My slightly more grown up Tumblr where I blog about all things medieval can be found here.
Once, in a online chat with fans, JK Rowling revealed that the third scent Hermione could smell emanating from the Amortentia was that of Ron Weasley’s hair. [ x ]
“Your duty is with your people,’ he answered.
“Too often have I heard of duty,” she cried. “But am I not of the house of Eorl, a shield-maiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?”
“Few may do that with honour,” he answered. “But as for you, lady: did you not accept the charge to govern the people until their lord’s return. If you had not been chosen, then some marshal or captain would have been set in the same place, and he could not ride away from his charge, were he weary of it or no.”
“Shall I always be chosen,” she said bitterly. “Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return?”
THEN I’M LIKE:
∆ movies: Titanic (1997)
It’s been 84 years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams, and it was. It really was.