Everything was indeed starting to fade. That same fog from earlier drifted back, swirling about their feet, rising higher and higher from the notable cracks in the flooring. Not nearly as dense as the fog which brought them here, but did it matter?
"Melisandre did." Only when it grows too cloudy to see the scene before her does she look to him. What does one say in response to this? Gods, but even suspicion cannot hold itself to this. He'd died. "She wished for me to summon you to Dragonstone."
It might've frightened her that they're both swallowed by the mist, but she finds it to be a relief. It means not looking to him in that moment. It means she has a chance to gather her thoughts. It means--
"Bring in Drogo's widow," comes a voice from the fog, speaking in Dothraki.
--No. She stiffens. No, no, no.
Yes, yes, yes. As the scene shifts, they're no longer in a cold and dark room, but a large and spacious wooden building. Fires burn, casting the immediate vicinity in dancing shadows. It's evening, that much is clear. Further ahead of them sit a cluster of men. Khals.
A door creaks open and in walks three women: two of the Dosh Khaleen, and then herself. Messy hair half pulled back. Ragged clothing more appropriate for living with the horselords than anything she would willingly don as a queen. She stands beside Jon, staring long and hard at these men with an unreadable expression.
The other khals speak once she's left to stand before them. Insulting her height, how they would like to taste a khaleesi, laughing over their stupid jokes. The laughter dies, however, when the man who summoned her says, "She belongs with the Dosh Khaleen." Then, they discuss the masters of Yunkai, the reward for turning her in.
"Still so foolish," she murmurs loud enough for Jon to hear.
let's say that the memory = he can understand Dothraki
"Melisandre did." Only when it grows too cloudy to see the scene before her does she look to him. What does one say in response to this? Gods, but even suspicion cannot hold itself to this. He'd died. "She wished for me to summon you to Dragonstone."
It might've frightened her that they're both swallowed by the mist, but she finds it to be a relief. It means not looking to him in that moment. It means she has a chance to gather her thoughts. It means--
"Bring in Drogo's widow," comes a voice from the fog, speaking in Dothraki.
--No. She stiffens. No, no, no.
Yes, yes, yes. As the scene shifts, they're no longer in a cold and dark room, but a large and spacious wooden building. Fires burn, casting the immediate vicinity in dancing shadows. It's evening, that much is clear. Further ahead of them sit a cluster of men. Khals.
A door creaks open and in walks three women: two of the Dosh Khaleen, and then herself. Messy hair half pulled back. Ragged clothing more appropriate for living with the horselords than anything she would willingly don as a queen. She stands beside Jon, staring long and hard at these men with an unreadable expression.
The other khals speak once she's left to stand before them. Insulting her height, how they would like to taste a khaleesi, laughing over their stupid jokes. The laughter dies, however, when the man who summoned her says, "She belongs with the Dosh Khaleen." Then, they discuss the masters of Yunkai, the reward for turning her in.
"Still so foolish," she murmurs loud enough for Jon to hear.