An episode dedicated to all kinds of ASOIAF dreams and dreamers, whether mundane or magical. Green dreams, wolf dreams, dragon dreams, dreams of guilt, fever dreams… and an accompanying Q&A to go with it, answering all the burning (and freezing) questions sent us regarding the last episode.
Credits
Our introduction, and the awesome new Essos map were created by Michael Klarfeld (Klaradox), with the cyvasse pieces created by dutchmogul. Check out the episode on YouTube or the Acast player below to see those images, as well as art by Ed Scheer.
The Reader (Martin Lewis of Echoes of Ice and Fire).
The primary topics in this episode:
Part 1 – Dreams of the Past
Part 2 – Dreams of the Present
Part 3 – Dreams of the Future
Part 4 – Dreams Out of Time
Outro
“There’s different kinds,” he said slowly. “There’s the wolf dreams, those aren’t so bad as the others. I run and hunt and kill squirrels. And there’s dreams where the crow comes and tells me to fly. Sometimes the tree is in those dreams too, calling my name. That frightens me. But the worst dreams are when I fall.”
– ACOK, Bran V
That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies. – AGOT, Sansa IV AGOT
“He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.” – AGOT, Jon III
“They are children, Sansa thought. They are silly little girls, even Elinor. They’ve never seen a battle, they’ve never seen a man die, they know nothing. Their dreams were full of songs and stories, the way hers had been before Joffrey cut her father’s head off. Sansa pitied them. Sansa envied them.” – ASOS, Sansa II
“That night Catelyn slept fitfully, haunted by formless dreams of her children, the lost and the dead.” – ASOS, Catelyn I
“She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night. She would sooner sit bathed in the ruddy glow of her red lord’s blessed flames, her cheeks flushed by the wash of heat as if by a lover’s kisses. Some nights she drowsed, but never for more than an hour. One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams. Melony, she thought. Lot Seven.” – ADWD, Melisandre
