|
Post by Weasel Pie on Jun 3, 2016 1:26:43 GMT
The one person that we haven't seen is Marwyn, the Maester from the Citadel. By theory is the Ian McShane will play Marwyn and have a brief encounter with young Sam Tarly as he and Gilly arrive at the Citadel. Perhaps if we are fortunate...and if they are critical to the end game...we may even get to see a glass candle. Marwyn meets Sam..finds out about Aemon Targ's comment...and then finds his way on the fastest boat to Mereen. Man I would love if McShane plays Marwyn, he'd be perfectly suited. Except he said this: I can give you one hint: My character is an ex-warrior who's become a peacenik, so I have this group of peaceful—sort of like a cult—a peaceful tribe. I bring back a much-loved character everybody thinks is dead. So I think he'll be playing Elder Brother Unless D&D conflate the characters somehow? But when I first heard about his casting I was hoping for a Hooded Man, truth be told! For spoilers, hit the yellow smiley face that has a finger to its lips, sort of looks like a Fu Manchu moustache...top right of the main post editing bar.
|
|
|
Post by Ser Duncan on Jun 3, 2016 1:27:58 GMT
I hope I'm not spoiling anyone's party by not putting this in a spoiler. Still new to this site and haven't posted much so I'm not familiar with the editing icons. My guess is it's the insert code button....anyway, this is really not a spoiler as much as it's a theory, or wish on my part. By good buddy Albert Swearengen (Deadwood series) a.k.a. Ian McShane has yet to be seen this season. He is listed in the upcoming episode but no title has been given. From what I can remember from the casting notes, his character was important to the show, but would have short lived time on screen. So who have we not seen yet in the first five books that would be important to the plot but not have much page time? You can count Cold Hands out as that was last week. Lady Stoneheart hasn't shown, but I would think that is reserved by Michelle Fairly. We haven't seen Vicatrion, but given the direction with Euron, Vic...is toast. The one person that we haven't seen is Marwyn, the Maester from the Citadel. By theory is the Ian McShane will play Marwyn and have a brief encounter with young Sam Tarly as he and Gilly arrive at the Citadel. Perhaps if we are fortunate...and if they are critical to the end game...we may even get to see a glass candle. Marwyn meets Sam..finds out about Aemon Targ's comment...and then finds his way on the fastest boat to Mereen. McShane seems a natural for this role for anyone who watched Ken Follett's series Pillars of the Earth. McShane played a rising priest in the series only to find...a quick way back down to his death. My guess is that this is where he will end up after crossing paths with Daenary's and thus would also be the same path as book Marwyn. That's my two and one half cents. Again, hope I didn't spoil anything but not activating the spoilers. Nae worries, you're fine with your post. However, McShane gave some interviews before the series started and he was horrible at not giving out spoilers. I'm going to put this in a spoiler box so you can decide if you want to know who he's playing or not. McShane pretty much said he's playing the Elder Brother from the Quiet Isle. He said he's a priest with healing powers.
He also let some huge spoilers slip on one morning show about what his character is going to do to the plot. Basically, he confirmed a long held fan theory about a certain person not being dead. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about if you've read the spoiler above. But I would love it if he was talking out his arse on purpose and he turns out to be Marwyn, because he would be perfect for that role. ETA LOL 'ed by WP.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2016 1:28:22 GMT
I hope I'm not spoiling anyone's party by not putting this in a spoiler. Still new to this site and haven't posted much so I'm not familiar with the editing icons. My guess is it's the insert code button....anyway, this is really not a spoiler as much as it's a theory, or wish on my part. By good buddy Albert Swearengen (Deadwood series) a.k.a. Ian McShane has yet to be seen this season. He is listed in the upcoming episode but no title has been given. From what I can remember from the casting notes, his character was important to the show, but would have short lived time on screen. So who have we not seen yet in the first five books that would be important to the plot but not have much page time? You can count Cold Hands out as that was last week. Lady Stoneheart hasn't shown, but I would think that is reserved by Michelle Fairly. We haven't seen Vicatrion, but given the direction with Euron, Vic...is toast. The one person that we haven't seen is Marwyn, the Maester from the Citadel. By theory is the Ian McShane will play Marwyn and have a brief encounter with young Sam Tarly as he and Gilly arrive at the Citadel. Perhaps if we are fortunate...and if they are critical to the end game...we may even get to see a glass candle. Marwyn meets Sam..finds out about Aemon Targ's comment...and then finds his way on the fastest boat to Mereen. McShane seems a natural for this role for anyone who watched Ken Follett's series Pillars of the Earth. McShane played a rising priest in the series only to find...a quick way back down to his death. My guess is that this is where he will end up after crossing paths with Daenary's and thus would also be the same path as book Marwyn. That's my two and one half cents. Again, hope I didn't spoil anything but not activating the spoilers. I like this idea a lot and it's one I haven't heard yet in regards to McShane's character. I did hear that his character is suppose to have a long powerful speech as well.
|
|
|
Post by Weasel Pie on Jun 3, 2016 1:29:10 GMT
I hope I'm not spoiling anyone's party by not putting this in a spoiler. Still new to this site and haven't posted much so I'm not familiar with the editing icons. My guess is it's the insert code button....anyway, this is really not a spoiler as much as it's a theory, or wish on my part. By good buddy Albert Swearengen (Deadwood series) a.k.a. Ian McShane has yet to be seen this season. He is listed in the upcoming episode but no title has been given. From what I can remember from the casting notes, his character was important to the show, but would have short lived time on screen. So who have we not seen yet in the first five books that would be important to the plot but not have much page time? You can count Cold Hands out as that was last week. Lady Stoneheart hasn't shown, but I would think that is reserved by Michelle Fairly. We haven't seen Vicatrion, but given the direction with Euron, Vic...is toast. The one person that we haven't seen is Marwyn, the Maester from the Citadel. By theory is the Ian McShane will play Marwyn and have a brief encounter with young Sam Tarly as he and Gilly arrive at the Citadel. Perhaps if we are fortunate...and if they are critical to the end game...we may even get to see a glass candle. Marwyn meets Sam..finds out about Aemon Targ's comment...and then finds his way on the fastest boat to Mereen. McShane seems a natural for this role for anyone who watched Ken Follett's series Pillars of the Earth. McShane played a rising priest in the series only to find...a quick way back down to his death. My guess is that this is where he will end up after crossing paths with Daenary's and thus would also be the same path as book Marwyn. That's my two and one half cents. Again, hope I didn't spoil anything but not activating the spoilers. Nae worries, you're fine with your post. However, McShane gave some interviews before the series started and he was horrible at not giving out spoilers. I'm going to put this in a spoiler box so you can decide if you want to know who he's playing or not. McShane pretty much said he's playing the Elder Brother from the Quiet Isle. He said he's a priest with healing powers.
He also let some huge spoilers slip on one morning show about what his character is going to do to the plot. Basically, he confirmed a long held fan theory about a certain person not being dead. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about if you've read the spoiler above. But I would love it if he was talking out his arse on purpose and he turns out to be Marwin, because he would be perfect for that role. Fits the theme of The Broken Man too!
|
|
|
Post by Ser Duncan on Jun 3, 2016 1:31:41 GMT
LOL poor Mace, he here two minutes and gets bombarded by replies.
|
|
|
Post by Weasel Pie on Jun 3, 2016 1:32:23 GMT
I hope I'm not spoiling anyone's party by not putting this in a spoiler. Still new to this site and haven't posted much so I'm not familiar with the editing icons. My guess is it's the insert code button....anyway, this is really not a spoiler as much as it's a theory, or wish on my part. By good buddy Albert Swearengen (Deadwood series) a.k.a. Ian McShane has yet to be seen this season. He is listed in the upcoming episode but no title has been given. From what I can remember from the casting notes, his character was important to the show, but would have short lived time on screen. So who have we not seen yet in the first five books that would be important to the plot but not have much page time? You can count Cold Hands out as that was last week. Lady Stoneheart hasn't shown, but I would think that is reserved by Michelle Fairly. We haven't seen Vicatrion, but given the direction with Euron, Vic...is toast. The one person that we haven't seen is Marwyn, the Maester from the Citadel. By theory is the Ian McShane will play Marwyn and have a brief encounter with young Sam Tarly as he and Gilly arrive at the Citadel. Perhaps if we are fortunate...and if they are critical to the end game...we may even get to see a glass candle. Marwyn meets Sam..finds out about Aemon Targ's comment...and then finds his way on the fastest boat to Mereen. McShane seems a natural for this role for anyone who watched Ken Follett's series Pillars of the Earth. McShane played a rising priest in the series only to find...a quick way back down to his death. My guess is that this is where he will end up after crossing paths with Daenary's and thus would also be the same path as book Marwyn. That's my two and one half cents. Again, hope I didn't spoil anything but not activating the spoilers. I like this idea a lot and it's one I haven't heard yet in regards to McShane's character. I did hear that his character is suppose to have a long powerful speech as well. Isn't is Septon Meribald that gives us an awesome speech in the book? I can't remember one from EB.
|
|
|
Post by Ser Duncan on Jun 3, 2016 1:38:57 GMT
Isn't is Septon Meribald that gives us an awesome speech in the book? I can't remember one from EB. The Elder Brother tells Brienne all about war and how he came to be the Elder Brother. He also tells her about how he found the Hound and gave him comfort in his final moments. So there's one speech right there, in the first part all about how war is fruitless. There is a possible second speech about what happened to the Hound. I would imagine they're going to conflate the two (the EB and Septon Meribald), if they go that route.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2016 1:39:25 GMT
I like this idea a lot and it's one I haven't heard yet in regards to McShane's character. I did hear that his character is suppose to have a long powerful speech as well. Isn't is Septon Meribald that gives us an awesome speech in the book? I can't remember one from EB. Honestly I don't remember. I'll check LOL
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2016 1:39:56 GMT
Isn't is Septon Meribald that gives us an awesome speech in the book? I can't remember one from EB. The Elder Brother tells Brienne all about war and how he came to be the Elder Brother. He also tells her about how he found the Hound and gave him comfort in his final moments. So there's one speech right there, in the first part all about how war is fruitless. There is a possible second speech about what happened to the Hound. I would imagine they're going to conflate the two (the EB and Septon Meribald), if they go that route. You are too fast;)
|
|
|
Post by Weasel Pie on Jun 3, 2016 1:42:51 GMT
“Ser? My lady?” said Podrick. “Is a broken man an outlaw?” “More or less,” Brienne answered. Septon Meribald disagreed. “More less than more. There are many sorts of outlaws, just as there are many sorts of birds. A sandpiper and a sea eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing of good men forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked lord, but most outlaws are more like this ravening Hound than they are the lightning lord. They are evil men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they may be just as dangerous. Almost all are common-born, simple folk who had never been more than a mile from the house where they were born until the day some lord came round to take them off to war. Poorly shod and poorly clad, they march away beneath his banners, ofttimes with no better arms than a sickle or a sharpened hoe, or a maul they made themselves by lashing a stone to a stick with strips of hide. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They’ve heard the songs and stories, so they go off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see, of the wealth and glory they will win. War seems a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know. “Then they get a taste of battle. “For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they’ve been gutted by an axe. “They see the lord who led them there cut down, and some other lord shouts that they are his now. They take a wound, and when that’s still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from the marching, their clothes are torn and rotting, and half of them are shitting in their breeches from drinking bad water. “If they want new boots or a warmer cloak or maybe a rusted iron halfhelm, they need to take them from a corpse, and before long they are stealing from the living too, from the smallfolk whose lands they’re fighting in, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it’s just a short step to carrying off their daughters too. And one day they look around and realize all their friends and kin are gone, that they are fighting beside strangers beneath a banner that they hardly recognize. They don’t know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they’re fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world… “And the man breaks. “He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steals away in the black of night, and he finds someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a haunch of spoiled meat that will let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fear for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them…but he should pity them as well.” When Meribald was finished a profound silence fell upon their little band. Brienne could hear the wind rustling through a clump of pussywillows, and farther off the faint cry of a loon. She could hear Dog panting softly as he loped along beside the septon and his donkey, tongue lolling from his mouth. The quiet stretched and stretched, until finally she said, “How old were you when they marched you off to war?” “Why, no older than your boy,” Meribald replied. “Too young for such, in truth, but my brothers were all going, and I would not be left behind. Willam said I could be his squire, though Will was no knight, only a potboy armed with a kitchen knife he’d stolen from the inn. He died upon the Stepstones, and never struck a blow. It was fever did for him, and for my brother Robin. Owen died from a mace that split his head apart, and his friend Jon Pox was hanged for rape.” “The War of the Ninepenny Kings?” asked Hyle Hunt. “So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was.”
|
|
|
Post by Ser Duncan on Jun 3, 2016 1:43:44 GMT
Nah, it's just because I love the EB chapter. He gives a lot info on how war is waged and how he turned away from it and defied the standards of his class. Plus, I've got some crackpot theories about who he really is. So it kind sticks in my head.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2016 1:48:10 GMT
Nah, it's just because I love the EB chapter. He gives a lot info on how war is waged and how he turned away from it and defied the standards of his class. Plus, I've got some crackpot theories about who he really is. So it kind sticks in my head. I'd like to hear some of these theories!
|
|
|
Post by Ser Duncan on Jun 3, 2016 1:55:27 GMT
“Ser? My lady?” said Podrick. “Is a broken man an outlaw?” “More or less,” Brienne answered. Septon Meribald disagreed. “More less than more. There are many sorts of outlaws, just as there are many sorts of birds. A sandpiper and a sea eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing of good men forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked lord, but most outlaws are more like this ravening Hound than they are the lightning lord. They are evil men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they may be just as dangerous. Almost all are common-born, simple folk who had never been more than a mile from the house where they were born until the day some lord came round to take them off to war. Poorly shod and poorly clad, they march away beneath his banners, ofttimes with no better arms than a sickle or a sharpened hoe, or a maul they made themselves by lashing a stone to a stick with strips of hide. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They’ve heard the songs and stories, so they go off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see, of the wealth and glory they will win. War seems a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know. “Then they get a taste of battle. “For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they’ve been gutted by an axe. “They see the lord who led them there cut down, and some other lord shouts that they are his now. They take a wound, and when that’s still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from the marching, their clothes are torn and rotting, and half of them are shitting in their breeches from drinking bad water. “If they want new boots or a warmer cloak or maybe a rusted iron halfhelm, they need to take them from a corpse, and before long they are stealing from the living too, from the smallfolk whose lands they’re fighting in, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it’s just a short step to carrying off their daughters too. And one day they look around and realize all their friends and kin are gone, that they are fighting beside strangers beneath a banner that they hardly recognize. They don’t know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they’re fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world… “And the man breaks. “He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steals away in the black of night, and he finds someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a haunch of spoiled meat that will let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fear for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them…but he should pity them as well.” When Meribald was finished a profound silence fell upon their little band. Brienne could hear the wind rustling through a clump of pussywillows, and farther off the faint cry of a loon. She could hear Dog panting softly as he loped along beside the septon and his donkey, tongue lolling from his mouth. The quiet stretched and stretched, until finally she said, “How old were you when they marched you off to war?” “Why, no older than your boy,” Meribald replied. “Too young for such, in truth, but my brothers were all going, and I would not be left behind. Willam said I could be his squire, though Will was no knight, only a potboy armed with a kitchen knife he’d stolen from the inn. He died upon the Stepstones, and never struck a blow. It was fever did for him, and for my brother Robin. Owen died from a mace that split his head apart, and his friend Jon Pox was hanged for rape.” “The War of the Ninepenny Kings?” asked Hyle Hunt. “So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was.” I'll see your Septon Meribald and raise with the Elder Brother “I am certain that the child was with Sandor Clegane at the inn beside the crossroads, the one old Masha Heddle used to keep, before the lions hanged her. I am certain they were on their way to Saltpans. Beyond that... no. I do not know where she is, or even if she lives. There is one thing I do know, however. The man you hunt is dead.” That was another shock. “How did he die?” “By the sword, as he had lived.” “You know this for a certainty?” “I buried him myself. I can tell you where his grave lies, if you wish. I covered him with stones to keep the carrion eaters from digging up his flesh, and set his helm atop the cairn to mark his final resting place. That was a grievous error. Some other wayfarer found my marker and claimed it for himself. The man who raped and killed at Saltpans was not Sandor Clegane, though he may be as dangerous. The riverlands are full of such scavengers. I will not call them wolves. Wolves are nobler than that... and so are dogs, I think. “I know a little of this man, Sandor Clegane. He was Prince Joffrey’s sworn shield for many a year, and even here we would hear tell of his deeds, both good and ill. If even half of what we heard was true, this was a bitter, tormented soul, a sinner who mocked both gods and men. He served, but found no pride in service. He fought, but took no joy in victory. He drank, to drown his pain in a sea of wine. He did not love, nor was he loved himself. It was hate that drove him. Though he committed many sins, he never sought forgiveness. Where other men dream of love, or wealth, or glory, this man Sandor Clegane dreamed of slaying his own brother, a sin so terrible it makes me shudder just to speak of it. Yet that was the bread that nourished him, the fuel that kept his fires burning. Ignoble as it was, the hope of seeing his brother’s blood upon his blade was all this sad and angry creature lived for... and even that was taken from him, when Prince Oberyn of Dorne stabbed Ser Gregor with a poisoned spear.” “You sound as if you pity him,” said Brienne. “I did. You would have pitied him as well, if you had seen him at the end. I came upon him by the Trident, drawn by his cries of pain. He begged me for the gift of mercy, but I am sworn not to kill again. Instead, I bathed his fevered brow with river water, and gave him wine to drink and a poultice for his wound, but my efforts were too little and too late. The Hound died there, in my arms. You may have seen a big black stallion in our stables. That was his warhorse, Stranger. A blasphemous name. We prefer to call him Driftwood, as he was found beside the river. I fear he has his former master’s nature.” The horse. She had seen the stallion, had heard it kicking, but she had not understood. Destriers were trained to kick and bite. In war they were a weapon, like the men who rode them. Like the Hound. “It is true, then,” she said dully. “Sandor Clegane is dead.” “He is at rest.” The Elder Brother paused. “You are young, child. I have counted four-and-forty name days... which makes me more than twice your age, I think. Would it surprise you to learn that I was once a knight?” “No. You look more like a knight than you do a holy man.” It was written in his chest and shoulders, and across that thick square jaw. “Why would you give up knighthood?” “I never chose it. My father was a knight, and his before him. So were my brothers, every one. I was trained for battle since the day they deemed me old enough to hold a wooden sword. I saw my share of them, and did not disgrace myself. I had women too, and there I did disgrace myself, for some I took by force. There was a girl I wished to marry, the younger daughter of a petty lord, but I was my father’s thirdborn son and had neither land nor wealth to offer her... only a sword, a horse, a shield. All in all, I was a sad man. When I was not fighting, I was drunk. My life was writ in red, in blood and wine.” “When did it change?” asked Brienne. “When I died in the Battle of the Trident. I fought for Prince Rhaegar, though he never knew my name. I could not tell you why, save that the lord I served served a lord who served a lord who had decided to support the dragon rather than the stag. Had he decided elsewise, I might have been on the other side of the river. The battle was a bloody thing. The singers would have us believe it was all Rhaegar and Robert struggling in the stream for a woman both of them claimed to love, but I assure you, other men were fighting too, and I was one. I took an arrow through the thigh and another through the foot, and my horse was killed from under me, yet I fought on. I can still remember how desperate I was to find another horse, for I had no coin to buy one, and without a horse I would no longer be a knight. That was all that I was thinking of, if truth be told. I never saw the blow that felled me. I heard hooves behind my back and thought, a horse! but before I could turn something slammed into my head and knocked me back into the river, where by rights I should have drowned. “Instead I woke here, upon the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother told me I had washed up on the tide, naked as my name day. I can only think that someone found me in the shallows, stripped me of my armor, boots, and breeches, and pushed me back out into the deeper water. The river did the rest. We are all born naked, so I suppose it was only fitting that I come into my second life the same way. I spent the next ten years in silence.” “I see.” Brienne did not know why he was telling her all of this, or what else she ought to say. “Do you?” He leaned forward, his big hands on his knees. “If so, give up this quest of yours. The Hound is dead, and in any case he never had your Sansa Stark. As for this beast who wears his helm, he will be found and hanged. The wars are ending, and these outlaws cannot survive the peace. Randyll Tarly is hunting them from Maidenpool and Walder Frey from the Twins, and there is a new young lord in Darry, a pious man who will surely set his lands to rights. Go home, child. You have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days. You have a noble father who must surely love you. Consider his grief if you should never return. Perhaps they will bring your sword and shield to him, after you have fallen. Perhaps he will even hang them in his hall and look on them with pride... but if you were to ask him, I know he would tell you that he would sooner have a living daughter than a shattered shield.”
|
|
|
Post by Ser Duncan on Jun 3, 2016 1:56:45 GMT
I'd like to hear some of these theories! Let me get through my summer course and I'll see what I can put together.
|
|
|
Post by Weasel Pie on Jun 3, 2016 1:58:03 GMT
“Ser? My lady?” said Podrick. “Is a broken man an outlaw?” “More or less,” Brienne answered. Septon Meribald disagreed. “More less than more. There are many sorts of outlaws, just as there are many sorts of birds. A sandpiper and a sea eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing of good men forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked lord, but most outlaws are more like this ravening Hound than they are the lightning lord. They are evil men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they may be just as dangerous. Almost all are common-born, simple folk who had never been more than a mile from the house where they were born until the day some lord came round to take them off to war. Poorly shod and poorly clad, they march away beneath his banners, ofttimes with no better arms than a sickle or a sharpened hoe, or a maul they made themselves by lashing a stone to a stick with strips of hide. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They’ve heard the songs and stories, so they go off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see, of the wealth and glory they will win. War seems a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know. “Then they get a taste of battle. “For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they’ve been gutted by an axe. “They see the lord who led them there cut down, and some other lord shouts that they are his now. They take a wound, and when that’s still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from the marching, their clothes are torn and rotting, and half of them are shitting in their breeches from drinking bad water. “If they want new boots or a warmer cloak or maybe a rusted iron halfhelm, they need to take them from a corpse, and before long they are stealing from the living too, from the smallfolk whose lands they’re fighting in, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it’s just a short step to carrying off their daughters too. And one day they look around and realize all their friends and kin are gone, that they are fighting beside strangers beneath a banner that they hardly recognize. They don’t know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they’re fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world… “And the man breaks. “He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steals away in the black of night, and he finds someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a haunch of spoiled meat that will let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fear for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them…but he should pity them as well.” When Meribald was finished a profound silence fell upon their little band. Brienne could hear the wind rustling through a clump of pussywillows, and farther off the faint cry of a loon. She could hear Dog panting softly as he loped along beside the septon and his donkey, tongue lolling from his mouth. The quiet stretched and stretched, until finally she said, “How old were you when they marched you off to war?” “Why, no older than your boy,” Meribald replied. “Too young for such, in truth, but my brothers were all going, and I would not be left behind. Willam said I could be his squire, though Will was no knight, only a potboy armed with a kitchen knife he’d stolen from the inn. He died upon the Stepstones, and never struck a blow. It was fever did for him, and for my brother Robin. Owen died from a mace that split his head apart, and his friend Jon Pox was hanged for rape.” “The War of the Ninepenny Kings?” asked Hyle Hunt. “So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was.” I'll see your Septon Meribald and raise with the Elder Brother “I am certain that the child was with Sandor Clegane at the inn beside the crossroads, the one old Masha Heddle used to keep, before the lions hanged her. I am certain they were on their way to Saltpans. Beyond that... no. I do not know where she is, or even if she lives. There is one thing I do know, however. The man you hunt is dead.” That was another shock. “How did he die?” “By the sword, as he had lived.” “You know this for a certainty?” “I buried him myself. I can tell you where his grave lies, if you wish. I covered him with stones to keep the carrion eaters from digging up his flesh, and set his helm atop the cairn to mark his final resting place. That was a grievous error. Some other wayfarer found my marker and claimed it for himself. The man who raped and killed at Saltpans was not Sandor Clegane, though he may be as dangerous. The riverlands are full of such scavengers. I will not call them wolves. Wolves are nobler than that... and so are dogs, I think. “I know a little of this man, Sandor Clegane. He was Prince Joffrey’s sworn shield for many a year, and even here we would hear tell of his deeds, both good and ill. If even half of what we heard was true, this was a bitter, tormented soul, a sinner who mocked both gods and men. He served, but found no pride in service. He fought, but took no joy in victory. He drank, to drown his pain in a sea of wine. He did not love, nor was he loved himself. It was hate that drove him. Though he committed many sins, he never sought forgiveness. Where other men dream of love, or wealth, or glory, this man Sandor Clegane dreamed of slaying his own brother, a sin so terrible it makes me shudder just to speak of it. Yet that was the bread that nourished him, the fuel that kept his fires burning. Ignoble as it was, the hope of seeing his brother’s blood upon his blade was all this sad and angry creature lived for... and even that was taken from him, when Prince Oberyn of Dorne stabbed Ser Gregor with a poisoned spear.” “You sound as if you pity him,” said Brienne. “I did. You would have pitied him as well, if you had seen him at the end. I came upon him by the Trident, drawn by his cries of pain. He begged me for the gift of mercy, but I am sworn not to kill again. Instead, I bathed his fevered brow with river water, and gave him wine to drink and a poultice for his wound, but my efforts were too little and too late. The Hound died there, in my arms. You may have seen a big black stallion in our stables. That was his warhorse, Stranger. A blasphemous name. We prefer to call him Driftwood, as he was found beside the river. I fear he has his former master’s nature.” The horse. She had seen the stallion, had heard it kicking, but she had not understood. Destriers were trained to kick and bite. In war they were a weapon, like the men who rode them. Like the Hound. “It is true, then,” she said dully. “Sandor Clegane is dead.” “He is at rest.” The Elder Brother paused. “You are young, child. I have counted four-and-forty name days... which makes me more than twice your age, I think. Would it surprise you to learn that I was once a knight?” “No. You look more like a knight than you do a holy man.” It was written in his chest and shoulders, and across that thick square jaw. “Why would you give up knighthood?” “I never chose it. My father was a knight, and his before him. So were my brothers, every one. I was trained for battle since the day they deemed me old enough to hold a wooden sword. I saw my share of them, and did not disgrace myself. I had women too, and there I did disgrace myself, for some I took by force. There was a girl I wished to marry, the younger daughter of a petty lord, but I was my father’s thirdborn son and had neither land nor wealth to offer her... only a sword, a horse, a shield. All in all, I was a sad man. When I was not fighting, I was drunk. My life was writ in red, in blood and wine.” “When did it change?” asked Brienne. “When I died in the Battle of the Trident. I fought for Prince Rhaegar, though he never knew my name. I could not tell you why, save that the lord I served served a lord who served a lord who had decided to support the dragon rather than the stag. Had he decided elsewise, I might have been on the other side of the river. The battle was a bloody thing. The singers would have us believe it was all Rhaegar and Robert struggling in the stream for a woman both of them claimed to love, but I assure you, other men were fighting too, and I was one. I took an arrow through the thigh and another through the foot, and my horse was killed from under me, yet I fought on. I can still remember how desperate I was to find another horse, for I had no coin to buy one, and without a horse I would no longer be a knight. That was all that I was thinking of, if truth be told. I never saw the blow that felled me. I heard hooves behind my back and thought, a horse! but before I could turn something slammed into my head and knocked me back into the river, where by rights I should have drowned. “Instead I woke here, upon the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother told me I had washed up on the tide, naked as my name day. I can only think that someone found me in the shallows, stripped me of my armor, boots, and breeches, and pushed me back out into the deeper water. The river did the rest. We are all born naked, so I suppose it was only fitting that I come into my second life the same way. I spent the next ten years in silence.” “I see.” Brienne did not know why he was telling her all of this, or what else she ought to say. “Do you?” He leaned forward, his big hands on his knees. “If so, give up this quest of yours. The Hound is dead, and in any case he never had your Sansa Stark. As for this beast who wears his helm, he will be found and hanged. The wars are ending, and these outlaws cannot survive the peace. Randyll Tarly is hunting them from Maidenpool and Walder Frey from the Twins, and there is a new young lord in Darry, a pious man who will surely set his lands to rights. Go home, child. You have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days. You have a noble father who must surely love you. Consider his grief if you should never return. Perhaps they will bring your sword and shield to him, after you have fallen. Perhaps he will even hang them in his hall and look on them with pride... but if you were to ask him, I know he would tell you that he would sooner have a living daughter than a shattered shield.” Damn, those are both outstanding speeches. I bet they get combined...
|
|