A Theory With No Name

[Lucius Lovejoy]

What in the fuck is this thread about?

[Lady Blizzardborn]

1 hour ago, Lucius Lovejoy said:

What in the fuck is this thread about?

I tried to find that out. It didn't go anywhere. 

[Lucius Lovejoy]

10 minutes ago, Lady Blizzardborn said:

I tried to find that out. It didn't go anywhere. 

My drunk texts are more coherent than this thread lol.

[Maester Crypt]

The only other thing I can think of for 'Why is a raven like a writing-desk? "

They both have quills and only appear here

A Game of Thrones - Bran VII

Maester Luwin's turret was so cluttered that it seemed to Bran a wonder that he ever found anything. Tottering piles of books covered tables and chairs, rows of stoppered jars lined the shelves, candle stubs and puddles of dried wax dotted the furniture, the bronze Myrish lens tube sat on a tripod by the terrace door, star charts hung from the walls, shadow maps lay scattered among the rushes, papers, quills, and pots of inks were everywhere, and all of it was spotted with droppings from the ravens in the rafters. Their strident quorks drifted down from above as Osha washed and cleaned and bandaged the maester's wounds, under Luwin's terse instruction. "This is folly," the small grey man said while she dabbed at the wolf bites with a stinging ointment. "I agree that it is odd that both you boys dreamed the same dream, yet when you stop to consider it, it's only natural. You miss your lord father, and you know that he is a captive. Fear can fever a man's mind and give him queer thoughts. Rickon is too young to comprehend—"

 

[Maester Crypt]

On ‎20‎/‎08‎/‎2017 at 11:27 PM, LynnS said:

Hockey and golf were the order of the day in my house.

Ah Gods Team The Leafs will always be my first love...I had come across that video before, it is kind of sweet.

 

The man they wanted was all the way at the top of the hill, in a huge house of timber and plaster whose upper stories loomed over the narrow street. The double doors showed a hunting scene carved in ebony and weirwood. A pair of stone knights stood sentry at the entrance, armored in fanciful suits of polished red steel that transformed them into griffin and unicorn.

 

I am feeling a bit like Daenerys in trying to solve something that may not have a solution.

"I don't . . ." Her voice was no more than a whisper, almost as faint as theirs. What was happening to her? "I don't understand," she said, more loudly. Why was it so hard to talk here? "Help me. Show me."

With the expected answer...

. . . help her . . . the whispers mocked. . . . show her . . . 

The whispers nevar end.

Any suggestion of what I should read to help me better understand how to decipher the song?

 

[Maester Crypt]

I'm going to try this because somehow I believe...though... I haven't begun to read

A Game of Thrones - Prologue

Will had known they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later. He wished it had been later rather than sooner. "My mother told me that dead men sing no songs," he put in.

 

[Maester Crypt]

and again I try

A Game of Thrones - Bran II

 

Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really fooled her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.

 

[Maester Crypt]

On ‎20‎/‎08‎/‎2017 at 0:26 PM, ravenous reader said:

He he...Look who's come out of the woodwork..!  The cheeky wordsmith who cannot resist a riddle (that may be another similarity between a raven and a writing desk, namely that they both emerge from the 'wood'!  )

I like the Poe answer -- that seems to be a favorite online.  Originally, Carroll omitted to provide a solution, but then, after being continuously pestered to provide one (it appears people just can't bear to live with ambiguity), suggested the clever 'nevar' pun as an 'afterthought' in the preface of the 1896 edition of his book, while simultaneously affirming that the riddle 'had no answer at all':

Another version based on Carroll's explanation is that the raven is 'nevar' backwards, which means that it is always forwards ('for words'), just like the writing desk!  'Dark wings, dark words...' and much 'unkindness'... (Ah -- I have it now -- they are both involved in delivering 'killing words'! ).  The other thing to consider is whether there might be a difference in whether one asks 'how' (which is usually the way the question is implicitly interpreted) vs. 'why' is a raven like a writing desk (the way Carroll explicitly chose to frame it).  While we might be able to eke out an answer to the 'how,' comparing characteristics and so forth, the 'why' of it might nevertheless remain elusive!

A restatement of this rather vexing game played by the author, also allegedly attributed to Lewis Carroll (although I have not been been able to locate the original reference in order to verify the source, the gist of it serves our purpose here):

This reminds me of the game GRRM is likewise playing with his readers, in which there does not appear to be any conclusive solution (unless it does, but it doesn't, however it might...):

'Prophecy will bite your prick off every time..,' and yet I've observed several readers, including on this forum, who still get cocky about the 'rightness' of their particular solution to any given prophecy!

I like this solution to the raven and writing desk -- it's so wondrously, whimsically corny:

Could Carroll be making a pun on 'raven' with 'ravin(g)'..? -- it's the 'mad' hatter asking the riddle, after all!  Perhaps we should apply Tom Stoppard's advice in another context to the current enterprise:

 

I also read that Carroll's riddle has been referenced in other works, e.g. rather ingeniously here:

 

The alchemist should have come by now. Had it all been some cruel jape, or had something happened to the man? It would not have been the first time that good fortune had turned sour on Pate. He had once counted himself lucky to be chosen to help old Archmaester Walgrave with the ravens, never dreaming that before long he would also be fetching the man's meals, sweeping out his chambers, and dressing him every morning. Everyone said that Walgrave had forgotten more of ravencraft than most maesters ever knew, so Pate assumed a black iron link was the least that he could hope for, only to find that Walgrave could not grant him one. The old man remained an archmaester only by courtesy. As great a maester as once he'd been, now his robes concealed soiled smallclothes oft as not, and half a year ago some acolytes found him weeping in the Library, unable to find his way back to his chambers. Maester Gormon sat below the iron mask in Walgrave's place, the same Gormon who had once accused Pate of theft. 

[Maester Crypt]

On ‎20‎/‎08‎/‎2017 at 0:26 PM, ravenous reader said:

He he...Look who's come out of the woodwork..!  The cheeky wordsmith who cannot resist a riddle (that may be another similarity between a raven and a writing desk, namely that they both emerge from the 'wood'!  )

I like the Poe answer -- that seems to be a favorite online.  Originally, Carroll omitted to provide a solution, but then, after being continuously pestered to provide one (it appears people just can't bear to live with ambiguity), suggested the clever 'nevar' pun as an 'afterthought' in the preface of the 1896 edition of his book, while simultaneously affirming that the riddle 'had no answer at all':

Another version based on Carroll's explanation is that the raven is 'nevar' backwards, which means that it is always forwards ('for words'), just like the writing desk!  'Dark wings, dark words...' and much 'unkindness'... (Ah -- I have it now -- they are both involved in delivering 'killing words'! ).  The other thing to consider is whether there might be a difference in whether one asks 'how' (which is usually the way the question is implicitly interpreted) vs. 'why' is a raven like a writing desk (the way Carroll explicitly chose to frame it).  While we might be able to eke out an answer to the 'how,' comparing characteristics and so forth, the 'why' of it might nevertheless remain elusive!

A restatement of this rather vexing game played by the author, also allegedly attributed to Lewis Carroll (although I have not been been able to locate the original reference in order to verify the source, the gist of it serves our purpose here):

This reminds me of the game GRRM is likewise playing with his readers, in which there does not appear to be any conclusive solution (unless it does, but it doesn't, however it might...):

'Prophecy will bite your prick off every time..,' and yet I've observed several readers, including on this forum, who still get cocky about the 'rightness' of their particular solution to any given prophecy!

I like this solution to the raven and writing desk -- it's so wondrously, whimsically corny:

Could Carroll be making a pun on 'raven' with 'ravin(g)'..? -- it's the 'mad' hatter asking the riddle, after all!  Perhaps we should apply Tom Stoppard's advice in another context to the current enterprise:

 

I also read that Carroll's riddle has been referenced in other works, e.g. rather ingeniously here:

 

Because they are both used to carri-on de-composition.  

Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really fooled her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.   

 

"a dead man sits at one and the other sits on a dead man."  

The alchemist should have come by now. Had it all been some cruel jape, or had something happened to the man? It would not have been the first time that good fortune had turned sour on Pate. He had once counted himself lucky to be chosen to help old Archmaester Walgrave with the ravens, never dreaming that before long he would also be fetching the man's meals, sweeping out his chambers, and dressing him every morning. Everyone said that Walgrave had forgotten more of ravencraft than most maesters ever knew, so Pate assumed a black iron link was the least that he could hope for, only to find that Walgrave could not grant him one. The old man remained an archmaester only by courtesy. As great a maester as once he'd been, now his robes concealed soiled smallclothes oft as not, and half a year ago some acolytes found him weeping in the Library, unable to find his way back to his chambers. Maester Gormon sat below the iron mask in Walgrave's place, the same Gormon who had once accused Pate of theft.   

 

"Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman...That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time." He chewed a bit. "Still . . ."  

"The crones, yes," her brother interrupted, "and there's to be some mummer's show of a prophecy for the whelp in her belly, you told me. What is that to me? I'm tired of eating horsemeat and I'm sick of the stink of these savages." He sniffed at the wide, floppy sleeve of his tunic, where it was his custom to keep a sachet. It could not have helped much. The tunic was filthy. All the silk and heavy wools that Viserys had worn out of Pentos were stained by hard travel and rotted from sweat.   

 

There is no proof, Septimus. The thing that is perfectly obvious is that the note in the margin was a joke to make you all mad. 

 

He knew there were true dungeons down in the castle cellars—oubliettes and torture chambers and dank pits where huge black rats scrabbled in the darkness. His gaolers claimed all of them were unoccupied at present. "Only us here, Onion," Ser Bartimus had told him. He was the chief gaoler, a cadaverous one-legged knight, with a scarred face and a blind eye. When Ser Bartimus was in his cups (and Ser Bartimus was in his cups most every day), he liked to boast of how he had saved Lord Wyman's life at the Battle of the Trident. The Wolf's Den was his reward. 

[Lady Char]

what is happening?

[Lady Blizzardborn]

7 hours ago, Lady Char said:

what is happening?

No idea, but somehow I keep coming back to the thread. Maybe it's an experiment to see what people are willing to stick with regardless of not understanding it?

[LynnS]

On 8/20/2017 at 2:23 PM, Maester Crypt said:

A Game of Thrones - Bran IV  

"Crows are all liars," Old Nan agreed, from the chair where she sat doing her needlework. "I know a story about a crow."  

Old Nan is talking about the Night's Watch:

Quote

A Clash of Kings - Jon I

"I've always known that Robb would be Lord of Winterfell."

Mormont gave a whistle, and the bird flew to him again and settled on his arm. "A lord's one thing, a king's another." He offered the raven a handful of corn from his pocket. "They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You'll have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they'll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon . . . and I'll name you a liar, and know I have the truth of it."

 

Bran names the 3EC a liar.  Jon is the 3EC:

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

But he had not left the Wall for that; he had left because he was after all his father's son, and Robb's brother. The gift of a sword, even a sword as fine as Longclaw, did not make him a Mormont. Nor was he Aemon Targaryen. Three times the old man had chosen, and three times he had chosen honor, but that was him. Even now, Jon could not decide whether the maester had stayed because he was weak and craven, or because he was strong and true. Yet he understood what the old man had meant, about the pain of choosing; he understood that all too well.

Tyrion Lannister had claimed that most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it, but Jon was done with denials. He was who he was; Jon Snow, bastard and oathbreaker, motherless, friendless, and damned. For the rest of his life—however long that might be—he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who dares not speak his true name. Wherever he might go throughout the Seven Kingdoms, he would need to live a lie, lest every man's hand be raised against him. But it made no matter, so long as he lived long enough to take his place by his brother's side and help avenge his father.

He remembered Robb as he had last seen him, standing in the yard with snow melting in his auburn hair. Jon would have to come to him in secret, disguised. He tried to imagine the look on Robb's face when he revealed himself. His brother would shake his head and smile, and he'd say … he'd say …

 

Patchface identifies Jon:

Quote

A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Jon had expected that. The direwolf made Queen Selyse anxious, almost as much as Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun. "Ghost, stay."

They found Her Grace sewing by the fire, whilst her fool danced about to music only he could hear, the cowbells on his antlers clanging. "The crow, the crow," Patchface cried when he saw Jon. "Under the sea the crows are white as snow, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh." Princess Shireen was curled up in a window seat, her hood drawn up to hide the worst of the greyscale that had disfigured her face.

 

Jon knows Bran: "Got any corn?"

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Bran III

The voice was high and thin. Bran looked around to see where it was coming from. A crow was spiraling down with him, just out of reach, following him as he fell. "Help me," he said.

I'm trying, the crow replied. Say, got any corn?

 

Kill the boy:

Quote

A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Sam fled from him just as Gilly had.

Jon was tired. I need sleep. He had been up half the night poring over maps, writing letters, and making plans with Maester Aemon. Even after stumbling into his narrow bed, rest had not come easily. He knew what he would face today, and found himself tossing restlessly as he brooded on Maester Aemon's final words. "Allow me to give my lord one last piece of counsel," the old man had said, "the same counsel that I once gave my brother when we parted for the last time. He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born." The old man felt Jon's face. "You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born."

 

Crack the egg, open the third eye:

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

"Good," Mormont said. "We've seen the dead come back, you and me, and it's not something I care to see again." He ate the egg in two bites and flicked a bit of shell out from between his teeth. "Your brother is in the field with all the power of the north behind him. Any one of his lords bannermen commands more swords than you'll find in all the Night's Watch. Why do you imagine that they need your help? Are you such a mighty warrior, or do you carry a grumkin in your pocket to magic up your sword?"

Jon had no answer for him. The raven was pecking at an egg, breaking the shell. Pushing his beak through the hole, he pulled out morsels of white and yoke.

 

Quote

A Clash of Kings - Bran II

That night Bran prayed to his father's gods for dreamless sleep. If the gods heard, they mocked his hopes, for the nightmare they sent was worse than any wolf dream.

"Fly or die!" cried the three-eyed crow as it pecked at him. He wept and pleaded but the crow had no pity. It put out his left eye and then his right, and when he was blind in the dark it pecked at his brow, driving its terrible sharp beak deep into his skull. He screamed until he was certain his lungs must burst. The pain was an axe splitting his head apart, but when the crow wrenched out its beak all slimy with bits of bone and brain, Bran could see again. What he saw made him gasp in fear. He was clinging to a tower miles high, and his fingers were slipping, nails scrabbling at the stone, his legs dragging him down, stupid useless dead legs. "Help me!" he cried. A golden man appeared in the sky above him and pulled him up. "The things I do for love," he murmured softly as he tossed him out kicking into empty air.

 

Old Nan is talking about the 3EC:

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Bran II

As angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. "You're not my son," he told Bran when they fetched him down, "you're a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you."

Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really fooled her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

[LynnS]

On 8/20/2017 at 2:23 PM, Maester Crypt said:

I can't believe I'm calling Ned a liar!

"I think the "butterfly effect" that I have spoken of so often was at work here," Martin writes. "In the novels, Jaime is not present at Joffrey's death, and indeed, Cersei has been fearful that he is dead himself, that she has lost both the son and the father/ lover/ brother. And then suddenly Jaime is there before her. Maimed and changed, but Jaime nonetheless. Though the time and place is wildly inappropriate and Cersei is fearful of discovery, she is as hungry for him as he is for her."

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV

I failed you, Robert, Ned thought. He could not say the words. I lied to you, hid the truth. I let them kill you.

The king heard him. "You stiff-necked fool," he muttered, "too proud to listen. Can you eat pride, Stark? Will honor shield your children?" Cracks ran down his face, fissures opening in the flesh, and he reached up and ripped the mask away. It was not Robert at all; it was Littlefinger, grinning, mocking him. When he opened his mouth to speak, his lies turned to pale grey moths and took wing.

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion I

Varys had escorted him through the tunnels, but they never spoke until they emerged beside the Blackwater, where Tyrion had won a famous victory and lost a nose. That was when the dwarf turned to the eunuch and said, "I've killed my father," in the same tone a man might use to say, "I've stubbed my toe."

The master of whisperers had been dressed as a begging brother, in a moth-eaten robe of brown roughspun with a cowl that shadowed his smooth fat cheeks and bald round head. "You should not have climbed that ladder," he said reproachfully.

A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys II

Alone again, Dany went all the way around the pyramid in hopes of finding Quaithe, past the burned trees and scorched earth where her men had tried to capture Drogon. But the only sound was the wind in the fruit trees, and the only creatures in the gardens were a few pale moths.

A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

"Will I see my father again?"

"Once you have mastered your gifts, you may look where you will and see what the trees have seen, be it yesterday or last year or a thousand ages past. Men live their lives trapped in an eternal present, between the mists of memory and the sea of shadow that is all we know of the days to come. Certain moths live their whole lives in a day, yet to them that little span of time must seem as long as years and decades do to us. An oak may live three hundred years, a redwood tree three thousand. A weirwood will live forever if left undisturbed. To them seasons pass in the flutter of a moth's wing, and past, present, and future are one. Nor will your sight be limited to your godswood. The singers carved eyes into their heart trees to awaken them, and those are the first eyes a new greenseer learns to use … but in time you will see well beyond the trees themselves." 

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion XII

"Why should we need armor? We're only mummers. We just pretend to fight."

"You pretend very well," said Tyrion, examining a shirt of heavy iron mail so full of holes that it almost looked moth-eaten. What sort of moths eat chainmail? "Pretending to be dead is one way to survive a battle. Good armor is another." Though there is precious little of that here, I fear. At the Green Fork, he had fought in mismatched scraps of plate from Lord Lefford's wagons, with a spiked bucket helm that made it look as if

 

https://www.wayoflife.org/reports/lying_evolutionary_art_peppered_moth.html

Quote

The aforementioned photograph of moths resting on a tree trunk has influenced the thinking and philosophy of countless people, encouraging them to believe in Darwinian evolution. As it is said, “one picture is worth a thousand words.” The trouble is that it was a fake. It turns out that peppered moths don’t naturally rest on tree trunks. The moths were glued to the tree trunk!

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/hamilton/news/cankerworms-and-gypsy-moths-wreaking-havoc-on-hamilton-trees-1.3628762

[LiveFirstDieLater]

The horn crashed amongst the logs and leaves and kindling. Within three heartbeats the whole pit was aflame. Clutching the bars of his cage with bound hands, Mance sobbed and begged. When the fire reached him he did a little dance. His screams became one long, wordless shriek of fear and pain. Within his cage, he fluttered like a burning leaf, a moth caught in a candle flame. 

 

Jon found himself remembering a song.

 

ive always thought moths represented lies...

[Maester Crypt]

On ‎23‎/‎08‎/‎2017 at 8:16 AM, LynnS said:

Old Nan is talking about the Night's Watch:

A Clash of Kings - Jon I  

Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. "And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?"  

"What will you do?" Mormont asked. "Bastard as you are?" 

"Be troubled," said Jon, "and keep my vows." 

Bran names the 3EC a liar.  Jon is the 3EC:

A Clash of Kings - Bran VII  

But it was only a game, and Bran knew it. 

Their footsteps echoed through the cavernous crypts. The shadows behind them swallowed his father as the shadows ahead retreated to unveil other statues; no mere lords, these, but the old Kings in the North. On their brows they wore stone crowns. Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt. Edwyn the Spring King. Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. Brandon the Burner and Brandon the Shipwright. Jorah and Jonos, Brandon the Bad, Walton the Moon King, Edderion the Bridegroom, Eyron, Benjen the Sweet and Benjen the Bitter, King Edrick Snowbeard. Their faces were stern and strong, and some of them had done terrible things, but they were Starks every one, and Bran knew all their tales. He had never feared the crypts; they were part of his home and who he was, and he had always known that one day he would lie here too.  

But now he was not so certain. If I go up, will I ever come back down? Where will I go when I die?

A Clash of Kings - Jon III  

"Smallwood says Craster is a friend to the Watch." 

"Do you know the difference between a wildling who's a friend to the Watch and one who's not?" asked the dour squire. "Our enemies leave our bodies for the crows and the wolves. Our friends bury us in secret graves. I wonder how long that bear's been nailed up on that gate, and what Craster had there before we came hallooing?" Edd looked at the axe doubtfully, the rain running down his long face. "Is it dry in there?"  

"Drier than out here."

Patchface identifies Jon:

A Clash of Kings - Prologue  

"It would be my pleasure." Pylos was a polite youth, no more than five-and-twenty, yet solemn as a man of sixty. If only he had more humor, more life in him; that was what was needed here. Grim places needed lightening, not solemnity, and Dragonstone was grim beyond a doubt, a lonely citadel in the wet waste surrounded by storm and salt, with the smoking shadow of the mountain at its back. A maester must go where he is sent, so Cressen had come here with his lord some twelve years past, and he had served, and served well. Yet he had never loved Dragonstone, nor ever felt truly at home here. Of late, when he woke from restless dreams in which the red woman figured disturbingly, he often did not know where he was. 

The fool turned his patched and piebald head to watch Pylos climb the steep iron steps to the rookery. His bells rang with the motion. "Under the sea, the birds have scales for feathers," he said, clang-a-langing. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."  

Even for a fool, Patchface was a sorry thing. Perhaps once he could evoke gales of laughter with a quip, but the sea had taken that power from him, along with half his wits and all his memory. He was soft and obese, subject to twitches and trembles, incoherent as often as not. The girl was the only one who laughed at him now, the only one who cared if he lived or died.

 

Jon knows Bran: "Got any corn?"

A Game of Thrones - Jon III  

"Crippled," Mormont said. "I'm sorry, boy. Read the rest of the letter." 

He looked at the words, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Bran was going to live. "My brother is going to live," he told Mormont. The Lord Commander shook his head, gathered up a fistful of corn, and whistled. The raven flew to his shoulder, crying, "Live! Live!"  

Jon ran down the stairs, a smile on his face and Robb's letter in his hand. "My brother is going to live," he told the guards. They exchanged a look. He ran back to the common hall, where he found Tyrion Lannister just finishing his meal. He grabbed the little man under the arms, hoisted him up in the air, and spun him around in a circle. "Bran is going to live!" he whooped. Lannister looked startled. Jon put him down and thrust the paper into his hands. "Here, read it," he said.

Kill the boy:

A Dance with Dragons - The Watcher  

Obara bristled. "I never did and never shall." She gave the skull a mocking kiss. "This is a start, I'll grant." 

"A start?" said Ellaria Sand, incredulous. "Gods forbid. I would it were a finish. Tywin Lannister is dead. So are Robert Baratheon, Amory Lorch, and now Gregor Clegane, all those who had a hand in murdering Elia and her children. Even Joffrey, who was not yet born when Elia died. I saw the boy perish with mine own eyes, clawing at his throat as he tried to draw a breath. Who else is there to kill? Do Myrcella and Tommen need to die so the shades of Rhaenys and Aegon can be at rest? Where does it end?"  

"It ends in blood, as it began," said Lady Nym. "It ends when Casterly Rock is cracked open, so the sun can shine on the maggots and the worms within. It ends with the utter ruin of Tywin Lannister and all his works."

Crack the egg, open the third eye:

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X  

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt. 

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.  

Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. "Blood of my blood," he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. "Blood of my blood," she heard Aggo echo. "Blood of my blood," Rakharo shouted. 

A Clash of Kings - Bran II  

The blast of horns woke him. Bran pushed himself onto his side, grateful for the reprieve. He heard horses and boisterous shouting. More guests have come, and half-drunk by the noise of them. Grasping his bars he pulled himself from the bed and over to the window seat. On their banner was a giant in shattered chains that told him that these were Umber men, down from the northlands beyond the Last River. 

The next day two of them came together to audience; the Greatjon's uncles, blustery men in the winter of their days with beards as white as the bearskin cloaks they wore. A crow had once taken Mors for dead and pecked out his eye, so he wore a chunk of dragonglass in its stead. As Old Nan told the tale, he'd grabbed the crow in his fist and bitten its head off, so they named him Crowfood. She would never tell Bran why his gaunt brother Hother was called Whoresbane.  

No sooner had they been seated than Mors asked for leave to wed Lady Hornwood. "The Greatjon's the Young Wolf's strong right hand, all know that to be true. Who better to protect the widow's lands than an Umber, and what Umber better than me?"

Old Nan is talking about the 3EC:

A Game of Thrones - Bran VII

"I think that … unlikely," Maester Luwin said. "Bran, when a man fights, his arms and legs and thoughts must be as one."

Below in the yard, Ser Rodrik was yelling. "You fight like a goose. He pecks you and you peck him harder. Parry! Block the blow. Goose fighting will not suffice. If those were real swords, the first peck would take your arm off!" One of the other boys laughed, and the old knight rounded on him. "You laugh. You. Now that is gall. You fight like a hedgehog …"

"There was a knight once who couldn't see," Bran said stubbornly, as Ser Rodrik went on below. "Old Nan told me about him. He had a long staff with blades at both ends and he could spin it in his hands and chop two men at once."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Maester Crypt]

On ‎19‎/‎08‎/‎2017 at 1:45 PM, ravenous reader said:

Mad Hatter]: 'Why is a raven like a writing-desk?'

Best know your mine