What Do We Say To The Lord

Dragons Old And Young, True And False, Bright And Dark. And You. A Small Man With A Big Shadow, Snarling In The Midst Of All.

And Who Are You, The Proud Lord Said That I Must Bow So Low? Only A Cat Of A Different Coat, That's All The Truth I Know. In A Coat Of Gold Or A Coat Of Red, A Lion Still Has Claws. And, Mine Are As Long And Sharp, My Lord As Long And Sharp As Yours. And So He Spoke, And So He Spoke, That Lord Of Castamere, But Now The Rains Weep O'er His Hall, With No One There To Hear. Yes, Now The Rains Weep O'er His Hall, And Not A Soul To Hear.

I Am Surrounded By Flatterers And Fools.

From Where I Sit, Battles Are Hard. I’ve Written My Share. Sometimes I Employ The Private’s Viewpoint, Very Up Close And Personal, Dropping The Reader Right Into The Middle Of The Carnage. That’s Vivid And Visceral, But Of Necessity Chaotic, And It Is Easy To Lose All Sense Of The Battle As A Whole. Sometimes I Go With The General’s Point Of View Instead, Looking Down From On High, Seeing Lines And Flanks And Reserves. That Gives A Great Sense Of The Tactics, Of How The Battle Is Won Or Lost, But Can Easily Slide Into Abstraction.

No Fight Is Hopeless Till It Has Been Fought.