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Songs and histories from the Seven Kingdoms.
Knowledge was his first gift to her.
Perhaps there had also been a second unbeknownst to either of them, sewn into his gratuitous gesture on her wedding day. A seed that the gods or even fate had planted within their hearts when amethyst met sapphire.
It was nourished by stolen moments, fertilized by the strength they had become for each other. Though it was no stranger to the betrayal and heartache that gnawed at its maturation.
A disease that sentenced him to death would ironically heal what had nearly withered. The color that had been missing, ever so vibrant as the strength that had returned to his skin, revived upon his arrival at Dragonstone.
But its petals would still never bloom and feast upon the light of day. Sustained by the yearning glances and tender brushes between two souls, forever divided by a chasm dug by centuries of a cruel political game.
At least, not until it was nearly ripped from its roots that fateful, bitter night with a force powerful enough to clear the naivete that had clouded her vision for so long.
She loves Ser Jorah Mormont. A revelation blossomed that was better realized late than never at all.
Now when she looks back, ruminating her-their journey together, she does not feel lost. However many trials her heart had to overcome, however much his heart had to endure, it all led them home.
She would not risk changing a single passing moon if it would steal the opportunity to gently card her fingers through his thinning, blonde hair as they sat in comforting silence beneath the lemon tree. An affectionate act she was beginning to grow accustomed to since they consummated their budding love.
His head nestled in her lap, his eyes closed yet sleep never claimed him. With the nights spent together, she was no stranger to his resting form. Yet the image was something that never failed to warm her. An image that made her close the book she had brought with her early, unable to resist the pull of the enamoring sight situated on her thighs.
How the lines in his face sculpted by experience softened, the feather-weight press of his lips that formed a content line, his relaxed breathing. Ser Jorah was a handsome man, but the vulnerable sight that was bestowed upon her was something meant only for her to see, and she relished at the thought.
He looked younger, boyish even, a term she never would have imagined she’d use to describe her knight until recently.
The gentle smile that graced her lips couldn’t be helped.
She adored him.
He seemed to have sensed the brief pause in her ministrations along his scalp and curled his face father into her belly, breathing a soft hum of protest.
His movement spurred a chuckle from her throat.
“Does sleep elude you, Ser?” she asked, her fingers drifting from his locks down his cheekbone. “You need rest if you wish to resume your duties tonight.”
He grunted in response, shifting so that the rays of the setting sun didn’t pierce his peripherals . A gentle breeze shuffled his shorter locks, which Daenerys tenderly tucked back around his ear.
“I have gone many nights with little rest before, Khaleesi,” he replied, his eyes remained closed at her touch, as if he were also hiding the window to his restlessness. “I will be fine.”
“You swore to never lie to me again,” she chided softly, her tone lacking the malice her words implied.
There was a degree of truth to his words, but his intonation betrayed them and it did not go unnoticed by her. They had known each other for long enough. Sensing the other’s concerns, picking up on each others little habits that would otherwise be missed by anyone but them had become second nature.
He opened his eyes, and only then did she see the reflection of his unspoken worries.
Her brows mirrored her concern, though she spoke no more. She simply sipped his features with her violet hues and grazed his jawline with her fingers up into his soft locks. A gentle act of encouragement.
The silent exchange they had briefly shared had already spoken volumes. There was no need for her to ask.
They were two souls who basked in a stillness that no one in the world could hear besides them.
Something troubles you.
I do not wish to worry you, Daenerys.
I am already worried, my bear.
Her fingers elicited a heavy, content breath from his nostrils, and he turned slightly to press a chaste kiss to her wrist, his hand moving to gently wrap around the spot his lips recently vacated.
His eyes flickered across her visage while his thumb smoothed over the pulse at her wrist. His lips briefly parted but it would be a few more beats before they found words.
“There have been certain...whispers about us.”
She leaned in close enough so that the tips of her hair framing her face barely ghosted his skin.
“The only whispers that matter are the ones shared between us in bed, Jorah” she teased, her fingers fiddling with the little hairs on his nape.
An upwards tick at the corner of his lips, a brief impish glint in his eye that was eventually clouded again by his troubled thoughts.
“Daenerys…”
“Let them speak,” she said softly, “the only ones who know us are us, my bear.”
“Rumors can be a powerful weapon for your enemies.”
“Then I will simply burn them with the truth,” she countered.
She felt his breathy chuckle against her, a sweet and rare sound that only she had the ability to evoke and privilege to hear.
He said no more after that, but the worry had yet to leave his eyes.
Her knight was always an open book to her, no matter times he tried to close it all out.
“What do they speak of?” she asked.
A pause. He looked away, the branches and leaves above them capturing his interest. The soft grip on her wrist left to find residence on his abdomen, and she found herself missing its warmth immediately. Conflict misted over his eyes and she could see his inner struggle even if he was avoiding her gaze, something he did too often when his stubbornness refused to share the weight of an overbearing burden.
The silence lingered, heavy as it was, it did not bring discomfort to either of them as she continued sifting her fingers through his hair, lingering at the small blotches of gray peppering the sides.
Jorah was always patient with her. Contrary to her fiery nature, it only made sense for her to do the same for him.
She loved him, and it pulled at her heart seeing him struggle against an unknown war.
She reached over to their basket of sliced peaches with her free hand and brought one to his lips, a smile reflecting her success at prying his lips apart for him to partake.
He chewed methodically before swallowing.
“Why did you choose me, Your Grace?” he finally said, but it was but a hoarse whisper.
The sudden formality stung, but the pain laced in his voice, the muted underlying words in his one question pierced deeper. A realization recognized and understood from years of having him by her side.
A question that reverberated against her aching heart so loudly that she could hear echoes of the whispers themselves. The whispers that danced on wounds her knight bore from the sins of his past.
The disgraced knight is fucking the queen.
What lies do you think he promised the queen to get underneath that dress?
Didn’t he run his House into debt over a woman who didn’t even love him? It’s only a matter of time before he poisons our queen to do the same.
Ned Stark wanted his head for selling slaves, but he ran away. Couldn’t even face his crimes. A coward is bedding our queen.
Does running away from your crimes count as a requirement for the title of Lord Commander? Have we no standards now?
What do you think our queen sees in someone who has nothing to offer?
A position of Lord Commander and a place in the queen’s heart...shouldn’t those be granted to someone more worthy?
Our queen is the Mother of Dragons, she deserves someone more suitable!
Fire coursed through her veins, stirring the dragon queen that rumbled within her. Venomous whispers that threatened her knight disturbed the fierce protectiveness she had for him, roaring to life.
She did not care for the many onlookers who desired her for their bed nor the jests of her enemies and rivals. She paid no mind to the false words preached by the few who have still yet to love her gentle heart.
But she would not stand people questioning the love and loyalty of her bear. His worth. What he did and didn’t deserve.
Jorah was not a man without scars, but he had long atoned for what he had done, even if he failed to recognize that himself.
They did not know the many feats he had accomplished by her side. The cities he helped her conquer and rule, the assassins he protected her from, the many times he defied death to keep her heart afloat and drove her family madness away when it beckoned her at her weakest.
They did not know.
But they will soon enough. She would make sure of that.
Daenerys tilted his chin so that he would look at her again, the conflict still lingering in his features. She dipped her head lower until her hair cascaded against his face and melded her lips against his.
A passionate, fervent kiss that brought life back into him, his hand reaching to cup the back of her neck beneath her silver tresses while his other ghosted her soft jawline.
The lingering sweetness of peaches sliding against her lips. His natural woodsy scent she had grown so accustomed to. The brush of his straight nose. His soft hum of pleasure. Her fingers brushing through his hair while the other snaked its way up his broad chest before her fingers came to rest just below his sweet spot beneath his earlobe. All an intoxicating blend that sent pulses of desire to her core.
It was an answer she hoped would alleviate his pain, his worries, the self-deprecating view of himself. An answer that conveyed how far her love goes for him, how he has her heart as she had always had his. How she would fiercely protect him from his enemies as he did for her. A reflection of what she saw in him that she could only hope he would understand and see.
She willed herself to pull away eventually, their hastened breaths mingling. The boiling fury she previously felt had come to a simmer in between their brief retreat.
He looked at her with the same awe as he always did. As though he couldn’t believe she was real. It never failed to make her heart flourish.
His eyes were still clouded from passion, a flash of pink darting out as if to savor what she had left on his lips. He reached up to tuck a silver strand behind her ear, a gesture she returned with a soft smile.
“You know why my silly bear,” she chastised gently, “but I will tell you anyway.”
She watched the bob of his adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed.
He knew. But it was his own demons forcing that knowledge back, and a reminder was sometimes the only way to bring it to the forefront again.
She straightened then, her fingers tracing the strength of his jaw, contemplating her words.
“You have a strong heart. One that bears the scars of the many trials you have endured, that I have made you endure, one with loyalty that has never wavered despite the temptation of greater rewards elsewhere. One that still stands with as much vigor and devotion as his House sigil.”
Her fingers slid to his chin, scraping against the short stubble, smoothing over his parted lips.
“Someone who loves and should be loved,” she continued.
Her hand finally stopped against his cheek, her thumb stroking the prominent bone.
“Centuries come and go without a person like that coming into the world,” her voice grew softer at the echo of a past memory.
She could see the familiarity of her words reflecting in his eyes, waiting with bated breath.
It was a memory she recalled with a pang of sorrow, lamenting her rejection against the leakage of his confession with a degree of regret.
She was far too young and naive to comprehend what he had for her.
But it was long overdue, to right what her past self could not.
“When I look at you,” she whispered, “there are times where I still can’t believe you’re real.”
He sharply exhaled, his eyes seeking hers as if he was looking for a lie that would disprove everything he had just heard.
When he found none, he relaxed into her lap once more, though she felt it was more of a resignation than anything.
He turned into her hand, closing his eyes as he breathed in her scent. He reached up to cover her hand with his own as if he was afraid she would let go, as if what they’ve been sharing was but a cruel dream.
She sighed deeply.
“I cannot command you to see what I see, Jorah,” she said, breaking the silence, “even if it pains me.”
A sentiment that ripped his eyes open and met hers once more, a brief flash of hurt crossing his face.
“I cannot command the people to see what we share either,” she added, intertwining her fingers with his.
“But they will learn to love us, just as they have learned to love me. You taught me that, did you not?”
He graced her with a soft smile that finally reached his eyes. No matter how many times Tyrion teased its rarity, it was without a doubt a perfect look for him. One she would always treasure when he gifted them to her.
He reached up to cup her cheek, his fingers tenderly stroking against her skin which she leaned into welcomingly.
“I yield. You’re relentless, Khaleesi,” he finally said in his husky drawl.
She scoffed at his jest, reaching over to pluck the last slice of peach. The conflict still brewed behind his eyes, but she had done what she could for now.
Perhaps all they-he needed was time. It had been a few measly moons since they had brought their love to fruition.
“If you wish to win your battles, then you should not pick them with me.”
“A challenge that ends in defeat is normally good for practice and growth,” he countered, the mirth between them returning.
She raised an eyebrow. “You are as stubborn as your House implies.”
“And you are as ferocious as your children, love.”
They exchanged chuckles with one another, putting to rest the turmoil that once stirred within him and plagued her mind. Daenerys made a mental note to address it more...assertively with her people but planning for that could wait.
She captured the slice of peach between her teeth and dipped her head so that the other half would meet his lips. He obliged by parting his lips, biting down on the delicacy.
There was little time remaining left before they would have to resume their political facades, and Daenerys would not spare a single moment this rare opportunity gave to her and her bear.
Her lips ghosted over his, and they both chewed less than they should have before swallowing in favor of one another. The appetite from before more urgent, lips clashing, breaths entangling, a sweetness that intoxicated their movements, hands becoming more and more adventurous and desirable.
Together with the swell of their hearts and pulses of pleasure, they retreated from their burdens and turmoil within one another, as did the last remaining rays of the setting sun as it descended beyond the horizon.