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    I am Tyrion... Baratheon? And I am about to die.

    by , 10-22-2014 at 12:49 AM (396 Views)
    18th October 2014:

    Note: These entries are ripped straight from my personal dream journal, so if any descriptions seem odd, it's usually something to help me personally remember what I'm referring to, not to easily describe it to others

    Tonight's was a very intense and unusual dream. Though some of the first details are (at current) a little fuzzy, I will do my best to record them. The first thing that happened was a panoramic view of a large stone cliff, like a massive slab of rock layered with green lichen, against a blue sky with soft, fragmented clouds. My Dad was there, and was, I think helping me around; the old red Polo may have been there too, perhaps with Dad driving towards the cliff edge (with me inside it, in the back seat).

    Next I saw a brief scene of Raziel running with his energy-sword attached to his arm, through a grey-tiled kitchen with wooden doors that reminded me much of the crudely rendered doors from Soul Reaver; he was running through a kitchen with massive old metal ovens, which filled much of the room to either side of him, and seemed to be of a 19th Century design. A few apples rolled off the counters of the ovens and onto the floor as he ran, making his way to the door to the right at the opposite end of the room.

    In the next scene, I was in a dimly torch-lit chamber in a castle, standing, the dream camera focused on my face, against the wall with my hands in shackles; I was still Tyrion Lannister, and I knew Peter Dinklage's character to be "me". Cersei Lannister screamed something at me, her eyes squinted in fury and her red dress, flowing as she moved, was embroided with gold, the Lannister colours. An official, male stentorian voice asked me (or words to this effect) if I pleaded guilty, and I believe told me that I had a chance to escape my fate. However, I pleaded guilty to whatever the charges were that were placed against me, and looked to the other end of the square chamber, where an identical dwarf to myself was standing in ragged linen robes, and I admitted to being the same person as that dwarf, a dwarf called "Scar"; some instinct told me that he was me from the future or something, and that we were one and the same person, as identifiable by the fact that we were both Peter Dinklage. The guard by the door, a noble looking sort with white stubble dressed in extravagant armour of gold and crimson with a crested, arching helm (he looked a little like Barristan Selmy beneath the armour) banged the tip of spear on the ground and said something along the lines of "Tyrion Lannister; you had the chance to free yourself from this fate, however you have pleaded guilty, and you are sentenced to death."

    The next scene was by far the most memorable. This scene (as it seemed to be part of a continuous story, so I'll call it that), took place in a massive, lava filled circular arena; in the middle was a raised circular platform with a mesh-floor border, and then, in the centre of the circle, wood. A shaped slab of rock serving as a table sat in the centre, which I can only describe as "Christmas-Pudding shaped"; it reminded me of the larger slab of rock at the beginning of tonight's dreams. I was sat on (I think) a smaller slab, and next to me was Renly Baratheon, though for whatever reason, I thought that my name was Tyrion Baratheon , and that he was my brother. He sat resplendent in his green and gold battle armour, a great helmet with curved horns sat above his head; technically it should have been antlers, but the dream didn't seem to get this detail correct. Set before us were two plates with biscuits on them: A couple of cookies and a shortbread. A wavery-voiced announcer, Pycelle, I think, said over some kind of loudspeaker system (there's no other way his voice could have been as loud as was) announced that the convicted had been given meals to reflect where they had come from, I, from the Dornish Marches apparently, (perhaps I had been helping out in Dorne or something), which I for whatever reason agreed with. Apparently light, crumbly biscuits also passed for Dornish cuisine. As for Renly, I don't remember where the dream said he was from, so I'll just assume it said Storm's End.

    We had a frank chat before our impending deaths; I offered Renly one of my biscuits (three light, crumbly biscuits were to be my last meal) but he refused. I only remember a few actual snippets of the conversation, but I'll record them as best I can. The scene gradually shifted to my bedroom, but we were still sat on the stone chairs before the stone table. I said "You know, we Baratheons have Targaryen Blood." Renly had looked astonished, and asked how far back that was. There was a tiny wise-woman on my bed (Tiny; she was probably about the size of a rat), wearing a frayed blue-grey robe and walking with a gnarled stick (or should I say twig). She seemed to be portrayed by Rosemary Harris. She told us that our ancestry stretched all the way back to "Fingers Targaryen"; I asked her how many children he had had (I presume to get an idea of how much the family line could have branched out between Targaryen and Baratheon), and she told me that he had a great many sons. I grinned and replied "He must have had his fingers in all the pies." This provoked a great laugh from Relny, and I smiled; we felt close as our impending deaths approached. The wise woman disappeared, and I finished my biscuits. I think I then asked Renly something along the lines of "Didn't you already die in 2010? What was it like?" however, I don't remember the answer. Eventually, as the hour of doom approached, I found myself hugging him, weeping, and crying. "I love you, man!" I had said. He then slumped backwards, his legs bending back behind him below the knees. I ran to him and shook him, pleading with him not to leave the mortal coil, and picked up from next to his corpse a small black-bordered console with two knobs, its main body coloured like fire. It had a small, dim display with red lettering on it showing the amount of time I had left to live: It was not long. I pleaded with him "What's it like?! What was it like?! Will I see you there?! What do you see?!" but there was no response.

    It was then that I remembered I had to tell everyone of my impending death; during this time I saw a brief image of me scrabbling for my phone in the dim back section of the caravan, the light of day streaming through the open door, but a moment later, I was back to the feeling of scrabbling for my phone in the world I had been in previously with Renly; I had to tell everyone that I was going to be dead in the morning, and began to write the lines, something along the lines of "When you all wake up tomorrow, I will not be here...", however I did not finish, and snapped awaked, shouting "No!" as I realised my death was approaching. It took me a while to shake the feeling of the dream, and it was one of the more vivid ones I've had since restarting this journal. That was everything I can recall of tonight's dreams.

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