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Chapter Text

Two birds were chirping happily, pecking at invisible crumbs on a sandy alley in the royal garden of King’s Landing. Had they been hiding in the bushes, they would have been difficult to spot. Greenish backs were spotted with little dark dots, yellow bellies were damp from a morning bath in one of the small garden fountains and a single long red feather decorated each wing. Their neat black and white heads were moving up and down, singing and feasting. They matched the half-trimmed, half-wild surroundings quite well.

The plants were waking back to life after a frosty season. Even though King’s Landing knew the troubles of cold, it had been a lifetime since the last winter as harsh as this one. Because of that, the trees and flowers had been a little slow gathering their strength but fortunately, most of them survived.

Now, the garden was on the verge of thriving. Palm trees were regaining their proper green tufts. They shed shadows on ivy that crept up the ancient stone walls and columns, giving them a vibe of ruins overtaken by forces of nature. The decorative striped grasses were growing fast, only knee-height now, but eager to fill every gap they could. Like icing on a cake, flowers were starting to peek out too. Lulled for months in their white cover, they finally graced the garden with their colors. Blue climbers and pink little bushes were breaking through the green thicket, waving, and glowing under the gusts of wind from the Narrow Sea.

Near the entrance to the garden grew a huge forsythia, a grand bush, taller than The Mountain, and wider than a war stallion. Its every branch was covered with dozens of little flowers, as yellow as bright egg yolks. It offered shelter to many a shy bird, untrustful of men who disturbed their blissful days.

The forsythia served said purpose well when the two birds with red-striped wings dived into its yellow depths upon hearing approaching steps of a man dressed in light armor. He was no regular knight, though.

The man who was crossing the royal garden’s beautiful alleys was the Master of War and the Lord Superior of the Queen’s Guard himself, Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. One of the greatest heroes of the Battle of Winterfell and Queen Daenerys I Targaryen’s most trusted companion, who played a major role in her victorious conquest of King’s Landing. The royal gardens included.

He and the Queen had a special relationship. Anyone who spent more than a couple of minutes in their presence could tell it was something far more meaningful than deep friendship and mutual respect. It was a peculiar bond. They weren’t lovers, but sometimes they would act as such, brushing fingers while walking hand in hand or whispering and sharing subtle smiles, standing too close to each other. Surely closer than what would be considered appropriate.

Queen Daenerys had even created a special office for Ser Jorah, the Lord Superior of the Queen’s Guard. He wasn’t formally a member of the formation of the knights who swore to protect the Queen until their death, take no wife and hold no titles. Ser Jorah’s status was different. She didn’t ask him to make any new vows, saying that the ones he had sworn years before were still valid to her. The personally tailored position had another special feature: he was allowed to ask for release from his duties any time he wished. He was free to do as he pleased and leave whether to Bear Island, his restored lands, or anywhere else. She wanted him to have a sense of freedom, even though she was well aware that nothing but the grave would make him abandon her. Or, actually, considering their history, she wasn’t sure about that grave either.

Ser Jorah crossed the garden in his bright shiny armor with a silver embroidered cape and after a few minutes he reached his destination, a pergola fenced with low stone walls and roofed with red tiles. Daenerys had already been waiting for him there, lazily gazing at the sea. What a picturesque scene it was. She was leaning against a pillar, bathed in the afternoon sun. Rays of light found just the right angle, under the roof, and kissed her features. The Queen looked almost divine, her hair like liquid silver, some strands goldish where they glowed under the sunlight and her white dress loosely fluttering in the wind. A promise of Westerosi summer was in the air, the scent long ago forgotten by Jorah and never even known to Daenerys.

“My Queen,” he greeted her. The slim white silhouette against the background of the sea and the sky, tucked into the pergola’s frame, was so captivating that he could hardly look away.

“Jorah,” Daenerys smiled at him, thankful for his presence. “I’m pleased you’re here, Ser,” she said, stepping back into the shadow of the roof. Jorah momentarily missed the ethereal gold glow around her. “A letter from Essos has come this morning.”

“Oh?” he hummed, still under the spell of her beauty.

“From Daario Naharis. He wants to come here.” Jorah stopped smiling at the very moment she spoke the name.

Daenerys smiled one of those dreamy smiles. The ones that she smiled in Essos, whenever she thought about Daario, this vain wayward sellsword. Jorah remembered them, how could he forget? Each one he associated with pain, stinging at his heart like a big needle. He swallowed and tried to relax the jaw he was gritting.

“What are you going to tell him?” he asked. Daenerys’ smile changed into something more amused upon seeing his struggle.

“What would you advise me to say?” she tilted her head.

Jorah exhaled heavily and tapped his finger at the pommel of his sword. Finally, he had to let out at least something of what was troubling his heart.

“He’s doing good in Meereen, I’ll give him that. Let’s keep it this way. In King’s Landing there is no place for him.”

“Funny,” she whispered and under his questioning look she rushed with an explanation, “This is the exact gist of the response I have already sent this morning.”

“Why ask my advice if you already dealt with it?” Jorah asked but she never answered. Well, not with words. Her satisfied face was revealing the reason. She wanted to tease me! Jorah sucked in his cheek and reciprocated the look of amusement.

“The letter came this morning… But it was yesterday that you asked me to come here today. There’s something more.”

“Indeed,” she moved closer to Jorah and slipped her hand under his arm, leading him for a walk down an alley, with the garden on their right and the view of the sea on the left. “I’ve decided to send Tyrion home.”

“To Casterly Rock?” Jorah inquired, surprised.

“Mhm,” she hummed, “Since Jaime and Cersei have fled to Pentos, some distant Lannister relatives have been ruling what is his heritage. He served me as well as he could, it’s time he took care of his own family business now.”

“But this leaves the office of your Hand vacant,” he pointed out. “Who are you going to honor with it?”

Daenerys bit her lip. This was the question she had been waiting for ever since she made up her mind. And now, all she had to do to let the person she chose know, was to look up at him.

“Me?” Jorah stopped their stroll and Daenerys took one more step to stand in front of him, brushing his palms with her own and gazing up into his eyes.

“I should have given this title to you the moment you came back to me on Dragonstone, and I should have asked for your advice instead of listening to everything Tyrion said. We could have come up with some better moves,” she stopped for a moment, looking around, gathering up her courage, “I would have burned it all if you hadn’t stopped me. If you hadn’t caught up with me and shouted not to do this… not to forget who I am… we wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be myself. I don’t want to know what decisions I would make without you by my side,” she brushed her fingers over his soft stubble. Jorah instinctively leaned his cheek against her hand.

“You have a kind heart, you just needed someone to remind you of that. It would be my greatest honor to be your Hand, Khaleesi,” he whispered under his breath and lifted her other hand to his lips, kissing both her palms tenderly. “Once again,” he smiled.

“Thank you, my Bear,” she caressed his face, and they slowly resumed their walk, silent for a few minutes.

Jorah warmed up in his Khaleesi’s glow. He would never have thought, during his exile, that someday it would all lead to him being granted with such honors. Being in her presence, the greatest of all.

Daenerys tucked herself closer to him, relinquishing the peace in her heart as well as her mind. This spring, the beginning of her first Westerosi Summer, life was more beautiful than ever. She was very content with the turn of the events she had started. Sending Tyrion back to Casterly Rock would sweeten the taste of being deprived of his office, since the honor of the Lord of Casterly Rock was something he was never supposed to be granted. And she needed him away, to make room for Jorah. Oh, how glad she was that she had made him the Lord Superior of the Queen’s Guard, not just the Lord Commander. This way, he was able to take an office a regular sworn Guard wouldn’t be able to accept. She would also free him from the duties of the Master of War, giving it to Grey Worm. Jorah and she would be able to spend even more time together.

When they reached a place where the alley turned back up to the depths of the garden, the knight gently freed his arm from Daenerys’ embrace to lean against the stone fence, facing the shimmering sea. The Queen leaned her back against it, gazing rather at the man beside her than at the water.

„You have the whole world now,” Jorah said, trying to reach beyond the horizon with his sight. There was nothing but the endless blues of the Narrow Sea, beyond which laid Essos. No one could see as far as his Queen had been. Cover all the lands she had conquered and set free. The human fates she had changed and has kept changing. He looked back at her, the only view worth looking at in this beautiful yet scary world. Jorah had seen many distant corners of it. He had seen cities, castles, tourneys, miracles made by people’s hands and by nature. There were ruins, deserts, forests, seas… countless breathtaking places and things, but never had he laid his stunned eyes on anything that could compare to her.

Daenerys was gazing back straight into his eyes, a strange mysterious look on her face. In fact, could he see a reflection of his own admiration in her gaze? Surely not, what a silly idea…

Until a hand covered his palm, resting on the railing of the garden fence that prevented the careless from falling down the rocky cliffs beyond.

“Will you dance with me?” Daenerys asked out of the blue. Jorah tilted his head, giving the Queen a suspicious look. She was being playful. Was she teasing him again?

“Here?” he made sure, throwing looks back and forth from their joined hands to her eyes.

“Yes, why not? A return of spring must be celebrated with dancing and laughter, mustn’t it?” Daenerys smiled, tilting her head too and squinted her eyes against the sun.

“What if someone spots us?” he tried to be reasonable.

“Well, what then? Can’t I share a dance with my… dearest friend?” she asked, teasingly pronouncing the word, dragging him by the hand to a space more open than a thin alley next to a precipice. Jorah almost rolled his eyes at the name. “My new hand?” she continued, walking backwards, still facing him, as if she was fed up with having to ever look away from his face.

“Your protector,” he prompted, stopping her with his right hand on the small of her back and halting just in front of her, their bodies touching. Her left hand shot to his upper arm, catching the balance. Needlessly, of course, because he held her close now, close and steady.

Daenerys instinctively cast a look behind her. Roses. She would have stepped between the thorns if it wasn’t for his hand. Which moved, she felt it, a merely noticeable motion, slightly south. Slowly, she turned her head to the front, and instead of lifting it, she just looked up, like an angry child does. Only she wasn’t a child. And her eyes didn’t express anger or any other childish emotion, on the contrary. It was something strictly womanly, seductive even.

A subtle smile crept on her lips when she made a step forward and he made a step back.

They were moving gracefully, harmonious like a symphony, dancing a dance unknown across the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps in Lys this kind of proximity wouldn’t raise suspicions but here, anyone spotting them would assume the most inappropriate things were happening. Passion was bursting from every move, every brush of their hands when she swirled and fell back into his arms. Never before had they danced like that, so plain, so open about their affection. Expressing the gratitude they felt for being able to still find themselves in each other’s arms. Her hand in his, her breast pressed to his chest, heaving from the thrill, his head just over hers and their eyes devouring each other. From his cerulean irises she drew her strength, the power to continue changing the world. The devotion they offered made her believe that she could be the person he took her for. Fight all the evil temptations and achieve anything she desired, the way she knew was right.

“May I say something bold, Khaleesi?” Jorah started without stopping the dance and not waiting for a response. “Never in my life have I met anyone quite like you. Who would bring me as much torment… and as much bliss as you have.”

“Do you find it disturbing? This ambivalence?” She asked without a shade of remorse, and a certain playfulness instead. 

“Not at all,” he whispered into her ear, leaning in, and brushing her hair with his lips when he spoke. Daenerys grinned and closed her eyes, tucking her forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Besides, the sorrows belong to the time of winter and the winter is gone,” he rumbled quietly.  “It’s summer now. Everything falls into the right place,” he swirled her and pulled her side against him. His right hand brushed around her waist and stopped at her back, just below the ribs while he placed his other arm flat at the top of her back. Daenerys threw her arm around his neck and when he held her tightly, he dipped her low. His face was serious and so was hers, only a few inches away. Any traces of playfulness and teasing vanished, chased away by the feelings that run as deep as the deepest depths of the Narrow Sea.

There’s no one like you and me.

Chapter Text

Days followed days and lonely nights. Who do you think about before the gentle priestesses of sleep take over your body and lead you to this alternative reality that has only ever existed in your mind? Who will haunt your dreams if you’ve been in love for a long time now and haven’t even realized it?

Daenerys was troubled, lying flat on her bed. She found herself wishing for Jorah’s presence.

That evening they spoke into the late hours about the matters of the Seven Kingdoms, and he offered to walk her to her chamber. He guided her through wide, dim corridors, lit only by a few torches and the moonlight seeping through spaces between columns on the castle’s square. They stopped right by her door and said their goodbyes. Jorah leaned into her, and she stood on her tiptoes. They gave each other a soft, chaste peck on the lips. It must have been only natural for them? As if a mysterious force redirected their faces, and a kiss meant for the cheek landed somewhere else. It was quick though, it couldn’t have even been called a kiss. Jorah lowered his gaze, pulled on an abashed smile, and marched away, his pace quicker with every step. His long cloak was waving behind him and glittering where the moonlight reflected silver on the patterns embroidered with a shiny thread. Daenerys lingered by the door, marveling at his tall frame, and she licked her lips unconsciously. Finally, very pleased, she crossed the threshold, and a maid undressed her in the darkness of the room, with only one candle lit.

Lord Varys’ ever present little birds hadn’t missed anything. The Lord Hand Mormont never stayed the night in the Queen’s chambers, nor have they engaged in any other activities that would indicate crossing a line they were not supposed to cross.

But what was this line, in their case? At this point, nothing more than a line in the sand on the shores of Dragonstone. Grey, shallow, and easily blurred by the forces of nature.

It wasn’t until Daenerys laid in her bed that she had discovered a hint of longing somewhere in her heart, demanding to be noticed. That moment between Ser Jorah and her felt natural, as if a kiss on the lips was something they could do every day, without feeling guilty or embarrassed. At the same time, it didn’t deprive it of this magical spark of pleasure. She bit her lip. The memory of it felt nice, when he held her, and his beard tickled the tip of her nose, for a short moment. Maybe next time it would last a little longer?

Unfortunately, Daenerys still had to wait to find out. Chaste kisses on the cheek would soon become their own little tradition, practiced every evening when they parted by her chamber’s door, but such incident wouldn’t repeat soon. Even though their eyes would wander down to their lips, neither of them would dare to act on the feelings slowly igniting the fire within their hearts.

Daenerys smiled to herself and rolled her eyes, turning on her side and hugging a pillow. Why would I even want to kiss Ser Jorah? He was her friend. He was her many things. Because he tasted good? Somewhere in her lower abdomen she felt warmth gathering. She closed her eyes and tried to silence the thoughts going through her mind. She wanted to let sleep take her to its peaceful realm.

She’d see Ser Jorah tomorrow.

Unless she saw him earlier, in one of her dreams, gifting her with a more generous sample of the taste of his sweet lips.

***

The air was heavy with the scent of warmth and fresh, green grass. It wasn’t hot, not just yet, but summer was one step closer each day.

West of King’s Landing, miles away from the exotic royal garden, the plainlands of grass laid on both sides of the King’s Road. Horses were glancing at the marvelous deep shade of green, chewing at the metal between their teeth. Sometimes they would pass by small villages and the landscape of marvelous juicy pastures changed into hilly strips of freshly ploughed fields. When the fields ended, time came for the orchards.

During this time of spring, shy green leaves on fruit trees were already starting to replace the millions of white flowers that were slowly giving up their existence. The soft petals were ready to be stolen away by wind, to swirl and finally rest on the ground, much like the snowflakes a few months earlier. They would lay there like a silk rug until they disappear, unnoticed by those who come to check on the ovules of apples, pears, and cherries.

For now, the aspiring fruits were still to be created and no one was more interested in this process than bees. They liked a certain grove in particular, down in the valley of a stream, one of the many minor tributaries of the Blackwater Rush. The trees here were wilder, bigger and the pink and white petals still held themselves strong, unwilling to give up to the wind. From the King’s Road, those bright flowers, with swarms of bees buzzing above them, were as much visible as audible.

“What is this noise?” Daenerys asked curiously, sitting on the back of a glorious, silver mare. She was glad about the trip they organized for the whole court, a welcomed change from everyday life. She had already forgotten what clean air smelled like, but the sound that kept disturbing her every time they passed by an orchard wouldn’t let her fully enjoy being on horseback again. “I’ve been hearing it for so long that I can’t tell if it’s real or if it’s just in my head?” she wondered with pretended wistfulness, and her Lord Hand smiled at her with kindness.

“It’s very much real, my Queen,” he answered when his horse approached the silver mare close enough for their legs to touch. “Swarm of bees are collecting the last bits of the spring pollen,” he explained and thought for a moment before he continued. “Would you mind stopping here? The horses could use some grass.”

“As you wish, my Lord Hand. Everyone deserves a rest.”

“Thank you, my Queen. I’ll be right back,” he said with slightly crouched eyebrows, visibly engrossed in an idea. He dismounted his chestnut stallion and momentarily vanished between the knights and servants assisting them on the road.

Daenerys couldn’t put her finger on why, but she had come to enjoy those little formalities they exchanged. It gave her pride and satisfaction, addressing each other with due respect. At the same time, it amused her, that being around other people she had to be so official with him. But when in the evening, for a mere second, they closed the distance between their faces for a traditional peck on the cheek, and Jorah would address her as my Queen, and she would call him my Lord, there was something so tender and intimate about the common titles…

Daenerys wondered about it, gazing at the valley. The royal caravan stopped, and the horses were content as they finally had a chance to taste the lush grass. People were laughing and talking while the Queen lounged underneath a soft canopy. She was sipping wine when she heard Jorah’s footsteps behind her. When he stood in front of her, she smiled upon a peculiar sight.

There he was, her Lord Hand and Lord Superior of the Queen’s Guard, in his fine clothes and silver cloak, all covered in dirt and dust. Little sticks of bark were stuck in his hair, also decorating his sleeves and legs. In his left hand he was holding a painted bowl with a spoon. She could easily guess what was inside, even though she was yet to see the contents. Jorah’s right hand was all covered with a shiny, sticky, gold substance.

“I’ve brought you some fresh honey, Your Grace,” he declared proudly, lifting his head up.

“I see, thank you my Lord Hand,” she laughed, “Have you taken it straight out of a beehive, with your bare hands?” she asked, expecting a bashful smile of negation, but...

“Of course, just taste it, my Queen,” he encouraged her. Jorah looked confident and agitated, standing firmly on both feet with a spark of excitement shining in his eyes.

“But how did you do it?” Daenerys inquired, her eyes following every move of his glistening hand. It was covered in honey, and he had to turn it up or down from time to time, not to drip on the carpets laid out for her. She wondered if the honey would taste different on his hand than from the elegant bowl.

“The honey from Bear Island was the best I’ve ever tasted. But if you want to get it before the bears, you must know your ways,” he smirked at her. A long time must have passed since he had last had a chance to get honey like this and still, he remembered all his tricks. Jorah bowed and gave her the bowl. She accepted it with admiration gracing her features. “Now, if you permit me, I will go to the stream, to wash my hands.”

“I’ll go with you,” she offered with a flicker of mischief in her eyes and got up, holding her bowl, and followed Ser Jorah down the slope to the buzzing bosque.

They walked away from the main camp, under the enchanting trees that were giving forth the sweetest scent of flowers. They could hear the splash of water more clearly now and soon enough they descended a small glen, finding themselves alone on the shore of a clear, shallow stream. It was flowing fast through a wide riverbed, filling their ears with its never-ending song.

“I appreciate your gesture, but they could have hurt you,” Dany said with affection when she jumped down on the ground, helped by Jorah’s clean hand. She didn’t let it go.

“What, bees? I’ve been cut by blades more fearsome and lethal than a bee’s sting,” he said dismissively, gently rocking their joined hands.

“Let me taste this honey, then,” she declared, putting the bowl she was holding down on a stone beside the water. Jorah followed it with his gaze and arched an eyebrow, sending her a questioning look. The one he got in response, he didn’t dare name.

Daenerys took his honeyed right hand and holding it gently with both her palms, she brought it to her lips. She licked the base of his thumb and then took the finger into her mouth, closing her lips around it. Her tongue circled it gracefully, cleaning the skin of any sticky drops of the honey. Her eyes narrowed from pleasure when sweetness filled her mouth, a rare delicacy spiced with the taste of the leather reigns her Lord Hand had held on his way here. Without haste, she took the finger out, barely brushing it with her front teeth, just enough to make Jorah’s breath hitch. Their eyes locked, mesmerized and taken aback by the feelings and fantasies coming true, overtaking their minds, and separating them from the rest of the world. Daenerys took the second finger and sucked on it a little stronger.

She liked what she was seeing on Jorah’s face. When she put the third, longest finger all the way into her throat and caressed it with her tongue, any woman would be able to tell it excited the man in front of her. But only Daenerys knew how much willpower it cost him to keep breathing evenly. After all, they were both aware of how seductive it was. She gently stroked his palm with her thumbs. Their eyes sparkled and Jorah had to clench his jaw when she reached the last two digits, caressing them and making quiet noises with her lips. Finally, when every finger was clean, she slowly pulled the last one out of her mouth. He could barely hold her gaze, unsure how much desire his eyes revealed.

“Here,” Daenerys said, giving Jorah his clean hand back and softly stroking its back with her nails on the way. The honey from it tasted very different indeed.

The Lord Hand’s cheeks were red, but he never looked away from her eyes. When he swallowed, his lips parted slightly, and a heavy huff of air escaped them. The silver haired beauty before him had always been full of surprises. He didn’t think it was possible for a man to love a woman more than he loved her. The soft wind rustled between the trees’ young leaves and the stream kept rushing, loud as ever, but not half as loud as the sound ringing in their ears when they devoured each other’s presence.

“You have sticks all over your hair,” Daenerys whispered, grabbing the nape of his neck, and leaning his head down. He made a questioning rumble noise but didn’t move away when she brushed his golden locks gently, picking out the small pieces of bark. “And you have a scratch, right here,” she claimed, caressing his throat.

“It’s just a scar,” he lowered his voice to a whisper too, unable to get anything else out of his mouth.

“Aye,” she agreed in the Northern style, making him lift the corners of his lips again. This scar was a reminder of the past troubles and dangers. A reminder of how fragile life was. She didn’t want life to slip away from their hands, she decided. She didn’t want love to slip away from them.

Daenerys’ fingers traced the way down to his shoulders and squeezed them lightly. She brought her lips to the scar a Dothraki screamer had once given him and Jorah closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of her slightly sticky mouth on his neck.

He could see her mood had changed since they wandered away from the rest of the group. Much like every time when they were left alone for the past few weeks. Now, he found he could no longer resist. A moan, or rather a rumble, managed to escape his lips when his Queen's mouth traced the line of his jaw, getting further away from the place where the scar ended. Her wet kisses made him feel weak, vulnerable, almost out of his mind, but how could this ever be considered a weakness, being cherished by such a woman? His hands drifted to follow the line of her spine and rested on her hips. With a tremble, she exhaled a breath on his wet skin.

“Daenerys,” saying her name, Jorah opened his eyes, and she stopped in her tracks. “Do you remember the time… when I told you about a beast that was in every man?” Daenerys stepped back to look at him.

“You said it stirred whenever a sword was put in his hand,” she recited dreamily, not letting go of his shoulders.

“Careful, now, Daenerys,” he warned her. “Other parts of men stir when you do things like that,” he whispered slowly, deliberately, in a hoarse voice that tingled her very existence. He gazed into her eyes. He could see that they were dark, the pupils dilated. His pupils must have already swallowed all the blues of his irises.

They were challenging each other, their hearts beating like in a stallion’s chest after a race through a desert.

I won’t let you go, my bear, she thought and slowly, so deliberately slowly she leaned towards his lips, stopping an inch away. She enjoyed every second of this, and so did he.

When you’re completely sure that nothing will stop you from taking the greatest pleasure you’ve ever dreamt of, then prolonging the waiting can make for the sweetest aphrodisiac.

Daenerys exhaled through parted lips and Jorah stole her breath, inhaling it. He gave it back to her and gently as a feather, he brushed his lips against hers. They were soft, tasting of honey, concealing a magical secret of an ancient House, built upon fire and blood. Just like he had always imagined.

When their mouths met, there was no coming back. There would never be. Not after all the desire they put into the kiss. It was undeniable, even though they had never explicitly put it into words before.

Jorah pressed her whole body to his, emanating with want and trying to satiate it with her closeness. Her passion matched his, when she held the back of his head, almost forcing his lips on hers. After such foreplay he didn’t need any further teasing, but he welcomed this eagerness. Securing her back with his hands, he swirled her and made her step backwards, until they were stopped by a tree. Now she could lean against it, when Jorah kissed her face a little bit more gently now, a little more seductively then lustfully. His hands were going up and down her body, pressing her to him, pleasantly caging her between him and the tree. He sucked on her lower lip, which she reciprocated whenever she wasn’t overwhelmed by his ministrations, melting from pleasure with her eyes closed.

They smelled of sweetness. The taste of the spring honey sharpened their senses when Jorah licked it off her tongue much like she licked it off his fingers before; carefully, thoroughly, and sensationally.

“I’m so glad I haven’t made you say any of those stupid King’s Guard’s vows…” Daenerys moaned.

“Why, do you think I would break them?” Jorah asked, smiling teasingly, and stroking her sides with one hand, while his other hand was resting at the small of her back.

“I know you would break them. If I asked you… I would make you break them all,” she said before he shushed her with his lips once again.

Delicate petals of bright pink flowers were falling around the two lovers leaning against the dark bark of a cherry tree. The little green leaves would soon dominate its picture, but for now, in the softly whistling rosy crown, a swarm of bees was busying itself above two blonde heads caressing each other with affection. The buzz of flying insects was mixing with the rush of the river, creating an ever-lasting melody which sang of highs and lows, of devotion, of time, and life, and love.

Time is love, so let it live.

Chapter Text

Devoted

Praise you

“How much further?” Daenerys asked, lifting herself up on her horse’s back to get a better view of a mountain range on the horizon.

“Not far at all,” Ser Jorah assured her, his horse catching up with hers. “You’re excited,” he stated more than asked.

“I am,” she agreed, and shielded her eyes from the warm sun. “I will be able to really rest from being a Queen, in a proper summer residence, for the first time,” she had a pleased expression.

“I hope so. It was a big construction.”

“A reward awaits you,” she winked coyly, to which he chuckled. “You’ve put a lot of heart and time into restoring it,” Daenerys said with affection in her voice and her hand brushed his thigh.

“There wasn’t a lot to rebuild,” he laughed, feeling his leg tremble slightly. “Summerhall was practically built anew. Look over there,” Jorah pointed at a part of a valley filled with small stone houses. “There, this old little town, it’s Summertown.” Then he pointed to a hill to the left from the valley, to a single bright sun-kissed building against the background of faraway mountains, “and this is your new summer residence.”

***

Summerhall was a place full of history. Once, it used to be House Targaryen’s summer castle. Far enough South from King’s Landing for the climate to be warmer and filled with less of the court’s tiring business, and yet close enough for the travel there not to be too demanding. 

Because of its primary role, the Summerhall palace had never had much in common with the strategic castles meant to hold enemies and protect from their attacks. It hadn’t been as tall as the Red Keep, its demeanor hadn’t meant to be at all as uninviting as Dragonstone’s intimidating black rocks, or as pragmatic as Winterfell’s thick stone walls. Its style had been something more elegant, and more southern. It sat, after all, in the Dornish Marches of Stormlands.

So, what was the palace in Summerhall? Well, for almost half a century it had been a ruin. A gloomy reminder of a tragedy that had once taken place there, a terrible fire which killed so many Targaryens that it even changed the line of succession for the Iron Throne. It had been deemed haunted ever since and only the bravest tramps, wandering from one village to another, would stop there on their way from the Stormlands to Dorne. 

But now the palace was filled with new life instead of old ghosts. Once the Seven Kingdoms started to rise from the ashes left by the Lannisters’ reign, Queen Daenerys declared her wish for the old residence to be restored to its former glory, and with a new twist. She wanted to hire people who would make something original and beautiful out of it. 

The patronage over this project was given to the Queen’s Hand, Ser Jorah Mormont, on his own request. After all, as he said, he had seen so many monuments of different cultures in his life. Having the time and luxury of appreciating it felt quite refreshing to him. So, after numerous consultations with gifted artists and constructors from all over Westeros, as well as from some parts of Essos, he chose the ones he thought were most deserving of the honor of being trusted with this work. Even with his ever-practical attitude towards life, he found this task interesting. He didn’t say it out loud, but he couldn’t wait to show it all to Daenerys. 

Especially because he really thought she needed it. At last, peace reigned, crops were growing, and smallfolk seemed to be on a good thing, but the Queen’s days were still filled with questions of keeping everyone safe. Daenerys would never share it with anyone else, but the pressure of her position, which after fighting for it her whole life she took very seriously, could be overwhelming. Jorah knew first-hand how exhausting it was for her. He was the one person with whom the Queen could be completely honest. This, among other things, was why he wanted to oversee this project. He wanted it to be perfect for her.

And finally, they could both marvel at the effects. As they rode into a long forecourt, they went past the part of the royal caravan that had arrived first, bringing and setting the Queen’s belongings ready before her arrival. Only the Queen’s Guard and a few maids, along with Summerhall’s new staff, were staying there with her and Ser Jorah.

From the outside, bright walls the color of white wine were decorated with slender marble columns that rose two floors up. An impressive dome reared over the main arched entrance at the center. The palace was symmetric from the front, with many tall, slim windows that gave the whole structure lightness. They were decorated with little sculptures and details, matching the columns’ capitals.

“First impression?” Ser Jorah asked.

“It’s beautiful… quite original. Those Dornish craftsmen really stood up to the challenge,” Daenerys pointed out, dismounting her horse and giving its neck a pat. “What do you think?”

“We took the right people for the job. It looks peaceful,” he admitted when he stood beside her, curiously taking in the view and listening to a bird singing.

“It feels… odd to be here,” she confessed. “I know this is not what it looked like when my ancestors used to come here, and still I feel…” she couldn’t find the words.

“You’re moved by how much of your history is connected to this place?”

“Yes. I guess so,” she answered quietly.

They stood there for a while, hand in hand, looking at the newly built structure and contemplating its past. For so long it had been forgotten, neglected and tainted with tragedy. The time had come for Summerhall to bloom again, to be reborn into beauty and love, just like its regal owner.

“I’ve once been told it used to be my older brother’s favorite place. He was born here, during the fire, and he and my mother survived miraculously,” Daenerys confessed and interlaced her little finger with Jorah’s. “I think it may become my new favorite place too,” she confessed quietly, looking him coquettishly in the eye and imagining all the privacy and relaxation the new residence was going to grant them.

***

The inside of the palace seemed just as impressive as the outside. A spacious circular hall had a high ceiling which ended with the dome they had seen from the outside. A few little round stained-glass windows above their heads let in the light which created eye-catching colorful patterns on the plain inside of the dome. On the eye-level, the walls were painted with frescos which, according to Ser Jorah, was a new painting technique the artists had come up with just recently. 

“It’s splendid,” Daenerys breathed, her eyes sparkling with wonder.

“Just wait until you see the gardens,” Jorah murmured, standing right behind her and observing her enthusiasm with a shade of amusement, “We’re just in time for the lilacs. I bet you’ve never seen such flowers.”

Smitten with the idea of a private tour in a quiet garden, Daenerys was about to say something, but, unfortunately, they were interrupted by the Lord of the Stormlands who emerged from a door to the left. 

Gendry Baratheon had turned out to be a capable warden of his House’s heritage. Grateful for acknowledging his name, he became a loyal and just lord. He performed his duties well, reported timely, and had no intention to rebel like his father.

Thoughtful and respectful as it was to come and greet his Queen coming to visit on his land, seeing him didn’t exactly please neither Daenerys nor Jorah.

As befitted a good Lord, Gendry, after showing them to a parlor, entertained the Queen and her Hand with a drink and conversation about the history and beauty of the Stormlands. He talked about the lovely nature, encouraged them to enjoy hunting in the vast forests, and try venison and other local delicacies.

Although the conversation was running smoothly, after some time Jorah noticed that Daenerys kept looking out the window. Subtle as it was, he took it as a sign of a will to end the meeting. He turned around and glimpsed in the same direction.

Dusky, obscure clouds were gathering in the sky. Surely, they would soon turn into a heavy storm. He could tell Daenerys was growing frustrated. Her uneasy look and thin lips told him so. They had traveled for so long to get to Summerhall. He had told her about the gardens, the lilacs, and he really wanted her to see them, in full bloom and beauty, not ruined by rain. 

“Excuse me, my Lord,” Jorah interrupted a very passionate dilatation about the forest fauna. “I’m sure the Queen will enjoy all the goods that the  Stormlands have to offer. Why don’t we talk more tomorrow? The air in here is a little stale from the paint. Besides, it’s been a long day, perhaps the Queen would like to breathe in the fresh air before the evening rest?” he proposed, and Daenerys looked at him with the most subtle of smiles, which, delicate as it was, managed to make his heart skip a beat anyway. 

“Oh, of course!” Gendry blushed. “Would you like me to accompany you to the garden, Your Grace? It’s…”

“That won’t be necessary, My Lord,” she quickly cut him off, grateful for the excuse, “but thank you. And for your warm greeting too,” she smiled.

On their way out of the room, Daenerys looked at the storm clouds with a slight disappointment.

“I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised it is going to rain, it is the Stormlands after all,” she said as leaves of the bushes outside shivered from a blast of wind. “It has been so pretty the whole day, though.”

“Nonsense. It’s not raining yet,” Jorah encouraged her. “And I think the sun is coming out again, just look at the light,” he said, opening the beautiful glass doors which led from the main hall to a spacious terrace. “This is your garden.”

Oh, and it was a garden fit for a queen indeed. From the terrace there was a view of alleys, flowers, trees, and mountains on the horizon, now lit with a charming peach-pink glow of the setting sun. The light graced it all with an original warm shade, contrasting with the dark stormy clouds above. Along the rounded edges of the terrace there were planted young red rhododendrons and black tulips, creating a mosaic of Daenerys’ House’s colors. 

Right in front of the stairs of the terrace, there was a wide alley leading up to a fountain, with lilacs on both sides. They were old, tall, and plentiful that the branches were all caving a little, unable to hold the myriad of flowers up. The variety of their colors could make one dizzy: from lime-white, through blueish, light violet to deep purple, together they created a masterpiece of gardening. As if to crown their beauty, they were all bathed in the most beautiful light, which enhanced the colors of the lilacs, making the darker flowers look even more saturated, and the white ones almost yellow.

As the enchanted Queen approached the grand, spectacular bushes, she couldn’t help but come closer to sniff the lush, heavy bunches of a purple lilac to her left. The flowers were in full bloom, and they were giving forth such a sweet and heavenly scent that she closed her eyes with pleasure. Jorah watched her, completely bedazzled by this scene. She turned to him and neared the lilac bunch she just smelled to his nose. When she looked at him, she froze a little. She thought the extraordinary pre-storm light made the garden look stunning, but him…

As Jorah half-closed his eyes too, to try to better focus on the smell, she found his curls glow like melted gold with some strands of copper, where the light refracted. His skin looked healthy, his beard shone like the honey he had fed her a few days earlier. When his eyes opened again, his sharp blues looked equally pleased as her. 

She could stare at him like that for a long time, but since they were still in front of the terrace, for now she chose to ignore the chills on her body and a pull of excitement in her belly, she put her arm under Jorah’s and let him lead her slowly along the lilac alley. 

“They’re gigantic,” she noticed, perking her head up. “Do you think they survived the fire?”

“They burnt down,” Jorah said, “but they regrew. These are quite resilient, Khaleesi,” he eyed her and smiled.

“Just like us,” she added, and clung to him while they strolled and enjoyed the last rays of the sun in the fragrant alley.

“What is this little path?” she asked when, by the fountain, she saw another path under lilacs, starting a little in the back of the other bushes, as if hidden from plain sight. This one was much thinner, and the bright purple lilacs surrounding it weren’t as lushy nor as elegantly trimmed as the ones they just passed.

“This, my Queen, is a way to the private part of the garden,” Jorah said and led her, bent in half, under the wild lilacs, to a smaller, separate plot. It was surrounded with elegant columns and colorful bushes between them, and overlooked by a balcony. Judging by the little dragon sculptures decorating its railing, she guessed it was a part of her own quarters. The excitement grew within her. There was no one but the two of them there. 

It was even greener, more primeval. The grass wasn’t cut as evenly and flowers were scattered in it, growing here and there, without a clear concept. This part of the garden was surrounded with tall trees and the songs of their feathered residents. It felt tranquil. Undisturbed by the gardener's interference. There was only one tree-like lilac, with flowers almost red in this light, that grew right below the balcony. 

“It’s like a different world,” she admitted, astonished by the change from the organized, polished flowerbeds and evenly cut hedges to this almost half-wild oasis.

“As it’s supposed to be,” he agreed, lovingly caressing her waist, “your own place, where no one shall disturb you.”

“No one at all?” she purred, pleased, laying her hands on his chest.

“No one,” he whispered, as she fondled with his shirt. “Through this door, you can get into your own private parlor,” he murmured, bending his head a little to look her in the eyes. “From there you can easily access your bedchamber,” he rasped, before she pressed her lips to his and put the warm palm of her hand over his heart. “Through a private staircase,” he let out, when his heart rate increased rapidly.

“So much privacy,” she giggled between the kisses, “whatever are we going to do about it?”

Daenerys was so thankful for everything he had done to make sure this place could become her escape. Their escape. She felt like giving in to her desire for him right away, and the best thing was, there were no reasons not to.

Jorah looked her deep in the eyes. He held her waist and took a step closer, and with his other hand he reached above her head for a bunch of lilac flowers. Daenerys looked up at his stretched neck covered with light stubble, as he was breaking the branch and pressing her to him, more for their own pleasure than for balance. He presented it to her with such an irresistible twinkle in his eye, that she couldn’t help the desire any longer. She threw her arms around his neck, searching for his lips again, craving friction, hungry for his body and soul. 

And all of a sudden, it started to rain.

The heavy somber clouds gave up and showered the world. The sun, though, was still shining from a parting in them. Its rays gave the  clouds an intriguing pinky-amber glow, and painted all the raindrops yellow, making it feel as if they were being blessed with rain of thinned strings of liquid gold.

“Thank you…” Daenerys purred between the kisses, as the drizzle started to turn heavier, making them feel as if the rest of the world was blocked by a glimmering, rustling curtain.

“What… such praise for getting you out of that meeting…” his husky voice reverberated in her own chest and enhanced her arousal even further. “If so, I may start finding excuses for every meeting you have… you’ll never get anything done,” still kissing her, he said with such dreaminess in his voice that she was certain he was only half-joking.

“Not just the meeting,” Daenerys stopped, and Jorah missed her instantly. He kept his head lowered, searching for her sweet lips, his nose brushing against her wet cheek.

“No?” He prompted, too preoccupied with exploring the softness of her face to put a whole question together. 

“For this palace,” the Queen satiated some of his need with a long kiss and he didn’t even argue to make little of his role in this process, “for giving me strength every day to be the person I am.”

He brushed through her soaking hair, yearning only for her presence and pleasure, nothing but the fire burning between them that no rain could ever put out. 

“For being here with me, always, for loving me…”

“Oh, Daenerys,” he could no longer listen to the compliments. Jorah had learnt to accept them sometimes, but he didn’t need her words anymore, he knew how she felt about him. Especially with all this ardency that was within him. “I would go to the end of the world for you,” he rasped and tried to capture her lips at last. His hand made its way down to her bottom and he pulled her in close, until she could feel his desire, but she leaned back just a little, just so that his lips wouldn’t reach her yet.

“You did,” she was now clearly teasing him again, prolonging the moment he was so visibly longing for, “And you stayed there for me. In Essos, on the other side of the world… and you stayed for me here, again so far from your land, and…” she didn’t finish as he suddenly pushed her back against a wet column. He clung to her, and locked their lips in a passionate kiss, efficiently cutting her off. He squeezed her bottom, then his hands ran over her hips and the wet material that stuck to her stomach. He finally embraced her, protecting her back from the cold of the column, while she circled her leg around his and pushed his head closer, matching his eagerness.

“You’ve never talked that much about feelings,” he managed to say, when they grasped for air. 

“You’ve never done that much about feelings,” she said between gasps. 

As he towered over her, a single golden raindrop fell from Jorah’s face onto her cheek. For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes, finding nothing but love, reverence, and desire.  

“I’m just so glad you’re mine,” she breathed and pulled him inside, towards the room that led to her bedchamber. 

***

The warm morning light was slowly sneaking into a spacious room, inch by inch. It touched the wooden floor and painted the oak a yellowish shade of bright brown, as if the tree trunks were just polished with a new vivid color. It crept up the elegant furniture; a Dornish painted cupboard, and a comfortable cushioned chair with something resembling a nightgown carelessly thrown over it. The light glowed through the delicate material, sneaked up a vanity, and kissed a dozen colorful little bottles of perfume and scented oils, shining through their colored glass and creating vibrant reflections on the wall. The sun was succeeding in its daily conquest of the chamber, until it met an obstacle. 

A few layers of half-transparent veil hanging over a queen-sized bed were preventing the shy rays from getting inside the boudoir. For they were guarding the sleep of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms… and her valiant Knight. 

Even though together the veils created a thick layer, the daylight would inevitably soon reveal the dreamiest scene. There she was, the Queen of the world, the Mother of Dragons and the Breaker of Chains… only half-covered with a light sheet embroidered with spring flowers and little green leaves. Her pink lips, swollen from kisses, were gently parted and her cheek, still a little blushed from the shenanigans of the night, was resting on her arm, over the silver-blond locks scattered on a soft pillow. Her pale arm was bare and seemed so delicate, so fragile, just as petite as purple half-withered flowers lying next to it, a memory of yesterday. 

These flowers were of course lilacs. Lilacs of all colors, which made the summer residence’s garden, and now also her bedchamber, look and smell as if it was the seventh heaven in which the gods themselves resided. An idyllic place, where people knew nothing but happiness and sweetness. 

Lilacs which Jorah had picked and brought to his love, and laid at her feet in the fragrant evening, on her balcony overlooking the most private part of the garden.

Some of them were as creamy as her velvety skin, almost ticklish when the Knight lightly brushed a single small bunch against her statuesque neck. Others innocent and romantic, like a purple-blue bunch that decorated her loosely braided hair.

The lilacs with deep burgundy flowers, however, turned out to be completely dizzying, contrasting with the milky tones of the Queen’s collar bone. Guided by Jorah, they slowly travelled down, soothing her shapely breast, as her nightgown landed on the floor. Before the chilly spring breeze could kiss her trembling features, Jorah did it first, claiming her as his most precious treasure. 

Between the lilacs scattered around the room, their love bloomed like the most luscious flower. The rustling of the trees and rain coming from the garden was like an accompaniment for the melody of their moans. The maddening fragrance surrounded them, so sweet and intoxicating, mixed with the scent of their bodies brushing, driving each other mad with want and finally coming together. They relished each other’s presence, touch and passion. They celebrated their story and everything that had led them to that moment, barely able to express each other’s devotion and gratitude. 

And later in the darkness, with only the light coming from the full moon, they laid embracing each other, tired and satisfied, and yet still yearning for more… More pleasure, more lilacs, more love. 

“Tell me it’ll never end, Jorah,” Daenerys murmured, and her words tickled his ear.

“What? All the lilacs?” he smiled, breathing in, drunk with the sensations she had provided him with.

“Yes,” she laughed. “The lilacs, this joy in my heart, you…” she lifted her head to look up at him.

“Never,” he whispered under his breath, and kissed her again and again, just as eager to please her, as she was determined to please him, for the rest of their lives.

I have to celebrate you baby

I have to praise you like I should