Laughter Is Poison To Fear.

Don’t Call Me Lord Snow.” The Dwarf Lifted An Eyebrow. “would You Rather Be Called The Imp? Let Them See That Their Words Can Cut You And You’ll Never Be Free Of The Mockery. If They Want To Give You A Name Take It Make It Your Own. Then They Can’t Hurt You With It Anymore.

Catelyn Had Never Liked This Godswood. She Had Been Born A Tully, At Riverrun Far To The South, On The Red Fork Of The Trident. The Godswood There Was A Garden, Bright And Airy, Where Tall Redwoods Spread Dappled Shadows Across Tinkling Streams, Birds Sang From Hidden Nests, And The Air Was Spicy With The Scent Of Flowers.

He Pushed Himself To His Feet. “don’t Lie, Sansa. I Am Malformed, Scarred, And Small, But…” She Could See Him Groping “…abed, When The Candles Are Blown Out, I Am Made No Worse Than Other Men. In The Dark, I Am The Knight Of Flowers.” He Took A Draught Of Wine. “i Am Generous. Loyal To Those Who Are Loyal To Me. I’ve Proven I’m No Craven. And I Am Cleverer Than Most, Surely Wits Count For Something. I Can Even Be Kind. Kindness Is Not A Habit With Us Lannisters, I Fear, But I Know I Have Some Somewhere. I Could Be… I Could Be Good To You.

But The Real Enemy Is The Cold. It Steals Up On You Quieter Than Will, And At First You Shiver And Your Teeth Chatter And You Stamp Your Feet And Dream Of Mulled Wine And Nice Hot Fires. It Burns, It Does. Nothing Burns Like The Cold. But Only For A While. Then It Gets Inside You And Starts To Fill You Up, And After A While You Don't Have The Strength To Fight It. It's Easier Just To Sit Down Ot Go To Sleep. They Say You Don't Feel Any Pain Toward The End. First You Go Weak And Drowsy, And Everything Starts To Fade, And Then It's Like Sinking Into A Sea Of Warm Milk. Peaceful, Like.

If H. P. Lovecraft And H. L. Mencken Had Ever Collaborated, They Might Have Come Up With Something Like The Edge Of Reason. This One Will Delight Thinkers-and Outrage True Believers-of All Stripes.