"Ha! Thank you for that little distraction, Groat. It helps me to think clearly again."
"I have no jest for this occasion." Groat turns over his goblet. "Too solemn." He lifts the goblet and grins as a white mouse flees from beneath it.
"I am so sorry, my [lord/lady]. Prince Viserys Targaryen is no more. His sister's husband, the horse lord Khal Drogo, crowned him with gold, molten gold."
Say nothing. Brook no word to interrupt your silence.
"Those scum could have been allies, Ser Hugo. They'd have reclaimed Westeros for Viserys."
"Groat, I need your humor. Lighten my heart with an agile word."
"I agree, my [lord/lady]." Ser Hugo slams his fist on the arm of his chair. "Wish I could take a hundred knights and teach those Dothraki scum a lesson."
"This is a terrible blow to the future of the Seven Kingdoms."