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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

Hello! I love your blog. Your meta about women in Jon’s life and Lyanna was so good. Antis always try to ignore the Sansa and Lyanna parallels which is absurd because her story is so similar with Sansa’s... I guess they want to ignore those because they don’t want Sansa to be destined with a Targaryen prince (aka jonsa 🤭). So thanks for pointing them out. Are you planning to write a meta just about Sansa and Lyanna? It would be a good guide for our jonsa arguments. Have a nice day.

Hello Anon,

Thanks for your words.

Antis and haters gonna oppose and hate. That’s their thing. They questioned and denied every parallel that Lyanna and Sansa actually share, and proceed to attack anyone who dare to say they share those parallels. What’s knew about that?

Lyanna and Arya parallels are textual evident, they are easily spotted but they could be easily questioned as well, especially because most of the statements about Lyanna came from Ned, and he is not only an unreliable narrator, but his memories of Lyanna are embellished by love and trauma. If you contrast what Ned said about Lyanna with other sources, not so biased, Ned’s statements about her don’t look so evident and solid anymore.

Anyway, do you want me to talk more about Lyanna and Sansa parallels? Here you go:

Summary

Original Outline

Beauty

The wolf-blood

She-Wolves of Winterfell

Inner Strength

Sword & Armor

Knights protect the innocent

Singers & Songs

The Rose of Winterfell

Blue Winter Roses

Knights & Queens of Love and Beauty

Failed betrothal to a Baratheon

Pleading Ned to protect part of themselves

Targaryen Imagery

Dead before their time

Ladies of Winterfell

Bonus

LYANNA & SANSA

Original Outline & ASOIAF:

Sansa in the Original Outline:

‘Original Outline Sansa’ was very similar to Lyanna Stark.

Each of the contending families will learn it has a member of dubious loyalty in its midst. Sansa Stark, wed to Joffrey Baratheon, will bear him a son, the heir to the throne, and when the crunch comes she will choose her husband and child over her parents and siblings, a choice she will later bitterly rue. (...) Jaime Lannister will follow Joffrey on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, by the simple expedient of killing everyone ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming his brother Tyrion for the murders.

[Source]

As you can see, the ‘Original Outline Sansa’ shares parallels with Lyanna Stark and Elia Martel:

Romantically involved with the King/Heir of the Iron Throne

Mothers of their sons

Dead while protecting their children

Unwillingly caused the death of family members

Tagged as members of dubious loyalty to their paternal families

Regretted their doomed romances

But ¿How marrying the heir of the Iron Throne/King of the 7K is supposed to be an act of dubious loyalty? GRRM has stated that in high nobility there is no marriage without the Lord Father of the bride’s blessing. Furthermore, from the wedding the bride belongs to her husband’s house, that’s all the fuzz with the cloaking ceremony, going from the maiden’s cloak to your husband’s cloak. You left your paternal house to belong with your husbands house. Sansa’s loyalty was with her husband, and more important, Sansa’s love and loyalty was with her baby boy. So, how choosing his baby over her paternal house could be seem as an act of dubious loyalty then? And even if she wanted to come back to her paternal family, does she really get a chance without the risk of being captured, separated from her baby, accused of treason and executed, leaving her baby boy motherless?

But according to the Original Outline, there was an enmity between Starks and Lannisters. So, or Joffrey abducted Sansa, or Sansa eloped to marry Joffrey. How very Shakespearean! Romeo and Juliet all over again. Or even better, Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark all over again.

It is also implied by the fandom that this ‘Original Outline Sansa’ dies because the outline says that Jaime dethrones and kills Joffrey and “everyone ahead of him in the line of succession” (Sansa’s baby). Well, Sansa was not in the line of succession, but it’s probable that Jaime had to kill her to get to her baby boy, which reminds me of Elia Martell and her babies’ tragic deaths.

Sansa in Asoiaf:

Asoiaf Sansa never married Joffrey, never bore him a son, and she’s still alive. But she still shares a lot of similarities with her aunt Lyanna.

Both Lyanna and Sansa got infatuated by silver/golden princes, Rhaegar Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon, and because of those romantic relationships, they unintentionally played a part in the deaths of their fathers and older brothers, Rickard and Brandon, and Ned and Robb. Later, both of them ended trapped in towers regretting their doomed romances.

According to GRRM, Asoiaf Sansa played a part in her father Ned Stark’s death. But I would say that Sansa’s fault lays more in trusting the wrong people than betraying Ned. The act of betrayal requires willful intent, and Sansa never wanted to betray her father. And we can say the same about Lyanna, she trusted Rhaegar over her family, ran away from her approved betrothal, lived a forbidden romance, and died after giving birth a son to her silver prince.

Sansa and Lyanna commit the same actions, but Lyanna gets more sympathy from the readers than Sansa, who is still considered a member of dubious loyalty or plainly a traitor to the Starks.

Also, as it was pointed out before, “Rickard Stark and Catelyn Stark both saw their firstborn sons murdered in front of them, while convinced that their daughters were far away being raped and abused by cruel princes, and then were brutally murdered themselves”.

Beauty:

Both Lyanna and Sansa are considered beautiful, but in different ways.

While Lyanna had a wild beauty:

“She [Lyanna] was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” —AGOT - Arya II

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride. —AGOT - Eddard I

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert,” Ned told him. “You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath”. —AGOT - Eddard VII

“The maid’s a fair one,” Osha said. —AGOT - Bran VII

The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he [Kevan] recalled. —ADWD - Epilogue

The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king. —The World of Ice and Fire - The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring

Sansa possesses a traditional beauty:

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is”, Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. —AGOT - Arya I

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily. —AGOT - Arya I

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

“I [Ser Cleos Frey] saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were.” —ACOK - Catelyn VI

Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was. —ACOK - Catelyn VII

“You are very beautiful, my lady,” the seamstress said when she was dressed. —ASOS - Sansa III

Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. —ASOS - Sansa III

“Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.” —TWOW - Alayne I

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

The wolf-blood:

Lyanna:

"Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. "Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her."

"Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya.

“She was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.”

—AGOT - Arya II

Sansa:

“I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen. Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread. “She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.” The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this morning?"

—AGOT - Sansa I

"It won’t be so bad, Sansa,” Arya said. “We’re going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we’ll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest.” She touched her on the arm. “Hodor!” Sansa yelled. “You ought to marry Hodor, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!” She wrenched away from her sister’s hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.

—AGOT - Sansa III

Jeyne yawned. “Are there any lemon cakes?” Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. “Let’s see,” she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya.

—AGOT - Sansa III

After my name day feast, I’m going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That’s what I’ll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother’s head.“ A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, "Maybe my brother will give me your head.”

—AGOT - Sansa VI

She-Wolves of Winterfell:

Lyanna is literally the she-wolf in the tale of “The Knight of the Laughing Tree”:

But then they heard a roar. 'That's my father's man you're kicking,' howled the she-wolf."

"A wolf on four legs, or two?"

"Two," said Meera.

—ASOS - Bran II

Sansa went from a “wolf girl” to the she-wolf that killed a king:

He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.”

—AGOT - Sansa I

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

—ASOS - Arya XIII

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

—ASOS - Jaime VII

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle. The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name. “I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son.

—AFFC - Cersei IV

What a kick-ass reputation: Sansa, the she-wolf that killed King Joffrey!

Inner Strength:

Lyanna:

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert,” Ned told him. “You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath”. —AGOT - Eddard VII

Sansa:

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. —ASOS - Sansa V

Sansa lost her direwolf Lady, and with her, the possibility to develop her abilities as a warg. But GRRM has still made Sansa an skinchanger through poetry. Her skin has changed to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

Sword & Armor

While Lyanna might have carried a sword, Sansa Stark is a lady armored in courtesy and she polishes her armor with her wits. As Tyrion Lannister said:

My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind … and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge." Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. "That's why I read so much, Jon Snow."

—AGOT - Tyrion II

Lyanna:

Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes.

—AGOT - Arya II

Sansa:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

—ACOK - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady’s armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. “I do not know Ser Willas. I have never had the pleasure, my lady. Is he … is he as great a knight as his brothers?”

—ASOS - Sansa I

“Gods have mercy.” The dwarf took another swallow of wine. “Well, talk won’t make you older. Shall we get on with this, my lady? If it please you?” “It will please me to please my lord husband.” That seemed to anger him. “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. “I am your husband. You can take off your armor now.” “And my clothing?” “That too.” He waved his wine cup at her. “My lord father has commanded me to consummate this marriage.”

—ASOS - Sansa III

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy. Was that what made him speak? Or just the need to distract himself from the fullness in his bladder?

[...]

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.

—ASOS - Tyrion VIII

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. “Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger’s bastard?”

[...]

A lady’s armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. “As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger’s bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow.” And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.

—TWOW - Alayne I

Knights protect the innocent:

Lyanna, as herself and as “The Knight of the Laughing Tree”, defended Howland Reed, a bannerman of House Stark:

“None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. ‘That’s my father’s man you’re kicking,’ howled the she-wolf.” “A wolf on four legs, or two?” “Two,” said Meera. “The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. There he met her pack brothers: the wild wolf who led them, the quiet wolf beside him, and the pup who was youngest of the four.

(…)

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.”

—ASOS - Bran II

Sansa, as a lady armored with her courtesy and wits, defended and saved Dontos Hollard’s life, a defenestrated knight turned fool:

The king stood. “A cask from the cellars! I’ll see him drowned in it.” Sansa heard herself gasp. “No, you can’t.” Joffrey turned his head. “What did you say?” Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn’t meant to say anything, only … Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm. “Did you say I can’t? Did you?” “Please,” Sansa said, “I only meant … it would be ill luck, Your Grace … to, to kill a man on your name day.” “You’re lying,” Joffrey said. “I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much.” “I don’t care for him, Your Grace.” The words tumbled out desperately. “Drown him or have his head off, only … kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please … not today, not on your name day. I couldn’t bear for you to have ill luck … terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so …” Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this. “The girl speaks truly,” the Hound rasped. “What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year.” His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she’d said, desperate to avoid punishment. Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. “Take him away. I’ll have him killed on the morrow, the fool.” “He is,” Sansa said. “A fool. You’re so clever, to see it. He’s better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn’t he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.” The king studied her a moment. “Perhaps you’re not so stupid as Mother says.” He raised his voice. “Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you’re my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—ACOK - Sansa I

Singers & Songs:

Lyanna and Sansa are linked with singers and romantic songs.

Lyanna loved a singer and became a lady in a song, her own tragic romantic story:

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle.

—ASOS - Bran II

The wolf maid was Lyanna Stark hearing her dragon prince Rhaegar Targaryen playing a sad song with the harp.

And curiously enough, a blue eyed redhead man called Jon also wept while hearing Rhaegar Targaryen playing a sad song with the harp:

At the welcoming feast, the prince had taken up his silver-stringed harp and played for them. A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp. Not the men, of course.

—A Dance with Dragons - The Griffin Reborn

Jon Connington was, of course, in love with Rhaegar Targaryen...

Sansa:

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. “The man has played us every song he knows thrice over,” Lord Eddard told her gently. “I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come.”

They hadn’t, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

But that was when she was a little girl, and foolish. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

Bran and his brothers and sisters sat with the king's children, Joffrey and Tommen and Princess Myrcella, who'd spent the whole meal gazing at Robb with adoring eyes. Arya made faces across the table when no one was looking; Sansa listened raptly while the king's high harper sang songs of chivalry, and Rickon kept asking why Jon wasn't with them. "Because he's a bastard," Bran finally had to whisper to him.

—ACOK - Bran III

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [sung in High Valyrian] Ned inspected the bruise himself. “I hope Forel is not being too hard on you,” he said.

—AGOT - Eddard VII

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

—AGOT - Sansa IV

After the meal had been cleared away, many of the guests asked leave to go to the sept. Cersei graciously granted their request. Lady Tanda and her daughters were among those who fled. For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother’s queen, of Nymeria’s ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.

—ACOK - Sansa VI

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

—ASOS - Arya IV

Lady Ashara was my aunt. I never knew her, though. She threw herself into the sea from atop the Palestone Sword before I was born.” “Why would she do that?” said Arya, startled. (...) “Why did she jump in the sea, though?” "Her heart was broken." Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid.

—ASOS - Arya VIII

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

—ASOS - Sansa VII

Lyanna and Sansa are also linked with the tale of Bael the Bard and the Rose of Winterfell.

The Rose of Winterfell:

This is the tale:

According to free folk legend, Lord Brandon Stark, the liege of the north, once called Bael a coward. To take revenge for this affront and prove his courage, Bael climbed the Wall, took the kingsroad, and entered Winterfell under the guise of a singer named Sygerrik of Skagos. (“Sygerrik” means “deceiver” in the Old Tongue.) There, he sang until midnight for the lord.

Impressed by his skills as a singer, Lord Stark asked Bael what he wanted as a reward, but he requested only the most beautiful flower blooming in Winterfell’s gardens. As the blue winter roses were just blooming, Brandon Stark presented him with one. The following morning, the maiden daughter of Lord Stark had disappeared, his only child, and in her bed was the blue winter rose.

Lord Brandon sent the members of the Night’s Watch looking for them beyond the Wall, but they never found Bael or the girl. The Stark line was on the verge of extinction, when one day the girl was back in her room, holding in her arms an infant: they had actually never left Winterfell, staying hidden in the crypts. Bael’s bastard with Brandon’s daughter became the new Lord Stark.

Thirty years later, Bael was King-Beyond-the-Wall and led the wildlings’ army south, and he had to fight his own son at the Frozen Ford. There, incapable of killing his own blood, he let himself be killed by Lord Stark. His son brought back Bael’s head to Winterfell, and his mother who had loved the bard, seeing the trophy, killed herself by leaping from the top of a tower. The son was eventually slain by the Boltons.

[Source]

Jon’s first and only lover, Ygritte, told him this story:

“You said you were the Bastard o’ Winterfell.” “I am.” “Who was your mother?” “Some woman. Most of them are.” Someone had said that to him once. He did not remember who. She smiled again, a flash of white teeth. “And she never sung you the song o’ the winter rose?” “I never knew my mother. Or any such song.” “Bael the Bard made it,” said Ygritte. “He was King-beyond-the-Wall a long time back. (...) “Well, long before he was king over the free folk, Bael was a great raider.” (...) “The Stark in Winterfell wanted Bael’s head, but never could take him, and the taste o’ failure galled him. One day in his bitterness he called Bael a craven who preyed only on the weak. When word o’ that got back, Bael vowed to teach the lord a lesson. So he scaled the Wall, skipped down the kingsroad, and walked into Winterfell one winter’s night with harp in hand, naming himself Sygerrik of Skagos. Sygerrik means ‘deceiver’ in the Old Tongue, that the First Men spoke, and the giants still speak.” “North or south, singers always find a ready welcome, so Bael ate at Lord Stark’s own table, and played for the lord in his high seat until half the night was gone. The old songs he played, and new ones he’d made himself, and he played and sang so well that when he was done, the lord offered to let him name his own reward. ‘All I ask is a flower,’ Bael answered, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell.’” “Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious. So the Stark sent to his glass gardens and commanded that the most beautiful o’ the winter roses be plucked for the singer’s payment. And so it was done. But when morning come, the singer had vanished . . . and so had Lord Brandon’s maiden daughter. Her bed they found empty, but for the pale blue rose that Bael had left on the pillow where her head had lain.” Jon had never heard this tale before. (...) “Lord Brandon had no other children. At his behest, the black crows flew forth from their castles in the hundreds, but nowhere could they find any sign o’ Bael or this maid. For most a year they searched, till the lord lost heart and took to his bed, and it seemed as though the line o’ Starks was at its end. But one night as he lay waiting to die, Lord Brandon heard a child’s cry. He followed the sound and found his daughter back in her bedchamber, asleep with a babe at her breast.” “Bael had brought her back?” “No. They had been in Winterfell all the time, hiding with the dead beneath the castle. The maid loved Bael so dearly she bore him a son, the song says . . . though if truth be told, all the maids love Bael in them songs he wrote. Be that as it may, what’s certain is that Bael left the child in payment for the rose he’d plucked unasked, and that the boy grew to be the next Lord Stark. So there it is—you have Bael’s blood in you, same as me.”

—ACOK - Jon VI

This tale resembles Jon’s own story: Bael the Bard and Rhaegar Targaryen, both harp players, “abducted” a Stark maid, Brandon’s daughter and Lyanna, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell’. Rhaegar also crowned Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty with blue winter roses, and they procreated a “bastard” son, Jon Snow. Lyanna died after giving birth to Jon, and the memories of that tragic even haunted Ned, who remembers the Lyanna bleeding and the blue winter roses:

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood.

—AGOT - Eddard XIII

Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Immediately after this chapter, comes ACOK - Sansa IV, where Sansa got her first period.

So after a chapter about ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell’ it follows the chapter where Sansa Stark becomes a maid, Sansa literally flowered.

Next chapter is Jon again. There is a succession of Jon-Sansa-Jon chapters, that linked them thematically.

Also take note that Sansa was “abducted” by Petyr Baelish, a known deceiver, whose surname has a resemblance with the name Bael.

Blue Winter Roses:

Lyanna and Sansa are linked with flowers, but especially with roses:

Lyanna and the blue winter roses:

Ned could recall none of it. ”I bring her flowers when I can,“ he said. ”Lyanna was … fond of flowers.”

—A Game Of Thrones - Eddard I

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood.

—AGOT - Eddard XIII

Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Sansa Stark:

It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella’s garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods.

—AGOT - Sansa V

Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst. To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. “Sweet lady,” he said, “no victory is half so beautiful as you.” Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes like liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off.

—AGOT - Sansa II

—ASOS - Sansa VII

So we have Marillion, a singer, composing a song for Alayne Stone, Sansa Stark in disguise, that he meant to call “The Roadside Rose”

And Loras Tyrell, The Knight of Flowers, gave Sansa a single red rose. I will expand on this next, because Loras giving Sansa a red rose is an allegory in reverse of Rhaegar giving Lyanna the crown of blue winter roses.

Knights & Queens of Love and Beauty:

Lyanna was a Mystery Knight AND was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney at Harrenhal.

Lyanna as the Knight of the Laughing Tree

Lyanna, as herself and as a mystery knight, the Knight of the Laughing Tree, defended the crannogman, Howland Reed, a bannerman of House Stark:

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists. Bran nodded sagely. […] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.” “No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.” […] “Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.” —ASOS - Bran II

Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty

Rhaegar Targaryen wearing an armor adorned with rubies (red) gave Lyanna a crown of winter roses (blue):

The Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight.

—AGOT - Eddard I

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Sansa as a “Knight”

During the Tourney in honor of King Joffrey’s Name Day, Sansa, as a lady armored with her courtesy and wits, defended and saved the life of Ser Dontos Hollard, a defenestrated knight turned fool, as I explained above.

Sansa as the Queen of Love and Beauty

Art credit: Loras Tyrell Gives Sansa Stark a Rose and the Hand’s Tournament by Jonathan Burton.

Sansa was the unofficial Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of the Hand. GRRM wrote this passage as a resemble of the Tourney at Harrenhal, hiding hints and reversing colors.

Sansa attended the Tourney of the Hand at Kings Landing and met Petyr Baelish who told her that her mother, Catelyn Tully, was his Queen of Love and Beauty:

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once,” the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. “You have her hair.” His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away. —AGOT - Sansa II

Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue) gave Sansa a (red) rose:

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa’s fervent whisper, “Oh, he’s so beautiful.” Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires; a gasp went up from a thousand throats. Across the boy’s shoulders his cloak hung heavy. It was woven of forget-me-nots, real ones, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to a heavy woolen cape. —AGOT - Eddard VII

During the second day of the tourney, Sansa wore the red rose in her hair:

The boy from Highgarden did something with his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa clutched at his arm. “Father, don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him,” she said. Ned saw she was wearing the rose that Ser Loras had given her yesterday. Jory had told him about that as well. —AGOT - Eddard VII

The Tourney at the Gates of the Moon

And at this point in the Books, Sansa, as Alayne Stone, is organizing a tourney to elect the members of Robert Arryn’s personal guard, named the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights.

Alayne Stone’s betrothed, Harrold Hardyng, known as Harry the Heir, is competing in the tourney.

Since her betrothed is competing in the jousting and since she is daughter of Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale, Alayne Stone has great chances to be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty of the tourney.

The Tourney at Ashford Meadows

Sansa has also strong links with the Tourney at Ashford Meadows, but this is a matter for another time.

Failed betrothal to a Baratheon:

Both Lyanna and Sansa were betrothed with a Baratheon, Lyanna with Robert and Sansa with Joffrey:

If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done. —AGOT - Eddard I

There is also this parallel between Jenny of Oldstones, Lyanna & Sansa [I wrote about it here]:

Note the parallels between Duncan Targaryen, his betrothed Baratheon and Jenny of Oldstones & Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark and her betrothed Robert Baratheon: A Targaryen prince breaking an engagement with a member of House Baratheon that then originates a rebellion.

And this: Sansa was betrothed with Joffrey “Baratheon” and the engagement was broken in the middle of a war with Robb Stark leading an army against King Joffrey, and Jon almost breaking his vows to join Robb’s army to avenge Ned’s death and rescue their sisters. All of which makes me think about these parallels: Sansa being a hostage in King’s Landing & Lyanna’s “abduction”, Ned’s death & Rickard’s death, Robb’s death & Brandon’s death. And that leaves Jon to possibly play the role of Ned Stark in the future.

Basically if Jon and Sansa happens, they will parallel two stories: Rhaegar and Lyanna, a Targaryen/Stark couple; and Ned and Cat, a Stark/Tully couple.

And right now in the Books, Sansa Stark, under the disguise of Alayne Stone, is betrothed with a Robert-like young man: Harrold Hardyng, also known as Harry the Heir:

Both orphaned boys

Both wards at the Vale

Both handsome and physically strong

Both linked to Jon Arryn and the Vale

Both fathered bastards in the Vale: Mya Stone // Alys Stone

Both involved in a conflict with a cousin: Robert killed his cousin Rhaegar and became King // If Robert Arryn dies, his cousin Harry will be new Lord Arryn.

Both betrothed to a Stark girl: Lyanna Stark // (Alayne Stone) Sansa Stark

Pleading Ned to protect part of themselves:

"Stop them," Sansa pleaded, "don't let them do it, please, please, it wasn't Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can't, it wasn't Lady, don't let them hurt Lady, I'll make her be good, I promise, I promise …" She started to cry.

—AGOT - Eddard III

He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

—AGOT - Eddard IV

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood.

—AGOT - Eddard XIII

Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses.

—AGOT - Eddard XV

Lyanna was pleading to her brother Ned to protect her son, while Sansa was pleading to her father Ned to protect her direwolf, Lady, part of Sansa’s soul. Later, Ned regretted failing Sansa…

Sansa’s pleading and repeating the word “promise”, triggered Ned’s trauma over Lyanna’s death. That also happened when Robert asked Ned to protect his children.

Targaryen Imagery:

Sansa’s chapters hide hints about Lyanna’s son, Jon Snow, true parentage.

Indeed, Sansa Stark has a very interesting imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire. I wrote more about it here.

Sansa’s Ivory silk dress stained with blood orange juice and ashes

“Liar,” Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers.

“Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.

“You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Arya said.

It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. “You’re horrible,” she screamed at her sister. “They should have killed you instead of Lady!”

(…)

“Arya started it,” Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I’m going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.”

(…)

“Sansa stalked away with her head up. She was to be a queen, and queens did not cry. At least not where people could see. When she reached her bedchamber, she barred the door and took off her dress. The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. “I hate her!” she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night’s fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

When the king’s herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she’d had them dye it black and you couldn’t see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Take note that the ivory silk dress was a “betrothal gift” from Cersei, that Sansa later had to “dye it black” so the “blood and fire stain” couldn’t be seen at all.

Oh George! Your wording here is just genius!

Sansa’s bedclothes stained with her moonblood and fire

When she woke, the pale light of morning was slanting through her window, yet she felt as sick and achy as if she had not slept at all. There was something sticky on her thighs. When she threw back the blanket and saw the blood, all she could think was that her dream had somehow come true. She remembered the knives inside her, twisting and ripping. She squirmed away in horror, kicking at the sheets and falling to the floor, breathing raggedly, naked, bloodied, and afraid.

But as she crouched there, on her hands and knees, understanding came. “No, please,” Sansa whimpered, “please, no.” She didn’t want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

Madness took hold of her. Pulling herself up by the bedpost, she went to the basin and washed between her legs, scrubbing away all the stickiness. By the time she was done, the water was pink with blood. When her maidservants saw it they would know. Then she remembered the bedclothes. She rushed back to the bed and stared in horror at the dark red stain and the tale it told. All she could think was that she had to get rid of it, or else they’d see. She couldn’t let them see, or they’d marry her to Joffrey and make her lay with him.

Snatching up her knife, Sansa hacked at the sheet, cutting out the stain. If they ask me about the hole, what will I say? Tears ran down her face. She pulled the torn sheet from the bed, and the stained blanket as well. I’ll have to burn them. She balled up the evidence, stuffed it in the fireplace, drenched it in oil from her bedside lamp, and lit it afire. Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed, so she bundled that up as well, but it was big and cumbersome, hard to move. Sansa could get only half of it into the fire. She was on her knees, struggling to shove the mattress into the flames as thick grey smoke eddied around her and filled the room, when the door burst open and she heard her maid gasp.

In the end it took three of them to pull her away. And it was all for nothing. The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

Even if the color of the bedclothes was not stated as white/off-white, it’s very probable that they were of white or an off-white color, like ivory. So, again, we find this very interesting imagery in Sansa’s chapters: white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire.

And this passage of a bed stained with blood that must be hidden makes me think about Ned’s dream of Lyanna’s death:

He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and Lyanna in her bed of blood.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

So I think there is another pattern here: betrothal, marriage and giving birth.

As I said before, the ivory silk dress was a “betrothal gift” from Cersei; and, as Sansa stated, the bedclothes stained with her moonblood was a proof of her having reached her womanhood and thus able to do her duty and marry Joffrey and bear his children.

Moreover, after Sansa’s first moonblood, she had this conversation with Cersei:

“I don’t blame you. Between Tyrion and Lord Stannis, everything I eat tastes of ash. And now you’re setting fires as well. What did you hope to accomplish?”

Sansa lowered her head. “The blood frightened me.”

“The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You’ve had your first flowering, no more.”

Sansa had never felt less flowery. “My lady mother told me, but I … I thought it would be different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Less … less messy, and more magical.”

Queen Cersei laughed. “Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. A woman’s life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you’ll learn that soon enough … and the parts that look like magic often turn out to be messiest of all.” She took a sip of milk. “So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?”

“It means that I am now fit to be wedded and bedded,” said Sansa, “and to bear children for the king.”

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

An ivory silk dress, a “betrothal gift” from Cersei, that Sansa later had to “dye it black”, so the “blood and fire stain” couldn’t be seen at all, sounds pretty much like Lyanna Stark’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon being “stained” by Rhaegar Targaryen. And then, of course, of Jon Snow hidden in the Wall as a Black Brother/Black Knight of the Night’s Watch.

Again, Sansa’s bedclothes stained with her flowering blood and then with fire to hide the stain, sounds pretty much like Lyanna Stark’s bed of blood after she gave birth Jon Snow, the baby that had to be hidden so his Targaryen identity couldn’t be seem at all.

A white wool cloak stained by blood and fire

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

Out of the three passages with this imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire, this one, the one you asked for, has the more evident references of Jon Snow’s true parentage as the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Here we have Sansa huddled beneath a white kingsguard cloak stained by blood of the death during the Battle of the Blackwater and wildfire.

I think most of the readers get distracted from the Jon Snow’s true parentage hints here, because they romanticize this scene and believe it foreshadows some romantic future events for her involving the Hound, based in the fact that Sansa had covered herself with “the Hounds cloak” twice. But the relationship between Sansa and the white cloaks is -by far- larger than that; it has more to do with the ideals of knighthood and chivalry, than with the men wearing them.

As you can see, GRRM has plagued Sansa’s chapters with hints of Lyanna’s son, Jon Snow, true parentage.

Dead before their time:

Lyanna:

“She [Lyanna] was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.”

—AGOT - Arya II

Sansa:

And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time.

—AGOT - Sansa V

Lyanna and Lady (part of Sansa’s soul) both died in the south, before their time.

Lyanna’s ghost has haunted Cersei over the years, Cersei wanted to marry Rhaegar but ended married with Robert. Both Rhaegar and Robert loved Lyanna.

Lady is mentioned in the Books as a “shade”, a synonym for ghost. And after Ned’s death, Sansa became a ghost at the Red Keep’s court.

Sansa and Lady also haunt Cersei, as she remembered them both during her walk of atonement:

The queen began to see familiar faces. (...) She saw Ned Stark, and beside him little Sansa with her auburn hair and a shaggy grey dog that might have been her wolf.

—ADWD - Cersei II

At the end, only the remains of Lyanna and Lady returned home, to the North, to Winterfell.

Ladies of Winterfell:

Lyanna’s and Lady’s bones are buried at Winterfell, what makes them literally Ladies of Winterfell:

“She was more beautiful than that,” the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna’s face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. “Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?” His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. “She deserved more than darkness …” “She was a Stark of Winterfell,” Ned said quietly. “This is her place.”

—AGOT - Eddard I

Shortly, Jory brought him Ice. When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.” “All that way?” Jory said, astonished. “All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”

—AGOT - Eddard III

Bran felt all cold inside. “She lost her wolf,” he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his father’s guardsmen had returned from the south with Lady’s bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid their faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned.

—AGOT - Bran VI

Lady’s death and his return to the North to rest in Winterfell is linked with Lyanna’s death and her own path back home. I wrote about this before:

Now, back to Lady’s death. We know that this event is a turning point in Sansa’s arc, but other than that, the paragraphs leading to the direwolf’s execution are laden with symbolism and foreshadowing, not only for Sansa, but for Ned as well.

During the “trial”, Ned decides that he will take Lady’s life himself, in order to avoid having a butcher like Ilyn Payne do the execution. Then, before he struck, he pronounced her name in the same fashion Robb and Jon called the name of their direwolves before they both died. This for me foreshadows Ned’s own death. Also, before Lady’s death, Ned pleads King Robert to change his decision on putting down the direwolf, appealing to the memory of Lyanna, the woman Robert loved. Similarly, before Ned’s execution at the steps of the Sept of Baelor, Sansa pleads King Joffrey to spare her father’s life, appealing to the love he has for her. As we know, both pleas fell on deaf ears and both Lady and Ned lost their lives; bringing the story full circle, as Ilyn Payne himself cut off Ned’s head.

Another interesting thing is that before Lady’s death we have direct and indirect references to Lyanna Stark. We have the direct reference when Ned appealed to the love Robert Baratheon bore Lyanna, in order to save Lady’s life, and the indirect one when he ordered Jory to choose four men to return Lady’s body to the north, to bury her in Winterfell. This order Ned gave to his men alludes to his own decision to take Lyanna’s body to Winterfell to be buried in the crypts, after her demise, brought on by her doomed love affair with Rhaegar Targaryen.

And to finish this post, here some gifsets that illustrate some of the discussed parallels:

Sansa Stark and Lyanna Stark + parallels

Pleading

She-wolves of Winterfell

Beautiful, Captivating Child-Women

Hidden Metal ft. hair parallels

Broken ‘Baratheon’ Engagements ft. more hair parallels

Fair Maidens

BONUS

Lyanna and Sansa in the first Show pilot:

In The Original, Terrible ‘Game Of Thrones’ Pilot That Never Aired, there was a scene where Cersei burned the feather that Robert left at Lyanna’s statue in the Winterfell Crypts:

The Cersei scene that might ruffle some feathers

Let’s begin with a defining scene between King Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark in the Winterfell crypts.

The scene that aired on HBO is slightly different from the scene in the Cushing script, but the gist is the same. Robert asks Ned to be his new Hand of the King, a position left open after Jon Arryn’s death. That’s when Robert places something small but highly symbolic on a statue of his onetime betrothed, Lyanna Stark: a feather.

And that pretty much sums up the sequence you saw in Season 1

But in the script found in the Cushing library, Queen Cersei plays a pivotal role in this exchange’s aftermath ― so much so that her involvement would have changed a Season 5 episode, the recent Season 8 teaser and possibly more.

The following scene is written into the pilot script found at Cushing and involves Cersei visiting the crypts right before the feast at Winterfell:

Cersei exits the crypts, crosses the courtyard and walks into the antechamber between the kitchen and the Winterfell great hall. The celebration for the king’s arrival is underway, and servants are rushing past her with food. The queen’s handmaidens make adjustments to her outfit and remove her heavy fur.

Then Cersei reveals something she has inside her sleeve:

“A word with the Stark girl”. I have no doubt this meant Sansa.

We didn’t get to watch this scene, Cersei never came down to the Winterfell Crypts, and she never took the feather Robert left there for Lyanna. But a few seasons later, we got to watch a scene of Sansa at the Winterfell Crypts, next to her aunt Lyanna’s statue, where she found the same feather that King Robert left there years ago...

...And Petyr Baelish told her the story of Lyanna and Rhaegar at the Tourney of Harrenhal.... I wrote more about it here.

I hope this is enough.

Thanks for your message and good night.

#Sansa Stark #Lyanna Stark #parallels #anon ask #Sansa & Lyanna parallels #Lyanna & Sansa parallels

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readbookywooks · 8 years

Text

Arya

Her father had been fighting with the council again. Arya could see it on his face when he came to table, late again, as he had been so often. The first course, a thick sweet soup made with pumpkins, had already been taken away when Ned Stark strode into the Small Hall. They called it that to set it apart from the Great Hall, where the king could feast a thousand, but it was a long room with a high vaulted ceiling and bench space for two hundred at its trestle tables. "My lord," Jory said when Father entered. He rose to his feet, and the rest of the guard rose with him. Each man wore a new cloak, heavy grey wool with a white satin border. A hand of beaten silver clutched the woolen folds of each cloak and marked their wearers as men of the Hand's household guard. There were only fifty of them, so most of the benches were empty. "Be seated," Eddard Stark said. "I see you have started without me. I am pleased to know there are still some men of sense in this city." He signaled for the meal to resume. The servants began bringing out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs. "The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord," Jory said as he resumed his seat. "They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your appointment as Hand of the King." Arya could see that her father was not very happy about that. "Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?" Sansa's eyes had grown wide as the plates. "A tourney," she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. "Will we be permitted to go, Father?" "You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly." "Oh, please," Sansa said. "I want to see." Septa Mordane spoke up. "Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend." Father looked pained. "I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa." He saw Arya. "For both of you." "I don't care about their stupid tourney," Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey. Sansa lifted her head. "It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted." Anger flashed across Father's face. "Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?" Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry. The only sound was the clatter of knives and forks. "Pray excuse me," her father announced to the table. "I find I have small appetite tonight." He walked from the hall. After he was gone, Sansa exchanged excited whispers with Jeyne Poole. Down the table Jory laughed at a joke, and Hullen started in about horseflesh. "Your warhorse, now, he may not be the best one for the joust. Not the same thing, oh, no, not the same at all." The men had heard it all before; Desmond, Jacks, and Hullen's son Harwin shouted him down together, and Porther called for more wine. No one talked to Arya. She didn't care. She liked it that way. She would have eaten her meals alone in her bedchamber if they let her. Sometimes they did, when Father had to dine with the king or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her "little sister" and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn't even talk to her unless Father made her. Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories. Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface." Only that was Winterfell, a world away, and now everything was changed. This was the first time they had supped with the men since arriving in King's Landing. Arya hated it. She hated the sounds of their voices now, the way they laughed, the stories they told. They'd been her friends, she'd felt safe around them, but now she knew that was a lie. They'd let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but then the Hound found Mycah. Jeyne Poole had told Arya that he'd cut him up in so many pieces that they'd given him back to the butcher in a bag, and at first the poor man had thought it was a pig they'd slaughtered. And no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father. "He was my friend," Arya whispered into her plate, so low that no one could hear. Her ribs sat there untouched, grown cold now, a thin film of grease congealing beneath them on the plate. Arya looked at them and felt ill. She pushed away from the table. "Pray, where do you think you are going, young lady?" Septa Mordane asked. "I'm not hungry." Arya found it an effort to remember her courtesies. "May I be excused, please?" she recited stiffly. "You may not," the septa said. "You have scarcely touched your food. You will sit down and clean your plate." "You clean it!" Before anyone could stop her, Arya bolted for the door as the men laughed and Septa Mordane called loudly after her, her voice rising higher and higher. Fat Tom was at his post, guarding the door to the Tower of the Hand. He blinked when he saw Arya rushing toward him and heard the septa's shouts. "Here now, little one, hold on," he started to say, reaching, but Arya slid between his legs and then she was running up the winding tower steps, her feet hammering on the stone while Fat Tom huffed and puffed behind her. Her bedchamber was the only place that Arya liked in all of King's Landing, and the thing she liked best about it was the door, a massive slab of dark oak with black iron bands. When she slammed that door and dropped the heavy crossbar, nobody could get into her room, not Septa Mordane or Fat Tom or Sansa or Jory or the Hound, nobody! She slammed it now. When the bar was down, Arya finally felt safe enough to cry. She went to the window seat and sat there, sniffling, hating them all, and herself most of all. It was all her fault, everything bad that had happened. Sansa said so, and Jeyne too. Fat Tom was knocking on her door. "Arya girl, what's wrong?" he called out. "You in there?" "No!" she shouted. The knocking stopped. A moment later she heard him going away. Fat Tom was always easy to fool. Arya went to the chest at the foot of her bed. She knelt, opened the lid, and began pulling her clothes out with both hands, grabbing handfuls of silk and satin and velvet and wool and tossing them on the floor. It was there at the bottom of the chest, where she'd hidden it. Arya lifted it out almost tenderly and drew the slender blade from its sheath. Needle. She thought of Mycah again and her eyes filled with tears. Her fault, her fault, her fault. If she had never asked him to play at swords with her . . . There was a pounding at her door, louder than before. "Arya Stark, you open this door at once, do you hear me?" Arya spun around, with Needle in her hand. "You better not come in here!" she warned. She slashed at the air savagely. "The Hand will hear of this!" Septa Mordane raged. "I don't care," Arya screamed. "Go away." "You will rue this insolent behavior, young lady, I promise you that." Arya listened at the door until she heard the sound of the septa's receding footsteps. She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they'd return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn't feel so alone. A soft knock at the door behind her turned Arya away from the window and her dreams of escape. "Arya," her father's voice called out. "Open the door. We need to talk." Arya crossed the room and lifted the crossbar. Father was alone. He seemed more sad than angry. That made Arya feel even worse. "May I come in?" Arya nodded, then dropped her eyes, ashamed. Father closed the door. "Whose sword is that?" "Mine." Arya had almost forgotten Needle, in her hand. "Give it to me." Reluctantly Arya surrendered her sword, wondering if she would ever hold it again. Her father turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with his thumb. "A bravo's blade," he said. "Yet it seems to me that I know this maker's mark. This is Mikken's work." Arya could not lie to him. She lowered her eyes. Lord Eddard Stark sighed. "My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?" Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father. After a while, Father said, "I don't suppose it matters, truly." He looked down gravely at the sword in his hands. "This is no toy for children, least of all for a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you were playing with swords?" "I wasn't playing," Arya insisted. "I hate Septa Mordane." "That's enough." Her father's voice was curt and hard. "The septa is doing no more than is her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady." "I don't want to be a lady!" Arya flared. "I ought to snap this toy across my knee here and now, and put an end to this nonsense." "Needle wouldn't break," Arya said defiantly, but her voice betrayed her words. "It has a name, does it?" Her father sighed. "Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. ‘The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. "Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her." "Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya. "She was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." He lifted the sword, held it out between them. "Arya, what did you think to do with this . . . Needle? Who did you hope to skewer? Your sister? Septa Mordane? Do you know the first thing about sword fighting?" All she could think of was the lesson Jon had given her. "Stick them with the pointy end," she blurted out. Her father snorted back laughter. "That is the essence of it, I suppose." Arya desperately wanted to explain, to make him see. "I was trying to learn, but . . . " Her eyes filled with tears. "I asked Mycah to practice with me." The grief came on her all at once. She turned away, shaking. "I asked him," she cried. "It was my fault, it was me . . . " Suddenly her father's arms were around her. He held her gently as she turned to him and sobbed against his chest. "No, sweet one," he murmured. "Grieve for your friend, but never blame yourself. You did not kill the butcher's boy. That murder lies at the Hound's door, him and the cruel woman he serves." "I hate them," Arya confided, red-faced, sniffling. "The Hound and the queen and the king and Prince Joffrey. I hate all of them. Joffrey lied, it wasn't the way he said. I hate Sansa too. She did remember, she just lied so Joffrey would like her." "We all lie," her father said. "Or did you truly think I'd believe that Nymeria ran off?" Arya blushed guiltily. "Jory promised not to tell." "Jory kept his word," her father said with a smile. "There are some things I do not need to be told. Even a blind man could see that wolf would never have left you willingly." "We had to throw rocks," she said miserably. "I told her to run, to go be free, that I didn't want her anymore. There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so she'd have deer to hunt. Only she kept following, and finally we had to throw rocks. I hit her twice. She whined and looked at me and I felt so 'shamed, but it was right, wasn't it? The queen would have killed her." "It was right," her father said. "And even the lie was . . . not without honor." He'd put Needle aside when he went to Arya to embrace her. Now he took the blade up again and walked to the window, where he stood for a moment, looking out across the courtyard. When he turned back, his eyes were thoughtful. He seated himself on the window seat, Needle across his lap. "Arya, sit down. I need to try and explain some things to you." She perched anxiously on the edge of her bed. "You are too young to be burdened with all my cares," he told her, "but you are also a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words." "Winter is coming," Arya whispered. "The hard cruel times," her father said. "We tasted them on the Trident, child, and when Bran fell. You were born in the long summer, sweet one, you've never known anything else, but now the winter is truly coming. Remember the sigil of our House, Arya." "The direwolf," she said, thinking of Nymeria. She hugged her knees against her chest, suddenly afraid. "Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa . . . Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you . . . and I need both of you, gods help me." He sounded so tired that it made Arya sad. "I don't hate Sansa," she told him. "Not truly." It was only half a lie. "I do not mean to frighten you, but neither will I lie to you. We have come to a dark dangerous place, child. This is not Winterfell. We have enemies who mean us ill. We cannot fight a war among ourselves. This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience . . . at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up." "I will," Arya vowed. She had never loved him so much as she did in that instant. "I can be strong too. I can be as strong as Robb." He held Needle out to her, hilt first. "Here." She looked at the sword with wonder in her eyes. For a moment she was afraid to touch it, afraid that if she reached for it it would be snatched away again, but then her father said, "Go on, it's yours," and she took it in her hand. "I can keep it?" she said. "For true?" "For true." He smiled. "If I took it away, no doubt I'd find a morningstar hidden under your pillow within the fortnight. Try not to stab your sister, whatever the provocation." "I won't. I promise." Arya clutched Needle tightly to her chest as her father took his leave. The next morning, as they broke their fast, she apologized to Septa Mordane and asked for her pardon. The septa peered at her suspiciously, but Father nodded. Three days later, at midday, her father's steward Vayon Poole sent Arya to the Small Hall. The trestle tables had been dismantled and the benches shoved against the walls. The hall seemed empty, until an unfamiliar voice said, "You are late, boy." A slight man with a bald head and a great beak of a nose stepped out of the shadows, holding a pair of slender wooden swords. "Tomorrow you will be here at midday." He had an accent, the lilt of the Free Cities, Braavos perhaps, or Myr. "Who are you?" Arya asked. "I am your dancing master." He tossed her one of the wooden blades. She grabbed for it, missed, and heard it clatter to the floor. "Tomorrow you will catch it. Now pick it up." It was not just a stick, but a true wooden sword complete with grip and guard and pommel. Arya picked it up and clutched it nervously with both hands, holding it out in front of her. It was heavier than it looked, much heavier than Needle. The bald man clicked his teeth together. "That is not the way, boy. This is not a greatsword that is needing two hands to swing it. You will take the blade in one hand." "It's too heavy," Arya said. "It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong, and for the balancing. A hollow inside is filled with lead, just so. One hand now is all that is needing." Arya took her right hand off the grip and wiped her sweaty palm on her pants. She held the sword in her left hand. He seemed to approve. "The left is good. All is reversed, it will make your enemies more awkward. Now you are standing wrong. Turn your body sideface, yes, so. You are skinny as the shaft of a spear, do you know. That is good too, the target is smaller. Now the grip. Let me see." He moved closer and peered at her hand, prying her fingers apart, rearranging them. "Just so, yes. Do not squeeze it so tight, no, the grip must be deft, delicate." "What if I drop it?" Arya said. "The steel must be part of your arm," the bald man told her. "Can you drop part of your arm? No. Nine years Syrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos, he knows these things. Listen to him, boy." It was the third time he had called her "boy." "I'm a girl," Arya objected. "Boy, girl," Syrio Forel said. "You are a sword, that is all." He clicked his teeth together. "Just so, that is the grip. You are not holding a battle-axe, you are holding a—" "—needle," Arya finished for him, fiercely. "Just so. Now we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the iron dance of Westeros we are learning, the knight's dance, hacking and hammering, no. This is the bravo's dance, the water dance, swift and sudden. All men are made of water, do you know this? When you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die." He took a step backward, raised his own wooden blade. "Now you will try to strike me." Arya tried to strike him. She tried for four hours, until every muscle in her body was sore and aching, while Syrio Forel clicked his teeth together and told her what to do. The next day their real work began.

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