Chapter Text
Prologue
On a flagship bound from Deepwood Motte to Bear Island, Daenerys found she couldn’t stay below deck any longer. She needed fresh air—too restless, too anxious about reaching the end of this journey and embarking on her new life.
As they travelled north, she was able to distract herself with the sights of the road and the hospitality of northern holdfasts and harbors, as they stopped at Greywater Watch, White Harbor and Winterfell along the way.
But here, crossing the channel, only a few leagues away from this wild and remote island that was to be her new home, she suddenly felt the crushing weight of everything falling on her once again, just as she had the morning Viserys barged into her private chambers in the Red Keep, and sneered through news that she was to marry Lord Jorah Mormont in just over a fortnight.
Our brother, the king, commands it. Viserys had said, but she knew better.
This was his scheme, his brand of revenge.
And yet, she shuddered to think how easily Rhaegar had gone along with it. Her brothers had both failed her, miserably, and not for the first time.
Well, it was done.
She was Jorah Mormont’s lady wife now, their vows witnessed in the Light of the Seven, their oaths spoken before gods and men. Her brothers were satisfied, thinking the marriage had been consummated the night of the ceremony. Jorah had lied for her, giving truth to their assumption, before they left the capital.
She was Lady of Bear Island, even though she’d never stepped foot north of Dragonstone in her entire life. How could she be lady of lands she knew nothing of? Of people she’d been told were near wildlings, and had little love lost on her family name?
How could she be a wife to a man she’d known only a month?
Her head swirled with uncertainty and she felt her heart pounding in her chest. She went up to the rail near the ship’s bow, seeking out the force of that chilly sea breeze, and a clear view of the horizon, attempting to catch a glimpse of the island they were bound for.
If I see the island before the first sailor calls it out…oh, maybe I’ll be happy here.
She made a desperate, silly wager with herself, as had been her habit since she was a little girl. She knew it was nonsense, as if fate would turn for the sake of a young woman’s prayer.
But still, she sought out that island, eyes peeled over the dark blue waters, flickering at the wispy haze between sky and sea. Please…
“Princess?”
Her hands were braced on the rail, so she turned slightly at the gently-spoken title, and found Lord Jorah walking towards her.
Almost as soon as they left Deepwood Motte, he’d shed his finer clothes for more practical attire, those leathers and wools more commonly found on a sailor instead of a lord. But this suited him, and he looked more comfortable out of stiff collars and rich damask. The sea breeze was playing at his red-blond curls, blowing them every which way.
She found herself smiling when she saw him, though she didn’t plan it, and shyly brushing a wandering strand of her own hair away from her face.
He approached her slowly and kept a respectful distance between them, bowing his head as he amended his greeting, using her given name, “Daenerys.”
“My lord,” she replied, dipping her head just slightly in response. The title fell off her lips clumsily, as she was just as unsure about what she should call him.
Jorah.
The answer was obvious but it felt strangely intimate to use only his name, a man she barely knew. The only men she called by name were her brothers.
And yet…
He was her husband. She was Jorah Mormont’s wife. The unlikely thought unsettled her, but not in the way her darker musings had imagined. The dread-fear she thought she’d feel when Viserys turned her over to this wild bear from the North had vanished on her wedding day, as Jorah was nothing like Viserys had said.
She should have expected that, as her brother was a liar, even when they were children.
But what she truly didn’t expect, was how soft Jorah’s expression went whenever he looked her way or how at ease she felt in his presence, even after that first hour.
It was all so absurd. She didn’t know him. She knew nothing about him.
Except that he gave you those books. And he lied for you once already.
He was staring at her intently, curiously, no doubt reading a troubled spirit in her tense features. He seemed to sense her feelings well enough, both the day of their wedding and afterwards. But he realized he was staring soon enough and dropped his gaze, to the hem of her skirt, to the toes of his boots. His hands were clasped before him as he considered his next words. He must’ve sensed her nervousness and felt compelled to alleviate it.
“My aunt will meet us at the docks,” he told her simply, giving her insight into what she might expect upon landing. His gaze flickered up once more, “And my cousins too. They will be respectful to you, but distant. This won’t be a warm reception, especially for a princess. Your family has held the Seven Kingdoms for centuries but I’m afraid the farther north you go, the less that seems to matter. I hope you won’t take offense.”
“No, of course not,” she promised him, grateful for the warning.
Jorah hesitated on his next words, gaze dropping again for a long minute. But he finally dragged his eyes up from the decking to meet hers directly, while swallowing hard.
“They’ll have prepared my chamber for us,” he muttered, and she watched the tips of his ears go just a little red as he made the nature of the arrangements clear. “I think it best we share the same quarters, at least for a little while. The king seemed convinced of our…union, but I’m not entirely sure about Viserys and your brother’s spies extend to all corners of the kingdoms.”
“Yes, I know,” she answered ruefully, agreeing with him.
She wasn’t worried about sharing his bedchamber. He proved his restraint and his kindness in King’s Landing. He would never force himself on her, she knew this. She was glad of the continued ruse, in a way, as she didn’t want to spend the night alone in a strange place and he was the only person she knew for hundreds of miles.
And more than that—she found so much sympathy in his blue eyes that she could scarcely look away. It was the oddest thing. But he seemed to chase away the doubts and fears by a glance alone, leaving behind only this unshakeable feeling of…
“There she is…,” Jorah took a step closer, softly brushing her shoulder as he joined her at the rail. She neglected to move away, as he was a tall man and she found that she liked when he stood beside her. There was a sense of safety and protection in the shadow of a knight, and this one, in particular. With a sharp eye, he pointed the island out to her, helping her find the tiny speck of land on the open sea, a sight only its lord and master would be able to recognize from such a distance.
Under his patient guidance, a very small smile soon claimed her lips. She saw it. She saw her new home, rising up from blue water.
Bear Island.
“Land ho!” was called out from the masthead only a few minutes later. But Daenerys had won her secret wager, so the shout brought her no grief.
Because of you, she conceded, stealing another glance at Jorah.
The entire way north, he’d said nothing of his own anxiety or fears—in being a pawn in her brother’s games, in bringing home a Targaryen bride to a place where Targaryens weren’t exactly welcome. But she noticed that his hands now gripped the rail a little tightly and his expression, still fixed on his island, was stormy.
Daenerys was suddenly stirred to repay his kindness, and she swayed just a little closer. Without taking time to question the action, she stretched out her fingers, her left hand coming to rest on his right.