The maester tapped at Jorah's open door before scurrying in. "My lord, the lady is awake, dressed, and ready for a visitor."

Jorah nodded. "Is she well? May I see her?" He was dressed for the feast. A black high necked tunic buttoned up the front with a dozen silver studs. A fine black and green cape hung from his shoulders, fastened on with black bear pins. Already he felt like tearing the finery off in favor of a tunic or armor, but he was certain he could bear it for one evening. At least his favorite boots were occasion-appropriate.

Smiling, the maester held his hands open. "My lord, Bear Island is yours. I cannot give you leave to do anything."

Grinning, Jorah clapped him on the shoulder. "Right. That's right. Thank you, Maester."

When he poked his head in to the infirmary, his breath caught in his chest. The woman, beautiful even as she'd been half-drowned, certainly was the Maid herself. Sitting up in bed, she was writing on a bit of parchment; no doubt notifying her bannermen that the house had been devastated. Despite the sadness on her face, Jorah had never seen such beauty. Her hair had been combed, dried, and styled into two long braids that draped down over her breasts. Underneath his cloak, she wore a gown of black and silver. Unable to simply behold her any longer, he stepped into the room. "My lady," he greeted her in a soft tone. "Are you well?"

"My lord," the woman replied, bowing her head. "I owe you my life. Your company would be an honor." Her voice was low with sorrow, but she kept her poise.

"I trust Maester Wynn has taken good care of you?"

She smiled and set her quill down. "The best."

"I'm afraid we haven't made proper introductions." He straightened. "Though our first meeting hardly spared time for them. I'm Jorah Mormont. Lord of Bear Island."

A genuine smile danced across her lips. "Lynesse Hightower, if it pleases my lord. I was at Lannisport when you unhorsed the Kingslayer."

"You were?" Jorah replied. "Certainly not. I'd have crowned you Queen of Love and Beauty the moment I saw you."

"Likely not," Lynesse scoffed. "I was with my sisters, the whole lot of them. Alerie, my older sister, is," she hesitated and her face fell, "was the most beautiful." The smile vanished from her face and was replaced by an expressionless mask. "She was. Not anymore."

That made Jorah grow solemn. Bowing his head, he spoke softly. "My lady, I'm sorry. My men haven't found any survivors. They'll search until they recover your family and men."

She swiped a tear away before it could fall. "My entire house was on that ship." Her green eyes turned upward to the young lord. "What do I do now?" This time, the tears came on too suddenly and Lynesse couldn't react before they spilled down her cheeks. "I have nothing in Oldtown now, no family left." The words came out in uneven pitches. Her voice cracked as she began to cry. Common decency told her to stop blathering before a lord, but her grief bucked off what she should do. Who would chastise her now, anyway? Not her family. "I don't know what to do, where to go." She sniffled and wiped her nose.

"Be my guest," Jorah jumped in. "Stay on Bear Island as long as you wish. You're welcome to anything you'd like." He knelt by the bed and took her hand. "You have a home here, if you want it. It's little help against your grief, but know that you aren't adrift." His heart was pounding and adrenaline coursed through his arms as if he was riding into battle. When she pulled her hand back as if she'd been burned, he felt his heart break.

"I couldn't, my lord, I-" Lynesse shook her head. "We are sworn to House Tyrell. My sister's husband, perhaps, would take me into his household." The notion made her cry harder. There was something about the Tyrells that frightened her, and she couldn't imagine being fostered there like an old maid.

"Please, only worry about recovering for this day." He took her hand once more. "You are safe. The entire island is full of warriors. No further evil can befall you here." He nodded hopefully. "Come, if you feel like it, to the feast tonight. It will give you a distraction from the sorrow. I know what you're feeling, to a degree. My lady mother died a few years ago. I found only distraction helped push away the gloom."

She nodded and sniffled. "Thank you for your kindness, my lord."

"Please, my lady," Jorah said, kissing the back of her hand. "Call me Jorah. I am not your lord. It seems we are equal children of equal houses."

"Then I'm Lynesse." She sniffed again and regained her breath. "Forgive me. I thought I'd spent all of my tears."

"Lynesse," he breathed. "I am so sorry for what's happened to you." He stood. "I have some matters to attend to, but please feel free to let me know if there's anything you want for."

"My family," Lynesse sighed.

Jorah's heart broke as he bowed to her and left the infirmary.

Music played, lords and ladies mingled, and Dorian stood dumbstruck in the middle of the feast. "Jorah," he blurted, staring at the door. Ned Stark and his young wife Cat strode into the timber hall. "The Starks came for this?" Dorian nudged the lord and pointed. "Shit. You must be a big deal to bring them this far north." He brushed crumbs from his tunic. "I feel like I've been doin' something wrong. I haven't. Why do I feel like this?" He cleared his throat. "You think he'll remember me?"

"I'm not certain," Jorah replied in pleasant surprise. "I never expected them. I haven't seen Ned since the war."

"Now you're on his level as a hoity-toity lord," Dorian grumbled. "I'll need an ale for this encounter. Want one?" Jorah nodded and Dorian slipped away just as the Starks approached.

"Ser Jorah!" Ned boomed as he made his way through the crowd. "Lord Mormont it is, now, eh? Isn't it strange?" He grinned broadly and clapped Jorah on the back. "Congratulations. It's nice to have someone my own age in the same station. You'll see how trying it can be to get these old shits to pay you respect." He chuckled. "You'll back me up if I need it, right? Believe me, I'll need you."

Jorah bowed. "Lord Stark."

"Ned, Ned, Ned," he corrected him. "Call me Ned. Please. Lords are for ceremonies like this and formal occasions. You've never met my wife, I believe? This is Catelyn Tully. Cat."

Cat, lovely with deep red hair, bowed briefly. "Ser Jorah. I'm pleased to meet you. I believe we've just missed each other several times."

"Certainly. I'd remember such a handsome woman." Jorah smiled and kissed her hand. "How are your children? A boy and a girl, is that right?"

"Robb and Sansa are well, thank you for caring to ask!" Cat beamed. She smiled to Ned. "You're right about these northern lords."

"And my bastard Jon is at Winterfell with us, too," Ned added, coolling Cat's excitement. "I know most of these Northmen," he changed the subject as he glanced around the room. "Yet that woman I'm not sure I'm familiar with. A wife of one of your men?" He pointed at Lynesse Hightower, who had just entered the hall and was looking around shyly.

Just then, Dorian appeared and slapped Jorah on the shoulder. He'd also spotted her. "Is that truly our girl from earlier?" he asked, awestruck. "Look at that. If you thought she was a sight earlier when she looked like a half drowned rat, you must be salivating now, eh?"

"Shut up," Jorah grumbled, returning the nudge.

"Drowned?" Cat asked in surprise. One of her red eyebrows quirked.

"Aye," Jorah nodded. "Washed up this morning. Dorian, would you fetch her?"

"Certainly," he answered, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ned chuckled and Jorah groaned in annoyance. Cat, however, found no humor in the moment. "Who is she? What happened?"

Jorah lowered his voice and leaned in toward Cat. "My men only just sent word that they found the shipwreck. Had to search all day; it's south of here some hours. House Hightower was traveling to the Iron Islands. They were caught in a storm and ran aground in shallow water. The ship broke up. She's the only one who survived because someone knocked her overboard earlier, or so she told Maester Wynn." Jorah frowned. "I didn't expect her to come this evening. She must be exhausted."

Dorian returned with both Lynesse and the portly maester. True, he'd never seen Lynesse at her best or even average, but she looked fittingly exhausted.

"Lord Mormont," Maester Wynn greeted him. "The lady is quite well, but I think she should retire early, and I've told her as much."

"Thank you, Maester," Jorah eagerly nodded. "I shall see to her needs myself." He smiled to Lynesse, then gestured to the Starks. "Lady Hightower, might I present Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and his lady wife Cat Tully?"

"The Starks of Winterfell," Lynesse nodded, then curtsied. "So pleased to meet you. My father told great stories about your service to Robert Baratheon during the rebellion, Lord Eddard. It's an honor, truly."

"My lady," Cat interrupted before Ned could reply. "You've had such a trying day. There's no need for such formality."

Jorah nodded. "You're among friends, Lady Lynesse."

Lynesse nodded, then heaved a sigh and let out a shaky laugh. "Thank you. I so appreciate that."

Cat beamed. "I actually mean to go make the rounds and chat with the Mormont women. Would you like to join me? I hate to disrespect the new lord, but I'm certain he and my husband will just spend the rest of the night trading battle stories." She smiled as the men exchanged glances and nodded.

"That would be nice," Lynesse smiled. "Thank you." As Cat led her away, she glanced back at Jorah, smiling warmly.

Once they were out of earshot of the men, Cat squeezed her arm. "You're very brave. Your house would be so pleased at how you're presenting yourself. Our duty as women is never easy, never fair. I've learned that the hard way more than once," she said through gritted teeth. "Should you need to retire and feel your sorrow, I'm certain no one would say a word. It's too much, too much." She turned and looked Lynesse in the face. "Are you certain you're well, my lady?"

Lynesse tossed a braid over her shoulder and took a breath before putting on a brave smile. "I've felt my sorrow as I drifted asea for who knows how long." She glanced around the hall at the revelers and noted how different they were from Oldtown, how different the hall was from her grand palace. "I'm certain the sorrow will return. I love adventure, but I shall grow homesick and lonely. My sister Alerie was my most loved friend. I cannot believe they're all gone, and so swiftly. The decimation of a house." She shook her head. "It doesn't feel real. When it does, I'll mourn again."

Cat frowned. "You were spared for a reason, I think, my lady. The gods were not done with you. You have a greater purpose. Let that be your strength. Come, let's meet the women who are hosting us. The Mormont women are hard and unkind. Just ignore them. They hate anyone who isn't a northerner. Most unlike Ser Jorah. He's a good man. You're safe here under his care," Cat nodded.

Lynesse blushed. "Ser Jorah pulled me from the water and gave me his cloak." She stroked the dark fur at her shoulders. "I'm afraid I'm a bit enamored with him. I'm certain the feeling will fade away. It's been quite a trying day and he was my hero."

Cat giggled. "Oh, I could tell you a thing or two about northern men that might make you want to keep that feeling." She snickered and clutched Lynesse's arm as the blonde woman laughed behind her hand. "I think we'll be good friends, Lynesse."

Once the tables had been cleared, Dorian sauntered over and clapped Jorah on the back. "Lord Mormont," he announced sarcastically. "The proper northern ladies are retiring and the lords are thirsty. It's time to celebrate properly." He pressed a horn of ale into Jorah's hand. "To the lord's health and all that shit."

It didn't take long for Dorian and Jorah to catch up to the rest of the drunk guests. Jorah felt a certain amount of swagger swell more lords he'd seen his father drink with raise their glasses to him.

"Hey, you great bear lord!" a cheery voice came.

"Jory!" Jorah called to the small woman with brown hair cut short. Jory was his favorite cousin, the most friendly of the rough Mormont women. She could swing an axe with the best of them, but also enjoyed conversation, laughter, and pretty women. "Where have you been all evening? Playing a proper lady? I won't have it." He took a drink. "You're a Mormont, not a fancy Lannister woman."

"Aye, I am!" Jory cheered, snatching his horn and drinking deeply from it. "I see that shipwrecked Hightower woman is wearing your cloak," she said, nodding toward the other end of the hall, where Cat Stark and Lynesse Hightower were giggling near the sweets table. "Are you going to keep that pretty little woman here?" She licked her teeth. "If she'd have me, I'd fight you for her."

Jorah cracked a grin. "I'll not upset the house by slaying my cousin over a woman. I opened Bear Island to her for as long as she wants or needs to stay."

"Dacey's not glad to have her," Jory shrugged. "And were mother here, she'd be disgusted, too. If you keep that woman, she'll never be able to bring in firewood or defend the island. Dacey's already given her and Lady Stark a piece of her mind." She took another drink, draining his horn. "You're going to want to apologize for her." She belched and wiped her lips.

Jorah grimaced. Jory's older sister Dacey was a mean as they came, and ugly to boot. He feared she'd never leave Bear Island, as none would marry her. "Did you stop her?" Jorah asked. "Lady Cat is our liege and Lynesse is a guest and doesn't need to be bringing in her own firewood, anyway."

"Of course I did," Jory answered. "I'm always looking for a reason to fight that cunt sister of mine. Plus, someone has to be knight in shining armor for that lovely blonde goddess." She winked again.

Laughing, Jorah jokingly flexed his arms. "If you want a contest to win her affections, I've got a head start. I saved her life."

A light voice from behind Jorah made him choke and Jory cackle in delight. "Ser Dorian reminded me several times that he spotted my boat. I guess that makes the two of you equal in that contest."

Jorah spun and dropped his arms. "Lady Lynesse." There she stood, her cheeks rosier and eyes brighter than before. A coy smile played at her lips and Jorah's heart thudded out of rhythm. "Forgive me. The ale and-"

Lynesse winked. "I've been told several times this evening already that I'm likely to be the only topic of conversation for some time here. Small island and all." She smiled to Jory. "They also told me to befriend you because your sisters already hate me."

"That they do," Jory nodded. "I mean, look at you. You're the Maiden compared to any woman here."

"Jory," Jorah growled.

"It's quite all right," Lynesse said with a lopsided smile. She turned and watched the boisterous northerners who remained at the feast, sipping daintily at her wine. "That's an interesting dance. Do you know it, Ser Jorah?"

"I, I do," Jorah nodded. He watched as the northmen twirled their wives and serving girls about. It was a clumsy, drunken dance that anyone could do but would never be seen at court anywhere south of Winterfell. "Would you like to dance?" He looked to Jory for reassurance, but she'd disappeared and he was alone with Lynesse. A day ago Jorah had no idea the Hightower woman existed, yet now the weight of the world hung on her answer. "I can show you, if you'd like."

"I thought you'd never ask," Lynesse giggled. "Come on!"