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springdandelixn · 1 year

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Prisoner of the Moon

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42783204

Soft!Dark!Jorah x F!Reader

Summary: You follow your boyfriend, Jorah, when you think he's cheating on you. But you discover something much worse.

Warnings: horror, supernatural and dark elements

Some Jorah action in the spirit of the spooky day! As always, your comments and likes are highly appreciated though re-blogging would help my story flourish better. I hope you guys enjoy even if it is just a drabble! 💛 Woof! Woof!

“Again?” You frown as you look up at Jorah, eyebrows knitted in disappointment. “You left last month too. Can’t you stay? Sara’s throwing a Halloween party and they really want us to be there.” You try to reason, holding his wrists while he cups your face with both his hands.

“I’m sorry, love.” He sighs, thumbs caressing your cheek. “I can’t set this aside. It’s important.” Your frown deepens when he releases you, turning his back to resume packing his suitcase. “I’ll be back in three days. I promise.”

“What is so important anyway that you have to keep going?” You challenge, feeling anger flare in your bones and you walk over to him, shutting his luggage closed. “You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?” The accusation startles you both but you don’t back down, you cross your arms over your chest and keep your eyes locked on his.

It’s been like this since you started dating. Every month, Jorah would leave for three days and then come back as if nothing happened. You don’t know what he’s doing while he’s away, only giving you the same reason over and over again and you tried being an understanding girlfriend. To not pry into his business.

But it’s gone too far and your doubts begin to plague you. Your friends’ words not helping either as they keep telling you that he’s cheating.

“Why else would he be leaving every month?” They asked.

“Maybe a family reunion?” You said in defense.

“Girl. Family reunions don’t happen that often.”

“What?! No!” Jorah says in shock, his hands landing on your hips as he tries to pull you close. But you won’t budge. “Why would you think that?”

“Then why do you keep leaving?!” Your voice is strong and he visibly flinches at it. “I keep asking why yet you never tell me shit! What do you want me to think?!” You try to tamp down your anger but you’re too fired up to stop.

“Please, love.” He sighs, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your head against his chest. A sigh leaves your lips all the same and you soften a little, his scent filling you so that you press your hands on his chest, closing your eyes while counting down from ten to calm yourself. “I would never cheat on you. I would never betray your trust like that.” He whispers, feeling his lips press at the top of your head.

“Then stay.” Burying your face to his chest and slipping your arms around his neck, you pull him down to your further. “Please—” It almost sounds like a beg but you can’t help it. The anxiety has eaten you up since the third time he’s left and the mystery of it, along with your friends’ words do nothing but fuel the fire.

He sighs and you know already know his answer.

“We’ll talk when I get back, okay?” He mumbles against your hair, his hands moving to your face to caress it before pulling you off his chest for him to meet your eyes. “I promise. After this, we’ll talk.”

You nod, your lips pouting as you feel tears brimming your eyes.

“I just hope you would still love me after.” He adds and your frown deepens, arms clutching him once more as you press your face to his neck.

“You idiot.” You mumble against his skin, tears staining your face. “I’ll always do.”

You stare at the cabin from the driver’s seat and look around, expecting a car to drop by. But you’ve been sitting there for almost 3 hours, the dusk already upon you and still no one has come. What surprises you, even more, is that you’ve not seen any glimpse of Jorah since he entered the wooden house.

The cabin looks—well, you can’t even begin to describe what kind of place this is. Wooden planks bar the windows and the walls look like they’ve been torn down and then patched up clumsily. You can spot a chain by the steps of the shack from where you sit, even a bear trap. And it makes you think if hunting season has already started to have such contraptions scattered around.

“What’s he doing in there?” You ask yourself and look down at your phone when it vibrates once more, swiping away Sara’s message when you see the notification pop up.

You wait a little longer, fingers tapping against the wheel. Once the sky is consumed by night, the full moon glowing brightly above, you’ve had enough.

You step out of your car and make sure to lock it, shoving your hands in the pockets of your coat and slowly making your way to the cabin sitting at the edge of the forest.

“Why is he here?” The questions continue to plague your mind.

You try the front door, and just as you expected, it’s locked. You curse under your breath and pull your coat around you tighter when the evening chill brushes against your cheeks.

You try to see if there’s a back entrance. Trudging through the leaves that are piled around the sides of the cabin, a smile forms on your lips when you spot a door. The knob twists, to your surprise, and you quietly enter the house, looking around and frowning when there’s no light coming from the inside, only a small glow from what looks like to be coming from candles.

“Jorah?” You whisper but you get no response.

Walking deeper into the cabin, you try to look around, turning on the flashlight from your phone and cringing at how messy the place looks. Why is he here? You ask yourself once more and stop in your tracks when you hear a low groan come from the front room.

You swallow thickly and walk in further, holding your phone before you to illuminate your path.

A gasp then leaves your lips when you see your boyfriend slumped on the groan. His back curled and arms splayed before him as if clawing on the floor.

But what shocks you the most is that he’s chained!

The metal restraints jingle as his arms continues to move. There’s another around his waist and you run to him when you notice a thicker one around his neck.

“Jorah!” Your phone drops when you get down on your knees, hands frantically grabbing on the metal collar, finding a way how to undo it. “Who did this to you?!” You ask in panic. “What happened?”

You hear him whisper your name and you move to kneel in front of him, hands grabbing at his face as you rest his head against your thighs, carding your fingers through his hair and wiping away the sweat that continues to seep from his skin.

“W-what are you doing h-here?” He asks. And he sounds like he’s in pain.

“I followed you.” You confess but you have no time to feel embarrassed. “It’s a good thing I did. Where’s the key?” You look around desperately. “I’ll get you out.”

“No—no!” He groans and he moves away from you, pushing himself from the ground and standing on his knees, only for him to push himself against the wall. “Go! Leave!” He struggles as he shouts those words and you’re filled with so much confusion. “While you still have time! Please—” He doubles over and starts to growl and you feel panic surging within you.

He’s in pain and you have no idea how to help him.

You push on, coming closer and you frantically grab on the chain, following its path before trying to yank it from where it’s bound.

“No! I’m going to help you!” You shout and keep pulling on the chain, only stopping when you hear a low, animalistic growl come from him. Your eyes widen as you turn to face him, seeing him double over as his fingers try to grip the wooden floor.

“Jorah?” You say his name softly the yelp when he faces you, his blue eyes long gone, replaced by pools of black and you quickly step away, fear taking over your body as you press yourself against the wall. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?!”

“You should never have come here.” The voice that leaves him is mixed with something feral, making you freeze in your spot as you keep your eyes on him. “Should—have ne-ver—”

His voice dies down and a pained howl emits from him. Jorah’s hands reach at his back, his hands clawing on himself more and more, snarling and growling as he tears fabric and flesh all the same. Fur standing from its wake and you stare in horror at his monstrous transformation.

You quickly run to the front door and try to feel for its lock when you hear a long howl erupt from behind you. Your hands stop from their frantic search and when you turn to look back at Jorah, you no longer see him. Instead, an animal, a wolf as large as a car stares at you.

It’s growling, paws flexing on the wooden floor.

You stay still, hoping it would ignore you all the same. But you then scream in fear when it jumps at you. Then it whimpers as it’s pulled back by the restraints and you make to fumble on the door once more. You hear it struggling, the chains clanging harder with each pull it makes. You pray that it would hold, at least enough til you escape.

Then a snap.

You scream once more when you look back, seeing the beast lunge at you and its claws slash against the door when you drop to your knees just in time, the wooden barrier dropping as it’s torn from the hinges.

Then it stops when the full moon shines down on the doorway, the beast standing tall as it howls in the sky and you waste no time to get your feet underneath you and jump out of the cabin, dropping down harshly when you trip on the stairs and quickly sprint towards the trees.

You never should have come here! You should have trusted Jorah! You can only blame yourself as you try to run as fast as you can from the feral creature, your heart pounding hard against your chest when you hear the growl once more, leaves crunching loudly against your feet then another.

You try to look at your side for the road but you no longer see it. Only trees and more far and wide and you begin to cry once more as you try to navigate your way out of the forest and back to civilization. But you trip and a searing pain radiate from your ankle and you dread running up your bones when you try to stand back up only for you to fall on your knees once more.

You hear a growl behind you and you turn to see the beast staring at you once again. Tears stain your cheeks as you push yourself away with your hands, dragging your injured leg and shaking when your back hits a trunk of a tree.

“Jorah, please—!” You beg, your voice shaking as you keep your back pressed to the tree. “It’s me. Please,”

It closes in, eyes gazing directly at your then it stops and you’re slowly filled with hope that the man you love is present within, recognizing your voice.

But it bares its teeth, fangs and all, drool spilling from the sides and you release another scream as it jumps at you, your eyes wide open, making you stare death in the face.

Fin...for now

#jorah mormont #Ser Jorah Mormont #jorah mormont x reader #Jorah x reader #Jorah x you #Jorah au #Jorah mormont au #halloween fic #jorah mormont fanfic #jorah mormont fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones au #coconut bun stories #dark fic

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maiamars · 2 years

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tyrion with daenerys when it was just jorah & daario : oh dear, oh dear. gorgeous.

tyrion with daenerys after jon : hey, dragon head, are you even listening to me ?

#you have : you can stop this/your queen needs you #and on the other side : judge from the shadows #tyrion lannister #daenerys targaryen #jorah mormont #daario naharis #dany x jorah #jorah x daenerys #got

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rileypotter17 · 1 year

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WIP Game!

Rules: Write the latest line from your wip and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog. Tagged by @clarasimone !!

This is from my WIP of my upcoming chapter of 'A Darker Shade of Blue' - a Jorah/Daenerys fic.

"Ah, well, why don't you let me deal with Tyrion? But, love, I can't really concentrate on that when you are standing there, naked and gorgeous, now can I?" He smiled at her and the pure, genuine happiness on his face made her put down her phone and take a running jump back onto the bed to join him.

Tagging @houseofthebear @terisrog @chryssadirewolf @salzrand @gettingovergreta @wizfrog @fandomsbyladymelodrama @salzrand @fanoftheknight @toas-tea @scratchybeardsweetmouth

and honestly anyone else who wants to - join in! Because there are too many words lol

#a03 #a darker shade of blue #the blue room #jorah x dany fic #jorah mormont #daenerys targeryan #wip #wip game #I am so excited to share this chapter with you all

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daenerystargaryen06 · 5 months

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" we have ample evidence from the books that there can/will be a Targ Restoration, but it won't end with the Targs on the throne"

could you tell me which ones?

The evidence for a Targ restoration is laid within small hints and foreshadowing within the books. It is subtle and not easily caught, but if you take a moment to go through the books with a careful eye and speculate over the reasons GRRM has written certain things in Dany and Jon's chapters, it can be led as a potential hint/speculative potential of Dany and Jon to be the ones to carry out the Targ legacy/restoration.

Let's begin with the beginning foundations of Dany and Jon being set up to meet:

"A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . ." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

"We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three." -A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

"Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

"All in black, he was a shadow among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye." -A Clash of Kings - Jon I

Jon and Daenerys are meant to meet, and a relationship will spark between them, as hinted at within the books. GRRM has also stated to D&D (as said by them) that the main point of GoT/ASOIAF is Jon and Daenerys meeting. Two people who struggle with politics, leading, and coming to terms with their true identities. Daenerys just wants peace and a home, Jon just wants to know who his mother was and a home for himself as well.

Now where does Targ restoration come into play and is hinted at? We have a few select lines within the books that give us some subtle cues:

"Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …" Dany could not recall the child's name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. "I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

"I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb." -A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Both Jon and Daenerys think of having children, but both resign into accepting that they may never have children of their own. Daenerys due to believing she was cursed by Mirri Maz Duur, and Jon due to being a sworn brother of the Night's Watch along with thinking that he is a bastard.

There is also the fact that when Daenerys is out upon the Dothraki Sea, she has a miscarriage:

"When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood. . . For a moment she did not realize what it was. The world had just begun to lighten, and the tall grass rustled softly in the wind. No, please, let me sleep some more. I'm so tired. She tried to burrow back beneath the pile of grass she had torn up when she went to sleep. Some of the stalks felt wet. Had it rained again? She sat up, afraid that she had soiled herself as she slept. When she brought her fingers to her face, she could smell the blood on them. Am I dying? Then she saw the pale crescent moon, floating high above the grass, and it came to her that this was no more than her moon blood. If she had not been so sick and scared, that might have come as a relief. Instead she began to shiver violently. She was bleeding, but it was only woman's blood. The moon is still a crescent, though. How can that be? She tried to remember the last time she had bled. The last full moon? The one before? The one before that? No, it cannot have been so long as that. . . As she splashed her face, she saw fresh blood on her thighs. The ragged hem of her undertunic was stained with it. The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

When Daenerys has the miscarriage, she thinks it's her menstrual cycle. But the blood is too heavy, and occurs after she has eaten green berries and drank polluted water upon the Dothraki Sea- which could have resulted in her losing the pregnancy. This is a subtle hint that Daenerys can get pregnant, and likely will get pregnant again with Jon's child in the future, and will carry it to full term.

There are also hints within the books of Viserion exhibiting nesting like behavior, which can also result in bringing more dragon eggs into the world, that would eventually hatch and bring a new age of dragons:

"Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VIII

"For a moment he saw only the blackened arches of the bricks above, scorched by dragonflame. A trickle of ash caught his eye, betraying movement. Something pale, half-hidden, stirring. He's made himself a cave, the prince realized. A burrow in the brick. The foundations of the Great Pyramid of Meereen were massive and thick to support the weight of the huge structure overhead; even the interior walls were three times thicker than any castle's curtain walls. But Viserion had dug himself a hole in them with flame and claw, a hole big enough to sleep in." -A Dance with Dragons - The Dragontamer

Dragons are mentioned within the book to be genderless, truly, and they can switch their gender at will. Which means that any one of Daenerys' dragons could lay eggs and bring more dragons into the world, but Viserion might be the one to do so first.

"No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger." -A Feast for Crows - Samwell IV

As for Jon and Daenerys not winding up on the throne, that is mere speculation. But Jon and Daenerys both long for home, and even though their arcs are centered around ruling, leading, politics, etc. they necessarily don't want the burden of ruling as well. Both are thrust into their positions of power and are doing the best they can with being so young and having to deal with all of this going on. Which means that in the end they could very well turn away from ruling to lead their own lives of peace within a home they find for themselves with their future potential children.

"If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys VI

"Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I

"Of the ride back, Jon Snow remembered little. It seemed shorter than the journey south, perhaps because his mind was elsewhere. Pyp set the pace, galloping, walking, trotting, and then breaking into another gallop. Mole's Town came and went, the red lantern over the brothel long extinguished. They made good time. Dawn was still an hour off when Jon glimpsed the towers of Castle Black ahead of them, dark against the pale immensity of the Wall. It did not seem like home this time." -A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

"Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black. The throb of pain in his thigh muscle made him wince as he put his heels into the old man's horse. I am going home, he told himself. But if that was true, why did he feel so hollow?" -A Storm of Swords - Jon V

"When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red." -A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

There is also the fact that apparently GRRM told D&D that Bran would become King. Now, I don't exactly believe that myself as stated in another post made by me here. And there is also the fact that GRRM could change Bran's ending/role, or make him King of something else (such as King of the North). But if Bran DOES become King of the 7k as stated by D&D for GRRM's planned ending, Jon and Daenerys bringing a Targ restoration together within their own form of home away from ruling is another ending I can imagine for them. We have the groundwork and subtle cues/hints/foreshadowing for such a thing to happen. Of course, I do want Jon and Daenerys to wind up ruling together as equals over the 7k with a family of their own and their dragons, but in the end- I'll accept any ending just as long as my babies wind up together and happy. Thanks for the ask! :)

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shadeysprings · 1 year

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Wilting Blossom

—Jorah Mormont x F!Reader

Summary: Trapped in the dungeons, the Lord Commander comes to make a bargain.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, age gap, size kink, vaginal fingering, coercion & entrapment. There may be more but thread carefully as this is a dark fic.

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's Week Four Challenge: Across the Universe. I started this event with Jorah and I feel it was only right to end it with him. GOT is one of the universes I love to dabble in and Jorah, if you know me, is the one that holds my heart.

Your feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support content creators! And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️

With your hand outstretched, you try to catch the rays of the sun as it trickles through the small window of your cell. You bask in what little warmth it offers, the heat kissing your skin and slowly staving off the cold emitted by the stone walls that surround you.

But just as quickly, you pull your hand back and push yourself against the wall, hugging your knees to your chest and shrouding yourself once more in the darkness when you hear the dungeon doors open. Heavy footsteps echo through the narrow hall, guards shouting and banging against the bars that confine you and your fellow prisoners, who in turn, retaliate by shouting curses in their wake.

The tension in the air then thickens when you sense the band stop by your cell, their presence imposing and looming.

“Unlock it.”

You stiffen and huddle closer to the wall when you catch the familiar timbre of Lord Commander Mormont amidst the low rabble of the dungeon. The sound of keys jingling and the lock going undone, your chest constricting in fear as the hinges of what keeps you separated from them creak as it swings open.

He’s the reason you were thrown into this purgatory. His profession of mercy when he stands beside the Targaryen Queen proves false when he gave no chance to hear your apologies. Though, deep down, you know you’re just as much to blame as he is.

“Wait outside.” He instructs one of his men. “We are not to be disturbed. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Lord Commander.” Another familiar voice responds, Ser Jaime Lannister’s, but you hear nothing more than retreating steps and the pounding of your heart as you’re left alone with the leader of the queensguard.

His footfalls are slow and measured, akin to a predator circling its prey. You hide your face from him, not wanting to see the demon clothed in fine gold.

“Don’t hide from me.” A command and you contemplate doing as you’re bid but he makes his impatience known when he nudges you with his boot. You swallow thickly as you tilt your chin up, taking in his tall stature as he towers over you, his golden armor glinting against the light of the sun and his sapphire eyes burning with devious desire as he stares down at you.

A silent gasp then leaves your lips when he crouches at your level, “How was your stay here, thief?” He asks, a smirk forming on his lips and you divert your eyes away. “Cold isn’t it? You’d rather be out in the sun?” His tone makes your blood start boiling, anger burning in your chest as he taunts you with freedom.

But your chest quickens when he reaches behind him, your arms instinctively shielding yourself as you expect him to pull out a dagger and give you your sentence right there on the muddy floors of the cell. Yet, the blow doesn’t come, instead, you hear him chuckling, mirth present in his voice and you peek through your arms to see him holding out a loaf than a weapon.

“Take it,” he urges. “I know you’re hungry.” You stare at the offered food, stomach growling at the sight. “This will taste better than the slop they feed you lot down here.” His voice is calm yet calculating all the same, but all at once soothing, if you’re to be honest with yourself.

Hesitation fills you, eyes shifting from the loaf and then at him. For you know there are more creative ways to kill a peasant than to throw them under the blade.

“It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re thinking.” The Lord Commander chuckles and rips a piece of the bread before tossing it in his mouth.

As soon as he finishes, parting his lips to expose the empty cavern, you snatch the fare from his grasp and bite into it with greed, the spongy texture tickling your mouth and settling your hunger, humming a moan at the taste.

Ser Jorah laughs once more, his eyes light with amusement as he watches you feast. “There’s more where that came from,” He coos, and you watch him closely when he shifts to near you, keeping the bread to your lips in fear of him taking it away. “Maybe some meat and cheese, lemon cakes too, if you wish. Wouldn’t you want that?” You feel your mouth water as he lists down the items, your stomach rumbling once more.

“I can give you so much more, petal,” He continues, your body going rigid as dread crawls up your spine when his gloved hand reaches over to caress your arm, the blue pools in his turning darker and you hear his breathing grow heavier. “A warm bed, a full belly, a better life.” The knight breathes, “And you need only give me what I want in return.”

“And what is that?” Your voice comes out in an instant, startling both of you, the Lord Commander’s grin widening at your question.

“You.”

Your brow furrows and the anger from before returns in a burst of flames, throwing the half-eaten loaf at his face and quickly pushing yourself from the ground and making your way out of your cell.

But such an attempt of escape is fruitless; Ser Jorah easily recovers from your pitiful attack and grabs you by the ankle, making you fall to the ground and cry in pain and soon in fear when he crawls over you, gasping when the length of his arm pins your shoulders to the muddy ground.

“Ah, ah,” He tuts and laughs as you struggle against his hold, nails scraping on the cobblestone floor as you try to get away from him, but you choke when his arm slips to the back of your neck, weeping uncontrollably and begging for his mercy upon feeling his other hand slip underneath your skirt. “Disobedient girls don’t get that privilege,” Hot breath fans over your cheek when he leans closer, crushing you with the weight of his armor. “They are left to rot in cells while men come and go as they please, to rape them, torture them even.”

“Ser—” You cry, “Please—”

“And I would hate to see a pretty flower like you be ruined, watching your petals wilt away.” Your lips tremble when he presses his nose against your hair, disgust blooming at the pit of your stomach when he rolls his hips, feeling the erection in his breeches press against your ass. “But I am a forgiving and generous man, and I can save you from such fate.” He slowly eases off of you and you groan when he flips you to your back, only to pin you down once more with his arm over your chest.

You lock eyes with him, your mind swimming in the words of the Lord Commander, drowning in them for you know them to be true. How whispers fly across the city of women taken into captivity, treated like whores, and leaving with either a babe in their belly or hanging at the center of King’s Landing.

But should that alone be the drive for you to take his offer? A life of servitude to the knight? A bed warmer? You regale in the thought and realize it makes no difference if one man or several take you against your will because all the same, you’re nothing but a thing to be used, an object to the eyes of the nobles and ones of power, keeping you bound to whichever hell they see fit.

You’ve heard stories of the Lord Commander, the once Lord of the northernmost island, knighted by King Robert himself at the Siege of Pyke. How he was exiled to the neighboring country for his misdeeds yet found back his honor at the side of the Dragon Queen.

They said he was a just, merciful, and honorable man, but what you see before you are anything but, for there is no mercy dripping from his tongue nor honor looming in his eyes, only hunger for the flesh—your flesh—and greed for control over the ones who have none.

Still, you are nothing compared to him; a peasant of the city—no power or riches to bargain for your freedom.

“So, what will it be, thief?” He asks, looking up into his sapphires with fear as you decide and give your answer.

That was but a year ago, the dregs of the dungeon are now washed away by the cool waters you’re allowed to indulge in the vast chamber. Your rags, replaced with sheer silk dresses—luxurious as they seem, they give you no sense of decency as they expose everything underneath. But food is no longer scarce, one you treat as a blessing yet such gifts are nothing but a tether to your new prison.

You sit by the plush chaise, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks that hold the fortress of the Red Keep filling your ears while you watch the strong winds blow against the sails of the ships that come in and out of the capitol. You can’t help but long to set foot on the sandy beaches once more, to bask in the freedom you once knew before being found by the Lord Commander himself stalking in the royal kitchen.

You may have simply been surviving in the past—fleeting through the narrow walk of Flea Bottom and rummaging through the wastes of the highborn for something to eat—but, at the least, you were free.

The door of the chamber swings open and you immediately stand from your perch, folding your hands at your front as you watch Ser Jorah walk in, his golden armor glowing in the afternoon light and you swallow thickly when he flicks the lock within.

His eyes meet yours and your spine tingles in fear when you see the hunger within them. He unties the belt holding his sword from his waist and hangs it by the hook at the side of the door before slowly walking over to the chaise, measured hand pulling off his gloves and tossing them on the plush surface.

“Wine.” He says after dropping himself on the settee and you quickly reach for the jug on the table in front, kneeling as you pour a generous amount into the goblet.

With careful hands you hold it out to him, giving you a smile before taking the cup from your grasp and holding out his hand to you in return. You take it and follow his lead, standing between his parted legs before settling yourself on his thick thigh when he nudges you to sit.

He then lifts the cup to his lips, taking long and heavy gulps with some of the red liquid spilling from the sides and clinging to his golden beard. As soon as he finishes, he leans forward to set the goblet on the low table before focusing his attention on you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist while his other hand rests on your knee, kneading it before caressing the expanse of your thigh.

“How are you while I was away, little flower?” He asks, “I hope you weren’t too lonely.”

“The view of the sea kept me entertained, Ser.” You murmur, squeaking in surprise when he pulls you flush against him.

“I bring you good news then.” He drones, shifting you on his lap and you grab his arm when he presses your back against his plated chest, hooking your knees over his and spreading your legs wide when he parts his. “I sail for Dorne in a fortnight and I’m taking you with me.” His voice is low, whispering against your ear and your chest tightens when he bunches the skirt of your dress over your waist, shivering, skin tingling when his hand skims over your inner thigh.

“A m-most generous o-offer, Ser—” You mumble, your other hand gripping his wrist as you try to push him away, gasping as an aching need bloom at the pit of your abdomen when he finds purchase of your cunt and rolls a finger against your sacred bud. “But p-people will s-see—the queen—” The words die on your lips when he quickens the movement of his hand, your lips parting, mouth hanging open as you try to catch your breath.

“I care not of whispers,” He growls against the crown of your head, and you gasp sharply when he slips two fingers past the folds of your weeping blossom. “Everyone should know who it is you belong to.”

He clutches your waist tight, keeping you pressed to him as he fucks you desperately with his hand, the walls of your cunt stretching wide at the thickness of his fingers and the soreness from the night before burning within once more along with the fire of your unwanted desire.

Words of pleas for him to stop linger at your lips but never leave, your legs shaking as your arousal spikes, your cunt slickening further, allowing him to thrust deeper to his knuckles. His arm on your waist moves, but only to frame his fingers around your neck, turning your head for you to face him and capture your lips to pull you into a heated kiss.

He swallows your moans, devouring every sound you make and your stomach quakes, making you pull away from his lips when you let out a silent scream as pleasure crashes over you, your eyes blowing wide and gasping heavily when you shudder at your release, coating his fingers with your essence.

Deep chuckles emit from him and you tremble when he slips his digits from your cunt, your walls clenching on nothing and your mind protesting against the longing of your body. You pant heavily against his chest, daring to peek up at him when you hear him produce such lewd sounds and watch him slip his fingers into his lips, licking them clean.

“Such a sweet nectar from the sweetest flower.” He drones and you whimper when he gives your lips one last kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before staggering forward when he pushes you off of him, holding onto the small table to keep yourself from falling to the ground

You hear him shuffle behind you, sounds of clasps being undone, and you startle when he grabs your arm, pulling you to stand before nudging you towards the bedchamber.

“On the bed, petal.” He instructs, “I’ve given you pleasure, and it’s your turn to return the favor.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

Also, I just want to thank @darkficsyouneveraskedfor and @navybrat817 for hosting this event. It was truly such a joy to write with the themes you've set and I've met such amazing and talented people along the way.

#jorah mormont #ser jorah mormont #jorah mormont x reader #navy and roo's sleepover #dark jorah mormont #dark!jorah mormont #dark fic #wilting blossom #iain glen characters #iain glen imagine #jorah mormont au #game of thrones au #shadeysprings fics

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istumpysk · 7 months

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OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Tormund Giantsbane x Maege Mormont

TIER:

People's Choice! Great job on Lemongate, I feel more at ease putting my faith in you again.

Possible: These theories could be true, but additional evidence is needed, as different interpretations or errors are possible.

vs.

Under Consideration: These theories haven't garnered strong or extensive evidence, but they're worthy of discussion.

vs.

50/50: These theories are complete toss-ups.

vs.

Low Probability: While not impossible, these theories are unlikely based on the current evidence.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

Gather 'round, children. This is a fun one.

The theory:

The Tormund Giantsbane x Maege Mormont theory suggests that they may have had one or several intimate encounters, and Tormund could potentially be the father of one or more of Maege Mormont's daughters.

The proof:

In A Storm of Swords, the character Tormund Giantsbane is introduced, and we learn his various titles, one of which is "Husband to Bears."

Mance Rayder laughed. "As you wish. Jon Snow, before you stands Tormund Giantsbane, Tall-talker, Horn-blower, and Breaker of Ice. And here also Tormund Thunderfist, Husband to Bears, the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall, Speaker to Gods and Father of Hosts." - Jon I, ASOS

The sigil of House Mormont is a black bear. Members of the Mormont family, who hail from Bear Island, are frequently referred to as bears within the story.

The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. - Eddard II, AGOT

The maester had taught him all the banners: the mailed fist of the Glovers, silver on scarlet; Lady Mormont's black bear; the hideous flayed man that went before Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort; a bull moose for the Hornwoods; a battle-axe for the Cerwyns; three sentinel trees for the Tallharts; and the fearsome sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant in shattered chains. - Bran VI, AGOT

"I am touched by your concern, Lord Mormont." The strong drink was making Tyrion light-headed, but not so drunk that he did not realize that the Old Bear wanted something from him. - Tyrion III, AGOT

Catelyn smiled despite herself. "You are braver than I am, I fear. Are all your Bear Island women such warriors?" "She-bears, aye," said Lady Maege. - Catelyn V, ASOS

"He wants you," said the She-Bear, after his third visit. Her proper name was Alysane of House Mormont, but she wore the other name as easily as she wore her mail. - The King's Prize, ADWD

Ser Jorah had been with her then, her gruff old bear. - Daenerys X, ADWD

Maege Mormont, the head of House Mormont, has five daughters: Dacey (now deceased), Alysane, Lyra, Jorelle, and Lyanna.

No one knows the father of Maege's children or if she married. Yet, all her daughters bear (ha!) the Mormont surname, and none appear to be considered bastards.

The tale that's commonly told is that Lady Maege took a bear as her lover, and this bear is the father of her children.

Maege Mormont is called Mormont because no one knows her husband's name, or even if she has one. - So Spake Martin

"Aye, Dywen says. And the last time he went ranging, he says he saw a bear fifteen feet tall." Mormont snorted. "My sister is said to have taken a bear for her lover. I'd believe that before I'd believe one fifteen feet tall. Though in a world where dead come walking . . . ah, even so, a man must believe his eyes. I have seen the dead walk. I've not seen any giant bears." - Jon I, ACOK

"Whoever the king names will not have an easy time stepping into your armor, I can tell. Lord Mormont faces the same problem." Lord Janos looked puzzled. "I thought she was a lady. Mormont. Beds down with bears, that's the one?" - Tyrion II, ACOK

"No. My children were fathered by a bear." Alysane smiled. Her teeth were crooked, but there was something ingratiating about that smile. "Mormont women are skinchangers. We turn into bears and find mates in the woods. Everyone knows." - The King's Prize, ADWD

Tormund is no bear, but you might say he's built like one.

Beside the brazier, a short but immensely broad man sat on a stool, eating a hen off a skewer. Hot grease was running down his chin and into his snow-white beard, but he smiled happily all the same. Thick gold bands graven with runes bound his massive arms, and he wore a heavy shirt of black ringmail that could only have come from a dead ranger. - Jon I, ASOS

But as the distance between them diminished Jon saw that the horseman was short and broad, with gold rings glinting on thick arms and a white beard spreading out across his massive chest. - Jon X, ASOS

He was not a tall man, Tormund Giantsbane, but the gods had given him a broad chest and massive belly. - Jon XI, ADWD

In the culture of the free folk, men often "steal" women for marriage, demonstrating their strength.

We look up at the same stars, and see such different things. The King's Crown was the Cradle, to hear her tell it; the Stallion was the Horned Lord; the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to their Smith up here was called the Thief. And when the Thief was in the Moonmaid, that was a propitious time for a man to steal a woman, Ygritte insisted. "Like the night you stole me. The Thief was bright that night." - Jon III, ASOS

"He's of my village. You know nothing, Jon Snow. A true man steals a woman from afar, t' strengthen the clan. Women who bed brothers or fathers or clan kin offend the gods, and are cursed with weak and sickly children. Even monsters." - Jon III, ASOS

"Harma and the Bag of Bones don't come raiding for fish and apples. They steal swords and axes. Spices, silks, and furs. They grab every coin and ring and jeweled cup they can find, casks of wine in summer and casks of beef in winter, and they take women in any season and carry them off beyond the Wall." - Jon V, ASOS

Bear Island is a secluded island in the north, situated in the Bay of Ice. Due to frequent raids by the free folk and the ironborn, Mormont women have become fierce warriors to prevent being carried off.

Catelyn smiled despite herself. "You are braver than I am, I fear. Are all your Bear Island women such warriors?" "She-bears, aye," said Lady Maege. "We have needed to be. In olden days the ironmen would come raiding in their longboats, or wildlings from the Frozen Shore. The men would be off fishing, like as not. The wives they left behind had to defend themselves and their children, or else be carried off." - Catelyn V, ASOS

(map!)

Now, for the crucial evidence.

In A Storm of Swords, Jon asks Tormund about his titles. Out of all Tormund's designations, the author chooses to delve into the backstory of "Husband of Bears."

We'll dissect this story step by step. However, please remember that Tormund is known for exaggerations and fabrications. Distinguishing fact from fiction and extracting the elements of truth can be tricky.

"Are all crows so curious?" asked Tormund. "Well, here's a tale for you. It were another winter, colder even than the one I spent inside that giant, and snowing day and night, snowflakes as big as your head, not these little things. It snowed so hard the whole village was half buried. I was in me Ruddy Hall, with only a cask o' mead to keep me company and nothing to do but drink it. The more I drank the more I got to thinking about this woman lived close by, a fine strong woman with the biggest pair of teats you ever saw. She had a temper on her, that one, but oh, she could be warm too, and in the deep of winter a man needs his warmth. "The more I drank the more I thought about her, and the more I thought the harder me member got, till I couldn't suffer it no more. Fool that I was, I bundled meself up in furs from head to heels, wrapped a winding wool around me face, and set off to find her. The snow was coming down so hard I got turned around once or twice, and the wind blew right through me and froze me bones, but finally I come on her, all bundled up like I was. "The woman had a terrible temper, and she put up quite the fight when I laid hands on her. It was all I could do to carry her home and get her out o' them furs, but when I did, oh, she was hotter even than I remembered, and we had a fine old time, and then I went to sleep. Next morning when I woke the snow had stopped and the sun was shining, but I was in no fit state to enjoy it. All ripped and torn I was, and half me member bit right off, and there on me floor was a she-bear's pelt. And soon enough the free folk were telling tales o' this bald bear seen in the woods, with the queerest pair o' cubs behind her. Har!" He slapped a meaty thigh. "Would that I could find her again. She was fine to lay with, that bear. Never was a woman gave me such a fight, nor such strong sons neither." - Jon II, ASOS

I was in me Ruddy Hall, with only a cask o' mead to keep me company and nothing to do but drink it.

Tormund is first introduced as Mead-king of Ruddy Hall. Ruddy Hall is beyond the Wall, but we don't know where.

The more I drank the more I got to thinking about this woman lived close by

Regardless of where Ruddy Hall is located beyond the Wall, it wouldn't be near Maege Mormont.

a fine strong woman with the biggest pair of teats you ever saw.

Maege Mormont is short and stout, and likely has large breasts like her daughter Alysane.

The daughter was tall and lean, the mother short and stout, but they dressed alike in mail and leather, with the black bear of House Mormont on shield and surcoat. - Catelyn V, ASOS

She had a temper on her, that one, but oh, she could be warm too, and in the deep of winter a man needs his warmth.

Maege Mormont has a temper,

The Old Bear sighed. "You are not the only one touched by this war. Like as not, my sister is marching in your brother's host, her and those daughters of hers, dressed in men's mail. Maege is a hoary old snark, stubborn, short-tempered, and willful. Truth be told, I can hardly stand to be around the wretched woman, but that does not mean my love for her is any less than the love you bear your half sisters." - Jon IX, AGOT

but she can also be warm.

Lady Mormont took her hand and said, "My lady, if Cersei Lannister held two of my daughters, I would have done the same." - Catelyn II, ASOS

Catelyn had grown fond of Lady Maege and her eldest daughter, Dacey; they were more understanding than most in the matter of Jaime Lannister, she had found. - Catelyn V, ASOS

Fool that I was, I bundled meself up in furs from head to heels, wrapped a winding wool around me face, and set off to find her. The snow was coming down so hard I got turned around once or twice, and the wind blew right through me and froze me bones, but finally I come on her, all bundled up like I was.

If he started at Ruddy Hall, Tormund would have needed a boat to reach Maege Mormont. He couldn't have walked.

Edit: D'oh. Thank you to @transdimensional-void and @grennseyelashes for pointing out the Bay of Ice could freeze over.

The woman had a terrible temper, and she put up quite the fight when I laid hands on her.

Maege Mormont is a fierce warrior.

Catelyn smiled despite herself. "You are braver than I am, I fear. Are all your Bear Island women such warriors?" "She-bears, aye," said Lady Maege. "We have needed to be. [...]" - Catelyn V, ASOS

The daughter was tall and lean, the mother short and stout, but they dressed alike in mail and leather, with the black bear of House Mormont on shield and surcoat. By Catelyn's lights, that was queer garb for a lady, yet Dacey and Lady Maege seemed more comfortable, both as warriors and as women, than ever the girl from Tarth had been. - Catelyn V, ASOS

It was all I could do to carry her home and get her out o' them furs, but when I did, oh, she was hotter even than I remembered, and we had a fine old time, and then I went to sleep.

Again, he couldn't have taken her home without a boat.

Edit: D'oh. Thank you to @transdimensional-void and @grennseyelashes for pointing out the Bay of Ice could freeze over.

All ripped and torn I was, and half me member bit right off, and there on me floor was a she-bear's pelt.

She-bear has only ever been used to describe women associated with House Mormont.

Catelyn smiled despite herself. "You are braver than I am, I fear. Are all your Bear Island women such warriors?" "She-bears, aye," said Lady Maege. - Catelyn V, ASOS

Ser Jorah sat up in his hammock. "Befriend her, then. Marry her, for all I care." That left a bad taste in his mouth as well. "Like with like, is that your notion? Do you mean to find a she-bear for yourself, ser?" - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

Alysane Mormont, whose men name her the She-Bear, hid fighters inside a gaggle of fishing sloops and took the ironmen unawares where they lay off the strand. - Jon VII, ADWD

And soon enough the free folk were telling tales o' this bald bear seen in the woods

This is a bit goofy, but a She-Bear leaving behind her pelt and wandering around bald is somewhat reminiscent of Alysane Mormont's tale about Mormont women being skinchangers.

"Mormont women are skinchangers. We turn into bears and find mates in the woods. Everyone knows." - The King's Prize, ADWD

with the queerest pair o' cubs behind her. Would that I could find her again. She was fine to lay with, that bear.

Tormund seems to be suggesting that this was a one-time affair, yet he also mentions that it resulted in a pair of children. Tricky.

Lady Mormont has five children with significant age gaps. If he's their father, it would require multiple visits over several decades. If 'cub' shouldn't be plural and he's only the father of one daughter, then which one might it be?

Probably not Dacey Mormont. She was six-foot-tall, pretty, lanky, willowy, and graceful — nothing like Tormund.

The most probable candidate is Alysane Mormont. She shares a build with Tormund (and Maege), is now the heir to Bear Island, and is the most prominently featured Mormont daughter in the story.

Short, chunky, muscular, the heir to Bear Island had big thighs, big breasts, and big hands ridged with callus. - The King's Prize, ADWD

Never was a woman gave me such a fight, nor such strong sons neither.

Sons, plural. After potentially just one encounter. That's a problem.

He might simply be referring to two of his four sons: Toregg, Torwynd, Dryn, and Dormund. Their mother's identity remains unknown.

However, while Maege Mormont has no sons, she does have five daughters with impressively strong characters who comfortably take on traditionally masculine roles.

Stout, grey-haired Maege Mormont, dressed in mail like a man, told Robb bluntly that he was young enough to be her grandson, and had no business giving her commands … but as it happened, she had a granddaughter she would be willing to have him marry. - Bran VI, AGOT

Like as not, my sister is marching in your brother's host, her and those daughters of hers, dressed in men's mail. - Jon IX, AGOT

One of his companions was even a woman: Dacey Mormont, Lady Maege's eldest daughter and heir to Bear Island, a lanky six-footer who had been given a morningstar at an age when most girls were given dolls. Some of the other lords muttered about that, but Catelyn would not listen to their complaints. - Catelyn X, AGOT

"I have fought beside the Young Wolf in every battle," Dacey Mormont said cheerfully. "He has not lost one yet." - Catelyn V, ASOS

Smalljon Umber and Robin Flint sat near Robb, to the other side of Fair Walda and Alyx, respectively. Neither of them was drinking; along with Patrek Mallister and Dacey Mormont, they were her son's guards this evening. - Catelyn VII, ASOS

Her proper name was Alysane of House Mormont, but she wore the other name as easily as she wore her mail. Short, chunky, muscular, the heir to Bear Island had big thighs, big breasts, and big hands ridged with callus. Even in sleep she wore ringmail under her furs, boiled leather under that, and an old sheepskin under the leather, turned inside out for warmth. All those layers made her look almost as wide as she was tall. And ferocious. Sometimes it was hard for Asha Greyjoy to remember that she and the She-Bear were almost of an age. - The King's Prize, ADWD

Stannis read from the letter. "Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK. A girl of ten, you say, and she presumes to scold her lawful king." - Jon I, ADWD

But again, there are age gaps between all of them, and this would necessitate multiple trips to Bear Island.

Other things to consider:

It's possible that Tormund's She-Bear is actually Alysane Mormont, who has a son and a daughter and also asserts that their father is a bear. However, considering Alysane's age (mid-twenties), it seems more plausible that the She-Bear is Maege.

Some people believe the title "Breaker of Ice" might allude to the Bay of Ice, but that's a stretch.

Tormund has five other children, and he seems to be actively involved in their lives.

Alysane Mormont is currently headed to Castle Black, so there might be more clues ahead.

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

Maege Mormont being carried off by Tormund, only to rise in the middle of the night and take herself back home, is one of the more amusing tales I can think of. I mean, if you ignore the rape part.

Truly, I don't even know what tier to put this in. There are so many issues with that story, but given Tormund's nature, it's hard to discern what's real from what's not.

VOTE:

I welcome discussions. Feel free to reblog, respond, or challenge my perspective—I won't be offended by any of it.

Please note, if "no" is the eventual winner, or if it's competitive, a second poll will be conducted to determine the proper location.

NEXT THEORY:

Theon's bastard

[Main menu]

#operation iceberg #asoiaf theory tier list #theory 14 #tormund giantsbane x maege mormont

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rosalinrabbit · 1 year

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Nectar of the Gods

Blue Banisters Track List

Pairing: Robb Stark x Fem! Mormont Reader

Warnings: Hurt, hurt no comfort, past relationships, family deaths, briefly mentioned violence, final goodbyes, pure angst, Robb being an idiot and putting the North in danger

Summary: After the death of your aunt and your father, you knew you had to return to Bear Island. You couldn’t take it anymore, watching Robb live a life you weren’t a part of any longer. When the King in the North himself finds you packing your bags, many things left unsaid finally come to light.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This is the start of the Blue Banisters Track List!! (A new project which is likely going to be a bit inconsistent in terms of order and posting)

This fic is a mix of show and book canon if that makes sense? I was rewatching the show and every time we get to the whole Robb x Talisa plotline I lose my mind at how weird it is but I digress.

You are in charge of your own media consumption. Please read responsibly.

Do not translate or re-upload any of my work. Works are only cross-posted on AO3.

< What sweet world is this? Honey on the vine..

School kid dreams came true, then passed in the night

I used to dream about people like you, now I don’t know why… >

-Lana Del Rey, Nectar of the Gods

You hurried to pack your things from the tent you had once shared with your aunt, the one you still shared with two of her daughters, your cousins, Dacey and Lyra. Maege’s oldest and third oldest. The rest, Alysane, Jorelle, and Lyanna, remained at Bear Island.

The she-bear is no more. When her daughters decided to remain by the King’s side, you knew you could not. Then, the message came from up North. From the Wall.

To your luck, the raven’s message landed in the hands of Catelyn Stark, not her son’s. It was Catelyn who came up to you, pulling you into her tent to talk alone. Her eyes alone saw the tears when she told you.

Your father was dead. Killed by his own men in a mutiny beyond the wall.

You were taught better than to react in the way you did, in disbelief and agony. In shock. You had stared at the older woman for a few moments before you could even process her words, yet your eyes seemed to beat your mind to it, tears streaming down your face as you stared past Catelyn, towards the opening of the tent and out into the beyond.

When the sobs broke through, you felt her hands on your arms, holding you up so you wouldn’t fall over, bringing you close and providing you with the comfort only a mother could, even though you would never get to call her by that name.

Even though she herself had expected you to one day.

You were thankful that Catelyn atleast understood your pain. While you hailed from Bear Island, while you held the name Mormont and were loyal as can be to House Stark, while you knew how to fight and lead like the rest of your family, the pain of it all weighed on you. As much as you tried to hide it, for the pride of your house, for your own dignity, it was far too much, and you and the Stark matriarch both knew the pain went beyond the death of your father.

It was everything inbetween.

The two Stark girls whom you loved like sisters, in what felt like increasingly mortal danger because of Robb’s rebellion.

The death of your aunt, who cared for you as though you were her own when your mother died, when your much older half-brother Jorah disgraced the house, and when your father left to take the black.

The fear for your house and your future, leaving your dear young cousin Lyanna at home and in charge of Bear Island with her mother’s most trusted advisors.

The fact that your father was killed by his own men, by the job he had commited his life to.

The heartbreak of Robb moving on.

The anger caused by his stupidity.

The moment you learned he had married that Westerling woman, the one who traveled along with the infantry, healing men who probably didn’t have a chance, you knew this war was doomed. Not because of what Walder Frey would do, but because of Robb’s clear lack of foresight. How could he not see what the rest of you saw? All for one woman.

You had never asked that of him.

Your engagement had been broken off when the war began. He told you he wanted to keep the engagement but did not want you to be a target, and you had told him that the greatest chance he’d have at winning this war was through an advantageous marriage. One that would offer far more than your family could. You didn’t do it because you didn’t love him, no. The both of you were desolate at the reality of it all. In your mind, you hoped he would refuse to marry throughout the war. Hoped the “young wolf” would be strong enough, that he wouldn’t need to. But you knew better, and you knew he needed the numbers. If Arya and Sansa were going to survive, he needed a stronger army and a wife that could offer more to him standing by his side.

When he promised to marry Walder Frey’s daughter, your heart broke. Yet the passage was worth it. The North was worth it.

You would do it a thousand times over for Sansa and Arya, and you’d do the same for your own young cousins that were like sisters to you. Not that Dacey and Lyra needed protecting, but if they did, you would do it for them without much thought.

For his family, for his sisters, you broke the engagement.

And Robb threw all of that away, and the North along with it, by marrying Talisa.

As you changed into more suitable riding clothes, you couldn’t help but think of the past. Of when you thought you had it all figured out. You closed your eyes, and tears slipped out at the memories of him.

Holding his hand and walking through the glass gardens. Braiding Sansa’s hair. Chasing after Bran and Arya as they climbed up walls and through windows.

Or when he kissed you in the Godswood, telling you that you were standing on the spot where you would eventually marry.

Lies.

You would never have any of those things again.

“Y/n?”

You startled at Robb’s voice, wiping away any stray tears and turning around to prepare to face him, hiding your bags behind your back.

“Yes, your highness?” You responded bitterly as he entered the tent on your response.

“Please don’t call me that. When did you ever get so formal?” He muttered.

“I’ve always been formal to those who require it.”

“I do not require it of you.”

“Your station and our relationship does.”

“You mean our lack of a relationship?” He bit slightly before calming again.

You stood, unmoving, eyes glazing past him as you waited for him to get on with it. He stepped forward and you stiffened.

“I had realized we never spoke about Maege…” He stepped even closer and his hand reached up before you quickly took a step back from him, confused at his purpose and his words. He looked at you with a pained expression at your coldness, and it just made you angry. None of this was your choice. “Your aunt was a great woman,” he began. “I know you loved her deeply, and she looked after you like you were her own. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Perhaps, under different circumstances, Robb’s condolences may have made you soften. May have had you second-guessing your choice to leave. Now, looking at him, you could hardly recognize the man you once loved. He spoke with the compassion he always seemed to hold within him, yet the way he stood, the way he looked, he had this strange self-righteousness. As if this could save you from your pain… and what of your father? He must not know.

You stood there staring at him before you spoke, in as neutral a tone as you could muster. “We have all made great sacrifices, your highness. I believe my aunt may rest easy knowing her own sacrifice, that of her life, saved countless others.” Unlike you, you thought to yourself. No, he sacrifices others. Not himself.

Robb wasn’t an idiot, and his expression sunk at your words. “I appreciate every sacrifice that has been made on behalf of the North.”

Sadness and anger were welling up within you, and gods, you wanted to yell at him. You wondered if you could still get away with something like that, yet you simply muttered, thinking of your father, your aunt, the stark girls. “And a great many, indeed.”

“Y/n… do not insinuate that I do not know sacrifice. I have lost as much, if not more, compared to all those here.”

“Whatever you believe,” you spoke, looking directly into his eyes, “it doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? It doesn’t matter what we’ve lost, it’s already gone.” You turned your head away, willing tears to stay put in your eyes.

“I am sorry.”

You didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “It is what it is.”

“I made you a promise. And I broke it.”

“You did.”

“Why must you always act like it doesn’t matter to you?” He scoffed, frustrated. There was a pause. “Were you.. were you packing up your things to leave?”

You turned to look at your bags on the bed.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that, please, for gods sakes. And all I ever wanted was an ounce of pushback from you! We were to be married, and you gave that away so easily, yet now you punish me for it every day because I married Talisa!”

“Robb,” you spoke harshly, stopping his rant, giving him what he seemed to want. An honest response. “You’re right, I am angry with you. Just not for the selfish reasons you think I am.”

“Well if you’re abandoning the war effort, it’s better for me to hear it now before you’re taken prisoner.”

You sighed at his childish threat. “I think you haven’t seen a single thing I’ve done. Of course breaking the engagement mattered to me! How could you not see that? You know how much I loved you, how on earth could you really think I gave that up so easily? Without second thoughts? I did it for you! And you’re so far up your own arse at this point that you can’t even see that! I sacrificed my love for you for the lives of your sisters. For the chance to win this war. Is that not a good enough reason for you? It’s not that you married Talisa, it’s that I agreed to end the engagement while under the impression that it would change the tides of the war. That you would marry a Frey and secure the twins. But you didn’t do that, Robb. And it felt like a knife in my back.” Robb stood a few paces away from you, a hurt expression across his face, one of shame and sadness. “I made that sacrifice for nothing.”

“I love her. That’s why I married her. I loved, I still love, you… I could not marry a woman I did not love. It wouldn’t have been right for either of us.”

“This is not about love, Robb. It is about duty, and honor. I know you believe what you did was honorable, honorable to the sanctity of vows and marriage… but you killed hundreds if not thousands of our men with your choice. Is that worth it to you? Is that truly so honorable, if it meant breaking your promises?”

“We will make it right with the Freys, and pay our debts another way. But you, you broke your promise to me. And now you stand here with your bags packed, is that not breaking your promise, too?”

“I did it for your family! I did it to try to save your sisters, and I did it for you! How can you not see that? And I’m leaving now because my family is in trouble, my cousins just lost their mother and now must rule the island. I’ve given up so much for you, for your family…” You rose your voice in anger, beginning to lose control of your emotions, hands beginning to shake as you tied up your bags.

“Even if they are family, what would your father think of you being a deserter?”

“Do not speak of my father-“ your voice broke, tears welling up in your eyes.

“If you were under his command he’d have you killed for abandoning your position, y/n,”

“He’s dead, Robb!” You yelled, eyes locking to his, tears dripping from your eyes like spring rain. “My father is dead.”

“Y/n- I didn’t know,” Robb’s face had fallen to one of sympathy, his hand reached out for you, to comfort you like he had so many times in the past. And this time you let his hand reach your shoulder. You stiffly let him protectively put a hand on the top of your head, and pull you into his embrace. After a moment, you relaxed into his warmth, exhaling shakily as the tears kept coming. “I know how much he meant to you. I am so sorry…”

“Robb, you have to let me go,” you whispered, and you knew he understood you meant he needed to let you return home, because his hold around you was maintained. “I don’t have anything left for me here. I want another chance. A chance to be happy. I want to protect and defend my home, and the family I have left.”

“I can’t,” he told you earnestly. “I can’t.”

“You’re married, you moved on… So why won’t you let me?”

“I didn’t, really. I couldn’t.”

“But you did. You can’t take any of it back, Robb. And I know that I can’t either.” You paused to collect yourself before continuing. “Do you want to know how my father died?”

He was silent for a moment before asking, “how?”

“His own men killed him. There was a mutiny.” His grip around you tightened. “My father was an incredibly respected man. And in the end, no matter how much he did right, he did not pay enough attention to what was right in front of him. I don’t think he ever considered just how possible it was that his men would turn on him.”

“The North is stronger than a band of criminals. We have a family name to stand behind, we have bannermen who swore oaths for generations. It is different,” he rationalized, looking down at you. And you looked up, and then, you could remember why you fell in love with him. With his handsome face and dark curls, his fierce yet pragmatic nature, the overwhelming protection, and the way his adoration for you shone through his eyes. The way you could feel it. And your heart hurt, because you thought he might be wrong. His eyes stayed on yours as you spoke.

“Nothing is as strong as it seems, Robb… You just crossed Walter Frey. One of the most selfish men I’ve ever met, the lord of a great river lands house, and of the crossing, which you desperately need for this war… I could be wrong. I could be, but I’ve already lost you. I’ve already lost your sisters. I’ve lost my aunt, who raised me as her own, and I’ve lost my father. I cannot be here anymore. There is nothing for me here, and while I can never forgive you for the choices you made, I also cannot bear to lose more of you than I already have.”

Robb brought his hands up to your face, brushing the water from your eyes as his own eyes welled with tears.

“You have to let me go,” you pleaded again, voice barely even a whisper.

“I know,” he nodded. “At least let me get a horse and supplies for you. Meet me at the eastern edge of the camp.”

And with that, he quickly withdrew his hands, leaving your tent without a second glance.

As you waited, you ensured you had packed everything. You double-checked the items and re-laced your boots before throwing on a warm cloak and stepping outside. The air was growing colder, and with the winds came winter.

You quickly made your way to the edge, and by the tree line you spotted him. Standing with your horse, already saddled.

He was silent when you approached, and could not meet your eye as he took your bags and attached them. He automatically held a hand out to help you mount, but when you took it, he looked at you again. And he truly looked at you. His eyes ran over the details of your face, like he was committing it to memory, and held your hand like a lifeline. He looked at you with sad desperation, pulling you into a hug once more, tucking your head under his chin and holding you so tight you could hardly breathe. When his grip loosened, he placed a tender kiss to your forehead, and within it held every memory, and every touch.

“You know where to go. Just promise me to be careful. Go quickly, don’t stop for anyone… I love you, y/n.” His voice sounded hoarse, too much emotion behind it to even speak of.

“I love you too, Robb,” you told him, staring deep into his eyes as you cried for what felt like the millionth time that day. “And I am sorry that wasn’t enough.”

He simply nodded, and helped you onto the horse.

He did not look at you as you fixed the hold on the reins or the lay of your cloak along your back, but as you urged your horse into a galloping pace and you looked back, his eyes were fixed on you.

You knew then that you would always love him, and no matter how lost he made you feel, and while you could never forgive him, you could now move forward. You knew you could find your way.

Whether Robb made it through or not, your situations wouldn’t change. Too much had transpired to ever go back.

No, even if you both survived this war, you knew that this would be the last time you ever saw Robb Stark.

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #king in the north #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #house stark #rorabbit

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thank-god-and-you · 25 days

Note

Maybe warm soup & Jorleesi, if you are up for it :)

STET FORTUNA DOMUS

Rating: K+

Genre: Romance/Family

Character(s)/Relationship(s): Jorah Mormont, Daenerys Targaryen; Dany/Jorah

Summary: "But that’s the thing with words and magic, isn’t it? There’s power in it. And that’s what’s happened. The power of words has turned prophetic."

Warnings: None.

Link here on FFN and here on AO3.

#I know it's taken me about fifty thousand years to finish this but I got there in the end #Daenerys Targaryen #Jorah Mormont #Dany x Jorah #Jorleesi #Daenerys x Jorah #my fanfiction #asks and answers #salzrand #OTP: I need you by my side

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esther-dot · 11 months

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How do you think Dany as foil to Virgin Mary?

The Virgin Mary is often pictured weeping and that imagery, a weeping woman, a weeping mother, tears of blood, crops up over and over through the series, and Dany cries a lot in AGOT, but Martin starts to insert lines about weeping, not weeping, that seem pertinent:

She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. (AGOT, Daenerys IX) "The blood of the dragon does not weep," she said testily. (ACOK, Daenerys III)

"Khaleesi," he said, taken aback by her fury, "the Unsullied are chosen as boys, and trained—" "I have heard all I care to of their training." Dany could feel tears welling in her eyes, sudden and unwanted. Her hand flashed up and cracked Ser Jorah hard across the face. It was either that, or cry. Mormont touched the cheek she'd slapped. "If I have displeased my queen—" (ASOS, Daenerys II) Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she'd swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. "Tell Belwas to bring my knights," Dany commanded, before she could change her mind. "My good knights." (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

"Remove this liar from my sight," she commanded. I must not weep. I must not. If I weep I will forgive him. (ASOS, Daenerys, VI) "This one has been told that your servant Stalwart Shield sometimes gave coin to the women of the brothels to lie with him and hold him."The blood of the dragon does not weep. "Stalwart Shield," she said, dry-eyed. "That was his name?" (ADWD, Daenerys I)

Once, the grass whispered back, until you chained your dragons in the dark. "Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …" Dany could not recall the child's name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. "I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons." Aye, the grass said, but you turned against your children. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

Mercy, compassion, these are essential to Martin, and Dany has been going through a long process of steeling herself, convincing herself to have less. Not tears (mercy) fire. To support that interpretation, the exclamation, "Mother have mercy," and the song, "Gentle Mother, font of mercy" are worked into the series. It isn't just the imagery of a weeping woman or incidents of a character crying or not, but Martin telling us the representation of mercy is "the mother" (his take on the Virgin Mary), as she is the intercessor for her people. The fact that the dragon in Dany "burns" away her tears is a huge sign of where things are going, and yes, indicates she is being contrasted with an ideal Martin has included in the story.

There are also parallels between Cersei and Dany which indicate their children (Joffrey and Drogon) bring death and destruction to Westeros, not life, not peace. That's a direct contradiction to what the Virgin Mary's son is meant to do. In fact, Dany's son was what prompted Drogo to swear to invade Westeros, so Dany's children have always been surrounded with the death of others.

"The thunder of his hooves!" the others chorused. "As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The old woman trembled and looked at Dany almost as if she were afraid. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world." "The stallion who mounts the world!" the onlookers cried in echo, until the night rang to the sound of their voices. (AGOT, Daenerys V)

When Cat becomes Lady Stoneheart, I mentioned that she goes from the positive version of “mother,” the one pleading for peace instead of war --in her death scene, literally pleading for her son's life-- to the one who turns on humanity and wants vengeance. No longer the "intercessor", now the one who brings death. The fact that Dany has purposed to pursue war and conquest is a contrast to her, and seeing the transformation of Cat should alarm us for Dany who ended book one burning a person alive.

That's all I got, anon. I'll tag @minitafan in case she has some additional thoughts!

#anti daenerys #dot chat

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fandomsbyladymelodrama · 6 months

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@salzrand - <3 Jamais T'oublier, my friends <3<3 (which sounds like a goodbye but is really just another farewell-for-now but ajsalkdajkdjfkj WHY DO I ALWAYS FEEL SO SAD WHEN I WELL-AND-TRULY FINISH A FIC??? :'( and this is why writers leave epilogues for years, tbh XD) Hope you enjoy! Much love to all. Xo

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springdandelixn · 2 years

Text

Home - Part I

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42329199/chapters/106292970

Jorah x F!Reader

Summary: You and Jorah are enjoying a peaceful night in your home when a knock on the door surprises you both and shakes the peace you know.

Warnings: light angst, some fluff, tons of kisses from our Bear Knight

YOU

The night is dark and full of terrors.

But not in your home; the home which you share with Jorah that sits at the edge of the town where the forest is lust with trees and the sea just close by that you hear the water crashing against the shore. The cool winter breeze of the night blows through the windows of your small yet homey cottage, but the fire that burns in the hearth of your bedroom and Jorah’s arms around your, as you both lay in bed, keep the chill at bay, encasing you in a warmth that makes you love the winter all the same.

His smooth voice echoes throughout the room as he tells you a tale of his childhood. One where his father took him on his first bear hunt along with the seasoned warriors of the island, his road of passage to manhood, a tale that makes you laugh upon revealing that he ended up falling in a rover when he thought a bear was chasing him, which turned out to be but a tiny squirrel jumping about the bushes.

You love his stories. Love that he has so much of them in store. And you feel the excitement and happiness surging within you as you imagine hime telling your child the same tales he’s told you once he or she comes into the world. A smile grazing you lips when his hand rests against the swell of your belly, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss atop it.

Jorah has been a protective bear as soon as he found out your were with child. Following you around wherever you would go and offering to the do even the simplest tasks for you. You understood his protective nature for you knew of his past. Knew of his fears. The three stillborns with the last taking the life of his first wife and he’s expressed them almost immediately that he does not want the same fate to befall you.

But you feel the babe in you is strong. Inheriting the strength of their father, the strength of a Mormont, and it does not worry you one bit that anything would happen to you or your unborn child. That you feel confident and elated at the thought of holding the babe in your arms and hoping to see them take after your husband; to have the most beautiful blue eyes and golden hair that shines underneath the sun.

As he finishes his story, Jorah moves to stand and blow out the candles that illuminate your room when a knock at the door surprises the both of you, a call of his name filling you with worry as you think of who would be looking for your husband at this time of the night and why.

“Stay here.” He instructs and leans over to press a kiss on your forehead, blowing out the last of the candle, only the small fire on the hearth serving as the source of light. He walks over to his belt that hangs by the door of your chambers and slips of a dagger from its sheath before leaving you and closing the door behind him.

You cover yourself with furs and try your best to settle on the mattress. But the muffled voice of the other man and the shock you sense from Jorah’s voice keeps you on high alert, your heart beating fast against your chest as your mind conjures up several reasons for him to garner such a reaction.

When Jorah returns, there is a frown on his face and you quickly move to stand from the bed, but he stops you by placing a hand on your shoulder, his body slumping as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Who was it?” You ask. “What did they want?”

“It was Captain Wymond.” He answers with a sigh. “Lyanna requests my presence tomorrow at the Keep to discuss travels to Winterfell.”

His answer sends a chill up your spine. “Winterfell? But—why?”

You start to panic, your hands shaking as you think of reasons why they would want your husband to travel all the way to Winterfell. Surely it’s not to punish him for his past crimes, right? He was pardoned by the King in the North himself and Lady Mormont has accepted him back on the island.

Unless—unless he’s realized that he wants to carry out what his late father has never accomplished. To punish Jorah for his sins, to kill him, or worse, to force him to take the black, permanently separating him from you and taking away the father of your unborn child. Tears suddenly escape your eyes as your mind is filled with such thoughts, your hand reaching up to him and clutching on his arm tight.

No! You can’t let that happen! You’re about to be a family and you won’t allow your child to grow up without their father by their side. You won’t allow yourself to grow old with Jorah by your side. You can’t!

“Petal.”

You face Jorah when he coos at you, a deep frown forming on your lips as you pull yourself up and wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as the thought of him leaving your sight makes your insides turn.

“Calm down. It’s not good for the child.” He says in a soft voice, pulling away slightly from your grasp, his hand reaching up to wipe the tears that have stained your face. “I know not what they need me for yet.”

“They’re taking you to Winterfell, Jorah!” What if Lord Snow wants your head? Or they send you to the wall?” Your lips quiver as you finally voice out your fears. “I cannot lose you. I won’t allow it!” You cry.

“And you won’t.” He assures, feeling his hand caress the back of your head before cupping your chin to tilt your head back, making you look at him. “It is not the Mormont way to deceive others. If I was to be punished, Lyanna would have said so. And she has announced to Lord Snow of my return. If he wanted me dead, she wouldn’t have allow me to set foot on the island and have sent me to Winterfell at once.” He explains, pressing his forehead against yours. “I will listen to what they have to say and if it is what you fear, we shall leave.”

You look at him with wide eyes. His offer of escape lingering in your head, how he did so with his Southern wife that made the smallfolk despise him. It worries you that he would go through the same thing, with you in tow this time, but you would take it in a heartbeat, you don’t care if the people of Bear Island decides to hate you just the same, if it meant living in peace with the man you love.

“But where would we go?”

“Lys? Braavos? We could sail to another country if we so wish.” His voice is serious.

“You mean that?” You ask.

“I would do anything to be with you, Petal. Besides, I’ve done it before.” He simply says as he runs his fingers through your hair. “I can do it again if I so wish.”

The morrow comes and you wait inside the Keep, sitting at the dining table as Jorah talks to Lady Mormont and her advisors in the small gathering room.

Jorah asked you to stay at home and wait for him, his reasons being that the path to the Keep is now covered in snow and he doesn’t want you to trip or slip on your way. But you refused, much to his chagrin, and allowed you to accompany him either way, your hand clutching tightly on his elbow as he guides you up to Mormont Keep.

Your leg bounces in anticipation, your fingers fiddling with your skirt then your belly as you wait for their discussions to end. You don’t miss the eyes of the inhabitants of the Keep as they look at you with curiosity, the handmaiden of Lady Mormont giving you a smile when she recognizes you, a tray of cups and plates of half-eaten bread in her hand, her eyes full of question, same as the rest and you don’t doubt it’s about your sudden appearance in the house of the Lady of Bear Island.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Your head snaps to the side when you hear Jorah’s voice in the room, standing immediately, somewhat a little slow from your condition when your eyes rest on him then on Lady Lyanna beside him, flanked by Captain Wymond and Maester Kalon.

“I shall be seeing you at the docks in a week, cousin.” She says, your head bowing when her eyes meet yours briefly before turning her attention back to your husband. “And I shall uphold my promise that your wife shall be looked after in your absence.”

Jorah bows his head when his cousin leaves, striding towards you after and wrapping an arm around your waist as he looks at you. And you can’t help but notice the deep worry in his eyes, how the crease on his forehead deepens and the wrinkles on side of his eyes looking more prominent.

“What did she mean, Jorah?” You ask all of a sudden. “Look after me?”

“We’ll discuss it at home.” He says with finality and you nod, his distress bleeding into you as you leave Mormont Keep.

Upon arriving at the safety of your home, Jorah sits you down on the bed and tells you what has transpired in their talk. The stories of the Night King that mothers tell their children have become a reality and the Warden—no, King in the North has called his bannermen to save their home, to help fight for the living and kill the dead.

“No!” You shout and clutch on the swell of your belly as you stand and look at Jorah, the tears escaping your eyes as anger, and sadness consumes you. “I won’t allow you, Jorah! No! You’re to be a father in two months and you’re telling me you have to leave? Because of a child’s tale?”

“It is no longer a tale, my love,” Jorah says as he places a hand on your waist, stilling you, his other hand reaching up to cup your face. “Lyanna said that Jon Snow himself saw them marching to the wall. And now he calls for aid from all the houses in the North. I—I can’t,” His voice falters as he looks at you and you see unshed tears brimming in his eyes. “I have to fight. I have to, in order to protect you and our child.”

“But you don’t have to.” You try to reason, wiping your tears harshly from your eyes and clutching his wrists, taking a deep breath before you speak. “We can just leave as you said. We’ll go east. If the stories are true, the dead cannot follow us there.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” He sighs, rubbing his thumb against the apple of your cheek. “I have to go. I may not be a lord but I am still a knight and a Mormont. I cannot turn a blind eye to this. The living need me.”

“But we need you too! I need you!” You cry and bury your face in his chest, your hands turning into fists as you lightly beat at his chest. “You cannot leave me. You can’t—” Your voice falters as your sadness takes over. The thought of losing Jorah forever from battle doesn’t sit well with you and you don’t even want to think if they bring home his feet pointing to the heavens and not firmly planted on the ground.

“Lyanna is taking every abled man and woman to Winterfell to fight.” He adds, the desolation in his voice palpable.

“Every? That means even my—”

“Aye. Even your uncle will be coming with us.” He sighs and leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “You and your aunt will be staying in the Keep. You both will be cared for and as soon as the battle ends, I’ll come home. I promise you.”

“We can take them with us.” You whisper softly. “We can leave at dawn.”

“I cannot leave, Petal.” He sighs once more. “Please understand.”

“But you said we could if they decide to kill you. How is this any different from that?” You reason. “If anything, this is much worse.”

“It was only my life that was at stake when I offered to leave. Now, the whole world could be in danger and I cannot allow myself to sit and have men defend me, defend us when I could be doing that myself.” He explains. “Even one man can turn the tide.”

You try to find more reasons for him to stay. For him to not charge himself in a war that you’re uncertain he would ever come back alive, or worse, be turned into one of the undead. But you come up with nothing because deep down, you know he’s right. That even a single pebble can ripple into a wave, a wave of change, of protection to have the living survive.

But you still make a final attempt to make him stay. Burying your face on the crook of his neck, your tears falling once more down your face as you cling onto him like your life depended on it.

“Please, don’t go.”

The sigh that escapes his lips and the way he holds you tight is enough of an answer to know that he’s already made up his mind.

You stand at the docks, your head held up high as you watch men and woman bid their loved ones farewell and board the awaiting ship that would take them to the capital of the North. Jorah is at your side, his arm around your waist as he waits for his turn to be called aboard, through with the way he holds onto you, you know that he would be getting on last.

You turn to look at your side and frown when you see your uncle wrap your aunt in a tight embrace, your aunt putting on a strong front as she, too, sees her husband off. You try to be strong, try not to latch onto the sadness that consumes you, but when your eyes meet your uncle’s, you cannot help the sob that escapes your throat, pulling away from Jorah and making your way to your uncle, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“You take care of yourself, lassie.” He says softly, closing your eyes as your bury your face on his tunic, the tears once more escaping you when he presses a kiss to your hair. “Eden’ll be lookin’ after you. You have to listen to her, you hear me? None of that stubbornness ‘f yours.” He chuckles lightly and gives the back of your head a gentle pat. “And I be lookin’ after your husband.”

“You come back to us, Pa.” You cry against his shoulder. “You must.” And your heart clenches when he tightens his embrace when you call him as such. It’s the first time you ever did but the word itself is befitting of him for you’ve known no father aside from him. The only man who has watched you grow into the woman you are now, who has taken care of you and treated you as his own. And you dearly want him to know that you see him as your true father for he is and he will always be.

“I will, lass.” He hiccups and pulls away to look at you, a sad smile on his face as he gives your nose a light poke. “I’ll still be teachin’ your child to fish. Just like how I did with you.”

“I’m sure they would love that.” You chuckle softly, hugging him once more before reluctantly letting him go.

Jorah then walks over to the three of you and you smile when you aunt pulls him into an embrace, seeing her whisper into your husband’s ear before she pulls away and begins scolding your uncle about the small sack he’s brought with him.

You then turn to face Jorah, the sadness still lingering in your heart as you wrap your arms around his neck tight, his own circling your middle all the same and leaning down to press his lips against yours. You cling on him as he kisses you hard, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting every crevice of your mouth while feeling his hands caress your sides then your belly, as if burning you into his skin, taking every detail of you into memory.

“Come back to me.” You whispers against his lips when you pull away, your tears flowing freely down your face and onto his shirt.

“I promise.” He whispers back and kisses you once more.

He only breaks the kiss when he hears Captain Wymond call for him, signalling their departure, Jorah getting down on one knee after and pressing a gentle kiss to your stomach, his hand caressing your side while yours runs through his golden hair.

When he stands, you take off the scarf wrapped around your neck and wrap it around his, tying it securely then running your hand down on the bear you’ve sewn into it. The sigil of House Mormont. Praying to the gods that he would fight hard and he would fight strong. That he would fight with the strength of ten mainlanders and win this war.

“Win this battle for me, my knight.” You say with as much courage as you can muster, trying your best to look strong in front of him. “Win this battle for our child.”

He runs his hand down the scarf, giving you a nod and pulls you once more into an embrace, his lips pressing against your hair before he releases you with reluctance when he’s called a second time.

You watch your husband and your uncle board the ship, the anchor finally hoisted from the water and the sails that bear the symbol of your home drop down for the winds to carry them away. A horn is blown and the ship sets off, your feet taking to to the edge of the dock, following where you can and you watch with a broken heart until it vanishes into the horizon.

JORAH

He keeps his eyes on the island, his eyes on you until you are nothing but a speck in the sea.

He hates that he has to be away from you. Hates that such chaos would stir mere months before you would give birth to his child. His first born and he fears that he wouldn’t be there in time once they enter the world. That he would miss the birth of his own son, or daughter, and he wouldn’t forgive himself if that were to happen, to ensure your safety, to be at your side when you need him most.

He’s been a cynic since he was told that the second child his first wife was supposed to bear has befallen the same as the first. And not once has he prayed to the gods for anything for he’s only known for them to take. First his mother, then his father, his wife and his supposed children.

But now, he does. He closes his eyes and prays to whichever god is listening that they would watch over you and protect you in his absence. That they would protect him in turn so he may fulfill his promise and return to you as soon as the war with the dead is over.

“She’s a strong one.” He hears your uncle say beside him. His hands resting on the railings of the ship as he looks at the horizon. “And Eden’ll be keeping an eye on her.”

Jorah doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes on the water.

“Don’t worry, son.” The word takes him by surprise, making him face your uncle with wide eyes. “I’ll stay by your side and make sure you make it home.” He says, a smile on his lips which Jorah returns.

“Aye. And I shall see to it that you’re with me when I do.” He pats your uncle on the shoulder once, his hand clutching on the scarf you gave him, both men looking into sea as they await their arrival to the port of Deepwood Motte.

#jorah mormont #Ser Jorah Mormont #jorah x reader #Jorah x you #Game of Thrones #coconut bun stories

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