George R. R. Martin

This collection contains all 7 books in the bestselling series. Three storylines weave through the books, charting the civil war for control of the Seven Kingdoms; the defence of the towering Wall of ice in the uttermost north against the unearthly threat of the Others; and across the Narrow Sea the rise to power of Daenerys Targaryen and the last live dragons in the world.

The Story Continues

A Game of Thrones

Giovanna Marulli Borges 

and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night cane alive with the music of dragons.

Rachael Bahr

The surface of the shell was covered with tiny scales, and as she turned the egg between her fingers, they shimmered like polished metal in the light of the setting sun. One egg was a deep green, with burnished bronze flecks that came and went depending on how Dany turned it. Another was pale cream streaked with gold. The last was black, as black as a midnight sea, yet alive with scarlet ripples and swirls.

“The Others take your honor!” Robert swore. “What did any Targaryen ever know of honor? Go down into your crypt and ask Lyanna about the dragon's honor!”

“You avenged Lyanna at the Trident," Ned said, halting beside the king. Promise me, Ned, she had whispered.

Not Lady :( But also one of the first moments that shows how ruthless she really is - poor Sansa has a long road ahead of her 

“We have a wolf,” Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph.

With clear hindsight, this is very on the nose

There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he flled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.

In direct contrast to earlier in his storyline where the crows never showed interest in pecking out his eyes. On the nose, George, very on the nose.

It took to the air, flapping its wings in his face, slowing him, blinding him. He faltered in the air as its pinions beat against his cheeks. Its beak stabbed at him fiercely, and Bran felt a sudden blinding pain in the middle of his forehead, between his eyes.

GRRM spends a lot of time emphasizing the close relationship between Jon and Arya, and how they are different from the rest of the Stark siblings, and I always couldn’t help but wonder what he had planned for them as a unit. Could be that he just meant to illustrate how their paths would diverge so much from everyone else, but all the Stark kids end up on wildly different paths so sometimes I wonder if this was leading to something else, like an incestual Targaryen type relationship. 🤷‍♀️

Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. (72)

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. (98)

It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring…Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn’t been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa’s trueborn sister, blood of their blood. (143-144)

And Arya…he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had…yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him. (179)

She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone. (220)

Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night. wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eves were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

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