ever
The first dish was a creamy soup of mushrooms and buttered snails, served in gilded bowls. Tyrion had scarcely touched the breakfast, and the wine had already gone.
[...] He called for more wine. By the time he got it, the second course was being served, a pastry coffyn filled with pork, pine nuts, and eggs. Sansa ate no more than a bite of hers, as the heralds were summoning the first of the seven singers.
[...] Tyrion listened with half a ear, as he sampled sweetcorn fritters and hot oatbread baked with bits of date, apple, and orange, and gnawed on the rib of a wild boar.
[...] Their feats were accompanied by crabs boiled in fiery eastern spices, trenchers filled with chunks of chopped mutton stewed in almond milk with carrots, raisins, and onions, and fish tarts fresh from the ovens, served so hot they burned the fingers.
[...] Tyrion suffered through it with a double helping of honey-ginger partridge and several cups of wine. A haunting ballad of two dying lovers amidst the Doom of Valyria might have pleased the hall more if Collio had not sung it in High Valyrian, which most of the guests could not speak. But “Bessa the Barmaid” won them back with its ribald lyrics. Peacocks were served in their plumage, roasted whole and stuffed with dates
[...] Four master pyromancers conjured up beasts of living flame to tear at each other with fiery claws whilst the serving men ladeled out bowls of blandissory, a mixture of beef broth and boiled wine sweetened with honey and dotted with blanched almonds and chunks of capon. Then came some strolling pipers and clever dogs and sword swallowers, with buttered pease, chopped nuts, and slivers of swan poached in a sauce of saffron and peaches.
[...] A juggler kept a half-dozen swords and axes whirling through the air as skewers of blood sausage were brought sizzling to the tables
[...] Tyrion was toying with a leche of brawn, spiced with cinnamon, cloves, sugar, and almond milk, when King Joffrey lurched suddenly to his feet.
Depending on the clipped […] parts I’d say there’s an argument to be had over which is worse lol
spoiler
And now the host of Troy to flight inclined Before the Grecians, and the Chiefs of Greece Each slew a warrior. Agamemnon first Gigantic Odius from his chariot hurl’d. Chief of the Halizonians. He to flight Turn’d foremost, when the monarch in his spine Between the shoulder-bones his spear infixt, And urged it through his breast. Sounding he fell, And loud his batter’d armor rang around.
By brave Idomeneus a Lydian died, Phæstus, from fruitful Tarne sent to Troy, Son of Mæonian Borus; him his steeds Mounting, Idomeneus the spear-renown’d Through his right shoulder pierced; unwelcome night Involved him; from his chariot down he fell, And the attendant Cretans stripp’d his arms.
But Menelaus, son of Atreus slew With his bright spear Scamandrius, Stropius’ son, A skilful hunter; for Diana him, Herself, the slaughter of all savage kinds Had taught, on mountain or in forest bred. But she, shaft-aiming Goddess, in that hour Avail’d him not, nor his own matchless skill; For Menelaus, Atreus son spear-famed, Him flying wounded in the spine between His shoulders, and the spear urged through his breast. Prone on his loud-resounding arms he fell.
Next, by Meriones, Phereclus died, Son of Harmonides. All arts that ask A well-instructed hand his sire had learn’d, For Pallas dearly loved him. He the fleet, Prime source of harm to Troy and to himself, For Paris built, unskill’d to spell aright The oracles predictive of the wo. Phereclus fled; Meriones his flight Outstripping, deep in his posterior flesh A spear infix’d; sliding beneath the bone It grazed his bladder as it pass’d, and stood Protruded far before. Low on his knees Phereclus sank, and with a shriek expired. Pedæus, whom, although his spurious son, Antenor’s wife, to gratify her lord, Had cherish’d as her own—him Meges slew. Warlike Phylides following close his flight, His keen lance drove into his poll, cut sheer His tongue within, and through his mouth enforced The glittering point. He, prostrate in the dust, The cold steel press’d between his teeth and died.
Eurypylus, Evemon’s son, the brave Hypsenor slew; Dolopion was his sire, Priest of Scamander, reverenced as a God. In vain before Eurypylus he fled; He, running, with his falchion lopp’d his arm Fast by the shoulder; on the field his hand Fell blood-distained, and destiny severe With shades of death for ever veil’d his eyes.
This is the desription of the battle itself from Book V …and that’s only up to line ~100 out of 1,083!
that reminds me alot of the prose of the Sagas, which shouldn’t be surprising. Every chapter starts with a telling of the ancestry of the persons involved and the “action scenes” are similarly clipped.
Exactly, also many contemporary people would have “National Mythos” so-to-speak about some of these characters, as they are stand-ins for the different Greek peoples in as much as they represent themselves as characters.
Still doesn’t help us, post-modern sickos, who have become accustomed to more… visceral depictions of violence and generally don’t have such a connection to our characters of myth so much.
