#the white gown with crimson sleeves/kirtle

[queenmarytudor]

Mary's gowns by colour and year of purchase, from Of Crymsen Tissue: The Construction of a Queen: Identity, Legitimacy and the Wardrobe of Mary Tudor by Hilary Doda, 2011

Mary's kirtle and sleeves by colour and year of purchase, from Of Crymsen Tissue: The Construction of a Queen: Identity, Legitimacy and the Wardrobe of Mary Tudor by Hilary Doda, 2011

[realcatalina]

King and his mother?!

In Christ's College Chapel, Cambridge is 16th century stained glass window, a rare example which survived nearly intact. It is thought to be done in 1505. On left is Henry VII. And the woman on right is Margaret Beaufort. In the most unexpected outfit.

Read further for more.

In middle is St. Edward the Confessor,

on left King Henry VII wearing his armour and crown, already grey-haired.

i just love the silvery part of his armour and also these portculises.

Green behind him probably has to do with tudor colours-green and white.

But it is the female figure on right which caught my attention. It is said to be lady Margaret Beaufort, who was very involved with Christ's College in 1505. Hence it is very logical to asume it is her.

However if you play with image a little bit to see the woman's outfit a bit better...you will realise woman is dressed extremely sumptuarily.

The cloak is held in place by white rope ended by tasle-standard design for female cloak of the time. But this vivid blue colour could be one of blues made using snails as dye...very expensive, on par with purple. The pillow beneath her feet is in same colour, cloth before hr crimson-also very expensive.

So what is the golden part? Her gown+wide sleeves of that gown.

Her headwear seems to be plain black, but otherwise it is pure sumptuousness...not at all what we would expect lady Margaret to wear.

Thus i questioned whetever or not it might be Elizabeth of York instead, however i doubt it because of the shape of coronet. It doesnt match Henry's crown and we have depictions of CoA in crown matching her husbands. Plus these wide sleeves are more consistent with 1510s, they wouldnt become part of English fashion until at least mid 1500s, after Elizabeth died. (As far as i know.)

But then Margaret and the college were in 1505, so it makes sense.

Yet I always imagined that her simple outfit we know from portraits had something to do with her swearung celibacy in 1499.

Can somebody please check records of her wardrobe? Because this is way after and she is depicted truly lavishly. But you know-she got her son on throne after years of struggles and worries. Which one of us wouldn't then want to enjoy her golden years?

You know we had similiar thing with Margaret of Austria. She had so many portraits of herself in simple outfit, looking like true mourning widow and didnt want to remarry after two dead husbands. So people mistakenly think that is all she wore all the time, even though it was not so.

Unfortunately the image is also bit dirty and scratched or worn of in places. I imagine that originally it looked more like this:

I know that at the very top we have lines consisting with white chemise, then black line which could be black kirtle, then line of large pearls(maybe ment to sit on edge of black kirtle) then golden line is probably edge of golden gown...but right under it imo is edge of ermine surcoat.

Which obviously would not be showing over lower parts of golden gown.But normally there is no band running across in middle of the chest-imo that is damage.

Then obviously her blue cloak is held in place by pieces of white rope(typical of the time)-ending in tassel.

That is how i interpret it and this is the best version i could come up with:

One more thing. I do not know which one of these is correct:

With or without u-band.

U-band on forehead occurs in gable hoods of 15th century. After 1505, the vast major women would long since have abandoned it. Like a decade prior.

Yet she was over 60, so i cannot rule out that granny who nobody would have dared to criticized-because she was mother of the king- would have gone around in something way out of fashion.

But then...she has no visible paste and that is consistent with 15th century too. Yet the gown is strongly against it.

So this is bit of contradiction, based upon just this small detail.

But who knows, maybe it is simply dirty in the most unfortunate of the spots and conicidently looks more like u-band, while it might be bit of hair showing.

I hope you have enjoyed this and tell me what you think.

[edwardseymour]

Did Jane Parker indeed publicly mourn for Anne and George?

.✨ terfs/zionists fuck off ✨

for anne? no. but probably for george. she described herself as a “power [poor] desolate widow wythoute comffort”, and cavendish described her as a “wydowe in blake”, so… yes?

i couldn’t say how much she openly mourned, as that isn’t recorded. the boleyns were convicted traitors… but clearly there wasn’t some sort of complete censure of the boleyns at court: it is interesting that jane obtained a position in jane seymour’s household in spite of visibly appearing as a ‘widow in black’, or in mourning. it might have been a reward for her testimony — “at least six women who were appointed to serve the queen’s successor, jane seymour, gave evidence against anne” (taffe) — but only if we accept she testified against anne. regardless, “following george’s death, jane was outwardly mournful” (taffe).

cavendish’s description seems to be corroborated by how much black she wore. we could read the prominence of black as purely practical — “she tended to wear black, the accepted colour for the ladies of the bedchamber” (fox) — but more reasonably, it seems like a conscious choice that cannot have been made without some consideration of the association of black with mourning. “the inventory of jane’s possessions taken in 1542 indicates that she continued to predominantly (if not exclusively) wear black in her final years” (taffe):

“a kirtel of black velvet

a kirtle of black saten

a nyght gowne of black taffeta

a gown of black damaske

a gown of black saten

iij fayre bordures of my ladyes of goldsmithes work black enameled […]

a fayre broche black enamelled wt six small diamondes”

it is interesting to compare to her possessions before george’s death: “she had ten pairs of sleeves for her gowns, all of rich materials. amongst them she had a pair of crimson velvet worked in gold, two pairs made of cloth of silver, a couple in tinsel or thin cloth of silver or gold, some in yellow or white satin, a pair in white damask, a pair in black velvet complete with eight sets of laces tipped with black enamel for fastening” (fox). black is present but not predominant. black is also clearly identified with her, so regardless of intent, cavendish and others saw her as someone who regularly dressed ‘in blake’ — to the extent that black fabric was apparently an appropriate gift, with lady mary presenting her with twelve yards of black satin in 1537 as a gift.

[nellygwyn]

On costume, the record is detailed, thanks to William Lok's bill for January to April 1536. This tells of Anne buying gowns in tawny velvet with black lambs' fur, in velvet without fur, in damask, and in satin furred with miniver; a russet gown in caffa (heavy silk), two in black velvet, one in black damask, one in white satin and a second with crimson sleeves; a gown in purple cloth of gold lined with silver, and a new carnation satin from Bruges to insert into the sleeves of a gown of tissue. There were eight nightgowns, two embroidered and another in russet trimmed with miniver; and three cloaks - of black Bruges satin, of embroidered tawny satin and of back cloth lined with black sarcenet - while Arnold the shoemaker had eight lots of black velvet to make shoes and slippers. Thirteen kirtles included white satin and white damask, black velvet embroidered and crimson satin 'printed,' with matching sleeves. These elaborate detachable sleeves were an important part of female costume; among the scores of 'sleeves for women' in Henry's inventory are at least two pairs which honeysuckle embroidery identifies as belonging to Anne, one 'of white satin embroidered over with purled gold acorns and honeysuckles tied with ten pairs of aiguilettes of gold' and the other 'of cloth of gold embroidered with a great trail of purled gold with honeysuckles tied with ten pairs of aiguilettes of gold.' Sleeves likes this did not come cheap. [Cornelius] Hayes charged nearly £5 for the jewelled borders for one pair - gold set with ten diamonds and eight pearls. Many of Anne's costumes would also be enhanced with jewels, such as nineteen diamonds, set in trueloves of gold which Hayes supplied in January 1532, along with twenty-one rubies and twenty-one diamonds set in gold roses and hearts. Anne's liking for French hoods was costly too, at £9 for the jewelled billament. Nicholas Sander's story that 'every day Anne made some change in the fashion of her garments' is entirely credible. Had she lived, her wardrobe might well have rivalled the 2000 costumes which tradition assigns to that most fashion-conscious of monarchs, her daughter Elizabeth. Anne certainly started her child on that route. In that three-month period, Lok supplied the two-year-old with a gown of orange velvet, kirtles of russet velvet, of yellow satin, of white damask, and of green satin, embroidered purple satin sleeves, a black muffler, white ribbon, Venice ribbon, a russet damask bedspread, a taffeta cap covered with a caul of gold. Anne, apparently, was especially fussy about her daughter's caps: one made of purple satin required at least three journeys to Greenwich to get it right.

- on Anne Boleyn's wardrobe

The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn // Eric Ives

[yourdeepestfathoms]

We All Still Die (part three)

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Part 1 Part 2

This part is way shorter than the others, I usually will put in as much content as I can until I reach the word limit, but I felt like it and the events after it deserved its own post.

TW: Beheading, blood

———————

It felt sort of inappropriate how gorgeous and sunny it was outside, an early morning full of whistling birdsong and humming bumblebees among crimson and gold roses.

Thousands of bodies pressed against each other in the yard, fidgeting, quivering, waiting to see the execution that was announced to them. Some didn’t believe it- that there was no possible way the king was really going to send his wife to her death, while others were already praying for the queen’s smooth transition into heaven. But then the executioner took to the scaffold and they all knew that this was going to happen. That this was real, whether they liked it or not.

There are many rumors regarding the dungeon tower. Some say there are ghosts of the people that had been tortured to death inside. Others talk about how the place breaks down a person’s mental stability. Even the guards go mad, they say. After just two weeks of being there, the queen and her ladies start to think they may have a point, whoever they are. Everything about the tiny, grimy cell made them feel miserable.

And yet, Anne emerged from her prison as poised and regal as always.

Joan didn’t walk beside her mistress. She was near the back of the pack, with a few other maids of waiting who were to accompany Anne up on the scaffolding. The girl to her left was already crying- she had been since yesterday. The one to her right was very pale and muttering to herself with her hands clasped together tightly. There was supposed to be another, but she had ran away screaming, unable to go out and watch. Nobody went after her.

Anne was reading a small prayer book as she walked down to her stage. It was similar to the ones she had given all her maids and ladies in waiting, but this one had a beautiful gold covering wrapped all the way around it that glittered in the sunshine. Occasionally, she would glance over her shoulder and Joan so desperately wanted to meet her eyes, but the gaze would always slide right past her. Who was she looking for?

Joan watched as she tucked the prayer book away and began to hand out coins to the poorer people in the crowd. Her heart ached. Even in her final hour, Anne continued to be absolutely lovely.

They soon reached the scaffolding. It was swaddled in expensive black velvet and so built high that all who were present could see the spectacle. Thick clouds of straw were strewn across the ebony-swathed floor to soak up the blood.

Blood. There would be blood.

Anne paused for a moment and then pressed the golden prayer book into Maggie’s hands. She gave her friend a warm smile, then turned away. Joan swore the strangled whine Maggie made could be heard throughout the entire plaza.

The swordsman knelt before the queen, begging for her forgiveness. Joan stared at him as he whispered with her mistress, so desperately wanting to yell, “Don’t do it! If you want to be forgiven, then don’t do it! Don’t take her away!”

But he stood again, now white-knuckling a pouch of coins the queen had passed to him as payment for her own decapitation. He tucked it away. Joan wanted to jam every piece of gold he was given down his throat.

Anne soon began to speak. Her voice was as dignified and confident as it always ways, strong and booming across the crowd of thousands of onlookers. She asked to be pardoned of her sins, praised the king as a fair and gentle man, and requested that the audience prayed for her. Her words never stammered, never quivered- she spoke clearly and smoothly, despite the blunted, gleaming axe mere feet away from her.

Everyone had believed the queen could do anything. Win any battle, settle any argument, simply by appearing and having the innate ability to fix everything. The queen who was never shaken, who never faltered. Maybe sometimes she’d believed it, too. And, as she stood upon that scaffolding announcing her final words to the crowd, that theory was proven.

But nobody had ever told Joan just how much the tears from that fact would hurt, and now as they fell from her eyes in a stream of her anguish and heartache, she could not imagine anything being worse than this. The feeling wracked itself up and down her body. The amount of frustration to have the one thing that was good in your life right in front of you, just an inch or centimeter from a safe grasp, but know that a greater power was keeping it withheld.

It makes Joan detest the court that she had thought saved her from a life of crime and starvation, the sting from her queen’s unjust beheading aiding her wounds to a fiery point. She wanted to blame someone, there must be a way to help the pain, but she knew that her wanting to blame someone for this is exactly the same thing as the people wanting to blame her queen for what happened. It was frustrating that now she knew what it felt like and it would make her a hypocrite to feel so.

There is no possible way to describe in words what it is like to literally watch as someone you looked up to is murdered and know you have absolutely nothing you can do about it. You can try, so Joan does in hopes of averting her mind to something- anything, but after a few moments of coming up blank, she released a quiet sob and wrung her hands together in her dress, leaning against the maid beside her for support. The girl does not mind, in fact she tipped her head and cried into Joan’s hair. Joan doesn’t even know her name.

It’s not right and it’s not fair. In her mind all she can do is imagine the things that went wrong and every little thing she could have done differently to have caused a better outcome of events. All the small trivial matters that she should have done differently, but knowing there is nothing she can do about the past reminded her of the simple fact that she could not have saved Anne even if she had tried and it only made the knots in her chest tighten.

Awareness returned slowly. Joan sniffled through the haze of oncoming tears and saw Anne disrobing on her own. Maggie stood by petrified, too scared and shaking too much to help. Anne knew this, and so she gave her dear friend a warm smile to let her know that it was alright. Maggie nearly wailed.

The ermine-trimmed cloak, necklace, hood, and grey damask gown Anne had been clad in were discarded in a smooth movement. Beneath it, she wore a scarlet kirtle.

Scarlet, the color of martyrs, Joan would later learn.

Scarlet, the color of the queen’s blood, Joan already knew.

Anne tucked her luscious brown hair into a white cap. Joan hoped for a few strands to fall out, to buy her some more time, but she bunched it all away in the headdress, leaving her pale neck bare to the world.

And then, she knelt.

Joan’s insides felt hot, like they were being burnt with coal. She felt the maid at her side reach up weakly and grip onto her arm with both hands. Her nails are digging into the flesh beneath her sleeves, but the pain brought clarity. Awareness that she didn’t really want.

She wished John was there. Not to take the place of the queen’s neck that would soon be beneath a bloodied blade, but so she could have someone to have for support because she felt so weak right now, so damn weak. Weaker and more vulnerable than she had when he disappeared, which had been impossible for her to get over at that time.

But that’s exactly why he wasn’t there. And Joan cursed him for hiding away, wherever he was, and sitting by like a coward as his sister is tortured with the sight of an unjust murder, of an overwhelming anguish and trauma that would infect her mind and soul for the rest of her life.

On the floor before her, knelt on a red cushioned pillow that couldn’t possibly soften the blow they were all about to get, Anne began to pray. Joan couldn’t tell what she was saying- she couldn’t tell if she was whispering too softly to be heard or talking out loud and Joan’s senses were just buzzing too much to understand her. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to hear her mistress’ final words at all.

And then, she heard them. Because, one by one, the thousands of the people in the crowd got on their knees in the grass and prayed with their queen.

Joan watched in morbid awe at the sight set before her. Tears slipped out and ran freely down her face.

They didn’t want Anne to die. These people wanted Anne to live. They wanted her to be forgiven.

But then the executioner took the beheading axe in his hands and stepped towards the queen.

Joan flinched away. The girl hanging onto her flinched, too, then held tighter to her arm.

“Bring me my sword!”

Those words echoed in Joan’s head. For a moment, she didn’t even know if they were real, if they had truly been spoken, but then she saw the executioner sweep up a sword hidden beneath the straw.

Anne was still to die, but at least it would be at the mercy of a stronger blade.

Joan felt a tickle against her palm; an older lady in waiting she’s never spoken to before has grabbed her hands. She stared up at the woman, who glanced back down at her with a somber expression. This one wasn’t crying, but she was very pale.

There was a shift at her side; two other ladies in waiting have covered the eyes of the maids that had come up with Joan. Joan’s eyes are shielded, too, by the woman holding her hand, but she grabbed her fingers and peeked out just in time to see the sword flash in the sun and come down on her mistress’ neck.

Cannons atop the Tower walls boomed to announce the death of the queen of England, but not even they were as loud as the scream Maggie made.

The sound was like nothing Joan had ever heard before. It was an anguished, terrible noise that was so intense and powerful that Maggie blew her voice out within an instant, and even then she kept screaming.

She lunged forward, but the hands of the executioner and semi-calmer ladies in waiting alike grapple her arms, holding her back. She was severely outnumbered, but she fought like a cornered tiger, kicking and punching and scratching and spitting until she wiggled free and collapsed forward as if all her bones had melted. She scampered through the wet straw, which was getting wetter and darker with blood by the second, and grabbed Anne’s rolling head.

Joan wished she had kept her eyes covered.

Maggie was still screaming that terrible, strangled scream, rocking back and forth on the bloody stage, holding her dear friend’s head close to her chest. Someone to Joan’s left tipped to the side and vomited. Another lady in waiting had fainted before the sword even met Anne’s neck and her friend was hunched over her fallen body, weeping, “It’s over, Bea! It’s over! The queen is dead!” The woman holding Joan’s hand just stared at the pandemonium on the scaffolding in pity, shaking her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She didn’t let go of Joan’s hand.

Joan never did get her name.

———

Maggie had carried Anne’s head back to the castle. It had taken four guards to pry it away from her grasp when it was time for the funeral.

Joan was deemed “well enough” by someone with short hair and cruel, wolf-like eyes, so she helped carry the queen’s body. She still remembers the feeling of some of Anne’s blood sliding down her face.

———

Joan spoke no words at Anne’s funeral. She stood near the back, watching as others said their goodbyes. Maggie clung to the casket the longest, making miserable noises and weeping onto the corpse of her dear friend. She kept saying “I’m sorry” over and over again and muttered things in a different language that Joan couldn’t understand. She had to be guided away by another lady in waiting, who rubbed her back and whispered comforting things, but they were unheard in Maggie’s despair-deaf ears.

Before the casket was put in the ground, Joan caught a final glimpse of the queen and the head that had been crudely sewn back onto her neck.

———

“I’m leaving.”

Joan trembled as Maggie told her this. The older woman trembled, too, with permanent anguish that has rooted itself inside of her and with outrage. Joan knew what she was so angry about. They all had heard about how Henry went to celebrate with Jane Seymour after the cannon fires announcing his wife’s death.

“She’s going to have his baby.” Maggie hissed bitterly. “I know she is. And I can’t stay. Not when she—” She shut her eyes tightly for a moment and took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. “I can’t stay.”

“I understand.” Joan whispered. “But don’t you- don’t you want to get revenge?”

For a moment, Maggie almost looked amused. A tiny, ghost of a smile twitched on her lips.

“Silly girl.” She said. “Do you?”

Joan shrugged, looking away.

“She’ll get what’s coming to her.” Maggie said. Something flashed in her eyes- bloodlust? “God won’t let her sins go unpunished. She will pay for what she’s done.”

Joan nodded. She watched as Maggie’s hands slid to her belly, which was slightly swollen. A month prior, she remembered seeing Anne playfully caressing the woman’s stomach, cooing about how she was going to be the best godmother ever.

“I felt a kick!” The queen had exclaimed, peeking up, eyes glowing.

“You jellyfish,” Maggie had flicked her. “I’m not that far along yet.”

“No, I definitely felt something.” Anne had assured her. She gently cupped the small bump, leaning her head in close. “This little one is so excited to meet their god mama that they kick early! Isn’t that right, Maggie Jr.?”

“Maggie Jr.?” Maggie had echoed, giggling. “I am NOT naming my baby Maggie Jr. One of me is enough.”

“Not for me.” Anne had said, flashing her a grin before she went back to gazing at her belly. “Maggie ii. It’s perfect!”

“And what if it’s a boy?”

“Then you name him Hercules! Something strong and powerful!”

“Hercules? Really?”

“What? I read!”

The memory dissolved away, as did the laughter that had bubbled up from the final comment. Joan blinked a few times. In front of her, Maggie was rubbing slow, gentle circles against her stomach.

“If it’s a girl,” She whispered, “I’m going to name her Anne.”

Joan smiled weakly. “I’m sure Anne would be very proud. She’d like that a lot.”

Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes, but she blinked them away.

“You think so?” She asked softly.

“Of course.” Joan answered.

Maggie nodded. “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Joan. And be careful.”

With that, she was gone.

Joan never saw her again.

———

Being the maid of honor to the woman who stole the place of your former employer was sickening and horrifying and awful. When Jane had come to Joan with the offer, she had a sickly sweet smile on her lips, knowing full well that Joan wouldn’t have the courage to say no.

Perhaps that’s why she did it in the first place. Out of spite.

Joan didn’t know the other maids of honor at the wedding. They were all older than her and looked at her as if she were a worm on the end of a fishhook. They sneered at her lingering trauma of Anne’s execution and would mutter about her needing to “get over it” but never said it to her face.

After the ceremony, Joan stood among a crowd of people she didn’t know. Even when she managed to wiggle free into a clearer space, she still couldn’t see anyone she knew. Elizabeth wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Even Mary wasn’t around to mock her or try to swoon with an older man.

She was alone, Joan realized.

As she always would be.

[nonagaye]

Tinfoil Weddings

This post is layered in tinfoil--beware. I believe Sansa’s wedding with Tyrion is a foil for her future wedding with Jon. As well as Jon attending Alys Karstarks wedding being some kind of foil.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Sansa was not fond of marrying Tyrion Lannister. But there were many interesting things that happened before her wedding, and at the reception.

The most tinfoil we be placed on the events before the wedding. Let’s get that out of the way. Sansa and Jon have a chapter, one right after the other.

Atop the stones of the ringwall, Ghost hunched with white fur bristling. He made no sound, but his dark red eyes spoke blood. The Lord of Bones moved his hand slowly away from his sword, backed off a step, and left them with a curse.

Ghost padded beside their garrons as Jon and Ygritte descended the Fist. It was not until they were halfway across the Milkwater that Jon felt safe enough to say, "I never asked you to lie for me."

"I never did," she said. "I left out part, is all."

"You said - "

" - that we f**k beneath your cloak many a night. I never said when we started, though." The smile she gave him was almost shy. "Find another place for Ghost to sleep tonight, Jon Snow. It's like Mance said. Deeds is truer than words." ASOS, Jon II

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via wiki: A circular rampart (German: Ringwall) is an embankment built in the shape of a circle that was used as part of the defences for a military fortification, hill fort or refuge, or was built for religious purposes or as a place of gathering.

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There’s a clear symbol of protection going on here--Ghost--protecting Jon and his red headed love. As well as the ringwall being an actual representative of defense. Then Ygrite saves Jon by lying to Mance that they f**k beneath Jon’s cloak.

The very next chapter we have Sansa prepping for the King’s wedding, or so she thinks.

“A new gown?" she said, as wary as she was astonished.

"More lovely than any you have worn, my lady," the old woman promised. She measured Sansa's hips with a length of knotted string. "All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it." 

[...]

"What color will it be?" she asked the seamstress."Leave the colors to me, my lady. You will be pleased, I know you will. You shall have smallclothes and hose as well, kirtles and mantles and cloaks, and all else befitting a . . . a lovely young lady of noble birth.""Will they be ready in time for the king's wedding?" - ASOS, Sansa II

Sansa's having a beautiful dress made for the King’s wedding; satin and lace, with a beautiful cloak to match. (Foreshadowing for Sansa marrying a King) Sansa is happy, but the Lannisters have other plans...

“I will not have the rose and the direwolf in bed together,” declared Lord Tywin. “We must forestall him.” “How?” asked Cersei. “By marriage. Yours, to begin with.”

At this point, we have the rose[Sansa] and the direwolf[Jon](the rose and wolf are interchangeable, as Jon could easily represent the rose) in Chapters 15 and 16. Then Tyrion in Chapter 19, discussing how to keep the rose and direwolf apart. What has kept the Rose and the wolf apart has been Sansa’s marriage/betrothals. She left home to marry Joffrey, was forced to marry Tyrion, and later being pushed towards Harry the heir. 

The day of Sansa’s wedding has arrived. 

Cersei herself arrived with the seamstress, and watched as they dressed Sansa in her new clothes. The smallclothes were all silk, but the gown itself was ivory samite and cloth-of-silver, and lined with silvery satin. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. And it was a woman's gown, not a little girl's, there was no doubt of that. The bodice was slashed in front almost to her belly, the deep vee covered over with a panel of ornate Myrish lace in dove-grey.  

[...]

"You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

"I am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her. "

[...] 

 Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A flerce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain. - ASOS, Sansa III

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The bride's cloak Sigorn fastened about Lady Alys's shoulders showed a bronze disk on a field of white wool, surrounded by flames made with wisps of crimson silk. 

[...]

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. -ADWD, Jon II

Sansa smiling and happy on her “wedding” day, Alys smile(on wedding day) reminds Jon of his little sister. Sansa wears satin and lace, while Alys hair was wrapped in lace found by Satin. Alys also wears satin.

Sansa wears a white cloak, with a silver wolf. The cloak in appearance could represent “Lady” her deceased wolf, Ghost or both symbolically protecting her. Sansa is foreshadowed to be Winterfell’s lady, Queen of winter.

“She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp.” Sansa, ASOS III

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“The Magnar all but ripped the maiden's cloak from Alys's shoulders, but when he fastened her bride's cloak about her he was almost tender. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, their breath mingled. The flames roared once again. The queen's men began to sing a song of praise. 

"Is it done?"Jon heard Satin whisper.” ADWD, Jon II

Sansa wishes that her husband could tenderly kiss her as he cloaks her in his protection, while Jon watches this exact thing at Alys’ wedding. If you’ve read any “Grey girl metas” then you would naturally see Alys as a foil for Sansa. And if I’m not mistaken, Alys was once betrothed to her cousin--Cregan Karstark, but escaped and ran to Jon at the Wall and married to a new man to create a new house. 

Perhaps she ought to have remained beside her husband, but she wanted to dance so badly ... and Ser Garlan was brother to Margaery, to Willas, to her Knight of Flowers. "I see why they name you Garlan the Gallant, ser," she said, as she took his hand. "My lady is gracious to say so. My brother Willas gave me that name, as it happens. To protect me." "To protect you?" She gave him a puzzled look. - ASOS, Sansa II

[Garlan the Gallant(:brave) is often described as tall, broad built, skilled soldier, honorable, modest and kind.]

Sansa’s actually dances with someone who is brave, gentle and strong.

“She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord. In her dreams they had all been smiling.” ASOS, Sansa II

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“Do you dance often, here at Castle Black?”

“Every time we have a wedding, my lady.”

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

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

“My lady should dance with her husband.” - Jon, ADWD

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“A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow. he thought. You‘ll dance with me anon.“ – Jon XII, ADWD

Sansa dreams of her husband dancing with her and smiling. If we connect the two quotes from Jon and Alys, who’s just a foil for Sansa. This is foreshadowing for dancing at a wedding.

Speaking of Snow flakes

When the last of the riders had disappeared into the trees, Jon Snow rode the winch cage down with Dolorous Edd. A few scattered snowflakes were falling as they made their slow descent, dancing on the gusty wind. One followed the cage down, drifting just beyond the bars. It was falling faster than they were descending and from time to time would vanish beneath them. Then a gust of wind would catch it and push it upward once again. Jon could have reached through the bars and caught it if he had wished.

- ADWD, Jon XIII

Let me point out that Jon is in a cage, he’s a crow. Metaphorically we could say he’s in bird cage. Jon sees the snowflakes dancing once again. But one separates, and seems to fall but is pushed back up to him. Possible Foreshadowing for another caged bird? Sansa?

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. -Sansa, AFFC

Could it be that Sansa is that snowflake, at the vale?

One more thing about Sansa’s wedding:

“Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue” - ASOS, Sansa II

[Jalabar is an exiled Prince from the Summer Isles, that came to Westeros to plead for help in retaking his homeland.]

What could he have said to Sansa? He can speak the common tongue as he’s pleaded with Cersei for help, so what could he have said to Sansa day, that he had to say it in a different language?

All in all there is clear foreshadowing of a happy wedding and marriage between Jon and Sansa.

I hope I wasn’t too longwinded and all over the place, and anyone that’s reading this is able to see the points that I’m trying to connect.

Inspired by the ‘Rose and the Direwolf’ meta by @shinynewrevulsions

[queenmarytudor]

By 1557, after both her marriage to Phillip II and her subsequent failed pregnancy, Mary’s wardrobe colours had changed. The lack of surviving inventories or warrants from 1555 and 1556 make it impossible to date this shift precisely, but it is evident by April of 1557. Russet made its first appearance in April 1557, a colour described as “a dusky, reddish-brown, or ashey-grey.” Murreye vanished, and the bulk of the wardrobe items appearing in the 1557 warrants were what by now had become Mary’s standard colour palette: black, russet, and purple. White appeared only for kirtles and sleeves, never as an outer gown, while the bulk of her undergarments remained crimson.

Of Crymsen Tissue: The Construction Of a Queen Identity, Legitimacy and the Wardrobe Of Mary Tudor, by Hilary Doda