The Will to Change: Rereading Sandor II

[Milady of York]

DogLover, on 05 October 2015 - 01:12 AM said:

I want to extend my deepest apologies to my co-hosts for my long absence from the thread and to thank them for their patience. I also owe Brashcandy a huge thanks for taking over Sandor IV for me. It was a brilliant analysis and all the more impressive in that you had such little time to write it. I'm truly impressed. Milady's analysis was also mind blowing. I have my own comments to add, but since I don't want to delay the reread more than I already have, I'm going to post Sandor VI first and then comment on the other analyses.

[Milady of York]

DogLover, on 05 October 2015 - 01:19 AM said:

 

Sandor VI: The Long Road to Nowhere

 

• Tyrion VIII
• Sansa V
• Jaime VII
• Arya XII
• Tyrion IX
• Jaime VIII

 

A Glimmer of Hope

 

Hopes crushed for both Sandor and Arya after coming so close to making it to Robb and Catelyn, they find themselves reluctant traveling companions once again. Sandor has lost not only the opportunity to serve better masters, but potential masters he was already emotionally invested in due to his relationship with both Stark girls, having acted as protectors to both.

 

The opening paragraph to Arya XII sets the tone of desperation and depression:

 

She could feel the hole inside her every morning when she woke. It wasn’t hunger, though sometimes there was that too. It was a hollow place, an emptiness where her heart had been, where her brothers had lived, and her parents. Her head hurt too. Not as bad as it had at first, but still pretty bad. Arya was used to that, though, and at least the lump was going down. But the hole inside her stayed the same. The hole will never feel any better, she told herself when she went to sleep.

 

Willing to resign herself to sleeping her days away, Arya is forced to face each and every day by the Hound, who, despite his own feelings of desperation, depression, and rage, refuses to give up. This not only underscores his strong sense of discipline and work ethic, but also suggests that he’s clinging to a sense of hope. Hope for what if the masters he sought to serve have been slaughtered? Thoros of Myr already pontificated on the Hound’s bleak future, recognizing Sandor has lost all. Yet, something continues to drive him. It’s very likely that Sandor is harboring a glimmer of hope for a chance to be reunited with Sansa, something he may consider a possibility as long as he’s traveling with the little sister and has the slightest chance of reuniting her with family, regardless of how distant. Sandor is also committed to fulfilling an oath to see Arya to safety, an oath that was somehow transferred to him from Beric Dondarrion. So, a mission our non-knight still has and plans to fulfill to the best of his ability. 

 

If Sansa is indeed a motivating factor, one might ask why he wouldn’t risk taking Arya back to the Lannisters, wherein he would be able to see Sansa again, especially since it’s probably less of a gamble than taking Arya to Lysa Arryn. Surely, Sandor knows how mentally unstable Lysa is, and definitely knows how she handled the Tyrion affair. However, brining Arya to the Lannisters would not only go against his personal moral code and his desire to change for the better, but Sandor “I’m my own dog now” wants to be with Sansa on his and her own terms, which can’t happen as long as Sansa is a captive. Moreover, Sansa certainly wouldn’t appreciate Arya joining her as a Lannister prisoner. So Sandor, all while recognizing Arya’s diminishing value, continues to look after her and attempts to reunite her with family members, regardless of how distant the relatives and how dangerous the undertaking.

 

If Sandor is indeed hoping for the chance to reunite with Sansa once again, his desire to do so on his and Sansa’s own terms contrasts remarkably to Tyrion’s thoughts about their wedding day while attending Joffrey and Margaery’s royal wedding (Tyrion VIII):

 

The seven vows were made, the seven blessings invoked, and the seven promises exchanged. When the wedding song had been sung and the challenge had gone unanswered, it was time for the exchange of cloaks. Tyrion shifted his weight from one stunted leg to the other, trying to see between his father and his uncle Kevan. If the gods are just, Joff will make a hash of this. He made certain not to look at Sansa, lest his bitterness show in his eyes. You might have knelt damn you. Would it have been so bloody hard to bend those stiff Stark knees of yours and let me keep a little dignity?

 

Tyrion’s thought is profoundly selfish as he only considers his own dignity, not the dignity of his prisoner-bride. Sansa’s refusal to bend and readily accept the cloak, and symbol of marriage and protection, evokes her desire to keep Sandor’s bloody and soiled cloak after Sandor’s attempted rescue. Sandor’s deep shame for scaring Sansa also juxtaposes Tyrion’s own self-pitying thoughts. I also believe it’s intentional that right before thinking of his own wedding to Sansa, Tyrion was just reflecting on his time at Winterfell with Joffrey and Sandor, recognizing that even Joffrey wouldn’t be so stupid to order the Hound to kill Bran, interweaving the narratives of Sandor, Sansa, and Tyrion.

 

The differences between Sandor and Tyrion and their respective relationships with Sansa, as well as the parallels between the Red Wedding and Purple Wedding, are worthy of analysis and discussion. Both Sandor and Sansa find themselves somehow involved in a murderous wedding. While the Purple Wedding is no way on par with the Red Wedding with regard to bloodshed, the fact that a king was murdered during his own wedding is monumental. Sansa, who has the most reason to celebrate Joffrey’s death, is horrified, emphasizing her compassion, compassion Sandor also shares under his rough exterior, which is emphasized during his journey with Arya.  

 

Both Sandor and Sansa were able to escape perilous circumstances, only to find themselves in uncertain situations: Sandor wandering the war-torn Riverlands, and Sansa now in the hands of Littlefinger and falsely implicated in the murder of King Joffrey. Yet, their uncertain journeys are seemly bringing them closer together and will most likely culminate in the two meeting again.

 

You Ought to Sing Me a Pretty Little Song

 

As cynical as Sandor is, he still shows an interest in songs, symbolizing optimism on his part. Tyrion’s and Littlefinger’s dismissal of the importance of songs to Sansa conveys their own jaded view of the world, yet Sandor, despite rough words and posturing, as well as his own dire circumstances, continues to express the desire to be sung a song; so perhaps Gregor did not have the power to completely destroy Sandor’s dreams and desires. If anything, what Gregor did and became only inspired Sandor to become the best non-knight he could possibly be—the exact opposite of Gregor. His desire for recognition and appreciation for heroic and kind acts appears again when Arya goads him about hitting her in the head with an axe.

Once she asked Sandor Clegane where they were going. “Away,” he said. “That’s all you need to know. You’re not worth spit to me now, and I don’t want to hear your whining. I should have let you run into that bloody castle.”

“You should have,” she agreed, thinking of her mother.

“You’d be dead if I had. You ought to thank me. You ought to sing me a pretty little song, the way your sister did.”

“Did you hit her in the head with an axe too?”

“I hit you with the flat of the axe, you stupid little bitch. If I’d hit you with the blade there’d still be chunks of your head floating down the Green Fork. Now shut your bloody mouth. If I had any sense I’d give you to the silent sisters. They cut the tongues out of girls who talk too much.”

 

Despite Sandor’s harsh words and the animosity Arya still harbors for the Hound, as she still thinks about killing him, though cannot go through with it, they become their own little pack (“But if her nights were full of wolves, her days belonged to the dog”). Arya recognizes she has little choice but to stay with Sandor, and Sandor continues to act as her protector and mentor. The most significant lesson Sandor teaches Arya is the gift of mercy. Sandor’s humanity again is strongly highlighted as he compassionately puts a soldier out of his misery, but not after Arya pours him a drink of water, something she will do for Sandor when tending to his wounds.

 

When she came back, the archer turned his face up and she poured the water into his mouth. He gulped it down as fast as she could pour, and what he couldn’t gulp ran down his cheeks into the brown blood that crusted his whiskers, until pale pink tears dangled from his beard. When the water was gone he clutched the helm and licked the steel. “Good,” he said. “I wish it was wine, though. I wanted wine.”

“Me too.” The Hound eased his dagger into the man’s chest almost tenderly, the weight of his body driving the point through his surcoat, ringmail, and the quilting beneath. As he slid the blade back out and wiped it on the dead man, he looked at Arya. “That’s where the heart is, girl. That’s how you kill a man.”

 

Arya thinks to herself that it’s just one way to kill a man, yet, she misses the point of this profound lesson. While Sandor doesn’t know about Arya’s own killings, he himself has killed many men, and not by piercing them through the heart tenderly. What Arya is too immature to understand, but will learn when she joins the House of Black and white is that Sandor is imparting an important lesson about mercy and compassion: the act was completely devoid of malice, revenge, or even justice and defense. It was an act of selflessness.

 

Yet, the ever-pragmatic Hound tells Arya not to bother with a burial and to rob the corpse. Rather than revealing a callous attitude toward the dead, leaving the corpse for the dogs and wolves sounds more like a gift for their own kind—a continuation of life. There is irony in that Sandor will soon find his days filled with digging graves. Sandor’s pragmatism also contrasts to another non-knight: that of Brienne of Tarth who felt it her duty to bury the women dangling from the tree. There’s a bit of a twist in that Brienne will unwittingly witnesses Sandor digging graves during her visit to the Quiet Isle.

 

This Thing about Your Mother…

 

Both Sandor’s desperation and commitment to seeing Arya back to her family is highlighted when he attempts to offer Arya what she’s been asking for: the rescue of Catelyn Stark knowing full well that if Catelyn isn’t already dead, any endeavor to rescue her would be an exercise in futility. 

 

When morning came, the Hound did not need to shout at Arya or shake her awake. She had woken before him for a change, and even watered the horses. They broke their fast in silence, until Sandor said, “This thing about your mother…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arya said in a dull voice. “I know she’s dead. I saw her in a dream.”

The Hound looked at her for a long time, then nodded. No more was said of it. They rode on toward the mountains.

 

The long look Sandor gives Arya also indicates he understands that Arya has some type of gift, though he may not be aware of her warging abilities. Yet, something resonates which serves as a bonding moment between the two. Sandor is able to relate to Arya and there’s a sense of admiration and respect on his part for the feisty wolf pup.

 

A Protector Denied

 

Previously, Sandor had dressed as a peasant as a “game” of trickery, but he soon finds himself reduced to menial labor when he takes up work in a village—a far cry from his status as landed knight, Sworn Shield, member of the Kingsguard, and revered warrior. The fact that he opted to work demonstrates his sense of honor and work ethic, as he doesn’t resort to intimidation and theft. Unfortunately, his already dire situation only worsens when the villagers refuse him after he offers them his protection from the clansmen:

 

But when the work was done and the tall wooden palisade was finished, the village elder made it plain that there was no place for them. “Come winter, we will be hard pressed to feed our own,” he explained. “And you…a man like you brings blood with him.”

Sandor’s mouth tightened. “So you do know who I am.”

“Aye.” We don’t get travelers here, that’s so, but we go to market, and to fairs. We know about King Joffrey’s dog.”

“When these Stone Crows come calling, you might be glad to have a dog.”

“Might be.” The man hesitated, then gathered up his courage. “But they say you lost your belly for fighting at the Blackwater. They say—“

“I know what they say.” Sandor’s voice sounded like two woodsaws grinding together. “Pay me, and we’ll be gone.”

 

Gregor’s own reputation continues to doggedly follows and taint Sandor, something he can’t seem to shake. Worse, he’s taken for a coward and rejected from his offer of doing what he does best—protecting the weak and defenseless. Arya also wonders about Sandor’s courage, or lack thereof, and even asks Sandor herself when he refuses to take her to the Wall:

 

“Are you scared of them?” she asked. “Have you lost your belly for fighting?”

For a moment she thought he was going to hit her. By then the hare was brown, though, skin crackling and grease popping as it dripped down into the cookfire. Sandor took it off the stick, ripped it apart with his big hands, and tossed half of it into Arya’s lap. “There’s nothing wrong with my belly,” he said as he pulled off a leg, “but I don’t give a rat’s arse for you or your brother. I have a brother too.”

 

Themes of courage and cowardice thread predominately throughout this chapter. Arya names herhorse craven for running from the Red Wedding, a possible poke at Sandor from also running from the wedding and not saving her mother. She also pays close attention to Sandor’s demeanor, noting that he doesn’t act or talk like a man who’s lost his belly for fighting. Sandor’s all-around badassery is even mentioned by Cersei when she asks Jaime to kill Tyrion in Jaime VII:

 

“You have another hand, don’t you? I am not asking you to best the Hound in battle. Tyrion is a dwarf, locked in a cell. The guards would stand aside for you.”

 

A False Florian

 

In Sansa V, the false Florian Dontos, absurdly dressed as a knight (which contrasts to Sandor dressing as a peasant for the sake of trickery and an effort to get Arya to her family, providing him with the hope of seeing Sansa again) drunkenly attempts to usher Sansa down the Serpentine stairs as they escape from King’s Landing, paralleling the time Sansa ran right smack into a drunken Sandor, her true Florian, who actually did see her to safety, protecting her from an interrogation from Ser Boros Blount. Milady of York already presented a convincing argument that this parallel is intentional on GRRM’s part, as there really is no reason for Dontos and Sansa to use the highly-trafficked serpentine stairs as an escape route other than to contrast the relationship between the men have with Sansa.

 

While Sansa appreciates Sandor’s fierceness, even when he is drunk, she has no confidence in Dontos, especially during the escape. He’s sloppy drunk, weepy, and she knows he was somehow involved in the murder of Joffrey and implicated her, as well. The selfishness on Dontos part mirrors Tyrion’s own selfish motives and how he uses Sansa. It’s Sandor, the true Florian, who truly cares for Sansa and has no other motive other than to be with her.

 

A Bloody Service

 

Sandor is mentioned in Jaime VII when Jaime considers his duty as Lord Commander, recognizing that the White Book requires updating, all the while pondering his own accomplishments, or lack thereof:

 

My duty now. Once he learned to write with his left hand, that is. The White Book was well behind. The deaths of Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield needed to be entered, and the brief bloody service of Sandor Clegnae as well.

 

While Sandor’s service was brief, was it bloody? Jaime knows Sandor quite well and usually assesses him with accuracy, but there seems to be some hypocrisy and revisionist history on Jaime’s part. Sandor did participate in the slaughter of the Stark household, yet, he wasn’t a member of the Kingsguard at the time. Other than that, the only bloodshed he participated in was when he defended the city against Stannis, which was his duty. Jaime’s service as Kingsguard is actually marred with blood, including the murder of the mad king Aerys and the slaying of Ned’s men as an act of vengeance for Catelyn’s abduction of Tyrion.

 

All in all, the Hound can’t seem to catch a break and continues to be misunderstood by Arya (though the bond between the two continues to tighten), the villagers he had hoped to protect, and even by Jaime (if I’m interpreting his thought correctly). Only Sansa seems to be the only one who truly understands and appreciates Sandor Clegane.

[Milady of York]

DogLover, on 05 October 2015 - 01:26 AM said:

So, there's obviously some formatting problems, specifically with the quote function, but I'm too tired to fix it now. I'll clean it up tomorrow evening. Sorry! 

[Milady of York]

Milady of York, on 05 October 2015 - 01:49 PM said:

DogLover, what a good job! It's a very meaty chapter grouping, and I'd like to comment by parts.

 

A Glimmer of Hope

Hope for what if the masters he sought to serve have been slaughtered? Thoros of Myr already pontificated on the Hound’s bleak future, recognizing Sandor has lost all. Yet, something continues to drive him. It’s very likely that Sandor is harboring a glimmer of hope for a chance to be reunited with Sansa, something he may consider a possibility as long as he’s traveling with the little sister and has the slightest chance of reuniting her with family, regardless of how distant. Sandor is also committed to fulfilling an oath to see Arya to safety, an oath that was somehow transferred to him from Beric Dondarrion. So, a mission our non-knight still has and plans to fulfill to the best of his ability. 

 

His actions post-Red Wedding are what settled my conviction that his primary motivation for kidnapping Arya was always to seek a way to serve the Starks all along, not so much the money. I've already argued for this interpretation at length in the previous chapter analysis, so here I'm only going to add that I don't share the opinion that after the Red Wedding he was wandering about without a plan and without a purpose.

 

In hindsight, especially considering that we know how that ended, it's easy to see why the aimless wandering post-Red Wedding could be an appealing interpretation, but that's judging the whole by the end which came about for circumstances not under their control. Looking at Sandor and Arya's travel itinerary, it becomes clear that he did have a plan and that plan was still linked to the Starks, see how it went:

 

a. From the Brotherhood without Banners at High Heart or thereabouts to the Twins. To the Starks.

b. From the Twins to the Eyrie. To Lysa Arryn, a kinswoman to the Starks.

c. From the Vale village to Riverrun. To Brynden Tully, a kinsman to the Starks.

d. This is arguable, but that he was asking at the Crossroads Inn for ships at Saltpans, so he either planned to test the possibility of reaching the Vale by sea, or the Wall as Arya was insisting. Whichever his aim, it's again going to kinsmen to the Starks (Lysa and Jon).

 

From whichever angle one sees it, the Starks are a consistent thread throughout his travelling. He was driven to exhaust all possibilities by the circumstances, but this one is a constant: his compass points North, to the family of Arya and Sansa, and he's very willing to risk it despite being aware of his poor chances of being well received by any: he knows Lysa is unstable because she lived at court, as you noted, and his comment on marrying Arya to Sweetrobin indicate his awareness of how difficult both mother and son are. He cannot count on the honour of Lady Arryn as he could count on the honour of Robb in order to not be killed on sight, his chances of being accepted to serve Lysa are zero and I doubt he'd like to serve this volatile woman anyway, and getting gold from her for Arya is possible in theory but not probable. As for the Blackfish, he doesn't seem to know much about him, but Arya's warning that her great-uncle doesn't know her would alert Sandor. And even if not, the very fact that the Lannisters are behind the slaughter of the king the Riverlanders were following and of a Tully, niece to this man, plus holding their liege lord captive, is enough to tell him he'd not be welcome by any Tully. If the negotiation with Jaime is any indication of Ser Brynden's feelings for the Lannisters post-RW, then he at least could expect to be heard out first, but no gold since the Tullys are in hot water now, which makes serving under the trout banner hard to attain as well, although he could always use his fighting the Freys and saving Arya at the Twins to his favour in any hypothetical talk with Ser Brynden.

 

Considering all that, this wandering looks like his purpose was delivering Arya to safety, to the hands of a relative he can be sure of will take care of the child. There's no monetary value in her anymore, so all he can get is that, and perhaps the inner satisfaction that he did something good for a relative of Sansa.

 

You Ought to Sing Me a Pretty Little Song

His desire for recognition and appreciation for heroic and kind acts appears again when Arya goads him about hitting her in the head with an axe. 

 

There's a parallel here between both Stark girls' perceived attitude: He's very bothered by the fact that neither Sansa nor Arya express any gratitude to him for saving their lives. On the rooftop of Maegor's Holdfast, Sandor directly reproached Sansa for not going to him to give him her thanks when he fought a mob to save her, when it wasn't his duty to do so and he could've left her to her fate. She did admit she was remiss in not thanking him, and tried to make it up for that and thank him there and then, but from Sandor's dismissive reply it sounds like he thought it was late for that. It's just not the same when they thank you months later and on being called out for not doing it, instead of voluntarily and without needing to be reminded. That's what seems to have rankled him back then, more so because by then he'd already developed feelings for her, which would heighten his impression of a lack of outward recognition on her part.

 

With Arya, on the other hand, the issue is more complicated: the girl simply doesn't admit she does owe him for saving her life, and fixates on his not saving her mother as she asked him. That he used the flat of the axe to get her out of the battlefield wouldn't put her in any mood to feel vaguely thankful either, but she also doesn't admit her own part in it: he asked her first, repeatedly, gave her his hand for her to climb onto Stranger and get away, so he used force by necessity. And she reproaches him for this use of force, throwing in her sister--in itself a sensitive topic for Sandor--without stopping to think of why and what for. In pointing out that he used the flat of the axe only, Sandor doesn't say that in order for only knocking Arya unconscious and not doing damage to the skull, he had to hit softly. Here's why:

 

- He's very big and strong, so any blow from him would inflict more damage than the average man's.

- He was on a higher position relative to her, and by the laws of physics/gravity anything coming down from a height or in movement downwards will hit harder.

- He was on horseback, and we know Stranger is one hell of a strong and savage beast, so to horseman you've got to add the strength of the horse.

 

When discussing the Mycah killing, I noted that sabre and sword and axe wounds inflicted by galloping horsemen do more damage than the same weapons in the hands of infantrymen because you had to add the horse's own strength to the equation. The same reasoning applies here. Sandor must've had to hit her softly, because otherwise even if it was with the wooden part or the flat of the axe, by the combined physical strength of himself and Stranger on a gallop if he wasn't careful he could've caved Arya's skull in, cracked it even, thus killing her. Instead, there's a lump only, so he did calibrate his blow as he's conscious of his strength being superior to average.

[Milady of York]

brashcandy, on 06 October 2015 - 06:56 PM said:

Great work, DogLover  

 

This chapter presents a theme of the conflicts and consequences of the past vs. the possibilities and potential that the future could hold for Sandor. As you noted in your analysis, we see that he can't escape his notorious role as the Lannister dog, and this is the deciding factor that makes the villagers turn him out from their community. We're treated to Arya's feelings about the village and she wastes no time in hating the quiet peacefulness there, yet a simple life of honest work and protecting others is clearly something that appealed to Sandor, and informs his suggestion to Arya that they stay there for awhile to rest up and help out in case of raiding from the clansmen. Despite the "bloody" reputation that follows him, Sandor is interested in once again acting as a shield, and it's significant that in the village he's involved in building one for the villagers. In the immediate aftermath following the Red Wedding, we read of him furiously chopping wood in anger: 

 

Whenever he took his axe to chop some wood for a fire, he would slide into a cold rage, hacking savagely at the tree or the deadfall or the broken limb, until they had twenty times as much kindling and firewood as they’d needed. Sometimes he would be so sore and tired afterward that he would lie down and go right to sleep without even lighting a fire.

 

Now in the village, his wood chopping has a productive purpose, and the mindless rage Arya notices is no longer present. Sandor hasn't lost his belly for fighting, but he's no longer defining himself as "the butcher" as he bragged to Sansa back in KL. This gradual identity transformation can also be appreciated when Sandor's helm is used to bring water to the dying man, connecting the fearsome emblem to themes of mercy and compassion, something which Sandor himself will be in need of very soon. 

[Milady of York]

Ragnorak, on 06 October 2015 - 08:40 PM said:

Very nice work, Doglover.

 

I think the sense of aimlessness is born of Arya's perspective and not something we see reflected in Sandor if we read between Arya's lines. Sandor is enraged but not really depressed or aimless. Arya doesn't know where they are going and at this point doesn't care either. She is the aimless one. Their direction is aimless to her in truth because with her mother and brother dead she doesn't care about the direction. Riverrun was important only because her mother and brother were there. The only place she expresses any interest in going is the Wall because Jon is the only family connection that remains to the best of her knowledge.

 

Sandor is clearly making for the Vale and also clearly trying to avoid the hunting parties sent out from the Twins to find the Red Wedding survivors. He has a purpose and a plan even if Lysa is not his first choice, Sandor's rage is the only action on his part that might be construed as reflecting Arya's aimless perception of events, But Cat and Robb's deaths are not sufficient to justify that level of rage as purely a setback to his ransom plans.

 

Sandor's reasons for seeking Stark service over Lannister or Tyrell or Dornish service are very personal. They are personal for his relationship with Sansa, for his relationship with Arya, for the regret he'll later express over standing by while they killed Ned, and for all the reasons that a Tywin Lannister embraced the services of a Gregor Clegane that Ned would have twice executed. They are personal for the crime of the Red Wedding. Knighthood was an honorable institution corrupted by men like Gregor and those who embrace strength as a might makes right tool. The seduction of Gregor's strength also corrupted the institution of Fatherhood as Sandor's burns were covered up. Sandor's past personal pain is strongly tied to the corruption of institutions.

 

Guest Right is an ancient and deeply respected institution. It was not only violated to kill Robb but to kill Cat as well who is more or less the political equivalent of Elia who was murdered by Gregor since she has no claims to the North (even though the Frey designs on Riverrun blur that line.) The Freys also killed thousands of lowborn and highborn alike aside from the captives they took as well. All of these were blatant guest right violations and sins of the highest order. Sandor's rage is actually tame compared to the magnitude of the crimes he witnessed at the Twins.

 

Mud continues to be a theme. It shows up as Arya fills the helm for her lesson in the Gift of Mercy and again throughout the scene where Nymeria finds Cat's corpse. One of the curious things about the Nymeria finding Cat is that she runs from the men and abandons Cat just like Sandor did at the Twins.

 

She abandoned the cold white prize in the mud where she had dragged it, and ran, and felt no shame.

 

So Nymeria mimics Sandor and feels no shame despite that very shame being the focus of Arya's judgment of Sandor.

 

There is also a curious bit of magical resurrection symbolism that I might be reading too much into. Wood is associated with the Old Gods as is Nymeria. Nymeria calls to Cat and tries to get her to wake and run with the pack but fails (since Cat is dead.) We get this vision through Arya's magical connection to the Old Gods, but the magical call to rise does not bring Cat back from the dead-- fire will through Beric. That also sets up a contrast between Sandor's taking on Beric's knightly oath and Beric's method of fulfilling it by creating the revenant unCat so Arya will have "a mother's arms" to return to as Beric swore.

 

Sandor's wood chopping also reflects this magical symbolism. He chops wood yet never lights a fire. The wood as a symbol of the Old Gods fails to raise Cat just like Nymeria. The absent fire in this context also mimics unCat. She will come back absent all of the homelike qualities associated with Mother's and camp or hearth fires. Interestingly though, Arya's chapter ends with a campfire with Sandor cooking her a hot meal.

[Milady of York]

Milady of York, on 08 October 2015 - 09:43 PM said:

Continuing with the commenting on the latest chapter analysis...

DogLover, on 05 Oct 2015 - 02:19 AM, said:

The most significant lesson Sandor teaches Arya is the gift of mercy. Sandor’s humanity again is strongly highlighted as he compassionately puts a soldier out of his misery, but not after Arya pours him a drink of water, something she will do for Sandor when tending to his wounds.

 

When she came back, the archer turned his face up and she poured the water into his mouth. He gulped it down as fast as she could pour, and what he couldn’t gulp ran down his cheeks into the brown blood that crusted his whiskers, until pale pink tears dangled from his beard. When the water was gone he clutched the helm and licked the steel. “Good,” he said. “I wish it was wine, though. I wanted wine.”

 

“Me too.” The Hound eased his dagger into the man’s chest almost tenderly, the weight of his body driving the point through his surcoat, ringmail, and the quilting beneath. As he slid the blade back out and wiped it on the dead man, he looked at Arya. “That’s where the heart is, girl. That’s how you kill a man.”

 

Through the lens of the knight-errantry lens I posited, this crucial lesson that he imparts is also a part of the Knight-Squire imagery that the relationship between Sandor and Arya acquires since the battle outside The Twins. Because, once more ironically for a non-knight, the Hound is cast in the role of one by educating the girl in a little known and gut-wrenching aspect of knighthood as he'd do with a proper squire: tending to the wounded in the battlefield. Martin didn't create the gift of mercy for purely narrative purposes and out of whole cloth either, because this was a historical reality down to the name that it was given in the books.

 

Unlike in later times when sizable well-trained and professional medical corps follow armies to treat the fallen combatants sprawled over the field, medical care providers in medieval armies were scarce and more ready for large campaigns. Field hospitals were makeshift tents, and field surgeons were very few. At the Battle of Agincourt during the Hundred Years War, for example, one source indicates there were just about twenty-four surgeons for the English troops, divided in two teams, on the battlefront and another further behind the lines, for a large army of thousands. And those where brought about because the campaign was a large and long-term one, and the king himself was leading. Other times, the number of field surgeons--which is how they were called--was smaller, and it wasn't unexpected that sometimes they wouldn't have even one. As a result, the most urgent and pressing medical care was provided by the surviving combatants themselves, that is the knights and foot soldiers; or even the camp followers--which doesn't automatically mean whores, mind you, people of other trades followed armies to earn a living--had to do medical work. As a result of this scarcity of medics and nurses, knights and infantrymen learnt basic medical treatment, like mending broken bones, cleaning and bandaging wounds, applying salves and remedies, stopping loss of blood, etc. It was a requisite in their training. Sandor was trained as a knight despite not being one, so he obviously acquired that knowledge.

 

And part of that basic training was the gift of mercy, which like in the novels was about sparing a fallen comrade the horror of a slow agony. It wasn't done randomly, they had a special weapon and a method for doing it properly. The weapon was a thin and needle-like dagger called a misericorde, a word in Latin for "merciful" that comes from misericordia ("mercy"), which looked like this. As for the proper way to deliver the killing blow, it's interesting that it was done by sinking it exactly into the wounded's heart . . . like Sandor is teaching Arya. Since as a rule they wore armour or chainmail, you didn't simply pierce through the chest because, although the blade was sharp and narrow enough to slip through the gaps in the armour, either the metal or the ribcage could still stop it, so you needed to proceed following the method. Such a method was like this: place the misericorde's edge over the ribcage and above the collarbone and sink it downwards firmly into the heart. By piercing the heart, you made sure death was immediate. It had to be swift and precise so all suffering would cease, for if you botched it, the whole purpose of mercy was lost. Hence Sandor's insistence in "where the heart is."

 

Sandor is using a common dagger, not a misericorde, and his above-average strength allows him to sink it directly in the man's chest instead of down by the collarbone, but the purpose of hitting the heart stays the same. It's one lesson Arya is sadly not grasping here as her thoughts indicate; for her it's about killing itself, for which there are many ways. But Sandor's motive isn't killing, it's sparing more suffering to a fellow soldier, which was the purpose of the dagger called misericorde, although even that purpose came to be corrupted by it being used as a weapon for combat when a knight found himself disarmed and fighting hand-to-hand.

 

There's also a difference in what she'll learn about mercy at the House of Black and White and what Sandor is teaching her: the Faceless Men basically just facilitate suicide regardless of the true hopelessness of the situation, whereas mercy-killing was for hopeless cases that the medicine of the time couldn't save (they had no antibiotics, pain-killers were scarce and costly, surgery wasn't very advanced, etc.), and it had to be applied judiciously and whilst the person receiving the mercy was conscious and consented. That was in part because the Church looked down on it, which had to be taken into account, and from the words of the Elder Brother on his oath not to kill, mercy might also be not acceptable for the Faith of the Seven. On the other hand, given that Arya's sword Needle resembles a misericorde quite strikingly, it being narrow and long like a pin, I am thinking that there could be a possibility that she will have to use it for giving the gift of mercy to someone, the mercy she learnt from Sandor that she refused to give him has yet to have a coming full circle narratively, as the sword has already been used in "other ways to kill" but not for that which its shape seems to make it quite adequate for.

 

[Milady of York]

brashcandy, on 09 October 2015 - 12:14 PM said:

<snip>

 

She abandoned the cold white prize in the mud where she had dragged it, and ran, and felt no shame.

 

So Nymeria mimics Sandor and feels no shame despite that very shame being the focus of Arya's judgment of Sandor.

 

There is also a curious bit of magical resurrection symbolism that I might be reading too much into. Wood is associated with the Old Gods as is Nymeria. Nymeria calls to Cat and tries to get her to wake and run with the pack but fails (since Cat is dead.) We get this vision through Arya's magical connection to the Old Gods, but the magical call to rise does not bring Cat back from the dead-- fire will through Beric. That also sets up a contrast between Sandor's taking on Beric's knightly oath and Beric's method of fulfilling it by creating the revenant unCat so Arya will have "a mother's arms" to return to as Beric swore.

 

Sandor's wood chopping also reflects this magical symbolism. He chops wood yet never lights a fire. The wood as a symbol of the Old Gods fails to raise Cat just like Nymeria. The absent fire in this context also mimics unCat. She will come back absent all of the homelike qualities associated with Mother's and camp or hearth fires. Interestingly though, Arya's chapter ends with a campfire with Sandor cooking her a hot meal.

 

There's an intriguing sense of ritualistic elements being enacted in this chapter as it pertains to Sandor and Arya's relationship, with both undergoing a "wilder" transformation and a deepening of their uneasy bond. You've mentioned two of the most important ones here Rag, which have to do with food and the wood chopping. At the beginning of the chapter, Arya notes how empty she is:

 

She could feel the hole inside her every morning when she woke. It wasn’t hunger, though sometimes there was that too. It was a hollow place, an emptiness where her heart had been, where her brothers had lived, and her parents.

 

This "hollow place" is what Sandor attempts to fill or at least nullify for the time being by constantly rousing Arya out of her listlessness to perform required tasks: 

 

But if her nights were full of wolves, her days belonged to the dog. Sandor Clegane made her get up every morning, whether she wanted to or not. He would curse at her in his raspy voice, or yank her to her feet and shake her. Once he dumped a helm full of cold water all over her head. She bounced up sputtering and shivering and tried to kick him, but he only laughed. “Dry off and feed the bloody horses,” he told her, and she did.

 

He is, in effect, keeping her to a ritualistic routine, one that he carries out himself with the excessive wood chopping. The ability to find food and kinship/protection are the overriding concerns of humans and their animal counterparts alike. When Arya has her warg dreams of Nymeria, the wolf's condition is the opposite of her own: 

 

She dreamed of wolves most every night. A great pack of wolves, with her at the head. She was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster. She could outrun horses and outfight lions. When she bared her teeth even men would run from her, her belly was never empty long, and her fur kept her warm even when the wind was blowing cold. And her brothers and sisters were with her, many and more of them, fierce and terrible and hers. They would never leave her.

 

Unlike Arya, who is emotionally and often physically hungry and bereft, Nymeria has a pack that stays, fights, and hunts with her. Only a few chapters back, Sandor words on what dogs did to wolves had an ominous tone, but when Arya asks if they will bury the dead soldier after Sandor has given him the gift of mercy, we read:

 

“Why?” Sandor said. “He don’t care, and we’ve got no spade. Leave him for the wolves and wild dogs. Your brothers and mine.” 

 

Sandor admits an affinity between him and Arya, with the leaving of food for the wolves and wild dogs coming across as a significant gesture in recognition of their attempts to find a Stark family member that will take her in, and where Sandor might also find some kind of belonging. Food and wood become the symbols of this quest, and although Sandor appears to mock Arya's aspirations at the end of the chapter to go to the Wall where her brother is, the fact that he tosses half of the cooked hare in her lap is suggestive of her hopes not being completely disregarded or dismissed.

 

There's also a difference in what she'll learn about mercy at the House of Black and White and what Sandor is teaching her: the Faceless Men basically just facilitate suicide regardless of the true hopelessness of the situation, whereas mercy-killing was for hopeless cases that the medicine of the time couldn't save (they had no antibiotics, pain-killers were scarce and costly, surgery wasn't very advanced, etc.), and it had to be applied judiciously and whilst the person receiving the mercy was conscious and consented. That was in part because the Church looked down on it, which had to be taken into account, and from the words of the Elder Brother on his oath not to kill, mercy might also be not acceptable for the Faith of the Seven. On the other hand, given that Arya's sword Needle resembles a misericorde quite strikingly, it being narrow and long like a pin, I am thinking that there could be a possibility that she will have to use it for giving the gift of mercy to someone, the mercy she learnt from Sandor that she refused to give him has yet to have a coming full circle narratively, as the sword has already been used in "other ways to kill" but not for that which its shape seems to make it quite adequate for.

 

Nice observations

 

 

[Milady of York]

Ragnorak, on 09 October 2015 - 10:12 PM said:

brashcandy, on 09 Oct 2015 - 1:14 PM, said:

There's an intriguing sense of ritualistic elements being enacted in this chapter as it pertains to Sandor and Arya's relationship, with both undergoing a "wilder" transformation and a deepening of their uneasy bond. You've mentioned two of the most important ones here Rag, which have to do with food and the wood chopping. At the beginning of the chapter, Arya notes how empty she is:

 

She could feel the hole inside her every morning when she woke. It wasn’t hunger, though sometimes there was that too. It was a hollow place, an emptiness where her heart had been, where her brothers had lived, and her parents.

 

This "hollow place" is what Sandor attempts to fill or at least nullify for the time being by constantly rousing Arya out of her listlessness to perform required tasks: 

 

But if her nights were full of wolves, her days belonged to the dog. Sandor Clegane made her get up every morning, whether she wanted to or not. He would curse at her in his raspy voice, or yank her to her feet and shake her. Once he dumped a helm full of cold water all over her head. She bounced up sputtering and shivering and tried to kick him, but he only laughed. “Dry off and feed the bloody horses,” he told her, and she did.

 

He is, in effect, keeping her to a ritualistic routine, one that he carries out himself with the excessive wood chopping. The ability to find food and kinship/protection are the overriding concerns of humans and their animal counterparts alike. When Arya has her warg dreams of Nymeria, the wolf's condition is the opposite of her own: 

 

She dreamed of wolves most every night. A great pack of wolves, with her at the head. She was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster. She could outrun horses and outfight lions. When she bared her teeth even men would run from her, her belly was never empty long, and her fur kept her warm even when the wind was blowing cold. And her brothers and sisters were with her, many and more of them, fierce and terrible and hers. They would never leave her.

 

Unlike Arya, who is emotionally and often physically hungry and bereft, Nymeria has a pack that stays, fights, and hunts with her. Only a few chapters back, Sandor words on what dogs did to wolves had an ominous tone, but when Arya asks if they will bury the dead soldier after Sandor has given him the gift of mercy, we read:

 

“Why?” Sandor said. “He don’t care, and we’ve got no spade. Leave him for the wolves and wild dogs. Your brothers and mine.” 

 

Sandor admits an affinity between him and Arya, with the leaving of food for the wolves and wild dogs coming across as a significant gesture in recognition of their attempts to find a Stark family member that will take her in, and where Sandor might also find some kind of belonging. Food and wood become the symbols of this quest, and although Sandor appears to mock Arya's aspirations at the end of the chapter to go to the Wall where her brother is, the fact that he tosses half of the cooked hare in her lap is suggestive of her hopes not being completely disregarded or dismissed. 

 

 

 

Nice observations.

 

I like your observation that the elements are ritualistic, Brash.

 

There's also the curious dichotomy between Arya's conscious "spoken" thoughts and her unconscious acceptance of Sandor. Nymeria is many ways represents Arya's subconscious and Nymeria feels no shame at abandoning Cat's body despite being in a far more powerful position of leader of a wolf army confronting a smaller, less armed force compared to Sandor single handedly trying to take on the armies of House Frey.  It is in many ways a forgiveness of Sandor despite her thoughts in this chapter or her last words to him about how he should have rescued her mother. It is a divine forgiveness of sorts from the old gods given that Nymeria is the source.

 

Mud and Fire is something I'm having a growing curiosity about the more I pay attention to it. Cat's corpse is found in the mud by the old gods and raised by the fire of the Red God into a being of questionable moral and noble character-- after the call of the old god to rise,run and hunt failed to bring her back life. The old gods helped Arya accept the loss of her mother and the fire god raised her into an entirely non-maternal entity. unCat is the tragic fallen end state at the end of Arya's current path while Sandor and Nymeria both represent the healthier and happier potential conclusion to her arc. The acceptance of death and loss. True mercy instead of mercenary revenge for the hopeless that the House of Black and White promises.

 

Another angle is the parallels between Brienne and Sandor. Milady mentioned several already, but there are more on many levels. Mud and Fire is also a recurring theme in Brienne. Her trip with Nimble Dick is filled with mud and on several occasions Brienne is unable to make a fire. In fact the first fire Brienne finds after setting out with Nimble Dick is when she encounters the Elder Brother in the hut to discuss how the Hound is dead and Sandor is at rest. It is a fire another provides for her which stands out because she repeatedly is unable to make a fire of her own on multiple occasions. Given the parallels it is curious that Sandor chooses not to make a fire and that Arya's chapter ends with a hot cooked meal over a fire.

Milady of York, on 08 Oct 2015 - 10:43 PM, said:

Continuing with the commenting on the latest chapter analysis...

 

Through the lens of the knight-errantry lens I posited, this crucial lesson that he imparts is also a part of the Knight-Squire imagery that the relationship between Sandor and Arya acquires since the battle outside The Twins. Because, once more ironically for a non-knight, the Hound is cast in the role of one by educating the girl in a little known and gut-wrenching aspect of knighthood as he'd do with a proper squire: tending to the wounded in the battlefield. Martin didn't create the gift of mercy for purely narrative purposes and out of whole cloth either, because this was a historical reality down to the name that it was given in the books.

 

Unlike in later times when sizable well-trained and professional medical corps follow armies to treat the fallen combatants sprawled over the field, medical care providers in medieval armies were scarce and more ready for large campaigns. Field hospitals were makeshift tents, and field surgeons were very few. At the Battle of Agincourt during the Hundred Years War, for example, one source indicates there were just about twenty-four surgeons for the English troops, divided in two teams, on the battlefront and another further behind the lines, for a large army of thousands. And those where brought about because the campaign was a large and long-term one, and the king himself was leading. Other times, the number of field surgeons--which is how they were called--was smaller, and it wasn't unexpected that sometimes they wouldn't have even one. As a result, the most urgent and pressing medical care was provided by the surviving combatants themselves, that is the knights and foot soldiers; or even the camp followers--which doesn't automatically mean whores, mind you, people of other trades followed armies to earn a living--had to do medical work. As a result of this scarcity of medics and nurses, knights and infantrymen learnt basic medical treatment, like mending broken bones, cleaning and bandaging wounds, applying salves and remedies, stopping loss of blood, etc. It was a requisite in their training. Sandor was trained as a knight despite not being one, so he obviously acquired that knowledge.

 

And part of that basic training was the gift of mercy, which like in the novels was about sparing a fallen comrade the horror of a slow agony. It wasn't done randomly, they had a special weapon and a method for doing it properly. The weapon was a thin and needle-like dagger called a misericorde, a word in Latin for "merciful" that comes from misericordia ("mercy"), which looked like this. As for the proper way to deliver the killing blow, it's interesting that it was done by sinking it exactly into the wounded's heart . . . like Sandor is teaching Arya. Since as a rule they wore armour or chainmail, you didn't simply pierce through the chest because, although the blade was sharp and narrow enough to slip through the gaps in the armour, either the metal or the ribcage could still stop it, so you needed to proceed following the method. Such a method was like this: place the misericorde's edge over the ribcage and above the collarbone and sink it downwards firmly into the heart. By piercing the heart, you made sure death was immediate. It had to be swift and precise so all suffering would cease, for if you botched it, the whole purpose of mercy was lost. Hence Sandor's insistence in "where the heart is."

Sandor is using a common dagger, not a misericorde, and his above-average strength allows him to sink it directly in the man's chest instead of down by the collarbone, but the purpose of hitting the heart stays the same. It's one lesson Arya is sadly not grasping here as her thoughts indicate; for her it's about killing itself, for which there are many ways. But Sandor's motive isn't killing, it's sparing more suffering to a fellow soldier, which was the purpose of the dagger called misericorde, although even that purpose came to be corrupted by it being used as a weapon for combat when a knight found himself disarmed and fighting hand-to-hand.

There's also a difference in what she'll learn about mercy at the House of Black and White and what Sandor is teaching her: the Faceless Men basically just facilitate suicide regardless of the true hopelessness of the situation, whereas mercy-killing was for hopeless cases that the medicine of the time couldn't save (they had no antibiotics, pain-killers were scarce and costly, surgery wasn't very advanced, etc.), and it had to be applied judiciously and whilst the person receiving the mercy was conscious and consented. That was in part because the Church looked down on it, which had to be taken into account, and from the words of the Elder Brother on his oath not to kill, mercy might also be not acceptable for the Faith of the Seven. On the other hand, given that Arya's sword Needle resembles a misericorde quite strikingly, it being narrow and long like a pin, I am thinking that there could be a possibility that she will have to use it for giving the gift of mercy to someone, the mercy she learnt from Sandor that she refused to give him has yet to have a coming full circle narratively, as the sword has already been used in "other ways to kill" but not for that which its shape seems to make it quite adequate for.

 This is some very interesting material you've added here and it has far reaching implications. Sandor's lesson here to Arya essentially forms the basis of a lesson that runs counter to her entire "Gift of Mercy" training at the House of Black and White. Sandor is offering kindness in the form of a drink of water out of a sense of honor and kinship which contrasts with the gift of water in the House of Black and White. The mercy is also offered out of a sense of kinship and connection which runs entirely counter to the Faceless Men and their avoidance of giving the Gift to anyone they know. It is that very knowing that motivates the Gift. This becomes even more important next chapter when Sandor continues the lesson with an enemy. Here it is a Northman who was on their same side in the Red Wedding but Arya will give the Gift per Sandor's lesson to an actual enemy which stands out given how her prayer is a list of enemies.

[Milady of York]

DogLover on 11 October 2015 - 05:03 PM said:

A belated thank you to Milady, Brashcandy, and Ragnorak for their kind words and amazing and thoughtful responses and astute observations!  

DogLover, what a good job! It's a very meaty chapter grouping, and I'd like to comment by parts.

 

 

His actions post-Red Wedding are what settled my conviction that his primary motivation for kidnapping Arya was always to seek a way to serve the Starks all along, not so much the money. I've already argued for this interpretation at length in the previous chapter analysis, so here I'm only going to add that I don't share the opinion that after the Red Wedding he was wandering about without a plan and without a purpose.

 

In hindsight, especially considering that we know how that ended, it's easy to see why the aimless wandering post-Red Wedding could be an appealing interpretation, but that's judging the whole by the end which came about for circumstances not under their control. Looking at Sandor and Arya's travel itinerary, it becomes clear that he did have a plan and that plan was still linked to the Starks, see how it went:

 

a. From the Brotherhood without Banners at High Heart or thereabouts to the Twins. To the Starks.

b. From the Twins to the Eyrie. To Lysa Arryn, a kinswoman to the Starks.

c. From the Vale village to Riverrun. To Brynden Tully, a kinsman to the Starks.

d. This is arguable, but that he was asking at the Crossroads Inn for ships at Saltpans, so he either planned to test the possibility of reaching the Vale by sea, or the Wall as Arya was insisting. Whichever his aim, it's again going to kinsmen to the Starks (Lysa and Jon).

 

Interesting suggestion regarding the Wall. I hadn’t thought of that before. Sandor would have had to realize that, despite the dangerous journey to the Wall, he had a better chance of delivering Arya to Jon than to the unstable Lysa. Also, I do wonder if Arya and Sandor’s brief exchange regarding their brothers, one who clearly is fond of hers and the other who despises his, might foreshadow a conflict that not only involves Sandor and Gregor, but Jon, as well.

Considering all that, this wandering looks like his purpose was delivering Arya to safety, to the hands of a relative he can be sure of will take care of the child. There's no monetary value in her anymore, so all he can get is that, and perhaps the inner satisfaction that he did something good for a relative of Sansa.

 Indeed. Even though he realizes he isn’t going to get much, or anything at all, for Arya, Sandor is still committed to seeing her to safety, demonstrating that he's one of the truest knights in the series, despite never taking vows. 

In pointing out that he used the flat of the axe only, Sandor doesn't say that in order for only knocking Arya unconscious and not doing damage to the skull, he had to hit softly. Here's why:

 

- He's very big and strong, so any blow from him would inflict more damage than the average man's.

- He was on a higher position relative to her, and by the laws of physics/gravity anything coming down from a height or in movement downwards will hit harder.

- He was on horseback, and we know Stranger is one hell of a strong and savage beast, so to horseman you've got to add the strength of the horse.

 

When discussing the Mycah killing, I noted that sabre and sword and axe wounds inflicted by galloping horsemen do more damage than the same weapons in the hands of infantrymen because you had to add the horse's own strength to the equation. The same reasoning applies here. Sandor must've had to hit her softly, because otherwise even if it was with the wooden part or the flat of the axe, by the combined physical strength of himself and Stranger on a gallop if he wasn't careful he could've caved Arya's skull in, cracked it even, thus killing her. Instead, there's a lump only, so he did calibrate his blow as he's conscious of his strength being superior to average.

 I intended to mention this in the analysis, so thank you for bringing it up. Sandor could certainly kill even a full-grown man with the flat of an axe, yet he merely knocks Arya unconscious, so he did take care not to inflict more harm than absolutely necessary. While Arya hurls accusations at him for hitting her on the head with an axe, due to her stubbornness and immaturity, she fails to recognize that Sandor did what he could to save her. It’s also a testament to Sandor’s skills as a warrior: he’s able to make a very calculating blow in the midst of a bloodbath wherein he has mere seconds to escape before he falls victim. 

brashcandy, on 06 Oct 2015 - 7:56 PM, said:

Great work, DogLover

 

This chapter presents a theme of the conflicts and consequences of the past vs. the possibilities and potential that the future could hold for Sandor. As you noted in your analysis, we see that he can't escape his notorious role as the Lannister dog, and this is the deciding factor that makes the villagers turn him out from their community. We're treated to Arya's feelings about the village and she wastes no time in hating the quiet peacefulness there, yet a simple life of honest work and protecting others is clearly something that appealed to Sandor, and informs his suggestion to Arya that they stay there for awhile to rest up and help out in case of raiding from the clansmen. Despite the "bloody" reputation that follows him, Sandor is interested in once again acting as a shield, and it's significant that in the village he's involved in building one for the villagers. In the immediate aftermath following the Red Wedding, we read of him furiously chopping wood in anger: 

 

Whenever he took his axe to chop some wood for a fire, he would slide into a cold rage, hacking savagely at the tree or the deadfall or the broken limb, until they had twenty times as much kindling and firewood as they’d needed. Sometimes he would be so sore and tired afterward that he would lie down and go right to sleep without even lighting a fire.

 

Now in the village, his wood chopping has a productive purpose, and the mindless rage Arya notices is no longer present. Sandor hasn't lost his belly for fighting, but he's no longer defining himself as "the butcher" as he bragged to Sansa back in KL. This gradual identity transformation can also be appreciated when Sandor's helm is used to bring water to the dying man, connecting the fearsome emblem to themes of mercy and compassion, something which Sandor himself will be in need of very soon. 

 Excellent point, Brashcandy. This need for meaning and direction in his life also explains why he was willing to undertake such a dangerous, and most likely futile, mission to rescue Catelyn. The willingness to rescue Cat from the Freys may have been an act of desperation, but it would have also provided him with a sense of purpose. 

Ragnorak, on 06 Oct 2015 - 9:40 PM, said:

<snip>

 

Sandor's reasons for seeking Stark service over Lannister or Tyrell or Dornish service are very personal. They are personal for his relationship with Sansa, for his relationship with Arya, for the regret he'll later express over standing by while they killed Ned, and for all the reasons that a Tywin Lannister embraced the services of a Gregor Clegane that Ned would have twice executed. They are personal for the crime of the Red Wedding. Knighthood was an honorable institution corrupted by men like Gregor and those who embrace strength as a might makes right tool. The seduction of Gregor's strength also corrupted the institution of Fatherhood as Sandor's burns were covered up. Sandor's past personal pain is strongly tied to the corruption of institutions.

 

Guest Right is an ancient and deeply respected institution. It was not only violated to kill Robb but to kill Cat as well who is more or less the political equivalent of Elia who was murdered by Gregor since she has no claims to the North (even though the Frey designs on Riverrun blur that line.) The Freys also killed thousands of lowborn and highborn alike aside from the captives they took as well. All of these were blatant guest right violations and sins of the highest order. Sandor's rage is actually tame compared to the magnitude of the crimes he witnessed at the Twins.

 Excellent observation, Ragnorak! This perfectly addresses why Sandor is so intent on serving the Starks and not just any other great house. 

Guest Right is an ancient and deeply respected institution. It was not only violated to kill Robb but to kill Cat as well who is more or less the political equivalent of Elia who was murdered by Gregor since she has no claims to the North (even though the Frey designs on Riverrun blur that line.) The Freys also killed thousands of lowborn and highborn alike aside from the captives they took as well. All of these were blatant guest right violations and sins of the highest order. Sandor's rage is actually tame compared to the magnitude of the crimes he witnessed at the Twins.

 Your comparison of Cat’s murder to Elia’s is spot on. Knowing full well that the Lannisters were behind such an atrocity would certainly fuel Sandor’s rage. He left the Lannisters for better masters—honorable masters he had an emotional investment in serving—yet the Lannisters, in the most despicable and cowardly way possible, have them murdered. For a man like Sandor, who has his own strong code of honor, this event certainly rubbed salt in raw emotional wounds.

Milady of York, on 08 Oct 2015 - 10:43 PM, said:

<snip>

 

Sandor is using a common dagger, not a misericorde, and his above-average strength allows him to sink it directly in the man's chest instead of down by the collarbone, but the purpose of hitting the heart stays the same. It's one lesson Arya is sadly not grasping here as her thoughts indicate; for her it's about killing itself, for which there are many ways. But Sandor's motive isn't killing, it's sparing more suffering to a fellow soldier, which was the purpose of the dagger called misericorde, although even that purpose came to be corrupted by it being used as a weapon for combat when a knight found himself disarmed and fighting hand-to-hand.

 

There's also a difference in what she'll learn about mercy at the House of Black and White and what Sandor is teaching her: the Faceless Men basically just facilitate suicide regardless of the true hopelessness of the situation, whereas mercy-killing was for hopeless cases that the medicine of the time couldn't save (they had no antibiotics, pain-killers were scarce and costly, surgery wasn't very advanced, etc.), and it had to be applied judiciously and whilst the person receiving the mercy was conscious and consented. That was in part because the Church looked down on it, which had to be taken into account, and from the words of the Elder Brother on his oath not to kill, mercy might also be not acceptable for the Faith of the Seven. On the other hand, given that Arya's sword Needle resembles a misericorde quite strikingly, it being narrow and long like a pin, I am thinking that there could be a possibility that she will have to use it for giving the gift of mercy to someone, the mercy she learnt from Sandor that she refused to give him has yet to have a coming full circle narratively, as the sword has already been used in "other ways to kill" but not for that which its shape seems to make it quite adequate for.

 I echo Brashcandy—excellent observation. And I do so love your history lessons.     

[Milady of York]

DogLover, on 11 October 2015 - 07:58 PM said:

brashcandy, on 28 Aug 2015 - 11:37 AM, said:

SANDOR IV

 

HOW TO KIDNAP A LITTLE WOLF

 

SUMMARY ANALYSIS

 

·         Arya VII

·         Arya VIII

 

<snip>

 

These two men are strange ones to be swearing on their knighthood, as Dontos had recently been demoted to a court jester and Beric is literally a dead man walking, having been resurrected six times by Thoros. As we discussed concerning Sansa and Dontos during the Clash portion of the reread, the Florian wannabe is disingenuous about his motives and cannot guarantee Sansa true protection; rather, it is Sandor Clegane who offered her sincere security, even though he later bungles the rescue attempt during the Blackwater battle. It’s an important contrast that further defines the Hound as a protective figure, even in volatile relationships like the one he shares with Arya, and diffuses the threatening implication of the question: “Do you know what dogs do to wolves?”

 

Again, an impressive analysis, Brashcandy. Since I wasn't able to follow through with the analysis myself, as well as unable to promptly chime in, I'm circling back now to offer some thoughts. 

 

Themes of death, resurrection, and rebirth really stand out to me in this Sandor section. After noticing Arya staring at him with suspicion and fear, Beric recounts his resurrections, gloomily joking that he’s died three times at the hands of House Clegane, possibly foreshadowing Sandor’s own rebirth and Gregor’s gruesome resurrection. Quite possibly, Beric’s ability to come back as a weakened version of himself is connected to the two brothers: the one who transformed the life of his younger sibling by shoving his face in the fire, and the one who continues to suffer the physical and psychological consequences. The physical consequence is not lost on the readers when Sandor asks Gendry why he would believe the vigilante BwB over him: "Why believe them and not me? It couldn’t be my face, could it?"

 

Having been resurrected by the Lord of Light six times, Beric returns as a lesser version of himself. Gregor will soon be resurrected as the more gruesome form of himself as Robert Strong. Sandor, after burying the Hound persona, will very likely emerge reborn with the assistance of the Elder Brother. The Hound is dead, said the Elder Brother, which strongly establishes Sandor’s will to change by overcoming his hate, rage, and self-loathing, very much in contrast with Beric, who becomes weaker each time.

 

Sandor’s very likely reemergence after burying the Hound persona contrasts to Gregor’s resurrection, who is transformed into an even greater monster than what he was previously. In addition to representing the hypocrisy of knighthood in Sandor’s mind, UnGregor replaces Sandor as a member of the kingsguard and as Cersei’s personal bodyguard, symbolizing the decay of House Lannister. There may even be a hint to Gregor’s resurrection during this solemn discussion, as when Arya asks Thoros if he can bring back a man without a head from the dead, Thoros tells her he has no magic, only prayers. It’s through black magic that Qyburn uses to resurrect Gregor.

 

In the Sandor III analysis, Lady Gwyn highlighted the significance of all major religions converging. This convergence of the Old Gods, R’hllor, and the Faith of the Seven continues in Sandor IV.  Thoros justifies not returning Sandor’s gold by telling him while the Lord of Light deemed him innocent, he did not claim Sandor was Baelor the Blessed. This convergence reappears when the Ghost of High Heart tells Thoros that the Old Gods dislike fire, linking Sandor to the Old Gods and the North, considering his own fear of fire. This dislike of fire also sets the Old Gods strongly apart from the religion of R’hllor whose followers believe fire is rebirth and resurrection. The Ghost of High Heart’s prophecy warning of a maid who slays a giant could possibly affect Sandor since it just may tie into Bran’s prophecy in AGoT wherein he envisions Sandor, Jaime, and possibly a resurrected Gregor. If UnGregor is the giant in both prophecies, there’s a strong indication that Sandor will play a significant role. Also, whether it’s the R’hllor, the Old Gods, or Bloodraven who isn’t done with Sandor yet, Sandor, who is being healed by a man of the Faith of the Seven, clearly has unfinished business to attend to. 

[Milady of York]

Ragnorak, on 16 October 2015 - 07:32 PM said:

Milady of York, on 08 Oct 2015 - 10:43 PM, said:

Continuing with the commenting on the latest chapter analysis...

 

 

Through the lens of the knight-errantry lens I posited, this crucial lesson that he imparts is also a part of the Knight-Squire imagery that the relationship between Sandor and Arya acquires since the battle outside The Twins. Because, once more ironically for a non-knight, the Hound is cast in the role of one by educating the girl in a little known and gut-wrenching aspect of knighthood as he'd do with a proper squire: tending to the wounded in the battlefield. Martin didn't create the gift of mercy for purely narrative purposes and out of whole cloth either, because this was a historical reality down to the name that it was given in the books.

 

<snip>

 

We think of Arya learning the Gift Of Mercy from the Faceless Men, but in truth she learns it from Sandor Clegane here. More importantly as you note she learns the "proper" use of the Gift of Mercy from Sandor. She learns it in the spirit of First Men Justice and learns it in a way that is tied to returning to her Stark roots instead of losing herself in the path of the Cold Cup that lies at the end of the Faceless Men training.

 

Looking back several chapters we also have this

 

The dwarf gave an irritated shrug. “Well, Robb Stark is my father’s bane. Joffrey is mine. Tell me, what do you feel for my kingly nephew?”
“I love him with all my heart,” Sansa said at once.
“Truly?” He did not sound convinced. “Even now?”
“My love for His Grace is greater than it has ever been.”
The Imp laughed aloud. “Well, someone has taught you to lie well. You may be grateful for that one day, child. You are a child still, are you not? Or have you flowered?”

 

Again, when we think of Sansa's training in the art of lying, typically Littlefinger comes to mind. But based on Tyrion's reaction it seems that Sansa has learned the art proficiently from Sandor originally. Like Arya she will go on to study under a different tutor whose lessons run counter to her original and true identity.

 

Both girls have a malevolent training regiment under a school of thought that threatens the heart of their identities. In fact both girls literally lose their Stark identity by taking on a different persona during that training period. The skills that they are honing are needed for their upcoming trials but the school of thought in which they are studying is detrimental to their respective arcs. Yet a closer look reveals that both girls have originally learned their crafts in the proper spirit from one Sandor Clegane before moving on to refine them under darker tutors.

[Milady of York]

Milady of York, on 17 October 2015 - 12:10 PM said:

Ragnorak, on 16 Oct 2015 - 8:32 PM, said:

Again, when we think of Sansa's training in the art of lying, typically Littlefinger comes to mind. But based on Tyrion's reaction it seems that Sansa has learned the art proficiently from Sandor originally. Like Arya she will go on to study under a different tutor whose lessons run counter to her original and true identity.

Very true, Ragnorak.

 

There's a fundamental difference in Sandor's instruction of each Stark girl that relates to the stage at which they receive that teaching, which is key to understanding the usefulness of what he had to give each of them, and another fundamental similarity that's not that apparent on glance: that Sandor is for all means and purposes in the place of Eddard by covering an area the girls' father either neglected or had no chance to teach them himself. For Sansa, the influence is more lasting and meaningful because he arrived there at the right time, before anyone else could, before Baelish could exert his noxious influence, and more importantly, he pointed out what she already had in her that was useful. After Joffrey brutalises her for the first time, he volunteers the information, telling her to "give him what he wants" (the Arbor Gold part) for her own protection, for which she has to both hide her emotions and pretend (the lies part), and even after she's long mastered both, he still assists her and gives her feedback in the form of critique ("they're all liars here . . . and every one better than you.") that's just telling her she still has to polish it and get better at it to be as safe as possible. By doing this, he covers one aspect that Ned was woefully neglectful in with regard to his eldest daughter: her startling lack of preparation to navigate a court that he knew full well was corrupt and full of double-dealers and the Lannisters he despised. Lord Stark knew the value of deception and lying and pretending for a good cause; after all, he was living a lie himself with Jon, and he told Arya that "some lies . . . aren't without honour," a lesson that Sansa needed badly from him but never got. She was left adrift in court to fend for herself with no tools and no parental advice, and here comes Sandor to show her that she does have the tools at hand.

 

With Arya, he arrived rather at a late stage, and by then Arya had already strayed from the Northern code of justice, of which she always had a warped idea of anyways because she wasn't instructed in it. For example, she had already used a "headsman" to do her killings in Jaqen, the ultimate no-no for First Man justice, and not just once but thrice, and there's also the Harrenhal guard she killed by stealth, another hit against what Ned's justice stands for. So, it's not like she wasn't ripe for the Faceless Men long before Sandor caught her, and that also accounts for why she continued the path down to being a "headsman" herself for the Faceless Men after she left him, again swimming countercurrent to Northern justice. I think what makes Sandor's teaching of mercy important for her is that, though it's already late to stop her cold on her tracks, he still can give something to offset the damage in one particular area: by reminding her that killing is not and should never be easy, which is the core of Northern justice. Unlike her brothers, Arya hadn't gotten any formal instruction on "wielding the sword yourself" from her father, which accounts for her skewed notions on what it's supposed to be, because Ned never thought of nor saw the need for his little girls to learn it, so whatever Arya knows of it must be from hearsay from her brothers and her father rather than direct instruction. As a result, killing was becoming easy.

 

Sandor, therefore, covers this neglected area by showing her that killing does have an aspect not related to revenge, or self-defence, or anger, or greed, or malice: it can be an act of compassion for a fallen one in pain. It's not supposed to be, for once, about you and about methods of ending a life efficiently, and its real purpose is underscored by three details that Sandor makes Arya notice so she can never forget them: first, he orders her to bring water for the soldier. Now, giving water to a man that's going to be dead in the blink of an eye is, objectively, a waste. If he's going to die anyway, thirst is of no consequence, right? Right, but this isn't a time to be a miser with the precious liquid, mercy is about making it more comfortable for the man, so if quenching his thirst will make him feel better and eliminate the horribleness of thirst, then give it to him, it doesn't matter that he'll be dead in five seconds. Then, he does it "almost tenderly," which is incongruous in a man like Sandor that she thinks is Gregor writ smaller, and is the first time she actually notices he's being gentle, something her sister notices with frequency. This serves to highlight the purpose of mercy again: you're doing it for the other person, so do it with care. And finally, he insists that she must never miss the heart, again highlighting the need for the killing to be quick and painless for the sake of the dying.

 

Though Arya doesn't see it, this experience with Sandor works as an inversion to Lommy, who was also wounded and was finished off by Raff the Sweetling. That was no mercy, that was plain murder, for Lommy wasn't wounded beyond help, he didn't give his consent nor could have, he didn't ask for mercy but for help, and Raff stabbed him with his lance on the neck, cruelly, and without caring for any additional pain he may inflict. I've been pondering that her cold reaction to Sandor's "that's how you kill a man" may have to do with this experience, perhaps, because Lommy was the other case that Arya had seen of a wounded person asking for help and being wrongfully murdered instead. Sandor not only shows her the other side of this situation but also forces her to deviate from the same callous way of Gregor's men that she was ready to follow with the Clegane squire at the inn, and makes her own her killing ("that one is yours") and to give the boy mercy instead of leaving him to die.

 

And it's ironic that Martin chose the Hound for this lesson, given his "killing is the sweetest thing" speech to Sansa on Maegor's Holdfast, which in view of what he's done is rendered meaningless in contrast. But it's also appropriate that it was Sandor, because he embodies both the harsh and unromantic reality of knighthood ("knights are for killing") and the better and more chivalric aspect of knighthood at the same time. Wherever he may have learnt this himself, it sure wasn't from growing up with the Lannisters!

[Milady of York]

Milady of York, on 25 October 2015 - 01:33 AM said:

Been thinking a bit more about DogLover's chapter analysis, and some things to add came to mind:

DogLover, on 05 Oct 2015 - 02:19 AM, said:

A False Florian

 

In Sansa V, the false Florian Dontos, absurdly dressed as a knight (which contrasts to Sandor dressing as a peasant for the sake of trickery and an effort to get Arya to her family, providing him with the hope of seeing Sansa again) drunkenly attempts to usher Sansa down the Serpentine stairs as they escape from King’s Landing, paralleling the time Sansa ran right smack into a drunken Sandor, her true Florian, who actually did see her to safety, protecting her from an interrogation from Ser Boros Blount. Milady of York already presented a convincing argument that this parallel is intentional on GRRM’s part, as there really is no reason for Dontos and Sansa to use the highly-trafficked serpentine stairs as an escape route other than to contrast the relationship between the men have with Sansa.

 

Indeed, the Serpentine encounter is rich in symbolism and is paralleled not only later in the main series but has also parallels with Duncan the Tall's experience with Tanselle Too-Tall, as we discussed in the corresponding ACOK chapter here, and with John the Fiddler that we touched at the PtP.

 

When I made the case for the Sansa & Dontos escape through the Serpentine being an intentional parallel to contrast the false Florian with the true Florian, I'd also a nagging feeling that I knew where the Dontos as "fool saviour" idea came from and couldn't place it. Until recently in old archives I came across the comment by Lyanna Stark (thank you!) in which she says the Harrenhal tourney always reminded her of the tournament in Sir Walter Scott's novel Ivanhoe, and decided to reread it out of curiosity. Good that I did, because at last I can share some findings.

 

Martin must really, really love the Ashby Tournament in Ivanhoe to bits! There are several parallels and homages to it spread across a grand total of four tourneys in ASOIAF and the D&E novellas: the Harrenhal tourney, the Hand's Tourney, the Ashford tourney and the Tourney of Gnats. There's material in it for an exhaustive write-up, but for this reread I'm only going to focus on the tidbits pertaining to Sandor and Dontos.

 

First, let's go with Sandor. At the start of the Ashby tourney, before the knights joust, Cedric the Saxon (father to Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe) asks Athelstane, the nobleman he hopes to marry for political gain to his ward Lady Rowena (whom Ivanhoe loves), a question:

 

“The day is against England, my lord,” said Cedric, in a marked tone; “are you not tempted to take the lance?”

“I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “in the mêlée; it is not worthwhile for me to arm myself to-day.”

 

Sounds familiar? Of course, since it's Sandor, the rephrasing had to be funnier:

 

He had been the champion in her father’s tourney, Sansa remembered. “Will you joust today, my lord?” she asked him.

Clegane’s voice was thick with contempt. “Wouldn’t be worth the bother of arming myself. This is a tournament of gnats.”

 

In this same occasion one Fool-Knight figure saves the other Fool-Knight figure in tandem with Sansa. In so doing, he unwittingly provides her with another helper, albeit a less trusty one, that will in turn try to pay back the favour by attempting to save Sansa from a beating precisely the only time Sandor is ordered to beat her:

 

"Dog, hit her.”

“Let me beat her!” Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a “morningstar” whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all. He trotted his broomstick around her, shouting “Traitor, traitor” and whacking her over the head with the melon. Sansa covered herself with her hands, staggering every time the fruit pounded her, her hair sticky by the second blow. People were laughing. The melon flew to pieces. Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied.

 

Did you know that this is a homage to Wamba the Fool, the court jester of Cedric, specifically his act of saving Jewish moneylender Isaac of York, father to Rebecca, the woman whom Templar knight Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is infatuated with and for whom he and Ivanhoe will fight a trial by combat eventually? Yes, that's what it is. At Ashby, the king's brother Prince John, who is presiding over the tournament in absence of Richard the Lionheart and that in this would be our Joffrey figure (both because he's equally nasty and dresses in crimson and gold like a Lannister), decides to have some fun at the expense of Isaac by humiliating a Saxon nobleman giving him the order to relinquish his prominent seat in the spectators' dais to a despised Jew, and threatens Isaac if he disobeys, so Wamba intervenes:

 

“By no means, and it please your Grace! It is not fit for such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,” said the Jew, whose ambition for precedence, though it had led him to dispute place with the extenuated and impoverished descendant of the line of Montdidier, by no means stimulated him to an intrusion upon the privileges of the wealthy Saxons.

“Up, infidel dog, when I command you,” said Prince John, “or I will have thy swarthy hide stript off and tanned for horse-furniture!”

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and narrow steps which led up to the gallery.

“Let me see,” said the Prince, “who dare stop him!” fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his intention to hurl the Jew down headlong.

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, who, springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and exclaiming, in answer to the Prince’s defiance, “Marry, that will I!” opposed to the beard of the Jew a shield of brawn, which he plucked from beneath his cloak, and with which, doubtless, he had furnished himself lest the tournament should have proved longer than his appetite could endure abstinence. Finding the abomination of his tribe opposed to his very nose, while the Jester at the same time flourished his wooden sword above his head, the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, and rolled down the steps—an excellent jest to the spectators, who set up a loud laughter, in which Prince John and his attendants heartily joined.

 

So both fools attempt to save someone with "weapons" made of food, a melon and pig respectively, with success for one and unsuccessfully for the other. And later, just like Dontos helped Sansa escape captivity disguised in plain clothing, Wamba helped Cedric escape the castle of Torquilstone where he's held captive by de Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, dressed as a monk. There's even this speech Wamba gives Cedric that, for this time, he wants to carry his chain of office (they exchange clothes so he can escape disguised as a monk and Wamba stay in the cell dressed as a noble) with the dignity of his ancestor the alderman, mirroring Dontos telling Sansa that for once, during the escape, he wants to be a knight again.

 

The thematic value of these acts in Ivanhoe is the same as in Martin's books: a lowly jester, the most ridiculed and contemptible occupation, comes to the rescue of the highborn lady and lord that are the target of an injustice, thus showing that a buffoon possesses the honour a knight is supposed to live by but that is lacking here. Nobody intervenes to protect Isaac amongst the dozens of knights present, a jester does. Nobody tries to protect Sansa amongst the knights at court, a jester and ex-knight and a non-knight shrouded in Fool imagery do. It's the nobler nature that exterior garments of one's profession cover up, that put the real knights to shame.

 

There's more parallels, of course; for example the tilt between Bois-Guilbert and Ivanhoe is highly reminiscent of the Hound vs. Kingslayer tilt at the Hand's Tourney, in which the amusing detail is that the one in the place of Ivanhoe, the true knight figure in the story, is Sandor. See the passage:

 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the champions vanished from their posts with the speed of lightning, and closed in the centre of the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that both knights had fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil backwards upon its haunches. The addressof the riders recovered their steeds by use of the bridle and spur; and having glared on each other for an instant with eyes which seemed to flash fire through the bars of their visors, each made a demi-volte, and, retiring to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh lance from the attendants.

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the interest taken by the spectators in this encounter—the most equal, as well as the best performed, which had graced the day. But no sooner had the knights resumed their station than the clamour of applause was hushed into a silence so deep and so dead that it seemed the multitude were afraid even to breathe.

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the combatants and their horses might recover breath, Prince John with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound the onset. The champions a second time sprung from their stations, and closed in the centre of the lists, with the same speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same equal fortune as before.

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the centre of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance towards Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, changing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman on the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the bars. Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust.

 

Like at the joust in honour of Ned's Handship, there's two tilts between Wilfred and Sir Brian and it's the former who almost falls off his saddle but recovers to unhorse the latter, just as Sandor almost fell in the first tilt and went on to defeat Jaime on the second tilt. The passing along of the championship from one knight to another that made Sandor the champion is likewise from this book, for Ivanhoe also ends up as champion of the Ashby tournament when the Knight of the Black Armour (a mystery knight that's really the king in disguise), who was the people's favourite a la Loras, disappears from the festivities suddenly, leaving no other option but Wilfred to take his place as champion by merit, and to crown Lady Rowena as Queen of Love and Beauty like he'd been intending to all the while. Carrying this comparison further, this would theoretically make Sansa the symbolical equivalent to Rowena in that position.

 

In addition to that, there's also an archery contest to finish the tournament, won by none other than Robin Hood on a cameo appearance, and the parallels with Anguy are quite in-your-face, not to mention that Anguy will end up with the ASOIAF deconstruction of the Robin Hood trope that is the BwB.

 

And I am not even touching the parallels with Harrenhal and Ashford! It's fascinating to see how the entire Ashby tourney was a deep well of inspiration for Martin's tourneys. It spans over several chapters in Scott's novel and there's still more to dig up, so I'd not be surprised if Martin were to use some more in the future, either with more information on the Harrenhal tourney, or for the upcoming tournament in the Vale, which already also hints some interesting parallels (by the end of Ashby, two knights carry out an abduction of the Queen of Love and Beauty...).

[Milady of York]

Lyanna Stark, on 09 November 2015 - 04:11 AM said:

Oh Milady, how wonderful that you picked up the parallels from Ivanhoe.

 

The joust between de Bois Guilbert and Wilfred of Ivanhoe is definitely an inspiration for Martin's Sandor/Jaime showdown, or I will eat my shoes! Just like Lyanna being made Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhal is a direct homage to Ivanhoe crowning the Lady Rowena. Both the Tourney of the Hand and the Harrenhal one are clearly inspired by Ashby in Ivanhoe. Sandor as a Wilfred of Ivanhoe type hero is interesting as well, since Wilfred is cast as a very romantic type hero, brutally injured and then healed enough to champion Rebecca when she is imprisoned by the Templars. (Although this makes me think that Cersei will take Rebecca's place, and Un-Gregor Ivanhoe's, who will then proceed to beat the Faith's champion. But one wonders who will take the legendary de Bois-Guilbert's place as the champion of the Faith.)

 

 

In any case, back to Sandor as Ivanhoe parallel, there is also the fact that Cedric has disinherited his son Ivanhoe, so he has nothing to really inherit and no "home", as it were, before the reigning monarch (Richard Plantagenet) makes Cedric take him back in so Ivanhoe gets a title and can marry the Lady Rowena. Of course, Sandor probably won't swear allegiance to House Lannister again, but the theme of someone higher up the ladder of power essentially pressing the issue is an interesting one. One could imagine Jon Snow taking this role of Richard Plantagenet and granting Sandor the title/belonging he needs to once again regain his lost position (and by extension, if the parallels to Ivanhoe is then to be fulfilled, to be able to get the lady, too).

 

The only sad bit is that Jaime Lannister is then probably Brian de Bois-Guilbert and will perhaps share his fate.   Although if Brienne is the Rebecca figure, I hope she is less severe on this version of de Bois-Guilbert (yes, I always had a soft spot for him, even if he is a Templar, and I still think Rebecca should have just said "sod it" and gone to Spain/the Middle East with him. )

 

 

Further Ivanhoe parallels may be the overarching one of Wilfred of Ivanhoe being a unifying character, and England starting out as a country with warring factions, or at least with factions in an unease state of peace, while at the end of the novel the theme is unification and moving on from past fighting. In a way I think several ASOIAF characters carry traits of Ivanhoe characters, with Daenerys and maybe Jon Snow as Richard Plantagenet type of characters, although Jon also carries some elements of Wilfred of Ivanhoe (the potential re-claiming of heritage). Perhaps Jaime and Brienne as de Bois-Guilbert and Rebecca which potentially sets up Tyrion as Aethelstane ( ). Interestingly, the Rhaegar and Lyanna romance takes elements from both Ivanhoe/Rowena and from de Bois-Guilbert/Rebecca.

 

I believe it is time to re-read Ivanhoe instead of just watching the BBC movie from 1982 (with Olivia Hussey as Rebecca and a young Sam Neill as de Bois-Guilbert tho.     )

 

 

EDIT: Interesting too is that Maurice de Bracy, leader of what is basically the leader of a mercenary company (i.e. he is not a landed knight and is paying his soldiers with gold) is interested in the Lady Rowena, but she rebuffs his advances and prefers the heroic but humbled Ivanhoe to the supposedly rich upstart de Bracy.

 

[Milady of York]

An exhausted Milady, today, at this hour, said:

I believe I have seen Hell, and it's full of malfunctioning quotes...

But at last all the content is back, and we can henceforward continue the discussion as usual. Happy posting, everyone!

[Milady of York]

 

I'm late in my reply to you on Ivanhoe parallels, Lyanna. Clever points, you added further details I'd not noticed myself.

 

 The only sad bit is that Jaime Lannister is then probably Brian de Bois-Guilbert and will perhaps share his fate.   Although if Brienne is the Rebecca figure, I hope she is less severe on this version of de Bois-Guilbert (yes, I always had a soft spot for him, even if he is a Templar, and I still think Rebecca should have just said "sod it" and gone to Spain/the Middle East with him. )

 Or Sicily! All three faiths could live and thrive there with reasonable tolerance unheard of elsewhere, and even one of their kings got into a liaison with a Muslim woman. Likewise for Spain. I almost forgot, there's a bit of historical fun I caught: whilst Richard the Lionheart is playing true knight in fiction, his own brother-in-law King Alfonso VIII of Castile was playing Bois-Guilbert in real life. He's said at the time to have had an affair with a Jewish beauty called Rachel. I wonder if Scott knew about that.

 

I don't recall who argued first that the reason Rebecca rejects Bois-Guilbert is because of the conversion issue, for Christianity is a patrilineal faith (children of a Christian father = Christians) whereas Judaism is a matrilineal faith (children of a Jewish mother = Jews), of which the laws of the time were aware and didn't allow inter-faith marriages unless the Jewish bride/groom converted, and Rebecca doesn't want this. I'm not entirely clear on that, however, for although it's true that Rebecca does balk at conversion to Sir Brian's face, in private she doesn't balk at a possible union with a Christian, because Ivanhoe is one too, and she'd have had the same problem with him had he returned her feelings. I think she simply doesn't fancy Bois-Guilbert for . . . being Bois-Guilbert. Their acquaintance started off on the wrong foot, and that forever coloured her opinion of him no matter what else he said and did after.

 

Speaking of the trial by combat for the innocence of Rebecca, I always thought it was so anti-climactic! Sir Brian just drops dead before he can go toe-to-toe with Wilfred. It'd have been better had Scott allowed him to fight and make the choice to either prevail over Wilfred or, as the adaptation with Sam Neill and Ciarán Hinds have it, choose willingly and knowingly let himself be killed by a still weakened Ivanhoe in order for Rebecca to live and be happy even if not with him. Instead, the author shied away from such a confrontation and left us wondering what would have happened. Personally, I agree with the ending chosen by the screenwriters and directors of the two adaptations we talked of, mainly because of the conversation Sir Brian had with Rebecca prior to the duel, when he pleads with her to leave with him and tells her he'll give everything up, even those things he'd not been willing to until that moment, and again right before her champion arrives, he repeats his offer to her beside the stake. That does hint that, in the end, he'd have let himself lose the combat if that defeat meant she stayed alive.

 

By the way, this also reminds me that Scott evades writing Ivanhoe and Bois-Guilbert in a clash on equal footing and without advantages or impediments. In the Ashby joust, Wilfred is able to unseat Sir Brian not so much due to the impact of his lance as because the latter's saddle unluckily slid off and he fell, and in the second one-on-one (the third encounter between them, globally) there's not even as much as a bumping of shields! I've remarked before that something similar happens with Sandor, that Martin avoids showing off his skills at full capacity during duels (battles are another matter), and there's always an impediment of some sort reining him in. But we can expect this holding back could be due to reserving him for a crucial moment where he'll have to exert himself to maximum point. We've discussed here Ragnorak's idea on whether Sandor might have to actually champion Sansa in a trial by combat at one point if such a trial were to take place, and if he's going to be the answer to Sansa's plea to be sent "a true knight (. . .) someone to champion me" in the godswood as well as fulfil his own promise to be her protector when he left her, then the ground would be set up for a parallel of some sort to Ivanhoe championing Rebecca to happen.

 

In any case, back to Sandor as Ivanhoe parallel, there is also the fact that Cedric has disinherited his son Ivanhoe, so he has nothing to really inherit and no "home", as it were, before the reigning monarch (Richard Plantagenet) makes Cedric take him back in so Ivanhoe gets a title and can marry the Lady Rowena.

 Excellent, and there's another parallel to add to the growing list: Wilfred was disinherited not because he did something terrible but because of Rowena. Cedric kicked him out of the castle because he and she fell in love, and that was contrary to his own plans to marry her off to Athelstane (funny that you have Tyrion as him) to revitalise the dying line of the old Saxon royal house. Being in love in itself wouldn't be a problem, so something must've happened that had Ivanhoe exiled, perhaps he asked for her hand to his father and he reacted offendedly, perhaps he proposed behind his father's back, perhaps she refused to comply with Cedric's plans and told him why; something of that sort. As a result, he lost position, title and lands, without which a man of the nobility could not marry. Sandor lost his chance to lands and a title as Gregor's heir when he entered the Kingsguard, but he had a higher position in the Lannister household by birth and merit, which he let go of and abandoned in great part for Sansa's influence.

 

I like your idea of someone royal exerting meddling rights and giving him the means to acquire a new position that'd allow him to get the lady, as this was of much import in the day, for men would either postpone marriage or never marry for this very reason, not having means nor lands; even Bois-Guilbert lost his first girl precisely because his pouch was empty. I've argued before that Sandor's wish to reach Robb had that flavour, reinforced by his offhand "make me a lordling" comment. Worthy of note, too, is that King Richard doesn't simply make Cedric reinstate his disinherited son out of the goodness of his heart or because he was moved to tears by the lovers' trials and tribulations. No, the Lionheart did it as recompense for Ivanhoe's role in the whole conflict between the factions, that is, for his deeds. So, the Hound will have to earn his position from whatever new regime ends up on top. And this is now a necessity given how badly his reputation was ruined because of the Blackwater slanders and Saltpans.

 

Interesting too is that Maurice de Bracy, leader of what is basically the leader of a mercenary company (i.e. he is not a landed knight and is paying his soldiers with gold) is interested in the Lady Rowena, but she rebuffs his advances and prefers the heroic but humbled Ivanhoe to the supposedly rich upstart de Bracy.

 A Littlefinger equivalent, do you think? De Bracy kidnapped Rowena with the sole object of using her for his political ambitions, and planned to force her into a marriage that she didn't want, to himself, roughly the same motivations Baelish has for kidnapping Sansa, minus the mother factor.

 

It's interesting to contrast his motivations with those of Bois-Guilbert for kidnapping Rebecca, which are devoid of political schemes and ambition. De Bracy wants to strong-arm Rowena into marriage regardless of love, Bois-Guilbert wants to win Rebecca's love. And both fail because of the same man. Incidentally, another familiar motif you will recognise is that when de Bracy abducts Rowena, he ignores that she's been for years in love with Wilfred, and that's what in the end earns him a rejection.

 

There's a Sansa/Jeyne socio-gender commentary in this joint abduction as well, of which GRRM must've been aware given the similarities: Like Sansa, Rowena is protected to an extent from the possibility of de Bracy resorting to violence by her highborn status. As a maiden noblewoman, she cannot be forced, the Church was clear that if the woman didn't give her consent a marriage couldn't be carried out, hence why coercive methods were employed on women so there'd be at least the appearance of consent. Which is what de Bracy is aiming at, blackmailing Rowena so she "consents" just as Littlefinger coerced Alayne into "consenting" to Harry. Otherwise he can't do anything, and if he dared to use violence on her, that could turn against him ahead for men could get in legal trouble for ravishing noblewomen more easily than for doing it to commoners, unfair as it was. That puts Rowena's initial defiance and outward confidence facing de Bracy in proper perspective.

 

In contrast, Rebecca is completely helpless: not only is she a commoner, which is bad enough, but she is also an alien and a follower of a despised faith. She can be used and discarded with impunity. Hence why as soon as she sees someone entering the room she's locked in at Torquilstone, she hysterically threatens to kill herself rather than suffer ravishment, and Bois-Guilbert has to reassure her that he came only to talk and has to give her his word as a knight that he shall not touch her before she quiets down to listening. She misjudged him and his intentions, but her terror is so legitimate and so real that her haste is understandable. Like Jeyne's survival to the household slaughter was due to the Hound, so Rebecca depends on the kindness of a stranger. Had Sir Brian not been like he was and more like his chum de Bracy, it's also true that he could've kept her as his mistress against her will instead of seeking her willingness, and nobody would lift a finger in the Jewish girl's favour, and Bois-Guilbert would probably not be punished either, as he'd not be the first monk-knight to keep a mistress and he was valuable to the Templars. The offers he made her is, through a practicality lens, advantageous to someone in Rebecca's position; especially the second time, when he is offering her to be his wife, which elevates her to the nobility with all its privileges, but she doesn't want him.

[Ragnorak]

Sandor IX (SoS)
The Last Fight
Arya XIII (Chapter 74)

Summary

Our chapter opens with a brief tease of a horror movie cliché as Arya, the young “innocent,” “helpless” girl, futilely warned the older brave male not to go into the bad haunted place which of course is occupied by dangerous ghosts and complete with a dead body ornamenting the building.  The ghosts are from both of their pasts and aside from the occupants of the inn and the memories of her initial journey down the Kingsroad, the ghosts of Arry, Lumpyhead, Weasel, Nan and Squab lurk in the shadows as well.  The doomed squire quotes Gregor referring to Sandor as a puppy who piddled in the rushes so he may have his own shades of past identities waiting in this haunted house as well.

Martin immediately turns Arya’s apprehension into the reader’s suspense as she enters an uncomfortably silent room and notes all the people who ought to be making noise.  They’re soldiers that know Sandor and Arya knows them too but our teasing author draws out the silence and replicates the tension for the reader by drawing out identifying these soldiers.  The effect is a classic Western saloon standoff.

Sandor walks into the “saloon” and everything stops.  All eyes are on this menacing newcomer who becomes all the more menacing as fear grips the well-armed band that outnumbers him.  Tensions are certain to boil over… and someone orders drink.  Then lines filled with threatening undertones are exchanged and the “good guy” warns everyone to clear out the back.  Violence is imminent but only one line threats are exchanged.  The lines become a dialogue that almost begins to resemble civility as we see outlaws and lawmen are cut from nearly the same cloth.  The differences always show in the end as someone says the wrong, or the right thing, and someone goes for a gun—or a throwing knife.

This is far more a grey Clint Eastwood than a white and black hat wearing John Wayne Western—though Polliver’s head would swear it was a Sam Peckinpah film.  Gregor’s men are the corrupt badge wearing lawmen and Sandor is the flawed but noble outlaw.  This aspect of the scene is another ghost that will be left behind at this inn.  The Brotherhood without Banners will later take up residence here to be haunted by Sandor’s helm, their past judgment of Sandor, and the comparative nobility of their outlaw band’s gunfight compared to our Lone Ranger’s.

Sandor kills Polliver and Arya kills the Tickler and mortally wounds the squire.  This time Sandor lets Arya give the gift of mercy he taught her earlier.  Arya helps the wounded Sandor onto Stranger and they make their way towards Saltpans.  Sandor’s wounds are too severe to go on even after Arya tries to treat them.  He asks Arya for the gift of mercy and even lashes out with his deathbed confession to try and provoke her to do it.  She denies him on the grounds that he doesn’t deserve mercy.  This has a double edged meaning since in the First Men tradition of justice not deserving the gift of mercy can mean not deserving death.  This is somewhat reinforced by Arya leaving the Hound out of her nightly prayer.
 

Analysis

Milady has written two excellent pieces in the Pawn to Player threads that serve as extremely useful background for this chapter.  The first is The Road to the Hound’s Deathbed Confession (Part 2) which covers Sandor’s psychological state from his breaking at the Blackwater through the end of Arya XIII when she leaves him under the willow tree.  The second is On Sandor and Drinking that illustrates his drinking is actually rather infrequent, only recreational prior to the Blackwater and largely a coping mechanism for depression after the Blackwater but also rather infrequent.  She was kind enough to include a chapter by chapter breakdown of his alcohol consumption for the whole series.

What is Everyone Thinking?

Sandor’s real mission here is to find out who holds the ruby ford to see if it is a viable crossing.  Both he and the inn are at a crossroads and the holder of the ford will determine the road he takes.  Sandor gets this answer as soon as he opens the door to the inn even if Arya doesn’t know it yet.

If these three were whoring here, Gregor must hold the ford

The tension in the room when Arya first walks in tells us exactly how this is going to end.  House Lannister is all that kept the Gregor/Sandor animosity from spilling over into bloodshed and Sandor’s no longer being in their service means that this encounter must end in blood.  Both sides know it.  Sandor holds off because he wants information since their presence tells him the ruby ford is closed to him. Polliver and the Tickler hold off because Sandor is a deadly threat.

Aside from their shared history in Tywin’s service, Chiswyck’s tale that won him a spot on Arya’s three wish list tells us that Gregor brought seven men with him to the Hand’s Tourney—Chiswyck, Raff the Sweetling, a squire Joss Stilwood and four unnamed others.  Given the number of Gregor’s men in Arya’s prayer, “Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler,” it seems likely that both the Tickler and Polliver were at the Hand’s Tourney and actually witnessed the fight between Gregor and Sandor.  They know very well the peril they are in.

Note the first thing said is Polliver asking, “Looking for your brother, Sandor?”  Sandor Clegane is the last person they expected to walk into this inn or they’d be dressed in armor.  The question of why he’s in this inn or even this general area is paramount in their minds and to kill Gregor is the only reasonable answer available to them.  Sandor defuses the imminent conflict by announcing his intent to order wine, but his “don’t call me, ser” barked at the innkeeper is as good as a death threat to those for whom Gregor is known only as the iconic Ser.

Polliver only glances at Arya likely because a glance is sufficient to dismiss her as a tactical threat.  The Tickler stares long and hard though.  He is most certainly trying to figure out why she is with Sandor.  These men wouldn’t be privy to the knowledge that Roose’s Arya is a fake so it is unlikely he would be guessing her true identity.  More probably he’s recognizing her as one of his old Harrenhal captives which would serve to reinforce the idea that Sandor is here to kill Gregor and this girl’s familiarity with Harrenhal is somehow part of Sandor’s plan.

The poor squire isn’t thinking at all but his taunting serves as an opportunity for Sandor to imply another subtle threat—though warning may be a better word.  Part of Sandor’s “code” seems to be not being an aggressor like Gregor.  He knows these men will start the fight and letting them do so fits with his sense of honor as does his subtle warnings of the consequences with his lines about being called ser and this spoiled noble’s drinking.

Sandor pumps them for information which they are all too happy to give.  Their side seems to be winning the war and they’re rubbing it in that Sandor chose to leave the winning side.  They’re also intentionally implying that he has no options.  They firmly believe he’s here for Gregor and want to know what he intends now that Gregor has gone to Kings Landing.  With the mention of the Saltpans they believe they have their answer and The Tickler makes his move.  The Tickler also likely waited for the alcohol to kick in and probably hoped conversation might relax Sandor’s guard.

Sandor’s excessive drinking here is the curious part.  He knew this fight was coming the second he walked in the door.  His blatant openness about his intentions to go to Saltpans clues us in that he knows Gregor’s men won’t be leaving alive or he’d have been more coy with his intentions.  The fact that he’s in motion the second The Tickler makes his move shows that he’s been waiting for this the entire time.  So why did he get so drunk?

Oberyn drinks before every fight so it isn’t that any degree of alcohol consumption is dangerous.  Milday’s two essays cover the topic well, but in short the reason seems to be Sansa.  After his first go at the flagon the wine is primarily a tool for getting information from Gregor’s men.  Sandor doesn’t drink again until Sansa’s fate is mentioned.  That it is a tool is also demonstrated when he pours wine for Arya only after she reacts to the deaths at Harrenhal—a tool she uses when news of her own marriage confuses her.  When Sandor first hears the news of Joffrey’s poisoning at his own wedding he has every reason to believe that Sansa was the bride.  So his question about who killed him is really about whether or not Sansa got caught based on what he would reasonably suspect.  His comment about his “brave brothers” is also Sansa specific in that in order to poison Joffrey she would had to have outwitted these men who beat her and humiliated them in the process.  He would reasonably believe they failed to protect the king from a 13 year old girl—a girl he knows considered killing that king before.  The obvious question for Sandor to ask would be, “Who the bloody hell did Joffrey marry if it wasn’t Sansa?”  His utter lack of interest in a new queen or what House the Lannisters allied with frames just how much Sansa consumes his thoughts.  It also illustrates the nature of his loyalty and his own internal sense of honor.  Whether this new House might offer more for Arya never crosses his mind.

The Duality of Fire

The clear giveaway that it is Sansa he’s thinking about comes when he brings the conversation back to her after they’ve already moved on to news of Harrenhal, Riverrun and the state of the battlefield in the Riverlands.

The Hound poured a cup of wine for Arya and another for himself, and drank it down while staring at the hearthfire. “The little bird flew away, did she? Well, bloody good for her. She shit on the Imp’s head and flew off.”

Flame gazing isn’t just for fanatical redheads.

“As shy as a maid on her wedding night,” the big ranger said in a soft voice, “and near as fair. Sometimes a man forgets how pretty a fire can be.”

When the blaze was all acrackle, he peeled off his stiff gloves to warm his hands, and sighed, wondering if ever a kiss had felt as good.

When they were done, there was no sound but the faint crackle of the flames and a distant sigh of wind. Jon opened and closed his burnt fingers, holding tight to the words in his mind, praying that his father’s gods would give him the strength to die bravely when his hour came.

“I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I’d imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister.”

he paused and looked back at Jon Snow. The boy stood near the fire, his face still and hard, looking deep into the flames.

While our favorite fanatical flame gazer says that “Any cat may stare into a fire and see red mice at play,” there is a definitive theme to the red mice these men see—women and home.  The fires Jon and the Halfhand gaze into are campfires to bring warmth to shelter, to cook hot meals.  Such fires are echoes of home and these men see the feminine aspect of a home that’s as natural a yearning as the cat’s red mice.  Even Tyrion’s vengeful visions are about removing hostile elements to make Casterly Rock more a home.

The double edged nature of fire is introduced in our very first prologue

Gared dismounted. “We need a fire. I’ll see to it.”
“How big a fool are you, old man? If there are enemies in this wood, a fire is the last thing we want.”
“There’s some enemies a fire will keep away,” Gared said. “Bears and direwolves and… and other things…”

and continues to come up probably most blatantly in CoK

“Fire is life up here,” said Qhorin Halfhand, “but it can be death as well.”

For Sandor the normally benevolent side of fire still carries negative associations.  His father’s cover up of Gregor’s attack poisoned home as a place of solace and protection.  Even what little emotional value his father or sister may have had after his burning was destroyed by Gregor as he seems to have killed them both.  The fires of his ancestral hearth are denied to him though he still cherishes the story of its founding hinting at a deep rooted desire to establish a home.  We saw this desire earlier in his words before accepting a place in the kingsguard.

The Hound’s scarred face was hard to read. He took a long moment to consider. “Why not? I have no lands nor wife to forsake, and who’d care if I did?”

Though with Sandor, all his desires are blurred by his singular consuming desire for revenge against Gregor.

Fire vs. Mud

The psychological impact of Sandor’s burns are ever present for him as they have largely defined his path in life, but in this chapter, aside from his wish for Tyrion to be dipped in wildfire, the burning desire to kill Gregor and the hearthfire seem to be the more prominent symbolic meanings in play.  Twice after leaving the Crossroads Inn Sandor expresses a dislike for mud.  It is Barristan, the man Sandor replaced, that defines for us the struggle between fire and mud through Dany.

She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.
You could make a poultice out of mud to cool a fever. You could plant seeds in mud and grow a crop to feed your children. Mud would nourish you, where fire would only consume you, but fools and children and young girls would choose fire every time.

Fire vs. mud seems a symbolic tension between naïve youthful idealism and the pragmatic wisdom that allows the disillusioned to return to idealism.  The value of these simple mud-like pleasures is learned in childhood, or as e. e. cummings would say, in Just Spring when the world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.  All the Stark POVs rely on memories of Winterfell and the value of these simple mud-like pleasures when they need to draw strength during their trials.  They all have fiery dreams of glory and all grow more and more willing to set those ambitions aside to return to Winterfell’s mud.  Robb chooses the fire of a crown and Karstark the fire of vengeance over the mud of trading Jaime for Sansa and Karstark’s last living son.  Both are consumed by their fiery choices.  At some point the burning youthful fever must be cooled in a poultice of mud.

In both Dany’s, whose arc brings us the metaphor, and Sandor’s cases, they never had a proper childhood in which to learn the value of mud. Their journeys back to idealism will be more difficult.  Compare Sandor’s views on mud with Arya’s.

Arya
The green water was warm as tears, but there was no salt in it. It tasted of summer and mud and growing things.

She got dirt in her mouth but she didn’t care, the taste was fine, the taste was mud and water and worms and life. Under the earth the air was cool and dark. Above was nothing but blood and roaring red and choking smoke and the screams of dying horses.
...
A dozen feet down the tunnel she heard the sound, like the roar of some monstrous beast, and a cloud of hot smoke and black dust came billowing up behind her, smelling of hell. Arya held her breath and kissed the mud on the floor of the tunnel and cried.

Walking barefoot was hard at first, but the blisters had finally broken, the cuts had healed, and her soles had turned to leather. The mud was nice between her toes, and she liked to feel the earth underfoot when she walked.

Sandor
Find me a stick, about so long and not too big around. And wash the mud off it. I hate the taste of mud.”

She brought him water instead. He drank a little of it, complained that it tasted of mud, and slid into a noisy fevered sleep.

While there is a great deal going on in this chapter beyond the fire and mud theme, this theme is one that will continue for Sandor throughout his obfuscated presence as the Gravedigger for the rest of the series written to date. Consistent with Barristan’s quote and the Florian Knight vs. Fool theme, Sandor at this point is a fool choosing fire over mud. In his case the fire is vengeance against Gregor. Looking forward there is more mud in Sandor’s future as the Quiet Isle must be reached by crossing the mudflats, a trek Martin has devoted a curiously large number of words to describe.

If you would sleep beneath a roof tonight, you must climb off your horses and cross the mud with me.
but... mayhaps I should take you up to Elder Brother. He will have seen you crossing the mud.

This mud vs. fire theme will also be explored through Brienne who will unknowingly discover Sandor at the Quiet Isle. Brienne is often compared to Sandor in both subtle and overt ways and she will have her own fire vs. mud theme on her way to the Quiet Isle that may serve as additional commentary on Sandor. While that part of the discussion is best left for a future chapter, it is worth noting his mindset in our final scene with Sandor identified on screen. The closing of this chapter is clearly a breaking point for Sandor and in his impending absence rumors of the Hound will place him in the role of a Broken Man while he ends up in the healing sanctuary for Broken Men. Yet as we covered earlier the tale of the Broken Man differs from Sandor’s tale just as his breaking here is a stark difference from what broke to create the outlaws who will don his helm. It is in those differences that we will find the most illuminating information on Sandor.

[Milady of York]

Excellent analysis, Ragnorak! I've been waiting for your take on certain parts of this chapter (it's Sandor VII, by the way), and you did deliver as expected. Will be commenting this by bits, it's meaty!

 

15 hours ago, Ragnorak said:

Martin immediately turns Arya’s apprehension into the reader’s suspense as she enters an comfortably silent room and notes all the people who ought to be making noise.  They’re soldiers that know Sandor and Arya knows them too but our teasing author draws out the silence and replicates the tension for the reader by drawing out identifying these soldiers.  The effect is a classic Western saloon standoff.

Sandor walks into the “saloon” and everything stops.  All eyes are on this menacing newcomer who becomes all the more menacing as fear grips the well-armed band that outnumbers him.  Tensions are certain to boil over… and someone orders drink.  Then lines filled with threatening undertones are exchanged and the “good guy” warns everyone to clear out the back.  Violence is imminent but only one line threats are exchanged.  The lines become a dialogue that almost begins to resemble civility as we see outlaws and lawmen are cut from nearly the same cloth.  The differences always show in the end as someone says the wrong, or the right thing, and someone goes for a gun—or a throwing knife.

This is far more a grey Clint Eastwood than a white and black hat wearing John Wayne Western—though Polliver’s head would swear it was a Sam Peckinpah film.  Gregor’s men are the corrupt badge wearing lawmen and Sandor is the flawed but noble outlaw.  This aspect of the scene is another ghost that will be left behind at this inn.  The Brotherhood without Banners will later take up residence here to be haunted by Sandor’s helm, their past judgment of Sandor, and the comparative nobility of their outlaw band’s gunfight compared to our Lone Ranger’s.

 

I’m blaming you for putting this image in my head of Sandor delivering one-liners with a Clint Eastwood drawl. “So many buggers, just one sword.”

 

Finally someone brought up the Western saloon imagery that this ASOS chapter has in abundance, which I hadn’t seen discussed till now. I noticed this early on my first read, but had ascribed all that to a perception of a similarity between knightly combat and the typical Western saloon gunfight, and that probably I was making too much of it. Then I came across an academic paper on archetypes that briefly touched this topic and made a convincing case for why the Lone Ranger in American culture is essentially your own version of the Knight Errant from Europe. You don’t have Middle Ages in US history, but this figure is an universal archetype and as such can be found in other places that also don’t have a Middle Ages as we know it in the West, such as the Japanese have the figure of the wandering Ronin that’s also the same archetype with an Asian flavour. The Lone Ranger and the Knight Errant do share a lot in common: they both are loner warriors trained in fighting with weapons, usually skilled above average with a gun or a sword, have no home and no overlord in most cases, and go from town to town succouring those in trouble, saving the damsel or the schoolteacher/rancher’s pretty daughter, getting into trials by combat/sword duels and gunfights and saloon brawls with the Baddies, fixing injustices and cleaning nests of outlawry, confronting corrupt nobles or sheriffs, earning their upkeep day by day and living off their hands’ work, and sticking to a code of behaviour that draws the line on what’s honour and what is dishonour; and furthermore, the Old West is in essence pretty much as the often wartorn and violent landscape of medieval European fiefdoms were. So seeing all that, it’s no wonder that Martin would go for a Western imagery for Sandor, the character whose arc is at its core a tale of knighthood.

 

Any given cinematic or literary saloon gunfight can easily fit in with knightly tales, too, if you replace period elements, for like the former, inns and alehouses were the common go-to places, and there duels between knights would sprout in reminiscent fashions. And in many medieval tales, when a knight encounters another knight on the road, he always challenges him to a duel to prove himself, which is again like the gunslinger that brags of being the fastest ever and challenges any other to a fight. You mention that this chapter opens like in a horror film, and to that I’d add that it’s also like a typical Western saloon showdown that starts with a warning from a well-intentioned civilian to the “good” gunslinger to not go to the cantina, where the “bad” men are waiting for him. Don’t go, it’s a trap. And the gunslinger shrugs it off, and swaggers confidently into the saloon, and as soon as he enters, everyone looks at him, silence settles in, he bellows for a drink, throwing a few coins to the barman without ever asking the price (and if you wonder why not, it’s because prices were stable and everyone knew beforehand how much everything cost; same applied to medieval inns), they exchange words, someone says the right or the wrong thing as you noted, and the fight ensues either in or out of the saloon. In the case of Sandor versus Polliver & Tickler, nothing is missing, all elements are in: even the legendary Wanted: Dead or Alive imagery is present. But subverted, of course, in true Martin fashion. For by that time, Sandor is not yet attainted for treason—that’ll come by royal decree after Saltpans—so he’s not an outlaw in the strict sense yet. But for Gregor’s men he already is outside the law by virtue of deserting the Lannister side, their side, so that places a de facto “bounty” on his head; not that Gregor will be fussy about whether they bring Sandor’s head or him alive but wounded.

[Ragnorak]

On 2/9/2016 at 11:47 AM, Milady of York said:

Excellent analysis, Ragnorak! I've been waiting for your take on certain parts of this chapter (it's Sandor VII, by the way), and you did deliver as expected. Will be commenting this by bits, it's meaty!

<snip>

Thank you, Milady.

I really like your thoughts on the Knight Errant archetype though most of reflections on that topic jump ahead to comparing and contrasting Sandor and Brienne. Sandor is much more the Clint Eastwood style character in the American Western treatment of the archetype while Brienne is closer to the black and white hat wearing John Wayne style. The Fire and Mud theme can serve as a bit of commentary by Martin on the difference between the two. It is something that I think echoes back to Aemon's speech to Jon about Ravens and Doves with Sandor already preferring ravens from the opening of the story but needing to be tempered and Brienne struggling to be a true knight against the restrictions imposed by emulating Baelor the Blessed. Sandor as a "true knight" needs to move toward mud and Brienne needs to move toward fire.

But I don't want to elaborate too much because I think this is one of the major thematic elements moving forward into Sandor arriving at the Quiet Isle and the fact that it is through Brienne's POV that we see him and learn of his post-Arya fate. Metaphorically, Sandor needs to move toward mud and Brienne needs to move toward fire to embrace a more perfect "true knight" status. I do believe you are spot on in pointing to the Knight Errant archetype and I suspect the Sandor/Brienne contrast relative to the American Western treatment is quite intentional on Martin's part.