Author's Note:

Just a warning - there may be a slight delay in updates coming up. Real life and all that. I'm actually really surprised that I've managed to hit the once-a-week updates so far…but man, this story pretty much writes itself. Because, again, (and I may have mentioned this once or twice before) the Jorah/Daenerys connection is one of those most natural, complex, layered and dynamic relationships in the whole Game of Thrones fandom. So. There. :)

As always, thanks for being amazing readers! Here, have another Jorah chapter. #mwah

Jorah

He was dressed. Or half-dressed anyway. He was out of bed, at least, which was more than he could say for Daenerys. She lingered there, propped up against the down pillows, kneeling on the mattress, with her legs folded up under her and the sheet wrapped around her, pinned under her arms as a sort of sheath. It wasn't modesty that compelled her to keep the sheet against her, but the frigid, drafty air in the Keep. No matter how much heat they had conjured in that bed, it was still winter on Bear Island and the castle held a chill like an icebox.

Daenerys smirked as she watched him dress, her mood still playful, her violet eyes sparking with something much like contentment. He hadn't seen her this way in a long, long time…if ever. The dark shadows that cluttered up her soul appeared diminished, the ghosts of the past banished away for the present. The weary strains of war, loss and grief weren't hovering over her features as they so often did, restless and ever biting, like buzzing gnats in a green meadow.

Could those gnats be shaken off so easily? Jorah's head told him no, but his heart cared little for any dour, Mormont wisdom this morning. His heart was currently too occupied with Targaryen beauty to care for much else.

Her smirk widened as she caught him staring back.

"You study me, Ser," she accused him, teasing. "Perhaps you wish to come back to bed, after all?"

"Daenerys…," he half-groaned, ignoring the renewed waves of yearning that she could stir with just a glance or a single word. He told her once already. If one of them wasn't strong enough to resist the other, they might never leave this room again.

Would that be so terrible? She cocked her head slightly, appearing to read his thoughts. He shook his head stubbornly, even as he found himself taking a step towards her, leaning across the bed and granting her another kiss, this one as delicate and light as white feathers.

He pulled back far too soon for her liking. His chin slid away from her fingers too easily so she pouted, though without much success. The pout wouldn't stay in place, too quickly swallowed up by the same irrepressible smirk as before. Still, the dragon girl's smirk charmed Jorah more than the pout and he had to focus every ounce of volition he still had on finding his outer tunic and pulling it over his head.

"The stubbornnessof bears…," Daenerys mused as she settled back against the headboard, sighing through her disappointment. But he recognized the soft tease in her sweet voice. If nothing else, she was enjoying his struggle. Enjoying it even more, as she knew she was the cause of it.

"The unquenchable passion of dragons…," he countered, mumbling the words as he attempted to lace up the quilted black fabric on the arms of his tunic. His fingers were clumsy after a night with little sleep.

"Come," Daenerys said, drawing him back to the side of the bed. She scooted closer to the edge, reaching up and pulling him down to sit beside her, where she helped him with the laces. Now it was his turn to watch her, dressed only in her white sheet, silver-blond head bent over the arms of the black tunic, her lovely fingers playing at the threads with care.

He had always loved her hands, her delicate fingers, how they were so often drawn up to his face, how they fit so well in his own. The first hour they met, her hands had cautiously reached out to accept the gift he offered her.

Are you…from my country? That voice—so small, so unsure, so hopeful. Those hands—one laid so gently atop the cracked leather binding, the other playing at the edges of old, fraying pages of Oldtown paper. He'd been enchanted by her hands. Enchanted by her. Before that day, he'd known her only as the Targaryen girl, the Mad King's youngest child, the exiled princess, a footnote at the edge of the world.

A footnote…How could he know then that his life had been irrevocably changed, at the very moment her hands took those dusty books from his? You are my entire story, princess.

Unable to help himself, he took her hands now and brought the backs of her knuckles up to his lips, where he pressed a kiss against them.

The teasing glint in her gaze receded, flooded now by sudden tenderness. Their hands tangled together in his lap for a long moment, before she reached up to the side of his face, cupping his cheek with the curve of her thumb, while she leaned up and pressed a kiss at his temple. He closed his eyes briefly at her gentle kiss, squeezing the soft part of her palm on the hand that remained with his own.

"When I think of the time I wasted…," she began softly, her voice little more than a whisper, paper-thin and rueful. She caressed his cheek once more before returning her wandering hand to the others. Her gaze dropped on the words and he spotted a slight sheen of tears on her dark lashes. He shook his head before she could finish, not allowing any regrets to be entertained on this morning.

"None of that," he whispered back, his voice husky with emotion and only stern in its firm gentleness. Now one of his hands drifted up to her face, where he tipped up her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Not one moment I've spent with you has been wasted. Not one. You are everything to me, do you understand? I never expected this. But I wouldn't change anything because it led us here, to this moment. And in this moment—are you happy, Daenerys?"

"I'm very happy," she smiled back, her pearly teeth breaking through another grin that spoke of the ardent feelings those flimsy words couldn't express.

And oh, she was beautiful when she smiled. But she was beautiful all the time. He half-chuckled, half-groaned because he knew himself well enough to know that she'd caught him in her lusty web once again. All that wasted time dressing when the clothes would just come right off again. So familiar now, her mouth found his with little effort.

Or would have, if not for a rapping knock on Jorah's bedchamber door. Their lips were so close, their breath intermingling, but they broke apart at the sudden harshness of sound, startled out of a false haze that had been lingering in the room for hours, assuring them that they were the only two beings on earth.

"Yes?" Jorah called out without rising from the bed. He had no interest in opening the door until he knew what was requested. The present company was sufficient. Three would be a crowd. Daenerys seemed to agree, as she inched closer, draping herself at his shoulder, raising her lips to tease the soft skin at his ear lobe with secret whispers, tempting him to ignore the summons completely.

"My lord," one of the servants greeted through the closed door, his voice muffled and apologetic. "Lady Lyanna requests your presence this morning. My lady has been waiting for you to come downstairs for some time."

"Has she?" Jorah answered with a question, though he wasn't surprised. He vaguely remembered Lyanna saying she wanted a word with him last night at dinner. But it was after Daenerys had left the dining hall and, at the time, he was distracted and may not have answered to her satisfaction. He may have even ignored his fierce little cousin, though it wasn't his intention. Everything from the day before seemed a blur.

It felt as if an age had passed between then and now. A wonderful, blissful age…

"Tell Lady Lyanna that I will join her in a quarter hour," Jorah replied. At his side, Daenerys frowned at him immediately and opened her mouth to protest, but he gently pressed a finger against her lips, silencing her until the servant's footsteps retreated from the bedroom door.

"You will leave me now?" Daenerys asked him, arching her eyebrows slightly and dropping the sheet a little lower, almost daring him to try.

"I'll leave you in a quarter hour," he confirmed, but slid his arm around her waist, tightening his grip on the dragon girl, making sure she knew he wouldn't abandon his claims on her any time soon. She made no protest, grinning wildly. As he pressed another kiss against the curve of her neck, he added, "But not a moment before."

She grasped the front of his black tunic tightly, with both hands twisted in fabric, and pulled him towards her. They tumbled backwards onto the mattress, laughing.