(CAWING)
Don't listen to it.
Crows are all liars.
I know a story about a crow.
I hate your stories.
I know a story about a boy
who hated stories.
I could tell you about
Ser Duncan the Tall,
those were always
your favorites.
Those weren't my favorites.
My favorites were
the scary ones.
Oh, my sweet summer child,
what do you know about fear?
Fear is for the winter,
when the snows fall
a hundred feet deep.
Fear is for the long night,
when the sun hides for years,
and children are
born and live and die...
all in darkness.
That is the time for fear,
my little Lord,
when the White Walkers
move through the woods.
Thousands of years ago,
there came a night
that lasted a generation.
Kings froze to death
in their castles,
same as the shepherds
in their huts.
And women smothered
their babies,
rather than see them starve.
And wept, and felt the tears
freeze on their cheeks.
So, is this the sort of story
that you like?
In that darkness,
the White Walkers
came for the first time.
They swept through
cities and kingdoms,
riding their dead horses,
hunting with their packs
of pale spiders,
big as hounds.
(DOOR UNLATCHES)
What're you tellin' him now?
Only what the little Lord
wants to hear.
