*This post contains spoilers for an artificial-intelligence-written version of 'The Winds of Winter.'*
Winter has come on HBO's Game of Thrones, but 'The Winds of Winter,' the unpublished sixth book in George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, is still a no-show. That's why full-stack software engineer Zack Thoutt created a neural network to write speculative chapters of the much-anticipated novel.
While the network—let's call it George AI Martin—has problems replicating clear grammar and syntax, its chapters do give us weird insights into Martin's writing ticks. George AI Martin apes these preferred phrases, such as "tell me true," or "mine" in place of "my" as a possessive pronoun. The effect is glorious.
Thoutt allowed Motherboard to post one of his neural network's chapters. So, here it is: The first chapter of The Winds of Winter, as written by an artificial intelligence. You can read four other chapters here. - Becky Ferreira
Tyrion could hear Lord Aemon's coughing. "I miss for it. Why did you proper?"
"I feared Master Sansa, Ser," Ser Jaime reminded her. "She Baratheon is one of the crossing. The second sons of your onion concubine."
Lady Donella length of a longsword, the hair that went ready to climb side from her. And all between them were belaquo bonebreaker and the night's watch ride in their room. Only he could not look at them, even others sure. "How could you leave the world?"
"Some must, for you," a woman's voiced up lazily. "Gods, Reek."
She poured off two eyes and stepped down under the fire. "She will find your brother, and now I heard her since she was standing the bowl. The night was fair and damp.
"Yes, the stone cook, my Lady," he puffed when she entered, and his mood was not in the hall. This is my sword. He had to use trouble when he put quill, at first day.
The next morning he awoke another hundred feet above the winesink beside the temple with a battering wall, like the wall a pack looming ominous. His right leg was solid below. He ended that tight. To show, summer came as well as he had and the intruder sept bowlegged one great younger man all gathered in front of the rocking of iron chains, his foot short of black steel and the cold old shadow. The shield in his hand bobbed, leaving a third of his neck in the dangling water.
Jaime yelped, in the dirt, and came to climb off beside his bedchamber, and we could almost find the tunnel at once, but we'd shut it without battle if she sings, then, and you may storm woods for fire to the west, where we feed the others. The rats come home to their lives! If you stay any longer side of the debt is ready, to captain Stannis and join Lord rRedwyne's wroth. They swore the other fault we're white and grey."
"Aye, you need to speak of a hundred seasoned cloaks, mutton, fish and crimson silk, Sam could give back the smith, and for before there had been fallen. This dragon does not say we had four of a band, or no men or rats and two singers, the great pack of men and the winged trees. You can go with lots and doors and empty path be gone, or we can shield Winterfell until your lot are cracked and dying without a while. I'll wear them as well, Ser Davos, and hardly even put you to Black Worm. She has been up riding the Kingsroad near his as long as you ever believed, four men who might improve the lot of her better."
"What do you want without shelter?" asked Jared.
"We asked so much to discuss it when the battle's passed. A mummer will Serve as well, the road is yours. It's nailed up the walls and stones for all the boys. Notch, rednose."
The Hound found Jeyne Poole. Ser Meryn Trant had sent King Yoren through the harbor, to summon the black brothers who had donned his horned veins. The fools he'd wed with him, had all been reborn. "Why, I know? He was bleeding, covered his whole legs on shoulders of the snow. He will stand on deck for the fish a fortnight, and never kill one. A blade is no longer, yes, she thought, but he couldn't take much food.
He could not help himself at first rush. Ghost came by, in a camp when Asha hunted to the night's watch. Now the torches beneath them and the rose in his head or we've brought them out of the world. He is stubborn and stupid, but his council never saved my brother as most. "There must be five choices," he pointed out.
It is an effort. Mine uncle had do the same color. She could hardly count by death.
It made Ned better stop until the fire was falling, standing beneath the arch of a shattered still distant field where the shadow tower paid the camp behind. The elder brother had known no sun and chunks of broken buildings and ash wailing towns; four hundred thousand ravens, his own torsos. Behind them wore their black cloaks like their own yellow fish heroes wearing a rough-hewn figurehead, a black trout slashed on a huge chest, with colors crossed inside and forth their heads. Lords and nuts and mussels, cloaks of the shore, several hundred riders down beneath the honeywine, and at the foot of the five southron Kings of captured sit and fewer stepped toward the Kingslayer. He will not return yet at the ford, with above his first black band.
"Only a hundred northmen will remain with them. They'll teach you Lord Rickard's brother Joffrey. Tell me true, Cersei is known. No one's wasting your interest, you remember. Dead steel and sour cat and two times as well."