Ursa Major | Tormund Giantsbane

Chapter 9

Thyrsa and Jon went to see Tormund.

"I'm sorry I did not check on him sooner," she said to him, "I was taken by surprise by the arrival of those Baratheon men."

"That's alright," said Jon quietly.

"I'm so sorry about... Ygritte. I didn't find out until we were looking at the bodies. I realized who she was."

"She died in my arms," said Jon regrettably. "Olly shot her; he didn't know any better."

They were alike, in the sense they didn't like to show their grief to the world. Thyrsa had processed her pain quietly, in her room, and put on a smile everywhere else. Jon seemed to feel the same, as if not wanting to burden anyone with his pain. She thought about how hard it had been for him to grow up with the Stark children, not quite one of them, disliked by Lady Catelyn, humble and thinking the Wall was the only place he could ever go.

He'd been taking care of himself for a long time. He probably struggled to let anyone in.

And now the person he did let in was gone.

It was a cruel world.

He pushed open the door to the room where Tormund was on the floor, waiting for them. "Your old blind man patched me up," he told Jon. "Why?"

"He's sworn to treat all wounded men, friend or foe," said Jon.

"You want me alive so you can torture me?"

"No one's gonna torture you. In fact, Thyrsa's going to make sure of that."

Tormund wasn't convinced. "Then how will I die? Hanging? Beheading? Drop us from the top of the Wall?"

"I don't know what happens to the prisoners," said Jon, though it was clear he didn't want Tormund or even Mance Rayder dead.

"Who decided?" asked Tormund.

Thyrsa shrugged. "Probably Stannis. The men of the Night's Watch will be kissing his feet now."

"And what about you two?" sneered Tormund. "He your king now?"

"I don't have a king," said Jon.

Tormund's lip curled up. "You spent too much time with us, Jon Snow. You can never be a kneeler again."

Jon cut to the chase, "We're gonna burn the bodies of your dead. Do you want to say any words over them?"

"Words? What kind of words?"

"Funeral words. I don't know how the Free Folk do it."

"Do what?"

"Say farewell."

Tormund shrugged. "The dead can't hear us, boy." He was silent for a moment. "Did you love her? She loved you."

"She told you?" asked Jon.

"No. All she ever talked about was killing you. That's how I know. She belongs in the North. The real North. You understand me?"

Jon left without another word.

"And you, girl," said Tormund as Thyrsa closed the door. "Quite the talker. That bluff about your siblings—"

She sank down to sit across from him. "Wasn't a bluff. They were all taller than you, most of them. Brothers and sisters alike. Reckon my father was a whole head over you. They say House Umber has giant's blood in them, too."

"And why are you small, then?"

"Took after my mother. She was a bear, not a giant."

"I once bedded a she-bear. That your mother?"