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‘My Lady?’
The bitter, slushy dawn landscape had called to Jon from the narrow window of his tower chamber and he had remembered the comfort of his childhood regime of cold wash, swift dressing and mucking out before a hard ride, all of which sounded enough to busy his restless body but allow his mind to drift. So, cold wash and swift dressing completed, Jon had cut through the back of the kitchens and was almost at the end of the passageway which led to the stables, when Lady Mormont crossed his path from the tower stairs.
He had called out before he knew what he wanted to say. She stilled when she heard his voice and tilted her head at a tight angle, most of her body turned away from him, her severe braids dark in the dim light. She looked him over and he felt like a youth again squirming under the inspection of her uncle. It was strange to stand on such familiar ground and feel the shadow of the boy he’d been, and for a moment so many feelings rushed through his mind that he had to blink to focus on her face.
He stood, awkward in the silence, trying to order his words. ‘My Lady..?’
‘Yes, your Grace?’
The words were polite but Jon could see that everything about her was impatient to be about her business, business that he was keeping her from. One part of his mind wondered what business could be so urgent for a ten year old child, but he recalled the many times he had been mocked and slighted for his youth. She was a leader in name and had proved herself a leader in action, and she deserved his respect.
Jon twisted his gloved hand into his sword belt, feeling the familiar weight of leather and steel.
‘I wanted to thank you, my Lady, for your…’
She waved her own gloved hand and brushed aside his words. ‘There is no need to thank me, your Grace. House Mormont knows its duty to House Stark.’
Jon inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘That is evident my Lady, but I…’
‘Yes?’ Her body, sharp as steel, turned towards him, a furrow appearing between her arched brows.
Jon wanted to laugh, at that moment she reminded him or Arya, fierce and certain, but he knew that he should never laugh at this Bear; cub she may be, but she most certainly had claws that could maim and kill. Something must have shown on his face because, if it were possible, she stood taller and radiated even greater purpose.
He was beginning to cause offence, so much was clear.
He had spent too much time at war and the Wall, it had been too long away from his brothers and sisters and the easy way he had always had with young animals, be it child, pup or foal. He had wanted to thank her for her support, which had been true and heartfelt and persuasive, and his heart still thrummed from the swift changes in the Stark cause that she had helped to wrought. But a question about her favourite horse or some such was ridiculous and he felt a flush warm his neck at the deep waters he had barely avoided.
Jon rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and her eyes dropped; she recognised it, of course. Valyrian steel was too rare and precious to go unnoticed in any household that held such a treasure, even with a new pommel. She looked back at him, dark eyes to dark eyes and she waited, still and alert.
Her eyes were too old in that face. Jon knew no-one had escaped the ravages of this war, but this girl, like her uncle, had weighed him up and assessed him and decided he had what it took to lead and command. He had been diffident, focused on Bolton and the many problems, one before the next, that had to be overcome to get them all here, back in Winterfell, skins and hides intact. But now, to offer thanks for her support implied that she had offered it on a whim or for some reason that was not rooted in her duty, calculation and intelligence. Jon had worked all his life to be worthy of that kind of expectation and he was done pretending otherwise. He had faced an oncoming cavalry charge unflinching, he could face a short conversation with the Little Bear.
He turned and squinted out at the weather.
The snow was falling, thick and crisp but the dawn light was familiar and Jon knew the ground would be reasonable for another couple of hours.
‘I go to hunt my Lady, will you join me?’
She looked past him, eyeing the light and the snowfall. She sniffed and nodded, pulling her gloves tight. ‘Yes, your Grace, although I fear the pickings will be slim.’ She moved past him into the yard and Jon stepped back to allow her to pass, smiling to himself.
‘No doubt, my Lady, no doubt.’