Interlude VII—Season Eight
Oftentimes Daenerys and her family take their meals in the main hall with the rest of her small council, for they are all viewed as extensions of her family, members that she couldn't be without. Today, however, she has been feeling particularly nostalgic, and in moments like this she likes to gather her family close. Therefore her private solar is set up for dinner, and she waits with her little dragon cubs for her husband to arrive.
He's been conspicuously absent all afternoon. She knows that there was some kind of minor commotion down in Flea Bottom, and he rode out with a few of her queensguard to dispel the ruckus. Varys had only given her vague reports about the situation being handled well upon their return.
She doesn't like that. It raises her suspicions that not all is as well as it appears.
But Jorah does appear right on time, dressed in his forest-green doublet, looking every inch the fine consort. There are fatigued lines around his eyes but he manages a broad smile for her, and that settles her. At least for the moment.
Until Daenora launches herself from her chair with a cry of, "Papa!" and hurls herself at his middle.
That makes him wince, just perceptibly, and Daenerys narrows her eyes at once.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"Nothing," he says evasively, gently disentangling himself from his daughter's embrace, soothing her pout with a kiss to her tangle of red-blonde hair.
"That's not nothing."
"Daenerys, really," he says, a touch of exasperation colouring his tone. She knows what he's inferring. He doesn't want to start an argument in front of the children.
Which means that there is going to be an argument later. Or stern words at the very least.
Daenerys purses her lips.
But she will honour his silent plea. She'd rather not upset the children, either.
So she reluctantly accepts the kiss that Jorah drops onto the crown of her head, watching as he rounds the table and takes his seat opposite her. Unaware of anything out of the ordinary, the children take their own seats, and the dinner begins.
Jorah is his usual invested self, questioning them about their days and giving them his rapt attention as they give him only half-coherent answers. Daenerys keeps a watchful eye on him, noticing how he gingerly reaches for his goblet, as if he has a pain in his side.
She knows all of his ticks when it comes to hiding his pain. He's done that so many times. In the Dothraki Sea, taking the slash of an arakh to his neck. Slipping into Meereen with Daario and Grey Worm and coming back bloody but triumphant. In the fighting pits, in Vaes Dothrak. The agony he must have gone through being peeled alive. On the Long Night, covered in so much blood that her hands simply slipped through it.
Yes, she knows that look all too well. And, later, she will make sure he knows it too.