The weather is no never mind to Seoraj, accustomed to harsh mountain winters; the chill is comfortable enough where Baedal typically feels a bit too warm for his blood. (Summer in the forge is enough to have him dowsing himself in barrels of cold water, which some of his neighbours don't actually seem to mind, funnily enough.)

“Choice of weapons, then?” after a considering pause, mildly inquiring; Jaime can interpret it for himself or for the Dothraki or both, and Seoraj would be satisfied with any or all of these answers. His curiosity is a consistently easy thing, and it's evident enough in watching him move through any space that he has a knack for conversation, for letting others share in that ease without much in the way of artifice. Some people, from time to time, see that simplicity and imagine it means he's a fool.

He doesn't let it worry him. They learn better or they don't, and either way, it's usually their problem and not his.