Jeor Mormont

Jeor looked on as Torheim blocked the overhead strike with a training sword. An armour made of hide and fur covering his body, except for his head, of which he pulled his hair into a messy ponytail. "Good! You didn't throw all of your weight into the strike. Your footwork needs a little more work, but we can work on that."

The trainee boy of three and ten nodded and swung two more times in quick succession, this time from the right and left. When Torheim parried the last strike away, the boy went for a thrust. Only for The Dragonborn to parry training blade to his right and quickly tap his blunt sword on the boys collar bone. The boy grunted in surprise and stumbled backwards.

"Always expect your opponent to be faster, always expect them to be stronger. Be cautious and only extend your blade if you know you can hit him in the weak spots between armour. The joints, tendons, major veins, these are weak points of the body." His words made the boy nod. Torheim turned to the five other trainees of similar age. "Did you get that?"

They nodded.

It has been two moons since Torheim had appeared on Bear Island. Jeor Mormont couldn't be more thankful enough to have the common sense to let the Shapechanger stay and live in the keep. However, he did say to Bjornson he had to work, Torheim accepted the terms and immediately started to.

Repairs to buildings or walls? Torheim said he had built his own house in Skyrim.

Weapon repair and maintenance? The Giant Shapechanger spoke of having years of blacksmith experience under his belt.

Hunting? Same as above but hunting instead of blacksmithing.

Training more warriors? Bjornson's training spoke of his experience in being a martial teacher.

In those two moons that had passed, life had continued after the ambush. The man, that was being called 'Lord Shapechanger' by the inhabitants of the Island, didn't want to see more dead boys who hadn't grown hairs on their chin, boys who hadn't felt a woman's warmth or had children of their own. So he decided to train the next batch of trainees, he didn't care if they were girls or boys, he'd beat discipline and technique into them so they can survive on the battlefield or in the next raid.

Torheim hummed in approval, seeing this, Jeor started to walk over to him, which Torheim spotted. He turned to the trainees. "Alright, I must cut this lesson short. It seems Lord Mormont wishes to speak to me." The trainees bowed with their heads and dispersed.

Lord Mormont continued over, a few trainees bowed their heads with a low 'Lord Mormont'. Jeor nodded back and continued towards the Shapechanger.

"Lord Jeor." Torheim greeted, putting the training blades back on the rack. "What do you require of me?" He finished and turned to Jeor who took out a small scroll of parchment.

"Word has gotten to Lord Edwlye Stark about you. His letter saying that he wants to meet 'The Shapechanger'." Jeor bluntly told him.

The Dragonborn grunted. "I guess we couldn't keep me a secret forever."

"Well I don't know how we could, when you improve our walls, weapons, blacksmithing and martial techniques." Jeor said with a hint of amusement. "The information most likely came from sailors that go back to the mainland. So some information will need to be clarified for Lord Stark. Besides, I figured that you would've moved on by now, to try and go home."

Torheim paused for a moment. "I started thinking of ways to get back home, however since I came here, hearing about this Westeros. I've decided to stay here for a time. My country will be fine without me, my family and friends have either passed away or knew that my journey might take me a couple of years. I think I'll travel throughout this side of the world before going back." Jeor looked at Torheim's eyes, seeing the lust for adventure within them as Bjornson continued. "I'll write down my knowledge on improving this keep and set off to meet with Lord Stark."

"That will not be needed." Jeor told him, the Shapechanger cocked his head. "Lord Stark is coming here with his son, Rickard. We need more food and wood for our guests. I've assigned you to the hunting party, catch as much as you can."

Torheim grunted and shrugged. "Alright then." The Giant, as he heard some people dub him behind his back, walked over to a bow he made to compensate for his height and strength. The bow, large and a recurve, with a large quiver of massive arrows hanging on a hook near the blacksmith.

Torheim wrapped the quiver harness around him, took his bow, and walked away. Going to gather a party of the Island's best hunters.

Jeor stared at the back of the Shapechanger, his thoughts going back to his home. Indeed, the fortifications have been improved, looking more like walls instead of a palisade. The weapons of the fortress were better than ever, the Shapechanger always helped the blacksmiths and woodcutters on how to make better weapons and bows.

Yes, Jeor was thankful for the Shapechanger to have appeared when he did. And yet he could tell Bjornson was holding something back. Something that put Lord Mormont off, he knew it was rude to think of the man who saved his mother and unborn sibling, but that feeling of unease, he thought. Like staring into the face of a predator that would devour you, your loved ones and possessions in one fell swoop.

Jeor could only hope that his family would never face the predator that was Torheim Bjornson's wrath.

-X-

Edwyle Stark

"Father, do you believe the rumours about this 'shapechanger'?" He heard his son of ten, Rickard, ask behind him.

"Personally, I think this is just an exaggeration by sailors and merchants, but from what I'm hearing about this 'Shapechanger'. He has improved the Mormont's home immensely in only two and a half moons. I have never heard of a person able to improve a keep that quickly." Edwyle responded.

"Then why are we going?" Rickard asked. "Why not order him to come to Winterfell?"

"Because," Edwyle answered. "It's time for you to see the vassals you will one day rule as Warden of the North. After this, we are going to the others so we can introduce them to you."

"Oh." Rickard realised. "That's why we took so long in getting ready to start on the journey." Rickard looked back onto the large amount of men and wagons of food and equipment.

"I thought it was just because it's dangerous on the way to Bear Island."

Edwyle allowed a small smile. "Well, that's true. Except that we're going on the safest roads through the north. So hopefully we won't have to deal with any bandits or Wildlings."

The journey was a quiet two weeks, the entire march had no 'excitement' according to some of the green boys that had volunteered to help protect them.

They had arrived on Bear Island the day before and he had noticed more than half the men had barely excited expectations in their eyes, even his son had that gleam.

The only thing he cared about, and the part he believed true, was that a man had appeared on the Island, and now more coin was flowing into Bear Island. Not a lot compared to the other vassals but more than normal.

What caught his attention however, was the news that the man was from west of Westeros.

Now that is interesting, he thought. He had exchanged letters with the new Lord Mormont, and that little tidbit was written near the bottom.

Shaking from his memories, Edwyle looked up to see the familiar wooden gates of Mormont Keep. The previous palisade were now thick and sturdy walls, still wooden, the keep itself looked like it had seen improvement, with two more towers than he saw last time.

The gates were open and Edwyle could see the young Lord Jeor standing with the rest of the Keep's servants, guards, hunters, blacksmiths. Everyone filled the courtyard, and yet when Edwyle rode passed the gates, he didn't spot anyone matching the description of the 'Shapechanger'.

He stepped down from his horse and walked over to Jeor who bowed alongside everyone in the Keep.

Edwyle gestured for them to stand and they did so. "Lord Mormont, I thank you for allowing my son and I to stay at your home."

Jeor nodded shortly. "No need my Lord, you are the Warden of the North. I hope Bear Island is to your liking."

Edwyle looked around, staring at the numerous improvement. "Well, from what I'm seeing. The Keep has had quite the upgrade, though I cannot see this so called 'Shapechanger'."

Jeor's brow twitched quickly, and sighed in vexation. "I apologise greatly my Lord, but the shapechanger, whose name is Torheim Bjornson, had gone inside our blacksmith and has not left for a week. Only saying he would leave when it was ready."

"It?" He questioned.

"Yes." Jeor nodded, his face looking like a grimace was fused to it. "He didn't say what 'it' was, all he said was that it will be a gift to you and your son."

Edwyle nodded in acceptance, for now he'll let the Shapechanger continue working, he turned to his men giving them a silent order with his stare.

They dispersed, when their horses were taken to a stable, the men either entered the only tavern, or went to explore the Keep.

He turned back to Jeor and motioned towards his son, Rickard stepped forwards. "Lord Jeor, this is my son, Rickard."

Rickard bowed. "Greetings to you Lord Jeor Mormont."

Jeor reciprocated. "And to you Lord Rickard."

He and Rickard were then escorted to their rooms, a few doors down from each other, two sets of guards on either door.

Edwyle simply sat, thinking about the Shapechanger, to see the measure of him. It was too long before he heard a knock at his door.

"Enter." He spoke.

A servant entered, and quickly bowed. "My Lord, the feast is about to start. Lord Jeor has asked me to escort you."

"Alright then, give me a few minutes to get ready."

The servant exited with another bow.

It was, to the second, five minutes later when Edwyle met with Rickard, before both entered the Main Hall. "Now entering!" A servant announced to the side of the door. "Lord Edwyle Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North! And his son Rickard Stark, Heir to Winterfell!"

The feast was a rowdy affair, as it normally was in the North, the cold weather even in summer and the harshness of the land caused any type of 'southron propriety' to be non-existent.

It was only an hour when a servant quickly walked up, giving a bow to the two men and boy. "My Lords, Bjornson is ready to present the Lord Stark's gifts."

"Took him long enough." Jeor muttered to himself before speaking clearly. "Alright, announce him." The servant quickly curtsied and stepped towards the doors. "I apologise greatly my Lord, I will have words with Torheim about being late."

Edwyle said nothing and continued to stare at the doors.

"Now entering, Torheim Bjornson, Shapechanger!"

The hall turned silent as he cast his eyes upon the being that was Torheim.

"A Stark?" He thought, surprised. This 'Torheim' was unnaturally tall, a large body that seemed more like a tree in width, with the features that made him think he was looking at a Stark. Long dark brown hair, with an equally long beard, grey eyes with wildness within them, yet it seemed...controlled.

An attire of fur, hide and a black half-cloak that went over his left shoulder, connected by a grey iron brooch. An etching of a weird hybrid creature, the body and wings of a dragon, the head of a wolf and the arms and legs of a bear. A longsword that looked like a shortsword on the man, strapped to his hip.

In his hands was a large, length-wise, wrapping.

Torheim stopped in front of the main table, facing him and his son. The Giant of a man then bowed at the waist, his fist over his heart. "Lord Edwyle and Rickard Stark. I sincerely apologise for my rudeness at not meeting with you earlier this morning." Torheim took the wrapping and laid it on the table, and untie them.

Edwyle looked down and was taken aback.

A four foot hand-and-a-half sword.

The blade had a blinding silver colour, the hilt was dark with a howling direwolf as the rain-guard, blue gems within the eyes, quillons shaped into claws facing forwards, a handle of wrapped brown leather and square pommel with enough space for two hands.

The blade itself was longer than a normal longsword and slightly broader as well.

One thing that caught his eye was the runes. Runes dotted up the fuller of the blade and the pommel, a sharp ice blue colour that twinkled in the fire light.

Torheim bowed. "My Lord, I gift this sword to you. It will be stronger than all of the blades in the world, apart from Valyrian Steel."

Edwyle picked the sword up, and inspected it, noting how light it was. Like a feather, he thought. "What do these runes mean?" He questioned, they had seemed familiar.

Torheim smiled, as if happy to explain. "Að vernda? It means 'To Protect' or 'Stand Guard'. You are of the North, a land that has pirates and Wildlings raiding your coasts and stealing your people. This blade, I hope, symbolises your position as a Lord who protects those very same people from the worst of humanity."

As Torheim continued to explain what he had felt the blade stood for, Edwyle couldn't help but be impressed and in awe of this man's metallurgy.

"However, I feel you would need a demonstration of the blade's strength. May I?" Torheim asked while holding out his hand. Edwyle gave the blade to him, Bjornson then unsheathed the sword at his hip, a normal castle-forged steel blade.

The blade of the ordinary sword was laid on the table, the hilt held off it. Torheim held Að vernda up and brought down quickly.

The large snap and scream of metal echoed throughout the hall, the castle-forged blade was cut through completely.

Torheim held up the broken blade to the rest of the hall, who were completely stunned. The Giant of a man then, laid Að vernda back on the table, after he then bowed. "My Lord, I hope this blade aids you through tough and terrible times."

Bjornson then stepped back, Edwyle held the blade up with light touches, only to hiss as he accidentally cut his fingers on the edge. Despite it, Edwyle was satisfied with the weapon, and bowed in thankfulness. "Thank you Torheim Bjornson for this magnificent weapon." Lord Stark then shouted to the people of the hall. "Now, this hall is too quiet, I thought this was the North, not some Southron pansies!"

The singers of the hall all took this as a command and started to sing joyful and fantastic songs, instruments creating a beat that captured the stunned silent people of the hall's attention.

As the men and women grew more rowdy and feasting, Edwyle whispered to Torheim. "I must speak with you privately." Torheim, Edwyle noticed, was amused and looked towards Mormont, who cleared his throat.

Edwyle didn't take notice of it and walked out of the hall, Torheim following.

The two ended up in a hallway, a minute walk away.

Lord Stark turned to the Giant of a Man. "I have to ask you. Are you a Shapechanger?"

"Yes, though in my country we call it Lycanthropy." Torheim answered. He unwrapped the furs and hide on his right arm, leaving it bare.

Edwyle watched in horror and awe as Torheim's arm changed into a massive arm of fur and claws. He heard Torheim's breath turn more animalistic, and primal.

"D-Does this...answer...your question?" Torheim growled like a wolf at him. His eyes now holding flakes of amber and turned slitted.

Edwyle simply nodded his head up and down, his mouth opening and closing. His mind stopped at the implication in front of him.

"What are you?" Lord Stark finally asked.

The arm slowly transformed back into a man's, the Shapechanger breathed in heavily. Sweat pouring down his head and his eyes coloured grey once more.

"I-I am Torheim, Son of Bjorn. Harbinger of the Companions, King of the Werewolves, Slayer of Alduin, Harkon and Miraak, Conqueror and Emperor of Tamriel and Ysmir, the Dragon of the North."

Edwyle had never heard of these titles before. The word Dragon made him stumble backwards. Torheim didn't notice as he stared at the wall to the side.

"In Tamriel, I had discovered the passage past a collection of storm clouds that bordered the known world of my people. My time was up, a life of one hundred-and-forty had come and gone. My empire, my people were safe. So I took the strongest ship I knew, filled it to the brim with provisions and set off on my own. It was a month wading through storms, lightning and tempests struck my ship. As if the Gods themselves were telling me to turn back. However, I defied them and continued. Only...a lightning bolt, this was golden and half a mile in width and struck me. The only thing I remember was a light and waking up on this Island."

Bjornson shook his head. "What the women said, when I saved them. About how I was from west of Westeros. That was a lie, I'm not even sure I am. I remember waking up pretty far inland, there's no way I could've washed that far, unless there was a large wave that passed through Bear Island recently."

Edwyle only stared, his mind whirling through the information he was just being told.

"I'm not a Stark, nor am I a Targaryen. I'm a dragon of the North, of Tamriel." Torheim turned his attention to the Warden. "Please calm yourself Lord Stark. I will not harm anyone in your lands or in Westeros. I just want to start my life anew. Is that so hard to ask?"

His voice was vulnerable and desperate.

The tone broke through Stark's storm of thoughts. Bringing him back down to reality, and stared at Torheim's eyes.

The eyes of smouldering flame, trying to find that spark to become a raging inferno again.

It was then Stark believed in Torheim and his words. He didn't know what it was, but he just felt that Torheim was telling the truth.

He grasped Torheim's shoulder and spoke. "Then Torheim, if you need something to start this new life. Please ask, and if it's reasonable and in my power, I shall give it to you." He let go of the shoulder and stood up with his shoulders back.

Torheim thanked him with a soft smile. "Thank you Lord Stark. To be honest, I only need a good suit of armour and a horse."

Edwyle smiled back. "Well, Torheim Bjornson of Skyrim. I believe I can help you there."

The two men then walked back to the feasting hall, both their spirits lighter.

"By the way, if you aren't Targaryen and not a dragon, what do you mean by 'Dragonborn'?"

"Ah, well. That's a long story. It started when I was falsely imprisoned…"

-X-

Right, what do you guys think about this two-shot? Good, bad, needs work? If so please tell me which parts. Decide if I should continue with this reboot.

Also, it's my birthday today. So I feel happy.

I got A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords (only part 2, which doesn't make me annoyed at all!) and A Feast for Crows today to add to my collection of ASOIAF. To be honest, in-story, I'm a few decades away from Robert's Rebellion. So by the time I get there, I would have got all the books and read them all through because that's when the radical changes start happening for the show. Right now, this is under the TV Show banner, because I'm more familiar with it than the books.

Discussion about the Last Dragonborn. This is in-line with what my character would be like. Well, the one I spent the most time on. He was a warrior who dabbled in rogue and magicka skills. So every single warrior skill is maxed out and hit legendary multiple times over. If you can guess what magicka and rogue skills I focused, have a try.

I completed the Companions and not the College of Winterhold or Dark Brotherhood. I levelled up completely but I also had Moonlight Tales mod downloaded to give more power to my Werewolf. The idea of using his inner wolf to perform fantastic feats were from the LEGEND OF CAIN - The Machinima Werewolf Series.

So! Long discussion over, see you all next time.