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. “Will I dream?” Ned gave him his answer. “You will, my lord.” “Good,” he said, smiling. “I will give Lyanna your love, Ned. Take care of my children for me.”
