tyrion and sandor are the same person

jewish-alderaanian-princess  asked:

I'm speeding through adwd on my new (yellow!) kindle and I have /thoughts/ 1) I miss sansa and Sandor 2) bran annoys me I wish he didn't but he does 3) poor Jon someone protect this BOY 4) I love Davos 5) Tyrion is the first time I understand the term problematic fav 6) I think one of the things that really sets asoiaf apart from other fantasy series' is the lack of Christianity like its there ofc but not drenched in it for once and I feel more... Welcome

1) Same

2) I personally love Bran and his POV, but sometimes you can see GRRM struggling with writing a character that young. He even lampshades it a bit with the first Bran chapter in ADWD opening with “Are we there yet?”, the quintessential whine of children on a roadtrip. (Though to Bran’s credit, he keeps it within his own thoughts, as well as suffering in silence in general.) But please stick with him – ADWD Bran II is amazing, and Bran III is simply transcendental, one of my favorite chapters on a literary level in all of the books.

3) FWIW, I did not spend all of Jon’s ADWD chapters going “oh dear god, please stop, no, don’t” the way I did with ADWD Tyrion’s, or in my reread of ACOK Theon. (Oh, Theon.) That will probably change whenever I do my full reread.

4) Same

5) Oh, yes. Sigh. Still a favorite, though!

6) Yeah, high fantasy series set in worlds without Christianity can be pretty welcoming that way? I mean, the Faith of the Seven is a total Catholic Church expy, but it’s not Christian. You don’t get the very turnoffy aspects you get in, say, Ivanhoe. (Or Narnia, of course, but for me at least I totally missed the whole Jesuslion thing the first time I read TLTWATW, being a very sheltered kid and having no reference for it. Years later, after I learned about the crucifixion etc, that’s when I went… ohhhh, I get it now.) Mind you, there’s no real Judaism expy in ASOIAF either. (Some consider Petyr Baelish to be somewhat Jewish-coded, but that’s more in the sense of stereotypes and anti-Semitic caricatures, nothing to do with the religion. And others see the Starks/Old Gods as Jewish, but to me they read very very Celtic/pagan, as GRRM wrote them. The difference may be ‘cos I’m ffb, idk, I get hung up on religious practice and philosophy rather than cultural motifs when thinking about “Jewish things”, probably.)

BTW, if you want to see a really well worldbuilt religion that isn’t an expy of anything in particular at all, I will once again rec Lois McMaster Bujold’s World of the Five Gods. And I don’t know if you’ve ever read Terry Pratchett’s Discworld, but in most of the books religion is not a thing as such, and Omnianism (the Christianity expy) when introduced is handled extremely well in one of my favorite books ever about the concept of faith and gods, and well, please read Discworld. :)

anonymous asked:

What do you love about Sansa Stark?

Anon, prepare yourself because the  anwer is LONG. There are a lot of things that I love about her (she is my favorite character in ASOIAF afterall..). 

The first reason  that comes to mind is that she is NORMAL. She starts the story as a very avarage 12 years old, she loves stories of knights and songs about love. She wants to live in a fairytale. These are all things that made me feel connected to her from the start. 

I love her flaws: how  sometimes she cant face the truth, because it scares her.  It makes her more relatable. Her relationship with lies its one of the most interesting things in the books. (the unkiss! the trident incident! and i can go on and on…). 

I love her kindness, how she saved Dontos, or helped Lancel. 

Her desire to be loved and to find someone to love. This is something that breaks my heart, I dont like how some people accuse Sansa on being power hungry and wanting to be queen because she wants to rule everyone (looking at you dumb and dumber). Thats not what i understand from her story. Sansa wants to be loved, she wants to love. To the point that she betrays her father for it (it was a betrayal….just not for power but FOR LOVE). 

“How well I know that, child,” Cersei said, her voice so kind and sweet. “Why else should you have come to me and told me of your father’s plan to send you away from us, if not for love?

“It was for love,” Sansa said in a rush. “Father wouldn’t even give me leave to say farewell.” She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn’t loved Joffrey as much as she did” 

Tyrion was surprised. “Truly? His own daughter?“ Sansa had always seemed such a sweet child, tender and courteous.

The girl was wet with love. She would have done anything for Joffrey, until he cut off her father’s head and called it mercy. That put an end to that.“ 

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

Wich brings me to another reason as to why i love Sansa: she learns from her mistakes. She adapts. She uses the hard lessons to be better. 

How she loves to sew and dance, how she uses her femine traits, her lady courtesy as an armor. Sansa is not just a lady, she is THE LADY.  She rappresents all that is good about that term.

Ser Boros was an ugly man with a broad chest and short, bandy legs. His nose was flat, his cheeks baggy with jowls, his hair grey and brittle. Today he wore white velvet, and his snowy cloak was fastened with a lion brooch. The beast had the soft sheen of gold, and his eyes were tiny rubies. "You look very handsome and splendid this morning, Ser Boros,” Sansa told him. A lady remembered her courtesies, and she was resolved to be a lady no matter what.

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord." 

How Smart she is. (but i hate how she doesnt believe in herself..she doesnt trust her instinct because she lost lady) 

Her relationship with Bran (how similiar they are, both young and loved children whose hopes and dreams are broken early in their life)

Her (very problematic but real) relatioship with her sister Arya. 

Her strange link  with the greek goodness Persephone (who blossomed in the spring but is the Queen of Winter) 

How Grrm is setting up the classical story of the student who surpasses the master with her and littlefinger. 

Her strange parallels with Jon snow (maaan i could go on and on on those…)

How she brings out the kindest side of  the characters personality  like Tyrion, Sandor and yes even Dontos. 

How she looks like Catelyn but has the same sense of honor as Ned.

How she calls her self: the blood of Winterfell. How even after joffrey and the lannisters, and losing her direwolf she is still A STARK.

How she builds a castle in the snow which rappresents her home. 

But my ultime reason for loving Sansa stark with all of my heart is this quote:

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can’t be lies.  

This is important for me because Sansa is a person what endured beatings, and awful men and is afraid for  her life since she was a 12 years old who has seen the “love of her life” kill her father. Still after all she has suffered, she believes that there are good people, that the hope is not all lost. She didnt become cynical, she becomes stronger but not hateful. 

kallielefave gifted us this amazing fanart, wajuuniverse wanted someone to write a fic about this and I was feeling like writing some silly stuff tonight…

No warning, but I apologize for the amount of silliness; no one beta read this ficlet… 

Sansa was pretty, although he’d never tell her she was. She was a whiner and she didn’t need to know he found her pretty, nor that he repeated to himself how pretty she was, until it didn’t make any sense. Sansa is pretty Sansa is pretty Sansa is pretty… Pretty is Sansa. Maybe the word ‘pretty’ and Sansa had appeared the same day. Maybe ‘pretty’ has been invented for her.

Keep reading

Ok so this will be ranty because this is something that truly baffles me: 

Every time I talk about how I find Jorah Mormont a shallow, poorly written, deeply boring character, a font of unpleasantness with no upshot, for me a source of naught but nausea and a desire to do anything but read on, several people tell me that Jorah goes through a period of self-reflection when he’s enslaved in ADWD, that he perceives the irony of being an enslaved slaver, that he increasingly gets what he’s done wrong in life but is repressing and compartmentalizing it. 

And this is just nowhere in the text. It’s pure headcanon, and of course there’s nothing wrong with that, but projecting it onto the page gives Jorah an arc that GRRM doesn’t bother to. Here is every appearance Jorah makes in ADWD after being enslaved: 

Two slavers dragged Jorah Mormont onto the block to take her place. The knight was naked but for a breechclout, his back raw from the whip, his face so swollen as to be almost unrecognizable. Chains bound his wrists and ankles. A little taste of the meal he cooked for me, Tyrion thought, yet he found that he could take no pleasure from the big knight’s miseries.

Even in chains, Mormont looked dangerous, a hulking brute with big, thick arms and slopedshoulders. All that coarse dark hair on his chest made him look more beast than man. Both his eyes were blackened, two dark pits in that grotesquely swollen face. Upon one cheek he bore a brand: a demon’s mask.

When the slavers had swarmed aboard the Selaesori Qhoran, Ser Jorah had met them with longsword in hand, slaying three before they overwhelmed him. Their shipmates would gladly have killed him, but the captain forbade it; a fighter was always worth good silver. So Mormont had been chained to an oar, beaten within an inch of his life, starved, and branded.

“Big and strong, this one,” the auctioneer declared. “Plenty of piss in him. He’ll give a good show in the fighting pits. Who will start me out at three hundred?”

No one would.

Mormont paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick.

Nurse returned with Jorah Mormont. Two of their master’s slave soldiers flung him into the back of the mule cart between the dwarfs. The knight did not struggle. All the fight went out of him when he heard that his queen had wed, Tyrion realized. One whispered word had done what fists and whips and clubs could not; it had broken him. I should have let the crone have him. He’s going to be as useful as nipples on a breastplate.

Ser Jorah Mormont looked at no one and nothing. He sat huddled, brooding in his chains. Tyrion looked at everything and everyone.

Jorah Mormont raised his head and stared at Nurse. Tyrion could see the tightness in his arms. He’s going to throttle him, and that will be the end for all of us. But the knight only grimaced, then turned to watch the bloody show.

Jorah Mormont accepted his collar in a sullen silence, but Penny began to cry as the armorer was fastening her own into place.

The knight had not adapted well to bondage. When called upon to play the bear and carry off the maiden fair, he had been sullen and uncooperative, shuffling lifelessly through his paces when he deigned to take part in their mummery at all. Though he had not attempted escape, nor offered violence to his captors, he would ignore their commands oft as not or reply with muttered curses. 

None of this had amused Nurse, who made his displeasure clear by confining Mormont in an iron cage and having him beaten every evening as the sun sank into Slaver’s Bay. The knight absorbed the beatings silently; the only sounds were the muttered curses of the slaves who beat him and the dull thuds of their clubs pounding against Ser Jorah’s bruised and battered flesh.

The man is a shell, Tyrion thought, the first time he saw the big knight beaten. I should have held my tongue and let Zahrina have him. It might have been a kinder fate than this.

Mormont emerged from the cramped confines of the cage bent and squinting, with both eyes blackened and his back crusty with dried blood. His face was so bruised and swollen that he hardly looked human. He was naked except for a breechclout, a filthy bit of yellow rag. “You’re to help them carry water,” Morgo told him.

Ser Jorah’s only reply was a sullen stare. Some men would sooner die free than live a slave, I suppose. 

He turned to Ser Jorah. “A few more beatings and you’ll be uglier than I am, Mormont. Tell me, is there any fight left in you?”

The big knight raised two blackened eyes and looked at him as he might look at a bug. “Enough to crack your neck, Imp.”

The bravo curled a lip, whilst the fellow with the quill chuckled at his insolence. But it was Jorah Mormont who supplied their names. “Inkpots is the company paymaster. The peacock calls himself Kasporio the Cunning, though Kasporio the Cunt would be more apt. A nasty piece of work.”

Mormont’s face might have been unrecognizable in its battered state, but his voice was unchanged. Kasporio gave him a startled look, whilst the wrinkles around Plumm’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Jorah Mormont? Is that you? Less proud than when you scampered off, though. Must we still call you ser?

Ser Jorah’s swollen lips twisted into a grotesque grin. “Give me a sword and you can call me what you like, Ben.”

Kasporio edged backward. “You … she sent you away …”

“I came back. Call me a fool.”

A big knight stepped down from the back of a wagon, clad head to heel in company steel. His left greave did not match his right, his gorget was spotted with rust, his vambraces rich and ornate, inlaid with niello flowers. On his right hand was a gauntlet of lobstered steel, on his left a fingerless mitt of rusted mail. The nipples on his muscled breastplate had a pair of iron rings through them. His greathelm sported a ram’s horns, one of which was broken.

When he took it off, he revealed the battered face of Jorah Mormont.

He looks every inch a sellsword, and not at all like the half-broken thing we took from Yezzan’s cage, Tyrion reflected. His bruises had mostly faded by now, and the swelling in his face had largely subsided, so Mormont looked almost human once again … though only vaguely like himself. The demon’s mask the slavers had burned into his right cheek to mark him for a dangerous and disobedient slave would never leave him. Ser Jorah had never been what one might call a comely man. The brand had transformed his face into something frightening.

“Or dead dwarfs,” said Jorah Mormont. “We are all like to be feeding worms by the time this battle is done. The Yunkai’i have lost this war, though it may take them some time to know it. Meereen has an army of Unsullied infantry, the finest in the world. And Meereen has dragons. Three of them, once the queen returns. She will. She must. Our side consists of two score Yunkish lordlings, each with his own half-trained monkey men. Slaves on stilts, slaves in chains … they may have troops of blind men and palsied children too, I would not put it past them.”

So where’s this arc I keep hearing about? What, that his bruises faded? That he wants a sword? Where in all that is any hint that Jorah is self-reflecting, that he sees the irony, that he understands even at a subconscious level what a selfish brute he’s been? All Jorah does is sit, stare, absorb blows, and threaten to snap Tyrion’s neck (see why I call him boring?) That he’s thinking any of those things is, again, pure projection, and given what a thoroughly non-reflective person he was in the previous books, it’s a projection that makes zero sense to me. Tyrion has the arc in the quotes above, in terms of how he feels about Jorah. The bear himself stays the same “my pain is all that matters” asshole who doesn’t actually give a damn what Dany herself wants or thinks or needs. Sure, he’s a non-POV, but so are Stannis and Sandor, and GRRM has them explicitly, compellingly wrestle with their demons, fleshing out their characters, rendering them multi-dimensional human beings. 

Now though, as I’ve said, I’m not arguing that every character has to have an arc, but if you’re not going to give a character an arc, you need to give me another reason to keep reading (such as say, the pitch-black comedy of Victarion’s story), and to these eyes, Jorah’s got nothing. To each their own, of course, but I do think it’s telling that the most common defense of the character I hear isn’t actually rooted in the text.