The unexpected closeness of another person startled her, and Daenerys slipped on a loose stone, blindly flailing out a hand to catch herself. Her fingers grasped a handful of thick material of a cloak meant to be worn in weather much colder than the warmth she was accustomed to, as a young man murmured an apology.

Though she regained her footing quickly, her cheeks still flushed with mild embarrassment; it was hardly the sort of first impression she liked to make, lost so deep in her own thoughts that she nearly ran straight into someone. "I believe the fault is mine," she admitted, letting go of the poor boy's cloak and straightening her dress in an attempt to gather up whatever shreds of dignity remained to her. "You, at least, were quick enough to dodge."

She smiled slightly as she studied the boy's face, and realized he was hardly a boy at all. He was close to her own age, perhaps even a year or two older, with a somber but handsome face. Yet again, it was a relief to see another person as lost and confused by their new surroundings as she was. "My apologies, for my carelessness."