Okay, this has zero to do with video games, but I wasn’t 100% sure what else to do with this.
I adapted the first episode of Game of Thrones into a Shakespeare play. For reasons. Hey, everyone has a hobby, right? This is an understandably long post, so there’s lots more after the jump.
Game of Thrones: Winter Cometh
THE NIGHT’S WATCH
Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, younger brother to Eddard Stark
Waymar Royce, a highborn ranger of the Night’s Watch
Gared, a grizzled, experienced ranger of the Night’s Watch
Will, a young man sentenced to the Night’s Watch for poaching
Eddard Stark, called Ned, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North
Catelyn Stark, his lady wife, of House Tully
Robb Stark, Lord Stark’s eldest son and heir
Brandon Stark, called Bran, Lord Stark’s second son, touched with the greensight
Sansa Stark, Lord Stark’s eldest daughter, a proper lady
Arya Stark, Lord Stark’s youngest daughter, a mischievous tomboy
Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s bastard son, of an age with Robb
Theon Greyjoy, heir to House Greyjoy, ward and hostage to the Starks
Rodrik Cassel, Master-of-Arms at Winterfell, sworn to the Starks
Maester Luwin, Maester of Winterfell, sworn to the Starks
Septa Mordaine, nursemaid to the Stark children
Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, usurper of the Targaryen line
Joffrey Baratheon, King Robert’s eldest son and heir, an insufferable prat
Tommen Baratheon, King Robert’s second son, a sweet-faced boy
Myrcella Baratheon, King Robert’s only daughter
Sandor Clegane, called The Hound, bodyguard and servant to Prince Joffrey
Tywin Lannister, patriarch of House Lannister, rich and ambitious
Jaime Lannister, called Kingslayer, Knight of the Kingsguard, twin and lover to Cersei
Cersei Lannister, Queen of the realm, wife to Robert, twin and lover to Jaime
Tyrion Lannister, called the Imp, youngest son of Lord Lannister, a dwarf
Viserys Targaryen, called The Beggar King, rightful king of Westeros
Daenerys Targaryen, his younger sister
Illyrio Mopatis, magister of the Free City of Pentos, uncertain ally to the Targaryens
Khal Drogo, supreme leader of the Dothraki Horselords, betrothed to Daenerys
Jorah Mormont, a Westerosi knight, sworn to Daenerys
The North. Enter three Rangers.
What saw thee, Will, when thou went forth to scout?
Pray, tell us what thy eyes beheld. Saw thee
The wildling camp? How many are they? Speak!
Milord, I shall reply amazedly.
My tongue can scarce find words that are apt-fit
To tell you what it is I think I saw.
Close by I crept, ‘til I was near their camp.
No wildling scout came forth to challenge me.
‘Twas odd how silent were the woods around,
How cold, how dark: unnatural’s the word.
Within the camp, no man nor woman stirred.
No child cried neither; silent as a tomb
The forest was. Closer I came and saw –
What saw thee, boy? Stop gaping like a fish
And makest thou report afore we freeze.
Dead, milord, all dead. The men, the women,
And babes, all slaughtered like they was mere beasts.
The blood and bone mixed with the snow ‘til all
Ran red. A child hung from a tree, her eyes
Were bulging from the sockets like glass beads.
The bodies – some man, some thing moved them, ser,
And laid them in a pattern on the ground.
What ‘twas, I could not see; milord, I ran.
Well, what expect thou, boy? Beasts and savages!
The wildlings go to war over a goat.
Milord, I’ve never seen the wildlings act
Like this. And I’ve been four years on the wall.
How close by to their camp didst thou approach?
Close by as any man would dare to go.
Milord, we should return unto the wall.
Fear thou the dead will rise, ye green-sick boy?
Our orders were to track the wildlings, ser.
We tracked them. They won’t trouble us no more.
Think thee the Lord Commander will not want
To know what manner of a death they died?
Get back onto your horse, ye lowborn boy,
And let us do what the Commander bid.
Whatever killed the wildlings could kill us!
It killed the babes –
Art thou a babe, young Will,
Or art thou grown? Thou lookest like a man,
But in thy acts thou showst thyself to be
A babe in arms, scarce weaned from mother’s tit!
Run, ye base-born child, run south, ye mewling fool!
Of course, thou shalt find thyself less in height.
Deserters of the Night’s Watch lose their heads.
A great axe shall come crashing down upon
That precious neck of thine unless thou do
As thou art bidden, as thee vowed to do!
As milord commands.
We do obey, ser.
Then lead me to this camp full of the dead.
I will, e’en though it fills my heart with dread.
The same. Enter three rangers.
It seems thy mutilated corpses grew
New legs and sinews and then walked away.
Aye, jest away, milord, but they were here,
As lifeless carcasses, arcane-arranged,
As if to bring forth dark old magics fell-
Decrepit septas tell such hollow tales
To fright their children of the winter nights.
Hist, my lord! Someone comes near!
They draw their swords. All goes dark.
I see nothing!
Screams in the darkness. WAYMAR ROYCE and GARED fall.
Milord? Gared? Old Gods, protect us all!
My only safety is south of the Wall!
Winterfell. Enter ROBB, BRAN, and JON SNOW to one side, SANSA, ARYA, and SEPTA MORDAINE to the other. Enter above NED and CATELYN.
Here we shall practice at our swords, young lords.
Come, Bran, show brother Robb what thou canst do.
I see thee swing thy blade at trees, at rocks,
At bushes in the wood – now try thy luck
Against a living foe who moves, who thinks,
Who’ll knock thee on thy arse if thou art slow.
So, come! Our father and thy lady mother
Watch us at sport above, so let us show
Thy burgeoned warlike skill with thy forged steel.
Lay on, little brother, attack me fierce!
Young Lady Stark, your stitches are so fine!
The roses at the corner here, the pinks,
The dusky orange of the petals there:
Embroidered like a poem, Sansa dear!
Now, Arya, let me see – oh, this won’t do!
Thy stitches are too jagged, all is marred!
Thou shalt have to begin anew, my child.
Thy threads look like they were stitched by a smith!
Undo this crooked thread – why, child, where dost
Thou think thou art off to? Nay, sit! Nay, stay!
Thy sister was a lady at thy age!
BRAN is disarmed by ROBB, who kicks away his sword.
Ho, ho, young Bran, thy life would endeth here
If thou and I were not engaged in sport.
A living foe’s more deadly than a bush!
And which of thee were swordsmen at age ten?
Keep at thy practice, Bran, thou shalt prevail.
ARYA enters with BRAN’s sword. She deals him a blow, then exits. BRAN gives chase.
Go faster, Bran! Thou shalt be quite hard-pressed
Convincing thy fierce sister to return
Thy blade now she has won control of it!
Enter RODRICK CASSEL and THEON GREYJOY above.
My lord and Lady Stark.
Ser Rodrik, hail!
Tell, what’s the news with thee? How goes the day?
The day turns grim. Your outriders who comb
The hills and holdfasts wild of your vast realm
Have captured a deserter on the run,
A lowborn brother of the Night’s Watch, ser.
The king’s justice, my lord, is called for now.
These tidings grieve me, Rodrik, but my thanks
Are yet still genuine in utterance.
Go, Theon, bid the lads to saddle up
Their horses and their ponies for we ride
Dear Cat, I take my leave awhile.
My lord, must you?
My Cat, I must. An oath
Was sworn and broken. Justice must be swift.
The law is but the law, my Lady Stark.
Ser Rodrik, please you, Bran is coming, too.
RODRIK CASSEL bows and exits.
My lord! My Ned, Bran is too young for such!
He will not always be a boy, my Cat.
The summer ends, my love, and winter cometh.
The summer hath not endeth yet, my lord.
The summer always endeth, take my word.
Winterfell. Enter RODRIK CASSEL, ROBB, BRAN, JON SNOW, THEON, and NED. Enter to them WILL under guard.
My lord of Winterfell, I broke my oath,
Deserted my brothers at Castle Black.
In troth, I should have gone back to the Wall
And warned my brothers what it was I saw.
For lord, I stood before the Walkers White,
Those icy authors of a wintry death,
Sprung living from an ancient fireside tale
Told soft to strike a thrill of fearful dread;
My lord, they stride to life at last:
The White Walkers. I know, lord, what I saw.
If you can find my family, lord, I pray,
I beg you, tell them I died well today.
WILL kneels. THEON holds forth the greatsword Ice. NED draws it from its scabbard.
By Robert of the House Baratheon,
King of the Andals and of the First Men,
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and the realm:
I, Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell,
The sworn and chosen Warden of the North,
Do sentence you to die.
Aside to Bran. Don’t look away.
You did well, Bran. Soon thou wilt be, like me,
An old hand at the justice of the king.
Hark, stay awhile, my son, my Bran, with me.
Thou understandeth what it is I did?
My lord father, Jon told me of that man.
He deserted his post at Castle Black.
But dost thou understand he needs must die?
Our House must always follow the Old Ways.
The man who passeth sentence swings the sword.
One day, my son, thou needs must do the same.
When thou art bannerman to thy lord Robb,
Thy holdfast’s justice then shall fall to thee.
When that day cometh, thou must take no joy
In thy grim task, but nor must look away.
A lord who pays another to bring death
In his stead soon forgets what death may be.
Did he speak troth about the Walkers White?
The White Walkers are dead a thousand years.
A liar and deserter both, it seems.
A madman always thinks he speaks in troth.
Milord! Come see what we have found!
The carcass of a stag is discovered. Close by, the carcass of a direwolf.
What could have killed a great stag of this size?
A mountain lion!
Or a boar!
No lions, boars, nor bears live in these woods.
A direwolf hath been this old stag’s end.
A direwolf! A freak, milord! It’s dead.
The stag’s antler has lodged within its throat.
There are no direwolves south of the Wall.
And now, my brother, we discover five.
The bastard cannot count; there is but one,
And that one is but none since it is dead.
That one has mothered five, and here they are.
My brother, would you like to hold a whelp?
Oh, aye! He’s soft like down and warm as coals.
Boy, direwolves belong north of the Wall.
Ser Rodrik speaks the truth to thee, my son.
Then give it me, Bran, I shall kill it quick.
Not on thy life, Theon!
Put up thy blade.
I take my orders from thy lord father.
Thou art not Lord of Winterfell as yet.
O, please you, father, may I keep this pup?
It will not long survive without its dam.
My dread Lord Stark, there are five pups here found.
There are five trueborn children of the Starks.
There’s three male pups for Robb, Bran, and Rickon,
And two females for Arya and Sansa.
The direwolf is sigil of your house.
‘Tis clear to all that fate meant this to be.
Pah! My will is o’erborn. Take thou the pups.
Thou takest one not for thyself, Jon Snow?
You know that I am no true Stark, my lord.
But soft! Hear you that sound?
What is it, Jon?
One pup here yet remains! A white-furred whelp,
Soft as the snow, and so I’ll name him mine.
The runt is thine, Jon Snow, I’d call that apt.
The pups are thine, my sons, but hear me well.
Thy must train these beasts well and better still.
A direwolf is no mere pet, but fierce
And loyal as the winter’s cold and dark.
These beasts will tear the arm off a grown man
Faster than any dog may tear the throat
Of baseborn, skulking rats. So train them well!
What future they portend no man can tell.
King’s Landing. A dead march. The funeral procession of JON ARRYN, Hand of the King. Enter above JAIME and CERSEI.
So as I am thy brother, sister mine,
I feel I should be most remiss if I
Did not warn thee thy worries were unsound.
Thy cares shall stain thy perfect brow, my love.
The opposite, dear brother, is thy fault.
When thou hadst seen the turn of seven years,
Thou lept from off the clifftops, down and down,
Fast-falling like a stone into the surf.
A hundred foot it was, yet seemed an age
Until I saw the splash glint in the light.
I held my breath for long moments with thee,
Not daring yet to breathe til I beheld
Thy fair gold head bobbing above the waves,
And breathed again when I saw thee drew breath.
My heart stilled not, ‘til thou wast safe-returned
To Cast’ly Rock. Aye, worry, brother, aye!
Thou dost not know the meaning of the word!
But never wast there anything to fear,
Until thou runst and told our lord father.
O, how he fixed mine eye with his steel glare,
And spake in leaden tone: “We’re Lannisters.
And Lannisters don’t act like lowborn fools.”
What shall we do if Jon Arryn told aught
Of what he knew to any lord or man?
My sister dear, who would the King’s Hand tell?
My husband, king of all the seven realms!
Thou knowst as well as I, my dear, that if
Jon Arryn knew the truth that we two hide,
Our heads would be skewered upon a pike
And set to rot above the city gates.
Whatever the King’s Hand thought that he knew,
The thought died with him when he ceased to think.
Robert, thy husband, will choose a new Hand,
Some new poor sot to run the kingdom while
The king firks boars and hunteth whores. Or is’t
The other ways about? And life goes on.
Thou shouldst be Hand of the King, brother dear.
O, ‘tis an honor I can do without.
Their hours are too long, their lives too short.
Now come, my sister, let’s find better sport.
Winterfell. The Godswood. Enter NED. Enter CATELYN to him.
Years it has been, Ned, and yet still I feel
A trespasser here in this sacred grove.
My love, thou hast five children of the North.
Thou art no more an outsider than I.
I wonder if the gods of old agree?
My love, thy gods createth all the rules.
My Ned, I sorrow at the news I bring.
Tell me thy news, my Cat, I thank thy care.
There was a raven from Kings Landing, Ned.
A fever of a sudden took your friend;
The King’s Hand, Jon Arryn, is dead this day.
He was a second father unto thee.
I mourn the kingdom’s loss with thee, my love.
What tidings of thy sister and their son?
They both retain their health, I thank the gods.
And yet more news the raven bringeth thee.
The king rides north to Winterfell with queen,
With court, with Lannisters, and all the rest.
If Robert cometh North, he wants one thing.
It is thy right to say no to him, Ned.
If ‘tis thy wish, refuse to be King’s Hand,
Assuming ’tis request and not command.
Winterfell. The great hall. Enter CATELYN and MAESTER LUWIN.
And Maester we shall need more candles still
For Lord Tyrion’s use tonight; I hear,
Good Maester, that he reads incessantly.
And I hear that he drinks incessantly.
How much could a man of his stature drink?
We have brought forth eight barrels of fine ale.
Shall we take wager which he’ll use the more?
The barrels or the candles?
Exit CATELYN and LUWIN. Enter ROBB, THEON, and JON.
Why is thy lady mother so damned keen
On primping us so pretty for the king?
I’ll wager that the queen is the true cause.
I hear she’s sleek and well-groomed as a mink.
I hear the crown prince is a whey-faced lout.
A whey-face with his pick of southron girls!
Those royal louts can prick whoe’er they please.
Why, Theon, sheer thy own whey-face of curls,
Then thy shall have thy prick of southron girls!
Winterfell. Enter BRAN above. He climbs down. Enter CATELYN.
Ho, Brandon Stark! Didst thou climb up that wall?
The king, Mother, I saw the king! He comes!
How oft a hundred times I told thee, Bran!
Thou must not climb, or else thou’rt sure to fall.
But King Robert is coming down our road!
Canst thou give me a promise not to climb?
I promise you, my lady mother, aye.
My dear Bran, thou always lookst at thy feet
When thou lies. Now run and find thy father,
Tell him the king arriveth at our gates.
Exit BRAN. Flourish of trumpets. Enter to one side NED, ROBB, BRAN, SANSA, and ARYA, wearing a helm. Enter to the other side ROBERT, CERSEI, JAIME, JOFFREY, TOMMEN, MYRCELLA, and their train.
Where ist thy sister, Sansa? Where’s Arya?
Aye, Lady Hellion, I can see thee there.
Take off thy helm before I take thy head.
ARYA removes the helm. ROBERT approaches.
Your grace, I welcome you to Winterfell.
Lord Ned! Good Ned! When did ye get so fat?
Thinkst not I see thy gaze? Aye, I am fat!
And I’ll be fatter still when thou liest dead!
Ho, Cat, thou art a beaut’ous lady still.
Your Grace flatters-
By se’en hells, I do not!
O, ‘tis been nine years since I saw thee, Ned,
Where hast thou been, my oldest, dearest friend?
My king, the North I’ve held for you, held strong.
Now Winterfell, my home, is yours tonight.
O, Sansa, where’s the Imp?
Now shut thy mouth!
Why, who is here? Such fierce Starks thou hast bred!
I’d wager thou art Robb, and here’s Sansa.
A dainty, proper lady thou art grown.
What ‘tis your name, small one?
And here’s a likely lad to be a knight!
That tall man there with golden curls, I bet
Ten golden coins that I can tell his name!
He’s Jaime Lannister, the queen’s own twin!
If thou dost not shut up thy face, I’ll scream.
My queen, I welcome you unto my home-
Thou hast welcomed enough, my friend; now take
Me to thy crypts. I needs must pay respects.
My king, our journey has been hard and long.
Surely the dead can wait another day.
Exit ROBERT and NED.
O Sansa, I do long to see the Imp!
‘Tis clear the Starks would rather see a dwarf
Than greet their queen. Come, Jaime, say,
Where dost that half-formed lewdster hide today?
Winterfell. The crypts. Enter NED and ROBERT.
Come, Robert, tell me what happened to Jon?
The raven said the fever took him fast.
One moment, there he was, alive and well,
White-haired, but strong, as strong as any man.
Whate’er it was, yon fever burned him fast,
As fast as flames devour tinder twigs,
So Arryn burned white-hot unto his death.
I loved him well.
We both loved Jon, my king.
He never had to teach thee much, but me-
Ned, think of me when I was but Robb’s age,
A ruttish, saucy youth, desering naught
But cracking skulls and pricking at wenches,
My sword whipt out of scabbard for both needs,
To use ‘pon surly squire or sweet lass.
Ah, Ned, I beg thee, do not look like that,
‘Tis not Jon Arryn’s fault I did not heed
His sound advice, giv’n unto me full oft.
I need thee, Ned, down in the capitol,
Not here in backwoods Winterfell where thou
Art no damn use to anyone but thee!
Lord Eddard Stark, I name thee my King’s Hand.
My gracious king, I am honored past words.
This is not meant to honor thee, good Ned.
‘Tis meant to find me some poor sot who’ll run
My kingdom whilst I drink and hunt and whore.
Gods damn it, Ned, stand up! I need thee, Ned!
Fate meant our Houses to rule Westeros
As one! ‘Tis not too late! If thy sister
Had lived, then thou and I ‘twere linked by blood.
‘Tis not the only way; I have a son,
Thou hast a daughter: come, what sayst thou, Ned?
We’ll join Houses e’en though Lyanna’s dead.
Exit ROBERT and NED.
Winterfell. A brothel. Enter TYRION and ROS, a whore.
O, o, ‘tis true what’s said of Northern girls.
Didst hear, milord, the king’s in Winterfell?
It may be I have heard something like that.
The queen is with him! Her twin brother, too,
I hear tell he’s a comely man and true,
Who draws his sword for any least excuse
And thrills the ladies oft with its display.
This all ‘tis true; but tell me, what hast thou
Heard tell of the queen’s other brother, hmm?
In troth, milord, I did not know she had
Another brother; tell me of him, pray!
Well, my pert lass, there is the pretty one,
And then, sweetling, there is the clever one.
O, that brother I hear is called the Imp.
I hear he hates that nickname.
Doth he so?
I also hear he’s more than earned it, though.
I hear he is a drunken little letch
Engaging nightly in perversions dire.
Thou hast hit right, thou clever, rump-fed bawd.
I must say, we’ve expected you, milord.
Your fame precedes you to this brothel, ser.
Allow me, then, to make good ‘pon that fame.
The gods, thou seest, gave me largesse but once.
Ah, brother, do not stir thyself to rise.
Must I explain the meaning of closed doors
Within a whorehouse, Jaime, once again?
‘Tis sure thou hast much thou can teach me here.
Another time, I pray; our sister craves
Thy presence at the keep. Best to obey.
Our sister has odd cravings, brother mine.
A trait we seem to share. Now there’s a feast;
The Starks shall fête us at sundown tonight.
I pray thee, brother, do not leave me thus.
I beg thy pardon; I’ve begun my feast
Much earlier than thine, and this is but
The first of many courses I intend.
Thou speakest as I thought that thou wouldst speak.
And so I did anticipate thy needs.
Enter to TYRION divers several whores.
Sunset draws on apace; so sate thyself.
On hot and poxy flesh, thus glut thyself.
Joy to you, Tyrion, excuse myself.
Winterfell. The crypts. Enter ROBERT and NED.
Why didst thou bury her in darkling crypt?
Thy fair sister’s eternity deserves
A hillside kissed by sun and gentle winds,
Not some black cellar full of death and tears.
She was a Stark, my lord, my sister, too.
‘Tis right and proper that she resteth here,
With all her forefathers, with every Stark.
The Starks must e’er return to Winterfell.
‘Tis here that she belongeth, good my lord.
O, sweet Lyanna, thou belongst with me.
Ned, in my dreams, I kill him every night.
Cursèd Targaryen! That I might rend
His body limb from limb a thousand times!
Or roast him still alive above a flame,
As the mad king did to thy father, Ned.
O, no, these punishments are far too light
To carry the deep weight of all his deeds.
My hate for all his line glows hot and white.
No smith could stoke a hotter flame than this.
I shall never forgive Targar’en sins!
My hate shall burneth still when I am gone.
Your Grace, ‘tis done; their bloodline’s all but dead.
Not dead enough, my Ned, two yet still live,
Too far away deservèd death to give.
Pentos. The manse of ILLYRIO. Enter DAENERYS. Enter to her VISERYS.
Daenerys, my dear sister, I find thee
At last! How fares our fairest bride to be?
Look what I’ve brought: a gift from our good host.
Come! Feel the fabric, smooth on thy white skin,
As soft and perfect as thy silver hair.
A gracious host is our Illyrio!
We’ve safe here dwelt for all this time and yet
He’s never asked us to repay our debts.
Illyrio knows well I shall repay
All that we owe a thousand fold when I
Regain the throne that is rightfully mine.
I shall o’erthrow the Usurper quite soon!
I almost taste the vict’ry that shall be
When I command Dothraki hosts to sail
Across the Narrow Sea to Westeros
And dash Usurper’s brains upon the throne,
The Iron Throne that is my true birthright!
O sister, thou shalt help me buy this host,
Thy fair white breasts shall help me pay the fee.
Thou needs must be perfection on this day!
Stop slouching like a lowborn, please, for me?
Thy comely body is a woman’s grown,
And now thou needs must act like woman grown.
Thou dost not wish to wake the dragon, true?
No, good my lord.
The dragon slumbers now.
Go now, my dearest sis, prepare thyself
To meet thy future husband, Khal Drogo.
And when they write the hist’ry of my reign,
The scribes shall mark this day when it began.
Exit DAENERYS. Enter ILLYRIO.
Illyrio! My good and honored host!
When doth Dothraki savages arrive?
The Dothraki are known for many things,
My lord, for horsemanship, for conquest, war-
But not, my lord, for punctuality.
Enter KHAL DROGO and train.
Khal Drogo! The Great Stallion bless your path
Through the Grass Sea to lead you to your bride!
May I present my most honored of guests,
Viserys Targaryen, third so named,
The true King of the Andals and First Men.
And here, who you have ridden hard to meet,
Your future bride, Daenerys, silver-haired
Maiden fair of the House Targaryen.
Ah, sister! Come and meet thy future lord!
See thou the length and volume of his braid?
Dothraki only cut hair in defeat
So that the world at large can see their shame.
Khal Drogo’s braid reaches far past his thighs,
Festooned with tiny bells so all may see
And hear the truth of his embattled might:
An undefeated warrior for thee!
Come forward, child, make curtsey to your Khal.
Exit KHAL DROGO and train.
Where goes the Khal? He merely touched her face,
Said nothing, and then strode off like a storm.
The ceremony’s over now, my lord.
He came to see his bride, he saw, he left.
Was not he pleased by my fair sister’s sight?
If he were aught but pleased, my lord, we’d know.
O, worry not, my king, his khalasar
Will soon be yours alone for your command.
With horselords at your back, you shall return
To Westeros across the Narrow Sea
And take again your father’s Iron Throne.
The Westerosi wait for your return
And cry your honored name in secret toasts.
When will the khal return to wed his bride?
It will be soon, my lord, ‘tis not their way
To stay camped in one place for many days.
Tell me, Illyrio, is it the truth
That the Dothraki mate with their horseflesh,
And lie with mares as men might lie with maids?
‘Tis not a question I’d put to the Khal.
Dost thou, Illyr’o, take me for a fool?
My lord, I take you only for a king.
Kings lack the caution of the common man
I meant not to offend, my dreaded lord.
‘Tis no offense, mine host, but worry not.
I know how to use a man like the khal.
I give him a fair queen, he gives me men,
And horses, steel, an army for a king!
My brother, please, I do not want to be
His queen or love! Please, can we not go home?
My sister sweet, ‘tis that I aim to do.
But thou knows well as I our home is gone,
‘Twas stol’n by the Usurper, curse his name,
That fat and swinish Baratheon ass.
So tell me, my dear sister, how shall we
Return unto a home that is not ours?
I know not.
Well, I know, darling sister,
If thou dost not. We go home with a host
Of fearsome men, the forty thousand men
The Khal commands. I’d allow every man
And every horse to lie with thee, my sweet,
Aye, every one could bear thee to the ground.
I’ll whore out my own sister for my crown.
Winterfell. SANSA’s chambers. Enter SANSA and CATELYN.
O mother, do you think the prince will find
Me pretty enough to be his own queen?
If he do not, my dear, then he is quite
The stupidest princeling that’s ever lived.
O, fie, my lady mother, you speak false!
He is the handsomest that’s ever lived.
Will we be married soon, or have to wait?
O hush, thy father has not yet said aye.
But why wouldst he say anything but aye?
‘Twould make him the most powerful of men,
The right hand of the mighty king himself!
Aye, that he would, but power comes at price
Of leaving Winterfell and leaving me.
Thou wouldst be gone, as well, my Sansa dear,
And wouldst thou leave thy mother all alone?
You left your own true home at Riverrun
To come and wed my father, long ago.
‘Tis now my time to turn and do the same,
But I should be the queen! O, please say aye!
I beg you, please make father say aye, too!
O Sansa, thou dost not know what thou asks.
O please, my mother, please! ‘Tis all I dream!
Well, come, my child, ‘tis time to go to sup.
There’s time enough to talk of this anon.
‘Tis now time for the banquet. Sansa, come.
Winterfell. The courtyard. Sounds of feasting. Enter JON. Enter to him BENJEN. Enter TYRION unseen.
I seest thou strike thy fencing dummy true!
He bleeds his sawdust stuffing ‘pon the snow.
Say, hast thou dealt him yet a killing blow?
Mine uncle Benjen! Have you sprung from snow
And darkness to appear before me true?
Or are you some fell spirit in his shape?
Ah, good my lad, for aught I know I am
Myself and no other! Ye gods, ye’ve grown!
I rode all day to be here at his feast.
I did not want to leave thee all alone
Against a pack of poxy Lannisters!
So tell me, lad, why art thou in this place,
A-training to beat stuffy-men to death,
Instead of feasting with thy father’s sons?
My Lady Stark thought that it might insult
The mighty Lannisters to set a Snow,
A bastard of the North, within their midst.
Thou wilt always find welcome on the Wall.
No bastard ever was refusèd there.
Then take me with you upon your return!
My father shan’t refuse you if you ask.
Thou talkst as if the Wall were going to melt
Into the sea tomorrow; bide thy time!
I am prepared to swear the oath, uncle.
Thou art yet young to sweat the oath, my lad.
None on the wall can ever father sons.
Pah, what care I for sons? I’ll swear thy oath!
I needs must go inside; we’ll talk anon.
Thy uncle is a brother of the Watch?
Who goes there? O, what art thou doing there?
What thinks thou, boy? ‘Tis but a skin of wine.
I must be drunk to make it through this night.
You are a Lanniser – the queen’s brother?
Indeed I am, my great accomplishment.
Thou art the bastard son of Ned Stark, no?
I meant thee no offense. I see ‘tis true.
Lord Eddard Stark is my true father, Imp.
But Lady Stark is not thy mother, Snow,
Which makest thou a bastard. What then, though?
Allow me to share with thee some advice:
Forget not what thou art, for true say I,
The world will not forget. And wear thy truth
Like armor forged by the great Smith himself.
And then the truth will cease to hurt thee, lad.
By all the seven hells, how canst a lord
Know what ‘tis like to be a bastard? Fie!
All dwarves are bastards in their fathers’ eyes.
Winterfell. The feasting hall. Enter ROBERT, CERSEI, JOFFREY, JAIME, NED, CATELYN, ROBB, SANSA, and ARYA. Enter to them BENJEN.
Ho, brother mine! Good Ned! You at a feast!
‘Tis like a bear caught up in a steel trap.
My brother Benjen! Thou art welcome here!
These revels must seem strange after the Wall.
Tell me, my brother, didst thou know the man,
The young deserter that I had to slay?
Of course I knew him, Ned, I know them all.
Young Will was just a lad, but ranger true.
He spoke of madness, Benjen, of the North.
He said that the White Walkers stalk the night,
And slaughter wildlings and the rangers, too.
‘Twas ranging with two others when he ran.
We have not found nor hide nor hair of them.
The wildlings ambushed them and killed his friends.
‘Twas grief that drove the poor boy to run mad.
Mayhaps thou hast hit truth of it, good Ned.
And yet! The direwolves come wand’ring south,
Talk of the Walkers drops from rangers’ lips,
My brother may be next Hand to the King!
Such portents, my good Ned! Winter cometh!
Aye, that it does. The winter cometh fast.
Though not that thou wouldst know it by the king!
He skirts the wenches like ‘tis summer’s height!
Mine Uncle Benjen! How are you this night?
Good Robb, my boy! How dost thou do thyself?
Yes, well, I thank you, Benjen! Talk with me.
‘Tis the first time, your grace, you have been North?
Why yes, my Lady Stark, how could you tell?
‘Tis lovely country hereabouts. Such snow!
‘Tis very grim, compared unto the court.
King’s Landing has such summers, fine and warm!
Remember me how scared I was when Ned
Brought me to Winterfell, a small, cold child!
I greet thee, child. A soft-voiced little dove
Art thou! And beautiful, as well. Such hair!
How old art thou?
I am thirteen, Your Grace.
Thou art quite tall. Hast thou yet reached thy height?
I think not yet, Your Grace. My Lady Stark
Aye, that she is, thy father, too.
And hast thou come into thy moonblood yet?
Why, no, Your Grace.
Thy dress? Didst sew that, too?
Such talent at thy age! I shall soon see
If thou shalt sew something so nice for me.
My Lady Stark, heardst thee that thou and I
Shall soon be bound by marriage by and by?
I hear the same, your grace, I pray it be.
Your Sansa will do well when she’s at court,
For such a one should not stay hid up North.
Cry pardon, Jaime Lannister, good ser.
I hear you may come soon to court, my lord.
‘Tis true, the king has honored me of late.
When you are come to court as Hand, I say
We hold a tournament to celebrate!
‘Twould be so good to have you in the field.
The competition has become so stale.
I do not fight in tournaments, good ser.
Too old to swing a lance at younger men?
When the time comes to fight a man for true,
I’d rather he not know what I can do.
Well said, my dread Lord Stark, well said. Adieu!
Shall Queen Cersei think thee so pretty now?
With stew all in thy hair and on thy brow?
O, Arya, thou art such a saucy beast!
Come, sisters, time for bed to keep the peace!
Winterfell. The Starks’ chamber. Enter NED and CATELYN.
I am a Northman, Cat, not some meek lord
To play in southron court at tournaments,
False battles that they fight to dull their swords,
Within their treach’rous nest of compliments.
I should be here in Winterfell with thee.
I shall not let the king take thee away.
The king takes what he wants. ‘Tis why he’s king.
I shall make curtsey to the king and say,
“Now list, thou fat, great horn-beast, list to me!
Thou shalt not take my husband! He is mine!”
How in the seven hells came he so fat?
He ne’er stops eating ‘til ‘tis time to drink.
Within. ‘Tis I, the Maester, lord. May I come in?
Why, Maester Luwin, it ‘tis very late.
Pardon, my lord, my lady, I have news.
A rider in the darkness, sent to you,
My Lady Stark, ‘tis from your sister sent,
A message of some grave import.
This wax-sealed message is from the Eyrie.
When didst my sister Lysa return there?
O, ye gods, Ned, we must burn this at once!
My sister writes that Jon Arryn was killed!
The Lannisters, says she, authored his end.
The king himself she claims is in danger!
She’s fresh-widowed, my love, she durst not know
What she is writing of; she’s mad with grief.
My sister and her son would both be dead
If anyone but I had read these words.
Think you that Lysa would have risked her neck
And the life of her son without good cause?
If this is true, my lord, what will you do?
Who is’t but you who can protect the king?
If Lannisters killed Jon Arryn for true,
Wouldst thou send Ned into the lion’s maw?
The king rode for a month with all his court
To ask Lord Stark in his own voice for help.
Lord Stark must be the only man he trusts.
My lord, you swore the king a sacred oath.
Ned, thou hast spent thy life fighting in wars
To win Robert his throne. Thou owest him naught.
Thy father and thy brother did ride south
Upon a king’s demand, and came they home?
That was, my lady, quite a different king.
King Robert loves lord Stark as ‘twere his own!
His love cannot guarantee Ned comes home.
Near Pentos. Khal Drogo’s encampment. Enter KHAL DROGO, DAENERYS, VISERYS, IIYRIO, and the khalasar.
When shall I speak with Khal Drogo of war?
‘Tis high past time we plan when I’ll invade.
If Khal Drogo has promised you a crown,
A crown you soon shall have, but patience, lord.
No king e’er won his crown with patience, ser.
Your time shall come when omens favor war.
I piss on the Dothraki omens! Pah!
Long years have passed in waiting for my throne.
Why should I yet wait longer for my cause?
To lie about while savages read bones
And spell out hidden messages in dung?
The Dothraki are busy swiving whores
And stabbing one another in the back!
They cannot comprehend my worthy cause!
What good are they to me if they have all
Slaughtered each other before wedding’s end?
A Dothraki wedding without three deaths
At least is thought to be a dull affair.
Enter JORAH MORMONT.
I bear a gift for the new Khaleesi,
A book of songs and hist’ries from the land
Across the Narrow Sea, her Westeros.
I thank thee, ser. Art thou from my country?
Ser Jorah Mormont am I called, Lady.
I served your father true for many year.
By all the gods, I’ll serve the rightful king
‘Til breath run from my body, Khaleesi.
I also have a gift, Khaleesi, here.
A chest of dragons’ eggs, long turned to stone.
No dragons can they hatch, but beauty still
Shall shine from them forever, like your own.
I thank thee, Magister, for such treasures.
Khal Drogo also has a gift for you:
A silver mare, with eyes like glitt’ring stars.
A gorgeous beast, the like I’ve never seen.
She waits for you without this encampment,
Beside a mighty stallion, Drogo’s red.
Together you shall ride into the night
Beside your Khal, your husband, and your lord.
Ser Jorah, canst thou teach me how to say,
“I thank thee” in my lord’s Dothraki tongue?
The Dothraki do not have words for thanks.
The Khal doth rise; the wedding feast is done!
Go forth, my sister; please well thy new lord.
His pleasure of thee is the price I pay
That I may reclaim what is mine someday.
Exeunt all but DAENERYS and KHAL DROGO.
I pray, my lord, forgive me that I weep.
You mean you shan’t forgive me, lord?
My khal, dost thou speak any common tongue?
Is ‘no’ the only word you know?
Then come, my khal, my husband, let us go,
And I shall teach thee other words than “no.”
Winterfell. The courtyard. Enter THE HOUND and TYRION.
Thou holdst thy belly, whimp’ring like a bitch
Too long in heat. Rough night, my lord the Imp?
If I squirt something vile from out mine arse
Or ‘tween my lips, I hope it lights on thee.
I never marked thee for a hunter, Imp.
I am the greatest hunter in the land.
My spear has never missed its mark, good ser.
It is not hunting if thou needs must pay.
Enter ROBERT and NED.
Art thou as skilled with spear as once thou were?
Nay, good my lord, but I can still best thee.
I know quite well what I have asked of thee.
A thankless job it ‘tis to be King’s Hand.
Thou art my only living loyal friend.
A thousand thanks for saying yes, good Ned.
I hope I serve you well, Robert my king.
I know thou shalt do so. And I shall see
That thy grim face shall smile occasionally.
Farewell, young Stark, thy father’s off to war.
‘Tis he and I against the fearsome boar!
Exeunt all but BRAN. Enter above JAIME and CERSEI. They embrace. BRAN begins to climb.
O, how I love thee, brother mine. O stop!
Who standeth at the window? O, who’s there?
I have thee now, young hellion. What! A Stark!
He saw us, everything! Our close embrace!
Hush now, my Cersei, he is but a child.
He saw us, Jaime! Thou knowst what to do!
Tell me, my little monkey, what’s thy age?
Ser, I was ten years old this fortnight past.
He’s ten years old, my dear! What can he prove?
And yet keep on? The things I do for love!
JAIME pushes BRAN. BRAN falls.
Here endeth the play.