A while back on the Westeros.org forum I wondered if Lysa was not poisoning herself, maybe unknowingly, with the makeup and clothes she wears. This makeup poisoning would leech into her breast milk, therefore, Sweetrobin Arryn would also be ingesting poison, ramping up his “tolerance” in a way we see later with Maester Coleman.
I came across an interesting article about the poison in makeup and women’s dresses a long time ago. Some women would literally spontaneously ignite because of the toxins, and the would go “mad” from the poisons that leached into their systems… their humors would be off.
It was called the “Arsenic waltz” https://hyperallergic.com/133571/fatal-victorian-fashion-and-the-allure-of-the-poison-garment/
And green dye in history was known to be a killer, as was makeup in general with the copious uses of lead, arsenic, and other poisons and irritants. Lommy Greenhands was a dyer’s apprentice.
- AGOT/Dany VI: Across the aisle, a fat cloth trader from Yi Ti was haggling with a Pentoshi over the price of some green dye, the monkey tail on his hat swaying back and forth as he shook his head.
When we meet Lysa, she is caked in makeup, and we know that Sansa loves lemon cakes, so there could be a connection. Plus, the Whent blood also helps. Poison is a “women’s work”, but then again, so is wearing makeup (yes, in general).
- A Game of Thrones- Cat VI- … in truth; five cruel years, for Lysa. They had taken their toll. Her sister was two years the younger, yet she looked older now. Shorter than Catelyn, Lysa had grown thick of body, pale and puffy of face. She had the blue eyes of the Tullys, but hers were pale and watery, never still. Her small mouth had turned petulant. As Catelyn held her, she remembered the slender, high-breasted girl who’d waited beside her that day in the sept at Riverrun.
- “Quiet!” Lysa snapped at her. “You’re scaring the boy.” Little Robert took a quick peek over his shoulder at Catelyn and began to tremble. His doll fell to the rushes, and he pressed himself against his mother. “Don’t be afraid, my sweet baby,” Lysa whispered. “Mother’s here, nothing will hurt you.” She opened her robe and drew out a pale, heavy breast, tipped with red. The boy grabbed for it eagerly, buried his face against her chest, and began to suck. Lysa stroked his hair.
- A Game of Thrones – Sansa VI- “I will need hot water for my bath, please,” she told them, “and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise.” The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.
- A Storm of Swords – Sansa VI- “You may come kiss my cheek, Alayne.” Dutifully she approached and knelt beside the bed. Her aunt was drenched in sweet scent, though under that was a sour milky smell. Her cheek tasted of paint and powder.
- A Storm of Swords- Sansa VII- Amidst so much white marble even the sunlight looked chilly, somehow . . . though not half so chilly as her aunt. Lady Lysa had dressed in a gown of cream-colored velvet and a necklace of sapphires and moon-stones. Her auburn hair had been done up in a thick braid, and fell across one shoulder. She sat in the high seat watching her niece approach, her face red and puffy beneath the paint and powder. On the wall behind her hung a huge banner, the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn in cream and blue.
Basically, Sansa needs to get the F out of the Eyrie, and the F out of Auntie Crazy’s makeup and dresses and lemoncakes. And hmmm, interesting, Creepyfinger tells Alyane to avoid the cream:
- Alayne looked down at her dress, the deep blue and rich dark red of Riverrun. “Is it too—”