[ Dany pulls her hand away at the look. I should not have done that. Strangely familiar though he seems to her, he is not Jorah, or Ser Barristan, or else anyone she knows. He is only someone who speaks with reason, who has struggled enough to fit into the world, to offer her vindication and hope alike. As intoxicating as that is, and as much as she might learn from him, she's allowed herself to stray too far. ]

Wiggling may not be enough to suit my needs. [ Dany smiles, but there's no warmth in it; only distance. She is a dragon, and dragons were not meant for chains. ] But I thank you. [ Discussing her troubles with someone who is not a part of her court, not even a part of her world, has proven queerly cathartic. ]

And now I fear I must return to the cell they have given me. [ Her filth feels somehow heavier upon her skin now that she's no longer raiding the kitchens. Curiously, her newly-regrown hair is clean and only slightly mussed in comparison. A little furrow appears in her brow as she examines it for the first time, staring at a silver-gold strand before brushing it away. She thinks to ask where she might have a bath drawn, but decides against it--she has already revealed too much of her own uncertainty. Her glass of water is mined for the dregs at the bottom, and then she returns it to the counter. ] You were kind not to take your leave of the kitchens.

[ It's a tease, though it's subtle. She knows she must reek of sweat. ]