Deconstructing the Prophecy of Ice and Fire: the Triune Deity at War with Itself

[TheSeason]

5 hours ago, White Ravens said:

Wow!  You are quite committed to this theory of yours.  I read the intro post and the above post but this is a SERIOUSLY LONG theory so far and you've only given us the set-up and introductory bits.  Sometimes when I see really, really long posts here on this forum I word count them just to see what level of commitment it would take to wade through so naturally, I did a word count of your introductory material above.  You now hold a record!  Your introduction to your upcoming essay contains a whopping 132,273 words spread out over 16 posts. By comparison here are the word counts for some books written by J .R. R. Tolkien.

95,022 – The Hobbit – J. R. R. Tolkien

177,227 – The Fellowship of the Ring – J. R. R. Tolkien

143,436 – The Two Towers – J. R. R. Tolkien

134,462 – The Return of the King – J. R. R. Tolkien

One of your posts is 29,273 words long which is about the same number of words as there are in The Hedge Night by G.R.R. Martin. 

I'm not trying to talk you out of making such long posts but I believe that you are limiting your audience by requiring such a big commitment from your readers.  

 

It's predominantly text, and I've kept my comments to it minimal because of all the textual quotes required to make the theory compelling and convincing. The upcoming essays shouldn't be as long as this last one (Ice and Fire and the Dragon that was Promised) turned out (because so many people are misreading Rhaegar and Lyanna's part to play in the prophecy), and I intend to make an effort to reduce the textual commitment. 

That said, it's perfectly fine if you--or no one!--don't want to read it. For those who make the commitment (taking as much time as they require to get through it), they'll understand the books better by the end (and Martin's books are massive, so maybe there are some readers committed to understanding the material in full, or just want to see how the prophecy is most likely to unfold in the end). For those who don't want to make the commitment, they can wait on Martin to tell them what's really going on, because D&D are clearly failing those of us who looked to the show for an ending. To be honest, this theory coalesced in my mind in full only about a month ago (that's pretty much how I write my own fantasy novels, letting my subconscious mind do most of the work) when complaining about D&D's failure to understand the source material, and my chagrin that I might never see an ending truer to the novels I liked--the building blocks had been floating around in it for a long time.

I'm not certain whether you are my "target audience" or no, because that wasn't clear from your complaint, but please keep in mind that this is an essay series expounding upon the singular theory, and when I said "introductory" material, I wasn't being literal (it's the necessary foundation to understand the prophecy at all, yes, but everything above is also integral to determining which way the prophecy goes in the end, and is part of the "main" body of work composing the theory; it's not an "introduction" in that truer sense of the word. I probably wasn't as clear about that as I should have been. My bad.). Though it's a series, I'm just trying to get it out there quickly--quicker than I expect people to read any of it, if they are so inclined--so I can do more important things with my time.  

Cheers! 

[TheSeason]

Just a head's up, the answers to certain riddles are included at the end. 

 

First the Mother and then the Son: the Power of Queensblood and the Importance of the Corn King

 

In previous essay sections, I discussed the power of queensblood and the true nature of the gods of Ice and Fire, all of whom are expressions or aspects of the three-headed god, Trios. I showed how easy it is for a god or man, coveting more power than he deserves, to convince himself that he is special, above the laws of gods and men, and to rationalize that the sacrifice of others is a necessary step along his ascension to (vain)glory, a justified means to a splendid end.

Stannis Baratheon, convinced by Melisandre that he is “chosen” of the god R’hllor to fulfill prophecy and change the face of the world, shaping history, culture, and even religion in the fashion that he, alone, sees fit, is a prime example of the seductive power of sacrifice of others rather than the frightening prospect of voluntary ascencion to sacrificial kingship for the benefit of the realm (that is, facing head-on the horror of graciously accepting and even advocating the powers of heroic sacrifice of self, requiring the willful silencing of one’s own survival instinct for the greater good). This is exemplified by his willingness to sacrifice Edric Storm in his (and his “red woman’s”—Melisandre, the titular “queen” in the “queen’s men” that gather round Queen Selyse Baratheon and her) effort to “wake the stone dragon.” As red-handed usurper characters, followers of the corrupted solar deity’s “old way,” they believe murder of women and children to be a fitting way to achieve their foul and sorcerous agenda, for there is a fell power in shedding the blood of innocents, a power that once stemmed from the anti-consequentialist creator deity and the bounties begat in its willingly-shed sacred blood; this becomes indicative of perhaps the most important hidden theme and narrative in A Song of Ice and Fire: the Fisher King and the Forced Sacrificial King as corruption of the righteous power of sacrificial kingship.

 

Evidence optional, as it is a brief review of queensblood as revealed to us by the characters Stannis Baratheon (the red-handed usurping solar deity), Melisandre (the fiery, vengeful, moonmaid and mother of dragons, weeping tears of blood), and Ser Davos Seaworth (the green boy and “green hand” character; note that Davos too has a “death” and “resurrection” sequence, during the Battle of the Blackwater: he’s thrown overboard in the burning waters, a (wild)fiery hell in shades of jade and ruby and gold, whereupon he “drowns” and washes back up on the Merling King’s spires; it is a pitiful little island hell he is given, where he faces the prospect of a gruesome death by thirst or starvation or even suicide, but soon is rescued by Salador Saan’s men, only to learn/confirm that four of his sons have died in the wildfire blaze, the battle was lost, and Stannis has fallen deeper into Melisandre’s sorcerous hands, heeding only her dark and dangerous whispers. The fiery moonmaid (Melisandre) then consigns Davos to another hell, the black pits of the dungeons of Dragonstone, his symbolic “entombment,” whereupon she later releases him, urging the solar king and “R’hllor’s chosen,” Stannis Baratheon, not to burn him for his crimes, because he has a greater role to play in the wars to come, those wars being “the war for the dawn” that belongs to the “promised prince.”).

 

Spoiler

Jon III, Dance

Stannis Baratheon drew Lightbringer.

The sword glowed red and yellow and orange, alive with light. Jon had seen the show before … but not like this, never before like this. Lightbringer was the sun made steel. When Stannis raised the blade above his head, men had to turn their heads or cover their eyes. Horses shied, and one threw his rider. The blaze in the fire pit seemed to shrink before this storm of light, like a small dog cowering before a larger one. The Wall itself turned red and pink and orange, as waves of color danced across the ice. Is this the power of king's blood?

"Westeros has but one king," said Stannis. His voice rang harsh, with none of Melisandre's music. "With this sword I defend my subjects and destroy those who menace them. Bend the knee, and I promise you food, land, and justice. Kneel and live. Or go and die. The choice is yours." He slipped Lightbringer into its scabbard, and the world darkened once again, as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. "Open the gates."

 

What is the power in queen’s blood? It’s certainly not just this little light show, here. Or… is it? When a wealthy man usurps his rightful queen, slaughters her, and her child… what is the result?

 

Davos II, Storm

Then he heard a faint ringing of bells, and a child's giggle, and suddenly the fool Patchface popped from the bushes, shambling along as fast as he could go with the Princess Shireen hot on his heels. "You come back now," she was shouting after him. "Patches, you come back."

When the fool saw Davos, he jerked to a sudden halt, the bells on his antlered tin helmet going ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling. Hopping from one foot to the other, he sang, "Fool's blood, king's blood, blood on the maiden's thigh, but chains for the guests and chains for the bridegroom, aye aye aye." Shireen almost caught him then, but at the last instant he hopped over a patch of bracken and vanished among the trees. The princess was right behind him. The sight of them made Davos smile.

He had turned to cough into his gloved hand when another small shape crashed out of the hedge and bowled right into him, knocking him off his feet.

 

Catelyn IV, Clash

The shadow. Something dark and evil had happened here, she knew, something that she could not begin to understand. Renly never cast that shadow. Death came in that door and blew the life out of him as swift as the wind snuffed out his candles.

Only a few instants passed before Robar Royce and Emmon Cuy came bursting in, though it felt like half the night. A pair of men-at-arms crowded in behind with torches. When they saw Renly in Brienne's arms, and her drenched with the king's blood, Ser Robar gave a cry of horror. "Wicked woman!" screamed Ser Emmon, he of the sunflowered steel. "Away from him, you vile creature!"

"Gods be good, Brienne, why?" asked Ser Robar.

Brienne looked up from her king's body. The rainbow cloak that hung from her shoulders had turned red where the king's blood had soaked into the cloth. "I . . . I . . ."

"You'll die for this." Ser Emmon snatched up a long-handled battle-axe from the weapons piled near the door. "You'll pay for the king's life with your own!"

 

Renly, the green boy Stormking, is slain by Stannis Baratheon’s (who fancies himself Azor Ahai, wielder of the Red Sword of Heroes!) sorcerous hand, and the price for that is death. He must pay for the green boy’s life with his own. And Brienne the Blue, daughter of Lord Selwyn the Morningstar, who watched her green king be slaughtered with the vilest of sorceries (and who was blamed for it, also, as the green boy was slain by the remains of his mother, gone into the red king’s sword) may yet have the chance to make him answer for it (as Lady Catelyn promised her she would not intervene should Brienne seek vengeance against him).

Remember, kinslaying is worse than kingslaying. Why is this? Why is the kinslayer more accursed than the kingslayer? What does that truly mean? Could it be because the king was a usurper and a bloody murderer and a kinslayer all along?

These are indeed the crimes of the Red Hand of the King, who in old Valyria was called “the Valonqar.” Does it mean “the Usurper” perhaps?

 

Cersei VIII, Feast

The old Valyrian word sent a chill through her, though it also gave her a tingle of hope. "The Imp is no longer my brother, if he ever was," she declared. "Nor will I say his name. It was a proud name once, before he dishonored it."

"In Tyrosh we name him Redhands, for the blood running from his fingers. A king's blood, and a father's. Some say he slew his mother too, ripping his way from her womb with savage claws."

What nonsense, Cersei thought. "'Tis true," she said. "If the Imp's head is in that chest, I shall raise you to lordship and grant you rich lands and keeps." Titles were cheaper than dirt, and the riverlands were full of ruined castles, standing desolate amidst untended fields and burned villages. "My court awaits. Open the box and let us see."

 

“Valonqar” may indeed be the word that signifies the wealthy brother who usurps his sister-bride, with rape and murder and sorcery most foul. It is the word for the solar deity, then.

Being wealthy was not good enough for the solar deity. He had to rule the heavens. He had to be the king, at any cost.

 

Davos VI, Storm

"She talks of cows," Davos told the king. "I am speaking of a boy, your daughter's friend, your brother's son."

"A king's son, with the power of kingsblood in his veins." Melisandre's ruby glowed like a red star at her throat. "Do you think you've saved this boy, Onion Knight? When the long night falls, Edric Storm shall die with the rest, wherever he is hidden. Your own sons as well. Darkness and cold will cover the earth. You meddle in matters you do not understand."

"There's much I don't understand," Davos admitted. "I have never pretended elsewise. I know the seas and rivers, the shapes of the coasts, where the rocks and shoals lie. I know hidden coves where a boat can land unseen. And I know that a king protects his people, or he is no king at all."

 

Preach it, Davos! You are right, without a doubt. A king protects his people, or he is no king at all. So what happens, then, when a “false king” covets a crown? What happens, when he resorts to blood magic and sorceries most foul to usurp his rightful kin (his rightful queen)? What happens, when he slays a babe at breast, because he fears competition, because he fears retribution for his crimes?

What is the power in queen’s blood? Why is it to be reviled?

 

Davos IV, Storm

"Robert did that. Not the boy. My daughter has grown fond of him. And he is mine own blood."

"Your brother's blood," Melisandre said. "A king's blood. Only a king's blood can wake the stone dragon."

Stannis ground his teeth. "I'll hear no more of this. The dragons are done. The Targaryens tried to bring them back half a dozen times. And made fools of themselves, or corpses. Patchface is the only fool we need on this godsforsaken rock. You have the leeches. Do your work."

 

Davos IV, Storm

Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, "As my king commands." Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood.

The boy's blood, Davos knew. A king's blood.

Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.

 

Davos V, Storm

"He is mine own blood. Stop clutching me, woman." King Stannis put a hand on her shoulder, awkwardly untangling himself from her grasp. "Perhaps Robert did curse our marriage bed. He swore to me that he never meant to shame me, that he was drunk and never knew which bedchamber he entered that night. But does it matter? The boy was not at fault, whatever the truth."

Melisandre put her hand on the king's arm. "The Lord of Light cherishes the innocent. There is no sacrifice more precious. From his king's blood and his untainted fire, a dragon shall be born."

Stannis did not pull away from Melisandre's touch as he had from his queen's. The red woman was all Selyse was not; young, full-bodied, and strangely beautiful, with her heart-shaped face, coppery hair, and unearthly red eyes. "It would be a wondrous thing to see stone come to life," he admitted, grudging. "And to mount a dragon . . . I remember the first time my father took me to court, Robert had to hold my hand. I could not have been older than four, which would have made him five or six. We agreed afterward that the king had been as noble as the dragons were fearsome." Stannis snorted. "Years later, our father told us that Aerys had cut himself on the throne that morning, so his Hand had taken his place. It was Tywin Lannister who'd so impressed us." His fingers touched the surface of the table, tracing a path lightly across the varnished hills. "Robert took the skulls down when he donned the crown, but he could not bear to have them destroyed. Dragon wings over Westeros . . . there would be such a . . ."

 

How easy it is, to convince yourself that a sacrifice must be made, that the sacrifice of the life of a child is the only way. Stannis Baratheon is the proof of that. One sorcery soon leads to another. One act of violence, too. It all perpetuates itself. It is a bad idea to be impressed with the Tywin Lannisters of the world, the monsters who don’t care if the world burns if they can be “king of the ashes,” the monsters who make their children dance like “puppets on a string,” and the monsters who will pay any price to stroke their own ego. 

Davos IV, Storm

He does not use the boy's name. That made Davos very uneasy. "I hope young Edric will recover soon."

Stannis waved a hand, dismissing his concern. "It is a chill, no more. He coughs, he shivers, he has a fever. Maester Pylos will soon set him right. By himself the boy is nought, you understand, but in his veins flows my brother's blood. There is power in a king's blood, she says."

Davos did not have to ask who she was.

What does all this lead to, in the end, what is the power in queen’s blood?

The queen’s blood in question spilled here are her tears, spilled in mourning for her slaughtered green boy prince, and when she weeps, she sings as well, and gives him one last kiss…

And he awakens, the dead green boy prince (a dead green boy turns brown and black, of course) and arises as a revenant, to have the vengeance his mother prayed for.

The power in queen’s blood is the curse of the kinslayer, that the blue winter shall rise, and the Others shall take him.

 

Evidence optional, a brief review of others Stannis Baratheon may burn or might have burned if driven to this need. Vulnerable characters include: Mance Rayder, and Aemon Battleborn (his son, the “wildling prince” as he is called by Stannis and his followers), Maester Aemon Targaryen, Gilly’s son “Monster” by Craster (should he be mistaken for Aemon Battleborn, with whom Jon Snow swapped him for the latter’s protection), Gerrick Kingsblood and his three daughters, descended of Raymund Redbeard’s brother (who Selyse Baratheon proclaims “the true king of the Wildlings” with “baseborn” and “bastard” Mance Rayder as a “usurper” of the title “King-Beyond-the-Wall”), Asha Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy (descendants of the “Grey King” from the Age of Heroes and the “Kings of Salt and Rock” who ruled the sovereign Iron Islands, as well as being heirs to Balon “Twice-Crowned” Greyjoy, who proclaimed himself king of the Iron Islands and ascended the Seastone Chair, although Stannis does not recognize his sovereignty, nor any “king” from the War of the Five Kings), and Jon Snow himself (descended of the old Kings of Winter and Kings of the North—a larger kingdom than the former—and, unbeknownst to him, heir to Robb Stark, King of the North and of the Trident, as well as, also unbeknownst to him, the Kings of Westeros on the Iron Throne, descended of Aegon the Dragon, the blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon; furthermore, in Stannis and Mance Rayder’s absence, he took oaths of fealty from the Free Folk and all their leaders, which may have made him a “King-Beyond-the-Wall” figure).

Spoiler

Jon II, Dance

The raven picked up the word. "No," it screamed.

"Refuse, and the boy will burn. Not on the morrow, nor the day after … but soon, whenever Melisandre needs to wake a dragon or raise a wind or work some other spell requiring king's blood. Mance will be ash and bone by then, so she will claim his son for the fire, and Stannis will not deny her. If you do not take the boy away, she will burn him."

"I'll go," said Gilly. "I'll take him, I'll take the both o' them, Dalla's boy and mine." Tears rolled down her cheeks. If not for the way the candle made them glisten, Jon might never have known that she was weeping. Craster's wives would have taught their daughters to shed their tears into a pillow. Perhaps they went outside to weep, well away from Craster's fists.

 

Jon II, Dance

"They'll burn my babe, then. The red woman. If she can't have Dalla's, she'll burn mine."

"Your son has no king's blood. Melisandre gains nothing by giving him to the fire. Stannis wants the free folk to fight for him, he will not burn an innocent without good cause. Your boy will be safe. I will find a wet nurse for him and he'll be raised here at Castle Black under my protection. He'll learn to hunt and ride, to fight with sword and axe and bow. I'll even see that he is taught to read and write." Sam would like that. "And when he is old enough, he will learn the truth of who he is. He'll be free to seek you out if that is what he wants."

"You will make a crow of him." She wiped at her tears with the back of a small pale hand. "I won't. I won't."

 

Samwell I, Feast

"Pyp says that Lady Melisandre means to give him to the flames, to work some sorcery."

"Pyp should learn to hold his tongue. I have heard the same from others. King's blood, to wake a dragon. Where Melisandre thinks to find a sleeping dragon, no one is quite sure. It's nonsense. Mance's blood is no more royal than mine own. He has never worn a crown nor sat a throne. He's a brigand, nothing more. There's no power in brigand's blood."

The raven looked up from the floor. "Blood," it screamed.

 

Samwell I, Feast

"Clydas is only a steward, and his eyes are going bad. We need a maester. Maester Aemon is so frail, a sea voyage . . ." He thought of the Arbor and the Arbor Queen, and almost choked on his tongue. "It might . . . he's old, and . . ."

"His life will be at risk. I am aware of that, Sam, but the risk is greater here. Stannis knows who Aemon is. If the red woman requires king's blood for her spells . . ."

"Oh." Sam paled.

 

Samwell IV, Feast

As the Cinnamon Wind made her way through the Stepstones, Maester Aemon forgot Sam's name oft as not. Some days he took him for one of his dead brothers. "He was too frail for such a long voyage," Sam told Gilly on the forecastle, after another sip of the rum. "Jon should have seen that. Aemon was a hundred and two years old, he should never have been sent to sea. If he had stayed at Castle Black, he might have lived another ten years."

"Or else she might have burned him. The red woman." Even here, a thousand leagues from the Wall, Gilly was reluctant to say Lady Melisandre's name aloud. "She wanted king's blood for her fires. Val knew she did. Lord Snow too. That was why they made me take Dalla's babe away and leave my own behind in his place. Maester Aemon went to sleep and didn't wake up, but if he had stayed, she would have burned him."

He will still burn, Sam thought miserably, only now I have to do it. The Targaryens always gave their fallen to the flames. Quhuru Mo would not allow a funeral pyre aboard the Cinnamon Wind, so Aemon's corpse had been stuffed inside a cask of blackbelly rum to preserve it until the ship reached Oldtown.

 

Samwell V, Feast

"What was he doing at sea, at his age?"

Sam chewed on the question for a moment, wondering how much he ought to say. The sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler. Could Maester Aemon have meant this Sphinx? It seemed unlikely. "Lord Commander Snow sent him away to save his life," he began, hesitantly. He spoke awkwardly of King Stannis and Melisandre of Asshai, intending to stop at that, but one thing led to another and he found himself speaking of Mance Rayder and his wildlings, king's blood and dragons, and before he knew what was happening, all the rest came spilling out; the wights at the Fist of First Men, the Other on his dead horse, the murder of the Old Bear at Craster's Keep, Gilly and their flight, Whitetree and Small Paul, Coldhands and the ravens, Jon's becoming lord commander, the Blackbird, Dareon, Braavos, the dragons Xhondo saw in Qarth, the Cinnamon Wind and all that Maester Aemon whispered toward the end. He held back only the secrets that he was sworn to keep, about Bran Stark and his companions and the babes Jon Snow had swapped. "Daenerys is the only hope," he concluded. "Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late."

Alleras listened intently. He blinked from time to time, but he never laughed and never interrupted. When Sam was done he touched him lightly on the forearm with a slim brown hand and said, "Save your penny, Sam. Theobald will not believe half of that, but there are those who might. Will you come with me?"

 

Jon I, Dance

"Aye, m'lord," said Edd, "but all she knows is that she ran off during the battle and hid in the woods after. We filled her full of porridge, sent her to the pens, and burned the babe."

Burning dead children had ceased to trouble Jon Snow; live ones were another matter. Two kings to wake the dragon. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. The words had been murmured by one of the queen's men as Maester Aemon had cleaned his wounds. Jon had tried to dismiss them as his fever talking. Aemon had demurred. "There is power in a king's blood," the old maester had warned, "and better men than Stannis have done worse things than this." The king can be harsh and unforgiving, aye, but a babe still on the breast? Only a monster would give a living child to the flames.

Jon pissed in darkness, filling his chamber pot as the Old Bear's raven muttered complaints. The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. Ghost knows that Grey Wind is dead. Robb had died at the Twins, betrayed by men he'd believed his friends, and his wolf had perished with him. Bran and Rickon had been murdered too, beheaded at the behest of Theon Greyjoy, who had once been their lord father's ward … but if dreams did not lie, their direwolves had escaped. At Queenscrown, one had come out of the darkness to save Jon's life. Summer, it had to be. His fur was grey, and Shaggydog is black. He wondered if some part of his dead brothers lived on inside their wolves.

 

The King’s Prize, Dance

That was the moment Justin Massey chose to appear. "The king has other plans for his prize captive," he said, with his easy smile. His cheeks were red from the cold.

"The king? Or you?" Suggs snorted his contempt. "Scheme all you like, Massey. She'll still be for the fire, her and her king's blood. There's power in king's blood, the red woman used to say. Power to please our lord."

"Let R'hllor be content with the four we just sent him."

 

Theon I, Winds

"Wise. I am sorry for your mother, but I do not spare the lives of turncloaks. This one, especially. He slew two sons of Eddard Stark. Every northman in my service would abandon me if I showed him any clemency. Your brother must die."

"Then do the deed yourself, Your Grace." The chill in Asha's voice made Theon shiver in his chains. "Take him out across the lake to the islet where the weirwood grows, and strike his head off with that sorcerous sword you bear. That is how Eddard Stark would have done it. Theon slew Lord Eddard's sons. Give him to Lord Eddard's gods. The old gods of the north. Give him to the tree."

And suddenly there came a wild thumping, as the maester's ravens hopped and flapped inside their cages, their black feathers flying as they beat against the bars with loud and raucous caws. "The tree," one squawked, "the tree, the tree," whilst the second screamed only, "Theon, Theon, Theon."

 

Jon XII, Dance

"Gave you my word on it, didn't I? The word of Tormund Giantsbane. Strong as iron, 'tis." He turned and spat.

Amongst the stream of warriors were the fathers of many of Jon's hostages. Some stared with cold dead eyes as they went by, fingering their sword hilts. Others smiled at him like long-lost kin, though a few of those smiles discomfited Jon Snow more than any glare. None knelt, but many gave him their oaths. "What Tormund swore, I swear," declared black-haired Brogg, a man of few words. Soren Shieldbreaker bowed his head an inch and growled, "Soren's axe is yours, Jon Snow, if ever you have need of such." Red-bearded Gerrick Kingsblood brought three daughters. "They will make fine wives, and give their husbands strong sons of royal blood," he boasted. "Like their father, they are descended from Raymun Redbeard, who was King-Beyond-the-Wall."

Blood meant little and less amongst the free folk, Jon knew. Ygritte had taught him that. Gerrick's daughters shared her same flame-red hair, though hers had been a tangle of curls and theirs hung long and straight. Kissed by fire. "Three princesses, each lovelier than the last," he told their father. "I will see that they are presented to the queen." Selyse Baratheon would take to these three better than she had to Val, he suspected; they were younger and considerably more cowed. Sweet enough to look at them, though their father seems a fool.

 

Notes: Jon Snow’s (the green boy revenant, the promised prince) army of Free Folk has “cold dead eyes,” like the eyes of their leader (an unwitting “King-Beyond-the-Wall” figure), like the eyes of wights, like the eyes of the Others, with their “blue star eyes” indicative of the icy moonmaid’s vengeful blue hand at work, forcing her puppets to dance to the song of ice and fire, the war for the dawn.

 

Gerrick Kingsblood and his three daughters (“Three princesses, each lovelier than the last,” says Jon when Gerrick boasts his fiery moonmaidens could give him sons of royal blood, and promises him to present them to the queen, Selyse Baratheon, who’d prefer these wildling princesses, “considerably more cowed” as they are, to icy moonmaid Val, a woman “carved of salt” who will not shatter apart, kneel, or wed and breed, for the purposes of her cruel solar conquerors) are all “kissed by fire.” I shall show you later that “kissed by fire” is actually quite unlucky, despite what the Free Folk claim.

 

See also that “blood mean(s) little and less among the Free Folk” despite what Stannis Baratheon and foolish Gerrick Kingsblood claim, in their effort to create a “royal” house amongst the wildlings, naming Val and Gerrick’s three daughters princesses, Gerrick Kingsblood himself a king, Aemon Battleborn a prince, and Mance Rayder a (deceased) king alongside his (deceased) queen, Dalla, who was Val’s sister (hence their—rather confusing—insistence that Val is royalty).

 

 

Jon XIII, Dance

"How bold of you," said the queen. "We approve. Afterward some bard will make a stirring song about you, no doubt, and we shall have a more prudent lord commander." She took a sip of wine. "Let us speak of other matters. Axell, bring in the wildling king, if you would be so good."

"At once, Your Grace." Ser Axell went through a door and returned a moment later with Gerrick Kingsblood. "Gerrick of House Redbeard," he announced, "King of the Wildlings."

Gerrick Kingsblood was a tall man, long of leg and broad of shoulder. The queen had dressed him in some of the king's old clothes, it appeared. Scrubbed and groomed, clad in green velvets and an ermine half-cape, with his long red hair freshly washed and his fiery beard shaped and trimmed, the wildling looked every inch a southron lord. He could walk into the throne room at King's Landing, and no one would blink an eye, Jon thought.

"Gerrick is the true and rightful king of the wildlings," the queen said, "descended in an unbroken male line from their great king Raymun Redbeard, whereas the usurper Mance Rayder was born of some common woman and fathered by one of your black brothers."

 

 

Jon XIII, Dance

"With the little monster, like as not. He's taken a liking to one o' them milkmaids, I hear."

He has taken a liking to Val. Her sister was a queen, why not her? Tormund had once thought to make himself the King-Beyond-the-Wall, before Mance had bested him. Toregg the Tall might well be dreaming the same dream. Better him than Gerrick Kingsblood. "Let them be," said Jon. "I can speak with Toregg later." He glanced up past the King's Tower. The Wall was a dull white, the sky above it whiter. A snow sky. "Just pray we do not get another storm."

Outside the armory, Mully and the Flea stood shivering at guard. "Shouldn't you be inside, out of this wind?" Jon asked.

 

 

Jon XIII, Dance

Tormund Giantsbane timed his arrival perfectly, thundering up with his warriors when all the shoveling was done. Only fifty seemed to have turned up, not the eighty Toregg promised Leathers, but Tormund was not called Tall-Talker for naught. The wildling arrived red-faced, shouting for a horn of ale and something hot to eat. He had ice in his beard and more crusting his mustache.

Someone had already told the Thunderfist about Gerrick Kingsblood and his new style. "King o' the Wildlings?" Tormund roared. "Har! King o' My Hairy Butt Crack, more like."

"He has a regal look to him," Jon said.

 

What does all of this amount to? What becomes of Nissa Nissa and her promised prince? What does it really look like, when a man sacrifices the woman he claims to love to achieve his sorcerous, black agenda?

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Davos I, Clash

The burning gods cast a pretty light, wreathed in their robes of shifting flame, red and orange and yellow. Septon Barre had once told Davos how they'd been carved from the masts of the ships that had carried the first Targaryens from Valyria. Over the centuries, they had been painted and repainted, gilded, silvered, jeweled. "Their beauty will make them more pleasing to R'hllor," Melisandre said when she told Stannis to pull them down and drag them out the castle gates.

The Maiden lay athwart the Warrior, her arms widespread as if to embrace him. The Mother seemed almost to shudder as the flames came licking up her face. A longsword had been thrust through her heart, and its leather grip was alive with flame. The Father was on the bottom, the first to fall. Davos watched the hand of the Stranger writhe and curl as the fingers blackened and fell away one by one, reduced to so much glowing charcoal. Nearby, Lord Celtigar coughed fitfully and covered his wrinkled face with a square of linen embroidered in red crabs. The Myrmen swapped jokes as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire, but young Lord Bar Emmon had turned a splotchy grey, and Lord Velaryon was watching the king rather than the conflagration.

Davos would have given much to know what he was thinking, but one such as Velaryon would never confide in him. The Lord of the Tides was of the blood of ancient Valyria, and his House had thrice provided brides for Targaryen princes; Davos Seaworth stank of fish and onions. It was the same with the other lordlings. He could trust none of them, nor would they ever include him in their private councils. They scorned his sons as well. My grandsons will joust with theirs, though, and one day their blood may wed with mine. In time my little black ship will fly as high as Velaryon's seahorse or Celtigar's red crabs.

That is, if Stannis won his throne. If he lost….

Everything I am, I owe to him. Stannis had raised him to knighthood. He had given him a place of honor at his table, a war galley to sail in place of a smuggler's skiff. Dale and Allard captained galleys as well, Maric was oarmaster on the Fury, Matthos served his father on Black Betha, and the king had taken Devan as a royal squire. One day he would be knighted, and the two little lads as well. Marya was mistress of a small keep on Cape Wrath, with servants who called her m'lady, and Davos could hunt red deer in his own woods. All this he had of Stannis Baratheon, for the price of a few finger joints. It was just, what he did to me. I had flouted the king's laws all my life. He has earned my loyalty. Davos touched the little pouch that hung from the leather thong about his neck. His fingers were his luck, and he needed luck now. As do we all. Lord Stannis most of all.

Pale flames licked at the grey sky. Dark smoke rose, twisting and curling. When the wind pushed it toward them, men blinked and wept and rubbed their eyes. Allard turned his head away, coughing and cursing. A taste of things to come, thought Davos. Many and more would burn before this war was done.

Melisandre was robed all in scarlet satin and blood velvet, her eyes as red as the great ruby that glistened at her throat as if it too were afire. "In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him." She lifted her voice, so it carried out over the gathered host. "Azor Ahai, beloved of R'hllor! The Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire! Come forth, your sword awaits you! Come forth and take it into your hand!"

Stannis Baratheon strode forward like a soldier marching into battle. His squires stepped up to attend him. Davos watched as his son Devan pulled a long padded glove over the king's right hand. The boy wore a cream-colored doublet with a fiery heart sewn on the breast. Bryen Farring was similarly garbed as he tied a stiff leather cape around His Grace's neck. Behind, Davos heard a faint clank and clatter of bells. "Under the sea, smoke rises in bubbles, and flames burn green and blue and black," Patchface sang somewhere. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

The king plunged into the fire with his teeth clenched, holding the leather cloak before him to keep off the flames. He went straight to the Mother, grasped the sword with his gloved hand, and wrenched it free of the burning wood with a single hard jerk. Then he was retreating, the sword held high, jade-green flames swirling around cherry-red steel. Guards rushed to beat out the cinders that clung to the king's clothing.

Bottom of Form

"A sword of fire!" shouted Queen Selyse. Ser Axell Florent and the other queen's men took up the cry. "A sword of fire! It burns! It burns! A sword of fire!"

Melisandre lifted her hands above her head. "Behold! A sign was promised, and now a sign is seen! Behold Lightbringer! Azor Ahai has come again! All hail the Warrior of Light! All hail the Son of Fire!"

A ragged wave of shouts gave answer, just as Stannis's glove began to smolder. Cursing, the king thrust the point of the sword into the damp earth and beat out the flames against his leg.

"Lord, cast your light upon us!" Melisandre called out.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," Selyse and her queen's men replied. Should I speak the words as well? Davos wondered. Do I owe Stannis that much? Is this fiery god truly his own? His shortened fingers twitched.

Stannis peeled off the glove and let it fall to the ground. The gods in the pyre were scarcely recognizable anymore. The head fell off the Smith with a puff of ash and embers. Melisandre sang in the tongue of Asshai, her voice rising and falling like the tides of the sea. Stannis untied his singed leather cape and listened in silence. Thrust in the ground, Lightbringer still glowed ruddy hot, but the flames that clung to the sword were dwindling and dying.

By the time the song was done, only charwood remained of the gods, and the king's patience had run its course. He took the queen by the elbow and escorted her back into Dragonstone, leaving Lightbringer where it stood. The red woman remained a moment to watch as Devan knelt with Byren Farring and rolled up the burnt and blackened sword in the king's leather cloak. The Red Sword of Heroes looks a proper mess, thought Davos.

A few of the lords lingered to speak in quiet voices upwind of the fire. They fell silent when they saw Davos looking at them. Should Stannis fall, they will pull me down in an instant. Neither was he counted one of the queen's men, that group of ambitious knights and minor lordlings who had given themselves to this Lord of Light and so won the favor and patronage of Lady—no, Queen, remember?—Selyse.

 

Stannis attempts to forge Lightbringer at Melisandre’s urging (perhaps itself a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Melisandre saw a vision of this ritualistic farce in her flames—as she tells us she is most competent searching for “herself” in the flames, and any “danger” that might be presented to her—like a true moonmaid, of course—and made a deliberate attempt to “re-create” her vision, thereby fulfilling it, even if it did not predict what she presumed it did: that is, Stannis Baratheon is “R’hllor’s chosen” to wield Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, to fight the war for the dawn, when indeed it may have in fact warned her of the danger to herself and to others of following this dark and damned path of trying to “create” her own Azor Ahai Reborn), but he does not know what Lightbringer is or what its forging means. He is not alone in this, of course, as men and gods alike have forgotten the tragedy of the deity’s corruption and abandonment of the sacred destiny (the three-headed dragon god, the triune deity: Creator, Preserver, Destroyer). However, Stannis Baratheon is unique (being a member of a select group of characters, peoples, and organizations) that deliberately attempt to bring about prophecies and visions that they do not understand, to their detriment, and to that of the world entire.

 

Lightbringer’s forging was not a half-hearted ritual full of “mummer’s tricks” (Melisandre indeed fools the onlookers during this ritual farce, by coating the blade with wildfire to make it burn, which is why the flames along the blade plunged through the wooden Mother’s heart are described as “jade-green flames swirling around cherry-red steel” and why the blade that results is “burnt and blackened” and “a proper mess” when the squires roll it up, just as the cheap flaming swords Thoros of Myr used to wield were destroyed in the process, to the dismay of his armorer, Tobho Mott—as Gendry tells us during his encounter with the Brotherhood without Banners. Melisandre has used a mummer’s trick to deceive viewers into joining the community of the faithful—she herself admits as much, that she is skilled in putting on a show to trick people into believing, and tells the reader that she carries a trunk full of powders and potions and other mummery tools for this purpose; by the time she reaches the Wall, her trunk is already less than half full, which further tells the reader that we must look for instances in which she might have used these tricks and tools to fool even us. This “forging of Lightbringer” sequence is likely a prime example of this, as well as the “burning of the leeches” full of “kingsblood” sequence that was meant to “cause” the deaths of three kings, Joffrey, Balon, and Robb; another, more minor, incidence of this mummery is when she fools Jon Snow into seeing Ygritte when he looks at her, perhaps with her powder to bring on “lust” so they might make shadowbabies with his kingsblood, his seed and his soul, as well as when she lures Ghost to her, counter to Jon Snow’s command, to convince him that his Direwolf trusts her. During this forging sequence, then, she takes away the “burnt and blackened” sword and returns with a dazzling fake sword, likely powered by the ruby in its hilt.)

 

We see also during this scene: 

 

“The burning gods cast a pretty light… wreathed in… shifting flames,” which is an ultimate celestial image of the “burning” and bright solar and lunar deities with their life-giving light and their flaring “manes” and “crowns”—the breathtaking corona of celestial body at eclipse. These godly icons are carved from the “masts of the ships that carried the first Targaryens from Valyria,” underlining for the reader the “prophetic” and “godly destiny” that drove the Targaryens from their ancestral homeland, to a land where they would conquer to become kings and queens, and for which they would breed the ultimate prince, the long-awaited prince that was promised, who will wake the dragon from stone and drive death and darkness before them. The first paragraph continues by telling the reader how this prophecy will come about, and how the celestial event that long preceded it unfolded, wherein the maiden “lays athwart” the warrior, in an embrace both loving and violent, and the mother shudders as “the flames came licking up her face” with “a longsword…thrust through her heart… its leather grip… alive with flame,” (Nissa Nissa giving her “fire” to the blade Lightbringer). The father is “the first to fall”—not necessarily the first to die, but the first to “fall” and be consumed by the fires, the first to stray from his original celestial purpose and drag the rest down with him into the blackest, foulest pits of hell and damnation. Our attention is then drawn to the Stranger (the son), whose hand begins to “writhe and curl” and the “fingers blackened… reduced to… glowing charcoal,” like the black hands of the wights (the Stranger’s unwilling resurrection, the blood congealing in his hands and feet). A gruesome scene.

 

 

We also see, amidst Davos’s ruminations about why he believes he owes Stannis fealty (having raised him up to knighthood and employed him and his sons, likely via his position as Master of Ships, as it is a “war galley” that Davos sails, along with his sons), that Davos is now able to “hunt red deer in his own woods.” This is curious to me because the stag is the sigil of House Baratheon, and, with it being a “red” deer that Davos now “hunts,” I cannot help but think of Stannis Baratheon (Davos’s chosen lord, despite Cape Wrath’s location in the Stormlands, where Renly rules), who encases his deer in a “burning heart” of the god R’hllor (and therefore might be thought of as a “burning hart”), nor can I help but wonder if this means Davos will eventually turn on Stannis or choose a new lord to profess fealty to (betraying him, perhaps, in a moment of need because of something Stannis, Melisandre, or Selyse does that reviles him, as he oft wonders just how much he owes Stannis—“Should I speak the words as well? Davos wondered. Do I owe Stannis that much? Is this fiery god really his own?”).

 

Which brings us back to the king, as Davos clutches his fingerbones in the pouch about his neck “for luck,” lest Stannis should lose his war, as well as Davos’s justifications for Stannis’s behavior (the loss of his fingers after he risked his life to smuggle food to the starving garrison at Storm’s End, for example—“It was just,” Davos tells himself, but he will soon come to struggle with many of Stannis’s decisions, especially as Stannis detours down a dark and dangerous path, the “Old Way” of the red solar god.).

 

As he ruminates on Stannis, the “pale flames licked at the grey sky” (the transformation of the Mother from her fiery aspect to her icy aspect, with “pale flames” the key phrase to clue the reader in to the change) and “dark smoke” rises up with “wind” whipping it into the eyes of the onlookers who “blinked and wept and rubbed their eyes” and one man can be heard “cursing” (as does the grieving, merciless Mother in the heavens above). This is only “a taste of things to come” Martin warns the reader, and “many and more will burn before this war was done.”

 

Now comes forth red-eyed Melisandre, robed in “scarlet silk and blood velvet” with her ruby burning at her throat to profess the ancient prophecy of Azor Ahai Reborn. An upcoming essay, entitled "Look to the Skies: the Definitive Guide to the House of the Undying Ones" will clarify for the reader what the prophecy of ice and fire is, what it means, who it talks about, and how nearly all of the prophets/prophecies given the reader in ASoIaF are tied together, speaking of one event (and how it pertains--cover to cover--the tale of Ice and Fire). It will break down the House of the Undying Ones in a never-before-seen way, explain the entire chapter in detail, reveal the fates of our dragons and lions, take a look at Bran III Game and Bran III Dance, Patchface, the Ghost of High Heart, and Maegi Spicer, as well as many of the dreams/visions our characters have had and misunderstood in a big way. You won't look at the prophecy or the series in the same way again, so keep your eye open for the link! 

 

For now, we are going t move along and dig into the heart of some important ideas and clarify some important history that is essential reading for understanding ASoIaF and its prophecies and visions, its themes and symbols. 

A reading of the scene above (Stannis's "forging of Lightbringer" farce)  highlights for the reader the flimsy, half-assed nature of Stannis Baratheon's ascension to godhead as Azor Ahai Reborn and the trivial, even laughable quality of his "hero's blade," the symbol of his divine authority--similar in meaning to the scepter as symbol of royal authority bestowed by sacred grace. 

 

Let's take a closer look at Lightbringer, the symbol of Stannis Baratheon's divine authority and holy power, and the passages that undercut and undermine this sacral power and authority: 

 

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Davos I, Clash

Ser Davos Seaworth lingered over his tankard for a good while, thinking. A year ago, he had been with Stannis in King's Landing when King Robert staged a tourney for Prince Joffrey's name day. He remembered the red priest Thoros of Myr, and the flaming sword he had wielded in the melee. The man had made for a colorful spectacle, his red robes flapping while his blade writhed with pale green flames, but everyone knew there was no true magic to it, and in the end his fire had guttered out and Bronze Yohn Royce had brained him with a common mace.

 

 

Martin draws the reader’s attention to Thoros of Myr’s green-flaming swords, dipped in wildfire and destroyed by it, the same trick that Melisandre uses to fool onlookers and readers during the Lightbringer’s Forging sequence, and that “everyone (should) kn(ow) there was no true magic to it,” warning us that “in the end (Stannis’s) fire (will) gutter out” and that he might even end up “brained” with a “common” weapon, for all his vainglory and flashy optics and so-called “magical” support and backing, even by the “one true god” himself.

 

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Samwell V, Storm

"Heat? From the sword?" He thought back. "The air around it was shimmering, the way it does above a hot brazier."

"Yet you felt no heat, did you? And the scabbard that held this sword, it is wood and leather, yes? I heard the sound when His Grace drew out the blade. Was the leather scorched, Sam? Did the wood seem burnt or blackened?"

"No," Sam admitted. "Not that I could see."

 

Something is wrong with the sword called “Lightbringer” in Stannis’s possession… and the simple answer to the question (what is wrong?) is that the sword is a paltry fake.

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Davos I, Clash

The sudden shift in subject left Davos uneasy. "Sword?"

"A sword plucked from fire, yes. Men tell me things, it is my pleasant smile. How shall a burnt sword serve Stannis?"

"A burning sword," corrected Davos.

"Burnt," said Salladhor Saan, "and be glad of that, my friend. Do you know the tale of the forging of Lightbringer? I shall tell it to you. It was a time when darkness lay heavy on the world. To oppose it, the hero must have a hero's blade, oh, like none that had ever been. And so for thirty days and thirty nights Azor Ahai labored sleepless in the temple, forging a blade in the sacred fires. Heat and hammer and fold, heat and hammer and fold, oh, yes, until the sword was done. Yet when he plunged it into water to temper the steel it burst asunder.

"Being a hero, it was not for him to shrug and go in search of excellent grapes such as these, so again he began. The second time it took him fifty days and fifty nights, and this sword seemed even finer than the first. Azor Ahai captured a lion, to temper the blade by plunging it through the beast's red heart, but once more the steel shattered and split. Great was his woe and great was his sorrow then, for he knew what he must do.

"A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white-hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. 'Nissa Nissa,' he said to her, for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.' She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

"Now do you see my meaning? Be glad that it is just a burnt sword that His Grace pulled from that fire. Too much light can hurt the eyes, my friend, and fire burns." Salladhor Saan finished the last grape and smacked his lips. "When do you think the king will bid us sail, good ser?"

"Soon, I think," said Davos, "if his god wills it."

 

 

The songs and histories, the myths and legends, have turned “Azor Ahai” into a venerable hero, an archetypal hero to be emulated, a selfless hero willing to make the greatest sacrifice of all for the greater good of all. The songs and histories, the myths and legends lie. Perhaps the people who wrote them (and even the gods before them) forgot: the greatest sacrifice of all is sacrifice of self, and no one retains the right to make forced sacrifice of others to achieve his goals, and should they take this path regardless they are to be reviled as cravens and held in contempt as the blackest of all villains, who are mere “beasts in human skin,” lacking in any moral value or redeeming quality or heroic virtue.

 

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Davos I, Clash

Ser Davos Seaworth lingered over his tankard for a good while, thinking. A year ago, he had been with Stannis in King's Landing when King Robert staged a tourney for Prince Joffrey's name day. He remembered the red priest Thoros of Myr, and the flaming sword he had wielded in the melee. The man had made for a colorful spectacle, his red robes flapping while his blade writhed with pale green flames, but everyone knew there was no true magic to it, and in the end his fire had guttered out and Bronze Yohn Royce had brained him with a common mace.

A true sword of fire, now, that would be a wonder to behold. Yet at such a cost . . . When he thought of Nissa Nissa, it was his own Marya he pictured, a good-natured plump woman with sagging breasts and a kindly smile, the best woman in the world. He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered. I am not made of the stuff of heroes, he decided. If that was the price of a magic sword, it was more than he cared to pay.

Davos finished his ale, pushed away the tankard, and left the inn. On the way out he patted the gargoyle on the head and muttered, "Luck." They would all need it.

 

This is what the true forging of Lightbringer actually looks like: a man choosing to slaughter not only an innocent, but also the woman, the person, he claims to love most in the world, all for selfish gain, because he fancies it will make him “the stuff of heroes.” But Martin is adamant in the end, that Lightbringer’s Forging is utterly antithetical to the heroic, and that no man who was a hero (in even the most mundane capacity) would even consider to ascend to heights of “heroism” in this way, because he knows that the price paid and the journey itself matter even more than the destination, he knows that the ends—however glorious they are imagined to be—do not justify the means.

 

 

 

So, what answer is given to the Azor Ahai archetype and his “old way” of usurpation, slaughter, sorcery, and forced human sacrifice? What is there in the narrative to balance the cosmic scales? Where is the justice, the righteousness, the selflessness? Where is the sacred?

It can be found in the true “old way,” the way of the Creator deity, the Corn King, the Sacred Sacrificial King. This was the “old way” when Azor Ahai’s “old way” had yet to be conceived in the blackest pit of his rotten, corrupt heart. And yes, even here, something went terribly wrong with the “old way” of the Creator deity, he is not blameless in the cycle of violence that erupted from the corruption of the Triune Deity, he too played his part.

Above (in previous essays) I explained to you the riddle of the sphinx and the power of queensblood and the meaning of Trios of the Three Heads. We need to revisit them all now.

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What is the song of ice and fire? The dragon has three heads.

 

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Three-Headed Trios has wandered from his original meaning and purpose, to the detriment of the “song.” Trios is the god of Destruction, Preservation, and Creation. 

 

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Now that the song is skewed from this righteous purpose, it has become an ugly song of war, and the power of queensblood is in the Mother’s agony for a slaughtered child (the green giant promised prince), seeking vengeance for the wrongs done against them.

 

Now it’s time to explore these concepts in more depth, which is why it was integral to establish the Four Body Problem (to review, see above: The Three-Headed Problem: Sun, Moon, Earth). If you have not read or understood the above essays, turn back now!

 

For the rest of you, I have a brain teaser: If the song of ice and fire is the dragon has three heads, then why is it “the prince that was promised’s” song and not “the triune deity’s” song? Do you know the answer?

The Four Body Problem should give you a hint: once, there were two moons in the heavens, in addition to one sun, moving about in the “firmament” of the face of the earth.

Do you see it now, the dragon?

(answer in spoiler tag, for those who’d like time to work it out themselves)

Evidence NOT optional; open this spoiler tag!!!

Spoiler

The Earth, the green giant, the promised prince, the Corn King, is the Dragon (BODY)

The Sun and the Fire Moon (dwarf moon) at total solar eclipse compose one Eye of the God (the Earth, the Dragon)

The Sun and the Ice Moon (large moon) at total solar eclipse compose one Eye of the God (the Earth, the Dragon)

The Sun, and the Fire Moon, and the Ice Moon compose the Three Heads of the God (the Earth, the Dragon)

The Dragon has Three Heads is the celestial song that belongs to the god (green giant, Corn King, the Dragon), who is the prince that was promised, who sings of ice and fire and so turns the seasons of love. This is “the song of earth and stone” the Children of the Forest sing: the Dragon has Three Heads. (But only two eyes(!), another riddle meant to trip the reader up—boy, Martin is a tricksy bird, isn’t he?)

 

The THREE-EYED CROW, then, would be: 

1. The Earth, the BODY, 

2. The DRAGON HEADS=CROW EYES (Sun, Large Moon, Small Moon).

 

The (Valyrian) Sphinx has: 

1. A dragon body (The EARTH)

2. A human head (SUN)

3. Dragon wings (TWO MOONS)

 

Other Sphinx

1. A human head (SUN)

2. A lion's body (EARTH)

3. A hawk's wings (TWO Moons) 

The wings might well be CROW WINGS. 

Also, remember that Azor Ahai was said to attempt the second forging of his Hero's Blade by tempering the steel in the heart of a lion. Lions can also represent the sun (golden lion) or the moon (Lion of Night came forth with all (her) demons when the Maiden-Made-of-Light turned (his) back on the world) in ASoIaF. 

 

Harpy: 

1. Woman's Torso (and head?) (EARTH + SUN)

2. Wings of a Bat (Large Moon)

3. Curled and Poisonous Scorpion Tail (RED COMET)

4. Legs of Eagle (Small Moon)

Harpies tend to be made of bronze or clay, and may clutch either a chain (i.e., the "puppet on a string" dancing to its mother's vengeful son) or a whip and collar (i.e., same again). 

 

The Great Stallion:

1. Body (EARTH) 

2. Head (Sun + Moon in eclipse formation)

3. Fiery Mane (Red Comet)

 

Speaking of tricksy birds, let’s talk about what this actually means:

There is one god. The god is triune. The god has three heads but only two eyes. The god has a song, a song of ice and fire. The god is the prince that was promised. The god is the Dragon, the green giant, the Corn King, and the Sphinx. Remember, the Sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler!

So who was the Corn King and what was his Promise, before everything went to hell, and the god that was triune and singular fell into eternal war with itself, tearing itself apart?

Let’s take a step back to Trios one more time, keeping in mind the clever riddle of the Four Body Problem…

Destruction—Fire-Eye of the God (Sun + dwarf Fire Moon; at total solar eclipse)—the god below: Daenerys Targaryen

Preservation—Ice-Eye of the God (Sun + large Ice Moon; at total solar eclipse)—the god below: Aegon VI “Young Griff” Targaryen

Creation—Dragon Earth, Corn King, Promised Prince—the god below: Jon Snow

 

Let’s also take a look back at the riddle of Rhaegar’s rubies.

Here are Rhaegar’s seven rubies: <> <> <> <> <> <> <> Make the three-headed dragon out of them.

I hope you all have worked out the solution! If you’re still teasing it out, here’s another hint: Martin is a tricksy, tricksy bird!

And now for the answer to the riddle, as promised, and without further ado:

(answer in spoiler tag, for those who’d like time to work it out themselves)

Evidence NOT optional; open this spoiler tag!!!

Spoiler

1.       <Sun> The solar deity, the Destroyer, season of Summer, season of fire, god of consumption and death

2.       <Fire Moon> The lunar deity, dwarf moon, fiery moonmaid

3.       <Ice Moon> The lunar deity, large moon, icy moonmaid

a.       Both aspects of the lunar deity are collectively the Preserver, season of autumn/winter, goddess of ice and preservation and life; the “fiery” aspect of the lunar deity is integral to her role as Preserver and Winter Queen, as ice burns, remember. This is also how autumn is tied into the seasons of the triune godhead, a time when the goddess is in transition from her “fiery” aspect to her “icy” aspect, even as the world is dying, there is still warmth and life—preservation of life—lodged within the ice and cold and death. Thus, the lunar deity is representative and goddess of autumn and winter, not just winter.

4.       <Sun+Fire Moon, at total solar eclipse> the Fiery Eye of the God, the Blinded god’s eye, aspect of fertility, love, creation (the aspect of the god that evolves to become R’hllor)

5.       <Sun+Ice Moon, at total solar eclipse> the Icy Eye of the God, the remaining god’s eye, aspect of death, mourning, hate, destruction (the aspect of the god that evolves to become the Great Other)

6.       <Earth> The terrestrial deity, the green boy giant, the promised prince, the Creator, season of Spring, season of ice and fire, god of growth, birth, and rebirth

7.       <Red Comet> the Red Comet, the Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, the Sword of the Morning and the Sword of the Evening, the scratch against the face of the god, the hot poker that blinds the god’s (fiery) eye, the tears of blood that the god weeps (at the blinding; meteors falling to the earth are also tears of blood raining upon the world!), the solar deity’s “sword/spear” (the penis that pierces the lunar deity and fertilizes the lunar deity/“celestial egg” in the forging of Lightbringer-as-Dragon-Prince)—the Red Comet has a great many roles to play!

Seven rubies, seven aspects of the godhead, the Dragon.

Three-Headed Trios, then, is the name of the earth, the very first god, the fertility and nature deity, who has since been forgotten, divided up, and reinterpreted as the various gods of ice and fire present in the narrative in the modern day.

Yet because the song belongs to the promised prince, it leads us to conclude that that triune deity is really singular, the aspects of the one true god—the earth, the green giant, the dragon with three heads.

 

I hope this is all clear now, because it’s exceedingly important. If you don’t understand this picture, please take your time to ponder it before moving on. You have to understand where the god started out before you see how it strayed and what small hope there is of getting back on track (where this essay series heads next, in quite some depth and detail).

 

Taking all of this into account, what is Jon’s role as Corn King and Creator aspect of the Triune Deity? Let us start breaking down his place in the prophecy of ice and fire by asking and answering a few simple questions.

What is a Corn King?

What do the Faces of the Green Dragon, Trios, look like?

Why did the three aspects of the deity have a falling out? The deities above? The deities below?

What are the results of this falling out?

What and who are the (three) Fisher Kings and why are they symbolized by the Trident?

Why are the Brothers (King of Summer and King of Winter) at war? Why isn’t the King of Spring represented like his siblings?

What is the significance and symbolism of corn, especially to the Corn King himself?

UP NEXT: the hidden theme and narrative in the series that is “perhaps the most important hidden theme and narrative in A Song of Ice and Fire,” which is “the Fisher King and the Forced Sacrificial King as corruption of the righteous power of Sacrificial Kingship.” We'll explore the Corn King, identify the First King, identify the ancient "deities below" and examine the roles they played in the original War for the Dawn, take a look at the Baratheon Brothers (Robert, Stannis, Renly), Garth the Green, the Grey King, and more. It was all intended to be one essay, but it grew far too long, so I had to break it down into more manageable parts. 

 

 

 

[HoodedCrow]

Good grief, tldr, much too preachy