7. Because Dacey is the only woman of the thirty children of noble houses to ride beside King Robb.
submitted by anon
a s o i a f h o u s e s → house mormont of bear island
9x12 Pencil drawing I did of Jeor Mormont from “Game of Thrones”
“The things we love destroy us every time.”
The day he learns that his son has fled Westeros, Jeor Mormont mourns him as if he has died. He is unwilling to admit that part of himself has died, too.
As he stares outside the window of his tower cell, Jeor allows himself to think back on years gone by.
“Father, Father, did you see?” Six-year old Jorah proudly puffs out his chest, in the way he must imagine lords do (and Jeor reminds himself, some do, but hopefully his son won’t grow to be as arrogant as all that). The black bear sigil on the boy’s tunic matches his father’s and Jeor can’t help think of the pride his son gives him.
“Of course I saw. It was an excellent shot.” Jeor smiles—a rarity, almost like a reward—and Jorah’s face lights up.
It’s cold in his cell. He is long used to the climate of Castle Black, but today, everything is colder, sharper—for along with the memories of the boy who would grow up to be lord are memories of the boy who couldn’t keep his nose out of storybooks. Foolish tales that Jeor warned him were of no use to a lord who must live in reality. He had thought—for so many years believed—that they were past that nonsense—and then came the Tourney at Lannisport.
“She is very pretty, of course,” Jeor tells his son, upon meeting the new Lady of Bear Island. “But she is quite highborn and used to much more luxury than you can afford.”
“I’ll find a way,” Jorah tells him, nonplussed. “There is always a way with love.”
And Jeor tells him the words he’s told him before, that he still tells his recruits these days—“The things we love destroy us every time.”
An argument ensued, both Mormonts too stubborn to relent. Thinking back, Jeor wonders what more he could have done…and remembers something Maege told him once.
He’s just given Jorah another lecture. “Playing the knight is one thing,” he tells the ten-year old, “but life is not tourneys and flowers and swooning ladies.”
Jorah nods solemnly and goes on his way, disappointment all over his face.
Maege has overheard and she starts in on Jeor—again—to ease up on the boy.
“He keeps you grounded, Jeor,” she says, that unrelenting twinkle in her eyes. “He reminds you that there’s more to love in the world besides duty and honor.”
Now there is not. He doesn’t think there will be again.
“And your father, Jorah the Andal? Was he a warrior also?”
“He still is. A man of great honour. And I betrayed him.”