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POEMS (or other sundry quotes) that remind you of ASOIAF


ravenous reader

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On 2017-05-17 at 6:31 PM, Cridefea said:

I love it! There are many "divergent roads" in asoiaf, Cersei is one of the most important to me. But there are also other turning points: Bran climbing up,  Ned leaving winterfell, Cat choice to free Jaime, Brienne searching for Sansa with no clues etc etc

Indeed.  There are only two epilogues given so far in the story and not much attention has been given to them.  Specifically, an epilogue is  a piece of writing at the end of a work of literature, usually used to bring closure to the work.  It is presented from the perspective of within the story. When the author steps in and speaks indirectly to the reader.

For all the time we spend combing through Martin's public remarks for some hint; the epilogue is a device for the author to speak directly to the reader.  In DwD, I think he is using the voice of Kevan Lannister and we are being told something specific about the cause of the Robert's Rebellion and who was behind it.

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If Aerys had agreed to marry her to Rhaegar, how many deaths might have been avoided? Cersei could have given the prince the sons he wanted, lions with purple eyes and silver manes … and with such a wife, Rhaegar might never have looked twice at Lyanna Stark. The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he recalled, though however bright a torch might burn it could never match the rising sun.

But it did no good to brood on lost battles and roads not taken. That was a vice of old done men. Rhaegar had wed Elia of Dorne, Lyanna Stark had died, Robert Baratheon had taken Cersei to bride, and here they were. And tonight his own road would take him to his niece's chambers and face-to-face with Cersei.

 

Tywin Lannister is the one standing at crossroads,  the two roads to the Iron Throne before him,  Targaryen or Baratheon. Since Rhaegar married Ellia; that left Robert Baratheon with Lyanna Stark an obstacle standing in the way.  Lyanna's disappearance and 'kidnapping' pinned on Rhaegar for the purposes of goading a conflict.

As in Frost's poem, we misunderstand when we think that Rhaegar is standing at the crossroads and his choice was between, Elia and Lyanna.  In other words, it's not about who did he love or who did he want. 

His choice was who was the most beautiful.  Ned stark tells us as much:

Quote

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.

It's not the Queen of Love and Beauty, only the Queen of Beauty.  As readers, we misunderstand, just as Martin intended; something he hints at with his reference to Frost's poem.   What Kevan Lannister is saying is that if Cersei had been at the tourney;  there would have been no contest between Lyanna's wild beauty, a mere torch compared to Cersei, the rising sun.  That Rhaegar would never have given Lyanna a second look. 

 

Quote

 

Forms and Devices (Critical Guide to Poetry for Students)

In his essay “The Constant Symbol,” Frost defined poetry with an interesting series of phrases. Poetry, he wrote, is chiefly “metaphor, saying one thing and meaning another, saying one thing in terms of another, the pleasure of ulteriority.” His achievement in the poem “The Road Not Taken” is to bring these different uses of metaphor into play in a delightfully ironic balancing act. That is to say, the speaker solemnly uses the metaphor of the two roads to say one thing, while Frost humorously uses the speaker as a metaphor to say something very different.

The speaker is a solemn person who earnestly believes in metaphor as a way of “saying one thing in terms of another.” The speaker uses the details, the “terms,” of a situation in nature to “say” something about himself and his life: that he has difficulty making a choice and that he is regretfully certain that he will eventually be unhappy with the choice that he does make. When he first considers the two roads, he sees one as more difficult, perhaps even a bit menacing (“it bent in the undergrowth”), and the other as being more pleasant (“it was grassy and wanted wear”). Even in taking the second path, though, he reconsiders and sees them both as equally worn and equally covered with leaves. Changing his mind again, he believes that in the future he will look back, realize that he did take the “less traveled” road after all, but regret “with a sigh” that that road turned out to have made “all the difference” in making his life unhappy. The speaker believes that in the future he will be haunted by this earlier moment when he made the wrong choice and by the unfulfilled potential of “the road not taken.”

In contrast to the speaker, Frost uses metaphor to “say one thing and mean another.” That is, Frost presents this speaker’s account of his situation with deadpan solemnity, but he uses the speaker as a specific image of a general way of thinking that Frost means to mock. The speaker first grasps at small details in the landscape to help him choose the better path, then seems to have the common sense to see that the two roads are essentially equivalent, but finally allows his overanxious imagination to run away with him. The reader is meant to smile or laugh when the speaker scares himself into believing that this one decision, with its options that seem so indistinguishable, will turn out someday to be so dire as to make him “sigh” at “all the difference” this choice has made. Frost’s subtle humor is most likely what Frost was referring to when he described the poem in 1961 as “tricky,” for the Thompson biography documents two letters Frost wrote near the time of the poem’s publication (one to Edward Thomas and one to the editor Louis Untermeyer) to convince these readers that the poem is meant to be taken as a joke on the speaker and as a parody of his attitudes.

 

 

https://www.enotes.com/topics/road-not-taken/in-depth

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@LynnS:

 

My poems—I should suppose everybody’s poems—are all set to trip the reader head foremost into the boundless. Ever since infancy I have had the habit of leaving my blocks carts chairs and such like ordinaries where people would be pretty sure to fall forward over them in the dark. Forward, you understand, and in the dark. 
     —Frost to Leonidas W. Payne Jr., November 1, 1927

From:  https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/road-not-taken-poem-everyone-loves-and-everyone-gets-wrong

 

On 5/15/2017 at 10:23 AM, LynnS said:

 I'm curious to know your thoughts on Martin's reference to Robert Frost's poem "The Road not Taken" in the Epilogue of Dance with Dragons.  Here's the passage:

 

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A Dance with Dragons - Epilogue

The fire soon thawed him, and the wine warmed his insides nicely. It also made him sleepy, so he dare not drink another cup. His day was far from done. He had reports to read, letters to write. And supper with Cersei and the king. His niece had been subdued and submissive since her walk of atonement, thank the gods. The novices who attended her reported that she spent a third of her waking hours with her son, another third in prayer, and the rest in her tub. She was bathing four or five times a day, scrubbing herself with horsehair brushes and strong lye soap, as if she meant to scrape her skin off.

She will never wash the stain away, no matter how hard she scrubs. Ser Kevan remembered the girl she once had been, so full of life and mischief. And when she'd flowered, ahhhh … had there ever been a maid so sweet to look upon? If Aerys had agreed to marry her to Rhaegar, how many deaths might have been avoided? Cersei could have given the prince the sons he wanted, lions with purple eyes and silver manes … and with such a wife, Rhaegar might never have looked twice at Lyanna Stark. The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he recalled, though however bright a torch might burn it could never match the rising sun.

But it did no good to brood on lost battles and roads not taken. That was a vice of old done men. Rhaegar had wed Elia of Dorne, Lyanna Stark had died, Robert Baratheon had taken Cersei to bride, and here they were. And tonight his own road would take him to his niece's chambers and face-to-face with Cersei

 

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV.

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

 

Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Summary

The speaker stands in the woods, considering a fork in the road. Both ways are equally worn and equally overlaid with un-trodden leaves. The speaker chooses one, telling himself that he will take the other another day. Yet he knows it is unlikely that he will have the opportunity to do so. And he admits that someday in the future he will recreate the scene with a slight twist: He will claim that he took the less-traveled road.

 

Quote

David Haglund, a senior editor for Slate, has speculated that Frost may have deliberately misled his readers. Various quotes from Frost's correspondences suggest that he knew people would misunderstand the meaning — and their confusion even amused him.

http://www.businessinsider.com/frosts-road-not-taken-poem-interpretation-2014-3

So Lynn, through the innocuous pale blue petals I espy your insidious intent, LOL -- there's blue frost, white frost, pink frost...and then there's Robert Frost!  'Schmobert' (Robert as Jon Snow's father) confirmed!  Given that there are so many references in the text to 'frost,' it might be stretching things a bit to interpret all of those as relating to Robert Baratheon or indeed Frost! (on behalf of all 'RLJers', and given my well-known feelings about Robert Baratheon's character, I must dissuade you from pursuing that particular line of association any further) :P.  In going about cracking the meaning of the 'blue roses,' my inclination would be to set aside those bitter blooms for a moment, focusing instead on the 'hidden thorns' beneath, compared to 'claws, sharp and cruel' drawing Ned's blood.  Why 'thorns'?  Why 'claws'?  Why 'hidden'?  Who has a grudge against Ned personally, and why?  Why does he think of these images while he is in the Kings Landing dungeon?  I pose these questions not to be coy (unlike some...), but because I really don't know!

That said, great catch in identifying GRRM's nod to Frost with the allusion to the 'road not taken,' which is the title of his famously enigmatic and perhaps most misunderstood poem.  Robert Frost is one the most difficult poets I've encountered, and I underestimate neither him nor GRRM in their cagey, avuncular acrobatics.  One of Frost's greatest poems -- in fact, my favorite Frost poem -- is 'Directive', a very 'meta-' poem, in which Frost basically sets out his poetic philosophy, which is ironically a 'misdirection' of the reader, LOL, as you've correctly indicated in your assessment.  In fact, in his relationship to the reader, Frost refers to himself as somewhat of an aloof and indeed unreliable guide, 'too lofty and too original to rage...' '...if you'll let a guide direct you / Who only has at heart your getting lost..' (sometimes I surmise the same of GRRM)!  The poem concludes thus:

 

I have kept hidden in the instep arch
Of an old cedar at the waterside
A broken drinking goblet like the Grail
Under a spell so the wrong ones can't find it,
So can't get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn't.
(I stole the goblet from the children's playhouse.)
Here are your waters and your watering place.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion. 

(Here is the full poem)

 

Frost referred to poetry as a 'momentary stay against confusion,' so he's speaking about poetry here, and the 'I' of the 'I have kept hidden' is a reference to the poet himself, who was famously elusive although simultaneously claiming to be a straightforward poet-farmer (a bit like GRRM claiming 'I'm not an architect, I'm a gardener...').  But the most interesting line to which I wanted to draw your attention, particularly in relation to your question as to how the 'road not taken' might relate to GRRM and the events of Robert's Rebellion / TOJ, is the implication that Frost has hidden the meaning of the poem 'under a spell so the wrong ones can't find it, / So can't get saved...' -- a remarkably elitist view for one masquerading as a populist!  The latter quote, as Frost points out, is a reference to a biblical passage from the Gospel of St Mark:

Quote

Mark 4:11-12 King James Version (KJV)

11 And he said unto them, Unto you it is given to know the mystery of the kingdom of God: but unto them that are without, all these things are done in parables:

12 That seeing they may see, and not perceive; and hearing they may hear, and not understand; lest at any time they should be converted, and their sins should be forgiven them.

The upshot is that only a 'chosen few' will be able to understand the meaning that has been hidden in a 'parable,' or as Frost puts it 'under a spell.'  Likewise, this is highly reminiscent of the 'Game of Thrones,' in which the ultimate game and fraught enterprise is not the one being played by the fictional characters in Westeros, but the one GRRM constructs for us, the readers, to play against him and each other.  He was almost a Chess Grand Master after all, and old habits die hard!  I was having this discussion with @LmL the other day about his impression, which I share, that there is an 'inside joke' going on, in which the ones who 'get' GRRM's meaning give each other a 'wink'.  Unfortunately, I came away from that conversation with the distinct impression that I was one of the 'wrong ones' who is unlikely to be 'saved,' and that the 'joke is on me'!  ;) 

As you can tell, Frost was fond of discussing his methodology, but less fond of confirming the meanings behind the specific content of his poems.  He also said of poetry, comparing the tension inherent in the dialectic to 'your fist in your hand, a great force strongly held...Poetry is neither the force nor the check, it is the tremor of the deadlock.'  Similarly, I rather think GRRM enjoys the quivering equivocation of his own constructions!  

This post is intended as a provocative introduction to the games Frost plays with his reader, so I won't go into the meaning of the poem at length.  For those who are interested, there is this interesting discussion about 'The Road Not Taken' by several Frost scholars in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the poem which I found useful and accessible.

If that's still too abstract, there's also this explanation of the poem:

 

 

LOL, I loved the :rolleyes: and the final assessment, 'but in reality shit just happens the way that it happens...'; although I don't -- and I don't think Frost either -- would agree with the assessment that all 'our choices don't mean a thing'.  It's a bit more complicated than that!  Nevertheless, she gets the gist of how we construct fictions in retrospect falsely attributing meaning and responsibility to the 'wrong' parties -- because you see those parties are 'hidden in the instep arch/ Of an old cedar at the waterside..,' or perhaps hidden beneath blue roses.

On the surface, it might seem that Frost is suggesting rather nihilistically that our choices take place in a vacuum, a crossroads presenting equally appealing 'roads'.  However, on deeper inspection a more nuanced paradoxical reading is in order.  As you and others have pointed out, the speaker is lying to himself when he claims that the paths from which he must choose are different to each other.  There is no 'less travelled road' -- the poem contradicts the speaker, showing that they are equally travelled and that there is no way to convincingly tell them apart, let alone glimpse their final destination, by peering down them at the crossroads.  In order to resolve the dilemma, the speaker somehow convinces himself that there is a qualitative difference between the paths on which he made his well-informed choice 'which has made all the difference' -- which isn't that well-informed, and in actual fact made rather blindly -- although the brilliance of Frost is to suggest how critical all our choices are in weaving the ironclad accretion of our peculiar destinies, whilst simultaneously pulling out the rug from under our self-righteous certainty in our inalienable individuality.

Just because a choice is made 'rather blindly' and without comprehensive information does not however mean that no rationale exists.  It merely suggests that the rationale may be opaque to us at the time of the choice, whether through our own commission and/or omission, or that of another party.  'The road not taken' may also be referring to the road either taken or not taken by another, which may have a run-on effect on which road we then subsequently elect to take.  So, as you suggested in your post, perhaps the fact that Rhaegar chose Elia and then Lyanna foreclosed Tywin's range of choices; or likewise as I've suggested, perhaps the fact that Catelyn was promised to Brandon who then defeated Littlefinger in the duel may have also changed the course of history as a consequence.  

In another poem 'Accidentally On Purpose' in which he explores the tension between the random and the designed, with free will squashed between them, Frost says this about the important role played by what he calls 'passionate preference,' as opposed to a more premeditated sobriety, in how and why we make the choices we do:

 

Whose purpose was it? His or Hers or Its?

Let's leave that to the scientific wits.

Grant me intention, purpose, and design --

That's near enough for me to the Divine.

 

And yet for all this help of head and brain

How happily instinctive we remain,

Our best guide upward further to the light,

Passionate preference such as love at sight.

 

If 'passionate preference,' though not transparent and frequently inscrutable, plays some kind of role at the crossroads, then we cannot rule out Rhaegar choosing Lyanna as a matter of passionate preference, or, barring this interpretation, that such passionate feelings may have evolved, despite having been initiated secondary to another motivation entirely.  

I shall more fully address the issue of how 'The Road Not Taken' might be applicable to your theories surrounding 'the events leading to Robert's Rebellion' in a subsequent post.

Finally, I leave you with this:

 

Chloë: The future is all programmed like a computer – that's a proper theory, isn't it? [...] But it doesn't work, does it?
Valentine: No. It turns out the maths is different.
Chloë: No, it's all because of sex.
Valentine: Really?
Chloë: That's what I think. The universe is deterministic all right, just like Newton said, I mean it's trying to be, but the only thing going wrong is people fancying people who aren't supposed to be in that part of the plan.
Valentine: Ah. The attraction that Newton left out. 

-- Tom Stoppard, 'Arcadia'

 

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13 hours ago, ravenous reader said:

So Lynn, through the innocuous pale blue petals I espy your insidious intent, LOL -- there's blue frost, white frost, pink frost...and then there's Robert Frost!  'Schmobert' (Robert as Jon Snow's father) confirmed!  Given that there are so many references in the text to 'frost,' it might be stretching things a bit to interpret all of those as relating to Robert Baratheon or indeed Frost! (on behalf of all 'RLJers', and given my well-known feelings about Robert Baratheon's character, I must dissuade you from pursuing that particular line of association any further) :P.

Actually RR, that never even occurred to me while I was puzzling over the road that wasn't taken and the reference to Frost.  I've been looking at Frost's poetry now related to anything blue.   So there is nothing insidious about it.  LOL

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3 minutes ago, LynnS said:

Actually RR, that never even occurred to me while I was puzzling over the road that wasn't taken and the reference to Frost.  I've been looking at Frost's poetry now related to anything blue.   So there is nothing insidious about it.  LOL

I know -- I was just being absurd and teasing you a bit!  :)

After reading my blurb on Frost, have you had any further ideas on the 'road not taken'?

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4 minutes ago, ravenous reader said:

I know -- I was just being absurd and teasing you a bit!  :)

After reading my blurb on Frost, have you had any further ideas on the 'road not taken'?

I have an appointment in 10 minutes and my internet has been down from the big storm we had last night.   I have to ponder a while before I answer.  But rather than the crown of roses having something to do with Robert or Rhaegar; I wonder what it has to do with Howland Reed, since it is Meera who tells Bran that Lyanna is a sad story for another time.  

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On 2017-05-18 at 10:41 PM, ravenous reader said:

@LynnS:

 

My poems—I should suppose everybody’s poems—are all set to trip the reader head foremost into the boundless. Ever since infancy I have had the habit of leaving my blocks carts chairs and such like ordinaries where people would be pretty sure to fall forward over them in the dark. Forward, you understand, and in the dark. 
     —Frost to Leonidas W. Payne Jr., November 1, 1927

From:  https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/road-not-taken-poem-everyone-loves-and-everyone-gets-wrong

 

So Lynn, through the innocuous pale blue petals I espy your insidious intent, LOL -- there's blue frost, white frost, pink frost...and then there's Robert Frost!  'Schmobert' (Robert as Jon Snow's father) confirmed!  Given that there are so many references in the text to 'frost,' it might be stretching things a bit to interpret all of those as relating to Robert Baratheon or indeed Frost! (on behalf of all 'RLJers', and given my well-known feelings about Robert Baratheon's character, I must dissuade you from pursuing that particular line of association any further) :P.  In going about cracking the meaning of the 'blue roses,' my inclination would be to set aside those bitter blooms for a moment, focusing instead on the 'hidden thorns' beneath, compared to 'claws, sharp and cruel' drawing Ned's blood.  Why 'thorns'?  Why 'claws'?  Why 'hidden'?  Who has a grudge against Ned personally, and why?  Why does he think of these images while he is in the Kings Landing dungeon?  I pose these questions not to be coy (unlike some...), but because I really don't know!

That said, great catch in identifying GRRM's nod to Frost with the allusion to the 'road not taken,' which is the title of his famously enigmatic and perhaps most misunderstood poem.  Robert Frost is one the most difficult poets I've encountered, and I underestimate neither him nor GRRM in their cagey, avuncular acrobatics.  One of Frost's greatest poems -- in fact, my favorite Frost poem -- is 'Directive', a very 'meta-' poem, in which Frost basically sets out his poetic philosophy, which is ironically a 'misdirection' of the reader, LOL, as you've correctly indicated in your assessment.  In fact, in his relationship to the reader, Frost refers to himself as somewhat of an aloof and indeed unreliable guide, 'too lofty and too original to rage...' '...if you'll let a guide direct you / Who only has at heart your getting lost..' (sometimes I surmise the same of GRRM)!  The poem concludes thus:

 

I have kept hidden in the instep arch
Of an old cedar at the waterside
A broken drinking goblet like the Grail
Under a spell so the wrong ones can't find it,
So can't get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn't.
(I stole the goblet from the children's playhouse.)
Here are your waters and your watering place.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion. 

(Here is the full poem)

 

Frost referred to poetry as a 'momentary stay against confusion,' so he's speaking about poetry here, and the 'I' of the 'I have kept hidden' is a reference to the poet himself, who was famously elusive although simultaneously claiming to be a straightforward poet-farmer (a bit like GRRM claiming 'I'm not an architect, I'm a gardener...').  But the most interesting line to which I wanted to draw your attention, particularly in relation to your question as to how the 'road not taken' might relate to GRRM and the events of Robert's Rebellion / TOJ, is the implication that Frost has hidden the meaning of the poem 'under a spell so the wrong ones can't find it, / So can't get saved...' -- a remarkably elitist view for one masquerading as a populist!  The latter quote, as Frost points out, is a reference to a biblical passage from the Gospel of St Mark:

The upshot is that only a 'chosen few' will be able to understand the meaning that has been hidden in a 'parable,' or as Frost puts it 'under a spell.'  Likewise, this is highly reminiscent of the 'Game of Thrones,' in which the ultimate game and fraught enterprise is not the one being played by the fictional characters in Westeros, but the one GRRM constructs for us, the readers, to play against him and each other.  He was almost a Chess Grand Master after all, and old habits die hard!  I was having this discussion with @LmL the other day about his impression, which I share, that there is an 'inside joke' going on, in which the ones who 'get' GRRM's meaning give each other a 'wink'.  Unfortunately, I came away from that conversation with the distinct impression that I was one of the 'wrong ones' who is unlikely to be 'saved,' and that the 'joke is on me'!  ;) 

As you can tell, Frost was fond of discussing his methodology, but less fond of confirming the meanings behind the specific content of his poems.  He also said of poetry, comparing the tension inherent in the dialectic to 'your fist in your hand, a great force strongly held...Poetry is neither the force nor the check, it is the tremor of the deadlock.'  Similarly, I rather think GRRM enjoys the quivering equivocation of his own constructions!  

This post is intended as a provocative introduction to the games Frost plays with his reader, so I won't go into the meaning of the poem at length.  For those who are interested, there is this interesting discussion about 'The Road Not Taken' by several Frost scholars in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the poem which I found useful and accessible.

If that's still too abstract, there's also this explanation of the poem:

 

 

LOL, I loved the :rolleyes: and the final assessment, 'but in reality shit just happens the way that it happens...'; although I don't -- and I don't think Frost either -- would agree with the assessment that all 'our choices don't mean a thing'.  It's a bit more complicated than that!  Nevertheless, she gets the gist of how we construct fictions in retrospect falsely attributing meaning and responsibility to the 'wrong' parties -- because you see those parties are 'hidden in the instep arch/ Of an old cedar at the waterside..,' or perhaps hidden beneath blue roses.

On the surface, it might seem that Frost is suggesting rather nihilistically that our choices take place in a vacuum, a crossroads presenting equally appealing 'roads'.  However, on deeper inspection a more nuanced paradoxical reading is in order.  As you and others have pointed out, the speaker is lying to himself when he claims that the paths from which he must choose are different to each other.  There is no 'less travelled road' -- the poem contradicts the speaker, showing that they are equally travelled and that there is no way to convincingly tell them apart, let alone glimpse their final destination, by peering down them at the crossroads.  In order to resolve the dilemma, the speaker somehow convinces himself that there is a qualitative difference between the paths on which he made his well-informed choice 'which has made all the difference' -- which isn't that well-informed, and in actual fact made rather blindly -- although the brilliance of Frost is to suggest how critical all our choices are in weaving the ironclad accretion of our peculiar destinies, whilst simultaneously pulling out the rug from under our self-righteous certainty in our inalienable individuality.

Just because a choice is made 'rather blindly' and without comprehensive information does not however mean that no rationale exists.  It merely suggests that the rationale may be opaque to us at the time of the choice, whether through our own commission and/or omission, or that of another party.  'The road not taken' may also be referring to the road either taken or not taken by another, which may have a run-on effect on which road we then subsequently elect to take.  So, as you suggested in your post, perhaps the fact that Rhaegar chose Elia and then Lyanna foreclosed Tywin's range of choices; or likewise as I've suggested, perhaps the fact that Catelyn was promised to Brandon who then defeated Littlefinger in the duel may have also changed the course of history as a consequence.  

In another poem 'Accidentally On Purpose' in which he explores the tension between the random and the designed, with free will squashed between them, Frost says this about the important role played by what he calls 'passionate preference,' as opposed to a more premeditated sobriety, in how and why we make the choices we do:

 

Whose purpose was it? His or Hers or Its?

Let's leave that to the scientific wits.

Grant me intention, purpose, and design --

That's near enough for me to the Divine.

 

And yet for all this help of head and brain

How happily instinctive we remain,

Our best guide upward further to the light,

Passionate preference such as love at sight.

 

If 'passionate preference,' though not transparent and frequently inscrutable, plays some kind of role at the crossroads, then we cannot rule out Rhaegar choosing Lyanna as a matter of passionate preference, or, barring this interpretation, that such passionate feelings may have evolved, despite having been initiated secondary to another motivation entirely.  

I shall more fully address the issue of how 'The Road Not Taken' might be applicable to your theories surrounding 'the events leading to Robert's Rebellion' in a subsequent post.

Finally, I leave you with this:

 

Chloë: The future is all programmed like a computer – that's a proper theory, isn't it? [...] But it doesn't work, does it?
Valentine: No. It turns out the maths is different.
Chloë: No, it's all because of sex.
Valentine: Really?
Chloë: That's what I think. The universe is deterministic all right, just like Newton said, I mean it's trying to be, but the only thing going wrong is people fancying people who aren't supposed to be in that part of the plan.
Valentine: Ah. The attraction that Newton left out. 

-- Tom Stoppard, 'Arcadia'

 

Thank you RR! I've had time to relax and read through your post again.  I knew you would be able to illuminate Frost's intent and purpose, if not his meaning.  LOL.  Shit does happen, as we learn from Kevan Lannister when he starts down the road that leads to Cersei; only to have Varys pop up from behind the furniture.   It's worth coming back to your explanation several times over and I enjoyed that very much.

The driving force may well be the hidden attraction whether that turns out to about power or sex or in Rhaegar's case, some noble purpose. :D

Ned tells us that Rhaegar gave Lyanna the Queen of Beauty's laurel rather than the Queen of Love and Beauty's laurel.  He is specifically telling us, by omission, that there was no romantic intent.  It's generally accepted that Ned knows the identity of Jon's father.   Rhaegar must have had another purpose in bypassing, Elia and Ashara who was also in attendance.  

Barristan Selmy's choice would have been Ashara Dayne.  Given his hidden romantic attraction, we would expect him to assign her the crown of love as well as beauty  had he won the day.

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A Dance with Dragons - The Kingbreaker

If I had been a better knight … if I had unhorsed the prince in that last tilt, as I unhorsed so many others, it would have been for me to choose the queen of love and beauty …

 

 

Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would have been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia's companions … though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab.

 Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara's daughter …

 

 

Likewise, it is Howland Reed who calls Lyanna the QOLAB in the story that Meera tells Bran of the Laughing Knight.  So what might this say about his romantic attraction?  Did Rhaegar discover the identity of the KoLT and grant him a boon.  Did he present the QOLAB on Howland's behalf?  It doesn't have to be more complicated than that for shit to happen.

The question is who did Ned see as his QOLAB when he reached for the crown of blue roses?  We are told that Ashara turned to Stark and that there was some kind of romance between them at the Tourney.  If it was Ned's choice to make he would have crowned Ashara.  However, when Ned reached for the crown, he found thorns underneath, clawing , scratching, drawing blood. 

Ned and Robert 'won the crown' together... in a sense, Ned reached for the the iron throne with it's barbs and spikes and came away with a bloody hand

Barristan's recollection that had Rhaegar chosen Elia instead of Lyanna, much war and woe might have been avoided, seems at odds  with Kevan's assessment, that had Rhaegar chosen Cersei instead of Elia that war would have been avoided.  I get the impression that Lyanna was never a choice.  Even though Rhaegar married Elia, the path still led to war.  With Robert the victor, the choice then becomes Cersei or Lyanna.  Lyanna had to die because Robert had already made his choice.

 

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On 2017-05-18 at 10:41 PM, ravenous reader said:

This post is intended as a provocative introduction to the games Frost plays with his reader, so I won't go into the meaning of the poem at length.  For those who are interested, there is this interesting discussion about 'The Road Not Taken' by several Frost scholars in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the poem which I found useful and accessible.

This is an interesting interview.  The speculation that Frost may have been saying that he wished he could divide himself in two and take both paths reminds of Martin's recent Not-A-Blog entry:

Quote

And yes, before someone asks, I AM STILL WORKING ON WINDS OF WINTER and will continue working on it until it's done. I will confess, I do wish I could clone myself, or find a way to squeeze more hours into the day, or a way to go without sleep

 

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On 5/19/2017 at 0:52 PM, LynnS said:

I have an appointment in 10 minutes and my internet has been down from the big storm we had last night.   I have to ponder a while before I answer.  But rather than the crown of roses having something to do with Robert or Rhaegar; I wonder what it has to do with Howland Reed, since it is Meera who tells Bran that Lyanna is a sad story for another time.  

Today I will indulge dangerous thoughts about Mr mysterious person Howl-and Reed, with a little preliminary quote to get the thought juices flowing:

Quote

A Feast for Crows - Jaime V

He talked with his cousin for another hour before the Warden of the West finally took his leave. When he was gone, Jaime donned his gold hand and brown cloak to walk amongst the tents.

If truth be told, he liked this life. He felt more comfortable amongst soldiers in the field than he ever had at court. And his men seemed comfortable with him as well. At one cookfire three crossbowmen offered him a share of a hare they'd caught. At another a young knight asked his counsel on the best way to defend against a warhammer. Down beside the river, he watched two washerwomen jousting in the shallows, mounted on the shoulders of a pair of men-at-arms. The girls were half-drunk and half-naked, laughing and snapping rolled-up cloaks at one another as a dozen other men urged them on. Jaime bet a copper star on the blond girl riding Raff the Sweetling, and lost it when the two of them went down splashing amongst the reeds.

Someone makes a bet on an unusual joust in which the jousters are made up of a centaur-like combination of a woman and man forming a Symeon Star-Eyes-like-duo -- who then fail, going down floundering 'amongst the reeds...'  

'amongst the reeds (lower case)...or Reeds (upper case)..?!  (We should ask Voice ;))

On 5/20/2017 at 2:36 PM, LynnS said:

The driving force may well be the hidden attraction whether that turns out to about power or sex or in Rhaegar's case, some noble purpose. :D

Oh definitely, well said.  People's 'passionate preferences' may take many, not exclusively sexual, forms!  For example, when Euron tells Victarion to 'bring me my love', I don't think the 'love' he's really after is Daenerys, or any other woman, although it may seem that way on the surface.

Quote

Ned tells us that Rhaegar gave Lyanna the Queen of Beauty's laurel rather than the Queen of Love and Beauty's laurel.  He is specifically telling us, by omission, that there was no romantic intent.  It's generally accepted that Ned knows the identity of Jon's father.   Rhaegar must have had another purpose in bypassing, Elia and Ashara who was also in attendance.  

Rhaegar's 'passionate preferences' at the 'crossroads' remain opaque to me, unfortunately!

On 5/20/2017 at 2:36 PM, LynnS said:

Likewise, it is Howland Reed who calls Lyanna the QOLAB in the story that Meera tells Bran of the Laughing Knight.  So what might this say about his romantic attraction?  Did Rhaegar discover the identity of the KoLT and grant him a boon.  Did he present the QOLAB on Howland's behalf?  It doesn't have to be more complicated than that for shit to happen.

I'm going to approach this with an open mind, particularly since my 'open mind' in this respect happens to accord rather nicely with my own 'passionate preferences'..!  ;)  

For some reason, ever since I read the KOTLT account I've had the impression in the back of my mind that sneaky Howland Reed, despite his slight and unbecoming physique, may have used his wits to seduce one of the women (sometimes a small man casts a large shadow) -- either Lyanna or Ashara!  Are you suggesting that Howland Reed could be Jon's father, and that you are loosening your grip on the Schmobert hypothesis..? -- then I am all in favour!  LOL. There are a number of indications supporting this possibility; e.g. they had opportunity alone together in the tent, with Lyanna nursing his wounds, the severity of which may have been exaggerated on his part in order to garner her attention and sympathies...perhaps akin to Littlefinger being 'nursed' by Lysa in the tower following his analogous duel, in which as the account goes he sustained almost 'fatal' wounds.  

Perhaps Howland like Littlefinger is more of a sinister trickster figure than meets the eye (emblematic of the archetypal figure of Will in the Prologue, who can arguably be said to have led his brother into a trap if viewed allegorically, as I've previously argued).  After browsing your and especially 'Mark's' (Markg171) excellent posts at the 'Last Hearth' forum detailing all the contradictions surrounding Howland , I was struck with the distinct possibility that he might have framed the Starks somehow, especially since crannogmen are known for their sneaky combat strategy, involving wiles and words (including magical 'killing words' that with a whisper can 'turn water to mud' -- that sounds like killing someone, since, as Syrio has taught, men are sacs of water, which when pierced, essentially return the water to the soil, creating mud ... before 'dust to dust' there is mud).  The salient feature of the crannogs or 'mud men' -- earning them the unflattering name 'bog devils' -- is that killing blows are delivered in an underhanded fashion; so we ought to question what precisely in the Harrenhal transaction was 'underhanded' on Howland's part?  

While it's possible he seduced Lyanna for some reason, it's unlikely the ambitious seduction would have been based on any 'passionate preference' grounded in romantic attraction or love, since at the party, as related by Jojen and Meera, Reed only had eyes for the purple-eyed maid Ashara, which if he was that taken with Lyanna on a romantic level does not make sense.  He seems a little overly observant beyond a casual interest, keeping track of every single man Ashara danced with on that evening, yet there's only one or two mentions of Lyanna in contrast:

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The crannogman saw a maid with laughing purple eyes dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf . . . but only after the wild wolf spoke to her on behalf of a brother too shy to leave his bench.  (ASOS -- Bran II)

It also occurs to me that Jon shares many personality and physical characteristics with Howland and the crannogs.  He's keenly observant, quiet, discrete, furtive, shortish, lithe, graceful, quick, strong, with a hidden temper -- yes, indeed, a bit like a lizard-lion, albeit with a healthy dose of wolfsblood thrown into the mix to account for the occasional rash action of his 'personal preference'!  It might also explain Tyrion's observation why Jon has 'more of the north in him than his siblings,' considering the Neck is an integral part of the north and its defense.

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A Game of Thrones - Bran I

"The deserter died bravely," Robb said. He was big and broad and growing every day, with his mother's coloring, the fair skin, red-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Tullys of Riverrun. "He had courage, at the least."

"No," Jon Snow said quietly. "It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark." Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.

And here we have Ghost behaving a bit like a lizard-lion :D:

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A Clash of Kings - Jon III

"I have no time for this, I have horses to groom and saddle." Jon walked away as confused as he was angry. Sam's heart was as big as the rest of him, but for all his reading he could be as thick as Grenn at times. It was impossible, and dishonorable besides. So why do I feel so ashamed?

Jon took his accustomed position at Mormont's side as the Night's Watch streamed out past the skulls on Craster's gate. They struck off north and west along a crooked game trail. Melting ice dripped down all about them, a slower sort of rain with its own soft music. North of the compound, the brook was in full spate, choked with leaves and bits of wood, but the scouts had found where the ford lay and the column was able to splash across. The water ran as high as a horse's belly. Ghost swam, emerging on the bank with his white fur dripping brown. When he shook, spraying mud and water in all directions, Mormont said nothing, but on his shoulder the raven screeched.

In connection with the crown of roses harboring the hidden thorns described as 'claws' beneath a frosty, i.e. cool, exterior; it's worth noting with our 'open minds,' freshly cleansed of suppositions regarding the roads not taken, that wolves, dragons, bears, lions, shadowcats, birds and lizard-lions all have claws (have I forgotten anyone?)  Furthermore, as Sansa notes in the Neck, lizard-lions are lurkers who hide beneath the water covered by the camouflage of bitter blooms floating on the surface, which is all that is seen to the naked eye of those foolhardy enough to leave the beaten track -- depart the safety of the causeway -- i.e. plucky enough to take the less well travelled road -- and to reach out and pluck those flowers, behind which lurk the lightning-sharp teeth (as Arya found out when she erupted in a rash after picking the purple and green ones)!

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A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

Arya shrugged. "Hold still," she snapped at Nymeria, "I'm not hurting you." Then to Sansa she said, "When we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty-six flowers I never saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion."

Sansa shuddered. They had been twelve days crossing the Neck, rumbling down a crooked causeway through an endless black bog, and she had hated every moment of it. The air had been damp and clammy, the causeway so narrow they could not even make proper camp at night, they had to stop right on the kingsroad. Dense thickets of half-drowned trees pressed close around them, branches dripping with curtains of pale fungus. Huge flowers bloomed in the mud and floated on pools of stagnant water, but if you were stupid enough to leave the causeway to pluck them, there were quicksands waiting to suck you down, and snakes watching from the trees, and lizard-lions floating half-submerged in the water, like black logs with eyes and teeth.

None of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.

I bet you when we meet Howland Reed, he has 'grey-green' eyes, like Aurane Waters, like Littlefinger, and like the 'great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, [the banks] all set about with fever-trees' to which the 'elephant's child' of insatiable curiosity in Kipling's cautionary tale travelled in order 'to find out what the crocodile has for dinner'!

Did Lyanna and Ned find out what the crocodile has for dinner?  Arthur Dayne certainly did.  In that famous duel, Ned was on the backfoot, faltering and bound to die, had it not been for Howland stepping in to assist him with his unconventional warfare and/or conventional backstabbing ways.  I believe it was also 'Mark' on the other forum who suggested that Ned's ordinary steel sword would have eventually broken in a duel with Dawn, leaving him without a sword -- at which point enter Howland: 

Howland Reed himself was the sword without a hilt that slayed the season.

I don't think it's coincidental that the Reed sigil is an ouroboros either -- 'now it begins...and now it ends...' -- and all because of Howland Reed, somehow.

Is this the Skywalkerish Darth Vader paternity plot we've been eagerly anticipating?

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This appears to be the only additional reference to 'the road not taken' in the books:

Quote

 

A Feast for Crows - Jaime I

Unless my brother murdered Varys too, and left his corpse to rot beneath the castle. Down there, it might be years before his bones were found. Jaime had led a dozen guards below, with torches and ropes and lanterns. For hours they had groped through twisting passages, narrow crawl spaces, hidden doors, secret steps, and shafts that plunged down into utter blackness. Seldom had he felt so utterly a cripple. A man takes much for granted when he has two hands. Ladders, for an instance. Even crawling did not come easy; not for nought do they speak of hands and knees. Nor could he hold a torch and climb, as others could.

And all for naught. They found only darkness, dust, and rats. And dragons, lurking down below. He remembered the sullen orange glow of the coals in the iron dragon's mouth. The brazier warmed a chamber at the bottom of a shaft where half a dozen tunnels met. On the floor he'd found a scuffed mosaic of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen done in tiles of black and red. I know you, Kingslayer, the beast seemed to be saying. I have been here all the time, waiting for you to come to me. And it seemed to Jaime that he knew that voice, the iron tones that had once belonged to Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone.

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. "Your Grace," Jaime had pleaded, "let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine."

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

Jaime's anger had risen up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."

"Then guard the king," Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. "When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey."

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."

Those were the last words Rhaegar Targaryen ever spoke to him. Outside the gates an army had assembled, whilst another descended on the Trident. So the Prince of Dragonstone mounted up and donned his tall black helm, and rode forth to his doom.

 

So does the epilogue point to this passage?
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On 5/21/2017 at 0:23 PM, LynnS said:
On 5/18/2017 at 10:41 PM, ravenous reader said:

This post is intended as a provocative introduction to the games Frost plays with his reader, so I won't go into the meaning of the poem at length.  For those who are interested, there is this interesting discussion about 'The Road Not Taken' by several Frost scholars in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the poem which I found useful and accessible.

This is an interesting interview.  The speculation that Frost may have been saying that he wished he could divide himself in two and take both paths reminds of Martin's recent Not-A-Blog entry:

Quote

And yes, before someone asks, I AM STILL WORKING ON WINDS OF WINTER and will continue working on it until it's done. I will confess, I do wish I could clone myself, or find a way to squeeze more hours into the day, or a way to go without sleep

The tragedy of not being able to take both paths at once is certainly one of the major themes of the poem we've been discussing:

'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth...'

 

There's also a certain greediness and egotism associated with someone wanting to 'have his cake and eat it too,' as the idiom goes.  I think many of our characters, Sansa for example, are guilty of wanting two incompatible things at once, proving detrimental to themselves and others around them, frequently with fatal consequences, as @Brad Stark speculatively touched on in a recent post on 'heresy' with respect to Rhaegar:

On 5/28/2017 at 2:14 PM, Brad Stark said:

It seems blue roses were picked with the intent of giving them to Lyanna Stark, it would make no sense to give them to Lord Whent's daughter or anyone else.  Who picked them and why is a little more debatable, but the only 2 candidates I've thought of were Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon.  Can anyone else come up with another credible candidate?

The most obvious answer to me is Rhaegar picked them as a romantic gesture.  Rhaegar secretly backed the tournament to organize a rebellion and take the throne, but fell in love with Lyanna, and thought he could have both.  He underestimated the reaction of both Rickard Stark and his father, which started the rebellion he wanted, but too soon and with him on the wrong side, and he ended up dying for the women he loves at the trident.

We've also discussed Rhaegar as the backer with the roses as an insult to House Stark on heresy before.  This never made sense to me.  Why would Rhaegar insult House Stark if he wanted a rebellion, and why go through all this trouble and expense if he only wanted an insult?

I don't remember discussing Robert backing the tournament, but I like this very much.  Robert ends up King and gets out of a marriage he didn't want, gaining more than anyone else did.  He'd have the funds to arrange the tournament.  As one of the best jousters,  it would be easier to ensure Rhaegar wins (If Rhaegar fixed the tournament, either Robert had to be in on it, or someone needed to beat Robert fairly).  

A few things don't fit.  Robert and Lyanna were engaged because of the plans for rebellion, which makes no sense if Robert was planning the rebellion and didn't want to marry Lyanna.  And Robert wasn't the scheming clever character Littlefinger and Varys are, he was almost the opposite.  So someone else would have to be the brains behind this, but Robert may have gone along.

 

I know you don't like to contemplate Rhaegar and Lyanna falling in love, Lynn, but perhaps there's something to this idea of certain Promethean characters (not necessarily Rhaegar) who think they are 'more special' than the rest and don't have to choose only one path in life.

P.S.  @LynnS I loved reading that GRRM had explored the idea of living alternate realities simultaneously in two different dimensions, which eventually intersect, through his script writing for the Twilight Zone episode of the same name as Frost's poem!  I didn't quite understand what happened at the end there though; did the two versions of the self exchange handicaps, the crippled man exchanging his wheelchair and disability with the other version of himself?

On 5/22/2017 at 9:48 PM, LynnS said:

Hah!  @ravenous reader  This will amuse you.  Especially the bit about Martin's script "The Road Less Travelled".

http://grrm.livejournal.com/538603.html

And since he brought it up:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_Less_Traveled_(The_Twilight_Zone)

:)

Then I had another idea regarding 'the road not taken' in the context of ASOIAF which I wanted to run by you.  Perhaps it means literally that a road was not taken, with a certain person critically electing on a whim perhaps to take a river or sea voyage, potentially leading them to a chance encounter with someone at either a literal or virtual 'crossroads,' with fatal consequences for all -- which would not have transpired had they stuck to the 'well-travelled roads' instead of waterways!  

Check out this passage in which Ned even contemplates going via ship back to Winterfell:

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A Game of Thrones - Eddard VIII

When he had gone, Eddard Stark went to the window and sat brooding. Robert had left him no choice that he could see. He ought to thank him. It would be good to return to Winterfell. He ought never have left. His sons were waiting there. Perhaps he and Catelyn would make a new son together when he returned, they were not so old yet. And of late he had often found himself dreaming of snow, of the deep quiet of the wolfswood at night.

And yet, the thought of leaving angered him as well. So much was still undone. Robert and his council of cravens and flatterers would beggar the realm if left unchecked … or, worse, sell it to the Lannisters in payment of their loans. And the truth of Jon Arryn's death still eluded him. Oh, he had found a few pieces, enough to convince him that Jon had indeed been murdered, but that was no more than the spoor of an animal on the forest floor. He had not sighted the beast itself yet, though he sensed it was there, lurking, hidden, treacherous.

It struck him suddenly that he might return to Winterfell by sea. Ned was no sailor, and ordinarily would have preferred the kingsroad, but if he took ship he could stop at Dragonstone and speak with Stannis Baratheon. Pycelle had sent a raven off across the water, with a polite letter from Ned requesting Lord Stannis to return to his seat on the small council. As yet, there had been no reply, but the silence only deepened his suspicions. Lord Stannis shared the secret Jon Arryn had died for, he was certain of it. The truth he sought might very well be waiting for him on the ancient island fortress of House Targaryen.

Similarly, Graydon Hicks has theorised that Littlefinger and/or Lyanna may have elected a river passage:

11 hours ago, Graydon Hicks said:

i disagree. for one, we do know that hoster knew what lysa and petyr had done, because he sent petyr home as soon as he found out and made lysa drink moontea to abort the pregnancy. lysa was wanting to marry petyr, thats why she slept with him and wanted his baby. she slept with him one night when he was drunk, im not sure when that was, but petyr was so wasted he thought it was catelyn he was with, thats why he was telling people he had taken her maiden head. then he slept with lysa again, this time knowing full well what he was doing. thats the one that got her pregnant.

as for the abduction location, all i know was that it was within 10 leagues, 70 miles, of harrenhall. now, we know that harrenhal is east of riverrun, on the gods eye lake, and fairly close to kingslanding. now if petyr was being sent back to the vale at the time of the "abduction", he would have traveled in a straight line cross country, he would have taken the nearest main road or river that ran in the general direction he needed to go, he would have taken either the riverroad, which runs from the golden tooth, to the trident. or he would have taken barge or boat down the red fork to the saltpans. either way puts him passing within the 10 league radius of harrenhal. remember that no one has specifically said the exact location lyanna and rhaegar left from, only that it was within 10 leagues of harrenhal, likely on the kingsroad, since lyanna was supposed to be on her way to riverrun.

now, i have already had someone tell me in a earlier post that petyr was supposed to already be in the vale, and that shoot down my theory, i was simply trying to explain how the theory works only if petyr was either still in riverrun or had come across lyanna on the road.

 

10 hours ago, LynnS said:

This appears to be the only additional reference to 'the road not taken' in the books:

Quote

 

A Feast for Crows - Jaime I

 

Unless my brother murdered Varys too, and left his corpse to rot beneath the castle. Down there, it might be years before his bones were found. Jaime had led a dozen guards below, with torches and ropes and lanterns. For hours they had groped through twisting passages, narrow crawl spaces, hidden doors, secret steps, and shafts that plunged down into utter blackness. Seldom had he felt so utterly a cripple. A man takes much for granted when he has two hands. Ladders, for an instance. Even crawling did not come easy; not for nought do they speak of hands and knees. Nor could he hold a torch and climb, as others could.

 

And all for naught. They found only darkness, dust, and rats. And dragons, lurking down below. He remembered the sullen orange glow of the coals in the iron dragon's mouth. The brazier warmed a chamber at the bottom of a shaft where half a dozen tunnels met. On the floor he'd found a scuffed mosaic of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen done in tiles of black and red. I know you, Kingslayer, the beast seemed to be saying. I have been here all the time, waiting for you to come to me. And it seemed to Jaime that he knew that voice, the iron tones that had once belonged to Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone.

 

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. "Your Grace," Jaime had pleaded, "let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine."

 

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

 

Jaime's anger had risen up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."

 

"Then guard the king," Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. "When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey."

 

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."

 

Those were the last words Rhaegar Targaryen ever spoke to him. Outside the gates an army had assembled, whilst another descended on the Trident. So the Prince of Dragonstone mounted up and donned his tall black helm, and rode forth to his doom.

 

 

 

So does the epilogue point to this passage?

Yes, it does.  I'm just not sure yet of the significance of how it pertains to Frost.  Had Rhaegar always intended having his father killed somehow?  It occurs to me that a 'road not taken' or 'less-frequently travelled' may be one of either murdering, or choosing to forego murdering, another person.  A major 'road not taken', therefore, would have been Brandon electing to spare Littlefinger at Cat's request.  His 'not-death' arguably has had the greatest impact on subsequently unfolding events.  Similarly, Barristan valiantly extracting Aerys at Duskendale altered the course.  Another example would be the Battle of Redgrass Field in which Daemon graciously spared his opponent in the duel (Corbray), allowing him to leave the field, which had the run-off effect of allowing Bloodraven just enough time to gain the ridge and turn the battle in his favor.  Again, a generous act of compassion ends up backfiring on the one who takes the moral 'high road'  vs. the physical high road (e.g. Bloodraven assuming his superior position relative to Daemon on the ridge)-- that's another wordplay we ought to explore!  

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HIGH ROAD, LOW ROAD - rational approach versus emotional appeal; sticking to the issues versus going for the jugular; Marquis of Queensberry rules versus no-holds-barred.

From:  http://www.phrases.org.uk/bulletin_board/47/messages/498.html

take the high road

To choose the most noble, ethical, or diplomatic course or method, especially after or in the face of negativity or illtreatment. Strive to always take the high road when dealing with others, even if they've treated you unfairly in thepast. Life has a habit of rewarding those who learn to turn the other cheek.

From:  http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/take+the+high+road

take the high road

When you 'take the high road' - it means doing the right thing even if its not popular or easy.

Not to be confused with the Scottish Song The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond - which no one seems able to really interpret in any case... But is a good tune to reference when you need to remember to 'take the high road'

If a person wrongs you, no need to go and seek revenge or let it worry you. "Take the high road" and let them take the low road. In the long run that person will have probably wronged many people and their reputation is tarnished (their road is rougher) - while if you don't let it bother you and stick to doing the right thing, life will more likely work out for you as you are not bothered by the negative stress and your reputation is better. Metaphorically speaking, like a High Road (aka freeway / highway) the view is often better and you can travel faster, while the low road is slower and has more obstacles and traffic lights.

It's also the correct path to take to becoming what is also known as a righteous dude

From:  http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=take the high road

 

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The Sworn Sword

"So close a thing . . . if Daemon had ridden over Gwayne Corbray and left him to his fate, he might have broken Maekar's left before Bloodraven could take the ridge. The day would have belonged to the black dragons then, with the Hand slain and the road to King's Landing open before them. Daemon might have been sitting on the Iron Throne by the time Prince Baelor could come up with his stormlords and his Dornishmen.

"The singers can go on about their hammer and their anvil, ser, but it was the kinslayer who turned the tide with a white arrow and a black spell. He rules us now as well, make no mistake. King Aerys is his creature. It would not surprise to learn that Bloodraven had ensorceled His Grace, to bend him to his will. Small wonder we are cursed." Ser Eustace shook his head and lapsed into a brooding silence. Dunk wondered how much Egg had overheard, but there was no way to ask him. How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? he thought.

Recall that Cat pondered long and hard at the crossroads just like Frost's protagonist; the wording is 'the crossroads gave her pause,' before electing to take 'the high road' to the Eyrie instead of the other options open to her.  Taking the high road is ironic in that case, saying more about Cat's deluded self-righteousness than any wise moral judgment.  Unbeknownst to her, she is operating from a framework Petyr Baelish has constructed for her, in her eagerness to seize Tyrion and haul him off to her highly-strung sister without much foresight nor -thought.

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A Game of Thrones - Catelyn V

When the supper bell rang, the sound was deafening. Catelyn had changed into dry clothes. She sat by the window, watching rain run down the pane. The glass was milky and full of bubbles, and a wet dusk was falling outside. Catelyn could just make out the muddy crossing where the two great roads met.

The crossroads gave her pause. If they turned west from here, it was an easy ride down to Riverrun. Her father had always given her wise counsel when she needed it most, and she yearned to talk to him, to warn him of the gathering storm. If Winterfell needed to brace for war, how much more so Riverrun, so much closer to King's Landing, with the power of Casterly Rock looming to the west like a shadow. If only her father had been stronger, she might have chanced it, but Hoster Tully had been bedridden these past two years, and Catelyn was loath to tax him now.

The eastern road was wilder and more dangerous, climbing through rocky foothills and thick forests into the Mountains of the Moon, past high passes and deep chasms to the Vale of Arryn and the stony Fingers beyond. Above the Vale, the Eyrie stood high and impregnable, its towers reaching for the sky. There she would find her sister … and, perhaps, some of the answers Ned sought. Surely Lysa knew more than she had dared to put in her letter. She might have the very proof that Ned needed to bring the Lannisters to ruin, and if it came to war, they would need the Arryns and the eastern lords who owed them service.

Yet the mountain road was perilous. Shadowcats prowled those passes, rock slides were common, and the mountain clans were lawless brigands, descending from the heights to rob and kill and melting away like snow whenever the knights rode out from the Vale in search of them. Even Jon Arryn, as great a lord as any the Eyrie had ever known, had always traveled in strength when he crossed the mountains. Catelyn's only strength was one elderly knight, armored in loyalty.

No, she thought, Riverrun and the Eyrie would have to wait. Her path ran north to Winterfell, where her sons and her duty were waiting for her. As soon as they were safely past the Neck, she could declare herself to one of Ned's bannermen, and send riders racing ahead with orders to mount a watch on the kingsroad.

The rain obscured the fields beyond the crossroads, but Catelyn saw the land clear enough in her memory. The marketplace was just across the way, and the village a mile farther on, half a hundred white cottages surrounding a small stone sept. There would be more now; the summer had been long and peaceful. North of here the kingsroad ran along the Green Fork of the Trident, through fertile valleys and green woodlands, past thriving towns and stout holdfasts and the castles of the river lords.

Catelyn knew them all: the Blackwoods and the Brackens, ever enemies, whose quarrels her father was obliged to settle; Lady Whent, last of her line, who dwelt with her ghosts in the cavernous vaults of Harrenhal; irascible Lord Frey, who had outlived seven wives and filled his twin castles with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and bastards and grandbastards as well. All of them were bannermen to the Tullys, their swords sworn to the service of Riverrun. Catelyn wondered if that would be enough, if it came to war. Her father was the staunchest man who'd ever lived, and she had no doubt that he would call his banners . . . but would the banners come? The Darrys and Rygers and Mootons had sworn oaths to Riverrun as well, yet they had fought with Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident, while Lord Frey had arrived with his levies well after the battle was over, leaving some doubt as to which army he had planned to join (theirs, he had assured the victors solemnly in the aftermath, but ever after her father had called him the Late Lord Frey). It must not come to war, Catelyn thought fervently. They must not let it.

So, she'd made her mind up to travel back to Winterfell -- but then she bumped into Tyrion and all her carefully laid plans to take the metaphorical 'high road' went out the window as she allowed her emotions regarding Bran's attempted assassination and her own near-death to take over.

Note how Tyrion's entrance cleaves the atmosphere, along with their collective fates, as he dramatically tosses a golden coin up into the air:

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A Game of Thrones - Catelyn V

Masha Heddle was beside herself. "M'lord, there's nothing, it's the tourney, there's no help for it, oh …"

Tyrion Lannister pulled a coin from his purse and flicked it up over his head, caught it, tossed it again. Even across the room, where Catelyn sat, the wink of gold was unmistakable.

A freerider in a faded blue cloak lurched to his feet. "You're welcome to my room, m'lord."

Symbolically, that sums up the chance encounter, in which all 'roads' appear equally fair (I mean there's a 50-50% chance of it being either heads or tails upon landing), but aren't really; in addition to evoking the golden 'Apple of Discord' which triggered the Trojan War.  The scrap over possession of the golden apple is a lesson in the perils and pitfalls of vanity.  

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Wikipedia:

An apple of discord is a reference to the Golden Apple of Discord (Greek: μῆλον τῆς Ἔριδος) which, according to Greek mythology, the goddess Eris (Gr. Ἔρις, "Strife") tossed in the midst of the feast of the gods at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis as a prize of beauty, thus sparking a vanity-fueled dispute among Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite that eventually led to the Trojan War[1] (for the complete story, see The Judgement of Paris). Thus, "apple of discord" is used to signify the core, kernel, or crux of an argument, or a small matter that could lead to a bigger dispute.[2]

Contents

  [hide] 

1Derivative uses

2"To the Fairest"

3See also

4References

Derivative uses[edit]

Because of this, the Roman goddess corresponding to the Greek Eris was named "Discordia". Also, in German and in Dutch, the words are used a lot more often colloquially than in English, though in German the colloquial form is not Apfel der Zwietracht (lit. "Apple of Discord") but Zankapfel ("Quarrel-apple") and rarely Erisapfel; the Dutch is twistappel ("Strife-apple").

In the Eixample district of Barcelona, there is a block nicknamed in Spanish La manzana de la discordia (Catalan: L'illa de la discòrdia). The reason for this usage is that manzana means both "apple" and "city block" in Spanish. It was so named ("block of discord") because it features four different interpretations of Modernisme architecture: Antoni Gaudí's Casa Batlló, Lluís Domènech i Montaner's Casa Lleó Morera, Josep Puig i Cadafalch's Casa Amatller, and Enric Sagnier's Casa Mulleras.

"To the Fairest"[edit]

In some later sources, Eris inscribed on the apple "for the fair"[3] or "to the fairest" before tossing it. The most popular version of the inscription is ΤΗΙ ΚΑΛΛΙΣΤΗΙ (Ancient Greek: τῇ καλλίστῃ tē(i) kallistē(i), Modern Greek: τη καλλίστη ti kallisti; "for/to the most beautiful").[4]Καλλίστῃ is the dative singular of the feminine superlative of καλός, beautiful. In Latin sources, the word is formosissima.[5]

Interestingly, the apple is inscribed 'to the fairest' perhaps echoing Frost's poem in which the different roads are described as being equally fair objectively, but leading to vastly different outcomes eventually:

'...long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim...'

 

I wonder if GRRM is referencing this myth, specifically considering the choice tasked to a prince having to select 'the fairest' among three women is a match for Rhaegar having to decide to award the title of the most beautiful to one of three women, namely his wife Elia, his spurned suitor Cersei, and his secret love interest (or political pawn, depending on your interpretation) Lyanna.  Hera (jealous and vengeful queen of the gods), Athena (goddess of wisdom, war) and Aphrodite (goddess of love and beauty, who was awarded the prize in the myth!) might then correspond to Cersei, Elia and Lyanna respectively.  In the aftermath of the judgment of Paris, the abduction of Helen led to the Trojan War.

The power and far-reaching folly of 'passionate preference,' Lynn..!

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10 hours ago, ravenous reader said:

The power and far-reaching folly of 'passionate preference,' Lynn..!

And yet Ned doesn't ascribe any romantic intent when he says that Rhaegar gave Lyanna the Queen of Beauty laurel.  He doesn't call it the Queen of Love and Beauty's laurel.  That's a flag to me that everything isn't as it seems.  The 'folly' might be in thinking that this was a romantic choice rather than a political choice or something else entirely. Rhaegar meant to be a just and fair king. 

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A Dance with Dragons - The Queensguard

Barristan Selmy had known many kings. He had been born during the troubled reign of Aegon the Unlikely, beloved by the common folk, had received his knighthood at his hands. Aegon's son Jaehaerys had bestowed the white cloak on him when he was three-and-twenty, after he slew Maelys the Monstrous during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. In that same cloak he had stood beside the Iron Throne as madness consumed Jaehaerys's son Aerys. Stood, and saw, and heard, and yet did nothing.

But no. That was not fair. He did his duty. Some nights, Ser Barristan wondered if he had not done that duty too well. He had sworn his vows before the eyes of gods and men, he could not in honor go against them … but the keeping of those vows had grown hard in the last years of King Aerys's reign. He had seen things that it pained him to recall, and more than once he wondered how much of the blood was on his own hands. If he had not gone into Duskendale to rescue Aerys from Lord Darklyn's dungeons, the king might well have died there as Tywin Lannister sacked the town. Then Prince Rhaegar would have ascended the Iron Throne, mayhaps to heal the realm. Duskendale had been his finest hour, yet the memory tasted bitter on his tongue.

 

 

It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings. Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it.

 

 

This is a very telling passage:
 

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A Clash of Kings - Tyrion VI

Pycelle's breathing was rapid and shallow. "All I did, I did for House Lannister." A sheen of sweat covered the broad dome of the old man's brow, and wisps of white hair clung to his wrinkled skin. "Always . . . for years . . . your lord father, ask him, I was ever his true servant . . . 'twas I who bid Aerys open his gates . . ."

"For the realm! Once Rhaegar died, the war was done. Aerys was mad, Viserys too young, Prince Aegon a babe at the breast, but the realm needed a king . . . I prayed it should be your good father, but Robert was too strong, and Lord Stark moved too swiftly . . ."

 

 

"How many have you betrayed, I wonder? Aerys, Eddard Stark, me . . . King Robert as well? Lord Arryn, Prince Rhaegar? Where does it begin, Pycelle?" He knew where it ended.

 

 

 

The axe scratched at the apple of Pycelle's throat and stroked the soft wobbly skin under his jaw, scraping away the last hairs. "You . . . were not here," he gasped when the blade moved upward to his cheeks. "Robert . . . his wounds . . . if you had seen them, smelled them, you would have no doubt . . .

 

 

On a side note, Robert is often described as 'strong'. :D 

Where does it begin and where does it end?

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  • 2 weeks later...

 

I wonder if GRRM is referencing many modern-day songs in his narrative.  For example, 'Moonshadow'...

 

 

Moonshadow
 

Oh, I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

And if I ever lose my hands, lose my plough, lose my land, [Jaime]
Oh if I ever lose my hands, Oh if... I won't have to work no more.
And if I ever lose my eyes, if my colours all run dry, [Bloodraven, AemonTargaryen]
Yes if I ever lose my eyes, Oh if... I won't have to cry no more.

Yes I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

And if I ever lose my legs, I won't moan, and I won't beg, [Bran, Doran Martell]
Yes if I ever lose my legs, Oh if... I won't have to walk no more.
And if I ever lose my mouth, all my teeth, north and south, [Ilyn Payne. Wex Pyke, Nissa Nissa, Azor Ahai]
Yes if I ever lose my mouth, Oh if... I won't have to talk...

Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.
Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night?

I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

 

Writer(s): Yusuf Islam 

 

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A Feast for Crows - Samwell III

Yes, thought Sam, and the wine is everywhere but here. Braavos was full of inns, alehouses, and brothels. And if Dareon preferred a fire and a cup of mulled wine to stale bread and the company of a weeping woman, a fat craven, and a sick old man, who could blame him? I could blame him. He said he would be back before the gloaming; he said he would bring us wine and food.

He looked out the window once more, hoping against hope to see the singer hurrying home. Darkness was falling across the secret city, creeping through the alleys and down the canals. The good folk of Braavos would soon be shuttering their windows and sliding bars across their doors. Night belonged to the bravos and the courtesans. Dareon's new friends, Sam thought bitterly. They were all the singer could talk about of late. He was trying to write a song about one courtesan, a woman called the Moonshadow who had heard him singing beside the Moon Pool and rewarded him with a kiss. "You should have asked her for silver," Sam had said. "It's coin we need, not kisses." But the singer only smiled. "Some kisses are worth more than yellow gold, Slayer."

That made him angry too. Dareon was not supposed to be making up songs about courtesans. He was supposed to be singing about the Wall and the valor of the Night's Watch. Jon had hoped that perhaps his songs might persuade a few young men to take the black. Instead he sang of golden kisses, silvery hair, and red, red lips. No one ever took the black for red, red lips.

 

A Feast for Crows - Cat Of The Canals

His shipmates looked at him and laughed. "Seven hells, boy," said one of them. "Might be the captain could get hisself a courty-san, but only if he sold the bloody ship. That sort o' cunt's for lords and such, not for the likes o' us."

The courtesans of Braavos were famed across the world. Singers sang of them, goldsmiths and jewelers showered them with gifts, craftsmen begged for the honor of their custom, merchant princes paid royal ransoms to have them on their arms at balls and feasts and mummer shows, and bravos slew each other in their names. As she pushed her barrow along the canals, Cat would sometimes glimpse one of them floating by, on her way to an evening with some lover. Every courtesan had her own barge, and servants to pole her to her trysts. The Poetess always had a book to hand, the Moonshadow wore only white and silver, and the Merling Queen was never seen without her Mermaids, four young maidens in the blush of their first flowering who held her train and did her hair. Each courtesan was more beautiful than the last. Even the Veiled Lady was beautiful, though only those she took as lovers ever saw her face.

"I sold three cockles to a courtesan," Cat told the sailors. "She called to me as she was stepping off her barge." Brusco had made it plain to her that she was never to speak to a courtesan unless she was spoken to first, but the woman had smiled at her and paid her in silver, ten times what the cockles had been worth.

I've just realized; 'The Poetess' is a courtesan...that was certainly not my intention in choosing my avatar signature, LOL...;)  At least she 'always has a book to hand', making her a respectable 'reader'...

Have any of you any other suggestions as to song references, for example, what about 'Two hearts beating as one...'?

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A Storm of Swords - Jon II

It was easy to lose your way beyond the Wall. Jon did not know that he could tell honor from shame anymore, or right from wrong. Father forgive me. "Yes," he said.

Mance nodded. "Good. You'll go with Jarl and Styr on the morrow, then. Both of you. Far be it from me to separate two hearts that beat as one."

"Go where?" said Jon.

 

A Storm of Swords - Jon III

I should have tried to kill Mance Rayder on the Fist, even if it meant my life. That was what Qhorin Halfhand would have done. But Jon had hesitated, and the chance passed. The next day he had ridden off with Styr the Magnar, Jarl, and more than a hundred picked Thenns and raiders. He told himself that he was only biding his time, that when the moment came he would slip away and ride for Castle Black. The moment never came. They rested most nights in empty wildling villages, and Styr always set a dozen of his Thenns to guard the horses. Jarl watched him suspiciously. And Ygritte was never far, day or night.

Two hearts that beat as one. Mance Rayder's mocking words rang bitter in his head. Jon had seldom felt so confused. I have no choice, he'd told himself the first time, when she slipped beneath his sleeping skins. If I refuse her, she will know me for a turncloak. I am playing the part the Halfhand told me to play.

His body had played the part eagerly enough. His lips on hers, his hand sliding under her doeskin shirt to find a breast, his manhood stiffening when she rubbed her mound against it through their clothes. My vows, he'd thought, remembering the weirwood grove where he had said them, the nine great white trees in a circle, the carved red faces watching, listening. But her fingers were undoing his laces and her tongue was in his mouth and her hand slipped inside his smallclothes and brought him out, and he could not see the weirwoods anymore, only her. She bit his neck and he nuzzled hers, burying his nose in her thick red hair. Lucky, he thought, she is lucky, fire-kissed. "Isn't that good?" she whispered as she guided him inside her. She was sopping wet down there, and no maiden, that was plain, but Jon did not care. His vows, her maidenhood, none of it mattered, only the heat of her, the mouth on his, the finger that pinched at his nipple. "Isn't that sweet?" she said again. "Not so fast, oh, slow, yes, like that. There now, there now, yes, sweet, sweet. You know nothing, Jon Snow, but I can show you. Harder now. Yessss."

 

A Storm of Swords - Arya V

It would have been a good time to sneak away and steal a horse, but Arya couldn't see how that would help her. She could only ride as far as the city gates. That captain would never let me pass, and if he did, Harwin would come after me, or that Huntsman with his dogs. She wished she had her map, so she could see how far Stoney Sept was from Riverrun.

By the time her cup was empty, Arya was yawning. Gendry hadn't come back. Tom Sevenstrings was singing "Two Hearts that Beat as One," and kissing a different girl at the end of every verse. In the corner by the window Lem and Harwin sat talking to red-haired Tansy in low voices. ". . . spent the night in Jaime's cell," she heard the woman say. "Her and this other wench, the one who slew Renly. All three o' them together, and come the morn Lady Catelyn cut him loose for love." She gave a throaty chuckle.

It's not true, Arya thought. She never would. She felt sad and angry and lonely, all at once.

 

A Storm of Swords - Jon V

The Thenns were hardened warriors, and more disciplined than the common run of wildling; no doubt that was why Mance had chosen them. The defenders of Castle Black would include blind Maester Aemon and his half-blind steward Clydas, one-armed Donal Noye, drunken Septon Cellador, Deaf Dick Follard, Three-Finger Hobb the cook, old Ser Wynton Stout, as well as Halder and Toad and Pyp and Albett and the rest of the boys who'd trained with Jon. And commanding them would be red-faced Bowen Marsh, the plump Lord Steward who had been made castellan in Lord Mormont's absence. Dolorous Edd sometimes called Marsh "the Old Pomegranate," which fit him just as well as "the Old Bear" fit Mormont. "He's the man you want in front when the foes are in the field," Edd would say in his usual dour voice. "He'll count them right up for you. A regular demon for counting, that one."

If the Magnar takes Castle Black unawares, it will be red slaughter, boys butchered in their beds before they know they are under attack. Jon had to warn them, but how? He was never sent out to forage or hunt, nor allowed to stand a watch alone. And he feared for Ygritte as well. He could not take her, but if he left her, would the Magnar make her answer for his treachery? Two hearts that beat as one . . .

They shared the same sleeping skins every night, and he went to sleep with her head against his chest and her red hair tickling his chin. The smell of her had become a part of him. Her crooked teeth, the feel of her breast when he cupped it in his hand, the taste of her mouth . . . they were his joy and his despair. Many a night he lay with Ygritte warm beside him, wondering if his lord father had felt this confused about his mother, whoever she had been. Ygritte set the trap and Mance Rayder pushed me into it.

 

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Petyr gave a shrug. "As my lady commands, then. I am helpless before you, as ever."

They said their vows within the hour, standing beneath a sky-blue canopy as the sun sank in the west. Afterward trestle tables were set up beneath the small flint tower, and they feasted on quail, venison, and roast boar, washing it down with a fine light mead. Torches were lit as dusk crept in. Lysa's singer played "The Vow Unspoken" and "Seasons of My Love" and "Two Hearts That Beat as One." Several younger knights even asked Sansa to dance. Her aunt danced as well, her skirts whirling when Petyr spun her in his arms. Mead and marriage had taken years off Lady Lysa. She laughed at everything so long as she held her husband's hand, and her eyes seemed to glow whenever she looked at him.

When it was time for the bedding, her knights carried her up to the tower, stripping her as they went and shouting bawdy jests. Tyrion spared me that, Sansa remembered. It would not have been so bad being undressed for a man she loved, by friends who loved them both. By Joffrey, though . . . She shuddered.

 

A Dance with Dragons - The Prince of Winterfell

After a moment of silent prayer, the man and woman rose again. Ramsay undid the cloak that Theon had slipped about his bride's shoulders moments before, the heavy white wool cloak bordered in grey fur, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. In its place he fastened a pink cloak, spattered with red garnets like those upon his doublet. On its back was the flayed man of the Dreadfort done in stiff red leather, grim and grisly.

Quick as that, it was done. Weddings went more quickly in the north. It came of not having priests, Theon supposed, but whatever the reason it seemed to him a mercy. Ramsay Bolton scooped his wife up in his arms and strode through the mists with her. Lord Bolton and his Lady Walda followed, then the rest. The musicians began to play again, and the bard Abel began to sing "Two Hearts That Beat as One." Two of his women joined their voices to his own to make a sweet harmony.

Theon found himself wondering if he should say a prayer. Will the old gods hear me if I do? They were not his gods, had never been his gods. He was ironborn, a son of Pyke, his god was the Drowned God of the islands … but Winterfell was long leagues from the sea. It had been a lifetime since any god had heard him. He did not know who he was, or what he was, why he was still alive, why he had ever been born.

The Mystery Knight

By the time he emerged from under the steps, the two lords were well across the yard. He almost shouted after them, to make them show their faces, but thought better of it. He was alone and unarmed, and half-drunk besides. Maybe more than half. He stood there frowning for a moment, then marched back to the hall.

Inside, the last course had been served and the frolics had begun. One of Lord Frey's daughters played "Two Hearts That Beat As One" on the high harp, very badly. Some jugglers flung flaming torches at each other for a while, and some tumblers did cartwheels in the air. Lord Frey's nephew began to sing "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" while Ser Kirby Pimm beat out time upon the table with a wooden spoon. Others joined in, until the whole hall was bellowing, "A bear! A bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair!" Lord Caswell passed out at the table with his face in a puddle of wine, and Lady Vyrwel began to weep, though no one was quite certain as to the cause of her distress.

 

Some suggestions:

 

Two Hearts
 

Well, there was no reason to believe she'd always be there
But if you don't put faith in what you believe in
It's getting you nowhere
Cos it hurts, you never let go
Don't look down, just look up
Cos she's always there to behind you, just to remind you

Two hearts, believing in just one mind
You know we're two hearts believing in just one mind

Cos there's no easy way to, to understand it
There's so much of my life in her, and it's like I'm blinded
And it teaches you to never let go
There's so much love you'll never know
She can reach you no matter how far
Wherever you are

Two hearts, believing in just one mind
Beating together till the end of time

You know we're two hearts believing in just one mind
Together forever till the end of time

She knows (she knows)
There'll always be a special place in my heart for her
She knows, she knows, she knows
Yeah, she knows (she knows)
No matter how far apart we are
She knows, I'm always right there beside her

We're two hearts...

 

-- Phil Collins 

 

 

 

Two Hearts
 

No stars in the sky, the night seems so dark around you.
You won't say a word, and wonder why no one's found you,
Waiting for love, praying for love again........

Love's a heavy weight, give it to me don't hesitate.
Love's a heavy thing, too heavy for one heart to bring me your love.
Give me your love again, it's not your fault.
One heart can never win it takes.

Two hearts, two hearts just to hold love.

Two hearts, two hearts just to hold your lo-o-o-o-o-ve.
Your lo-o-o-o-o-ve.

And if your heart should ache,
Remember me.
And if your heart should break.

Two hearts, two hearts they can mend it.
Heartache, heartaches can be ended by love, by love. 

Love's a heavy weight, give to me don't hesitate.
Love's a heavy thing, too heavy for one heart to bring me your love.
Give me your love again, It's not too late.
One heart can never win, it takes two hearts.

Two hearts, two hearts just to hold love
Two hearts, two hearts just to hold your lo-o-o-o-o-ve
Your lo-o-o-o-o-ve.

 

-- Chris Isaak

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

I read the following on Maria Popova's blog 'Brain Pickings,' which reminded me of what I have been trying to articulate surrounding the 'killing word' theme of my eponymous thread (see below for summary).  She cites some excerpts, which I'd like to share further, by the fantasy novelist Ursula K. Le Guin , exploring the transformative power of language, particularly within the context of the oral storytelling tradition, in a piece entitled “Telling Is Listening,” taken from the book 'The Wave in the Mind: Talks and Essays on the Writer, the Reader, and the Imagination' (for clarification, I have added a few of my own comments in square brackets): 

 

Sound signifies event. A noise means something is happening. Let’s say there’s a mountain out your window. You see the mountain. Your eyes report changes, snowy in winter, brown in summer, but mainly just report that it’s there. It’s scenery. But if you hear that mountain, then you know it’s doing something. I see Mount St. Helens out my study window, about eighty miles north. I did not hear it explode in 1980: the sound wave was so huge that it skipped Portland entirely and touched down in Eugene, a hundred miles to the south. Those who did hear that noise knew that something had happened. That was a word worth hearing. Sound is event.

Speech, the most specifically human sound, and the most significant kind of sound, is never just scenery, it’s always event.

When you speak a word to a listener, the speaking is an act. And it is a mutual act: the listener’s listening enables the speaker’s speaking. It is a shared event, intersubjective: the listener and speaker entrain with each other. Both the amoebas are equally responsible, equally physically, immediately involved in sharing bits of themselves [comparing human communication to amoebas having sex, sharing bits of themselves through a common conduit!].

[…]

The voice creates a sphere around it, which includes all its hearers: an intimate sphere or area, limited in both space and time.

Creation is an act. Action takes energy.

Sound is dynamic. Speech is dynamic — it is action. To act is to take power, to have power, to be powerful. Mutual communication between speakers and listeners is a powerful act. The power of each speaker is amplified, augmented, by the entrainment of the listeners [she talks about 'entrainment' as a kind of oscillation or vibration, synchronising the speaker with the listener]. The strength of a community is amplified, augmented by its mutual entrainment in speech.

[…]

This is why utterance is magic. Words do have power. Names have power. Words are events, they do things, change things. They transform both speaker and hearer; they feed energy back and forth and amplify it. They feed understanding or emotion back and forth and amplify it.

 

 

On 5/20/2017 at 4:53 PM, Traverys said:

Can someone put in a nutshell this "Killing Word" concept for me? Every time I try to read that post I'm thrown off by all the esoteric word use and the spectrum of colors used in the formatting.

In a nutshell, GRRM seems to be imbuing (I hope that word is not too 'esoteric' for your taste ;)) or investing words with magical power in certain key situations throughout the novels, a technique which I've compared to the idea behind the 'killing word' weapon in the movie 'Dune,' by which someone's name becomes weaponized.  Thus, certain words, songs, music, and other sounds and signs can all potentially be thought of as spells, in the vein of the psychological/anthropological concept of 'magical thinking.'  Though I've illustrated the concept with the catchphrase 'killing word,' perhaps this is misleading, since it's important to note that words can be used to shape both creative and destructive outcomes, with healing as well as harming potential, as the character Paul Atreides from 'Dune' suggests:

 

Paul:  

'Some thoughts have a certain sound, that being the equivalent to a form.  Through sound and motion, you will be able to paralyze nerves, shatter bones, set fires, suffocate an enemy or burst his organs. We will kill until no Harkonnen breathes Arakeen air.'

 'My own name is a killing word.  Will it be a healing word as well?'

 

In the offputting thread you referenced, in which I performed an allegorical, not literal, close reading of the Prologue -- 'The Killing Word -- a Re-examination of the Prologue' -- the most startling conclusion I reached was that Will up the sentinel tree in uttering 'the whispered prayer to the nameless gods of the wood' had in effect summoned those 'nameless gods of the wood', who are none other than the Others!  If you read that passage carefully, you will notice that the nameless, faceless gods in question arrived on the scene almost immediately following the vocalization of the words, emerging from the wood soon upon the 'prayer', as if on cue -- as if they had been summoned up in a kind of demonic seance.  In that situation, the 'whispered prayer' is the equivalent of the 'killing word'; the Others are the weaponised form of the word, the proxy, or the catspaw of the one speaking the command; Will is the trickster greenseer archetype; and Waymar is the target of the weapon.  Whether the one uttering the killing word killed his 'brother' inadvertently or by design I haven't yet concluded.  The point of the archetypal conflict uncovered by such an allegorical reading might be interpreted as an echo lending insight to some other earlier, historical conflict, perhaps even the pivotal events leading up to the Long Night and the Last Hero. 

Another example of the same principle:  Arya as trickster greenseer kneels in front of the Harrenhal heart tree, saying a prayer, similarly calling on the gods to help her -- who then appear in the form of Jaqen, a faceless, nameless assassin who emerges from the trees on cue.  The assassin grants her three further wishes, which are in essence incommutable death sentences for whomever she chooses to name.  Pronouncing a name = pronouncing a death sentence = effecting a 'killing word'!

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A Clash of Kings - Arya IX

If the Lorathi was a wizard, Rorge and Biter could be demons he called up from some hell, not men at all.

Jaqen still owed her one death. In Old Nan's stories about men who were given magic wishes by a grumkin, you had to be especially careful with the third wish, because it was the last. Chiswyck and Weese hadn't been very important. The last death has to count, Arya told herself every night when she whispered her names. But now she wondered if that was truly the reason she had hesitated. So long as she could kill with a whisper, Arya need not be afraid of anyone . . . but once she used up the last death, she would only be a mouse again.

 

A Clash of Kings - Arya IX

"A man sees. A man hears. A man knows."

She regarded him suspiciously. Had the gods sent him? "How'd you make the dog kill Weese? Did you call Rorge and Biter up from hell? Is Jaqen H'ghar your true name?"

Further examples:

  • On the Fist of the First Men, Sam trips over tree root, calls on the gods and demons; the Others appear
  • The crannogman prays to a tree for a savior; receives help in the form of 'the knight of the laughing tree'
  • Theon prays to the Winterfell heart tree, requesting a sword; Bran answers
  • The pregnant woman in Bran's vision emerging from the black pool next to the heart tree, calls on the gods for a son to avenge her; who knows what kind of child was born and what s/he may have done?
  • Sam says the words 'I am the sword...' entreating the white weirwood of the 'black gate'; the portal opens like a mouth to consume Bran and his companions
  • Arya says the words 'Valar morghulis' to the weirwood-and-ebony doors of the House of Black and White; the doors open to admit her
  • The sound of the dragonbinder horn 'splits the air' and kills the one blowing it
  • The sound of Nissa Nissa 'cracks a moon,'  'her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon' (ACOK -- Davos I)
  • The sound of Drogon hatching from his egg 'breaks the world'
  • The sound of the speech of the Other cracks the sword (some forum users argue that the trigger for the sword shattering was Waymar's blood; I say the critical element was the cracking word which compromised the sword so that there was no turning back...)
  • 'Mirri Maz Duur chanted words in a tongue that Dany did not know, and a knife appeared in her hand.  Dany never saw where it came from. It looked old; hammered red bronze, leaf-shaped, its blade covered with ancient glyphs. The maegi drew it across the stallion's throat, under the noble head, and the horse screamed and shuddered as the blood poured out of him in a red rush'. (AGOT -- Daenerys VIII)
  • Robb 'quarrelled' with sharp-tongued Walder Frey; sharp 'quarrels' in turn were unleashed on him at the Red Wedding (this is a good example of what I've termed in my essay the 'counter-mocking' response -- boomerang or backlash effect)
  • The music of the 'howling chorus of wolf song' drifting through the window which Robb, a fellow warg, has deliberately opened for that purpose, makes Bran's heart beat faster
  • Howland Reed 'could breathe mud and run on leaves, and change earth to water and water to earth with no more than a whispered word. He could talk to trees and weave words and make castles appear and disappear' (ASOS -- Bran II)
  • Bran speaks to his father in the past, 'his voice a whisper on the wind'; Ned looks up, turns around to face the tree, and asks 'who's there?'
  • And many many more...

Traverys, I hope reading this was not too onerous, that you find me 'charmingly abrasive' as ever, with an emphasis, however, on the charming and less on the abrasive; and that by now, you have a better understanding of the concept, and hopefully some thoughts of your own as to how and why GRRM's poetics may be fashioned in this way.  Perhaps you can think of a few examples yourself?  I would love to hear from you and any others who may be reading along.  :)

 

 

 

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I’m gonna just have some fun with quotes here…

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

The end of Frost’s much discussed poem. 

 

The poem itself is a reference to Dante’s Divine Comedy, which begins…

 

In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself astray in a dark wood
where the straight road had been lost.
How hard it is to say what it was like
in the thick of thickets, in a wood so dense and gnarled
the very thought of it renews my panic.

It is bitter almost as death itself is bitter.
But to rehearse the good it also brought me
I will speak about the 
other things I saw there.

 

This is not a man who knows no fear. Fear and dealing with it is a main theme of the series, but this passage as a whole is reminiscent of the prologue of Game of Thrones. 

 

Not only this, I think the line “It is bitter almost as death itself is bitter.” is reflected in the series repeatedly. Of course Dante’s whole Divine Comedy is about the “truth” about what happens after death, and the “truth” of the human soul. 

 

My ears perk up whenever I see “bitter”, I highly recommend using asearchoficeandfire.com to look up “bitter”. There are about 100 uses, almost all seemingly very relevant to the plot.

 

Bitterness however also seems to be associated with truth, or a “hidden” truth whose discovery is bitter. A few nice examples:

 

Robert's mouth gave a bitter twist. "Not well, in truth," he admitted. "I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes.

Of course Lysa killed Jon Arryn.

 

That brought a bitter twist to Ned's mouth. "Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King's Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me."

 

"Mothers." The man made the word sound like a curse. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." He laughed. It was a bitter sound. "Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof." He paused a moment. "Or does she?"

The hair color gives the little incest kiddies away.

Ned had a bitter taste in his mouth. He recalled the two fair-haired boys Robert had sent chasing after a breastplate stretcher. The king had told everyone the tale that night at the feast, laughing until he shook. "Which squire?"

 

"That I did, girl," Ser Jorah said. "And if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what does that make his servants?" His voice was bitter.

Jorah isn’t serving Viserys, he is a spy for Varys.

 

"No, he can't die, he mustn't, it was only a cut." Dany took his large callused hand in her own small ones, and held it tight between them. "I will not let him die …"

Ser Jorah gave a bitter laugh. "Khaleesi or queen, that command is beyond your power. Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies."

Dany was lost. "Go? Where should we go?"

Jorah might be wrong about Dany’s ability to ward off death, however the truth is that they should just let him die.

 

"You were not there," Ned said, bitterness in his voice. Troubled sleep was no stranger to him. He had lived his lies for fourteen years, yet they still haunted him at night. "There was no honor in that conquest."

"The Others take your honor!" Robert swore. "What did any Targaryen ever know of honor? Go down into your crypt and ask Lyanna about the dragon's honor!"

R+L=J anyone?

 

 

The king's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. "No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he's handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him."

Despite the fact that Dany is told she is on the run from the Usurper’s hired knives, Robert had never sent any (thank you Jon Arryn). In addition, we find out later that Illyrio (the pox ridden cheesemonger) had been planning Dany’s wedding for years, so it’s unclear why they were running aimlessly around Essos when he is so wealthy.

"For a start," said Ned, "I do not kill children. You would do well to listen, my lady. I shall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You and your children, all three, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow."

"Exile," she said. "A bitter cup to drink from."

"A sweeter cup than your father served Rhaegar's children," Ned said, "and kinder than you deserve. Your father and your brothers would do well to go with you. Lord Tywin's gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to keep you safe. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert's wrath will follow you, to the back of beyond if need be."

 

-

 

It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory's father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.

 

-

 

And look! coming toward us in a boat,

An old man, his hair hoary with age, rose

Yelling, "Woe to you, you wicked souls! ("Woe to the Usurper if we had been,")

"Have no hope of ever seeing heaven!

I come to take you to the other shore,

Into eternal darkness, into fire, and into ice.

With these words he silenced the wooly cheeks

Of the old ferryman of the livid marshes

Who had two rings of flame around his eyes.

 

Howland Reed is described as a boat paddling marsh dweller. 

 

Some say the world will end in fire, 

Some say in ice. 

From what I’ve tasted of desire 

I hold with those who favor fire. 

But if it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate 

To say that for destruction ice 

Is also great 

And would suffice.

 

"The way the world is made. The truth is all around you, plain to behold. The night is dark and full of terrors, the day bright and beautiful and full of hope. One is black, the other white. There is ice and there is fire. Hate and love. Bitter and sweet. Male and female. Pain and pleasure. Winter and summer. Evil and good." She took a step toward him. "Death and life. Everywhere, opposites. Everywhere, the war."

 

Of course if I’m going to examine the start of Dante I may as well look at the end as well.

 

As the geometer who sets himself

To square the circle and who cannot find,

For all his thought, the principle he needs,

 

Just so was I on seeing this new vision

I wanted to see how our image fuses

Into the circle and finds its place in it,

 

Yet my wings were not meant for such a flight — (Bran anyone?)

Except that then my mind was struck by lightning

Through which my longing was at last fulfilled.

 

Here powers failed my high imagination:

But by now my desire and will were turned,

Like a balanced wheel rotated evenly,

 

By the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.

 

 

My sun and stars...

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On 6/23/2017 at 0:13 PM, LiveFirstDieLater said:

I’m gonna just have some fun with quotes here…

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

The end of Frost’s much discussed poem. 

 

The poem itself is a reference to Dante’s Divine Comedy, which begins…

 

 

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
ché la diritta via era smarrita.

Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura
esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte
che nel pensier rinova la paura!

Tant' è amara che poco è più morte;
ma per trattar del ben ch'i' vi trovai,
dirò de l'altre cose ch'i' v'ho scorte.

 

Quote

 

 In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself astray in a dark wood
where the straight road had been lost.
How hard it is to say what it was like
in the thick of thickets, in a wood so dense and gnarled
the very thought of it renews my panic.

It is bitter almost as death itself is bitter.
But to rehearse the good it also brought me
I will speak about the 
other things I saw there.

 

This is not a man who knows no fear. Fear and dealing with it is a main theme of the series, but this passage as a whole is reminiscent of the prologue of Game of Thrones. 

Hi again @LiveFirstDieLater, thank you for dropping by -- great catch!  Can't believe, after all these pages of mine waffling about Frost, that I missed that obvious Dante connection, LOL.  :)

We should get @LynnS in here, given her interest in Robert Frost (indeed, Lynn is overly fond of anyone named 'Robert'...;)); as well as cara @Cridefea, our resident Italian expert :wub:, who has already highlighted that pleasing Dante allusion about the Mastiff/Hound defeating the Mountain!  

Also, @Tijgy has written some interesting pieces on our new Bran's growing powers re-read thread, 'The Truth that lies beneath the world...' exploring the themes of 'fear' as it relates to Bran's search for the 'truth' which I recommend reading.

I agree that passage from Dante's Inferno relates to the Prologue.  Specifically, the following passages come to mind, including several passages later involving Tyrion, who seems to be particularly haunted by the northern forest for some reason (foreshadowing..?).  Like Waymar, who mocks Gared's advice, and comes to a sticky (sap) end...Tyrion mocks Alliser Thorne who has brought news of the dead rising; so I wonder what we should conclude about Tyrion's respective fate.  I've discovered that those who 'mock' do not generally escape unscathed, without first suffering what I've termed GRRM's characteristic 'counter-mocking' poetic justice...

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A Game of Thrones - Prologue

"We have a long ride before us," Gared pointed out. "Eight days, maybe nine. And night is falling."

Ser Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. "It does that every day about this time. Are you unmanned by the dark, Gared?"

 

A Game of Thrones - Prologue

Will could feel it. Four years in the Night's Watch, and he had never been so afraid. What was it?

"Wind. Trees rustling. A wolf. Which sound is it that unmans you so, Gared?" When Gared did not answer, Royce slid gracefully from his saddle. He tied the destrier securely to a low-hanging limb, well away from the other horses, and drew his longsword from its sheath. Jewels glittered in its hilt, and the moonlight ran down the shining steel. It was a splendid weapon, castle-forged, and new-made from the look of it. Will doubted it had ever been swung in anger.

"The trees press close here," Will warned. "That sword will tangle you up, m'lord. Better a knife."

 

Quote

A Clash of Kings - Tyrion VI

"As you will," Ser Alliser said, displeasure in every word. "I am sent to tell you that we found two rangers, long missing. They were dead, yet when we brought the corpses back to the Wall they rose again in the night. One slew Ser Jaremy Rykker, while the second tried to murder the Lord Commander."

Distantly, Tyrion heard someone snigger. Does he mean to mock me with this folly? He shifted uneasily and glanced down at Varys, Littlefinger, and Pycelle, wondering if one of them had a role in this. A dwarf enjoyed at best a tenuous hold on dignity. Once the court and kingdom started to laugh at him, he was doomed. And yet . . . and yet . . .

Tyrion remembered a cold night under the stars when he'd stood beside the boy Jon Snow and a great white wolf atop the Wall at the end of the world, gazing out at the trackless dark beyond. He had felt - what? - something, to be sure, a dread that had cut like that frigid northern wind. A wolf had howled off in the night, and the sound had sent a shiver through him.

Don't be a fool, he told himself. A wolf, a wind, a dark forest, it meant nothing. And yet . . . He had come to have a liking for old Jeor Mormont during his time at Castle Black. "I trust that the Old Bear survived this attack?"

"He did."

"And that your brothers killed these, ah, dead men?"

"We did."

"You're certain that they are dead this time?" Tyrion asked mildly. When Bronn choked on a snort of laughter, he knew how he must proceed. "Truly truly dead?"

"They were dead the first time," Ser Alliser snapped. "Pale and cold, with black hands and feet. I brought Jared's hand, torn from his corpse by the bastard's wolf."

Littlefinger stirred. "And where is this charming token?"

Ser Alliser frowned uncomfortably. "It . . . rotted to pieces while I waited, unheard. There's naught left to show but bones."

Titters echoed through the hall. "Lord Baelish," Tyrion called down to Littlefinger, "buy our brave Ser Alliser a hundred spades to take back to the Wall with him."

"Spades?" Ser Alliser narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"If you bury your dead, they won't come walking," Tyrion told him, and the court laughed openly. "Spades will end your troubles, with some strong backs to wield them. Ser Jacelyn, see that the good brother has his pick of the city dungeons."

Ser Jacelyn Bywater said, "As you will, my lord, but the cells are near empty. Yoren took all the likely men."

"Arrest some more, then," Tyrion told him. "Or spread the word that there's bread and turnips on the Wall, and they'll go of their own accord." The city had too many mouths to feed, and the Night's Watch a perpetual need of men. At Tyrion's signal, the herald cried an end, and the hall began to empty.

Ser Alliser Thorne was not so easily dismissed. He was waiting at the foot of the iron Throne when Tyrion descended. "Do you think I sailed all the way from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to be mocked by the likes of you?" he fumed, blocking the way. "This is no jape. I saw it with my own eyes. I tell you, the dead walk."

"You should try to kill them more thoroughly." Tyrion pushed past.

 

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Tyrion I

Somewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung over the castle like a flag of mourning.

Tyrion Lannister looked up from his books and shivered, though the library was snug and warm. Something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and now and left him in a dark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.

When the direwolf howled again, Tyrion shut the heavy leather-bound cover on the book he was reading, a hundred-year-old discourse on the changing of the seasons by a long-dead maester. He covered a yawn with the back of his hand. His reading lamp was flickering, its oil all but gone, as dawn light leaked through the high windows. He had been at it all night, but that was nothing new. Tyrion Lannister was not much a one for sleeping.

 

 

Quote

 

Not only this, I think the line “It is bitter almost as death itself is bitter.” is reflected in the series repeatedly. Of course Dante’s whole Divine Comedy is about the “truth” about what happens after death, and the “truth” of the human soul. 

 

My ears perk up whenever I see “bitter”, I highly recommend using asearchoficeandfire.com to look up “bitter”. There are about 100 uses, almost all seemingly very relevant to the plot.

Those searches focused on certain key words or phrases can often be quite illuminating.  @Wizz-The-Smith has mentioned compiling a list of GRRM's 'coded' words might be a useful exercise, e.g. 'whispering,' 'rustling,' 'howling,' etc.  What other words would you recommend putting on such a list?

Quote

Bitterness however also seems to be associated with truth, or a “hidden” truth whose discovery is bitter.

 

That's a good point.  Reality is sometimes a 'bitter pill to swallow,' leaving a bitter aftertaste, and draining the joy of life to a 'grey joy'; which must be balanced against the temptation to routinely sugarcoat reality to make it more palatable, e.g. Sansa's lemonpie, or even Dany and Bran's weirwood bole and shade of the evening respectively -- which at first tastes bitter, but becomes progressively sweeter and finally addictive (perhaps dangerously..?)  What truth is being overlooked in each of their cases?

Quote

A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

He ate.

It had a bitter taste, though not so bitter as acorn paste. The first spoonful was the hardest to get down. He almost retched it right back up. The second tasted better. The third was almost sweet. The rest he spooned up eagerly. Why had he thought that it was bitter? It tasted of honey, of new-fallen snow, of pepper and cinnamon and the last kiss his mother ever gave him. The empty bowl slipped from his fingers and clattered on the cavern floor. "I don't feel any different. What happens next?"

Leaf touched his hand. "The trees will teach you. The trees remember." He raised a hand, and the other singers began to move about the cavern, extinguishing the torches one by one. The darkness thickened and crept toward them.

 

Quote

A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

"Will it turn my lips blue?"

"One flute will serve only to unstop your ears and dissolve the caul from off your eyes, so that you may hear and see the truths that will be laid before you."

Dany raised the glass to her lips. The first sip tasted like ink and spoiled meat, foul, but when she swallowed it seemed to come to life within her. She could feel tendrils spreading through her chest, like fingers of fire coiling around her heart, and on her tongue was a taste like honey and anise and cream, like mother's milk and Drogo's seed, like red meat and hot blood and molten gold. It was all the tastes she had ever known, and none of them . . . and then the glass was empty.

 

GRRM often mentions this 'bittersweet' ethos permeating his work:

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One letter I got was from a woman, a waitress. She wrote me: "I work hard all day, I'm divorced, I have a couple of children. My life is very hard, and my one pleasure is I come home and I read fantasy, and I escape to other worlds. Then I read your book, and God, it was fucking horrifying. I don't read for this. This is a nightmare. Why would you do this to me?" That letter actually reached me. I wrote her back and basically said, "I'm sorry; I do understand where you're coming from." Some people do read . . . I don't like to use the word escape, because escapism has such a pejorative aspect, but it takes you to another world. Maybe it is escape. Reading fiction has helped me through some bad times in my own life. The night my father died, I was in Michigan and I got word from my mother. I couldn't get to a plane until the next day, so I sat around thinking about my father, the good and the bad in our relationship. I remember I opened whatever book I was reading, and for a few hours, I was able to stop thinking about my father's death. It was a relief. There are some people who read and want to believe in a world where the good guys win and the bad guys lose, and at the end they live happily ever after. That's not the kind of fiction that I write. Tolkien was not that. The scouring of the Shire proved that. Frodo's sadness – that was a bittersweet ending, which to my mind was far more powerful than the ending of Star Wars, where all the happy Ewoks are jumping around, and the ghosts of all the dead people appear, waving happily [laughs]. But I understand where the other people are coming from. There are a lot of books out there. Let everyone find the kind of book that speaks to them, and speaks to what they need emotionally.

Early on, one critic described the TV series as bleak and embodying a nihilistic worldview, another bemoaned its "lack of moral signposts." Have you ever worried that there's some validity to that criticism? 
No. That particular criticism is completely invalid. Actually, I think it's moronic. My worldview is anything but nihilistic.

From:  Rolling Stone Interview with GRRM

 

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A few nice examples:

Thank you.  I enjoyed these!

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Robert's mouth gave a bitter twist. "Not well, in truth," he admitted. "I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes.

Of course Lysa killed Jon Arryn.

 

That brought a bitter twist to Ned's mouth. "Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King's Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me."

 

"Mothers." The man made the word sound like a curse. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." He laughed. It was a bitter sound. "Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof." He paused a moment. "Or does she?"

The hair color gives the little incest kiddies away.

Ned had a bitter taste in his mouth. He recalled the two fair-haired boys Robert had sent chasing after a breastplate stretcher. The king had told everyone the tale that night at the feast, laughing until he shook. "Which squire?"

 

"That I did, girl," Ser Jorah said. "And if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what does that make his servants?" His voice was bitter.

Jorah isn’t serving Viserys, he is a spy for Varys.

 

"No, he can't die, he mustn't, it was only a cut." Dany took his large callused hand in her own small ones, and held it tight between them. "I will not let him die …"

Ser Jorah gave a bitter laugh. "Khaleesi or queen, that command is beyond your power. Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies."

Dany was lost. "Go? Where should we go?"

Jorah might be wrong about Dany’s ability to ward off death, however the truth is that they should just let him die.

 

"You were not there," Ned said, bitterness in his voice. Troubled sleep was no stranger to him. He had lived his lies for fourteen years, yet they still haunted him at night. "There was no honor in that conquest."

"The Others take your honor!" Robert swore. "What did any Targaryen ever know of honor? Go down into your crypt and ask Lyanna about the dragon's honor!"

R+L=J anyone?

 

What's your take on Ned's lingering bitterness?...the broken promises?...the 'hidden thorns' beneath the blue roses? You know GRRM has written a short story entitled, fittingly, 'Bitterblooms'?  Perhaps @The Fattest Leech could kindly give us a synopsis, together with her valuable insights on the 'bitterness' and/or sweetness involved -- thanks in advance, Leech!  :)

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A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV

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.

 

 

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The king's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. "No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he's handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him."

Despite the fact that Dany is told she is on the run from the Usurper’s hired knives, Robert had never sent any (thank you Jon Arryn). In addition, we find out later that Illyrio (the pox ridden cheesemonger) had been planning Dany’s wedding for years, so it’s unclear why they were running aimlessly around Essos when he is so wealthy.

"For a start," said Ned, "I do not kill children. You would do well to listen, my lady. I shall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You and your children, all three, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow."

"Exile," she said. "A bitter cup to drink from."

"A sweeter cup than your father served Rhaegar's children," Ned said, "and kinder than you deserve. Your father and your brothers would do well to go with you. Lord Tywin's gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to keep you safe. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert's wrath will follow you, to the back of beyond if need be."

 

It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory's father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.

 

 

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And look! coming toward us in a boat,

An old man, his hair hoary with age, rose

Yelling, "Woe to you, you wicked souls! ("Woe to the Usurper if we had been,")

"Have no hope of ever seeing heaven!

I come to take you to the other shore,

Into eternal darkness, into fire, and into ice.

 

What a great line!  

 

Ed ecco verso noi venir per nave
un vecchio, bianco per antico pelo,
gridando: «Guai a voi, anime prave!

Non isperate mai veder lo cielo:
i' vegno per menarvi a l'altra riva
ne le tenebre etterne, in caldo e 'n gelo.

 

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With these words he silenced the wooly cheeks

Of the old ferryman of the livid marshes

Who had two rings of flame around his eyes.

 

 

          Quinci fuor quete le lanose gote
          al nocchier de la livida palude,
          che 'ntorno a li occhi avea di fiamme rote.

 

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Howland Reed is described as a boat paddling marsh dweller. 

 

Howland Reed as psychopomp Charon the ferryman of Hades, ferrying the recently deceased souls across the rivers of the underworld (the life-death boundary).  

The rings of flame around the eyes is reminiscent of Moqorro:

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A Dance with Dragons - Victarion I

The next day a sudden squall descended on them. Moqorro had predicted that as well. When the rains moved on, three ships were found to have vanished. Victarion had no way to know whether they had foundered, run aground, or been blown off course. "They know where we are going," he told his crew. "If they are still afloat, we will meet again." The iron captain had no time to wait for laggards. Not with his bride encircled by her enemies. The most beautiful woman in the world has urgent need of my axe.

Besides, Moqorro assured him that the three ships were not lost. Each night, the sorcerer priest would kindle a fire on the forecastle of the Iron Victory and stalk around the flames, chanting prayers. The firelight made his black skin shine like polished onyx, and sometimes Victarion could swear that the flames tattooed on his face were dancing too, twisting and bending, melting into one another, their colors changing with every turn of the priest's head.

"The black priest is calling demons down on us," one oarsman was heard to say. 

 

 

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Some say the world will end in fire, 

Some say in ice. 

From what I’ve tasted of desire 

I hold with those who favor fire. 

But if it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate 

To say that for destruction ice 

Is also great 

And would suffice.

 

As far as the 'burning ice' or 'frozen fire' oxymoron, I like this poem:

 

ICE AND FIRE

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice,
And ice, which is congeal'd with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind. 

EDMUND SPENSER

 

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 "The way the world is made. The truth is all around you, plain to behold. The night is dark and full of terrors, the day bright and beautiful and full of hope. One is black, the other white. There is ice and there is fire. Hate and love. Bitter and sweet. Male and female. Pain and pleasure. Winter and summer. Evil and good." She took a step toward him. "Death and life. Everywhere, opposites. Everywhere, the war."

 

To which, GRRM offers this reply to Melisandre's manichaeism:

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A Storm of Swords - Bran II

"If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one."

"One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled."

 

And Leonard Cohen, this:

 

THERE IS A WAR

There is a war between the rich and poor, 
A war between the man and the woman. 
There is a war between the ones who say there is a war 
And the ones who say there isn't. 
Why don't you come on back to the war, that's right, get in it, 
Why don't you come on back to the war, it's just beginning. 

Well I live here with a woman and a child, 
The situation makes me kind of nervous. 
Yes, I rise up from her arms, she says "I guess you call this love" 
I call it service. 

Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be a tourist, 
Why don't you come on back to the war, before it hurts us, 
Why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get nervous. 

You cannot stand what I've become, 
You much prefer the gentleman I was before. 
I was so easy to defeat, I was so easy to control, 
I didn't even know there was a war. 

Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be embarrassed, 
Why don't you come on back to the war, you can still get married. 

There is a war between the rich and poor, 
A war between the man and the woman. 
There is a war between the left and right, 
A war between the black and white, 
A war between the odd and the even. 

Why don't you come on back to the war, pick up your tiny burden, 
Why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get even, 
Why don't you come on back to the war, can't you hear me speaking?

LEONARD COHEN

 

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 Of course if I’m going to examine the start of Dante I may as well look at the end as well.

 

Of course -- 

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends." 

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As the geometer who sets himself

To square the circle and who cannot find,

For all his thought, the principle he needs,

 

Just so was I on seeing this new vision

I wanted to see how our image fuses

Into the circle and finds its place in it,

 

Yet my wings were not meant for such a flight — (Bran anyone?)  @LiveFirstDieLater you might enjoy this poem

Except that then my mind was struck by lightning

Through which my longing was at last fulfilled.

 

Here powers failed my high imagination:

But by now my desire and will were turned,

Like a balanced wheel rotated evenly,

 

By the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.

 

 

My sun and stars...

That's another really lovely and unforgettable line!

 

Qual è 'l geomètra che tutto s'affige
per misurar lo cerchio, e non ritrova,
pensando, quel principio ond' elli indige,

tal era io a quella vista nova:
veder voleva come si convenne
l'imago al cerchio e come vi s'indova;

ma non eran da ciò le proprie penne:
se non che la mia mente fu percossa
da un fulgore in che sua voglia venne.

A l'alta fantasia qui mancò possa;
ma già volgeva il mio disio e 'l velle,
sì come rota ch'igualmente è mossa,

l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.

 

 

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I might had said it before but anyway. Imnsho JRRT's famous poem "All that is gold does not glitter" fits Jon and his storyline perfectly. 

All that is gold does not glitter,

not all those who wander are lost

the old that is strong does not wither,

deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

a light from the shadows shall spring

renewed shall be blade that was broken,

the crownless again shall be king.

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Hey there RR.

27 minutes ago, ravenous reader said:

What's your take on Ned's lingering bitterness?...the broken promises?...the 'hidden thorns' beneath the blue roses? You know GRRM has written a short story entitled, fittingly, 'Bitterblooms'?  Perhaps @The Fattest Leech could kindly give us a synopsis, together with her valuable insights on the 'bitterness' and/or sweetness involved -- thanks in advance, Leech!  :)

I will try not to spoil too much in case anyone is going to read these stories.

Well, you know how George likes to reuse his own themes, right? It is not just the story Bitterblooms that has a bittersweet ending, but also in my other favorite story Nightflyers :wub: and a main character in that one (very much a Tormund/Aemon type) likes to drink bittersweet drinking chocolate. At one point, when the guts are hitting the air, he actually turns away from his normal comforting process and rejects drinking the bittersweet chocolate. And this same character, as well as the final result in the overall plot, ends up getting close to what they want without ever having truly touched it- some touching literal, some touching figurative. It is the desire that got away in both stories. I would say of the two stories, Bitterblooms is actually more on the sad side.

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17 minutes ago, The Doctor's Consort said:

I might had said it before but anyway. Imnsho JRRT's famous poem "All that is gold does not glitter" fits Jon and his storyline perfectly. 

All that is gold does not glitter,

not all those who wander are lost

the old that is strong does not wither,

deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

a light from the shadows shall spring

renewed shall be blade that was broken,

the crownless again shall be king.

Hey, that is a lovely comparison ^_^

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Has this one been done? George uses it as the opener to his story And Seven Times Never Kill Man.

"Ye may kill for yourselves,

and your mates,

and your cubs as they need,

and ye can;

But kill not for pleasure of killing,

and seven times never kill man!"

-Rudyard Kipling

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