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The Godfather production began - www.patreon.com/TC_L. Happy reading. -TC

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The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.

And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.

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.

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As Steven finished reading the last page of "A Game of Thrones," a mix of emotions washed over him.

The journey through the tale had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and the final moments left him both satisfied and longing for more. A sense of awe and wonder filled his heart as he reflected on the intricacies of the story and the vastness of the world that had been unveiled before his eyes.

There was a tinge of sadness as well, knowing that the characters he had grown so attached to, whose struggles and triumphs he had witnessed, would now be left in anticipation of the next chapter in their lives.

The editor couldn't help but feel a bittersweet yearning for the characters' fates, hoping they would find the strength and resilience to face the challenges yet to come.

Mixed with the emotions was a deep admiration for the author's skill in crafting such a complex and layered narrative.

Steven marveled at Ian's ability to interweave numerous plotlines and perspectives, creating a tapestry of intrigue and suspense. The depth of the characters, their flawed humanity, and the moral complexities that permeated every decision made the story all the more engrossing.

As Steven closed the book, a sense of accomplishment settled within him. He was privileged to have been part of this literary journey, to have witnessed the birth of iconic characters, and to have been drawn into the web of political intrigue, familial strife, and the unyielding pursuit of power.

He knew that this was only the beginning of a saga that would leave an indelible mark on the realm of fantasy literature.

With a satisfied smile, Steven put down the manuscript, appreciating the artistry and the magnitude of what he had just experienced.

He couldn't wait to share this remarkable tale with readers, to immerse them in the rich tapestry of Westeros and beyond, and to watch as others embarked on their own emotional odyssey through the pages of "A Game of Thrones."

Steven rang the intercom, and his assistant walked inside.

“When will Ian be here?” he asked after he closed the manuscript and kept it afar.

“He should be here within the next hour, sir. Can I get you anything else?” the assistant asked back.

Steven shook his head. “Not really, I’d like to know when he is here. Uh, also, bring me the notes from Jack And Mary. I need to recheck them to see if we still would follow the deal. There’s so much to think about before I’d talk to them,” Steven said while giving the usual professional look to his assistant.

The assistant looked back and nodded immediately.

“You asked for this a while ago too, it’s my mistake. I’ll send the notes within ten minutes. The editors are still working on it. I’ll hurry.” He said and paused. A ding sound was heard through the device he was holding. “Ian is here, shall I send him in?”

Steven adjusted in his chair.

“Yes, thank you.”

-

In no time, Ian walked inside the room. He was wearing his usual suit, but his eyes showed determination.

“Have a seat, Ian. Good to see you again,” Steven said, inviting him for the conversation.

Ian smiled and took the seat.

“Good to see you again too, Steven. I suppose you read the draft? How was it?” he asked and looked directly into the latter’s eyes.

“Well,” Steven hesitated before continuing. He cleared his throat.

“What is it?”

“Ian, I have a question to ask. And the question had been pondering in my head ever since I started reading…” Steven took a sip from the glass of water that was beside him.

“And?”

“Well, how did you manage to write something like this in such a short time?” he asked, finally questioning Ian’s abilities.

Ian wasn’t able to answer it right away, as he was taken aback by the question. Steven was now questioning how Ian wrote it, and how he managed to write it. Does that mean he enjoyed the reading, or not?

“Ian, the story was fantastic. Out of the world. So many characters, so many plots, the planning, the progress, the building, everything was so amazing… And this manuscript, this draft that you just handed me… It’s surreal…” he said, being truthful to what he thought.

“Thank y-”

“Honestly, this is unbelievable. Ian, you wrote books of different genres. That thing you did would take anyone years to do. Like, lots of reading, lots of practice, lots of plotting… Failing, succeeding… That’s a lot,” Steven said and adjusted the glass that was on the bridge of his nose.

“I tried my best.”

“Your attempt was more than successful, Ian. I’ll need to edit a few lines…” Steven whispered the last part.

Ian nodded and smiled. “We still have a lot to discuss,” he said.

“Yes, we do. But I hope you know that you are gifted. You are gifted, Ian. This writing is a blessing. So, I don’t care how you found the time to write all of this… Don’t stop. Do not stop. The world needs more such pieces of work…”