Schemes Are Like Fruit, They Require A

One Voyage To The East And A Man Could Live As Rich As A Lord Until The End Of His Days. When He'd Been Younger, Davos Had Dreamed Of Making Such Voyages Himself. But The Years Went Dancing By Like Moths Around A Flame, And Somehow The Time Had Never Been Quite Right.

It Was A Hollow Victory They Gave Me. A Crown...it Was The Girl I Prayed Them For. Your Sister, Safe... And Mine Again As She Was Meant To Be. I Ask You, Ned, What Good Is It To Wear A Crown?

Historical Fiction Is Not History. You're Blending Real Events And Actual Historical Personages With Characters Of Your Own Creation.

Perhaps I Cannot Make My People Good, She Told Herself, But I Should At Least Try To Make Them A Little Less Bad.

But The Real Enemy Is The Cold. It Steals Up On You Quieter Than Will, And At First You Shiver And Your Teeth Chatter And You Stamp Your Feet And Dream Of Mulled Wine And Nice Hot Fires. It Burns, It Does. Nothing Burns Like The Cold. But Only For A While. Then It Gets Inside You And Starts To Fill You Up, And After A While You Don't Have The Strength To Fight It. It's Easier Just To Sit Down Ot Go To Sleep. They Say You Don't Feel Any Pain Toward The End. First You Go Weak And Drowsy, And Everything Starts To Fade, And Then It's Like Sinking Into A Sea Of Warm Milk. Peaceful, Like.