Game of Thrones and Moonstones

The final moments of season two of GoT find Sam and his lady love overcoming a white walker with an obsidian dagger. Zoom in to the beginning of my dream. He is with the girl, and her baby and I accompany them to form a party of four. We are standing over the dead body of the walker, breathing heavily from the engagement. The snow has picked up and gusts around us though I feel no cold. In the distance, tall white forms run towards us out of the fog, forming a long battle line. The army of walkers reach us, some on horseback, and they run past us, Sam stabbing and killing any that come within range until the whole group has passed beyond us.


We follow them for a distance, but they manage to get out of sight, and we need to find shelter for the baby. We find it in a small copse of trees, and lean up against a large willow waiting for the storm to herald in a milder dawn. As I am sleeping, the face of the first white walker appears like a shade before me and speaks. It warns me telepathically that they have attacked a village up ahead, and that when the people hear us speak, our language will appear foreign and they will blame us for the attack.

Townspeople find us once it has become light, and they seem kind as they head back with us towards the cabin we had previously stayed in to gather our things. We stop outside and they tell us we should go in and get our things. Sam and I agree that we should stay outside, because if we go in, they will lock the doors and burn the whole place down. Call it a hunch, even though they promise to do nothing of the kind. The girl runs in with her baby for something, and the door snaps shut behind her. They approach with a huge torch and light the door on fire. I manage to wrestle it away from the priest figure who is holding it, and light him and a nearby townsperson on fire as well. Sam is handed the baby through a broken window, and she whispers something through the smoke, turning both of them into wolves, one white, one black.


I haven’t quite given up, so as the two wolves begin to back sadly away, I run around the side and find a second entrance and a possible way out for Gily. I call to her, and she manages to make it out against the odds. People from the village are angry at me that she has escaped the fire, as they are convinced that she is a witch, and I am forced to draw my sword and defeat three of them before they make way for us to pass them by. Shouting after us, they claim they will get more people and hunt us down, but we are soon out of earshot.


We are walking along, now rejoined by the wolves, and the Sam/ wolf starts talking about the obsidian weapon. He believes that should we manage to pair it up with moonstone it would create an unstoppable piece of weaponry, and that the fate of the world depended upon our success in this endeavor. There is a nearby lake which is said to have a moonstone at its deepest part, so we redirect and are at its edge in no time. Night has fallen, but I call The Lady of the Lake directly out of an alternate universe to help us with our task. She has long purple hair like Rapunzel, and swims down to the bottom, where we can see something round and glowing green.


She must be blind because we have to direct her, “No, over a bit, the other way! Now up, yes, to your right, your other right, wait too far your hand was just over it, yes! There!” As she grabs it, her hand brushes another gem, which moves into a moonbeam and flashes bright vermillion. That must be the real moonstone, so we ask her to bring it instead. Townspeople are coming, cliche pitchforks in hand, so we all run deep into the lake and hold our breath just beneath the surface while they pass angrily by.


As my eyes dip below the surface, I can see an absolutely enormous purple stone, smoothed flat and seemingly crackling with blue light. It is far larger than the stone we chose, and at last, this is the stone we’ve been looking for. Exchanging stones for a third and final time, we head towards the town just as the sun is rising. Knowing we’re not wanted, and that those awful witch hunters are sure to pick up on our presence soon, we move quickly, sticking to alleyways and lees-crowded areas until we are out of town. It is still early in the day and as we are leaving, two large bats carrying Dia Los Muertos sugar skulls full of “christmas runoff” approach, and give us these “gifts” as souvenirs for visiting the town of whatever-it-was-called.

We drink the juice, which tastes a lot like sugar water or very mild Kool-aid, and head off to the next town, knowing that we must hurry and find shelter because the moonstone becomes immobile at night.


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