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Dreamsongs: A RRetrospective (English Edition) par [Martin, George R.R.]
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Longueur : 740 pages Word Wise: Activé Composition améliorée: Activé
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The Hedge Night

A Tale of the Seven Kingdoms

The spring rains had softened the ground, so Dunk had no trouble digging the grave. He chose a spot on the western slope of a low hill, for the old man had always loved to watch the sunset.

“Another day done,” he would sigh, “and who knows what the morrow will bring us, eh, Dunk?”

Well, one morrow had brought rains that soaked them to the bones, and the one after had brought wet gusty winds, and the next a chill. By the fourth day the old man was too weak to ride. And now he was gone. Only a few days past, he had been singing as they rode, the old song about going to Gulltown to see a fair maid, but instead of Gulltown he’d sung of Ashford. Off to Ashford to see the fair maid, heighho, heigh-ho, Dunk thought miserably as he dug.

When the hole was deep enough, he lifted the old man’s body in his arms and carried him there. He had been a small man, and slim; stripped of hauberk, helm, and sword belt, he seemed to weigh no more than a bag of leaves. Dunk was hugely tall for his age, a shambling, shaggy, bigboned boy of sixteen or seventeen years (no one was quite certain which) who stood closer to seven feet than to six, and had only just begun to fill out his frame. The old man had often praised his strength. He had always been generous in his praise. It was all he had to give.

He laid him out in the bottom of the grave and stood over him for a time. The smell of rain was in the air again, and he knew he ought to fill the hole before the rain broke, but it was hard to throw dirt down on that tired old face. There ought to be a septon here, to say some prayers over him, but he only has me. The old man had taught Dunk all he knew of swords and shields and lances, but had never been much good at teaching him words.

“I’d leave your sword, but it would rust in the ground,” he said at last, apologetic. “The gods will give you a new one, I guess. I wish you didn’t die, ser.” He paused, uncertain what else needed to be said. He didn’t know any prayers, not all the way through; the old man had never been much for praying. “You were a true knight, and you never beat me when I didn’t deserve it,” he finally managed, “except that one time in Maidenpool. It was the inn boy who ate the widow woman’s pie, not me, I told you. It don’t matter now. The gods keep you, ser.”

He kicked dirt in the hole, then began to fill it methodically, never looking at the thing at the bottom. He had a long life, Dunk thought. He must have been closer to sixty than to fifty, and how many men can say that? At least he had lived to see another spring.

The sun was westering as he fed the horses. There were three; his swaybacked stot, the old man’s palfrey, and Thunder, his warhorse, who was ridden only in tourney and battle. The big brown stallion was not as swift or strong as he had once been, but he still had his bright eye and fierce spirit, and he was more valuable than everything else Dunk owned.

If I sold Thunder and old Chestnut, and the saddles and bridles too, I’d come away with enough silver to...
Dunk frowned. The only life he knew was the life of a hedge knight, riding from keep to keep, taking service with this lord and that lord, fighting in their battles and eating in their halls until the war was done, then moving on. There were tourneys from time to time as well, though less often, and he knew that some hedge knights turned robber during lean winters, though the old man never had.

I could find another hedge knight in need of a squire to tend his animals and clean his mail,
he thought, or might be I could go to some city, to Lannisport or King’s Landing, and join the City Watch. Or else . . .

He had piled the old man’s things under an oak. The cloth purse contained three silver stags, nineteen copper pennies, and a chipped garnet; as with most hedge knights, the greatest part of his worldly wealth had been tied up in his horses and weapons. Dunk now owned a chain-mail hauberk that he had scoured the rust off a thousand times.

An iron halfhelm with a broad nasal and a dent on the left temple. A sword belt of cracked brown leather, and a longsword in a wood-andleather scabbard. A dagger, a razor, a whetstone. Greaves and gorget, an eight-foot war lance of turned ash topped by a cruel iron point, and anm oaken shield with a scarred metal rim, bearing the sigil of Ser Arlan of Pennytree: a winged chalice, silver on brown.

Dunk looked at the shield, scooped up the sword belt, and looked at the shield again. The belt was made for the old man’s skinny hips. It would never do for him, no more than the hauberk would. He tied the scabbard to a length of hempen rope, knotted it around his waist, and drew the longsword.

The blade was straight and heavy, good castle-forged steel, the grip soft leather wrapped over wood, the pommel a smooth polished black stone. Plain as it was, the sword felt good in his hand, and Dunk knew how sharp it was, having worked it with whetstone and oilcloth many a night before they went to sleep. It fits my grip as well as it ever fit his, he thought to himself, and there is a tourney at Ashford Meadow.
Sweetfoot had an easier gait than old Chestnut, but Dunk was still sore and tired when he spied the inn ahead, a tall daub-andtimber building beside a stream. The warm yellow light spilling from its windows looked so inviting that he could not pass it by. I have three silvers, he told himself, enough for a good meal and as much ale as I care to drink.

As he dismounted, a naked boy emerged dripping from the stream and began to dry himself on a roughspun brown cloak.

“Are you the stableboy?”

Dunk asked him. The lad looked to be no more than eight or nine, a pasty-faced skinny thing, his bare feet caked in mud up to the ankle.

His hair was the queerest thing about him. He had none. “I’ll want my palfrey rubbed down. And oats for all three. Can you tend to them?”

The boy looked at him brazenly. “I could. If I wanted.”

Dunk frowned. “I’ll have none of that. I am a knight, I’ll have you know.”

“You don’t look to be a knight.”

“Do all knights look the same?”

“No, but they don’t look like you, either. Your sword belt’s made of rope.”

“So long as it holds my scabbard, it serves. Now see to my horses.

You’ll get a copper if you do well, and a clout in the ear if you don’t.”

He did not wait to see how the stableboy took that, but turned away and shouldered through the door.

At this hour, he would have expected the inn to be crowded, but the common room was almost empty. A young lordling in a fine damask mantle was passed out at one table, snoring softly into a pool of spilled wine. Otherwise there was no one. Dunk looked around uncertainly until a stout, short, whey-faced woman emerged from the kitchens and said, “Sit where you like. Is it ale you want, or food?”

“Both.” Dunk took a chair by the window, well away from the sleeping man.

“There’s good lamb, roasted with a crust of herbs, and some ducks my son shot down. Which will you have?”

He had not eaten at an inn in half a year or more. “Both.”

The woman laughed. “Well, you’re big enough for it.” She drew a tankard of ale and brought it to his table.

“Will you be wanting a room for the night as well?”

“No.” Dunk would have liked nothing better than a soft straw mattress and a roof above his head, but he needed to be careful with his coin. The ground would serve. “Some food, some ale, and it’s on to Ashford for me. How much farther is it?”

“A day’s ride. Bear north when the road forks at the burned mill. Is my boy seeing to your horses, or has he run off again?”

“No, he’s there,” said Dunk. “You seem to have no custom.”

“Half the town’s gone to see the tourney.My own would as well, if I allowed it. They’ll have this inn when I go, but the boy would sooner swagger about with soldiers, and the girl turns to sighs and giggles every time a knight rides by. I swear I couldn’t tell you why. Knights are built the same as other men, and I never knew a joust to change the price of eggs.” She eyed Dunk curiously; his sword and shield told her one thing, his rope belt and roughspun tunic quite another.

“You’re bound for the tourney yourself?”

He took a sip of the ale before he answered. A nut-brown color it was, and thick on the tongue, the way he liked it.

“Aye,” he said. “I mean to be a champion.”

“Do you, now?” the innkeep answered, polite enough.

Across the room, the lordling raised his head from the wine puddle.

His face had a sallow, unhealthy cast to it beneath a rat’s nest of sandy brown hair, and blond stubble crusted his chin. He rubbed his mouth, blinked at Dunk, and said, “I dreamed of you.” His hand trembled as he pointed a finger. “You stay away from me, do you hear? You stay well away.”

Dunk stared at him uncertainly. “My lord?”

The innkeep leaned close. “Never you mind that one, ser. All he does is drink and talk about his dreams. I’ll see about that food.” She bustled off.

“Food?” The lordling made the word an obscenity. He staggered to his feet, one hand on the table to keep himself from falling.

“I’m going to be sick,” he announced. The front of his tunic was crusty-red with old wine stains. “I wanted a whore, but there’s none to be found here.

All gone to Ashford Meadow. Gods be good, I need some wine.”

He lurched unsteadily from the common room, and Dunk heard him climbing steps, singing under his breath.

A sad creature,
thought Dunk. But why did he think he knew me? He pondered that a moment over his ale.

The lamb was as good as any he had ever eaten, and the duck was even better, cooked with cherries and lemons and not near as greasy as most. The innkeep brought buttered pease as well, and oaten bread still hot from her oven. This is what it means to be a knight, he told himself as he sucked the last bit of meat off the bone. Good food, and ale whenever I want it, and no one to clout me in the head. He had a second tankard of ale with the meal, a third to wash it down, and a fourth because there was no one to tell him he couldn’t, and when he was done he paid the woman with a silver stag and still got back a fistful of coppers. It was full dark by the time Dunk emerged. His stomach was full and his purse was a little lighter, but he felt good as he walked to the stables. Ahead, he heard a horse whicker. “Easy, lad,” a boy’s voice said.

Dunk quickened his step, frowning.

He found the stableboy mounted on Thunder and wearing the old man’s armor. The hauberk was longer than he was, and he’d had to tilt the helm back on his bald head or else it would have covered his eyes.

He looked utterly intent, and utterly absurd. Dunk stopped in the stable door and laughed.

The boy looked up, flushed, vaulted to the ground. “My lord, I did not mean–”

“Thief,” Dunk said, trying to sound stern. “Take off that armor, and be glad that Thunder didn’t kick you in that fool head. He’s a warhorse, not a boy’s pony.”

The boy took off the helm and flung it to the straw. “I could ride him as well as you,” he said, bold as you please.

“Close your mouth, I want none of your insolence. The hauberk too, take it off. What did you think you were doing?”

“How can I tell you, with my mouth closed?” The boy squirmed out of the chain mail and let it fall.

“You can open your mouth to answer,” said Dunk. “Now pick up that mail, shake off the dirt, and put it back where you found it. And the halfhelm too. Did you feed the horses, as I told you? And rub down Sweetfoot?”

“Yes,” the boy said, as he shook straw from the mail. “You’re going to Ashford, aren’t you? Take me with you, ser.”

The innkeep had warned him of this. “And what might your mother say to that?”

“My mother?” The boy wrinkled up his face. “My mother’s dead, she wouldn’t say anything.”

He was surprised. Wasn’t the innkeep his mother? Perhaps he was only ’prenticed to her. Dunk’s head was a little fuzzy from the ale. “Are you an orphan boy?” he asked uncertainly.

“Are you?” the boy threw back.

“I was once,” Dunk admitted. Till the old man took me in.

“If you took me, I could squire for you.”

“I have no need of a squire,” he said.

“Every knight needs a squire,” the boy said. “You look as though you need one more than most.”

Dunk raised a hand threateningly. “And you look as though you need a clout in the ear, it seems to me. Fill me a sack of oats. I’m off for Ashford . . . alone.”

If the boy was frightened, he hid it well. For a moment he stood there defiant, his arms crossed, but just as Dunk was about to give up on him the lad turned and went for the oats.

Dunk was relieved. A pity I couldn’t . . . but he has a good life here at the inn, a better one than he’d have squiring for a hedge knight.Taking him would be no kindness.

He could still feel the lad’s disappointment, though. As he mounted Sweetfoot and took up Thunder’s lead, Dunk decided that a copper penny might cheer him. “Here, lad, for your help.” He flipped the coin down at him with a smile, but the stableboy made no attempt to catch it. It fell in the dirt between his bare feet, and there he let it lie.

He’ll scoop it up as soon as I am gone,
Dunk told himself. He turned the palfrey and rode from the inn, leading the other two horses. The trees were bright with moonlight, and the sky was cloudless and speckled with stars. Yet as he headed down the road he could feel the stableboy watching his back, sullen and silent.

From the Hardcover edition.

Revue de presse

“Science fiction, fantasy and horror fans alike will be blown away by the diversity and quality of stories as well as by Martin's extensive and frank commentary.... This extraordinary collection is one to cherish.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review

From the Hardcover edition.

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1890 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 740 pages
  • Editeur : Gateway (18 septembre 2008)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0752890093
  • ISBN-13: 978-0752890098
  • ASIN: B002U3CBKM
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) HASH(0x913f92e8) étoiles sur 5 43 commentaires
15 internautes sur 18 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x913a815c) étoiles sur 5 "Dreamsongs Volume II" (From BookBanter) 10 mars 2008
Par Alex C. Telander - Publié sur
Format: Relié
In this second and final volume of George R. R. Martin's short works, readers are treated to his writings of the 1980's leading up to the 90s when his career took off with the eventual success of his Song of Ice and Fire series. It is in this collection that we learn more of Martin's dabbling into television and screenwriting, as well his exploits into the world of Dungeons & Dragons.

Divided into four parts, the first covers two stories involving Martin's eccentric character Haviland Tuf, an animal seller, who is the last surviving member of the ancient and defunct Ecological Group. Tuf with his menagerie travel the universe in The Ark, a ship that is many miles in length. All stories involving Tuf were eventually collected and published in a book, Tuf Voyaging, which Martin recommends fans seek out to read more about the redoubtable Tuf, but they must seek the used and out-of-print stores to find a copy.

The second part covers Martin's trip into screenwriting, specifically for TV shows. Two shows that Martin worked on were the 1980s incarnation of The Twilight Zone and Beauty and the Beast. Scripts for two episodes of The Twilight Zone: "The Road Less Traveled," and "Doorways" are included here. While this was essentially the end for Martin's involvement in TV, he is quick to point out that he learned greatly from it. It was just one of the stepping stones that led to the creation of his epic fantasy series, still some years away.

In the third section, Martin discusses the surprising success of the Wild Cards series, which began with role-playing games amongst a group of writers - including Martin - when he moved to Santa Fe. The worlds, ideas and set-ups created for the different games were the impetus for the Wild Cards series which is still doing very well and now has its own website at [...]

In the fourth and final part, Martin leads up to the start of his epic series with some popular stories along the way, as well as including the novella The Hedge Knight set ten years before the start of the series. And for those hardcore fans, at the end there is an exhaustive and comprehensive listing of all George R. R. Martin's works, should one feel the compunction to read absolutely everything the man has ever written.

While the completion and release date for the fifth Song of Ice and Fire book, A Dance With Dragons, is still a distant and unknown destination, the Dreamsongs series can lead one on tangents into Martin's other writings, eventually bringing them full circle when A Dance With Dragons is eventually released.

Originally written on December 15th 2007 ©Alex C. Telander.

For more book reviews and author interviews, go to BookBanter: [...]
4 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x913a81b0) étoiles sur 5 A middling experience 16 décembre 2012
Par I like stuff - Publié sur
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
What to say about Dreamsongs: Volume II? While it did have some solid entries ("The Hedge Knight" [hampered by some boring jousting but ultimately enjoyable], the Wild Cards stories, and both of the Haviland Tuf tales) it felt weaker than the first volume overall. Particularly forgettable were Part Seven: The Siren Song of Hollywood (containing two scripts he had penned for television shows) and a number of stories from Part Nine: The Heart in Conflict ("Portraits of his Children" and "Unsound Variations" being perhaps the weakest stories of the whole collection with the exception of Volume I Part One: A Four-Color Fanboy). While I'm sure all the stories were selected carefully for particular reasons, I still wonder if there were better selections from Martin's history that could have included.

Should you still read it? Certainly, especially if you've already finished the first volume. Any fan of GRRM would be silly to pass up a collection of his earlier works in their author-preferred forms (the expanded version of "Nightflyers" from the first volume, the first script for "Doorways", and the original version of "A Beast for Norn") and it would serve as an entry point into the extended Martin universe for new fans curious for more after whetting their appetites on ASoIaF.

Both volumes would make good gifts for fantasy-lovers (even some of the sci-fi stories have a heavy fantasy influence, though Martin has an interesting note about genres in Volume II) ranging from teens to adults. Several of the stories have sexual content unsuitable for young children and "The Skin Trade" is a bit too grotesque for the average youngster, but all of the others could potentially be read by a parent. "The Ice Dragon" from Volume I, which is also sold as a separate short book, would be excellent for children.
4 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x913a848c) étoiles sur 5 George R.R. Martin Keeps You Entertained 19 octobre 2013
Par Kindle Customer - Publié sur
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
I'm going to be lazy here, but I will promise that Martin totally transports you into whatever world he creates be it the halls of Northwestern University in Evanston, IL or the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Martin will keep you guessing and engaged. If you fell in love with the characters in "A Song of Ice and Fire" series, you will love this collection. You might even see Tyrion disgused as a mutant in one of these stories.
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x913a8384) étoiles sur 5 Dreamsongs: Volume II 7 novembre 2014
Par book beach bunny - Publié sur
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
Since I read this as part of my Game of Thrones fix I got hung up in this book near the beginning when he mentions how his career is filled with unfinished series. Seriously, I wanted to cry for a minute.
Otherwise I enjoyed it. Not as good as the first but then again my favorite of both books is the Hedge Knight and the introduction of Dunk. Great characters and what is a good look into the history of Ice and Fire. I even enjoyed the descriptions of the joust. I can't wait to read the other two! I also personally enjoyed the Hollywood scripts because I'm interested in screenwriting so I appreciated seeing hate formatting and hearing the behind the scenes of why they didn't work out for him in the end.
The stories are good in this one but somewhat lacking in the first. I'm not a big fan of the Tuf series so starting off that way might have colored the book a bit for me. It feels smaller and less expansive for some reason still an enjoyable read though.
HASH(0x913a8570) étoiles sur 5 Delving into the author's earlier work gives insights for the new 12 juin 2016
Par Adrienne - Publié sur
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
The continuation of Martin's short story compendium had less stories I liked as compared to his first, but it also had less stories overall, and the ones I enjoyed were phenomenal. A Taste of Tuf introduced me to cat loving protagonist Tuf Haviland who I believe could be an avatar for Martin himself (though GRRM insists he's more like the Turtle of the Wild Card series) in addition to adding more books to my reading list. I entirely skipped over The Siren Song of Hollywood after losing interest in the first story. It was okay, but the screenplay style threw me off. Doing the Wild Card Shuffle was 50/50. The story I disliked was my least favorite of the entire volume, and in fact hung me up on reading it for about a month, but the story I loved is my favorite in the entire collection. What an appropriate unity of opposites. This section also had me adding books to my reading list. The Heart in Conflict section was a nice round out. I wasn't over the moon about any of the stories in it, but there was a draw to them still. Two of them factor greatly into something major recently introduced in the television series.

This is not going to be a review of the entire collection, but rather a commentary and brief analysis on the stories that struck a chord.

A Taste of Tuf
"A Beast for Norn" introduced the fore mentioned Tuf who comes off as quite mild mannered, but is no one to trifle with. The "norns" are the names of the fates in Norse Mythology, but the 12 houses in this story seal their own through warmongering and greed. The houses themselves and their respective beasts are surely a precursor to Westeros and its sigils.

The second Tuf tale is entitled "Guardians," but the moniker is deceptive for the group that initially bears it. This is also yet another tale that draws me ever to conclusions about Martin's epic Song. He's written it before, scattered throughout the decades. ASOIAF is merely the culmination of preexisting ideas. At the end of the current saga, I believe we will be left with questions about whether or not humanity is the true protagonist of the tale or rather the authors of their own destruction seen as sympathetic because we ourselves are human, and it's uncomfortable to envision yourself as the villain. I doubt this point will be universally understood though, as it is constantly and consistently missed in numerous narratives across media and genre.

Doing the Wild Card Shuffle
"From the Journal of Xavier Desmond" is such a monumentally excellent story that it entirely changed my point of view on the Wild Card series, prompting me to put that on my to-read list. I was singularly unimpressed with "Shell Games," but "Journal" more than made up for that. The cause and effect put me in the mind of another novel The Devil's Alphabet; however, unlike the latter, the source of these changes is both virulent and alien in nature. It's also impossible to ignore it's similarities to X-Men (hell, the narrator's name's even Xavier...) in this take on racism and discrimination. The mien of the story can best be described as hopeful despondency. It captures the mindset of a dying man desperately trying to do something useful with his final days.

The Heart in Conflict
If you are a fan of Song and/or Game of Thrones, the most important stories in this section are "Unsound Variations" (which is reviewed here by Vassals of Kingsgrave) and "Under Siege." This only became a known truth with the airing of S6E5 and the heartbreak of "Hold the Door." I won't spoil for those of you who haven't yet seen, but I will say that a causal loop paradigm was presented that changes everything. These two shorts are Martin "practicing" this point for his Song.

Both stories are about sending one's consciousness back to a point in the past in order to engender change. Actions have consequences. This, above all I truly believe, is what Martin is trying to show us.

I recommend this volume and the previous to any and all fans of GRRM's writing. While some of the stories may not be to your liking, I'm certain you will find something of value within many if not most.
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