Torturer's Deep, The Stepstones, Essos
They approach the pirate king's ramshackle palace in secret, knowing there is little time to proceed with their mission: rescuing the queen and escaping to sea in the small Tyroshi ship that waits for them at the harbor. The palace may be crumbling, but Aurane Waters' war ships are the finest in Essos and Westeros, commissioned by (and then stolen from) Cersei Lannister herself. There will be no time to spare if they are to outpace these ships, which Waters will surely set after them once the deed is done. Their own ship, an older junk newly christened The Maiden Fair (someone's idea of a joke), is swift, but lacks the firepower of Waters' galleons.
Accessing the palace is more difficult than desired, of course, for they are hardly inconspicuous: a big bear of a man with a demon tattooed on his face and a dwarf with half his nose missing. Thus, Ser Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister are forced to wait until cover of darkness, sneaking through hidden passageways and dark alleys at the moment they are sure the Queen's captors are occupied.
Later, Mormont tells himself that they should have stormed the gates to the compound, consequences be damned. It is no matter; everything is shot to seven hells now. If only they had known what the secret meeting was about. If only they had arrived a day sooner. If only—
"Run!" Tyrion Lannister shoves Ser Jorah's much larger frame, forcing the man to move. The knight puts one foot in front of the other, the base instinct of self-preservation kicking in as flames engulf nearby roofs and balconies and smoke fills the sky. They run for the port, for the safety of water, of the ship that was supposed to have held Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, on her journey to Westeros.
Instead, the queen lies dead amongst the rubble of the palace, Daenerys the Unburnt now no more than a pile of ashes. There is no time to mourn and only small solace to be found in the fact that her captors were put to death only minutes after her own demise.
Above the island, Daenerys' dragons howl. Their mournful wail is an awful sound to behold, one that will echo in Ser Jorah Mormont's nightmares until the day he dies. Woeful, angry, terrible. The beasts were dangerous enough in Daenerys' care. In her death, their danger has increased tenfold. He watches them circle high above, wings flapping, fiery breath destroying everything in their path in retaliation for the murder of their mother. Mormont wonders if they will see him and destroy him, too—if they instinctually know him for his treachery, for failing to save her.
"We have to go now," Tyrion says, but despite his tone, the dwarf is awestruck, too and for a few long moments, both men stare up at the sky as ash and soot rain down, the sky a blaze of angry red and orange.
Around them, there is a mix of awe and terror, as many men standing dumbly as there are those running every which way. The harbor grows smokier and Mormont feels his eyes burning. They need to leave or they will be consumed by the dragons' rage. "The ship!" he reminds Tyrion and they are on the move once more. They have nearly reached the slip where The Maiden Fair is anchored when Mormont is felled by some unseen obstacle. He yells out, but can no longer see Tyrion in the thickening gray haze. He hits the dock with a thud, nothing making sense any more, and Ser Jorah Mormont is sure he will die here, too. There is something fitting, he thinks, at the idea of becoming nothing but ashes not far from where his queen rests. His Daenerys. Perhaps the winds will carry some of his remains toward Westeros, toward home. Where is home? the knight wonders dazedly.
His senses are dulling, and now he must be hallucinating, for Jorah sees, through the smoke, a man in Westerosi armor leaning over him, the flaming tower of House Hightower emblazoned on his cloak. How can that be? But he is no longer able to consider anything, real or imagined, and everything goes black.