[The way she pulls back as if he’s struck her, and the way she collects herself, resolving all of it into a wounded look, is proof that she’s telling the truth.
And why wouldn’t she? Even if he had ever known her to lie, she wouldn’t lie about this.
But why would she think that he already knew?
His confused expression deepens. How could he forget —- ?
Realization strikes him: the way people came and went and came back, sometimes, in New Amsterdam. He had done it himself, with no memory of it. He leans into the bars.]
Daenerys, the last time we saw each other... when was it? To me, we had gone to New Casablanca. We tried to rest there. There wasn’t much joy in it, but it had nothing to do with your dragons.
[He thinks this will accord with her memories of it. Before she can answer, he adds, sympathetic,]
no subject
And why wouldn’t she? Even if he had ever known her to lie, she wouldn’t lie about this.
But why would she think that he already knew?
His confused expression deepens. How could he forget —- ?
Realization strikes him: the way people came and went and came back, sometimes, in New Amsterdam. He had done it himself, with no memory of it. He leans into the bars.]
Daenerys, the last time we saw each other... when was it? To me, we had gone to New Casablanca. We tried to rest there. There wasn’t much joy in it, but it had nothing to do with your dragons.
[He thinks this will accord with her memories of it. Before she can answer, he adds, sympathetic,]
I am very sorry, for Viserion.