If you read fantasy at
all, I’m sure you’ve heard of Game of Thrones, George R.R. Martin’s massively
popular (and massive) series. (BTW, I
love Game of Thrones. Both books and TV
series are awesome. Just sayin’.)
Now, as it so happens, I
have a fantasy novel out myself called Gate to Kandrith. Do I write like George R.R. Martin? No, I do not.
I write like myself. J However, the similarity of the titles Game,
Gate, made me wonder what it would sound like if you mashed the two together.
So, here goes:
A GAME OF KANDRITH
The morning
had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of
summer. Almost
time.
They set
forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty in all. Sara’s stomach compressed into a hard knot as the
tall, cadaverous high priest of Nir, the God of War, rode among them.
This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go into the banquet hall with
his lord father and his brothers to see the king’s justice done.
Seeking
reassurance, Sara touched the crossbow she’d secretly had mounted to the
underside of the head table in the ninth year of summer, and the
seventh of Bran’s life. Hidden by a blue tablecloth, outside a small holdfast in the hills, her fingers found the crossbow bolt she’d loaded, the cord
she’d cranked back still taut, ready to fire at the man she thought was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Raydar,
the King–beyond-the-Wall, as soon as she gave a
hard pull on the lever.
Here’s the true beginning
to Gate to Kandrith:
Almost time.
Sara’s stomach compressed
into a hard knot as the tall, cadaverous high priest of Nir, the God of War,
strode into the banquet hall.
Seeking reassurance, Sara
touched the crossbow she’d secretly had mounted to the underside of the head
table. Hidden by a blue tablecloth, her
fingers found the crossbow bolt she’d loaded, the cord she’d cranked back still
taut, ready to fire as soon as she gave a hard pull on the lever.
And, for those few souls who
don’t have their own copy, here is the real opening of Game of Thrones:
The morning had dawned
clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. They set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded,
twenty in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed
old enough to go with his lord father and his brothers to see the king’s
justice done. It was the ninth year of
summer, and the seventh of Bran’s life.
The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Raydar, the King-Beyond-the-Wall.
Anyone else have a fun mash-up they've thought of? Post it below.
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