"How dare you!"
Jorah Mormont's voice thundered through the hall. He strode into its center, his uninjured hand already on his sword hilt, and placed himself between Daenerys and Daario.
Daario raised an eyebrow.
He looked Jorah up and down.
The burly, unkempt brute who had suddenly appeared was covered in blood and grime. A deep gash scored his armguard, and fresh blood seeped through his bandages. He looked as though he had just crawled out of a pile of corpses.
Rather than backing down, Daario curled his lips into a smile.
"How dare I?" he repeated, as though savoring an amusing joke. "I traveled all this way with two heads to offer as proof of my loyalty, asking only for a promise from Her Grace."
"Isn't that far more sincere than those Meereenese nobles who profess loyalty while plotting assassinations behind her back?"
"You-" Jorah's voice was low and dangerous.
"What about me?" Daario tilted his head, looking past Jorah's shoulder at Daenerys. "I'm openly stating what I want."
"Her Grace is a Targaryen. The blood of the true dragon needs a strong mate to carry it on.
"And I have an army-"
"Five hundred men," Jorah cut in coldly.
"Five hundred for now." Daario's smile never faltered. "Once I've subdued Meereen for Her Grace, there will be more than five hundred."
"Slaver's Bay is full of people who want to follow a true dragon. They only lack someone brave enough to lead them."
He stepped forward until he and Jorah were almost nose to nose.
"And you? What can you give her? A faithful old dog? Or a scar from a sword wound?"
Veins bulged on Jorah's sword hand. Three inches of steel had already cleared the scabbard.
"Enough."
Daenerys's voice came from above, bringing both men to