The flickering glow of candlelight cast long shadows against the stone walls of your chambers. The night was heavy with the scent of the warm Meereen air, but inside, the tension between you and Jorah was suffocating.

You stood by the window, looking out at the city your sister had reclaimed, your hands gripping the edge of the wooden frame as if steadying yourself. Behind you, Jorah stood still, his presence as unwavering as ever, though there was something different in the way he lingered.

“You swore your loyalty to my sister,” you murmured, not turning to face him. Your voice was quiet but firm, your hands trembling slightly. ”To protect her. To serve her.”

Jorah didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between you, thick with words unsaid. Then, slowly, you felt him step closer, until the warmth of him was just behind you. His hand brushed against yours where it rested against the windowsill, a touch so hesitant, so careful, as if he feared you might pull away.

“I swore my loyalty to House 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧,” he said at last, his voice low, rough with something unspoken. “And you—Seven help me—you are the one I would follow through fire and blood.”

The air shifted. His words held a weight that settled deep within you, an admission that neither of you had dared to voice before.