#Slayed the house down eddard could never

[duchess-of-oldtown]

Say what you will about Tywin Lannister, the man served absolute ✨cunt✨ in very scene

#Tywin served more than just house Lannisters interest #Tywin walked so Jaime could run #He commited atrocities yes but he eat every fucking scene up #Slayed the house down eddard could never #House Lannister #tywin lannister #Lord Tywin Lannister #the westerlands #House stark #valyrian scolls #Asoiaf #ASOIAF meta #Jaime Lannister #Game of thrones

[jedimaesteryoda]

Jaime’s story losing his hand in A Storm of Swords is effectively Samuel Coleridge’s long narrative poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” The poem follows an old sailor telling a tale to a random stranger about his trials after impulsively killing a friendly albatross his ship had come upon when trapped in ice. Jaime’s journey follows after killing Aerys, his noted sin among Westerosi society. However, at the start of the series, Jaime had impulsively pushed a child out the window at Winterfell, a sin akin to killing the innocent seabird. Both their acts change the course of their lives.

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist.

- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

"He swore a vow to protect his king's life with his own. Then he opened that king's throat with a sword." "Seven hells, someone had to kill Aerys!" Robert said, reining his mount to a sudden halt beside an ancient barrow. "If Jaime hadn't done it, it would have been left for you or me."

-AGOT, Eddard II

The fellow crew of the ship though initially condemning of the Mariner’s act of killing the albatross, later condone his actions. His actions mark him as a cursed man while his crew’s condoning of that action end up cursing them as well. Robert and House Lannister condone Jaime’s action of killing Aerys and the murder of Rhaegar’s children by Tywin. 

The Mariner’s sin results in him and his crew being cursed, and Jaime’s actions result in himself, the kings he raised up and his family being cursed.  The crew dies condemned as a result while Robert is gored by a boar, Tywin is killed on the privy by his son, Cersei and Jaime’s kids are fated to die and House Lannister’s regime is doomed to fall.

Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.

. . .

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony.

. . .

But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.

-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

His hand burned.

Still, still, long after they had snuffed out the torch they'd used to sear his bloody stump, days after, he could still feel the fire lancing up his arm, and his fingers twisting in the flames, the fingers he no longer had.

. . .

His hand was always between them. Urswyck had hung it about his neck on a cord, so it dangled down against his chest

-ASOS, Jaime IV

Like the Mariner, Jaime carries the hand he used to kill Aerys and push Bran out a window as an albatross around his neck. The people he remembers from when he was inducted into the Kingsguard are all dead while he lives in agony both literal in the pain from losing his hand and figurative with the turmoil and marginalization from being labeled “Kingslayer.” 

The Mariner found himself in “life in death.” He is stranded on a cursed ship alone, having lost God’s grace to the point he cannot pray and seemingly hopeless. Jaime himself felt truly alone after killing Aerys. He couldn’t confide in anyone, not his fellow brothers of the Kingsguard nor even his sister-lover Cersei or his brother Tyrion. His act of kingslaying isolated him.

'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say— What manner of man art thou?' Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free.

-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The Mariner confesses to a Hermit on his journey home, and in doing so relieves him of his guilt. Jaime ultimately feels compelled to tell his story to another like the Mariner does, and tells his story behind killing Aerys to Brienne. 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

. . .

O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware.

-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

"Blue is a good color on you, my lady," Jaime observed. "It goes well with your eyes." She does have astonishing eyes.

-ASOS, Jaime IX

What allows the Mariner to gain salvation is by “blessing unaware” the creatures he originally derided as “slimy,” recognizing the beauty in them. Jaime sees the beauty and worth in the woman he originally derided as “ugly” and “stupid,” thinking she has beautiful eyes, gives her his Valyrian sword and goes in to rescue her at risk to his own life like a knight rescuing a fair maiden in a song.

#asoiaf #samuel coleridge-taylor #rime of the ancient mariner #jaime lannister #the rime of the ancient mariner #brienne

[butterflies-dragons]

do you know if anyone wrote meta about Jon and Littlefinger being foils? like both were raised in a paramount house next to the lord's children, forced out it in their teens thanks to a betrothal, started from the bottom and climbed to the top, wanted to be loved by catelyn. I'm not smart enough to figure out how LF's relationship w Sansa will be a foil to Jonsa by myself, do you know if someone wrote anything?

I wrote about it here and there:

Jon Snow and Petyr Baelish

Jon and Petyr were raised along with Tully girls (Sansa, Catelyn and Lysa).

Jon and Petyr loved redhead girls (Ygritte, Catelyn) that are described as half-fish (Ygritte’s swimming skills and Tully sigil).

Jon and Petyr lost their virginity with redhead girls (Ygritte, Lysa).

Being a legitimate Stark and inheriting Winterfell is Jon’s deepest desire, while Petyr conspired the fall of House Stark.

Jon and Petyr have Bael the Bard imagery around them. Bael the bard abducted the Rose of Winterfell, Rhaegar abducted Lyanna Stark (Jon’s mother), and Petyr abducted Sansa Stark. Bael and Rhaegar were harp players, while Petyr spread lies in his favor through songs (A harp can be as dangerous as a sword, in the right hands —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI).

Unlike Petyr’s forced kisses, Sansa associates “snow” with lover’s kisses (Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII).

Unlike Petyr, that has used the godswoods of the Red Keep and the Eyrie, to lie and trap Sansa, and is an awful replacement as a father figure for Sansa, Jon would never lie to Sansa in front of the old gods, like Ned taught him (Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.” —A Clash of Kings - Jon II).

Littlefinger is grooming Sansa, forcing sexual advances on her, and those started during the snow castle scene. The symbolic image of a giant invading Winterfell also plays as an innuendo (“May I come into your castle, my lady?” Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …” “… gentle?” He smiled. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII). Sansa defended herself with “a handful of snow” (Sansa […] grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII).

From: THE BLACK PRINCE WITH THE WHITE GUARDIAN - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, the Tourney at Ashford Meadow and the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

* * *

3. Petyr Baelish

Littlefinger was never at Winterfell or the godswood, but he feels a deep hatred for the castle, he always dreamed of Winterfell as Catelyn’s dark and cold prison:

He walked along outside the walls. “I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Littlefinger is the cause of the War of the Five Kings that killed Sansa’s parents and older brother and separated her remaining siblings. The war also caused the fall of Winterfell that was, invaded, sacked and burned by the Greyjoys and Boltons.

But there is a connection between Littlefinger, Winterfell and the godswood. Littlefinger has involved Sansa in several murders, Joffrey’s and Lysa’s being the more important (Dontos and Marillion also suffered murder and mutilation). The King’s murder was planned in the Red Keep’s goodswood, and Lysa’s murder was a direct consequence of Petyr kissing Sansa in the Eyrie’s goodswood.

Now Littlefinger is grooming Sansa, forcing sexual advances on her, and those started during the snow castle scene. The symbolic image of a giant invading Winterfell also plays as an innuendo:  

“May I come into your castle, my lady?” Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …” “… gentle?” He smiled. “Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?” “Yes,” Sansa admitted.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

The ambitious men that pursed Winterfell through marrying Sansa, also had to take her maidenhead and conceive an heir, in order to consolidate their claim to the castle and the north. So “coming into the castle” also means having sex and making children.      

Littlefinger is too machiavellian, it seems he has used the godswoods not only to trap Sansa but also to reenact his children fantasy of being Catelyn’s love:

I saw you kissing in the snow. She’s just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. Why did you love her best? It was me, it was always meeee!“

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa, like Catelyn, never wanted and will never wants Petyr Baelish as lover.  

Meanwhile at the Wall…

Jon Snow

Unlike Theon, Jon doesn’t feel rejected by the heart of Winterfell. Jon got a direwolf sent by the old gods that shares the weirwood’s coloring:

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Unlike Theon that invaded Winterfell and allowed the Ironmen to sack, pillage, kill and rape. And later let the Boltons into the castle to burn it. Jon wants to rebuild Winterfell:

They can’t be dead. Theon would never do that. And Winterfell … grey granite, oak and iron, crows wheeling around the towers, steam rising off the hot pools in the godswood, the stone kings sitting on their thrones … how could Winterfell be gone?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Jon wanted Winterfell, as much as he had ever wanted anything, but unlike Tyrion, Jon rejects the castle in favor of Sansa. And Jon would never forced himself on Sansa if she doesn’t want him as well.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

The wording of these two passages (“He wanted it” / “I want her”), the Winterfell references, and the guilt and angst for desiring something forbidden (“May the gods forgive me” / “I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is”), is way too similar to be a mere coincidence. Winterfell and Sansa are merged in the text.

Tyrion and Littlefinger sexually desire Sansa and used the same Winterfell reference as an innuendo:

"Come, wife, time to smash your portcullis. I want to play come-into-the-castle.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“May I come into your castle, my lady?” Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …” “… gentle?” He smiled. “Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?” “Yes,” Sansa admitted.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Both Tyrion and Littlefinger have giant imagery around them, both even talk to her about the Giant of Braavos, both wanted Sansa politically (Winterfell) and sexually (her body), and Sansa has been prophesied slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow (Winterfell reference). I think that Jon might help her to fulfil that prophecy.

Indeed, Tyrion associates Sansa’s rejection of his advances as icy courtesy and compared that rejection with a castle wall and the Wall in the north:

“You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sansa’s misery was deepening every day. Tyrion would gladly have broken through her courtesy to give her what solace he might, but it was no good.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy. […] He had always had a yen to see the Titan of Braavos. Perhaps that would please Sansa. Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

But Sansa is “stronger within the walls of Winterfell” and Jon at the Wall is “the shield that guards the realms of men.”

Sansa also throws a handful of snow at Littlefinger’s face during the snow castle scene:

The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” “As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

A handful of snow… Wouldn’t be awesome if Jon Snow continue the Stark men tradition to beat Littlefinger out?

I was always suspicious of Littlefinger helping Sansa build her snow castle, but since Petyr Baelish has giant imagery around him, it all makes sense after reading this passage:

She looked as if she thought he was making that up. “How could men build so high, with no giants to lift the stones?” In legend, Brandon the Builder had used giants to help raise Winterfell, but Jon did not want to confuse the issue. “Men can build a lot higher than this. In Oldtown there’s a tower taller than the Wall.” He could tell she did not believe him.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Sansa will be certainly grateful if she can take advantage of any help Baelish could offer to rebuild Winterfell, but she will slay him anyway, as in the songs:

“If the tales be true, that’s not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell’s walls.” “Those are only stories,” she said, and left him there.

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Unlike Petyr’s forced kisses, Sansa associates “snow” with lover’s kisses:

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks.

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Unlike Petyr, that has used the godswoods of the Red Keep and the Eyrie, to lie and trap Sansa, and is an awful replacement as a father figure for Sansa, Jon would never lie to Sansa in front of the old gods, like Ned taught him:  

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

As I said before, if Jon had accepted Stannis’s offer, he would have had Winterfell, but at an extremely high price: burning the weirwood tree, which, to him, would be sacrilege:

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Sansa feels empty like a godswood without gods, like a godswood without a weirwood tree, mostly because she lost Lady, but also because she feels like a lone wolf without its pack, and a body without its heart due to the extreme disillusionment she has suffered so far.

But Jon Snow has a direwolf that is a symbol of the weirwood tree, Jon himself is a symbol of the weirwood tree. And Sansa has become a symbol of Winterfell and the godswood, but she feels empty without her wolf. Then Ghost might complete Sansa’s empty godswood, and Jon might fill Sansa’s heart again. And together they could be a pack. And together they could rebuild their home. Please play North by Sleeping at Last here.  

So…

…One would have to wonder why GRRM is always comparing and contrasting Sansa’s suitors with her bastard half brother Jon Snow? What is the reason for that? Does that mean that something romantic will happen between Sansa and Jon in the future? Is that just a mere coincidence? If the same thing (Sansa’s suitor being compared and contrasted with Jon Snow) happened three times, can we really call it a mere coincidence? One would have to wonder… Why?    

From:  i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark & Winterfell. An exploration.

#jonsa #anon asks

[mrsjadecurtiss]

A different ask! What do you think Roose actually feels about Ramsay? Just before the Red Wedding he talks very dismissively about how Ramsay could be executed for his crimes, but obviously he knows Robb's never gonna get the chance so maybe he cares more than that. But Ramsay (probably) killed precious Domeric? What does he actually feel about him and potential Walda baby(-ies)?

Thank you for your question :) I have divided my answer into points regarding the different aspects of your ask.

What do you think Roose actually feels about Ramsay?

In regards to the Roose-Ramsay relationship, some facts are important:

Roose did not raise Ramsay, and as far as we know did not interact with him in his childhood beyond the two times the miller's wife came to him after his birth. ("She was never to tell the boy who had fathered him." - Reek III, aDwD) All he knew about Ramsay was that he was his son, had his grey eyes, and was "wild and unruly" (the reason Ramsay's mom demanded a servant).

"Lord Bolton has never acknowledged the boy, so far as I know," Ser Rodrik said. "I confess, I do not know him." - Bran II, aCoK

Ramsay only came to the Dreadfort in 297AC (after Domeric died). This is extremely recent - for context, we have Dany chapters in aGoT taking place as early as 297AC, and the War of the five Kings starts at the end of 298 AC according to this timeline.

As a consequence, since Roose leaves the Dreadfort for the War of the five Kings, he assumed a paternal role for Ramsay in between 297AC and at most very early 299AC (The timeline has the battle of the green fork in January 6 and he'd need to travel to the south before that in the first place). This is only between 1-2 years depending on how early or late that year Domeric died (Shoutout to @blueagia who made me realize this timeline years ago).

Ramsay is violent and cruel, but not stupid (Roose even says he is “cunning” in Catelyn VI, aSoS). He was able to present himself as an ally to Theon in aCoK, and it stands to reason he might have given a salvagable impression to Roose at the beginning while he was testing the waters. Ned Stark is a just man who tried to execute the remote-living Jorah Mormont for slave trade; Since he never went after Ramsay, we can assume whatever Ramsay did during his time with Roose was discreet enough that word did not get to Lord Eddard, and so at the beginning Roose must have had no reason to complain too much about Ramsay's conduct either.

Eddard Stark had never had any reason to complain of the Lord of the Dreadfort, so far as Jon knew. - Jon VII, aDwD

"No tales were ever told of me. Do you think I would be sitting here if it were otherwise? Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count, but you must be more discreet. A peaceful land, a quiet people. That has always been my rule. Make it yours." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose gets a legitimization for Ramsay as part of his benefit from doing the Red Wedding, showing that back then he still had an intention of keeping him as his son and heir. However, returning from the war in the south shows Roose how bad Ramsay's political decisions are when left on his own, including:

Leaving Donella Hornwood for dead, horrifically abusing Theon who is a valuable hostage and a potential ally, being unable to keep good optics and alienating his allies ("Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. [...] How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … " - Reek III, aDwD), abusing his wife "Arya Stark" who is beloved by their Northern allies, and more...

We see in the aDwD Theon chapters that Roose is still giving Ramsay advice and counsel (see again the Reek III quote), however he also appears to be despairing of him:

"I know." Lord Bolton sighed. "His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger. Ramsay, though … his tainted blood would poison even leeches, I fear." - Reek III, aDwD

We also see in later Theon chapters that he frequently holds meetings without Ramsay:

[Roose:] "The hall is not the place for such discussions, my lords. Let us adjourn to the solar whilst my son consummates his marriage. The rest of you, remain and enjoy the food and drink." - The Prince of Winterfell, aDwD

Lord Bolton was not alone. Lady Dustin sat with him, pale-faced and severe; an iron horsehead brooch clasped Roger Ryswell's cloak; Aenys Frey stood near the fire, pinched cheeks flushed with cold.  - A Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

[Lady Dustin said] "Roose is not pleased. Tell your bastard that." - The Turncloak, aDwD

Implying he is losing faith in his son, or otherwise does not trust him or value his input when it comes to political situations; a bad omen considering heirs like Robb usually sit with their fathers in councils.

My impression is that Roose initially adopted Ramsay as an heir for the following reasons:

- Sentimentality, since Ramsay is a son of his own blood ("I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes." [...] "Now [Domeric's] bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III aDwD). As a member of a patriarchal society, Roose was raised with the expectation that he will continue his bloodline, and so likely has the wish to be succeeded by his son.

- Practicality, since Ramsay is already an adult, so he doesn't have to raise and invest in another child for years ("That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House." - Reek III, aDwD). [Speculation: For a new son, he would also have to remarry, and both his prior wives are implied to not have liked him ("The two before her never made a sound in bed" - Reek III, aDwD) while he also doesnt speak of them with fondness - so he might also prefer to be single and raise his bastard instead of having to deal with yet another unpassionate/unloving marriage (considering he's middle aged and uncharismatic, a young new wife wouldn't be thrilled about him), until he finds a marriage that provides him a good benefit (like the Frey money + alliance).]

- The belief that, despite Ramsay being raised a peasant and having violent tendencies, it is possible to "educate him" so that he becomes a functioning member of society (see again my point about Roose counseling him). Roose possibly initially projects some of his own personality on Ramsay (Compare this meta i wrote).

During aGoT-aSoS he must have still thought Ramsay viable, which is why he has him legitimized by the crown. He has not known Ramsay closely for long; This explains why he kept him around even though he is so unfit as an heir (it takes time to fully realize that), but also explains why he is so dismissive of him, as that short time of knowing him as an adult would not make him fond of Ramsay the same way one might be fond of a child they raised.

Roose then realizes after the war, as seen in a Dance with Dragons, that Ramsay is not a fitting heir. What this means for the later books is open for now... Will he abandon Ramsay? Use him as a scapegoat? Or still try to salvage him? I personally believe he is starting to see Ramsay as a danger, and is starting to think about how to best get rid of him.

Just before the Red Wedding he talks very dismissively about how Ramsay could be executed for his crimes, but obviously he knows Robb's never gonna get the chance so maybe he cares more than that.

My belief is that Roose is fundamentally selfish and worried about his own skin. While he has the goal to establish Ramsay as a capable heir, he prioritizes his own safety and reputation. By distancing himself from Ramsay's crimes in front of the other Northmen, he can't be blamed for them; by using Ramsay as a scapegoat for Bolton crimes, he himself can wash his hands from the involvement and won't be hurt if any crimes come to light. If he keeps pointing attention at how Ramsay is wild/cruel/treacherous, then the northmen are more likely to suspect/blame Ramsay than the "peaceful" Roose. Also, even if he cared for Ramsay, he would never openly admit it because it's something that could be used against him (same reason as to why he generally keeps his emotions under wraps).

If you compare this scene from aCoK (where Ramsay is believed dead) with the scene you mentioned from aSoS, you can see that to prioritize his own safety and reputation he will sacrifice Ramsay; but he will also defend Ramsay ("Yet he is a good fighter, as cunning as he is fearless.") as long as it serves his interests, of course while still keeping an emotional distance.

One important thing about Roose is that he does not always say the things he actually thinks; When looking at his quotes it is not only important to look at what he says, but which intentions he has with his words and what effect he wants them to have on the person listening. Compare this quote by grrm:

Lord Bolton may well have all sorts of things in mind. Whether or not he would act on any of those thoughts is another matter. Roose is the sort of fellow who keeps his thoughts to himself. - SSM

But Ramsay (probably) killed precious Domeric

"Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison." - Roose in Reek III, aDwD

This is speculative, but I personally believe that case is not as clear-cut as it is made to look. Poisoning Domeric does not necessarily seem like Ramsay's style; i often see people in fandom suspect that his mother is actually the culprit. I personally suspect the first Reek of killing Domeric - we know he once stole perfume, meaning he knows his way around the castle, and he also got looked at by a maester implying he might know the maester’s chamber where poisons could be kept. He has ample reason to hate Roose, who let him live with the pigs and had him whipped and later sent him to live with Ramsay, but also seems to have interest in improving Ramsay's status ("She made him, her and Reek, always whispering in his ear about his rights." - Reek III aDwD). He is also known to be inseperable from Ramsay, so if Ramsay went to meet Domeric, Reek would come with him.

Either way it could be that Roose just didnt initially believe Ramsay killed Domeric since it looked like he died from sickness, and only later changed his mind on this issue - note that Barbrey Dustin, whom he is implied to have regularly spent time with shortly before the quote about Ramsay killing Domeric, seems to be a believer that Ramsay was the murderer, so she might be the one who convinced Roose; And maybe Ramsay's bad conduct during the time of the war aided to make Roose believe her. Changing his mind on this could influence his decision on what to do with Ramsay come the Winds of Winter.

Or alternatively, if we’re keeping closer to the text, he just thought the positives of keeping Ramsay outweigh the negatives of him being a kinslayer; however it seems odd that Roose, who is so worried about his safety, would adopt a man if his first act he knows of was this treacherous and dangerous. Then again he frequently verbally states that he does not see Ramsay as a threat, which can be read in different ways depending on if you take it as a literal statement or as a tool to enact dominance over his dangerous son.

"All you have I gave you. You would do well to remember that, bastard.” [...]

“I know what he said. You're to spy on me and keep his secrets." Bolton chuckled. "As if he had secrets. Sour Alyn, Luton, Skinner, and the rest, where does he think they came from? Can he truly believe they are his men?"  - Reek III, aDwD

What does he actually feel about him and potential Walda baby(-ies)?

I think he would like to have a son that continues his values and manages to be a capable heir to continue the Bolton line. Domeric was the ideal son, talented and competent, and Roose invested a lot of time and money in giving him a great education. Now that Domeric died and all of this is down the drain, and Roose himself isn't getting any younger, he wants to have a new heir in a way that's the most convenient for him. It appears to me like he is currently weighing the positives of each option (Ramsay or new Baby), and it might even be that he has already come to a decision, considering how he is starting to grow frustrated with Ramsay.

"I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. [...] Ramsay will kill [all the sons she bears me], of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House." - Reek III, aDwD

In line with my earlier point about Roose’ words also being about the effect and not just the message, I believe the line about him being ok with Ramsay killing his sons might be very calculated towards the fact that Roose knows Theon is to report everything he hears back to Ramsay. If Ramsay hears this, he is placated, because it confirms that he is still the main Bolton heir - which means that he does not have to think about harming Lady Walda (because the sons are no threat to his position), and he does not have to think about harming Roose (because he just has to wait until he can succeed him).

Of course all of this post is based off the first five books, so the interpretation may change once the next book comes out or through a different reading of the lines.

#asoiaf #roose bolton #ramsay bolton #asoiaf meta #meta #asks #i have a cold i hope this is coherent as a whole... if you have questions feel free to come into my ask box #mzyraj

[alicenttully]

A Jewel In Her Fingers

Jeyne is one-and-twenty. She has been a woman grown for five years now - more than she ever was as a trembling, terrified child, clad in the most expensive and loveliest gown she had ever worn, compelled to play grown-up games by threats disguised as assurances.

When she was a child growing up in the North, protected if not for her name but for her father having the protection of Lord Eddard, three things were unequivocal when it concerned Jeyne Poole. Jeyne was Sansa’s friend, the steward’s daughter, and she was a pretty girl.

Sometimes, during her ordeal, she thought- she doubted if those things were true anymore.

Could you still consider yourself someone’s friend, if nobody knew what happened to that person, and there was nobody else around to remember your attachment, the things you shared?

Or could you still think of yourself as someone's daughter, when they forced you to lie and be someone else, and if you confessed the truth to anyone, it could mean a slit throat?

Although- if she and Theon had never gotten away, if they were kept chained to Lord Ramsey, a slit throat may as well have been her deliverance.

It wasn’t, of course.  Flying was their deliverance. And snow. It hadn’t prevented Theon from breaking some of her ribs, but if there hadn’t been so much of it…. Jeyne would later think how sweetly wonderful it was; that the very thing Ramsey hated people calling him, aided Theon and Jeyne in their escape.

Jeyne had those things again.

She and Sansa have been together for five years now.  When she was told that she would be seeing Sansa again, Jeyne's first reaction was disbelief.   Jeyne thought it a cruel jape; crueller than anything Ramsey ever inflicted upon her.  Crueller than any threat.  The last time he had been in her chambers, he'd left her with the promise that if she was ever caught trying to escape, that if he even sensed her thinking such traitorous thoughts.... he would make her.... with his own...

No,  Ramsey had starved her and Theon of hope, perhaps because he needed them to feel hopeless.  

But if Sansa returning had been a mistake or a lie….  Having hope, only for it to crumble into dust, would have been so much worse.

And Jeyne wasn’t forced to lie anymore about her identity.  She can freely say who she is.  She is Jeyne Poole, daughter of Vayon Poole.

And maybe she wouldn't want to be Jeyne Poole either, because of the things Jeyne Poole endured.  No one could fault her for wanting to be someone entirely different, someone who wasn't even from the North at all-and everything that happened to her belonged to some other nameless, unfortunate girl.

But no.  Jeyne's heart refuses- no, it rebels against feeling shame for what Littlefinger and Ramsey did.  For the part, the Boltons made her perform. They are equally damned in Jeyne's eyes, even if Littlefinger never once touched or raised a hand to Jeyne himself.   She is Jeyne Poole, daughter of Vayon Poole.  She is surrounded by people who love her, by people who will weep for her when she dies.  

Nobody wept for Lord Ramsey or Littlefinger, least of all Jeyne.

It might have been easier for Sansa too - to pretend to be some insignificant Stone because Alayne had never...

Sansa has never spoken about what happened to her during the time they were separated.  Jeyne asked her once if she wanted to after Sansa had comforted her after a nightmare, but Sansa shook her head and said she would not burden Jeyne with things she could not change.

Everything Jeyne knew, she knew from whispers.  That the Lannisters married her to the Imp, although the marriage meant nothing at all now.

It was never consummated- something that had felt like a punch in the stomach to Jeyne when she'd learned.  And she despised herself for it.  What did that say about her- that she was angry that her friend had been spared her husband's bed, and she wasn't?  Jeyne kept her feelings to herself as if sealing a box, but Sansa had seen the contents anyway and had whispered to her once that she'd understood,  that there was so much she was angry over too, and maybe it wasn't a fair thing to be upset over, how could they be blamed when the world had been so unfair to them?

After Sansa fled Kingslanding as Jeyne fled Ramsey,  the Lannisters and Tyrells were dragged down to hell together, and Aegon the Sixth had been more concerned with other things during his short reign than enforcing the forced marriage of a child-prisoner, for the sake of an enemy house.   Sansa's marriage was officially declared invalid by her brother, the newly-crowned king, on her fifteenth name-day, in open court.  On three grounds.  Non-consummation,  corroborated by Sansa's testifying under oath and the words of Septas who'd examined her.  Sansa had taken no chances concerning the women who would scrutinize her.  She certainly could not select them herself, but a word to Bran meant the Septas backgrounds were heavily vetted.    Secondly, the marriage was deemed invalid as the Lannisters had been usurpers, and thus Joffrey as king, or Lord Tywin in truth, had no right to depose of Sansa's hand as they wished.  And the final, if unofficial reason?  Well, because King Bran damn wanted to.

Jeyne has her name again, and she has Sansa,  and in ways, she'd never thought she would,  but for a time after those things were restored to Jeyne, she thought she would never have the third thing again.

She had always been called pretty.  Only her father had ever called her beautiful when she and Sansa were still children in Winterfell, and he was gone now. After Ramsey...  Jeyne wonders if the gods who revile kin-slaying would think it a sin for her to be glad that her father is dead. Because him knowing what Ramsey did, would have burned a thousand times more.  

Jeyne is fortunate.  Her ribs are healed,  her nose was spared.  She still had the scars on her back, but nobody sees them except Sansa.  She knows others see a pretty woman, brown-haired and brown-eyed.

But she avoided mirrors all the same.  Because when she did, she was reminded of Ramsey.  How he made her feel repulsive.

That was what she told Sansa.  That she didn't feel pretty anymore, and it was true. Sansa had answered her with a kiss.  She then released herself from Jeyne's lips, and rested her forehead on Jeyne's- holding her body close and gently as if Jeyne were a jewel in her fingers.

"Jeyne, you're beautiful."

And because Jeyne dares to hope, she believes her.

#sansa stark #jeyne poole #starkpoole #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #got #game of thrones #writing

[alayne-stonecoldfox]

Sansa and Songs

Sansa’s love of songs is shown early on in the books, and is a an important part of her character as well as her narrative.

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. "The man has played us every song he knows thrice over," Lord Eddard told her gently. "I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come."They hadn't, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

Many different characters comment on it

Lady Catelyn had said that Sansa was a gentle soul who loved lemon cakes, silken gowns, and songs of chivalry - Brienne

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly.- Arya

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces.- Tyrion

Her love of songs is at first tied to the way she wishes to see the world, her innocence, her dreams and her naivety. She has lived a happy and sheltered life, she is the beautiful daughter of a noble house, and has no reason to think her life would not be like the heroines of the songs she loves. This is her romanticised view of the world.

All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

Be brave, she told herself. Be brave, like a lady in a song.

"It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.

Sansa insisted. "I don't want someone brave and gentle, I want him. We'll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you'll see. I'll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he'll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion."

This quote below is one of the first times Sansa instead associates songs with a negative connotation, but in an interesting way.

The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad.

She has just witnessed a young Vale knight die in the joust. It is described as :

“the most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated.”

Sansa’s reaction is recorded alongside her friend Jeyne’s

Jeyne Poole wept so hysterically that Septa Mordane finally took her off to regain her composure, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange fascination. She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come.

I love this part of the book. It’s Sansa’s first, very blunt, encounter with death, though it takes place in such a wonderful colourful atmosphere, a court joust, where she’s been having the time of her life and has always dreamed of being part of. It is even quoted by her as being ‘a song come to life’. The way it’s written seems like she can’t quite process what she’s just seen. The reality of the death. The only thing that registers with her truly in that moment is that he won’t be the one the songs are sung for, and that’s what she finds most tragic. It is a shallow take on it. She is still a young girl caught up in songs and not reality.

This passage happens in Sansa’s third chapter, when Ned has decided Ser Gregor is to be brought before the Kings Justice, and Loras volunteers to bring him in but Ned refuses to send him. Sansa doesn’t understand why, and says this to her Septa, and Petyr Baelish overhears

Her father's decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she'd been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan's stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. 

Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, "Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras?"Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king's councillor smiled. "Well, those are not the reasons I'd have given, but …" He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

Again, a moment highlighted Sansa’s naivety and how she truly believes life would be like the songs, Ser Loras defeating Gregor because he is the handsome young knight and Gregor the monster. It is also the first introduction of the line “life is not a song sweetling” which will be echoed throughout Sansa’s chapters from this point on, as her innocent world view is shattered and her naivety chipped away. The line is impactful coming from Petyr Baelish of all people, as he was once also a young boy who’s world vision was crafted from songs. 

"There's a song," he remembered. "'Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair.'""We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." She had played at being Jenny that day, had even wound flowers in her hair. And Petyr had pretended to be her Prince of Dragonflies. Catelyn could not have been more than twelve, Petyr just a boy.

Did you come with Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood, the time they visited to lay their feud before my father? Lord Bracken’s singer played for us, and Catelyn danced six dances with Petyr that night, six, I counted.

He believed Catelyn Stark was being married against her will in an arranged marriage to Brandon Stark, falsely believing Cat loved him and he had taken her maiden head (he hadn’t, he was drunk and it was Lysa) and they were going to be together despite his lower birth, and he could fight for her hand, because that was how it happened in the songs where the gallant young hero’s always won. But that’s not what happened, and Petyr lost everything in that duel, his home at Riverrun, his ties with House Tully and what he thought was his true love, and from that point onwards he descended into bitterness, becoming a man of ruthless practicality. He recognises the same innocence in Sansa with a knowingness that it will not last.

Another key figure in Sansa’s narrative relating to songs is The Hound. From the beginning of her chapters he derisively refers to Sansa as a little bird who sings songs.

Some septa trained you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite."

Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."

A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. "And that's more than little birds can do, isn't it? I never got my song.""I . . . I know a song about Florian and Jonquil.”"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I'll have a song from you, whether you will it or no."

The Hound seems to resent Sansa’s innocence. He is a character that certainly knows how harsh the world is, and he see’s Sansa’s world views as foolish, and every chance he gets he seems to want to wake her up to the real world, whilst also acting as a protector. She brings out a lot of conflicting feelings within him, as he does in Sansa, as he does not fit her idea at all of what a knight was meant to be. His harsh demeanour is very confronting to her throughout her early chapters, culminating in a scene in her room where he seemingly planned on raping her, but could bring himself to do it, because as much as he hated her innocence, it touches him as well. He settles on wanting a song.

"Think I'm so drunk that I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. "You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you're taller too, almost . . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . . sing me a song, why don't you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights, don't you?"He was scaring her. "T-true knights, my lord."

I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

This scene, as well as the entirety of the chapters that come after Ned’s death and covering the battle of the blackwater, references songs in a new dark way in Sansa’s chapters.

Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief.

She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons.

She heard it as she had never heard it before, and there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angry curses, shouts for help, and the moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights never screamed nor begged for mercy.

The deep moan of warhorns, the creak and thud of catapults flinging stones, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch and thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts . . . and beneath it all, the cries of dying men.It was another sort of song, a terrible song.

They are children, Sansa thought. They are silly little girls, even Elinor. They've never seen a battle, they've never seen a man die, they know nothing. Their dreams were full of songs and stories, the way hers had been before Joffrey cut her father's head off. Sansa pitied them. Sansa envied them.

Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn't, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there's such a dearth of good sacking songs.""True knights would never harm women and children." The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist."Very good, dear." The queen leaned close. "You want to practice those tears. You'll need them for King Stannis."

But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." 

Sansa’s world view has begun to change as she is no longer naive and has suffered tragedy, and nothing is happening as she thought it would. She still seems to love songs, but now there’s a lot of melancholy attached to them.

The third key figure in Sansa’s narrative associated with songs, after Petyr Baelish and the hound, is Marillion. Her Aunt Lysa’s favourite singer who she encounters first at the Fingers during Petyr and Lysa’s marriage, where he attempts to sing to her and rape her.

"Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are . . . kind to think of me, but . . . pray forgive me. I am very tired.""And very beautiful. All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead." She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk.""I never get drunk. Mead only makes me merry. I am on fire." His hand slipped up to her thigh. "And you as well."

Luckily, he is scared off by Lothor Brune, who is asked by Petyr Baelish to watch over her that night. But Marillion and his singing factor again into one of the biggest moments of Sansa and Baelish’s story so far, as he plays his harp and sings to cover the sounds of Lysa’s attempt at killing Sansa by throwing her through the moon door.

“No." Sansa planted her feet and tried to squirm backward, but her aunt did not budge. "Not this way. Please . . ." She put a hand up, her fingers scrabbling at the doorframe, but she could not get a grip, and her feet were sliding on the wet marble floor. Lady Lysa pressed her forward inexorably. Her aunt outweighed her by three stone. "The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay," Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey." The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. Sansa flailed, found Lysa's thick auburn braid, and clutched it tight. "My hair!" her aunt shrieked. "Let go of my hair!" She was shaking, sobbing. They teetered on the edge. Far off, she heard the guards pounding on the door with their spears, demanding to be let in. Marillion broke off his song."Lysa! What's the meaning of this?" The shout cut through the sobs and heavy breathing. Footsteps echoed down the High Hall. "Get back from there! Lysa, what are you doing?" The guards were still beating at the door; Littlefinger had come in the back way, through the lords' entrance behind the dais.

Petyr comes in time to stop it. Of course, we know this is when he kills Lysa himself. Marillion is witness to all of this. Petyr decides to keep him alive for his own ends, sending him to the dungeons to be tortured into now defending their innocence.

"We have come to an agreement, Marillion and I. Mord can be most persuasive. And if our singer disappoints us and sings a song we do not care to hear, why, you and I need only say he lies. Whom do you imagine Lord Nestor will believe?""Us?" Sansa wished she could be certain.

"Lord Petyr has been kind enough to let me keep my harp," the blind singer said. "My harp and . . . my tongue . . . so I may sing my songs. Lady Lysa dearly loved my singing . . ."

Sansa most traumatic moment, the moment she almost died, was serenaded with a song. Now she and Petyr use that singer to cover the crime of Lysa’s death with Sansa being able to hear him from down in the dungeons where he sings at night.

The singer's voice was strong and sweet. Sansa thought he sounded better than he ever had before, his voice richer somehow, full of pain and fear and longing. She did not understand why the gods would have given such a voice to such a wicked man.

He would have taken me by force on the Fingers if Petyr had not set Ser Lothor to watch over me, she had to remind herself. And he played to drown out my cries when Aunt Lysa tried to kill me.That did not make the songs any easier to hear.

 "Please," she begged Lord Petyr, "can't you make him stop?""I gave the man my word, sweetling." Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn, looked up from the letter he was writing. He had written a hundred letters since Lady Lysa's fall. Sansa had seen the ravens coming and going from the rookery. "I'd sooner suffer his singing than listen to his sobbing."

That night the dead man sang "The Day They Hanged Black Robin," "The Mother's Tears," and "The Rains of Castamere." Then he stopped for a while, but just as Sansa began to drift off he started to play again. He sang "Six Sorrows," "Fallen Leaves," and "Alysanne." Such sad songs, she thought. When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest. I must not pity him, she told herself. He was vain and cruel, and soon he will be dead. She could not save him. And why should she want to? Marillion tried to rape her, and Petyr had saved her life not once but twice. Some lies you have to tell. Lies had been all that kept her alive in King's Landing.

Marillion in his entirety really opens up a more troubling world view for Sansa to start to digest. He was beautiful and young and a singer, but he tried to rape her. He tried to aid in her murder. He was tortured into defending her and Baelish. She knows he will be killed. Sansa is conflicted by all of this, feeling haunted by his sad songs as she tried to sleep but can’t. He has given her a lot to think about regarding her survival but also her morality.

"My lady was too trusting for this world." Petyr spoke so tenderly that Sansa would have believed he'd loved his wife. "Lysa could not see the evil in men, only the good. Marillion sang sweet songs, and she mistook that for his nature."

Songs have been weaved throughout Sansa’s narrative consistently, alongside three men who enforce these links even more. The Hound who wanted a song, Lord Baelish who was once a lover of songs himself, and Marillion, the singer. I believe that songs will continue to play a thematic role in Sansa’s chapters, but i would say the dreams and innocence once associated with them in her mind is long gone.

The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." She felt tears in her eyes, but whether she wept for Ser Dontos Hollard, for Joff, for Tyrion, or for herself, Sansa could not say. 

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.It made no matter. That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That day was done, and so was Sansa.

#sansa stark #petyr baelish #sandor clegane #asoiaf #got #long post #SORRY IT'S SO LONG #i just...LOVE. BOOK. QUOTES

[wickedjaime]

What was the fandom’s general impression of jaime before he had a POV? Did people think there was more to him before being inside his head?

I wouldn’t know, anon, sorry. Before Jaime had a POV, I wasn’t even in elementary school yet lol. ASOS came out a long time ago, and I’ve only been in the fandom for a few years. Do I sound like an older JB stan? Because if so, I am fucking flattered but honestly I could never XD they’re way better at this stuff than me lol. But @janiedean @glamaphonic @chickren @guileandsubterfuge etc have been around longer than me, maybe they can tell you how it was, or know someone that’s been in fandom that long? Maybe they can answer this question better? I don’t think they were in fandom THAT long ago but they’d still know more than me.

I wanted to address something else you said, though, about whether people thought there was more to Jaime before his POV chapters.

I mean, if one reads closely, they can see that there’s more to Jaime, even before we get his POV. When Bran almost fell on his own, Jaime’s first instinct was to save Bran:

Bran’s fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into unyielding stone. The man reached down. “Take my hand,” he said. “Before you fall.“Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to the ledge. (AGOT, Bran II)

That’s a sign right there that there’s more to Jaime than what appears on the surface. Plus, there’s the infamous line:

“The things I do for love,” he said with loathing. (AGOT, Bran II)

With loathing

As in, fuck me I really don’t wanna kill this child right now this is a really fucked up thing to do and I’m doing it but hey LIFE TAKES YOU PLACES, LIKE KILLING KIDS SO YOU AND YOUR SISTER-GF WON’T DIE, LOL BYE YOUNG BOY THAT I JUST SAVED A FEW MOMENTS AGO

So, yeah. There’s more nuance. Also, GRRM just put Jaime’s character motivation in one line of dialogue in a natural way like a fucking boss. Expert writing GRRM, you done good.

Also, you know that scene I love to talk about, where Jaime was flirting with Ned and murdering Ned’s friends in the most dramatic way possible? Well, he wasn’t just there to flirt with Ned, be a silly, extra, bisexual Cub, and establish his characterization archetype as the Jock with the Heart of a Theatre Kid. He was there because, as far as Jaime knew, Ned had kidnapped his little brother, and he wasn’t quite happy about that.

Why wasn’t he happy? Well, let’s have his dramatic ass tell us:

Jaime Lannister smiled. “[..] I’m looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don’t you, Lord Stark? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair-haired, mismatched eyes, sharp of tongue. A short man.” (AGOT, Eddard IX)

So, Jaime isn’t happy about the kidnapping because he loves his little bro, and he’s protective of him. It wasn’t just for the honor of his House that Jaime confronted Ned. He’s concerned for Tyrion’s life, and legitimately wants to save him:

“Kill me,” [Ned] warned the Kingslayer, “and Catelyn will most certainly slay Tyrion.”

Jaime Lannister poked at Ned’s chest with the gilded sword that had sipped the blood of the last of the Dragonkings. “Would she? The noble Catelyn Tully of Riverrun murder a hostage? I think … not.” He sighed. “But I am not willing to chance my brother’s life on a woman’s honor.” Jaime slid the golden sword into its sheath. (AGOT, Eddard IX)

Jaime was worried about Tyrion’s safety and wanted him back. And Ned, the guy Jaime has a hateboner for anyway, took him (as far as he knows). 

But here’s another thing. Jaime can’t hurt Ned without risking Tyrion being hurt. But he still wants revenge on Ned for endangering him. So Jaime activates his petty Lannister gene, because at their core, all Lannisters are petty, messy ass bitches who live for drama (except for Tommen, Myrcella has yet to be determined) and murders Ned’s men just because he can’t kill Ned in retaliation for Tyrion’s kidnapping, but … he can kill the Stark homies, right? Without risking Tyrion’s death? 

See what I’m getting at? Jaime did all of that extra ass, murderous shit to Ned for not wanting to flirt with him back kidnapping his little brother. In Tyrion’s name. Because Jaime loves Tyrion. He loves the twisted, ill-made creature that killed his mother and puts shame upon his House and blah-blah-insert-more-of-Tywin-and-Cersei’s-abusive-ableist-bullshit-here. He loves Tyrion despite his society and his family telling him that he shouldn’t. And, like in Bran’s chapter, Jaime is letting love motivate him. Motivating him to do shitty things, like wreck Ned’s crew, but hey, this does give insight to Jaime’s character, that he’s nowhere near to be two dimensional. 

Also the fact that Jaime is THE WORST VILLAIN EVER should be a clue that he’s really not a villain and that there’s more to his character I mean, when Tyrion told him that Bran would live, Jaime looked at Cersei with the most OBVIOUS AND NON SUBTLE GLANCE EVER BECAUSE HE’S SHIT AT BEING A VILLAIN, HE WAS LITERALLY LIKE “OH GEE DON’T MIND US WE’RE TOTALLY NOT UPSET THAT THE BOY WHO WAS MYSTERIOUSLY CRIPPLED WILL LIVE, BECAUSE I TOTALLY DIDN’T TRY TO KILL HIM, NOPE NOTHING TO SEE HERE, OKAY YEAH IT WAS TOTES ME HEY NED WATCH ME FLIP MY HAIR IN THE RAIN AS I MURDER YOUR FRIENDS

Lastly, Jaime’s conversation with Cat in A Clash of Kings further reveals hidden depths to his character. In between Jaime’s flirting with Cat and stanning Nedbert, we get this gem:

“So many vows … they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other.” (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

So here, Jaime is implying that he’s conflicted with his vows and that there’s a grey area to being a knight, especially a Kingsguard. It’s quite an eye opening mini monologue about the intricacies of honor and how that negatively affects the people, knights especially, who were raised in its corruption and toxic structure. It’s complex, and the fact that Jaime reflects on this in an obviously bitter manner shows how much he hates it. It makes him far from being a flat character, and we’re nowhere near to be in his head yet. 

Jaime goes on to give us this quote as well, after revealing to Cat that Aerys Targaryen burned Rickard Stark alive: 

“As for Lord Rickard, the steel of his breastplate turned cherry-red before the end, and his gold melted off his spurs and dripped down into the fire. I stood at the foot of the Iron Throne in my white armor and white cloak, filling my head with thoughts of Cersei. After, Gerold Hightower himself took me aside and said to me, ‘You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.’ That was the White Bull, loyal to the end and a better man than me, all agree.” (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

So here, Jaime admits that, when being forced to watch Rickard Stark burn alive, he would disassociate so he would not have to endure the horror of it all. Similarly to him saving Bran on instinct (and hating the fact that he had to kill him) this shows that Jaime has empathy, and isn’t a sadistic monster that most people in universe (and in fandom) think him to be, since he can’t handle the sights, sounds, and smells of someone being burned alive. Also, Gerold Hightower told him not to judge Aerys, so, for him to say that, Jaime must have had a horrified, disgusted, or angry look on his face, because why else would Gerold tell Jaime not to judge their king? Jaime would have had to be visibly judging Aerys, otherwise that line makes no sense. And if Jaime is judging Aerys for burning Rickard Stark — someone who was essentially a stranger to Jaime — alive, well, and was horrified by it enough to disassociate, that’s a sign that Jaime values the lives of people who aren’t just his close kin, right? It’s good foreshadowing for him revealing that he saved the people of King’s Landing from Aerys.

So, basically, even before his POV chapters, Jaime Lannister proved that he is capable of immense love, but is driven to do evil things because of that love — not just Cersei, but Tyrion, too. He’s proven that he’s capable of loving someone that the world constantly tells him shouldn’t be loved. He’s proven that he thinks the knighthood system is bullshit, and that he seemed to have legitimate reasons to hate Aerys. He proved that he has trauma from witnessing people being burned alive and tortured. Most importantly, because he has that trauma and coping mechanism, along with the fact that he saved Bran Stark the first time around, he proved that he has empathy and values human life. 

He showed all of that nuance without a single fucking POV.

And honestly, these other characters could never.

#jaime lannister #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #valyrianscrolls #Anonymous #reign answers #reign writes metas

[theusurpersdog]

What's the foreshadowing that Jon C will do something terrible?

During Robert’s Rebellion, Jon Connington was involved inthe Battle of the Bells:

Robert Baratheon had been hiding somewhere in the town,wounded and alone. Jon Connington had known that, and he had also known thatRobert’s head upon a spear would have put an end to the rebellion, then andthere. He was young and full of pride. How not? King Aerys had named him Handand given him an army, and he meant to prove himself worthy of that trust, ofRhaegar’s love. He would slay the rebel lord himself and carve a place out forhimself in all the histories of the Seven Kingdoms.

And so he swept down on Stoney Sept, closed off the town,and began a search. His knights went house to house, smashed in every door,peered into every cellar. He had even sent men crawling through the sewers, yetsomehow Robert still eluded him. The townsfolk were hiding him. They moved himfrom one secret bolt-hole to the next, always one step ahead of the king’s men.The whole town was a nest of traitors. At the end they had the usurper hiddenin a brothel. What sort of king was that, who would hide behind the skirts ofwomen? Yet whilst the search dragged on, Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully camedown upon the town with a rebel army. Bells and battle followed, and Robertemerged from his brothel with a blade in hand, and almost slew Jon on the stepsof the old sept that gave the town its name.

Jon Con feels a huge amount of guilt and regret over losingto Robert at Stoney Sept, because he feels like that was the moment Rhaegar’sfate was sealed:

Others might claim that the realm was lost when PrinceRhaegar fell to Robert’s warhammer on the Trident, but the Battle of theTrident would never have been fought if the griffin had only slain the stagthere in Stoney Sept. The bells tolled for all of us that day.

And he thinks that if only he’d been more like TywinLannister, more ruthless and more cruel, he could have saved Rhaegar:

“Tywin Lannister himself could have done no more,”he had insisted one night to Blackheart, during his first year of exile.

“There is where you’re wrong,” Myles Toyne hadreplied. “Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would haveburned that town and every living creature in it. Men and boys, babes at thebreast, noble knights and holy septons, pigs and whores, rats and rebels, hewould have burned them all. When the fires guttered out and only ash andcinders remained, he would have sent his men in to find the bones of RobertBaratheon. Later, when Stark and Tully turned up with their host, he would haveoffered pardons to the both of them, and they would have accepted and turnedfor home with their tails between their legs.”

He was not wrong, Jon Connington reflected, leaning on thebattlements of his forebears. I wanted the glory of slaying Robert in singlecombat, and I did not want the name of butcher. So Robert escaped me and cutdown Rhaegar on the Trident. “I failed the father,” he said,“but I will not fail the son.”

GRRM has set the stage for Jon Con to be put in thissituation again, and we’re going to see him try and be Tywin Lannister.

[byrantfrost]

The best of me, Honey, belongs to you.

So idk how to give this content/trigger warning so I’m just gonna put this right here, family murder? Kin Slaying is the word they would use for what happens here. It’s not happy, its cold blooded murder. Patricide, matricide, fratricide, just nepocide all around. Children are murdered in this story.

very out of character for Byrant but I’ve been listening to NFWMB all night soooo here’s just one version of what happens after the red wedding.

Byrant stalked through the halls of a castle he thought he’d never see again. He could have found the rooms he was looking for with his eyes closed, but that, of course, would have put him in danger of running into someone. There were more people about, even late at night, than had been when Byrant had lived here. Lakehold was not meant to be the hold of a rich man, well not as rich as Byrant’s father was now.  

Byrant crouched in the darkness before turning the last corner. He closed his eyes wondering how he’d gotten here. The journey was easy enough, he might have been the son of a Lord, but he spent more time with the common soldiers than was probably propper. He’d learned to march hard and sleep wherever he could long ago. He and Robb had all but trained for this, sneaking around Winterfell at night as boys. Over walls and through woods in the dead of night. No the physical journey from the twins north to Lakehold was not the hard part. 

What gave Byrant pause was how could he be here, feet from his father’s door, dressed in black, a dagger at his belt. He’d spent time in front of every wirewood tree he’d seen on the journey north. He could not find an answer, would the gods cast him down for being a kinslayer? His father hardly thought of him as kin, his father had sent assassins after him more than once. His father had conspired to kill the king, and it had worked. He had not stopped at Winterfell, he had not yet dealt with the Boltons. Roose Bolton might be evil, but Byrant figured he was smarter than Byrant’s father.  The gods had never answered him, and Byrant took that as answer enough. 

Byrant pulled a dried Wirewood leaf from his purse and stood tracing his steps back to the nearest torch and lit the tip of the leaf. He watched it burn down the ashes settling on the floor. A foot soldier’s superstition perhaps, but Byrant wanted any help from the gods he could get. Quietly he walked back to his corner and checked for guards. 

Seeing None Byrant stole forward, he knew the door would creak as it opened, or it had years ago, the hinges didn’t look any newer. When he pulled the door open he held his breath, but no- the hinges must have been replaced, all the better he walked into the room and took a breath, but it caught. 

Byrant had come prepared to kill his father, his father had killed his king, his love. But there laying next to his father was his mother. Byrant took a deep breath, he harbored no ill will for his mother, none at all, but- Byrant thought about what had been done to Robb, more than just the killing after guest rights had been invoked. The mutilation of his dead body. Many had died that night, more than just Robb, Lady Stark, the young Queen, and so many men, men who had more honor in their sword hand than Lord Frost had in his whole body. 

Byrant walked to the bed and took his father’s hair in his left hand, his father woke up but Byrant didn’t give him a chance to even recognize him, he slit his father’s throat and smiled. His smile fell though when he heard a choked shout from the otherside of the bed. 

“I’m sorry mother.” Byrant said, and he was, but the put a hand over her mouth as he slit her throat as well. He did not wait to watch his parents die, he only stayed long enough to burn another wirewood leaf. He was not done yet. 

Byrant found his eldest brother’s room as if by habit, he’d spent hours here with Derron, reading the history of their land, learning about wars. When they were younger it was always Derron who pointed out how merciful the Starks had been, not executing the youngest son after the war that nearly wiped their family from history. Byrant wondered now if the Starks should have. 

Byrant did not even pause, walking up to the bed. He’d not forgotten Derron’s wife, and soon the blood was pooling from both their necks. He wondered if Alisha had been conflicted when the Ironborn had come to take Winterfell. She herself was from the Iron Isles, a match suggested by Lord Eddard Stark to quell difficulties between the North and the Iron Isles. Neither house Frost nor Hose Orkwood seemed important enough to stop Theon. Byrant shook his head, he was going to Winterfell next and then he’d find Theon. The man Byrant had learned to think of as a friend would not die so peacefully. 

Byrant felt some regret as he slipped into his old room to see his nephews asleep. He’d been lucky so far, husband and wife sleeping near enough that Byrant did not have to worry about them calling out. That only meant he’d have to work quickly, three boys and then- he supposed Lyanna was in Garrat’s old room. They were all close enough to each other that this could pass for family chambers even if Derron and Alisha did not have a formal sitting room in with to entertain. 

The twins Robert and Brandon were closest to the door, young enough to still share a bed, it was almost too easy before Byrant padded over to his eldest nephew. The boy had always talked about wanting to be a swordsman, Derron had never said it, but Byrant knew it hurt that the boy looked up to him more than his father. 

“Uncle Byrant?” Byrant looked down at his nephew and almost put his dagger away. The boy did look something like him with his unruly blond hair. “Why are you all bloody?” 

Byrant couldn't find it in him to answer, could not even tell the boy sorry as he slit his throat. Like the other rooms he stayed only long enough to burn a wirewood leaf. He was not yet done, he wiped the dagger on his nephew’s bed linens as he walked out. It was a shame, the older one would have made a good honest Northman. 

His neice died quietly and Byrant found himself outside the room of his baby sister. She had been five years old the last time he saw her, before he had gone off to Dorne. Watching her Byrant could see she had grown into everything her older sister was not. Byrant felt regret, Ellya, Jorran, and Artor had not survived the massacre at the twins. Byrant could not help but wonder if Lord Bolton had meant for that to happen. No matter how much Lord Frost had put his support behind Lord Bolton, he was just a tool. 

Byrant closed his eyes and he slit his youngest sister’s neck. A single tear fell as he burnt the wirewood leaf. His father, his older brother, they deserved this but Alerie did not, she was only twelve years old, but there was nothing to be done. Byrant had one more stop to make. 

This time he did put his dagger away, he pulled a folded note from his purse and shook his head. Warrek  had been just two when Byrant had left for Dorne. This boy, a boy who Byrant could not even say he knew, was Lord Frost now. Byrant unfolded the letter and laid it on Warrek’s desk. It explained the whole thing. There were only three Frosts left in the world, Garrat, who had given up his name when he joined the citadel. Byrant who Lord Frost had disowned, struck from the family. And eight year old Warrek.

“The Frosts had been purged before” the note explained “and at the Starks were merciful to leave just one. Let this be a warning, to the Houses of the North.”

Byrant did not claim to work for the Starks, this- this was just vengeance, he had a considerable amount of work to do before he could claim to work for the Starks.

He did not go to the Lakehold godswood, instead, as he slipped out of the castle as quietly as he had slipped in, and headed south, he knew of a wirewood that grew near the shore of Long Lake, he needed to cleanse himself before he could continue south. 

Bathing in the lake, washing the blood from his hands, and changing into new clothes Byrant let his thoughts stray to Robb, for a moment he thought that Robb might disapprove of killing unarmed men, women, and children in their beds. But the sight of Greywind’s head on Robb’s body chased that thought out. He’d seen his father’s men in the crowd cheering. And what good had that been for Ellya, Jorran, and Artor, where they not his father’s children? Or had they gotten too close to Byrant, too far out of Derron’s reach? No, no matter what, Byrant knew he’d done right by Robb tonight.

He wanted to stop to rest but knew he needed to put as much space between him and the castle as he could. He only knew of two living Starks, Jon would make a good Lord, Byrant knew it, he’d grown up with the boy but he would have to be a last resort. So he set out south, he’d need a horse but he’d steal one when he got further away. He didn’t want to get too close to any houses, even if they were just solitary farm houses, yet. 

Stealing the Princess, The Queen from the Red Keep would be difficult, but it had to be done. It was a shame, even with Queen Sansa, that the Stark name would die out. Robb had been sure that Theon had not killed the young boys but all Byrant had to go off of were Robb’s feelings. Byrant loved the man but his feelings were what got the North into this mess in the first place. No Sansa would have to do and if the boys showed up that would just be icing on top of the cake. 

#stories of Byrant #long post #nepocide #i guess #violence cw

[howlinwolfwb]

WILL WE SEE A MARRIAGE BETWEEN JON AND SANSA IN GAME OF THRONES?

And will the pairing that a lot of fans already want be the one that we all need?

A few book readers speculated that a political marriage between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark would be not only possible, but the best thing for House Stark, and maybe even for each other. However, the idea of any kind of match between them was a quiet cult theory, until season 6 of Game Of Thrones, which set Twitter and Tumblr on fire with the idea of the “Jonsa” romance ship. In this article, I’m going to go through as many reasons as I have discovered for this potential pairing, the foreshadowing that a lot of people might have overlooked, and why readers and viewers should think twice before completely dismissing the idea.

As I am starting with the books, I’ll go ahead and start at the very beginning, before the books were written. In George R. R. Martin’s outline for the series, he had a love triangle in the works, between Jon, Tyrion, and Arya. Even before the first book was finished, he had plans for Jon to wed a Stark cousin. The outline states on the subject:

“Arya will be more forgiving... until she realizes, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night's Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Arya throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon's true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.”

Given what I am about to lay out in this article, there seems to be a strong chance of GRRM having kept the cousin love triangle, but switched at least the sister, if not the other man (Jon/Tyrion[Littlefinger]/Sansa).

Jon and Sansa began their stories, and left Winterfell, with very similar ideas and worldviews, despite their differing personalities. Both were not just young, heady, and optimistic; both believed in the songs they were sung to as children, but in the heroes the songs described. Both had fantasies of a quieter life and family that, conspicuously, left each other out, and synchronized perfectly with each other.

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb. He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. - A Storm Of Swords - Jon XII

This is a fantasy Jon had, ostensibly about Val, the Wildling sister of Mance Rayder’s wife, whom Jon was infatuated with, at the time. However, she does not feature at all after a cursory mention of stealing her away. He fantasized much more about the hypothetical family than her, and both that fact, and his fantasy-family makeup, is very telling, in three ways. 1.  This fantasy is a direct and near-perfect recreation of the Stark household that he remembers, with him as the new Neddish patriarch. 2. He is not fantasizing about a Wildling girl who walks through Walker territory like it ain’t no thang, or a warrior girl, or a highborn princess, or even a platinum-haired nude dragon queen. He is fantasizing about Val as a mother, and more importantly, as not only the mother he knew (Catelyn), but how he wished Catelyn to be. 3. Most women that we read about in aSoIaF or watch in GoT do not share this fantasy; Westerosi girls tend to be action girls. The only female character who had any kind of similar fantasy, let alone one that synchronizes nearly perfectly to Jon’s, is Sansa:

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. - A Storm Of Swords - Sansa

Although they fantasized about different people ostensibly (Jon-Val; Sansa-Willas/Loras Tyrell), both fantasies complete the other, and tell very similar stories about each of them. Both think that love is an addendum to marriage, and something that needs to be worked on. They both disregard the personalities of their interest for what they remember of their mother and father. They both recreate their dead and missing siblings, with exceptions. Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon are noted, as well as even a Ned. The only figures missing are themselves and each other.

What makes this so extremely notable is not just that the fantasies click perfectly together. It’s not even that Jon’s always wanted exactly this, even from the start, when he dared not wish for his own family. What makes this truly meaningful, is that there is only one girl in all of Westeros who knows what growing up in Winterfell was like, and who wants the same thing as him, and is not yearning for adventure, vengeance, a throne, or power, let alone above this desire.

Just as Sansa is the only person who fits the bill for Jon, Jon is the only man who has lived up perfectly to Sansa’s fantasies and dreams of heroic knights in shining armor.

“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.” - A Game Of Thrones - Sansa

Curiously, although Prince Aemon Targaryen is a historical character in the Ice & Fire/Thrones universe, Prince Aemon is also the role Jon would take in childhood mock jousts with Robb; judge for yourself if that’s a coincidence.

“I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,” Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, “Well, I’m Florian the Fool.” -A Storm of Swords – Jon XII

(Sidenote - foreshadowing with other foreshadowing: if you think about it, Robb literally died a fool. He got himself, and Cat, killed for love, when he could've married the Frey girl, gotten safe passage from the Freys, and marched towards Kings Landing to avenge his father and rescue Sansa. But we all know what he was thinking with instead of his brain…)

Jon is by every and all accounts the valiant and heroic knight Sansa wished and pined for, as a dreamy 11-year-old girl. Before I continue, I have to add that the men of the Night’s Watch are often referred to as The Black Knights.

Jon has all of the qualities of the kind of man Ned described to her, as well as all of the qualities of the kind of man she’d always wanted; both as a young, wistful girl dreaming of Aemon the Dragonknight making Queen Naerys his lady love, and the shattered, hardened, and disaffected woman she’s grown to become. She has discarded her fairy tales, because she has realized, through firsthand experience, that those fairytales are not nearly as pretty as they sound. The fairytales are horrifying; they are soaked in the blood and tears of the events and people they describe. Jon is the only character who can fulfill both the dreams and fantasies of 11-year-old Sansa, and the disillusioned young woman who’s never until now known a true hero. No other character in either aSoIaF or GoT can do the same:

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound's voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. "Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants." - A Game Of Thrones - Sansa VI

That he did, albeit with poor grace, crossing his arms, scowling, and ignoring the naked steel in his lord commander's hands. Jon slid the oilcloth down his bastard sword, watching the play of morning light across the ripples, thinking how easily the blade would slide through skin and fat and sinew to part Slynt's ugly head from his body. All of a man's crimes were wiped away when he took the black, and all of his allegiances as well, yet he found it hard to think of Janos Slynt as a brother. There is blood between us. This man helped slay my father and did his best to have me killed as well. - A Dance With Dragons - Jon II

Not long after, in the same chapter, Jon does the deed:

Emmett kicked his legs out from under him. Dolorous Edd planted a foot on his back to keep him on his knees as Emmett shoved the block beneath his head. "This will go easier if you stay still," Jon Snow promised him. "Move to avoid the cut, and you will still die, but your dying will be uglier. Stretch out your neck, my lord." The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. "If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them," he said, expecting one last curse.

Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. "Please, my lord. Mercy. I'll … I'll go, I will, I …"

No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended.

Their geographic and psychological journeys are near-perfect mirrors of each other. Sansa heads south while Jon goes north. Sansa becomes Lady Lannister, then a bastard (an identity at least partially crafted on her ideas of Jon); then, in the show, Lady Bolton, and finally the Lady of Winterfell. Jon, meanwhile, goes from Bastard, to Jon Stark (in Robb’s will, which Jon hasn’t seen or heard about), to Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and in the show, finally, King in the North. Both have to pretend they want nothing to do with their previous lives (Sansa as a prisoner in KL, and Jon with the Wildlings). Both have to essentially fake it to make it, as Sansa tries to actively forget she is not Alayne Stone, and Jon is tempted to stay with the Wildlings. Through all of this, they both try to cling to certain things. Even after abandoning their childhood idealisms to make hard choices, and even through the processes of grieving for their family, as well as trying to become different people, they both have always held notions of justice, fairness, and even compassion close to their hearts and minds.

Also, out of all the surviving Starks, only Sansa sensed Jon’s death:

“There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, as big as mountains.” - A Feast For Crows - Sansa’s final chapter

As soon as news of Jon’s parentage comes out in the North, his claim to Winterfell will be, at the very least, heavily debated among and contested by the Northern lords. Although half Stark, he is not the son of Eddard, but of Lyanna. On top of that, he has a Targaryen father. Seeing as the Mad King killed Ned’s father Rickard Stark, and Ned's brother Brandon. The Northern lords will have no loyalty to a Targaryen. Jon/Sansa would be both an excellent twist of the kind that aSoIaF/Got are known for, and mutually beneficial for the both. Their marriage would secure Jon’s claim to the North, unite the North as it needs to be for the War for the Dawn, and secures the safety and place at Winterfell for both. Also, as she says in the books, “No one will ever marry me for love.” It’s a sad truth, but a truth nonetheless; every and all other Lords would want to marry her for her claim to Winterfell. Jon, though, would never force Sansa to marry anyone. He knows what she’s been through. He cares for her, and would never hurt her in any way. Sansa knows this, and it might just be what will drive her to suggest they marry. Jon needs a Queen either way, to keep the Stark bloodline going. I will even go so far as to say this: I think that the northern lords will want to make Sansa their Queen after they find out about Jon’s parentage, in which case, same thing; she’ll need to keep the Stark bloodline going. Add to that him being a Targaryen, and she a Stark, they would literally be uniting not only the North, but the South too. Soon, every person in the whole of at least Westeros will find out about the Night’s King and the White Walkers. It is this exact moment that the North will need stability, and hope. A union between Sansa and Jon would give the northerners nothing less or other than that. Jon is a great commander. He is brave, and honorable, and he will do all he can to keep Sansa and all the northerners safe. He’ll fight for them. The prospect, the reassurance, and after the battle is over and the war is won, Winterfell and the North will be rebuilt, by its people with the support and help of their King and Queen. Everything points to their union. The prospect, the reassurance, that after the battle is over, after the war is won, Winterfell, the North will be rebuilt, by its people with the support and help of their King and Queen. Everything that points to a good resolution for the stories of Ice & Fire, and Thrones, points to their union.

Even on Thrones, David Benioff and Dan Weiss have planted an insane amount of seeds for Jonsa. Not only for a political union, but in season 6 set the internet on fire with gooey Jonsa romantic tension, with gems such as this moment, from s6e5 (The Door):

Jon: New dress? Sansa: I made it myself, do you like it? Jon: Yeah, well, it’s—I like the wolf bit.

Brothers awkwardly fumbling for words to compliment their half-sister’s dress? Not something you see everyday. This scene was unnecessary, but D&D included it, I’ll allege for a reason. I'm not necessarily saying that Jon is in love with Sansa here, but the tension between them and their interactions are very awkward, and not how they should be between two people who think they are brother and sister. Also, this is not something a brother says to a sister in danger:

Jon: I won’t ever let him touch you again. I’ll protect you. I promise. (From s6e9 - Battle Of The Bastards)

Again, a bizarre choice of words, if Jonsa is not a component of the story. Brothers say things like “ I will never let him hurt you again”, or “tell me where he is”.  Let’s not forget most of their scenes have them speaking while being surrounded by warm candle light and with soft focus; quite a romantic atmosphere for two SIBLINGS. The way their scenes were shot, do not only mirror Ned’s and Cat’s, but also Robb’s and Talisa’s. I find it hard to believe D&D wrote and shot their scenes the way they did accidentally. They wanted to do one of either two things: either set Twitter and Tumblr on fire with Sophie and Kit’s chemistry; or, subtly, put this notion into our heads, have us talk about it, and speculate. Whichever they did, it obviously worked, thus introducing us to the idea, and actually preparing us for it.

PS I thought that @castaliareed and @fedonciadale  would be interested in this meta; I hope it’s good for a 1st.

#jonsa #jon snow #sansa stark #jon x sansa #game of thrones #got7 #ned stark #catelyn stark #got

[anaomynous]

Jon Snow Part 2

Jon’s POV

Getting farther, and farther away from Winterfell, my heart felt empty. Part of me longed so badly to just… Be with her. I fought the urge to turn around, run back, take her with me, her be my lady… Just myself, and Jewel against Westeros.  The days getting to the wall, all that was on my mind was that kiss. 

I laid on the hard, cold ground, feeling Ghosts heavy breathing next to me, staring at the sky, feeling comforted that she as well, was underneath this darkness with me, and it helped me to feel… Closer to her. I prayed to the Gods, that she was thinking of me too, and in that moment, I would imagine laying with her. Her soft skin, brushing against me. Her long, dark hair, in my face. Was giving up everything to be a man of The Nightwatch, really worth giving my love away? I hated thinking about that… Questioning myself… I,,,, Perhaps should not have told her anything about how I felt, because now I would be left to ponder on… What if, for the rest of my days. 

Jewel’s POV

Things began to change so drastically, everyone except for myself, Theon, Bran, Rickon, and Robb. Robb being left as Lord of Winterfell in Ed’s absence. It was such an usual relief to not have Lady Catelyn around to torment me,she left on suspicion that the Lannisters had been the ones to have something with Bran being thrown from a window, then trying to have him killed, feeling the most at ease that I ever had in that moment that she stated she was going to meet Eddard in King’s Landing. 

A wildling that was forced to be imprisoned at the castle, named Osha had become my friend, often coming up to see me, and braiding my hair, while Theon was determined to bed her, her constant rejection would always  set him off, and make him angry. Especially when she refused to call address him as a lord. Theon revolted me in more ways than one could count, which was another frustration of his, he was awful to Jon and I, our whole childhood. 

However, Theon would go balistic, if we did not allow him to needlessly bully us, which further proved just how sick for control he was . I also had Hodor, a simple, but sweet man who only said one thing "Hodor," which he had always lived in Winterfell. Eddard had told me, that one day, he fell to the ground, and never got back up the same. 

Things took a horrible turn, when we got word that Eddard had been publicly executed for treason. I felt as though my heart had stopped beating in my chest, the world around me becoming much colder, the only man I knew as my father had been murdered at the hands of people who were meant to be his allies, my hands shook, and my stomach felt weak. I remembering vomiting, using a wall to keep from falling down, nothing would warrant the murder of such a kind, generous, and loving man. Robb and Theon had decided that it was time to raise war, leaving Bran the Lord of Winterfell in his place, leaving Winterfell vulnerable. 

“Ohsa,” I spoke, the room dimly lit by a candle, as she braided my hair. “Are you afraid?” I said quietly. She stopped what she was doing for a brief moment, and sighed “My lady, there are things out there to fear than men. Winter is coming, we should be going South,” She said, continuing to braid my hair. “You really… Saw them… The white walkers?” I asked, worried in the sure answer she may give me, hoping she had gone mad, and these were only stories. “My lady, I wish I was lyin’.” I grew quiet, not sure what to believe, after all these years of being told that white walkers were a thing of fiction, and just scary stories maids told to children, to keep them from running off. I hugged my knees, free enveloping me. Monsters in the North, evil people who wanted to slay house Stark everywhere else. It was only a matter of time, before one of them would strike first. It had now been years since I last seen, or heard from Jon, wishing so much I could embrace him. That next day after Osha confirming, what she had seen was real, Theon had stormed Winterfell, taking hold of Bran, betraying the Starks, and Robb in the same breath. Shocked, all of us terrified of what was going on, Bran laid down his Lordship of Winterfell, naming Theon, the one who was in control of Winterfell, it was that easy for him. Theon looked for me, finding that I was in my room. He barged in, and smirked “I’m your Lord now, and as your Lord you must please me,” He said, walking towards me, I flinched as he grabbed my wrist. “All those years, of you kicking dirt in my fucking face, are going to feel like a mistake now, a female bastard, the most disgusting type of woman there is.No one will ever wed you, but I am willing to bring mercy to you, if you warm my bed, Snow.” He said grabbing onto my waist. I shoved him off me, and pulled away, his clench on my dress, tearing the back of it. He grabbed me again, this time taking a very, firm, grip of my hair. “You’ve always been such a fucking cunt,” He laughed, going to force a kiss onto me. That’s when I spat in his face, a huge mistake that I would soon regret, he nearly, immediately bashed my face into my bedside table. My nose stung, warm blood instantly running down my face and the back of my throat. The metallic taste, and smell, filling my mouth. My eyes watered, and I did my best not to start screaming, the pain so intense I could hardly stand it, but I refused to be weak, in front of him. He pulled me back by my hair to face him. Demanding I looked at him. My eyes, like daggers, stared up at his, my nose pulsating. He chuckled “I think I broke your nose, you stupid, little, whore,” He then spat into my face, and shoved me down onto the floor, I hit the ground with a loud thud, storming out of my room, he took one last look at me and scoffed, slamming the door behind him. I began to breath heavily, wanting to touch my nose, to feel if it had broken. My hands shook, hesitating, instinctively not wanting to feel it. I felt a numbness grow over the front of my face soon enough, and I gently began to feel around. I noticed then, that him slamming my face into the table also caused my teeth to go through most of my bottom lip, my lip starting to swell up. I immediately could tell, my nose was without a doubt, broken. The bridge of my nose, was now off center, and a large cut covered over it. I needed to find Maester Luwin. As I got to my feet, I heard yelling outside in the courtyard. I looked down from my window to see Ser Rodrik Cassel, confronting Theon, causing a quarrel between them. I could not make out what it was that they were saying, Theon then was able to get Ser Rodrik Cassel down on his knees, his men holding him there. My eyes widened as I realized what they were doing, my ears ringing. I looked around to see as well, that they were forcing Bran to watch as it happened “Oh, the Gods be merciful!” I cried out. Watching as Theon nervously looked around, and lifted his sword laying a botched attempt at a public execution, taking 3 hits to decapitate him.

 I screamed loudly, never seeing something so horrible in my life, feeling myself go dizzy, I walked back until I was sitting on my bed. I held my left hand over my chest, my heart stammering. He had lost his fucking mind, and we needed to get out of here. Osha, opened my door and ran inside to see me. "My lady, he's locked Bran, Hodor, and Rickon in the dungeons!" She stammered, she took a good look at my face, staring at me for a moment “What ‘as he done to ya?!” She yelled, looking my face over. “I need to get Maester Luwin, he’s broken your nose, my lady,” She said, her voice panic stricken. I followed her, silently, traumatized from watching someone I knew from being a child, have his neck chopped through 3 times without truly decapitating him. "Maester Luwin!!" Yelled Osha, bringing me to him. He looked at me, his face struck with horror as he examined my face. "He's broken your nose, my lady," he said with concern in his voice. He handed me a bottle, and looked at me. "Drink this now, what we have to do, to get your nose back in place, will be nothing less than painful, my lady." I attempted to take one drink from the bottle, and a foul taste invaded my mouth, I spat it out instantly, all over the floor. The bitterness still on my tongue. They both looked at me, shocked. "My lady, I know it tastes terrible, but trust me when I say that you will thank me later." He said, encouraging me to drink more. I took a few huge drinks of it, trying to stop myself from gagging. "What is that?" I asked holding back vommiting. "Milk of the poppy my lady,". After an hour or so Maester Luwin had me bite down on a leather strip. Osha took my hand, as he sat me down on a chair, and cleaned off the blood around the wound, And my face. He pressed both his thumbs on the side my nose, and pushed the broken pieces back together in a quick motion. I screamed, the pain resurfacing, almost worse than when Theon smashed my face into the table, blood squirting out if my nose. "It's all over now, my lady. I straightened your nose and it looks as it did before, this cut though... it was from your bone cutting through. I must ensure it does not get the rot, because if it does, death is certain." He said calmly. He took another liquid, and poured it down on my wound, I bit down as hard as my jaw would allow on the leather strip, fearing I would break my jaw, or my teeth out, from the tension, the burning absolutely, fucking terrible, feeling like he had hypothetically lit my skin a blaze. "Okay, now that it has been cleaned, I need to sew the skin back together." He grabbed a needle that had been soaking in vinegar, and threaded it. He came up to me, and began to sew the two pieces of flesh that exposed my bone underneath, back together. This was the least painful part of all of it, surprising enough for me. Finally, it was done. He cleaned up my face a but more, then helped me get up. I felt the effects of the Milk of the Poppy really setting in, not feeling my face any longer, everything feeling warm, comforting. I looked at myself in a mirror, my lip swelled up so badly, I could hardly recognize myself. Then I paid attention to my eyes, purple, and black circles around them, on my nose, and under my eyes, which were also puffy. "Your eyes will stay black like that for a while, my lady, It's normal with a broken nose, go on and get some rest," I looked at him with a worried look "Thank you... Maester Luwin." I said with a sigh, as Osha went to walk back with me to my room. "We will find a way to fight this, I promise," he said to me as I grabbed onto the door knob. I turned around to Look at him, and smiled at him. "I pray to the Gods we do," we walked back to my room, it was dark now. Theon's men, scattered all over. "Just keep your eyes straight forward," She whispered, rushing to my room. We got inside, and shut the door behind us. Osha, putting a chair in front of it, as to make sure that no men could come in. "What are we to do?" I whispered. She thought, for a long time, looking down at the ground. I then saw her eyes, light up with an idea. "What is it?" I asked her, curious to know of what plan she had in mind. "I could fuck Theon, that horny piece of pig shit will do anything for a woman's cunt. As he sleeps, I can get the keys to the dungeons, grab Rickon, Bran, and Hodor, then we run away." She said with a smile. "Where will we go?" "South," She immediately responded. "What about to the wall, where Jon is. Or, where Robb is." She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "I will not go back there, I-I can't," "Osha, we need to find one of them, or lady, Catelyn, or-" "No!" She protested. "You don't understand, the things I have seen... I can't go back North..." I wish I could see into her mind for just... One moment. To see what it is that she saw. I could never truly understand her until then. I sighed deeply "Osha, I need to get those boys back to their mother, or one of their brothers. Going South means keeping a family apart," "It means to live, and no harm meant by this, my lady, but I thought you hated Lady Catelyn," I nodded "But I do not hate Bran, and Rickon. Both of them, deserve to be with their mother." She sat there for a long time, and looked away from me. "What if we help each other escape, Then we part ways... I got South, you go North." "But, Osha... You are my friend, what if I never see you again," I said, fighting back tears. "We will always be friends, my lady, but I... Can never return to the North. I would rather be dead." That statement made it all too real... She was set on her decision to go South, I could not convince her otherwise. We devised our plan, throughout the next few days, mapping out every careful step we took, to get this plan to work. I grew more, and more nervous as the time neared, praying it would work... That everything would be okay... Maybe I could even see Jon again...

#jon snow #jon snow fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #kit harrington #kit harington #kit harrington imagine #kit harington fanfic #got fanfiction #got7 #fire and ice #osha #robb stark #rickon stark #bran stark #ser rodrik #maester luwin #hodor #winter is coming #winter is here

[meliora-ironheart]

The Houses of Westeros

House Arryn --  Jon Arryn was a good man, from all accounts.  Too good perhaps, for the sad world in which all men must live.  Lysa Arryn was a pitiful wretch so desparate for love and so eager to step out from her sister's shadow that she sold her soul to a man no more trustworthy than a serpent.  As for Jon Arryn's heir, may the old gods or the new have mercy on the folk of the Vale if Robert Arryn comes to power.  The child is twisted and pathetic, through little fault of his own, but he has not sought to change himself and has little hope of doing so while still under the thumb of the man called Littlefinger.

House Baratheon -- A house of men too full of pride to step aside when offered a crown.  Robert Baratheon fought a war and killed a prince to settle his wounded pride.  Stannis Baratheon cared more for honor and what he saw as his due to see that his demand for the Iron Throne would bring only more death to the realm--he still refuses to acknowledge that the realm may not need him.  Renly Baratheon was little more than a pampered child playing at being a king.  He had never wanted for a thing in his life and could not imagine that he would lose his shiny new crown, to say nothing of his life.  The only hope for House Baratheon lies with Stannis' little princess, Shireen--the girl is worth 10 of any man House Baratheon could produce.

House Bolton -- It would have been better for all the world if House Bolton could die with Roose Bolton.  Unfortunately, it often seems to be the will of the gods that the wicked shall prosper while good men die in droves.  Unfortunately for Roose Bolton and his bastard, the North...and a woman's Northern husband...remembers.

House Frey -- Walder Frey is the most disgusting lord I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.  He was between wives when I met him, and the way he looked at me was disconcerting, to say the very least.  I'm certain by sheer probability that he must have some decent children in that horde he's produced, but any family that could so blatantly and bloodily defy the sanctity of guest right should be obliterated.  I am a woman who calls very few things sin, but the Red Wedding was no less than a sin before whatever gods there may be.

House Greyjoy --  Another house full of greedy little men who would swallow the world in their lust for power.  The only Greyjoy men worth the breath it takes to speak of them lack the gumption to stop those less worthy members of their family.  If the Iron Islanders were clever, they would have elected Asha Greyjoy at their kingsmoot...but then, if Iron Islanders were clever, they wouldn't stay on the Iron Islands.

House Lannister --  The Lannisters long supported my family.  My father and brothers were all sworn Lannister swords, and I was destined for Cersei Lannister's service before I left Westeros to avoid the fate Gregor had planned for me.  I find it hard to find any gratitude in my heart for the Lannisters, however.  Tywin was a hateful miser, Cersei Lannister may be the most wicked woman who ever lived, Jaime Lannister lacks the courage of his convictions, and Tyrion Lannister is clever but the chip on his shoulder is large enough to be seen from Casterly Rock to the Dornish Marches.  ...What?  Oh, that?  What do I care if Jaime Lannister got those children on his twin?  The only concern I have is that I hope the younger ones remain as unlike Joffrey as possible.  Living at his court was a nightmare I wouldn't care to repeat.

House Martell --  Another proud family, and one that has suffered many injustices.  They now support Myrcella Baratheon's "claim" to the throne, I understand, and Quentyn Martell went and got himself slain by a dragon.  Didn't anyone tell the fool that knights are supposed to do the slaying, and not the other way 'round?  I enjoyed the time I spent in Dorne.  Doran Martell is a good man who obviously cares for his family and his people.  I hope for his sake that he hasn't chosen a path too dangerous to tread.

House Stark --  Winter is coming.  The Starks were right, it seems.  My lord husband is a sworn Stark bannerman, and as such reverences the memory of Eddard Stark as much, if not more, than the strange old gods he worships.  It seems to me that those old gods, if they exist, have a strange hatred for the Starks.  Nearly every person who bore the Stark name has met with some dreadful or mysterious end.  If the Starks are as good as my lord husband claims, it seems an awful waste.

House Targaryen -- One hears such rumors about the beautiful Queen across the Narrow Sea.  Mother of dragons, breaker of chains--it all sounds quite nice.  But one must be at least a little afraid that the coming queen has her share of the inherited Targaryen madness.  I had only just left Westeros when the Mad King began burning his subjects alive, but even in Essos there were rumors of his cruelty.  While I of all people would never defend my brother Gregor's actions, I cannot help but think that the Kingslayer did the people of Westeros a kindness when his sword found Aerys Targaryen.  Let us hope his daughter is a more worthy ruler than her father.

House Tyrell -- The Tyrells seem odd to me because their family loyalty almost seems born out of genuine love and affection for one another, which is nearly unheard of here in Westeros.  The thing that surprised me most when I crossed the Narrow Sea to Essos was the way that families lived--and the Tyrells are the one great family I have seen that share that are that way with one another.  I fear for Queen Margaery's life--no doubt Cersei Lannister had several hands in her imprisonment--and for the life of young Loras Tyrell, who was so gravely wounded at Dragonstone.  It seems a shame that two such promising blossoms of Highgarden could be cut down so quickly.

@wolfrattle

#westeros #houses of westeros #wolfrattle #answered asks

[readbookywooks]

Sansa

He wouldn't send Ser Loras," Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. "I think it was because of his leg." Lord Eddard had taken his supper in his bedchamber with Alyn, Harwin, and Vayon Poole, the better to rest his broken leg, and Septa Mordane had complained of sore feet after standing in the gallery all day. Arya was supposed to join them, but she was late coming back from her dancing lesson. "His leg?" Jeyne said uncertainly. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl of Sansa's own age. "Did Ser Loras hurt his leg?" "Not his leg," Sansa said, nibbling delicately at a chicken leg. "Father's leg, silly. It hurts him ever so much, it makes him cross. Otherwise I'm certain he would have sent Ser Loras." Her father's decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she'd been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan's stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father's decisions. That was when Lord Baelish had said, "Oh, I don't know, Septa. Some of her lord father's decisions could do with a bit of questioning. The young lady is as wise as she is lovely." He made a sweeping bow to Sansa, so deep she was not quite sure if she was being complimented or mocked. Septa Mordane had been very upset to realize that Lord Baelish had overheard them. "The girl was just talking, my lord," she'd said. "Foolish chatter. She meant nothing by the comment." Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, "Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras?" Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king's councillor smiled. "Well, those are not the reasons I'd have given, but . . . " He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." Sansa did not feel like telling all that to Jeyne, however; it made her uneasy just to think back on it. "Ser Ilyn's the King's Justice, not Ser Loras," Jcyne said. "Lord Eddard should have sent him." Sansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. He made her feel as though something dead were slithering over her naked skin. "Ser Ilyn's almost like a second monster. I'm glad Father didn't pick him." "Lord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. He's ever so brave and gallant." "I suppose," Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward's daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn't been half his age. It would have been unkind to say so, however, so Sansa took a sip of milk and changed the subject. "I had a dream that Joffrey would be the one to take the white hart," she said. It had been more of a wish, actually, but it sounded better to call it a dream. Everyone knew that dreams were prophetic. White harts were supposed to be very rare and magical, and in her heart she knew her gallant prince was worthier than his drunken father. "A dream? Truly? Did Prince Joffrey just go up to it and touch it with his bare hand and do it no harm?" "No," Sansa said. "He shot it with a golden arrow and brought it back for me." In the songs, the knights never killed magical beasts, they just went up to them and touched them and did them no harm, but she knew Joffrey liked hunting, especially the killing part. Only animals, though. Sansa was certain her prince had no part in murdering Jory and those other poor men; that had been his wicked uncle, the Kingslayer. She knew her father was still angry about that, but it wasn't fair to blame Joff. That would be like blaming her for something that Arya had done. "I saw your sister this afternoon," Jeyne blurted out, as if she'd been reading Sansa's thoughts. "She was walking through the stables on her hands. Why would she do a thing like that?" "I'm sure I don't know why Arya does anything." Sansa hated stables, smelly places full of manure and flies. Even when she went riding, she liked the boy to saddle the horse and bring it to her in the yard. "Do you want to hear about the court or not?" "I do," Jeyne said. "There was a black brother," Sansa said, "begging men for the Wall, only he was kind of old and smelly." She hadn't liked that at all. She had always imagined the Night's Watch to be men like Uncle Benjen. In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wall. But this man had been crookbacked and hideous, and he looked as though he might have lice. If this was what the Night's Watch was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half brother, Jon. "Father asked if there were any knights in the hall who would do honor to their houses by taking the black, but no one came forward, so he gave this Yoren his pick of the king's dungeons and sent him on his way. And later these two brothers came before him, freeriders from the Dornish Marches, and pledged their swords to the service of the king. Father accepted their oaths . . . " Jeyne yawned. "Are there any lemon cakes?" Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. "Let's see," she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya. The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lord Beric form up his men. They rode out as dawn was breaking over the city, with three banners going before them; the crowned stag of the king flew from the high staff, the direwolf of Stark and Lord Beric's own forked lightning standard from shorter poles. It was all so exciting, a song come to life; the clatter of swords, the flicker of torchlight, banners dancing in the wind, horses snorting and whinnying, the golden glow of sunrise slanting through the bars of the portcullis as it jerked upward. The Winterfell men looked especially fine in their silvery mail and long grey cloaks. Alyn carried the Stark banner. When she saw him rein in beside Lord Beric to exchange words, it made Sansa feel ever so proud. Alyn was handsomer than Jory had been; he was going to be a knight one day. The Tower of the Hand seemed so empty after they left that Sansa was even pleased to see Arya when she went down to break her fast. "Where is everyone?" her sister wanted to know as she ripped the skin from a blood orange. "Did Father send them to hunt down Jaime Lannister?" Sansa sighed. "They rode with Lord Beric, to behead Ser Gregor Clegane." She turned to Septa Mordane, who was eating porridge with a wooden spoon. "Septa, will Lord Beric spike Ser Gregor's head on his own gate or bring it back here for the king?" She and Jeyne Poole had been arguing over that last night. The septa was horror-struck. "A lady does not discuss such things over her porridge. Where are your courtesies, Sansa? I swear, of late you've been near as bad as your sister." "What did Gregor do?" Arya asked. "He burned down a holdfast and murdered a lot of people, women and children too." Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. "Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them." "It's not the same," Sansa said. "The Hound is Joffrey's sworn shield. Your butcher's boy attacked the prince." "Liar," Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers. "Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap. "You have juice on your face, Your Grace," Arya said. It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. "You're horrible," she screamed at her sister. "They should have killed you instead of Lady!" Septa Mordane came lurching to her feet. "Your lord father will hear of this! Go to your chambers, at once. At once!" "Me too?" Tears welled in Sansa's eyes. "That's not fair." "The matter is not subject to discussion. Go!" Sansa stalked away with her head up. She was to be a queen, and queens did not cry. At least not where people could see. When she reached her bedchamber, she barred the door and took off her dress. The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. "I hate her!" she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night's fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep. It was midday when Septa Mordane knocked upon her door. "Sansa. Your lord father will see you now." Sansa sat up. "Lady," she whispered. For a moment it was as if the direwolf was there in the room, looking at her with those golden eyes, sad and knowing. She had been dreaming, she realized. Lady was with her, and they were running together, and . . . and . . . trying to remember was like trying to catch the rain with her fingers. The dream faded, and Lady was dead again. "Sansa." The rap came again, sharply. "Do you hear me?" "Yes, Septa," she called out. "Might I have a moment to dress, please?" Her eyes were red from crying, but she did her best to make herself beautiful. Lord Eddard was bent over a huge leather-bound book when Septa Mordane marched her into the solar, his plaster-wrapped leg stiff beneath the table. "Come here, Sansa," he said, not unkindly, when the septa had gone for her sister. "Sit beside me." He closed the book. Septa Mordane returned with Arya squirming in her grasp. Sansa had put on a lovely pale green damask gown and a look of remorse, but her sister was still wearing the ratty leathers and roughspun she'd worn at breakfast. "Here is the other one," the septa announced. "My thanks, Septa Mordane. I would talk to my daughters alone, if you would be so kind." The septa bowed and left. "Arya started it," Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. "She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I'm going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can't stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid." "Enough, Sansa." Lord Eddard's voice was sharp with impatience. Arya raised her eyes. "I'm sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister's forgiveness." Sansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. "What about my dress?" "Maybe . . . I could wash it," Arya said doubtfully. "Washing won't do any good," Sansa said. "Not if you scrubbed all day and all night. The silk is ruined." "Then I'll . . . make you a new one," Arya said. Sansa threw back her head in disdain. "You? You couldn't sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties." Their father sighed. "I did not call you here to talk of dresses. I'm sending you both back to Winterfell." For the second time Sansa found herself too stunned for words. She felt her eyes grow moist again. "You can't," Arya said. "Please, Father," Sansa managed at last. "Please don't." Eddard Stark favored his daughters with a tired smile. "At last we've found something you agree on." "I didn't do anything wrong," Sansa pleaded with him. "I don't want to go back." She loved Mng's Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all. "Send Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I'll be good, you'll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen." Father's mouth twitched strangely. "Sansa, I'm not sending you away for fighting, though the gods know I'm sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety. Three of my men were cut down like dogs not a league from where we sit, and what does Robert do? He goes hunting." Arya was chewing at her lip in that disgusting way she had. "Can we take Syrio back with us?" "Who cares about your stupid dancing master?" Sansa flared. "Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies." "Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me." "He is!" Sansa insisted. "I don't want someone brave and gentle, I want him. We'll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you'll see. I'll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he'll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion." Arya made a face. "Not if Joffrey's his father," she said. "He's a liar and a craven and anyhow he's a stag, not a lion." Sansa felt tears in her eyes. "He is not! He's not the least bit like that old drunken king," she screamed at her sister, forgetting herself in her grief. Father looked at her strangely. "Gods," he swore softly, "out of the mouth of babes . . . " He shouted for Septa Mordane. To the girls he said, "I am looking for a fast trading galley to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of guards . . . and yes, with Syrio Forel, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of this. It's better if no one knows of our plans. We'll talk again tomorrow." Sansa cried as Septa Mordane marched them down the steps. They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun. "Stop that weeping, child," Septa Mordane said sternly. "I am certain your lord father knows what is best for you." "It won't be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest." She touched her on the arm. "Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.

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