Interlude II—Season Three
There's a knock on the door as the sun just begins to kiss the rooftops of the buildings in King's Landing.
Jorah's been lying awake anyway, one arm pillowed behind his head, staring up at the opulent canopy above him, the other holding Daenerys close. She's sprawled across his chest, her hair a silver river across his skin, deep in her own thoughts. That's one of the things he loves most about her. Any silence they have is never awkward. They can just be together.
But that knock stirs Daenerys, and she emits a groan. Jorah chuckles to mask his own disappointment, trailing his hand up her back.
"We always knew the peace would end," he says. "The time just happens to be now."
"I wish it could have been later," Daenerys grumbles. He bends to kiss her in consolation.
The knock comes again, accompanied by a call of, "Your Grace!"
The handmaidens aren't foolish enough to enter without permission. They know that the queen isn't to be disturbed when she's in her chambers with her husband. Some of that have learnt that from experience.
Jorah slips out of bed, padding over to the dresser to pull on trousers and a shirt. When he's covered if not decently dressed, Daenerys calls out her consent.
The handmaiden gives him a darting look, and he turns away to the balcony instead, giving her the space to work with Daenerys without him getting in the way.
He stares out across the city, breathing in its scent. Not all pleasant, but it's all Daenerys'. This is the empire she's built.
Much like she had across the Narrow Sea, carving a path from Astapor, to Yunkai, to Meereen. The long days between each destination are still fond memories. How brilliant she had been then. Commanding. Clever. He had been so lucky to serve her. Witnessing her plans coming to life. Building her armies piece by piece. Gods, if it was possible he had fallen even further in love with her, enamoured by her strength, by her everything.
As he always will be.