10. Naked

"What is that?" asked Jorah, his head snapping up sharply from Rhaego's cradle as Dany swept through the doorway of the spacious bedchamber Xaro Xhoan Daxos had given them in his palace in Qarth.

Dany stopped in her tracks, her brows knit together, and then glanced down at herself, following his gaze to the swath of dusky violet silk-exactly the shade of her eyes, he noted-that was draped across her slight frame, baring her left shoulder.

And her left breast, as well.

"One of the new gowns Xaro had made for me," she replied, thankfully looking up so that he had her eyes to peer into instead of the temptation of her breast. "His seamstress will have three more for me tomorrow."

Jorah felt his frown tug deeper at the corners of his mouth at her familiar use of their host's given name. He nevershould have agreed to accept the merchant prince's offer of hospitality. He'd talked himself out of a hundred reasons why doing so would be unwise, but none of them had included the possibility of objectionable foreign fashions.

"Will any of the others cover you?" he asked in a pinched voice.

Her cheeks…and her neck…and-oh gods, it was futile to keep his gaze from wandering downward-her chest flushed pink as her hands went up and, in a self-conscious gesture, drew a section of her flowing silver-blonde hair over her shoulder in a semblance of modesty.

"I expect not," Dany said. "I've not seen one lady in the whole city who's not dressed as I am."

"Why must you be outfitted as the Qartheen? I am not."

Daxos had commissioned new clothes for Jorah, also: tunics and trousers, shirts, doublets, and surcoats in the style of Westeros. While he couldn't deny it pleased him to be attired much less shabbily than he had been in some time, more or less in the manner to which he'd been accustomed when he was Lord of Bear Island before Lynesse had ruined him, a vain part of him regretted that their necessary anonymity prevented his being clad in the symbols of House Mormont. He'd discretely removed his signet ring when Dany told Daxos, Pyat Pree, and the priestess called Quaithe that they were refugees from the Dothraki, and without it his fourth finger felt naked. For all the good not wearing it did; in place of it his finger was encircled by a ring of pale flesh where the rest of his skin had tanned around the signet during its years rest there. He had requested a very fine doublet in the rich green of the forests of his homeland, which he wore now, hoping it and his trimmed hair and beard made him appear at least somewhat more lordly in Dany's eyes than she was accustomed to seeing him.

At the moment, the only emotion in her eyes was amusement. They danced beneath an arched brow-evidently she'd gotten past her earlier embarrassment-and she said, "It's polite to adopt the manner of dress preferred by one's hosts."

"It's also polite to dress in the manner preferred by one's husband," Jorah grumbled.

"I would consider your preference-if you were truly my husband." Dany gave her hair a little flick back over her shoulder. "Anyway, I'd have thought you would welcome the opportunity to see more of me, ser."

She used his title, but it was spoken in the low tone and accompanied by the smile he'd come to associate with flirtatious moments. Such intimacies had become a daily practice since he'd first kissed her in the ruined temple of Vaes Tolorro, amid the slanting beams of early morning light, and though they'd not been alone together in the weeks of travel, he wasn't certain that Dany's affection was all pretense. While he had been the one, for the sake of appearances, to spread her sleeping mat next to his when they'd made camp, Dany had gone a step further and slipped under his blanket with him; very often in the night he'd half-awakened to feel her body curled against his back, tucking her knees against the backs of his legs.

With all this in mind, he took Dany's remark as permission to appreciate the perfection of that breast-which, if memory served, was the very one he'd accidentally cupped in his sleep, whilst dreaming of her. Strange how, as incensed as she'd been at the time, she now seemed not to mind, even to desire his attentions as a lover. His fingers twitched to touch it again, but he wasn't about to press his luck, not when he was just beginning to enjoy the fruits of his patience. He settled for resting his hand on the smooth curve of her waist, just above where the garment was cinched by a low-slung silver belt encrusted with amethysts-rich clothing for a girl supposed to be an escaped slave, which aroused his suspicion of their host rather than his passion for his queen.

He sighed and met Dany's eyes again, the reminder of where they were and why they were having this conversation in the first place rather spoiling his enjoyment of her beauty.

"I do welcome it," he admitted bluntly, "but not if it means your charms must also be displayed before every other man in the city. Before Daxos."

He fairly spat the name, and Dany giggled, bouncing up on her toes to kiss Jorah's cheek and brush an errant lock of his newly cropped hair back from his forehead.

"I don't think you need to need worry about Xaro," she said. "Or haven't you noticed it's not the young women of his household he watches?"

Jorah had noticed the way Daxos' eyes devoured the boys and youths who served him as pages, but the thought did nothing to put Jorah at ease. Unconventional appetites did not mean a man eschewed female company, and Jorah had also noticed that Daxos paid almost equal attention to Dany whether it was to leer at her or not.

"Anyway," she said, turning away with a swirl of silk and perfume, and bent to lift Rhaego from his cradle, "this is practical garb for suckling a babe."

"Ugh!"

At the voice, which belonged to neither of them, Jorah and Dany whirled around to see the very host of whom they had been talking leaning in the arched doorway of the room. How long had he stood there? And had Jorah truly been that distracted by a breast that he'd not noticed the presence of another? Yet another strike against Dany's new clothes.

Daxos pushed off the intricately worked masonry and sauntered toward Dany, his mouth twisted in a smirk beneath the long, bejeweled nose that crinkled in disgust. "You would ruin those perfect breasts by nursing your own child like the wife of a common laborer?"

"She is a common woman," Jorah said, though it bruised to imply such about himself, even if it was utter falsehood. He stepped behind Dany and placed his hands protectively on her shoulders. Not for the first time, he wondered if Daxos suspected the truth about her-or rather, that she hadn't told him the truth about herself.

"But she is my guest," Daxos said, not sparing Jorah a glance. His lips curved in a pleasant smile for Dany. "I would employ a wet nurse for her, should she desire it."

Dany thanked him for his courtesy, but made it plain that she did notdesire any woman but herself to suckle Rhaego, even going so far as to refuse his offer of a nursemaid. Jorah was relieved to see her exhibit such a degree of caution; she'd worried him on their journey to Qarth, when they'd first discussed Daxos' unexpected invitation to stay as guests in his palace until they knew their future course.

"Daxos says the blue-lipped speak lies," she'd whispered to him as they embraced beneath their shared blankets, pretending a lovers' tête-à-tête. "He says that Pyat Pree is a warlock who drinks shade of the evening to open his mind to demons, and that he will play us false."

"I've often found that people who call others liars are not themselves to be trusted."

Dany's eyes had gleamed at him in the light of the campfire, her full lips curving in a way that made it impossible for him to resist tilting his head toward her and stealing a kiss-which, as it turned out, she willingly gave, one of her small hands resting against his neck as she'd pressed herself flush against him. Jorah had been instantly aroused, and was contemplating whether Dany, who hadn't seemed to mind, was actually aware of his state-which she must be, pushed against her thigh as he was-and whether she might be open to the suggestion of making love beneath the blanket-to lend credence to their claim of being husband and wife, of course. He'd just begun to fantasize about rolling her onto her back and stretching himself over her slender frame, of filling his hands with her small, firm breasts as his lips glided down her neck so he could taste the glistening hollow of her throat, when she pulled her lips from his and resumed their whispered conversation.

"By your own reasoning," she'd said, "I shouldn't trust you, ser. You are forever telling me not to trust anyone."

She'd only meant to tease him about his caution, but the irony of which she was ignorant had not, of course, escaped Jorah. Its effect on his amorous state had been precisely the same as if he'd dived into one of the lakes back home in the dead of winter, and he'd withdrawn from her and their conversation; his guilt and shame had been made all the worse by her bewilderment when he'd rolled onto his other side, putting his back to her, unable to bear the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder or her whispered apologies for mocking his vigilance, for which she owed him her life many times over.

Eventually, sleep eluding him for his waking nightmares of Dany discovering his betrayal, and because he'd sensed that she lay wakeful and confused beside him, he'd summoned his courage and faced her again. Without apology or justification for his earlier abrupt shift in mood-for how could he explain himself?-he'd resumed their discussion about whether or not to accept the invitation extended to them by Xaro Xhoan Daxos, merchant prince of Qarth.

In the end, Jorah had laid aside his misgivings and agreed that they must. They had nowhere else to go, and he concurred with Dany that, after their dealings with Mirri Maz Duur, a man of business seemed less likely to pose a threat to them than a priestess or a warlock. And, unlike the other two, Daxos was a member of a guild of traders called the Thirteen, who had in their possession a fleet of ships, which, Jorah had to agree, might be a greater boon for Dany than the generosity of Illyrio Mopatis. If she could earn Daxos' favor-or, more likely, match his price.

And finally, there had been the matter of Dany being unlikely to back down from her belief that they ought to go to Daxos' house. Luckily, as a knight, Jorah had ample opportunity to practice turning his liege lords' poor judgments into successes-or at least in circumventing total failures. If he'd not been reasonably confident that he could protect Dany, he would have impressed his own viewpoint upon her.

Nevertheless, he'd been leery of Daxos' sudden interest in Dany, when he'd started out as the most indifferent of the three. Perhaps it was that Daxos had seen in her what Jorah had all those months ago when he'd changed allegiances from Viserys to the Targaryen princess. In any case, he would keep a close watch on the merchant.

The one difficulty he hadn't counted on, however, was the distraction of Dany flitting about in a breast-baring gown. At the moment, he approved of the use she made of it, sitting down on a divan and putting Rhaegar on to suckle right there in front of their host. Jorah snorted at Daxos' open disgust as he backed from the chamber, making a speech about how he hoped it was to their liking, and that if they found anything lacking, his servants would see to it that they had everything they desired."

"We have lived among the Dothraki, and suffered in the Red Waste and a dead city," Jorah said, finding flattery less distasteful upon his tongue when he could use it to mock a man he detested. "We want for nothing in the palace of the great Xaro Xhoan Daxos."

But they did want for one thing, Jorah thought when they were left alone to familiarize themselves with their home for the unforseeable, and his eyes fell upon the bed. The last time his weary limbs had sunk down upon a thick feather mattress with room enough for him to stretch out to his full length and have a pretty young thing to warm it had been at Illyrio's home in Pentos, when he'd been a guest at Dany's wedding. Despite Dany's earlier warmth, it was probably too much to hope that now that he finally had the chance to enjoy comfort and luxury, she would see fit to continue their little charade of being a married couple behind the privacy of closed doors. Perhaps if he pointed out how Daxos had not heeded closed doors this afternoon…

Jorah averted his gaze to the divan, upon which Dany nursed her babe. Too short and too narrow for a man of his height and build, though it would have to do. More comfortable, at least, than the alternative of the marble floor, or the beds he'd made on the hard packed ground of the Red Waste and the uneven cobbles of Vaes Tolorro.

Without meaning to, he heaved a sigh. Hearing it, Dany looked up at him and, quite proficient now at nursing Rhaego using only one arm, she extended her hand, bidding Jorah to come to her. He obeyed, and as his fingers closed around hers and he allowed her to pull him down beside her on the couch, he fancied he felt the caress of her richly sympathetic eyes like soothing purple velvet.

"I'm sorry, my good knight," she said quietly. "I know how little you wish to be here, so far from your Bear Island. Apart from the death of my husband, my greatest sorrow is that I cannot yet give it to you."

Her sentiment was so sincere and unexpected that Jorah was too moved to give much heed to the slight twisting of his heart at the mention of Drogo. He changed his grip so that his fingers laced through Dany's, and with his other hand he stroked her hair back from her face, letting the clean, silky tendrils curl around the backs of his fingers. She smelled faintly of lavender and some dusky aroma he did not know.

"You give me hope of home," he said, his voice husky with the emotion he couldn't quite keep at bay. "That is a great deal more than I have had in some time."

She smiled, and Jorah knew it meant she thought he had hope of home because he believed she would give Bear Island back to him through her victorious conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. When he'd spoken the words, he thought that himself, but now he realized that wasn't what he'd meant at all. He would tell her what had inspired them.

"Wherever you go, my queen, I will follow. Not out of duty, but because I-"

She pressed her fingers to his lips, and Jorah saw that her eyes shimmered suddenly with tears that turned her sympathy to sadness. His own heart grew heavy as he realized that she knew what he intended to say and still did not wish for him to say it. But he'd gone too far to turn aside from the thought now. He needed her to remember that this intimacy that had blossomed between them was so much more than a game to him, that he believed it was so for her, as well, even if she didn't realize it yet. Or that it could be, if she would only allow herself to let it be.

He kissed her fingers, and, catching her hand again, held it against his chest, so that she might feel how his heart beat for her.

"I love you, Daenerys. And I will follow you however far from Bear Island you may lead me, because you are my home."

Dany's fingers felt moist in his-though he wasn't sure which of their hands was sweaty-but apart from that she showed no other sign of being discomfited by his declaration as she had been before. That was progress. He allowed her hand to slip from his grasp and reluctantly dropped her gaze as she turned her head to give her babe due attention as she unlatched his mouth, which had grown slack on her breast as he fell asleep, and put him on her shoulder to burp him.

"Pretty courtly words, sweet ser, but I don't believe you truly mean them."

Jorah blinked at her. Didn't believe…? He stood suddenly as his temper rose, and strode a few paces from her, then turned to face her again.

"There is another way than with your conquering army by which I could return to Westeros. A course that would give me my father's forgiveness, and my honor. At once."

For a moment she regarded him from beneath a crinkled brow, as she considered all she knew of the land that was hers to reign, but where she had never set foot.

"I could go to the Wall," Jorah said. "If I joined the Night's Watch, and took the black."

"Why don't you?"

A bitter taste filled his mouth, and his lips twitched in a smile that matched it. "Why, the same reason you won't go to the dosh khaleen, Your Grace."