Book 1: Blood in the South
Chapter 2: Homecoming
Dacey
Alone in her room, Dacey, standing above a tub full of hot water that she had asked the servants of House Mormont to draw for her, started to remove her clothes so she could wash the sweat from her body. Kicking off her boots while simultaneously starting the process of unbuttoning her vest, Mormont's mind began to wander to the argument she had just had with her mother.
Remembering Maege's words about harboring anger to Joran, Dacey removed the vest from her body and then drew her long-sleeved shirt over her head. Her torso now bare, the woman looked down at her body. Though she was skinny and lanky in form, Dacey could easily make out the multitudes of muscles that formed her upper body and her skin, in the dim light of the fire in her room, seemed flawless.
All except for a small patch of skin near left hip, which was marked by an ugly scar that served as a reminder to what had happened to her years ago.
Moving her gaze from the spot, Dacey proceeded to drop her pants to the floor and stepping out of them she then proceeded to dip herself into the tub. Carefully setting herself down into the warm water, she gripped the sides of the tub and lowered herself down into a sitting position in the water. Then, submerging her head beneath the water, Dacey immediately lifted her head back up and ran her fingers through her long hair to try and comb out any random splinters that had nested there. Once she was satisfied that there were none, the young woman leaned back against the wall of the tub and relaxed her body.
As she felt a calm wash over her body while in the hot water, Dacey unconsciously moved a hand under the water to rest upon her scar. Taking in a deep breath, she then closed her eyes and felt her mind wander back to that day, four years ago.
…
It had been one of the few warmer days seen on Bear Island during the Long Summer, and Dacey at seven and ten years had decided make the best of it while it lasted. Walking out into the training yard of Mormont Keep, she had found Joran, a lad of four and ten years, scarf and all, training alone with a wooden dummy. His dull training sword in hand, Dacey's young cousin hit the wooden man with a flurry of swings and thrusts that would mark death to a normal man. If the man was standing still that is.
Taking in how well Joran moved against his still opponent though, Dacey's mind wandered back to what had happened a month ago with her mother and her cousin being ambushed by robbers. Returning without their guard with many wounds, the younger Mormont had been carried into the Keep by the elder and quickly delivered into the care of their Maester, Samn Lowther. When she got her mother alone, Dacey had inquired to what happened and all that Maege would tell her was that they had been ambushed and she and Joran had fought off their attackers.
Considering the fact that Joran was younger than her and less experienced in his martial training, Dacey had been, skeptical to say the least, to the story that she had heard.
So, her curiosity taking hold of her, Dacey came up behind Joran and playfully asked, "is he dead yet."
Startled by the sound of Dacey's voice, Joran spun around to come eye to eye with his taller, older cousin and said through his scarf in greeting, "oh, hey Dacey. What are you up to?"
"Oh, not much," Dacey answered, clasping her hands behind her back and moving around Joran towards the dummy. And leaning on the wooden man, she went on, "just figured I'd come out and get some exercise while it was still nice out here."
"All right, I'll leave you alone to train then," Joran said sullenly. Even though there were six training dummies in the yard for anyone to hit, the younger Mormont knew better than to stick around while his older cousin was hitting one of them. In short, if Joran was still in the vicinity when Dacey was practicing, she would proceed to use her younger, smaller cousin as the dummy rather than one of the wooden men.
"Hold on," Dacey said, grabbing Joran before he could run away from her like he usually did. "I want you to spar with me, Joran."
"Me, why?"
"Why not? You've proven capable of handling yourself, and I want to see if we can make each other better by practicing together."
Though she did want to see if her cousin could finally match up to her, Dacey also wanted to make sure that he wasn't, too good so as to overshadow her.
"I…I don't know," Joran stammered through his scarf before his more intimidating cousin. "Maester Samn told me that I should take it easy for awhile to let my wounds heal up."
"If you're taking it easy, why are you out here hitting a dummy. Dummy," Dacey asked, teasing Joran.
"He said that I should still keep up my exercise," Joran answered. "I just need to be careful and take it slow so I don't…hurt myself."
"Well there you go," Dacey said before playfully slapping her cousin on his back. "You just got done taking it easy, so now, you can take it easy with me."
"I don't know, Dacey," Joran said, sounding a little skittish.
"Oh, come on, don't be such a green boy, Joran." Stepping past Joran towards the rack of weapons off to the side of the yard, Dacey retrieved one of the blunt practice swords and playfully brandished it.
"I'm not green," Joran objected. "At least…not anymore."
"If you say so," Dacey said as she leaned her sword against her shoulder. "But, if I were you, I'd prove it."
"Prove it?"
"Yeah." Dacey figured if Joran was going to be so reluctant, then she would have to get him fired up. "Rumors have been going around the Keep lately about what really happened with the robbers."
"Rumors?"
"Mhm, people are starting to say that my mom had to save you from the robbers. And while the guards were dying to protect you, you were pissing your pants in fear."
"No, that's not right at all."
Seeing that her plan was working, Dacey kept pouring salt on the wounded pride of Joran. "Yeah, in fact, it was my mom who said it. And considering she's the Lady, everyone believes her."
"Aunt Maege wouldn't do that," Joran yelled at Dacey.
"Pff, at least not in front of you, since she doesn't want to hurt your feewings," Dacey said the last part in a baby voice. "But, if you want everyone to think you're a craven, and a freak, go ahead, don't bother sparring with me. Let everyone see how much of a green freak you are."
"Shut up." Joran growled through the scarf.
"Oh no, did I hurt the babies feewings," Dacey said in a feigned look of surprise. "Oh, we don't want to do that. He moight try and k-k-k-kill me."
"I said shut up," Joran yelled before taking a fighting stance, the point of his practice sword pointed at Dacey.
"Why don't you come over and make me, craven," Dacey said as she took a stance of her own.
"Raaagh," Joran yelled as he charged his cousin.
His first swing coming in a sideways stroke, Dacey easily parried the attack aside and countered it with a swift combo to Joran's arm and leg.
"Arm and leg, your dead."
"I'll show you dead," Joran roared as he charged her again.
As Joran began to wildly swing his practice sword at her, Dacey blocked, parried and dodged all of the younger Mormont's attacks and smacked him over and over again at every opening that he gave her. Seriously, she thought as she parried and countered Joran again, this is what Joran did to help mom kill those robbers. Pitiful.
Parrying aside another swing, Dacey, now tired of playing around with Joran, instead of hitting him in his arm, leg, or torso, smacked him on the side of his face. Her blow staggering her cousin, causing his scarf to fall from his face, the elder Mormont watched as the younger turned his back to her.
Joran, appearing to be stunned by her final blow, stood as still as the wooden men around them and Dacey, knowing that she won, stuck the point of her practice sword against her cousin's back and said, "dead."
As she started to pull her blade away from her cousin, Dacey, instead of being met with the silent weeping that Joran was usually prone to do after she beat him, heard a low grumble emanate from Joran.
"Joran?"
Instead of receiving an answer in the form of words, Dacey was met with a vicious back swing from Joran as he turned in place that knocked her sword aside as though it wasn't there. Then, in a matter of seconds, the older Mormont was forced on the defensive against her younger cousin, who swung at her with vicious strength and speed that she didn't know he could exhibit.
Wide eyed and terrified of what was happening, Dacey, struggling to parry all of the oncoming attacks, looked at Joran's face and saw that it had changed. Instead of seeing a soft eyed, disfigured, and docile boy, in front of her stood a wild beast with a vicious glare glaring straight at her and fangs bared. Hungering for her blood.
"Joran, stop." Dacey cried out in vein as she felt herself losing more and more ground to Joran's flurry of steel. "Stop! Joran, please! STOP!"
Swinging her sword down at Joran's head, Dacey figured that if she could knock him out, then she could get a reprieve and Samn could look to the younger boy's injuries after the fact. But, before her blow could connect to her cousin's cranium, he caught it in midair in his bare hand.
Attempting to remove her blunt sword from Joran's grip, Dacey was shocked to find that her cousin gripped it with a strength that wasn't human.
"All right Joran," Dacey said, her voice shaky. "You win. You can let go now."
His feral eyes looking at her with a kind of cold and unfeeling intelligence, Joran, still gripping Dacey's practice sword tight enough to draw a thin line of blood from his hand, said only one word.
"Dead."
Then, before she could react or try to move out of the way, Dacey felt the tip of Joran's practice sword slam into her as he thrusted it forward. Driven back by the force of her cousin's blow, the young woman was pushed back a short distance before her back hit one of the walls of Mormont Keep. Pinned to the wall by the blunt tip of the practice sword and the force that Joran applied behind it from the hilt, Dacey began to feel the tip begin to dig into her body.
"Joran," Dacey gasped, feeling her torso constrict as her cousin pressed the practice sword harder and further into her. "Joran…stop."
"Dead." Joran growled, his cold stare never leaving Dacey's eyes as a sick grin began to form on his face, revealing his long canines.
"Help," Dacey tried to cry out. "Hel-."
And then, she felt it. The tip of the practice sword was past her clothes, and in her skin, going further into her body as Joran continually drove it in from the hilt.
"Aaaaaahhhhh!"
…
Startling back to reality, Dacey, her sudden movements causing the bath water to splash in and out of the tub, opened her eyes to find that she was back in her room, naked and in her bath tub. Checking her surroundings, the woman felt some relief at finding that she was alone and safe. And much to her surprise, Dacey felt that she was pressing hard on her scar, as though to stem any blood flow that came from the old wound.
Bringing her hands to her face as the shock of the memory enveloped her, Dacey started to silently cry to herself. The guards that day had heard her scream and had rushed to her rescue. Despite their best efforts to get Joran off of her and not hurt him at the same time however, had made their presence unhelpful. When all was said and done, it had been Maege who had saved Dacey, knocking the feral boy out cold and allowing the guardsmen to get her daughter to the Maester.
In between her sobs, Dacey whispered to herself, "you son of a bitch. You son of a bitch."
Feeling all alone, Dacey curled up into a ball, wrapped her arms around herself and proceeded to rock back and forth in the water while she cried.
…
Lyanna
Keeping the bow in her hands steady, her sites adjusting to the circular target made of hay that was placed before the wooden palisade surrounding Mormont Keep, Lyanna Mormont, let go of the bowstring and sent her arrow flying through the air. The projectile hit the target with a heavy thud, and the eight-year-old let her longbow fall to her side as she eyeballed where she'd hit. Rather than being stuck in the bullseye as she intended, Lyanna saw that the arrow had landed in the circle of the target directly above the dotted center.
"Shit," Lyanna cursed under her breath before taking a new arrow from her quiver and knocking it onto her bowstring.
Taking a moment to check the direction of the wind, Lyanna eyeballed the target again so she could figure out how far she needed to adjust her hold so her aim was true this time around. Given the fact that the sun was going down, the child didn't have much light to work with and figured that she might as well make this last one count.
But, before she could draw her bowstring, Lyanna felt her sides being grabbed, then tickled ruthlessly by an unseen form.
"Ahh," Lyanna cried out before wriggling free of the hands and turning to face her attacker.
Coming face to face with her giant of a cousin, newly returned from his trip to the northern shore of the island, Lyanna squealed out happily, "Joran!"
Casting aside her bow and arrow so she could wrap her arms around her beloved cousin, Lyanna grabbed the big man around his neck and as she buried her face into the neck of his scarf felt herself being lifted up off her feet by Joran and swung playfully around in a circle. Screaming giddily before her cousin halted his turning motion, the younger Mormont then felt the bigger man lift her higher and set her upon his broad shoulders. Her arms wrapped around her cousin's neck to steady herself, Lyanna asked Joran, "when did you get back?"
"About a few minutes ago," Joran answered through his scarf before he carefully bent over to pick up his younger cousin's longbow and arrow.
"Did you ruff up some wildlings," Lyanna asked.
"That I did little one," Joran answered. "Me and my lads handled them like we always do."
"That's good," Lyanna said as Joran began to make his way towards their family's Keep. "I'm glad you made it back before dinner started. You must be hungry."
"Yeah, handling wildlings does make a man hungry," Joran responded as Lyanna fondly ran her fingers through his mane of hair. "Now that we're on the subject, what is for dinner?"
"Mama is having the servants make us some briskets and porridge," Lyanna answered her larger cousin.
"Hopefully they make enough to fill me up this time."
"Oh Joran, there's never enough food to fill you up. You're as gluttonous as a bear."
"Don't tell anyone, alright." The two laughing as Joran walked on through the palisade towards the Keep, Lyanna watched as Joran's men made their way into the radius of the wall and spread themselves out to make camp.
"I saw that you've improved in your archery."
Breaking her gaze from the incoming soldiers, Lyanna looked down at Joran and said sadly, "I hit the target in the center yesterday. I was trying to hit it again so I could impress you when you got back.
Chuckling, Joran said in reassurance to the little girl, "The fact that you're pulling the string of a longbow at your age, impresses me, little one."
"Thanks, Joran."
Drawing closer to the Keep, Lyanna and Joran looked upon their home with a fondness that only northerners would have for the place. The Keep, built simple for simple folk like its occupants, was a three-story structure made of thick wooden logs. At each corner of the roof were small towers that would act as posts for archers should any force make it through the surrounding palisade. Mormont Keep, though not as grand as other forts or castles held by other houses of The North, made up for its simplicity with how homely it was for the Mormonts who lived within.
"So, I take it that your mother and sisters are inside," Joran asked as they drew closer to the entrance of the keep, which consisted of a pair of doors that had a woman in a bear skin holding a babe in her arms and an axe in her hand carved into the wood.
"Yeah," Lyanna said. "But, Dacey is in her room. She and mom had a big fight earlier today about the letter that came for mom.
"Really," Joran said, somewhat surprised that Dacey wasn't going to greet him with her cold, angry eyes while she gripped a knife on her belt that she kept ready just for him, he figured that maybe he deserved a night without having to worry about his cousin trying to kill him.
"Yeah, Dacey was really angry," Lyanna went on. "So angry that she broke a practice dummy with her mace."
"Hm, that's too bad for the dummy."
Beginning to climb up the earthen rise towards the doorway to the Keep, Joran seemed to be disgruntled by the news.
"What's the matter," Lyanna asked.
"Nothing. I'm just thinking about the trip I'm about to be going on with your mother to Winterfell."
"Oh yeah," Lyanna said, suddenly remembering the news that came that morning to the Keep from House Stark. "Are you excited that you were invited?"
"Eh, less so."
"Why? You get to go to Winterfell. See the King in person. Maester Lowther keeps saying that it's an honor to have been invited."
Sighing, Joran gave Lyanna an answer. "I just find it suspicious that King Robert would ask for me personally to attend such a random visit."
"Well," Lyanna took a moment to consider Joran's words. "When you put it that way, it is a little funny. But, you have to be famous by now for all the good you do on the Island."
Her statement going unanswered, the two entered the Keep, Lyanna was set back down by Joran and offered her the bow and single arrow back from him. Accepting them, the little girl moved to walk beside him as he moved further into the building.
Immediately walking into the Main Hall of the Keep, which dominated all of the first floor, the two Mormonts beheld the center hearth burning hot and bright, giving off a great glow that illuminated most of the Hall. On either side of the hearth were rows of great wooden pillars that had varying shapes and designs carved into them. Adjacent to the fire was a long table where the family would sit and eat and drink together during their meal times. On the other side of the hearth, opposite to the front door, stood the lone chair that belonged to the ruler of Bear Island, where he or she would sit when receiving guests of import.
Though most who would walk through would call it a plain setting, it was home for the Mormonts.
Approaching the table, where Alysane Mormont sat with her daughter Jenna beside her and her son Ivar in her arms, Lyanna and Joran, almost getting bowled over by Lyra and Jorelle as they played tag with one another, greeted the woman kindly.
"Hey sis," Lyanna said with a smile before setting her bow and quiver on the table.
Looking up from Ivar, Alysane, a short and chunky, yet muscular woman, dressed in a green cloth vest over a long-sleeved tunic and brown pants, gave a smile of crooked teeth to Lyanna and Joran when she laid her eyes upon them both.
"Hello Lyanna. Joran, when did you get back?"
"Mere minutes ago, Aly," Joran answered while setting a fond hand down upon the young mother's shoulder before turning his eyes to Ivar. "Let me see this little man," the big man said in a sweet tone through his scarf.
Watching as her sister gave up her son to their cousin, Lyanna observed as Joran, his eyes softened as they looked upon the babe, nuzzled his covered nose against the child's. It was a sweet sight that only her family would ever get to witness and understand, given her cousin's reputation for being a violent man in the world beyond the Keep. But, when he was home, to Lyanna, Joran wasn't an angry monster or a killer, but the gentlest person that she would ever know.
"You've been keeping mother waiting for too long Joran," Alysane said as her cousin gave her back her son. "And you should know, she's pissed at you for making her wait."
"Eh," Joran said, giving a nonchalant wave of his hand before picking up Jenna and taking a seat where his niece had been. Then, putting the nine-year-old on his knee, he continued, "protecting the Island is taxing work, Aly. She's lucky I didn't take my time in returning."
"I bet you wouldn't say that if mother was out here," Lyanna playfully retorted from the other side of the table.
"I'm not scared of Aunt Maege," Joran said as he bounced Jenna on his knee.
"You should be, Joran Mormont," came a voice from further down the Hall that drew everyone's attention.
Walking towards the hearth accompanied by her house's Maester, Samn Lowther, was the Lady of the Keep Maege Mormont. "Considering the fact that you've been keeping me waiting all day."
After he had set Jenna down from his knee back onto the bench, Joran stood up to his feet and moved towards his aunt.
Watching as he came to a stop before her mother, Lyanna saw a very clear difference between her cousin and Maege. Joran, tall, broad shouldered and a well-muscled younger man with a full beard beneath his scarf and a wild head of hair. Compared to Maege, two heads shorter than her nephew, was a wide and buxom woman with both fat and muscle, much like her daughter Alysane, that gave her the appearance of her nickname the She-Bear, her hair was grey with age and her face, though old, held eyes that were hard and stern enough to make any man beneath them shrivel back in fear.
Even though age and gender separated them however, the two Mormonts were undoubtedly the strongest people that the little girl knew.
"Hello to you too, Aunty," Joran said through his makeshift mask as he stared down at Maege. "Glad to see that you're alive too."
"Don't be snide with me, Joran. You know how im-," Maege spoke threateningly before being swept up into a bear hug by her nephew.
"Oh, don't be so mean to me, Aunty," Joran growled teasingly as he squeezed Maege in his arms before she pushed him off, her scolding of him far from over.
"I wouldn't have to be if you knew how to be quicker on your feet."
"Well I'm here aren't I," Joran said, flabbergasted at the older woman's attitude. "By the way, why in all the southerners' Seven Hells is the King asking me to a feast at Winterfell?"
"Dunno, but you're expected and believe it or not, you will be going with me on the next tide." Maege answered.
"Pff, we both know damn well why," Joran grunted. "His royal highness wishes to see what all the talks about on Bear Island."
"Joran, it might not be like that," Maege said. "He was a fighter at one point in his life and perhaps just wishes to meet someone of a similar caliber as he was in his youth."
"Heh, right."
Then, lifting a gentle hand up to Joran's face, Maege drew the scarf he always wore down to reveal his real face.
"Joran, you can't hide from the world forever," she said to her nephew, her tone gentle like it always was to the disfigured man. "And, people know you for the work you do in service to the realm here, protecting those who can't protect themselves. Ned and Robert probably want to reward you for what you do."
Watching as her cousin's eyes misted over in thought, Lyanna was surprised to hear Joran's next set of words. "Hrrgh. Fine, I'll go with you and see this King. I warn you though, nothing good can come of it."
"All I can ask is that you be present. Beyond that, I know Ned will stop Robert from forcing you to do anything you don't want to."
"I'll hold you to that." Joran said as he turned from Maege to move back to the table. "Wouldn't hurt to see Winterfell I suppose. Might be a new experience before I go see grandfather."
"See Jeor? Whatever for?" Maege asked as she followed Joran.
"I just need to confirm some information I've recently obtained."
"Information?"
"I'll tell you later, Aunt," Joran said before a commotion drew everyone's attention back to the entrance of the Keep and stopping Lyra and Jorelle in their play.
Lyanna watched as two men-at-arms carried a woman between them across the Hall towards the back where the entrance to the dungeons were, and asked Joran, "who was that?"
"That there, little cub, was a wildling," Joran answered, his tone taking a serious edge.
"She part of the group you and your lads took care of?" Alysane asked, eyeballing the woman like a mother bear would if a new threat had come into her territory.
"Aye."
"What in the bloody hells is she doing here?" Maege demanded, giving Joran's arm a slap.
"She's where the information came from, Aunt Maege."
"Is that so? You sure that she wasn't lying?"
After taking a moment to consider how he would answer the older woman, Joran said, "Jeor's the only one who can confirm if anything she's told me holds any merit. If it turns out it doesn't, then I'll handle it."
"And if it does?"
"Hm, haven't thought that far ahead yet. But, I'll figure something out."
"Well, whatever it is, it must be worth something if you had to restrain yourself over one of those savages," Maege said, her tone letting her contempt for the Wildling people be known.
"It might be," Joran said before looking to Maester Lowther. "Samn, could you send grandfather a raven, telling him that I'll be heading his way."
"Of course, Joran," Samn said before turning to accomplish his task.
"Why not just send a raven and ask the questions you need to in the letter?" Maege asked. "Would make things a little more convenient."
"It would, but I want to see Jeor." Joran answered plainly. "It's been too long since I last saw him. I want to see how he's doing."
"Heh, might warm that old badger up to see a familiar face up there after so long," Maege said with a hearty laugh. "He'd appreciate it without a doubt."
"Aye, that he would," Joran said before taking a seat on the bench with Maege and among his family.
…
Joran
Once dinner had been concluded and his time with his family well spent before the awaited start to his and Maege's trip to Winterfell, Joran, gathering what was left of the food, took a plate of scraps down to the underground cells of Mormont Keep, his chosen place of housing in the hold. Walking down the wooden steps that lead to the entrance to the prison and his rooms, he was met by the two jailors that stood post at all times there and when he gestured for them to unlock and open the door, they did so without question and without looking at his exposed face. After accepting one of the jailors' key rings, Joran stepped into the dark prison, the only light there belonging to the torches on the walls, and moved to the first cell on his right. As expected, he looked in and saw the shape of the wildling within the blackness.
"Woman," Joran growled into the dark cell.
"Mhm," was the answer he received from Osha.
"Food."
Seeing the shape sit up in response to the word, Joran, instead of waiting for Osha to come to the bars to take the plate from him, took up the key ring and unlocked the cell door. Then, opening the door so that he may be admitted, he stepped into the cell and came to stand before his wildling prisoner. Having walked into cells that had occupants many times before, mainly to deliver prisoners meant for execution to the block, Joran had had nothing to fear then and knew that he didn't have anything to fear from Osha now.
She on the other hand, even in the dimly lit cell, was very fearful and the minute Joran came to stand before her, Osha pressed herself back against the wall behind her. Perhaps in hope that the wall would swallow her to protect her from her beastly jailor.
Finding no amusement at the familiar scene of someone seeing his real face, even in the dark, Joran, squatting down where he was, set the plate of food down in front of him and then proceeded to slide it to Osha.
When the plate came to a stop immediately before her, Joran growled one word in command, "eat."
After a brief pause, as though contemplating if the food was even safe to eat, Osha thrust her hands forward and grabbing the plate, began to shovel the offered meal into her mouth with her hand.
"You'll have to forgive me for lack of utensils," Joran said, rubbing his hands together in a slow and methodical manner. He was unapologetic in his adamant decision to deny such a small commodity to prisoners in his keep. Last thing he wanted was to tell one of the jailors' families that their father or mother had been stabbed to death with a fork.
"It's alright," Osha said after she had swallowed a mouthful of food. "It makes sense."
Stopping his hand rubbing, Joran, taken aback by the woman's automatic agreement to his decision, had expected some kind of offhand retort or complaint. Or any words at all for that matter. That's a first, he thought.
"Only a fool would give someone who wants 'em dead something to get the job done," Osha continued.
"Same could be said about the food," Joran said, marking the woman's statement to his memory. "Maybe I made a mistake giving you something that could help you get your strength back."
"Doesn't really make a difference with you though, does it?" Osha asked. "Whether a man's stomach is empty or full, you kill 'em either way."
"You're not wrong."
Pausing in her eating, Osha looked up from the plate to Joran and inquired, "why are you feeding me?"
A simple question to answer, now that one particular discussion at dinner had been resolved between himself and his Lady aunt, Joran said, "I'm feeding you because you haven't eaten anything all today. And, if I'm going to be taking you with me anywhere, I'd rather you somewhat fed than starving."
"Taking me where?"
"Well, I can't really just leave and expect you to be alive when I get back, now can I," Joran plainly stated. "I've got plenty of boys outside the keep that would love to save me the trouble of skinning you alive or relieving your head from your shoulders. And I know at least two women in the keep who would love to rob me of a small chance at personal bloodletting. So, in order to keep my word and you alive until I can prove whether you've been feeding me lies or not, I'm taking you with me to the mainland and then to the Wall."
Pausing a moment so as to think about what to say, Osha then said, "that's…kind of you."
"Don't mistake me," Joran said, with a cold and threatening tone. "You will be bound and shackled the entire trip. Any attempt at escape will be met with the lash or death, depending on how many times you try my patience. You will be respectful to any and all members of the company that I or my aunt desire to bring along with us. And don't be flattered by my decision to spare your life from the blades of others, because that right and your life, belong to me now."
Answering his words with only silence, Osha returned to picking the food from her plate with her hand and placing the morsels in her mouth.
Wishing to leave the conversation with that, Joran rose from his squatting position and turned back to the cell's entrance. "I'll get the plate from you in the morning."
"Milord.".
Stopping at the entrance of the cell, Joran looked over his shoulder and said, "what?"
"What are you?"
Fully turning to face the Wildling woman again, Joran, boring into the shadowy figure with eyes as hard as steel, said in answer. "A monster."
It was what Joran knew he was, and it was why everyone away from home feared or hated him. And he didn't care.
Closing the door of the cell and locking it without another word, Joran then moved on down the prison hall to where his personal cell was located when he caught Osha say in a whisper behind him. "Thank you."
Shaking off the creeping feeling of pleasure at doing something kind for an enemy, Joran walked further into darkness, leaving the light behind him.
…