Max-stravaganza

There’s this old joke: Two Dornish whores are walking through Casterly Rock.   One turns to the other and says, “These Lannister men are pigs.”   And the other says, “I know.   And none of them have tried to force themselves upon us.”   And that’s how I feel about life right now.   Despite being surrounded by dragons and handmaidens and an army of Dothraki marauders, I’m still very much alone.   I’m talking “Sylvia Plath exiled to the Night’s Watch” levels of loneliness and isolation.   Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to being abandoned.   My earliest memory is the sack of Dragonstone when I was smuggled out of the city as Stannis Baratheon murdered every last member of my House.   But this time is different.   This one actually hurts.   I had someone in my life this time.   Drogo and I were in love.   Granted, I was originally treated like property and sold off to him as a way of consolidating power, but you can’t be too picky nowadays. My five-year plan was always simple.   Ra