A Game of Thrones Prologue

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Description

A reading of George R.R. Martin's 'A Game of Thrones' Prologue, performed by Mychal Caldwell

Vocal Characteristics

Language

English

Voice Age

Young Adult (18-35)

Accents

British (General) North American (Canadian-General) North American (General)

Transcript

Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
A Song of Ice and Fire. By George R R martin Book one. A game of Thrones read aloud for you by Michael Caldwell Prologue. We should start back, Garrett urged, as the woods begin to grow dark around them. The wild things are dead! Do the dead frighten you, sir? Way more, Royce asked, with just the hint of a smile. Garrett did not rise to the bait. He was an old man past 50 and he had seen the Lord Things come and go. Dead is dead, he said. We have no business with the dead. Are they dead, Roy's asked softly. What proof do we have? My mother said 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 ***. There are things to be learned even from the dead. His voice echoed too loud in the twilight forest. We have a long ride before us. Garrett pointed out. Eight days maybe nine. And night is falling. Sir, William R Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. It does that every day! About this time Are you unmanned by the dark? Garrett? Will could see the tightness around Garrett's mouth. The barely suspended anger in his eyes. Under the thick black hood of his coat. Garrett has spent 40 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 100 ranging by now, and the endless, dark wilderness that the southern called. The haunted forest had no more tears for him until tonight something was different tonight. There was an edge to this darkness that made his hackles rise. nine days they've been riding north and northwest, and then north again, farther and farther from the wall, ******* the track of a band of wildlings. Raiders. Each day had been worse than the last, and the day that came before today was 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 if something were watching him. Something cold and in place. A bill that loved him. Not Garrett had felt it too. Will wanted nothing so much as to ride **** meant for the safety of the wall. But that was not a feeling to share with your commander, especially not a commander like this one, sir! Way more Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house, with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of 18, gray eyed and graceful and slender as a knife mounted on his huge black district. The night towered above Will and Garrett on their smaller Garen's he wore. He wore black leather boots, black Solon pants, black mole skin glove. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black mole skin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ring mail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Sir, William R had been a sworn brother of the Night's Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he was not prepared for his vocation, at least insofar as his wardrobe which was concerned. His cloak was his crowning glory, sable, thick and black and softest sin! Betty killed them all himself. He did! Garrett told the barracks over wine, twisted their little heads off our mighty warrior. They all had shared the laugh. It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups will reflect it. As he sat shivering atop the Garen. Garrett must have felt the same, mormont said. We should track them, and we did. Garrett said they're dead. They Shan't trouble us no more. There's hard riding before us. I don't like this weather. If it snows, it could be a fortnight getting back and snows the best we can hope for ever seen an ice storm. My Lord! The Lord Link seemed not to hear him. He studied the deepening twilight in that half bored, half distracted way he had Will had ridden with the night long enough to understand that it was best not to interrupt him when he looked like that. Tell me again what you saw. Will all the details leave nothing out. Will had been a hunter before he joined the night's watch. Well, a poacher, in truth, I'm Alastair Free riders had caught him red handed in the malice. Tres own woods, skinning one of them, Alistair Zone bucks. And it had been a choice of putting on the black or losing a hand. No one could move through the woods as silent as will, and it had not taken the Black brothers long to discover his talent. The camp is two miles farther on over the ridge, hard beside a stream. Will, said I, got close as I dared. There's eight of them. Men and women, both, no Children. I could see. They put up a lean to against the rock. The snow is pretty well covered in now, but I could still make it out. No fire burning, but the fire pit was still plain as day. No one's moving. I watched a long time. No living man ever lay so still. Did you see any blood? Well, no, will admitted. Did you see any weapons? Some swords, a few bows. One man had an ax, heavy looking double bladed, a cruel piece of iron. It was on the ground beside him, right by his hand. Did you make note of the position of the bodies. Will shrugged. A couple are sitting up against a rock, most of them on the ground, fallen like, or sleeping Roy suggested. Fallen. Will insisted there's one woman up in Ironwood half hidden the branches, afar eyes. He smiled thinly. I took care she never saw me. When I got closer. I saw she wasn't moving either despite himself. He shivered. You have a chill, Royce? Asked. Some Will, muttered the Wind. My Lord. The young knight turned back to his grizzled man at arms. Frost! Fallen leaves whispered past them, and Royce destroyer moved restlessly. What do you think might have killed these men, Garrett, sir. Way more asked casually. He adjusted the drape of his long sable cloak. It was the cold Garrett said, with iron certainty. I saw men freeze last winter, and the one before, when I was half a boy, everyone knows about snow's 40 ft deep, and how the ice wind comes howling out of the north. But the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than will, and at first you shiver and your teeth clatter, and you stamp your feet, and dream of mold wine and nice hot fires. It burns. It does nothing burns like the cold, but only for a while, and when it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't even have the strength to fight it. It's easier just to sit down or go to sleep. They say you don't feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it's like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like such eloquence. Garrett, sir. Way more observed. I never suspected you had it in you. I've had the cold in me. To Lord Ling. Garrett pulled back his hood, giving Sir way more a good look at the stumps where his ears had been two ears, three toes, and a little finger of my left hand. I got off light. We found my brother frozen at his watch with a smile on his face. Sir? Way more shrugged. You want dress more warmly? Garrett. Garrett glared at the Lord ling, the scars around his ear holes flushed red with anger. Where Mr Eamon had cut the ears away. We'll see how warm you can dress when the winter comes. He pulled up his hood and hunched over his Garin, silent and sullen, if Jared. Said it was the cold will begin. Have you drawn any watches this past week? Will? Yes, my Lord. There was never a week when he didn't draw a dozen bloody watches. What was the man driving at? And how did you find the wall weeping, Will? Said, frowning. He saw it clear enough now that the Lord ling had pointed it out. They couldn't have froze. It was not if the wall was weeping, it wasn't cold enough Royce nodded bright, lad. We've had a few light frosts the past week, and a quick flurry of snow now and then, but surely no cold fierce enough to kill eight grown men, men clad in fur and leather. Let me remind you with shelter near at hand, and the means of making fire the night smile was **** sure will lead us there. I would see these dead men for myself, and then there was nothing to be done for it. The order had been given, and honor bound them to obey. Will win in front his shaggy little Garin picking up the way carefully through the undergrowth. A light snow had fallen the night before, and there were stones and roots and hidden sinks lying just under its crust, waiting for the careless and the unwary Sir. William R Royce came next. His great black destry is snorting impatiently, the war horse was the wrong amount for the ranging, but try and tell that to the Lord ling. Garrett brought up the rear. The old man at arms, muttering to himself as he rode twilight deepened the cloud. The sky turned a deep purple the color of an old bruise, and then faded to black. The stars began to come out. A half moon, rose Will was grateful for the light. We can make a better pace than this. Surely, Royce said, when the moon was full risen. Not with this horse. Will, said Fear had made him insolent. Perhaps my Lord would care to take the lead, Sir. Way more Royce did not deigned to reply. Somewhere, off in the woods a wolf howled. Will pulled his Garen over beneath an ancient gnarled Ironwood and dismounted. Why are you stopping, sir? William? Are asked. Best. Go the rest of the way on foot, my Lord, It's just over the ridge. Royce paused a moment, staring off into the distance, his face reflective. A cold wind whispered through the trees. His great sable cloak stirred behind like something. Half alive. There's something wrong here, Garrett muttered. The young knight gave him a disdainful smile. Is there? Can't you feel it? Garrett asked. Listen to the darkness. Will could feel it four years in the night's watch, and he had never been so afraid. What was it? Wind! Trees rustling, a wolf. Which sound is it that unmanned you so Garrett? When Garrett did not answer, Roy slid gracefully from his saddle. He tied the dust real securely to a low hanging limb, well away from the other horses, and drew his long sword from its sheath jewels glittered in its hilt, and the moonlight ran down the shining steel. It was a splendid weapon castle forged and new made from the looks of it will doubted it had ever been swung in anger. The trees press close, here will, warned that sword will tangle you up, My Lord better A knife, if I need instruction, I will ask for it, the young lord said Garrett. Stay here! Guard the horses. Garrett dismounted. We need a fire all set to it. How big a fool are you, old man? If there are enemies in this wood, a fire is the last thing we want. There's some enemies of fire will keep away Jared, said bears, and dire wolves, and and other things, sir. Why mars mouth became a hard line. No fire. Garrett's hood shadowed his face, but Will could see the hard glittering in his eyes as he stared at the night. For a moment he was afraid the older man would go for his sword. It was a short, ugly thing, its grip discolored by sweat, its edge nicked from hard use, but Will would not have given an iron bob for the Lord ling's life. If Garrett pulled it from its scabbard! Finally Garrett looked down. No fire! He muttered low under his breath. Royce took it for acquiescence, and turned away. Lead on, he said. To Will Will threaded their way through a thicket, then started up the slope to the low ridge where he had found his vantage point under a sentinel tree, under the thin crust of snow. The ground was damp and muddy slick footing with rocks and hidden roots to trip you up. Will made no sound as he climbed behind him. He heard the soft, metallic slither of the Lord's ring mail, the rustle of leaves and muttered curses, as reaching branches, grabbed at his long sword and tugged on his splendid sable cloak. The great sentinel was right there at the top of the ridge where Will had known it would be its lowest branches, a bare foot off the ground Will slid in underneath, flat on his belly in the snow and the mud, and looked down on the empty clearing below. His heart stopped in his chest. For a moment he dared not breathe. Moonlight shone down on the clearing, the ashes of the fire pit, the snow covered, lean to the great rock, the little half frozen stream. Everything was just as it had been a few hours ago. They were gone. All the bodies were gone. Gods! He heard behind him. A sword slashed at a branch as Sir William R Royce gained the ridge. He stood there beside the sentinel, long sword in hand, his cloak billowing behind him as the wind came up, outlined nobly against the stars. For all to see. Get down! Will whispered urgently. Something's wrong, Royce did not move. He looked down at the empty clearing and laughed. You're dead men seemed to have moved camp. Will. Will's voice abandoned him. He groped for words that did not come. It was not possible. His eyes swept back and forth over the abandoned campsite stopped on the ax, a huge double bladed battle ax still lying where he had seen it last untouched. A valuable weapon on your feet. Will, Sir! William are commanded. There's no one here. I won't have you hiding under a bush reluctantly. Will obeyed. Sir, William R looked him over with open disapproval. I am not going back to Castle Black of failure. On my first ranging we will find these men. He glanced around up the tree. Be quick about it! Look for a fire. Will turned away, wordless. There was no use to argue. The wind was moving, it cut right through him. He went to the tree, a vaulting gray green sentinel, and began to climb. Soon his hands were sticky with sap, and he was lost among the needles. Fear filled his gut like a meal he could not digest. He whispered a prayer to the nameless God of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his teeth to keep both hands free, for climbing the taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort. Down below the Lord Link called out suddenly, who goes there Will heard uncertainty in the challenge. He stopped climbing. He listened. He watched the wood gave answer, the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl. The others made no sound. Will saw movement from the corner of his eye, pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers will open his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen after all, Will? Where are you, sir? Way more! Called up. Can you see anything? He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary. His sword in hand. He must have felt them as will had felt them. There was nothing to see answer me. Why is it so cold? It was cold, shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch, his face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce, tall. It was, and gaunt, and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk, its armor seemed to change color as it moved. Here it was white as new fallen snow. They're black as shadow everywhere, dappled with deep gray green of the trees. The pattern ran like moonlight on water, with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Sir! Way more Royce! In a long hiss. Come no farther! The Lord ling warned. His voice cracked like a boys. He threw the long sable cloak back over his shoulders to free his arms for battle, and took his sword in both hands. The wind has stopped. It was very cold. The other slid forward on silent feet in its hand was a long sword, like none that will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen head on, there was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost light that played around its edges. And somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor, Sir. Way more met him bravely danced with me. Then he lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment Will thought he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night's Watch. The other halted. Will saw its eyes blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice, they fixed on the long sword, trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the middle. For a heartbeat he dared to hope. They emerged silently from the Shadows. Twins to the first three of them. 45, sir, William R might have felt the cold that came with them, but he never saw them. Never heard them. Will had to call out. It was his duty and his death if he did! He shivered and hugged the tree and kept the silence. The pale sword came shivering through the air. Sir, William are met steel with steel. When the blades met there was no ring of metal on metal, only a high thin sound at the edge of hearing like an animal screaming in pain, Royce checked a second blow, and a third then fell back a step, another flurry of blows, and he fell back again behind him to right to left all around him. The watchers stood patient, faceless, silent, the shifting patterns of the delicate armor, making them all but invisible in the wood. Yet they made no move to interfere again and again the swords met until Will wanted to cover his ears against the strange, anguished keening of their clash. Sir William R was panting from the effort now, his breath steaming in the moonlight. His blade was white with frost. The others danced with pale blue light. Then Royce's Perry came a beat too late. The pale sword bit through the ring mail beneath his arm. The young lord cried out in pain. Blood welled between the rings. It steamed in the cold, and the droplets seemed red as fire when they touched the snow. Sir Way mars fingers brushed his side. His mole skin glove came away soaked with red. The other said something in a language that Will did not know. His voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking. Sir. William R Royce found his fury for robert! He shouted, and he came up snarling, lifting the frost covered long sword with both hands, and swinging it around in a flat side arm, slashing with all his weight behind it. The others perry was almost lazy when the blades touched the steel shattered, A scream echoed through the forest night, and the long sword shivered into 100 brittle pieces, the shards shattering like a rain of needles. Royce went to his knees, shrieking and covered his eyes. Blood welled between his fingers. The watchers moved forward together as if some signal had been given. Swords rose and fell all in a deathly silence. It was cold, butchery! The pale blade slicing through ring mail as if it were silk Will closed his eyes far beneath him. He heard their voices and laughter, sharp as icicles when he found the courage to look again. A long time had passed, and the ridge below was empty. He stayed in the tree, scarce daring to breathe while the moon crept slowly across the black sky. Finally his muscles cramping and his fingers numb from cold, he climbed down Royce's body lay face down in the snow. one arm out flung the thick sable cloak had been slashed in a dozen places lying dead like that. You saw how young he was a boy. He found what was left of the sword a few feet away, the end splintered and twisted like a tree struck by lightning. Will knelt looked around warily and snatched it up. The broken sword would be his proof Jared, would know what to make of it, and if not him then surely the old bear, mormont or mr Ayman would Jared. Still be waiting with the horses. He had to hurry. Will rose. Sir. Way more Royce stood over him. His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. The right eye was open, the pupil burned blue. It's a the broken sword fell from nerveless fingers. Will closed his eyes to pray. Long elegant hands brushed his cheek, then tightened around his throat. They were gloved in the finest mold skin and sticky with blood. Yet the touch was icy cold.