and to celebrate this, here's a poem about one of my favourite characters from the series.
If you haven't watched any yet, do check it out cos it's brilliant. Not as brilliant however as the series of books the tv show is based upon. Finest tale I've read, five books in and it's not finished yet!
Check out the reviews on Amazon...
Anyway, here's the poem. Thanks for reading :)
The Spider
As you pace and plot
within your tower,
Can your vision pierce the
flesh and see the bones
That truly serve to frame
your will to power?
O lordling, would you play
the game of thrones?
They cut away my manhood
as a boy,
And as I bled, I watched
it as it burned.
I learned to live by ruse,
and trick, and ploy,
And how to ride each tide
before it turned.
I attend to every trouble,
every care.
My little birds, they
whisper many things.
That which I learn, I
choose, or not, to share;
Such is my shield amidst
this clash of kings.
Aerys? Oh, now he was
truly mad.
I watched the horrors burn
away his mind.
The acts that he committed
made me... sad,
For 'tis true, I knew him
when he could be kind.
They sneer at me, and
march off to their wars,
These brutal, preening,
all-unknowing lords.
I know them for their
hungers and their flaws;
Such grants me shelter
'neath a storm of swords.
Robert, not well-suited to
the game,
Once made a handsome
sight, but little more.
The... accident that took
him was a shame;
Drunken, fat, and gutted
by a boar.
I shivered when I saw the
raven's feathers.
I feel the breeze wax
colder as it blows.
I see the warlords
straining at their tethers,
Each eager to provide a
feast for crows.
Joffrey? What a fierce,
strong-minded child!
What more a lion could a
king beget?
I fear his power has not
made him mild,
But we may see him learn
his lesson yet.
The maesters say this
world has lost its magic,
That power now resides in
axe, and lance.
Some shake their learned
heads, pronounce it tragic,
That we shall no more see
the dragons' dance.
But me? I've caught some
rumours and some tattle,
That my little birds have
flown me from the east.
I wonder if this time of
blades, and battle,
One day will not matter in
the least.
I've heard that when this
troubled summer dies,
Our tears shall freeze,
our swords will shard and splinter.
The blizzards from the
north will shroud our skies,
And we shall shudder
'neath the winds of winter.
But 'til that fated day I
live to serve,
And whisper to whomever
sits the throne.
Some say that I will get
what I deserve,
But the truth of what that
is remains my own.
The members of the council
come and go,
But I remain and tend my
noble king.
And when the castles sink
beneath the snow,
I'll nestle deep, and
dream a dream of spring.
What care I which beast
becrowns your helm?
I serve not you.
I serve the realm.
