Chapter Text
She remembered the last time she had encountered him. Before his hair had gone as white as snow, it had been a bright coppery red. The people of the North often called hair like that to be "kissed by fire". He had come in a small boat to her home. it was not like any songs anyone would sing anywhere.
He had tried to take her away from the fresh pines and ocean smell that surrounded Bear Island. Nearly hoisting her up on his rather broad shoulders, in spite of his somewhat- less than tall figure. She fought him off hardly. Nearly bit off his ear. She remembered ending up in a hut somewhere near the Frozen Shore. She tried to fight him off there too.
None of them remember what had happened in between. How they went from fighting each other off to kissing and touching one another. Fucking madly and almost longingly. His large hands touching and groping all around her. Just as she was putting on her furs, he grunted from his sleepy haze and lustfully licked his lips.
"That might've been one of the greatest fucks I've ever had! Even if you nearly tore my cock off. Though, it's still proud and mighty! HAR!"
It was almost off-putting just how casual he made it seem. But he was a wildling. And strangely enough, she found herself giggling silly because of it. Tormund his name was. One of the strongest wildling chieftain's he's claimed to be. And she found herself to be quite at ease with him. They talked at length for quite some time until she had to leave.
Before she knew it she was with child. At first, she was fearful of the life the child may have. But the Mormonts were not like most noble families. Her great-grandmother had been an only child and had a child by some unknown man. When she asked her own father about it, he simply told her that many strong she-bears in her house had often looked to find their own mates. It was then she became more familiar and understanding with the lore surrounding the Mormonts.
Skinchanging is a rare trait. Childhood stories told of the Starks of old, who united the North through conquest not just for the land, but to marry other houses known for skinchanging in order to hoard that ability for themselves. It had been more difficult for House Mormont to sustain their abilities. There were no more Warg Kings to conquer and marry, and Bear Island is small and out of the way, besides. So, many bears are sent across the Bay of Ice when it freezes over each winter and wander until we find a skinchanger amidst the wildlings. And they became the fathers to the cousins and nieces of the primary branch of House Mormont.
A deal had been struck centuries ago with the clans of the Frozen Shore that the girls would belong to House Mormont and on occasion a boy or two should their be a succession crisis, whilst any other boys would be raised amongst their father’s folk. Amongst the free folk, as Tormund preferred to be called rather than just wildlings.
It was for the practicality of it, she often told herself. Yet, she hadn't been thinking of practicality when they found themselves in each other's embrace. If she could have, she would not have honoured tradition and kept all of her children with her. But to keep the traditions of her house was her duty, and as folly as this was, Maege Mormont was always a woman of duty.
It is now she wishes that she kept one of the boys and known him. She had given Tormund one of their daughters. Only one though. Though, Munda took more after him than her. It was probably better that way.
Nearly all her family is gone now. Her fierce Dacey, butchered in that monstrous disaster called the Red Wedding. Torwynd, who was supposedly a sweet and unassuming boy, perished at the hands of the denizens of cold and darkness. Dormund, slain at the hands of one of Stannis Baratheon's soldiers.
All that remained was Alysane and her own cubs. Toregg; tall and strong. Lyra; who had captured the heart of Old Lord Locke's heir. Jorelle; who somehow ended up courted by a brave soliderly crannogman and the tall but scholarly Hoster Blackwood. Munda; who was now expecting a child with her lover "Longspear" Ryk. Dryn; who looked like his father in miniature; a chunky boy, with short legs, thick arms, and a wide red face. And little Lyanna, just as strong and fierce as she remembered her namesake to be, becoming quite friendly with young Rickon Stark.
Tradition, circumstance and distance were the things that kept them apart. She wouldn't admit it before, but time does help in understanding things. I love that bluthering fool. He still had that stupid wide-toothed grin of his.
Now, they are here together, pledging their fealty to the King and Queen of the True North.