Prologue:

"And now that the mists of this great question have cleared away, I believe that men will see the truth, eye to eye and face to face. There is one thing that the American people always rise to and extend their hand to, and that is the truth of justice and of liberty and of peace. We have accepted that truth and we are going to be led by it, and it is going to lead us, and through us the world, out into pastures of quietness and peace such as the world never dreamed of before!"

The President delivered the final words of his speech in front of a crowd of 3,000 people at the Colorado state fairgrounds in Pueblo. Sweat trickled down his long face as the crowd cheered enthusiastically. His head was killing him, he nearly felt he was going to pieces, but he had to go on. He had to bring his message to the American people directly so that the children of America, those bright-eyed little boys, and excited little girls he saw in every place he travelled to in this great nation would never have to fight another great war. So that the sacrifices of those who'd died to make the world safe for Democracy would never be in vain. He had to go on.

That night on the train he woke up with the pain in his head more unbearable than it had ever been. He made his way to his dear wife's compartment and told her so. She called Dr. Grayson and he did what he could as the President went in and out of consciousness. In a daze, he could hear scattered bits of conversation.

"He's too ill to go on."

"We'll have to cancel the rest of the trip and get back to Washington as soon as possible."

Cancel the rest of his speaking tour? No, never! He wouldn't let his enemies, Senator Lodge and the others, call him a quitter! No, America must enter the League to preserve peace for all time to come. He would tell them as much. He tried to get up and everything went black.

When he woke up, it seemed he was still in a dream, and it was a different dream altogether. He got out from under the fur blankets on his bed. Well this was not his bed and this was not the train that had been carrying him to Wichita. No. Where was he? Was he dreaming?

He got up and looked in the mirror. The face staring back at him was not his own, but the face of someone much younger. With golden hair, green eyes and full, pouting lips. He'd realized all the pain he'd felt for so long was gone.

He heard a knock on his door and a woman's voice. "Joffrey, sweetling, it's time to get up. We're nearly to Winterfell."