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[ The locket reveals the face of a young woman--some would say a girl--peering into it. Her hair gleams silver-gold in the candlelight, her eyes an unusual purple color. In the background, an imp peers over her shoulder, its claws clinging to her bared skin. ]

There is magic in the Free Cities and Qarth alike, yet I have seen nothing half so convincing as Allaidh Darach. It is ... [ She hesitates; what to call the place that's imprisoned you against your will? ] ... intricate work, truly. Were I settled into my kingdom, my children fierce and grown, perhaps I would not mind it so much, calling Caer Scima home.

[ For a fraction of an instant, she looks sad. Did Drogon sense her as she faded into this world? ]

But lush pillows will not shield my freedmen from those who would send them back to the shackles, no more than peach tarts will keep famine away from my gates. [ The imp shakes a foul little fist at the locket in punctuation, as though its fellows didn't help to abduct her only four nights ago. Dany turns and fixes it with a measured look. ]

Leave me now. I want no spies.

[ It hesitates, but something in her voice convinces it. Muttering, it releases her shoulder and shrinks away as though scolded. Dany waits impatiently for two more of the creatures to leave her presence, some private struggle raging beneath. Then, at last, she exhales in a sigh. ]

Yet time is not so easily disrupted, I have learned. Tell me, was I spoken true? [ It's phrased as something of a demand, but there's a very clear plea beneath it. The queen is there, but so, too, is the girl. And the girl is frightened, fearing for her people and her dragons alike. ] Will my people notice I have left them, or will all be as it was? How may I be assured of their safety?

[ Restless fingers pluck at the fringe of the cushion in her lap. ]

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There are few assurances in life, in this world or any others. Are you so certain of their safety in your own world?

[ She has never seen such a man, for all her travels. His appearance gives her pause, though she has the grace not to show her surprise. ]

I am their queen, and none can give the same protection in my place. [ She explains--no, protests, as though her presence there is unquestionably a better option. ] I am mother to the last three dragons in the world, and I command an army of ten thousand Unsullied soldiers. I am certain I prefer those odds to what is left, if I am truly gone from Meereen.

[ She likes the odds better where her dragons' safety is concerned, too. She can feel the fear beginning to gnaw at her again. There are too many in the world who would do them harm, and Rhaegal and Viserion are only the sizes of dogs still. ]

[ All black eyes, pale skin; as Daenerys speaks, four black-finned fish appear on the camera, swimming through midair around him. He is man-shaped but not human, has not been for some time, and he is used to surprise and pauses. ]

Queens can be manipulated. Armies can be killed. Kingdoms rise and fall as the tides do.

In this world or your own, whether time passes or not, they are not safe. You are not safe. Death comes for all, mortal and god alike.

[ The Outsider pauses here, reaching out to idly stroke along the scales of one of the fish that swims around him. ]

But in this world, it is the fate of all worlds that is to be decided. Should you want their safety, worry about the world you are in, the war that has called you to arms.

[ These do draw a reaction from her, and she watches the fish swim in astonishment. ]

I understand well that death comes. [ Her tone is flat. ] I have supped too much on it to claim otherwise. But imminence may be manipulated, and I-- [ She hesitates. ] --I cannot simply accept that I have abandoned those I have saved. It is the duty of a queen to protect those she is able to protect, and to mourn those she could have saved, yet did not.

[ His counsel inspires a long, hard silence--as well it should. Dany believes in gods and magic both, but it's difficult to fathom what's being asked of her. She is the last dragon, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros--and yet she's being asked to save much more than that. ]

You mean to say if I do not fight, my world--and these other worlds, all--will be destroyed? [ Disbelief is plain across her features. ] At what price? [ For there is always a price, she's beginning to think. Always some cost she cannot see. ] What must I sacrifice to win survival for my people?

[ Only death may pay for life. She must not forget. ]

And to look for those vipers who would keep her from both.

[ Her words remind him all too well of the late Empress Jessamine, in his own world; her dream dead with her, her daughter knowing pain and fear and death at the hands of both those who betrayed them and those who would have protected her. ]

If you fight, they may still be destroyed. It is only if the goal of the Unseelie court is reached, if enough shards are gathered to cast back the Void, that they will not.

We fight Fate and Cycles, now. And for those who would let both win... well. Their shards can be obtained through their deaths.

[ His hand drops from the fish, and one of them cheekily lets her tail brush across his cheek. ]

[ She demands, doing her best not to bristle at what she perceives to be a threat of death for those who remain neutral: ] Explain to me this Void. If the name is fitting, I would know why the Seelie court benefits from its advance.

[ Perhaps he's simply speaking hypothetically, but this man inspires in Dany the same kind of guarded intrigue as Quaithe of the Shadow does. An enemy, or a dangerous friend. ] What becomes of the slain?

Little is known of the Void, only that it has consumed much of this world and continues to do so. The Seelie say that when it consumes this world and all others, the cycle will begin again. Different lives, different faces, and still the same ending.

[ It's perhaps the most accurate feeling most have had about the Outsider; if nothing else, it makes him feel a little bit more like he's home. ]

Slain shardbearers are often returned to life as one last gift from their monarchs. They are no longer a part of their court, but with their shard goes their connection to their world. Severed, separated.

But how can something be reborn of nothing? Who lives to verify that such a cycle exists? [ She tears her eyes from the fish brushing against his face, and looks into his own. They're dark and terrible, like deep black pools, but she steels herself and looks still. He is unlike any human she's ever seen, and she suspects he isn't human at all. ] Do the monarchs remain?

[ This draws a flinch from her. And so they are left to linger here until this Void comes. ] A half life. [ The wine on her tongue seems to sour. ] A bitter fate.

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