Jorah didn’t call out—not yet. He watched them from the shadowed edge of the hall, unseen. Kate’s back was turned to him as she moved slowly through the parlour, Duncan tucked in her arms, humming low under her breath. The soft melody twisted something in his chest, and he recognized it. It was the same lullaby she used to hum in the quiet hours of their evenings together, before war had called him away.
His boots were quiet against the stone floor as he approached, setting his pack down silently by the door. He didn’t want to startle her; he just wanted to be close. To feel her warmth in the room before his voice broke the moment.
When he was close enough to touch her, he reached out gently, fingers brushing along her waist, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby in her arms. He felt Kate gasp softly, her body tensing for a moment, before his voice found her ear, low and warm.
“Easy now, love. It’s me.”
Her lips parted in shock, but he leaned forward before she could find words, pressing a kiss to her temple, then down to Duncan’s soft hair.
“I didn’t want to wait another breath,” he murmured, eyes locked on his son’s sleeping face. “I couldn’t stand to see you from a distance. I had to hold you both. He's grown so big now. I wish I could have been here.”
He wrapped his arms around them gently, encircling the two halves of his heart. Six months of letters, of aching distance, of sleeping beside cold fires—undone in an instant by the simple, wordless joy of being home.
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