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Waymar Royce v. The Others


Ser Cold Fingers

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This was something I have lightly pondered since my latest re-read.

I used a Spoiler Tag to hide the complete quote to save post length.

AGoT, Prologue

Spoiler
Spoiler

 

Will turned away, wordless. There was no use to argue. The wind was moving. It cut right through him. He went to the tree, a vaulting grey-green sentinel, and began to climb. Soon his hands were sticky with sap, and he was lost among the needles. Fear filled his gut like a meal he could not digest. He whispered a prayer to the nameless gods of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort.

Down below, the lordling called out suddenly, “Who goes there?” Will heard uncertainty in the challenge. He stopped climbing; he listened; he watched.
The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl.
The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?

“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?”
It was cold. Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek.

A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.
Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. “Come no farther,” the lordling warned. His voice cracked like a boy’s. He threw the long sable cloak back over his shoulders, to free his arms for battle, and took his sword in both hands. The wind had stopped. It was very cold.

The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.
Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.
The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.
They emerged silently from the shadows, twins to the first. Three of them … four … five … Ser Waymar may have felt the cold that came with them, but he never saw them, never heard them. Will had to call out. It was his duty. And his death, if he did. He shivered, and hugged the tree, and kept the silence.

The pale sword came shivering through the air.
Ser Waymar met it with steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. Royce checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again.
Behind him, to right, to left, all around him, the watchers stood patient, faceless, silent, the shifting patterns of their delicate armor making them all but invisible in the wood. Yet they made no move to interfere.

Again and again the swords met, until Will wanted to cover his ears against the strange anguished keening of their clash. Ser Waymar was panting from the effort now, his breath steaming in the moonlight. His blade was white with frost; the Other’s danced with pale blue light.
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.
When the blades touched, the steel shattered.
A scream echoed through the forest night, and the longsword shivered into a hundred brittle pieces, the shards scattering like a rain of needles. Royce went to his knees, shrieking, and covered his eyes. Blood welled between his fingers.

The watchers moved forward together, as if some signal had been given. Swords rose and fell, all in a deathly silence. It was cold butchery. The pale blades sliced through ringmail as if it were silk. Will closed his eyes. Far beneath him, he heard their voices and laughter sharp as icicles.
When he found the courage to look again, a long time had passed, and the ridge below was empty.

 

 


Quote
Down below, the lordling called out suddenly, “Who goes there?” Will heard uncertainty in the challenge. He stopped climbing; he listened; he watched.
The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl.

I do take this as an answer to Waymar’s question. Possibly a attempted warning by Brynden Rivers or Bran looking into the past through the weirnet or even the Old Gods...but man has forgotten hot to speak the True Tongue.


Quote

A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.
Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. “Come no farther,” the lordling warned. His voice cracked like a boy’s. He threw the long sable cloak back over his shoulders, to free his arms for battle, and took his sword in both hands. The wind had stopped. It was very cold.

The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

So reading this again, along with the previous quote excerpt…it appears, through fear, Waymar made the first threatening gesture. Whether that matters or not…who knows?


Quote
Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.
The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.

This quote definitely makes more sense to me now after reading the part where Sam discusses the book on Dragonsteel…which they think is Valyrian Steel.

The Other stopped in his tracks to inspect the blade and make sure it wasn’t a Valyrian Steel blade.

From that point on...the Other had no fear nor worry.

Any other takes on this?

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"Moonlight running cold along the steel" instead of the sword being warm to the touch? Instead of it having a certain color? Waymar wasn't the only death so I don't think his challenge provoked anything the Others didn't already intend to do. They left a survivor to tell the story (to Jon and Bran it would seem). Interesting Will's beheading was Bran's first execution experience.


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"Moonlight running cold along the steel" instead of the sword being warm to the touch? Instead of it having a certain color? Waymar wasn't the only death so I don't think his challenge provoked anything the Others didn't already intend to do. They left a survivor to tell the story (to Jon and Bran it would seem). Interesting Will's beheading was Bran's first execution experience.

It was the beheading of Gared in the books. Will was in the HBO show.

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So now Bloodraven is behind even Waymar Royce's case? :D

But I like the other things you mentioned.

"The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl."

This reminds of when Bran ties to talk to his dad...Eddard hears wind blowing, leaves rustling, etc.

Just made me think. Could be nothing but thought I would mention it along with everything else.

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"The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl."

This reminds of when Bran ties to talk to his dad...Eddard hears wind blowing, leaves rustling, etc.

Just made me think. Could be nothing but thought I would mention it along with everything else.

Indeed, we learn when Bran is in the cave of the Children that the True Tongue sounds like...well, nature. What interests me is that the voice of the WW "was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake"; so do the Others speak the True Tongue?

Two other tidbits I find interesting in this passage: that the cold iron of Will's dirk in his teeth give him comfort, which calls to mind the notion that the iron of the swords in the crypts of Winterfell keeps the ghosts of the Kings of Winter from roaming. Of course we see that the weapons of the Others shatter steel, still, I think that the magical properties of iron might be hinted here.

Also, and this wasn't my idea but something I read ages ago in a post on this passage, the tally of White Walkers is 6, which the poster considered as counterpart of the 6 direwolves who appear at Winterfell just after Gared's beheading. I thought it was a very interesting observation.

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This was something I have lightly pondered since my latest re-read.

I used a Spoiler Tag to hide the complete quote to save post length.

AGoT, Prologue

Spoiler

Will turned away, wordless. There was no use to argue. The wind was moving. It cut right through him. He went to the tree, a vaulting grey-green sentinel, and began to climb. Soon his hands were sticky with sap, and he was lost among the needles. Fear filled his gut like a meal he could not digest. He whispered a prayer to the nameless gods of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort.

Down below, the lordling called out suddenly, “Who goes there?” Will heard uncertainty in the challenge. He stopped climbing; he listened; he watched.

The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl.

The Others made no sound.

Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?

“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?”

It was cold. Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek.

A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.

Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. “Come no farther,” the lordling warned. His voice cracked like a boy’s. He threw the long sable cloak back over his shoulders, to free his arms for battle, and took his sword in both hands. The wind had stopped. It was very cold.

The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.

They emerged silently from the shadows, twins to the first. Three of them … four … five … Ser Waymar may have felt the cold that came with them, but he never saw them, never heard them. Will had to call out. It was his duty. And his death, if he did. He shivered, and hugged the tree, and kept the silence.

The pale sword came shivering through the air.

Ser Waymar met it with steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. Royce checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again.

Behind him, to right, to left, all around him, the watchers stood patient, faceless, silent, the shifting patterns of their delicate armor making them all but invisible in the wood. Yet they made no move to interfere.

Again and again the swords met, until Will wanted to cover his ears against the strange anguished keening of their clash. Ser Waymar was panting from the effort now, his breath steaming in the moonlight. His blade was white with frost; the Other’s danced with pale blue light.

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.

When the blades touched, the steel shattered.

A scream echoed through the forest night, and the longsword shivered into a hundred brittle pieces, the shards scattering like a rain of needles. Royce went to his knees, shrieking, and covered his eyes. Blood welled between his fingers.

The watchers moved forward together, as if some signal had been given. Swords rose and fell, all in a deathly silence. It was cold butchery. The pale blades sliced through ringmail as if it were silk. Will closed his eyes. Far beneath him, he heard their voices and laughter sharp as icicles.

When he found the courage to look again, a long time had passed, and the ridge below was empty.


I do take this as an answer to Waymar’s question. Possibly a attempted warning by Brynden Rivers or Bran looking into the past through the weirnet or even the Old Gods...but man has forgotten hot to speak the True Tongue.


So reading this again, along with the previous quote excerpt…it appears, through fear, Waymar made the first threatening gesture. Whether that matters or not…who knows?


This quote definitely makes more sense to me now after reading the part where Sam discusses the book on Dragonsteel…which they think is Valyrian Steel.

The Other stopped in his tracks to inspect the blade and make sure it wasn’t a Valyrian Steel blade.

From that point on...the Other had no fear nor worry.

Any other takes on this?

OR..... or.... Waymar's blade was raised, so The Other took it as an instigation. Waymar showed aggression first. Clearly

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We don't know for sure that dragonsteel is Valyrian steel. That's just Jon and Sam's guess and it hasn't been confirmed (bear in mind that the original Long Night would have occurred thousands of years before Valyrian steel was first developed).

I think the Other was actually checking to see if it was obsidian, something that we have actually seen a NW brother use to actually kill an Other.

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Indeed, we learn when Bran is in the cave of the Children that the True Tongue sounds like...well, nature. What interests me is that the voice of the WW "was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake"; so do the Others speak the True Tongue?

Two other tidbits I find interesting in this passage: that the cold iron of Will's dirk in his teeth give him comfort, which calls to mind the notion that the iron of the swords in the crypts of Winterfell keeps the ghosts of the Kings of Winter from roaming. Of course we see that the weapons of the Others shatter steel, still, I think that the magical properties of iron might be hinted here.

Also, and this wasn't my idea but something I read ages ago in a post on this passage, the tally of White Walkers is 6, which the poster considered as counterpart of the 6 direwolves who appear at Winterfell just after Gared's beheading. I thought it was a very interesting observation.

That is my interpretation. They are obviously an ancient race...and this hints towards True Tongue.

OR..... or.... Waymar's blade was raised, so The Other took it as an instigation. Waymar showed aggression first. Clearly

If I saw 'walking ice' I might shit a brick too and raise my sword!!

We don't know for sure that dragonsteel is Valyrian steel. That's just Jon and Sam's guess and it hasn't been confirmed (bear in mind that the original Long Night would have occurred thousands of years before Valyrian steel was first developed).

I think the Other was actually checking to see if it was obsidian, something that we have actually seen a NW brother use to actually kill an Other.

Sam & Jon both first think of Valyrian Steel when Dragonsteel is mentioned. Since it was well before the rise of Valyria...then if it is referring to a steel blade...my thought is whatever LB turns out to be...which I still think the story of AA and how he forged LB is directions on how to make steel similar to if not what is now called Valyrian Steel.

And Dragonglass (obsidian) I would think would be too brittle to make a sword out of it which is why I correlated DS to VS instead of DG(O). But the Other checking to make sure there isn't any Obsidian anywhere (blade or otherwise) does make sense.

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If I saw 'walking ice' I might shit a brick too and raise my sword!!

in which case, i might react by staring back and you, your sword, thinking, "bro, chill out," and then when you came at me, id get my buddies to back me up. we'd scoff because we have more numbers and clearly more ability, and then we'd tear your punk ass apart.

sound familiar?

oh wait, thats actually what happened in that scene :P

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in which case, i might react by staring back and you, your sword, thinking, "bro, chill out," and then when you came at me, id get my buddies to back me up. we'd scoff because we have more numbers and clearly more ability, and then we'd tear your punk ass apart.

sound familiar?

oh wait, thats actually what happened in that scene :P

And then they felt bad and brought him back...and he was pissed at Will for not having his back!

Prologue explained. Next chapter...

ETA: A series called A Song of Hurt Feelings and Misunderstandings does not have the same ring to it.

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And then they felt bad and brought him back...and he was pissed at Will for not having his back!

Prologue explained. Next chapter...

ETA: A series called A Song of Hurt Feelings and Misunderstandings does not have the same ring to it.

this is all im trying to say.

(*Other Waymar, sitting against a tree, casts an ice cream cone. Attempts to lick it, it falls over on the floor. A single tear descends from Other Waymar's eye, and freezes to his cheek. "All By Myself" plays, fade out to credits.*)

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I think the Others were going to kill him all along, whether he "threatened" them first or not. Look here:






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.


It mocks him as he fights it.


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I think the Others were going to kill him all along, whether he "threatened" them first or not. Look here:

It mocks him as he fights it.

"Look at this rookie crow.. I bet he doesn't even know why he hates ussssssss...."

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"Look at this rookie crow.. I bet he doesn't even know why he hates ussssssss...."

Well, he's a Royce . He might remember.

Hey did anyone think it's funny that the White Walker, parries several blows that supposedly can't hurt it, but when Sam the Slayer actually comes at one with obsidian, it just stands there wide open?

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