Chapter Text
He had fought hard for her.
Slaying every wight that dared to come her way.
And when the Night King fell, so did her Lord Commander.
His body ravaged by wounds she witnessed but did not fully grasp their damage till now.
Just like the effect his presence had upon her life.
Her heart.
And the quick rising of fear that began to paralyze her entire being.
Suddenly faced with the possibility of what life will be like without him.
She didn’t like the odds.
Nor the very thought of it.
Which is why she desperately sought out the Red Priestess.
She was cautious of the Lord she proclaimed to serve.
He appeared to be a cruel god.
Selfish.
And one obsessed with his own agenda.
But R’hllor possessed strong magic.
A magic that she was in dire need of right now.
Especially with her Lord Commander fading fast in her arms.
It was her despondency that sent her running.
And her inability to accept losing him.
The idea alone was enough to break her.
Death could be so final.
So…permanent.
She didn’t like that ending.
At least for them.
Not like this.
So, she begged and pleaded.
Made an utter fool of herself.
Until the Red Priestess relented and Ser Jorah’s body was carried to the infirmary.
He was still alive.
But for how long, Daenerys did not know.
His breathing was becoming shallower.
And the death rattle had begun to take hold deep within his chest.
But nothing scared her more, than when the Red Priestess removed her from Ser Jorah’s side and bolted the door shut.
She tried to push down the memories.
The flashbacks from the last time she had reached such heights of despair.
The way Khal Drogo remained breathing, but his eyes void of any life.
It was an error then.
Perhaps, it was a mistake now.
Either way, she needed to know.
Needed him to remain here.
With her.
It wasn’t until an hour later, that she heard the lock unbolt and the door open, revealing Samwell Tarly’s hesitant face.
She could see his reluctance beforehand.
He didn’t want to be anywhere near such magic.
But he respected Ser Jorah, even admired him.
Which is why he complied to the Queen’s wishes to keep him safe.
To stand guard as a maester, medically making sure that the Red Priestess did not overstep her bounds.
“He’s awake, Your Grace.”
His eyes nervously darted to the side, his feet shifting restlessly.
And she knew instantly that something was amiss.
“What’s wrong?”
Her heart sank, immediately regretting her decision.
“I think…” Sam paused, his words floundering. “I think…you should ask her that question.”
He stepped aside, allowing Melisandre to step through.
“What did you do?” Daenerys demanded.
“I did as you bid, Your Grace.” Her intonation was quite cavalier, even presumptuous. “I prayed for his life to be spared and the Lord of Light has granted my request.”
“Jorah’s alive?”
“Yes, Your Grace. He lives.”
And suddenly, she was able to breathe again.
Letting out a deep sigh of relief.
One that she didn’t realize she had been holding.
Until the Red Priestess’ dark eyes turned sober.
More serious.
Almost cold.
“But I must warn you…there is a price.”
“What do you mean?” She could feel the panic gripping her heart. “What price?”
“R’hllor gives nothing without something in return. I’m afraid your Lord Commander is not the same man you remember.”
“We don’t know that yet.” Sam chimed in, trying to remain positive. “He hasn’t seen her yet. We won’t know until he does.”
Daenerys’ eyes suspiciously moved between the two.
Her patience wearing thin.
“I demand to know what is wrong with him.”
Her tone was threatening.
Desperate, in fact.
“He appears…” Sam stuttered. “Well, we’re not sure…But, we think his memories are – ”
He left the sentence unfinished.
Hanging blindly in the air.
Still fumbling over the prospect of what his next words may entail.
“Are what?” Dany eagerly implored.
Sam shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably.
“Well…different.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “Different how?”
“I think…It’ll be best to just show you.”
Samwell opened the door wider, giving her a view of Ser Jorah’s back to her.
He was shirtless and sitting upright, examining his bandaged wounds.
But most importantly, he was breathing.
“Ser Jorah.” Samwell called out.
And Daenerys could visibly see his back stiffen.
“I told you.” He said defensively. “I don’t know you. I don’t know either of you.”
Sam shared a concerning look with Dany.
“Yes.” He replied, trying to sound in control. Hopeful, almost. “But I brought someone that you may remember.”
Ser Jorah slowly turns around.
But his eyes seem vacant.
Like, he was trying to place her.
And of their own volition, her feet carry her closer.
More toward the light.
Hoping it will illuminate the dark corners his memories have run off too.
He holds her gaze, watching every move she makes.
As she gently reaches out, her fingers lightly scratching through his beard.
Amazed that he doesn’t pull away.
Even more transfixed by the look in his eye.
“Jorah, do you know who I am?”
He blinks, looks around the room, scanning each face.
But his puzzled expression tells her that he still doesn’t recognize any of the occupants.
Then his eyes lock with hers.
And soften as they always have in the past.
He smirks knowingly, like someone is playing a joke on him.
“Of course, I do.”
Daenerys closes her eyes, lets out a half laugh, half sigh, overwhelmed by the flood of relief.
Until Jorah confidently says.
“You’re my wife.”