Now that the Sons of the Harpy were history, nighttime was once again a pretty sight in this city. Market squares were beginning to find its buyers, fire priestesses singing songs of Daenerys found crowd, and eager men lost the fear of having their throats slit in brothels.
The pyramids of the city still cast grim shadows on the city by moonlight, a reminder of the powerful who wielded in Meereen influence, but having had a taste of the queen’s justice, any attempt to usurp governance was gone. After a state of war, it was always beautiful to see the rebirth of a city, for after rock bottom, there is no way to go but up.
Jorah Mormont wondered how Daenerys would react at the failure of Dragon’s Bay when riots would plague it after Daario Naharis would leave to play the game in Westeros. Maybe I should have said more, Jorah told himself, but Mormont was never good as persuasion. He failed to persuade his wife to remain loyal, failed to win his queen’s love, and failed to stand beside her as she wreathed in Westeros fire and blood. However, it was not those failures that stung him as much as his last.
I command you to find the cure. I command you to heal yourself.
Jorah had tried. With little coin in hand, he traveled to the maesters of Oldtown and five of the nine Free Cities. When all hope seemed lost, he was told of fire priestesses and maegi’s at Dragon’s Bay, but the only cure he heard was of a painless death.
Jorah would rather let the grayscale take over him completely than give up on his queen’s commands. Even if a fraction of his mind was functional, he would devote it to ridding his body of this plague. But perhaps the time had come to distance himself from daily interactions with people. It was a miracle that the scale had not spread in this crowded city, and Jorah intended to keep it that way.
It was for that reason that he, in the dead of the night, exited the gates of Meereen, uncertain of where his next path would take him. Before the city was out of sight, he turned to look at the sea, perhaps expecting a fleet of Second Sons silently sailing away in the night, but there was nothing save the soft sloshing of waves.
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