Author's note: I couldn't stay away from this delicious pair.

"This is where you traveled with Daenerys." Sansa twirled one of Jonquil's red locks between her fingers and refused to look up at her husband. "A much more story than me sitting in King's Landing."

Jorah Mormont stared at her. Irritation flared but quickly passed. They'd been traveling through Essos for months now, keeping the Queen's peace and serving as her ambassadors. In a rare quiet day, they had nothing to do but kill time. Leaving their Dothraki escorts at home, they ventured out. Sansa tested new foods and marveled at the stories Jorah told. But with no important work at hand, Sansa's mind was wandering. It often ended up on the same topic: Daenerys Targaryen and her husband's time with her.

"Yes," Jorah replied. "We traveled this land for years. But now it's where I'm traveling with my lovely bride." He bent and pressed a kiss to Sansa's cheek. Jonquil babbled happily in her mother's arms. He stroked the baby's face and frowned. Her chubby cheeks were bright pink. "You're certain she won't be too warm? Summer's coming. It will only get hotter."

"Summer is coming?" Sansa laughed. "Hardly the Stark words." Sansa replied. She bit the inside of her lip in thought. "It's either be too warm or get sunburnt. I don't know how you lived here for so many years. You're already tanner than when we left."

"Years and years," Jorah chuckled. "Thanks to your father. So I speak from experience when I say it'll get warmer. I've seen a true summer." He raised an eyebrow in her direction. "You won't be able to hold out much longer in those Winterfell gowns."

Sansa looked about the marketplace. Women wore lightweight gowns that bared their arms, backs, and even sometimes their stomachs. "They'd stare at me," she shuddered. "I can't wear that. I'm a lady. And I made this myself!"

"It's lovely for the cold," Jorah replied easily, lifting the baby out of her arms. "You're beautiful. Let them stare. They will anyway. It's rare for the people here to see what they think of as Andals. You may as well be comfortable."

Sighing in dismay, Sansa fussed with the baby's clothes and wondered if he might be right. She could feel the heat in her own cheeks, the sweat tricking down the back of her neck.

"Andal!" a peddler called, hurrying over.

Jorah turned. "Aye?" He handed the baby back to Sansa and stepped before them.

The merchant drew near, but kept his distance. "How much? How much for the woman? Tall! Strong!"

"She's my wife. Not for sale."

The man's face fell. "Oh. The gods smile on you." Disappointed, he turned back toward his stall.

"Slavery's not been legal in these parts since Queen Daenerys freed the slaves and killed the masters," Jorah called after him. "Why are you trying to buy a woman, anyway?"

The man scurried faster and pulled the flaps of his tent shut.

Sansa scoffed. "I'm not sure if he wanted me as a brood mare or a worker." She wiped her forehead with her forearm and rolled her eyes. "This is much different than home."

"You're roasting alive," Jorah frowned. He took the baby into his arms again. Jonquil cooed and patted his chin as Jorah gestured to the market. "Go. Find a new dress. Put it on. You'll overheat. The baby will overheat. I'm more worried about you, to be honest. You're accustomed to the cold."

"I'm not weak," Sansa snapped.

"No," Jorah chuckled. "Just a stubborn northerner. The Dothraki never let me forget they peeled me off the ground covered in sweat more than once during my first year here. Learn from my mistakes. Please." The baby giggled waved her hands about, drawing a wide smile from him. "I fear you'll be as stubborn as your mother, won't you?"

Sansa tried not to smile. "You won't think I'll look silly, dressed as one of them?"

"I think you look silly in that heavy gown." Jorah was already wearing a light airy shirt that cut down to his chest. It had been far easier falling back into his Essosian lifestyle than he predicted, even with a wife and infant in tow. "Please. Money is no matter. Anything you'd like."

A small smile at her lips, Sansa eyes a stall of colorful fabrics. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to look."

Some time later as Sansa selected a new wardrobe, Jonquil was watching a pair of dogs playing in the dust. Jorah sensed it before he saw it. Danger.

Jorah swore and drew his sword with his weak hand, desperately clutching his daughter to his chest with the other as he scanned the crowd for a threat. It wasn't the dogs. There wasn't anything immediately happening. What was it?

The merchant who wanted to buy Sansa appeared with several brutes at his back. Former slavers, Jorah thought tiredly. What else is new? The same old attacks happened over and over. Angry slavers sought revenge. The Dothraki cut them down. Jorah and Sansa spoke their peace and offered tidings and gifts from the queen. Next city.

The city seemed warm toward Daenerys, but Jorah hadn't expected such pushback in broad daylight in a market.

"I'll not humor any of you today," he warned firmly.

The group was filling in. Swords and daggers appeared in hands. None of the men looked like soldiers, but enough angry men with weapons meant bad news for anyone. "Westerosi! Westerosi!" they taunted. "Where your dragon queen now? She no here to stop slave business. We make you a slave, your wife."

Hoping Sansa remained occupied and unaware of the commotion, Jorah whistled. Jonquil squawked in protest, but he whistled louder yet. The crowd chuckled and continued their taunts, moving in closer and closer until a whooshing sound filled the air. A silver dragon circled overhead.

"He bring the dragon queen!" voices called in terror. In an instant, the men scattered, leaving the merchant standing in front of his stall, staring skyward open mouthed.

Jonquil giggled and reached out for the dragon. Jorah took a second to appreciate the strange and wonderful trajectory his life had taken. He was a Northerner in Essos, casually summoning his dragon while his lady wife looked at gowns. The strangers part was his daughter's utter obsession with beast. Dire wolves, dragons, anything with sharp teeth that snarled. Jonquil had too much Mormont in her and would no doubt give Sansa fits as she grew and began to adventure.

Oraelennia, the dragon who refused to accept Daenerys as its mother but instead chose to ride as a pup in Jorah's pocket, was fiercely protective of the knight and his family. She grew large and angry, quick to singe anyone who got too close to the baby. The silver was nowhere as large as Drogon, but more than large enough to ride. Sansa took to riding quickly, fiercely adamant that if Daenerys could do it, so could she.

The dragon landed in a clearing at the market, scattering loose children and dogs as it touched down.

"Thank you," Jorah muttered, patting its snout. Jonquil reached out to do the same. From the safety of the stalls, villagers looked out in awe. It had been years since Daenerys and the dragons left.

When Sansa reappeared some time later, a jade green dress moving freely in the breeze against her, she looked amused. "What happened?" she demanded playfully. "I leave for half an hour and you have to call the dragon?"

"Nothing," Jorah replied casually. He tilted his head. "You look fetching."

She clucked and gestured to the tent. "The man's going to bring the other gowns back to the manse. There are some for Jonquil, too." She casually climbed onto the dragon. "We may as well fly back."

"I guess so," Jorah agreed sheepishly, handing the baby up to her to secure in the special carrier fashioned just to carry the child on the dragon.

"Really," Sansa said as she settled Jonquil in her favorite seat. "I don't see what the commotion was. Did someone else try to buy me?" she joked.

Jorah watched Sansa idly stroke Oraelennia's scales and look around in mild interest. The discomfort would fade. He'd prove his loyalty to her. Life was an incredible thing. "There isn't enough gold in the world."