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
A GAME OF THRONES
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.
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