04x02, 'The Lion and the Rose'

One hundred and sixty-three miles from here until Meereen. She's over halfway there now, looking upon the faces of dead children as she goes. Before they reach the end they'll be in varying states of decay, their beautiful little faces forever lost to this awful world.

Her commanders take charge of burying them, honouring her wish of freeing them of their collars. She stands by and watches, the sand drying her throat, burning her eyes.

She dare not cry. Crying is not queenly.

Daenerys has everyone join her in her pavilion that night, conscious that what they've seen might affect them. Only Daario is his usual self, telling his tall tales and sneaking glances her way to see if she's impressed. Whether it's a mask to hide his true feelings only he knows, but she isn't in the mood for his games.

When it's acceptable to do so, she rises. The others take it as their cue to leave. She waits until they've gone before pushing out of the tent herself, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

"How are you?"

Of course, she should have known that Jorah would be there.

He's seen her at her worst, when her temper gets the better of her. He's seen her at her most vulnerable, as Viserys' frightened sister and a khaleesi with a painful burden in the Red Waste. And she trusts him like she trusts no one else. He is the only one she can let her guard down around.

So instead of putting on an act, she lets her shoulders slump. "I'll be fine."

He approaches her. "Are you sure?"

"I have to be."

"There's no shame in being affected. Any sane person would be."

Daenerys closes her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. The images bloom, cloyingly real. The jagged rivers of congealed blood that ran down the children's wrists, from where the nails had been driven into their palms. How terrified they must have been, feeling the life drain from their souls bit by bit.

"We'll avenge them all," she whispers.

"Aye," Jorah agrees grimly. "We will."