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The Humiliation of Lyanna Mormont
By : Meowshi
Category: G through L > Game of Thrones
Views: 13397 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire, nor any of the characters from these series. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. -
Chapter List
- 1-Honeyed Words
- 2-Scions of a Dying House
- 3-The Little She-Bear
- 4-It Be Mercy
- 5-Fear Cuts Deep
- 6-Yellow Fear
- 7-Hatred Made Flesh
- 8-The Corpse-King
- 9-Cold Breath, Colder Words
- 10-Violation
- 11-No Place for a Lady
- 12-Wherever Cowardly Whores Go
- 13-The Wolfswood
- 14-The Sorrowful Symphony of Ice
- 15-The Bastardly Ballad of Fire
- 16-Here We Stand
“Fierce things they are too, all hair and teeth, and the wives have beards like their husbands, so there's no telling them apart. The women take human men for lovers, and it's from them the half-bloods come. It goes harder on the women they catch. The men are so big they'll rip a maid apart before they get her with child.”
―Osha to Bran Stark about the giants. A Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire.
At dusk, a low hum of chatter and laughter filled the thatched-roof building affectionately known to locals as The Honeyed Den. The sweet, intoxicating aroma of mead and sizzling venison wafted through the den's open windows, beckoning the smallfolk of Bear Island to come and spend their meager coin inside of its heavy weirwood doors. Tattered tapestries adorned the old drinking hall, their presence unable to conceal the encroaching woodrot that had taken hold of the walls. A weathered sign swung against the doors outside, depicting a fat-bellied bear. The bear, having engorged itself on honeyed wine, was shown rolling helplessly onto its back. Inside, hunchbacked fishermen filled the room, their boots caked in mud from a day spent toiling on the sea. Mummers and singers were a rare sight on the remote island, so old crofters entertained the crowd with ribald tales from their youth.
This evening's entertainment was provided by Cobb One-Eye, an elderly man-at-arms who had spent nearly ten years working on a farm, but still carried himself like a soldier—as if he had never retired from battle. The old man seemed to already be in his cups; his shiny bald pate was flushed with red and his wiry gray mustache had dipped into his mug, twirling upward at the ends like a spool of wet thread. A pool of mead sloshed over the sides of his mug each time he took a sip, soaking into the filthy rushes on the floor.
“—ye’ve all heard the sorrowful tale of House Mormont’s demise,” Cobb One-Eye muttered, staring into his mug as if the answers to some long-forgotten question resided inside, “Mayhaps ye've even heard the southron bards Benioff and Weiss singing 'The Little She-Bear', with its false account of how Lady Lyanna Mormont slayed a giant by stabbing in through the eye with a dragonglass dagger only to be tragically crushed beneath its fallen body. But I was there for the girl's final moments, and the true tale is far more horrific. I was but a green boy of two-and-twenty when I was forced to shoot her dead…”
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