“Who wrote it?” Gerris asked.
Maester Aron closed the book. For a long moment, he did not answer. The candle flame flickered. Outside the window, the stars of the northern sky burned cold and silent. libros de cancion de hielo y fuego
He dipped the quill in ink and began to write. Not what was true. But what should be. “Who wrote it
They read in silence for an hour. The book told of a war fought not for an iron chair, but for a thing called the Sunstone , a gem that could command the seasons. It spoke of a prince who was promised, but the prince was a woman named Visenya, who rode a dragon the color of sea foam. It described the Others not as silent, beautiful creatures of ice, but as shambling, grey-skinned things with glowing red eyes, called the Hollow Men . The candle flame flickered
The maester’s lamp cast a trembling pool of amber light across the oak table. In the center lay a book. Not a large tome bound in leather and studded with iron, nor a slender codex of prophecies, but something in between: a worn journal, its spine cracked, its cover soft as old skin.
Gerris looked up. His face was pale. “Maester? Are we… are we real?”
“That, my boy,” he finally said, “is a question for the Citadel. And one I fear they will never answer.”