#it was always meant to be an auburn haired beauty for Jon

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Ch 2

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow #tyrion lannister #lannister!reader #new series alert! #I know y'all don't want this but I wanted to make the title thing so bad #tyrion's daughter #theon greyjoy x sansa stark #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got fanfiction #robb stark

[butterflies-dragons]

"Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue."- Tyrion(ASOS VIII). "She had never looked more beautiful than she did that day, with a smile on her lips and the autumn sunlight shining on her golden hair."- Jaime(AFFC II). "I loved a maid as red as autumn," Rymund sang, "with sunset in her hair."- Cat(ACOK VII). Autumn in hair is used for Sansa, Cat and Cersei. Tyrion finds her wife beautiful and Jaime finds his sister beautiful. Both are foils to Jon.

These 3 ladies are the most renowned beauties of the seven Kingdoms. But despite the mention of Autumn in those quotes, the difference is that Cersei's blonde hair is associated with the daylight (sunlight), with the sun in splendor; while Catelyn and Sansa's Autumn auburn hair is associated with the sunset, with a dying sun. And George, like Le Petit Prince, is very fond of sunsets:

"One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!" And a little later you added: "You know--one loves the sunset, when one is so sad . . ." "Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?" But the little prince made no reply.

—The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry

“A great battle is a terrible thing,” the old knight said, “but in the midst of blood and carnage, there is sometimes also beauty, beauty that could break your heart. I will never forget the way the sun looked when it set upon the Redgrass Field… ten thousand men had died, and the air was thick with moans and lamentations, but above us the sky turned gold and red and orange, so beautiful it made me weep to know that my sons would never see it.”  —The Sworn Sword 

NG: Looking back at the space operas you produced early in your career, two related features stand out: intense Romanticism, and melancholy Gothicism. What influences, what artistic and personal considerations, impelled you in these literary directions?  GRRM: I was always intensely Romantic, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. But Romanticism has its dark side, as any Romantic soon discovers… which is where the melancholy comes in, I suppose. I don’t know if this is a matter of artistic influences so much as it is of temperament. But there’s always been something in a twilight that moves me, and a sunset speaks to me in a way that no sunrise ever has. —Sunsets of High Renown - An Interview with George R. R. Martin by Nick Gevers

George loves the sunsets so much that he makes his heroines auburn haired.

#anon asks #sansa stark #grrm

[anonymous-cy-666]

There is beauty in the way of things

How can someone miss something that they’ve never seen, something that they’ve never heard? A man who’s never drank water won’t know how much he is thirsty until the first drop of rain will have fallen on his lips. A man who’s never eaten anything won’t know how hungry he is until he smells fresh bread coming out of the baker’s oven. A man who’s never seen a sunrise won’t understand the beauty of it until he sees those reds and oranges melting together.

Jonathan Sims had never been one to look for beauty in the words of others. He understood the English language perfectly well. He needn’t look in the dictionary to know the meaning of what was said to him. He took the words of others at face value and never took the time to look between the lines, never tried to see what could be meant beyond what was simply said.

But when he heard a voice in the forest reciting poetry to the trees, singing their sorrow to the birds, whispering words to the insects, he couldn’t help but stop and listen. He couldn’t understand it all, but it was as if he had finally found a missing piece that he didn’t even know he needed to find. There, in the clearing, sat against a weeping willow, there was a man with auburn hair who was reciting a poem to the forest.

Jon had never seen this man before. Not in the village, talking to the baker and his wife. Not in the market, trying to bargain for better prices. Not next to the bonfire, during the festival.

He had never seen this man before and yet, he felt as if he had known him all his life.

And as he stepped out of the treeline and into the clearing, the man smiled at him and introduced himself.

Martin.

His name was Martin.

And he was beautiful.

It wasn’t the lines of his body that drew him in. This kind of thing had never interested him and it wasn’t about to start just because of a man in the forest.

No.

But the way that his face lit up as he smiled. The way that his eyes reminded him of the dewy grass in spring, of a stormy cloud in the summer. The way that his voice sounded like the creek near his grandmother’s house, the creek that he hadn’t heard in over a decade. The way that, when Jon introduced himself, his lips formed the words soundlessly before he repeated it to himself, as if Martin also hadn’t known that he had been missing him all his life.

Jon didn’t know that he needed to have Martin by his side before he saw him, before he heard him, but in this moment, it all seemed so clear.

So he simply crossed the clearing and sat by his side, asking him to continue with his poetry and Martin smiled and did.

When the night fell, they had to say goodbye to each other.

He tried not to think too hard about the fact that Martin hadn’t even moved away from the tree. That he had simply smiled at him and had told him goodbye.

Even so, the next day and the day after that, Jon kept coming back to see Martin, underneath the willow tree.

They didn’t always talk about poetry. It wasn’t as if he knew enough about it to hold a conversation more than a few minutes long on the subject, but he did enjoy listening to it, as long as it came from a voice that sounded just as beautiful as the summer days in the forest did.

They talked about the rain, about the sun. They talked about the taste of the apples during the fall. They talked about the feeling of the snow falling in their hair. They talked about books. They talked about snuggling underneath a blanket next to a fire. They talked, and talked, and talked.

And every night, Jon would go back home. And every night, Martin would wave goodbye and stay seated by the weeping willow. And every morning, Jon would come back with a basket of food and tea. And every morning, Martin would be waiting for him, smiling and ready to talk more.

Before long, Jon couldn’t help himself and asked him to come home with him. Just for one night. Just to talk more. They were both enjoying their days by the willow tree, so wouldn't they enjoy their evenings, in his cozy cottage.

But Martin just shook his head, his beautiful eyes suddenly filled with a sorrow that Jon couldn’t fully understand.

While he wanted to come, while he wanted to see all of the things that Jon had told him about in the village, he simply couldn’t. That he truly wanted to come with him, but that it simply wasn’t possible.

Jon simply nodded, silence filling the clearing for the first time since they had started their daily meetings. He didn’t want to argue with Martin, didn’t want to lock their eyes together as he looked oh so sad.

He didn’t breach the topic again the next day or the day after that. He didn’t want to risk causing him any woes.

But in his dreams, he couldn’t help but wish for them to be together outside of their clearing. He couldn’t help but be greedy for more.He wanted to hold Martin in his arms as he fell asleep in his comfortable bed, in the warmth of his house, away from the forest. He wanted to see him as he opened his eyes in the morning. He wanted to come in the kitchen and see him make the teas that he kept talking about. He wanted to hear him talk about all of the things that he enjoyed in the comfort of his home, in the comfort of what could be their home.

The days and then weeks kept coming and going.

As they grew further and further into the year, the night kept coming earlier and earlier, cutting their meeting short.

And even if Jon didn’t mention the idea of Martin joining him in his home again, he could still see the grief in his eyes.

So one day, when the morning was still sweet and not too cold, Jon brought Martin a bouquet of flowers. Daisies and freesias and baby’s breath and forget-me-nots. Flowers that he hoped showed him what he truly felt.

And as he knelt in front of him, underneath the weeping tree, he asked him again to come with him. He asked him to leave the forest so they could be together not only in the light of day, but also bated in the moonlight.

He never wanted to cause Martin any sorrow, but this day, Jon saw him weep for the first time.

He told him that he truly desired to come with him. That the forest was so cold and lonely at night, when all of the animals had gone to sleep and that he was truly alone. That even if he rubbed his arms all night, he could never be truly warm until he saw Jon’s smile in the morning. That he wanted to follow him out of the clearing, but that he was bound to the willow tree.

He explained to him that he had been cursed many years ago. That his soul and his body were bound to this tree. That even if he yearned for the same dreams as Jon, that they could never be true.

They held each other as they cried, flowers forgotten on the ground.

This time, Jon didn’t try to forget.

Martin wanted to come with him. He wanted this curse to be broken, for them to be together and not separated by the night.

Now, every day he would come by the clearing, talking and holding his beloved in his arms.

And every night he would go through every book that he owned, trying to find something, anything that could help their wish come through.

Finally, on a late night in fall, Jon finally found what he had been looking for.

The answer was so simple, so clear. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought about it before.

If a curse is bound to an object, one must simply destroy it to break the curse.

This night, guided by the moonlight, Jon came to the clearing with an axe in hand.

He told Martin that he had come to free him, that he couldn’t be bound by the magic of the weeping willow if it didn’t exist anymore. He knelt on the ground in front of him and asked him if he could try. Asked him if, tonight, he could finally bring him home.

Through his sobs, the man with auburn hair nodded and begged him to try. Anything would be better than the freezing loneliness that took him at night. They both knew that winter would come soon and that they didn’t have much time before the cold would make it too dangerous for their meetings to go on.

And so, ‘neath the moonlight, Jon cut the willow tree.

It took him a long, long time.

But finally, as the dawn came, the sun warming their cold skin, the tree fell to the ground.

The men both stood there, unable to move for a long, long moment, before Jon dropped the axe on the ground.

It was as if the spell that held them broke in an instant and they threw themselves at each other, holding one another as if they would never let go.

Jon took Martin’s hand and pulled him out of the clearing and into the forest, toward the village.

As they walked and walked, Jon whispered what could only be called poetry. He told Martin about how he loved his eyes, how he loved his hands, how he loved his hair, how he loved his smile and his voice and his laughter and the way that they talked and talked and talked.

But as he continued to walk toward the village, he barely noticed how his hold on Martin’s hand became lighter and lighter. How the answers coming from his companion were shorter and shorter. He continued walking, until, as he took his first step out of the forest, he noticed that he wasn’t holding his hand anymore.

As he turned around, all he could see was a path of flowers.

Daisies and freesias and baby’s breaths and forget-me-nots.

Martin was bound to the forest and couldn’t be taken out of it.

But his love followed Jon’s dream until his soul fell apart, on the way out of the forest.

And as Jon fell to his knees, weeping for what he had lost, his sobs sounded almost like the creek outside of his grandmother’s house.

#the magnus archives #i'm sorry for the angst i guess #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #major character death #hurt no comfort #i wrote this at 2am #not beta read #I would say sorry but I'm not sorry #This is kind of based on a song i heard on spotify #so blame spotify i guess

[fedonciadale]

What struck me was that Arya fans always refuse to acknowledge her jealousy towards Sansa. Despite her tomboyish nature, Arya also wishes that she were as classically beautiful and skilled in the feminine arts as her older sister. In the books, she was even jealous Sansa got escorted to the WF feast by tall and handsome Joffrey while she got stuck with short and chubby Tommen. Basically, Arya projects many of her insecurities onto Sansa and it comes out as dislike and dismissal.

Hi there!

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.     (AGOT, Arya I)

Yep, sounds pretty much like jealousy to me.... And the last one isn’t even true. We see Sansa managing a household in the Eyrie just fine...

You know I have a sister and a brother, I get sibling jealousy. I was jealous of the things my older sister could do and was allowed to do. My sister was jealous of the larger freedom I had. I was jealous of my brother because he had the privilege of being a boy (which in my childhood meant more freedom)... And my brother was jealous because I got away with things he was scolded for. And anyone who is a sibling and claims that they never felt any jealousy is just a liar....

So apart from the fact that Arya actually is jealous here, it would be absolutely ridiculous to claim that she never felt jealousy, even if it were not mentioned as blatantly as in the quote above.

Of course, Arya was jealous of Sansa... Of course Sansa was jealous of Arya. Of course Robb was jealous of Jon and Jon of Robb (actually the dynamic is pretty much the same: the obligations and the privileges that come with being the heir/the eldest princess vs. the greater freedom of the younger sister/the bastard).

Thanks for the ask!

#anon ask #Sansa Stark #Arya Stark #My starkling sisters #Crazy Arya stans don't interact

[vivilove-jonsa]

99. “I fell in love with you, not them.” Please. 😍

Thank you so much for the dialogue prompt, my dear!  I hope you like it!!

**

Jon watches his new bride gracefully twirl about the hall in the arms of yet another man, some popinjay knight from the Vale who smells more like a flower than a man.  

The one before him had been a loquacious young Northern lord who’d been reduced to stammers for the entirety of the dance they’d shared.  Jon can’t blame him.  He doesn’t know what to say to her either sometimes, especially when she’s dressed in that particular shade of blue, a touch darker than her eyes, and so breathtakingly lovely that it makes his heart ache.  

Her auburn hair is unbound and sways with each deliberate step of the dance.  She looks over her shoulder at him more than once to see if he’s watching her, over those shoulders which are pale and soft with a handful of fading freckles upon them.  

He gives her a nod and the best smile he can muster.  He’s always watching her…as well as a man with only one working eye can manage.  He buries a sigh and tries to look attentive as the other dancers whirl past.  He will not bring her down tonight with his melancholy. It’s more than enough that she’s bound to him for the length of their lives already.  

You would think you march to another battle in an hour instead of to your bedding.

The thought of possibly bedding Sansa has him gulping for breath and holding out his tankard to a passing servant.  “Another,” he says gruffly as he fiddles with his bandage.

The loss of sight in one eye seemed a small price to pay for the destruction of the Others at the time.  He’s never spent much time thinking on his looks and never expected to have a wife, certainly not a wife as beautiful as his.  Sansa says he looks perfectly fine to her.  Somedays, he believes her and doesn’t even bother with the bandage.  

But the scar and whiteish-looking eye are not pleasing to look at, nowhere near as pleasing looking as the young man dancing with his wife right now, so tonight, the king wears his bandage and sits alone at the head table. 

The servant refills his ale.  Jon nods his thanks and attempts to drink away the sting of watching Sansa happily dancing with other men whist he sits here being mumpish.  She is only being a courteous hostess.  And, his clever queen knows perfectly well how to cultivate good relations with their bannermen and the men that fought and bled with Jon.  Sulking in a corner by oneself isn’t how it’s done.

He does not begrudge Sansa her enjoyment of the dance.  His wife is young and the malicious threat that has loomed for so long is gone.  There has been a period for mourning but tonight, that thrill of having survived, having overcome seemingly overwhelming odds fills nearly everyone present save for a few determinedly dour grey beards and their king.  

Watching Sansa move, Jon wishes he could feel lighter than air as she appears to be.  Part of it’s a performance, he knows, but she is also resolved to cast aside their darker hours and focus on the future.  Meanwhile, he feels like he’s three times her age rather than three years older tonight.

The knight leans in, whispering something in her ear.  Jon’s burned hand clenches beneath the table. Sansa pulls away from the knight’s whispering but keeps dancing, only staying half a step farther back than before.  

Because of him Sansa’s admirers will always be kept at arm’s length even if she might long for it to be otherwise.  She’s far too mindful of duty to allow any personal attachment to lead her astray.  

And, now she’s trapped in another arranged marriage.  

She’ll be an admirable queen but he hopes she will not come to regret this decision after circumstances have brought about a marriage between himself and his fair cousin.  

It’s quite odd considering they grew up thinking themselves siblings. Half-siblings, Sansa would’ve corrected.  

They’d never been terribly close growing up and, since they’ve reunited, it’s been difficult for Jon to keep the lines between sibling affections and something else from blurring.  Whether that’s a result of him coming back from the dead different or the years of war and betrayals that have left him broken, taciturn and withdrawn, he will never speak of it aloud since his wife is unlikely to ever love him the way he loves her.  

They will do their duty to make this marriage work though.  They’ll wade their way through it like an unfamiliar dance and he hopes he can keep her from regretting it too keenly in time.  He’ll give her children to love if she’ll allow him that intimacy of making them.  Together, they’ll serve their people and raise a family.  She might even find it in her heart someday to...  

“Are you going to sit there drinking all night or are you going to dance with me at least once?”

Startled by her unexpected presence, he quickly rises in an attempt to pull back her chair.  In his haste though, he knocks over his tankard and he’s immediately cursing under his breath. He was not always so clumsy.  Is the eye to blame or the nerves that assail him like a green boy’s?

“I’m…sorry.”  

A bevy of servants have already descended, wiping off the table and his chair and putting things to rights again though the rushes at his feet are damp still.

He feels her hand reaching for his.  “It’s alright, Jon.  We can just sit here if you prefer.”

“You prefer dancing.”

“I do but I’d rather be with you whatever we do.”

“Why?” he cannot stop himself from blurting out.  She blanches at his words and tone.  Gods, he’s so hopeless as a bridegroom.  “Sorry.  I meant, why would you wish to sit with me when you could be enjoying yourself and…”

“Do you not know?” she asks, gently now.  “If our roles were reversed and I was sitting and you were dancing, would you come and sit with me?”

“Always, Sansa.”

His admittance makes her smile and her eyes are beseeching him to understand what his heart is afraid to believe.  “Then, why would you be surprised that I should choose to be with you?”

“Because I…because you’re…but you liked dancing with those other men.”

She laughs softly.  “I do. I still like you more.”

“You like me more,” he repeats before nodding towards the dandy from the Vale. “He was whispering in your ear. What did he say?”

“Things he shouldn’t say to a married woman.”

“He likes you,” he huffs quietly.  “He wants you.”

“Maybe so but he doesn’t love me and I do not love him.”

“Is there someone here you could love, my lady?  An idiot who’s sitting here with ale on his breeches when he could’ve been dancing with you for instance?  A man who loves you and has been watching you dance with other men the past half hour feeling sorry for himself?  Could you ever love a man like that?”

His heart is beating so hard by the time he gets that all out. He’s nearly breathless as he waits for an answer.  

“I could.  Why do you think I came over here?” she asks with an endearing grin.  

Soon after, King Jon leads his lady through a dance.  Everyone pauses to watch the newlyweds and he’s very cognizant of it.  Sansa whispers for him to pay them no heed and he tries not to.  He’s not very practiced at this sort of dancing but no one seems to pay much mind with the ale running so freely.  He prays he doesn’t crush her toes any.  

The next dance finds them surrounded by other couples and he’s no longer focusing on his missteps so much as the beauty in his arms who sighs contentedly as he holds her.  

Later that night after they’ve practiced another sort of dance together for the first time, his fears and regrets are no more than distant memories when Sansa tells him, “You needn’t worry over dances I share with other men, Jon. I fell in love with you, not them.”

#jonsa fanfic #vivilove-jonsa fic #jonsa #dialogue prompt

[agentrouka-blog]

You know both Mel n Sansa both describe their hair shine like copper in torches. Do you think it meant something?

I think it must mean something, because not all kinds of red hair are described that way, only that of three people. AND it is described in suspiciously similar terms AND Sansa’s hair description is even repeated by Brienne two books later, as if to remind us. There’s a connecting theme of parents and children, revenge and fire magic.

The first person to have copper hair and an association with burning trees: Ser Addam Marbrand. He’s Lord Tywin’s capable redhead.

Tyrion's right arm was soaked with blood. "Good of you to notice, Father," he said through clenched teeth. "Might I trouble you to send for your maesters? Unless you relish the notion of having a one-armed dwarf for a son …"

An urgent shout of "Lord Tywin!" turned his father's head before he could reply. Tywin Lannister rose to his feet as Ser Addam Marbrand leapt down off his courser. The horse was lathered and bleeding from the mouth. Ser Addam dropped to one knee, a rangy man with dark copper hair that fell to his shoulders, armored in burnished bronzed steel with the fiery tree of his House etched black on his breastplate. 

(AGOT, Tyrion VIII)

The next: Melisandre. Lord Stannis’ capable redhead. She sure loves burning trees, too. Her description also echoes Sansa. Tall, slender, graceful, beautiful. Only, she is not beautiful, she is red. 

Her hair was not the orange or strawberry color of common red-haired men, but a deep burnished copper that shone in the light of the torches. Even her eyes were red . . . but her skin was smooth and white, unblemished, pale as cream. Slender she was, graceful, taller than most knights, with full breasts and narrow waist and a heart-shaped face. Men's eyes that once found her did not quickly look away, not even a maester's eyes. Many called her beautiful. She was not beautiful. She was red, and terrible, and red. 

(ACOK, Prologue)

Here he comes again, connecting to another theme:

Ser Addam Marbrand was the first of the captains to depart, a day before the rest. He made a gallant show of it, riding a spirited red courser whose mane was the same copper color as the long hair that streamed past Ser Addam's shoulders. The horse was barded in bronze-colored trappings dyed to match the rider's cloak and emblazoned with the burning tree. Some of the castle women sobbed to see him go. Weese said he was a great horseman and sword fighter, Lord Tywin's most daring commander.

I hope he dies, Arya thought as she watched him ride out the gate, his men streaming after him in a double column. I hope they all die. 

(ACOK, Arya VIII)

I hope they all die. 

This is echoed in the passage of Catelyn speaking of her daughters, after getting the news about Winterfell, Rickon and Bran:

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper.

"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart's desire. She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. I despaired of ever making a lady of her. She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. I think she must be dead too." When she said that, it felt as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest. "I want them all dead, Brienne. Theon Greyjoy first, then Jaime Lannister and Cersei and the Imp, every one, every one. But my girls . . . my girls will . . ." 

(ACOK, Catelyn VII)

We pick up the theme of agrieved parents and fiery lords together:

She smiled, her long copper hair tumbling across her face. "The Lord of Light has fiery talons, Jon Snow."

Jon nodded, and turned back to the king. "Your Grace, you spoke of Val. She has asked to see Mance Rayder, to bring his son to him. It would be a . . . a kindness." 

(ASOS, Jon XI)

While burning trees, Mel insists, she wants everyone alive.

The woman rose in a swirl of scarlet silk, her long copper-bright hair tumbling about her shoulders. "Swords alone cannot hold this darkness back. Only the light of the Lord can do that. Make no mistake, good sers and valiant brothers, the war we've come to fight is no petty squabble over lands and honors. Ours is a war for life itself, and should we fail the world dies with us."  

(ASOS, Samwell V)

Failure is not an option.

Brienne again, remembering Catelyn’s words about her daughters.

Then she had begun to talk about her daughters. "Sansa was a little lady," she had said, "always courteous and eager to please. She loved tales of knightly valor. She will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I, you can see that. I would often brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, thick and soft . . . the red in it would shine like copper in the light of the torches."

She had spoken of Arya too, her younger daughter, but Arya was lost, most likely dead by now. Sansa, though . . . I will find her, my lady, Brienne swore to Lady Catelyn's restless shade. I will never stop looking. I will give up my life if need be, give up my honor, give up all my dreams, but I will find her. (AFFC, Brienne II)

This, too, has me really coming around to the idea that it is Arya that Brienne will Encounter and save. It’s too deliberate, this insistence that Arya must be dead, while Mel’s description being similar to Sansa ties her copper hair to the fight in the North, and Arya’s encounter with Marbrand for her ties copper hair and burning trees to the Riverlands and the vengeance cycle. 

Brienne’s quote follows the same pattern as Cat’s. Beautiful Sansa with the Melisandre hair, Arya most likely dead. Cat wants everyone to die. Brienne swear that life will prevail, she will sacrifice everything. Failure is not an option.

Will Sansa be someone else’s capable redhead advocating to fight for life? 

Will Brienne turn it all around for Catelyn and Arya? Bring back her child, do her this kindness? Lead her back to the fight for life, as well?

I’m pretty sure copper itself has its own symbolic meaning in the text. It’s red hair, but mostly it is currency or Dothraki skin color or the metal of bathtubs. 

Or this:

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends. And Renly, that one, he's copper, bright and shiny, pretty to look at but not worth all that much at the end of the day."

(ACOK, Jon I)

I sense some dramatic irony here. The Lord of light’s capable redhead may not be worth all that much. But we may just be surprised by the other one. The one who is not “red and terrible and red” but “far more beautiful”. 

But copper has 126 uses in the novels, there’s room for more exploration.

#asoiaf #red hair #Copper hair #copper #sansa stark #melisandre #addam marbrand #catelyn tully #brienne of tarth #hair symbolism #arya stark #vengeance #Fighting for life #parenting

[alinaastarkov]

In response to that slayin', hair flippin', finger snappin' answer you just published, would you be so kind as to list moments that reference how cruel Sansa is to Arya? (If you want!)

Thank you so much!!! When I say this ask made me scream with delight!!! I believe this is the answer you’re referring to (if not soz please tell me which it is) and I really had fun with it tbf 😂

I’m very happy to list some of these, because it is so often overlooked. In this instance, I will not be including moments that show how deeply it affects Arya, unless that is present in the same quote, because Arya’s self-esteem and mental health is affected by a number of things and people, and Sansa is only one of those things.

Without further ado, let’s get down to it:

She looked at Arya. “What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?” “Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.” “He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. - Arya I AGOT

This is more generic cruelty than specifically to Arya, but it does show how little she thinks of two of her siblings. Especially as she knows how close Jon and Arya are, and she chose to say it anyway, perhaps just to get a rise out of her (which is why I think Arya thought Sansa attracted Septa Mordane’s attention) or simply not caring about her feelings. Unclear, but we can see that Sansa calling Jon a bastard or half-brother (as she always does) is clearly hurtful to Arya who sees him as her brother, and both sisters acknowledge she is more like Jon than anyone else, so it’s hard not to see this affecting Arya negatively.

It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward. 

Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did. - Arya I AGOT

I know I said I wouldn’t look at how it affects Arya, but this quote in particular is specifically about Sansa. The misogyny of the society is inherent in this statement, as it’s what is making Arya feel inferior, but we know Sansa lords this over her in this quote. Arya even mentions things she is better at, and still thinks negatively because that is all she can do well. 

The only thing that scared her about today was Arya. Arya had a way of ruining everything. You never knew what she would do. - Sansa I AGOT

Sansa regarded her scrawny little sister in disbelief. “You can’t look for rubies, the princess is expecting us. The queen invited us both.” “I don’t care,” Arya said. “The wheelhouse doesn’t even have windows, you can’t see a thing.” “What could you want to see?” Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she’d feared. “It’s all just fields and farms and holdfasts.” “It is not,” Arya said stubbornly. “If you came with us sometimes, you’d see.” “I hate riding,” Sansa said fervently. “All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore.” - Sansa I AGOT

Here we see how poorly Sansa thinks of Arya, and this is her own POV so there’s nothing to say about bias either. She also disparages one of the few things Arya thinks she can do well, and thinks of Arya as stupid and “ruining everything” which is not kind, especially when Arya’s presence would not affect her time with the Queen. Also interesting that she says this later on:

Be with you, Sansa thought, but she said, “Whatever you’d like to do, my prince.” Joffrey reflected a moment. “We could go riding.” “Oh, I love riding,” Sansa said. - Sansa I AGOT

Riding isn’t so bad as soon as anyone else wants to do it, huh?

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse. 

Then it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on her arms. Sansa would have thought that might have taught her a lesson, but Arya laughed about it, and the next day she rubbed mud all over her arms like some ignorant bog woman just because her friend Mycah told her it would stop the itching. She had bruises on her arms and shoulders too, dark purple welts and faded green-and-yellow splotches; Sansa had seen them when her sister undressed for sleep. How she had gotten those only the seven gods knew. - Sansa I AGOT

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher’s boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers. - Sansa I AGOT

Here we have an instance of Sansa thinking of Arya as “horsey”, so why are we trying to deny she called her that? She also looks down on all the people Arya makes friends with, which shows her classism and how low her opinion is of her sister and her sister’s friends.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal takes after its master. She gave Lady a quick little hug. Lady licked her cheek. Sansa giggled. Arya heard and whirled around, glaring. “I don’t care what you say, I’m going out riding.” Her long horsey face got the stubborn look that meant she was going to do something willful. “Gods be true, Arya, sometimes you act like such a child,” Sansa said. “I’ll go by myself then. It will be ever so much nicer that way. Lady and I will eat all the lemon cakes and just have the best time without you.” - Sansa I AGOT

More of Sansa delighting in her sister’s misery. More of the “horsey” face. More Sansa telling her sister she isn’t wanted, which is something Arya is already deeply afraid of.

She was almost in tears. All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. Why couldn’t Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have liked a sister like that. 

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn’t been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa’s trueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to lie about it, so she supposed it had to be true. - Sansa I AGOT

Now, I’ve joked with my siblings about one or more of us being adopted, but I’ve never genuinely believed it, going so far as to ask my mum if it was true. This is worse, though. Sansa knows the kind of social ostracism and classism bastards are subjected to, and she genuinely wants that for her sister just to make life easier for her.

A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah’s flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy’s cheek. “Stop it!” Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick. Sansa was afraid. “Arya, you stay out of this.” “I won’t hurt him … much,” Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher’s boy. Arya went for him. - Sansa I AGOT

Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion’s Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire. Sansa was shrieking, “No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you’re spoiling it,” but no one was listening. Arya scooped up a rock and hurled it at Joffrey’s head. She hit his horse instead, and the blood bay reared and went galloping off after Mycah. “Stop it, don’t, stop it!” Sansa screamed. Joffrey slashed at Arya with his sword, screaming obscenities, terrible words, filthy words. Arya darted back, frightened now, but Joffrey followed, hounding her toward the woods, backing her up against a tree. Sansa didn’t know what to do. She watched helplessly, almost blind from her tears. - Sansa I AGOT

Joffrey made a scared whimpery sound as he looked up at her. “No,” he said, “don’t hurt me. I’ll tell my mother.” “You leave him alone!” Sansa screamed at her sister. Arya whirled and heaved the sword into the air, putting her whole body into the throw. The blue steel flashed in the sun as the sword spun out over the river. It hit the water and vanished with a splash. Joffrey moaned. Arya ran off to her horse, Nymeria loping at her heels. After they had gone, Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his breath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. “Joffrey,” she sobbed. “Oh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you.” - Sansa I AGOT

Now, I do not want to get into more crap about the Trident incident, but all of this is very telling, especially as it comes from Sansa’s POV so there is no bias. After watching Joffrey hurt an innocent boy, Sansa not only tells Arya to stay out of it and let the boy be mutilated, when Joffrey starts threatening her sister with a sword (remember, Arya only has a stick at best) she thinks that they are both ruining things. In this very dangerous and volatile situation where she should be defending her defenceless little sister, she not only blames them both, but is only annoyed because they are ruining her date. And then, she tells Arya to leave Joffrey alone. It’s pretty whack and I’d feel resentment too if I was Arya. And then, she abandons Arya and seemingly doesn’t care because she wants to be with Joffrey (remember that Arya goes missing for four fucking days) and opines about what they did to him, as Joffrey wasn’t the aggressor.

“They were not the only ones present,” Ned said. “Sansa, come here.” Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. “Tell us what happened.” His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. “I don’t know,” she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t see …” - Eddard III AGOT

We know she knows exactly what happened. This is a lie. Plain and simple. I don’t blame Sansa for this - we would probably all be her confronted with this intimidating situation - but that doesn’t make it any better for her sister.

That was when Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they went to her father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face. “No,” she said. “No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good …” “Lady wasn’t there,” Arya shouted angrily. “You leave her alone!” “Stop them,” Sansa pleaded, “don’t let them do it, please, please, it wasn’t Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can’t, it wasn’t Lady, don’t let them hurt Lady, I’ll make her be good, I promise, I promise …” She started to cry. - Eddard III AGOT

I feel for Sansa here, but she didn’t need to throw her sister under the bus, again.

The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher’s boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell. - Eddard IV AGOT

Sansa’s eyes had grown wide as the plates. “A tourney,” she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. “Will we be permitted to go, Father?” - Arya II AGOT

“I don’t care about their stupid tourney,” Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey. Sansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted.” Anger flashed across Father’s face. “Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind." - Arya II AGOT

So, she blames Arya for Lady when it wasn’t her fault (seemingly out loud to Arya’s face seeing as this is coming from Ned), distances herself from Arya and then insults her at breakfast. Me and my sister fight, but not like this. 

That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her. - Arya II AGOT

When Prince Joffrey seated himself to her right, she felt her throat tighten. He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him. At first she thought she hated him for what they’d done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey’s doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate, her and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya. - Sansa II AGOT

Again with the blaming when she is fully aware it was not her fault. I admire Sansa’s growth through the series. I enjoy reading her AFFC and TWOW chapters. But boy, did we truly start at the bottom.

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. - Sansa III AGOT

Ironic, isn’t it?

“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!” - Sansa III AGOT

Sansa is the aggressor here, telling blatant lies, and it’s a bit of an overreaction to a stain on a dress.

“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.” - Sansa III AGOT

The one time Arya tries to apologise and make amends, particularly by putting herself out there and offering to do something she hates to fix it, and Sansa says that. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sansa pleaded with him. “I don’t want to go back.” She loved King’s Landing; the pageantry 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.” - Sansa III AGOT

“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. - Sansa III AGOT

Again with the unnecessary insults that prey on insecurities Arya already has. Especially seeing as Arya is trying to cheer her up. 

“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask Septa Mordane, she’ll tell you, I only want to be Joffrey’s loyal and loving wife.” - Sansa IV AGOT

Sansa found herself thinking of Lady again. She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, father had killed her, on account of Arya. She drew the knife and held it before her with both hands. - Sansa II ACOK

There are about 3 Arya mentions in Sansa’s ACOK chapters, and one was negative. And this is all while she thinks Arya is dead.

Lommy had called her Lumpyhead, Sansa used horseface, and her father’s men once dubbed her Arya Underfoot, but she did not think any of those were the sort of name he wanted. - Arya IX ACOK

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world’s graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa II ASOS

Again, she thinks Arya is dead, and this is still how she sees her.

Her name, she had to know her name. “Arya Underfoot. Your sister used to call you Arya Horseface.” “It was me made up that name. Her face was long and horsey. Mine isn’t. I was pretty.” - The Prince of Winterfell ADWD

I know Jeyne said she made up the name, and I know you’re all gonna say that means Sansa didn’t use it. But it doesn’t matter that she made it up, because that doesn’t mean Sansa never said it. Arya and Theon, who has no bias or reason to lie, admit that. It seems pretty clear to me.

There are one or two positive mentions of Arya in Sansa’s thoughts, but that’s not what this ask was about. I hope I answered you nonny and thank you for the kind words!!

EDIT: forgot to add the link at the start. fixed now!

#asoiaf #neve has mail #arya stark #the night wolf #again i've got people complaining i use the sansa tag even though my last answer was not negative at all #so i will not be tagging her here #i will on the next one though so bite me

[sullybot]

Fragile Flower - Oberyn AU part 1/?

Hey guys! My friend @okamixkeshin and I like to RP a lot of different things, and recently we have been REALLY obsessed with Pedro Pascal and his many roles. So, here are a few pages of our GoT AU where Oberyn lives. It is in RP style, so it can be a little rough to read, but I don’t have the time to re-edit and make it more streamline, so. Enjoy!

There will be smut. You have been warned.

“You know what it means to be a noble lady, Audra.” Tella, her mother, explained as she brushed through the long locks of silky auburn locks before carefully weaving her fingers through for a five row braid.

“Yes, mother.” Audra replied quietly, wincing slightly at the brush through her hair. She usually loved it when her mother did her hair instead of one of the handmaidens, but not today. Over the past year since the war for the Seven (now six) kingdoms had ended, both of her older sisters had been married off. Magdalene was married to Sandor Clegane, originally it was going to be Jon Snow, until he was banished. Ophelia, to Gendry, the last of the Baratheons. Audra was the youngest, having turned fifteen just the spring before. It was peak summer now and warm. Not too hot. They were the family of  Pink Lady, near Clegane’s keep. Further North than King’s Landing, so it wasn’t quite as hot, which she was thankful for. She wasn’t one who did well in heat, not with her fair complexion. That made her nervous, also. The suitor supposedly picked for her was a Prince from Dorne, a man she’d heard of, but never seen. Oberyn Martell. She knew very little about him, other than his previous partner (they wouldn’t call her a ‘wife’, which made Audra dread meeting him) had died during the war, as well as all of their children (who were bastards, though, no one called them such).

She had no idea what to expect, only what was expected of her during this meeting.

“What are you going to do?” Tella questioned gently. She really did hate having to marry off all of her daughters like this, but what was she supposed to do? She had barely any footing, and what she did have was entirely because of how she’d assisted the North during the war.

“I am going to do what is expected of me.” Audra answered before letting out a long breath and continuing, “I will do everything I am able to, and do my best to seduce the prince of Dorne… He does not need to wed me, only bed me and leave me with child. If I have his child, you will speak with Queen Sansa of the North to allow the child to take our name so that we may secure ties with the Dornish, while also ensuring our family will have an heir.”

“That’s my girl. Good. They’ll be here before night fall. Make sure you see your maids and get all of your womanly needs situated before the Prince gets here. If he’s anything like he was before the war, he’ll bed you before morning.” Tella said, placing a gentle kiss atop her daughters head and smiling, “I love you, very much.” She said before leaving the room. “I know…” Audra said softly, closing her eyes and doing her very best not to cry.

Oberyn had long suffered through the war. After narrowly escaping one bad situation after the other he had returned to Dorne to ride out the rest of the godforsaken war. Now the war was over and things were calm, and he had been invited to spend a few weeks with the gracious Pink Lady family. He was looking forward to his time there as he had heard rumors of the family trying to marry him to one of their young daughters. He was a cobra and a resourceful spy. His people were the best in the business.       So when he arrived he graciously retired to his room and took his dinner there after briefly greeting the lord of the house, claiming that he would dine with everyone in the morning. Satisfied with that he ate his dinner peacefully in his room and began to get ready for the night, changing into a pair of silk pants and sitting down on his bed with a lamp on the nightstand so he could read for a little while.

        Audra and her handmaidens but so much effort into her that was ultimately, for the day, a complete waste. All of their Dornish guests retired to their rooms upon arrival and Audra had never even been given a chance to introduce herself. During dinner, all her mother did was lecture her about how she needed to find a way to meet the Dornish Prince and get him to bed her. Dinner was also full of 'delightful' tips for now to please a man, which Audra would rather have heard from literally anyone except her own mother. Knowing that her mother did these things made her lose her appetite.         After dinner, she'd taken a candle to roam the halls, to find the room her mother had given to Oberyn for his stay. She stood outside the door quietly, her evening shawl wrapped over her shoulder. A shimmering midnight blue over the lilac of her day dress. She lifted a hand to knock on the wood, but her heart rate quickened and she couldn't. She couldn't muster the courage to do it and she turned, fleeing down the hall, up the stairs and into her own room. Tomorrow would be a new day.         Tomorrow was just as awful, if not worse. Her mother did her hair while lecturing her again, but much earlier now. Before the sun was up, to make sure she was proper for when the Princes awoke. She was in a pastel yellow dress now that laced up the front. It was tight, but the fabric was thin and flowing, showing as much of her womanly shape as possible. She stood in the great hall with her mother as they waited for breakfast, her blue eyes; exhausted. They were now waiting for the Martell's so they could all dine together this fine morning.

Oberyn had expected someone to slip into his room in the night, but aside from the soft footfalls that he heard outside his door before he retired to sleep, he didn’t hear anything else. He woke peacefully and well rested when the sun was just barely starting to show tendrils of light. No matter where he was, he always managed to wake before dawn. Years of training. He ventured through the palace and found a courtyard where he could train. He spent an hour there until the sun was finally peeking over the horizon and then returned to his room to wash up and change. He wore golden robes with yellow, red, and white embroidery, the signet of Dorne on the lapels and the back. Doran, his brother the first Prince, wore similar clothing though in purples and blues, and Oberyn took the challenge of wheeling his brother’s chair down to the dining room where people were gathered waiting for them. “Good morning to our gracious guests. I apologize, for neglecting you last night, but the trip was a very arduous one, and we thought it best to greet you all fresh faced.” Oberyn said with a soft forward bow before locating the spot meant for Doran and lining his chair up with the table before moving to the spot he was guided to.

        "Mother, really?" Audra whispered as the two Dornish men entered the room, her eyes focused on the man in the chair and dreading every moment of her life that lead to this moment. This was the man she needed to bed? How cruel and unfair the gods were. She paid little attention to the man pushing the chair, though he is the one who spoke. Surely no one of great importance would have such a task. Tella grabbed Audra’s arm hard enough to make her wince and then slowly lead her over to the table.         "Take a seat, Audra. Don't keep our guests waiting." Tella said, sitting Audra down across from the younger man who had been pushing the wheelchair. Tella took her own seat across from the chair bound man. "It is a pleasure to have you both at our table. Things have been quite lonely here in Pink Lady since the war. I am so sorry for your losses that you've suffered. I lost my husband and both of my sons, so I feel your sorrow."         "My mother is correct, it's very nice to have company." Audra spoke, finally looking up from her plate. The man across from her was beautiful. Strong, well dressed, a kind face and beautiful dark hair and sun kissed skin. She wished her skin could look like that, but it only turned red with too much sun, and she ended up with more freckles when the stinging skin healed. Her eyes then traveled to the other man, who looked a few years older but had longer hair with streaks of gray. "My mother had hoped that having the company of strong men may make us feel less vulnerable in these trying times. It's a pleasure to meet you, Prince Oberyn."         Doran simply looked at her and chuckled softly to himself with a small shake of his head. "Someone must have gotten confused. I am Prince Doran." He said, lifting a hand to point over at Oberyn, "This is my brother, Oberyn."        "W-what." Audra smiled, trying to hide the confusion and panic on her face as she looked up at Oberyn with wide blue eyes.

Oberyn took his seat after the women took theirs, pulling his chair up to the table silently and settling down with one hand resting on the table casually. “It is good to visit our allies, even in times of peace. Dorne is a close friend to those of the Pink Lady, and are always glad to pay you a visit.” He murmured, nodding his head gently to the two women, though when the beautiful young girl sitting across from him called his brother by the wrong name, a devilish grin crossed his lips, and he let Doran handle the interaction. “I do believe… that is the first time anyone has mistaken the two of us.” Oberyn mused, glancing over at his brother and chuckling softly before he turned his attention back to the girl across from him. “You are the youngest of the daughters, yes? Lady Audra, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He said gently, his smile gentle and disarming.

        "We would love for you to stay as long as you see fit. We have our Summer festival in a fortnight and we would be honored if you would stay long enough to attend. It's quite the ball." Tella said with a smile before it quickly faded as Audra very spectacularly made a fool of herself. She only turned to look at her daughter to see how she would handle the situation. She didn't want to step in if she didn't have to.         "Yes, I am." Audra responded with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I wasn't told anything about which of you was which. I'm sure that if I hadn't missed introductions yesterday when you arrived, I wouldn't have made such a foolish error. Please, forgive me. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, prince Oberyn." She said before looking at Doran, "And you as well, Prince Doran. It's an honor to have you as our guests. If there is anything we can do for you." She said before looking at Oberyn again and speaking a little more slowly, more sultry, "anything at all… please, let us know."

Oberyn chuckled gently and raised one shoulder lightly as she apologized, “There is no need. We decided that greeting everyone with fresh faces was more important than getting names right. It was an honest mistake.” He assured her, taking a few items from the center of the table and putting them on his plate, doing the same for his brother who couldn’t quite reach the items he wanted. He took a slow drink of juice from his goblet and set it down to look at Audra quizzically at her sultry offer. It made him wonder if the steps outside his room had been hers last night. “I will remember that. On our way through town I heard mention of market day, and I thought it might be interesting to venture down to the city to explore it.” He mused, “Perhaps you will accompany me, Lady Audra?” He asked, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork and taking a bite without taking his eyes off of her.

        "I would love to show you around our palace and our town." Audra said, keeping the smile on her face. She was feeling more and more uncomfortable as his eyes never left her. It was like he was trying to look inside of her, into her head to see what she was up to. Surely he didn't have that sort of power. She managed to look away from him and grab her fork, starting to slowly eat some of the food on her plate. Though she didn't look at him, she could still feel his eyes on hers.        "I've heard rumors that your eldest, Magdalene, is with child in Clegane’s Keep. Do you know anything of this, Lady Tella?"         "Yes." Tella said with a small chuckle, "I received the raven last week sharing the good news, though I hadn't told anyone else yet. I'm surprised it took so long, really. They've been married almost a year. I had thought for sure she'd have been with child within the first month. Can't imagine he was the kind of man to wait for her comfort." She explained with a weary smile, "the letter was her handwriting, and I think she's excited. We are going to see her when you gentlemen head back to Dorne. Don't make that affect how long you'd like to stay. Children take nearly a year."         "Maggie is with child, and you didn't tell me?" Audra said, looking up from her plate and turning to look at her mother. She remembered what The Hound looked like and it sent a chill down her spine. Her sister had to bed that man, probably often. Oh, poor Maggie…         "I didn't want to tell you prematurely. Much can happen during a pregnancy." Tella said calmly, not looking at Audra. "I suppose now I'm only waiting on you and Ophelia to have children."         "You'll be waiting for a while, mother. I'm not married yet. There aren't even any suitors lined up for me. There are so few families left." She said without thinking about who their guests were, for just that moment. "I'm sure Ophelia won't be far behind. She seemed to like Gendry."

“That is wonderful news. It is nice to hear of children to be born, after all the violence that the world has gone through.” Oberyn mused as he lowered his fork back to his plate and instead focusing on his food from where he had been staring at the young woman across the table from him. He needed to get his mind off of her. Despite the last interaction, and the footsteps he had heard the night before, it was highly unlikely that she was the one he had been expecting. A light chuckle left Oberyn when Audra protested, “Present company not included?” He asked teasingly, one of his dark eyebrows raised as he leaned back in his chair and took a long drink from his goblet again, having finished the food he had selected for himself. “My brother has two capable sons, and I am currently unencumbered. While I take no stock in rumors… I had heard some whispers that there was talk of a formal alliance with Dorne? Though my unreliable sources did not mention specifics.” He questioned playfully.

        Tella opened her mouth to speak, to try and gently bat away his probing question, but Audra beat her to it.        " Formal alliance with Dorne?" Audra questioned with one eyebrow raised. "I can assure you that my mother and I did not consider our customs when it comes to dealing with the Dornish." She said with a small shrug of her shoulder. "You seem mildly offended, 'present company not included', since when has a Dornish noble married? Let alone married outside of Dorne?" She questioned with one eyebrow slightly arched. "No. We hadn't considered Dorne, but if you're looking to make an exception, based upon what you see." She added, looking herself up and down before looking back at him, "Surely we would be willing to listen to what you had to offer."         Audra could feel her heart beating as if it may crack her ribs, but her face was calm. That's what mattered. She couldn't see her mother's face, but Tella had never been more proud.

Oberyn grunted in amusement, “You wound me.” He joked lightly, enjoying the banter that she was engaging him with. She was amusing, and fiesty. It was a nice change. “I will have to take that into consideration.” He admitted and glanced at his brother, who was trying not to laugh into his breakfast. It was good to see his brother so amused with his younger brother's discomfort. “You have a very skilled negotiator for a daughter, Tella. You should be proud.” Oberyn praised her and set his glass down beside his empty plate. “I like her.” Doran chuckled into his breakfast, “She’s not afraid of you. Most women are too intimidated by your beauty to retaliate.” Doran snorted and took a drink.

        "I am proud of all of my girls. They've grown up to be brilliant young ladies, as well as beautiful." Tella said with a bright smile while she spoke to Doran.         Audra finished her meal quickly and looked to her mother, "I'm going to go prepare for the tour for prince Oberyn." She smiled, "may I be excused?"         "Of course you may. Take the horses, why don't you? It'll be easier on the feet."         "Of course. I'll saddle them myself." Audra smiled before standing. "I'll be in the stables whenever you are ready, Prince Oberyn." She smiled before walking out of the dining hall and outside to the stable to prepare for her day.

         "I will be there shortly." Oberyn agreed with a slight bow of his head and excused himself from the table to return to his room. He changed into something more suitable for their adventures to the market, a more plain set of robes that would be easy to ride in. After running his fingers through his hair he headed down to the stables in hope of assisting with saddling his own horse.

        Audra had finished saddling her horse and only begun on his when he appeared into the stables. "You really did follow quickly, and even changed." She laughed softly before turning back to the horse. He wasn't at all what she'd expected. After Maggie was married off to Sandor Clegane, she really didn't have high hopes of anyone good looking or even relatively young. This man could only be in his mid thirties or so, sure, a fair bit older than she, but not like the fifty-something lords that were married to girls her age before the war. "We could walk, if you'd rather. I'm sure you spent most of your journey here on horseback." She said before turning to face him, "unless… you'd rather start with our tour of the castle? I can show you some of my favorite rooms…" She said, attempting that slow and sultry tone with him again.

        "You've already got them nearly ready. It would be a waste. Besides… Etherion needs the exercise. He gets antsy when left in the stables too long." He mused, patting the nose of his pitch black horse and walking around to adjust the saddle, deftly tightening a few straps and securing them firmly before he slid the bridle onto his head. "I'll take advantage of the tour of the castle once we get back." He assured her, glancing down at her with a faint smile. He almost appeared unaffected by her flirting. "Would you like a hand up?" He offered, nodding to her horse.

       "I'd love a hand up." Audra said with a smile, trying not to be discouraged by his immunity to her seduction. She knew she wasn't the most seductive. She didn't have much in the way of practice, and from what she'd heard from her mother, Oberyn had nothing but practice. "City it is, and then later we will look at the rooms." She said before putting one foot in a stirrup on her beige and white horse, waiting for him to assist her before making another movement.

      Despite his apparent indifference, Oberyn was not unaffected by her. She was beautiful, and her obvious attempts at flirting with him were endearing. He wanted to spend more time with her. He also wanted to hear her moan his name, but for now he would settle for this. Coming closer he came around behind her and settled his hands rather boldly on her hips. "Pardon me." He murmured in a deep rasp close to her ear and lifted with ease to help her up onto the horse. Once she was settled he adjusted her skirt behind her as if it was nothing and turned to his horse, easily pulling himself up and walking out of the stables to wait in the courtyard for her.

        Audra gasped softly when she heard him beside her ear and got into her horse gracefully with his help, adjusting her dress and looking at him as he mounted his own horse. He was so strong and resilient. She couldn't help but stare at him and wonder what it would like to touch him. What his skin felt like. How hard his muscles were. She wanted to know all of these things. She followed him out of the stables and started to explain the sights and the buildings they passed through the afternoon. They went around the city and the market until the sun began to set over the horizon. Audra was well liked and well respected in her community. Everyone knew who she was and was pleased to see her, so pleased, that no one even questioned the presence of the Dornish Prince, only treated him kindly and offered him food and gifts, just as they did to her.         "Thank you for the company this afternoon, Prince Oberyn." Audra smiled as she got back into the stables and dismounted her horse with ease, wincing slightly. Riding for that long wasn't her strong suit. "It really was a pleasant day for it."

         Oberyn thoroughly enjoyed himself. He hadn't expected to come back with a bag full of gifts, but as he dismounted he had both that and the purchases he had made that day strapped to the back of his horse. He instructed a stable boy to have it taken to his room, and gave the child a small shiny coin to do it. He turned to face her when she spoke, a smile crossing his face as he lead his horse into the stall and began to strip off the tack. "It was my pleasure. Thank you for the tour of your lovely city." He said gently. After a quick brush down and a nose pat to his horse he helped her do the same and began to walk back to the palace with her.           "You are quite looking quite pink, little flower." He mused, spotting something in the gardens on their way back to the palace. He stopped and crouched down to break a piece off of something that looked like a cactus. "Come here." He murmured, beckoning her to him.

        "I unfortunately am quite pink. Hopefully it wasn't too bad. If I am lucky, itll have faded and been replaced by more freckles come the morning." Audra laughed gently, walking slowly with him back toward the castle. Her heart was already racing, knowing what she would need to do once they were inside. Did she want to do this before or after dinner? She didn't know. She didn't want to do it at all. Their time together had been short, but she liked him, and it felt dirty to use him for a child, the way her mother wanted her to. She eyed him curiously and came beside him, kneeling down carefully beside him. "You've found the Aloe Vera plant. They are lovely, aren't they? Mother hates them, which is why I grow them all the way out here. Father loved them. Said they were useful, though I don't know what he meant. I know very little about plants."

         "Indeed. They are very useful." He explained, lowering himself onto one knee and breaking off a small piece of it. He peeled the outer skin away and rubbed his fingers along the center to gather the viscous gel from the inside. Satisfied he had enough he set the piece down on his thigh and reached over to cup her cheek with his free hand, "Hold still." He murmured softly. Cradling her chin, he began to apply the aloe to her face, gently covering the worst of the sunburn and then applying more to his fingers to rub into the rest of her sunburn. His fingers were gentle and feather light. "It is very effective on sunburns."

        Audra watched him with intense curiosity as he opened the leaf and touched the sticky substance inside. She was so focused, she wasn't prepared for him to grab her chin. She gasped in surprise and looked at him, looking into those lovely brown eyes and wanting to kiss him. She understood now what her mother meant, about how this man affected women. She was blushing, but it couldn't be seen past the sunburn on her cheeks. "It feels cold." She remarked softly with a timid smile. "It already feels better."

      "If you let it soak in and can resist the urge to rub it, it will get better by nightfall." He explained softly, very much aware of the effect he was having on her. The urge to kiss her was very intense, but he ignored it. Instead he finished applying the gel to her face and slowly stood, taking her hands in his and helping her to her feet. "Perhaps tomorrow I will take you up on your offer to show me the palace." He mused, his hands lingering a moment before he loosened his grip to let her pull away.

        Audra smiled and thanked him quietly when he helped her to stand. She swallowed hard and said something, though it was hard. "Wait. You've missed a spot…" She said gently when he released. She didn't move her hands from his until she reached up to touch the sun kissed skin of her chest. Her cleavage that her dress didn't cover. "I think this area could use some attention too, don't you think? It would be such a shame I'd this is the part of me that was sensitive and burned after today, don't you agree?"

      "It would be a damn same, wouldn't it?" Oberyn agreed, a soft chuckle leaving him as he broke off another small piece and squeezed it onto his fingers. He stepped closer to her, so close that her breasts almost brushed his chest, and gently began to rub the gel into the tender pink skin of her cleavage, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm surprised… I didn't expect a young flower like you to be so bold." he teased her, lifting his head to glance around them a moment before his free hand slid between them and lightly grazed the underside of her breasts through her dress as he worked on the exposed sunburned area.

        "Don't underestimate quiet flowers…" Audra said with a playful smile before looking away from him briefly as his hand touched her cleavage, the gel cool and soothing against her hot skin. This was the only time she'd been thankful for the pink skin, for it hid her blush. "I'm usually not so bold, but a lot of the remaining lords in this part of the country aren't worthy of it, either." She tried to explain. She didn't want to call them all far, lazy slobs, but that's really the truth of it. Old men with no fire left in them, who certainly didn't deserve someone like her. She gasped and looked back up at him when his other hand briefly brushed her breast before going onto her cleavage. "How scandalous…"

        "Hardly scandalous." Oberyn mused playfully. He withdrew his hand from her cleavage and wiped his fingers on his pants. "But if anyone saw this…" he whispered playfully and curled a hand around her hip as he dipped his head and kissed her suddenly. He didn't hesitate, his movements slow and purposeful as he kissed her thoroughly and held her close to him with one hand, the other still hidden between their bodies where it slid up just enough to palm her breast and lightly tweak the hidden pebble of her nipple through the fabric.

        "Oh really? The Dornish really do have different ideas of what is a sc-" Audra was cut short by his lips meeting her own. Her eyes went wide and she didn't know what to do with herself. Her impulse was to push him away and slap him, but that would be bad for the alliance. She could already hear her mother yelling at her. She placed her arms on his biceps and squeezed nervously before letting out a small cry of surprise as his hand touched her breast and applied pressure to her nipple, which grew instantly erect. No one had ever touched her like that before, let alone so boldly. She finally broke the kiss and used her grip on his arms to step back from him. "Please! Prince Oberyn, think of my reputation. Please at least wait until our evening tour of the castle where no one can see us."

       Oberyn pulled back when she pushed at his arms, pulling his hands away from her and watching her flushed reaction with a smile. Even with her sunburn it was obvious now. "Maybe you didn't notice, but the garden is quite secluded." He purred with a light chuckle. "Perhaps I was too forward. You lingered outside my room last night… I thought you were prepared for this sort of thing." He murmured softly, and nodding towards the castle. "Let's return. I'm famished and I'm sure dinner is waiting."

        "Not secluded enough. There are eyes everywhere." Audra managed to tease, regaining her composure after only a few short moments. She wanted to kiss him again. She hadn't even been able to enjoy it because she was so nervous. His mustache was soft and his lips were warm. The muscles of his arms were so hard. She wanted him to pick her up and pin her against the wall. "I didn't know if you were still awake and I hadn't wanted to bother you." She said, not denying that she'd been outside his door. "Perhaps tonight will work better. You'd be expecting me, and there wouldn't be eyes or ears trying to spread rumors through our city."

        "I see." Oberyn murmured and watched her as they walked back towards the castle. "Come by tonight then. I'll be waiting for you once night falls." He purred playfully and caught her hand in his briefly to bring it up to his lips and press a kiss to her palm before letting go of her reluctantly and walking up the stairs to open the door for her.

       "I'll be there as soon as mother is asleep." Audra assured him, unable to keep herself from smiling as he kissed her palm and released her. She walked inside and disappeared down a hall. She showed up for dinner, having cleaned herself up from their travels earlier in the day. Tella was still doing her best to attempt to charm and disarm Doran. Audra wasn't sure, but she assumed she was trying to distract him long enough for her to bed Oberyn. If that was the case, she wouldn't have to try for much longer.

@reylo-hope Here is the chapter I promised you. I’ll post another one soon, if you like this. (The smut comes soon)

#oberyn #oberyn smut #oberyn x oc #oberyn lives #he killed the mountain #got #gameofthrones #i don't own anything #if you think of more tags feel free to add

[butterflies-dragons]

Lúthien and Sansa

Art credit: Lúthien by Aerankai and Sansa by denvertakespics

Recently I started reading about Beren and Lúthien and got really fascinated about how similar Lúthien and Sansa are.

Summary:

1. Beauty

2. Flowery names

3. From dusk to dawn

4. Little birds: nightingales

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

6. Big cats and big dogs

7. Bat and wolf imagery

8. Singing and dancing

9. Other parallels

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

1. Beauty

Ah, Lúthien! Ah, Lúthien,

more fair than any child of Men!

Oh, loveliest maid of Elvenesse,

what madness doth thee now possess?

Ah, lissom limbs and shadowy hair

and chaplet of white snowdrops there;

oh, starry diadem and bright

soft hands beneath the pale moonlight!

She left his arms and slipped away

just at the breaking of the day.

—Canto VI, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

It is told in the Lay of Leithian that Beren came stumbling into Doriath grey and bowed as with many years of woe, so great had been the torment of the road. But wandering in the summer in the woods of Neldoreth he came upon Luthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian, at a time of evening under moonrise, as she danced upon the unfading grass in the glades beside Esgalduin. Then all memory of his pain departed from him, and he fell into an enchantment; for Luthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Iluvatar. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light.

[...] The fame of the beauty of Luthien and the wonder of her song had long gone forth from Doriath.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lúthien was an Elf maiden/half Maia of incomparable beauty and grace, with night-dark hair, sparkling grey eyes, luminous skin, and a clear heartbreakingly lovely voice that was said to cause winter to melt into spring.

Lúthien was said to be the fairest maiden to have ever lived (a description later shared also by Arwen).

Why, O king, I desire thy daughter Tinúviel, for she is the fairest and most sweet of all maidens I have seen or dreamed of.’

Then was there a silence in the hall, save that Dairon laughed, and all who heard were astounded, but Tinúviel cast down her eyes, and the king glancing at the wild and rugged aspect of Beren burst also into laughter, whereat Beren flushed for shame, and Tinúviel’s heart was sore for him. ‘Why! wed my Tinúviel fairest of the maidens of the world, and become a prince of the woodland Elves—’tis but a little boon for a stranger to ask,’ quoth Tinwelint.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lúthien inherited her beauty from her mother Melian:

Melian was a fay. In the gardens of [the Vala] Lórien she dwelt, and among all his fair folk none were there that surpassed her beauty, nor none more wise, nor none more skilled in magical and enchanting song.

—Beren and Lúthien, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa is a beautiful maiden as well, she inherited her beauty from her mother Catelyn Tully:

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper."

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

About Sansa's beauty, as I said before in another post:

I think beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but there are certain consensus and there are also certain conflicting reports about “beauty” in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire. [...] On the other hand, we have characters like Catelyn Tully and Sansa Stark, mother and daughter, that are consensually considered beautiful. Zero conflicting reports. [...] Sansa Stark is called beautiful the most times in the entire series and by so many characters, friends and foes. There is no doubt about her beauty, and sadly that’s why her big lot of haters want for her to be disfigured so badly……….

As you can see, in a series of books full of unreliable narrators, Sansa's beauty is an absolute truth.

As I'm going to explain in the next section, Sansa's beauty is said to be "bewitching". Sansa is an "enchantress" thanks to her beauty.

Here a compilation of all the quotes about Sansa's beauty.

2. Flowery names

Lúthien was born in a forest under the stars, and niphredil first grew at the moment of her birth.

Niphredil was a small white flower that grew first at the moment of Lúthien's birth.

In one of his letters (Nº 312), Tolkien said that niphredil would be a delicate kin of a snowdrop.

The fact that a flower first grew at the moment of Lúthien's birth makes sense with the etymology of the name:

Lúthien is a Sindarin name meaning "Daughter of Flowers". The first element in the name is lúth ("blossom, inflorescence"). The second element is the feminine suffix -ien ("daughter").

In early writings, Doriathrin Luthien and Noldorin Lhūthien meant "enchantress", deriving from Primitive Quendian luktiēnē ("enchantress"; from root LUK "magic, enhantement").

And as it will be explained later, Lúthien wore fragrant flowers in her beautiful black hair.

Lúthien may have been derived from the Old English word Lufien, which means "love".

Sansa is also a flowery name:

The names Arya and Sansa are meant to represent the polar opposites of their characters, Arya being a hard sounding name, Sansa a softer more pretty name, etc.

—GRRM about The Stark Sisters’ Names

Arya, I say it ar-ya, two syllables, not three, not a-ri-a, like an operatic thing, but Arya, very sharp. I wanted something that was like a knife, that was sharp and hard sound, to be a contrast to the flowery Sansa.

—DAYS OF ICE AND FIRE Q&A (Nov. 13 2010)

Sansa is strongly linked with flowers as well (the rose of Winterfell legend, blue winter roses, the scent of flowers along the north bank of the Trident, Loras’s red rose, Myrcella’s garden, the Roadside Rose song, etc).

Sansa wore the red rose that Loras gave her in her hair.

Sansa has a lot of parallels with Jennys of Oldstones, a lady in a song famous for wearing flowers in her hair.

And about "magic", "enchantment" and "enchantress" we have these very telling quotes:

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

[...] Ser Harrold looked confused. "Please. One dance."

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist."

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

As you can see, Sansa's beauty is said to be "bewitching". Sansa, like Lúthien, is an "enchantress."

3. From dusk to dawn

Lúthien is also called Tinúviel:

Tinúviel: ‘Daughter of Twilight’ [...].

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tinúviel literally means "Daughter of Twilight".

Beren first saw Lúthien dancing and singing in the twilight:

Now the lies of Melko ran among Beren’s folk so that they believed evil things of the secret Elves, yet now did he see Tinúviel dancing in the twilight, and Tinúviel was in a silver-pearly dress, and her bare white feet were twinkling among the hemlock-stems. Then Beren cared not whether she were Vala or Elf or child of Men and crept near to see; and he leant against a young elm that grew upon a mound so that he might look down into the little glade where she was dancing, for the enchantment made him faint.

[...] “By dawn and dusk he sought her, but ever more hopefully when the moon shone bright. At last one night he caught a sparkle afar off, and lo, there she was dancing alone on a little treeless knoll and Dairon was not there. ”

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

At length Beren fled south from the ever-closing circle of those that hunted him, and crossed the dreadful Mountains of Shadow, and came at last worn and haggard into Doriath. There in secret he won the love of Lúthien daughter of Thingol, and he named her Tinúviel, the nightingale, because of the beauty of her singing in the twilight beneath the trees; for she was the daughter of Melian.

—A passage extracted from the Quenta, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

While Lúthien is associated with the twilight and the moon; Sansa is associated with the dawn and the sun:

All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

One more step, she told herself, one more step. She had to keep moving. If she stopped, she would never start again, and dawn would find her still clinging to the cliff, frozen in fear. One more step, and one more step.

The ground took her by surprise. She stumbled and fell, her heart pounding. When she rolled onto her back and stared up at from where she had come, her head swam dizzily and her fingers clawed at the dirt. I did it. I did it, I didn't fall, I made the climb and now I'm going home.

[...] The eastern sky was vague with the first hint of dawn when Sansa finally saw a ghostly shape in the darkness ahead; a trading galley, her sails furled, moving slowly on a single bank of oars. As they drew closer, she saw the ship's figurehead, a merman with a golden crown blowing on a great seashell horn.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me. 

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

More about Sansa and the dawn here.

4. Little birds: nightingales

Tinúviel is also a term to refer to the nightingale:

Tinúviel: [...] nightingale: name given to Lúthien by Beren.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tinúviel is a Sindarin poetic term, though not a literal name, for the 'Nightingale'. This name was first given to Lúthien of Doriath by Beren when he first saw her dancing in the forest.

Lúthien's mother, Melian, is strongly associated with nightingales:

Melian was a fay. In the gardens of [the Vala] Lórien she dwelt, and among all his fair folk none were there that surpassed her beauty, nor none more wise, nor none more skilled in magical and enchanting song. It is told that the Gods would leave their business and the birds of Valinor their mirth, that Valmar’s bells were silent, and the fountains ceased to flow, when at the mingling of the light Melian sang in the gardens of the God of Dreams. Nightingales went always with her, and their song she taught them. But she loved deep shadow, and strayed on long journeys into the Outer Lands [Middle-earth], and there filled the silence of the dawning world with her voice and the voices of her birds.

The nightingales of Melian Thingol heard and was enchanted and left his folk. Melian he found beneath the trees and was cast into a dream and a great slumber, so that his people sought him in vain.

—Beren and Lúthien, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

In an early version of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, she is called "little bird" by Tevildo:

Now gazing therethrough, for it was ajar, she saw the wide vaulted kitchens and the great fires that burnt there, and those that toiled always within, and the most were cats—but behold, there by a great fire stooped Beren, and he was grimed with labour, and Tinúviel sat and wept, but as yet dared nothing. Indeed even as she sat the harsh voice of Tevildo sounded suddenly within that chamber: ‘Nay, where then in Melko’s name has that mad Elf fled,’ and Tinúviel hearing shrank against the wall, but Tevildo caught sight of her where she was perched and cried: ‘Then the little bird sings not any more; come down or I must fetch thee, for behold, I will not encourage the Elves to seek audience of me in mockery.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tevildo was a big black cat, tiger size, considered the Prince of Cats:

Tevildo: The Prince of Cats, mightiest of all cats, ‘possessed of an evil spirit’; a close companion of Morgoth.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

In contrast to Lúthien being called "little bird" by a big black cat, Sansa is also called "little bird" by a big man dubbed the Hound:

He was mocking her, she realized. "No one could withstand him," she managed at last, proud of herself. It was no lie.

Sandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the middle of a dark and empty field. She had no choice but to stop beside him. "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."

"That's unkind." Sansa could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. "You're frightening me. I want to go now."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

As you can see, Lúthien and Sansa are called little birds by a big cat and a big dog respectively, but those beast-like creatures were antagonist figures to our heroines and the term little bird was no endearment but a way to mock and threat them.

We will come back to this cat versus dog issue later.

About Sansa and the nightingale, as I said before in another post:

She [Sansa] is also called “little bird” and a very special little bird, the one that makes the sweetest sounds, is the Nightingale.

The hours in ASOIAF have names. The hour of the Wolf is “the blackest part of the night”, and the hour of the Nightingale, comes after the hour of the Wolf. This means that the hour of the Wolf is exactly before the Dawn or the Hour of the Nightingale. Awesome right?

The song of the nightingale has been described as one of the most beautiful sounds in nature, inspiring songs, fairy tales, opera, books, and a great deal of poetry. And who is the character often described with the sweetest voice in ASOIAF? Yes that’s Sansa Stark, she sings beautifully with the sweetest voice.

So after the Long Night, the Dawn will come. The Starks will be there. Sansa will be there.

More about Sansa and the nightingale here.

Now, the association of Lúthien's mother, Melian, with nightingales:

Melian sang in the gardens of the God of Dreams. Nightingales went always with her, and their song she taught them.

—Beren and Lúthien, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Makes me think about the Children of the Forest and the Old Gods, that are also related with the Starks.

Melian is associated with songbirds, and it is said she taught nightingales how to sing and their music followed her paces. In Valinor, she dwelt in the gardens of Lórien tending its trees, and she was the most beautiful, wise and skilled in songs of enchantment of all the people of Irmo. However she journeyed often to Middle-earth for she loved the deep shadows of trees and forests.

Melian was a Maia. The Maiar were spirits that descended to earth and help to create the world, almost like angels, almost like gods.

The Children of the Forest are called singers, and after their death part of them remains on earth and lives longer inside birds:

Bran knew. "She's a child. A child of the forest." He shivered, as much from wonderment as cold. They had fallen into one of Old Nan's tales.

"The First Men named us children," the little woman said. "The giants called us woh dak nag gran, the squirrel people, because we were small and quick and fond of trees, but we are no squirrels, no children. Our name in the True Tongue means those who sing the song of earth. Before your Old Tongue was ever spoken, we had sung our songs ten thousand years."

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran II

"Someone else was in the raven," he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. "Some girl. I felt her."

"A woman, of those who sing the song of earth," his teacher said. "Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy's flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you."

"Do all the birds have singers in them?"

"All," Lord Brynden said. "It was the singers who taught the First Men to send messages by raven … but in those days, the birds would speak the words. The trees remember, but men forget, and so now they write the messages on parchment and tie them round the feet of birds who have never shared their skin."

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

As you can see, the Maiar sounds really similar to the Old Gods and the Children of the Forest. Particularly Luthien's mother, Melian, that is associated with trees (Old Gods, weirwoods) and nightingales (crows, ravens).

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

Lúthien's father, Thingol, locked her up in a tree house, that is basically a bird's nest, since Lúthien is also called Tinúviel that means nightingale:

Now Tinwelint let build high up in that strange tree, as high as men could fashion their longest ladders to reach, a little house of wood, and it was above the first branches and was sweetly veiled in leaves. Now that house had three corners and three windows in each wall, and at each corner was one of the shafts of Hirilorn. There then did Tinwelint bid Tinúviel dwell until she would consent to be wise, and when she fared up the ladders of tall pine these were taken from beneath and no way had she to get down again.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa, under the guise of Alayne Stone, is the prisoner of Petyr Baelish in the Eyrie, that literally means falcon's nest:

Alayne's apartments in the Maiden's Tower were larger and more lavish than the little bedchamber where she'd been kept when Lady Lysa was alive. She had a dressing room and a privy of her own now, and a balcony of carved white stone that looked off across the Vale. While Gretchel was tending to the fire, Alayne padded barefoot across the room and slipped outside. The stone was cold beneath her feet, and the wind was blowing fiercely, as it always did up here, but the view made her forget all that for half a heartbeat. Maiden's was the easternmost of the Eyrie's seven slender towers, so she had the Vale before her, its forests and rivers and fields all hazy in the morning light. The way the sun was hitting the mountains made them look like solid gold.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Beren and Lúthien were rescued by great eagles:

Thus the quest of the Silmaril was like to have ended in ruin and despair; but in that hour above the wall of the valley three mighty birds appeared, flying northward with wings swifter than the wind.

Among all birds and beasts the wandering and need of Beren had been noised, and Huan himself had bidden all things watch, that they might bring him aid. High above the realm of Morgoth Thorondor and his vassals soared, and seeing now the madness of the Wolf and Beren’s fall came swiftly down, even as the powers of Angband were released from the toils of sleep. Then they lifted up Beren and Lúthien from the earth, and bore them aloft into the clouds . . .

(As they passed high over the lands) Lúthien wept, for she thought that Beren would surely die; he spoke no word, nor opened his eyes, and knew thereafter nothing of his flight. And at the last the eagles set them down upon the borders of Doriath; and they were come to that same dell whence Beren had stolen in despair and left Lúthien asleep.

There the eagles laid her at Beren’s side and returned to the peaks of Crissaegrim and their high eyries [...].

—The Quenta Silmarillion, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa expects for the Knights of the Vale (falcons) to help her to re-claim Winterfell:

Her eyes widened. "He is not Lady Waynwood's heir. He's Robert's heir. If Robert were to die . . ."

Petyr arched an eyebrow. "When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?"

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Sansa also wishes to have falcon's wings:

A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Unbeknownst to Sansa, another kind of wings are reserved for her. More about this subject later.

6. Big cats and big dogs

During her adventures in order to help Beren, Lúthien interacts with a big black cat named Tevildo, and with a big dog named Huan, a great wolfhound.

As was said before, Tevildo was a big black cat, tiger size, considered the Prince of Cats:

Tevildo The Prince of Cats, mightiest of all cats, ‘possessed of an evil spirit’; a close companion of Morgoth.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tevildo was an evil fay in the form of a great black cat with a collar of gold, which gave him much of his evil power. He was considered a prince of the servants of Melko and lived in a hilltop castle near Angamandi with other tiger-size cats. During the Quest for the Silmaril, Beren was captured by Melko and forced to work in Tevildo's kitchens. However, the cat was defeated by his archenemy Huan and Tinúviel, who forced him to give up his collar and reveal the spell which held the stones of his castle together. Melko learned Tevildo had lost his power and the cats reduced to normal size and exiled them.

Later Tevildo's place in the narrative was replaced by that of the Necromancer, Thû (later renamed Sauron), in the later Legendarium. Thû (and later Sauron) was the "Lord of Werewolves", in contrast to Tevildo's position as "Prince of Cats"; the cat-versus-dog theme prominent in the "Tale of Tinúviel" was thus eliminated in later writings.

Here we can see an illustration of Luthien's encounter with Tevildo:

Art credit: “but Tevildo caught sight of her where she was perched” by Alan Lee for Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Don't you find this scene familiar? A beautiful lady encountering with a black cat while she is pressed against a wall?

When I read about Tevildo discovering Lúthien shrunk against the wall:

Now gazing therethrough, for it was ajar, she saw the wide vaulted kitchens and the great fires that burnt there, and those that toiled always within, and the most were cats—but behold, there by a great fire stooped Beren, and he was grimed with labour, and Tinúviel sat and wept, but as yet dared nothing. Indeed even as she sat the harsh voice of Tevildo sounded suddenly within that chamber: ‘Nay, where then in Melko’s name has that mad Elf fled,’ and Tinúviel hearing shrank against the wall, but Tevildo caught sight of her where she was perched and cried: ‘Then the little bird sings not any more; come down or I must fetch thee, for behold, I will not encourage the Elves to seek audience of me in mockery.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

I immediately thought of Sansa's encounter with Balerion, that black tomcat of the Red Keep while she was pressed against a wall:

The noise receded as she moved deeper into the castle, never daring to look back for fear that Joffrey might be watching … or worse, following. The serpentine steps twisted ahead, striped by bars of flickering light from the narrow windows above. Sansa was panting by the time she reached the top. She ran down a shadowy colonnade and pressed herself against a wall to catch her breath. When something brushed against her leg, she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only a cat, a ragged black tom with a chewed-off ear. The creature spit at her and leapt away.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

And who was Balerion the black tomcat?

The Red Keep was full of cats: lazy old cats dozing in the sun, cold-eyed mousers twitching their tails, quick little kittens with claws like needles, ladies’ cats all combed and trusting, ragged shadows prowling the midden heaps. One by one Arya had chased them down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel … all but this one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. “That’s the real king of this castle right there,” one of the gold cloaks had told her. “Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.”

—A Game of Thrones - Arya III

As you can see, Tevildo and Balerion sound very similar, both are black cats, both are called evil, both live in a castle, both are considered royals, Tevildo a prince, Balerion a king, and both found a beautiful lady pressed against a wall.

On the other hand, Lúthien befriends a great wolfhound named Huan.

Huan, the Hound of Valinor, was a great wolfhound, one of the hunting dogs of Oromë the Hunter.

Huan was given by Oromë to his friend Celegorm, one of the Sons of Fëanor and accompanied him on his huntings in the regions of Valinor. When the Ñoldor under Fëanor rebelled, Huan went with his master to Middle-earth.

Huan was with Celegorm and Curufin who were hunting when he smelled Lúthien and captured and brought the maid before Celegorm.

Celegorm captured Lúthien and plotted to marry her, thus forcing a bond of kinship with Lúthien's father, Thingol.

But Huan the hound was true of heart, and the love of Luthien had fallen upon him in the first hour of their meeting; and he grieved at her captivity. Therefore he came often to her chamber; and at night he lay before her door, for he felt that evil had come to Nargothrond. Luthien spoke often to Huan in her loneliness, telling of Beren, who was the friend of all birds and beasts that did not serve Morgoth; ad Huan understood all that was said. For he comprehended the speech of all things with voice; but it was permitted to him thrice only ere his death to speak with words. Now Huan devised a plan for the aid of Luthien; and coming at a time of night he brought her cloak, and for the first time he spoke, giving her counsel. Then he led her by secret ways out of Nargothrond, and they fled north together; and he humbled his pride and suffered her to ride upon him in the fashion of a steed, even as the Orcs did at times upon great wolves. Thus they made great speed, for Huan was swift and tireless.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

So, in a superficial layer, Huan could be paralleled with Sandor Clegane, dubbed the Hound, since Huan was Celegorm's hunting hound and the Hound was the sworn sword and later Kingsguard of Joffrey Baratheon.

Celegorm was dubbed the Fair, had fair hair and was a great huntsman, the same way Joffrey was blonde and comely, and loved hunting and killing.

Celegorm wanted to marry Lúthien while Joffrey was actually betrothed with Sansa.

There is also the fact that Huan helped Lúthien escape the imprisonment imposed by Celegorm, gave her back her magic cloak (made of her shadowy hair), and fled north together, that somehow reversely resembles Sandor Clegane's offer to Sansa to help her flee north the night of the battle of the Blackwater, offer that Sansa rejected. That same night after a sexual assault attempt, the Hound ripped his white kingsguard's cloak (stained by blood and fire) off and left it fell on the floor.

But in a deeper layer, Huan was to Lúthien the same way the direwolves are to the Stark children.

Indeed, Huan was a gift from a god, the same way the direwolves were a gift from the Old Gods to the Stark children.

Among the six direwolves, Ghost is the one that resembles Huan the most, not only because Huan, despite having grey fur, is often depicted as white, as you can see here:

Art credit: "Luthien and Huan" by Elena Kukanova

But because Huan, like Ghost, is mute.

Huan had been granted special powers by the Valar, he was as large as a small horse, immortal, tireless and sleepless, and was allowed to speak three times before he died. It was also prophesied that he could not be killed unless it was by the greatest wolf that ever lived; in this case a werewolf.

Huan, taking pity of Lúthien disobeyed his master Celegorm, helped her scape, joined Beren and Lúthien in their quest and adventures, turned against his master to protect Lúthien and ultimately died protecting Beren.

Huan used the three times he was allowed to speak to help Beren and Lúthien and say farewell to them.

In a similar way, despite being mute, Jon was the only one that "heard" Ghost in the summer snows when the Starks found the direwolves.

Now, in an early version of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, Tevildo the Prince of Cats clashed against Huan the great wolfhound. It was a battle between a cat and a dog, Tevildo and Huan were archenemies. But in later versions of the tale, Tevildo was replaced by Sauron, who clashed against Huan, after taking the form of a werewolf. Huan won that battle. But much later, Huan was mortally wounded by Carcharoth, the greatest, most powerful wolf to ever live, and Huan died according it was prophesied.

The clash and contrast between wolves and hounds is also present in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire; but in this case, the direwolves are the heroes while the hounds are the antagonists (Bolton's bitches, the Hound, etc).

This wolves versus hounds theme is particularly depicted in Jon's and Sansa's chapters:

Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal.

Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Rattleshirt’s dogs greeted him with a chorus of snarls and growls and wild barking, as ever, but the direwolf paid them no mind. Six days ago, the largest hound had attacked him from behind as the wildlings camped for the night, but Ghost had turned and lunged, sending the dog fleeing with a bloody haunch. The rest of the pack maintained a healthy distance after that.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

"They’re dogs and he’s a wolf,” said Jon. “They know he’s not their kind.” No more than I am yours.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

It happened twice more that night, and again in the morning, when she woke to find him hard. The wildlings were stirring by then, and several could not help but notice what was going on beneath the pile of furs. Jarl told them to be quick about it, before he had to throw a pail of water over them. Like a pair of rutting dogs, Jon thought afterward. Was that what he’d become?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Eddard Stark had left before dawn, Septa Mordane informed Sansa as they broke their fast. “The king sent for him. Another hunt, I do believe. There are still wild aurochs in these lands, I am told.”

“I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.

Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.

“She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.”

The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this morning?”

“She wasn’t hungry,” Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook’s boy.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. “I wish that you were Lady,” she said.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

The same way Lúthien bonded with Huan, I can see Sansa bonding with Ghost when she meets with Jon Snow and the mute direwolf again. Oh it would be so sweet...

7. Bat and wolf imagery

At some point during their adventures, Lúthien took the form of a giant bat while Beren took the form of a werewolf.

To transform into a giant bat, Lúthien used the coat of a female vampire servant of Sauron named Thuringwethil, as a cloak. The same way Beren transforms into a werewolf by using the coat of a werewolf named Draugluin as a cloak as well.

And then the giant bat rode upon the werewolf:

Long he [Huan] had pondered in his heart what counsel he could devise for the lightning of the peril of these two whom he loved. He turned aside therefore at Sauron's isle, as they ran northward again, and he took thence the ghastly wolf-hame of Draugluin, and the bat-fell of ThurIngwethil. She was the messenger of Sauron, and was wont to fly in vampire's form to Angband; and her greatfingered wings were barbed at each joint's end with and iron claw. Clad in these dreadful garments Huan and Luthien ran through Taur-nu-Fuin, and all things fled before them.

Beren seeing their approach was dismayed; and he wondered, for he had heard the voice of Tinuviel, and he thought it now a phantom for his ensnaring. But they halted and cast aside their disguise, and Luthien ran towards him.

[...] By the counsel of Huan and the arts of Luthien he was arrayed now in the hame of Draugluin, and she in the winged fell of ThurIngwethil. Beren became in all things like a werewolf to look upon, save that in his eyes there shone a spirit grim indeed but clean; and horror was in his glance as he saw upon his flank a batlike creature clinging with creased wings. Then howling under the moon he leaped down the hill, and the bat wheeled and flittered above him.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Huan stayed with Lúthien, and hearing of their perplexity and the purpose Beren had still to go to Angband, he went and fetched them from the ruined halls of Thû a werewolf’s coat and a bat’s. Three times only did Huan speak with the tongue of Elves or Men. The first was when he came to Lúthien in Nargothrond. This was the second, when he devised the desperate counsel for their quest. So they rode North, till they could no longer go on horse in safety. Then they put on the garments as of wolf and bat, and Lúthien in guise of evil fay rode upon the werewolf.

—A further extract from the Quenta, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Now there he laid

before their feet, as dark as shade,

two grisly shapes that he had won

from that tall isle in Sirion:

a wolfhame huge—its savage fell

was long and matted, dark the spell

that drenched the dreadful coat and skin;

the werewolf cloak of Draugluin;

the other was a batlike garb

with mighty fingered wings, a barb

like iron nail at each joint’s end—

such wings as their dark cloud extend

against the moon, when in the sky

from Deadly Nightshade screeching fly

Thû’s messengers.

—The narrative in the Lay of Leithian to its termination, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Draugluin: Greatest of the werewolves of Thû (Sauron).

Thuringwethil: Name taken by Lúthien in bat-form before Morgoth.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa is said to have taken the form of a wolf with big leather wings like a bat:

"The Imp, it's thought. Him and his little wife."

"What wife?"

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

That's stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she'd never marry the Imp.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

Songs can be spells as well, Arya... Just ask Lúthien.

The image of a giant bat riding upon a werewolf sounds pretty similar to a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

There is also the fact that GRRM has used "bat wings" as a reference to "dragon wings," and Sansa has a lot of bat/dragon wings imagery around her.

We will come back to this bat and wolf imagery issue later.

To finish this section, I leave you with this crossover fan-art where Lúthien, very impressed, asks Sansa about the rumor of her transformation into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

8. Singing and dancing

Before meeting Beren, Lúthien lived a peaceful life singing and dancing beautifully in the forest:

But Tinúviel’s joy was rather in the dance, and no names are set with hers for the beauty and subtlety of her twinkling feet.

Now it was the delight of Dairon and Tinúviel to fare away from the cavernous palace of Tinwelint their father and together spend long time amid the trees. There often would Dairon sit upon a tussock or a tree-root and make music while Tinúviel danced thereto, and when she danced to the playing of Dairon more lissom was she than Gwendeling, more magical than Tinfang Warble neath the moon, nor may any see such lilting save be it only in the rose gardens of Valinor where Nessa dances on the lawns of never-fading green.

[...] “Often and often she came there after and danced and sang to herself.”

[...] At length one day as she danced alone he stepped out more boldly and said to her: ‘Tinúviel, teach me to dance.’ ‘Who art thou?’ said she. ‘Beren. I am from across the Bitter Hills.’ ‘Then if thou wouldst dance, follow me,’ said the maiden, and she danced before Beren away, and away into the woods, nimbly and yet not so fast that he could not follow, and ever and anon she would look back and laugh at him stumbling after, saying ‘Dance, Beren, dance! as they dance beyond the Bitter Hills!’ In this way they came by winding paths to the abode of Tinwelint, and Tinúviel beckoned Beren beyond the stream, and he followed her wondering down into the cave and the deep halls of her home.”

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

As it will be explained later, Lúthien's singing and dancing are not only beautiful aesthetically, those skills were magic and worked as spells and enchantments as well.

Leaving out the actual singers, Sansa is the female character more connected with music, singing and dancing. She plays some instruments (high harp, bells), has a sweet singing voice and loves to dance:

Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. [...]

—A Feast for Crows - Arya II

“Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

[...] "Lady Sansa." Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me? If your lord consents?"

The Imp's mismatched eyes narrowed. "My lady can dance with whomever she pleases."

Perhaps she ought to have remained beside her husband, but she wanted to dance so badly . . .

[...] Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

"Lord Nestor will have no singers at the feast, only flutes and fiddles for the dancing." What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne...

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

"Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?"

"You're very kind," she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor.

[. . . ] When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?"

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

As we will see in a next section, Sansa's singing already performed an act of magic/enchantment, she tamed a wild beast full of rage and lust.

9. Other parallels

9.1. Beautiful hair

Lúthien and Sansa have beautiful hair that is their signature feature:

[...] but dark as shadow was her hair [...]

—Canto I, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

[...] and the hair of Tinúviel which was dark and finer than the most delicate threads of twilight began suddenly to grow very fast indeed [...]

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She [Sansa] had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper."

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Lúthien wore fragrant flowers in her beautiful black hair:

[...] and from her hair the fragrance fell

of elvenflowers in elven-dell.

—Canto V, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

The perfume of her flower-twined hair [...]

—Canto IX, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Behind closed doors

they sat, while Beren told his tale

of Doriath; and words him fail

recalling Lúthien dancing fair

with wild white roses in her hair [...]

—A second extract from The Lay of Leithian, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

This reminds me of Jenny of Oldstones, a lady in a song famous for wearing flowers in her hair:

"There's a song," he remembered. "'Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair.'"

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

As was mentioned previously in this post, Sansa is strongly linked with flowers as well (the rose of Winterfell legend, blue winter roses, the scent of flowers along the north bank of the Trident, Loras’s red rose, Myrcella’s garden, the Roadside Rose song, etc).

Sansa wore the red rose that Loras gave her in her hair.

Sansa has a lot of parallels with Jennys of Oldstones. You can read about it here:

WE’RE ALL JUST SONGS IN THE END. IF WE ARE LUCKY: JENNY OF OLDSTONES AND THE PRINCE OF DRAGONFLIES

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

9.2. Radiant

Lúthien is often described as radiant:

[...] and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

—Canto IV, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

[...] for Luthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Iluvatar. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light.

[...] But suddenly some power, descended from of old from divine race, possessed Luthien, and casting back her foul raiment she stood forth, small before the might of Carcharoth, but radiant and terrible.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa is described as radiant by Jon:

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

The word “radiant” has romantic connotations, especially if you consider that GRRM’s love for medieval tourneys started with the movie Ivanhoe (1952), years before he even read the actual book by Sir Walter Scott. In the movie Liz Taylor played the role of the Jew girl Rebecca, and little George fell in love with her. When the author remembered his young infatuation, he referred to the actress as “radiant.”  Read more about it here.

9.3. Skinchanging

As was explained previously, Lúthien had the ability of shapeshifting. She turned into a giant bat by wearing a female vampire's coat as a cloak and helped Beren to turn into a werewolf by wearing a werewolf's coat as a cloak as well. Then the bat rode upon the werewolf.

This image of a giant bat riding upon a werewolf is very similar to the image of Sansa turning into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

Sansa is a skinchanger as well.

Acording to GRRM, all the Stark children are wargs or skinchangers:

“I don’t think this is necessarily a ‘Stark’ ability, though all the children have it to one extent or another. They also realize it to one extent or another”. [Source]

Q: Are all the Stark children wargs/skin changers with their wolves? A: To a greater or lesser degree, yes, but the amount of control varies widely. [Source]

Oh, George said all the Stark children of this generation were full Wargs. I thought they were like one shot Wargs and were only bonded to their wolves but no they can warg into just about anything. Bran is just the only one working on it. [Source]

All of the Stark children were blessed with a direwolf and the ability to change skins with those magical creatures. The direwolves were sent by the old gods to protect and guide the Stark children. The direwolves are not only protectors and guides for the Stark children, they are also one with them.

Since Lady died, Sansa lost the opportunity to form a deeper bond with her wolf and to further develop and recognize her skinchanger abilities.

But I believe that Lady’s soul still remains in the world, and that’s why Bran calls and counts Sansa’s wolf as “Lady’s Shade.”

So it is possible that part of Lady still remains inside of Sansa, and that’s why Sansa always dreams with Lady (wolf dreams). Only Jon stopped dreaming with Ghost for a time, coincidentally, when they were separated by the Wall.

Most of Sansa’s dreams with Lady are about both of them running in a godswood (Lady’s bones are buried near Winterfell’s godswood), and although Sansa doesn’t remember much of her dreams, she always whispers and/or wakes up with Lady’s name on her lips. Even after her nightmares, she thinks of her Lady.

Some readers have speculated about Sansa and her link with other animals, and the possibility of Sansa changing skins with them, like the black tomcat of the Red Keep, the old blind dog of the Fingers, and even the blue falcon that she observed flying above the Eyrie.

During her encounter with the black tomcat of the Red Keep, Sansa “almost jumped out her skin.” This is a very interesting wording that almost sounds like skinchanging:

The serpentine steps twisted ahead, striped by bars of flickering light from the narrow windows above. Sansa was panting by the time she reached the top. She ran down a shadowy colonnade and pressed herself against a wall to catch her breath. When something brushed against her leg, she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only a cat, a ragged black tom with a chewed-off ear. The creature spit at her and leapt away.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

“Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you”, maybe, that’s why after approaching Sansa willingly, the black tomcat “spit at her and leapt away”. This scene happens when Sansa was coming to the godswood to meet with Dontos for the first time. After Sansa arrives, she immediately thinks of Lady.

Sansa bonds with the old blind dog of the Fingers fast and easily. The dog is affectionate, tries to defend Sansa from Marillion’s attack, and is next to her after the nightmares of past sexual abuse by the Hound and Tyrion, provoked by the singer’s attack:

It was eight long days until Lysa Arryn arrived. On five of them it rained, while Sansa sat bored and restless by the fire, beside the old blind dog. He was too sick and toothless to walk guard with Bryen anymore, and mostly all he did was sleep, but when she patted him he whined and licked her hand, and after that they were fast friends. […] “Alayne.” Her aunt’s singer stood over her. “Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you.” The old dog raised his head and growled, but the singer gave him a cuff and sent him slinking off, whimpering. […] “I’ll have a song from you,” he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. “I wish that you were Lady,” she said.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

And once again trapped in a tower, Sansa wishes she has wings:

A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

As you can see, Sansa warging abilities are hidden so deep in the text, they only shyly appear in the middle of George’s prose as little pieces of poetry:

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

Now tell me, what is that if not skinchanging?

And talking about birds, Sansa has already changed her skin with some birds, she was a talking little bird of the Summer Islands (repeating the right things to survive), then a mockingbird (as Petyr Baelish daughter), and she’s about to become a falcon (if she marries Harry).

And since cloaks could also be considered another skin, Sansa has already changed various cloaks. She was cloaked by a Lannister, then by her new father Petyr Baelish, and is about to be cloaked again by an Arryn.

But Sansa is a wolf, no matter how many skins she wears, she will always be a wolf.

And while Sansa wishes she had feathery wings, unbeknownst to her, she became part of the popular folklore when the smallfolk began to imagine her as a witchy kingslayer that later vanished in a puff of brimstone or changed into a “wolf with big leather wings like a bat” and flew away:

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

In the same book and with a very similar wording, Jon dreams of a ghastly direwolf wandering around the Crypts of Winterfell:

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his her golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

My personal theory is that the ghastly direwolf is Lady, because, among other reasons, this wouldn’t be the first time that Jon confused Ygritte with another redhead.

These legends of Sansa the witch, the unnatural warg, the beastling, the skinchanger, the winged wolf that flew away from a tower window or vanished in a puff of brimstone, are at the same level of the legends about Bloodraven warging into a one-eyed dog and turning into a mist from a century ago:

How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? the riddle ran. A thousand eyes, and one. Some claimed the King’s Hand was a student of the dark arts who could change his face, put on the likeness of a one-eyed dog, even turn into a mist. Packs of gaunt gray wolves hunted down his foes, men said, and carrion crows spied for him and whispered secrets in his ear. Most of the tales were only tales, Dunk did not doubt, but no one could doubt that Bloodraven had informers everywhere.

—The Mystery Knight

If Sansa or Lady’s Shade have really changed skins with the old blind dog of the Fingers, that would be almost the same as Bloodraven warging or shapechanging into a one-eyed dog. By the way, the old blind dog’s master’s name was Bryen, a name way too similar to Brynden (Bloodraven’s name)…

But back again to the “wolf with big leather wings like a bat.” This interesting image reminds me of dragons instead of bats, and I think that was precisely George’s intention, he was subtly referring to dragon wings:

[…] “They say the child was …” […] “Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. […] “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat.

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood a red brick fountain whose waters smelled of brimstone, and in the center of the fountain a monstrous harpy made of hammered bronze. Twenty feet tall she reared. She had a woman’s face, with gilded hair, ivory eyes, and pointed ivory teeth. Water gushed yellow from her heavy breasts. But in place of arms she had the wings of a bat or a dragon, her legs were the legs of an eagle, and behind she wore a scorpion’s curled and venomous tail.

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

So, this fascinating image of a “wolf with big leather wings like a bat” could be foreshadowing of Sansa wearing a Targaryen cloak in the future. Or at least having the support and protection of someone related to dragons.

9.4. Hades and Persephone imagery

Beren and Lúthien have a heavy Hades and Persephone imagery around them.

Lúthien could melt winter into spring with the magic of her voice and song.

During their adventures, Beren was severely wounded many times, and while Lúthien had healing abilities, one time he was nearly dead and other time he actually died.

After losing his hand, Beren recovers only after a long period of unconsciousness, and it was said that when he woke the spring came again.

Later, when Beren actually died, Lúthien descended to the lands of death and winter came over the lands of her father. Then, after gaining Beren's life again, she came back to earth and ended the winter with the touch of her hands.

These quotes exempt me from further explanation:

The wind of winter winds his horn;

the misty veil is rent and torn.

The wind dies; the starry choirs

leap in the silent sky to fires

whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer

through domes of frozen crystal clear.

A sparkle through the darkling trees,

a piercing glint of light he sees,

and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet,

and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,

shrilled as she wayward passed along.

A frozen brook to bubbling song

awoke and laughed; but Beren stood

still bound enchanted in the wood.

Her starlight faded and the night

closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.

Thereafter on a hillock green

he saw far off the elven-sheen

of shining limb and jewel bright

often and oft on moonlit night;

and Daeron's pipe awoke once more,

and soft she sang as once before.

Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,

and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.

A night there was when winter died;

then all alone she sang and cried

and danced until the dawn of spring, [...]

—Canto IV, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

And he saw her afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill, but a chain was upon his limbs. There came a time near dawn on the eve of spring, and Luthien danced upon a green hill; and suddenly she began to sing. Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world; and the song of Luthien released the behind the walls of the world; and the song of Luthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet had passed. Then the spell of silence fell from Beren, and he called to her, crying Tinuviel; and the woods echoed the name. Then she halted in wonder, and fled no more, and Beren came to her. But as she looked on him, doom fell upon her, and she loved him; yet she slipped from his arms and vanished from his sight even as the day was breaking.

[...] Now Beren and Luthien Tinuviel went free again and together walked through the woods renewing for a time their joy; and though winter came it hurt them not, for flowers lingered where Luthien went, and the birds sang beneath the snow clad hills.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

There the eagles laid her at Beren’s side and returned to the peaks of Crissaegrim and their high eyries; but Huan came to her, and together they tended Beren, even as before when she healed him of the wound that Curufin gave to him. But this wound was fell and poisonous. Long Beren lay, and his spirit wandered upon the dark borders of death, knowing ever an anguish that pursued him from dream to dream. Then suddenly, when her hope was almost spent, he woke again, and looked up, seeing leaves against the sky; and he heard beneath the leaves singing soft and slow beside him LúthienTinúviel. And it was spring again.

Thereafter Beren was named Erchamion, which is the One-handed; and suffering was graven in his face. But at last he was drawn back to life by the love of Lúthien, and he rose, and together they walked in the woods once more.

—The Quenta Silmarillion, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

For the spirit of Beren at her bidding tarried in the halls of Mandos, unwilling to leave the world, until Lúthien came to say her last farewell upon the dim shores of the Outer Sea, whence Men that die set out never to return. But the spirit of Lúthien fell down into darkness, and at the last it fled, and her body lay like a flower that is suddenly cut off and lies for a while unwithered on the grass.

Then a winter, as it were the hoar age of mortal Men, fell upon Thingol. But Lúthien came to the halls of Mandos, where are the appointed places of the Eldalië, beyond the mansions of the West upon the confines of the world. There those that wait sit in the shadow of their thought. But her beauty was more than their beauty, and her sorrow deeper than their sorrows; and she knelt before Mandos and sang to him.

The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and listening the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars. And as she knelt before him her tears fell upon his feet like rain upon the stones; and Mandos was moved to pity, who never before was so moved, nor has been since. Therefore he summoned Beren, and even as Lúthien had spoken in the hour of his death they met again beyond the Western Sea. But Mandos had no power to withhold the spirits of Men that were dead within the confines of the world after their time of waiting; nor could he change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. He went therefore to Manwë, Lord of the Valar, who governed the world under the hand of Ilúvatar; and Manwë sought counsel in his inmost thought, where the will of Ilúvatar was revealed. These were the choices that he gave to Lúthien. Because of her labours and her sorrow, she could be released from Mandos, and go to Valimar, there to dwell until the world's end among the Valar, forgetting all griefs that her life had known. Thither Beren could not come. For it was not permitted to the Valar to withhold Death from him, which is the gift of Ilúvatar to Men. But the other choice was this: that she might return to Middle-earth, and take with her Beren, there to dwell again, but without certitude of life or joy. Then she would become mortal, and subject to a second death, even as he; and ere long she would leave the world for ever, and her beauty become only a memory in song. This doom she chose, forsaking the Blessed Realm, and putting aside all claim to kinship with those that dwell there; that thus whatever grief might lie in wait, the fates of Beren and Lúthien might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world. So it was that alone of the Eldalië she has died indeed, and left the world long ago. Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of Lúthien the beloved, whom they have lost.

—The Lost Cantos, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

It is said that Beren and Lúthien returned to the northern lands of Middle-earth, and dwelt together for a time as living man and woman; and they took up again their mortal form in Doriath. Those that saw them were both glad and fearful; and Lúthien went to Menegroth and healed the winter of Thingol with the touch of her hand. But Melian looked in her eyes and read the doom that was written there, and turned away; for she knew that a parting beyond the end of the world had come between them, and no grief of loss has been heavier than the grief of Melian the Maia in that hour. Then Beren and Lúthien went forth alone, fearing neither thirst nor hunger; and they passed beyond the River Gelion into Ossiriand, and dwelt there in Tol Galen the green isle, in the midst of Adurant, until all tidings of them ceased. The Eldar afterwards called that country Dor Firn-i-Guinar, the Land of the Dead that Live; and there was born Dior Aranel the beautiful, who was after known as Dior Eluchíl, which is Thingol's Heir. No mortal man spoke ever again with Beren son of Barahir; and none saw Beren or Lúthien leave the world, or marked where at last their bodies lay.

—Epilogue, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Jon and Sansa have Hades and Persephone imagery around them as well.

Jon as Hades:

Despite being born in Dorne, Jon is a son of Winterfell.

In the Prologue of A Game of Thrones we can read that Waymar Royce, Jon's stand in, died at the hands of the Others, in an eriily similar way that Jon would die four books later at the hands of his brothers of the Night's Watch (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 1).

Jon played to be a Ghost at the Crypts of Winterfell (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 2).

Jon named his mute albino direwolf Ghost (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 3).

And in A Dance with Dragons, Jon actually died.

One of Jon's killers was Bowen Marsh dubbed the Old Pomegranate.

We can read the words "a dream of spring" in one of Jon's chapters (A Storm of Swords - Jon V).

Sansa as Persephone:

Persephone and Sansa are renowned beauties.

Sansa was born during winter, she is the Winterfell's daughter.

Sansa is heavily linked with the dawn and the sun (Battle for the Dawn to defeat the Long Night/Long Winter).

An important theme in Sansa's arc is rebuilding, which is connected with rebuild a life after the Long Night/Long Winter. A dream of spring.

GRRM has linked Sansa to the warmer seasons (spring and summer) through her favorite dessert, lemon cakes.

Sansa is deeply associated with flowers, thus with spring.

Sansa rejected the pomegranate from Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish.

Jon's death is foreshadowed (hidden daggers) in one of Sansa's chapters (A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI).

Sansa sensed Jon's death: "A ghost wolf, big as mountains." (A Feast for Crows - Alayne II).

Lady, part of Sansa, already died and is buried at Winterfell.

Read more about it here:

Some thoughts on Sansa and Jon, by Tze

The Pomegranate Imagery - Jonsa, ASOS.

Sansa as Persephone

The King and Queen in the North vs. the King and Queen of the Underworld

9.5. Daeron the minstrel

There often would Dairon sit upon a tussock or a tree-root and make music while Tinúviel danced thereto, and when she danced to the playing of Dairon more lissom was she than Gwendeling, more magical than Tinfang Warble neath the moon, nor may any see such lilting save be it only in the rose gardens of Valinor where Nessa dances on the lawns of never-fading green.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Daeron is mentioned as one of the greatest minstrels of all the Children of Ilúvatar, and only Maglor son of Fëanor is said to come close to his skill. Also in the Lay of Leithian there is named one called Tinfang Gelion who is counted among the three great minstrels, along with Maglor and Daeron.

Daeron loved Lúthien, but she did not love him. Nevertheless they were good friends, and Lúthien would often dance to his music. After Daeron found out about Lúthien's love for the mortal Beren, he betrayed them both to Thingol. When Lúthien later sought his help in assisting captive Beren, Daeron again betrayed her to Thingol, though this time in love and fear for her rather than jealousy.

Thereafter often she came to him, and they went in secret through the woods together from spring to summer; and no others of the Children of Iluvatar have had joy so great, though the time was brief. But Daeron the minstrel also loved Luthien, and he espied her meetings with Beren, and betrayed them to Thingol. Then the King was filled with anger, for Luthien he loved above all things, setting her above all the princes of the Elves; whereas mortal Men he did not even take into his service. Therefore he spoke in grief and amazement to Luthien; but she would reveal nothing, until he swore an oath to her that he would neither slay Beren nor imprison him.

[...] In the time when Sauron cast Beren into the pit a weight of horror came upon Luthien's heart; and going to Melian for counsel she learned that Beren lay in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth without hope of rescue. Then Luthien, perceiving that no help would come from any other on earth, resolved to fly from Doriath and come herself to him; but she sought the aid of Daeron, and he betrayed her purpose because he would not deprive Luthien of the lights of heaven, lest she fail and fade, and yet would restrain her, he caused a house to be built from which she should not escape.

[...] Upon Doriath evil days had fallen. Grief and silence had come upon all its people when Luthien was lost. Long they had sought for her in vain. And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. He it was that made music for the dance and song of Luthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music. He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Feanor. But seeking for Luthien in despair he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Luthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Daeron reminds me of Marillion, the singer that tried to seduce and rape Sansa.

Marillion witnessed Lysa's attempt to murder Sansa and did nothing but keep singing and playing his harp. Marillion's passion for Sansa/Alayne was unrequited, similar to Daeron's unrequite love for Lúthien.

9.6. Foes

During the events of the Quest for the Silmaril, Lúthien defeated mighty foes, among them were:

Sauron: Lúthien flung her cloak over Sauron's face, and he was struck by the blinding enchantment of weariness. Huan used the opportunity to take Sauron by the throat. Sauron tried to escape by shape shifting, but Huan held him down. Lúthien then demanded Sauron to yield the mastery of the tower to her, less Huan should destroy his mortal form. Sauron yielded, and fled the scene. Lúthien, having received mastery of the tower, laid waste to the fortress with her magic. The walls were destroyed and the prisons were broken. Lúthien found Beren and healed him.

Carcharoth: Suddenly some power, descended from divine race, possessed Lúthien, and casting back her raiment she stood forth, radiant and terrible. Lifting up her hand she commanded Carcharoth to sleep and he was felled, as if lightning had struck him.

Morgoth: Lúthien was undaunted by Morgoth and she offered to dance and sing for him in the manner of a minstrel. He beheld her with lust, of which came a secret desire to do some unspeakable evil to Lúthien. Morgoth accepted for this reason, but Lúthien sang a song of such enchantment and blinding power that all his court fell into a deep sleep and all the fires faded. The Silmarils in the crown on Morgoth's head suddenly blazed with a radiance of white flame and the burden of his crown and of the jewels bowed down his head, laden with a weight of care and fear that even the will of Morgoth could not bear. Then Lúthien, catching up her winged robe, sprang into the air and by casting her cloak before his eyes she set upon him a dark dream. Morgoth was cast down in slumber.

Mandos: Eventually Carcharoth was discovered by Thingol's warriors, and the wolf was attacked. Thingol was nearly slain, but Beren saved him and was mortally wounded. Huan then fought with Carcharoth and slew him, with both dying. The Silmaril was cut from Carcharoth's burned flesh, and Beren presented it at last to Thingol before he died. Thingol then held Beren with respect, but Lúthien commanded Beren to wait for her in the Undying Lands. Lúthien passed away in grief, and her spirit came to the Halls of Mandos. There she sang a song of such woe and lamentation, that even Mandos himself was moved to pity. He summoned Beren's spirit, and the two were reunited. Then he went to Manwë, who sought counsel from Eru and so the will of Ilúvatar was revealed. Thus, Lúthien was faced with a choice; to remain in Valinor and its eternal bliss, or for her and Beren to return to Middle-earth as mortals, after which they would die a second death. Lúthien chose the latter, and she and Beren returned to Doriath.

As you can see Lúthien defeated mighty evil enemies, including the death. Lúthien did all those deeds with her magic enchantments, singing and dancing, skills that can be compared with Sansa's kindness, mercifulness, courtesy and knowledge next to her sweet voice and dancing.

Sansa was also prophesied by the Ghost of High Heart to be involved in the death of the cruel King Joffrey Baratheon (that already happened), and in the slain of a savage giant in a castle made of snow, that is probably Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish. Another candidates are Tyrion Lannister and Gregor Clegane.

There is also the prophecy of Maggy the Frog, that involves Sansa in the downfall of Cersie Lannister.

And finally, we have to count Sansa's song of mercy (the Mother's Hymn), that placated the rage and lust of Sandor Clegane during the night of the Battle of the Blackwater and prevented the Hound's assault, as parallel with Luthien enchanting Morgoth into slumber, that prevented his evil assault: "He beheld her with lust, of which came a secret desire to do some unspeakable evil to Lúthien."

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Of their lives was made the Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, which is the longest save one of the songs concerning the world of old. Here follows their tale and what remains of the Lay.

—Prologue, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lúthien's love of the mortal Beren, for whom she was prepared to risk everything, including her life, was legendary and lamented forever in song and story.

Lúthien's romance with Beren was one of the great stories of the Elder Days that were told for many ages after she lived, and it was said that her bloodline will never extinguish.

The union of Beren and Lúthien was the first between a mortal Man and an Elven maid.

Lúthien's romance with Beren is mirrored by the later romance between Aragorn and Arwen Evenstar.

According to legend, Lúthien's line would never be broken as long as the world lasted.

As you can see, the tale of Beren and Lúthien is a song that can be compared to the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

Sansa is the character that loves songs the most, particularly the songs about Florian and Jonquil, that are her very favorites.

I have speculated/theorized before that Jon Snow is the best candidate to be the Florian to Sansa's Jonquil.

And as other excellent meta writers have pointed out already, Jon Snow is the best candidate to be the Beren to Sansa's Lúthien.

So here I'm going to show you my take on the matter.

Singing

As I recently found out, we have this beautiful parallel between Beren and Lúthien & Jon and Sansa:

“Often and often she came there after and danced and sang to herself.”

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

“Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

As you can see, a man observing a girl singing is an old and obvious romantic trope, especially used in fairy tales. Here a graphic example.

Dancing

Alys Karstark’ wedding, organized by Jon Snow, happened in a very similar way to Sansa’s dream wedding:

”It was not supposed to be this way. She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp”.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The Magnar all but ripped the maiden’s cloak from Alys’s shoulders, but when he fastened her bride’s cloak about her he was almost tender. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, their breath mingled”.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X.

During Sansa's wedding she didn't dance with her husband. Her first dance as a married woman was with Ser Garland Tyrell, a knight that shares important parallels with Jon Snow.

Jon and Garlan are good with swords (better than Robb and Loras). Both Jon and Garlan like to train with more than one sparring partner to be better prepared to battle. Both Jon and Garlan have ghost imagery around them. While Jon was killed and got a direwolf from the old gods that he called Ghost, Garlan won the Battle of the Blackwater fighting under the guise of Renly’s Ghost.

During Alys's wedding Jon Snow rejected her offer to dance by telling her she must dance with her husband.

“You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon.”

“Anon?” teased Jon.

“When we were children.” She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. “As you know well.”

“My lady should dance with her husband.”

—Jon, A Dance With Dragons

Despite rejecting dancing with her, Jon Snow kept in mind Aly's wrong phrasing: "You danced with me anon."

Later he had the following thought:

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

While snowflakes falling reminds Jon of dancing, snowflakes falling reminds Sansa of 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

I suppose that kisses, like loving, is another form of dance.

Bat and wolf imagery

We also have the bat and wolf imagery around Beren and Lúthien. These lovers, husband and wife, turned into a giant bat and a werewolf, an image that reminds me of Sansa turning into "a wolf with big leather wings like a bat."

Indeed, after Sansa ran away from King’s Landing the day King Joffrey Baratheon was killed, the rumors about her participation in the murder started. Among the smallfolk runs the tale that after killing the king, Sansa morphed into “a wolf with big leather wings like a bat”  and flew away.

As was previously explained, GRRM has intentionally connected bat wings with dragon wings. So, this fascinating image of Sansa as “a wolf with big leather wings like a bat” could represent Sansa (a wolf) wearing a Targaryen cloak (dragon wings). Or at least having the support and protection of someone related to dragons (that is, Jon Snow).

This image alludes to the protection of a marriage, since when a groom “cloaks” his bride, it is said that he takes her under his protection.

Hades and Persephone imagery

We also have the Hades and Persephone imagery around Beren and Lúthien.

Lúthien could melt winter into spring with the magic of her voice and song.

Thanks to Lúthien's love and cares, the moment Beren woke up from a long period of unconsciousness after losing his hand, spring returned again.

When Beren died, Lúthien descended to the lands of death and gained Beren's life back. Then Lúthien came back to earth and ended the winter with the touch of her hand.

And as was explained before, Jon and Sansa have Hades and Persephone imagery around them as well. See above.

This is yet one more legendary couple who shares parallels with Jon and Sansa.

And since Lúthien's singing was the weapon that gained Beren's life back, this could be foreshadowing of Sansa's singing having an important role in Jon's arc during or after his resurrection.

It is vastly speculated that Jon will come back to life beast-like since he would inhabit ​inside Ghost for a while, thus Sansa's singing could be instrumental for taming Jon's beast-like form or to make him gaining back his memory.

Beauty and the Beast imagery

Lúthien's renowned beauty was extensively discussed already. Now let's see the beast allusions related to Beren:

Thereafter for four years more Beren wandered still upon Dorthonion, a solitary outlaw; but he became the friend of birds and beasts, and they aided him, and did not betray him, and from that time forth he ate no flesh nor slew any living thing that was not in the service of Morgoth.

[...] But she vanished from his sight; and he became dumb, as one that is bound under a spell, and he strayed long in the woods, wild and wary as a beast, seeking for her. In his heart he called her Tinuviel, that signifies Nightingale, daughter of twilight, in the Grey-elven tongue, for he knew no other name for her. And he saw her afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill, but a chain was upon his limbs.

[...] Beneath the Shadowy Mountains they came upon a company of Orcs, and slew them all in their camp by night; and they took their gear and their weapons. By the arts of Felagund their own forms and faces were changed into the likeness of Orcs; and thus disguised they came far upon their northward road, and ventured into the western pass, between Ered Wethrin and the highlands of Taur-nu-Fuin.

[...] By the counsel of Huan and the arts of Luthien he was arrayed now in the hame of Draugluin, and she in the winged fell of ThurIngwethil. Beren became in all things like a werewolf to look upon, save that in his eyes there shone a spirit grim indeed but clean; and horror was in his glance as he saw upon his flank a batlike creature clinging with creased wings. Then howling under the moon he leaped down the hill, and the bat wheeled and flittered above him.

[...] As a dead beast Beren lay upon the ground; but Luthien touching him with her hand aroused him, and he cast aside the wolf-hame. Then he drew forth the knife Angrist; and from the iron claws that held it he cut a Silmaril.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Beren also formed a strong bond with Huan, the great wolfhound, a magical creature gifted by a god. This bond resembles somehow the bond between Jon and Ghost.

Beren stood beside Thingol, and suddenly they were aware that Huan had left their side. Then a great baying awoke in the thicket; for Huan becoming impatient and desiring to look upon this wolf had gone in alone to dislodge him. But Carcharoth avoided him, and bursting form the thorns leaped suddenly upon Thingol. Swiftly Beren strode before him with a spear, but Carcharoth swept it aside and felled him, biting at his breast. In that moment Huan leaped from the thicket upon the back of the Wolf, and they fell together fighting bitterly; and no battle of wolf and hound has been like to it, for in the baying of Huan was heard the voice of the horns of Orome and the wrath of the Valar, but in the howls of Carcharoth was the hate of Morgoth and malice crueller than teeth of steel; and the rocks were rent by their clamour and fell from on high and choked the falls of Esgalduin. There they fought to the death; but Thingol gave no heed, for he knelt by Beren, seeing that he was sorely hurt. Huan in that hour slew Carcharoth; but there in the woven woods of Doriath his own doom long spoken was fulfilled, and he was wounded mortally, and the venom of Morgoth entered into him. Then he came, and falling beside Beren spoke for the third time with words; and he bade Beren farewell before he died. Beren spoke not, but laid his hand upon the head of the hound, and so they parted.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa's beauty is also renowned and was discussed above (Here a compilation of all the quotes about Sansa's beauty).

Sansa and Jon are also both wargs/skinchangers, but while Lady was the smallest, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting of the litter; Ghost is the biggest of the litter and is often described as a savage beast.

Now let's see the beast allusions related to Jon and Ghost:

Ser Alliser Thorne shattered the silence. “The turncloak graces us with his presence at last.”

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. “The beast,” he gasped. “Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This … this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!”

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. “My lord,” he said, “will you tell me what’s happened here?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

“Then you had best be on your way, boy.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you, bastard.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Dolorous Edd took hold of Slynt by one arm, Iron Emmett by the other. Together they hauled him from the bench. “No,” Lord Janos protested, flecks of porridge spraying from his lips. “No, unhand me. He’s just a boy, a bastard. His father was a traitor. The mark of the beast is on him, that wolf of his … Let go of me! You will rue the day you laid hands on Janos Slynt. I have friends in King’s Landing. I warn you—” He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him up the steps.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

My friend @really-sad-devil-guy wrote a series of metas about Sansa and the Beauty and the Beast trope. This series is unfinished at the moment but you can read the parts already posted here:

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 1

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 2

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 3

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 4

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 5

You can also read the posts I wrote about this subject here:

In the original fairy tale ‘La Belle et la Bête’ by Madame de Villeneuve, Beauty and Beast/Prince are cousins 

Some fanon/made up things that certain shippers claim to be canon about their ship & the Beauty and the Beast Trope

There is a version of Beauty and the Beast where the Beast is a white wolf 

Endless lineage

As was mentioned before, the union of Beren and Lúthien was the first between a mortal Man and an Elven maid.

According to legend, Lúthien’s bloodline would never be broken as long as the world lasted.

Lúthien’s romance with Beren is mirrored by the later romance between Aragorn and Arwen Evenstar.

Aragorn and Arwen were first cousins many times removed and both descend of Beren and Lúthien.

In the case of Jon and Sansa, both are deeply connected to the continuity of the Stark bloodline.

I extensively wrote about Jon and Sansa and their connections to Winterfell in this post: i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my. Among these connections, here are the most noteworthy:

“The snow fell and the castle rose”

GRRM has directly associated Jon Snow and Sansa’s snow castle.

Jon and Sansa share the dream of rebuilding Winterfell, their ancestral home and seat of House Stark. This shared dream is beautifully represented by Sansa building a scale model of Winterfell out of “snow”.

What do I want with snowballs? She looked at her sad little arsenal. There’s no one to throw them at. She let the one she was making drop from her hand. I could build a snow knight instead, she thought. Or even…

[…] The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood. For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top…

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

“Drink this.” Grenn held a cup to his lips. Jon drank. His head was full of wolves and eagles, the sound of his brothers’ laughter. The faces above him began to blur and fade. 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

There is also the fact that Jon is heavily associated with “snow” while Sansa is heavily associated with “stone.”

Winterfell is a grey “stone” castle that is cloaked by white “snow,” like a perfect marriage.

Jon and the Wall represent the “shield that guards the realms of men.” Sansa feels stronger within the “walls” of Winterfell.

All of these images allude to the protection of a marriage, since when a groom “cloaks” his bride, it is said that he takes her under his protection.

“The blood of Winterfell”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called, or call themselves, “the blood of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was raw. He looked at them all helplessly. “She yielded herself to me.” “Then you must do what needs be done,” Qhorin Halfhand said. “You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night’s Watch.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn’t, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night’s Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

“What if Lord Nestor values honor more than profit?” Petyr put his arm around her. “What if it is truth he wants, and justice for his murdered lady?” He smiled. “I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I’d ever let him harm my daughter?” I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

This phrasing “the blood of Winterfell” implies blood lineage of House Stark, and Jon and Sansa both dream of having children that would bear the names of their siblings: Robb, Bran, Rickon and Arya.

Willas would be Lord of Highgarden and she would be his lady. 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 II

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.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell, Jon and Sansa not only can rebuild the castle but the Stark family.

“Children of the Mountain”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called "children of the mountain".

Soon they were high enough so that looking down was best not considered. There was nothing below but yawning blackness, nothing above but moon and stars. “The mountain is your mother,” Stonesnake had told him during an easier climb a few days past. “Cling to her, press your face up against her teats, and she won’t drop you.” Jon had made a joke of it, saying how he’d always wondered who his mother was, but never thought to find her in the Frostfangs. It did not seem nearly so amusing now. One step and then another, he thought, clinging tight.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

“You’re mistaken. I never fall.” Mya’s hair had tumbled across her cheek, hiding one eye. “Almost, I said. I saw you. Weren’t you afraid? “Mya shook her head. “I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I’m flying. We’re both laughing, laughing so much that I can hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me.” She pushed her hair back. “Then one day he wasn’t. Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Coincidentally in reference to two snowy mountains, the Frostfangs beyond the Wall and the mountains at the Eyrie.

The word Winterfell could mean “wintry mountain(s)” A snowy mountain is basically “stone” covered by “snow”, like a perfect marriage.

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell and the Stark family.

You can read more about this subject (Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa) in this series of metas written by @fedonciadale back in 2018:

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 1 - the meeting

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 2 - Beren’s oath and first failure

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 3 - Beren’s and Luthien’s get the Silmaril

Tolkien and GRRM - Aragorn and Arwen

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

Lúthien was largely inspired from Edith Bratt (Tolkien's wife) and when she died, Tolkien asked his son Christopher to include Lúthien in her gravestone, as he considered her "my Lúthien."

In on of his letters (Nº 340), Tolkien said: "I never called Edith 'Lúthien' – but she was the source of the story that in time became the chief pan of the Silmarillion. It was first conceived in a small woodland glade filled with hemlocks at Roos in Yorkshire (where I was for a brief time in command of an outpost of the Humber Garrison in 1917, and she was able to live with me for a while). In those days her hair was raven, her skin clear, her eyes brighter than you have seen them, and she could sing – and dance. But the story has gone crooked, & I am left, and I cannot plead before the inexorable Mandos."

In the movie Tolkien (2019) the film recreates this scene, as you can see in this gifset.

In the same way, I believe that GRRM took inspiration from his wife Parris McBride, certain real life events and traits, and gave those to two of his heroines, Brienne and Sansa.

When Martin and McBride met, at a convention in Nashville in 1975, she told him that one of his stories, “A Song for Lya,” had made her cry. The gathering was in the free-spirited mode of the times—in an autobiographical essay, Martin notes that, when this conversation took place, they were both naked. (He does not elaborate.) He was, however, engaged to someone else. McBride went to work for a travelling circus for a while. By the time he moved to Santa Fe, in 1979, she was waiting tables in Portland, Oregon. They’d kept in touch, and after his marriage broke up they began what McBride calls a “fannish romance,” meeting at conventions and exchanging letters. In 1981, he persuaded her to move to New Mexico.

The New Yorker - April 11, 2011 Issue

And about they both being naked when they met, he later elaborates:

I met Parris for the first time at the 1975 Kublakhan in Nashville. A bunch of us were having a party in the women’s sauna and she walked in. I came to immediate attention.

Parris | George R.R. Martin

This naked encounter is compared by fans to this Jaime and Brienne passage:

She jerked to her feet as if he’d struck her, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of the thick blonde bush at the juncture of her thighs as she climbed out. She was much hairier than his sister. Absurdly, he felt his cock stir beneath the bathwater. Now I know I have been too long away from Cersei. He averted his eyes, troubled by his body’s response.

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime V

We can even draw some parallels between Beren and Lúthien and Jaime and Brienne.

Like Lúthien, Brienne dances, but she dances with her sword. While Jaime, like Beren, lost a hand.

The possibility that GRRM may have used his wife Parris McBride as inspiration for Brienne and Sansa, makes a lot of sense if we consider that, according to GRRM himself, Brienne is Sansa with a sword.

But it is the mention of Parris crying while reading “A Song for Lya”, a bittersweet ending story with a radiant auburn haired beauty, what reminds me very much of Sansa.

Sansa is fond of sweet and sad songs, of bittersweet tales and stories, and she is often moved to tears by their sadness and beauty:

Sansa listened raptly while the king’s high harper sang songs of chivalry [...]

—A Clash of Kings - Bran III

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [...]

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

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.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Lady Ashara was my aunt. I never knew her, though. She threw herself into the sea from atop the Palestone Sword before I was born.”

“Why would she do that?” said Arya, startled.

[…] "Why did she jump in the sea, though?"

"Her heart was broken."

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn't say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. "Did someone break it?"

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

Sansa is often moved to tears at the presence of beauty, as Jon's fond memories of her tell us:

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

So, in a similar way that Edith inspired Lúthien, I believe Parris inspired Brienne and Sansa.

It is evident that his first encounter with Parris deeply impacted GRRM, so much that he took certain real life events and certain traits of his wife and gave those to two of the heroines of his magnum opus. Particularly Sansa, since she is a main character and the princess of the story, that shares parallels with powerful women from History and with important characters of classic fantasy sagas, like Tolkien's Lúthien in this case.

There you have it. Sansa is the Lúthien figure in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire.

I'm sure there are more parallels between Lúthien and Sansa, I'm not an expert in the LOTR books, the only book I read so far is the one I used to write this post: Beren and Lúthien (2017), so maybe I will be revisiting this post in the future with more findings.

#sansa stark #lúthien tinúviel #jonsa #beren x lúthien #asoiaf #lotr #grrm #grr martin #jrr tolkien

[jiminphiliacx]

It's gonna take me a minute, but I could get used to this. (DAENSA)

The Great hall was packed with people, men indulging in drunken boasting bashes and meaningless brawls, women deeply discussing the gossips of the week and the young maids huddled in a corner, pointing at young, green lads and giggling a little too often and too loudly for Sansa's tastes. She could feel them though, she had been one of them, the lifeline of the group, ogling at young dashing boys and sharing fantasies with girls of her age, it seemed like a million lifetimes ago but she could remember that time fondly, things had been easier then. Much easier.

Her blue eyes scanned the crowd with disinterest, sipping the wine slowly from the old jug, fighting the urge to gag and spit it out. It tasted similar to the one she had had at the wall , which also seemed like a thousand lifetimes ago, sitting by the hearth and sharing childhood stories with her brother. She was standing near a towering pillar which was secluded from the crowd and at the same time provided a perfect vantage point to see everything that was happening there. This is the kind of place Arya would have sought after for such huge occasions with noisy people Sansa thought fondly, her lips curving into a wry grin.

She scanned the table at the end of the hall near the fireplace, where her parents used to sit, which later Robb took over, followed by Bran and then herself and Jon. The other important lords from noble houses were seated there now, drinking and eating to their heart's content. At the other end of the table, seated in the chair closest to the fireplace was a woman, with her back facing the hall, her face hidden from her view. Her platinum blonde hair piled down, past her shoulders, her soft locks loosely braided unlike in their usual majestic fashion. Her shoulders were slouched and she was leaning towards the fireplace, like it was whispering something to her and she was listening keenly. Her body was still like a statue and the cup in her hand was filled to the brim with the piss they were all drinking.

Sansa took a huge sip and placed the jug on a random table before making her way towards the woman by the fire. She must feel lonely Sansa thought. Jon had gone south to make preparations for Dany's coronation and she knew it would take a few long weeks for everything to be in place for the occasion. Jon was the only person who had been hyped up about what lay ahead. Everyone's attention was on the white walkers, after which their attention turned south, to the hot seat of the mother of madness. After defeating her, thanks to the mother of dragons, that was all. Every threat that had come their way, they had thwarted.

This was their happily ever after. The white walkers were killed, thanks to Arya. Cersei was defeated and was executed publically after a final confrontation Sansa had had with Cersei. But it didn't feel like a celebration. There was nothing to celebrate. Noone to celebrate with.

Sansa stopped infront of Dany and hesitated for an instant before speaking. "Your Grace..?" No reaction. It was as thought she was invisible. She didn't even flinch, her eyes still fixated on the fire. Sansa waited for a few long seconds. "Dany..?" she called out, this time a bit louder, leaning closer to her. Dany pulled back with a slight jolt and turned towards Sansa. Her lilac eyes were hazy, her forehead gleaming with sweat. Her face was unusually pale and her attire was a bit loose fitting for her. She seems to have lost a few pounds Sansa thought as she smiled at Dany. "May I?" She asked, pulling up an empty chair beside Dany.

Dany took a second before smiling and nodding. It was as though she had been in a trance and her voice had snapped her out of it. Dany placed her glass on the table and straightened herself, smoothing out her attire. Sansa sat down and stared at her. The reflection of the flames from the fireplace seemed to dance on her face, her eyes gleaming like jewels amidst them. She noted that her cheeks were flushed red and so was the tip of her nose. Wait is she drunk? But her glass.. Sansa's eyes glanced at the untouched cup and then she noticed a few jugs by the fireplace near Dany's chair. Then it dawned on her, she had had one too many drinks. 4 full jugs.

"Dany..are you drunk?" Sansa asked anyways, seeking to strike a conversation with her. Dany's eyes fluttered rapidly and she gave a lop sided smile before nodding, like a mischievous child proudly admitting the mistake it had done, with a sense of accomplishment. Sansa sighed and clucked her tongue before pushing the filled glass away from Dany's reach. "Having too much fun I guess? I'm glad you're enjoying yourself" Sansa said chuckling. Dany didn't reply, her haunting violet eyes holding her gaze, her lips still curved into an amused smile.

Moments passed, and Dany didn't seem to be moving or averting her gaze. Sansa cleared her throat and adjusted herself, pushing her think auburn hair behind her ears, staring at the old, stained floor. "You're beautiful, Lady Stark..I bet I'm not the first to notice that". Sansa's breath hitched in her throat as her head sprung up to meet the other woman's gaze, her eyes wide. She opened her mouth but didn't know what to say. She was glad they were sitting by the fire, noone could tell she was blushing madly. What am I supposed to say? Thank you? She's just being nice..roll with it Sansa

"Thank you, Dany...that's a nice thing to say.." she finally said, regaining her composure. Sansa had observed Dany since the day she set foot in Winterfell. One look and even a beggar would know she was a queen. The way she carried herself, her posture, the authority in her voice, everything screamed royalty. And grace. But the woman sitting before Sansa was not the future queen of the seven kingdoms. She wasn't the mother of dragons. She seemed to be a young naive girl, one too many drinks inside her, her posture askew, her hair in disarray, her speech slurred. Everyone cannot be perfect all th time. Even the perfect Daenerys Targaryen.

"If only you loosened up a bit and were not so uptight all the time, like you had a stick up your bottom, you'd be more lovable" Dany uttered, her eyes all over Sansa. She didn't seem to care about the consequences of the words that came out of her mouth and what it meant. She seemed to be spilling the first thing that came to her mind. Thoughtless. Sansa didn't know how to reply to that, again flustered and helpless. And a tad bit taken aback. Me? Uptight? What was she saying? Sansa's mind went absolutely blank. Maybe SHE had had too many drinks too. Maybe she had been imagining things. There was no way her brother's girlfriend, her Queen would be talking to her like that.

Ironically, she grabbed the glass of drink she had put away earlier and gulped it down, all in one go. Maybe she was uptight, but could anyone blame her? She had to carry the burden of responsibilities and her family's future from a very young age and had gone through so much, and she had to be uptight and closed off to deal with the people, with monsters she had come across, not letting them see a petrified young Sansa behind the mask she wore, of Lady Stark.

Dany cooed as Sansa emptied the glass, smiling widely. "Now THAT'S more like it, Sansa. That's a step in the right direction." She said loudly. Sansa looked around cautiously, but everyone was took drunk to notice their intoxicated future Queen who was going to lead them into a better future. Dany pushed herself forward slowly and sat at the edge of the chair, placing her hand on Sansa's lap. Sansa flinched at her touch but never moved, maintaining eye contact with her.

"You know Sansa, your brother was uptight and rude when I first met him. Blabbered on about duty, honour and loyalty. Tsk tsk, so serious and boring" Dany said, rolling her eyes and trying to mimic her brother's monotonous voice and failing, miserably, which bought a smile to Sansa's lips. "And now, look at him. Off to plan a coronation for the future Queen. None of that brooding mysterious personality anymore..always looked like he was having a midlife crisis didnt he?" Dany said, frowning in disgust, pouting.Sansa couldn't help but agree, though, was she bad mouthing her own boyfriend? What was she getting at?

"If I could get someone like him to be a bit more relaxed and calm, I bet I could loosen you up too" she said, grinning from ear to ear, her eyes gleaming and the distance between them dangerously closing as ever second passed. Sansa could feel her heart thumping so hard against her chest, like a bird fluttering in a cage, fighting to break free. Was she suggesting...

It was beyond flirting at that point. It was a bare, direct invitation. It was Sansa's turn to stare and stay still, not able to recover from the shock. Say no. Walk away. Maybe she's joking. Laugh and take her hand off your lap. Her hand on my lap..so soft and warm..and so dangerously close..

But she didn't move. As every second passed, Dany's triumphant grin grew wider. She bent and took a huge jug, which was half filled, and emptied it's contents into her mouth, the drink dripping down her chiseled jaw, making it's way down her neck. Sansa's soft eyes followed the wet trail and she gulped. As Dany finished her drink, she stood up, stumbling for a second before she laughed and held the table for support. She pulled Sansa by the hand and started walking out of the Great hall.

The crowd in the vast hall did not seem to thin, the people jesting and drinking and puking, forgetting the time that passed, forgetting their duties and their responsibilities. Everyone was so preoccupied that noone noticed the Dragon Queen stumbling towards her chambers, with the lady of winterfell following her like an enchanted puppy, forgetting all honour and modesty. Winter might have passed, but someone else was definitely coming that night.

#game of thrones edits #game of thrones #sansa stark #sansa #housestark #starks #catelyn stark #robb stark #daenerys edit #queen daenerys #pro daenerys #daenerys targaryen #daensa #i stand by daenerys #daenerys stormborn #daenerystargeryenedit #daenerysource #daenerys defense squad #lgbtq #sansaanddany #house stargaryen

[sailorshadzter]

all's well that ends well to end up with you

@jonsa-week

day 7: bastards, royalty, free choice. 

a canon divergent au where jon is the known bastard of rhaegar targaryen, raised in winterfell by ned stark after convincing robert baratheon to spare his life as an infant. 

a king beyond the wall x sansa / alayne fic. 

"There he is my sweet..."

Lord Baelish's breath is warm against her skin, his mouth incredibly close to her ear; she can feel his body pressed against her back, far too close for comfort, but she cannot speak as she stands frozen on the spot. He's right, just ahead, the sullen Jon Snow stands. King Beyond the Wall, that's what he's called now, though once he had been her father's ward, once he had just been Jon. Sansa remembers, but she is not Sansa, not anymore. "You must make him fall in love with you... It should be easy enough to do." Baelish goes on, side stepping around her, his cloak rippling with his movements. "Even a man like Jon Snow will have a weakness for a pretty woman, all men do." The look he gives her sickens her and she turns away, instead again focusing her gaze upon the man that stands just across the room.

He's deep in conversation with Lord Royce and a man she doesn't recognize, his dark curls pulled back into a tight bun at the base of his neck. Jon Snow is a handsome man, she must admit, his battle scar giving him a different sort of attractiveness, rather than taking away from it. She's reminded of her first husband, the Lannister imp, who's already ugly face had been marred with a scar just before their union. They've not seen one another in years, she wonders if he'll even know her, though without her trademark red hair, she seems to blend in well among the rest of the world. I am not Sansa, he does not know me, she reminds herself yet again, I am Alayne now.

"Your grace," Lord Baelish greets as they approach the trio of men, all whom turn to look upon them. Lord Royce offers her a smile and the knot in her stomach lessens; he's the only one who's been truly kind to her here. He and the other man step away, leaving Baelish and her alone with the young king. "Might I introduce to you my daughter, Alayne." He extends out his arm, beckoning her forward, and somehow, she manages to propel herself the final few steps forward.

As she sinks into the appropriate curtsy, she offers him a demure sort of smile, looking up at him from beneath her lashes as Baelish has instructed her so often to do. "Your grace," she breathes as she returns to her full height and she wonders if he can hear her heart as it beats so wildly within her chest. "It is an honor to meet you."

Jon can't speak, why he can't even breathe.

He's captivated by this young woman that's so suddenly approached him on the arm of the weasel Petry Baelish. She's beautiful, with eyes so blue he could swear that he's looking into the summer sky. Her hair is long and dark, strangely unfitting for her, but he finds he longs to reach out to run his fingers through the length of it. And even stranger, he feels as if he knows her. He feels as if he's met her before. I must be imagining it, he thinks as he finally comes back to the moment, realizing he's been silent for far too long. Lingering just off to the side, Lord Baelish can't help but to smile to himself. "The honor is mine," Jon finally responds, reaching out to take her hand, a spark of energy flowing through him the moment his skin makes contact with hers. He draws her hand to his lips and he presses a soft, warm kiss against her knuckles, like a courtier to a queen, and he's hyper aware of how she holds her breath until his lips leave her skin.

Suddenly, he wants to speak with her without the eyes upon them, without the ears listening. "Walk with me, won't you?" He asks, surprising her, but she shoots Baelish a glance who of course gives a discrete nod and so she smiles and loops her arm through his when he offers it to her. Heads turn as they make their way across the room and out the door into the mid morning sunshine, to walk the gardens of the Vale.

It's growing colder and she knows winter is coming, her family's words ever present in the back of her mind. "I did not know Lord Baelish had a daughter," Jon begins as they take to the first pathway, the once lush gardens are now brown and dying, the most delicate of leaves heavy with the first frost.

"I am a bastard," she answers quickly, side glancing him, realizing in that moment that he does not know her. He would not know Alayne. "Though I am to be legitimatized," she goes on as he steers her towards the center of the gardens, where a great fountain once was the center piece of the place. Now it is but a stone pool among the frozen garden. They come to the nearest bench and when she's settled upon it, Jon sits down beside her, a comfortable distance between them.

"I too am a bastard, you know," he points out and she shakes her head.

"But a King's bastard," she replies. "And a man. It is different for you." She is the true born heir to the North, she is a princess of Winterfell, and yet she still holds no power for herself. Her family is gone, dead to her all these years now, and she's got no options but to trust that Lord Baelish will help her along. She has endured worse than him, that is certain. Her time in King's Landing had toughened her, had changed her. "I have no say in my life."

Jon can understand that. King's bastard or not, he too had little choice in his life. He recalls when the Starks had left Winterfell all those years ago and he, being the Targaryen bastard that he was, certainly could not go. He went to the wall, to Castle Black, and they went South to King's Landing. He can still remember the glimmer of the sun in Sansa's auburn hair as she rode away. "What would you do... If you had a say?" Jon asks and she turns towards him, surprise widening her sapphire eyed gaze. But then she's smiling, cheeks blooming with color as she glances towards her hands where they twist in her lap.

"I would fall in love," she whispers, thinking of what that would mean for her. A man to love her, not her name, not her title. A man who loved her for who she was. A man who would love her as a bastard born girl or as the North's lost princess. "I have been betrothed to kings and married to an imp... I should like to marry a man who loves me." She knows she's said too much now and she turns away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear. "It is a silly dream," she goes on, almost more to herself than to him, as if she is trying to convince herself to believe what she's saying. "I will do as my father commands." She hates referring to Baelish as her father- Ned Stark was my father, she wants to shout, Catelyn Stark was my mother! The lords that snubbed their noses at her bastard status would fall to their knees in remorse if they knew the truth of who she was.

He knows that story.

It was the same story he heard all those weeks leading up to the trip to King's Landing. Sansa was going to King's Landing to marry the future king, Joffrey, a thing she had always seemed most excited about, even if Jon had thought him to be insufferable. Jon blinks as he stares at her, knowing there was no way that this was Sansa, that this was the girl he had been raised beside like a brother. It can't be her, he tells himself with a small shake of his head. "And what is is that your father has commanded of you?" He asks instead, peering at her with those somber gray eyes, his hand itching to reach out and touch hers where it lays in her lap.

"To marry as will benefit my family, as is every father's wish," she replies with a quick shrug.

"And do you have many suitors, Lady Alayne?" He watches as she licks her lower lip, a seductive gesture that spreads warmth from his belly down. "What men does your father parade before you?" He's closer now and she's staring at him with those wide, blue eyes, her rosy lips drawing him in.

"I am a bastard," she reminds him softly, "until I am legitimized, I fear I have no prospects." Her heart is beating wildly within her chest and it's only then that she feels Jon slip his hand over hers. The touch of his hand sends a shock wave through her entire being, a feeling that she wants to experience again and again. He's so very close to her now that she can feel the warmth of his breath with every exhale- but unlike when Baelish gets so close, she's giddy with nerves, rather than sick with disgust.

It's then that he kisses her, a long, slow kiss that when it ends, they're both breathless.

She pulls back, lips tingling, her hand still clasped in his. "I'm sory," he says at once, realizing he's kissed her without asking, without knowing her beyond this single conversation. Though, somehow it feels as if he's known her all his life. Kissing her had only felt natural, as if he had been waiting to do it all this time.

"Don't be," she says with a hint of a smile before it's her that leans in, capturing his mouth with a kiss that is deeper than the one before. His tongue meets with hers as the hand that once held onto hers slides into place against her cheek, the other one sliding up to tangle into her dark locks. They are as soft as he thought they would be. This time when they break apart, they're both grinning, hearts beating in unison within their chests. Something about kissing Jon felt right- as if she was always meant to do it.

She wonders if she should tell him the truth, it's there on the tip of her tongue, but it's Lord Baelish calling out to them then, catching their attention from across the gardens. Jon jumps to his feet then, despite being a king who rises for no man, springing away from her as if she's caught fire. "I've brought you your cloak, my sweet," Baelish says as he approaches, his smile that of a doting father, but Sansa can see the pleased look in his dark green eyes. The look of a man, not a father. He stoops so he can wrap the cloak around her shoulders himself, righting himself to turn to Jon instead. "At your pleasure, your grace, perhaps you might dine with us this evening."

Jon does not hesitate in his nod and when he's promised to see the pair lately, Jon excuses himself from their company to return to his chambers, where Davos already waits for him.

In the gardens, Baelish can only smile as he slips an arm around her slim shoulders, drawing her in as they make their way across the gardens together. "One hour with him and already he is yours," he says with a chuckle, wondering what his pretty bastard had done to ensnare the King Beyond the Wall so easily. No matter, so long as he was hers, Baelish could care less how she does it. "When he knows your true name, sweet girl, he will go to war and win back the North for you." That is the plan, after all. Jon Snow and his Wildling army would take back Winterfell from the Bolton's in the name of House Stark, in the name of the woman he called his queen. If things went as well as he hoped, when this was all over, it would be him that they called King and she woudl be his queen instead.

She can't help but to smile, her lips still tingling with Jon's kiss.

#jonsa #jonsa week 2019 #guys dont let me turn this into something #because i really want to lmao #I CANT #NOT ANOTHER ONE #I JUST CANT #but im really into this #there's so much potential #baelish stealing power in the north #sansa finding out ramsay has rickon and she goes to winterfell to barter for him back #then jon has to come to get them both back #wow i just did that #i ts fine ill just add it to my list of 10 other unfinished multi chapter fics #long tags #& the ANGST #THE PINING #IM THINKING ABOUT IT ALL NOW

[ladyofasoiaf]

Sansa & Beauty - Quotes

RADIANT:

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

A Game of Thrones - Jon I

*-*

COMELY: 

"Saffron is very beautiful, I'll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey."Alayne raised her head. "More beautiful than me?"

Ser Harrold studied her face. "You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

EXQUISITE:

"You do look quite exquisite, child," Lady Olenna Tyrell told Sansa when she tottered up to them in a cloth-of-gold gown that must have weighed more than she did. "The wind has been at your hair, though."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

FAIR:

I must ask after Sansa. How else will I find her? She cleared her throat. "Goodwife," she said to the woman on the turnip cart, "perhaps you saw my sister on the road? A young maid, three-and-ten and fair of face, with blue eyes and auburn hair. She may be riding with a drunken knight."

A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

*-*

BEAUTY:

The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister's beauty.

A Feast for Crows - Brienne VII

*-*

Lord Littlefinger kissed her cheek. "With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours, sweetling. Now off to bed."

A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

*-*

"Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown," Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

LOVELY:

Sansa Stark looked especially lovely this morning, though her face was as pale as milk.

A Clash of Kings - Tyrion VI

*-*

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

*-*

"Leave the colors to me, my lady. You will be pleased, I know you will. You shall have smallclothes and hose as well, kirtles and mantles and cloaks, and all else befitting a . . . a lovely young lady of noble birth."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

*-*

When the moonstones hung from Sansa's ears and about her neck, the queen nodded. "Yes. The gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

"My lady," Tyrion said, "you are lovely, make no mistake, but . . . I cannot do this. My father be damned. We will wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little." His smile might have been meant to be reassuring, but without a nose it only made him look more grotesque and sinister.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Her maids were dressing her when Tyrion appeared, Podrick Payne in tow. "You look lovely, Sansa." He turned to his squire. "Pod, be so good as to pour me a cup of wine."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

*-*

And false. Sansa, Shae, all my women … Tysha was the only one who ever loved me. Where do whores go? "A lovely girl," said Tyrion, "and we were joined beneath the eyes of gods and men. It may be that she is lost to me, but until I know that for a certainty I must be true to her."

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

*-*

"The Lord Protector's daughter," the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

PRETTY:

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

"Lady," he said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children had picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur.

A Game of Thrones - Eddard III

*-*

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

*-*

"I will sing it for you gladly."

Sandor Clegane snorted. "Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here . . . and every one better than you."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

*-*

I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

*-*

"Leave her face," Joffrey commanded. "I like her pretty."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

*-*

"Didn't you ever have a brother you wanted to kill?" He laughed again. "Or maybe a sister?" He must have seen something in her face then, for he leaned closer. "Sansa. That's it, isn't it? The wolf bitch wants to kill the pretty bird."

A Storm of Swords - Arya IX

*-*

Jaime found himself wondering if Brienne might have passed this way before him. If she thought that Sansa Stark had made for Riverrun . . . Had they encountered other travelers, he might have stopped to ask if any of them had chance to see a pretty maid with auburn hair, or a big ugly one with a face that would curdle milk. But there was no one on the roads but wolves, and their howling held no answers.

A Feast for Crows - Jaime III

*-*

Petyr put a finger under her chin. "That Royce glimpsed this pretty face I do not doubt, but it was one face in a thousand. A man fighting in a tourney has more to concern him than some child in the crowd. And at Winterfell, Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is a maiden tall and fair, and her hair is chestnut. Men see what they expect to see, Alayne."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

*-*

Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

She studied Alayne's face and chest. "You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger.  

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

Sansa was the pretty one. He remembered a time when he had thought that Lord Eddard Stark might marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child's fancy.

A Dance with Dragons - Reek I

*-*

Petyr put his arm around her. "So he is, but he is Robert's heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

BEAUTIFUL:

"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.  

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst.To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

*-*

"Sweet Sansa," Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. "Such a beautiful child. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you."  

A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

*-*

She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful.  

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

*-*

His smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does love me, he does.  

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

*-*

"I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

*-*

His brow was damp with sweat. "I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VI

*-*

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft... the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper..."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

*-*

As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.  

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

"Ser Loras," she finally managed, "you..  you look so lovely."

He gave her a puzzled smile. "My lady is too kind. And beautiful besides. My sister awaits you eagerly."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

*-*

"At the Hand's tourney, don't you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day." It made her flush to speak of it. "You said no victory was half as beautiful as me."

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. "I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

*-*

She wanted to look beautiful for Willas Tyrell. Even if Dontos was right, and it is Winterfell he wants and not me, he still may come to love me for myself.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

*-*

"You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

"I am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her. "Oh, I am." She could not wait for Willas to see her like this. He will love me, he will, he must... he will forget Winterfell when he sees me, I'll see that he does.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions' heads. But the gash across his face was raw and red, and his nose was a hideous scab. "You are very beautiful, Sansa," he told her.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Joffrey.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Littlefinger pointed out a cedar chest under the porthole. "You'll find fresh garb within. Dresses, smallclothes, warm stockings, a cloak. Wool and linen only, I fear. Unworthy of a maid so beautiful, but they'll serve to keep you dry and clean until we can find you something finer."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

*-*

"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."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

*-*

"I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."  

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. You think you can have any man you want because you're young and beautiful. Don't think I haven't seen the looks you give Marillion.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"And you must be the Lord Protector's daughter," she added, as the bucket went rattling back up to the Eyrie. "I had heard that you were beautiful. I see that it is true."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"So you're brave as well as beautiful," Myranda said to her.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

"Aye," said the second knight, a burly fellow with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, a red nose bulbous with broken veins, and gnarled hands as large as hams. "You left out that part, m'lord."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Does Lord Ramsay think I am pretty?"

A Dance with Dragons - The Prince of Winterfell

*-*

"It was sweet," lied Tyrion, "but I am married. She was with me at the feast, you may remember her. Lady Sansa."

"Was she your wife? She … she was very beautiful …"

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

*-*

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

"A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector's daughter." Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

#sansa stark #asoiaf #A Song of Ice and Fire #quotes #sansa & beauty #ymbq #agot #acok #asos #affc #adwd #twow #alayne stone #let me know if there is more #mine

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars | xi

Read the full story on ao3...

xi: clinging to the wild things that raised us

We can build a tree house in the pine trees,

we can keep our secrets buried underneath.

Wildflowers crush between your fingers,

clinging to the wild things that raised us.

-Zella Day, “Compass”

On the day they left King’s Landing, Jon was up early, as was his habit. Sansa and Robb were still asleep, and he didn’t want to wake them, but he was restless. He would have gone for a run but he didn’t know the area nor did he want to take the chance of running into another interested courtier. It seemed that no one at the Southern court knew how to mind their own business.

The three days spent in the glittering court of the Red Palace felt like an ongoing interview, constant questions and feigned interest with no end in sight. Jon never liked the spotlight, a trait he inherited from his father no doubt, but in his life that much attention was never a good thing. If his name was in headlines, it was usually a criticism of his behavior. Even though Jon tried as hard as he could to never step over the line, the line continued to move. Creeping closer and closer until he would have no room left to go.

Most of the time his slip ups went under the radar but when he first came home from his time on The Wall, he wasn’t so lucky. He was fueled with anger and resentment for his position and wanted nothing more than to take it on someone other than himself.

And then there was the inevitable engagement. All the scrutiny and harsh words would increase ten fold. Even if it did end well and his people were saved, they would never forgive him for marrying someone with a rap sheet like hers. They were both doomed. 

As he readied himself for a day of travel, he received a text from Sansa. A link to a blog dedicated to posting pictures of royalty from all over the world doing mundane things. However, the most recent posts were just photos of Jon and Daenerys from the Dragon Pit club from two nights ago. They boasted captions calling the two ‘cozy’ and speculating at a deeper connection. From the angle the photos were taken, Jon could see where it looked like that but he knew the actual conversation was anything but. 

It wasn’t long before they were taxiing down the runway in a Targaryen owned jet. Rhaegar insisted they take it, although the Starks were fine with commercial travel.

The compact interior of the private plane reinforced the cramped feeling that already followed Jon. But as the jet soared over the grey-blue waters of The Bite, he felt his jumbled and off-balanced state from the past couple of days slip away. Even as the constant reminder of his eminent fate sat right across from him he felt more comfortable knowing he would be home soon.

Across the plane from him, the Princess Daenerys still had a pair of dark, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. They hadn’t moved since she said goodbye to her friend at King’s Landing. Despite her smiles and waves, Jon knew she would rather be anywhere but there. Her security officer sat with her, the two carrying out a conversation in hushed tones.

When they landed in White Harbor, Jon breathed in relief. There were no paparazzi this time. No flashing bulbs, no raucous cries from nosey reporters. They slid through the airport with ease, unbothered despite being the most important family in the North returning from a very important trip.

White Harbor was the North's closest thing to a city but it was still small compared to the great beasts of the South. There were no high rises to be found, all the buildings favoring the old styles and keeping the city’s charm in place.

The mayor of White Harbor greeted them at the town hall along with Lord and Lady Manderly and the rest of the Stark entourage. Queen Catelyn, Bran and Arya, and Talisa. Although, Talisa would have to watch the proceedings from the crowd as she had no official standing with the royal family.

As soon as Jon was in eye sight of Arya, she bolted for him, enveloping him in a hug with all the force of a bear. After Robb, Arya was his closest sibling. Their bond was partly driven by the fact that they looked more Stark than Tully. They both had their father’s dark hair and grey eyes, Sansa and Robb took after Catelyn with auburn curls and blue eyes.

“I was only gone three days,” Jon laughed, returning her ferocious squeeze

“It felt like forever. Especially with mom babysitting us.”

Bran came second, his usual few steps behind. 

Talisa and Robb were already arm and arm. Jon’s heart arched. He would never have a chance at the affection he witnessed between them, not that there had ever been much of a chance anyway.

He’d gone so far as to deny himself a love life to avoid a scandal. He and Ygritte were brief. A quick, private affair near the end of their high school careers but they both knew it could never be anything serious. Any future contender for Queen Consort had to be from noble blood. And Ygritte, with all her charm and wild beauty, was anything but. Her father was a political upstart who made something of himself but there was no land or title to go with it. 

It was much easier with no baggage from past exes and no possible tell-all articles. But where he fell short in romantic entanglements, he made up for in physical confrontations. 

  Daenerys smiled through the introductions, playing perfect princess before disappearing into the restroom to change.

“Why is she here?” Bran asked, once she was out of ear shot. 

“She’s helping us finalize a treaty,” Ned answered, looking between his other children who were in the know. 

His message was clear, ‘Don’t tell them’.

“What do we need the treaty for?” Arya questioned.

“That is a topic for the next family meeting.”

Ned whispered something to Catelyn and the two walked away. Jon watched them wander down the hall to another seating area.

“Is anyone going to tell us what’s really happening?” Arya folded her arms over her chest and glared at her older siblings.

“We have a right to know, “ Bran seconded.

“Jon’s engaged,” blurted Sansa. 

“You’re what?” Arya gasped.

“That was fast,” Bran responded at the same time as his twin. 

Jon gave Sansa an ‘are you kidding me’ look and she mouthed sorry in return.

“It was dad’s idea and I’m sure Catelyn knows but it’s supposed to be a secret. The public can’t know until we’re ready to tell them. We aren’t even engaged yet, the documents haven’t been signed.”

“Ned mentioned a treaty and Jon came back engaged. What happened down there?” Talisa chimed in. 

“I think I’m going to side with my dad and say that’s a topic for the next family meeting.” Robb looped Talisa’s arm with his and led her away from the little gathering. 

Arya and Bran were already glued to their phones again, their hushed voices gushing over the newest app they’d discovered. Out of all the Starks, they were the most tech savvy. They drove the press secretary mad with their under the radar social media accounts with outrageous names. Although they always covered up their faces in the photos. 

“You know, you should really try to talk to her,” Sansa prompted, not looking up from the magazine she’d returned to flipping through.

Jon didn’t need any elaboration.

“I have nothing to say to her.”

“She’s not as bad as you think.”

Jon gave his sister an incredulous look.  

“And you’re both going through the same life changing event.”

“Just the other day you were wholly against her.”

“And? People’s opinions can change.”

“Sansa-” he started.

“I love your outfit, Your Royal Highness,” Sansa smiled as Daenerys came out of the restroom.

“Oh, thank you.” the princess looked up from the notecards in her hand and returned Sansa’s smile.

For a moment she didn’t look so venomous. 

“And please, call me Dany. All my friends do.” 

Sansa grinned, shooting a look at Jon before turning back to her magazine. Dany, as Jon figured she wanted to be called, smoothed down the back of her black skirt as she sat. Her usual warrior-esque braids were simplified into two twists holding her soft, white-gold waves out of her face.

Sansa and Dany might be on good terms now but she had yet to make a good impression on Robb and the twins. 

Sansa flipped another page of her magazine, the crisp sound sharp in the silence of the room. Jon watched her as her eyes darted from the page to him and to the Princess beside her. He could see the gears turning in her head. 

“You know what, I’m going to take a look at the crowds. Arya, Bran, wanna come with?”

Jon went to call out after her but she was already halfway down the hall, Arya and Bran trudging along with disinterest.

“Play nice!” she called over her shoulder.

He groaned and Dany chuckled.

“She’s a handful, that one.”

“You’re telling me,” she sighed.

He considered what Sansa said and swallowed his pride. What could it hurt? 

“ Dany-”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered, not looking up from her notecards.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Only my friends call me Dany and as far as I’m concerned, Your Highness-” she looked up in a sharp gesture, “we are not friends. Acquaintances, maybe, but certainly not friends.”

It could hurt a lot, apparently.

She stood, as if to leave, when the royal family’s press intern rounded the corner and announced that it was time to begin the event. 

The Starks were old fashioned and kept a press secretary. It was an outdated station, the only responsibility being to send official statements to all news outlets. Their current secretary had asked for an intern to help with an official social media presence to keep the threat of paparazzi at bay. It worked as far as Jon was concerned. 

They were led from the town hall to the small stage set up outside. A canopy overhead meant to shade them from the sun or, more likely, the rain as the thick clouds crowding the sky looked dark. The Stark sigil of a grey wolf on a white and green background was displayed on banners, floating lazily on the breeze. 

Jon held out his hand to assist Daenerys up the steps. She was wearing a pair of precarious heels and he knew that stairs were a challenge for any woman in them. He’d watched Sansa parade around in them, and Arya wobble behind in a valiant attempt, for years.

Daenerys allowed her hand to hover over his to avoid being labeled as rude or too bold by the audience. The people were watching and someone was bound to notice if she blew off his chivalrous offer.

The mayor started his short introduction speech, followed by a few words from Lord Manderly. As usual they were politically perfect and manufactured. Just like the Princess’ words would be too. 

When Lord Manderly announced their visitor's name, there followed a polite applause. She approached the podium with grace and a smile, a forced one Jon was sure. 

“Thank you, Lord Manderly, for the warm welcome. Speaking of warmth, I always thought the North was cold and snowy but she’s proved me wrong. The weather is beautiful and so is the landscape. I’ve only been here a short time and what I’ve managed to see through airplane and car windows has taken my breath away.”

Jon wondered if her statement was true, or something generic used by the Royal Family for all foreign visits. But the way she delivered it was so impressive Jon could just as easily be convinced they were her own thoughts.

“I come before you today, not in any diplomatic capacity, but as a guest of the Starks. And as a woman who wishes to nurture a much friendlier connection between our two lands, who for so long have acted distant and foreign to each other despite being neighbors.”

She continued on but Jon’s mind wandered, her words fading into the background. There were news cameras at the front of all the people, capturing everything from all possible angles. Reporters stood by them, anxiously accepting the Princess’ words about her excitement to see the North and her hope for a stronger friendship between the two nations. He wondered if the people watching in their homes were reacting the same way. 

A Targaryen hadn’t been in the North since the 13th century. That Targaryen was one of the hundreds of Aegon Targaryens that conquered the south, a name so lucky they recycled it. Despite being the King who refused to bend the knee, one never saw many people named Torrhen. 

The closest he'd encountered was his friend Tormund Giantsbane. A member of the Free Folk settled in the Gift who spent so much time around Castle Black he was as much a Brother as anyone else. He refused to join them because of the bad blood between the Free Folk and Night's Watch, considered it a betrayal of Wildling ideals. Jon tried to convince him to join Ygritte at The Smoking Log, but he refused. Winterfell was too far south for him.

At the end of all the formalities, the royal family set out to mingle with the citizens of White Harbor.  Jon set out on his own, shaking hands and greeting the people gathered there, a security officer not far behind. For the first time in days, his smile wasn’t forced. Something about having his feet on the ground and moving through crowds was natural to him. 

Shaking hands with people and talking with them reminded Jon of the responsibility he held. A King should be seen by his people and the people by their King, he recalled Ned saying once. His father was always dropping pieces of advice into their regular conversations, he thought it was the best way to share them.

Daenerys was a few feet away also smiling and being on her best behavior. Jon couldn’t help but take interest in the way she bent down and hugged the children that were there. He knew she was an aunt but not every aunt was a good aunt. He’d met Catelyn’s sister, Lysa Arryn, on a few occasions and she scared him, even as a grown man. 

He shook another hand before his security officer was ushering him toward the fleet of cars that would take them to Winterfell. Unfortunately, he had to share a car with Her Royal Highness. While her mood appeared to have mellowed, she was able to turn dangerous in a second. 

Once out of the city, Jon realized how much he’d missed the countryside. The beautiful green revealed after the morning frost melted away. The White Knife, the impressive river that flowed from the Lonely Hills to the Bite, followed them for most of the journey, adding to the beauty of the scene that surrounded them.

He’d never been so happy to see that particular shade of green, except once when he returned from The Wall. It was the one positive thing he could focus on as he was dragged away from the one thing that gave him a tangible sense of purpose. 

It wasn’t long until they were approaching the gates of Winterfell. The Wolfswood rose up to the West, impressive with its sentinels taller than the castle walls. Jon chanced a look at the Princess as she gazed out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of her first impressions of the castle. Although she tried to hide it, he saw the glimmer in her eye as they passed under the south gate. 

They climbed out of the cars, Jon tried not to give the princess a hard time. She was looking around, all of the disinterest in her gone. Something shoved his shoulder and he turned around to find Sansa, who was motioning toward their guest. Offer her a tour, you dolt, her eyes screamed. But Jon wasn’t ready to make nice yet. And a tour of his home, just the two of them, was much closer than he ever planned on getting to her for a long while.

Sansa shoved his shoulder again but Ned called Jon’s name and he thanked the Gods he avoided that bullet.

“We have the Council meeting to get to,” Ned reminded him.

Upon second thought, an inconvenient tour with the one person he couldn’t stand seemed like the much better option.

“I was about to give our new guest a tour of the castle,” Jon offered, hoping he sounded convincing. “That’s quite alright, I can handle it. You don’t need to keep the great lords waiting,” Catelyn stated, detaching herself from Ned’s side.

Jon took a deep breath. 

As he imagined, the small council was not pleased with the fact that they’d brought home a foreign princess. He stood at his father’s side as the Lords bickered, their voices amplified by the stone walls. By the end of it all, Jon would be rubbing his temples the way his father was.

“As I’ve said before gentlemen, I have considered all options and this treaty is the only one that works. Both now and in the future,” Ned defended.

“It’s ludacris!” Karstark bellowed.

“A betrayal to our values,” shouted Umber.

They'd even managed to make Lord Umber mad, and the Umbers were the strongest supporters of the Starks. 

The Lords of the North weren’t ‘yes men’ by any means. They were direct and staunch and not afraid to be honest with their king. The only time they feared him was when he was in a wrathful mood. And Jon had only seen his father that way once, when he announced his wish for the legitimization.

Jon remembered sitting outside the great room with Robb, their ears pressed to the heavy wooden door as they did for every council meeting. However, they weren’t prepared for the news they were about to hear.

“I want to make a motion to legitimize my son Jon, so he will succeed me to the throne.”

The room erupted into shouts, in much the same manner Jon experienced now, as Jon and Robb pulled their ears away from the door to stare at each other with agape mouths and wide eyes. At only ten years old they understood the implications. Both of their lives were about to change.

Jon found Roose Bolton situated in a far corner, his face was always hard to read but his expression at this latest news was plain. Exasperation. The voices around them continued but Jon stared at Bolton. There was something else behind his usually stoic face and Jon wanted to find out what it was.

The room quieted and Jon realized his father was speaking to him. 

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Your thoughts on the treaty?”

Jon had been looking for an opportunity to reveal his true feelings on the matter but looking at his father he knew what he needed to do.

“I’m not fond of the marriage aspect of it. The Princess is … difficult and has a lot against her. But my personal life doesn’t come before the needs of our country and I stand by my father’s decision. If he believes this will protect our people, then I believe it too.”

“Has the princess agreed to this arrangement?” Lord Bolton spoke up.

“She has asked for more time to make her decision,” Ned reported.

“How much time?”

“A month, at most. Even if she takes all that long, we’ll still have plenty of time to import goods and build shelters.”

“And what if she says no? Her country has nothing to gain from this except our assimilation.”

Their voices rose again at the thought of a bent knee. Jon let his eyes wander the room of red-faced lords. He’d said his piece, there was nothing to do but wait.

The sound of a fist connecting with the long wooden table silenced everyone in the room and brought Jon’s attention back.

“We are not assimilating with the south. We keep our freedom and our ways but more importantly we keep our people alive. Without them, the North is nothing. This meeting is adjourned.”

The Northern lords filed out, grumbling about the news. The secretary followed behind, arranging the notes from the meeting turned screaming match. 

Ned sat back down, letting out a strong cough as he did. 

“They’ll understand once everything is set,” Jon assured his father.

“I know but I doubt I’ll be able to stand their complaining while we wait,” Ned joked but his laughter turned into a cough followed by another.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked as he handed his father the water glass from the table.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured his son, “Just adjusting to the change in air. You know what I always say-”

“Starks never fare well in the South,” they stated together.

Now more than ever, that statement rang true.

#jonerys #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #jonerysfanfic #jonerys fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 link

[vivilove-jonsa]

Dialogue prompt: I am sorry sir, but suitors are recieved on Saturdays from 10 till 11 in the parlor. You'll have to return to see Miss Sansa tomorrow.

Thank you so much for the ask, my dear!  I hope you like it :)

***

Jon alights from the carriage with a queer trembly feeling in his belly. It is quite ridiculous.  Though they’ve not seen each other in years, she is his kin and he’d promised Uncle Ned, hadn’t he?  

Adjusting his hat and cravat, he rings the bell of Number 3 and practices what he means to say in his head once more.

“Good morning, Miss Sansa.  You may not remember me but I am your cousin Jon Targaryen.  I’m a solicitor here in London and I’m here to offer my assistance if you have any need of it at the behest of your esteemed late father.”

Nice and to the point.  

He hears someone approaching the door and stands up straighter.  He sucks in a deep breath for courage and prepares to sweep his hat from his head.

He fears his countenance falls slightly when a man answers instead. He looks a little ill-at-ease in his butler’s uniform.  He looks more like a prize-fighter to be honest.  Nonetheless, he is obviously a manservant.  Jon should’ve expected as much.  She was bound to have servants after all and it would hardly be fitting for a young heiress to open her door to just anyone.  

Jon smiles and reaches into his waist pocket to offer his calling card.

The man looks him up and down with a fearsome scowl, ignoring the card before speaking.  “I’m sorry, sir, but suitors are received on Saturdays from 10 till 11 in the parlor. You’ll have to return to see Miss Sansa tomorrow,” he states in a monotone voice as if someone has drilled the phrase into him.  

“I’m not a suitor.”

The monotone tone is absent when the man responds with clear sarcasm.  “Sure, you ain’t.  We’ve had a regular spring flood tide of ‘em since Miss Sansa got to town and word spread about her beauty and wealth.  Left and right, they come at all hours with their cards and their neatly tied cravats looking to have a leer at ‘er.”  

Jon’s jaw clenches.  He had heard that his cousin was an uncommonly lovely young lady through some acquaintances.  She’d been a very pretty girl so it wasn’t so surprising.  And, added to the lure of her dowry, he doesn’t doubt that all the unmarried rakes, libertines and fortune-hunters in London have been drawn here like flies to honey.  He doesn’t like it much and suspects this is precisely the sort of matter Uncle Ned had hoped he might help Sansa manage.  

“I’m sure you’ve had several such men descending upon your household but I assure you, I am not one of them.”

“Oh, that’s likely,” the man responds, punctuating it with a very undignified scoff.  

“I most certainly have not come to call as a suitor,” he says again but the man is distracted by someone else.

“Who is it, Jory?” an older female voice asks from within.  

“Some younker callin’ on Miss Sansa, Mrs. Mordane.”

“Did you tell him to come back tomorrow?”

“Of course, I did.  What d’ye take me for?  That’s the butler’s job, ain’t it?  And I’m filling in while Uncle Rodrik’s off with his bum leg!” the man, Jory, shouts over his shoulder before giving Jon a conspiratorial wink.

Meanwhile, Jon is flummoxed as to how to proceed.  Younker?  “My good man, I’m not a suitor.  I’m a solicitor…”

“Ooh, are you now?”  He’s back to giving Jon a less that friendly look.  “We seen a few of your kind ‘round here too, sniffing after Miss Sansa’s fortune.”

“Sniffing after Miss Sansa’s fortune?”

“Just like that nasty Mr. Baelish.”

“Mr. Baelish?”  Jon’s brow furrows.  He’s familiar with who he is but he does not acknowledge the foul cockroach when he spies him at the club.  

“If that’s who’s at the door, show him the pavement, Jory,” the woman within says.

“It ain’t him.  It’s…”

Jory doesn’t finish before a woman well in her middle years and wearing a housekeeper’s apron and cap comes to stand next to him, giving Jon the same impertinent look.  

“Jon Targaryen, madam,” he says, naming himself with as much urbanity as he can muster under the circumstances and sweeping his hat from his head.  “I have come to call upon Miss Sansa Stark at the behest of her…”

She doesn’t let him finish.  She gives him the same answer Jory had to start with.  “I’m sorry, sir, but suitors are received on Saturdays from 10 till 11 in the parlor.  You’ll have to return to see Miss Sansa tomorrow.”  

Is this the equivalent of ‘not at home’ in this household?  Does every bloody man who has the misfortune to ring the bell at Number 3 receive this level of contempt and disdain?

“I assure you, I am not a suitor, madam.  I am Miss Sansa’s cousin.”

“Oh, her cousin, is it?  We had a cousin of hers call before, didn’t we, Mrs. Mordane?”

“That’s right.  Young Master Robin Arryn’s her cousin, too,” Mordane states in clear disapproval of the relation.  

“He’s a foul little shi-“

“Jory?  Mrs. Mordane? Who’s come to call?” a sweet young voice asks.  

“Some suitor, miss.  We’re seeing him off.”

Before Jory can slam the door in his face and provoked into speaking intemperately at last, Jon roars, “For the last time, I AM NOT A BLOODY SUITOR!”  

The fill-in butler and housekeeper look astounded but Jon doesn’t even notice. He’s far too transfixed the moment the owner of that sweet voice comes into view and he can understand perfectly well now why they have been so brusque towards him.  He thinks they need an increase in wages perhaps, too, especially if Jory will show Baelish the pavement the next time he calls…with his fists.    

He remembers himself enough to bow but little else.  The rehearsed speech he’d meant to give her  when he was received has been forgotten.  

She’s an angel.  Lovely and fresh-faced with sparkling blue eyes that match her morning gown.  She has waves of elegantly coiffed auburn hair (which he’d love to see spilling down her back.)    

“Cousin Jon?  Is that really you?” she gasps.

Half-dazed, he manages to nod.  He’ll catch flies if he doesn’t close his mouth soon.  

With a delighted squeal (one that brings the most ill-timed and libidinous thoughts to mind) she rushes to him, right into his arms.  It would hardly be polite to not return her embrace, right?  

God, she feels so wonderful wrapped up in his arms with her face tucked into the crook of his neck as she’s chatting away about times long past and that queer trembly feeling in his belly is back.  She’d always been so sweet as a girl but she’s grown now.  She smells like lavender and vanilla and he’s…

He takes a step back from her abruptly.  “I have a good friend named Mister Samwell Tarly who is an excellent solicitor should you need one to assist you.”

She shakes her head in bafflement at his sudden announcement.  “I…thank you, Jon.  That’s very kind of you to recommend him but won’t you come in for tea?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” he says as he puts his hat back on and gives her a bashful smile.  “My apologies, Miss Sansa, but I’m afraid I’ll need to return tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock sharp.”

Jory and Mrs. Mordane both give him a satisfied nod at last and Sansa’s laughter follows him as he returns to his carriage.  

But, when he glances over his shoulder for another look at her, she’s crooking one of those slim fingers he’s already wrapped around and beckoning him to come back.  He can hardly refuse a lady no matter what the visiting hours for suitors are.    

#jonsa fanfiction #dialogue prompts #amymel86 #jonsa

[jonsastan]

Jonsa Week - @incorrectjonsansa​

Day 6 - a time for wolves

They’d survived the war. Most of them. Arya and Brienne and Jaime and Podrick and Jon.

Jon is home.

Sansa had tended Arya’s and Jon’s wounds herself. She had taken the medicine and salves Samwell made, and soothed and bound the wounds herself.

Arya had broken her right hand and been slashed down her left leg, but the hand was set and wound stitched up. Sansa had stitched it. Her even, beautiful stitched holding her sister together.

Jon had added to his collection of scars, one across his bicep, another down his leg, an arrow through his shoulder. She’d pulled the arrow out whilst Sam held him still. And burns, burns on his arms and legs and neck. Some from Daenerys, some from Rhaegal, but none too bad. Nothing that time and medicine and patience would not heal.

But within two weeks Daenerys was demanding their army march south to exact revenge on Cersei the Oathbreaker and take back the Iron Throne.

Jon had hobbled from his bed to join her.

“I promised, Sansa.” He’d whispered as she sat beside his bed. “I have to help her win the South so she won’t see me as a threat to her throne.”

She’d been so angry at him, He was so noble, and honest, and dutiful. He was Father all over again. She made him promise to come home, to come back to the North, to come back to her. And he promised.

Jaime went south too. But Brienne, Podrick, and Arya stayed in Winterfell. What was left of it. They stayed and they rebuilt as best they could. They housed and clothed and fed as many people as they could. Sansa gave orders, organised supplies, traded with allies and Arya was content to help the small-folk, to aid Gendry in the forge, to train with Brienne. They got an occasional raven from Jon. Telling them he was safe, they were winning, they all ended the same way.

“Sansa, I will keep my promise. -Jon.”

He had left Winterfell a kneeler, a potential prince, an injured soldier, he came back a King. Well, a potential king.

“She will grant us Northern independence. With the promise that the heir of Winterfell marries the heir to the Iron Throne.” He’d blushed as he said this and it took Sansa a second to grasp the suggestion.

“You mean, if we wed, the North is free?” Sansa felt her heart lighten. No more appeasing the hatred of the south, no more deferring to others for their safety, just the North. And Jon.

“I will not force you into a marriage you do not want.” He was so concerned for her, it was written in his brows, and eyes, and lips.

“And if I want you?” She asked feeling bolder than she had in an eternity. Jon’s eyes shot up to hers. There was hope in those ice grey eyes.

“Father promised me someone kind, and gentle, and strong.” she murmured moving toward him “I think he meant you.” And she was kissing him, or maybe he was kissing her.  

When their betrothal was announced Sansa had been worried. Worried about the Northern Lord’s reaction, worried about Brienne and Gendry and Podrick’s reaction, worried about Bran and Arya’s reaction.

The Lords had revelled in the idea. They were gaining a King and Queen in the North whose name is Stark. They were gaining independence. They were gaining everything.

Gendry hadn’t blinked an eye, saying something about the ways of Lords and Ladies. Podrick had offered congratulations, and Brienne has told Jon he was a good enough fighter to protect Sansa.

Telling Bran had been odd, as were most encounters with Bran. He’s almost smiled and said their Fathers would have wanted this. Before telling Sansa she would look beautiful. Arya had simply shrugged and said “It’s not like Jon was ever your brother. He was always just your family and now he’ll have our name.”

Within a week they stood before the Heart Tree, snow falling softly around them and Jon was not longer a Snow.

Not a month had past since Sansa Stark became a wife and a Queen than questions of an heir were being asked.

“Not even a whole moon’s turn!” Jon had fumed in their chambers. “As if planning a glass house, rebuilding Winterfell, and supporting the small-folk wasn’t enough, they want to add a child to the mix!”

“Do you not want children?” Sansa knew the answer, she knew deep in her soul, but she wanted to hear him say those words

“Of course I do. I’ve always wanted children, even when I thought I was just a bastard.” He smiled sadly as he came and sat next to her on their bed. “I thought I would name my son Robb.”

“And a girl?” She asked tentatively.

“Lyarra, maybe or Alys.”

“Would you mind having a girl before a boy?”

“I shall love all our children.” He paused and moved closer, embracing her. “I’ve been wondering about, perhaps, establishing a new custom or two for the North.” Sansa hummed a sign for him to continue. “You know how Mormont women are trained to fight?”Another hum from Sansa “And how the Dornish don’t consider sex in the line of succession?” Sansa turned her head to look at him. “I think we should suggest something similar to the Northern Lords.”

“Oh, Jon!” She kissed him, soundly and thoroughly, until she had to stop to breath.

“I take it you like the idea.”

“Yes.” She breathed before kissing him again, stroking his chest and hair and back, starting on the task of producing an heir.

Within two moons of their wedding Sansa was pregnant. She was a glowing figure when pregnant. Wylas Manderly said she looked like the Mother embodied. Sansa had smiled politely. She continued her duties, traipsing around the castle, slowly people began to follow, begging her to rest.

“Please, your grace. Just half an hour with your feet elevated” Samwell Tarly had begged.

“Maybe you shouldn’t run up the stairs to your meetings, your grace.” Brienne had suggested.

“You really should be wearing another cloak.” Arya had scolded. Until one morning eight months into her pregnancy Sansa could not be found.

Jon had been the first to notice, the first to panic, and the first to raise the alarm. Ghost had found her. She was sitting beneath the Heart Tree, on cushions and blankets with an embroidery hoop in her hand.

“The whole castle is in a panic.” He said with gentle reproach. Sansa’s mood had been unstable of late, she was prone to laugh, burst into tears, or start shouting with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Sansa did not look up from her work.

“I needed to be here. I needed Father, and Mother, and Robb, and Rickon.” Jon nodded his understanding and left her in peace. He organised to have warm drinks and food be brought to her at regular intervals but gave strict instructions that Queen Sansa was not to be spoken to unless she spoke first. Sansa was grateful.

Jon had always kept a cool head in a panic. It was his training as a soldier. He could command in battle, defeat White Walkers, ride his dragon. But the screams of his wife almost drove him mad. It did not matter that it was natural, that it was happening faster than most other births, that Queen Sansa was doing well. She was in pain, and he could not help. She was in pain and he’d gotten her into that state. He stood outside the door and paced. He’s tried to follow them into the birthing room but was told that it was not appropriate.

After the third scream Jon stopped in front of the door and listened for anything. And then he heard her, clear as crystal.

“I want Jon. Get me Jon!” He pulled the door open without a second thought and flew to his wife’s side. She gripped his hand and tried to smile at him.

“You are so brave, my love.” He murmured, bringing her hand to his lips. “Braver than I ever could be.” Her face was sweaty and her hair sticking to her forehead, her eyes were wide with exhaustion and fear. He truly believed she was braver than him. He had gone into battle, knowing that he might die, accepting it and not expecting anything. But Sansa had allowed herself to become pregnant, to anticipate a child, knowing her odds of surviving. She had allowed this to happen once and he knew she wanted it to happen again and again and again. She would die for a child she would never know.

“You’re not leaving me.” He murmured as Sansa squeezed his hand and shuddered. “Promise me Sansa. You’re not leaving me.”  Sansa gasped and winced.

“I promise.”

Their first son was born 20 minutes later.

Winterfell rang with the laughter of children and Jon could not have been happier. His eldest boy was almost ready to ride a pony and his younger sister was already following him around.

Jon’s son looked like him, brown hair, grey eyes and a solemn face even at the age of 5. His daughter looked like Sansa. With auburn hair and a gentle smile, with eyes such a pale blue they might have been violet. Sansa waddled toward him. She waddled when she was close to her time, but Jon would never tell her this.

“We’ve had a raven from the Queen in the South.” She handed the scroll to him. His aunt was informing him of her plans to travel North and meet her great-nephew and great-niece. Sansa had been concerned about this. That the barren Queen in the South would want one of her and Jon’s children to sit the Iron Throne.

“We are safe. We are home. We are together. We shall remain this way.” He pulled her toward him and pressed his forehead to hers. “I promise.”

#incorrectjonsansa #incorrect jonsa week #jonsa #Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #mine

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

I dont get all of this Arya-doesn’t-care-about-sansa-stuff. Arya thinks about Sansa more than any other Stark family member and on top of that she thinks that most highly of her. Ned mentions Sansa 40 times, Cat mentions her 40 times, Bran thinks of her 9 times, Jon mentions her 12 times, and Arya mentions Sansa 65 times. And you know what? Not all 65 times is an insult to Sansa. 

“Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.” - Arya I, AGoT 

“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. All I could ever do was shout the words.” - Arya IV, ASoS

“No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens, Hot Pie told her, always looking for a morsel. His mustache was so bushy that it covered his mouth, and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.” - Arya VII, ACoK

If Arya cared about none of that, why would she think about it? Why wouldn’t she just blow it off and say it was stupid. Who cared that Sansa could do all that? Arya does, Arya cares a lot. She is jealous. 

And if she dislikes and looks down on Sansa so much, why miss her? 

“Leaving King's Landing was easy, just like he'd said. The Lannister guardsmen on the gate were stopping everyone, but Yoren called one by name and their wagons were waved through. No one spared Arya a glance. They were looking for a highborn girl, daughter of the King's Hand, not for a skinny boy with his hair chopped off. Arya never looked back. She wished the Rush would rise and wash the whole city away, Flea Bottom and the Red Keep and the Great Sept and everything, and everyone too, especially Prince Joffrey and his mother. But she knew it wouldn't, and anyhow Sansa was still in the city and would wash away too. When she remembered that, Arya decided to wish for Winterfell instead.” - Arya I, ACoK

“Arya sipped at her tankard cautiously, between spoonfuls of pie still warm from the oven. Her father sometimes let them have a cup of beer, she remembered. Sansa used to make a face at the taste and say that wine was ever so much finer, but Arya had liked it well enough. It made her sad to think of Sansa and her father.” - Arya II, ACoK 

“Arya had not known her brother was so near. Riverrun was much closer than Winterfell, though she was not certain where it lay in relation to Harrenhal. I could find out somehow, I know I could, if only I could get away. When she thought of seeing Robb's face again Arya had to bite her lip. And I want to see Jon too, and Bran and Rickon, and Mother. Even Sansa . . . I'll kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady, she'll like that.” - Arya VII, ACoK 

“Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.” - Arya II, AFfC 

Also we know from Sansa’s TWoW chapter that pre-asoiaf Arya, at some point, tried to follow she and Jeyne around. Again, why? Why follow someone around you dislike so much? Why not follow around one of the boys? 

“They made a race of it, dashing headlong across the yard and past the stables, skirts flapping, whilst knights and serving men alike looked on, and pigs and chickens scattered before them. It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.” - Alayne, TWoW 

Arya’s big issue is that she cannot separate what her mother and septa thought of her and what Sansa thought of her. Sansa is not always kind, but it is still clear from the argument about whether or not to go to the Queen’s carriage she wants to connect with her sister. Sansa tells Arya that she should have gone to the tourney instead of dance lessons. Sansa is the one who tells Arya about Gregor Clegane, which sticks out because she uses the word “confide”. These girls have their issues, but Arya’s is not that she really thinks Sansa is lesser than. Arya thinks that she, herself, is lesser than and needs to take time to find out how Sansa actually feels instead of going straight to “she is looking down on me” and getting defensive. 

#Arya Stark #Sansa Stark #A Song of Ice and Fire #asoiaf #dont even mention the show to me