Operation Stumpy Re-Read
TWOW: Mercy (Arya)
She woke with a gasp, not knowing who she was, or where. The smell of blood was heavy in her nostrils… or was that her nightmare, lingering? She had dreamed of wolves again, of running through some dark pine forest with a great pack at her hells, hard on the scent of prey. [...] She took a breath to quiet the howling in her heart, trying to remember more of what she'd dreamt, but most of it had gone already. There had been blood in it, though, and a full moon overhead, and a tree that watched her as she ran.
A full moon, with Bran watching, how sweet.
Allow me to revisit an old theory from AFFC.
In 2014, George confirmed Jeyne Westerling will make an appearance in the prologue of The Winds of Winter. I speculated that it seems highly plausible that the tension-filled escort to Casterly Rock will serve as the focus of that chapter.
In case you weren't here for Jaime VII, AFFC, there is significant emphasis placed on how critical that escort is, and what a disaster it would be if Edmure and/or Jeyne were to escape.
Lord Beric may try to free Edmure before they reach the Golden Tooth. Jaime did not want to have to capture Tully for a third time. - Jaime VII, AFFC
x
"Show them in." At least the girl did not vanish too. - Jaime VII, AFFC
x
When Edmure and the Westerlings departed, four hundred men rode with them; Jaime had doubled the escort again at the last moment. - Jaime VII, AFFC
x
"We don't know where the Blackfish is," Jaime reminded him, "but if he can cut Edmure free, he will."
"That will not happen, my lord." Like most innkeeps, Ser Forley was no man's fool. "Scouts and outriders will screen our march, and we'll fortify our camps by night. I have picked ten men to stay with Tully day and night, my best longbowmen. If he should ride so much as a foot off the road, they will loose so many shafts at him that his own mother would take him for a goose." - Jaime VII, AFFC
x
"Good." Jaime would as lief have Tully reach Casterly Rock safely, but better dead than fled. - Jaime VII, AFFC
x
"—the Young Wolf's widow," Jaime finished, "and twice as dangerous as Edmure if she were ever to escape us." - Jaime VII, AFFC
The problem is, Lady Stoneheart is undermanned and not well positioned to intercept, and the Blackfish is one man against four hundred, so how could Edmure and/or Jeyne possibly escape?
Well, it just so happens that as we progress through Jaime's chapters, we get frequent updates on a certain pack of wolves.
The next day Ser Dermot of the Rainwood returned to the castle, empty-handed. When asked what he'd found, he answered, "Wolves. Hundreds of the bloody beggars." He'd lost two sentries to them. The wolves had come out of the dark to savage them. "Armed men in mail and boiled leather, and yet the beasts had no fear of them. Before he died, Jate said the pack was led by a she-wolf of monstrous size. A direwolf, to hear him tell it. The wolves got in amongst our horse lines too. The bloody bastards killed my favorite bay." - Jaime VII, AFFC
Hundreds of the bloody things!
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
If you are, scroll up, and reread the intro to Arya's first TWOW chapter.
Doesn't it feel like we're being offered a brief glimpse into the events of the prologue?
+.+.+
Half-light filled the room, grey and gloomy. Shivering, she sat up in bed and ran a hand across her scalp. Stubble bristled against her palm. I need to shave before Izembaro sees. Mercy, I'm Mercy, and tonight I'll be raped and murdered. Her true name was Mercedene, but Mercy was all anyone ever called her…
Get it, get it??
"Some call her that. Some call her other things. The Silent Sister. Mother Merciless. The Hangwoman." - Brienne VIII, AFFC
x
"Mycah." Arya stepped away from him. "You don't deserve the gift of mercy." - Arya XIII, ASOS
+.+.+
The air had grown chilly… and a good thing, else she might have slept all day. It would be just like Mercy to sleep through her own rape.
You know how they made Bran emotionally detached, and socially disconnected?
I'm being totally sincere when I say that's how I would describe Arya in this chapter. It's unsettling, and difficult to read.
+.+.+
Dipping a rough cloth, she washed herself head to heel, standing on one leg at a time to scrub her calloused feet.
At least she's bathing.
If you look hard enough you can still find remnants of Arya.
"Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours." Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself. - Eddard V, AGOT
+.+.+
After that she found her razor. A bare scalp helped the wigs fit better, Izembaro claimed.
Arya following in the footsteps of Cersei and Daenerys.
+.+.+
One of her stockings needed mending, she saw as she pulled it up. She would ask the Snapper for help; her own sewing was so wretched that the wardrobe mistress usually took pity on her.
Again, if you look hard enough you can still find remnants of Arya.
+.+.+
Last of all she threw her cloak across her shoulders. It was a real mummer's cloak, purple wool lined in red silk, with a hood to keep the rain off, and three secret pockets too. She'd hid some coins in one of those, an iron key in another, a blade in the last.
What's the key? To the sanctum?
One passage was closed off by a heavy iron door. The priest hung the lantern from a hook, slipped a hand inside his robe, and produced an ornate key. - The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD
If it is, I don't think she's supposed to have one of those.
+.+.+
Most days she preferred to go the long way, down the Ragman's Road along the Outer Harbor, where she had the sea before her and the sky above, and a clear view across the Great Lagoon to the Arsenal and the piney slopes of Sellagoro's Shield. Sailors would hail her as she passed the docks, calling down from the decks of tarry Ibbenese whalers and big-bellied Westerosi cogs.
Is the harbor your favourite spot, Mercy?
+.+.+
The long way also took her across the Bridge of Eyes with its carved stone faces.
How could this not have something to do with Bran?
+.+.+
She heard a cat yowl plaintively. Braavos was a good city for cats, and they roamed everywhere, especially at night. In the fog all cats are grey, Mercy thought. In the fog all men are killers.
Same in the riverlands.
Behind it sat a woman all in grey - Brienne VIII, AFFC
x
but the woman in grey had eyes only for the pommel - Brienne VIII, AFFC
x
The woman in grey gave no answer. - Brienne VIII, AFFC
x
The woman in grey hissed through her fingers. - Brienne VIII, AFFC
The other girl in grey.
+.+.+
Mercy passed an old man with a lantern walking the other way, and envied him his light. The street was so gloomy she could scarcely see where she was stepping. In the humbler parts of the city, the houses, shops, and warehouses crowded together, leaning on each other like drunken lovers, their upper stories so close that you could step from one balcony to the next. The streets below became dark tunnels where every footfall echoed. The small canals were even more hazardous, since many of the houses that lined them had privies jutting out over the water.
You'll be fine. I trust you in dark tunnels, child.
+.+.+
Izembaro loved to give the Sealord's speech from The Merchant's Melancholy Daughter, about how "here the last Titan yet stands, astride the stony shoulders of his brothers," but Mercy preferred the scene where the fat merchant shat on the Sealord's head as he passed underneath in his gold-and-purple barge. Only in Braavos could something like that happen, it was said, and only in Braavos would Sealord and sailor alike howl with laughter to see it.
The Merchant's Melancholy Daughter and the Titan had me thinking this is somehow related to Sansa and Littlefinger, but I have no idea how.
+.+.+
When Izembaro had first dubbed himself the King of the Mummers, the company had taken a wicked pleasure in it, savoring the outrage of their rivals from the Dome and the Blue Lantern. Of late, though, Izembaro had begun to take his title too seriously. "He will only play kings now," Marro said, rolling his eyes, "and if the play has no king in it, he would sooner not stage it at all." The Bloody Hand offered two kings, the fat one and the boy. Izembaro would play the fat one. It was not a large part, but he had a fine speech as he lay dying, and a splendid fight with a demonic boar before that.
This play is sounding a bit familiar!
+.+.+
Izembaro was telling everyone that he expected the Gate to be packed to the rafters this evening, despite the fog. "The King of Westeros is sending his envoy to do homage to the King of the Mummers tonight," he told his troupe. "We will not disappoint our fellow monarch."
I doubt Tommen is alive at this point, I'm guessing they haven't received the memo. I could be wrong though.
+.+.+
Every mummer's troupe had to have a dwarf. He [Bobono] was theirs. When he saw Mercy, he gave her a leer. "Oho," he said, "there she is. Is the little girl all ready for her rape?" He smacked his lips.
There's a dwarf in this play! I wonder what role he'll play.
+.+.+
The King of the Mummers ignored the brief commotion. He was still talking, telling the mummers how magnificent they must be. Besides the Westerosi envoy, there would be keyholders in the crowd this evening, and famous courtesans as well. He did not intend for them to leave with a poor opinion of the Gate.
The Westerosi envoy is Harys Swyft, master of coin, and Cersei Lannister's new (old) lapdog. The keyholders are five officials from the Iron Bank.
That seems like a promising sign for Queen Cersei.
+.+.+
And Bobono's cock was indeed flopping out. It was made to flop out, for the rape. What a hideous thing, Mercy thought as she knelt before the dwarf to fix him. The cock was a foot long and as thick as her arm, big enough to be seen from the highest balcony. The dyer had done a poor job with the leather, though; the thing was a mottled pink and white, with a bulbous head the color of a plum. Mercy pushed it back into Bobono's breeches and laced him back up. "Mercy," he sang as she tied him tight, "Mercy, Mercy, come to my room tonight and make a man of me." "I'll make a eunuch of you if you keep unlacing yourself just so I'll fiddle with your crotch." "We were meant to be together, Mercy," Bobono insisted. "Look, we're just the same height."
Even his manhood was ugly, thick and veined, with a bulbous purple head. - Sansa III, ASOS
This play follows canon better than Game of Thrones.
+.+.+
He is teasing me, Mercy thought. He's not drunk tonight, he knows the show perfectly well. "We are doing Phario's new Bloody Hand, in honor of the envoy from the Seven Kingdoms." "Now I recall." Bobono lowered his voice to a sinister croak. "The seven-faced god has cheated me," he said. "My noble sire he made of purest gold, and gold he made my siblings, boy and girl. But I am formed of darker stuff, of bones and blood and clay, twisted into this rude shape you see before you." With that, he grabbed at her chest, fumbling for a nipple. "You have no titties. How can I rape a girl with no titties?" She caught his nose between her thumb and forefinger and twisted. "You'll have no nose until you get your hands off me." "Owwwww," the dwarf squealed, releasing her. "I'll grow titties in a year or two." Mercy rose, to tower over the little man. "But you'll never grow another nose. You think of that, before you touch me there." Bobono rubbed his tender nose. "There's no need to get so shy. I'll be raping you soon enough." "Not until the second act."
"I always give Wendeyne's titties a nice squeeze when I rape her in The Anguish of the Archon," the dwarf complained. "She likes it, and the pit does too. You have to please the pit."
Honestly, what compelled George R. R. Martin to write this?
+.+.+
Daena recognized some Gate regulars in the crowd, and pointed them out for her; the dyer Dellono with his pinched white face and mottled purple hands, Galeo the sausage-maker in his greasy leather apron, tall Tomarro with his pet rat on his shoulder. "Tomarro best not let Galeo see that rat," Daena warned. "That's the only meat he puts in them sausages, I hear." Mercy covered her mouth and laughed.
Hide the rat!
Not that it matters, but I'm a little thrown off by a Braavosi mummer having a Targaryen name.
+.+.+
The Sealord had never visited the Gate, but Izembaro named a box for him anyway, the largest and most opulent in the house. "That must be the Westerosi envoy. Have you ever seen such clothes on an old man? And look, he's brought the Black Pearl!"
[...]
"They should call her the Brown Pearl," Mercy said to Daena. "She's more brown than black." "The first Black Pearl was black as a pot of ink," said Daena. "She was a pirate queen, fathered by a Sealord's son on a princess from the Summer Isles. A dragon king from Westeros took her for his lover." "I would like to see a dragon," Mercy said wistfully.
Be careful what you wish for.
I still don't understand the purpose of all this Black Pearl x Targaryen backstory.
+.+.+
"Why does the envoy have a chicken on his chest?"
Daena howled. "Mercy, don't you know anything? It's his siggle. In the Sunset Kingdoms all the lords have siggles. Some have flowers, some have fish, some have bears and elks and other things. See, the envoy's guards are wearing lions."
It wouldn't be an Arya chapter if she wasn't struggling to identify a sigil.
+.+.+
There were four guards; big, hard-looking men in ringmail, with heavy Westerosi longswords sheathed at their hips. Their crimson cloaks were bordered in whorls of gold, and golden lions with red garnet eyes clasped each cloak at the shoulder. When Mercy glanced at the faces beneath the gilded, lion-crested helm, her belly gave a quiver. The gods have given me a gift.
Uh oh!
Dunsen, Polliver, Chiswyck, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei.
+.+.+
"What of him? Do you know him?" "No." Mercy had been born and bred in Braavos, how could she know some Westerosi? She had to think a moment. "It's only… well, he's fair to look on, don't you think?" He was, in a rough-hewn way, though his eyes were hard. Daena shrugged. "He's very old. Not so old as the other ones, but… he could be thirty. And Westerosi. They're terrible savages, Mercy. Best stay well away from his sort."
George thinks calling the westerners savages one time is going to save him from criticism.
Every time a young girl calls 30-year-old men old, I smile.
+.+.+
"If the Snapper comes looking for me, tell her that I went off to read my lines again." She only had a few, and most were just, "Oh, no, no, no," and "Don't, oh don't, don't touch me," and "Please, m'lord, I am still a maiden," but this was the first time Izembaro had given her any lines at all, so it was only to be expected that poor Mercy would want to get them right.
Good lord.
What do we know about this play? We know a dwarf playing Tyrion is going to rape the maiden Mercy is playing. Any guesses who that might be?
I know what you're thinking, but it's probably not Sansa.
Mercy, I'm Mercy, and tonight I'll be raped and murdered.
Sansa wasn't murdered, and she'd have more lines.
+.+.+
"Seven hells, this place is damp," she heard her guard complain. "I'm chilled to the bones. Where are the bloody orange trees? I always heard there were orange trees in the Free Cities. Lemons and limes. Pomegranates. Hot peppers, warm nights, girls with bare bellies. Where are the bare-bellied girls, I ask you?" "Down in Lys, and Myr, and Old Volantis," the other guard replied. He was an older man, big-bellied and grizzled. "I went to Lys with Lord Tywin once, when he was Hand to Aerys. Braavos is north of King's Landing, fool. Can't you read a bloody map?"
Is that George R. R. Martin trolling his own fanbase?
+.+.+
"How long do you think we'll be here?"
"Longer than you'd like," the old man replied. "If he goes back without the gold the queen will have his head.
In case you missed ADWD's Epilogue, that is a pretty blatant spoiler sitting in plain sight.
Harys Swyft wasn't to travel to Braavos until after Cersei's trial, an event where there's a possibility she'll be executed.
Now he finds himself in Braavos, facing the prospect of losing his head if he doesn't retrieve gold for a queen. Doesn't sound like Margaery Tyrell, does it? Looks like Cersei Lannister managed to survive!
We're now forced to ask ourselves why Margaery Tyrell (Queen), Mace Tyrell (Hand of the King), Randyll Tarly (Master of laws), Paxter Redwyne (Master of ships - not currently in King's Landing, but I'm making a point), and the High Sparrow (High Septon of the Faith of the Seven) are suddenly granting Cersei Lannister the authority to do anything at all.
I have a theory: they're dead, she killed most of them at the trial.
+.+.+
"Longer than you'd like," the old man replied. "If he goes back without the gold the queen will have his head. Besides, I seen that wife of his. There's steps in Casterly Rock she can't go down for fear she'd get stuck, that's how fat she is. Who'd go back to that, when he has his sooty queen?"
For some reason, we're getting additional information about Harys Swyft's unknown wife. That tells me we might be seeing both her and Dorna Swyft in King's Landing soon (Kevan's funeral?).
"Hardstone has cleared the broken men from Darry castle," he replied. "Lancel's bride awaits us there."
"Will your lady wife (Dorna) be joining you for the nuptials?" - Cersei III, AFFC
x
"Your wife … do you mean to bring her to court?"
"No." Dorna was a gentle soul, never comfortable but at home with friends and kin around her. - Epilogue, ADWD
That should please Cersei.
+.+.+
When the dwarf appeared suddenly from behind a wooden tombstone, the crowd began to hiss and curse. Bobono waddled to the front of the stage and leered at them. "The seven-faced god has cheated me," he began, snarling the words. "My noble sire he made of purest gold, and gold he made my siblings, boy and girl. But I am formed of darker stuff, of bones and blood and clay…"
By then Marro had appeared behind him, gaunt and terrible in the Stranger's long black robes. His face was black as well, his teeth red and shiny with blood, while ivory horns jutted upwards from his brow. Bobono could not see him, but the balconies could, and now the pit as well. The Gate grew deathly quiet. Marro moved forward silently.
A mummer playing the Stranger appears behind Tyrion?
This brings me immense joy.
+.+.+
So did Mercy. The costumes were all hung, and the Snapper was busy sewing Daena into her gown for the court scene, so Mercy's absence should not be noted. Quiet as a shadow, she slipped around the back again, up to where the guardsmen stood outside the envoy's box.
Again, if you look hard enough you can still find remnants of Arya.
+.+.+
On stage, Bobono was bargaining with Marro's sinister Stranger. He had a big voice for such a little man, and he made it ring off the highest rafters now. "Give me the cup," he told the Stranger, "for I shall drink deep. And if it tastes of gold and lion’s blood, so much the better. As I cannot be the hero, let me be the monster, and lesson them in fear in place of love."
Bargaining with the Stranger? No damnit, hold firm, Stranger.
What is this drinking deep? Cersei and Jaime poison things? Joffrey's cup? I don't understand this.
Also, that last line sounds like something Daenerys might say.
+.+.+
She studied it carefully, to be sure. Am I too young for him? she wondered. Too plain? Too skinny? She hoped he wasn't the sort of man who liked big breasts on a girl. Bobono had been right about her chest. It would be best if I could take him back to my place, have him all to myself. But will he come with me?
x
He'll want me or he won't, she thought, so let the play begin.
x
Fuss and feathers, Mercy thought, they only know the Common Tongue. That was no good. Give it up or go ahead. She could not give it up. She wanted him so bad.
Are you having fun yet?
+.+.+
Mercy looked down at her feet, so shy. "Izembaro said to please the lords," she whispered. "If there is anything you want, anything at all…" The two guardsmen exchanged a look. Then the handsome one reached out and touched her breast. "Anything?" "You’re disgusting," said the older man. "Why? If this Izembaro wants to be hospitable, it would be rude to refuse." He gave her nipple a tweak through the fabric of her dress, just the way the dwarf had done when she was fixing his cock for him. "Mummers are the next best thing to whores." "Might be, but this one is a child." "I am not," lied Mercy. "I'm a maiden now." "Not for long," said the comely one. "I'm Lord Rafford, sweetling, and I know just what I want. Hike up those skirts now, and lean back against that wall."
"Not here," Mercy said, brushing his hands away. "Not where the play is on. I might cry out, and Izembaro would be mad."
Isn't this awesome?
+.+.+
He grabbed her wrist. "I'll do the teaching. Time for your first lesson." He pulled her hard against him and kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. It was all wet and slimy, like an eel. Mercy licked it with her own tongue, then broke away from him, breathless. "Not here. Someone might see. My room's not far, but hurry. I have to be back before the second act, or I'll miss my rape."
She's so incredibly badass, isn't she?
+.+.+
"Mercy," he said. "My name is Raff."
"I know." She slipped her hand between his legs, and felt how hard he was through the wool of his breeches.
"The laces," he urged her. "Be a sweet girl and undo them." Instead she slid her finger down along the inside of his thigh. He gave a grunt. "Damn, be careful there, you —"
Mercy gave a gasp and stepped away, her face confused and frightened. "You're bleeding."
"Wha —" He looked down at himself. "Gods be good. What did you do to me, you little cunt?" The red stain spread across his thigh, soaking the heavy fabric.
The creators of Game of Thrones would like you to cheer now.
+.+.+
"Mother have mercy, girl. A healer… run and find a healer, quick now."
"There's one on the next canal, but he won't come. You have to go to him. Can't you walk?"
"Walk?" His fingers were slick with blood. "Are you blind, girl? I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. I can't walk on this."
"Well," she said, "I don't know how you'll get there, then."
"You'll need to carry me."
See? thought Mercy. You know your line, and so do I.
"Think so?" asked Arya, sweetly.
Raff the Sweetling looked up sharply as the long thin blade came sliding from her sleeve. She slipped it through his throat beneath the chin, twisted, and ripped it back out sideways with a single smooth slash. A fine red rain followed, and in his eyes the light went out.
There's Arya! Doing Arya things.
Earlier:
"You could be a mummer, if you wanted," she told him, as he pressed her up against the wall of the playhouse.
"Me?" The guardsman snorted. "Not me, girl. All that bloody talking, I wouldn't remember half of it."
"It's hard at first," she admitted. "But after a time it comes easier. I could teach you to say a line. I could."
Annndddd much earlier than that:
"Can you walk?" He sounded concerned.
"No," said Lommy. "You got to carry me."
"Think so?" The man lifted his spear casually and drove the point through the boy's soft throat. Lommy never even had time to yield again. He jerked once, and that was all. - Arya V, ACOK
Rest in hell, Raff the Sweetling.
+.+.+
"Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," she sang sadly. A foolish, giddy girl she'd been, but good hearted. She would miss her, and she would miss Daena and the Snapper and the rest, even Izembaro and Bobono. This would make trouble for the Sealord and the envoy with the chicken on his chest, she did not doubt. She would think about that later, though. Just now, there was no time. I had best run. Mercy still had some lines to say, her first lines and her last, and Izembaro would have her pretty little empty head if she were late for her own rape.
Make trouble for the Sealord and the envoy? Is the Iron Bank going to be forced to give Harys Swyft money to make up for this? Cersei Lannister, you never lose. Lol.
Anyway, notice how the author intentionally made that impossible to enjoy? Apparently David & Dan didn't.
Final thoughts:
And so, we reach the end of the last Arya chapter, a character who holds a special place in my heart.
Before we proceed, I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to someone without whom this reread project wouldn't have been possible.
Thank you, friend. We'll meet again someday.
Next chapter: Arianne II
-> return to menu <-
