Post by voice on Apr 19, 2016 22:17:37 GMT
Part I. It’s been a Long Night's Day for the Others
“They’ve been chillin’ in the heart of winter for the past eight thousand years. Pimpin’ out their ice spiders so they can ride the wind, smooth as Snoop's Cadillac.”
This essay brings together my previous two threads. The first, dealt with what is commonly referred to as Bran’s falling dream, or Bran’s coma dream. It is the dream in which his third eye is opened for the first time. You could say the dream serves as his green ceremony, in which his gifts are awakened. Three Shadows in Bran’s Vision is meant to illustrate that Bran saw entities in situ and in real-time when falling (then flying) in his coma. I spent that thread debating the only two entities that seem to be out of place, namely the second and third shadows Bran sees at the Trident. I believe they represent Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Ilyn Payne (the only two shadows bearing armor are knights). Many have wondered why we should care who or what those shadows represent. Now, I can share my reasons for raising the issue.
If the entities are viewed in real-time, in situ, that means that whatever Bran glimpsed in the heart of winter had already been in place as early as A Game of Thrones:
- Bran III, AGOT
Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.
Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live.
“Why?” Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling.
Because winter is coming.
This thinking colored my very first read of the books. And, with that idea in the back of my mind, as I read through the series, I was seeing several classes of Others where my fellow readers were only seeing Others and wights. This led to my second OP, The Hierarchy of the Others. The Hierarchy thread was meant to demonstrate that we have yet to see the true threat that the Others represent. They have yet to come in the manner described in tales of the Long Night.
My hierarchy was once too heretical for Heresy, and I debated it extensively in Heresy before posting the OP at Westeros. What made me finally decide to post it was GRRM's letter to his agent, Ralph Vicinanza, from 1993.
In this letter, my hypothesis seemed to be strongly supported. Of particular interest to me was this line:
The greatest danger of all, however, comes from the north, from the icy wastes beyond the Wall, where half-forgotten demons out of legend, the inhuman others, raise cold legions of the undead and the neverborn and prepare to ride down on the winds of winter to extinguish everything that we would call "life."
There are several interesting revelations to be gleamed from this sentence which unify the OP you are now reading with the two that preceded it.
1. The inhuman others ride down on the winds of winter...
Winter has only just come to Westeros, which means we can't have seen these “inhuman others” yet.
2. The inhuman others raise legions of undead and the neverborn...
These we have seen. They are our current text's version of wights (legions of undead) and white walkers (the neverborn).
3. People have “half forgotten” these “demons of legend”...
Now, the Night's Watch is learning the differences between them again. It turns out fire is the best way to kill a wight, and dragonglass (aka frozen fire) is effective against a white walker. My theory suggests neither will be effective against the ancients that ride Ice Spiders, but that this dragonsteel Samwell found mention of in the annals at Castle Black will be.
So, to rewind just a bit, my first thread covering Bran’s Vision was more controversial than the second, I think, because it conflicted with the interpretations found at the Citadel. If my interpretation proves correct, then it would seem that what Bran glimpsed in the Heart of Winter was the in situ, real-time preparation GRRM mentioned in the 1993 letter. The manner of these preparations will be discussed later in this essay.
The second thread, the one dealing with their hierarchy, was surprisingly well received. But I can’t help but wonder if that was partially for the wrong reasons (namely, the show’s depiction of Night’s King).
In any case, many people contributed their thoughts and comments and it was a very fruitful discussion, even if it got a little dark at times.
Unlike the other two theories, this essay will breach matters that have, as of yet, not been revealed on the show, nor have they in the books. It is far more theoretical than my previous threads, and because of that, I’ve been hesitant to post it.
I love analyzing these books, as do you, but I’d hate to spoil what I believe is the deepest mystery of the series for my fellow readers. I’m not so arrogant as to just assume I’m right, and spoiler-tag my little fan theory contained in this post. But, if you decide to read on, I think you will agree that what I have to say makes enough sense to truly be where the series has been headed in terms of the Song of Ice and Fire.
So, with that in mind, I advise you read no further if you wish to remain Unsullied...
Part II. Newton’s Laws
“When viewed in an inertial reference frame, an object either remains at rest or continues to move at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by an external force.”
Weirwoods don’t move. Weirwoods don’t die. If left unmolested, weirwoods send roots into the earth, entangle bones, and drink blood ... FOREVER.
They have grown on Westeros since the beginning. Or, perhaps, their growth was the beginning of Westeros.
Their constancy is the inertia of the entire continent. They grow nowhere else on Planetos.
F = ma
Force equals the product of mass x acceleration
Force equals the product of mass x acceleration
At first blush, Newton’s second law isn’t very applicable to ASOIAF, except, I believe that weirwoods bear a mass which effects Westeros far more than other continents. The children of the forest seem to have adapted to this mass quite well, and formed a society that respected, revered, and even worshiped it. But then, the First Men came with horses, swords, and fire (acceleration).
So another way of looking at Newton’s Second Law, is that weirwoods represent the mass in the equation. I believe the First Men manipulated (accelerated) the mass of weirwoods, thus producing a new Force.
“When one body exerts a force on a second body, the second body simultaneously exerts a force equal in magnitude and opposite in direction on the first body.”
An illustration [From Wikipedia Commons] of Newton's third law in which two skaters push against each other. The first skater on the left exerts a normal force (N⇒) on the second skater directed towards the right, and the second skater exerts a normal force (⇐N) on the first skater directed towards the left.
The magnitudes of both forces are equal, but they have opposite directions, as dictated by Newton's third law.
The magnitudes of both forces are equal, but they have opposite directions, as dictated by Newton's third law.
Is this sounding familiar yet?
Part III. An Exertion of Force
- AGOT, Bran VII
"But some twelve thousand years ago, the First Men appeared from the east, crossing the Broken Arm of Dorne before it was broken. They came with bronze swords and great leathern shields, riding horses. No horse had ever been seen on this side of the narrow sea. No doubt the children were as frightened by the horses as the First Men were by the faces in the trees. As the First Men carved out holdfasts and farms, they cut down the faces and gave them to the fire. Horror-struck, the children went to war. The old songs say that the greenseers used dark magics to make the seas rise and sweep away the land, shattering the Arm, but it was too late to close the door. The wars went on until the earth ran red with blood of men and children both, but more children than men, for men were bigger and stronger, and wood and stone and obsidian make a poor match for bronze. Finally the wise of both races prevailed, and the chiefs and heroes of the First Men met the greenseers and wood dancers amidst the weirwood groves of a small island in the great lake called Gods Eye.
What if, when the First Men exerted their Force on weirwoods (cutting down their faces and giving them to the fire), the weirwoods exerted an equal and opposite Force upon the First Men in kind?
Part IV. Winter
- AGOT, Bran III
Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.
Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live.
“Why?” Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling..
Because winter is coming.
This passage gives winter an observable incarnation far more disturbing than ice and snow. Bran is from Winterfell. He’s used to ice and snow. Seven hells, “Ice” is the name of his father’s sword, and Bran has a brother named “Snow.” So whatever made Bran cry out was far more than ‘Winter’ as we know it.
Part V. The First Definition of... "The Word"
Much of my theory can be summarized in but a single word. A word which I have been incredibly careful in not saying in any of my many, many posts over the years, so as not to spoil the theory you are currently reading. SOILER ALERT! I say it for you now... LOL
Miasma.
I’m not talking about a swamp. If you will permit me, I would like to walk you through some Historia Miasmata. First up, miasma is a literary device in Greek mythology.
It is a contagious power ... that has an independent life of its own.
Think about that. A contagious power that has an independent life of its own...
Umm, yeeeaah... I think we know what our miasmas look like.
Now, it just so happens that a society confronted with a miasma will be chronically and periodically infected by catastrophes. This plague will always return, unless the miasma can be purged by the sacrificial death of the wrongdoer.
Sounds heavy, right? It gets worse. Way worse.
Part VI. Esoteric Comparisons for Elio
- A Miasma in Greek Mythos
An example is Atreus who invited his brother Thyestes to a delicious stew containing the bodies of his own sons. A miasma contaminated the entire family of Atreus, where one violent crime led to another, providing fodder for many of the Greek heroic tales. However, attempts to cleanse a city or a society from miasma may have the opposite effect, that of reinforcing the miasma.
Alas, it just so happens that communities faced with miasma often only make things worse when they attempt to rid themselves of it (say, by building a big wall). The story above leads to generation after generation of bloodshed, most of which is vengeful kin-slaying. Eventually, there had been so much blood, that even Greece’s bloodthirsty gods grew bored of it. Sated, they declared the end of the curse on the house of Atreus (described in Aeschylus' play The Eumenides.)
Now before I move on to my deeper miasmatic musings, let me pause to reinforce a fundamental argument I am making, and make my esoteric comparisons explicit. I assert that GRRM presents us with classical miasma in thinly veiled retellings of miasma myths:
- A Storm of Swords - Bran IV
“It is only another empty castle,” Meera Reed said as she gazed across the desolation of rubble, ruins, and weeds.
No, thought Bran, it is the Nightfort, and this is the end of the world. In the mountains, all he could think of was reaching the Wall and finding the three-eyed crow, but now that they were here he was filled with fears. The dream he’d had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn’t think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn’t have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be...
“Hodor.” Hodor shifted his weight, and Bran with it. He was tired. They had been walking for hours. At least he’s not afraid. Bran was scared of this place, and almost as scared of admitting it to the Reeds. I’m a prince of the north, a Stark of Winterfell, almost a man grown, I have to be as brave as Robb.
Jojen gazed up at him with his dark green eyes. “There’s nothing here to hurt us, Your Grace.” Bran wasn’t so certain. The Nightfort had figured in some of Old Nan’s scariest stories. It was here that Night’s King had reigned, before his name was wiped from the memory of man. This was where the Rat Cook had served the Andal king his prince-and-bacon pie, where the seventy-nine sentinels stood their watch, where brave young Danny Flint had been raped and murdered.
This was the castle where King Sherrit had called down his curse on the Andals of old, where the ‘prentice boys had faced the thing that came in the night, where blind Symeon Star-Eyes had seen the hellhounds fighting. Mad Axe had once walked these yards and climbed these towers, butchering his brothers in the dark.
All that had happened hundreds and thousands of years ago, to be sure, and some maybe never happened at all. Maester Luwin always said that Old Nan’s stories shouldn’t be swallowed whole. But once his uncle came to see Father, and Bran asked about the Nightfort. Benjen Stark never said the tales were true, but he never said they weren’t; he only shrugged and said, “We left the Nightfort two hundred years ago,” as if that was an answer.
Bran forced himself to look around. The morning was cold but bright, the sun shining down from a hard blue sky, but he did not like the noises. The wind made a nervous whistling sound as it shivered through the broken towers, the keeps groaned and settled, and he could hear rats scrabbling under the floor of the great hall. The Rat Cook’s children running from their father.
The yards were small forests where spindly trees rubbed their bare branches together and dead leaves scuttled like roaches across patches of old snow. There were trees growing where the stables had been, and a twisted white weirwood pushing up through the gaping hole in the roof of the burned kitchen. Even Summer was not at ease here. Bran slipped inside his skin, just for an instant, to get the smell of the place. He did not like that either.
And there was no way through.
An empty castle huh? Abandoned 200 years ago huh? It doesn't seem very empty...
Bran is filled with fears, haunted by dreams. Meera senses something is wrong. The Rat Cook served the Andal King his prince-son. 79 Sentinels are encased in the ice. Danny Flint's rape and murder... King Sherrit calling down his curse... 'prentice boys facing the thing in the night... A blind, star-eyed man watching hellhounds fight... Mad Axe butchering his brothers...
Bran/Summer do not like the smell of the place. Nervous wind. Scrabbling rats. Bran finds himself unusually afraid in the fort where the Night's King reigned before his name was banned.
- [And a bit later...]
We might find something,” Jojen insisted.
Or something might find us. Bran couldn’t say it, though; he did not want Jojen to think he was craven.
So they went exploring, Jojen Reed leading, Bran in his basket on Hodor’s back, Summer padding by their side. Once the direwolf bolted through a dark door and returned a moment later with a grey rat between his teeth. The Rat Cook, Bran thought, but it was the wrong color, and only as big as a cat. The Rat Cook was white, and almost as huge as a sow...
There were a lot of dark doors in the Nightfort, and a lot of rats. Bran could hear them scurrying through the vaults and cel ars, and the maze of pitch-black tunnels that connected them. Jojen wanted to go poking around down there, but Hodor said “Hodor” to that, and Bran said “No.” There were worse things than rats down in the dark beneath the Nightfort.
“This seems an old place,” Jojen said as they walked down a gallery where the sunlight fell in dusty shafts through empty windows.
“Twice as old as Castle Black,” Bran said, remembering. “It was the first castle on the Wall, and the largest.” But it had also been the first abandoned, all the way back in the time of the Old King. Even then it had been three-quarters empty and too costly to maintain. Good Queen Alysanne had suggested that the Watch replace it with a smaller, newer castle at a spot only seven miles east, where the Wall curved along the shore of a beautiful green lake. Deep Lake had been paid for by the queen’s jewels and built by the men the Old King had sent north, and the black brothers had abandoned the Nightfort to the rats.
That was two centuries past, though. Now Deep Lake stood as empty as the castle it had replaced, and the Nightfort...
The Nightfort... was doomed to be abandoned. Even the castle that replaced it, Deep Lake... was doomed to be abandoned.
And, as I've laid out elsewhere, since the Night's Watch left this "expensive" seat of power, it has suffered.
That sounds like a curse folks. The kind of epic miasma that only gets worse as flawed humans attempt to fix it.
- [It continues...]
“There are ghosts here,” Bran said. Hodor had heard all the stories before, but Jojen might not have. “Old ghosts, from before the Old King, even before Aegon the Dragon, seventy-nine deserters who went south to be outlaws. One was Lord Ryswell’s youngest son, so when they reached the barrowlands they sought shelter at his castle, but Lord Ryswell took them captive and returned them to the Nightfort. The Lord Commander had holes hewn in the top of the Wall and he put the deserters in them and sealed them up alive in the ice. They have spears and horns and they all face north. The seventy-nine sentinels, they’re called. They left their posts in life, so in death their watch goes on forever. Years later, when Lord Ryswell was old and dying, he had himself carried to the Nightfort so he could take the black and stand beside his son. He’d sent him back to the Wall for honor’s sake, but he loved him still, so he came to share his watch.” They spent half the day poking through the castle. Some of the towers had fallen down and others looked unsafe, but they climbed the bell tower (the bells were gone) and the rookery (the birds were gone). Beneath the brewhouse they found a vault of huge oaken casks that boomed hollowly when Hodor knocked on them. They found a library (the shelves and bins had collapsed, the books were gone, and rats were everywhere).
Old Ghosts, older than Old Kings. The youngest son of an ancient house (why hello, Waymar), on the lam as a deserter (why hello, Gared), sought guest right from his father. "For honor's sake" (hi, Ned) he arrested him, and his seventy-eight companions, and had them returned to the Nightfort where they were encased in ice (Young Ryswell can't say hello, lest his voice crack like ice).
Beloved kin, encased in ice. And Hodor's looking for a drink in the brewery! Psh, I would be too!
- Cassius Dio, Roman History
The whole plain round about [Vesuvius] seethed and the summits leaped into the air. There were frequent rumblings, some of them subterranean, that resembled thunder, and some on the surface, that sounded like bellowings; the sea also joined in the roar and the sky re-echoed it. Then suddenly a portentous crash was heard, as if the mountains were tumbling in ruins; and first huge stones were hurled aloft, rising as high as the very summits, then came a great quantity of fire and endless smoke, so that the whole atmosphere was obscured and the sun was entirely hidden, as if eclipsed. Thus day was turned into night and light into darkness … [Some] believed that the whole universe was being resolved into chaos or fire .… While this was going on, an inconceivable quantity of ashes was blown out, which covered both sea and land and filled all the air … It buried two entire cities, Herculaneum and Pompeii … Indeed, the amount of dust, taken all together was so great that some of it reached Africa and Syria and Egypt, and it also reached Rome, filling the air overhead and darkening the sun. There, too, no little fear was occasioned, that lasted for several days, since the people did not know and could not imagine what had happened, but, like those close at hand, believed that the whole world was being turned upside down, that the sun was disappearing into the earth and that the earth was being lifted to the sky.
This darkness even encased beloved kin in ice...
Well, maybe not ice, ice... but it was a white pumice born of fire.
Listen to the Song of Earth, plaster replicas.
Not sold on the #79=Miasma Apocalypse angle yet? I present to you "one last unending night for the world..."
- Pliny the Younger, Letters, 6.16, 6.20
Ash was falling onto the ships, darker and denser the closer they went. Now it rains bits of pumice, and rocks that were burned and shattered by the fire … Broad sheets of flame were lighting up many parts of Vesuvius; their light and brightness were the more vivid for the darkness of the night … Buildings were being rocked by a series of strong tremors and appeared to have come loose from their foundations and to be sliding this way and that. Outside, however, there was danger from the rocks that were coming down …
It was daylight now elsewhere in the world, but there the darkness was darker and thicker than any night … Then came the smell of sulfur, announcing the flames, and the flames themselves …onto the ships, darker and denser the closer they went. Now it rains bits of pumice, and rocks that were burned and shattered by the fire … Broad sheets of flame were lighting up many parts of Vesuvius; their light and brightness were the more vivid for the darkness of the night … Buildings were being rocked by a series of strong tremors and appeared to have come loose from their foundations and to be sliding this way and that. Outside, however, there was danger from the rocks that were coming down …
[Then] came the dust, though still lightly. I looked back [from his flight from Misenum] … We had scarcely sat down when a darkness came that was not like a moonless or cloudy night, but more like the black of closed and unlighted rooms. You could hear women lamenting, children crying, men shouting.
[...]
There were some so afraid of death that they prayed for death. Many raised their hands to the gods, and even more believed that there were no gods any longer and that this was the one last unending night for the world … I believed that I was perishing with the world, and the world with me, which was a great consolation for death.
The Last Day of Pompeii. Painting by Karl Brullov, 1830–1833
See the Sentinels on the Wall?
Anyhoo, when you hear someone say GRRM+Maths=Derp, just remember the author isn't exactly a simple stableboy when it comes to numbers.
Part VII. Mysos and Katharmos
"I need none of your absolution, bastard."
Hmmm. We'll see about that, Cat.
Miasma is created by human defilement. The resulting pollution typically means dire consequences for successive generations, as the ritualized purity of the community and enviromnent had been disturbed. In order to cleanse this pollution, and purify the past wrong, a katharmos must be rendered. Katharmos is the cognate that gives us the English word Catharsis.
Of particular relevance to our discussion, a miasma was once seen as a spiritual consequence of acts that offend the old gods. It made no matter whether these acts were informed, or ignorant. All that mattered was that the old gods (of often "sacred groves") had been offended.
Sound familiar?
The really cool part is that once a transgression had willingly or mistakenly occurred, the offender was rendered unable to commune with the old gods. But, it didn't only affect the offender...
The "offender" mentioned above was then believed to spread spiritual pollution and endanger the realm via contagion. Thus, it is not only the offender who suffers, but the entire community.
Contagious, intergenerational curses are common in Greek Tragedies as it happens, but I want to talk about the way this concept was adapted in Pre-Modern Medicine.
Long before "Bacteria," and the "Germ Theory" of 1880, Miasma Theory had been accepted as medical fact since ancient times. Diseases were believed to be caused by the presence of a miasma in the air, "a poisonous vapour in which were suspended particles of decaying matter that was characterised by its foul smell. The theory originated in the Middle Ages and endured for several centuries. That a killer disease like malaria is so named - from the Italian mala ‘bad’ and aria ‘air’ - is evidence of its suspected miasmic origins." (source)
The Second Meaning of Miasma:
mi·as·ma (mī-ăz′mə, mē-)
n. pl. mi·as·mas or mi·as·ma·ta (-mə-tə)
1. A noxious atmosphere or influence: "The family affection, the family expectations, seemed to permeate the atmosphere ... like a coiling miasma" (Louis Auchincloss).
2.
a. A poisonous atmosphere formerly thought to rise from swamps and putrid matter and cause disease.
b. A thick vaporous atmosphere or emanation: wreathed in a miasma of cigarette smoke.
n. pl. mi·as·mas or mi·as·ma·ta (-mə-tə)
1. A noxious atmosphere or influence: "The family affection, the family expectations, seemed to permeate the atmosphere ... like a coiling miasma" (Louis Auchincloss).
2.
a. A poisonous atmosphere formerly thought to rise from swamps and putrid matter and cause disease.
b. A thick vaporous atmosphere or emanation: wreathed in a miasma of cigarette smoke.
I believe, that in A Song of Ice and Fire, Martin has taken this medical concept in a very unique, yet very old, direction.
"Miasmas" (invisible fumes/pollutants, also known as "night air") and evil humours were even once believed to have caused the Great Plague. These two branches of 18th century medicine gave rise to Homeopathy, and the work of Samuel Hahnemann.
The Four Humours
Martin seems to be preying on long dormant medical superstitions.
What's more, I think while presenting us with the archaic medical contagion form of miasma, Martin is simultaneously re-infusing it with the Classical Greek miasma concept that results from the offending of old gods.
I believe this is what now plagues Westeros with both medical and spiritual (magical) catastrophe.
Death, killing, contact with a corpse, and, at the opposite end of the lifespan, birth, are among the most frequent sources of miasma in Greek mythology.
So how about forbidden contact with a weirwood?
And no, I'm not talking about sexual contact (get your mind out of the gutter! ). I'm talking about the new force the First Men created when they accelerated the molecules of weirwoods with fire and bronze.
I believe that Force is equal and opposite. Blue and Cold.
Now, imagine coming into contact of the miasma of the neverborn, or, the inhuman others.
How about giving your seed and soul to one so afflicted?
I believe this would taint one's very humanity.
Part IX. Pharmakos (medicine) and Katharma (purification)
It was believed that a hated member of society could be paraded about to soak up the impurities of the people. This sacrificial character became known as a 'scapegoat'.
Can you think of a scapegoat in ASOIAF?
I thought so.
Some scholars believe scapegoats always killed, some believe they were only stoned or nearly killed. But scholars agree on this: they weren't always goats.
In the tales, they were often people. Someone believed to have stained character, treacherous blood. While reviled, shunned, and hated, scapegoats offered communal absolution.
Now, scapegoats were not the only means of purification. Water was used to cleanse the self. Fire was used to reforge pure versions of objects and sacrifices. Blood sacrifice was also used to innoculate miasmatic contagion.
Jon Snow's blood has been offered "for the Watch." It feeds the Wall right now, as it has been since ADWD was published. Bran was sacrificed "for Love," remember, and his defenestration proved to be incredibly powerful and transformative. Whether he's dead or barely lives, I think Jon's bleeding will prove significant.
Before I move on from the miasma idea, I'd like to briefly mention how it ended.
Up until 1880, miasma theory held sway over medicine. It was eventually replaced by the germ theory of disease, which has been replaced today with our knowledge of bacteria and the discovery of viruses. But before 1880, there was a dissenting voice, a speaker of inconvenient truths. Rather than go with the flow, he documented clusters of cholera cases in 1854 London.
He was reviled, shunned, and hated by fellow physicians, because he proposed an explanation which led to the development of modern Epidemiology - the study of community health and disease. His name was John Snow.
Part X. Antibodies
Okay. You're all caught up on where my brain has been stuck for the past few years. Now it's time for the cool stuff. And when I say cool, I'm talking zero kelvin.
Remember Newton's Laws?
Well, I propose that when the First Men burned weirwoods, an equal and opposite reaction took place. The weirwoods developed antibodies, so to speak. And again, Martin took this idea in a very unique, yet very old, direction.
The Others are not dead. They are strange, beautiful… think, oh… the Sidhe made of ice, something like that… a different sort of life… inhuman, elegant, dangerous.
- an·ti·bod·y
noun
a blood protein produced in response to and counteracting a specific antigen. Antibodies combine chemically with substances that the body recognizes as alien, such as bacteria, viruses, and foreign substances in the blood.
What do the Others counteract? With whom do the Others combine?
Us.
People are the alien antigen who have settled in the immune system of Westeros. While in other continents, it might be okay to burn trees (after all, they're made of wood! lol), in Westeros, the trees are quite unique.
They are heart trees. The heart of the continent. They are the trees of life, and they can grow (pump) forever, rooting in bones and decay and drinking (pumping) blood. Plus, there's that whole storage of history thing they do...
Now, if someone were to burn and kill the heart, that person would in essence be a heart-attacker. A disease.
If one were to destroy a tree like that in a Greek Tragedy, the offender would be severed from those old gods absolutely. They would be severed from that history and humanity, absolutely. They would be severed from the cycle of life and death, absolutely. And, whosoever committed such a transgression would spread catastrophe and contagion throughout the realm.
- leukemia
noun, Pathology.- any of several cancers of the bone marrow that prevent the normal manufacture of red and white blood cells and platelets, resulting in anemia, increased susceptibility to infection, and impaired blood clotting.
1851, on model of German Leukämie (1848), coined by R. Virchow from Greek leukos "clear, white" (cognate with Gothic liuhaþ, Old English leoht "light") + haima "blood" (see -emia).
An enemy of humanity.
Westeros' antibody.
The greatest danger of all, however, comes from the north, from the icy wastes beyond the Wall, where half-forgotten demons out of legend, the inhuman others, raise cold legions of the undead and the neverborn and prepare to ride down on the winds of winter to extinguish everything that we would call "life."
In the SSM above, the antibodies come from the north, attach themselves to the antigen, and ride down on a really bad cold to extinguish everything that we would call "life."
Extinguish the Fire.
The Fire of the First Men.
They don't want to kill all life, they just want to get rid of what we would call life. That's not so bad, right?
No, that's bad.
Rather than attack fire, they have gone cancerous and threaten to kill everything, and replace the carbon-based ecosystem with an ice-based ecosystem.
Part XI. The Cold Forge
Okay, I guess I wasn't done with miasmas yet...
So, in the real world, there's no such thing as cold. There is only the absence of heat. Thermodynamics exist, and heat will always transfer from a hotter body (heh) to a colder body. But there is no opposite of this in the real world. There is only the transfer of heat. When something is cold, it is only because no heat has been transferred to it, and its electrons are not excited.
I think Martin brought the opposite effect to life in ASOIAF, and made Cold an active Force. It's fantasy, so he's allowed to do shit like that.
Rather than a miasma of incandescent plasma - like a red hot star - I believe the Others, white walkers, and wights are powered by a miasma of incandescent blue plasma - that is very, very cold.
- The Conservation of Energy:
In physics, the law of conservation of energy states that the total energy of an isolated system remains constant—it is said to be conserved over time. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; rather, it transforms from one form to another. For instance, chemical energy can be converted to kinetic energy in the explosion of a stick of dynamite.
What's more, is it has its own Energy and Force.
In short, like Fire, it can be wielded.
We cannot imagine stoking a furnace to make it colder and colder to the point of cold-fusion of water molecules into a shard of ice so strong it can shatter castle forged steel, but I think that is exactly what the Others can do.
As Gared said, "Nothing burns like the cold."
They seem to be able to weaponize cold, like a cold snap, in order to freeze-dry groups like the wildlings in the Game Prologue. But what happens when they do this to trees?
Well, I think we started to see it in the Varamyr Sixskins pov.
- Prologue ADWD
True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. Then he found himself rushing over moonlit snows with his packmates close behind him. Half the world was dark. One Eye, he knew. He bayed, and Sly and Stalker gave echo.
When they reached the crest the wolves paused. Thistle, he remembered, and a part of him grieved for what he had lost and another part for what he'd done. Below, the world had turned to ice. Fingers of frost crept slowly up the weirwood, reaching out for each other. The empty village was no longer empty. Blue-eyed shadows walked amongst the mounds of snow. Some wore brown and some wore black and some were naked, their flesh gone white as snow. A wind was sighing through the hills, heavy with their scents: dead flesh, dry blood, skins that stank of mold and rot and urine. Sly gave a growl and bared her teeth, her ruff bristling. Not men. Not prey. Not these.
This habitat sounds a lot like what the Last Hero encountered:
Yet here and there in the fastness of the woods the children still lived in their wooden cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch. So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions.
The Others are terraforming, reforging the land with Cold, the way Men had reforged it with Fire. But rather than save the trees, they are cancerous, and petrify them. There might even be memories of a King using this frozen dead land to his advantage:
The truth is in our bones, for flesh decays and bone endures. And on the hill of Nagga, the bones of the Grey King's Hall . . .
But I digress...
I've been arguing for a while now that milkglass is an alternative substance to steel of any variety. Milkglass is only a visual description, it is not a physical one. GRRM already gave us the physical description of cold-forged swords:
When asked if he knows what substance an Other sword is made from Martin answered,
- “Ice. But not like regular old ice. The Others can do things with ice that we can't imagine and make substances of it."
Substances... plural... so I think with Cold as a Force, the Others can not only do novel things with water molecules and corpses, they can petrify weirwoods as well.
The Black Gate might have been the first to undergo the transformation:
- Bran IV ASOS
A turn or two later Sam stopped suddenly. He was a quarter of the way around the well from Bran and Hodor and six feet farther down, yet Bran could barely see him. He could see the door, though. The Black Gate, Sam had called it, but it wasn't black at all.
It was white weirwood, and there was a face on it.
A glow came from the wood, like milk and moonlight, so faint it scarcely seemed to touch anything beyond the door itself, not even Sam standing right before it. The face was old and pale, wrinkled and shrunken. It looks dead. Its mouth was closed, and its eyes; its cheeks were sunken, its brow withered, its chin sagging. If a man could live for a thousand years and never die but just grow older, his face might come to look like that.
The door opened its eyes.
They were white too, and blind. "Who are you?" the door asked, and the well whispered, "Who-who-who-who-who-who-who."
"I am the sword in the darkness," Samwell Tarly said. "I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers. I am the shield that guards the realms of men."
"Then pass," the door said. Its lips opened, wide and wider and wider still, until nothing at all remained but a great gaping mouth in a ring of wrinkles. Sam stepped aside and waved Jojen through ahead of him. Summer followed, sniffing as he went, and then it was Bran's turn. Hodor ducked, but not low enough. The door's upper lip brushed softly against the top of Bran's head, and a drop of water fell on him and ran slowly down his nose. It was strangely warm, and salty as a tear.
Tommy Patterson's conversation with GRRM about the Others' armor also seems to be a hint that the Others are unnatural, icy reincarnations of otherwise natural items:
They wear reflective armour that shifts in colour with every step - rather like the stealth armour once said to have been worn by the children of the forest. According to Patterson,
“Had many talks with George. He told me of the ice swords, and the reflective, camouflaging armor that picks up the images of the things around it like a clear, still pond. He spoke a lot about what they were not, but what they were was harder to put into words."
“Had many talks with George. He told me of the ice swords, and the reflective, camouflaging armor that picks up the images of the things around it like a clear, still pond. He spoke a lot about what they were not, but what they were was harder to put into words."
It's all water. Frozen, cold-forged. But water...
Part XII. Breakfast Syrio
- Arya II AGOT
"Just so. Now we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the iron dance of Westeros we are learning, the knight's dance, hacking and hammering, no. This is the bravo's dance, the water dance, swift and sudden. All men are made of water, do you know this? When you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die." He took a step backward, raised his own wooden blade. "Now you will try to strike me."
Arya tried to strike him. She tried for four hours, until every muscle in her body was sore and aching, while Syrio Forel clicked his teeth together and told her what to do.
All men, Syrio. Amen.
- Prologue AGOT
Then Royce's parry came a beat too late. The pale sword bit through the ringmail beneath his arm. The young lord cried out in pain. Blood welled between the rings. It steamed in the cold, and the droplets seemed red as fire where they touched the snow. Ser Waymar's fingers brushed his side. His moleskin glove came away soaked with red.
The Other said something in a language that Will did not know; his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking.
Ser Waymar Royce found his fury. "For Robert!" he shouted, and he came up snarling, lifting the frost-covered longsword with both hands and swinging it around in a flat sidearm slash with all his weight behind it. The Other's parry was almost lazy.
The Other clicked his teeth together, and mocked Waymar's attempt to strike him. It poked Waymar, and his water leaked out.
- Samwell I, ASOS
Do it now. Stop crying and fight, you baby. Fight, craven. It was his father he heard, it was Alliser Thorne, it was his brother Dickon and the boy Rast. Craven, craven, craven. He giggled hysterically, wondering if they would make a wight of him, a huge fat white wight always tripping over its own dead feet. Do it, Sam. Was that Jon, now? Jon was dead. You can do it, you can, just do it. And then he was stumbling forward, falling more than running, really, closing his eyes and shoving the dagger blindly out before him with both hands. He heard a crack, like the sound ice makes when it breaks beneath a man's foot, and then a screech so shrill and sharp that he went staggering backward with his hands over his muffled ears, and fell hard on his arse.
When he opened his eyes the Other's armor was running down its legs in rivulets as pale blue blood hissed and steamed around the black dragonglass dagger in its throat. It reached down with two bone-white hands to pull out the knife, but where its fingers touched the obsidian they smoked.
Sam rolled onto his side, eyes wide as the Other shrank and puddled, dissolving away. In twenty heartbeats its flesh was gone, swirling away in a fine white mist. Beneath were bones like milkglass, pale and shiny, and they were melting too. Finally only the dragonglass dagger remained, wreathed in steam as if it were alive and sweating. Grenn bent to scoop it up and flung it down again at once. "Mother, that's cold."
"Obsidian." Sam struggled to his knees. "Dragonglass, they call it. Dragonglass. Dragon glass." He giggled, and cried, and doubled over to heave his courage out onto the snow.
I think Syrio's words are more true than he realized. Armed with a tree. A clicking voice. Men made of water. Dancing against hacking, hammering iron men with fire.
Water they've got, but what the Others lack are those things they defiled.
Blood.
Bone.
Heat.
Heart.
Now, they are the ultimate miasma. A miasma of environmental catastrophe. A miasma of infectious contagion. A miasma of cold, blue stars.
Part XIII. The Scapegoat
You've probably guessed that I think the scapegoat is Jon Snow.
He's rather perfect for it. Ancestry aside, the Bastard is perfect for the role.
From the transgressions of First Men upon undying trees of life, to the rites of the Others... their cold blue eyes have found immunity. Immunity to death itself.
The Night's Watch seems to have the necessary incantations to be a sword in the dark, a watcher on the walls, a fire that burns against the cold, a light that brings the dawn, a horn that wakes the sleepers, and a shield that guards the realms of men... but can it end the need for those things?
Can the Night's Watch defeat the Others who watch from the night?
I don't think they can. I think the Night's Watch and the Wall are examples of human errors making the miasma worse.
Jon has already taken his oath to father no sons. He was already seduced in a realm beyond that of men. He's already been tormented with elemental, familial, and dutiful forces. Rather than do everything right, he seems to do everything wrong. His redeeming quality is his humanity...but then, he's a warg. A Ghost Warg, born with the dead. Worse luck.
So in the end, I think our scapegoat will either continue with his many failures on his stumbling path out of this world, absorbing and absolving the transgressions of his fore-bearers... Or, he will find a way to bring about catharsis and unity.
I'd like to see the latter, but I can't help but think the former is more GRRM's style.
A Weirwood Ghost, Armored in Bastardy, racing across a frozen dead land.
A bittersweet sacrifice.