The last hero

Oh my sweet summer child … What do
you know of fear? Fear is for the
winter, my little lord, when the snows
fall a hundered feet deep and the ice
wind comes howling out of the north,
when the sun hides it face for years at
a time, and little children are born and
live and die all in darkness while the
direwolves grow gaunt and hungry,
and the white walkers move through
the woods.
The Others … Thousands and
thousands of years ago, a winter fell
that was cold and hard and endless
beyond all memory of man. There
came a night that lasted a generation,
and kings shivered and died in their
castles even as the swineherds in
their hovels. Women smothered their
children rather than see them starve,
and cried, and felt their tears freeze
on their cheeks.
In that darkness, the Others came for
the first time … They were cold things,
dead things, that hated iron and fire
and the touch of the sun, and every
creature with hot blood in its veins.
They swept over holdfasts and cities
and kingdoms, felled heroes and
armies by the score, riding pale dead
horses, and leading hosts of the slain.
All the swords of men could not stay
their advance, and even maidens and
suckling babes, found no pity in them.
They hunted the maids through the
frozen forests, and fed their dead
servants on the flesh of human
children.
Now these were the days before the
Andals came, and long before the
women fled across the narrow sea
from the cities of the Rhoyne , and the
hundred kingdoms of those times were
the kingdoms of the First Men , who
had taken those lands from the
children of the forest. Yet here and
there in the fastness of the woods, the
children still lived in their wooden
cities and hollow hills, and the faces
in the trees kept watch. So as cold and
death filled the earth, the last hero
determined to seek out the children, in
the hopes that their ancient magics
could win back what the armies of
men had lost. He set out into the dead
lands with a sword, a horse, a dog and
a dozen companions. For years he
searches until he despaired of ever
finding the children of the forest in
their secret cities. One by one his
friends died, and his horse, and finally
even his dog, and his sword froze so
hard the blade snapped when he tried
to use it. And the Others smelled the
hot blood in him and came silent on
his trail, stalking him with packs of
pale white spiders big as hounds…,

that is as far as i was told

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