#Icy/Lysa

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I commissioned @ndotmov to draw me a rare pair! Icy/Lysa.

[alaynasansa]

Queen you shall be, the old woman had promised, with her lips still wet and red and glistening, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear

Lysa Arryn was frightening her, as much as Queen Cersei ever had

Petyr's friends at court had sent him word that the queen had men out looking for the Imp and Sansa Stark. It will mean my head if I am found, she reminded herself as she descended a flight of icy stone steps. I must be Alayne all the time, inside and out

She saw Ned Stark, and beside him little Sansa with her auburn hair and a shaggy grey dog that might have been her wolf

Sansa Month 2023 : day twenty-five - enemies

[targcrazies]

Moonless, Dark Night. Pt. 2

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC!Strong (half Targaryen) Words: 4.5k+ Warnings: Violence and Graphic Descriptions, Emotional Distress, Mature (ish) themes, Mentions of Self-Harm and Su*cide, Adult Language, Incest.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Sansa had been awoken at her usual hours that morning. She was only fifteen. She had broken her fast with fruit loaf and honey, a slab of salmon on the side. Septa Lysa had sat her down for a lesson on the Lyseni poetry, asking her to have readied a critical comparison of the Lyseni tongue and its High Valyrian roots for the next day. Sansa feigned illness, saying that she could smell the stale salmon with every burp. The Septa looked horrified, piteously halting the morning early. Sansa picked up her parchments, her quills and inkpots taken care of by one of her ladies, Neyla. She went up to her bedchamber, having her ladies help her put her hair in two beautiful, neat, slightly flowy plaits. Cranberry extracts were used on the apples of her cheeks and her lips, her eyes adorned lightly with kohl. Fragrances brought as presents from Lys were dabbed onto the napes of her neck, her wrists, her bosom, and the top of her head. Her black hair was sleek and shiny, her lilac eyes sparkling. 

She walked downstairs, to the training yard. It had been over a week since she had shown up there and felt like it had been reasonably long. She admired the sight of his training immensely. His face contorted in close focus, his doe-like eye large in alarm, his hair flailing about him; she could drink in the sight whole.

She found herself joining a significantly large audience at the yard. Everyone was whispering among themselves, speaking of the marvel that the young Prince had grown to become. Unlike his older brother, the young Prince trained tirelessly. He had grown almost a foot tall in the past year and looked like he had turned from fifteen to twenty before even turning sixteen. He was handsome, almost mythical. One might argue that the lack of an eye, his being an amputee of sorts, made him seem like a fierce, deranged monster. However, there were many women who found the eye-patch rather flattering on him. They spoke of the sapphire that hid beneath, the glinting stone reminiscent of the eye and indicative of his status. They even spoke of the sight he must have made when the only shred of garb on him was just the patch, silk and smooth. Talks like that, she chortled off. It would be a lie, however, to deny the thoughts crossed her mind, too. 

As children, much of their respective fathers’ conversations revolved around how the two would marry once of age. Lord Strong would never fail to remind the King that his support and loyalty were to the house Targaryen and alliances should be cemented elsewhere, with other houses. However, King Viserys never paid heed to such propositions. 

However, after her father’s passing and the king’s ailing health worsening with quick bouts of horrid illnesses, especially after the death of his half-sister; such discussions had ceased to happen at all. Earlier that year, the Queen had invited Cassandra Baratheon to the Red Keep. Everyone suspected that the invitation had been extended as a means of securing the support of House Baratheon by marrying Prince Aemond to the Lady. However, nothing of the note was ever uttered amongst the people at the Keep. Cassandra Baratheon was, undeniably, a beauty. She had icy cold blue eyes and hair as dark and sleek as Sansa’s. Her neck was swanlike, her waist perfectly cinched. She danced like a fairy, her healthy skin glistened after any physical exertion, leaving her rather seductively ruddied. Sansa said nothing of Cassandra’s presence at the court despite the slightest jealousy she would experience every time the Prince spared her a glance. She knew, deep down, that her father would approve of a union so advantageous. She said nothing. 

Cassandra was polite with Sansa and Sansa was the most cordial, they had nothing to despise each other for. Cassandra did not consider Sansa, a mere orphan, a threat. Sansa could not find it in herself to despise a woman whose own machinations had little power amongst the Hightowers. 

A fortnight before her sixteenth nameday, the Queen entered her bedchamber with a beautiful gown. Sansa knew little of fabrics, but the quality of the cloth seemed divine; it was soft to the touch and exceedingly fine. “You can fold it and fit it within a small matchbox,” the Queen mused, “You are to become a woman grown, suitable for marriage. I believe you deserve to have the finer things in life.”

“Your Grace, I am very thankful. This is a lovely present.” Sansa smiled at the Queen earnestly, admiring the green fabric. The Queen endearingly returned the smile as Sansa held the gown upon her and admired how it flattered her in the mirror. “This is such a fine gown, I wonder where I’d even wear it!”

“Well, on the occasion of your and Aemond’s namedays, we are hosting a two-day long grand joust. You could certainly wear this on your nameday, sweet child.” The Queen put a hand on Sansa’s shoulder, gently turning her to face her, “Dearest, I want to speak to you about something of utmost importance.”

Sansa held her breath, her fingers becoming too feeble to hold onto the present. One of her ladies took it off her, as Sansa asked the Queen if she’d like to have a seat, perhaps a cup of tea. The Queen smiled in agreement.

“You are of marriageable age now. I owe to Lord and Lady Strong that I wed you well.” The Queen took a hearty sip of her tea, “You have been such a good girl, Sansa. I must ensure you are wed well.”

“Your Grace, that is very kind of you.” Sansa spoke softly, fearing the worst. “The Queen is going to send me away,” Sansa thought to herself, “There’s no going back.”

“Lord Ormund Hightower, my cousin, lost his lady wife last winter.” She began and Sansa’s heart dropped, “He has four young children he very much loves. You might think him old, but he is only four-and-twenty. Quite handsome, too, burly and dashing, the ladies say.”

“I am certain he is a good man, your Grace.” Sansa bit into one of the lemon cakes, her mouth dry.

The Queen bit her lower lip in contemplation, sizing the girl before her, “You would make a great Lady Hightower, dearest.” 

Sansa’s eyes fell on the tea before her and offered no response. The Queen waited before continuing. “Father wanted to pay you a visit himself and speak to you on that matter. My cousin has expressed interest in the proposition, saying that he would be delighted if you grace him with an audience on your nameday.”

“I understand, your Grace.”

“You do not have to make a decision now. Lord Ormund will be here for three or so weeks. That shall allow plenty of time for you to know him well.” The Queen took Sansa’s hand in hers, “I know how intimidating it must be to think of marriage, my dear. However, it is… not as bad as we fear it might be. With Aemond’s betrothal to be announced on his nameday, we would love to have yours in motion as well” Sansa nodded, looking up at the Queen and smiling. “I have known your son for sixteen years to only lose him for a man I will only know for three weeks.”

She spent the whole day and the whole night in wonderment. She always thought she’d marry him. And even if that would not be possible, she had expected Aemond to put up a fight. They grew up together, shared a bond over not having any dragons, took many lessons together until he retired from scholarly ventures for physical excursion. Aemond losing his eye and gaining a dragon was Aemond changed, to a good extent. Despite Sansa’s valid feeling that Aemond had become a wholly different person altogether, she tried to hold onto him, for he was a friend, if nothing else.

For the past three years or so, Aemond had isolated himself largely from everyone else at court. He trained endlessly to overcome the lack of an eye, in an attempt to compensate for the lacking that shaped him significantly. He kept mostly to himself when he was not training, focusing on learning the stately affairs. He inserted himself in many Small Council meetings, and was more often than not found speaking at lengths with his grandsire, hoping to absorb his wisdom and intelligence. Sansa, initially, tried to interest him in similar readings or even trifle conversations, to which he always apologised, “I have a prior commitment I need to attend. Please, continue without me.” After multiple attempts as such, Sansa stopped trying, surmising that she’d have to make do with catching his glimpses. She hoped that he’d choose to marry her after all, if for nothing else than to just forego the courting process altogether because it did seem like he took little interest in women. However, he was often found gazing at women’s forms, appreciatively. It was not news that he liked women, just not enough to indulge in them freely.

Aemond was most kind to Sansa when the situation arose, sharing his ale with her and pulling her chair out for her. He spoke to her more than anyone else other than his grandfather and mother, and whilst it was not much, it meant something. Or so she thought it did. She conspicuously made sure he’d catch sight of her every once in a while, before disappearing altogether for a number of days. Three, five, even ten; depending on how receptive he was to her appearance. She wondered if Aemond and Cassandra had any clandestine meetings than the ones that happened during meals. Despite the Queen’s insistence, Aemond refused to entertain her at any other hour. His refusal to engage with her any further had reassured Sansa that nothing beyond such meetings could happen between the two of them. She felt so foolish for having set her hopes so high, she thought.

Sansa found her misery pitiful. If he had moved on and chosen to engage himself with another woman he knew so little, then she should take the chance to look elsewhere. Despite her half-brother, Larys’s position in the Small Council, she often felt unwanted, burdensome even, at the Red Keep. Her mother was beloved and adored and if she were alive, Sansa perhaps would have felt more at ease. She might have been able to tell her mother that she wanted to marry Aemond, and that she could speak to the Queen on that matter. However, if the Prince had made up his mind about Lady Baratheon, then no appeals would be heard or paid heed to. “This was meant to go this way,” she gave out a small laugh sardonically.

-

“HEARD YOU’RE TO be wed to my mother’s cousin.” Aemond had sneaked up on her as she rested in Godswood with a hefty book on her lap. A week was left of the grand joust, and the preparations were going on in full rage. Aemond rarely met up with anyone at court unless it meant pure business. Sansa had never expected the Prince to show up unannounced, but there he was. She closed the book, looking up at him as he towered her. “He’s not even trying,” she thought, “He just happens to be huge.” If she hadn’t grown up with him, she’d be intimidated.

“I thought we were friends,” He spoke again, “I would had hoped to hear of your betrothal from you.”

Sansa wet her lips as she set her book aside, getting on her feet. She was as small and dainty as her great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne. On the other hand, the Prince was as big as the Conqueror. She hadn’t stood before the Prince, so close, in some time then. The Prince smiled when she reached her full height, finding it amusing, “It’s almost as if only one of us grew, despite our being the same age.” Aemond teased.

Sansa had little scruples regarding petty jokes. “How come I had to hear of your betrothal from the Queen, and not from you?” She looked up at him, demanding a steady answer with her gaze.

“Mother already informed you?” He spoke more to himself than to her. His eye wandered slightly, and Sansa took it as his refusal to look her in the eyes. “Word travels fast, eh?”

“I suppose we have become more distant in the past few years. I am not surprised.”

“I never thought our bond to be so superficial that my devotion toward perfecting myself would build a wall. However, if you believe so, half of it is of your own design.”

Her smile poured irony as she relaxed her neck, looking straight ahead, “I must congratulate you on securing such a great alliance. Father would have been most pleased.”

“You are to become the Lady of High Tower, I believe that itself is more illustrious.” She could not make much of Aemond’s voice, and refused to derive anything with scrutiny. It was too late for any of that. 

“You will always be welcome to visit, cousin.” Her dejection had turned into spite. She sat down, the book back on her lap and opened on a random page. She pretended to read, for the shadow over her to dissipate. However, nothing of the sort happened.

“Sansa?” he called her name, her head jerking upward promptly. She had not expected to find him bent down, his face so awfully close to hers that his breath tickled her mouth. His eye traversed over the finest details of her face, making out the little creases, the smallest scars. Her eyes were his own, and when he looked into them, he found a bit of himself, too. 

“Aemond.” She breathed out, her voice just a squeak. She wondered if he’d kiss her, she hoped he would. No one usually made their way so deep inside the Godswood unless summoned. No one would have to see or know. She almost closed her eyes, threw her head back, and puckered her lips slightly.

“You were on page 264,” he muttered, “This is page 512.” He raised himself straight, smirking at her shrunk form, before walking away. “Just a small punishment.” He thought to himself as she watched him leave.

--

LORD HIGHTOWER MADE all the attempts a man could to impress Sansa. Sansa was quite intrigued, even taken by his antics. The day he arrived, he arrived with sixteen large bouquets of lilac. He brought her a beautiful hair clip, encrusted with purple zoisites, harvested from the rarest forms of tanzanites. “May I?” He said, walking behind her and securing the clip on top of her plait, “It looks lovely, my lady, the most lovely.”

He was surprisingly youthful for a man who had fathered four children. Jubilant, generous, and zestful; Lord Hightower was the most delightful company Sansa had ever known. She had never been made to laugh as hard and nor was she ever so astounded by someone’s charm. “Lord Hightower’s charm goes through the roof.” she wrote in her diary, “He is such fun, such pleasure. Any meal with him is a feast, any audience with him is an epic. His joy is infectious. Any woman would be lucky to be wed to him. I would, too, for Aemond won’t be making me his wife.”

“Lord Hightower, may I ask you some questions that may transgress the level of proprietary here?” Sansa and Lord Ormund were sat at the gardens, having freshly plucked peaches. The sun was bright red, closer to the ground than the sky. The wind was cool against her bare shoulders, the sweat that had gathered at the base of her neck due to the walk almost dry.

“You may ask me anything that concerns you or delights you, my lady.” He bit deeply into a peach and munched enthusiastically, looking at her with warm, gentle eyes.

“You are surprisingly happy for a man who lost his wife not even a year ago. Your happiness is, in all honesty, rejuvenating. Especially at King’s Landing, where everyone’s rather stern and all business. I just can’t help but wonder…”

“My lady, I am glad you communicated your feelings with me. I always appreciate such transparency. It’s most necessary.” He says, “When I lost my wife, I was the most despaired. I had stopped eating, bathing, and even attending to the needs of my family. After a month or so, I realised how much had collapsed in my absence. Bureaucratically, all was good, thanks to my Regent. However, my children looked chalky, lifeless, unfed even. I have worked toward building myself, block by block, ever since. I had no plans to court any woman, until my Uncle sent me a likeness of you, commissioned for your fifteenth nameday.” He smiled, “There is something so distinct about your gaze that it pierced through the portrait. I felt like getting to know you could cause no harm.”

“You flatter me, Lord Hightower.” And, Sansa did feel flattered. No man had ever offered her such praises before, not even Aemond. He had been mostly absent, busy with his own affairs, to pay anyone any heed at all. He had not noticed her bosom, then blooming over her neckline, neither had he ever taken note of her arms that were toned from lifting weights, her clavicles touched upon with petroleum. Lord Hightower took her hand, kissing the back of it. He excused himself, saying he must meet his uncle before supper, and he would see her soon. Sansa was about to start for her own bedchamber herself, however, she was halted by Cassandra.

Cassandra wore a beautiful yellow gown with green embroidery on the high neck of it. Her hair was coiled in a neat bun, she had the bone structure for it. “I must congratulate you and thank you at once, Lady Strong.”

Cassandra was a head taller than Sansa, fuelling Sansa’s insecurity. “Aemond must prefer taller women.” She turned to Cassandra and smiled, propositioning that they had a seat in the lovely, breezy garden before the sun set fully. Cassandra acquiesced, confused.

“Lady Baratheon, what were you saying?” Sansa tried to smile brightly, hoping that her face did not reflect her turmoil regarding herself.

“I wanted to congratulate you and thank you, Lady Strong.” She took hold of one of Sansa’s hands on her lap, “Perhaps, even ask a question, woman to woman, if it’s alright.”

“Congratulate and thank me? For what, Lady Baratheon?” Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed on their own, in utter befuddlement. 

“Well, this is quite embarrassing to admit, but I suppose we can talk to each other, like friends.” Cassandra scooted closer to Sansa enthusiastically. “Aemond told me that he would have never agreed to our… betrothal, if you hadn’t agreed to yours.”

“I - I don’t unders-”

“Please, Sansa, if I may call you so,” Cassandra was then holding both of Sansa’s hands with her own, “I am aware, I know everything. It is alright, I shan’t tell a soul.”

“Alright…” Sansa decided to give the girl a listen and not say anything else then.

“I am aware that you and Aemond were… lovers. Now, I do not know what must have gone wrong between the two of you for you to give up on a Prince, however, I would not even mind his being… with you, you know how, even after our marriage. As long as I get to be the wife of a Prince, of course.”

“Right, I must say,” Sansa struggled to come up with words that could falsely inform Cassandra of her failed cognizance, “I understand what you mean, I would, too.”

“You would…? Then why did you agree to be wed to Lord Hightower? I mean, the fellow is not bad to look at and he’s wealthy. But, he’s no prince.”

Sansa stared at her, agape, “I was... tired, I suppose.” There was some truth to what she had then replied.

Cassandra lifted her shoulder high to drop with the biggest sigh, “I understand, I do. Now, there is something I must ask you. It is rather personal. You won’t make quick judgments here about me, I hope.”

“I shall never,” Sansa had begun to emulate Cassandra’s tone without realising, “Ever judge you, Cassandra.” Regarding the Baratheon girl informally took a toll on her, but she did it anyway.

“Alright, so, upon the confirmation of our betrothal, I went to Aemond furtively. I wore a beautiful, satin green cloak and nothing underneath.” It took Sansa all her might to conceal her surprise. “He was THE most surprised to find me there-”

“How did you enter his bedchamber?” 

“I lied to Cole, told him he had asked me himself to wait inside. Cole let me in and I waited.” Cassandra spoke like it was the most normal thing she had ever done, so natural, so routine. “When he came in, I greeted him, and took off my cloak.”

Sansa swallowed hard, “And then?” She managed.

“He walked up to me, picked the cloak up, and wrapped me in it! His face was stone-cold, his eyes- I mean, his eye, UNFLINCHING. He goes,” And then Cassandra proceeds to do the most hilarious, yet accurate, impression of Aemond to have ever existed, “”The only reason I agreed to this is because she agreed to marry my silly uncle.” Then he poured himself some Dornish ale, did not even offer me any, saying something along the lines of rather joining the Kingsguard than marrying me, but deciding that the “latter” would spite you more.”

Sansa heart raced against her chest, she could feel her pulse going wild in her throat, “You’re so beautiful, he did not take you to bed?”

She snorted, “I asked him the same question, I dare say. I told him how men from all of the seven kingdoms would die to bed me. I am aware of my beauty and I am NOT scared to flaunt it. I told him I could sleep with his own brother even, if I wanted.”

“And?” Sansa could have sworn that Cassandra was narrating some lusty tale she heard in Flea Bottom, were it not for the solemnity with which Cassandra went on.

“And, he says, “You may be the most beautiful woman in seven kingdoms, but you’re not Sansa.”"

“That is awfully bad of him,” Sansa spoke, doing her earnest to seem embarrassed on his behalf, “I must apologise on his behalf.” 

“You mustn’t really, people have a hard time imagining themselves abed with anyone but their first love. It's just that, I had only thought it to be us women though.” Cassandra had the most dynamic face, Sansa thought. “However, my question to you is, how to get him to lie with me?”

Sansa stared quietly at Cassandra. She had no clue what to say, she had never even kissed the man, or anyone, for that matter. “What?”

“The way he spoke of you, you must have done something right!” Cassandra was holding tightly onto Sansa’s arms then, hoping to squeeze out an answer.

“Well…” Sansa contemplated lying, suggesting something outlandish to see if she would commit to that. But then, she held herself back, “I honestly don’t know… he’s never been… particularly… picky with me.”

“Well, he must truly love you then.” She huffs out, “I will probably have to wait until our bedding ceremony. I am certain I can get him to lie with me more often then.” She wistfully prays, and Sansa reassures her of the same. “Might I ask you another question, very personal?” Sansa wanted to retort in the question of what else had she left to ask that could be any more personal, yet she held herself back and nodded. “How big is he?”

“Well, they say he is as big as the Conqueror himself!” Sansa wonders what is so personal about the question, given he is out there, large and burly.

“Targaryens are truly weird…” She muses, “Have you the Conqueror’s size in record?”

“Oh, I mean, of course, we do…” The moment Sansa realised her transgression, “We have various measurements, as Targaryens, believing in the purity of incestuous unions.” She reinforced, despite being somewhat languid.

“At least you own up to it.” Cassandra slowly nodded in understanding.

---

THE SUPPER THAT followed was something Sansa looked forward to, more than anything she ever had. She let Lord Ormund sit beside her, she audibly amused herself in conversation with him and chuckled with such zeal that the whole table marveled at their happiness. Aemond, on the other hand, looked everywhere but at them, nibbling the food before him and only responding in nods.

“Lady Strong is well-educated in Political History,” the Queen began, “Maester Cliff is always full of praises for her acumen. I believe that she will serve as an excellent regent at Oldtown, even!” Otto Hightower nodded in agreement.

“Well, as smart as Lady Strong is, I do not think she’d make a fitting regent.” He opined, “In fact, I believe women are best caregivers and, in return, would make shoddy leaders, politically.”

“How come?” Sansa asked, without missing a beat, her whole body turned toward Lord Ormund, in hopes of an answer that could dissuade her irritation at his depraved myopia.

“Well, women have nerves that are different from men. They are more prone to failure in maintaining composure, especially in matters of negotiation and reconciliation.” 

“Would you say the same regarding Nymeria Martell? She led the Rhoynar to the Dornish lands, established the Supremacy of Nymeros Martell, and ruled as the Princess of Dorne for well over two decades.” Sansa looked the man in the eyes, hoping he’d, at least partially, retrieve what he had said.

“There will always be exceptions, Lady Strong, they don’t make for robust examples.”

“We have only regarded Aegon as the Conqueror of Seven Kingdoms. In the process, we have gravely failed Visenya Targaryen and Rhaenys Targaryen, who had played just as big roles in unifying Westeros as Aegon had. Visenya and Rhaenys both ruled alongside their brother-husband. Visenya’s authoritative influence on governance was absolute, many even say that she was more instrumental when it came to ruling Westeros than her brother-husband. Not only that, she is one of the fiercest warriors in history. Rhaenys, on the other hand, was paramount in diplomacy, having resolved more issues via words and smiles than known in history. Had she not been there, so many revolts would've egregiously led to war.” Aemond pauses for a moment, looks up at his uncle, and continues, “It is very shortsighted to suggest that women cannot contribute to stately matters when you happen to be a minor feudal lord in a Kingdom that was made by two women.”

Otto Hightower agreed with his grandson but veered the conversation in a direction completely disparate to what had just transpired. Sansa smiled to herself quietly, glancing at Aemond and hoping to catch a glimpse of him, just to let him know she was exceedingly happy with how he carried the conversation. However, he never looked at her. Not for once.

[stormcloudrising]

So sansa is gonna be the villain as a corpse queen with night king jon? they probably will d*e then since every story needs that. i always had the idea of arya having this type of legend love for the songs simply because no one expects it out of her and bc she is like known dead and no one knows KNOWS her which it serves the town folk legend when the story changes everytime and it’s like almost non believable because no one really knew her. but gendry and arya is literally the most normal and healthy relationship ever so Arya’s story could be more grounded and realistic since her character is more practical. so she would probably be continuing the stark line giving how she looks like a traditional stark and be in the end one of the smart minds getting through the world after the others and the winter and everything. we also have that huge pack of direwolves with nymeria as the queen. I think you mentioned a love triangle between two sisters which isn’t something I didn’t think before. Especially since arya says how sansa has everything. Jon returning and being darker, dying bc of Arya who turned out to not even be Arya, Arya being with another (Gendry), having Winterfell and being queen could be the sansa corpse queen and Jon Night King actually being together because of Arya.( maybe Sansa won’t have everything because Jon always loved Arya more sort of the Cat/Petyr/Lysa dynamic but reversed. And I can see Sansa giving everything for a love for the songs. Meanwhile Arya is more realistic and more into doing her duty. Kind of reverse with how we started where Arya is the wicked one who is always in the wrong and is alone meanwhile sansa is the good dutiful one who is almost to having everything friends loved be a queen etc. And it works in my opinon. Sansa is no queen or leader. She can be the beautiful tragical lady of the love songs just how she always wanted. And arya can be the queen of wolves who will also make history and be written in the books. She can be a leader most definitely. I also predicted how it’s only probably arya is gonna be alive by the end. like dany, cersei, sansa, are probably gonna be dead and only arya be the one alive. This is so long. Anyway byee~~

Hi Nonny,

Thanks for reading the essay and for the ask.

If you are asking if I think that Sansa and Jon will be dead as in permanently at the end of the story, then my answer is no. I think that like on the show, they will survive. 

Specifically, regarding Sansa, if you are asking whether she will die, I can’t rule out that possibility. However, if she does, I believe that like Jon, she will return. Her death could also be symbolic, but I think that there is a good chance that it could be literal, and then she returns.

The reason that I can’t rule out the possibility of her dying is because as I’ve noted in various essays, the myth of Hades and Persephone is wrapped around the in-world myth of the Night’s King and his corpse queen, as well as the arcs of Jon and Sansa, and House Stark. Therefore, in some manner, Sansa needs to descend to the underworld. It could just be her descending to the lower levels of the crypt with Jon, which is something I think will happen, or it could be more.

Jon had to die to become NK/Hades, character…ruler of the underworld. The same could be true of Sansa, but as I said, it could be just a symbolic death like the one Persephone experienced in the Greek myth. Either way, she must return as Persephone did.

By the way, that’s why I predict that unlike on the show, Jon will never go down South to meet Dany. He’s never going to go to either KL or Dragonstone. The farthest south I expect Jon to make it is to the Trident when Ice does battle with Fire. I don’t even think that he will cross the river as he will symbolically be leaving his northern underworld demesne. 

Symbolically, that’s why Ned, Brandon and their father, Rickard died. Ned, the previous Lord of the Icy Underworld crossed the Trident and overstayed his welcome. Brandon and Rickard, crossed and went into the lands of the enemy without an invitation or an army behind them. 

On the other hand, Torhen, the Brandon who ruled after him, and Cregan all crossed at the invitation of the southern ruler and then promptly left. They didn't overstay their welcome. When Jon comes down with the northern army, he will be coming to do battle and thus will not be invited across. 

Funnily enough, even though Sansa represents the icy corpse queen of the underworld, she can cross the Trident because like Persephone, she is also of the South and the land of fertility. I would not be surprised if she is the one who crosses and parlays with Dany. She represents Winter and Spring. She’s balanced. In fact, that’s what the Starks represent. They are the balance that’s necessary to bring things full circle and reunified the realm and sort out the issue with the seasons.

If you’ve read any of my previous essays, you know that I repeat ad nauseum that George is always consistent with his symbolism. Some of his symbolism and mythology is just there for world building purposes, as is the case of much of what you find in TWOIAF. However, the symbolism heavy symbolism in the central books and Dunk & Egg generally have meaning in the story proper.

Last weekend, I discovered again how true that is. I was doing a little work on my Florian and Jonquil series, and I started wondering about all the fire and water symbolism in Jon and Sansa’s arcs respectively.

Jon is understandable for obvious reason with his dragon ancestry, and Hades has fiery symbolism with Cerberus, his fiery hell hounds. Sansa is heavily associated with water, which makes sense if as I’ve proposed, she’s a greenseer and the corpse queen as I've proposed. George uses water to represent the green sea or the weirwood net and of course ice is made of water.

I realized that as the myth of Hades and Persephone were so closely tied to that of Night’s King and corpse queen, if Jon had fiery symbolism that matched Hades, Sansa’s water symbolism should find a match in Persephone’s tale as well. However, in all my readings, I didn’t remember coming across anything about the Greek Goddess and water, but then again, I had never specifically searched for any association between her and water. This time I did, and up it popped.

It was there all along and I just overlooked it because I had never considered Persephone’s water connection before. One of her names is Nestis, which means water. It was given to her by the Greek philosopher Empedocles. His teachings influenced Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates among others. 

Empedocles is best known for originating the cosmogonic theory on the creation of the universe based on the four classical elements, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. These elements were the stand-ins for Hera (earth), Zeus (air), Hades (fire) and Persephone (water).

"Now hear the fourfold roots of everything: Enlivening Hera, Hades, shining Zeus, and Nestis, moistening mortal springs with tears." 

Of the four deities of Empedocles' elements, it is the name of Persephone alone that is taboo – Nestis is a euphemistic cult title – for she was also the terrible Queen of the Dead, whose name was not safe to speak aloud, who was euphemistically named simply as Kore or "the Maiden", a vestige of her archaic role as the deity ruling the underworld. Nestis means "the Fasting One" in ancient Greek.

—Wikipedia

Thus, we can see that George is again consistent. The fiery symbolism of Jon/Hades/NK is balanced by water symbolism of Sansa/Persephone/Corpse Queen of the Dead. And it’s Sansa, not Arya that he’s linking with Jon/Hades/NK as Persephone/Corpse Queen.

Regarding Arya, I think that originally, George did plan to make her the Persephone character to Jon’s Hades. However, his meandering garden style of writing led him to assigning that role to Sansa. 

Will there be a triangle between the two sisters and Jon? No. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t call it a triangle per se, but I think that George is sticking to his original plan of conflict between Jon and Tyrion over a Stark sister, but in this case, it will be over Sansa. That’s why he married her to Tyrion instead of Joffrey as he originally planned. 

While he’s not totally sold on the idea, Tyrion also thinks that Sansa could have participated in Joff’s murder and in setting him up to take the fall. Once he finds out that she was with Littlefinger, he will for sure think that she was involved and will want revenge, which portends conflict with Jon.

I do think that another Stark will suffer a permanent death in the books, this time because of Dany and Drogon’s fire. Considering her story arc as a Faceless Man and representative of the god of death, it would make sense if it was Arya.  However, I think it will be Rickon. 

I think Rickon will be the one because the foreshadowing is that Dany will kill and eat a fish. Arya is of course a Tully fish as well, but as has been a theme throughout her arc, she’s more like the Starks. Thus, I think the fish Dany and Drogon kills has to be either Bran, Sansa or Rickon. I don't think the first two dies, and thus that leaves only Rickon. However, I also think that Arya will kill one of the dragons around the Trident area, and I don’t rule out it being Drogon…especially if he’s the one that kills Rickon.

As for Arya and Gendry, I think that they will meet again. Will there be something romantic between them down the road? Possibly, but I doubt it. I think Arya’s tale may end very similar to how it played out on the show with her spending a few years at home in the North recovering and possibly carrying out jobs for the FM before heading west of Westeros. She won’t rule Winterfell. She doesn’t want to be Lady of a great castle. As she told her father, “that’s Sansa,” not her. 

Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell. That’s the reason behind her direwolf’s name, and why Lady’s bones were returned to the north to Winterfell when she was killed. Sansa became Lady of Winterfell even before she has returned North.

There are many tragic aspects to Sansa’s story, but she’s without a doubt, a leader. We’re shown that over and over in the text from her saving Dontos from Joffrey to her calming the ladies and some of the men during the Battle of the Blackwater among other instances. I think that you are under the mistaken impression that to be a leader, you must be a fighter like Arya, but that’s as far from the truth as it possible to be.

I also put no value in the arguments that Sansa was mean to Arya. Yes. The sisters fought. Yes. Arya is jealous of Sansa and thinks that she is good at everything. Nonetheless, that is not Sansa’s fault, or because of anything she did. Arya is not interested in being like Sansa and doing what's expected of the Lady of the manor. That why try as she did, she never succeeded in being seamstress or learning the names and sigils of the various houses. That's not where her interest lies.

The sisters are different as the sun and the moon, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Most sisters are. Most sisters also fight and sometimes call each other horrible things in anger, but at the end of the day, they love each other. This is the case for both Arya and Sansa. We know this because we get their thoughts on the page. And when they reunite, because of what both have been through, they will understand each other a bit more, and love each other a whole lot more. They will be pack.

[redwolf17]

Those eyes say so much and yet so little... XD Still, honey for the hunnies at the wall as well as the added presence of the Faith (and more people in general) will go far for morale in the face of what looks like icy annihilation.

Having Robb stay alive is a huge boon both for manpower and morale, even if Jon is missing his own dragon (atm anyways...) and Drogon won't be there fry the night king (albeit ineffectively because apparently fire cannot burn a snowman in the tv show). I really like how every Stark boy has pretty much been to the wall/beyond the wall and are exposed to the Wildlings culture/life/peoples.

Not only that, but with Sam's work at recording their legends, I'm really hoping that, culturally, the wildlings leave a more profound impact. Especially with the Red Wedding and the appearance of civilized, cultured people being absolute monsters can drum up some perspective about knowing who your allies are (hrmmm, I wonder what's going to happen to the wildlings at the end of all of this?)

I wonder if some of the hollow hill people went to the wall as well to spread the good word... (I curious about the reaction from other worshippers of the old gods seeing these people respecting these trees. The Starks appear to have an open policy to religion in general (with Cat and Marg being able to practice). But they still understand and respect that while religious conformity does not necessarily mean unity, there are traditions that have to be respected (in terms of it being a feudal setting)

Hopefully, Viserion can withstand her illness long enough to help out with at least some of the wights but I have a feeling she may meet her demise or at least the beginning of the end at KL (or by helping out Lysa). That would certainly wrack up the tension, waiting for the eggs to hatch and for the dragons to grow... hmmm

In the Arya chapter, when the smallfolk are going over her accomplishments and Brynden is frowning, is he frowning just from concern over the danger they went through/impropriety/his helplessness, or is he sad/mad at how quickly poor Sansa and Arya had to grow up to take on that leadership role and how it reminds him of Cat when her mother died?

Thank you so much for writing and answering my asks/comments (But feel free to ignore for the sake of your tranquility lol. I feel like 90% of my conjecture is off, and I'm like one of those bored guards that turn a Stark maiden escaping with a wolf-shaped jetpack- but that's why I keep coming back :P )

I absolutely love this thoughtful analysis! As for Brynden, it was a mix of all of the above, plus exasperation that both girls didn’t just RETURN TO RIVERRUN asap rather than chilling with smallfolk.

[christophe76460]

Quand Satan cherche à m'isoler, je veux me rappeler qu'avec Dieu, je ne suis jamais seule. Il a promis qu'il serait avec moi, me délivrerait et me protégerait, même au milieu de l'épreuve la plus dure. Je m'accroche donc à ses promesses, ici et maintenant, et je crois qu'il les accomplira dans ma vie. [Lysa Terkeurst]

[agentrouka-blog]

"That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort. I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt."- Sansa(ASOS VII). "I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain."- Turncloak(ADWD). Both Lysa and Barbrey recalling about how they have sex with LF and Brandon to Sansa and Theon. Though LF love Cat and Brandon was engaged to her. Barbrey was again slighted when Ned, with who her father wanted to marry, choose Cat.

Hi there! :)

I wouldn't narrow it down to these two characters and their relation to Catelyn, exactly. The idea of "sweet pain" is one that connects many characters, sometimes in good and sometimes in bad ways. Sometimes sexual, sometimes otherwise.

I think, it ultimately comes down to GRRM wanting to emphasize the blurred lines when it comes to life. Not all pain is sweet, but not all pain is bad, either, and it's not always easy to tell the difference.

Melisandre invokes a false constant duality, an in escapable constancy of war.

"The way the world is made. The truth is all around you, plain to behold. The night is dark and full of terrors, the day bright and beautiful and full of hope. One is black, the other white. There is ice and there is fire. Hate and love. Bitter and sweet. Male and female. Pain and pleasure. Winter and summer. Evil and good." She took a step toward him. "Death and life. Everywhere, opposites. Everywhere, the war." (ASOS, Davos III)

But Meera Reed and Jojen insist differently:

"Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say."

Bran made a face at her. "But you just said you hated them."

"Why can't it be both?" Meera reached up to pinch his nose.

"Because they're different," he insisted. "Like night and day, or ice and fire."

"If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one."

"One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled." (ASOS, Bran II)

If hate and love can coexist, contradicting and not contradicting each other, so can pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy, bitterness and sweetness. Not war but a mere multiplicity. Life is not that simply, not that black and white.

The Mystery Knight adds a similar example:

"This is the proper way to fill a pie," Ser Kyle sniffed, cleaning off his tunic. "The pie is meant to be the marriage, and a true marriage has in it many sorts of things—joy and grief, pain and pleasure, love and lust and loyalty. So it is fitting that there be birds of many sorts. No man ever truly knows what a new wife will bring him." 

The sentiment is all over the books, in good and bad ways. Often involving sex, but also in other moments that draw a special emphasis on life itself. The pain of breathing in icy air, but breathing nonetheless. The ache of straining muscles. Some pleasures come hand in hand with some pain. But also the pleasure that can mask harm and abuse. 

Marillion’s voice becomes even sweeter when mixed with pain and fear and sorrow in his imprisonment - a sweet voice in a bad man in a horrible situation. How can beauty thrive in this, born from this man? Well, it simply does.

Victarion claims this:

"Always." Life is pain, you fool. There is no joy but in the Drowned God's watery halls. "Do it." (ADWD, The Iron Suitor)

But Jon and Sansa, respectively, claim this:

It was so sweet and silly that Sansa had to laugh, despite everything. Afterward she was absurdly grateful. Somehow the laughter made her hopeful again, if only for a little while. 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. (ASOS, Sansa III)

Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here. Ygritte had been fond of Longspear Ryk. He hoped he found some joy with Tormund's Munda. Someone needed to find some joy somewhere. (ASOS, Jon X)

And I think you can tell with whom the author agrees.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AGOT: Catelyn VI (Chapter 34)

Sometimes she felt as though her heart had turned to stone

+.+

six brave men had died to bring her this far, and she could not even find it in her to weep for them. Even their names were fading.

She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady and Bran. It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad.

+.+

Could I be wrong? Catelyn wondered, not for the first time. Could he be innocent after all, of Bran and Jon Arryn and all the rest? And if he was, what did that make her? Six men had died to bring him here.

Resolute, she pushed her doubts away.

Denial is a powerful thing.

+.+

When they had climbed almost to the top, a knight rode out to meet them. His horse and his armor were grey, but his cloak was the rippling blue-and-red of Riverrun, and a shiny black fish, wrought in gold and obsidian, pinned its folds against his shoulder.

Pinned on Blackfish, we have our first mention of obsidian. Does this mean anything? Should I read entirely too much into this? Is this nothing? Something? I don’t know.

+.+

"My home is at my back," he said gruffly.                 

"Your home is in my heart," Catelyn told him.

I love this.

+.+

Looming over them all was the jagged peak called the Giant's Lance, a mountain that even mountains looked up to, its head lost in icy mists three and a half miles above the valley floor. Over its massive western shoulder flowed the ghost torrent of Alyssa's Tears. Even from this distance, Catelyn could make out the shining silver thread, bright against the dark stone.    

The fertile Vale of Arryn, the Giant’s Lance, Alyssa’s Tears, Snow & Stone, the impregnable Eyrie, Moon Door, ghostly wolf wind...

I’ve never paid so much attention to worldbuilding in my life.

+.+

"A woman can rule as wisely as a man," Catelyn said.                 

"The right woman can," her uncle said with a sideways glance.

Heh.

+.+

"The Lysa who came back from King's Landing is not the same girl who went south when her husband was named Hand. Those years were hard for her. You must know. Lord Arryn was a dutiful husband, but their marriage was made from politics, not passion."         

"As was my own."    

Catelyn, you did not just compare your marriage to what Lysa had to endure.

+.+

Her uncle nodded. "It is too dark to see them, but the steps are there. Too steep and narrow for horses, but mules can manage them most of the way. The path is guarded by three waycastles, Stone and Snow and Sky.

+.+

"What madness is this?" he said bluntly. Brynden Tully had never been a man to blunt the edge of his words. "A night ascent, with the moon not even full? Even Lysa should know that's an invitation to a broken neck."    

Seriously, what’s this all about? Was Lysa trying to kill Catelyn or has she lost her grip on reality?

+.+

Snow was smaller than Stone, a single fortified tower and a timber keep and stable hidden behind a low wall of unmortared rock. Yet it nestled against the Giant's Lance in such a way as to command the entire stone stair above the lower waycastle. An enemy intent on the Eyrie would have to fight his way from Stone step by step, while rocks and arrows rained down from Snow above.

I don’t know what this means, but I love it!

+.+

Above Snow, the wind was a living thing, howling around them like a wolf in the waste, then falling off to nothing as if to lure them into complacency.

This howling wolf wind is a touch more foreboding than Sansa’s, yes?

Catelyn and howling, never a good mix.

+.+

Catelyn edged her foot backward, the most timid of steps, but the mule was behind her, and she could not retreat. I am going to die here, she thought. She could feel cold sweat trickling down her back.    

"Lady Stark," Mya called across the gulf. The girl sounded a thousand leagues away. "Are you well?"

Catelyn Tully Stark swallowed what remained of her pride. "I … I cannot do this, child," she called out.                 

"Yes you can," the bastard girl said. "I know you can. Look how wide the path is."

"I don't want to look." The world seemed to be spinning around her, mountain and sky and mules, whirling like a child's top. Catelyn closed her eyes to steady her ragged breathing.                

"I'll come back for you," Mya said. "Don't move, my lady."         

Moving was about the last thing Catelyn was about to do. She listened to the skirling of the wind and the scuffling sound of leather on stone. Then Mya was there, taking her gently by the arm. "Keep your eyes closed if you like. Let go of the rope now, Whitey will take care of himself. Very good, my lady. I'll lead you over, it's easy, you'll see. Give me a step now. That's it, move your foot, just slide it forward. See. Now another. Easy. You could run across. Another one, go on. Yes." And so, foot by foot, step by step, the bastard girl led Catelyn across, blind and trembling, while the white mule followed placidly behind them.    

I must compare:

I could close my eyes. The mule knows the way, he has no need of me. But that seemed more something Sansa would have done, that frightened girl. Alayne was an older woman, and bastard brave.    

(...)

Ahead stretched a high stone saddle, narrow and icy. Alayne could hear the wind shrieking, and feel it plucking at her cloak. She remembered this place from her ascent. It had frightened her then, and it frightened her now. "It is wider than it looks," Mya was telling Lord Robert in a cheerful voice. "A yard across, and no more than eight yards long, that's nothing."

(...)

Mya staggered, and for half a heartbeat it seemed as if she would be blown over the precipice, but somehow she regained her balance and went on.          

Alayne took Robert's gloved hand in her own to stop his shaking. "Sweetrobin," she said, "I'm scared. Hold my hand, and help me get across. I know you're not afraid."                 

He looked at her, his pupils small dark pinpricks in eyes as big and white as eggs. "I'm not?"

(...)

"Ser Sweetrobin," Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains.

Bastard brave, indeed. ❤️

+.+

Dawn was breaking in the east as Mya Stone hallooed for the guards, and the gates opened before them. Inside the walls there was only a series of ramps and a great tumble of boulders and stones of all sizes. No doubt it would be the easiest thing in the world to begin an avalanche from here.

Avalanche, you say?

+.+

Lysa seated herself near the fire and said, "Come to Mother, my sweet one." She straightened his bedclothes and fussed with his fine brown hair. "Isn't he beautiful? And strong too, don't you believe the things you hear. Jon knew. The seed is strong, he told me. His last words. He kept saying Robert's name, and he grabbed my arm so hard he left marks. Tell them, the seed is strong. His seed. He wanted everyone to know what a good strong boy my baby was going to be."    

x

She opened her robe and drew out a pale, heavy breast, tipped with red. The boy grabbed for it eagerly, buried his face against her chest, and began to suck. Lysa stroked his hair.                 

Catelyn was at a loss for words, Jon Arryn's son, she thought incredulously.

God this woman is tragic.

+.+

She remembered her own baby, three-year-old Rickon, half the age of this boy and five times as fierce.

This is not ominous foreshadowing! Shhh.

+.+

Lysa covered her boy's ear with her hand. "Even if they could bring an army through the mountains and past the Bloody Gate, the Eyrie is impregnable. You saw for yourself. No enemy could ever reach us up here."                 

Catelyn wanted to slap her. Uncle Brynden had tried to warn her, she realized. "No castle is impregnable."

Joking aside, all of this talk regarding the Eyrie being impregnable is a bit over the top. It’s so over the top it makes me wonder whether it’s an intentional distraction.

I know, I know, the mountain clans. Still.

+.+

"Make him fly," Robert said eagerly.                 

Lysa stroked her son's hair. "Perhaps we will," she murmured. "Perhaps that is just what we will do."

Lysa is so unhinged, one second she’s freaking out over Catelyn's actions drawing the attention of the Lannisters, the next second she’s contemplating throwing one off a mountain.

Get the hell out of there, Catelyn.

Final thoughts:

It really feels like Jon Snow is hiding all over this chapter.

-> return to menu <-

[waitingforwinterwinds]

Game of Thrones - 06 CATELYN II (pages 55-63)

In the first of our return POV character chapters, Catelyn receives a coded message from her sister warning that the death of the previous Hand of the King was actually murder. In response, Catelyn and Ned do their best to prepare for the danger to come.

-

The castle was built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man's body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing in summer; in winter, it was the difference between life and death.

Ahhh, there it is, the one thing I think Shadiversity missed from his Winterfell build. He spoke about mass firewood stores, which: yes they'd still need, but at no point did he mention the hot springs and natural heating except for the springs inside the godswood behind the... guesthouse? (His version (22:23ish) is still way superior to the show's.)

Actually, during the attacks on Winterfell, wouldn't it have been hella unfortunate if the pipes had cracked and the walls started leaking.

"- If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that you oppose him. -" ... "You knew the man," she said. "The king is a stranger to you."

Cat's proving herself to be far more politically intuitive and aware than Ned.

Her eyes moved over the words. At first they made no sense to her. Then she remembered. "Lysa took no chances. When we were girls together, we had a private language, she and I." "Can you read it?" "Yes," Catelyn admitted.

would have been awkward if she couldn't... wonder how much would have changed. Quite a bit I imagine, if Ned had no reason to go looking into Jon Arryn's death.

"Maester Luwin has delivered all of my children," Catelyn said. This is no time for false modesty."

It's easier to forget, watching the show, easier to see in the books even just so far, Catelyn has a strong blend of "woman's duty," political awareness but also a very headstrong, pragmatic streak. Reading it you get more the sense of fear and understanding of the power imbalance and danger that Catelyn has, whereas in the show it's easy to fall into a "she's overreacting to misinformation" stance, which the fans do like to hoist onto female characters, even when they are clearly acting with the best information they have.

His words were an icy draft through her heart. "No," she said, suddenly afraid. Was this to be her punishment? To never see his face again, nor feel his arms around her?

You will, once more in the south before the end. I do want to note Catelyn has some good intuition. She understands the powers that are forcing them into the corner, she can feel the grief in the message (false though part of it is), and she knows that to go south will separate them for the final time. Like I get that it's an ongoing thing, with this series, an underlying current of prophecy, but it's really sad how often these fears are easily brushed off as normal anxiety. How there's duty that means they can't say "stuff it" and stay in Winterfell as a family.

- they had spent that year apart, Ned off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father's castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant at her breast, than of the husband she scarcely knew.

Huh. So, of the 6 Stark siblings, Sansa would have been the first to be born at Winterfell? Interesting. (Well, "siblings" we all know what I mean.)

[sansacherie]

Catelyn Stark & Women Appreciation Post

1. Defends a women's right to rule

Ser Brynden snorted. "Nor do I, but … it seems to me Lysa is only playing at courtship. She enjoys the sport, but I believe your sister intends to rule herself until her boy is old enough to be Lord of the Eyrie in truth as well as name." "A woman can rule as wisely as a man," Catelyn said.

2. Sympathised with Mya Stone, putting aside her own complicated feelings about bastardry.

She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard.

3. Feels compassion for Brienne

Pity filled Catelyn's heart. Is there any creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman?

People call Catelyn a bitch for this, but she's right. Yes, there are worse things than being physically ugly. But Catelyn understands the society they live in, and she recognises how much worth people put in women's appearances. She knows that it cannot be easy for Brienne, and she feels for her.

4. She is able to feel empathy for Cersei, believing she perhaps only wanted to protect her children, like she would for her own.

5. "After she entrusted the parchment to the maester's care, Catelyn went to the sept and lit a candle to the Father Above for her own father's sake, a second to the Crone, who had let the first raven into the world when she peered through the door of death, and a third to the Mother, for Lysa and all the children they had both lost."

As I pointed out in another post, Catelyn is able to pierce together the truth of what happened between and sister all those years in Riverrun. When it dawns on Cat that their father forced Lysa to get an abortion, her first reaction is to feel sorrow for her sister's pain rather than shame over the fact she got pregnant out of wedlock.

6. She saves Brienne's life, standing up for her when she is accused of kingslaying.

7. She offers advice to Jeyne, who clearly feels out of her depth

"Jeyne, child, you have wed the north, as I did . . . and in the north, the winters will come." She tried to smile. "Be patient. Be understanding. He loves you and he needs you, and he will come back to you soon enough. This very night, perhaps. Be there when he does. That is all I can tell you."

8. He pushed a fall of hair out of his eyes and gave a shake of the head. "I might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but . . ." ". . . but not for the girls?" Her voice was icy quiet. "Girls are not important enough, are they?"

[butterflies-dragons]

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

I wrote about it here and there:

Jon Snow and Petyr Baelish

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

3. Petyr Baelish

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

Meanwhile at the Wall…

Jon Snow

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

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

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

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

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

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

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

So…

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

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

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Hands And Teeth

Summary: No one has ever managed to punch Icy before. Icy is intrigued by Lysa's sheer audacity.

Not smut but still steamy.

For those who don't know who Lysa is, she's this witch (I love me a good background character);

Icy touches the corner of her mouth. Her fingers come away with blood. She stares at it for a moment, it is a good visual to accompany the sting and throb. The corner of her mouth, the very same one that bleeds, curves into a smirk. 

She can’t explain it but she throws her head back and laughs. 

She cackles. 

No one has ever punched her before. Nobody who had managed to land a hit anyhow. She supposes that it was bound to happen eventually, she has a very punchable personality if she did say so. 

It is exhilarating, really. 

The witch who’d done it stares at her, mouth agape. No doubt Lysa thinks that she is the one who should be cackling. 

By all means she should be.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lysa spits. 

And Icy has no answer for her. She didn’t have one for the last person either. She has an itch for pain be it her own or someone else’s and Lysa–the hot-headed, impulsive, furious woman she is—is perfect for scratching that itch. 

She leans in closer and cups Lysa’s chin in her hand. “I’d say that whatever it is, it’s the same thing that’s wrong with you.” She brings her lips just shy of the other witch’s ear. Just close enough for her to feel cool breaths upon it. Lysa shudders and Icy trails her pointer across the witch’s cheek. Lysa inhales sharply and Icy draws back. 

Lysa grabs her by the collar. The pale blue cloth of her shirt is bunched tight in her fist. “You can’t just do that!”

“Do what?” Icy quirks a brow. But she already knows. She’d like to hear it out loud though. 

“Leave me hanging like that.” 

Icy shrugs. She does it all the time. She has made her rounds in Cloud Tower’s halls, has given herself a pretty solid reputation. Several reputations of several varieties. The sort of reputations that most people seek to avoid. 

She hooks her finger around Lysa’s belt loop and pulls the witch closer. “Well we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Her nose brushes against Lysa’s. She can smell leather and hairspray. The hairspray, she could smell from down the block. She imagines that it had probably taken a whole can of it and a half a gallon of hair gel to lock those liberty spikes in place. Icy has never been particularly into the punk scene; could never stand the loud, speedy drum beats nor those tone def vocals and chaotic rhythms of the music. Was always annoyed by the abrasive personalities and impulsive shenanigans. 

The punk cliques at Cloud Tower have always been sloppy and disorderly. They leave beer cans scattered around the campus yard and cigarette smoke and litter in the hallways. She’d had to drag Stormy out of that corner of Cloud Tower kicking and screaming. 

Of course the punks are boundlessly better than the emo kids with their whining and the scene kids with their eye burning colors. Icy would certainly take a punk over a perky little pastel goth any day. 

Icy supposes that she is in the mood to rattle the status quo some. She lets her lips brush upon Lysa’s. Tastes the cigarettes on her breath. 

Lysa, wholly unappreciative of a slow and tantalizing build up, licks the blood from the corner of Icy’s mouth and bites down on her lower lip. Icy rolls her eyes. But of course, the punks are brash and quick. She shouldn’t have expected any different. The other witch’s lip ring bites into her own lip but with much less of a sting than Lysa’s teeth do. 

She deepens the kiss suckling at the blood as Icy curls her fingers into the woman’s hair. The texture is stiff and makes Icy wonder if the witch had used glue instead of hair gel. The thought makes her cringe; if anyone got near her silky locks with a bottle of glue there would be hell to pay. 

Satisfied, Lysa throws her head back and takes a deep breath, at once she practically shoves Icy away.

“Is that any way to treat a senior witch?” Icy mutters, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I’ll treat anyone any which way I damn well please.” Lysa scoffs, breathlessly. The chains on her chunky studded bracelet clink. 

Icy shrugs. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” She leans in again and presses her lips to Lysa’s neck. She feels the witch’s hands on her waist. “You only get as far as I let you get.” She guides those hands down to her hips. “Luckily for you, I’d like to put on a little show, give Cloud Tower something to talk about for a while.” 

Lysa sniffs. “Attention whore.” 

“Among other things, yes.” She agrees. “I’ll help you get your fifteen minutes, you can borrow them from me.”

“I’m going to punch you in the face again.” Lysa grumbles. 

“I thought that we were past foreplay.” 

Lysa gives her a good swat. “You’re the worst.” 

“Which is exactly why you shoved your tongue down my throat.” 

“Perhaps it is.” The witch slips her hand under Icy’s shirt. 

Icy lets her graze her breast, those long nails leaving a searing red scratch on her sensitive skin. She tsks and takes hold of Lysa’s wrist. “I don’t think so.” She clicks her tongue. “I require a bit of pampering first. Court me.” 

“Punching you in the face was part of my mating ritual.”

“A good start, but…” she gives another shrug. “I’m not impressed.”

Lysa stuffs her hands into her pockets and props herself up against the brick wall. “Bullshit!” She fishes a lighter out of her pocket. “You were having a great time.” More to herself she mutters, “way too happy about it.” 

Icy smirks. “Perhaps I’ll let you do it again some time.” She can picture the woman’s hands wrapped around her neck. Can imagine red marks left by them. She can visualize cuts and bruises; a tongue to lap at the blood and lips to kiss the bruises. “I’ll probably let you do it again some time.” Probably after midterms. She’d actually like to graduate with her master’s degree. She can’t imagine that Darcy and Stormy would take well to her interrupting their studies either.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lysa asks. 

Icy shrugs once more. “You’ve piqued my interest, Lysa. Bloom is intriguing…” and to think of how much gossip that would inspire is tantalizing. “But you…” she hums. “Punks aren’t usually my taste but they sure are funner than fairies. And trad goths can be so dull sometimes.” 

Lysa rolls her eyes. “You’re aggravatingly pretious and you take these subcultures so seriously, it looks stupid.” 

Icy chuckles. Oh yes, she will almost definitely let this one get closer.

[dwellordream]

lysa/barbrey 15

Barbrey is not sure why she is doing this to herself; she should have never accepted the offer to visit Winterfell in the first place, but she did, out of a sense of vindictive spite and morbid curiosity. She wanted to see them falter and fail.

She wanted to prove before her own eyes that Ned Stark was not even half the man his brother was, that no matter his triumphs in battle, he was just an upjumped second son who wouldn’t know what to do with himself without his father or brother or Robert bloody Baratheon telling him where to go and what to say. And she wanted to prove to herself that the woman who took what should have been hers, the title of Lady Stark and a seat at the table, was just an insipid, tremulous, thin-skinned southron flower who had no right to the Stark name, no right to Winterfell, and certainly no right to the happy marriage that should have been Barbrey’s.

But she was wrong. She may loathe Ned Stark for the rest of his days, but one would have to be willfully blind to think that he does not have the respect of his household, and the North as a whole. He is… not a poor lord, she will admit, begrudgingly. He is, however, by her estimation rather a poor husband, and as much as she wanted to hate his silly little Tully wife, with every day Barbrey feels some of her carefully constructed icy front cracking. She tells herself that Lysa reminds her of Bethany, passionate in her emotions, with a dreamy sort of look to her when she thinks no one is watching. But that is not true. What she- well, it would be one thing if she’d caught a nasty case of sisterly attachment to the Lady Stark. That is not it at all.

What Barbrey does feel, is, well-

Lysa Tully Stark is crying to herself on the other side of the door. Barbrey knocks once, then again when there is no answer, tossing a venomous look at the guard who moves to send her away. The door flies open, and Lysa stands there, several inches shorter than Barbrey, blotchy-faced, blue eyes rimmed in red, barely able to contain her sniffles. “Lady Barbrey,” she says, hoarsely, “I’m afraid I’m not well-,”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.” Barbrey wastes no time in striding into the room, taking Lysa firmly by the arm. She feels as light and delicate as a bird. “Make yourself useful and ask the kitchen for some hearty food to be sent up to your lady,” she snaps as the startled guard. “Really. Can’t you see she must be famished?” She slams the door shut in his face, then turns to Lysa, who is starting to cry all over again, even as she apologizes. Barbrey resists the urge to brush her coppery ringlets away from her face, and instead leads Lysa over to the bed. “Why don’t you sit down and dry your eyes. You’ll feel better after you’ve had something to eat. You should be gaining weight, not losing it. What is he feeding you? Breadcrusts and water?”

“Lord Stark is very good to me-,” she’s weeping all over again.

Barbrey would not describe setting up your bastard son in the nursery before your wife’s arrival, then treating her with alternating fumbling chivalry and frosty distance anything close to ‘very good’, but as she cannot chase Ned Stark around the keep with a riding crop in hand, she’ll have to settle for stealing his wife out from under him, as he stole Winterfell out from under her and Brandon.

[eamesandbellamyaremyheaven]

Somewhere, Now and Then Ch1 || Arthur x Sansa (Kalots/GoT Outlander AU)

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword x Game of Thrones  Outlander AU (there’s no such thing as canon)

Warnings: None for now, later smut and violence. 

Summary: England, 1945. After serving in the war as a nurse, Sansa Bolton (former Stark) seizes the opportunity of going on vacation with her husband Ramsay to rekindle their relationship. But what happens when Sansa finds herself travelling back in time, to the 6th century, where she meets the King Arthur and his Knights?

A.N.//- Needless to say, this is loosely based on the Outlander premise. The story is told through Guy Ritchie’s interpretation of the Arthurian legend, and for that locations and traditions - and the time itself - had to be adapted to work accordingly. Any questions you have, feel free to ask!

A.N.//- This chapter will centered in Sansa and her life in the present time, so our King and his Knights will not be making an appearance yet. Fear not, I’ll be updating the next chapter sometime today!

Chapter One - The Stranger

England, 1945

How Sansa got bamboozled into vacationing through England, she would never know. One day, she was visiting her aunt Lysa and her husband Petyr after being three years apart, the next, she was walking through grass and mud, her eyes overlooking the ruins of stone, the last remainder of what must have been a majestic castle centuries ago.

Petyr Baelish had always bragged himself of being descendant of noble heritage, a direct progeny of one of King Arthur’s Knights, an information the Baelishes passed from one generation to the next without any concrete proof. As the Second Great War devastated the world , he used the time provided by his lack of involvement to study his ancestry.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Petyr asked, his gaze following the same path as hers “These ruins were most likely the house of King Arthur and his Knights, including my ancestor Sir William”

Sansa turned to him, arching an eyebrow as her curiosity peaked “Most likely?”

Petyr’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly proud for capturing the young woman's attention “Yes, well, there are no factual evidence of the man himself, only tales.”

“Folk tales of magical swords, and stones, and wizards, my dearest” Ramsay’s voice echoed from behind her, in its natural arrogant tone “I highly doubt of the veracity of any of it”

Petyr had arranged the union between Sansa and Ramsay at the early years of the war, but as both enlisted the army, as a nurse and MI6 officer respectively, their marriage consisted in a few months together followed by years of correspondence. They had little in common, she had medicine and botany, he had secrets and a general disdain for life. But they were still married, and Lysa insisted that the young couple would benefit from a countryside vacation, even if it’s one to accompany Petyr and Lysa through their historical quest. After all, it was due to Ramsay’s stationing in London that they had discovered long lost records that placed Petyr’s ancestor in that castle during the 6th century.

“You don’t believe in the Arthurian legend?” Sansa asked, as she entwined her arm in her husband’s, following Petyr and Lysa inside the ruins

Ramsay scoffed “A man that pulled a magic sword from a stone and was crowned King? How can anyone actually believe that happened?”

“Now that you put it that way, it does seem far fetched” Sansa agreed, with a frown

“He was just a man, Sansa. All those extraordinary stories were made just to impress dreamers like you and your uncle” 

Ramsay had spoken bluntly, as they walked past an archway, his words clearly meant as an offense. Sansa jolted her arm free from his, a little too harshly than she had wanted.

“Do you think of me as just some easily-impressed girl?”

Ramsay looked around the stone walls, making sure they were alone before speaking

“That was not what I meant, but even you have to admit... Coming all this way to England just to search for a man that lived 1500 years ago, just because your uncle might be his descendant? That’s insane.”

Sansa took a few steps back, creating physical distance between them. She shook her head, her anger and disappointment flushing through her cheeks, her vision blurred by stubborn tears that came through, unwelcomed.

“I didn’t came to England for Petyr. I came here to save our marriage”

He tried to reach out to her, but she refused to let him touch her. He was never the loving, caring kind of husband, but Sansa was coming to realize that not only Ramsay was not the romantic partner she had hoped for, he was also cold and bitter and had not an ounce of empathy in his entire body, not even towards the woman he had promised to love for the rest of his life.

Had he ever loved her, at all?

※※※※※

Sansa and Ramsay had barely spoken for the rest of the day, after their previous argument. She was hurt, he felt insulted. Even at that moment, as the four of them were dinning with Mr. Manderly, their host and a fellow local historian, they briefly partake in the conversation, but never address each other.

“So, what did you think of the castle, Mr. Baelish?” Mr. Manderly asked, although his eyes came down to his plate, focusing on the stake instead

“It’s quite a sight. I wonder what it must’ve look like in its prime”

The man nodded “Majestic, I can only imagine. Do you truly believe it to be the seat of King Arthur’s throne?”

“The records clearly state that Sir William lived there. Since he was a Knight of the Round Table, one can only assume that it was, indeed, the court of King Arthur.”

“It’s such a shame we can’t find actual proof to support any of those claims” Ramsay spoke, then taking a sip of his wine, his eyes focusing on Sansa’s, obviously trying to get any kind of reaction from her

“Maybe it’s for the best” Sansa retorted, her voice vicious “The truth could destroy the myth. I’d rather hear tales of incredible heroes than accurate stories of flawed man.”

The table felt into a discomfort silence. Ramsay watched her, his icy blue eyes piercing her like daggers, to which Sansa replied in kind. After a few moments of awkwardness, Mr. Manderly cleared his throat, and tried to change the mood of the table.

“Mrs Bolton, your uncle told me you’d taken quite the interest in botany”

Sansa looked from her husband towards her host, softening her features “Yes, for medicinal purposes”

“Then tomorrow you should visit the Stonehenge. There’s plenty of variety, you’ll find something useful, I’m sure of it.”

“I read that it used to be the ground for pagan rituals, because people believed that the stones had a very powerful, ancient magic energy” Petyr boasted, never missing the opportunity to show off his knowledge

Mr. Manderly paused, seemingly considering what to say next “Actually, the rituals still continue to this day. Tomorrow, at dawn, the local women will be celebrating the Samhain, but I advise you not to be lurking around during the act, they do not take kindly the presence of strangers.”

※※※※※

Although Sansa had read about pagan traditions, she never found the matter interesting enough to pursue. But now, being able to see one of their rituals being performed in front of her, that had peaked her interest. That, and knowing she definitely shouldn’t be there.

And that was the reason why she was up an hour before sunrise, had borrowed her uncle’s car, and had wondered deep in the forest into the clearing only in her dress, shoes and wool mantle. She had been afraid of waking Ramsay, so she’d put on the first items she managed to found in the dark. At that moment, she was starting to regret that decision.

That was until she heard voices approaching.

Sansa hid behind a rock, watching the group of women walk towards the stones. They were all dressed in white, and each one of them held a torch in one hand.

Then, they started to dance. Well, it was not actually dancing, more like swaying around, spinning and swinging their arms and torso, as if they were being guided by the wind. Their dresses flowed in unison, the light fabric coming up and down in waves. The torches emitted an yellowish glow, tracing momentarily the air with each of the girls movements. They sang harmoniously, in an ancient dialect, creating rhythm and energy to their bodies to follow.

Sansa stood watching, in awe. Her skin had turned into goosebumps, and although there was a voice inside telling her to leave, she dare not to move. The voice, more like a soft whisper at the ear, disappeared as soon as the women stopped.

They dispersed quickly and quietly, a sense of peace was all they left behind.

Sansa waited a little while longer, making sure none of them had been aware of her presence. She finally rose to her feet, and walked towards the stones, her eyes set on the taller one, that stood right at the centre.

The wind was stronger now, rushing through her with all of its fury, merciless against her skin and hair.

Her steps were firm, unknowingly determined, as if she was being commanded by an unseen entity.

Sansa stopped in front of the rock, her heart drumming wildly, and she felt the urge to touch it. She held her hand up, five fingers spread wide, and finally she allowed the trembling palm to come in contact with the cold stone.

One moment she felt it all, the next there was only dark.

Taglist is OPEN!

[stormcloudrising]

Yo! I read your honeycomb posts diagonally, liked it. I have to rrad them more carefully later. I also saw the honeycomb = Eyrie, which I'm writing about too for my analysis on Sansa I. I'm here asking if in taking your notes on this, you saw Sansa and honey associations. I mean honey, not bees or the like,

Hi,

Thanks for reading and the question. Also, apologies for the delayed response. It’s been a bit crazy the last few weeks with both work and life.

As I stated in my essay, honey was considered nectar and the food of the gods in Greek mythology, and I believe that Martin is symbolically using it the same way in regards to both Bran and Sansa. In the case of Bran, the association is clearer because George often gives us the young Stark’s thoughts as he eats food or drinks wine flavored with honey.

Bran drank. The potion was thick and chalky, but there was honey in it, so it went down easy.

A Clash of Kings - Bran I

Bran's wine was sweetened with honey and fragrant with cinnamon and cloves, but stronger than he was used to. He could feel its hot snaky fingers wriggling through his chest as he swallowed. By the time he set down the goblet, his head was swimming.

A Clash of Kings - Bran III

In the example above, Martin literally associates honey with the fire of the gods as it snakes through Bran’s chest. It’s so potent, his head is swimming.  Understanding the symbolism of honey as the food of the gods, helps you to see the progression of the mentions in Bran’s chapter and the metaphoric usage of the word throughout the text by Martin.

Having said all that, recognizing the honey symbolism in Sansa’s arc is not as easy as with Bran because I think that Martin is saving the revelation of her greenseer abilities for TWOW. In the instances when honey appears in her chapter, she is simply commenting about its presence in the scene and as I say, the symbolism is more in abstract . It is still there but it may not be specifically about Sansa. Like in this scene.

Petyr yanked on the other boot. "I've had about as much home as I can stomach. We'll leave for the Eyrie this afternoon." He kissed his lady wife and licked a smear of honey off her lips, then headed down the steps.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As the Eyrie is a symbolic honeycomb, Lysa as its ruler is the metaphorical queen bee. Petyr licking the honey from her lips can then be seen as him stealing her power or her icy fire. He’s doing so through enticing her to give it away. And how is Petyr doing this? Well, mint is a bee balm and George in making it a favorite of Petyr is his way of carrying through the symbolism of Petyr stealing the honey of the queen bee.

Aside from the symbolic connection to bees that I discussed in my essay, probably the most important honey reference in the entire series occurs in a Sansa chapter and is about her and Jon. I am talking about The Bear and the Maiden Fair, which is sung by Butterbumps when Olenna interrogates Winterfell’s daughter about Joffrey. I also discussed the implications of the song here.

Also, as I talked about in my essay, The Evolution of Val, dark honey is very closed in color to chestnut. In actual fact, it’s dark brown with red highlights, which is very similar to Alayne’s hair color.  She colored her red tresses chestnut brown but as always happens when you dye your hair, the original color eventually returns.  Sansa’s red hair keeps peeking through and she is running out of dye.  

To understand why the Bear and the Maiden Fair with its theme of honeyed-hair is so important to Sansa, one must understand why the Wildings consider redheads lucky and why it is said that they are “kissed by fire,” as the two concepts are synonymous.

To have kissed by fire hair is to be blessed by the gods. In symbolic terms, it’s to be blessed with the “fire of the gods.”  I suspect that the Nissa Nissa, who was quite possibly the first greenseer was a redhead. It’s not clear whether she was a full COTF or a COTF/human hybrid but I think the evidence points to her being a redhead. And although the Wildings may have forgotten the original meaning, they remember enough to think that having red hair to be blessed by the gods or to be lucky.

However,  as we’ve seen over and over in the text, being a redhead is actually not that lucky as the fire of the gods is not meant for everyone.  The text is filled with an abundance of deaths of characters with red hair.  And those who are lucky enough to attain the power of the gods—starting with Nissa Nissa, must pay a very steep price.

Let’s just think about the featured redheads in our story. Catelyn, Rob, Ygritte, Dalla, Lysa, and Beric are all dead. Jon Connington is not yet gone from the world but as he’s infected with greyscale, his future is not bright. Things are also not looking that promising for little Rickon. He’s still alive but his fate in the books will most likely be very similar to that of his character on the show. The same is probably true of Melissandre. In fact, she may already be dead and is just some version of a fire wight.

Then we come to Bran and Sansa. Bran almost died and while he survived, his payment for accessing the fire of the gods was the loss of the use of his legs. Sansa’s direwolf was killed by her father, who was in turned beheaded in front of her.  She also suffered at the brutish hands of Joffrey and the Kings Guards. Is this sufficient payment for her accessing the weirwood net? Only time will tell but knowing George and the unlucky nature of the redheads in the books, I would say the answer is no.

Also, except for Dalla, Lysa and Ygritte, all the redheads I listed above were literally touched by the fire of the gods in some manner. Think of the Stark kids and their warg and or greenseer abilities; Jon Con and his greyscale, which is said to have been created as a result of a cursed placed upon the Valyrians by a Rhoynar king; Beric and Cat who both returned from the dead; and of course Melisandre and her powers.  

These are an awful lot of redheads tied to the magical storyline. Compare this number with the other characters who are also connected to magic and you arguably only have Arya, Dany, Jon, Euron and Patchface. See the difference.

Yes, sometimes a black box is simply a black box. However, when you see a theme playing out throughout the text and how it’s symbolically linked in numerous ways to a specific character then you have to start wondering if George is trying to say something.

To have “kissed by fire hair” is symbolic of being blessed by the gods or having the ability to access the power of the gods. Honey is also symbolic of the food or fire of the gods. And so, when in the song, George tells us that the fair maiden had honey in her hair, he is implying that she is most likely a greenseer—and one with red hair. I say that because of the emphasis George puts on dark-honey hair as well as Alayne’s chestnut colored hair. As I’ve stated, dark-honey hair is brown with red highlights ala Alayne’s.

Now of course, the Bear and the Maiden Fair is also filled with sexual insinuations as implied by him licking the honey from the maiden’s hair…the Lord’s Kiss anyone. In many world myths about the bear and the maiden, the “honey” is not always freely offered. It’s sometimes taken by force or the maiden is enticed with some element. Think of Petyr’s symbolic use of mint, which is a bee balm.

Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

However, force or enticement does not seem to be the case in this particular instance as the song suggests that the maiden freely offered up her honey to the bear. And so, whatever happens between Sansa, the fair maiden, and her bear, her fire will be freely given.

I suspect that in TWOW, we will see more blatant passage of honey being tied to Sansa. This will a result of what I believe to be her greenseer abilities but also a result of the Persephone theme running throughout her arc.

OMG…this response turned out to be extremely long. Apologies for making you read so much (assuming that you did).😊

ETA to add that redheads were probably also probably considered lucky because their hair matched the color of the weirwoods, which are sacred to the old gods and those who follow them. 

[ycungtrident]

----------- TASK 001

STATISTICS.

full name: Edmure Tully

moniker / nickname: Ed, Eddie & Admiral

gender && pronouns: cis male && he/him

dob && age:  July 3rd, 1978

zodiac sign: Cancer

sexual orientation: pansexual 

romantic orientation: demiromantic

mafia affiliation: The River Kings && Tullys

occupation: Harbormaster of King’s Landing

financial status: comes from wealth (earned and illegal)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim:  Eric Dane

height: 6′1

physical build: broad shouldered, heavily muscled

eye colour and shape: icy blue, hooded

hair colour and style: light brown with peppering of gray in the front and around the temples, short on the sides, longer on the top and toussled (pretty much a grown out ‘high and tight’ style popularized in the navy)

accent and speech style:  fairly deep and gravelly voice, that you can always seem to hear a smile in.  

distinguishing marks / characteristics: EGA tattoo on his right bicep, small scar on left pectoral, bright blue eyes

clothing style:  working on and around the docks, his general style is nothing too fancy, generally some sort of jean or construction pant (such as carhartt) paired with a button up to keep him looking professional enough when he has to deal with more important matters.  when off work, he usually sticks to basics; jeans, t-shirt, jacket (weather depending), boots.  and while it’s a rare occasion he gets to wear one, edmure does love to wear the hell out of a suit, and usually goes for three piece, highly tailored suits.

jewelry and accessories: diving watch that his father gave him when he left the navy and officially joined the ‘family business’

FAMILY:

father: Hoster Tully (adoptive father)

mother: Minisa Tully (née Whent, adoptive mother)

siblings, if any: Catelyn Stark (née Tully), Lysa Arryn-Baelish (née Tully, deceased) both adoptive siblings

extended relations: Arya, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and Robb Stark, Robert Arryn (nieces and nephews), along with the in laws from Catelyn’s marriage into the Stark brood

significant other(s):  Roslin Frey, fiancée

children: N/A

household pet(s): TBD

FAVOURITES.

colour:  deep blue-green

weather: sunny with a few clouds, warm but not hot, with a good amount of wind (AKA, perfect sailing weather)

food item:  sushi (any kind, really)

beverage: black iced coffee

time of day: sunrise

television genre: reality tv (more along the lines of deadliest catch, dirtiest jobs, etc than keeping up with the kardashians and the like)

PERSONALITY.

hobbies:  sailing, cooking, piloting (he’s in the process of learning), crossword puzzles, movies

pet peeves:  lazy workers, not cleaning up after one’s self, half full and cold coffee left out

phobias: none that he can think of off the top of his head (unless you count his abject fear of disappointing people?  too deep?  too deep.)

allergies: N/A

positive traits:  dutiful, well meaning, eager to please

negative traits: impetuous, cocky, passive

morning routine: edmure is forced to be an early riser, as he has to be at the docks by about dawn, to oversee the first ships being unloaded, so depending on the time of the year, he generally wakes up about an hour before the sun starts to rise, makes a coffee, eats usually some sort of scramble of what is leftover in the fridge, and heads to work, fairly simple

beauty routine: the most edmure does is throw some product in his hair if it’s been awhile since it’s been cut and needs some structure to stop it from flopping everywhere

sleeping habits:  a bit of an insomniac, although thankfully he’s one of those lucky bastards that doesn’t need too much sleep to function.  having to rise early a good night would be asleep by 10, but most of the tiime it’s not until midnight or later.  at this point in his life he’s given up on trying to stay in bed and force himself to sleep, and often times he just either gets up for the day (depending on the time) or does things around his apartment or extra work until he feels tired enough to try sleeping again.

living space && home:  lives in a fairly large apartment, with views of the city and his favorite: the harbor.  lots of glass windows to let the light in.  his time in the navy left him a neat and orderly man, and you’ll rarely find things out of place unless it was a particularly rough night.  he prefers clean lines and colors, with lots of brushed metal, light blues, greys and whites.