Title: Home
Rating: K+ Fandom:
Pairing: Daenerys and Jorah Prompt:
(A/N) All rights go out to its rightful owners. I do not own the Game of Thrones books or show.
His queen had been so strong, fighting for her throne, her people, her dragons and it was killing her. He could see the exhaustion
hiding behind her eyes, threating to bring her down. Her once pale skin turned grim, shadows making her look like a walking corpse.
The area around her eye sockets sunk in, adding to the skeleton like effect. The once diluted sapphire blue eyes that always seemed to
glimmer became dull and void.
"Khaleesi please.. Relax, just for a day; a few hours even." Ser Jorah pleaded, studying each move she made. She was much slower
than he remembered her to be and a bit clumsier too.
"I do not have time to rest, not while people need me. I cannot be taking petty naps while my dragons are growing and the time to
take the throne is shrinking." Daenerys retorted, jumping to her feet. Her once woman like body seemed to fade away and Jorah swore
he could see her ribs at this angle. The dark crimson dragon by her side whimpered quietly, making him a bit uneasy. Her platinum hair
fell limply on her shoulder matted in the areas where braids did not cover them. Stray hairs made their way out of the braids, fluttering
in any wind that seemed to pass.
"You are wearing yourself thin Khaleesi, pleas-"
"Stop. You swore to obey my every word and if I do not want to rest you must respect that.. Now, I do not want to hear of this matter
again, leave me be." She snapped. With that Daenerys turned away from him to tend to the dragon that was whining for her attention.
"As you wish my queen." Jorah sighed, bowing his head. As he turned he could hear her humming to the small beasts. Sometimes he
wished it was him instead of the dragons being hummed to; he wished she would smile at him like how she smiled at her children. It
reminded him of home but he could never be home, just like he could never have her. Something tugged at his heart as he turned
away. Maybe it was the platter of food in the corner of his eye that was completely untouched or maybe the blood stains on the sheets
from where her unborn child first laid, un able to take its first breath. One thing he knew for sure was that every time he turned away a
part of him burned in her consuming fire, crying out for a chance to go home to her.