He had thought her a child when he first met her. And, he supposed, by definition, she was—only 13 years old at the time of their first meeting. Now, however, as he stands before her a full four years later, anxiously waiting for her to finish with Ser Barristan so that she may pass her judgment upon him, Ser Jorah Mormont can scarcely recall ever seeing her as a mere child. No, she is anything but, he thinks. She is brave, wise beyond her years, with the beauty of a goddess. She grew up in despair, but never once pitied herself; while Jorah, on the other hand, had spent years drowning in self-pity after Lynesse left him. True, he had been forced from his home for the love of a woman, only to have that woman abandon him afterwards when his only happiness had lied in hers, but Dany—she had gone through so much more sadness, so much more pain in all her now 17 years than he had in his entire lifetime. Awaiting his fate, Jorah finds himself reminiscing about the years since he met her.

Though their first meeting had been brief, Jorah's heart clenched when he first laid eyes on Daenerys Stormborn. Not, at this time, out of love, but rather out of pity. He had never met this girl before; he bore this child no ill will, but he was desperate to return home, to make amends with his family. He knew of the life this girl had led—Magister Illyrio had told him all about her greedy brother's quest for the throne, and his using his sister like a pawn for his goal. He had heard how much Viserys abused his sister, beating her and blaming it on "awakening the dragon." Such a thought made Jorah scoff. Viserys had no dragon in him. His only strength was hiding behind the Targaryen name as an excuse to unleash his anger like a brat. Such harsh treatment had made Daenerys meek and timid—but kind, nonetheless. As he handed her the books—Songs and Histories from the Seven Kingdoms—he saw her eyes light up at the small remembrance from the home she never knew. He truly felt sorry for the girl.

His pity was slowly replaced by something else, though, something he could not name. As he watched her show courage and strength in embracing the ways of the Dothraki, he began to admire her. This only increased his sorrow, however; for he still ached to return home, and could not turn back now. Each time he made a report to Varys, his heart felt a pain like it never had—not when his first wife died after three miscarriages, not after he was forced from his home to flee into exile, not even when Lynesse left him. He wondered how that could be possible, how he could feel more misery at getting one step closer to home (even though it was through means of betrayal), than he had being forced from it in the first place.

He began to realize the answer the night Viserys died.

He had watched Dany eat the heart earlier that day, and for a moment she was so radiant that he began to feel pride in being her knight—until, of course, he remembered he wasn't. Not really. As Khal Drogo picked up Dany and proudly carried her around the room, Jorah felt something unfamiliar tug at his heart. Jealousy, he realized, and before he could wonder why, he turned to notice Viserys had vanished. He discovered Viserys attempting to flee with Daenerys' dragon eggs. He moved to stop him, but something Viserys then said struck Jorah like an arakh.

"You stand there all nobility and honor," he had said. "You don't think I see you looking at my little sister. Hm? Don't think I know what you want?"

Jorah did not know how to respond. Was that how it was? Was it desire he felt for Daenerys? If so, was it out of love, or simply out of lust? She was, after all, an incredible beauty. He had quietly admitted that to himself when they had first met. But she was a child, she—no. No, she was no child. She was forced into the Dothraki culture, and had not only been willing to learn their strange and foreign ways, but accepted them, as well. When faced with her brother's cruelty, she stood firm and tall and dealt with him the way a Khaleesi—no, the way a queen would. Merciful yet just. Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen was no child, she was a woman. A beautiful, graceful, gentle—

"I don't care," Viserys interrupted Jorah's line of thought. "You can have her. She can be queen of the savages and dine on the finest bloody horse parts, and you can dine on whichever parts of her you like. Just let me go."

Jorah pushed aside the tempting thought of he and his Khaleesi enjoying each other's bodies, as Viserys had suggested, and succeeded in stopping him from taking the eggs. Viserys had stormed out after that, presumably to go drown his sorrows in fermented mare's milk. It should have come as no surprise to Jorah, then, when Viserys burst into the feast that night, drunk and furious. The fool had finally crossed the line, and Khal Drogo killed him for it. Daenerys had showed a calmness that could only be described as acceptance. Others may have thought her cold, to watch with an expressionless face while her brother, her only other family in the world, was savagely murdered by her husband, but Jorah knew better. He knew she was secretly devastated at the loss of her brother, even after all that he had done to her. He was, after all, the only family she had ever known; the one who raised and took care of her. But she also knew that her brother could not go on being as wicked as he was, for he would go on to hurt many others if he was given the chance. And since he would not listen to reason, there seemed to be no other way to ensure he never harmed anyone else. Threatening Dany's unborn child was the last straw. Viserys had to die. Daenerys made a choice that no one, especially a girl of her age, should have to make. And in Jorah's (admittedly biased) opinion, she made the best one. And for a moment, Jorah Mormont pondered how much better Westeros would be in the hands of such a fine queen.

Days later, he, Daenerys, her handmaids and her bloodriders made a trip to the market. He hesitated to leave her—now that her brother was gone, she was the only target King Robert's assassins would be after, and this place was far too crowded for Jorah's liking. But he had to check for letters, to see what news had come from home. He wondered what Varys would want Jorah to do next in exchange for his pardon. Being the spider's creature was sickening to Jorah, but he saw no other way of returning home.

When the young boy handed Jorah the royal pardon, his heart leapt. Home! He could go home, after all this time! He had to hurry, to find Dany so he could share his news—Dany.

Jorah's heart fell faster than it had risen. His mind raced. He began to recall all the moments leading to this one, and all the feelings each moment had brought came rushing back to Jorah at once, making him dizzy with emotion. Would he truly betray his Khaleesi? Could he betray her? Would his heart let him? Why wouldn't it? He thought to himself. What's keeping me here, with her? It was no longer pity—Daenerys could take care of herself better than most men and women Jorah had known. She was surrounded by her Dothraki people, her loving husband, and soon, her child, as well. So why did Jorah ache at the thought of leaving her? Before he could come up with an answer, he heard the shouts of the wine merchant calling out to Daenerys.

"A taste for the Khaleesi?" he asked her in Dothraki. "I have a sweet red from Dorne, my lady. One taste, and you'll name your first child after me!"

Jorah, watching from afar, thought to himself how queenly Daenerys looked; even in her worn Dothraki garb. He watched her interact with the wine merchant. Jorah thought the wine merchant was being pesky and far too informal, but Daenerys simply smiled at him, and regarded him with a warm friendliness.

And the wine merchant was about to repay that friendliness with an attempt on her life.

When he tossed away the contents of the cup and offered Dany the dry red as a "gift," something inside Jorah burst. He instantly knew what the wine merchant was up to, and his thoughts once again began to swirl. He knew he had to make a choice. He had thought to himself earlier that Daenerys could take care of herself better than anyone he'd ever known, and it was true—but he had never known anyone to survive an assassination attempt, especially not one so cleverly disguised as this one. But if he helped her, he knew, King Robert would find out about it. Jorah was not his only spy, there were likely others watching Dany and the wine merchant right now. They would not interfere, but they would make sure to report back to King Robert should Jorah step in. He thought of home, of his beloved Bear Island that he was forced to flee from, of his father whom he wanted to make amends with, and felt a dull pain in his chest. Then his thoughts turned to Daenerys, however—beautiful, brave, gentle Daenerys, who would be a far better ruler than Robert Baratheon could ever hope to be, who trusted Jorah, and regarded him as one of her dearest friends and mentor—and a fire ignited in his heart.

The moment the wine in the merchant's cup hit the ground, Jorah knew. He knew the reason he burned when he thought of Daenerys, why it had struck him so intensely when Viserys had accused him of desiring her. It was not mere lust that drew him to her; it was love. He was desperately in love with Daenerys Targaryen, and he would not watch her die this day. What had taken him so long to realize it, he wondered? The love he felt for her burned more fiercely than it ever had for Lynesse, he realized—so much so that he almost felt grateful to Lynesse for dragging him across the Narrow Sea and abandoning him, because it had led him to Daenerys. Had he the option, he realized, would make the very same choices all over again. Except for his betrayal. He would never make that mistake again. The reminder of his treachery that he now so regretted snapped his attention back to the wine merchant, who was now handing Daenerys a casket of wine—wine that was likely poisoned.

He quickly intervened, ordering the merchant to drink the wine himself. When the merchant laughed Jorah off, Daenerys firmly repeated the order to the merchant, giving Jorah a questioning but trusting look. She trusts me, was all Jorah could think despite the current situation. I intervened out of nowhere, rudely ordered the merchant to drink his own wine, and she did not question my intention. She understands I would not do such things without reason. She does not know why I am so blatantly cutting in, but she trusts me—enough to be cautious of the merchant she was so casually chatting with just before. The thought made Jorah's heart swell with pride.

When the wine merchant tried to run, Jorah instinctively grabbed Daenerys and guided her to safety. Back at the Khalasar, Dany worriedly asked what would happen to the merchant. Inwardly, Jorah chuckled to himself, thinking how like her it was that, even after he had tried to kill her, Dany had still showed a small hint of concern for the merchant. He knew she would not act on it, though, for there are times when a queen must show no mercy, and so he did not worry himself with it. Thinking it better that she be more careful from now on, Jorah informed her that there would be more assassination attempts, and that she should never expect them to stop. He reminded her that she was now the last Targaryen, and that her son would have Targeryen blood with an entire Dothraki army behind him.

At this, Dany stiffened.

"He will not have my son," she said with fire in her eyes. Jorah turned to her, a tender look on his face.

"He will not have you either, Khaleesi."

Now that he had realized his feelings for her he would let no one harm her. He knew his love was and always would be one-sided, but even so, he vowed to serve her, protect her, to die for her if need be. He would be her vassal, her knight, and he would not let his feelings get in the way of his service to her. Easier said than done, however, he realized when Khal Drogo lovingly kissed his wife beside him. A surge of jealousy stormed through Jorah, and he could not help but grimace at the heartfelt scene. He watched absentmindedly as Khal Drogo ranted and raved of his newfound goal of invading the Seven Kingdoms, and allowed his thoughts to return to Daenerys. The following day, they set out once more, with the wine merchant tied up behind them, and for the first time, Jorah carried no reports for the spider.

When Khal Drogo had died, a part of Jorah—a part he was not proud of—felt glad. He had respected Drogo as a Khal and was grateful to him for allowing him into his Khalasar, but his death meant Daenerys Targaryen was now a widow, and a small part of Jorah became hopeful; even though, deep down, he knew it was futile. Daenerys would never love him the way he loved her, and even if she did, they would never be able to marry—she was a queen, and he a lowly knight. It was useless to hope. Even so, Jorah found himself unthinkingly glaring at every male that came near Daenerys, his jealousy becoming overwhelming. He had sworn to protect and serve her, to not let his feelings get in the way of that, but Jorah had always been prone to giving into his emotions. To be so near her every day, to be her trusted advisor and be allowed closer to her than anyone else, and to be so madly in love with her and yet not be capable of ever having her was driving him crazy. The feelings built up inside Jorah, piling one on top of the other as he watched Xaro propose marriage to her, Pyat Pree lure her into the House of the Undying, Arstan Whitebeard gain her favor…it was all too much.

One night, on the Balerion, all of the raw emotion dwelling inside Ser Jorah erupted.

He certainly had not intended to kiss her when he decided to visit her cabin that evening. His only plan had been to discuss their next course of action. When he entered the room, however, he saw that she was naked except for the thin coverlet. This is cruel, he thought. Not simply because he was being forced to remain on task after such temptation was right in front of him, but because he realized that Dany had never seen him as a man. He was her friend, her trusted advisor, and her loyal knight, but she had never looked at him and seen a man she could love as she had Drogo. If she had seen him as a man, even if not one she could love, she would be more wary of her state of undress. To her, he may as well have been one of her handmaids. Her naivety wounded him. Deep down, Jorah knew she did not mean to hurt him, but that she simply trusted him enough to allow him in her presence in such a state. He supposed he should feel glad of this, but he could not. Her freeness with her body in front of him only further proved that she would never see him for what he was: a man who loved her.

Despite the coverlet occasionally slipping off her shoulder, Jorah managed to keep his composure and finish the business for which he came. As he stood, getting ready to leave, however, Dany carelessly hopped from her bed, throwing off the coverlet and displaying her naked body as if she were fully clothed. In that moment, desire and longing grabbed hold of Jorah Mormont, and, unthinking, he grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips down on hers. He could feel her lips part in an o when he kissed her—she must have been surprised by his sudden passion. But before long, he felt her mouth open for his tongue, and his heart leapt as he eagerly accepted the invitation. He kissed her for a long time—he was afraid to let the moment end. He knew as soon as he let her go, she would come back to her senses and be furious. Even if she did respond to the kiss, Dany had more self-control than he, and she would not divulge in such activities with a knight.

Finally, he let her go, and she hastily stepped backwards, a look of shock still on her face. He realized the gravity of what he had just done, and prepared himself for her fury. Nothing can be done about it now, he told himself. I have awakened the dragon. No matter how she punishes me, here I stand.

Much to his surprise, however, Dany seemed more timid than he would have thought. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked at a loss for words.

"You… you should not have…" she began. Jorah took this as a sign of hope. Could it be that she was unsure of her feelings? Could it be he had a chance, after all? He decided to press on.

"I should not have waited so long," he said. "I should have kissed you in Qarth, in Vaes Tolorru. I should have kissed you in the Red Waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well." At this, he could not stop his eyes from wandering down towards her breasts, which she quickly covered with her hands.

"I… that was not fitting. I am your queen."

"My queen, and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Daenerys—"

"Your Grace!" she corrected him with a glare. Jorah paused, surprised by her sudden formality. He had to be careful of how he continued.

"Your Grace," he said cautiously, "The dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here's your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders."

Dany seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yes, but my brothers are dead."

"Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon's wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands." Jorah paused, and looked up at her with love in his eyes.

"And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me."

She stood, silent, for a long time. Finally, she looked up at him. "Leave me."

Jorah's heart sank at those words. It was not straight-out rejection, but he knew his moment had passed. Something he had done, something he had said, had ruined whatever chance he might have had with her. He could see her decision etched in the lines of her face, though she said nothing. Eyes cast down, he bowed low.

"Good night, my Queen," he said solemnly, and ducked through the doorway.

He started back to his room, but the pain was too strong. He collapsed against the wall of the ship, and buried his head in his hands. He began to sob quietly, his heart aching with an intensity he had never known before he met Daenerys. He cried softly for a long time, until he heard voices of some of the crewmembers and decided it was time to head back to his cabin. Once he shut the door of his room behind him, the tears began to fall again. Jorah banged his fist against a wall angrily, and he cursed himself for being unable to control his love for Dany. Once the tears subsided, Jorah, lying in his bunk with his arms resting over his eyes, realized how little he had truly known of love before he met Daenerys. When Lynesse left him, he was devastated, it was true, but thinking back now, Jorah understood that it was more from his wounded pride than the loss of his wife. What he felt for Lynesse had been desire, and maybe love, but not like this. Being rejected by Daenerys felt worse than a sword through the chest. He felt shame, anger, desperation, and sorrow like he had never felt them before. He thought seriously to himself that if Arstan Whitebeard or Strong Belwas were to appear before him right now, he would be unable to stop himself from killing them. He did not sleep that night, but instead lay awake, fantasizing of a world where he and Dany loved each other, and could be together without obstacle. The tears continued to return.

Jorah's attention returns to the present. Dany has pardoned Ser Barristan and made him a knight. This gives Jorah hope; for if Ser Barristan was pardoned, surely he could be, too. Even Dany looks as though she is prepared to forgive him. But alas, Jorah finds himself acting differently than he means to in front of his queen. He becomes stubborn, and he cannot stop himself from letting his pride get in the way. Without thinking, he utters "You have to forgive me", and he instantly realizes the mistake he's made.

"Have to?" Daenerys booms, and Jorah knows it is too late. He frantically searches his mind, looking for something he can say that can repair the damage that one sentence had done, but before he can say anything, Daenerys speaks.

"I can't forgive you," she says darkly. "I can't."

Jorah's heart shatters into a thousand tiny pieces. He desperately tries to undo what has been done.

"You forgave the old man…"

"He lied to me about my name. You sold my secrets to the men who killed my father and stole my brother's throne."

"I protected you," Jorah begs. "I fought for you. Killed for you. I went down into the sewers like a rat. For you."

Silence. The cold, uncaring look she was giving him frightened Jorah. Dany was everything to him, his life, his purpose, his reason for living—he could not lose her.

"Daenerys," he said, his voice cracked with emotion. "I have loved you."

He did not know why, but at this, something in Dany ignited. The cold look she had been giving him was replaced with one of fire.

"The gods do nothing without a purpose, they say. You did not die in battle, so it must be they still have some use for you. But I don't. I will not have you near me. You are banished, ser. Go back to your masters in King's Landing and collect your pardon, if you can. Or to Astapor. No doubt the butcher king needs knights."

"No." Jorah reached for her desperately. This could not be happening. He couldn't live without her, he needed her. "Daenerys, please hear me…"

But Daenerys slapped his hand away and ordered him from her sight. Jorah felt limp, he could scarcely stand. The guards dragged him away and dumped him outside the city gates. Jorah stood completely still for what felt like hours. This was nothing like when Lynesse left him. It was so, so much worse. He felt as though his very heart had been dug out of him with a knife and thrown into the fire.

Jorah's mind wandered back to their time in the Red Waste, when he had told Dany she needed to be her people's strength.

"As you are mine," she had with a tender look that had made Jorah's breath catch.

Jorah's legs give way beneath him, and he crumbles to the ground, crying out the name of his silver-haired queen.