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Chapter Text

“Ugh,” Daenerys moaned, shifting in bed for what seemed like the hundredth time. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to find a position that was comfortable for both her and the unborn child she carried inside her.

Jorah looked at his wife sympathetically, wishing he could do something to make the last few weeks of Daenerys’ pregnancy easier. His work was done the moment their child was conceived and although he wanted to, there were some things that he just couldn’t take from the burden on Daenerys.

All he could do was watch over his beloved wife and their unborn child and try to do whatever he could to make each passing day a little more comfortable for both of them.

He kept his fears about the pregnancy to himself, only confiding in Beric as to how frightened he was that history might repeat itself. He told his old friend that he would never survive if the same fate befell Daenerys as it had Anais and no matter what Beric said in reply, it would not stop Jorah from fretting until the day Poppy was safely born.

They decided on the name as soon as they found out that they were expecting a girl and with each subsequent scan the dream of having a child became a reality. Jorah knew that even if he looked at the sonographic image a thousand times over that he would never tire of looking at his baby daughter growing with each week that passed.

“Is she kicking again?” Jorah asked, running a hand up and down his wife’s arm.

Daenerys let out a weary breath.

“She’s practicing karate more like,” she answered, blowing a few strands of hair from her forehead.

Jorah placed his open palm on her stomach and moved his head towards her extended belly, feeling his daughter kick as the flesh of Daenerys’ stomach moved in time with the baby’s motions.

“You’re lively tonight, aren’t you, little one?” Jorah crooned as he kissed his wife’s belly. “You want to come out already?”

Jorah’s eyes met those of his wife as they saw Poppy kick in response to her father’s question.

“Just like your mummy,” Jorah chuckled. “She’s the most impatient person I’ve ever met.”

Daenerys shot her husband a dirty look.

“But she’s also the most amazing, beautiful, kind, caring person and she’s going to make such a brilliant mother,” he continued.

Daenerys felt her eyes water, knowing that it wasn’t only the pregnancy hormones making her teary. No matter the situation, Jorah always seemed to know just what to say to make her feel better.

“You’re going to be the luckiest little girl,” Jorah said as he moved his open palm across his wife’s stomach. “You’ll have the best mummy in the world, you’ll have a granddad who adores you and so many aunts and uncles you won’t know what to do with them all.”

“And you’ll have the best daddy you could ever ask for too,” Daenerys added, one hand stroking her belly while the other stroked her husband’s cheek. “He’s going to teach you so many things and you’ll know never to settle with just anyone. If the man you marry is half the man your daddy is, then you’ll be the luckiest girl in the world.”

“Or woman,” Jorah added. “You can date whoever you want to, but just make sure that you’re not settling for anything less than real love.”

Daenerys found herself getting lost in her husband’s eyes as they looked at each other and soon their mouths were engaged in a gentle back and forth. Things were beginning to get interesting when Poppy decided to land a kick straight into her mother’s ribs, almost as if she were jealous that she was no longer the centre of her parents attention.

“Ow,” Daenerys winced. “Well, that’s us told,” she said, carefully laying back down against the pillows.

Jorah leaned over and kissed her stomach.

“Ok, little one,” he said, placing his hand on Daenerys’ stomach again. “Time for bed. Mummy needs her rest.”

Jorah smiled and cocked an eyebrow as Poppy gradually settled and Daenerys’ posture relaxed.

Slowly, they all drifted off to sleep.

Jorah woke the next morning to find Daenerys already up and awake as she waddled from the bathroom with a grimace on her face.

“I swear to god,” she said as he followed her to the kitchen. “She loves sitting on my bladder.”

Jorah ushered his heavily-pregnant wife to a chair at the kitchen table, knowing that there was little he could do in terms of easing his wife’s current physical condition, but he could make breakfast for her at the very least.

“What would you like?” He asked as he opened the fridge door.

“Toast,” she answered with a grateful smile. “With tomato ketchup.”

He shook his head and smiled, taking the bread and ketchup from the fridge as he set about making breakfast. Toast and ketchup was one of the many odd cravings that Daenerys seemed to have developed. He’d thought it a myth that pregnant women had strange food cravings but had been proved wrong several times already.

Perhaps the strangest craving Daenerys had was for pickled artichokes, sending him out on several evenings in search of more of the vile food that Daenerys seemed to gleefully enjoy eating in front of him.

“I can’t wait until this baby drops,” Daenerys admitted as she began nibbling on her toast. Despite being desperate to get pregnant in the first place, Jorah couldn’t help but wonder if the physical strain of carrying their unborn child for nine months would put his wife off the idea of having another in the future.

She caught his pensive look and tried to reassure him.

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” she told him, cradling her baby bump. “I can’t wait to meet our little girl.”

“Me neither,” Jorah replied. He’d spent countless hours building the cot and painting the spare room in preparation for their new arrival. Their labour bag sat in the corner of what would soon become the nursery and now it was just a matter of counting down the days until Poppy made her grand entrance into the world.

“You’re going to make a wonderful father,” Daenerys told him.

“I hope so,” he shrugged shyly.

“I know you are.”

Jorah attended every hospital appointment, scan and ante natal class and Daenerys knew that she was the envy of all the expectant mothers at the weekly group classes. Most of the women who attended only had their partners join them every once in a while, whereas Jorah attended each session like clockwork and was not afraid to get involved in anything and everything.

It made Daenerys smile, especially when she overheard a couple of the soon-to-be mothers talking admirably about Jorah as they made themselves a cup of tea at the refreshment table at one of the classes a few weeks ago.

“Handsome as heck and totally hands-on,” one of them had said enviously. “Daenerys is such a lucky woman.”

“I sure am,” she’d told the ladies who turned round in shock and tried to apologise, which she’d waved away good-naturedly.

“You know all the women at the ante natal classes are hot for you, don’t you?” Daenerys said, laughing gleefully when she saw the blood drain from her husband’s face.

“Daenerys, behave,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck - a clear sign that he was uncomfortable with the praise.

“I told them that you were all mine,” she said, pulling herself to her feet with the support of the kitchen table and walking over to the man she loved. “I’m not sharing you with anyone…except Poppy.”

Jorah bent his head down to kiss her forehead.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I’m not sharing you with anyone either. You two girls are stuck with me for the rest of time.”

She looked up at him with adoration, knowing that she would not swap her life for anything. They could spend eternity together and still it would never be enough for her.

Chapter Text

Daenerys was almost asleep when Jorah’s mobile phone began vibrating across the bedside table. She felt him disengage from their embrace to reach over and answer it.

“Hello?” he said, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

“I’m sorry to call so late, but Thoros has gone off the deep end and I can’t find him anywhere.”

Jorah rubbed a hand over his face, bringing himself fully awake.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you by The Crane.”

Beric let out a relieved sigh.

“Thanks, Captain. I appreciate it.”

Jorah hung up and climbed out of bed, searching for his jeans and pulling them on.

“What’s going on?” Daenerys asked, rolling onto her back carefully.

“That was Beric,” he replied, opening the wardrobe door and grabbing a sweatshirt before pulling it over his head. “Thoros has disappeared on a bender.”

“Can’t you leave it to Beric?” She asked rather uncharitably. She’d only just manage to fall asleep and didn’t appreciate the disturbance.

Jorah walked over to her side of the bed and kissed her cheek, giving her an apologetic look.

“It’s the anniversary of…well, something bad that happened.”

“During the war?”

Jorah nodded his head.

“I promise I’ll explain it all when I get back, but I need to help find Thoros first.”

Despite her annoyance, it reminded Daenerys once again as to what a kind and loving man she had married. He would do anything for the people he cared about and would move heaven and earth to help them if he could.

“Don’t be too long,” she pouted. “Poppy and I sleep much better when you’re in the bed with us.”

He bent down to kiss her and then her baby bump as he grabbed his wallet and keys.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

“You better,” Daenerys smirked as Jorah turned off the bedroom light. She shuffled back down the pillows and tried to find a comfortable position to lie in.

“I’m really sorry about this, Captain,” Beric frowned as he met his old Army buddy outside one of Thoros’ favourite drinking holes.

“I was expecting it, to be honest,” Jorah replied with a sigh.

“It’s been fifteen years,” Beric said quietly.

Fifteen years since they discovered the children in the village they were protecting murdered by poisoned chocolate that they thought had been sent by the British soldiers.

Fifteen years since they dug a grave so large you could fit a truck in it.

Fifteen years since they buried those children whose only crime was being too trusting.

Fifteen years since their devastated parents wailed for their loss.

Fifteen years.

It hadn’t been easy for any of the men on patrol that day and each of them bore their own personal scars, but Thoros…. It devastated him and set him on a never-ending path to self-destruction. He’d connected with those kids and it brought out a more responsible and sensible side to a man who was always much happier playing ‘Jack the Lad’. It destroyed Thoros’ faith in mankind, in hope and in happiness, and he had never been the same man since.

“We better get started then,” Jorah said, pushing open the door of the pub and walking inside.

Eight pubs later, they finally found Thoros propped up against the bar, his legs barely able to support his weight as he asked the barman for another scotch.

“He’s had enough, thanks,” Beric said to the barman who nodded his head and looked somewhat relieved that someone had come to take away the drunk propped up before him.

“Fuck off,” Thoros growled, shrugging Beric’s hand off of his shoulder. “I’m not finished yet.”

“Yes you are,” Jorah said, taking hold of one side of his friend and Beric the other.

Thoros struggled meekly, his limbs not completely under his own control as the two men dragged him towards the door of the pub.

“The fuck you looking at?” Thoros slurred at a group of young men. “Fucking pussies.”

Beric threw Jorah a concerned glance.

“Please,” Jorah said to the group of men, most of whom had already stood up. “We’re taking him home. We don’t want any trouble here.”

They turned and headed for the exit, hoping that would be the end of it, but several feet outside the pub, Jorah felt a blow land on the back of his head which sent him pitching forwards as his grip on Thoros loosened.

Punches and kicks were flying between the men, but they were outnumbered two to one and Jorah was already on his knees from the first blow and didn’t see the second coming or the swift kick to his ribs which sent him sprawling onto his back. He closed his eyes and tensed his body, waiting for the beating to be over as more fists and feet made contact with his body.

Sirens filled the air and suddenly there were cops wading in to break up the brawl.

“Sir, are you hurt?” One of the officers asked, standing over Jorah and looking down at him with some concern.

Jorah took the officer’s hand and sat up, his fingers touching the cut above his left eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, although his ribs said otherwise.

Jorah grunted in pain when the officer helped him to his feet.

“There’s an ambulance just over there,” the officer said, pointing behind him. “Let’s get you checked out and then I need to take statement from you.”

He nodded and followed the officer, glancing over his shoulder to see that Beric and Thoros looked in much the same state he did.

It took several minutes for the paramedic to check him over and confirm that while he would be stiff and sore, nothing more than cuts and bruises were evident on his body. He then had to recount what had happened and how the scuffle broke out in the first place, which ended with the six men who attacked them being arrested and shoved into the back of a police van.

“Eyewitness accounts match your statements,” the police officer in charge of the incident told him. “The pub has CCTV, so we’ll review the footage and if it verifies your version of events, we’ll charge the people who attacked you with GBH.”

Tired and sore, all Jorah wanted was to go home and sleep for a week.

Daenerys woke up, her hand reaching out for her husband. She let out a sigh as she felt his warmth next to her.

She gasped when she opened her eyes as she took in the sight of the man she loved. His face was bruised and there was a nasty-looking cut above his left eyebrow.

She shook him lightly.

“Jorah, what the hell happened?” she asked, her voice rising in panic.

He opened his eyes with a groan, which turned into a strangled moan as he sat up in bed. It was then that Daenerys realised he was still wearing the sweatshirt he’d pulled on before leaving last night. She dreaded to think how many more bruises she would find underneath his clothes.

“Thoros ran his mouth off, and a group of guys attacked us outside the pub,” he admitted, knowing that his wife would hit the roof.

“What the hell were you doing at the pub with him?” She asked, her voice rising with anger.

“We were dragging him out. We tried to apologise to the people he went off at and we were heading home when they jumped us.”

“How many of them were there?” She asked.

“Six,” he admitted. “Someone must have called the police because the next thing I know there were cops everywhere.”

Daenerys said nothing as she stared at the man she loved before awkwardly pulling herself to her feet and walking from the bedroom.

Jorah followed her, instinctively knowing that she was angry with him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, following her to the kitchen. “I know you’re mad with me.”

She turned to face him quicker than he thought a heavily-pregnant woman could as she pinned him with a fierce glare.

“I’m not angry with you,” she said, her expression softening slightly. “I’m furious with Thoros for getting you into this mess! What if something bad happened to you?” She said, tears brimming in her eyes. “What if they killed you and I had to bring up our baby on my own?”

“That will never happen,” he tried to reassure her. “I’ll never leave you.”

“You don’t know that!” she said, cutting him off. “I know he’s your friend and you go back a long way, but there’s no way that Thoros can be in our lives right now. We have to think of Poppy and what’s best for the three of us.”

Jorah nodded his head, knowing that his wife was right.

“I know,” he said as he rubbed a hand over his beard. “I think it’s about time we gave Thoros an ultimatum.”

Chapter Text

Daenerys tried to remain calm as she opened the front door to let Beric into the apartment. It seemed as if he’d received much the same treatment as Jorah had from their attackers.

“First of all,” Beric said as he looked at her contritely. “Please let me apologise for what happened last night. If I’d have known how it would turn out, I would never have got Jorah involved.”

Daenerys’ expression softened as she looked at Jorah and then back to Beric.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you were trying to help a friend,” she replied, gesturing for him to sit on the sofa.

Jorah cleared his throat and looked at his old Army buddy.

“We called you here because we need to do something about Thoros,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck which was still sore from the blow that landed on it the night before. “I don’t want to turn my back on him, but we have Poppy to think about now and, with the way he is at the moment, we just can’t have him in our lives.”

Beric felt his hopes plummet at his former captain’s words. He needed Jorah to help him keep a leash on Thoros and knew it would be near impossible for him to do it by himself.

“Can I ask why?” Daenerys said, sitting next to her husband on the sofa. “What was so significant about yesterday?”

Beric shot a worried look at Jorah.

“I think have a right to know, especially after what happened. The two of you could have been seriously injured,” Daenerys insisted.

Jorah swallowed deeply and looked at his wife.

“It’s not a pretty story to tell,” he said, trying to dissuade her from pushing the matter further.

“I want to know,” she replied. “Please.”

Jorah took a deep breath and began.

“Our unit was on a rotation guarding a local village which had access routes to the larger towns and cities. Our job was to secure the area and only let friendly forces through. The village was full of civilians caught in the crossfire of the war and Thoros took a shine to the kids there. One day, he brought a football with him.

“I’d let each of my men play football with the kids for thirty minutes or so…we all needed some sort of distraction from the hell hole we were in. Soon my men were asking their friends and families to send football boots, sweets and toys so that they could give them to the kids in the village. There was something about those children that brought out the best in Thoros.”

“What happened to them?” Daenerys asked gently.

“A few weeks into our rotation, we arrived at the village and found one of the parents wailing and weeping,” Beric said, running a hand over his scarred face. “The further we drove in, the more we realised that something was wrong. One of the villagers told us that a young boy had dropped off a box of chocolate bars, saying they were a gift to the children from the British soldiers.

“There was a note at the bottom of the box that said, ‘All traitors must die. The day you cavort with your enemy will be your last’. They’d laced them with god knows what, but it killed all of them.”

Daenerys gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth.

“We dug a grave and buried twenty children that day,” Jorah added solemnly. “Thoros blamed himself for being friendly with the children and the villagers in the first place. He blamed himself for their deaths and that’s when the drinking began to get out of hand. Yesterday was fifteen years to the day that it happened.”

Daenerys knew that the war had not been easy for Jorah. She had already seen first-hand that the horrors of his time in Afghanistan still ran deep and affected him even now.

“I had no idea,” Daenerys whispered, still shell-shocked by what she heard.

“War is evil,” Beric said. “It changes a man, and a part of Thoros died with those kids that day. He’s been lost to us ever since.”

“I’ve been thinking, and I’ve already discussed it with Daenerys,” Jorah said as he looked at his old Army buddy. “The only way he can be a part of our lives is if he gets his act together…he gets sober and gets his head straight.”

“We’ve been trying to do that for fifteen years,” Beric replied, resignation lacing his tone.

“I’m going to pay for him to go to rehab,” Jorah continued. “There’s a centre that specialises in war veterans. I spoke to my father and he’s put in a personal request for Thoros…they’re willing to take him today.”

“You don’t waste much time, do you?” Beric replied, puffing out his cheeks.

“It has to stop,” Jorah insisted. “And it has to stop now. I won’t let him be part of our lives otherwise.”

“You do realise that this is going to go down about as well as a bucket of cold sick, don’t you?” Beric said, shaking his head. “Thoros is going to hit the fucking roof.”

“When doesn’t he?” Jorah snorted as he stood and looked at his old comrade. “Are you ready?”

Beric stood up, his back straight as he steeled himself for what was to come.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“No fucking way,” Thoros snarled as his two oldest friends stood over him.

He was in the middle of the mother of all hangovers and listening to his former captain and lieutenant reading him the riot act wasn’t making his head hurt any less.

“This has gone on for too long,” Jorah insisted, his arms crossed.

“Then why don’t you just fucking leave me to it then?” Thoros shouted. “I didn’t ask you to come and rescue me last night!”

“You know we never leave a man behind,” Beric said.

“We’re not in the fucking Army now!” Thoros retorted. “You can’t order me to do anything so just fuck off and leave me alone. I don’t need your pity or your help.”

“When Anais and Noah died, you were there for me,” Jorah said quietly, trying to get his friend to see reason. “You stuck by me, so now let me return the favour.”

Thoros waved a dismissive hand at his old friend.

“Don’t give me that sentimental bullshit. If you’re looking for my conscience it left a long fucking time ago,” he snorted derisively. “Just because you’ve gone all soft and soppy in your old age doesn’t mean you can come round here and be a sanctimonious prick!”

Before he knew what was happening, Thoros found himself pinned to the wall by his former captain who was much more powerfully built than he was.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jorah snarled in his face, his temper finally getting the better of him.

“Hit me then,” Thoros goaded. “It’s nothing that I don’t already deserve, especially after what I did to you.”

Jorah picked up on his meaning immediately - the fateful day when Thoros missed roll call and Jorah ended up taking his place in the medic convoy. The support vehicle drove over an IED which killed everyone except Jorah who suffered severe burns that ended his Army career.

Jorah released his grip on his friend.

“You’re going to pack a bag and then we’re taking you to rehab,” Jorah said quietly. “You said you would do anything to make things right with me after what happened. Well this is it; you’re going to rehab because you owe me, Thoros. If you meant what you said to me all those years ago…then now is the time to prove it.”

Thoros stared at his former superior officer for a number of moments.

“You conniving fucking bastard,” Thoros growled. “You’d stoop that low?”

“If it saves your life, then yes,” Jorah replied. “Hate me all you want, but we’re doing this for your own good. Maybe one day you’ll see that.”

Thoros narrowed his eyes at the two men before letting out a defeated sigh. Jorah had him by the balls and he knew it.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said. “But you and I are done as friends, do you hear me?”

Jorah nodded his head.

“If that’s what it takes to get you sober, then so be it. Pack your things and I’ll drive you to the centre.”

“The same goes for you too,” Thoros said, pointing a finger at Beric. “I’ll go to your fucking shitty rehab, but whatever friendship we once had is done. I don’t ever want to see either of your fucking faces again.”

“Right you are,” Beric nodded, watching his old friend stalk from the room, relieved that they had forced Thoros into rehab, albeit reluctantly, with the hope that it might just save his life.

Chapter Text

“Ok, thanks for your call,” Jorah said, snapping his phone shut and putting it back in his pocket.

Daenerys and Jeor looked at him expectantly.

“That was the rehab centre,” Jorah said, nodding his thanks to his father when the older man handed him a coffee. “Thoros isn’t exactly pleased to be there, but he’s following the rules…so far.” Jorah looked at his father gratefully. “Thank you for putting a word in for him.”

Jeor shuffled awkwardly, about as comfortable with praise as his son was.

“It was nothing,” Jeor shrugged. “I’m just happy I could help. I hope it goes well for him.”

“They wouldn’t have taken him in if it wasn’t for you,” Jorah insisted as he took a sip of his coffee. “I owe you, father.”

Jeor shook his head.

“I’ve never really done anything a proper father should until now. I’m just glad you’ve given me the chance to make up for all of the time I’ve wasted.”

Daenerys watched the two men as they stood stiffly in Jeor’s kitchen, both of them still wary when it came to emotional conversations and trying to find their feet with each other.

Daenerys winced slightly as she took a sip of her chamomile tea and it wasn’t missed by her husband.

“Is she kicking again?” He asked, a look of sympathy on his face.

She had been feeling pains all morning, but they seemed to be coming quicker now. It was still a week away from her due date and the ante natal course instructor told the expectant mothers in her class that twinges were common in the last few weeks of pregnancy.

“I think she’s doing somersaults in there,” Daenerys replied, wincing as another pain gripped her.

“Jorah was a stubborn little bugger,” Jeor chuckled, looking at his son. “He was three weeks late and even then they had to induce him. His mother was in labour for fourteen hours before he finally came into the world kicking and screaming.”

Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh at the look of embarrassment on her husband’s face.

“He gave his mother a rough ride during the birth…she was exhausted by the time he finally came out but the second I held him in my arms I knew I was in love.”

Daenerys looked at her husband as he mumbled something and shoved his hands in his pockets, excusing himself from the room.

“I wish he wouldn’t keep doing that,” Jeor sighed, looking at his daughter in law.

“He’s trying,” Daenerys replied. “He really is.”

Jeor nodded his head, trying to swallow down his sense of disappointment.

“I know I can’t fix a lifetime of mistakes in a matter of months, but it doesn’t change the fact that I wish that I could.”

Daenerys opened her mouth to reply but was cut off when another cramping pain hit her and this time it was bad enough for her to grip the edge of the kitchen table.

“Sweetheart, are you ok?” Jeor asked.

Daenerys grimaced when another twinge caused her to lean forwards. She looked up at her father in law when she felt her trousers become damp.

“Jorah!” Jeor shouted. “Get in here right now, your wife is in labour!”’

Jeor insisted on driving them to the hospital, knowing that his son was in no fit state to drive his heavily-pregnant wife there. Once they’d supported Daenerys into the car, Jeor instructed his son to sit in the back with her.

Once in the car, Jorah realised they’d left the labour bag back at the apartment and it took Jeor raising his voice to his panicked son to tell them that he would head over and collect it as soon as Daenerys was at the hospital.

Things moved quickly once they arrived with Daenerys being swiftly moved to the maternity wing upon confirmation that she was indeed in labour. Jorah stayed by her side the entire time and dressed in scrubs as he held his wife’s hand, encouraging her to keep going each time she felt the urge to push.

Four hours into her labour, Daenerys began to feel the fatigue set in and became increasingly irritable with her husband as he held her hand in his own.

“Argh!” She growled after her latest push. “You and I are never having sex again; do you hear me?” She shouted at the man she loved, earning knowing smiles from the doctors and nurses. “Next time you can have the fucking baby!”

Jorah winced as his wife squeezed his hand hard enough that he could see the end of his fingers turn white, yet he knew the pain of having his fingers crushed was nothing compared to what Daenerys was currently going through.

Despite all the expletives she sent his way, Jorah stood resolutely by her side, soaking up all the punishment and harsh words she sent his way until finally, after hours of labour, Poppy came into the world with an almighty cry. He felt tears roll down his face as he saw his daughter for the first time.

“Would you like to cut the cord, dad?” One of the hospital staff asked, holding out a medical implement.

He nodded his head, his hands shaking visibly as he followed their instructions as closely as if he were disarming an IED.

Daenerys sat up as much as her swollen abdomen would allow her as Poppy was cleaned up and then wrapped in a soft towel before being placed on her chest. She sobbed, running her finger over her new-born daughter’s head as Poppy’s eyes opened and looked at her tearful parents.

“She’s perfect,” Jorah whispered to Daenerys, giving her a kiss on the head. “You were brilliant,” he said, in awe of his wife and what she had just done. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Daenerys looked up at her husband.

“I’m sorry that I shouted at you,” she said, her heart bursting with love for their little girl.

He kissed her head again.

“It doesn’t matter.” He let out a contented sigh. “You did great.”

They had done it. After months of trying and nine months of Daenerys carrying their child inside her, they were finally parents, and both were totally enamoured with their new addition.

“Here,” Daenerys said, encouraging Jorah to hold his daughter for the first time. She smiled when she saw the look of fear on his face. “You can do this,” she smiled.

“Hey there,” Jorah whispered, cradling his daughter against his chest, amazed at how tiny her fingers and toes were. He felt a wave of love come over him as she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Welcome to the world, Poppy. I’m your papa.”

Daenerys watched on as her husband held their baby close, talking softly to her and holding her as if his arms had been made for such a task. Despite his size, Jorah was holding his precious cargo like it was the most natural thing in the world to him. She knew instantly that their daughter would always be safe and that her father would move heaven and earth to protect her. Despite all of his fears, it was clear that Jorah would be a natural father without even realising it.

Jorah passed his daughter back to Daenerys, giving both of them a soft kiss on the forehead before pulling out his phone.

“I better let everyone know that Poppy’s arrived,” he said with a tired smile. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Daenerys watched him go, cradling her daughter to her chest. They would need to make the most of the solitude as their hospital room would no doubt be full of visitors within the next few hours.

Jorah was sitting on the side of Daenerys’ hospital bed, holding his wife and child close when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Daenerys called out softly, smiling when she saw Jeor stand awkwardly in the doorway. He continued to shuffle from foot to foot, looking nervous.

“Come and meet you granddaughter,” Jorah smiled at his father.

Jeor wiped at the tears rolling down his face as he slowly made his way across the room, gazing adoringly at Daenerys and the tiny bundle in her arms.

“This is your Grandpa Jeor,” Jorah whispered to his daughter.

“She’s perfect,” Jeor told his son and daughter in law. “I am so proud of you. All of you.”

“Would you like to hold her?” Daenerys asked.

The blood drained from Jeor’s face. “Are you sure?” He glanced at his son, knowing that not all of the wounds of their past were yet healed.

Jorah smiled and passed his precious cargo to his father.

Jeor held her close, rocking his tiny granddaughter gently.

“Welcome to the family, Poppy. You are going to do so many amazing things, my girl.”

As Jeor lifted a finger for Poppy to hold, he prayed that his granddaughter would be able to help finally begin healing the decades-long rift between he and his son.

Chapter Text

The lounge was a hive of activity as Jorah bustled back and forth from the kitchen bringing cups of tea and coffee to their visitors. Despite Daenerys’ protestations, he refused to let her lift a finger since they’d arrived home a few hours ago.

“Oh, lass,” Mary said, sitting next to Daenerys on the couch. “She’s a bonny wee thing, isn’t she?”

Daenerys smiled at the other woman.

“I can’t get over how much she looks like Jorah,” Daenerys replied.

“She’s got his eyes, that’s for sure,” Mary chuckled, nodding her thanks to Jorah as he passed her a cup of tea.

Despite only being two days old, Poppy was already looking at the world around her with a sense of wonder, reaching out for anything within her line of sight.

Stan stood in the corner of the room, watching on as his wife cooed at the new-born babe.

“How does it feel to be a father?” Stan asked him as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Amazing,” Jorah replied before frowning. “I’m just so scared of doing something wrong.”

He felt Stan pat him on the shoulder.

“You’ll do fine,” he reassured the other man. “Although prepare yourself for a lifetime of worrying about them. It never fades, no matter how old they get.”

“Would you like to hold her?” Daenerys asked the woman sitting next to her. “Having Poppy has done a number on my bladder.”

Mary took the small child into her arms, all of her maternal instincts returning as she rocked Poppy gently and looked at her husband.

He shook his head vehemently.

“No, Mary. Two is enough,” he told her quickly.

Mary sighed dramatically.

“I’ll just have to make do with being an aunt then, won’t I?”

Jorah rubbed at the back of his neck and let out a nervous chuckle.

“We’ll probably call on you to babysit every once in a while,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve slept a wink these past few days.”

“It’ll pass,” Mary reassured him. “Once she gets into a sleeping pattern she’ll be fine.”

“It’s not her sleeping pattern I’m worried about,” Jorah sighed. “I just want to stay awake all night watching her in case she needs something.”

“Babies have a way of letting you know when they need you,” Mary replied, still rocking Poppy gently in her arms. As if on cue, Poppy began to let out a wail and despite Mary’s attempts to coo the baby back to sleep, the little girl was determined to cry at the top of her lungs.

The moment she was back in her father’s arms, Poppy stopped crying and looked at her father intently as he shushed her quietly. It filled Mary’s heart with joy to see Jorah with his daughter. Some men had trouble bonding with their children to begin with, but it seemed there was no such issue for Jorah and his little girl.

Daenerys walked back into the room, lowering herself down slowly onto the couch again. The hospital told her to expect discomfort and pain for the first few days after giving birth and she was still sore each time she moved.

“He’s head over heels in love with her already,” Mary said to Daenerys as she patted her thigh gently.

Daenerys returned Mary’s smile with one of her own.

“He’s been amazing,” Daenerys said warmly. “He’s barely let me lift a finger except to nurse Poppy. He’s been waiting on me hand and foot the entire time.”

“Fatherhood suits him,” Mary observed. “Poppy has the most amazing parents. She’s a very lucky girl.”

Daenerys chewed nervously on her bottom lip.

“I’m terrified that I’ll mess up and be an awful mother.”

Mary chuckled.

“Jorah said much the same thing about himself to Stan. He’s scared that he’ll do something wrong.”

“We’re first-time parents, everything is terrifying for us right now.”

“There’s no manual when it comes to being a parent but as long as you love them, take care of them and protect them…well, you kind of make the rest up as you go along.”

After hearing a knock, Jorah gently passed his daughter back to his wife and opened the door to find Beric standing on the other side with a bunch of flowers and a small teddy bear in his hands, both of which he handed to Jorah.

“Congratulations, Captain,” Beric smiled, pulling his old army buddy in for a hug, patting him several times on the back. “I am so happy for you.”

Having been witness to his friend losing three children with his first wife, Beric knew just how terrified Jorah was of history repeating itself when it came to Daenerys. There were many dark days when Jorah struggled to come to terms with his loss and Beric was there for each and every one of them. Those days in the Army seemed so long ago and nothing brought Beric greater pleasure than seeing his former captain happy and with such a beautiful family too.

“Come over and see her,” Daenerys said, motioning Beric to sit next to her.

He walked across and his eyes fell on the tiny infant in her mother’s arms.

“She’s an absolute belter,” Beric smiled as he looked at Poppy.

“Would you like to hold her?” Daenerys offered, chuckling when she saw the blood drain from Beric’s face.

“No,” he said quickly. “No, you’re fine…I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”

“She’s a baby,” Jorah told his old friend patiently. “Not a grenade.”

“I think I’d feel less nervous holding a bloody grenade,” Beric shot back with a grin, continuing to look at the baby in Daenerys’ arms before holding his finger out for Poppy to grab at and hold in her pudgy little fist. “Uncle Beric is going to spoil you rotten, little one.”

“I don’t think Poppy’s going to want for anything,” Mary observed knowing that each and every one of the people in the room would do anything for the little girl.

“What a day, huh?” Jorah sighed, drying his hands with a tea towel and sitting next to his wife on the couch.

From the visits from Mary, Stan and Beric to several video and telephone calls with friends and family, the day seemed to pass in a blur.

Daenerys pulled herself up straighter, peering over to the cot to find Poppy fast asleep with her thumb resting on her tiny, perfectly formed lips.

“Poppy’s quite the star attraction,” Daenerys smiled. “Missy is going to come up and visit in a couple of weeks, if that’s ok?”

Jorah kissed the side of his wife’s head.

“Of course it is,” he replied. “Let her know that I’ll come and pick her up from the airport.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Daenerys frowned. “You’ve been doing everything since we got home,” she insisted, worried that he would work himself into the ground and make himself sick.

She felt herself being drawn into his warm embrace.

“You’ve done all the hard work for the past nine months, now it’s my turn,” he said, kissing her softly. “We made a perfect little baby, Daenerys.”

She held him tighter.

“We sure did,” she replied. “She took forever to get here but I don’t regret a single moment of it.

“Me neither,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Everything we’ve been through…it was all worth it for Poppy.”

He helped Daenerys to rise and guided her towards their bedroom while he set about taking Poppy to the nursery to settle her for the night.

Twenty minutes passed before Daenerys softly called out to her husband as he stood guard in the hallway, watching over his child as she slept.

“She’ll be fine, Jorah. We have the baby monitor,” she said, waving him towards their bedroom, knowing that he would spend the rest of his life watching over his daughter if it meant keeping her safe from harm.

Chapter Text

“Seriously, Jorah,” Daenerys huffed from her position on the couch. “I am capable of doing some things, you know.”

Almost two weeks had passed since she’d given birth to Poppy and Jorah had hardly let her lift a finger since then. It was something she appreciated for the first few days when she was tired and sore, but now she was finding it a little overwhelming.

Jorah happily bathed Poppy and changed her nappies, giving her bottles when she woke during night and was every inch the doting father, but he was also insisting on doing all of the housework while his wife sat and watched him doing the laundry, washing the dishes and vacuuming the apartment.

She knew that he was likely to take on too much and never complain until he eventually ended up making himself sick because of it.

He gave her those baby blue eyes that never failed to make her heart melt as she looked at him.

“You’ve done all the hard work carrying Poppy, a little housework is the least I can do,” he said, pausing his housekeeping duties to sit next to his wife.

“Jorah, if you don’t let me do something soon, I’m going to go stir crazy,” she said. She frowned as a thought dawned on her. “You’re not going to let me not do anything for nine months, are you?”

He chuckled and kissed the side of her head.

“I’m just glad that I’m finally useful at last,” he admitted, and Daenerys immediately picked up on his melancholy tone.

“You’ve been amazing throughout all of this,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as she tried to reassure him. “There’s no way that I could have done it without you.”

He nodded his head but didn’t look at her.

“I just felt so helpless watching the toll the pregnancy took on you,” he replied, fiddling with the dish cloth in his hands. “I wanted to ease some of the burden on you and I couldn’t, and I guess I just felt a little useless and surplus to requirements.”

She gently took hold of his chin so that he had no option but to look at her.

“Why didn’t you say something to me?” She said, leaning her forehead against his.

“You were heavily pregnant with our child; I didn’t want to add any extra stress on top of that.”

“But you’re worth it,” she said, kissing him gently on the lips. “Stress or no stress, you should have said something to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, returning her gentle kisses with some of his own.

“You are the sweetest damn man that I’ve ever met, you know that?” She told him as she grabbed his t-shirt and kissed him deeply. Poppy was asleep in the nursery and it had been some time since Daenerys felt energetic enough for something more than a brief kiss and cuddle with her husband. He seemed to need little encouragement as he gently laid her down on the couch and leaned over her.

Her hands soon found their way under his t-shirt and he raised his arms to help her remove it from his body before descending on her mouth once more as her hands ran up and down his bare back.

“God, I want you,” she mumbled against his mouth, having missed the intimacy between them the past few months.

His reaction to her ministrations was evidence that he felt the same way as she felt rather than saw the bulge in his jeans. Her hands were working on his button and fly when a loud wail emanated from the nursery.

Jorah sighed and leaned his head against his wife’s shoulder, trying to regain his composure and self-control.

“I guess we better get used to this,” he said with a smile knowing that Poppy would somehow always be able to tell when things were getting interesting between her parents. “I’ll go,” he said as he re-buttoned his jeans and pulled his t-shirt back on.

She called out to him to return as soon as possible so that they could finish what they’d started, but she already knew that the opportunity had passed and that she would have to wait for another chance to be intimate with the man she loved.

Poppy’s wailing continued throughout the afternoon and nothing either Daenerys or Jorah did seemed to soothe their baby. It was with some concern that Daenerys rang Mary and asked for her advice. She was relieved when the nurse told her that Poppy’s symptoms were those of a baby with colic and nothing to be concerned about, although she did warn the new parents that they would have a long night ahead of them.

They took it in turns throughout the afternoon trying to soothe Poppy by gently rocking her to calm her for a while before she began crying again. By early evening Jorah ushered his already exhausted wife to bed. Poppy nursed fitfully at her breast during the afternoon and her loud wailing tore at the hearts of both her parents.

Poppy had been quiet for the last hour or so and Daenerys was more than happy to agree to an early night for both of them, knowing that their daughter would probably wake them several times during the night.

They’d managed a couple of hours of sleep when Poppy began crying again and Jorah slipped out of bed to see to her.

“Hey, little one,” he crooned, picking his daughter up from her crib and placing her against his shoulder. “I know, baby. I know,” he whispered in her ear. “Papa’s here, ok?”

He walked around the room with her, gently rocking her and stroking her back as she burped and broke wind before settling down again. He was just about to put her back in the cot and return to bed when she started crying again and so began a night of walking and rocking Poppy each time she became unsettled. As the hours passed into the early morning, Jorah was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and settled in the chair beside the crib, keeping Poppy on his shoulder and rocking her gently until they both fell asleep.

It was exactly where Daenerys found them the next morning when she padded softly from the bedroom to the nursery after waking up in bed alone. Poppy looked up at her sleepily as Daenerys took in the sight of her husband sitting in nothing but a pair of jogging bottoms with his mouth slightly open and his head resting against the back of the armchair. The image was so cute that Daenerys couldn’t resist taking a picture on her phone that she could use to tease the two of them in years to come.

She hated to wake her husband, but knew his neck and back would pay for him sleeping in such an awkward position and so she gently took Poppy from his arms and shook his shoulder to wake him.

“Hmmm?” He groaned, opening his eyes slowly. “What time is it?”

Daenerys balanced Poppy in her arms and glanced at her watch.

“Just after seven,” she replied. “Go back to bed.”

He frowned and opened his mouth, intending to gently argue the point with Daenerys.

“You’ve been up all night with her,” she said, looking lovingly at the man she’d married and the lengths he would go to for his family. She knew he’d barely slept during the night and only gotten a couple of hours rest once Poppy had settled and the colic passed.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, trying not to let her irritation get the better of her. Her husband was selfless to a fault and she knew it was up to her to ensure that he looked after himself, as well as his family now. “Go back to bed,” she said resolutely, “or are you going to make me sit on you?”

He gave her a heated look.

“You can sit on me any time you like,” he breathed into her ear as he held her close with Poppy gently sandwiched between them.

She rolled her eyes.

“And have you fall asleep on me straight after?” She shot back playfully. “If I’m going to sit on you you’ll need to be at full strength…”

He cocked an eyebrow and grinned at her before kissing her deeply.

“Well, when you put it like that,” he purred in her ear. “I’ll go to bed like a good little boy. Don’t you and Poppy have all the fun without me though,” he pouted playfully.

“I’ll wake you later,” she replied, ushering her husband towards their bedroom.

“Looking forward to it,” he winked.

She shook her head as he closed the bedroom door.

“Right then, baby,” she cooed at her daughter. “Let’s have some breakfast.”

Daenerys smiled at how perfect everything felt. She had a man who adored her and the family she’d always wanted. Her life had changed in so many ways and she didn’t regret a single thing that had happened along the way.

Chapter Text

“Right ladies,” Jorah grinned, shrugging into his leather jacket and grabbing his wallet and keys. “I’ll be back later with dinner. Text me when you decide what we’re having.”

“You don’t have to go out,” Daenerys insisted as she sat next to Missandei on the couch. Her friend was currently holding Poppy who was looking up at her with a sense of wonder.

Jorah smiled at his wife.

“You’ve been stuck in here with me for weeks now, you deserve a little girl time and besides, I said I’d go and visit Thoros at the clinic today anyway.” He bent down to kiss Daenerys. “I love you.”

Daenerys watched him leave, sighing dreamily as he closed the apartment door.

“It’s disgusting how cute the two of you are together,” Missandei teased good-naturedly. “Where the hell did you find such a perfect man?”

Despite having reservations at first, as soon as Missandei met Jorah she saw just how right he was for her best friend. He was quite possibly the sweetest and most thoughtful man she’d ever met.

He picked her up from the airport last night and drove her back to the apartment, insisting that he would sleep on the couch while the two best friends shared the main bedroom and her heart melted when she saw how hands-on Jorah was with his daughter.

“It’s not all sunshine and puppies,” Daenerys replied. “We bicker and argue just like any other couple,” she admitted. “And he’s so stubborn that it drives me mad sometimes.”

Missandei snorted.

“Hypocrite much?” She laughed as Daenerys gave her a rueful grin.

“But he’s better than any other man I’ve ever met,” Daenerys conceded. “Even if he does drive me up the wall at times.”

“But you love each other,” Missandei observed, “that much is clear. I’m just so happy that everything has turned out so well for both of you.”

Daenerys stroked her daughter’s cheek with one of her fingers.

“If you’d told me five years ago that I’d survive cancer, find a husband and start a family… I’d never have believed you.” Daenerys picked up on the pensive look on her friend’s face. “How are things with you and Grey?”

Grey, Missandei’s boyfriend of almost two years, ran his own successful private security firm, but office prices in London were becoming extortionate and he recently dropped the bombshell that he was considering relocating the company’s head office to Scotland.

With both of her parents now deceased, there was nothing that was really keeping Missandei in London apart from the fondness she had for the city and the fact that she hated change at the best of times. Grey would need to make a decision on the company’s future soon and if she refused to move to Scotland with him it would likely spell the end of their relationship.

“I think Grey’s planning on popping the question soon,” Missandei admitted.

“That’s great news!” Daenerys replied excitedly, her face falling as she realised that her best friend hardly seemed happy about it. “Isn’t it?” She asked.

“It’s complicated,” Missandei shrugged, turning her attention back to the infant peering up at her, wondering what it would feel like to one day hold her own child in her arms. “I promise I’ll tell you more later, but first I need multiple cuddles from my two favourite girls.”

Daenerys frowned, allowing the subject to drop for now.

Jorah nodded his thanks to the orderly who showed him to Thoros’ room at the clinic. He knocked on the door, bracing himself for a chilly welcome.

“What the fuck do you want?” Thoros growled as he sat in an armchair and stared out of the window.

Jorah took a few hesitant steps into the room.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he said quietly, stalling his movements as Thoros pinned him with a fearsome glare.

“Oh, I’m absolutely fucking dandy, captain. A whole seventeen days without booze and I’m so happy that I’m swinging from the fucking chandeliers.” Thoros scratched at his beard. “Well, you’ve done your good deed for the day. You can fuck off now.”

“Thoros, I know you don’t understand why - “

His friend cut him off.

“Oh, I know exactly why,” he replied. “Everyone gets rid of me when I’m too much like hard work. People abandoning me is the story of my fucking life and you’re just one in a long line of lying fuckers that came before you. You’re nothing special, you know.”

Jorah stood tall, absorbing the insults his former subordinate sent his way.

“I’m trying to help you,” Jorah insisted. “We all are.”

Thoros’ head whipped round to shoot his former captain a dirty look.

“Help me?” He repeated, his voice rising in time with his anger. “None of you have ever fucking helped me!”

“Maybe one day you’ll see that we did this for your own good,” Jorah replied. “Once the booze is out of your system for good - “

Thoros shot to his feet.

“Don’t you give me that condescending bullshit!” He shouted, glaring at Jorah. “I have enough of it from the pricks here, I don’t need it from you as well. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”

“I’ll come back another time then,” Jorah said quietly, realising that Thoros would never see reason when he was in this kind of mood.

Thoros turned his back on his former colleague and returned to staring out of the window.

“I meant what I said, captain. You and I are done. Whatever fucked-up friendship we might have had is over.”

Jorah shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“You know where I am if you change your mind,” he offered.

“I won’t.”

“Two pizzas,” Jorah said, opening the apartment door with two large boxes in his hands. “As requested, ma’am.”

Daenerys pulled herself up from the couch and gave her husband a kiss.

“Good boy,” she said, stroking his cheek lightly as he blushed at her show of affection in front of Missandei.

“Did you girls have a good day?” He asked, bringing dinner plates over to the table.

Daenerys nodded her head.

“We did,” she said with a grin. “Poppy’s having a nap,” she added. “I think Missandei is an absolute natural with her.”

Jorah caught the odd look on Missandei’s face but said nothing of it.

“How was Thoros?” Daenerys asked, putting her arm across her husband’s shoulders when she saw his posture tense at the question.

“Still furious with me,” he answered honestly. “But the clinic says he’s following the rules and taking part in the programme.”

“You did the right thing,” Daenerys reassured him. “One day Thoros will see that.”

“I hope so,” he shrugged before changing the subject. “Right, I’m eating this pizza with or without the two of you.”

The three of them chatted as they ate, and it was obvious that something was bothering Missandei.

“Is everything ok?” Jorah asked her, finishing off the last slice of pizza.

“Grey is thinking of moving his company headquarters to Scotland,” Missandei said, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “If he and I don’t even live in the same city anymore then how can we possibly have a long-term relationship?”

It suddenly occurred to Daenerys as to why Missandei’s demeanour changed when they spoke earlier in the day.

“Have you thought about relocating with him?” Daenerys asked gently.

Missandei shrugged her shoulders.

“He thinks Edinburgh is the best place to move the offices to and there’s no way I can afford a place in the city here, even if Grey and I moved in together. The most we could afford would be a tiny bedsit and I don’t think that’s going to work for either of us.”

“We can lend a hand if you need some help,” Jorah offered.

Missandei’s eyes widened.

“No,” she said quickly and more bluntly than she’d intended. “We couldn’t ask that of either of you, as kind as the offer is.” She stood quickly, feeling the need to leave the room suddenly. “I better pack my stuff up, my flight is at 9 a.m. tomorrow.”

Jorah shot his wife a guilty look as they watched her go.

“I’m sorry, I said the wrong thing. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

Daenerys patted his forearm.

“No, it was really sweet of you to offer,” she reassured him. “Missandei is not all that great at accepting help sometimes…just like someone else I know.” Jorah rolled his eyes at her knowing look. “I’ll go and check she’s ok,” she said as she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “You really are the sweetest man, Jorah Mormont.”

Chapter Text

“Poppy’s settled?” Jorah asked, leaning against the headboard, his legs covered by the duvet.

Daenerys nodded her head, admiring the view of her semi-naked husband.

“Yep,” she replied, climbing into bed and snuggling under his arm. “Hopefully she’ll start sleeping for a few more hours soon.”

She could feel the rumble of his chuckle as her head rested on his chest.

“Missandei is great with her,” Jorah observed after a pause. “I still feel bad for making her uncomfortable though,” he admitted quietly. “She was pretty quiet when I dropped her off at the airport this morning.”

“Don’t be,” Daenerys replied, trying to reassure him. “I guess she’s got some difficult choices to make.”

“I was thinking on the way back from the airport,” he began, kissing the top of her head. “Maybe we should start looking for a house in the suburbs. I’m not sure I’m happy with Poppy growing up in the city and I like the idea of being closer to my father, and Mary and Stan.”

Daenerys raised her head, her face beaming with excitement.

“Are you serious?” She said.

Jorah nodded his head.

“It would be great to move somewhere quieter and have a garden where we can teach Poppy to play football, ride a bike…”

“What about this place?” Daenerys replied. “It’s got a lot of special memories here.”

It was the place where they’d had their first kiss, where they’d shared their first Christmas and when they took their relationship to the most intimate level. Sure, it had also seen a lot of pain and sorrow, but Daenerys wasn’t sure she wanted to be rid of the place entirely.

“Maybe we could offer to rent it out to Missandei and Grey,” he suggested. “There’s no mortgage on it, so we can set the rent at whatever they can realistically afford.”

She sat up, launching herself at her husband and kissing him passionately.

“You’d do that?”

He smiled at her.

“We could do that,” her corrected her gently. “I’d feel better knowing that whoever lives here is actually going to look after the place. Call me sentimental, but this apartment holds a lot of good memories for me.” He suddenly frowned, his self-worth constantly dragging him back to a place of uncertainty. “It’s probably a silly idea - “

She stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“No, I think it’s a great idea,” she reassured him. “It would make things so much easier for Missandei and we’d get to see her more often.”

Jorah gave his wife a sad smile.

“I know how much you miss her. I feel bad keeping you up here away from your friends.”

“Hey,” she said, her face serious as she stopped his negative thoughts in their tracks. “My life is here with you and Poppy; I wouldn’t want it any other way. Having Missandei and Grey close by would be great though.”

“Do you think Missandei would go for it if we offered her this place?” He asked her, rubbing his hand gently up and down her bare arm. “I don’t want her to think we’re forcing our charity on her, but she’d actually be doing us a huge favour.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow and talk to her about it,” she replied, climbing onto his lap. “But we’re going to make the most of Poppy being asleep,” she said, grinding herself against him. “Your generosity is really turning me on…”

“Is that so?” He grinned, pulling her to his chest as his hands began to roam and they fell into an erotic dance of carnal delight.

Both of them fell back against the pillows, gasping for breath.

“That was…” Jorah panted, still trying to take in oxygen.

“Worth waiting for,” Daenerys finished for him.

Jorah let out a chuckle. “Absolutely,” he replied.

In the weeks since Poppy’s birth, their infant daughter took up most of their time and energy and after a number of false starts, tonight was the first chance that they had to be intimate again.

Although it was Jorah’s generosity that caused the spark to ignite between them, the passion and desire they held for each other kept those flames burning brightly as they tumbled through the sheets together.

A thought suddenly crossed Daenerys’ mind.

“We didn’t wake Poppy, did we?” she asked, turning her head to face her husband.

“I think she’d have let us know by now,” Jorah replied, grinning. “Maybe she’s finally learning to settle at night.”

Daenerys smiled at the man she loved before her face turned serious.

“You’ve been amazing throughout all of this, you know that?” she said, cupping his cheek in her hand when he turned bashful under her gaze. “Getting up with her during the night, giving her bottles, changing her nappies… I hope you know how much easier this has been having you taking care of us both.”

“I’d be a pretty shitty father and husband if I didn’t,” he frowned. “It’s my job to take care of you. “ Jorah paused as he chewed on his bottom lip. “I never want Poppy to feel like her father doesn’t love her.”

Daenerys remained silent, well aware that Jorah was speaking of his own childhood and how cold his father was to him after his mother died. It was clear that he wanted his daughter to experience all the good things that he never had.

“Losing my mother was the worst thing I’ve ever been through,” he admitted quietly.

“What happened?” Daenerys asked. She knew his mother had passed away when he was only a young boy, but he’d never spoken in detail about what happened all those years ago.

“The doctors told us she had an aneurysm in her brain and there was nothing anyone could have done. She was fine one day and then gone the next.”

Daenerys felt the breath catch in her throat.

“It must have been awful,” she said, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze.

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing at the memory of that fateful day so many years ago.

“It was a Saturday, I think. My father was outside mowing the lawn and my mother was cooking dinner when I heard the sound of something breaking. I ran in and found my mother lying on the floor and then screamed out to my father. He told me to go to the telephone box at the end of our street and I swear that I’ve never run so fast in my life.

“It felt like it took the paramedics forever to arrive and I just remember my father falling to his knees when they told him that she was already gone.”

Daenerys felt her heart break further as she watched her husband bite down on his fist as he tried to control his emotions.

“Part of me wonders whether he blames me for her death. Maybe if I’d run faster the ambulance might have made it in time…”

“Jorah, you said it yourself, there was nothing anyone could have done. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to your mother,” she said, trying to get him to see sense. “Your father has made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t think, even for one minute, that he blames you for what happened to your mother. If anything, I think he’s angrier at himself.”

Jorah nodded his head but kept his gaze on his hands as he lay against the headboard.

“It felt like I lost both parents that day…I guess I just don’t want Poppy to think that I don’t love her. I don’t want her to ever go through what I did.”

“As everyone loves to keep telling me, Poppy is going to grow up to be a total daddy’s girl,” Daenerys smirked. “Watching the two of you together is enough to make any woman’s ovaries burst. You’re amazing with her.”

“So are you,” he countered playfully, pushing the painful memories aside as his hands snaked under the covers and Daenerys let out a giggle. “Since Poppy’s still asleep…how about we go for round two?”

His wife climbing on top of him was all the answer he needed.

Chapter Text

Despite being resistant to the idea at first, Daenerys finally managed to wear Missandei down into at least considering the idea of renting the apartment when she, Jorah and Poppy finally moved out to a new home in the suburbs.

What started as an exciting prospect soon turned into a chore as they searched for a house that would meet their needs. While some had good gardens, others were too far out from the city or schools that Poppy would eventually attend. For every property they viewed, there was at least one aspect of it that would rule it out of being their new home.

Christmas was a matter of weeks away and there was no point in trying to move before then and so they agreed to put looking for a house on hold until the festive season passed. They would be too busy with hosting their first family Christmas to have any time to concentrate on anything else.

Mary, Stan and their two boys, along with Jorah’s father and Beric Dondarrion were all invited to share in Poppy’s first family Christmas. The plan was to invite Thoros too, but his invitation was contingent on the fact that he stayed on the wagon and off the booze.

Thoros kicked and screamed about going to the clinic and despite telling Jorah that their friendship was over, he stuck to the programme and spent ten weeks in the facility, finally leaving it clear of mind and more rational in his thinking.

There was no emotional reunion between Jorah and Thoros, just an invitation from his old army colleague to visit him at the clinic. Thoros looked contrite when he asked for forgiveness for the trouble he caused, and Jorah responded only with a nod of the head and a handshake. Nothing further had ever been said of it since.

Jorah would not say it outright, but Daenerys knew that her husband was concerned that his old friend would be tempted to slip back into his old ways the closer to Christmas it became. Thoros spent most of his childhood in foster homes and the festive season had always been a trigger for his past alcoholic episodes.

She agreed that Thoros could come to Christmas dinner as long as he stayed sober and she knew how much it meant to Jorah to have her approval on the idea.

Daenerys looked down at her daughter as she lay sleeping in her cot. It never failed to amaze her with how much Poppy grew and changed with each day that passed. She was putting on weight and becoming increasingly aware of everything going on around her.

Even though they were currently closed, Daenerys realised that she would never grow tired of looking into her daughters eyes, especially as they matched so closely those of her father. Poppy had also inherited his fair hair and strong facial muscles and she secretly hoped that their daughter would also inherit his height as well.

Daenerys smiled as she felt her husband’s arms wrap round her from behind.

“She’s asleep?” He whispered, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She nodded her head, her gaze still on their daughter.

Despite Poppy being a somewhat fussy baby who struggled to settle into a regular sleeping pattern, Daenerys knew that she would not change one single moment of their parenthood experience so far. For every time Poppy woke them up in the middle of the night, there were hundreds of other moments of pure joy and love as they watched their child grow each day.

It was early afternoon, and they would likely only get a couple of hours to themselves before Poppy woke and demanded attention.

“Did you get that chapter finished?” She asked, turning to face her husband when she heard him sigh.

“Not quite,” he answered honestly.

Not being happy that her client already had a number of best-selling books to his name, Olenna Tyrell was currently hounding her most profitable writer for yet another manuscript. In between trying to balance being a new father and writing another masterpiece, it left Jorah at his wit’s end and when he became stressed, his anxiety would increase and his creativity would inevitably dry up.

Olenna hounded him with countless emails and voicemails, asking when she might see the first draft of his latest manuscript and as patient and laid back as Jorah usually was, Daenerys could see him struggling to bite his tongue when it came to his agent.

Perhaps looking for a new house, writing a book, and bringing up a child was too much, but she knew that Jorah would never admit it and with Christmas being only a matter of weeks away, they were adding yet another complication on top of everything else.

Having been estranged from his father for so long, Daenerys was aware of how important it was to Jorah that everything went off without a hitch on Christmas Day. Now that Poppy was here, Jorah wanted to host the kind of Christmas dinner he’d so often been denied during his life and wanted everything about it to be perfect.

She adored her husband, yet he could be so stubborn and obstinate when it came to being kind to himself or admitting that perhaps he’d taken on a little too much. She would watch as the small tell-tale signs crept into his behaviour and thought patterns as he fretted over things that were already out of his control.

“How about you call it a day?” She suggested as they moved to the lounge. She glanced over at his laptop as it sat on the dining table.

“Olenna already wants to castrate me for not finishing the book yet,” he grimaced. “And I can’t afford to lose the one bollock I have left.”

Daenerys leaned over and kissed him.

“Screw her,” she said between kisses that were growing heated.

“I’d much rather screw you,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Well then what are you waiting for?” she whispered as he lifted her on to his lap.

The romantic interlude definitely helped to lower Jorah’s stress levels, and it was with some surprise that he picked up his phone to find a text message from Thoros asking if he and Daenerys could come to his restaurant that evening.

Given all of the effort he’d already put in to remaining sober, it felt churlish to turn Thoros’ invitation down, especially when his old friend had also arranged for Mary and Stan to babysit and paid for a taxi to bring them to the restaurant.

“Captain. Daenerys,” Thoros said by way of greeting as he held the restaurant door open and ushered them inside. “Thank you for coming…I wasn’t sure that you would.”

They followed Thoros into the main dining area, surprised to find the restaurant empty.

“It’s just us tonight,” Thoros said by way of explanation. “I was hoping that dinner would give us a chance to talk.” They followed Thoros to the table and shot each other a worried glance when he picked up a bottle of white wine, pouring each of his guests a glass. “It’s ok,” he reassured them, “I’m able to be in the same room as an open bottle of wine and not drink it in one go. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be out with dinner shortly.”

“He’s really making an effort,” Daenerys whispered to her husband as Thoros made his way into the kitchen to cook their meal.

Jorah nodded his head. He was desperate to believe that Thoros had finally turned over a new leaf and turned his back on alcohol, but they had been here before and each time Thoros stumbled, the less Jorah believed that the next time would be any different.

Thoros appeared with three plates several minutes later as they began eating in an uncomfortable silence.

“This is great,” Daenerys said, trying to prompt some sort of conversation as she took another bite of the filet mignon.

“I know it’s not much, but I wanted to apologise for all of the hassle I’ve put you both through,” Thoros said quietly. “I’ve been a shitty person and an even worse friend, and you both deserve better. Being at the clinic gave me a lot of time to think and I know now that there’s a lot that I need to put right.”

Jorah opened his mouth to respond but Thoros cut him off.

“I know I have to earn your respect and trust again, Captain,” Thoros continued. “But I’m hoping that maybe someday I can meet Poppy and be a part of your lives in some small way. I know I don’t deserve it after the way I’ve behaved and I understand it if you tell me to sling my hook, it’s no less than I deserve for being such a selfish prick.”

The silence stretched as Jorah looked at his old friend.

“It took a lot of guts to go to the clinic and stay there,” Jorah said as he placed his cutlery on his now-empty plate. “I know I forced you into it, but you stuck it out. I’m proud of you Thoros and I’m happy to call you my friend.”

Had the moment between the two men not been so tender, Daenerys would have smiled at how they both avoided making eye contact during such an emotional conversation.

“It wouldn’t be fair to Poppy to have someone coming in and out of her life, so you need to prove that you can stick with your recovery,” Jorah continued, his tone firm.

“I understand, Captain,” Thoros replied. “It would mean the world to me if I could be part of your lives, but I know I have to earn that right first.”

Jorah looked at his wife, making it clear that any decision they made would be made together.

“Are you free this Saturday afternoon?” She asked Thoros.

Thoros nodded his head eagerly.

“Absolutely,” Thoros replied. “I promise that I won’t let you down, especially Poppy.”

“Make sure that you don’t,” Jorah said, shooting his old friend a warning look.

Jorah and Daenerys shared a look, hoping that Thoros would finally keep his word and remain sober for all of their sakes.

Chapter Text

“Oh my god,” Thoros whispered as he peered over to look at the small bundle in Daenerys’ arms. “She’s a little cracker, Captain.”

Jorah shot his wife a concerned glance, not entirely sure that this was the best idea. The plan had been for Thoros to prove that he could stay sober before meeting Poppy, but perhaps seeing their little girl for the first time would give Thoros something to focus on when it came to his recovery.

“Would you like to hold her?” Daenerys offered.

The blood drained from Thoros’ face in an instant as he felt his mouth suddenly go dry.

“I’m terrified I’ll drop her on her head,” he said nervously, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans.

“Come and sit on the sofa,” Daenerys suggested.

Thoros shot Jorah a look, wanting to be absolutely certain that his old Army buddy was ok with him attempting to hold his infant daughter.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” Thoros admitted quietly as Daenerys carefully passed her precious cargo to him.

“She’s pretty good at letting you know if she’s not comfortable,” Daenerys replied as Jorah made his way to the kitchen to make coffee for the three of them.

Poppy was currently in her post-feed lull and Thoros smiled at the sleepy way she opened and closed her mouth. He felt his heart thump painfully in his chest when Poppy opened her eyes and looked at him quizzically.

“Maybe you should take her back now,” Thoros stammered, flinching as if at any moment Poppy would let out a blood-curdling wail of protest at being held by a complete stranger.

“She’s fine,” Daenerys reassured him. “She won’t bite, I promise.” She smiled as Thoros gazed down at the small bundle in his arms, taking great care with her. She heard his sharp intake of breath when Poppy wrapped her tiny hand around one of his fingers. “I think she likes you.”

“Someone has to, I suppose,” Jorah grinned, bringing three cups of coffee into the room.

“She’s the most amazing little thing,” Thoros said, his eyes still on the babe in his arms.

Jorah and Daenerys shared another look and this time it was one of happiness that Thoros seemed so taken with their baby daughter. It would potentially be the one thing that might keep Thoros sober in the long term.

“She looks so much like you,” Thoros told his old friend. “I just hope she hasn’t inherited your lack of hair.”

Jorah laughed at the comment, rubbing his chin ruefully.

“Me too,” he said, his hand going to the back of his head where his hair was thinning at a rapid rate.

“Hey there,” Thoros said as Poppy continued to look at him. “I’m your Uncle Thoros and I’m going to teach you all the stuff that winds your papa up. Your father is a grumpy old bear, but we’ll show him how to have fun, won’t we, little one?”

“Great,” Jorah deadpanned. “I can’t wait for that.”

Daenerys seemed a little more relaxed about it at least.

“Just don’t teach her to swear,” she cautioned him, wagging her finger in his direction.

“Just call me your Funcle Thoros. You’ll have such an amazing life, little bean. You’re going to be so loved by so many people. Sometimes your mummy and daddy will say ‘no’ and tell you that you can’t do things, but just call on your Funcle Thoros instead,” he whispered as if Poppy’s parents couldn’t hear every word he said.

Jorah shot his friend a dirty look but said nothing as Daenerys smiled at how enraptured Thoros seemed to be with Poppy.

Until a suspicious smell started emanating from the small bundle in his arms…

“Time for you to take her back,” Thoros smirked, passing Poppy to her father with a grin.

“I guess I should be making a move,” Thoros said a few hours later, giving Poppy one last look as she lay sleeping in her crib. “Thank you for letting me visit her.”

Daenerys wasn’t sure that she’d ever seen Thoros look so sincere, and she hoped that it would bode well for his long-term sobriety.

“You’re welcome here any time,” Daenerys replied.

Jorah nodded his head in agreement. “I’ll walk you out,” he said, smiling at his old friend as they made their way to the front door of the apartment.

“Bet you won’t miss these stairs when you finally move,” Thoros chuckled. “Any luck finding somewhere yet?”

Jorah rubbed at the back of his neck as they made their way down the stairs to entrance of the apartment building.

“Not yet,” Jorah replied. “We’ll probably put off looking at any more houses seeing as Christmas is just round the corner….and about that…” he trailed off before clearing his throat. “If things are still as they are now, we’d love you to come round for Christmas dinner.”

Neither of them were good at emotional conversations, the subject of Thoros’ continued sobriety was still the rather large elephant in the room.

Thoros picked up on the unspoken words of his old friend - if he fell off the wagon, he wouldn’t be welcome.

“I can only go day by day,” Thoros answered honestly. “But I swear that I’ll do my best to stay sober, especially now that I have uncle duties to fulfil.”

Jorah rolled his eyes, well aware of the kinds of things that Thoros would teach his innocent young child given half the chance.

Thoros slapped him on the back as they stood outside the apartment building and lit a cigarette, making his former captain frown noticeably.

“Fucking hell, I can’t give up booze and cigarettes at the same time. Give a man a break, will you?”

Jorah crossed his arms and shook his head.

“Don’t ever smoke near Poppy,” he said, his tone serious.

Thoros had the good grace not to argue the point, especially considering his friend’s recent cancer battle, even second-hand smoke could be a killer.

“Fatherhood suits you,” Thoros remarked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I’m really happy for you, old man.”

Thoros knew that he was on slightly more secure ground when a satisfied smile crossed Jorah’s features.

“I can’t remember the last time I got a full night of sleep, but I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.”

“Even the shitty nappies?” Thoros smirked, his mind casting back to the almighty smell emanating from Poppy earlier that afternoon.

“I’d take every single shitty nappy, all the crying, the broken sleep, everything,” Jorah replied. “I have no idea how we made something so wonderful. Just watching her grow each day…it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.”

“Right,” Thoros shuffled uncomfortably. “I’m going before you start me crying too, you soppy old bugger.”

The two men hugged and slapped each other on the back.

“I’m proud of you,” Jorah called out to his friend’s retreating form. Thoros merely smiled and nodded his head before climbing into his car and driving away.

It was a relief to Jorah to find his wife waiting with a glass of white wine for him when he returned to the apartment.

“Did you two have a nice little chat?” She asked with a cheeky grin that was met by a blush from her husband. “I mean, heaven forbid anyone should know that you two are capable of having an emotional, adult conversation.”

He took her gentle teasing with good grace and held his arms out for her to wrap her own around his waist.

“Thank you for talking me in to letting Thoros visit,” he said, resting his bearded cheek on the top of her head. “He’s in love with her already.”

“Perhaps now he realises that he’s got a lot to lose if he messes up again,” Daenerys suggested. “Hopefully it’ll help him focus on something.”

She felt Jorah tense momentarily and looked up at him to find a pensive look on his face.

“Is it wrong that I still doubt that he’s kicked the booze for good?”

“Not at all,” she reassured him. “He’s messed up so many times before, but we have to hope that this time he’ll be able to keep himself on the straight and narrow.”

He looked down at his wife adoringly.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, blushing at the way he was looking at her. She shrieked and then covered her mouth as she found herself being lifted and then carried into the bedroom.

“What about Poppy?” She said in a breathless whisper as he laid her gently on the bed.

“She’ll let us know if she needs us,” Jorah replied, his lips finding that spot behind her ear that sent her wild with desire…

Chapter Text

Author’s note:

There is a slight jump ahead in time here as ‘A Family Christmas’ is set between chapters ten and eleven in the timeline of this story universe. We’re now jumping forwards to a month or two into the new year.

“That’s the last of it?” Daenerys asked, brushing strands of hair from her forehead and letting out a tired sigh.

“Aye,” Jorah replied, flopping onto the sofa next to his wife.

Not long after celebrating the New Year with Missandei and Grey, a house came on the market that suited their needs perfectly. From the moment Daenerys set eyes on the property, she knew that she wanted it and it was made all the better by the fact that the people selling it had no forward chain to worry about.

It took weeks rather than months for contracts to be drawn up and exchanged and now here they were sitting in their new home. There was still much to do, but with the help of Thoros and Beric, all of their belongings had been transferred from the apartment and into their new home. Boxes would likely remain unpacked for a while, but they had everything they needed with which to start the newest chapter of their lives.

“Everything’s set up in the nursery,” Jorah said, his fingers dancing lightly over his wife’s bare arm.

“I can’t wait to bring her back here,” Daenerys replied, relaxing into his touch.

Their daughter was currently with Mary and Stan who were more than happy to have their favourite little niece stay with them while her parents ferried furniture and belongings back and forth all day. Poppy would not appreciate the hustle and bustle of moving interfering in her scheduled nap times and it was easier all round for her to be somewhere much less hectic.

The house had a large back garden and was only two streets away from Mary and Stan, which made it perfect for their old friends to babysit for them every now and again. Despite the hassle of moving, Daenerys was keen to start trying for a little brother or sister for Poppy as soon as things settled down and they got used to their new living space.

The schools in the area were some of the best in the city and even though they were outside of the city centre, it was only a short journey by car or train to get there. With four bedrooms, it gave them the freedom of not only having a nursery for Poppy but also two offices in which to do their day jobs - for the time being at least.

Daenerys glanced at her husband, realising that he’d been quiet for a number of moments. She smiled when she saw his head laying against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed and his mouth open slightly. The poor man had lugged furniture back and forth all day with his old Army pals and while Daenerys enjoyed the show of strength as Jorah hefted heavy goods onto his shoulders, it was clear to see that he was physically exhausted by all of his exertions.

“Come on, time for bed, mister,” Daenerys whispered in his ear, shaking his shoulder lightly until his eyes fluttered open.

“Hmm?” He mumbled, feeling her kiss his lips softly.

He allowed her to pull him to his feet and guide him towards the bedroom.

He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

Jorah woke with a groan as sunlight peeked through the curtains. His eyes widened when he realised that they’d both slept in longer than they’d intended to.

“Shit,” he whispered, reaching over to pick up his mobile phone.

He winced as the movement caused a sharp pain to radiate from his left shoulder and down into his arm, followed by a strange tingling sensation.

He ignored the discomfort and typed out a message to Mary, apologising profusely for not having collected Poppy yet.

She’s fine, pet. Take as much time as you need.

The beeping of his phone woke Daenerys.

“What time is it?’ She asked, rubbing at her eyes.

“Gone nine,” Jorah replied.

“Crap,” Daenerys muttered, pulling the duvet to one side and clambering out of bed. “We’re late to pick Poppy up.”

“I’ve just texted Mary,” Jorah replied. “She said it’s fine.”

His words seemed to calm Daenerys a little as Jorah watched her pull on a pair of jeans and a comfy sweatshirt from the holdall at the foot of the bed. He joined her by reaching into the bag and grabbing a t-shirt and jeans before getting dressed himself.

He couldn’t stop the small groan that escaped his lips when he pulled the t-shirt over his head though.

“Are you ok?” Daenerys asked, looking at him with some concern.

“I’m fine,” he replied, flexing the fingers of his left hand in an effort to stop the tingling sensation he felt in them. “I probably pulled something doing all that lifting yesterday.”

Daenerys gave him a long look which clearly said that she was not entirely convinced by his answer but was willing to let it go, for now. There was no way he was going to tell her that he’d been feeling the odd sensations for weeks now as he knew that she would fret and fuss over him when there was nothing to worry about. He was just getting old, that was all.

After a quick breakfast, Daenerys joined her husband in the car for the short journey to Mary and Stan’s house and though she shot a number of worried looks his way, Jorah tried his best to ignore her penetrating gaze and concentrated on the road in front of him instead.

“I’m so sorry,” Daenerys said when Mary opened the front door. “Thank you so much for looking after her.”

Mary waved away the younger woman’s apology and stood aside to let them in.

“She’s been a little angel,” Mary beamed. “We’ve loved having her stay.”

“She didn’t give you any trouble during the night?” Daenerys frowned, knowing that Poppy still struggled to settle from time to time.

“She pretty much slept the whole way through,” Mary replied. “Callum and Connor are both home from university and I think they tired her out playing with her. They love their little cousin already.”

They followed Mary through to the kitchen where she had a pot of coffee already brewing.

“Are you all moved in?” Mary asked, bringing three cups of steaming hot coffee to the dining table, along with milk and sugar.

“The furniture is in,” Daenerys said, spooning sugar into her cup of coffee. “It’s just all the boxes now. I never realised how much stuff we had until we started packing it up.”

“There’s no rush to get it all done at once,” Mary reassured her. “I think there are still a couple of boxes in the attic that we haven’t unpacked since the last time we moved and that was over twenty years ago.”

“Well, if we ever consider moving house again, slap us until we see sense, won’t you?” Daenerys smiled as she looked at the other woman. “I’ve had enough moving to last a lifetime.”

“Of course, pet,” Mary chuckled, gently tapping on Daenerys’ arm. “When are you friends planning to move into the apartment?”

“In a couple of weeks, hopefully,” Daenerys answered, realising that Jorah had barely said a word since they’d arrived. She could tell by the set of his jaw that the pain in his shoulder was bothering him, but that he was too stoic to say anything about it, especially in front of Mary and the fact that she was a nurse.

“You’re quiet,” Mary observed, giving her old friend a searching look. “Well, quieter than usual,” she added when he cocked an eyebrow at her.

Jorah rubbed at his face, trying to ignore the pain in his arm. If Mary sensed even a sniff of discomfort from him, she would march him down the hall to the bathroom and demand to do a full-body examination of him. The last time she’d done that he had to suffer the ignominy of her checking his testicles for lumps and he had no desire to have her paw all over him again.

He knew he was being unfair by thinking so tersely of his oldest and dearest friend, but the discomfort in his arm was worse than he wanted to admit to himself and had certainly become more apparent since carrying heavy furniture back and forth yesterday.

“Moving is hard work,” he said after a brief pause, hoping that it would be enough to stop Mary from prying any further and praying that Daenerys would not mention his groan of pain earlier that morning. He knew he stood no chance if the two of them decided to gang up on him. “Thank you for looking after Poppy,” he added, his expression softening somewhat.

“Always,” Mary smiled, for once not pushing her old friend. “We’re always here, any time you need us.”

Chapter Text

Daenerys woke suddenly, reaching out to find that her husband was not beside her. Taking a look at her phone, she frowned when she saw that it was 3 a.m.

Pulling the duvet away, she climbed out of bed, assuming that she would find Jorah and their daughter in the nursery, but as she poked her head around the door, she found Poppy sleeping peacefully and her husband nowhere to be seen.

She crept into the lounge and saw him sitting on the sofa with his left arm balanced on a cushion. Over two weeks had passed since they moved into their new home and surely whatever muscle he’d pulled would have healed by now. He’d certainly been wincing a lot more recently and if anything his discomfort was getting worse, not better.

She knelt before him, stroking his cheek gently until he opened his eyes and peered at her.

“Daenerys?’ He said sleepily. “What are you doing up?”

“I reached over, and you weren’t in bed beside me,” she said, still stroking his bearded cheek. “Your arm’s still bothering you, isn’t it?” He opened his mouth, ready to deny the fact when she cut him off. “Please don’t lie to me.”

He let out a tired sigh, closing his eyes momentarily before nodding his head.

“I couldn’t get comfortable, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

It reminded her once more as to what a sweet and thoughtful man she’d married. Now that Poppy was sleeping most of the night through, they were able to find themselves in a more regular sleep pattern and Jorah hadn’t wanted to disturb her from the rest that all new parents desperately needed in their child’s first year of life.

“Have you taken anything for it?” She asked, pulling herself to her feet before making her way to the bathroom where they kept medication safely out of Poppy’s reach now that she was crawling and making her first attempts at trying to walk, albeit unsuccessfully so far.

He shook his head as she returned to the room with a box of tablets, popping two out of their foil packaging and handing them to her husband with a glass of water.

“Daenerys - “

She shot him a stern look to stop him in his tracks.

“Jorah, it’s 3 a.m.” she pleaded. “Just take them and get some rest. I won’t let anything happen; I promise.”

She knew through experience as to why Jorah was wary of taking anything that would make him drowsy. His biggest fear being that he would be stuck in a never-ending nightmare of the day he was injured in a deadly truck explosion in Afghanistan.

He took them wordlessly and followed her back to the bedroom.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, ok?” She said, scooting under his arm and laying her head on his chest.

The painkillers she gave him seemed to act quicker than he expected and soon he was fast asleep.

Jorah woke several hours later, shocked to find that it was mid-morning already. The last thing he remembered was Daenerys handing him painkillers. Everything after that was a blur.

Pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt, he walked into the kitchen to find his wife humming a tune to herself as she washed dishes in the sink.

“You should have woken me,” he said, his tone laced with mild annoyance that she had let him sleep in for so long.

“You needed the rest,” she replied, not turning to look at him as she carried on with the washing up.

Jorah frowned, scratching his head. Something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on quite what it was.

“Are you mad with me?” He asked quietly, bracing himself for her reaction.

She turned to face him this time.

“Why didn’t you tell me your arm was getting worse?”

He swallowed thickly, preparing himself for the tirade he knew was coming.

“I didn’t want you to worry - “

“Of course I worry!” She cut him off, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m your wife, it’s my job to worry about you.”

“Poppy’s more important,” he replied, trying to placate her.

“And you think that means you don’t matter?” She asked him incredulously, already cranky for the broken night’s sleep. “God! You are the most stubborn, bull-headed infuriating man I’ve ever met!” She shouted as her temper got the better of her.

It was enough to wake Poppy from her slumber.

Not wanting to feel the force of her anger any longer, Jorah left the room and headed for the nursery.

“Hey,” he soothed as Poppy wiggled her arms and legs, clearly displeased with all of the noise her quarrelling parents were making.

He reached into the cot to lift his precious cargo when his left arm suddenly went numb and had it not been for his quick reflexes with his right, Poppy would have landed back heavily on the mattress of her cot. The sudden jolting movement caused Poppy to let out another piercing cry.

He held her close to his chest, tears running down his own cheeks as he tried to calm her. Sensing that his wife was right behind him, he hurriedly placed Poppy in her arms and bolted from the room.

Daenerys found him in the back garden a number of minutes later, his face ashen as he shook visibly.

He jumped when she touched his arm.

“What happened?” She asked, turning him to face her. “Are you ok?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but only a sob came out as he wiped at his eyes.

“Talk to me, Jorah, please,” she pleaded with him. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

He ran a hand over his face, willing his body to stop shaking.

“I went to lift her out of the cot,” he whispered, clearing his throat several times. “My arm went numb. I almost dropped her,” he sobbed. “I almost dropped our baby.”

“She’s fine,” Daenerys said, trying to reassure him.

“But what if she wasn’t?” He replied, running a hand through his hair. “What if I’d hurt her?”

“That will never happen - “

“I shouldn’t be around her. It’s not safe,” he insisted.

This time she clasped her hands on his cheeks, making him look at her.

“No,” she said, more harshly than she intended to. “You are not doing this to yourself, do you hear me?” God, she loved this man, but he could be so stupid at times. “If the next words that come out of your mouth are you berating yourself, I swear to God that I will slap you. Hard.”

The way that she was looking at him so intently made it clear that she would follow through with her threat. Despite her small stature, he knew first-hand that her temper could ignite in an instant.

He opened his mouth, flinching slightly when she raised her hand in warning and only dropping it when he let out a defeated sigh.

She pulled him into her embrace and hugged him tightly.

“We’ll sort this out, ok?” She whispered in his ear as she felt his arms tighten around her.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I know,” she said, kissing his cheek before motioning him back inside. “Go in there and call your doctor or I’ll do it for you.”

He nodded his head sheepishly. She had a way of striking fear into him far more easily than any sergeant major in the Army ever could and he knew she would have his head if he delayed any longer. She could be spiky and blunt, and she’d never been afraid to speak her mind around him and a part of him enjoyed the fact that she would never take any stoic bullshit from him.

He’d delayed seeking any sort of treatment for his arm fearing that they would tell him that he would lose the feeling in it before too long. What kind of father and husband would he be if he only had the use of one arm? Daenerys would be left to care for and look after two people and he hated the thought of being a burden to her.

She would string him up if he tried to avoid the inevitable any longer and so with a deep breath, he picked up his mobile phone and called the doctor’s surgery.

Chapter Text

Daenerys felt a sense of relief wash over her as she heard the front door open. She came into the hallway and hugged her husband before smiling at the man standing behind him.

“Are you ok?” She asked, looking Jorah up and down.

He nodded his head wearily.

“It’s been a long day,” he replied, barely able to stifle the yawn he was holding in. “I’m going to have a shower and then head to bed.”

She stroked his cheek tenderly.

“We’ll talk properly in the morning,” she told him softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, giving her a chaste kiss before making his way upstairs to the bathroom.

Once they heard the shower turn on, Jeor followed his daughter-in-law to the kitchen as she handed him a cup of coffee.

“How did it go?” She asked, sipping on a glass of white wine.

Things moved swiftly after Jorah had finally visited his doctor. He’d been referred for tests at the hospital to ascertain what was causing the pain and numbness in his shoulder and arm.

“They think it has something to do with the scar tissue causing issues with the nerves in his arm. They did scans and tests, bloods, the lot.”

No wonder Jorah looked so tired, Daenerys thought to herself. The two men were gone for most of the day and Jeor looked just as exhausted as his son did.

“What does that mean?” Daenerys replied, chewing worriedly on her bottom lip. “Can they fix it?”

She waited for Jeor’s answer with bated breath knowing that Jorah would not take it well should he lose the use of his left arm.

“The specialist said he needs surgery to cut away the scar tissue and to try to fix any nerve damage they might find.”

“When?” Daenerys asked shakily at the thought of Jorah needing surgery and with the reminder of her own previous surgery after her cancer diagnosis.

“This Friday,” Jeor replied, taking a gulp of his coffee, suddenly feeling beyond tired. “It’s a big operation. They said he needs to stay in for a few nights at least before he could come home. They think without it, he’d likely lose all the feeling in his arm.”

Daenerys felt her heart thump painfully at the thought of Jorah not being able to sleep by her side, even if only for a few days. Those days would feel like an eternity for her. She couldn’t help the sob that escaped her lips and she soon found herself in the arms of her father-in-law.

“He’ll be okay, lass,” he tried to reassure her. “I’ll help out as much as you need me to. I’m here for whatever you need.”

“He’s not keen on the idea of surgery, is he?” Daenerys said, finally breaking contact with Jeor.

Jeor let out a humourless laugh at the thought.

“He’s worried he’ll be a burden on you. The surgeon said his whole arm is going to need to be immobilised for the first few weeks at least.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes, knowing just how stubborn her husband was when it came to accepting the help of others.

“He’s going to love that.”

Jeor reached into his coat pocket and handed over a box of pills as he heard the shower turn off upstairs.

“He needs to take two of these each night. They said it would lessen the pain and help him sleep better.”

Daenerys opened the box, surprised to find that two of the tablets were missing. She looked at her father-in-law and cocked an eyebrow.

“I locked us in the car until he took them,” Jeor said with a wry smile. “I’m not sure I’m his favourite person right now.”

Daenerys filled her wine glass again.

“He’s not keen on taking any painkillers,” Daenerys explained. “It brings back too many memories of the explosion.”

Jeor felt a physical pain stab at his heart, realising that there was so much about his son that he still didn’t know. He was hardly the best father when Jorah had returned home with full-thickness burns, but perhaps now was the time to try to make up for that.

“I’m used to being the bad guy in our relationship anyway,” Jeor huffed, draining the last of his coffee. “And I’m sure he’ll be sick of the sight of me by the time this is all over.”

Daenerys gave him a tired smile.

“I know he’ll appreciate it, even if he refuses to say it. He’s stubborn as a mule at times.”

“It runs in the family, lass,” Jeor chuckled before looking at his watch. “I should go and get out from under your feet.”

“Thank you for everything,” Daenerys said sincerely as they walked into the hallway.

“Would you mind if I popped upstairs to say goodbye to Jorah?”

“Of course not,” Daenerys smiled.

Daenerys frowned when after a few minutes she heard no sounds coming from upstairs. She quietly made her way up and saw Jeor standing in the doorway of the bedroom watching over his son who was currently fast asleep.

“I haven’t watched over him since he was a little boy,” Jeor admitted solemnly. “He would always crawl into bed with his mother and I any time there were fireworks being set off. He never did like the sound of them. He never slept in our bed again after Annabelle died.”

“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult,” Daenerys replied, only knowing snippets of her husband’s childhood.

“The truth was that he looked so much like his mother that it made it hard for me to let him in. I couldn’t bear losing him like I had Annabelle. He was so like her in so many ways and I thought pushing him away was the right thing to do. I wanted him to be tough enough to face anything and not have his heart broken like mine was when she died.”

Daenerys said nothing, knowing that it wasn’t her place to judge the actions of Jorah’s father, even though she’d experienced first-hand the damage it had done to the man she loved. Jorah still lived with the emotional scars his father had inflicted on him every day of his life and she knew how he hated to be vulnerable in front of the man who had hurt him so grievously.

“I’ve made an absolute mess of everything,” Jeor sighed, running a hand over his face, willing the tears not to fall. “I should have been there for him when he needed me, but I ran away like a coward.”

“You did the best you could,” Daenerys said, trying to reassure him.

Jeor shook his head.

“No, I did what was best for me. I pushed my son away because I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his mother in him every day knowing that I would never see her again. It wasn’t Jorah’s fault. None of it was his fault and yet, deep down, I blamed him for having a part of her inside him that I couldn’t. I should have been there for him, but I was too selfish to think of anyone but myself.”

Daenerys stayed silent knowing that there was nothing she could say that would make the situation any better. She didn’t want to pile more blame onto a man who already carried so many regrets for his past behaviour, but neither could she deny the damage he’d done to his only son.

“You said it yourself that Jorah is going to need some help after the surgery,” she began as she looked at her father-in-law. “Maybe now is the time to start showing Jorah how much things have changed. To be honest, I could use the help.”

Jeor turned to face her, hope shining in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he said, smiling at her before his face fell into a frown. “If he’s anything like me, he’ll be a terrible patient.”

Daenerys snorted.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she replied knowingly. “Just as long as he growls at you and not me.”

Jeor looked at his son and then back to Daenerys, bringing her close enough to wrap his huge arms around her much smaller body.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely and with tears glistening his eyes. “I won’t let either of you down ever again. I swear.”

Chapter Text

Daenerys willed the tears not to fall from her eyes as she stood in the corner of the hospital room watching as a nurse inserted a port in the back of Jorah’s hand.

“I’ll be fine,” Jorah told her, seeing the worry clearly written on her face as she stood next to his father.

The surgeon had already been in and advised what the procedure would entail. It was a long operation and Jorah would be in a significant amount of pain in the days and weeks following the surgery and of course there was the inevitable risk of anyone undergoing a major operation, no matter how fit and healthy the person was, there was always a chance that something could go terribly wrong.

“We need to give you something before we take you down for surgery,” a female anaesthetist said, injecting medication into the port on Jorah’s hand. “It’ll make you feel quite drowsy once it kicks in.”

Jorah nodded his thanks and watched the woman leave before motioning for Daenerys to come closer to his bed.

“Hey,” he said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m going to be absolutely fine,” he reassured her. “I’ll be back home and moaning about how useless I feel before you know it.”

It was so like Jorah to put his own anxiety aside to comfort the woman he loved. They’d talked about Jorah’s fears in the days previous, knowing that there was a risk that the surgery might cause him to lose the use of the limb completely. And then there were the memories of the last time he’d needed surgery on his damaged arm and shoulder and none of those were pleasant.

Jorah felt his eyes grow heavy as his head sunk further into the pillows behind his head. Whatever they’d just given him was making him feel sleepy, but he had enough energy to look at his father.

“Promise me you’ll look after them while I’m out of it.”

Jeor nodded his head. His son was asking him to take care of Poppy and Daenerys when he couldn’t.

“Always,” Jeor said, feeling slightly choked as he watched his son slowly close his eyes and mumble, “I love you,” to his wife.

“They should be finished by now,” Daenerys said, chewing on a fingernail, trying to keep her panic at bay.

The surgeon advised them that the procedure would likely take between three to five hours, but the time they’d been waiting for news was creeping steadily towards the seven-hour mark.

“Something’s gone wrong,” Daenerys said, both relieved and worried to see Mary walking towards them.

The nurse was not working on the surgical ward but joined Jeor and Daenerys in the relatives’ room after her shift ended as they waited on news from the surgery.

The older woman sat down beside Daenerys and took one of her hands in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“The surgery is finished,” Mary reassured her. “There was more damage than they were expecting and that’s why it took longer.”

“But it went well?” Jeor asked anxiously.

“The surgeon said he was happy with the results, but they’ll need to do further tests when Jorah’s more awake.”

“He’s ok, isn’t he?” Daenerys asked, failing to keep the panic from her voice. “Can we see him?”

Mary stood and held her hand out to Daenerys.

“He’s upstairs,” the nurse told her as they walked to the lifts. It was only when they reached the eighth floor that Daenerys realised that they were not heading to the general ward. Her eyes widened with fear as Mary led them towards the high dependency unit.

“What’s wrong?” Daenerys said, her voice trembling. “Why is he up here?”

“It’s just a precaution, pet,” Mary replied, casting a glance to Jeor who remained silent.

Daenerys couldn’t help the gasp of shock that fell from her mouth when they stepped into Jorah’s room.

Her husband was lying propped up in the bed with a pillow under his left arm and a swathe of bandages that started on the left side of his chest and ran almost all the way down to his hand. He was bare from the waist up with wires attached to his chest, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and at least three lines of narrow tubing connected to what must have been bags of fluids and medication. There were also several machines beeping around his bed.

“They want to keep him in the unit overnight,” Mary explained as she looked at the readings on the machine that was measuring her friend’s pulse, blood pressure and oxygen levels. “They had him under the anaesthetic longer than they planned to and his oxygen levels are still a bit low.”

“Is that bad?” Jeor asked, standing in the corner of the room, shocked by how vulnerable his son looked as he lay in the hospital bed.

Mary looked at him kindly.

“He has some scarring on his lungs from the explosion,” she explained to them both. “He breathed in a lot of smoke when the truck exploded. The oxygen mask and the machines are just a precaution. It’s common practice when someone undergoes such a long surgery and given his medical history, being in the unit overnight is completely normal. He should be transferred to a regular ward by tomorrow morning.”

Despite keeping their voices down as they spoke, something woke Jorah and he let out a soft groan.

Daenerys was by his side in an instant.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” She asked, stroking his cheek.

Jorah blinked several times and let out another groan.

“Is it over?” He asked, his voice hoarse from the tube that had been placed down his throat during the surgery.

“Yep,” Daenerys replied, biting back a sob. “It’s all over.” She felt his right hand grip hers weakly as he squeezed as much as his body would let him while still under the haze of the anaesthetic and the opiates they were currently administering for the pain.

Daenerys continued to stroke her husband’s cheek, watching over him as his eyes opened and closed repeatedly.

“Where’s Poppy?” He asked, clearly confused.

“Missandei’s looking after her, remember?” Daenerys replied.

“Kay,” Jorah mumbled as his eyes fluttered closed.

“It’s the medication,” Mary reassured her. “He’ll be more awake tomorrow.”

Daenerys nodded her head, once again falling a little deeper in love with her husband. Despite the pain and the toll of a major operation, his first concern was for his family and not himself. Suddenly, the worry, fear and relief became too much as Daenerys stood by Jorah’s bed and cried.

She looked down when she felt Jorah’s hand on her arm, and he looked at her sleepily.

“It’s ok. Don’t cry,” he whispered before his eyes closed again.

Mary ushered her towards the door and out into the hallway.

“Come on, pet,” the nurse said gently. “Let’s go and get a cup of tea, ok?”

It took Jeor several moments to pick up the courage to stand at his son’s bedside. Just the image of Jorah looking so small and vulnerable in the hospital bed was enough to bring tears to his eyes and for him to relive the awful memories of seeing his son in so much pain in the weeks and months after the explosion.

He’d been a shitty father when his son needed him the most and Jeor was determined not to make the same mistake twice. He’d been given a second chance and one which he was painfully aware that he did not deserve after the way he had treated his son for most of his life.

Jeor reached out a shaky hand, gently stroking his son’s hair as he tried his best not to wake him. Were Jorah more alert and aware of his father’s presence it would likely make both men feel uncomfortable. While they’d made great strides in rebuilding their relationship, Jeor knew that his son would hate to look weak in front of him and would put physical distance between them if he could.

But right now his son was vulnerable and unable to hide it from anyone. All too soon the medication they’d given Jorah would wear off and the emotional and physical barriers would inevitably fall back into place.

Jeor leaned down and placed a kiss on his son’s forehead, knowing it was the only opportunity he was likely to get to be so close to him. He felt Jorah shift and mumble something unintelligible and he let out the breath he’d been holding as his son relaxed and fell into a deeper and more restful sleep.

“I love you, son,” Jeor whispered in his ear before he quietly left the room.

Chapter Text

Daenerys was relieved to find her husband more awake and coherent when she walked into his hospital room the next morning on a ward that was thankfully not in the high dependency unit.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, pulling up a chair to sit at his bedside.

“Sore,” he replied in a breathy whisper, attempting to lean forward enough to eat the breakfast on the tray across his lap. “And useless.”

Daenerys smiled as she peeled the lid from the yogurt and handed the spoon to Jorah, relieved to find him much more like his old self. As much as she hated to admit it, seeing him look so vulnerable yesterday had scared her and reminded her of how easily the life they’d built together could fall apart.

“You look better than you did yesterday,” Daenerys replied, watching her husband eat the yogurt with one hand.

“I don’t really remember much of it,” he frowned, attempting to get the last few remnants of yogurt from the pot while Daenerys held it in place for him. “I remember someone coming in to give me something before the operation, but the rest of it is just a blur.”

“The surgeon said he was happy with how the procedure went,” Daenerys said, schooling her features and attempting to banish the images of how vulnerable her husband looked after the surgery yesterday.

Jorah took a sip from the plastic cup of orange juice before nibbling on a piece of dry toast.

“I can’t wait to get home and have some proper food,” he grumbled as he swallowed down a piece of the bland toasted bread.

“You’ll be with us for at least the next couple of days I’m afraid,” the surgeon said as he walked into the room and up to his patient’s side. “How are you feeling?”

Jorah attempted to move his left arm and immediately regretted it as he began breathing heavily and grimacing.

“You’re going to be very sore for a while,” the surgeon continued as he walked to the end of the bed and picked up the chart, scribbling something on the notes. “The best way to keep you comfortable is to administer pain relief intravenously. We’ll aim to discharge you as soon as we can, but it won’t be for a day or two yet.”

Jorah nodded, letting out a deep groan when the surgeon lifted his left arm an inch from the bed and squeezed at each of his patient’s fingers in turn.

“The fact that you can feel what I’m doing is a very good sign,” the surgeon reassured him, placing his patient’s arm back down on the pillow it had been resting on. “We’ll increase the pain relief which should help with the discomfort.”

“No more morphine,” Jorah ground out as sharp pains continued to radiate up and down his left arm.

“Mr. Mormont,” the surgeon began, “the surgery will leave you in considerable pain for some time to come - “

“No more morphine,” Jorah insisted, looking at his wife as he took deep, steadying breaths against the onslaught of pain he felt.

“Is there something else we can try instead?” Daenerys asked. “Morphine doesn’t tend to agree with him.” She glanced at her husband hoping that she hadn’t overstepped the mark. She felt relieved when Jorah gave her hand a gentle squeeze to signal that she’d done the right thing.

The surgeon considered her words for a moment before nodding his head and motioning to one of the nurses in the hallway.

“We can try an alternative that hopefully won’t have any adverse side effects,” the surgeon said, leaving the room and returning several minutes later with a nurse who injected something into the drip by Jorah’s bedside.

A few hours after the new drug had been administered, Jeor arrived and was relieved to find his son much more awake than he was the previous evening.

“Poppy is with Mary this morning,” Jeor said in response to the questioning look his son was giving him. “How are you feeling?”

The increased pain relief was certainly making the discomfort in his arm less noticeable, but over the last hour or so, Jorah began to feel increasingly nauseous, although he kept that knowledge to himself until Daenerys left to go to the bathroom a few minutes ago.

Jorah opened his mouth to respond to his father when he felt his stomach rebel and it was only the rapid reactions of the other man that saved him from vomiting all over himself as he felt a kidney tray pushed under his chin.

He groaned, retching several times until the spasms in his stomach ceased and his head flopped back onto the pillow.

“Sorry,” Jorah mumbled, willing the room to stop spinning.

“Are you in pain?” Jeor asked his son, placing the soiled dish down and shooting Daenerys a concerned glance as she returned to her husband’s side.

Jorah shook his head as much as he could with the little energy he felt.

“Just feel sick,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and then shooting forward as he felt the urge to vomit once more.

Having seen enough, Jeor pressed the call button above Jorah’s bed and waited impatiently for a nurse to attend to his son. It was several minutes later that a male orderly entered the room.

“Whatever you’re giving him is making him sick,” Jeor said, his tone serious. “Get a doctor to come and see him immediately,” he insisted as he folded his arms and used his imposing height to intimidate the man.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the nurse replied, swallowing thickly, and darting from the room.

Forty-five minutes passed as Jeor began to lose his patience having watched his son vomit twice more in that time and as Jorah retched for a third time in fifteen minutes, Jeor had seen enough. He stalked from his son’s room and barked at the nearest orderly he could find.

“My son needs to see a doctor. Now!” Jeor barked as Daenerys jumped slightly at the aggressive tone of his voice. No wonder Jorah was terrified of his father as a child.

“We’re very busy,” the orderly replied timidly.

“I don’t care if you’re busy, my son risked his life for this country. He fought in a war so that you didn’t have to and the least he deserves in return is for a doctor to come and see to him. My son is a decorated war veteran, and I don’t care who you have to call, but you’ll go and get a doctor to come and see to him right now or I swear to God that I will reign down merry hell on all of you!”

The anger in Jeor’s tone caused Daenerys to jump when she first heard his raised voice, but it soon turned into a smile when she heard the passion and determination as he shouted at the poor orderly, showing just how much the older Mormont man cared for his son.

“Sweet fucking Jesus,” Jorah growled under his breath upon hearing his father raise his voice to the poor unsuspecting fool who had the misfortune of crossing his path at just the wrong time.

Jeor walked back into the hospital room several minutes later.

“The doctor will be here in a moment,” Jeor said calmly and as if he hadn’t just bellowed across the ward only a few minutes ago.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Jorah said, screwing his eyes shut while trying to fight off another wave of nausea.

“I won’t see you suffer,” Jeor replied, brushing a few errant strands of hair from his son’s forehead. “I’d do anything to take this from you and shouting at a few doctors and nurses is the least I can do.”

“I can fight my own battles,” Jorah whispered, though his tone was insistent.

“I know you can,” Jeor replied. “But now it’s my time to fight one for you. You have a wife and daughter who need you,” he continued, looking across to Daenerys as tears filled his eyes. “And so do I.”

Jeor whispered his last words so quietly that he assumed his son hadn’t heard them and felt his own heart skip a beat as Jorah reached out with his right hand for his father to take it.

Jeor squeezed the hand he held gently.

“I love you, son.”

“I love you too,” Jorah replied as his eyes drifted closed once more.

Chapter Text

“I can get out of the car by myself,” Jorah growled, shooting his father another dirty look.

After three nights in hospital, Jorah was keen to return home to his beautiful wife and daughter having not seen Poppy in almost four days.

Jeor insisted on collecting his son from the hospital upon his discharge and had already felt the sharp edge of his son’s tongue when he bent down to tie his boy’s shoelaces as Jorah sat on the side of his hospital bed with a scowl marring his features.

Jeor knew his son hated to show any kind of weakness, especially in front of the person who hurt him the most when he was a child.

“Will you stop being so stubborn,” Jeor replied, sighing in exasperation. He opened the passenger door wider as he watched his son try to swing his legs out and onto the driveway.

Upon Jorah’s release from the hospital, the surgeon fitted a brace that wrapped around his chest and over his left arm to keep the healing limb firmly in place. Dressed in jogging bottoms and a button-up shirt, Jorah inched his way up into a standing position and gave his father one final glare.

Jeor was painfully aware that it wasn’t just a matter of pride or looking ‘weak’ in front of another person. He knew it was more to do with the fact that his son was older than his wife by several years and was consumed by the irrational fear that he would somehow become a burden to his family the older he got. His son wasn’t yet fifty and yet he was acting as if he would be collecting his state pension soon. There were many good years left in his son yet and he wanted his boy to enjoy them and not fritter time away on worrying about such inconsequential things.

Jeor shook his head as he followed his son up the driveway carrying the paper bag full of painkillers and dressings that the hospital gave them upon Jorah’s discharge.

Jorah opened the front door with his keys, feeling tears prick at his eyes when he saw Daenerys standing in the hallway. He suddenly felt overwhelmed at the realisation that he was finally back home and bit back a sob as his wife hugged him carefully, mindful of the strapping on the left side of his body.

“Welcome home,” she whispered in his ear before guiding him into the lounge where Poppy was happily putting toys in her mouth as she crawled around her play pen.

“Poppy,” Daenerys called out to her daughter. “Look who’s home.”

Jorah couldn’t stop the tears from falling when Poppy’s eyes finally settled on the image of her father. She bounced gleefully and clapped her hands together, gurgling and babbling noisily upon seeing him.

She helped her husband to the sofa before lifting her daughter out of the play pen and onto the couch as Poppy began climbing up her father’s body to touch his cheek. Jorah laughed when Poppy touched his beard and pulled a face.

“I know,” he smiled at his little girl. “Papa needs to trim his beard, doesn’t he?”

Poppy giggled in response, reaching out one of her hands to touch her father’s face again before climbing up the un-injured side of his body to kiss him on the cheek.

“Baba!”

Poppy gurgled, laughing to herself at her father’s shocked expression.

“What did you say, Poppy?” He said, giving his father and Daenerys an incredulous look.

“Baba,” Poppy said again, clapping her hands together at the excited look on the faces of the people around her. She lay herself on her father’s chest and repeated the word twice more, seemingly oblivious to what all the fuss was about.

Having only been home for a few hours, Jorah began to feel the toll by the early evening and struggled to keep his eyes open as he and Daenerys ate dinner at the dining table. Mindful of his current lack of mobility, Daenerys cooked them a simple meal that her husband could eat with one hand. Despite being both the sweetest and kindest man she’d ever met, Daenerys knew that it would eat away at his pride should she need to cut up his food for him.

“Are you going to put me and Poppy on the same feeding schedule?” He asked more tersely than he’d intended to as he felt the effects of the painkillers waning and tiredness beginning to set in.

Although she was tempted to respond to his comment in kind, she let it slide knowing that the man she loved was still healing and not at his best right now. Besides, he had felt the sharp edge of her tongue several times during her convalescence after the reconstructive surgery to her breast.

“Now if I could you both be on the same sleeping schedule, that would be even better,” she quipped with a smirk. It was enough for Jorah to realise that he was being crabby and that he would be better off heading to bed, much like Poppy had done a few hours earlier. With the excitement of seeing her father tiring her out, Poppy was now sleeping soundly and had been for the past two hours.

Jorah took the two painkillers Daenerys placed in front of him wordlessly and allowed her to help him to his feet. Despite it being four days since the surgery, he was finding his energy and strength failing him every so often and was grateful for both the physical and emotional support from his wife.

“This is your side of the bed,” Jorah frowned as Daenerys carefully undid the brace holding his arm to his chest and removed the shirt he was wearing before strapping his arm back in place.

“I don’t think you’d appreciate me rolling over and smacking into your arm in the middle of the night,” Daenerys replied, placing the duvet across her husband’s legs as he sat back, propped up against the pillows - a position he would need to get used to while his arm and shoulder healed.

Having popped to the bathroom to remove her makeup, Daenerys slipped into bed beside her husband, scooting closer to him as he lifted his right arm for her to snuggle next to him.

“This bed seemed so big without you in it,” Daenerys said, playing absent-mindedly with some of the hairs on her husband’s chest.

“I hated sleeping in that hospital bed,” he admitted as he rested his chin on the top of her head. “I missed both of you so much.”

“Not as much as we missed you,” Daenerys replied. “I’ve never been so scared than when I was waiting for your surgery to finish. I don’t want to go through anything like that ever again.”

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” Jorah said, kissing the top of his wife’s head.

She broke away to look at the man she loved.

“Hey,” she said cradling his cheek in her hand. “I meant every word of our wedding vows. Nothing will stop me from loving you and wanting to take care of you. Nothing.”

“You won’t say that when you’re giving me a bed bath or trimming my beard,” he smirked before his smile faded at the thought of being a burden to her once more.

“Marriage is about looking after each other. In sickness and in health,” she told him, wishing he wouldn’t keep doing this to himself.

He frowned, not looking entirely convinced that she was only saying it to stop him from feeling like a burden.

“Who washed and rubbed my feet when my baby belly was too big for me to reach them?” She asked, kissing him softly on the mouth. “Who went out in the middle of the night to find me pickled artichokes? Who helped me in and out of the bath after my surgery?”

She cocked an eyebrow at her husband as he nodded his head and gave her one of those shy smiles that always melted her heart. “Have I made my point sufficiently or do I need to continue?” She said, laying her head on his chest once more.

“I don’t think you’d ever want to wash my feet, no matter how much you might love me” he said, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he felt his eyes grow heavy, safe in the knowledge that he was back home surrounded by the people he loved the most in the world.

Chapter Text

Jorah opened his eyes with a groan. The last thing he remembered was something about washing feet…

“How are you feeling?” Daenerys asked, walking back into the bedroom with a tray of breakfast in her hands.

Jorah frowned.

“I can walk as far as the kitchen,” he mumbled as his wife placed the tray on his legs.

She arched an eyebrow at him, her pointed look daring him to take her on.

They’d been here many times before and Jorah knew better than to try to challenge her when she’d set her mind to something. He picked up the slice of buttered toast and ate it quietly as Daenerys made herself comfortable on the side of the bed.

“Thank you,” he said after a couple of bites, still feeling guilty that his wife was waiting on him hand and foot.

“You need something in your stomach before you take your pills,” she told him as she got up and pulled a pair of jogging bottoms and a button-up shirt out of the closet before laying them on the other side of the bed.

“I can get dressed,” he groused, his cheeks flushing red with shame at his helplessness.

Daenerys shook her head.

“We need to change your dressings first,” she told him.

His face paled at the thought. It was hard enough trying to find a position to lay or sit in that didn’t cause pain to shoot up and down his arm. He knew the discomfort would be ten times worse when the bandages and dressings were removed and replaced.

With Jorah having eaten the two slices of toast and washing down the painkillers with a glass of orange juice, Daenerys removed the tray and left the room in search of the large bag of dressings that the hospital had provided on his discharge. They also gave detailed instructions on how to clean and wrap the incisions every 48 hours for the next ten days upon which he would be due to return to the hospital for a follow-up to check how the wound was healing.

“Are you ready?” Daenerys asked, placing the large paper bag on the bed and pulling out disposable gloves along with several dressings and rolls of bandage.

Jorah took a deep breath and nodded his head, hoping that the painkillers would soon kick in and make the whole process as bearable as possible.

He hissed when Daenerys pulled at the bandage, and she froze immediately.

“Keep going,” he ground out, squeezing his eyes shut, wanting the whole thing to be over with as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys whispered as she removed the final layer of bandage and looked at the large dressings that ran from the top of his shoulder to his elbow. Removing them would be the most painful part.

“Please, just do it quickly,” Jorah said breathily before letting out a pained gasp as the dressings came free.

“Are you ok?” She asked quietly, immediately realising what a redundant question that was. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, heading to the bathroom to fill a bowl with warm water. She would need to clean the wound before redressing it.

When she returned to the room, she saw Jorah trying to crane his neck around to look at the incision.

He hissed again when Daenerys began to gently clean the wound.

“Does it look ok?” He asked, looking away from what she was doing in the hope that it would hurt less.

The long line of stitches looked painful against his already heavily scarred skin and it was difficult to tell if there was any swelling, but the hospital advised that there would only be cause for concern if the area around the incision became inflamed or hot to the touch.

“It’s looking good,” Daenerys replied, glancing up from her task momentarily as she continued to gently dab at the stitches.

Jorah let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the effects of the painkillers finally starting to kick in. He must have dozed off at some point as he opened his eyes to find his arm redressed and back in the support brace the hospital gave him.

Pulling the duvet from his legs with his good arm, Jorah groaned as he swung his legs round and placed them on the floor. The sound alerted Daenerys and moments later she was standing in the doorway.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, looking at him with some concern.

“Not as sore as before,” he answered honestly, no doubt because the painkillers were still doing their job. “What time is it?”

“Midday,” Daenerys replied, smiling when she saw the look of shock on her husband’s face.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Jorah considered the question for a moment and decided that it was better not to argue with his wife.

“Can you…uh…” he stammered, looking at the clothes she laid out for him earlier that morning.

She said nothing and merely smiled as she helped him to dress, relieved to see that not only was he letting her help but that he was finally asking for her assistance instead of putting on some pale attempt at male macho bullshit.

After dressing, Daenerys supported her husband into the lounge, her heart soaring when Jorah’s face lit up at the sight of their daughter in her play pen.

“Hey, Poppy,” Jorah smiled as he peered into his daughter’s little den that was full of toys and objects. “What are you up to?”

Poppy looked up from her seated position on the floor and giggled.

“Baba,” she said upon seeing her father. “Baba.”

“She only says that to you,” Daenerys said, bringing two cups of coffee into the lounge. She waved away the concerned look Jorah shot her. “I’m sure she’ll learn to say ‘mama’ soon enough,” she said with a genuine smile.

“She’s been ok?” Jorah asked as he gently lowered himself to the couch.

Poppy could be fussy and demanding at times, especially at night and Daenerys knew that her husband felt guilty for not being physically able to get up and see to their daughter when needed and that most of the caring for their child would fall to her for the next few weeks at least.

“She’s been fine,” Daenerys reassured him, patting his knee gently. “I think she’s realised she’s not the only one who needs some looking after.”

Jorah frowned. “She’s ten months old, I don’t think she’s aware of anything but eating and sleeping at this point.”

Daenerys shook her head.

“She definitely knew that something was different when you were in the hospital,” she told him honestly. “And her little face lit up when your father brought you home.”

Jorah smiled at the memory of Poppy’s beaming face as she looked up at him and clambered excitedly to be close to him again.

“Baba! Baba!” Poppy gurgled as she tried to pull herself up.

“You wanna see Papa?” Daenerys asked as she walked over to the play pen.

“Baba,” Poppy repeated as Daenerys reached in and lifted her daughter out and onto the couch next to her father.

Jorah reached out his good arm, tickling his daughter’s belly as she lay on her back, and she giggled as her little arms and legs kicked in excitement.

Jorah sniffed back the tears as he continued to tickle his daughter’s belly, realising just how fortunate he was to have such a beautiful family. All the hardships he’d suffered in his life were all worth it to get to this point. He had a wonderful wife and the most amazing, beautiful daughter any man could hope for.

He gasped, letting out a strangled cry when one of Poppy’s legs made contact with his left arm and pain radiated up and down the side of his body. It was enough to make Poppy stop kicking as her face fell and she let out a wail of her own, realising that something was wrong with her father.

Daenerys picked her up and held her to her body, shushing and calming her while looking at Jorah.

“Shhh,” she crooned to her daughter. “It’s ok. Papa’s ok.”

It took a few minutes for both Poppy’s wailing and the pain in Jorah’s arm to subside. He reached out with his right arm and stroked his daughter’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking contrite. “I think I scared her.”

Daenerys turned Poppy in her arms so that she could look at her father.

“See, Papa’s ok,” she reassured her daughter, who looked at her and then back to Jorah before reaching out one of her pudgy hands to him. He bent down to kiss Poppy’s fingers.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he crooned as Poppy’s tears gradually dried. He never wanted his daughter to look at him like she had only a few moments ago.

“She’s ok,” Daenerys reassured her husband, knowing that the guilt of momentarily scaring his daughter would eat away at him if they didn’t address it straight away. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She was crying because she could see you were in pain, that’s all.”

“I scared her,” he whispered.

“She’s already forgotten about it,” Daenerys smiled as Poppy once again began burbling her version of the word ‘Papa’.

She could only hope that Jorah would quickly do the same.

Chapter Text

Thoros ignored the grumbling of his former superior as he and Jorah walked slowly towards the rehabilitation centre at the hospital.

Two weeks had passed since Jorah’s surgery and now the incisions were healed, it meant several further weeks of painful physical rehabilitation and with Jorah unable to drive himself, Thoros was more than happy to lend a hand while Daenerys stayed at home looking after Poppy.

Today was the first of several rehab sessions and judging by the look on his friend’s face, Thoros was certain that his former captain was not looking forward to it.

“You’re a right fucking ray of sunshine this morning, aren’t you?” Thoros said as Jorah poked at the buttons in the elevator.

It earned him a sour look from his friend.

Thoros shrugged it off, more than used to the other man’s gruff, monosyllabic demeanour.

“Be careful, if the wind changes your face will stay like that,” Thoros smirked when the elevator opened on the fourth floor, never wanting to miss an opportunity to ‘poke the bear’.

Jorah glared at him before sighing.

“I’d almost forgotten how fucking annoying you are,” Jorah groused as they walked down the corridor to the rehab centre, his face paling when a familiar face came walking towards them. The three of them stopped suddenly.

“Jorah?” Said the woman standing opposite them.

“I…uh…” Jorah stammered, not sure what he should say to the woman whose heart he broke all those years ago.

He shuffled past her with an awkward nod and entered the rehab centre, leaving Thoros standing next to a woman he hadn’t seen in over ten years.

“How are you, Tanya?” Thoros asked awkwardly as he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

It was a stupid question and he realised as much the moment the words left his mouth. Jorah had left her heartbroken and the last time she’d seen him was in the aftermath of the truck explosion as she and her colleagues battled to save Jorah’s life in the Afghan desert.

It took her several moments to speak.

“Is everything ok with Jorah?” She asked, looking in the direction of the rehab centre with genuine concern.

“He had surgery on the...” Thoros trailed off, fully aware that his friend’s current predicament was his fault. “What are you doing here?” He asked, changing the subject quickly.

“I work here,” she replied. “I have since I left the Army. I take it you’re not still serving?”

Thoros shook his head. “No, I left a long time ago.”

“Seems like we have a lot to catch up on then,” Tanya smiled. “Have you got time for a coffee?”

Thoros looked at his watch, knowing that Jorah’s rehab session would take at least an hour, if not more.

“Sure,” he replied, realising he had no way of avoiding her without looking rude. “Why not?”

He followed Tanya to the cafeteria and smiled his thanks as she brought two coffees over to the table.

“How long has it been?” Thoros asked, pouring an unhealthy amount of sugar into his cup, and stirring it with a spoon.

“Too long,” Tanya answered with a smile, stirring sugar into her own drink. “My tour ended about six months after Jorah’s accident, and I don’t think any of us have crossed paths since.”

Thoros immediately felt the guilt wash over him again at the thought of the explosion and the devastating injuries it left Jorah with, knowing that it should have been him in that truck instead.

“How long have you been out of the Army for?” Thoros asked, wanting to change the subject to anything else than those horrific memories of the desert.

“Six years,” Tanya replied, taking a sip of her coffee. “I met someone, and we settled down, we have two kids.”

An awkward silence grew between them. Thoros was painfully aware of why Jorah and Tanya had split up. She told the man she loved that she wanted to start a family with him and get married and Jorah, still haunted by the death of his first wife, had called time on their relationship.

“How about you?” Tanya asked.

Thoros shrugged his shoulders.

“I did a couple more tours and then quit when Beric got invalided out. I didn’t see the point if neither of my mates were there.”

“The three of you still together then?” Tanya smiled.

“Like some fucked-up band of brothers,” Thoros smirked.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Tanya said sincerely. “the three of you are good for each other.”

Thoros frowned, keenly aware that he’d been a terrible friend to both Beric and Jorah.

“I lost contact with Jorah after they flew him home. I thought about him a lot though,” Tanya added, sounding genuinely remorseful.

Thoros looked down at his coffee. The last time Tanya saw Jorah was after he was horrifically burned when the convoy truck exploded.

Thoros cleared his throat as he swallowed down those gruesome memories.

“It took years for him to recover,” Thoros said quietly, screwing his eyes shut at the memory of his friend looking so haggard and pained during the first twelve months of his recovery. “He didn’t find it easy settling into civilian life…he struggled with it for a long time.”

Thoros held back mentioning Jorah’s marriage to Lynesse knowing that it would hurt Tanya deeply after he’d called time on their own relationship because he feared losing her like he had Anais.

“But he’s happy now?” Tanya asked.

Thoros smiled.

“For the last few years, definitely, yeah,” he replied vaguely.

Tanya picked up on it immediately.

“What does that mean?” She asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Thoros fidgeted in his chair, not sure how much he should reveal, knowing that Jorah was an intensely private man.

“Jorah got ill a few years ago. Cancer.”

He heard Tanya gasp.

“But he’s ok now?”

Thoros nodded.

“Let’s just say that he kicked the cancer in the bollocks,” he replied. “He met someone on the chemo ward and they went through treatment together. They’re married now and have a little girl, Poppy.”

Thoros looked down at his coffee cup, wary of how Tanya might take the news that Jorah was now married with a wife and child.

“She’s good for him?” Tanya asked.

Thoros let out a chuckle.

“Aye, you could say that. She’s a little spitfire,” he replied. “You know how self-sacrificing he can be, but she doesn’t take any of that bullshit from him.”

“She sounds like quite a woman.”

“That she is. She’s not the kind of woman you’d ever want to piss off,” he chuckled. “But I’ve never seen him happier and more settled than he is now. It’s like she found the piece of him that was missing, and he deserves to be happy…more than anyone.”

“Definitely,” Tanya agreed. “All I ever wanted was for him to be happy. He was blaming himself for things that were never his fault. I’m glad that he’s made peace with the world. She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She’s not the only one who should take some of the credit.”

Tanya looked at him quizzically.

“That notebook you gave him? He started writing in it when we were in Afghanistan, and he’s not stopped since. He won’t say as much, but I know that it really helped and he’s in a much better place now because of it. I take it you never read his first novel, then?”

Tanya shook her head. She’d wanted to but found the idea of reading the work of the man who broke her heart more than she could bear at the time.

“Maybe you should,” Thoros suggested. “It might surprise you.”

Tanya drained the last of her coffee, not at all sure that she wanted to rake up old feelings and painful memories that were probably much better left in the past.

“I should be getting off now, but it was great to see you again, Thoros. I’m glad that everything’s worked out well, for all of us. Tell Jorah that I’m really happy for him…truly.”

“You know that he never meant to hurt you,” Thoros replied. “He loved you.”

Tanya sniffed back the tears that were threatening to fall.

“He was good to me…kind, loving, gentle…but it always felt like a part of him was never really there. I know he loved me the best he could. He’s a good man, he always has been…just like you.”

Thoros paled at her last words. He’d been anything but a good man for most of his life.

“You’ve stuck by him his whole life, throughout all of it. He’s lucky to have you as a friend.” She gave him a sad smile before looking over her shoulder. “Take care, Thoros. Be kinder to yourself, ok?”

“I’ll do my best,” he whispered, watching her walk away.

Chapter Text

The drive back from the hospital was made in silence. Thoros glanced repeatedly at his friend while still trying to keep his eyes on the road and the traffic ahead of him.

“How did the session go?” Thoros asked, breaking the silence at last.

“It was fine,” Jorah replied, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain washed over him.

The session consisted of several painful exercises as the physio assigned to Jorah had prodded, poked and moved his still-healing arm back and forth repeatedly for over an hour. The physio handed him a rubber ball at the end of the session along with a sheet of paper with numerous exercises that would help rebuild the strength in his arm, but he was sore and tetchy and bumping into Tanya raised emotions in him that were better left forgotten.

“Tanya and I had a coffee while I was waiting,” Thoros said evenly, clutching the steering wheel a little tighter, fearing that mentioning her would once again ‘poke the bear’ in his old friend. “Are you not going to ask what we talked about?”

This time it earned him a stare from his former captain.

“She’s married now, with two kids,” Thoros continued.

“Good. I’m glad she’s happy,” Jorah replied quietly.

“I told her about you, and Daenerys and Poppy.”

Again, it earned another pointed look from Jorah.

“Well, I’m thrilled you had such a nice time talking about me,” Jorah retorted testily as the pain and discomfort in his arm started to get the better of him.

“Are you in pain or is it the fact that we bumped into Tanya making you so grumpy?” Thoros replied, fully aware that he was pushing his friend’s buttons now.

“Jesus Christ,” Jorah growled. “Will you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?”

Thoros was taken aback by the annoyance in Jorah’s tone as his friend snapped at him. Perhaps today was touching a nerve in more ways than one.

“Well, you’re definitely moodier than usual…actually, I’m not sure that’s possible,” Thoros observed.

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were a drunk.”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

“Thoros,” Jorah began, looking at his friend. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that - “

Thoros stepped on the brakes, pulling up outside Jorah’s house. He killed the engine and stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Jorah.

“Thoros, please,” Jorah implored his friend once more. “If I could take back what I said.”

Thoros stared at him for several moments.

“Well, if we’re keeping score, I’m damn sure that I’ve said worse to you in the middle of a bender,” he replied as his expression softened. “I’ll blame your testiness on your obviously pent-up sexual tension,” he smirked.

“What?!”

Thoros looked his old friend up and down.

“I’m guessing you haven’t got your end away since…well,” Thoros said as he gestured at Jorah’s brace.

“Ok,” Jorah replied, pulling himself out of the car. “Thanks for the lift.”

Thoros grinned at him.

“Maybe, you know…ask the missus to give you a quick hand job, that might help?” Thoros called out from the driver’s side as Jorah shook his head at his friend’s vile mouth.

Ignoring Thoros’ lewd remarks, Jorah opened the front door, smiling when Daenerys walked into the hallway to greet her husband with a kiss.

“How did it go?” She asked as he followed her to the lounge where Poppy was playing with her toys.

He eased himself down onto the couch gingerly and smiled at their daughter who gurgled happily at the sight of both her parents.

“Mmma,” Poppy said, clapping as her mother came closer and picked her up.

Not long after mastering ‘baba’, Poppy had begun saying ‘mmma’ any time Daenerys entered the room and Poppy laid eyes on her. They weren’t fully formed words yet, but their daughter seemed to be making progress when it came to learning to talk, so much so that both parents knew the difference between each of the vocal sounds Poppy made and what they meant.

Another word that Poppy seemed intent on using every day was ‘dey’ followed by her holding out whatever object was in her hands at the time.

“Dey,” Poppy said, bouncing in her mother’s arms and pointing at her father.

Daenerys glanced at her husband. She could instinctively sense that he was in pain from the therapy session he’d just been through.

“Baba dey,” Poppy repeated, frowning when her attempts to reach her father failed.

“Papa can’t play just now,” Daenerys cooed her infant daughter. “Papa play later, ok?”

Daenerys watched as her daughter seemed to consider her words for a moment or two.

“Mmma dey,”

“You want mummy to play with you?” Daenerys asked, smiling at her daughter who bounced gleefully in her mother’s arms at the question. She glanced over to find Jorah’s eyes were closed with his head resting against the back of the couch.

Bending down, Daenerys placed her daughter on the floor.

“Let’s play quietly, papa is having a nap,” she whispered as Poppy crawled over the floor to find her favourite toy to bring back to her mother.

Daenerys realised that she’d lost track of the time when she looked up at the lounge window to find the sun setting.

She spent most of the afternoon rolling a rubber ball to Poppy who gleefully collected it and shoved it back in the direction of her mother before repeating ‘dey’ until Daenerys rolled it back to her once more. She glanced up several times to find Jorah still asleep on the couch and knew that sooner or later she would need to wake him and guide him towards their bedroom so that he could get a proper night’s rest and one that his neck wouldn’t end up paying for when he woke the next morning.

Daenerys rolled the rubber ball back to Poppy, but her aim was off, and the ball disappeared behind her daughter. She’d expected Poppy to crawl on her hands and knees, but the breath left her body in a rush when her daughter pulled herself up to her feet and took a couple of tottering steps.

She was by Jorah’s side in an instant as she shook his uninjured shoulder to wake him.

“Hmmm, what is it?” He said, still half asleep.

Daenerys knew that her husband needed the rest, but neither would he want to miss such an important milestone in their daughter’s life.

“Look at her, Jorah,” Daenerys said, helping him to sit up as she pointed towards Poppy.

He rubbed a hand over his face, not quite believing what he was seeing at first.

“Poppy?” He said, his eyes widening in surprise.

Their daughter turned at the sound of his voice and her balance seemed to desert her after two further, wobbly steps as she landed heavily onto her bottom. Her tumble didn’t seem to faze her as she pulled herself up again and tottered towards her parents, not aware of just what she’d achieved by pulling herself up.

Poppy was only a few days away from her first birthday and she was already figuring out how to talk and had just taken her first steps, both of which were huge milestones in her development. The reality was that Poppy would grow up all too soon and her parents knew that moments like these were the ones to savour.

Daenerys picked her daughter up, holding her closely and kissing her cheek, proud beyond words at Poppy’s first steps.

“You are such a clever girl,” she whispered in Poppy’s ear as she kissed her all over face, which made the little girl giggle and squirm in her mother’s arms. “But clever girls still need a bath,” she grinned. “Let’s get you ready for bed, little one.”

“Baba?” Poppy said, taking her finger from her mouth and pointing at her father.

“Soon,” Jorah replied, feeling guilty that the day-to-day care of their daughter was landing squarely on his wife’s shoulders for now. “Papa do your bath soon, I promise,” he added, watching Daenerys carry their child to the bathroom before she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Same goes for you, mister,” she said, chiding him gently. “Get your butt in bed and have an early night.”

Still amazed by Poppy taking her first steps, Jorah didn’t even argue the point with her. He never again wanted to run the risk of missing something so important in their daughter’s life and if anything, it made him more determined to take his physio sessions seriously so that he could quickly get back to doing what he did best - being the type of father and husband that his two favourite girls depended on.

Chapter Text

“I’d give you a hug, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Mary said standing on Jorah’s doorstep, taking in the sight of her best friend when he opened the door.

With his left arm still held in place by the all-encompassing brace that strapped his injured limb to his chest, Jorah gave his old friend a tired smile as he moved aside to let her and Stan into the house.

“And how is the birthday girl?” Mary asked as Jorah walked his old friends through to the lounge where Poppy was giggling gleefully at Thoros as he hid his face behind his hands, pulling different goofy expressions at her.

“I think most of it is going over her head,” Jorah replied, running his hand over his beard while watching Thoros entertain his daughter. “She’s loving all the attention though.”

“Mary, Stan,” Daenerys beamed when she saw them. “We’re so glad you could make it,” she said, hugging each of them in turn.

“We wouldn’t want to miss Poppy’s big day,” Stan said with a smile, nodding his thanks to Daenerys when she passed a bottle of beer to him. “You’ll have to forgive Mary,” he frowned, his eyes casting down to the large bag of presents in his wife’s hands. “She’s gone a little overboard with the gifts…again.”

Mary tutted at her husband. “That’s not the birthday spirit,” she said to him. “And you said no more children for us, so I’m going to spoil my niece rotten instead.”

Jorah rolled his eyes at his friend.

“We’re going to need a bigger house just to fit all of these bloody toys in soon,” he muttered, his eyes glancing to the pile of gifts in the corner of the room.

This time it was Jorah’s turn to be on the end of one of Mary’s trademark tuts.

“I’m going to let that comment pass, seeing as you’re not at your best right now,” she said as her expression softened. “How is the rehab going?”

Jorah shrugged his shoulders and immediately regretted it as pain shot down his left arm.

“Are they managing your pain?” Mary continued, now moving seamlessly into ‘nurse’ mode. She saw first-hand the agony her friend had been in from the full thickness burns and had no doubt that the pain was just as severe this time from the lengthy surgery to repair nerves impinged by the heavy scar tissue which was still pulling and retracting the damaged flesh and muscles even now, years later.

Jorah rolled his eyes as Mary and Daenerys each gave him a pointed look, waiting for his answer. He was saved from doing so when the doorbell rang once more.

“That’s probably my father,” he said with a sense of relief as he left the room quickly.

“How has he been?” Mary asked as soon as Jorah had left the room. “I know how much he hates admitting that he’s suffering.”

“We’re keeping on top of it,” Daenerys answered, chewing on her bottom lip. “He’s actually been a lot more compliant about everything than I thought he would be. He just feels guilty that he can’t help out more with Poppy.”

“He’s always been a stubborn fool,” Mary muttered, good-naturedly. “You’ve been getting support?” She asked Daenerys, searching for a sign that she was hiding anything from her.

“His father has been great,” Daenerys replied, watching Jeor enter the room. “Missy has been helping out by looking after Poppy and Thoros has decided to be Jorah’s taxi until he can drive again.”

The smile fell from Mary’s face, recalling the last time Jorah needed the help and support of others as he attempted to recover from the horrific burns he’d sustained. She realised that apart from herself and Stan, Jorah had no one else to rely on and in the end it almost ended up costing him everything. Mary sent a prayer to the heavens, thanking the lord above that the circumstances were so different this time.

As predicted, Poppy was more enraptured by the wrapping paper and boxes her birthday gifts came in than she was with the actual toys inside, but she was happy to be the centre of so many people’s attention and giggled and gurgled throughout most of the afternoon which ended with her attempting to blow out the candle on her cake.

“Well done,” Thoros said, clapping his friend on his uninjured shoulder. “You’ve survived a whole year of being a parent.”

“Yeah, it’s gone quicker than I thought it would,” Jorah chuckled as he watched his daughter playing with her grandfather.

“You going to have another one?” Thoros smirked. It turned into a full-on laugh when he heard his friend splutter out a mouthful of beer.

“You seem to be oddly preoccupied with my sex life lately,” Jorah countered after he’d regained his composure. Between the crass jokes at Christmas and their awkward conversation in the car when Thoros had dropped him home from his first physio appointment, Thoros had been dropping pointed remarks about sex and babies regularly for months now.

Thoros shrugged his shoulders.

“What can I say, being a father does wonders for your temperament,” Thoros shot back.

Whether it was intended or not, Jorah picked up on the hidden meaning in Thoros’ comment immediately.

“Thoros, about the other week.”

Jorah found himself cut off by his old friend.

“It’s all water under the bridge, mate,” Thoros said congenially in the hopes that Jorah wouldn’t beat himself up about it but knowing full well the stubborn bastard would stew on it for weeks, if not months.

“Still, you didn’t deserve it,” Jorah insisted.

Thoros turned to look him in the eye and gave Jorah a sad smile.

“I don’t think we should be keeping score of what each of us have deserved,” he said quietly. “I was the one who did this to you,” he said, choking on his words slightly as he gestured to the brace on Jorah’s arm. “Words are just words,” Thoros continued. “But what happened to you is something I can never take back, however much I might want to. I’d have changed places with you in a heartbeat if I could.”

Jorah said nothing. He was stunned to silence that after so many years, Thoros was finally talking about the incident that almost killed Jorah, leaving him badly injured and heavily scarred for the rest of his life.

“You know, there were times when I drank just to block out the memories of what happened that day,” Thoros continued. “And then I would drink even more to stop myself from feeling the guilt of what I’d done.”

“You weren’t the one who planted the IED,” Jorah replied with a frown. “And you weren’t the one who drove over it.”

“But it should have been me being trapped in the back of that truck,” Thoros persisted. “If I hadn’t got so drunk that I overslept, you would never have been in that truck when it happened. It was my selfishness that did this to you and that’s something that I can never take back.”

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” Jorah said quietly. “I’ve never blamed you. It was just stupid, dumb luck. It could have been any one of us.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier to live with,” Thoros replied sadly. “The clinic said that you’ve got to face your past and own your mistakes, otherwise you’ll never move past them. I owe you and Beric for sticking by me when I gave you every reason to tell me to fuck off. God knows why you didn’t though.”

“Because we love you,” Jorah replied sincerely. “Beric and I…we’re your family, we would never abandon you.”

The two men stood awkwardly in the kitchen, realising that everyone else had returned to the lounge with Poppy.

“Thank you for making me go,” Thoros said, breaking the silence between them. “To the clinic,” he added at Jorah’s puzzled expression. “I know it was you who paid for it.”

“Has it helped?” Jorah replied.

Thoros nodded his head and considered his response.

“Yeah. It gave me a chance to talk a lot of stuff through, as much as I didn’t want to at the time. It was like purging all of my sins and coming to terms with the shitty decisions I’ve made instead of bottling it all up inside.” Thoros decided to change the subject slightly. “Have you ever thought about it?”

“Thought about what?”

“Talking to someone,” Thoros replied. “Professionally, I mean.”

Jorah immediately felt uncomfortable.

“You forget that I’ve known you for almost thirty years,” Thoros continued. “And we’ve both been through a lot of shit in that time.”

“I’m fine,” Jorah said briskly. “Everything’s good with me.”

“Is it though?” Thoros replied. “I saw your reaction when we bumped into Tanya. There’s a lot of stuff you’ve never talked about to anyone.”

“Tanya has nothing to do with it,” Jorah growled, suddenly concerned that Daenerys would overhear them. “I don’t what the hell it is that you’re insinuating but I suggest you stop talking. Right now.”

Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Please, any idiot can see that the two girls you love more than anything in the world are in the next room,” he replied, looking down at the glass of water in his hand and suddenly wishing it was vodka.

“Then what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve never talked about losing Anais and the babies, or the explosion,” Thoros continued. “And I bet if I go and ask Daenerys, she’ll tell me that you’re still having nightmares.”

“A couple of months in a rehab clinic does not make you an amateur psychiatrist,” Jorah growled. “And even if you were a shrink, there’s no way I’d be talking to you about it.”

“You’re right,” Thoros said, continuing to look at his glass as he swirled the water around it. “But I am your friend and I know what it’s like trying to bury the pain so deep that you think you can’t feel it anymore. It has a way of rising back to the surface sooner or later.” Thoros gave him one final, sad look before leaving the room and calling over his shoulder. “Just think about it, ok?”

Chapter Text

Two weeks after Poppy’s birthday, Jorah was still chewing over the awkward conversation he had with Thoros that day.

To Thoros’ credit, he’d not raised the subject of counselling again, taking Jorah to each of his physio appointments and waiting at the hospital before dropping him back home. If Daenerys sensed any tension between the two men, she said nothing of it to either of them.

“Paaaaa!” Poppy babbled, bringing her father back to the present with a jolt. He realised that he’d stopped moving the yellow duck in the warm water of the bath and his daughter was keen for him to continue.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, moving the duck across the water with his right arm.

The all-encompassing brace on his left arm had been replaced with a smaller and lighter one that allowed for more freedom of movement. Despite several weeks of physio, Jorah’s left arm was still sore, and he would have limited movement in it until he could build the strength back up again, but at least he’d been able to be more involved in taking care of Poppy recently.

With the support of Daenerys, Jorah was now able to help bathe their daughter and ready her for bed and as much as Poppy loved her mother, she was delighted that her papa could once again play with her during bath time.

“Paaaa!” Poppy repeated, giggling as her hands splashed in the two inches of warm bath water she was currently sat in.

It made Jorah smile that Poppy had graduated from making different vocal sounds to learning to say ‘ma’ and ‘pa’, and he flicked water at her belly and pulled faces, much to his daughter’s delight as she let out a huge belly laugh.

“Honestly,” Daenerys drawled, walking back into the bathroom with a towel and night clothes for Poppy. “I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re flooding the bathroom.”

Her comment was rewarded with two sets of blue puppy-dog eyes - something that Poppy learned from her father. It was bad enough when one of them did it, but to have both gang up on her like that? She knew she stood no chance of being annoyed with them.

“Right,” Daenerys said, reaching into the bath to lift her daughter out. “Time for bed, little lady.”

“Paaaa?” Poppy said, pointing to her father.

“Pa is going to get in the bath,” she told her daughter as she wrapped her in the soft white towel.

“I am?” Jorah asked, cocking an eyebrow at his wife.

“You are,” she said without missing a beat. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, and you better be in that bath by the time I return.”

Jorah frowned as Daenerys left the bathroom with their daughter and sniffed at his shirt. Maybe she was right, today had been a long and gruelling physio session and he was smelling more than a little ripe.

After filling the bath with more water, Jorah carefully removed his clothes and sank into the tub, relieved to finally be free of the brace for a short while. He leaned back and allowed the water to slosh over his chest and shoulders as he closed his eyes and relaxed.

He opened them several minutes later when he felt water being poured gently over his hair.

“Daenerys,” he said, trying to sit up further in the bath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“How are you planning to do it by yourself then?” She asked pointedly as she reached for the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into her hands before massaging it into his scalp. Despite it being several weeks since the surgery, Jorah was still struggling to move his arm above his head and was certainly nowhere near being able to wash his own hair without assistance.

He let out a soft groan as he closed his eyes, unable to deny how good it felt to have her fingers gently massaging his scalp. She followed the shampoo with some conditioner before carefully washing the soapy bubbles from his hair and placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Wait there,” she said, leaving the bathroom in search of more towels.

Jorah realised that he was far too relaxed to even think about moving a muscle.

She helped him from the bath and wrapped a towel around his waist, using a smaller one to towel-dry his hair. He pulled her gently towards him until she was sitting on his lap. He couldn’t resist stealing a few kisses from her before turning his attention to her neck and the spot just behind her ear that always set her skin on fire and no doubt that she could feel how hard he was through the soft cotton towel currently covering his lap.

Before long they were in the bedroom and Daenerys slowly removed her clothes. She pushed Jorah down onto the bed, mindful of his still healing arm as the towel fell from his waist. He reached up to pull her closer when she backed away and waggled her finger at him.

“If we’re going to do this,” she said in a breathy whisper, pushing him back onto the mattress before climbing on top of him. “We’re going to do it my way.”

He closed his eyes as he felt her sink down on him and begin to move, she kept her hands on his chest to stop him from moving or placing strain on his arm.

“Jorah,” she said, her eyes closing with pleasure as she continued to ride him. “I think I should come off the pill.”

He opened his eyes, looking at her with surprise. He intended to answer her when she leaned down and kissed him sensually with their bodies moving as one until they both reached their peak. It was only when Jorah regained control of his breathing that he was able to answer her.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea while I’m…you know,” he trailed off as they lay together basking in the afterglow.

She ran a finger through his chest hair.

“It took so long for us to get pregnant last time and I don’t want our children to be too far apart in age. Even if I fell pregnant tomorrow, your arm would be healed by the time the baby comes. Please, Jorah?”

He leaned over and kissed her deeply before answering her.

“You know I’d give you anything you wanted,” he told her sincerely. “I just don’t want you taking on too much, especially while you’re still looking after me.”

“Your arm is getting better each day and the physio is almost over anyway. We’ll find a way to work it out even if things don’t go to plan.”

She could see the doubt written all over his face and although she knew he would love to have a brother or sister for Poppy, his own self-doubt would make him worried that Daenerys would take on too much while he was still not 100%.

She understood all too well that parts of Jorah remained stubbornly old-fashioned, with him seeing it as his duty to care and provide for his family and all the time he did not have full use of both arms, he would feel as if he were failing them in some way.

She watched on expectantly before he finally closed his eyes and nodded his head. She rewarded him with another languid kiss.

“Thoros will be happy,” Jorah murmured, his eyes widening when he realised what he’d said.

The comment brought Daenerys up short.

“Why would he care?”

Jorah rubbed a hand over his face and frowned, not exactly proud of what he was about to tell her.

“A few weeks ago, after my first physio session… I snapped at Thoros and said something unforgivable.”

“So that’s why you two were so awkward at Poppy’s party,” Daenerys observed as the pieces fell into place for her.

“He implied that having a baby made me less…” he trailed off trying to find the right word.

“Grumpy?” Daenerys offered with a cheeky grin. “Taciturn? Monosyllabic?”

“He was extolling the virtues of counselling and suggested that I consider it.”

“Oh,” Daenerys said quietly, keenly aware as to how that suggestion might have gone down with her husband. “And are you?” She asked. “Considering it, I mean?”

He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“I’m not sure raking up the past is going to achieve anything,” he answered her honestly. “Some things are probably better left buried.”

Daenerys gave him a searching look but said nothing further on the subject as she watched the emotional barriers fall back into place around her husband. There would be no point trying to cajole him into something until he was good and ready to do it, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to try to subtly lead him in the right direction.

She leaned over and kissed him before laying her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat as they both slowly fell asleep.

Chapter Text

There were bullets whizzing all around them. He yelled at his men to take cover behind their truck knowing that the Taliban soldiers would run out of ammo before long.

He closed his eyes, wincing at the sound of bullets ricocheting off the truck and the buildings surrounding them, knowing he should be used to it by now. Their enemy was resourceful, but more than that, they seemed to care little for the innocent villagers caught in the crossfire and never was that more apparent than right now.

He and two of his men were conversing in broken Farsi with a villager when a sniper’s bullet whistled through the air, sending pieces of the villager’s brain and skull in a bloody arc across the soldiers. The hail of bullets started mere seconds after that.

Grabbing the radio from the truck, he barked out their coordinates to their base, requesting urgent backup and extraction from their current position. There was nothing else they could do but wait - either for their enemy to run out of bullets or for another unit to arrive and neutralise the Taliban threat.

The minutes seemed to pass agonisingly slowly but gradually the hail of bullets petered out. He took a steadying breath, whispering to his men to stay behind the truck and in position, but his instructions came too late as one of the newest and youngest members of his unit rose to his feet to peer over the truck.

He saw the impact of the bullet tearing through the boy’s skull before he heard the whistling noise of the bullet flying through their air and then the wet crunch of bone and blood as it ripped through his head.

What was left of the soldier’s face was staring up at him. He opened his mouth to scream, to shout at his men to hold their position, but nothing came out.

He sat there, frozen, staring at what was left of the boy’s mangled skull.

“Jorah, wake up!” Daenerys shouted, shaking him by the shoulder.

She let out a sigh of relief as he gasped and sat up in bed, immediately regretting it as pain shot through his arm and shoulder.

“Are you ok?” She asked with some concern as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

He ran a hand over his face, willing his heart to stop thumping against his chest.

“I’m fine,” he said croakily, although Daenerys did not look convinced by his answer. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Are you in pain?”

He shook his head even though pain was radiating through his damaged limb. Taking anything for it would run the risk of him slipping back into his nightmare and being unable to pull himself out of it again.

“What were you dreaming about?” She asked, rubbing a hand gently up and down his uninjured arm as they both lay back down again. She heard him sigh.

“Can we talk about it in the morning, please?”

Deciding that pushing him now would not get them anywhere, she ran a hand through his hair as his eyes drifted shut and sleep claimed him once more. She closed her eyes soon after and it wasn’t until her alarm went off the next morning that Daenerys woke once more.

She was intending to encourage her husband to stay in bed and catch up on his rest after their disturbed night, but Jorah was pulling himself awkwardly out of bed before she could say anything, and she knew him well enough to know that he would try to avoid talking about last night for as long as possible.

She watched Jorah slowly pull on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt before strapping his arm back into its protective brace.

“I’ll get breakfast ready if you can get Poppy,” he said, making his way downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Ok,” she replied quietly, aware of his usual stalling tactics. She would let them have breakfast in peace and then she would push Jorah to open up about last night, whether he wanted to or not.

The frustration she felt with Jorah diminished rapidly when she brought Poppy into the kitchen to find that the highchair and their daughter’s breakfast were already sitting there and waiting for her, as well as a cafetiere of coffee for Daenerys.

Jorah gave her a shy smile once Poppy was safely in her chair and reached out one of her pudgy hands to her father. He picked up the spoon and set about feeding his daughter, making plane noises, and pulling funny faces as he encouraged Poppy to eat the contents of her small bowl of food. Daenerys decided that the two of them would be fine while she grabbed a shower, and she began bracing herself for the awkward conversation she was about to have with the man she loved.

Jorah and Poppy were still laughing and giggling when she returned to the kitchen several minutes later as she entered the room to find food all over the pair of them. It warmed Daenerys’ heart that Poppy brought out the inner child in her father and perhaps it was the first time that he’d ever had the chance to relax and truly let his guard down around anyone.

“If you’re planning to avoid me all day, it’s not going to work,” Daenerys said tiredly, pouring herself another cup of coffee. “You should know by now that I’m just as stubborn as you are.”

Jorah placed down the empty bowl and spoon, wiping gently at Poppy’s face with the bottom of her bib.

“Why would I be avoiding you?”

His tone meant to imply innocence but the way he avoided her gaze spoke volumes.

“Because you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” He asked.

“Jesus, Jorah!” She almost shouted, feeling her temper ignite. “Don’t play dumb with me, we’re both too old for that.”

Her words were stern, and she regretted them as she saw him flinch slightly. She knew that the horrors of his past were not something Jorah was keen to talk about, but she could see the toll it took on him, day after day.

He sighed as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“It was just a bad dream,” he mumbled. “It’s nothing to worry about and it’s been…” he trailed off, “…it’s been a while since I’ve had one like that.”

It was true that his nightmares seemed to be less frequent recently, but maybe that had something to do with the fact that Poppy was occupying their every waking thought and keeping them on their toes as she learned to settle and sleep through the night on her own.

“Will you tell me about it?” She asked, sitting next to him at the kitchen table, taking his hand in both of hers.

“I’m not sure you want to know the details,” he grimaced.

“Please, Jorah,” she begged. “I want to help you.”

She watched as he debated internally with himself.

“Our unit was out on patrol,” he began after taking a shaky breath to steady his nerves. “We got pinned down by enemy soldiers in a village and had to take cover behind our truck. I radioed for backup and knew that the Taliban soldiers would run out of bullets sooner or later, all we had to do was hold our position and remain in cover.

“The shooting stopped after a few minutes. One of my men peered over the truck and got shot in the head by a sniper. He was dead before he hit the ground.”

Daenerys swallowed thickly.

“Jorah, I’m so sorry,” she said, realising that however she responded it would sound trite and meaningless. Jorah had borne witness to horrors no man should ever have to.

“He was just out of basic training,” he sighed. “He was so green, and I think he wanted to prove that he had what it took, that he could be a good soldier, but he never got the chance. He’d only been with us a few weeks when it happened. When we got back to base, I had to call his parents and tell them what happened and even though I’d done it dozens of times before, those calls never got any easier.”

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, wiping at the tears on her face with her free hand, once again realising just what her husband’s time in the Army left him with. It wasn’t just the physical scars that he had to deal with on a daily basis.

“Don’t get mad with me,” Daenerys said, letting go of his hand and holding hers up in defence, knowing he probably wouldn’t like what she was about to say. “Maybe you should consider Thoros’ suggestion.” She held a finger up as he opened his mouth to respond. “You’ve been carrying this around for way too long and it isn’t your load to bear alone.” There were more horrific stories that he would refuse to share with her, of that she was sure, but maybe talking to someone who was qualified and equipped to deal with those kinds of things would help him.

“That kid’s parents have to live with the pain of knowing their son died. They have to carry that every day, whether they want to or not.”

“But it doesn’t mean you should as well,” she replied, trying to get her husband to see reason. “It’s not your responsibility. Poppy and I, your father, Beric, Thoros and Mary… we need you and if you won’t do it for yourself, at least considering doing it for us instead.”

She leaned her forehead against his for several moments before lifting Poppy from her highchair to get her dressed for the day. She’d said her piece and would give Jorah the time and space he needed to consider her words.

“I’m not going to push you,” she said, standing in the doorway. “Just think about it, ok?”

Chapter Text

“Son,” Jeor beamed as he opened his front door to find Jorah, Daenerys, and Poppy on the other side. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Gampa!” Poppy babbled, reaching out for her grandfather.

“You’re getting bigger every day, Poppysocks” Jeor said as he kissed his precious grandchild on the cheek, and she gently tugged at the hairs of his beard. “How has my favourite girl been?” He asked the infant.

“She’s definitely mastered walking a few steps all by herself,” Daenerys replied. “She’s been off exploring every corner of the house,” she added, rolling her eyes. Poppy was definitely keeping her parents on their toes recently.

“How’s the arm, son?” Jeor asked his boy.

“Getting there,” Jorah replied. “The physiotherapist says I can stop wearing the brace next week.”

“Bet you’ll be glad to be rid of it,” Jeor chuckled, leading them through the house and into the back garden where Mary, Stan, and Thoros were already sitting on chairs talking intently about something.

“Popster!” Thoros called out when he saw Poppy in her grandfather’s arms.

With Poppy wriggling to get free, Jeor placed her feet gently on the ground as she wobbled towards Thoros who picked her up with open arms.

“Fos!” Poppy giggled as Thoros span her round in a circle.

“If he makes her sick, he’s cleaning it up,” Jorah grumbled, watching his friend spin with Poppy in his arms as she let out a loud belly laugh.

“Here,” Jeor said, placing a bottle of beer into his son’s hand, returning with a glass of wine for Daenerys a few moments later. “The coals have been heating for a few hours so we should be able to start cooking soon.”

It felt strange to Jorah to be back at the house he grew up in as a child and part of him was still uneasy at accepting the invitation from his father, but Jeor had been a rock to his son and his family throughout the surgery and Jorah’s period of recovery and it helped to bring the two men closer than ever.

As much as their relationship had flourished since Poppy was born, a small part of Jorah felt cheated that he’d been denied so many opportunities for happy memories with his father until now and it took both men almost dying to realise that they needed each other.

Daenerys had not mentioned the idea of counselling since that morning over breakfast and Jorah was relieved that no further memories had haunted his dreams at night. When the nightmares and flashbacks stayed away, it was easier to avoid talking about the past and the hold it still had over him.

“I’ve never seen Thoros look so happy,” Daenerys remarked as Jeor left them to answer the doorbell once more.

Jorah nodded his head and smiled.

“I honestly thought I’d never say this, but I think he might make a half-decent father,” Jorah admitted before taking another swig of his beer. “Poppy is obsessed with him.”

There was something so pure about the relationship between Thoros and Poppy, so much so that it allowed a troubled man to forget about his issues whenever he was in her company. Even though Thoros would always needle her father, Jorah knew without a doubt that his old Army buddy would protect Poppy with his life and would always keep her safe while he was in her care.

“Captain!” A familiar voice called out.

Jorah turned to find Beric standing behind him, his eyes widening when he realised that he’d brought Marie along with him.

Daenerys hugged both as Jorah shook his old friend’s hand and kissed Marie on the cheek.

“Are you sure Marie is ready for him?” Jorah smirked, motioning his head towards their friend.

It would be the first time that Beric had introduced his girlfriend to Thoros. He’d been reticent to introduce Marie to him until now for several reasons, his tawdry sense of humour being one of them.

“He can’t be any worse than you two,” Marie shot back. “’Grumpy’ and ‘Grumpier’.”

The two men shared a look and laughed.

“Oh, he’s worse,” Jorah chuckled. “Much worse.”

“How’s the arm?” Beric asked, eyeing the brace that Jorah was wearing as the two women wandered off arm in arm to join the others.

“I can get rid of the brace next week,” Jorah replied, taking another swig of his beer. “About bloody time too,” he grumbled. “I’m sick of the damn thing.”

“Thoros says you’ve been a right pain in the arse since the surgery,” Beric remarked.

“Thoros says far too much,” Jorah huffed. “Besides, if you had to put up with him jabbering in your ear all the way to the hospital and back, you’d get tired of him too.”

“Fair point,” Beric chuckled. “I’m glad to see that he’s still on the straight and narrow,” he added, watching Thoros sitting on one of the garden chairs next to a bottle of wine and much to the surprise of both men, not even glancing in the direction of it.

“So, when are you going to ask her?” Jorah asked his old friend as they watched the others chatting and laughing.

“Ask who what?” Beric replied.

Jorah turned to look at his old friend.

“When are you going to ask Marie to marry you?”

“How?” Beric stammered. “When… How did you know?”

Jorah smiled and gestured to Beric’s face.

“You have this look,” he said, grinning at Beric.

“What look?”

“Like a fool who is madly in love with a beautiful woman.”

Beric shoved his hands in his pockets, blushing furiously.

“Is it that obvious?” He mumbled to which Jorah merely smiled at him. “How did you propose?” He asked his friend suddenly.

“At the cottage you lent us,” Jorah replied. “I’d planned the whole thing…we’d take a walk up to the most beautiful spot and I’d get down on one knee, have a whole speech prepared and the ring in my hand.”

“Sounds romantic,” Beric remarked.

“Yeah,” Jorah huffed. “Except that it pissed it down with rain the moment I opened my mouth to propose.”

“Bugger,” Beric winced. “Sorry about that, old chap.”

“Don’t be,” Jorah replied, “it turned out pretty well in the end anyway.”

Beric rubbed a hand over his jaw.

“I want to ask her but I’m not sure how to do it,” he admitted quietly. “I’m not exactly the most romantic man. Growing up in boarding school and spending most of your adult life in the Army tends to beat most of the romance out of you, but by God, Jorah, I love that woman.”

“She’s good for you,” Jorah agreed. “And if she’s stuck around this long, I daresay she thinks you’re romantic enough for her.”

The two men stood quietly for several moments until Beric spoke quietly.

“She’s a beautiful woman who could have any man she wanted, and instead she chose a man with half his face blasted off. I just wonder what it is that she sees in me sometimes.”

“Yeah, I mean you were a right ugly sod even before the explosion,” Jorah teased his old friend.

“Piss off,” Beric retorted, punching Jorah lightly on his right arm, the two men laughing as they watched Jeor attempting to get the barbecue grill working as the women offered unhelpful ‘advice’ while watching him struggle.

“Maybe we should go over and help the old boy out,” Beric suggested as Jorah nodded his head and followed Beric further down the garden.

The coals lit suddenly as a large flame grew and spread out across the barbecue, narrowly missing Jeor as he took several steps backwards. Everyone suddenly looked over their shoulder, hearing a bottle smash as it hit the patio and Jorah stood frozen, his eyes wide and his body shaking as he stared at the flames, his face pale and drained of blood.

Daenerys ran to his side and took hold of his hand, squeezing it and looking into his eyes that continued to stare straight through her. His chest heaved and his legs began buckling beneath him.

“Grab a chair,” Jeor shouted at Beric who was the closest just as Mary ran up to them.

“Push his head down towards his legs,” Mary instructed Daenerys. “Tell him to take deep breaths,” she continued, although she wasn’t sure if Jorah was entirely aware of his surroundings at that point. “Give him some space,” she said to the rest of them as Stan picked up Poppy who was wriggling and trying to get back to her parents.

For several moments there was an eerie silence, with only the sound of the barbecue and Jorah’s heavy breathing filling the air. Finally, Jorah lifted his head, his eyes widening when he realised everyone was looking at him. It was then that it dawned on him that he was sitting down, and Mary and Daenerys were looking at him with some concern. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall what had happened.

Aware that everyone was looking at her husband, Daenerys knew Jorah would not appreciate the attention, especially when he realised what had just happened.

“Come on,” she said, helping Jorah to his feet. “Let’s get you a glass of water, ok?”

Jorah followed her automatically, still too dazed to fully understand what was going on.

Chapter Text

Jorah followed his wife wordlessly as she sat him down in a chair at the kitchen table in his father’s house. It seemed to take an age, but finally his eyes cleared, and he looked at Daenerys, his face paling once more when he realised what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, running a shaky hand over his face.

Daenerys handed him a glass of water, frowning when his hand continued to shake as he drank from it.

“How do you feel?” She asked gently, perching herself on the side of the table, blocking the view to anyone in the garden.

Jorah took a shaky breath.

“Fine. Apart from making a fucking idiot of myself.”

“It was the flames from the barbecue, wasn’t it?” She asked, treading carefully around what was already a very sensitive subject for her husband.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have mixed beer with the painkillers,” he offered feebly, knowing that Daenerys would not accept such a flimsy excuse.

“I think you had some sort of panic attack.”

His head shot up at her words as his eyes widened.

“Daenerys - “

“I’ve had them before…after the night Drogo drugged me,” she said, her voice trailing off. “They would come out of nowhere, but sometimes…sometimes they would be triggered by a sight, a sound or a smell.”

Jorah hung his head in defeat and stared at the ground.

“We should get Poppy and go home,” he suggested, not looking up. “I can’t go back out there and have everyone staring at me.”

Daenerys understood her husband hated being the centre of attention at the best of times and would want nothing more than to hide away at home to brood over what had just transpired.

“What happened,” Daenerys began, seeing her husband flinch. “The people out there know better than anyone what you’ve been through. No one’s going to judge you or look at you differently. You’ve had a normal human reaction to a traumatic event.”

“I’ve embarrassed myself,” Jorah muttered, running his hand over his haggard features once more.

She took his head in her hands so that he had no choice but to look at her.

“No, you haven’t. They understand,” she tried to reassure him. “Thoros and Beric more than anyone.” She kissed his forehead. “Will you come back outside with me, please?”

He looked up at her, indecision written clearly across his face, before he finally relented, knowing that he would do anything for the woman he loved.

Jorah pulled himself slowly to his feet and let out a shaky breath as Daenerys led him back to the garden.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but Thoros was once again playing with Poppy and making her laugh, Mary and Beric were chatting eagerly about something while Stan thrust another bottle of beer into Jorah’s hand and smiled at him as if nothing had happened several minutes ago.

“The burgers are ready if you want one, son?” Jeor called over his shoulder from the barbecue as he stood in an apron that said, ‘License to Grill’ and Jorah found himself slowly starting to relax once more.

Jorah was quiet as they walked back to their house that evening and said nothing even though he saw his father scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to Daenerys when the older man thought he wasn’t looking.

“Poppy is going to sleep well tonight,” Daenerys remarked, pushing the stroller along the pavement.

Their daughter was currently fast asleep having been tired out by Thoros who seemed to have almost as much energy as she did. Her pudgy little hands were still covered in some sort of sticky substance, even though Thoros pleaded innocence when it came to figuring out how mucky Poppy had made herself.

“I’m sorry if I made a scene earlier,” Jorah said quietly and it was enough for Daenerys to stop walking and look at her husband, her mouth opening in shock.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” she told him more sternly than she intended. “I want to help you, but I don’t know how to.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re not though, are you?” She countered. “What if that had happened while you were behind the wheel of a car? What if it happened while you were crossing the road? I can’t lose you Jorah, I can’t do this without you,” she sobbed, pleading with him to see sense.

“Daenerys, I - “

“I know you don’t want to, but please Jorah…for Poppy and me, I want you to go and talk to someone. Someone who knows how to help you process all of this.”

She could see the frustration written clearly on his face. He was frustrated with himself, never with her. He was frustrated that he wasn’t ‘man’ enough to be able to deal with his emotions, that he wasn’t ‘strong’ enough to stop his past from trying to ruin his future.

“I know I’ve asked so much of you already, but I’m begging you Jorah,” she sobbed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Your father gave me the number of a psychiatrist that specialises in ex-servicemen and women. Please, Jorah…for me?”

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose before slowly nodding his head as he found himself suddenly wrapped in his wife’s tight embrace.

“I’ll call them, first thing tomorrow morning,” he said as he rested his chin on the top of her head. “I promise.”

Much to Jorah’s surprise and dread, there was a cancellation at the clinic the next day and he found himself sitting in the waiting area, his eyes scanning the numerous different posters on the walls.

“Dr Tarly shouldn’t be too long, Mr. Mormont,” the receptionist said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jorah replied, straightening his jeans as best he could with his right hand alone.

“Please, call me Gilly,” the receptionist smiled. “Can I get you any tea or coffee?”

“No, I’m good thank you,” Jorah replied knowing that caffeine was the last thing he needed right now.

He could sense how relieved Daenerys was after he agreed to call the number his father gave them and while she slept soundly, Jorah found sleep alluding him last night and he was still too jittery now, even without the help of caffeine.

The receptionist smiled at him.

“Any time you change your mind, just let me know,” she said kindly before she returned to typing on her computer keyboard.

Jorah turned his head swiftly to the right as he heard the office door open.

“Mr. Mormont?” The doctor said. “If you’d like to come in, please?”

Jorah got to his feet and followed the younger man into the room. He had the strangest feeling that he’d met him before.

Dr Tarly picked up on it immediately.

“We met in Afghanistan,” he said amiably. “I was a junior surgeon and corporal in the Medical Corps when you came in with a sniper’s bullet in your back.”

“What happened to being a surgeon?” Jorah asked tersely.

“We had a soldier come in with severe shrapnel wounds one day, I was operating on him trying to remove them when my palm ran over one of the pieces of metal and severed the tendons in my hand.” The doctor held his hand up and Jorah winced at the scar that ran across his palm. The man’s fingers were curled strangely, as if the hand was of little use to him now.

“I’m sorry,” Jorah replied, his cheeks flushing with shame.

“Don’t be,” the doctor shrugged. “I’ve always had a keen interest in psychology anyway. I worked my way up to captain and left when I had enough of the nomadic lifestyle. How about you?”

“Shouldn’t you know that already?” Jorah huffed. “I’m sure you’ve got a file on me somewhere from my time in the Army.”

The doctor smiled and held up a flimsy folder with several sheets of paper inside it.

“I have all your psychometric scores and a list of injuries, illnesses or incidents within your time in the Army, but they don’t really tell me very much, to be honest. Forgive me for saying this,” the doctor continued, “but you seem like you don’t really want to be here.”

Jorah tensed, using his right hand to pick at the bottom of his shirt.

“My family,” he began, clearing his throat. “There’s been a few incidents recently…I have a wife and daughter…” he trailed off.

“How old is your daughter?”

“She’s just turned one,” Jorah replied. “She deserves more than a father who can’t handle his own emotions.”

“Is that why you came today?”

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“You’re supposed to be the shrink, why don’t you tell me?”

Jorah suddenly felt uncomfortable under the doctor’s continued gaze.

“You’re not the first soldier I’ve met who struggles with their mental health and you certainly won’t be the last,” the doctor replied after a lengthy silence. “A wise man once told me that no one can survive in this world on their own, not even hardened war veterans like yourself. You’ve seen the worst in humanity and burying that trauma deep inside you doesn’t kill it, all it does is give it time to take root and grow.”

“Are you a psychiatrist or a botanist?” Jorah smirked nastily.

“I guess that depends on how many weeds we need to get rid of,” the doctor shot back quickly.

Despite himself, Jorah couldn’t help having a grudging respect for the man sat before him. The doctor appeared to be a man that wouldn’t be easily intimated by his patient’s growling and glaring.

“So, let’s start at the beginning…” the doctor said as he opened his notepad and clicked his pen.

Chapter Text

“Tell me about yourself,” Dr Tarly prompted.

Jorah opened his mouth but couldn’t think of where to start.

“How far back do you want me to go?” he asked the psychiatrist.

“How far back do we need to go?” The doctor replied evenly.

“Do you always answer a question with a question?” Jorah scowled, muttering under his breath.

“Tell me about your parents and any siblings you have,” Dr Tarly suggested.

“I’m an only child,” Jorah replied, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“And your parents?”

“My mother died when I was a child.”

“How did she die?”

Jorah flinched at the question.

“An aneurysm. In her brain.”

“It was sudden and unexpected?” Dr Tarly asked.

Jorah nodded his head, screwing his eyes shut at the memory.

“And your father?”

“He’s still alive,” Jorah answered. “Things were strained after my mother passed away. There were a number of years where we didn’t speak to each other.”

“And how about now? How are things with your father now?”

“Better,” Jorah replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “The best I can remember them being.”

“How did it feel growing up as an only child?” Dr Tarly continued, scribbling notes with the pen in his left hand.

“I didn’t really know any different,” Jorah replied, shrugging his shoulders. “My parents were friends with a couple who had a daughter, Mary.”

“The two of you were close?”

“We still are,” Jorah smiled. “She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister.”

“Did you and your father ever speak about your mother after she died?”

The doctor picked up on the way his client suddenly tensed at the question.

“No,” Jorah said, rubbing at his bearded jaw. His mind going back to the memory of his father smacking the back of his legs when he caught him crying as the hearse pulled up outside their house on the day of her funeral.

His father had ordered him to stand still at both the ceremony and the wake and not say a word to anyone or even think about crying or ‘making a fool of himself’.

“We never really talked about it. He just told me that ‘real men don’t cry’, and that ‘life goes on’” he added quietly.

Jorah looked up when he heard the doctor place his pen down on his desk.

“That must have been very difficult for you to process,” Dr Tarly observed. “Your father was strict with you after your mother’s death?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jorah snorted. “Nothing I ever did was good enough. I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, clever enough for him. I was a disappointment and he made sure that I knew it.”

“Do you think your father ever really came to terms with your mother’s death?”

“I wouldn’t know, he never spoke about it,” Jorah replied, sighing deeply, and running a hand through his hair.

“It must have affected him deeply,” Dr Tarly remarked.

“So that makes it ok for him to treat me the way he did?” Jorah asked incredulously, his voice rising in anger. “I was a little boy who had just lost his mother!”

“I didn’t say that I agreed with his behaviour,” the doctor replied calmly. “I am merely trying to understand his motives.”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Jorah growled.

“Maybe you should?” The doctor replied without missing a beat, turning his patient’s words back on him.

“I thought you were supposed to give me the answers,” Jorah said glumly, fidgeting in his chair. “Aren’t you supposed to fix me?”

“If it were that easy, I’d be out of a job already,” the younger man chuckled. “We’re not treating a broken leg here, resting and taking painkillers isn’t going to heal this.”

“Then what will?” Jorah replied, suddenly feeling every inch of the heavy burden he’d been carrying for so many years.

“There isn’t a cure for any of this. The scars that you have won’t disappear, the most we can hope for is that you learn to live with them and accept them as part of who you are. You can’t undo trauma, the best you can do is learn how to live with it.”

“And how much is that going to cost?” Jorah asked snidely.

“For you?” The doctor said with a smile, “Nothing. My hours are billed directly to the British Army under the Veterans Agreement. I’m recommending a two-hour session once a week to begin with and then we’ll see how we go from there.”

“What is it that I have to do in these sessions then?”

The doctor placed his pen down before answering.

“Just be honest and open,” the doctor replied gently. “Nothing you say will go any further than these four walls…the only time I would break that is if I thought you or someone else were in imminent danger. I’m not here to judge you or tell you what you should think, I’m not going to push you to speak of things that you’d rather not, I’m just here to help you try to make sense of it.”

Jorah rubbed his hand over his bearded chin, considering the other man’s words.

“Why ask about my family?”

“Because you’ll need their support as we work through this,” the doctor replied honestly. “We’ll touch on things that are upsetting and traumatic and you’ll need a strong support system around you. Are you still in contact with any of your fellow soldiers from the Army?”

Jorah nodded his head.

“Beric and Thoros,” he answered with a smile. “We’ve known each other since our days in basic training.”

“I think I remember them storming into the medical tent when you’d been shot,” the doctor recalled with a smile. “They care about you a great deal.”

“We’ve been through a lot of shit together,” Jorah replied, his eyes drifting away to an old memory of the three of them in the Afghan desert.

“You have a wife and daughter, a father who obviously cares about you and wants to do better by you, and you have friends that have known you for most of your life,” the doctor observed. “That’s more than most of the people who come through my doors looking for help. Don’t be too proud to lean on them throughout this process. There is no shame in asking for help.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Jorah squirmed, fidgeting with something unseen on his trousers. “Accepting help is not something that I’m used to.”

“Perhaps we’ll start looking at that next week, Captain Mormont,” the doctor suggested. “But for now, I recommend that you go home, spend some time with your loved ones and try not to be so hard on yourself, stop holding yourself to unrealistic standards.”

Jorah stood to leave, a smile crossing his handsome features.

“You got all of that from one conversation with me?” He asked.

“Perhaps,” the doctor smiled back at him. “Or perhaps it was just a lucky guess. I can see you again next Tuesday at 1 p.m. if that works for you, Captain?”

Jorah paused as he stood with his back to the doctor, his hand on the door handle.

“If we’re going to do this, then you need to call me Jorah.”

“See you next week then, Jorah.”

Sam watched the older man leave his office before handing a file to his receptionist, Gilly.

“Mr. Mormont seems like a good man,” Gilly observed. “Do you think you can help him?”

Dr Tarly considered his wife’s question for several moments before responding.

“He’s been holding a heavy burden and he needs to decide whether he wants to keep carrying it for the rest of his life.”

“But you can help him with that?” Gilly asked hopefully.

“Ultimately, that’s down to him but I think he has enough good reasons to try to work through it. Having a child is a great motivator,” he continued, placing his hand on his wife’s growing belly.

Gilly leaned into his touch and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“The world needs more good men like you and Mr. Mormont.”

“Aye,” the doctor replied. “I think you might be right.”

Chapter Text

“How do you think it’s going?” Daenerys said nervously as she brought two cups of coffee into the lounge where Mary sat playing with Poppy in her lap.

The older woman smiled at her.

“I think the fact that he went at all is a good sign,” she replied, letting out a humourless chuckle. “You know how stubborn that man is.”

Daenerys sat down next to Mary and sipped at her coffee.

“I had to beg him to go,” she said quietly. “I guilt-tripped him into doing it.”

“You were doing it for his own good, pet,” Mary reassured her as Poppy wriggled and Mary gently lowered her to the floor so that she could crawl off in search of her favourite toys. “And he’d do anything for you.”

Daenerys knew that Jorah would drag himself to hell and back for her, but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty about forcing him to go and see the psychiatrist.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Daenerys asked, watching Poppy crawl around the floor, the little girl seemingly oblivious to the heavy atmosphere in the room.

“The doctor will probably want to know a bit more about Jorah’s past,” Mary suggested. “His childhood, that kind of thing.”

Daenerys took another sip of her coffee.

“He doesn’t talk about it much… I don’t know half the things that went on between him and his father.” An idea occurred to Daenerys. “What was Jorah like as a boy?”

Mary took a sip of her own coffee and smiled.

“His mother and mine were good friends and with their husbands not always around, they spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. It just seemed like a natural thing that us as their children would spend a lot of time together too.

“It’s not that I don’t remember meeting Jorah, it’s just that I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t there,” Mary said with a wistful smile on her face. “I do remember that he had this little blue toy car that he took everywhere with him. I had a little doll and one day when we were playing, my doll broke, and I started crying. Without missing a beat, Jorah came over and handed me his car to play with instead.”

Daenerys felt her ovaries twinge at that. Jorah really was the sweetest, most caring man she’d ever met.

“There was a boy at school once,” Mary continued, reminiscing once more. “He didn’t like me and would keep stealing my lunch until Jorah grabbed him by the shoulder one day and punched him in the face. The boy was about twice the size of Jorah and gave him a couple of fearful clouts back in return, but the boy stopped stealing my lunch after that.”

Daenerys sat silently as Poppy continued to play, waiting for Mary to continue.

“After his mother died,” Mary began before trailing off as her voice faltered. “There were times when his father would be away for a week or more at a time and Jorah would come and stay with us. He used to plead with my parents to let him stay even after his father returned home from wherever he’d been.

“I remember one time when he begged my parents to let him stay and said he would get himself a paper round to pay his way if they would let him live with us. Knowing now what his father was like, I don’t doubt that my parents would have let him stay with us had they known what went on back then. They loved him like a son.”

Try as she might, Daenerys couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes as Mary spoke.

The older woman suddenly realised that her reminiscing had made Daenerys cry. Even Poppy noticed as she opened her arms for her mother to pick her up and hold her close.

“I’m sorry, pet,” Mary said guiltily. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Daenerys said, shaking her head and wiping away her tears. “I just think of all the things Jorah has been through and how he’s kept it all inside him all this time. I just wish I could go back and make it all better for him.”

“You and me both, pet,” Mary said as she gently patted the other woman’s knee. “But he’s happy now,” Mary continued, trying to reassure her. “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him, and you and your little bairn are the ones that have seen to that.”

Daenerys nodded her head and held Poppy a little closer.

“It just breaks my heart that he went through all of those things,” Daenerys said through her tears. “I love him, and I want to fix him, but I can’t.”

“Aye,” Mary replied. “I know that feeling all too well.”

“How do you live with the pain of knowing there’s nothing you can do to make it any better?” Daenerys asked.

Mary considered her question for several moments.

“You just love him the best you can and be there when he needs you. He’s a stubborn fool, but he’s not stupid…he’ll reach out for help…eventually,” Mary said, recalling the aftermath of Jorah’s marriage to Lynesse and how he’d arrived on her doorstep, beaten, broken and bruised and asking for her help, not knowing where else to go.

Both women looked to the hallway as they heard the front door open and softly click closed.

Mary got to her feet, kissing both Poppy and Daenerys on the forehead.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Mary said, picking up her purse and shrugging on her jacket.

She was stopped in the doorway by Jorah as he took hold of her arm gently and pulled her in for a hug, being mindful of his still-healing arm.

“Mary,” he said quietly in her ear. “Thank you for everything. I love you. I hope you know that.”

She kissed his bearded cheek as tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

“I love you too, pet,” she sniffed, wiping at her tears. “You both know where we are if you need us.”

Jorah gave his oldest friend a gentle smile as he watched her leave the house.

“How did it go?” Daenerys asked her husband gently as he shrugged off his jacket before sitting next to her on the couch.

He considered the question for a moment.

“Not as awful as I thought it would be,” he admitted, rubbing at his eyes.

“So, what happens now?” she prodded gently.

“The doctor says I need to see him for a two-hour session once a week.”

“And you’re going to?” She asked hopefully.

Daenerys bit at one of her fingernails as she nervously waited for his response.

Jorah let out a deep sigh and nodded his head.

“Aye,” he said wearily as the emotional weight of the day hit him like a freight train. “I don’t even know why I feel so tired,” he admitted sheepishly. “All I did was sit in a chair and talk.”

She leaned over and kissed him, trying to infuse her touch with every ounce of love she felt for her husband.

“I’m so proud of you,” she told him sincerely. “And I love you more than anything, I hope you know that.”

Jorah wrapped his good arm around her and brought her close, leaning his chin on the top of her head.

“You and Poppy, you’re my world,” Jorah said quietly. “I want to be the best husband and father I can be to you both.”

“You already are,” she reassured him. “There’s no one else in the world that I love more than you and our daughter. The three of us, we can face anything as long as we’re together.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” Jorah reassured her, kissing the top of her head before resting his cheek on it. “The doctor told me things might get worse before they get better,” he admitted quietly. “But promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll remember that I love you more than anything.”

Daenerys looked up as she heard his voice falter and crack. She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly on the lips.

“I will never, ever walk away from what we have,” she told him, looking at him fiercely before her expression softened. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is going to be for you and all I want is for you to be honest with me, ok? If you need some time on you own or you just want to sit in silence for a while…I won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to and I’ll never, ever push you to do something you don’t want to do. Just know that I’m here for whatever you need.”

He felt his own breath catch in his throat as he leaned his forehead against hers.

“You and Poppy, you’re more than I deserve. I don’t think I can do this without you,” he finally admitted.

“You’ll never be on your own…ever,” Daenerys told him resolutely. “Not while there is still breath in my body.”

Chapter Text

“Sweetheart, we’ll be fine,” Jorah insisted as he held Poppy with his right arm. “Go and spend the day with Missandei.”

Daenerys frowned as she pulled on her coat. Despite Jorah’s left arm being all but healed, he was still not allowed to do any heavy lifting, but was able to take care of Poppy on his own, for a few hours at least.

“Just call me if you need me and I’ll come straight back, ok?” She said as she picked up her purse.

Jorah walked towards her and leaned in for a kiss.

“Poppy and I will be on our best behaviour, won’t we, little one?”

Poppy giggled and held her arms out to Daenerys.

“Ma!” The little girl said as Daenerys kissed her chubby little cheek before passing Poppy back to her father.

“Wave goodbye to mommy,” Jorah said, lifting his daughter’s small hand and flopping it gently side to side. “Say ‘love you’.”

“Uf hoo,” Poppy repeated, smiling at her parents.

It was enough to make Daenerys want to stay and spend the rest of her life wrapped up in the perfect domestic cocoon the three of them had created.

“Go and have fun and relax,” Jorah repeated. “Please,” he added with those puppy-dog eyes of his.

It was only a short bus ride across town and Daenerys smiled when she saw Missandei already waiting at a table in the coffee shop. The two women hugged each other tightly.

“How have you been?” Missandei asked her old friend as they ordered their coffees. “How is motherhood treating you?”

Daenerys smiled.

“It’s hard work but it’s definitely the best job in the world.”

Missandei returned her smile with one of her own.

“I remember the days when you said you’d never be a parent.”

“I was a completely different person back then,” Daenerys replied, feeling slightly defensive. “I was dating boys, not men and besides, I had no idea what was going to happen to me or how I’d end up living in a city where I didn’t know anyone.”

“And then you met Jorah,” Missandei added. “And then everything started to make sense.”

Daenerys sat there, stunned, realising that she couldn’t have put it better herself. Her life lurched from one mistake to another until she found herself on the chemo ward on the same day as Jorah. They started out as friends, but their bond quickly became much deeper and more intimate than that.

“It’s like I was a walking around with a piece of me missing and then I met Jorah and he made me whole again,” Daenerys recalled before stopping abruptly. “I’m sorry, I know that sounds cheesy. It’s just, what we’ve been through together…it’s like, no one understands me the way he does and without him, the world just doesn’t seem to make any sense.”

Missandei smiled and sipped at her coffee, glad beyond words that her oldest friend was finally happy and settled and had the love of a man who clearly adored her and would walk across broken glass if she asked him to.

“Anyway,” Daenerys said, waving her hand and changing the subject. “How are you finding the apartment? Are you all settled in?”

Missandei nodded her head.

“The apartment is great,” she replied, before frowning. “But you should be charging us way more rent for it.”

“Believe me, we’re just happy that you guys are living there and looking after the place. It might sound silly, but that apartment has a lot of sentimental value to us. You’re actually doing us a huge favour by being there.”

“It’s certainly easier for Grey. It’s only a few streets from his company’s new headquarters,” Missandei replied. “And we’ve been able to spend a lot more time together recently.”

It was then that Daenerys caught sight of the ring on her best friend’s left hand. She lifted her hand to her mouth and gasped in surprise.

“Oh my god, he asked you?” Daenerys asked, trying to keep herself from bouncing in her chair.

Missandei smiled and nodded her head.

“Last night.”

Not caring that they were in the middle of a busy coffee shop, Daenerys pulled her friend to her feet and hugged her tightly.

“I am so, so happy for you!” Daenerys said, holding Missandei’s hand to get a better look at the engagement ring. “Have you set a date yet?”

“Not yet,” Missandei replied. “But we’ve already decided on who our chief bridesmaid should be,” she continued as she looked at her friend hopefully.

“Are you kidding me?” Daenerys said. “I’d love to!”

Daenerys opened the front door quietly and entered the hallway with a sense of trepidation. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect after spending most of the day with Missandei and leaving Jorah and Poppy to their own devices.

Placing her house keys down on the kitchen table, a folded piece of paper caught her eye.

I wasn’t sure if you were having dinner out with Missandei, but Poppy and I made apple crumble and left some in the fridge for you.

Jorah x

She looked around the kitchen to find it spotless with the basket of washing she’d meant to put on before she left sitting dried and folded in the corner of the room. Not only had Jorah taken care of their daughter, but he’d also done a full day of housework on top of it by the look of it.

Daenerys crept into the lounge and found her husband and their daughter on the couch; both were fast asleep as a cartoon played quietly on the TV. Daenerys could see that Poppy was already in her night clothes and smelled faintly of the baby shampoo they used to wash her hair.

She bent down to place a soft kiss on her husband’s lips and smiled as his eyes fluttered open and widened when he realised Daenerys was standing over him.

“I…uh…” he stammered. “We were only going to watch one cartoon,” he said, looking down at the precious bundle still lying on his chest.

Daenerys carefully picked their daughter up and took her upstairs to her room, being careful not to wake the sleeping child as she did so. She soon realised that Jorah and their daughter had probably had a busy day when Poppy failed to stir at all as Daenerys placed her in her cot.

She returned downstairs to find Jorah standing in the hallway with two glasses of white wine in his hands.

“Did you have a good time with Missandei?” He asked as he handed her a glass.

“I did,” she answered before taking a sip of her wine. “She told me that Grey proposed to her last night.”

Jorah’s face broke out into a beaming smile.

“Really?” He said excitedly. “That’s great news.”

It felt so good to know that Jorah and Missandei got on so well, especially considering that her best friend was less than enthused with her previous boyfriends and was not shy in telling her so. Having a husband and a best friend that got along well made life much less stressful and for that Daenerys was beyond grateful.

“What have you and Poppy been up to?” Daenerys asked as they made their way to the lounge.

“Oh, we found enough things to keep us occupied,” Jorah said nonchalantly. “Poppy insisted that we make apple crumble for pudding, and I can never deny either of my favourite girls anything.”

“You didn’t have to do all the laundry and housework on top of that,” she replied with a frown. “Your arm is still healing.”

Jorah shrugged off her concern.

“It’s almost back to normal,” he said, trying to reassure her. “And how do you know that I didn’t get Poppy to do all the laundry?” He teased with a smirk.

Daenerys rolled her eyes.

“Because Poppy can wrap you around her little finger almost as easily as I can,” she retorted, leaning over to kiss his lips. “You can’t say no to either of us.”

“Hmmm,” Jorah said, smiling into her lips. “What can I say? I’m just man whose heart has been stolen by the two most beautiful girls in the world.”

Daenerys leaned further into him, her hands working at the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re the most ridiculously wonderful person, you know that?” Daenerys said between kisses that were growing increasingly heated. “I’m finding your domestic skills very alluring right now.”

His own hands snaked under her top as his fingers danced across the sides of her breasts.

“Well, what’s a man to do about that?” He replied, his breathing becoming deeper and faster as his hands continued to roam.

They fell from the couch and landed with an ‘oooof’ on the floor, giggling like a couple of randy teenagers as they divested each other of their clothing as quickly as they could.

“Right,” Jorah said as he peppered kisses over her face and neck. “Where exactly were we?”

Chapter Text

“I wasn’t sure that you were going to come back,” Dr Tarly said with a smile as Jorah walked into his office.

“To be honest, neither was I,” Jorah replied, making himself comfortable in the chair by the desk.

Sam opened the thin cardboard folder and clicked his pen before looking up at his client.

“How has your week been?” The doctor asked.

Jorah shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he answered obtusely. It was enough for the psychiatrist to give a wry smile to his reluctant client.

“How did you feel after last week’s session?” The doctor asked. “Honestly,” he added before the other man had the chance to reply.

Jorah rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Exhausted,” he replied, his eyes widening at his own admission.

Dr Tarly nodded his head.

“That’s not surprising,” he said, scribbling something down in the folder.

“I’m not sure why,” Jorah huffed. “All I did was sit and talk.”

The doctor placed his pen down and looked at his client.

“I was asking questions about things that you’ve buried for years. It’s natural that you’d find the process mentally taxing.” The doctor caught the cock of the eyebrow Jorah shot his way. “You’re an intelligent man, Jorah. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell why last week took a lot out of you.”

Jorah let out a deep sigh.

“And I suppose I should expect more of the same today?” He asked, unable to keep the hint of bitterness from his tone.

Sam ignored the comment and looked at the obstinate man sitting in front of him.

“How did you feel in the days after the session?” He asked his unwilling client.

The question made Jorah sit up further in his chair, realising that he’d felt slightly less burdened by his past than he had in some time.

“I’m going to take that response as a positive,” Sam said, scribbling something in the folder. “I’d like us to pick up on something that came up in our conversations last week. Your negative internal dialogue.”

“Excuse me?” Jorah growled, feeling his hackles rise.

“I’ve been reading your psychometric scores and evaluations from your time in the Army,” the doctor continued, paying no heed to the other man’s rather aggressive response. “You are a smart man, that much is obvious,” Sam said as he took his glasses off and looked at his client. “So, I’m just going to be blunt.”

Jorah looked at him, waiting for Sam to continue.

“You don’t really like yourself all that much, do you?”

Jorah felt the breath leave his body in a rush, caught off-guard by how easily this man seemed to be able to read him.

“What makes you say that?” Jorah replied defensively.

“There was an incident,” Sam continued, picking up a piece of paper from the folder and glancing at it. “Two of your subordinates were arrested for a pub brawl, the sergeant major at your barracks was not pleased that you refused to punish the men and in fact, you took their punishment for them which ended up with you spending a week in the infirmary.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jorah huffed, folding his arms over his chest.

“Why?” The doctor asked.

“Why what?”

“The medical report states that you drove yourself to the point of collapse, almost culminating in you having a heart attack at the tender age of…twenty-nine,” Sam added, reading from the piece of paper in his hand. “The doctor who treated you, Captain Seaworth, made it very clear in his notes that he thought your behaviour was not one of a man in his right mind.”

Jorah rubbed a hand over his beard.

“What’s your point, Doctor?” He said, almost spitting the word ‘doctor’.

“What were you hoping to achieve with your actions?”

Jorah took a moment to respond, aware that the man before him was deliberately pushing his buttons, looking for a reaction that would confirm whatever crack-pot diagnosis the doctor was intending to give him.

“Beric and Thoros,” Jorah began, picking at a piece of lint on his jeans and refusing to look at the doctor. “They got into a fight because someone was running their mouth off about me. They were just doing what mates do. It wasn’t their fault.”

“But you thought it was yours?”

Jorah’s head shot up, surprised once more as to how perceptive this doctor was.

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” Jorah growled. “That’s not what I said.”

“I mean, you didn’t start the fight either,” Sam countered. “You weren’t even there and yet you took the punishment for a situation that had nothing to do with you…directly.”

Jorah found himself growing uncomfortable as the other man continued to look at him.

“So, what were you punishing yourself for, Jorah?”

Jorah couldn’t help but flinch at just how unrelenting the other man was when it came to making his point.

“What was it that you’d done that was so bad that you pushed yourself beyond any reasonable feat of endurance for? What was it that pushed you to the point that you could have killed yourself had your subordinates not come along and intervened?”

Jorah opened and closed his mouth several times, feeling tears pricking at his eyes as he recalled the day he left that hospital in Germany a widower who had not only lost his wife, but his unborn son too.

The two men sat in silence as Jorah spent several minutes trying to find the right words to use.

“My wife…” Jorah began before pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut. “We’d already lost two babies before they were born, and Anais wanted to try again for another one.

“Everything was going to plan, and it was a couple of weeks before her a due date when her waters broke. Something…uh,” Jorah cleared his throat as the words stuck painfully, as if he were swallowing razorblades. “Something ruptured and they couldn’t stop the bleeding and they…” He rubbed furiously at the tears spilling down his cheeks. “Neither of them survived.”

Jorah let his head hang as the tears fell from his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have agreed to try for another baby,” he added, attempting to fill the silence in the room. “If I’d just said no, she’d still be here. It’s my fault they died.”

“You blame yourself for their deaths?” Sam asked gently.

Jorah nodded his head. “Who else is there to blame?”

“Life would be a whole lot easier if we were all blessed with hindsight,” the doctor observed as he ran a hand over his goatee. “And the ability to go back in time and change things. Life doesn’t work like that, unfortunately.”

Jorah looked up and frowned at the doctor.

“Well, that’s not much help,” he grumbled. “Aren’t you supposed to say something profound that will suddenly make me realise the error of my ways?”

“That’s not my job,” Sam replied patiently.

“Then what is?” Jorah bit back tersely.

“No one is born with a map of the journey that life takes them on,” Sam replied. “Most of us don’t have a clue where we’re going until we actually get there and it’s then that we realise that the destination doesn’t really matter, it’s the journey along the way that counts.”

Jorah ran a shaky hand over his face.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He said tiredly. “I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“You’ve got yourself in a muddle and now you can’t see the wood from the trees.” Sam held a hand up, aware that he was still speaking in riddles. “I’m just here to nudge you in the right direction again.”

“So, you’re my moral compass?” Jorah scoffed.

Sam shook his head.

“You’re a good man,” Sam replied. “In fact, I think you’re a better man than a lot of the people who walk through my door. Most of them are just looking for someone to pat them on the head, to excuse them of their sins and tell them that nothing was ever their fault. The vast majority of my clients are rich idiots who think talking to a shrink will someone justify their abhorrent behaviour. You’re decent man who has always tried to do the right thing but has just had some awful, shitty luck when it comes to life.”

“I’m not perfect,” Jorah frowned. “Far from it.”

“None of us are,” Sam replied. “But sometimes good people need a little help to remind themselves that they matter too. You can’t keep giving to other people and ignore the pain inside yourself forever, it’ll come out sooner or later.”

“You’re starting to sound like Thoros,” Jorah huffed.

“Then perhaps you should start listening to him.”

“Then what do I do with it?” Jorah asked tiredly, suddenly feeling incredibly weary. “What do I do with all of this pain?”

“You confront it and come to terms with it. You accept that you can’t change the past and that sometimes awful things happen to good people.”

“And how do I do that?”

Sam looked at his client, hoping that the man would take on board their discussion today.

“I think you have a good idea of where you need to start…”

Chapter Text

Several hours after Jorah’s appointment with the psychiatrist, Daenerys was relieved to hear the front door finally open.

She waited quietly in the living room, hearing her husband take several steadying breaths as he steeled himself to put on a brave face for her sake.

She felt tears prick at her eyes when he stood in the doorway, his shoulders slumped, looking at her with those blue eyes that she loved so much about him. They were currently full of abject sadness, and she knew instantly that whatever he’d spoken about in the session today had taken a great deal out of him.

There was no point asking Jorah if he was ok, she could see from his posture and the look on his face that he clearly wasn’t. She merely lifted her arm and pulled him closer as he sat next to her on the couch. She felt a sense of relief when he rested his head against her body.

Picking up the TV remote, she selected the film they always watched when one of them needed cheering up.

As the opening credits of Planes, Trains and Automobiles started, Daenerys felt her husband’s posture relax slightly as they sat together, watching the film in a comfortable silence.

It was with some shock that Jorah opened his eyes to find himself alone in bed as sunlight poured through the curtains. He picked up his phone, his eyes widening when he realised it was almost ten a.m.

After watching the movie, Daenerys held her hand out to her husband as they made their way to their bedroom. It was only when he lay his head on the pillow that Jorah allowed the tears to fall and again, Daenerys didn’t push him to talk, she merely wrapped her arms around him and ran soothing circles over his skin until they both fell asleep.

Pulling on fresh clothes, Jorah made his way downstairs to the kitchen where Daenerys was wiping down the surfaces and Poppy was picking up small pieces of toast and putting them in her mouth. The little girl gurgled “Paaaa” when she saw her father.

Jorah walked over to his daughter and kissed the top of her head, repeating the process when he made his way over to his wife.

“Thank you,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

She held him a little tighter, knowing instinctively what he was thanking her for - not pushing him to talk about what happened at his appointment yesterday.

They stood together for several moments before Daenerys moved away, plastering a smile on her face as she looked at the man she loved.

“I’m just going to grab a shower, ok?”

Jorah nodded his head, frowning at the fact that something seemed slightly off with her, but he said nothing as he watched her leave the kitchen and head upstairs.

It was only when he disposed of the plastic cereal bag in the bin that he realised why Daenerys seemed so quiet. His eyes landed on the discarded tampon wrapper, and he knew instantly what it meant.

Daenerys wasn’t pregnant.

Granted, they had only been trying for a matter of weeks, but Jorah knew how desperately Daenerys wanted a little brother or sister for Poppy and her mind no doubt went back to those many months when they struggled to conceive for the first time.

He waited for the shower to stop running before pulling out a large mug and filling it with hot chocolate, a generous amount of cream from a can, and several marshmallows. He held it out to her as she walked back into the room.

“Poppy said we should make you hot chocolate,” Jorah said, smiling at his little girl. “Hot chocolate makes everything better.”

Daenerys couldn’t hold it in any longer and it all came out in a rush as Jorah took her into his arms and held her tightly as if hugging her alone could mend her broken heart.

He held her as she sobbed and paid no mind to the fact that a large portion of his shirt was now damp with his wife’s tears.

“I know I’ve only just come off the pill, but I was hoping that it would happen quicker than it did last time.”

“I know,” Jorah replied, running an open hand across her back. “I’ll have a word with David and tell him to get his arse in gear,” he joked, referring to the pet name for his one remaining testicle.

“I must sound so selfish,” Daenerys said, wiping at her eyes. “We have a nice house, a beautiful daughter. We’re so much luckier than most people.”

“We’ll keep trying,” Jorah reassured her, aware that it was probably his own body that was causing the issue with them conceiving another child. “Besides, there are still a couple of rooms we haven’t christened yet.”

Daenerys’ mouth fell open in shock at her husband’s words.

“There’s a child present,” she chided him good-naturedly.

“I don’t think she’s quite old enough for the ‘birds and the bees’ talk just yet,” Jorah chuckled before his expression sobered. “And when she is, I am definitely leaving that one up to you.”

Despite her sadness at not being pregnant, Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh at his last comment.

“I guess you’ll be the one scaring all of her prospective partners away when she brings them round to meet us then?”

“Damn right,” he said, quick as a flash. “I’ll kill anyone who breaks her heart and Thoros and Beric will help me bury the bodies.”

“Is it wrong that I don’t want her to grow up too quickly?” Daenerys asked as she looked at her beautiful young daughter gleefully dropping a piece of toast on the floor and giggling at her own antics. “I mean, heaven forbid when she becomes a teenager.”

The comment struck an unexpected chord with Jorah. Having spent time discussing Anais and Noah yesterday, he realised that his son would be a teenager by now had he survived.

Daenerys felt his body tense. She looked up and saw the pensive look on his face.

“Is everything ok?” She asked him.

“I think there’s something I need to do,” he answered her vaguely as he watched Poppy entertain herself with the remaining pieces of toast on the tray of her highchair. “There’s somewhere I need to go.” He looked at Daenerys then. “Would you come with me?”

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the mouth.

“I’d go anywhere with you,” she told him sincerely. “You don’t ever have to ask.”

“You should know before you say yes,” Jorah began before his voice faltered. “I need to go and see Anais.”

Jorah braced himself for his wife’s reaction fearing that Daenerys would not take well to the idea that he was visiting his former wife’s grave with his current spouse.

“When was the last time you went?” She asked him softly.

“The day we buried her and Noah,” he whispered. “I couldn’t face going back knowing it was my fault that she died,” he admitted. “I knew her parents would take good care of her, and they didn’t need to see me visiting her, knowing that I was the reason they lost her.”

Daenerys let out a gasp of shock at that.

“They said that?” She asked incredulously.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. “But I didn’t deserve to mourn Anais. I had no right to go there and expect their forgiveness just to make myself feel better. If it hadn’t been for me, she would still be alive.”

Daenerys knew there was no point trying to reason with him right now and that Jorah needed to go through the grieving process after so many years of burying the pain and blaming himself for something that was never his fault.

Who was to say that even if he had left Anais that she wouldn’t find another husband, conceive a child and the same thing happened again?

Jorah would need to come to that realisation himself and perhaps with the help of therapy and talking about his past he would come to realise that the burden of guilt he carried was self-inflicted. It would take time, she knew, but Jorah voicing his need to visit his former wife’s grave was a step in the right direction when it came to him finding his way to his own forgiveness.

Chapter Text

The journey to the graveyard where Jorah’s first wife and son were buried was a quiet and sombre affair.

After dropping Poppy off at his father’s house, Jorah and Daenerys drove to a cemetery three hours outside of Edinburgh and Daenerys could see her husband grow increasingly anxious the closer they got to their destination.

He’d been so timid when he asked if she would join him in visiting the final resting places of Anais and Noah. His sleep was broken and restless last night as he tossed and turned at the thought of confronting something he had tried to avoid for so long.

Daenerys reached over and squeezed Jorah’s hand as he turned off the engine and stared straight ahead at the cemetery just a few feet away from them.

“There’s no rush,” she told him quietly. She could feel the anxiety coming off him in waves as he took several steadying breaths. She clutched at the bouquet of flowers in her hand and watched Jorah steel himself for what was to come.

With a final deep breath, Jorah turned to his wife and nodded.

“I’m ready,” he said, although the tremor in his voice betrayed his seemingly calm exterior.

She sat and waited for Jorah to open the car door and climb out, following shortly after before looping her arm through his.

He gave her a grateful smile as they walked slowly through the cemetery until they came to two well-maintained headstones.

Daenerys’ heart thumped painfully as she read each one in turn:

‘Anais Mormont. Aged 26 Beloved daughter, sister, and wife. Never forgotten.’

‘Noah Mormont. Too good for this world. Forever in our hearts. Sleep tight, little one.’

Jorah rubbed a shaky hand over his stubble, coming face to face with headstones he’d not seen in nearly twenty years.

“Anais’ family carried her coffin into the church,” Jorah began, his voice shaking slightly. “I carried Noah in. His coffin was barely the size of a shoebox.”

Daenerys wiped the tears from her face at her husband’s words. Even the thought of losing Poppy was enough to destroy her. She had no idea how Jorah had survived after the loss of his son or found the will to keep on living.

“I never got to hold him either,” Jorah admitted, biting on his fist as tears ran freely down his face. “The only time I ever held him was when he was in his coffin.”

Daenerys was stunned. How had Jorah kept such pain inside for so long?

“I just think of all the things Noah would do…all the things he would achieve in his life, and he never got the chance,” Jorah whispered. “Sometimes… sometimes I dream that he’s a grown man with a family of his own. I think about the baby boots he never wore, the crib he never slept in…”

Daenerys opened her mouth, closing it when she realised that there was nothing she could say that would take away the devastating pain Jorah must feel for the loss of his wife and child.

“It looks like someone has been taking care of them,” Daenerys said softly.

Both headstones were well maintained with fresh flowers laid upon them, making it clear that someone visited them regularly to keep them clean and tidy.

“Her parents,” Jorah whispered. “I knew they would look after them when I couldn’t.”

“What was Anais like?” Daenerys asked.

Jorah took several moments to respond.

“We were just kids when she fell pregnant,” he began, clearing his throat of the tears that were still threatening to choke him. “We weren’t really in love when we married, but I knew that I needed to do the right thing by her when I got her pregnant. We were always friends and as time went by, I grew to love her…maybe that’s why I agreed to keep trying for a baby when she lost the first one. She was sweet and gentle. We had some good times together.”

“It’s ok to still miss her,” Daenerys reassured him. “She was a big part of your life and you loved her.”

Jorah nodded his head, though he didn’t appear reassured by her words.

“It was like my world just collapsed around me,” he admitted. “The only way I could deal with it was to ignore it…to close a part of myself off. I never really found it again until I met you.”

Daenerys leaned her head onto her husband’s shoulder as she squeezed his hand. She understood exactly what he meant about finding the piece of them that had been missing until they came into each other’s lives.

“I think Anais would like you,” Jorah said, smiling through his tears. “She’d like how you don’t take any crap from me. She’d like how you make me smile and make every day worth living. I’d lost that for so long that I didn’t think I’d ever find it again.”

“I know it’s wrong to speak for someone I never even knew, but I think that Anais and Noah would be proud of you. They’d be proud of the kind of father and husband you are to Poppy and me.”

Jorah let out a choked sob as he watched a white feather float to the ground. He bent down to pick it up, running his finger over the soft bristles.

“My mother always used to say that whenever you find a feather, it means someone in Heaven is watching over you.”

“Maybe it’s Anais and Noah telling you that it’s ok to forgive yourself,” Daenerys suggested gently. “Maybe they’re telling you that it’s ok to let go and move on.”

Jorah looked up to the into the sky as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud to warm their faces. His face fell as his emotions threatened to bring him to his knees. He sobbed, repeating the words ‘I’m sorry,’ over and over as Daenerys pulled him down so that his head rested on her shoulder as he wept, finally letting go of nearly twenty years of grief.

She had no idea how long they stood there for as Jorah sobbed, holding on tightly to his wife as she ran soothing circles over his back, purging himself of the pain and sorrow that had been eating away at him like a cancer for almost two decades.

Jorah’s sobs subsided gradually as he looked at his wife with tired eyes. No wonder he was exhausted, Daenerys thought, what Jorah had been through was enough to bring even the strongest of men to their knees.

“Give me the car keys,” Daenerys said, holding out her hand expectantly.

Jorah shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“No, Jorah. You’re not,” she replied, still holding her palm open. “You’re not in any fit state to drive.”

He looked at her for several moments, finally letting out a defeated sigh as he reached into his jacket pocket and placed the car keys in her hand, realising that he barely had the energy to string a sentence together, let alone drive them back to the city.

Jorah followed her wordlessly back to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Had he been more alert, he would have noticed an ageing man making his way slowly over to the graves of Anais and Noah.

Daenerys buckled herself into her seatbelt and pulled out her phone.

“I’m going to call your father and ask if he can have Poppy overnight,” she said at his questioning look.

Jorah shook his head.

“I want to see her,” he insisted. “I need to be able to hold her in my arms,” he said as his bottom lip trembled, and tears filled his eyes once more. “I need to know that she’s safe.”

Daenerys reached out a hand and cupped his cheek tenderly.

“She’s safe with your father,” she reassured him. “She’s not Noah…she’ll be fine with her grandpa until the morning, and we’ll go and pick her up first thing tomorrow. Right now, it’s you we need to look after, ok?”

Jorah wriggled nervously in his seat, never entirely comfortable with other people taking care of him.

“It’s ok to need people, Jorah,” she said, rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone and wiping away the tear running down it. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, now it’s time that we were strong for you.”

“You’re too good to me,” Jorah said through his tears.

“And you’re not good enough to yourself,” she replied quickly but gently. “You have to be kinder to yourself.”

“I’m not sure I know how,” he admitted quietly.

“We’ll figure it out together,” giving him a sad smile. “Just like we always do, ok?”

He nodded his head, knowing that if it wasn’t for having Daenerys and Poppy in his life that he would not have the energy to stand, let alone come face to face with the demons of his past. She was his rock and knew she would continue to be and it gave him just the smallest ember of hope that perhaps revisiting the trauma of his past would help him to come to terms with it once and for all.

Chapter Text

Daenerys gave her husband what she hoped was an encouraging smile as she heard the doorbell ring.

“I’ll get it,” she said, rising from her chair at the kitchen table.

Jorah nodded his head gratefully, still feeling drained from such an emotional day yesterday.

He couldn’t deny that Daenerys had been amazing in taking care of him. After driving them back to Edinburgh, she ordered a takeaway curry which they sat and ate at the kitchen table with a bottle of wine.

She hadn’t pushed him to open up or talk during dinner and silently held her hand out to him to follow her upstairs to their bedroom.

He’d been so tired that he thought she wanted them to be intimate and it was with a sense of shame that he told her that he didn’t think he could do it.

She shook her head and kissed him on the lips before gently pushing him down to sit on the bed.

“Just to sleep,” she reassured him before making her way to the bathroom to remove her makeup.

He couldn’t help it, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep and remained so until he felt Daenerys gently disengaging herself from his embrace this morning. It was then that he realised that it was the best night’s sleep he’d had in a long time.

Jorah took a deep breath and steeled himself, hearing Daenerys greeting Jeor and Poppy calling out ‘Maaa’ several times as they made their way to the kitchen. Jorah’s heart swelled when he saw his precious little daughter in her pushchair as she called out ‘Paaa’ and reached for him.

“Would you like a coffee?” Daenerys asked their guest.

“I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience, pet,” Jeor replied.

“No,” Jorah said, standing and making his way over to the kettle to fill it with water. “Please, we’d like you to stay…if you have time?”

Jeor looked at his son.

“I’ve always got time for the three of you,” he said, sitting down at the kitchen table and watching his son making his way around the kitchen.

“Joooot,” Poppy burbled as Daenerys lifted her from her pushchair and balanced her daughter on her knee.

“As if I would ever forget my baby girl,” Jorah smiled at his daughter, filling Poppy’s favourite sip cup with juice before handing it to her, along with a kiss on the top of her head.

“Was she ok?” Daenerys asked, nodding her thanks to Jorah as he brought three cups of coffee over to the kitchen table.

“She was an absolute angel,” Jeor replied with a smile. “We had a busy day, and she slept the whole night through. She had a bath, and we washed her hair. I put a fresh nappy on her just before we left and we had bananas and toast for breakfast, didn’t we, little one?”

“Nana,” Poppy repeated. “Nana.”

Jeor glanced at his son and steeled himself to ask a question that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to.

“How did it go yesterday?”

Jorah said nothing at first and Daenerys remained silent, knowing it was up to Jorah to talk about it if he wanted to.

Jorah absent-mindedly pushed a grain of sugar around the table with his finger as he tried to find the right words.

“It hurt.”

Jeor felt his heart break for his son, kicking himself for never supporting his boy when he needed him the most.

“But I had to do it,” Jorah continued. “And I’m glad I did,” he added, looking at his wife gratefully.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jeor said softly. “You do know that don’t you?”

Jorah nodded his head but kept his gaze firmly on the table.

“I lost them though,” Jorah said quietly. “I was meant to keep them safe, and I couldn’t. I blame myself every day for what happened.”

Jeor knew only too well how that felt. He blamed himself every day for Annabelle’s death and the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect her from the aneurysm that killed her. He’d buried that pain and guilt deep inside and instead of dealing with it, he let it infect his relationship with his son to the point that they went several years without speaking to each other.

“You’ve handled things much better than I ever did,” Jeor admitted. “You’re a stronger man than I am and you, more than anyone, deserve to be happy with your wife and gorgeous little girl.”

“I am,” Jorah replied, looking at his family. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he said. “All of you,” he added, looking at his father. “I couldn’t have got through yesterday without you.”

“The counselling sessions, are they helping?” Jeor asked.

Jorah considered the question for a moment before nodding his head. “I think so,” he replied before frowning. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with how well that shrink can read me though.”

“Sam Tarly is the best in the business,” Jeor said with a chuckle. “He knows all the tricks in the book when it comes to men like you and I.”

“He understands,” Jorah replied, nodding his head thoughtfully. “He understands what it was like to be out there in the middle of a war zone. He knows what it’s like to see a man die right in front of you.”

“You’ll keep going?” Jeor asked his son hopefully. “To see him, I mean?”

Jorah looked up and smiled at his wife and child.

“Yep,” he answered. “I think I’ve got a million very good reasons to keep going. I want to be the best father and husband I can be.”

“You’re already a much better father and husband than I ever was,” Jeor replied, a look of shame on his face. “Your mother would be so proud of you, son.”

Daenerys suddenly felt as if she and Poppy were intruding on an important moment for a father and son who had been estranged from one another for several years.

“Gampa!” Poppy said, breaking both the silence and the unspoken tension in the room.

“Ah,” Jeor said, clearing his throat and smiling at his granddaughter. “You’re right, I almost forgot.”

Daenerys and Jorah exchanged a puzzled look as Jeor pulled something from the back of the pushchair and handed it to Daenerys. She looked at the wrapped item in confusion.

“Uh, it’s not either of our birthdays,” she said, looking at Jorah.

“I know,” Jeor said with a grin. “It’s a little project Poppy and I have been working on for the both of you.”

Jorah smiled at his wife and nodded his head for her to open it. Daenerys let out a gasp of surprise as she pulled the large square piece of wood from the wrapping paper and held it up for Jorah to see.

Jorah felt tears prick at his eyes as he looked at the varnished piece of wood with delicate carvings of bears in each corner. In the middle were prints of Poppy’s hands and feet made with yellow and blue paint.

“It’s…” Daenerys felt almost lost for words. No matter how old Poppy got or how tall she grew, they would always have a visible reminder of how small and precious their little daughter was in her first few years of life.

“Poppy did the most important bits, of course,” Jeor said, grinning at his granddaughter.

“Gampa,” Poppy repeated. “Gampa!”

“Grandpa helped,” Jeor conceded to his favourite little girl. “And we went and had ice cream while the varnish was drying, didn’t we? And of course, then we had to have a slice of cake and then we had to have some chocolate…” Jeor teased Poppy’s parents.

“Great,” Jorah huffed. “Thanks for that.”

Jeor ignored his son’s grumpy rebuke and drank the remainder of his coffee before getting to his feet.

“I best be off now,” he said giving Daenerys a hug before offering his hand for Jorah to shake.

Jeor did not expect his son to pull him into a hug or to hear the words he feared he’d never hear again.

“Thank you, Dad,” Jorah whispered in his ear. “For everything.”

He held his boy a little tighter, feeling some of the guilt he’d carried for so long slowly draining away. It took them years to get to this point, but he and Jorah were now closer than ever and finally comfortable enough in each other’s presence to say how they really felt.

“I’m so proud of you, my boy,” Jeor said, tears glistening his eyes. “I always have been and I’m sorry that I never told you that enough.”

“I love you,” Jorah said, wiping the tears from his eyes as he let go of his father.

“I love you too,” Jeor replied. “All of you,” he added as he looked at his son’s perfect little family, safe and happy in the knowledge that he was, in some small way, part of it too.

Chapter Text

Daenerys woke with a smile on her face, feeling her husband’s arms around her and something hard pressing into the small of her back.

“Uh, Jorah,” she said quietly, trying not to giggle.

“Hmm?” He replied sleepily, kissing her shoulder.

“Are you having a nice dream?” She asked him, a smirk crossing her features. “I think someone wants some attention.” She wiggled her backside further into her husband until he was left in doubt that his body had reacted to her being so close to him.

“Ah,” Jorah said as Daenerys turned to face him. “Sorry,” he said as his cheeks flushed with mild embarrassment.

“Don’t be,” she replied, kissing him and snaking one of her hands down under the duvet to stroke him. “It seems like such a shame to waste it.”

Jorah needed no further encouragement as he rolled on top of her and they tumbled between the sheets and lost themselves in a passionate embrace.

“Now that’s quite a way to wake up,” Daenerys smiled several minutes later as they both lay on their backs trying to catch their breath.

“Uh huh,” Jorah replied, grinning at his wife like a Cheshire Cat before climbing out of bed and getting dressed in a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt. “What are your plans for the day?”

Daenerys shrugged her shoulders.

“I need to send my CV off to some agencies,” she replied. “I want to see if I can get a few short-term contracts.”

“You know you don’t have to, don’t you?” Jorah told her gently. “We don’t need the extra money.”

“I know,” she replied, getting dressed herself. “But I want to feel like I’m doing something, like I’m contributing to this family.”

He walked over and kissed her deeply.

“Are you kidding me?” He said, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re the most amazing mother to our little girl. That’s the most important and meaningful job anyone could have. Not to mention that you took care of me after the surgery. This family would fall apart if you weren’t here.”

“It’s not just that,” Daenerys said, sitting down on the end of the bed as Jorah joined her. “My work helps give me a sense of identity. Poppy’s old enough that she doesn’t need as much time and attention as she did and it’s going to be at least nine months before we bring another baby home. It sounds silly, I know…” she trailed off.

Jorah gently pulled her towards him and kissed the top of her head.

“It doesn’t sound silly at all,” he reassured her. “Poppy and I will support you one hundred percent.”

“What about you?” Daenerys asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “What are your plans for the day?”

“I’m going to give the car a once over,” he said, almost proud of himself.

“A garage can do that, can’t they?” Daenerys replied.

Jorah huffed at the thought of paying a garage for something he could do himself.

“One of the first things they teach you in the Army is how to take basic care of a truck. I’m not forking out money for a garage to tell me something that I can figure out myself.”

Daenerys said nothing and merely raised her eyebrows at her husband.

“What?” He asked good-naturedly.

“You can take the man out of Scotland, but you can’t take Scotland out of the man.”

“Are you calling me tight?” He challenged her with a playful grin as he grabbed her by the waist and shuffled her towards the bed. Soon clothes were being removed in a haphazard fashion. “I guess I’ll just have to show you how tight I can be then…”

“Here,” Daenerys said, walking into the garage several hours later with a cup of coffee in her hands, smiling at how sexy her husband looked leaning over the bonnet of their car as it sat in the garage. “Even mechanics need a coffee break.”

He smiled his gratitude and wiped the oil and muck from his hands.

They were both still grinning like giddy teenagers after their morning’s exertions.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Daenerys asked coyly as she sipped at her own coffee.

“She’s fine,” Jorah replied, closing the bonnet of the car. “Just needed a little lubrication…”

“Oh,” Daenerys said, taking a step towards her husband. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Jorah replied, daring her to come closer so that he could pull her to him.

“And how much do I owe you?” She asked, placing her coffee down. “I don’t think I’ve got my credit card with me…”

Jorah reached out and pulled her to him quick enough that he landed on the bonnet of the car as she lay on top of him.

“There are other ways you can pay for my services,” he grinned as their mouths met and hands began roaming each other’s body.

Daenerys soon found herself pinned down on the bonnet of the car with her husband grinning above her. He made short work of her jeans as his own fell to his ankles and began thrusting until he’d brought them both to their peak.

“That’s another one to tick off the list,” Jorah said as he leaned his head on her shoulder and tried to regain control of his breathing.

Daenerys wasn’t sure what had gotten into her husband today, but she certainly wasn’t complaining about it.

“I’m going to be mortified if we’ve just conceived our second child on the family car,” Daenerys said as Jorah reluctantly moved away from her and helped her to dress before pulling his own jeans up. “Sorry kiddo, mum and dad were horny and did it in the garage.”

Jorah laughed as he tucked his t-shirt into his jeans and re-buckled his belt.

“This is important work though,” Jorah told her with a knowing smile. “It’s bad luck to not christen every room and surface when you move into a new home.”

“Less of a ‘bucket list’, more like a ‘fuck it list’?” She smirked.

“Exactly,” he agreed kissing her on the lips and then frowning when he realised that he’d gotten oily fingerprints all over his wife and her clothes. “Uh, is Poppy still asleep upstairs?” He asked, scratching his bearded chin.

“Yep,” Daenerys replied with a wolfish grin on her face.

“I think you might need a shower before we head to Missandei’s for dinner tonight,” he said, motioning to the oily marks he’d left all over her skin. “She’s going to wonder what you’ve been doing otherwise.”

“Hmm,” Daenerys replied as she stroked her own chin in an exaggerated fashion. “But what if I can’t quite reach my back?”

“Yeah,” Jorah said, considering her point carefully. “That might be an issue that needs some extra assistance. Do you know anyone who could help with that?”

“Well,” she answered as she kissed her husband behind his ear, smiling as she felt his body responding instantly to her ministrations. “You see, I think it was this mechanic… it’s his fault and I think it’s only fair that he puts the work right again.”

“Well, you’re lucky that he’s a conscientious workman who takes pride in his work. Full satisfaction is something he always guarantees when it comes to his customers.”

As fun as it was roleplaying, Daenerys growled hungrily at her husband, grabbing him by the t-shirt and through the garage to the upstairs bathroom to have her way with him once more.

She had no idea where this new, playful side of her famously monosyllabic husband had come from and maybe it had something to do with recently releasing some of the guilt of the past, but she would not waste the opportunity when he was in this kind of mood.

He’d never once failed to satisfy her sexually and she found the roleplaying even more of a turn on. Soon there would be very few surfaces or rooms that they hadn’t ‘christened’ if they carried on like this for much longer.

It would be up to fate if they conceived their second child today, but it would certainly not be through the lack of trying and Daenerys hoped that she and Jorah would still have enough energy to make it to Missandei and Grey’s for dinner this evening…

Chapter Text

Daenerys grinned at her husband as they stood outside the front door of their old apartment.

Much like earlier in the day, the two of them could not resist christening yet another part of their home, this time the bathroom – and the shower in particular. It wasn’t just lustful sex, Jorah took his time to worship his wife with both his mouth and his hands as water cascaded over their bodies . At this rate, Daenerys felt that falling pregnant would happen much quicker than it did last time.

After drying off, they dressed for their visit to Missandei and Grey’s apartment, leaving Poppy in the capable hands of Mary and Stan while they enjoyed an evening meal with two of Daenerys’ closest friends.

Missandei opened the door, her eyes widening and then narrowing at Daenerys as she stood next to her husband, both still grinning like fools.

“Good evening,” Missandei smiled knowingly as she let them inside. “You two are looking mighty fine this evening.”

Daenerys smiled her gratitude to her best friend as she shrugged off her jacket. Missandei whistled at the gorgeous blue dress she was wearing. Her eyes then travelled to Jorah with his dark suit trousers and blue shirt that matched his wife’s dress so closely.

Jorah shrugged his shoulders bashfully under Missandei’s penetrating and admiring gaze and she took pity on him by ushering them both through to the lounge where Grey stood stiffly by the couch with a bottle of beer in his hands. Grey’s posture relaxed as he smiled at Daenerys and kissed her on the cheek.

“Grey, this is my husband, Jorah,” she said by way of introduction as the two men shook hands. “I guess you didn’t get time to get properly introduced at the wedding.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Grey said to the other man. “Missandei has told me a lot about you.”

Jorah rubbed at the back of his neck and let out a nervous laugh.

“All good, I hope,” he said shooting his wife a panicked look as she left the room and headed to the kitchen to join Missandei.

“You look very happy,” Missandei observed, handing her friend a glass of white wine, although her smile faded when Daenerys took a sip of her wine without a moment’s hesitation.

Daenerys picked up on it immediately.

“Let’s just say that if I don’t fall pregnant soon, it won’t be for the lack of trying,” she said with a coy smile.

“You two looked like a couple of horny teenagers when I opened the door,” Missandei said with a grin. “I guess I just thought Jorah would be a bit more…” she trailed off, trying to find the right word. “Restrained, I guess?”

Daenerys snorted at that.

“Trust me, he’s anything but restrained when you get him in the right mood,” Daenerys grinned. “Talking of restrained,” she said, changing the subject. “What do you think those two are talking about in there?”

Jorah nodded his thanks when Grey opened a bottle of beer and handed it to him as they stood stiffly in the lounge together.

“Missandei tells me you were in the Army,” Grey said awkwardly.

Jorah nodded his head and took a swig of his beer.

“For almost fifteen years,” Jorah replied.

“You saw active duty?” Grey asked.

“Yeah. I did several tours in Afghanistan before I left.”

“I was in the Navy. A Marine,” Grey said, still trying to find a comfortable level of conversation between them.

“I guessed as much,” Jorah replied with a smile. “It takes a military man to know one. Daenerys tells me you’re in private security now?”

Grey relaxed his posture slightly, gesturing for Jorah to sit down on the couch while Grey made himself comfortable in the armchair opposite.

“When I got my medical discharge I used the money to set up my own company,” Grey answered. “I was shocked when Missandei told me you were the Jorah Mormont who wrote books. We would be at sea for weeks at a time in the Marines. There’s not much to do on a warship when you get some downtime…reading helped.”

Jorah fidgeted and blushed lightly.

“It just started as something to pass the time between patrols in the desert,” Jorah began, rubbing at his jaw absent-mindedly at the memories of sitting in his tent scribbling into notebooks until his wrist ached from writing. “And then when I got my discharge papers I had even more time on my hands. It ended up being a good distraction from what I was going through.”

“You were injured too?” Grey asked quietly.

Jorah swallowed thickly.

“I was in a truck when it drove over an IED.”

“I’m sorry,” Grey said after a long pause. “Adjusting back into the civilian way of life is not easy, it’s even more difficult when you’ve been injured.” Grey paused for a moment before looking up. “Some of my old Navy colleagues run charity events for injured ex-servicemen and women. There’s an Army vs Navy rugby match next weekend if you’re interested in playing?”

“I’d love to but I’ve just had major surgery on my arm,” Jorah said with a sad smile. “My days of playing rugby are over for good, I’m afraid.”

Grey nodded his head.

“My apologies,” he said as he avoided eye contact with the older man. “I didn’t know.”

Jorah waved away the apology.

“Honestly, it’s fine,” he said, trying to reassure the other man. “I know a couple of men who might be interested in playing. I’d love to come and watch the match though?”

Grey let out a relieved breath.

“You would be more than welcome,”’ Grey replied. “I wanted to thank you for looking out for Missandei when she visited Daenerys before we moved here. She told me that you would pick her up and drop her back to the airport and said that you made her feel at home here. I also owe you a great debt for allowing us to stay here in your apartment.”

Jorah shrugged his shoulders, slightly uncomfortable with the praise.

“Missandei is Daenerys’ closest friend, I was just happy that I could help. She’s been a rock to Daenerys through everything and I know how much Missandei means to her.”

“You’ve made Daenerys very happy,” Grey continued. “I am glad that she found you.”

Jorah rubbed at the back of his neck once more, not comfortable with having such deep conversations with another man, but he was determined to keep working at his failings and put his self-doubt aside for once.

“Yeah,” he smiled shyly. “Me too.”

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Daenerys asked as she attempted to listen out for any clues from the kitchen.

“Tanks and ships, probably,” Missandei replied with a smirk as she rolled her eyes.

“You can take the man out of the military…” Daenerys replied, taking another sip of her wine. “Is it mean to leave them in there making awkward small talk?”

“Yes,” Missandei replied. “But it’s also fun. Two monosyllabic men trying to find something bland and boring to talk about. Grey was nervous about meeting Jorah properly, you know.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened at that.

“Why?”

“I might have told Grey about how you two met and how romantic Jorah’s proposal to you was,” Missandei said, avoiding eye contact with her friend. “Grey’s not all that good about talking about his feelings or expressing affection. I think he feels a little intimidated by how easy it seems to come to Jorah.”

“You have met my husband, right?” Daenerys snorted as she motioned for Missandei to refill her wine glass before reminding herself just what it was that Jorah was currently putting himself through with the therapy sessions. “He struggles with those things just as much as the next man, even more so probably.”

“Grey always thinks that he’s not good enough for me and that I could do so much better than him, but he’s perfect for me and he’s the only man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Daenerys smiled at her best friend, knowing exactly what she meant.

“Men are a bit dense when it comes stuff like this but trust me, guys like Grey and Jorah are definitely worth the patience and effort…even if they are bull-headed idiots about it. We just have to keep hitting them around the head with it until they finally see sense.”

Missandei found herself getting a little teary-eyed and she jumped visibly when the alarm on the oven bleeped at her.

“Right,” Missandei said, pulling dinner out of the oven. “I think we’ve left them for long enough, let’s go and save them from any more awkward conversation.”

“Maybe leave them a minute or two longer?” Daenerys winked as both women enjoyed another glass of wine before finally taking pity on their partners.

Chapter Text

“Sweetheart, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Jorah said, trying to reassure his wife.

Daenerys chewed her bottom lip nervously as she watched her husband gently place the now sleeping Poppy back into her crib.

Their little girl had been restless all afternoon, crying and wanting to be held by her parents almost constantly. She was also crabbier than usual and pushed away the spoon each time they tried to feed her. After what seemed like hours, Poppy had cried herself out and fell asleep in her father’s arms.

“We’ll call Mary in the morning if she’s still cranky,” Jorah added, guiding his wife away from Poppy’s room and back downstairs to the lounge.

“I hate seeing her like that and I don’t know what to do to make it better. I feel helpless,” Daenerys admitted as they sat on the couch together.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep,” Jorah replied, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on.

It wouldn’t surprise Jorah if Daenerys also had a headache, considering that Poppy spent most of the afternoon crying and being unsettled.

Daenerys smiled at her husband, but it didn’t reach her eyes and Jorah knew his wife well enough to know that she wasn’t convinced. He let it go for now and handed her the remote as they settled down to binge watch one of their favourite TV shows.

Three episodes in, Daenerys looked up from her position on her husband’s chest to realise that he had fallen asleep. She stroked his cheek gently and watched his eyes flutter open.

“Go to bed,” she said. “I’ll be up in a little while.”

Jorah looked as if he would argue the point for a few moments before the fatigue hit him full force. His head was throbbing, and his limbs seemed to ache more than they usually would now that he was back to his usual morning workout routine.

He pulled himself wearily to his feet and got a glass of water from the kitchen before heading upstairs to bed.

Two episodes later, Daenerys realised watching TV wasn’t the same without Jorah holding her in his arms. It was still early evening, but Poppy would probably wake them up at some point and so Daenerys turned the lights off, readied herself for bed and climbed under the duvet to snuggle next to her husband who was already fast asleep.

Much to Daenerys’ surprise, Poppy only woke once during the night and all remained quiet until just after 5 a.m. when Poppy began crying once more.

She climbed out of bed and made her way to Poppy’s room to find her daughter standing in her cot with her arms out as she reached for her mother. She frowned as she felt how hot Poppy was and she could clearly see the redness of her little girl’s cheeks.

Just as she was attempting to soothe her daughter, Jorah entered the room, rubbing a hand over his face and looking at his wife and daughter with bleary eyes.

“She feels hot, Jorah. I think she’s coming down with something.”

Jorah nodded his head, regretting it moments later as his head began pounding much in the same vein as it had last night.

“I’m going to call Mary,” she said, leaving the room with Poppy in her arms as she began looking around their bedroom for her phone.

Jorah sat on the edge of the bed and watched his wife. Every bone in his body was aching and it felt as if the energy had been drained from his body. Even staying awake felt like hard work.

“She’s going to come round in a minute,” Daenerys said, placing her phone back on the nightstand. It was then that she noticed the distracted look on her husband’s face. “Jorah, are you ok?”

He gave her what he hoped was a convincing smile as he absently scratched at his abdomen through his t-shirt.

“Just feeling a bit under the weather,” he replied, pulling on a pair of jeans. “I’ll go and make some coffee,” he added as he left the room and made his way downstairs.

Mary was at their front door in a matter of minutes. Jorah beckoned her inside and upstairs to where Daenerys was still holding onto Poppy as the little girl continued to sob and cling to her mother.

“Let’s take a look at you, sweetheart,” Mary said, seamlessly slipping into ‘nurse mode’ in a routine that was all too familiar to Jorah.

“She was unsettled yesterday, and she feels hot this morning,” Daenerys told the nurse, her tone wavering with the anxiousness she felt at seeing her daughter so distressed.

Mary pulled out a digital thermometer and placed it in Poppy’s ear. She frowned when she saw the reading. “How has her appetite been?” Mary asked.

“She didn’t want much of her lunch or dinner yesterday,” Jorah answered as he stood in the doorway.

“I’m just going to take a look at your tummy,” Mary told the little girl. “If you wouldn’t mind holding her still,” she said, glancing up at Daenerys.

Daenerys gasped when she saw the small red dots on Poppy’s stomach.

“I thought as much,” Mary said nodding to herself. “I’m afraid she has chickenpox, sweetheart.”

The nurse looked up quickly when she heard Daenerys sobbing.

“Hey,” Mary said gently, taking one of Daenerys’s hands in her own. “It’s perfectly normal for a child to get it. Most children get chickenpox and measles at some point.”

“She’ll be ok?” Daenerys asked, the concern she felt for her daughter written clearly on her face.

“She’ll be a cranky little bairn for a few days, but I’m sure she’ll be fine. Just make sure she keeps drinking plenty of fluids. You can give her some Calpol to help her sleep and keep her comfortable.”

“What about the blisters?” Daenerys asked.

“Try not to let her scratch them,” Mary replied. “I used to put socks on the boy’s hands at night when they had it,” she said, smiling at the memory. “I’ll leave the thermometer here, call the GP if you’re worried about her or you think she’s getting worse.”

“Thank you,” Jorah said quietly from the doorway, and it made both women jump. He’d been so quiet standing there that Mary had all but forgotten he was still in the room.

The nurse frowned when she saw Jorah scratch his side through his t-shirt. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her oldest friend and noticed the slight flush to his cheeks.

“And how are you feeling, hun?”

Jorah shrugged.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” Mary retorted before looking to Daenerys for confirmation.

“He went to bed early last night,” Daenerys said, looking guiltily at her husband as he shot her a look of betrayal.

“Honestly, I’m fine,” Jorah repeated, slightly terse this time.

“Then you won’t mind me just checking, will you?” Mary replied.

Jorah let out a dramatic sigh.

“If it gets you off my case, be my guest,” he growled.

Daenerys winced at the tone of his voice. She’d never heard him be this cranky about Mary and her overprotectiveness of him before.

Mary changed the filter on the digital thermometer and placed it in Jorah’s ear, a little more forcefully than she’d intended.

“You’re meant to be measuring my temperature, not bursting my bloody eardrum,” he scowled.

“Stand still and be quiet, Grouchbag,” she shot back. “Your temperature is raised,” she said with some concern. “Lift your t-shirt for me,” she instructed him as she placed the thermometer back on the bed.

“Mary - “

“Just do it,” she snapped at her friend, frowning as she saw the tell-tale signs of chickenpox on Jorah’s abdomen. “Jorah has it too,” Mary said as she ignored his grumbled mutterings and looked over to Daenerys.

“But it’s only children that get it, isn’t it?” Daenerys asked.

“Most children get it at some point. You can still catch it as an adult if you never had it as a child.”

“He’s never had chickenpox?” Daenerys asked Mary fearfully.

“Hey,” Jorah cut in. “‘He’ is still here, thank you.”

“Be quiet,” both women said in unison.

“Well, if he did, I don’t remember it,” Mary replied. “He’s showing all the signs and I’m almost certain that he never had it when he was younger.”

“Can it be dangerous?” Daenerys asked as she glanced at her husband.

“There can be complications, but I’ll leave you a list of things to look out for before I leave.” Mary then turned her attention back to Jorah. “You and Poppy are under house arrest until the chickenpox has cleared up.”

“But, Jorah, you have that…uh, appointment today,” Daenerys said glancing at her husband.

“You’ll need to cancel it,” Mary cut in. “And any activities Poppy goes to that have other children present. They are both contagious at this point and we don’t want it spreading to anyone else.”

“Great,” Jorah grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Keep lots of fluids in Mr. Grouchy over there and give him paracetamol to help with the fever and the discomfort. And don’t let him scratch those blisters.”

“I’m not a bloody child,” Jorah mumbled, aware that he was being unreasonably ratty with his old friend.

His words seemed to wash off Mary as she cradled his cheek and smiled at him. “No, but you’re the Incredible Sulk when it comes to being ill,” she smiled when he looked affronted at the remark. “But tone it down with your wife, she’s got a grouchy baby to look after as well as you.”

Jorah had the good grace to look slightly ashamed, shooting his wife a guilty look before smirking at Mary. “Can I still be grouchy with you?”

She patted his cheek gently.

“Of course, I’ve seen it so often I’m immune to it now.”

And with that, Mary made her way downstairs, ignoring the grumblings of Jorah. She scribbled down some advice for Daenerys before hugging her and grabbing her purse.

“Good luck,” the nurse said with a wry smile. “Give me a call if you need me.”

Chapter Text

With Poppy asleep upstairs in her bedroom, Jorah followed his wife downstairs to the kitchen as they set about making breakfast.

Daenerys wasn’t surprised when Jorah failed to eat most of his and she could see him wincing every now and again as he rubbed at his forehead.

“Mary said you’ll probably feel a bit crappy for a few days,” Daenerys said, giving her husband a sympathetic look.

“Bloody Mary,” Jorah muttered under his breath.

Daenerys placed the spoon down in her now-empty cereal bowl, giving Jorah a look that was making his cheeks flush even redder than his raised temperature was.

“She’s only trying to help,” Daenerys said in the nurse’s defence. “She cares about you.”

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated breath.

“I know,” he replied. “I’m just not all that good with being coddled.”

“We’re both cutting you some slack,” Daenerys retorted. “I’m guessing you’re probably not feeling all that great right now. Why don’t you head back to bed?”

Jorah frowned at that.

“I can’t leave you to do everything by yourself,” he replied.

“I’m sure I can look after a grouchy baby on my own for a while, especially if I’m not having to keep one eye on her grouchy father all the time too.”

“Aye,” Jorah said with a guilty smile. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, pulling himself to his feet and heading back to bed.

“I’ll call Dr Tarly and rebook your appointment,” she said before he left the kitchen. “Go and get some rest.”

After ringing the psychiatrist’s office and relaying the message that Jorah was unable to attend, Daenerys turned her attention to calling Jorah’s father who arrived on their doorstep less than ten minutes later.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jeor said, pulling Daenerys in for a hug. “It looks like you’ve got your work cut out.”

“I managed to get Jorah to go back to bed so hopefully he’ll stay there, and I can concentrate on keeping an eye on Poppy,” Daenerys replied, handing Jeor a cup of coffee as they sat at the kitchen table.

“It’s the worst feeling in the world when your child is sick,” Jeor said sympathetically. “But Poppy will be back to herself in no time, I’m sure. Most kids get chickenpox anyway.”

“Mary thinks Jorah never had it as a child,” Daenerys replied.

Jeor frowned and scratched at his beard as he sought to recall his memories of Jorah as a boy.

“I think she’s right,” he said. “I remember when he had measles, but I don’t recall him ever having chickenpox.”

“Mary said it can be dangerous in adults,” Daenerys added nervously.

Jeor reached over the table and patted her hand.

“With everything that boy has been through, dealing with chickenpox will be a walk in the park for him, I’m sure. He’s as tough as they come and being here with you and Poppy is his number one priority. He’ll beat this like he has everything else.”

Daenerys couldn’t doubt the sincerity of Jeor’s words, but ever since their cancer diagnoses it left her with the sinking feeling that they could be ripped away from each other at any time. She nodded her head, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Jeor said, grabbing the notepad from the kitchen table and writing a list. “I’m going to head out and get some supplies and collect some clothes from my house and I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Jeor, you don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “I was never there for Jorah when it mattered in the past,” he said sadly. “You can’t keep your eye on them both, you said it yourself. Please, let me help you with this.”

Daenerys looked at him gratefully and nodded her head as Jeor began adding items to his list. Having Jorah’s father around to help would certainly make it easier for her to tend to Poppy when her little girl needed her, and she knew she would be in for a few restless days ahead anyway.

Jeor returned a few hours later with several bags of groceries and a holdall full of clothes. Daenerys looked at him gratefully as he carried the groceries into the kitchen and began unpacking them.

“I’ve got a couple of extra bottles of Calpol for Poppy and some paracetamol for Jorah,” he said as he held them up and then placed them on the counter. “I’ve got some calamine lotion and cotton wool pads to help with the itching and some ingredients for dinner tonight…which I am going to cook,” Jeor added as he saw Daenerys opening her mouth to say something.

“You don’t have to go to all this trouble,” Daenerys frowned.

“Yes, I do,” Jeor replied, looking ashamed. “I need to be a better parent to Jorah than I was when he was boy. Please, Daenerys, let me help.”

Daenerys nodded her head and walked over to hug her father-in-law.

“How are the patients?” He asked and as if on cue, Poppy began crying.

Jeor followed Daenerys upstairs, bringing the bottle of medicine with him.

“Shhh, it’s ok,” Daenerys crooned as she picked her daughter up and held her close. “Should we give her some Calpol?” She asked Jeor.

“It’ll probably help settle her,” he said as he reached out to take Poppy and pass Daenerys the bottle.

“Come on, sweetie,” Daenerys said to her little girl as she refused to open her mouth and buried her face in her grandpa’s shirt. “This will help you feel better.”

After several minutes of trying, Jeor passed his precious cargo back to her mother and took the spoon of liquid medication.

“I know you don’t feel well, Poppet,” Jeor said to the child gently. “Mummy and Grandpa want to give you something to help you feel better.” Again, Poppy buried her face, this time into Daenerys’ chest. “You trust Grandpa, don’t you?” This time, Poppy looked up at him. “Mummy and Grandpa want to give you this to make you feel better and I promise it will.” Poppy continued to look at him and slowly opened her mouth as he brought the spoon closer to her face. “Good girl,” he crooned as she swallowed it and then made a face.

“Ma,” Poppy sobbed as her mother held her a little tighter.

“I know, baby,” Daenerys said, stroking her daughter’s head. “Mummy’s got you,” she said as she gently rocked her daughter until she finally fell asleep.

“One down, one to go,” Jeor whispered as Daenerys smiled at him.

After placing Poppy down in her cot and checking that the baby monitor was on, Daenerys pulled the door of the nursery closed until it was only open a fraction.

“Do you want to go in or should I?” Daenerys said quietly.

“Allow me,” Jeor replied as he opened the door to the main bedroom.

“Son?” He called out quietly. “How are you feeling?”

Jeor heard his son groan.

“Like someone’s been playing football with my head,” Jorah replied pitifully. “What are you doing here?”

Jeor walked further into the room.

“Daenerys called to ask me if you’d ever had chickenpox,” Jeor replied, sitting on the side of the bed. “I offered to come round and give her a hand for a while.” He caught the guilty look on his boy’s face. “It’s not your fault that you’re sick,” he told him patiently. “The more you rest up, the quicker you’ll get over it.”

Jorah let out a dramatic sigh.

“I hate being ill,” he said, his lower lip almost pouting comically.

“It’s in the Mormont genes, I’m afraid,” Jeor replied with a chuckle. “We make terrible patients.”

“Is Daenerys ok?” Jorah asked.

“She’s fine, son,” Jeor replied. “Between us we’ve got everything under control. Take these,” he said as he passed two tablets to his boy. “And try to get some rest. You’ll thank me for it later,” he added at the annoyed look on Jorah’s face. “And whatever you do, do not scratch those blisters, ok?”

Jorah nodded his head obediently, not arguing the point for once.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, so get some sleep.”

Much to Jeor’s surprise, Jorah laid his head back down on the pillow and allowed his father to pull the duvet up to his shoulders. Despite this being new territory for both of them in healing their fractured relationship, Jeor knew it would be a step too far to place a kiss on his son’s head and so settled for gently patting him on the shoulder instead.

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” Daenerys said as she closed her eyes with a heavenly look on her face.

Jeor blushed slightly at the compliment as he placed his own knife and fork down on his now-empty plate.

“It’s just something I threw together,” he shrugged, his cheeks still reddened.

“At least I know where he gets it from,” Daenerys said with a smile. “Jorah can’t take a compliment either. But thank you for being here, I’m not sure how I would have coped on my own.”

Jeor reached out and patted her hand.

“Any time lass, any time at all.”

“Would you like some - “

Daenerys’ words were cut off as she heard a thumping noise coming from upstairs and both she and Jeor were on the landing within seconds. They shot each other a worried look as they heard Jorah moan.

Jeor crept in the room and could see from the redness on Jorah’s face and chest that his temperature must have spiked.

“Son, are you okay?” He called out, walking slowly towards the bed.

He didn’t expect the look of terror on his son’s face as Jorah’s eyes landed on him and he visibly shrank away from him.

“No!” Jorah called out, holding his hands up to protect himself. “Please,” he begged. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to get her pregnant. Don’t hit me again, please!”

It took all the willpower Jeor had not to bolt from the room, but he was the one who had done this to his son, and it was his duty to deal with the fallout from it.

“Jorah,” Jeor said, inching closer to the bed, stopping each time Jorah flinched in fear. “You’re hallucinating, no one is going to hurt you, I promise.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Jorah sobbed as he looked at his father with unfocussed eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Jeor sat down on the edge of the bed and drew his ailing son towards him, holding him tightly, alarmed to feel how hot he was.

“You’re safe,” Jeor said as he kissed the top of Jorah’s head. “You’re safe and I promise you that I will never hurt you again.”

“I’m sorry,” Jorah whispered as the little energy he had left his body in a rush.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jeor replied, resting his cheek on his son’s head until he felt him relax once more.

Jeor gently manoeuvred Jorah’s body back down to the bed and let out a relieved sigh when his son didn’t stir.

“Can you pass me the thermometer?” He called out to Daenerys, trying to keep his composure. He frowned when he took the reading. “102.9,” he said, shooting Daenerys a concerned glance. “Could you get a bowl of cold water and some cloths?”

“Of course,” Daenerys replied, aware that taking care of his son was something that Jeor needed to do, having missed so many opportunities to be a good parent until now.

She returned after a few minutes and watched as Jeor placed a cool cloth on Jorah’s forehead and spoke quietly to him. Sensing her presence wasn’t needed, she quietly crept into Poppy’s room to find her still asleep and so she made herself comfortable in the armchair by her crib and watched over her daughter as she slept.

It was over an hour later when Daenerys heard Jeor walk downstairs. She found him in the kitchen, pulling out a glass and filling it with wine before taking a large mouthful of the liquid.

“Are you ok?” Daenerys asked from the doorway, frowning when Jeor kept his back to her.

He cleared his throat and willed himself to keep his composure. The last thing Daenerys needed was some foolish old man getting emotional on her, he thought to himself.

“Aye,” he said, wincing as his voice cracked.

“You know it was the fever, don’t you?” Daenerys continued, pouring herself a glass of wine too. “He was hallucinating.”

“No” Jeor whispered, shaking his head as he stared out of the kitchen window, wishing for all the world that he could run away and hide. “That really happened. I did that to him.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Daenerys frowned.

Jeor turned slowly to look at her and she almost gasped at the look of shame on his face.

“When he told me that he’d got Anais pregnant, I was furious with him,” he began before taking another large gulp of wine. “I was furious that he could have been so stupid, that he didn’t think about the consequences of what he’d done. He looked at me with those eyes that were so much like his mother’s and…” he trailed off as his voice faltered. “Something inside me just snapped. I hit him, and then I hit him again and again.

“I was so angry at the world, at the way his mother died and left us alone, for the fact that I was failing Jorah as a father, and I took it out on him. I punched him until my knuckles bled and even then, I didn’t stop. I didn’t feel anything apart from the rage, and I hurt the one person in the world that I was meant to protect.”

Daenerys wasn’t sure what to say and as much as she wanted to be angry with Jeor, she realised that no one felt more ashamed and angrier about his actions than he did.

“Please don’t tell me that it doesn’t matter and that it’s all in the past,” Jeor said after a lengthy pause. “I do not deserve forgiveness what I did to my boy. I should have supported him but back then I was only ever thinking about myself.”

“Have the two of you ever talked about what happened?” Daenerys asked as she sat at the kitchen table.

Jeor walked wearily towards the nearest chair and sat down heavily upon it.

“It’s not the kind of thing that ever comes up in casual conversation,” Jeor replied humourlessly, pouring himself more wine. “He ran from the house and stayed with Mary’s parents until he signed up for the Army and well, I’m sure you know most of the rest.”

Daenerys was sure that what Jeor was sharing with her was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jorah’s fractured relationship with his father. While she regularly witnessed the aftermath of their troubled past in the form of her husband’s many nightmares, there was still so much that Jorah was protecting her from when it came to the trauma he’d suffered.

“When Jorah’s feeling better…perhaps the two of you should talk about some of this stuff,” she suggested.

Jeor nodded his head wearily.

“Aye, lass, perhaps you’re right,” he replied, suddenly feeling incredibly old. “I owe him that much at least…but I don’t want him to hate me again, not after how far we’ve come.”

“I don’t think he ever hated you,” Daenerys said. “He wanted you to love him and be proud of him and I think he hated the fact that he felt like a failure to you.”

Jeor’s head shot up at that.

“I’ve always been proud of him,” he replied earnestly. “I’ve just never been any good at showing it. I’ve loved him from the moment the midwife put him in my arms the day he was born.” He stopped and took another gulp of his wine. “I’ve messed things up so badly. I’ve been a terrible father to him.”

Daenerys reached out and placed a hand on Jeor’s arm.

“Hey, we can fix this,” she said, trying to reassure him.

“Maybe I don’t deserve to be able to fix this.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Jorah,” Daenerys shot back with a smirk, and it was enough for Jeor to give her a watery smile.

“They say that the father should teach the son, but Jorah is a far better man than I’ve ever been. I know I’ve still got a lot to learn.”

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job so far,” Daenerys observed with a smile. “Just look at how much closer the two of you are now.”

“You’re quite the wise young lady, aren’t you?” Jeor said with a wry smile. “I’m so happy that the two of you found each other. Look at the perfect little family you have.”

“Which includes you,” Daenerys added. “Poppy loves her grandpa, just like we all do.”

Chapter Text

It was almost ten p.m. by the time Jeor managed to convince Daenerys to head to bed with the promise that he would see to Poppy overnight if she began to get unsettled or started crying again.

Daenerys undressed quietly and slipped into bed, trying not to wake her sleeping husband.

“What time is it?” Jorah croaked as he cracked an eye open.

“It’s late,” Daenerys said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

She could tell from the flush of his cheeks that he still had a fever, but at least he seemed more coherent than earlier.

“Like shit,” he answered honestly. “How is Poppy?”

It made her heart swell that no matter how crappy Jorah felt, he was more concerned with their little girl.

“Grumpy and clingy, but she’s been sleeping for the last couple of hours,” Daenerys replied. “Your father is going to see to her if she wakes up during the night.”

“My father?” Jorah said, confused. “What’s he still doing here?”

Daenerys sent a silent prayer to the gods thanking them that Jorah seemed to have no recollection of his fever-induced hallucination earlier today.

“He wants to help out,” Daenerys said as she gently guided Jorah back to the pillows and covered them both with the bedsheet. “Go back to sleep. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

She managed a couple of hours of rest before Jorah began mumbling in his sleep, his brow furrowed as his hands began to twitch. Even lying beside him, Daenerys could feel the heat radiating from his body and her fears were confirmed when she placed a hand on his forehead and found it damp and hot.

She crept out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, coming back with the thermometer, a bowl of cool water and a washcloth. She gently placed the thermometer in Jorah’s ear, swaying out of the way of the hand that tried to bat it away as if the thermometer was an annoying fly buzzing around his head.

He heart thumped painfully when she looked at the reading - 103.4. Mary told her that anything above 104 would mean getting Jorah urgent medical attention. She tried not to panic, cold compresses worked to bring his temperature down earlier and there was nothing to suggest that it wouldn’t work again.

She jumped back in shock as Jorah called out to something unseen.

“No! Stay down!” He shouted as his breathing became faster and more ragged.

She wasn’t prepared for him to roughly push past her and leave the bed and the commotion was enough to bring Jeor into the room.

“Is everything ok?” Jeor asked, his eyes widening as Jorah bolted into the corner of the room, his eyes open but unseeing as he covered his eyes as if he was witnessing something horrific.

“I told you to stay down,” Jorah said, his tone full of sadness as he stared at something only he could see. “You should have stayed down.”

Jeor reached out a hand, stilling his movements when Jorah flinched.

“Son, it’s ok,” he tried to reassure him.

“I have to get the men out,” Jorah said to himself. “They’re my men, I have to get them out.”

Realising that he wasn’t getting through to his son, he tried a different approach.

“Captain,” Jeor said in an authoritative tone. “Your men are safe, we got them out.”

It took what seemed like an eternity, but Jorah slowly focused on his father’s face.

“They’re safe?” He asked, his voice trembling.

“You saved them,” Jeor continued. “Now we need to get you out, ok?”

“But Harris,” Jorah said, resisting his father’s attempts to help pull him to his feet. “The sniper… They shot him…he’s dead.”

Jeor placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, relieved when this time he did not cower away.

“We’ve taken care of him,” he reassured his son. “It wasn’t your fault, there was nothing you could have done. You need to come with us now.”

Jorah looked at his father as the energy drained from his body and he slowly came back to awareness, shocked to find himself curled into the corner of his bedroom with his father kneeling in front of him.

“What’s going on?” He asked, glancing up to find Daenerys a few feet away with a worried look on her face.

“You’ve got a fever,” Jeor told his son patiently. “‘Let’s get you back to bed, ok?”

Jeor stood aside as Jorah slowly and shakily pulled himself to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Jorah said as Daenerys helped him back into bed, handing him a glass of water and two paracetamol. She picked up the washcloth and dipped it into the bowl of cool water, dabbing it on his face and chest as exhaustion claimed him once more.

Daenerys was surprised to find Jeor already preparing breakfast by the time she came downstairs the next morning, and he had also seen to Poppy by the looks of it too. Although her little girl was far from herself, Poppy was at least drinking the juice that Jeor had given her as she sat in her highchair, her eyes lighting up when they fell on her mother.

“How did you sleep?” Daenerys asked, smiling her gratitude when Jeor handed her a cup of coffee.

“Poppy had a couple of sniffles here and there, but I think the Calpol is helping. She’s definitely got the grumpy patient gene from her father and I,” he chucked as he sipped at his own coffee. “How about you?”

“Better,” she answered with a frown. “After Jorah settled. His temperature has come down a bit, so that probably helped. Thank you for what you did last night,” she added.

Jeor shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that was so reminiscent of his son. The two men were more alike than either of them would care to admit.

“War changes a man, Daenerys,” Jeor told her as he looked at Poppy. “There are things you see out there that you can never truly let go of no matter how hard you try.”

“He’s had nightmares the whole time I’ve known him, but it’s something completely different to see one happening right in front of you,” Daenerys admitted. “I can’t imagine the things he saw out there.”

“The Army tries to teach you to harden yourself to the horrors of war and some men can do that, some try to block it out with drink and drugs…some men can’t live with the things they’ve seen and as foolish as it sounds, I wanted Jorah to grow hardened to it, to not let it eat away at him. I thought that if I was hard on him, he wouldn’t fall into the same trap that I’ve seen so many good men fall into.”

Not that it excused any of Jeor’s past behaviour, but some of his actions made slightly more sense knowing that in his own misguided way, Jeor was trying to protect his son from the harsh realities of the world around them.

“I should have realised long ago that he was too much like his mother,” Jeor added. “That boy’s biggest weakness is his heart. He loves too much and the things we love destroy us…every time.”

Daenerys knew what he meant. She had never met a man quite like Jorah who was selfless to a fault and loved the people close to him fiercely.

“I’ve been such a fool, Daenerys,” Jeor admitted, looking ashamed. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”

“But you’re fixing them now,” Daenerys said, trying to get him to see sense. “That’s what matters.”

“Aye,” Jeor nodded, suddenly feeling every year of his age. “It doesn’t stop this old fool blaming himself for what an idiot he’s been. Jorah is a far better man than I’ve ever been.”

“You two are more alike than you realise,” Daenerys smirked over the rim of her coffee cup. “I meant what I said yesterday though,” she said, her face sobering. “When Jorah’s feeling better, I think you two should take some time to really sit and talk about things.”

“You’re a wise young woman,” Jeor smiled wryly at her. “Annabelle would have loved you. She had that same streak of quiet determination you do.”

“I can be very determined when I set my mind to something,” she replied. “Especially when it comes to the people I love.”

It wasn’t lost on Jeor that she also meant him, even though his past treatment of his son gave her every reason not to want to have anything to do with him. He’d been given a second chance, whether he deserved it or not, and he was determined not to mess it up this time.

Chapter Text

“Urgh,” Jorah groaned, opening his eyes and looking blearily at Daenerys as she watched over him.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, helping him to sit up in bed before passing him a glass of orange juice.

“Like I’ve been hit by an elephant,” he responded, rubbing at his eyes and groaning as his muscles ached as he tried to sit comfortably. “How long have I been out of it?”

“A couple of days,” Daenerys replied, handing her husband two painkillers as she looked at him sympathetically. “Your fever broke last night though,” she added as she held the back of her hand against his forehead, relieved to find it much cooler than it was the previous day.

“How is Poppy?” He asked, swallowing the tablets she gave him with another mouthful of orange juice.

“She’s crabby but she’s getting better,” Daenerys told him, holding her hand out to him. “She’d love to see her Papa though, if you’re feeling up to it?” she smiled as he pulled the covers back, lifting himself from the bed with a quiet groan and following his wife downstairs.

“How is my little baby girl?” Jorah said, walking into the lounge to find his father and daughter sitting together on the sofa watching cartoons.

Poppy’s face lit up when she heard her father’s voice and she turned to look at him.

“Paaaaa!” She gurgled as Jorah slowly lowered himself onto the sofa and Poppy crawled from her grandfather’s lap and onto his.

“Look at us, huh?” Jorah said, bouncing his daughter in his lap gently as she reached out to touch one of the blisters on his right arm. “We’ve both got them, haven’t we?”

“Paaa,” Poppy repeated, resting her head on her father’s chest.

“Thank you for helping out,” Jorah said quietly to his father as he felt Poppy relax against him with her thumb in her mouth.

Jeor shrugged awkwardly in a manner that was almost identical to his son.

“It was nothing,” Jeor replied, before adding. “And I was happy to help out. I’m trying to be a better father than I was to you when you were young.”

Jorah tensed slightly, not sure that he wanted to have an emotionally charged conversation while still feeling less than one hundred percent.

He was saved from having to respond when the doorbell chimed.

“I’ll get it,” Daenerys called out from the kitchen and moments later, Mary walked into the lounge.

“I’ve come to check on the patients,” Mary said with a gleeful smile as she caught Jorah letting out a dramatic sigh. “Who wants to go first?”

Jorah looked down at the sleeping infant on his chest and gently handed Poppy over to her grandfather, bracing himself for Mary’s ‘tender mercies’.

“How are you feeling, hen?” She asked, placing the thermometer in Jorah’s ear, smiling when it came back with a reading of 99.2.

“Like I have the flu,”’ Jorah answered honestly as Mary motioned for him to lift his t-shirt slightly.

“How about the blisters?” She said, gently taking hold of his heavily scarred left arm and examining it. “These look pretty sore,” she observed. “Have you been scratching them?”

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at Mary as she looked for any signs that her friend was lying to her.

“Scout’s honour,” Jorah replied. “I haven’t touched them.”

“Do they hurt?” She asked, still giving him that searching look.

“Just the ones on my arm,” he admitted quietly.

“Have you got any calamine lotion here?” Mary asked, turning her head to Daenerys who stood in the doorway.

“We do,” Daenerys replied. “Should I get some?”

Mary smiled at her. “That would be grand, thank you.”

Her examination of Jorah complete, Mary turned her attention to the little girl dozing in her grandfather’s arms.

“And how has this little one been?” Mary said as she changed the filter on the thermometer before placing it in Poppy’s ear.

“Grumpy,” Jeor replied with a grin. “She has the Mormont ‘bad patient’ gene, I’m afraid.”

Mary cocked an eyebrow at his response.

“Has she been eating and drinking?” Mary asked as she lifted Poppy’s top and inspected the blisters on her belly.

“She’s not really been very hungry,” Daenerys replied, standing in the doorway once more. “But she’s been drinking juice, milk, and water when we give it to her.”

“How about her nappies?” Mary asked, covering the little girl’s belly once more. “Has she been urinating normally?”

Daenerys nodded her head and then frowned.

“She’s not had a bowel movement for the last day or so,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip.

Mary gave her a reassuring smile.

“That’s not surprising if she’s not eaten much in the past couple of days but try to encourage her to eat something today.”

“We tried giving her breakfast this morning, but she didn’t seem to want it,” Jeor added. “She usually has a good little appetite.”

“What does she have for breakfast?” Mary asked.

“Bananas and toast seem to be her favourite,” Daenerys answered. “But she’s been pushing it away when we try to feed her.”

Mary pulled a small penlight out of her pocket and tried to shine it in Poppy’s mouth, but the small girl hid her head in her grandfather’s shirt each time Mary tried.

“Who is that?” Mary said, pointing to Jorah.

Unable to resist, Poppy looked at her father and said, ‘Paaaa,” opening her mouth wide enough for Mary to be able to see the back of her throat.

Mary clicked the penlight off and turned to Daenerys.

“It looks like she has a sore throat and that’s probably why she doesn’t want to eat. Do you have any ice cream?”

Daenerys gave the nurse a puzzled look but went through to the kitchen and returned with a tub of vanilla ice cream and a spoon. She handed both to Mary and watched as the older woman scooped a small amount of ice cream onto the spoon and placed it by Poppy’s mouth as the little girl opened her mouth willingly.

Mary nodded her head in satisfaction.

“Give her soft foods for the next few days,” Mary instructed. “I’d recommend letting her have some sweet treats too. Sugar will be good for her and help her feel a bit better. Chickenpox is no fun for anyone.”

“What about me?” Jorah huffed. “Why does Poppy get ice cream and I don’t?” He pouted comically.

Mary scooped a generous amount of ice cream onto the spoon.

“Open up then,” she said with a smirk on her face. “There’s a good boy.”

Jorah narrowed his eyes, muttering something under his breath and the spoon was in his mouth before he could stop her.

Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh at the sight before her. Mary was the only person she knew who could put Jorah back in his place so easily. The pair of them were siblings in every meaning of the word.

“Could you pass the lotion here, pet?” Mary asked as Daenerys handed her the bottle and some cotton wool pads. She looked up at Jorah, her face serious. “Can I touch your arm?” The nurse asked, the caustic banter between the two of them vanishing in an instant.

Jorah took a deep breath and steeled himself for the discomfort to come. He nodded his head and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain that he knew was coming.

“Keep going,” he hissed as the lotion touched his skin and Mary dabbed gently at his scarred flesh until most of his arm was covered in the pale liquid.

“It’ll sting for a while, but it’ll fade, and you should be less sore. Apply it two or three times a day until the blisters disappear.”

Jorah nodded his head, silently thanking Mary for her gentle touch. Even though the wounds from his surgery had healed, the burned and wrinkled skin was still a source of pain and discomfort for Jorah and likely always would be. Mary cut Jorah little slack when he was sick and grumpy but the banter between them evaporated when it came to his heavily damaged arm. It was then that the softer, caring side of Mary came out as she treated him with the same touch she’d use for a new-born baby.

Mary lifted herself to her feet and turned to Daenerys.

“I think they’re both over the worst of it,” the nurse observed. “The two of you have done a grand job of taking care of them,” she added, glancing at Jeor, and giving him an encouraging smile. “Give it a few more days and they should be fine. There’s nothing we can do about Jorah being a pain the arse though. That condition is terminal, I’m afraid.”

“Well, if you’re quite finished insulting me,” Jorah huffed dramatically. “Poppy and I have cartoons to watch and ice cream to eat.”

“He’s definitely on the mend,” Mary chuckled before giving Daenerys a hug and whispering in her ear. “I know it’s not nice to have your child be ill, but you’ve done a grand job with Poppy. You’re a natural mother, I promise you.”

Daenerys gave the nurse a watery smile.

“I’m sorry if I keep on calling every five minutes about Poppy. I just want to take care of her and keep her safe.”

“The first ones are always the scariest when it comes to being a parent,” Mary replied. “Everything is so new, and you’re terrified you’re going to get something wrong. You can ring me any time you like,” Mary reassured her. “About either of them,” she added with a smirk as she looked at Jorah as he settled Poppy in his lap, and they watched cartoons.

“I feel like all I do is ask stuff of you and never give anything back,” Daenerys frowned.

Mary placed her hands on the younger woman’s shoulders as her eyes glistened.

“You’ve brought the real Jorah back,” Mary replied. “And I wasn’t sure if we’d ever see him again. I’m the one who owes you, ok?”

Daenerys nodded her head and looked at the three generations of Mormont’s sitting on the sofa watching TV like a proper family. Having come from a broken home and fractured past herself, Daenerys knew all too well how rare having a real family was.

“Have you have room for a little one?” She asked coyly as Mary shut the front door behind her.

Jorah smiled and lifted his arm so that Daenerys could scoot closer to her husband and daughter.

“We’ve always got room for a little one,” Jorah replied as he lent his cheek against the top of her head and in that moment Daenerys knew that there was nowhere else in the world that she’d rather be.

Chapter Text

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Mormont,” Gilly smiled as she attempted to get up from her chair. She only made it halfway before the baby inside her kicked and she let out a groan of pain.

Having seen Daenerys go through something similar when she was nearing her due date, he was by Gilly’s side in an instant as he supported her to sit back down again.

“What helps?” Jorah asked once she was safely back in the chair behind her desk.

“There’s really no need,” Gilly said. “Besides, I should be the one asking if you would like a tea or coffee.”

Jorah scratched at his beard and smiled at the receptionist.

“I used to make chamomile tea for my wife when she was pregnant with our daughter,” he said as he made his way over to the kettle in the corner of the room. “When are you due?”

Gilly smiled her gratitude as Jorah brought a cup of freshly brewed tea over to her.

“Another three weeks,” Gilly answered as she felt the baby kick again. “I get the feeling she wants to come out already,” she huffed as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re having a girl?” Jorah smiled.

Gilly nodded her head and sipped at the tea.

“We already have a little boy, Sam Jr,” she replied as she picked up her mobile phone and showed Jorah some photos. You have a daughter too?” She asked him.

Gilly smiled when the question lit up Jorah’s face and he began showing her pictures of Poppy at various stages in her development.

“She definitely has your eyes,” Gilly remarked. “She’s a beautiful little thing.”

Jorah nodded his head as he looked at a picture of Poppy he took just before he left the house this morning.

“She stole my heart from the moment I met her,” he said with a wry smile. “She’s got me wrapped around her little finger already, just like her mother.”

They both looked up when they heard a door open.

“Jorah,” a male voice called out. “It’s good to see you.”

Gilly smiled at her husband’s client.

“Thank you for the tea, Mr. Mormont,” she said, picking up a folder and returning to her typing.

“How are you?” Sam asked as Jorah followed him into the office.

“I’m sorry for missing the last couple of weeks,” Jorah frowned as he sat down in the proffered chair.

Sam waved the apology away.

“To be honest, I appreciated it. Gilly is almost due and the last thing I want to do is place her or the baby in any danger.”

“I’m no longer infectious, scout’s honour,” Jorah replied. “I’ve been given the all clear.”

“Still, it can’t have been the most enjoyable couple of weeks,” Sam suggested.

“I don’t remember much of the first few days,” Jorah shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that unwell,” he added before trailing off.

“We’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Sam said as he opened the cardboard folder and looked at his client. “We touched upon some pretty heavy stuff in our last session, how did you feel afterwards?”

Jorah considered the question for several moments.

“I didn’t want to go home straight away after the session,” he admitted, looking at his hands as they lay in his lap. “I had a lot of stuff to think about.”

“What kind of stuff?” Sam asked, pen poised to record the other man’s response.

Jorah shot the psychiatrist a sour look. The damned man was going to drag it out of him eventually and so he sighed and quickly gave in to the inevitable.

“About Noah and Anais,” he replied quietly. “About how I was meant to keep them safe, how I let them down…how I lost them.”

“I know that logically you understand that’s not true,” Sam replied. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Jorah nodded his head.

“I cried that night I came back from the hospital without them,” Jorah whispered. “When I got back home, I tried to destroy everything in our house. I couldn’t bear to look at the reminders of Anais and how I’d just lost her and our boy.”

“You were angry?” Sam asked. “Who were you angry with?”

Jorah considered the question.

“Me, mainly,” he replied. “I was meant to keep them safe, and I lost them. There was no-one else to blame but me.”

Sam looked at his client for several moments and it was enough for Jorah to lift his head and look at the doctor.

“Does that sound like a rational thing to believe?” Sam asked. “I don’t think you were acting all that rationally in the weeks and months after their passing either,” he observed.

“You make me sound like I was mentally unstable,” Jorah growled as he shifted uncomfortably.

“Severely emotionally wounded,” Sam answered. “As anyone who experiences the loss of their wife and child would be. Instead of dealing with the emotional fallout, you buried it deep inside instead.”

“And you’re going to tell me that was wrong as well, I suppose?” Jorah shot back snidely.

Sam seemed unaffected by his client’s waspish tone.

“We all deal with grief in different ways, there’s no handbook on how you should react to something that emotionally devastating.”

Jorah nodded his head and let out a deep sigh as he lowered his eyes to the ground again.

“I went to see them,” he said quietly after a lengthy pause.

“Who?” Sam asked as he scribbled something down in the folder.

“Noah and Anais,” Jorah answered. “After our last session…I realised that I owed it to them to at least apologise in person.”

“And how did that go?” Sam asked, looking at his client eagerly, aware that this was a considerable breakthrough for this stubborn man who had spent most of his life burying his grief instead of facing it head on.

Jorah opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to find the right words.

“I hadn’t been back there since the day we buried them,” he said quietly, rubbing at his jaw. “I’m not even sure what I was looking for when I went there, I just knew that I had to go.”

“How did it make you feel?” Sam prodded his reluctant client.

Jorah closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead.

“The emotion just hit me like a freight train,” he replied. “Grief, anger, sadness…I felt my legs go from underneath me and I cried. I cried until I didn’t have the energy to stand any longer.”

Sam let his client’s words hang in the air for a while before he asked his next question.

“And how about in the days afterwards, how did you feel?”

Jorah rubbed at his jaw again as he considered the question.

“I barely remember making it home that evening and…” Jorah trailed off as the doctor looked at him expectantly. “It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning that I realised that it was the first night in years that I didn’t dream about anything.”

“You have vivid dreams?” The doctor asked.

Jorah nodded his head.

“Nightmares mainly,” he answered quietly. “But I didn’t dream of anything that night…not that I can remember, anyway.”

Sam placed his pen down and looked at his client.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what a significant step in the right direction this is. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that process of dealing with your trauma is going to be easy, but you faced a momentous period in your life and dealt with it head-on. Just remember that when we’re working through other painful memories.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Jorah scowled.

Sam let out a humourless laugh.

“If it was that easy, everyone would be doing it and I’d be out of a job. Trauma doesn’t discriminate, it doesn’t care if you’re a little girl or a battle-hardened soldier. Trauma is trauma.”

“You make me sound like a victim,” Jorah shot back. “I’m not a victim,” he insisted.

“You’re victim of circumstance and of awful, shitty luck. Admitting you are a victim doesn’t make you weak, far from it.”

“I was a soldier, I’m meant to protect victims, not be one myself,” he argued.

“We all need a little help sometimes,” the doctor replied. “No one can survive in this world without help, not even you.”

“So, what do I do then?” Jorah asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache coming on.

“What keeps you coming back here?”

The question caught Jorah completely off-guard and so the doctor repeated it again.

“There must be something that keeps you coming back,” the doctor continued as his client refused to look at him. “Why do you put yourself through all of this even though you know it will hurt?”

“Because I need your help. And I’ve come to realise that I can’t do this on my own anymore,” Jorah mumbled after a lengthy silence between the two of them. “There, are you happy now that I’ve said it?” He added sourly.

Sam clicked his pen and placed it on the folder in front of him as he looked Jorah in the eye and said, “Yes, but I’m not the one who needed to hear that.”

Chapter Text

“Jesus,” Jorah grumbled as he helped his father lift the wicker basket into the back of Jeor’s car. “What’s in here, a dead body?”

Jeor shook his head at his son.

“Just some essential supplies,” the older man replied with a smile.

“We’re going for a weekend, not a fortnight,” Jorah shot back before looking at his wife, pleading with his eyes for her to back him up on the point.

“You won’t be complaining if we don’t catch any fish and then have nothing to eat all weekend,” Jeor replied with a grin as he closed the boot of the car and walked over to Daenerys, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek before bending down to where Poppy sat in her stroller. “Do you promise to be a good girl for your mummy?” He asked the infant with a smile.

Poppy nodded her head and giggled before trying to stick most her hand into her mouth. She pulled it out again and said “Papa!”

“Grandpa will take good care of your Papa,” he said, nodding his head at the little girl. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Jorah came over to his daughter and lifted her out of her pushchair, holding her close against his chest. “I’m going to miss you, little lady,” he said in her ear. “But Papa will be back in a couple of days. Can I get a kiss before I go?”

Poppy lifted her head from her father’s chest and looked at him for several seconds before grabbing his face with both of her small hands and kissing his face. “Uff hoo,” she burbled.

“Papa loves you too,” Jorah replied, his voice wavering with the overwhelming love he felt for his daughter. “More than you’ll ever know.”

He placed Poppy back in her stroller and sniffed a few errant tears away before his eyes fell on his wife. “I’ll call you every day,” he said as he kissed her and held her close. “I’ll miss you so much,” he said, the words choking him a little.

“We’ll miss you too,” Daenerys replied, standing on her tiptoes to give her husband another kiss. “It’s about time the two of you had some father and son time. We’ll be fine, I promise you.”

Jorah gave his wife one last kiss before climbing into the passenger seat of his father’s car, craning his neck to look at his wife and child for as long as he could as they drove away from the house.

“Ready?” Jeor asked his son after giving him a few moments to compose himself.

Jorah nodded his head and took a deep breath.

“Yep, let’s do this.”

“Wow,” Jorah said as his eyes fell on the beautiful cottage that sat less than a hundred yards from the loch.

They’d filled the time on the long drive by chatting amiably about football and rugby, with both men keen on not talking about anything too heavy just yet.

“An old Army pal of mine owns it,” Jeor said as he pulled up outside the cottage and turned the engine off. “Shall we go and have a look around?”

Jorah smiled at his father and climbed out the car to follow him inside. The cottage was made of wood and the interior had an old-world feel to it with an Aga stove in the kitchen and a fireplace in the lounge area. Both bedrooms were a decent size, but Jeor let his son choose first before they grabbed their bags and supplies from the car.

“It’s so quiet here,” Jorah remarked. “I didn’t realise how noisy the city was until now.”

Jeor smiled at his son as he boiled the kettle and made them coffee.

“Barely a car goes past here,” he said as he brought two steaming mugs to the kitchen table. “It’s just the sounds of the wildlife and the water lapping at the sides of the loch most of the time.”

It would certainly give the two men the opportunity to sit and talk undisturbed and Jorah didn’t know whether to feel reassured by that or not. Almost a week had passed since he was given the all clear from Mary about the chickenpox and the more the effects of the illness waned, the more aware Jorah became that his father wanted to say something to him but didn’t feel able to.

He’d discussed it with Daenerys over dinner one night and she suggested that perhaps he and his father could do with some time together where they could really talk about things and now that they were here, Jorah wasn’t quite sure where to begin.

“Is everything ok?” Jorah asked hesitantly as the colour drained from his face. “You’re not sick, are you?”

The thought of losing his father after only just finding him again was not one Jorah wanted to contemplate any time soon. They had worked so hard to get their relationship back on track and how unfair it would be to have that all be for naught.

Jeor placed his hand on his son’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m not sick, son,” Jeor replied. “I promise you.”

Jorah let out a sigh of relief and despite momentarily scaring his boy, it warmed Jeor to know that his son cared for him deeply enough that he was frightened of losing him again.

“Thank God,” Jorah breathed. “I’ve been shitting myself thinking that you brought me here to tell me bad news.”

“I brought you here because it’s somewhere we should have come a long time ago,” Jeor said, sipping at his coffee and trying to put into words the pain he felt at all the years lost to bitterness, anger and regret between them. “Sometimes…when you were a boy and I was away on Army business and you were staying with Mary’s parents, I would take an extra day or two and come here.”

Jorah said nothing but looked at his father with kind eyes that encouraged the older man to continue when he felt ready to.

“I needed to get away from everyone looking at me with pity in their eyes,” Jeor continued. “When it became common knowledge among my colleagues that your mother had died… I had the men looking at me as if they didn’t know what to say and their wives constantly giving me that ‘Florence Nightingale’ look.”

Jorah knew all too well how that felt when he returned to the Army base after they’d buried Noah and Anais. Everyone looked at him as if they feared they would say something wrong, while the wives of his Army colleagues looked at him with pity and sadness.

“I didn’t want their pity,” Jeor continued. “I didn’t want their pity because I knew that I didn’t deserve it. If I was a better father and husband, then perhaps I could have tolerated it, but my answer was to shut myself away and sulk like a child.”

“You did your best,” Jorah replied, having some sympathy for his father’s plight back then.

Jeor shook his head, aware that his son was being far more charitable and forgiving than he had any right to expect from him.

“No, I did what was best for me, son,” Jeor replied, his voice full of shame and regret. “Maybe you would have been better off living with Mary and her parents. I was a poor excuse for a father when you were a child.”

“I used to beg them to let me stay,” Jorah said, his voice no more than a whisper. “When you came to pick me up, I would plead with Mary’s parents to let me come and live with them.”

Jeor closed his eyes, knowing that his son had every right to feel the way he did back then.

“I should have let you stay with them and maybe things would have turned out differently and we could have avoided all of this pain and sorrow. I wasted so many years being angry and blaming everyone except myself. I failed you, son, and for that I am sorrier than you could ever know. If I could go back in time and change it, I would.” Jeor rubbed a hand over his face. "You should hate me for the things I’ve done,” he said, not able to look his son in the eye.

“I’ve never hated you,” Jorah replied. “I just hated that I couldn’t understand you or why you did the things you did. I thought I was failing you by not being what you wanted me to be.”

“I’ve made such a hash of things,” Jeor admitted quietly, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to swallow down his emotions.

The silence seemed to stretch between them for an age.

“Maybe we should have done this a long time ago,” Jorah suggested.

“Aye, my boy,” Jeor conceded. “I think you’re right,” he added with a sad smile. “I know I have a lot of making up to do, I’m just glad that you’re giving me the chance for us to talk and to start understanding each other better.”

“Me too, Dad,” Jorah replied softly. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Jeor watched his son deftly threading the line of his fishing rod and readying it for release.

“I never realised you already knew how to fish,” Jeor said as he prepared his own line.

Both men chose to have an early night after their long drive from the city and today would be the first full day they would spend alone with each other in decades.

“Mary’s father taught me,” Jorah replied as he cast his line and kept his gaze on the water, searching for any signs that a fish might bite. “He would take me fishing every once in a while, when you were away with the Army.”

Jeor nodded his head.

“We never did anything like this after your mother died, did we?” Jeor said sadly, casting his own line. “Did you catch many fish with him?” He asked, trying to keep the tinge of bitterness from his voice that another man took what should have been his place in his son’s rite of passage.

Jorah smiled.

“I caught a rainbow trout once,” he said, recalling the memory. “Mary’s dad helped me reel him in. He was huge…the size of my forearm. I’d never seen a fish that big before,” he mused with a look of wonder on his face. “He took a photo of me with it on an old polaroid camera before we put it back in the water,” he smiled wistfully.

“I’m sorry that we never did this when you were a boy,” Jeor said quietly. “I guess I thought you wouldn’t be interested in something as tame as fishing.”

Jorah looked across to his father briefly.

“It helped,” he began before trailing off. “After mum died, I felt myself getting so frustrated. I was angry at myself, I kept telling myself that if I’d run faster to the phone box that she might still be alive.”

“There was nothing you could have done, son.”

Jorah nodded his head.

“I know, but it didn’t stop me from feeling the way I did,” Jorah replied sadly. “Mary’s dad put me in his car one day and drove us to a lake, just he and I. He put a rod in my hand and showed me what to do. We didn’t really talk much, not at first anyway. I would just stare at the line, waiting for the water to move, for hours…it was peaceful.”

“There’s so much about you that I still don’t know,” Jeor said finally, his voice full of regret. “I’ve never been particularly good at talking about how I feel, even with your mother. It would drive her up the wall sometimes.”

“I’m sure Daenerys says the same about me,” Jorah mused as he recast his line. “I’ve spent so much time inside my own head that it’s hard to break the habit sometimes. When I went fishing with Mary’s dad, he never pushed me to open up or talk if I didn’t want to.”

Jorah kept his gaze on the water as he spoke. “There was one time when my line snapped just as I was reeling a catch in. I threw down the rod and before I knew it, I was sitting in the mud with Mary’s dad crying my eyes out.”

He cleared his throat before he continued. “I forced myself not to cry at home because I knew you would get mad at me if I did, and I didn’t want to make you angry.”

Jeor felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest at his son’s words. He was acutely aware of just how badly he’d treated Jorah when he was a boy and knew he deserved no less than to hear first-hand the damage he’d inflicted on his son, but it didn’t make the caustic sting hurt any less.

“I got so many things wrong,” Jeor said, sniffing back the tears that were threatening to fall. “I have no idea why you’ve forgiven me for treating you the way I did. I’m not sure I would be able to if I were in your shoes.”

Jeor felt his heart thump painfully as his boy looked at him with those achingly blue eyes that were so much like his mother’s.

“You’re my father,” Jorah said simply and plainly. “I love you, but it doesn’t mean I have to like what you did or how you treated me in the past. I’m no angel either, I’ve made mistakes and hurt people too. None of us are perfect,” he shrugged. "We’re all just trying to stumble through life the best we can, I guess.”

“Will you stop looking at your phone?” Missandei said dramatically as they paused their shopping trip for a coffee and a slice of cake at the nearest cafe they could find.

“I don’t want to miss it if he calls,” Daenerys replied, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Jorah’s a big boy,” Missandei told her patiently, giving her best friend’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure he can survive spending a couple of days alone with his father.”

Daenerys wished she could feel as certain as Missandei did when it came to Jorah and his father, having seen the way Jorah shrunk away from him during his recent fever as he battled chickenpox. The two men certainly needed to sit down and talk about the past, but Daenerys couldn’t help but worry that her husband might find it all a bit too overwhelming, and she wanted to be there if he needed her.

“They seemed ok when Jorah called me last night,” Daenerys mused as she sipped at her coffee. “We Facetimed so that Jorah could say goodnight to Poppy,” she smiled. “The bed is far too big without him though.”

“I know how protective you two are of each other, but I am sure that Jorah will be fine,” Missandei reassured her. “You said that things have been good between them for a while now?”

Daenerys nodded her head as she stirred another spoonful of sugar into her drink.

“This is the first time they’ve really sat down and talked properly about the past,” Daenerys replied. “I know it’s something they need to do on their own, but we’ve been through so much together that it’s hard to let go sometimes.”

Missandei smiled softly at her best friend, knowing that what Daenerys and Jorah had experienced together made them extremely protective of one another. It would tear at Daenerys’ heart to see her husband in pain but much like ripping the plaster off a healing wound, it was something Jorah needed to do for himself.

“Just think of all the amazing sex you’ll have when he gets back,” Missandei smirked, her mirth turning into a laugh as Daenerys spat her coffee across the table.

“Warn me next time, will you?” Daenerys said once she’d regained her composure and wiped the coffee from her face and hands.

“Talking of sex,” Missandei continued with a grin. “Any luck on the baby front yet?”

Daenerys’ face turned serious as she let out a sigh.

“Not yet,” she said glumly. “I know it’s not been that long since I came off the pill, but I hoped it would have happened by now.”

“It’ll happen,” Missandei reassured her. “Just like it did with Poppy.”

Daenerys’ face lit up at the thought of her beautiful daughter who was currently charming Mary and Stan out of house and home no doubt.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve even started thinking of baby names,” Daenerys admitted as she chewed at her thumbnail. “I was thinking Daisy or Rose if it’s a girl.”

“And if it’s a boy?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied honestly. “But I think I know his middle name already… Noah.”

Missandei wiped at her eyes. Daenerys had told her long ago about the son Jorah had lost so many years ago.

“Does Jorah know?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys shook her head.

“I’m worried how he would react if I suggested it,” she admitted. “I don’t want to upset him. I know how much losing Noah hurt him.”

Missandei reached across the table and took Daenerys’ hands in her own.

“I think he’ll love it,” she told her best friend. “In fact, I know it. He’ll love it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Daenerys frowned.

“You, Daenerys Targaryen, are amazing,” Missandei smiled at her friend. “I hope Jorah tells you that every day.”

The look on Daenerys’ face told Missandei all that she needed to know - that Jorah worshiped the ground his wife walked on and her best friend deserved no less when it came to the man she loved.

Chapter Text

“Dinner was delicious, thank you,” Jorah said as he placed his cutlery down on his now empty plate.

Jeor gave his son a shy smile as he cleared the plates away and stacked them in the dishwasher. There was still a slightly strained atmosphere between the two of them after their chat at the side of the loch earlier in the day.

“Is everything ok?” Jorah asked, his face full of concern for his father.

Jeor turned slowly to look at his son, taking a shaky breath as he steeled himself for what he was about to ask.

“When you were sick a few weeks ago,” Jeor began, running a hand over his bearded chin. “How much of it do you remember?”

Jorah frowned as he tried to recall what he might have said in the grips of his fever that would have upset his father.

“Only bits and pieces,” Jorah replied. “I’m sorry if I said something that was out of line,” he added quietly.

Jeor did not respond as he opened a bottle of scotch and poured a small amount into two glasses, passing one to his son.

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” Jeor reassured his son before taking a swig of whiskey. He winced as it burned the back of his throat. “You were hallucinating, and I came into your bedroom to see to you…” Jeor trailed off as he turned his tumbler in semi-circles as he tried to put into words what happened that night. “You were hallucinating about the night you told me Anais was pregnant.”

Jorah stiffened at the memory of that horrible evening so many years ago.

“You kept begging me to stop hitting you, you flinched any time I moved nearer to you,” Jeor added, his voice cracking as tears ran down his bearded cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Jorah replied quietly.

Jeor looked up at his son.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jeor insisted. “I did that to you, and I swear that for as long as I live, I will never forgive myself for it. I hurt you.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jorah tried to reassure his father.

“That’s no excuse for what I did,” Jeor countered, pouring himself another measure of scotch. “You were my son, and I was meant to protect you. I failed you.”

“I was stupid, I should have known better and not got Anais pregnant,” Jorah said as he sipped at his glass of scotch.

“No matter what you’d done, you didn’t deserve what I did to you,” Jeor replied. “I can’t explain what happened, but I just saw red, and I snapped, and I hit you over and over again.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’ll never forget the look on your face when you ran out the front door for as long as I live.”

“I ran to Mary’s,” Jorah said, moving his finger around the rim of his glass. “I didn’t know where else to go. I was scared that you were going to kill me if I didn’t get away,” he admitted. “When I looked up at you from the floor your eyes were just blank…it was like you were staring straight through me.”

Jeor nodded his head as it hung. For years he’d had no real memories of the night he’d snapped and almost killed his own son. Maybe his mind blocked it out to save him from the guilt consuming him whole, but it came back in small bits and pieces, replaying that time when a sense of rage overtook his rational mind and made him lash out at his own boy.

“You were right to run away,” Jeor admitted. “I can’t sit here and justify what happened but something inside of me snapped and I lashed out and hurt you…I hurt you so badly,” Jeor sobbed as tears of shame and guilt suddenly broke the surface of the older man’s calm exterior and burst free.

Not knowing what else to do, Jorah made his way over to his father and wrapped his arms around him, holding the other man who sobbed and said ‘I’m sorry’ repeatedly. Jorah wasn’t sure how long he stood there for, but his t-shirt was wet by the time his father pulled away and wiped at his eyes.

“I should have said sorry a long time ago,” Jeor whispered.

Jorah sat back down and took another sip of his scotch.

“We never really talked much about mum after she died,” Jorah said as he ran a hand over his own face. “I can’t imagine it was easy for you to be a single parent bringing up a kid alone,” he mused. “I know how much you loved her.”

“She was my world,” Jeor replied, sniffing a few errant tears away. “She was quite the woman. I’ve never loved someone the way that I loved her. She made me a better person and without her I was lost,” he admitted. “I was hard on you after she died because I didn’t want you to have your heart broken like mine was, but I should have realised back then that you were your mother’s son.”

Jorah looked at his father in confusion.

“You have a gentle heart, just like she did,” Jeor smiled as he took another sip of his scotch. “I remember that you found a butterfly in the garden once and managed to catch it in an old jam jar. You said that you wanted to keep it so that it could be your friend, but your mother told you it wouldn’t be able to survive in the jar and so you took the lid off and let it go for its own good.”

“I’m sure I’ve had my moments,” Jorah replied, rubbing at his bearded jaw with mild embarrassment.

“Your teachers would tell me that you were the kindest boy they’d ever met,” Jeor recalled with a smile. “Even after the time you punched that older boy for stealing Mary’s lunch,” he chuckled at the memory.

Jorah groaned inwardly at the memory of big Billy Smith punching him in the face after he confronted the bully for scaring Mary and stealing her lunch.

“I can’t believe you still remember that,” Jorah mumbled, covering his eyes with embarrassment.

“You and Mary were like two peas in a pod,” Jeor continued. “You spent so much time together that people thought you were twins.”

Jorah smiled at the thought of himself and Mary as children and the many good times they spent together.

“It doesn’t make what I did any better, but I’m so glad that Mary was there for you when I wasn’t. There were so many times that I should have helped you and I didn’t, and I will regret those moments until the day I die.”

“She drives me up the wall sometimes,” Jorah groused good-naturedly, recalling the time he arrived on her doorstop beaten and broken and not knowing what to do. No matter what happened in his life, Mary was a constant presence by his side. “I wouldn’t be without her though.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t the father you needed me to be,” Jeor choked out. “That I couldn’t give you the time and love that you needed. I feel so ashamed of the things I’ve done when it comes to you.”

“I could have handled things better too,” Jorah conceded. “Daenerys loves to tell me just how stubborn I can be. Mary says I get it from you,” he smirked.

“Aye,” Jeor agreed. “We’re a right pair of stubborn buggers, aren’t we?”

“We can’t change the past,” Jorah added. “But we can move on from it. Getting to know you is something I always hoped would happen one day. We’ve been pretty close these past few years and I’d like things to stay that way, if you would too?” He asked hopefully.

Jeor reached across the table and took his son’s hand in his own, giving it a brief squeeze.

“The more I get to know you, the prouder I am to know that you’re my son,” Jeor replied sincerely. “You really are one of the finest people I’ve ever met.”

Chapter Text

Unable to sleep any longer, Jorah pulled himself out of bed with a tired sigh.

After his father’s confession of guilt, the two men spent the next few hours talking and reminiscing about their pasts and were surprised to find that they had more in common than they first realised.

Half a bottle of scotch and several hours later, the two men said goodnight to each other and embraced warmly before heading to their separate bedrooms.

Despite the comfortable atmosphere between the two of them, sleep seemed to evade Jorah as he tossed and turned and went over old memories and cross words between them and the amount of time they’d wasted over the years by not speaking to each other.

Walking down the hallway, Jorah was surprised to find his father’s bed already made and the older man making a pot of coffee in the kitchen.

Perhaps they were even more alike than they realised.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jeor said, as he allowed the coffee to percolate. “Me neither,” he added as he looked at his son.

“Maybe someone should have driven us up here and locked us in years ago,” Jorah suggested, making his way over to the refrigerator and pulling out the ingredients to make a cooked breakfast.

Jeor chuckled at the thought.

“Aye, I think you might be right,” he replied. “But us Mormonts are famed for our stubbornness. It’s in our genes, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve enjoyed it though,” Jorah added. “Getting to know you better,” he clarified. “We should have done this a long time ago.”

“We could always do it again…if you like?” Jeor responded hopefully, pouring coffee into two mugs, and handing one to his son.

“I’d like - “

The mug fell from Jorah’s hand at the sound of a gunshot in the distance.

His eyes went wide as he stood frozen on the spot, caught in a flashback as he visibly flinched at two further booming sounds.

He came back to awareness slowly and found himself sitting on a kitchen chair with no idea of how he got there.

“You’re ok, son,” Jeor said gently as he took Jorah’s hands and checked them for any sign of injury.

“What happened?” Jorah asked, clearing his throat audibly.

“I should have realised it’s still hunting season,” Jeor admonished himself as Jorah’s face paled. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Jorah shook his head and ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

Jorah watched his father sweeping up the broken pieces of mug and wiping away the coffee off the floor with neither man speaking for some time.

“I still get them too,” Jeor said quietly. “A car backfiring or a firework being let off. Before you know it, you’re back in some godforsaken war zone getting shot at.”

“You saw active duty?” Jorah asked.

Jeor nodded his head.

“Northern Ireland and the Falklands mainly. It never really goes away - shooting someone or getting shot at. Those memories…they tend to creep up on you out of nowhere.”

“How do you deal with them?” Jorah asked softly.

“You do the exact opposite of what I did, which was to ignore them and pretend that they weren’t affecting me,” Jeor replied. “Please don’t make the same mistakes that I did,” he pleaded with his son. “You need to keep talking to Dr Tarly about these things, if not for me, for your beautiful girls. They need you. We all do.”

Daenerys pulled back the blinds, certain that she’d seen someone standing outside the house only moments ago. The dark figure tried to move and in their haste their hood fell back, and Daenerys immediately recognised them.

She made her way to the front door and opened it, calling out to the man standing at the bottom of the driveway.

“Thoros?” She called out as he froze in place. “What are you doing?” She said as she walked towards him.

“Nothing,” he replied shakily. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Is everything ok?” She asked.

One look at his appearance told her that it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Thoros said. “Just pretend I was never here.”

Daenerys shook her head, crossing her arms as she looked at him.

“No, come inside,” she instructed him in a tone that dared him to argue with her.

He let out a tired, defeated sigh and followed her through the front door.

She wrapped her arms around him, which took him by surprise.

“What’s wrong?” She said as she led him into the kitchen. “Has something happened?”

Thoros looked at her guiltily, refusing to make eye contact with her.

“Is Jorah here?” He asked quietly, looking for any sight that his friend might be in the house.

“He’s gone fishing with his father,” she replied as she filled the kettle with water from the tap. At any other time that might have prompted a sarcastic or ironic comment from Thoros, but he remained quiet and sombre. “Whatever’s happened, we can fix it, Thoros.”

He ran a hand over his goatee.

“I’ve been struggling,” Thoros finally admitted. “The last week or so has been really tough and I…” he trailed off, clearing his throat. “I wanted to buy a bottle of vodka and drink it all.”

He sat before her; his head lowered in shame.

“And did you?” She asked quietly.

Thoros shook his head.

“I wanted to, though.”

“But you didn’t,” Daenerys insisted. “You could have, but you came here and asked for help instead.”

Thoros ran his finger along the kitchen table, still refusing to look at her.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he repeated. “It’s not your responsibility to look after me. It isn’t Jorah’s either.”

“You’re our friend, Thoros,” she told him, handing him a cup for coffee. “And friends help each other.” He nodded at her but looked down at his feet once more. “What stopped you?” She asked.

Thoros pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I realised how great these past months have been and how I’ve finally felt like I’m a part of something good. And then I thought of Poppy and how disappointed she would be if I let her down. She looks at me as though she can see past all the shit and find something good in me and the thought of breaking her little heart kills me.”

Thoros looked at her with tears in his eyes. He seemed so defeated at the thought of letting Poppy down.

“Come with me,” Daenerys said after a long pause.

Thoros followed her without question.

“Poppy, look who’s come to visit,” she called out to her daughter who was currently sitting in her play pen and amusing herself with different objects.

“Fos!” Poppy gurgled as her face lit up at the sight of him and she clambered to get free from her pen.

“Hold your horses,” Daenerys told her daughter good-naturedly as she opened the baby gate and Poppy tottered towards Thoros.

He bent down to pick her up, sobbing as Poppy put her arms around him as best she could and leaned her head on his chest.

“Hey, Popster,” he said, holding her close and sniffing away the tears running down his face. “Have you been a good girl for your mummy?” The little girl giggled and reached out to touch his cheek.

“Take a seat,” Daenerys said. “I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do,” she smiled as she made her way to the kitchen and returned with juice for Poppy and a mug of coffee each for her and Thoros.

“Thank you,” Thoros said quietly as Poppy continued to pull at various buttons on his jacket before finding the zip and pulling it up and down, much to her own amusement. “I never want to let her down…to let any of you down.”

“You did the right thing, even though it was the hard thing,” Daenerys encouraged him. “You’re stronger than you think you are.”

“I feel so ashamed of it…of what I almost did,” he replied as he looked down at Poppy as she snuggled down on his lap, her immediate rush of energy at seeing him slowly waning. “I don’t deserve your support and understanding.”

“Would you do something for me?” Daenerys asked. Thoros looked up at her. “Will you stay here tonight?”

He began shaking his head the moment the words were out of her mouth.

“No, I wouldn’t want to be a nuisance. You don’t need me under your feet.”

“Jorah will be back this evening and I know he’d say the same thing. Let us take care of you tonight…just until you feel a bit stronger. I know that Poppy would love you to read her a bedtime story…” she added, hoping that spending more time with her daughter would be enough to make Thoros agree.

“Just for one night, that’s all,” Thoros sighed as Daenerys gave him a beaming smile, happy that she’d got her way.

Chapter Text

Jorah rubbed his eyes as he walked into the kitchen and found Thoros already up and making breakfast.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jorah told his old friend as he watched Thoros mix pancake batter.

“Yes, I do,” Thoros replied. “You put me up last night, so the least I can do is cook you all breakfast to say thank you.”

It was early evening by the time Jorah returned home from his fishing trip with his father and Daenerys had texted him earlier in the day to say that Thoros would be staying with them overnight.

After a weekend away, Jorah was glad to return home and Thoros feared that his old Army buddy would not be happy to find him sleeping in their spare room. On his return, Jorah merely smiled at Thoros, pulling him in for a brief hug and little more was said about it between the two men.

“How are you feeling?” Jorah asked as he poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Thoros considered the question for several moments.

“Better than yesterday,” he replied honestly as he poured the batter into the heated pan and set about cooking pancakes for everyone.

“You can call on us any time,” Jorah said as he sat down at the kitchen table. “Any time you feel like you’re slipping, call us.”

“I thought I could deal with it myself,” Thoros said quietly, his eyes firmly on the pan on the stove. “I was hoping that maybe a few weeks of rehab would stop the cravings for good.”

“You did the right thing,” Jorah replied. “You reached out for help. That’s progress.”

Thoros nodded his head and changed the subject.

“How was your weekend with the old man?” He asked, smirking at Jorah’s sudden discomfort at the question. “Did you catch any fish?”

“None,” Jorah replied. “We talked a lot though.”

The thought of two Mormont men making any kind of conversation was enough to make Thoros laugh quietly.

“Things are good between you?”

“We’re getting to know each other better. It’s slow going, but we’re getting there.”

“That’s progress,” smiled Thoros, repeating Jorah’s earlier words back to him.

“Something smells good,” Daenerys said as she carried Poppy into the room.

After almost two days of not seeing her father, Poppy reached out for Jorah and burbled happily in his arms as he held her close.

“We’re having pancakes for breakfast?” Daenerys asked as Thoros brought a bowl of fresh strawberries and blueberries to the kitchen table along with a bottle of maple syrup.

“I can make you anything you like…pancakes, cooked breakfast, an omelette…”

“What do you think, Poppy?” Daenerys asked her daughter. “Shall we have pancakes for breakfast?”

Poppy clapped her hands and bounced in Jorah’s lap.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,” Thoros replied as he brought over a stack of freshly-made pancakes to the table. “Have at it, people.”

“Oh my god, this is divine,” Daenerys said around a mouthful of pancake and fruit.

Jorah cut his own pancake into smaller pieces and passed some to Poppy who put it in her mouth and gobbled it down quickly.

“Are you not having anything?” Daenerys said, finishing off her pancake before reaching out for another one.

“I don’t really have much of an appetite in the mornings,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I was usually too…” He paused, looking ashamed. “Thank you both for letting me stay here last night,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, we did,” Jorah replied softly as Poppy put another piece of pancake in her mouth. “We’re family and we look out for each other. I know you’d do the same for me in a heartbeat.”

Thoros felt his insides clench painfully at Jorah’s remark knowing that he should have been a better friend to him after Anais and the baby died. He should have been a better friend when Jorah needed people around him after the truck explosion. If he’d been a better friend, Jorah wouldn’t have even been in that truck in the first place.

“I’m trying to do better,” Thoros said, avoiding eye contact with his friend. “I’m trying to be a better friend and a better person. I don’t want to let any of you down, especially Poppy.”

The little girl looked up upon hearing her name and she beamed at Thoros.

There was something so pure and innocent about the little girl. Without even trying, Poppy could see deep into his soul. She looked at him with such wonder and awe. She saw past the brash act he put on for the sake of the people around him to the man inside who had spent his whole life searching for a feeling he’d never experienced. A child’s love was so pure and untainted, and Thoros knew without a doubt that he would do anything to protect Poppy from the harsh realities of the world, even if that included himself.

“Poppy adores her Uncle Thoros,” Daenerys said, smiling at him.

“Fos!” Poppy repeated, clapping her hands together at the sound of his name.

“I adore her too,” he replied, his eyes growing misty at the sight of the young girl in her father’s arms. “She stole my heart from the moment I met her.”

“She has a habit of doing that,” Jorah chuckled, biting into his own pancake as Poppy tried to grab the food off the fork before it made it into her father’s mouth.

“It’s those damn puppy dog eyes,” Thoros said with a smile. “Bloody Mormont eyes,” he muttered. “You can never say no to them.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Daenerys added. “These two get away with murder. All it takes is those baby blues homing in on me and I can never say no to either of them.”

As if on cue, both Poppy and her father gave their most innocent expression to Daenerys and Thoros.

“See,” Thoros said, pointing at his friend. “That’s what I’m talking about. How can you say no to a face like that?”

“What face?” Jorah asked innocently, looking at his wife.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” she told him. “Both of you.” She then returned her attention to Thoros. “You can come and live here if you promise to cook us a breakfast like this every morning.”

“No,” he said gently. “I’ve already taken up too much of your time and you’ve done more than enough already. I need to head off soon anyway…there’s an AA meeting I need to get to.”

“Remember, we’re always here for you,” Daenerys reminded him as she walked over to hug him.

“Any time,” Jorah added as he pulled his friend in for a hug before Daenerys passed Poppy to her favourite uncle. “We’re proud of you,” Jorah said.

Not wanting to get overly emotional, Thoros passed the little girl back to her mother after a quick hug, clearing his throat and shrugging his jacket on.

“Check in with us later, ok?” Jorah said as he opened the front door for Thoros and watched him leave.

“Do you think he’ll be ok?” Daenerys asked as she followed her husband back to the kitchen.

“That’s the first time he’s ever reached out for help in the entire time I’ve known him,” he replied as he began clearing the kitchen table of glasses and crockery. “He’d usually just go off by himself, end up on a massive bender and leave Beric and I to clean up after him.”

“He’s trying so hard,” Daenerys replied. “It must be so difficult for him.”

“He’ll get there,” Jorah said as he reached out for her and held Daenerys close. “Thank you for helping him yesterday.”

She patted his chest gently.

“He’s our friend and I know how much he means to you.”

Jorah leaned his chin on the top of her head.

“There were times I was scared the police would come round and tell me that he was dead…that he got into a fight with someone or got behind the wheel of a car after having a skinful at the pub. I’d get so angry with him because I was scared that one day we’d lose him and it would be my fault.”

Daenerys looked up at him.

“And you wouldn’t have been able to change anything,” she told him. “Just like you couldn’t with your mother, or Anais and Noah. You did everything you could for all of them. We’ll keep working on Thoros but it’s not your responsibility to try to save everyone, life doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” he said, letting out a deep sigh. “I just want to keep the people I love safe. I want to protect them if I can.”

“I know you do,” she replied, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss him gently. “It’s one of the many reasons why I love you.” She pulled him flush to her body with a quick tug on his belt. “Now come here and kiss me properly…”

Chapter Text

What started out as washing the dishes, soon turned into a full-on make-out session between Jorah and Daenerys.

Since Jorah had recovered from his bout of chickenpox, they had made the most of every opportunity to be intimate. With the knowledge that Daenerys would fall pregnant when the time was right, they both felt less stress and anxiety than when they were struggling to conceive for the first time.

Even the most mundane of tasks became an opportunity for having sex, a case in point being yesterday when they popped out to do their weekly grocery shop while Missandei babysat for them.

With a vehicle full of groceries, Jorah pulled the car into the garage and Daenerys gave him that heated look that made it clear what she wanted. He pushed his seat back as far as it would go as she climbed onto his lap and had her way with him and by the time they finished, the car windows were foggy with their desire for one another.

They didn’t even have the sense to feel ashamed of their actions, even when Missandei gave them a knowing look as they entered the house from the garage side door with guilty looks on their faces.

“Did you get everything you wanted?” Missandei asked them pointedly as Jorah carried several bags of groceries to the kitchen.

Daenerys merely blushed and offered Missandei a glass of wine but the young woman said her goodbyes, realising that she didn’t want to be sat in between two people who were ridiculously in love making googly eyes at each other.

Things were just starting to get interesting again when the doorbell rang. Jorah gave his wife one last kiss and went to open the front door, surprised to find his father standing on the other side looking pensive.

“Is everything ok, Dad?” Jorah asked as he led his father through to the kitchen.

“I had a letter arrive this morning,” Jeor began, clearing his throat several times.

Daenerys saw the blood drain from Jorah’s face and took a step closer to him so that she could take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re sick, aren’t you?” Jorah said, swallowing thickly.

“It’s not that, son,” Jeor replied. “I promise you.”

“Then what is it?” Daenerys asked shakily.

Jeor took a deep breath and looked at his son.

“I had a letter from Anais’ parents,” he said quietly. “They didn’t have a contact address for you and so they wrote to me and asked me to give you this.”

It took Jorah several moments to respond before he took the envelope from his father’s hand.

“I wasn’t sure what to do for the best,” Jeor admitted. “But you have a right to know and it’s not my decision to make. I haven’t opened it,” he added as he watched Jorah turn the envelope over in his hand. “Can I make a suggestion though?”

Jorah nodded as he continued to look at the envelope.

“Let me take Poppy off your hands for a couple of hours.”

Daenerys smiled at Jeor and nodded her head.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “We’d really appreciate that.”

“Not a problem,” Jeor said softly. “Just give me a call when you’d like me to bring her back.”

Jorah stood in the kitchen, having not moved a muscle as his wife and father gathered up Poppy and some of her toys ready to take over to her grandpa’s.

After making the two of them coffee, Daenerys led her husband to the kitchen table and sat down next to him, allowing him to speak when he was ready.

“I’m not sure I want to open it,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she replied.

He looked at her with those achingly blue eyes of his.

Jorah took several deep breaths and carefully opened the envelope, his hands shaking as he removed the piece of lined paper and unfolded it.

Jorah,

Please forgive us for not writing to you until now, but it has been may years since we’ve seen you and we were unable to able to track down a current address for you.

Thank you for coming to visit Anais’ grave recently. We always hoped that we would see you again, but we understand that being in the Army is more of a lifestyle than it is a job. Please forgive us for not reaching out to you until now but losing our daughter and grandson hit us hard, and our grief was such that we neglected to see yours and for that we are truly sorry.

We should have told you at the time that Anais and Noah’s passing was not your fault, and it grieves us to think that you have spent so many years blaming yourself for something you had no control over.

Despite the two of you being so young when you married, we always felt safe in the knowledge that you would treat our daughter well. Anais would often call us from whichever base you were staying at, and she would say how kind and loving you were. Even though her life was cut cruelly short, she died having been loved by someone and for that we are thankful.

You were everything we had hoped for in a son-in-law and to know that you made Anais happy was all that mattered to us. Our only regret is that we did not make more of an effort to support you through your own grief at their passing.

We saw you with someone at the cemetery and it gladdens our hearts to know that you have people around you to support you. You deserve to be happy, and we hope that you are and that you now have a family of your own.

You should not feel obligated to write back to us, but our address and telephone numbers are at the bottom of this letter. You are always welcome at the final resting places of Anais and Noah, just as you are welcome at our home, but we shall leave that decision up to you.

Jorah placed the letter down on the kitchen table, rubbing a hand over his face and clearing his throat several times.

“Are you ok?” Daenerys asked him softly.

He swallowed thickly as he continued to look at the letter.

“It’s not what I was expecting,” he admitted. “I thought they’d tell me to never go back there again.”

“I know everyone keeps telling you this, but it wasn’t your fault, Jorah. You need to believe that.”

Jorah sniffed back the tears that were threatening to fall as he bit on his bottom lip.

“Losing Anais and Noah…it just seemed so unreal and so unfair and the only way I could learn to accept it was to blame it on something. I couldn’t accept that kind of thing happening without some sort of reason for it. If I blamed myself, I could accept what happened and that it happened because it was my fault.”

She could understand the logic of what her husband was saying, but he had carried a burden for twenty years that was never his to begin with.

“You need to stop blaming yourself,” she told him gently.

He looked at her briefly before his eyes landed on the letter before him.

“I’ve had a lot of practice at it,” he said with the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “It’s a hard habit to break…but I’m trying. I swear to you that I’m trying.”

She leaned over and kissed the side of his head.

“I know you are,” she told him, resting her head on his shoulder. “And I’m so proud of you.”

They stayed that way for a while until Jorah finally broke the silence.

“Do you think I should contact them?”

She took hold of his hand and ran her thumb over his knuckles.

“That’s not a decision I can make,” she said, squeezing his hand gently. “But Poppy, your father, and I will support you whatever you decide.”

“We should let Dad know he can bring Poppy back now,” Jorah said, putting on a brave face for the sake of his wife.

“She’ll be fine with her grandpa for a while,” she replied as she stood up and held her hand out to him. She could see how much reading that letter had affected him. “Will you come upstairs and lie down with me for a while?”

He followed her willingly and as they lay on top of the duvet, Jorah felt his eyes grow heavy as Daenerys ran a hand through his hair until he fell deeply asleep.

Chapter Text

Jorah silently nodded his thanks to the psychiatrist as Sam handed him a cup of coffee before heading back to his desk.

The doctor pulled Jorah’s case notes from his folder.

“Forgive me for saying this,” Sam began, running a hand over his goatee. “But you look like you’ve had a tough few days.”

Normally Jorah would shoot the doctor a barbed comment, but he was too tired and drained to play that sort of game today.

“Has something happened?” Sam asked, looking at his client expectantly.

Jorah ran a hand over his beard and cleared his throat before speaking.

“It’s been a long week,” Jorah said quietly.

“What have you been up to?” Sam prodded gently.

“My father and I,” Jorah began before trailing off. “We went to Loch Lomond for the weekend.”

“Just the two of you?”

Jorah nodded his head.

“My father suggested that we go fishing somewhere quiet,” Jorah replied. “I honestly thought he was going to tell me that he was dying,” he added, wringing his hands together.

“And is he?”

Jorah shook his head and let out a deep breath.

“No,” he answered quietly. “He wanted us to spend some time together so we could talk about things.”

“What kinds of things?” Sam asked, scribbling a note in Jorah’s file. It was enough to make Jorah look up and give the psychiatrist a sour look.

“When I had chickenpox…apparently I said a few things.”

“Hmmm,” Sam said, placing his pen down to look at his client. “Sometimes we are at our most open when we are at our most vulnerable,” he surmised. “Was there something in particular that you said?”

“Apparently,” Jorah began before the words stuck in his throat. “I was reliving the time that he…” Jorah trailed off, wringing his hands together in his lap as he stared down at them.

“The time that he what, Jorah?” Sam prodded again.

Jorah ran a hand over the back of his neck, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally blurting out. “The night he attacked me after I told him I’d gotten Anais pregnant.”

The words came out in a rush and Sam took his time before asking his next question.

“What happened?”

Jorah fidgeted in his chair, glancing repeatedly at the door as if he was considering bolting from the room at any moment.

“Take your time, there’s no rush,” Sam reassured him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jorah opened his mouth to speak.

“I’d gotten Anais pregnant when we were teenagers and when I told my father…he…he flew into a rage, and started hitting me.”

“How many times did he hit you?” Sam asked softly, knowing that he would need to be gentle when it came to pulling answers from his reluctant client.

“Does it really matter how many times?” Jorah said as he looked up briefly.

“I think it matters to you,” Sam observed.

Jorah sat with his head bowed for several moments, the only sound in the room was that of the ticking clock on the wall.

“I don’t know. He caught me off-guard,” Jorah began. “I wasn’t expecting the first punch and I stumbled backwards, but he just kept coming for me.” He paused to clear his throat again as tears began to run freely down his cheeks. “I kept begging him to stop.”

“And did he?”

Jorah shook his head, tears falling onto his lap as he hung his head.

“I don’t know how, but I got away from him eventually and I ran to Mary’s parents. I didn’t know what else to do or where to go. I thought he was going to kill me.”

Sam sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he watched his client’s shoulders slump at the admission.

“Was that the first time he hit you?” Sam finally asked after a lengthy pause.

“No,” Jorah whispered, his head still bowed. “He was always distant when my mother was alive, but it was only after she died that he started hitting me.”

“Why did he hit you?”

Jorah screwed his eyes shut, looking up to the heavens as if they would give him an answer.

“Because I disappointed him,” he said quietly. “He wouldn’t stand for me crying, not even at my mother’s funeral. He told me that only weak men cry.”

“But you were a young boy,” Sam countered.

“I thought that if I…” Jorah cleared his throat as the words threatened to choke him once more. “I kept trying to be whatever I thought he wanted me to be, but I never got it right. Every time I did something it would be wrong and then he would get angry at me.”

“And hit you?”

Jorah nodded.

“He would tell me that life would hit me much harder than he did if I didn’t toughen up.”

Sam was quiet for so long that Jorah felt compelled to look up at him.

“How do you feel about what happened that night, now that you and your father have spoken about it?”

Jorah took his time, considering the question before answering.

“I wish that night had never happened,” he replied quietly. “And I wish that my father and I had sat down years ago and talked about things. I feel like we wasted so much time not speaking to each other.”

“And do you forgive your father for what he did to you back then?”

The question seemed to catch Jorah off-guard.

“He told me how much he regrets it happening and that he’s ashamed of what he did. Over the past few years, he’s really tried to be a better father…and me holding on to the past isn’t going to fix anything.”

Sam smiled at his client.

“What?” Jorah groused, annoyed that the therapist seemed to find his admission funny.

“Think about what you just said,” Sam prompted him.

“That my father regrets what happened?” Jorah replied, frowning in confusion.

“The bit after that,” Sam said, a smirk still pulling at his lips as Jorah continued to look oblivious to what he’d just said. “You said that holding onto the past isn’t going to fix anything.”

It took several moments for the words to sink in as Jorah’s features turned from puzzled to surprise as his eyes widened at his own admission.

“Does it seem very fair to set yourself a different set of standards than those for the ones you love?” Sam asked him as he leaned his forearms on his desk and looked at his client.

“You’re willing to let the past go and forgive the people who hurt you and yet you won’t offer yourself the same opportunity.”

Jorah wrung his hands together and stared down at them as he considered Sam’s words.

“It’s different,” Jorah offered lamely as he rubbed at the back of his neck again.

“How is it different?” Sam countered.

“I don’t know, it just is!” Jorah shot back, feeling his hackles rise.

“Would you hold your daughter to those same set of standards? Would you hold your wife to them?”

“Of course I wouldn’t!” Jorah said as he rubbed at his forehead, his frustration building at the psychiatrist’s continual prodding at him. “You’re twisting what I’m saying!” He said, his voice rising as he growled the words out.

“I haven’t twisted anything you’ve said,” Sam responded evenly. “I’m simply asking you questions that you’ve avoided answering for a long time.” He let the silence linger in the room. “You seem angry, Jorah,” he observed.

Jorah’s head shot up as he stared at the psychiatrist with his hands balled into fists.

“I’m not angry,” Jorah said quietly. “I’m frustrated.”

“What are you frustrated about?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Jorah grumbled under his breath as his anger slowly seeped away. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“Not until I get an answer, usually,” Sam replied, not in the least bit intimated by his client.

After only a handful of sessions with the man, it was clear to see that any anger and frustration that Jorah held within him would always be directed internally and not at those around him. “And I’m not going to give up on you either,” he added as he looked directly at his client. “I can’t force you to come to these sessions and answer my questions. It’s not going to be easy coming to peace with your past and you’re going to have to want to work at it.”

“I’m doing this for my family,” Jorah mumbled. “They deserve better.”

“And so do you,” Sam countered. “I can help you with that, but you have to want me to help you.”

“I do,” Jorah replied quietly. “I do want you to help me.”

“You’re going to need to trust me then,” Sam replied. “If I’m pushing you, it’s for a good reason.”

Jorah gave him a tired smile.

“My wife says I’m the most stubborn man she’s ever met.”

“That can be a good thing sometimes,” Sam chuckled before sobering. “But you need to learn when to be stubborn and when to let go of things.”

“I want to,” Jorah said quietly. “I really do.”

Sam nodded his head and put his pen down on the desk.

“And that’s half the battle won already, the rest we can work on.”

Chapter Text

“Thank you so much for doing this, Thoros,” Daenerys smiled as Jorah helped her on with her jacket. “We promise we won’t be back too late.”

Thoros waved the comment away.

“Go and have fun kids,” he replied, patting Jorah on the shoulder. “Me and the Popster will be just fine.”

“Thank you,” Jorah said sincerely to his old Army pal. “We really appreciate it.”

“Are you ready?” Daenerys said to her husband as she closed the front door of their home and walked to the taxi waiting on the street outside.

Jorah’s last session with the psychiatrist had been a difficult one and even though he didn’t say much about it on his return home, Daenerys could tell by the slump of his shoulders and the look on his face that whatever he’d talked about was significant.

She didn’t push him to talk about it, knowing that he would speak of the session in his own time if he wanted to, but he’d been distracted often since the session earlier in the week.

It took some perseverance, but Daenerys finally managed to get him to agree to the dinner invitation from Beric and Marie. With Thoros volunteering himself for babysitting duties, Jorah gave into the inevitable and agreed to go.

Allowing Thoros to babysit was a gesture not lost on the man himself and it meant the world that Jorah trusted him enough with his young daughter and signified a huge step forwards in Thoros’ recovery from alcohol addiction.

“Christ knows what mess we’ll come back to,” Jorah grumbled good-naturedly as he opened the car door and allowed Daenerys to enter the taxi first.

“They’ll be fine,” Daenerys replied as they both put on their seatbelts and the taxi pulled away. “How much mess can they make in a couple of hours?”

The look Jorah shot his wife made it clear that, when Thoros was involved, mass destruction of property was likely to happen if he was let too far off the leash.

“Anyway,” Daenerys said, squeezing his hand gently. “Let’s go and have some fun tonight, I think we deserve it.”

Jorah gave her a shy smile before it fell. Daenerys immediately stepped in to stop him from berating himself.

“Hey,” she said, lifting his chin with her finger. “They’ll be no navel-gazing tonight, understood?”

Jorah nodded his head and whispered, “Understood,” back to her.

“I’m so proud of you,” she told him sincerely. “I know how hard you’re working at this.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a miserable pain in the arse lately,” he replied quietly.

She gave him an exasperated look but let the comment go and soon the taxicab was pulling up outside a swanky restaurant in the city centre. Ever the gentleman, Jorah got out and opened the door for his wife before paying the taxi driver and guiding her into the busy restaurant.

Beric and Marie were sitting at the bar and Jorah’s old Army pal waved them over as they exchanged warm hugs, handshakes, and kisses before being led to their table in a quiet corner of the restaurant.

“I’m glad to see that you made it, Captain,” Beric said as they all made themselves comfortable in their seats and perused the menu. “Trying to get this man out in public and socialising is like getting blood from a stone,” Beric chuckled, directing his comments to Daenerys.

Jorah said nothing but shot a withering glare at his friend.

“I have my methods for getting him out in the daylight,” Daenerys replied, giving Marie a knowing look as the two women smiled at each other.

It was not long before starters were ordered, along with two bottles of wine and with a little alcohol Daenerys saw Jorah’s shoulders starting to relax and several smiles crossing his features as the dinner continued.

Besides, there was cause for much celebration when Marie held her hand out for all to see her engagement ring.

“You finally asked her?” Jorah grinned at his old friend.

“Aye,” Beric replied with a grin, “I did.”

“You do realise what you’re taking on?” Jorah smirked at the newly engaged couple. “I’ve shared a barracks with this man. He lives like a pig, and he snores like one too.”

Daenerys gave her husband a gentle kick under the table for that.

“Leave them alone,” she smiled at him. “I think you make a lovely couple. The two of you are great together.”

“Aye,” Beric replied, running a hand over his beard, blushing lightly. “Not sure what she saw in this old warhorse, but I’m just glad she did.”

Any further doubts from Beric were silenced when Marie leaned over and kissed him soundly.

The dinner came to an end a few hours and a couple more bottles of wine later and Jorah wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to hail a taxicab to take them back home. His head was spinning slightly, and he knew he was grinning like a fool at his equally inebriated wife, but he couldn’t seem to care less.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at her as his eyes seemed determined to go in opposite directions of one another, although they clearly said what his voice could not. Spending an evening with friends was helping to lift the blue mood that had been following him like a rain cloud for the last few days.

Both were giggling like silly teenagers as Daenerys tried several times to put her key in the front door and almost fell inside when Thoros opened it from the other side.

“Did you have fun tonight, kids?” He teased them.

Daenerys looked at her husband as they both giggled again and tottered inside and past Thoros.

“Ok,” Thoros said, squeezing past the two of them in the hallway as they began trading sloppy kisses with each other. “I think you two have had far too much Ribena. You best get yourselves off to bed.”

Jorah cocked an eyebrow suggestively at Daenerys at the mention of the word ‘bed’. Thoros gently pushed them both towards the stairs, standing behind Jorah and following closely behind. Both seemed unsteady on their feet, and Thoros knew that if either of them fell back down the stairs in their drunken state that he would forever be blamed for their mishap.

After several false attempts at conquering the final step of the stairs, the drunken couple finally made it safely onto the landing. Thoros had to grab his old Army pal by the arm when Jorah attempted to open the airing cupboard while mistaking it for the bedroom.

“This way, Captain,” Thoros said rolling his eyes and making a grab for Daenerys as she tottered dangerously close to the edge of the stairs.

After some gentle pulling and pushing, Thoros finally managed to get them both into their bedroom and he closed the door quickly, hoping they would both soon fall into a drunken slumber.

With her parents safely in their bedroom, Thoros quietly crept across the landing to check in on Poppy who was thankfully still fast asleep and unaware of her parents drunken antics.

Thoros sat down in the armchair by Poppy’s cot and watched over her as she slept. It floored him once more to realise that Poppy had a way of looking past his boorish front and straight into his soul.

He would never get tired of watching her little face light up whenever she caught sight of him and although he knew that he could never take back all the mistakes he’d made, being an active part of Poppy’s life was enough to strengthen his resolve each time the lure of alcohol became too much.

To fail her and see disappointment in her eyes when she looked at him would break him and he couldn’t bear the thought of ever hurting her.

“Looks like I’ll be making us breakfast in the morning, little one,” he whispered to Poppy knowing that neither Daenerys or Jorah were in any fit state to see to her tonight and besides, someone would need to be alert should either of them mistake the airing cupboard for the bedroom again.

With one last look at Poppy, Thoros quietly left the room and made himself comfortable on the bed in the spare room.

He resigned himself to spending the next several hours awake, making sure Daenerys and Jorah didn’t break their neck in the middle of the night and after many evenings when the boot was on the other foot, Thoros knew it was about time that he stayed on the lookout for his friend for once.

Chapter Text

“Oh shit,” Jorah groaned as he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the ceiling in of the bedroom. He attempted to lift his head and regretted it as his stomach lurched in protest.

Daenerys remained fast asleep on top of the covers, still in her dress and makeup from the night before and Jorah was alarmed to find himself in nothing but his shirt and boxer shorts. He sat up gingerly, his eyes falling on his trousers, socks and shoes that were currently lying haphazardly across the bedroom floor.

Jorah rubbed at his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling nausea clawing at his gut. The last thing he remembered was having dinner with Beric and Marie. He had no idea how they’d made it home. It then occurred to him that Poppy would be awake and his eyes widened.

“Daenerys,” Jorah said, shaking his wife’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

She groaned and turned over onto her back, letting out a pitiful moan.

“Oh god,” she said dramatically. “I feel like I’m dying. What time is it?” she asked, covering her eyes with her arm.

Jorah picked up his mobile phone, shocked to find that it was almost 8 a.m.

“Poppy,” they both said in unison and Jorah pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, ignoring the way his stomach protested as his headache thumped in time with his heartbeat.

“I’ll go and check on her,” he said, hastily pulling on the black trousers he’d worn the night before. Despite his hangover, his eye caught the note attached to the door of Poppy’s nursery.

Everything is under control, Captain. Poppy and I are downstairs having some breakfast. Come down when you feel human again.

Thoros

Jorah let out a sigh of relief. Thoros had probably seen the state they were in and stayed overnight to keep an eye on both Poppy and her heavily inebriated parents.

Jorah padded back towards the bedroom as Daenerys sat on the side of the bed holding her head.

“Thoros stayed here last night,” Jorah told his wife, wanting to reassure her as soon as possible. “They’re downstairs making breakfast.”

Just the word ‘breakfast’ was enough to make Daenerys’ stomach roll painfully as she darted from the room and straight into the bathroom. Jorah winced when he heard her retch noisily.

Food was the last thing on his mind as he gingerly made his way downstairs, willing his own stomach to stop doing somersaults. As he reached the bottom step, he heard Poppy laughing at the noises Thoros was making.

“You’re still alive then,” Thoros smirked as Poppy opened her mouth and allowed Thoros to spoon another piece of pancake into her mouth. Upon seeing her father, Poppy called out ‘Paaaaa!’

Aware that his breath probably smelled like sewage, Jorah gave his daughter a brief kiss on the top of her head before making his way over to the coffee pot, grateful that Thoros had already put it on to brew.

“I feel like death warmed up,” Jorah said, taking a large mouthful of the hot liquid. Normally he would put a sugar or two in his coffee, but he drank it straight and neat, wanting to blow away the cobwebs of his hangover as quickly as possible.

Thoros smirked at his former superior before Poppy reached out her hand for the spoon, indicating that she wanted him to feed her more pancake.

“I have to admit that I know that feeling all too well,” Thoros said, turning his attention back to Poppy.

“Remind me never to drink again,” Jorah sighed pitifully as he drained the last of his coffee and poured himself another one.

“I take it you had fun?” Thoros asked as he spooned the last of the pancake into Poppy’s mouth. “The two of you were pretty wired when you got home. I had to stop you from sleeping in the airing cupboard last night.”

Jorah ran a hand over his haggard face, frowning when he realised that he remembered nothing about getting home.

“I’m sorry, Thoros,” Jorah said sincerely as he swallowed another mouthful of coffee. “We shouldn’t have put you out like that.”

After poking his tongue out at Poppy and making her giggle, Thoros picked up her bowl and spoon and washed both in the sink.

“Let’s just say that I owed you one for the many nights where you dragged me out of some godforsaken bar in the arse end of nowhere and got me back home safely,” Thoros said as he kept his eyes on the dishes in the sink. “I’ve put you through a hell of a lot worse,” he added quietly, shame lacing his tone.

“Thank you for staying here and looking after us,” Jorah replied. “You didn’t have to do that.”

The two men looked at each other for several moments before Thoros decided to change the subject. Both men were never completely comfortable having an emotional conversation, especially when it was just the two of them.

“How’s Daenerys feeling?” Thoros asked as he dried his hands on a tea towel.

“Daenerys is feeling very delicate,” she answered, walking into the kitchen with her hand on her forehead. “Please tell me that there’s some coffee going spare?” She said as she closed her eyes, only opening them again when she felt Jorah gently wrapping her fingers around the handle of a steaming cup of coffee which she gratefully took to the kitchen table and sat down at gingerly.

“Can I make either of you anything to eat?” Thoros asked.

“No,” they said quickly and in unison.

“I don’t think it would stay down very long even if I did,” Daenerys moaned pitifully.

“That’ll teach you to go out drinking on a school night,” Thoros smirked. “Would you like me to take Poppy out for a while until you both feel human again?”

Daenerys looked up at Thoros.

“We’ve already put you out,” she said as she looked at her husband guiltily. “We couldn’t ask you to do it again.”

“Spending time with the Popster is not putting me out,” Thoros told her as he smiled at the infant. “We love it, don’t we, Popster?”

Poppy clapped her hands together and bounced in her highchair giggling, “Fos!”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind?” Daenerys said, her tone implying that Thoros was under no obligation to make good on his offer.

“What do you think, Popster? Should we go to the park for a bit?”

Poppy’s eyes lit up as she bounced happily in her chair.

“Pack!” She burbled. “Pack!”

Jorah nodded his head as he looked at Daenerys before gathering Poppy’s pushchair and bag and bringing them into the kitchen.

“There’s something we wanted to ask you,” Jorah said quietly and the seriousness in his tone made Thoros anxious.

“If it’s about the time I came round here,” Thoros began. “I’ve been going to AA meetings twice a week since then. I haven’t touched any alcohol, I swear.”

Daenerys caught the panicked look in Thoros’ eyes and quickly walked over to him.

“We know you haven’t,” she reassured him. “We trust you.”

Thoros frowned at her words. He’d hardly given anyone a reason to trust him in his entire life.

“We’ve been thinking,” Jorah added, smiling at his wife. “We’d like to get Poppy christened - “

“And you need me to do the food?” Thoros replied. “Sure, no problem.”

“Thoros, will you stop talking for just one second,” Jorah sighed dramatically. “We wanted to ask you if you would do us the honour of being Poppy’s godfather.”

Thoros blinked and did a double take.

“Um, sorry?” He said, certain that he hadn’t just been asked to be Poppy’s godfather.

“We would very much like it if you would agree to being Poppy’s godfather,” Daenerys repeated.

“That’s what I thought you’d said,” Thoros replied, still slightly stunned. “Are you sure though?”

“We’re certain,” Jorah said in that firm way that always struck fear into new Army recruits. “Poppy adores you and I know without a doubt that you would protect her with your life. If anything were to happen to us, I know that you would love her and care for her as if she was your own.”

“Captain…I’m not quite sure what to say,” Thoros said quietly.

“We’d love it if you would say ‘yes’,” Daenerys replied. “Would you do us the honour of being Poppy’s godfather?”

“Of course I will,” Thoros said, wiping furiously at the tears rolling down his cheeks as Daenerys hugged him tightly and for once in his life, Thoros didn’t feel ashamed of showing his emotions.

He’d spent his whole life searching for the meaning of family and what it was supposed to feel like. After years of stumbling from one crisis to another, he finally had his life back on track and now he was sober enough to understand what love really felt like, Thoros knew he never wanted to let it slip from his grasp again.

Chapter Text

“Thank you, Mr. Mormont,” Gilly smiled as Jorah placed a cup of chamomile tea on her desk. “That’s very kind of you.”

Jorah smiled as he took his seat on the opposite side of the reception area.

“You must be almost due now,” Jorah said, adjusting his leather jacket. “Are you sure you should still be working?”

“I’ve asked her that question a hundred times already,” Dr Sam Tarly said, shaking his head at his wife. “She won’t listen to me,” he added as he shrugged. “If you’d like to come in, Jorah?”

Jorah followed the younger man into his office and made himself comfortable in the chair opposite the doctor’s desk.

“How have you been?” Sam asked, flipping open the cardboard folder that contained notes of his client’s previous sessions. It was a movement more of habit than necessity for the young psychiatrist who had found himself drawn to the stubborn Jorah Mormont’s case from the moment the former Army captain first walked into in his office.

“Things have been ok,” Jorah shrugged as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, having hung his leather jacket on the back of the chair before sitting down.

“We spoke a lot about your father last week,” Sam said. “How are things between the two of you?”

Jorah shrugged his shoulders again at the question.

“They’re good,” Jorah replied. “Everything is good between us.”

Sam looked at his client, his eyes narrowing at the fact that his client seemed distracted as his right hand continued to fiddle with his left arm.

“Are you in pain?” Sam asked and it was enough to get his client’s attention.

Jorah looked up.

“Nothing I’m not already used to,” he said, trying to hide his discomfort. “I had surgery on my arm a few months back. I still get pains from time to time.”

“You were injured when your truck ran over an IED?” Sam asked, looking at his client’s medical notes for confirmation. “Full thickness burns to your left arm and shoulder.”

Jorah flinched at his words.

“What do you remember of the incident?” Sam asked, looking his client in the eye as Jorah tried to avert his own gaze.

“I’m not sure that really matters,” Jorah replied, rubbing at his stubbled jaw while trying not to show that the question had affected him.

“Have you ever talked to someone about it before?” Sam asked. “Professionally, I mean?”

Jorah closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I got my medical discharge papers after the incident,” Jorah replied, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone. “The Army didn’t really seem to care all that much after that.”

Sam nodded his head, fully understanding why Jorah felt so bitter. So many men and women dedicated their life to the Army and then found themselves discarded when they were no longer useful, and it was a huge reason why he and other Army doctors continued to push for better aftercare for injured soldiers when they returned home from the frontlines.

“Take me back to the day of the incident,” Sam said, clicking his pen…

“Fucking Thoros,” he muttered under his breath.

Thoros had gone off the deep end again last night and somehow managed to find a few bottles of vodka from God only knew where.

The man was nowhere to be seen at roll call this morning and after briefing his men, he climbed into the back of the truck due to guard a medical convoy through an area of Afghanistan that was currently a no man’s land between the American and British forces and the Taliban freedom fighters. With Thoros MIA, he took his sargent’s place in the truck knowing that if he stayed on base any longer, he’d almost certainly beat ten bags of shit out of his friend the next time he saw him.

He checked the magazine in his gun as the truck bounced along the rough-hewn roads in the desert while keeping an eye out for any Taliban hiding in the sandbanks and bushes.

Thoros had been treading a fine line for weeks now and he cut the man some slack after the incident in the village knowing how deeply it had affected his friend. Thoros’ behaviour was spiralling out of control now and he knew that he’d have little option but to formally discipline his subordinate when he got back to the base later today.

He found himself suddenly thrown to the side of the truck, the front end of the vehicle rearing up as if it had been hit full force by a steam train. The vehicle tumbled over twice before landing on its roof as he felt something wet hit his face.

He yelled as he looked up to find pieces of the driver and the soldier sitting in the front passenger seat sprayed all over the interior of the truck. He tried to move but realised he was stuck, pinned down by something as he looked at the two other men in the rear compartment. Both were bleeding and unconscious.

There was something else apart from the smell of blood and burned flesh and he soon realised that it was gasoline. Within seconds the truck caught alight and still pinned down he could do nothing but scream as the flames grew quickly and soon engulfed the left side of his body.

“Hang on, buddy!” Someone shouted and he could feel his ears starting to ring as his vision swam. He continued to scream, even though he was sure that no sound was coming out.

He felt hands on his upper body and the strange sensation of being both pushed and pulled at the same time. The pain in his left side was enough to make him want to pass out as he felt himself being yanked and suddenly the crushing weight on his body was lifted.

He felt someone tapping his cheek forcefully.

“Captain,” the medic shouted, tapping his cheek several times until his eyes fluttered open. “Stay with us, Captain!”

They were pouring something on him and for one horrible moment he thought it was more gasoline. He pushed and shoved at the men holding him still as best he could as a huge explosion filled the air.

“The others,” he managed to gasp as his breath came out in harsh rasps.

“Let’s just worry about you for now,” the medic replied, shooting a look to his fellow soldiers.

He felt one of the men removing his helmet as he lay on the sandy ground and the pain in his body hit him full force as he began screaming in agony. He was shouting so hard that he felt his temples pounding and suddenly he was struggling to catch his breath.

“Morphine, now!” he heard the medic shouting. “Just hold still, Captain,” the man said, his voice softer now. “We’ll take good care of you.”

He felt the needle being jabbed into his body and soon people were pulling at his armour and clothes, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Everything sounded muffled and dulled as they lifted him onto something and jostled him from side to side as they ran back to the medic truck. The morphine was taking effect and he felt himself almost watching on as several soldiers crowded around him and stuck things on him and in him.

He groaned when someone lifted his eyelids in turn and shined a light in his eyes. He still couldn’t hear what they were saying but they were talking louder now and sounding more panicked, before everything gradually went black…

“The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital with Mary looking at me with tears streaming down her face.”

Sam sat back in his chair as he took in his client’s words. Jorah’s recounting of the incident had been horrific to say the least.

“The explosion,” Jorah began before clearing his throat. “It’s one of the reasons I came here,” he explained. “I was at a barbecue with friends and family and when the coals caught light suddenly…it took me straight back to being pinned down in the truck. I just froze.”

“That’s a normal reaction for someone who has PTSD,” Sam said, bracing himself for his client’s aggressive reaction.

He wasn’t kept waiting long.

“I don’t have PTSD,” Jorah growled, touching his left arm again in a way that was becoming a tell-tale sign to the psychiatrist that something was bothering his client.

“Flashbacks, nightmares, freezing suddenly at the sight of flames…these are all classic signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“I am not mentally ill,” Jorah insisted, his anger beginning to get the better of him. “You make me sound like I’m unstable.”

It was then that Sam realised his client feared he would be labelled ‘crazy’ for his behaviour.

“You are perfectly sane, Jorah,” Sam told him patiently. “PTSD is entirely normal given your circumstances. In fact, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t showing signs of it. And you’re human,” he added. “The brain isn’t a computer and you’re not a robot. You’re a normal, well-adjusted human being who has experienced some horrific trauma in your life. To be honest, I’m surprised you’ve kept it together for this long given what you’ve been through in your life.”

Jorah sat silently for several minutes before looking upon at the doctor.

“So, what do I have to do to get rid of it?” He asked, suddenly feeling beyond weary.

“You can’t, I’m afraid,” Sam replied. “But you can treat it and live with it but first you have to accept that it’s an issue that you need to deal with.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Jorah asked tiredly.

“You talk about it in a safe space and without fear of judgement,” Sam replied.

“Keep coming here, you mean?” Jorah groused as he let out a tired sigh.

“That’s a decision that’s up to you, Jorah. No one else can make it for you.”

Chapter Text

“No, that’s fine, Doctor Tarly,” Jorah said, giving his wife a brief smile as she passed him and entered the kitchen. “Congratulations on your little girl.”

Jorah placed his phone back in his pocket and joined his wife in the kitchen.

“Doctor Tarly’s wife gave birth to their daughter this morning,” Jorah told her, kissing the side of Daenerys’ head before brewing a fresh pot of coffee. “He asked to move our appointment back to next week.”

Daenerys nodded her head and smiled at him, taking two cups from the cupboard and placing them by the coffee pot.

Perhaps a week away from the difficult conversations Jorah was having with the psychiatrist would help, she thought, judging by the effect the previous session had on Jorah.

He’d returned him from his last session with a haunted look on his face and eventually told Daenerys that he’d recounted the truck explosion in Afghanistan. His sleep for the following few nights was broken to say the least and several times she needed to shake her husband to wake him up from the nightmare he was experiencing.

Daenerys knew that the nightmares were a necessary evil as Jorah worked through the horrors of his past, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch him go through such a painful process.

“Everything ok?” Daenerys asked as Jorah handed her a cup of coffee. She understood him well enough by now to know that he was hesitating about asking her something.

“I was thinking,” he began, clearing his throat several times. “I was talking to Doctor Tarly about the letter from Anais parents during my last session… I was thinking that I’d like to write back to them.”

Daenerys knew how much her support meant to him and she walked across the kitchen and placed a soft kiss on Jorah’s lips before cupping his cheek with her hand.

“I think that sounds like a very good thing to do,” she encouraged him.

Jorah gave her a brief smile before looking at his coffee cup as it sat in his hand.

“I’m not even sure what to write,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Just write down whatever you feel,” she replied, gently squeezing his hand. “There’s no right or wrong way. Just be honest.”

Draining the last of his coffee, Jorah pulled the notepad from the kitchen drawer and sat at the dining table, tapping the pen on the page as he searched his mind for the best way to start the letter.

Sensing that her husband needed some time on his own, Daenerys made herself comfortable in the lounge to watch cartoons with Poppy while listening out for any sign that Jorah might need her.

It was over an hour later when Jorah entered the lounge and sat down next to his wife.

“Would you like to read it?” He asked quietly.

“Only if you want me to,” Daenerys replied.

He nodded his head and passed her the notepad.

Mr and Mrs Glover,

Please accept my apologies for not writing to you until now. Your letter was unexpected, and it has taken me some time to process everything.

For many years I have blamed myself for Anais and Noah’s death and I have been too ashamed to seek your forgiveness. Despite many people telling me otherwise, their deaths weigh heavily on conscience, and I can find no one else other than myself to blame.

Despite not visiting their graves since their passing, I have carried the loss of Anais and Noah with me wherever I’ve travelled and there is not a day goes by when I do not miss them.

Anais was kind and gentle and we spent many good years together. A part of me also died when I lost her and Noah, and it has taken me many years to come to terms with that loss.

The woman you saw with me at the cemetery is my wife Daenerys and we have a little girl called Poppy who is eighteen months old now. I thank the Gods that they came into my life at a point when all seemed lost. They are so much more than I deserve, and I hope that Anais and Noah would be proud of the man I’ve become with Daenerys by my side.

I did consider calling instead of writing, but there are still many things I need to work through to truly come to a peace with my past so please forgive my cowardliness in choosing to write to you instead.

Your forgiveness and understanding are more than I deserve, and I still need to find my way to forgiving myself before I can truly accept that same gift from others. Healing is a slow and painful journey, but I am taking those first steps - no matter how hard and uncomfortable I may be finding it.

Perhaps we can start by writing to each other in the meantime? There is no obligation for you to agree to do so, but it would mean a great deal to me if we could keep talking.

Jorah

Daenerys wiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks as she passed the notepad back to her husband.

“What do you think?” He asked, looking at her nervously as he tried to gauge her reaction.

“I think you’re still entirely too hard on yourself,” she replied, looking at him with mild exasperation. “You deserve to forgive yourself and you deserve to be able to move on without feeling guilty. What happened to Anais and Noah was never your fault.”

Jorah nodded his head as he placed the notepad on the coffee table, picking up Poppy as she sat on the carpet by the couch. He hugged her as she babbled happily and reached up to touch his face.

“Do you think I’m a coward for writing instead of calling?” He asked as he bounced Poppy on his knees.

“You are not a coward,” she told him, a little more forcefully than she’d intended. “Not after everything you’re putting yourself through. You need to be kinder to yourself.”

He gave her a sad smile.

“I’m still having a few issues with that,” he replied with a humourless laugh. “I am trying though, I swear to you that I am,” he added, looking slightly panicked.

“I know you are,” she replied, leaning over to kiss him softly on the lips. “And in the meantime, Poppy and I will just have to keep reminding you to not be so hard on yourself.”

“Papa, Papa!” Poppy said, smiling at her father.

“See,” Daenerys said, motioning to their little girl. “If you won’t listen to me, you should at least listen to your daughter.”

“Uff hoo,” Poppy said, sticking her finger in her mouth as she looked at her father.

“And I love you too,” Daenerys added, looking at her husband lovingly. “And you should know by now that Poppy and I are always right.”

Jorah chuckled at that as a genuine smile spread across his face.

“I know better than to argue with the ladies of the house,” he mused as Poppy returned her attention to the cartoon on the TV screen.

“And don’t you forget it,” Daenerys said, wagging her finger at her husband jovially.

“And what’s my punishment if I do?” He asked cheekily.

“Let me put Poppy down for a nap and I’ll show you,” she replied, giving him a heated look that promised much more when she returned to the lounge in a few minutes time.

They’d yet to conceive for a second time and they would soon be in the window of when Daenerys would be at her most fertile and who knew, maybe today would be their lucky day when it came to conceiving?

Either way, it would be fun to find out…

Chapter Text

“Jorah, thank you for allowing me to reschedule our appointment,” Doctor Tarly said as he led his client into his office.

“Not a problem,” Jorah replied having been thankful for a break in the therapy sessions that often left him feeling drained and weary. “How are your wife and daughter?”

Sam’s face lit up at the question.

“They’re both doing very well, although Lana has me wrapped around her tiny little finger already,” he admitted wryly.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jorah chuckled, taking the proffered seat in front of Sam’s large oak desk. “Are your family ok with you coming back to work so soon?”

“I’m only doing a few hours a week at the moment,” Sam replied. “And only for clients who are at a very delicate stage in their treatment.”

The look on Jorah’s face soured at the realisation that he was one of the ‘clients’ the psychiatrist was speaking of.

“I’m sure that you would have enjoyed a break of several weeks, Jorah,” Sam smiled at the older man. “But we’re at a crucial stage in your journey and I don’t want us to lose the momentum we’ve built up since you started coming here. It’s important that we keep working… You’re important.”

Jorah squirmed in his chair at that and refused to look at Sam.

He remained silent for several seconds before he finally spoke.

“When we talked about the truck explosion,” Jorah began, taking several deep breaths as he fought not to recall those images in his mind. “I kept dreaming about it after the session.”

Sam clicked his pen and looked at his client who was still refusing to make eye contact with him.

“Were they dreams or flashbacks of what actually happened?” The doctor asked.

Jorah rubbed at the back of his neck as he considered the question.

“I’m not sure,” he answered quietly. “A lot of what happened after they pulled me out of the truck is a blur… Just random sounds and images.”

Sam flipped open his client’s file and read through the medical report.

“You’d gone into hypovolemic shock,” Sam said as he placed the piece of paper back in the folder. “And you’d breathed in a lot of smoke. There wasn’t much the medics could do except give you morphine and try to keep you stable until they got you back to the base.”

Jorah nodded his head, rubbing at his right arm as if he could still feel where they’d stuck him with morphine needle before they ran back to the medic truck with him.

“Morphine messes with your head at the best of times,” Sam continued as he looked at his client. “And according to the report they sedated you when they got you back to the medical tent at the base, so I’m not surprised that you don’t remember much of what happened.”

“So, why do I keep dreaming about it?” Jorah asked quietly, almost two weeks of poor sleep finally taking its toll on him.

“Because you’ve shut those memories down for a long time and finally talking about them again means your mind doesn’t know quite what to do with them,” Sam answered. “Our brains are adept at protecting us from extreme trauma by pushing it down and burying it so deep within our unconscious mind to the point that we can begin to almost believe that those events never happened. The brain stores the sounds, sights, and images of that trauma so that it knows how to respond to the same danger the next time it occurs.”

Jorah looked at him, clearly confused by what the doctor was saying.

“You’re aware of fight or flight responses?” Sam asked. “Those responses are triggered by our life experiences. Our brain files away all the important information that it needs to prevent you from finding yourself in that same situation again. In your case, your brain processing the sight of burning flames is eliciting your fight or flight response. It’s reacting to what it perceives as a threat to you. Although in this case it’s trying to protect you in a situation where there is minimal threat of harm.”

“That still doesn’t explain why I keep dreaming about it,” Jorah replied with a frown.

“We compartmentalise trauma in different ways,” Sam explained gently. “Sometimes our brain locks it away deep inside to the point that we have little or no conscious memory of it as we go about our day to day lives until it suddenly springs up on us out of nowhere and then suddenly it’s everywhere – in everything we see, everything we hear, everything we smell, everything we dream about…”

“That doesn’t sound particularly healthy,” Jorah replied.

“But it is a completely sane and normal response to trauma,” Sam countered. ”It suddenly takes you from the here and now and back to a time and place you’ve spent years not consciously thinking about and it generally does it at the most inconvenient of times.”

“So, you’re saying that I’m doing that?” Jorah replied, feeling his hackles rise. “That I’m not safe to be around? That I’m putting my family in danger?” He asked, his voice rising in panic at the thought.

“No, I’m not saying that,” Sam answered patiently. “What I’m trying to say is that trauma has a way of poking holes in our conscious mind sooner or later and it comes out in different ways for different people. For you, it’s your unconscious mind that is now sifting through all those memories and trying to make sense of them.

“The mind is like a filing cabinet,” Sam continued at his client’s puzzled expression. “Under normal circumstances it files memories away in the correct order and into the right folders and drawers but sometimes those memories are so traumatic that the mind doesn’t know what to do with them except to keep them as far away from your consciousness as possible. Sometimes our filing cabinet overflows, and suddenly we’re forced to deal with sorting through all those papers and putting them in the right order again.

“We’re doing a lot of tidying in your mental filing cabinet and your mind is sifting through a lot of papers that it should have dealt with a long time ago. It’s natural for you to be struggling while talking about things that your mind has kept buried for so long.”

“I’m not sure if this is really worth it,” Jorah replied, rubbing at his eyes. “This is too much like hard work and half the time I feel worse than I did before I started coming here,” he admitted quietly.

Sam gave his client a searching look, having been at this same point with many of his other clients.

“Remember when you first came here and told me that you were doing this for your family?”

Jorah lifted his head and nodded at the doctor.

“Think about all the things you’ve achieved since coming here – you’ve visited the graves of your wife and son for the first time since they passed, you’ve made great progress in building a better relationship with your father, you’ve talked about so many things that have affected you and yes, it hurts, but you’re making progress and a lot of it. Perhaps you are just too tired to see that right now.”

“I am,” Jorah replied, his head bowed. “I just feel so tired,” he admitted.

“And that is entirely natural given the things we’ve spoken about and the work you’ve put in so far. I haven’t yet met a client who has got to the same stage as you and not wanted to quit but this is the tipping point and I promise you that things will get better and probably a lot sooner than you think.”

Jorah looked up again, feeling weary beyond his years.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because I know that you would do anything for your family, no matter how much it might take out of you in the process. I guarantee that they feel exactly the same way about you and so let them in, let them help you through this.”

“I don’t want to burden them,” Jorah replied. “Besides, I a man - “

“And men don’t have feelings?” Sam cut in. “Men shouldn’t cry? You do know that suicide rates are much higher in men than they are women because society tells them that they’re weak for having feelings or for needing help. Well, fuck society if that’s their attitude.”

The doctor’s sharp tone took Jorah by surprise.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said shaking his head. “I’ve seen too many good men end their own lives because they were too proud to ask for help. They were too ashamed to admit they had problems and they believed that ending their life was the only way out.”

The emotion with which the psychiatrist spoke was unexpected and Jorah sat quietly in his chair having never considered that the doctor had lost friends or clients who chose to deal with their issues in such a devastating way.

“I’m not suicidal,” Jorah said his voice no more than a whisper. “I would never do that.”

“I know,” Sam said quietly. “I’ve had a lot of people walk through that door and never come back…for one reason or another. You’ve had some of the worst experiences that life has to offer thrown your way and yet you’re still here and you’re still standing. You’re an awful lot stronger than you think you are. And you deserve better, you deserve to be free of the weight you’re bearing. Let people help you.”

The two of them sat in awkward silence for several minutes as the clock ticked quietly in the far corner of the room.

“You know,” Sam said, finally breaking the silence. “I think we should cut short this week’s session. I want you to go home and spend some quality time with your family. No thinking about the past,” Sam added as he saw Jorah open his mouth to say something. “I want you to let your friends and family help you. Just spend time being surrounded by the people you love and let them take care of you for once, ok?”

Jorah looked at the doctor for several moments, opening and closing his mouth as if he was considering arguing the point before he finally sighed and hung his head in defeat.

“Should I come back at the same time next week then?” Jorah asked, finally meeting the eyes of the doctor.

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding as he nodded his head and smiled at the older man.

“That would be perfect,” he said with a sense of relief. “We still have a lot of work to do.”

Chapter Text

“Papa, play!”

Daenerys smiled, hearing her daughter calling out to her father and after coming downstairs, she poked her head into the lounge to find Poppy trying her best to distract her father from his current task - writing a chapter of his latest book.

“Papa will play in a little while,” Jorah said patiently, briefly looking up from his laptop. Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh at the look on Poppy’s face - she’d inherited her impatience, that was for sure.

“Papa play!” Poppy repeated, a surly look on her face as her continued attempts to get her father to do just that failed and in her frustration, she threw one of her toys on the floor which caused her father to look up from his computer again.

“She’s got your spirit,” Jorah said with a tired smile, already used to Poppy’s momentary fits of temper.

Nearing the ‘terrible twos’ and being impatient to learn new skills that would take time and effort to develop as they would in any toddler, Poppy was beginning to show fits of pique that her parents found quite amusing most of the time, especially when their daughter could easily be distracted by another object that would invariably take her attention away from whatever she was about to have a tantrum about.

“What can I say,” Daenerys shrugged. “You shouldn’t be so darned adorable and then maybe we wouldn’t want to keep playing with you so often?”

Jorah cocked an eyebrow at the suggestive way Daenerys said the word ‘playing’ and gave her a satisfied grin.

“I do have my moments, I suppose,” he smiled as Daenerys made her way over to him and sat on his lap.

“How is the writing going?” She asked, peeking at the laptop screen, surprised to find that Jorah had written several chapters since the last time she’d looked.

Olenna Tyrell was still being her normal, pushy self but perhaps the sessions with Doctor Tarly were making a difference as Jorah was now repeatedly shutting his agent down when she demanded regular first drafts of new manuscripts from him.

Having written several hugely successful books already, Jorah knew he had earned enough money that his family would live very comfortably, even if he never wrote another best-selling book. His previous titles were still selling well, and Olenna even mentioned the possibility of his ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ series being picked up by a major TV studio in the States.

The only pressure being put upon him was by his agent and although he struggled to keep Olenna at bay the first few times, he was becoming more adept at being forthright with her. Dr Tarly told him repeatedly that he should not take on so much and even though the feeling was alien to him to begin with, the more he said ‘no’ to his agent, the easier he found it to let her curt phone calls and emails wash over him.

Jorah wrapped his arms around his wife and leaned his head into her arm, enjoying the close contact between them.

“I’ve made a start,” Jorah shrugged, answering Daenerys’ question quietly.

She turned her head to look at him and cocked an eyebrow at his words.

“Just a start, huh?” She said, looking back at the laptop screen and the several chapter files already on there. “What are you writing about?” She felt him tense slightly at the question. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added quickly.

She felt him let out a deep breath as his posture relaxed.

“I’m trying something a bit different,” he said, a slight waver in his voice as he spoke. “All of the things I’m working through with Dr Tarly…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words. “It’s bringing up a lot of stuff that I haven’t thought about for a really long time and I guess a good way to deal with some of it is to write about it.”

“Like an autobiography?” Daenerys asked.

The colour drained from Jorah’s face, and he quickly shook his head.

“God no,” he said, shivering at the thought. “I don’t think anyone would give two shits about hearing my life story.”

“Are you kidding me?” Daenerys said with a frown. “It would make for the most amazing, uplifting book. You’d inspire so many people with just how strong you’ve been and how hard you’ve worked to get where you are.”

Jorah doubted that was true and just the thought of people knowing the details of his life was something that sent a cold bolt of fear through his being.

“I’m just letting my mind wander and seeing where it goes,” he said as he rubbed at his stubbled jaw as Daenerys read the words visible on the screen.

“This,” she said, pointing at the screen, sniffing back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. “This so beautifully written.”

“It’s just a first draft,” Jorah shrugged as Daenerys continued to look at him lovingly.

She bent her head down to kiss him and soon their hands were wandering over each other’s body.

“Papa play!” Poppy said, shouting as loud as she could and standing in her play pen with her hands on her hips.

Jorah couldn’t help but laugh at how much his daughter looked like her mother right at that moment.

“I guess it’s not fair if Papa plays with Mummy and not you, is it?” Daenerys smiled as she jumped off her husband’s lap and grabbed his arm to gently pull him to his feet. “Go and entertain your daughter, there’s something I need to do…”

Jorah gave her a puzzled look as she merely smiled at him and went back upstairs.

“Ok, Poppy,” Jorah said as he opened the play pen and his little girl tottered over to him. “What are we playing?”

Poppy cocked her head to the side as she thought about the question before grabbing one of her stuffed bears and handing it to her father. He hid his face behind the stuffed toy and made a low growling noise which made Poppy squeal with laughter, she lifted her own bear up and made her own growling noise as her father gave his best scared expression.

“Papa bear!” Poppy giggled when Jorah hid his face behind the toy and let out a louder and longer growl this time.

“Where is my Baby Bear?” Jorah growled in his best bear voice as he moved the bear’s arms around, pretending to search the room for Baby Bear while Poppy tried her best to hide her own bear behind her back.

“I can smell Baby Bear,” he continued, moving the stuffed toy’s head from left to right. “Where is my Baby Bear?”

Poppy continued to giggle as the bear in her father’s hands came closer to her, sniffing her and making her cackle in delight.

Jorah was so lost in the game of hide and seek that he didn’t hear Daenerys come back into the room.

“Mummy Bear!” Poppy said, pointing behind her father to her mother.

The smile fell from Jorah’s face when he looked up from his seated position on the floor. He slowly got to his feet and walked over to his wife.

“Sweetheart, is everything ok?” He asked, concern evident in his voice as he looked at her with worried eyes.

She was looking at him with tears welling in her eyes as her lower lip wobbled and she slowly brought her hand up to show him the object she was holding.

He blinked several times as his brain tried to register what his eyes were telling him - Daenerys was pregnant.

“Are you sure?” He asked tremulously.

“My period was supposed to start two days ago,” she replied, sniffing back tears of joy. “I took a test yesterday and I wanted to do another just to make sure. They both came back positive.”

“You’re pregnant?” Jorah said, his face breaking into a huge grin as he hugged his wife tightly until Poppy came tottering over to them demanding their attention. Jorah picked his little girl up and included her in the hug. “You’re going to be a big sister,” he told her, not caring that tears were rolling down his own face.

They knew that Poppy was too young to truly understand, but they would have another nine months to help her understand what that meant before her new brother or sister arrived.

Chapter Text

Daenerys woke to the sound of her husband tossing and turning beside her and her heart broke when she realised that he was in the grips of yet another nightmare.

The same thing occurred when they discovered that she was pregnant with Poppy. Jorah’s dreams were haunted by the loss of Noah and Anais as his overworked mind churned over scenarios in which he would lose Daenerys and Poppy too.

“Jorah,” she said quietly, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”

It took several more shakes of his shoulder, but Jorah’s eyes suddenly opened, and he sat upright in bed, gasping for breath.

She ran her hand over his back in soothing circles as he fought to regain control of his breathing. He looked at her, his body still shaking slightly as he wiped the sweat from his face.

“Are you ok?” She asked him, looking at her husband with some concern.

It took Jorah a while to answer her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Daenerys glanced at the time on her phone and realised that it would soon be time for them to get up anyway and so she took her husband by the hand and gently pulled him into a standing position before finding his dressing gown and handing it to him.

He followed her wordlessly downstairs and sat at the kitchen table as Daenerys brewed some coffee, handing her husband a steaming cup of the beverage.

“Thank you,” he whispered as she sat next to him and held his free hand in her own.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked him gently.

She watched on as he took several shaky breaths before raising his head to look at her.

“I…uh…” he stammered, trying to force the words from his throat.

“You were like this when we found out I was pregnant with Poppy,” she observed, looking at him with tenderness.

He nodded his head before letting it hang once more.

“I keep reliving what happened to them…but this time it’s you I lose,” he said, his bottom lip trembling. “And I can’t survive losing you,” he said as he met her eyes with his own tear-filled ones. “Losing you would destroy me.”

She could hardly argue with that, she realised. There would be no way that she could ever survive losing Jorah, not now that they’d come so far. The love they shared was the type that only ever occurred once in a lifetime and sometimes not at all. What they had was so precious and Daenerys knew without a doubt that Jorah was the other half of her soul and that she would not be able to survive the unbearable pain of living the rest of her life without him.

“I’m so sorry that you’re going through this,” she said, wiping at the tears on his face. “I was absolutely fine with Poppy,” she said, trying to reassure him. “And I’m going to be just fine with this little one, too,” she said, smiling as she cradled her non-existent baby bump. It would be several weeks before she would begin to show, and the plan was to keep the news to themselves until at least the first scan.

“I know,” Jorah said, giving her a watery smile. “But I won’t stop worrying until after our son or daughter is born. I’m a husband and a father, it’s my job to worry about you.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Daenerys offered gently as Jorah nodded his head. “Will you talk to Dr Tarly about this?”

Jorah ran a hand over his face and sat up straighter, misunderstanding his wife’s words.

“You’re right,” he said as he took a sip of his coffee and avoided eye contact with Daenerys. “You deserve to be able to sleep uninterrupted, especially now that you’re pregnant. It’s not fair that I keep waking you up.”

Daenerys bit her tongue at her husband’s innate stubbornness.

“Jorah, I don’t care about being woken up,” she said patiently. “I care about you, and I hate to see you suffering.”

“They’ll pass,” Jorah said quickly, trying to reassure her. “They did last time.”

“They’ll probably pass a lot quicker if you talk about them at your next appointment with Dr Tarly,” she said gently. “Please, let us help you this time.”

Jorah nodded his head and gave her one of his shy smiles which invariably meant that she’d got her way. She knew that he would do anything she asked of him, no matter the consequences to himself.

“Do you think we’re having a boy or a girl this time?” Daenerys said as she sipped on her own coffee, keen to change the subject to something a little lighter.

Jorah smiled at the thought before answering.

“I honestly don’t mind,” he said, his eyes alight with the boyish excitement of becoming a father once more. “As long as our child is happy and healthy, that’s all that matters to me. How about you, what do you think we’re having?”

Daenerys considered the question.

“I kind of like the idea of us having one of each - a girl and a boy.”

“Our son would definitely be a mummy’s boy though,” Jorah chuckled.

“That as may be,” Daenerys replied. “But you’ll still be the one teaching him how to ride a bike, play football, how to shave….”

Jorah smiled at the thought of that before he realised that he’d been meant to do all those things with Noah but never had the chance to.

“You do know that Poppy is an absolute daddy’s girl though?” Daenerys said, noticing the pensive look on her husband’s face.

“I think she loves us both equally,” Jorah offered.

“Oh, I know she loves me,” Daenerys replied. “But you should see the way her little face lights up when she hears your voice. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t reach out and touch you when we Facetimed when you were away with your father.”

“I love both my girls,” Jorah said with a grin. “And I’ll love little Baby Mormont just as much, whether they’re a girl or a boy.”

“Baby Mormont, huh?” Daenerys chuckled. “Is that what we’re calling them?”

Jorah shrugged his shoulders.

“Until we know for sure,” he replied before considering other names. “Or we could call them Tadpole?”

“How about Ickle Pickle?” Daenerys offered.

“Jellybean?” Jorah replied, smiling smugly as if he was pleased with himself at the suggestion.

Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh at that. Their baby was still so small that they were probably no bigger than a jellybean at that moment, but she wasn’t sure she could go around calling their unborn child ‘Jellybean’ for the next few months until they knew for sure the gender of their baby.

“I think we’ll stick with Baby Mormont for now,” Daenerys answered before her gaze went to the stairs as she heard sounds coming from Poppy’s nursery.

“I’ll go,” Jorah said, quickly getting to his feet and heading for the stairs.

Daenerys rolled her eyes, knowing that Jorah was now in full-on protective ‘Papa Bear’ mode and would likely not let her do anything he considered tiring or requiring effort until the day their new child was born.

She smiled as she heard her husband’s voice and Poppy’s squeals of laughter, and was once again reminded of just how lucky she was to have a man like Jorah by her side. Yes, he was overprotective to a fault, and it could sometimes be too stifling for her, but he put his heart and soul into being both a good father and a good husband.

His desire to protect his wife and unborn child was understandable given the way he’d lost Anais and Noah, but Daenerys hoped that Jorah spending time talking about his fears with Dr Tarly would help. The psychiatrist had obviously earned his respect - Jorah wouldn’t continue to attend the sessions if he hadn’t - and it would probably do some good for him to talk things over with someone who was qualified to help him come to terms with such a devastating loss.

She didn’t want it to happen for her sake, she wanted it to happen for Jorah’s. He’d spent far too long blaming himself and his distressing dreams were evidently still torturing him with the fear and anxiety of losing her and their unborn child and he deserved so much better than that.

Daenerys smiled as she heard Jorah and Poppy making their way downstairs and Poppy’s face lit up at the sight of her mother.

“Maaaa!” Poppy cooed as she opened her little arms out and reached for her. Jorah gave his wife a kiss on the side of her head as he passed their daughter to her.

“Hello, my little angel,” Daenerys said, rubbing her forehead gently against the small child in her arms. “Did you have nice dreams?”

Poppy stuck her finger in her mouth before pulling it out and smiling, giggling to herself when she let out a burp.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes at her husband as Poppy continued to giggle to herself at the noise she’d made.

“Have you been spinning her around?” She asked her husband.

He gave her his most innocent face and hoped she would believe him. His hopes were dashed when Poppy said, “Papa ‘pin.”

He shot Poppy a look of betrayal before holding his hands up in surrender.

“Papa can give Mummy a spin later if she wants?” He said wolfishly as Daenerys felt her cheeks flame at his remark.

“Hmmm,” Daenerys replied as she considered his words. “That sounds fair but if Poppy throws up, you’re still cleaning it up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jorah said, giving his wife a mock salute and Daenerys couldn’t deny that it was good to see her husband with a smile on his face.

She hoped cute family moments such as this would continue to lift his spirits during any times of broken sleep and troubled dreams that might still lay ahead for him until their new child was born.

Chapter Text

“How have you been, Jorah?” Dr Tarly said as he settled himself behind his desk and observed his reluctant client. “You look tired.”

Jorah cocked an eyebrow at that.

“I thought you were supposed to make me feel better, not worse,” he groused as he lowered himself into the chair opposite the doctor.

“You’re in good spirits today, I see,” the psychiatrist said with a smirk.

His client could be guarded and spiky at times - that was a large part of the appeal for the doctor if he were being honest with himself. Men like Jorah spent their whole life swallowing down their feelings, ignoring their pain and trauma while building layers of defences around themselves and it was Sam’s job to slowly go about breaking some of those down.

Jorah let out a tired sigh and rubbed at his forehead.

“Seriously though,” Sam said, his expression sobering as he regarded the weary figure sitting before him. “You look exhausted. Has something happened since we last spoke?”

Jorah looked up briefly and opened his mouth to respond. He closed it quickly when he realised that he couldn’t confess to what was bothering him without revealing the news that Daenerys was pregnant and he was loathe to jinx things so early in the pregnancy.

“Whatever has happened, Jorah,” Sam said gently. “It’ll go no further than these four walls. Whatever it is, you’ll get no judgement from me.”

Jorah nodded his head but refused to look at the doctor as he played with the cuff of his sweatshirt.

It took several attempts, but finally Jorah spoke.

“Daenerys is pregnant,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

His client’s admission caught the doctor by surprise. He’d been expecting something horrific and traumatic to have happened. Jorah’s wife being pregnant with their second child was a good thing, wasn’t it?

“That’s good news…isn’t it?” Sam said as he leaned forward slightly on his desk, attempting to make eye contact with his client.

Jorah nodded his head but still refused to look the other man in the eye.

“When…I…uh,” Jorah began, struggling to put his fear into words. “When we found out Daenerys was pregnant with Poppy, I would have these dreams where I was back in the hospital in Germany but this time it’s Daenerys and our unborn baby that I lose.”

“The dreams have come back again?” Sam asked gently.

“Yes,” Jorah replied in a breathy whisper. “They’ve been happening pretty much every night since we found out Daenerys was pregnant again. I tried to sleep in the spare room last night,” he added vaguely before realising he should probably explain himself further. “I’ve been waking Daenerys up most nights with them recently.”

“And the same thing happened again last night?” Sam prodded.

Jorah shook his head.

“Daenerys got angry and refused to let me leave our bedroom,” Jorah said with the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. His wife was small but fierce and he knew better than to trigger her wrath. “She told me to stop being so self-sacrificing and said that I should talk to you about the dreams,” he added as he absent-mindedly scratched at the back of his head.

“Your wife is a very wise woman,” Sam remarked with a smirk. “And she loves you,” he added. “It hurts her to see you suffering.”

“I know logically that it’s stupid,” Jorah said, running a hand over his stubbled chin. “I know that it’s just my mind playing tricks on me…but I keep losing them night after night and it’s exhausting.”

“It’s not stupid,” Sam reassured his client. “You went through something horrific and traumatic when you lost Anais and Noah and it’s perfectly understandable why you’re having these recurring dreams. Your mind wants to protect you from losing anyone else.”

There was something in the doctor’s words that struck a chord in Jorah as he finally looked up at him.

“Daenerys told me that I can’t go around saving everyone and blaming myself when something happens to them. She told me that life doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that she’s right about that,” Sam said gently. “Although it is entirely understandable why you want to.”

Jorah shot him a puzzled look.

“You lost your mother when you were still a young boy,” Sam explained. “And then you lost Anais and Noah when you were barely an adult yourself. You’ve lost family, loved ones, friends, and soldiers and you couldn’t save any of them.”

Jorah flinched at Sam’s last words as the realisation hit him full force that he’d not been able to save any of the people he’d lost in his life.

“Daenerys says that I can be overprotective,” Jorah admitted sheepishly. “But I just want to keep everyone I care about safe.”

“And you do a fine job of that each day, Jorah,” Sam reassured him. “But you can’t control every conceivable outcome. All you can do is your best and hope that it’s enough.”

“You’re not going to tell me not to worry and that everything will turn out fine?” Jorah asked testily.

“I don’t think you’d believe me even if I did,” Sam replied. “And I can’t sit here and tell you that things will work out perfectly because I can’t predict the future any better than you can.”

“I don’t think I can handle another nine months of these dreams,” Jorah admitted quietly.

“How long did they last when your wife was pregnant with your daughter?”

“A few months…on and off,” Jorah replied tiredly. “But they’re worse this time. They’re happening almost every night.”

Sam remained quiet for several moments.

“Did you write back to Anais parents?” He asked, breaking the silence between the two men.

Jorah looked up at the doctor, nodding his head but not entirely sure where the doctor’s line of questioning was leading.

“They were much kinder to me than I thought they would be,” Jorah said quietly. “They said that what happened with Anais and Noah wasn’t my fault and I want to believe them, honestly, I do.”

“Then what is stopping you from forgiving yourself?” Sam asked. “As everyone keeps telling you, nothing that happened with your mother, or Anais and Noah, or the men you commanded in the Army…none of what happened to any of them was your fault.”

Jorah closed his eyes as he thought about the question and soon realised that he had no way to answer it.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Sam said, looking directly at his client.

“Sure,” Jorah replied, running a tired hand over his face. “Why not?”

“I think you should visit Anais’ parents.”

Jorah let out a small gasp of shock as his head shot up as he shook it vigorously.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jorah said, his voice shaking slightly.

“You said that you can’t face the thought of nine more months of the same dream, losing your wife and child over and over again.” Jorah flinched but Sam continued, knowing that he needed to push his client. “Putting some of the past to rest…it might make things better. Maybe it’ll help stop those dreams,” Sam suggested.

“But what if it doesn’t?” Jorah replied.

“But what if it does?” The doctor countered. “It seems to me that you haven’t really got much to lose by trying. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, at least think about doing it for your wife and daughter,” Sam added, aware that he needed to tread carefully. “Do you think they want to watch you suffer for the next nine months?”

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose, aware of what the psychiatrist was doing yet unable to deny that Sam was right to use all the tools he had it his disposal to try to make his reluctant client see sense.

“You know,” Jorah growled. “I really hate it when you’re right.”

“It’s not about being right,” Sam responded. “It’s about nudging you in the right direction until you come to your own conclusions.”

“Do you really think visiting them will help?” Jorah said, hoping that the doctor was right about this.

“I think only you know the answer to that question,” Sam replied. “But maybe some closure is what you need, and it can’t hurt to try, can it?”

Chapter Text

“You’ll be fine,” Daenerys said, running a soothing hand over her husband’s back.

Taking Dr Tarly’s advice, Jorah called Anais parents and asked if he could come and see them. Despite his fears to the contrary, the Glovers were only too happy to have him visit.

They’d packed Poppy’s pushchair in the car and left early to avoid the worst of the traffic as they made their way out of the city and to the small town where the Glovers lived.

Jorah took a deep breath and willed his hand to stop shaking as he lifted it to knock on the front door. It opened a few moments later and a man roughly Jeor’s age answered, smiling when he realised it was Jorah.

“It’s so good to see you, young man,” the man said. “Please, come in. All of you,” he added when he saw Daenerys and Poppy behind Jorah.

“I promised Poppy that we would go and play in the park,” Daenerys said as Poppy sat in her pushchair, holding her favourite ‘Papa Bear’ stuffed toy. “We’ll be back in a little while.”

Jorah nodded his head before kissing his two girls. He took another steadying breath as Mr. Glover led him into his house and into the lounge.

“Jorah, my dear boy,” Mrs Glover said as she struggled momentarily to lift herself from her armchair. “Come here and let me have a look at you,” she smiled as she beckoned him closer with a hand. He took several steps forwards and felt tears prick at his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him as best she could. “Come and sit down,” she said warmly as she lowered herself back into her armchair.

“Thank you for allowing me to come and visit,” Jorah said quietly as he perched himself on the couch.

“Nonsense,” Mrs Glover said. “I was so happy when John told me that you were coming down to visit. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen you, dear.”

“I…uh,” Jorah stammered, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t sure if I would be welcome after what happened and the last thing I wanted was to cause either of you any pain.”

“You always were such a sweet and thoughtful boy,” Mrs Glover mused as she nodded her thanks to her husband when he passed her a cup of tea.

“I assume that you’re still not much of a tea drinker,” Mr. Glover said with a warm smile as he handed Jorah a cup of coffee.

Jorah nodded his head and gave the older man a shy smile.

“How have you been?” Mrs Glover asked as her husband made himself comfortable in his own armchair. “We have so much to catch up on.”

“I sent the letter to your father because we weren’t sure which base you were currently stationed at,” Mr. Glover said, the smile on his face faltering when he saw Jorah tense at his words.

“I left the Army several years ago,” Jorah said, avoiding eye contact with the Glovers.

“To settle down with that nice young lady?” Mr. Glover asked.

Jorah shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for several seconds.

“No,” he answered eventually, his voice no more than a whisper. “I was stationed out in Afghanistan in 2005,” he said, swallowing thickly. “I was in a truck when it ran over an IED.”

Jorah winced as he heard the elderly lady’s audible gasp.

“Oh no,” she said, visibly shaken by what she’d heard. “You poor, poor boy.”

“It meant that I couldn’t be on the frontlines anymore and I didn’t want to work behind a desk while my men took all the risks. So, I decided that it was better to leave.”

There was a stilted silence in the room for several moments that was only broken when Mr. Glover spoke up.

“If we had known we would have helped you, son,” he said. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. Anais would always say how much you loved being in the Army. I think she quite enjoyed it too,” he mused with a soft smile. “Especially when you were at the more exotic bases. She used to tell us that she loved travelling around the world for free with you.”

“Australia was her favourite, I think,” Jorah recalled with a wistful smile. “It’s just a shame that we were only there for a couple of months. We talked about moving out there one day.”

The smile fell from Jorah’s face when he realised they would never go back to Australia again - not that they knew that at the time.

“I’m so sorry,” Jorah said, not wanting to look at Anais’ parents and see the pain in their eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mrs Glover said, trying to reassure him. “What happened was never your fault and we have never blamed you - not for one second.”

Jorah bit at his bottom lip and willed himself to keep his emotions in check.

“I just keep replaying what happened over and over,” he admitted. “I keep telling myself that there was something I could have done to save her.”

“Nobody could,” Mr. Glover replied. “It’s taken me a long time to come to peace with God, but we have to accept that she was taken from us for a reason, even if we never fully understand what that reason is.”

There was an awkward silence in the room for several moments which was only broken by a small King Charles Cavalier dog loping into the room. Sensing a new scent in the house, the dog went straight up to Jorah and began sniffing at his leg.

Mrs Glover’s eyes widened as Jorah reached out to pet the dog and the sleeve of his shirt pulled up and revealed the heavily scarred flesh of his left arm. He quickly pulled the fabric back over his skin and covered it with his right hand.

Nobody said anything for several moments.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” Jorah said quietly, shame lacing his tone as he hung his head, not wanting to witness the look of horror on their faces.

“No,” Mr. Glover said, his tone making Jorah look up. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You don’t ever have to apologise to us for anything. We’re so sorry that we were never there for you. We’re the ones who should be apologising to you.”

Jorah remained silent and kept his head bowed, unsure of what to say. Despite everything, he still wasn’t sure he deserved their forgiveness.

“What have you been doing since you left the Army?” Mrs Glover said, finally regaining her composure after a lengthy pause.

“I started writing when I was out in Afghanistan,” he said, feeling slightly awkward admitting to it. “Someone I knew suggested that it might be a good way to work through some of the things I’d been through. One of my friends read some of my work when I was back home recovering from the truck blast and sent it to a publisher.”

Jorah looked up when he heard Mr. Glover chuckle.

“So, you’re the Jorah Mormont who wrote ‘A Song of Ice and Fire?” he said with a wry grin.

Jorah felt his cheeks flush with mild embarrassment, hoping that the older man hadn’t read any of his books.

“I always wondered if it was really you or just someone’s pen name,” Mr. Glover continued.

“I didn’t expect any of them to sell,” Jorah said modestly. “But it’s meant that I can provide a good life for my family now though.”

“Ah, yes,” Mrs Glover said. “John told me about the young woman who was at the cemetery with you. Is she here with you today?”

Jorah smiled, relieved that they were now on more comfortable territory when it came to the subject of their conversation.

“She’s taken our daughter to the park,” Jorah replied. “I think she wanted to give us all some time alone first.”

“How old is your daughter?” Mrs Glover asked.

“She’s almost two now,” Jorah said, smiling at the thought of his precious girl. “She’s a little chatterbox and now that she’s walking it feels like I need eyes in the back of my head just to keep up with her.”

“Ah, the terrible twos,” Mr. Glover chuckled. “I remember them well. Anais and her little brother were both tyrants at that age,” he recalled. “I’m afraid the tantrums only get worse as they get older - especially when they’re teenagers.”

Jorah sat and listened as the Glovers recounted several stories of Anais and her brother and the things they would get up to when they were children. Although it was painful to think of Anais, her parents deserved to be able to remember the sweet young girl that they’d so cruelly lost in the prime of her life after so many years of living without her.

Another silence fell upon the room as each inhabitant lost themselves in their in their own thoughts as to what life could have been if Anais were still alive today.

The silence was broken when the doorbell chimed. Mr. Glover pulled himself up from his chair to answer it. A few moments later he returned to the room with Daenerys and Poppy following closely behind.

“You must be Daenerys,” Mrs Glover beamed as she stood up and hugged her before giving Poppy’s hair a gentle ruffle as the child clung to her mother’s leg, seemingly shy for once. “Please, come and sit down,” she said, motioning to the couch. “I want to hear all about how you and Jorah first came to meet one another…”

Chapter Text

“I’ll make us some more tea and coffee while Annie interrogates the two of you,” Mr. Glover said as he made to leave the room. “And I’m sure I can find some juice and maybe a couple of biscuits for this little one,” he added, smiling at Poppy.

“Would you like some juice and biscuits?” Daenerys asked her daughter as she lifted Poppy onto her lap.

Still shy, Poppy looked at her mother and nodded her head.

“And what do we say?” Daenerys asked her daughter.

“Pease,” Poppy said quietly before burying her head in her mother’s top.

“So, how did the two of you meet?” Mrs Glover asked as her husband left the room and made his way to the kitchen.

“It’s…uh… it’s a long story,” Jorah said evasively, shooting a quick glance at his wife.

“We actually met in hospital,” Daenerys said, realising that Jorah was struggling to answer the question himself.

“After Jorah’s accident in the Army?” Mrs Glover asked innocently.

Daenerys saw Jorah flinch at the mention of the truck explosion.

“No,” Daenerys said quietly. “Jorah and I didn’t meet until several years after that.” The elderly lady continued to look at the two of them quizzically.

“We met on the cancer ward,” Jorah said quietly, not wanting to look up and see the pain etched on his former mother in law’s face. “We were both there for chemotherapy treatment.”

Mr. Glover stood in the doorway, having caught the end of the conversation. It took several moments for him to shake himself out of his shock and enter the room with a tray of drinks. He passed them around wordlessly and handed the juice and biscuits to Daenerys before sitting down in his armchair once more.

“Oh, Jorah,” Mrs Glover wept. “I am sorry that life has been so very cruel to you. You are the last person deserving of it.”

“There were times when I wondered whether God was punishing me for losing Anais and Noah. Maybe the explosion and the cancer were what I deserved.”

“No,” Mrs Glover said forcefully, placing her teacup back down on its plate with a loud clang. So much so that it made Jorah glance up from his cup of coffee to look at her. “Don’t ever think that you deserved any of what happened to you,” she insisted as she looked at her own husband and then back at Jorah. “I want you to promise me that you will never say or think anything like that ever again.”

There was a stilted silence in the room and Poppy seemed to pick up on her father’s unease as she crawled across the couch to sit on his lap. She laid her head against his chest as he bent down to kiss the top of her head.

“She looks so much like you,” Mr. Glover said as he smiled at the little girl. “She definitely has your eyes.”

“She’s our little miracle,” Daenerys said, looking at her family fondly. “We were struggling to conceive for quite a while, and we were starting to think that it would never happen. We thought maybe because of the chemotherapy…”

“God tends to work in mysterious ways, dear,” Mrs Glover said warmly.

Jorah smiled at that as his mind replayed the day he met Daenerys.

“When I walked into the treatment room someone was sitting in my favourite chair,” he said by way of explanation when he realised the Glovers were looking at him quizzically.

“I tried to give it back to him, but he wouldn’t let me,” Daenerys recalled with a wistful smile. “We just spent the day chatting. It was my first treatment, and I was so scared when I walked into the ward…but Jorah made me feel safe from the moment I met him.”

Jorah felt his cheeks flush slightly as he placed the empty juice cup back on the coffee table and handed Poppy one of the biscuits.

“He was there through all of it,” Daenerys continued. “My first treatment…the aftereffects of the chemo…when my hair started falling out. He got me through all of it even though he was so sick himself. I don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t met that first day.”

“I have a feeling that perhaps someone up there was smiling down on the two of you that day,” Mrs Glover said as she sipped at her tea.

The four of them chatted for an hour or more before Daenerys smelled an ominous odour.

“I think we need to change Poppy’s nappy,” Daenerys said apologetically. “Would it be ok to use your bathroom?”

“Of course, my dear,” Mrs Glover said as she rose from her armchair. “Let me show you the way.”

Daenerys took the changing bag from Poppy’s pushchair and followed the older woman down the hallway.

“Thank you,” Mrs Glover said, patting Daenerys gently on the arm.

“What for?” Daenerys asked, readjusting Poppy as she held her in her arms.

“For saving him,” Mrs Glover replied, tears glistening in her eyes. “We always worried about him after Anais died and I’m so relieved that he has you and your little one. I really think Anais would have liked you and I know she and Noah would be so happy to know that Jorah has you in his life.”

After saying their goodbyes to Anais’ parents, they stopped at the cemetery where Jorah laid beautiful bunches of white roses on both Anais and Noah’s graves as Daenerys stood a few steps back with Poppy nestled safely in her arms.

“I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to come back and visit,” Jorah said as he looked at the headstones of his wife and son. “It’s taken a me long time to come to terms with how I lost you. You always said that I was a stubborn sod and it’s taken me years to finally learn how to let go.” Jorah said as he cleared his throat and sniffed the tears away. “Daenerys and Poppy are so much more than I deserve but they make me want to keep on living and I’d lost that the day you were taken from us. They make me want to try to be the best husband and father I can be, and I know that to do that I have to let go of the past and try to forgive myself…”

Daenerys watched on, holding Poppy a little closer as she allowed Jorah as much time as he needed at the final resting place of his wife and son.

She took the car keys from him as he walked back to her side and this time Jorah didn’t even bother arguing as he buckled Poppy safely into her car seat and climbed in the passenger side feeling as if a weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders.

The car journey back to the city was relatively quiet and Poppy fell asleep barely a few minutes after Jorah had placed her in the car seat, no doubt tired from a long day and without her usual afternoon nap.

Perhaps Poppy sensed something important was happening as her usual grumpy fit of temper when she was tired never materialised and she barely stirred as Daenerys pulled the car into their garage and Jorah gently carried his daughter to her bedroom and placed her in her cot.

“Are you hungry?” Daenerys said from the hallway as Jorah pulled the door to the nursery closed.

He shook his head, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“I’m going to have a shower and then head to bed, if that’s ok?” He replied.

Daenerys leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips.

“Of course it is,” she replied, running a thumb over his cheekbone as she cupped his face with her hand.

It was almost two hours later when Daenerys put her book down and made her way upstairs to the bedroom. After checking in on Poppy, Daenerys quietly readied herself for bed, relieved to find Jorah already asleep and she smiled when she realised that he looked the most relaxed she had seen him in days.

Although she knew he had a long way to go, hopefully today’s visit to Anais’ parents was another step in the right direction when it came to Jorah learning how to finally forgive himself.

Chapter Text

Daenerys opened her eyes, relieved to find Jorah still beside her.

He was already asleep when she crept silently into bed last night and she’d snuggled up close, resting her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to be lulled to sleep by his deep, rhythmic breathing.

Spending time with Anais’ parents was a huge step forward for Jorah in his journey towards forgiving himself and she could see how much the day took out of him by the time they returned home yesterday evening. She only hoped that Jorah would now find it a little easier to let go of the blame he felt for his own actions so many years ago.

She carefully disengaged herself from their embrace and silently crept out of bed and across to the nursery where Poppy was already awake and standing in her cot and looking up at her mother when she heard the door open.

“Maaaa,” the little girl gurgled as she held her arms up for her mother to lift her out.

Daenerys smiled at her daughter and reached into the cot to take her into her arms.

“Hello, my little angel, did you sleep well?” She cooed at the infant as Poppy rubbed at her eyes with pudgy fists.

Poppy looked at her quizzically for several moments as if she were considering the question before giggling and saying, “Joot!”

“Ok,” Daenerys laughed as she bounced her daughter in her arms as Poppy let out a squeal of laughter. “Let’s go and get some juice and breakfast, then.”

It was only when they got to the kitchen that Poppy realised that her father wasn’t with them and Daenerys caught the way that Poppy leaned over in her highchair to look for him.

“Paaa?” The little girl said as she placed three of her fingers in her mouth.

“Papa is still sleeping,” Daenerys replied as she brought over a cup of juice and began preparing breakfast for her daughter. “Maybe we should wait until he wakes up before we have breakfast?” She teased her daughter.

Although Poppy was barely two years old and probably not fully aware of every word her parents said to her, she clearly understood the words ‘breakfast’ and ‘wait’ and was unhappy that her mother had used them in the same sentence if the look on her face was anything to go by.

“Ok, ok!” Daenerys said, holding her hands up in mock surrender at her daughter. “Shall we have breakfast without Papa?” She asked her little girl.

“Eck-ast!” Poppy clapped happily as Daenerys began pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

He opened his eyes slowly, finding himself in a room that he didn’t recognise. He sat up quickly and with no recollection of how he’d got here. He found himself sitting in an old country pub with a young man sitting across the table from him.

He recognised the man but couldn’t think where he knew him from. There was something about his face that was familiar and yet he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Are you ok?” The young man asked him, concern evident in his eyes.

The young man had strawberry blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. His face was kind and welcoming - it suddenly dawned on him as to who he reminds him of:

Anais.

“Noah?” He croaked, his face paling.

The look of concern on the young man’s face grew deeper.

“Dad?” The young man said. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

He felt Noah’s hand on his arm, and he shuddered at the sensation. He’d never felt his son’s touch with any warmth in his body. He’d never held his son in anything except that cold, wooden box and now his son was sitting across from him warm, grown up, and very much alive.

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head, screwing his eyes shut, half expecting Noah not to be there when he opened them again.

“You’re not real,” he told himself. “This isn’t real.”

“I’m as real as you want me to be,” Noah replied with a gentle smile.

He shook his head again.

“You died,” he insisted. “I lost you and your mother. It was my fault.”

He felt Noah’s hand on his arm again and he let out a choked sob at the contact.

“You never lost us because we we’ve always been there with you but it’s time to let us go, Dad,” Noah told him softly. “Mum and I…we’re happy, we’re safe, and we’re proud of you but you have to let us go, it’s time to move on.”

“I can’t,” he sobbed, shaking his head. “I don’t know how.”

“You can,” Noah replied. “And if you won’t do it for yourself then do it for me…please?”

He nodded his head as tears streamed down his face.

“I’m so sorry that I never got to see you grow up into the man I always knew you would be,” he said through his tears.

“I know, Dad,” Noah replied with a warm smile. “But I got to see the warm, kind, gentle, amazing man my father is and all the lives you’ve blessed along the way. You make me proud to be your boy.”

“What happens if I want to stay here?” He asked suddenly, looking up at his son. “What if I want to stay here with you?”

“You can stay here as long as you like,” Noah replied. “But I don’t think that’s what you really want, not when you’ve got a wife and daughter and another child on the way. They need you.”

He nodded his head and let it hang, realising that this would be the last time he would see his boy.

“I guess this is goodbye then?” He said, trying to stop his bottom lip from trembling as the vision of his son grew fuzzy before him.

“We’ll meet again, Dad,” he heard Noah say, although his voice sounded much further away now. “One day…”

He woke up with a start, alarmed to find that he was alone in bed and that it was mid-morning already. The last thing he remembered was having a shower and telling Daenerys that he was going to have an early night.

Pulling on his jeans and an old grey sweatshirt, Jorah padded downstairs and made his way into the kitchen, kissing Poppy on the top of her head as she sat in her highchair before walking over to Daenerys who was washing the breakfast dishes in the sink.

“Did you sleep well?” She asked, her hands still submerged in the foamy water.

Jorah rubbed the back of his neck as he poured himself a coffee from the pot Daenerys had already prepared and took a sip before answering.

“I had the strangest dream,” he said, gazing off into the distance as he tried to put into words what happened. “I was sitting in a pub with Noah like he was still alive,” he began, scratching at his stubbled jaw. “He told me that…” he coughed, swallowing thickly several times as tears pricked at his eyes. It was enough for Daenerys to dry her hands and walk over to him and wrap her arms around him. “He told me that he was proud to be my son but that it was time for me to let him go.”

Daenerys held him tightly as she bit back her own sob, knowing what a huge breakthrough this was for Jorah and his subconscious. Yes, it was a dream, but his own mind was now telling him that it was time to let go of the pain of the past and to move on and it was clear to anyone who cared to look close enough that the only person who refused to forgive Jorah was himself.

“Jorah?” She said hesitantly as she moved back slightly to look up at him. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about…about the baby…”

“Everything’s ok, isn’t it?” He said, suddenly alarmed.

“Everything’s fine,” she said quickly, trying to allay his fears. “I’ve been thinking about it…and I know we won’t find out for a while if we’re having a boy or a girl, but I wanted to ask you if…” she trailed off, still not entirely sure as to how Jorah would take her next words. “If we’re having a boy, I wanted to ask if you would mind if his middle name was Noah?”

She suddenly felt her heart pounding in her chest at the look on his face and it began to dawn on her that she might have just made a huge mistake.

“It was an awful idea,” she said, beginning to backtrack. “Forget I said anything.”

It took Jorah several moments to come to his senses. He shook his head.

“You’d do that?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Of course, I would,” she said, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone to wipe away the errant tear running down his face. “But only if that’s what you want too?”

The look on his face said it all as he took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply before whispering, “Of course it is,” against her lips.

Chapter Text

“Well, I have to admit that I had no idea Thoros could scrub up so well,” Beric said with a wry grin on his face as Marie elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“Leave him alone,” she smirked, rolling her eyes at her fiancé. “He’s nervous enough already as it is.”

Ever since Daenerys and Jorah asked him to be Poppy’s godfather, Thoros seemed more determined than ever to overhaul almost every aspect of his life, including his appearance and he’d shocked everyone in attendance at the church as he arrived with freshly shaven cheeks and his hair neatly combed and tied back into a ponytail.

The church was already a hive of activity as guests began filling the pews, but not before making their way over to the proud parents and the little girl who was always the centre of attention. There was something about Poppy’s smile and laughter that could light even the darkest and most sombre of rooms and everyone who met her couldn’t help but fall a little bit more in love with her.

“You two will be next,” Mary said as she and Stan made themselves comfortable next to them, with the women exchanging kisses on the cheek and the men shaking hands. “Any idea on the date for the wedding yet?”

Beric felt his heart skip a beat at the question. He was still trying to get his head around the fact that Marie had even agreed to marry him in the first place, but he knew that sooner or later they would need to get around to arranging the whole thing and he had half a mind to pull Jorah aside and ask for his advice on the matter.

“I’m going to let my man get over the shock first,” Marie said, patting Beric on the knee and smiling at Mary. “We’ll get there in wee baby steps, won’t we?”

Beric gave her a tight smile as he wondered yet again how he’d managed to find a woman who understood and accepted him so well as Marie did.

“You’re far too good for me,” he said, kissing the side of her head.

“Now all we need to do is find Thoros a nice lady to settle down with,” Mary remarked as she cast a glance at the reformed bad-boy who stood at the back of the church fiddling with his suit jacket looking terrified as he waited for the christening ceremony to begin. “We already know he’s great with children.”

“He’s come a long way these past few years,” Beric agreed, looking fondly at his old Army pal. “There were times when I was sure we were going to lose him for good but having Poppy in his life seems to have really settled him. He’s worked bloody hard on himself and I’m fucking proud of him.”

The two women gave him a sharp look for swearing in a church and Beric had the good grace to look apologetic.

“What I mean to say is that I’m very happy that we’re sitting here watching Thoros become a godfather and not for any other more unfortunate circumstances,” he clarified as he watched Daenerys, Jorah and their daughter make their way to the front of the church, closely followed by Thoros as the ceremony began.

Thoros couldn’t help but feel a little bit overwhelmed by the whole occasion as yet another person slapped him on the back to congratulate him as the christening party began back at Daenerys and Jorah’s house in the suburbs.

Truth be told, the ceremony was a bit of a blur to him, but the one thing he would never forget was the absolute joy and wonder with which Poppy continued to look at him with every time he was close by. She was still far too young to understand what the ceremony meant, but Thoros and her parents knew the importance and the commitment they agreed upon should anything happen and Poppy’s immediate care needs change.

The lounge and kitchen was full of the food and drink that he’d spent the past day and a half preparing at his restaurant and Poppy was revelling in the attention from the friends and family who came to celebrate the special day with her, but it all got a little bit too much for Thoros and so he quietly stepped outside and into the back garden to grab some fresh air and few minutes of quiet contemplation.

He was surprised to find Jorah already standing on the patio, looking out across the large back garden.

“It’s a bit noisy in there at the moment,” Jorah said with a knowing smile as he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, having discarded his suit jacket and tie at some point earlier in the day.

“Busy day, huh?” Thoros said, adopting a similar pose to his friend.

“You did great up there,” Jorah replied, looking at his friend briefly before returning his gaze to the birds in the trees.

“I was shitting myself the whole time,” Thoros snorted. “I honestly thought I was going to drop her on her head when the vicar passed her to me.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jorah replied softly. “You’d do anything to protect Poppy and that’s why we chose you to be her godfather. You’ve turned your life around Thoros, and we’re proud of you.”

Thoros shuffled uncomfortably at the comment.

“I’ve fucked a lot of stuff up,” he argued half-heartedly. “I’ve done a lot of shitty things in my life - things that you and Beric have ended up paying for.”

“Two years ago, we had to drag you to rehab,” Jorah continued. “Two years ago, you screamed at me and told me you never wanted to see me again and look at you now. You’ve got life sorted out; you’ve got your head on straight - “

“It’s helped having people around me who love me and wouldn’t give up on me,” Thoros interjected.

“We’ve always loved you,” Jorah insisted. “And we’ll never give up on you, no matter what crazy shit you do.”

The two men stood in silence for several moments until Thoros finally spoke.

“I’m scared shitless that I’m going to mess it all up and drink again…that I’m going to let you all down and you’ll leave me,” he admitted, his bottom lip trembling. “People always leave me in the end.”

The hand on his shoulder made him jump and Thoros looked up to find Jorah looking at him with kind eyes.

“We’ve known each other since we were teenagers and if Beric and I were going to cut our losses and run, don’t you think we would have done that by now?” Jorah smirked. “We’re a band of brothers. A band of fucked-up brothers granted, but we’re brothers and you’ll always have us, no matter what, ok?”

Thoros looked at his life-long friend with tears in his eyes.

“You do know that getting married and having a kid has turned you into a sentimental, mushy old git, don’t you? Whatever happened to Captain Mormont – the guy who used to scare the new recruits shitless?” He asked, letting out a tearful chuckle.

“Yeah, well, becoming a godfather seems to have finally turned you into a sensible, well-groomed, decently-dressed human being at last,” Jorah countered with a shit-eating grin on his face that soon turned into a teary-eyed smile as he looked at his friend proudly.

“Fucking hell, what’s happened to us?” Thoros said, furiously wiping at his eyes as Jorah followed suit. “We better get back in there before anyone sees us crying like a couple of babies. I swear that hanging around with you is doing nothing for my street cred.”

“As if you ever had any to begin with,” Jorah snorted as he ran his forearm over his face and cleared his throat before both men made their way back inside the house and into the kitchen.

“At least when Poppy’s older I’ll still be the cool uncle and you’ll be the boring, fusty old pops who says ‘no’ to everything,” Thoros retorted, grinning as he felt Jorah gently shove his shoulder in retaliation.

“Come on now, boys, play nicely…” Daenerys said as she sidled up to her husband and kissed him on the cheek. “Where were you two slinking off to?” She said, narrowing her eyes at them.

“I was just telling Thoros of the financial commitments he needs to make to Poppy’s university fund now that he’s officially her godfather,” Jorah deadpanned to his wife. “We might have forgotten to mention that before the ceremony…”

“You do know he’s kidding, right?” Daenerys said to Thoros.

“Yeah, I’ve put up with this guy’s shitty jokes for the past twenty-five years, I think I’m used to them by now,” Thoros grinned. “I should be getting off soon though, I need to prep at the restaurant for tonight so I’m just going to say goodbye to the Popster and head off, if that’s ok?”

“Of course, it is,” Daenerys said as she and Jorah hugged their friend in turn. “Thank you so much for today, you were amazing.”

Thoros gave them a shy shrug of the shoulders and quietly left the room in search of Poppy as Daenerys turned to her husband.

“Is he ok?” She asked, concern evident in her tone. “He seems a bit overwhelmed by it all,” she observed, chewing her bottom lip nervously.

“It’s been a big day for him,” Jorah replied, pulling her gently into his embrace as he rested his chin on the top of her head and held her close. “He’s not all that used to being part of a family and it’s taking him a while to get his head around it all.”

“He is though, isn’t he?” Daenerys asked. “He is part of our family?”

“Of course,” he replied, kissing the top of her head before resting his cheek on it. “He’ll always be a part of this family whether he likes it or not,” Jorah chuckled, knowing for all the trouble Thoros had caused throughout his life that he’d want it no other way.

Chapter Text

“Mr. and Mrs Mormont, if you’d like to follow me?”

Jorah held his hand out to his wife and helped her to stand, even though she was barely eight weeks pregnant. He was in full-on protective father mode already, but at least the recurring nightmares Jorah had been experiencing were now almost non-existent since visiting the Glovers several weeks ago.

“If you’d like to make yourself comfortable on the bed we’ll get started,” the female sonographer smiled as Daenerys lifted her top and the sonographer squirted gel onto her abdomen. “Is this your first child?”

Daenerys smiled at Jorah before responding to the question.

“We already have a little girl, Poppy,” she answered. “She’s going to be two next week.”

“So, you know what to expect at each scan?” The sonographer said as she readied the probe and placed it on Daenerys’ abdomen.

Jorah grasped his wife’s hand a little tighter and only released his breath when they heard the thumping sound of their unborn child’s healthy heartbeat.

“There they are,” the sonographer said, looking at the expectant parents. “I would say that you’re at least eight to nine weeks along already,” she estimated.

“And is everything ok?” Jorah asked, looking pensive as he kissed his wife on the top of her head.

“Everything is looking exactly as it should, Dad,” the sonographer said before giving Daenerys a knowing look. “I take it your husband is the protective type?”

Daenerys snorted at the question.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” she chuckled before looking up Jorah and sobering, remembering the trauma he suffered of losing three babies and his first wife. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s the best husband and father. He did so many midnight feeds and nappy changes when our daughter was born. He’s a keeper, trust me.”

“We won’t be able to tell the sex of the baby for another nine to twelve weeks, but we can print a picture of them if you’d like?” The sonographer offered.

“Yes, please,” Jorah smiled. “We can show Poppy the first photo of little Baby Mormont,” he smiled happily at his wife.

“Are you planning on putting that on the birth certificate?” The sonographer quipped.

Daenerys rolled her eyes, beginning to like the woman and her cheeky manner.

“We have some ideas for names already, but until we know whether we’re having a boy or a girl, we thought Baby Mormont would do for now. Jorah’s other suggestion for them was Tadpole.”

The sonographer shot Jorah a look that said she was clearly unimpressed with the name.

“Best stick to Baby Mormont for now then,” she said, wiping the gel from Daenerys’ abdomen before printing the ultrasound photo and handing it to Jorah as he smiled dreamily at it. “Have you told your friends and family the good news yet?” She asked.

“Not yet,” Daenerys replied as she hopped off the bed and slipped her jacket back on. “We wanted to have the first scan and check that everything was ok first. We didn’t want to jinx anything until we were sure.”

“Well, everything is looking good so far,” the sonographer said. “We’ll see you again in a couple of months’ time.”

Still in protective mode, Jorah kept his arm around Daenerys all the way back to the car until she was safely buckled into the passenger seat and they could make their way home, ready to tell their friends and family their happy news.

They were still in a blissful state upon returning home and Daenerys couldn’t resist telling Missandei who had been babysitting Poppy for them that afternoon.

Missandei let out a small squeak of excitement and hugged her friend tightly before throwing her arms around Jorah and kissing his cheek. She blushed and realised how forward she’d been with him before apologising and making a hasty retreat from the house but not before asking if she could share the happy news with her fiancé Grey.

Jorah was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee when his mobile rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket, surprised to find it was Mary calling. She couldn’t have found out already. Missandei and Mary barely knew each other.

He’d hardly had time to say hello before he realised something was wrong.

“Jorah,” Mary sobbed.

“Mary,” Jorah said, his mouth going dry. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

The strained sound of Jorah’s voice was enough to bring Daenerys into the kitchen as she held Poppy on her hip.

“It’s Stan,” Mary said finally, her voice shaking. “They think he’s had a stroke.”

Jorah could feel his eyes grow heavy as he sat in the hard plastic chair in the hospital corridor. The same corridor he and Mary had been sat in for the past three hours since Stan had been rushed into the hospital.

Jorah got into his car and drove to the hospital as soon as Mary had called him, and they had been sitting in the corridor waiting for news ever since. Mary was a nurse herself but that cut no sway with the hospital as they refused to let her anywhere near her husband and insisted that she let them get on with their jobs.

“You should go home,” Mary suggested as she fiddled with the clasp on her handbag.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jorah replied, running a hand over his face to bring himself more awake.

“There’s nothing you can do here,” Mary sighed.

“Yes, there is,” Jorah said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can stay here and sit with you.”

Mary could feel her hackles rise. She was scared that her husband was dying or that the stroke he suffered was so severe that he would never the same man again and she really didn’t need Jorah being a stubborn pain in the arse to her right now.

“You have a family at home. Go home, Jorah,” she insisted.

“And I have a family here, too,” he shot back. “So, I’m staying here. Deal with it.”

Mary felt her bottom lip trembling. What would she tell the boys if Stan died? He was still in the prime of his life and the boys were busy with their studies at university. They were too young to lose their father and what would happen if Stan was changed so irrevocably that his sons no longer recognised him. She was a nurse, but was she ready to be a full-time carer to her own husband?

She wasn’t prepared for any of this. She felt her hands shaking as she tried to open her handbag to find a tissue, but the tears were running down her face and she couldn’t see clearly, and it was then that she felt Jorah’s strong arms wrap around her and pull her close to his chest as he held her tightly and whispered soothing words to her.

She clung to him like her life depended on it. She felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head as she let her tears fall and even though she was falling apart in his arms, she knew he would keep her safe and that he would not let her face what was to come alone. He would do whatever he could to help her.

“We’ll get through this, Mary,” he told her as he held her tightly. “I promise you we’ll get through this.”

“I’m so scared,” she sobbed. “What if he dies? What am I going to tell the boys?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now, ok?” He replied. “They’re taking good care of Stan and he’s a fighter. He’ll be back on his feet and back to himself in no time, you’ll see.”

“But what if he isn’t?” Mary insisted, wiping at her eyes but remaining in Jorah’s embrace.

“Then we’ll deal with whatever happens together,” he insisted. “You won’t be on your own. Ever. Remember how you absolutely drove me up the wall after I lost my ball and started my chemo treatment?” Jorah chuckled. “Well, payback’s a bitch, kiddo.”

Mary let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob as she took one of Jorah’s hands and kissed it. The two of them had been through so much together and yet there was no one who could make her smile like Jorah could. Their ability to find levity in even the grimmest situations was a hallmark of the depth of their relationship and love for one another.

Mary took a deep breath and steeled her courage as she saw a doctor with a clipboard walking in their direction as she felt Jorah take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. It felt like her world was coming crashing down around her but somehow, she knew that Jorah would be there with her to protect her from the fallout, whatever happened next.

Chapter Text

Daenerys opened her eyes, unsurprised to find Jorah still asleep beside her.

It was late evening by the time he returned home and even though he tried his best to be quiet, she couldn’t sleep properly until she knew he was home and in bed beside her.

They kept in contact throughout the evening as Jorah called and texted her with updates on Stan’s condition and when the hospital finally told them to go home, Jorah drove Mary to the train station to collect her sons, both of whom returned from their universities upon hearing the news about their father. Having driven them all back to Mary’s house, Jorah then returned home to his own wife and child.

Daenerys tried to be quiet herself as she gently disengaged from her husband’s embrace, but her movements appeared to have disturbed him as he let out a soft groan and his eyes fluttered open.

“What time is it?” He croaked as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Early enough that you don’t need to get up yet,” she told him. “Stay in bed for a while. You had a long day yesterday.”

Jorah shook his head and sat up in bed.

“I need to go over to check on Mary and the boys,” he said as he pulled the duvet off his legs.

“I’m sure they’ll call if they need anything,” Daenerys said evenly, knowing how protective Jorah was of the people he loved and how he would often put their needs above his own. “Have the doctors said how long Stan might be in hospital for?” She asked as she started to get dressed.

Jorah shrugged as he considered the question and pulled clothes out of the wardrobe and began dressing.

“They’re supposed to be running tests this morning to see how much damage there is,” he said quietly. “Even though Mary’s a nurse and she spotted the signs quicky, they said the stroke was a significant one…” he trailed off as he looked at his wife. “Christ, Daenerys,” he said, running a hand over his face, “He’s only fifty and he’s had a bloody stroke.”

There was nothing Daenerys could say that would make such an awful situation any better and so she did the only thing she could think of - she walked over to her husband, took him in her arms and held him tightly.

Jorah felt the air rush out of his body as Mary threw herself into his arms the moment she opened her front door and found him standing there.

After sharing a quiet breakfast with Daenerys and Poppy, Jorah walked the short distance to Mary’s house to check on his best friend and her two teenage sons.

“How are you holding up?” Jorah asked as he rested his chin on Mary’s head. “How are the boys doing?”

“They’re still asleep in their bedrooms, I think,” she answered, sniffing away a few errant tears. “Some things never change,” she chuckled. “Coffee?”

Jorah nodded and gave Mary an encouraging smile as he followed her to the kitchen.

“How did you sleep?” He asked as he helped Mary by taking two mugs from the kitchen cupboard, moving around the place as if he’d lived in there before.

The way Mary avoided his gaze was enough to tell him that she’d barely slept at all.

“I’m dreading visiting hours if I’m being honest with you,” she admitted sheepishly. “I’m terrified that the doctors are going to turn round and tell me that he’s not the Stan I know and love anymore.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” Jorah said gently. “And whatever happens, you know that you’re not on your own.”

Mary looked apologetically at the man she loved like a brother as she poured water into the mugs and handed one to Jorah before they both made their way over to the kitchen table.

“You have your own family to take care of,” she said, looking at her mug glumly. “And I know how much you’ve got on your plate at the moment.”

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and Jorah knew instantly what Mary meant - his appointments with the psychiatrist.

“Aren’t you the one who usually lectures me about not doing everything on my own?” Jorah said, arching his eyebrow at Mary.

“Fair point,” she conceded with a wry smile before her face fell and her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” she admitted as she gripped her mug tightly. “What if Stan needs lots of care, what am I going to tell the boys? What if I need to give up my job to look after him? How are we going to pay the bills?”

All the questions came out of her in a rush and before long Mary was trembling like a leaf and sobbing as Jorah placed a hand on her arm and patted it gently, trying to reassure her through touch alone, aware that she would be unable to take in anything he said right now anyway.

His eyes met Connor’s as the young man stood in the hallway.

“Mum?” he said, his eyes wide and full of concern for his mother. “Are you ok?”

Mary tried her best to regain her composure before she turned to look at her son, but her eyes were red and puffy and there was no way that she could hide the fact that she’d been crying from her son.

“I just got a little overwhelmed, that’s all,” she said, sniffing away her tears and trying to reassure him. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“Has something else happened to Dad?” Connor asked, coming to sit next to his mother at the kitchen table.

“No,” Mary said quickly, patting her son on the hand. “No new news from the hospital, I promise.”

Connor looked at Jorah for any signs that his mother was lying to him.

“She’s telling the truth, Connor,” Jorah said. “She’s just crying because I told how Breaking Bad really ends,” he quipped, earning an eye roll from Connor and a swift smack on the arm from Mary.

“Any idea on when your brother might grace us with his presence?” Mary said, finally regaining her composure and granting Jorah a grateful smile.

Connor shrugged his shoulders.

“Midday, probably,” he replied as he made himself a coffee and went in search of something to eat from the fridge. “What time can we go and visit Dad?”

Mary flinched slightly at the question, but Connor had his back turned and didn’t see it, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Jorah.

“They want to run some tests this morning. They said they’d call us when your father is ready to have visitors. There is something you and Callum can do for me though.”

“Sure,” Connor smiled.

“You know how much your father loves his garden and he was…” she trailed off as tears filled her eyes at the memory of Stan slumped on the grass by the shed hit her once more. “When he comes home, I want him to see the lawn looking nice and neat and the flowerbeds all tidy.”

“Muuuuuum,” Connor groaned, looking at Jorah with pleading eyes.

Jorah merely smirked and folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m sure your mother would really appreciate you doing that Connor,” he said with a grin. “And I know your father would love it, too.”

Neither Jorah nor Mary caught what Connor mumbled underneath his breath but both knew it was anything but polite as they smiled at each other.

“Thank you,” Mary said as she hugged her friend as he got up to leave the kitchen. “For everything.”

“Always,” Jorah said, kissing the top of her head. “Give me a call when you hear from the hospital, ok? I can give you a lift over there if you want.”

“We’ll be fine,” Mary said, gently disengaging from her friend’s embrace. “But thank you anyway. I’ll let you know what the hospital says about Stan.”

“I meant what I said,” Jorah replied. “Whatever happens and whatever you need, Daenerys and I, we’ll stand by you, and we’ll support you. You won’t be on your own. We’ll get through this together like one, big semi-dysfunctional family, ok?”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you, Jorah Mormont?” She said, patting him playfully on the chest.

“No, you haven’t,” he replied with a grin. “But it’s ok, I still love you anyway.”

And it was in moments like this that Mary knew that she was so lucky to have a friend like Jorah in her life.

Chapter Text

“Bebic!” Poppy clapped happily as her eyes fell on Beric as he and Marie entered the living room with a bag of presents and a pink balloon with the number two written in yellow on the side of it.

“Well, hello there, little birthday girl,” Beric said as he patted Poppy gently on the head and smiled at her parents. “Look how much you’ve grown since the last time we saw you.”

The little girl giggled as Beric began motioning first with his hands and then with his arms just how much he thought Poppy had grown recently as Marie looked fondly at her fiancé.

“He’s a lot better with children than he realises,” Jorah said as he made his way over to Marie.

She handed him the bag of presents and blushed slightly at how many gifts there were.

“I had to stop Beric at five gifts,” she admitted. “Otherwise, he would have bought the whole toy store.”

Jorah grinned at that and took a swig of his beer.

“You might need to keep him on a tighter leash next year,” Jorah admitted sheepishly as Marie gave him a quizzical look. “We’ve got another one on the way.”

Jorah soon found himself pulled into a hug and almost lost his grip on his bottle of beer. He caught the puzzled look Beric shot him from the corner of his eye.

“Congratulations,” Marie said when she finally let go of him. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?”

Jorah shook his head.

“Not until the next scan,” he replied. “We’ll be happy either way, to be honest. We always wanted a brother or sister for Poppy… And after the chemo, well…I guess we’re just thankful that we’ve been blessed with Poppy and this new little one…” Jorah trailed off, growing misty eyed.

Marie reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You and Daenerys,” she said, tears glistening in her own eyes. “You deserve all the luck after everything you’ve been through. Poppy and the little one are so lucky to have you both as their parents.”

Jorah nodded his head, finding himself getting oddly emotional.

Perhaps the months of treatment with Doctor Tarly were beginning to influence him and he was now truly getting in touch with a side of himself that he’d neglected for far too long. Both his father and the Army had taught him that emotions were something that made you weak and so he pushed them down inside, so deep that he’d been unable to find them again without the help of others and now that he’d opened the door it felt like they’d all come rushing back to the surface, hitting him like a tidal wave that would threaten to flatten and drown him if he wasn’t careful.

Feeling and dealing with emotions was an alien concept and it was at times like this that Jorah was learning that it was ok to reach out to others for support and that he wouldn’t appear weak or needy in their eyes. There were people around him who knew him and his emotions better than he knew himself and he was slowly learning that it was ok to rely on others every now and then.

“Where’s the birthday girl then?” Said a loud voice that everyone instantly recognised.

It pulled Jorah out of his thoughts with a jolt.

“Fos!” Poppy squealed as she quickly tottered to her feet and jumped up and down in excitement, repeating the name of her favourite person. “Fos! Fos! Fos!”

“You are getting way too big and heavy, my girl!” Thoros said as he lifted Poppy up and spun her around as her legs flew out, narrowly missing several people’s faces as they swayed backwards and out of the way.

“Who ordered the clown?” Daenerys snorted as she joined her husband in the lounge while Marie made her way back over to Beric.

Jorah shook his head and scratched his bearded chin.

“Do you regret making him Poppy’s godfather?” He said with a smirk.

“Of course not,” she replied, bumping his shoulder playfully. “Look at her, she’s having the time of her life and he looks healthier than…well… I’ve ever seen him to be honest.”

Jorah nodded his head. He couldn’t argue with that. Thoros looked clean, sober and well put together. Gone were the dark circles under his eyes. His skin was clear, and his eyes were no longer bloodshot, and he even looked to have put on a healthy amount of weight rather than the gaunt appearance of his heavy drinking days.

“Mary said she and the boys would try to pop over later for a bit,” Jorah said, watching Poppy and Thoros continuing to play.

Stan was still in the hospital and was likely to stay there for several weeks yet. Even though the stroke was treated early it left Stan with partial paralysis on the left side of his body, memory problems, some loss of verbal communication and slight coordination problems. The doctors were hopeful that intense physical therapy and time would help Stan recover function over most of those issues but there were no guarantees and the news had been difficult for Mary and the boys to hear and take in.

Mary, Callum, and Connor had flitted through a spectrum of emotions throughout the past week from anger to despair and back again and Jorah and Daenerys were there to support them throughout it, whether it was practical or emotional support that was needed. Sometimes it was a lift to the hospital or just sitting in silence with one of them. At others it was a shoulder to cry on or someone to vent to. There was a long road ahead for all of them and Daenerys offered to call Poppy’s birthday party off on the grounds that it wasn’t the right time to be celebrating while Stan was still in hospital. Mary would hear none of it and insisted that life should carry on and that a bit of normality and a distraction from current worries was exactly what she and the boys needed right now.

It was sometime later when the party had mostly died down and Poppy was opening the last of her presents when the doorbell rang. Daenerys opened the door and smiled when she saw Mary and her two sons standing on the other side with balloons and wrapped gifts in their hands.

“We heard that it’s a certain little girl’s birthday today?” Mary said with a broad smile.

Daenerys stepped aside and grinned as she let them in and showed them through the lounge.

“Poppy,” Daenerys said. “Look who’s come to visit.”

Poppy looked up from her seated position on the floor as she sat in front of her father as they opened another gift. She burbled when she saw who entered the room.

“Airy!” Poppy gurgled and clapped as her eyes lit up.

“Hello, my sweet girl,” Mary said as she bent down and kissed the top of Poppy’s head. “What have you got here, then?”

Sensing that perhaps Mary could do with some time alone with Poppy, Jorah pulled himself to his feet and walked to the kitchen with Daenerys and the boys.

“I’ve got some cold beers in the fridge if you’re interested?” He said to Callum and Connor.

They didn’t need to be asked twice.

Twisting the caps off the bottles, Jorah handed one each to the boys as they all sat around the kitchen table.

“How is your mum holding up?” Jorah asked them, taking a swig of his beer.

Callum was the first one to speak up.

“She’s trying to pretend like everything is fine,” he said as he ran his fingernail over the label on the beer bottle. “But some nights I can still hear her crying herself to sleep.”

“We want to help her,” Connor added. “But she won’t talk to us.”

“And Dad looks so scared,” Callum whispered, his bottom lip trembling. “I hate leaving him in that hospital. It’s not fair that we can go home, and he can’t.”

“I’m so sorry, boys,” Jorah said quietly, not knowing what else to say. He felt powerless. He wanted to help them and make everything better but didn’t know how.

“Why?” Connor said. “None of this is your fault.”

“I know,” Jorah replied, shooting a helpless look at his wife. “I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

“You already have,” Callum said, as if it were a fact. “You were there for Mum when we couldn’t be. You could have left her at the hospital on her own that day. You didn’t have to drive to the train station to come and get us when we came home from uni. You’ve come round every day to check on us since Dad’s stroke. You’ve done all of that when you didn’t have to do any of it. You’ve both gone out of your way to help us,” he added, glancing at Daenerys too.

“What are we going to do, Uncle Jorah?” Connor asked. “What if Dad doesn’t get better? What if this is the best it’s going to get?”

Jorah felt his heart break at Connor’s use of the word ‘uncle’. It wasn’t something he’d heard him use since Connor was a young boy and it was something he’d grown out of many years ago. Connor was now a young adult and far too old to be calling Jorah something like that, but it showed just how scared Connor was of what would happen next for his family.

Jorah glanced at his wife as she gave him a look of encouragement as he gently squeezed Connor’s shoulder.

“Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out, ok?” He told both young men. “Your mum and dad and the two of you… I wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for your support and so I’m telling you right now that whatever happens we’ll get through this…ok?” He looked both boys in the eyes. “Do you believe me?”

Both Callum and Connor slowly looked up and nodded their heads, their eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I think maybe we should rescue Mum from Hurricane Poppy,” Callum chuckled a few moments later which broke the silence in the kitchen as they all slowly trundled through to the lounge.

“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re plying my innocent young boys with alcohol, Mormont,” Mary groused playfully.

“We’re both old enough to drink now, Mum,” Connor sighed.

“But you’re still my little babies,” Mary replied as she grew melancholy once more. “We should be getting out of your hair. I’m sure this little one will be getting tired soon,” Mary said as she got to her feet and made her way over to the couch to pick up her handbag. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, reaching over to hug Jorah and Daenerys goodbye.

She was stopped by a tug on her leg and looked down to find Poppy staring up at her.

“We’ve already said goodbye, sweetheart,” she told the little girl gently.

Poppy shook her head as she held one of her favourite teddies in her hand and lifted it up to Mary.

“You’ve shown me your teddies, darling,” Mary said. “But the boys and I must go home now. We’ll come back and play with them again soon, I promise.”

“Airy,” Poppy said, lifting the toy again. “Airy.”

Daenerys knelt next to her daughter.

“You want Mary to have Teddy?” She asked Poppy as her daughter nodded. “Teddy who makes you feel better?” Again, Poppy nodded.

“Airy,” Poppy said.

This time, Mary couldn’t help but cry as she bent down and hugged Poppy tightly and kissed her cheek.

“I tell you what, little one,” she said, wiping away the tears on her face. “I promise to look after Teddy for now and I’ll take very good care of him and then you can have him back whenever you need him. You just let me know, and I’ll bring him straight round, I promise.”

Chapter Text

Jorah knocked on the door of Stan’s room and poked his head round.

“Are you up for having a visitor?” He asked.

Stan opened his eyes, nodding his head as much as he could from his prone position in his hospital bed.

“How are you doing?” Jorah asked, walking over to Stan’s side, a paper bag of grapes in his hands. At a loss for what else to do, he put them on the bedside table.

“M’ok,” Stan replied, the left side of his mouth barely moving.

Almost three weeks since his stroke, Stan was now on the rehabilitation ward, although his progress was much slower than he wanted it to be. He was growing increasingly frustrated with his lack of independence along with his reliance on other people for the simplest of tasks.

At least while he was in the hospital it was just random nurses helping him with bathing and toileting, but he was dreading the time when they finally deemed him recovered enough to return home where Mary or his kids would need to help him with such basic tasks. There would be no way he could look his wife or sons in the eye if they had to help wash him or wipe his arse.

“Have they said when you might be getting out of here?” Jorah asked as he sat down on the plastic chair by the bed.

Jorah realised that it would be up to him to do most of the talking. The stroke caused a significant amount of damage and affected Stan’s ability to communicate amongst other things. Not only that, but Mary also said that Stan was becoming increasingly depressed and withdrawn as the reality of his new ‘normal’ began to sink in.

Stan didn’t reply and merely shook his head, but Jorah could see the tears that were beginning to fill the other man’s eyes, tears that Stan was helpless to stop.

Jorah reached out to take Stan’s left hand before he realised that the other man would not be able to feel it. He reached over and took his right hand instead.

“I know it’s not the same, but I get it,” Jorah said, trying to reassure Stan. “I get how terrified you must feel right now. It’s going to be ok; I promise you.”

Stan was unable to stop the tears that fell from his eyes.

“Burden,” he slurred as he screwed his eyes shut.

“Hey, you can cut that out straight away,” Jorah said, his tone terse enough that Stan opened his eyes to look at him. “You think Mary would let me get away with saying stuff like that? She’d smack me round the back of my head and tell me to get my act together and stop feeling sorry for myself.”

Jorah sat back and realised that maybe his words came out harsher than he intended, but Mary always knew when a bit of ‘tough love’ was in order. Stan feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to help him recover any faster and someone needed to tell him that he certainly wasn’t a burden to his family and friends.

“Mary?” Stan slurred as he looked at Jorah.

“She’s doing ok,” Jorah tried to reassure him. “She’s just worried about you and wants you home as soon as possible,” he smiled. “The boys have been surprisingly domesticated around the house in your absence,” he added with a chuckle and was glad to see that it brought somewhat of a smile to Stan’s face.

Jorah saw several emotions flicker across Stan’s face and imagined the myriad of questions that were likely going through the man’s mind.

“The only thing you need to worry about at the moment is your recovery, everything else will take care of itself, ok?”

“Jesus Christ,” Thoros groused as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “That’s two slap-up meals you owe me now.”

Jorah rolled his eyes and let out a huff as he pushed his side of the bed into the corner of the room and threw a hand towel at his old friend.

“Fine,” Jorah said, letting out a tired sigh. “Just quit bitching. I’ve already got a headache.”

“And which one of you is taking the Lord’s name in vain in my house?” Mary asked, handing both men a cup of coffee as she entered what was once the dining room and would soon become Stan’s new bedroom when he returned home next week.

After five weeks in hospital and countless rehabilitation sessions, Stan was now deemed well enough to return home but the paralysis to the left side of his body meant that he would be unable to climb the stairs and so Jorah and Thoros had spent most of the day moving furniture from Connor’s bedroom into the dining room and building the other pieces of equipment that Stan would need in order to help him move around the ground floor of the house with the minimum amount of physical support from those around him.

“We’re almost done,” Jorah said as he blew on his coffee before taking a sip of the steaming liquid.

They purposely positioned the bed so that it faced the patio doors and gave a view of the garden in all its glory. Although the boys both returned to their studies at university last week, they made sure that they tended to their father’s beloved lawn and flowers before they left so that he would have something nice to come back to when he returned home.

“You’ve done a grand job, chaps,” Mary said, her eyes filling with tears. “He’ll be able to wake up looking out on the garden every morning.”

“Or a cat shitting in his flowerbeds,” Thoros snorted.

Jorah shot him a glare but Mary merely chuckled, appreciating the fact that Thoros wasn’t treating her like she was going to fall apart at any second.

“Oh, yes,” Mary said, turning to face Jorah, an unamused look on her face. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Jorah Mormont.”

“Time for a ciggie break, I think,” Thoros grinned as he ducked out of the room and Jorah shot him a look of betrayal.

Jorah did his best to look innocent in front of Mary.

“When were you planning on telling me that Daenerys is pregnant again?”

“I…uh…ah…” Jorah stuttered as the blood drained from his face.

Mary continued to look at him as he flapped about and fidgeted.

“Well, with everything that’s been going on…” Jorah began as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “There just never seemed like a good time to bring it up in conversation,” he said awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

He found himself drawn into a hug as Mary leaned her head on his shoulder and held him close.

“I’m teasing, you great oaf,” she chuckled as she gently swatted him when they broke apart. “I know why you didn’t say anything. I’m so happy for you though and it’s about time we’ve had some good news…along with Stan coming home.”

Mary felt Jorah let out a sigh of relief as she held him out at arm’s length to look at him.

“You were the first person I wanted to tell,” he admitted, his bottom lip wobbling. “We’d just got back from the scan when you called and then…” he trailed off as his eyes grew misty. “There just never seemed like a right time after that didn’t sound crass or heartless. I wanted to tell you so badly, though.”

Mary cupped his cheek tenderly.

“And I would have been so happy for you,” she replied. “No matter what was happening with Stan. You can always tell me anything. Anytime.” She smiled at the man she loved like a brother. “You really are very sweet man, has anyone ever told you that?”

Jorah blushed at the comment.

“Don’t let Thoros hear you say that or I’ll never live it down,” he quipped.

“Well, your secret’s safe with me, Jorah Mormont,” Mary chuckled before sobering. “We’ll get through this, won’t we?” She asked, her bottom lip quivering.

He opened his arms and pulled her close.

“Of course, we will,” he replied. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Jorah helped Stan move from the passenger seat of the car into the wheelchair wordlessly, knowing that the other man wanted the whole episode to be over with as soon as possible.

Having been home for nearly two weeks now, Stan was still having a hard time to adjusting to his surroundings and his lack of independence. Even though carers came in twice a day to help with tasks such as bathing and dressing, it still ate away at Stan that he was reliant on the people around him to do many of the things he used to take for granted.

The last thing he wanted was for his wife and children to put their own lives on hold to take care of him, so Stan insisted that Mary return to her normal work pattern as soon as possible which meant agreeing to Jorah transporting him to his regular physiotherapy appointments which Jorah was more than happy to do.

Stan was grateful for the fact that Jorah rarely tried to make him open up and talk about his feelings but it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter anyway. Despite several sessions with speech and language therapists, Stan’s attempts at forming articulate sentences were erratic to say the least and in between the stuttering and slurring there was also the aphasia to deal with where he lost the grasp of his whole vocabulary for hours or days at a time.

Jorah had always been a stoic sort of individual and the quiet car journeys to the hospital and back soon became a focal point of Stan’s week and something he began to look forward to knowing that the time spent in contemplative silence with Jorah felt less pressured than time with any of his other family and friends.

He loved Mary, of course he did, but her love for him and her determination to care for him and help him recover was suffocating at times and despite how much the stroke had taken from him, he was still a man, and still had his sense of pride. The stroke left him dependent on other people and having his arse wiped for him made him feel emasculated. What would happen should he recover fully? Would Mary ever see him as a whole and healthy man again or would she forever see him as weak and vulnerable and someone who needed taking care of?

“Stan, are you ready to go in?” Jorah said, pulling him from his thoughts.

He blinked twice as if to clear his head and nodded, taking a deep breath as they entered the rehabilitation building.

Stan tried not to let his frustration build at the sound of other people’s shoes squeaking on the shiny linoleum floor as Jorah pushed the wheelchair down the corridor towards the treatment room where he would spend the next hour or so being put through his paces by a well-meaning young man who still had full use of his body and limbs and no idea what it was like to be trapped inside a carcass of a body that no longer functioned correctly.

‘Youth is wasted on the young,’ Stan muttered internally to himself as Jorah continued to wheel him down the corridor.

They were almost at the room in question when Stan felt his wheelchair stop abruptly. He looked up at Jorah as best he could from the position he was in. The man looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Jorah?” He mumbled, turning to look at whatever had caused him to freeze in place.

In front of them stood a woman with dark blonde hair who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties and judging by the way she was looking at Jorah it was obvious that the two of them knew each other.

“Hello, Jorah,” the woman said softly. “How are you?”

Stan knew that Jorah was a man of few words, but he was rendered mute by the question it seemed, and it took him an age to answer.

“Tanya,” he said shakily, after a long pause. Nothing else seemed to be forthcoming from him.

“Have you got time for a coffee and a chat?” She asked.

That seemed to jolt a response from him.

“Uh, I have to take Stan to - “

“I’ll wait,” Tanya replied.

Stan motioned for Jorah to drop him off at the door.

“I’ll be back in an hour to collect you,” Jorah said before turning to face Tanya, feeling like a lamb being led to slaughter.

“How is your arm?” Tanya said as Jorah followed her to the cafeteria, trying to start the conversation off on a neutral topic.

Jorah shrugged.

“They said to expect pain for the rest of my life but it’s been manageable since the last surgery,” he replied as they ordered their coffees and found a table. “Look, about the last time we saw each other, I wasn’t exactly at my best and bumping into you was a bit of a shock so I’m sorry if I was a bit…”

Tanya waved a hand and smiled.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to reassure him. “It’s not like I was expecting to bump into you and Thoros either,” she smiled. “He’s looking much better than I expected him to, by the way.” Her face fell suddenly. “Oh, uh…shit. That came out wrong.”

Now it was Jorah’s turn to wave a comment away.

“Beric and I forced him into rehab a couple of years back,” he replied. “He’s sober now, got his head on straight. He’s still a loud-mouthed pain in the arse though,” he snorted. “He said that you left the Army to settle down and start a family,” Jorah added.

Tanya smiled as she pulled out her phone and brought up a picture of her two sons.

“This is Matthew,” she said as she pointed at a young boy with sandy-blonde hair. “And this is Craig,” she said as her finger moved across to a slightly taller boy with darker hair. “Thoros tells me that you have a family too?”

Now it was Jorah’s turn to smile and pull his phone out. He scrolled through the hundreds of photos on his phone until he found one he liked the most which happened to be one that Daenerys took that Jorah had instantly fallen in love with. It was a photo of Poppy lying on his chest with both of them fast asleep.

“This is my little girl, Poppy,” he said, holding his phone out for Tanya to see.

Tanya clutched at her own chest.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “That girl is going to break so many hearts when she’s older. She’s a beautiful little thing,” she gushed.

Tanya’s face grew serious for a moment.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Jorah frowned for a moment before nodding his head.

“Ok,” he answered carefully.

“How did you and your wife meet?”

Thoros had briefly mentioned it, but she wanted to hear it from Jorah. It was important for her to know that he was truly happy.

Jorah took a deep breath and ran a hand over his beard.

“I was…uh,” he stuttered as he took a shuddering breath. “About five years ago I was diagnosed with testicular cancer.” Jorah looked up Tanya’s sharp intake of breath. “Daenerys was in the same ward for treatment for her breast cancer. We used to sit next to each other for our treatments and we started out as chemo buddies, and gradually it grew into something a lot deeper than that.”

“And everything’s good now?” Tanya asked, unshed tears shining in her eyes. Despite the pain of the breakup, she still cared about Jorah and wanted the best for him.

Jorah nodded his head.

“I did love you Tanya,” he said quietly, his head bowed. “More than I ever probably showed you. I never meant to hurt you the way I did. You were the never the problem - I was.”

Tanya shook her head, wiping the tears away as they ran down her cheeks.

“No, I knew what I was getting myself into when I started a relationship with you. I knew you were still grieving for Anais and Noah, and I naively thought I could fix you. You’re a good man, Jorah. You deserve to be happy. I’m glad that you’re happy now, truly I am.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said. “I never regretted a single moment we spent together and if I could have given you what you wanted back then I would have. I’m sorry for the way things ended. I never meant to hurt you; you didn’t deserve that.”

Tanya gave him a watery smile as she looked at him.

“You were the right man, we just met at the wrong time and maybe if we’d met a few years later things might have turned out differently but we’re both happy now and I want you to know that that there’s genuinely no hard feelings, ok?”

Jorah let out a sigh of relief and gave Tanya a shy smile that reminded her why she fell in love with him in the first place.

“It means a lot to hear you say that,” he replied, letting out a relieved breath. “I’ve always hated myself for hurting you the way I did.”

“Well don’t,” she gently admonished him, rolling her eyes before her expression grew serious. “I was there when they brought you back to the base after the truck explosion, you know.”

Jorah flinched at the mention of the incident as the blood drained from his face.

“You were already in shock when they brought you in,” She shuddered at the horrific memory. “We had to sedate you and ventilate you,” Tanya continued. “I stayed with you until they put you on the plane to take you home. I didn’t want you to be on your own until they could get you home,” she admitted. “I tried to get them to let me on the plane too, but they said ‘no’. It’s silly really, but I didn’t want you to be alone with no one there who cared about you.”

“Now I know that I really didn’t deserve you,” Jorah replied, choking back a sob.

They both sat in awkward silence for a while, neither sure what to say to the other.

“The guy who you came in with, is he your friend?” Tanya said, changing the subject to something slightly less emotionally charged. If there was one thing she knew that would never change about Jorah it was his caring nature when it came to his friends and family.

“He’s Mary’s husband,” Jorah replied. “He had a stroke a couple of months ago. I bring him here to his sessions each week.””

“I’m so sorry to hear that. He’s here for physical therapy then?” She asked sympathetically.

Jorah nodded his head.

“I work in this building so the chances are that we might bump into each other every now and then,” Tanya replied. “I’m not suggesting that we dive straight back into being friends or anything, but I’d like it if we could at least pass each other in a corridor without looking like we’ve both seen a ghost,” she smiled.

Jorah returned her smile with one of his own.

“Yeah, I’d like it if we could do that.”

With that, Tanya finished the last of her coffee and got up to leave, giving Jorah one last look.

“It’s good to see you, Jorah. I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve to be, so stop telling yourself otherwise. I’ll see your around sometime, ok?”

“You too, Tanya,” Jorah nodded with a shy smile as he watched her go.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Mrs Tarly,” Jorah said as he entered the waiting room of the psychiatrist’s office. “How is your daughter?’ He asked as he took a seat.

“She’s doing well,” Gilly smiled, looking up from her typing and smiling at him. “Although I must admit that I’m probably missing her more than she’s missing me, even though Sam only agreed to me doing a few hours a day for now. The next scan must be due for you soon?” She asked.

“In a couple of weeks,” Jorah replied with a nervous smile as he rubbed his palms on his jeans. “We’ll find out then if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

“Any preference?’

“Daenerys wants a boy,” Jorah chuckled. “I’m happy either way. Just as long as they’re happy and healthy.”

Just as the clock struck eleven a.m. Doctor Sam Tarly opened his office door and invited Jorah to enter and take his usual seat.

“One of the things I like about working with you is that I never have to worry about setting a reminder. You keep time better than a Swiss clock,” Sam remarked with a grin.

“Being in the military tends to do that to you,” Jorah deadpanned in response as he made himself comfortable in the chair opposite the doctor.

“We’ve talked a lot recently about your progress dealing with your grief at losing your wife and son,” Sam said, pausing briefly when he saw Jorah flinch at the mention of them. “About how visiting Anais’ parents and talking to them helped put some things to rest and the dream you had about seeing Noah again.”

Jorah closed his eyes and nodded his head but did not say anything, waiting for the doctor to continue.

“I know you were reluctant to, but did you keep a journal of any dreams you’ve had since then?”

Jorah took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook, giving the doctor a look that said he wasn’t entirely convinced that keeping a log of his dreams would be helpful in any way.

“Have the recurring dreams about the hospital continued to lessen?” Dr. Tarly prompted when Jorah failed to offer any information from his journal.

Jorah nodded his head.

“I’ve only had it once or twice since visiting Anais’ parents,” he replied. “Speaking with them was the right thing to do,” he added, acknowledging Sam’s previous advice on the matter.

“Have there been any other patterns in the dreams you’ve been experiencing recently?”

Jorah ran a hand over his stubble as he looked down at his notebook.

“I don’t always remember them and they…uh…they don’t always make sense,” he said as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

Sam chuckled at his answer.

“Our dreams are not often as simple and straightforward as they appear,” the doctor replied. “Some are flashbacks to the worst moments of our life and others are more…abstract, shall we say. I used to have this recurring dream when I was a teenager that I was strapped onto a gurney in the back of an ambulance on the way to hospital and suddenly the doors would open, and the gurney would fly out. Every single time I had that dream I never once made it to the hospital. To this day, I still don’t know what that dream means,” he mused.

“I had a dream the other night that my father adopted Thoros,” Jorah admitted, cringing, and covering his eyes with one of his hands as he sank further down his chair. “Not as a child, but as a grown man.”

“That’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?’ The doctor asked with a smile. “From everything you’ve said about your friend, family seems to be the one thing he’s yearned for the most throughout his life.”

Jorah felt a bit guilty at that. Thoros had worked bloody hard to get his life back on track and hadn’t deserved to be an orphan in the first place.

“I’ve had other dreams about my time in the Army recently too,” Jorah admitted, although he appeared uncomfortable doing so. It was something that wasn’t missed by the wily doctor.

“Any reason for the pattern?”

Jorah looked at him in confusion.

“You’ve just said yourself that you’ve been having dreams about your time in the Army recently - has anything happened that might be a trigger for that?”

Jorah shrugged his shoulders, running a finger over the spine of his notebook as he considered the question.

“Things have been hectic recently with what’s happened to Stan,” he replied. “Thoros helped get Mary’s house ready for when he came home from hospital, and I’ve been taking him to his physio appointments and back. Maybe it’s brought back some memories about my accident, I don’t know…”

The doctor had known his client long enough to know when he was holding out on him, especially when Jorah began fidgeting with his clothes and avoiding eye contact with him, but he decided not to push the subject too much further for now.

“And how is Stan doing?”

Jorah looked up at the doctor before he answered the question.

“He wants to be better already and he’s getting frustrated that he’s not,” Jorah replied. “Mary’s trying to put a brave face on everything, and the kids are fed up that their parents won’t treat them like adults and let them help out.”

“That good, huh?” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Jorah replied with a humourless huff.

“And how have you been coping?” Sam asked.

“Me?” Jorah replied, taken aback by the question. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure about that?” Sam pressed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jorah snapped, irked by the question.

“Because the woman who, for all intents and purposes, is your sister is going through a hugely traumatic period in her life in which her husband has just had a major stroke. Their lives have changed dramatically and not only is she leaning heavily on you, but so is her husband and their two adult children.”

“I can handle it,” Jorah insisted.

“I know you can,” Sam replied gently, aware that he would need to tread carefully with his next words. “Putting the needs of others before your own is something that comes naturally to you, but it becomes all too easy for you to neglect your own.”

“So, you’re suggesting that I leave them to their own devices to suffer then?” He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell them to just get on with it?”

“No,” Sam replied patiently. “I’m saying that you need to be aware that your own needs are just as important as those of the people around you. Their burden is no more or less important than your own, although it’s easier to carry theirs than accept and deal with your own.”

“I just want to help them,” Jorah replied with a tired sigh. “After everything they’ve done for me. After the explosion, when I found out I had cancer… They were there through it all, and they never left me, not for one second.”

“And it’s understandable that you want to repay that in kind, Jorah. That was a whole family supporting one single person - you. Now the tables are turned and you are supporting four people on your own and that’s a whole different matter. You can’t be expected to do that and I don’t think Mary, Stan or their kids would want you to. You can’t split yourself into quarters either.”

“So, what do you suggest I do then?” Jorah groused, cocking an eyebrow at the doctor.

“I know of some good support groups for partners of people who’ve had life-changing illnesses, they have some really good resources about practical support too. There are some online forums and servers their kids might find useful to reach out to with other young adults who are in the same situation. It’s not much, but it might help having someone going through a similar time to talk to.”

Jorah took the piece of paper and tucked it inside the notebook.

“You can still be there to offer tea and sympathy and practical support, Jorah,” Sam said as he looked at his client sympathetically. “You just don’t need to be available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week anymore.”

“Message received. Loud and clear,” Jorah mumbled, suitably chastised.

“Good. Now we’ve got that out of the way,“ Sam said as he straightened in his chair. “Let’s’ go back to why you’ve been dreaming so much about your time in the Army recently…”

Chapter Text

Jorah looked at the psychiatrist blankly.

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

Sam smiled as he looked at his reticent client.

“Jorah,” he chuckled at the other man. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re holding out on me.” Sam continued to look at his client who seemed determined to wait him out until he expanded further. “For a man who doesn’t talk about his feelings very much you’re quite easy to read…if you know what to look for.”

“And what is that?” Jorah groused, taking the bait before he realised what he’d done.

“You have certain gestures and ‘tells’ that a person can spot if they take the time to look,” Sam replied. “You are more of an open book than most people probably realise. They just don’t ask the right questions.”

“And you do, I suppose?” Jorah sniped, pinching the bridge of his nose, realising that he’d walked straight into the doctor’s trap.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Sam replied evenly. “And if me asking the right questions wasn’t helping then you would have stopped coming here a long time ago.”

Sam let that hang in the air for a while before he asked the question again.

“So, why do you think you’ve been dreaming of the Army so much recently?”

He waited patiently for Jorah to answer, knowing that the other man was deliberately stalling for time and trying to avoid answering the question honestly, meaning that whatever the real reason was it was something that he was struggling with.

Minutes ticked by as Sam sat silently and observed Jorah fidget in his chair. He was fully prepared to spend the rest of the session waiting if that was what it took for Jorah to finally open up.

“I was taking Stan to his rehab appointment last week and I bumped into someone from the Army that I haven’t seen for a while,” Jorah said finally.

“An old Army buddy?” Sam asked, scribbling something on his note pad.

“Something like that,” Jorah frowned, fidgeting uneasily in his chair.

Sam looked up at his client’s reply.

“Someone you knew well then?”

“You could say that,” Jorah replied, determined to be as evasive as possible in the hopes that the doctor would abandon his current line of questioning.

Jorah looked up when he heard Sam sigh and place his pen down on his notepad.

“We can draw this process out with me asking you one painful question at a time if you like,” he said evenly. “I don’t have another client until later this afternoon, so I’m happy to stretch this out for as long as it takes if that’s what you want. Or you could just tell me who it was that you saw that has had such an effect on you.”

Jorah scowled at the doctor, his eyes narrowing at the younger man before he once again cycled through physical patterns of behaviour that clearly indicated his discomfort before he finally began to speak.

“When I first started coming here, one of the things you mentioned was the incident in the training yard at the barracks,” Jorah began.

“I remember,” Sam nodded. “We were discussing why you felt the need to punish yourself after Anais and Noah’s deaths.”

Jorah flinched at the mention of their names.

“There was a nurse in the infirmary who would sit and talk to me during her shifts when I couldn’t sleep at night. She never judged me, she just sat and listened when I wanted to talk and never pushed me when I didn’t. I asked her out after I was discharged and we…” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You were in a relationship?” Sam asked.

Jorah nodded his head.

He could still remember their first official date clearly in his mind as if it was yesterday.

Two weeks after being discharged from the infirmary, he arrived on her doorstep dressed in a pair of smart black jeans, white cotton shirt and tan coloured boots ready to take her to a local pub for a couple of quiet drinks and some food.

He’d hardly been at his best when they met in the infirmary, and he wanted to make a better impression on her the second time around and so he made sure his hair looked neat and tidy and that he was wearing his most expensive cologne, hoping that she wouldn’t think he was a typical bone-headed squaddie like most of the men back at the base.

The conversation flowed freely between them and Jorah found himself getting lost in her eyes as the evening flew by quickly and before he knew it the taxi had already returned them to her doorstep. She even invited him in for a ‘cup of coffee’ and as much as he was tempted to, he didn’t want to rush in and ruin things before they had begun and although he saw the disappointment in her eyes, he hoped the kiss he gave her that night left her with the promise of much more to come.

And it wasn’t long before Jorah began staying the night when their respective Army duties allowed them to. Even after the first time Jorah woke in the middle of the night covered in sweat and screaming. He tried to leave her bed, but she clung to him and refused to let him leave, not allowing him to slink off and face his demons alone. She refused to let him suffer in silence and instead she pulled him closer and stroked his hair as he gently sobbed and hiccupped until he fell back into an exhausted sleep.

In the harsh light of day after those troubled dreams he would try his hardest to pull away from her, telling himself that he had no right to seek comfort in Tanya’s arms. Losing Anais and Noah was his fault and he deserved to be punished for his crimes. The more he tried to pull away, the tighter Tanya clung to him and the weaker he found himself to resist her. She was offering him kindness and solace and he was helpless to resist wanting more of it.

Even Beric and Thoros began noticing the change in him by dropping subtle hints that he was smiling more and less ‘grumpy’ than he usually was. Granted, he was by no means ‘swinging from the fucking chandeliers’ as Thoros had so charmingly put it, but Tanya made him feel something other than that abject misery and utter nothingness that losing Anais and Noah had left him with.

When Anais and Noah had died, he could have gone out and fucked as many women as he wanted. Being in the Army and travelling from base to base would have given him the chance to do just that, but he didn’t want to whore himself around sleeping with anything that moved like Thoros did just to quiet the demons in his mind.

He just wanted to be happy.

Had Tanya made him happy?

“Jorah?”

Jorah shook his head and realised that he’d failed to answer Sam’s question.

“I was asking you if you were in a serious relationship with the nurse from the infirmary who you asked out?”

Jorah rubbed his hand roughly over his face and let out a humourless laugh.

“Yeah, we dated for a long time,” he answered. “Things ended badly before we were sent over to Afghanistan. I didn’t realise it until I met her again recently, but she was there in the medical tent after the explosion,” he added as an afterthought.

Sam’s eyes widened in realisation.

“The nurse,” Sam began as he tapped his pen back and forth on his notepad in a gesture that seemed to imply nervousness. “Would that be Corporal Tanya Haynes by any chance?”

The blood drained from Jorah’s face as his eyes widened in shock.

“She caused quite a commotion in the medical tent that day,” Sam said with a wry grin. “I don’t think there was a person within a 500-yard radius who didn’t hear her giving the General a piece of her mind when it came to your care and getting you back home in one piece…”

Chapter Text

It took a few moments for the words to sink in.

Jorah sat in the chair, his mouth open slightly as his brain connected the dots - Dr Tarly knew Tanya - in some sort of work capacity at least.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it then,” Jorah mumbled. “Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest, seeing as you know her?” He offered feebly, hoping that would be enough to allow them to drop the subject of Tanya entirely.

Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“If we’re using that as a rule of thumb then we wouldn’t be able to talk about your friends Thoros or Beric seeing as I’ve met and interacted with both of them too,” Sam replied.

The doctor was rewarded with Jorah muttering something under his breath and judging by the scowl on his face its was likely to be something rather unkind.

“Anyway, stop stalling,” Sam said bluntly, causing Jorah to look at him with some surprise. “You said that you dated for quite a while. What happened – why did you break up?”

Jorah stiffened at the question.

“That’s a rather personal question,” he said uncomfortably.

Sam merely cocked an eyebrow at him, they were in a therapy session after all. All the questions were meant to be personal in nature.

Jorah knew he would never forget the night he ended things with Tanya for as long as he lived. He would never forget the look of hurt on her face as he roughly pulled out of the grip she had on his arm as she begged him to stay. He broke her heart that night and her painful sobs haunted his dreams for months afterwards, even though he told himself repeatedly that he did it for the right reasons.

He cursed himself for ever getting involved with Tanya in the first place. If he had been a stronger person, he would have walked away but instead he allowed himself to seek comfort in her arms, allowing himself to fall in love with her as she did with him. Tanya helped to begin healing some of the wounds that losing Anais and Noah had caused.

Some of them. Not all.

He was cautious not to take things too far too quickly in their relationship to begin with and Tanya seemed to understand and was willing to be patient with him before they spent the night together for the first time. It took many weeks for Jorah to let his guard down around another person after losing Anais and Noah and he feared that the demons that came for him at night would scare Tanya away but if, anything it made her love him all the more.

For every reason he gave her that their relationship would end in disaster, she gave him a reason that it would work, and her determination had worn him down in the end. Perhaps in many ways she was just as stubborn as he was and maybe over time, he became too tired to keep putting up a fight and pushing her away.

There were many nights when he woke in a cold sweat and she would hold him in her arms, not pushing him to open up and talk about what haunted his dreams, but each morning he would find that damned notebook strategically placed somewhere around her home and that pleading look in her eye that he at least try to take on board what she was suggesting.

Ever since he wound up in the infirmary after the incident in the training yard, Tanya encouraged him to deal with the loss of his wife and child by writing down his feelings. He had flatly refused to see a shrink - talking about his feelings was not an idea he was willing to entertain at all and Tanya had suggested the notebook as an alternative, but Jorah knew he would rather drag his arse through twenty miles of broken glass than sit down and write about his feelings in a book that anyone could pick up and read at any point.

Months passed and he found himself falling into an easy kind of domesticity with Tanya. Even the men under Jorah’s command noticed a subtle change in him as he appeared slightly more relaxed and a little more inclined to take a jibe or too and socialise slightly more with his unit on the odd night out. While Jorah always had the respect of the men under his command, after the loss of Anais and Noah and before his relationship with Tanya, he had become distant and disconnected from everyone around him, sparking real concern from the men in his unit as to his state of mind. To see their commanding officer more like himself again was a welcome sight to his men and one they were more than glad to see.

For all the improvements with his temperament and his general demeanour, the scars on his heart remained and the demons that haunted him at night refused to release their grip on him, no matter how many times Tanya held him in her arms and soothed him back to sleep or pushed the damned notebook across the kitchen table the next morning after a particularly bad night. It didn’t matter how much of an easy domestic routine the two of them were falling into, there were some lines that he refused to cross, even for her and talking or even thinking about writing down his feelings on the loss of his wife and child was out of the question - if he ignored it for long enough it would go away eventually.

It had to, didn’t it?

“She wanted to settle down and start a family,” Jorah said, his tone flat and emotionless after several minutes of silence.

“And I’m guessing that you didn’t,” Sam replied.

Jorah didn’t look up from where his hands lay uselessly in his lap and merely nodded.

“I was scared that if I agreed that I would,” the words stuck in his throat suddenly. “…that I would lose her like I had Anais and Noah, and I hadn’t dealt with that properly yet, so I broke up with her.”

“Did you love her?” Sam asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jorah asked, looking up at the doctor.

“She must have been a significant part of your life,” Sam observed. “Bumping into her again has had quite an effect on you.”

“I don’t have feelings for her anymore if that’s what you’re implying,” Jorah said defensively.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said patiently. “You can still have emotional attachments to people you’ve been in love with previously, it doesn’t mean you love your wife any less.”

“And how did it feel seeing her again?” Sam continued.

Jorah shrugged his shoulders.

“It was awkward at first,” he said, fiddling with the cuffing of his sweatshirt. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms,” he mumbled, remembering how she pleaded with him to stay with her, how he should talk to someone about his grief and how he’d had to all but tear himself out of her desperate grip on his arm. “She’s married with kids. She seems settled now and I’m happy for her. I never meant to hurt her.”

“I think she knew that all along,” Sam replied with a knowing smile.

The comment took Jorah by surprise.

“When they brought you in after the truck explosion, she barely left your side,” Sam explained. “As soon as she saw it was you, she was barking at people left, right, and centre - even her superiors,” he chuckled at the memory. “She tried her damndest to get on that plane back home with you but the general was having none of it. She almost got court-martialled for it, but from the moment they sedated you in the medical tent to the time they put you on the plane home the only time she left your side was to talk to your two friends to tell them to gather your belongings to send home with you.”

Jorah rubbed at his eyes and let out a tired sigh.

“It get the feeling you’re trying to make some kind of point here.”

“I think I could bring a procession of people you’ve met in your life through this door to tell you what kind of person you are and all the good things you’ve done in your life and it wouldn’t even make a dent in the way that you view your worth when you weigh up all the things that you think you’ve done wrong and all the things you think you deserve to be punished for. I could line up every single person you think you’ve ‘wronged’ only for them to show you that you haven’t, and you still wouldn’t believe them.

“I think the only person you’re struggling to forgive you for everything that has happened is you.”

Chapter Text

Daenerys bit down on her lip as she sat next to Jorah in the waiting area, watching as he bounced his leg nervously until she couldn’t take his fidgeting anymore.

“You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof all morning,” she sighed, trying not to let the night of disturbed sleep get to her.

They were now due for their second scan and would find out whether they were having a boy or a girl and for some reason, the closer the date of the scan grew the more nervous Jorah seemed to get.

Daenerys also noticed that the previous few therapy sessions with the psychiatrist seemed to have been difficult for Jorah to deal with and led to some particularly haunting nightmares and flashbacks along with her husband feeling a sense of self-imposed shame for talking about some of the relationships he’d had with other women in his life before he’d met her.

She would never forget the fear in his eyes when he told her that he’d come face to face with his old flame Tanya while taking Stan to his rehab appointment recently and how terrified he was that she would think that he still had any residual feelings for his former lover but Daenerys knew without a doubt that there was only room for two girls in his heart - her and Poppy, and that would never change.

“Sorry,” Jorah said, blushing as he put his hand on his leg and pushed down on it to still its movement. “I don’t know what’s got into me lately,” he admitted just as the sonographer called out their names.

Jorah, ever the gentleman, held out his hand and helped his wife to her feet as they walked into the room together.

“Mr. and Mrs Mormont,” the sonographer greeted them, “how are we both doing?”

“We’re good,” Daenerys answered, slipping her jacket off and making herself comfortable on the bed as she lifted her top up. “We’re eager to know what we’re having,” she said as she cast a look at Jorah as he worried at one of his thumbnails.

“Let’s have a look then,” the sonographer said, squirting the gel on Daenerys’ stomach and placing the device on top. Seconds later, the steady heartbeat of their baby was heard on the monitor that caused the expectant parents to smile. “What’s your preference?” She asked.

“We don’t mind,” Jorah replied.

“You’ve already got a little girl if I remember, correct?”

“Poppy,” Jorah answered with a smile.

“Well, she’s going to have a little brother,” the sonographer smiled at the two of them. “Congratulations Mum and Dad, you’re having a boy.”

“Here,” Daenerys said, placing a cup of steaming coffee in front of Jorah.

It took him a few moments to process it and he finally looked up at her as if he was coming out of a daze.

Daenerys drove them back from the hospital appointment and thanked Missandei for babysitting Poppy while they were out. She doubted Jorah had even been aware that Missandei had left. He’d hardly been aware of anything since they’d discovered the gender of their unborn child.

She could understand why it was a lot for him to take on board. Knowing they were expecting a boy was bringing back a whole host of unwanted memories and fears about Noah and how Jorah had lost both him and Anais, and it would take some time for the shock to wear off and for those unwanted and unwarranted fears to subside.

“I am happy, honestly I am,” Jorah said finally, looking up at her.

“I know you are,” Daenerys replied, moving closer to sit in his lap and run a hand softly through his hair. “I also know that this is a lot for you to process too.”

“I didn’t think that it would make any difference knowing if we were having a boy or a girl,” Jorah finally admitted. “Knowing that we’re definitely having a little boy just makes it all seem more real now, you know?”

Daenerys nodded her head, but she realised that she couldn’t really understand what it was that her husband was going through when he could barely understand it himself

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Will you promise me that you’ll reach out and speak to someone, even if it’s someone other than me if you need to,” she said. She would plead with him if she had to. “Don’t try to pretend things are fine if they’re not, ok?”

Jorah nodded his head and looked at his wife, swallowing thickly.

“I promise that I’ll talk to Dr Tarly about it…and other people,” he added as he saw his wife open her mouth to interject. “I won’t bottle it up inside,” he said as he squeezed her hand gently in return. “Today has just been a bit of a shock to the system, that’s all.”

Daenerys looked her husband in the eye, searching his face for any signs that he might be hiding the truth from her until she was satisfied that he was being honest with her.

“Poppy is going to have another Baby Bear to play with soon.”

Daenerys smiled as she heard Jorah talking gently to their daughter as Poppy sat in her father’s lap in the lounge surrounded by a selection of her favourite toys. Not that Poppy was spoilt, she just had a lot of doting aunties and uncles that liked to buy her toys and gifts.

“Baba bear?” Poppy repeated.

“Yes,” Jorah smiled, looking up at his wife as she sat on the couch but not before placing a kiss on Poppy’s head which earned her a ‘Mummaaaaaaaaaa’ from her daughter. “You’re going to have a little brother.”

“Bubba?” Poppy repeated, sticking two of her fingers in her mouth, a puzzled look on her face.

Her parents looked at each other and realised that it would take a while for their daughter to grasp the concept of having a sibling and what that truly meant. It wouldn’t really sink in until the new baby actually arrived and they could bring him home.

“A little baby,” Daenerys added. “Like you were when we first brought you home. He’s going to need lots of looking after from all of us for a while and we’ll need your help with that,” she added, smiling encouragingly at her.

Poppy titled her head in a way that was so reminiscent of her father that it made Daenerys smile.

“Bubba play?” She asked.

“Your brother will be too small to play with at first,” Jorah said gently. “We’ll have to be very careful with him to begin with. Do you remember when Annie doll hurt her leg?”

“Papa make better,” Poppy replied, beaming at her father.

“And we had to be very gentle with Annie doll while she was getting better, didn’t we?” He asked his daughter.

Daenerys sat and watched as Poppy nodded her head and she marvelled at how naturally Jorah seemed to take to parenting.

“Well, we have to be gentle with your brother too when he’s very small.”

“No hurt bubba?” Poppy asked.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Jorah said, kissing the top of Poppy’s head. “We need to be very gentle with him. “We don’t want to hurt him. As a big sister it’s your job to protect him and teach him things. You’re going to be an amazing big sister just like you’re an amazing daughter and when your brother does arrive your mummy and papa will still love you every bit as much as they do now, ok?”

Poppy looked up at him and seemed to consider his words for a moment, reaching a hand to his cheek and then kissing his face before climbing over him and settling in her mother’s lap to curl up for a nap.

“I think you’ve tired her out,” Daenerys smiled. Poppy’s breathing soon evened out as Daenerys gently ran her hand through her daughter’s hair. “We’ve still got plenty of time to get her used to the idea of having a little brother, but I think she took it quite well.”

“Let’s see how well she takes it when we bring him home and he’s waking her up at 2am wanting a feed,” Jorah sighed.

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow,” Daenerys said as she lifted her arm and motioned for Jorah to make his way over to the sofa. “Now come over here and give me a cuddle, this sofa is too big without you.”

Chapter Text

Daenerys smiled her thanks as Missandei brought their coffees over to the table along with two slices of carrot cake.

“Have you decided on a date for the wedding yet?” She asked, taking a sip of her decaf coffee. It wasn’t something she enjoyed drinking but like she had with Poppy, she gave up drinking regular coffee while pregnant for the sake of the health of her unborn child.

“Definitely not until next year now,” Missandei smiled, looking pointedly at her friend’s growing abdomen.

Daenerys’ cheeks flushed.

“Oh god - “

Missandei put a hand up to stop her friend before she could say anything else.

“There’s no way I’m going to have a hen do when you can’t celebrate it properly with me,” Missandei said. “Grey and I have been together for years and a few more months aren’t going to make a difference. It gives us more time to plan and save up anyway.”

Despite Missandei’s reassurances, Daenerys couldn’t help but still feel guilty at the thought that her friend was potentially postponing her wedding because of her.

“How’s Poppy taken the news that she’s going to be a big sister?” Missandei said, deftly changing the subject as she took a sip of her own coffee.

Daenerys took a bite of her carrot cake and considered the question before answering.

“We’ve been talking to her about it most days but she’s only two and I’m not sure she’s really going to understand until we actually bring him home,” she replied as she used her fork to push pieces of cake around her plate.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys frowned at the question.

“We’ve not really discussed it yet,” she replied quietly. “It took Jorah a bit of time to get his head around the news that we were having a boy.”

Missandei nodded her head. The image of a dazed Jorah walking through the front door a few weeks ago was still fresh in her mind and Missandei doubted he was even aware she was there at the time he seemed so distracted.

“Maybe Poppy can help you choose a name?” Missandei suggested, looking to lighten the sombre mood that had somehow descended on their table.

Daenerys snorted at that.

“I don’t think Jorah will let us call our son ‘Bear’”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Missandei replied. “Bear Mormont has quite a ring to it, I think.”

“Remind me why I chose Thoros to be my best man again?” Beric grumbled, throwing himself into a chair at the first coffee shop they found in the bustling city centre.

“Because the two of you have stuck together throughout your lives like shit to a bedsheet,” Jorah replied with a grin as Beric shot him a sour look. “And Thoros is much better at throwing a stag do than I’ll ever be - even now he’s sober,” he added as an afterthought.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Beric admitted as Thoros returned to their table with three coffees and a sly grin on his face.

“What are you two old ladies talking about?” He chirped.

“The menopause,” Jorah deadpanned. “What took you so long with the drinks? We were dying of thirst over here,” he groused.

“I was talking to a nice young lady behind me in the queue actually,” Thoros replied, nodding to a woman who was now sitting alone in the corner of the coffee shop but surreptitiously looking their way every few moments.

“She’s way out of your league, old chap,” Beric scoffed, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Says the man with half a face,” Thoros retorted, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

“I may have half a face, but at least someone actually wants to marry me,” Beric shot back quickly as Jorah shook his head at his two friends and their acerbic banter.

“Fuck me,” Jorah grumbled under his breath as he ran a hand over his face. “This is like being back in the barracks again.”

“Ah, the good old days of the cock-measuring contests,” Beric said, lifting his coffee cup in a salute with a wistful look on his face. “Makes me feel all nostalgic.”

“This kind of shit is half the reason I left,” Jorah huffed, swallowing a mouthful of his coffee.

The three men shared an awkward look knowing that was hardly true. Two-thirds of the group were invalided out, tossed aside when they were no longer useful on the front lines after dedicating their lives and careers to the Army.

It had been a bitter pill for them to swallow. Particularly Beric.

Gone were the days when the three of them would be drinking themselves stupid in a pub. Here they were, sitting in some posh coffee shop in the middle of Edinburgh city centre drinking cappuccinos and shopping for wedding suits.

“When the fuck did we all get so old?” Thoros said shaking his head, looking at his two closest friends.

“We all have to grow up some time,” Beric said. “Even you, Thoros.”

Jorah snorted at that.

“Let us know when that happens then, will you?” Jorah added.

“Jorah had a head start on us though,” Beric added, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I’m fairly certain that he came out of the womb middle-aged already.”

Now it was Thoros’ turn to snort into his coffee.

“How’s Daenerys and little Jorah Junior doing?” Thoros asked, ignoring the warning look Beric shot his way when Jorah tensed slightly at the question.

The tension seemed to drain away as quickly as it appeared.

“They’re doing well,” Jorah replied with a smile. “I think she’s finding my constant hovering annoying though,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Fucking hell, if it meant having to put up with another five months of you flapping about I’d want to fucking shoot you too,” Thoros muttered.

“Thoros,” Beric growled out a warning. “Don’t.”

“What?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Are we all going to sit here and ignore the fucking great elephant in the room?”

Jorah stiffened immediately.

“I might not be the most emotionally intelligent man, but even I can see that you’re shitting yourself that the same thing is going to happen to Daenerys and the little one that happened to Anais and Noah,” Thoros continued.

Jorah screwed his eyes shut, trying to block his friend’s words out as if he couldn’t hear them.

“Thoros, that’s enough!” Beric barked loud enough for people on the tables around them to stop their own conversations momentarily. “You’re way out of line,” he hissed, lowering his voice to admonish his friend.

“No,” Jorah cut in, hanging his head. “He’s right. I am shitting myself. I’m terrified that I’m going to lose them, and it doesn’t matter how many people tell me that history won’t repeat itself, until the day that my son is born, and he and Daenerys come home from the hospital, I’m not going to stop worrying about them.”

A silence descended on the table after that as each man stared awkwardly into their coffee.

“What you need is a distraction,” Thoros said after a lengthy pause as he clicked his fingers as if a brilliant idea had just come to him.

“My life is busy enough as it is, thank you very much,” Jorah replied, holding his hands up. He wanted no part of whatever madcap plan Thoros wanted to drag him into.

“Just because Beric chose me as his best man does not mean that you get to skip out on helping me with the stag do arrangements, Captain,” Thoros declared.

Jorah knew he was in trouble when Thoros used his old Army designation. He was also aware that it would be unfair to ask a recovering alcoholic to arrange a stag do where booze would be easily accessible and free flowing. He would be morally obligated to help out in some fashion or another anyway.

“Fine,” Jorah replied, resigning himself to spending a day or two with Thoros planning a stag do for Beric. “Let me know a day when you’re free and we’ll get it all planned out.”

“Oh no,” Thoros chuckled. “We’re gonna need a lot longer than a day to plan this sucker out. This is going to be the stag do to end all stag dos….”

Chapter Text

"Bloody hell, Dad,” Jorah grumbled, waving a hand in front of his face to brush another cobweb away. “When was the last time someone came up here?”

Jeor failed to answer him. He was still trying to take in the fact that his son had just called him ‘Dad’ for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime.

The two of them had wasted so many years being bitter and angry, and it was only Jeor’s fairly recent brush with death that brought them to reconciliation and even that had been strained for a while. Now here they were a few years later, closer than they ever had been.

“Are you ok?”

His son’s voice shook him from his reverie as Jeor looked up at those blue eyes that were so like his wife’s.

“Getting old,” he said with a humourless chuckle. “Hearing’s not what it used to be. What were you saying?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard everything his son had said.

Jorah sat down with a huff, his legs hanging out of the loft as he looked at his father who was still standing at the bottom of the ladder looking up at his boy.

“You’ve asked me to get up in this dusty, spider-infested loft to look for a bloody box,” he grumbled as he crossed his arms. “Can you at least tell me what it looks like?”

Jeor looked affronted at the remark.

“You insisted that you were the one to get in the loft if I recall - “

“Because people your age should not be climbing ladders and crawling around in lofts,” Jorah cut him off.

“What do you mean, ‘people my age’?” Jeor shot back angrily. “Do you think I’m bloody senile or something?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jorah replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, what did you mean?” Jeor replied, his pride still stinging from the comment. Did his son really think he was incapable?

Jorah took a deep breath and tried to choose his words more carefully this time.

“What if you’d tried to get up here and fell off the ladder, hit your head and nobody realised until it was too late?”

“That would never happen,” Jeor insisted.

“But what if it did?” Jorah replied with a pained expression and tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ve only just found you again. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

It hit Jeor then. It had nothing to do with his stupid pride and everything to do with the fact that his son was terrified that he would lose him again. He wasn’t sure what to say as he stood and watched his son whose head hung low as he stared at his hands.

“It’s a large wooden box,” Jeor said after a lengthy pause as he cleared his throat and looked up at his son. “It should be in the left corner of the loft under a couple of white sheets. It’ll have your name on it.”

Jorah looked at his father quizzically for a moment before disappearing back into the loft.

Jeor took a few steps back as he heard boxes being moved and dragged around overhead for several minutes before Jorah finally re-emerged at the loft hatch with the wooden box. He carefully lowered it down to his father who placed it on the landing, smirking when he noticed that his son still had a few errant cobwebs in his hair and on his shoulders.

“Let’s take this downstairs and have a proper look through it shall we?” He said as Jorah followed behind him, wiping the sweat and grime from his brow.

Jeor handed his son a towel and a cup of coffee and then set about prising off the lid of the wooden box which hadn’t been opened in decades. It took a fair amount of physical effort but finally the lid popped open, and a small cloud of dust followed as Jeor raised the lid.

“When was the last time you opened this thing?” Jorah asked

“Not long after you ran away and joined the Army,” Jeor replied quietly, his eyes firmly on the box as he refused to look at his son. “I put it up in the loft and never looked at it again until now.”

The two of them sat in awkward silence, neither knowing what to say. They’d spent decades not talking to each other, wasting so many years due to anger and stupid male pride.

Jeor leaned over to peer into the box, pulling out a tiny babygro and holding it up for his son to see.

“We brought you home from the hospital in this,” he said with a watery smile. “Annabelle and I watched over you that entire first night. We were so afraid something might happen if were left you alone for more than a minute.”

“I tried to do the same,” Jorah admitted, blushing lightly as he recalled how Daenerys had gently pulled him away from the nursery door and towards their bedroom.

“You never grow out of wanting to protect your children and wanting to keep them safe, no matter how old they get,” Jeor said as he put the babygro to one side and pulled out a teddy bear and handing it to his son. “You loved this old thing when you were an infant.”

Jorah looked at the tatty old bear and frowned. It had clearly seen better days and had been stitched back together more than once and had a patch on its stomach with a frayed edge where some of the stitching had come loose.

“Why are you showing me all of this stuff, Dad?” Jorah asked, looking his father in the eye.

Jeor ignored the question and brought out a pile of old photographs instead, making himself comfortable on the sofa as he picked up his cup of coffee and began looking through the pictures, smiling as his hands drifted over photos of his wife and so from many years ago.

“You look so much like your mother,” Jeor said, shaking his head at a particular photograph. “There’s so much of her in you that it’s hard for me to look at you sometimes and not miss her as much as the day she died,” he admitted quietly.

Jorah wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to say to that.

“You’re going to see him too, you know,” Jeor added.

“See who?”

“Noah.”

Jorah sat up straight as a shiver ran down his spine.

“You’ll see him in your son,” Jeor continued. “Maybe it’ll be in the little things - something he says or does, but it’ll remind you of Noah and how much you miss him and how you never got to see him grow up.”

“I should have protected him,” Jorah said quietly. “I should have protected both of them.”

He looked up when he felt his father’s hand on his knee.

“You couldn’t have protected them any more than I could have protected your mother,” he replied sadly. “It’s taken me far too many years to swallow that bitter pill, son. Don’t make the same mistake that I did. You’re already a much better father than I ever was to you, don’t let the past ruin your future.”

“How do you live with it?” Jorah asked. “How do you live with the guilt of blaming yourself for not doing more?”

The question hurt but Jeor knew exactly what his son meant; the self-flagellation was something he was more than familiar with.

“You surround yourself with people who clearly have more common sense than you do,” Jeor replied with a wry smile. “I thought that if I cut myself off from the people I loved that it would solve all my problems but it only ever made them worse and made me even more miserable and bitter than I was before,” he sighed deeply, running a hand over his greying beard. “And I used to think that sucking everything up and not talking about your feelings was the way to deal with things, but I couldn’t have been more wrong about that either.”

“I’m scared, Dad,” Jorah said so quietly that Jeor almost didn’t hear him, but he couldn’t mistake the hitching of his son’s breath. “I’m so scared that it’s going to happen again.”

He pulled his son towards him and held him to him as he sobbed in his arms.

“I know,” he soothed, rubbing a hand over his son’s back. “I know, let it all out. You’ll feel better. I promise you.”

There had been nothing he could do to protect his wife from the aneurysm that took her life, but he could be there for his son in his time of need. While everyone expected Jorah to be strong during his wife’s pregnancy, behind closed doors and at his father’s house he could drop the façade for a moment and be honest and admit to the fears that had been bubbling under the surface and seek solace and support in the arms of his father. His father had failed him so many times before, but he would not fail him this time when he needed him the most.

Chapter Text

“Seriously, Jorah,” Daenerys sighed as she lowered herself down onto the couch. “We can’t keep calling our baby ‘Jellybean’ or ‘Bear’ for much longer. We’re going to have to decide on a name soon.”

Jorah smiled at his wife as he brought her a steaming cup of herbal tea, handing it to her as he sipped on his coffee and joined her on the couch. Daenerys was now six months pregnant, and their son was beginning to make his presence known and as much as Daenerys loved being pregnant, her hormones were making her a little snappier than usual, but it was nothing that Jorah had not experienced before.

Jorah would be lying to himself if he said a part of him hadn’t been putting this day off for a while now, knowing that Daenerys wanted their son to have Noah as his middle name. While he was more than happy with that, it was another reminder of the son that he had lost in tragic circumstances and until their son was safely born it felt like tempting fate to give him that name.

The long talk that he had with his father a few weeks ago certainly helped and it felt good to release some of that fear with someone who knew exactly how it felt to lose a wife so suddenly. His father hadn’t judged him or mocked him for his show of weakness but instead held him and comforted him like the father he should have been when Jorah was just a boy.

After he’d dried his eyes and swallowed his tears, he and his father spoke at length and Jorah knew that he could call on him and rely on his strength when he found his own wavering.

“Have you got anything particular in mind?” Jorah asked, running a hand through his wife’s hair as he gently pulled her closer to him.

“Poppy thinks we should call him Bear,” Daenerys replied with a smirk.

“Never going to happen,” Jorah replied quickly with a chuckle.

Daenerys swatted his chest playfully.

“I’ll let you tell her that then, shall I?” She teased, knowing that Jorah had a hard time ever telling his daughter ‘no’ about anything.

“Thoros suggested we name him in his honour,” Jorah grumbled.

“I hope you told him to take a hike,” Daenerys replied.

“I did. I no uncertain terms.”

“I want our son to have a strong name,” Daenerys continued. “Something traditional but modern.”

“So, Boris or Colin are out of the question then?” Jorah asked playfully.

“If you’re even one percent serious about either of those names I may have to rethink our marriage vows…”

“What do you suggest then?” Jorah replied, grinning at his wife. “How about you come up with some ideas instead of just saying no to everything?” He added cheekily.

She swatted him on the arm.

“Feel free to carry this baby yourself if you like,” she shot back with a snort before setting her mind to thinking of suitable names for their son.

The silence stretched as Daenerys wracked her brains trying to think of a name that sounded modern yet traditional…

David

Sam

Joshua

Benjamin

Oliver

Lucas

“Okaaaay, so it’s not as easy as it looks,” she said, letting out a huff as she rubbed a hand over her baby belly, frustrated that none of the names in her head felt right for their son. “Poppy was so simple and easy, why is naming our son so hard?”

Daenerys felt bad the moment the words left her mouth as she felt Jorah stiffen against her momentarily .

Jorah and his first wife Anais had their son’s name chosen early in the pregnancy and there had been no doubt that they had wanted to name him Noah. Although Jorah had been happy to honour him by giving their new son the same name as his middle name there was no way that Jorah would ever agree to naming him Noah. The pain would be too great and would only serve as a constant reminder of the son he had lost.

Shaking the memories of Noah from his thoughts, Jorah cleared his throat and drained the last of his coffee.

“Ok, how about this - let’s go through the alphabet and suggest a name for each letter until we find one we both like,” he suggested.

Daenerys looked at him with narrowed eyes and considered the idea. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded in agreement when she realised that she didn’t have any better ideas.

“I’ll start,” Jorah said. “Alex.”

“Adrian,” Daenerys suggested.

They both shook their heads.

“Benjamin.”

“Barnaby,” Daenerys replied as Jorah gave her an incredulous look.

“Christian.”

“Callum.”

“Dennis.”

“Hell no,” Daenerys said, shaking her head. “Douglas.”

They both pulled a face at each other and swiftly moved on to the next letter.

“Ethan.”

“Elijah… We’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list?” She suggested when she saw that Jorah didn’t hate the idea of that name as he nodded his head in agreement.

“Finlay.”

“Felix.”

“George.”

“Gabriel.”

“Harry.”

“Henry.”

“Ivan.”

Daenerys pulled a face that clearly showed her distaste for the name Ivan.

“How about Isaac?”

Their eyes met and they smiled at each other and without saying a word they both knew that they’d landed on a name they liked and agreed on.

“Isaac Noah Mormont,” Daenerys said. “That sounds like a strong, traditional name don’t you think?” she said, beaming at Jorah.

He leaned over and kissed her soundly.

“I think it sounds perfect,” he replied as he leaned his forehead to hers and placed a hand on Daenerys’s belly. “Just a few more months and you’ll be ready to see the world, little Isaac,” he said as if his unborn son could hear him.

Perhaps he could because both Daenerys and Jorah smiled as they both felt the baby kick at the sound of his voice.

“Hey,” he said gently as he rubbed his hand over Daenerys’ abdomen. “You take it easy on your mother. No playing football in there,” he chided him softly.

‘I think this kid is going to be the rebellious one,” Daenerys huffed as she struggled to get comfortable on the sofa, their unborn child continuing to move around inside her. “He’s not exactly paying attention to your instructions at the moment.”

Jorah chewed on his lip and looked at his wife pensively and Daenerys could see that he was about to go into full ‘mother hen’ mode again.

“What do you need? Should I get a hot water bottle? Do you need some more tea? Would you like to have a lie down?”

“Jorah,” she cut in, holding a hand up to stop him. “Just sit down, put your arm around me and play with my hair, ok?” She snapped, immediately feeling bad for being short with him. “Please?” She said more gently this time.

“I’m sorry if my hovering is too much,” Jorah said quietly after a while. “I just want to feel useful but I’m getting the way, aren’t I?”

Great, that was making her feel way better about everything…

“I’m six months pregnant, Jorah,” she said, trying to be gentle yet firm with him. “I’m not an invalid. I don’t need you to do everything for me.”

“Maybe we should have a list of dos and dont’s,” Jorah joked.

“That’s not a bad idea actually,” Daenerys said in agreement.

“So, what’s on this list that I’m allowed to do then?” Jorah continued.

“Until the end of my pregnancy, you’re not to do anything for me unless I ask you to with exception of the following - foot rubs, running me bubble baths, shoulder and back massages, snuggling with me in bed and on the sofa and playing with my hair when we watch tv.”

She could feel the rumble of laughter through Jorah’s chest as he listened to her terms.

“And what do I get out of this deal then?” He countered.

She looked up at him and kissed him gently on the lips before stroking his bearded cheek with her hand, looking at him lovingly.

“You get me not screaming and shouting at you while I’m full of angry pregnant woman hormones and threatening to rip your balls off every five minutes.”

Jorah considered the terms of her deal for a moment or two.

“Ok, that sounds quite reasonable when you put it like that,” he agreed. “Although I’m going to remind you of this little deal when it’s three a.m. and you’re screaming at me because there’s no pickles and ice cream in the house…” he smiled.

Chapter Text

“I honestly question why we’re friends sometimes,” Jorah sighed as Thoros handed him a cup of coffee and both men made themselves comfortable on the couch in Thoros’ apartment.

“My dazzling good looks and general joie de vivre?” Thoros replied with a shit-eating grin as his former superior grumbled something underneath his breath and shook his head. “Oh, come on. Take that stick out of your arse for once. I guarantee that there will be no trouble on Beric’s stag do and that I’ll get him and the rings to the church on time the next day.”

Jorah shot his friend a look that said he wasn’t entirely convinced.

“I might have fucked a lot of things up in my life, but I would never fuck up something as important as this,” Thoros said quietly. “I’d hoped the last few years would have proved that I’m not a complete liability anymore.”

Jorah winced, realising how his reaction must have come across to Thoros.

“You’re right,” Jorah conceded. “That night we had to drag you out of the pub and that gang jumped us… I honestly never thought we’d be sitting here like this almost three years later.”

“I don’t remember much of that night,” Thoros said, keeping his head low as he stared at the carpet. “I remember seeing one of those guys kicking you while you were down, and it was like the explosion all over again. I was the one who’d fucked up, but you were the one paying for it…again.”

“Beric and I…we would never have left you there alone,” Jorah replied. “For better or worse, we stick together. No matter what.”

Thoros shook his head, feeling his bottom lip tremble.

“When I woke up the next day all I felt was guilt,” Thoros continued. “For what happened to those kids, for what I did to you. I knew then that I was the problem and that you were all better off without me. I was either going to drink myself to death or get so pissed one night that I went and did something stupid. I figured if I was no longer here that no one else would get hurt.”

Jorah almost dropped his cup as he listened to Thoros’ pained admission as he felt hot, salty tears spring to his own eyes.

He carefully placed his cup down and then pulled his friend towards him, kissing him on the top of his head, for once not being embarrassed about the open show of affection.

“Fucking hell, Thoros,” Jorah said, his voice strained. “How could you ever think that any of us would be better off without you?”

“Well, we never got to find out did we?,” Thoros sniffled, attempting to wipe at his eyes as his friend kept his iron-like grip around him. “You and Beric rode in on your white horses and came and saved me before I had the chance. Going to rehab saved my life, you know.”

“You wouldn’t speak to me for weeks when you first got there,” Jorah smirked, finally releasing his hold on his friend. “You were so angry that I made you go.”

“You blackmailed me into going there, you sneaky bastard. All I wanted to was self-destruct and you went and took the detonator right out of my hand. Of course I was fucking pissed off with you.”

“Fair point,” Jorah conceded quietly. “But we were all out of other options by then and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Thoros reassured him. “Even if I didn’t want to admit it at the time. Once my head was clearer, I realised that you did what you had to do. I’ll always be grateful to you for it.”

“It’s what brothers do,” Jorah replied, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze.

“Even when I’ve been a shitty brother in return?” Thoros countered with a sad smile.

“Alcoholism is a disease,” Jorah replied, hearing Thoros take in a sharp breath. “You were sick. If you’d known about my cancer you would have stuck by me and supported me through it, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would. It goes without saying.”

“Then why would I not support you when you were ill?”

Thoros opened his mouth to respond before he realised that he couldn’t really argue with that.

“How is Daenerys and my favourite little Popster doing?” Thoros asked after a lengthy pause, keen to change the subject to something a little lighter.

“They’re good,” Jorah replied. “We finally chose a name for our son.”

“You’re calling him Thoros?”

Jorah snorted at his friend’s question.

“Hell no. We decided on Isaac. Isaac Noah Mormont.”

“Sounds like a good, strong name,” Thoros smiled at his old Army buddy. “What does the Popster think about being a big sister?”

“She’s excited to have someone to play with,” Jorah replied. “It’ll be a while until he’s old enough to do that though and patience has never been one of her virtues. She gets that from Daenerys, I’m afraid,” Jorah added with a wry grin.

“Well, Funcle Thoros will have to make sure he keeps her amused until Isaac is old enough to take over.”

“That’ll be good,” Jorah said softly, nodding his head. “She adores you,” he added.

“What is there not to love about me?” Thoros said, puffing his chest out.

“Apart from the fact that you fart like a trooper and snore like an elephant?” Jorah shot back playfully. “Seriously though, you’re great with her. Her little face lights up every time she hears your voice.”

“Seeing the way that she looks at me makes me want to be a better person,” Thoros replied. “She’s so pure and innocent and she looks at me like all she can see is the good in me. I never want to let her down. I couldn’t bear to see the look of disappointment on her face. It would kill me.”

“You are a good person,” Jorah reassured his old friend. “You’ve just made some bad choices in your life. Hell, we’ve all made bad choices in our lives,” he added as he thought back to those dark years after the explosion when Lynesse sunk her claws into him and almost ruined him.

“Yeah, but most of mine ended up with other people getting hurt,” he said despondently. “And I can’t take any of it back, as much as I want to. I’d do anything to be able to go back and fix my mistakes.”

Jorah nodded his head, knowing exactly what Thoros meant. There were so many things that, given the chance, he would go back and change.

“Life’s not like that,” Jorah replied. “All we can do is make the best of what we’ve got left in our lives. You can’t change the past, but you can choose what you do here and now and in the future.”

Thoros considered his friend’s words for a while before giving Jorah an appraising look.

“Have you ever considered becoming a counsellor?” He smirked. “You sound like the one I had at the clinic.”

Jorah rolled his eyes.

“Fuck off,” Jorah said, although there was no malice in his words as he shook his head before wondering if perhaps the sessions with Doctor Tarly were starting to rub off on him.

“Seriously, you should consider writing a self-help book,” Thoros continued.

“The new book I’ve been writing,” Jorah began, fidgeting nervously. “I’ve been using the story as a way to process some of the things I’ve been through in my life.”

Thoros gave him an appreciative nod.

“The clinic said doing something creative is a good way to process stuff. I tried my hand at drawing and painting while I was there…I couldn’t draw or paint to save my life though,” he said, letting out a chuckle. “They let me in the kitchen one day and told me I could cook or make whatever I wanted. It felt good to do something positive, you know?”

Jorah smiled at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Every Thursday I’d make a meal for the people in the clinic. Some of the staff said that they were gutted when I got my release papers. They said they were going to miss the decent scrag I made.”

“You’ve done more good in your life than you realise, Thoros,” Jorah said, looking directly at his friend. “I’m only going to say this once and if you ever repeat it to anyone, I’ll deny it until I’m blue in the face… I love you, Thoros.”

“Yeah,” Thoros sniffed as tears ran down his face. “I love you too, you miserable old git.”

The two men hugged one another, not ashamed to show their true feelings to one another for once.

“Now let’s organise the craziest, most epic stag do for Beric,” Jorah smiled as they released their grip on each other.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Thoros replied, picking up his laptop and typing away. “It’ll be a night that we’ll never forget,” he grinned.

Chapter Text

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…FUCK!” Beric cursed as he attempted to button his shirt. His hands were shaking so violently that he couldn’t get any of the damn buttons into their holes.

“Take a breath,” Jorah said, moving his friend’s shaking hands out of the way and buttoning the shirt for him.

“I can’t decide whether he looks like he’s going to piss himself or pass out,” Thoros smirked as he watched on. “I think he might even do both,” he chuckled, earning him a stern look from Jorah.

“You could come over here and help out instead of standing there taking the mick,” Jorah grumbled as he placed the cufflinks in Beric’s white shirt and made sure that they were secure.

Thoros chuckled and folded his arms, clearly not keen to help out.

“I did my bit last night,” Thoros said, referring to the stag do that he’d put on for his old Army friend.

Despite Thoros now being tee-total, he still managed to organise a raucous night for Beric. Jorah was still clearly nursing his own hangover judging by his grumpier-than-usual mood.

Their night started at Beric’s apartment where the soon-to-be married man and his friends enjoyed a pre-drinks drink. A bottle of beer each for Beric and Jorah and a bottle of coke for Thoros.

Both beer drinkers looked slightly guilty as they drank in front of Thoros.

“I can stand to be in the same room as alcohol and resist its lures,” he told his friends, rolling his eyes as he did so. “The urge never goes away, but I’m not going to risk everything I’ve earned just for the sake of the buzz.”

Beric and Jorah looked at each other and then back at their friend.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, drink your beers you pussies!” Thoros growled. “We need to get this party started!”

Thoros, along with Jorah’s help, organised a pub crawl through some of the best bars in the city centre in which Beric was commanded to play the ‘golf run’ - downing a different drink in one go in each of the bars they went in. In a show of solidarity, Jorah joined his friend but four bars in was beginning to feel more than a little queasy and reverted to alternating between a bottle of beer and soft drinks for the rest of the evening.

They were literally forced to half-carry, half-drag Beric back to Thoros’ apartment and the three of them had crashed out. Even Thoros was asleep soon after, making sure that neither of his friends would choke on their vomit in the middle of the night.

Thoros pulled the duvet up to Beric’s shoulders and made sure his inebriated friend was lying on his side before making his way to the lounge where Jorah was sprawled with his long legs dangling off the end of the couch, snoring softly. Thoros grabbed the throw from his other sofa and covered Jorah with it as the thought struck him that both Beric and Jorah had probably done this more than once for him during his drinking days.

Satisfied that both men were settled and safe, Thoros removed his shirt and jeans and crawled into his own bed, only to be woken by his alarm going off at 8am the next morning.

He made his way to the kitchen and began preparing a cooked breakfast for the three of them and the smell of bacon cooking woke Jorah. Thoros couldn’t help but snigger at the way his friend’s hair was sticking up at odd angles.

He handed Jorah a hot black coffee which the other man took gratefully. Thoros watched as Jorah took a few tentative sips, clearly feeling a little delicate this morning.

“I’m not sure I remember much about how I got here,” Jorah mumbled as he rubbed a weary hand over his face.

“You were pretty wired last night,” Thoros replied with a smirk. “You wussed out of the golf run pretty quickly though.”

Jorah shot his friend a puzzled look.

“How many rounds did I last?”

“Four,” Thoros replied, chuckling when Jorah looked embarrassed. “You’re an old man who’s out of practice,” he added before turning back to the stove to fry some eggs, but not before he heard Jorah mumble a ‘fuck off’ under his breath.

“Where’s Beric?’ Jorah asked as he slowly pulled himself to his feet, not yet trusting his stomach not to rebel at the movement.

The two men looked at each other as they heard feet running and the unmistakable sound of someone retching.

How they’d managed to get the very hungover Beric to the venue was more luck than judgement and Thoros had to stop and pull over numerous times so that Beric could jump out and vomit on the side of the road, but here they were making final preparations for their old friend to marry the love of his life.

“What if she doesn’t turn up?” Beric said, his voice shaking just as much as his hands were. “What if she’s changed her mind?”

“Relax, Beric,” Jorah said gently, palcing both his hands on Beric’s shoulders and giving him a reassuring smile. “Daenerys says that they are on their way over here now.”

“What about the rings?” Beric continued, clearly determined to find something to panic over.

“I’ve got them right here,” Thoros said, pulling the two small boxes from his trouser pockets. “For fuck’s sake stop flapping,” he growled good-naturedly. “Not even the Captain here was this bad when he got hitched. Everything is going to go perfectly.”

Beric glanced at Thoros and then to Jorah, clearly still unsure of their attempts to reassure and clam him down.

“I feel sick,” Beric said as his face drained of all colour.

“I doubt it’s the booze,” Thoros chuckled. “I think you’ve puked most of that back up already.”

“I was shitting myself too,” Jorah said, looking at Beric. “I was so scared that Daenerys was going to change her mind. I told myself that there was no way I was good enough for a woman like her, but the day we got married was probably the happiest day of my life. Besides, I think you should worry less about Marie turning up and more about the best man’s speech this old knobhead here is going to give,” he added with a smirk.

Despite the insult, Thoros laughed at the comment.

“Trust me, old fella. I’ve got a hell of a lot of stories to tell about our time in the Army,” Thoros said. “Maybe I should tell the one about the honeycomb, the jackass and the brothel…”

“No!” The two other men shouted in unison as their cheeks reddened at Thoros’ words.

“Fucking hell,” Thoros grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Getting married has turned both of you into sentimental old gits.”

“It’ll be your turn next,” Beric said, shrugging on his suit jacket and taking a deep breath, readying himself for the short walk to the room where the wedding was being held.

“Never gonna happen,” Thoros scoffed. “I’m like a wild horse, you can’t tie me down. It’s the single life for me…with the old shag on the side.”

“Quaint,” Beric deadpanned as he shook his head at his best man. “I hope that doesn’t end up in your speech.”

“Looks like I’ll be the only one who is getting his end away after today,” Thoros observed with a wry grin. “The grizzly old bear’s missus is almost ready to give birth and once your honeymoon is over, you’ll only get a shag once or twice a year and it’ll be a pity fuck at that.”

Jorah and Beric looked at each other and shook their heads.

“You’ll never marry because even Mother Theresa wouldn’t have the patience to put up with you,” Jorah smirked as he ushered his two friends from the room. “Come on, let’s get this one married off before he ends up being late for his own wedding.

“Shit!” Thoros muttered, patting his trouser pockets as if he were looking for something. He let out a guttural laugh when he saw the look on his friend’s faces. “I’m pulling your leg, you idiots!”

“I swear that if I weren’t getting married today that I would fucking kill you, Thoros!” Beric ranted as he gave Thoros a fearsome glare.

“Let’s get you married then so that you can kill me later,” Thoros smiled as the three of them headed to where their friends and family were already waiting for them.