Chapter 1: Revelations
Chapter Text
Once King’s Landing was freed from Cersei’s grip, Westeros entered an era of rebirth. The Red Keep stood tall, its walls no longer looming with the threat of tyranny but adorned with banners of the dragon queen who had conquered the Iron Throne—not with cruelty, but with determination and careful planning. It took years for Cersei’s shadow to truly fade, but step by step, Daenerys Targaryen began to rebuild the kingdom she had fought so fiercely for, ensuring that her reign would be remembered not for its conquest but for its compassion.
Breaking the wheel proved more challenging than she ever imagined. Centuries of tradition were as stubborn as the lords and ladies who clung to them, fearing that true equality might strip them of their power. But Daenerys was relentless. She implemented countless reforms, laws designed to close the chasm between the nobility and the common folk.
New measures addressed the cycles of poverty, class disparity, and the remnants of enslavement that still lingered in the corners of Westeros. She reinstated trade routes long abandoned by the wars, cultivated alliances among the Free Cities, and welcomed skilled builders, healers, and farmers into the capital to restore prosperity.
Resistance came, of course, as it always did. The lords of Westeros were slow to trust her and even slower to embrace her changes. Rumors of rebellion brewed in whispers behind closed doors, but few dared openly defy the queen when they saw her two remaining dragons circling above King’s Landing. Though Drogon and Rhaegal were rarely used for war nowadays, their presence alone was enough to strike fear into the hearts of dissenters.
For those who did not know the dragons—who had never witnessed their intelligence or felt the bond Daenerys shared with them—they were creatures of legend, beings of fire and shadow, a living symbol of her power. To challenge Daenerys was to invite fire and blood.
Yet among her people, a different kind of legend had grown—tales of not just the dragons, but of those who fought beside her during the Long Night. Songs and stories spread across the Seven Kingdoms, tales of Arya Stark, who felled the Night King; of Jon Snow, the wolf of Winterfell who rallied men against the undead; and of the Bear Knight, a loyal warrior who had stood at Daenerys’s side even in the face of death.
Jorah Mormont was no longer the man he had once been. His wounds from the Long Night had slowed him down, his movements deliberate and his decisions less risky. His body bore the scars of countless battles, a canvas of loyalty and survival to his Queen. But his mind remained sharp, and his resolve steadfast.
As Lord Commander of Daenerys’s Queensguard, he remained ever-watchful, a shadow of protection always at her side. It was clear to anyone who knew him that Jorah would not retire—not until his hand could no longer lift a sword. But it’s true, Jorah Mormont now had an easier life physically, mostly by decree of Daenerys, but he really couldn’t complain. After years of traveling as an exile and with Khaleesi, he’s thankful for the quiet and to be able to watch her thrive as well.
Four years had passed, and though the kingdom felt more settled, the work of rebuilding continued. The days were still long and filled with political challenges. Most recently, Tyrion had begun receiving marriage proposals for Daenerys by the dozen, delivered via raven in an endless cascade.
“Your Grace, we have to address these,” Tyrion said, dumping a mountain of scrolls onto the council table with a dramatic flourish. “They’re taking over my desk, and I can’t look at them any longer.”
Daenerys let out a weary sigh. “I don’t have time for proposals, Tyrion. I’m trying to rule the Six Kingdoms and rebuild them after your sister’s reign.”
She had allowed the North to claim itself as its own Kingdom after their help defeating Cersei and rebuilding. It wasn’t a quick decision, Daenerys had waited at least a year until broaching the subject with her council and with the Starks. They had remained loyal and she wanted to reward them for their help in uniting the kingdoms to her cause.
However, it didn’t come without rules. She had Tyrion draft up somewhat of a contract, mostly to make sure they didn’t try to usurp her at some point or any other nefarious doings – she promised fire and blood if they broke their word. It was just a precaution.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware,” Tyrion replied, frustration evident in his voice. “But the lords of these houses won’t be pleased with waiting for an answer—any answer!”
He was clearly agitated, knowing full well that a royal marriage was necessary to unite the kingdoms. It was what had always been expected.
Daenerys cast her gaze across the council table, her eyes falling on Jorah. The Bear Knight sat quietly, his usual scowl deepening at Tyrion’s words. She knew his true feelings for her, and the weight of his devotion always lingered in the room.
Unwilling to discuss the matter further in Jorah’s presence, she turned back to Tyrion, her tone firm. “I will come by later, and we can speak about this privately.”
The look she gave him made it clear—this conversation was over for now. Tyrion exchanged a knowing look with Jorah, acutely aware that the knight likely had Daenerys’ ear in ways he never could, despite her trust in him. Jorah, for his part, gave no response—verbal or otherwise. Tyrion had a point, but Jorah knew better than to challenge Daenerys on someone else’s behalf.
Besides, Tyrion was more than capable of talking his way out of most problems, sharp-tongued as he was.
Once she dismissed everyone they all began to leave the council chamber, but she reached over to Jorah’s forearm before he could stand from his seat, to let him know that he wasn’t allowed to leave just yet.
“You wish something of me, Khaleesi?” Jorah asked after the room had emptied.
“I want to know your thoughts on a strictly political marriage,” Daenerys said, her gaze drifting to the scrolls still scattered across the table. “Is it necessary? When I’m trying to change how people rule? Forced marriages have no place in the world I’m trying to build.”
She didn’t have to say more. Everyone knew how they felt about each other, even if she refused to acknowledge it aloud. Everyone had seen her desperation during the Long Night—the way she screamed for help after the wights overwhelmed him. They saw the wounds he bore from throwing himself between her and death, shielding her with his own body.
Everyone knew, except him. Or perhaps, he simply couldn’t fathom it. But Jorah remained unaware of how her fear of losing him had driven her to near madness. He was in an out of consciousness, most of it feeling like a dream – a nightmare, once he fell into her arms that night. He remembers her face and her hands covered in his blood, but everything else is a blur.
Jorah sighed, the regret clear in his voice. “The changes you’re making are vital, Khaleesi, but the people are still uncertain. Push them too far, too fast, and they’ll break.” He paused, his jaw tightening.
“A political marriage, as antiquated as it is, would reassure them that your interests lie with all of Westeros, not just your own ideals.”
The truth of his words cut deeper than he let on. His heart ached with the weight of what he was advising. He had sacrificed so much for her, and he hoped, against all reason, that she would see it. But his devotion paled in comparison to the needs of the realm.
“Khaleesi,” he added, his voice quiet but steady, “as... displeased... as I would be to see you take another man’s hand, this is a critical time. We must think of the many, not the few.”
Daenerys sighed, her disappointment visible, but she nodded. “I need to be more thoughtful this time,” she admitted. “Thank you for your honesty.”
Jorah smiled faintly and started to rise to walk alongside her. Sometimes, she wished he would advise her with his heart instead of his head. But she knew he would never steer her wrong.
They both stood to leave the council room, knowing that this conversation was likely to lead somewhere that was too painful so for now, they'll stick with lighter subjects as they walk back to her chambers.
“Your new armor suits you,” Daenerys said, a smile softening her features as she glanced at him. “Is it to your liking?”
He adjusted the golden armor, its crimson cape marking his service to House Targaryen. “It catches the eye, without a doubt,” he replied, chuckling softly. She wondered when he last wore something like this, every piece is tailored to him and for him, each part detailed and truly beautiful.
“But I wear it with pride. Although... it pinches sometimes.” He was so used to his mismatched armor while in exile, he had forgotten how uncomfortable a full knight’s armor could be at times.
They shared a rare, lighthearted laugh as they continued walking. “You know, you could have it altered. You don’t have to suffer just because I enjoy the look of it.” She smiled softly.
Those who passed them bowed respectfully to their queen, their loyalty unmistakable. It warmed her heart to see her people finding hope again after so much loss. And Jorah, in his new armor, no longer looked like the ragged exile she had first met. He was every bit her Bear Knight.
“I know your quarters were moved closer to mine for security,” she remarked casually. “I hope you’re finding them comfortable.”
Jorah gave a wry smile. “I’ve had some of the best sleep I’ve had in years. And I’m grateful to be so near. If you ever need me, I’ll be just steps away.”
His words comforted her more than she cared to admit. But she couldn’t admit that it was her doing, that she had requested the move herself too Tyrion and Varys one day, feigning uneasiness about her safety with her Lord Commander being so far away. It was easier to let the council take the blame once they moved his things and told him of it during a meeting.
“Do you find life as Queen in King’s Landing suits you, Khaleesi?” he asked, his turn to pry something out of her.
“I think so,” she replied, her smile returning. “I think it suits most of us.”
When they finally reached her chambers, Missandei was waiting at the door. Daenerys turned to Jorah, her voice soft. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
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Dinner that evening was lively and they were all thankful for it. Jon Snow had arrived with several wildlings for some business in King’s Landing, their untamed manners bringing a sense of warmth and levity to the feast.
They had all endured hell together while facing the undead, it had created a bond of sorts. And for once, there were no battles to plan, no mythical creatures to fear, and no enemies lurking in the shadows.
Tormund was, of course, the loudest voice at the table, regaling the hall with stories of life beyond the Wall and the horrors of the Long Night. Daenerys grew visibly uncomfortable as the topic shifted to that fateful night. She still had nightmares about it and preferred not to dwell on the memories.
“And you!” Tormund bellowed, pointing his tankard at Jorah. “Don’t you dare take another bloody blade, Bear Knight! I don’t want a repeat of last time!”
Another wildling chimed in, laughing. “Aye, we don’t need the Queen trying to slice a maester’s throat open again, either!”
Daenerys shot a sharp look at Jon, silently urging him to rein in his friends. She prayed Jorah wouldn’t press the matter, but she could already feel his eyes on her.
Jorah glanced at Tormund, then at her. She had always been tight-lipped about what happened that night, and he recalled only fragments of the battle and waking days later. Now, it seemed he had more questions than ever.
The feast ended without further incident thanks to Jon changing the subject, but the weight of Tormund’s words lingered. As Daenerys bid her guests goodnight, Jorah stayed behind, wanting to walk her safely to her chambers, and to also ask her about the comments that were made at dinner.
When they reached her door she tried to slip into her chambers quickly, but he caught the heavy door and gave her a look that left no room for argument.
“Jorah... I don’t think this is the right time for—”
He stepped inside before she could finish, seating himself by the fire and gesturing for her to join him. She sighed, knowing he would not let this go. Her nails pressed into her palms, before sinking into the chaise beside him.
“What do you want to know?” she asked quietly.
“Tell me what happened that night after I fell, Khaleesi,” Jorah said, his voice calm but insistent. “Ever since the battle, I’ve struggled to remember. Don’t leave anything out—not out of fear for me or to spare my feelings. I need to know.”
Daenerys took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the fire as she prepared to say what needed to be said. Jorah waited, sensing the weight of her hesitation. She knew there was no avoiding this; if he didn’t hear it from her, he’d go to someone else—Jon, perhaps, or Sam.
But the memory of that night clawed at her, a wound that had never fully healed. The night she’d almost lost him. The night her council had begun to doubt her. It was a memory she carried with shame, not only for her actions, but for how far she’d been pushed to save him.
“When you fell,” she began, her voice trembling, “Drogon landed near us. He must’ve sensed something was wrong because he came back. And when you were lying there… I thought you were gone. There was so much blood.”
Her hands gripped the edge of her chair, the tears welling in her eyes a testament to the grief she refused to let overwhelm her. Not again, she held them at bay for now.
“One of the Northerners was nearby after the wights had fallen. He saw us—saw me with you in my lap, trying to pull you up.” Her voice faltered, but she pressed on, recounting how she’d begged the man for help, forcing him to carry Jorah to Drogon. Somehow, they’d managed to heave him onto the dragon’s back, though she still wasn’t sure how.
“Drogon must’ve known,” she said softly, her gaze distant. He stayed low to the ground, making it easier for them to lift Jorah. “He feels what I feel… and I was panicked.”
Jorah listened intently, his face unreadable, as Daenerys recounted the desperate but short flight back to Winterfell. She held onto him the entire way, feeling his life slip away with every passing moment.
“When we landed,” she continued, “I left you on Drogon’s back and ran, screaming for help. I know so many others were injured or grieving, but I couldn’t—” Her voice broke. “I wasn’t ready to let you go.”
She described how she had found Samwell, already tending to another injured man, and how she grabbed his arm in desperation.
“Please,” she’d begged him, over and over again.
Sam had come to Jorah quickly, wanting to help the desperate Queen, but his expression, and those of the others who gathered, had been grim.
They all believed there was nothing to be done.
“I told them to check, to do something—anything—but they just looked at me with pity.” Her voice turned bitter as the memory came flooding back. “They said Sam would be better used saving someone who was still alive.”
Jorah’s stomach twisted as she recounted the moment her grief gave way to rage. She reached for a dagger, pulled it from the belt of one of the men nearby, and in an instant, had it pressed to Samwell’s throat.
“I told them,” she said, her voice low and trembling, “‘He’ll help Ser Jorah, or he’ll help no one.’”
Even Drogon had sensed her fury, letting out a roar that shook the air and silenced the protests around her. It was madness, she knew that. The blood that covered her, the tears, the desperate, unhinged look she must have worn—it was the image of a mad queen and her devoted dragon. But it worked. Even though it did unnerve those who had witnessed her father’s descent into madness.
Tyrion was quick to squash any of those rumors in the days that followed. He would ask those who questioned Daenerys’ mental health if they wouldn't have done the same for a loved one, for someone they called family, for their closest companion? If anything, he said, it showed her capacity for compassion and loyalty.
When she finished recalling that night, the room was quiet. Jorah sat stunned, processing what he’d just heard. His expression softened as he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head.
“Khaleesi…” he said, his voice pained but measured. “Samwell? Of all people? He saved my life once already. He would have done it again. You didn’t need to threaten him.”
Daenerys opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that no one was listening to her, but Jorah raised a hand, stopping her. “I owe my life to him. I know you were desperate, but he would have seen to me, Khaleesi—after others who needed him more.”
The thought of how close he had come to death lingered between them, unspoken. Jorah’s voice softened further.
“I have always been ready and willing to die for you. It’s my duty—my oath. As your protector, as the head of the Red Cloaks, I swore to keep you safe. That has always been my purpose.”
Daenerys looked away, her throat tightening with emotion. “I wasn’t ready to lose you,” she admitted quietly. “And I would do it again, Jorah. For you, I would do it again.”
He reached for her hand, his touch warm and steady, grounding her in the moment. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Khaleesi. But you don’t have to carry all of this alone.”
He wishes she would confide in him more, like she used to when she was just a young princess. Then she wouldn't have to carry so much of this on her shoulders. He would bear the weight of it all if he could.
The fire crackled softly between them, its light dancing in her eyes. They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of their unspoken bond hanging heavy in the air.
The tears that had been threatening to fall finally slipped down Daenerys’s cheeks, glistening in the firelight as she stared into the flames. Her voice was quiet but carried the weight of her anguish.
"I needed you by my side," she murmured, her tone trembling with unspoken pain. "I told you as much on Dragonstone."
Jorah watched her intently, his heart aching with every tear that fell. She seemed so small in that moment, burdened by a world that expected her strength.
"I wouldn’t have hurt Sam, and I felt awful afterwards," she continued, her voice firmer now, though still edged with desperation. "I just knew they all needed to see that you were still breathing. Faintly, yes, but you were not gone."
Jorah felt the last vestiges of his earlier frustration melt away, replaced by something deeper: an unwavering need to comfort her. Any lingering doubt evaporated as he saw her shoulders shake.
Without hesitation, he moved closer and knelt on the floor in front of her chair, enveloping her in his arms with a gentleness that belied his warrior's strength.
"There is no place in all the world I would rather be than at your side, Khaleesi," he said softly, his voice a low, reassuring murmur.
"And as long as I draw breath, that is exactly where I will stay. But at some point—" He paused, his voice catching as he tried to summon his courage. "In what I hope will be a distant future when I’m old and gray, craggy and toothless..."
He let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I’ll have to leave you. But know this—I won’t go without a fight."
A tearful laugh escaped Daenerys, a sound both pained and sweet. She brushed hastily at her eyes, leaning her head against his broad shoulder as if to draw strength from him.
"The only cause of death I’ll accept from you is old age," she replied, her tone playful but laced with an undeniable edge of sincerity.
Her words struck something deep within Jorah. He knew her well enough to understand the gravity of her jest. She had lost so much—too much. It was why he would always strive to be her constant, her shield, the steady presence she could rely on.
The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Jorah held her close, content to stay in the moment, but he couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in their dynamic. Lately, there had been something else in the way she looked at him, in the way her touch lingered just a moment longer than before. It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was new—an unspoken tension that neither of them dared to name.
Reluctantly, Jorah loosened his hold, though he lingered just a moment longer before pulling away entirely.
"You should rest, Khaleesi," he said, his tone gentle but firm. Rising to his feet, he took her hand in his, bowing low to press a reverent kiss to the back of it.
"Good night. I’ll be just down the hall if you need me."
As he straightened, Daenerys’s gaze followed him, and for a fleeting moment, Jorah allowed himself to hope that her look carried the same longing that simmered quietly in his chest. He turned, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his weathered features, and retreated to leave her to her thoughts.
She didn’t stop him because she knew if she did, her true feelings would pour out of her and she wasn’t ready for that.
Either that or she was a coward.
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The following weeks were fraught with continued tension and challenges, both for Daenerys and Jorah. Especially since she allowed Tyrion to respond to those damned scrolls and invite suiters to King’s Landing to meet with the Queen. The stream of them vying for her hand seemed endless, each bringing their own arrogance, demands, and ambitions.
Daenerys, determined to at least entertain the proposals for the sake of appearances, found herself growing increasingly impatient.
“They never last long,” she muttered one evening to Tyrion. “Sooner or later, they displease me.”
The Hand of the Queen offered her a wry smile, raising his goblet of wine. “I’d say you’re being careful, Your Grace. Others might call it picky. The truth, as always, lies somewhere in the middle.”
Today, one such lord—a Hightower from Oldtown—had insisted on seeing the dragons, or as he called them “the beasts”, up close, despite the vehement objections of his own council.
Daenerys, already annoyed by his patronizing tone during their earlier meetings, took the opportunity to demonstrate her distaste for him. No one, she decided, would speak of her children as "beasts" in her presence.
Even Jorah, standing a few paces behind her, stiffened at the whispered insults about the dragons from the lord’s retinue.
They stood in the dragon pit, the air thick with heat and tension. Drogon was the first to approach, his massive form casting a shadow over the now anxious lord. The great black dragon moved with purpose, his bond with Daenerys palpable. She raised a hand to stroke his snout, murmuring soothing words in Valyrian.
They stood there together, Lord Hightower relaxing just enough to start up a conversation again, "Your Lord Commander... Mormont," Lord Hightower began, his voice faltering under Drogon's penetrating gaze, "he was married to my cousin."
Daenerys's hand stilled for a moment, her expression cool as she replied, "Yes, I am aware of his past."
The lord, emboldened by his attempt to assert authority, pressed on. "Once we marry, you’ll have to find a new commander. I can’t have the man who tarnished her name, as well as his own house, protecting my wife."
The words hung in the air like a slap. Though Jorah stood a few feet away, his armor shifted audibly as he tensed. Daenerys's jaw tightened, but her voice remained calm and measured.
"You are presumptuous, aren’t you?" she said, her words cutting like a blade. "Already making demands of your queen."
Before she could unleash the full force of her fury, Drogon acted. With an earth-shaking roar, he lunged forward, his maw gaping just enough to send a gust of hot breath across the lord and his council.
Their cries of alarm rang out as they stumbled backward, tripping over one another in their haste to flee. By the time they reached the edge of the pit, they were little more than a collection of flustered, humiliated men.
Jorah observed the scene with silent satisfaction, though the mention of Lynesse had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Memories of his ill-fated marriage resurfaced unbidden—her insatiable demands, her ceaseless complaints, and the ruinous choices he made in a futile effort to please her.
He’d buried those feelings long ago, but hearing her name dredged them up like unwelcome ghosts.
"Seems Lord Hightower’s interests may be waning," he said dryly as Daenerys approached him, Drogon still looming protectively behind her.
She allowed herself a small, pleased smile as she whispered something in Valyrian to Drogon, who rumbled softly in response before retreating.
Turning to Jorah, she spoke with quiet determination.
“I cannot marry someone who doesn’t understand my children,” she said, her gaze flicking toward Tyrion, who had been observing the entire ordeal with a mixture of exasperation and resignation.
“Your Grace,” Tyrion began, his tone cautious, “I doubt anyone without Targaryen blood will ever connect with the dragons as you do.”
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “You’ve connected with them,” she pointed out.
Tyrion shrugged, and she continued, “As has Ser Jorah. He’s even ridden one, as did the others saved beyond the Wall.”
He sighs as he starts to rethink this, maybe the dragons have knowledge that they don’t, something instinctual.
“They are intelligent beings, far more discerning than most lords and their sycophants. Perhaps we should trust their judgment.” Jorah chimed in.
Daenerys nodded thoughtfully but said nothing, walking ahead of both of them as they all made their way back to the Red Keep. Tyrion lingered by Jorah’s side, his expression betraying his frustration.
“She’s wearing thin on the idea of marriage,” Tyrion muttered under his breath. “Not that I blame her. After today, I suspect the Hightowers will be the last to propose for quite some time.”
Jorah glanced at him but said nothing. They continued in silence until Tyrion spoke again, louder this time.
“The Lord Commander and I are not in the running for your hand, Your Grace,” he called out to Daenerys, his tone tinged with irony. “But make no mistake, if unity is the goal, it must be pursued.”
Daenerys stopped and turned, her patience visibly fraying.
Jorah stepped forward, his voice steady and low. “Perhaps we’ve spoken enough on the topic for today, Lord Hand.”
Tyrion sighed dramatically, raising his hands in surrender. “Very well. I’ll take my leave. Your Grace, Lord Commander.”
He inclined his head before walking away, leaving Daenerys and Jorah alone.
Jorah turned to her, his tone softening. “Perhaps I should ask what no one else has dared: what do you want, Khaleesi?”
Daenerys looked at him, her expression weary but grateful. “I don’t believe I need anyone else to rule. But if I must...” She trailed off, sighing.
“I would want someone who understands that the marriage wouldn’t give them the same liberties that I have. Someone who doesn’t see my power as something to be usurped. Someone I don’t have to worry about and would trust my decisions as Queen. But also, someone who would advise me and have my best interests at heart..”
She paused, her gaze searching his. “Does that person exist, Ser?”
Jorah’s heart ached at her words, but he kept his voice steady. “Perhaps,” he said after a moment.
“But they are rare. Far rarer than those who crave power for its own sake. You’ve proven yourself as a leader, Khaleesi. Finding someone who respects that...well, it may be as rare as capturing lightning in a bottle.”
Daenerys offered him a faint smile, a flicker of hope in her tired eyes. “Then perhaps it’s best I rule alone.”
Jorah said nothing, but the loyalty and devotion in his gaze spoke volumes as they continued their walk in the fading light of King’s Landing.
As the doors to the Red Keep loomed before them, Daenerys came to an abrupt stop, turning to face Jorah. Her eyes searched his, an expression of quiet vulnerability breaking through her regal composure.
“If only Tyrion thought the same as we do,” she murmured, her voice soft but tinged with frustration.
She reached up, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. The touch was fleeting but carried a weight that spoke volumes.
“You always seem to know exactly what to say to soothe my worries. Thank you again.”
Jorah’s chest tightened at her words, the memory of her younger self—a timid but determined Khaleesi of the Dothraki—flashing before his eyes. Her gratitude now mirrored the same expression she wore back then, seeking his counsel in those early, uncertain days.
But just as quickly as she let her guard down, Daenerys straightened, resuming her queenly stance. With a nod of acknowledgment, she turned and strode toward her chambers, Missandei hurrying to her side.
Jorah watched her go, his hand briefly brushing the place where her fingers had touched, before turning back to his duties.
Chapter Text
Later that afternoon, Daenerys found herself in the library, where Sam Tarly was surrounded by his usual fortress of books and parchment. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice her until the scrape of a chair pulled him out of his concentration.
“Your Grace!” he stammered, scrambling to his feet.
“Sam,” she said with a small smile, gesturing for him to sit. “No need for formality. I’ve come seeking a favor—and knowledge.”
Sam’s eagerness to assist was as endearing as ever. He shut the book before him and leaned forward attentively. “Of course, I’m always available for both.”
“I’m also asking for discretion,” Daenerys added, her tone growing serious. “I want to know if it’s possible to reinstate Ser Jorah as the Lord of Bear Island. He’s named distant kin as the keepers of the island while Lyanna recovered, but if I’m not mistaken, there is no official lordship anymore.”
Sam nodded, his brow furrowing in thought. “You’re correct, Your Grace. After the Long Night, the people of Bear Island were without a lord or lady, they decided to let Ser Jorah continue serving you here, and instead chose a council of three to manage the island when Lyanna was still recovering. I believe they’ve kept that the case, Lyanna still struggles with her injuries so she has needed the help of her elders. They’re quite efficient and highly respected. But…”
He hesitated, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“They still call him ‘Lord Mormont,’ even without it being official. They sing his praises often. The people of Bear Island are nothing if not fiercely loyal.”
Daenerys considered this, her expression softening. She knew that Lyanna had lost her interest in running the island by herself, soon realizing that the people around her were there to help.
The Long Night softened her, weirdly enough, and she admitted that she couldn’t do it alone, especially at her young age. If her injuries hadn't been so severe she probably would still be in full control, but it just took too much out of her nowadays.
“Then I want to make it official, if Lady Mormont agrees. Draft something that restores his title. If the council and Lyanna wish to continue their governance, that’s fine, but I want Ser Jorah’s birthright returned to him. He’s earned that much—and more.”
Sam’s face lit up, and he assured her he would see it done. “I’ll ensure it’s handled swiftly and with the utmost care, Your Grace.”
Days later, Sam approached Daenerys with good news. The ravens had flown, and Bear Island had responded positively. Along with their reply came a package, delivered discreetly to Daenerys’s chambers.
Inside was a forest green velvet cloak, lined with rich bear fur and embroidered with the sigil of House Mormont. It was a magnificent piece, the kind of heirloom passed down through generations.
Daenerys marveled at its craftsmanship, carefully tucking it away among her own winter garments for safekeeping.
That evening, the council meeting dragged on, with Tyrion and Sam debating endlessly about brothels and public health, as well as how they help with morale and the economy. Daenerys listened patiently, though her mind was elsewhere. She had a scroll in her lap, its contents weighing heavily on her thoughts as she fidgeted with the thread holding it closed.
When the meeting finally neared its conclusion, she spoke up. “One more thing.”
The room stilled as everyone turned their attention to her.
“I’ve spoken with the people of Bear Island, and we’ve collectively decided to reinstate Ser Jorah as Lord Mormont.”
The announcement was met with murmurs of surprise. Tyrion sighed audibly, pouring himself a generous glass of wine.
“But,” Daenerys continued, her voice firm, “their council and Lady Mormont have requested that Ser Jorah remain here as my Lord Commander, keeping his oath to me. They will continue managing Bear Island, but they ask for monthly correspondence and at least two visits a year.”
The room erupted in a mixture of congratulations and quiet skepticism. Jorah, stunned but composed, inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his eyes spoke volumes as they met hers.
After the meeting, as the others filed out, Tyrion lingered, still drinking his wine. “If I may have a moment, Your Grace?”
Daenerys smirked, sensing the discussion to come. “Of course.”
Jorah paused at the door, glancing back. “I’ll be waiting outside, Khaleesi.”
Once the room was empty save for the two of them, Tyrion leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine.
“I must say, that was a deft bit of maneuvering. I’m beginning to think I’m a bad influence on you—though I can’t help but be a little proud.”
Daenerys raised an eyebrow, pouring herself a small glass of wine. “I doubt you’ve influenced me as much as you think, Tyrion.”
He chuckled, taking a long sip.
“Be that as it may, you’ll face resistance with this decision. House Hightower has made it clear they’re still vying for a union, and others may follow. The reinstatement of Ser Jorah as Lord Mormont won’t sit well with them —or with those who see him as a man of…complicated loyalties.”
Daenerys’s expression darkened.
“House Hightower offended their queen by questioning her choice of Lord Commander. And if I recall, it was their meddling that led to the conflict between my house years ago. Their history with the Targaryens is tarnished. I don’t think they’ll be surprised by this decision.”
“Fair points, all of them. But they have influence, and they could rally opposition against you. This move—while admirable—may create more enemies than allies.” Tyrion sighed, setting his glass down.
Daenerys met his gaze evenly.
“Then let them. I’ll face them as I always have but I will not compromise on what is right—not for Hightower, nor anyone else.”
Tyrion studied her for a long moment before nodding. “As you wish, Your Grace. Just remember: the needs of the many often outweigh those of the few—or the one.”
She smiled faintly, her resolve unshaken.
“Then it’s fortunate I’m the Queen of many.”
Tyrion steadied himself against the doorway, his wine glass nearly empty. He smiled faintly, his voice subdued but insistent.
“Ultimately, the decision is yours, and I will abide by it. But tread carefully, Your Grace; I beg you.” With that, he departed, leaving the door open for Jorah to enter.
Daenerys watched as her most trusted advisor stepped in, noting the faint tension in his expression. His gaze flicked to the almost empty wine glass on the table in front of her, a small indication of the conversation that had transpired before his arrival.
Without a word, Daenerys downed the remainder of her own glass, the warmth of the wine emboldening her. She crossed the room, intercepting Jorah as he began to speak. “Not here,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The two walked briskly to her chambers, the thick wooden doors closing behind them as guards stood dutifully outside. Within the quiet, intimate space, Daenerys turned to Jorah, her expression softening, though her resolve remained firm.
“Before you say anything, I want you to hear me out,” she began, stepping closer. “I know what you’re going to say. That you don’t deserve this, or that you don’t want it. But that’s not true, and we both know it.”
Jorah opened his mouth to respond, but she raised a hand to stop him. “Let me finish, there's a reason for all of this.”
She took a steadying breath, the weight of her next words pressing heavily on her. “Our conversation in the dragon pit led me to a decision about who I want by my side. It took days to consider every outcome, every risk, but now I am certain. I want to marry you.”
Jorah froze, his breath catching in his throat. The words hung in the air, echoing in his mind. He tried to process their meaning, but Daenerys pressed on, refusing to let him retreat into silence.
“Everything we talked about was true, and I didn’t see it until recently, the answer to my questions was in front of me.”
”I need someone who knows me, who trusts me, and who can help me rule—not rule for me or use me for their own agenda. I trust you more than anyone, Jorah. And you trust me. You always have.”
Her voice softened, her tone laced with both determination and vulnerability. “I already have the blessing of the North. They will stand behind this decision because it means a Northern Lord will be King Consort. But I chose you, Jorah, because I want to. Not for politics. For me.”
Jorah slowly sank into the nearest chair, his mind whirling. He looked up at her, his expression a mix of astonishment, gratitude, and something deeper—an ache born of years of devotion and sacrifice.
“Khaleesi, I…” His voice faltered as he tried to find the words. “Nothing in all of Westeros would please me more than to be your husband. You know that I love you, and my feelings have never wavered.” He paused, shaking his head as his voice dropped to a near whisper.
“But this…this will put you at risk. You used your power to influence Bear Island. They must have done this because you asked them to, not because they chose it for themselves.”
He met her gaze, his eyes filled with both love and sorrow.
“If they wanted this, they would have approached you years ago. You may think I deserve it, and I won’t lie—I want to reclaim my birthright. But others will see through this. They’ll twist it into something ugly, something dangerous, and I cannot let you take that risk for me.”
Daenerys had anticipated his resistance. She crossed the room to her desk, pulling out a stack of scrolls and letters carefully bound together.
“You can read their correspondence yourself, Jorah,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. She handed him the bundle.
“There was no resistance. Sam wrote to them, cleverly inquiring about House Mormont’s history, and they eventually asked the question themselves. They wanted this, Jorah. They had discussed it long before we ever began writing.”
Jorah hesitated, his fingers brushing the edges of the parchment.
“They’re proud of you,” Daenerys continued.
“They still sing of your heroism. The people of Bear Island wanted this, and they chose it freely. It’s their way of honoring you and forgiving you. You have done so much for the realm, don’t you think it’s time for someone to recognize that? And don’t worry, I won’t rush this. I want the whole realm to see you for who you are: the man they already respect and now with your birthright given back to you by your own family.”
In a way, reinstating him as the Lord of Bear Island is mainly a show of loyalty to family and forgiveness. He isn’t leaving his duty in King’s Landing, he isn’t really gaining anything else besides his title back.
Which is going to be helpful when they do announce the Queen’s decision to marry him. She knows the realm loves him already but she’s not sure they would have accepted him as her choice for King consort without his Lordship or the forgiveness from his House. It’s obviously a careful plan to gain as much acceptance from the public as possible.
Jorah stared at one of the open scrolls, his hand trembling slightly as he read some of Lyanna’s own words of admiration about him. She admits in the letter that she was wrong to judge without knowing the full story and without knowing him.
To be accepted again, to be given a chance to reclaim what he had thought lost forever—it was overwhelming. A wave of emotion surged through him, and he struggled to keep his composure.
“You’ve given me something I thought I’d never have again,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“To serve you was already a gift—a rebirth. But this…” He touched the stack of letters, then pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. “This is more than I ever dared to dream.”
He stood, his resolve firming as he stepped closer to her.
“What you want—what we both want—will take time. Careful planning. And we can’t promise ourselves it will even be possible. The world is full of forces we can’t control, Khaleesi, even with your power as Queen.”
His hand reached up, cupping her cheek gently. “But I am your Lord Commander, your advisor, your protector. And I am the man who loves you and always will. Wherever this path takes us, I will walk it by your side, as far as it will go.”
Daenerys leaned into his touch, her expression softening into something unguarded and true.
“Then let us walk it together,” she whispered.
“You know, Tyrion warned me about this path as well,” Daenerys said with a faint smile.
“And I don’t disagree with him. But we have time, for now, and—luckily—many supporters already. The North will be glad to have someone in King's Landing to represent them.”
Dany’s confidence reassured him, but a flicker of doubt lingered. His faith in Tyrion’s maneuvering was solid, and he had always thought through the politics with meticulous care alongside Varys spinning his webs.
“I’m also confident in Tyrion’s ability to keep any other proposals at bay,” She continued.
“I’ve already entertained the notion of other matches with enough houses to quiet them for now. Half of them are too afraid of the dragons to even argue their case directly, which works to our advantage.”
She started to list their known allies with precision, as if reciting a battle strategy.
“The North will listen to the Starks, and with Yara and the Ironborn, House Tully, House Tarly—thanks to Sam—on our side, we’ve established a strong coalition. Gendry Baratheon’s loyalty is unwavering, and his house’s name alone lends credibility to our cause.”
“As for Tyrion, he’ll pledge House Lannister eventually. He’ll have to. I don’t know why any other house would challenge a queen with two dragons, an Unsullied army, a Dothraki horde, and the respect of men like Jon Stark and you, Jorah. They’d be fools to try.”
Jorah stepped closer, the fire of his conviction blazing in his eyes.
“Yes, some will balk at the idea of you choosing your betrothed. But that’s an antiquated notion you have expressed that you’d like to see disappear. Marriage alliances have always been chains for women anyway—chains you should not shackle yourself with, especially as the Breaker of them.”
She knew her bear understood her but sometimes it’s as if he was reading her mind. Daenerys’s gaze softened as she looked up at him. Her expression was a mixture of gratitude and affection, the kind she reserved for only a few.
She gestured for him to sit beside her on the chaise near the fireplace, shifting the conversation seamlessly to the practical matters of their plan.
“What do you think of opening trade from Bear Island to other houses? The island has a surplus of timber now that I’ve become Queen, and they currently trade only with the North. Expanding those connections could strengthen their ties with the rest of the realm and bring more prosperity to all.”
Her practicality mirrored her compassion, a balance Jorah had always admired.
“It’s a bold first step in the right direction,” he replied thoughtfully. “And I would like to take on the task of brokering those agreements. If I am to be Lord of Bear Island, I need to act as one as well. I’ll send a raven to my kin to prepare them.”
“Then it’s settled, you send the ravens to Bear Island,” she said softly, “and I’ll ensure the council knows of our plans.”
She leaned back slightly, studying him with a mix of affection and gratitude.
“There’s still so much to do,” she murmured, “but tonight, we’ve done enough. I know this has been a lot to take in.”
Jorah moved slightly closer to her, the golden light of the fire light framing him. “For now, yes,” he said. “But no matter what comes, I’ll be ready. For us.”
She let her hand rest briefly on his. “We’ll manage this, Jorah. All of it. One step at a time.”
His gaze met hers, steady and unwavering. “I know we will,” he said simply.
The weight of the moment hung between them, but it was a weight neither minded carrying. For now, that was enough.
Later that night, Tyrion found Jorah alone in his chambers readying for bed. He appeared more sober than expected, his wit sharper than ever.
“I’d say the two of you could drive an imp to drink,” he began, swirling a half-empty goblet, “but I crossed that threshold long ago.”
Jorah raised an eyebrow. “And now you’re just letting yourself into my chambers? A privilege of being Hand of the Queen, I take it?”
Tyrion smirked. “Let’s say my legs aren’t long enough to chase you across King’s Landing. Besides, whatever you two are planning, I need to know every detail. If I don’t, you won’t have a chance in any of the Seven Hells of pulling it off.”
“I’m certain the Queen will inform you of what you need to know. She always does.”
“That’s not nearly good enough,” Tyrion shot back.
“You’re her sword and shield, Jorah. But I’m the wall that protects all of us. This isn’t just about dragons, armies and political marriage proposals. This is about the game, and you know as well as I do that the first strike won’t be with steel—it will be with words. I need you to make sure she plays this as carefully as I would.”
“I have faith in her,” Jorah replied evenly, “and in you to help clear our path forward.”
Tyrion chuckled dryly. “Oh, now I can rest easy. Not that I will, of course. But it’s nice to imagine. Good night, Lord Commander.”
Notes:
Oh, just the usual, Daenerys not being able to fully tell Jorah of her feelings but somehow still making him hers. They will continue to drive Tyrion to drink as much as possible, also Varys, Grey Worm, Brienne, Jon and Sansa will make appearances once in a while but I haven't really developed them as much as Jorah, Dany, Sam, Missi, and Tyrion but it's possible I will soon.
Thank you for the sweet comments and kudos :) I have a lot of this already written, about 30,000 words but I continue to change things even in my current draft. But expect updates every few days from now on! <3
Chapter Text
A few days later Daenerys invited Jorah to sit with her in her private solar for an early dinner. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.
The warmth of the room was a welcome reprieve from the slight chill outside. They shared a quiet meal, the air between them unhurried and calm, though an undercurrent of tension simmered beneath the surface.
As the servants quickly cleared the table and left, Daenerys leaned back in her chair, studying Jorah. He sat across from her, his posture as composed as ever, though she could sense his unease.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said, her tone light but probing.
Jorah hesitated, his hand brushing against the edge of his goblet.
“I’m trying to find a balance,” he admitted. “Between what I want to say and what I should say about our situation.”
“Don’t,” Daenerys said simply. “Not with me.”
He nodded, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting hers again.
“Very well. I’ve been wondering...about us. About what you truly expect of me as your husband.”
Her expression softened, though her gaze remained steady. “I expect you to be who you’ve always been. My advisor. My protector. My friend. That hasn’t changed, Jorah.”
“But it will,” he said gently. “Marriage changes things, Khaleesi. Even if only in the eyes of others. I just...I need to know where I stand. What you want from me—what you don’t want.”
Daenerys considered his words, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the armrest of her chair.
“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “More than I care to say. And I’ve come to realize that I don’t have all the answers… yet.
Gods, again, she felt like a coward for avoiding this but it was as though every time this subject came up, or a thought about her love for him creeped in, her chest started to tighten, her breath became short and her ears started ringing.
She had brought up this feeling to Sam because she was worried about her health but he said reactions like this were likely brought on by panic, or because of a traumatic event.
It’s uncontrollable, and at this point when her body starts to go into overload and her heart feels like it's about to burst from her chest she avoids or shuts down.
She hates feeling so helpless about it.
Jorah’s heart ached at the uncertainty in her voice, but he kept his tone steady.
“Whatever you decide, I’ll abide by it. If you want me only as a husband in name, I’ll be content with that. I won’t ask anything of you that you’re not ready to give.”
Daenerys looked at him sharply, her brows furrowing. “You would be content with that? To be my husband but never—”
She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Never share the other aspects of what that means?”
“Yes,” Jorah said without hesitation.
“I’ve loved you for years, Khaleesi, and not once have I expected you to return that love in the same way. To be by your side, in any capacity, is enough for me. Whether that means we’re bound only by duty or by something more...that’s for you to decide.”
Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his words. She stood abruptly, pacing to the window and staring out into the darkened courtyard.
“You make it sound so simple, Jorah.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Jorah said softly, standing but keeping his distance.
“We can define it however we wish. Let the realm see what they need to see, but between us, it can be as simple—or as complicated—as you want but if something changes, please just talk to me. We can’t make this work unless you communicate with me.” He continued.
She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of frustration in herself and gratitude for him.
“It’s worth it. You’re worth it. And I’ve waited this long to stand at your side—I can wait as long as you need for the rest.” He smiled softly.
Daenerys crossed the room slowly, stopping just before him. Her eyes searched his face, looking for any trace of doubt, but found none.
“I don’t know what I want yet,” she said quietly. “But I know I trust you. And I know that, whatever happens, I don’t want to lose what we already have.”
“You won’t,” he assured her, his voice steady and certain. “Whatever you want, Khaleesi, I’ll follow your lead. Always.”
She studied him for a moment longer before nodding, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You always know exactly what to say.”
Jorah allowed himself a small smile in return. “Only because I know you so well.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation settling between them.
Finally, Daenerys reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand and she leaned in to kiss his cheek.
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” she said softly. “Like everything else.”
“One step at a time,” he echoed, his hand gently closing around hers.
And for now, that was enough.
The next afternoon, as the sun cast a golden glow over the city, Daenerys sat on a bench in the gardens, absently twirling the stem of a flower from the gardens.
Missandei approached quietly, her presence as calming as ever, and took a seat next to her queen. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them familiar and easy.
“You seemed deep in thought last night,” Missandei said gently, her dark eyes studying Daenerys. “Did something trouble you after dinner?”
Daenerys hesitated, her gaze dropping to the flower in her hand. “Not trouble, exactly. It’s more...uncertainty.”
Missandei tilted her head, her expression patient and encouraging. “You’ve made the decision to marry him. Surely that gives you some clarity.”
“I thought it would help,” Daenerys admitted. “But now that the decision is made, I find myself questioning everything else. What does this mean for me and Jorah? I know how he feels, but I don’t know if I can give him what he deserves just yet. And I don’t even know how to tell him that.”
Missandei’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across her face.
“Daenerys, forgive me if I speak too boldly, but you’ve always known how Jorah feels about you. He’s loved you for years, openly and without hesitation. Yet you’ve chosen to keep your own feelings hidden. Why?”
Daenerys exhaled slowly, setting the flower down and leaning back against the bench.
“Because it’s easier that way. If I don’t name it, it can’t hurt me. It can’t be used against me. And if something happens—if I lose him—I won’t have to live with the regret of admitting something I can’t ever have again.”
Missandei leaned forward, her voice soft but insistent.
“But you will live with the regret of not saying it while you still can. Daenerys, I’ve seen how you look at him. You do love him, don’t you?”
Daenerys’s lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Her silence was answer enough.
Missandei’s gaze softened, and she reached out to take Daenerys’s hand. “You’re not cruel, but withholding the truth from him now...it’s unfair, to both of you. He’s agreed to be your husband, to stand beside you no matter what you decide. But he deserves to know the full truth. You’ve asked him to give you everything without promising him anything in return.”
“I don’t mean to hurt him,” Daenerys whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I just—”
“I know,” Missandei interrupted gently.
“You’re protecting yourself, and I understand that. But Jorah isn’t someone you need to protect yourself from. He’s proven that time and time again. He won’t push you, and he won’t demand more than you’re ready to give. But if you love him—and I believe you do—you owe it to him to tell him. To let him decide what to do with that knowledge.”
Daenerys sat in silence, Missandei’s words sinking in like stones in a calm lake. Finally, she met her friend’s gaze, her expression a mix of vulnerability and resolve.
“And what if I’m not ready to say it?”
“Then tell him that,” Missandei said simply. “But don’t let him live in doubt. Don’t let him think he’s only a convenience or a strategy to you. He loves you, Daenerys, and he’ll wait for as long as you need. But he deserves honesty.”
Daenerys nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around Missandei’s. “You’re right. I’ve been stubborn and selfish, haven’t I?”
Missandei’s smile was warm and understanding. “You’ve been human. But now, you have the chance to make it right.”
They fell silent again, the only sound was the wind blowing gently and the birds flying above the gardens.
Daenerys closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself for the weight of what she would have to do.
“Thank you, Missi,” she said softly. “For always telling me what I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it.”
Missandei’s smile widened, and she gave Daenerys’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
“That’s what friends are for. And you’ll feel better once you’ve spoken to him. I promise.”
Daenerys nodded, her resolve hardening. She would speak to Jorah tomorrow. She owed him that much—and perhaps, finally, herself as well.
The sun had just begun to rise, painting the horizon in soft hues of pink and gold as Daenerys finished dressing.
Her conversation with Missandei the night before had left her restless, but also resolute.
She had avoided her feelings for far too long, and it was time to face them—even if she wasn’t yet ready to name them fully.
Determined, she strode through the halls of the Red Keep, heading toward Jorah’s chambers.
She would tell him the truth—or at least as much of it as she could. But when she reached his door, she found it slightly ajar. Inside, the room was empty, the bed neatly made, and some of his belongings gone.
Frowning, Daenerys turned and spotted one of her guards passing by.
“Where is Ser Jorah?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
The guard bowed his head respectfully.
“Your Grace, Ser Jorah departed for Bear Island at first light. He wished to leave before the city fully woke, to make good time on the road to the port.”
Daenerys blinked, momentarily thrown. She had forgotten how soon his trip was. Yesterday's conversation had consumed her thoughts so entirely that the practical details of his departure had slipped her mind.
“Did he leave any messages for me?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
“No, Your Grace,” the guard replied. “But he did seem eager to begin his journey. He mentioned wanting to ensure Bear Island was ready for the new trade agreements you discussed.”
Daenerys nodded, dismissing the guard with a wave of her hand. She stepped back into the hallway, her thoughts swirling.
He had gone, just like that.
She couldn’t fault him—he was doing exactly what she had asked of him, fulfilling his duty with the quiet efficiency she had come to rely on.
But the suddenness of his absence left an ache in her chest she hadn’t expected.
Missandei appeared moments later, having clearly anticipated Daenerys’s movements.
She approached with a curious tilt of her head, her expression softening when she saw the queen’s troubled face. “He left already, didn’t he?”
Daenerys nodded, her gaze distant. “I had planned to speak with him this morning, to tell him...something. I don’t even know if I would’ve found the right words, but now it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to wait.”
Missandei placed a comforting hand on Daenerys’s arm. “You’ll see him soon. Plus.. Bear Island isn’t very far when you have dragons, your grace.”
A faint smile tugged at Daenerys’s lips.
“Yes, but I shouldn’t rush there now. He needs time to settle his affairs, to see his family. Bear Island is part of who he is, and I want him to have that space without my shadow looming over him.”
Missandei nodded approvingly. “That’s wise. But don’t wait too long, Daenerys. You’ve made progress with him, and you should follow through while the memory of your conversations is still fresh.”
Daenerys let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting to the window.
Beyond the walls of the Red Keep, the city was coming alive, the streets bustling with activity as the day began.
“I’ll give him some time,” she said quietly. “Let him do what he needs to do on Bear Island. Then, I’ll go to him. I’ll face him and speak to the people there...”
She trailed off, her voice faltering as she grappled with the enormity of what she would have to say.
“You’ll tell him the truth,” Missandei finished gently, her voice filled with quiet encouragement.
Daenerys turned to her friend, her expression firming with resolve. “Yes. I will. But for now, I’ll focus on what needs to be done here. There is still much to prepare before I can leave for Bear Island.”
“He’ll be ready for you when the time comes. And you’ll be ready for him, too.” Missandei smiled, her faith in Daenerys unwavering.
Daenerys nodded, though her heart still felt heavy.
She would give Jorah any space he needed, but she couldn’t help counting the days until she could see him again, to finally say the words she had held back for so long.
The ships cut through the choppy northern waters, their sails snapping in the cold wind. Bear Island loomed in the distance, rugged and unyielding, its pine-covered cliffs rising against the steel-gray sky. As Jorah stood at the prow, the salt spray against his face stirred memories he hadn’t dared revisit in years.
This was his home, yet he returned as both a stranger and a penitent son.
When they reached the shore, the people of Bear Island greeted him with the restrained warmth he had expected. Their faces were weathered by the harsh climate, their demeanor as straightforward as the landscape itself. Yet there was no mistaking the loyalty that ran deep in their blood.
They had not forgotten him, even if he had been absent for so long.
“Welcome back, Lord Jorah,” one of the elder men said, his voice gruff but sincere.
“Welcome home,” added another, a young woman whose smile was fleeting but genuine.
Home. The word felt strange, almost foreign, yet it kindled a warmth in his chest. Jorah inclined his head in gratitude, his voice steady. “It’s good to be back.”
For the next week, he reacquainted himself with the island, meeting with its people, inspecting its fortifications, and listening to the concerns of its other leaders.
Lady Lyanna Mormont, his fierce young cousin who had ruled in his absence, greeted him with a mixture of respect and suspicion.
“I hope you plan to stay loyal this time.” She said bluntly. While her letters to Sam held admiration, she didn’t want him to get too comfortable.
Jorah offered her a small smile, his tone soft. “That’s my intention, Lyanna. But I’ll not overstep too much. You’ve led Bear Island with honor. I’m here to support you, not replace you.”
Her eyes studied him for a long moment before she gave a curt nod. “Good. Then we’ll get along just fine.”
The quiet rhythm of Bear Island life was disrupted a few weeks later when the sound of distant roars filled the air. The people looked to the skies, shielding their eyes against the midday sun.
Drogon’s massive form emerged from the clouds, his wings casting a shadow over the shoreline as he descended. The dragon landed with a thunderous impact, the earth trembling beneath his weight.
Jorah stood at the edge of the beach, his heart swelling at the sight of Daenerys descending from Drogon’s back, her silver hair gleaming like sunlight against the harsh northern backdrop.
He bowed his head, a smile softening his rugged features. “Welcome to Bear Island, Your Grace,” he said warmly. “It feels right to say that here.”
She smiled and nodded, knowing that there were many eyes on them in this moment, she remained queenly. She glanced back at Lyanna who was standing much further away, watching them as well.
“She wrote that she wanted you as Lord again. But now that you’re here, do you think she truly meant it? Or was she persuaded by her council.. And by me?”
Her question lingered, carrying a weight that only Jorah could answer. He followed her gaze to his cousin, whose youthful determination reminded him of the strength that had kept Bear Island standing through countless storms.
“She’s proud of her rule,” Jorah admitted, “but she knows when to fight and when to yield. If she said she wanted me here, it wasn’t because someone told her to. It’s because she believes in family—and now, in you.Though she’ll never admit it.”
Jorah stood by Daenerys, watching as Lyanna walked back into the keep. With a soft glance, he turned back to her, his expression serious.
“I can assure you, Khaleesi, that if Lady Lyanna did not wish me to be Lord again, she’d make that abundantly clear to anyone with ears to hear her.”
The men who accompanied him to the shoreline began to carefully unload parcels from Drogon’s saddlebags—crates of fresh fruits from warmer climates, spices from Essos, and bolts of fine cloth. The gifts were more than offerings; they were symbols of Daenerys’s respect and her desire to connect with the people of Bear Island.
He led her and the men who came to help carry her belongings into the keep, instructing them to take her things to the guest chambers—the most comfortable and well-appointed room on Bear Island.
Then, he escorted her into the main hall, where Lady Lyanna and the rest of House Mormont awaited.
As Missandei was not with them, Jorah felt it his duty to announce Daenerys’ presence. “All hail Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, she who sits on the Iron Throne as Queen of Westeros; Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.”
Every member of the room bowed before her, their respect and reverence palpable.
Daenerys made sure to greet everyone individually, something she typically wouldn’t do for larger houses, but this was different. It was important to Jorah that she learn as much about his home as possible, especially after hearing his countless stories around campfires with the Dothraki.
She knew he had longed to return here, and she wanted to understand the land that meant so much to her bear.
When she finally reached Lyanna she smiled softly.
“It’s nice to see you again, during better times,” Dany said, acknowledging their last meeting during the long night. She had recovered after so much bravery; it seemed such resilience ran in the family.
Lyanna greeted her with caution, though respectfully.. “Indeed, your grace.”
The Mormonts were a reserved bunch, not prone to long conversations. A grunt or simple nod would suffice most times, and Jorah was grateful for the small gesture of courtesy from Lyanna.
Daenerys turned to Jorah, a hint of a smile on her face as she addressed him formally for the first time.
“Lord Mormont…” The words felt new and heavy on her tongue. “Would you care to show me to my quarters so I can settle before dinner?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Jorah nodded in acknowledgment, and they excused themselves.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jorah saw Lady Lyanna watching them closely before glancing at the others standing beside her. She didn’t look angry, nor displeased, but he could sense something on his cousin’s mind.
Jorah opened the doors to Daenerys’ chambers. Though it didn’t hold the same splendor as her chambers in King’s Landing, it had been made as comfortable as possible, with a warmth that made the space inviting. He motioned for her to step inside.
“Lord Mormont… that does rest well upon the ear, doesn’t it?” Daenerys remarked, her tone softer, as she glanced at him.
She had noticed how much more at ease he seemed since their conversation, when she had revealed her desire to marry him. No longer burdened by the weight of duty in the presence of others, it somewhat surprised him to learn that everyone—Tyrion, Sam, Missandei, Grey Worm, Varys, even the Starks—had known of his intense feelings for her, and at least suspected hers toward him.
But anyone with eyes could tell that he was in love with her and they have known for years.
Jorah smiled, glancing at her. Her eyes were full of admiration as she looked at him, and she could see how well the Lordship suited him, more than just the new northern clothes, although she had to admit, she found him quite handsome in a fur cloak and dark leather.
It was the contrast between his blue eyes and lighter hair that made the look all the more striking.
The warmth of the room enveloped them both, and Daenerys reached for the clasp of her cloak, draping it over a nearby chair. She smoothed out her dress, feeling a touch of nervousness as she stood alone with Jorah in a private, cozy room. No formalities, no audiences, just the two of them.
They haven’t seen each other for a while, so their feelings were left to simmer after their conversations of marriage.
“You look good in this cloak,,” Dany said, her voice steady. “You look... happy.”
Her smile was almost shy as she glanced up at him, hands nervously fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. There was an unspoken tension between them, a lingering desire that hadn’t yet been addressed fully.
“Because I am happy, Khaleesi,” Jorah replied, stepping a little closer. “I’m home, and I’m with you. I am exactly where I want to be.” His voice softened, the words sincere, carrying weight.
“Being here with you means more to me than I think you know. I had always hoped I could come back here with you, to share my past without the burden of regret. Now, thanks to you, it’s happening.”
Their eyes locked, both of them standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating off each other. Jorah’s heart pounded in his chest, his restraint pushing him to remain steady. He longed to pull her into his arms, to kiss her, but respect for her—her station as his Queen—held him back.
He still wasn’t sure if she had wanted him the same way he wanted her. Of course she wanted him in marriage and as an advisor… But was she also thinking about what it would feel like to press her lips against his?
Jorah’s hands twitched, as if he might reach out to her, but they fell back to his sides, clenching into fists. He remembered her words during his banishment, the promise that he would never touch her or speak her name again. It lingered in the air between them, sometimes forgotten, other times impossible to ignore.
Seeing him struggle with his own emotions, Dany took a step forward, gently lifting his hands into hers. His fingers immediately intertwining with hers, the sensation of her skin in his once more familiar and reassuring.
Jorah’s gaze held hers, his breath catching as he studied her face. The firelight flickered across her features, casting a golden glow over her pale skin and shimmering silver hair.
Her eyes, always so resolute, now held a softness that he had rarely seen.
He had looked at her like this for years, his devotion evident in every glance, every unguarded moment. And now, as her expression mirrored that same devotion back at him, it was almost too much to bear.
Daenerys felt a pang of regret, realizing how much time she had spent blind to what had always been there—what had always been him.
She should say it now, Missandei’s words of encouragement ringing in her ears but the look he was giving her had to be answered first, the pull of his desire too strong.
Without a word, she rose slightly onto her toes, her hands still cradling his. Slowly, she leaned in. The moment stretched endlessly, every heartbeat loud in their ears.
And then, finally, her lips brushed against his.
The kiss was soft at first, a delicate, searching connection that sent a shiver through them both.
Jorah froze for a split second, almost disbelieving, before he melted into the kiss, his hand gently sliding to the small of her back, pulling her closer. The warmth of her against him, the reality of her lips on his, was everything he had dreamed of and more.
The kiss deepened, their movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring each second. Jorah’s free hand cupped her cheek, his rough thumb tracing her soft skin and lingering on her lower lip, memorizing every detail.
Daenerys responded in kind, her fingers tightening slightly around him, grounding them both in the moment.
The kiss turned fervent, filled with years of longing and unspoken love, and Daenerys responded with equal intensity, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, anchoring herself against him.
She felt the strength in his embrace, the warmth of his body against hers, and it overwhelmed her in the best possible way. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his cloak as the kiss grew more passionate, their breaths mingling in the firelit room.
Jorah’s lips trailed briefly to the corner of her mouth, then down to her jawline, her neck, his movements slow yet deliberate, reverent yet hungry.
Daenerys tilted her head slightly, giving him access as a soft gasp escaped her lips, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
“Daenerys,” he murmured against her skin, his voice hoarse with desire, the sound of her name on his lips like a prayer. She pulled him back to her, capturing his lips in another heated kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair.
The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, the fire crackling softly in the background as their passion burned brighter.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they tried to steady themselves.
Jorah’s thumb grazed her cheek and then her now swollen lips, his eyes searching hers as he whispered, “I love you,” his voice thick with emotion. “My Queen.”
In awe of her.
“Not a queen, a Khaleesi..” Her words echoed the ones she had spoken to him long ago, a reminder of their shared history and all that had brought them to this moment.
Jorah let out a soft breath, his heart swelling with both love and reverence.
She wanted to tell him, it would be a perfect moment to pour out all the feelings she had held back for so long, but just as her mouth opened to speak her truth a sharp knock at the door broke the spell.
Daenerys turned toward the sound, her expression apologetic as her hand lingered briefly on his arm.
“I have to answer,” she said softly, her tone regretful and annoyed at the intrusion..
Jorah nodded, stepping back just enough to let her pass, though the warmth of her touch still lingered. She opened the door slowly, glancing back at him once before addressing the interruption.
“Jon! I didn’t know you were here too,” Daenerys said, her voice warm with surprise. She moved to wrap her arms around him in a firm embrace. Though it still felt strange to think of Jon as her family, the bond they had forged was undeniable.
They had weathered the storm of their past differences, and now they stood united—not as rivals, but as allies. Jon had proven time and time again that he desired no throne, no power beyond what was necessary to protect his home and people.
All he had ever truly wanted was to be a Stark and to remain in the North.
Jon returned the hug, his grip steady, though his movements were a touch restrained, as was his way. When he pulled back, his eyes shifted past her, landing on Jorah, who stood by the fire.
The knight’s posture was relaxed but watchful, his hands now resting lightly on the back of a chair. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment of Jon’s presence.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Jon said, his voice low and genuine. “I heard you’d arrived and thought it best to come greet you.”
“It’s alright,” Daenerys replied with a gentle smile. “I’m glad to see you, Jon. Is Sansa here as well?”
Jon nodded, a flicker of pride softening his typically stoic expression. “Aye, she’s downstairs with the others. We’re about to dine soon. Come, join us—it’ll be good for everyone to see you.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to Jorah, his blue eyes met hers, and with the faintest nod, he conveyed his understanding. There were no words needed between them; he knew she had to go.
“I’ll join you shortly,” Jorah said, his voice calm and reassuring, stepping forward slightly as if to show his readiness to support her from wherever he stood.
Daenerys offered him a soft, knowing smile before returning her attention to Jon.
“Lead the way,” she said, gesturing toward the door.
Notes:
Ooooooooh - those damn interruptions though. Also I decided to make some chapter titles using some midjourney and my photoshop skills to actually make their faces or heads look a little more like them lol
As a visual artist and designer I don't use AI for finished projects or rarely at all but for a story on here, sure why not. Although if anyone wants to actually draw something inspired by the story, I would also love that! <3
Enjoy and thank you again for everything.
Chapter Text
Jon turned, and Daenerys followed him out of her chambers, her heart slightly lightened by the prospect of a moment to strengthen the bonds she had built with the northerners. Even here, on Bear Island, there was work to be done.
She was still their queen, after all. Relationships to maintain, alliances to foster—all of it was part of the greater goal she and Jorah had worked tirelessly toward.
As they descended the stone steps to the great hall, the sound of voices and the smell of roasted game greeted them. Daenerys felt a wave of anticipation for what lay ahead—not just the meal, but the opportunity to reaffirm her place among these people, to continue building the world she had envisioned.
Jorah lingered behind them as the gathering continued before everyone sat for supper, his brooding presence a quiet storm in the room. Daenerys could feel his watchful eyes on her even as she exchanged greetings and courtesies with the Starks and the Mormonts.
His tension was palpable, though its source eluded her. Perhaps it was Jon’s presence that bothered Jorah or maybe because Jon interrupted, unknowingly, a pivotal moment for their relationship. It felt unfinished.
When Lady Sansa approached, Daenerys greeted her warmly, though she couldn’t help but notice the other woman’s guarded expression. Sansa was every bit the Northern wolf, wary and calculating. Despite the warmth Daenerys extended, she suspected Sansa preferred their relationship remain quite distant.
Perhaps that was for the best. Gaining her trust had been slow, and part of Daenerys still relished at the thought of Sansa being just a touch intimidated by her presence.
Her attention kept drifting back to Jorah. The way his hand brushed hers when he moved to stand beside her, the subtle glances they shared—it was a silent, magnetic pull.
Finally, she leaned closer, her voice low and conspiratorial.
“Meet me in the stairwell,” she whispered, the faintest smile curving her lips before she slipped away from the gathering.
Jorah waited a moment before excusing himself, his steps deliberate but his heart quickening. The second he reached the narrow stairwell, Daenerys seized him by the collar of his cloak, pulling him into her with a fervor that surprised them both.
Her lips captured his in a kiss filled with those years of restrained longing. Standing on a higher step, she met him at eye level, her fingers tangling in the fur lining of his cloak as if anchoring herself to him.
For a moment, Jorah hesitated, stunned by her boldness and maybe a bit worried about the thought of getting caught. But the sensation of her lips on his, the warmth of her body pressed so tightly against him, shattered his restraint.
She pulled away, “Jorah… I..”
His hands quickly found her waist, pulling her close and pressing his lips against hers again, the kiss deepening as his desire came pouring out. Their tongues tangled, breaths mingling, until the world outside the stairwell ceased to exist.
Then, as quickly as the moment ignited, it was extinguished…. again. They parted abruptly, breaths heavy, struggling to compose themselves. The sound of approaching footsteps spurred them into action, and when Lyanna appeared at the base of the stairs, they stood as though nothing had transpired.
“Perhaps the Lord of Bear Island and the Queen would like to actually be present?” Lyanna’s sharp tone was undercut by her pointed glance at Jorah. Though it wouldn't be odd to find the Queen and her Lord Commander alone, close to each other, and speaking about something private, Jorah was sure Lyanna knew something else was going on.
Jorah inclined his head toward Daenerys, murmuring, “Forgive me, Your Grace. Duty calls.”
He descended the stairs, falling into step beside his cousin, who continued to eye him with suspicion.
A bit later, over dinner, the warm hum of conversation filled the hall. Plates of roasted venison, salted fish, and hearty breads were passed around the long tables, and the fruits and wine that the Queen had gifted flowed freely among the guests.
Jon sat next to Daenerys, his expression serious as he studied her, clearly wrestling with thoughts he hadn’t yet voiced. Finally, he leaned closer, his voice low but insistent.
“What changed?” he asked quietly, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.
Daenerys paused, setting down her goblet of Dornish red with deliberate care. The weight of the day’s interruptions had worn her patience thin, and Jon’s probing felt like yet another challenge to navigate.
“Nothing and everything,” she replied, her voice calm but clipped.
Jon frowned, leaning forward slightly. “But... your lineage, Dany. He’s—” He faltered, his hesitation revealing the true source of his questions.
Her eyes narrowed, her expression cooling. “Older?” she interjected, her tone sharper now. “What of it?”
Jon hesitated, clearly torn between his respect for her and his lingering doubts, the wine not helping his bluntness. “Children, Dany,” he said finally, his words deliberate. “You’ve spoken of your lineage with such reverence. Don’t you want someone to continue your rule after you? Don’t you want someone who could be around during your children's lifetimes? ”
The implication hung heavily in the air, and Daenerys felt the sting of his words. Was he questioning her choice of Jorah as a partner? Or was he worried she might one day turn to him as her heir, burdening him with a role he had rejected before? She studied his face, seeing not malice, but an earnest concern—one she did not welcome.
Jon Snow was not a talkative man. For all the time she had known him, he had held back much of what he felt, keeping his thoughts buried beneath a wall of stoicism.
But now, in the familiarity forged by their shared experiences, he had begun to speak more freely—too freely, Daenerys thought bitterly. She was not one of his Stark sisters, to be questioned and advised like a sibling. She was a queen.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her goblet, though her expression remained composed. “Jon,” she said, her voice steady but carrying an undeniable edge, “I cannot bear children, no matter the man’s age. And I would appreciate it if you never speak of my womb or the virility of my partner again.”
The words struck him like steel against stone.
Daenerys rose from her chair, her movements sharp and deliberate. The scrape of wood against stone as her chair was pushed back echoed through the room and immediately hushed everyone.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said curtly, her voice cutting through the thick silence. She left her half-eaten meal behind, her steps measured but purposeful as she strode out of the hall, her silver hair swaying with each determined step.
All eyes followed her departure, and the tension in the room was palpable. Jorah’s jaw tightened as he sat at the far end of the table, his instincts urging him to follow her immediately. But he hesitated, his hand resting on the edge of the table.
Jon looked down at his plate, his expression conflicted. He hadn’t intended to upset her, but he also wasn’t blind to the effect his words had caused. A murmur of hushed conversations continued and to rippled through the room, though no one dared to speak too loudly.
“Should you not attend to your Queen, Lord Commander?” Sansa’s voice broke through his thoughts, her words laced with subtle implication.
"Of course, my lady.” Jorah stood, excusing himself with a slight bow. Her words lingered in his mind— your Queen .
Jorah found Daenerys on a small balcony overlooking the moonlit sea. The wind played gently with her hair as she stood motionless, her hands gripping the stone railing. Though her back was to him, he could feel the weight of her emotions—an aura of frustration, sadness, and something deeper that she rarely allowed herself to show.
He approached carefully, the soft rustle of his boots on the stone alerting her to his presence.
“Are you alright, Khaleesi?” His voice was low, steady, a balm for the raw edges of her temper.
Daenerys turned slightly, her eyes meeting his. The fire that had burned in them during dinner had softened, replaced by a weariness.
“Even Jon would surprise me with his stupidity if he keeps crossing that line,” she said, her tone sharp but laced with disappointment. Her gaze fell momentarily to the sea before returning to him. “He asked me about us. About lineage.” Her jaw tightened. “Had the nerve to ask about me carrying a child... and questioning if you could even—”
Jorah’s brow furrowed, the understanding dawning on him like a blow to the chest. He knew exactly where her thoughts had gone, why the conversation had struck such a painful chord. Jon’s curiosity, no matter how well-meaning, had prodded a wound Daenerys carried deep within her—a wound she rarely shared, even with him.
The thought of her cursed womb, of the grief she had endured since Mirri Maz Duur’s betrayal, was a weight she bore silently but constantly.
He stepped closer, his hands instinctively reaching for hers, grounding her with his presence as he always did.
“Jon means well,” Jorah said gently, his voice low and soothing. “But his fixation on family blinds him. He’s a Stark—lineage and legacy are everything to them. He doesn’t understand what you’ve endured, and he has no right to ask.”
His gaze softened, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “You owe him no explanations. None of them are entitled to that part of you.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his words, her hand tightening around his. “And what of us, Jorah?” she asked, her voice quiet but edged with frustration.
“What others think of us, the whispers they’ll spread? I feel the eyes, the questions, even here. I didn’t think it would affect me so.”
Jorah’s expression remained steadfast. “Let them think what they will. Let them whisper about me, I don’t care. You are my Queen, and I am here for you in whatever capacity you need.” His voice grew softer, more intimate.
“I’ve sworn my life to you. That will never change.”
Daenerys exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she stepped closer to him. His unshakable loyalty was a balm to her frayed nerves, his presence a reminder of the love and strength that anchored her.
“Is there somewhere more private we can go?” she asked, her tone quieter now, almost conspiratorial. “Somewhere no one will think to look for us?”
Jorah’s lips parted to answer, but the sound of hurried footsteps on stone drew both their gazes. A figure emerged from the shadows of the hallway—Jon, his expression heavy with guilt and hesitation.
Daenerys sighed audibly, her head bowing slightly as if summoning the patience to endure yet another interruption. She squeezed Jorah’s forearm, a silent signal that told him it was alright for him to leave.
“Go,” her expression said. “Let him say his piece.”
Jorah hesitated for the briefest moment, his protective instincts warring with his respect for her wishes. But he nodded, stepping back. “I’ll be close,” he murmured before retreating into the shadows.
As Jon approached, Daenerys straightened, her face a carefully composed mask of calm. Yet a flicker of frustration betrayed her as she looked at him. “What is it, Jon?” she asked, her voice cool but not unkind.
“I wanted to apologize,” he began, his tone earnest but awkward. “For what I said earlier. I—”
“You overstepped,” she interrupted, her gaze unyielding. “But I’ll hear you out. Speak quickly, Jon. There are many things demanding my attention tonight.”
Jon nodded, his words halting but genuine. And though Daenerys listened, part of her thoughts remained with the man who had just left her side, waiting patiently in the shadows as he always had.
Over the following days, the tension between Daenerys and Jon seemed to ease. Daenerys wouldn’t tell Jorah until years later that after Jon had apologized she had revealed her true intentions to him: her love for Jorah and her vision for a new path that broke from tradition. Jon, to her surprise, had respected her decision and even admired her for it, vowing to keep her feelings a secret.
He originally thought she was simply deciding to marry Jorah because it was a safe decision for her personally. He didn’t know it was love that bound them both. He understands how she must have felt when Jorah almost perished during the Long Night, Ygritte still haunts his dreams. How he wished he had a second chance at love.
The shift in Jon Snow's demeanor toward Jorah was as unexpected as it was significant. Where there had once been a polite, restrained respect, there was now a genuine deference that went beyond.
Jorah suspected Daenerys had spoken to Jon, though the specifics of their conversation remained a mystery. Lady Sansa, too, appeared softer, her interactions with Jorah tinged with a politeness that had been absent before.
Whatever Daenerys had said or done, it had clearly rippled outward, reshaping the dynamic between the Northern leaders.
However, Daenerys remained restless on Bear Island.
Interruptions plagued her every moment with Jorah, and she found herself increasingly frustrated with how small the island was. She longed to speak freely to her bear, to show him her heart without fear of being stopped.
Watching him as he presided over matters on Bear Island only deepened her feelings. He seemed so at home in his role as Lord—confident, decisive, yet always humble.
She had noticed a change in her own behavior as well. Every time she was forced to sit idly and observe Jorah presiding over matters of House Mormont, a spark ignited within her—a fire as fierce and untamed as her dragons’.
He carried himself with quiet authority. She knew the islanders respected him not just for his name, but for the care and fairness he displayed. Watching him in his element stirred a longing in her, one that was becoming harder to suppress.
Seated near him during one such gathering, she couldn’t help but let her gaze linger. From the way his large hands gripped the chair to the confident set of his jaw, everything about him seemed magnetic.
When he caught her staring, tilting his head in curiosity, she quickly averted her eyes, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks.
She forced her attention back to the conversation at hand, but the feeling of his kisses remained etched in her mind—her knight, her bear, the man who made her feel both powerful and vulnerable all at once.
When the day’s duties concluded and the council moved on to the implementation phase of their decisions, she found herself at a crossroads.
Free time was dangerous—too much room for her thoughts to wander. She resolved to distance herself while he was busy, needing her own space to regain her composure so their secret wouldn’t blow up in their faces.
Is this how he’s felt all these years? she wondered as she quickly left the hall. It’s torture.
Her first thought was to take a bath, hoping the soothing water might calm her restless thoughts. But as she returned to her quarters to retrieve a book she had been meaning to return to the library, fate had other plans. She opened her door and stepped out—only to collide with Jorah’s solid chest.
The impact nearly sent her stumbling, but Jorah’s hand shot out to steady her, his touch firm yet gentle.
“Apologies, Khaleesi,” he said, his tone warm. “I thought I might find you here.”
She glanced up, her heart pounding as his steady gaze met hers. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
“Not at all, I think I've had enough of politics today and.. was wondering if you’d care to take a walk with me to the caves. It’s a sight worth seeing, especially for someone who’s never explored them before.”
Daenerys hesitated, momentarily flustered. The library and her plans for solitude seemed insignificant now.
“Yes, of course. I can return this later,” she said, setting the book back inside her quarters before closing the door behind her.
Excitement, and nerves pulsed through her at the thought of being alone with her betrothed in a dark, yet beautiful cave. Gods, if only she could control herself and her wandering thoughts but maybe she won't have to.
The walk to the caves was short, Jorah leading her to an entrance at the lowest level of the keep. A heavy wooden door sealed the path, a barrier against the elements and any unwanted intrusions.
Beyond it, the caves stretched wide and deep, their paths carved by ancient tides. Jorah lit a torch as they entered, though many of the sconces along the walls still burned faintly, their flames dancing in the faint breeze that coursed through the subterranean space.
“I’ve walked these caves so many times, I could probably navigate them in my sleep,” Jorah remarked as they descended deeper.
Daenerys followed closely, her eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering light. The air was cool but not uncomfortably so, carrying the faint, briny scent of the nearby sea.
Their conversation began casually, centering on the affairs of House Mormont and the progress being made on Bear Island. But as the silence between them stretched, Jorah broke it with a quiet question.
“Khaleesi,” he began, his voice low and steady, “I’ve noticed you... watching me. Is there something on your mind?” He turned to face her, his gaze searching but gentle. “I know we haven’t had much time to speak privately.”
Daenerys froze, her pulse quickening. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice her stolen glances, but of course, he had. Jorah’s attentiveness to her was unparalleled, his ability to read her emotions uncanny.
She dropped her gaze, momentarily at a loss for words.
“I haven’t been thinking about... talking,” she admitted, her voice faltering. Daenerys bit her lip, frustration welling up inside her.
She was no naive maiden, unaccustomed to such feelings, yet lately being in Jorah’s presence has left her uncharacteristically unsettled. This must be what it's like to be courting someone. The intensity of her emotions unnerved her, and she hasn't been able to put them into words.
“Oh?” Jorah’s voice was deep and tinged with amusement, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as they came to a stop in a quiet nook of the cave.
The flickering torchlight cast shadows across his face, making his expression all the more alluring.
“Perhaps we should address what you’ve been thinking about, my Queen.”
When their eyes met, the heat in Daenerys’ gaze mirrored the intensity in Jorah’s. There was no longer any pretense, no veil to shield the truth.
He had spent so long keeping his feelings in check, restraining himself out of loyalty and duty, but now? Now there was no reason to hold back, there was no one around.
He slid his arms around her waist, his touch both tender and commanding, and pulled her close. His lips found hers in a kiss that was deep, unrestrained, and full of everything he had been yearning to express.
He pressed her firmly against him, his hands resolute, as though he couldn’t bear to let her go unless she commanded it.
Daenerys gasped softly, startled by his boldness. She had grown so used to his careful restraint, his unfailing composure. But perhaps that had been the key—getting him away from the prying eyes and demands of others.
Here, in this secluded place, he could finally let go.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, one hand sliding up to rest on the back of his neck as she kissed him back fervently.
The uneven ground beneath her feet made it difficult to hold her balance, and as if sensing her struggle, Jorah lifted her with ease.
She let out a soft exhale of surprise as he set her gently on a makeshift bench carved from the stone walls, the dip in the natural stone floor making them almost eye level.
“I’ve been thinking about your hands,” she murmured against his lips between kisses. Her own hands now roamed freely, caressing the strong lines of his neck and jaw, the closeness allowing her to explore him more fully.
Jorah chuckled softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through her. “Then tell me, Khaleesi,” he said, his tone husky.
“Tell me what you’ve been thinking about them... and how you’d like me to use them.”
His words, intimate and unguarded, sent a thrill through her. His eyes locked with hers, brimming with longing and determination, as though he were ready to give her anything she desired.
She kissed him again, the anticipation coursing through her making her almost tremble. It had been so long since she had been kissed like this, with such intensity and care.
The men in her life had never quite offered this. Drogo had been dominant and demanding, a force she had learned to navigate over time, but his love had been more about possession than tenderness. Daario, charming as he was, had always rushed through foreplay, more focused on his own pleasure.
And Jon… well, that had never developed far enough to be truly meaningful, and in hindsight, she was grateful for that.
But Jorah? Jorah was different. She could feel it. There was a selflessness in him, a devotion she had never experienced before.
She’s realized, with a pang of longing and regret, that she had needed someone like him all along.
Her thoughts drifted briefly to a memory long buried.
“Did I ever tell you what I once heard from the Dothraki women about you?” she asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. Her fingers found his hand, tracing the calluses and scars that marked a life of both battle and service.
His hands' eager movements along the frame of her body slowed as he leaned back a bit to look into her eyes.
He let out a chuckle. "I dread to think; they had a way of telling elaborate stories, one never dared question them...but tell me while I busy my lips."
He leaned into her neck and kissed and nibbled at her tender skin, letting his hunger for her get the better of him.
She smiled, moving her own hand down to the front of her jacket, pulling the buttons loose to give him more of herself to kiss. Underneath she was wearing a simple dress, embroidered a bit at the top but it’s low cut, giving him access to plenty.
“There was one, named Nesha..” Daenerys says teasingly, his head snaps up at that, looking at her curiously, “Continue with your kisses or I won’t tell you.”
A knowing smile still on her face, Jorah definitely remembers Nesha.
“She would talk about the men she bedded all the time – except there was a particular Westerosi knight who was one of her first and.. Most memorable.”
Dany moaned when he nipped at her neck, “And she talked about his hands, how good they felt on her skin… how no other had made her feel such intense pleasure from just his fingers..”
Daenerys can see him blushing when she looks at him, he’s not one to talk about these things or to brag about himself like most men, her humble knight.
He feels a little embarrassment at having his encounters with other women retold to him by his Queen, but at the same time, driven by the heat of the moment, he also feels a great deal more arousal.
He wants to give to Daenerys as he gave to Nesha, and the other women he encountered in his travels – he wants to give her that and more.
Oftentimes, when he bedded another woman, which was rare, he would think of Dany instead, and show them the pleasure he would much rather be giving her. At some point his love for Daenerys became so strong that he stopped bedding other women entirely.
But now, his deepest, most lustful fantasies were coming true.
He arched an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement mingling with the heat in his gaze. “And what did you think of that, Khaleesi?”
“I blushed and left the tent,” she admitted with a laugh. “I didn’t know you well then, and I was more concerned with my own marriage bed. But I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands for weeks after.” She paused, her smile softening.
“I hadn’t thought of it in years… until this morning, when the memory came rushing back.”
She lifted his hand to her lips, brushing a kiss across his knuckles. “I want to know if they’re as skilled as they said.”
Jorah’s breath caught, his restraint slipping further.
“Then let me show you,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise.
But as his lips brushed hers, she pulled back, her hands pressing lightly against his chest.
Jorah froze, his brow furrowing. “Did I—”
“No,” she interrupted quickly, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“If you’re not ready, just say the word. I’ll wait as long as you need. You know that.” His concern is evident.
Daenerys shook her head, her hands tightening on his cloak to stop him from retreating too far.
“That’s just it, Jorah. You’ve always waited for me. Always put me first, always given me everything without asking for anything in return.”
His lips parted to protest, but she pressed a finger to them, silencing him.
“I can’t… I can’t do this until I tell you the truth,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “You deserve that much. You deserve more than I’ve given you.”
Jorah’s hands moved to her waist, his warmth grounding her. “You don’t owe me anything, Daenerys. I’ve always been here because I want to be, not because I expect something in return.”
“But I do owe you,” she insisted, her eyes glistening. “I owe you the truth of my heart.”
He stilled, his breath catching as he waited for her to continue.
“I love you, Jorah. I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was too afraid to admit it—to myself, to you. I’ve hidden behind my titles, my duties, my fears, but not tonight. Not anymore.”
Jorah’s eyes widened, his breath leaving him in a rush. “Daenerys…”
“I don’t just want you as my husband because it’s convenient for me or because it’s safe,” she continued, her voice gaining strength.
“I want you because you are the one person who has always been by my side, who has always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I want you because I love you.”
A silence stretched between them, heavy with emotion.
Jorah reached up, his hands framing her face with infinite tenderness.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear those words,” he said, his voice trembling. “And I love you, Daenerys. I always have, and I always will.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, relief washing over her. “Then show me, please..” she said simply.
A queen rarely begs, she doesn't know if she has ever begged and pleaded in a situation like this, but there’s something about him that makes her feel more like herself, just a woman who desires so deeply and freely.
She also feels aroused by the thought of breaking Jorah’s restraint, and letting him take her and make her his. She wiggled her hips as close as possible to him while leaning back slightly on her elbows to watch him take off his leather gloves, he ends up biting the fingers of one to get it off quickly, pulling it off his hand.
She swears she hears a growl of frustration from him, maybe he truly is a bear.
But these damned gloves aren't about to stop him from feeling her skin against his fingertips. Finally, when he’s free of any obstacles, he lets the bear in him take control.
He drew her into his embrace, his right hand on the small of her back until it slid down to cover her backside.
He thrust her hips against his while his other hand drew upward along her spine, fingers splayed to trace as much as possible. He brought that hand around to cup one of her breasts through the dress, his fingertips gently stroking her stiffening nipple.
He revels in her reactions - the heavy breathing, the slight moans, the frenzied hands pulling at him finding any way possible to get him even closer.
She grabbed his hand on her breast and spread her legs for him more, guiding that hand and his fingers to where she needed him most.
“Mmm.. Jorah.. I need..” She moaned loudly as she finally felt his fingers between her legs, wet with desire for him.
“Khaleesi.. Seven hells.” He sighs at the feel of her, he can feel the fever raging in her as much as it is within himself.
Nothing can stop them now, and at this point, if someone were to stride into the caves, they'd experience a sight like no other, because there's no going back now.
His hand cupped her gently before two of his fingers slipped inside her, slowly, deeply, curving upward so that he could tease her with every stroke. His other hand has moved to her breast, continuing to tease her stiff nipple with his fingertips.
“Gods, Jorah!” She moaned, leaning in closer to him to kiss him hard while her hips matched the rhythm of his hand.
If it weren’t for his cloak still on his shoulders she’s sure her nails would leave marks along them, her hands had a vice grip on him, not letting him out of reach for a second.
As many fantasies as he had of her, none of them could ever compare to this. The passion, the fire that burned around them could singe the air and burn the ground beneath them.
Not even her dragons could match it.
Her moans, the grinding of her hips against his hand, the way her nails dig into him; he’s drunk with arousal and excitement at being able to pleasure her this way, at long last.
She leaned back again, laying down fully on the bench and grabbing at the closures of her dress on her side. She wanted him to see all of her. She made quick work of the ties and pulled her dress completely open, revealing pale smooth skin, not a scar or blemish to be seen thanks to him protecting her all these years.
The second she pulled her dress fully open, revealing her flawless body to him, Jorah leaned in to ravage her other breast with his mouth, hungrily lapping and nipping at her tender flesh.
He pulled back slightly to look up at her, “You’re so beautiful.. Do you even know what you do to me?” He murmured against her soft skin.
The craving within him feels primal and, like any wild bear, he cannot be tamed at that moment, his kisses continuing and nibbling at any spot he can.
She’s watching him, trying to, but it’s getting harder to keep her eyes from rolling back when his thumb teases her clit, his thick fingers still inside of her and his tongue teasing her nipples.
“Jorah.. I.. “ She whimpered, and grinds into his hand.
“I know, darling.” He said, pulling back to watch her unravel even more.
He slowly, steadily increased the speed and force of his fingers, adding a third, while his thumb glided across and around her clit, alternating between slow and quick. Driving her absolutely mad.
He had no intention of stopping until pleasure consumed her.
Dany moved to sit up slightly, sliding her hands up to his neck and the other at his jaw, pulling him to her lips.
He had to lean forward, he was practically on top of her now, the bench low enough for him to rest a knee on it beside her hip, his other foot still planted on the ground as he leaned over her.
“Mmm, my bear, don’t stop..” She pleaded against his lips, kissing him in a frenzy.
If he hadn't been over her, his body holding her down against the stone, her own body would try to get away. It’s almost become too much, but then she feels the coil of pleasure snap.
Her eyes finally closed and rolled back, one of her legs went to wrap around his waist as she lifted her hips slightly and chased her climax on his fingers.
He was mesmerized by the way she looked when she came undone beneath him, he stopped breathing for a moment just to watch her whimper and moan, her body tensing and writhing below him. His fingers continued to move, not stopping until she was fully satisfied.
She felt heavenly around him.
A sight and feeling he’ll never forget.
Her eyes opened, hazy, and she pulled him down for a kiss, slow and messy – his lips parted for her tongue to deepen their kiss while she continued to twitch around his fingers.
After a moment of kissing, she gripped his shoulders and started to push him up, and herself up to sit.
She reached for the ties on his pants, starting to undo them but Jorah’s hand stopped her.
“Daenerys, you don’t know how badly I want to take you but.. I don’t want our first time together to be hurried and in a dark cave.”
He gently slipped his fingers from her, his hand now resting on her thigh.
He takes the hand of hers that was untying his pants and brings it to the bulge there, letting her feel how much he desires her so she didn't feel rejected by his actions.
“As much as this pains me, I want to be with you properly, in a bed. Where I can worship you for hours. Please..” He peppered kisses along her lips, her face, her jaw.
“And when will that be, my bear?” She stroked him outside his pants, not helping either of their desires for each other, and making it all the harder to stop.
“I don’t know how long I can wait, now that you’ve made me understand why the Dothraki women were so interested in your hands. I know you’re hiding more of your talents from me..” She teased him, enjoying the blush that washed over his cheeks.
“Soon, I promise.” He chuckled low and took both of her hands in his.
They remained together in the cave for a while longer trading kissing, making up for lost time and learning more about each other. She enjoyed soliciting a moan from him when she sucked his bottom lip and bit - noted for next time.
Jorah continued to hold her close, allowing both of their bodies to finally relax and wind down after the frenzy of their activity. The wind traveling through the caves was soothing; almost melodic.
He assured her once more before they finally decided to leave the caves, that when the time is right, they will be together properly and fully.
As deeply as he burns for her, he truly wants that moment to be far more intimate. She deserves the world and more.
And he’ll do anything and everything to give it to her.
Notes:
Well, I had to change the rating :) I know many of you will be happy at her FINALLY confessing her love for him and of him finally letting himself be a little more confident in their relationship. But of course, danger and obstacles lie ahead. Also, I just added chapter header/banners with cute photo edits to the beginning of chapters 1 & 2, I'll continue to do them on each chapter. Check them out if you missed em'!
You can expect some meddling from Tyrion, cute soft moments, Sam and Missi being supportive per usual, and many, MANY surprises in the next two-ish chapters.
Chapter 5: The Bear and the Maiden Fair
Notes:
what you've all been waiting for I assume ;) ty for reading!
Chapter Text
Daenerys could feel the weight of the rumors pressing down on her, despite the calm beauty of Bear Island. Her thoughts constantly lingered on Jorah, and every stolen moment between them felt like an indulgence, something fleeting that they could barely afford with Lyanna’s sharp eyes watching them from every corner.
It was frustrating, even maddening, the way they were forced to navigate this delicate balance—showing affection when they could, but always mindful of the prying eyes of the kitchen staff and the distant whispers of the guards.
Their desire to escape the island and return to the relative privacy of King’s Landing was growing unbearable. The last few days felt like they were walking on a tightrope, and Daenerys was eager for the opportunity to be alone with Jorah, to finally leave the pretense behind.
She couldn’t help but miss the quiet intimacy they shared while they were both still exiles, before the rumors, before the politics, before everything had become complicated. She wishes she would have known back then how hard it would be now.
The breaking point came one afternoon as Daenerys sat in the common hall with Jorah after their lunch, her fingers absentmindedly drumming on the table. She overheard two servants in the hallway, their voices hushed but clearly audible. They were speaking of Lord Mormont and his strange affinity with dragons.
There was talk of how unusual it was for a Mormont to have earned the favor of such a terrifying dragon, given that many believed only Targaryens were capable of such a bond. But it seemed Jorah was different. The staff had started to gossip after witnessing him stroke Drogon’s nose on the beach just a few days before, and their curiosity was growing.
Whispers of something more between Jorah and the Mother of Dragons began to swirl, raising questions that only fuel the rumors.
Daenerys was restless. She needed them to be free of this constant pressure, this confinement on the small island. She turned to Jorah, whose face betrayed none of the strain that she could feel running through her own body.
His loyalty was unwavering, and yet Daenerys could see the yearning in his eyes, the unspoken understanding that they both craved more than what was currently allowed. She waited until the servants left the hall before speaking.
“Jorah,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “What if we left now? Left on Drogon for King’s Landing, just the two of us?”
Jorah hesitated, his expression softening at her words. But Daenerys could see the internal struggle behind his eyes, the loyalty to his men warring with the temptation to take flight with her. He opened his mouth, but Daenerys anticipated his response. She placed a hand gently on his arm.
“I wish we could,” he said finally, his voice quiet but resolute. “But I can’t leave them, Dany. Not yet. I came here with my men, and I need to sail back to King’s Landing with them. I don’t want to raise even more suspicion and ride off with you in the night.”
Daenerys felt a pang in her chest. She understood his loyalty, his commitment to the men who travelled with him and saw him as their leader and he was too some, he was their Lord Commander. It was one of the things she admired most about him—the way he placed honor and responsibility above his own desires. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, of longing for a world where she and Jorah didn’t have to hide, where they didn’t have to sacrifice for duty.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
“I know,” she said quietly, her voice steady though her heart was heavy. “It’s just... difficult. I want to be with you, Jorah. I want us to have time—time without the weight of the world, without the politics getting in the way but I have a feeling King’s Landing won’t allow much more time than we already have together.”
Jorah’s hand reached out to gently cup her face, his touch warm and grounding. “I know, Dany. I want that too. But right now, the men are my responsibility. I can’t abandon them for my own peace of mind. We’ll have time. When the time is right.”
Daenerys met his gaze, searching his eyes for any sign of regret, but there was none. His loyalty was steadfast, as always. She sighed, the weight of his words sinking in.
“I understand,” she said, a trace of sadness in her voice.
Dany took Drogon back to King’s Landing a few days after Jorah and his men left Bear Island, she wanted them to have a head start so she could find them along the way.
Jorah stood at the edge of the deck, his hand resting against the rail as he squinted into the distance. The sea was calm, the ship moving through the waves with an easy rhythm, but his thoughts were far from the peace of the moment. His mind kept drifting back to Daenerys and the way she had asked him to accompany her on Drogon. It had been a temptation, a longing he had fought against.
But he had stayed true to his duty, knowing that his men needed him.
And then he heard it—first a distant sound, the beat of wings heavy against the wind. His heart skipped, and he turned just in time to see Drogon, majestic as ever, his dark scales gleaming in the sunlight, soaring above the ship.
Dany was on his back, her figure a perfect silhouette against the wide sky. She rode with grace, effortlessly commanding with every turn, every movement. To anyone watching, it would have been a breathtaking sight.
To Jorah, it was a reminder of just how much she had grown—how much they had both changed. She was truly a Queen now, in every sense of the word. And she was his Queen.
She caught sight of him, and their eyes met. For a moment, everything else faded away—the ship, the crew, the distant shores. It was just the two of them, a shared understanding that neither spoke, but both felt. Dany’s face softened into a smile, and Jorah’s chest tightened with emotion. He could see the protectiveness in her eyes, the fierce loyalty she had for him, just as he had for her. He knew she had been following the ship, though she never said that it was her plan.
Drogon adjusted his wings, gliding closer to the ship. The ship’s crew watched in awe as the dragon flew in tandem with their vessel, a silent acknowledgment of Daenerys’ power and her connection to the creature beneath her.
Jorah’s eyes never left her as she drew closer, her wild, untamed beauty as commanding as the dragon that carried her.
She had followed their ship for days, despite knowing the distance would only grow greater as they sailed further south. There was an ache in her chest, a longing she couldn’t explain. She had tried to put it aside, to focus on the task at hand, but every time she looked toward the horizon, her eyes would search for the ship, for Jorah. She was not foolish enough to think she could follow them the whole time, and yet, it seemed impossible to leave without at least catching one last glimpse of him.
Drogon’s wings beat in steady rhythm as he circled above the ship. She could feel his curiosity, his own sense of protectiveness toward Jorah—something she didn’t understand, but it was there, undeniable. The dragon, too, seemed to sense the bond that had formed between them over the years. He had been present during some of the most pivotal moments of Daenerys’ life, but he had always seemed to favor Jorah in his own way, with a respect that only a creature of his intelligence and stature could offer.
And so, with a heavy heart, Daenerys nudged Drogon’s wings, guiding him higher into the sky.
Jorah watched as she and Drogon disappeared into the distance. The ache in his chest only deepened, but he knew it was for the best. For now, they had their roles to play, their duties to uphold.
Back in King’s Landing, Daenerys and Jorah found themselves pulled in different directions, despite the deep, unspoken longing they both felt to be alone together. The bustle of the city and the constant demands of their respective roles meant that their time to simply be “them” had all but disappeared.
It seemed like fate was working against them.
Jorah, now firmly entrenched in his role as Lord Commander again, was constantly caught up with his men, reviewing reports, strategizing, and overseeing the training of the new recruits.
There was a sense of urgency in his actions, especially after receiving the unsettling news from Brienne and the scouts.
While they had found signs of a creature they were hunting, there was still no confirmation of its whereabouts. Footprints, scratches on trees, and strange disturbances in the forest—it was all leading to something ominous, but it seemed to be slipping just beyond their grasp.
The reports weighed heavily on his mind, gnawing at him as he paced the halls of the Red Keep, his thoughts focused on the unknown creature sightings that threatened not only the kingdom but their very safety.
He had no choice but to remain vigilant, even as part of him ached to be with Daenerys, to share the silence of her presence, the peace they had stolen only for a moment on Bear Island. But for now he was remaining steadfast to the kingdom and the Queen he had sworn to protect.
Meanwhile, Daenerys was equally occupied. The pressures of ruling a kingdom were never far from her mind, and Tyrion had been insistent on keeping her engaged in matters of state, often overwhelming her with decisions, discussions, and diplomatic concerns.
He was a master of planning, suggesting everything from alliances to events that could unite the kingdom. One such idea was a grand jousting tournament—a spectacle that would not only boost morale but also showcase Jorah’s skills in front of the public.
The thought of her Lord Commander winning on the field, in front of the kingdom, gave Tyrion a sly, knowing smile. It would cement his reputation as a warrior in the eyes of the people, and what better way to solidify their relationships with the other houses?
“Jousting, Your Grace,” Tyrion said one afternoon, his voice low and conspiratorial as they stood in the quiet of her private chambers, a stack of papers laid before her.
“It will be an event to unite the kingdom, a grand display of strength. Think of the spectacle—of your Lord Commander’s skill on full display.”
Daenerys raised an eyebrow, the exhaustion from the constant demands evident in her posture. She hadn’t had a moment’s peace since they’d returned to King’s Landing, and she longed for just one evening with Jorah, where there were no distractions, no politics, no rumors or duties pressing on her shoulders.
She hadn’t even had the time to ask him about the creature the scouts were pursuing.
“I’m sure Jorah would be delighted,” she replied with a small sigh, though the thought of him participating in such an event brought a strange tightness to her chest.
She knew he would never decline a challenge, but the idea of him putting himself in danger again—this time in front of a crowd—didn’t sit well with her.
Tyrion noticed the way her expression darkened, and though he wanted to press further, he could see that Daenerys was not in the mood to be pushed. Instead, he changed the subject, making a note to bring up the jousting again at a later time when she was more receptive.
He had his way of nudging her toward decisions, even if it meant waiting for the right moment.
“I’ll leave you to your duties, then,” Tyrion said, with a hint of mischief in his voice. “But do think about it. A show of strength could only benefit you—and your Lord Commander.”
With that, he took his leave, leaving Daenerys to ponder the idea in solitude.
As the door closed behind him, Daenerys leaned back in her chair, the weight of the kingdom pressing down on her once again. The thought of Jorah in the midst of a jousting tournament wasn’t the only thing on her mind.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of distance between them, even here, in the heart of the Red Keep. Their time together had become fleeting moments, snatched in between the endless demands of the realm.
If they couldn’t have time alone together, she might as well make the most of their limited encounters.
It started one afternoon when Jorah came to her chambers to deliver an update on the new members of the Queensguard.
He was all business, and his brow furrowed with concern over the lack of new information about the creature they were still hunting.
Daenerys listened intently as he recounted the details, nodding in all the right places, though her mind was elsewhere.
When he finished speaking, she tilted her head and gave him a playful smile, leaning back against the chair in front of her desk.
“So serious, as always,” she said, her tone teasing but laced with something more mischievous.
“I have a kingdom to protect.” Jorah looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly unaware of the shift in her mood.
“Oh, I know.,” Daenerys replied, standing up from her chair and walking toward him with deliberate slowness. She could feel the heat of his gaze following her every step, but she didn’t meet his eyes right away. Instead, she reached out to gently touch his arm, her fingers brushing against his skin just enough to send a spark of heat through him.
“But surely, even you can spare a moment for something more... personal.”
Jorah stiffened, his gaze flickering briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. “Dany, I—”
“Jorah, relax,” she interrupted, her smile widening. “It’s not as though we have time for anything else anyway.”
“And who knows? Perhaps it’s best we leave things... unspoken for now.” She let the words hang between them, her voice light but teasing.
Jorah's breath caught, his pulse quickening despite himself. He could see the glimmer in her eyes, the playful challenge in her expression. She knew exactly what she was doing—and how to make him feel it.
“You’re trying to make me chase you, aren’t you?” Jorah said quietly, his voice a low rumble as he fought to keep his composure.
“Chase me?” Daenerys asked innocently, her gaze lifting to meet his. She was close now, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of him—the familiar musk that always seemed to stir something deep inside her.
“I thought you were always in pursuit, my Lord Commander.”
His eyes darkened slightly, his usual restraint cracking as he stepped closer, his expression softening, though there was still a quiet wariness in his features.
“You know that’s not fair,” he teased back.
Her breath was warm against his skin, and for a moment, Jorah forgot about everything else—about the reports, the scouts, and the kingdom that needed him. All he could focus on was her, the way she looked at him as if she knew she had him right where she wanted him.
But before he could lean in to close the distance between them, Daenerys pulled back, her eyes glinting with amusement.
“Too bad we can’t be alone long enough to see where this might go,” she said with a playful pout. “Such a shame.”
Jorah’s hand twitched at his side, itching to grab her and kiss her, to let the tension between them explode. But he knew better. Her teasing was just that—teasing. She was playing a game, making him wait, knowing that the moment they shared could never be fully realized in their current situation.
“Daenerys,” Jorah said, his voice low but thick with desire. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
She gave him a sweet smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently, but the mischievous twinkle in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
“You’re torturing me.” Jorah shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.
Daenerys gave him one last playful glance, though her lips parted slightly, betraying the desire that still burned between them.
“I’ll see you tonight, Ser Jorah.” And with that she slipped a small key into his palm, he knew exactly what this was to. Only him and a few other members of the council knew that this castle had secret passage systems, one leading to the Queen’s chambers.
Jorah watched her walk ahead, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted her, wanted to pull her close and make her forget the world around them.
Night had settled over King’s Landing, the sounds of the bustling city fading into the quiet of the Red Keep. Daenerys had dismissed the last of her attendants, the soft glow of candlelight flickering in her chambers, casting shadows along the walls. She stood by the window for a long moment, her thoughts wandering as she gazed out at the distant lights of the city.
Her heart was restless— she was hoping he could get away from any last minute responsibilities to see her tonight. The teasing from earlier had sparked something in her, something that had only grown with each passing hour.
Her fingers absently toyed with the laces of her gown as she turned from the window, the room suddenly feeling too small, too still.
Jorah completed his security rounds with his trusted knights before leaving them to their guard posts. He checked to make sure all was clear, and then used the key, which opened an otherwise inconspicuous wooden panel. Making sure to grab a lit candle first, he proceeded through the narrow system of passageways, picturing the Queen's chambers in relation to where he'd entered in order to ensure he wouldn't become hopelessly lost in the walls of the castle.
He finally found the secret door that opened to Daenerys' chambers and opened it slowly, so as not to startle her. There she stood, at the balcony, silhouetted by moonlight, as enchanting as ever. She turned to look at Jorah.
"Why, Lord Commander! How dare you sneak into my bedchambers?" She smiled slyly as she feigned surprise.
"I can resist you no longer, my Queen," Jorah spoke truthfully while still playing along, his voice low and rough with an almost primal hunger for her. "A man can only guard one as beautiful as you for so long before his desires must be acted upon."
His gaze darkened at her words, a breath caught in his chest. He closed the distance between them slowly, his movements deliberate, as if savoring every second. “Daenerys,” he said, his voice rougher now, “you’ve been driving me mad for days.”
She kept up the act, “What do you mean, Ser Jorah?” She asked oh so innocently, she was wonderfully expressive when she wanted to be. But of course, she wouldn’t be wearing such fine lace and silk like this for bed on a normal night. This particular nightgown was dark green and made to seduce.
She kept her distance, trying to seem more like the prey than the predator. The weeks of teasing and waiting all leading up to this moment and Jorah knew exactly what his Queen wanted.
"You know all too well what I speak of, Your Grace," Jorah replied, addressing Daenerys formally to maintain the little game being played.
His steps were slow but steady, deliberate, and forceful. Nothing would keep him away from her now.
"Your scent, your touch, the curve of your perfect body; I crave you and my hunger can no longer be ignored."
He dashed forward in the last few steps and took her into his arms, staring her down intensely, an animalistic lust in his eyes.
"I want you, here and now, and I’ve wanted you for so long.”
He pressed her slender frame against his with firm yet gentle hands and kissed her deeply. Their lips parted and their tongues tangled as the pretense was all but forgotten. A gasp had escaped when he pulled her close, taking what he wanted. Daenerys kissed back with just as much passion as her bear, weeks of pent up desire flowing into their kisses.
All that was left was passion, love in its rawest and most basic, yet powerful, form.
“I’ve missed you..” She said between kisses, as they stumbled to reach a table, a railing, the bed.. Anything. She pushed at his cloak and his shirt, untying and unclasping anything she could reach. So thankful that he took off his armor before entering her chambers.
"Take me, Ser." She leaned in, catching his lower lip between hers, then biting and sucking and kissing him again.
It took every ounce of self-control to keep Jorah from tearing the gown off Daenerys' body; such was the intensity of his desire. Instead, he hastily pulled at every strap, clasp, and tie until it dropped freely to the floor.
At long last, she stood naked before him.
His hands were delicate and skilled as he caressed her, following every curve and bend of her body while his mouth hungrily moved from her lips to her neck. He nibbled and sucked at the skin between kisses, knowing he'd end up leaving his mark upon her.
They were finally close enough to the bed that he gently guided her to it, and knelt before her as she sat down upon the furs. His kisses peppered her legs and thighs, switching back and forth as his hands caressed both, sliding up to her knees to push them apart.
“Am I your maiden fair, Ser Bear?” She smiled, looking down upon her wild Lord Commander. The song that has haunted them for years.
“She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair, But he licked the honey from her hair. My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!” Daenerys sang, teasing him.
He used to despise the song, before - and after meeting Daenerys. But, he couldn’t really argue that it wasn’t true. Because now he did want to lick her honey, and make her kick and wail.
“I’ve always been your bear and you my maiden fair.” He smirked, still teasing the skin of her inner thigh with his lips, kissing softly and biting to elicit a gasp from his queen.
Dany watched him lean in further and slowly press his tongue against her. Licking up her honey, and grabbing the outside of her thighs to pull her closer as he sucked on her clit.
“Jorah!” She did indeed squeal, it has been a long time since anyone had been between her legs in this manner. She couldn’t even remember the last time she bedded a man. Her last lover was Daario and that was years ago.
And he wasn’t very giving in bed, not like Jorah already seems to be, so she didn’t gain much pleasure from this particular act. This felt much more enjoyable already.
He gripped her harder, holding her in place as he teased and licked and kissed. She tasted even sweeter and addictive than he had ever imagined, any dream he had of her in the past now exceeded and he knew he was hooked.
“Do that again..” She demanded breathlessly, her body now laying all the way down on the bed but with a pillow under her head so she could look down at her knight if she wanted.
He moaned against her, his tongue dipping into her and then licking up to her clit where he swirled and sucked.
“Gods… Jorah..” Her moans filled the room as her back arched slightly off the bed, her body unable to keep still.
He pulled back slightly to wipe his mouth and beard against her thigh. While he was sitting back, watching her, he moved his right hand to feel how wet she was, his fingers finding her honey and dipping two of them inside. Not giving her a moment to adjust before his lips were on her clit again.
“Fuck!” She groaned, her hand reaching down for his head as she bucked against his fingers and tongue.
He didn’t relent, moving in and out of her until he felt her body tense around him and her moans increase in volume. He really hoped that she wouldn’t alert the guards outside because he’s not sure he’d be able to pull away if they happened to rush in. He didn’t care…
She looked so beautiful coming on his fingers and his tongue, her hands gripping the bedding beneath her, his hair and her eyes screwed shut in intense pleasure.
He continued until she opened them and gazed down upon him with a love struck look in her eyes. He couldn’t help but move from between her legs and kiss up her body, stopping to tease her breasts with his tongue before kissing her deeply.
She welcomed him, parting her lips and tasting herself on her tongue for the first time. His beard and lips were still so wet with her desire, it sent another spark of arousal up her spine.
“I need you, please.. I want you inside of me.” She said when he pulled back to look down upon her.
“How would you have me, your grace?” He whispered into her ear as he leaned in and nibbled at her neck and shoulder, the rest of her honey wiped away from his beard and onto her own skin.
“Let me ride you.” Her hands gripped his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist to roll him onto his back.
She smiled devilishly as she started moving against him, feeling him against her through his pants.
His hands shot out to hold her hips, “Don’t tease me too much, Khaleesi.” He groaned.
He’s been thinking about her all day and it’s been impossible to focus on anything else. He even had to cut a training session short because he was getting too carried away with his thoughts about her body, her lips and wondering what she tasted like.
Gods, how embarrassing he had thought at the moment. He hasn’t felt this way since he was a young man.
She was made to be worshipped. No wonder some thought her a goddess, a deity, with her porcelain skin and silver hair. She wasn’t of this world and he knew that the moment he laid eyes on her the very first time. He is and has always been in awe of her when she looked at him, her violet eyes were mesmerizing and impossible to turn away from.. And impossible to say no to.
She lifted her hips for him to slip his pants down, his legs kicking them off fully before she sat back onto her own legs between his. He felt a twinge of self consciousness being below her and watching her hungry eyes take all of him in. But she noticed the shift in his demeanor and immediately leaned in, her lips kissing the skin at his side and up his chest where the greyscale ravaged his body.
“I love you.. Everything about you.” She ran her hands and lips along him, tracing his scars and caressing his strong arms and body, the body that had saved her over and over again.
A fire burned in Jorah's eyes as he took in Daenerys, it had burned slowly from the moment he'd met her, and had only grown stronger with time.
Even during the darkest moments, when she'd lost her faith in him and banished him, his love and hunger for her hadn't lessened. If anything, the fire only burned hotter.
Surviving greyscale and then breathing once again after The Long Night had washed away any doubt: this was meant to happen, and he would not rest until he could convince his Khaleesi that he was worthy of her love.
As she positioned herself atop him, Jorah could feel her liquid heat brushing against his cock, inviting him in. He felt his manhood pulse, a primal desire threatening to steal his control.
There would be no more teasing, no more play. This was real, at long last, and he could wait no longer. He slowly, deeply entered her, and felt a rush of delight at her gasp as he filled her to the hilt.
He remained still there for several seconds, wanting to bask in the fantasy made real in that moment.
“Khaleesi..” He sighed in pleasure, reverently.
He pulled her down and captured her lips with his own as he began to thrust up into her. Their bodies synchronized, crashing together in their shared, nigh unquenchable want.
Daenerys never thought she would be atop her knight quite like this. All those years ago, when she first met him she was undoubtedly intrigued but she thought it was because he was from Westeros, she had never met someone from her home. But now she knows he is her home.
“Jorah..” She gasped, an answer to his own sigh of her name. Her hips moved with his slowly to get used to the feeling of him inside of her. She had assumed her knight was well endowed after their time in the cave when she felt him against her, but gods..
It’s been so long for both of them, and Daenerys has had so few lovers compared to Jorah over their combined lifetimes. There was still so much to explore with her bear that she couldn’t with Drogo or Daario, each of her past lovers so set in their ways of what sex meant.
She’s not even sure she really enjoyed the act of it until now. The love she has for Jorah is making this feel all the more intense and all consuming.
Jorah continued to surprise her with the depth of his devotion to her, especially during the night she almost lost him. Her life without him flashed before her eyes when he was in her arms and she couldn’t bear the thought of it.
She needed him more than she ever thought she did, she needed his love, his protection and now his desire.
She wanted all of it, anything he’d give her.
“You feel so good.” She kissed him again, trying to keep their pace slow so she could learn his body and adjust herself.
He hummed against her lips in agreement, before she pulled back and sat up.
Her hands pressed into his chest as she rode him, her breasts slightly bouncing with each movement of her body, taking him in over and over, still at an agonizingly slow but deep pace.
Jorah watched as his queen rose and fell to meet his thrusts, taking his cock into her and wrapping it in a snug, silky warmth. Soft groans rumbled in his throat each time their hips met, an animalistic acknowledgment of his intense desire for her.
His strong, yet gentle hands reached up to caress her ample breasts, kneading the tender flesh and teasing her sensitive nipples until they stiffened beneath his nimble fingers.
"Mmm, Dany," he growled as he pounded up into her harder, breaking their rhythm to experience her reaction. She let out a lustful moan and gripped his wrists, pressing his hands harder against her breasts.
Another hard thrust, and she gasped as arousal tore through her.
"My sweet bear...don't stop...please, never stop..." she breathed, riding him at his pace now, her hips grinding and rising and falling.
"Never again, my love," he whispered roughly. "You're mine now, and you always will be."
She needed him to take over, her hips not keeping up with his thrusts, her rhythm faltering as she got lost in her own pleasure. When she leaned down to kiss him she kept her hips tight to him and hinted that she wanted him to roll over. He grabbed her hips, rolling them easily so he was on top with her legs wrapped around his waist.
She bucked up into him, impatiently craving his powerful thrusts and he couldn't help but oblige.
Daenerys looked a vision below him with her silver tendrils on the pillow around her face, her cheeks rosy and her lips swollen pink from his kisses. As he gazed at his queen, he could tell she was close by the way her eyes shut and the way her back arched into him as her hands gripped onto him.
“Gods..” She moaned loudly, her body meeting each of his ardent thrusts. Her nails digging into his skin.
He could feel her inner muscles tighten around his length as he filled her, she was so close to tipping over the edge.
Jorah increased the intensity and speed of his thrusts, thrilled to take control from her. He all but growled with equal parts pain and pleasure as her nails dug deep into his back and scratched. They'd leave marks for sure, but he didn't care. He'd wear the scratches with pride and honor.
He knew what he was getting into - a tumble in bed with a dragon.
Faster, harder, deeper he drove into his Queen, while she gasped and moaned and, soon, cried out as an orgasm took control of her body. She stiffened against him, and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as if to prevent him from ever escaping her grasp.
Nearly a minute later, her body finally relaxed enough that Jorah could lean in to kiss Daenerys again. Their tongues lazily tangled as he began, once more, to rhythmically drive into her lava-hot core.
He could feel the sweet ache begin within his loins and knew it wouldn't be long before he'd also surrender himself to a pleasure he could, previously, only dream of.
And he was honestly impressed that he even lasted through her orgasm, especially having dreamt about this moment so many times. It was nearly impossible not to give into his own release while she tightened and tensed around him, but he wanted to give his Queen more.
Her hands slid down his shoulder blades and to his arms, her nails gently scratching this time as she kissed him deeply. Her lips traveled to the corner of his, down his jawline and to his neck where she sucked and bit, wanting to leave a mark with her teeth.
He hissed as she bit, but her tongue soothed and kissed along his neck gently.
When her lips made it up to his ear she whispered things that a queen shouldn’t, but she wasn’t just his queen in this moment. She was his lover, a woman mad with pleasure, wanting to break his restraint.
“Come inside me, Jorah..” She finally moaned softly, while taking one of his hands and moving it between them to find her clit.
Dany's words were like a bolt of lightning driving through his entire body, sending shivers along his spine and tingles through his already throbbing cock.
He obeyed his Queen's command by intensifying his thrusts, grunting and moaning as he pounded into her.
His fingers found her soft, sensitive button and began to stroke and tease it. In that moment, he felt so very powerful, so perfectly in control, but she'd always be his Queen, his Khaleesi, and hers to command.
Nothing would tear them apart ever again. The arousal within him grew to an intensity he could no longer hold back.
"Gods, Dany...fuck...I'm coming.." He surrendered his body to the tidal wave of unbridled release.
His cock pulsated inside her, and he embraced her against his body as he grunted and twitched. Her own orgasm crashing into her as well, just as intense as his. Her whole body tingling and feeling so many different emotions at once.
Only after he was completely spent, did he finally release her from his grip and tenderly kiss her.
"I love you...I love you..." he whispered breathlessly against her neck, just under her right ear, meaning the words more than he ever had in his life.
She kissed her knight over and over, messily, lazily.. “I love you too my bear.”
She sighed pleasantly, and pulled him close again until their breathing evened out.
In this moment she was thankful for the soft cool breeze coming through the balcony curtains - her skin feeling hot even to herself so she couldn’t imagine how hot she felt to her knight.
She smiled and kissed Jorah once more before pulling away to wash herself but he beat her to it. His longer arm reached for the wash basin on the side table near her bed, moving the clean washcloth between her legs so gently.
“Hmm I don’t think I’ve ever had a lover do this for me.” She hummed, knowing that it’s probably rare for a man to care after finding pleasure.
Usually her lovers would roll away and fall asleep within minutes after they’ve found their release.
While he’s a bit sad to hear that no other man had cared for her so intimately, he’s glad to know that he’ll be the one taking care of her from now on.
“I always will,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with conviction. Jorah’s gaze softened as he gently ran his hand along her back while she layed on her side, his touch both grounding and tender.
Daenerys turned her head slightly to look at him, her silver hair tumbling over her shoulder. There was a light in her eyes—a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and something deeper.
“Is that so, my gallant knight?” she teased, though her tone was gentle, lacking any real bite.
He gave her a small smile, his hand pausing at the curve of her hip.
“You deserve nothing less, my Queen. Not just on the battlefield or in court, but here...in all things.”
Her heart gave a small flutter at his words, a warmth spreading through her chest that she hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just speaking empty promises—Jorah never did.
Everything he said carried weight, a truth she couldn’t ignore. She tilted her head, studying him, as if trying to unravel the layers of the man before her.
“You know,” she began softly, her fingers idly tracing patterns against his forearm, “you keep saying all these things, and I can’t help but think...you might spoil me.”
He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that rumbled in his chest. “If that’s the case, then I hope to be very successful in my endeavor.”
“I don’t think I’d mind it…” She murmured.
“No one else will ever love you as I do, Daenerys. No one else sees you as I do.”
It was moments like this—when his devotion shone so clearly—that she realized just how deeply he felt for her.
“And how is it you see me, Jorah?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her teasing replaced by genuine curiosity.
He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her more directly. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing softly against her skin.
“As the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “A leader, a conqueror, a dreamer. But more than that...as someone who deserves to be cherished. Completely.”
Her smile grew, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. They stayed like that for a while, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room, the weight of the world beyond the door forgotten - if only for a moment.
But then Jorah sighed, his arms wrapped securely around her as if he could keep her there forever. Even in the warmth of this moment, reality gnawed at the edges.
Morning would come too quickly, and with it, prying eyes and wagging tongues.
He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, lingering as though savoring the feel of her against him. “I should go,” he murmured reluctantly.
Daenerys pulled back slightly, her brows knitting in displeasure. “No,” she said, her tone almost petulant. “Stay.”
He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. “If I stay until morning, it won’t just be the kitchen staff whispering about us,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.
She huffed, her fingers trailing down his chest as if trying to anchor him in place. “Let them talk.”
He chuckled softly, catching her hand in his. “We’ve worked too hard to keep appearances, my Queen. It wouldn’t do for your Lord Commander to be seen sneaking out of your chambers like some common scoundrel. We have to be patient.”
Reluctantly, he slipped out of the bed, his movements careful and quiet. He dressed quickly, casting her a glance every so often as if afraid he might lose the sight of her.
She propped herself up on one elbow, watching him with an amused smile that softened into something more tender as he buckled his belt.
“Will you come back tomorrow night?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with desire.
He crossed the room, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her lips.
“If my Queen commands it,” he said, his words a quiet promise.
Daenerys smirked, her fingers brushing against his as he pulled away.
“Consider it a royal decree.”
Jorah chuckled, his heart aching at the thought of leaving her, even for a few hours. But he knew it was for the best. With one last look, he slipped out of the chamber, the secret door closing softly behind him and locking with the key she gave him.
Daenerys lay back against the pillows, her heart full and her mind racing.
Morning would come soon enough, but for now, she allowed herself the luxury of imagining his return.
Seated at the head of the table in the council chamber, Daenerys tried to focus on Tyrion’s latest proposal regarding trade agreements. Yet her thoughts wandered, her gaze drifting toward Jorah, who sat at his usual chair near the door. He looked every bit the dutiful Lord Commander—stoic, alert, and entirely unbothered.
But she knew better.
Her eyes flicked to the faint shadow of a bruise peeking out from beneath his collar, a mark she’d left during their last encounter. A smirk played at her lips, and she quickly looked away, burying the expression behind her goblet of wine.
Jorah, for his part, felt her gaze like a physical touch. He kept his eyes trained forward, though his thoughts were anything but disciplined.
He remembered the feel of her hands on him, the way she whispered his name, the way she looked at him as if he were her world. His grip on the pommel of his sword tightened, grounding himself as Tyrion’s voice droned on.
“Your Grace?”
Daenerys snapped back to attention, realizing Tyrion was addressing her.
“Forgive me, Lord Tyrion. What were you saying?” she asked, her voice steady despite the faint blush coloring her cheeks.
Tyrion’s keen eyes flicked between her and Jorah.
“Merely wondering if our trade envoy should negotiate terms in Braavos or Volantis first. But if something else is occupying your mind, I’m happy to wait.”
Daenerys straightened in her seat, her expression firm.
“Braavos. Their ships will be more useful.”
“As you wish,” Tyrion said, his smirk growing as he jotted down her decision.
Later that day, Daenerys found herself watching Jorah from the balcony as he sparred with Grey Worm. His movements were precise, his strikes controlled but powerful. She marveled at the way his muscles moved beneath his tunic, her heart quickening at the memory of those same hands and strength holding her so gently.
Jorah felt her presence before he saw her. He glanced up briefly, catching her gaze. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, and he nearly missed blocking Grey Worm’s next strike.
“Focus, Lord Commander,” He said, lowering his sword.
“Apologies..” Jorah replied, adjusting his grip.
Grey Worm followed his line of sight to the balcony, where Daenerys stood. A knowing look crossed his face, though he said nothing, resuming their sparring with renewed vigor.
By nightfall, when the day’s duties had concluded, their restraint crumbled entirely.
“Did you enjoy the view earlier?” Jorah asked as he entered her chambers, his voice low and teasing.
Daenerys looked up from her desk, setting down her quill. “Immensely,” she replied, rising to meet him. “Though I think Grey Worm might have bested you if I’d lingered any longer.”
“He already gives me enough bruises without you distracting me, Your Grace,” he said with mock reproach.
Daenerys smiled, stepping closer. “Perhaps I’ll make it up to you,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the collar of his tunic.
For a moment, the world outside her chambers ceased to exist.
In his arms, she found a sanctuary, a reprieve from the pressures of her crown. And though their time together was fleeting, it was enough to sustain them through the long hours apart.
But as the days wore on, the strain of maintaining appearances grew.
Tyrion’s looks became more pointed, and even Missandei seemed to glance between them with veiled curiosity.
They knew the façade couldn’t last forever, but for now, they reveled in the stolen moments that were theirs alone.
Chapter 6: Tethered Forever
Summary:
Merry Christmas :)
Chapter Text
The months that followed were a delicate balance of clandestine passion and political maneuvering. Jorah had become a constant presence in Daenerys’s chambers, their nights together stolen moments of desire and vulnerability. He would slip away in the early hours, careful to avoid the prying eyes of servants and courtiers.
Meanwhile, Tyrion and Varys worked tirelessly to sow the seeds of acceptance among the lords and smallfolk, spreading the narrative that their queen, in her quest to break the wheel, deserved the freedom to choose love on her own terms.
While their efforts bore fruit, resistance lingered among the more traditional houses. Tyrion insisted on patience, counseling that they let the idea settle further before revealing anything that could be perceived as calculated manipulation.
One morning, on the day of an important council meeting, Daenerys was late. Missandei entered the council chambers to relay her queen's apologies, explaining that Daenerys was feeling unwell but would join them shortly. Tyrion’s brow furrowed with concern, and Jorah’s expression mirrored his, though he masked it behind his usual stoicism.
When Daenerys finally arrived, she seemed composed, though a faint pallor clung to her. Throughout the meeting, Tyrion observed her with a keen eye, his suspicions stirring. He had noticed subtle changes over the past few weeks—the way her meals had shifted – her sudden pickiness with her dinner, the absence of certain dresses, and the quiet adjustments made to her wardrobe. Something was amiss, and he intended to get to the bottom of it.
As the meeting concluded and the council began to disperse, Tyrion raised his voice. “Your Grace, Lord Commander, might I ask you both to stay behind?”
Daenerys exchanged a glance with Jorah, expecting some political matter to be raised. When the chamber was empty save for the three of them, Tyrion leaned back in his chair, his piercing gaze moving between them.
“Have you two finally started fucking?” he asked bluntly, his tone conversational but his eyes sharp.
“Tyrion!” Daenerys’s voice rose, her hand shooting out to Jorah’s arm as he surged forward, his expression dark with anger. She’s possibly just saved Tyrion from getting knocked on his ass.
"You’re completely out of line, Tyrion," Jorah growled, his fists clenched.
"Yes, yes, I’m terribly inappropriate," Tyrion replied, waving a dismissive hand, "but we’ve all faced the undead and worse together, so let’s dispense with the formalities. Besides, I know the two of you better than you think."
Tyrion had been observing them closely since they returned from Bear Island. Usually he left that to Varys but it was so evident that something happened.. Something had changed in their relationship and he was worried about others noticing as well. They were good at hiding certain aspects of their closeness but the heavy tension that always existed in the room when they were near each other was no longer. It wasn’t smothering like it had been in the past and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Then there's the problem with the Queen’s health and habits changing over the months. If she doesn't think that it’s his business, then she is mistaken. Her health and well-being will always be her hand’s business.
"You are still speaking to your queen!" Jorah reminded him, his tone commanding.
"Yes, and you're growling at the Queen's Hand," Tyrion reminds him. "Calm yourself, Lord Commander. I mean no disrespect. I’m simply uninterested in playing coy. The tension between you two has always been thick enough to cut with a steel blade. If you’ve resolved it, perhaps we can move on to more pressing matters..."
Daenerys sighed, her fingers tightening slightly on Jorah’s forearm. There was no use denying it, not with Tyrion’s uncanny ability to unearth the truth.
“Yes,” she admitted, her voice steady but tired.
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. “Well, that explains quite a few things that I’ve noticed. Now, to the more delicate question: when was your last moonsblood?”
Daenerys stiffened, her hand falling from Jorah’s arm as she fixed Tyrion with a sharp glare. “I haven’t had it regularly since Rhago,” she replied. “Why are you asking me this?”
Before Tyrion could answer, Jorah shifted in his seat, his gaze fixed intently on her. A dawning realization crossed his features, and Daenerys’s breath caught as she understood the implications.
Tyrion leaned forward, his voice softening. “Your Grace, I know what that witch told you, but surely you’ve noticed the changes. Your appetite, your energy, your preferences—they’re not subtle.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “It would seem that, against all odds, you’ve conceived. And, as fate would have it, the bear has broken the curse.”
Daenerys stared at him, her mind racing. “That’s impossible,” she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief.
Jorah’s hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers in a steadying gesture. “If it’s true,” he said, his voice low and filled with wonder, “then it’s nothing short of a miracle.”
The room fell silent, the gravity of the moment enveloping them. Daenerys’s heart pounded as she looked between the two men, the weight of hope and fear pressing down on her.
For the first time in years, she dared to imagine what it might mean to bring life into the world—not as a queen, but as a woman who had fought and endured more than most could fathom.
Jorah stared at Daenerys – Could it possibly be true? He spoke the question aloud, his voice tinged with equal parts shock and wonder.
Tyrion shrugged, his sharp eyes flicking between the two. “Stranger things have happened in Westeros, Lord Commander. I’m no maester, but you do have one you trust. Perhaps it’s time you speak with him to confirm my suspicions—and your feelings, whether they be fear or hope.”
He smirked, though there was a seriousness in his tone. “I’d wager on fear. A pregnancy within King’s Landing, with the Queen unmarried? That’s a scandal waiting to unravel everything we’ve worked for. Calling it a challenge would be putting it lightly.”
With that, Tyrion hopped down from his chair and made his way toward the door. His expression softened slightly before he exited. “Whatever path you choose, I’ll support you both. But think carefully. This isn’t something you can put off—or hide.”
When the door clicked shut, the silence between them was palpable. Daenerys remained frozen, her gaze distant as if lost in a fog of thought. It wasn’t until Jorah spoke her name softly that she blinked and returned to herself.
He knelt before her, his warm hand cupping her cheek, the other resting on hers in her lap. His touch grounded her, a gentle anchor in the storm of her thoughts. “Daenerys,” he whispered, his voice steady and filled with concern.
Her eyes met his, glimmering with unshed tears.
“It can’t be true… can it?” Her voice wavered, caught between hope and disbelief. She took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. If it was true, a child—his child—was growing within her.
Of course it would be him.
“I’ve noticed changes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “The mornings have felt different. Fatigue, nausea... And my dresses. They haven’t been fitting the same.” Her brows knit together as realization dawned.
“I thought I was simply less stressed, that my body was finally adjusting to a new rhythm, and the food in King’s Landing but...”
Jorah’s hand moved instinctively to her stomach. Though it was too early to feel any real difference, he swore he could sense something—a quiet promise of life. His lips parted as if to speak, but for a moment, he was overcome by the enormity of the possibility. A child. Their child.
“I want to believe it,” he finally said, his voice reverent, “but we must be sure. Let’s speak to Maester Samwell. He’ll know the truth, and we can trust him to be discreet.”
Daenerys nodded, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his lips before wrapping her arms around him. Her head rested on his shoulder, seeking the comfort and reassurance only he could provide.
They remained entwined for a time, the world outside forgotten, until the sound of movement beyond the council chamber reminded them of their duties.
Days later, they visited Grand Maester Samwell, their trusted confidant. Having already been informed of their impending marriage, he was not overly surprised when they came to him with their suspicions.
Ever the professional, Samwell conducted his examination with care, his hands gentle and his questions measured. Jorah stood nearby, his presence a steadying force for Daenerys. Samwell’s demeanor, a mix of compassion and optimism, was reassuring.
“Well,” he said finally, a broad smile spreading across his face. “It seems your suspicions are correct. I’d estimate you’re about three months along.”
Daenerys stared at him, her hand tightening around Jorah’s. Even though she had begun to suspect, hearing the confirmation left her stunned. She glanced up at Jorah, her expression a mix of disbelief and cautious joy.
Jorah thanked Samwell on their behalf, his voice steady despite the emotions swirling within him. Once the maester left the chambers, Daenerys turned to him, her voice trembling.
“What do we do now? I’m happy, of course, but what happens when I start to show? What if everyone finds out before we’re ready? Should we marry now so no one could question our child’s legitimacy?”
Jorah considered her words, his protective instincts sharpening. “A handfasting would be simple,” he said. “It would secure your honor and the child’s place as your heir. We could hold a grander ceremony for the realm later.”
As if summoned by fate, Samwell reentered the room, a knowing look on his face.
“If I may,” he said gently, “a formal union now would be wise. It would solidify the foundation for what’s to come.” Of course Sam would be thinking these things. He’s seen enough and read enough to know historically how these types of situations turn out. They needed to solidify now, in case of questions in the future and they needed witnesses.
“I’d be honored to officiate, should you wish, once your witnesses are gathered.” He said, somewhat excited by the chance to marry a Queen secretly to her love.
Daenerys nodded, her mind whirling.
“Tyrion and Missandei,” Jorah suggested. “They should be our witnesses.”
Samwell nodded in agreement and left to summon them. As the room fell quiet, Daenerys rose suddenly, moving to one of her drawers. She rifled through the contents until she pulled out a piece of clothing, her eyes softening.
“I almost forgot, I didn’t think we would need this so suddenly but,” she said, smiling as she handed the cloak to Jorah. It was the ancestral cloak of House Mormont, the one he would place on her shoulders to signify her protection under his name.
Jorah took it with reverence, his heart swelling at the sight of the familiar garment. “How do you have this? I didn’t even know this still existed..” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Of course,” Daenerys replied. “I knew this day would come so I had Lyanna send it to me.”.
He feels the weight of its meaning and takes a deep breath, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. With a smile, he steadies himself, knowing this moment is theirs, one they’ve both longed for.
They decide to hold the handfast in Daenerys’s chambers. The room is filled with warm light, offering a peaceful sanctuary away from the prying eyes of King's Landing. Anywhere else would risk unwanted attention, and they both want this moment to be theirs alone.
Once Tyrion and Missandei have arrived, Samwell, ever the professional, opens a dusty old tome and begins the ceremony.
"Dearest of family and friends, we have gathered here to support and strengthen this most sacred bond. This uniting of two paths into a single journey asks of us to be thoughtful, intentional, and honest."
Tyrion, ever the cynic, can likely be heard smiling at the mention of honesty.
Samwell continues, "This union brings with it a deep and unending realization of one's responsibility to their intended, and the understanding that love, loyalty, compassion, and compromise are the foundations of an enduring — and happy — home."
Sam gestures to Missandei, who each holds the sacred cord. She smiles as she passes the cords to Daenerys and Jorah, who take it and carefully wrap it around each other's wrists and hands.
"At this cherished moment, Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Westeros, and Jorah Mormont, Lord Commander, will handfast to symbolize that their union takes place not only on a physical level, but on a spiritual one as well."
With each turn of the cord, Daenerys and Jorah deepen their commitment to one another, wrapping the cords tighter as they vow to respect and support each other, to grow together, and to face the future as one.
"Through this ancient tradition, and with each wrapping, you deepen your commitment to each other, vowing from now until death to respect and support one another, to grow with one another, to offer each other compassion, counsel, and understanding, and to take each new challenge as it comes... as one. May this bond never be broken." Sam continues.
“May this bond never be broken.” They repeat to each other. They finish tying the cords together and Samwell continues, his voice full of warmth.
“Now that your hands are bound together, and your hearts and lives are joined as one, may this bond be a reminder of the love, trust, and commitment you have made to one another today. May you walk hand in hand through life, supporting and cherishing one another. May your love continue to grow stronger with each passing day, and may this knot, though it can be loosened, never be broken.”
Samwell smiles brightly, signaling the end of the ceremony. He gives them the go-ahead to seal their vows with a kiss.
Daenerys and Jorah lean in, their kiss a simple but sincere expression of their new bond. It’s not long, as they both remain reserved because of their present company, but the sentiment is undeniable. It’s a kiss that marks the beginning of their shared journey.
“I love you..” Jorah whispers into her ear as they embrace. She holds him tighter as she whispers back her love for him as well.
After they break, Jorah quickly removes the Bear Island cloak, placing it lovingly over Daenerys’s shoulders. He pulls her close for another kiss, this one more tender, as the weight of the moment settles between them. She’s always been under his protection but now it’s because she is his wife, not just his Queen.
With the ceremony complete, Tyrion looks genuinely pleased, something Daenerys doesn’t take for granted. He’s always been cautious, thinking of how the kingdoms will respond, but at the heart of it, he’s a friend who cares about their happiness. Missandei is overjoyed, embracing her friend and Ser Jorah with a smile, as Samwell, ever the romantic, watches on with fondness.
The newlyweds take a moment to sign scrolls for history's sake and to make sure their union is well documented. Tyrion and Missandei sign as witnesses, and Samwell looks on, giving them an encouraging smile.
Tyrion, ever the opportunist for a reason to celebrate… well, drink, finds the wine in his Queen’s chambers and raises his glass in a toast.
"As much trouble as the two of you have given me, I’m honored to be a witness and to guide your rule alongside you both," he says, his eyes glinting with sincerity. "May your reign be long and peaceful."
After a sip, he drains most of his glass. "We should celebrate. Someone tell the kitchens that we’re celebrating something... anything." He smiles slyly, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Tyrion ends up making up a reason to have a feast and lots of wine. Telling the kitchens that it’s an ancient Targaryen day, one of love, food and drink. He can talk anyone into anything, easily.
Chapter 7: Fire and Honey
Notes:
hi all, sorry for the wait! a lot has been going on in my side of the world - including an annoying sprained ankle for new years which might have been due to alcohol :)
enjoy
Chapter Text
The feast was intimate, a rare respite from the ever-looming weight of their shared burdens. Daenerys, Jorah, Tyrion, Missandei, Grey Worm, and Samwell sat around a long table illuminated by the warm glow of candles. Plates overflowed with food, wine flowed freely, and laughter echoed softly against the stone walls. For once, Daenerys allowed herself to bask in the camaraderie of her closest companions.
Jorah sat beside her, quiet but present as ever, his sharp eyes scanning the room even as he drank.
Tyrion, ever the opportunist, had been topping off Jorah’s cup with practiced subtlety all evening. Though the Lord Commander rarely indulged, tonight he seemed willing to humor the Hand of the Queen—if only to keep him occupied.
“So,” Tyrion said, swirling his wine, “tell me, Ser Jorah, did you always have such an affinity for dragons, or was it a skill developed out of sheer necessity?”
Jorah raised a brow, his expression one of dry amusement. “Affinity might be a generous word.”
Tyrion grinned, undeterred. “And yet you seem so comfortable around them. You must have stories. Come now, enlighten us. Was Drogon always this charming, or did he go through an awkward phase of biting everything in sight?”
“Biting? Yes.” Jorah echoed, his tone turning wry. “Also incinerating. Charming is not the word I’d use for that phase, but he had his moments. Back when he was small enough to perch on my shoulder, he once sneezed fire into my hair.”
Tyrion nearly spit out his wine, laughing. “A flaming knight of House Mormont! That’s an image I won’t soon forget. Tell me, did you smell like charred bear fur for days?”
Jorah smirked, taking another sip. “Weeks. Daenerys said it was an improvement.”
Daenerys, caught mid-drink, coughed into her watered down wine as laughter overtook her. “I did not!” she protested, though her grin betrayed her.
As the evening wore on, Jorah’s tongue loosened under Tyrion’s persistent coaxing.
He leaned back in his seat, his voice cutting but calm. “Tell me, Lannister, do you ever grow tired of hearing your own voice, or is it just as stimulating for you as it is for the rest of us?” Tyrion raised his cup in mock acknowledgment.
“Ah, the famed wit of Jorah Mormont. You must save it for special occasions. Or perhaps just when the wine has done its work?”
“No, I reserve it for those with thick enough skins to handle it. Though with you, I sometimes wonder if I’m wasting my time.” Jorah’s smile was faint, but the gleam in his eyes was razor-sharp.
“It’s a good thing I enjoy a challenge.” Tyrion chuckled, unoffended.
Across the table, Missandei and Samwell were immersed in quieter conversation. Sam, always more interested in sustenance than spirits, picked at a plate of fresh fruit.
Finally, he cleared his throat and looked up at Daenerys, his expression earnest.
“Your Grace,” he began hesitantly, “I just want to thank you again—for everything. You’ve given me and Gilly a safe, comfortable home for little Sam. I hope you know how deeply I appreciate it. And when your own child is born... I’d like to repay you in any way I can.”
Daenerys’s features softened as she listened. She’d worked hard to rebuild trust with Samwell since Winterfell. The weight of her earlier mistakes—the grief she had brought to his family—had lingered heavily on her conscience. Offering him and Gilly a life of peace and security was the least she could do, but Sam’s gratitude made it feel worthwhile.
She’d even gone so far as to offer him the Lordship of House Tarly, an olive branch to restore what had been taken from him. Sam had declined, asking instead for his remaining kin to be given the title while he, Gilly, and their son stayed in King’s Landing. His dream had always been to serve as a Maester, and she was more than willing to grant him that. He’d proven himself invaluable on her council, someone she now counted as both an advisor and a close friend.
Jorah shared her sentiment. Together, they had grown to consider Samwell part of their inner circle, bound not just by loyalty but by genuine affection.
Missandei, seated beside Daenerys, sipped her wine with a quiet smile.
She watched the Queen and Sam exchange kind words, a warmth settling in her chest. It reminded her of simpler times—when it had just been Daenerys, Grey Worm, Jorah, and herself. Those were her chosen family, and she was glad for the additions of Tyrion and Samwell.
Her Queen was loved, protected, and surrounded by people who would go to any lengths for her.
Missandei’s gaze flickered to Jorah, who leaned slightly closer to Daenerys as the evening went on. She had noticed the subtle shifts long before now— more stolen glances, the soft smiles, the tenderness beneath the surface. And then, of course, today’s revelations had confirmed everything.
The moment Missandei and Tyrion had stepped into Daenerys’s chambers earlier, summoned for what had felt like a private unveiling, it all made sense. The ill-fitting dresses, the Queen’s uncharacteristic complaints about feeling “off,” the soft glow that seemed to follow her lately—it all added up.
And now, all of that was out in the open, between this close knit group- Missandei was incredibly grateful and happy for her friends. Naturally, she would always worry about their future, but she knew what she was getting into when she decided to follow the Mother of Dragon’s all those years ago.
“What are you thinking about?” Daenerys’s voice broke through Missandei’s reverie. The Queen’s violet eyes were warm, curious.
Missandei smiled sweetly, her wineglass balanced between delicate fingers.
“I’m just glad you’re getting what you’ve always wanted. What you truly deserve.” Her gaze flickered to Jorah briefly, the silent promise of his unwavering devotion evident even in his posture.
Daenerys would be forever safe with Jorah and that their child will be so, so loved in this chaotic world.
By the time Tyrion had his fill of wine he was slumped onto the bench seat, snoring softly, and Jorah was leaning into Daenerys’s side. A sign that the night was winding down.
“You’re breathtaking tonight, Khaleesi.”
She arched a brow, teasing. “Is that the wine talking, or the knight?”
“The wine has loosened my tongue,” he admitted, his voice turning serious, “but the words are mine.”
She started to rise to her feet, helping him up as well, though his broad form made the task challenging. He caught her waist to steady himself, his hands lingering.
Grey Worm started to rise to help Daenerys but she shook her head, “It’s okay.” She smiled and gave everyone else a look of thanks before dismissing herself and her Lord Commander from the dining hall.
“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice low and husky, his gaze fixed on hers as they walked a different way back to their chambers.
“To bed, my husband,” she teased, her voice light. “Our room..”
Jorah blinks at her. “Our.. room..?” He’s obviously thrilled that her chambers are now his own. He didn’t want to assume. Daenerys can't help but laugh, guiding him down the secret passages, a shortcut.
“We’re going to my lair, ser,” she teases, her heart light with joy. “I want to enjoy my husband on our first night of marriage.”
She guided him down the passage to their chambers, his footsteps uneven but his presence solid and warm.
At one point, he stopped them both, his lips brushing against her hair and her temple.
“You smell of fire and honey,” he murmured, his words a blend of affection and desire.
“That’s what you are. No wonder I’m helpless around you, you know what they say about bears and honey.” His lips found her neck, slowly kissing along her soft skin, down to her shoulder.
Daenerys laughed softly, wrapping her arm more firmly around his waist to keep them moving. “A poetic drunk. I might have to thank Tyrion after all.”
Jorah chuckled, leaning into her as they walked further down the torch lit passageway. “Don’t. He’ll only take credit for my charm.”
Daenerys felt an overwhelming sense of joy, knowing that tonight marks the beginning of a new chapter for them both. Even if Jorah doesn’t remember half of it in the morning, she’ll never forget the sight of him laughing and storytelling, completely at ease.
Although she will have words for Tyrion in the morn about getting her Lord Commander so drunk on their wedding night.
His hands find her waist again, stopping them short, his body pressing close behind her as he nuzzles into her neck. “Khaleesi…” he growls.
She lets go of his arm for a moment to reach into her pockets, searching for her keys, the one to open the secret door that they’ve stopped in front of, the one that connects directly to their bed chamber.
But Jorah has other plans, like he’s suddenly remembered why they’ve been celebrating all night. A man possessed with desire, his hands are touching as much of her as he can, sliding up her hips, her waist and to her breasts which are practically falling out of the dress she decided to wear tonight.
“I’m trying to open the door, Jorah.” She laughs, distracted by the kisses he’s peppering along her neck and the way he’s gripping her hips again and pulling her body back into his.
“Jorah.. please. ” Daenerys tries to scold him but it comes out more breathy than she had intended. The alcohol has definitely emboldened her knight, his hand works on the buttons and snaps on her dress.
She doesn't move, letting him push down her dress off her shoulders and further down past her breasts once he’s loosened enough closures. His hand slides up from her waist and wraps around her, caressing every inch of skin he’s uncovered.
His large hand continues sliding up between her breasts, his fingers gently caressing and tracing along her right collarbone and the hollow in between - they continue moving across to her left collarbone and up the side of her neck, his thumb still sitting in the hollow of her neck. His arm is rested across her breasts, his hand still gripping her lower neck and shoulder as she tilts her head to present her neck to him - finally submitting to his ministrations.
He moans at this and kisses along her skin, biting where her neck and shoulder meet before soothing the mark with his tongue.
“Jorah..” She says again but with a whimper. He’s rarely fully in control when they’ve been together - usually she’s commanding him, teasing him or riding him. He’s a confident man in bed but he has always followed her lead completely, not wanting to push her too far or take too many liberties.
And for some silly reason, she had felt that she needed to be the dominant one since she was his Queen, since he was still her knight… but now he’s her husband and they’re on equal footing. He's taught her so much about the balance of both in a relationship like theirs.
Now she can let down her guard even more, which she didn’t even think was possible with him since she's already bared so much. Jorah has obviously felt this change as well, with the help of all the ale and wine accelerating it. Her moans and whimpers are fueling him to continue, to make her fall apart.
His head is still a little thick with drink and an almost primal lust for her: his Khaleesi, his Queen, and now his bride. The hunger for her is insatiable, his thirst unquenchable. His hands grasp at her desperately. He wants to take her, then and there, and to the hells with anyone who happens to see them or object.
However he is starting to think clearly enough, though, to know that he doesn't want to be brutish.
Daenerys is not a woman of the night in a King's Landing brothel; she’s his Queen, his everything, and he wants what they experience to be borne of passion and devotion.
"I need you; right now. Please, my love," He whispers raspingly, one of his hands reaching down to start to pull her skirts up.
He knows that they either have to do this here and now, or make haste toward any room where they can have privacy. He can't bear to wait much longer to have her.
He decides in haste that he'd rather have her in bed, so he manages to take the key from her hand and help her open the door. Once they’re through and the door is locked from the other side he swoops Dany up in his arms. She lets out a gasp and laughs once she realizes that he has a good grip on her, she already knows he would never drop her.
Jorah carries her over to the bed only a few feet away, before gently setting her down to stand.
“So impatient, my knight.” She soothes, her dress still half undone but she begins to help him undo the rest.
“I can’t help myself, look at you.” He says lovingly, always in awe that she’s his. His eyes scan over her new curves, they're subtle but he knows every inch of her body. Her breasts being the most noticeable change so far - if she thought he was obsessed with the peaks and valleys of her body before, she's not ready for his attentions while her body is carrying their child.
Jorah never thought in a million years that this would ever happen, he dreamed, but never felt that it would become a reality.
“You’re quite domineering when you’re feeling this lustrous.” She raises an eyebrow at him as he all but rips her dress down and off of her body, “I had a dream like this once..” She blushes as she remembers it, she had it ages ago before she really knew her feelings for him.
It shook her the whole day after and to this day she hasn’t forgotten it.
Jorah looks down at her curiously, as if asking her to go on.
“You held my hands above my head while you took me,” A beautiful blush started to creep onto her cheeks, “And you whispered ‘mine’ into my ear over and over.”
"Perhaps it was a premonition," He says desperately as he starts to roughly tear at his own clothing, which there seems to be far too much of. He’s certain he’s ruining some fine linens, but they can be mended. All he really cares about is having her skin touching his.
When they are, at last, completely naked, he pulls her back into his arms and gently lowers her onto the bed. No more teasing, no more playing.
Jorah’s craving for her can no longer be delayed. He presses his lips to hers recklessly, their tongues twisting and tangling before he begins to make his way down to her full breasts that have been teasing him all night.
"You wore that dress on purpose." He says against her skin.
And before she can protest and deny he greedily captures one of her nipples in his mouth and suckles as his hands sling her legs around his hips. He's pressing himself against her forcefully now, and she can feel how close he is to entering her and how hard he is for her. He slides between her legs, her honey coating him while his cock teases her clit.
After he releases her breast from his hungry mouth, his eyes meet hers as he lines himself up and slowly starts to inch himself inside of her. She's perfect - soft, warm, willing and his.
He groans at how tight and wet she is around him; how well they seem to fit together, as if that connection was meant to be. Jorah's lips find hers again, kissing her slowly as she adjusts around his length. He loves this moment, just before he starts to move and she's taking these deep breathes as her legs wrap around his waist until he's fully sheathed.
He looks down upon her as he starts moving into her with a deep, slow, steady rhythm, and he leans into her neck...but before he does, he whispers roughly into her ear, "Mine."
And takes both of her hands in his large one, holding them above her head against the bed.
“Mine..” He kisses just below her ear, thrusting his hips harder into her.
She gasps and quivers around him, almost coming undone instantly when he speaks like he did in her dreams. Reality is even better than dreams, knowing that she really is his, finally.
“Jorah..” She moans, feeling his other hand gently grab a handful of her hair, keeping it from her face as their lips find each other again.
She keeps her legs wrapped around his waist, pushing him into her even more, needing him as close as possible.
He is now more intoxicated by her body than the drink, and spellbound by her moans and gasps of pleasure. He’s trying so hard to keep his pace slow to extend this rapture, but the sensation is so overwhelming, he fears he won't be able to hold out for long.
Not when she looks like this below him.
This isn't the first time they’ve been together, or even the tenth, but somehow, it feels even better than the first.
Their union is true, and binding, in defiance of all who'd oppose it, and the triumph of finally having her as his beloved is akin to being young again.
"I always wanted you for myself, from the very first day," He breathes heavily between thrusts.
"I craved you, like an animal starving in winter, and now, I'll dine like a king." Jorah kisses her again, his thrusts are deeper now as he indulges in his deepest desires, claiming his Khaleesi.
It’s all so overwhelming for Daenerys - having Jorah as her husband, the father of her future child and finally - finally having him take control.
Gods, she’s wanted him like this for years and maybe it’s happening now because he finally believes that she’s fully committed to him forever.
There are no more doubts in his mind that she is his and he is hers.
Daenerys had been so blind for so long, thinking that her passing thoughts of him were folly, that she was just a young girl looking for love wherever she could find it and well, he was the first to show her any true kindness and care.
She didn’t know that the love they shared was rare until she went out into the world and looked for it elsewhere. Daenerys tries not to dwell on the lost years of not listening to her heart but it just makes moments like this more meaningful and intense.
She kisses him again, her hands all around him, one playing with the curls at the back of his head and one digging her nails into his back.
Daenerys knows he’s already close - it’s been at least a week since they were last together and Jorah had been longingly staring at her, especially tonight after the handfasting.
Her own desire heightened more than she’s ever felt before by his confidence and desperation for her, and she wants to fall into that desperation with him.
“My knight.. my husband..” She moans against his lips, biting and sucking his lower lip between hers, needing more.
Hearing his Khaleesi call him her husband is as potent an aphrodisiac as he can possibly imagine.
He groans, growls, as he crashes into her again and again, feeling that sweet ache between his legs, the beginnings of what he knows will be a powerful release.
Jorah can feel her tighten around him, her kisses and moans becoming more undone and uncontrollable as he feels the beginning of her climax.
“Please… don’t stop.. Don’t ever stop..” She begs, struggling to even say another word when his thumb finds her clit, trying to take her over the edge.
“Come for me, Daenerys.. Let me feel you.” He says, in that low and gravelly voice that makes her clench around him.
She’s loud when her desire peaks, grabbing at him and pulling him down for more messy kisses. Her legs wrap around him tighter, keeping him close, he feels so good inside her as she falls apart for him.
Their bodies are slick with sweat. The bedsheets are pulled every which way or torn from the bed completely as he fucks her through her orgasm.
"Khaleesi...my Queen..my everything..." He moans huskily.
Feeling her come around him makes his heart pound… and he’s throbbing inside her, unable to hold back any longer.
“Come inside me.” She moans, wanting to feel him let go as well, “Please.”
"..oh gods..." He presses his forehead against hers and gives up any illusion of control as his orgasm approaches like a tidal wave.
Her legs pull him closer, keeping him inside of her as her own hips buck up into him, chasing another orgasm and joining him in his climax.
“Fuck..” He groans, looking down upon his Queen as he comes deep within her - watching her own orgasm consuming her.
They hold each other so close, both their bodies trembling as they come down from fiery passion. Jorah rests himself on his elbows, careful not to crush her under his weight.
He knows that she always wants to keep him close, inside of her, after they both come together, so he stays until she says otherwise. She rarely wants to part from him which is why it was so hard for him to leave her every night, but now they're married.
He can stay here forever. She’s his home.
She caresses his face in her hands as they trade slow and out of breath kisses with each other. She feels happy, safe, loved and exhausted all at once.
He gently rolls off of her and onto his side when she wiggles beneath him, pulling her close again so her head is resting against his chest.
“I love you..” He whispers into her hair, kissing her head.
“I love you too.” She sighs, listening to his heart beat relax and start to beat at its normal pace again.
It doesn’t take long until they both fall asleep in each other’s arms, finally finding the best sleep they’ve had in years.
The next morning, the sunlight streamed softly through the high windows of Daenerys’ chambers, casting a golden glow over the room.
Missandei entered quietly, her steps light as a whisper. She hesitated for a moment, clearly aware she might be interrupting something private. Finally, she spoke gently, her tone warm and familiar.
“Your Grace, I thought I’d let you both sleep in longer, but Tyrion is asking for you.”
The sound of her voice startled Jorah awake. His eyes widened as he realized the situation—this was, after all, the first time he had spent a full night in Daenerys’ chambers.
He immediately reached for the sheets, pulling them up as he cast an embarrassed glance at Missandei. Daenerys couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction, her cheeks flushing with amusement.
“Missandei has seen me nude more times than I can count, she can be trusted.” Daenerys teased softly, her laughter light and unguarded. “There’s no need to be so modest.”
Missandei, ever the consummate professional, turned away slightly but smiled knowingly.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but you have meetings this afternoon, and Ser Jorah is needed at the training grounds.”
Daenerys sighed, her fingers brushing Jorah’s hand under the sheets as if reluctant to let him go.
“Duty calls,” she murmured with a hint of regret before turning to Missandei. “Thank you for the reminder.”
Jorah leaned over and kissed Daenerys softly, the tender moment lingering between them.
Then, clutching the bedsheet tightly around his waist, he rose with as much dignity as the situation allowed.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, his voice gruff with a hint of humor, “I’ll leave you to your morning.”
He then moved as quickly as a man can while clutching a bedsheet around his waist, and he thanked the gods that his room is next to hers. They’ll have to remember to move his things to their shared room later on.
Missandei waited until the door clicked shut behind him before turning back to Daenerys, her expression more open now that they were alone.
“You seem... happy, Your Grace,” she observed gently, her tone carrying both curiosity and warmth.
Daenerys let out a soft sigh, sitting up and wrapping a silk robe around herself.
“It feels strange,” she admitted. “To be this happy, to feel this... normal. For so long, I’ve been consumed by my quest— But with Jorah, I feel... human again.”
Missandei smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’ve always been human, your grace. You’ve just had to bury that part of yourself under your duties and ambitions. It’s good to see you embracing it again.”
Daenerys hesitated, her fingers trailing absently over the sheets. “And yet, there’s still so much to do. Peace is fragile, and alliances require constant care. Even here, surrounded by those who support me, I can’t fully let my guard down.”
Missandei nodded, her voice soothing. “That’s true, but that doesn’t mean you can’t allow yourself moments of joy. You’ve given so much to the world already.. You deserve to take something for yourself.”
Daenerys glanced at the door where Jorah had disappeared moments earlier, a faint smile curving her lips.
“He makes it easier. With him, I feel like I can be both—Queen and woman. He understands me in a way no one else does.”
Missandei’s gaze softened. “And that’s rare. Hold onto it, Your Grace. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for it.”
Daenerys reached out, taking Missandei’s hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet but full of gratitude.
“For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you… or Grey Worm.”
Missandei smiled, squeezing her hand. “You would have found your way, but I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”
They sat together in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation settling into something lighter, more comforting.
Eventually, Missandei rose, her movements graceful and purposeful as she prepared to assist Daenerys in getting ready for the day.Though Missandei now held a seat on the council, her role as a trusted advisor firmly established, she still felt a pull to act as Daenerys’ handmaid.
It wasn’t out of obligation but rather out of deep care and gratitude for the woman who had freed her and given her purpose.Daenerys had protested many times, insisting it was no longer necessary, but Missandei had always countered with quiet determination.
“It is my choice, Your Grace,” she had said more than once, her voice steady and warm. “And it is an honor.”
This simple morning exchange was a reminder, for both women, that even amidst the weight of leadership and the complexities of power, there was space for connection—true and enduring.
It was these moments, fleeting yet profound, that nurtured the bonds of friendship and allowed love, in all its forms, to flourish.
Chapter Text
Jorah was in the training yard sparring with Grey Worm when Daenerys found him after her meetings.
Their movements were sharp and deliberate, each strike and parry a testament to their skill. Though Grey Worm’s discipline was rooted in Unsullied precision, Jorah’s style was more unpredictable, shaped by decades of experience across the known world.
The two of them were nearly equal, pushing each other to their limits with every bout.
Daenerys lingered by the fence, her smile soft as she watched them. Jorah’s recovery from the injuries he’d sustained in Winterfell was nothing short of remarkable. He was stronger, his daily training sessions with the best fighters in King’s Landing sharpening him further.
His shirt was off, something he only did in trustworthy company, tossed carelessly over a sword rack, and her gaze drifted to his chest and arms, marked with scars from years of battle and the remnants of greyscale.
Many would recoil at the sight of his scars, the jagged remains of greyscale on his arm, across his chest, and the countless marks left by blades. But to Daenerys, they were symbols of his loyalty and sacrifices. The greyscale scars in particular reminded her of dragon’s scales, especially when her dragons had been small enough to hold.It felt poetic in a way, as though Jorah had become one with her and her children.
When the sparring session finally came to an end, Jorah and Grey Worm exchanged a firm handshake before parting ways. Only then did Jorah notice Daenerys waiting for him. His expression softened, and he crossed the yard to her without hesitation.
Before he could speak, she leaned up and stole a quick kiss, her smile playful.
“Meet me in the dragon pit in an hour, after you clean up. Wear your riding gear,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Without waiting for his reply, she turned and disappeared back into the keep.
Exactly an hour later, Jorah found her in the dragon pit.
She stood beside Drogon, her gloved hands resting gently on his massive snout. The great dragon leaned into her touch, his low rumble vibrating through the air.
Drogon was already saddled, his massive wings folded neatly against his sides, the picture of restrained power.Daenerys looked every inch the dragon queen, her riding coat tailored perfectly to her form and her long leather boots gleaming. Her hair was pulled back into intricate braids that kept it from her face, a practical yet regal style she often wore when riding.
Hearing Jorah’s footsteps approach, she turned to face him, a smile tugging at her lips.
“I want you to ride with me,” she said simply, her voice carrying a note of challenge. She took a step closer, her gaze steady on his, “But this time, you’ll take the reins.”
Jorah blinked, his surprise evident. “The reins?”
“It’s just like riding a horse,” she assured him, her smile turning slightly mischievous.
“Only much larger... and airborne.” She gestured toward Drogon, whose piercing gaze was now fixed on Jorah. “If you’re going to be my husband, I need you to learn how to guide the dragons, guiding them instead of me.”
Jorah glanced at Drogon, then back at Daenerys. The color drained from his face, and even Drogon seemed to notice. It wasn’t the act of riding the dragon-he’d done that before.
But taking control, guiding Drogon himself, was a wholly different matter.
“Are you sure about this, love?” he asked, though the answer was already clear in Daenerys’s determined gaze.
She wasn’t asking; she was instructing. He sighed, steeling himself. “Alright, then.”
Drogon tilted his massive head, watching the pair as though he understood the shift in their bond. After a moment, the dragon leaned forward, his snout nudging Dany’s torso gently. A low, rumbling purr followed, vibrating through her as Drogon pressed his nose against her stomach.
Then the dragon turned to Jorah, his amber eyes gleaming knowingly before he lowered his body, wing and leg extending like a makeshift ladder.
“See? It’s fine!” Daenerys said, her smile bright and confident.
She was certain Drogon had accepted Jorah, not just as someone bonded to her but as something more, a partner and now the father to the child she carried. She knew Drogon’s bond with Jorah was already strong, forged long ago when Jorah had cared for the dragons as hatchlings, feeding them and carrying them on his shoulders. But now, the connection felt deeper, solidified.
Jorah climbed up first, his movements deliberate, his hand steadying himself on the saddle. Daenerys followed, letting him help her up before settling behind him.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning close. “You remember the commands, don’t you? Whenever you’re ready.”
He took a moment to think carefully, pulling the memories of how she trained and commanded both dragons, and suddenly, it starts coming back to him.
"Sōvēs!" He called out in High Valyrian, and without hesitation, Drogon took off.
The movement is so sudden and Jorah is unprepared for it, and he couldn’t help but cling to the reins in fear of falling. He regained his balance, and looked back at her, eyes wide. The rush of energy makes him laugh, shocked and relieved that the command worked.
Daenerys laughed, her arms squeezing him as the winds rushed past them. The city of King’s Landing quickly shrank below them, replaced by rolling hills and shimmering coastline.
“Now use your legs to steer,” Daenerys instructed, her voice steady despite the elevation. “The reins help with sharper turns, but for casual riding, it’s mostly about leg pressure.”
Tentatively, Jorah applied her advice, guiding Drogon into a wide, gradual turn. The dragon responded swiftly, adjusting his trajectory with a surprising grace. Jorah tested another turn, leaning slightly as he moved. Drogon’s obedience was immediate, his massive body following Jorah’s lead.
Daenerys smiled at the progress.
“Good,” she encouraged, her voice warm.
“You’re a natural. Drogon’s listening to you already, though it’ll take time for him to fully adapt to your style.”
He’s grown more patient as he’s matured, especially since they lost Viserion and almost lost Jorah.
He’s taken to acting like an older brother to Rhaegal-more protective, more caring, and more patient.
Jorah didn’t respond immediately, his focus locked on maintaining control. He leaned further into the next turn, gaining confidence with each maneuver.
They flew south, the landscape below shifting from golden fields to rugged coastline. The view was breathtaking, and even Jorah couldn’t help but marvel at the endless horizon.
“Let’s try landing,” Daenerys said after a while, pointing to a stretch of beach below. The area was clear, the sand glistening under the sun.
Jorah’s brows furrowed as he scanned the clearing. His mind suddenly blanked.
“Um..” he stammered, struggling to recall the command. He could feel Daenerys tighten her grip around his waist, grounding him.
Focusing, he finally remembered.
“Ninkiot!” he commanded.
Drogon responded immediately, banking and slowing his powerful wings to glide toward the beach.
The descent was smooth, though the landing was slightly short. Still, Drogon set them down gently, his claws sinking into the sand.
Jorah dismounted first, turning to help Daenerys down.
She smiled at him, her eyes alight with pride, “That was good! Do you feel alright?”
Jorah nodded, though his expression betrayed a lingering mix of shock and exhilaration.
Drogon lumbered toward the water, his curiosity piqued as he wandered along the shoreline. He lowered his massive head, studying the waves, perhaps drawn by the sight of fish darting below the surface. Daenerys watched him fondly before turning back to Jorah.
“I’ll take over for the flight home,” she said with a soft smile, her gaze drifting back to Drogon.
But then, Jorah’s posture stiffened. His hand moved instinctively to the pommel of his sword, his sharp gaze snapping toward the treeline beyond the beach.
“What is it?” Daenerys asked when she noticed, her voice low as she stepped closer, her hand grabbing his arm.
The red glow Jorah saw coming from a cave near them was the first sign that something was amiss. It shimmered off Drogon’s scales, highlighting his intense amber eyes as he turned toward the light.
Daenerys barely registered the movement before Jorah stepped in front of her, his stance protective, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword. Drogon, sensing the shift in the air, adjusted his posture, wings half-extended as a low growl rumbled deep in his chest.
The light grew stronger, blood-red, radiating from a fissure in the air itself—a jagged, black void surrounded by an eerie crimson aura. From within the unnatural opening, a monstrous creature emerged.
Its towering form was a nightmare made flesh, a grotesque fusion of raw power and malign intent. Thick, corded muscles rippled beneath its mottled, ashen skin, stretched taut over legs built to crush and rend. Its hunched, misshapen torso twisted unnaturally, as though the creature itself resented its own existence.
Long, sinewy arms dangled low, ending in claws that gleamed like jagged obsidian, each talon curved and honed to pierce and shred. Twin horns, sharp and jagged like the spines of a predator, jutted backward from its skull, framing a face carved from malice. Its eyes, black, fathomless voids - seemed to consume the light around them, leaving an oppressive darkness in their wake.
Beneath its gaping maw of uneven, razor-sharp teeth, a deep, guttural growl rumbled, reverberating like a storm through the air. The stench of decay clung to it, each movement accompanied by a sickening crackle, as if its very presence defied the natural order. The creature snarled, then released a roar that shook the ground beneath their feet. The sound was unearthly, primal, and it sent chills through even the most battle-hardened of warriors.
Jorah, though not easily shaken, felt his blood turn cold.
The beast dropped from its upright stance, landing on its knuckles with a resounding crash that sent sand spraying in all directions.
Its claws dug deep into the earth as it fixed its gaze on them, its body coiled with tension, ready to spring.
Daenerys’s nails dug into Jorah’s arm as she whispered, “We have to go… now.” Her voice trembled, a rare crack in her usually unshakable resolve.
Jorah nodded, guiding her slowly toward Drogon, keeping himself between her and the creature.
The beast watched them, its head tilting slightly as if assessing its prey.
Drogon, sensing the danger, began to build a reservoir of fire in his chest, the sound of his deep, rattling breaths signaling his readiness to strike.
“Dracarys!” Daenerys shouted the second the creature twitched, and as she climbed swiftly onto Drogon’s back.
Flames erupted from the dragon’s maw, engulfing the creature in a torrent of fire. The heat was so intense it singed the edges of their clothes, but the monster’s shriek was satisfying—if only briefly. It thrashed wildly, retreating toward the water to extinguish the flames.
“Jorah, now!” Daenerys extended her hand to him, urgency sharp in her voice.
The creature roared again, its burning form charging through the shallows as Jorah leaped onto Drogon’s back, his sword still in hand. Daenerys commanded Drogon to fly, and he surged upward with a powerful beat of his wings. The ground fell away beneath them, and they soared high above the shoreline.
“We can’t let it move inland!” Daenerys shouted over the wind, her eyes darting toward the retreating figure below.
She was certain that if the creature reached populated areas, the devastation would be unimaginable.
Drogon circled back around, his massive wings slicing through the air. Below, the monster splashed into deeper water, steam rising as the flames were doused. And then, without warning, it disappeared beneath the waves.
“Do you see it?!” Daenerys called, leaning over Drogon’s side to scan the water.
Jorah shook his head in disbelief.
“Nothing. No sign of it.” His voice was grim. “It’s as if it vanished.”
Daenerys had Drogon circle the area a few more times, her unease growing with each empty pass.
Finally, she relented.
“We should return,” she said softly, though her mind churned with questions.
What had they just encountered? And where had it gone?
Notes:
Hey everyone! Got a new job so I've been super SUPER busy but I've had all of this written for a while so I thought I'd post. Hope you're all well!
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