Author's Note:

The Jorah/Dany ship – how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Or I could just write about it? Yeah, let's do that.

This is the first of two chapters that are a little heavy on the Jorah/Dany shippiness. I'm assuming my readers don't mind? ;)

Jorah

Jorah didn't touch her until they had left the kitchen and were halfway down the servant's hallway. It was a ridiculous ruse and they weren't fooling anyone with their—

"Your Grace, may I speak with you?"

"Of course, Ser Jorah."

The false titles would not last another month. And the false distance didn't last the length of the servant's hallway. Jorah's hand found her slim wrist, stopping her footsteps and bringing her up short. He drew her back into a shadowed corner alcove, his other arm encircling her waist smoothly and bringing her tight against him. She yielded without protest, her own hands sliding up his leather-clad chest to then rejoin each other around his neck.

Grinning at the uncommon sight of Daenerys Targaryen, the last living member of a House whose words called out "fire and blood" mercilessly, with errant streaks of flour in her silver-blond hair and on her flushed cheeks—he brushed away the wheat dust on her face with two fingers.

This brought another smile to her sweet lips, her face muscles lifting beneath his gentle touch…that smile broke open even further when he brought his lips down to claim hers. He felt her hold tighten around his neck, her arms folding over each other as their kiss deepened naturally.

"I've missed you," he whispered simply, as they broke apart.

"I've missed you too," she replied, in the same hushed manner, their foreheads still pressed together, eyes locked on each other.

It had been a few hours of separation, no more. The notion that their parting had been long enough to stir such strong feelings of loss and reunion was utterly ridiculous. But Jorah didn't care. And the look written on Daenerys's face told him that she didn't care either. He kissed her once more, a quick brush of lips over lips, before reaching up and bringing her hands down from where they tangled around his neck.

She tipped her head slightly, trusting him always, but nonetheless wondering why he broke off the embrace so quickly. It was unlike him to release her so soon. They could easily spend half an hour or more in that alcove.

He kissed the backs of her knuckles, as was his habit, before releasing her right hand. The left hand he retained, her fingers now interlaced with his own.

"I want to show you something," he said.

The coast at Bear Island was a mess of high, jagged cliffs and salt-sprayed rocks, all thrown into sharp relief by the wildness of the landscape—black seas, blue skies and evergreen forests. The snow and ice that now froze over the sea and cast the entire Island in a spray of white and silver tinsel only further highlighted the juts and sharp curves of its remote and wild shores, hacked and slashed off the mainland to be set adrift in the first days of creation.

The sea may have frozen over but the winter breeze still acted the part of waves, crashing against the frosted shore, further smoothing the ice face of now silent waterfalls and howling at the mouths of pockmarked sea caves, nestled far beneath the jagged cliffs.

Those sea caves formed a labyrinth which dug deep towards the Island's center, hollowed out by raging storm and crashing water. The cave system was extensive, with tunnels that reached all the way from the seaside to the stone roots beneath the Mormont Keep. And while visitors and strangers to the Island might never find their way between the two, any child born on Bear Island knew the secret ways to travel from sea to castle blindfolded.

"Here, hold this," Jorah handed Daenerys a torch from the wall. The flickering pitch cast all sorts of shadow creatures on the old stones and low ceilings of the castle's cellars. They had descended another staircase, down to the crypts, and now entered a narrow hallway that was black as night and chilled with gasping drafts of cold air.

Daenerys took the torch willingly. She was a creature of fire and always happy to have flames near her. Her other hand tightened its grip on Jorah's, as he still retained it, leading her further down the dark hallway to where the path descended steeply, down a set of uneven steps that had been hewn from the granite bedrock the Keep was built on.

The hallway soon gave way to a tunnel, close and cold, with earthen walls and floor intermixed with large rock formations. Jorah hadn't been in these passageways since he fled the Island but his feet remembered the old path easily, each jut of rock and trick of stone as familiar as if he wandered these tunnels the day before rather than years ago. Daenerys's steps were less sure, hesitating in the dark of an unknown place, but Jorah held her steady.

They walked for some time. As they approached the end of the tunnel, Daenerys's torch illuminated the sheer face of blue and grey stone that formed the tunnel's inner wall. It was carved up with images reminiscent of those she'd seen in another underground cave on Dragonstone. Daenerys slowed her steps, examining the wall more closely. By keeping hold of his hand, she forced Jorah to linger with her.

"Did the Children of the Forest make these?" Daenerys wondered, curious. Her quiet voice echoed in the hollow spaces of the underground.

"Some of them," Jorah nodded in the darkness, pressing his free hand against the familiar etchings. His thumb dug into the frosty lichen of a spiral design, digging out the grit and grime of icy dirt and sea-salt. His fingers drifted to more recent carvings, the lines of a bear's silhouette, etched out of green-black mica with an artist's hand. He traced the silhouette with care and reverence, saying only, "My father carved this one when he was a boy."

Above the bear, there was a raven in flight. This was his father's as well, with each feather on the raven's wing cut out delicately and with attention to detail. Some of the others were drawn by Mormont hands as well, going back several generations. Other families might not have dared disturb the canvas of ancient, mystical creatures but the Mormonts had enough old blood of their own that it was less a commandeering and more a continuation.

"And this one?" Daenerys took a step forward, holding the torch higher, to where the light flickered and glinted off a beautiful carving of a majestic beast with talons raised and wings outstretched. The details on the etching matched the style and talent of Jeor's, though not exactly. And the subject, a dragon, would have been too much fantasy for the Old Bear. His wayward son, however…

"That one's mine," Jorah answered modestly, gently tightening the grip on her hand in a telling way. He continued with self-effacement, "When I was young, my dreams were filled with dragons…much to my father's dismay."

She turned to him with surprise, her expression registering a myriad of emotions—connection, loss, fate. It was all tied up together. His younger self couldn't have known what that carving might symbolize later on but there it was, staring out from the past with a knowledge of time and space beyond them both, further insisting that their connection went deep…perhaps deeper than either of them knew.

Not that they needed the reminder.

Looking back at the bear and raven, Jorah wondered if his father could see him now, if he could see how the path of fools had led to a path less traveled. A path home. Would he be pleased to know Jorah was here once more, in this place? Would he embrace him? Or would he show the fury of bears and start scratching off the dragon etching, banishing him from both the present and the past?

Jorah didn't know. He would never know. And that thought never ceased to tear at his soul.

Finally, his gaze came away from the wall of carvings. Daenerys was watching him. Her eyes had been on him for some time and he turned into her glance, quiet concern playing at her features.

She felt his father's loss too, despite never meeting the Old Bear. It was for Jorah's sake that she felt that loss. She could read his soul with one look. Violet eyes brimming with feeling, she took a step towards him, leaned up and softly kissed his cheek.

He squeezed her hand once more, before nudging her forward, towards the sea cave just beyond the tunnel's end.

"Come, there's more…"