Very true. But I was also noting the fact that, like Arya, Sansa is trying to become someone else. Given that Quaithe tries to get Dany to remember who she is, it implies that at some point, someone also tried to make her into someone else. Or to forget her past. Like Sansa in this moment.
I agree with what you are saying to a certain extent in that something similar may well have happened to Dany at some point in time. I'm just not seeing anything in particular in this scene other than the possible similarity in circumstance to tie anything here directly to Dany. Usually Martin uses some sort of character trait or type of dress, etc, to help us make the link.
If fewer scenes were the goal, he could have just skipped to the ride to the Eyrie and Sansa could have recalled the key points in her memory as she played with her newly dyed hair.
And no, I am not at all prejudiced to think this way.
I'd like to think that it matters, myself, but sometimes I wonder if I'm just delusional. I think I might be just as prejudiced as you are here. If not more so.
I agree with what you are saying to a certain extent in that something similar may well have happened to Dany at some point in time. I'm just not seeing anything in particular in this scene other than the possible similarity in circumstance to tie anything here directly to Dany. Usually Martin uses some sort of character trait or type of dress, etc, to help us make the link.
An excellent point--I may be much to far out on a limb.
I'd like to think that it matters, myself, but sometimes I wonder if I'm just delusional. I think I might be just as prejudiced as you are here. If not more so.
"Towers and Prejudice"--an odd combination of John Cleese and Jane Austen?
Word. Everyone else got the cool people to look up to. Sansa got Cersei and Littlefinger.
But she also got highly influenceable people--the Hound and now Sweetrobin. That may come in handy.
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.
"Alayne . . . Stone, would it be?" When he nodded, she said, "But who is my mother?"
"Kella?"
"Please no," she said, mortified.
"I was teasing. Your mother was a gentlewoman of Braavos, daughter of a merchant prince. We met in Gulltown when I had charge of the port. She died giving you birth, and entrusted you to the Faith. I have some devotional books you can look over. Learn to quote from them. Nothing discourages unwanted questions as much as a flow of pious bleating. In any case, at your flowering you decided you did not wish to be a septa and wrote to me. That was the first I knew of your existence." He fingered his beard. "Do you think you can remember all that?"
"I hope. It will be like playing a game, won't it?"
"Are you fond of games, Alayne?"
The new name would take some getting used to. "Games? I . . . I suppose it would depend . . ."
Grisel reappeared before he could say more, balancing a large platter. She set it down between them. There were apples and pears and pomegranates, some sad-looking grapes, a huge blood orange. The old woman had brought a round of bread as well, and a crock of butter. Petyr cut a pomegranate in two with his dagger, offering half to Sansa. "You should try and eat, my lady."
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 teasing. Your mother was a gentlewoman of Braavos, daughter of a merchant prince. We met in Gulltown when I had charge of the port. She died giving you birth, and entrusted you to the Faith. I have some devotional books you can look over. Learn to quote from them. Nothing discourages unwanted questions as much as a flow of pious bleating. In any case, at your flowering you decided you did not wish to be a septa and wrote to me. That was the first I knew of your existence." He fingered his beard. "Do you think you can remember all that?"
Okay--given over to the faith. . . that's almost Tyene Sand, no?
Grisel reappeared before he could say more, balancing a large platter. She set it down between them. There were apples and pears and pomegranates, some sad-looking grapes, a huge blood orange. The old woman had brought a round of bread as well, and a crock of butter. Petyr cut a pomegranate in two with his dagger, offering half to Sansa. "You should try and eat, my lady."
Cue the Garden of Eden references.
Not to mention the underworld influence of Hades and Persephone.
The blood orange. . . I wonder if Martin knows "Isabella and the Pot of Basil"--Keats adapted it from the Decameron (early Renaissance Italian poem).
Before Isabella's family kill her beloved and she then steals his head to grow a basil plant on so she can always keep him with her (yup), they have a dinner involving blood oranges.
Or I may be working much too hard.
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.
"Alayne . . . Stone, would it be?" When he nodded, she said, "But who is my mother?"
So, I'm not really sure what maade me think to look this up tonight, but I'm about to go off the crazy train again. I looked at the Tarbeck family tree. The only Tarbecks noted throughout the history of Westeros are the Tarbecks during the Reyne/Tarbeck Rebellion and also from the time of the Targaryan conquest:
Lord Alyn Tarbeck, Lord of Tarbeck Hall. He married Lady Jeyne Westerling
Alayne seems like an interesting name for a woman of Tarbeck heritage that would be in hiding, doesn't it?
"I was teasing. Your mother was a gentlewoman of Braavos, daughter of a merchant prince. We met in Gulltown when I had charge of the port. She died giving you birth, and entrusted you to the Faith. I have some devotional books you can look over. Learn to quote from them. Nothing discourages unwanted questions as much as a flow of pious bleating. In any case, at your flowering you decided you did not wish to be a septa and wrote to me. That was the first I knew of your existence." He fingered his beard. "Do you think you can remember all that?"
Then we have this. Guess what the sigil of House Tarbeck is? The seven pointed star mixed blue and silver. Plus the surviving Tarbeck girls were shipped off to the Silent Sisters. Then we add in the part about Bravos where Littlefinger's grandfather is supposedly from. It's almost like a possible combined heritage of himself that he is giving to Sansa.
Before Isabella's family kill her beloved and she then steals his head to grow a basil plant on so she can always keep him with her (yup), they have a dinner involving blood oranges.
Ew! OK. Now you're making me rethink the name I gave to my daughter....
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?
Alayne seems like an interesting name for a woman of Tarbeck heritage that would be in hiding, doesn't it?
Well, Alayne is the feminine of Alyn, no? Very interesting. Also, a Lady Ellyn Reyne helped spur the rebellion by putting her relatives in positions of power and giving them favors.
Then we have this. Guess what the sigil of House Tarbeck is? The seven pointed star mixed blue and silver. Plus the surviving Tarbeck girls were shipped off to the Silent Sisters. Then we add in the part about Bravos where Littlefinger's grandfather is supposedly from. It's almost like a possible combined heritage of himself that he is giving to Sansa.
Nice! And the Reynes and Tarbecks "stole" gold from the Lannisters in plain site--not unlike Baelish as Master of Coin.
Not sure on the backstory, but Baelish came up with it right quick. He could have made it all up before--or cobbled together something familiar.
Ew! OK. Now you're making me rethink the name I gave to my daughter....
Sorry! Just keep her away from Basil plants and homicidal relatives and all should be well.
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.