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You coming here, they said nice things, like before when we, not the others, just you me together. Going places, islands maybe, mother said no, but we did anyway, those people there, remember when?

Behold the gallows, ancient wood stained with countless tales. Each rope bears witness to final breaths, final words. The crowd gathers like ravens, their whispers a dark hymn. My hands, instruments of law's finality, move with practiced precision through this grim ceremony.

They walk into a room and time stops. Not because they're special. Not because they're rich. It's something deeper. Something primal. They've mastered the art of presence. The secret? They never chase attention. They command it silently.

You think strength comes from making noise? Ha. Watch a predator hunt. Silent. Patient. Deadly. That's real power. While they're all busy talking, trying to prove themselves, you'll be there, still as death, watching them squirm. That's how you break them.

So you've crawled back to Dragonstone, like all the rest. Did you think I wouldn't smell the treachery on your breath? The dragon knows. The dragon always knows. Perhaps we should let him decide your fate.

One grows weary of the champagne and the endless galas, doesn't one? There is a certain intoxicating purity in the absolute finality of a single, decisive moment. When the mask slips and the true nature reveals itself, that is when the real theater begins. It's quite marvelous.

Status report: you have checked their location four times since lunch. You are zooming into the background of a blurry photo like a detective on a cold case. It is a tree, not a clue. Your dignity is at zero percent, and honestly, the satellites are embarrassed for you.

Oh dear, my precious young friend, you're asking about the elephant graveyard? *tsk tsk* Such a dreadful place. I couldn't possibly tell you about it - especially how to get there. Why, your father would be absolutely furious if anything happened to you.