200 years had passed since Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen had been killed by the man who was supposed to be her lover. Her family. Her name was still remembered. In Essos, it was as a celebrated liberator. The Dragon Queen who had broken the chains of the abused and led them to a better life. In Westeros, it was a cautionary tale. A story of foreign invaders who believed that their destiny was greater than others.
Little was told about the knight who had served the Queen. Of the once-betrayer. Of the man who had nearly died protecting her from a horde of dead. The family he once belonged to had been eradicated in the Battle of Winterfell. As such, there was no one to talk of Jorah Mormont and the deeds both great and ill that he had performed.
While Essos thrived in those 200 years, Westeros fell into a dark age. The peace only lasted for 50 years. Then, as the first generation began to die, the next generation saw the weakness in an absent King. One-by-one, each realm broke away and was ruled by their own King or Queen. In-fighting wasn’t uncommon. Nor was the occasional press for more territory.
The wheel had not been broken. Instead, more wheels had been forged.
Of this plight, however, the Dragon Queen did not know. And the knight only knew by word of mouth. They were housed in a chamber at the heart of Asshai where magic had grown more powerful in the presence of Drogon and his growing brood of dragons. It became known as the City of Dragons or the Oktion hen Zaldrīzoti.
Drogon had been successful in delivering his mother into the hands of the Red Priests and Priestesses that served R’hllor. She had been restored to life but placed in a sleep until the world would have need of her again. It took Jorah several months to find them, but once he did, he pleaded to be preserved like his Queen, so he may serve her when she wakes.
His pleas were granted except he did not sleep. He was too stand guard over her through the passing centuries. So, he did. Decades passed, and while Jorah watched the city grow and the people change, he noted that those in the Temple remained the same age just as himself.
It was within the 200th year that his Queen finally arose. Jorah was not there when her eyes opened. He’d been out in the city collecting fruit for that night’s dinner. Carrying the bag with him, Jorah entered the temple and noticed an increase in activity. Thinking that, perhaps, a festival was being prepared for, he thought no more of it until he entered the chamber where Daenerys slept . . . and found her awake, standing, and being tended to by two Priestesses.
His heart surged in his chest, and he dropped the bag of fruit. “Khaleesi,” he managed to gasp out, and then immediately moved to his knee, bowing before her. “I am ready to serve.” Always.
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