My feelings for ADWD are impossible to put into words, so I compiled a parody to summarize my reaction to the work as a whole:
Danerys
Danerys sat listening to the people of Mereen and their grievances.
“My wife’s master forced her repeatedly,” said a petitioner.
“There was no rape. When first he lay with her, your wife was her master's property."* (This is an actual quote from the books.)
“What the hell?” Said the petitioner. “You yourself were sold to a brute and forced by him repeatedly at the age of 13. Since then you have become a regular advocate of the rights of slaves. Why the hell would you say “there was no rape” when a woman was clearly assaulted, because she was the guy’s property? It makes no sense whatsoever, and does not go along with your personal history, explicitly stated beliefs, and every aspect of your previous motivation.”
“Yes, but Tyrion has as of late taken to traveling around the continent, forcing himself upon random sex slaves. If I were to condemn one man for forcing a bed slave, I would have to condemn Tyrion too when he follows his obvious story arch and joins me hereas my far wiser and superior advisor whom I bow to in everything. And Tyrion could not actually be held responsible for his deeds of torturing and assaulting sex slaves. Gods forbid the imp actually be held responsible and judged for 1/10th of the crap he does.”
Another petitioner approached.
“This land is dying of the flux. Oh what, all mighty mother, should we do?”
"My ass is sore!" Said Dany
"It's a pretty hot ass," said Daario the sellsword.
Dany felt a fluttering her heart. Was this love?
Tyrion
Tyrion drank his way across the narrow sea. He also engaged in much blathering and pointless, self indulgent self examination that would characterize his chapters in the following book.
When Tyrion arrived, he met the fat Illario. “I’ll meet you for dinner in an hour,” said the sea cow.
To amuse himself in the time remaining to him, Tyrion decided to torture and threaten to force a helpless bed slave, since the bitch deserved it. He thought of how she had no value as a human being save for what was between her legs, how she was a total bitch for not wanting to sleep with him, and proceeded to threaten to assault and then strangle her. “We will continue this interaction after dinner,” said Tyrion
“My life is an empty, vacuous black hole, nobody loves me, and I hate the world,” said Tyrion. “I should like to die.”
“Here’s some poisonous mushrooms. Good riddance.” Said Illario.
“Well I don’t really mean it, I was speaking metaphorically,” said Tyrion.
“I am going to hook you up with the daughter of your father’s archenemy.”
“Cool,” said Tyrion, “pass the gravy.”
“So…. are we even going to find out the fate of the innocent bed slave you intimidated land threatened to rape?” Queried Illario.
“Nope, apparently she really doesn’t matter all that much.” Tyrion said.
Reek
Reek, reek, it rhymes with meek, seek, leak, weak, teak, geek, and an assortment of other words that would soon be used. Reek cowered in fear as he thought of how much he was going to annoy readers in the proceeding pages by repeating the same pointless phrase over and over again in each and every chapter. Reek, reek, it rhymes with freak. Reek comforted himself with the fact that he had the distinction of being featured in the only chapters in the book that moved the entire storyline forward in a coherent and compelling manner.
Jon
Jon Snow was now lord commander of the nights watch. But all was not well. He no longer had any friends, Stannis was an a-hole, Melisandre wouldn’t stop hitting on him, Val’s presence made a life of celibacy HARD, and Samwell Tarley was still, somehow, super fat.
“I’m willing to have sex with you, you know.” Said Melisandre.
“Wow. I’m more concerned about the wildings, though, since I’m a rather asexual and unrealistic character, despite my painfully contrived romance with a redheaded wilding girl.”
“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” said Melisandre.
Tyrion 2:
Tyrion examined Volantis and described it in intricate detail to the reader. It was really hot and there were a lot of slaves there. Seeing a man whipped to death before his eyes, Tyrion reflected on how slaves were not all that unfortunate, and actually responsible for their own fate.
“Slaves are so unfortunate, and have no responsibility whatsoever for their fate,” murmered the half Maester.
“I’ve had it so much worse than slaves,” said Tyrion. “I’ve lived a life of wealth an privilege in a gigantic gold castle, the offspring of the most powerful family in the realm, but my sister ignored me and my father belittled me and I couldn’t get the hot girls that I wanted to have sex with without paying them first, so my life has been an endless stream of rejection and mistery.”
“Let’s go to a whorehouse,” said Tyrion.
“Do I look like the sort of man who frequents whorehouses to you?” Demanded the halfmaester.
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t go there to have sex for cash. I was merely going to insult, humiliate, belittle, and physically abuse a prostitute, all whilst reflecting on my own self-indulgent misery and somehow maintaining full reader sympathy.”
“Good luck with that one, since you’re about to more or less gratuitously torture a helpless sex slave.”
“Thank you, but I won’t need it,” replied Tyrion. “I’ve already murdered one ex girlfriend and raped another, and only roughly 1 percent of readers hold that against me. The secret is to focus on my own suffering a great deal, make me filled with palpable self loathing, and give no attention or detail to the sufferings of my nameless, characterless victims whatsoever. I also have compelling and sympathetic motivation—back in Westeros, a woman who just so happened to be a prostitute spurned me, which has inspired me now to travel around mistreating helpless bed slaves out of revenge. Again, the secret is to focus on my own tragic suffering. Have I told you yet that hot young girls won’t sleep with me, and find me creepy? Oh, by the seven, I think I feel some tears coming on.”
“All right, I’ll see you back on the boat.” Said the Halfmaester.
Jon
As the new lord commander of the nightswatch, Jon Snow felt lonely and isolated. He no longer had any friends, and he was constantly alone. “This is how it is going to be for the rest of my life,” said Jon. “Not if you reach out and try to form human contacts,” countered Dolores Edd.
“Ridiculous. Edd, you are no longer my steward. Get out.”
As Edd left the room in tears, Jon decided to take his emotional isolation into his own hands.
“Samwell Tarley, its time for you to travel countless miles away to the citadel so you will be away for years and years, “ Jon told his bestie.
Oh yes, thought Jon. I will always be alone.
“Hey jon,” said Pipp. “We saved you a seat!”
“I am sorry, as the lord commander I far outrank you. This, added to my natural innate superiority, makes all casual social contact between us impossible.”
That night, Jon lay in bed, weeping. How had he possibly grown so isolated and lonely?
Danerys:
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Khaleesi?” Wondered Barristan.
“Of course it is a good idea, fool. I am only a young girl, but I know the kiddies do love dragons,” said Dany as she ushered the children into the cave, lining them up to visit her special pets. Indeed, inventing “dragon visiting day” had been such a brilliant idea. It gave the children of Meereen a wonderful opportunity to interact with her symbolic dragons, and their noble parents had really been warming up to her as of late.
“I am only a young girl, and know nothing, but I am going to once again randomly put my foot down and stand up to the male figure challenging me, ignore his advice, and take my own counsel.” Dany smiled, thinking on how her creator had noted that she, Dany, was meant to represent one of the two ways women could rule in a medieval environment, along with Cersei. Naturally, Dany’s loss of roughly 60 IQ points that had occurred as of ascending power in ADWD was totally natural and not at all offensive.
Bored with the tedious business of ruling, Dany decided to have some more hot sex with Dario.
As Dario stripped off his clothes and revealed his hairless chest, Danerys knew that it was true love between them.
Jon
Jon Snow was miserable. He had so much to do—befriend the wildings, rid the nightswatch of their centuries old prejudices, oogle Val, oogle Melisandre, feel concerned about his sister, fend off the advances of the young Lolita who had shown up at the nightswatch, feed the wilding refugees, and earn the trust of those aroud him. What should I do? Wondered Jon. I think its high time I spent several chapters morally agonizing and doubting myself.
Jaime:
Jaime was determined to fill his one POV chapter with as much important events, character growth, and proof of his newfound morality as possible. And on that note: Cersei is the greatest whore in all of Westeros, the Kingslayer reflected worthily.
Jaime then interrupted a highborn lord during sex, because it would have been impossible for him to wait 10-15 minutes given the limited page space of his single POV chapter. My sweet sister is a bitch and a whore and she ruins everything, he reflected worthily.
Remembering his higher purpose of narrative cohesion and character development, Jaime proceeded to stare at a random camp followers nipples. My sister Cersei is a filthy, dirty whore, and her nipples are only 1/3 the size of this random camp follower, Jaime reflected. “Hey wench,” murmered Jaime. “I like your teats. They are nice and perky, so that means you have value as a human being. What, why are you covering your tits and looking freaked out by my super creepy objectifiying attitude towards you? What the fuck is up with that? Anyway, you remind me of a basket full of turnips worth some money at market day…. Only not quite as valuable. I’d still possibly buy you though.”
The camp follower giggled in delight. “Oh Jaime, now that you have gone through your redemption arc, I am thrilled at your new, utterly non creepy and objectifying towards women. The way you just compared me to inanimate sales goods was so sweet. Let me pinch your penis.”
“As arousing as it is to have my nads pinched by a near stranger,” murmered Jaime, “I already know much and more about whores, being the brother of the greatest whore who ever lived. She’s probably dying now, and I’m just sitting by and letting it happen, because I’m good now and have been redeemed.”
“Kingslayer, you are evil and we all don’t trust you for ridiculous reasons. Let this add to your personal store of bitterness and emotional isolation,” said Bracken.
“Much and more, little and less,” murmered Jaime.
Jaime took the son of another noblemen hostage, gratuitously threatening the boys life. But he was still sympathetic, since he thought of what a whore Cersei was as he did it.
“These mountains look like boobs,” said the boy Jaime was taking, a totally tasteful comment that led to an utterly releveant and not at all pointless discussion of boobs, mountains, and kings mistresses from hundreds of years ago.
Jaime sighed. He only had one page left…..
Just then, she entered.
“Wench, what are you doing here? I thought I’d never see you again? Indeed, readers everywhere have been waiting for the conclusion to your painfully contrived cliffhanger (ha) from the last book.”
“Come quick,” said the maid of tarth. “Sansa is in trouble, and now you have to come with me to an undisclosed location, and I’m not going to tell you anything more than that.”
“Seriously? We are just going to end here? We’re not going to learn how you got out of your situation, whose side your really on, what’s going on with you and stoneheart, whether you intend to kill me, etc.? Are we seriously going to have to wait another 5-6 years to figure all of this shit out? Again?”
Brienne scoffed, “Jaime, sweetling, this is George R.R. Martin we’re talking about. At the rate he’s going, no ones going to find out what happened to you or me for another 10+ years.”
Cersei
Cersei sucked in her stretch marked stomach, pulled back her sagging breasts, squared her soldiers, and prepared herself for easily the most appallingly misogynistic chapter in all of modern fiction.
Being tortured and not allowed to sleep, Cersei proclaimed that she would confess to the high septon.
“I am going to confess to you now,” Cersei wept.
“Really? That’s your game plan?” Wondered the septon. “How incredibly stupid. Why wouldn’t you just pretend you were going to confess to get out of your cell and gain an audience with me, then attempt to convince me that you were innocent of all charges?"
Clearly this man has not been reading my POV chapters, if he suspects I would ever act in anything like a sensible, coherent manner, scoffed Cersei. “I slept with all three Kettleblacks.” Cersei confessed.
“Seriously? They are so gross.” Said the high septon.
“Yes, read AFFC, a good half of my POV chapters are dedicated to describing how I let them shag me with my crown on and gave them hand jobs.”
“Handjobs? Using sex to get ahead?” Roared the Septon. “There is only one punishment for such crimes…public nudity!”
“Dude, seriously…. The fuck?” Asked Cersei.
“The punishment must fit the crime.”
A few days later, Cersei stripped off her clothes to walk through kings Landing naked. “Ewwwww! A nude 33 year old woman! She’s at least 10 years to old to be even remotely hot! Look at those boobs! Gross! Everyone knows a woman can never be hot over the age of 30!” Exclaimed the gathered citizens of Kings Landing.
Cersei kept her head held high. Meanwhile, the guards and everyone else started disrespecting her, having seen her foul, ancient 33 year old body.
“Your breasts are no longer half melon shaped and hard, and therefore you are useless as a human being and deserve to die and suffer!” Shouted a 12 year old boy.
Tears filled Cersei’s eyes. Indeed, it was true. Her entire sense of self worth was promptly diminished in approximately 2 to 3 seconds.
And then, suddenly, the terrible words of Maggie the Frog echoed in Cersie’s ears, “Arrrgah, I am a ridiculous, embarrassingly bad plot device, and you are going to get old and saggy and get your ass owned by some hot young thing, ya hoochie!” Cersei’s eyes filled with tears, and she ran back covering herself just like her father’s former mistress, because she knew instinctively now that she was a dirty, dirty whore.
“Whew, I’m glad that’s over,” Cersei exclaimed to her noble and not at all creepy Uncle Kevan, who’d been standing by and watching this whole thing.
“Sweetling, it’s only beginning,” Said Kevan. “You’ve got at least two more books yet. Get ready for some more, increasingly heinous, intricately described sexual humiliations.”
Cersei’s eyes glazed over.
Tyrion
Traveling along in the litter with Illario, Tyrion allowed himself to doze in and out of sleep, as the sea cow murmured about revealing backstory that was dull enough to put 99.999 percent of all readers to sleep.
“Careful, this incredibly dull exposition will prove crucial in future books,” blathered the sea cow.
The litter then came to a halt, along with Tyrion’s storyline for the duration of the book. Tyrion took a long and intricately described piss. This long prose poem of urine was interrupted when the sea cow Illario introduced Tyrion to two men.
“Tyrion, this is the Half Maester. He is smart and witty, and will allow you to show off your obscure and pointless knowledge of arcane works of literature whilst readers are numbed with an almost physical pain of having to witness a full scale battle of the nerds." Said Illario
“And I’m Duck, and I like ta drink and fight and look at da maidens bosoms and hit stuff with da swords,” blathered the most obvious boisterous bruiser archetype this side of Robert Baratheon.
“You are both naturally beneath me, but feel free to reveal your boring backstories that neither me nor the readers give a damn about.”
“You’ve got yerself a deal, little man!” Roared Duck.
A few hours later Tyrion and his one dimensional companions arrived at the boat. Tyrion took in one couple who were working class and thus insignificant. Next to them was a fantastic pair of breasts pressing against a septa’s robe, with a female head and legs attached. I shall check those teats out later in a creepy and voyeuristic fashion later, Tyrion promised himself with a smile.
It was then that Tyrion saw the boy. He was a handsome lad, about 16 or thereabouts. Tyrion was about to look away when he caught sight of the banner.
Catching sight of the boys banner, Tyrion gasped. Could it be? Yes—yes it was! Emblazoned upon the boy’s banner lay the umistakable sigil of a fish, colored a violent crimson scarlett.
“The Red Herring,” Tyrion breathed.
Jon
Jon Snow sighed. He had tried much and more and done everything to earn his black brothers trust, but fools like Bowen Marsh persisted in their wicked, ridiculous, and unfounded fears. Which reminded him:
"Bowen," said Jon, "You are the greatest fool who has ever lived, and each and every one of your fears are ridiculous, wicked, and unfounded."
"But my Lord Commander, we fear you are bringing the wildings into the fray and impinging on our sacred and ancient traditions of the nightswatch with your constant obsessing over personal issues, and that you are using valuable resources to rescue your sister," Murmured Bowen.
Jon snorted.
"But lord commander, perhaps if you could explain to us what your motivations and overall plan is with the wildings...."
"Fools!" Roared Jon. "If you don't shut up, mindlessly trust me, and do whatever the hell I say for here on out we are defensless against the Others. How dare you not trust in my superior wisdom or ever question my eventual goals and motivations!"
As he stormed out, Jon sighed. However can I get these men to trust me, he wondered.
Danerys
Danerys searched through the charred remains of Drogons lunch to locate the bones of the child. She sighed when she realized she was only getting her nails dirty, and turned back to the direction of the castle.
“What am I going to do,” she asked herself aloud. “I am only a young girl, and know nothing in the way of ruling, politics, human nature, the laws of probability, logic, or, apparently, even the most basic common sense. How can I ever solve this impossible predicament?”
“Perhaps it’s time to cancel “dragon visiting day?” Suggested Selmy.
“And perhaps you should start utilizing the dragons like the dangerous and powerful war weapon they are?” Suggested Brown Ben Plum.
“And perhaps it’s time to stop confiding the intimate details of your top secret plans of state to obvious enemies, such as the green grace?” Suggested Missandei.
“No, no, and No!” Roared Danerys. “I am the blood of the dragon, and whatever I say goes! And I say that keeping my dragons locked up, allowing vulnerable individuals to visit them, and confiding in the weird, vaguely malevolent old granny who’s always hanging around and seems to know an awful lot about the plans of the Harpy are fabulous ideas! And I’m not going to stop doing them! End of story!”
“Feminist heroine my ass,” muttered Missandei.
Melisandre
Melisandre stared into the flames in order to see obscure shit and ridiculously misinterpret symbols.
She then described what she saw, not enough to be interesting or useful to the reader, but just enough to show them that she was, like all other women with real power in these books, actually a laughably incompetent moron.
Melisandre’s eyes burned, but she forced herself to stare into the fire. Blood ran down her legs, either because she was internally burning or because it was simply that time of the month for her. Whatever the case, Melisandre was sure it was enough to make at least ½ of the audience cower in fear.
And then she heard the voice, calling from a generic past that readers everywhere can only pray they will have to hear nothing more about: “Melony, lot seven.”
The tears fell down. Am I really becoming such a bland cliché that all of my actions are being explained away by a ridiculously overused trope about a tragic childhood of slavery and abuse? Indeed she was, if this chapter told it true.
Whenever people asked Melisandre what she saw in the flames, she said, “Much in more.” But in fact, she probably didn’t know what the fuck she saw, judging by her bizarre visions in this chapter. Melisandre thought with a sneer about how all those wicked unbelievers would gnash their teeth in frustration upon having to endure an entire chapters worth of vague pontificating and obscure visions, without having a single question about her sexual relationship with Stannis, her abilities, her age, mortality, or even what the fuck she was definitely answered. And then there was that ridiculous backstory that no one gave a fuck about.
“Melony, lot seven!”
The face of Jon Snow loomed before her. I keep asking to see Azor Azai, but all I see is Snow, reflected Melisandre.
This must mean I should sleep with him.
Melisandre called the boy in, who arrived with a look of bafflement on his face.
“Jon Snow, the great R’lloor in his infinite wisdom created us opposite,” murmured Meliadnre. “Light and dark, bright and shadow, male and female. In these opposites there lies power. The power to create life. The power to birth shadows!”
“Yeah, okay then…but why are you fingering my wang?”
“May I touch your… wolf?” Melisandre asked.
“Lady, that’s not my “wolf” you’ve got your hand on,” said the boy. “By the by… why in seven hells do you keep sexually harassing me?”
“Er… um…. Hey look, it’s mance Rayder!” Said Melisandre.
Jon gaped in shock.
“Don’t worry, man,” said Mance. “She shagged the living daylights out of me, too.”
Danerys
Danerys yawned in boredom and rubbed her sore little ass as she struggled to listen to the problems of all those annoying people she was reigning over.
“Danerys, you are a randy little tart, and you’d better stop banging that sorry excuse for a teen heartthrob Daario!” Screeched a voice.
Danerys looked to see the Green Grace in the corner, having come to complain of Danerys all important sex life for the 5th time this week.
“Quiet, old woman!” Danerys roared.
Still, Danerys admired the Green Grace very much. The woman clearly stood for faith, justice, truth, honesy, and lawful obedience to authority. Danerys turned in the old woman’s direction with a smile, as she saw the green grace grin back and struggle to conceal a giant cardboard sign around her neck that read, “The Harpy.”
“Green Grace, I am only a young girl, and know nothing in the way of war, politics, ruling, administration, or, apparently, the most basic common sense. But I think marrying this random and vaguely creepy noble guy who assured me that he could make the violence stop, clearly indicating he had knowledge of what was going on and connections with the perpetrators, is a fabulous idea. Have him fitted for a wedding tux!”
“Your grace, are you sure this is a good idea,” murmured Barristan Selmy.
“Of course, for I am the blood of the Dragon and am never wrong. And more importantly, I’ve spent more than 3 paragraphs in a row thinking of ruling and my responsibilities, so it must be time for some countless pages of gratuitously described sex!”
“As you say, Your grace,” murmured Barristan.
That night, Daario took her every way a man can take a woman. She rode him until, for one blessed heartbeat, neither could tell who was bumping and who was grinding.
After her night of frenzied porn star sex, Danerys joined Missandei in the bath, made some mandatory comments about the tragedy of her brothers death, and commenced to start crying hysterically.
“Oh Missandei,” she wailed.
“Erm… what the fuck?” Asked Missandei. “You just got done having hours of ridiculously hot sex, and now you’re crying and agonizing over absolutely nothing at the drop of a hat? This makes no bloody sense whatsoever.”
“Hell, were you expecting something like consistent characterization from me?” Roared Danerys. “Damn you… I am the blood of the dragon! And you have NO RIGHT to demand consistent or believable characterization from me, God damn it! Just look at my storyline and the summarization of my activities throughout this entire bloody book! Clearly, what matters is my female incompetence, physical beauty, and all the salacious details of my ridiculous sex life!”
“Oh well,” muttered Missandei. At least I can be sure that since I’m only 11, you aren’t going to be participating in any painfully contrived lesbo scenes with you anytime soon.”
“Messandei, sweetling, this is George R.R. Martin we speak of,” murmured Danerys. “If his sexualization of the 12 year old Sansa told it true, you have about another year before you begin being sexualized to death and engaging in gratuitous, graphically described lesbian sexual encounters with me.”
Missandei’s eyes glazed over.
Jon
Kill the boy and let the man be born, Jon Snow told himself. Finally, he had discovored the perfect way of making his brothers at the nightswatch trust him.
“Brothers!” Jon announced, “Behold, I have found an answer to all of our problems! Let me disregard centuries of sacredly held traditions, and use the nightswatch to interfere in matters of the realm that it has sworn for all its existence to avoid!”
Jon felt one stab, then another.
As he fell to the ground, it struck him with horror—this may well be the last time he would get to self-indulgently and fruitlessly brood and agonize over moral issues. Then he felt nothing, only the cold….
Danerys
Danerys trudged through the desert, breathing heavily and occasionally shitting herself.
“You know,” said a voice from behind her, “I do believe that that pile of bloody excrement is a good metaphor for your utter lack of progression, both in terms of plot and characterization, in this book.”
Danerys turned around and gasped. It was Viserys!
“Oh, Viserys, you were always cruel to me!” Wailed Danerys.
“True, but after watching you do nothing but shag a creepy guy and screw up throughout the entirety of this novel, I do believe some readers may reach the conclusion that I was perhaps not cruel enough.”
“I did love you once,” said Danerys. “But you beat me. You sold me.”
“And you went the entirety of an 800+ page novel while possessing queenship of an entire land and 3 huge magical dragons without doing a single interesting thing. We all make our mistakes, sister. Clearly.”
“But I cannot be blamed for your murder, brother—it was Drogo who killed you, due to your own greed and folly!”
“Yes, I’m sorry for trying actively to accomplish the goal I expressly set for myself at the beginning of my storyline. I should have just sat around waiting, that would have made for some compelling fiction. It’s called plot development, dumbass.”
And with that Viserys disappeared, and Danerys was grateful, for she was only a young girl and knew little and less of “plot” and its “development.”
“Hey, that’s what must make your pages in this book as boring as fuck all. That, and the 60+ IQ drop and the nearly obsessive, voyeuristic focus on your sex life,” Said Jorah Mormont.
“Jorah! How I’ve missed your ugly, middle aged self ogling, objectifying, and hitting on me in utterly inappropriate and disgusting ways! Getting rid of you was the single stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and as a woman in power, obviously, ever single one of my choices are going to be relentlessly, overtly stupid, since this is a George R.R. Martin book.”
“Stupid woman. You should have stepped down as queen and never accepted power, since no normal healthy woman has or should ever do that… erm, I mean, you should have gone to Westeros. Yes… that’s clearly the message of this whole “the two ways women can rule” scenario. Ahem.”
And with that, Jorah disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Days passed, and Danerys engaged in further intricately described acts of diseased and bloody defecation.
This must be a sign that in taking power rather than submitting to a man, I’ve ignored my true nature. I can’t wait until Tyrion comes here and becomes my ruler, erm, partriarch, erm, I mean, advisor. Then he can tell me what to do in every situation, as nature intended, and I can finally be written in a positive manner again, and everyone can stop hating me, since all women with power in these books are either stupid, incompetent, and pure evil, or moderately stupid, incompetent, and good, since they hate ruling and want a man to take over for them. And then, I can meet Jon Snow, submit to him in the bedroom, and my life will be complete!
With that Dany magically got better, and starting imitating the behavior and eating habits of her dragon friend.
Suddenly Khal Jhaqo appeared.
“Khaleesi, it is good to see you picking up your storyline here, as a start off to your character arc in A Dance with Dragons.”
“No, silly!” Exclaimed Danerys. “This is actually my last chapter. I’ve spent the duration of this book having sex, putting vulnerable children at risk, having sex, making stupid political decisions, having sex, eating, getting married to a creepy guy, proving unambiguously that I am a shite ruler and, like all women, utterly helpless without a man to guide me and, of course, having sex.”
Kahal Jhaqo’s eyes glazed over.
