“It’s been snowing on your castle, my lady,”he pointed out. “What do the gargoyles look like when they’re covered with snow?”
Sansa closed her eyes to see them in memory. “They’re just white lumps.”“Well, then. Gargoyles are hard, but white lumps should be easy.” And they were.
Anyone else seeing wights covered by snowdrifts here?
"I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers."
Sansa closed her eyes to see them in memory. “They’re just white lumps.”“Well, then. Gargoyles are hard, but white lumps should be easy.” And they were.
Anyone else seeing wights covered by snowdrifts here?
Maybe. I'm also getting reminded of the "trees and shrubs in stoles of snow" a few passages up. The gargoyles are in stoles, too.
The other thing that may just be my overthinking: gargoyles are magical protectors. So, if Littlefinger convinces her to turn them into blobs, is it "symbolically" undermining her magical protection? Or is it saying that snow is her magical protection, like Needle is for Arya? And ice/stars for Jon?
“This is just right,” she said. He touched her face. “And so is that.” Sansa did not understand. “And so is what?”“Your smile, my lady. Shall I make another for you?”“If you would.”“Nothing could please me more.”
She raised the walls of the glass gardens while Littlefinger roofed them over, and when they were done with that he helped her extend the walls and build the guardshall. When she used sticks for the covered bridges, they stood, just as he had said they would. The First Keep was simple enough, an old round drum tower, but Sansa was stymied again when it came to putting the gargoyles around the top. Again he had the answer. “It’s been snowing on your castle, my lady,”he pointed out. “What do the gargoyles look like when they’re covered with snow?”
Classic Baelish--helpful and manipulative in one go. He's the Bard drawing her in--a new singer, singer her stories and songs. Solving a problem--it all works "just as he said they would." So, what happens when it doesn't work?
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
Yuck, hate the not-quite siblings get-together theory. But it needs to be acknowledged. Sticks and Snow.
Ha!!! Yes, it does seem off. Really wish Martin hadn't put it in that letter so I could just be surprised and annoyed if he does it vs. having it in my head when I re-read. Crazy old man.
Sticks and Snow thought--could also just mean the group effort of it all: Bran in a godswood and living wood (sticks), Arya with her stick sword sticking people with the pointy end, and Jon--Snow. The pure world--a snowy Eden reclaimed with all siblings together.
And--hopefully growing up, getting their educations, and then, at a reasonable age, sensibly choosing to marry someone they know and love who is not a close relative.
Hey, it's a fantasy novel.
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
Yuck, hate the not-quite siblings get-together theory. But it needs to be acknowledged. Sticks and Snow.
Ha!!! Yes, it does seem off. Really wish Martin hadn't put it in that letter so I could just be surprised and annoyed if he does it vs. having it in my head when I re-read. Crazy old man.
Sticks and Snow thought--could also just mean the group effort of it all: Bran in a godswood and living wood (sticks), Arya with her stick sword sticking people with the pointy end, and Jon--Snow. The pure world--a snowy Eden reclaimed with all siblings together.
And--hopefully growing up, getting their educations, and then, at a reasonable age, sensibly choosing to marry someone they know and love who is not a close relative.
That would be interesting--though hard to manage. If Thistle threw off Varamyr, seems unlikely Peter couldn't throw off Sansa.
Ahem. Thistle went mad. That idea came from the theories I have seen on Sansa skinchanging birds. Not that I buy it or truly understand the purpose of the theory. Wishful thinking.
::facepalm:: Yup! That would make sense. And mocking the mockingbird would be great.
The birds thing--I have a personal pet theory of Sansa as a Singer--hearing and understanding the birds. She hears things on the winds. But with this chapter--as Lady Dyanna and others (you, too, yes) said upthread--really seems like Sansa goes somewhere.
If she's going to Lady--does she need a bird?
I do think/hope she's going to kill Littlefinger. Not sure as to method--kinda like the poison idea. Never any doubt she's a Lady--and poison is a woman's weapon. . .
But the attack on Sweetrobin coming up. . . seems like potential for out-and-out violence. Tug of war and he loses his head.
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
I was just looking back at what all was said about the last part and I can't really come up with anything else to add right now, so I'll post the next few quotes and reserve the right to go back if anything changes.
The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.”
“As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly . From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.
His face grew serious. “Yes, I played you false in that …and in one other thing as well.”Sansa’s stomach was aflutter. “What other thing?”“I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more.”He stepped closer. “This.”
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.”
So, LF is helping Sansa to rebuild Winterfell. Until Sansa is able to grab onto a memory (snow) which she uses to attack him. Will she remember what Lysa says later and put it all together or are there other memories that implicate him?
“As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly . From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.
Seems like all of the Starks are stronger within Winterfell. Especially for Sansa in this version she has built of her memories.
His face grew serious. “Yes, I played you false in that …and in one other thing as well.”Sansa’s stomach was aflutter. “What other thing?”“I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more.”He stepped closer. “This.”
Ugh! More creepiness. And I think you've played Sansa false in way more than just one other thing.
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.”
Agree that she's using the snow/memory. But also Winterfell--it's her defense and offense now. She threw a tower at him. Broken tower got taken out by a lightning storm, right? The tower Jaime throws Bran from. That's the tower she attacks Littlefinger with--interesting.
"Unchivalrously"--interesting choice of words. Septa Mordant complains Sansa is growing too much like Arya since she got her wolf and Sansa is willful and talks back. And even flat out lies to her Septa.
Quote: "She's not a dog, she's a direwolf," Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. "Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want." The septa was not appeased. "You're a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you're as willful as your sister Arya." She scowled. "And where is Arya this morning?" "She wasn't hungry," Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook's boy.Game, Sansa I
So, is this Sansa getting back to her wolfy self? Like she was in that first Game POV? Not the courtly lady. The Direwolf Lady.
“As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly . From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.
Seems like all of the Starks are stronger within Winterfell. Especially for Sansa in this version she has built of her memories.
That bolded seems to be key. She's in Winterfell and Winterfell's in her. "You are your wolf and your wolf is you." And she not only knows he lied. She's saying he lied. To his face. Sansa's usually so careful. Not now. Now she's defending her territory and her needs. Wolf.
Sansa seems to sense she has some leverage here. Wonder what happens when she's in the real Winterfell?
His face grew serious. “Yes, I played you false in that …and in one other thing as well.”Sansa’s stomach was aflutter. “What other thing?”“I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more.”He stepped closer. “This.”
It seems like he's using this as a counter to her honesty. To her self-assertion. Sexuality as weapon against a 13 year old. That's beyond creepy. It's cold and calculating and throws her off her game.
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.”
Agree that she's using the snow/memory. But also Winterfell--it's her defense and offense now. She threw a tower at him. Broken tower got taken out by a lightning storm, right? The tower Jaime throws Bran from. That's the tower she attacks Littlefinger with--interesting.
"Unchivalrously"--interesting choice of words. Septa Mordant complains Sansa is growing too much like Arya since she got her wolf and Sansa is willful and talks back. And even flat out lies to her Septa.
Quote: "She's not a dog, she's a direwolf," Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. "Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want." The septa was not appeased. "You're a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you're as willful as your sister Arya." She scowled. "And where is Arya this morning?" "She wasn't hungry," Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook's boy.Game, Sansa I
So, is this Sansa getting back to her wolfy self? Like she was in that first Game POV? Not the courtly lady. The Direwolf Lady.
“As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly . From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.
Seems like all of the Starks are stronger within Winterfell. Especially for Sansa in this version she has built of her memories.
That bolded seems to be key. She's in Winterfell and Winterfell's in her. "You are your wolf and your wolf is you." And she not only knows he lied. She's saying he lied. To his face. Sansa's usually so careful. Not now. Now she's defending her territory and her needs. Wolf.
Sansa seems to sense she has some leverage here. Wonder what happens when she's in the real Winterfell?
His face grew serious. “Yes, I played you false in that …and in one other thing as well.”Sansa’s stomach was aflutter. “What other thing?”“I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more.”He stepped closer. “This.”
It seems like he's using this as a counter to her honesty. To her self-assertion. Sexuality as weapon against a 13 year old. That's beyond creepy. It's cold and calculating and throws her off her game.
I was hesitant to tap 'like'. But while I don't like the creepiness at the end, I think you really hit the nail on the head.
"I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers."
Lady Dyanna: Since we seem to be stopped, am going to put in a few more passages. Apologies for stepping all over your turf.
Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"
Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid."
"You're supposed to kiss her." Sansa glanced up at Lysa's balcony, but it was empty now. "Your lady wife."
"I do. Lysa has no cause for complaint." He smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."
"I won't." He sounded almost like Marillion, the night he'd gotten so drunk at the wedding. Only this time Lothor Brune would not appear to save her; Ser Lothor was Petyr's man. "You shouldn't kiss me. I might have been your own daughter . . ."
"Might have been," he admitted, with a rueful smile. "But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."
"Petyr, please." Her voice sounded so weak. "Please . . ."
"A castle!"
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"
I'd forgotten how hard she does try to fight and then push back afterwards.
"Swallowing her words"--he really is trying to silence her own ideas. Replace her words with his. Svengali with a mockingbird sigil.
The mint--Sansa notes he smells of it when she first meets him. Now tastes it. It doesn't show up that much in the novels--except as a luxury. Or in reference to minting money--Jaime says Littlefinger mints gold from goldenrod.
But then, later in this same chapter: Lysa's moon tea with mint and tansy and wormwood killed her child with Littlefinger:
"NO!" Lysa gave Sansa's head another wrench. Snow eddied around them, making their skirts snap noisily. "You can't want her. You can't. She's a stupid empty-headed little girl. She doesn't love you the way I have. I've always loved you. I've proved it, haven't I?" Tears ran down her aunt's puffy red face. "I gave you my maiden's gift. I would have given you a son too, but they murdered him with moon tea, with tansy and mint and wormwood, a spoon of honey and a drop of pennyroyal. It wasn't me, I never knew, I only drank what Father gave me . . ."
And he still tastes like mint--what to do with that nastiness?
"I do. Lysa has no cause for complaint." He smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub,
Lady Dyanna--she's crusted/covered/armored in the memory of snow--right? You were asserting that snow might be literal memory, no?
"I won't." He sounded almost like Marillion, the night he'd gotten so drunk at the wedding. Only this time Lothor Brune would not appear to save her; Ser Lothor was Petyr's man. "You shouldn't kiss me. I might have been your own daughter . . ."
Ding, Ding Ding! She's got it--he's as creepy as Marillion. And no one's coming to help her.
So she keeps pushing him away--defending herself. Not just folding because no one will help her. She just isn't pushing hard enough. Push him out the door, kid!
"Might have been," he admitted, with a rueful smile. "But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."
EWWW! That really should have backed him off. If just made him creepier.
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
Ding, Ding Ding! She's got it--he's as creepy as Marillion. And no one's coming to help her.
Time for some scrambled eggs. Quick crazy thought. We have Sansa paralleling Lyanna throughout this chapter. Is this part of the scene a parallel of the past as well? Was Lord Rickard behaving inappropriately towards the Lady Lyanna? Did she run away and go into hiding as a bastard girl?
Time for some scrambled eggs. Quick crazy thought. We have Sansa paralleling Lyanna throughout this chapter. Is this part of the scene a parallel of the past as well? Was Lord Rickard behaving inappropriately towards the Lady Lyanna? Did she run away and go into hiding as a bastard girl?
Interesting--do we have anything re: Rickard hinting in this direction?
Someone on Westeros was arguing that if the Starks saw the crown as an insult by the Targs, why did they leave Lya at Harrenhal. Which didn't seem all that hefty of an argument--if the Starks thought Rhaegar's attention was enough to anger Brandon, same question applies, no?
So--back to Sansa and this moment--Littlefinger is manipulating her, swallowing her words, trying to use her. Could someone have been trying to do something similar with Lyanna? Or, back to the the killing of Lady--could Lyanna be like Arya, defending someone, getting herself into a jam, and running off?
Or a combo--we're seeing sides/angels of Lyanna's story in both Stark girls? The chapter starts with Sansa's waking from a dream of sharing a room with Arya. Wakes at the hour of the wolf. Are both girls giving hints of what happened to Lya?
One other thing--the Bard Marillion is a threat, but one others protect Sansa from. But the people who hire Marillion--no one to protect Sansa from them. So--way out on a limb: perhaps goes with the idea that Rhaegar was only the messenger. Aerys was trying to sabotage Rhaegar's attempts. Ordering Rhaegar to offend his wife, stun the crowd by doing so, and anger the Starks (and probably hopefully the Baratheons)--Lyanna, like Sansa, ends up a as a piece in the game.
But Sansa's pushing back. . . .
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.