**Jorah Mormont's Perspective**
The night was quiet, save for the crackling of the dying fires and the distant sounds of the Dothraki camp settling into an uneasy sleep. But Jorah Mormont wasn't sleeping. He couldn't.
He stood like a statue outside Daenerys's tent, his gaze fixed on the entrance, his posture rigid. From within, he could hear the soft sounds of muffled laughter and hushed voices—voices that he knew all too well. The queen's voice, light and teasing. Doreah's, sweet and familiar. And Arren's, that steady, calm tone that never seemed to waver.
Jorah's heart clenched in his chest, the familiar weight of unspoken feelings pressing down on him. He could imagine what was happening inside. He knew, but still, he stood outside, as if his duty alone could hold him here, tethered to the pain that wracked him.
Every night, it was the same. Every night, Arren would enter Daenerys's tent, and Jorah would feel his stomach twist with jealousy. He didn't need to see them together to know what was happening. The moments they shared were becoming all too frequent, too intimate. The queen, the handmaiden, and the cursed warrior—bonded by something Jorah couldn't touch.
He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to drown out the soft sounds from within. He wanted to tear his ears away, to unburden himself from the torture of standing here, listening to their private moments, feeling the sting of his own inadequacy. He was the queen's protector, her most loyal servant, yet he could never be more than that. Not to her. Not to anyone.
Each night, he told himself it would be different. That he wouldn't stand here, waiting and hoping for something that would never come. And yet, he was always drawn back to her tent, like a moth to a flame, burning himself on the heat of her presence. His heart betrayed him every time.
The queen's beauty eclipsed everything—his shame, his frustrations, his honor. He would never be able to walk away.
The thought of it made him sick with longing, but still, he stood there, silent and loyal, as the night stretched on, listening to the distant murmur of their voices.
---
#### **Mary's Perspective**
Far from the Dothraki camp, the river flowed quietly under the pale moonlight, its surface shimmering with silver ripples as it wound its way through the familiar village. Inside the small stone house, Mary sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the packed satchel resting beside her.
The room was dark, save for the faint flicker of candlelight illuminating her determined expression. She had made her decision. Tonight was the night.
It had been a year since Arren left. A year since her brother had walked out of their lives, promising to return when he had found a worthy opponent—someone who could challenge him, push him to his limits. But that day hadn't come. Arren hadn't returned, and each day without him felt heavier than the last.
Mary couldn't wait any longer.
Her hands trembled slightly as she fastened the buckle on her satchel, the reality of what she was about to do finally settling in. She would leave tonight, before dawn. She would go after her brother, find him, bring him back. If no one else could be Arren's equal, then she would be the one to stand before him. She would become the opponent he had sought for so long.
She glanced around her small room, the only home she had ever known, and felt a pang of sadness. But it was time. It had been too long. She couldn't wait for him anymore.
Mary stood, adjusting the strap of her satchel over her shoulder, and moved toward the door. She paused for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle, her heart heavy. She thought of her parents, Jorek and Lysa, still asleep in the next room. She could hear the soft, even sounds of their breathing through the walls.
They would never understand why she had to leave. They would never agree to it.
But they had never understood the bond she shared with Arren.
Without another word, without a final glance, Mary opened the door and slipped out into the cool night air. The village was silent, the only sound the distant rushing of the river. She moved quickly, her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of her decision settling heavily on her shoulders.
She had no idea where her brother was, no clear path to follow. But she would find him. She had to.
---
#### **Jorek and Lysa's Perspective**
The morning sun rose slowly over the river, casting long shadows across the village as Jorek stirred from sleep. His body ached as it always did, the years of hard labor leaving their mark on his bones, but something felt different today.
The house was quiet—too quiet.
Jorek sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he looked toward Lysa, who lay beside him, her face peaceful in sleep. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the stillness, the warmth of the early morning, but then that strange sense of something being wrong tugged at him again.
He stood, pulling on his clothes as quietly as possible, and moved toward the door. Something gnawed at the back of his mind, a feeling he couldn't shake. He made his way down the narrow hallway and paused in front of Mary's room.
The door was slightly ajar.
Jorek pushed it open, his heart sinking the moment he stepped inside. The room was empty. Her bed was neatly made, but her belongings were gone. The satchel she had taken with her on trips to the market—it wasn't there. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest.
She was gone.
For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the empty room, his mind racing. His heart pounded as the instinct to chase after her surged through him. He could still catch her if he left now. He could bring her back before she went too far, before she put herself in danger.
But just as he moved to leave, Lysa's soft voice came from behind him, breaking the silence.
"She's gone, isn't she?" Lysa asked, though there was no surprise in her voice.
Jorek turned to face her, his heart heavy. Lysa stood in the doorway, her hands resting gently on her stomach, her eyes filled with understanding but also sadness. She hadn't needed to ask. She had known Mary would leave. They both had, deep down.
"I'll go after her," Jorek said quickly, his voice rough with emotion. "I'll bring her back."
He moved to step past Lysa, but she reached out, her hand gently gripping his arm. "No, Jorek," she said quietly, her voice steady but firm. "You can't."
Jorek stopped, his frustration mounting. "I can't just let her go, Lysa. She's chasing after Arren. She's out there, alone—"
Lysa's hand tightened slightly on his arm, and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with both sorrow and quiet strength. "You can't go because we need you here."
Jorek frowned, his mind racing, his instincts screaming at him to leave, to find his daughter and bring her back home. But as Lysa's words sank in, his eyes followed hers, down to where her hand rested on her stomach.
It wasn't immediately noticeable—the slight swell of her belly—but it had been there for weeks. And now, in this moment, the weight of it hit him like a hammer.
She was pregnant.
He had known, of course. They both had. But in his panic, in his desperation to protect Mary, he had forgotten. His heart pounded with conflicting emotions—fear for Mary, love for Lysa, and the crushing reality that he couldn't be in two places at once.
Jorek stood frozen, his mind torn between the daughter who had left and the family that still needed him. His chest tightened with the weight of his decision, knowing that no matter what he chose, it would never feel right.
"We can't go after her," Lysa said softly, stepping closer to him. "But we can send word to Arren. We'll save what we can, and we'll find a way to tell him she's looking for him. He'll bring her back."
Jorek exhaled, the fight leaving him as he pulled Lysa into his arms. He rested his chin on top of her head, holding her close as the weight of the morning settled over them both. Lysa was right. They had to trust that Mary would find Arren, that Arren would bring her home.
But as Jorek held Lysa in the quiet of their small home, he couldn't shake the fear gnawing at him. They had already lost one child to the world. Could they bear losing another?
For now, all they could do was wait—and hope.