A Man Who Fights For Coin Is

You Could Make A Poultice Out Of Mud To Cool A Fever. You Could Plant Seeds In Mud And Grow A Crop To Feed Your Children. Mud Would Nourish You, Where Fire Would Only Consume You, But Fools And Children And Young Girls Would Choose Fire Every Time.

As Daenerys Targaryen Rose To Her Feet, Her Black Hissed, Pale Smoke Venting From Its Mouth And Nostrils. The Other Two Pulled Away From Her Breasts And Added Their Voices To The Call, Translucent Wings Unfolding And Stirring The Air, And For The First Time In Hundreds Of Years, The Night Came Alive With The Music Of Dragons.

Anger Was Better Than Tears, Better Than Grief, Better Than Guilt.

If He Must Be Alone, He Would Make Solitude His Armor.

The Eunuch Had Looked Death In The Face, So Near He Might Have Kissed Her On The Lips.