Tuesday, May 19, 2020

The Odyssey A Summary by Alec Fields - 1313 Words

Odysseus was the king of Ithaca; he had a wife, and a new-born son Telemachus. While his son was still an infant, king Agamemnon declared war on the Troy, and Odysseus was drafted to fight in the Greek army. It was there that he did many heroic deeds, most notably his concoction of the Trojan Horse plan. But this story begins after all that after he offends the god Poseidon and is sent on his journey, his quest, his Odyssey. Ismarus was sacked by Odysseus and his men. It was plentiful with money, food, and treasure. So plentiful that Odysseus men became greedy and they decided to enjoy themselves, against the wishes of Odysseus. To exploit these circumstances a neighboring army attacked killing 72 of Odysseus men. They flee from†¦show more content†¦Odysseus traveled to the lair of the Sirens and Odysseus prepared his men ahead of time. Their ears were filled with wax, and he had them tie him to the mast of the ship, without any wax in his ears. Upon hearing their song he ye lled for his men to release him, and thats when they would tighten the ropes. He flailed and struggled to get free, but he was unsuccessful. He was released after they were well passed the Sirens domain. It is said that after being completely unsuccessful the sirens drowned themselves. Odysseus was told by Circe to choose between braving Scylla, a 6 headed sea monster or Charbydis, a huge whirlpool-like monster. He was told that if he faced Charbydis his entire ship, with his men, would be lost. He was told Scylla would kill 6 men, and that if they fought against it they would lose 12. So Odysseus reluctantly chose to brave the Scylla. Scylla ate 6 of his men as they crossed and Odysseus moved forward in his journey. They next made landfall on the island of Thrinacia, the island of the sun god. This was Helios domain where he kept his prized cattle. Odysseus was warned by Tiresias not to eat the cattle there, this was passed on to the crew by Odysseus. But they did not listen, they made a feast of Helios cattle. This earned them the wrath of Helios,Show MoreRelatedPostmodernism and the Simpsons10775 Words   |  44 Pages........................................................................................................... 35 Introduction Postmodernism: Profile of a Cultural Movement Postmodernism is a term used to encompass a wide range of attitudes in the fields of aesthetic production and cultural criticism emerging in the 1980s. It is a unique critical movement due to the extent of its reach; it can be said to be immediately relevant to the realms of the arts, philosophy, politics and sociology. The Encyclopedia

Wednesday, May 6, 2020

Child Rearing Controversy - 973 Words

There are numerous philosophies on how to raise children. Several parents adopt the concepts their own parents used, others seek advice from friends and there are those that read books about parenting. Parents come in various and diverse forms, each approaching parenting in ways as distinct as their personalities. Philosophies on child rearing can be grouped into two styles; authoritarian, authoritative parenting. These two styles are similar sounding, but have nuanced differences. Authoritarian parents hold their children to an exceedingly high level of status and success. In this style of parenting, children are expected to follow the strict rules established by the parents. Failure in following rules typically results in†¦show more content†¦Using authoritative parenting style requires setting boundaries while still being able to listen and be patient with the child. Here is an example of the authoritarian parenting style: A child is caught hitting their playmate. The parent responds by grabbing the child and spanking them without any explanation of why hitting is immoral. Thus punishing the child with the same misconduct the child has committed results in mocking of the punishment behavior. Using authoritarian style requires the ability to be dominantly harsh while giving punishment without an explanation. There are abundant differences in these two styles, but the most significant discrepancy is in the end product: the children. An authoritative parent will preserve the love and respect of his children and, when they reach adulthood, they will continue this custom with their own children. An authoritative parent will know he has done his job well in the raising of those children, because the relationships that were built will incessantly last. The parents who choose a benign approach will obtain the rewards of having children that will be the ones who have a good work ethic and who succeed in school because they wish to please their parents. The parents who choose to rule by fear will see quite dissimilar results: their children are probable to react out of that terror, which will only last as long as they are young;Show MoreRelatedThe Moral Argument Of Sexual Morality1032 Words   |  5 Pagesmarriage. The deciding factors of this case were stated to be based not on the issue of sexual orientation but rather â€Å"the fundamental right to marry.† Chief Justice John J. Robert Jr. claimed that the right was about autonomy and fulfillment, about child rearing and social order. Under the latter definition many have begun to question as to whether the Obergefell v. Hodges decision, is a presage to polyamorous couples and the recognition of their right to marry. Prior to delving into the argument claimsRead Moreâ€Å"Summerhill – a radical approach to child rearing† Sushmita K.C. After reading the book600 Words   |  3 Pages â€Å"Summerhill – a radical approach to child rearing† Sushmita K.C. After reading the book â€Å"Summerhill- a radical approach to child rearing† I came to know that Summerhill school is most unusual school that I have ever heard of. This school is different than others because it is a democratic school and has a unique system of teaching the children which means students are let free to do as they please. There is no any strict rules and regulations or punishments like we do haveRead MoreFor Your Own Good by Alice Miller1003 Words   |  5 Pagescompassion for children and absolutely no tolerance for their maltreatment. She wrote many books and articles on the subject of child rearing and its impact on society. Miller is also known for her outspoken views on religion and its impact on children’s psyches. She used the term â€Å"Poisonous pedagogy† in many of her writings to refer to the toxic forms of child rearing that have been employed as far back as can be remembered. Alice Miller lived in Europe during Adolf Hitler’s reign, and the atrocitiesRead MoreWomen And The Modern Church929 Words   |  4 PagesI. INTRODUCTION The question of whether or not women should be in ministry is often a disputed one, and has become a polarizing issue for the modern church. This is not unusual as women’s role in the church has never been free of controversy. When discussing this issue, it is important to recognize that women have always played a role in ministry. However, this would not be the case had it not been for Jesus and his unusual treatment of women. Despite the opposing customs and social norms ofRead MoreAnalysis Of The Poem Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother Essay747 Words   |  3 Pagesis the best way to raise the future? Is it â€Å"Chinese Parenting† or â€Å"Western parenting†? This controversy aroused in 2011 when an excerpt from Amy Chua’s memoir, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother was published in the Wall Street Journal. Amy Chua is a Harvard graduate, Yale law professor, and a Chinese mother Sohpia and Lulu. Chua’s interpretation and execution of being a Chinese parent has sparked controversy from parents across the globe. Chua has received rapport from â€Å"Readers from Japan, Korea, SingaporeRead MoreShould the Government Pay for Child Care for Working Mothers?507 Words   |  2 Pages work effectively without being bogged down by child rearing, do you agree that the government should build child-care centres and subsidise child-care expenses? Use specific reasons and details to support your answer. (500 words) ----------------------------------------------------- The question about whether the women should stay at home to take care of their babies or should they go to work to earn money for the family is still a major controversy. Unlike in the past when women cannot receiveRead MoreIs Abortion A Moral And Constitutional Issue?999 Words   |  4 Pagesmorals or laws. A woman should be granted the right to privacy and choice to abort her fetus without it becoming a public catastrophe. By the same token, abortion should not be utilized as a form of birth control. Advocates on both sides of the controversy present very robust arguments that demonstrate valid points. Regardless of one’s stance in the fight, can there possibly be a neutral zone between pro-life and pro-choice? Abortion is the early termination of a pregnancy or â€Å"the premature exitRead More The Controversy Behind Child Spanking Essay1647 Words   |  7 PagesThe Controversy Behind Child Spanking   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Spanking a child is a controversial issue. On one side of the debate are people who believe spanking is a necessary component of parenting. On the contrary are people who think spanking a child is destructive. Somewhere in the middle are people who believe spanking is legitimate only when used correctly. Part of the reason for the debate is that some parents and experts define spanking differently. To some, spanking means slapping a child on the rear-endRead MoreSame Sex Marriage And Parenting938 Words   |  4 Pagesmarry and same-sex marriage was legalized in 36 states as of January 6, 2015 (Washington Times). According to the foremost recent data provided by Williams Institute, UCLA School of Law, about 21,740, same-sex couples have at least one adopted a child in 2009, up from 6,477 in 2000 (Michelson). Although gay parenting is publicly viewed as a newer phenomenon, for many years, gay parents have had custody of children in all types of family configurations, whether through adoption, previous heterosexualRead MoreThe Need for Quality Daycare Essay1029 Words   |  5 PagesThe Need for Quality Daycare Daycare has become a controversy because of the great quantity of advantages and disadvantages that it involves. While a very large number of parents have to rely on child care centers because of career ambitions or financial needs that only their jobs can fulfill, most child psychiatrists believe that the ideal growing environment for an infant is at home with the family. The problem is that choosing the right caregiver, a good substitute for the parents, is very

Business Communication Skills for Christensen - myassignmenthelp

Question: Discuss about theBusiness Communication Skills forClayton Christensen. Answer: Is Tesla Really a Disruptor? A disruptive innovation according to Clayton Christensen refers to the process which a product or a service takes cause initially in fewer applications at the lowest point of a market, then steadily moves up and substitutes the dominant competitors. The main argument is whether Tesla is in a position to alter the whole automobile sector (Cao, and Emadi, 2012, pp 125). The firm best poise to be performing well reflecting on the 500, 000 pre-orders of all-electric Model 3 to be shipped to non-employees. The company can be considered as innovative, considering its 14-year-old startup valuation which was over $53 billion. However, Tesla does not qualify to be described as being wildly creative or disruptively innovative since it is not bright enough the kind of technology the firm is using. This is because the electric cars which Tesla produces have been used for almost a decade now with no change in technology. The technology itself is considered to be expensive and weak compared to the internal combustion. For Tesla to be a disruptive innovation, it must make use of cheaper technology to produce substitutes that are of lower quality as compared to those provided by mature well-established competitors (Debe, 2012, pp 48). Subsequently, the disruptor battens its accomplishments, catching the industry unaware in the future. Additionally, it is recommended that as a result of the evolving technology, Tesla would introduce substitute products which are considered to be better and affordable right from the introduction stage (Massa, and Tucci, 2013, pp 18). Thus, initiating sudden renouncement of consumers away from the incumbents to the upcoming participants who best make use of the ability and change the economics of the disruptive technology. The Company can also apply the different paths to industry change. It may decide to offer a product that is more expensive, which will shift the buying patterns of the consumers due to its superiority (Kimble, and Wang, 2013, pp 15). The alternative helps redefine the expectations of the consumer thus leading to the creation of a new market space, and a prolonged period for revenue to grow, but at the same time shrinking the gains which cause the industry to fall and causes the sector to be reborn. This is based on new worth suggestion. The article gives a detailed argument for comparing and analyzing the four main appearances of innovating current vehicle models which are portrayed by Toyota, BYD, and Tesla. This study is based on the three major types of new energy vehicles which include hybrid cars from China, perfect electric cars, and the fuel cell vehicles (Eberle, Mller, and Von Helmolt, 2012, pp 8790). Tesla focuses on manufacturing electric luxury vehicles, targeting the rich individuals who pursue to have the best quality products and the need to attempt recently made brands. Chinas leading BYD brand attaches importance to conserving the environment and trying to curb air pollution. Finally, Toyota focuses on fuel cell vehicles and pure electric. The manufacture of new energy vehicles has to be based on an ecological environment that is innovative. With the growth of the new automotive industry, this technology has got a significant duty in leading to the growth of the automobile sector. The core technological development is the battery, motor, and the electric control technologies (Gong, Wang, and Wang, 2013, pp 215). Thus, growth of new energy vehicles is impacted by innovation and the ecological environment where proper utilization of resources, and creating cooperation with research institutes helps create a climate conducive to innovation. The market positioning is of significance when coming up with the new energy vehicles. This is because individuals do not have enough information regarding new energy vehicles. Creating awareness helps people understand the habits of the cars. Additionally, elaborating the acquisition of energy would be of significance when coming up with the new energy regulated vehicles. Hence, for the technology to succeed in the field and to gradually open up the market, the target population must be well stipulated. This helps to have a good competition in prices but occurs after creating a good understanding to the customers about the new energy vehicles. The critical feature to developing a new energy automotive understands the business model. A mature model is formed after a long-participation of all the sectors in the new energy automotive industry and the inter-market (Turton, and Moura, 2008, pp 1096). Thus the model developed for innovating new energy should involve the government, related to the enterprise, and should be related to the operations of the company, based on research. Mastering of the innovation path is also crucial in the development. Mastering enough technology in the new energy vehicle is seen to be the only way the industry will propel to achieve growth that is long-term. The stages undertaken by BYD are the most suitable for the manufacture of new energy cars. Having a clear understanding of the customers is important to determine how the firms tailor-make their products. For example, Tesla targets the rich in the society thus comes up with car brands that are luxurious, including sports cars. On the hand, BYD targets the public transportation sector, basing the technology of its vehicles to ET-Power of the. Based on the customers, appearance of the cars and the accessories used make them attractive. The source of energy to be used should as well be in a position to meet the desired needs and demands of the target users. This results in innovation of new energy by the companies that are involved in the production of vehicles such Tesla. The first article argues that there is little evidence to show that Tesla is an innovative company. It deliberates that the firm has a transition from manufacturing few cars to making massive productions of the same. Furthermore, investors prospect on the firm dominating a future that may feature self-standing vehicles and with sustainable energy consumption. However, the second article gives significant justification to show that the company is innovative enough (Mazloomi, and Gomes, 2012, pp 3029). The article shows that the firm has developed to become among the top ten most innovative organizations in the car industry, with solely over ten years of operation. The team associated with the firm all have technical knowledge which when put together significantly make the firm to be extra innovative. Second, the first article states that Tesla does not fit to be defined as a disruptive innovation. The argument behind this is that it cannot be precisely defined the kind of disruptive technology that the firm offers. This is because electric cars have been in place for a long time without becoming cheaper. However, the second article argues that the coming up of Teslas team to build a high degree of similar cars makes it achieve disruptive innovation among the incumbent industries. Despite the focus on having an entirely electric vehicle by all the sectors, Tesla has a design that is outstanding, with the interior materials being more luxurious. Their prioritization in luxury cars enables them to achieve success in their sales. Third, the article elaborates that there is uncertainty about Tesla becoming the winner in the automotive technology since other main companies manufacturing cars apply the same technology. In some instances, the make use of the same components (Thackeray, Wolverton, and Isaacs, 2012, pp 7858). However, the other article argues out that Tesla shared out its patent innovation with other firms, enhancing the growth of the new energy vehicle industry. The company aimed to encourage the development of the technology. The first article distinguishes Tesla from other companies such as iPhone which invented cell phones, PDAs, and even digital cameras. Nonetheless, the second article gives the company a thumbs-up as the only electric car firm that uses 18650 ternary battery. The Model S is the award winning car in European when we consider the road safety. Its body makes use of aluminum, hence the single in North America using the aluminum body. Tesla is compared to Netflix which is viewed as a disruptive innovator in the video rental market, first with DVDs and second by use of its live streaming. Also, there is no steady supply of revenue from any of it more mature products which help fund other progressive experimentations and research. Though, in the second article, we see the success of Tesla resulting from its unique business model (Richardson, 2013, pp 249). A Clear understanding of its customers and meeting their demand, and ensuring that the worth of the business is maintained is the main determinant of its progress. Development of high-end, highly performing sports cars and dominating the industry, has helped attract high-income earners. Its focus is on the public image that is perceived of celebrities. Tesla has got many vendors who provide it with credit. The firm also was in a position to acquire a huge sum of long-term money as a result of issuing common shares and preferred shares by the new US Department of E nergys Advanced Technology Vehicles Manufacturing projects. Bibliography Cao, J. and Emadi, A., 2012. A new battery/ultracapacitor hybrid energy storage system for electric, hybrid, and plug-in hybrid electric vehicles.IEEE Transactions on power electronics,27(1), pp.122-132. Debe, M.K., 2012. Electrocatalyst approaches and challenges for automotive fuel cells.Nature,486(7401), pp.43-51. Downes, L. and Nunes, P., 2014.Big bang disruption: business survival in the age of constant innovation. Penguin UK. Eberle, U., Mller, B. and Von Helmolt, R., 2012. Fuel cell electric vehicles and hydrogen infrastructure: status 2012.Energy Environmental Science,5(10), pp.8780-8798. Gong, H., Wang, M.Q. and Wang, H., 2013. New energy vehicles in China: policies, demonstration, and progress.Mitigation and Adaptation Strategies for Global Change,18(2), pp.207-228. Kimble, C. and Wang, H., 2013. China's new energy vehicles: value and innovation.Journal of Business Strategy,34(2), pp.13-20. Marquis, C., Zhang, H. and Zhou, L., 2013. China's quest to adopt electric vehicles. Massa, L. and Tucci, C.L., 2013. Business model innovation.The Oxford handbook of innovation management,20, p.18. Mazloomi, K. and Gomes, C., 2012. Hydrogen as an energy carrier: prospects and challenges.Renewable and Sustainable Energy Reviews,16(5), pp.3024-3033. Richardson, D.B., 2013. Electric vehicles and the electric grid: A review of modeling approaches, Impacts, and renewable energy integration.Renewable and Sustainable Energy Reviews,19, pp.247-254. Thackeray, M.M., Wolverton, C. and Isaacs, E.D., 2012. Electrical energy storage for transportationapproaching the limits of, and going beyond, lithium-ion batteries.Energy Environmental Science,5(7), pp.7854-7863. Turton, H. and Moura, F., 2008. Vehicle-to-grid systems for sustainable development: An integrated energy analysis.Technological Forecasting and Social Change,75(8), pp.1091-1108.

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

The Holy Trinity Of Masaccio Essays - Masaccio,

The Holy Trinity of Masaccio The Holy Trinity by Masaccio was done approximately 1428. It is a superb example of Masaccio's use of space and perspective. It consists of two levels of unequal height. Christ is represented on the top half, in a coffered, barrel-vaulted chapel. On one side of him is the Virgin Mary, and on the other, St. John. Christ himself is supported by God the Father, and the Dove of the Holy Spirit rests on Christ's halo. In front of the pilasters that enframe the chapel kneel the donors (h usband and wife). Underneath the altar (a masonry insert in the painted composition) is a tomb. Inside the tomb is a skeleton, which may represent Adam. The vanishing point is at the center of the masonry altar, because this is the eye level of th e spectator, who looks up at the Trinity and down at the tomb. The vanishing point, five feet above the floor level, pulls both views together. By doing this, an illusion of an actual structure is created. The interior volume of this 'structure' i s an ex tension of the space that the person looking at the work is standing in. The adjustment of the spectator to the pictured space is one of the first steps in the development of illusionistic painting. Illusionistic painting fascinated many artists of the Renaissance and Baroque periods. The proportions in this painting are so numerically exact that one can actually calculate the numerical dimensions of the chapel in the background. The span of the painted vault is seven feet, and the depth is nine feet. "Thus, he achieves not only successful illusion, but a rational, metrical coherence that, by maintaining the mathematical proportions of the surface design, is responsible for the unity and harmony of this monumental composition." Two principal interests are summed up by The Holy Trinity: Realism based on observation, and the application of mathematics to pictorial organization. All of the figures are fully clothed, except for that of Christ himself. He is, however, wearing a robe around his waist. The figure is "real"; it is a good example of a human body. The rest of the figures, who are clothed, are wearing ro bes. The drapery contains heavy folds and creases, which increases the effect of shadows. The human form in its entirety is not seen under the drapery; only a vague representation of it is seen. It is not at all like the 'wet-drapery' of Classica l antiquity. Massacio places the forms symmetrically in the composition. Each has its own weight and mass, unlike earlier Renaissance works. The fresco is calm, and creates a sad mood. The mood is furthered by the darkness of the work, and the heavy sh adows cast. Grunewald's The Isenheim Altarpiece is an oil painting on wood, completed in 1515. The altar is composed of a carved wooden shrine with two pairs of movable panels, one directly in back of the other. The outermost scene is the Crucifixion; on the inside there are two others. On the two sides, two saints are represented (St. Sebastian on the left, and St. Anthony on the right). Together, these saints established the theme of disease and healing that is reinforced by the inner paintin gs. On the bottom of the panel, when opened, it appears that Christ's legs were amputated; possibly an allusion to ergotism, a disease treated in the hospital where the altarpiece was kept. An image of the terrible suffering of Christ is in the middle. The suffering body hangs against the dark background, which falls all the way to the earth. The flesh is discolored by decomposition and is studded with the thorns of the lash. His blackening feet twist in agony, as do his arms. His head is to one side, and his fingers appear as crooked spikes. The shuddering tautness of Christ's nerves is expressed through the positions of his fingers. Up to this point, no other artist has ever produced such an image of pain. The sharp, angular shapes of anguish appear in the figures of the swooning Virgin and St. John, and in the shrill delirium of the Magdalene. On the other side, John the Baptist, a gaunt form, points a finge r at the body of the dead Christ. Even though death and suffering are dominant in the altarpiece, there are symbols of hope: The river behind St. John, which represents baptism, and the wine-red sky which symbolizes the blood of Christ. Through th ese sym bols, ahope of salvation

Monday, March 16, 2020

Bertolt Brechts Mother Courage and Her Children and August Strindbergs Miss Julie Essays

Bertolt Brechts Mother Courage and Her Children and August Strindbergs Miss Julie Essays Bertolt Brechts Mother Courage and Her Children and August Strindbergs Miss Julie Paper Bertolt Brechts Mother Courage and Her Children and August Strindbergs Miss Julie Paper Essay Topic: Light in August Literature Ambition can define the intentions of a character in literature. In the texts Mother Courage and Her Children and Miss Julie, ambition is the force that can make or break the protagonists- Mother Courage and Jean respectively. While the degree of desire in both characters is similar, their ambitions steer off along two separate tangents. While Mother Courages ambition is to survive the war and use it to her advantage, in Miss Julie Jeans ambition is to rise up in class and take advantage of Miss Julie by using her as a catalyst. The failure of the two protagonists in achieving their goals can be attributed to their personalities, their social status, as well as certain incidents in the plays. In the play Mother Courage and her Children, the protagonist Mother Courage is seen to be the cause of her own downfall. She, a small time war profiteer1, has simple goals; to survive the war with her children and her travelling rummage business, and to make the best of what was given to her. These goals are emphasized by Mother Courage at many instances in the play, as is seen through the Sergeants reaction when he says, Could do with a swig yourself, ma. Thats life. Plenty worse things than being a soldier. Want to live off war, but keep yourself and family out of it, eh?2 Mother Courage shows a distinct love for her children and a keen eye for their safety. Sergeant: I could use something else. Those boys are as healthy as young birch trees Mother Courage: Nowt doing, sergeant. Yours is no trade for my kids.3 This compassion was also focused towards her dumb4 daughter Kattrin as is shown through Mother Courages words- What happened? Someone assault you? Ill bandage it and in a week itll be all right. Worse than wild beasts, they are.5 However, this compassion can be seen as contradicted by its depth, as Mother Courage shows no more than a subtle acceptance of the hurt inflicted on Kattrin. There is no sense of anger towards those soldiers who hurt her, nor any desire for vengeance. Mother Courage has a short span of attention and often lacks attention entirely. This is evident as she is blind to the bitter truth voiced behind her- Sergeant (looking after them): Like the war to nourish you? Have to feed it something too.6 On the other hand, in Miss Julie, Jeans plight was different from Mother Courages. Jean as a valet expresses his desire as wanting to become part of the upper class, with wealth and nobility to his name through his words- I want to climb up, up to the top and look round plunder the birds nest up there where the gold eggs lie.7 Jean wants to have a title as is expressed when she says, Id be a count, and youd be a countess!8 This urge is due to his already sophisticated nature and his jealousy of his employer, Miss Julies father, the Count. August Strindberg, makes it clear that Jean is an ambitious slave who can live without honor9. This proves reason as to why Jean takes sexual advantage of Miss Julie. However, he acts dignified and respectful whilst talking to the Count. This respect is motivated by his aspiration to be the Count. This is evident from when Jean refers to the Count as his lordship10 and claims Ive [Hes] never met anyone I [he] respected as I [he] do [does] him.11 Jeans sexual act is to satisfy his sexual as well as social hunger. By taking advantage of the situation, he thinks he can run away with Miss Julie who will provide capital for his hotel venture as well as the means to become wealthy and well looked upon. However, he realizes that being an aristocrat is far from his desires. He realizes that what he was aspiring towards was not something worthier and more solid.12 Jean also eventually learns that Miss Julie cannot do anything for him- Jean: You seem I could make you into a countess, but you could never make me a Count.13 Jeans character is moulded by his ambition. He manages to convince Miss Julie to enter his room without arousing suspicion of foul play by saying, No. Into my room, then. We cant bother about conventions now. And you can trust me. I am your true, loyal and respectful-friend. Through his words, Jean shows his manipulative, deceptive and also his cunning nature. He finds no fault nor any guilt in lying to Miss Julie about his past dreams and desires of being with her- Jean: The oat-bin? Oh that was just talk14 On the other hand, Mother Courages character is also overcome by her ambition. It causes her to undermine the role of her children in her life, as well as accept her losses. She is extremely loyal to her children, but her loyalty often shifts in the case of partners and her side in the war as is depicted through her words Im joining our side this time.15 The two protagonists remain focused on achieving their goals throughout the play, indicating a steady sense of ambition and determination. This is suggestive of how their characteristics and personalities are well apt for their success. Their determination foreshadows a certain sense of this success, which is contrasted during the development of the play by their negative qualities that begin to surface. Another striking aspect shared by the duo is their unfazed nature even after the realization of having failed. After Miss Julies alleged suicide, or even prior to that, when Jean realizes that the upper class too can fall, he merely accepts the situation and carries on. Similarly, Mother Courage continues to tread forward even though, one by one, she loses her children. Neither character shows any signs of defeat or subsequent remorse at their situations. Jean does admit to his defeat shortly, but immediately goes on to attacking Miss Julie with great cunning, therefore bringing the focus away- Jean: I had no hope of winning you, of course- but you were a symbol to me of the hopelessness of my ever climbing out of the class in which I was born.16 During adverse conditions and situations, the two characters act swiftly, but not accurately. Jean entirely misinterprets his situation with Miss Julie and believes that by convincing her to move away to Switzerland with him, the entire sexual folly17 will be saved. His intentions were to use her to provide capital for a hotel business; but the tides turn when he discovers she has no money. Instead of watching Miss Julie suffer, he convinces her to take her own life as it is assumed in the text. Mother Courage faces many hardships throughout the play as compared to Jean who faces only one. She is first faced by the loss of her son Eilief, then the loss of her other son Swiss Cheese, and finally the hurt inflicted to her daughter Kattrin who subsequently dies. As seen when Eilief was taken away by the recruiting Sergeant, she simply accepts the situation, packs up her cart and continues her journey. This is shown in the dialogue between Mother Courage and her son Swiss Cheese- Mother Courage: Wheres Eilief? Swiss Cheese: Went off with the recruiter. Mother Courage (stands quite still, then): You simpleton Youll have to help your brother pull now, Kattrin.18 Mother Courage does not act as a mother is expected to; there is no distinctive outburst or backlash at any of these instances. She is a woman who simply moves along, emphasizing on the ongoing nature of the circle of life and her steady state of mind. Both Mother Courage and Jean require a second party in their ventures. Mother Courage requires a man as is seen by the diversity of the fathers of her children whereas Jean required Miss Julie- Jean: Oh, now and then a man has strength enough to hoist himself up in the world but how often does it happen?19 It shows the flaws in their independent attitudes; though they carry a large ego and a flattering show of independency. Both the characters turn towards second parties to provide a platform for them to stand upon- in Jeans case, to move upwards from, in Mother Courages case- to live stably. The two protagonists are caught in a vicious circle; one cannot leave the vicinities of his social order, while the other could not save her family, nor make a decent living from her sales during the war. Their seemingly selfish intentions attempted to be covered by noble deeds, shine through, thus leading to their downfall. Wealth and reputation comes above the death of a young woman, and similarly, wealth again comes in the view of three childrens deaths. Both characters share a distinct and compassionate desire to succeed, but are pulled away from this success by a certain negative qualities which they possess.

Saturday, February 29, 2020

A Game of Thrones Chapter Forty

Pale white mists rose off Alyssa’s Tears, where the ghost waters plunged over the shoulder of the mountain to begin their long tumble down the face of the Giant’s Lance. Catelyn could feel the faint touch of spray on her face. Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died. â€Å"Tell me the rest of it,† she said. â€Å"The Kingslayer is massing a host at Casterly Rock,† Ser Rodrik Cassel answered from the room behind her. â€Å"Your brother writes that he has sent riders to the Rock, demanding that Lord Tywin proclaim his intent, but he has had no answer. Edmure has commanded Lord Vance and Lord Piper to guard the pass below the Golden Tooth. He vows to you that he will yield no foot of Tully land without first watering it with Lannister blood.† Catelyn turned away from the sunrise. Its beauty did little to lighten her mood; it seemed cruel for a day to dawn so fair and end so foul as this one promised to. â€Å"Edmure has sent riders and made vows,† she said, â€Å"but Edmure is not the Lord of Riverrun. What of my lord father?† â€Å"The message made no mention of Lord Hoster, my lady.† Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. They had grown in white as snow and bristly as a thornbush while he was recovering from his wounds; he looked almost himself again. â€Å"My father would not have given the defense of Riverrun over to Edmure unless he was very sick,† she said, worried. â€Å"I should have been woken as soon as this bird arrived.† â€Å"Your lady sister thought it better to let you sleep, Maester Colemon told me.† â€Å"I should have been woken,† she insisted. â€Å"The maester tells me your sister planned to speak with you after the combat,† Ser Rodrik said. â€Å"Then she still plans to go through with this mummer’s farce?† Catelyn grimaced. â€Å"The dwarf has played her like a set of pipes, and she is too deaf to hear the tune. Whatever happens this morning, Ser Rodrik, it is past time we took our leave. My place is at Winterfell with my sons. If you are strong enough to travel, I shall ask Lysa for an escort to see us to Gulltown. We can take ship from there.† â€Å"Another ship?† Ser Rodrik looked a shade green, yet he managed not to shudder. â€Å"As you say, my lady.† The old knight waited outside her door as Catelyn summoned the servants Lysa had given her. If she spoke to her sister before the duel, perhaps she could change her mind, she thought as they dressed her. Lysa’s policies varied with her moods, and her moods changed hourly. The shy girl she had known at Riverrun had grown into a woman who was by turns proud, fearful, cruel, dreamy, reckless, timid, stubborn, vain, and, above all, inconstant. When that vile turnkey of hers had come crawling to tell them that Tyrion Lannister wished to confess, Catelyn had urged Lysa to have the dwarf brought to them privately, but no, nothing would do but that her sister must make a show of him before half the Vale. And now this . . . â€Å"Lannister is my prisoner,† she told Ser Rodrik as they descended the tower stairs and made their way through the Eyrie’s cold white halls. Catelyn wore plain grey wool with a silvered belt. â€Å"My sister must be reminded of that.† At the doors to Lysa’s apartments, they met her uncle storming out. â€Å"Going to join the fool’s festival?† Ser Brynden snapped. â€Å"I’d tell you to slap some sense into your sister, if I thought it would do any good, but you’d only bruise your hand.† â€Å"There was a bird from Riverrun,† Catelyn began, â€Å"a letter from Edmure . . . â€Å" â€Å"I know, child.† The black fish that fastened his cloak was Brynden’s only concession to ornament. â€Å"I had to hear it from Maester Colemon. I asked your sister for leave to take a thousand seasoned men and ride for Riverrun with all haste. Do you know what she told me? The Vale cannot spare a thousand swords, nor even one, Uncle, she said. You are the Knight of the Gate. Your place is here.† A gust of childish laughter drifted through the open doors behind him, and her uncle glanced darkly over his shoulder. â€Å"Well, I told her she could bloody well find herself a new Knight of the Gate. Black fish or no, I am still a Tully. I shall leave for Riverrun by evenfall.† Catelyn could not pretend to surprise. â€Å"Alone? You know as well as I that you will never survive the high road. Ser Rodrik and I are returning to Winterfell. Come with us, Uncle. I will give you your thousand men. Riverrun will not fight alone.† Brynden thought a moment, then nodded a brusque agreement. â€Å"As you say. It’s the long way home, but I’m more like to get there. I’ll wait for you below.† He went striding off, his cloak swirling behind him. Catelyn exchanged a look with Ser Rodrik. They went through the doors to the high, nervous sound of a child’s giggles. Lysa’s apartments opened over a small garden, a circle of dirt and grass planted with blue flowers and ringed on all sides by tall white towers. The builders had intended it as a godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the hard stone of the mountain, and no matter how much soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here. So the Lords of the Eyrie planted grass and scattered statuary amidst low, flowering shrubs. It was there the two champions would meet to place their lives, and that of Tyrion Lannister, into the hands of the gods. Lysa, freshly scrubbed and garbed in cream velvet with a rope of sapphires and moonstones around her milk-white neck, was holding court on the terrace overlooking the scene of the combat, surrounded by her knights, retainers, and lords high and low. Most of them still hoped to wed her, bed her, and rule the Vale of Arryn by her side. From what Catelyn had seen during her stay at the Eyrie, it was a vain hope. A wooden platform had been built to elevate Robert’s chair; there the Lord of the Eyrie sat, giggling and clapping his hands as a humpbacked puppeteer in blue-and-white motley made two wooden knights hack and slash at each other. Pitchers of thick cream and baskets of blackberries had been set out, and the guests were sipping a sweet orange-scented wine from engraved silver cups. A fool’s festival, Brynden had called it, and small wonder. Across the terrace, Lysa laughed gaily at some jest of Lord Hunter’s, and nibbled a blackberry from the point of Ser Lyn Corbray’s dagger. They were the suitors who stood highest in Lysa’s favor . . . today, at least. Catelyn would have been hard-pressed to say which man was more unsuitable. Eon Hunter was even older than Jon Arryn had been, half-crippled by gout, and cursed with three quarrelsome sons, each more grasping than the last. Ser Lyn was a different sort of folly; lean and handsome, heir to an ancient but impoverished house, but vain, reckless, hot-tempered . . . and, it was whispered, notoriously uninterested in the intimate charms of women. When Lysa espied Catelyn, she welcomed her with a sisterly embrace and a moist kiss on the cheek. â€Å"Isn’t it a lovely morning? The gods are smiling on us. Do try a cup of the wine, sweet sister. Lord Hunter was kind enough to send for it, from his own cellars.† â€Å"Thank you, no. Lysa, we must talk.† â€Å"After,† her sister promised, already beginning to turn away from her. â€Å"Now.† Catelyn spoke more loudly than she’d intended. Men were turning to look. â€Å"Lysa, you cannot mean to go ahead with this folly. Alive, the Imp has value. Dead, he is only food for crows. And if his champion should prevail here—† â€Å"Small chance of that, my lady,† Lord Hunter assured her, patting her shoulder with a liver-spotted hand. â€Å"Ser Vardis is a doughty fighter. He will make short work of the sellsword.† â€Å"Will he, my lord?† Catelyn said coolly. â€Å"I wonder.† She had seen Bronn fight on the high road; it was no accident that he had survived the journey while other men had died. He moved like a panther, and that ugly sword of his seemed a part of his arm. Lysa’s suitors were gathering around them like bees round a blossom. â€Å"Women understand little of these things,† Ser Morton Waynwood said. â€Å"Ser Vardis is a knight, sweet lady. This other fellow, well, his sort are all cowards at heart. Useful enough in a battle, with thousands of their fellows around them, but stand them up alone and the manhood leaks right out of them.† â€Å"Say you have the truth of it, then,† Catelyn said with a courtesy that made her mouth ache. â€Å"What will we gain by the dwarf’s death? Do you imagine that Jaime will care a fig that we gave his brother a trial before we flung him off a mountain?† â€Å"Behead the man,† Ser Lyn Corbray suggested. â€Å"When the Kingslayer receives the Imp’s head, it will be a warning to him,† Lysa gave an impatient shake of her waist-long auburn hair. â€Å"Lord Robert wants to see him fly,† she said, as if that settled the matter. â€Å"And the Imp has only himself to blame. It was he who demanded a trial by combat.† â€Å"Lady Lysa had no honorable way to deny him, even if she’d wished to,† Lord Hunter intoned ponderously. Ignoring them all, Catelyn turned all her force on her sister. â€Å"I remind you, Tyrion Lannister is my prisoner.† â€Å"And I remind you, the dwarf murdered my lord husband!† Her voice rose. â€Å"He poisoned the Hand of the King and left my sweet baby fatherless, and now I mean to see him pay!† Whirling, her skirts swinging around her, Lysa stalked across the terrace. Ser Lyn and Ser Morton and the other suitors excused themselves with cool nods and trailed after her. â€Å"Do you think he did?† Ser Rodrik asked her quietly when they were alone again. â€Å"Murder Lord Jon, that is? The Imp still denies it, and most fiercely . . . â€Å" â€Å"I believe the Lannisters murdered Lord Arryn,† Catelyn replied, â€Å"but whether it was Tyrion, or Ser Jaime, or the queen, or all of them together, I could not begin to say.† Lysa had named Cersei in the letter she had sent to Winterfell, but now she seemed certain that Tyrion was the killer . . . perhaps because the dwarf was here, while the queen was safe behind the walls of the Red Keep, hundreds of leagues to the south. Catelyn almost wished she had burned her sister’s letter before reading it. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. â€Å"Poison, well . . . that could be the dwarf’s work, true enough. Or Cersei’s. It’s said poison is a woman’s weapon, begging your pardons, my lady. The Kingslayer, now . . . I have no great liking for the man, but he’s not the sort. Too fond of the sight of blood on that golden sword of his. Was it poison, my lady?† Catelyn frowned, vaguely uneasy. â€Å"How else could they make it look a natural death?† Behind her, Lord Robert shrieked with delight as one of the puppet knights sliced the other in half, spilling a flood of red sawdust onto the terrace. She glanced at her nephew and sighed. â€Å"The boy is utterly without discipline. He will never be strong enough to rule unless he is taken away from his mother for a time.† â€Å"His lord father agreed with you,† said a voice at her elbow. She turned to behold Maester Colemon, a cup of wine in his hand. â€Å"He was planning to send the boy to Dragonstone for fostering, you know . . . oh, but I’m speaking out of turn.† The apple of his throat bobbed anxiously beneath the loose maester’s chain. â€Å"I fear I’ve had too much of Lord Hunter’s excellent wine. The prospect of bloodshed has my nerves all a-fray . . . â€Å" â€Å"You are mistaken, Maester,† Catelyn said. â€Å"It was Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone, and those arrangements were made after the Hand’s death, without my sister’s consent.† The maester’s head jerked so vigorously at the end of his absurdly long neck that he looked half a puppet himself. â€Å"No, begging your forgiveness, my lady, but it was Lord Jon who—† A bell tolled loudly below them. High lords and serving girls alike broke off what they were doing and moved to the balustrade. Below, two guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks led forth Tyrion Lannister. The Eyrie’s plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa. â€Å"The bad little man,† Lord Robert said, giggling. â€Å"Mother, can I make him fly? I want to see him fly.† â€Å"Later, my sweet baby,† Lysa promised him. â€Å"Trial first,† drawled Ser Lyn Corbray, â€Å"then execution.† A moment later the two champions appeared from opposite sides of the garden. The knight was attended by two young squires, the sellsword by the Eyrie’s master-at-arms. Ser Vardis Egen was steel from head to heel, encased in heavy plate armor over mail and padded surcoat. Large circular rondels, enameled cream-and-blue in the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, protected the vulnerable juncture of arm and breast. A skirt of lobstered metal covered him from waist to midthigh, while a solid gorget encircled his throat. Falcon’s wings sprouted from the temples of his helm, and his visor was a pointed metal beak with a narrow slit for vision. Bronn was so lightly armored he looked almost naked beside the knight. He wore only a shirt of black oiled ringmail over boiled leather, a round steel halfhelm with a noseguard, and a mail coif. High leather boots with steel shinguards gave some protection to his legs, and discs of black iron were sewn into the fingers of his gloves. Yet Catelyn noted that the sellsword stood half a hand taller than his foe, with a longer reach . . . and Bronn was fifteen years younger, if she was any judge. They knelt in the grass beneath the weeping woman, facing each other, with Lannister between them. The septon removed a faceted crystal sphere from the soft cloth bag at his waist. He lifted it high above his head, and the light shattered. Rainbows danced across the Imp’s face. In a high, solemn, singsong voice, the septon asked the gods to look down and bear witness, to find the truth in this man’s soul, to grant him life and freedom if he was innocent, death if he was guilty. His voice echoed off the surrounding towers. When the last echo had died away, the septon lowered his crystal and made a hasty departure. Tyrion leaned over and whispered something in Bronn’s ear before the guardsmen led him away. The sellsword rose laughing and brushed a blade of grass from his knee. Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, was fidgeting impatiently in his elevated chair. â€Å"When are they going to fight?† he asked plaintively. Ser Vardis was helped back to his feet by one of his squires. The other brought him a triangular shield almost four feet tall, heavy oak dotted with iron studs. They strapped it to his left forearm. When Lysa’s master-at-arms offered Bronn a similar shield, the sellsword spat and waved it away. Three days growth of coarse black beard covered his jaw and cheeks, but if he did not shave it was not for want of a razor; the edge of his sword had the dangerous glimmer of steel that had been honed every day for hours, until it was too sharp to touch. Ser Vardis held out a gauntleted hand, and his squire placed a handsome double-edged longsword in his grasp. The blade was engraved with a delicate silver tracery of a mountain sky; its pommel was a falcon’s head, its crossguard fashioned into the shape of wings. â€Å"I had that sword crafted for Jon in King’s Landing,† Lysa told her guests proudly as they watched Ser Vardis try a practice cut. â€Å"He wore it whenever he sat the Iron Throne in King Robert’s place. Isn’t it a lovely thing? I thought it only fitting that our champion avenge Jon with his own blade.† The engraved silver blade was beautiful beyond a doubt, but it seemed to Catelyn that Ser Vardis might have been more comfortable with his own sword. Yet she said nothing; she was weary of futile arguments with her sister. â€Å"Make them fight!† Lord Robert called out. Ser Vardis faced the Lord of the Eyrie and lifted his sword in salute. â€Å"For the Eyrie and the Vale!† Tyrion Lannister had been seated on a balcony across the garden, flanked by his guards. It was to him that Bronn turned with a cursory salute. â€Å"They await your command,† Lady Lysa said to her lord son. â€Å"Fight!† the boy screamed, his arms trembling as they clutched at his chair. Ser Vardis swiveled, bringing up his heavy shield. Bronn turned to face him. Their swords rang together, once, twice, a testing. The sellsword backed off a step. The knight came after, holding his shield before him. He tried a slash, but Bronn jerked back, just out of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Bronn circled to his right. Ser Vardis turned to follow, keeping his shield between them. The knight pressed forward, placing each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The sellsword gave way, a faint smile playing over his lips. Ser Vardis attacked, slashing, but Bronn leapt away from him, hopping lightly over a low, moss-covered stone. Now the sellsword circled left, away from the shield, toward the knight’s unprotected side. Ser Vardis tried a hack at his legs, but he did not have the reach. Bronn danced farther to his left. Ser Vardis turned in place. â€Å"The man is craven,† Lord Hunter declared. â€Å"Stand and fight, coward! † Other voices echoed the sentiment. Catelyn looked to Ser Rodrik. Her master-at-arms gave a curt shake of his head. â€Å"He wants to make Ser Vardis chase him. The weight of armor and shield will tire even the strongest man.† She had seen men practice at their swordplay near every day of her life, had viewed half a hundred tourneys in her time, but this was something different and deadlier: a dance where the smallest misstep meant death. And as she watched, the memory of another duel in another time came back to Catelyn Stark, as vivid as if it had been yesterday. They met in the lower bailey of Riverrun. When Brandon saw that Petyr wore only helm and breastplate and mail, he took off most of his armor. Petyr had begged her for a favor he might wear, but she had turned him away. Her lord father promised her to Brandon Stark, and so it was to him that she gave her token, a pale blue handscarf she had embroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun. As she pressed it into his hand, she pleaded with him. â€Å"He is only a foolish boy, but I have loved him like a brother. It would grieve me to see him die.† And her betrothed looked at her with the cool grey eyes of a Stark and promised to spare the boy who loved her. That fight was over almost as soon as it began. Brandon was a man grown, and he drove Littlefinger all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every step, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds. â€Å"Yield!† he called, more than once, but Petyr would only shake his head and fight on, grimly. When the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal backhand cut that bit through Petyr’s rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so deep that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at her as he fell and murmured â€Å"Cat† as the bright blood came flowing out between his mailed fingers. She thought she had forgotten that. That was the last time she had seen his face . . . until the day she was brought before him in King’s Landing. A fortnight passed before Littlefinger was strong enough to leave Riverrun, but her lord father forbade her to visit him in the tower where he lay abed. Lysa helped their maester nurse him; she had been softer and shyer in those days. Edmure had called on him as well, but Petyr had sent him away. Her brother had acted as Brandon’s squire at the duel, and Littlefinger would not forgive that. As soon as he was strong enough to be moved, Lord Hoster Tully sent Petyr Baelish away in a closed litter, to finish his healing on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of rock where he’d been born. The ringing clash of steel on steel jarred Catelyn back to the present. Ser Vardis was coming hard at Bronn, driving into him with shield and sword. The sellsword scrambled backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe. He was quicker, Catelyn saw; the knight’s silvered sword never came near to touching him, but his own ugly grey blade hacked a notch from Ser Vardis’s shoulder plate. The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Bronn sidestepped and slid behind the statue of the weeping woman. Ser Vardis lunged at where he had been, striking a spark off the pale marble of Alyssa’s thigh. â€Å"They’re not fighting good, Mother,† the Lord of the Eyrie complained. â€Å"I want them to fight.† â€Å"They will, sweet baby,† his mother soothed him. â€Å"The sellsword can’t run all day.† Some of the lords on Lysa’s terrace were making wry jests as they refilled their wine cups, but across the garden, Tyrion Lannister’s mismatched eyes watched the champions dance as if there were nothing else in the world. Bronn came out from behind the statue hard and fast, still moving left, aiming a two-handed cut at the knight’s unshielded right side. Ser Vardis blocked, but clumsily, and the sellsword’s blade flashed upward at his head. Metal rang, and a falcon’s wing collapsed with a crunch. Ser Vardis took a half step back to brace himself, raised his shield. Oak chips flew as Bronn’s sword hacked at the wooden wall. The sellsword stepped left again, away from the shield, and caught Ser Vardis across the stomach, the razor edge of his blade leaving a bright gash when it bit into the knight’s plate. Ser Vardis drove forward off his back foot, his own silver blade descending in a savage arc. Bronn slammed it aside and danced away. The knight crashed into the weeping woman, rocking her on her plinth. Staggered, he stepped backward, his head turning this way and that as he searched for his foe. The slit visor of his helm narrowed his vision. â€Å"Behind you, ser!† Lord Hunter shouted, too late. Bronn brought his sword down with both hands, catching Ser Vardis in the elbow of his sword arm. The thin lobstered metal that protected the joint crunched. The knight grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon up. This time Bronn stood his ground. The swords flew at each other, and their steel song filled the garden and rang off the white towers of the Eyrie. â€Å"Ser Vardis is hurt,† Ser Rodrik said, his voice grave. Catelyn did not need to be told; she had eyes, she could see the bright finger of blood running along the knight’s forearm, the wetness inside the elbow joint. Every parry was a little slower and a little lower than the one before. Ser Vardis turned his side to his foe, trying to use his shield to block instead, but Bronn slid around him, quick as a cat. The sellsword seemed to be getting stronger. His cuts were leaving their marks now. Deep shiny gashes gleamed all over the knight’s armor, on his right thigh, his beaked visor, crossing on his breastplate, a long one along the front of his gorget. The moon-and-falcon rondel over Ser Vardis’s right arm was sheared clean in half, hanging by its strap. They could hear his labored breath, rattling through the air holes in his visor. Blind with arrogance as they were, even the knights and lords of the Vale could see what was happening below them, yet her sister could not. â€Å"Enough, Ser Vardis!† Lady Lysa called down. â€Å"Finish him now, my baby is growing tired.† And it must be said of Ser Vardis Egen that he was true to his lady’s command, even to the last. One moment he was reeling backward, half-crouched behind his scarred shield; the next he charged. The sudden bull rush caught Bronn off balance. Ser Vardis crashed into him and slammed the lip of his shield into the sellsword’s face. Almost, almost, Bronn lost his feet . . . he staggered back, tripped over a rock, and caught hold of the weeping woman to keep his balance. Throwing aside his shield, Ser Vardis lurched after him, using both hands to raise his sword. His right arm was blood from elbow to fingers now, yet his last desperate blow would have opened Bronn from neck to navel . . . if the sellsword had stood to receive it. But Bronn jerked back. Jon Arryn’s beautiful engraved silver sword glanced off the marble elbow of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the statue’s back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser Vardis Egen went down beneath her. Bronn was on him in a heartbeat, kicking what was left of his shattered rondel aside to expose the weak spot between arm and breastplate. Ser Vardis was lying on his side, pinned beneath the broken torso of the weeping woman. Catelyn heard the knight groan as the sellsword lifted his blade with both hands and drove it down and in with all his weight behind it, under the arm and through the ribs. Ser Vardis Egen shuddered and lay still. Silence hung over the Eyrie. Bronn yanked off his halfhelm and let it fall to the grass. His lip was smashed and bloody where the shield had caught him, and his coal-black hair was soaked with sweat. He spit out a broken tooth. â€Å"Is it over, Mother?† the Lord of the Eyrie asked. No, Catelyn wanted to tell him, it’s only now beginning. â€Å"Yes,† Lysa said glumly, her voice as cold and dead as the captain of her guard. â€Å"Can I make the little man fly now?† Across the garden, Tyrion Lannister got to his feet. â€Å"Not this little man,† he said. â€Å"This little man is going down in the turnip hoist, thank you very much.† â€Å"You presume—† Lysa began. â€Å"I presume that House Arryn remembers its own words,† the Imp said. â€Å"As High as Honor.† â€Å"You promised I could make him fly,† the Lord of the Eyrie screamed at his mother. He began to shake. Lady Lysa’s face was flushed with fury. â€Å"The gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent, child. We have no choice but to free him.† She lifted her voice. â€Å"Guards. Take my lord of Lannister and his . . . creature here out of my sight. Escort them to the Bloody Gate and set them free. See that they have horses and supplies sufficient to reach the Trident, and make certain all their goods and weapons are returned to them. They shall need them on the high road.† â€Å"The high road,† Tyrion Lannister said. Lysa allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile. It was another sort of death sentence, Catelyn realized. Tyrion Lannister must know that as well. Yet the dwarf favored Lady Arryn with a mocking bow. â€Å"As you command, my lady,† he said. â€Å"I believe we know the way.† A Game of Thrones Chapter Forty Pale white mists rose off Alyssa’s Tears, where the ghost waters plunged over the shoulder of the mountain to begin their long tumble down the face of the Giant’s Lance. Catelyn could feel the faint touch of spray on her face. Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died. â€Å"Tell me the rest of it,† she said. â€Å"The Kingslayer is massing a host at Casterly Rock,† Ser Rodrik Cassel answered from the room behind her. â€Å"Your brother writes that he has sent riders to the Rock, demanding that Lord Tywin proclaim his intent, but he has had no answer. Edmure has commanded Lord Vance and Lord Piper to guard the pass below the Golden Tooth. He vows to you that he will yield no foot of Tully land without first watering it with Lannister blood.† Catelyn turned away from the sunrise. Its beauty did little to lighten her mood; it seemed cruel for a day to dawn so fair and end so foul as this one promised to. â€Å"Edmure has sent riders and made vows,† she said, â€Å"but Edmure is not the Lord of Riverrun. What of my lord father?† â€Å"The message made no mention of Lord Hoster, my lady.† Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. They had grown in white as snow and bristly as a thornbush while he was recovering from his wounds; he looked almost himself again. â€Å"My father would not have given the defense of Riverrun over to Edmure unless he was very sick,† she said, worried. â€Å"I should have been woken as soon as this bird arrived.† â€Å"Your lady sister thought it better to let you sleep, Maester Colemon told me.† â€Å"I should have been woken,† she insisted. â€Å"The maester tells me your sister planned to speak with you after the combat,† Ser Rodrik said. â€Å"Then she still plans to go through with this mummer’s farce?† Catelyn grimaced. â€Å"The dwarf has played her like a set of pipes, and she is too deaf to hear the tune. Whatever happens this morning, Ser Rodrik, it is past time we took our leave. My place is at Winterfell with my sons. If you are strong enough to travel, I shall ask Lysa for an escort to see us to Gulltown. We can take ship from there.† â€Å"Another ship?† Ser Rodrik looked a shade green, yet he managed not to shudder. â€Å"As you say, my lady.† The old knight waited outside her door as Catelyn summoned the servants Lysa had given her. If she spoke to her sister before the duel, perhaps she could change her mind, she thought as they dressed her. Lysa’s policies varied with her moods, and her moods changed hourly. The shy girl she had known at Riverrun had grown into a woman who was by turns proud, fearful, cruel, dreamy, reckless, timid, stubborn, vain, and, above all, inconstant. When that vile turnkey of hers had come crawling to tell them that Tyrion Lannister wished to confess, Catelyn had urged Lysa to have the dwarf brought to them privately, but no, nothing would do but that her sister must make a show of him before half the Vale. And now this . . . â€Å"Lannister is my prisoner,† she told Ser Rodrik as they descended the tower stairs and made their way through the Eyrie’s cold white halls. Catelyn wore plain grey wool with a silvered belt. â€Å"My sister must be reminded of that.† At the doors to Lysa’s apartments, they met her uncle storming out. â€Å"Going to join the fool’s festival?† Ser Brynden snapped. â€Å"I’d tell you to slap some sense into your sister, if I thought it would do any good, but you’d only bruise your hand.† â€Å"There was a bird from Riverrun,† Catelyn began, â€Å"a letter from Edmure . . . â€Å" â€Å"I know, child.† The black fish that fastened his cloak was Brynden’s only concession to ornament. â€Å"I had to hear it from Maester Colemon. I asked your sister for leave to take a thousand seasoned men and ride for Riverrun with all haste. Do you know what she told me? The Vale cannot spare a thousand swords, nor even one, Uncle, she said. You are the Knight of the Gate. Your place is here.† A gust of childish laughter drifted through the open doors behind him, and her uncle glanced darkly over his shoulder. â€Å"Well, I told her she could bloody well find herself a new Knight of the Gate. Black fish or no, I am still a Tully. I shall leave for Riverrun by evenfall.† Catelyn could not pretend to surprise. â€Å"Alone? You know as well as I that you will never survive the high road. Ser Rodrik and I are returning to Winterfell. Come with us, Uncle. I will give you your thousand men. Riverrun will not fight alone.† Brynden thought a moment, then nodded a brusque agreement. â€Å"As you say. It’s the long way home, but I’m more like to get there. I’ll wait for you below.† He went striding off, his cloak swirling behind him. Catelyn exchanged a look with Ser Rodrik. They went through the doors to the high, nervous sound of a child’s giggles. Lysa’s apartments opened over a small garden, a circle of dirt and grass planted with blue flowers and ringed on all sides by tall white towers. The builders had intended it as a godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the hard stone of the mountain, and no matter how much soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here. So the Lords of the Eyrie planted grass and scattered statuary amidst low, flowering shrubs. It was there the two champions would meet to place their lives, and that of Tyrion Lannister, into the hands of the gods. Lysa, freshly scrubbed and garbed in cream velvet with a rope of sapphires and moonstones around her milk-white neck, was holding court on the terrace overlooking the scene of the combat, surrounded by her knights, retainers, and lords high and low. Most of them still hoped to wed her, bed her, and rule the Vale of Arryn by her side. From what Catelyn had seen during her stay at the Eyrie, it was a vain hope. A wooden platform had been built to elevate Robert’s chair; there the Lord of the Eyrie sat, giggling and clapping his hands as a humpbacked puppeteer in blue-and-white motley made two wooden knights hack and slash at each other. Pitchers of thick cream and baskets of blackberries had been set out, and the guests were sipping a sweet orange-scented wine from engraved silver cups. A fool’s festival, Brynden had called it, and small wonder. Across the terrace, Lysa laughed gaily at some jest of Lord Hunter’s, and nibbled a blackberry from the point of Ser Lyn Corbray’s dagger. They were the suitors who stood highest in Lysa’s favor . . . today, at least. Catelyn would have been hard-pressed to say which man was more unsuitable. Eon Hunter was even older than Jon Arryn had been, half-crippled by gout, and cursed with three quarrelsome sons, each more grasping than the last. Ser Lyn was a different sort of folly; lean and handsome, heir to an ancient but impoverished house, but vain, reckless, hot-tempered . . . and, it was whispered, notoriously uninterested in the intimate charms of women. When Lysa espied Catelyn, she welcomed her with a sisterly embrace and a moist kiss on the cheek. â€Å"Isn’t it a lovely morning? The gods are smiling on us. Do try a cup of the wine, sweet sister. Lord Hunter was kind enough to send for it, from his own cellars.† â€Å"Thank you, no. Lysa, we must talk.† â€Å"After,† her sister promised, already beginning to turn away from her. â€Å"Now.† Catelyn spoke more loudly than she’d intended. Men were turning to look. â€Å"Lysa, you cannot mean to go ahead with this folly. Alive, the Imp has value. Dead, he is only food for crows. And if his champion should prevail here—† â€Å"Small chance of that, my lady,† Lord Hunter assured her, patting her shoulder with a liver-spotted hand. â€Å"Ser Vardis is a doughty fighter. He will make short work of the sellsword.† â€Å"Will he, my lord?† Catelyn said coolly. â€Å"I wonder.† She had seen Bronn fight on the high road; it was no accident that he had survived the journey while other men had died. He moved like a panther, and that ugly sword of his seemed a part of his arm. Lysa’s suitors were gathering around them like bees round a blossom. â€Å"Women understand little of these things,† Ser Morton Waynwood said. â€Å"Ser Vardis is a knight, sweet lady. This other fellow, well, his sort are all cowards at heart. Useful enough in a battle, with thousands of their fellows around them, but stand them up alone and the manhood leaks right out of them.† â€Å"Say you have the truth of it, then,† Catelyn said with a courtesy that made her mouth ache. â€Å"What will we gain by the dwarf’s death? Do you imagine that Jaime will care a fig that we gave his brother a trial before we flung him off a mountain?† â€Å"Behead the man,† Ser Lyn Corbray suggested. â€Å"When the Kingslayer receives the Imp’s head, it will be a warning to him,† Lysa gave an impatient shake of her waist-long auburn hair. â€Å"Lord Robert wants to see him fly,† she said, as if that settled the matter. â€Å"And the Imp has only himself to blame. It was he who demanded a trial by combat.† â€Å"Lady Lysa had no honorable way to deny him, even if she’d wished to,† Lord Hunter intoned ponderously. Ignoring them all, Catelyn turned all her force on her sister. â€Å"I remind you, Tyrion Lannister is my prisoner.† â€Å"And I remind you, the dwarf murdered my lord husband!† Her voice rose. â€Å"He poisoned the Hand of the King and left my sweet baby fatherless, and now I mean to see him pay!† Whirling, her skirts swinging around her, Lysa stalked across the terrace. Ser Lyn and Ser Morton and the other suitors excused themselves with cool nods and trailed after her. â€Å"Do you think he did?† Ser Rodrik asked her quietly when they were alone again. â€Å"Murder Lord Jon, that is? The Imp still denies it, and most fiercely . . . â€Å" â€Å"I believe the Lannisters murdered Lord Arryn,† Catelyn replied, â€Å"but whether it was Tyrion, or Ser Jaime, or the queen, or all of them together, I could not begin to say.† Lysa had named Cersei in the letter she had sent to Winterfell, but now she seemed certain that Tyrion was the killer . . . perhaps because the dwarf was here, while the queen was safe behind the walls of the Red Keep, hundreds of leagues to the south. Catelyn almost wished she had burned her sister’s letter before reading it. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. â€Å"Poison, well . . . that could be the dwarf’s work, true enough. Or Cersei’s. It’s said poison is a woman’s weapon, begging your pardons, my lady. The Kingslayer, now . . . I have no great liking for the man, but he’s not the sort. Too fond of the sight of blood on that golden sword of his. Was it poison, my lady?† Catelyn frowned, vaguely uneasy. â€Å"How else could they make it look a natural death?† Behind her, Lord Robert shrieked with delight as one of the puppet knights sliced the other in half, spilling a flood of red sawdust onto the terrace. She glanced at her nephew and sighed. â€Å"The boy is utterly without discipline. He will never be strong enough to rule unless he is taken away from his mother for a time.† â€Å"His lord father agreed with you,† said a voice at her elbow. She turned to behold Maester Colemon, a cup of wine in his hand. â€Å"He was planning to send the boy to Dragonstone for fostering, you know . . . oh, but I’m speaking out of turn.† The apple of his throat bobbed anxiously beneath the loose maester’s chain. â€Å"I fear I’ve had too much of Lord Hunter’s excellent wine. The prospect of bloodshed has my nerves all a-fray . . . â€Å" â€Å"You are mistaken, Maester,† Catelyn said. â€Å"It was Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone, and those arrangements were made after the Hand’s death, without my sister’s consent.† The maester’s head jerked so vigorously at the end of his absurdly long neck that he looked half a puppet himself. â€Å"No, begging your forgiveness, my lady, but it was Lord Jon who—† A bell tolled loudly below them. High lords and serving girls alike broke off what they were doing and moved to the balustrade. Below, two guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks led forth Tyrion Lannister. The Eyrie’s plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa. â€Å"The bad little man,† Lord Robert said, giggling. â€Å"Mother, can I make him fly? I want to see him fly.† â€Å"Later, my sweet baby,† Lysa promised him. â€Å"Trial first,† drawled Ser Lyn Corbray, â€Å"then execution.† A moment later the two champions appeared from opposite sides of the garden. The knight was attended by two young squires, the sellsword by the Eyrie’s master-at-arms. Ser Vardis Egen was steel from head to heel, encased in heavy plate armor over mail and padded surcoat. Large circular rondels, enameled cream-and-blue in the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, protected the vulnerable juncture of arm and breast. A skirt of lobstered metal covered him from waist to midthigh, while a solid gorget encircled his throat. Falcon’s wings sprouted from the temples of his helm, and his visor was a pointed metal beak with a narrow slit for vision. Bronn was so lightly armored he looked almost naked beside the knight. He wore only a shirt of black oiled ringmail over boiled leather, a round steel halfhelm with a noseguard, and a mail coif. High leather boots with steel shinguards gave some protection to his legs, and discs of black iron were sewn into the fingers of his gloves. Yet Catelyn noted that the sellsword stood half a hand taller than his foe, with a longer reach . . . and Bronn was fifteen years younger, if she was any judge. They knelt in the grass beneath the weeping woman, facing each other, with Lannister between them. The septon removed a faceted crystal sphere from the soft cloth bag at his waist. He lifted it high above his head, and the light shattered. Rainbows danced across the Imp’s face. In a high, solemn, singsong voice, the septon asked the gods to look down and bear witness, to find the truth in this man’s soul, to grant him life and freedom if he was innocent, death if he was guilty. His voice echoed off the surrounding towers. When the last echo had died away, the septon lowered his crystal and made a hasty departure. Tyrion leaned over and whispered something in Bronn’s ear before the guardsmen led him away. The sellsword rose laughing and brushed a blade of grass from his knee. Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, was fidgeting impatiently in his elevated chair. â€Å"When are they going to fight?† he asked plaintively. Ser Vardis was helped back to his feet by one of his squires. The other brought him a triangular shield almost four feet tall, heavy oak dotted with iron studs. They strapped it to his left forearm. When Lysa’s master-at-arms offered Bronn a similar shield, the sellsword spat and waved it away. Three days growth of coarse black beard covered his jaw and cheeks, but if he did not shave it was not for want of a razor; the edge of his sword had the dangerous glimmer of steel that had been honed every day for hours, until it was too sharp to touch. Ser Vardis held out a gauntleted hand, and his squire placed a handsome double-edged longsword in his grasp. The blade was engraved with a delicate silver tracery of a mountain sky; its pommel was a falcon’s head, its crossguard fashioned into the shape of wings. â€Å"I had that sword crafted for Jon in King’s Landing,† Lysa told her guests proudly as they watched Ser Vardis try a practice cut. â€Å"He wore it whenever he sat the Iron Throne in King Robert’s place. Isn’t it a lovely thing? I thought it only fitting that our champion avenge Jon with his own blade.† The engraved silver blade was beautiful beyond a doubt, but it seemed to Catelyn that Ser Vardis might have been more comfortable with his own sword. Yet she said nothing; she was weary of futile arguments with her sister. â€Å"Make them fight!† Lord Robert called out. Ser Vardis faced the Lord of the Eyrie and lifted his sword in salute. â€Å"For the Eyrie and the Vale!† Tyrion Lannister had been seated on a balcony across the garden, flanked by his guards. It was to him that Bronn turned with a cursory salute. â€Å"They await your command,† Lady Lysa said to her lord son. â€Å"Fight!† the boy screamed, his arms trembling as they clutched at his chair. Ser Vardis swiveled, bringing up his heavy shield. Bronn turned to face him. Their swords rang together, once, twice, a testing. The sellsword backed off a step. The knight came after, holding his shield before him. He tried a slash, but Bronn jerked back, just out of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Bronn circled to his right. Ser Vardis turned to follow, keeping his shield between them. The knight pressed forward, placing each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The sellsword gave way, a faint smile playing over his lips. Ser Vardis attacked, slashing, but Bronn leapt away from him, hopping lightly over a low, moss-covered stone. Now the sellsword circled left, away from the shield, toward the knight’s unprotected side. Ser Vardis tried a hack at his legs, but he did not have the reach. Bronn danced farther to his left. Ser Vardis turned in place. â€Å"The man is craven,† Lord Hunter declared. â€Å"Stand and fight, coward! † Other voices echoed the sentiment. Catelyn looked to Ser Rodrik. Her master-at-arms gave a curt shake of his head. â€Å"He wants to make Ser Vardis chase him. The weight of armor and shield will tire even the strongest man.† She had seen men practice at their swordplay near every day of her life, had viewed half a hundred tourneys in her time, but this was something different and deadlier: a dance where the smallest misstep meant death. And as she watched, the memory of another duel in another time came back to Catelyn Stark, as vivid as if it had been yesterday. They met in the lower bailey of Riverrun. When Brandon saw that Petyr wore only helm and breastplate and mail, he took off most of his armor. Petyr had begged her for a favor he might wear, but she had turned him away. Her lord father promised her to Brandon Stark, and so it was to him that she gave her token, a pale blue handscarf she had embroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun. As she pressed it into his hand, she pleaded with him. â€Å"He is only a foolish boy, but I have loved him like a brother. It would grieve me to see him die.† And her betrothed looked at her with the cool grey eyes of a Stark and promised to spare the boy who loved her. That fight was over almost as soon as it began. Brandon was a man grown, and he drove Littlefinger all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every step, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds. â€Å"Yield!† he called, more than once, but Petyr would only shake his head and fight on, grimly. When the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal backhand cut that bit through Petyr’s rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so deep that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at her as he fell and murmured â€Å"Cat† as the bright blood came flowing out between his mailed fingers. She thought she had forgotten that. That was the last time she had seen his face . . . until the day she was brought before him in King’s Landing. A fortnight passed before Littlefinger was strong enough to leave Riverrun, but her lord father forbade her to visit him in the tower where he lay abed. Lysa helped their maester nurse him; she had been softer and shyer in those days. Edmure had called on him as well, but Petyr had sent him away. Her brother had acted as Brandon’s squire at the duel, and Littlefinger would not forgive that. As soon as he was strong enough to be moved, Lord Hoster Tully sent Petyr Baelish away in a closed litter, to finish his healing on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of rock where he’d been born. The ringing clash of steel on steel jarred Catelyn back to the present. Ser Vardis was coming hard at Bronn, driving into him with shield and sword. The sellsword scrambled backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe. He was quicker, Catelyn saw; the knight’s silvered sword never came near to touching him, but his own ugly grey blade hacked a notch from Ser Vardis’s shoulder plate. The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Bronn sidestepped and slid behind the statue of the weeping woman. Ser Vardis lunged at where he had been, striking a spark off the pale marble of Alyssa’s thigh. â€Å"They’re not fighting good, Mother,† the Lord of the Eyrie complained. â€Å"I want them to fight.† â€Å"They will, sweet baby,† his mother soothed him. â€Å"The sellsword can’t run all day.† Some of the lords on Lysa’s terrace were making wry jests as they refilled their wine cups, but across the garden, Tyrion Lannister’s mismatched eyes watched the champions dance as if there were nothing else in the world. Bronn came out from behind the statue hard and fast, still moving left, aiming a two-handed cut at the knight’s unshielded right side. Ser Vardis blocked, but clumsily, and the sellsword’s blade flashed upward at his head. Metal rang, and a falcon’s wing collapsed with a crunch. Ser Vardis took a half step back to brace himself, raised his shield. Oak chips flew as Bronn’s sword hacked at the wooden wall. The sellsword stepped left again, away from the shield, and caught Ser Vardis across the stomach, the razor edge of his blade leaving a bright gash when it bit into the knight’s plate. Ser Vardis drove forward off his back foot, his own silver blade descending in a savage arc. Bronn slammed it aside and danced away. The knight crashed into the weeping woman, rocking her on her plinth. Staggered, he stepped backward, his head turning this way and that as he searched for his foe. The slit visor of his helm narrowed his vision. â€Å"Behind you, ser!† Lord Hunter shouted, too late. Bronn brought his sword down with both hands, catching Ser Vardis in the elbow of his sword arm. The thin lobstered metal that protected the joint crunched. The knight grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon up. This time Bronn stood his ground. The swords flew at each other, and their steel song filled the garden and rang off the white towers of the Eyrie. â€Å"Ser Vardis is hurt,† Ser Rodrik said, his voice grave. Catelyn did not need to be told; she had eyes, she could see the bright finger of blood running along the knight’s forearm, the wetness inside the elbow joint. Every parry was a little slower and a little lower than the one before. Ser Vardis turned his side to his foe, trying to use his shield to block instead, but Bronn slid around him, quick as a cat. The sellsword seemed to be getting stronger. His cuts were leaving their marks now. Deep shiny gashes gleamed all over the knight’s armor, on his right thigh, his beaked visor, crossing on his breastplate, a long one along the front of his gorget. The moon-and-falcon rondel over Ser Vardis’s right arm was sheared clean in half, hanging by its strap. They could hear his labored breath, rattling through the air holes in his visor. Blind with arrogance as they were, even the knights and lords of the Vale could see what was happening below them, yet her sister could not. â€Å"Enough, Ser Vardis!† Lady Lysa called down. â€Å"Finish him now, my baby is growing tired.† And it must be said of Ser Vardis Egen that he was true to his lady’s command, even to the last. One moment he was reeling backward, half-crouched behind his scarred shield; the next he charged. The sudden bull rush caught Bronn off balance. Ser Vardis crashed into him and slammed the lip of his shield into the sellsword’s face. Almost, almost, Bronn lost his feet . . . he staggered back, tripped over a rock, and caught hold of the weeping woman to keep his balance. Throwing aside his shield, Ser Vardis lurched after him, using both hands to raise his sword. His right arm was blood from elbow to fingers now, yet his last desperate blow would have opened Bronn from neck to navel . . . if the sellsword had stood to receive it. But Bronn jerked back. Jon Arryn’s beautiful engraved silver sword glanced off the marble elbow of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the statue’s back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser Vardis Egen went down beneath her. Bronn was on him in a heartbeat, kicking what was left of his shattered rondel aside to expose the weak spot between arm and breastplate. Ser Vardis was lying on his side, pinned beneath the broken torso of the weeping woman. Catelyn heard the knight groan as the sellsword lifted his blade with both hands and drove it down and in with all his weight behind it, under the arm and through the ribs. Ser Vardis Egen shuddered and lay still. Silence hung over the Eyrie. Bronn yanked off his halfhelm and let it fall to the grass. His lip was smashed and bloody where the shield had caught him, and his coal-black hair was soaked with sweat. He spit out a broken tooth. â€Å"Is it over, Mother?† the Lord of the Eyrie asked. No, Catelyn wanted to tell him, it’s only now beginning. â€Å"Yes,† Lysa said glumly, her voice as cold and dead as the captain of her guard. â€Å"Can I make the little man fly now?† Across the garden, Tyrion Lannister got to his feet. â€Å"Not this little man,† he said. â€Å"This little man is going down in the turnip hoist, thank you very much.† â€Å"You presume—† Lysa began. â€Å"I presume that House Arryn remembers its own words,† the Imp said. â€Å"As High as Honor.† â€Å"You promised I could make him fly,† the Lord of the Eyrie screamed at his mother. He began to shake. Lady Lysa’s face was flushed with fury. â€Å"The gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent, child. We have no choice but to free him.† She lifted her voice. â€Å"Guards. Take my lord of Lannister and his . . . creature here out of my sight. Escort them to the Bloody Gate and set them free. See that they have horses and supplies sufficient to reach the Trident, and make certain all their goods and weapons are returned to them. They shall need them on the high road.† â€Å"The high road,† Tyrion Lannister said. Lysa allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile. It was another sort of death sentence, Catelyn realized. Tyrion Lannister must know that as well. Yet the dwarf favored Lady Arryn with a mocking bow. â€Å"As you command, my lady,† he said. â€Å"I believe we know the way.†

Thursday, February 13, 2020

Abdurrahman Zeitoun and The Hero with a Thousand Faces Essay

Abdurrahman Zeitoun and The Hero with a Thousand Faces - Essay Example The object of this paper is to depict the journey of a real life hero seen through Campbell’s version of heroic adventure and dilemma. Campbell has put forward three main criteria as features of a Hero’s journey. The actions and adventures of a real life personality, Abdulrahman Zeitoun are assessed on the basis of the criteria mentioned by Campbell. The altruistic deeds of Zeitoun has placed him on the altar of a modern day Hero and can be a guiding light for the young generation to be strong and fearless in all difficult situations. The mythological set up of Joseph Campbell’s book The Hero with a Thousand Faces has expressed the adventures of an emerging Hero. With many mythological examples the book explains how different people can display courage in the face of adversities and achieve the status of a Hero by fulfilling the call of their missions. The journey of the Hero starts when he gets a call for a mission and on basis of the call he steps in a hitherto unknown and supernatural world from the comforts of his ordinary world. In this journey he faces many hurdles which he overcomes with great display of courage and determination. Eventually, he returns to his homeland equipped with all the powers of a superhero and from then on he uses his power for the welfare of his people. There are three different stages of the journey to heroism and they are Departure, Initiation and Return. The journey that one has to make in his life indicates moving forward without any hesitation and. The journey is full of challenges that one has to overtake with sheer integrity and willpower. Only by overcoming the fear of the unknown, one can emerge victorious as a true hero. The mythological journey of the Hero depicted in this book can act as an inspiration for generations to come. (Campbell, xxiv) Campbell depicts in his book the three stages through the story of a mythological character’s journey and his adventures. He uses various appropriate examples from mythology and religious history to describe the journey of his hero. He embarks on the journey when he gets a call from the supernatural and the first stage of the journey begins when he faces Separation from his own ordinary world. (Campbell, 45-53) â€Å"A sharpened edge of a razor, hard to traverse, A difficult path is this—poets declare!† – (Campbell, 21) Every man who dares to respond to the call of the unknown knows very well the dangers lurking ahead and he alone has to face them with courage and determination. (Campbell, 21). Initially he refuses to respond to the call but then he is assured of supernatural assistance. This gives him the courage to embark on his journey and face the challenges ahead. The second stage is about the hero’s Initiation to the supernatural world. In his journey to this mystic world he faces many tough challenges and tribulations but every time he overtook them and achieved victory with his extraordinary po wers. His bravery won him the good fortune of meeting the Goddess. â€Å"At their word, the word which tortures the spirit, The sick woman was turned into a corpse, The corpse was hung from a stake† – (Campbell, 99) The hero of every era at one time or the other in his life has to confront his other self either by being absorbed by it or by absorbing it. Life will throw at him challenges which will require him to let go of his pride and inhibitions and he must surrender himself to the flow to rediscover himself. In this journey the Hero was provoked towards temptations and like any ordinary man he surrendered his will power to such provocations. Still, the Holy Father gave him the chance to atone for his weakness and thus he received the chance to cleanse himself of his sins. Gradually he gets elevated to divine status and he is bestowed with powers