Jorah could feel the warmth of the sun, escaping past the dewy fog of the morning, splayed out across the beach. It made the sand seem to crunch further underneath the heels of his boots, and despite the almost greyish tinge to the air, he felt more at home here than anywhere else. It felt less like melancholy and more like a calmness, to him, as if the sun and the sky were meeting somewhere halfway between bright impossible blues and dark annoyed storm clouds. Perhaps he felt that way about Daenerys, too: someone so pale and beautiful, meeting him in the in between.

"I mean only that it's rather gruesome," he continued, with a slight grin at her, sidelong. His Dragon Queen--she knew the truth of carnage better than anyone, he thought, and yet he still sought to keep her from it when he could. Despite all of her strength and all of her willpower, she was still a lady, still someone who should be taken care of when possible, and he sought to do it when he could.

"They did not enjoy me much at the Citadel."

A memory of the sound of the iron door of his isolation cell closing, the way all the metal pieces slid into place in finality.

"But it is a beautiful place, from what little I saw. Books everywhere, shelves and shelves of them. I would have liked to have seen more, to have been able to read anything, but..." His eyes turned toward the horizon, where the sky and the ocean met. "I had almost given up hope, when a very peculiar man approached me, and offered to help."

He chuckled, shortly. "At first I wanted to refuse. I would live out the last of my days and then take my own life. But he wouldn't have it."