You know, the more I think about it the more I realize the depth of how toxic and detrimental the environment Septa Mordane created was to the girls. I’ve seen it discussed at length when it comes to Arya (as it should be, it plays such an important part in her narrative) but I’ve rarely seen it addressed when it comes to Sansa.
Now obviously, the damages inflicted were nowhere close to Arya’s. Sansa was the golden girl, the scale every girl in Winterfell measured themselves in terms of being a perfect young Lady. On the other hand, Mordane thought that an appropriate response to Arya’s failure to meet that ideal was to shatter her self-esteem to the point where she didn’t think her own family wouldn’t want her because her hair wasn’t properly combed. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say Sansa got the better hand there.
But I do think Mordane’s teachings impacted Sansa in a bad way too. I find her insistence on having the girls conform to the (southron) ideal of ladyship almost obsessive. Sansa is partially to “blame” for that (I know, poor wording but I couldn’t think of another way to say it), since her meeting all the expectations likely pushed Mordane to always ask for more - to the point where even the royal princess didn’t live up to her.
And don’t get me wrong, Sansa excels at these traditional activities mainly because she enjoys them. She likes singing and embroidery and being courteous. She likes being the “good girl” and, let’s be honest, the benefits that come along with it. But on the other hand, she is not given any space to grow outside of that particular image. Septa Mordane is constantly riding her to behave a certain way, and scolding her everytime she says or does something that could be considered slightly out of place from what a lady is supposed to do.
“I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.
Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.
“She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.”
The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled.“
I mean, they’re eating breakfast in the middle of the road. They’re not exactly in a banquet with the royal family. It’s not really a situation where people would think less of Sansa (or Septa Mordane…) for feeding her wolf. They most likely don’t even notice them. Moreover, what I find interesting is that when Sansa pushes back (= don’t comply blindly), Mordane immediately labels her as “willful” and not a good girl anymore - something Sansa based her whole identity around.
There is such an insistence from Mordane to appear like a perfect lady… but not on much else. I don’t recall any instance where she pushed Sansa to cultivate skills outside of the realm of appearances. Sansa says “she could read and write better than any of her brothers”, but she’s never praised on that. Or for remembering a shitload of sigils and their corresponding houses. She’s never being pushed to work on skills she seems to be lacking in (namely maths and managing a household, even though they’re crucial tools for a lady). In short, there’s not much emphasis on developing the mind over the body.
An obvious example, in my opinion, is this one.
Her father’s decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she’d been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan’s stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father’s decisions.
To be honest she’s not wrong (Sansa doesn’t indeed have enough facts about the situation to make an informed opinion, and also she’s 11), but what bothers me most is there isn’t even an attempt at discussion. She immediately shuts down Sansa’s opinion. I don’t mean they should march in there and demand Loras be sent instead of Beric, but there could at least be talking about it. Sansa is meant to be queen, and I believe it is Septa Mordane’s job to make her, if not politically savvy, at least introduced to politics.
That was when Lord Baelish had said, "Oh, I don’t know, Septa. Some of her lord father’s decisions could do with a bit of questioning. The young lady is as wise as she is lovely.” He made a sweeping bow to Sansa, so deep she was not quite sure if she was being complimented or mocked.
Septa Mordane had been very upset to realize that Lord Baelish had overheard them. “The girl was just talking, my lord,” she’d said. “Foolish chatter. She meant nothing by the comment.”
Now it might be a bit of a stretch, but I do believe Mordane is more mad that someone overheard Sansa express her opinion, moreover one that is “unladylike” (aka she doesn’t agree blindly with her father) than any concern she might have of presenting a united Stark front in front of the court. I could be wrong, of course, but since Mordane doesn’t show any sign of being politically conscious, I don’t think I am.
Notice also that her way of diminishing Sansa’s remarks is by going after her intelligence. Sansa is not stupid. She’s able to read people pretty well, and she often makes astute observations. The problem is, she is very quick to cover them up with a layer of illusions when they don’t fit with what she wishes. Joffrey and Cersei kill Lady? But they’re so beautiful and gracious and kind to her afterwards, they’re not the ones to blame, Arya is, nothing would have happened if Arya had done what she was supposed to do, if she had been a good lady. Margaery and the Tyrells might have ulterior motives in befriending her? But they’re so beautiful and gracious and kind to her, they’re nothing like the Lannisters, they just want to help her. Sansa always ends up warping reality into a version she is more comfortable with, not only in AGOT but throughout the other books as well. She refuses to look too deep and face the brutal truth until she is forced to do so - despite often making the correct assumption at first glance.
And while I wouldn’t say her upbringing is sole responsible of the blinders she puts over her thoughts, it does play its part. On one hand because, in my opinion, she tends to doubt her own intelligence (she is very quick to believe she is stupid, despite the words being uttered by Cersei and Joffrey of all people) since it was never emphasized to be important, and thus not a feature she built her identity around. On the other, well, that’s what she was promised right? Do as you’re told and you’ll get what you want. Except it doesn’t work, it never works. And Sansa - despite never actively reflecting on it - is a prime example of that. She did everything right; she did everything that was asked of her, relishing every aspect of it, thriving under it. Because that’s the contract, right? Do everything we say, and you’ll get everything you (are supposed to) want. And it works for a while. She gets the admiration of her peers, the praises of the adults, a beautiful prince and the promise of a wonderful life free of pain and hard labor. But, as we saw, that contract is flawed in the first place because the other party is never held accountable to keep its part of the bargain.
Sansa never questions what she’s spoon-fed, because like I said, she prides herself on being a “good girl”. She’s the one who follow the rules to an exceptional degree, and she’s rewarded for it. She even draw strength from it. But she never realizes how intimately constricting these rules are. That a lady’s courtesies is not her armor, but her shackles. She never realizes these rules are meant to keep her down, passive and helpless. Those are rules made by men and for men, designed to keep women relying on them alone, without any means to fare on their own.
I find particularly telling that Sansa doesn’t have any relationship in her life that isn’t dictated by conventions, that isn’t conditional. She refuses to consider Jon as her brother because he’s bastard-born, and bastards are wicked - it doesn’t matter that she grew up with him, that she knows what kind of guy he is and that every one of her siblings think of him as their true brother. Arya can’t conform to the system, therefore she doesn’t have a place in Sansa’s world, she isn’t fit to be her sister, she isn’t worthy of care and attention. (And yet, a few chapters later, she dreams of having a sister eerily similar to the person Arya would have been had she had the proper support system.) Even her best friend Jeyne Poole, her closest companion, a girl with whom she grew up and shared everything, isn’t exempted of Sansa’s classism. Sansa has some very unkind words towards her supposed best friend. She may not say them aloud, but she thinks them nonetheless.
Jeyne covered her eyes whenever a man fell, like a frightened little girl, but Sansa was made of sterner stuff. A great lady knew how to behave at tournaments.
Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward’s daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn’t been half his age.
It would have been unkind to say so, however, so Sansa took a sip of milk and changed the subject.
(Notice that it is not the thinking part she finds unladylike, but the saying part; meaning a lady is supposed to always be conscious of that class barrier, to uphold it even with her closest friends. The only thing stopping her is knowing it would hurt Jeyne’s feelings, though whether it stems from genuine kindness or superficial (”ladylike”) kindness is unclear.)
Jeyne Poole had been confined with her, but Jeyne was useless. Her face was puffy from all her crying, and she could not seem to stop sobbing about her father.
“I’m certain your father is well,” Sansa told her when she had finally gotten the dress buttoned right. “I’ll ask the queen to let you see him.” She thought that kindness might lift Jeyne’s spirits, but the other girl just looked at her with red, swollen eyes and began to cry all the harder. She was such a child.
To me, this ever-present consciousness of status and class means she’s never unconditional with others, she’s never free, she’s never real. She constantly thinks about how to act, what is appropriate (allowed) to say, be it with strangers or with her own family and friends.
And that intense focus on appearances, on conforming to the statu quo is at the core of her narrative. This is a trap she keeps falling in, way after the first book. Sansa constantly rewrites herself to fit into what’s expected of her, hoping to be handed her share of the bargain - even when she knows it’s been drawn for other people’s benefit. This is what have been ingrained in her brain since the moment she was born, and I really hope that one of the key realization of her journey will be to realize how fucked up that ideology is.
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