[ What honor could wolves have? Dany thinks to ask, but the man before her speaks very little. He does not seek to mislead me, at least. She can discern that much: while he is taciturn, he offers no guile. Perhaps what he has told her is the most she can hope to hear, for now. Curious though she is, she is not in the habit of interrogating guests from whom she has no need of information. ]

Then they have taught you more than most men know, [ the queen tells him, with all the certainty of a woman far beyond her years. She has seen much, and learned many hard lessons. True people are rare, and honorable men rarer still.

His next words betray his true motivations, she thinks, and she doesn't trouble to hold back a smile. ]

Rise, and stand a pace apart, [ she instructs, removing the innards with her bare hands to place them aside (perhaps Drogon will take these for his offering in place of the fish). ] Drogon has never misdirected his flames, but I would not have your boots burn. You have been too patient with me for that, [ she teases once more, standing and turning on her heel. Drawn by the smell of blood, Drogon is already sitting up and unfurling his wings in the chill, his eyes gleaming like two burning rubies in expectation.

The night air is lit first by a queer word, and then even queerer flames. Her Balerion is large enough now that his fire is growing dark again, the orange all but faded in the potency of his breath. Perhaps their supper will taste strange tonight, but it will not lack for roasting power. ]