Fic: Kinswomen
Title: Kinswomen
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Daenerys Targaryen, Alysane Mormont, Jorah Mormont; a hint of Dany/Jorah
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 988 words
Rating & Warnings: PG for references to childbirth
Summary: Dany is not sure where she stands with the women of Bear Island. [futurefic]
Author's Note: Written for erolyn2 for the Trick or Treat Meme.
Kinswomen
"Our island must seem so strange to you, Princess," says Alysane Mormont, cutting her eyes sidelong at Dany as she draws her needle through the swath of earth-toned wool she's teaching her to fashion into the simple style of dress worn by the Bear Islanders--when not clad in breeches and leather jerkins or even chainmail like the men, that is. "After your life in the Free Cities and the palaces of Essos."
Though Dany smiles at the stocky woman seated close to her before the fire in the cozy room designated as the solar, her words come out a little taut, revealing how inwardly she bristles at the sensation that she's being sized up. Weighed.
Compared to another lady who lived here once, and looked a bit like her.
"You She-Bears pride yourselves on enduring this harsh land," she says. "Ice fishing and hunting game by day, dressing your kills and occasionally cooking your meals, mending nets and clothing by night. But I lived rougher than this with the Dothraki."
Alysane makes a grunt that might be a chuckle--Dany has heard Jorah make such a sound often enough--and returns her gaze to her work, bringing the cloth closer to inspect her hem work in the uneven firelight.
Dany goes on, compelled to prove to Jorah's cousin what she is made of--though she thought she'd done that when they laughed together over her first catch from the frozen stream where she'd fished with Lady Maege and her four living daughters this afternoon. Except that they still persisted in addressing her m'lady or Princess.
"I survived the Red Waste when we had little to eat but stale flatbread and the meat of our horses that died of thirst when there was naught for my people to fill our skins with but hot brackish waters from stagnant desert pools. The milk dried up in my breasts and I gave up my own rations to keep my dragons alive. Which, I might remind you," she adds, her smile tilting upwards a little more, "I brought into this world through a night spent in the fire."
This time, Alysane's laugh is unmistakable as she lifts her eyes to the fire blazing strong beside their chairs. "Aye, much like birthing babes. There's a moment when the pains change, when their heads begin to crown. Mother always called it the ring of fire. You never felt such a burn."
Dany's smile falters slightly as her belly gives a twinge--remembrance for when Rhaego rode there, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, a visceral longing for another babe to birth in fire and blood, and to suckle at her breasts.
Alysane sees her reaction and flushes. "Forgive me, Princess, I did not aim to wound…I did not think--"
"I know you intended no malice."
Dany reaches out to take the callused hand which wrings the brown wool in mortification. It is smaller than Jorah's but as callused, having wielded Morningstar and battleaxe from the time she ought to have been cradling dolls. The expression in the dark eyes that meet Dany's are dubious, so she gives an encouraging squeeze of the thick fingers, and smiles at the other woman.
"That's the strangest thing to me about Bear Island," Dany says. "For the first time in my life I sit among women who look me in the eye and speak frankly. As equals." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, hopefully, "As friends."
Regarding her for a moment, Alysane withdraws her hand from Dany's grasp and says, "If it's frankness you want, I'll confess it's hard not to look at you and see…her."
"Jorah's Lady Lynesse."
"Aye. And I'm afraid I wasn't too friendly with her. None of us were." Her gaze grows distant again, and her gruff voice softens. "I thought of Jorah often when he was in exile, and from time to time I wondered…if only I'd made more of an effort to be friends with that wife of his, instead of being so bloody pleased with myself for calling her Lady High Horse behind her back--and sometimes to her face--he might not have done what he did."
Too well Dany can relate. How often she asked herself if only she'd been more explicit with her promise to take Jorah home, would he have confessed his betrayal and repented of it, rather than continue informing on her as long as he did, and then denying his wrong-doing for the sake of his wounded pride…If his banishment had been needful…If his face must needs forever bear the brand of his shame. She shakes off the thought.
"Our choices are our own to make."
Alysane nods, and then her face breaks out in a broad grin. "Jorah's made a wise one. About damn time, the foolish old bear."
"I'll have you know I chose him," Dany says, attempting a tone of authority, but undermining herself by asking a little tentatively, "Does that mean we're friends, Alysane?"
"Oh no," the She-Bear replies, and Dany's stomach constricts. She had so hoped--But she notes the playful gleam in the other woman's eyes. "Not till you call me Aly--as my sisters do."
That does hit the mark, and Dany cannot speak for a moment due to the knot in her throat. "I've had no one to call me Dany since my brother died."
"Now you have five kinswomen who will." She adds, grinning, "If you think you can handle us."
"A Dragon versus five She-Bears?" Jorah's voice sounds from behind Dany's chair, his big hans settling on her shoulder as she tilts her head to smile up at him. "I'd say the odds are in her favor, Aly."
Dany laces her fingers together with his but turns back to exchange conspiratorial glances with the other woman. "I think the question, Aly, is whether your cousin can survive five She-Bears and a Dragon."
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Daenerys Targaryen, Alysane Mormont, Jorah Mormont; a hint of Dany/Jorah
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 988 words
Rating & Warnings: PG for references to childbirth
Summary: Dany is not sure where she stands with the women of Bear Island. [futurefic]
Author's Note: Written for erolyn2 for the Trick or Treat Meme.
Kinswomen
"Our island must seem so strange to you, Princess," says Alysane Mormont, cutting her eyes sidelong at Dany as she draws her needle through the swath of earth-toned wool she's teaching her to fashion into the simple style of dress worn by the Bear Islanders--when not clad in breeches and leather jerkins or even chainmail like the men, that is. "After your life in the Free Cities and the palaces of Essos."
Though Dany smiles at the stocky woman seated close to her before the fire in the cozy room designated as the solar, her words come out a little taut, revealing how inwardly she bristles at the sensation that she's being sized up. Weighed.
Compared to another lady who lived here once, and looked a bit like her.
"You She-Bears pride yourselves on enduring this harsh land," she says. "Ice fishing and hunting game by day, dressing your kills and occasionally cooking your meals, mending nets and clothing by night. But I lived rougher than this with the Dothraki."
Alysane makes a grunt that might be a chuckle--Dany has heard Jorah make such a sound often enough--and returns her gaze to her work, bringing the cloth closer to inspect her hem work in the uneven firelight.
Dany goes on, compelled to prove to Jorah's cousin what she is made of--though she thought she'd done that when they laughed together over her first catch from the frozen stream where she'd fished with Lady Maege and her four living daughters this afternoon. Except that they still persisted in addressing her m'lady or Princess.
"I survived the Red Waste when we had little to eat but stale flatbread and the meat of our horses that died of thirst when there was naught for my people to fill our skins with but hot brackish waters from stagnant desert pools. The milk dried up in my breasts and I gave up my own rations to keep my dragons alive. Which, I might remind you," she adds, her smile tilting upwards a little more, "I brought into this world through a night spent in the fire."
This time, Alysane's laugh is unmistakable as she lifts her eyes to the fire blazing strong beside their chairs. "Aye, much like birthing babes. There's a moment when the pains change, when their heads begin to crown. Mother always called it the ring of fire. You never felt such a burn."
Dany's smile falters slightly as her belly gives a twinge--remembrance for when Rhaego rode there, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, a visceral longing for another babe to birth in fire and blood, and to suckle at her breasts.
Alysane sees her reaction and flushes. "Forgive me, Princess, I did not aim to wound…I did not think--"
"I know you intended no malice."
Dany reaches out to take the callused hand which wrings the brown wool in mortification. It is smaller than Jorah's but as callused, having wielded Morningstar and battleaxe from the time she ought to have been cradling dolls. The expression in the dark eyes that meet Dany's are dubious, so she gives an encouraging squeeze of the thick fingers, and smiles at the other woman.
"That's the strangest thing to me about Bear Island," Dany says. "For the first time in my life I sit among women who look me in the eye and speak frankly. As equals." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, hopefully, "As friends."
Regarding her for a moment, Alysane withdraws her hand from Dany's grasp and says, "If it's frankness you want, I'll confess it's hard not to look at you and see…her."
"Jorah's Lady Lynesse."
"Aye. And I'm afraid I wasn't too friendly with her. None of us were." Her gaze grows distant again, and her gruff voice softens. "I thought of Jorah often when he was in exile, and from time to time I wondered…if only I'd made more of an effort to be friends with that wife of his, instead of being so bloody pleased with myself for calling her Lady High Horse behind her back--and sometimes to her face--he might not have done what he did."
Too well Dany can relate. How often she asked herself if only she'd been more explicit with her promise to take Jorah home, would he have confessed his betrayal and repented of it, rather than continue informing on her as long as he did, and then denying his wrong-doing for the sake of his wounded pride…If his banishment had been needful…If his face must needs forever bear the brand of his shame. She shakes off the thought.
"Our choices are our own to make."
Alysane nods, and then her face breaks out in a broad grin. "Jorah's made a wise one. About damn time, the foolish old bear."
"I'll have you know I chose him," Dany says, attempting a tone of authority, but undermining herself by asking a little tentatively, "Does that mean we're friends, Alysane?"
"Oh no," the She-Bear replies, and Dany's stomach constricts. She had so hoped--But she notes the playful gleam in the other woman's eyes. "Not till you call me Aly--as my sisters do."
That does hit the mark, and Dany cannot speak for a moment due to the knot in her throat. "I've had no one to call me Dany since my brother died."
"Now you have five kinswomen who will." She adds, grinning, "If you think you can handle us."
"A Dragon versus five She-Bears?" Jorah's voice sounds from behind Dany's chair, his big hans settling on her shoulder as she tilts her head to smile up at him. "I'd say the odds are in her favor, Aly."
Dany laces her fingers together with his but turns back to exchange conspiratorial glances with the other woman. "I think the question, Aly, is whether your cousin can survive five She-Bears and a Dragon."