A/N: Prompt word: Now.
02x10, 'Valar Morghulis'
"Khaleesi!"
It's Jorah's cry that greets her as she stumbles out of the House of the Undying, clutching at her children. They chirp and rustle about, Drogon hopping from one shoulder to the other like a bird. She glances up to find Jorah hurrying towards her, sword at the ready. He grasps at her wrist and pulls her behind him; she almost stumbles over.
"Where are the warlocks?" he asks urgently.
"Dead, I think," she pants.
"Dead!?"
"The dragons…we set them on fire."
Viserion clicks, puffing out his little chest with pride.
"How in seven hells did you even get in there? I was following you, then you were gone…"
"I don't know. Magic," she says wanly.
Thankfully, he seems to detect the tremble in her voice, the crack in her Khaleesi's vaneer. Turning to Kovarro, he calls, "Wait outside, make sure we're still alone. We'll be there in a moment."
Jorah doesn't have the authority to command the Dothraki, but Kovarro respects him enough not to argue. Casting one last look in their direction, he grips his arakh tighter and nods, disappearing from sight.
Only when he's gone does Jorah turn back to her, concern lacing his tone. "What happened to you?"
She's only just realised she's shivering. The visions…they were all so real.
Mummer's tricks, she tells herself fiercely. Smoke. Meant to scare her and tempt her into losing herself. Just remembering Rhaego and Drogo sitting there in the sunquenched tent brings a powerful ache right in her chest.
But there were the other visions too. Standing alone in the vast expanse of the North with the Wall at her back, the cold biting into her skin like fangs from a viper.
And then the Throne Room, twisted and blackened and gnarled, with snow drifting and covering the flagstones like a victor's banner. Or was it ash?
"Khaleesi?"
She shakes herself out of her stupor at Jorah's voice. Rhaegal butts up against her chin with his scaly head in an attempt to remind her of their presence.
"Later," she croaks.
Jorah never pushes her. He only nods. But she is compelled to stumble closer, and throw her arms around him in a complete act of spontaneous relief. Viserion squeaks in protest and scrambles from between them. The little dragon comes to a rest on Jorah's shoulder, but Jorah doesn't seem to notice him. He's startled by her sudden show, but he is never one to deny her; his arms come tentatively around her too.
And it's foolish, she knows that. But it's the comfort she needs right now.
Her dreams come true, but what about visions? Will they manifest one dark day in the future?
She hopes not, but perhaps they will. And the thought is terrifying.
But, as Jorah moves his hand hesitantly over her back, she forces the fear away. Those are worries for another day. The here and now is all that matters.
And right now they have some scores to settle.