Post by voice on Feb 27, 2017 23:59:11 GMT
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...
A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII
"She will leave on the morrow, with us," Lord Beric assured the little woman. "We're taking her to Riverrun, to her mother."
"Nay," said the dwarf. "You're not. The black fish holds the rivers now. If it's the mother you want, seek her at the Twins. For there's to be a wedding." She cackled again. "Look in your fires, pink priest, and you will see. Not now, though, not here, you'll see nothing here. This place belongs to the old gods still . . . they linger here as I do, shrunken and feeble but not yet dead. Nor do they love the flames. For the oak recalls the acorn, the acorn dreams the oak, the stump lives in them both. And they remember when the First Men came with fire in their fists." She drank the last of the wine in four long swallows, flung the skin aside, and pointed her stick at Lord Beric. "I'll have my payment now. I'll have the song you promised me."
A Game of Thrones - Prologue
Will shared his unease. He had been four years on the Wall. The first time he had been sent beyond, all the old stories had come rushing back, and his bowels had turned to water. He had laughed about it afterward. He was a veteran of a hundred rangings by now, and the endless dark wilderness that the southron called the haunted forest had no more terrors for him.
Until tonight. Something was different tonight. There was an edge to this darkness that made his hackles rise. Nine days they had been riding, north and northwest and then north again, farther and farther from the Wall, hard on the track of a band of Wildling raiders. Each day had been worse than the day that had come before it. Today was the worst of all. A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things. All day, Will had felt as though something were watching him, something cold and implacable that loved him not. Gared had felt it too. Will wanted nothing so much as to ride hellbent for the safety of the Wall, but that was not a feeling to share with your commander.
And why should they love him? Will swore the oath of Fire and Sword of the First Men:
"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."
Not now, though, not here, you'll see nothing here. Westeros belongs to the old gods still . . . they linger in Westeros as the Ghost of High Heart does, shrunken and feeble but not yet dead. Nor do they love the flames.
How to end the Fire and Swords of Men?
"Nothing burns like the cold."