The Wages of Sin: The Religious Imagery of Forgiveness in The Hound’s Last Scene

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asoiaf, rereading sandor, sandor clegane, the elder brother, the hound

A Brother’s Mercy by Allnamesinuse

The present essay is a Feature Commentary corresponding to the AFFC/ADWD portion of “The Will to Change: Rereading Sandor.”

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The Hound is dead and Sandor Clegane is at rest, were the words the Elder Brother chose to eulogise our favourite non-knight in what was seemingly the end of the road for him. The interpretation some see here is that this is as close as GRRM can come to a “happy ending” for a character; a retirement to a quiet life at a place where he’s not likely to be disturbed isn’t a bad outcome for someone with a story tragic until the very end, they argue. Another popular interpretation is that reborn Sandor will become a warrior for the Faith of the Seven in some capacity, for which his last scene could be laying out the groundwork to build a Warrior’s Son storyline on later.

But neither fits in with his character growth arc nor with what his potential future role linked to the Starks could be. Sandor doesn’t have it in him to become a Lancel 2.0 and neither does he have it in him to be Elder Brother 2.0. It’s hard to imagine a man who refused all his life to take an oath of knighthood doing a complete U-turn and taking a religious oath. And yet, the imagery for his rebirth being a spiritual one is so overwhelming. How do we interpret this imagery without making it about the possibility of him becoming permanently tied to the Faith Militant?

As they say, the Devil is in the details. Or, in this case, in the details in the Elder Brother’s words. Hound: dead. Sandor: resting. It sounds like the good old Brother is speaking of two different people, and not about the same man with different names. Why this specificity in separating him in two different halves at this precise stage, though? If he wanted finality, he would pronounce both Sandor and the Hound dead instead of engaging in wordplay that allows him to circumvent the Thou Shalt Not Lie commandment and keep plausible deniability if he ever were to be confronted with accusations of playing loose with the truth.

Whilst reading the story of Miyamoto Musashi, Japan’s most celebrated samurai, it caught my attention that there’s another way to look at Sandor’s last appearance, one more fitting into the redemption theme that runs throughout his storyline: forgiveness in the religious sense of the word. Miyamoto Musashi stood out as a larger-than-life figure amongst numerous other famous warriors not just because he had the skills with steel of an Arthur Dayne but also because he saw swordsmanship as a way of life, a path to walk in to achieve one’s best self, improving oneself along the way through combat and hardship. In the Way of the Sword, as he called it, knights are indeed not for killing, an idea Sandor would’ve scoffed at. But there’s a catch: in his beginnings, Musashi is like Sandor. To him, samurai are for killing.

Or at least that’s how the story goes in the most famous novel about him, Musashi by Eiji Yoshikawa, which has one striking parallel that provides a different reading of Sandor’s death. The novel doesn’t cover all of Musashi’s life, only his youth, since he was a feral child with rage issues and suffering from family-related trauma up until his late 20s when he finally becomes the sword-saint of Japanese legend with a myriad duels to this name. The manner in which this change occurs is what caught my eye, because initially it looks so blatantly obvious that Takezo, as he was called then, is destined to be a brute samurai with excessive rage and aggressiveness that stays alive only because he’s too good with a weapon to die. He had no formal training by a sensei, no Martial Arts style, no self-control, no philosophy, nothing. Just plain ol’ fight and kill, all instinct, all impulse, which lands him in several clashes with the villagers and the law. Orphaned at 7, he grew up fostered at a temple, learning the handling of weapons more by himself than with an instructor, killing his first man at 13, slaying a giant in his early teens, going to fight at and lose a big battle, and ending up outlawed for killing his way back to his town from there.

So we have our first parallel with Sandor: highly effective and talented swordsman, big and incredibly strong, temperamental and mouthy, traumatised and in love with a woman he can’t have. An emotionally-damaged ball of destruction. It couldn’t go but from bad to worse from here onwards.

Then enters salvation in the form of eccentric Buddhist monk Takuan Soho, who looks more fit for breaking skulls than healing souls and stops Takezo in his tracks from going even further down this destructive path. Takezo is being hunted down by the local lord’s soldiers for trespassing the barrier set up on the road to catch fugitives from the recent Battle of Sekigahara that decided who would be Japan’s shogun, and for killing soldiers to return to his home village to deliver news to family about his missing best friend that’d gone to Sekigahara with him. The soldiers can’t catch him for dear life, so Takuan strikes a deal with the officer in charge: if he catches Takezo by himself, he’ll earn the right to decide what to do with him, deal? Deal!

The too-clever monk devises a way to use Takezo’s childhood friend, the girl Otsu, as bait to lure the boy into showing himself at the woods he’s hiding in. It works. Takezo is captured, and as per the agreement now Takuan can decide his fate. Ignoring everyone’s bloodthirsty demands for his head, Takuan decides to hang the boy from a tree by the waist:

He took hold of the rope after freeing it from the railing and dragged Takezō, like a dog on a leash, to the tree. The prisoner went meekly, head bowed, uttering not a sound. He seemed so repentant that some of the softer-hearted members of the crowd felt a bit sorry for him. The excitement of capturing the “wild beast” had hardly worn off, however, and with great gusto everyone joined in the fun. Having tied several lengths of rope together, they hoisted him up to a branch about thirty feet from the ground and lashed him tightly. So bound, he looked less like a living man than a big straw doll.

The punishment is to leave him hanging like a Christmas decoration from the monastery’s tall tree until he dies, so everyone thinks. But Takuan has ulterior motives, and whilst Takezo is playing the part of the loudest tree decoration in history, the monk indulges in philosophising and verbal sparring with him:

“I would’ve been better off letting the villagers catch up with me. At least they’re human.”

“Was that your only mistake, Takezō? Hasn’t just about everything you’ve ever done been some kind of mistake? While you’re resting up there, why don’t you try thinking about the past a little.”

“Oh, shut up, you hypocrite! I’m not ashamed! Matahachi’s mother can call me anything she wants, but he is my friend, my best friend. I considered it my responsibility to come and tell the old hag what happened to him and what does she do? She tries to incite that mob to torture me! Bringing her news of her precious son was the only reason I broke through the barrier and came here. Is that a violation of the warrior’s code?”

“That’s not the point, you imbecile! The trouble with you is that you don’t even know how to think. You seem to be under the misconception that if you perform one brave deed, that alone makes you a samurai. Well, it doesn’t! You let that one act of loyalty convince you of your righteousness. The more convinced you became, the more harm you caused yourself and everyone else. And now where are you? Caught in a trap you set for yourself, that’s where!” He paused. “By the way, how’s the view from up there, Takezō?”

“You pig! I won’t forget this!”

“You’ll forget everything soon. Before you turn into dried meat, Takezō, take a good look at the wide world around you. Gaze out onto the world of human beings, and change your selfish way of thinking (…).”

Takezo is too combative for the monk’s lesson to easily penetrate his thick skull, so the back-and-forth continues for a good while:

“Just wait, Takuan, just wait! If I have to chew through this rope with my bare teeth, I will, just to get my hands on you and tear you limb from limb!”

“Is that a promise or a threat? If you really think you can do it, I’ll stay down here and wait. Are you sure you can keep it up without killing yourself before the rope breaks?”

“Shut up!” Takezō screamed hoarsely.

“Say, Takezo, you really are strong! The whole tree is swaying. But I don’t notice the earth shaking, sorry to say. You know, the trouble with you is that, in reality, you’re weak. Your kind of anger is nothing more than personal malice. A real man’s anger is an expression of moral indignation. Anger over petty emotional trifles is for women, not men.”

. . .

“It’s the same with your so-called courage. Your conduct up till now gives no evidence that it’s anything more than animal courage, the kind that has no respect for human values and life. That’s not the kind of courage that makes a samurai. True courage knows fear. It knows how to fear that which should be feared. Honest people value life passionately, they hang on to it like a precious jewel. And they pick the right time and place to surrender it, to die with dignity.”

Still no answer.

“That’s what I meant when I said it’s a pity about you. You were born with physical strength and fortitude, but you lack both knowledge and wisdom. While you managed to master a few of the more unfortunate features of the Way of the Samurai, you made no effort to acquire learning or virtue. People talk about combining the Way of Learning with the Way of the Samurai, but when properly combined, they aren’t two—they’re one. Only one Way, Takezō.”

Then, in pain and fearing that this torture will last much longer, Takezo finally sees the light. He declares to have understood how wrong he was, and begs to be taken down:

“Takuan! Save me!” Takezō’s cry for help was loud and plaintive. The branch began to tremble, as though it, as though the whole tree, were weeping.

“I want to be a better man. I realize now how important it is, what a privilege it is to be born human. I’m almost dead, but I understand what it means to be alive. And now that I know, my whole life will consist of being tied to this tree! I can’t undo what I’ve done.”

“You’re finally coming to your senses. For the first time in your life, you’re talking like a human being.”

“I don’t want to die,” Takezō cried. “I want to live. I want to go out, try again, do everything right this time.” His body convulsed with his sobbing. “Takuan . . . please! Help me . . . help me!”

Takuan refuses. However, he unwittingly makes it possible for Otsu to cut the rope and free Takezo. Boy and girl flee together, but become separated, and Takezo is caught by soldiers of the daimyo and taken before his lordship. Takuan interferes again by telling the daimyo that he was promised he’d decide Takezo’s punishment. Takezo is taken to a dungeon-like haunted room in the castle, where he’ll spend 3 years in solitary confinement, devoted to reading books on worthy subjects, a decision made by Takuan as part of his scheme to reform Takezo from the inside out:

“Think of this room as your mother’s womb and prepare to be born anew. If you look at it only with your eyes, you will see nothing more than an unlit, closed cell. But look again, more closely. Look with your mind and think. This room can be the wellspring of enlightenment, the same fountain of knowledge found and enriched by sages in the past. It is up to you to decide whether this is to be a chamber of darkness or one of light.”

When he reemerges from his confinement, Takezo is truly changed. He’s no longer full of rage and ready to kill anyone on sight, and tells Takuan he finally gets what he was trying to imprint on him when hanging from the tree: he was like a wild beast and now he’s human, and wants to be the best human possible. Takuan decides it’s time to release him:

“Even though you’ve had no one to converse with but yourself, you’ve actually learned to speak like a human being! Good! Today you will leave this place. And as you do so, hug your hard-earned enlightenment to your bosom. You’re going to need it when you go forth into the world to join your fellow men.”

In his solitude, Takezo has acquired a keen sense of self-awareness, recognising he’s still full of rough edges that he needs to smooth out in order to better himself. He declares he will take to wandering through the country to learn the Way of the Sword and reach enlightenment and perfection as a swordsman. Pleased, Takuan and the daimyo tell him he’s been reborn and that, to befit his rebirth, he should leave his old identity behind:

“It’s all right for him to roam about while he’s still young,” said Terumasa. “But now that he’s going out on his own—reborn, as you put it—he should have a new name. Let it be Miyamoto, so that he never forgets his birthplace. From now on, Takezō, call yourself Miyamoto.”

Takezō’s hands went automatically to the floor. Palms down, he bowed deep and long. “Yes, sir, I will do that.”

“You should change your first name too,” Takuan interjected. “Why not read the Chinese characters of your name as ‘Musashi’ instead of ‘Takezō’? You can keep writing your name the same as before. It’s only fitting that everything should begin anew on this day of your rebirth.”

Thus Shinmen Takezo dies and Miyamoto Musashi is born. His is a spiritual rebirth, like Sandor’s, and it’s also very explicitly stated in the novel, with the priest present to pronounce Takezo dead and Musashi born, just like the Elder Brother pronounced The Hound dead and Sandor at rest.

“Now there’s only this sword,” he thought. “The only thing in the world I have to rely on.” He rested his hand on the weapon’s handle and vowed to himself, “I will live by its rule. I will regard it as my soul, and by learning to master it, strive to improve myself, to become a better and wiser human being. Takuan follows the Way of Zen, I will follow the Way of the Sword. I must make of myself an even better man than he is.”

Thenceforward, the new Miyamoto Musashi, once called a wild beast, a raging tiger, a demon, hated and feared by everyone for his viciousness and physical invincibility, travels across Japan following in the steps of a Hero’s Journey quest, dueling the baddies and the goodies, helping distressed damsels, old ladies, and children, learning various arts, carving statuettes of a goddess, opposing worthy and unworthy rivals, saving villagers from bandits, tilling the land… All the things you’d expect of a knight-errant or a lone gunslinger if this were a Western tale. He matures, his temper mellows, he masters his impulses, sheds his selfishness, and becomes a man admired and followed, and envied, too. All of which was only possible because one day a perceptive priest looked into his soul and, like a sword-polisher, took it unto himself to polish the rust off it by teaching him the meaning of compassion, of forgiveness, of second chances. It isn’t merely a symbolical transformation; it’s a literal one and very faith-driven.

Sandor Clegane may not change his name, or at least it doesn’t look likely that he would, but The Hound has been written like a separate identity that no longer belongs to him. There’s already been two Hounds since the original “died”: Rorge and Lem Lemoncloak. Can we interpret that becoming just Sandor Clegane is his “Miyamoto Musashi” moment? Indeed, there are enough clues to contend that the Quiet Isle story for his baptismal-like death & rebirth is meant to be interpreted through the lens of sacramental forgiveness.

The imagery is there, uncharacteristically obvious for an author prone to keeping readers stumbling in the fog through subtlety and writerly sleights of hand. It’s the Catholic rite of pardon for one’s sins whose elements and symbology Martin has borrowed for Sandor, namely: conversion, confession, penance, forgiveness, and reconciliation. They don’t necessarily follow in this order, as it depends on individuals, but they all are present in whichever order an individual case unfolds, and Martin, a cultural Catholic, is certainly familiar with the rite, not to mention that the Faith of the Seven is just Fantasy Catholicism with fewer bells and whistles.

Let’s start with conversion. Generally, this refers to baptism, a step necessary to become a Christian since the dawn days of the religion, but in terms of purely referring to the act of committing a sin or a crime this is about the realisation that what you have done has unjustly visited harm on others. Essentially, the first step towards forgiveness is acknowledging you did wrong and you are the one that must pay for. Conversion is the will to break the cycle and make amends.

When did Sandor “convert”? Though it came from a longer process of chipping away at his self and not an overnight decision, it was the moment he decided to cut cleanly and irrevocably with his former life as a Lannister strongman at the Battle of Blackwater. He had risen high in his liege’s household, benefitted from it financially and socially, and was allowed the lifestyle of a foster Lannister. In sum, even though he never embraced the Lannister ethos, he was nevertheless part of and participant in their morally-challenged sphere. He had, to use the Biblical phrase, “reaped the wages of sin.” Both his and the sins of his masters’ House. To illustrate this point, just one example: he accepts the cloak of a Kingsguard, a position only made possible because of Jaime and Cersei’s sin in having a bastard child to illegitimately place on the throne with the full backing of their House.

But there’s two major differences between the Foster Lannister and the True Lannisters: participation in the cycle and forgoing the fruits of one’s sins.

On the first point, we have Cersei and Tyrion. Each one has deeply felt personal wounds often viewed as having been inflicted by another Lannister, their father Tywin. But instead of breaking the cycle, seek personal happiness outside Tywin’s sibling rivalry dynamic used to manipulate and control his children, or take any of thousands of other possible paths, the only thing Cersei and Tyrion (and to a lesser extent Jaime) do is perpetuate more of the same in an ever-escalating conflict destined to end in a self-inflicted Rains of Castamere on their own House. If Sandor were to act as a True Lannister, he would be involved in a Cersei/Tyrion-like struggle with Gregor. He’d burn larger villages than Gregor, rape more and younger women than Gregor, etc. He’d do this in an effort to gain Tywin’s favour as a means of destroying his brother just as the Lannister sibling dynamic plays out. But Sandor never entered this spiral of destruction despite his fratricidal hate for Gregor. He never identified with the aggressor and became an instrument of perpetuating the cycle in his heart. He accepted that the world was brutal and unfair, that it wasn’t a song, and did what he had to do to survive. He sinned in service to House Lannister, but there was punishment and suffering for him in those sins for his whole life.

On the second point, not a single True Lannister entertains giving up the spoils of sin. Giving up worldly possessions, paying restitution above and beyond what was stolen, exceeding the threshold of one’s wrongs in repenting—these are the core of every religious form of sin and forgiveness. But what do the Lannisters do? Cersei uses her own children to grab power that doesn’t belong to her or her House and allows the realm to be drowned in blood for the prize of having a Lannister on the throne; Jaime is all “I’ll confess to the incest and then marry Cersei while Tommen rules,” showing a willingness to be originator, enabler, and beneficiary of his family’s machinations; Tyrion the circus clown in exile wants to ravage Westeros with dragonfire, to rape his sister and become Tywin 2.0 in Casterly Rock. There is nothing but pure obsession with the spoils of sin amongst Tywin’s offspring.

On the other hand, the Foster Lannister took the first and mandatory step as well as the second on the Blackwater when he broke away and gave up all claim to Lannister spoils. He gave up a comfortable lifestyle and a plum position, and took nothing with him that he earned through the Lannisters. True, he did have the gold from the Hand’s tournament, but that was his outside of Lannister service and legitimately earned, and even that was taken away, too. His break is thus absolute, he can’t look back.

Confession comes next. We don’t know what Sandor told the Elder Brother, but it’s not that hard to guess the things he may have said in confession at the Quiet Isle. How? By looking at what he tells Arya at the cave after winning his trial by combat against Beric:

“You killed Mycah,” she said once more, daring him to deny it. “Tell them. You did. You did.”

“I did.” His whole face twisted. “I rode him down and cut him in half, and laughed. I watched them beat your sister bloody too, watched them cut your father’s head off.”

It’s curious that, of all horrible things he must have witnessed in his former life, it’s these three specific crimes that torment Sandor: killing an innocent boy, and standing by as an innocent man was executed and an innocent girl was abused. All these three crimes sprout from Lannister sins.

In the Catholic rite, penance is the repudiation of one’s own sin and an acknowledgement that one must satisfy for them. It won’t do to go about it in a spread-out evenly and generalised way but accepting that it’s been you who sinned. Sandor is judged guilty by association by the Brotherhood Without Banners and he rejects the more outrageous attempts by them to make him pay in Gregor’s stead, but he does accept the sins he feels were his, too, not just his former masters’. Killing Mycah wasn’t his idea, but he was the executioner. Beheading Ned wasn’t his doing, but he had a role in the downfall of House Stark. Beating Sansa black and blue he never did, but he witnessed it and couldn’t save her like he thinks he should have. How can he make amends and give satisfaction for them, then?

It’s at this point when the road to redemption becomes even more blatantly religious in-world. For his sin of killing an innocent boy on royal orders, Sandor is judged by the faith of Rh’llor. Note that, in spite of the dozens of charges the BwB hurl at him, it’s Mycah the only accusation that sticks and that Sandor must make amends for with his own life were he to perish in the trial by combat he’s sentenced to. And also note that the accuser who is able to bring him to task where the others have failed is Arya.

Arya is the recipient of Sandor’s confession to his three crimes. Arya is friend, daughter, and sister to all three victims. And so Arya is the one to figuratively throw the gauntlet at Sandor and demand satisfaction. But, for all she tries her damnedest to be his judge, jury, and executioner at once, she ends up becoming Sandor’s act of public penance.

Lem grabbed her wrist and twisted, wrenching the dagger away. She kicked at him, but he would not give it back. “You go to hell, Hound,” she screamed at Sandor Clegane in helpless empty-handed rage. “You just go to hell!”

“He has,” said a voice scarce stronger than a whisper.

The trial was meant to punish Sandor for the sins of House Lannister undistinghsably from who committed which. But Sandor had lived his life already under penalty for those very sins. In Catholic theology, the wages of sin are death—as in damnation—and suffering. When Thoros says he’s a man enduring Hell, he’s referring to this suffering. Sandor’s face is a punishment. Serving those who enable Gregor to continue perpetrating the same crimes he’s done to Sandor has been a punishment.

Look at it like this: what’s more important to the three True Lannisters? Beauty, sword, Casterly Rock. Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion each define themselves by these things respectively, which they have by birth or think are theirs by birth. And what happens? GRRM plays God, and Cersei ends up fat, shaven, and walking her sagging naked body through the streets, Jaime ends up a one-handed cripple, and Tyrion ends up a destitute slave in Essos. Some readers see in this a punishment for their sins, Jaime even says at one point that the loss of his hand is retribution for tossing Bran from the tower. But the Lannisters still cling to the spoils earned with the crimes of their House: As of ADWD, Cersei is most likely far from humbled by her experience and may stage a vengeful comeback, the supposedly on a path to redemption Jaime is still serving as (and reaping the benefits of being) Lord Commander of his bastard’s Kingsguard even as he severs ties with Cersei, and Tyrion is most definitely scheming a vengeful comeback. They want to claim the whole kingdom as a reward for confessing their sins, they want others to suffer as a result of their supposedly redeeming confessions.

So it can be said that the Lannisters aren’t being punished so much as suffering the natural consequences of their choices. Unrepentant is the key difference. While one is unrepentant there is no punishment, just suffering. Suffering ought to lead to reflection. Reflection to an understanding of cause and effect and a sense of humility and responsibility. Reflection then leads to being repentant for one’s role. Only afterwards is suffering really punishment from one’s own POV. The only other way it can be punishment is when it is imposed by an authority and proclaimed punishment.

What about Sandor? How does he define himself? Strength. Outwardly, he boasts to Sansa that all he needs is a longsword, that strong arms rule the world, the weak should just give up and go belly up, et cetera. All bravado, but this holds a seed of truth inside for him, given that he was burnt young, innocent, and powerless, and only survived because he grew up tall as a tree and made himself useful to Lord Lannister… and his penance hits him right in the core. How so? Because he’s made to use his strength to serve the purpose of paying back his debt.

In ASOIAF, the ultimate forgiveness mechanism for crimes is the Night’s Watch. The entry fee is giving up all claims to anything of worldly value, all allegiances and connections and riches, and the post entry reward is selfless service. So, following this in-world model, we already have established that Sandor met the first requisite (give up anything of value) when he broke away at Blackwater, so the forgiveness implied by the results of the trial by combat and Arya’s choice there was earned well before their last scene at the Trident plays out. So, what remains is the second requirement to reach forgiven status.

The Hound goes thus to protect Arya to make up for the sin of his role in Ned’s downfall, and by extension his role in Sansa’s abuse as well because House Stark’s downfall left her defenceless under the grip of Sandor’s masters. Granted, it didn’t start as selfless service, because he did kidnap her in retaliation for his gold and had intentions to ransom her to her family, but the pragmatics of that are self-evident: he clearly couldn’t just show up at Robb’s camp to offer his services and expect to be taken seriously without a bargaining chip the Northerners won’t ignore. Arya became truly his penitent service when she lost her bargaining chip value to him courtesy of the Red Wedding and he still continued to protect her until he can’t go on anymore due to the wound to his leg.

On the surface, you could argue his is the same kind of punishment as Jaime’s loss of a hand: cut him at the leg and he’s no longer the Hound. But it goes beyond such a superficial reading, because if for Jaime it’s merely the start of a path he may or mayn’t ultimately walk to completion, for Sandor dispossessing him of the last vestige of his past life at the hands of current liegemen of his former masters inflicting a crippling blow to the physical strength he so much relies on is the end of the road (for now, at least). By the time he is abandoned on the banks of the Trident, he’s been surrounded in the imagery of forgiveness of two of the three main religions in ASOIAF plus one:

• As per Beric and Thoros, the Lord of Light has given him back his life, which implies forgiveness because the crime he was tried for was of the a life for a life, blood for blood sort.
  
• As per Lord Eddard’s beliefs, Arya’s refusal to carry out Northern justice after hearing his confessions and looking him in the eye implicitly lays out that the Old Gods also give him back his life.
• We could argue there’s a fourth religion involved: the Faceless Men, because by taking him off her prayer, Arya extended forgiveness in the name of the God of the Many Faces.

Now it’s time for the Faith of the Seven to have their turn at placing Sandor’s soul on the measurement scales and deciding whether he’s forgiven or condemned, and here subtlety goes out the window. GRRM lays out the religious imagery of forgiveness and redemption rather thick on the entire Quiet Isle sequence, starting well before we see the place, well before we find out there’s a Gravedigger there. Just look at these lines from the conversations that Brienne and Septon Meribald have on the road:

“Why do they call it the Quiet Isle?” asked Podrick.

“Those who dwell here are penitents, who seek to atone for their sins through contemplation, prayer, and silence. Only the Elder Brother and his proctors are permitted to speak, and the proctors only for one day of every seven.”

A vow of silence is an act of contrition, a sacrifice by which we prove our devotion to the Seven Above. For a mute to take a vow of silence would be akin to a legless man giving up the dance.”

. . .

“Faith,” urged Septon Meribald. “Believe, persist, and follow, and we shall find the peace we seek.”

Penitence, atonement, finding peace… All the elements of being granted forgiveness. Martin couldn’t have made it clearer if he had placed a Here Be Redemption neon sign at the entrance to the Quiet Isle.

We can infer that Sandor confessed to the EB, either as he lay dying on the Trident or once he arrived to the QI, for otherwise the EB wouldn’t know all he knows about his life and in such detail. It’s relevant to highlight how the Elder Brother refers to the Hound as he pronounces him dead in contrast to how Brienne refers to him:

“I know a little of this man, Sandor Clegane. He was Prince Joffrey’s sworn shield for many a year, and even here we would hear tell of his deeds, both good and ill. If even half of what we heard was true, this was a bitter, tormented soul, a sinner who mocked both gods and men. He served, but found no pride in service. He fought, but took no joy in victory. He drank, to drown his pain in a sea of wine. He did not love, nor was he loved himself. It was hate that drove him. Though he committed many sins, he never sought forgiveness. Where other men dream of love, or wealth, or glory, this man Sandor Clegane dreamed of slaying his own brother, a sin so terrible it makes me shudder just to speak of it. Yet that was the bread that nourished him, the fuel that kept his fires burning. Ignoble as it was, the hope of seeing his brother’s blood upon his blade was all this sad and angry creature lived for . . . and even that was taken from him, when Prince Oberyn of Dorne stabbed Ser Gregor with a poisoned spear.”

“You sound as if you pity him,” said Brienne.

“I did. You would have pitied him as well, if you had seen him at the end. I came upon him by the Trident, drawn by his cries of pain. He begged me for the gift of mercy, but I am sworn not to kill again. Instead, I bathed his fevered brow with river water, and gave him wine to drink and a poultice for his wound, but my efforts were too little and too late. The Hound died there, in my arms.

“It is true, then,” she said dully. “Sandor Clegane is dead.”

“He is at rest.” The Elder Brother paused.

So here we have a figure of authority from the Faith describe Sandor Clegane (notice that this is how he calls him) as a “sinner who mocked the gods” and therefore in need of repentance and atonement, in contrast to how Brienne calls the Hound (also notice that this is how she calls him) a criminal she must execute, as she explicitly tells Brother Narbert. The law of men (the Crown) that Brienne represents has condemned Sandor, but the law of the gods (the Seven) that the EB represents has declared him “at rest.” And by this pronouncement of peace, we can only conclude that Sandor has met the confession requirement.

And the EB does have the authority to pronounce ego te absolvo. Traditionally, the Father Superior of a Catholic monastery can hear confession and absolve people same as an ordained priest, and the EB is just a Father Superior with a Fantasy name. That alone would give him the authority. The arrival of Septon Meribald to the QI for specific confession purposes is intriguing, because it seems to imply that in-world only Septons can hear confession:

He turned to Septon Meribald. “I hope that you have time to absolve us of our sins. Since the raiders slew old Septon Bennet, we have had no one to hear confession.”

That is true in real-life Catholicism, too, because not every priest has the authority to hear confession. However, Catholic canon law says that although only authorised priests can administer the sacrament of confession & absolution, any priest can hear the confession of a dying person because the danger of dying unconfessed trumps canon law. Sandor was dying (he thought) when the EB found him, so to consider the EB hearing his “final words” a valid confession is reasonable. And in any case, Meribald’s presence in the QI for the specific purpose of absolving the monks of their sins extends to Sandor in his capacity as a novice monk. The wording in the above passage is specific about absolution for this very reason.

Also, although we don’t know if Sandor and Meribald ever talked off-screen, we can’t ignore the symbolism of Meribald’s companion, Dog, being present when the good Septon hears confession:

“I shall make time,” said Meribald, “though I hope you have some better sins than the last time I came through.” Dog barked. “You see? Even Dog was bored.”

We can infer what penitence was imposed on Sandor after confession by looking at what he wears when he reappears on the QI. Would someone like him agree to wear monastic clothes if he’d not been talked into it? It had to be willing. His stay at the monastery itself is, going by my Miyamoto Musashi parallel, like staying secluded in the dungeon to study and reflect. His true penance is what he’s learning to do there: he’s been made a gravedigger.

… and higher still they passed a lichyard where a brother bigger than Brienne was struggling to dig a grave. From the way he moved, it was plain to see that he was lame. As he flung a spadeful of the stony soil over one shoulder, some chanced to spatter against their feet. “Be more watchful there,” chided Brother Narbert. “Septon Meribald might have gotten a mouthful of dirt.” The gravedigger lowered his head. When Dog went to sniff him he dropped his spade and scratched his ear.

“A novice,” explained Narbert.

Sandor Clegane, the man who lived by the sword and who left the dead to be food for dogs and wolves, is taught to give people humane burial. Let’s have a closer look at who the first grave he’s seen digging is for:

“Who is the grave for?” asked Ser Hyle, as they resumed their climb up the wooden steps.

“Brother Clement, may the Father judge him justly.”

“Was he old?” asked Podrick Payne.

“If you consider eight-and-forty old, aye, but it was not the years that killed him. He died of wounds he got at Saltpans. He had taken some of our mead to the market there, on the day the outlaws descended on the town.”

“The Hound?” said Brienne.

“Another, just as brutal. He cut poor Clement’s tongue out when he would not speak. Since he had taken a vow of silence, the raider said he had no need of it.

Sandor Clegane, the old Hound and the first of them all, is burying a victim of the new Hound. This is extremely significant, and from what the EB says, burials are Sandor’s primary occupation at the monastery:

“Too many corpses, these days.” The Elder Brother sighed. “Our gravedigger knows no rest. Rivermen, westermen, northmen, all wash up here. Knights and knaves alike. We bury them side by side, Stark and Lannister, Blackwood and Bracken, Frey and Darry. That is the duty the river asks of us in return for all its gifts, and we do it as best we can. Sometimes we find a woman, though . . . or worse, a little child. Those are the cruelest gifts.”

We don’t know if Sandor participates in the preparation of bodies for burial, but it wouldn’t be out of bounds to assume that it may very well be a part of his duties as gravedigger. If so, then the idea of this being his penance picks up steam. He does have other humble duties, too, like serving at the table:

The last of the food had been cleared away by the novices whose task it was to serve. Most were boys near Podrick’s age, or younger, but there were grown men as well, amongst them the big gravedigger they had encountered on the hill, who walked with the awkward lurching gait of one half-crippled.

He’s counted amongst “the novices whose task it was to serve.” Service is, indeed, what the Seven have imposed on Sandor via the Elder Brother as the way to make up for his sins, and his primary duty is laying to rest all those who this war has taken away, impartially and humanely, regardless of allegiance. Why this specific service, though? The EB’s words summing up Sandor’s former life illustrate the motive:

“I know a little of this man, Sandor Clegane. He was Prince Joffrey’s sworn shield for many a year, and even here we would hear tell of his deeds, both good and ill. If even half of what we heard was true, this was a bitter, tormented soul, a sinner who mocked both gods and men. He served, but found no pride in service. He fought, but took no joy in victory. He drank, to drown his pain in a sea of wine. He did not love, nor was he loved himself. It was hate that drove him. Though he committed many sins, he never sought forgiveness. Where other men dream of love, or wealth, or glory, this man Sandor Clegane dreamed of slaying his own brother, a sin so terrible it makes me shudder just to speak of it. Yet that was the bread that nourished him, the fuel that kept his fires burning. Ignoble as it was, the hope of seeing his brother’s blood upon his blade was all this sad and angry creature lived for . . . and even that was taken from him, when Prince Oberyn of Dorne stabbed Ser Gregor with a poisoned spear.”

Ser Kevan’s snarky words to Cersei about rabid dogs being the fault of their masters is precisely why Sandor felt no pride in serving House Lannister. Thoros and the EB coincide in considering this service his personal Hell, which only prolonged his childhood suffering well into adulthood. But he’d never sought—or found—atonement for his sins by breaking clean with his lieges, settling instead for stubbornly adhering to his own moral code and refusing to give in to the toxic dysfunctionality of Lannister dynamics. The Hound wouldn’t have sought forgiveness, that man had to die, and so he did:

That was another shock. “How did he die?”

“By the sword, as he had lived.”

There’s a very unsubtle baptism imagery wrapped around the Hound’s death: that of rebirth by water. In Catholic theology, the whole point of using water is to signify purification from evil, the cleansing of our outward actions, and the passage to spiritual rebirth:

Jesus answered him, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

Nicodemus said to him, “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born?”

Jesus answered, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.

(John 3:3-5)

According to the EB himself, this is what he did first when he found a dying Sandor:

“I came upon him by the Trident, drawn by his cries of pain. He begged me for the gift of mercy, but I am sworn not to kill again. Instead, I bathed his fevered brow with river water, and gave him wine to drink and a poultice for his wound, but my efforts were too little and too late. The Hound died there, in my arms.”

The good Brother isn’t lying when he says the Hound died there, he’s simply speaking in religious metaphor. Circling back to Catholicism as our model for understanding the Faith of the Seven, this religion considers the act of baptism the birth of a “new man” to replace the “old man,” and goes as far as actually using death as a metaphor for this transformation, as this Biblical passage shows:

Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.

For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection:

Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin.

(Romans 6:4-6)

Thus, baptism by water is the symbol of the death and burial of the old man who led a past life without forgiveness. Which also explains why the Elder Brother tells Brienne he personally “buried” the Hound:

“I buried him myself. I can tell you where his grave lies, if you wish. I covered him with stones to keep the carrion eaters from digging up his flesh, and set his helm atop the cairn to mark his final resting place.”

And it also explains why the EB chose to bury the Hound’s “flesh” (his armour, sword, possessions, probably some of his literal flesh if he cut or cauterised his leg wound) and erect a grave. He wanted to make it as literal and irreversible as humanly possible that the Hound was well and truly dead, and have the fact sink in both into Sandor’s mind as well as the mind of anyone who ever came asking. And to drive across the point that he’s talking about a rebirth, the EB also tells Brienne about his own transformation after he “died in the battle of the Trident” fighting for Rhaegar:

“Instead I woke here, upon the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother told me I had washed up on the tide, naked as my name day. I can only think that someone found me in the shallows, stripped me of my armor, boots, and breeches, and pushed me back out into the deeper water. The river did the rest. We are all born naked, so I suppose it was only fitting that I come into my second life the same way.”

He underwent the same process of being bathed in river water and ending up half-dead on the same isle where he’d be saved and given a second chance at life. He’s now in a position to give Sandor the same opportunity, and did so doubly, saving both his physical body by healing him from a wound that, as per his reputation, not even maesters would’ve healed, and most likely his soul too, by pushing Sandor towards a path of atonement that would lead to reconciliation. His involvement in the man’s rebirth makes it possible to pronounce Sandor Clegane finally at peace instead of dead like he didn’t hesitate to do for the Hound:

“It is true, then,” she said dully. “Sandor Clegane is dead.”

“He is at rest.”

The Elder Brother is simply following the “old man” vs “new man” religious phraseology when he makes this Sandor vs Hound distinction that Brienne doesn’t grasp. With the inclusion of this scene between the EB and Brienne that serves no other purpose than to let readers know the fate of Sandor Clegane, Martin has written him to be the only character in ASOIAF that is surrounded by the imagery of forgiveness from three major religions, a fact that isn’t accidental but has to serve a plot purpose. You don’t simply have a character be forgiven by Rh’llor, the Old Gods, and the Seven (and the God of Many Faces for additional pathos) for no reason and no future completion at all. We don’t know yet whether Sandor’s story will ultimately have him serve a new master or continue as a freelance non-knight, his own dog as he put it, but one thing this theme of tripartite forgiveness makes clear is that he won’t serve a bad cause ever again. Forgiveness, for Sandor Clegane, means service, specifically service that he can take pride in and pay it forward, just as the Elder Brother has found pride in being a healer famous for saving hopeless cases, making use of an ability he’d not have been able to if not for his second life. Clegane’s redemption arc is one of service and protection, one that makes use of his natural talents, so it makes literary sense that henceforward there’d be a continuation of this pattern but with the inclusion of a worthwhile cause.

We’re back! Blog updates, critical essays and new theories.

Tags

asoiaf, sansa

Greetings to our old and new friends in the ASOIAF fandom. We hope you and your loved ones have remained safe and healthy during the pandemic, and that you’re continuing to implement all public health measures which will ensure we can eventually emerge from these turbulent times to resume our normal, productive livelihoods.

After an extended hiatus, we’re excited to be restarting activities at Pawn to Player, with plans to feature essays from various contributors and updating outstanding sections of the site. Of course, The Winds of Winter is still not published, so we invite discussion on Sansa Stark and related characters with the awareness that such analyses continue to be limited and inherently speculative. We are also returning under the shadow of the Game of Thrones finale, and while PTP has always centred on book analysis, the show’s ending cannot help but inform ideas and theories on what the “endgame” looks like for the main characters. However, we remain committed to treating the two as distinct creative entities, especially in light of Sansa’s controversial depiction on the show.

Pawn to Player has richly benefitted from the knowledge and insight of many contributors over the years and we welcome those interested in helping develop our canon of critical output to consider submitting your work for publication at the blog. All submissions are subject to a review process that you can find more information on here. Despite the weariness that has understandably settled in the fandom over the long wait between books, along with the sense of having said all there is to be said with the material we have — there is always a fresh angle, a new way of appreciating certain elements of characterisation, theme, or symbolism. A review of PTP’s extensive collection of essays, employing different modes of analysis, schools of thought, and comparative research, supports our belief that there is always more to be gleaned from those willing to devote the time and effort to critical thinking. The two pillars that comprise PTP textual examination — to reread and to rethink — remain crucial to helping understand the complex characters that comprise Martin’s world, their motivations, desires, and ambitions.

In focusing on Sansa’s journey throughout the series, we appreciate that in her Martin has created an indomitable heroine, one who relies on the more traditionally feminine arts as her weapons of choice, but whose continued survival is no less impressive for it, even in a world where girls are dragon-riders, assassins, and knights. Her growth comes with painful lessons and missteps, yet she learns to navigate what are arguably two of the most dangerous settings in Westeros: the royal court of Joffrey Baratheon, and his mother Cersei, and later on the snow capped mountains of the Eyrie, under the predatory control of Petyr Baelish. Through it all, we see Sansa’s stubborn refusal to bend to the will of her captors or to allow them to vanquish her secret resistance. From a forced marriage to the assumption of another identity, Sansa maintains a vital connection to her true desires and real identity as a Stark of Winterfell.

We continue to value your input and ideas going forward, so please feel free to share any thoughts you have in the comment section and contribute to the discussion when essays are posted. That way we can all be a little more engaged and prepared as we await TWOW’s arrival, hopefully sometime over this decade.

 

 

Male Influences: Harrold Hardyng

Tags

alayne, asoiaf, harrold hardyng, harry the heir, twow

(With the release of the Alayne chapter in ‘The Winds of Winter’ giving us our first introduction to Harry the Heir and the beginning of his interaction with Sansa, we thought it necessary to update our Male Influences project with an analysis of his character and how his relationship with Sansa is likely to develop. We’re pleased to welcome our newest contributor, Westeros.org member Blue-Eyed Wolf, who brings her knowledge and passion to bear on the topic. You can follow her at https://bluelemonsforever.tumblr.com/)

by Blue-Eyed Wolf

(TWOW spoilers abound)

Petyr arched an eyebrow. “When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn’s bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden’s cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That’s worth another kiss now, don’t you think?”  — Alayne II, AFFC.

A gallant young knight rises up. Handsome and full of youthful vigor. One with the magnetic ability to rally the Vale lords behind him.  And on behalf of his lady love, Harry will lead an army to take back her home from the villains who stole it. Together they will rule over two vast kingdoms and live happily ever after… Then you remember this is Littlefinger speaking.

It’s a perfectly tailored sales pitch to a guileless eleven-year-old Sansa, except she is no longer that child that Littlefinger is condescending to. While the chapter ends on this quote and the author has withheld Sansa’s reaction to it, I think it’s safe to say Sansa is probably of two minds about Harrold Hardyng entering her life. Her understandable gut reaction to another marriage proposal is horror. Yet, once he lays it all out for her, Sansa surely must give some pause to the possibility of finally going home and being safe. It’s the only thing out of what Littlefinger is offering that she truly wants even if it comes with strings attached. Those creepy, unfatherly kisses suggest what he expects in return for that “help.”

Right now we need to appreciate where Sansa is in all this. She’s stuck under a false identity indefinitely. She’s still wanted for regicide with a bounty on her head. She believes there’s no one else she can turn to and no other option has presented itself. We know that Sansa does not consider the Eyrie a home, but a cold, lonely place. She’s not keen on another marriage for her claim or name. Her thoughts have never been far from Winterfell, though. For that reason, we will see that Sansa does give consideration to the match, but with a critical eye and a little hope that Harry could love her for herself in spite of her claim once she is revealed. As with Ser Dontos before, Littlefinger has used knighthood to gain her trust and complicity, also with the promise of going home only for Sansa to discover she was misled. Yet she’s also a character of irrepressible hopefulness despite her misgivings.

As we explore Alayne I, TWOW, and the possibility of a match with Harry, we’ll see how much Sansa has truly evolved since the earlier novels. She’s not immediately trusting in the institution of knighthood or the beauty of youth as a stamp of goodness. Thus she isn’t dismissive of some troubling information she learns about Ser Harrold as she was with Joffrey; however, she’s not a total cynic, either. There’s a willingness to still give him a fair chance and see who he is with her own eyes. While Harry will fall short of an ideal husband in many ways, that doesn’t necessarily make him dangerous and violent like Joffrey. What it may mean is that Sansa has to decide whether she can put aside her other dream of mutual love and devotion in marriage. She’s being asked to stake her person and future on a man that Littlefinger promises can deliver all that and more. And if he doesn’t? From her perspective she faces a potentially loveless marriage with little to show for it. The question Sansa must answer for herself is: Is Harrold Hardyng the horse she should bet on?

Let’s look at Harry’s place in the overall plot. What we’re really talking about is a battle for political control of the Vale between Littlefinger and Bronze Yohn Royce starting with the custody dispute over Robert Arryn. In the Lords Declarant meeting of Alayne I, AFFC, the lords of the Vale petition to raise Robert in the more wholesome environment of Runestone as a ward to Yohn Royce. They fail due to Lyn Corbray’s violent outburst at the parley, staged by Littlefinger; however, Littlefinger tipped his hand by revealing his interest in Harrold Hardyng, Lady Anya Waynwood’s ward.

Robert should have an older boy about him too. A promising young squire, say. Someone he could admire and try to emulate.” Petyr turned to Lady Waynwood. “You have such a boy at Ironoaks, my lady. Perhaps you might agree to send me Harrold Hardyng.”

Anya Waynwood seemed amused. “Lord Petyr, you are as bold a thief as I’d ever care to meet.

While the Lords Declarant meeting failed to oust Littlefinger as Lord Protector, Yohn Royce now knows he must act quickly to secure influence over Harry with Robert’s health so uncertain. Especially when it’s revealed in Alayne II that Lady Anya’s debts have been bought up by Littlefinger. That and offering an enormous dowry forces her to entertain his proposal and use her influence to nudge Harry along.   

The Waynwoods are very old and very proud, but not as rich as one might think, as I discovered when I began buying up their debt. Not that Lady Anya would ever sell a son for gold. A ward, however . . . young Harry’s only a cousin, and the dower that I offered her ladyship was even larger than the one that Lyonel Corbray just collected. It had to be, for her to risk Bronze Yohn’s wroth. This will put all his plans awry. You are promised to Harrold Hardyng, sweetling, provided you can win his boyish heart . . . which should not be hard, for you.

How does Yohn Royce counter Littlefinger’s move toward Harry?  He holds a tourney for squires at Runestone. From Myranda Royce’s telling we know it was rigged for Harry to win the championship and his knighthood.

Our cousin Bronze Yohn had himself a mêlée at Runestone,” Myranda Royce went on, oblivious, “a small one, just for squires. It was meant for Harry the Heir to win the honors, and so he did.”

“Harry the Heir?”

“Lady Waynwood’s ward. Harrold Hardyng. I suppose we must call him Ser Harry now. Bronze Yohn knighted him.

By Yohn Royce personally bestowing knighthood upon him, he hopes to create a close mentor-mentee relationship. No doubt he warns Harry to mistrust Littlefinger’s wiles, especially in regards to marrying Alayne Stone. When Sansa suggests a tourney of Winged Knights to alleviate Robert’s anxieties, she inadvertently gives Littlefinger his counter maneuver. Harry will be tempted with glory as all his eager young peers are. Since Littlefinger leaves nothing to chance, this tourney is surely rigged as well. In the sample chapter, Sansa looks for Petyr in his solar and conspicuously mentions a list of competitors among the papers on his desk. There’s actually a few parallels here to the tourney at Whitewalls (also held by a former master of coin) in “The Mystery Knight” novella where the master of games was bribed to arrange the lists favorably.

It had fallen out just as Petyr said it would, the day the ravens flew. “They’re young, eager, hungry for adventure and renown. Lysa would not let them go to war. This is the next best thing. A chance to serve their lord and prove their prowess. They will come. Even Harry the Heir.” He had smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. “What a clever daughter you are.

Yohn was left no choice but to acquiesce to Harry’s insistence lest he “create a rift between them.”  The players involved must ingratiate themselves by flattering his ego, but much to their frustration he can be swayed in the opposite direction as easily as a weather vane.  One can’t be completely sure if Harry has much awareness of the political tug-o-war over him or if he just doesn’t particularly care. Either way, he’s established as headstrong and heedlessly headed toward Littlefinger’s plot to ensnare him despite the red flags. Now he’s moved into position for Alayne Stone to charm him as the betrothal is contingent on Harry’s approval.

From a Doylist perspective, what does Harry represent by the way Littlefinger idyllically describes him when he lays out his plan?  We only have to look to Aegon Targaryen to guess what Martin thinks of this staple of the fantasy genre: a young hero who is also the rightful ruler, driven by destiny, arrives on scene with perfect timing to set things right.  There’s a beautiful princess waiting for him at the end. We’re assured of his success without having to read any further. Aegon’s handlers have carefully shaped their “perfect prince” to the point that he unquestioningly believes his story is just a matter of checking off all the boxes. Along that same vein, Littlefinger presents Harrold Hardyng not just as Robert Arryn’s heir, but as the worthier heir of the Vale who is waiting to come to center stage and take his rightful place. Harry even looks the part as he is noted to resemble Jon Arryn in his youth with his blonde hair, blue eyes, and aquiline nose. A perfect example of Andal purity and able-bodied manhood. Small, frail, brown-haired Robert must seem like a changeling by comparison.

There’s a parallel theme of the true and rightful heir trope being fast-tracked in his ascension without sacrifice or hardship on his part.  This is the antithesis of Martin making his characters like Daenerys or Jon earn their ascensions the hard way, facing real dangers and suffering through hard choices. Even then success is not a guarantee. Remember that Sansa herself more authentically embodies the “rightful heir” in hiding who has suffered real dangers and learned from her trial. However, the author appears to be misdirecting us to the “young falcon” as if he will be the protagonist of Sansa’s story, relegating her to the princess that will be awarded to him. Sansa is the major POV here and Harry must serve her story.

There is reasonable evidence that the “mummer’s dragon” will be exposed as an imposter at some point.  Even if it’s unbeknownst to him, how could Aegon ever have been at real risk of failure or peril if those trials were always orchestrated for his benefit?  But at least we can say Aegon has exerted his own efforts into preparing himself for kingship and considers his rule a duty he owes his people. I would argue that Harry sinks a bit lower in the deconstruction of the perfect prince and “rightful heir” trope.  He’s a poor imitation of even the imposter. His credentials and rewards have been completely unearned given the fact that Ser Harrold got his knighthood essentially handed to him in a tourney he could never win on his own merits. This is made clear to us when we see other characters finding Harry’s reputed martial skills to be quite underwhelming. Lothor Brune calls him “just some upjumped squire” and from Littlefinger’s own mouth with Belmore concurring:

…The boy is nowise skilled enough to win a place amongst the Winged Knights.”

“I suppose not,” said Belmore, grudgingly. — Alayne I, TWOW.

Yohn Royce must be of the same opinion if he had to leave nothing to chance.  If Harry doesn’t know he’s being wooed and handed token honors, then he’s profoundly stupid.  If he does know that his knighthood was never truly earned and he accepted it anyway, it speaks to a certain lack of scruples.  Especially when he puts on airs of deserving his rewards, as his imperious attitude when he arrives on scene would suggest. Abiding by even the most basic level of courtesy as a guest is beneath him.

Ser Harrold Hardyng looked every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle. Men old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look, she knew. He had a mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an aquiline nose. Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that’s what he was. Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was.

Harry was staring at her. He knows who I am, she realized, and he does not seem pleased to see me.

…

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. “Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger’s bastard?”

All three Waynwoods looked at him askance. “You are a guest here, Harry,” Lady Anya reminded him, in a frosty voice. “See that you remember that.  

Harry is also quite “upjumped” in more ways than just knighthood. Let’s review exactly how Harrold Hardyng is Robert Arryn’s heir. Until Robert is born, Jon Arryn had no children from any of his three marriages.  His younger brother Ronnel had a son named Elbert, who upon the death of his father became his uncle’s heir. Elbert was later murdered by King Aerys II Targaryen. Jon’s sister Alys, who was married to Elys Waynwood, had nine children: one son and eight daughters. The son, Jasper, dies at three from being kicked by a horse. Three of the daughters die of natural causes. One becomes a septa. One is seduced by a sellsword and then becomes a Silent Sister. One marries, but is barren. One is carried off by the Burned Men. The youngest daughter marries a member of House Hardyng, which appears to be a small landed knight house.  She dies not long after Harrold is born and Lady Anya Waynwood then takes him as her ward. Between the Arryns and Waynwoods, there’s quite a string of misfortunes and accidents of fate that have happened to finally whittle down the family tree to Harrold.

That’s right — he’s “Harry the Heir” by sheer dumb luck. It’s almost comical when you think about how far flung he is in inheritance order.  While this isn’t anything reflective of his character in itself, I think it juxtaposes significantly with Harrold’s apparent lack of humility at this extremely rare leap in upward mobility. It’s definitely made worse by how often he’s catered to. He is also sporting a highly conspicuous new sigil:

Though his surcoat and horse trappings were patterned in the red-and-white diamonds of House Hardyng, his shield was quartered. The arms of Hardyng and Waynwood were displayed in the first and third quarters, respectively, but in the second and fourth quarters he bore the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn, sky blue and cream. Sweetrobin will not like that. — Alayne I, TWOW.

While there’s plenty of House Hardyng pride, he’s in no small terms emphasizing his more prestigious relations of the Waynwoods and Arryns. He’s displaying a need to shore up his pedigree and he’s doing so in a very crass and presumptuous way. The only way he can actually claim the Arryn sigil is literally over his cousin’s dead body, who is at present still alive and this tourney is in his honor.  It makes Robert’s earlier statement that “he calls me cousin, but he’s just waiting for me to die so he can take the Eyrie” seem astute in hindsight.

Another character that gives us interesting insights on Harry is Myranda Royce, daughter of Lord Nestor of the cadet branch of House Royce.  Nestor had approached Lady Anya to betroth Myranda to Harry and she was soundly rejected without serious consideration. But why?

Lady Myranda snorted. “I pray [Harry] gets the pox. He has a bastard daughter by some common girl, you know. My lord father had hoped to marry me to Harry, but Lady Waynwood would not hear of it. I do not know whether it was me she found unsuitable, or just my dowry.” She gave a sigh.  — Alayne II, AFFC.

Her anger seems to be directed at Harry first, then Lady Waynwood, indicating her unsuitability wasn’t just the latter’s determination.  Then when the subject is revisited again in TWOW:

The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? If I were ever to wed a Waynwood, he would have to swear a vow to don his helm whenever he wished to fuck me, and keep the visor closed.” She gave Alayne a pinch on the arm. “My Harry will be with them, though. I notice that you left him out. I shall never forgive you for stealing him away from me. He’s the boy I want to marry.”

“The betrothal was my father’s doing,” Alayne protested, as she had a hundred times before. She is only teasing, she told herself…but behind the japes, she could hear the hurt.

There’s still some bitterness there toward Lady Anya, but now it’s more a sore spot. While Myranda may say Alayne stole him from her, we know her suit was rejected long before Alayne was ever in the picture. I think Myranda might have invented a new narrative to a less painful version if we look at everything in context. We’ve seen the author use this technique before in Sandor’s romanticized and misleading version of Sansa’s singing to him in Arya IX, ASOS. Myranda has clearly taken the rejection very personally, so I doubt it was an impersonal matter of dowry. The cadet Royces are still an ancient First Men house in the Vale and they boast the familial connection to House Stark through Jocelyn Stark marrying Benedict Royce. Catelyn references this connection when suggesting possible heirs for King Robb to name in his will. Myranda comes from a prestigious family and we know Harry values this from his quartered sigil. So we must conclude it was something about Myranda herself that Anya and Harry rejected.  While her bawdy humor and frank sex-positivity might be too much for Lady Anya, I doubt Harry would find that displeasing. He seems quite taken with Alayne’s cleverness and is thoroughly on the hook the moment she merely suggests she’ll be “all the spice [he’ll] want.” We might say it’s Alayne’s beauty, but Harry doesn’t find her that attractive.  “You’re comely enough, I’ll grant you” is basically saying “you’re okay, I guess.” So why reject as a bride the true born noble girl of ancient name who is just as flirtatious, clever, and spirited? I think we’re given a strong suggestion at the real reason Myranda was rejected and why it’s so hurtful to her: she’s fat.  

Lord Nestor’s daughter proved to be a short, fleshy woman, of an age with Mya Stone, but where Mya was slim and sinewy, Myranda was soft-bodied and sweet-smelling, broad of hip, thick of waist, and extremely buxom. Her thick chestnut curls framed round red cheeks, a small mouth, and a pair of lively brown eyes. — Alayne II, AFFC.   

And Harry’s fatphobia is bluntly stated for us in TWOW:

Cissy was a pretty thing when I tumbled her, but childbirth left her as fat as a cow, so Lady Anya arranged for her to marry one of her men-at-arms…

It’s an extremely callous attitude toward the mother of his first child. She puts on pregnancy weight, Harry is disgusted by her appearance and coldly discards her, and Lady Anya cleans up Harry’s mess. I think it’s safe to assume Cissy was the daughter of someone serving Lady Anya or a maid close to her personally, which is why she felt compelled to smooth the scandal over.  When Harry speaks of his current lover’s beauty in contrast, her slimness is noted among her attractive features. With Harry possibly being her future high lord and knowing about the Cissy incident, I cannot see Lady Anya souring her relationship to Harry by saddling him with a bride that would disgust him.  It’s political suicide for her family’s future interests. And even with Alayne she is careful not to make Harry feel too forced.

We can now see why an otherwise self-confident young woman would be vague about the reason for her rejection.  It’s cruel and shallow. It’s probably why we see Myranda biting back by skewering the Waynwood appearance as “horse-faced,” paying Lady Anya back in her own coin.  As Harry finds Cissy repulsive, Myranda says the same thing about requiring Waynwood men to wear a closed-visor helm to bed. The sentiment is very “you don’t have room to talk, lady.”  Joking about Alayne stealing Harry allows her to imagine a more tolerable explanation. Stolen implies he was already hers, hence she was never outright rejected to begin with. It’s such an offhand comment I don’t think Myranda truly believes this any more than Sandor really believed his own self-serving fantasy.  Let’s not jump to conclusions that Myranda is seethingly jealous over Harry. Deep down she probably still hopes he gets an STD.

Note that Harry doesn’t acknowledge Myranda at all while the Waynwoods do in contrast.  She is the lady of the Gates of the Moon and he is a guest in her father’s home. It’s a glaring breach of etiquette. If we could be inside her head instead of Sansa’s at that moment, the slight would be obvious. Among the myriad of ways that fatphobia manifests itself, being treated as invisible in moments where a person should be recognized is one of them.  Myranda could represent an inverse of “Fat Walda” Frey who is relishing being the new Lady Bolton.  Roose Bolton chose to wed her specifically because Old Walder Frey offered him the bride’s weight in silver for a dowry.  While still a mercenary reason, her fatness in that case was the prospective bride’s shining feature.

If we take a step back and break down how the Alayne sample chapter is structured, we’ll see a recurring theme that I think gives us clarity on the author’s intentions.  Since we meet Harry in person toward the end of the chapter, everything before that is a preamble. Beginning, middle, and end we will see examples of female characters being used, dishonored, devalued, and discarded by men. Their trust betrayed. Their hopes and dreams trampled.

The chapter opens with Mya Stone arriving in Robert Arryn’s bedchamber with straw in her hair and “scowl” on her face. Sansa knows immediately her dark mood was triggered by the presence of Mychel Redfort, the young man who had once promised to marry her. He has been staying at the Gates of the Moon to compete in the tourney and it seems that Mya has seen him just prior to the opening scene. Mya’s dreamy innocence is very much like Sansa’s, until it’s crushed by a broken promise and harsh reality. Like Sansa, she too dreamed of marrying for love. Mya had once told Catelyn of her and Mychel’s plan to marry once he was knighted, to which Catelyn privately doubts Horton Redfort would ever allow that. Mya trusted his word on this so implicitly that she gave her virginity to him. Then we learn in AFFC that Mychel has married Ysilla Royce instead and Mya was left with a soiled reputation and broken heart. Servants gossip about her as if she were promiscuous. There is also a sense that she’s not yet been able to heal and move on. She may love him still. Since learning of the marriage, she has stubbornly refused all of Nestor Royce’s offers to make a match for her nor will she consider another suitor. As Myranda says:

Mychel was the best young swordsman in the Vale, and gallant . . . or so poor Mya thought, till he wed one of Bronze Yohn’s daughters. Lord Horton gave him no choice in the matter, I am sure, but it was still a cruel thing to do to Mya.”

“Ser Lothor is fond of her.” Alayne glanced down at the mule girl, twenty steps below. “More than fond.”

“Lothor Brune?” Myranda raised an eyebrow. “Does she know?” She did not wait for an answer. “He has no hope, poor man. My father’s tried to make a match for Mya, but she’ll have none of them. She is half mule, that one.

It was wrong of Mychel to let her believe they’d be married, especially if it leveraged her consent to a sexual relationship.  Even if he would have prefered to marry Mya, he always knew he would concede to his father’s will on the matter. This is a bit of speculation on my part, but I believe the added detail of the straw in her hair paired with her scowl is meant to imply she recently had sex with him in the stables — a nod to the tawdry cliche of a “roll in the hay” akin to the way Harry describes “tumbling” Cissy.  It’s consistent with her emotionally compromised state. It’s plausible to see her in a desperate, fleeting attempt to recapture intimacy with him; however, a tryst only leaves her feeling cheapened and bitter, hence the scowl. Nothing changes the reality that he has a wife now, the wife she’ll never be. But bastard girls aren’t supposed to expect any better, are they? She took a leap of faith on the wrong man and discovered he was a poor imitation of gallant. This is exactly the cautionary tale Sansa must take to heart.

Next comes Robert and Alayne’s conversation on Harrold. While Alayne attempts to soothe his anxieties about his cousin and his distress about her marrying him, Robert pouts and says he should marry her one day instead.  She tries to gently dissuade him from such notions. While his crush on her is mostly harmless, it starts to become overly possessive and entitled in tone. He’s still a little boy and only partially understands what he’s saying, but she nips that attitude right in the bud.  Alayne sharply corrects Robert when he insists he can keep Alayne as his mistress if he can’t marry her. Note how highly appropriate this is for Sansa just coming off of recognizing Mya’s situation with Mychel. The interaction plays out the sexual politics of the same nobleman / bastard girl dynamic:  

The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can’t I still love you, even if I have to marry her? Ser Harrold has a common woman. Benjicot says she’s carrying his bastard.”

Benjicot should learn to keep his fool’s mouth shut. “Is that what you would have from me? A bastard?” She pulled her fingers from his grasp. “Would you dishonor me that way?”

The boy looked stricken. “No. I never meant—

Having Alayne as his mistress is a perfectly agreeable solution for him, so he never considers she could feel differently about it. He is legitimately shocked to learn this arrangement would dishonor her and the mere suggestion of it is insulting. He represents the theme of privileged men treating women (consciously or not) as pretty toys they can pick up and put down as they like, clueless to their feelings and inconsiderate of their actions.  It’s especially heinous when love is used as a carrot on a stick. Women like Mya and Cissy paid a costly price for misplacing their trust in reckless, selfish men. Well, Alayne is having none of that.  Just because Robert is Lord of the Eyrie doesn’t mean he can “do as he likes,” especially not with a woman he claims to love and care for. She’s making Robert think about the harsh social stigma women face as well as their bastard children.  That there is more at stake than just satisfying his desires. Harrold’s behavior with his common woman is no role model for manhood or a proper lord. It’s a moment of really good parenting where she sets clear boundaries, teaches him to respect and empathize with women, and withdraws her company so he can contemplate the lesson.   

Next she finds a “desperate” looking Myranda Royce in the training yard and she’s been inundated by the unwanted attentions of Ser Ossifer Lipps and Ser Uthor Shett.  Sansa makes an excuse to “rescue” her from the situation to which she is grateful. The tone of their conversation seems light, but there’s an undercurrent of sadness in Myranda.  She reveals her father, Nestor Royce, is threatening to marry her off to an undesirable suitor just to be rid of her. Myranda is highly intelligent and vivacious; furthermore, she’s proven capable of running a household well. Many a man would count themselves lucky to have her. Why would her father do this?

Alayne giggled. “Surely Lord Nestor would not seriously entertain a suit from such men.”

“Oh, he might. My lord father is annoyed with me for killing my last husband and putting him to all this trouble.”

“It was not your fault he died.”

“There was no one else in the bed that I recall.

In Alayne II, AFFC, Myranda jokes she killed her husband while they were having sex, but it appears the older man simply had a heart attack or stroke.  We can see in her personality she often uses jokes to hide her pain, in this case guilt and shame. There’s nothing to suggest that she disliked her late husband.  The way she was widowed and her reputation for being “frolicsome” is embarrassing in the conservative culture of the Vale. Myranda blames herself for his death and appears to have internalized her father’s words.  Alayne responds with sympathy. She has in the past referred to herself as a “dreadful slut,” which in hindsight seems sad rather than funny. Add to the fact that Nestor was probably humiliated as well when Lady Anya turned down the marriage proposal to Harry.  His frustration and criticism is all aimed at Myranda for not being the right kind of woman. Instead of valuing her and supporting her, he’s at the point of just marrying her off to practically anyone.

Used, dishonored, devalued, and discarded.  We can also put that into the context of Littlefinger’s treatment of Sansa.  She’s his perfect woman. He wants to mold her to his philosophy, make her completely dependent upon him, as well as barter her as commodity for his interests.  He has promised her Harry will be her true knight that will take her home.  At the end of the chapter we learn about Cissy’s fate, and the probability of Saffron suffering the same dashed hopes and broken promises. These are signposts along Sansa’s path through the chapter, warning her to be wary of empty promises and misplaced trust. Thus we, the readers, should not trust the overall whimsical tone of the chapter and think Sansa has finally caught a break with Harry. Look closer and you’ll see the cracks.       

With Myranda’s first mention of Harry in AFFC, Harry’s bastards are an oft-mentioned subject of gossip and a prominent association with his character.  Clearly GRRM wanted the reader and Sansa to come armed with this information just before Littlefinger paints his pretty picture and stresses how lucky she is to have this opportunity to wed him.    

Harry the Heir?” Alayne tried to recall what Myranda had told her about him on the mountain. “He was just knighted. And he has a bastard daughter by some common girl.”

“And another on the way by a different wench. Harry can be a beguiling one, no doubt. Soft sandy hair, deep blue eyes, and dimples when he smiles. And very gallant, I am told.” He teased her with a smile. “Bastard-born or no, sweetling, when this match is announced you will be the envy of every highborn maiden in the Vale, and a few from the riverlands and the Reach as well.” — Alayne II, AFFC.

His first child comes from the aforementioned Cissy and he has a second on the way by a Gulltown merchant’s daughter named Saffron, his current lover.  This is by no means considered honorable behavior in general, but I would also point out that while she takes note of it, Sansa doesn’t seem to really judge him for it either. It makes sense considering her beloved father also had a bastard that she considers her family. She only uses the information to test Harry’s honesty and this is where his character becomes a little more complex.

I have heard that you are about to be a father.” It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie.

“For the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old.

We can see Harry does acknowledge both his children, making Alys a Stone as well as the one to come.  And he is forthright about it. He calls her “my daughter,” not “my bastard,” and by her name. He’s not treating her as something to be ashamed of no matter how she came to be or his relationship with the mother.  There’s a respect for her personhood. While Harry may be lacking in other ways, at least we can say he seems to care for Alys enough to officially claim her and give her the related social advantages. We have no evidence that he would be an absentee father.  There’s definitely a comparison here to be made with Robert Baratheon who fathered many bastards including Mya Stone while he spent his teen years in the Vale. Harry is about the same age. While Harry lacks Robert’s martial skill and likely the natural leadership abilities to go with it, he hasn’t abandoned his children.  Robert never officially acknowledged Mya, though it was simply obvious who fathered her; this oversight is noted to put limitations on Mya’s marriage options and thus continues to affect her. Sansa is also all too aware of Mya’s personal pain over it. For a brief time she felt loved by Robert, then he disappeared from her life.  So Harry does seem to have a one-up on Robert.

By not making Harry the Worst Person Ever™, GRRM gives Sansa something to chew on.  If Harry is a loving father to their children and she can live in relative safety, perhaps even return to Winterfell one day, is that enough for her?  Could she tolerate him possibly being unfaithful to her as long as he was discrete? What if she gained pregnancy weight as Cissy had? It calls back to Cersei’s assertion that Sansa “may never love [her husband], but [she’ll] love his children.”  Sansa isn’t being presented with a nightmare marriage to an outright monstrous abuser-type. That would be a no-brainer on her part. She’s actually being presented with a fairly typical transactional marriage among nobility. There’s an expectation of gain for both parties and the quiet toleration of certain aspects.  It means giving up the dream of being “loved for herself” (the passionate choice) in favor of the conventional good enough marriage that would give her social security and children to love (the pleasant choice).

I’m using “pleasant” versus “passionate” labels deliberately.  It’s no secret that GRRM’s favorite interpretation of Beauty and the Beast is the Jean Cocteau film La Belle et la Bête (1946).  In this version, the lead actor Jean Marais plays three roles:  the Beast, Prince Ardent (the Beast’s true form), and Avenant (a family friend that is Beauty’s other suitor). Their names literally translate into “passionate” and “pleasant.” Avenant is not the clear villain that Gaston of the Disney version is.  He has a greedy streak. He’s immature and brash, but he’s not evil. Beauty does find him attractive and he does have a certain amusing boyish charm about him.  She does consider marrying him, but her heart is not moved enough to accept. The purpose of his character is to provide Beauty with a bonafide choice between two viable options, both with certain desirable and disagreeable traits.  One is the easy, reliable, expected choice. The choice her family would condone.  He’s familiar and she knows they would get along fine. The other, represented by the Beast / Prince Ardent, means taking the riskier but potentially more fulfilling path of the unconventional and daring to follow one’s heart. That is consistent with Sansa’s wish to have a marriage based on mutual love and desire; however, who ends up playing that role is beyond the scope of his essay, but I’m sure it will be revealed in TWOW.

This La Belle et la Bête dichotomy is repeated in Brienne’s AFFC arc between the potential suits of Jaime Lannister and Hyle Hunt, who also bears a double “H” name.  Ser Hyle also has a bastard daughter that he acknowledges and visits, while having a strained relationship with the mother. He’s very Avenant.  He has glaring shortcomings, he’s young and dumb, he’s not good enough for Brienne, but there’s also something endearing about the fool in spite of it.        

What I want to win is you, Lord Selwyn’s only living child. I’ve known men to wed lackwits and suckling babes for prizes a tenth the size of Tarth. I am not Renly Baratheon, I confess it, but I have the virtue of being still amongst the living. Some would say that is my only virtue. Marriage would serve the both of us. Lands for me, and a castle full of these for you.” He waved his hand at the children. “I am capable, I assure you. I’ve sired at least one bastard that I know of. Have no fear, I shan’t inflict her upon you. The last time I went to see her, her mother doused me with a kettle of soup.

There’s similarities as Sansa is the only known living heir to Winterfell, but Harry doesn’t yet know who Alayne really is.  Sansa’s attitude going into this whole situation seems to be initially hopeful that this could turn out for the best despite her misgivings.  One of the things she looks for is that he shows some sign of genuinely liking her. As Alayne, her hope is that he can see past “Littlefinger’s bastard” to the person underneath — that somehow a real loving marriage could be salvaged from these schemes and intrigues.   For her own sake, if Harry can love her as a bastard girl before he knows about her true name and claim, then such a marriage can be possible. If he suddenly treats her kindly and professes words of love when he finds out she’s Sansa Stark, well… this doesn’t speak well of his character and she’s truly stuck in a loveless marriage for her claim. Again. So she goes in prepared to give this a fair shot.

And if the gods are good, he will love me too. Her tummy gave a little flutter.

…

This time her eyes met Harry’s. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn’t need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now.

… and you can almost hear the record scratch the moment he coldly addresses her while looking down upon Littlefinger’s bastard.  It’s not going to go that smoothly. To her credit, Sansa stifles her tears of embarrassment at being insulted and embodies “bastard brave”-style courtesy.  She gratefully receives support from Lothor Brune who dubs him “Harry the Arse.” Next she finds Littlefinger who offers some mixed advice.

He’s horrible.”

“The world is full of horrors, sweet. By now you ought to know that. You’ve seen enough of them.”

“Yes,” she said, “but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone.”

“So far as he knows, that’s who you are. This betrothal was never his idea, and Bronze Yohn has no doubt warned him against my wiles. You are my daughter. He does not trust you, and he believes that you’re beneath him.

While I’m loathe to say Littlefinger has a point, it is true she has seen real malice and cruelty in Joffrey and Cersei, far beyond any snub Harry could lob at her.  It’s plausible his initial hostility could partially stem from being pushed into a marriage for his claim with someone he considers part of an enemy camp. A position Sansa can surely sympathize with. She’ll give it another go at the feast — except doing it her way, not following Littlefinger’s urging to smile, pet, and “tease him, to pique his pride.”  She turns the tables on him pretty handedly.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Color rose to his cheeks. “I was unforgiveably rude to you in the yard. You must forgive me.”

“Must?” She tossed her hair, took a sip of wine, made him wait. “How can you forgive someone who is unforgiveably rude? Will you explain that to me, ser?”

Ser Harrold looked confused. “Please. One dance.”

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. “If you insist.”

At first he’s very grudgingly asking for a dance at Lady Anya’s insistence, fully expecting Littlefinger’s bastard to just gratefully accept. There’s no flirtation or sweetness from Alayne. It’s pointed indifference at his insincere apology and a demand that she forgive him. The toss of hair and sip of wine to make him wait is so Cersei, a very well-played adaptation of the queen’s posturing. The power dynamic seems to flip in an instant and Harry is left bewildered and begging. Clearly Sansa is capable of reading Harry better than Littlefinger and adjusted her tack accordingly. His strategy would have never worked.

What follows during their dance is their blunt conversation about his bastards and the women he has been involved with. While Cissy was discarded, he claims that “it is different with Saffron.” For a moment the tone seems to indicate he has deeper feelings for her and it would give him a sympathetic reason to resist a match to another; however, it turns out that Harry’s sense of romantic love has a proportional relationship to her family’s coffers.  

Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He’s rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices.”

“Saffron is very beautiful, I’ll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey.

Very Avenant, indeed. It’s probably safe to deduce that Saffron’s very wealthy father was also interested in offering up a hefty dowry for his beloved daughter. One can imagine how high an unmarried, pregnant Saffron’s hopes must be and that she’s likely heard the same sweet profession that it’s “different with [her].” Harry must have at least entertained the idea of marriage if he had this conversation with her father. Remember this is pretty on par with many people’s idea of a normal marriage negotiation where both parties assess the advantages. There’s a ladyship in it for Saffron as well. There’s a parallel to the marriage of a very satisfied Lord Lyonel Corbray to another wealthy Gulltown merchant’s daughter who has proven quite fertile; however, Lord Lyonel already had the ancient name and fertility is obviously not where Harry is lacking.           

An agreeable match they may otherwise be, the only thing Saffron can’t offer is an ancient noble bloodline and her father probably isn’t audacious enough to buy up Lady Anya’s debts to press the issue either. Alayne Stone is also a wealthy man’s daughter, but as a bastard she can’t even claim his landed-knight family name. And the Vale lords consider Petyr quite upjumped himself. Saffron and Alayne are actually on equal footing in this respect. But in Harry’s eyes, Alayne doesn’t even come close to Saffron’s beauty. It’s Alayne’s clever japes and deft handling of him that causes Harry to warm to her. In the end she has him smiling and asking to wear her favor, which she denies him.  This is turning into quite an intriguing experience for him. She excels in offering novelty. Unlike most trying to curry his favor, she’s actually making him work for her attention and approval. So how does Sansa feel about Harry by the end of the chapter?  

He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek. “Should we ever wed, you’ll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want.”

He grinned. “I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?”

“You may not. It is promised to…another.” She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

Good teeth?  You could assess a horse the same way and quite fitting if we’re determining if Harry is the horse to bet on.  It’s the very best likable thing about him she can come up with, which isn’t saying much, but it’s a step up from Harry the Arse.  It’s a good enough start to possibly build upon.  Since it is the last line of the chapter, we can be sure that Alayne’s favor and whoever wears it is set up to be a plot device in TWOW.  All we know now is that person is not Harry.

Returning to the central idea that Harrold Hardyng represents a poor imitation, he embodies certain aspects in common to another important knightly dichotomy in Sansa’s story:  Sandor Clegane and Loras Tyrell. Yet the surface similarities are overshadowed by key differences. Harry’s blunt honesty to the point of being offensive recalls her interactions with the Hound.  Progress in breaking through Harry’s hostility only comes after Sansa makes the effort to dig deeper than her first impressions. She knows that sometimes a prickly exterior can be defense mechanism to conceal past pain and trauma.  It’s through the establishment of intimacy that Sansa reveals there’s substantial complexity and humanity under Sandor’s brutish persona that no one else sees. With a hand upon his shoulder and the simple utterance that “he was no true knight,” Sansa made an indelible impression on Sandor that carried through several books with no sign of waning.  With Harry, we don’t get any such reveal to empathize with. He’s neither a tormented soul nor particularly profound. No sense of shared core values. For Sansa’s part, we can see she has gone from a girl that would be easily flustered by the Hound’s rudeness and posturing to a more mature version that can hold her own with confidence. Harry is intrigued, for now at least, with Alayne.  Like jangling keys in front of a baby, it’s a tenuous connection at best. So while Harry may share some of Sandor’s honesty, there’s nothing of real substance or admirable about what he says or does.

It’s easy to compare Harry and Loras in their similar physicality.  Both are tall, slim, and handsome young men of similar age. They both share an arrogance of over privileged youth.  Unlike Harry, Loras had renown early on as a rising star among knights. Word of his tourney successes and skill as a warrior had reached as far as the North.  Loras’s knighthood was undoubtedly earned through his own merits. When making comparisons between these two, I’ve seen fandom members esteem Harry higher than Loras, citing the latter’s cheating at the Hand’s tourney.  While Loras using a mare in heat to provoke the Mountain’s stallion is in no way considered fair play, one can hardly claim Harry is above taking shortcuts. Accepting honors and accolades he knows he did nothing to earn is no less dishonest or dishonorable.  Loras chose to end the Hand’s tourney by forfeiting to Sandor, in recognition of Sandor’s heroic act in saving his life.  Despite his faults, we can also say that Loras knew deep abiding love for Renly. “When the sun has set, no candle can replace it” is an iconic line of a lover in mourning who remained faithful to Renly’s memory long after he was gone — emphasis on faithful.  What does Harry show us of fidelity in his relationships? He’s a poor imitation of the best qualities of both men.

So with that being the case, his character seems to exist primarily serve Sansa’s by allowing her to apply her discernment skills after four books.  She approaches him with healthy skepticism while still leaving room for him to prove himself a decent partner. No free passes given for handsome knights while she also patiently draws out the real Harry, such as he is.  Even if she feels this may be her only chance to go home, as slim as it may be, what’s important is that she’s approaching this prospective marriage with eyes open and with the ability to assert herself.

All signs so far point to “no,” Harry is not the horse to bet on; however, Harry can also serve one more greater thematic purpose if this bit of speculation is correct.  I don’t think Harry is long for this world, so I don’t think this marriage plot will gain any traction in itself. There’s a few more strong parallels to two other minor Vale characters I think show us where GRRM might be going to go with Harry.  Recall Ser Hugh of the Vale (another “H” name) at the Hand’s tourney. He was squire to Jon Arryn and knighted prematurely by Robert Baratheon in honor of his late Hand. He is described as “arrogant as only a new-made knight can be.”  He arrives at the tourney in shiny new plate and he’s sporting the Arryn colors and crescent moons on his cloak, an association he has no direct claim to as with Harry’s quartered sigil.  Sadly, in his tilt against Gregor Clegane, Ser Hugh meets his end at the tip of a lance to the throat where his gorget was loose. With no squire to assist him, he was ill-prepared against the Mountain. One by one, Sansa sees Ser Hugh’s crescent moons soak through with blood. The Tourney of the Winged Knights takes place at the foot of a mountain whose peak is called the Giant’s Lance. It makes Sansa’s curse (“and may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt”) sound almost prophetic. Sansa will note that no songs will be sung to remember young men like Ser Hugh.  Like the “knights of summer” in Renly’s host Catelyn notes are playing at war games, there’s a foreboding sense of wasted youth and potential snuffed out for frivolous pursuits. It’s tragic and it fits all too well with the decadent feasting and revelry of the Vale tourney, all on the cusp of a Winter that demands austerity. Ser Hugh’s death almost certainly foreshadows a blood-soaked Vale, somehow, someway.  

But there might just be a shining moment for Harrold Hardyng in the end and it would twist the knife in our emotions.  We’ve seen Harry’s type before early on in another Vale man. In the prologue chapter of AGOT, Ser Waymar Royce, third son of Yohn Royce, is leading a ranging mission north of the Wall.  On his way to join the Night’s Watch, the Starks feasted him and his father at Winterfell. As he is a young and handsome knight, he’s Sansa’s first mentioned crush in the series. He’s an arrogant, over privileged, know-it-all teenager who mocks his more experienced companions. We’re not given anything likeable about Waymar. He’s given command of this mission for no other reason than to encourage his lordly father’s continued support of the Night’s Watch. We expect someone like Waymar to cower and run as the Others surround him. Death is certain. But in his final moments, Waymar finds it in himself to raise his sword and meet death with defiance. No one will know his courage and no songs will be sung. Even an unlikable, upjumped arse can sometimes surprise us and give us reason to remember him fondly.

The Winds of Winter Sample Chapter Overview: Alayne I

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asoiaf, george r.r.martin, harry the heir, littlefinger, sansa, sweetrobin, twow

She was reading her little lord a tale of the Winged Knight . . .

The unexpectedly released new TWOW sample chapter opens with a line that calls back another scene in her last chapter in AFFC, where Sansa is also trying to get little Robert Arryn out of bed, promising to read him all the stories he wants and give him all the lemoncakes he wants if he’ll do so. The latter delicacy will come later, but here she’s making good of her word in what is essentially a scene meant to show that Alayne Stone is still exercising a beneficial influence on Sweetrobin, employing the trappings of the songs she’s left behind to embolden and hold control over a difficult child she takes care of. She is making use of method acting from the very beginning, appearing in full Alayne mode since the initial lines, from her first thoughts on the need to make Harry Hardyng accept and love her and her use of her bastardy to stop the insistent demands of a little boy with a huge crush on her that wants to marry her and expresses displeasure at the presence of the Heir, demonstrating a surprising awareness about people’s real impressions and ambitions concerning his seat we’d not heard of before:

I hate that Harry,” Sweetrobin said when she was gone. “He calls me cousin, but he’s just waiting for me to die so he can take the Eyrie. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.” . . . “He wants my father’s castle, that’s all, so he pretends.” The boy clutched the blanket to his pimply chest. “I don’t want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it.” He sounded as if he were about to cry. “You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories.

Internally, Alayne thinks like Sansa and expresses that she cannot be married so long as the Imp is alive, a significant line that does help properly frame her behaviour towards Harry, as well as reminiscing the time she was trueborn and noble and was meant for this boy, but outwardly she resorts to her status as a natural daughter of the Lord Protector, arguing that the bannermen won’t let such an union go unchallenged because of him, mixing her identities when she says any child of theirs would be baseborn. Similar to her exasperation in her last chapter when the boy-lord was particularly obstinate, she is harsh in her thoughts when Sweetrobin insists that he could have her despite marrying another, which prompts Alayne to retort with whether he’d want to dishonour her so and leave. On the whole, the scene does show three salient points: that she’s pretty much still the only one that can have Sweetrobin behave as best he can, that the boy is quite aware of his surroundings, and that Sansa is not aware that Sweetrobin is being poisoned; on the contrary, she tells the little boy that he’ll someday have someone appropriate for a consort, and in her internal thoughts, she wishes him to live long enough to have a wife that can appreciate something beautiful in him, like his hair.

Searching for her “father,” Alayne goes freely and confidently through the castle describing the scenery, alluding to a detail that can be of significance at a later date: the scattered papers on Baelish’s solar that look, and reveals the destination of the much speculated-about tapestries of the former king. Alongside her walk, she reflects on the upcoming tournament, which we get to know was her idea, with the purpose of empowering young Lord Arryn and give him security by reproducing his favourite story about Ser Artys Arryn.

 […] the eight victors would be expected to spend the next three years at Lord Robert’s side, as his own personal guard (Alayne had suggested seven, like the Kingsguard, but Sweetrobin had insisted that he must have more knights than King Tommen).

Baelish had found the idea “clever” and preparations were made for the youth of the Vale to attend a tourney where sixty-four knights would compete for one of the eight places and wings in the Winged Knights guard for Sweetrobin. Aside the positive impact on the little lord’s morale, this is also a political move that will render fruits to Baelish in terms of tightening his control of the Vale and keeping the nobles in check, which accounts for why he accepted it readily. Most contestants are in the castle for one month or so already, and some of the knights are in the yard, training some and courting Myranda Royce others. In the scene where she “rescues” Randa from her admirers, we get the first instance showing her new level of maturity, as Alayne has come far from the proper little lady that blushed at compliments and overtly sexual comments, due to her influence, as now she does reply with banter of her own to the knights, a flirtatiousness of which we’d gotten a glimpse before and that is amplified a lot in this chapter, and doesn’t react going beet-red at Randa’s racy remarks but instead does for the first time call the bedding act by its name, and later giggles at the older lady’s joke on Lyn Corbray’s inclinations. Showing quite a great deal of confidence, she dares to use her “father” as a means to boldly poke and prod Ser Lyn over the newly-married Lord Corbray’s impending fatherhood, coming from a marriage arranged by Baelish, which leads to the startling discovery that Lyn is definitely very infuriated at losing his place as heir and resentful of Littlefinger for this; resentment he doesn’t hide to the girl. Alayne concludes that the man could in reality be Baelish’s foe pretending to be his ally pretending to be his foe, a discovery that could have interesting and potentially negative consequences for the Lord Protector and his plans. No less interesting a discovery with potential for trouble is that the Mad Mouse, into whom she bumps right after leaving the yard, has definitely identified her as Sansa Stark.

“A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that’s not likely, is it?”

“I suppose not. But now you must excuse us, ser, we need to find my lord father. “

She has no clue about what he was really alluding to, though, and concentrates her efforts again on finding her Baelish to greet the upcoming last guests, wisely ignoring Randa’s pointed questions about her “father’s” little finger. She doesn’t find him before the Waynwood party arrive, so has to race to the gates with the Royce girl, reminiscing along the way of similar races she had in Winterfell with her sister and friend Jeyne, another example of Sansa is very much there despite the chapter never mentioning her real name even once in accordance with the needs of acting like she’s someone else. There, she greets Lady Anya Waynwood, who addressed Lady Royce and herself, introducing her grandson Roland, her younger son Wallace, and her ward Harrold, to whom Alayne has a nervous yet hopeful reaction, wishing him to like her as it’s crucial for her “father’s” plan:

My Harry.  My lord, my lover, my betrothed.

Ser Harrold Hardyng looked every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle. Men old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look, she knew. He had a mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an aquiline nose. Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself.   A comely monster, that’s what he was.  Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was.

She admires his handsomeness, going through a mental list of the things he could be as she does so, but immediately compares him to Joffrey, who was her first and most lamented mistake of judgement as a young girl, a sign that this worldlier version of herself can no longer be seduced by looks alone, a hard lesson. She does understand the need to win him over, despite the lack of genuine sentiments towards him, so she behaves graciously and charmingly, but also notices that, unlike the gallant flirter Ser Roland and the eager Ser Wallace, he doesn’t look pleased to meet her. Indeed, he ends up insulting her rudely when she offers to escort him to his place in the castle, saying that there’s no reason as to why it’d please him to be escorted by “Littlefinger’s bastard,” which almost has Alayne in tears. Stone-faced, she begs her leave, wishing in her head for Hardyng to fall off his horse in the tilts and be humiliated as she goes to search for Baelish. On the path, she finds Lothor Brune, who bestows on the boy the epithet of Harry the Arse, for which Alayne is grateful.

Despite working for Baelish and taking part in some unsavoury activities, Martin seems to have pinpointed Brune as someone that Sansa can regard as a friend and potential ally, and the “quick hug” she gives him is another example of her ability to forge alliances in hostile settings. Finally locating her father in the vaults – the Lord Protector had been having a meeting on the Vale’s food stores—Alayne shares her distress over Harry’s ill-mannered words: “…He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone.” Although he is quick to reassure her by citing realistic reasons for Harry’s behaviour, Petyr’s callous self-interest is revealed when he shifts seamlessly into his Littlefinger persona:

Petyr put his arm around her … “Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him.”

“I don’t know how,” she said miserably.

“Oh, I think you do,” said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes.

It’s easy to forget with the overwhelming carefree tone of this chapter, but the insidious coercion LF employs over Sansa is still in effect, and his only concern about any misgivings she might have is how soon she gets over them. Another significant detail in their conversation is that LF mentions her hair will be shining in the firelight at the feast, which suggests that Sansa’s natural hair colour is returning, an auburn shade that makes her resemblance to her mother even more striking. As LF predicts, Alayne rules the night with constant requests for dancing and knights vying for her attention. The highlight of the feasting comes when a massive lemon cake is wheeled out in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, with a sugary Eyrie on top. Sansa thinks that the cake was made especially for her as Robert only came to love the delicacy because it was her favourite. The phallic symbolism of the cake can be interpreted through the lens of sexuality and power, but it’s also a remarkable display of lavish extravagance that brings to mind the Purple Wedding—an event that ended in disaster. Alayne is rewarded when Harry comes to her table as the dancing is underway and pleads her forgiveness for his rude comments. She hesitates in accepting his apology, but grants his request for a dance. After struggling to think of what to say to capture his interest, she settles on an interesting choice to ask about his bastards, in order “to see if Ser Harrold would lie.” Why this focus on honesty, especially as Harry’s bastards are common knowledge and Alayne herself is participating in a deceit? The answer may be found in the fact that honesty is a particular quality that Sansa values when it comes to judging the merits of her suitors, as she once recalled with bitterness the “Lannister lies” fed to her by Tyrion in contrast to Sandor’s “a dog can smell a lie” brand of candour and trustworthiness.

While he doesn’t lie about his bastard children, Harry does show considerable insensitivity towards the girl who bore his first child, Cissy, commenting that she has grown as “fat as a cow.” It’s not a remark that would endear anyone to him, and it’s to Sansa’s credit that rather than find anything funny about Harry’s comments on Cissy, she goes for the harmless teasing about names when he mentions that “it is different with Saffron,” the girl he has left currently pregnant. It is this teasing manner and her sharp play of words that finally attracts Harry’s true interest in her as more than a pretty girl with a large dowry:

 I hope you joust better than you talk.”

For a moment he looked shocked. But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh. “No one told me you were clever.

Having been successfully disarmed, Harry asks Sansa for her favor to wear in the tourney; Sansa is still following through with LF’s script, however, and withholds this token, telling Harry that it is “promised to another.” It’s an intriguing comment that further suggests the relative insignificance of Sansa’s relationship with Harry, and ushers in the prospect of unforeseen characters and events emerging ahead.