DORAN NYMEROS MARTELL, Lord of Sunspear, Prince of Dorne,
—his wife, MELLARIO, of the Free City of Norvos,
—their children: —PRINCESS ARIANNE, their eldest daughter, heir to Sunspear,
—PRINCE QUENTYN, their elder son,
—PRINCE TRYSTANE, their younger son,
—his siblings: —his sister, {PRINCESS ELIA}, wed to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, slain during the Sack of King’s Landing,
—their children:
—{PRINCESS RHAENYS}, a young girl, slain during the Sack of King’s Landing,
—{PRINCE AEGON}, a babe, slain during the Sack of King’s Landing,
—his brother, PRINCE OBERYN, the Red Viper,
—his household: —AREO HOTAH, a Norvoshi sellsword, captain of guards,
—MAESTER CALEOTTE, counselor, healer, and tutor,
—his knights and lord bannermen: —EDRIC DAYNE, Lord of Starfall,
The principal houses sworn to Sunspear include Jordayne, Santagar, Allyrion, Toland, Yronwood, Wyl, Fowler, and Dayne.
The Old Dynasty
HOUSE TARGARYEN
The Targaryens are the blood of the dragon, descended from the high lords of the ancient Freehold of Valyria, their heritage proclaimed in a striking (some say inhuman) beauty, with lilac or indigo or violet eyes and hair of silver-gold or platinum white.
Aegon the Dragon’s ancestors escaped the Doom of Valyria and the chaos and slaughter that followed to settle on Dragonstone, a rocky island in the narrow sea. It was from there that Aegon and his sisters Visenya and Rhaenys sailed to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. To preserve the blood royal and keep it pure, House Targaryen has often followed the Valyrian custom of wedding brother to sister. Aegon himself took both his sisters to wife, and fathered sons on each. The Targaryen banner is a three-headed dragon, red on black, the three heads representing Aegon and his sisters. The Targaryen words are Fire and Blood.
THE TARGARYEN SUCCESSION
dated by years after Aegon’s Landing
1–37 Aegon I Aegon the Conquerer, Aegon the Dragon,
37–42 Aenys I son of Aegon and Rhaenys,
42–48 Maegor I Maegor the Cruel, son of Aegon and Visenya,
48–103 Jaehaerys I the Old King, the Conciliator, Aenys’ son,
103–129 Viserys I grandson to Jaehaerys,
129–131 Aegon II eldest son of Viserys,
[Aegon II’s ascent was disputed by his sister Rhaenyra, a year his elder. Both perished in the war between them, called by singers the Dance of the Dragons.]
131–157 Aegon III the Dragonbane, Rhaenyra’s son,
[The last of the Targaryen dragons died during the reign of Aegon III.]
157–161 Daeron I the Young Dragon, the Boy King, eldest son of Aegon III, [Daeron conquered Dorne, but was unable to hold it, and died young.]
161–171 Baelor I the Beloved, the Blessed, septon and king, second son of Aegon III,
171–172 Viserys II younger brother of Aegon III,
172–184 Aegon IV the Unworthy, eldest son of Viserys,
[His younger brother, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, was champion and some say lover to Queen Naerys.]
184–209 Daeron II Queen Naerys’ son, by Aegon or Aemon, [Daeron brought Dorne into the realm by wedding the Dornish princess Myriah.]
209–221 Aerys I second son to Daeron II (left no issue),
221–233 Maekar I fourth son of Daeron II,
233–259 Aegon V the Unlikely, Maekar’s fourth
259–262 Jaehaerys II second son of Aegon the Unlikely,
262–283 Aerys II the Mad King, only son to Jaehaerys,
Therein the line of the dragon kings ended, when Aerys II was dethroned and killed, along with his heir, the crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen, slain by Robert Baratheon on the Trident.
THE LAST TARGARYENS
{KING AERYS TARGARYEN}, the Second of His Name, slain by Jaime Lannister during the Sack of King’s Landing,
—his sister and wife, {QUEEN RHAELLA} of House Targaryen, died in childbed on Dragonstone,
—their children: —{PRINCE RHAEGAR}, heir to the Iron Throne, slain by Robert Baratheon on the Trident,
—his wife, {PRINCESS ELIA} of House Martell, slain during the Sack of King’s Landing,
—their children:
—{PRINCESS RHAENYS}, a young girl, slain during the Sack of King’s Landing,
—{PRINCE AEGON}, a babe, slain during the Sack of King’s Landing,
—PRINCE VISERYS, styling himself Viserys, the Third of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, called the Beggar King,
—PRINCESS DAENERYS, called Daenerys Stormborn, a maid of thirteen years.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The devil is in the details, they say.
A book this size has a lot of devils, any one of which will bite you if you don’t watch out. Fortunately, I know a lot of angels.
Thanks and appreciation, therefore, to all those good folks who so kindly lent me their ears and their expertise (and in some cases their books) so I could get all those little details right—to Sage Walker, Martin Wright, Melinda Snodgrass, Carl Keim, Bruce Baugh, Tim O’Brien, Roger Zelazny, Jane Lindskold, and Laura J. Mixon, and of course to Parris.
And a special thanks to Jennifer Hershey, for labors above and beyond the call …
A GAME OF THRONES:
THE GRAPHIC NOVEL
George R. R. Martin—dubbed “the American Tolkien” by Time Magazine—has created a masterwork of modern fantasy with his landmark series, A Song of Ice and Fire. His much-beloved characters and settings have not only made the books bestsellers in multiple countries, but have spun off a host of affiliated products, from calendars, card games, and board games to swords, figurines, and coins. Game of Thrones, HBO’s stunning adaptation of George’s world to the small screen, premiered to rampant fan excitement.
And now comes the next exciting chapter in A Game of Thrones adaptations: the graphic novel! From a joint partnership between Dynamic Forces and Random House comes a stunning visual representation of George’s seminal world, adapted by acclaimed novelist Daniel J. Abraham, and illustrated by Tommy Patterson. As you can see from this handful of character sketches and rough sample pages, this will be an absolutely stunning-looking series—and one that we hope will give George’s long-time fans a new way to appreciate his world, as well as providing a new entry-point for more recent converts.
We hope that you will share our enthusiasm for watching how this amazing world unfolds, visually, over the course of the planned twenty-four issues … because we are all enormously excited!
This edition contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.
A CLASH OF KINGS
A Bantam Spectra Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam Spectra hardcover edition published February 1999
Bantam Spectra paperback edition / September 2000
SPECTRA and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1999 by George R. R. Martin.
Maps by James Sinclair.
Heraldic crest by Virginia Norey.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-37954.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Visit our website at www.bantamdell.com
Bantam Books, the rooster colophon, Spectra and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-553-89785-2
v3.0_r1
CONTENTS
Master - Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Maps
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Appendix: The Kings and Their Courts
The King on the Iron Throne
The King in the Narrow Sea
The King in Highgarden
The King in the North
The Queen Across the Water
Other Houses Great and Small
House Arryn
House Florent
House Frey
House Greyjoy
House Lannister
House Martell
House Tyrell
The Men of the Night’s Watch
Acknowledgments
To John and Gail
for all the meat and mead we’ve shared
Click here to view the maps in greater detail: http://atrandom.com/ckmaps
PROLOGUE
The comet’s tail spread across the dawn, a red slash that bled above the crags of Dragonstone like a wound in the pink and purple sky.
The maester stood on the windswept balcony outside his chambers. It was here the ravens came, after long flight. Their droppings speckled the gargoyles that rose twelve feet tall on either side of him, a hellhound and a wyvern, two of the thousand that brooded over the walls of the ancient fortress. When first he came to Dragonstone, the army of stone grotesques had made him uneasy, but as the years passed he had grown used to them. Now he thought of them as old friends. The three of them watched the sky together with foreboding.
The maester did not believe in omens. And yet … old as he was, Cressen had never seen a comet half so bright, nor yet that color, that terrible color, the color of blood and flame and sunsets. He wondered if his gargoyles had ever seen its like. They had been here so much longer than he had, and would still be here long after he was gone. If stone tongues could speak …
Such folly. He leaned against the battlement, the sea crashing beneath him, the black stone rough beneath his fingers. Talking gargoyles and prophecies in the sky. I am an old done man, grown giddy as a child again. Had a lifetime’s hard-won wisdom fled him along with his health and strength? He was a maester, trained and chained in the great Citadel of Oldtown. What had he come to, when superstition filled his head as if he were an ignorant fieldhand?
And yet … and yet … the comet burned even by day now, while pale grey steam rose from the hot vents of Dragonmont behind the castle, and yestermorn a white raven had brought word from the Citadel itself, word long-expected but no less fearful for all that, word of summer’s end. Omens, all. Too many to deny. What does it all mean? he wanted to cry.
“Maester Cressen, we have visitors.” Pylos spoke softly, as if loath to disturb Cressen’s solemn meditations. Had he known what drivel filled his head, he would have shouted. “The princess would see the white raven.” Ever correct, Pylos called her princess now, as her lord father was a king. King of a smoking rock in the great salt sea, yet a king nonetheless. “Her fool is with her.”
The old man turned away from the dawn, keeping a hand on his wyvern to steady himself. “Help me to my chair and show them in.”
Taking his arm, Pylos led him inside. In his youth, Cressen had walked briskly, but he was not far from his eightieth name day now, and his legs were frail and unsteady. Two years past, he had fallen and shattered a hip, and it had never mended properly. Last year when he took ill, the Citadel had sent Pylos out from Oldtown, mere days before Lord Stannis had closed the isle … to help him in his labors, it was said, but Cressen knew the truth. Pylos had come to replace him when he died. He did not mind. Someone must take his place, and sooner than he would like …
He let the younger man settle him behind his books and papers. “Go bring her. It is ill to keep a lady waiting.” He waved a hand, a feeble gesture of haste from a man no longer capable of hastening. His flesh was wrinkled and spotted, the skin so papery thin that he could see the web of veins and the shape of bones beneath. And how they trembled, these hands of his that had once been so sure and deft …
When Pylos returned the girl came with him, shy as ever. Behind her, shuffling and hopping in that queer sideways walk of his, came her fool. On his head was a mock helm fashioned from an old tin bucket, with a rack of deer antlers strapped to the crown and hung with cowbells. With his every lurching step, the bells rang, each with a different voice, clang-a-dang bong-dong ring-a-ling clong clong clong.
“Who comes to see us so early, Pylos?” Cressen said.
“It’s me and Patches, Maester.” Guileless blue eyes blinked at him. Hers was not a pretty face, alas. The child had her lord father’s square jut of jaw and her mother’s unfortunate ears, along with a disfigurement all her own, the legacy of the bout of greyscale that had almost claimed her in the crib. Across half one cheek and well down her neck, her flesh was stiff and dead, the skin cracked and flaking, mottled black and grey and stony to the touch. “Pylos said we might see the white raven.”
“Indeed you may,” Cressen answered. As if he would ever deny her. She had been denied too often in her time. Her name was Shireen. She would be ten on her next name day, and she was the saddest child that Maester Cressen had ever known. Her sadness is my shame, the old man thought, another mark of my failure. “Maester Pylos, do me a kindness and bring the bird down from the rookery for the Lady Shireen.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Pylos was a polite youth, no more than five-and-twenty, yet solemn as a man of sixty. If only he had more humor, more life in him; that was what was needed here. Grim places needed lightening, not solemnity, and Dragonstone was grim beyond a doubt, a lonely citadel in the wet waste surrounded by storm and salt, with the smoking shadow of the mountain at its back. A maester must go where he is sent, so Cressen had come here with his lord some twelve years past, and he had served, and served well. Yet he had never loved Dragonstone, nor ever felt truly at home here. Of late, when he woke from restless dreams in which the red woman figured disturbingly, he often did not know where he was.
The fool turned his patched and piebald head to watch Pylos climb the steep iron steps to the rookery. His bells rang with the motion. “Under the sea, the birds have scales for feathers,” he said, clang-a-langing. “I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”
Even for a
fool, Patchface was a sorry thing. Perhaps once he could evoke gales of laughter with a quip, but the sea had taken that power from him, along with half his wits and all his memory. He was soft and obese, subject to twitches and trembles, incoherent as often as not. The girl was the only one who laughed at him now, the only one who cared if he lived or died.
An ugly little girl and a sad fool, and maester makes three … now there is a tale to make men weep. “Sit with me, child.” Cressen beckoned her closer. “This is early to come calling, scarce past dawn. You should be snug in your bed.”
“I had bad dreams,” Shireen told him. “About the dragons. They were coming to eat me.”
The child had been plagued by nightmares as far back as Maester Cressen could recall. “We have talked of this before,” he said gently. “The dragons cannot come to life. They are carved of stone, child. In olden days, our island was the westernmost outpost of the great Freehold of Valyria. It was the Valyrians who raised this citadel, and they had ways of shaping stone since lost to us. A castle must have towers wherever two walls meet at an angle, for defense. The Valyrians fashioned these towers in the shape of dragons to make their fortress seem more fearsome, just as they crowned their walls with a thousand gargoyles instead of simple crenellations.” He took her small pink hand in his own frail spotted one and gave it a gentle squeeze. “So you see, there is nothing to fear.”
A Game of Thrones 5-Book Bundle: A Song of Ice and Fire Series: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and A Dance with Dragons (Song of Ice & Fire) Page 89