ASOIAF Fic: A Year from Now (17/?)
Title: A Year from Now (17/?)
Author: MrsTater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont
Ratings & Warnings: R for sexual situations in this chapter
Format & Word Count: WIP, 3073 words in this chapter
Summary: "Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies." Dany takes Ser Jorah's advice, setting her unborn child, her unhatched dragons, her quest for the Iron Throne, and her relationship with her faithful knight on a very different, but no less adventurous path.
Chapter Summary: When Jorah reveals the truths of the House of the Undying, Dany reveals the truths of her heart.
Author's Notes: I intended to wait till Friday to post this chapter, when I remembered I'm headed out of town again and may not have time; so I've decided to go ahead and update today and next Sunday, and resume the Friday posting schedule on December 9. Which means you'll get two chapters next week, which works out rather nicely since they're really like one big chapter that had to be split for length. I trust no one will mind. ;) Hope all my American readers had a very happy Thanksgiving. One of the things I was most thankful for was all of you who have read and reviewed this fic! And especially Just_a_Dram, who I can't thank enough for her going above and beyond the call of duty as my beta reader.
And in case you missed them in the hustle and bustle of last week's Thanksgiving preparations, I also wrote a couple of post-ADWD pieces: Before the Queen, and its smutty companion, The Right of the Queen.
Previous Chapters |
17. The Hand of the Queen
Strengthened by his simple repast, Jorah made himself comfortable on the floor to wear Rhaego out with play before he was put in his cradle for the night. Jorah was amazed at how much the boy had changed in a fortnight; Rhaego chattered in a string of incomprehensible syllables he had not produced before Jorah went into the House of the Undying, and scooted himself proficiently across the floor--or, rolled to his desired destination. When Dany had nursed him for the last time until morning, they left Rhaego in the care of the nurse Xaro Xhoan Daxos had sent with them along with the ship and her crew, and made their way above deck. Jorah was desirous of fresh air and the opportunity to stretch his big frame to full height, which their cabin, however luxuriously it had been fitted out for Daxos' use, made impossible.
The deck was quiet, most of the crew having bedded down for the night, which allowed him and Dany to enjoy relative privacy as they strolled the length of the ship, her arm tucked through his, their bodies pressed intimately close. In truth, he was also relieved for the lack of men about to see him move so slowly and lean slightly on his lady as his legs became re-accustomed to bearing his weight after so long spent recumbent, with the additional difficulty of adjusting to the motion of the ship.
Jorah drank in the sea air as he had gulped from the waterskin upon awakening, not only because he had been so long deprived of the breeze as he lay belowdecks, but because the salty tang of it reminded him of home. Though the wind lacked the frigid nip of his beloved northern island and the distinct aroma of pines, Bear Island felt nearer than it had in ages. The khalasar had reeked with the shit of Khal Drogo's forty thousand horses, the Red Waste like stagnant, sulfuric pools and decay, the city of Qarth like suspicion and betrayal, and the House of the Undying like carrion. Here, it was easy enough to lean against the ship's railing and imagine that he stood atop one of the watchtowers of his keep, looking up through the steepled canopy of ancient pines at the clear, starry sky.
Directly overhead, the red comet still burned, though not quite as brightly as when it appeared six moons ago. Though it ran contrary to Jorah's nature, perhaps because of his recent brush with the supernatural, he was inclined to wonder what this might signify. Had the comet simply lived out its life? He thought how Quaithe had followed the shierak qiya, the bleeding star, to Dany, and named her Mother of Dragons. If the comet were, indeed, an omen pertaining to Dany, did it not stand that it might have waned when she parted with her dragon's eggs?
Jorah shook his head. No, this was ridiculous. If anything, the comet ought to reflect Dany's reunion with her child; it had, after all, appeared in the sky the night of Rhaego's birth. Waning might mean anything--or nothing. Which was why Jorah paid no heed to the heavens when seeking his own life's course. Quaithe, behind her mask, was a madwoman, obsessed with gods and powers that did not exist, Pyat Pree and his warlock ilk a brotherhood of tricksters and charlatans who had found out Jorah's life story, much as Daxos had, and used their "art" to drive him near mad with fright.
At his side, Dany's soft voice broke into his thoughts, addressing them as if he'd spoken them aloud. "What did you see in the House of the Undying? Why did you enter the room with the crows?"
Jorah looked down at the railing and noticed he gripped it so hard his knuckles had turned white. He also saw that Dany's hand still rested in the crook of his elbow, her fingers so small and delicate against his broad muscled forearm, her touch so light and so comforting. She coaxed him to relax his hold on the rail, and he loosed words that had knotted in his throat.
"Because I saw my father dying."
And he told her his vision of the crude hall where the great old bear lay bleeding from his belly on the floor of mud or shit, while the crows plucked out his entrails and eyes and sang that song, revealed his fear that it meant his lord father had been--or would be--slain by his own brothers in black.
"Oh, my sweet Ser Jorah," Dany cried, her hand sliding down his forearm to take his hand. "What a terrible thing to see, and think. But perhaps it was not--or will not be--true."
Touched by her compassion, Jorah brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Ordinarily I would disregard such a thing, but some of what I saw certainly was, true. I also saw my lady wife, Elianor, on her death bed…The men I sold into slavery…"
He did not speak to her of the other vision, in which his father had given Longclaw--his sword, which Ned Stark had driven him to abandon--to one of the men of the Night's Watch; he shoved aside the terrible thought that the ancestral blade of House Mormont had been-- or would be--the one to bring down the Old Bear.
"And some of what I saw I hope may be true." Jorah hesitated for a moment, unsure whether it would be overstepping to tell her what was on his mind. But then he remembered the words she'd spoken earlier of his increased worth in her eyes, so he forged ahead. "I had one vision of Rhaego. A man grown, a warrior the likes of whom I have never seen, astride a three-headed dragon--with the body of a bear."
Dany turned to face him fully, looking up at him with eyes as silver as her hair in the moonlight. "I have dreamed this thing, too."
Jorah had a feeling he ought to be more surprised by this--and skeptical--than he was. Instead, he found himself carried away by the hope that would not be kept down, no matter how many obstacles had come between them. He held both of Dany's hands, drawing her close enough that he could feel her warmth radiating through the thin layers of their clothing; before coming out, he had thrown on a pair of breeches with his linen shirt, which billowed in the breeze, and Dany wore a silken gown which he had not seen before, which she must have brought from Daxos, though it was not--thankfully, or not, Jorah could not decide--cut in the breast-baring fashion of Qarth.
"What do you think it means, Daenerys?"
"I know naught of dreams," she replied, "but ask me of my heart, and of that I will most gladly speak."
His heart pounded as he asked, "And what would you tell me?"
Dany rose up on her toes, and Jorah bent to feel the brush of her whisper on his ear. "The words you would most like to hear me speak."
His eyes closed of their own accord, and he grazed his lips along the shell of her ear as he nuzzled her temple. Finally, the moment he'd dreamed of, which he'd thought, since the morning his request that she love him rather than pleasure him had been met with rejection, would never be any more than that. Nevertheless, he found could not give himself entirely over to it until he had it from her in no uncertain terms.
He drew back from her, just enough that he could peer into her eyes. "Not merely because I want to hear them?"
"Because I mean them."
And Dany murmured the longed-for words against his mouth as he touched his lips to hers.
No words, no kiss, no lady, had ever been sweeter to him.
She opened her mouth eagerly to his tongue, making a little sigh of pleasure as he deepened the kiss which in turn made him press her back against the railing of the ship, the nearer to get himself to her. The difference in their heights made it difficult to get as close as he wanted to be--as close as she seemed to want to be, too, if the way she clung to his neck was any indication--so he reached one hand beneath her arse, squeezing it as he lifted her up to him with his other arm wrapped firmly around her waist. He groaned as she obligingly wrapped her legs about his waist, his breeches growing almost uncomfortably taut as he rubbed against the mound between her legs. Dany liked that, too; her tongue, which had been tracing the edge of Jorah's upper lip as if she were drawing it on paper, plunged deeper into his mouth, gliding slowly along his tongue, creating a slight friction that made him unable to think of anything but of feeling other parts of himself buried in her warmth, her muscles contracting around him.
By now he had Dany more or less sitting on the edge of the ship, her back against the rail, so he released her waist and reached back to trail his hand down along one slender leg until he found the hem of her gown. He pushed it up and slipped his hand inside the flowing garment, running his hand back up again over the curve of her knee to caress her thigh. Dany gasped and shuddered at his touch, and Jorah chuckled low at the discovery of her ticklish spots. Briefly, she touched her lips back to his, but then her head fell back, inviting him to trail kisses along the line of her jaw and down her neck. As his fingers continued their delicate course toward the innermost part of her thigh, his tongue darted out to taste the hollow of her throat, and he relished the flavor of sea mingled with a dusky perfume that reminded him of Daxos' palace in Qarth and the intimate moments they'd shared in the big featherbed as part of their act as husband and wife.
Neither was pretending now, though. Pinning her against the rail with his body, Jorah's other hand left her arse to cover her breast. Her nipple hardened even before the pad of his thumb touched it, but a layer of silk separated his callused fingertip from the velvety brownish-pink skin. Inwardly he cursed it for not being one of her more revealing Qartheen gowns, but that was easily remedied, he thought, and he pushed the strap of the dress down over her shoulder, nipping lightly at the expanse of skin he revealed; it pimpled with gooseflesh, either from the breeze or in reaction to his touch, and Jorah warmed it with his lips and tongue. At the same moment, the fingers of his other hand arrived at the place between her thighs. She wore no smallclothes, having gotten used to going without, Dothraki fashion, and the wiry hairs that grew over her mound tickled the backs of his knuckles as he slipped his fingers inside her. So warm, she was, and so wet.
Dany went rigid against him, and her hand clamped down over his through her skirt, stilling his fingers within her folds. Jorah's face reddened, hotter and deeper than the flush of passion that had come over him, as he looked up at her in alarm.
She loved him--she'd said so. He'd never dreamed that after that she would still reject--
She pressed her lips to his forehead, and drew back. Jorah saw that her breasts heaved with her quick, shallow breaths. But she smiled shyly, tucking an errant lock of hair that had swept loose from her braid behind her ear.
"I would have you properly, ser," she said.
Jorah let out a ragged laugh of relief. Of course she wasn't rejecting him; her mutual desire had been evident in her own eager bestowal of affection, and now remained evident in her dilated eyes. It was understandable that she didn't want him to take her quickly, out here, as if she were some wench he were fucking in haste against a tavern wall, and that wasn't what he wanted, either. He wanted to worship Dany as the queen she was, to pour into her all the love he had carried for her in his heart all these long months…near to a year now.
And he wanted to show her what she'd likely never experienced with her husband. Though Jorah did not deny that she'd come to love her khal, he'd seen the Dothraki mount their women, had in fact witnessed Drogo take Dany before all the khalasar after she'd eaten the heart and bathed in the Womb of the World, spilling himself into her with just a few brief thrusts. There could be little pleasure in that for a slip of a girl like Dany.
Aroused anew at the thought of slowly, tenderly making love to Dany, teaching her what exquisite delights she could know in the arms of a considerate lover, he withdrew his hand from her skirt, and wrapped his arms about her waist to lower her down from the railing.
When he felt her feet touch the deck, he asked, "Shall we go relieve the nurse from her watch in our cabin?"
Dany's gaze dropped, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I mean--first I would have you for my husband."
Jorah released his breath and willed his disappointment away. Daenerys Targaryen wanted to marry him, by the seven gods; that had been his wish since before she was widowed, when he had looked upon her at the side of Khal Drogo and coveted the most fearsome Dothraki horselord's wife.
Why, then, did he sound bitter when he said, "Wedded, then bedded?"
She looked up at him, he smile restrained, apologetic, though her eyes radiated joy. "As soon we get to Pentos--"
"I don't think you can appreciate how long I've waited for you, Daenerys," said Jorah, taking her by the arms; one shoulder was still bared where he had pulled down the sleeve of her gown in their passion, revealing the swell of her breast. "I implore you, please do not ask me to wait until we reach Pentos."
Though he was mostly prompted by passion, it dawned on him that Dany had unwittingly played into his hand. Since she told him their ship was bound for the house of her old friend Illyrio Mopatis--or, worse, her husband's house as she'd suggested as an alternative--Jorah had resolved that he would do what he could do dissuade her along the way. Their impending marriage, and his wish to make her his wife as soon as possible, would provide him with the perfect excuse to tarry. And if Dany would not be moved…Well then, he would at least secure his place at her side before he risked her finding out about his stint as King Robert's spy.
Fortunately, she took this request in the way in which he'd hoped, as a sign of his ardent love and desire for her.
"Very well then," she said, stretching up on her toes to kiss him. "On our first landing, I shall make you my consort."
Jorah smiled, though apparently not to Dany's liking. She drew back from him, studying him beneath an arched eyebrow.
"You do not look as happy about that as I thought you would."
"Will you allow me a little pride, and permit me to ask for your hand as a man does? Even if I am just a lowly knight and you my queen?"
Dany's expression softened, apparently pleased by his request. "Not a knight for very much longer," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "And never lowly, first of my knights. But yes."
And, painfully aware of the irony of having to beg permission to ask for the hand of the woman to whom he was willing enough to submit to as his queen, but absolutely not in marriage, he knelt down before her on the deck of the ship, her gown billowing around him in the sea breeze.
"Daenerys, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, will you consent to join House Targaryen with House Mormont, and be my beloved lady wife?"
"I do, Ser Jorah. It shall be my honor, and joy."
She certainly looked joyful, Jorah thought as he peered up at her, and he fancied that such a young woman as she, whose first marriage had been so unconventional and arranged for her by a brother with no concern for her own happiness, might be well pleased to be given all the attentions a princess ought to have from a suitor this time. He started to kiss each of her knuckles lightly, in keeping with the courtly manner of his offer, but then Dany tugged at his hand and gave him such a lovely smile that he muttered bugger that and rose, gathering her in his arms and kissing her soundly as he spun about with until they were both breathless and laughing giddily at the surprising but wonderful turn of events this night had brought.
Abruptly, he stopped, his mind fixing on a particular point of the conversation to which he'd not given due thought. Not a knight for very much longer, she'd said. I would make you my consort. While he'd thought before how Dany, as heir of House Targaryen, would not take his name upon their marriage, it had not occurred to him that it would mean a change of address for him.
"Prince Jorah, eh?" he tested the title.
Dany giggled against Jorah's shoulder, and he cringed.
"It sounds ridiculous," he said.
"It doesn't!"
"But you laugh."
"For happiness!"
Jorah held her slightly back, hands on his shoulders, and scrutinized her. "You lie."
"Perhaps," Dany admitted, her eyes shining. "Though I am happy. And you, Jorah? Is the title a bargain breaker?"
He tightened his embrace around her, all thoughts fleeing but that the thing he'd prayed for had come to pass--apart from going home. But that, too, would come soon enough.
"People may call me whatever they bloody well please. All that matters to me is that I'm to wed Daenerys Targaryen."
Read Chapter 18
Author: MrsTater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont
Ratings & Warnings: R for sexual situations in this chapter
Format & Word Count: WIP, 3073 words in this chapter
Summary: "Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies." Dany takes Ser Jorah's advice, setting her unborn child, her unhatched dragons, her quest for the Iron Throne, and her relationship with her faithful knight on a very different, but no less adventurous path.
Chapter Summary: When Jorah reveals the truths of the House of the Undying, Dany reveals the truths of her heart.
Author's Notes: I intended to wait till Friday to post this chapter, when I remembered I'm headed out of town again and may not have time; so I've decided to go ahead and update today and next Sunday, and resume the Friday posting schedule on December 9. Which means you'll get two chapters next week, which works out rather nicely since they're really like one big chapter that had to be split for length. I trust no one will mind. ;) Hope all my American readers had a very happy Thanksgiving. One of the things I was most thankful for was all of you who have read and reviewed this fic! And especially Just_a_Dram, who I can't thank enough for her going above and beyond the call of duty as my beta reader.
And in case you missed them in the hustle and bustle of last week's Thanksgiving preparations, I also wrote a couple of post-ADWD pieces: Before the Queen, and its smutty companion, The Right of the Queen.
Previous Chapters |
17. The Hand of the Queen
Strengthened by his simple repast, Jorah made himself comfortable on the floor to wear Rhaego out with play before he was put in his cradle for the night. Jorah was amazed at how much the boy had changed in a fortnight; Rhaego chattered in a string of incomprehensible syllables he had not produced before Jorah went into the House of the Undying, and scooted himself proficiently across the floor--or, rolled to his desired destination. When Dany had nursed him for the last time until morning, they left Rhaego in the care of the nurse Xaro Xhoan Daxos had sent with them along with the ship and her crew, and made their way above deck. Jorah was desirous of fresh air and the opportunity to stretch his big frame to full height, which their cabin, however luxuriously it had been fitted out for Daxos' use, made impossible.
The deck was quiet, most of the crew having bedded down for the night, which allowed him and Dany to enjoy relative privacy as they strolled the length of the ship, her arm tucked through his, their bodies pressed intimately close. In truth, he was also relieved for the lack of men about to see him move so slowly and lean slightly on his lady as his legs became re-accustomed to bearing his weight after so long spent recumbent, with the additional difficulty of adjusting to the motion of the ship.
Jorah drank in the sea air as he had gulped from the waterskin upon awakening, not only because he had been so long deprived of the breeze as he lay belowdecks, but because the salty tang of it reminded him of home. Though the wind lacked the frigid nip of his beloved northern island and the distinct aroma of pines, Bear Island felt nearer than it had in ages. The khalasar had reeked with the shit of Khal Drogo's forty thousand horses, the Red Waste like stagnant, sulfuric pools and decay, the city of Qarth like suspicion and betrayal, and the House of the Undying like carrion. Here, it was easy enough to lean against the ship's railing and imagine that he stood atop one of the watchtowers of his keep, looking up through the steepled canopy of ancient pines at the clear, starry sky.
Directly overhead, the red comet still burned, though not quite as brightly as when it appeared six moons ago. Though it ran contrary to Jorah's nature, perhaps because of his recent brush with the supernatural, he was inclined to wonder what this might signify. Had the comet simply lived out its life? He thought how Quaithe had followed the shierak qiya, the bleeding star, to Dany, and named her Mother of Dragons. If the comet were, indeed, an omen pertaining to Dany, did it not stand that it might have waned when she parted with her dragon's eggs?
Jorah shook his head. No, this was ridiculous. If anything, the comet ought to reflect Dany's reunion with her child; it had, after all, appeared in the sky the night of Rhaego's birth. Waning might mean anything--or nothing. Which was why Jorah paid no heed to the heavens when seeking his own life's course. Quaithe, behind her mask, was a madwoman, obsessed with gods and powers that did not exist, Pyat Pree and his warlock ilk a brotherhood of tricksters and charlatans who had found out Jorah's life story, much as Daxos had, and used their "art" to drive him near mad with fright.
At his side, Dany's soft voice broke into his thoughts, addressing them as if he'd spoken them aloud. "What did you see in the House of the Undying? Why did you enter the room with the crows?"
Jorah looked down at the railing and noticed he gripped it so hard his knuckles had turned white. He also saw that Dany's hand still rested in the crook of his elbow, her fingers so small and delicate against his broad muscled forearm, her touch so light and so comforting. She coaxed him to relax his hold on the rail, and he loosed words that had knotted in his throat.
"Because I saw my father dying."
And he told her his vision of the crude hall where the great old bear lay bleeding from his belly on the floor of mud or shit, while the crows plucked out his entrails and eyes and sang that song, revealed his fear that it meant his lord father had been--or would be--slain by his own brothers in black.
"Oh, my sweet Ser Jorah," Dany cried, her hand sliding down his forearm to take his hand. "What a terrible thing to see, and think. But perhaps it was not--or will not be--true."
Touched by her compassion, Jorah brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Ordinarily I would disregard such a thing, but some of what I saw certainly was, true. I also saw my lady wife, Elianor, on her death bed…The men I sold into slavery…"
He did not speak to her of the other vision, in which his father had given Longclaw--his sword, which Ned Stark had driven him to abandon--to one of the men of the Night's Watch; he shoved aside the terrible thought that the ancestral blade of House Mormont had been-- or would be--the one to bring down the Old Bear.
"And some of what I saw I hope may be true." Jorah hesitated for a moment, unsure whether it would be overstepping to tell her what was on his mind. But then he remembered the words she'd spoken earlier of his increased worth in her eyes, so he forged ahead. "I had one vision of Rhaego. A man grown, a warrior the likes of whom I have never seen, astride a three-headed dragon--with the body of a bear."
Dany turned to face him fully, looking up at him with eyes as silver as her hair in the moonlight. "I have dreamed this thing, too."
Jorah had a feeling he ought to be more surprised by this--and skeptical--than he was. Instead, he found himself carried away by the hope that would not be kept down, no matter how many obstacles had come between them. He held both of Dany's hands, drawing her close enough that he could feel her warmth radiating through the thin layers of their clothing; before coming out, he had thrown on a pair of breeches with his linen shirt, which billowed in the breeze, and Dany wore a silken gown which he had not seen before, which she must have brought from Daxos, though it was not--thankfully, or not, Jorah could not decide--cut in the breast-baring fashion of Qarth.
"What do you think it means, Daenerys?"
"I know naught of dreams," she replied, "but ask me of my heart, and of that I will most gladly speak."
His heart pounded as he asked, "And what would you tell me?"
Dany rose up on her toes, and Jorah bent to feel the brush of her whisper on his ear. "The words you would most like to hear me speak."
His eyes closed of their own accord, and he grazed his lips along the shell of her ear as he nuzzled her temple. Finally, the moment he'd dreamed of, which he'd thought, since the morning his request that she love him rather than pleasure him had been met with rejection, would never be any more than that. Nevertheless, he found could not give himself entirely over to it until he had it from her in no uncertain terms.
He drew back from her, just enough that he could peer into her eyes. "Not merely because I want to hear them?"
"Because I mean them."
And Dany murmured the longed-for words against his mouth as he touched his lips to hers.
No words, no kiss, no lady, had ever been sweeter to him.
She opened her mouth eagerly to his tongue, making a little sigh of pleasure as he deepened the kiss which in turn made him press her back against the railing of the ship, the nearer to get himself to her. The difference in their heights made it difficult to get as close as he wanted to be--as close as she seemed to want to be, too, if the way she clung to his neck was any indication--so he reached one hand beneath her arse, squeezing it as he lifted her up to him with his other arm wrapped firmly around her waist. He groaned as she obligingly wrapped her legs about his waist, his breeches growing almost uncomfortably taut as he rubbed against the mound between her legs. Dany liked that, too; her tongue, which had been tracing the edge of Jorah's upper lip as if she were drawing it on paper, plunged deeper into his mouth, gliding slowly along his tongue, creating a slight friction that made him unable to think of anything but of feeling other parts of himself buried in her warmth, her muscles contracting around him.
By now he had Dany more or less sitting on the edge of the ship, her back against the rail, so he released her waist and reached back to trail his hand down along one slender leg until he found the hem of her gown. He pushed it up and slipped his hand inside the flowing garment, running his hand back up again over the curve of her knee to caress her thigh. Dany gasped and shuddered at his touch, and Jorah chuckled low at the discovery of her ticklish spots. Briefly, she touched her lips back to his, but then her head fell back, inviting him to trail kisses along the line of her jaw and down her neck. As his fingers continued their delicate course toward the innermost part of her thigh, his tongue darted out to taste the hollow of her throat, and he relished the flavor of sea mingled with a dusky perfume that reminded him of Daxos' palace in Qarth and the intimate moments they'd shared in the big featherbed as part of their act as husband and wife.
Neither was pretending now, though. Pinning her against the rail with his body, Jorah's other hand left her arse to cover her breast. Her nipple hardened even before the pad of his thumb touched it, but a layer of silk separated his callused fingertip from the velvety brownish-pink skin. Inwardly he cursed it for not being one of her more revealing Qartheen gowns, but that was easily remedied, he thought, and he pushed the strap of the dress down over her shoulder, nipping lightly at the expanse of skin he revealed; it pimpled with gooseflesh, either from the breeze or in reaction to his touch, and Jorah warmed it with his lips and tongue. At the same moment, the fingers of his other hand arrived at the place between her thighs. She wore no smallclothes, having gotten used to going without, Dothraki fashion, and the wiry hairs that grew over her mound tickled the backs of his knuckles as he slipped his fingers inside her. So warm, she was, and so wet.
Dany went rigid against him, and her hand clamped down over his through her skirt, stilling his fingers within her folds. Jorah's face reddened, hotter and deeper than the flush of passion that had come over him, as he looked up at her in alarm.
She loved him--she'd said so. He'd never dreamed that after that she would still reject--
She pressed her lips to his forehead, and drew back. Jorah saw that her breasts heaved with her quick, shallow breaths. But she smiled shyly, tucking an errant lock of hair that had swept loose from her braid behind her ear.
"I would have you properly, ser," she said.
Jorah let out a ragged laugh of relief. Of course she wasn't rejecting him; her mutual desire had been evident in her own eager bestowal of affection, and now remained evident in her dilated eyes. It was understandable that she didn't want him to take her quickly, out here, as if she were some wench he were fucking in haste against a tavern wall, and that wasn't what he wanted, either. He wanted to worship Dany as the queen she was, to pour into her all the love he had carried for her in his heart all these long months…near to a year now.
And he wanted to show her what she'd likely never experienced with her husband. Though Jorah did not deny that she'd come to love her khal, he'd seen the Dothraki mount their women, had in fact witnessed Drogo take Dany before all the khalasar after she'd eaten the heart and bathed in the Womb of the World, spilling himself into her with just a few brief thrusts. There could be little pleasure in that for a slip of a girl like Dany.
Aroused anew at the thought of slowly, tenderly making love to Dany, teaching her what exquisite delights she could know in the arms of a considerate lover, he withdrew his hand from her skirt, and wrapped his arms about her waist to lower her down from the railing.
When he felt her feet touch the deck, he asked, "Shall we go relieve the nurse from her watch in our cabin?"
Dany's gaze dropped, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I mean--first I would have you for my husband."
Jorah released his breath and willed his disappointment away. Daenerys Targaryen wanted to marry him, by the seven gods; that had been his wish since before she was widowed, when he had looked upon her at the side of Khal Drogo and coveted the most fearsome Dothraki horselord's wife.
Why, then, did he sound bitter when he said, "Wedded, then bedded?"
She looked up at him, he smile restrained, apologetic, though her eyes radiated joy. "As soon we get to Pentos--"
"I don't think you can appreciate how long I've waited for you, Daenerys," said Jorah, taking her by the arms; one shoulder was still bared where he had pulled down the sleeve of her gown in their passion, revealing the swell of her breast. "I implore you, please do not ask me to wait until we reach Pentos."
Though he was mostly prompted by passion, it dawned on him that Dany had unwittingly played into his hand. Since she told him their ship was bound for the house of her old friend Illyrio Mopatis--or, worse, her husband's house as she'd suggested as an alternative--Jorah had resolved that he would do what he could do dissuade her along the way. Their impending marriage, and his wish to make her his wife as soon as possible, would provide him with the perfect excuse to tarry. And if Dany would not be moved…Well then, he would at least secure his place at her side before he risked her finding out about his stint as King Robert's spy.
Fortunately, she took this request in the way in which he'd hoped, as a sign of his ardent love and desire for her.
"Very well then," she said, stretching up on her toes to kiss him. "On our first landing, I shall make you my consort."
Jorah smiled, though apparently not to Dany's liking. She drew back from him, studying him beneath an arched eyebrow.
"You do not look as happy about that as I thought you would."
"Will you allow me a little pride, and permit me to ask for your hand as a man does? Even if I am just a lowly knight and you my queen?"
Dany's expression softened, apparently pleased by his request. "Not a knight for very much longer," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "And never lowly, first of my knights. But yes."
And, painfully aware of the irony of having to beg permission to ask for the hand of the woman to whom he was willing enough to submit to as his queen, but absolutely not in marriage, he knelt down before her on the deck of the ship, her gown billowing around him in the sea breeze.
"Daenerys, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, will you consent to join House Targaryen with House Mormont, and be my beloved lady wife?"
"I do, Ser Jorah. It shall be my honor, and joy."
She certainly looked joyful, Jorah thought as he peered up at her, and he fancied that such a young woman as she, whose first marriage had been so unconventional and arranged for her by a brother with no concern for her own happiness, might be well pleased to be given all the attentions a princess ought to have from a suitor this time. He started to kiss each of her knuckles lightly, in keeping with the courtly manner of his offer, but then Dany tugged at his hand and gave him such a lovely smile that he muttered bugger that and rose, gathering her in his arms and kissing her soundly as he spun about with until they were both breathless and laughing giddily at the surprising but wonderful turn of events this night had brought.
Abruptly, he stopped, his mind fixing on a particular point of the conversation to which he'd not given due thought. Not a knight for very much longer, she'd said. I would make you my consort. While he'd thought before how Dany, as heir of House Targaryen, would not take his name upon their marriage, it had not occurred to him that it would mean a change of address for him.
"Prince Jorah, eh?" he tested the title.
Dany giggled against Jorah's shoulder, and he cringed.
"It sounds ridiculous," he said.
"It doesn't!"
"But you laugh."
"For happiness!"
Jorah held her slightly back, hands on his shoulders, and scrutinized her. "You lie."
"Perhaps," Dany admitted, her eyes shining. "Though I am happy. And you, Jorah? Is the title a bargain breaker?"
He tightened his embrace around her, all thoughts fleeing but that the thing he'd prayed for had come to pass--apart from going home. But that, too, would come soon enough.
"People may call me whatever they bloody well please. All that matters to me is that I'm to wed Daenerys Targaryen."
Read Chapter 18