Author's Note: This little story was written in the pursuit of #GrandpaJeorscenesPLURAL – the new headcanon that I never knew I needed until I impulsively decided to keep Jeor Mormont alive in my Jade Sea fic (burn in hell, canon). This is my first modern AU for Jorah/Dany but ohmygodohmygod, they just work in every setting/time period, don't they? *heart eyes*

Also written as an ongoing (possibly never-ending) thank you to salzrand who has joined me in the #GrandpaJeor madness and whose Jorah/Dany fanart is serving as both my current inspiration and favorite obsession (like, I seriously want them as full-sized prints on my wall just so I can stare at the fluff all day). Consider this your #ChristmasinJuly gift. Merci beaucoup x 1000 :) :) :)

And much love/thanks to the rest of my fellow Jorah/Dany shippers who are just THE BEST. Hope you enjoy this one! Xo

Joyeux Noel

Every house has that place. You know the one. Where everybody gathers without really realizing it, quietly, inevitably, everyone doing their own thing, separately but together?

In Jorah and Daenerys Mormont's country house at No. 27 Jade Lane, it was the kitchen that claimed the honor. And specifically, the long oak table, currently decorated with a few holly-berry-mistletoe-and-poinsettia bouquets and covered in a dozen rolls of holiday wrapping paper, with green bows and red ribbons spilling towards the floor.

Daenerys was wrapping the last of the Christmas gifts before their guests started arriving for dinner. Her efforts took up half the table, with the bouquets pushed together at one end as a festive spray of color. The bouquets were extras from the flower shop which Daenerys co-owned down in the village—Snapdragons & Butterflies. Winter was the off-season for flowers but the weeks leading up to Christmas were still busy, and Daenerys and her co-owner/best-friend-since-high-school, Missandei, had been arranging pine cones, red roses, wintergreen and holly sprigs for six weeks.

After school let out for Christmas vacation, they even enlisted Jeorgianna's help, who was only too happy to play in her mother's flower shop all day…unless Jorah happened to stop by the shop on his way home from the university. In which case, Jeorgianna would abandon her mother with a quick hug and kiss and a simple, "I'm going with Papa."

Daenerys always grinned at her daughter's preference, never taking it personally. Jorah had that effect on his girls.

But in the kitchen, on Christmas Eve, seven-year-old Jeorgianna was sitting nearest her mother, kneeling on her chair, a box of crayons open beside her and a coloring book of flowery garden scenes beneath her hands. She was adding some white snowflakes to each scene, as the ground outside was still bare, despite the weather forecast, and she was dismally worried that Santa Claus wouldn't come without snow. She'd been fretting about it to Daenerys all morning.

It'll work out, I promise…Daenerys assured her, using one of Jorah's favorite lines to convince her it was so.

Four-year-old Aemon was further down, in the seat next to his father. Aemon was still working on the last of his lunch but he was distracted by the picture book on the table beside him. Aemon had recently discovered Where the Wild Things Are and was fully engrossed by the adventures of Max and his monsters.

"Honey, are you finished with that?" Daenerys asked her son, eyeing his plate, which was down to two small bites of a grilled cheese sandwich.

"No," Aemon stated, shortly but pleasant enough. He didn't look up from the book, his legs swinging absently under the table and his eyes running over the lush jungle scenes painted with dark greens, blues and greys. He couldn't read yet but the pictures told the story. Max had just cast off for the island life, never to return, and Aemon's attention was fully captured. He didn't even bother to reach out and pretend that he was still eating.

"Oh, come on," Daenerys teased. "You've been picking at the last two bites for half an hour. We have guests coming over soon and I'd like to finish the lunch dishes before we start making dinner."

She reached for the plate but Aemon's hand suavely came over, with his wrist resting on the ceramic. He took the corner of sandwich, slowly picking it up and holding the bread in his hand for a long minute, while his eyes moved over the length and breadth of the colorful page.

Daenerys gave a long-suffering sigh, which elicited a low chuckle from Jorah, sitting at the end of the table, blue eyes peering over his reading glasses. He briefly looked up from the folded newspaper in his hands. He met her gaze briefly.

"He's your son," Jorah stated, giving her a little wink.

"Oh, is that how it goes?" she grumbled her reply, before giving up and returning to the gifts. A quick glance at the wall clock confirmed that she was running late. Missandei said that she and Torgo would be over at 4 and Jorah's father should be here any minute, but Daenerys had no clue on the rest. She'd meant to have it all done the night before but the Christmas party at Jorah's office went a little long and then they went out afterwards because she was in a frisky mood and wanted to go dancing.

It was impulsive but bound to happen. She was all dressed up in that red sheath dress and those silver dragon earrings that he'd bought her for their anniversary. And Jorah was wearing his navy suit with the grey vest…the one that she was helpless to resist.

She sent a text to Missandei from the car, asking if she wouldn't mind watching the kids a little longer.

Missandei (8:35pm): Absolutely! Stay out as long as you like :) But how did you trick Jorah into taking you dancing?

Daenerys (8:35pm): I have no idea…but I'm not gonna ask him again in case he changes his mind ;) Did Aemon give you trouble going to bed?

Missandei (8:36pm): Oh, wait…I'm supposed to be watching

your kids? Jkjk – Aemon's asleep. Jeorgianna and I are watching "Up" again and crying our eyes out. We've gone through a box of tissues. Remind me again how this is a kid's movie?

Daenerys (8:37pm): Um the dog…maybe?

Missandei (8:37pm): Speaking of which…how's Operation Christmas Puppy coming along?

Daenerys (8:38pm): We're all set. Jorah's dad is picking him up from the shelter and bringing him over tomorrow before the party :)

Missandei (8:38pm): Have fun! *thumbs up*

Missandei (8:42pm)…Oh my god, this movie though *cry face* I have to call Torgo and tell him I love him. Like, right now.

They had such a good time. Daenerys couldn't remember the last time they'd been out—just the two of them. Not that she usually minded. It was moments like this at the kitchen table that she treasured the most, all of them together, doing nothing more than sharing the same space.

But dancing was fun too. Especially with a man who was almost a foot taller and had the strength to lift a girl Dirty Dancing style. And, despite his protests, Jorah had a natural grace of movement that made him a smooth dance partner. She loved the feel of his arms around her, in any case, but there was something about a dance floor—the music, the lights, the energy, the little whispers at each other's ear. It was both transient and eternal, speaking of deeper connections, past and future lives, and she couldn't get enough of it.

Daenerys would definitely try to get him to go again after the holidays. He'd resist, of course, but she had ways of making her bear give in to her. Besides, she might not be up for it soon enough. While Jorah was filling the car with fuel last night, she'd slipped into the petrol station and bought a pregnancy test. She hadn't told him yet because she wasn't sure. The test was still sitting in her purse.

For now, she had to finish wrapping Missandei's gift—a tall, blue vase from the musty old antique store in London that Missie loved so much—The Glorious Mysteries of Naath. The glass was etched up and down on each side with butterflies in flight. The blue color of the glass was reminiscent of Caribbean Seas under summer skies. It was beautiful but incredibly delicate and as Daenerys lifted the snow-angel paper around its sides, deciding on how she would wrap the oddly-shaped thing, she made a face.

"There's a box in my office that might fit that vase," Jorah mentioned casually, looking up from his paper again, noticing her dilemma. He hinted, "The one that had speakers in it?"

"Oh!" Daenerys's features brightened. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Though the box never held any speakers—but rather, a travelling kennel for the puppy. They would need one when they went north to visit Jeor on Barra in April. "Yeah, that should work perfectly."

On her way to the office, she came around the far side of the kitchen table. She bent down to place a kiss against her husband's bearded cheek, with the loose waves of her silver-blonde hair spilling over her shoulder in the process. The peck was light and flirty and elicited a smile from the man. No, she'd have no trouble getting him to go dancing again.

Before she could retrieve the box, however, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Jeorgianna was off her knees and out of the room before the echo of the bell faded away. But she moved too fast, jarring the table as she jumped out of her seat. The blue vase teetered sideways, almost in slow motion.

With a yelp, Daenerys ran to catch it and Jorah stood quickly and reached out across the table, grasping the lip as she caught the side. Between them, Aemon didn't even lift his gaze from the picture of Max swinging in the trees with his monsters. But he said to both of them, in his usual dead-pan style, "Good catch."

Missandei's vase remained in one piece. Daenerys let out a deep sigh of relief and, as Jorah's face relaxed back into his familiar grin, they both started chuckling over the near miss.

"She's your daughter," Daenerys managed.

"Yours too, Daenerys," Jorah reminded her.

In the meantime, they heard the front door open. A draft of cold, December air swept through the front hall, finding its way to the kitchen, and followed immediately by Jeorgianna's excited, "Grandpa!"

"Well, look at you!" the old man's raspy voice was never warmer than with his grandchildren. She must have jumped into her grandfather's arms because his voice was muffled as he continued, "Ooof…how tall are you now, lass? You must have grown another inch while I wasn't watching."

"I'm taller than Uncle Tyrion now," she commented.

"Of course, you are," Jeor's voice held some good-natured pride. He added with a gruff laugh, "But who isn't?"

The little girl smiled at that, her cheeks dimpled with glee.

"Happy Christmas, Grandpa," she said.

He kissed her cheek, "Happy Christmas, Jeorgianna."

Hearing his grandfather's voice, Aemon had finally found a good enough reason to set his book aside. With his usual calm demeanor, he shut the book, crawled down from his chair and left the kitchen to join his sister. Daenerys and Jorah followed, after Daenerys took a moment to put Missandei's vase on a higher shelf, far from harm. They made it to the foyer just in time to watch Jeor scoop Aemon up in his other arm, holding the two cubs aloft with little trouble.

Jeor Mormont wasn't called the Old Bear for no reason. He was well into his seventies but still had the same strength that defined him in his younger days, and same presence that kept his men in line while on the ground during Desert Storm. He was a career military commander, with the accolades to prove it, and only recently retired from a couple decades of instructing young, eager cadets in academies in both Glasgow and Edinburgh.

With his cadets, he was a grizzly bear, with a crusty reputation for honor and self-discipline, above all else. With his grandchildren, he was a teddy bear.

"Hi, Grandpa," Aemon tangled his little hands around his grandfather's neck.

"Happy Christmas, Aemon," Jeor shifted the boy's slight weight in his arms, bouncing him once before taking a good look at him. "You've grown too. Christ Almighty, I'm afraid I'll blink and you'll both be as tall as your mother and father."

"Aye, you and me both," Jorah grumbled from where he stood next to Daenerys, leaning against the door frame to the kitchen. But he gave his wife a sly glance, noting how far he had to glance down to catch her gaze and smirked briefly, "Although reaching Daenerys's height shouldn't be too much trouble for either of them."

Daenerys swatted his arm half-heartedly, meeting the teasing smirk with facetiously pursed lips. His words were accurate enough.

"Okay, I'll have to put you down because Grandpa still has some gifts to bring in," Jeor mentioned to the children, pressing more whiskered kisses against Jeorgianna and Aemon's cheeks before setting them down again. He looked up, "Jorah? Can you give me a hand, son?"

Jorah pushed himself off the door frame to join his father outside. They exchanged no "Happy Christmas" between them. It wasn't their way. Just a "how was the traffic?" and "heavy around Edinburgh but not bad after that."

But there was a time when they wouldn't have exchanged two words to each other. If that. Daenerys had been watching these men for years and she knew the affection between father and son was stronger than it had ever been.

She was glad, so glad. Because it wasn't always this way.

There was some old tension between the two men from years ago. Jorah had been in the Persian Gulf too, but in the skies, younger, more impulsive, choosing the air force over the army to put even further distance between himself and his father. Not that they needed it. Jorah's mother, Jeor's wife, had been the glue that held them together and, after her death, the similarities in their personalities—the natural tendency towards morosity and silence—worked as a sharp, painful reminder of her absence.

After her death, Jeor buried himself in work and Jorah took off for foreign shores in a sort of self-imposed, at times nearly self-destructive, exile.

The rift lingered and widened. When Daenerys first met Jorah, she didn't even know his father was still living. She discovered the fact, accidently, about six months into their relationship when Barristan Selmy, an old acquaintance, stopped by their table at dinner and asked Jorah if his father was still living up north.

Where else would he be?…

It was only after Jeorgianna was born that Jeor and Jorah started talking again. A phone call to his father from the hospital, made at Daenerys's insistence, was the first time they'd spoke in more than a decade. And even then, it had been a tenuous peace, fragile, for the sake of the child. After Aemon came along, the iciness between them had thawed considerably and now only froze over occasionally and temporarily. Daenerys wished they'd bury it for good but she knew the stubbornness of her husband and her father-in-law. They were bears when it came to talking out their feelings, both of them.

And asking them to forget the past was about as easy as getting Jorah to take her dancing.

Although…she tipped her head slightly at the thought, conceding, if I can manage the one…

"Jeorgianna? Aemon, come back inside. We'll wait for them in the living room," Daenerys beckoned to her children, knowing at least one of the gifts that Jeor had brought with him and wanting to keep it a surprise until the very last moment.

They'd never had a dog in the house but it seemed like the right time. Jeorgianna had been dropping hints about wanting one for months and Aemon was up for whatever his sister approved. And the kids were old enough now to help out. Well, maybe. And even if they didn't, Jorah and Daenerys were far enough away from midnight feedings and hauling around diaper bags that it seemed like a new adventure might be fun.

As she sank down onto the couch cushions, pulling her legs up beneath her, Daenerys thought again on the pregnancy test that sat waiting in her purse. So maybe they had jumped the gun a little? The thought of taking care of both a baby and a puppy should be exhausting but—and maybe she was just caught up in the Christmas spirit or something—honestly, she was excited.

She was thrilled. For whatever came their way.

"Mama?" Jeorgianna sat down beside her, little fingers tugging on her sweater sleeve. Aemon sat down next to the tree, looking at the tags on the gifts beneath. He couldn't read yet, not really, but Jorah had taught him his name. Every time he saw a tag with a sweeping "A", his eyes lit up.

"Yeah, baby?" Daenerys asked, reaching out and tucking a wayward strand of Jeorgianna's silver-blonde hair back behind her ear.

"Look, it's snowing," the little girl pointed out the large picture windows in the living room, at the fat, white flakes fluttering down from the cloudy sky to cover the frozen ground beneath.

"See? And you were so worried we'd have no snow," Daenerys tut-tutted, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. "I told you—it all works out."

Soon, the front door opened again and with it, an unexpected sound. Her children looked at her, confused, surprised, but Daenerys just shrugged innocently, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly. Jeorgianna's eyes widened as she recognized the soft whimpers of a puppy. Daenerys's smile broadened widely as she watched her little girl figure out the source. Aemon too, jumped up from beneath the tree and brought his hands up to his face.

Like Father Christmas himself, snow-white beard and all, Jeor came in with a large wicker basket and laid it down before the children. Jorah, his smile a near match to Daenerys's, came in behind his father, bringing in an armful of more-conventionally wrapped gifts to add to those beneath the tree.

"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" Jeorgianna couldn't hold back her excitement, leaving her mother's side to discover the occupant of the basket. Aemon joined her at their grandfather's side, where Jeor lifted a chocolate-colored puppy from the powder-blue blanket lining the basket and handed it over into Jeorgianna's waiting arms.

"One for you, lass," her grandfather said. "And…"

Daenerys eyebrows shot up a little further, looking towards Jorah immediately. She was expecting the chocolate lab. They'd picked it out a couple weeks ago. Jorah shook his head, as surprised as her, as his father pulled a fluffy, golden-colored puppy out next, handing it over to Aemon. "One for you too, little bear."

The children were smiling ear-to-ear, with those puppies gathered up in their arms, the wriggling, furry little things hugged close and licking at their new pint-sized masters.

Jeor threw an apologetic glance towards his daughter-in-law. His voice turned contrite in explanation, "The little things were sharing a kennel at the shelter and were sleeping when I got there, curled up with their noses resting on the other's paws. They told me they'd taken to each other immediately and I couldn't…but I'll take the gold one home with me, if you think it's too much to take on?"

"I…," Daenerys hadn't considered, hadn't thought, her eyes flickering from Jeor back to Jorah. "What do you think?"

"I think…," he paused briefly, as Jeorgianna and Aemon had set the puppies down on the rug and now watched them roll and play between them, all floppy ears and unsteady steps. The kids were in love with them already. He finished with a lift of his shoulders, saying only, "The more the merrier."

And then he grinned at Daenerys, caught up in the Christmas spirit as well, and she wondered briefly if he truly meant it and if he would change his mind once he knew the "more" in this case might end up being two puppies…and a new baby.

Will you regret your words then?

Looking at him, meeting those same blue eyes that she'd met a hundred thousand times before and seeing his soft gaze, expression filled with as much love and tender affection as on the day they first met, she knew the answer to that question well enough.

No. Jorah would never regret any of it. And neither would she.

A/N: I'm more of an Akita girl myself but nothing is cuter than lab/retriever puppies. So. Adorbs. Also…just FYI - I could probably be tricked into expanding this by another 1-2 chapters. Feel free to let me know if you want to see more :)