Jorah gazed at his wife as she sat in their bed, plaiting the Northern style of braids in her long dark hair. Lyanna was already dressed in her shirt and trousers. He lay on his side, lazily delaying getting dressed by watching Lyanna. Her rose pink lips quirked into a half smile. When she finished tying a thin leather band to hold the plaits in place, Lya threw off the fur and wool coverlets to get him up out of bed. He reached out to stop her. His large hands on the narrow span of her waist. She bent down to kiss his long nose.

"We must get ready, Jorah. It's my first bear hunt, I don't want to be late." Jorah smiled at her enthusiasm. Her hands were roughen by her work around the island half heartedly tried to wrench his arms away. Her grey eyes rolled in amusement as he drew her close. Her pale hands had never been the soft hands of wealthy highborn ladies. One of her pale hands swatted his hairy chest. Jorah could not help himself.

"You have a bear in your midst right now." His voice was gravelly as it usually was in the morn. Lyanna caressed his cheeks lovingly.

"Ah, I am well aware from last night," laughed Lyanna not dissuaded from partaking in the bear hunt. Not that Jorah was seriously trying to. He was hoping they could sneak one quick lovemaking before- "Come now, dress. So we can hunt a real bear." Jorah kissed her before finally getting up from the refuge of their warm bed. Jorah donned his thick wool clothes and his armour. Lyanna handed him Longclaw after she had secured her own sword belt. As he fitted on his boots, he looked up at her.

"Promise me, you will heed my instructions and orders." He trusted himself to protect her from harm, but her impulsive nature was concerning. Jorah had seen a young reckless lad almost mauled to death and many close calls since his first bear hunt many years ago at the age of fourteen.

"I'm not a child," she argued instantly. Jorah raised his sword showing the snarling bear on the hilt.

"This is not a hare or a stag, Lyanna." Lyanna scowled at him. Yet, he felt justified in being overly protective. Lyanna naturally flirted with death and she was unafraid to take risks. One would have expected Lyanna would've been sobered by the idea of being a warrior after run in with Euron Greyjoy. The war had troubled her for awhile but her nightmares had seemed to have gone away. Jorah laughed as he watched with hidden nervousness at her tree climbing, her swimming far too out for his liking in the ice cold sea, and riding her horse at a speed that would cause a normal man to fall and break their neck. Braggart, he sometimes muttered with a shake of his head. Lyanna would laugh and whoop in exhilaration as she turned back with her horse to circle him. Jorah admired her spirit and wildness but it also disquieted him. He had dreamt of a conversation with Lady Lyarra Stark and the first time he had met Lyanna, the two events were separate instances but in his dream they had converged.

Lady Stark had a thoughtful look after pleasantries were made and mead was served. Jorah's lord father and Lord Stark were quietly discussing something. Jorah politely asked about his betrothed Lyanna and her siblings.

"I was so ill-prepared to see so much of my parents in my children. My father had a restless spirit and my mother a daughter of Flint. Brandon is a good lad, he will be a good lord one day but he has the same wandering spirit. It shall be a long while before he becomes Lord of Wintefell," laughed Lady Lyarra. "Lyanna is adventurous as well. The wolf's blood runs strong in my girl. You will learn that quickly, my lord." Lady Lyarra laughed wryly. "I know my girl has dreamed of lands outside of our northern borders." She added quickly to Jorah, "I am sure she will like her new life on your island."

Young Lady Lyanna arrived at last, dressed in pretty pale blue northern gown. The hem of the gown had a two inch stain of mud and her pale cheeks were flushed pink. Arm in arm, he awkwardly glanced down at Lyanna Stark's long dark hair crowned with winter roses. His aunt had insisted in giving the girl a sword. The sunlight glinting off the small sword in Lyanna's awed grip.

"Lyanna, my love, give me your word," he insisted, his eyes pleading her to comply. Lyanna took his swarthy hand in her much smaller paler hand. However, he knew one pretty smile and a kiss would disarm him and he would enable any wish of Lyanna's even if it would cause their ruin.

"I give you my word as a Stark," she vowed. "You won't have to worry about me." Lyanna dragged him out of their bedchamber. Her face full of anticipation for the bear hunt. Jorah's aunt greeted them, ready for the hunt with a small number of the men of Bear Island bearing spears. Bear spears were too large for Lyanna to handle especially without previous experience. Her involvement in the bear hunt would be hopefully be only observation. She patted one of the many hounds who barking. One of his men handed him a spear,

"M'lord."

Jorah nodded and turned to Lyanna, "Stay by my side." Lyanna nodded. Jorah led them deep into the woods. They followed the dogs' lead. It was about three or five miles away to where the bear had been spotted nearby. The scout signalled the sighting of the bear as the hounds went wild. It was a great brown bear, likely a male. Jorah glanced at Lyanna whose sharp grey eyes were wide at the sight of the 600 pound bear. He turned to one of the elders of the island, a seasoned veteran of many bear hunts.

"This one w'll give us a good fight, m'lord," warned the toothless stocky man, Gareth. The bear growled warnings at their closeness. Jorah and the men with their spears raised pressed forward.

"Lyanna," ordered Jorah. Lyanna and Gareth called and whistled for the large hounds to distract the bear. The bear roared and lunged at them with great speed. The dogs boldly attacked the bear. The bear bared its teeth menacingly as it attacked back. One of the dogs' yelped in pain, but they had been successful in distracting the bear. Jorah got close enough to spear the bear near the neck. His aunt and the others all attacked the bear with their spears. The injured bear was furious and charged at Jorah. Jorah dug his heels into the ground as he tried to not get knock off his feet by the impressive size of the bear. Or get his throat or shoulder slashed by the bear's teeth. He locked the end of the spear into the ground to hold the weight of bear as it continued to fight. Gareth, and a young lad Edwyck did the same. Gareth had been correct, this bear was not going to do down quickly despite its bloody spear wounds and hounds' bite marks. The hounds encircled the bear and one jumped on its back. Jorah unsheathed Longclaw with one hand and was about to plunge the sword in the back of the bear's neck. His left hand grasped the spear tightly embedded in the bear, which was breathing heavily and movements had slowed.

"Let me, Jorah," demanded Lyanna from behind him. Jorah glanced over his shoulder at his wife for a second. He was mindful of his proximity to the powerful jaws of a bear. Lyanna had her sword out and she looked eager.

"I've got it, love," he insisted stubbornly.

"Stupid bear," growled Lyanna. Jorah wasn't a humorous man, though at the oddest of times he tried.

"Which one are you referring to?" grunted Jorah with effort as the bear tried to slam itself on them. Finish the kill swiftly.

"I think she meant you," snorted Maege from somewhere. Jorah groaned loudly at the sharp sting of the cuts he had received from the large black claws. He slackened his grip on the spear. He cursed

"Mi'lord," warned Gareth. Lyanna shouted at him. Jorah was a large man with considerable strength but he was knocked to the ground like one of Eryn's cloth dolls and scrambled wildly for Longclaw as the bear went to slash his throat and chest. Jorah yelled in pain. He heard Lyanna scream his name. Jorah kicked at the bear desperately as he gazed longingly at Longclaw feet away where he had stood. The hounds' barking and howling echoed in his ears with the breath and snarls of the bear. He saw a second long glimpse of a swing of his aunt's axe. The bear moaned loudly.

"That's my husband!" snarled Lyanna's angry voice. He heard the sound of a sword stabbing flesh. I need Longclaw.

"Lya, get me Longclaw," he tried to tell her. "Maege-" Jorah's wind was knocked out when the bear collapsed on him dead. A hound stepped on Jorah's face in its eagerness to taste a reward of bear flesh and blood. "Argh." When the damn hound's butt was out of his face, Jorah's jaw went slack in shock. Lyanna looked so wild and fierce as she glowered at the dead bear and pulled out her sword. Her steely gaze softened when she looked at him.

"Lya, you killed the bear." It wasn't a question or even a remark of surprise.

"Do you think I was going to stand there and let it kill you?" breathed Lyanna when she knelt at his side and kissed him. Her fingers touched his neck and the gash of claw marks on his shoulder. "Lift your head slowly. There's blood from a cut or two and a lump. No cracked skulls. Thank the Gods."

"Showoff," grumbled Jorah with a pained smile as the others moved the bear off him. He sat up, hissing in pain. He ran a hand through his thinning hair and felt the painful lump on his head. Lyanna laughed in his ear,

"Try harder next time, my Lord who-boasted-he-can-throw-bearspears-with-such-precision." She inspected the rest of the claw marks with a tight face. Her voice was on the verge of tears, "And to think you were the one fretting over me getting hurt. Let's go home, I'll stitch you up, my bear." His mouth quirked slightly.

"I did throw a spear and it killed the bear," argued Jorah to divert the conversation and to defend his pride. It was Lyanna's first bear hunt and it had not gone the way he wanted although he was glad it was him and not her who had been wounded. Lyanna helped him up and gave him a small grin.

"Some things need to be seen to be believed, my bear."

"I truly did," protested Jorah irritably with pain as they walked. "I was one and twenty, it was on the northeastern part of the island-"

"Goading this cankerous bear's pride after you saved his skin, I'm proud of you," snarked Maege then she laughed in the awful cackle of hers. In a maternal manner, she asked, "Alright, nephew?" Maege was staying behind to bring the slain bear back to their logged keep. Jorah nodded and stubbornly shook off offers of aid from his men. Longclaw was brought to him and he and Lyanna began their trek back to Bear Hall.

"I'm sure there shall be one day when you can show off these skills," Lyanna told him as she watched him wince and bite his lip from pain.

"You are still teasing me," groaned Jorah.

"Partially," admitted Lyanna. "Yes, because you get riled so easily."

"Are you alright?" he asked. Lyanna looked him in disbelief.

"I am fine. You?"

"I'm in awe," he admitted glancing at her softly. Lyanna flushed pink and shook her head.

Jaime often questioned his decision to serve Prince Viserys. He did not care for the young boy who had been under Queen Rhaella's watchful mothering eye until she had died in childbirth. Jaime did not even spare a thought for the orphaned daughter hidden away in the North. No one spared the princess any thought except Prince Viserys. The young child prince wished for vengeance and to regain his late father's throne. Oh the irony, that his father's killer would help him. Viserys wished to save his baby sister. His lilac eyes stared at his late mother's crown jewels often as if Queen Rhaella's crown would provide him the strength and the answers to achieve his desires that hung heavy on his young shoulders. Jaime had found Sir Willem Darry and the prince in a manse with a red door. Jaime stood by the window of said manse gazing at the lemon tree that grew outside.

"Why haven't our brothers come? Or at the very least written?" whispered the old knight. Jaime looked at the older man. "I was expecting Ser Arthur or Ser Barristan to turn up at the door. No offence, Ser Jaime, I thought you were dead. I am surprised that you have not returned to King's Landing since your sister is now the queen." Jaime shifted uncomfortably at Willem's hard stare. That was the question he had expected and he had wondered long and hard why he didn't just return. He would see Tyrion again. Oathbreaker, they will call me. Kingslayer if they have knew I slew Aerys. Jaime scowled bitterly, I saved that city. Jaime longed to see Cersei and yet he didn't at the same time. Months, now years had past since the fall of the Targaryen rule. When Jaime had died, Cersei had been a mother of three Baratheons. Now she was a mother of five children, none of which were his. Jaime had learned from Mopatis that his little brother had married proud Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown's youngest child. He felt palpable relief, he never wanted Casterly Rock. Tyrion would be a better lord than I.

"Selmy died of his wounds," informed Jaime. "At least that's what I have heard. I am not here at the behest of my sister. I am dead to the world. Not even my family knows I am alive." Jaime had gone in search of his fellow white cloaked brother and the prince in part of ingrained loyalty in an oath he had made, but more so in the want of familiar faces. And out of petulance, if he could not have Cersei then he would not give her the satisfaction of him. He had killed a king already though no one knew it had been him. He would relish the task of killing Ned Stark. How dare she not mourn him, her love properly? Cersei had married the stone cold Stark in such rapid succession. Forget Baratheon's untimely death in battle. Jaime had been murdered in the very throne room, his beautiful twin had all but raced to. He pettily wished for a brief second that he had wed Lord Hoster Tully's youngest daughter Lysa, just to see Cersei's beautiful face crumpled in fiery jealous rage.

Sir Willem regarded Jaime for several moments.

"I swore an oath," added Jaime. Protecting this boy was only thing that remained of his identity as a knight of the kingsguard. Darry looked at him sharply not believing the son of Tywin Lannister. Jaime did not blame him. He lied anyhow, "I failed the father, I hope to not fail his last living son." Ser Willem seemed to wrestle for a few moments before giving a slight nod with mistrustful eyes.

You could still return to King's Landing, his mind argued echoing Ser Willem's words.

"Let's keep it that way then," advised Darry in a sharp tone. "Keep the beard, boy. No one will look for Lord Tywin Lannister's golden son in an unkempt young man." Jaime nodded. "How did you know where to look for His Grace?"

"I met a merchant prince who told me Prince Viserys and you were here." Ser Willem nodded who seemed to have also have had contact with this merchant.

"We shall contact our brothers in Dorne." How hasn't Ser Arthur not contacted Ser Willem yet?

"They have forsaken us, Ser Willem. It has been more than a couple of years, since you and the prince fled Westeros. The Martells have Elia's children, Prince Rhaegar's heirs Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. "

"Patience will be needed, when dealing with Prince Doran, Ser Jaime. Ned Stark must not be sitting easily knowing Prince Rhaegar's son and brother are alive."

Cersei used to question why she let Ned bound his younger brother to the little rose of Highgarden. Lady Margaery Tyrell was growing closer and closer to womanhood and the marriage to Benjen Stark would soon be sealed in six years time. The young girl was a lively ten year old. Pretty even. Cersei descended the stairs with Ned and Benjen. She watched Lady Margaery's curling light brown hair bounced as she played with Robb and Sansa. Robb appeared to have taken to Margaery easily as he had to Theon Greyjoy. Robb vocalized his anger loudly, when Benjen interrupted their game. Lady Margaery leapt up for an innocent embrace from her friend and betrothed. It did not sit well with Cersei that this pretty child would be a Stark. She understood Tyrells needed to be courted to prevent them from turning south of their borders, but she did not have to like them. Robb's green eyes flashed at his uncle pressing a light kiss on the Lady Margaery's hand. Margaery such a diplomat crouched down to the almost four year old.

"Don't be sad, Prince Robb. I'll be your lady aunt one day and we shall be dear friends, my prince."

"My friend," repeated Robb, the anger in his green eyes shone as he grabbed Lady Margaery's hand.

"Lady Margaery and I shall visit soon, nephew," chuckled Benjen. Cersei noted the wizened Lady Olenna Tyrell who accompanied her eldest Tyrell granddaughter often, watched Prince Robb keenly. If Margaery had not been betrothed to Benjen before Robb's birth, Cersei surmised the Queen of Thorns and her son Lord Mace Tyrell would have pressed for a betrothal for their ever smiling Tyrell rose and Cersei and Ned's only son. Cersei's beloved boy snubbed his Stark uncle petulantly in his disappointment of his new playmate's departure.

"Robb, do not be rude to your lord uncle," reprimanded Ned firmly.

"I'm sorry, my lord uncle. I bid you and Lady Margaery a safe journey." Robb hung in his head in apology and allowed Benjen to ruffle his dark brown hair as Sansa waved her uncle farewell. Benjen, Lady Margaery, and Lady Olenna exited with a final bow and curtsey.

"Buh bye." Sansa spotted Cersei and smiled a gummy smile with her arms outstretched. "Mama!"

"My little princess," Cersei picked up her golden child and kissed her pretty little face. "I love you." Ned smiled at them. Robb pulled at his father's leg.

"I want to play." Ned lifted Robb onto his shoulders. Cersei frowned at a rose pinned to her young son's shirt. She plucked it off and threw it away. "Dat's mine, Mother." Her son looked back at the fallen rose.

"You have no need of it, my son." She sniffed the air. "I'll be glad when this castle no longer reeks of roses." Ned laughed as he liked the Tyrells little, though if she were honest he seemed to like all the Tyrells together a smidge more than he liked her lord father, Tywin Lannister.

"I shall miss Ben's company," Ned sounded so woefully sad. Ned seemed regretful that his children would never truly know life in the North after he told Robb and Sansa stories about his early childhood. It was almost as if he half wished they lived in some rustic northern keep allotted to a second Stark son. Cersei wrinkled her nose not understanding what he could possibly miss about the barbaric wasteland that was the North. Do you miss the cold and famine?

Ned had not adopted the New Gods and kept to his bloodthirsty Old Gods, despite the fact that the majority of his people prayed to the Seven. Cersei recalled Lady Olenna Tyrell's great show of piety at the Sept of Baelor and Margaery sweetly skipping about buying meat pies and flowers from the stalls of the market. One ignorant little urchin even mistakenly called Lady Margaery Tyrell, a princess. Cersei's blood boiled at the very thought. Cersei was the queen and her Sansa was the only princess.

"Have your brother visit alone next time without his Tyrell betrothed," she suggested.

Catelyn felt out of sorts in the eerie godswood of Winterfell. She looked at the weirwoods and surmised she would feel like an outsider no matter how long she would be called Lady Stark or how many Stark children she would give birth to and raise. Even being pregnant with her third child did not provide her with ease before the great red faced weirwood tree. She stopped abruptly to look around for her handsome Brandon.

"Come on, Cat," urged Brandon with one of his easy smiles. Brandon often seemed amused and disappointed in her unease of being in the presence of the Old Gods. Yet he childishly wrinkled his nose at the strong smelling incense and the figures of the Seven in the small sept Lord Rickard had built for Catelyn. He laughed at her hesitancy, "I'll protect you with my sword." Catelyn ignored the double entendre but glanced at Ice in its scabbard was leaned against the stone next to Brandon just to be safe.

"I did not wish to disturb your prayers," she excused as she tread gracefully through the rustling red leaves covering the ground. Catelyn cringed as she realized she could have simply waited for him to return to the castle.

"You weren't afraid, when we swam in the pools." Catelyn blushed bright pink. She had been terrified but her desire to be with Brandon and her desire to show him that she could be a strong brave northern woman. Anyways, Catelyn knew she would be safe with Brandon and the grim Ice.

"My sister has written," Catelyn announced, trying not to think of how Brandon loved her in the warm pools. Brandon kissed her and she fought to keep her thoughts on her poor little sister. Sweet Lysa.

"Lyra?"

"Lysa," corrected Catelyn. Brandon wrapped an arm around her as she sat next to him.

"Right. Your sister was a shy thing. Is your lord father well? And Edmure?" Catelyn smiled as he tipped her head for a kiss.

"Oh, Father is well and so is Edmure. She has written to tell me of her decision to become a septa. Father had planned for her to marry Lord Jon Arryn."

"He is old enough to be her father, perhaps, that was repulsive to her," thought Brandon. "I would run away if I had to marry a man as old as Arryn." Poor Lysa. If only the match with Jaime Lannister had worked out, she would have been so happy with a golden haired son or daughter.

"Yes, perhaps, I would have done my duty. Lord Arryn is old enough to be her father or grandfather but he is the Hand of the King and the Lord of the Vale. I remember she all wished for was a good marriage and children since we were little girls. To have a match just as fine as mine. Now all the sudden, Lysa has joined an order of septas. I don't understand."

"My brother wanted to join the Night's Watch so badly and now he is a lord and betrothed to Lord Tyrell's only daughter. Little sisters and brothers are strange."

"I suppose," agreed Catelyn slowly. Catelyn wondered why her lord father did not insist that Lysa do her duty and marry or the forced joy in Lysa's letter.

"Did you come to just tell me about your sister? Is there something else?"

"I came to also speak about our ward. When Lysa mentioned becoming a septa, I thought perhaps we should send D- our ward as well. The servants do not know how to properly address her. Is she to be called Princess Daenerys or simply Lady Daenerys?" Brandon's face grew dark and he shook his head.

"Ned's daughter is the only true princess," he bursted in a chilly voice, which frightened her. Brandon looked wild for a second. "Call her a lady, but I don't see any Targaryen worthy of a title. I will not bend the knee to a Targaryen and neither will our children. I'll write to Ned, perhaps it would be best..." Catelyn placed his large hand over the swell of her belly. Brandon's wild look calmed slightly. Catelyn often thought of the risk of keeping the Targaryen girl in their home. Dorne does not have the numbers to start a war, she assured herself.

"Very well, my lord husband. I take it this babe won't be named Torrhen." She tried to lighten the mood. Brandon's mouth curled into a small smile.

"Aye, Rodrik and Willem are finer names for a son. Or perhaps, Brandon?" Catelyn smiled as her lord husband ran his hand through her red curls. Brandon was always unfailingly confident. He would want a son to be named for him. Catelyn imagined a dark haired boy with his father's handsome smile. Catelyn was in awe of Brandon and believed his wild, warm boyish nature would mature with age.

"You seem so certain this babe will be born a boy." Brandon shrugged with a wink.

"Arya is so much like my sister and I in looks and personality. It would be nice to have a little red haired girl who jumped into the pools after her elder siblings." He stared at the sturdy branches of the weirwoods and the pools with a grin. Brandon glanced at her. "I remember finding you swimming in the river."

"You should have made your presence known," blushed Catelyn, remembering half shrieking at Brandon finding her swimming in only her linen chemise.

"I cleared my throat twice," insisted Brandon. "I wasn't the only one who stumbled upon you if I recall."

"Petyr," sighed Catelyn. The boy who had been her friend had developed fanciful ideas that his love for her was enough to break Catelyn's betrothal to Brandon. She did not love him and only thought of him as a friend. Petyr had written her letters even after she had married Brandon and moved North with her new husband. She burned them all without reading them. She shook her head and said quietly, "The fool." Petyr had gotten himself injured and exiled from Riverrun for his foolishness. He could have died by Brandon's hands if she hadn't stopped him.

A/N: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I really tried with the bear hunt even though I had no idea what I was writing. *sighs* How I could write a fanfic about the Mormonts & Lyanna without a bear hunt? After trying to research on it, I still don't understand how medieval bear hunts went down. I pretty much re-watched Leonardo DiCaprio get mauled by a bear in the Revenant many times but I am not sure that really helped me. The outcome of the bear hunt changed a total of 5 times but all contained the HBO GoT reference of Jorah's spear throwing skillz in season 5.

Any name suggestions for Cat and Brandon's baby? (sticking to historical Stark names like Ned did when he named Sansa).

Thank you for all the feedback about my Lannisters/Lynesse questions.

Leave a review! :)