Although she was an old woman, Maege Mormont remained stout and hale; she had served Ned Stark and the son after that. 'And now I serve the daughter.' Who despite her looks had proven to be more like her father and those that came before her then many had assumed. Those who begrudged her the lack of combat prowess, or thought her weak for her gender had never seen her use words like well concealed knives or stand before men many times her size and age, as impassive as a sheet of ice.
It was on Bear Island that she attended to her holdings as she had before the wars, minus a daughter but her aches and pains multiplied. Maege kept watch of the sea and an ear on the ground—taking note of things of interest and dealing justice when it needed dealing. she took joy in hunting and feasting with what remained of her children, the days of peace passing as she savored them.
Then they came, strange men rowing their way onto her shores, ship moored in the sea. Soaked to the bone, half frozen and starved—clearly driven mad by the sea and speaking in tones she strained to understand.
Still, they made such a miserable sight she took pity on them and had them escorted to the smoky hall of her keep. They were skittish, staring at the bread and salt that was offered in confusion. 'Not uncommon these days, thanks to that massacre. People can no longer trust in the right. Where once you could offer and be offered any morsel and think yourself safe we're now as literal and overt as we can be.' she attempted to question them about what brought them to her shores, but as far as she was concerned their response was gibberish.
They asked, not for the first time about Arda-something or another. "I don't know what that is." She said tersely and at once there was a great uproar that left her wondering why she had the luck to have such strangers come awash to her shore.
More strange words were uttered, The Bay of Belfalas, Gondor, Umbar, The Hither and The Dark Lands, The Great Sea, and on-wards they went, only to be met by her own confusion.
In the middle of explaining, or rather attempting to correct the ship's Captain whose name she eventually discerned to be Barthogan, a letter was pressed to her hands by Alysane, The Stark wolf grinned up at her from the pressed white wax for only a beat after which she promptly broken open only to be much surprised by the contents within.
Sansa Stark had a way of knowing things; whether it was some mundane, trivial fact or bit of gossip about this or that. She could tell one with clarity what the political machinations and aspirations of so and so were and more interestingly she was the type of person who knew the things she shouldn't be capable of knowing.
'Little use in asking how she knew.' People speculated, as they often did about the Starks—that there was something decidedly mystical about Sansa, but little could be proven and questions only earned beguiling smiles and cryptic answers. 'Half the folk think she can change shape and the other think she's the Maiden come again.' Maege thought, knowing that as in all tall stories there might be a bit of truth in both versions of the Stark girl.
Like her father, like her brother had tried to be, she was just. When there was room for compassion and mercy, it was given—and when the time for justice demanded vengeance, she paid it forward, somber and steady with her own hands. Even behind her pretty smiles and sweet words, there was a cunning her family lacked in general.
They were qualities that she found admirable. 'Wise is the female who makes herself more deadly than the male, whether by hand or by word.' The odd lord here or there grumbled that the girl intended to unseat her brother in the line of inheritance, making her position as regent more permanent. 'And perhaps she does, and perhaps that would be for the best...'
Just last year during the harvest feast the boy had taken a hefty chunk out of Roose Ryswell's left arm for some vague, unsavory comments he'd made about his sister—and that was one case out of many when it came to Rickon Stark. 'Although I suppose Roose ought to be glad it wasn't the younger sister who got to him first.' people who upset Arya Stark had a funny way of having misfortune fall over them in varying degrees.
People had quickly learnt to keep their mouths shut lest they wanted to lose a few fingers, not by wolf some great hulking wolf, but by surly boy. The time spent on Skagos left Rickon more than a little wild and quick to violence.
By large as long as it was a Stark and they held true to their ways the lords—and ladies were glad to serve. There were still whispers of naming the girl Queen in the North, spoken in half hushed tones and with loosened lips, rumors she would personally embrace if the time ever came. 'I named her brother a King of Winter, but perhaps the title is more suited to her.'
After all, it had been Sansa Stark who held the together the shattered remnants of the Riverlands and that of her father's realm. It had been her who rallied the Lords of the Vale and brought them down from the mountains at last.
Her timely and much needed advent had brought the combined forces of the Vale and those of the River lords who could still fight, putting Westeros to a standstill. Pushing north they had torn through the Frey's and Bolton's before sweeping to the wall to aide in its dire plight. That act alone had bought them precious time before the dragon's at last crossed the Narrow Sea. Sansa had been no more than a girl then, surely only a few years into her flowering.
If there had been even the slightest of delay in that course of action there was no telling if they would have endured in the end, if there would even be a world left for them to slowly rebuild.
Her own writing lacked the finesse of her liege lady, succinct and to the point. Her girls were blessedly well, though restless and rowdy as ever. Nothing of great note had happened. 'Besides of course, these wayward seafarers.' Maege's shrewd eyes never strayed far from her guests, watching them whenever she could. None would accuse her of being inattentive.
On the third day of their stay after the raven's had been sent back and forth many times, just as she was beginning to wonder what was to be done with them in the long term, an answer presented itself.
"It has been a very long time since the bears last hosted wolves in these halls." She tried in vain to recall when last it was, but the effort was wasted.
At her words, youngest Lyanna nearly spilled her drink all over the long table. "Do you mean to say that the Starks are to come here?!" Her voice rose excitedly.
"One Stark." Alysane corrected, after reading the letter over her mother's shoulder. A teasing grin sneaking over her face; her littlest sister was full of admiration for this particular Stark. 'Might as well be her nameday celebration.' Her eyes strayed to her children, tussling on the great bear rug by the hearth.
"The Queen in the North is coming here!" Lyanna exclaimed, standing so abruptly she nearly tripped over the bench behind her knees.
Jory huffed, tugging her sister back to her seat by the sleeve. "We are not supposed to call her that." She whispered, her eyes darted to Barthogan and his companions. Even far out on their little island, one could never tell who was listening and who they would run their mouth to.
"Everyone knows it's true…" Lyanna grumbled, retaking her seat. "When will she arrive?" she questioned, full of the exuberance youth brought with it.
"A week or there about…if she's departed as quickly as her letter claims." Although Maege had the feeling she'd be having a difficult time getting leave from her siblings. 'The two of them are like guard dogs…and then throw in the third one, and it'll be a right mess.' It was a wonder Sansa Stark got anywhere on time.
Barthogan was a well-traveled man, whether by sea or by land. He'd spent his life going to and fro, seeking fortune and sometimes glory where he could. 'And this is by far the strangest adventure I have had.' He thought to himself, listening intently. Their accents were strange to his ears, the words difficult to pick up when first they came ashore.
What had started out as a trip from Belfalas to the port of Lond Daer had quickly become rather complicated, he'd gone further out to sea then he would have liked in an attempted to avoid the few Corsairs that still plagued the coasts. 'And then that storm came from nowhere, sweeping us even further out.' It was as though the winds of Manwë himself were in their sails; Ulmo in the deep, his steady hands guiding the strong currents that pulled them further and further out to sea off into the unknown, the air growing colder and the skies grayer.
The stars which had ever been his guide were in disarray. 'Aye, each one where they always were but there seem to be then I recall; numerous brighter pins of light shining in the heavens.' Certainly it had done nothing to help him gain his bearings when the stars were how he navigated.
Many were the days that had passed at sea; even their emergency provisions had been exhausted. Ice in the air and in the water, with little food to be found he began to wonder if they had been forsaken, when on the distant horizon land at last met his eyes.
With weak, cold touched limbs they rowed to shore only to be met with a group clothed in bear furs, wielding bows and an assortment of other weapons. 'And to think some of them were even women!' it was rather scandalous.
He and his men now sat in a smoky, wooden longhouse on an island he had never heard of, with people who claimed to possess no knowledge of what Arda even was much to his own disbelief. Still, they had been kind; offering them food and shelter, appropriately clothing them against the cold. 'While they are strange, they seem to be good folk.'
"Don't worry." Lyanna whispered, breaking him from his thoughts with an invigorating smile. "The Starks have a way of putting things to right. You'll see."
Days more would pass until at last the much lauded Stark was to arrive, the entire household, servants and all had been rushed outside into the blustery cold. Even in their heavy gifted furs he and his company shivered.
"The fore-rider said they'd be right behind them, that was like…hours ago." Lyanna could be heard complaining before someone—likely to be Jory stepped on her foot and a minor scuffle broke out.
Voices called across the yard, the great wooden gate that encircled them slowly began to open for a retinue of robust horses to ride through. They numbered over twelve in total, carrying a pure white banner; a grey creature of jagged teeth and sharp edges roaring in the wind.
A lovely, pale face turned to him from the heavy brim of its fur hood. Two large, bright blue eyes peered into his own.
"That," Lyanna murmured with awe. "Is the Qu-uh, I mean Lady Stark." She coughed when an elbow nudged her ribs. "The armored one is Brienne of Tarth..She's like a giant! Almost as big as the Umber's…" And what she wouldn't give to be a few inches taller, sitting at the side of a Stark.
"I fail to see what all the fuss is about." The Third rider spoke after a moment. The wind tussled his golden hair.
"No one asked you what you saw Jaime." The broad, towering woman in armor spoke, if it had not been for her voice he might have surely taken her to be a man with the strength of her features and bulk.
'Is it so common for women to dawn armor and arm themselves in this place?' Barthogan wondered for even the Mormont's went about on occasion in leathers and breeches, a weapon never far from their reach.
"Ah yes, I'm just a spare hand as it were." The man stated wryly holding up a stiff gloved hand before swinging himself off his mount.
It was by Brienne's strong hands that the Lady was helped from her horse, although she did not reach the stature of her companion, she was of height, and when she pulled back the heavy hood of fur, he thought for the briefest of moments he was looking at one of Mahtan's kin—it was only till he saw the curve of her ears that the notion was truly dispelled.
'It is the girl's eyes.' Barthogan thought, for though her face was young and sweet, her eyes were older and seemed to see more than they had any right to. She lacked for no grace as she closed the distance between herself and Maege.
The two shared a fond greeting, delicate, gloved hands resting on the stocky shoulders of the old bear, pulling her from her bow. "I am glad to see you well with my own eyes."
Meage hummed appreciably. "And I am certainly glad to be seen well." Still she took a good look at her liege, taking note of the changes that occurred since the last Harvest feast she'd attended. 'A bit taller, a bit wearier to be sure…' and she was sure the girl had lost a bit of weight, which in her opinion was no good at all.
Greetings and courtesies were further exchanged as Sansa carried out the duties befitting her station. It wouldn't do to leave anyone feeling snubbed, no matter how high or low they were.
Jory made a soft noise from further down the line. "Ah, there is Beren Tallhart!"
There was a quiet murmur from his group at the familiar name, but the sounds soon grew more alarmed when a great shade of black came galloping through the gates. It was no pony, though it was surely about the size of one if not bigger. Steam poured from its mouth and nose in great plumes, teeth the size of a man's fingers showed for all to see. "A warg!" and yet, not one of the men within the yard besides his own seemed inclined to draw steel. 'And yet we've no steel to draw…'
'How could they know just by looking at him that Shaggy belonged to a Warg?' Sansa wondered. 'No…they thought he was the Warg itself.' She wondered what the term meant to them, for clearly it was different then her own understanding.
The creature crossed the enclosure, green eyes pinned to him. There was a fury lurking within them and he was half sure it'd take a leap for them at any second. Yet it sat itself at the girl's side like a well-trained hound, pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.
"There is nothing for you to fear from him…Barthogan was it?" Sansa laid a gloved hand on the large furry head that bumped against her elbow. Sitting on his hindquarters Shaggy was nearly as tall as she was and twice as heavy. 'At least as long as there is nothing for me to fear from you...' But those were words she would not say as she offered them a kindly smile. "I hear that you have had a very long voyage…will you tell me of it inside?"
"A-aye that's me…" Forty two years had he lived and yet he never felt as humble or awkward in his own skin as when he offered her his arm. 'Not a drop of great blood within me, yet I'm treating with what is at most a highborn Lady, if not a Queen.' A queen who held sway over a beast that had the look of Carcharoth himself.
The party was bustled inside to the warmth of the longhouse and out of the cold, black wolf at the heels of its lady until they were sat at the raised high table where bread and salt were brought once more. Shaggydog as he was called curled behind her seat, green eyes ever watching.
While they had been offered the bread and salt on the first of their nights in that strange land, he still did not understand the great importance they placed on it, a curiosity he finally gave voice to.
Sansa's fingers plucked at her piece of bread, salt beneath her nails. "It is one of our oldest and nearest held traditions. Bread and salt are the most iconic offerings, but it truly applies to any food or drink the guest is given freely from the host while beneath their roof." The piece of bread was held aloft within the cusp of her hand. "It is a promise, neither the host nor the guest will visit harm upon the other while in company. Those who violate it are said to be cursed by the gods—old and new alike." A hush fell through the room, somber and heavy.
There was no way to separate the fury from the sorrow that could be glimpsed upon the faces around him. There was a story in the silence that he wondered at. 'There are so many things I do not know…' not for the first time, Barthogan felt himself floundering in the weight of it all. 'I want to go home, to my wife and children.' And his men no doubt felt the same. His sorrow was halted when a piece of bread was pressed into his hand.
"For now eat and take heart." Sansa said, her fingers closing over his own. "When the feasting is done, we will begin making sense of things." Her eyes were steady and words resolute. "All will be made right in time."
What was held within his hand was no mere piece of bread, but a promise and he gladly accepted it.
When the cups ran dry and the dishes swept away, the last of the children carted off to bed and the hall emptied of all but those of importance they were left only with the eldest Mormonts, he, his crew and the Lady Sansa with her entourage. The map a few of his men had at last been allowed to fetch from the ship was laid upon the table. It was soon joined by another, rolled out by Sansa's own hands.
"We are here." she placed a finger on the small island they'd come ashore to. "It's part of the North, and expands from the Neck to the Wall." Her finger cut through the Wolfswood, straight on to her home. "And I preside over it all from here; Winterfell." She gave him the names of the bays and the seas that surrounded them, before heading south down the map dividing it into territories.
"Is that a dragon there?" The first mate of his ship, Alwin wondered as her fingers passed over the three headed dragon emblazoned off the shore of what she deemed to the Crownlands.
"Yes, fitting considering there are in fact three dragons." Even in the dim light, the pallor of their faces could not be missed, much less the choking of Barthogan on the ale he'd been drinking. "The Crownlands are where Queen Daernery's resides—Kingslanding to be specific."
"Do all people in this land hold such sway over beasts?" Barthogan asked at last, sparing a glance to the black shade that still laid at Sansa' feet.
For the first time he heard her laugh, soft and short before it fell away from his ears. "Oh no. Only a small few, some blessed with greater control than others..."
"Are you also not a Queen?" One of the young deckhands asked, for she certainly had the grace and dignity of one. Of course the lad had probably never seen an actual Queen, even in passing.
In the manner of those wishing to avoid a direct answer, she opted for a more…subtle approach. "There are those that would name me such. Whether I am a Queen or a Lady my duties and priorities do not change." In Sansa's opinion it was best to steer as clear of Westeros' murky political waters as possible, especially when they were choppy at best. "Tell me of your own land?" she gestured to the second map.
"There are many kings where we come from…Middle-earth that is. But the High King of Men is Elessar Telcontar who presides over the reunited kingdom or Gondor and Arnor." It was strange to explain such things.
"The King of Men?" Sansa pondered the distinction for a moment, prepared to dismiss it as a stylistic title until Barthogan continued.
"Yes well, the Elves and Dwarves have their own leaders and Hobbits do not style themselves as kings like most do…they have chieftains I believe." The captain mused, realizing how little he himself knew of the halflings.
"Dwarves?!" Maege cried out. "They've founded a kingdom of their very own?" It seemed like such a strange concept she could scarcely believe it.
"I'm sure my brother would be glad of such news." Jaime laughed from down the table both at the absurdity of such a notion, and the bitter truth that lurked within it. "If only he'd found his way there sooner!"
"Are dwarves not also considered men where you come from? And I have never heard of "Elves" or "Hobbits." for that matter." It would not surprise her if a dwarf was looked at so unkindly in his land that they were ejected from society itself. 'But to found an entire kingdom of their own…?'
Barthogan looked to his men, as speechless as he was in that moment. It astounded him how little they knew. 'And yet how littlewe know of them...' There was no room for him to judge their ignorance when he himself was abounding with it. "Perhaps, it would be best to start at the beginning." The very beginning, when the Valar first sang Eru Ilúvatar's will into being.
Long into the night they went, till the candles wound low to the wick and the hearth was naught but embers did they speak, awe and confusion like the roll of the tide, ebbing and flowing without fail.
Thank you all so much for the comments and such! its always nice to be appreciated. Please forgive any minor errors and if you are confused about any references ( because it does rely heavily on both book and movie/Show lore...) just let me know and i will explain.