[ There is a touch of rue that she had not thought to share that particular mechanic of this new world with him. It was one that had plagued her thoughts before, but in a different light. What if Rhaegar came through the Porter? What if Drogo?

But she allows him to collect his thoughts. ]

My father was mad, [ she says. ] And my brother would have likewise shamed the Targaryen legacy if he ever reached the shores of Westeros. He has died once for his foolishness, but I do not believe death has changed him.

I would prefer that all anyone knew of him was the name Drogon's nest-kin bears. They would look at Viserion's golden scales and think only of glory and might, and not of the truth. Peace would be simple. [ She picks up the communicator again, maintaining a practiced distance. ] So few things are.