Nothing belongs to me, I'm not George R. R. Martin or Meg Cabot, nor do I know them or got their permission for this.
For who doesn't know The Mediator is a series of amazing books. The plot is great, I just love it to bits and always wanted to make a crossover between The Mediator and Game of Thrones. But the real idea only came to me when I saw little Lyanna Mormont proclaiming Jon Snow as King in the North. Gosh, I'm so in love with this girl, you have no idea...
Raise your hand if you feel the same!
So Lyanna Mormont and Jon Snow is my new OTP. Like damn, it feels so good to share this. But before you say 'that's sick, she's like ten!' lemme say that I'm aware of that and, though I want them to be together, of course I want her to grow the hell up first, guys. I think he could wait. I think he would. And should. Also, since I know it's probably never going to happen (them being together, I mean) I decided to write about it and sink as the captain of this ship.
Oh, and another thing, this is AU so is very different from the original universe of GOT. I made a ton of changes in the characters too so I could fit them in the story. Lyanna is now the child of Jorah and Dacey Mormont, okay? Just because.
The characters will be coming slowly, so no rush, alright? And I dearly hope you enjoy this.
Lya knew there would be snow; after all, it was the North. But even though she'd been warned she felt her eyes almost pop off her face when she returned to her home land. It'd been more than ten years since she'd been sent to live in Highgarden under the guardianship of Lady Olenna Tyrell. Lya hadn't enjoyed the separation, but had to admit she'd been sort of happy running around Highgarden, horseback riding through the colorful fields of the Reach, eating their grapes, learning from the Queen of Thorns' sharp tongue and Margaery's nerve and, occasionally, sitting by the window to watch the young Loras practicing his fighting skills in the yard, shirtless most of the time...
Yeah, thinking about it, it hadn't been so bad.
But now she was back. She'd been summoned for her mother's second wedding, this time to the recent-made widower Lord of Winterfell. Lya wasn't vexed when she first heard of the alliance. She understood that political marriage alliances were sometimes necessary to strengthen relations between powerful families. She just couldn't understand why she had to go live with them now that she'd accepted her place in Highgarden with Loras naked chest! If the first separation hadn't hurt enough, now Lya had to abandon the people who'd been her family for the last ten years and the only true friend she'd ever known. Here We Stand were the Mormont words, still Lyanna couldn't seem to stand anywhere for long.
But no. She was not vexed.
They were all standing at the gates of Winterfell, the great castle of the kings of winter. Lya didn't remember how enormous it truly was. In fact, she remembered mostly nothing of the life she had had before the sun and the flowers of the South. They were all there to give her greetings — Dacey, her lady mother, Lord Eddard Stark and his extensive offspring: Robb, Sansa, Arya, Brandon and Rickon, each one of them standing beside a giant wolf. The servants were also there, the maester, the master-at-arms, and even Theon Greyjoy, Balon Greyjoy's heir, raised by the Starks as Lyanna had been raised by the Tyrells.
Dacey let out a whimper when she saw her daughter but even without that Lya would've recognized her. It was perhaps the one thing she remembered correctly. Her mother's height, lankness, stern eyes, pointy nose and a set of full lips. Dacey embraced her with strong arms and squeezed her until Lyanna's bones cracked. Robb and Theon exchanged an amused glance and the latter chuckled softly. Lya rolled her eyes. Dacey didn't seem to notice anything that wasn't her only child and kept saying, "My Lya! My precious little Lya!"
Lyanna decided she needed to make her position quite clear with her new family. She wasn't about to put up with giggling or any other sort of bullying, so she quickly began eyeing the boys and girls with her evilest of stares, the one that made clear Lyanna Mormont was not to be fucked with.
"How was your journey, Lady Mormont?" the Lord of Winterfell asked politely. The name caught her a little by surprise but she should've anticipated it. After all, with Lady Dacey becoming a Stark, Lyanna would be the last living Mormont.
And what a fate that was.
She was tired but it wouldn't do to admit that in front of her new brothers and sisters. Lya needed to be strong. She was the blood of the bear. And just as fierce as one. "Nothing I couldn't do again," she answered sharply with a nod.
Lord Eddard Stark was a good enough man. Charming when needed, with a kind smile, even though he carried the cold features of the Starks — the long nose, the cold eyes and the black hair. It was almost what a Mormont was supposed to look like. Almost. But the bear was bigger where the wolf was more solemn.
"I'm so very glad to have you back," Dacey said giving Lyanna yet another hug. "You'll love Winterfell, Lya. It's nothing like Bear Island, in truth, and at first I didn't feel quite at home, but now that you're here... We've prepared a small bedchamber for you. I remembered you don't like large rooms or anything too feminine, so I've picked the simplest of them. I believe you'll find it quite to your taste."
Of the Stark children, Lya liked Brandon the most although he was a real chatter mouth. He'd had his spine crushed during what was now known as the 'Winterfell Inferno' and had to be carried everywhere by a giant of a servant who knew only one word which was his own name. As soon as Dacey stopped babbling, Bran started vomiting facts about Winterfell and the man who'd built it, some other Brandon Stark.
The eldest, Robb, was handsome, Lya noticed — tall, redhead, with large blue eyes; the Tully look. He was what Margaery would call hot. But the Starks weren't known by their bright intellect, Lya reminded herself, thinking looks weren't everything, and wondering how that would affect the boy in the future.
Sansa, the eldest of the two girls, looked like her brother, also kissed by fire and with her mother's family bright blue eyes. She was as delicate as Margaery and just as pretty. Lya remembered the envy she had felt the first time she had met the Tyrell girl in Highgarden... She'd definitely come out of the shadow of one beautiful girl just to be put in another's. However, the younger one, Arya, had the Stark looks, and was maybe the only one who truly did. Long face, gray eyes and dark hair. Oh, and the Greyjoy boy... Lya wished he'd stop with that stupid grin of his.
Bran was still talking about Brandon the Builder. He explained the castle had been built around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs, so the water was piped through walls and chambers to heat them, making Winterfell more comfortable than other castles during the harsh northern winters. Lya thought it'd be useful to keep the boy around so she could learn again everything about the North.
While he spoke, Lya looked around her. She hadn't been here long but could already feel the mysticism that made the lands of the North so unique. The air felt different. It felt familiar. It really was home.
That was when something occurred to her. "Forgive me, but when did you say the castle was built?"
"Over eight thousand years ago," said Bran readily, "with the help of giants. For most of recorded history, it was the seat of House Stark, the Kings in the North, and later as Wardens of the North, after King Torrhen bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror and his dragons. As the regional capital of the North, harvest feasts have been hosted in Winterfell for centuries—"
"Eight thousand years?" Lya repeated staring wide-eyed at the tall towers covered in snow. She was in fact wondering if the castle would be full of them.
See, the problem was Lya could speak to the dead. Or better saying, the dead spoke to her. Lya decidedly didn't go around searching for this type of chitchat. No. Truthfully, she tried to avoid them as much as possible. Only they wouldn't leave her alone.
She didn't consider herself crazy — not near enough the mental level of the Mad King. But Dacey had had some doubts and never appreciated the whole 'I see dead people' factor. And because of it, when Lya was five years old and kept talking to her dead father, Dacey decided to sent her somewhere sunny and happy, where she assumed the ghosts wouldn't follow.
How little did she know. There was no place safe from ghosts. They'd find Lya. They'd always find her.
She could still remember her first, even though she'd been barely two-years-old at the time. She could remember as well as having freed a large gray rat from the clutches of a tomcat and keeping it safe in her arms until Dacey took it from her and threw it away. Back then, Lya didn't know ladies were supposed to fear rats. Or ghosts, for that matter. Maybe that's why, thirteen years later, neither one scared her still.
Frightened her sometimes. And certainly annoyed her a lot. But scare her? Never.
The apparition, like the rat, was small, grayish and unprotected. Lya never found out who it was, but later in life suspected it to have been Maege Mormont, her grandmother whom she'd never met, the she-bear. Lya spoke very little to her, some made up toddler words Maege couldn't have understood. The ghost simply stared at Lya, so sad, from the top of the stair of the castle in Bear Island. Lya wanted to help it. She just didn't know how. So she ended up doing what every other child would do: she ran to mommy.
That's when Lyanna Mormont learned her first lesson about ghosts: only she could see them. And she could see all of them. Any of them. Anyone who'd died and for some reason still walked the land of Westeros. And that meant a huge amount of ghosts, no joke.
That same day, Lya also learned her second lesson about ghosts: in the end, it was better never to say you'd seen one.
Daily she was given explanations about practically everything she saw — so why not the thing at the top of the stairs? Only later, did Lya understand Dacey couldn't explain that thing because she hadn't see it. To her, it wasn't there. At two-years-old, this didn't seem absurd. It was just another thing that made adults different from children. And although she'd been only two, Lyanna understood that that thing at the top of the stairs should not be mentioned. With anyone. Ever.
And what would she even say? She could see them. They spoke to her. Most of the time, she wouldn't get what they wanted and they would just leave. Period.
Things would probably stay this way indefinitely if Ser Jorah Mormont hadn't died so suddenly. That's right. Just like that. There he was one pale day telling stories about the Forest of Qohor and Vaes Dothrak like he'd enjoyed doing, and the next day he was gone. And during the whole week that followed his death, Lya sat on a rock by the cold beach of Bear Island waiting for his return while people told her he wouldn't come back.
She never believed it. Yeah, fine, he was dead. But he'd come back. Her father might be dead but surely she would see him again. Everyday she saw a whole bunch of dead people. Why not her lord father?
She'd been right in the end. Ser Jorah Mormont had died. No doubt about that. But Lyanna did see him again. And he was the one who finally took the time to explain things to her. Lya was the mediator, the one people asked for help after death. Meaning Lya didn't see every dead person... just the miserable ones.
Still staring at the tall towers covered in snow, Lya had a vision of the woods and ponds, the patios protected from the sun, the marble columns of Highgarden. There she hadn't been surrounded by lost souls. There had only been singers, painters and truly beautiful people. And fields of golden roses that stretched as far as the eye could see. There, the sun shunned all who'd been touched by death. While here, in this land of eternal winter, Lya was sure there would be thousands of ghosts.
Dacey must've noticed the look in her daughter's face because she said softly: "Oh, Lyanna, we've talked about this."
"I don't understand," said Lord Stark. "Is there a problem?"
Dacey answered without the slightest inflection in her voice: "My daughter never like cold, dark towers."
"Ah," said Lord Stark obviously finding the entire thing a bit odd. "It must be a shocking difference after so long in the South."
Lya didn't like where that conversation was headed. It sounded like they thought she wasn't a true northerner. Like she required light and warm to survive. And that wasn't true. She wouldn't let it be true. She was Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island. The blood of the bear. The last Mormont.
"Wait," said Sansa, in a mocking way. "Is Lady Lyanna afraid of the dark?" Some of the little ones giggled and Lord Stark told them to be quiet.
"You'd be too," said Lya without bothering to deny it. They wouldn't believe anything she said anyway. It was always like this with children. "If you knew what hides in there."
Without another word, she allowed her mother to guide her through the maze that was Winterfell. Dacey showed her to the balcony, glancing back at her daughter from time to time, as if afraid of what Lya might think. And although Lya was sure Winterfell would be filled with ghosts, she couldn't help appreciate what she was seeing — from the balcony, she could see the North stretching in the horizon, the little town, the harbor, the sea. It was an amazing view.
But when Dacey went to show her her bedchamber where she'd be staying, Lya felt a shiver.
The Stark castle was as beautiful inside as it was on the outside, everything grayish and blue and white. The room was at the second floor, right above the roof of the balcony. Even though it was the smallest room in the castle, there was a large three face window with a comfortable seat. There was nothing girly in there except a dressing table that had obviously been added for Lya's benefit.
It was nice, cozy and it reminded Lya of the room she had had back at Bear Island. Walking around, touching the things that didn't belong to her, she thought mayhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Everything seemed fine so far. Perhaps nobody had been miserable in this—
She turned to face the window and saw someone already sitting there, someone who hadn't been there a minute before, someone who shouldn't be there. Lya looked at her mother to see if she had noticed the stranger. She hadn't, even though he was right there. Dacey only had eyes for Lya. Her expression changed drastically and she said with a whimper, "Oh, Lya, not again...?!"
Lya turned her back to the ghost. "No. I'm fine. It's fine. It's wonderful, actually. Thank you, mother."
Dacey made it clear she didn't believe a word Lya was saying but neither did she insist on it. "Good. Then change for dinner." She headed to the door, stopped, turned back and said in that abrupt way of the Mormonts, "I want you to be happy, Lyanna. Will you be happy here?"
Lya forced a tiny smile and nodded. "It already feels like home." And she meant it too because where there were ghosts there was also Lyanna Mormont.
Dacey walked out, closing the door. Lya waited until her footsteps had vanished in the distance and then faced the intruder. "All right," she said, hands on her waist. "Who in seven hells are you?"