Timeline of my stories:

Past!Blackfish:
- CHALLENGE, posted
- FOR THE CAUSE, work in progress
- A WORTHLESS LIFE, posted
- UNTITLED 1, work in progress
- A TULLY PARTING, posted
- THE KNIGHT OF THE BLOODY GATE, posted

Present!Blackfish (AFFC-ADWD timeline):
- MOURNING, posted
- ALLEGIANCE, complete, unpublished
- FAITH, complete, unpublished

MAEGE

A wintry sun was rising from the Narrow Sea when Lady Mormont ran down the stairs to the main hall of Widow's Watch. Lyessa Flint was already at the front gate with her personal guard, looking across the fortress' yard as the soldiers dismounted and helped their prisoner from his horse.

The captain of the watch addressed Lady Flint. "They found him in the Neck, my lady. He put up no resistance." The soldier hesitated. "They have not mistreated him. He did not say a word... but he had this."

He handed her a sword in a worn black leathern scabbard. On the hilt, the deep fire of garnet winked in the eye of an onyx fish, leaping.

Maege Mormont felt the blood drain from her face, and Lady Flint's hand flew to her mouth. Both women stared at the man being brought forward by two soldiers. He was tall, lean and brawny, with shaggy grey hair and beard. His dark clothes were in tatters, spattered with salt, and his gaunt features were weathered by the years, but he held his head defiantly high. At the sight of Lyessa Flint, he relaxed in a smile, eyes crinkling in his dirty face. "My lady. Someone loyal, at last."

"She is not alone, Brynden," Maege Mormont said, stepping out from the shadows of the gate to stand beside the widowed lady of the castle.

The man's blue eyes widened. "Mormont? Seven hells, lady. I've been looking for you across the whole Neck. I was ready to press on to the sea and liberate some Greyjoy boat to get to Bear Island... but these brave Flint men brought me to you."

Lyessa Flint snapped out of her shock. "Cut his ropes! This is Ser Brynden Blackfish of the Tullys, allies and relatives of our liege lords the Starks."

The soldiers hurried to comply, and Brynden Tully stood alone, rubbing his wrists.

"They say that Riverrun and Winterfell have fallen," the captain whispered. "And the Starks are no more..."

Brynden's mouth twisted. "So it seems. But one living Tully stands before you."

And the greatest of them, Mormont thought. The Blackfish's renown was not due solely to his decision to forswear marriage, and his subsequent ancient quarrel with his brother. He had fought and won more battles and tourneys than any living warrior, excepted Ser Barristan Selmy, the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He had been the best advisor of the young king Robb Stark... until the strong Tully-Stark alliance had been destroyed along with the two families themselves at the cursed Red Wedding. Mormont's breath hitched in her throat.

"How did you escape the siege of Riverrun?" queried Lady Flint.

The Blackfish shrugged. "I swam."

He had not raised his rough voice, but his words rang clear in the courtyard. Silence echoed, then a couple of soldiers shouted Tully!, and others picked up the cry. Soon the watch on the walls and the household people at the windows were cheering with cries of Tully! Blackfish, the Blackfish! Riverrun! and even Stark! and Winterfell!

Brynden smiled again, visibly moved. He stepped towards the door and leaned a hand against the stone wall. Maege Mormont realized the man was at the end of his tether. She moved to grab his arm, and Lady Flint took the other in a genuine show of ladylike concern. The Blackfish seemed to accept their support solely out of courtesy.

They crossed the wide cold hall while the soldiers closed the gate behind them. A strange triad, Mormont thought; the tall, handsome lady of Widow's Watch in her black silks, the proud ragged warrior, and herself, who barely reached his shoulder and made up for it with muscle and mail shirt.

The first sun was peeking through the high windows when they led him to a couch. Brynden sat down heavily, his first true sign of weariness. Still his back was straight as he leaned his hands on his knees. "We had good wind while crossing the Bite. Choppy water, though. Must find my land legs."

Briskly, Lady Flint clapped her hands at her maids and scullions peeking out to have a look at whoever had caused such a rousing reaction in the courtyard. "Quick! Food and drink for Ser Brynden Tully! Set it out in the great hall." She shooed them out, following them to supervise.

Mormont turned to look at the Blackfish. He had keeled sideways on the couch, drawing up his naked feet and gathering his arms to his chest. He was asleep.

Maege bent a knee on the floor beside him to look into his face. "Oh, Bryn," she said softly. "Old friend and comrade." She pushed away from his brow a strand of hair that had once been a pure Tully red and was now iron grey like her own. "You think you bring bad news. But I have worse tidings for you."

BRYNDEN

Lady Flint forsook etiquette for the Blackfish. When he awoke, dirty and dishevelled, she whisked him to the dinner table laid out in the great hall. Brynden did not make any significant conversation with the two ladies or the other Stark bannerman, Lord Galbart Glover, until he had tucked away a flagon of mead, hot soup fit for a garrison, a loaf of bread and countless cream scones. Then the maester of Widow's Watch took him in charge to see to his wounds and provide him with a bath and a shave. He snatched another nap in the bath, as the welcome hot water purged him of the skin-deep filth.

The rest would have to wait.

By the time the Blackfish resurfaced, feeling once again strong and clean, the sun was setting across the bay and the lord and ladies where having a discussion on the reddening ramparts. Brynden was clad in soft grey wool and black leather, and a shadowcat cloak lay on his shoulders, fastened by the gold-and-obsidian fish brooch he had hidden in his rags since his escape from Riverrun, together with the sword strapped to his back. He joined them, pulling up his collar against the icy sea breeze. Maege Mormont's grizzled braid flapped over the shoulder of her patched and blackened mail shirt. Lady Flint managed to look unflustered in her black headdress and sombre clothes.

Thank the gods for Glover's scarlet and Maege's Bear Island green, Brynden thought, or one would say we had all joined the Night Watch. They were in mourning. The Red Wedding had taken Maege's eldest daughter and Lady Flint's only grown son; Maege's brother, the Lord Commander of the Night Watch, had been killed by his own men; Glover had no news of his relatives; Brynden had lost Catelyn and Robb, and now he knew his other niece Lysa was dead too. He had been closer to Catelyn than to her difficult, moody sister. He grieved sorely for Lysa and wished things had been different; but Cat had always been his baby.

Lord Glover broke the maudlin moment. "I have been wondering since dinner, Ser Brynden," he mused. "You told us about the fall of Riverrun. Now, I do not mean any disrespect, ser, but... it is strange that you allowed Edmure to help you escape, and not the other way around. Edmure Tully is Lord of Riverrun now, he has a wife and child..."

Edmure. May the gods protect you and yours. Brynden had talked long with him, before they decided who was going to escape. His nephew had always done his best, and the Blackfish loved him dearly. But there were many things he would rather do alone.

"In the hands of the Freys," he cut in sharply. "My nephew is a hostage. If he tries to escape, his wife and child will be butchered. I, on the other hand, have nothing to lose."

"Well, yes, and of course -" Lord Glover shut his mouth under Brynden's gaze.

"Of course I'm a disposable old man," the Blackfish said pleasantly, "and Edmure is in his prime." Glover's discomfiture was somewhat satisfactory: older than him, Brynden still had most of his hair and teeth.

"Bugger that." Maege Mormont's hiss was inordinately flattering too.

"That's not what I meant," Glover spluttered. "The survival of such a renowned warrior is a great asset to us defenders of the North."

"Is there still a North to be defended?" Lady Flint asked sadly. "You've crossed from Riverrun to the Neck, Ser Brynden. Here we don't have to guard our words for the servants. Tell us what you've seen."

Brynden looked at the wintry sea surrounding them from three sides, a play of waves and dying sunrays. He sought comfort in its ever-changing perpetuity. "I've seen Freys and Greyjoys and Boltons, and brigands of all kinds. The Brotherhood Without Banners, meting out their brand of justice. People swear the Hound is alive and ravaging the countryside. All of Westeros is on fire, and the Lannisters lions fan the flames." He did not talk about the raped child he had tried to save by warming her in his arms; she was dead in the morning. He did not talk about the heaps of charred human bones, or...

He tore his gaze from the sea and forced himself to think like the strategist he was. "Yet chaos might be our ally too. We have to regroup. I'm glad that I've found you alive, and that Bear Island and Widow's Watch are still loyal. Other Northern lords will rally to our cause. If we call the banners and gather enough men we can cut north and start taking back what was ours, one castle at a time, while our enemies are divided."

"Did you find Greywater Watch?" Maege Mormont asked.

Brynden turned to her. Before the Red Wedding, Robb had sent Mormont and Glover north to find the ancestral home of the crannogmen and seek their support; unknowingly, the young king had saved their lives by doing so. "Nay. Did you?"

"Neither did we," Mormont admitted. The sun and wind had heightened her colour, making her square face look warm and alive. "While we were searching, we met a detachment of Flint men, sent by Lyessa to assess the situation in the Neck. We were exhausted and let them take us to Widow's Watch. The same must have happened to you. The crannogmen do not want to be found yet."

"Makes you wonder which side they are on," Glover commented sourly.

"Don't say it!" Lady Flint snapped. "Greywater Watch is enchanted. It cannot be found, unless..."

"Unless what? It's our direst moment! If not now, when?" Glover cut the air with his hand. "Let's make our plans without those frog-eaters."

"I forbid this language, my lord."

Brynden was gazing at Lyessa and Maege, impressed. The two ladies had common sense and knew about leadership. A wicked joke came to his mind. The castle was called Widow's Watch; as tired and bereaved as he was, watching widows was rather pleasant.

Glover caught his absent grin. "I do not think the situation calls for humour."

"My mind was elsewhere, Lord Glover. Forgive an old man's wanderings." Brynden was unduly enjoying it. He checked himself sharply.

"We cannot do without the crannogmen," Mormont cut in. "Have you forgotten I bring a message of the utmost importance, entrusted to me by King Robb himself? I must deliver it in the hands of Howland Reed and no one else."

"What does the message say?" the Blackfish asked brusquely.

"It's sealed." She glared at him, one of the few who could afford to do that and live.

Let's open it, Brynden thought, knowing their honour would never allow it. Family, Duty, Honour were the Tully words. He knew to his grief how rarely all three could be respected at the same time.

He sighed, squinting in the prickly wind. "I suppose the message is about Robb's heir. He talked long with Lady Catelyn and me about it. He even considered naming me as regent - should something happen to him." He blinked away his sorrow. "In the end, I believe he went with making the bastard Jon Snow his heir, but he kept his own counsel and never shared it with me; as for his mother... I know not."

"Snow has taken the Night Watch vows," Glover pointed out.

"And I am the Blackfish," Brynden shot back. He was not inclined to discuss Jon Snow yet. He exchanged a glance with Mormont. "I cannot tell which of us would be a worse guardian of the Stark legacy. The message stays sealed. Patience, I say. I want all the intelligence I can have. Send envoys to the Manderlys, the Mootons, the river lords..."

He was talking like a war leader. Yet he was lord of nothing but himself, and he had always fought under a liege lord. Lady Flint was no warrior, and Lord Glover was no leader. Jason Mallister, maybe, but the Freys kept him prisoner in his own castle at Seagard. Brynden turned to the stout, solid Maege Mormont, as the harsh sea wind whipped his hair against his cheek. If she called the banners, under the Stark direwolf...

He saw the mounting pain and trouble in her gaze. A sudden chill, not due to the winter cold, shot up his spine.

With the corner of his eye he saw Glover and Lady Flint exchange a glance. "I shall retire, Ser Brynden, and think about your precious counsel," the lady of the castle said courteously. "I believe you and Lady Mormont have some catching up to do."

Before he knew, he was alone on the ramparts with Maege. The fierce lady of Bear Island could not meet his eyes. Brynden's uneasiness grew. He pushed back a strand of hair behind his ear. "Mormont," he began gruffly, bending slightly towards her. "I've already made my condolences to you and Lady Flint. You both lost a child at the Red Wedding. I've lost my niece and her son, and countless friends... I have no children, but I know no parent should be forced to suffer such a loss. Is there something else I know not? Do you... have news of Jorah?"

Mormont shook her head, fine wisps of greying hair flying around her face. "My nephew is lost to me. Now my brother is dead too. My remaining daughters are safe on Bear Island. Like you, I have nothing to lose."

The Blackfish looked into her black eyes. "Yet?" He pressed on. "Maege, talk to me."

Mormont lifted her hand and touched his face. "Bryn..."

He was grateful for the warmth on his cold cheek, spreading into his soul. She had been a sister-in-arms for so long, defending the North and the Riverlands. They had shared life and death, their own and their enemies'. There had been a time, fifteen years earlier, when Maege had related to him the outcome of the previous war. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna, Ned Stark's sister, and the mad king Aerys Targaryen had killed their father and brother. As liege lord of the Tullys and Mormonts, Ned had called the banners; Robert Baratheon, Lyanna's fiancé, had rallied to his side, and so had Lord Arryn of the Vale, and all their bannermen. By the end of the war the Targaryens were no more, Lyanna was dead, and Robert was king.

And now Robert was dead too, victim of yet another war, engineered by the Lannisters. The realm had split, and the North was kingless. Brynden and Maege both knew that victory was rarely the seed of peace.

So Maege could tell him everything... could she not?

He kept his silence. Mormont took his arm with an odd gentleness for a bear lady. "This is no place to talk. Too chilly. Let us sit inside. There shall be fire and food."

Gnawed by a deathly worry, Brynden followed her.

MAEGE

She led the Blackfish into the small parlour through the door facing east. She closed it against the icy evening breeze, letting the last of daylight glow through the leaded glass. When she turned, Brynden was standing in front of the blazing fireplace. The flames danced on the lean, lined planes of his face, and his freshly-combed grey hair fell on his collar. Maege remembered his old ponytail, and the shock when he had cut it years before, as a sign of mourning; since then she had got the knack of trimming his hair when it bothered him on campaign. He had shed ten years along with that scruffy beard, but age still lay heavy on him. His thick eyebrows were drawn over his eyes, and his strong bony hands moved restlessly in the warmth of the fire.

"Please, sit," she invited him. He unshouldered his sword - he carried it behind his back, as the legendary Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, was said to have done with his white sword Dawn - and took a seat near the hearth, without looking at her. She took another chair beside him. The news she had received beat savagely inside her heart like raven wings.

Brynden turned to her. "Maege," he entreated her softly.

"It's about Catelyn," she blurted out.

The Blackfish was silent for a couple of heartbeats. "I know about Catelyn," he said at last through clenched teeth.

Earlier on the ramparts he had mentioned the Brotherhood Without Banners, and Mormont had hoped the news had reached him too. She took a big mouthful of air. "You know she was slaughtered at the Red Wedding, with my Dacey by her side."

"Maege, enough with tormenting ourselves..."

"The Freys threw her body into the river. The Brotherhood found her."

Brynden's mouth snapped shut.

"Yes. It was Catelyn."

"Had they... defiled her?"

"Not that way." The old gods help me. Mormont wondered how one could rank perversions in a reasonable order. "But the Brotherhood revived her."

"Then Cat is alive?..."

Maege had never thought Brynden's smile could break her heart. A Tully grin, quick and open, lighting up his face and eyes. She averted her gaze. "Nay. It's the obscene magic of their so-called Lord of Light... no kind and just god could allow such a thing." She could not stop now; she could not bear to keep her eyes away from him. "They found Catelyn, but she had been dead for days. She was... Her sense is gone. Now she is a wight, an animated corpse, fuelled by vengeance. Her hair is white, her face scarred to the bone by her own nails. She has to close her cut throat with a hand to talk."

It was done. She looked at him.

The Blackfish was shattered. "You cannot know this," he breathed hoarsely.

"Lady Flint received a raven from Lord Manderly. One of his squires narrowly escaped the Brotherhood. He recognized her."

Brynden looked at the flames. "My niece. My Cat. Why?" His face crumpled, and he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. "I tried to imagine a clean death for her. By the Seven, she did not deserve this..."

Tears spilled down Mormont's cheeks. Tough as she was, she did not believe in hiding her feelings. "I don't even know what the Freys did with my Dacey's body. She was tall and fair, a more beautiful woman and a better warrior than I ever was..." The flames melted and shimmered, then her vision cleared. She turned to look at Brynden and saw him hide his face in his hands. She staggered up from her chair and sank to his side, taking him in her arms.

Brynden put an arm around her. "Our girls," Mormont whispered into his leather tunic. "We've lost them. In so many ways."

"I have to kill her," Brynden said in a choked voice. "Plans, alliances, heirs... The Others take them. I have to find her and end her torture."

"Enough. End yours, just for now. Sleep and rest. Let tomorrow take care of it. Oh, that I had not been burdened with the duty of bringing those dark words to you. I shall not blame you if you refuse to hear my voice again, Brynden."

Brynden tightened their awkward embrace. His cheek against hers was wet with tears, or maybe her tears were plenty for two. "I treasure your voice for making it bearable," he whispered. "Thank you, Maege." He kissed her cheek, and it was most natural that she should turn her face to do the same. She did not draw back when her mouth found his, and the notoriously celibate Blackfish returned the kiss.

Memories of her dead husband flooded her. He had been different, bearded lips, a gentle bear in his own way, but not so soft as Brynden's kiss that never seemed to end. Sorrow and longing melted inside her, confused between that man she had lost, Dacey's father - are they rejoined now? - and this man who had been a friend all her life. She welcomed his mouth, his tongue brushing lightly against hers, the taste of old battles and new passions and tears.

Time went too fast for the beauty of the moment, too slow for the feeling in her belly. She was kneeling beside him, head on his knees, watching the flames as Brynden stroked her hair. She remembered brushing Dacey's black hair when her daughter took off her helm and undid her braid, long and soft and wavy in her hands. The joy the warrior girl took from that simple act, a proud mare turned into a kitten when she relaxed by the fire. Maybe Brynden remembered an auburn-haired child, laughing as she tried to match his long stride, pestering him for tales of adventure, until he happily obliged by sitting her on a bench in the kitchen and spinning yarns while he drank his mead. There had never been time enough for all the tales, all the knots in Dacey's hair.

She turned to look at Brynden. Her eyes steady on his face, she got up and took his hands, prompting him to do the same. He stood tall over her. He had been striking in his youth, more than his nephew Edmure, and Maege could still see that handsome, wilful redhead. Maybe she only remembered the beauty of her own lost youth. Pulling at his hands, she drew him towards her chambers.

They kissed again in front of the bedroom's fireplace, stoked by servants while they were conferring on the ramparts, a lifetime before. Brynden slipped her green Mormont surcoat over her head and fumbled at her heavy mail shirt. Maege had to step back and slid it on the floor, rump in the air, while he dropped his cumbersome cloak. She straightened and was in his arms again. He all but tore away her boiled leather corselet in frustration and found her breasts through her tunic with a low sigh. They were small and muscled where not sagging, but they seemed just right for his hands.

"People say odd things about you," Maege whispered as she unlaced his shirt, uncovering his smooth, trim chest. "They say you don't like women."

Brynden put his hands on her hips and pressed her firmly against him. His voice broke with desire. "What do you say?..."

"Some part of you does." She was trembling, breathless, giggling like a girl.

They wriggled out of their last garments, and Brynden lifted her effortlessly in his arms and laid her on her bed, trying to push back the covers with sudden clumsiness.

"By all the gods, Bryn, tell me you're not a virgin."

"I shall let you decide." His naked skin was hot against hers, prickly covers and twisted linens under her. His lips sought her ear in a naughty whisper. "But surely you know I've long been in love with Ser Barristan Selmy."

"Oh, please!" Maege yelled in reproach, laughing.

The Blackfish laughed with her. "Hush," he whispered on her lips, soothing and healing. "Hush now, Maege. Hush..."

She twined her fingers through his hair for a firmer kiss. Her body went slack around his strength, then tightened again as she pulled him to her, and their mouths shared a sigh of relief and excitement as everything fit together, body and soul.

BRYNDEN

As his eyes followed the patches of sun moving slowly across the room, the Blackfish planned the murder of Catelyn.

Not for the first time, he dropped his left hand under the bed and sought the touch of his sword's hilt. He was thankful when Maege stirred beside him under the tangled covers, nestled in the crook of his right arm, her hand contracting lazily on his chest. A thousand aches old and new smouldered within him, beginning with his stiff arm trapped under her. His fingers pressed hers and he turned to lay a kiss on her dishevelled tresses, rills of silver and jet snaking on her wide shoulders.

Maege Mormont rose to the occasion. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, opened them and looked up at him. Without the least trace of embarrassment or shame, a slow smile spread across her austere features. "Bryn." Then a blush did creep up from her neck, making her even more enticing, as she probably recollected the details of the night. Brynden grinned, bent his face to hers and kissed her mouth, leisurely.

At last Mormont stretched with a bearish growl and snuggled tighter against him. "Did you sleep?"

Brynden skirted the question. "I seem to remember that dawn was breaking and you were still making demands on me."

"Hmmm, demands. You wore me out, Blackfish."

"Virgins are said to be insatiable."

"That was a joke! I never believed it for a moment." She sighed. All banter disappeared. "I have a marriage proposal for you."

Brynden expected it. He cursed himself for actually looking forward to it. Maege Mormont, friend, comrade, bedfellow... Easy to fall in love. He suspected at least one of them already had, after so many years. He marvelled at the thought.

"You know how to make a man listen," he encouraged her in a lazy whisper, nuzzling her neck.

"Good," Mormont said briskly. "You shall go to Lady Flint today and ask for her hand."

Brynden stiffened in her arms, a much less pleasant feeling than the growing effect of her warm closeness. He felt as though an enormous bear had ambushed him by slapping the back of his head with its bristly paw. He disentangled himself and sat up in bed, looking at her in confusion. "Lady Flint?"

Mormont folded her arms impatiently. "She is still of childbearing age, while I will soon see my fiftieth name-day. It's not a point of pride anymore, Brynden. With Edmure a prisoner, our situation is desperate. We need a Tully heir. Have you heard how they cheered you yesterday? A son or daughter of the Blackfish - the North and the Riverlands would rally around you."

A daughter? Aye, Bear Island women inherited titles just like men; the living proof was glowering beside him. Brynden's throat tightened. My daughter. I would name her Catelyn. He turned his face towards the window, eyes prickling. How many times, fighting side by side with Lady Mormont, had he wondered in delight how it would feel to bed a bear lady? What if he had acted on it after she was widowed? Their children would be almost grown now. What had stopped him?

Family. Duty. Honour. What about Life?

Rage burned inside him. He looked at the ceiling, hoping to force the tears back from the brim of his eyes. He tried one of his infamous jokes. "Bear Islanders are famed fisherfolk. Did Lady Flint send you to test the waters?" His grin turned into a snarl. "Did she hope I would be drunk enough with pleasure to accept unthinkingly?"

Mormont punched him in the shoulder, not lightly. When he turned in surprise, she was sitting up, her face blazing with fury. "It was the farthest thing from my mind, until you kissed me!"

"You kissed m..."

"Not counting all the years I spent thinking what a waste of fine Tully cock you were, and was I ever right!" Mormont collected herself, almost managing to look prim. "Lyessa did not send me. She discreetly let me know she would not be averse to such a match, quite the contrary."

Stubborn she-bear! "I had my own good reasons to refuse all the matches my brother made for me, Maege. And now I have the best of reasons to refuse Lady Flint."

"That being?"

"Last night."

Mormont threw her arms in the air. "Thick-headed old trout! Don't act like a newly knighted lad, full of ideals and honour, who has bedded his first scullery maid."

"Honour? Ideals? You do underestimate yourself, woman. Last night I wanted you so much we both have the bruises to prove it. I want you right now. I shall want you still, if you allow me."

Mormont looked at him with wide dark eyes, half of her face still rumpled by the bedclothes, a desirable version of the Hound. Brynden ached to kiss the lines away. He knew he had hit her where it hurt. Lady Flint's proposal had to be painful for her after what they had done... maybe it would be painful anyway. Pretending indifference to her would be kinder to both of them; yet that was not his way.

"Brynden Tully," Mormont resumed, with an evident effort at patience. "You must marry and father a child."

Frozen, Brynden felt the old chain around his neck, choking him. Maege Mormont might be his liege lady in all possible ways, but he was the Blackfish.

With a hell-bent grin, he swung his long legs off the bed. "Too late, love." He got up and headed for the privy.

MAEGE

Lady Mormont strolled through Widow's Watch as though the servants had not noticed their absence all morning, or realized nobody had used the room prepared for Lady Flint's illustrious guest, or heard her yelling Brynden's name in the night. Her spiked war mace dangling from her belt was enough to discourage any sly grin. She was still reeling from the sweet deeds of the night and the bitter words of the morning. She had not seen Brynden since then.

She cringed at the thought of dinner. She feared facing him again, and yet she had drawn in agony every breath away from him. That morning the Blackfish had been as close to accepting a marriage proposal as he had probably ever been or would be. She doubted she could convince him to marry Lady Flint, and she was glad of that. If he wanted her... They could name a Bear Island lad as their heir, and he would be a Tully in all but blood. She knew a couple of orphan children she would be proud to call hers. Brynden would get along well with them, she was sure: laughing little things, headstrong, insolent, wild - and loyal until death.

Why had it not come to her mind sooner? Which of them had been truly drunk with pleasure? Now Brynden might be so offended by her behaviour that he would have nothing more to do with her. Gods, please, no. She needed to see him, even though it would be more scary than any battle. She wanted to make peace with him, tell him what she needed to tell him, and have him in her bed again that night. Her belly did a somersault and her face caught fire.

In this unseemly condition she turned a corner toward the great hall, and at the end of the corridor waited Lyessa Flint.

Mormont cursed inside. She grit her teeth and strode to meet her headlong. "He said no."

"I feared as much," Lady Flint replied with a small smile. Mormont was about to explain why she had accidentally seduced the Blackfish while trying to seal a diplomatic pact, but the lady of Widow's Watch took her hand. "He's gone, Maege."

Mormont stared. "Gone where?"

"I know not. He shouted goodbye through a window, only because I'm the lady of the castle, no doubt, otherwise he would not have said a word to me either. He asked for armour and a boat. He probably means to cross the Bite back to the Neck. Maybe he wants to find Howland Reed..."

"No, I still have Robb's message." Mormont sighed. The Blackfish was out for Catelyn. All the rest would have to wait. Their rogue warrior would be back to rally the North and the Riverlands, but how changed, she could not tell.

Lady Flint pressed her fingers with gentle understanding. "I grieve with you, Maege. This did not go as we planned."

Mormont managed to lift her shoulders. "It's not like he deflowered me or got me with child." Then her voice softened with sadness. "His departure is an answer to us both. The Blackfish will not have his hand forced. He will never do something just because someone else tells him he must." And I love him so much more for that.

Lady Flint nodded. "If you do not feel like joining us for dinner..."

Mormont lifted her head, gulping back the tears. "I shall."

She entered the great hall and went to the table without seeing it. She sat with dignity becoming to her ladyship, ignoring Lord Glover's stammered greeting.

Too late, love. The Blackfish's farewell. Each part seemed to negate the other.

She reached for a loaf of bread, discovering she was hungry.

THE END