castamere - alannamatty | father figure - george michael
She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night. She would sooner sit bathed in the ruddy glow of her red lord’s blessed flames, her cheeks flushed by the wash of heat as if by a lover’s kisses. Some nights she drowsed, but never for more than an hour. One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams. Melony, she thought. Lot Seven.