Whisper to the Dying

The horse snuffled, pushing the air out forcefully making the large soft nostrils flutter under the pressure. Its feet went deep into the muddy soil; last autumn leaves got tangled in the long hair around its hooves looking like golden garnishments around the ankles of the animal. Sweat came down its neck making the black short hair shine in the few stray rays of light glimpsing at the traveler though these thick woods. The animal shook its head making the crest fall to the opposite side and it seemed to enjoy the cool breeze under the heavy locks of coarse hair. Jorah patted the animal, pulling gently on the right ear.

"Come on you lazy brute! We're almost there…" The horse neighed upset with the words. Its powerful legs tensed and with one last struggle it got them both outside the shadowy grasp of the forest. Jorah narrowed his eyes in expectation of the morning sun but as he stepped into the open field he was welcomed by clouds of smoke rising to the sky in twirls of black and orange. The horse stopped restless with the sight; it sensed the heat coming from the burnt grass, the smell of the incinerated bodies. Joarh's lips parted and as he breathed in, the cinders made him cough. He covered his mouth with the cape, pulling on the reins to guide the horse around the dying fires. He heard distant sounds of voices he didn't recognize, penetrating through the morning silence and he bent in the saddle trying to make out who that was. As he closed in on the walls of the fortress the smoke cleared a bit and he looked across the field. Small carts pulled by mules, moved slowly among the torn flags and broken spears, stopping every now and then to gather the bodies. A few women, holding their skirts up, stepped carefully checking on each body, looking for survivors. From the looks of it, chances were slim if none at all to find anyone alive. A young woman dropped on her knees when she found a dear one gone. His cape slid from his hand but caught up in his own forgetfulness, the smoke didn't bother him anymore. Their faces were smudged by cinders and tears had drawn visible traces of pain down their dirty cheeks. One of the carts came back and the gates opened to let them in. Jorah followed right behind it but two spears crossed to cut his path.

"Good day Sire!" The soldier addressed him politely but his spear didn't move an inch. He looked worn but his eyes had remained vigilant.

"I come to see the Captain Dascara's daughter." Jorah waited in silence, allowing the soldier to measure him from head to toe. He understood the man's fears and gave him the time to feel safe and let him in. But the spear still didn't move.

"Lady Stekara is not to receive anyone at this time." The soldier refrained from sighing and his face congested with the obvious effort. "As you can see, our situation requires all of her attention and she cannot see anyone right now."

"Has she been harmed?" Jorah observed him carefully; there was a young man behind that helmet, not older than 20, shook up, dirty and exhausted, but loyal and caring. His face betrayed all his emotions so he trusted his words because they were mirrored in his eyes. The soldier quivered for a short moment looking back as to find approval and answers from his mates. They looked at each other in silence and he looked back Joarh worried.

"Allow me to see her. I can help. Tell her Sir Jorah Mormont is here." The soldier lowered his weapon trying to decide whether leaving his post was a good thing to do. Ortezaa had made it clear that they had to stay and guard the gate and the people outside the walls.

"Go! I'll take your place. Come back fast before Ortezza comes back!" His brother in arms encouraged him with a pat on the shoulder, pushing him aside so he can replace him. The soldier signaled Jorah to follow him. He walked fast, almost running, through the small tangled patios that lead into the market.

"Wait here!" the soldier continued running and soon he disappeared behind the houses that covered the entrance to the Captain Dascara's house. Jorah sharpened his senses and heard the hustle inside the gates to the villa and knew his arrival had caused them to agitate. He leaned back in the saddle, trying to keep calm. This was the worst possible time to come and discuss inheritance with the lost daughter of the Targaryen King; that is if she was still alive. Jorah pressed down on his temples, trying to contain the tiredness and thickness in his head between the sweaty fingers. He inhaled and when the air came out, it hurt. He coughed and it felt like his lungs were turning inside out. You old bastard, you have to die sometime!

"Sir Mormont! Please come!" The soldier appeared out of no where and urged him to follow him. He kicked the horse and arrived at the gates in no time. He passed underneath it and somehow the image before his eyes killed the urge to cough. In the silence of the small settlement his presence had stirred a wave of uneasiness. Yet, as he walked among the soldiers scattered on the sides of the patio, the only sound was the hooves of his horse hitting on the stone pavement. So silent that it echoed among the walls, sending chills up his spine. From afar the echo of his presence mingled with the mourning of the widows and the crying of babies.

"Sir Mormont! To what do we owe the honor of your visit in such dark times?" Ortezza stood before him, all bloody and wounded. Jorah's eyes glimpsed for a moment at the dirty blood soaked bandage around his right arm.

"I thought the dark had dissipated at first light." Jorah took a short look around as he dismounted. "But not in these parts I see." He left the horse with one of the men and came before Ortezza bowing. "The Wolofs? I thought they had put to rest their troubles with you."

"I see you know much about our matters, Sir Jorah. Come, eat and drink with me. Now that I didn't die, I can dine."

"Dine in early morning?" Ortezza puffed in response to the remark.

"I lose track of time." He entered the dark hallway and through the obscurity Jorah heard his voice again, thick and hoarse. "And I didn't have time for dinner last night!" Jorah chuckled but it turned into a new vengeful coughing episode. Ortezza looked back as they went up the stairs. "Tea for you."

"If I am to meet my makers, than I shouldn't waste my time on tea."

Ortezza smiled and in the dim light of the torches Jorah enjoyed the barbarian smile of a brute tall muscular man like Ortezza. How could a man be so gentle with such a fragile weapon like the bow, he could never understand. Yet his magical sausage fingers had made history.

"It looks like you're in a hurry to meet your ancestors as well." Jorah pointed at his wound but Ortezza dismissed it with a snarl.

"Sometimes I get bored sitting in one place firing arrows so I must get up and crack some skulls, if you understand me! When shooting arrows it's all in the eye you know!" And he pressed on his eye with such strength Jorah thought it must've been painful. "I could sit down have pork chops and fire darts at the same time!" he kicked the doors open to the dinning room. Jorah smiled trying to keep up the pace. "But –" Ortezza turned around abruptly almost pushing his hands in Jorah's face. "I must always wash my hands!" Mormont observed him quietly; Ortezza was a big child with the tremendous skills of an archer. It seemed that the war had triggered his softer side and for now the child within had taken over. Ortezza stared emptily for a moment; despite the jovial look his tired eyes seemed to get a good grip of lucidity. His arms came down in defeat, his head tilted to the side, heavily. "I am growing old, but I am also going crazy. Forgive me My Lord."

"I wouldn't worry General. I do not share the same trust for sane people." Ortezza chuckled ashamed with his behavior but now that the soldier was back in control Jorah felt he could question him on more serious matters. They sat down at one of the long wooden tables.

"This place is not what it used to be." Jorah's voice sounded like he had made a sad discovery and his eyes laid upon this room for the first time.

"It has been like this for… a while." The two men looked at each other keeping quiet for a moment. "You know?" Ortezza hesitated and his voice was unrecognizable when he asked about their well kept secret. Jorah nodded without a word. "But how? No one outside this house knew, not even the people in the village. No one outside these walls!"

Jorah looked down, following the movement of his fingers when playing with the torn edges of his cape. His head came up slowly and his eyes pinned Ortezza's with a powerful look.

"No one knew outside these walls. But someone inside did."

WWWWWWWW

It felt like there was nothing else out there but her breathing, rhythmic and deep. The nothingness before her eyes grew darker with an approaching shadow that became bigger and bigger, like a round ball of dark grey with no definite contours, yet it kept gravitating slowly above her.

"Remind me to never let you go out there unprotected… ever, again!" Her lips parted. Cedric! Cedric! But nothing came out. The breathing became unsteady, no longer rhythmic, no longer deep. Just agitated; inside her head she urged the arms to raise and touch that face she couldn't see clearly but she must've had weights tied up to her wrists for they were too heavy to move. His palms cupped her face and it burnt with such immeasurable pain she moaned under his touch. She heard him swear, his palms shook a bit with the anger, but he didn't leave her. Instead he bent and cuddled his face gently against hers and the burn became even stronger but somehow, in all that pain, the climax of it, relaxed her. Words echoed through her head… it only hurts when you touch fire; once you burn completely it becomes part of you; and she let go, enjoying the slow death. Behind the closed eyelids, hot tears surfaced feeding the dry eyelids with much needed moisture. Her eyeballs were growing to incredible sizes or so she felt the moment she tried to rotate her eyes. Cedric's stubble brushing a bit rough on her cheek made that thought go away for a second.

"Cedric…" it was not a word, it was not a plea. It was a breath sounding like an attempt to utter a word and the lieutenant missed on it. Her fingers twitched impotent to cling on his arms and make him aware of her struggle. "Cedric." His face finally turned, his lips touching the corner of her mouth and he didn't stop there. Her heart skipped that one beat she didn't know she had anymore when he pressed his mouth on hers and beyond the mild sting of his unshaved beard she felt the moist of his lips and she did not want them to taste so good. She felt sucked in, all of her thoughts, her pain, her confusion, all of it and all of herself in that endless touch of his lips on hers. Her eyes opened and she struggled to blink hard and fast to clear the image of this man kissing her, to allow reality to slap her in the face so she could push him away. But no need. Next moment he was gone as if it had all been a dream; just a trace of his blue eyes lingered in her sight as he disappeared from the room. Nothingness again, but a nothingness she could understand clearly now.

WWWWWWWW

"Cedric!" Ortezza saw him entering the room, slowly, tired and unhappy. "How is she?" But Cedric didn't care to answer. He poured some wine and sat down at the other end of the table. "Still mad at me for that? She's safe now!"

"She could've been dead!"

"She –"

"Just leave it!" Cedric sipped from his wine but it tasted bitter. He sighed putting the cup down, slowly and calculated. "It will take weeks for her to recover. If not months."

"She will do fine. She is strong!"

"We've asked too much of her. We've put her through too much."

"This was her fight as well, she would have wanted in with or without us asking for her help." Ortezza sat back down keeping his eyes on Cedric, but the lieutenant ignored him still, turning the cup, round and round on the wooden table.

"We didn't ask for her help; we brought this war on her!"

"You blame yourself too much. She will recover –"

"She must." Cedric's hand froze on the cold metal of cup, his breathing steady, his senses sharp. He turned around slowly to look at the man who had just spoken. Jorah sustained his regard waiting for his questions, but Cedric never asked them. Jorah looked at Ortezza and the archer shifted position in the chair, uncomfortable with the situation.

"This is Sir Jorah Mormont, from –"

"I know who he is and I know where he is from." Cedric turned around staring into Jorah's surprised eyes. "What I do not know are the reasons for which he seeks Leora's fast recovery?"

"If you know who I am and where I am from, then you must know what I am doing here." Jorah kept his voice calm trying to sooth Cedric's temper with his reasonable approach.

"I've had other worries on my mind lately as to consider other people's problems."

"The problems of my people might soon be yours as well."

"I doubt the troubles of Viserys Targaryen's large and rich kingdom will ever match our small and insignificant tribal quarrels." Cedric's ironic tone did not diminish Jorah's determination to bring the conversation where he wanted it.

"That quarrel outside your walls must've left you few in numbers and poorer in resources."

"And that is just coming from the goodness of your heart, isn't it?" Jorah was ready to speak when Cedric got up abruptly, pushing the cup aside. He stepped towards the door, looking bitter and annoyed.

"Leora Stekara must live!" Jorah got up so abruptly, that he startled Ortezza who backed off almost knocking the chair back. Cedric turned around and despite the exhaustion of the battle, the wounds and the sleepless night, his anger was slowly boiling to a limit that would bring him close to the edge.

"What does a nobleman like yourself do so far from home in these troubled lands? There's nothing here that you or your people can benefit from! Our waters are murky enough without being stirred by your poison and intrigues! What business do you have with Leora? Why is she so important to you?"

Ortezza blinked a few times taking turns looking at Cedric and then at Jorah, and that fearful childish nature of his took over as he witnessed their match of egos. But eventually Jorah caught his eye with his prolonged silence and tense features. All of a sudden he looked anxious and his earlier calm vanished. He bent pressing on his chest strongly; his eyes flamed, swollen with the effort of resisting the urge to cough. But it was too powerful and he fell down in the chair with a rebuff of his earlier struggle to contain the horrible flu that had been tormenting him for weeks. He finally breathed; his eyes were in tears, his nostrils enlarged with the effort of sucking in the air he lacked because of his congested lungs. Ortezza looked puzzled and didn't know how to react, shifting his weight from one leg to another, trying to decide what to do. Cedric watched the man for a moment then poured another glass of wine pushing it under his nose.

"It won't save you, but it will give you enough time to tell me why you're here."

Jorah nodded and took the wine with shaky hands. He choked on it first, but soon he emptied the cup coming around a bit, enough for Ortezza to relax and drop back in the chair. Cedric remained pinned in the middle of the room, waiting.

"I am sure you know Leora is not Captain Dascara's natural daughter."

"And?"

"But do you know whose daughter she is?"

"Her parents died when she was still a child."

"They weren't her parents." Jorah waited for the two men to sieve through the information, but from their faces he knew they denied this truth.

"Her family were Tekaras. I knew her father!"

"Her family is not of these lands!"

"That woman was pregnant when she left for your kingdom to trade! I saw her!" Cedric frowned unable to understand why Mormont would scheme and lie in such way and for what purpose.

"She was pregnant indeed and she did deliver while she was in Pentos. But she gave birth to a stillborn in a small inn close to the market. The same night, another woman gave birth to a girl." Jorah wiped the sweat of his forehead, unlocking the pins to the cape. He pushed it aside making room for the cool air to relieve the hotness building up down his throat and into his chest. "A girl undesired by many. A threat; a bastard child."

"Bastard child of whom?" Ortezza looked at Jorah - his lips sealed, his eyes weary with the secret he was about to reveal. He blew his nose with a less noble gesture then reached for the cup again but it was empty. He looked at the emptiness inside for a second then his red eyes pierced into Cedric's waiting nervously for his secretive display to end.

"Aerys, the Mad King of the Eastern Kigdom. Father of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen." Cedric's lips parted, going white and dry. He knew it before Jorah uttered the words. "Father of Leora Stekara, named after her natural mother, whom she has never met and will never meet." Jorah stopped, playing with the cup. "She was murdered the same evening." Cedric sat down, no longer interested in looking at Jorah. Somehow he knew the man was speaking the truth. "The girl was entrusted to the merchant family at the inn. Your people." Ortezza had frozen and only the slight movement of his chest said he was still alive and breathing.

"You've come to take her away." Cedric turned his head around with what seemed to be a painful move, overwhelmed by the burden of such a future. "I will not –" He stumbled in his own words. "You will not have her. She is happy here."

"If I don't have her, others will. And they don't plan on keeping her alive."

Cedric jumped hitting with his fist in the table.

"This is her home! These are her people! She knows nothing else!"

"This is a lie! Everything she knows is a lie! A lie that was meant to kill her! But her condemners were deceived and she lived!"

"Who were they? Who was it?"

"That does not matter now! Viserys Targaryen is dead. His sister has gone mad with the pain and the pressure. This country has no King, no Queen. No leader. Leora must return and claim what is rightfully hers." Jorah moved around the table bringing the cup with him. His hands were shaky as he poured more wine. "It's not safe for her here anymore!"

Cedric hid his face in his palms, rubbing hard to wake up to this horrible reality. Nothing in the past 22 years of life since he had witnessed Leora grow at his side, had prepared him for this news. The heir to the Targaryen throne had been under his nose for so long and he even had the audacity to fall for her. His eyes shut tight, his fists clenched so fiercely the knuckles turned white.

"Cedric, my words in her ear will be like whispers to the dying without your help. Meaningless and painful."

"How do you know my name?" Jorah smiled finishing the second cup of wine.

"I have walked these lands for many years now and found out more than some people want me to know. And I tell you, this – this world will change. Your little battle with the Wolofs is just the beginning, or do you think he will give up so easily?"

"What are you saying?" Cedric looked at Jorah, weakened by the disease and the wine. He rested against the table sustaining the lieutenant's disarmed regard.

"I am saying that Alchantar will seek revenge. And he will ask the one man that can help him, the only man that has the power to subdue all tribes and bring them together, by word or by sword."

"Khal Drogo…"

"The Dothraki leader will take this chance if he finds it appealing."

"Drogo would have no benefit from this and will not take Alchantar's war on his shoulders just for amusement. Unlike the Wolofs he appreciates the life of his people too much to send them to their death for game!"

"For game, he would not. But for a higher prize, he would." The two Tekaras looked at Sir Mormont in wonder. "If Alchantar convinces Drogo to unite all the tribes under his rule, you will not be able to face their armies together."

"The tribes have never been united. It has been our way for centuries. We are not like the North people. What would our unity bring to all of us that we don't already have as we are now? We trade, we fight and we live together, sharing the same lands as our ancestors did, for hundreds of years!"

"My friend, your heart is too kind and your mind too innocent to see the bigger plan behind this small idea." Jorah took the flagon and drank straight out of it, letting the wine drop from his untrimmed moustache down the corner of his mouth, on his chin. "You are not the target. If Alchantar brings the tribes together they will be strong enough to seek a bigger pay in the East. One that has always separated the tribes from the riches of the North, cutting your trading routes, charging you for every passage through their lands."

Cedric's breathing almost died out as the image unraveled before his eyes. Pentos was at the crossroads among the three realms: the North, the East and the tribes. He looked at Jorah with the eyes of a man who began to understand, and the more his vision cleared, the more his worry increased.

"Drogo would consider that a prize worth fighting for." His voice was unrecognizable but as he was caught up in his thoughts, Cedric didn't realize that even the strength to speak was leaving his weary body.

"Yes he would." Jorah came before Cedric and the two men shared a silent moment looking in each other's eyes. "You see now why the Targaryens need her?"

"What about us?" Ortezza interrupted them demandingly. Cedric's eyes fell back on Jorah waiting to hear his answer.

"You can be with her or against her. If she gets the throne she will be able to offer you safe passage and a home inside the borders of the kingdom. And you can fight at her side against Drogo when the time comes."

"You speak as if you know this will happen for certain."

Jorah smiled mildly, placing both hands on the Cedric's shoulder. His weight made the lieutenant stand stronger, but his body shook with the effort.

"You've lived long enough and understand your place into this world in a way not many can. You know that what I say will happen. The Wolofs have been trying to unite the tribes for a long time now. They will use this new offense to convince Drogo that the tribes are decaying, that they need one ruler so that such deceits as the one Leora put them through, don not repeat again."

Cedric chuckled, annoyed yet amused by the truth in the noble's words. But his smiled soon disappeared and his eyes fell to the ground, inspecting the stone floor in silence.

"Whisper to the dying you say?" It took Jorah a moment to understand, then smiled and nodded. Cedric confronted him one more time.

"Dying men don't hear you and if they do, they are caught so tightly in the claws of death that they won't respond lucidly. I know this is not what Leora needs to hear and she will be deaf to my plea." Jorah paused to breathe but their eyes remained connected powerfully. "I need you to make her hear. I need you to bring the dying back to life."

WWWWWWWW

Hey guys, good to be back. Frankly, I am building this story as I go. I have seen Game of Thrones, the TV series, enough as to realize what is what and I have definitely fallen for Khal. But as usual, I like to create my own characters, develop my own language and environment so in a way I am glad I am not too familiar with the series as to be influenced too much, because the idea is not to copy, but to be creative. So, I hope you enjoy the story so far. I don't plan on making it too long, but then again that's what I said with Death is just another beginning Let me know what you think, you know your reviews are always much appreciated!