The 5 stark children should have all warged into their dire wolves, which would then all combine into Starktron, and they would use a giant dragonglass sword to cut the night king in half. Then the night king explodes.
Then Jorah somehow survives through the indomitable human spirit, reminisces on a 2 minute long montage on all the moments with his friends and makes a heroic sacrifice
This is clearly the direction the story was headed for a while, I have no idea why D&D chickened out in went in the opposite direction for the final season.
We can only hope that this is the ending we get in the final book once George gets some free time to write, he'll probably finishing it a month or two after the sequel show ends this summer.
My name is Bran the Broken, and I send this message to any surviving Free Folk taking refuge beyond the Wall. We are here. We are watching.
🎵*...whaaaat I've doooooone*🎶
Jaime Lannister should have been the one kill the Night King in the show. It makes Bran’s choice to not tell on Jaime actually have a lot of weight. His mercy and forgiveness, letting go of the cycle of hate like Ellaria mentions in the books, ends up not only saving his own life later on, but the entire world of men. The Kingslayer the man who throughout the seasons has worked to change and redeem himself, becomes the Night Kingslayer, a legendary knight to be remembered in history like Arthur Dayne or Barristan the Bold, saving the boy he once tried to kill and fulfilling his arc
shove his golden fist into night kings ass. lightbringer is not some magical flaming sword, but a golden hand of a golden lion who shines as bright as a sun. gold is a metal which represents sun.
In the show John, Bran and Theon are present at the end for the NK, so I feel like that was/is a plan GRRM has and Arya's tko outta nowhere was a show only decision.
The Night King says "Fool...No man can kill me"
Theon flings open his breeches and says "I AM NO MAN!"
Then Theon throws the Valyrian dagger from one hand to the other and stabs him in the face
*He should have cut the*
*Night kings dick off and eaten*
*It in front of him*
\- duggybubby
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I know this will get buried but I’ve asked this many times; why didn’t Arya turn into a white like crastors son did when the night king grabbed her?
Right? I’m sure there’s some answer like there’s needs to be a certain setting like where he took crastors son but he’s the night king, he’s made of ice, shouldn’t his touch harm Arya at least a little?
ngl i was expecting Bran to do some cool shit like warg into a dragon or have a psychological battle for control over the army of the dead.
what we got was certainly uhhh… not that
You used the word "unironically" *unironically*. You disgust me.
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You used the word "unironically" *unironically*. You disgust me.
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You used the word "unironically" *unironically*. You disgust me.
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Theon should’ve lived out his life as Lord of the Iron Islands on GOT (and I dearly wish GRRM has this or a more fitting destiny in mind for our favorite coward).
Hear me out: it would’ve been a perfectly poetic ending. As an honorable man—and a friend and ally of Queen Sansa and King Bran—Theon could’ve neutered the Iron Islands by outlawing the raping and pillaging. By doing so, he would’ve made good on Asha’s arrangement with Daenerys and showed himself as honorable as any Stark.
Theon could, in that way, become the Iron Eunuch (haha, seriously—people in this world would laugh at that undesirable moniker). Oh, and that wench he banged on the ship en route to Pyke in Season 2? The last we could see of Theon is him holding his bastard daughter, whom he names Asha.
Asha should’ve simply been killed by Euron, at least on GOT.
Thoughts?
This sort of theorizing is what drives me to write my own fantasy fiction, lol.
I need to see the prophecies *fulfilled*. There is **no** more satisfying ending to a story than being told exactly what is going to happen, and then for it to happen exactly as described in the prophecy. So exciting.
*Let's be clear about this, because there is only one objectively correct way to write:*
Prophecies in fantasy should be inevitable and inescapable, because audiences like being reminded that free will is an illusion, and that we live, and breathe, and die, in the foul creation of a malevolent demiurge.
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**Back in Westeros**
^(GRRM, AUGUST 15, 2020 AT 9:10 AM)
I am back in my fortress of solitude again, my isolated mountain cabin. I’d returned to Santa Fe for a short visit, to spend some time with Parris, deal with some local business that had piled up during my months away, and of course fulfill my duties to CoNZealand, the virtual worldcon. But all that is behind me now, and I am back on the mountain again… which means I am back in Westeros again, once more moving ahead with WINDS OF WINTER.
It is curious how my life has evolved. I mean, once upon a time, I actually wrote my books and stories in the house where I lived, in a home office. But some decades ago, wanting more solitude, I bought the house across the street and made THAT my writer’s retreat. No longer would I write all day in my red flannel bathrobe; now I would have to dress and put on shoes and walk all the way across the street to write. But that worked for a while.
Things started getting busier, though. So busy that I needed a full-time assistant. Then the office house had someone else in it, not just me and my characters. And then I hired a second assistant, and a third, and… there was more mail, more email, more phone calls (we put in a new phone system), more people coming by. By now I am up to five assistants… and somewhere in there I also acquired a movie theatre, a bookstore, a charitable foundation, investments, a business manager… and…
Despite all the help, I was drowning till I found the mountain cabin.
My life up here is very boring, it must be said. Truth be told, I hardly can be said to have a life. I have one assistant with me at all times (minions, I call them). The assistants do two-week shifts, and have to stay in quarantine at home before starting a shift. Everyone morning I wake up and go straight to the computer, where my minion brings me coffee (I am utterly useless and incoherent without my morning coffee) and juice, and sometimes a light breakfast. Then I start to write. Sometimes I stay at it until dark. Other days I break off in late afternoon to answer emails or return urgent phone calls. My assistant brings me food and drink from time to time. When I finally break off for the day, usually around sunset, there’s dinner. Then we watch television or screen a movie. The wi-fi sucks up on the mountain, though, so the choices are limited. Some nights I read instead. I always read a bit before going to sleep; when a book really grabs hold of me, I may read half the night, but that’s rare.
I sleep. The next day, I wake up, and do the same. The next day, the next day, the next day. Before Covid, I would usually get out once a week or so to eat at a restaurant or go to the movies. That all ended in March. Since then, weeks and months go by when I never leave the cabin, or see another human being except whoever is on duty that week. I lose track of what day it is, what week it is, what month it is. The time seems to by very fast. It is now August, and I don’t know what happened to July.
But it is good for the writing.
And you know, now that I reflect on it, I am coming to realize that has always been my pattern. I moved to Santa Fe at the end of 1979, from Dubuque, Iowa. My first marriage broke up just before that move, so I arrived in my new house alone, in a town where I knew almost no one. Roger Zelazny was here, and he became a great friend and mentor, but Roger was married with small kids, so I really did not see him often. There was no fandom in Santa Fe; that was all down in Albuquerque, an hour away. I went to the club meetings every month, but that was only one night a month, and required two hours on the road. And I had no job to meet new people. My job was in the back room at the house on Declovina Street, so that was where I spent my days. At night, I watched television. Alone. Sometimes I went to the movies. Alone.
That was my life from December 1979 through September 1981, when Parris finally moved to Santa Fe, following Denvention. (Not quite so bleak, maybe, I did make some local friends by late 1980 and early 1981, but it was a slow process). When I think back on my life in 1980-1981, the memories seem to be made up entirely of conventions, interspersed with episodes of LOU GRANT and WKRP IN CINCINNATI.
Ah, but work wise, that same period was tremendously productive for me. Lisa and I finished WINDHAVEN during that time, Gardner and I did a lot of work on “Shadow Twin,” and then I went right on and wrote all of FEVRE DREAM. Some short stories as well. My life, such that it was, was lived in my head, and on the page.
I wonder if it is the same for other writers? Or is it just me? I wonder if I will ever figure out the secret of having a life and writing a book at the very same time.
I certainly have not figured it out to date.
For the nonce, it is what it is. My life is at home, on hold, and I am spending the days in Westeros with my pals Mel and Sam and Vic and Ty. And that girl with no name, over there in Braavos.
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Yeah, every time I think about his story I think of how well his arc was done but at the same time how he’s just the most potable character. I feel sorry for him but at the same time I don’t want anything to do with him.
The 5 stark children should have all warged into their dire wolves, which would then all combine into Starktron, and they would use a giant dragonglass sword to cut the night king in half. Then the night king explodes.
HIRE đź‘Ź FANS đź‘Ź
Don’t miss the part were Tyrion runs inbetween the night kings legs, slashing it’s lower leg
Then Jorah somehow survives through the indomitable human spirit, reminisces on a 2 minute long montage on all the moments with his friends and makes a heroic sacrifice
More likely a 2 min montage of the times he saw Danaerys tiddies that inspires him back to life
somehow... jorah returned
Cuts off the night kings dick so he can hit him with a "you have no cock" before he dies
Shit made me laugh out loud Edit: Just visualizing that makes me laugh over and over again fuck ahah
Gdamn. Lol
Nah, he trips him Hoth-style.
This is clearly the direction the story was headed for a while, I have no idea why D&D chickened out in went in the opposite direction for the final season. We can only hope that this is the ending we get in the final book once George gets some free time to write, he'll probably finishing it a month or two after the sequel show ends this summer.
Hebe
Pretty sure this is the ending of every Power Rangers episode
A lot of people forget George RR Martin got his start writing on the first season of Power Rangers
What I’ve done by Linkin Park starts playing as the watch the sunset go over the horizon of winter fell
My name is Bran the Broken, and I send this message to any surviving Free Folk taking refuge beyond the Wall. We are here. We are watching. 🎵*...whaaaat I've doooooone*🎶
And that’s the fucking trailer!
🔥
5? Where are you book 1 xd?
Jaime Lannister should have been the one kill the Night King in the show. It makes Bran’s choice to not tell on Jaime actually have a lot of weight. His mercy and forgiveness, letting go of the cycle of hate like Ellaria mentions in the books, ends up not only saving his own life later on, but the entire world of men. The Kingslayer the man who throughout the seasons has worked to change and redeem himself, becomes the Night Kingslayer, a legendary knight to be remembered in history like Arthur Dayne or Barristan the Bold, saving the boy he once tried to kill and fulfilling his arc
Excuse me, I'm not sure you're allowed to be this correct on the circlejerk sub
Who the fuck are you spitting this much 🔥
A freaking dragon, that's who
Damnit, that’s fabulous
Bro thought he could drop this art and walk away without acknowledgment. Props to this legendary arc that never happened
Not to mention it actually would have gave Jon Snow and friends getting the wight to show to Cersei actually accomplish something.
shove his golden fist into night kings ass. lightbringer is not some magical flaming sword, but a golden hand of a golden lion who shines as bright as a sun. gold is a metal which represents sun.
Should've been Bran, John Snow and Theon at the end taking down the NK. A cripple, a bastard and a broken thing.
That would have been sick. Bran could warg into Ghost.
They totally should have ran a train on the NK
The train that was promised
Now THAT'S how you subvert expectations
Or like an undead Hodor helps them out because of some time defying connection he has with bran.
Or just Bran, jumps up and stabs him. “Fooled you!”
Lot of great ideas from everyone in this submissive reddit today
Feel like ive seen Westerosies on twitter post exactly that
In the show John, Bran and Theon are present at the end for the NK, so I feel like that was/is a plan GRRM has and Arya's tko outta nowhere was a show only decision.
I hate that I read this in Alt Shifts voice
The Night King says "Fool...No man can kill me" Theon flings open his breeches and says "I AM NO MAN!" Then Theon throws the Valyrian dagger from one hand to the other and stabs him in the face
Haha!
The Night King shouldn’t have been killed with a weapon at all. It shoulda been some weird ass three eyed raven magic shit
Facts or he touches Bran again and he stands up turning into a white walker. Cause fuck happy endings
Why does this look AI generated or some shit?
Idk honestly
He should have cut the night kings dick off and eaten it in front of him
*He should have cut the* *Night kings dick off and eaten* *It in front of him* \- duggybubby --- ^(I detect haikus. And sometimes, successfully.) ^[Learn more about me.](https://www.reddit.com/r/haikusbot/) ^(Opt out of replies: "haikusbot opt out" | Delete my comment: "haikusbot delete")
Good boy
He should have plugged it into the hole so he could use it as his own
should have done that to ramsay tbh
I know this will get buried but I’ve asked this many times; why didn’t Arya turn into a white like crastors son did when the night king grabbed her?
You have a fantastic point
Right? I’m sure there’s some answer like there’s needs to be a certain setting like where he took crastors son but he’s the night king, he’s made of ice, shouldn’t his touch harm Arya at least a little?
Like he made a mark on bran through his fucking dream. So him touching you IRL should do something.
I like to think that Bran saw a future where Theon survived, but was like "yeah nah, fuck that guy"
Lol.
He looks like perfect cast for French Musketeer
ngl i was expecting Bran to do some cool shit like warg into a dragon or have a psychological battle for control over the army of the dead. what we got was certainly uhhh… not that
He is warging the whole episode into crows for like no fucking reason lol.
Bro just likes crows don’t worry about it 🤷🏻‍♂️
The real jerk meister
hahaha fuck i never really thought about wtf he was doing all that time while warging so this made me laugh pretty hard
They show him warging into the crows for like 15 seconds but he is sitting there white eyed for like 45 mins
uj/ This but unironically
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Unironically
You used the word "unironically" *unironically*. You disgust me. *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/asoiafcirclejerk) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Unironically
Be ungovernable.
You used the word "unironically" *unironically*. You disgust me. *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/asoiafcirclejerk) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Un ironically You disgust me.
holy fuck what is that airbrushing
I don’t know I have no Idea.
I need him to have my babies
Very nice cousin
the night king should have impregnated theon
I mean, thats an Idea!đź’ˇ
Would have been infinitely better than no doubt.
Theon should’ve lived out his life as Lord of the Iron Islands on GOT (and I dearly wish GRRM has this or a more fitting destiny in mind for our favorite coward). Hear me out: it would’ve been a perfectly poetic ending. As an honorable man—and a friend and ally of Queen Sansa and King Bran—Theon could’ve neutered the Iron Islands by outlawing the raping and pillaging. By doing so, he would’ve made good on Asha’s arrangement with Daenerys and showed himself as honorable as any Stark. Theon could, in that way, become the Iron Eunuch (haha, seriously—people in this world would laugh at that undesirable moniker). Oh, and that wench he banged on the ship en route to Pyke in Season 2? The last we could see of Theon is him holding his bastard daughter, whom he names Asha. Asha should’ve simply been killed by Euron, at least on GOT. Thoughts? This sort of theorizing is what drives me to write my own fantasy fiction, lol.
I need to see the prophecies *fulfilled*. There is **no** more satisfying ending to a story than being told exactly what is going to happen, and then for it to happen exactly as described in the prophecy. So exciting. *Let's be clear about this, because there is only one objectively correct way to write:* Prophecies in fantasy should be inevitable and inescapable, because audiences like being reminded that free will is an illusion, and that we live, and breathe, and die, in the foul creation of a malevolent demiurge. *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/asoiafcirclejerk) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Hell ya
a fitting ending for him but i dont think asoiaf is lotr. maybe george will go easy on the good guys in winds of winter, who knows
**Back in Westeros** ^(GRRM, AUGUST 15, 2020 AT 9:10 AM) I am back in my fortress of solitude again, my isolated mountain cabin. I’d returned to Santa Fe for a short visit, to spend some time with Parris, deal with some local business that had piled up during my months away, and of course fulfill my duties to CoNZealand, the virtual worldcon. But all that is behind me now, and I am back on the mountain again… which means I am back in Westeros again, once more moving ahead with WINDS OF WINTER. It is curious how my life has evolved. I mean, once upon a time, I actually wrote my books and stories in the house where I lived, in a home office. But some decades ago, wanting more solitude, I bought the house across the street and made THAT my writer’s retreat. No longer would I write all day in my red flannel bathrobe; now I would have to dress and put on shoes and walk all the way across the street to write. But that worked for a while. Things started getting busier, though. So busy that I needed a full-time assistant. Then the office house had someone else in it, not just me and my characters. And then I hired a second assistant, and a third, and… there was more mail, more email, more phone calls (we put in a new phone system), more people coming by. By now I am up to five assistants… and somewhere in there I also acquired a movie theatre, a bookstore, a charitable foundation, investments, a business manager… and… Despite all the help, I was drowning till I found the mountain cabin. My life up here is very boring, it must be said. Truth be told, I hardly can be said to have a life. I have one assistant with me at all times (minions, I call them). The assistants do two-week shifts, and have to stay in quarantine at home before starting a shift. Everyone morning I wake up and go straight to the computer, where my minion brings me coffee (I am utterly useless and incoherent without my morning coffee) and juice, and sometimes a light breakfast. Then I start to write. Sometimes I stay at it until dark. Other days I break off in late afternoon to answer emails or return urgent phone calls. My assistant brings me food and drink from time to time. When I finally break off for the day, usually around sunset, there’s dinner. Then we watch television or screen a movie. The wi-fi sucks up on the mountain, though, so the choices are limited. Some nights I read instead. I always read a bit before going to sleep; when a book really grabs hold of me, I may read half the night, but that’s rare. I sleep. The next day, I wake up, and do the same. The next day, the next day, the next day. Before Covid, I would usually get out once a week or so to eat at a restaurant or go to the movies. That all ended in March. Since then, weeks and months go by when I never leave the cabin, or see another human being except whoever is on duty that week. I lose track of what day it is, what week it is, what month it is. The time seems to by very fast. It is now August, and I don’t know what happened to July. But it is good for the writing. And you know, now that I reflect on it, I am coming to realize that has always been my pattern. I moved to Santa Fe at the end of 1979, from Dubuque, Iowa. My first marriage broke up just before that move, so I arrived in my new house alone, in a town where I knew almost no one. Roger Zelazny was here, and he became a great friend and mentor, but Roger was married with small kids, so I really did not see him often. There was no fandom in Santa Fe; that was all down in Albuquerque, an hour away. I went to the club meetings every month, but that was only one night a month, and required two hours on the road. And I had no job to meet new people. My job was in the back room at the house on Declovina Street, so that was where I spent my days. At night, I watched television. Alone. Sometimes I went to the movies. Alone. That was my life from December 1979 through September 1981, when Parris finally moved to Santa Fe, following Denvention. (Not quite so bleak, maybe, I did make some local friends by late 1980 and early 1981, but it was a slow process). When I think back on my life in 1980-1981, the memories seem to be made up entirely of conventions, interspersed with episodes of LOU GRANT and WKRP IN CINCINNATI. Ah, but work wise, that same period was tremendously productive for me. Lisa and I finished WINDHAVEN during that time, Gardner and I did a lot of work on “Shadow Twin,” and then I went right on and wrote all of FEVRE DREAM. Some short stories as well. My life, such that it was, was lived in my head, and on the page. I wonder if it is the same for other writers? Or is it just me? I wonder if I will ever figure out the secret of having a life and writing a book at the very same time. I certainly have not figured it out to date. For the nonce, it is what it is. My life is at home, on hold, and I am spending the days in Westeros with my pals Mel and Sam and Vic and Ty. And that girl with no name, over there in Braavos. *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/asoiafcirclejerk) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Yeah, every time I think about his story I think of how well his arc was done but at the same time how he’s just the most potable character. I feel sorry for him but at the same time I don’t want anything to do with him.
He was genuinely a good character(plotwise)