Life Is Not A Song, Sweetling. Someday

Bran Thought About It. 'can A Man Still Be Brave If He's Afraid?' 'that Is The Only Time A Man Can Be Brave,' His Father Told Him.

"another Name? Oh, Certainly. And When The Faceless Men Come To Kill Me, I'll Say, 'no, You Have The Wrong Man, I'm A Different Dwarf With A Hideous Facial Scar.'" Both Lannisters Laughed At The Absurdity Of It All.

"weese," She Would Whisper, First Of All. "dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff The Sweetling. The Tickler And The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Armory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei."

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.

It Had Been More Of A Wish, Actually, But It Sounded Better To Call It A Dream.