Faith, Trust, and a Little Bit of Dragonfire

by charliebrown90

Summary:

When Jorah returns to Daenerys’s service, she welcomes him back. She trusts him implicitly, yet when Jon Snow’s suggestions differ from his, she listens to the wrong man. When the consequences of a bad decision come to light, Daenerys regrets not listening to her loyal knight, a man slowly creeping more and more into her heart, though she struggles to see it. But how will those consequences affect her life, and the wars to come?

Notes:

So yes I’m crazy! I’m now on 3 WIP at once 😬🫣.

But in my defence “is there no privacy on Dragonstone” is only 2 chapters off complete. And I was struggling to decide exactly what precarious position they would be caught in for the next chapter (the last is already half written 😉).

This fic has been on the back burner for quite some time. I’ve had a chapter written for a few chapters in (the premise for the fic really) for a long time, and the start of the chapter that follows. But I wasn’t really sure how to get it started.

Well! I finally gave in to it. And here is the start. There’s quite a bit of jumping around for this first chapter, but it will slow down as we catch up to the true timeline for the story.

Also. I apologise in advance for the Jon/dany stuff. I’ll be glossing over it as much as possible, but we are canon compliant to a point and so it does need to be there. But of course, this is ultimately a Jorleesi fic.
But as so often happens with me, it’s slow burn!! 🔥

As usual, thank you for giving my fics a chance. I hope you enjoy.

Ps. I totally used Peter Pan “faith, trust and a little bit of pixie dust” and altered it for the title. There is no link to Peter Pan. I just liked it. There’s a huge link in this story to Daenerys trusting Jorah, and I was trying to find some kind of title with trust in it. This is what popped into my head. But obviously there’s no pixies or their dust in got. So I changed it to match 😉

Pps. This first chapters a short one. But they will get longer as we get into the thick of it.

Chapter 1

Daenerys stood on the beach, watching a ship grow smaller and smaller as it approached the horizon. The sea lapped at the shore, a gentle splash of water invading dark sand. It came close to her boots, but she didn’t retreat from the waters edge.

She had become used to Dragonstone, in the short space of time she had spent on the island that had belonged to her ancestors. Its dark, towering castle. The obsidian that adorned almost everything the eye could see. A long, twisting staircase from beach to keep. Even the dark, volcanic sands, so different to the sands of Essos.

Her mind had rejoiced, at finally being able to explore a land her family had once called home. Whilst much of the history had been removed by Stannis Baratheon, much of it remained, and Daenerys couldn't help but be interested in every little nook and cranny.

Yet something had been holding her excitement back, something had been missing and she had been unable to put her finger on what.

Until Jorah Mormont had returned to her, on the blustery cliff tops of Dragonstone. Healed and whole. All previous transgressions long forgiven.

She hadn't realised quite how much she had missed him, until that moment. But with Jon Snow at her back, she could not show too much emotion at his return.

He had hardly returned to her, this man who had walked to the ends of the earth with her. Who had bled for her time and again. And now he was aboard that ship getting smaller by the second, leaving her side when he had only just returned.

She was grateful for his loyalty, but his place was beside her. So why was he leaving?

Daenerys was confused, more so than ever before. There was something growing between her and Jon, something solid, something real. And she worried for him also, on their voyage beyond The Wall.

It wasn't love, at least not yet. But there was something drawing her to him, something that held her attention as well as her curiosity.

So why did her mind keep returning to Jorah?

As she stood and watched that boat, her mind reeling, she came to the conclusion that she merely felt cheated that her friend had been back for so little time, before duty was dragging him away once more.

"He'll be back." A voice spoke from her side.

Her eyes met Tyrion's, a slight smile pulling at her lips, though it didn't meet her eyes.

"I know." She said. Yet she was uncertain which he, Tyrion had meant.

---

It felt like Daenerys was always staring off into the distance nowadays, as she stood watching the tree line. Snow as far as the eye could see. On the ground, on the trees themselves, on the mountains in the distance.

The first time she had ever seen snow had been on the rescue mission from hell.

Her heart had been in her throat the instant she had heard they needed rescuing, and she had only hesitated for a mere moment before rushing towards the dragons, Tyrion hot on her heels as he tried to talk her down.

She had saved one of the men she had set out to rescue.

Jorah.

He stood behind her as she stared out into the true north, his presence steady, settling. He was back where he belonged and it helped something settle within Daenerys's gut. That familiar presence a comfortable weight that she had not known to miss until recently.

Yet she had lost Viserion, and she could not even begin to think upon that. Not here. And not now. Though she knew the tears would fall eventually.

Jon was who she thought of, in that moment in time. She had set out to rescue him also. That intrigue that may have developed into more, an attraction she couldn't put into words. She hadn't wanted to lose that.

Yet he had encouraged her to leave, to save herself and her remaining dragons.

And she had listened, because she couldn't allow another dragon to fall from the sky.

He had been left behind in a sea of dead men, all desperate to tear apart the living. He surely could not have survived.

Yet there was something keeping Daenerys atop The Wall, watching out for his return whilst her cheeks stung in the frigid air and her toes felt numb within her boots. Something like hope bubbling within her.

Jorah moved closer, coming to stand beside her. She felt the air move around her, felt his presence before she saw him from the corner of her eye. Before she heard him.

"It's time to go your Grace." His voice pulled her from conflicting thoughts, yet her gaze remained on the tree line, on evergreens topped with a blanket of snow.

"A bit longer." She replied, heart in her throat.

Jorah retuned to his previous post, still standing over her. He would never leave, would always follow her, do as she commanded. He was a steady force that she did not think she could be without. And though she had wished to explore whatever was building with Jon, perhaps that was enough. Perhaps she could spend her life happy with his friendship, his council, the warmth that washed over her as she thought of her oldest companion.

And so, after a mere moment longer of watching the tree line, she turned away from the wasteland of snow and ice. Daenerys walked past Jorah before she could change her mind, knowing he would follow, to continue with the plan they had developed.

Yet an horn stopped her in her tracks, alerting her almost instantly, to the return of the King in the North.

---

The first time Daenerys had sailed, baring the voyage from Dragonstone as a babe, had been after the disaster that had been Qarth. Now, she had lost track of the amount of times she had been on a ship.

It had felt so freeing to her, to step aboard a boat and sail the open waters. Almost as freeing as riding a dragon, with the wind in her hair and nothing but blue out ahead.

But the return journey from The Wall felt different.

Whilst by some miracle both men she had set out to rescue were aboard that same ship, she had lost something more valuable than one could put into words.

A dragon.

Her son.

Viserion.

Instead of feeling free, she felt shackled. Shackled by grief, by loss, but also by the confinement of her cabin. She could not truly cry without being heard, and she did not think she could hold the pain at bay for much longer.

It was the middle of the night, and though she was in nought but a nightgown she left her cabin, grabbing a cloak on her way past.

She padded barefoot down the short corridor, wooden walls at her sides, wooden planks underfoot. She was as silent as a ghost as she passed the doors of the sleeping men, footfall quiet.

The corridor deathly silent.

But as she pushed open the last door, the wind howled, the waves crashed off the side of the ship, all whilst soft flurries of snow fluttered around her.

It was freezing cold, and she tugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders, regretting not stopping for boots.

She did not turn back.

Instead she continued to the helm, looking out over the open water that had once felt so freeing.

Drogon and Rhaegal were nowhere to be seen, both clearly uncertain why there was only the two of them now. Why Viserion did not also follow. Why Daenerys would leave without him.

That one simple thought was enough to open the floodgates, to dissolve the last of her resolve.

It started as one tear, then a handful, and before long there was a stream of them, hidden amongst the snow that fell onto her face. Sobs muffled by sea meeting with wood.

And then she was not alone. She felt him before he made himself known. That familiar shift in the air as he neared, telling her he was close.

Jorah.

For of course he would sense her distress and of course he would come running to her.

She didn't turn, and he did not approach. He knew she needed to cry, something she did so incredibly rarely. And so he stood vigil.

And Daenerys cried.

Gut wretching sobs that shook her so much that she ached. Until her legs could no longer hold her. And as her knees buckled, he was there.

Jorah.

Catching her before she hit the deck, holding her close to his chest.

It was only then, with the warmth of him holding her close, that she realised that she was shivering. Freezing cold, feet like blocks of ice.

Why hadn't she put boots on?

"I know lass." His voice sounded by her ear, barely above a whisper, yet she still heard it over the sound of the howling wind and the crashing waves. "I know."

And she knew he did, knew he felt it also. He had helped her raise the dragons after all, had carried them through The Red Waste, had protected them as he had her.

His presence was soothing, the comfort he offered her a steady force that bolstered her strength, for she would need it for what was to come.

When she had calmed Jorah stood, a hand offered to help her up. Not asking, not presuming, just there if she should take it.

She did.

The warmth of his hand in hers, a familiar weight that soothed the soul. It was the last bit of strength she needed to rise, and to return to her cabin.

She could tell that Jorah disapproved of the lack of winter attire, but he said nought. He merely escorted her back to her cabin.

There she finally slept. Her eyes tired, her mind too. And there Jorah stood vigil, a silent sentinel at her door.

No one would bother her that night. Not whilst Jorah stood watch.

There was much to come, and Daenerys worried what future loses she would have to bear. But for a quiet moment she let her mind rest, safe in the knowledge that a knight stood watch, one that would never see her wrong.

Chapter 2

Notes:

So I’ve tried to throw a few extra bits in, because I don’t want to just recite canon, but we are still following the canon timeline and there’ll be a short scene with canon speech in, in this chapter. But from next chapter we’ll start mixing things up a little! So hold tight for that.

Daenerys stood overlooking the bay. She watched from her high castle as the dark clouds rolled in, blocking out the sun, the waves crashing angrily against the stone below.

Kings Landing had been a waste of time, parlaying with a lioness was absolutely pointless. She had lost a dragon for nought. Those who mattered to her had risked their lives for nought. Of course Cersei had told them that her men would be sent north, after many hours of wasted time, but Daenerys was not fully certain that she trusted her word. There had been a look in Cersei's eyes as she had sworn her men would match, one that Daenerys knew was false.

Still, what could they do but continue with the plan and hope that Cersei kept her word? Daenerys wouldn't hold her breath.

Daenerys was angry, and she was tired. And yet there were still many wars to come before she would be able to truly rest.

A dragon's cry from the sky drew her attention, the kind that often sent men diving for the ground, her sons flying just below the clouds. She watched them sweep around each other, learning how to be a pair. It caused something to tug in her chest, an ache growing in her heart.

She turned from the sea, unable to watch what wasn't there any longer.

The light was fading fast, the torches on the walls soon being the only source of light. She had stupidly let the fire burn to embers, and had no will to bring the flames back to life. It was a sign that it was almost time to eat, but all Daenerys wanted to do was curl up under her furs and sleep.

---

Jorah watched her through dinner, though nothing had changed there. He had watched her for many years, watched her back for danger, watched her responses to caution her should it be required, watched her with awe and love. But more so than anything, he was currently watching her with concern.

He had not forgotten the way she had sobbed, how could he? It had damn near broken him too. All he had ever wanted was for her to be safe, to be happy, to rule as she was destined to. Yes he had longed to hold her in his arms, but never in such a way. Though it was an honour, for her to show such vulnerability around him, to allow him to comfort her, he felt the sobs that shook her body as they sent shockwaves through his own.

He worried for her.

Had never expected for her to lose a dragon in such a way, or at all in truth. Not since they had grown at least.

But he also worried for her safety. Jorah knew that where they were headed would be full to the brim with danger. There were many claiming to be allies, but would they stab her in the back sooner than see her on the throne? And of course there was the threat of the dead, one that they were headed straight for.

There was much concerning him, but as he watched her push her food around her plate, a tired look in her eyes that he doubted came from physical exhaustion, the current situation took priority.

---

Missandei had just left, having relit her fire with a tut before untying braid after braid and brushing silver curls. The chambers were quiet, just the sound of the waves crashing off the rocks and the flames popping in the hearth.

Daenerys was drained. Too much emotional toil, plus the pressure of everything that was to come. Come morning they would be dicussing onward travel to Winterfell and beginning preparations for the journey.

She wasn't against travel, had done so damn near continuously with Drogo's Khalasar. But this was different. She dreaded the journey, wasn't looking forward to the destination they headed for either truth be told.

There was a knock on her door, and Daenerys resisted the urg to ignore it. She closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation, before grabbing a heavy cloak to throw over her nightgown.

When she opened the door, face barely peeking around its edge, she smiled softly at the sight of Jorah standing there. Of everyone it could have been, he was the better option.

"Apologies for intruding your Grace." He spoke low, his gaze low too.

"Nonsense." Daenerys replied. "Do you wish to come in? The hallways are too draughty to stand and talk in."

He nodded, and she opened the door wider for him, stepping aside to let him cross the threshold. She shut the door behind him with a soft click.

"Is everything alright?" She asked, arms wrapped around herself, holding the cloak closer to her, the open door having let in a chill.

Jorah stood by the door still, a few paces away from her. He was uncertain how to talk to her she realised. Be it because they had been parted for so long, or the means of how, or be it the nature of what he had come to say, she was uncertain.

"I was actually going to ask you the same question." He said at last.

His eyes met hers and her brow furrowed, though she could see a deep routed concern within his blue depths.

"You barely ate at dinner." He elaborated. "And you looked tired, though I guess me delaying your sleep won't be helping with that."

Daenerys laughed softly, Jorah's lip quirked at the edge. Just a touch. Before he continued, serious.

"And after everything thats happened-"

He didn't need to finish that sentence, left it hanging in the air between them, weighted. He meant after she had lost Viserion. After she had broken down on the stormy deck of her ship and sobbed into his arms.

Neither had spoken of that night.

"I'm fine Jorah." She said at last, not wishing to pick at the healing wound.

Jorah took a step closer to her, close enough that she needed to crane her neck to meet his eye.

"Are you?" He asked softly. "I know you Khaleesi. And this is not you."

They stood, silent. The fire popped, before easing back to a gentle crackle. Jorah broke their silence.

"You can talk to me. You can always talk to me. You know that."

His words were sincere, his tone gentle, soothing. It comforted her.

"Honestly." She replied, voice low in volume. "I'm just so tired of all of this. Why is nothing ever simple?"

Jorah smiled softly, though it wasn't one born from joy. It was understanding, it was sympathy.

"It's just the way of things I'm affraid." He said.

They were silent for a few moments, merely two presences in a room so used to one another, before Jorah spoke again.

"If you do want to talk more-"

"I know where to find you." She said, her gaze soft as it held his, warm and familiar.

He nodded, his head bowing.

"Then I'll leave you to find your rest." He spoke softly, heading towards her door to leave.

Before he could reach the door, Daenerys spoke again, halting his movements.

"Thank you Jorah." She called out. "I do appreciate you."

Because she did, she knew she could always bring up her concerns with him, even without him saying as much. He made her feel safe, his very presence comforting. And she was truly grateful for him, and that he had returned to her so diligently.

Jorah smiled, ducking his head almost bashfully. An action that he did often when they spoke just the two of them, and one that she found entirely endearing.

After he left, something in Daenerys settled, a calm had washed over her, and sleep found her easily. Knowing that she would always have Jorah by her side.

---

Daenerys sat at the head of the painted table, arrangements being made to head north. She had felt more energised when she had woken that morning, following her short conversation with Jorah the night prior. But now, having been sat discussing the next step of their plan for almost an hour, her mental energy was beginning to drain once more.

Jon wanted them to leave at that very moment it seemed, to get to Winterfell as soon as possible. She could understand it, having seen what she had beyond The Wall. Yet she also realised that they needed to be practical, that they needed to be prepared for such a long journey. They would at the very least need the day to prepare.

"I thought you were on board with this plan?" Jon asked her after she had questioned his timeline once again.

"I am." She ensured him. "I just question if we will have enough dragonglass. I question how quickly we can actually get the entirety of my army to Winterfell."

She knew the importance of them beating the dead to Winterfell. Knew they needed to prepare once there, needed the time to forge dragonglass into weapons. But it all needed to be loaded onto the ships. And they still needed a plan for the quickest way to get them all north.

"If we have The Dothraki ride hard on The Kingsroad, they'll arrive at Winterfell within the fortnight." Jon told her confidently. Daenerys had not been in Westeros long enough to know if this was true.

"And The Unsullied?" She asked.

"We can sail with them to Whiteharbour." Jon informed her. "Meet The Dothraki here on The Kingsroad." He pointed to the appropriate spot on the painted table. "Then ride together to Winterfell."

Daenerys was uncertain about breaking up her armies. She was wary of sending The Dothraki by themselves across a country they were unfamiliar with, to a meeting point they had never been to before.

Yet she knew the ships would be cramped now, with the copious anounts of dragonglass onboard. And The Dothraki would prefer to be on open road as opposed to riding upon the poisoned water after all.

As she was pondering this, Jorah spoke.

"Perhaps you should fly to Winterfell your Grace." His words drew her attention. "You have many enemies in the north, thousands fell fighting your father. All it takes is one angry man with a crossbow, he'll see your silver hair on The Kingsroad, and know that one well placed bolt will make him a hero. The man who killed the conqueror."

She considered his words. It made sense, and Jorah had never steered her wrong with his advice in the past. In fact she should probably have listened to him more than she had.

But if she sailed, she could get to know Jon better. She could explore the connection they had, figure out exactly what she was feeling.

She knew Jorah was only concerned with her best interests, but she also knew he worried for her perhaps a little too much sometimes.

She was conflicted.

Listen to the man she trusted more than any other, a man who had fought for her, protected her time and again, who had been the best friend she had ever had. 

Or take the risk in order to explore the unknown with the intriguing King in the North.

"It's your decision your Grace." Jon said in response to Jorah's words. "But if we're going to be allies in this war, it's important for the northerners to see us as allies. If we sail to White Harbor together, I think it sends a better message."

He made a good argument. And though part if her was screaming for her to listen to Jorah, to heed his advice, she made her decision.

"I've not come to conquer the north. I'm coming to save the north." She said confidently. "We sail together."

Jon was pleased, but she could almost feel the disapproval in Jorah's gaze as he watched her. It made something shift uncomfortably within her.

When it was just the two of them left in the room, he spoke again.

"I know it is not my place, to question your decisions in such a way." He said, eyes holding hers. "But I implore you to rethink Khaleesi. Your safety-"

"I have many protectors Jorah." She cut him off. "And I have dragons."

"Neither can stop a bolt, or an arrow." He said, concern clear in his eyes. "I don't want to see you injured. Or worse."

Her hands came out to grasp as his, squeezing them in comfort. Her eyes held his.

It was familiar.

It was comfortable.

As she found was always the case in his presence. She had missed his company.

"You shouldn't worry so much Jorah." She spoke softly. "Everything will be fine."

---

From the rush of Dragonstone, the lull that followed on board the ship was a stark contrast. There were too many hours in the day, and little to do.

Her mind ran in circles, too much to process all at once. She still mourned Viserion, and she worried for what was to come. For her. For her people. For Jon.

And for Jorah.

She spoke often with Jon, her mind desperate to get to the bottom of the intrigue she had for him. Yet her mind always seemed to return to Jorah.

She questioned where such concern emerged from. He had fought for her before, and she had not once felt so worried for him. She assumed that it was a reaction caused by the fighting pits, from watching him almost die in front if her whilst she could do nought but watch.

She stood and watched as the dragons flew overhead. Two dragons. Her heart lurched at the sight, still struggling to get used to it.

"It's not too late to fly with them." Jorah's voice sounded from behind her. "When we make port, you could fly from there."

Daenerys turned to him, a soft smile on her lips.

"We will head into Winterfell as one united force." She reiterated. "It will look better Jorah."

---

The ship felt claustrophobic. A million different concerns ate away in Daenerys's mind and she was struggling to push them down. There was too much time to think, not enough distractions.

She knew she should sleep. Yet she sat by the porthole, watching the sea as the ship cut through it. Her thoughts wouldn't stop. Would the people of the north accept her, with the aid she brought them, or would they only see her as The Mad King's daughter? Would they even survive the dead long enough for it to matter?

There was a knock on her door, and she was on her feet instantly, glad for the interruption, hopeful that Jorah had come to talk to her again.

When she opened the door and Jon's face appeared on the other side, she knew instantly why he had come at such a late hour. The hooded look in his eyes confirming her suspicions.

She was still uncertain what it was that was building between them, but she needed an escape from the melancholy of her thoughts, needed a distraction. And so she stepped back from the door, holding it open for him. Glad for the distraction for at least one night.

Notes:

Please don’t hate me. I did say canon to a point (trust me this is NOT going to be a jonaerys fic!) and that point is VERY close now. Everything is about to change.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Thank you for all of your support so far and for sticking with this story. This is where we’ll properly get into the story!
Also realised! This is my 30th story! 😱

White Harbour.

It loomed ahead as their ships sailed into The Bite. The cold of the north seeping through her layers of fur and cotton already, she resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. Instead she stood tall, watching the land begin to close in around them as they turned into the mouth of the port.

White Harbour was to be her first true experience of the north, Eastwatch didn't count, not in her head. White Harbour had small folk, it had lords. It was for the living, not a strange no man’s land between them and the dead.

She turned to Jorah, stood at her flank as usual.

"The lords of White Harbour are the Manderlys, correct?" She inquired, knowing she could count on his knowledge of the north.

"Aye." He replied, eyes on her as she watched their surroundings come into view. "Though I believe they have already congregated with the other northern houses at Winterfell, so I wouldn’t expect to be greeted by them."

She nodded, glad that her knowledge had been correct. Though she knew little else about the city they sailed into.

The harbour was coming into view, a massive stone in the centre almost like a huge rock protruding from the grey-green sea, dominating the space and causing Daenerys to wonder how there were not many a shipwreck on the approach.

"Seal Rock." Jorah's voice sounded again, reliable as always at informing her on their surroundings, on either side of The Narrow Sea. "It guards the mouth of The White Knife. If you look closely, when we pass it, you'll see it crowned with a ringfort of weathered stones. From the First Men. They were abandoned for centuries, until the Manderlys took control of the city. They fortified it, protecting the city and in turn the north."

They were coming up closer to it now, and Daenerys could see how much it loomed above them. It must have been fifty feet tall. As they passed, she noticed the animals flanking the rock. Her gaze darted to Jorah's, who glanced at them before returning his own gaze to hers.

"Named for the animals that often take their rest on it." He elaborated.

Daenerys grinned, before her gaze wandered across the rest of the harbour.

The city was hidden from view, a wall almost as tall as Seal Rock protecting it from any who may approach by sea who held ill will, tall guard towers rising up periodically along the length of the wall. A jetty was visible from the water. One they seemed to keep sailing past.

Daenerys turned back to Jorah, the question in her eyes that she knew she would not need to voice.

"This is the outer harbour." He explained, knowing instantly what her question was. "It is larger, but the inner harbour has better anchorage. And its more sheltered. More protected. The Seal Gate," He said, gesturing ahead of them where the gate was coming into focus. "will allow us access to the inner harbour."

"It is effectively a fortress?" She asked, eyes holding his.

"Aye. Before the Seven Kingdoms were united, it was needed."

Daenerys was enjoying seeing more of the country she should have spent her entire life in, but more so, she had missed Jorah's history lessons. His knowledge on the places they visited truly interested her. And the way he spoke was almost as that of a bedtime story, his voice warming her from the inside out. Better than any fur cloak could.

They continued towards The Seal Gate, the scent of the harbour sharp, salty, a wiff of fish adding to the smell. As they approached the gate, the cause for the scent became apparent. All along the jetty was a fish market, the fishermen selling their catches from great barrels and crates.

Daenerys craned her neck in an attempt to spy the fish they offered, she suspected very different to the fish markets of Essos. As they ran alongside she spotted some similarities; clams, oysters, crabs. Yet other things she had not seen before, great pink fleshed fish and something that looked like a slimy snake. She wasn’t certain she would fancy eating them!

As she perused the wares, the people on the dock scrutinised her. The foreign Queen, her silver hair a dead giveaway as to her identity, her heritage.

She did not even notice their passage through The Seal Gate until it blocked her view of the market, Jon having secured them passage through.

Her gaze then darted ahead, towards the city itself. Her mind curious. The inner harbour was more what she had expected, a dead end, circling the waters edge with ships tied ashore.

Their ships anchored, and Jorah encouraged her towards the gangplank. Jon rushed off in an instant, to acquire them horses and a wheelhouse for those who could not ride or march, namely Tyrion and Varys.

Daenerys's eyes were bright, alert, curious. People stared, clearly wary of the foreign army alighting the ships, yet she payed them no mind, too busy assessing her surroundings. The feel of Jorah at her elbow grounding her.

The city thrived, built around the base of a hill and walled in from the bay. Her eyes lifted to the top of the hill, viewing the keep at it's summit. The Manderly's seat of power she assumed. It proved the city defendable from land as well as sea, a good vantage point to watch out for attacks.

She walked forwards, Jorah at her heel, into a square. The cobbles underfoot were slick with sea spray, she watched her footing carefully. In the centre of the square was a fountain, the statue within what she assumed to be a merman, harpoon in hand. The water cascaded over him, giving the illusion that he shimmered.

She turned, eyes wandering over the market stalls; wood, wool, goats cheese, to name a few. Jorah had already informed her that White Harbour was the north's centre for trade and merchant activity, now she could see that for herself. Her eyes scanned across the alleys, her feet wandering also.

"I'd not wander down that one Khaleesi." Jorah halted her steps.

"Why not?" She asked, turning to face him.

He stood facing her, hand resting ready on the pommel of his sword. His grip was relaxed, not expecting any danger, but ready to protect her at a moments notice at the same.

"That one leads to a brothel." He informed her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "People may get the wrong impression."

Her lips lifted at the corners, and she turned from him again, glancing across the rest of the square instead, resisting the urge to ask him how he knew it led to a brothel.

"That one." Jorah pointed out and drawing her attention back to him. "You would enjoy."

She took his word, allowed her feet to lead the way as Jorah flanked her, his eyes on their surroundings for an entirely different purpose than hers, though she felt them on her too, watching her reaction.

The weight of that stare would have felt oppressive once upon a time, but it felt like a warm blanket now. 

This street he pointed her towards was stone, not cobble, steps leading up towards the keep above. The street was lined with marble statues of mermaids, marble bowls cradled in their arms, flickering flames coming from within to light the way. Though the bowls looked empty bar the flames. She wished she could see it in the dead of the night, and not the morning haze.

Daenerys turned her head in Jorah's direction, one brow quirked.

"Whale oil." He told her. "Thats what makes the flames burn."

She guessed they would have easy access to it, and it would explain how the flames seemed to burn from nothing.

Daenerys was glad she had chosen to sail in the end, and not for the reason she had initially chosen to. There was something about Jorah showing her around the north (his home) that made her heart swell, filling her with a strange kind of joy. It made her feel almost giddy. She could only imagine how it would feel to have him escort her around Bear Island, to explain its history and point out its hidden wonders.

One day, she would have to take him there, take him home as she had promised long ago that she would.

Daenerys hadn't had long to explore, and in truth hadn’t quite had her fill, before Jon returned with a white mare for her, which she mounted quickly as they began to depart from the city. She was disappointed she hadn’t had longer to see the city, though they still had a little ways to go before they could meet up with The Dothraki on The Kingsroad. She knew they needed to go.

As they rode through the city, Daenerys's eyes continued to explore. White Harbour was clean, well organised and busier than she had expected. It's streets were mostly cobbled, and wide. It made it easy to fit an army of Unsullied down the streets, and still have room for those who wandered in the opposite direction to pass them by.

The houses that lined the streets were made from whitewashed stone, sturdy and strong. Better to weather over winter she supposed. Their roofs were steeply pitched, the dark grey slate that adorned them a stark contrast to the white of the walls.

Half way out of the city, the street opened up to reveal a great sept. The first Daenerys had ever laid eyes upon. It was a great building, with a domed roof that reflected the light of the sun as it rose higher from the horizon. Surrounding the building were statues that loomed overhead.

"They depict The Seven." Jorah called across from his horse, reminding her of their days with The Dothraki. The days he told her stories of ghost grass or the Lhazereen.

As they rounded the sept on their way out of the city, she looked at each statue individually, she could tell which was which. The Mother, The Maiden and Crone. The Father, The Warrior and Smith. And of course The Stranger, looking hauntingly grim. Whomever had carved them, had done an excellent job.

"It is the Sept of the Snows." Jorah told her as they headed down a street and away from the sept.

It was the first sept she had ever seen, and she worried with what was to come, if it may be the last also.

---

They rode for a little over a day once they had left White Harbour, until they reached the meeting point. As they made camp Daenerys realised how foolish their plan had been. They were camping directly to the side of The Kingsroad. Anyone could easily spot them and attack, though even Jorah did not seem overly concerned. She guessed an army of Unsullied was a good offputter.

The closer they came to Winterfell without incident, the less on edge Jorah seemed to be. Strange really, considering what they headed towards, though she knew why. His reasoning for her flying rather than sailing. It pleased Daenerys that he could relax at least a little. She had seen how tense he had appeared when they had left White Harbour, but he had relaxed into the ride now they neared their destination without incident.

They had barely finished making camp when The Dothraki came charging down The Kingsroad, their timing almost perfect it seemed.

They would still camp there for that night, The Dothraki an extra deterrent. Then continue together the next day, her armies finally as one once more.

As she was ducking into her tent for the night, Jon appeared. His smile was warm, though it did nothing to warm her, and she returned it tightly before entering her tent.

Alone.

She'd been avoiding him. Ever since that night on the ship. It had been one moment of weakness, giving into temptation rather than waiting to see what was between them. She had welcomed the distraction from her thoughts, and it had distracted her. Yet it had been awkward, and Daenerys couldn't help but question what was missing. It had been a mistake, no question about that.

Whatever she had thought was building between them seemed to be fizzling out. On her part anyway. Jon was more than eager to ride beside her, to talk incessantly in her ear, and to act as though they were more than they actually were.

She saw the way Tyrion looked at them, the way Varys did. It unnerved her. She knew it would only be a matter of time before they discussed betrothals with her.

A more certain way to cement their alliance, and something that uninterested her.

She wished she had been stronger that night, had told him she wasn't interested in him that way, had closed the door on him and went to bed alone.

At least she could do that part now, though her tent held no door to shut. Her heart longed for another to hold her, for his love to encompass her so completely. She did not know who that other was, but she knew for certain that someone was not Jon Snow.

---

It had been a few days since The Dothraki had joined them again, and they were making good time. Jon assured her that they would be in Winterfell by nightfall.

Jon who now rode ahead of her, eager to reach his home it seemed. It suited Daenerys just fine.

She was grateful she did not have to make awkward small talk with him. Instead she had Jorah by her side, an easy rhythm forming between them.

"Will it be strange for you?" She asked, curious. "Coming back to a place you knew so well as a boy?"

"Aye." Jorah answered, looking over to her, eyes meeting, and holding, transfixing Daenerys in their depths. "To some extent. Though I spent so little time in Winterfell."

"You spent some though, right?" Daenerys asked.

Jorah smiled, his expression reminiscent, almost sad. His gaze far off for a moment.

"I did." He admitted. "Back when my mother was alive, and my father would still look me in the eye."

Daenerys felt for him. She may have grown up without a mother or a father, but at least she hadn't known their love only for it to be cruelly plucked away from her. Jorah had once upon a time had quite a large family unit around him, and now there was but one cousin remaining.

"I'm sorry." She said softly. "If it brings back bad memories."

"Don't be." Jorah replied, looking forward again for a second, before drawing his gaze back to hers. "There are more important things than my feelings right now."

"But your feelings are import -"

Pain.

Pain exploded in her shoulder, the force knocking her backwards from her horse.

She didn't feel herself hit the ground, didn't hear anything over the ringing in her ears. Her vision pure white.

Everything was pain.

Hot, sharp pain that took her breath away.

She couldn’t comprehend what had happened. One moment she was talking with Jorah, and the next -  

Jorah's face appeared in the sea of white and she realised that the white had in fact been the sky. His features were contorted in worry.

Perhaps he thought her dead? The panic in his eyes told her as much. It appeared she had forgotten how to breathe after all, and her eyes stared dead ahead, unblinking. The sudden pain had been quite the shock.

That first breath burned as she gasped it in. Though she had never felt the sensation of burning, it was the best description of the feeling she could think of. Jorah's relief was evident, though his features still betrayed his concern for her.

Her heart thundered away in her chest.

Jorah's lips were moving, yet Daenerys could not hear his words, her hearing muffled. Her brow furrowed. He turned to shout orders over his shoulder, face disappearing from her view, yet Daenerys barely heard a whisper. He turned back to her, eyes meeting hers briefly before he focused on his task.

There was tugging at her shoulder, sharp pain shooting down her entire arm at the sensation, radiating across her collar bone and into her chest. Her breath caught, the pain more intense than any she had felt before.

She saw Jorah's lips mutter an apology, though she still couldn't hear the words. Whatever was wrong with her, he was trying to fix it.

His eyes met hers, more words that she couldn't understand. Strange, as they could usually communicate without the need for speech.

Then she was on her side, pain exploding once again. All of her senses were overwhelmed with it. She groaned in pain, yet another sound she could not hear, but she knew the sound had left her lips.

Her world span, and though infront of her now were horses hooves and boots from those dashing around, she saw white once more.

Her entire being was pain! To the point she had forgotten what it was like to not be in pain. Her entire body throbbed with it to the point she was completely debilitated. And just when she thought it could get no worse, her body was alight with a blinding spasm that took her breath once more. It returned at speed. Short, sharp breaths. Shallow. Though every breath sent more jolts shooting from her shoulder to the rest of her body.

She was rolled to her back again, her breathing shuddering. Though she couldn't see Jorah, the realisation causing her to panic. Had he left her? Yet her vision was still white, and this time it wasn't the sky.

She was lying on the cold, wet snow. Yet she felt no cold. If anything her body was consummed by fire. White, hot fire.

If this was what it was like to be burned, she regretted inflicting this kind of pain on anyone, swore she never would again.

Dark patches began to appear in amongst the white, her vision finally returning to her, Jorah's face coming back into focus. His presence eased her somewhat.

He was focused on his task, but his lips kept moving, still no sound reaching Daenerys's ears. Her own lips fought to say his name, yet they too formed no sound. And not just to her it seemed, as Jorah did not even glance her way.

When she could finally hear, it was not the shouts of her men as they hurriedly rushed around her. Nor the distressed calls of her dragons in the skies overhead. And still not Jorah's voice which would have soothed her panicked mind further still. The only sound her ears permitted was the rapid pounding of her heart as her blood pooled around her, turning the pure white of the snow bright red.

Jorah continued to fuss.

The pain was less now, though still intense, at least it no longer took her breath away. At least she could see, no matter how heavy her eyelids felt.

Yet her vision now began to blacken at the edges. The darkness closing in faster than she would like.

Was she dying?

If so, what had even caused her death? Was it some kind of animal? If so it was small. Yet it was clearly heavy to knock her from her horse. And fast too, she never even saw it coming. What kind of animal was that?

Or perhaps they had been attacked? Now she thought of it, motion had caught her eye a mere second before she fell. Perhaps a spear, or a blade thrown through the air? If so, they were all in danger.

She could not dwell on it, for her vision was almost entirely black now.

Jorah's gaze met hers again, more panicked and frantic than before, a mere moment before she was fully engulfed by darkness. And she was struck with a severe sadness that she may never see his face ever again. The thought pulled at her heart, a pain so different to the physical one she was facing, yet just as agonising.

With the loss of her vision, her hearing returned enough for her to hear Jorah's panicked voice call out.

"Khaleesi!"

And then, nothing.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Sorry for the delay on this one.
Especially after a cliffhanger ending 🫣 even though I’ve had most of this chapter written for some time, I just haven’t had the time to write much lately.

Daenerys felt like she was swimming in a vast, endless ocean. Everything was dark as she swam towards the surface, against the pressure of the water trying to push her back into it's depths. She felt heavy, lost. She wasn't even certain if she was actually swimming up, though she continued in that direction. There was no desperate need to breathe, yet the panicked feeling of being unable to remained. She pushed desperately towards the light above, so close to breaking through the endless water.

And suddenly she wasn't swimming, wasn't in the depths of a sea. But her mind was clouded, confused.

She managed to blink her eyes open for a mere moment. Jorah was sat vigil, his concerned face brightening at the sight of her eyes open, gaze meeting her hazy one for but a monent, before she sank back into the depths.

When she next blinked her eyes open, she fought to keep them open, fought against the weight that threatened to drag her back down. Jorah looked drained, worried, but he was still there. It was a comfort, but not enough to keep her conscious.

The next time she woke, she was more lucid.

Her shoulder was heavy, but other than a dull ache, it did not pain her. There was also a weight pressing down on the hand on her right. When her eyes blinked open, squinting against the candlelight, almost as heavy as her shoulder, she saw it was Jorah's hand, holding steadfast to her own.

His eyes were focused on her hand, but his head shot up upon her awakening. She hadn't made a sound, nor moved anything other than her eyes, so how he knew she had awoken, Daenerys was uncertain.

"Khaleesi?" He asked, voice soft.

"Jorah?" She said. She didn't recognise her own voice, it was rough and husky.

"Thank the Gods." Jorah said, head dropping for a second, his voice filled with relief. His gaze rose back to Daenerys's. "Are you in pain?"

"I'm alright." She said, attempting to clear her throat.

"I can fetch some more milk of the poppy if you need it." He said.

Daenerys shook her head. That explaned why she was relatively pain free, why she was as groggy as she was. She tried to clear her throat again, but failed. Her mouth was so dry.

"Do you have water?" She rasped.

Jorah nodded.

"Aye." He said. "Let me help you sit up?" He asked, his way of telling her not to even attempt doing so without help, whilst also asking for permission.

She nodded again, and Jorah stood. He looped his arm under her right arm and easily guided her to sitting, before arranging the pillows behind her to support her. He helped her to shuffle backwards, before lowering her gently.

Her head swam at being sat up, even though she was still fairly reclined into the mountain of pillows Jorah had plumped at her back. She closed her heavy eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths.

"Alright?" Jorah asked, concerned.

"I'm fine Jorah." She said, breathing exaggerated. "Now about that water."

Jorah smirked at her forwardness and reached across to grab a water skin. She wasn't sure if it was hers or his, but it didn't matter either way.

"Can you manage?" Jorah asked as he placed it in her hand, ensuring she had a hold before letting go.

Daenerys nodded again, though she had to admit it was a struggle to raise the drink to her lips, despite it being in the hand on her uninjured side. It was heavier than it had any right to be.

The water was wonderful against her parched lips, even more so as it slipped down her dry throat. But Jorah stopped her way too soon.

"Not too much too soon Khaleesi." He said as he took the drink back from her hand. "Trust me."

She sighed heavily and dropped her head back against the pillows. The motion tugged at her shoulder and she glanced at it. It was heavily bandaged, and her arm was strapped down so it rested across her chest, across the base of her ribs.

"It will heal." Jorah said in response to her questioning glance, his tone of voice turning dark as he spoke of her injury.

"What happened?" She asked, still uncertain how she had come across such a debilitating injury. She glanced up at him from the bandages.

Jorah sighed heavily. He sat back on the cushions by her makeshift bed. It was the first time she realised that they were in her hastly constructed tent, and it was dark outside. How long had it been?

"It was an arrow." He said.

Daenerys felt like a fool. Jorah had predicted this, back on Dragonstone when he had implored her to fly to Winterfell. He had warned her that this may happen. One man and a good aim. She should have listened.

"You were incredibly lucky." Jorah told her, his voice thick with emotion. "He was unskilled, his aim was off. I suspect he was aiming for your heart. The Unsullied have him in chains, until you can speak to him. Though Jon already has."

Daenerys had completed forgotten about Jon. In truth, they had only spent one night together, and Daenerys had regretted it the very next morning. Yet Jon had pined over her like a lost puppy. The man she was concerned she had sealed her fate with, whom she may now need to marry to cement a bond with the Seven Kingdoms, and a man she hadn't thought of once since she had been injured.

She recalled the hurt she had felt at the prospect of never seeing Jorah again, yet she hadn't spared a thought for the man who had been in her bed merely a week or so beforehand. Daenerys didn't want to linger on what that may mean.

But then where had Jon been? She had not seen his face once when the injury had occured, only Jorah's. Though in truth her vision couldn't really be trusted at the time.

She hadn't seen him since either. Though she guessed that she had barely opened her eyes before now. But when she had it had been Jorah. Always Jorah. No Jon in sight.

For someone who had barely left her alone, that was strange, was it not?

"The other men who were with him." Jorah continued talking, oblivious to her inner thoughts. "All had swords, axes. He was the only one with a bow. The Unsullied killed the rest of them when they tried to attack."

"Who were they?" She asked.

"Just angry villagers." Jorah confirmed. "From what Jon has managed to get out of the archer. They remebered your father's rule."

Daenerys sighed. Something else Jorah had predicted.

"I should have listened to you." She admitted, her brow furrowed.

"It doesn't matter." Jorah replied, attempting to placate her. "It's done now. No point in beating yourself up over it. The important thing is that you're alive."

"I should know better though." She said. "When has your advice ever lead me wrong? You know what you're talking about, and you were trying to keep me safe."

She held her hand up for him, silently asking for his to hold. He took it immediately, squeezing it gently within his own. She was glad. Though it was her uninjured side, she doubted she could have kept it aloft for much longer, her strength sapped.

"And I thought I knew better." She said regretfully. "I should have listened to you. I will. Next time."

"I think you learned your lesson the hard way." His deep timbre held a regretful tone, perhaps he thought he should have pushed harder to make her listen. Though he should know by now that if he had, she would have only been more adamant not to listen. "And you knocked about ten years off my life in the process."

His hand ran through his hair, already messier than she had seen it in a long time. Daenerys wasn't sure if he was joking. She knew he was terrified by the prospect of her being injured, of potentially losing her. But did he truly believe that he had lost years of his life in the process? She didn't ask.

"How long has it been?" She asked instead.

"Just over a day." Jorah answered her, and she could tell it had been the longest day of his life.

"That's too long." She said, trying and failing to sit up fully.

"Easy Khaleesi." Jorah said. "You aren't ready to be up yet."

"We are on a strict timeline." She told him. "We don't have time for me to lie around in a tent in the middle of nowhere. We need to get to Winterfell."

"We will." He assured her, gaze intense. "But you cannot travel yet."

"The dead are coming." She said, her voice not reaching her usual intensity. She was still intensely weakened.

"I thought you said that next time, you would listen to me?" Jorah asked, a brow raised and a slight smirk on his lips.

"You're not funny." She said, her tone unimpressed.

"We will get there, do not fret Khaleesi." He tried to reassure her. "Though depending on how soon they arrive, I'm not sure you'll be riding on dragonback."

"What?!" She asked, eyes wide. She tried to sit again, only to have Jorah place a hand on her good shoulder to keep her down.

"Easy." He reminded her. "You need to rest. Though I suspect the word is not one that is in your vocabulary." He watched carefully, ready should she attempt to sit up again. Daenerys was unimpressed by his jest. "Sam said your arm will have to remain motionless for a few weeks, to help it to heal fully." Daenerys furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Sam?" She asked.

"The maester in training, who healed me at The Citadel." He explained.

"He's here?" She asked.

"Aye." Jorah confirmed. "He was in Winterfell. Jon damn near killed two horses, he rode them so hard to get there and fetch him back."

Well, that at least partly explained where The King in the North had been. Unbeknownst to Daenerys, Jon had rode off almost at once at breakneck speed, urging his horse into a gallop that left it sweating and panting. They had been less than a days ride from Winterfell, so at his increased speed Jon had arrived in Winterfell promptly. He had taken everyone there by surprise, but none so much as poor Samwell Tarly, who was promptly dragged towards a more well rested horse with few words even exchanged between the pair, pulled up onto its back and rushed back to where Daenerys and her armies currently were.

The Dothraki had cursed at him, for the state he had the horse in upon his return, and had promptly taken it off to tend to it. And Sam had been dragged by a rushing Jon, barely able to keep his footing in an attempt to keep up with his friend, in the direction of Daenerys.

She was already unconscious by then, already moved into her hastly thrown up tent. But Sam had cleaned the wound, sewn together the open flesh and bandaged her up, with praise given to Jorah for removing the arrow correctly and stemming the bleeding. He had then promptly forced a vial of milk of the poppy down her throat with instructions to Jorah to call upon him if needed.

He had parted then, with a fond "Good to see you again Ser Jorah." And he had returned Jon's actions from earlier that day, dragging him off to discuss important matters. The pair had yet to show their faces again, save for Sam occasionally popping his head into the tent to check on his patient.

Jorah sat back onto his cushions, apparently confident that she would not attempt to sit up again. 

She wouldn't. 

Not yet. 

The little energy her stint with unconsciousness had gained her had drained quickly, her eyes were heavy, exhaustion creeping in. And of course Jorah noticed. 

"Sleep Khaleesi." Jorah uttered.

She nodded, eyes drifting closed without her permission. 

"You'll stay?" She asked, lips barely moving, words slurring slightly. 

"I'll stay as long as you need me." Jorah replied. 

She heard the devotion in his tone, even though her eyes had closed and she could no longer see him. 

He was steadfast. 

He was loyal. 

He had been right. 

But of course he had been right. It was her last thoughts as she drifted again, despite the fact that she was propped up on pillows. 

She had listened to Jon's suggested method of travel, purely because her curiosity over him had gotten the better of her. His plan had been flawed, and Jorah had seen those flaws and called them out. 

She hadn't listened. 

It opened her eyes. Jon had not cared for her safety, only wishing that he could utilise more time to seduce her. Jorah had never once pushed her, despite her knowing he had held feelings for her for many years. He thought about her safety first, above all else. 

And next time. 

She would heed his advice. 

Chapter 5

Notes:

Sorry this has taken a little while, I’ve been suffering with gastritis and have felt awful. Doesn’t help I’m not allowed coffee 😭 major caffeine withdrawals! So this one is a little on the shorter side, but I wanted to get something written and out.

Daenerys loathed travelling by wheelhouse, so used was she to riding on horseback or dragonback.

She watched the trees pass by the small window, trying desperately to ignore Tyrion's nattering. His voice beginning to pain her more than her wounded shoulder.

”I do hope they put on a feast.” Tyrion spoke of his wishes. “Last time I stayed in Winterfell they put on a grand old feast. So grand that I drank myself into a stupor and slept with the dogs.”

”Drank too much, you?” Varys questioned sarcastically. 

“Of course, it was not winter then,” Tyrion continued, ignoring Varys’s jest. “so less need to ration the food. That being said, I’d like to think the wine will still flow freely-”

”I thought I banned you from drinking?” Daenerys said through her teeth, gritted against the pain that shot through her. She did not glance his way, not even turning away from the window.

Jorah had insisted, upon Sam's advice, that Daenerys not ride. Yet she could not help but think that horse riding would pain her less. The carriage bumped and swayed dramatically along the uneven road. It jarred her shoulder at every movement, making her hiss and causing her breath to catch.

Varys's eye fell upon her every time, Missandei’s never left her.

She could ride her horse more smoothly than that blasted carriage bumbled over stone. Yet she had not argued, after all there was the matter of how she would mount her horse with only one arm able to move, and she had promised Jorah that the next time, she would heed his advice.

And so she suffered.

Fearing at every jerk of the carriage the wound to her shoulder would burst open, feared also that her ears would begin to bleed if she was forced to listen to Tyrion droning on for much longer.

At least they were less than a day from their destination.

”Can’t expect a man to sit and wait for almost certain death with nothing to numb the pain of the inevitable now, can we?” Tyrion retorted to her question. As though he was the one gritting his teeth against the mere bump of a wheelhouse on the road.

Daenerys ignored him, tuning him out as he continued to talk to the other occupants of the carriage.

Instead her mind passed the time by thinking back on the days that had passed as they had sat pointlessly so close to their destination. Yet Samwell had insisted on a few days rest.

In truth she had struggled to even stand that first day that she returned to consciousness. Jorah had steadied her, his hand on the elbow of her good side. She had leaned heavily into him, breathing laboured and feeling weaker than ever. She was grateful for his strength. Grateful for his blind devotion.

She had barely put one foot in front of the other and her trembling legs had given out, the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor being that strength and devotion. He would never let her fall.

And over those days of rest she had questioned him with every glance, questioning more herself than him. She still pondered her feelings on the day she had been injured, why she had been upset at the prospect of never seeing him again.

It confused her.

Yet when she glanced his way her heart sped up, the tent becoming slightly warmer than before. When he steadied her as she struggled with the simple task of standing, his hand on the bare skin of her elbow sent shockwaves across her skin, a tremble down her spine that had nought to do with her weakened state.

He had mistaken the gooseflesh that rose as her being cold, she had lost a great deal of blood after all and they were in the north during winter. And so after her stumble Jorah had been more than willing to bundle her back into bed and under some warm furs.

Jorah fussed. He was still concerned for her, she could see it in his eyes even if the words did not leave his lips. Yet he was content. Content that she was alive, that she was healing however slowly, that she was allowing him to fuss over her, to aid her recovery.

Daenerys however was increadibly frustrated.

She could hardly sit up without pain blooming under her bandages and spreading down her arm, across the top of her chest. She couldn't stand without her legs turning to jelly under her. And her heart and mind had begun to play tricks on her.

Perhaps that last part was merely down to the blood loss?

Yet stranger still, was Jon.

The man who had barely left her alone, hardly glanced away from her prior to the attack, now was no where to be seen. He had not visited her upon her sickbed, had not yearned after her, and when she had finally been able to leave her tent, his eyes had not followed her as previously. Instead he seemed to actively avoid eye contact with her at all costs.

It didn't bother Daenerys. In fact she was quite glad for his attention to have diverted away from her.

But it was extremely odd.

And it confused her more than whatever was happening with Jorah.

Jorah whom her mind seemed to be drawn to at any given moment.

Even as she rode in that gods forsaken wheelhouse.

Jorah had insisted upon riding near the carriage, there were plenty of fighting men to protect the train, most of the train being fighting men. He would protect his Queen. His place was riding beside her, even if she was not atop a horse.

Daenerys winced, her eyes squeezing shut as the wheel of the carriage dipped into a deep divet in the road, jarring her as it did. Missandei's hand grasped hers, squeezing lightly. Daenerys squeezed back, breathing heavily against the pain, grateful at least to have Missandei with her.

She smiled gratefully to her friend, before her gaze returned to the small window. If she watched carefully, at just the right angle, she could see the flank of Jorah's horse, the fur of his cloak where it fell over the horses back.

Along their journey, she would catch a glimpse of golden hair as it caught the sunlight and her heart would leap at the sight.

How had almost dying elicited such a response within her?

She pondered this also, as Winterfell grew closer and she longed to hear Jorah's voice sharing his knowledge of the north with her, much like he had in Whiteharbour.

Daenerys knew that his soothing voice would help distract her from the pain she felt.

She pined for a spot on her horse by his side, fearing she would be ill prepared to arrive in Winterfell without his knowledge. Yet perhaps it could be an excuse to seek out his presence once they arrived?

---

The carriage finally pulled to a halt. They had passed crowds of people on the way into Winterfell, all interested in a glimpse at The Dragon Queen. A glimpse they would not get. Yet from her tiny window Daenerys saw the looks of distrust and disgust as her foreign army rode past. It sent red hot anger through her. They had come to risk their own lives to aid these people after all.

Missandei offered a hand, and Daenerys took it with her uninjured side. Her friend helped her to her feet in a much less jarring way than she would have risen by herself.

She smiled gratefully, and Missandei bowed her head in acknowledgment. Standing on her feet again, Daenerys resisited her body's desire to sway, for her legs to tremble. It had been merely a few short days since her injury and she had not been on her feet long in that time. She was still weakened.

Her head swam, and she had yet to even put one foot in front of the other.

Missandei had yet to let go of her hand.

Jorah had warned her how the bloodloss would effect her. She had lost more than he was comfortable with after all, though Daenerys assumed a mere drop was more than Jorah would be comfortable with her losing.

She kept Missandei's hand, as she eased her way slowly towards the door, Missandei following as support without question. She let go to finally lean her palm against the doorframe, awaiting one of her soldiers to open it, more than aware of Tyrion and Varys watching her with concern.

Missandei remained close. It was as though her friend worried she would stumble, that she would need someone close enough to catch her.

Daenerys could not be certain that her friend was wrong.

When the door did open, it was no mere soldier who had opened it, but Jorah. He had jumped down from his horse and headed straight to the carriage, eager to assist his Khaleesi. It eased something within her, for him to be there, no more walls parting her from him. His hand was extended to her, to aid her down the steps, an act that would be viewed as appropriate for the knight of a Queen. Injury or no. She took it without hesitation, her palm leaving the cool of the doorframe for the warmth she felt seeping through Jorah's leather gloves.

That touch alone helped steady her, her head swam less, her legs felt stronger, steadier. She descended those steps with confidence, head high, mask fully in place.

Her gaze, which should have been on her first true glimpse of Winterfell, instead fell upon her knight. She could see the worry in his eyes, though her gaze meeting his seemed to calm it somewhat.

Jorah's gaze held. It gave her the confidence to keep standing until no eyes were upon her anymore, it gave her shivers right down her spine and into the tips of her toes.

Again she pondered on what had changed between them, what spark had been lit? It equally thrilled her, and terrified her, for what if the spark caught? What if it spread like wildfire, catching on the slightest bit of dried timbre or grass? 

She tore her gaze away from his, heart pounding in her chest, and made to meet with those who called Winterfell home. Yet Jorah would remain by her side, her hand lightly looped into the crook of his elbow. He would be her strength.

Her support.

Her anchor.