there's a reason why Jon and Sansa never interact with one another in canon and when Winds of Winter come out this realization is going to hit the readers like a ton of bricks
hi, ig my asoiaf idea wld be edmure meeting/holding baby robb at riverrun (w or w/o catelyn in frame). i hc he'd be only abt 12 at most when he first became an uncle.
Heyyy!
I love your idea and felt very inspired so I made something more serious and something silly :)
Something something thinking about these lines in the context of Sansa being the one to kill littlefinger in winds. her being bold enough to stop him… her hands getting dirty with his blood…
When you think that George wrote Joffrey in such a way that people cheered when he was murdered at 14 years old.
He was only thirteen, actually.
And I'm not sure we are meant to cheer. There is not triumph in the description of his death, even though the POV character Tyrion was the subject of Joffrey's vicious cruelty literally the moment before he begins to choke.
GRRM doesn’t hold back with making Joffrey awful, a selfish and cowardly tyrant, a bully and liar, a sexual predator, vain and cruel and stupid, a thoroughly dangerous and barely stable individual. But he also gives us some glimpses into why he is the way he is, and more importantly, he puts the real dilemma into the fact that this child is just handed all this power and the people around him - and the system they serve - refuse to properly check the abuses that follow because it is convenient to them.
Consequently, GRRM doesn’t treat his death the way he does that of Tywin. Quite the opposite. If you’re cheering, you’re not paying attention.
(Long quote of the scene below cut)
GRRM goes out of his way to emphasize the terror of the scene and reduces the elements to what Joffrey truly is: a boy.
“He’s choking,” Queen Margaery gasped.
Her grandmother moved to her side. “Help the poor boy!” the Queen of Thorns screeched, in a voice ten times her size. “Dolts! Will you all stand about gaping? Help your king!”
Ser Garlan shoved Tyrion aside and began to pound Joffrey on the back. Ser Osmund Kettleblack ripped open the king’s collar. A fearful high thin sound emerged from the boy’s throat, the sound of a man trying to suck a river through a reed; then it stopped, and that was more terrible still. “Turn him over!” Mace Tyrell bellowed at everyone and no one. “Turn him over, shake him by his heels!” A different voice was calling, “Water, give him some water!” The High Septon began to pray loudly. Grand Maester Pycelle shouted for someone to help him back to his chambers, to fetch his potions. Joffrey began to claw at his throat, his nails tearing bloody gouges in the flesh. Beneath the skin, the muscles stood out hard as stone. Prince Tommen was screaming and crying.
He is going to die, Tyrion realized. He felt curiously calm, though pandemonium raged all about him. They were pounding Joff on the back again, but his face was only growing darker. Dogs were barking, children were wailing, men were shouting useless advice at each other. Half the wedding guests were on their feet, some shoving at each other for a better view, others rushing for the doors in their haste to get away.
Ser Meryn pried the king’s mouth open to jam a spoon down his throat. As he did, the boy’s eyes met Tyrion’s. He has Jaime’s eyes. Only he had never seen Jaime look so scared. The boy’s only thirteen. Joffrey was making a dry clacking noise, trying to speak. His eyes bulged white with terror, and he lifted a hand … reaching for his uncle, or pointing … Is he begging my forgiveness, or does he think I can save him? “Noooo,” Cersei wailed, “Father help him, someone help him, my son, my son …”
Tyrion found himself thinking of Robb Stark. My own wedding is looking much better in hindsight. He looked to see how Sansa was taking this, but there was so much confusion in the hall that he could not find her. But his eyes fell on the wedding chalice, forgotten on the floor. He went and scooped it up. There was still a half-inch of deep purple wine in the bottom of it. Tyrion considered it a moment, then poured it on the floor.
Margaery Tyrell was weeping in her grandmother’s arms as the old lady said, “Be brave, be brave.” Most of the musicians had fled, but one last flutist in the gallery was blowing a dirge. In the rear of the throne room scuffling had broken out around the doors, and the guests were trampling on each other. Ser Addam’s gold cloaks moved in to restore order. Guests were rushing headlong out into the night, some weeping, some stumbling and retching, others white with fear. It occurred to Tyrion belatedly that it might be wise to leave himself.
When he heard Cersei’s scream, he knew that it was over.
I should leave. Now. Instead he waddled toward her.
His sister sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son’s body. Her gown was torn and stained, her face white as chalk. A thin black dog crept up beside her, sniffing at Joffrey’s corpse. “The boy is gone, Cersei,” Lord Tywin said. He put his gloved hand on his daughter’s shoulder as one of his guardsmen shooed away the dog. “Unhand him now. Let him go.” She did not hear. It took two Kingsguard to pry loose her fingers, so the body of King Joffrey Baratheon could slide limp and lifeless to the floor.
(ASOS, Tyrion VIII)
This is not a scene of triumph. It’s not treated with sarcasm or humor. Few deaths are, but this is especially focused on the physical violence of his body reacting to the poison, and the roughness of those trying to save him which is the last thing Joffrey experiences consciously, the panic in the crowd, the absolute desperation of Cersei, the shock and trauma for the children and Margaery.
A cruel child has been cruelly murdered. There is no joy in this, and we don’t see anyone rejoice. Not Sansa, not Arya.
This isn’t justice. Nothing is fixed. This is a broken system where no one is safe.
(...)
“I thought you said you would never leave Winterfell again.”
“I thought you said the same.” They exchanged smirks, and Arya kept on talking. “I used to think that, once I got home, I would never want to leave. But now that I’m here, I realize that things might never be the same again. Everywhere I turn, I see ghosts. I look in the mirror, and I see ghosts. I don’t think I can keep living this way.”
Turning her eyes downward, Sansa chuckled rather bitterly. “I understand.”
“Maybe there’s some big discovery for me to make out there. Something that will help me look at the mirror one day, and recognize the girl I see in the mirror once more. I just… I don’t think I’ll find it here.”
“Being here is too comfortable.” Sansa agreed, almost against her own will. Talking about it made her palms tingle, and her head felt as if it was submerged in icy water.
Arya raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t mean to offend, but you don’t look very comfortable.”
A million sharp answers crossed her mind, one more cruel than the last.
“There’s comfort in discomfort.” She said instead.
(...)
Chapter 3 of Your Eternal Lies is out! Check it here on AO3.
one day sansa stark is gonna get pushed too far and she’s just gonna fucking lose her shit and start screaming and killing people and singing i’m not your toy by la roux and later surrounded by dead bodies she’s gonna compose herself and be like “i’m so sorry, that was very unladylike wasn’t it"
Seriously but I'm a Jonsa and I want the series to finish to have Jon and Sansa together and the whole Stark again together and the children of every kingdom learning from the adults' mistakes to rebuild a better place.
But I really need Sansa and Arya to meet again and being sisters.
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