AWAKEN | a playlist for sansa stark and the iron throne (for kirkwoodisinoregon)

This time, when Littlefinger offers something to Sansa, she does not hesitate to take it. Slender fingers close around the out-held cloth with a complicity so deeply and secretly held that she is barely aware that it exists at all. Perhaps heroes do not exist, perhaps men are not honorable; perhaps monsters win. But there are other perhapses as well, Sansa is sure of it, even though she cannot begin to imagine what they are. Songs can lie to the bird that sings them. She has already learned this, and the lesson had been harsh. But perhaps the bird can lie back.

If there is appeal in the prospect, it is bittersweet at best, for somethings — whether they be rules or wishes or dreams — cannot be sloughed cleanly or quickly. Not all creatures grow by the simple shedding of skin. No, some must burrow, others sleep. Some must be consumed. Still others, consume instead.

Sansa finds some these thoughts distasteful, like a slab of raw meat that she is loathe to touch. (My hands are still clean.) To make this point, she gracefully wipes her fingers and then refolds the cloth that was given to her, offering it back to Lord Baelish in turn.

______________________________________

▹ Gaeta’s Lament | Alessandro Juliani, Bear McCreary (x)

But wish no more,
My life you can take,
To have her please just one day wake.
To have her please just one day wake.
To have her please just one day wake.

▹ Turn the Dirt Over | Sea Wolf (x)

You left your brother in a northern town.
Took the ferry o’er the water on the bay.
His body covered by the colors going down.
The statue in the square before the wind could change.

▹ Awaken | Dario Marianelli (x)

( Instrumental )

▹ Overture | Patrick Wolf (x)

Now after all these years, you are at last opening.
Was it worth all that war just to win?
So caught up in the speed of the days in your sin.
Don’t forget how the story begins, no.
Don’t forget now.

▹ Aprés Moi | Regina Spektor (x)

Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочущая слякоть
Весною черною горит.

(translation)
February. Get ink, shed tears!
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.

▹ Horse and I | Bats for Lashes (x)

Came upon the headdress.
It was gilded, dark and golden.
The children sang.
I was so afraid, I took it to my head and prayed.

▹ Woman King | Iron and Wine (x)

Hundred years, hundred more,
Someday we may see,
A woman king,
Sword in hand,
Swing at some evil and bleed.

▹ Goshen | Beirut (x)

You’re on in five, it’s time you rise or fail.
They’ve gone before, stood by your door all day.
For what it’s worth, defend your kind from shame.
The lights are down, go on inside, they’ve paid.
You’re the face in stone, through the land I own.
You never found it home.
You’re not the girl I used to know.
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