A muddy, travel-worn man knelt at Jorah's feet. His dark curls were fuzzy and windblown, and his cheeks were red from sunburn. He'd obviously ridden south in haste. When he looked up, Jorah was puzzled at the man's calm expression.

"Lord Commander Mormont, allow me to enter your service."

Jorah scratched his chin. "Remy Lorch. Are you spying for my wife?" He paused, then chuckled. "For Baylee Redwyne, I guess it is once more." He'd returned to his chamber to change into finery for a feast and now felt humorously lordly before the young soldier. His long white cloak was clasped with silver dragon pins with rubies inlaid. They glinted like fire when he moved.

"No, my lord," Remy answered quickly. "She sent me from her service, and that meant the King's, too. I owe my life to you in part, too. You could have had me executed as a traitor." He bowed. "I'll serve you until my dying day."

Jorah sighed tiredly. He didn't need to ask why the man came seeking to serve him. The old knight understood that better than any. Being on the receiving end of the devotion was sure different, he mused. A small smile came to his lips. "Get up. So it's true. My wife and the king."

"I'm afraid so, my lord." Remy glanced at his boots, then out the window. "I never- we never-"

Jorah took pity on the young man. "You never fucked my wife?" He chuckled. "I never suspected Jon Snow to take her from me. I thought it would be you. I think I prefer it be you."

Remy looked relieved. "No, Lord Commander. Never. I may have had thoughts, but never a plan, if you know what I mean."

"Aye," Jorah agreed, feeling a strange kinship with the man. "I know exactly what you mean. Thank you for serving her. For saving her. I suppose I do owe you a debt for that." He considered the ramifications of taking a rebel into his service, but found the pros outweighed the cons. Everything he'd told them at Winterfell was true. The rebellion fell quickly with his aid. "I trust you understand you'll be under suspicion and under watch. You'll be guarded if you're not with me."

"Absolutely," Remy nodded. "I would expect as much."

"I heard your father served the Lannisters well," Jorah posed, recalling a tale of Lord Lorch cutting down one of his father's men recruiting for the Wall. He cast a sidelong glance at the boy.

"I grew up in a palace with my mother and sisters," Remy answered, his head hanging. "I know of my father's acts, pillaging and killing innocents. I pray you don't judge me by them or hold me accountable. I'm trying to right the wrongs of House Lorch."

"Right them you will, then," Jorah nodded. "Welcome to my service. Have you anything finer to wear? We're off to a feast."

She'd ridden for days, barely stopping to sleep and rest her horse. Her cheeks burned and eyes watered, but Baylee didn't care. Mere centimeters separated her from stepped out of her window and falling to her death back at Winterfell. She'd truly considered it; hadn't she climbed onto the window sill and kicked one leg out into the cold air? Tutting in disgust at herself, Baylee dug her heels into her mare, who whinnied in protest and trotted only a little faster. Winterfell obviously wasn't where she'd heal and figure out her place in the world. The only thing she took from there was her horse and Jon Snow's unborn child.

The hunger gnawing at Baylee's gut made her feel ill. The baby would be fine for a few more days, had to. In her haste she'd packed no food. The way the northerners spoke of the Wall, she thought it was closer. When she came across a small holdfast, she cried out in relief and rode for it.

"Hello?" Baylee called. "Can you give bread and bed to a weary traveler?" She dismounted and made sure the sword Jorah gave her was at her side.

"Who's there? A woman this far North, alone?" a gruff voice answered. Soon the door swung open. Light spilled onto the snow on the ground. "Who are you?" The man was taller than many she'd seen, with a wild red beard and matching hair.

"Baylee Morm- Baylee Snow," she quickly answered, suddenly wondering if stopping had been wise at all.

"Baylee, eh? My love," the man called back into the house. "A southern woman saying she's a Snow asks for shelter. You better talk to her."

A woman as tall as the man stepped outside. Her yellow hair was cut short and she was broad as a soldier. "Come, what are you doing? You look chilled to the bone. Come in, my lady."

The small house was warm and cozy. A fire burned bright, hearty food was on the table, and wine was ready to be poured. Baylee immediately knelt by the fire and rubbed her hands together furiously.

"What're you running from?" the woman asked. "Who are you, truly, now?"

"I'm not running," Baylee answered. The sheer size of the couple intimidated her into telling the truth. They weren't dumb and they weren't weak. Baylee would have to play by their rules. "I'm Baylee Redwyne. Truly."

"I'm Brienne of Tarth," the woman replied, "and my husband is Tormund Giantsbane." She sat back at the table. "He caught and cooked a deer for dinner. There's plenty and more to eat. Help yourself as soon as you're warm."

Baylee tried not to show that she recognized their names. Anxious energy caused her hands to tremble even more. "Oh, thank you, thank you ever so much."

"You talk like a lady," Tormund nodded toward her. "Who are you really?" He looked to his wife and narrowed his eyes. "We harboring a traitor, a rebel? Jon won't like that. And why are you so far north?"

"My lady, let me take your cloak," Brienne said suddenly.

Unthinking, Baylee unhooked the black velvet and handed it over to Tormund. "Of course."

"You're pregnant," Brienne said suspiciously.

Baylee tried to cover her belly, but knew it was too late.

Brienne stood and strode over to the fire. "You wouldn't happen to be Baylee Mormont?"

Tormund growled. "Jorah Mormont's wife?" His brow furrowed and he spat. "You're the woman Jon's got a child on," he continued. "How did your husband feel about that? Mormont's a good man. Served beside me beyond the Wall." His lip twitched underneath his bushy red beard. "I'd be heartbroken if my wife fucked another man."

As if a waterfall had sprouted in her eyes, tears clung to Baylee's eyelashes and she desperately willed them to stop. A weight settled in her gut. Having her situation explained so cruelly by an outsider cut her deep. Knowing that people even this far north knew of her treachery felt worse. "We-"

"Leave her be, she can have her reasons," Brienne cut in. "Ser Jorah's not here, but a cold, pregnant woman is. We'll take care of her just the same."

"It's her own fault she's pregnant and cold. My Freya's only been dead a few years! Jon shouldn't have fucked this one!" Tormund slammed his hand down on the table. "Jon shouldn't be fucking these fancy ladies. Freya would have cut his dick off for thinking of it."

Her heart pounding, Baylee stood, already missing the fire's warmth. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I'll be on my way." She reached for her cloak, but Brienne snatched it away.

"Nonsense. You'll eat hot food and you'll sleep in a warm bed. You can't be out riding in this cold in your state. We'll talk tomorrow. For now you're just a weary traveler." She shot a look at her husband. "Right?"

From deeper inside the small house, a baby cried out. Tormund jumped to his feet. "I'll get her," he announced cheerily. "I'm glad for an excuse to be out of this company, anyway."

"Lord Commander," Remy breathed some days later. "There's been an attack in the city. A father, he brought-"

That's when Jorah noticed the bundle in the soldier's arms. "Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck!"

Nodding, Remy lowered the bundle. "The father asked that I bring his daughter to the queen to show her what's been done by these rebels. As he left, he said to give her to the Silent Sisters when we're through. He's going to kill himself. This girl was the last of his family." His lip quivered. "Tyrion and Grey Worm said to let him go, to let him do it? Is – is that right? Shouldn't we help him?"

Jorah ran his hands over his whiskers and sighed. "What could change his mind? What could make life worth living?" He nodded to the bundle. "The queen won't see this child, but I will." He steeled himself and knew it'd do no good.

One look at the young girl's body revealed the worst. Not only was she slashed and gutted, but she seemed to have been violently violated as well. Despite the numerous atrocities of war he'd seen and even committed, Jorah turned away as his stomach lurched. He drove his fist down onto the table and then violently slashed his arm across the surface. Goblets and papers flew everywhere. "I'm ending this. I'm ending it today!"

"Lord Commander," Remy said.

"See that poor babe to the Silent Sisters. I'm calling the small counsel and the queen. Return to her meeting room in an hour."

The small counsel sat in silent shock at Jorah's proposal. At the head of the table, Daenerys looked the most surprised.

"Perhaps we can find a less personal route," Missandei suggested. "Your new squire, perhaps, Remy could go? There's no need for you to have to stoop to such disgrace."

Remy bowed and quickly replied, "Anything to serve Lord Commander Mormont."

"If it will end the rebellion, I'd do any number of dishonorable things," Jorah snarled. "Lynesse Hightower is Tyrek Lannister's partner in this. She has tried to bed me for information, so I shall give in to her advances this evening. I'm a man who has just lost his child, wife, everything, again." He raised an eyebrow. "Lynesse will understand how devastating that would be for me. Again."

Bronn chuckled. "A good old-fashioned hate-fuck. I thought you were a stick in the mud, but you're all right, Mormont."

"Mormont," Tyrion warned. "She's much better to us alive than dead. I don't quite trust that you won't find her and snap her in two." He chuckled nervously, then took a drink of wine.

Daenerys cleared her throat. "Such matters shouldn't be affairs of the crown. I have no knowledge of this."

"Of course, Khaleesi," Grey Worm nodded. "Our queen would never condone such tactics of war."

"But," she added, "if it will end the slaughter and the rape of children, I'd see you spend a thousand nights with her."

The energy in the room plummeted and instead, a cold unease settled over the officials. Trying his best to ignore it, Jorah turned his attention to Tyrion and Bronn. "Have you seen her in the pubs or brothels lately?"

Bronn nodded. "I'll put out word this afternoon and find out where she'll be this evening. Don't you worry, old man. I'll get you some." His laughter wasn't as bright as usual, and the man couldn't even bring himself to wink.