A/N: Hey all, sorry for the long absence from writing. Life's been crazy, and I haven't had time to write, and what I have done has been mostly planning. So my first two stories on this site, Ravager and If You Can't Win, Cheat both ran into brick walls. I wasn't sure where to take stories, and I'm dissatisfied with the writing. So! I decided to rewrite them, with significant changes, and The Bear of the North will be the new, hopefully, improved version of If You Can't Win, Cheat. A rewrite of Ravager called Will of Beskar will hopefully come soon, but thanks to the nature of that story it requires a lot more planning. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Rebirth

My sword impacted my opponent's shield, rebounding back and throwing me off balance. They stepped in, their sword slashing at my throat, but I jerked my shield up just in time to ward off the blow, recovering my balance and slashing at them from overhead. They parried, tipping my sword to one side and forcing me to stumble past. As I staggered, trying to keep my balance, I felt a shield smash into my back, knocking me face-first into the training yard's mud. I stayed where I fell for a moment, the cold mud feeling not entirely unpleasant after the workout of a training session I had just been through, then rolled onto my back to see my opponent removing their leather training helmet, grinning down at me and offering a hand to pull me up.

"You're improving, little brother," they said, the smile on their face showing no hint of mockery. It was true. This bout had lasted nearly five minutes, an eternity when fighting with sword, shield, and armor.

"Damnit, Dacey," I responded, a smile crossing my own face. "You just couldn't resist sending me face-first into the mud, could you?"

"Jonah, Jonah, Jonah," she said, "what fear does mud hold for a Mormont of Bear Island? In any case, if you don't want to wind up in the mud, fight harder."

I gave her a mock glare, then took her still-outstretched hand and allowed myself to be hauled up out of the mud. "You're three years older than me," I complained, "a woman grown." I said the last in a mocking voice, mimicking our maester, who had been hounding mother to search for a betrothal for Dacey for years.

Dacey growled, lunging forward with her blunted practice sword, and I twisted aside just in time to dodge, a yelp escaping my lips as I did so. As soon as her sword was past, I saw that her strike would have slid past me even if I had stood still, and that her lips had curved into a smile. "Have to keep you on your toes, little brother," she said.

A smile to match hers spread across my own face. "Aye," I said, "but who's going to keep you on yours?" Her brow furrowed for a moment, then turned to shock when an arrow planted itself in the mud between her feet.

"That would be me," a voice called, and I turned to see another of my sisters, Jorelle, standing at the entrance to the longhall that served as the seat of House Mormont, a bow in her hand and a quiver on her back. The weapons were at odds with the dress she wore, but Jory was a walking contradiction. At eight years old, seven years my junior, she was the most ladylike of the five Mormont sisters, the daughters of the Lord of Bear Island's sister. On the other hand, she was absolutely lethal with her bow, and no foe to dismiss if she wielded the dagger she hid beneath her skirts. Our youngest sister, four-year-old Lyanna, stood beside Jory, the wooden toy sword she had wheedled out of Mother for her fourth name day clutched in one hand. "Mother wants you and Dacey to come see her," Jory said, picking her way across the yard, avoiding the worst of the mud to keep her skirts clean.

Dacey spoke first. "Do you know why?" she asked, a frown crossing her face. "Mother normally doesn't interrupt training time unless it's important."

Jory shrugged. "I don't know anything but what I told you," she responded. "Uncle Jorah still isn't back from hunting those poachers, it may have something to do with that."

I glanced at Dacey, whose face was twisted up in thought. "Don't hurt yourself, sister," I said. When she turned to me with a confused look on her face, I elaborated with a grin. "You may strain the muscle between your ears at this rate, considering how little you use it," I japed.

She studied me for a moment, then swung an arm out and caught me in the jaw. It wasn't a particularly hard blow, but even so I found myself lying in the mud for a second time, the giggles of my younger sisters and the full-bellied laughter of the elder filling the yard. I pushed myself upright and looked up at Dacey, one eyebrow raised. She returned the look, then started walking towards the hall. I scrambled up behind her, beating off the worst of the mud with my hands. "Come on, Jonah," she said over her shoulder. "Mustn't keep the She-Bear waiting."

I hurried my steps, passing through the wide door of the longhall in lockstep with my sister. Once through the doors, we stood in a long hall, taking up the entire length of the building and about a third of its breadth. At the far end of the hall was the lord's seat, a chair carved into the likeness of an upright, snarling bear, the paws extending over the head of whoever sat in it. Between the door and the seat a large firepit ran down the middle of the hall, trestle tables and benches on either side. The walls were adorned by the furs and stuffed heads of a variety of beasts, though a certain predator many lords boasted of hunting was noticeably missing, and weapons, beaten swords, shields, and axes that had belonged both to the warriors of Bear Island and their slain foes. Doors at each end of the hall led into separate halls that ran the length of the building on either side of the Feasting Hall, halls that provided access to the quarters for the Mormonts, our hall's garrison, the few servants we kept, and guest rooms for the occasional lordly visitor. Stairs on either side led to an upper level of rooms on each side of the hall, with rooms dedicated to the same purposes as those below. With Uncle Jorah, the Lord of Bear Island, gone hunting poachers, our mother, Lady Maege Mormont, the She-Bear, sat on the lord's seat.

We passed down the length of the hall, passing a group of guardsmen seated at one of the tables, who nodded at Dacey and raised a mug of ale in her direction. When I walked by I just got grins and ruffled hair. I couldn't help but smile in return. I'd grown up around these men, and with their children. Nowhere was the gap between lord and smallfolk smaller than in the small holds of the North. We reached the end of the hall, standing in front of our mother. Maester Orwyck stood next to her, and we waited while they talked in low voices. Finally, Orwyck nodded and turned away, hurrying out of the hall, and mother turned towards us. She stared at us for a moment, her face grim. "Dacey. I need you to take a dozen men and make for the eastern shore," she said.

We both instantly snapped to alertness, and Dacey spoke first. "Wildlings or ironborn?" she asked.

Mother let loose a heavy sigh before replying. "Neither. Your Uncle Jorah has disgraced the family name by selling the poachers he was chasing to slavers. You will go to retrieve him. Jonah, your uncle has always had a soft spot for you. Go with them and try to convince him to come back. Lord Stark may allow him to take the black if he doesn't flee."

My mouth hung open in shock until Dacey elbowed me sharply in the ribs. I snapped my mouth shut, then asked the question burning through my mind. "Mother, are you certain?" I said.

"Aye," she responded. "A guard reported that Lady Lynesse left the hall late last night, and she has not returned. There's also this." She reached back behind her and picked up a sword leaning against the throne. A simple, unremarkable sheath covered the blade, but the worn leather wrapped hilt and bear shaped pommel identified the ancestral sword of our House.

"Shit." Dacey and I spoke almost at the same time, but the amusement that occurrence would normally evoke was absent in light of the events unfolding around us. Then I had another question. "Lord Stark has already been informed?" I asked.

"Orwyck is sending a raven now," she said. "With any luck you will have returned with Jorah by the time he arrives. You had best be moving if you want to make it there by first light."

We nodded, then turned and half ran, heading for the smithy and armory building on the outskirts of the compound. The hall was surrounded by a wall of stone that reached the height of a bear on its back legs, which was then ringed by a dry moat filled with wooden stakes. Within the wall was a hutch for the ravens the maester used to maintain contact with the rest of the world, the maester's house, a guard tower at each of the four corners of the wall, the kitchens, and the smith.

We started shucking off training gear and weapons before we were all the way through the door, tossing the discarded equipment at the pair of apprentices who stood within. On our island, with its frequent raids from wildlings, ironborn, and other pirates, this was a common routine. One of the apprentices shouted out the door for the master of horse to get our mounts saddled and ready, then collected the leather and blunted weapons and disappeared into the back. The other began pulling our armor from its hooks, tossing it to us in the same way we had thrown the training armor at them.

My sister and I stripped out of the sweat-soaked, mud covered clothes we wore, all modesty gone in the urgency of the moment. We shrugged into padded shirts and fitted pants, then strapped bracers to our arms, greaves to our shins, and pulled leather jerkins over our heads. A leather skirt with a cut up the back and an open front went over our legs, providing a degree of protection without prohibiting movement. The skirts were meant to provide greater protection than the usual tassets, and so were made of two layers of leather, the inner supple and flexible and the outer stiff and hard, so as to turn away weapons. A steel breastplate went over the jerkin, covering us from the base of the throat to the waist. The breastplate had no sleeves or armor on the arms, so allow for freedom of movement. On our head went steel helmets that hugged our heads, with a T-slit that stretched back to the temples on the top to provide excellent visibility and ease of breathing, secured by a leather strap under the chin. Altogether, the armor provided comprehensive protection while still allowing the wearer as much freedom of movement as possible.

The armor was followed by a swordbelt, which bore a meter long bastard sword on the left hip, and a long fighting dagger on the right. The apprentice who had carried off the leathern training armor reappeared with our personal weapons. Dacey took a long handled war axe, while I took a spear with a two meter shaft made of ash and a half meter leaf-bladed steel head. The shape of the spear head made it equally utilitarian for slashing as stabbing, and it allowed me to fight on equal terms with enemies who greatly outweighed and stood much taller than my fifteen-year-old frame. I had never been in a real battle, but I was a Mormont of Bear Island. We trained in the ways of war since we were old enough to hold a blade, and there were few outside of my family that could match me with sword, much less with my favored weapon.

Armed and armored, we crossed to the stable, the last building within the walls. The stable stood right next to the gate, and a dozen men-at-arms in armor like ours sat astride their horses, waiting for us. I handed my spear to the stable boy who held the reins of my young roan horse, then swung myself up into the saddle and reclaimed my spear, sliding it into a holster that held it horizontally along the horse's right side. A shield emblazoned with the snarling face of a bear hung from the saddle at the left flank of my mount, and a bedroll and sack with a few day's provisions were strapped down behind where I sat. The supplies were kept ready at all times, as we never knew when we would need to sortie out to deal with raiders of one flavor or another.

My horse shifted back and forth, letting out snorts as it did so. I ran a hand through his mane and down his neck, speaking softly into his ear to calm him down. "Easy, boy. Calm down, Roach," I said. It had confused everyone when I named my new horse Roach, but something inside me had found it amusing to give him that name after he had wandered off for the hundredth time. I still wasn't sure what was funny about it, but it made me chuckle every time I thought about it. After a moment of soothing, Roach calmed and stopped moving.

Dacey urged her bay mare to the front of the group, then raised her voice to address all of us. "We're going to find Lord Mormont and bring him back, along with his lady wife. There may be slavers around, so this may turn into a fight. Be ready, be alert, and fight well. Let's ride!" With that, she wheeled her mount and urged it into a trot out the gate, breaking into a gallop as soon as she cleared the wall. The guardsmen and I followed. It was late afternoon when we started, and we continued riding as fast as we could until dark fell. Once it became too dark to ride safely, we dismounted, leading our horses through the woods. This was our island, and the night held no fear for us. Each of us, even myself as the youngest, had ridden over almost every centimeter of the island, and could cross the entire place with hardly a misplaced step. We walked without torches, as we had closed most of the distance between us and where the guardsman had reported Uncle Jorah had made camp. We hoped it wouldn't come to a fight, but there was no sense in losing the element of surprise.

The sun had just peeked over the horizon when we reached the edge of the woods overlooking the eastern beach. A Tyroshi carrack rode the waves, anchored out in the sea, and two groups of tents squatted on the beach. Closer to the waves, three garish, brightly painted tents stood, while a pair of low, grey tents were sited closer to where we stood. We had left the horses a half dozen meters back so we could approach quietly. We had all retrieved our weapons from the horses, so I clutched my spear in my right hand and bore my shield strapped to my left arm.

Dacey gestured us closer, and we clustered around her, heads bent in to hear what she said. "Jonos, when we break cover take seven others and make sure the Tyroshi don't get in the way," she said, speaking to the most experienced of the guardsmen, a grizzled, scarred veteran of Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Uprising. "Ned, you and the other three will come with Jonah and I to retrieve our uncle. Jonos, take your seven and find a position where you can get to the Tyroshi quickly. Whistle when you're there and we'll move in."

Jonos nodded, tapped seven other men, and they moved off through the bush. We stayed where we were, adjusting gear and preparing to get up and move as soon as the signal came. After what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, a low whistle sounded. Dacey stood up, moving forward at a jog that kept the jingling of weapons and armor at a minimum while still moving at a good clip. Eight figures broke out of cover further down the beach and moved to form a line between the two sets of tents. Jonos' group finished forming up at the same time we arrived in front of the pair of grey tents, Ned and his men forming a semicircle behind us. No weapons had yet been drawn, with Dacey's axe slung over her back and my spear propped on my shoulder.

I decided to break the relative silence. "Uncle!" I called. "Your nephew and niece want to say hello!"

There was a rustling in the tent and a man emerged, blinking against the growing light. A woman was visible behind him as the tent flap moved, still curled up on the bedroll within. A pair of Mormont guardsmen emerged from the other tent, wearing only leather jerkins and battle skirts, rather than full armor. The man from the first tent wore only trousers, and though his head was balding and his face clean-shaven, the rest of him was as hairy as could be. He carried a sheathed sword in his left hand, and once he emerged he planted the point of the sheath in the sand and stared at us. "Niece. Nephew," he said after a moment. "May I ask why you're here with a dozen soldiers?"

I responded before Dacey could. "Slaving, Uncle? Really? If that bitch you call a wife isn't happy with her husband, let her go back to her precious Hightower. What's done is done, but come back with us and mayhaps Lord Stark will show you mercy and let you take the black with Grandfather."

His face had grown furious at my derisive mention of his wife, then turned to fear and disquiet at the mention of Stark. "You will not refer to my wife as a bitch, nephew," he said. "You've sent for Lord Stark?"

"Mother sent a raven to him yesterday afternoon," Dacey confirmed. "He should arrive within a week."

Jorah stared at us for a moment, then wheeled and paced a few steps one way before turning back to us. "Fuck," he spat. "Why do you begrudge me the coin? Why can I not dispose of criminal scum as I see fit? I am the Lord of this island, godsdamnit!"

"Uncle, there is nothing more to be done here. Come back home with us. Perhaps Mother can even convince Lord Stark to forgive and forget," Dacey said.

Our uncle smiled humorlessly. "You've never met Eddard Stark," he spat. "The only thing that frozen bastard gives a damn about is his honor, and he'll never tolerate one of his bannermen impugning his precious honor. It'll be the Wall or the sword for me if I'm still here when Lord Stark arrives."

"Uncle-," I began, but at that moment shouting erupted from behind us.

I spun around to see one of the Tyroshi slavers step out of his tent, see the line of Mormont soldier standing there, waiting for them, and dive back into the tent, screaming something in whatever language they used. The guardsmen shifted nervously, glancing at each other and loosening their still-sheathed weapons.

A second later, a Tyroshi in a loose silk shirt and flowing pants burst out of the tent, a single-edged sword with a slight curve to its blade in his hand. He slashed at the closest guardsman, but the man jerked back and the blow barely even grazed his breastplate. The soldier next to the attacked man drew his sword and cut down the slaver with a single strike, but by then more of the slavers were boiling out of the tents, all armed and some armored.

"Shit!" Dacey yelled, then ran towards the rapidly disintegrating line to join the melee, the four men with us following her. There were at least twenty of the slavers, and while we possessed superior weapons and armor numbers would tell if this battle lasted too long.

I turned to my uncle and spoke. "Don't fucking move," I growled. "If we lose men in this stupid fight, I'll make sure Stark sends you to the damn Wall." Then I turned to the two guardsman who had been with Jorah. "You two, with me!" They hesitated for a moment, then followed as I ran towards the fight.

I leveled my spear as I ran, aiming at the back of an armored slaver trading blows with Jonos. His armor was simple leather, and the castle-forged steel point of my spear punched straight through him and his armor, emerging out the front of his chest. I yanked it back out, stepped back and spun on the spot, using the bladed edge of the head to deliver a powerful blow to the back of his neck, severing his spine and killing him instantly. The melee in front of me was far too tight to effectively use my spear, so I raised it to shoulder height, reversed my grip, and threw it at the nearest slaver. My aim was off, so it only grazed his side, but the pain distracted him enough for a guardsman to take his head half off with a sword stroke.

I dragged my bastard sword from its scabbard, one of the two new guardsmen on each side of me, and charged into battle. I cut the tendons in the back of the knee of one slaver, allowing his opponent to dispatch him before being confronted by a large Tyroshi, dressed in flowing silks and with a scimitar in each hand. He spun the blades around his body in a flowing, intricate pattern, before settling into a stance, one foot extended forward, his weight on the back, and a sword each above and below his head, parallel to the ground. I didn't waste time saluting, rather stepping in and delivering a vicious cut towards his midsection. He wasn't expecting me to attack immediately, and was forced to skip back out of range. I followed with a looping blow towards his head, then a cut at his legs. He ducked the first and leaped the second, before finally striking back, swinging a sword from each direction. I stopped one with my shield and parried the other, knocking it down and away, then launched my blade in a flat arc at his throat. He parried it away, and I snapped up my shield just in time to stop a double blow from above. I thrust my blade at his stomach, and he parried by crossing his scimitars and catching my blade in the X created by the blades, forcing it to the ground. My blade was momentarily trapped, and he was bent over. So I kicked him in the head, the sole of the heavy boot I wore colliding with his skull. He toppled over backwards, and I followed with a second thrust that took him through the throat.

During our little duel, a space had cleared around us, allowing me a moment to breathe. The fight seemed to have gone out of the slavers for the most part, leading me to believe scimitar man had been their leader. The majority were surrendering to our men, and while I saw several slaver corpses scattered on the ground I didn't see any guardsmen there, bar some with wounds to their legs. Enemy defeated, guardsmen in no danger, Jorah… fuck. Jorah was sprinting across the sand, his sword now belted around his waist, and pulling his wife by the hand. "Shit!" I yelled. "Dacey!"

Her head snapped up from where she was looking at a wounded guardsman at my shout, and I pointed my sword at our uncle's retreating back. "Get him!" she yelled, gesturing for me to go.

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" I said. I dropped my sword and unstrapped my shield, then fumbled with the buckles on my breastplate for a moment before allowing it to fall to the ground. As soon as the heavy steel fell away from me, I took off, sprinting after the fleeing couple.

I had closed to within a few meters when Jorah looked back and saw me gaining. "Lynesse," he panted, "go to the boat." Then he split away from her, ducking into the woods lining the beach. Looking at the shore, I saw what he meant. A longboat sat on the beach, a group of slavers grabbing at the oars.

Stop the boat, catch Jorah. Stop the boat, catch Jorah. "DAMNIT!" I screamed, then turned and ran into the woods after my uncle. He left a clear trail, broken branches, trampled plants, and footprints in the mud the recent rain had left. Finally, I burst out into a clearing and saw Jorah standing in the middle of the circle of trees, the beach on the right and a rock formation on the left. He was standing in the middle of the clearing, his hands on his knees, panting. "Uncle!" I said. "Enough of this! The slavers are dead, your wife is most likely gone, and you can't outrun me. Come home. Let us help you."

He stared at me for a moment before speaking. "Perhaps…" He was interrupted by a roar, emanating from a cave neither of us had noticed in the rocks. A massive brown bear lumbered out of the cave, and I could see the shape of one or two cubs in what I now realized was a cave entrance. Jorah looked between me, the bear, and the dinghy, which was just now pushing away from shore. "I'm sorry, nephew." He turned and ran through the trees, waving at the oarsmen aboard the dinghy.

I turned to face the bear, just in time to see it lower its head and charge. I dove to one side, and its head barely grazed my chest. The weight and momentum of the bear were still sufficient to throw me aside, the wind knocked out of me by the pair of impacts with the bear and the ground. I pushed myself up painfully, coming to one knee and drawing my only weapon, my dagger. A twenty centimeter length of castle-forged steel was all that stood between me and a raging mama bear. I held the dagger in front of me and braced as I heard the bear huff and scuff her feet in preparation of a charge. The heavy footfalls started as I closed my eyes, pounding closer and closer until….

Nothing. No impact, no pain. The footfalls had stopped right in front of me, and I slowly opened my eyes. The bear stood on her back legs, towering over me, her head cocked to one side. As I watched, she dropped back to all fours, her front paws landing less than a meter away from me. A low, powerful sound echoed from the bear, and after a moment I realized she wasn't growling, but rather making a humming sound. She padded closer, poked my shoulder with her nose, and then rested her chin on my arms, forcing me to lower my dagger with the weight of her head. I could do nothing but stare in shock at the sudden intelligence and restraint she showed. And when I thought about it, the sound she made reminded me of a cat's purr more than anything.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked the air. The bear snorted gently, then turned back towards her cave. I stood, slowly, and sheathed my dagger. If she tried to kill me, there was nothing it would do in any case. As she padded away, she looked back and nodded her head towards her cave. The entire experience was so far beyond the pale of reason, I obeyed, following her towards her cubs. When I was within a meter or so of the entrance, she stopped, turning broadside and using her bulk to stop me. Then she walked into her cave, disappearing into the shadow. She reappeared a moment later, carrying one of her cubs with her teeth in the scruff of its neck.

She deposited the cub at my feet, then looked at it and me, her head going back and forth multiple times. "You want me to… take it?" I said. Was I really talking to a bear? She nodded at me. The same way a human would, she nodded. There was nothing that could have prepared me for this. The closest thing I could think of to being handed a bear cub was being handed one of the half-wild dogs from the kennels. I crouched down in front of it, holding my hand in front of its nose. It snuffled my hand, its nose wet and cold like a dog's, then licked me. I scratched its ears, and it pressed into my hand. Some things stayed the same, then. I kept scratching until it rolled onto its back. It was a he, and I scratched his tum-tum. I couldn't help it, the little bugger was adorable.

A chuffing sound came from above me, and I realized that, kneeling, I was shorter than mama bear. She swatted a paw at her cub, pushing him towards me, then fixed her gaze past my shoulder. I looked behind me, and saw a group of guardsmen led by my sister charging towards me. She chuffed one more time, then retreated into the cave, the other cub, who had been watching from the entrance, disappearing into the darkness with its mother.

Dacey burst into the clearing, her axe in hand. "Jonah, get away from that cub! Where there's a cub there's a mother, you know that!" she shouted.

I looked at her with an eyebrow raised, then scooped up the cub, holding him like a baby. He seemed to like that, and the look of shock on my sister's face was well worth the fact that he was damned heavy. "Believe it or not, Dacey, but I am aware of the habits of bears. I already met the mother," I told her.

"What the hell does that mean?" she said.

I gave her the short version of the events of the last few minutes. Unsurprisingly, she fixated on a different part of the story than my encounter with the bear. "Uncle Jorah got away?" she asked.

"Aye," I said. "Mama bear interfered, and by the time I was certain she wasn't going to kill me he was gone."

"Damnit!" she shouted, and the cub started in my arms, the movement reminding me exactly how heavy he was. I put him on the ground and sat next to him, keeping a hand on him. The other humans in the clearing obviously intimidated him, but he seemed comfortable with me. How I knew, I couldn't tell you.

"There's nothing more to be done, sister," I said quietly. "We should return to Mother's Hall and report to mother."

Dacey growled. Loudly. It sounded not unlike the actual bear I had just encountered, rather than a woman whose House bore the sigil of a bear. "You're right," she said eventually, then turned to the guardsman next to her. "Tell Jonos to round up the men and get the wounded loaded on their horses. We're returning. Oh, and tell him there's no need to rush. We can take it slow for the wounded as Lord Stark should take at least four days to arrive and the trip shouldn't take more than three."

Within an hour, the party was mounted and heading back west, back to the new Lady of Bear Island. My cub trotted next to my horse, a leather collar and lead fashioned from some discarded leather strips I had found in the Tyroshi camp. I sighed and put my heels to Roach, riding as fast as I could with my bear alongside with me.

A/N Part Two: Hi! Want to clarify a couple things. I've adjusted ages of the Mormont children more or less as I please, as I haven't been able to find anything that states their ages beyond Lyanna being ten in Season Eight of the show, so I aged her up so I could write her in. I also couldn't find an official name for the Mormont's longhall, so I named it Mother's Hall. Seems appropriate for such a female-dominated family. Lastly, the bear is not the species brown bear, she was a color brown bear. I'm basing them off of a grizzly, but since this is a fantasy world and I know next to nothing about bears, that may go off the rails. Hope you enjoy, and I hope for you guys that I update this and finish the first chapter of Will of Beskar soon! Valar morghulis, mir'shebs.