06x03, 'Oathbreaker'

The more time she spends here, trapped with the arrogant khals who think she has no worth beyond rotting in the temple of the Dosh Khaleen, the more time she has to reflect. On her journey. On everything.

For the last years, since Drogo's death, she has buried her grief like bones in the Dornish sands. Everything had seemed so much simpler then. The beginnings had been painful and rough, but she had grown into her role. She had grown into love. She'd been happy, for a time. With her babe growing in her belly, Doreah, Irri, and Jhiqi trading gossip around her, Jorah and Rahkaro there to guard her. The scents of the Dothraki Sea soaking into her skin, the flavour of the horsemeat on her tongue, washed away with the pungent mare's milk that made her head pleasantly buzzed. They had been the fledgling shoots of belonging. Not home, but a start.

She'd found herself looking back on those days with a kind of rosy wistfulness as she'd moved from the Red Waste, from Qarth, through the slaver cities. A longing for times gone by, for the way things were. Pushing them to the back of her mind for the pain of that nostalgia, for her warlord husband.

But she's found one thing to be true: nostalgia is a wispy wraith, and all the more dangerous for it. Clouding the eyes and mind, softening the edges. Her time with the Dothraki has been exposed, a festering wound uncovered to be found mithered in maggots and rot.

Her time with Jorah has suffered no exposure. It's simply always been. And it's his presence that softened those dark, lonely early days. He has hurt her, deeply, but though she has tried to sour those memories of him, she finds she can't. There are too many truths in them, and not enough in her time with the Dothraki.

Harsh realities are abound.

She's not sure she's ready to examine them so closely just yet.