I, Gandalf, have grown increasingly perturbed with the events transpiring in the West, particularly in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The residents of the area in question appear to believe matters of state to be some sort of game, which is a falsehood; therefore I have summoned Gwahir VIII, current Lord of the Eagles, to fly me to the Far West poste haste so that I may talk some sense into these foolish humans.
One of the more unsettling aspects of events transpiring in the region is the frequent and often unnecessary killings of beloved community members. Westeros fancies itself a fantastic realm, but heartbreaking death for no clear reason is not fantastic. When life is lost earlier than expected, it should be because the dying one is irredeemably wicked, or the only chance of redemption is through self-sacrifice in one last heroic act, or at least to motivate others to rise up against a common, uncommonly despicable, enemy. The importance of avoiding senseless murders is one of many nuggets of wisdom which I will need to impart.
One might wonder if I myself might be foolish for publicizing my actions, lest the villains of Westeros catch wind of my pending arrival and work to stop me. To that, I echo the young people and say, “bring it on”. For I am Gandalf, and I am intimidated by no human. You may recall how I climbed much of a mountain in an unholy blizzard despite being extremely advanced in age. Or how I successfully battled a balrog. Do you know what a balrog is like? You do not. You have only seen artistic re-imaginings of the abomination, and those barely begin to approach the true horror of the balrog. Which I defeated. So I am not scared of Ramsay Bolton or any other human in Westeros.
What does scare me, however, is the presence of dragons. Out of all the foolhardy activities which transpire there, those of the girl Daenerys may be the foolhardiest. If she believes she can control dragons, this is only because that is what those worms wish her to believe, so they are not struck down while they are still small. As they grow larger and more devious, they will cease to cooperate and all this infighting among humans will become moot, as the dragons will burn the iron throne and sleep on a new throne, this one of gold. This will persist for centuries unless I come in and vanquish these beasts before they become nearly unstoppable.
The time has come to stop writing and start flying. My companion is holding the door, and Gwahir is outside. Soon I shall arrive in Westeros and talk sense into the humans and slay the dragons, or at least move Tyrion Lannister somewhere out of harm’s way.