author's note: Hello! So, only recently after finishing season two of Game of Thrones did I finally start to ship a couple. And this is the one! The whole concept between these two is heartbreaking, and I'm starting to ship them pretty damn hard, so here is a oneshot in an attempt to relieve my agony. This is my first Game of Thrones oneshot, but hopefully it shall be acceptable.
Title: Ash
Genres: Romance/Angst
Rating: K+
Couple: Jorah/Daenerys
Sometimes, he dreams of her.
When she runs, he runs a few steps behind, hand unconsciously at the blade strapped to his hip. Eyes wide, heart pounding, he watches, follows, and sometimes she runs faster, runs, searching, and he struggles to keep up. Yet, he is heavy, his body, his head, his crown feels heavy. As if chained to the ground.
She, however, is light, a flower, barely touching the ground. It is infuriating, the fact he cannot keep up with the one creature on earth he has sworn to protect. Then, soon, she is out of sight and he gasps, forces his legs to move, but the weight is too much. He can't. He's old and tired.
They say one cannot feel emotions in dreams, one cannot die in dreams, one cannot feel pain. Ever since he was a young cub, he was told this, told these horrible lies. He runs, opens his mouth and screams for her, but he cannot speak. He realises his tongue has become ash, and he chokes, falls to his knees.
Other nights, he is tense and barely breathing, and she is there, in his dreams, so bright and beautiful. There is not another being who could possess such beauty. When he looks at her, she stings his eyes, she is too bright. If he stares at her for too long, his eyes will burn, and he will lose the honour of sight.
Then he'll wake up, shivering, on the verge of tears. She possess his mind and soul, she is his soul, and every night he fears she'll leave, she'll escape his life. That he'll lose her. He has become a paranoid man, desperate, but not needy. He has a duty he promised to fulfil, he cannot be needy. He cannot allow emotions to take control.
When he closes his eyes again, to dream, she kisses his lips. Her touch is soft, warm, so warm –– burning –– and he can finally breathe. He will kiss her, hold her close, closer still, body pressed against his, and then he'll know she is safe, she is well, she will stay. Yet even in his dreams tears will trickle down his cheeks.
Whatever he feels, it is a curse, a plague, and there is no cure. The pain he struggles against every night is too much, but what hurts more is that she is oblivious, that when she looks at him, there is no love or passion. There never will be.
And there are dreams when he reaches for her, outstretches his hand, smiles and she smiles back, fire embracing her form, worshipping her, as if she were a Goddess herself. She is brighter than the sun, eyes as clear as the sea, flesh as white as snow. The flames surround her, but she is untouched, and he knows he should back away, for if he touches her, he will burn.
He can't, though. He will always reach for her, even when his voice has been taken. The knight finally catches his queen, traces his lips over hers, feel her breath against him, hand nearing his face–– then she vanishes.
Lost at his fingertips. Completely gone.
Sometimes, he dreams of her, and wakes up screaming.