dayne

Well, that happened to me with a post from a Tumblr user (I don't remember their name, so all credit goes to them) where they described how Maekar, in a way, is jealous of Valarr because he feels Valarr has taken away Maekar's attention and place in Bealor's life. And I must admit that I love this trope because of the anguish, pain, and difficult-to-accept feelings it generates simply by reading it, but at the same time it makes me think of countless other possibilities for why Maekar dislikes or dislikes his nephew Valarr instead of Bealor being the reason.

What if the reason Maekar dislikes Valarr isn't because he took his place in Bealor's life, but because Valarr inherited Bealor's worst qualities (in addition to the good ones, of course)? His complacency, his ego (and Maekar admits he's also egotistical, but Baelor surpasses him), his (erroneous) conviction that he's doing the right thing at the expense of others, and that simply by being the heir he knows better, his blindness to his own mistakes, and many other things make Maekar feel like he's reliving his youth.

Even though he knows it's unfair to burden a son with the sins of his father, he can't help but feel repulsion and rejection for every trait of Baelor's personality that he sees reflected so strongly in his nephew. Maekar believed he was doing the Valar a favor by keeping his distance; he was his nephew, and after all, he loved him. But the difference was obvious when Maekar interacted with Aelor, Aelora, and Daenora. Even the affection he had for his other nephew, Matarys, was noticeable. But Maekar couldn't force himself (even if he wanted to) to have a closer relationship with the Valarr, and everyone—the royal family, the villagers, and everyone else—noticed the rejection (to put it mildly) that Daeron II's fourth son showed toward his nephew.

Baelor often wanted to talk to Maekar about this or call his attention to his "selfish and childish" attitude toward the Valarr, but when he finally grew tired of seeing Maekar neglect the Valarr to be affectionate with his other nephews and tried to put a stop to it, he was immediately stopped by Daeron II, who told him that he was explicitly forbidden from demanding or questioning Maekar.

Although it was clear that Maekar didn't have the same closeness with the Valarr as he did with his other nephews, he had never treated him discourteously or rudely, and Baelor should (and had to, because it was a direct order from his king) leave things as they were.

Daeron II knew he was being unfair to his eldest son by not giving him an explanation or reason why he shouldn't seek retribution for the treatment his grandson was receiving from Maekar.

What father wouldn't do the same? But at the same time, Daeron II couldn't force his youngest son to feign ignorance and act like the best person when Daeron II himself could so clearly see how the worst traits and qualities of his eldest son were reflected in his grandson, and what this caused Maekar.

His fourth son fulfilled his responsibilities to the family and the kingdom, bowing his head and carrying on as he had to in his youth. (Daeron II is not blind, nor will he ever be. He saw from afar the love that Baelor and Maekar shared in their youth. He also saw how Maekar hoped his elder brother would appeal to that love when the possibility of a marriage between Baelor and Lady Jena Dondarrion was raised, and how all of Maekar's hope was shattered when he saw and heard Baelor say nothing and simply accept.

With this, Daeron II doesn't mean he expected his eldest son to shirk his responsibilities, but rather that he perfectly understood what Maekar felt at that moment: the heartbreaking certainty of understanding that the words of a loved one are not the same as actions, and that it doesn't matter how much you bleed for that person if, in the end, they won't show even a fraction of what you are willing to give when it truly matters.

I saw that you are Sansan fans. Some time ago I was thinking about the scene where Sandor and Sansa talk for the first time, the time when she fears Payne and he places his hands on her shoulders. What do you think about it? She really didn't need any help at all, the best swordman of the kingdom (Barristan) and the royal prince himself (Renly Baratheon) where already there and (if i am not wrong) they already said her that they would protect her in any danger.

Yet Sandor was already there watching over her when it wasnt needed and way before they knew each other. I sincerely think that he said her all the truth about his past in their first real conversation, and then he regrets it, because he was "infatuated" with her since day 1. Am i wrong? What do you think?

I would say that Sandor already found Sansa beautiful at that point, but was not yet in love or even infactuated with her because the turning point that makes him see her as more than just another pretty noble lady is the unexpected kindness she showed him when he told her about his brother disfiguring him and then not only getting away with it, but being made a knight.

It doesn't really strike me as being some kind of personal decision on his part to be acting as Sansa's bodyguard at that moment - she IS betrothed to the prince and is the daughter of the Hand of the King, no protection is too much protection, especially 'cause any guard that WASN'T going above and beyond for her sake would likely get severely punished if something were to happen to her. Sandor being around during that scene was probably just a pragmatic matter.

HOWEVER, George R.R. Martin loooooves making Sandor stand out to Sansa, even in scenes that involve multiple characters.

Joffrey is having all his guards torment Sansa? Sandor is the one that refuses to hit her, refers to her as a child, covers her up when she's being exposed, gives her advice on how to survive the king's wrath. THAT is him going above and beyond for her, which she notices.

Sansa is praying for all the people that are about to be involved in the Battle of Blackwater? The prayer for Sandor's safety, and for his soul in general, is the only one that is described in detail.

For God's sake, Sandor manages to stand out in Sansa's mind even in scenes where he isn't even present - hence her wishing he were the one standing guard on the room where she and all the noble ladies are, and her even assuming Sandor HAD to have been the man who saved her from being assaulted, even though at this point he had disappeared for months and was presumed dead by many people, because it's ALWAYS Sandor that protects her from harm.

This first scene might not have been something that either character expected to be important - to them it was just Sandor doing his job and Sansa being a polite little lady - but it is Martin stablishing a very clear pattern in the narrative: Sandor is Sansa's flawed, scary protector whose presence was so reassuring at first that she mistook him for her father (and again, later on she'll come to mistake any man that comes to her rescue as being Sandor, showing how much their relationship evolved from this first moment).

Most people don’t see Sandor 'The Hound’ Clegane as a desperately romantic character at first glance. And that is largely purposeful, on his part. He ensures that the 'context’ of him being a big, mean, crude, violent and scary dude in his interactions with the majority of people around him prevents them from perceiving that long-buried side of himself. But by the time he makes the above offer to Sansa, he has already revealed this secret part of his past to her. That thwarted romantic childhood-self which he allowed her to glimpse all the way back at the Tourney of the Hand, when he confessed the truth about his scars. How his older brother was the one behind the horrific burns on his face. That truth—the young boy who just wanted to play with toy knights and was cruelly punished for it—is what lies behind Sandor’s fear of fire, and it is that very fear which drives him to seek refuge in Sansa’s bedchamber on the night of the Blackwater.

So in this scene, he’s come to Sansa at his lowest, most vulnerable moment yet. The wildfire is raging around them, he has just deserted the battlefield and has come to his 'little bird’ to try to take her away. Is there a part of him that wants to take her for himself? Of course. But there’s also that echo of chivalric impulse in him, despite himself. Just as Sansa knows the truth of his fear of fire, Sandor understands the harsh reality of her situation as a young woman held hostage in the court of her enemies. A reality he has tried to drive home to her during the months of their interactions at King’s Landing. No matter the outcome of the battle, it appears at this point she will likely meet some kind of dark fate (either by being wed to the monstrous Joffrey if the Lannisters win, by being executed rather than given up to the winning side if the Lannisters lose, OR by becoming the 'spoils of war’ regardless of which side wins). More generally, Sandor is already feeling guilty and full of self-loathing for not having done anything sooner to stop the torrent of abuse that Sansa has been subjected to as Joffrey’s bethrothed since the execution of her father. At this stage, Sansa is not only a valuable hostage, but also potentially the next freaking QUEEN of the entire realm. Yet he’s offering to take her away, put her under his protection, and keep her safe. To use his brutal outward demeanour and violent reputation for her benefit. And to kill anyone who dares attempt to harm her again.

Of course, we know that in his drunken and traumatised state it is unlikely he would have been able to make good on that offer. It very well could have ended even more terribly for them both. And we also know that he’s gone about this in an unfortunate and intimidating manner: looming out of the darkness covered in blood, holding a knife to her, demanding the 'song’ she’d promised him…and he does scare her in that moment. But her response to him, to sing him a song about mercy and to touch his scarred face, gentles him and shames him. Weeping, he tears off his bloodstained white cloak—the symbol of his failure to protect her—and flees. He deems himself unworthy of her and disappears into the burning night. (He doesn’t witness the moment when Sansa chooses to hide beneath his cloak, showing that she finds him to be a worthy protector, after all.)

But the point is…He. Said. That. He made a declaration of what is the closest thing to love he can express towards her at this point in his tortured existence.

THE BRIDES OF FRANKENSTEIN

Sansa & Sandor in A Song of Ice and Fire

La Belle et la Bête (1946)

+

sansa: well kissing me was not necessary but-

whatever romantic or platonic Jon and Arya ARE soulmates and they will always choose each other before anyone else

Yes!! There truly is no other bond quite like theirs in all the books. I don't often talk about Jon and Arya because, well, lol lmao (if the person who keeps commenting on my ao3 is reading this, kindly leap, as Victarion would say). But really those two just bring me so much joy.

Do I think romantic Jonrya will happen? No. Or, not exactly. I really doubt it will ever be anything explicit; if GRRM does explore that thread, I think it will exist in the liminal—in glances, in quiet (tormented?) longing, in the unsaid. (And isn't that sweeter?)

So let us discuss in ambiguities.

I ended the other ask with: “Duty this, desire that—they always, always choose each other.” To elaborate: they are the reason the other endures, the reason the other is—not as duty demands, but as truth allows. They draw the other back from that inexorable death of self.

When Arya (as far as he knows) hangs in the balance and Jon is meant to be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he breaks and chooses Arya—and thus, Jon Snow. When Jon (Needle) is on the line and Arya is meant to be No One, she breaks and chooses Jon—and thus, Arya Stark. They are mirrors and anchors. They are each other’s soul, salvation, heart (“What do you know of my heart, priestess?”), and smile (“Needle was Jon Snow's smile”).

And yet... they have changed. Jon is no longer the boy of Arya's childhood (“Kill the boy”), and Arya is no longer the little girl of Jon’s (“She could feel the hole inside her where her heart had been”). Still, they imagine the other as untouched, as preserved in the amber of those sweet moments. These thoughts keep alive the core self, but the self has grown a shade darker. A shade colder.

To borrow from Dick Diver in Tender is the Night, “I'm not much like myself anymore.”

How do you come back to someone after so long? After horror, after blood, after choices you never thought you'd have to make have torn you apart and stitched you into something else? After your world has turned inside out and upside down and shaken you until your teeth ache and your head spins and you know you are just not right anymore—all while you were alone? All while the other was not there to bear witness? What can you possibly say to them?

Will they still know you? Will they still love you?

I think, against all reason, the answer is undoubtedly yes.

Which leads to how Jon and Arya stand as foils to Jaime and Cersei. Both pairs share physical features and deep childhood companionship, yet where the latter was wont to withhold truth (“When Jaime had discovered [the picture of her and Rhaegar] she told him it was Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys”), the former shared it freely (“…don’t… tell… Sansa!”).

There is something unconditional in Jon and Arya that the Lannister twins never knew. Time and distance made them only closer, only fonder, while those same forces fractured Jaime and Cersei to the point where he burns her letter and walks away. Of course this finds its echo in Jon receiving the Pink Letter; the moment where, as mentioned earlier, he breaks his vows for “Arya” and ultimately dies for her. 

The parallel letters expose love under trial. One is consumed, the other endures.

And this isn’t even to touch on how Jon will be altered post-resurrection. Any theoretical/logistical speculation is way above my pay grade of basic character analysis, so I won’t attempt it. But we do know this: resurrection fixates the subject on their dying purpose, their “unfinished business,” if you will. Jon’s mission up until the mutiny was to save Arya (“I think we had best change the plan”). His last thoughts were of Arya (“Stick them with the pointy end”). 

I’ll end it here:

Consider not how these darker, colder versions of Jon and Arya (anchored by each other but changed nonetheless) will connect with each other. Consider instead (!) how they will connect with anyone who isn’t them.

Like, can you imagine Arya’s astonishment? Her prim and proper, uppity lady of a sister is canoodling with the Hound? A Lannister lackey? A man who lugged her around half of Westeros for ransom, who used to be on her list for killing her friend? Who’s ugly AF and whose birth is barely above that of smallfolk? Or Tyrion, realizing that his wife who could barely look at him, who wore her courtesies like a lead shield he could not penetrate even when they were alone… fell for Joff’s bodyguard? His mean dog? A man so fearsome and brutal and ugly most could not bear to look at him or face him in melee?

Tell me the look on Littlefinger’s face wouldn’t be absolutely scrumptious as his entire plan to use Sansa and make her his freaky little wife/daughter figure completely unravels because, despite his insistence on expecting the unexpected, he really could not predict in a million years that Sandor Clegane would commit to anything or anyone outside of his unwavering hatred for his brother, and that Sansa, his little sweet and proper Catelyn 2.0, would take a step outside her known world to reciprocate his affection.

commission by Sabictali and here my other commissions.

Don't address me as "sir." I'm called the Beast! I don't like compliments. (the Beauty and the Beast by Jean Cocteau)

Sandor Clegane snarled at her. "Spare me your empty little compliments, girl...and your ser's." (A Game of Thrones - Sansa II)

At first I was indeed afraid, Father. Now, I sometimes feel like bursting out laughing. But, then I look into his eyes and they're so sad, that I have to turn away from crying. (the Beauty and the Beast by Jean Cocteau)

Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away. The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. "He was no true knight," she whispered to him. The Hound threw back his head and roared. (A Game of Thrones - Sansa II)

Belle: He's entrusted me with the key to his treasure. He has complete confidence in me. (the Beauty and the Beast by Jean Cocteau)

But Sansa understood. She knew the secret of his burned face. (A Storm of Swords - Sansa I)

Belle's Father: You manage to feel sorry for him? Belle: I bear his presence, because I'd be happy if I could make him forget his ugliness. (the Beauty and the Beast by Jean Cocteau)

It was eight long days until Lysa Arryn arrived. On five of them it rained, while Sansa sat bored and restless by the fire, beside the old blind dog. He was too sick and toothless to walk guard with Bryen anymore, and mostly all he did was sleep, but when she patted him he whined and licked her hand, and after that they were fast friends.