Disclaimer: Characters, setting, etc., belong to GRRM, not me. And I know he hates fanfic, but...oh well?
I finished ADWD a couple weeks ago, and just started rereading AGOT. I noticed that in Dany's first chapter, she spends some time staring at Jorah after Illyrio points him out to her (before she's even seen Drogo). And then in her next chapter we just get, "Ser Jorah swore his sword to Viserys at the party, so now he's hanging out with us." So I decided to take a stab at what I thought their first meeting might have looked like.
Switches back-and-forth between their POVs. Implied Dany/Jorah, but I mean...they just met. Also bits of Viserys, Illyrio, Drogo thrown in for good times.
Jorah
The eunuch had announced their arrival, but Jorah Mormont would have recognized the Targaryens on sight; their silver hair and violet eyes, purified by years of intermarriage, were unmistakable. In the crowd of Dothraki horselords and sellswords of the Free Cities, they stood out like…well, like dragons would, in a world with little magic left.
Viserys resembled his brother Rhaegar less than Jorah would have expected. The young man was slight and nervous, while his elder brother had been confident and regal…if sometimes brooding, as well.
His sister, however, Khal Drogo's intended…what was her name? Varys had told him, but he struggled to remember. Rhaenys? No, that was Rhaegar's young daughter, slain by Lannister men. But "nys" was the end of it, he thought. Or was it?
She would have been hard to miss even without her Targaryen features; she was, after all, the only woman in attendance at Drogo's feast. But Jorah suspected she would have commanded attention in a manse full of women, as well. The girl was a great beauty, as her mother had been, slender and delicate - though she was little more than a child.
She looked frightened, her glance darting about as Illyrio and her brother led her through the courtyard. For a moment Jorah felt sorry for her. She couldn't have seen more than thirteen or fourteen name days, had probably only recently flowered, and tonight she would be promised to an enormous savage she had never met. The princess was right to be afraid, he thought, for the Dothraki were a violent and unforgiving people, and she was not like to receive much kindness or patience from her new husband. Though Jorah had come to respect the horselord, especially in battle, he did seem a terrifying match for such a young bride.
This is who I am to sell, for my pardon? he thought, A terrified child?
But she was not a child, he reminded himself. She was a Targaryen, the Mad King's daughter, and would soon be khaleesi of the largest khalasar in Essos. An army capable of sweeping Westeros and placing a new Mad King on the Iron Throne.
And then what sort of home would I return to? A broken land, torn apart by rebellion again, family against family. His house, bannermen to the Starks, would fight for King Robert, and if Viserys was at all like his father he would not allow his enemies to live.
Fire and blood.
From the corner of his eye, Jorah thought he could see the girl examining him. For a moment, he panicked; she couldn't possibly know what he had been thinking, could she? He realized that he must seem as conspicuous in his place as she did, in his Westerosi clothing. A clever Targaryen might wonder what business a knight from the Seven Kingdoms had in Khal Drogo's manse, at a feast celebrating his betrothal.
This was foolish, he thought, how does Varys expect them to trust me, when they have been followed all their lives?
They seemed to trust Magister Illyrio, for reasons Jorah could not begin to understand. He watched the fat man steer his guests through the crowd, sealing the deal he'd bartered, and wondered what the Magister stood to gain from this transaction. Illyrio Mopatis was known the world over as a man who would sell anything – and anyone – for gold.
The girl finally looked away, allowing Illyrio to turn her attention to Drogo. If she had seemed frightened before, it was nothing compared to the look of utter terror in her eyes as she examined the mighty Khal.
What am I doing here? Jorah thought. Is this the only way home?
Daenerys
Khal Drogo looked her over slowly, his eyes raking up and down her form. Dany tried to hold her head up, to keep her body still and her fear well hidden. I am a dragon, she thought, I am a dragon. It seemed as though hours had passed before Drogo turned to Illyrio and nodded.
"Azho zheana," the horselord growled.
Dany didn't know what that meant, but it seemed to indicate approval. Illyrio and Viserys looked pleased as well. The magister replied in Dothraki, and began translating between her brother and the Khal, but all Dany heard was buzzing.
I will be his queen. A khaleesi. A horselord's bride.
She looked at Drogo again. Up close, he was enormous, towering over her and her companions. His eyes had not softened, and he looked capable of snapping every neck in the room with his bare hands at the slightest provocation.
Would he snap hers, if she displeased him? How much pain would she endure from this man, to earn Viserys his army?
"I'd let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too."
Dany nearly trembled in fear, but caught herself. The blood of the dragon. I am the blood of the dragon.
She looked around the courtyard again, at the other guests. The dothraki would be her people, but they seemed so foreign, so savage. Everywhere she and Viserys went, they were different – outsiders, exiles – and she was used to acclimating herself to new cultures, new peoples. But the dothraki were strange even to her.
Could the khalasar ever be my home? she wondered, Could these ever truly be my people? Viserys believed their only home was in Westeros, and Illyrio said their people were there, sewing dragon banners in secret. But she had never seen them.
Except the knight with the bear on his chest, she remembered. Ser Jorah Mormont. He is far from home, as well.
She scanned the crowd for him, and found him speaking with one of the horselords. In Dothraki.
When did he learn their language?, she wondered. Had he once found these people as strange as she did? He seemed quite familiar with them, at ease among Drogo's guests and his people, and Dany wondered how he had done it. If he can learn, can I?
Could he teach me?
Jorah
Hours passed before he was able to speak with the Targaryens.
The deal had been settled, the princess's hand sold to the Khal – or, to the Dothraki's mind, accepted as a gift. When the meats were gone, the wine flowing slower, the candles burning lowly on the walls, Illyrio led the Targaryens to where Jorah was standing. For several minutes he had been trying to form an excuse to approach them.
That was simple, he thought.
"Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, you have the honor of addressing Viserys of the house Targaryen, the third of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," said Illyrio, in a voice smooth as silk.
The knight nearly snorted aloud. I'm sure you have protected your kingdom well from across the Narrow Sea, Your Grace. Jorah reminded himself that he was an exile as well, as useless to Westeros as the former Prince.
But not for long.
"Your Grace," he began, "It is an honor and a relief to see you alive and well."
Viserys nodded in reply.
"And this," Illyrio continued, "is his sister Daenerys Stormborn, princess of Dragonstone and soon to be khaleesi of Drogo's great khalasar."
Daenerys. That was it. After the sister of Daeron the Second. He would have to remember it.
The girl turned her head down as Illyrio spoke, and as he mentioned the Khal Jorah thought he saw a look of fear cross her face. But when she lifted her gaze to meet his, she had forced a smile.
"I'm so pleased to meet a knight of my kingdom," the princess said politely.
Something in her voice – or perhaps it was her face, the shy eyes, the hesitant smile – reminded Jorah suddenly and painfully of his wife.
He tried to will the image away. She is young, and fair of hair, like Lynesse was when I met her, he thought. And the only other Westerosi woman I have seen since we fled. That is all.
But for the second time that night, the second of what would become thousands in the years to follow, Jorah Mormont felt a stab of guilt.
"I wish you well in your marriage, princess. Or should I say, khaleesi?" He tried to smile back at her.
Viserys snorted.
"She's not a savage yet," the prince interjected. "It is a shame, to soil the blood of the dragon, but I will have my army, and she will make him a good wife. An obedient wife. Isn't that right, sweet sister?"
His hand gripped the girl's arm, his fingers digging into her skin. Jorah did not like the way he spoke to her, and his fingers tensed instinctively around the grip of his sword.
The princess was staring at her feet again, and she nodded.
It is not my concern, Jorah reminded himself. The boy has a touch of his father's violence, and no surprise. Soon her khalasar will protect her. And what did it matter to him, if they did not? It was only a knight's instinct, to defend a lady, and nothing more.
He needed to focus on what he'd come here for.
"Your Grace, if it please you, I would offer my sword and my service to the rightful King of Westeros."
Daenerys
Dany was pleased when the knight offered her brother his sword.
In the khalasar, surrounded by forty thousand riders, she would be swallowed up. Only Viserys would be there with her, speaking their common language, and he spoke to her cruelly as often as not. But now we have a knight. A knight from Westeros.
She didn't know him any better than she knew her husband-to-be, or his people, but he seemed somehow familiar to her. As the Seven Kingdoms did, when she dreamed of them, despite having no waking memory of her homeland. She wondered if he would speak to her cruelly, as well. He was a large man - smaller than Drogo, but so was every man she had ever seen - and a warrior. But his eyes did not seem cold the way the Khal's did, though he took care to wear little expression.
Dany wondered at that. She had seen the way his grip tightened when Viserys had touched her. Illyrio always looked away, when her brother was cruel. A knight. Don't knights protect their ladies?
It was not Viserys she wanted protection from, however. And even a knight was no match for Khal Drogo, who had never lost a battle, whose warriors stayed close to him, always watchful.
Besides, she knew little of knights, and how they behaved. The only other knight she had known was Ser Willem Darry, who had saved her and Viserys from the Usurper and his dogs. She wondered if Ser Jorah Mormont had fought in the battle at the Trident, where her brother Rhaegar was defeated…and on whose side.
Dany frowned. She had no reason to trust this man any more than she trusted Illyrio Mopatis. What was it about him that made her want to? He seemed less calculating than Illyrio, and less cold than Drogo, but she had hardly spoken to him…or to her husband-to-be, for that matter. Perhaps it was Ser Jorah she ought to fear, and not Khal Drogo.
But he is from Westeros. Trustworthy or not, Dany longed to speak to someone from her homeland, in her own tongue, of her own people.
Are the Dothraki my people now? Will they ever be?
Illyrio and her brother began to move through the crowd again, the magister pointing out other notable guests. The knight moved to follow them, but Dany called after him.
"Ser Jorah?"
He turned. "Princess?"
Dany hesistated, unsure what she wanted to ask. She had a thousand questions for this strange man, and nowhere to begin.
"Magister Illyrio said you were from…Bear Island?"
"That is correct, princess."
"Forgive me…Viserys has told me something of the Seven Kingdoms, but I have never heard of that place."
He smiled then, truly, and she noted how it changed his hard face. Does the Khal ever smile?
"It is very far north…a good distance from King's Landing. I doubt your brother would have had cause to travel there."
"But you've travelled, haven't you?" The question came before she had time to form it. "In Westeros?"
"Yes, princess." He seemed uncomfortable speaking of himself, but Dany continued anyway.
"Would you…tell me of it? Of my kingdoms?" Dany blushed, realizing how childish her request sounded, and tried to explain. "I have only heard tales of them from my brother, and he was very young when we fled."
Ser Jorah hesitated, and just as he opened his mouth to answer, Viserys strode up to them, looking impatient.
"Are you coming, sister? I've had enough of the barbarian's hospitality for one evening."
She nodded, bringing her eyes from the knight's face back to her own feet. Illyrio had stepped in beside her brother, and spoke to Ser Jorah.
"You are welcome at my manse as well, Ser, until the princess is wed. A king does need his protectors, after all."
Something about Illyrio's tone made Dany wary. But so does nearly everything he speaks.
"That is most gracious of you, Magister," Ser Jorah replied.
When the two other men had turned again to leave, he smiled at her again.
"Another time, perhaps, princess."
She returned his smile halfheartedly, and followed her brother towards the entry hall.
Later, she wasn't certain it had actually happened, but as she walked in front of Ser Jorah she thought she heard him mutter to himself, very quietly.
"Daenerys."