People think of themselves as inhabiting the land they dwell upon, but seldom do they think of the land inhabiting the them. Northmen are not cold and reserved by choice (at least not entirely), the same way Dornishmen are not hot tempered just by virtue of their Rhoynish ancestry. As people fell trees and carve stone, the wind abrades the skin and the sun burns it. Land and man shape each other until they become one; until they belong together like husband and wife. So far, we have considered only half of this marriage between man and nature but in the coming chapters we will remedy ourselves of this ignorance. It is true that the land and sea make no music that we can hear with our ears, but anybody of artistic inclination can attest to the music that seems to emerge from nowhere when one sees the Wall for the first time, or sails on the Rhoyne. This is a far more subjective chapter than others, relying more on the use of the heart than the mind. Nonetheless, our knowledge of the peoples who live across Westeros and Essos will allow us to ascertain the type of sounds that best describe in musical terms the many places of these two continents. It is important to preface the discussion with the admission that many of the locations feature man made elements in them, such as the Wall for example. However, our interest lies not in these man-made constructions in and of themselves but in them as part of a landscape.
The sounds of Westeros are as diverse as its many landscapes: one can hear high flutes when visiting the tall mountains of the vale, brass choirs at the foot of Aegon’s hill at the capital, and deep and low strings when sailing around the Iron Islands.
The sounds of Westeros are not just diverse, but also exotic: talking drums keep you company in the red waste, buzzing harps welcome you when entering Qaarth, and choirs of the dead warn sailors not comes to close to what is left of Valyria.