Book 1: Blood in the South

Chapter 9: Stark Revelations

No further incidents occurring on the road, Joran and his group came into view of Winterfell on the tenth day of their journey. Reaching Wintertown by noon, the group road straight to the castle and into the courtyard. Welcomed only by a small group of stable hands, the group dismounted and began to hand off their mounts to the group, Joran pulled one of the young men aside and asked him to inform the Lady Catelyn of their arrival. The boy running off to do as the large man asked without a word, Mormont regrouped with the others as they began to walk towards the keep.

"Ah, it's good to be back," Tyrion said as the company came to the stone stairs that led up to the front doors of the castle. "I cannot wait to partake in more of House Stark's wine stores."

Hearing this, Joran said in reminder to his little friend, "before you start drinking early, I suggest you return the book you borrowed first."

"Why, afraid Maester Lewin will skin me alive if I forget?"

"It's not out of the realm of possibilities," Joran said sarcastically through his scarf.

Chuckling at Joran's notion, Tyrion looked up to him and said, "you're right. After Lady Stark receives us, I will make it my mission to return The Dance of Dragons to the library before partaking in my, usual pleasures."

"And I'm sure the Maester will appreciate it."

The two of them quieting their chatter upon reaching the top step and the entrance to the main hall, they walked in to be met with a sight that Joran found, peculiar.

Catelyn was not present to receive them, the one who was there though was her eldest son, Rob Stark. Sitting in the high seat of Winterfell, the boy was in full armor plating, a naked sword across his lap. Joran, knowing full well what a naked sword meant when a lord was greeting a guest, sensed an air of hostility surrounding the boy and the Stark guardsman that stood on either side of the Main Hall. Their group, cautiously walking further in towards Robb, halted before the high seat and waited for the boy to speak.

"Welcome, Joran Mormont," Rob said in greeting, his tone kind and lacking the hostility that he was obviously portraying to the group, which he seemed to be blatantly ignoring. "House Stark is honored to receive you again."

"Greetings, Lord Stark," Joran said in response, remaining respectful to the young lord, even though in his mind the boy wouldn't be the real Lord of Winterfell until his father passed. But, being wary to all the sheathed swords surrounding his group, Mormont kept his personal feelings hidden and remained courteous to the boy.

"As a bannerman of House Stark, you are very welcome to it, Lord Mormont," Rob said with a small smile forming on his lips.

Noting how Rob seemed to be blatantly ignoring the rest of the group's presence all together, Joran said, "I am honored to receive such hospitality from House Stark."

Tyrion, not unaware of what Rob Stark was doing, spoke up, "I must say, I received a warmer welcome my last visit to Winterfell."

"Any bannerman of House Stark is welcome at Winterfell," Rob said, having noted Tyrion's presence for the first time since the group had walked in.

"A bannerman of House Stark but not I, eh boy," Tyrion said in insult to the younger man.

"I'm not your boy, Lannister," Rob states, his voice seething in anger at Tyrion's remark and his hand tightening upon the hilt of his drawn sword. "I'm Lord of Winterfell while my father's away."

"If so, then perhaps you need to learn and then show a lord's courtesy when it comes to other guests, not just bannermen," Tyrion responded coolly.

Beginning to grow afraid of where the tone of the conversation was going, Joran, contemplating if he was going to need to get in between the current Lord of Winterfell and the House he was sworn to serve, and a man he had sworn to protect in order to help his grandfather and the Night's Watch, almost jumped out of his skin when a side door to the Main Hall flew open. Turning in the direction of the noise, Mormont was almost bowled over when a small figure ran out and slammed into his waist. Looking down, Joran found that it was Bran Stark, awake and well.

"Joran, you're back!" Bran yelled happily.

Warmed by the show of affection from the Stark boy, Joran, feeling the tension around him slightly lessening at the display of affection, gently patted Bran on his back and said, "Hello, Bran."

"So, the news we received at The Wall was true, the boy is awake," Tyrion noted at the display before declaring, "you Starks are hard to kill."

Upon those words, Rob followed up from where he sat, "you Lannisters should remember that."

Ignoring whatever private squabble that Rob Stark had with Tyrion, Joran spoke to Bran. "It's good to see that you're on your feet, lad."

"Maester Lewin told me what happened," Bran said into Joran's leg before turning his face up to look at his savior with bright eyes. "He told me that you caught me when I fell from the tower and saved my life."

"He told you the truth," Joran said with a nod of confirmation. "Got a nasty bump on my skull afterwards, but I caught you."

Tightening his hold on Joran's waist, Bran said, "than you, Joran."

"You're quite welcome, Bran," Joran said before Tyrion moved closer to the two of them.

"Bran, do you remember anything," Tyrion asked in a kind tone. "From when you fell?"

Releasing Joran from his hug to look at Tyrion, Bran admitted to the dwarf, "I don't remember anything from when I fell from the tower."

"Curious," Tyrion said inquisitively. "You're lucky that Joran was there to catch you. A fall like that would have been more than capable of killing or crippling anyone, especially a boy."

Before any more words could be exchanged between Tyrion or Bran, Joran heard the sound of a happy bark that drew his attention over to another side door to the Main Hall. From that door came the youngest Stark, Rickon, three direwolves, and Theon Greyjoy. One of the three direwolves, one with silver fur, shot straight for Joran and Bran. Recognizing the creature to be the pup that he had met on his last visit there, now the size of a normal adult wolf, the large man turned to greet it. His old acquaintance jumping on him much like its master had just done, Joran heard the direwolf whining happily as it furiously sniffed him while standing on its hind legs, its forepaws on his waist. Smiling beneath his scarf, Mormont petted the wolf with it responding by shoving its head into the palm of his hand.

Looking over to Bran, Joran said, "it appears that our little friend didn't forget about me."

"I named him Summer after I woke up," Bran said as he looked upon the sight.

"That's quite a name," Joran said, privately noting the irony of a creature born to survive winter being named after a warm season. "A good name."

Seeing Bran smile at the compliment, Joran turned his attention back to Summer and rubbing both of the wolf's ears, playfully asked, "you like that name, don't you?"

Yipping happily, Summer gave his answer to Joran.

"Grrrgh…"

The fond reunion interrupted by the sound of low growling, Joran turned his attention onto the other two direwolves, one with black fur and the other grey, who had begun to flank Tyrion. Noting the vicious demeanor of the two wolves, Mormont moved Summer off of him into Bran's arms, and slid closer to the dwarf's side. The wolves, appearing to want to attack Tyrion, seemed to hold back while Joran stood so close to their target.

"The wolves don't seem to like the Imp's smell," Theon said arrogantly as he looked upon the scene.

"I think it is about time I took my leave," Tyrion said, the hungry looks of the direwolves setting him on edge. "Since it appears that m presence isn't wanted here."

Knowing that the minute Tyrion left his side the wolves would pounce, Joran, not wanting to let that happen, said, "I'll walk you out."

"I think that'd be wise," Tyrion agreed.

Turning back to Rob, Joran expressed to him, "My Lord, if your hospitality is not extended to Tyrion, then I must request that I escort him to another place of lodging."

"Why would you need to escort a Lannister, Mormont," Rob asked, the courtesy he had towards Joran seeming to disappear.

Standing his ground firmly before the Stark boy, Joran answered him. "I swore an oath to my grandfather, The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont, that I would see that Tyrion Lannister would remain safe until his departure from Winterfell. To fail in my promise to him would be a disservice to his name, my House, and by extension House Stark. And, I'd rather keep my promise than bring dishonor to anyone's House and name, my Lord."

His words seeming to relay to Rob, Joran watched as the younger boy nodded and gave his silent consent.

"Thank you, Lord," Joran said before turning back to walk Tyrion out of Winterfell to someplace a little less hostile.

…

Making their quick exit from Winterfell, Joran with Tyrion and company in tow walked beyond the walls into Wintertown. Once they were beyond the castle and any unwanted ears to over hear him speak, Mormont growled out in irritation, "That went well."

"What was that all about, anyway," Tyrion asked, ruffled from the scene that had just occurred.

"I don't know," Joran answered looking at Tyrion. Seeing the smaller man give him a look that said he didn't believe him, he said, "I'm just as confused about what just happened as you are, Tyrion."

Not saying anything in response to his friend's words, Tyrion instead said, "I haven't been met with that much hostility since I visited a castle in the Reach. After I had slept with a number of women inside said castle, but still, I find it odd that the Stark boy shows me such insult after I have done nothing to him or his house."

Halting Tyrion in the street, Joran looked him in the eye and said, "I share your sentiment, Tyrion. I'm on your side."

"I know my friend," Tyrion said ashamedly. "I don't blame you for what just happened, and soon enough, I won't blame the Stark boy either."

Guessing that Tyrion planned on getting drunk early, Joran asked, "I take it that you already have a place to stay in mind?"

"Oh, indeed I do, Joran," Tyrion said with a smirk before gesturing in the direction of the Wintertown brothel.

"Old habits," Joran plainly said.

"There are some itches of mine that I need scratched, if you take my meaning," Tyrion responded.

"I do," Joran said before watching Tyrion begin to dig into his travel bag.

Producing The Dance of Dragons, Tyrion offered the book to Joran and said, "Before my mind becomes an abyss, would you mind taking this back to the Winterfell library. I doubt I'd be able to make it that far if I went back in to do it myself."

Accepting the book, Joran said, "I will."

Watching as the smaller man turned away from him in the direction of the brothel with his guards in tow, Joran began to move back to Winterfell with Osha by his side when he heard Tyrion call out behind him, "you should come have dinner with me later."

Turning back around to face Tyrion, Joran began to decline when he was stopped by a raised hand from the dwarf. "I am not Robert, I won't force you to drink anything that would be capable of impairing your ability to remain civil. I would just like to have one more sit down with you before I head out in the morning."

"You plan on leaving already," Joran asked in surprise.

"When you walk out of a tense room like that one was," Tyrion said in reference to what happened in the Main Hall. "You get the message that you shouldn't stay in the vicinity any longer than you have to."

Taking his friend's words into consideration, Joran eventually agreed, "Alright. I could swing by later and have a bite."

"Excellent my friend," Tyrion said, a large childish grin forming on his face. "Perhaps there could be a woman in it for you."

"Let's just keep it at dinner," Joran said with raised hands before Tyrion could attempt to convince him into some kind of mischief.

"Understandable," Tyrion said, his smile shortening before turning back towards the brothel and calling over his shoulder. "I'll see you later."

Keeping his eye on Tyrion and his men until they entered the building, Joran turned back around to Winterfell and with Osha by his side, walked back into what he felt like was a real wolf's den.

…

After parting with Tyrion and walking back into the castle, Joran with Osha following close behind, immediately located Maester Lewin and asked him if he could show him where the library was so he could return The Dance of Dragons. Following the older man to the library, Mormont walked in silence for a time besides the Maester until the older man broke it.

"I apologize for the spectacle you saw earlier, Lord Mormont," Lewin said sadly. "Rob was taught better than that."

"I'd hardly call that a spectacle, Maester," Joran said before inquiring to Lewin. "Where did all that come from anyhow?"

"The Starks and Lannisters have had a very, tumultuous relationship, since the end of Robert's Rebellion," Lewin said in explanation. "And I'm afraid that some of that silent hostility has been slowly transferred to the younger generation."

Remembering his own lessons with his own House Maester, Samn Lowther, on the subject of Robert's rebellion and how the Lannister forces had tricked their way into King's Landing in order to win the war for Robert, Joran could understand how Ned, a man of honor, could find exception to the heinous acts that were committed then. "I guess hate has a way of finding its way into children. It still doesn't excuse Rob's actions as the acting Lord of Winterfell."

"You are right in that regard, Joran," Lewin admitted.

"Why didn't Catelyn Stark receive us," Joran asked, finding it strange that he had not seen the Lady of Winterfell once since he had arrived.

"The Lady of Winterfell isn't here presently," Lewin answered. "She was called away on a family matter. She's in the Riverlands with her father, trying to nurse him to better health."

"Hm," Joran hummed curiously. He found Lewin's explanation of Catelyn's absence to be slightly, forced. Suspicious as to the integrity of the Maester's story, Joran left it alone for now and said, "Hopefully he recovers without incident."

"Indeed," Lewin said before they arrived to their destination.

…

After returning the book, Joran retired to his room and remained there with Osha for a time before he was called to supper by Rob Stark. Heading out alone after changing his clothes and promising Osha that he would bring her some food on his return, he made his way to the Main Hall. Upon his arrival, Joran found a familiar face with a few others there.

"Yoren?"

"Hello Joran," the brother of the Night's Watch said before extending a hand out to the young Mormont. "Nice to see you again."

Taking his hand, Joran shook it saying, "Likewise. How have you come here?"

"Me and my fellows here were sent out by Jeor a few days after you and the little Lannister left," Yoren explained after retracting his hand. "We'll be heading everywhere we can to get more recruits for the Watch."

"Not surprised, you need the numbers," Joran said, agreeing with Jeor's decision.

"Aye, Jeor also sent us in order to act as an escort for Tyrion Lannister beyond Winterfell, make sure he does good on his word about talking to the King about The Watch's situation."

Nodding, Joran said, "That's good. A man like him will probably need it, once he gets further south where there's more pleasure than pain."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Yoren said before lowering his voice. "On our way down the Kingsroad, we came across a scene that was rather, eh, disturbing. Did anything happen to your group on your way here?"

Figuring Yoren was referring to the bodies he'd left in the forest, Joran answered the man honestly, "Aye, something happened. We were being followed by brigands, I felt their eyes on us after the first few days and started keeping an eye out for trouble at night. Eventually, trouble came and I handled it."

"I saw the results," Yoren said with a nod. "And I have to say, I've only seen work like that done beyond The Wall by a few choice brothers dealing with Wildlings."

"That a compliment?"

"Eh, yes and no," Yoren answered.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," Joran said before the Stark household started to arrive.

Once all were present, Rob Stark invited everyone to take a seat and Joran was immediately asked by Bran to sit next to him. Not wanting to hurt the boy's feelings and decline, the older man obliged him. The dinner, though not as full of courses, song and splendor as the dinner had when Winterfell had received the King, it was still a nice gathering, almost homely. So much so, it reminded Joran of his dinners with his family back home on Bear Island. Lacking a murderous cousin and a few younger heads perhaps, but it was close enough to be comfortable.

After the food was served and eaten, all gathered began to spend the remainder of the occasion chatting up a storm with one another. The few brothers of the Nights Watch that had come with Yoren were standing amongst themselves talking about their current assignments, Yoren was being polite and talking with Rob and Theon, laughing at bawdy remarks made by the latter while maintaining a respectful demeanor with the former, and Rickon was talking to Maester Lewin, who had begun to inform him and his brother on the lessons they would be receiving on the morrow. While all the talk was going on around him, Joran gave his full attention to Bran. The boy was delighted to have him there in Winterfell and like a little chatter box asked the large man many questions. How was his trip to The Wall? Did he go to the lands beyond? Did he fight any Wildlings? How was Jon? How was Benjen? Answering these questions, most of them honestly and some not so much, Joran entertained Bran as best he could while at the dinner table.

"Joran, how long will you be staying with us?" Bran asked, looking up at Joran expectantly.

Having planned to stay only a week at Winterfell in order to restock on supplies before heading back to Bear Island, Joran was about to say as much to Bran when their talk was interrupted by his older brother Rob.

"Joran," Rob said, bringing Joran's attention to the acting Lord of Winterfell. "I'd like to offer my sincerest apologies for my…earlier demeanor."

"Is that so," Joran asked with a cocked eyebrow, wondering if Maester Lewin had given Rob an earful on etiquette between the time when he had returned the Dance of Dragons and his arrival to dinner.

"Yes," Rob answered. "I should not have acted the way I did in front of one of my father's bannerman, one who will someday be a bannerman to me. Especially a man who saved my brother's life. What I did earlier was unbecoming, and I'm sorry."

Noting Rob Stark's words, Joran, hearing some sincerity in the younger man's voice, said plainly, "I accept your apology. And, I'm happy to know that you are willing to admit that you were wrong in your earlier actions, especially when it came to receiving new guests."

Seeing his words seem to sting the boy's pride in a slight facial expression that Rob gave off, Joran, in order to try and not entirely lower the boy's self esteem as the heir to Winterfell, added, "there are many proud lords in Westeros who think themselves above Guest Rite and go on to disrespect their current charges, not apologizing afterwards. Great Lords though, are capable of tempering their pride with humility, which is good to see that you are learning from your mistakes quickly, Lord Stark."

"I'm happy to know that I'm among the few that can apologize then," Rob said before picking up a glass of wine. "And please, call me Rob."

The conversation between the two not going unnoticed, Theon Greyjoy spoke up across from Joran and asked, "do you have a problem with how your Lord handled the Imp earlier, Mormont?"

Turning his attention to the Ironborn pup, Joran said, "I do take exception to how the Lord of Winterfell acted earlier towards one of his potential guests, yes."

"You got quite the set on you to speak against your Lord in regards to how we treat Lannisters, especially the Imp," Theon said, acting as though Joran was some kind of traitor under interrogation.

"I'm not going against anyone, Greyjoy," Joran said, finding Theon's tone and demeanor less than amusing.

"Could've fooled me, considering you and him seem to have grown close since you left with him for The Wall," Theon went on with a hint of bravado to his tone. "What? Did the dwarf diddle you while you were with him?"

"Theon," Rob and Bran growled simultaneously in anger at Theon's brazenness towards Joran.

"You ask a lot of questions, Greyjoy," Joran said, his tone giving away his curiosity towards Theon's bravery to try and rile him up. "Is there a reason why you're showing such hostility towards me, a guest of your Lord?"

All eyes in the room turning onto the conversation, Theon grew quiet and Joran realized some kind of pattern to the boy's questioning and the spectacle that Rob Stark had performed earlier upon their arrival. There was a grudge in House Stark against Tyrion. What it was, Joran didn't know, but given the consistency in hostility whenever he entered the subject, the Starks and their loyal ward took great exception to it. So much so that Theon was willing to antagonize a loyal bannerman to House Stark, and perhaps, to even go so far as to insult his loyalty.

Given his reputation, Joran assumed that every man there was waiting to see him fly into a rage and cave in Theon Greyjoy's face with a fist. But, instead of giving off such a spectacle, even as much as he wanted to, he declined and stated. "I see that Tyrion Lannister isn't the only one not wanted here. I think I'll take my leave for the night."

Carefully rising so as to not spook everyone into reaching for something to defend themselves with, Joran turned to Maester Lewin and asked him politely, "Maester, could you be so kind as to send a dish of food to my room. Along with some water for my travelling companion."

"Of course, my Lord," Lewin said with a nod.

"Thank you," Joran said before turning to Rob. "I wish you a pleasant evening, Lord Stark."

Then, ruffling Bran's hair and wishing him goodnight as well on his way, Joran stomped out of the Main Hall and out of the castle towards Wintertown to meet up with Tyrion.

…

Arriving and entering the brothel, Joran stood at the threshold and found the place to be packed with customers, all full of drink and loud mirth. Mildly surprised by what he saw, the young Mormont scanned his surroundings in search of his little friend. The air of the place was smoky from a number of occupants smoking from pipes and the fact that there was a large amount of bodies, some standing side to side and others sitting, it would be a wonder if Joran was able to locate Tyrion in the mess. And, just as he was about to give up under the assumption that the dwarf was no doubt already in bed with a woman by now, a wonder came and he spotted the little man, his table filled to the brim with women.

Should've figured he'd be the man with the most whore's in the room, Joran thought before stepping further into the establishment towards Tyrion. Making his way past a number of the brothel's occupants, some bumping into him along the way and either not noticing, or turning to face him and quickly changing their minds at the site of the masked giant, he was soon spotted by the smallest among them as he looked up from a pair of tits that he had been admiring in a drunken gaze. "JORAN!" Tyrion called out, lifting a mug filled to the brim with what looked to be red wine as it splashed out onto the table and one of the women beside the little man.

Parting from the mass of bodies and approaching the table, Joran watched as Tyrion asked one of the women sitting across from him to make room for his friend. Once he got to his destination, he pulled the free chair out and took a seat.

"Glad to see that you came," Tyrion hollered over the din, a wide smile on his face.

"I'm glad that I did," Joran responded in a loud voice through his scarf.

"Is there something wrong, Mormont," Tyrion asked, his eyes narrowing while his smile never faltered.

"Why would there be anything wrong," Joran said, his tone flat.

"Although your scarf hides a lot, your eyes can just as easily tell a story, Joran. The fact that you're scowling tells me that you just had an unpleasant run in with a problem. One that you couldn't immediately solve with your usual methods."

Tyrion said all of this with a smirk on his face before raising his mug to his lips. It almost made Joran want to throttle him then and there. But it wasn't Tyrion's fault that he was pissed. "I admire your powers of perception," was all Joran would say, the scowl on his face deepening before he went on. "It would seem that my affiliation to you has made me a subject to questioning from the Stark ward, Theon Greyjoy."

Lowering the mug from his lips, Tyrion swallowed and said, "well, that's unfortunate. If it's any consolation, I apologize for mixing you up in whatever grudge House Stark has against me."

"Don't apologize, Tyrion," Joran said, folding his arms over his chest. "It's not your fault that Ironborn are cunts."

"Well said," Tyrion said with a laugh before shouting towards the barkeep, "get this man a drink. Whatever he wants."

"Water," Joran yelled over his shoulder before turning his gaze back to Tyrion. "My own sorrows put aside; I have some good news for you."

"Good news from Winterfell for a Lannister, I'm shocked," Tyrion said jokingly before turning to one of the women sitting by his side and stroking her hand sensually.

"A group of Night's Watchmen arrived before dinner, apparently, they left two days after us to try and catch you before you departed from Winterfell. They'll be an acting escort for you on your way south to collect recruits," Joran said before his water arrived.

"Ah, your grandfather is quite the diligent man," Tyrion said, his attention going back to Joran. "Pity he didn't send them out with us when we left. Probably could've helped when those bandits came for us in the night."

"Bandits, oh my!" These words and more flowed around the table from the lips of the present female company.

"Indeed, my dears, and this man single handedly defeated all of them," Tyrion said, pushing the whores' admiration towards Joran. "I owe this man my life."

"Your praise isn't necessary, Tyrion," Joran said before the small man could butter him or the women up more than he already had. "Anyway, better late than never I suppose. Jeor had sent them out to act as a form of rear support for our group, in case any Wildlings made it past The Wall and gave us trouble on our way."

"Almost sounds like he didn't trust you to handle my protection," Tyrion said jokingly, holding off from pushing any woman's attentions further towards Joran.

"Extra protection never hurt anyone," Joran said in irritation to Tyrion's proclamation. "And sometimes Wildling's travel in groups larger than the one I dealt with on the road. So, in a way, we were lucky to have them watching our backs in case it had been Wildlings that wanted to give us trouble."

"Well, in any case, I'll appreciate their protection on my way to King's Landing," Tyrion said. "And I'll be sure to tell them to pass my appreciation onto the Lord Commander upon their return to Castle Black."

"I'm sure my grandfather will like that," Joran said with a nod before bringing the mug of water up to his lips and taking a sip.

Enjoying Tyrion's company for a time, Joran sat back as the little man told enough dirty jokes to the working girls that would make a Septon pass out. As the night drew on, he turned down every offer of buying him a girl that the dwarf made. Every time he did though, Joran would be met with the same joke from Tyrion about how he was saving himself for the Wildling woman he had tamed during their travels together, making him scowl whenever he did and the working girls laugh more. Entertained and laughing along with the small man, the larger of the two eventually called it a night with the promise of seeing his friend off in the morning. Tyrion stating that he would hold him to it, Joran departed from the brothel and returned to his rooms in Winterfell.

…

The next morning, Joran, avoiding having breakfast with the Starks, made his way out to Wintertown with Osha by his side. Arriving well before Yoren and his gang to the brothel, Mormont moved around the building towards the back to where he believed the stables were located. Finding the place with little difficulty, Joran beheld the sight of Tyrion's guardsman preparing the horses for their homeward journey. With the little man nowhere to be seen.

Noting Tyrion's absence, Joran, figuring that the dwarf was still sleeping off all the wine that he had drank last night, didn't bother asking the guards where their master was hiding and decided to walk into the brothel in search of him. Osha still on his heels, the large man made his way to the front entrance of the establishment and pushing through the front doors, came upon the site of the common room bare of any life, save a few working girls at a table taking what looked like their breakfast. Moving further in, Joran walked a straight line towards the empty bar, where its keeper was wiping his counter clean from what spills there had been during the ruckus of last night.

Catching the man's eye upon his approach, Joran watched as the man stood up straight and upon recognizing the scarfed figure, said kindly, "morning. Come back for more water? Or perhaps something a little stronger to start off your day?"

"No," Joran said, sensing the barkeeps question was genuine and not a jab towards his preference in drink he had the night prior. "Looking for my friend, Tyrion Lannister."

"Oh, him. I put the little man in a room on the second floor," the barkeep and brothel proprietor answered, pointing a thumb up towards the balcony above the bar. "Best one in the house too, if I do say so myself."

Turning his gaze up to the balcony that rapped around the upper portions of the brothel, and the door that the barkeep was referring to, Joran, figuring that after all the traveling he and Tyrion had been doing, the smaller man wanted to have a cozy space to set his feet up at before quickly vacating the area after the greeting he had received in Winterfell. Then, looking back to the man, he said, "thanks."

With Osha following him on his way towards the stairs up to the second floor, positioned conveniently next to the front entrance to the brothel, Joran found that his path was about to be blocked by one of the working girls that had been presently eating breakfast. Abandoning her meal, the woman, her red hair wrapped up in a bundle atop her head, started to stroll up to the taller man with a cocky smile upon her face and her blue eyes planted lustily upon her target. Knowing full well the woman's intentions and not desiring any part in them, Joran adjusted his walking angle towards the stairs, so as to walk around the oncoming whore. However, it wasn't enough to deter the woman's advance and before the scarfed man could simply sidestep out of her way, she was upon him.

"Hello love, come for some company," she asked sweetly.

"No," Joran said flatly before attempting to move around the smaller figure. "Excuse me."

"Oh? Why not? Ain't I pretty enough for you?"

Looking down at her, Joran, seeing that the woman was rather pretty, quickly and plainly lied, "no you're not."

Hoping that he had dissuaded any further attempts at seducing him, Joran moved to sidestep the redhead again. The woman was persistent however and moved in front of him again to block his way.

"Well, if that's the case, you don't have to look at me. You can just take me from the back and pretend I'm someone else. I can be anyone you want my Lord."

His eyebrows beginning to drop into a scowl, Joran was about to tell the woman off one more time, when Osha moved past him and growled at the whore, "he isn't interested bitch, now piss off."

"And you are?" the whore asked the wildling in a tone of indignance.

"Someone who can smell your flabby cunt from here," Osha said while waving a hand across her nose as though to ward off a bad stench. "And believe me, smells worse than the bastard that was grunting on top of you last night. Whew!"

"You, scrawny little bitch," the whore said before moving to no doubt try and throttle Osha.

Moving between the two, Joran blocked the whore's path while the barkeep shouted at his back, "leave 'em both be Ros. Last thing I need is for you to get a split lip from the man's misses. There'll be plenty customers later."

Ros, finally taking the hint, moved out of Joran and Osha's way. Noticing the whore glaring angrily at the Wildling woman, Mormont ignored it. Osha on the other hand didn't.

"Before the next batch comes though, I'd suggest you give that hole of yours a good scrub, love," Osha said cockily to Ros's face.

Leaving Ros's face shocked and her jaw hanging down to the floor, Joran, a small smile forming beneath his scarf, moved on to the stairs with the barkeep's laughter and Osha behind him. Stomping up them to the balcony, the two then wove their way around to the end to the room that held Tyrion and coming to stand before the door, gave the wood a firm knock to let his friend know he had company. Not hearing anything on the other side though, Joran pushed the door open to find clothes strewn across the floor and that his little friend was still in bed, passed out in between two whores.

Figures, Joran thought before an idea came to his mind on how to wake the dwarf up. Taking hold of the end of the bed facing him, the giant man lifted it up and slammed it back down to the floor yelling, "RISE AND SHINE!" Startling all the bed's occupants awake, Joran let out a deep chuckle at the sight of Tyrion's face and messy hair looking around in stunned surprise.

"Joran? What in the Seven Hells?" Tyrion asked groggily as his two bedmates rose from the mattress and made to leave. "No, girls wait, come on now one more tumble."

His pleas being ignored by the women, who had no doubt already been paid for the first round, Tyrion was left alone with Joran and Osha. The smaller man, sitting up on the bed and looking at his larger companion like a pouting child, said "you're worse than my brother when it comes to scaring off whores, Joran. Bad form, bad form."

"Get up my friend," Joran said before grabbing a pair of small pants off the floor and throwing them at Tyrion, who let them land on his head. "Your men are almost ready with the horses."

"Mmm," Tyrion moaned as he pulled his trousers off of his blonde scalp. "What's the rush? You want me gone that bad?"

Rolling his eyes, Joran plainly said, "hurry up. Yoren and his lot are probably already waiting on you as well."

"Wouldn't want to keep the glorified bodyguard waiting would we," Tyrion said sarcastically before rolling out of bed and pulling his trousers up his stumpy legs.

"See you down there," Joran said, exiting the room with Osha before Tyrion could let out any more of his grumblings. Then, walking out of the brothel, the two came face to face with Yoren, his men, the bridles of their steeds in their hands, and the Lannister guardsman with their mounts as well as their master's, waiting expectantly for the last member of their party.

"He up?" Yoren asked in a gravelly voice.

"Aye, made sure of that," Joran said before hooking his thumbs into his belt.

"Appreciate that," Yoren said with a nod. "Last thing me and my boys need is a distraction like what's in there to make us hold off on our journey. Not that it wouldn't be unwelcomed of course."

"Believe me, you'd still find plenty of willing distractions in there as well, even at this hour."

A half an hour passing before the last of the southbound party had finally graced them with his presence, the moment Tyrion waddled out of the brothel's entrance, everyone began to mount up. Walking with his little friend towards his horse, Joran said down to him, "for what it's worth, sorry for the rude awakening."

"Eh, no apologies necessary. I've had worse, trust me." Tyrion said before one of his men produced the small stepstool that the little man used in order to mount his horse. Waddling up the small steps, he pulled himself onto the saddle and looking back at Joran, said, "It'll produce a good laugh when I retell my travels with better company."

"I don't doubt it," Joran said with a small nod.

After a brief pause, Tyrion said, "I don't know why, but I have a strange feeling that this might not be the last time you and I see each other."

Joran, finding it rather unlikely that he would ever see Tyrion again, considering the fact that even this time had already been an unlikely paring of the two, asked, "how do you figure?"

"I'm not sure. Hopefully though, when next we meet it'll be under better circumstances than our parting today."

Smiling beneath his scarf, Joran, offering a hand to Tyrion said, "I hope so too, my little friend."

His hand easily enveloping Tyrion's, Joran bid the Lannister, his men, the Night's Watchmen and Yoren a fond farewell before they trotted off in the direction of the Kingsroad. Once the group was out of site, Mormont moved in the direction of Winterfell with Osha by his side.

…

Returning to the castle, Joran and Osha made their way across the courtyard towards the entrance to the keep. Passing a few of the household's early risers as they went, Mormont felt a small number of eyes upon him and the wildling woman he walked with. And, if he didn't know any better, he'd say that they probably looked like an odd pair indeed: a scrawny woman trailing a giant in the wee hours of the morning. It was almost laughable when Joran thought about it.

Walking up the stone steps towards the threshold of the keep, Joran thought about returning to his bed and taking a nap when upon making it up to the top step and the entrance of Winterfell, he was met with an unlikely sight. That of Maester Lewin to greet his return.

"Good morning, Maester Lewin," Joran greeted in a polite tone.

"Good morning, Joran," Lewin said in turn before looking at Osha and offering the same greeting. "Good morning, miss."

Crossing his hands in front of himself, Joran inquired, "To what do I owe the pleasure of being greeted upon my return by you this morning?"

"I was wondering if you and I could speak for a moment," Lewin answered with a question.

"Aye, we can talk," Joran said with a nod. "Is something the matter?"

"In a way, I suppose there is," Lewin said before gesturing for Joran to walk with him while they spoke.

Walking beside the Maester with Osha behind them, Joran followed Lewin further into the castle until they were well away from the Main Hall and in one of the many hallways that wound throughout the castle. Once out of earshot, the young man listened as the elder began to speak his mind. "With the absence of their mother, father and sisters, and Robb taking to his responsibilities as acting Lord of Winterfell, I fear that the younger Stark children feel as though they have been abandoned by both their parents and their siblings."

Feeling a touch of sentiment towards the two youngsters, Joran had felt the same way more than once when he was younger. It had usually happened whenever his father Jorah left for the wars in the young Mormont's youth. Every time, Joran wondered if his sire would ever come home and dreaded the thought of him never returning alive to Bear Island. But that was back when he had still cared if the bastard lived or died. Before…

"It's the price the young must pay when those they love become people of importance," Joran said, chasing off the memories of what had happened between him and his old man.

"Sadly so," Lewin said before moving on to his point. "While this is the case though, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping to remind the children that they haven't been forgotten by their loved ones."

"How could I help," Joran asked.

"Bran admires you," Lewin said in answer. "After the incident, he constantly spoke of you, asking when you would return and hoping that you would. Now that you have, it is my belief that if you spend time with him, and Rickon as well, I believe that the two of them won't feel as though the world has forgotten about them."

"Hm, almost sounds like you need a babysitter, and you want me for the job," Joran said in jest with a growl.

Lewin, not getting the fact that Joran's words had been meant as a joke, began to stutter out an apology. "Oh no, Lord, I didn't mean it like that…I only meant in the capacity of a mentor…someone to look up to-."

"It's alright, Lewin," Joran said in order to stop the older man from irritating him with a river of apology. "I can understand where your coming from and when it comes to kids, it helps to have more bodies on roll."

Taking a moment to consider the request, Joran thought about what Maege would do or say if he refused. Well, for one, she'd sock him in the arm considering the fact she couldn't really smack him upside his head for refusing such an offer of mentoring the Stark children. Then, Joran thought about how his aunt would explain to him how such a minor act could greatly benefit their house. Knowing Maege, the first thing she'd probably go on about was potential marriage proposals between House Mormont and House Stark, then further on from there for however long she needed to in order to get it stuck into his skull.

So, after silently contemplating the matter, Joran said with a shrug, "alright, I'll humor you and stay for a spell, help the kids out. But, what capacity would you need me at in regards to Bran and Rickon?"

"Well, in the event that you agreed, I had given some thought as to where you cold be put that would serve the most good," Lewin said confidently, his face seeming to brighten at the larger man's consent. Almost as though he already know Joran would say yes. "And I believe that as a temporary Master-at-Arms, you could spend time with the boys, as well as train them."

"Wouldn't Ser Rodrik take exception to my intrusion," Joran asked.

"Oh no, of course not. Ser Rodrik is at this very moment the acting bodyguard to Lady Catelyn while she is in the Riverlands," Lewin explained.

"Huh, glad to know you have your best sword watching out for her," Joran said in response to the news, but still finding Lewin's explanation to Lady Stark's absence, rather questionable. "Then I agree. Filling in the roll of Master-at-Arms for a time would suit me well, at least until I find it's time for me to return to Bear Island and my men."

"In regards to that, I trust that your Oathbound will be in good hands in your absence," Lewin inquired.

"Aye," Joran said confidently. "My second, Garrett Snow will look after them. Granted, they're all probably enjoying some much-needed rest without me around to badger them. If they start having too much fun though and get rowdy, Garrett will knock some sense into them."

"That's good," Lewin said. "Your band does much good for The North and I'd hate to intrude in your duty to them."

"They're warriors, Maester, not a bunch of boys and girls that need me as a wet nurse," Joran said, adamant in his confidence in his warband's ability to carry on without him if they were needed to defend The North.

"Then it is settled," Lewin said with a happy smile. "When would you like to start?"

"Early tomorrow morning, before breakfast is served, and then after," Joran said, his mind going back once again to the days of his youth when he used to be trained under a Master-at-Arms and how he had run their training sessions. At least, before his other side came to light.

"Excellent, I shall pass the news onto them and Robb," Lewin said before parting ways with Joran and Osha.

"What's a Master-at-Arms?" Osha asked beside Joran.

Figuring it wouldn't hurt to answer the wildling's question, Joran said bluntly, "it's a roll where a proficient warrior teaches young lords how to fight and properly defend themselves, be it if they are assaulted far from the safety of this keep, or if they are called upon by the King to fight in a war for him."

"So, I take it you'll be teaching these young lords how to fight like you? To…be like you?"

"I'll teach them how to fight," Joran confirmed. "But not like me."

"Why not?"

"Because, besides a few others in the Seven Kingdoms, I doubt there's anyone else who can fight like me."

…

Taking dinner with the Starks that evening, Joran was well aware of the excitement that emanated from both of the younger Starks about him becoming their temporary master-at-arms. All throughout dinner, Bran and Rickon bombarded the Bear Islander with many questions about the lessons he would be providing them come the morning. Joran, deciding to begin their lessons early, merely said to them that a true warrior never truly knows what tomorrow has in store for his life, what he does know though is that he has the strength of mind and body to meet what challenges the gods provide him. It was a hard truth about life as well as fighting that Mormont had learned many times over the course of his many defenses of Bear Island. Joran was not always completely successful in his protection of his home, his first few bouts with raiders having been further inland while they were about their business taking from others. Though he had defeated them, it had not been without cost, and the young warrior had had to plan accordingly for every raid after that, until his defense finally became impeccable with the many beacons he had helped erect across his home acting as the fastest means of alerting him and his warriors to incoming threats.

His words bringing peace to the table, Joran retired after dinner was finished to his rooms, bringing food to Osha when he returned. The next morning arriving quickly for him, Mormont, his wild main pulled back into a ponytail to reveal his scarfed face, dressed in gambeson, chainmail, and leather, and his weapons upon him, made his way out to the training yard to be met with the darkness of early morning, with only a few torches lit to illuminate the area. Breathing in the cold morning air of The North, Joran thought back to his old training sessions with House Mormont's Master-at-Arms. The cruel bastard had always beat him, Dacey before she hated him, and a younger Alysane out to the training yard at the earliest hours of the morning. Met with the cold sea air that always enveloped the island, the children had trained without food in their bellies and their many movements had been the only source of warmth for them until the time for breakfast and they were aloud to return to the Keep, and the lit hearth within. That part of the training and more had been hard on the Mormont children, but they had been made stronger from them, and in the world that they lived in, one could never have enough strength.

Joran knew that what lessons he imparted would be hard on Bran and Rickon as they had been hard on him and his cousins. But he also knew that they too would gain strength from them.

"Joran." His thoughts returning to the present and his task at hand, Joran turned to find the sleepy-eyed Bran and Rickon dressed in gambesons and training armor, their training swords and shields in their hands, walking towards him, both of them, accompanied by their wolves, rubbing their eyes at least once.

"Good morning, lads," Joran said in kind greeting to the young Starks and the two animals with them.

"Good morning," the two of them said in return, Rickon yawning after the words left his mouth.

Deciding that it would be best to get them started before the cold of the mainland sapped what warmth there was from their bodies, Joran said enthusiastically, "alright, before we begin our lessons today, I want you both to warm up and stretch your joints out. I trust that Ser Rodrick has given you both instruction in this area?"

"Yes," Bran answered flatly for the both of them. The two boys swung, twisted, stretched, and shook their arms, legs, and torsos in short order. Once the two of them and Joran were sure that the sleep had been chased from their bodies, Bran and Rickon awaited the next instruction from their current master.

"Now, I want you both to have a quick spar with one another," Joran ordered.

"Ser Rodrik never had us spar at the beginning of our lessons," Rickon said both blatantly and curiously, the young boy seemingly irritated from his slumber being cut short.

"Well he is not here presently," Joran said sharply, causing both boys and wolves to startle at the seriousness in the giant man's tone. "And, while he may have a strong understanding of where you both sit in your current levels of skill, I do not. So, in order for me to become acquainted, I will need you two to spar so that I may see what you both can do so that I may build you up from there. Now, spar."

"Yes, sir," Bran and Rickon said one after the other before taking up stances facing each other, their shields and swords raised. And as their masters readied themselves, the two wolves came to sit at Joran's flanks, looking on with the Master-at-Arms at the match. Their sparing bout short, with the elder of the two offering two taps to the younger one's limbs, no doubt due to his longer bit of training experience, Mormont stopped them and thought curiously. Looking at them both as they went took him back to when he would constantly be beaten by his elder cousin Dacey, and he decided that he would do his best to make sure that Rickon caught up with Bran as far as sparing. Granted, that would be a task if the elder sibling furthered his own skills as well while under his tutelage, and if the younger did not find the motivation or the determination to try and overlap his sibling, then he would remain the lesser in the bouts.

Noting that he would need to try and get through to Rickon as their training progressed, Joran nodded and said, "well, you two aren't lacking in the basic knowledge of swordplay, which is good. But I can plainly see that there is room for improvement. Bran, you rush too quickly into action. You are too used to sparring with your young brother, that you do not take the time to study him, his stance, and his movements. The fact that you did not take some time to do this, you could not know if his stance was a solid one or a weak one, which would tell you if he was a balanced fighter incapable of being moved, or not balanced and easily toppled, if his movements were as fluid as water and quick to dodge your blows, or clumsy and blunt, leaving his defense open at your leisure. If he had been any other opponent, you would have been tapped several times over were he skilled and you may have had a harder time were he your equal in arms.

"As for you Rickon, you lead with your head too much, giving your brother a clear view of where you are going and where you will be before you even know. Just as well, by doing this, you leave your shield down, your skull ready to be cracked like an egg. You're strikes are weak, easily pushed aside; you are slow in your defense, leaving easy openings to your brother's attacks. I will not begrudge you too much for your lack of strength or speed, for you are young, but while you learn under me, you will learn these things and more. The both of you.

"Now, with what warmth you both still have in your bones, let us move on."

His assessment finished; Joran started the boys off by having them strike the dummies. Bran was ordered to strike his dummy as hard as he could ten times for five rounds at every angle, while Rickon was ordered to do the same, only his would be six strikes for five rounds. Walking around and about the two boys as they brought battle to the stick men, with the wolves walking beside him as he went, Joran observed each stance taken and strike made, and adjusted both of his charges accordingly. Though, he took the most time adjusting Rickon, for the young boy continued to rely only on his arms and shoulders for the power of his strikes rather than his legs and hips.

The boys finishing their work on the dummies right as the sun began to show itself, Joran, wanting the Stark children to earn their breakfast, ordered them to take a jog around the training yard for five laps with their gear still on. Doing as they were bid, Bran and Rickon were accompanied by their two direwolves, and all four bodies ran the perimeter of the area. Watching them as they went, Joran had a brief idea about how to possibly incorporate the direwolves into the training and thought it would have better use later on if he saw improvement in the boys' stamina. At the end of the fifth lap, Mormont ushered the boys off to breakfast, expecting them to return to continue their lessons with him.

Having an apple for his morning meal, Joran quickly ate it and while he awaited the return of the Stark boys, he took to his own training for a time. Rather than destroying the training dummies of the Starks however, he decided to shadow spar. This method of training was a simple one, where a practitioner of the militant arts would practice his form without striking a living or dead opponent. Starting off slowly with each of his weapons save Longclaw, for he wanted to pay special attention to his new weapon later on when he had no distractions, either accompanied by his shield or not, Joran allowed his movements to carefully flow through the air at every angle for a time, and he imagined each one sliding across the body of an unseen opponent. As he progressed, his speed became faster, and faster, until it almost felt like ever stroke was a blur through the air before him. Upon finishing his practice, Joran found that he had had a small audience watching him. That audience being an awestruck Bran and Rickon, and their wide-eyed wolves.

Breathing heavily and sweating from his work, Joran greeted them and picked up where they had left off. Rather than having them work on the dummies however, the Master-at-Arms chose to have them do what he had just done, and shadow spar separately in order to continue work on their endurance. Only, the boys would not swing their blades without their shields however, for until they came to appreciate the object that would one day act as one of their best methods of defense, they would use them until Joran decided that they were ready to learn how to use just a sword as both a means of offense and defense.

Their training continuing unto midday, Joran ended it when the time came for the youngsters to move onto their other lessons with Maester Lewin. Congratulating them on their first day with him, Mormont told the boys that he expected them there the same time tomorrow, and added an advisement to not stay up late and get some sleep.

…

As his daily routine with the youngsters progressed, Joran carefully eased them through a little more drilling each day to help them build up their musculature. These drills would mainly be done with their training swords, since the lads were the most comfortable with them and the style of fighting that came with the pieces. But, despite his desire to build them up on their weapons of choice, Joran also wanted them to be capable of adapting to any situation where their swords may not be available. So, in order to accomplish this, every other day he would put them through drills with a multitude of other pieces that would force them to adopt different styles of fighting. These would range from knives to hand axes, battle axes to maces, spears to long axes and what other polearms were available in-House Stark's armory, and finally ranged weapons, as well as those that could be quickly switched to ranged, which Joran would keep to only the bow, hand axe, and knife.

Aside from building their strength and adaptability, Joran had the boys consistently sparring with one another in order to get them to learn and understand each other's fighting patterns. Because the faster they were able to learn from one another, the quicker they'd have to switch up their styles so as to avoid being beaten by one another and, should the day ever come for them to fight, the faster they'd be able to read the movements of whatever opponent they come face to face with. This part of their training was mainly meant for the young Rickon, who from being the weaker and younger of the two, needed the practice if he was ever going to be able to stand beside his brothers, or alone. Joran's methods were hard on the youngest Stark, but he had gone through them himself when he was the same age as the boy, and he knew that the child would gain much from the lessons just as he had so long as he maintained the stubbornness to keep growing.

Two weeks into the training, Joran witnessed his methods bare fruit before his eyes when Rickon, during the sparring portion of the usual lessons, was able to tap Bran on his leg after giving a small feint. The first one that the Master-at-Arms had had ever seen boy commit to. Upon calling the match, both Joran and Bran had congratulated Rickon for the move and his first ever sparring victory, and the older man had allowed the both of them a reprieve for the day as well as treats from the kitchen, much to the staff's pleasure at seeing the boys, joy for their progression in their studies, and small amounts of fear of the teacher as he shared in the celebration.

As the days turned to weeks, Joran had begun to grow closer to Bran and Rickon. Seeing the boys in the same light as he saw his younger cousins, he soon found himself interacting with the youngsters outside of practice. Joran's activities with them ranged from going on walks with them, Osha, and their wolves through the Godswood, talking with them as they went, to going on rides with them through the Wolfswood to keep them safe from any predators, be they man or beast, lurking about. Though, from what the older man had seen from their connection to Summer and Rickon's Shaggydog, who continued to grow uncannily, the boys probably would've been just as safe even if he wasn't there.

On the day that marked the end of his first month into his duties, Joran decided to give Bran and Rickon the day off to do what they wanted, as long as it was in Winterfell and they swore to still make it to their other lessons. After the two had vanished, no doubt off to accomplish whatever play or mischief they could before the day truly began, the older man went alone into the Godswood with a whetstone and all of his weapons. Upon entering the holy place, Joran was met with the usual reverent silence that gripped the area, which was one of the qualities that, to him and any other northman who visited, made it so holy. Taking in the look and smell of the place before fully stepping further in, Mormont made straight for the heart tree. Setting up a small spot beneath the pale tree in the direction of the small pond that was nearby, Joran laid a blanket out upon the ground and set each piece of equipment down upon it. Going over each of his old blades in short order, he drew his stone over his knife, his old longsword, and his axe, breaking the silence of the Godswood with the sound of the rhythmic scrapings.

Coming lastly to Longclaw, Joran drew the blade fully from its scabbard and took a moment to upon the dark steel, its blade shining in the morning light, in admiration and reverence before running a thumb across one of its two edges. It was said that valyrian steel blades, due to some unknown magic, always kept their edge and there was never a need to sharpen them. But, despite this, Joran wanted to make sure that he maintained his habit of taking care of his weapons, regardless of whatever sorcery they may or may not possess, and began to draw the stone across one edge of the blade. A dozen strokes in, Mormont heard his name being called from the keep by a familiar voice.

Turning to find Bran walking towards him with Summer by his side, Joran smiled beneath his scarf and greeted the boy, "hello, Bran. Run out of things to do already?"

"Uhm, well no – I," Bran began sheepishly. Finding his tongue, he asked, "Joran, could I stay and talk with you a moment?"

Finding Bran's demeanor odd, Joran set Longclaw aside atop the blanket and waved the boy closer. Patting the spot on the ground beside him, Mormont invited the young lad to sit next to him. Once Bran was settled, Joran asked, "what's on your mind lad?"

"Well," Bran began slowly, his tone almost sounding cautious to Joran. "It's about before. Back when I fell."

"Oh," Joran said curiously before cocking an eyebrow. "What about it?"

"I'm, I'm not supposed to talk about it," Bran said quickly. "But I don't feel right about not talking about it with you. Especially since you were the one who saved me after all."

Beginning to feel uneasy about how Bran was acting, knowing the boy to not be as shy as he usually was when speaking to him, Joran, taking on his role of mentor and a kind of older sibling to the boy he had been teaching since he arrived a month past, carefully said, "Bran, whatever it is about that day, you don't need to be afraid to talk to me about it."

"But…I am afraid, Joran," Bran said, his voice slightly cracking when he spoke.

"Why would you be afraid, Bran," Joran asked, his worry for the child growing.

Then, before Joran knew it, Bran was hugging his arm in a tight embrace and crying into the sleeve of his gambeson.

"Because if I tell you, I'm afraid you'll leave me and Rickon, just like everyone else did. Mother, Rob, the minute I told them, it was almost like we didn't exist and they began to just drift away from us."

"There, there," Joran cooed in the softest voice he could manage, patting the boy on his shoulder with his free arm. "Your mother's just in the Riverlands, making sure your grandfather is alright, and you have to understand, without her or your father here, your brother has to manage Winterfell in their stead. Whatever you need to tell me can't be all bad."

When Bran didn't' respond to him, Joran went on to say, "if I promise you that I won't go anywhere if you say what you need to say, will you talk to me?"

Looking up and meeting Joran's eye, Bran nodded his head and relinquished his hold on the grown man's arm.

"The day when I woke up," Bran began. "I didn't forget what happened. I remember falling from the broken tower. And, I remember how…"

The knowledge that Bran presented to Joran, took the big man's breath away and struck him in the gut. Jaime Lannister, had lain with the Queen, his sister in the Broken Tower. Bran while climbing, had stumbled upon the two in the act and had been thrown from the tower by the Kingslayer. At that moment, Joran thought back to the memory of that day and everything flowed back to him. How Bran had been standing in the window, arms spread out, it made sense. And the fact that he didn't realize that the boy had been pushed and had instead assumed he had slipped, made Joran angry. Angry at Jaime and Cersei for committing the act, at Rob for keeping the knowledge from him, and most of all himself for failing to remember everything and come to the realization on his own.

Hiding his rage from the boy, Joran took Bran into a tight embrace that conveyed his concern to the child.

"I'm glad you told me, Bran," Joran said in a kind and quiet tone. "That's quite a burden to bear on your own, for one so young. And I'm glad to help in carrying the knowledge with you."

Sitting with Bran in his arms for a time, Joran thought of the dark deeds he'd have in mind for the Kingslayer when next they met. But those would have to wait. Presently, Joran would need to have words with Rob Stark.