One Stair Up” by Campbell Nairne Essay Example

One Stair Up† by Campbell Nairne Paper Essay A â€Å"One stair up† by Campbell Nairne The fragment describes how two youngsters, representatives of the working class, Rosa and Andrew, went to the cinema. We see them in the hall of the cinema, after that observe them in the showing room. There is relatively little action in this story. The author’s attention is mainly focused on the details, so that we could see, smell and feel everything that surrounds the main characters. The text can be described as partially narrative and partially descriptive. The exposition is rather long. The author’s aim is to plunge us into the atmosphere of the luxurious salon: we can even hear the â€Å"soft whirring of fans† and â€Å"a cup grate on a saucer†, feel the â€Å"hot darkness† and draw a realistic image of the showing room. The complication begins with the Rosa’s question â€Å"This a comedy? † Now our attention is fully devoted to the leading characters, depicted skillfully by the author. Campbell Nairne reveals the nature of his characters through actions, details, dialogues, and, mostly, through showing their thoughts. He uses interior monologues to build up the thought patterns of both the main characters. We will write a custom essay sample on One Stair Up† by Campbell Nairne specifically for you for only $16.38 $13.9/page Order now We will write a custom essay sample on One Stair Up† by Campbell Nairne specifically for you FOR ONLY $16.38 $13.9/page Hire Writer We will write a custom essay sample on One Stair Up† by Campbell Nairne specifically for you FOR ONLY $16.38 $13.9/page Hire Writer The tension grows as we â€Å"hear† what Rosa thinks of Andrew, because her thoughts come in strong contradiction to his ones. The culmination takes place when Andrew breaks out, â€Å"forgetful in his excitement†. Full of delight, he wants to share his impressions with Rosa, but meets only cold misunderstanding. He starts making excuses to her, looking abject and miserable. The denouement lies in the sharp answer of Rosa. The elements of the plot are ordered chronologically, the story ends on the sour note, but the end of the story is not clear-cut and conclusive. It gives the reader much room for suggestion, forces himher to fancy a possible reaction of the young man and the further development of the relationships between Rosa and Andrew. The plot is of minor importance in this story, if we compare it with the work of mind, feelings and emotions. We pay attention to what the characters think rather than to what they do. The author speaks first in his own voice and presents events in the third person singular, but there are moments when we realize that the author’s words are substituted by interior monologues of the youngsters. Nairne uses such a device to make his story a remarkable insight into human character. What is also characteristic of the story is that we cannot fully trust the narrator’s judgment, as he sometimes speaks with irony. A vivid example of it is the description of the forthcoming attraction â€Å"Mothers of Broadway†. The author mixes the quotations from an advertisement with his own remarks, which are even more swelling and exaggerative than the advertisement itself. He says â€Å"The film seemed to have smashed all records†, and we have to doubt deeply, whether he is speaking frankly. Next to this pompous review of the film Andrew’s comment follows: â€Å"Not much good, I expect†. Here we can observe a complete change in the point of view, and, accordingly, in the atmosphere. The mask seems to have been removed, and the emphasis in the episode turns great. Now let us examine the characters in details. Except for the main ones, Andrew and Rosa, we also meet â€Å"a trim girl in a chocolate uniform with blue pipings’, which ‘silently emerged, glanced at the tickets and admitted them†. The author pays attention only to her appearance and actions. On the contrary, we find nothing about the look of the main characters. And it’s not by chance: in this particular fragment their look has no significance. We explore only their inner world, knowing nothing about the outer, and it doesn’t prevent the characters from being round and full-blooded. They are fully believable, and as in real life, sometimes act inconsistently. In the best way it can be seen in the ending of the story, when Rosa’s retort â€Å"was uttered before she had command of it†. Another example concerns Andrew: he promised himself he would keep silent during the film, because Rosa had forbidden him to talk to her in a cinema. After that he broke the promise and it led to their tiff. The two heroes are faced with the problem of misunderstanding; moreover, an inner conflict, associated with Rose’s inner world, domineers from the very beginning of the story. â€Å"It pleased her to be seen in the dress circle, even with Andrew†. The detachment â€Å"even with Andrew† shows us that she doesn’t enjoy his company. Finally, her attitude to him is voiced in her thoughts: she supposed him to be stupid, just â€Å"a big hulking kid† and looked at him with contempt. Her irritation grew and the inner conflict turned into an external one. The roots of the conflict between the characters lie in their different attitude to things, different tempers and motivations, and particularly, in their attitude to cinema. Rosa’s attitude is much more serious than that of Andrew. For him it was just a sort of fun. He was going to â€Å"enjoy himselfâ€Å", and nothing more. But for Rosa it was a way to go one stair up in the world, may be even the means of self-development. Moreover, it was not by chance that she â€Å"surveyed the dim amphitheatre in the hope of recognizing some of her acquaintances†. She wanted to be seen in the dress circle and to keep the track of events. The title of the story is a suggestive one. It helps us to single out the main idea of the story: some people are not content to live in obscurity, and their aim is to go one stair up in the world by any means. Now let us see what helps this story to affect our feelings so deeply†¦ In the given fragment the author uses a wide range of stylistic devices. Here are examples of epithets (â€Å"voluptuous (stillness)†, â€Å"rapid-fire (drama)†, â€Å"soft (whirring)†, â€Å"hot (darkness)†), metaphors (â€Å"a shower of stars†, â€Å"a shaft of white light†), metonymy â€Å"young bloods†, simile (â€Å"a carpet that yielded like springing turf†). He also exploits ellipsis â€Å"This a comedy? †, â€Å"You see all right? † to imitate the colloquial language and to show the low education level of the speakers. To render the peculiarities of the thought stream, he uses simple syntactical constructions, many one-member nominative sentences (â€Å"Custards all over the place†, â€Å"Oh, yes, a stick of dynamite. ), rhetorical questions (â€Å"Where was it going to put that? †), exclamatory sentences (â€Å"Oh, this was good! †). Personification is used throughout the text (â€Å"pot-plants and palms leapt up†). The extract I thought — it was quite funny, you know — I mean, people laughed. I wasnt the only one. But if you dont like it — is especially remarkable. It sounds unconnected, the same idea is repeated twice (â€Å"I thought †¦ I mean†). The speech is interrupted: hesitation pauses are shown with the help of the dashes. Evidently, poor Andrew had a lack of words. Moreover, aposiopesis is used. All these expressive means show us how great was the extent of the boy’s confusion, and unwillingly the reader’s heart fills with sympathy for him. No doubt, he author has a fine and remarkable style, everything seems to reflect the feelings of the heroes, and as a result, the events emerge in our mind in the most realistic way. The reader is immersed deeply into the life of those two youngsters: we see, hear and feel the same as they do. We get access to their thoughts and judgments, we can easily put ourselves into their shoes. And we realize that there are so many Rosas and Andrews among us†¦

Social Media Networks Impacts on Political Communication

Social Media Networks Impacts on Political Communication Introduction Social media networks have greatly influenced political communication in modern society. Its impact on political activities and governance is especially profound. In the book, the Internet Imaginaire, Patrice Flichy says the development of the internet (social media) is among the most revolutionary processes in modern society (more specifically because the internet has become a super-highway of information).Advertising We will write a custom essay sample on Social Media Networks’ Impacts on Political Communication specifically for you for only $16.05 $11/page Learn More From the increasing importance of the internet, today, Flichy argues that most politicians have only joined an ongoing trend of designers, business executives, and individuals (among others) who have resorted to use social media as a technical utopia for advancing their goals. Since many people have accepted the internet as their main communication paradigm, the internet h as become widely successful in changing how politicians interact with their subjects. In sum, Flichy argues that the internet has been widely successful in politics because it transforms the interaction between leaders and their followers. From an emphasis on the Middle East political space, this paper focuses on explaining the impact of social media in the UAE political life by exploring if social media networks make leaders more visible and transparent. To have a practical understanding of this issue, this paper focuses on the social media activities of UAE’s foreign affairs minister, H.H. Abdulla Bin Zayed Al Nahyan. Through an analysis of his Twitter account, this paper proposes that social media networks make political accountability easier and friendlier, as it increases the visibility and transparency of political leaders. However, to understand this fact, this study first explains how social media has created a new way to represent political leaders in the UAE. A New Way to Represent the Political Leader in the UAE Culture The social media presence of Abdulla Bin Zayed draws significant inferences from the works of Louis Marin, in the book, the King’s Portrait. Marin largely borrows from the experiences of King Louis XIV in portraying the image of a politician as an immortal onlooker (through the transformation of politicians from theological bodies to immortal political figures). Flichy contextualises this transformation through his understanding of the power that most politicians enjoy in transforming themselves to political relevance today (through social media). Marin explains the same situation, although from a historical perspective, by saying that the transformation of politicians to political relevance (through the internet) is a symbol of absolutism.Advertising Looking for essay on communications media? Let's see if we can help you! Get your first paper with 15% OFF Learn More Absolutism represents a poli tical order that redefines the meaning and status of representation by redefining the configurations of power. Broadly, Marin’s work shows how politicians achieve social control through art. The relationship between politics and art is unfamiliar for most political studies, but it symbolises the interaction between aesthetics and kingship. This relationship also stems from the interaction between state, God, and the truth. A complete symmetry of these three aspects of governance stems from the absolute achievement of sovereignty and power. Most literatures that have explored the impact of social media in the UAE political space have chronologically shown that the growth of social media has led to a shift of its use from a social paradigm to a political and civic paradigm. Recent events surrounding the Arab spring and the increased influence of civic movements in the Arab world have especially supported this change. The influence of social media in the UAE political space asso ciates with several political and social factors, like the acceptance of divergent political views, the support of social and political changes, people’s empowerment, and the influence of social media on people’s views of the society. Across the Arab world, social media use has however introduced political change in different measures. Particularly, social media has had a huge impact on how political leaders interact with their followers. A key issue that manifests here is persuasion because it explains how political leaders interact with their followers. The role of social media in persuading people to follow a leader is a departure from the traditional role of social media as a tool for collecting signatures, or for advocating a social or political cause. Nonetheless, every political leader has a distinct reason for using social media. An analysis of Sheikh Zayeds Twitter page shows that the uses of social media are highly dynamic (even though it should primarily inc rease the level of interaction between political leaders and their followers). Therefore, today, social media serves to provide a more intimate/personal access to political leaders. For example, people know Sheikh Zayed more intimately through random tweets. For example, one tweet (which appears on his Twitter page) says, â€Å"Read my piece on how Sheikh Zayeds childhood and early youth shaped his character as a leader.†Advertising We will write a custom essay sample on Social Media Networks’ Impacts on Political Communication specifically for you for only $16.05 $11/page Learn More Such tweets offer a personal insight into the life of the political leader. Despite providing a personal touch to political leadership, social media also provides a platform where people can be entertained and informed about political events. For example, in Sheikh Zayed’s Twitter account, there is a lot of information regarding the dangers of driving, the importance of eating healthy, personal inspiration (among other factors). In sum, social media has helped to package political leaders differently, by presenting them as multifaceted individuals with a more personal touch (than before). This platform gives them visibility in their public lives. Too Much Visibility While social media offers immense advantages to businesses, political institutions, individuals, and political leaders, it also has its disadvantages. A common disadvantage is too much visibility. In the past, visibility was mainly limited to the presence of individuals on one location and at a specific time. However, with the development of social media communication, people do not have to be at the same place and at the same time to be visible; online presence gives them this visibility. This new form of visibility has a huge impact on the relationship between visibility and power because it may destroy or build the reputation of politicians. However, smart political lea ders seek the services of third parties, like public relations (PR) firms, to manage this new level of representation and exploit it to their advantage. Usually, such political leaders use this platform to create a strong support base for their political causes. Relative to the above assertion, Abdulla Bin Zayed uses his visibility on his Twitter page to create a strong support base for his official duties. As the minister of foreign affairs, Abdulla Bin Zayed uses his Twitter account to communicate positive issues about the UAE. For example, his Twitter account has the following tweets, â€Å"Abu Dhabi is the worlds fourth favourite city, ranked behind only New York, London, and Paris.† â€Å"American University in Paris receives anonymous donation from UAE in honour of late educator.† These tweets report positive issues (such as security, development, tourism, and charitable matters) about the UAE and some of its cities. A positive portrayal of the UAE also complemen ts his role as an ambassador for the government (especially in his capacity as the minister for foreign affairs). Depending on the contextual framework, too much visibility may be a positive and negative thing for social media users. For example, for political leaders, too much visibility is a positive thing because political leaders are public figures and the higher their visibility, the better they achieve political effectiveness. Even though some political leaders use social media for the right reasons, the proper management of increased public attention may expose such leaders to new risks.Advertising Looking for essay on communications media? Let's see if we can help you! Get your first paper with 15% OFF Learn More New risks create new areas of fragility for political leaders because even though the smart ones manage this visibility to their advantage, they cannot have an absolute control over social media issues. Therefore, their efforts to exploit social media may still work to their disadvantage. The public may however enjoy increased political transparency through social media. Increased Transparency in the UAE Political Life – A Social Media Analysis The role of social media in increasing the level of transparency in the political life of the UAE largely stems from its influence in determining how people share information (its implication on governance is usually very profound). Social media therefore introduces new risks and opportunities for the UAE political space because on one hand, political leaders may use this platform to influence people’s perceptions, but on the other hand, the same platform has greatly empowered the people to question and criticise political activ ities in the country. Therefore, through an angry blog or tweet, someone can easily tarnish the name of a political leader. While many political leaders have understood these inherent risks and opportunities, they cannot afford to be complacent. Increased transparency is therefore one issue that political leaders cannot wish away. While traditional communication channels included extreme barriers of bureaucracy and lack of access to political leaders, social media has broken down these barriers and made leaders more accessible to the electorate. This way, the electorate finds it easy to question their leaders. In turn, the leaders have become more accountable and transparent in their political and professional activities. A tweet from Abdulla Bin Zayed’s account confirms the above assertion because it contains evidence of public complaints and responses to such complaints (increased accountability). For example, one person said, â€Å"believe it or not; they called to tell m e that they credit the money back based on my complaint.† This tweet shows an interesting dynamic of social media communication in politics because it highlights a seamless communication between the electorate and political leaders. In the past, this type of communication was one-sided (from the political leaders to the electorate). A transformed communication framework outlines one aspect of Flichy’s argument (in the book, the internet Imaginaire) that captures the essence of this paper redefining information sources. Through a constructivist model, Flichy says the transformation of communication (through the internet) means that information does not have to originate from only one source. Instead, people may interact freely without experiencing the traditional communication barriers held by politicians and mainstream media. This assertion largely explains the nature of information in the Twitter account of Abdulla Bin Zayed because most of the content (tweets) appear ing in his pages do not necessarily originate from him. The potentials that social media and other internet platforms hold for politicians create a huge bulk of the arguments presented by Flichy because he says that the internet has helped politicians to transform mask utopia to liberal ideology. This argument mentions the role of social media in transforming the political causes of some US politicians, such as Al Gore, who used the internet to transform mask utopia to liberal ideology. Nonetheless, evidence of unbiased information sources of interaction also exists between other Middle Eastern leaders and their subjects. In sum, this level of interaction shows that social media has greatly increased the level of transparency in political governance in the Middle East. Conclusion After weighing the findings of this paper, we can affirm that social media networks increase the level of political accountability and transparency in the Middle East. Evidence from Abdulla Bin Zayedâ€℠¢s Twitter account also shows that social media has helped to package political leaders as more humane, fun, and entertaining. However, the main goal of a political leader, in using social media, is to persuade their followers to be more familiar with their thinking. As leaders strive to achieve this objective, they should use the increased visibility they get through social media to advance their ideologies and relate better with their followers. Marin says that the proper use of social media may immortalise the relevance of political leaders because they can re-invent themselves this way. Comprehensively, smart political leaders identify the right types of conversations (that promote their cause) and engage their audiences accordingly. This attempt should be followed with extreme persuasion because the value of social media exists here – persuading the electorate.

A Game of Thrones Chapter Fortyseven

â€Å"Promise me, Ned,† Lyanna’s statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood. Eddard Stark jerked upright, his heart racing, the blankets tangled around him. The room was black as pitch, and someone was hammering on the door. â€Å"Lord Eddard,† a voice called loudly. â€Å"A moment.† Groggy and naked, he stumbled his way across the darkened chamber. When he opened the door, he found Tomard with an upraised fist, and Cayn with a taper in hand. Between them stood the king’s own steward. The man’s face might have been carved of stone, so little did it show. â€Å"My lord Hand,† he intoned. â€Å"His Grace the King commands your presence. At once.† So Robert had returned from his hunt. It was long past time. â€Å"I shall need a few moments to dress.† Ned left the man waiting without. Cayn helped him with his clothes; white linen tunic and grey cloak, trousers cut open down his plaster-sheathed leg, his badge of office, and last of all a belt of heavy silver links. He sheathed the Valyrian dagger at his waist. The Red Keep was dark and still as Cayn and Tomard escorted him across the inner bailey. The moon hung low over the walls, ripening toward full. On the ramparts, a guardsman in a gold cloak walked his rounds. The royal apartments were in Maegor’s Holdfast, a massive square fortress that nestled in the heart of the Red Keep behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes, a castle-within-a-castle. Ser Boros Blount guarded the far end of the bridge, white steel armor ghostly in the moonlight. Within, Ned passed two other knights of the Kingsguard; Ser Preston Greenfield stood at the bottom of the steps, and Ser Barristan Selmy waited at the door of the king’s bedchamber. Three men in white cloaks, he thought, remembering, and a strange chill went through him. Ser Barristan’s face was as pale as his armor. Ned had only to look at him to know that something was dreadfully wrong. The royal steward opened the door. â€Å"Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King,† he announced. â€Å"Bring him here,† Robert’s voice called, strangely thick. Fires blazed in the twin hearths at either end of the bedchamber, filling the room with a sullen red glare. The heat within was suffocating. Robert lay across the canopied bed. At the bedside hovered Grand Maester Pycelle, while Lord Renly paced restlessly before the shuttered windows. Servants moved back and forth, feeding logs to the fire and boiling wine. Cersei Lannister sat on the edge of the bed beside her husband. Her hair was tousled, as if from sleep, but there was nothing sleepy in her eyes. They followed Ned as Tomard and Cayn helped him cross the room. He seemed to move very slowly, as if he were still dreaming. The king still wore his boots. Ned could see dried mud and blades of grass clinging to the leather where Robert’s feet stuck out beneath the blanket that covered him, A green doublet lay on the floor, slashed open and discarded, the cloth crusted with red-brown stains. The room smelled of smoke and blood and death. â€Å"Ned,† the king whispered when he saw him. His face was pale as milk. â€Å"Come . . . closer.† His men brought him close. Ned steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost. He had only to look down at Robert to know how bad it was. â€Å"What . . . ?† he began, his throat clenched. â€Å"A boar.† Lord Renly was still in his hunting greens, his cloak spattered with blood. â€Å"A devil,† the king husked. â€Å"My own fault. Too much wine, damn me to hell. Missed my thrust.† â€Å"And where were the rest of you?† Ned demanded of Lord Renly. â€Å"Where was Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard?† Renly’s mouth twitched. â€Å"My brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take the boar alone.† Eddard Stark lifted the blanket. They had done what they could to close him up, but it was nowhere near enough. The boar must have been a fearsome thing. It had ripped the king from groin to nipple with its tusks. The wine-soaked bandages that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were already black with blood, and the smell off the wound was hideous. Ned’s stomach turned. He let the blanket fall. â€Å"Stinks,† Robert said. â€Å"The stink of death, don’t think I can’t smell it. Bastard did me good, eh? But I . . . I paid him back in kind, Ned.† The king’s smile was as terrible as his wound, his teeth red. â€Å"Drove a knife right through his eye. Ask them if I didn’t. Ask them.† â€Å"Truly,† Lord Renly murmured. â€Å"We brought the carcass back with us, at my brother’s command.† â€Å"For the feast,† Robert whispered. â€Å"Now leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with Ned.† â€Å"Robert, my sweet lord . . . † Cersei began. â€Å"I said leave,† Robert insisted with a hint of his old fierceness. â€Å"What part of that don’t you understand, woman?† Cersei gathered up her skirts and her dignity and led the way to the door. Lord Renly and the others followed. Grand Maester Pycelle lingered, his hands shaking as he offered the king a cup of thick white liquid. â€Å"The milk of the poppy, Your Grace,† he said. â€Å"Drink. For your pain.† Robert knocked the cup away with the back of his hand. â€Å"Away with you. I’ll sleep soon enough, old fool. Get out.† Grand Maester Pycelle gave Ned a stricken look as he shuffled from the room. â€Å"Damn you, Robert,† Ned said when they were alone. His leg was throbbing so badly he was almost blind with pain. Or perhaps it was grief that fogged his eyes. He lowered himself to the bed, beside his friend. â€Å"Why do you always have to be so headstrong?† â€Å"Ah, fuck you, Ned,† the king said hoarsely. â€Å"I killed the bastard, didn’t I?† A lock of matted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. â€Å"Ought to do the same for you. Can’t leave a man to hunt in peace. Ser Robar found me. Gregor’s head. Ugly thought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him.† His laugh turned into a grunt as a spasm of pain hit him. â€Å"Gods have mercy,† he muttered, swallowing his agony. â€Å"The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right . . . that’s why, the girl . . . the gods sent the boar . . . sent to punish me . . .† The king coughed, bringing up blood. â€Å"Wrong, it was wrong, I . . . only a girl . . . Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother . . . worthless . . . no one to tell me no but you, Ned . . . only you . . . † He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and feeble. â€Å"Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.† Ned smoothed the paper out across his knee and took up the quill. â€Å"At your command, Your Grace.† â€Å"This is the will and word of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and all the rest—put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my . . . upon my death . . . to rule in my . . . in my stead, until my son Joffrey does come of age . . . â€Å" â€Å"Robert . . . † Joffrey is not your son, he wanted to say, but the words would not come. The agony was written too plainly across Robert’s face; he could not hurt him more. So Ned bent his head and wrote, but where the king had said â€Å"my son Joffrey,† he scrawled â€Å"my heir† instead. The deceit made him feel soiled. The lies we tell for love, he thought. May the gods forgive me. â€Å"What else would you have me say?† â€Å"Say . . . whatever you need to. Protect and defend, gods old and new, you have the words. Write. I’ll sign it. You give it to the council when I’m dead.† â€Å"Robert,† Ned said in a voice thick with grief, â€Å"you must not do this. Don’t die on me. The realm needs you.† Robert took his hand, fingers squeezing hard. â€Å"You are . . . such a bad liar, Ned Stark,† he said through his pain. â€Å"The realm . . . the realm knows . . . what a wretched king I’ve been. Bad as Aerys, the gods spare me.† â€Å"No,† Ned told his dying friend, â€Å"not so bad as Aerys, Your Grace. Not near so bad as Aerys.† Robert managed a weak red smile. â€Å"At the least, they will say . . . this last thing . . . this I did right. You won’t fail me. You’ll rule now. You’ll hate it, worse than I did . . . but you’ll do well. Are you done with the scribbling?† â€Å"Yes, Your Grace.† Ned offered Robert the paper. The king scrawled his signature blindly, leaving a smear of blood across the letter. â€Å"The seal should be witnessed.† â€Å"Serve the boar at my funeral feast,† Robert rasped. â€Å"Apple in its mouth, skin seared crisp. Eat the bastard. Don’t care if you choke on him. Promise me, Ned.† â€Å"I promise.† Promise me, Ned, Lyanna’s voice echoed. â€Å"The girl,† the king said. â€Å"Daenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it . . . not too late . . . talk to them . . . Varys, Littlefinger . . . don’t let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make him be . . . better than me.† He winced. â€Å"Gods have mercy.† â€Å"They will, my friend,† Ned said. â€Å"They will.† The king closed his eyes and seemed to relax. â€Å"Killed by a pig,† he muttered. â€Å"Ought to laugh, but it hurts too much.† Ned was not laughing. â€Å"Shall I call them back?† Robert gave a weak nod. â€Å"As you will. Gods, why is it so cold in here?† The servants rushed back in and hurried to feed the fires. The queen had gone; that was some small relief, at least. If she had any sense, Cersei would take her children and fly before the break of day, Ned thought. She had lingered too long already. King Robert did not seem to miss her. He bid his brother Renly and Grand Maester Pycelle to stand in witness as he pressed his seal into the hot yellow wax that Ned had dripped upon his letter. â€Å"Now give me something for the pain and let me die.† Hurriedly Grand Maester Pycelle mixed him another draught of the milk of the poppy. This time the king drank deeply. His black beard was beaded with thick white droplets when he threw the empty cup aside. â€Å"Will I dream?† Ned gave him his answer. â€Å"You will, my lord.† â€Å"Good,† he said, smiling. â€Å"I will give Lyanna your love, Ned. Take care of my children for me.† The words twisted in Ned’s belly like a knife. For a moment he was at a loss. He could not bring himself to lie. Then he remembered the bastards: little Barra at her mother’s breast, Mya in the Vale, Gendry at his forge, and all the others. â€Å"I shall . . . guard your children as if they were my own,† he said slowly. Robert nodded and closed his eyes. Ned watched his old friend sag softly into the pillows as the milk of the poppy washed the pain from his face. Sleep took him. Heavy chains jangled softly as Grand Maester Pycelle came up to Ned. â€Å"I will do all in my power, my lord, but the wound has mortified. It took them two days to get him back. By the time I saw him, it was too late. I can lessen His Grace’s suffering, but only the gods can heal him now.† â€Å"How long?† Ned asked. â€Å"By rights, he should be dead already. I have never seen a man cling to life so fiercely.† â€Å"My brother was always strong,† Lord Renly said. â€Å"Not wise, perhaps, but strong.† In the sweltering heat of the bedchamber, his brow was slick with sweat. He might have been Robert’s ghost as he stood there, young and dark and handsome. â€Å"He slew the boar. His entrails were sliding from his belly, yet somehow he slew the boar.† His voice was full of wonder. â€Å"Robert was never a man to leave the battleground so long as a foe remained standing,† Ned told him. Outside the door, Ser Barristan Selmy still guarded the tower stairs. â€Å"Maester Pycelle has given Robert the milk of the poppy,† Ned told him. â€Å"See that no one disturbs his rest without leave from me.† â€Å"It shall be as you command, my lord.† Ser Barristan seemed old beyond his years. â€Å"I have failed my sacred trust.† â€Å"Even the truest knight cannot protect a king against himself,† Ned said. â€Å"Robert loved to hunt boar. I have seen him take a thousand of them.† He would stand his ground without flinching, his legs braced, the great spear in his hands, and as often as not he would curse the boar as it charged, and wait until the last possible second, until it was almost on him, before he killed it with a single sure and savage thrust. â€Å"No one could know this one would be his death.† â€Å"You are kind to say so, Lord Eddard.† â€Å"The king himself said as much. He blamed the wine.† The white-haired knight gave a weary nod. â€Å"His Grace was reeling in his saddle by the time we flushed the boar from his lair, yet he commanded us all to stand aside.† â€Å"I wonder, Ser Barristan,† asked Varys, so quietly, â€Å"who gave the king this wine?† Ned had not heard the eunuch approach, but when he looked around, there he stood. He wore a black velvet robe that brushed the floor, and his face was freshly powdered. â€Å"The wine was from the king’s own skin,† Ser Barristan said. â€Å"Only one skin? Hunting is such thirsty work.† â€Å"I did not keep count. More than one, for a certainty. His squire would fetch him a fresh skin whenever he required it.† â€Å"Such a dutiful boy,† said Varys, â€Å"to make certain His Grace did not lack for refreshment.† Ned had a bitter taste in his mouth. He recalled the two fair-haired boys Robert had sent chasing after a breastplate stretcher. The king had told everyone the tale that night at the feast, laughing until he shook. â€Å"Which squire?† â€Å"The elder,† said Ser Barristan. â€Å"Lancel.† â€Å"I know the lad well,† said Varys. â€Å"A stalwart boy, Ser Kevan Lannister’s son, nephew to Lord Tywin and cousin to the queen. I hope the dear sweet lad does not blame himself. Children are so vulnerable in the innocence of their youth, how well do I remember.† Certainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. â€Å"You mention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.† â€Å"Alas,† said Varys. â€Å"At once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do what I can, my lord. With your leave.† He bowed and vanished down the steps, his soft-soled slippers whispering against the stone as he made his descent. Cayn and Tomard were helping Ned across the bridge when Lord Renly emerged from Maegor’s Holdfast. â€Å"Lord Eddard,† he called after Ned, â€Å"a moment, if you would be so kind.† Ned stopped. â€Å"As you wish.† Renly walked to his side. â€Å"Send your men away.† They met in the center of the bridge, the dry moat beneath them. Moonlight silvered the cruel edges of the spikes that lined its bed. Ned gestured. Tomard and Cayn bowed their heads and backed away respectfully. Lord Renly glanced warily at Ser Boros on the far end of the span, at Ser Preston in the doorway behind them. â€Å"That letter.† He leaned close. â€Å"Was it the regency? Has my brother named you Protector?† He did not wait for a reply. â€Å"My lord, I have thirty men in my personal guard, and other friends beside, knights and lords. Give me an hour, and I can put a hundred swords in your hand.† â€Å"And what should I do with a hundred swords, my lord?† â€Å"Strike! Now, while the castle sleeps.† Renly looked back at Ser Boros again and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. â€Å"We must get Joffrey away from his mother and take him in hand. Protector or no, the man who holds the king holds the kingdom. We should seize Myrcella and Tommen as well. Once we have her children, Cersei will not dare oppose us. The council will confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward.† Ned regarded him coldly. â€Å"Robert is not dead yet. The gods may spare him. If not, I shall convene the council to hear his final words and consider the matter of the succession, but I will not dishonor his last hours on earth by shedding blood in his halls and dragging frightened children from their beds.† Lord Renly took a step back, taut as a bowstring. â€Å"Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies, it may be too late . . . for both of us.† â€Å"Then we should pray that Robert does not die.† â€Å"Small chance of that,† said Renly. â€Å"Sometimes the gods are merciful.† â€Å"The Lannisters are not.† Lord Renly turned away and went back across the moat, to the tower where his brother lay dying. By the time Ned returned to his chambers, he felt weary and heartsick, yet there was no question of his going back to sleep, not now. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die, Cersei Lannister had told him in the godswood. He found himself wondering if he had done the right thing by refusing Lord Renly’s offer. He had no taste for these intrigues, and there was no honor in threatening children, and yet . . . if Cersei elected to fight rather than flee, he might well have need of Renly’s hundred swords, and more besides. â€Å"I want Littlefinger,† he told Cayn. â€Å"If he’s not in his chambers, take as many men as you need and search every winesink and whorehouse in King’s Landing until you find him. Bring him to me before break of day.† Cayn bowed and took his leave, and Ned turned to Tomard. â€Å"The Wind Witch sails on the evening tide. Have you chosen the escort?† â€Å"Ten men, with Porther in command.† â€Å"Twenty, and you will command,† Ned said. Porther was a brave man, but headstrong. He wanted someone more solid and sensible to keep watch over his daughters. â€Å"As you wish, m’lord,† Tom said. â€Å"Can’t say I’ll be sad to see the back of this place. I miss the wife.† â€Å"You will pass near Dragonstone when you turn north. I need you to deliver a letter for me.† Tom looked apprehensive. â€Å"To Dragonstone, m’lord?† The island fortress of House Targaryen had a sinister repute. â€Å"Tell Captain Qos to hoist my banner as soon as he comes in sight of the island. They may be wary of unexpected visitors. If he is reluctant, offer him whatever it takes. I will give you a letter to place into the hand of Lord Stannis Baratheon. No one else. Not his steward, nor the captain of his guard, nor his lady wife, but only Lord Stannis himself.† â€Å"As you command, m’lord.† When Tomard had left him, Lord Eddard Stark sat staring at the flame of the candle that burned beside him on the table. For a moment his grief overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing so much as to seek out the godswood, to kneel before the heart tree and pray for the life of Robert Baratheon, who had been more than a brother to him. Men would whisper afterward that Eddard Stark had betrayed his king’s friendship and disinherited his sons; he could only hope that the gods would know better, and that Robert would learn the truth of it in the land beyond the grave. Ned took out the king’s last letter. A roll of crisp white parchment sealed with golden wax, a few short words and a smear of blood. How small the difference between victory and defeat, between life and death. He drew out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his quill in the inkpot. To His Grace, Stannis of the House Baratheon, he wrote. By the time you receive this letter, your brother Robert, our King these past fifteen years, will be dead. He was savaged by a boar whilst hunting in the kingswood . . . The letters seemed to writhe and twist on the paper as his hand trailed to a stop. Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime were not men to suffer disgrace meekly; they would fight rather than flee. No doubt Lord Stannis was wary, after the murder of Jon Arryn, but it was imperative that he sail for King’s Landing at once with all his power, before the Lannisters could march. Ned chose each word with care. When he was done, he signed the letter Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, and Protector of the Realm, blotted the paper, folded it twice, and melted the sealing wax over the candle flame. His regency would be a short one, he reflected as the wax softened. The new king would choose his own Hand. Ned would be free to go home. The thought of Winterfell brought a wan smile to his face. He wanted to hear Bran’s laughter once more, to go hawking with Robb, to watch Rickon at play. He wanted to drift off to a dreamless sleep in his own bed with his arms wrapped tight around his lady, Catelyn. Cayn returned as he was pressing the direwolf seal down into the soft white wax. Desmond was with him, and between them Littlefinger. Ned thanked his guards and sent them away. Lord Petyr was clad in a blue velvet tunic with puffed sleeves, his silvery cape patterned with mockingbirds. â€Å"I suppose congratulations are in order,† he said as he seated himself. Ned scowled. â€Å"The king lies wounded and near to death.† â€Å"I know,† Littlefinger said. â€Å"I also know that Robert has named you Protector of the Realm.† Ned’s eyes flicked to the king’s letter on the table beside him, its seal unbroken. â€Å"And how is it you know that, my lord?† â€Å"Varys hinted as much,† Littlefinger said, â€Å"and you have just confirmed it.† Ned’s mouth twisted in anger. â€Å"Damn Varys and his little birds. Catelyn spoke truly, the man has some black art. I do not trust him.† â€Å"Excellent. You’re learning.† Littlefinger leaned forward. â€Å"Yet I’ll wager you did not drag me here in the black of night to discuss the eunuch.† â€Å"No,† Ned admitted. â€Å"I know the secret Jon Arryn was murdered to protect. Robert will leave no trueborn son behind him. Joffrey and Tommen are Jaime Lannister’s bastards, born of his incestuous union with the queen.† Littlefinger lifted an eyebrow. â€Å"Shocking,† he said in a tone that suggested he was not shocked at all. â€Å"The girl as well? No doubt. So when the king dies . . . â€Å" â€Å"The throne by rights passes to Lord Stannis, the elder of Robert’s two brothers.† Lord Petyr stroked his pointed beard as he considered the matter. â€Å"So it would seem. Unless . . . â€Å" â€Å"Unless, my lord? There is no seeming to this. Stannis is the heir. Nothing can change that.† â€Å"Stannis cannot take the throne without your help. If you’re wise, you’ll make certain Joffrey succeeds.† Ned gave him a stony stare. â€Å"Have you no shred of honor?† â€Å"Oh, a shred, surely,† Littlefinger replied negligently. â€Å"Hear me out. Stannis is no friend of yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard and unyielding. He’ll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt he’ll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won’t love you for it. And his ascent will mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are dead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter’s head is measured for a spike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who served King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not have forgotten the siege of Storm’s End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not. Every man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have good cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise yo u, the realm will bleed. â€Å"Now look at the other side of the coin. Joffrey is but twelve, and Robert gave you the regency, my lord. You are the Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm. The power is yours, Lord Stark. All you need do is reach out and take it. Make your peace with the Lannisters. Release the Imp. Wed Joffrey to your Sansa. Wed your younger girl to Prince Tommen, and your heir to Myrcella. It will be four years before Joffrey comes of age. By then he will look to you as a second father, and if not, well . . . four years is a good long while, my lord. Long enough to dispose of Lord Stannis. Then, should Joffrey prove troublesome, we can reveal his little secret and put Lord Renly on the throne.† â€Å"We?† Ned repeated. Littlefinger gave a shrug. â€Å"You’ll need someone to share your burdens. I assure you, my price would be modest.† â€Å"Your price.† Ned’s voice was ice. â€Å"Lord Baelish, what you suggest is treason.† â€Å"Only if we lose.† â€Å"You forget,† Ned told him. â€Å"You forget Jon Arryn. You forget Jory Cassel. And you forget this.† He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and death. â€Å"They sent a man to cut my son’s throat, Lord Baelish.† Littlefinger sighed. â€Å"I fear I did forget, my lord. Pray forgive me. For a moment I did not remember that I was talking to a Stark.† His mouth quirked. â€Å"So it will be Stannis, and war?† â€Å"It is not a choice. Stannis is the heir.† â€Å"Far be it from me to dispute the Lord Protector. What would you have of me, then? Not my wisdom, for a certainty.† â€Å"I shall do my best to forget your . . . wisdom,† Ned said with distaste. â€Å"I called you here to ask for the help you promised Catelyn. This is a perilous hour for all of us. Robert has named me Protector, true enough, but in the eyes of the world, Joffrey is still his son and heir. The queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men-at-arms who will do whatever she commands . . . enough to overwhelm what remains of my own household guard. And for all I know, her brother Jaime may be riding for King’s Landing even as we speak, with a Lannister host at his back.† â€Å"And you without an army.† Littlefinger toyed with the dagger on the table, turning it slowly with a finger. â€Å"There is small love lost between Lord Renly and the Lannisters. Bronze Yohn Royce, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Loras, Lady Tanda, the Redwyne twins . . . each of them has a retinue of knights and sworn swords here at court.† â€Å"Renly has thirty men in his personal guard, the rest even fewer. It is not enough, even if I could be certain that all of them will choose to give me their allegiance. I must have the gold cloaks. The City Watch is two thousand strong, sworn to defend the castle, the city, and the king’s peace.† â€Å"Ah, but when the queen proclaims one king and the Hand another, whose peace do they protect?† Lord Petyr flicked at the dagger with his finger, setting it spinning in place. Round and round it went, wobbling as it turned. When at last it slowed to a stop, the blade pointed at Littlefinger. â€Å"Why, there’s your answer,† he said, smiling. â€Å"They follow the man who pays them.† He leaned back and looked Ned full in the face, his grey-green eyes bright with mockery. â€Å"You wear your honor like a suit of armor, Stark. You think it keeps you safe, but all it does is weigh you down and make it hard for you to move. Look at you now. You know why you summoned me here. You know what you want to ask me to do. You know it has to be done . . . but it’s not honorable, so the words stick in your throat.† Ned’s neck was rigid with tension. For a moment he was so angry that he did not trust himself to speak. Littlefinger laughed. â€Å"I ought to make you say it, but that would be cruel . . . so have no fear, my good lord. For the sake of the love I bear for Catelyn, I will go to Janos Slynt this very hour and make certain that the City Watch is yours. Six thousand gold pieces should do it. A third for the Commander, a third for the officers, a third for the men. We might be able to buy them for half that much, but I prefer not to take chances.† Smiling, he plucked up the dagger and offered it to Ned, hilt first. A Game of Thrones Chapter Fortyseven â€Å"Promise me, Ned,† Lyanna’s statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood. Eddard Stark jerked upright, his heart racing, the blankets tangled around him. The room was black as pitch, and someone was hammering on the door. â€Å"Lord Eddard,† a voice called loudly. â€Å"A moment.† Groggy and naked, he stumbled his way across the darkened chamber. When he opened the door, he found Tomard with an upraised fist, and Cayn with a taper in hand. Between them stood the king’s own steward. The man’s face might have been carved of stone, so little did it show. â€Å"My lord Hand,† he intoned. â€Å"His Grace the King commands your presence. At once.† So Robert had returned from his hunt. It was long past time. â€Å"I shall need a few moments to dress.† Ned left the man waiting without. Cayn helped him with his clothes; white linen tunic and grey cloak, trousers cut open down his plaster-sheathed leg, his badge of office, and last of all a belt of heavy silver links. He sheathed the Valyrian dagger at his waist. The Red Keep was dark and still as Cayn and Tomard escorted him across the inner bailey. The moon hung low over the walls, ripening toward full. On the ramparts, a guardsman in a gold cloak walked his rounds. The royal apartments were in Maegor’s Holdfast, a massive square fortress that nestled in the heart of the Red Keep behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes, a castle-within-a-castle. Ser Boros Blount guarded the far end of the bridge, white steel armor ghostly in the moonlight. Within, Ned passed two other knights of the Kingsguard; Ser Preston Greenfield stood at the bottom of the steps, and Ser Barristan Selmy waited at the door of the king’s bedchamber. Three men in white cloaks, he thought, remembering, and a strange chill went through him. Ser Barristan’s face was as pale as his armor. Ned had only to look at him to know that something was dreadfully wrong. The royal steward opened the door. â€Å"Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King,† he announced. â€Å"Bring him here,† Robert’s voice called, strangely thick. Fires blazed in the twin hearths at either end of the bedchamber, filling the room with a sullen red glare. The heat within was suffocating. Robert lay across the canopied bed. At the bedside hovered Grand Maester Pycelle, while Lord Renly paced restlessly before the shuttered windows. Servants moved back and forth, feeding logs to the fire and boiling wine. Cersei Lannister sat on the edge of the bed beside her husband. Her hair was tousled, as if from sleep, but there was nothing sleepy in her eyes. They followed Ned as Tomard and Cayn helped him cross the room. He seemed to move very slowly, as if he were still dreaming. The king still wore his boots. Ned could see dried mud and blades of grass clinging to the leather where Robert’s feet stuck out beneath the blanket that covered him, A green doublet lay on the floor, slashed open and discarded, the cloth crusted with red-brown stains. The room smelled of smoke and blood and death. â€Å"Ned,† the king whispered when he saw him. His face was pale as milk. â€Å"Come . . . closer.† His men brought him close. Ned steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost. He had only to look down at Robert to know how bad it was. â€Å"What . . . ?† he began, his throat clenched. â€Å"A boar.† Lord Renly was still in his hunting greens, his cloak spattered with blood. â€Å"A devil,† the king husked. â€Å"My own fault. Too much wine, damn me to hell. Missed my thrust.† â€Å"And where were the rest of you?† Ned demanded of Lord Renly. â€Å"Where was Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard?† Renly’s mouth twitched. â€Å"My brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take the boar alone.† Eddard Stark lifted the blanket. They had done what they could to close him up, but it was nowhere near enough. The boar must have been a fearsome thing. It had ripped the king from groin to nipple with its tusks. The wine-soaked bandages that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were already black with blood, and the smell off the wound was hideous. Ned’s stomach turned. He let the blanket fall. â€Å"Stinks,† Robert said. â€Å"The stink of death, don’t think I can’t smell it. Bastard did me good, eh? But I . . . I paid him back in kind, Ned.† The king’s smile was as terrible as his wound, his teeth red. â€Å"Drove a knife right through his eye. Ask them if I didn’t. Ask them.† â€Å"Truly,† Lord Renly murmured. â€Å"We brought the carcass back with us, at my brother’s command.† â€Å"For the feast,† Robert whispered. â€Å"Now leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with Ned.† â€Å"Robert, my sweet lord . . . † Cersei began. â€Å"I said leave,† Robert insisted with a hint of his old fierceness. â€Å"What part of that don’t you understand, woman?† Cersei gathered up her skirts and her dignity and led the way to the door. Lord Renly and the others followed. Grand Maester Pycelle lingered, his hands shaking as he offered the king a cup of thick white liquid. â€Å"The milk of the poppy, Your Grace,† he said. â€Å"Drink. For your pain.† Robert knocked the cup away with the back of his hand. â€Å"Away with you. I’ll sleep soon enough, old fool. Get out.† Grand Maester Pycelle gave Ned a stricken look as he shuffled from the room. â€Å"Damn you, Robert,† Ned said when they were alone. His leg was throbbing so badly he was almost blind with pain. Or perhaps it was grief that fogged his eyes. He lowered himself to the bed, beside his friend. â€Å"Why do you always have to be so headstrong?† â€Å"Ah, fuck you, Ned,† the king said hoarsely. â€Å"I killed the bastard, didn’t I?† A lock of matted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. â€Å"Ought to do the same for you. Can’t leave a man to hunt in peace. Ser Robar found me. Gregor’s head. Ugly thought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him.† His laugh turned into a grunt as a spasm of pain hit him. â€Å"Gods have mercy,† he muttered, swallowing his agony. â€Å"The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right . . . that’s why, the girl . . . the gods sent the boar . . . sent to punish me . . .† The king coughed, bringing up blood. â€Å"Wrong, it was wrong, I . . . only a girl . . . Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother . . . worthless . . . no one to tell me no but you, Ned . . . only you . . . † He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and feeble. â€Å"Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.† Ned smoothed the paper out across his knee and took up the quill. â€Å"At your command, Your Grace.† â€Å"This is the will and word of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and all the rest—put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my . . . upon my death . . . to rule in my . . . in my stead, until my son Joffrey does come of age . . . â€Å" â€Å"Robert . . . † Joffrey is not your son, he wanted to say, but the words would not come. The agony was written too plainly across Robert’s face; he could not hurt him more. So Ned bent his head and wrote, but where the king had said â€Å"my son Joffrey,† he scrawled â€Å"my heir† instead. The deceit made him feel soiled. The lies we tell for love, he thought. May the gods forgive me. â€Å"What else would you have me say?† â€Å"Say . . . whatever you need to. Protect and defend, gods old and new, you have the words. Write. I’ll sign it. You give it to the council when I’m dead.† â€Å"Robert,† Ned said in a voice thick with grief, â€Å"you must not do this. Don’t die on me. The realm needs you.† Robert took his hand, fingers squeezing hard. â€Å"You are . . . such a bad liar, Ned Stark,† he said through his pain. â€Å"The realm . . . the realm knows . . . what a wretched king I’ve been. Bad as Aerys, the gods spare me.† â€Å"No,† Ned told his dying friend, â€Å"not so bad as Aerys, Your Grace. Not near so bad as Aerys.† Robert managed a weak red smile. â€Å"At the least, they will say . . . this last thing . . . this I did right. You won’t fail me. You’ll rule now. You’ll hate it, worse than I did . . . but you’ll do well. Are you done with the scribbling?† â€Å"Yes, Your Grace.† Ned offered Robert the paper. The king scrawled his signature blindly, leaving a smear of blood across the letter. â€Å"The seal should be witnessed.† â€Å"Serve the boar at my funeral feast,† Robert rasped. â€Å"Apple in its mouth, skin seared crisp. Eat the bastard. Don’t care if you choke on him. Promise me, Ned.† â€Å"I promise.† Promise me, Ned, Lyanna’s voice echoed. â€Å"The girl,† the king said. â€Å"Daenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it . . . not too late . . . talk to them . . . Varys, Littlefinger . . . don’t let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make him be . . . better than me.† He winced. â€Å"Gods have mercy.† â€Å"They will, my friend,† Ned said. â€Å"They will.† The king closed his eyes and seemed to relax. â€Å"Killed by a pig,† he muttered. â€Å"Ought to laugh, but it hurts too much.† Ned was not laughing. â€Å"Shall I call them back?† Robert gave a weak nod. â€Å"As you will. Gods, why is it so cold in here?† The servants rushed back in and hurried to feed the fires. The queen had gone; that was some small relief, at least. If she had any sense, Cersei would take her children and fly before the break of day, Ned thought. She had lingered too long already. King Robert did not seem to miss her. He bid his brother Renly and Grand Maester Pycelle to stand in witness as he pressed his seal into the hot yellow wax that Ned had dripped upon his letter. â€Å"Now give me something for the pain and let me die.† Hurriedly Grand Maester Pycelle mixed him another draught of the milk of the poppy. This time the king drank deeply. His black beard was beaded with thick white droplets when he threw the empty cup aside. â€Å"Will I dream?† Ned gave him his answer. â€Å"You will, my lord.† â€Å"Good,† he said, smiling. â€Å"I will give Lyanna your love, Ned. Take care of my children for me.† The words twisted in Ned’s belly like a knife. For a moment he was at a loss. He could not bring himself to lie. Then he remembered the bastards: little Barra at her mother’s breast, Mya in the Vale, Gendry at his forge, and all the others. â€Å"I shall . . . guard your children as if they were my own,† he said slowly. Robert nodded and closed his eyes. Ned watched his old friend sag softly into the pillows as the milk of the poppy washed the pain from his face. Sleep took him. Heavy chains jangled softly as Grand Maester Pycelle came up to Ned. â€Å"I will do all in my power, my lord, but the wound has mortified. It took them two days to get him back. By the time I saw him, it was too late. I can lessen His Grace’s suffering, but only the gods can heal him now.† â€Å"How long?† Ned asked. â€Å"By rights, he should be dead already. I have never seen a man cling to life so fiercely.† â€Å"My brother was always strong,† Lord Renly said. â€Å"Not wise, perhaps, but strong.† In the sweltering heat of the bedchamber, his brow was slick with sweat. He might have been Robert’s ghost as he stood there, young and dark and handsome. â€Å"He slew the boar. His entrails were sliding from his belly, yet somehow he slew the boar.† His voice was full of wonder. â€Å"Robert was never a man to leave the battleground so long as a foe remained standing,† Ned told him. Outside the door, Ser Barristan Selmy still guarded the tower stairs. â€Å"Maester Pycelle has given Robert the milk of the poppy,† Ned told him. â€Å"See that no one disturbs his rest without leave from me.† â€Å"It shall be as you command, my lord.† Ser Barristan seemed old beyond his years. â€Å"I have failed my sacred trust.† â€Å"Even the truest knight cannot protect a king against himself,† Ned said. â€Å"Robert loved to hunt boar. I have seen him take a thousand of them.† He would stand his ground without flinching, his legs braced, the great spear in his hands, and as often as not he would curse the boar as it charged, and wait until the last possible second, until it was almost on him, before he killed it with a single sure and savage thrust. â€Å"No one could know this one would be his death.† â€Å"You are kind to say so, Lord Eddard.† â€Å"The king himself said as much. He blamed the wine.† The white-haired knight gave a weary nod. â€Å"His Grace was reeling in his saddle by the time we flushed the boar from his lair, yet he commanded us all to stand aside.† â€Å"I wonder, Ser Barristan,† asked Varys, so quietly, â€Å"who gave the king this wine?† Ned had not heard the eunuch approach, but when he looked around, there he stood. He wore a black velvet robe that brushed the floor, and his face was freshly powdered. â€Å"The wine was from the king’s own skin,† Ser Barristan said. â€Å"Only one skin? Hunting is such thirsty work.† â€Å"I did not keep count. More than one, for a certainty. His squire would fetch him a fresh skin whenever he required it.† â€Å"Such a dutiful boy,† said Varys, â€Å"to make certain His Grace did not lack for refreshment.† Ned had a bitter taste in his mouth. He recalled the two fair-haired boys Robert had sent chasing after a breastplate stretcher. The king had told everyone the tale that night at the feast, laughing until he shook. â€Å"Which squire?† â€Å"The elder,† said Ser Barristan. â€Å"Lancel.† â€Å"I know the lad well,† said Varys. â€Å"A stalwart boy, Ser Kevan Lannister’s son, nephew to Lord Tywin and cousin to the queen. I hope the dear sweet lad does not blame himself. Children are so vulnerable in the innocence of their youth, how well do I remember.† Certainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. â€Å"You mention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.† â€Å"Alas,† said Varys. â€Å"At once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do what I can, my lord. With your leave.† He bowed and vanished down the steps, his soft-soled slippers whispering against the stone as he made his descent. Cayn and Tomard were helping Ned across the bridge when Lord Renly emerged from Maegor’s Holdfast. â€Å"Lord Eddard,† he called after Ned, â€Å"a moment, if you would be so kind.† Ned stopped. â€Å"As you wish.† Renly walked to his side. â€Å"Send your men away.† They met in the center of the bridge, the dry moat beneath them. Moonlight silvered the cruel edges of the spikes that lined its bed. Ned gestured. Tomard and Cayn bowed their heads and backed away respectfully. Lord Renly glanced warily at Ser Boros on the far end of the span, at Ser Preston in the doorway behind them. â€Å"That letter.† He leaned close. â€Å"Was it the regency? Has my brother named you Protector?† He did not wait for a reply. â€Å"My lord, I have thirty men in my personal guard, and other friends beside, knights and lords. Give me an hour, and I can put a hundred swords in your hand.† â€Å"And what should I do with a hundred swords, my lord?† â€Å"Strike! Now, while the castle sleeps.† Renly looked back at Ser Boros again and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. â€Å"We must get Joffrey away from his mother and take him in hand. Protector or no, the man who holds the king holds the kingdom. We should seize Myrcella and Tommen as well. Once we have her children, Cersei will not dare oppose us. The council will confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward.† Ned regarded him coldly. â€Å"Robert is not dead yet. The gods may spare him. If not, I shall convene the council to hear his final words and consider the matter of the succession, but I will not dishonor his last hours on earth by shedding blood in his halls and dragging frightened children from their beds.† Lord Renly took a step back, taut as a bowstring. â€Å"Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies, it may be too late . . . for both of us.† â€Å"Then we should pray that Robert does not die.† â€Å"Small chance of that,† said Renly. â€Å"Sometimes the gods are merciful.† â€Å"The Lannisters are not.† Lord Renly turned away and went back across the moat, to the tower where his brother lay dying. By the time Ned returned to his chambers, he felt weary and heartsick, yet there was no question of his going back to sleep, not now. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die, Cersei Lannister had told him in the godswood. He found himself wondering if he had done the right thing by refusing Lord Renly’s offer. He had no taste for these intrigues, and there was no honor in threatening children, and yet . . . if Cersei elected to fight rather than flee, he might well have need of Renly’s hundred swords, and more besides. â€Å"I want Littlefinger,† he told Cayn. â€Å"If he’s not in his chambers, take as many men as you need and search every winesink and whorehouse in King’s Landing until you find him. Bring him to me before break of day.† Cayn bowed and took his leave, and Ned turned to Tomard. â€Å"The Wind Witch sails on the evening tide. Have you chosen the escort?† â€Å"Ten men, with Porther in command.† â€Å"Twenty, and you will command,† Ned said. Porther was a brave man, but headstrong. He wanted someone more solid and sensible to keep watch over his daughters. â€Å"As you wish, m’lord,† Tom said. â€Å"Can’t say I’ll be sad to see the back of this place. I miss the wife.† â€Å"You will pass near Dragonstone when you turn north. I need you to deliver a letter for me.† Tom looked apprehensive. â€Å"To Dragonstone, m’lord?† The island fortress of House Targaryen had a sinister repute. â€Å"Tell Captain Qos to hoist my banner as soon as he comes in sight of the island. They may be wary of unexpected visitors. If he is reluctant, offer him whatever it takes. I will give you a letter to place into the hand of Lord Stannis Baratheon. No one else. Not his steward, nor the captain of his guard, nor his lady wife, but only Lord Stannis himself.† â€Å"As you command, m’lord.† When Tomard had left him, Lord Eddard Stark sat staring at the flame of the candle that burned beside him on the table. For a moment his grief overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing so much as to seek out the godswood, to kneel before the heart tree and pray for the life of Robert Baratheon, who had been more than a brother to him. Men would whisper afterward that Eddard Stark had betrayed his king’s friendship and disinherited his sons; he could only hope that the gods would know better, and that Robert would learn the truth of it in the land beyond the grave. Ned took out the king’s last letter. A roll of crisp white parchment sealed with golden wax, a few short words and a smear of blood. How small the difference between victory and defeat, between life and death. He drew out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his quill in the inkpot. To His Grace, Stannis of the House Baratheon, he wrote. By the time you receive this letter, your brother Robert, our King these past fifteen years, will be dead. He was savaged by a boar whilst hunting in the kingswood . . . The letters seemed to writhe and twist on the paper as his hand trailed to a stop. Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime were not men to suffer disgrace meekly; they would fight rather than flee. No doubt Lord Stannis was wary, after the murder of Jon Arryn, but it was imperative that he sail for King’s Landing at once with all his power, before the Lannisters could march. Ned chose each word with care. When he was done, he signed the letter Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, and Protector of the Realm, blotted the paper, folded it twice, and melted the sealing wax over the candle flame. His regency would be a short one, he reflected as the wax softened. The new king would choose his own Hand. Ned would be free to go home. The thought of Winterfell brought a wan smile to his face. He wanted to hear Bran’s laughter once more, to go hawking with Robb, to watch Rickon at play. He wanted to drift off to a dreamless sleep in his own bed with his arms wrapped tight around his lady, Catelyn. Cayn returned as he was pressing the direwolf seal down into the soft white wax. Desmond was with him, and between them Littlefinger. Ned thanked his guards and sent them away. Lord Petyr was clad in a blue velvet tunic with puffed sleeves, his silvery cape patterned with mockingbirds. â€Å"I suppose congratulations are in order,† he said as he seated himself. Ned scowled. â€Å"The king lies wounded and near to death.† â€Å"I know,† Littlefinger said. â€Å"I also know that Robert has named you Protector of the Realm.† Ned’s eyes flicked to the king’s letter on the table beside him, its seal unbroken. â€Å"And how is it you know that, my lord?† â€Å"Varys hinted as much,† Littlefinger said, â€Å"and you have just confirmed it.† Ned’s mouth twisted in anger. â€Å"Damn Varys and his little birds. Catelyn spoke truly, the man has some black art. I do not trust him.† â€Å"Excellent. You’re learning.† Littlefinger leaned forward. â€Å"Yet I’ll wager you did not drag me here in the black of night to discuss the eunuch.† â€Å"No,† Ned admitted. â€Å"I know the secret Jon Arryn was murdered to protect. Robert will leave no trueborn son behind him. Joffrey and Tommen are Jaime Lannister’s bastards, born of his incestuous union with the queen.† Littlefinger lifted an eyebrow. â€Å"Shocking,† he said in a tone that suggested he was not shocked at all. â€Å"The girl as well? No doubt. So when the king dies . . . â€Å" â€Å"The throne by rights passes to Lord Stannis, the elder of Robert’s two brothers.† Lord Petyr stroked his pointed beard as he considered the matter. â€Å"So it would seem. Unless . . . â€Å" â€Å"Unless, my lord? There is no seeming to this. Stannis is the heir. Nothing can change that.† â€Å"Stannis cannot take the throne without your help. If you’re wise, you’ll make certain Joffrey succeeds.† Ned gave him a stony stare. â€Å"Have you no shred of honor?† â€Å"Oh, a shred, surely,† Littlefinger replied negligently. â€Å"Hear me out. Stannis is no friend of yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard and unyielding. He’ll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt he’ll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won’t love you for it. And his ascent will mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are dead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter’s head is measured for a spike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who served King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not have forgotten the siege of Storm’s End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not. Every man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have good cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise yo u, the realm will bleed. â€Å"Now look at the other side of the coin. Joffrey is but twelve, and Robert gave you the regency, my lord. You are the Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm. The power is yours, Lord Stark. All you need do is reach out and take it. Make your peace with the Lannisters. Release the Imp. Wed Joffrey to your Sansa. Wed your younger girl to Prince Tommen, and your heir to Myrcella. It will be four years before Joffrey comes of age. By then he will look to you as a second father, and if not, well . . . four years is a good long while, my lord. Long enough to dispose of Lord Stannis. Then, should Joffrey prove troublesome, we can reveal his little secret and put Lord Renly on the throne.† â€Å"We?† Ned repeated. Littlefinger gave a shrug. â€Å"You’ll need someone to share your burdens. I assure you, my price would be modest.† â€Å"Your price.† Ned’s voice was ice. â€Å"Lord Baelish, what you suggest is treason.† â€Å"Only if we lose.† â€Å"You forget,† Ned told him. â€Å"You forget Jon Arryn. You forget Jory Cassel. And you forget this.† He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and death. â€Å"They sent a man to cut my son’s throat, Lord Baelish.† Littlefinger sighed. â€Å"I fear I did forget, my lord. Pray forgive me. For a moment I did not remember that I was talking to a Stark.† His mouth quirked. â€Å"So it will be Stannis, and war?† â€Å"It is not a choice. Stannis is the heir.† â€Å"Far be it from me to dispute the Lord Protector. What would you have of me, then? Not my wisdom, for a certainty.† â€Å"I shall do my best to forget your . . . wisdom,† Ned said with distaste. â€Å"I called you here to ask for the help you promised Catelyn. This is a perilous hour for all of us. Robert has named me Protector, true enough, but in the eyes of the world, Joffrey is still his son and heir. The queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men-at-arms who will do whatever she commands . . . enough to overwhelm what remains of my own household guard. And for all I know, her brother Jaime may be riding for King’s Landing even as we speak, with a Lannister host at his back.† â€Å"And you without an army.† Littlefinger toyed with the dagger on the table, turning it slowly with a finger. â€Å"There is small love lost between Lord Renly and the Lannisters. Bronze Yohn Royce, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Loras, Lady Tanda, the Redwyne twins . . . each of them has a retinue of knights and sworn swords here at court.† â€Å"Renly has thirty men in his personal guard, the rest even fewer. It is not enough, even if I could be certain that all of them will choose to give me their allegiance. I must have the gold cloaks. The City Watch is two thousand strong, sworn to defend the castle, the city, and the king’s peace.† â€Å"Ah, but when the queen proclaims one king and the Hand another, whose peace do they protect?† Lord Petyr flicked at the dagger with his finger, setting it spinning in place. Round and round it went, wobbling as it turned. When at last it slowed to a stop, the blade pointed at Littlefinger. â€Å"Why, there’s your answer,† he said, smiling. â€Å"They follow the man who pays them.† He leaned back and looked Ned full in the face, his grey-green eyes bright with mockery. â€Å"You wear your honor like a suit of armor, Stark. You think it keeps you safe, but all it does is weigh you down and make it hard for you to move. Look at you now. You know why you summoned me here. You know what you want to ask me to do. You know it has to be done . . . but it’s not honorable, so the words stick in your throat.† Ned’s neck was rigid with tension. For a moment he was so angry that he did not trust himself to speak. Littlefinger laughed. â€Å"I ought to make you say it, but that would be cruel . . . so have no fear, my good lord. For the sake of the love I bear for Catelyn, I will go to Janos Slynt this very hour and make certain that the City Watch is yours. Six thousand gold pieces should do it. A third for the Commander, a third for the officers, a third for the men. We might be able to buy them for half that much, but I prefer not to take chances.† Smiling, he plucked up the dagger and offered it to Ned, hilt first.

Academic Journals Exercise of Social Goegraphy Essay

Academic Journals Exercise of Social Goegraphy - Essay Example e articles published during the past few years in the selected journal will be reviewed and methodological approaches of the journal will be discussed in the paper. ACME: An International E-Journal for Critical Geographies is the journal that will be analyzed and scrutinized in this paper. (ACME, 2009) In specific, social, spatial, and political analyses are welcomed and encouraged in the abovementioned journal; however, a significant importance has been given to the critical and radical approaches for such analyses. As the name suggests, different geographies have been analyzed in this journal critically with its relation with social sciences. Some of the social-scientific aspects, such as feminist, Marxist, anarchist, post-structuralism, and a number of other perspectives have been used by the authors to provide an understanding of such socialist aspects in terms of geography. It is believed that the abovementioned perspectives play a crucial role in the development of geographies, and thus, different political structures, such as nationalist, liberalism, fascism, etc. have been investigated and challenged in a critical and radical manner. One of the major reasons of choosing this journal is its international perspective and scope that allows contribution from academic, as well as, non-academic providers and contributors. Besides this, articles have been published in English, Spanish, German, Italian, and French in the journal that provides an overview of its diversity. Journal includes review essays, as well as, a variety of empirical based research articles that have critically analyzed socialist issues with respect to geography by debates, literature reviews, and poetry as well. Until now, ACME: An International E-Journal for Critical Geographies has published fifteen volumes since its first volume in the year 2002. Since its first volume, different topics, such as critical cartographies, sexuality and gender, mediated places, class struggles and geography,

Purpose statement Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 500 words

Purpose statement - Essay Example My dream is finally almost being achieved as well as my hard work being paid off with the entry in this program of paediatric dentistry. In preparation for this great career move, I have attained an undergraduate degree in Dentistry as well as diplomas in oral health and child psychology. The child psychology has enabled me gain in depth knowledge about children from the moment they are conceived to their adolescent years and how to handle them, gain their trust and teach them. The oral health education was a preparation to the field to test my readiness and resilience. It yielded positive results as it prepared me mentally on what was expected and how I should approach the mastery of the subject. In addition to theoretical work, I have had the privilege and pleasure to carry out field work in a few hospitals and health care centres where I have worked hand in hand with dentists and seen their work. One of the field experiences had been as an intern in a dentist clinic where I got exposure to the dentistry machines as well as handling patients. Working in a children’s hospital and home gave me time to practice my child psychology education and I found myself more and more attracted to the children, their curiosity, fear and attempted bravery and I found out I had a natural talent with the children. All these have given me enough proof that I can make it in this field of paediatric dentistry. The knowledge I attain from this course will not only be utilized in extracting or filing children’s teeth but I plan on having a series of programs in schools and children’s hospitals. The programs will target not only oral health as pertains to not eating sweets or brushing teeth but will be participative. Children are very brilliant from observation and given a chance, they can teach and ask various questions that bother them on oral health. The teaching and learning will spread also from the children to other children

High school Essay Example for Free

High school Essay Dear incoming freshmen, coming into 9th grade is the scariest experience one will have. Unless you have an older sibling, you do not know what to expect. These will be some of the best of times, and some of the worst of times. you will meet people you will like, and people you just can not avoid. You will form relationships with people and become really close to them. You will have to overcome many obstacles during these years of high school. There will be subjects you like, and some that you will dislike. The same goes with the teachers. There will be some you will want to have again next year, and others you wish you never had. My advice to you is to stay strong during these four years, so you can move on to bigger and better things. You should focus on getting ready for college starting now, so senior year can be a breeze. Make sure you do not procrastinate and stay ahead of the tasks thrown at you. Do not make little mistakes like not turning in easy daily work. These daily work grades add up and can get you into lots of trouble. Make sure you hang out with the right crowd, because if you do not do so the wrong crowd can take you down with them fairly easily. Do not take any advice you get for granted. Every advice you get will end up helping you in the long run. So enjoy the next four years of your life, they will surely be memorable.

Small Business, Non-profit Organizations, and E-commerce :: Exploratory Essays Research Papers

Small Business, Non-profit Organizations, and E-commerce Small business firms and non-profit organizations can seize the opportunities that the Internet offers. The number of Internet users worldwide exceeded 150 million in 1999, and this number is expected to quadruple in a few years. These users are a vast market for organizations offering products or services on web sites. Firms such as Amazon.com and eBay have exploited this market, growing from nothing to giants in less than a decade. Naturally, many small firms want to get in on the action by establishing their own web sites. Other organizations, such as professional associations, want to use web sites to recruit members and create an Internet presence enhancing both their members' reputation and marketability. What is the best way for them to proceed? A boutique might be very competent at acquiring clothes that float off the rack. Each professional member of a not-for-profit association might co-ordinate the activities of hundreds of people. However, designing, constructing, maintai ning, and managing an Internet site requires technical expertise and capital these organizations don't necessarily have. Can the government assist by providing information and financing to organizations wanting to enter cyberspace (Canada, Western Economic Diversification)? To compete with the big players on the Internet, small businesses and non-profits, with help from the government, can contract with experienced web-consulting firms to supply the programming and computer skills to ensure delivery of a web site for a reasonable price. Although primarily an economic phenomenon, electronic commerce forms part of a broader process of social change, characterized by the globalisation of markets, the shift towards an economy based on knowledge and information, and the growing prominence of all forms of technology in everyday life (OECD Economic 143). The Internet has hastened the globalization of markets. A few decades ago, only the multi-national corporations sold products worldwide. "Today, for a few thousand dollars, anyone can become a merchant and reach millions of consumers world-wide" (OECD Economic 10). Unfortunately, Canadian small businesses are not embracing e-commerce as ardently as American firms. Many domestic firms have neither the investment capital nor the technical knowledge to seize the opportunities the Internet offers. Consequently, Canadian firms lag behind American firms. While the American economy is ten times larger than Canada's, American venture capital investment in the Internet was 36 times larger last year ("E-business Acceleration"). Although the Canadian government is making an effort to encourage e-commerce (Canada, Industry Canada, The Canadian Electronic), some firms paid exorbitant prices for e-commerce sites that are not profitable because they lacked accurate information on the cost of constr ucting web sites.

International human resources Essay

It is the biggest challenge of companies today to maintain and attract best employees thus the realization in holding trainings and conferences for top executives to level officers is exceedingly in demand. Initiating strategies and solutions regarding employee retention and human resource management keep on going to minimize costs and money. There are many promising solutions in going through a lot of obstacles in human resource recruitment. We may start on some questions that would spark a new beginning: are the employees are given the chance to speak? Are new ideas accepted? Are benefits really beneficial to employees? Does the employees’ opinion count? Are works valued, evaluated and rewarded on their performance? This are simple questions that has an impact to the existing problems in many companies, regardless of size, incorporating other issues like repatriation, better opportunities, poor treatment, differences in culture and disagreement on the direction of the company, lack of recognition, indefinite growth prospects and poor relationship among co-workers. Keeping people and maintaining them for a longer period of time is the most difficult and challenging tasks for all human resources managers nowadays, hopefully, we will answer possible keys and solutions to these burning questions throughout the discussion. Why are people leaving from one company to another? A wide variety of reasons why are people leaving their jobs to find new companies includes: expectations were not satisfactorily fulfilled, unsuitable for the role, do not fit with the company’s culture, insufficient opportunities for growth and development, inadequate acknowledgment and admiration, problems with a manager or supervisor, not satisfied with the compensation, stress, lack of work and life balance, and lack of confidence in the company and leadership (Meyers). According to Susan Heathfield (Heathfield, 2007), most employees are leaving their work for reasons of searching new opportunities with other companies. Three top reasons were identified by Heathfield: fifty three percent of employees look for better rewards and benefits, thirty five percent were discontented with prospects of career growth and development, and thirty two percent were ready for a new experience and new environment. The motivating factors that can enhance the continuous stay of employees were examined by Bob Losyk on his article, here are the different factors that he stated: dignity and respect, involvement and participation, pay above the industry average, showcase superior workers, and by showing support to employees (Losyk). Giving dignity and respect is one of the most important key elements in satisfying the employees, harsh words, shouting, insults, and abuse of power will only result to demoralization, low morale, increase possibilities of absenteeism, and in turn resignation. Losyk added that employers should be treated with high respect, worth and goodness, let them relax, be independent and empowered. Do not crash on people who make mistakes instead make it more constructive and let them learn from it. Involvement and participation is also a significant factor in dealing with employees’ motivation to stay in the company, by listening to their suggestions, aspirations, and ideas can make them more involved and active much as with belongingness and partnership. Paying above the industry average will surely and literally compensate the best employee thus giving and making more money for you. Great employees should be compensated for what they gave back to the company and it should not be as simple as paying back but to reward and constantly recognize their efforts. For sure, companies who have the best employees will have more satisfied clients because of the excellent services they receive and in return a greater chance of repeat business will likely to come. Another tip from Losyk is to highlight and draw attention to outstanding employees by giving awards, certificates, extra remuneration, dinners as well as posting their photos on bulletin boards or company newsletters. To share and show support, to listen and know their personal and family problems can be a key factor for lasting relationship with employees. It will create a positive and motivating atmosphere resulting to a more productive and high-quality employees (Losyk). Increasing demand for immigrant workforce and opportunities abroad: The increasing demand of hiring cross-cultural workforce is a global necessity to respond the needs internationally. But because of the terms and conditions in hiring immigrants, it is very difficult to establish a worthy and constant employee for a particular business due to numerous alternative employment with other companies. To better understand the recruitment, hiring and retaining the best employees especially the immigrants and ethnic workers, it is important that we should consider the culture, traditions, and beliefs, know the different ethnic lifestyles and values, appreciate the impact that the immigrant workforce is influencing the management, and study the fabrications on recruitment of diverse ethnic groups. In addition to Losyk’s article, he stressed that it is significant that companies must understand the needs and desires most Hispanic and Asian workers want from a workplace, discover how to give comment to immigrant employees, determine the critical factors needed to train Asian, Hispanic and other cross-cultural groups, and create management techniques that can work and understand the involvement and recognition with the ethnic groups (Losyk). Further problems encountered by other employers is when their employees who are assigned to work overseas over a period of time will transfer to another companies in a few months to seek greener pastures. These are real and actual happenings in most development organizations when workers or volunteers enter into a contract to gain experience overseas and marked it as a stepping stone to find great opportunities abroad. How can companies and organizations struggle to this concurrent problem? Is this just a cycle to be left out and find new workers to continue the job? Are there any other holistic means that we can manage to surpass this continuing global recruitment problem?

Dulce Et Decorum Est Essay

World War One was a time of divisions, not only between countries but between the different people within one country. In many western countries the propaganda convinced young men to enlist to portraying war as a great adventure and the German’s as an imminent enemy – The Huns. But as news came back from the Western Front and Gallipoli, there was a sense that the war was not glorious, the dirtiness, the sheer loss of life was beginning to be revealed through poems such as Dulce et Decorum Est. However, with enlistment numbers dropping, the image of a noble, adventurous war needed to be reaffirmed and this can be found in Who’s for the Game, by Jessie Pope. In this poem, Pope, affirms messages of jingoism as righteous and justified. She describes England as â€Å"up to her neck in a fight† and that the right course of action is to â€Å"grip and tackle the job unafraid† using sporting allusions to make the war seem like a game. For example, this â€Å"game† is â€Å"played†, the enemy is â€Å"tackled† as a rugby player would attack an opponent, and the entire war is just a â€Å"show†. One could take a â€Å"seat in the stand† and â€Å"be out of the fun† or â€Å"toe the line†. This sporting imagery, suddenly removes the idea of war as a bloody, dirty, nightmarish suffering and transforms it into an exciting prospect. It attacks the reader’s sense of manliness, affirming Edwardian notions that men prove themselves under fire in war and also the chivalric notion of helping your country, personified as a woman stuck in a fight and also the idea of leaving fellow soldiers behind by not joining in the fun. On the other hand, Dulce et Decorum Est, uses realism and hellish imagery to portray the war the way it is. The first line immediately strips the soldiers of all dignity, likening them to â€Å"old beggars† who had â€Å"turned†¦backs† to the enemy trenches. They were â€Å"bent double† and â€Å"cursing through sludge† and â€Å"drunk with fatigue†. The image of defeat, is portrayed through the soldiers being â€Å"deaf even to the hoots of gas shells dropping softly behind. † These men no longer see any true value in living, their hellish nightmare of â€Å"haunting flares†, â€Å"thick green light† and the mention of â€Å"the devil’s sick of sin†. Shows war to be an atrocity not fit for humanity. There is no sense of a â€Å"red crashing game† or any sense of â€Å"fun†. Suddenly, the reader wishes they did have a â€Å"seat in the stand†. Apart from the depiction of warfare, the idea of a noble death or death in war is conflicting in these two poems. Whereas, Jessie Pope omits any mention of death or suffering, Owen goes into immensely graphic, borderline gratuitous detail of the gassing of a man. He describes the man â€Å"flound’ring like a man in fire or lime† who was â€Å"drowning† in a â€Å"green sea†. The unceremonious word â€Å"flung† describes the way a corpse is disposed. The individual human has been reduced to an object, a corpse that has no real value, and is a burden. Pope, creates an image of injury in war as honourable and respectable. The idea of returning â€Å"back with a crutch† as a heroic sentiment. Of the man who took a bullet and survived. She makes it seem as though there is no real risk of going to war, there is no graphic imagery and any mention of the bad aspects of war is referred to in opposites. It won’t be a picnic† but from this the reader cannot conjure the image of war as a nightmare, as a hell the way that Owen does with his description of the â€Å"hanging face† engaging the visual senses of the reader, the sound of â€Å"blood come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs’ the smell â€Å"obscene as cancer† and one can almost taste the â€Å"vile incurable sores†, â€Å"bitter as cud† on their own â€Å"innocent tongues†. This activation of four major sense immerses the reader in the almost unbelievable scene of war. Even the soldiers in there half trance sate, march â€Å"asleep†, unable to comprehend their situation. Thus, the audience of Jessie Pope’s poem is most likely the â€Å"children ardent for some desperate glory† described in Dulce et Decorum est. Desperately glorious. Perhaps that is the best way to describe how Pope conceives war. Furthermore, the poems contrast with this idea of patriotism. The quote found on war memorials and that ends Dulce et Decorum est, is attacked in Owen’s poem whereas it is affirmed in Jessie Pope’s inspirational call to action and invocation. Wilfred Owen describes the idea of â€Å"pro patria mori† as an old lie. As untenable to anyone who has had any experience of real war. We must consider that Jessie Pope probably never visited the front line and never experience a man dying on her â€Å"guttering, choking, drowning† on his own fluids. The title of Owen’s poem is ironic, as the entirety of the poem seeks to disprove this notion. If we examine what Jessie Pope uses to make her poem such an effective example of propaganda, of making the idea of â€Å"pro patrai mori† noble, we see the anaphoric repetition of the who question. Of engaging the reader directly, of making the reader feel ashamed for not helping their â€Å"mother country†. She uses ctive verbs such as â€Å"tackle† and â€Å"grip† to add to this idea of excitement which is absent in the soldier’s poem. Which is absent in truth. In conclusion, we see the whereas Jessie Pope attempts to obscure the truth about the futility and atrocities of war, Owen, a soldier gives us a confrongtingly realistic portrayal of the death of just one man in a retreat on the western front. Whereas Jessie Pope affirms ideas of jingoism, Owen shows how the soldiers on the front line couldn’t care less. Whereas Jessie Pope inherently affirms the idea of dying in war as manly and noble, Owen shows us how unceremoniously and graphic real deaths in war are.