Fic: The Maiden In the Tower & Witness
Title: The Maiden In the Tower
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Jorah Mormont/Lynesse Hightower
Rating & Warnings: M for sex
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 716 words
Summary: Jorah always dreamed of rescuing a fair damsel from a tower; what will he do when he meets one who thinks he's just the man for the job?
Author's Note: Written for the the second Valentine’s prompt at gameofships' 2013 Roses Are Red, Weddings Are Too Valentine event.
The Maiden In the Tower
Lady Lynesse Hightower…
"Hmm?"
She turned her head, which lay pillowed on Jorah's shoulder, up toward him, and hot red flooded his face as he realized he'd actually mumbled the words aloud into her golden perfumed hair. He was tempted to shrug off her question, but her eyebrows scrunched together in a quizzical expression that made his insides buckle--as had every expression he'd seen cross her lovely features since he first laid eyes on her that morning at the start of the tourney--and he could not deny her an answer any more than he'd been able to deny her a kiss when she asked…or another…or several…or many more…or his bed…when she found her way into his chamber at the Lannisport inn.
"Nothing, really. Only…I feel rather as if I've stumbled into a fairytale." He held his breath, half-expecting her to laugh at him--as he'd expected to her to laugh at him when he asked if he might wear her favor in the lists. When she did not, he held her tighter and ran his fingers through her hair, impossibly long and soft as spun silken thread. "There's one about a golden-haired princess trapped in a high tower, isn't there?"
"Held captive, more like," Lynesse said, her tone unexpectedly bitter. "Until a prince found her and rescued her. "
She sat up then, her full white bosom with the pert nipples, red as cherries or rubies, brushing lightly against the coarse dark hair of his chest.
"Oh, sweet Ser Jorah," she implored breathlessly, eyes huge and luminous in the light of the bedside candle. "Rescue me."
"Rescue you, my lady?" he echoed, feeling slow and stupid. How much had he drunk today? Or was it the after-effects of love? He pushed up on one elbow, the better to see her face in the uncertain flicker. Was she…crying? Cupping her cheek in one hand, he felt against the calluses of his palm that she was. "From what?"
"My lord father," she said miserably through a sob. "We're to sail for Oldtown on the morrow. He is too old for these courtly revels, he says, and I know that when he goes up into the Hightower he will never come down again. And I shall have no life at all. He cares not for me, nor for what I want. I shall be as that princess in the fairytale, cut off from the world. And from you," she added, almost as an afterthought, though he could not entirely trust his senses.
She clasped Jorah's hand with both of hers and pulled it from her cheek to her lips, kissing each of his fingertips in turn as she wept and begged. "Please, do not let him take me away. Ask him for my hand. Rescue your princess from her tower, my prince."
Jorah hardly knew what to say…he hardly knew what she said. He was very drunk. And even more dazed.
"Lynesse, did you say…you want to marry me?"
"Oh, yes," she said, smiling. "More than anything."
Though his heart leapt, he heard himself say, "But…I am too lowborn for you. Twice your age and poor. By no means am I a prince."
She silenced him by touching her fingertips to his lips. So soft and white, never having known a day's labor. Or even a moment's.
"You are the hero of Pyke," she said so sweetly, "the champion of Lannisport." Her lips replaced her fingertips on his mouth. Between kisses she said, "You are no more a prince than I am a queen, it is true. But if you may crown me your Queen of Love and Beauty, then surely I may call you my lord husband?"
As she spoke to him she'd straddled him, her little white hand making its way down his throat and chest to grasp his hardened cock.
"Gods help me," Jorah muttered as his hands on her hips guided her down onto his length. He could deny her nothing. "Yes. Yes, surely…I'll ask Lord Leyton for your hand…I shall not let him take you back to the Hightower. I'll take you to my home on Bear Island and…"
He did not speak it aloud for kissing her, but in his mind he heard the words:
And make you Lady Lynesse Mormont.
Title: Witness
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Jorah Mormont/Lynesse Hightower, Ned Stark
Rating & Warnings: K+
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 726 words
Summary: What does Jorah's liege-lord make of his marriage?
Author's Note: Written for the the second Valentine’s prompt at gameofships' 2013 Roses Are Red, Weddings Are Too Valentine event.
Witness
There was no disputing that Jorah Mormont looked as happy as ever Ned had seen him. The Lord of Bear Island stood in the Sept of Lannisport and spoke his marriage vows in a clear and steady voice to his Lady Lynesse, resplendent in the silver and white of House Hightower as the jeweled morning sun beamed down on them from a stained glass window above. Ned almost regretted--no, did regret--the words he'd felt it his duty as Jorah's liege lord to speak when the knight came to him at break of day, apparently still drunk--on the previous day's wine or glory or love, Ned could not be certain--and announced that he was, that very morn, to wed.
"Surely you jape, old friend," Ned said. "Yesterday you broke nine lances against Ser Jaime Lannister, and today you marry--"
"Lady Lynesse Hightower," Jorah cut him off. "My Queen of Love and Beauty."
"So she was," Ned said, chuckling a little, "but that gives you no obligation to make her your lady wife."
"No, but love does."
Ned's smile faltered at that. "The lady returns your fervent affections?"
"Aye." Jorah clapped Ned on the shoulder with a hand as broad and heavy as the bears' of Mormont's island home must be. "In truth," he added, sheepish, "it was the lady who proposed marriage to me."
"I see."
Now it was Jorah whose face pulled into a frown, his brows knitting together with an almost pained expression, as if he'd sobered slightly. "It has long been my wish--the wish of the Old Bear--that I marry again, and father sons and heirs. Do you not agree that this is good, Lord Stark? Do you not wish me joy?"
"It is good that you should take a new wife to bear you children. But joy will not sustain a marriage, Ser Jorah. In truth, I must question whether your lord father, since you mentioned him, would agree that this is a prudent match."
The darkening of Jorah's face told Ned at once that he had made a fatal error in bringing Lord Jeor into his argument--and understanding began to dawn of the hitherto baffling bad blood that had been between father and son when the Jorah's father handed over his lordship to his heir and taken the Black.
"My first bride was of my father's choosing," Jorah said. "A joyless marriage sustains neither of the parties in it. Nor produces children."
Ned had wanted to retort that Lynesse Hightower was little more than a child herself, but he'd held his tongue, saying only that he would stand witness at the wedding, if Jorah wished it. Surprisingly, Jorah's effusive happiness returned as if there had been no quarrel between them at all, though Ned's mind did not change as he watched the bride and groom speak the seven promises and the seven vows to each other.
That was the whole trouble, wasn't it? A young Southron girl who worshiped the new Southron gods, expected to be lady wife to a Northman. Cat would admonish him for being unfair; new gods and old, north and south had made successful marriages before this, she'd say, and smile in that way that made him smile back.
He did not now smile, however. The difference between Tully and Stark was not so vast as that which existed between Hightower and Mormont. The she-bears would eat Lord Leyton's daughter alive…
Or perhaps, Ned thought with growing alarm, it would be the other way around.
They had reached the part of the marriage ceremony in which the cloaks were exchanged, and the bride now stood with her back to Jorah so that he could remove her cloth-of-silver bride's cloak with the white tower emblazoned on the back, and replace it with his own cloak of forest green and a black bear rampant. The tradition signified, of course, the bride coming out from the mantle of her father's protection and under her new husband's.
But as Lynesse nuzzled her cheek against the fur collar of Jorah's cloak, then wheeled to throw her arms about his thick muscled neck and seal their bargain with a kiss, the fierce hungry gleam in her eye made Ned wonder whether it wasn't the Lord of House Mormont who was most sorely in need of protection.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Jorah Mormont/Lynesse Hightower
Rating & Warnings: M for sex
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 716 words
Summary: Jorah always dreamed of rescuing a fair damsel from a tower; what will he do when he meets one who thinks he's just the man for the job?
Author's Note: Written for the the second Valentine’s prompt at gameofships' 2013 Roses Are Red, Weddings Are Too Valentine event.
The Maiden In the Tower
Lady Lynesse Hightower…
"Hmm?"
She turned her head, which lay pillowed on Jorah's shoulder, up toward him, and hot red flooded his face as he realized he'd actually mumbled the words aloud into her golden perfumed hair. He was tempted to shrug off her question, but her eyebrows scrunched together in a quizzical expression that made his insides buckle--as had every expression he'd seen cross her lovely features since he first laid eyes on her that morning at the start of the tourney--and he could not deny her an answer any more than he'd been able to deny her a kiss when she asked…or another…or several…or many more…or his bed…when she found her way into his chamber at the Lannisport inn.
"Nothing, really. Only…I feel rather as if I've stumbled into a fairytale." He held his breath, half-expecting her to laugh at him--as he'd expected to her to laugh at him when he asked if he might wear her favor in the lists. When she did not, he held her tighter and ran his fingers through her hair, impossibly long and soft as spun silken thread. "There's one about a golden-haired princess trapped in a high tower, isn't there?"
"Held captive, more like," Lynesse said, her tone unexpectedly bitter. "Until a prince found her and rescued her. "
She sat up then, her full white bosom with the pert nipples, red as cherries or rubies, brushing lightly against the coarse dark hair of his chest.
"Oh, sweet Ser Jorah," she implored breathlessly, eyes huge and luminous in the light of the bedside candle. "Rescue me."
"Rescue you, my lady?" he echoed, feeling slow and stupid. How much had he drunk today? Or was it the after-effects of love? He pushed up on one elbow, the better to see her face in the uncertain flicker. Was she…crying? Cupping her cheek in one hand, he felt against the calluses of his palm that she was. "From what?"
"My lord father," she said miserably through a sob. "We're to sail for Oldtown on the morrow. He is too old for these courtly revels, he says, and I know that when he goes up into the Hightower he will never come down again. And I shall have no life at all. He cares not for me, nor for what I want. I shall be as that princess in the fairytale, cut off from the world. And from you," she added, almost as an afterthought, though he could not entirely trust his senses.
She clasped Jorah's hand with both of hers and pulled it from her cheek to her lips, kissing each of his fingertips in turn as she wept and begged. "Please, do not let him take me away. Ask him for my hand. Rescue your princess from her tower, my prince."
Jorah hardly knew what to say…he hardly knew what she said. He was very drunk. And even more dazed.
"Lynesse, did you say…you want to marry me?"
"Oh, yes," she said, smiling. "More than anything."
Though his heart leapt, he heard himself say, "But…I am too lowborn for you. Twice your age and poor. By no means am I a prince."
She silenced him by touching her fingertips to his lips. So soft and white, never having known a day's labor. Or even a moment's.
"You are the hero of Pyke," she said so sweetly, "the champion of Lannisport." Her lips replaced her fingertips on his mouth. Between kisses she said, "You are no more a prince than I am a queen, it is true. But if you may crown me your Queen of Love and Beauty, then surely I may call you my lord husband?"
As she spoke to him she'd straddled him, her little white hand making its way down his throat and chest to grasp his hardened cock.
"Gods help me," Jorah muttered as his hands on her hips guided her down onto his length. He could deny her nothing. "Yes. Yes, surely…I'll ask Lord Leyton for your hand…I shall not let him take you back to the Hightower. I'll take you to my home on Bear Island and…"
He did not speak it aloud for kissing her, but in his mind he heard the words:
And make you Lady Lynesse Mormont.
Title: Witness
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Jorah Mormont/Lynesse Hightower, Ned Stark
Rating & Warnings: K+
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 726 words
Summary: What does Jorah's liege-lord make of his marriage?
Author's Note: Written for the the second Valentine’s prompt at gameofships' 2013 Roses Are Red, Weddings Are Too Valentine event.
Witness
There was no disputing that Jorah Mormont looked as happy as ever Ned had seen him. The Lord of Bear Island stood in the Sept of Lannisport and spoke his marriage vows in a clear and steady voice to his Lady Lynesse, resplendent in the silver and white of House Hightower as the jeweled morning sun beamed down on them from a stained glass window above. Ned almost regretted--no, did regret--the words he'd felt it his duty as Jorah's liege lord to speak when the knight came to him at break of day, apparently still drunk--on the previous day's wine or glory or love, Ned could not be certain--and announced that he was, that very morn, to wed.
"Surely you jape, old friend," Ned said. "Yesterday you broke nine lances against Ser Jaime Lannister, and today you marry--"
"Lady Lynesse Hightower," Jorah cut him off. "My Queen of Love and Beauty."
"So she was," Ned said, chuckling a little, "but that gives you no obligation to make her your lady wife."
"No, but love does."
Ned's smile faltered at that. "The lady returns your fervent affections?"
"Aye." Jorah clapped Ned on the shoulder with a hand as broad and heavy as the bears' of Mormont's island home must be. "In truth," he added, sheepish, "it was the lady who proposed marriage to me."
"I see."
Now it was Jorah whose face pulled into a frown, his brows knitting together with an almost pained expression, as if he'd sobered slightly. "It has long been my wish--the wish of the Old Bear--that I marry again, and father sons and heirs. Do you not agree that this is good, Lord Stark? Do you not wish me joy?"
"It is good that you should take a new wife to bear you children. But joy will not sustain a marriage, Ser Jorah. In truth, I must question whether your lord father, since you mentioned him, would agree that this is a prudent match."
The darkening of Jorah's face told Ned at once that he had made a fatal error in bringing Lord Jeor into his argument--and understanding began to dawn of the hitherto baffling bad blood that had been between father and son when the Jorah's father handed over his lordship to his heir and taken the Black.
"My first bride was of my father's choosing," Jorah said. "A joyless marriage sustains neither of the parties in it. Nor produces children."
Ned had wanted to retort that Lynesse Hightower was little more than a child herself, but he'd held his tongue, saying only that he would stand witness at the wedding, if Jorah wished it. Surprisingly, Jorah's effusive happiness returned as if there had been no quarrel between them at all, though Ned's mind did not change as he watched the bride and groom speak the seven promises and the seven vows to each other.
That was the whole trouble, wasn't it? A young Southron girl who worshiped the new Southron gods, expected to be lady wife to a Northman. Cat would admonish him for being unfair; new gods and old, north and south had made successful marriages before this, she'd say, and smile in that way that made him smile back.
He did not now smile, however. The difference between Tully and Stark was not so vast as that which existed between Hightower and Mormont. The she-bears would eat Lord Leyton's daughter alive…
Or perhaps, Ned thought with growing alarm, it would be the other way around.
They had reached the part of the marriage ceremony in which the cloaks were exchanged, and the bride now stood with her back to Jorah so that he could remove her cloth-of-silver bride's cloak with the white tower emblazoned on the back, and replace it with his own cloak of forest green and a black bear rampant. The tradition signified, of course, the bride coming out from the mantle of her father's protection and under her new husband's.
But as Lynesse nuzzled her cheek against the fur collar of Jorah's cloak, then wheeled to throw her arms about his thick muscled neck and seal their bargain with a kiss, the fierce hungry gleam in her eye made Ned wonder whether it wasn't the Lord of House Mormont who was most sorely in need of protection.