NOTES

This chapter, like some others before it, is on the shorter side. However, I felt strongly that this particular scene needed to stand on its own. It serves as a bridge between longer, more intricate chapters and provides an emotional moment that deserved its own space to breathe.

This is a story based on the Game of Thrones books and TV series, but be warned, it's a very AU (Alternate Universe) story. If you're someone who doesn't enjoy a story that deviates a lot from canon, where certain characters may act out of character, or if you're not a fan of romance with a good amount of fluff, and a story that ultimately has a happy ending, then this may not be the right story for you.

BEYOND THE WALL (NEAR CRASTER'S KEEP )

Jaenara Vaelorn felt Jorah's hand tighten over hers. His gaze, usually intense and vibrant, was now distant, fixed on the small group gathered near Craster's Keep. A shadow of sadness darkened his features, something Jaenara had rarely seen in him. Following the direction of his gaze, she saw an older man, his face weathered by wind and snow, dressed in the dark furs of the Night's Watch. Despite his age, his bearing radiated authority. His eyes, deep and gray like a wintry sky, were locked on Jorah, and within them, Jaenara perceived a whirlwind of restrained emotions: pain, disappointment, and... was it affection?

A cold premonition coursed through Jaenara like a sharp pang. She recalled Jorah's words, spoken just days earlier in Pentos: "...my exile... it was my fault. I endangered the future of Bear Island, and my family paid the price." The pieces clicked into place in her mind with a chilling certainty

"Is... is he your father?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the wind.

Jorah's body tensed. He nodded slowly, his gaze never wavering from the Lord Commander.

"Yes," he replied hoarsely, his voice heavy with an emotion Jaenara couldn't decipher.

Before Jorah could say more, Jaenara stepped forward, driven by a determination that surprised even herself. With firm steps, she approached the Lord Commander. A warm smile lit her face, cutting through the tension of the moment.

"Lord Commander Mormont?" Jaenara said, her voice clear and assured. "I am Jaenara Vaelorn, Senator of Valyria. It is an honor to meet you."

Jeor Mormont, startled by the sudden arrival and the presence of a Valyrian addressing him with such familiarity, furrowed his brow slightly. His gaze, hardened by years of command in the Night's Watch, swept over the woman's Valyrian steel armor, lingering on the intricate details of her emblem: a dragon in flight over fourteen erupting volcanoes—a design entirely foreign to him. Vaelorn, he thought, the name stirring vague curiosity. Though he had dealt with Elaena Targaryen and other Valyrians before, this woman was an enigma he couldn't yet decipher.

Even so, years of discipline and leadership allowed him to recover his composure quickly. With a courteous, albeit somewhat stiff, gesture, he returned the greeting.

"Senator Vaelorn," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "The honor is mine. Though I confess, I did not expect to find a member of your esteemed family in these desolate lands."

Jaenara smiled, her expression warm and sincere, seeking to ease the reserve in the Lord Commander's gaze.

"Lord Mormont," she continued, her voice soft but firm, "matters of the heart often lead us to the most unexpected places."

Her gaze briefly shifted to Jorah, who was still watching silently, the tension in his posture palpable. Turning her attention back to Mormont, she added:

"I have been in a relationship with your son, Ser Jorah Mormont, for several years now."

Surprise flickered across Jeor Mormont's face, momentarily breaking through his characteristic severity. His gaze moved to Jorah, and a storm of emotions flashed through his eyes. It had been years since he had last seen his son—years marked by the disappointment and pain. Seeing him now, standing beside a Valyrian woman of evident power and influence, stirred a mix of astonishment, curiosity, and a faint sting of resentment that he could not entirely suppress.

Regaining his composure, Mormont directed his gaze back to Jaenara, his tone tinged with a hint of respect.

"I was not aware, Senator," he replied, his words measured. "I am glad to know my son has found companionship in your lands."

Jaenara smiled, her eyes shining with serene determination.

"Lord Mormont, it is not merely companionship that I seek with Jorah. I love him, and I wish to join him in marriage."

She paused, allowing her next words to carry the weight of a promise:

"I wish to marry Ser Jorah here in the North, before the Old Gods, as the First Men once did."

Jaenara's solemn declaration hung in the air like a vow, but Jeor Mormont remained impassive, his weathered face as unreadable as a granite statue. His gray gaze stayed fixed on the young Valyrian woman, weighing her words with the cold calculation of a judge. The silence that followed was thick and expectant, broken only by the relentless murmur of the wind rustling through the trees.

As the silence stretched, a shadow of concern crossed Jaenara's face. Her resolve seemed to waver, and when she spoke again, her voice carried a gentler, almost pleading tone.

"We all make mistakes, Lord Mormont," she said, her sadness unhidden. The unyielding cold seemed to mirror the melancholy of the moment. Her violet, piercing eyes flickered briefly toward Jorah, who still watched them with an expression that wavered between disbelief and hope. Turning back to the Lord Commander, she continued:

"The past cannot be changed, but everyone deserves a second chance. Your son, Ser Jorah, is a changed man. The man I met in Valyria, the man I love, is someone who has learned from his mistakes and seeks redemption."

She paused, her words resonating like a prayer in the cold air.

"Ser Jorah Mormont is a man worthy of his name and a man worthy of returning home."

Jeor Mormont remained silent, his face as impenetrable as ever. His gray eyes stayed locked on Jaenara, as though searching for the truth within her words. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his gaze shifting to Jorah, who had stepped closer. The man before him was no longer the one who had left the North with his head bowed low. In him, Jeor saw the weight of exile, the pain of guilt, and most importantly, the resolve of a man seeking to make amends.

"The North remembers, Senator Vaelorn," Mormont said, his deep voice carrying the weight of years. "Honor is neither bargained nor forgotten. Actions have consequences, and the wounds of the past do not heal easily."

He paused, letting his words sink in.

"But you are right," he continued, his tone softening just a fraction. "We all make mistakes. Redemption lies in the will to atone for them."

His gaze returned to Jorah, and this time, there was a glimmer of affection in his eyes.

"Son," he said, his voice heavy with gravity but tinged with hope, "I believe in second chances. But you must earn them. The war against the White Walkers has already begun. Prove, Jorah, that you have changed. Prove that you are a man worthy of the Mormont name."

Hope flickered in Jorah's eyes like a fire threatening to reignite. Nodding solemnly, he replied:

"I will, Father."

Jaenara watched the moment between father and son with a lump in her throat, feeling like a witness to a reconciliation that, though tentative, was as real and tangible as the snow beginning to fall around them.

And yet, her thoughts drifted to Jeor's words from earlier—words that now echoed in her mind with a chilling clarity: "The war against the White Walkers has already begun."

"Then it is true. They truly exist", she thought, a shiver running down her spine.