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Jorah had returned to her.

It was late at night, and Daenerys couldn't sleep. It felt unreal. Last time she had seen her Bear had been outside of Vaes Dothrak, when he had helped rescue her. She had commanded him to find a cure for his affliction. Though she refused to give up hope, she had known there was a good chance she would never see him again. It had hurt her heart to watch him walk away.

But he returned to me. It was a good thing Jon Snow and her Dothraki guards had been there, else she might have broken down crying from relief and joy. That would not have been queenly of her. She had missed him more than words could say, and there was much she wanted to tell him and hear his thoughts on. For now, though, she needed her rest.

But rest was eluding her.

Dany tossed and turned in bed, a million thoughts racing through her mind. Cersei, Meereen, the North, Jon Snow's tales of a mysterious threat beyond the wall...there was so much work to be done, and decisions to be made. Yet her thoughts kept returning to Jorah. He appeared healthy and strong, and...

And the way he looked at her had made her heart skip a beat.

By the time dawn came, she had only slept a few hours. Daenerys had been pushing herself hard lately, so it wasn't unusual for her to retire late and start the day early. She bathed, dressed, and left her chambers, feeling restless.

So were the dragons. She joined them on the beach, Unsullied guards nearby but far enough away for privacy. Her children surrounded her, waiting impatiently for attention. "Good morning," she called out, smiling. When she was with her dragons, her spirit always felt lighter, and her mind became clearer.

Comments

[restrainer]

When Jorah had left, all of his remaining cards, obvious as they may have been, had been placed on the table, spread out in the open for everyone to see. Perhaps it had always been blindingly obvious, and Tyrion had merely spoken the words that others had muttered beneath their breath, or had hidden away in the back of their minds. Perhaps the only person who had been blind to them had been Daenerys--and perhaps she had known all along, too. It was a peculiar thought: to think that feelings which had been held so tightly, knitted into the patchwork of his heart, had been on display despite his fierce determination to keep them safe and curtained.

I love you. I'll always love you.

He had played his hand, spreading it out like it would absolve him of the sin. He had left knowing that he had at least spoken the truth, his final truth, and that the most important person had known.

And perhaps he hadn't really thought he'd ever come back to face her, again.

The place by her side had been filled by so many others--the comforting presence of Missandei, the strong shadow of Jon Snow. He wondered, now, if he were doing something he shouldn't; the stairs down to the beach felt heavy and solid, beneath his boots, and though the day had hardly started, Jorah had been awake for some time, now. He wasn't entirely certain what his role was, now that he had returned, now that he was healthy. He had pledged his life to her--he was her knight. But was that where she wanted him to be?

The Unsullied guards weren't troubled by his presence, as sand crunched beneath his feet and he made his way across the beach; Jorah wondered if the dragons would be so kind. He could see Daenerys, a bright light in the near distance, her hair whipped by the pleasurably cool morning breeze.

His movements were slow and methodical, and he kept a bit of distance between them. He loathed to interrupt her time with her children--though, as Drogon lifted his head to regard him, tilting his scaled head curiously, Jorah figured he'd been caught.

Smiling faintly, he clasped his hands at his back and waited.

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Daenerys saw her Drogon lift his head, staring at something behind her with those frighteningly intelligent eyes all dragons seemed to possess. She turned around to look...and immediately broke out in a grin. After giving them each one more pat, she turned and quickly made her way across the damp sand towards her oldest adviser.

Now that they were in a less formal setting, she was free to pull him into a proper embrace. Leaning up onto the tips of her toes, she threw her arms around him. "Ser Jorah," she said, voice thick with emotion. It was proving a little hard, keeping her emotions in check. "I am thankful that you have returned at last, healthy and whole." Though she wished to hold onto him longer, Dany reluctantly pulled away.

Her unusual eyes were bright with emotion, silver-gold hair windblown, cheeks pink. "And you have returned just in time -- the campaign to retake Westeros is already underway. I have great need of your good counsel. But that can wait until later."

She gestured toward one end of the beach. "Will you walk with me a while, good ser? I wish to hear of your journey."

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Daenerys, at the very least, seemed pleased to see him. Although he'd spent much of his time with her while the dragons had been growing, he wasn't entirely sure he could read their expressions anymore. He used to guess at them, a lot, and would grow pleased if he seemed to get it right; yet they had certainly grown, huge and formidable, and he imagined there was a lot they kept hidden behind those wide, curious eyes that watched him still as Daenerys made her way across the beach.

Drogon, at least. He didn't look irritated--perhaps there was an understanding, there. He imagined that of any of her suitors, he was most likely the least intimidating. It made him smile some, sheepish and bemused, as she closed the distance between them.

Her arms fit around him in a sudden embrace, and though he knew he shouldn't, his arms circled her waist. He could smell the beach on her, the warm scent of the sand and the water and the wind, mixed together; he could smell the flowery aroma of her soap, hiding behind it all. When she drew away, he offered her another smile, tinged with embarrassment.

"Mostly whole," he corrected, and his smile glinted a little in amusement. With his hands politely pinned behind his back again, he nodded in encouragement in the direction of the open end of the beach, and shifted into the space at her side, instead, to accompany her on the walk.

"It would be my honor, Khaleesi." And for the first time in a long time, he could feel himself relaxing, just slightly, by her side.

"I am not sure you want to hear the tale," he continued, as he glanced down at the sand. His boots sank into it, slightly, but it was still firm and damp, enough that they moved on relatively level ground. "For a long time, I believed it to be hopeless, myself."

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Embracing Jorah felt natural. His arms encircled her waist, and it was a good thing the fresh air brought color to her cheeks, helping to mask the blush. He survived, he returned, he is by my side...

They walked side by side down the beach, away from the dragons. The sun had properly risen in a cloudless sky, chasing away the early morning fog. Though Dragonstone still had a melancholy air about it, it felt as if Dany and her followers were breathing new life and energy into the home of her ancestors.

When Jorah suggested that she would not want to hear the tale, Daenerys glanced at him, confused. "You survived the impossible. Of course I wish to hear it...unless it is too painful to speak of." She could not imagine the fear he must have felt. "Instead, you could tell me about the Citadel."

I have missed your voice, she thought to herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Daenerys listened to him, both attentive and patient. She knew that he always wanted to not only protect her, but shield her from the grim realities of life. While it endeared him to her even more, she was a queen, and had a responsibility to her people. They do not have the luxury of being shielded from the harsh realities of life. I will not be shielded, either.

Still, there was a small part of her that yearned to be taken care of and treated like an ordinary woman. It was a part of her she had to suppress. Dany had to be strong for her people at all times no matter what happened.

She raised her eyebrows when Jorah said that they did not like him there. It made her curious, what sort of men those maesters were. "I hope they still treated you well."

The thought of all those books was exciting. So much knowledge and history, so many stories...it would be nice, to see it all.

"This man who approached you...he knew the cure?" She looked puzzled. "If a cure is known, then it must be shared." Greyscale was a terrible disease, a d she had never heard of an effective treatment for it, let alone a cure.

Hearing how Jorah had planned on taking his own life made her heart ache. Her curious expression turned to a sad one as she glanced up at him. "Thank the gods you met that man," he said quietly. "I owe him a great debt."

She stopped walking for a moment, and reached out to touch Jorah's arm. "Thank you, Ser Jorah. You completed an impossible task for your queen." A warm smile lit up her face. "And you have made your friend happy beyond measure." Though she tried to hide it, there was a wealth of emotion in her eyes as well as her voice.

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With his hands tightened behind his back, Jorah wondered exactly how much he should tell her. The story was already laid out before him, thick and important in his memories, but he worried over what his words might do to her. The last thing he wanted her to feel was any guilt for what had happened: after all, it had been the result of his own careless mistakes, and nothing further. If he had never betrayed her--if he had just--

Smiling, faintly, he decided to place his trust in her judgement. As much as he wanted to protect her from the world, he knew she was too strong to fold into the warm caress of careful words and blurred truths.

"They have rooms, where they keep the sick," Jorah continued on. "As you know, Greyscale is highly contagious, and it can cause a number of problems with the mind, as it...goes on."

He had been lucky it had not reached that point, when he met Samwell.

"The man, he... he knew my father. He wanted to find a cure, and so he did the best that he could. The maesters forbade him, I believe, but he came to my room, late in the night, and said that he could try. His plan was to remove all of the skin that had been infected."

His eyes fell shut for a moment: the pain was just a memory, now, but it still gave him cause to shiver, faintly, beneath the fabric of his coat.

"It took all of the night. There was a lot of skin to remove. He used an ointment after, to prevent infection... I think perhaps, if we meet again, you may find it useful to speak to him about it. I believe he has a number of ideas, he's a clever man."

When Daenerys touched his arm, he offered her another smile: this one a little truer to form. He could feel the way her gaze wavered; he hoped that he would not make her cry.

"I would have done anything. I would have tried anything, to return to you."

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There was a pensive look on her face as he continued his tale. Daenerys had come so very close to losing him...it made her want to keep him close to her from now on, and never let him risk his safety again. But it wasn't safe around her, not truly, and it would only get more dangerous as she finally moved to take the Iron Throne. That, and Jorah would resent her for trying to shield him. He deserves to go home, she thought, wistful.

Fate must have intervened to bring the man who had known Jeor Mormont to the citadel at the same time her bear was there. It angered her that the maesters had tried to stop him from treating Jorah. Changes will be made once I rule. Then --

"He removed the skin?!" she exclaimed, horrified. In the distance behind them a dragon let out a in deep, rumbling roar.

As a child she had, as children do, often fallen and scraped her knees, sometimes even elbows. It always hurt, and Viserys would have to kiss her bandage and wipe away her tears. How much pain had he endured?

By the time Jorah finished her eyes were bright and shimmering with unshed tears. "The pain...it must have been unbearable," she said quietly. "After enduring that, after all that you have been through, I would not have blamed you for deciding to leave. Live your life in peace on Bear Island, perhaps."

'I would have done anything. I would have tried anything, to return to you.'

Those words, coupled with that faint smile...it made her heart flutter. Dany schooled her features, hoping that he hadn't noticed anything different.

"May I see your hand, Ser Jorah?" she asked. "I wish to see this miracle with my own eyes."

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Her voice rose high and clear, drowning out the soft whisper of the sea breeze, the gentle rush of the waves onto the shore. Jorah could hear the horror in the tone--he could feel it sink into him, wash him over with something akin to guilt. Perhaps he should have thought better of it, then. But could he ever lie to her again? He didn't think he had it in him, even a lie by omission. Somewhere, out behind them, he could hear the roar of one of the dragons--even by closing his eyes, he couldn't tell which one of them it was. Daenerys would know, but he wasn't going to ask.

"I could never leave," he said softly, and he knew that they both knew that. After his confession--there was no other place for him, but at her side. Returning to Bear Island would no longer bring him peace.

Her eyes were glassy when they met his, and he wanted to embrace her, but he didn't know if he should. Instead, her expression melted, dropped out and then came back together, and he felt as though something different had come over her, then, something he was not supposed to see.

With another smile, he nodded, and stopped in his tracks. With his other hand, he gently pushed up the sleeve of the arm closest to her, offering her the sight of his palm, the inside of his wrist and the skin of his forearm. Though he had healed surprisingly well--surely due to Samwell's diligence--there was a bit of scarring here and there, as though he looked like a patchwork quilt, or some kind of ragged doll.

Laughing almost bashfully, he shook his head.

"I know it is not a pleasant sight. Surely not something that will win me any romantic attention, but. It is healed, at least."

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'I could never leave. Daenerys could hear the truth in his words. They reassured her, and she felt relieved...as well as guilty for being so selfish.

Yet since she had first met Jorah on her wedding day to Khal Drogo, she had felt a special connection to him. He had given her those books from her homeland, and had helped her navigate that difficult day. Other than Viserys, he had been the only one from Westeros, and had helped her adjust to her new life.

What would she have done without him?

Dany came to a stop as well, and watched quietly as he pushed up his sleeve, showing her the skin. Without hesitating, she took his large hand in her two small ones, bringing it closer for inspection.

There was scarring, but not so very much. She had expected worse. "It truly is a miracle," she said, voice hushed. With the fingertips of her right hand, she lightly traced along the patchwork scarring, from palm to forearm.

Daenerys had the strangest urge to repeat the action with her lips.

His comment made him frown. "If a woman is deterred by your scars, then she is not worthy of you," Dany said matter-of-factly. She finally let go and rolled his sleeve back down.

"Thank you for allowing me to see," she said. "When I take the throne, I shall reward the brave and clever man who cured you." Dany smiled warmly up at him. "Shall we continue?"

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Daenerys' touch felt almost cool, at first, as both of her hands took the one he offered to her. Perhaps that was because of the slightly thicker material of his tunic, or maybe it was because he felt almost nervous, baring his skin for her like this. He wasn't entirely sure what she might think--would she look at him in disgust? No, he knew. Yet he wasn't sure he wanted the pity, either; still, he couldn't quite detail what it was he craved from her.

Her fingertips followed the harrowed lines, the patchwork of scars, and Jorah found himself watching her face, instead of her movements. Her eyes looked wide and curious, and a weight he hadn't realized had settled in his chest seemed to lessen, if only for a moment. There was no disgust there, no sense of horror. There was a kindness, in the way she rolled his sleeve back down, and Jorah found himself offering her a breathless sort of smile, full of relief.

He knew that there was no chance. Now, more than ever, as she inched closer and closer to the throne. He had spent most of his time in isolation reassuring himself of the fact: even if he died, he had done all that he could do, and his romantic yearnings would never be returned.

But still, some part of him...

"I shall be happy to see that day," Jorah said with another smile. He could only imagined how flustered Samwell would get about it. With his arms clasped at his back again, they continued moving down the beach, some, and Jorah's gaze wandered to the movement of their feet.

"Tell me of the dragons." He knew that would help cheer her up, some; she loved to talk about her children. "How have they been faring?"

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Jorah mentioned her dragons, and she lit up. Daenerys was always happy to talk about her children. "They are doing well," she said. "I have gotten used to riding Drogon, and feel confident. Oh, if I could, I would spend most of the day high in the sky..."

Dany spoke more of her children, but she also had other matters to discuss. So when talk of her dragons came to an end, the bright joy on her face faded into a serious expression.

"I have a dilemma, Ser Jorah," she said. "Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark, is the self-proclaimed King in the North. He has come to ask for my help."

Daenerys told him how Jon arrived with tales of undead men who killed every living thing in their path. How her Hand said he was an honest man, and how she was allowing him to mine the dragonglass.

"What do you make of all this, Ser Jorah? I sense that he is truthful, and yet his claim of an army of undead men sounds like mere fantasy." Daenerys looked up at him as they continued to stroll down the beach. Jorah was from the North, and she valued his opinion greatly.

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It wasn't the first time he had heard such things. Once, when he was younger, he'd heard the tales of the undead, the wights that would come and steal bad little boys from their beds if the disobeyed their fathers. As he'd grown, he'd figured they were only an old wives tale, the kind told to children of the North to keep them in line. But he'd never known the Starks to be liars; certainly, he'd never known any kin of Eddard Stark to be anything but painstakingly loyal and rule abiding. Despite his altercations with the Warden of the North, he could not think badly of him.

Still--to come and ask Daenerys for her help? A flare of heat bounded in his chest, the kind that made him feel protective, deductive.

"I have heard the tales," he admitted softly after a moment. But what was it that Jon Snow hoped their Queen to be able to do?

"If he speaks the truth, then we are certainly in trouble. I know it must seem like merely a way to distract you from your path to the Throne, and yet..." His eyes scan out across the beach, before he looks back to her.

"If you sense that he is true, then I think we must do what we can. It may be helpful to show the people of the North that you seek to protect and help them, as well."

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"If what Jon Snow says is true, then I cannot ignore this threat. My khalasar, the Unsullied, my subjects in Meereen, the freed men and women and children...all those who follow me, I have sworn to protect. And I will keep that vow, no matter what." When Dany spoke of her people, her duty as a Queen and a Khaleesi and a mother, she stood a little taller. With her back straight and her chin up, Daenerys looked every inch the Targaryen she was.

"I do hope this man is mistaken, Ser Jorah. Not because of the throne -- in that area, I have every advantage. It is only a matter of time." The smile she wore then was bitter. "I am weary of war."

For just a moment or two, Dany let down her guard, allowing Jorah a glimpse of the young woman beneath the weight of her titles, responsibilities, and expectations. The young woman who dreamed of the house with the red door, the lemon tree, and the childhood she never had.

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With her shoulders straight, Daenerys' words seemed to ring louder--they seemed to come out over the sound of the waves, crashing against the shore, and her assurances almost made him feel at ease. It was nice to see that she hadn't lost that fire within her, while he'd been gone. It was nice to see that her priorities were still priorities, that she hadn't lost sight of what she had always set out to do. Perhaps it was a bit of a relief to know that the woman he loved hadn't changed, in all the time it had taken him to come back to her side.

Yet there was a tiredness about her, a weariness that made itself obvious in the way that her smile waned and her eyes cast off. He felt compassion for her--for the way that her life had weaved itself into another's tale. His hands clenched at his back, tight. He wanted to reach for her, but not without permission.

"We are nearly to the end of it all, Khaleesi," he said softly, encouragingly. "We will fight this battle, and the battle after it. We will protect your people, and you will have the throne. Aye, it is truly only a matter of time."

His eyes found the coast, glancing at it briefly. Such a sight felt calming.

"But I think it is alright, to take time to rest. Like this. To enjoy your children, to have moments of peace."

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'We', Jorah said. 'We are nearly at the end' and 'we will fight' and 'we will protect'. His words stirred her heart with strong emotions.

Daenerys turned and looked up at him with a soft, sweet smile. His confidence helped to bolster her spirits. "You are right. Once this Northern threat is dealt with, victory is close."

She was closer to taking back the Iron Throne than she ever had been before -- closer than even Viserys had gotten. Soon she would be queen, and right the wrongs her father had done, and shape the realm into a better place. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"There will be time for rest once we take the Iron Throne," she said, turning back the way they came. Dany gestured for him to follow. "Our allies are gathering this morning so that we may plan the first move. Ser Jorah, will you join us? I would appreciate your counsel, especially regarding Jon Snow."

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It doesn't surprise him, to hear of a meeting--after all, it would make sense for everyone to get together and try to hash out a battle plan, especially with what it would appear that the North would like help with. He feels a little protective of her, especially at the mention of Jon Snow, but he trusts her to make the right decisions.

"It would be my honor to," he said with an easy sort of smile. It was still only morning, yet there was a whole day of work to get through. He imagined his thoughts would continue to drift back to the coastline, to the sight of her dragons, to the smile on her face as they walked through the sand. It would be something of a comfort despite everything else.

"I will escort you back to the castle." He was certain he did not need to say it, and yet--he did not want to leave her until he must. "Then perhaps I'll wash up before the meeting. I'm afraid I might look a touch too rugged these days."

He let out a faint chuckle.

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Daenerys nodded when he agreed to her request. "Thank you."

Though she would have been content to walk in companionable silence, Dany was happy that he continued the conversation. I have missed his voice.

"Too rugged? I disagree. You are from Bear Island...it suits you, Ser Jorah." She sounded amused. "Though by that logic, I should work on looking as fierce and intimidating as my children."

As if they knew she was thinking of them, two of her dragons took off into the sky. Drogon and Rhaegal flew out over the sea, while Viserion could be seen stretching and taking his time. His gold and cream scales flashed brilliantly in the sunlight. The sight made her heart sing.

Viserion seemed to be waiting for them. Smiling, she gestured for Jorah to follow her. "Come say hello. They've grown even bigger since last you saw." Yes, Dany had to ready herself for the meeting, but she could not resist snatching another moment or two with both her old bear and the gentlest of her three children.

The dragons trusted Jorah. After their mother, he had been the second human they had properly seen, and a constant presence for most of their lives. Viserion was waiting patiently, but Dany still couldn't help but leave the knight's side to run to him.

She patted his nose, and scratched the area between his eyes. The dragon made a deep sound of contentment. Daenerys looked over her shoulder at Jorah. "Would you like to pat Viserion? They all have missed you, too."

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Jorah had always felt a certain rush, seeing her children--as though he were watching her dreams soar up into the sky, hard-scaled and impossible to shoot down. They were capable of carrying all of her hopes with them, strong and determined, and though he'd felt uneasy before, surely, back when it had been hard for her to help them grow, back when they had fed without reason or respect, he had never been fearful of them harming him, and had never worried they would harm her, either. They were truly her children--she was truly their mother.

Drogon and Rhaegal looked brilliant, flying out over the sea, where their wings made ocean spray mist up into the morning sky, a kaleidoscope of colors arcing through the rainbow of the water. He found himself squinting to follow the path of their flight, for a moment, before he realized that left one unaccounted for: Viserion, lounging out in the sand, looking a bit pleased with himself for securing a moment of his mother's attention alone.

Jorah chuckled a little--he let Daenerys rush to meet him, but he took his time, approaching the dragon with careful, measured steps that spoke of doing no harm to either of them. It was an honor, to be offered to touch one: it truly meant that their rift had been repaired, that Daenerys trusted him enough to let him touch and rub and be around her children.

Viserion eyed him, at first, and then let out a soft sound--Jorah looked sheepish when he reached up to rub his palm heartily down the bridge of his wide snout.

"Have they, now," Jorah said with a rumble of amusement, but Viserion was too pleased by the attention to answer. "I have missed them, too. Almost as much as you."

With a grin at Daenerys, he gave Viserion one last rub between the nostrils before he let his hand drop away.

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Earning a dragon's trust was not something just any man could do. Jorah was one of only a handful of people who were allowed to touch them. Missandei, Grey Worm, and Tyrion were the others...it was an honor reserved for only those closest to her.

Daenerys was happy to watch Jorah pat Viserion. Not everyone could see the beauty, grace, and wonder in dragons, and still fewer were brave enough to approach one. It made her feel proud, to have such a man fighting for her.

Jorah's comment about missing them almost as much as he had missed her tugged at her heart. Still, she acknowledged it with another smile. The rift between them had indeed been mended, and Dany was happy to leave it in the past where it belonged.

She turned to go, but Viserion used his teeth to snag the corner of her cloak, ripping. It was a strange sight to see such a deadly creature be so gentle. "Viserion!" she chided, voice stern. "I just had that mended! We must go now, there is much to be done." She embraced him as best she could. "Go play with your brothers, and I will come see you later. Be good."

Viserion chuffed, as if to say, I suppose that is acceptable. Dany rejoined Jorah's side on the way back to the castle, leaving her dragon to amble towards the sea and take flight.

"I am afraid I need to change before the meeting," she said, laughing as she examined her torn cloak. "Thank you for walking with me this morning, Ser Jorah. I shall see you soon." And with that, they went separate ways inside the castle.

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Daenerys joined Ser Jorah, Lord Tyrion, Lord Varys, Ser Davos, and the man who called himself King in the North. Though she was willing to listen to Jon Snow, she could not justify diverting her army and resources away from attacking Cersei in King's Landing on the word of just one man. That was when her Hand proposed a ridiculous idea: hunting for one of the undead far north, beyond the wall.

While she was concerned for the safety of the men who agreed to it, they were free to do as they pleased.

Then Jorah volunteered, a d she could not help but quickly look over at him in shock. What was he thinking?

When the meeting was over, she requested that he stay behind. It took a great amount of self-control to remain silent until the rest were gone and the door was closed. When they were alone, she stood to face him, a look of disapproval bordering on anger on her face.

"Ser Jorah, what are you thinking?" she asked, tone sharp. "You have only just returned, and now you wish to leave again?"

Now you wish to leave me again?

"The burden of proof is on Jon Snow. Why not let him take his own men north?" Her violet eyes were wide, searching his face for an answer.

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One by one, the room emptied, and one by one, Jorah felt his fingers curl in around his other hand, squeezing at it to keep himself quiet and patient. There was a chill to the room, something more than just the late night breeze coming in through the windows, bringing the scent of the ocean salt with it, and even with the heavy door closed, it felt stuffy, crowded with emotion and words left unspoken.

Of all things, he should have expected her anger. He should have expected frustration and disbelief, and perhaps even hurt, but somehow it still came as a surprise to him. Part of him had thought she might be pleased, as though his willingness to see it through to the end might be admirable. That she might take some pleasure in his loyalty to her. But Daenerys whirled on him with disapproval splashed across her features, and yet he stood tall, his jaw locked, listening silently to her sharp words.

"It would not do, my Queen. This is something we all must resolve. Together," he managed, in a soft, even tone. He couldn't tell what she was more upset about--that he had volunteered to go and help someone who still would not bend the knee, or that he had volunteered to leave so soon after returning.

"He needs the help. If it brings us one step closer to your Throne, is it not necessary that I help us take that step?"

[ifilookback]

Daenerys listened to what he had to say, jaw clenched, trying to keep her emotions in check. She didn't know which was strongest right now: anger, or hurt, or fear. Why am I so upset? After all, she could simply order him not to go. But the fact that Jorah had volunteered without even consulting her...it stung.

"I agree that this must be resolved." Somehow, she was able to keep her voice steady, speaking calmly yet firmly. "Even though he has not yet bent the knee, I have given Jon Snow permission to mine all the dragon glass he needs, and offered the supplies to do so, as well as men to help. In addition, I have also made it clear that should the North truly need protecting, I am willing to do just that."

She clasped her hands behind her back, fingers digging into her own skin almost painfully. "But I draw the line at sending my oldest and most trusted advisor." Her expression softened just a bit. "Too many things could go wrong. Even I have heard tales of how dangerous it is North of the Wall. You could freeze to death, or be eaten, or injured and left behind..."

Daenerys trailed off. The thought of losing him again made her heart hurt. It was unthinkable. Part of her wanted to beg Jorah to stay by her side. And yet...she couldn't do that. It wouldn't be right.

Instead, she took a deep, steadying breath, and stood up straighter. "That is what I think, but the choice is up to you. I am willing to send another man in your place, as a gesture of good will. However, if accompanying Jon Snow is what you truly feel to be right...I will not stop you. The choice is yours, Ser Jorah...as it always has been."

It pained her to say it, but that was part of what made her who she was: Daenerys always gave those who followed her a choice. That would never change.

[restrainer]

Perhaps in another time, after his betrayal, Jorah would have worried that this could be the last straw. He would have worried that the tense bow of her jaw might snap, that her words would lash out at him, that her anger and frustration with his choices might be too much to keep them together, and that she would send him away again, far away, so as never to be seen by her eyes again. Yet here, as they stood, he found that he did not worry--he did not even think once that she might grow so weary of him as to remove him from everything entirely. Their morning on the beach had changed something; he felt as secure in his position as he ever had. All of his secrets were bared to her--he had nothing left to hide, nothing to protect but his Queen, his Khaleesi.

And if going to the lands beyond the Wall would help protect her, then he would volunteer over and over and over again to do so.

"I was a man of the North, Khaleesi," he said, though he knew she did not need the reminder. Truthfully, Bear Island was such a small but fierce part of the snowy winterlands that it could be easy to be overlooked, and he had never been up to the Wall himself. He did not truly know what lingered beyond it, or what might find them there--besides what Jon Snow had described.

"I do not fear what might be waiting for us on this journey. I only fear that in staying behind, I will not be serving you to the best of my ability."

One of his hands lingered faintly on his sword hilt, as though reassuring himself of it. He was a knight, after all--and he could still fight, especially for her. Yet something felt peculiar, as though even Daenerys was not sure of why she was protesting.

Gently, his voice continued. "You do not have to worry. I will return again, you know."

[ifilookback]

Daenerys had hoped that her words would sway him. That he would see how foolish this mission was, that others could take on the task instead. But no...he had made his choice, and was sticking to it. Stubborn bear, she thought to herself. What are you trying to prove?

"Very well. Then I suppose you should prepare. I will leave you to it, and when Jon Snow is ready to leave, I will see you off." She turned to leave...

...Then changed her mind halfway to the door. Dany turned around and approached Jorah, leaning up on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek, just as she had done to reassure him before walking straight into the fires of Khal Drogo's funeral pyre.

"You had better return to me, Ser Jorah Mormont. I have need of you here, by my side." Despite her best efforts, her voice wavered just a bit, momentarily betraying her fear. Then it was gone, and she composed herself once again.

She walked briskly out of the council chamber, feeling utterly foolish. I should not have done that, she thought, fingers brushing against her lips. Her mind should be on the state of her allies, on planning her next move. Not excessively worrying about Jorah. He was a skilled warrior, a smart man who was perfectly capable of making his own decisions...and she feared that now, he must think her foolish.

[restrainer]

A breath knocked out of him, quiet at first, and in it there was the feeling of disappointment, a panging in his heart. Perhaps it would be the last time they would be able to speak in confidence like this, and he felt almost disheartened leaving it this way, as though he had done something that could not be forgiven. When she came to see him off, after all, it would in the presence of others; it would be in a place where they would have to be proper, and he would have to steel himself for the kind of gentle yet commanding farewell that a Queen might give to her knight.

Yet she did not seem to be content with this parting, either. When she turned on her heels, Jorah's eyes went round, and the kiss to his cheek was so soft and so gentle that part of him wanted to reach out and take her by the arm, to pull her close in against himself and return the favor.

But he would not do it. It was not his place to, nor did he have the right to. She knew his feelings--and he knew they were not returned. So he smiled, but it was faint, full of a longing he knew he would have to get under control. Perhaps the cold of the North might help him, might have him bury those feelings deep down, freeze them beneath his heart.

"I will return, Khaleesi," he said softly, before she turned to leave.

He found it hard to move, at first, as though rooted by the kiss, as though she had somehow turned him to stone with it.

"I will return," he said again, but it seemed only to be to reassure himself.

[ifilookback]

'I will return, Khaleesi.'

Those words echoed in her mind for the rest of the day. She did not have a good feeling about this mission, but as queen, Daenerys couldn't afford to let even the smallest shred of doubt show. Her people looked to her for strength, and she could not -- would not -- let them down.

The night before the men's departure, Dany could not sleep. She paced restlessly about her chambers, unable to distract herself from a mounting feeling of dread. A waning moon hung low in the sky, surrounded by bright stars. There would be no bad weather, no reason to delay the inevitable.

'He will return, she told herself. My bear will return to me, and when he does, I will feel foolish for ever doubting.

It was nearly dawn before Dany drifted off to sleep, and when she did, vivid dreams plagued her. Viserys whispered in her ear, and Drogo's rough hands grabbed at her, and Mirri Maz Durr laughed at her...

When Missandei woke her she had been whimpering in her sleep. Dany clung to the other woman until the images faded, and she could not recall what had upset her so in the first place.

===

Dozens of men scurried about the beach, readying the ship that would take them further north. Daenerys had personally made sure the men had everything they would need for their journey and more. Her children were out hunting, which was just as well -- even the men who had been with her the longest grew nervous when they were nearby.

Jon Snow tried several times to engage her in discussion, but Daenerys had not the patience for it, though she was never rude. She kept glancing over at Jorah, hoping for an opening that would allow them to speak privately, if only for a moment. Sadly, that moment never came.

After bidding Jon Snow, the blacksmith, Thoros, Clegane, and the others good fortune, she approached Jorah. The smile on her face was convincing...to those who did not know her well. "I pray the gods watch over you, Ser Jorah," she said softly. Though men were coming and going around them, it felt as if they were strangely removed from it all. "And...I pray you remember your promise to me."

Her queenly demeanor disappeared briefly, revealing a tender expression on her face. Violet eyes gazed up at him, brimming with emotion that she had yet to understand. "Come back soon, and come back unharmed."

[restrainer]

It was a morning with clouds and fog, a morning where the dragons were conspicuously absent, as though Daenerys had feared they would cause some kind of disruption in the moods of men who were already uneasy about their long travels. After time aboard the ship, they would have to march to The Wall and then still beyond it, into snow storms and bounds of ice, and Jorah feared that not all would return as bravely as they were to venture forward. Squinting up at the sky, he found that he would miss the slight chill to the air, the warm breeze of salt water off the ocean, and the feel of the sand hard beneath his boots. Most of all, he feared he would miss Daenerys--that he would be unable to think of much else on the long journey ahead of him.

She had her respects to pay to all of the men, of course, and he was both quiet and patient, a solid presence behind them all, until his turn came, and she approached him with a smile that spoke of the volumes she could not and would not say. Her eyes peered up at him as they always had, like the violet sheen of them saw through any sort of wall or blockade he would possibly put up, and when he smiled back, it was soft and quiet.

"I will think of nothing else, Khaleesi," he reassured her, "...but my promise to you."

He knew, somehow, that this would not be their last meeting. He was not meant to expire past the Wall; he would return to her, somehow, in some way. He would not let their last moments together be in the presence of other men milling about, orders being shouted and supplies prepared.

"And in return, perhaps you can think of me." He chuckled a little, before he turned to glance at the ships, heaving a deep breath. He should go, and yet he found himself waiting, as though there could possibly be something else for her to offer him.

[ifilookback]

Dany tried to take heart from his reassurances. He is a knight, one of the best, he has survived worse odds, he will not be alone...

Ever since Jorah's return and that early morning on the beach, something had shifted between them. Feelings she had buried and done her best to ignore had been unearthed. It was new, strange, confusing...Dany had no experience with such things. So she did her best to hide them.

It was quite audacious, asking a queen to think of her knight like that. It made her smile. "Of course I shall."

There was shouting to their left -- most of the supplies and men were already aboard the ship. They had to bring this farewell to a close. There was only one thing left to do.

Dany reached into her pocket and pulled out a small leather drawstring pouch. "This is for good luck -- it has worked for me before. Don't open it yet; wait until you are on the ship, and well on your journey." She handed it to him. Whatever was in the bag did not weigh much at all. "I'm only lending it to you. It's very precious to me, so bring it back."

With that said and done, she made herself take a step back, smile still in place. "I will see you soon."

Once on the ship, Jorah would find the one thing Daenerys had left of her mother: a ring made of white gold and pearls. The same ring he had found on the Dothraki sea, which had led him to her. It now hung securely on a length of braided leather.

'I'm only lending it to you.'

It was a sign of her faith in him.

[restrainer]

Although he had expected something--perhaps a hand squeeze, or maybe just another longing rake of her gaze across him that he could not quite interpret--Jorah was surprised to see the pouch. Part of him thought to insist she keep whatever it was to herself; after all, she needed protection, too, and more direly than he did. To the world, he was simply a shamed man who had found some small way of redeeming his mistakes through his support of their true Queen, and could not, or would not, ever deserve such a gift as the one she prepared to give him.

But he found that he could not refuse it. He could not look at her and hand it back, so he closed it into his palm, wrapped his fingers firmly around it and held it up, close to his heart.

"I shall carry it well, Khaleesi," he vowed, but there was a solemness to his voice that he could not quite imitate. Whatever it was, as light as it could be, it felt heavy to him, as though she were entrusting him with something precious and rare.

Aboard the ship, he opened the pouch.

Aboard the ship, he slipped the braided leather over his neck, tucked the weight of the ring in beneath his tunic.

And in the North, he clutched at the ring and prayed, begged for the Gods--whichever Gods, he did not care--to watch over his Khaleesi, to protect her from danger once he was gone.

Because there was danger, there, beyond the Wall, and it appeared to be danger he would never return from.

[ifilookback]

As soon as the raven reached Dragonstone, Daenerys began to prepare. Something had gone wrong: one man, the blacksmith, had returned for help. She wished she could question him, but there was no time. Her heart was racing as Missandei braided her hair back away from her face, helped her to choose warm furs, and laced up sturdy leather boots.

"You can't go!"

It was her Hand Tyrion, trying to persuade her to stay. Dany's temper flared, but she hid it well. The time for sitting back and waiting was done. There were people in danger, people including her old bear, and she had the power to help. Besides, her children would protect her.

So she ignored his advice, and instead climbed upon Drogon. "Come, let's find Ser Jorah," she said in High Valyrian. He stretched his wings, ran for the edge of the cliff, and took flight. Right behind them were Viserion and Rhaegal.

===

It took hours of searching before she found the hunting party. They were surrounded by what she could only guess was the Army of the Undead. "Dracarys!" she screamed, both anger and fear flooding her veins with adrenaline.

Dragon fire cleared an area around the men, and gave them room to breathe. The ground shook as Drogon landed, letting out a roar of challenge. Rhaegal and Viserion continued to blast fire, keeping most of the undead at bay.

Almost right away she locked eyes with Jorah, and quickly reached for him. They almost clasped hands when a wight came charging at him, forcing him to fight. The next closest man was the large wildling with the bright hair. He was quick to climb upon her dragon, and assisted in hoisting the captured wight up. Her Drogon did not like that.

"Ser Jorah!" she called out anxiously. Dany could not make out his tall form now. Where had he gone? Part of her wished to dismount, but if she did, Drogon would not tolerate the others on his back. And besides, she was not trained with a sword...

Something went whistling through the air only a few feet above her head. Drogon shifted from one side to the other, tail thrashing with agitation, and let out an angry roar. When Dany looked over to where it came from, she saw a tall man, frozen and gaunt, with the most hateful eyes she had ever seen. He caught her gaze, and it chilled her blood. Another man -- no, creature, these beings were not human -- just like him was handing over another spear.

He means to kill my children.

Daenerys did her best not to panic. She helped Jon Snow up behind her, and urged Drogon to move in a circle, searching for Jorah.

She could not leave him behind.

[restrainer]

Jorah could not leave. Not like this, not with the wights still coming for them, and inching closer and closer to where Daenerys waited upon Drogon's back, as though they sought to take her with them, as though they wished to drag her screaming into the pit of them all to become a silver-haired wisp of the undead. The rest of the party were climbing up onto Drogon's back, grasping for scales and horns and hoisting up their captured prey onto the beast, and Jorah knew that he could not simply turn tail and run to join them. They needed the distraction--they needed the opportunity to get his Queen and the North's King out of this icy hell. Shouting, he fought his way forward, his sword cutting through bone and withered flesh, ripping through tattered clothes and small, meager weapons that tried to cut at them.

He could hear the screams of her children--Rhaegal and Viserion still circled around them in the air, lighting up wights as though they were little matches, capable of huge fire that spread out among them, torching their enemies. He couldn't focus on it; he had to put his energy into what was in front of him, and if he had to die out here, then at least he would die doing something righteous and good, and perhaps they would write songs of his bravery, and perhaps his Queen would remember him, years along, when she took her throne safely.

He could hear Drogon screech, as he took flight, and his heart sank. He knew he had to keep Daenerys safe--and the safest place to be was, perhaps, in the air. Yet in front of him, so close and yet still with so much distance between them, was the man that Jon Snow had called The Night King, the one with deep blue eyes and an almost frighteningly pale face, so devoid of anything but hatred that Jorah could not look at him.

"Khaleesi!" Jorah shouted out over the mayhem, the sound of dragons and wights mixing into a painful cacophony. "You must leave! Leave!"

For there were spears there, long blades of icicle that Jorah knew would sail through the air, and his breath felt painful in his throat. If he were to hit Drogon--if they were to come crashing down--

"Go," Jorah shouted again, even as he drew his sword to prepare to rush in.

[ifilookback]

The dragons could sense the danger they were in. Drogon wanted desperately to take off, to keep his mother safe, but Dany refused to let him fly away. Not yet. "Jorah!" she yelled, desperate. He was moving further away from her...what was he thinking?!

Behind her, the men were speaking, urging her to go. She ignored them, pretended that she could not hear them over the sounds of battle. Then a familiar voice cut through the noise:

'Khaleesi! You must leave!'

"No," she whispered to herself...even though she knew she must. Could she risk the lives of her children and several men to save one? Dany could, but not Queen Daenerys.

Another spear went sailing through the air, nearly impaling Viserion. Her heart stopped for a moment. She looked back at Jorah one last time, anguish and heartbreak clear as day on her face. Her last sight was of him bravely charging a large group of the undead.

Dany urged Drogon to take flight. She could feel the dragon's relief as they took to the air. The cold froze her tears on her cheeks, and the sound of rushing wind and dragon wings hid the sound of her weeping. I knew it, I knew it would all go wrong, I should have ordered him to stay, it is my fault, all my fault...

===

Once they reached Castle Black, Daenerys waited impatiently for the surviving men to dismount, and for the Night's Watch to come running with aide.

Then she climbed right back onto Drogon, ready to go back and look for Jorah.

Please, hold on, just a little longer...