George Martin - A Game of Thrones - The Story Continues Books 1-5 - A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons

Jaime

Catelyn

Samwell

Arya

Jon

Catelyn

Arya

Catelyn

Arya

Tyrion

Davos

Jon

Bran

Daenerys

Tyrion

Sansa

Tyrion

Sansa

Jaime

Davos

Jon

Arya

Tyrion

Jaime

Sansa

Jon

Tyrion

Daenerys

Jaime

Jon

Arya

Samwell

Jon

Tyrion

Samwell

Jon

Sansa

Epilogue

Appendix: The Kings and their Courts

The King on the Iron Throne

The King in the North the King of the Trident

The King in the Narrow Sea

The Queen Across the Water

King of the Isles and the North

Other Houses Great and Small

House Arryn

House Florent

House Frey

House Lannister

House Martell

House Tully

House Tyrell

Rebels, Rogues, and Sworn Brothers

The Sworn Brothers of the Night’s Watch

The Brotherhood Without Banners an Outlaw Fellowship

The Wildlings, or the Free Folk

Acknowledgments

Book Four: A Feast for Crows

Dedication

Prologue

The Prophet

The Captain of Guards

Cersei

Brienne

Samwell

Arya

Cersei

Jaime

Brienne

Sansa

The Kraken’s Daughter

Cersei

The Soiled Knight

Brienne

Samwell

Jaime

Cersei

The Iron Captain

The Drowned Man

Brienne

The Queenmaker

Arya

Alayne

Cersei

Brienne

Samwell

Jaime

Cersei

The Reaver

Jaime

Brienne

Cersei

Jaime

Cat of the Canals

Samwell

Cersei

Brienne

Jaime

Cersei

The Princess in the Tower

Alayne

Brienne

Cersei

Jaime

Samwell

Meanwhile, Back on the Wall …

Appendix: The Kings and their Courts

The Queen Regent

The King at the Wall

King of the Isles and the North

Other Houses Great and Small

House Arryn

House Florent

House Frey

House Hightower

House Lannister

House Martell

House Stark

House Tully

House Tyrell

Rebels And Rogues

Lordlings, Wanderers, And Common Men

Outlaws And Broken Men

The Sworn Brothers of the Night’s Watch

The Wildlings, or the Free Folk

Beyond the Narrow Sea

The Queen Across the Water

In Braavos

Acknowledgments

Book Five: A Dance with Dragons: Part One: Dreams and Dust

Dedication

A Cavil on Chronology

Prologue

Tyrion

Daenerys

Jon

Bran

Tyrion

The Merchant’s Man

Jon

Tyrion

Davos

Jon

Daenerys

Reek

Bran

Tyrion

Davos

Daenerys

Jon

Tyrion

Davos

Reek

Jon

Tyrion

Daenerys

The Lost Lord

The Windblown

The Wayward Bride

Tyrion

Jon

Davos

Daenerys

Melisandre

Reek

Tyrion

Bran

Jon

Daenerys

The Prince of Winterfell

The Watcher

Jon

Tyrion

Book Five: A Dance with Dragons: Part Two: After the Feast

The Turncloak

The King’s Prize

Daenerys

Jon

The Blind Girl

A Ghost in Winterfell

Tyrion

Jaime

Jon

Daenerys

Theon

Daenerys

Jon

Cersei

The Queensguard

The Iron Suitor

Tyrion

Jon

The Discarded Knight

The Spurned Suitor

The Griffin Reborn

The Sacrifice

Victarion

The Ugly Little Girl

Cersei

Tyrion

The Kingbreaker

The Dragontamer

Jon

The Queen’s Hand

Daenerys

Epilogue

Appendix: The Kings and their Courts

The Boy King

The King at the Wall

King of the Isles and the North

Other Houses Great and Small

House Arryn

House Baratheon

House Frey

House Lannister

House Martell

House Stark

House Tully

House Tyrell

The Sworn Brothers of the Night’s Watch

The Wildlings, or the Free Folk

Beyond the Wall

Essos Beyond the Narrow Sea

In Braavos

In Old Volantis

On Slaver’s Bay

The Queen Across the Water

The Sellswords Men and Women of the Free Companies

Acknowledgments

The Great Game of Thrones Continues …

About the Author

Praise for A Song of Ice and Fire

By George R.R. Martin

About the Publisher

Book One

this one is for Melinda

“We should start back,” Gared urged as the woods began to grow dark around them. “The wildlings are dead.”

“Do the dead frighten you?” Ser Waymar Royce asked with just the hint of a smile.

Gared did not rise to the bait. He was an old man, past fifty, and he had seen the lordlings come and go. “Dead is dead,” he said. “We have no business with the dead.”

“Are they dead?” Royce asked softly. “What proof have we?”

“Will saw them,” Gared said. “If he says they are dead, that’s proof enough for me.”

Will had known they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later. He wished it had been later rather than sooner. “My mother told me that dead men sing no songs,” he put in.

“My wet nurse said the same thing, Will,” Royce replied. “Never believe anything you hear at a woman’s tit. There are things to be learned even from the dead.” His voice echoed, too loud in the twilit forest.

“We have a long ride before us,” Gared pointed out. “Eight days, maybe nine. And night is falling.”

Ser Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. “It does that every day about this time. Are you unmanned by the dark, Gared?”

Will could see the tightness around Gared’s mouth, the barely suppressed anger in his eyes under the thick black hood of his cloak. Gared had spent forty years in the Night’s Watch, man and boy, and he was not accustomed to being made light of. Yet it was more than that. Under the wounded pride, Will could sense something else in the older man. You could taste it; a nervous tension that came perilously close to fear.

Will shared his unease. He had been four years on the Wall. The first time he had been sent beyond, all the old stories had come rushing back, and his bowels had turned to water. He had laughed about it afterward. He was a veteran of a hundred rangings by now, and the endless dark wilderness that the southron called the haunted forest had no more terrors for him.

Until tonight. Something was different tonight. There was an edge to this darkness that made his hackles rise. Nine days they had been riding, north and northwest and then north again, farther and farther from the Wall, hard on the track of a band of wildling raiders. Each day had been worse than the day that had come before it. Today was the worst of all. A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things. All day, Will had felt as though something were watching him, something cold and implacable that loved him not. Gared had felt it too. Will wanted nothing so much as to ride hellbent for the safety of the Wall, but that was not a feeling to share with your commander.

Especially not a commander like this one.

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned.