The gods from my home are deaf to prayer and show no faces. A man can tell me he is many things, but I must be the judge of what I see. [ She imagines it's much the same for everyone else. The queen raises a silver brow, but otherwise makes no further appearance at scoffing. The fact that she is here and no longer in the Dothraki Sea is far more worrisome. That much at least is no lie.

She finishes her water, and this time she takes the pitcher in the hand that is wrapped in a makeshift bandage, a strip torn from her shift. Whether it's because she finds his service wanting or her own capabilities lately lacking, she pours her own drink. The cool handle is soothing against her burns. ]

My city's peace rests upon the edge of a blade. [ A blade I once held. Does Hizdahr think me dead, or does he only hope? Her tone sharpens. ] If even half of what I have heard in this place is true, what becomes of my people?