THOROS: I was born youngest of eight in Myr across the Narrow Sea.
So my father gave me over to the Red Temple.
In their wisdom, they decided to make me a priest
instead of a warrior or a temple prostitute like other children.
It was not the path I would have chosen.
Sure, I prayed the prayers and I spoke the spells,
but I also led raids on the kitchens.
And from time to time, they found girls in my bed.
Such wicked girls.
I never knew how they got there.
Then again I did have a gift for tongues.
And when I gazed into the flames, well, from time to time I saw things.
Even so, I was more bother than I was worth.
When the High Priest foresaw Robert's ascension,
he sent me to turn the Storm Lord to the Lord of Light.
When Robert seized his crown,
we'd take all of Westeros from the Seven in a single stroke.
Perhaps they thought Robert would listen to a kindred spirit.
Or perhaps celibacy had addled the High Priest's brain.
I didn't know, and didn't care.
I was free.
I did my duty as I saw it.
Drinking and whoring and waving my sword around,
the only gods Robert cared about anyway.
Years passed, Robert became King, I became a joke.
We both became fat.
I even won some glory in Greyjoy's rebellion.
First through the breach and all that. (CHUCKLES)
It's amazing what boldness a full bladder can inspire.
But Robert had stopped listening to my sermons a long time ago.
Even if I'd still bothered to give them.
Then came Robert's death and the war.
I'm not speaking of those brats squabbling over the world's pointiest chair.
Powers long asleep are waking and moving through the land.
I've seen them in my flames.
Shit, I've seen them with my own two eyes.
The Lord of Light is real.
And if he's real, then all of it is real.
Man once again faces the war for the Dawn which has been waged since time began.
On one side is the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire,
the God of Flame and Shadow.
Against him stands the Great Other whose name may not be spoken.
The Lord of Darkness, the Soul of Ice,
the God of Night and Terror.
According to prophecy, our champion will be reborn
to wake dragons from stone
and reforge the great sword, Lightbringer,
that defeated the darkness those thousands of years ago.
If the old tales are true,
a terrible weapon forged with the lifeblood of a loving wife's heart.
Part of me thinks man was well rid of it.
But great power requires great sacrifice.
That much, at least, the Lord of Light is clear on.
I sound like a dried out old woman, I know.
But as our former Hand liked to say,
"Winter is coming."
When the cold winds rise, all men,
no matter their faith or lack of it,
huddle beside my night fires.
And I pray the prayers and speak the spells
and beseech the Lord of Light to bring back the Dawn.
So far so good.
But reprobate as I am, I can't help but wonder
what will happen if, one day,
our Lord does not answer.
Imagine a night that goes on forever.
So dark and full of terrors.
I think I need another drink.