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Jorah must have had much more to drink than he remembered for he could see her standing right in front of him. Her dress was the blue of the endless skies over the Dothraki Sea. Her white-blond hair was braided in that one way that made it seem like a gleaming crown. She was shining as dazzling and as merciless as the sun. Jorah couldn't take his eyes off her. Of course he knew it was impossible. She couldn't be here. Not in Volantis. Not with him. But even if this was just a dream, he'd treasure every single moment.
He couldn't. There were all those men. Men looking at her. Men touching, grabbing, kissing her. Dirty, horny men, far beneath her station. Jorah could barely refrain from killing them right there and then. Didn't they know she was the queen? Or did they want her all the more for that? Did everyone dream of fucking a queen? A rasping sound escaped his throat and she turned towards him. Jorah stared into a stranger's face. It fit neither the braid nor the dress. It didn't shine. He avoided her eyes and took up his ale again. Time for another drink.