Prologue

And you saw me low, alone again
Didn't they say that only love will win in the end?

Ser Jorah Mormont was too old for this shit.

The desert sun beating down on the dry, dusty lands just outside of Vaes Dothrak was surely bleaching his already pale-blonde hair. And though Jorah would never admit it, this made him look even more bald than he already appeared. He absently smoothed one hand along the side of his head. The other loosely held the leather reins of his horse - a proud, golden-brown Dothraki stallion that he had yet to come up with a clever name for.

Jorah felt like shit, too - though one wouldn't know it from the determined furrow of his brow and the lopsided, smug smirk that curled one half of his mouth. He had a thousand reasons to frown right now - not the least of which was the crawling, probably-fatal disease lingering on the underside of his left forearm. One thing the legends never said about Greyscale was that it itched like all hell; he reminded himself for the umpteenth time to leave it alone.

But despite male-pattern baldness and the creeping shadow of death - Jorah was smiling.

I command you to cure yourself and return to me.

His Queen knew him well. Jorah was crafty, knowledgeable, and stubborn to a fault. Seriously - he had been formally exiled not once, but twice. Yet he'd gone through oceans, rivers, mountains, deserts, and dozens of lesser (probably younger) men just for the chance to lay eyes on her once more.

And it had worked.

He was fully ready to leave and never see her again to protect her. His own body was now a weapon that could be turned against her at any moment; Greyscale's madness came at unpredictable intervals, and Jorah would rather slit his own throat than risk any harm he might unwillingly inflict on his Queen. Come to think of it, if she'd ordered him to do just that - he would've brandished his dagger and spilled his blood at her feet, no questions asked.

But no. She commanded him to live. Because when her reign began - when she took her rightful place on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms - Daenerys Targaryen would need Ser Jorah Mormont at her side.

He swelled with pride all over again. His horse had slowed a little, as if sensing his distracted thoughts and taking advantage of his lack of focus. Jorah urged it onward with a generic hyah. He really would need to pick out a name soon. The beast's long, powerful legs ate up the dusty earth; the dry wind whipped its charcoal-black mane, and Jorah rose up high, standing on his stirrups, smiling into the sun.

He had a long way to go, and a lot to do. But for his Queen - Jorah wouldn't fail.

A/N: This is just the prologue. The actual chapters will be between 2-5000 words each. Join me in Jorah's epic quest! :) Thanks for reading!