Some Allies Are More Dangerous Than Enemies.

An Awful Lot Of Fantasy, And Even Some Great Fantasy, Falls Into The Mistake Of Assuming That A Good Man Will Be A Good King, That All That Is Necessary Is To Be A Decent Human Being And When You're King Everything Will Go Swimmingly.

Needle Was Robb And Bran And Rickon, Her Mother And Her Father, Even Sansa. Needle Was Winterfell's Grey Walls, And The Laughter Of Its People. Needle Was The Summer Snows, Old Nan's Stories, The Heart Tree With Its Red Leaves And Scary Face, The Warm Earthy Smell Of The Glass Gardens, The Sound Of The North Wind Rattling The Shutters Of Her Room. Needle Was Jon Snow's Smile. He Used To Mess My Hair And Call Me "little Sister," She Remembered, And Suddenly There Were Tears In Her Eyes.

Tolkien Made The Wrong Choice When He Brought Gandalf Back. Screw Gandalf. He Had A Great Death And The Characters Should Have Had To Go On Without Him.

Robert Was Never The Same After He Put On That Crown. Some Men Are Like Swords, Made For Fighting. Hang Them Up And They Go To Rust.

When The Sun Rises In The West And Sets In The East," She Said Sadly. "when The Seas Go Dry And Mountains Blow In The Wind Like Leaves. When My Womb Quickens Again, And I Bear A Living Child. Then You Will Return, My Sun-and-stars, And Not Before." -daenerys Targaryen