Much had happened since the Saleasori Qhoran and taken been taken by the slavers. Tyrion had saved Jorahs life twice. The first time from his death in the fighting pits and when he'd arranged their escape from Yezzan zo Qaggaz. Even though he'd tried to turn him into a dancing bear, Jorah begrudgingly began to like the little Lannister. He could appreciate his wits, if not his sense of humour, but he had shown his worth by convincing the Second Sons to fight for Danerys.
It had taken a long time for Jorah to regain his senses. The beatings at the hands of Nurse and the cage he was kept in had stripped him of his sense of self. Until Tyrion had "rescued" him, he was simply going through the motions and waiting for the Pale Mare to offer him a ride. Tyrion's determination to survive and to make his way to Danerys side had sparked something in Jorah. There was nothing left for him in Mereen, Dany had made that clear, but in his heart he knew the only way to find forgiveness was to do as his father had asked. He would fight to return to Westeros, collect his pardon and then go to the Wall to his father.
Danerys had finally returned with Drogon and the fighting was done. Jorah had planned to slip away but the captains of the Second Sons were rounded up to be presented to her. While they awaited her pleasure they were disarmed and housed in the cells beneath the pyramid. Jorah knew the situation wasn't good. Most of the Second Sons had been in the company when they turned coat and left Danys service previously. Jorah prayed that she would give them a quick death rather than having them crucified.
Finally they were taken from the cells to appear before the Queen. As they began the trek to the throne room two of the unsullied guards pulled Jorah from the ranks. He did not recognise the guards and they did not speak to him. They led him through the endless corridors of the pyramid, one man on each of side of him with a tight grip on his arms, as if they expected him to run. Jorah had hoped was that he'd get one last glimpse of Dany before the axe fell. That didn't seem very likely now. Eventually they stopped and pushed him into a small room and locked the door behind him.
At one end of the room was a bathtub, filled with steaming water and at the other a feather bed, with a set of clean clothes laid upon it. Beside the bed was a pair of leather boots and a small dressing table laden with fruit, cheese, bread and a pitcher of wine and one of water. Someone obviously wanted him to be fed and cleaned. Perhaps he was to be presented to the Queen before he was beheaded and his current state of filth was considered an insult to the ruler of Mereen?
Jorah signed and started to remove his armour. The last time he could remember bathing was before he'd met Tyrion in the alehouse, he did need a bath and badly. He had just removed his tunic when the door opened. A woman entered and guards locked the door behind her.
"Who are you?" Jorah asked.
"My name is Tem, I was sent to prepare you, Ser." She explained, placing the basket she was carrying on the table.
"For what?" Jorah asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I do not know milord, I was only told to prepare you." She looked him up and down and then to the tub.
"I can bathe myself." Jorah told her gruffly. He was quite capable of washing himself.
"I sure you can Ser but I have my instructions." She did not sound like someone who was used to being questioned.
Jorah grunted but finished undressing and gratefully lowered himself into the steaming water. Tem picked up a soft brush and set to work. It took some scrubbing but eventually he was clean enough for Tem's liking. Jorah hoped the hot water and soap would also rid him of the fleas and lice that had been his constant companions since the slavers hulk.
He was about to get out of the tub when Tem pushed him back down. He turned to look back at her only to find Tem holding a razor in her hand.
"Do you mean to cut my throat Tem?" Jorah asked gruffly.
"No my Lord, I was told to see that you were made appropriate." As she reached for the lather, Jorah stopped her.
"Who gave you these orders?" Jorah asked out of curiosity.
"I was told the direction came from one who advises the Queen."
It must have been Barristan, he was the only one that advised Danerys. Jorah stared at her for a moment the shrugged. Why would old Selmy care how he looked? Jorah didn't even care anymore. What did it matter? Pride and dignity where things from his past.
"Ser do you wish me to stop? I am sure that the Queen will be merciful."
A beard was too trivial a thing to imperil another person's life for.
"Do what you have to." He shrugged.
Jorah could not even remember the last time a razor has touched his face, he thought perhaps it was at his mother's insistence when he was still in his teens. Most north men wore beards as a matter of habit. Tem was very careful at least, especially around the brand and the scar on his neck from the arakh.
When Tem was finally happy with him, she bid him well and left.
Jorah stood up collected a towel from the nearby bench. He felt good to be clean, even if his face felt strangely sensitive to the air. His stomach grumbled so crossed to the dressing table to the food laid out for him. As he sat down, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror that sat on the table.
His reflection shocked him. He was leaner, not much meat over the muscle anymore, and no doubt Tem's attentions made it so he almost didn't recognise himself. His hair was shorn very short and without his whiskers, his cheekbones stood out below weary eyes. He slowly turned his face to look at the brand burnt into his left cheek. It was the first time he had actually looked at it. It wasn't red and raised as he'd expected but only thick white lines. His tanned skin made the scars stand out more, but they were not as dominant as he had expected. Still it certainly did not made him any more handsome. And they would forever mark his downfall.
He stroked the scars with a finger, then turned to look at his back and saw the lines criss-crossing from the whip. There were more scars on his shoulders, arms and chest. Free or not, he would forever be scared and branded as a slave. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to think that he had sold other men into that life without understanding what he did. More than anything he regretted that decision more than any other. It had lost him everything. His home, his family, his father's esteem, his freedom and his self respect. He knew had deserved the punishment he was dealt.
Appetite gone, he laid on the bed. Sleep took him quickly.
The lanterns in the room had been lit when Jorah woke from a nightmare. This time, it was of rats eating his fingers and crows pecking out his eyes. He stood and poured water over his head. He reached for the drying cloth draped over the chair and scrubbed his face and hair dry.
He pulled on a pair of trousers and was reaching for the linen shirt when the door opened.
He could smell essence lavender and rose. It was Danerys. He froze. All that time of wishing for one more glimpse of her face and now that she was here, he couldn't face her. His heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. He heard her gasp, no doubt at seeing the scars on his back. He wondered if she had been told about the brand on his face.
"I would speak with you Ser. Look at me Jorah." She told him. Jorah exhaled the breath he had been holding. He pulled on the shirt and slowly turned. The sight of her face took his breath away. She was thinner, yes, perhaps her eyes held more maturity but she was still heart-achingly beautiful.
"Khaleesi." He rasped, dropping to his knee in front of her.
He kept his gaze to the floor. He couldn't look into her eyes and see his betrayal shining back at him.
She reached out with both hands to lift his head up, forcing him to look at her. She examined him closely. She did not speak but ran gentle hands over his face, lingering on the brand, lingering his cheekbones and slowly drawing along his now smooth jaw.
"Oh Jorah!" She cried softly.
Pity was written across her features. She looked about to cry.
"Please don't." Jorah dropped his head again. "I received much less than I deserved." He couldn't stand for her to look at him with pity. After all the wrong he had done in his retched life, he deserved no pity, no mercy.
Jorah had realised in the slavers camp, that he'd run from his responsibilities and justice all his adult life and it had taken everything from him. When he'd sworn to serve Danerys he had begun to understand what honour really was. The realisation that he wasn't an honourable man had gutted him. As did his realisation that she could never love him.
"They told me but... My heart breaks to see what they have done to you." Tears ran down her cheeks.
"Do not cry Danerys. I am healed." He tried to reassure her. "They're only scars, I was never much to look at anyway."
"You are too hard on yourself." She told him, running her fingers through is short sandy hair, scratchy lightly at his scalp. "You look different without your beard." She smiled at him.
He smiled in amusement. A tiny flicker of hope sparked in Jorah.
Dany had not realised before that he was handsome. Without the beard he looked younger, his features more dominant and pleasing. His eyes were darker blue than she remembered and his lips looked soft and sweet. He wasn't as flashy or as young as Dario, but he was attractive, manly. Seeing him again stirred things inside of her. Things she tried to deny. To forget.
"My Queen?" Jorah asked. As he did his best not to squirm under her scrutiny.
"Why did you come back?" She asked, her smile fading. "When you knew the consequences of it?" She gripped his hair tightly.
Jorah swallowed hard. "My Queen I am sworn to you I...would die for you."
"And I relieved you of that oath." She snapped at him. "And now you return and force my hand." She let him go and turned away from him.
Jorah hung his head. "I am truly sorry." He whisphered and he meant it will all his being.
He knew then that she hadn't come to forgive him, but to say good-bye. After a long silence he asked, "When will it be?"
"Your... execution?" Dany felt as if a hand constricted around her heart.
Jorah nodded.
"At dawn." She cried and strode from the room, leaving Jorah to weep in the solitude.