And For The First Time In Hundreds

There Are Two Kinds Of Writers. There Are Architects And Gardeners. The Architects Do Blueprints Before They Drive The First Nail. The Gardeners Just Dig A Hole And Plant The Seed And See What Comes Up.

Jon Lied ... Loudly, As If That Could Make It True.

Gods Be Good, Why Would Any Man Ever Want To Be King? When Everyone Was Shouting King In The North, King In The North, I Told Myself ... Swore To Myself ... That I Would Be A Good King, As Honorable As Father, Strong, Just, Loyal To My Friends And Brave When I Faced My Enemies ... Now I Can't Even Tell One From The Other.

I Dreamed... In The Black Of Night A Man Asks All The Questions He Dare Not Ask By Daylight. For Me, The Past Years, Only One Question Has Remained. Why Would The Gods Take My Eyes And My Strength, Yet Condemn Me To Linger On So Long, Frozen And Forgotten? What Use Could They Have For An Old Done Man Like Me? ... I Remember, Sam. I Still Remember. Remember What? Dragons, Aemon Whispered.

My Brother Is Undoubtedly Arrogant," Tyrion Lannister Replied. "my Father Is The Soul Of Avarice, And My Sweet Sister Cersei Lusts For Power With Every Waking Breath. I, However, Am Innocent As A Little Lamb. Shall I Bleat For You?