Jorah Mormont reached the Great Pyramid to find its throne empty, and Daario Naharis nowhere to be found. Sentries and courtiers otherwise stationed were absent, the room quite empty save Jorah himself.
Alone and wrapped in thick cloths covering him from head to ankle, he traversed the levels of the pyramid in search of his quarry, looking like a ghost chasing prey. Every other room was crowded and chaotic, Meereenese men and sellswords scurrying around without giving him second glances. By the time he found Daario, laughing with two naked women on his lap, Jorah had realized the cause of the confusion.
“War?” he yelled at him, without preamble, “you’re sailing for war?”
“This is Ser Jorah Mormont,” Daario told his mistresses in a tone of mischief, perhaps attempting to diffuse a brewing conflict, but Jorah would not take his hints. “Our queen commanded you to rule Meereen, not participate in conflicts-”
“Save me the lectures, Old Bear!” Daario’s tone was harsh now, mischief forgotten. “I did not become a sellsword to rule over the ruins of a desert. Meereen, its people, they mean nothing to me. I will offer my services to our queen, but if she commands me to return to the land of confused slaves, the Second Sons have other friends to turn to. Euron Greyjoy has already sent me envoys from Dragonstone to join his forces. I wish to bathe in Westerosi blood before I die, and could have little regard for which.”
On other occasions Jorah may have let the matter pass, but being as close to death as he was, he cared not for consequences. “You disgust me,” he said in quiet gruffs. “Our queen saw something in you that none of us did. She believed you were capable of more than tearing apart families. She gave you a chance to break chains instead of bodies. Instead you betray her love, allying with Greyjoys and treating wars like sport like a summer child. If you think battle brings you glory, consider the man who stands in front of you, close to death after a life of misery!”
In a fit of rage, Jorah used his sword hand to rip the cloth covering his left arm, revealing the blackness underneath, now completely lost to the scale. Gasps filled the room. “I came here to inform you that my grayscale has been deemed incurable, that I shall be leaving Meereen by break of dusk, and to not worry about any outbreak of the plague in your city. But it seems clear that, regardless, you do not.”
It was only after he left the room in anger did Mormont begin to comprehend the silence in the room after his speech. As he exited the Great Pyramid, he wondered if Naharis would send men after him. None came.
*
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