bitsofthronesfic

[bitsofthronesfic]

Arah’s full first name is Arahel. She is the younger sister of Jorah Mormont and the daughter of Jeor Mormont, who left Bear Island to join the Night’s Watch shortly before her mother discovered she was pregnant. By the time Arahel was born, Jeor had already taken the black, preventing him from returning to meet his daughter. Growing up without him had never bothered Arahel, who, being eighteen years younger than her brother, grew up with him as the strongest masculine figure in her life. Shortly after her mother’s death and then Jorah’s exiling, she was taken in by her aunt Maege, who raised her alongside her daughters. It was Maege who taught Arahel to fight, and Maege who sent Arahel off into the world.

Though proudly Northern, Arah’s life has been greatly influenced by the rest of Westerosi culture, as well as a quite a bit of Pentoshi, Tyroshi, and Dothraki. The other Northern houses think she looks quite outlandish, with her wild dark hair, jewelry in her ears and on her nose, and the painted outfits she wears on her return trips home. They see her as a bastard child, and some even call her “Arah Snow”, but she takes no offense to this. She is proud of who she is as a Mormont, as a Northerner, and simply as Arahel.

[bitsofthronesfic]

There had been many long, restless nights since the last time Arah had been able to seek out Jorah’s private company. Despite their years spent separated and the eight-and-ten between them, Jeor Mormont’s children knew no bond like they did to one another. In Arah’s heart, Bear Island was Bear Island once again with her brother ashore. It didn’t matter how heinous his crime could have been—Arah was sure that even if he had been a kinslayer, she would still love him.

And finally, finding herself a-knocking on his bedchamber door, the young woman felt at home. “Jor, it’s me,” she called quietly, and in response came the sound of his boots crossing the room.

His lovely, warm face greeted her upon opening the door. “Arah. Come in, come in. What brings you?”

[bitsofthronesfic]

It all felt like a dream. Coryn had spent so many years alone as she traveled through Westeros and across the Narrow Sea, she barely remembered what the touch of a lover felt like. Last time, it had been a woman. A boyish seafarer who had spoken thickly southron to Coryn’s northern ears. The action had been sweet and wonderful, and she had often dreamt of meeting that woman again, but it had lacked the true passion that she longed to feel. This time, however, was a different story.

She couldn’t help the sounds that escaped her as Jorah’s calloused fingers dug into her hips. It was nearly impossible to stay silent, and she bit her lip in an effort to do so. After a few slow strokes into her, the man began to move faster. The way he pushed deep into her elicited a moan, and Coryn arched her back, raising herself up onto her elbows so she could look back at him. Her blue eyes caught his grey ones, and suddenly, Jorah Mormont was bent over her, his lips nipping at the nape of her neck as his strong hands travelled under her tunic to work at her breasts. “Oh, gods, Jorah—” she sighed and bit down on her knuckle to keep the volume down.

“Don’t—“ he rasped, pulling her hand away to thread his fingers through hers. “I want to hear you.”

[bitsofthronesfic]

Pyke is burning.

“Theon, Theon, look at me---” Arah cries. She clutches the young man’s shoulders, trying desperately to tear the burning jerkin off of him. Her ears are deaf to the crashing of the tides and the shouting of Ironborn behind her, her body stiff against her kinsman’s arms as he tries to pull her away from the burning boy. She calls out again, “Theon, I’m here!” as she kicks and throws her elbows backward into Jorah, but the older man never relents. He is shouting something, and suddenly there is another, stronger pair of hands on him, a pair that she is not strong enough to fight. Clegane lifts her into the air, and as she struggles against his grip, Jorah takes a dagger from his belt and cuts away at the leather that burns Theon’s skin. “I promised,” she sobs, finally slack in the Hound’s arms. “Oh gods, I promised Asha he wouldn’t be hurt, I promised Asha I’d keep him safe...”

“You did all you could, girl,” the Hound comments, his arms still tight around her shoulders despite putting her back on her feet. “Pulling him out of Pyke as it burned to the ground was one of the bravest fucking things I’ve ever seen.” His words are oddly kind, but their meaning is lost to Arah as he takes a step back, dragging her with him as Jorah throws the flaming leathers to the side. 

“He’ll be alright, cub,” her kinsman finally says. He’s out of breath and can barely stand, and Arah wonders when the last time he had run so hard was. “Let’s get him on the ship and see to it that he’s treated.”

At this, Beric Dondarrion, who had been quietly trying to catch his breath since setting foot on the beach, approaches Theon. He takes a good, long look at him as he lay unconscious on the sand, and Arah isn’t sure if that’s pity or regret in his eyes. “Aye, we don’t want him looking like this ugly fucker over here on top of being a eunuch,” he retorts as he and Jorah bend to lift him up.

Clegane’s grip on Arah’s shoulders loosens and she is able to wiggle free, following her kinsman and the one-eyed warrior up the docks as the smoke in the sky thickens. “Aye, he may be ugly,” she says with a dull glibness, “but there has to be something keeping Sansa around.”