You're mine," she whispered. "Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first, we'll live.
You know nothing, Jon Snow
I have always regarded historical fiction and fantasy as sisters under the skin, two genres separated at birth.
Laughter is poison to fear.
Is it treason to say the truth? A bitter truth, but no less true for that.
Schemes are like fruit, they require a certain ripening.