A Game of Thrones 1 by George R R Martin

A Game of Thrones 1 by George R R Martin

Author:George R R Martin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, 2.0 edited by MaelstroM
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fal en, and

Lyanna in her bed of blood.

In the dream his friends rode with him, as they had in life. Proud Martyn Cassel, Jory’s father;

faithful Theo Wull; Ethan Glover, who had been Brandon’s squire; Ser Mark Ryswell, soft of

speech and gentle of heart; the crannogman, Howland Reed; Lord Dustin on his great red

stallion. Ned had known their faces as well as he knew his own once, but the years leech at a

man’s memories, even those he has vowed never to forget. In the dream they were only shadows,

grey wraiths on horses made of mist.

They were seven, facing three. In the dream as it had been in life. Yet these were no ordinary

three. They waited before the round tower, the red mountains of Dorne at their backs, their white

cloaks blowing in the wind. And these were no shadows; their faces burned clear, even now. Ser

Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had a sad smile on his lips. The hilt of the greatsword

Dawn poked up over his right shoulder. Ser Oswel Whent was on one knee, sharpening his

blade with a whetstone. Across his white-enameled helm, the black bat of his House spread its

wings. Between them stood fierce old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander

of the Kingsguard.

“I looked for you on the Trident,” Ned said to them.

“We were not there,” Ser Gerold answered.

“Woe to the Usurper if we had been,” said Ser Oswell.

“When King’s Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered

where you were.”

“Far away,” Ser Gerold said, “or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother

would burn in seven hel s.”

“I came down on Storm’s End to lift the siege,” Ned told them... and the Lords Tyrell and

Redwyne dipped their banners, and al their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was

certain you would be among them.”

“Our knees do not bend easily,” said Ser Arthur Dayne.

“Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you

might have sailed with him.”

“Ser Willem is a good man and true,” said Ser Oswell.

“But not of the Kingsguard,” Ser Gerold pointed out. “The Kingsguard does not flee.”

“Then or now,” said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

“We swore a vow,” explained old Ser Gerold.

Ned’s wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against

three.

“And now it begins,” said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn

and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

“No,” Ned said with sadness in his voice. “Now it ends.” As they came together in a rush of

steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. “Eddard!” she cal ed. A storm of rose petals

blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death.

“Lord Eddard,” Lyanna called again.

“I promise,” he whispered. “Lya, I promise

“Lord Eddard,” a man echoed from the dark.

Groaning, Eddard Stark opened his eyes.



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