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The pleasant press of her curves against his lithe figure.
A curtain of her soft tresses draped over the length of his arm, her cheek resting on his bicep.
Stray locks tickling the tip of his nose with every breath he took.
Peaches, floral, a tinge of dragonfire; a natural blend that only belonged to her, enticing him back from whatever realm that had claimed him.
Tangled limbs underneath the furs.
The tiny hand pressed against his sternum. The soft heat fanning against the hairs on his broad chest.
Sensations of the afterlife were euphoric for Jorah Mormont.
Only in death would he ever have the privilege to bathe in his queen’s everything, to wade among the celestial afterglow succeeding a moment of love and passion with her.
A manifestation of everything he’d ever dreamed of.
He was reluctant to pull away from it all. To let go of the bliss the gods mercifully granted him.
Ultimately, he resigned to the pull of his conscious and drifted along the path he was fated to follow.
A path that unfortunately released him from the safety of his eyelids as consciousness began seeping into his senses.
It would be moments before his dreams relinquished its grip on his vision.
But what greeted him was not the gates to the other world but the dragon that eternally held his heart.
Deep slumber chased away the queenly lines in her face, beholding him with the woman he had fallen in love with.
What remained of the candle by the bedside casted an ethereal glow over her pale features, outlining her luscious shape covered by blankets.
Her soft, supple skin, still partially flushed from passion. A stray lock of hair draping over her face that he longed to reach for but resisted in fear of disturbing the perfection before him.
Her nearness.
Gods she was beautiful.
How he could ever breathe the same air as a goddess was something he could never comprehend in any lifetime.
His eyes continued mapping her features, losing himself in the contours of vision before him.
She was perfect. This was perfect. Just like in his dreams.
So real. She felt so real...
...Most likely because the image before him was real.
The last bits of drowsiness fled his body faster than the lightning that frequented the Stormlands.
She was naked.
With him.
He was naked too.
He was also very much alive.
Oh-
Seven Hells.
He pieced the remnants from yesterday until it finally dawned on him faster than the sun could rise.
Jorah Mormont was naked with the queen. In her chambers.
Seven Hells!
He shut his eyes.
It’s just a dream.
He reopened them.
She was still there.
Oh, gods.
Every bone and fiber in his body tensed immediately.
But he caught himself before his panic could disturb her slumber.
He felt it.
Saw it.
His heart dropping beyond his stomach and cock.
The universe closing in on him.
The people’s love and trust she worked so hard to earn, shattered.
An avalanche of guilt swallowing him whole.
An uprising.
Crimson gushing from Drogon and Rhaegal’s ballista wounds.
Hellfire raining from the ashen skies.
An explosion in the Red Keep.
Gods, it was almost comical.
A dull note to stop hanging out with Tyrion.
Slowly as to not wake her, Jorah untangled himself from his queen. His partially slick body welcoming the slight chill after being freed from the furs.
He slipped on his breeches and crept towards the basin, bringing a handful of water to his face with more force than necessary. The cold liquid piercing reality further into his skin.
He sharply inhaled through his nostrils, his hands lingering on his face as he gazed at his own reflection in the mirror before him.
A disappointment. A sham gazing back at him, pathetically lured by a temporary happiness.
What in Seven Hells, Mormont? You’re her Lord Commander, not her suitor.
Movement in the corner caught his eye.
He froze, his gaze watching her form in the mirror with bated breath.
She shifted over to the other side, eliciting a sleepy hum before she stilled again.
Shoulders relaxed, Jorah breathed a sigh of relief before bracing his hands against the table.
He didn’t want to look up. To face what he had allowed to transpire.
But there was no need.
Illuminated by the soft glow of the candle and rays of dawn, his reflection in the water bowl served as a bitter reminder.
No matter how many times he tried to avoid it, his sins had already concreted themselves.
He had compromised the queen’s reign over the Seven Kingdoms.
There were enough whispers about them already, and Jorah had no doubt he doused the simmering flame with more oil.
I love you, Jorah Mormont.
To hear words he had longed to hear since he met her, as genuine as the climax he had the privilege of rendering inside her… He had believed it.
If only for a few hours.
Another splash of water. Droplets cascading down his features, causing ripples across the basin as he desperately tried to muster ideas that could fix the unfixable-
“Jorah?” came a soft voice from behind.
Shit.
“Are you alright?”
I’m fine was what he wanted to say before he caught himself.
She shouldn’t fret over him, but she will regardless.
They had been in each other’s company long enough.
One look and she would see through his lies.
And he swore to never lie to her again.
Slowly he rose and turned.
Even with her bed-ridden hair, the blankets lifted to cover her modesty, her brows furrowed with worry, she was still a sight to behold. Ever more so enhanced by dawn’s rays filtering across her body.
She must have noticed the words caught on his tongue and reached out to him.
Wordlessly, he accepted and rejoined her on the edge of the bed.
She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to.
Instead, he feels her arms snake around his torso. The press of her against his back as she presses a kiss to his shoulder blade.
He savors the feel of her against him, the gentle lull of her heartbeat against his back, her cheek resting on his shoulder, his hand covering hers at his center, thumbing over her delicate fingers.
“You shouldn’t,” he said breaths later, a response to her earlier confession. His voice still hoarse from sleep.
The silence that followed was palpable.
He swore he could hear her mind working to formulate a response.
“Oh...” she whispered, as if some form of realization had dawned on her.
He feels her pull away and he hates how he instantly craves for it again.
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” he asked suddenly.
With just two words, Daenerys had kicked his protective instincts into full alert. The sudden turn in conversation prompting him to face her.
The furs around her shoulder cocooned her small frame, her gaze idling on a patch of the bed.
She looked sad, like the lost Targaryen he had first met.
And in that moment, he so desperately wanted to sweep her into his arms and fight whatever blame or guilt that dared plague her heart.
“I was...overwhelmed,” she began.
Ah.
That’s what she meant.
There it was.
What he was bracing himself for since he'd wakened.
The regret. Rejection. The realization that there were many other suitors more deserving of her.
But it never came, and what she said instead saved him from the natural pull of his fears.
“I have pushed you away. I have banished you…and you came back each time.”
He watched her fold into herself more, her voice a mere whisper.
“I have hurt you more times than I can count, and yet you stayed. I have lost you so many times and yet…”
“Here I stand,” he echoed.
A small smile graced her lips at the familiar words, but she still doesn’t meet his eyes.
“So when my heart could no longer bear the weight of what I felt for you. When the nightmares kept persisting, I...”
She doesn’t finish.
Her gaze lifts to meet his, her glossy eyes enticing his hands to reach out.
But he doesn’t.
She does.
Her hand reaches for him, grazing the stubble along his jaw.
Naturally, he leans into it, feeling the tension in his shoulders smooth out.
Gods, her touch was always his undoing.
“I was overwhelmed. When will the time come where you can no longer stand? When will the time come when the world finally takes you away from me? If not now, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the next moon. If not the next moon, then when?”
“I have been plagued by fear and cowardice. If I embraced the love that had been swallowing my heart whole, it would only hurt more if I lost you. I was selfish.”
“Khaleesi, I-”
“I was afraid that whatever may come was only but a heartbeat away from tearing you from my side. In my haste, I just...assumed you still felt the same way for me. You have given me everything without asking for anything, and I have simply taken everything. Just when I thought I could finally return the favor and give…”
Her words were like a balm and blade to his heart.
A blade sharpened by the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
A twisted part of him relished in her revelation, hearing words his body and heart had craved for since he swore himself to her.
But the more honorable part of him didn’t want her to suffer any longer.
“Khaleesi please,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Begging for her to stop doing this to herself. Begging her to continue for him.
“I have taken from you once again. I’m sorry-”
He interjects, taking a chance and slowly raises his quaking hand to her face.
But he doesn’t touch her.
Not unless she permits him to.
And she does, bringing his hand to her cheek, her soft skin a pleasant contrast to his callous palm.
He thumbs the tears threatening to spill, her hand relinquishing itself from his cheek to his wrist while the other found residence on his fingers.
He pulls her closer until their foreheads meet, their breaths becoming one.
“Until my last breath, I will always love you.”
A sharp intake, as a stray tear trails down her cheek.
He watches her eyes dart across his face as though she were searching for scraps of lies.
Against his own volition, his feelings have leaked from his heart for her. He has killed for her, served her. When an incurable sickness struck him, he told her.
She always knew.
She always heard it within his actions. Saw it etched in the scars littering his body.
But gazing at her now, it was as though she had finally allowed herself to accept what he had been offering her since the day they met.
A watery smile curved her lips.
“You can still say that. Despite everything I’ve made you endure.”
His lips part to retort but the emotions swelling in his throat take hold.
“Because that’s what it is. What you taught me. What it means. A love that centuries of tradition believed had no place in this world.”
She closes the distance.
“I love you, Jorah Mormont,” she echoes against his lips, her voice barely above a whisper entangled with her emotions.
She shouldn’t, he thinks to himself.
But the soft feel of her lips against his, her nose brushing against his cheek, her nearness was intoxicating.
His tender heart relished the sensation, her words all the same yet a sharp contrast to their heated fervor hours before.
His arm found its way around her waist and pulled her closer. He shifted onto the bed so that his legs framed her small form.
She pulled away for a brief second, allowing their breaths to mingle.
“I don’t deserve to,” she continued, her voice trembling, “but I love you.”
No.
He’s the one that doesn’t deserve her.
Her lips capture his again before he can say anything and he finds himself unable to fight it.
Their kisses are but small sips of one another, feelings unraveled with slow and methodical intimacy.
Tired from enduring. Tired from fighting.
Empowering one another.
To forgive. To accept. To mend.
She is his strength, as he is hers.
He believes it.
Slowly, he allows himself to accept the truth behind her words with each sip he takes. That what he had offered all this time was returned.
This time he reluctantly pulls away and rests his forehead against hers.
His hands trail around her waist and he reaches up, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
“Shouldn’t,” he breathes. “Not deserve. Shouldn’t.”
She chuckles and offers him a sad smile.
“Why not?”
He shuts his eyes, unable to temper his unworthiness.
“You know why.”
She frees her hand from his wrist and rests it on his cheek, her thumb brushing against the bone.
“Why not?” she whispered again, knowingly.
“You don’t owe me anything, Khaleesi.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Ser,” she replied, void of any malice.
He releases a quaking breath, pushing his gaze anywhere but her own.
It was the truth, but she saw it as a lie.
If only she could mirror what she saw in him.
“I have nothing to offer you. No armies, no luxuries or lands, no dragons, no ships, no...nothing.”
He hated how meak his voice sounded, but it was true.
Jorah didn’t have a northern army. No Second Sons under his wing.
And he certainly didn’t have the luxury to offer her the finest horses or gemstones-
“What if all I want,” she breathed, her hand trailing down his cheek before finding a home across his heart, “is just you? Just...us?”
A sharp breath escaped from his lungs as his heart flourished beyond recognition.
Lynesse. The Glover woman his father had paired him with.
Not once did they ever love him for him.
They loved his lordship, his knighthood, his money, their status his marriage granted them-
But never him.
It was never him. It was never us.
Just them.
“...me. Us.” he repeated, words that flickered more like a chant sparked by the glimmer of hope welling inside him.
She smiled, her fingers brushing against the strength of his chest, movement possibly spurred by the flourishing beat of the organ underneath.
“The people will talk.”
“Then let them.”
“Your enemies will see this as weakness.”
“Then I will show them strength.”
“Your rule will be compromised.”
“Centuries of tradition will once I break the wheel. Starting with you.”
There was no need for her to say more.
He knew exactly what she meant.
Seldom did the houses of power marry for happiness or genuine love. The kingdoms were built upon layers of infidelity, loveless unions, incest, rape, betrayal. Spokes on a wheel forged by westeros lords and ladies in a game they trapped created and trapped themselves in.
He sighed, his shoulders resigning from a fruitless argument.
Centuries come and go without someone like her in the world.
She fought whatever the world threw at her and successfully took the Seven Kingdoms.
And he had always believed in her.
Always.
His hand moved to cover the one over his heart, entwining their fingers together.
“But only if you forgive me.”
His brows furrowed in confusion.
“Huh…?”
She smiled, sadness tainting her lips.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Will you forgive me?”
It was a simple question, but deep down he was aware of the unspoken complexities it hid.
He refused, despite his mind embracing the grim truth behind her words.
“There is...nothing to forgive, Khaleesi.”
She shook her head.
“Try again, my bear,” she said, her soft voice resuscitating the harsh realities he had buried underneath his honor and love.
His eyes clamped shut.
You are too familiar.
“There’s....” he wanted to continue, but his voice became lost among the sea of his emotions.
Where’s Daario?
“I…”
Love? Love, how can you say that?
Words escaped him, and what took its place burned as deep as his betrayal.
Get him out of my sight.
She had hurt him.
And enduring it was like moving forward with knives still plunged into his legs.
But damn him, he loved her anyways.
He always did.
She didn’t owe him anything.
There was nothing to forgive but…
“I…”
He willed himself to open his eyes, her image glossy behind the sharpe tinge of his unshed tears.
Even now, he stood.
Against the sharp, honest pangs that pierced his every being.
He had walked forward with blades embedded in his heart and soul for too long, and her words felt like the hand was finally freeing him. Removing the blades and allowing the wounds to heal.
Even now, he refused to shed his tears.
He still wanted to be strong. For her.
But just like his heart, there was always a leak that exposed itself.
“...I forgive you,” his voice but a mere whisper as he fights the sting behind his eyes.
He saw every bone in her body relax, his words relinquishing her of the invisible weight she carried herself. Her smile, brighter than the sun filtering into their room as morn made its debut.
“And I love you,” she replied with an adoration and love in her eyes that made his heart soar.
A feeling that took his breath away.
His lips curved into a shy smile, crimson flushing his cheeks and ears as his gaze averted to her hand against his chest.
Deft fingers lifted his chin back up to her gaze.
“Lift your head when you smile, my bear...so that I may see it.”
He always believed his love would only grow stronger for her with each passing day.
And now he believed it ever more so.