Chapter Text
Dany hurries along the slope of Primrose Hill, her hands occupied with two coffee cups. It’s Friday lunchtime, and that means one thing: seeing Jorah. They once worked together, back when Dany was a bright-eyed graduate, and although she left the workplace, they stayed in touch. Years later, he’s one of the best friends she has – as well as, coincidentally, one of her biggest crushes. It’s not meant to be, though: Jorah’s married to a terrifying woman called Lynesse, although things have been a little rocky lately.
Dany works in St John’s Wood, him in Camden Town. So they meet in the middle: Primrose Hill, north of Regent’s park, at Shakespeare’s tree.
“O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out, against the wreckful siege of battering days, when rocks impregnable are not so stout, nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?”
Jorah emerges from behind the tree trunk. The oak’s leaves are still lush and green, the first few clusters of green acorns appearing on its branches.
“Not Shakespeare’s most inspiring sentiments about summer, I’ll grant you, but it is coming to an end,” he says.
Daenerys grins.
“I think I prefer ‘Shall I compare thee’,” she says.
She holds out a coffee for him. He takes it gratefully.
“Thank you.”
“So what’s up?” she asks, “Busy week?”
“Lynesse moved out,” Jorah says.
“No!”
Jorah shrugs.
“It’s been coming for a while.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Jorah.”
“I’m not.”
“Really?”
“Daenerys. I’ve been thinking – for a while now – I want to ask you. Can I take you out? On a date, I mean?”
Dany blinks, hardly able to contain her surprise.
“Where?”
They meet outside The Engineer. As Dany approaches the red-brick Georgian building, it strikes her that it’s the perfect spot for a first date: more relaxed than a restaurant, but upmarket enough that you can tell your date’s made an effort.
She’s been here with Jorah before, but only as colleagues, or as friends. This time there’s a knot in her stomach as she sees him standing on the corner of the street, familiar and new all at once. She knows that tall figure in the camel coat, she likes him – a lot – but she doesn’t know this side of him. She’s often wondered what date-Jorah or boyfriend-Jorah (and, in her wilder fantasies, husband-Jorah) would be like. Tonight, she’s finally getting to see it.
He greets her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek like he always does, and everything feels the same – only with her heart racing about twice as much as usual. The nights are starting to draw in, but the evening is balmy enough to sit outside in the walled beer garden, surrounded by pink flowers trailing up trellises and twinkling fairy lights, the clouds above tinged with orange as the sun sets.
Jorah gets their customary order – Aperol Spritz (hers) and a draft beer (his) – plus a plate of halloumi fries, which Dany knows she’s much too nervous to eat, and joins her at the table.
“Cheers,” he says.
“Cheers.”
They clink glasses, and both take a sip. Dany giggles.
“Sorry,” she says, “This is just so weird.”
“Weird good or weird bad?”
“Good. Definitely good. It’s just… it’s you. And me. Us.”
Dany knows she’s rambling. Lord, five minutes in and she’s already ruining their first – and very possibly only – date.
“That… was the idea,” Jorah says.
“And it was a great idea! It’s just… you know, going from friends to going out. That whole thing.”
She’s trying to reassure Jorah, but he’s looking worryingly unsure.
“I know,” Dany says, “Maybe we should act like this is a real first date.”
“It is a real first date. At least, I hope it is.”
“I mean like a blind date. Or a Tinder date. Imagine we’ve never met.”
“Oh. Well in that case…”
Jorah extends his hand out across the table.
“I’m Jorah. And you look a lot better in person than you did in your photos.”
Dany shakes his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Jorah. You look a lot worse. How old did you say you were?”
Jorah laughs.
“Far too old to ask you out. Or perhaps just not rich enough.”
Dany shrugs.
“I’m sure you can make up for it in other ways.”
Jorah nearly spits out his beer.
The evening passes quickly. They stay until last orders, and then Jorah insists on walking her to the tube station. They take the route through the park. Stars prick the night sky – Primrose Hill is one of the few places in London you can really see them, despite the light pollution. It’s dark and quiet, few people around at this time of night, and their conversation lulls to a comfortable silence. After a few minutes of walking increasingly closer together, Jorah grabs her hand. Dany doesn’t say anything. She looks up at him, but he’s looking away. She laces their fingers together and looks ahead.
“This was nice,” she says, when they reach South Hampstead, the yellow lights of the station calling to her across the darkness, a quiet reminder not to miss the last train home.
“It was,” Jorah says.
He lets go of her hand but she lingers close to him, a silent invitation.
“I’ll call you,” he says.
“Okay,” she says.
The ping of electrical wires and a mechanical rumble signals an impending train.
“Don’t miss your train,” Jorah prompts her.
“Kiss me quickly and I won’t have to.”
Jorah raises his eyebrows.
“We’ve only just met.”
There’s a squeal of brakes as the train pulls into the station.
“Shit,” Dany says, running towards the gates.
“Maybe next time!” Jorah calls after her.
‘Next time’ isn’t for a couple of weeks. Jorah calls and apologises, saying he’s being kept busy at work, and then he texts suggesting they meet under Shakespeare’s tree on their lunch break. Dany waits under its patchwork of browns and yellows, sheltering from the smatter of rain. Jorah approaches, umbrella in hand, dead leaves crunching underfoot.
“Hey, you,” Dany says, skipping under his umbrella, “I was starting to think I’d scared you off.”
She hugs him, but Jorah doesn’t hug her back. When she pulls away, he’s not smiling.
“Have I scared you off?” she asks.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
Dany steps back.
“No. No, that means you have something bad to tell me.”
Jorah looks down, refusing to meet her eyes.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Dany says.
She folds her arms and looks up, trying not to cry.
“Are you taking her back?” she asks, her voice tight.
“What?”
“I suppose the divorce is off, then. Though I can’t see why, given the way she’s treated you.”
Jorah shakes his head.
“This isn’t about Lynesse.”
“Then what is it about?”
Jorah takes a step closer.
“Daenerys, you’re a wonderful woman. But… this was a mistake.”
“What?”
“I never should have asked you out.”
Dany laughs, short and humourless.
“Wow. Was it that bad of a date? I thought we had fun.”
“We did. As friends.”
“What are you saying? That you don’t like me?”
“I’m saying I don’t think we should change things.”
Dany nods curtly.
“I see.”
“It’s better this way. This way, we can’t lose anything. And I don’t want to lose you, Daenerys.”
Jorah holds her by the shoulders, his face etched with pain.
“If you don’t think there’s anything to lose, then I guess it is better this way,” Dany says quietly.
She turns and leaves, the rain stinging her eyes. She only makes it a couple of steps away before she starts sobbing, but she doesn’t stop. Jorah doesn’t call after her.