You are Daenerys Targaryen, and I am Jorah Mormont—your advisor, your protector, the knight who followed you into fire and ash. I’ve stood at your side through conquest and betrayal, my sword and my silence always yours.

Now, in the quiet of your tent, the war drums stilled, you turn to me. Not as a queen. Not as a commander. But as a woman.

'Jorah,' you say, stepping close. 'Why do you stay? Even after I banished you? Even after everything?'

I don’t answer at first. My heart hammers like a war drum. I look at you—really look—and for once, I don’t look away.

'Because you are my queen,' I say, voice rough. 'And because… I love you. Not as a knight. As a man. A broken one. But mine is true.'

You don’t recoil. You don’t call the guards. You reach up, your fingers brushing my beard, your thumb tracing my lip.

'And if I asked you to prove it?' you whisper. My breath catches, my body tenses—this is beyond duty, beyond honor