Game Of Thrones - One-Shots

Jorah Mormont

From the moment you met him, you knew that your life had changed forever. 

You had been kidnapped from your village at a young age and forced to become a slave. You were sold many times, in the process, learning many different languages. Which is why you were here with your new owner and another slave girl after only being bought two days previously. The Mother of Dragons was coming to pay a visit and discuss the Dothraki, and they wanted both of you to translate. 

Dressed in a very see-through yellow fabric with the thick metal cuff around your neck, you were still sweating while standing under the hot sun. Before you stood the Mother of Dragons herself, Daenerys Targaryen. A few other people were with her, but one man, in particular, caught your attention. 

He was dressed in a white tunic and brown breeches, his sword hanging from his waist. He was tan, probably from spending too much time in the sun, and had blonde hair. And he hadn't stopped staring at you. 

You didn't know what to do. It didn't seem like he was looking at your body at all, which surprised you given that this dress hid nothing. His gaze hasn't wavered from yours once since it met. You felt something going on with your body, something you had never felt before, and it scared you but excited you at the same time. 

He stepped toward the Targaryen girl, slightly turning his back to the slave masters, to say something to her quietly. She starts to reply but stops when she sees the look on his face as he glances back up at you. This just confuses you even more than you were before. 

"If you give me all of the Dothraki, I will give you everything I have promised, and a dragon," you translate, giving the other woman a break from it. This grabs the slave masters' attention, and you can hear them whispering behind you as the spokesperson pipes up. 

"The biggest one. Or no deal." 

"You can have the biggest one if I get both of the women translating." 

"Deal." The Targaryen girl walks forward and shakes his hand seeling the deal. She gestures towards us to follow her as the slave masters' start leaving. 

"Thank you, your grace. For taking us away from them," the woman next to you pipes up. 

"What are your names," she asks kindly. 

"Missandei."

"Y/n."

"Once we get to camp we will get that mettle off of you both. Ser Jorah, would you mind finding something to cover up Y/n?" The man that was staring at you nods his head in acknowledgment before disappearing. When he reappears, it is with a blanket. He places it around your shoulders gently. His hands brush against the bare skin of your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine. 

"Thank you," you say softly. 

"Of course, my lady."

----

Later that night, sitting on your bed in the small tent that was gifted to you, you absentmindedly find yourself rubbing your kneck. You had had the metal band around your kneck for so long, it had felt like part of yourself, as much as you hated to admit it. 

There is a soft tap from the entrance of your tent, and you look up to see Sir Jorah. You stand, feeling the blanket that was wrapped around your shoulders fall behind you. You had been given nightwear that was much less revealing than your clothes before and had eagerly put it on. 

"I apologize for the intrusion," he says, being very careful to only look at your face. 

"It's fine," you say with a smile. "What is it that you came to talk about?"

"I wanted to make sure you were settling in well."

"I can assure you that I am. I have a feeling tonight will be one of the best I have had in a long while."

"Good, I'm glad." Neither of you says anything for a moment, both looking anywhere but at each other. 

"You are more than welcome to stay for a bit. It would be nice to have some company."

"I don't want to bother you. And I have been told to guard your tent, just to be on the safe side."

"Oh, but it wouldn't bother me at all, it would actually be very nice. And if you are to watch my tent tonight anyway, you might as well stay inside it for a bit." You pick up the blanket and wrap it around you sitting on your bed. You pat a spot next to you. "Sit."

You can see him contemplating whether he should or not. But eventually, he reluctantly walks towards you, unstrapping his sword and laying it on the bed next to him. 

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" You see him smile, ever so slightly, and it sends a thrill through you. It makes you want to make him smile more. 

"I suppose not."

"You are not from this land. Are you from Westeros?"

"Yes. I was born to a northern house, but I did something that I shouldn't have and was exiled."

"I'm sorry. I remember being terrified and angry when I was taken from my home, so I imagen you must have felt somewhat the same."

"Yes, those were some of the many things I was feeling. But in the end, I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't done what I did."

"At least one of us gets to feel that way." He grabs your hand that was laying on your lap, giving it a small squeeze. 

"I hope from this point on that your life is much better than what it has been." You look up him, locking your gaze with his. 

"I have a feeling it will."