08x05, 'The Bells'

After their latest sparring session, Daenerys slumps down into the spring snow. Jorah takes a seat beside her. They've finally progressed onto proper swords; he feels comfortable enough to let her have steel without the fear of her accidently cutting herself—or him. And she has improved under his gentle tutelage. She can parry his swings now without the sword spinning out of her hand, and has even knocked him into the snow a couple of times herself, though he hasn't been quite as vigorous as he would with any other opponent even with his continued recovery, because he doesn't want to hurt her.

But he's sure that if the time comes, she will be able to defend herself—and him, if it came to it, she's fond of saying; never again will he have to be in such a perilous situation with no one else to rely on. Her sincerity brings a lump to his throat.

"So, ser, how would you mark that?" she asks, nudging him gently with her shoulder.

"Oh, average," he jests—if she was that bad he'd be far more worried. "How are the preparations coming along? Have you and Tyrion finally come to an agreement?"

Daenerys sighs, resting her chin against the pommel of her sword. "We will…when he comes around to my way of thinking."

Jorah pats her back consolingly, something he would not have dared do very long ago. "If you'd like, I can have a word with him. Not that I think it would help. In fact, it's more likely to make him want to do the opposite…"

"No doubt," she agrees. "And I thank you for your offer. But this is a matter that I have to sort for myself."

He's a little frustrated by Tyrion's stubbornness, especially when he vouched for him to her. Her Hand has to start trusting her. Has to start believing that she knows what she's doing, otherwise they are all doomed to fail.

But he does wonder what's making Tyrion suddenly so doubtful and why Daenerys seems so reluctant to talk about it.