"Where did you find a cure?" Tyrion Lannister asked. Daenerys Targaryen had to bit back a wry smile; her Hand had always been blunt. "Greyscale is usually a death sentence."
"It should have been." Jorah Mormont wasn't looking at Tyrion, though he answered his question. His eyes were locked on hers. "There was a man at the Citadel - an acolyte. They said it had progressed too far to cure, but he tried - he said he'd known my father."
Out of the corner of her eye, Daenerys saw Jon Snow, who'd been watching the conversation from a few paces away, shift from one foot to the other. "Did you catch his name?" he asked after a moment.
"Samwell," Jorah said after a moment. "Samwell Tarly. Why? Do you know him?"
Jon managed one of the first genuine smiles she'd ever seen from him. "Sam is a brother of the Night's Watch - and a friend."
Daenerys didn't need Tyrion's pointed look at her to draw the connection. She managed to hold back a wince; it was not easy. She doubted that the King-in-the-North would be particularly pleased that she'd burned his friend's family alive, however much they had deserved it.
"We needed a new maester after Maester Aemon died, so I sent him to the Citadel before - when I was Lord Commander," Jon continued. He glanced toward Daenerys. "Your great-uncle, I believe. He was a good man. Sam often helped him."
That didn't help the small pit in her stomach. "And this man saved your life?" she asked Jorah, who nodded.
If Jon Snow kept the kind of company who would risk his own life to save a stranger from a terrible fate, that certainly spoke well of him.
She rather wished that it didn't.