Small Questions v 10021

[Brynden Bloodraven Rivers]

No, Jaime was in Riverrun and Dunk & Egg in Whitewalls.

[TheCrannogDweller]

No, Jaime was in Riverrun and Dunk & Egg in Whitewalls.

Actually, IIRC, Jaime's weirwood dream happened at High Heart.

[Brynden Bloodraven Rivers]

It's Riverrun:

More days passed. Lord Emmon assembled all of Riverrun in the yard, Lord Edmure’s people and his own, and spoke to them for close on three hours about what would be expected of them now that he was their lord and master. From time to time he waved his parchment, as stableboys and serving girls and smiths listened in a sullen silence and a light rain fell down upon them all.

The singer was listening too, the one that Jaime had taken from Ser Ryman Frey. Jaime came upon him standing inside an open door, where it was dry. “His lordship should have been a singer,” the man said. “This speech is longer than a marcher ballad, and I don’t think he’s stopped for breath.”

Jaime had to laugh. “Lord Emmon does not need to breathe, so long as he can chew. Are you going to make a song of it?”

“A funny one. I’ll call it ‘Talking to the Fish.’”

“Just don’t play it where my aunt can hear.” Jaime had never paid the man much mind before. He was a small fellow, garbed in ragged green breeches and a frayed tunic of a lighter shade of green, with brown leather patches covering the holes. His nose was long and sharp, his smile big and loose. Thin brown hair fell to his collar, snaggled and unwashed. Fifty if he’s a day, thought Jaime, a hedge harp, and hard used by life. “Weren’t you Ser Ryman’s man when I found you?” he asked.

“Only for a fortnight.”
“I would have expected you to depart with the Freys.”
“That one up there’s a Frey,” the singer said, nodding at Lord Emmon, “and this castle seems a

nice snug place to pass the winter. Whitesmile Wat went home with Ser Forley, so I thought I’d see if I could win his place. Wat’s got that high sweet voice that the likes o’ me can’t hope to match. But I know twice as many bawdy songs as he does. Begging my lord’s pardon.”

“You should get on famously with my aunt,” said Jaime. “If you hope to winter here, see that your playing pleases Lady Genna. She’s the one that matters.”

“Not you?”
“My place is with the king. I shall not stay here long.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord. I know better songs than ‘The Rains of Castamere.’ I could

have played you... oh, all sorts o’ things.”
“Some other time,” said Jaime. “Do you have a name?”
“Tom of Sevenstreams, if it please my lord.” The singer doffed his hat. “Most call me Tom o’

Sevens, though.”
“Sing sweetly, Tom o’ Sevens.”

That night he dreamt that he was back in the Great Sept of Baelor, still standing vigil over his father’s corpse. The sept was still and dark, until a woman emerged from the shadows and walked slowly to the bier. “Sister?” he said.

But it was not Cersei. She was all in grey, a silent sister. A hood and veil concealed her features, but he could see the candles burning in the green pools of her eyes. “Sister,” he said, “what would you have of me?” His last word echoed up and down the sept, mememememememe.

“I am not your sister, Jaime.” She raised a pale soft hand and pushed her hood back. “Have you forgotten me?”

Can I forget someone I never knew? The words caught in his throat. He did know her, but it had been so long...

“Will you forget your own lord father too? I wonder if you ever knew him, truly.” Her eyes were green, her hair spun gold. He could not tell how old she was. Fifteen, he thought, or fifty. She climbed the steps to stand above the bier. “He could never abide being laughed at. That was the thing he hated most.”

“Who are you?” He had to hear her say it.
“The question is, who are you?”
“This is a dream.”
“Is it?” She smiled sadly. “Count your hands, child.”
One. One hand, clasped tight around the sword hilt. Only one. “In my dreams I always have

two hands.” He raised his right arm and stared uncomprehending at the ugliness of his stump. “We all dream of things we cannot have. Tywin dreamed that his son would be a great knight,

that his daughter would be a queen. He dreamed they would be so strong and brave and beautiful that no one would ever laugh at them.”

“I am a knight,” he told her, “and Cersei is a queen.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. The woman raised her hood again and turned her back on him. Jaime called after her, but already she was moving away, her skirt whispering lullabies as it brushed across the floor. Don’t leave me, he wanted to call, but of course she’d left them long ago.

[TheCrannogDweller]

Sorry, my mistake. I was thinking of a different dream - the one where he sees Rhaegar. I'm pretty sure that one had something to do with a weirwood stump.

[By the Old Gods Not theNew]

I'm pretty sure this is the Jaime/Weirwood dream passage in question. The weirwood grove was near Harrenhal (where Jaime had just left w/ Steelshanks Walton) but I don't think it's the same one mentioned in TMK which is next to the Inn of Crossroads:

Jaime ASoS:

By evenfall they had left the lake to follow a rutted track through a wood of oak and elm. Jaime’s stump was throbbing dully when Steelshanks decided to make camp. Qyburn had brought a skin of dreamwine, thankfully. While Walton set the watches, Jaime stretched out near the fire and propped a rolled-up bearskin against a stump as a pillow for his head. The wench would have told him he had to eat before he slept, to keep his strength up, but he was more tired than hungry. He closed his eyes, and hoped to dream of Cersei. The fever dreams were all so vivid...

Naked and alone he stood, surrounded by enemies, with stone walls all around him pressing close. The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. He was home. He was home and whole.

He held his right hand up and flexed his fingers to feel the strength in them. it felt as good as sex. As good as swordplay. Four fingers and a thumb. He had dreamed that he was maimed, but it wasn’t so. Relief made him dizzy. My hand, my good hand. Nothing could hurt him so long as he was whole.Around him stood a dozen tall dark figures in cowled robes that hid their faces. In their hands were spears. “Who are you?” he demanded of them. “What business do you have in Casterly Rock?”

They gave no answer, only prodded him with the points of their spears. He had no choice but to descend. Down a twisting passageway he went, narrow steps carved from the living rock, down and down. I must go up, he told himself. Up, not down. Why am I going down? Below the earth his doom awaited, he knew with the certainty of dream; something dark and terrible lurked there, something that wanted him. Jaime tried to halt, but their spears prodded him on. If only I had my sword, nothing could harm me.

The steps ended abruptly on echoing darkness. Jaime had the sense of vast space before him. He jerked to a halt, teetering on the edge of nothingness. A spearpoint jabbed at the small of the back, shoving him into the abyss. He shouted, but the fall was short. He landed on his hands and knees, upon soft sand and shallow water. There were watery caverns deep below Casterly Rock, but this one was strange to him. “What place is this?”

“Your place.” The voice echoed; it was a hundred voices, a thousand, the voices of all the Lannisters since Lann the Clever, who’d lived at the dawn of days. But most of all it was his father’s voice, and beside Lord Tywin stood his sister, pale and beautiful, a torch burning in her hand. Joffrey was there as well, the son they’d made together, and behind them a dozen more dark shapes with golden hair.

“Sister, why has Father brought us here?”

“Us? This is your place, Brother. This is your darkness.” Her torch was the only light in the cavern. Her torch was the only light in the world. She turned to go.

“Stay with me,” Jaime pleaded. “Don’t leave me here alone.” But they were leaving. “Don’t leave me in the dark!” Something terrible lived down here. “Give me a sword, at least.”

“I gave you a sword,” Lord Tywin said.

It was at his feet. Jaime groped under the water until his hand closed upon the hilt. Nothing can hurt me so long as I have a sword. As he raised the sword a finger of pale flame flickered at the point and crept up along the edge, stopping a hand’s breath from the hilt. The fire took on the color of the steel itself so it burned with a silvery-blue light, and the gloom pulled back. Crouching, listening, Jaime moved in a circle, ready for anything that might come out of the darkness. The water flowed into his boots, ankle deep and bitterly cold. Beware the water, he told himself. There may be creatures living in it, hidden deeps...

From behind came a great splash. Jaime whirled toward the sound... but the faint light revealed only Brienne of Tarth, her hands bound in heavy chains. “I swore to keep you safe,” the wench said stubbornly. “I swore an oath.” Naked, she raised her hands to Jaime. “Ser. Please. If you would be so good.”

The steel links parted like silk. “A sword,” Brienne begged, and there it was, scabbard, belt, and all. She buckled it around her thick waist. The light was so dim that Jaime could scarcely see her, though they stood a scant few feet apart. In this light she could almost be a beauty, he thought. in

this light she could almost be a knight. Brienne’s sword took flame as well, burning silvery blue. The darkness retreated a little more.

“The flames will burn so long as you live,” he heard Cersei call. “When they die, so must you.”

“Sister!” he shouted. “Stay with me. Stay!” There was no reply but the soft sound of retreating footsteps.

Brienne moved her longsword back and forth, watching the silvery flames shift and shimmer. Beneath her feet, a reflection of the burning blade shone on the surface of the flat black water. She was as tall and strong as he remembered, yet it seemed to Jaime that she had more of a woman’s shape now.

“Do they keep a bear down here?” Brienne was moving, slow and wary, sword to hand; step, turn, and listen. Each step made a little splash. “A cave lion? Direwolves? Some bear? Tell me, Jaime. What lives here? What lives in the darkness?”

“Doom.” No bear, he knew. No lion. “Only doom.”

In the cool silvery-blue light of the swords, the big wench looked pale and fierce. “I mislike this place.”

“I’m not fond of it myself.” Their blades made a little island of light, but all around them stretched a sea of darkness, unending. “My feet are wet.”

“We could go back the way they brought us. if you climbed on my shoulders you’d have no trouble reaching that tunnel mouth.”

Then I could follow Cersei. He could feel himself growing hard at the thought, and turned away so Brienne would not see.

“Listen.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he trembled at the sudden touch. She’s warm. “Something comes.” Brienne lifted her sword to point off to his left. “There,”

He peered into the gloom until he saw it too. Something was moving through the darkness, he could not quite make it out...

“A man on a horse. No, two. Two riders, side by side.”

“Down here, beneath the Rock?” It made no sense. Yet there came two riders on pale horses, men and mounts both armored. The destriers emerged from the blackness at a slow walk. They make no sound, Jaime realized. No splashing, no clink of mail nor clop of hoof. He remembered Eddard Stark, riding the length of Aerys’s throne room wrapped in silence. Only his eyes had spoken; a lord’s eyes, cold and grey and full of judgment.

“Is it you, Stark?” Jaime called. “Come ahead. I never feared you living, I do not fear you dead.”

Brienne touched his arm. “There are more.”

He saw them too. They were armored all in snow, it seemed to him, and ribbons of mist swirled back from their shoulders. The visors of their helms were closed, but Jaime Lannister did not need to look upon their faces to know them.

Five had been his brothers. Oswell Whent and Jon Darry. Lewyn Martell, a prince of Dorne. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning. And beside them,

crowned in mist and grief with his long hair streaming behind him, rode Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

“You don’t frighten me,” he called, turning as they split to either side of him. He did not know which way to face. “I will fight you one by one or all together. But who is there for the wench to duel? She gets cross when you leave her out.”

“I swore an oath to keep him safe,” she said to Rhaegar’s shade. “I swore a holy oath.” “We all swore oaths,” said Ser Arthur Dayne, so sadly. The shades dismounted from their ghostly horses. When they drew their longswords, it made

not a sound. “He was going to burn the city,” Jaime said. “To leave Robert only ashes.” “He was your king,” said Darry. “You swore to keep him safe,” said Whent. “And the children, them as well,” said Prince Lewyn.

Prince Rhaegar burned with a cold light, now white, now red, now dark. “I left my wife and children in your hands.”

“I never thought he’d hurt them.” Jaime’s sword was burning less brightly now. “I was with the king...

“Killing the king,” said Ser Arthur. “Cutting his throat,” said Prince Lewyn. “The king you had sworn to die for,” said the White Bull. The fires that ran along the blade were guttering out, and Jaime remembered what Cersei had

said. No. Terror closed a hand about his throat. Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne’s burned, as the ghosts came rushing in.

“No,” he said, “no, no, no. Nooooooooo!”

Heart pounding, he jerked awake, and found himself in starry darkness amidst a grove of trees. He could taste bile in his mouth, and he was shivering with sweat, hot and cold at once. When he looked down for his sword hand, his wrist ended in leather and linen, wrapped snug around an ugly stump. He felt sudden tears well up in his eyes. I felt it, I felt the strength in my fingers, and the rough leather of the sword’s grip. My hand...

“My lord.” Qyburn knelt beside him, his fatherly face all crinkly with concern. “What is it? I heard you cry out.”

Steelshanks Walton stood above them, tall and dour. “What is it? Why did you scream?”

“A dream... only a dream.” Jaime stared at the camp around him, lost for a moment. “I was in the dark, but I had my hand back.” He looked at the stump and felt sick all over again. There’s no place like that beneath the Rock, he thought. His stomach was sour and empty, and his head was pounding where he’d pillowed it against the stump.

Qyburn felt his brow. “You still have a touch of fever.”

“A fever dream.” Jaime reached up. “Help me.” Steelshanks took him by his good hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Another cup of dreamwine?” asked Qyburn.

“No. I’ve dreamt enough this night.” He wondered how long it was till dawn. Somehow he knew that if he closed his eyes, he would be back in that dark wet place again.

“Milk of the poppy, then? And something for your fever? You are still weak, my lord. You need to sleep. To rest.”

That is the last thing I mean to do. The moonlight glimmered pale upon the stump where Jaime had rested his head. The moss covered it so thickly he had not noticed before, but now he saw that the wood was white. It made him think of Winterfell, and Ned Stark’s heart tree. It was not him, he thought. It was never him. But the stump was dead and so was Stark and so were all the others, Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur and the children. And Aerys. Aerys is most dead of all. “Do you believe in ghosts, Maester?” he asked Qyburn.

[Lost Melnibonean]

I'm pretty sure this is the Jaime/Weirwood dream passage in question. The weirwood grove was near Harrenhal (where Jaime had just left w/ Steelshanks Walton) but I don't think it's the same one mentioned in TMK which is next to the Inn of Crossroads:

Jaime ASoS:

Yes this one. The place in TMK is not the Inn at the Crossroads. The Inn in TMK is on a lake not a river. Both spots might be south of the Gods Eye, no?

[By the Old Gods Not theNew]

I'm pretty sure it's the same Inn: it used to be built over the water, it used to be owned by Long Jon Heddle who was no doubt an ancestor of Black Tom Heddle who was a sworn sword at Whitewalls in TMK, there used to be a ferry that provided transport specifically to whitewalls, and Septon Meribald explains the change in the geography:

Brienne AFoC:

When Podrick asked the name of the inn where they hoped to spend the night, Septon Meribald seized upon the question eagerly, perhaps to take their minds off the grisly sentinels along the roadside. “The Old Inn, some call it. There has been an inn there for many hundreds of years, though this inn was only raised during the reign of the first Jaehaerys, the king who built the kingsroad. Jaehaerys and his queen slept there during their journeys, it is said. For a time the inn was known as the Two Crowns in their honor, until one innkeep built a bell tower, and changed it to the Bellringer Inn. Later it passed to a crippled knight named Long Jon Heddle, who took up ironworking when he grew too old to fight. He forged a new sign for the yard, a three-headed dragon of black iron that he hung from a wooden post. The beast was so big it had to be made in a dozen pieces, joined with rope and wire. When the wind blew it would clank and clatter, so the inn became known far and wide as the Clanking Dragon.”

“Is the dragon sign still there?” asked Podrick.

“No,” said Septon Meribald. “When the smith’s son was an old man, a bastard son of the fourth Aegon rose up in rebellion against his trueborn brother and took for his sigil a black dragon. These lands belonged to Lord Darry then, and his lordship was fiercely loyal to the king. The sight of the black iron dragon made him wroth, so he cut down the post, hacked the sign into pieces, and cast them into the river. One of the dragon’s heads washed up on the Quiet Isle many years later, though by that time it was red with rust. The innkeep never hung another sign, so men forgot the dragon and took to calling the place the River Inn. In those days, the Trident flowed beneath its back door, and half its rooms were built out over the water. Guests could throw a line out their window and catch trout, it’s said. There was a ferry landing here as well, so travelers could cross to Lord Harroway’s Town and Whitewalls.”

“We left the Trident south of here, and have been riding north and west... not toward the river but away from it.”

“Aye, my lady,” the septon said. “The river moved. Seventy years ago, it was. Or was it eighty? It was when old Masha Heddle’s grandfather kept the place. It was her who told me all this history. A kindly woman, Masha, fond of sourleaf and honey cakes. When she did not have a room for me, she would let me sleep beside the hearth, and she never sent me on my way without some bread and cheese and a few stale cakes.”

“Is she the innkeep now?” asked Podrick.

“No. The lions hanged her. After they moved on, I heard that one of her nephews tried opening the inn again, but the wars had made the roads too dangerous for common folk to travel, so there was little custom. He brought in whores, but even that could not save him. Some lord killed him as well, I hear.”

TMK:

The sun was low in the west by the time they saw the lake, its waters glimmering red and gold, bright as a sheet of beaten copper. When they glimpsed the turrets of the inn above some willows, Dunk donned his sweaty tunic once again and stopped to splash some water on his face. he washed off the dust of the road as best he could, and ran wet fingers through his thick mop of sun-streaked hair. There was nothing to be done for his size, or the scar that marked his cheek, but he wanted to make himself appear somewhat less the wild robber knight.

The inn was bigger than he'd expected, a great gray sprawl of a place, timbered and turreted, half of it built on pilings out over the water. A road of rough-cut planks had been laid down over the muddy lakeshore to the ferry landing, but neither the ferry nor the ferrymen were in evidence. Across the road stood a stable with a thatched roof. A dry stone wall enclosed the yard, but the gate was open. Within, they found a well and a watering trough. "See to the animals," Dunk told Egg, "but see that they don't drink too much. I'll ask about some food."

He found the innkeep sweeping off the steps. "Are you come for the ferry?" the woman asked him. "You're too late. The sun's going down, and Ned don't like to cross by night unless the moon is full. He'll be back first thing in the morning."

[Stan the Man Baratheon]

Has Sansa, Arya or Bran Stark ever talked about Stannis or do they know him, is it mentioned?

[Lost Melnibonean]

I'm pretty sure it's the same Inn: it used to be built over the water, it used to be owned by Long Jon Heddle who was no doubt an ancestor of Black Tom Heddle who was a sworn sword at Whitewalls in TMK, there used to be a ferry that provided transport specifically to whitewalls, and Septon Meribald explains the change in the geography:

Brienne AFoC:

TMK:

Looks like you're right. Thanks!

[Sansa_Stark]

how many ships did Aurane have?

[Stan the Man Baratheon]

how many ships did Aurane have?

10 dromonds.

[RumHam]

Has it been confirmed somewhere (interview, SSM) that Alys Harroway and Tyanna of Pentos were wives of Maegor I? Because they're mentioned on the wiki as his wives, and the only source given is the World book. In view history, an admin from the spanish awoiaf has edit the pages, but she wasn't the one who made them.

So is it true, has it been confirmed anywhere?

It doesn't mention they're wives, but this is from the world book sample:

When Maegor appeared on the walls of the red keep standing between Alys Harroway and Tyanna of Pentos the crowds cheered wildly, and the city erupted in celebration.

Maybe Ran confirmed they were his wives somewhere, but I couldn't find it searching his posts.

[mindchap]

Has Sansa, Arya or Bran Stark ever talked about Stannis or do they know him, is it mentioned?

Sansa 33 mentions:

7 GoT

22 CoK

3 SoS

1 FfC

Arya 8 mentions:

1 GoT

6 CoK

1 SoS

Bran 4 mentions:

2 GoT(Cers and Jaime in the tower)

2 CoK(Where Bran hears he's a king now too)

[Stan the Man Baratheon]

Sansa 33 mentions:

7 GoT

22 CoK

3 SoS

1 FfC

Arya 8 mentions:

1 GoT

6 CoK

1 SoS

Bran 4 mentions:

2 GoT(Cers and Jaime in the tower)

2 CoK(Where Bran hears he's a king now too)

Wow cheers. Much appreciated. :cheers:

[mindchap]

OK Mindchap, you can get back to me with this one when you get a chance... What is the significance of the crow cage at the beginning of TSS? When coupled with the dead treecat, the dream about Sweetfoot, and the dead animal(s) on the way to the battle at the end, it seems to be an allusion to the loss of life that will occur unless Dunk takes action? Or is it something more than that?

I'm spoiler tagging this for length and some D&E spoilers:

Though it may not have been GRRM's intention, the biggest thing I took away from The Sworn Sword, as a whole, was that a summer without end would be just as bad as a winter without end. The dream(and I assume you meant Chestnut) I agree the latter part seems to illustrate what Dunk fears will happen to these boys if they do not intervene, the early part of the dream could simply have stemmed from the fact that Dunk is thinking about all of them as he is getting ready for bed, but if you wanted to look deeper you could say that it may actually be guilt that he is trying to bury in the dream, perhaps for something he has yet to acknowledge(though I won't say what for spoiler reasons but I'm sure you know what I mean)especially the ending of the dream when no matter how hard they try they can't escape the collapsing grave. However that could also be just the desperation Dunk feels in regards to the entire Eustace/Widow situation. The tree cat makes me think Ser Eustace is one of those who puts stock in signs, as that is the moment he chooses to turn around and go back home, leaving Dunk and Egg to carry on to Coldmoat alone. I think the dead men in the cage are just that, dead men, but considering the mentions of Bloodraven, and a similar situation at the beginning of Mystery Knight, it could be that they are there to help paint a darker picture of Bloodraven. Whether or not Bloodraven himself had anything to do with them I don't know but it seems more likely it was just lords who feared Bloodraven, and that is the way he likes it, "It is better to be frightening, than frightened". By making Bloodraven seem like a sinister fellow, GRRM makes it less likely for us(or Dunk) to figure out that he is the ever helpful MP later on.

[Rhaenys_Targaryen]

It doesn't mention they're wives, but this is from the world book sample:

Maybe Ran confirmed they were his wives somewhere, but I couldn't find it searching his posts.

Thank you :)

[Ibbison from Ibben]

There are two. Both of them in Storm of Swords.

Thanks much for the reply.

[Sansa_Stark]

do we know when Archmeaster Gyldayn lived?

[Rhaenys_Targaryen]

do we know when Archmeaster Gyldayn lived?

He lived about 100 years after the Dance, which is when he wrote his book. It is unknown how old he was at the time, when he was born, or when he died.

[Sansa_Stark]

Ah thank you.