EPILOGUE
The shrill cry of seagulls woke her several hours later. Daenerys raised a hand to shield her eyes, squinting in the late afternoon sun that poured in through the window. Her head and sinuses throbbed dully after the night spent crying, but she felt better, somehow – more herself. The sleep had done her good.
She stretched her aching muscles and eased herself out of bed, going through the motions of readying herself for the day as best she could, without Missandei there to assist her. She slipped into the same outfit she'd discarded on the floor the previous night, and powdered her face to cover up the worst of the blotchiness. The upper half of her hairstyle was salvageable, but the windblown mess that fell from the crown of her head down she simply swept into one long braid down the back. She studied her reflection in the mirror and sighed. It was about as passable as she was going to be today.
When she climbed the steps out to the promenade deck, she found the ship's crew busy at work, hauling ropes and chains, lowering sails, and beginning to lift crates out of the cargo hold onto the deck for transport to shore. They were home; the cliffs of Dragonstone towered above them, crowned with the stone Targaryen fortress.
A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she glanced up to find Jorah beside her again. She smiled at him sadly, but said nothing. The smile faded as she studied the expression on his face. There was something there – something she couldn't quite place. His eyes kept darting from hers out to a spot in the distance, and he used the slightest pressure of his fingertips on her shoulder to steer her over to the railing. She gave him a quizzical look, following his gaze out to where she thought he was looking. She saw nothing.
"What is it?" she asked.
He didn't need to answer her; at last, her eye caught a flicker of movement on the horizon, darting behind the cliffs. She watched the spot for a moment, not daring to blink. A minute later, she saw it again – a flash of green, this time accompanied by a sound she would have known anywhere.
"Rhaegal," she breathed, his name a prayer on her lips.
Jorah nodded. "I thought I heard him earlier this morning, but I didn't want to wake you until I was certain."
The sting of tears pricked her eyes as she watched the green speck on the horizon, circling over the cliffs with a larger, darker form she knew to be Drogon.
"He came back."
"Mm. I promised you he would." He smiled at her gently. "It's harder to stay away from you than one might think."
Daenerys released her breath in a sigh of relief, and finally tore her eyes from the horizon. "Prepare my ship. I wish to sail for shore at once."
He ducked his head in a brief bow, already backing away. "Yes, Your Grace."
She caught his sleeve before he could step beyond her arm's reach. "Ser Jorah."
He halted, lifting an eyebrow. "My Queen?"
Before she could second-guess herself, she reached up to rasp her fingers across the stubble of his jaw, then twined them through the ginger curls at the back of his neck. She lifted up on the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek, an echo of the night they stood before Khal Drogo's pyre.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Truly, Jorah."
Every line of his face softened at her touch. He shifted his head almost imperceptibly, leaning into her hand as she drew it back down his cheek. "I serve at your pleasure, Khaleesi," he murmured. "As always."
For the briefest moment, she touched her forehead to his, forgetting the number of eyes that were upon them. Suddenly remembering herself, she released him and took a firm step back, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"Then take me to my dragons. There is much that their mother would say to them."
His eyes crinkled in that warm, knowing way that told her he understood completely. Bowing his head, he turned and went to find the shipmaster to prepare her way home.