by James Lowder
The Summer Path
Other characters in A Song of Ice and Fire appear to have more potential for developing insight, and thus redeeming themselves from previous sins. Davos Seaworth is perhaps the most simplistic example of a character with realistic self-appraisal. Born to filth and risen to the rank of smuggler, Davos becomes the most skilled and revered brigand in the Seven Kingdoms. During the great rebellion that precedes A Game of Thrones, he runs blockades with his pirate ship, singlehandedly saving Stannis Baratheon and the knights of Storm’s End from death by starvation, earning himself the nickname of the Onion Knight. Stannis honors him for this deed with lands and a title—but also exacts sentence for Seaworth’s past crimes by hacking off the first joint of all the fingers on his left hand.
A true man of his era, Seaworth recognizes his own prior follies and declares this a just punishment. He asks only that Stannis swing the blade himself. Seaworth stands as an example of a man who understands his sins, and is willing to do penance. Though harsh, his sentence leaves him alive and able to pursue his own hero’s journey as the books progress. In his current work for Stannis, Seaworth is attempting to bring unity and cooperation, which will be essential to the survival of every soul in the Seven Kingdoms. It will be interesting to see what role he may play in the destruction of Winter’s evils when they finally come to threaten all of Westeros.
Sansa Stark—ah, what a complicated and initially deluded young woman! In A Game of Thrones, readers find Sansa immature, selfish, and far too easily influenced by fantasies of wealth and ideal love. She has difficulty separating fantasy from reality, and her loyalty to those who love her is never absolute but rather is buffeted by the strength of the personalities around her. Her dreams seem to be coming true when, betrothed to heir-to-the-throne Joffrey Baratheon, she heads off to King’s Landing with her father and sister to begin an exciting life as a queen-in-waiting. Of course, it is not long before her pretty fantasies unravel. She sees Joffrey’s cruelty in his attack on her sister and her sister’s friend, yet she cannot bring herself to do the right thing and speak the truth against him. This failure results in the execution of her direwolf Lady.
Sadly for the Stark family, Sansa learns slowly. Despite clear evidence of Joffrey’s sadism and Cersei’s perfidy, when Ned Stark attempts to send Sansa back to Winterfell, she commits the unforgivable sin in Westeros. She focuses on her own personal wishes instead of the well-being of her family or the people she imagines she will one day serve as queen. She flees to Cersei and tells her of Ned’s plans, setting in motion her father’s arrest and the events that will directly explode into civil war in the Seven Kingdoms. The consequences of this selfish choice are harsh: being forced to witness the beheading of her father—and worse, becoming Joffrey’s prisoner and personal whipping girl. She continues her betrayal of House Stark and its words, but now in form only, because she sees that Cersei and Joffrey are evil.
In A Clash of Kings, Sansa begins to show maturity during the Battle of the Blackwater, when she comforts other women trapped with her in the Great Sept of Baelor and sows unity, comfort, and strength instead of discord—far more than Queen Cersei can manage. At the conclusion of this battle, Sansa shows more growth still when she puts aside her own selfish perceptions and concerns and instead prays for Sandor Clegane, the Hound, asking, “Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.”
Her courage growing, Sansa moves on to an act of outright bravery in A Storm of Swords. In a private meeting with the Tyrell matrons, despite extreme risk to herself, she tells the truth about Joffrey’s character, naming him a monster. In doing so, she attempts to save Margaery Tyrell from his sadism and, indirectly, the kingdom from the disunity that will foment when Joffrey visits his cruelty on the woman. Joffrey’s death by poisoning and Sansa’s marriage (albeit forced) to Tyrion Lannister, the one person in the Red Keep who might protect her, seem to be fairly immediate improvements in her situation following this right and selfless action. She then escapes the Lannisters, but unfortunately winds up at the Eyrie under the tutelage of Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish, and initially at the mercy of her mad aunt, Lysa Tully Arryn. In A Feast for Crows, we see little of Sansa, but it is clear she has taken over the duties as female head of household at the Eyrie, and that she is learning much about the type of political intrigue Baelish favors. Her destination on the path to redemption is far from clear, but at least she has the potential to keep walking, if she can keep herself grounded in reality and remember, as others must, that Winter is coming.
Described as having “hair as bright as beaten gold,” but “a smile that cut like a knife,” Jaime Lannister is known alternately as “The Lion of Lannister” and “Kingslayer.” Wealthy, powerful, and narcissistic, Jaime is famous for his skills with the sword and infamous for betraying the most sacred oath he ever swore. He shamelessly commits incest with his twin sister Cersei, and he’s happy to pass off his three bastard children as legitimate heirs to the throne of Westeros.
Readers of A Song of Ice and Fire see his basest elements first: arrogance, dishonesty, disregard for social custom and decency, and a remorseless willingness to go to any lengths to protect what he values. After he nearly slays young Brandon Stark to protect the secret of his relationship with Cersei, Jaime goes on later in the story to lead the Lannister guards in an attack on Ned Stark in the streets of King’s Landing. He then imprisons Catelyn’s brother Edmure and lays siege to Catelyn’s beloved home of Riverrun. By this time, most readers have abandoned him as absolutely evil, utterly unlikable, and beyond salvation. In the typically unforgiving cosmology of Westeros, he fosters tremendous disunity, and helps to cripple the Seven Kingdoms as it should be preparing for Winter. Despite these grievous and even unforgivable sins, Jaime Lannister, seemingly like all characters in Westeros, has opportunities for salvation, if he chooses to exploit them and endure the suffering necessary to save his soul.
The roots of Jaime Lannister’s suffering actually curl back to the beginnings of his sexual relationship with his twin sister. His incest violates ultimate prohibitions in our world, but in Westeros, it does not carry quite the same stigma due to the historical practices of royal families such as the Targaryens, who routinely married sister to brother to preserve what they believed to be their magical blood. The Lannisters, dysfunctional at best, continue this narcissistic tradition, viewing themselves as far above all other citizens of Westeros. Though shocking to some reader sensibilities, incest itself likely does not constitute grievous sin in the cosmology of Westeros; however, the discord fostered by Jaime’s dishonesty and violence in the protection of his incestuous relationship constitute serious transgressions.
Jaime’s love for Cersei appears to be genuine; he is never unfaithful to her. Still, it begins to lead him to pain when he accepts her advice and becomes the youngest member of the Kingsguard, at least in part to remain close to her and free from obligations to other women. Jaime feels deeply honored by the appointment, but he quickly realizes that the honor is hollow because his appointment is merely a ploy of Aerys Targaryen to strike at Jaime’s father and rob the elder Lannister of his favored heir. Lannister reacts to the appointment by returning to Casterly Rock, taking Cersei with him. Jaime retains his glorious public position in the eyes of the smallfolk in Westeros. Privately, he is alone and without his love, and filled with the realization that he is being used as a pawn. This loss and humiliation serve as the first of many wounds to his once-robust pride. His outward golden shine masks the tarnish beneath, and his sarcasm makes for thin cover of his mounting self-hatred.
Jaime’s doubt and confusion only grow when the king’s madness and cruelty manifest across every day of Jaime’s life, a trauma so severe that he learns to dissociate—a skill he later teaches his son Tommen, telling him, “The world is full of horrors, Tommen. You can fight them, or laugh at them, or [. . .] go away inside” (A Feast for Crows). Here again, while Jaime maintains outward power, he seems to understand the extent of
his own powerlessness and to force himself to accept the bitter role of court pawn and white-robed fool.
Just before the opening of A Game of Thrones, Jaime must choose between keeping his sacred vow to protect a depraved and insane ruler and allowing the slaughter of his father, his father’s men, and most of the residents of King’s Landing. He elects to kill the king under his protection. By the underlying moral principle in Westeros—that unity and the good of society must come first for the survival of everyone in the kingdom—this murder is righteous. Jaime seems to sense this, even if his own moral failings leave him unable to understand it. Afterward, he takes a seat on the Iron Throne—but he makes no move to claim it. He hands it over to Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon without a battle, creating unity and seeing to the good of the whole, even if he probably does not grasp the importance of his choice.
At the close of A Game of Thrones, Jaime Lannister’s rout of Riverrun takes a bad turn and he finds himself a prisoner of the vengeful Catelyn Stark. Fate deals Jaime another blow to his ego when he becomes Lord Commander of the Kingsguard due to the dismissal of his predecessor—but he is still a prisoner of Riverrun and cannot assume the role he dreamed of taking for most of his childhood. This situation makes the appointment a cruel joke, undermining Jaime’s self-respect by underscoring both his helplessness and his uselessness.
Thus, by the opening of A Clash of Kings, Jaime has lost his freedom, the bulk of his political power, and the remaining shreds of his pride and self-respect. During the course of this novel, he loses his famed good looks, as well. When he emerges from Riverrun’s dungeons, he is a gaunt shadow of himself, and he must shave his golden hair to avoid recognition on the journey he undertakes to save Sansa Stark. He also loses Cersei, who takes other lovers without thought to wounding Jaime’s feelings. These are high costs for a man like Jaime Lannister, but he has more to pay. Enter Brienne of Tarth, a female knight who becomes Jaime’s personal torturer by showing him at every possible turn how an honorable and honest warrior should behave. Brienne is Jaime’s “morality pet,” a living embodiment of the noble knight Jaime should have been and which he might become if he chooses an honorable path henceforth.
Jaime again loses his freedom when he and Brienne are taken prisoner by Vargo Hoat and his Brave Companions. Like the Mad King, Hoat uses Jaime as a pawn and cuts off Jaime’s sword hand in hopes that his superior, Roose Bolton, will be blamed. Jaime is forced to wear his rotting hand around his neck. All that Jaime Lannister once was—handsome, powerful, strong, skilled with the blade—has now been destroyed. He enters a dark landscape of hopelessness and self-loathing.
Rescue eventually comes for Jaime, but no sooner is he free than he begins to realize fundamental aspects of his character and priorities have changed. He chooses to place himself at risk and return to potential captivity in order to rescue Brienne from dishonor and death. He saves her life again when they arrive at King’s Landing, and gives her the sword Oathkeeper with the charge of protecting Sansa Stark, as he had sworn to do. Though he briefly tries to rekindle his relationship with Cersei, he quickly sees that she does not love him as he has loved her, and that she remains selfish and treacherous. Jaime then does the previously unthinkable—he stands up to his father and refuses to separate himself from the Kingsguard. Instead, in a repudiation of pride and a rejection of selfishness, he dons the white again, this time in earnest.
By the end of A Storm of Swords, it is clear that Jaime’s actions are no longer focused on himself and his personal gain. This transition completes itself in A Feast for Crows, when he finds the strength to leave his scheming sister Cersei to her fate after she runs afoul of a sect of religious zealots. He spends most of this tale and A Dance with Dragons bringing battles to an end around Westeros, creating unity—the ultimate act of good in a society about to face dangers that only cooperation can defeat. We see him accept the humbling of the loss of his sword hand and begin to work to reform himself as a competent, though no longer brilliant, fighter. He is no longer the Kingslayer or the Lion of Lannister. He is Jaime and, as yet, nothing more.
Davos Seaworth, Sansa Stark, and Jaime Lannister appear to be on a similar trajectory. Whether their journeys will lead them to eventual salvation or utter destruction because of flaws and sins they cannot or will not overcome remains to be seen; however, it is clear that in Westeros, characters can find their way to good if they are willing to pay the brutal price.
Unchanging Seasons
Unlike the almost allegorical worlds of J.R.R. Tolkien and his contemporaries, which are imbued with unambiguous representations of good and evil, Westeros defines these concepts with more subtlety and realism, grounded in the fact that Winter is coming, and with it a host of horrors, making the very survival of society dependent upon inhabitants cooperating and acting for the benefit of the whole instead of pursuing more selfish or individualistic aims. As such, what is “good” in Westeros supports unity, and what is “bad” sows discord and disrupts chances for survival. Honesty, humility, honor, and other characteristics that allow people to work closely together without divisive conflict have value in this society.
Sorting through the issues of morality in A Song of Ice and Fire is not simplistic, especially since readers view the Seven Kingdoms through the flawed perceptions of its inhabitants, most of whom are too young to remember an actual Winter, and further filter these perceptions through our own biases. This does not mean that the world is amoral, or that characters do not engage in fundamental struggles to make right and moral choices. Through the destruction of some characters and the redemption of others, we see a cosmology at work in Martin’s world that is anything but relativistic or nihilistic.
SUSAN VAUGHT lives with her family and her many pets (including a very bossy parrot) on a small poultry farm in western Kentucky. She works as Director of Psychological Services at a state psychiatric hospital and spends her evenings and weekends furiously scribbling and typing life into novels, short stories, and poems. She has written a number of fantasies for young adults, including the award-winning and historical Stormwitch and the epic Oathbreaker books: Assassin’s Apprentice and A Prince Among Killers, co-authored with her son JB Redmond. She has also written Trigger, Big Fat Manifesto, Exposed, and Going Underground, all contemporary novels drawing from her experiences and her work as a neuropsychologist. Her upcoming contemporary release from Bloomsbury USA, Freaks Like Us, will hit the shelves in September 2012.
ANDREW ZIMMERMAN JONES
OF DIREWOLVES AND GODS
EVIDENCE FROM NEUROLOGY SUGGESTS that our brains are wired to believe things even without any evidence. The dominant explanation is that it’s a better survival mechanism to believe a sound or a flicker of motion has meaning than to ignore it. In a world where a hungry lion (and not the Lannister type) might be lying in wait behind any given bush, this hardwired tendency to assume significance offers a slight advantage in seeing the next sunrise.
Unfortunately, this same wiring kicks in even when there isn’t a lion, a Lannister, or even a sound to trigger it. Our brains naturally assume that perceived patterns have meaning, even if there’s no proof that they do. This inherent search for meaning is the psychological and neurological basis for much human superstition.
I’ve always been pleased to find that meaning made manifest within fantasy literature. Through fantasy, I escape to worlds that conform to these intuitions about how things should be. These imaginary worlds often contain greater meaning, expressed by strong, tangible forces of good and evil. Wishes can come true. Magic works. Gods even manifest their wonders in the world for all to see. The first chapters of A Game of Thrones promise an escape to just such a realm.
It turns out, though, that the people of the Seven Kingdoms really don’t inhabit this sort of fantasy world at all. Much like us, they have no regular or direct interactive access to their deities. Theirs is a world of neither the mythical philandering, lightning-hurling Zeus nor the power-granting deities of any sta
ple Dungeons & Dragons setting. Magic exists in Westeros, but it is rare and mostly ephemeral, a distant memory of the past. With a handful of flamboyant exceptions, the gods don’t imbue their priests and followers with supernatural powers. Westeros is filled with religions and exotic gods, but believers have to take a lot on faith—a faith that is often unrewarding. The good and the bad may worship the same set of gods. Regardless of the deities worshipped, the certainty is this: tragedy will ultimately befall you, and the gods rarely hold it at bay, even for the noblest of souls.
In fact, the religions portrayed in A Song of Ice and Fire are reflections of the religions in our own world. They require a leap of faith, because the effects of belief are so intangible. The religions of Westeros claim to dictate absolute, perfect truths through imprecise, flawed institutions and beings—just like the religions we encounter every day.
A Direwolf Omen
The capricious nature of the putative Westerosi gods can be seen very early in the series, in the scene that likely hooked most readers. Or, at least, the scene that hooked me.
The prologue of A Game of Thrones was okay. Rangers out scouting frozen northern lands are accosted by curious creatures, presumably undead in some fashion. Spooky stuff. Interesting enough to keep you reading, for sure, but hardly gripping enough to make it different from any of hundreds of other fantasy series.
