A Song of Ice and Fire

Opinions, discussions, theories...etc.. in this topic about the book by George R. R. Martin

Honestly the best fantasy book i've ever read. It puts LotR to shame in so many ways. The characters I truely love and I ****ing hate. It's got shocking plot twists. Deep character developement...for alot of the characters. And you have the mystery of whats going on behind the scenes of the story.

Yeah, dude. I'm reading this right now. Kicks ass. I didn't like it the first time I tried, a few years ago, but now I'll have to say it's even better than Raymond Feist's stuff, which used to be my favorite. And while RotK is still my favorite book (and movie), I actually didn't like the series as a series as much as I liked Feist, let alone Song of Ice and Fire.

Who's your favorite, Rattan? I'd have to say Arya. She's just damn cool.

Excellent books, I can't wait for the next one to come out. The ending of book 3 shocked me and I miss reading about them all

nope never read it bud.

So why the hell did you bother posting here?

Anyway my fav. characters are Tyrion, cuz he may be short but he can outwit alot of people. Arya, cuz ....well I don't know why. She is just awesome. She is a real Stark. and compare her to Cersei and you have to laugh. "I wish I were born a man!" Arya is a girl and she doesn't ***** that she can't do things because she is a girl. She just does them. I'm hoping she kills Sansa or Sansa dies somehow. Jon is my other favorate. He's a freaken hero and though i'm only on book 2, I can see him being a big leader later on.

Anyway here's a bit from the 4th book in the series, "A Feast for Crows" which should be out soon.

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ARYA

Faint and far away the light burned, low on the horizon, shining through the sea mists.
"It looks like a star," said Arya.
"The star of home," said Denyo.
His father was shouting orders. Sailors scrambled up and down the three tall masts and moved along the rigging, reefing the heavy purple sails. Below, oarsmen heaved and strained over two great banks of oars. The decks tilted, creaking, as the galleas Titan's Daughter heeled to starboard and began to come about.

The star of home. Arya stood at the prow, one hand resting on the gilded figurehead, a maiden with a bowl of fruit. For half a heartbeat she let herself pretend that it was her home ahead.
But that was stupid. Her home was gone, her parents dead, and all her brothers slain but Jon Snow on the Wall. That was where she had wanted to go. She told the captain as much, but even the iron coin did not sway him. Arya never seemed to find the places she set out to reach. Yoren had sworn to deliver her to Winterfell, only she had ended up in Harrenhal and Yoren in his grave. When she escaped Harrenhal for Riverrun, Lem and Anguy and Tom o' Sevens took her captive and dragged her to the hollow hill instead. Then the Hound had stolen her and dragged her to the Twins. Arya had left him dying by the river and gone ahead to Saltpans, hoping to take passage for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, only...

Braavos might not be so bad. Syrio was from Braavos, and Jaqen might be there as well. It was Jaqen who had given her the iron coin. He hadn't truly been her friend, the way that Syrio had, but what good had friends ever done her? I don't need anyfriends, so long as I have Needle. She brushed the ball of her thumb across the sword's smooth pommel, wishing, wishing...

If truth be told, Arya did not know what to wish for, any more than she knew what awaited her beneath that distant light. The captain had given her passage but he had no time to speak with her. Some of the crew shunned her, but others gave her gifts — a silver fork, fingerless gloves, a floppy woolen hat patched with leather. One man showed her how to tie sailor's knots. Another poured her thimble cups of fire wire. The friendly ones would tap their chests, repeating their names over and over until Arya said them back, though none ever thought to ask her name. They called her Salty, since she'd come aboard at Saltpans, near the mouth of the Trident. It was as good as name as any, she supposed.

The last of the night's stars had vanished... all but the pair dead ahead. "It's two stars now."
"Two eyes," said Denyo. "The Titan sees us."

The Titan of Braavos. Old Nan had told them stories of the Titan back in Winterfell. He was a giant as tall as a mountain, and whenever Braavos stood in danger he would wake with fire in his eyes, his rocky limbs grinding and groaning as he waded out into the sea to smash the enemies. "The Braavosi feed him on the juicy pink flesh of little highborn girls," Nan would end, and Sansa would give a stupid squeak. But Maester Luwin said the Titan was only a statue, and Old Nan's stories were only stories.

Winterfell is burned and fallen, Arya reminded herself. Old Nan and Maester Luwin were both dead, most like, and Sansa too. It did no good to think of them. All men must die. That was what the words meant, the words that Jaqen H'ghar had taught her when he gave her the worn iron coin. She had learned more Braavosi words since they left Saltpans, the words for please and thank you and sea and star and fire wine, but she came to them knowing that all men must die. Most of the Daughter's crew had a smattering of the Common Tongue from nights ashore in Oldtown and King's Landing and Maidenpool, though only the captain and his sons spoke it well enough to talk to her. Denyo was the youngest of those sons, a plump, cheerful boy of twelve who kept his father's cabin and helped his eldest brother do his sums.

"I hope your Titan isn't hungry," Arya told him.
"Hungry?" Denyo said, confused.
"It takes no matter."
Even if the Titan did eat juicy pink girl flesh, Arya would not fear him. She was a scrawny thing, no proper meal for a giant, and almost eleven, practically a woman grown. And Salty isn't highborn, either.
"Is the Titan the god of Braavos?" she asked. "Or do you have the Seven?"
"All gods are honored in Braavos."
The captain's son loved to talk about his city almost as much as he loved to talk about his father's ship.

"Your Seven have a sept here, the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea, but only Westerosi sailors worship there."

They are not my Seven. They were my mother's gods, and they let the Freys murder her at the Twins. She wondered whether she would find a godswood in Braavos, with a weirwood at its heart. Denyo might know, but she could not ask him. Salty was from Saltpans, and what would a girl from Saltpans know about the old gods of the north? The old gods are dead, she told herself, with Mother and Father and Robb and Bran and Rickon, all dead. A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold winds blow the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned.

"The Moonsingers led us to this place of refuge, where the dragons of Valyria could not find us," Denjo said. "Theirs is the greatest temple. We esteem the Father of Waters as well, but his house is built anew whenever he takes his bride. The rest of the gods dwell together on an isle in the center of the city. That is where you will find the... the Many-Faced God."

The Titan's eyes seemed brighter now, and further apart. Arya did not know any Many-Faced God, but if he answered prayers he might be the god she sought. Ser Gregor, she thought, Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei. Only six now. Joffrey was dead, the Hound had slain Polliver, and she'd stabbed the Tickler herself, and that stupid squire with the pimple. I wouldn't have killed him if he hadn't grabbed me. The Hound had been dying when she left him on the banks of the Trident, burning up with fever from his wound. I should have given him the gift of mercy, and put a knife into his heart.

"Salty, look!" Denyo took her by the arm and turned her. "Can you see? There."

He pointed. The mists gave way before them, ragged grey curtains partedby their prow. The Titan's Daughter cleaved through the grey-green waters on billowing purple wings. Arya could hear the cries of sea birds overhead. There where Denyo pointed, a line of stony ridges rose sudden from the sea, their steep slopes covered with soldier pines and black spruce. But dead ahead the sea had broken through, and there above the open water the Titan towered, with his eyes blazing and his long green hair blowing in the wind.

His legs bestrode the gap, one foot planted on each mountain, his shoulders looming tall above the jagged crests. His legs were carved of solid stone, the same black granite as the sea monts on which he stood, though around his hips he wore an armored skirt of greenish bronze. His breastplate was bronze as well, and his head in his crested half-helm. His blowing hair was made of hempen ropes dyed green, and huge fire burned in the caves that were his eyes. One hand rested atop the ridge to his left, bronze fingers coiled about a knob of stone; the other thrust up into the air, clasping the hilt of a broken sword.

He is only a little bigger than King Baelor's statue in King's Landing, she told herself when they were still well off to sea. As the galleas drove closer to where the breakers smashed against the ridgeline, however, the Titan grew larger still. She could hear Denyo's father bellowing commands in his deep voice, and up in the rigging men were bringing in the sails. We are going to row beneath the Titan's legs. Arya could see the arrow slits in the great bronze breasplate, and stains and speckles on the Titan's arms and shoulders where the seabirds nested. Her neck craned upward. Baelor the Blessed would not reach his knee. He could step right over the walls of Winterfell.

Then the Titan gave a mighty roar. The sound was as huge as he was, a terrible groaning and grinding, so loud it drowned out even the captain's voice and the crash of the waves against those pineclad ridges. A thousand sea birds took to the air at once, and Arya flinched until she saw that Denyo was laughing.

"He warns the Arsenal of our coming, that is all," he shouted. "You must not be afraid."
"I never was," Arya shouted back. "It was loud, is all."

Wind and wave had the Titan's Daughter hard in hand now, driving her swiftly toward the channel. Her double bank of oars stroked smoothly, lashing the sea to white foam as the Titan's shadow fell upon them. For a moment it seemed as though they must surely smash up against the stones beneath his legs. Huddled by Denyo at the prow, Arya could taste salt where the spray had touched her face. She had to look straight up to see the Titan's head.

"The Braavosi feed him on the juicy pink flesh of little highborn girls," she heard Old Nan say again, but she was not a little girl, and she would not be frightened of a stupid statue.

Even so, she kept one hand on Needle as they slipped between his legs. More arrow slits dotted the insides of those great stone thighs, and when Arya craned her neck around to watch the crow's nest slip through with a good ten yards to spare, she spied murder holes beneath the Titan's armored skirts, and pale faces staring down at them from behind the iron bars.

And then they were past. The shadow lifted, the pineclad ridges fell away to either side, the winds dwindled, and they found themselves moving through a great lagoon. Ahead rose another sea mont, a knob of rock that pushed up from the water like a spiked fist, its stony battlements bristling with scorpions, spitfires, and trebuchets.

"The Arsenal of Braavos," Denyo named it, as proud as if he'd built it. "They can build a war galley there in a day."

Arya could see dozens of galleys tied up at quays and perched on launching slips. The painted prows of others poked from innumerable wooden sheds along the stony shores, like hounds in a kennel, lean and mean and hungry, waiting for a hunter's horn to call them forth. She tried to count them, but there were too many, and more docks and sheds and quays where the shoreline curved away.

Two galleys had come out to meet them. They seemed to skim upon the water like dragonflies, their pale oars flashing. Arya heard the captain shouting to them and their own captains shouting back, but she did not understand the words. A great horn sounded. The galleys passed to either side of them, so close that she could hear the muffled sound of drums from within their purple hulls, bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom, like the beat of living hearts.

Then the galleys were behind them, and the Arsensal as well. Ahead stretched a broad expanse of pea green water rippled like a sheet of colored glass. From its wet heart arose the city proper, a great sprawl of domes and towers and bridges, grey and gold and red. The hundred isles of Braavos in the sea.

Maester Luwin had taught them about Braavos, but Arya had forgotten much of what he'd said. It was a flat city, she could see that even from afar, not like King's Landing on its three high hills. The only hills here were the ones that men had raised of brick and granite, bronze and marble. Something else was missing as well, though it took her a few moments to realize what it was. The city has no walls. But when she said as much as to Denyo, he laughed at her.

"Our walls are made of wood, and painted purple," he told her. "Our galleys are our walls. We need no other."

The deck creaked behind them. Arya turned to find Denyo's father looming over them in his long captain's coat of purple wool. Tradesman-Captain Ternesio Terys wore no whiskers and kept his grey hair cut short and neat, framing his square, windburnt face. On the crossing she had oft seen him jesting with his crew, but when he frowned men ran from him as if before a storm. He was frowning now.

"Our voyage is at an end," he told Arya. "We make for the Chequy Port, where the Sealord's customs officers will come aboard to inspect our holds. They will be half a day at it, they always are, but there is no need for you to wait upon their pleasure. Gather your belongings. I shall lower a boat, and Yorko will put you ashore."

Ashore. Arya bit her lip. She had crossed the narrow sea to get here, but if the captain had asked she would have told him she wanted to stay aboard the Titan's Daughter. Salty was too small to man an oar, she knew that now, but she could learn to splice ropes and reef the sails and steer a course across the great salt seas. Denyo had taken her up to the crow's nest once, and she hadn't been afraid at all, though the deck had seemed a tiny thing below her. I can do sums too, and keep a cabin neat.

But the galleas had no need of a second boy. Besides, she had only to look at the captain's face to know how anxious he was to be rid of her. So Arya only nodded. "Ashore," she said, though ashore meant only strangers.

"Valar dohaeris." He touched two fingers to his brow. "I beg you remember Ternesio Terys and the service he has done you."

"I will," Arya said in a small voice. The wind tugged at her cloak, insistent as a ghost. It was time she was away.

Gather up your belongings, the captain had said, but there were few enough of those. Only the clothes was wearing, her little pouch of coins, the gifts the crew had given her, the dagger on her left hip and Needle on her right.

The boat was ready before she was, and Yorko was at the oars. He was the captain's son as well, but older than Denyo and less friendly. I never said farewell to Denyo, she thought, as she clambered down to join him. She wondered if she would ever see the boy again. I should have said farewell.

The Titan's Daughter dwindled in their wake, while the city grew larger with every stroke of Yorko's oars. A harbor was visible off to her right, a tangle of piers and quays crowded with big-bellied whalers out of Ibben, swan ships from the Summer Isles, and more galleys than a girl could count. Another harbor, more distant, was off to her left, beyond a sinking point of land where the tops of half-drowned buildings thrust their tops above the water. Arya had never seen so many big buildings all together in one place. King's Landing had the Red Keep and the Great Sept of Baelor and the Dragonpit, but Braavos seemed to boast a score of temples and towers and palaces that were as large or even larger. I will be a mouse again, she thought glumly, the way I was in Harrenhal before I ran away.

The city had seemed like one big island from where the Titan stood, but as Yorko rowed them closer she saw that it was many small islands close together, linked by arched stone bridges that spanned innumerable canals. Beyond the harbor she glimpsed streets of grey stone houses, built so close they leaned one upon the other. To Arya's eyes they were ***** looking, four and five stories tall and very skinny, with sharp-peaked tile roofs like pointed hats. She saw no thatch, and only a few timbered houses of the sort she knew in Westeros. They have no trees, she realized. Braavos is all stone, a grey city in a green sea.

Yorko swung them north of the docks, and down the gullet of a great canal, a broad green waterway that ran straight into the heart of the city. They passed under the arches of a carved stone bridge, decorated with half a hundred kinds of fish and crabs and squids. A second bridge appeared ahead, this one carved in lacy leafy vines, and beyond that a third, that looked at them from a thousand painted eyes. The mouths of lesser canals opened to either side, and others still smaller off of those. Some of the houses were build above the waterways, she saw, turning the canals into a sort of tunnel. Slender boats slid in and out among them, wrought in the shapes of water serpents with painted heads and upraised tails. Those were not rowed but poled, she saw, by men who stood at their sterns in cloaks of grey and brown and deep moss green. She saw huge flat-bottomed barges too, heaped high with crates and barrels and pushed along by twenty poleman to a side, and fancy floating houses with lanterns of colored glass, velvet drapes, and brazen figureheads. Off in the far distance, looming above canals and houses both, was a massive grey stone roadway of some kind, supported by three tiers of mighty arches marching away south into the haze.

"What's that?" Arya asked Yorko, pointing.

"The sweetwater river," he told her. "It brings fresh water from the mainland, across the mudflats and the briney shallows. Good sweet water for the fountains."

When she looked behind her, the harbor and lagoon were lost to sight. Ahead a row of mighty statues stood along both sides of the channel, solemn stone men in long bronze robes, spattered with the droppings of the sea birds. Some held books, some daggers, some hammers. One clutched a golden star in his upraised hand. Another was upending a stone flagon to send an endless stream of water splashing down into the canal.

"Are they gods?" asked Arya.

"Sealords," said Yorko. "The Isle of the Gods is further on. See? Six bridges down, on the right bank. That is the Temple of the Moonsingers."

It was one of those that Arya had spied from the lagoon, a mighty mass of snow white marble topped by a huge silvered dome whose milk glass windows showed all the phases of the moon. A pair of marble maidens flanked its gates, tall as the Sealords, supporting a crescent-shaped lintel.

Beyond it stood another temple, a red stone edifice as stern as any fortress. Atop its great square tower a fire blazed in an iron brazier twenty feet across, whilst smaller fires flanked its brazen doors.

"The red priests love their fires," Yorko told her. "The Lord of Light is their god, red R'hllor."

I know. Arya remembered Thoros of Myr in his bits of old armor, worn over robes so faded that he had seemed more a pink priest than a red one. Yet his kiss had brought Lord Beric back from death. She watched the Red God's house drift by, wondering whether these Braavosi priests of his could do the same.

Next came a huge brick structure festooned with lichen.

Arya might have taken for a storehouse had not Yorko said, "That is the Holy Refuge, where we honor the small gods the world has forgotten. You will hear it called the Warren too." A small canal ran between the Warren's looming lichen-covered walls, and there he swung them right. They passed through a tunnel and out again into the light. More shrines loomed up to either side.

"I never knew there were so many gods," Arya said.

Yorko grunted. They went around a bend and beneath another bridge. On their left appeared a rocky knoll with a windowless temple of dark grey stone at its top. A flight of stone steps led from its doors down to a covered dock.

Yorko backed the oars, and the boat bumped gently against stone pilings. He grasped an iron ring set to hold them for a moment. "Here I leave you."

The dock was shadowed, the steps steep. The temple's black tile roof came to a sharp peak, like the houses along the canals. Arya chewed her lip. Syrio came from Braavos. He might have visited this temple. He might have climbed those steps. She grabbed a ring and pulled herself up onto the dock.

"You know my name," said Yorko from the boat.

"Yorko Terys."

"Valar dohaeris."
He pushed off with his oar and drifted back off into the deeper water. Arya watched him row back the way they'd come, until he vanished in the shadows of the bridge. As the swish of oars faded, she could almost hear the beating of her heart. Suddenly she was somewhere else... back in Harrenhal with Gendry, maybe, or with the Hound in the woods along the Trident. Salty is a stupid child, she told herself. I am a wolf, and will not be afraid. She patted Needle's hilt for luck and plunged into the shadows, taking the steps two at a time so no one could ever say she'd been afraid.

At the top she found a set of carved wooden doors twelve feet high. The left hand door was made of weirwood pale as bone, the right of gleaming ebony. In their center was a carved moon face; ebony on the weirwood side, weirwood on the ebony. The look of it reminded her somehow of the heart tree in the godswood at Winterfell. The doors are watching me, she thought. She pushed upon both doors at once with the flat of her gloved hands, but neither one would budge. Locked and barred.

"Let me in, you stupid," she said. "I crossed the narrow sea." She made a fist and pounded. "Jaqen told me to come. I have the iron coin." She pulled it from her pouch and held it up. "See? Valar morghulis."

The doors made no reply, except to open. They opened inward all in silence, with no human hand to move them. Arya took a step forward, and another. The doors closed behind her, and for a moment she was blind. Needle was in her hand, though she did not remember drawing it.

A few candles burned along the walls, but gave so little light that arya could not see her own feet. Someone was whispering, too softly for her to make out words. Someone else was weeping. She heard light footfalls, leather sliding over stone, a door opening and closing. Water, I hear water too.

Slowly her eyes adjusted. The temple seemed much larger within than it had without. The septs of Westeros were seven-sided, with seven altars for the seven gods, but here there were more gods than seven. Statues of them stood along the walls, massive and threatening. Around their feet red candles flickered, as dim as distant stars. The nearest was a marble woman twelve feet tall. Real tears were trickling from her eyes, to fill the bowl she cradled in her arms. Beyond her was a man with a lion's head seated on a throne, carved of ebony. On the other side of the doors a huge horse of bronze and iron reared up on two great legs. Further on she could make out a great stone face, a pale infant with a sword, a shaggy black goat the size of an aurochs, a hooded man leaning on a staff. The rest were only looming shapes to her, half-seen through the gloom. Between the gods were hidden alcoves thick with shadows, with here and there a candle burning.

Silent as a shadow, Arya moved between rows of long stone benches, her sword in hand. The floor was made of stone, her feet told her; not polished marble like the floor of the Great Sept of Baelor, but something rougher. She passed some women whispering together. The air was warm and heavy, so heavy that she yawned. She could smell the candles. The scent was unfamiliar, and she put it down to some ***** incense... but as she got deeper into the temple, they seemed to smell of snow and pine needles and hot stew. Good smells, Arya told herself, and felt a little braver. Brave enough to slip Needle back into its sheath.

In the center of the temple she found the water she had heard; a pool ten feet across, black as ink and lit by dim red candles. Beside it sat a young man in a silvery cloak, weeping softly. She watched him dip a hand in the water, sending scarlet ripples racing across the pool. When he drew his fingers back he sucked them, one by one. He must be thirsty. There were stone cups along the rim of the pool. Arya filled one and brought it to him, so he could drink. The young man stared at her for a long moment when she offered it to him.

"Valar morghulis," he said. "Valar dohaeris," she replied.

He drank deep, and dropped the cup into the pool with a soft plop. Then he pushed himself to his feet, swaying, holding his belly. For a moment Arya thought he was going to fall. It was only then that she saw the dark stain below his belt, spreading as she watched.

"You're stabbed," she blurted, but the man paid her no mind.

He lurched unsteadily toward the wall, and crawled into an alcove onto a hard stone bed. When Arya peered around, she saw other alcoves too. On some there were old people sleeping.

No, a half-remembered voice seemed to whisper in her head. They are dead, or dying. Look with your eyes.

A hand touched her arm.
Arya spun away, but it was only a little girl: a pale little girl in a cowled robe that seemed to engulf her, black on the right side and white on the left. Beneath the cowl was a gaunt and boney face, hollow cheeks, and dark eyes that looked as big as saucers.

"Don't grab me," Arya warned the waif. "I killed the boy who grabbed me last."

The girl said some words that Arya did not know.

She shook her head. "Don't you know the Common Tongue?"

A voice behind her said, "I do."

Arya did not like the way they kept surprising her. The hooded man was tall, enveloped in a larger version of the blackand white robes the girl was wearing. Beneath his cowl all she could see was the faint red glitter of candlelight reflecting off his eyes.

"What place is this?" she asked him.

"A place of peace." His voice was gentle. "You are safe here. This is the House of Black and White, my child. Though you are young to seek the favor of the Many-Faced God."

"Is he like the southron god, the one with seven faces?"

"Seven? No. He has faces beyond count, little one, as many faces as there are stars in the sky. In Braavos, men worship as they will... but at the end of every road stands Him of Many Faces, waiting. He will be there for you one day, do not fear. You need not rush to his embrace."

"I only came to find Jaqen H'ghar."

"I do not know this name."

Her heart sank. "He was from Lorath. His hair was white on one side and red on the other. He said he'd teach me secrets, and gave me this."

The iron coin was clutched in her fist. When she opened her fingers, it clung to her sweaty palm.

The priest studied the coin, though he made no move to touch it. The waif with the big eyes was looking at it too.

Finally the cowled man said, "Tell me your name, child."

"Salty. I come from Saltpans, by the Trident."

Though she could not see his face, somehow she could feel him smiling.

"No," he said. "Tell me your name."

"Squab," she answered this time.

"Your true name, child."

"My mother named me Nan, but they call me Weasel —"

"Your name."

She swallowed. "Arry. I'm Arry."

"Closer. And now the truth?"

Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself. "Arya." She whispered the word the first time. The second time she threw it at him. "I am Arya, of House Stark."

"You are," he said, "but the House of Black and White is no place for Arya, of House Stark."

"Please," she said. "I have no place to go."

"Do you fear death?"

"No." She bit her lip.

"Let us see."

The priest lowered his cowl. Beneath he had no face; only a yellowed skull with a a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket.

"Kiss me, child," he croaked, in a voice as dry and husky as a death rattle.

Does he think to scare me? Arya kissed him where his nose should be and plucked the grave worm from his eye to eat it, but it melted like a shadow in her hand.

The yellow skull was melting too, and kindliest old man that she had ever seen was smiling down at her.

"No one has ever tried to eat my worm before," he said. "You must be hungry, child."

Yes, she thought, but not for food.

[ January 24, 2004, 06:31 PM: Message edited by: Rattan ]

[Heroine of the Dragon]

Awesome series... Tyrion is amazing... I really got dragged into the plot and chatted with ESSDEE about the different twists a lot.

Whoa, Penrose was badass. Too bad he died.

Weasel soup!
Just finished the chapter where Arya, Jaquen, Rorge and Bite serve Weasel soup. One of my all time favorates. also I for some reason see a small connection that is forming between Arya and Jaquen. Anyone think she's going to become like him? A Faceless woman?

I haven't gotten that far. All I know is that Jaqen kicks ass.

^Whoa, just read that chapter. Heh, that was cool.

[ January 27, 2004, 09:32 PM: Message edited by: Prince Toad ]

OOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooh... *sits back to read posted chapter*

Tyrion Chapter summary from A Feast for Crows.
--------------------

Tyrion and Illyrio depart Pentos through the Sunset Gate. They travel by a huge litter that could fit 4 Illyrio's so there is plenty of room for a dwarf. Unsullied guard their trek and there are a trail of mules that follow them carrying chests, casks, barrels, and hampers filled with delectables to make sure Illyrio doesn't lose his fat figure.

Tyrion complains that he should have been sent by ship to Slavers Bay but Illyrio explains the dangers of pirates and autumn storms. Illyrio will take him as far as the River road and from there he will travel to Dany. Tyrion grouses that by the time he gets to Dany her dragons will be as large as Balerion the Black Dread. Illyrio muses that might not be a bad thing.

They drink, eat, and talk a lot during the journey. Tyrion repeatedly promises himself he will cease his heavy drinking but keep filling his cup. They eat lavishly on all kind of foods and drink several different types of wine.

They stop only to relieve themselves on the road. The road itself is an old Valyrian road, fused stone raised a half foot above the ground. The road was wide enough for 3 wagons and it showed no sign of cracks from weather or traffic. Tyrion remembers that Valyria reached as far as Dragonstone, but never to Westeros itself. He finds it odd that they never tried to expand into the wealthy 7 kingdoms. "The wealth was further west, but they had dragons. Surely they knew it was there."

He notes a piece of dung on the road and thinks of Tywin. He thinks to himself that he should have killed Tywin long ago and hope Tywin will see him from Hell raisings Aerys' daughter to the throne.

He asks Illyrio of Dany and Illyio tells Tyrion of her. He explains that she was a frightened little girl, always wary. She was lovely, though, and he considered getting rid of Viscerys and claiming her for a wife. He doesn't do so because he believed her to be dead inside. He says that little girl died in the Doathraki sea and he does not know this new queen. Tyrion asks why Illyrio would put Mad Aerys' daughter on the throne. Illyrio says she is the sister of Prince Rhaegar.

During the conversation, Illyrio reveals that Viscerys had promised Illyrio the Master of Coin post and his choice of castles. The choices were Storm's End, Harrenhal, and Casterly Rock. Tyrion finds that hilarious. They both agree they are mistrustful of the gratitude of kings. Illyrio explains he has done all of this only for Varys. Tyrion's thoughts reveal he does not believe Illyrio at all on that.

Tyrion then finds out they are to meet a Griff on the road. Griff leads a group of sell swords. Griff is a knight from Westeros, although he had long been in Illyrio's service. Griff has raised his own son to be a knight and he is called Young Griff. Illyrio assures Tyrion that Young Griff will like him.

Tyrion is skeptical of dealing with sell swords since Cersei has offered a Lordship for his head. Illyrio explains that only Griff will know who Tyrion is and that he trusts Griff like a brother. Tyrion believes it is a mistake but only says, "Then I will trust Griff as I would my own brother." ( )

They keep eating and drinking and end up speaking of Varys. Tyrion learns that Illyrio and Varys grew up together in Pentos. Varys had arrived from Myr one step ahead of the slavers after being ratted out by a fellow thief. Varys had been a Prince of Thieves in Myr.

Varys was nearly beaten to death in Pentos and Illyrio decided to come to an arrangement with him. Varys spied on small time thieves and stole their loot. Illyrio worked out arrangements with the victimes to recover their loot for a price. Half of the thieves wanted to kill Varys while the other half started selling their loot to him. Illyrio and Varys grew rich and soon Varys began to train his little "mice".

The mice were little boys and girls who he taught to climb walls, slip into chimneys, and to read. The mice were used to steal information, memorize it, and then leave. Varys' talents gave him a reputation that got to an anxious king who did not trust his son, his Queen, or his over proud Hand.

Tyrion knew that story and admitted that Illyrio was much more than a simple cheese monger. Illyrio admits that Tyrion is just as quick as Varys had claimed.

They eat and drink some more and Illyrio falls asleep. Tyrion ponders the Myrish Fire wine he is drinking and thinks of dragons. He remembers his lonely childhood and remembers his dreams of being a Targaryen Prince of a Valyrian dragonlord, flying over the land. He recalls when two of his uncles asked what he wanted for his nameday. He begged for a dragon, claiming it didn't have to be a big one. It could be little like him. Gerion laughed but Tygett shook his head and told him that there were no more dragon because the last died a hundred year before. Tyrion thought it was very unfair and had cried himself to sleep that night. He thinks of Dany's 3 dragons and in his heart he listens for the beat of leather wings.

They pass through the Flatlands. Tyrion hears of the Velvet Hills and of the Rhoynar city Arnar. It was destroyed by Valyria. He gloats that he will see the Free Cities and ponders whether he should visit every whore in Volantis and name their bastards Tywin.

Tyrion recalls his 16th birthday when he announced he would visit the Free Cities as Gerion had. Tywin forbids it because Tyrion could not be relied upon to not disgrace the Lannisters. Tyrion defiantly claims since he is a man he is free to do as he wished.

Tywin tells him that only children and fools believe that men are truly free. Tywin tells him he should dress in motley and amuse the spice kings and cheese lords. But Tyrion will have to pay his own way and he can never return. Tyrion asks why Tywin wants him around since he has never had any use for him. Tywin decides to make use of Tyrion and on his name day has him clean all of the drains and cistens in Casterly Rock. Tyrion thinks Tywin hoped he'd fall in one but proudly recalls what a good job he did.

They pass south of the Hills of the Andalos. The Andals had departed from there ten thousand years ago. Tyrion recalls a septon claiming the Seven had walked the hills in human form. Tyrion recites passages from "The Seven-Pointed Star"(other holy books are mentioned but not named). Tyrion had at one time considered becoming a septon until he found a real use for his manhood and fell in love

Illyrio tells of his first love and how he lost her to the grey death. He kept her hands in his bedchamber. Tyrion lies and claims the love he had was for his hand because he cannot speak of Tysha.

They speak more of the Andals and Rhoynar. Illyrio claims that the Andals learned smithing from the Rhoynar. Tyrion learns that the hills are empty because the Khals often pillage the area. They argue about the Dothraki with Tyrion claiming that the Dothraki would not be quick to pillage if someone destroyed a khalasar. Illyrio argues the difficulty with doing so and that it is easier to buy them off. Tyrion sees why Tywin held the Free Cities in such contempt.

Tyrion hears stories of rock goblins and giants warring. The goblins won but were seduced by swan maidens from the lakes and were made thralls. The Andals then rose up and killed them all. Later, a group of robbers preyed on folks near the lakes until Rhoynar drowned them. Legend says the robbers are still there to claim anyone who tries to fish the lakes.

They pass a large Valyrian sphinx. There were two but the other sits now in Vaes Dothrak.

Tyrion gets drunker than ever that night and sings his and Shae's song. He recalls how Shae's hands beat at him when he strangled her, twisting the chain again and again. He does not recall whether he had kissed her one last time.

His thoughts go to Tysha and he recalls their first time. They both did not how. He tries to see her face but all he sees is Tywin on the privy when he shot him with the crossbow

He falls asleep and awakes to find the litter stopped. He climbs out to piss and finds Illyrio, surrounded by the Unsullied, speaking to 2 strange men. He banters with them about his pissing and then asks if their is trouble and whether he should grab an axe.

The larger one laughs and asks his companion, Haldon, if he had heard that. Haldon doubts that Tyrion could kill a duck. Tyrion takes the bait and tells them to fetch a duck. The large man draws his sword and tells Tyrion, "I'm Duck, you mouthy little pisspot"

He asks what Tyrion thinks of that. Tyrion get real nervous and responds by saying he had a smaller duck in mind. Duck laughs loudly at that. Haldon says Griff will be grateful for the dwarf but that Griff sent them for some chests. Haldon orders Duck to put the chests on some mules. Duck whines that he is the knight here but still does as he is told. Illyrio asks about Young Griff and asks if the boy is ready. Haldon tells him that Young Griff is as tall as Griff and 3 days earlier had driven Duck backwards into a horse trough.

Illyrio says he wants to give Young Griff his blessings and has a gift for him in the chests. Haldon tells him there is no time for the litter. Illyrio gets angry and says there are things Griff must know. The Golden Company has broken its contact with Myr and is riding west from the Disputed Lands. Haldon interrupts him by saying they already know this because Bennaro has seen it in his fires and that the Golden Company makes for Volantis. That is why Griff needs them to make haste. Illyrio says, "The dragon has three heads, there is no need for haste.

Haldon says Griff believes there is need for haste. Haldon eyes Tyrion and then begins to speak in another language. Tyrion cannot tell what it is but think it might be Volantene. He catches a few words that come close to High Valyrian. The words he catches are, queen, dragon, and sword.

Tyrion asks for their names after Haldon asks if Tyrion can ride as well as he pisses. Haldon tells him they also call him Halfmaester and that he is the healer of the group. Tyrion is then introduced to Ser Rolly Duckfield. Tyrion says he must call him Ser Duck and Duck agrees. Duck claims any knight can make a knight and that Griff made him one.

They ask Tyrion's name and Illyrio says it's Yollo. Tyrion hates it, thinking it sounds like a monkey and a Pentoshi. Tyrion tells them his name is Hugor Hill and (in "The Seven Pointed Star, the Father placed a crown of 7 stars on Hugor of the Hill) Haldor asks if he is little bastard or a little king.

Tyrion realizes the man misses little and he will have to be careful around him.Tyrion tells them even a dwarf is a bastard in his father's eyes. They tell him to fetch his axe and get ready to ride because Griff will not wait for man or dwarf.

[Heroine of the Dragon]

Awesome Rattan... I gotta read these again now... bah! I need to sleep sometimes!

I never even heard of it. But it seems like something I'd definately be interested in reading. I'll be sure to look it up.

Its best to start now. Cuz for those who read the books when they first came out....well they have gotten very edgy because of how long the 4th book is taking.

They ARE about 1000 pages, Rattan...

[Heroine of the Dragon]

It seems to take forever for the next book in a series to be published when you've really enjoyed them so far! And often here in aussieland, we gotta wait up to 12 weeks after they've been released overseas before we can get our hands on a copy!

I'm finally starting Storm of Swords! Just read the Prologue. Holy crap!

Rob and Catelyn are a couple of morons! I don't care for there reasons. They are ****ing morons.

[biaxialtrinebulon]

Went out and got Game of Thrones today. Not bad at all so far.

Checked out Martin's website as well. Pretty cool guy not to mention an interesting hobby.

I just might start collecting knight miniatures as well.

Oh man! I'm sold! I'm gonna buy it as soon as I can. It's been forever since I read a good book.