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THE SHE-BEAR DRUMMED her fingers against her swollen belly, a small smile on her face. The wet nurses said she was showing signs of a girl, but she already knew. She had carried two boys and five girls, both very different pregnancies to say the least. She thought of her lover and their sons, how she wished she could hold onto their fiery hair...
"Mother! Look at what Uncle Jeor made for me!" Her youngest daughter, Amaren, came running, a small figure in hand. Madge's elder brother wasn't far behind, trailing behind the girl with a broad smile. "She's quite a fierce one, isn't she?" "Look, mother, look!" Her little bear held up a carved bear in her hand, little but fierce.
"Aye, but aren't all my daughters? This one I have no doubt about as well." Maege strokes her daughters brown curls, watching as the girl inquired her own little bear. "What news of Jorah? How does my son fare as Lord of Bear Island?"
Maege winced at the mention of her nephews name. Though he was her brothers son, she and Jorah were close in age, practically siblings almost. And he was throwing his life away... for some Southern whore who would never love him. "Not well, brother. He continues to spend and spend upon that.. that woman, if you can even call her that. She doesn't even know how to hold her own, not that I'd doubt it underneath all those jewels."
She pursed her lips, considering the child who quietly stared up at her. "If only she would spend her own money... They know Bear Island is a poor island, but Jorah is too proud to ask for their gold, not that I blame him. We are bears; we'll keep standing through. But he has gone too far and I fear what he shall bring upon our house."
Mormont were honest to the point of brutality; Maege kept her small daughter close and listening. This is how the world worked, she would not hide her daughter away from it as most ladies would, shooing their children away when important matters were being discussed. How would they learn if they did not watch?
*✭˚･ﾟ✧･ﾟ˚✭*
AMAREN MORMONT WAS known as a mischievous child. She liked to play games on her elder sisters, or sneak away when no one was looking. Her mother never truly scolded her, more so coaxed her into returning home, or playing games on her sisters with another sister so not all of them were mad at her.
The four girls sat in their small room in Castle Black telling stories of the dark times. "...and then he turned into a giant, white rat, who could only feast on his young, and yet he was never hungry. He could never be satisfied." They all giggled at Alysane's wild story, except Amaren, who begged for another.
"Please, can we hear the story of Azor Ahai? Please, Aly?"
"We've already heard that one!" Jorelle groaned.
Their little sister huffed. "Fine, then how about one about the Targaryens? The stories of the Dance of Dragons!"
Dacey looked down at the girl, the candle light gleaming in the dark of the room. "If you want to hear stories about the dragons, why don't you ask the Old One himself."
Maester Aemon was always kind to the young nieces of Jeor Mormont. Though he was old, he still would play with them in the courtyard, peaking around corners in a game of hide and seek, or read to them in the library. He loved children; they had a sense of appreciation for the stories of old that no other man did. A sense of wonder for the tales of old.
So, the little bear slipped from the bed and grabbed one of the candles in her small hands, leading head first into the darkness that plunged around her. Her night gown whisked around her ankles, her toes bare, but she was used to the cold. She kept quiet, listening to the snow fall around her, the wind howling in the night. Or perhaps it was a direwolf north of the Wall.
From the shadows she thought she saw a figure watching her, but when she moved closer, there was nothing there. Her little feet moved faster towards the library, hoping for a story, though fearful of the night.
*✭˚･ﾟ✧･ﾟ˚✭*
THEY WERE NEARLY BACK to Bear Island when they stopped at a small hut near dusk. Amaren missed her Uncle Jeor, and Maester Aemon. She had been in a rather grouchy mood, even going so far as to bite down on Alysane's hand when she got too close. She hadn't liked that, giving her little sister a wicked bruise on the cheek.
Now, however, she listened to the sound of a soldier questioning why they stopped when they were nearly to Bear Island. "Lady Mormont's having contractions... the Maester says she shouldn't have been traveling so far.. the only place she would stop... where all her girls... born...."
Amaren took a moment to peer from the inside of her and her sisters tent at the hut where her mother lay screaming. She just stared, the fires not giving her enough light, but she could make out the few stones and rounded structure made of mud. Her sisters, however, were completely distracted...
"...bet you can't race me there."
"Oh really? I bet you wouldn't watch the little thing come out," Dacey smirked down at Alysane. The second eldest child seemed to blow smoke from her nose, before taking off in a race, her elder sister not far behind, and soon taking the lead.
"You won't be the little sister anymore, Amaren," Jorelle smiled down at her, ruffling her hair. "We'll have another sister, just you wait and see."
"Why don't we have any brothers? The Starks have boys and girls, and they even have a bastard brother too!" Jorelle sighed at her antics, shaking her head.
"We are mother's daughters, Amaren. And mother only has daughters."
*✭˚･ﾟ✧･ﾟ˚✭*
JORELLE HAD LONG since left her, going to follow their sisters to watch the birthing. Amaren, however, felt that some exploring would be much more fun than floating over a baby. She felt a pang of jealousy; this new sister would become the one they all would play with, but who would play with her? Would they all just forget about her?
She kicked a rock out of her way in the dark of the forest, the only light being that of the moon, guiding her way. The trees were tall and thick, seeming higher than the mountains, and thicker than the hide of any animal she had hunted. Granted, she'd only hunted squirrels and crows, and she supposed fish, in a way.
Crack! she heard, in the distance, and she withdrew that very small knife her Uncle Jeor had gifted her before they left Castle Black. She stayed silent, her small, blue eyes darting around. She peered around the tree, knife in hand, when she saw a man.
He was big and tall, with a red beard that reminded her of fire, that gleamed in the moonlight. "Who are you?" She demanded with all the ferocity she could muster. She based her teeth, but ultimately looked much cuter rather than her intended fearfulness.
The man laughed at her, bending down so he was about her level. "And what are you doing in the woods, little bear?"
She glared at him through half squired eyes, pointing her knife at him so it reached his throat (though the damage would be little, the blade was blunt). "I said, who are you?"
"Careful, little bear, don't want to go cutting your papa."
