Oppression—07x06, 'Beyond the Wall'
He's numb, and not just from the cold.
Viserion is gone.
In his wildest imaginings, he had never believed that anything could happen to the dragons. They are huge, majestic creatures, with scales harder than steel and teeth the size of daggers.
But Viserion had been felled with one spear, his blood steaming as he fell from the skies to the snows below. That screech of fear and pain resonates within Jorah's ears even now, hours later; it will haunt his dreams.
He's known the dragons since they were hatchlings. Viserion and Rhaegal in particular were curious enough to sit on his shoulders, or take meat from his fingers.
There's a hollow space inside him. A space he didn't know he had.
And if he feels this way about Viserion… how must Daenerys feel?
His mother, the one person who had loved him unconditionally.
He needs to see her.
His feet carry him on instinct.
And his instincts prove to be correct.
Daenerys stands outside Jon Snow's cabin, her forehead resting against the door.
"Your Grace," he says softly, not wishing to startle her.
But he does. Daenerys jumps, her hunched shoulders straightening as she spins around. Her mouth is pinched in a thin line. There's a glass sheen in her eyes.
But there's also steel. She will not allow herself to mourn the child she bore from the flames.
It's as unlike Daenerys as it can possibly be. Jorah knows her. He knows how keenly she feels things, how much injustice and pain stings her. How much she must be weeping on the inside for the dragon that meant so much to her.
She doesn't feel that she can mourn. Woman and queen, forever warring. The queen reigning supreme over all for the fear that she won't be taken seriously otherwise.
Suppressing her true self for the sake of the realm. He hates to see it. Doesn't want her to lose the gentle heart she has for the sake of the crown.
"Khaleesi," he murmurs.
The change in title softens something within her; he sees the glass in her eyes crack and tremble, the waters beneath the veneer of ice threatening to spill. He's the only person who will ever call her that outside of her Dothraki; he is the only one who truly understands.
He can't pretend to feel the loss like she does. But he does feel its raw sting, the only other person here who does. He wants to take her into his arms, to stroke her hair, to murmur that it's okay for her to feel grief, to feel anger, to hurt.
But he can't. Just as she is a queen, he is only a knight, and he does not have the right to take such liberties. For a moment they stare at each other, and then Jorah looks away, ashamed.
Both held in place by the rigidities of society, by the unknown.
Daenerys sweeps past him without a word, to process her grief alone.