Avast, ye scurvy dogs and salt-crusted bilge-rats! Gather 'round the grog tub and lend an ear to Captain Iron Ink, for the stars have aligned over the fog-drenched harbor of New York City, or 'New Babylon' as we honest thieves call it. It seems the Mother o’ Lizards herself, the golden-haired fire-brand Emilia Clarke, has been spotted carousing with that mountain of a man, the Dothraki Titan Jason Momoa! Aye, the Great Sun-and-Stars and his Moon-of-My-Life have reunited amongst the towering stone masts of the colonies, sending a ripple through the tides that’s like to capsize every merchant sloop from here to Tortuga!

I’ve seen many a strange sight on the Spanish Main, but naught compares to the visual of this pair locking horns over a flagon of what I assume was top-shelf nectar. They looked as thick as thieves, grinning like they’d just plundered the Queen’s private treasury without so much as a scratch on their boots. Reports from the tavern walls—which we call 'The Gram' in these modern, cursed times—showed the giant Momoa hoisting the Dragon Queen aloft as if she were a mere feather-weight prize. The sheer force of their combined charisma is enough to brew a hurricane, and I pity any poor soul caught in the wake of their merriment.

Lord Bilge-Water of the HBO Fleet was heard muttering into his watered-down ale at the Admiralty Club: 'By the Kraken’s ink-sac, if these two decide to take to the waves together, the very foundations of our scripted sovereignty shall crumble! We spent years trying to sink their ship, and here they are, afloat and more buoyant than a corked bottle of rum!' Even Cabin Boy Jenkins, usually too dim-witted to tell a jib from a jigger, noted the danger: 'Captain, when the giant man-o-war meets the fire-drake, the sea-salt turns to steam! My compass is spinning like a dervish! It’s a sign, I tells ye! It’s a sign of a spin-off!'

The consequences for us honest buccaneers are dire, make no mistake. Since the news broke, the price of dragon-glass has plummeted, and the demand for Dothraki-style hair oil has caused a shortage in every port from Nassau to the Spice Islands. Sailors are refusing to weigh anchor, fearing that if the Khaleesi and her Warlord are truly back in league, the very sky might rain fire while the sea rises to swallow the hull. We’ve seen the way Momoa handles a trident, and we know Clarke can command the very winds; if they decide to stop posing for scrolls and start pillaging, there won't be a doubloon left for the rest of us!

So, keep your cutlasses sharp and your eyes on the horizon, ye land-lubbers. While the fancy folk in New York celebrate this 'reunion' as a bit of heartwarming gossip, we men of the black flag know better. When the titans of the screen clash their tankards, the little fish best find a deep hole to hide in. Whether they be plotting a new conquest or simply drowning the memory of that wretched final season in a sea of expensive spirits, the world is a louder, more dangerous place tonight. Drink up, me hearties, for the Dragon and the Sea-Stallion are roaming the streets, and God help any man who tries to stand between them and their next selfie!