I woke up this morning thinking about the finale to Game of Thrones. I dreamt about it again last night. I swam in the gorgeous green glow of wildfire and twisted and turned in the searing flames of the AVClub Game of Thrones for Newbies comments thread, a veteran illiterate, the Davos Seaworthy of the internet. I fell with the snows of winter on the Snow of Winterfell. I clicked like on untold numbers of YouTube breakdown videos. I traveled across great swaths of sea and land in no time at all to enter myself into the fray and fed Freys into Frey. I cast myself headlong into vivacious audio vivisections until I was near bored of gore and swords.
My head was humming and, to paraphrase the poet Plant, it wouldn’t go because I didn’t know what to do with all of these feelings and thoughts. So very many thoughts… and feelings. They hounded me and seem to die off. Just as I began to write off that chapter and believe that that book is closed it’s coldly opened before me. Another cognitive ax to grind. So many of these thoughts and feelings are grown in my own mental kingdom… so many more are those which have breached the threshold into my mind like so many Wildlings crossing the Wall and now… now…
Now I am become the fourth eye of the white raven, soaring between paragraphs and I can see and hear everything except maybe when you whisper.
I am become dead. On the third episode I rose again, yet I regret to say Rose Leslie will ne’er be Ygritte again, but what do I know? Nothing has changed in me save the wounds in my side and my hair is pulled back all the time. I led my men to death and drowned myself almost in their shadows; if only to know a Vale would those Free Folk be still yolked to their corporeal forms.
Now I am become the one in Meereen, and I am in Dorne, but now I am on a ship and I am with the others who are more attached to their banners than their little birds and balls and chains.
I am become slave to my brother’s desires but a crown sets me free to walk through fires and become Mother of dragons. I replace Slaver’s Bay with the Bay of Dragons. I am the Bae of Names.
Now I am become Baelish, as you wish. For a whore I am a pimp, but for more I am simply unable to resist giving away the one I love to a monster and his dogs and hope the seven Gods will be with her because I am bolting away.
I am become Roose-less Ramsey, loose and carefree before my chickens come home to roost and I see, before my smug is bitten free of my mug, my ex-wife may have stolen my half-smile but not half my guile.
Now I am become stark raving sad, thrice betrothed, a free agent, yet seemingly without much agency, I can’t stanza.
I become short in stature but not on words. I tell jokes to kill time and master new positions as even my hands are quite large for a queen. By the fans of flames, beloved am I, made in the shade of the Targaryen who unbinds to win.
Now I am become the Divine Miss M, caught in the middle of a spiritual revival. I tried to ex-sept my self, but twas not to be. I am enigmatic and I am loving and I am a rose and I am plucked and now I am not so thorny, horny, nor enigmatic anymore. And my brother! Alas, poor Loras. I knew him. For fellatio of Renly he found his jest to be finite and his cell exodus to be abhorrent and short-lived. Our flippant Grandmother bent for Dorne, and her reaction to our deaths in only my imagination it is!
I am become my nephew’s mother and watched as he fell under the wing of a sparrow and watched as he fell flightless out of a window. Incestuous for the rest of us, I’m the Queen who cuts to the quick with a sick Qyburn, who made a Mountain from a roadkill. I know now how to stick the King’s Landing.
Now I am become L=J-R