Authoress' Note: This is the final section. The story is complete at this point. There will be no sequels, although I may come back to some of the major themes or plot points in future, unrelated works. I hope you all enjoyed!
The Bow and the Bear: Part 4
by Arianwen P.F. Everett
Shortly after the evening meal, Lyanna Mormont cloaked herself from head to toe and met Podrick Payne near the gates that led to field just outside Winterfell where the Wildlings had all made camp in preparation for the fight ahead. Lad.. Brienne had offered to escort her, but the truth was that Lyanna wasn't looking to draw attention to herself and Brienne's height made her stand out in people's minds. Her squire on the other hand was exceptionally plain, which is why Brienne had agreed to send the young man along with Lyanna. He would have her back if Tormund or the other Wildlings got any ideas about keeping her against her will, but would otherwise draw no unwanted attention. If things went well she was fully prepared to make a statement and publicly acknowledge their kinship. If not, there would be no lasting political repercussion from this meeting.
Reaching the camp, finding the ginger-haired Wildling was easy enough. He was dead center with a group of his peers whom she'd seen in the council chambers along side him. As he had been the one his people had chosen to speak for them, the other three men were likely his advisers, although Lyanna had no idea how that worked with the Free Folk, as they preferred to be called.
Taking a deep breath, Lyanna marched straight up to Tormund and waited to be acknowledged. At first the men just kept chatting about a pack of wild dogs that had chased them halfway to the Land of Always Winter before loosing interest when they came upon a flock of large birds Lyanna had never heard of before, but after she'd cleared her throat loudly, the group broke off their discussion to turn in her direction. Once she knew she'd gotten their attention, she stiffened her spine and spoke with as much diplomatic authority as she could muster in her compact body. "I'd like to speak with Tormund, please."
The three men were startled at the child's formality in the middle of their raucus camp, but a moment later Tormund snapped out of it as he realized just who was under the thick, fur-lined hooded black cloak. "Lyanna? Is that you under there?"
"Yes. I've come to speak with you, to discuss a better way forward for both our peoples," the Lady of Bear Island stated succinctly, refusing to drop the refinements of a Northern lady. That was a deal breaker. She wasn't a Wildling and she'd never be one. If she and Tormund were to bond and have a real relationship as father and daughter, he had to understand that there was no going back on that point. She could respect his culture, even learn from his culture, but it would never be her, nor his people her own.
"So this your southern cub, Tormund?" one of the men standing next to the ginger-haired Wildling asked, examining what little of Lyanna he could see with her face now tilted up towards them.
"Yep, she's mine! Three-eyed Raven confirmed it! So you've finally come to your senses, have ya Lass," Tormund asked, bending down to look his girl straight in the eye. Her mother had once told him that you needed to look someone in the eyes to see where there heart truly was. Despite what most southerners chose to believe, the children of the First Men were very much alike regardless of which side of the Wall they lived, and he and Maege had always seen eye-to-eye on the important things. Those Andals were the crazy ones.
"I've come because I want to get to know you and to know more about my mother. The more I think about it, the more I've come to understand that she kept a lot from me and I don't want her memory to be that of a stranger. She had to have loved you. I know she told my sisters and I that the bow was a gift from our father, even if she didn't tell us your name, and I doubt she would have prized it so greatly if you hadn't been very important to her. I just want to understand," Lyanna admitted shyly. These were not the words of a lady or a leader. These were the feelings of a girl, the part of herself that she'd put away after the Red Wedding had taken her mother and three of her sisters, leaving her as the head of House Mormont. Now that identity was rusty and her words proved it, but if she was to decide to be Tormund's little girl than she had to expose that side of herself. He wanted a daughter not a politician.
"We were important to each other, Lass. Your Mama and I would go months apart, yet no matter how much time passed, every time she'd come out onto the beach to meet me, it was like seeing her again for the first time. She was the best woman I've ever known, so strong and confident, not to mention she had the wickedest right hook. Nearly broke my jaw once!" Tormund reminisced, the longing for his she-bear evident in his twinkling eyes, even as he laughed at a fond memory running through his head.
"She was a great warrior," Lyanna stated simply, gladdened that Tormund truly understood what had made her mother so special. Up until now she'd worried that it had all been about f*cking, that Tormund's claim of love for his she-bear had just been flowery words meant to sway soft, sentimental southern hearts. But now he was speaking in front of his own people, and Lyanna had already learned that amongst the Free Folk openness was highly valued. Nobody cared about being polite, but failing to speak your mind was frowned upon. It was viewed as deception and that behavior belonged to the world of 'kneelers'.
"Aye, that she was," Tormund responded, not knowing what else to say. It was true. His Maege had fought with him frequently, but there had never been any true animosity. They both loved the fight and were evenly matched. Love had followed from that and they had said vows in front of a Weirwood. She had even let him steal her away for a fortnight as to cement them in his own people's traditions. She'd been stronger than any spearmaiden he'd fought beside, and she'd chosen him as her husband. But she had never told him they'd had children. That new pain was sinking deep into his heart now, as he looked at his last cub. She felt it too, and it was leaving her just as speechless, right at the moment they should be talking up a storm.
After a few moments of silence, Podrick Payne broke the solemn mood with a loud sneeze followed with a hasty apology. "I'm sorry, m'lady."
"Ah, what's the Big Woman's bed warmer doing here with ya?" Tormund asked, eyeing the young man with suspicion.
"Podrick is Lady Brienne's squire, not her lover, and she sent him with me to ensure my safety. She said she didn't feel comfortable with me coming out here alone and Lady Sansa agreed," Lyanna explained, wanting to correct Tormund's assumption that Brienne was involved with her squire.
"Squire? What is a squire?" one of the other men with Tormund asked, confused by the word and why the Big Woman hadn't come herself if she was so worried for the child.
"It's like a student, an apprentice. He travels with Lady Brienne, and she spars with him and teaches him how to wage war, and in return he tends the horses, makes fires, fetches water.. that sort of thing," Lyanna detailed, attempting to explain the idea of a squire to the man she'd seen a few times in the council chamber with her father.
"So he's like her woman!" the man burst out laughing, angering Lyanna and causing Podrick to scowl in insult. He didn't dare challenge the Wildling's statement, but Lyanna could tell it still stung him.
Before she could give this man beside her father a piece of her mind, a hand clasped her shoulder and Tormund stood between them. "P*ss off, Alotin! The Big Woman sent the lad to guard my girl. Kneeler or not he's my guest, and I won't have you insulting my guest."
The man, Alotin, backed off with a nod, then walked away from the group to find his own tent, none too happy about the reprimand. He'd never understand these kneelers' ways and was grateful that one way or another things would soon be resolved. If the dead won, they'd all be in the afterlife and none of it would matter. If the living were victorious, the Free Folk could return home, beyond the Wall. Most of their kind was already lost, but those that had survived could rebuild on their own land, practicing their own ways. No more southerners telling them how to live.
"Thank you," Podrick offered. He knew he was older than most squires, but he didn't want to be knighted until Lady Brienne was. It just didn't seem right. Besides, he wasn't yet good enough to be a knight, but with his lady's training he was getting there. When the Army of the Dead came, he'd fight beside Lady Brienne, and hopefully, if they both survived, they'd both be knighted. Times were changing and there was no reason why the Dragon Queen or King Jon couldn't knight Lady Brienne if they took the iron throne. If Queen Cersei won that war, both of them would be dead, so it wouldn't matter.
Grunting an acknowledgement, Tormund turned back to his daughter. "You hungry? We still have some roasted goat left over from supper."
"No thank you. I had stew in the dining hall before I came over. I just wanted to talk to you and let you know that I plan to publicly acknowledge that you're my father in tomorrow's council meeting right before we break for lunch. King Jon and I believe that's the best time as we'll have already gotten the real business out of the way by then, and if anyone walks out, the war effort won't be impacted. You can tell everyone of how you and mother were married before a Weirwood tree, so there will be no question of my being trueborn, and the Starks have promised their support to us, which will silence most of the Northern lords. If there's any trouble, we can confront it head on before the king gavels out the meeting, and answer questions as they come. So long as we're open about it, it's up to those who don't like it to do the heavy lifting," Lyanna explained, her politician hat firmly back on. She might be a little girl, but Brienne had been right, she was also a respected lady and adviser to the King of the North. Opposing her over a personal matter in a time of war would be foolish.
"Aye, Jon Snow and his family's support will go a long way," Tormund conceded, realizing that his friend had once again come through for him. He'd never kneel before the man, but he'd follow him into hell a thousand times out of hard won loyalty.
Lyanna smiled as she looked up at her father and realized that he accepted her for who she was. After their meeting with the Starks, she'd become convinced that if she accepted him entirely, he'd try to reshape her into a Wildli.. Free Folk, and wouldn't even consider the needs of Bear Island or the North in his actions to claim her as his own child. Now she saw that she'd been wrong, that despite her attempts to work with them this past year, she too had held a prejudice against her father's people, seeing them as a group, not as individuals. Her father was a good man. King Jon had seen it long ago, and now she was proud of him too.
As he was about to invite his daughter and her protector into his tent to show her a knife Maege had given him when she'd broken one of his in a throwing contest, Tormund suddenly found himself the recipient of a giant hug from his little cub and tears sprung to his eyes. Lifting her up in his arms, she slipped her own around his neck and began to cry as well. For several minutes they just stood there, outside the tent, in the snow, letting the years of grief and the desperate struggle to rebuild wash over them and then back out to sea. They'd both seen horrors and been forced to make choices for the survival of their people that nobody should ever be cursed to make, and with the dead marching, many more of those choices and horrors were likely still ahead of them. Yet here and now they were safe and together. It might not last, one or both could be lost in the coming war, but the now was beautiful and Tormund had long ago learned to take what beauty was to be found in this sh*thole of a world.
As he put his child down, his eyes found the Big Woman's squire.. squatter, whatever, and snorted in amusement at the giant tears streaming down the young man's red cheeks and swollen nose, more overcome with emotion at the scene than the two people who'd actually been hugging. Obviously the further south you went the crazier everyone became.
Good thing he and his she bear had been First Men. They were made of sterner stuff, and their cub appeared to be just as strong as her forebearers. One day she'd be all grown up and have cubs of her own, and he prayed to their gods that he'd be alive to see them. The way Tormund saw it, the gods owed them that at least. Then again that dog fellow with the burns and sad eyes had made a good point. The gods could be c*nts when they wanted to be, and it was a rare thing that they granted people what they truly deserved. At least he had his cub now. At least they'd granted him that.