Jorah walked her to her chambers.

He'd been staring at her the whole time during the Small Council meeting, observing every bit of dirt and blood that clung to her over her war paint.

It was a wonder the Lannister forces hadn't pissed themselves. Or maybe they had.

She looked deadly, like she meant business, yet she showed them mercy and proved she could encompass both sides of the same coin. She had the wrath of a warrior with the compassion of a Queen. A combination Cersei could never attain.

(Nor Daenerys.)

She'd ended the meeting once all the most important aspects of battle had been discussed, excusing herself for a much-needed bath.

Jorah knew she would be safe walking to her chambers alone, but attached himself to her anyway, if only yo get close enough to examine her for smaller wounds she might have hidden.

But she was unscathed and she walked with pride. It made him smile.

"A few years ago, you walked me to my chambers just like this," said Saera, reaching out to take his hand, then bringing it up to her mouth to kiss it. "So much has changed since then."

"Indeed it has, my Queen," he said, blushing when two of the Sand Snakes walked past, smirking and wiggling their eyebrows at Saera.

She didn't mind it; the girls always liked to tease. "How was Dorne in my absence?"

"It's a beautiful place. I can see why you like it so much. Those of us who were here had nothing to worry about. No attacks, no more packages. All I wished was for you to return."

She smirked, tugging his arm as she reached for the door. "Well, I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long." She pulled him inside, closing the door. "There is something I wish to discuss."

Furrowing his eyebrows, he sat down beside the tub, watching her test the temperature of the water that'd been left for her. "Once I sit the throne, I intend to pardon you. Of course, I cannot give you back the seat to your house when it's already passed to another and will continue onto young Lyanna's children. But I want you to be a free man."

His eyes widened. "I cannot ask you to do this."

"You're not asking me. I am deciding I will do it. I don't see why you should continue living as a shunned man when you've helped me, when I care for you. You've made up for it a million times over. I don't even know how long I will be queen for... there's nothing that says we can't still go elsewhere and still be away from it all. I just don't want you to be held in contempt in the time that we are in the Crownlands or anywhere else in Westeros."

"My Queen... are you sure?"

Saera nodded. "It's my choice, Jorah. I want to make this a reality for you— for us. I want everyone to have an opportunity to start fresh. On top of this, if... if we decide to marry and have children, they will be free to be raised anywhere. Our marriage will happen smoothly."

"I do not deserve you," he murmured, reaching out to hold her, then kissing her forehead. "I still struggle to feel worthy of you, Saera. I am an old man. I may not live much longer, I may not be able to give you children..."

"And you think that matters to me?" she asked, disconnecting and beginning to remove her armor. He turned away politely, only looking up once she sank into the tub, whose water was well-past boiling. Saera wasn't bothered by it. "Children are not the most important thing in the world, Jorah. I don't need to have children. I'm simply curious about them. As for living much longer... you do realize I am not that much younger than you, right? I, too, am aging."

He was silent for a moment, contemplating whether he should speak up or not. He watched her wash her face and chest, the paint, ash, and blood smearing onto a rag. Despite how close they were in age, she wasn't wrinkled like him. Her body remained toned from all her years of training while his was already losing the texture he'd spent his life building up.

Perhaps it was her dragon's blood, perhaps twelve years was simply too much. There were other men far closer to her age. Though, he supposed, the only ones left alive that she'd known previously were Edmure Tully and Petyr Baelish. One married, the other untrustworthy and unworthy in general of Saera. Even Euron Greyjoy was closer to her in age than Jorah.

She seemed to know what he was thinking. "We are both old," she insisted. "Far older than Daenerys, Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, most others who will lead the Great Houses. But that doesn't matter. We're not as ancient as the Lady Olenna." She giggled, leaning onto the edge of the tub, hands tucked under her face and making her look even younger.

She'll probably always be this beautiful, thought Jorah.

"Daario Naharis said something," he admitted as she finished scrubbing herself, "when we were traveling to find our breath. I was tired... roaming over hills is no longer as easy as it once was. He told me perhaps I should sit and catch my breath. He said... he didn't believe I could ride a dragon. Twenty years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. I wasn't sure what he meant until he said that Daenerys was wild and he struggled to keep up with her. He said you were probably even more so because of the way he's seen you fight. He said... you'd learned the Dornish way and the Dornish want passion to the greatest extent. He was sure I wouldn't be able to handle it. That my heart wouldn't be able to take it."

She burst out laughing. "Are you really going to believe something Daario Naharis said? How would he know anythingabout what you can handle? Or about what I like? He's a fool, he knows nothing of substance. Your heart tolerates fights that are much more intense than any sexual act. Your heart must beat a thousand times faster when you kill men than when you lay with a woman. And do you want to know something?"

He gulped when she stood out of the bath, taking her sweet time to dry her hair and flick the water off of her body, leaving herself on full display. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't look away.

She knew it, and she was dragging it out for that reason. "Just because I have bed Dornish men and women in the past doesn't mean I prefer it the Dornish way."

She stepped out, walking leisurely to her robe. "I want passion but not the kind that leaves you gasping for air– that is only pleasurable for short periods of time. I want passion that lasts longer, moments that are dragged out. Bodies connected, foreheads pressed together, whispers and muffled noises. Not screams, not bodies oriented in a way that kisses are impossible. Would I perhaps want to try it one day? Maybe. With the right person, only after we've forged enough of a connection to take it that far. I am the Dragon Raised by Snakes but I am still a dragon. I want things my way. Some dragons are more calm than others. I think you know by now what kind of dragon I am."

Jorah had tilted his head down the moment the robe covered her up, and was now struggling to make eye contact as she sought it out, only able to focus on how her distant steps drew nearer, until she was standing in front of him, now concealed, but the image of her beauty burned into his mind.

(I'm no better than all other men in this wretched world.)

Saera didn't mind because he was the one she wanted, he was the one allowed to desire her this way. He was the one whose dirty thoughts she welcomed and encouraged.

She let her fingertips glide over his skin, touching his face, then neck, then shoulders. He felt as if his mind grew hazy. Her touch both soothed and stimulated him, made him want to sleep and be even more alert all at the same time. It was a gentle touch, not a rough one. He began to breathe heavily, despite the fact she wasn't doing anything different. The same motions, dragging her fingers back and forth. She was simply watching, humming, caressing him.

He caught her arm, holding her wrist and pushing her hand away, daring to look at her and catching sight of the smallest of smirks. She was amused, she wanted to see how quickly he could be made to react. The answer was very quickly.

"Whenever you are ready," she whispered, "you need only tell me. And if you never want to, then that is alright, too. I want you for you, for your words and wisdom, for your kindness and strength. Not because I want you to give me children, not because I want you to please me in bed. There is so much more to this, to us, than that. It is not a requirement to me. It is a bonus. And I will never ever demand it from you."

"I hate to admit that I would wish to," he said quietly.

"Why do you hate that?"

"I must seem such a lecherous man. We are in the middle of a war yet at this moment, seeing you safe here again, all I can think about is... no, I should not say."

"Tell me. Seize what you want, Jorah, let go of the things you think are wrong with you and embrace them because I think you are wonderful. Lecherous thoughts and all. I have them, too. Nobody is truly perfect, least of all us. But we are perfect for each other and that is all that matters."

He held her chin. "I want you, Saera. I want you to be mine even if I should not. In this moment I am entirely selfish, I wish to be yours."

"Then what do you say we celebrate our victories?"

Daario hadn't considered that as a dragon, Saera could both be ridden and do the riding. She wasn't picky. If anything, that was the Dornish way she did cling to– being versatile and knowing how to find and deliver pleasure in multiple ways.

Jorah may not have been strong enough to bed her like a Dothraki might have (something she didn't think she would enjoy anyway) but Saera was certainly strong enough to pin him down, hips undulating over him, fingers laced with his and both their bodies barely flexible enough to lean into each other, foreheads pressed together and sounds only for them, for their little world that existed for no one else.

He tried his best to do his part even if she didn't require it. It had been so long, he'd almost forgotten how to do it. Saera didn't care, she kissed him all the same, whispered sweet words in his ear and told him she was his, his love, his everything.

She fell asleep with her head on his chest, arms wrapped around him and a smile on her face.

And for the first time in decades he realized that if she thought him worthy of this— of her— then he was.

He'd work every day to keep this true, to continue being the man she wanted at her side.

"Good morrow," he said quietly, having woken up and still finding her asleep, looking so serene. He hadn't wanted to disturb her. He wanted to keep seeing those puffed-up cheeks, the way her lips pursed together, her forehead furrowed. She finally opened her eyes on her own, making a small noise as she stretched her legs, pushing her head unintentionally into his and tickling his nose with her hair. He kissed the top of her head, bringing out another smile.

"Good morrow," she replied sleepily. "I would like to stay here all day. Fuck the Small Council."

He laughed, a low rumble that made her desire to stay there, snuggled to his chest, increase. "They will be expecting you soon, Saera. They'll wish to know what our next steps are."

Sighing, she sat up, stretching her arms, giggling as he ran his hand down her back. "How can I focus on going to my Small Council meeting when you're touching me so gently, drawing me back to you?"

"Am I distracting you, my Queen?" he asked innocently.

She rolled onto him, holding her own hair out of her face so she could kiss him. "You are. But it is a welcome distraction." She rolled the rest of the way off the bed, sliding her robe back on and fluffing up her hair. "Be prepared for some stares. The Dornish are very good at teasing."

Ellaria and all her daughters were smirking at him when he and Saera walked into the meeting together. No doubt everyone in the room knew what'd happened between him and their Queen, not that he minded. These people weren't going to tell anyone else, least of all Euron Greyjoy. He wasn't even sure if Euron would care very much; surely he was bedding other women while he waited for Saera to pay attention to him.

Still, he didn't trust the Greyjoys. And Saera had yet to decide how they would deal with them.

"A raven arrived from Jon Snow," she said at the next meeting. "The mining expedition on Dragonstone had gone well; three ships filled with dragon glass sail back to Winterfell to be made into weapons for all who will choose to fight against the Night King. The King in the North cannot come to meet us to discuss this just yet; his sister Arya has arrived and now the last four surviving Starks are together again. Thus, he's sent only a small piece of his plan to go beyond-the-Wall to retrieve proof of the Army of the Dead. He has assembled a team but requires a few more men. If any of you know—"

"I will go," said Jorah immediately. "On your behalf, Your Grace."

Saera didn't like the sound of this. "I need you here, Ser Jorah. You are a member of this council. I intended to go—"

"That is precisely why I offer it, my Queen. Though you may want to, you cannot risk going beyond-the-Wall. You need someone from this council to go. Black Fist and Kavarro hold Casterly Rock for you, the other Unsullied who joined you have migrated to Riverrun as protectors. It is too risky for anyone else. I am from the North, I am accustomed to the extreme weather. It should be me."

The other members of the Small Council nodded their heads. She sighed, not wanting him to go, but also knowing she couldn't stop him. "Then I will fly to Winterfell and wait there for your return. In the event something goes wrong, perhaps a dragon should be nearby enough for something to be done."

"If that is your wish," agreed Jorah.

"I am entertaining the possibility of calling for an armistice once we have our proof," said Saera. "This will be in the event the Night King is already too close to the Wall once the men from the expedition return. We may need to unite as one country to stop him. The last thing I want to do is treat with Cersei, who is known to be unreasonable, but we may not have another choice.

"However, if we find we still have a enough time before the Army of the Dead arrives— and this will be based on the estimations by Bran Stark, the new Three-Eyed Raven— then we will take King's Landing then use the wight or White Walker— whatever they acquire— as proof of why no one should relax just yet. In this better scenario, I will sit the throne and have the ability to inspire all the warriors of our Kingdoms to rise without worrying a tyrant will talk or force them out of it. We will need every man we can get.

"Yara Greyjoy is waiting for our signal so she may come and take the Salt Throne. Euron's forces are currently helping us hold Casterly Rock, and I intend to have him beheaded just before I take the throne. My hope is still that he will die in battle but we cannot trust him or the men who follow him much longer. Once their purpose has been served, they must be put down so I may keep my promise to Yara– a much better candidate for the Salt Throne– and avoid a marriage with a man known to be deceitful, traitorous, and plain awful.

"Lastly, we need to prepare the succession of all Kingdoms. Lady Olenna, Ellaria, please present to me at your earliest convenience a list of three individuals who you trust to take your seat as Head of your respective Kingdoms after your time is done. The rest of you, please find me suitable candidates for the Stormlands. Find out if there are any Baratheons left, and if not, show me a family who has earned the seat of Storm's End. The only man I've met that stands out to me now is Davos Seaworth, who now serves Jon Snow but adored Shireen Baratheon and may know more about being a lord than he may admit. I want other options, I want all the Kingdoms secure in the event any of the leaders should fall.

"As for my succession..." she sighed, "I cannot make any announcements just yet since I am entertaining Euron Greyjoy for the sake of an alliance. But I've spoken to you all about my intentions to perhaps rotate out power so each Great House has a chance to bring their unique perspectives to the table, in the event they should remain part of the Seven Kingdoms; that had yet to be determined, and for now we only know of the North's intentions to be independent. That is all for today."

While Jorah prepared himself to go beyond-the-Wall, she organized distributions of food and supplies for Casterly Rock and Riverrun, to nourish their forces and keep all civilians living there alive and well. Their army was brought back to the Reach and Dorne, camps spread to block Cersei's access to the rest of Westeros.

Now that all the kingdoms except for the Crownlands and Stormlands had declared fealty to Saera, every single fighting man and woman had prepared themselves for a potential attack, though Varys's latest information suggested Cersei was using the Lannister Fleet to bring the Golden Company for their battle. They might just be able to take the throne before they arrived, assuming the Night King's army wasn't too close.

Jorah estimated they could still take it even if Cersei put the Golden Company on the frontlines. They had almost all of Westeros united against her tyranny, and he was almost sure that even without a lord, the people of the Stormlands would rise to force the invaders out if inspired by battles elsewhere to be free of Cersei's control.

As soon as she'd ensured their armies were nourished, she'd climbed onto Viserion, guiding Jorah to sit behind her as she made room on the saddle, the two of them flying over the Sunset Sea until they reached Winterfell, where Jorah joined Jon's team.

His main group consisted of a wildling called Tormund Giantsbane, a bastard of Robert Baratheon (who worked as a blacksmith and would forge their dragon glass weapons) named Gendry, two members of the Brotherhood Without Banners– Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr– and finally the legendary Hound, Sandor Clegane. Accompanying them were a few other wildlings who weren't afraid of what they might encounter.

She decided to keep an eye on Gendry, to see what kind of man he was and determine whether he was worthy of being legitimized so he might be installed as Lord of Storm's End after she took the throne. If one was following the Baratheon bloodline, he was technically Robert's oldest living child. So far, he seemed like a good man.

"It's only been an hour since they left and I'm already worried," said Saera, accepting a cup of ale from a servant. She sat at the head table with Sansa, Arya, and Bran, the younger two reminding her so very much of Ned in terms of looks. She reckoned Sansa looked like Catelyn but behaved like Ned while Arya was the other way around. Bran... simply wasn't whoever Bran had been before. Becoming the Three-Eyed Raven had changed him.

(And this was apparently for the better. Upon arrival she learned Lord Baelish had been killed for betraying Ned Stark in King's Landing. Bran had seen this, as well as Littlefinger's plans to get the Stark girls to kill each other.)

"They probably haven't even reached the Wall yet," said Sansa. "We'll be waiting here for quite some time."

"Command suits you, you know," observed Saera. "I heard you earlier, asking that leather be added to the armor for when winter comes. Building up grain storage from your vassal houses. You're an intelligent girl, Princess Sansa."

"You really don't need to call me that," said Sansa shyly. "I'm not..."

"Well... you were a Lady, but your brother is now King. I don't see why I shouldn't." She tilted her head to look at Arya, who was slicing her pheasant very finely. "And you, little wolf? Are the rumors true? You're the wolf that came for House Frey?"

She smirked, ignoring Sansa's slightly uncomfortable look. (She supposed it would take some time getting used to knowing that Arya had apparently gone to Braavos and become a Faceless Man to cut down people on her kill list.) "Maybe," said Arya innocently, shrugging her shoulders. "Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe."

Saera laughed. "I think I may learn a lot from you. I hope to see you in the courtyard each morning to train, Arya. Perhaps you can show me if you've mastered the spear yet."

"Oh, I have," said Arya. "I'm having Gendry make me one with a blade at each end. He can make one for you, too. I heard the Dornish are very good with spears."

"We are. Prince Oberyn taught me alongside his daughters."

Arya seemed to like this challenge. "We'll see."

Saera raised a brow. "You are confident in your abilities. But you mustn't forget that while you are much smaller and quicker, I have trained for the past twenty years. I have fought men twice my size and won. Dragons and wolves... well..." she winked. "With a sword, you have me beat. With a spear, I am not so sure you'd win."

"A stag once beat a dragon," reasoned Arya. "And he was going to be the King."

"And there lies the difference between Rhaegar and I. He was going to be King. I am the Queen." She unsheathed her twin knives, the Meereenese blades she was given by Hizdahr zo Loraq. "These are worth a great deal. Beat me, and they are yours. Lose... and I want that interesting little dagger you've got on your belt. May I see it?"

Arya revealed the rest of the dagger, a jagged Valyrian steel blade with a firm leather and gold hilt surrounding a large ruby. It was only when Saera reached for it that she realized the hilt wasn't leather at all– it was much more firm, and it shone.

"The hilt is dragonglass and dragonbone," she recalled with a small smile. "Rhaegar told me of a blade like this, belonging to Aegon the Conqueror and to Aenar before that. There was something about a song hidden in the blade... I can't quite recall what that meant."

"I'll trade it to you for that," said Arya, pointing at her arakh. "I don't know how to use one of those."

Saera offered it to her. "Are you sure? This blade is very important, I don't want you to give it to me just because of its sentimental value."

"It's yours," insisted Arya. "Take it." She held up the arakh, wiggling it at Bran, who managed a smile for the sake of making her happy.

"Thank you," said Saera quietly.

Once again she was reminded of the kindness of Ned Stark. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be here. If it weren't for his children, she wouldn't have what she needed to obtain the throne.

Dragons and wolves seemed to get along very well.

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A/N: Happy 200 pages! Comment for more :)