9.

Jorah clomped up the winding rickety wooden staircase two steps at a time, not bothering to measure his strides for Daenerys who clambered up after him, her feet drumming twice for every beat of his. Though he led the way through Bear Hall, he did so at the Queen's command, her tones, harsh with breathlessness and her temper, instructing him to go to her bedchamber. When they reached it and he grasped the cold iron handle to jerk openthe heavy plank door he paused and waited for her to enter ahead of him. Once she had done, however, he allowed the door slam shut behind him and barreled past her into the chamber.

A stone fireplace dominated the modest lord's room, and Jorah made straight for it. From the stack on the hearth he grabbed two logs and threw them atop the smoldering embers of the fire. His ears buzzed with Daenerys' voice beneath the crackle, rebuking him; it was not his intention to ignore her, but he could not stop himself grabbing the poker from its hook. He stabbed the logs more aggressively than was strictly necessary to make them catch the blaze, glowering down at the bears carved into the oaken mantel. Lynesse had hated them—she'd nagged at him to have it remade with more feminine images, chiseled from marble or some other costly stone, because she couldn't abide wild beasts staring at her as prey when she slept or made love; though when Jorah inquired how Daenerys found her accommodations—his former room—Aly reported that the Queen ran her fingers over the carvings almost reverentially and deemed them exquisite craftsmanship.

"Jorah, stop."

Daenerys' fingers closed around his wrist, staying his arm from thrusting the poker once more into the fire. Her flesh was ice cold, but he flinched at her touch as though one of the glowing embers had flown from the fireplace and alit upon his skin.

"You swore to serve and obey me," she said heavily."Must I now command you to look at me?"

"You had no such qualm a moment ago."

"Do you think I enjoyed shaming you in front of your kinswomen after Lyanna dressed you down?"

Jorah made no reply, the only sounds the crackling of the logs as they settled into the licking flames and of his knuckles as he gripped the iron tighter. He moved, Daenerys' hand sliding from his arm, to replace the poker on its hook. Only then did he finally turn to her. She spoke of shaming him; meeting her gaze renewed his mortification over their brief kiss, made him all the more acutely aware that his scarred face must present a constant reminder to herof why she could never love him, never forgive him.

"When your grace ran, I assumed it was because you did not care to see me."

Her eyes appeared to flare as her dilated pupils reflected the fire behind him. "You are out of line, ser! But…" She sighed. "You would not be the only one. Jorah, I understand that you—"

"No," he ground out through his tight jaw, fingers balled into fits at his sides as if to keep them there as he loomed over her. "I do not believe you do understand. And gods help me if I ever understand you. You made me hope—"

The words stuck in his throat, as they had days ago in the wood when he had searched her lilac eyes for the answers to the questions he dared not ask. And she had turned away, not wanting him to see, not wanting to see him.

"In all these years," he continued, changing tacks,"have you ever known my love for you to stand in the way of my duty?"

Daenerys' eyebrows twitched higher on her forehead, giving Jorah a look that took him immediately to that day when she'd accused him of mistrusting Daario Naharis because he saw a rival for her affections. His face burned, as did his neck and back from standing so near the fire. He could not move away, though, without stepping toward her.

"Did I ever advise you wrongly?" he demanded."Have I ever placed you in the way of danger?"

For the first time since he'd turned to her Daenerys' gaze wavered from his face. Gods damn. Why must his own clumsy words condemn him? I know a poisoner tried to kill my son, because of you.

"I may not be a man of honor," Jorah said, drawing his shoulders back, "but I am a man of my word."

Those were the words of his House, were they not? He could almost taste the bitter irony. Here I stand. Though neither kin nor queen might ever forgive him.

"If you expect me to serve your grace, then do not give me hope that I may do more."

Daenerys' chest hitched beneath the bodice of her gown with her sharply indrawn breath, the flush high in her cheeks near as rich a scarlet as the dyed wool.

"Even so," she hissed,"that does not give you the right to sulk or to storm about or to disrespect me in the company of my subjects. You know what a tenuous hold I have on these kingdoms."

Jorah felt the sweep of her heavy skirts against his boots as she stepped nearer to him; he could not move further back, his calves already pressed against the edge of the stone hearth. Daenerys continued her verbal assault, the whites of her eyes showing and her bared teeth stark against her skin as she tilted her face up toward his.

"And while I take full blame in this instance, Jorah, a little humility would not go amiss. Or have you forgotten Meereen?"

"The sewers of that city are etched indelibly on my senses."

He revisited them in his nightmares, wading thigh-deep through shit, the great pale lizard wrapping him in its coils and pulling him under until he woke, choking, on the stench of it.

"And as for humility," he spat, giving up all pretense at moderating his words or the tone with which he uttered them, "I have been held in bondage and beaten and branded. Would you have me brought still lower? I have bent the knee. Must I crawl on my belly like a cur and whimper my apologies and my regrets?"

Jorah had not been aware of raising his hands from his sides until he felt Daenerys' delicate collarbones beneath the firm press of his thumbs as he clutched her slight shoulders in his hands. The realization ought to have made him relax his grip, but instead the strain of her back muscles in resistance to him made him hold fast, shaking her slightly.

"Will your forgiveness be always beyond my reach, as well as your love?"

"You know I expect none of that from you! But…" She stopped struggling against him, abruptly; though Jorah's hands slackened on her shoulders, she did not shrug out of his grasp, but instead frowned up at him, more frustrated than angry now. "You might say you're sorry. For once."

Jorah gaped at her for a moment, his shoulders slumping as the breath went out of him. "Surely there was no need to say…Have I not shown you how sorry I am?"

"Have I not shown you that I forgive you?" Daenerys said, a small, rueful smile on her lips. "And that I…"

One small hand went up in that familiar gesture which she never seemed to be aware of, instinctive almost. She has loved you for a long time, Jorelle's voice whispered in his head, but only now does she begin to recognize it. Jorah tilted his head, as if to resist the soft uncurling of her fingertips against his ruined cheek, but he could no more avoid Daenerys' touch than he could the truth of what had happened between them, which went so much deeper than a mistaken kiss in the woods. Or on a ship.

Words. Since he had returned to her in Meereen, what he had longed for most of all from her lips was for them to utter certain words. How had it not occurred to him that she might want the very same?

And then her lips, to which his gaze had flickered as he thought this, pressed hard against his. Her fingers curled about his neck, pulling his head down to her as her tongue swept into his mouth. He met it with his own, and for an instant all seemed to melt until he felt the brush of her breasts against his tunic and a tightness in his breeches. Fingers digging into her arms, he pushed her back, tearing his mouth from hers.

"I can't hope, Daenerys-"

"Hope." She leaned toward him again, catching his bottom lip in her teeth. "Your Queen commands you."

Her tongue licked at him again, and Jorah opened to her, yielding as if to a flame.

He was not yet, however, so consumed by passion as to have lost awareness of the actual blaze at his back. As his hands slid down from her shoulders to encircle her slender waist, embracing her tight against him, he pivoted them both a more comfortable distance from the fireplace. Daenerys carried their comfort a step further and took advantage of him being not only pliable from her kisses, buta little off-balance from the toe of his boot catching on the forgotten rug before the hearthas well; she grasped the front of his tunic in her fist and pulled him with her as she sank down onto the bearskin.

The bed with its thick down mattress and furs would have been softer than the coarse pelt on the floor, Jorah thought as he knelt with her. Then again if Daenerys was ready for this, here and now, he wasn't about to quibble over location with her. For once.

In another moment he truly was insensible of everything but her hot mouth on his, the curves of her breasts and arse cupped in his hands, her fingers tugging at the laces of his tunic and breeches and his own fumbling with the hooks and ties at the back of her gown, of a fevered scramble between kisses and caresses to remove the layers of clothing that were now all that stood in the way of him loving her as he had so long desired. His heart pounded in his chest and his blood thrummed in his ears as piece by piece their clothing fell away until Daenerys sat before him in naught but her shift of such a fine cotton that her pert dark pink nipples were plainly visible through it.

Eager as he was to proceed, Jorah hesitated, his lagging mind somehow managing to form the coherent thought that perhaps he ought to prolong this moment. He tried not to blink so as not to miss the slightest movement of her hands as they grasped the hem of her shift, her pale sinewy arms crossing as she peeled it up over her breasts and finally over her head, emerging with a sweet smile at him; he did not breathe, as if to stop his heart and time too, when she moved almost into his lap to divest him of his linen shirt and—he could scarcely dare to believe—that her eyes darkened with want as they raked over him, her fingers tracing the muscled lines of his arms, shoulders, chest, and further down his abdomen.

But Jorah was not, except by necessity, a patient man. His wait had been long, and now was at an end. He could look at her all he liked, every naked inch of her, as she lay back, hair fanned out silvery bright against the brown-black bear fur-not so bright, though, as her eyes, which looked right back at him with complete trust as he straddled her slender body and positioned himself to love his Queen.

He had only just barely pushed inside her, and already the sharp sting of pain made Dany cry out.

Has it been that long? Some years, she realized, and yet she was hardly a maid suffering at her first bedding. She clenched her jaw, preparing for him to press on, telling herself it would hurt less after a minute or so.

Instead she felt his weight lift as he pulled out of her and rolled onto his side. "I'm sorry," she gasped, still shocked at her reaction, "I don't-"

Jorah's mouth cut off her words, his tongue drawing slowly along hers. His left hand worked through her hair, the thumb lightly stroking her cheek, and Dany was embarrassed at her relief that he was not angry with her. You are not a bride sold for a price, she reminded herself, you are not the girl in Pentos.

"I'm sorry, love. I wasn't thinking," he mumbled against her lips. "Come here."

This is your knight, not your Khal.

His arms wrapped around her back to pull her into him so that she stretched out along the full length of his body. For a long while he only continued their slow, languid kisses, letting her enjoy the contact of their bare skin as he held her close. She tried to relax, to just feel, and nearly succeeded but for the moments her hands found the long, raised scars that she knew must span the length of his back. Don't think of that. There were so many things not to think of…in an effort to drive them away, Dany wrapped a leg around him, arching her hips against his arousal. When she felt his groan inside her mouth she expected him to try to enter her again and tensed instinctively, anticipating only a duller pain than before, but instead her knight merely leaned over to lay her down atop the soft fur.

For a moment she felt disappointed – and cold, as the parts of her that had just now been warmed against his chest were bared to the winter air again –but soon his tongue was working the tips of her hardened nipples, his hand trailing carefully down to part her thighs.

She gasped again, but not in pain, as a finger slipped between the folds of her sex and began lazily stroking.

Doreah had taught her how to please a man, and how to take her pleasure when she could, but no one had touched her quite like this before. She exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to still her nerves against a dizzying rush of new sensations, trying not to fly apart when Jorah found just the right spot and circled there.

His lips on her neck reminded her that her knight still lay beside her, and she tilted her head to claim them in a kiss more violent than she had intended. Dany was pleased when he met her unexpected fervor, though she was quickly forced to tear her mouth away to scream as a wave of pleasure ripped through her spine. Encouraged, he slid a second finger inside her, increasing his pace.

The moans were coming quicker now, muffled into his beard, and the wanton manner in which her mound rocked against his palm was not entirely intentional. The added finger was not enough…Dany needed more, she needed him.

"Jorah," she breathed, "Now. Please."

Her knight obeyed, returning to his knees to hover carefully above her, aligning their hips. He paused to nuzzle her softly; Dany wrapped her arms around his neck in answer, hoping the fingertips she traced through his thinning hair were reassurance enough.

This time it was Jorah who cried aloud, when at last he was fully within her.

"Gods, Daenerys…"

The feeling of being with a man again after so long was such a wonder that speaking seemed an impossible task; it was all she could do to breathe properly, to bite back the soft whimper that rose in her throat.

He caught her gaze but did not yet move; he seemed to be waiting for something, trying to slow the rise and fall of his chest, but Dany had had enough of waiting. The tension of the past two days, of the past few hours, would break her like brittle iron before long. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles pressing into the center of his back to drive him deeper, and finally with a groan he pulled away. When he returned it was with agonizing caution, his cock stroking her as deliberately as his hands.

Before long their pace matched the desperation with which they had begun, Dany clinging desperately to her knight's shoulders as her fingernails drew new scars alongside the whip marks that had given her pause only minutes ago. Ignoring the warning that lurked in the corner of her mind – forgetting to think has earned you little good – she gave over to the rhythm and let thought fade, until only the ringing in her nerves was real, the heat of Jorah's skin against hers, the pressure building beneath her belly.

Only afterwards, as she lay gasping at his side, did she begin to consider the strangeness of it.

Never would the girl in Pentos have expected to find herself in a far-flung and freezing corner of the sunset kingdoms that now belonged to her, in the arms of the strange knight across Khal Drogo's hall. Though she had never imagined herself a khaleesi either, nor believed she might bring life to eggs of stone and conquer an entire realm not for a brother or a son but for her own birthright. Certainly this is not the maddest thing I have done, she thought, leaning her head against a wide shoulder.

It was some time before either of them had slowed their breathing enough to speak; there was so much she wished to say, yet Dany was vastly relieved when Jorah began first.

"I am sorry, Daenerys. More than you will ever know." He had drawn her chin up to meet his eyes, his fingers slipping around the back of her neck and into her hair. "I have never wished to hurt you."

She traced the lines of the face she had come to know so well; the scars along his left ear where Qotho's arakh had taken the flesh away, the dark brand on the opposite side, the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

"Nor I you."

Yet they both had failed…but perhaps in time the wounds could heal, could fade to thin lines as had the cuts across his skin.

"I meant to pardon you, in Meereen," she murmured, leaning her elbows against his chest so she might look down at him. "I wanted to. If you had only started by apologizing, I would have forgiven you then and there."

His answered by dragging his thumb along Dany's cheeks and across her lower lip; she leaned closer into his touch but avoided further contact, hovering over his face instead as his mouth parted in expectation.

"I missed you so much…"

Jorah's hands yanked her head down, forcing her lips apart. She had meant to continue, but it seemed he had had quite enough conversation, so Dany stretched her legs around his waist and parried the thrust of his tongue with her own.

Soon she had him hard again, and rode her commander until the flame in the hearth was low. By the morning she did not remember anything else but a pair of warm arms lifting her from the ground to the bed and curling around her under the heavy furs as she slipped gradually into darkness.