The Winds of Winter – George R. R. Martin – ARIANNE

Let’s start with George R. R. Martin’s “The Winds of Winter”.

The initial excerpt has about 746 words.

Let’s try to make it double using the GPT-J-6B.


The passageway Arianne had chosen for herself turned steep and wet within a hundred feet. The footing grew uncertain. Once she slipped, and had to catch herself to keep from sliding. More than once she considered turning back, but she could see Ser Daemon’s torch ahead and hear him calling for Elia, so she pressed on. And all at once she found herself in another cavern, five times as big as the last one, surrounded by a forest of stone columns. Daemon Sand moved to her side and raised his torch. “Look how the stone’s been shaped,” he said. “Those columns, and the wall there. See them?”

“Faces,” said Arianne. So many sad eyes, staring.

“This place belonged to the children of the forest.”

“A thousand years ago.” Arianne turned her head. “Listen. Is that Joss?”

It was. The other searchers had found Elia, as she and Daemon learned after they made their way back up the slippery slope to the last hall. Their passageway led down to a still black pool, where they discovered the girl up to her waist in water, catching blind white fish with her bare hands, her torch burning red and smoky in the sand where she had planted it.

“You could have died,” Arianne told her, when she’d heard the tale. She grabbed Elia by the arm and shook her. “If that torch had gone out you would have been alone in the dark, as good as blind. What did you think that you were doing?”

“I caught two fish,” said Elia Sand.

“You could have died,” said Arianne again. Her words echoed off the cavern walls. “…died… died … died…”

Later, when they had made their back to the surface and her anger had cooled, the princess took the girl aside and sat her down. “Elia, this must end,” she told her. “We are not in Dorne now. You are not with your sisters, and this is not a game. I want your word that you will play the maidservant until we are safely back at Sunspear. I want you meek and mild and obedient. You need to hold your tongue. I’ll hear no more talk of Lady Lance or jousting, no mention of your father or your sisters. The men that I must treat with are sellswords. Today they serve this man who calls himself Jon Connington, but come the morrow they could just as easily serve the Lannisters. All it takes to win a sellsword’s heart is gold, and casterly Rock does not lack for that. If the wrong man should learn who you are, you could be seized and held for ransom–“

“No,” Elia broke in. “You’re the one they’ll want to ransom. You’re the heir to Dorne, I’m just a bastard girl. Your father would give a chest of gold for you. My father’s dead.”

“Dead, but not forgotten,” said Arianne, who had spent half her life wishing Prince Oberyn had been her father. “You are a Sand Snake, and Prince Doran would pay any price to keep you and your sisters safe from harm.” That made the child smile at least. “Do I have your sworn word? Or must I send you back?”

“I swear.” Elia did not sound happy.

“On your father’s bones.”

“On my father’s bones.”

That vow she will keep, Arianne decided. She kissed her cousin on the cheek and sent her off to sleep.  Perhaps some good would come of her adventure. “I never knew how wild she was till now,” Arianne complained to Daemon Sand, afterward.  “Why would my father inflict her on me?”

“Vengeance?” the knight suggested, with a smile.

They reached Mistwood late on the third day. Ser Daemon sent Joss Hood ahead to scout for them and learn who held the castle presently.  “Twenty men walking the walls, maybe more,” he reported on his return. “Lots of carts and wagons. Heavy laden going in, empty going out. Guards at every gate.”

“Banners?” asked Arianne.

“Gold. On the gatehouse and the keep.”

“What device did they bear?”

“None that I could see, but there was no wind. The banners hung limp from their staffs.”

That was vexing. The Golden Company’s banners were cloth-of-gold, devoid of arms and ornament… but the banners of House Baratheon were also gold, though theirs displayed the crowned stag of Storm’s End. Limp golden banners could be either. “Were there others banners? Silver-grey?”

“All the ones that I saw were gold, princess.”


And from here is the continuation of the story made by AI:


Arianne would have liked to have a closer look, but Daemon insisted that they move on. They were so far north of the Golden Company that they could be safely taken for Lannister men-at-arms. There was no need to attract attention. Arianne would have liked to take a closer look at the banners, however. She could think of no better way to learn what banner the Golden Company was flying, and she wanted to know. Her uncle was a clever man, and she could not be certain that he had left her no clues to puzzle out. She had asked him once, but the old lion had only smiled and given her a puzzling answer.

The knights were not anxious to linger in Mistwood. The castle was not much to look at, Daemon explained. The banners did not seem to mean much. They were at the edge of the great forest, and well guarded. Their scout had reported that there was not a soul in the town except the guards and the gate-tenders. Most of the castle’s defenders had gone out to forage. There was only one gate into the town, and a single watchtower.

“So we must go up the hill,” Daemon decided. “We can creep in through the shadows. The knights will never see us coming.”

Arianne sighed. She would have liked to go back to the castle and have a look around. She could find nothing wrong with that, and yet there was no doubt in her mind that her uncle would have forbidden it. She had not seen much of her father since she had arrived at the castle, but he had never been much of a one for exploring.

Arianne did not see her father again until they were approaching the gates of the town. By then she had gotten over her disappointment. A man in Lannister colors was seated on a large, dark mare, waiting for them. He was a small man, not much larger than Arianne, and he had a round face and a red nose. He was balding, and had a wart on his chin. Arianne thought that he must be the knight who had captured her, the man who had taken her to King’s Landing. She had seen his face many times on the tapestries that hung in the hall, and once when she had been allowed into the presence of the queen.

The Knight of the Gate was on his feet, sword in hand, before they had even stopped. Arianne and her companions dismounted in an unceremonious fashion, and the knight came forward to meet them. “Who are you?” he demanded. “How did you come by these beasts?”

“We are men of the Golden Company,” said Arianne, “and we have come to take back the castle.”

“You have come to the wrong place,” he declared. “It’s not mine to give. I’m only the watchman. My lord is Lord Rowan.”

“That is my father,” said Arianne. “I am Princess Arianne of House Baratheon.”

“You are a child,” the knight retorted. “And no lady.”

“I am an heiress, and my lord is the king’s brother,” Arianne told him, “and he is the king’s only child.”

“A child or a madwoman,” he said. “You are mad, or drunk, or both.” He lifted the visor of his helm. “I see no gold, nor any Baratheon banners. I see a madwoman who knows no better than to try to steal the Lord Rowan’s castle.”

Arianne knew that she was no longer safe with Daemon and her brother and her squire. She felt certain that the man who had taken her would recognize them, and would kill them all. She had not thought of a plan yet, but she had to think of something. “I will make you an offer,” she said, “if you will let us pass.”

“The offer is not worth your life,” said the knight. “I have no choice. I must do as I’m bid.”

“You are a fool,” Arianne told him. “We are not mad. We are not drunk. We are the men of the Golden Company. We mean you no harm.”

“The Golden Company?” The man laughed. “The Golden Company, is it? Well, well. That’s a new one on me. I’ve never heard of it.”

“They’re a band of sellswords,” said Daemon. “They don’t call themselves anything.”

The Knight of the Gate laughed again. “Sellswords, is it? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of them. But I won’t stop you, for I have no authority here.”

Arianne could think of nothing to say, but her father came to the rescue. “Who is this man?” he demanded. “What is his name?”

“His name is Rowan,” said Arianne, “and he is the guard at the gate.”

“That is not his name,” her father said. “His name is Garlan, and he is the gate-tender.”

“He is lying,” said Arianne. “I know him. He took me to the castle, when I was a child.”

“He knows the password,” said Daemon, “and he has seen us coming.”

“You lie,” said Arianne’s father. “It is not Garlan who guards the gates.”

“Who then?” Daemon demanded. “Speak!”

Arianne looked around for the man who had taken her, but he had vanished.

“Who is it?” her father said, turning to the Knight of the Gate.

The knight took his helm off. His hair was long, so that it hung down to his shoulders, and his face was creased by a thousand lines. “Who is it?” he said. “Is it Lannister, or Stark? Or Baratheon? Or Blackfyre?”

“It is Baratheon,” said Daemon, “but you had better take our offer.”

The knight nodded. “It’s a Lannister, all right,” he said. “I’m the gate-tender. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know what you want, but I’m only doing my duty. You’re no longer welcome here. Get on your way.”

Arianne’s father came forward and seized the man by the front of his armor. “You will not keep the princess here,” he said. “It is not your place.”

The Knight of the Gate pushed him away, and then grabbed him by the front of his tunic. “Let go of me!” he said. “I’m not a prisoner.”

“You are an enemy of House Baratheon,” Arianne’s father said.

“I am a man of the Golden Company,” said the Knight of the Gate. “I am not your enemy. I am your friend.”

“You are a liar,” said Arianne’s father.

“I am not,” the Knight of the Gate said. “If I had been your enemy, you would have been dead before this. I am your friend. I have come to protect you.”

“From whom?” said Arianne. “There is no one there.”

“There is a man,” the Knight of the Gate said. “A man with black hair, who calls himself the Hound. He has the strength of a hundred men, and he has killed men twice your size.”

“The Hound?” Arianne could not understand why the Knight of the Gate should speak of the Hound. “He is not here.”

“He is here,” said Daemon. “He was here when we rode up. He was here when I spoke with you.”

“I know it,” said the Knight of the Gate. “I know him well. I met him in the court of your father, when I was a boy.”

Arianne’s father let go of the gate-tender’s armor. “We have no need of your help,” he said.

The Winds of Winter


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