Sansa dreams this while locked in the tower room of Maegor's Holdfast with Jeyne Pool.
That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies.
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts . Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he’d heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening , one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering.
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
I didn't read it thoroughly, but did you include when Bran and Rickon both dreamed of Ned in the crypts the night he died? Interesting how he could get there without his remains. And also Theon's dream of the feast of the dead.
“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
I didn't read it thoroughly, but did you include when Bran and Rickon both dreamed of Ned in the crypts the night he died? Interesting how he could get there without his remains. And also Theon's dream of the feast of the dead.
No, I hadn't gotten that far yet. The list so far isn't even all the way through GOT.
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
Sometimes I call up Lady Dyanna when I'm dreaming. I wonder if I sleep walk, too?
“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
I tell you, my lord, the darkness is coming. There are wild things in the woods, direwolves and mammoths and snow bears the size of aurochs, and I have seen darker shapes in my dreams.”
An interesting choice of words, given that the Others are white shadows with blue eyes.
Mel sees "dark winged shapes" in her fires. . . .is Mormont seeing "darker things" in the woods? Or just darker things per se, vs. what he sees in the woods?
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
Sometimes I call up Lady Dyanna when I'm dreaming. I wonder if I sleep walk, too?
No more chickens!!! At least not hitting Land Rovers that have electrical problems, in the license plate. OK? I'm saying this is still on topic as it IS dream related.
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
I tell you, my lord, the darkness is coming. There are wild things in the woods, direwolves and mammoths and snow bears the size of aurochs, and I have seen darker shapes in my dreams.”
An interesting choice of words, given that the Others are white shadows with blue eyes.
Mel sees "dark winged shapes" in her fires. . . .is Mormont seeing "darker things" in the woods? Or just darker things per se, vs. what he sees in the woods?
Hmmm. I always just looked at it as darker as in more dangerous or evil. I guess this bears the question, can something bright also be darker?
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises.
Half dream, half thoughts
He found himself thinking of Robert more and more. He saw the king as he had been in the flower of his youth, tall and handsome, his great antlered helm on his head, his warhammer in hand, sitting his horse like a horned god. He heard his laughter in the dark, saw his eyes, blue and clear as mountain lakes. “Look at us, Ned,”Robert said. “Gods, how did we come to this? You here, and me killed by a pig. We won a throne together…”I failed you, Robert, Ned thought. He could not say the words. I lied to you, hid the truth. I let them kill you. The king heard him. “You stiff-necked fool,”he muttered, “too proud to listen. Can you eat pride, Stark? Will honor shield your children?”Cracks ran down his face, fissures opening in the flesh, and he reached up and ripped the mask away. It was not Robert at all; it was Littlefinger, grinning, mocking him. When he opened his mouth to speak, his lies turned to pale grey moths and took wing.
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
He could no longer tell the difference between waking and sleeping. The memory came creeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. It was the year of false spring, and he was eighteen again, down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal. He could see the deep green of the grass, and smell the pollen on the wind. Warm days and cool nights and the sweet taste of wine. He remembered Brandon’s laughter, and Robert’s berserk valor in the melee, the way he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right. He remembered Jaime Lannister, a golden youth in scaled white armor, kneeling on the grass in front of the king’s pavilion and making his vows to protect and defend King Aerys. Afterward, Ser Oswell Whent helped Jaime to his feet, and the White Bull himself, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, fastened the snowy cloak of the Kingsguard about his shoulders. All six White Swords were there to welcome their newest brother. Yet when the jousting began, the day belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. The crown prince wore the armor he would die in: gleaming black plate with the three-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. A plume of scarlet silk streamed behind him when he rode, and it seemed no lance could touch him. Brandon fell to him, and Bronze Yohn Royce, and even the splendid Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Robert had been jesting with Jon and old Lord Hunter as the prince circled the field after unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion’s crown. Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. Ned Stark reached out his hand to grasp the flowery crown, but beneath the pale blue petals the thorns lay hidden. He felt them clawing at his skin, sharp and cruel, saw the slow trickle of blood run down his fingers, and woke, trembling, in the dark. Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the scent of winter roses. “Gods save me,” Ned wept. “I am going mad.”
Last Edit: Feb 23, 2016 13:02:19 GMT by Lady Dyanna
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
I keep forgetting to mention this, but is Dany's fever dream with the wolf in the tent an echo of Ned's fever dream?
“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
In the dream, the corpse he fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father’s face, but he dared not tell Mormont that.
Whatever demonic force moved Othor had been driven out by the flames; the twisted thing they had found in the ashes had been no more than cooked meat and charred bone. Yet in his nightmare he faced it again …and this time the burning corpse wore Lord Eddard’s features. It was his father’s skin that burst and blackened, his father’s eyes that ran liquid down his cheeks like jellied tears. Jon did not understand why that should be or what it might mean, but it frightened him more than he could say.
Last Edit: Feb 23, 2016 15:32:01 GMT by Lady Dyanna
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?
In the dream, the corpse he fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father’s face, but he dared not tell Mormont that.
Hmmm. . . guilt, of course. But am also wondering if, like the dream about Robb and the Lord of Winterfell, Jon's getting info or instinct that he will have to rise over his father and brother. . . becoming king of winter. . .
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Oscar Wilde.
In the dream, the corpse he fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father’s face, but he dared not tell Mormont that.
Hmmm. . . guilt, of course. But am also wondering if, like the dream about Robb and the Lord of Winterfell, Jon's getting info or instinct that he will have to rise over his father and brother. . . becoming king of winter. . .
Have you ever read any of Evolett's essays? She posts on Westeros, but also has a WordPress blog called Blue Winter Rose. She has some interesting ideas about the Starks and their bones in relation to the Others.
Why must I always be the isle of crazy alone in an ocean of sensibility? The should to everybody else’s shouldn’t? The I-will to their better-nots?