The burlap sack covering Jorah's head wasn't removed until he'd been seated in a tent miles from Meereen. The first thing Jorah tried to do was identify his attackers, but these were unfamiliar faces in unidentifiable armor.
"Ser Jorah Mormont," one of the men sneered. "Or…forgive me…is it KING Mormont now?"
"Do I know you?" Jorah asked.
"Likely not. But I've heard tales of you, the knight who sold slaves," the man spat on the ground in disgust.
"What is it that you want?" Jorah asked, though he already knew the answer.
"What I want?" the man gave a humorless laugh. "What I want is a nice flagon of wine after that desert we crossed, but in the meantime I'll have to settle with answers from you," The man pulled out a dagger, placed it under Jorah's chin, and raised the knight's head so he was eye level with his kidnapper. "I want to know where Daenerys Targaryen is,"
"That is an answer I will never give,"
"Jorah tasted a mix of blood and metal as the man backhanded him across the face. He inadvertently tried to touch his jaw, but his hands were bound behind his back. "Perhaps 'want' wasn't the best choice of words," the man said. "I NEED to know where this white haired girl who calls herself a queen is,"
"And who's asking?" Jorah managed to say.
The man smiled, showing a set of crooked yellow teeth. "Garrison is the name," he said, "Not that it matters much to you,"
Jorah looked Garrison over. The man was well built and carried multiple weapons, as were the handful of other men in the room. "You carry no banners," Jorah decided, "And you wear no colors beyond the grey of steel. You must be a sell-sword,"
"Ding ding ding, that's the answer!"
"Jorah wondered who this Garrison man was working for. Since he was after Daenerys, he obviously worked with someone who felt their power was being threatened. And who held power?
"The man had a distinct Westerosi accent, eliminating those he knew in Slaver's Bay. It couldn't be Stannis or Renly Baratheon, as last Jorah heard both men were dead. The Starks were trying to rally the North and gain independence from their current oppressors. Which meant there was only one family left: the Lannisters.
"Neither you nor the Lannisters will defeat Daenerys," Jorah said. "There are many who would ride into battle with her, along with three full grown dragons,"
"Three you say?" Garrison looked at the other men in the tent. "Did you hear that boys? King Jorah here thinks Daenerys has THREE dragons!"
Jorah's insides turned to ice as everyone in the tent laughed. What exactly had happened after they'd knocked him unconscious and obscured his vision? Last he'd seen additional Unsullied were coming to their aid (albeit from a distance) while Rhaegal and Viserion clambered their unknown enemies on the ground.
"Gully," Garrison addressed one of the other men and pointed his knife at Jorah, "Take this man outside and show him the gifts we intend to present to Queen Cersei. Mind that you keep his hands tied though, we don't want him squirming away,"
"Aye, that we don't," The man named Gully pulled Jorah to his feet and pushed him out the flap of the door.
Jorah didn't have to walk any further to see what Garrison was talking about: in the near distance lay the bloodied heads of Rhaegal and Viserion.