The Morality of Prescience

Late 283 Spring Ulfric

We all looked towards my father as he began laughing hysterically, and the sight burnt terror into every heart. Jorah Mormont's body was enough to make others fear him, his near seven foot height with shoulders wide enough to need to go through most doors sideways, the rippling musculature bulging out under his skin, and the wild black hair curling off his head and body. He looked like someone's nightmare of a barbarian, and now he had a blazing greatsword in hand and two pits of wildfire glowing in his eye sockets. 

The general concern with his sorcery created a tense undercurrent throughout the rebellion. Jorah barely maintained a razor thin facade over his prowess, deflecting his animal servants by assigning them human handlers and using spycraft double speak for his Green Sight. Everyone not immediately loyal to the man through his network of benefits and bloodshed felt a deep unease and even loathing for the man's abilities, but his efficacy on campaign forced them to enact a policy of civility despite their instincts and learning goading them to turn on the man. 

Now he stood in front of mostly strangers - including his overlord - in the most obvious display of magic the man has ever put on. The sight of the sorcerer holding his blazing blade over his head and laughing hysterically caused the men not related to him to step away slowly, eyes locked on his supernatural form, faces paling despite the Dornish heat. 

Having witnessed his father's dramatic transformation over the years from a magic hating savage to possibly the most powerful practitioner of the mystic arts ever to walk the lands and sail the seas of Westeros, Ulfric already resigned himself to the eventual reveal of his father's magic. He did not expect it to involve the man igniting the oldest and most famous sword in the world with bright white flames while entering the most hilarious trance of his life, but honestly, the heir of Bear Island envisioned worse possible reveals. The darkest of which may or may not involve the man growing too excited and transforming into a giant snow bear during coitus in the middle of a Dornish brothel. 

Seeing the big reveal, Ulfric had to hand it to the man. Jorah Mormont certainly knew how to put on an exciting show. 

"Oh what a day! What a glorious day!" Jorah declared then walked over the where Arthur Dayne left Dawn's sheath and slid that blazing blade home. 

Slinging the sword over his shoulder, the Lord of Bear Island turned to his companions and grinned.

"Ya'll look like somebody walked over your grave." the informed them.

"That was potent magic." the diminutive Lord of the Greywater Watch croaked.

"Aye." Jorah nodded and began to walk to the Maester Ned Stark brought along for this trip.

"Lord Mormont!" Ned raised his voice above his typical even tone.

"You picked poorly, Ned." Jorah spoke back while maintaining eye contact with the greyrat, "The man has the skills required, but his faith in the Seven is strong. His contempt for us has only risen since Stoney Sept, and that display right there was the tipping point." 

"Speak plainly." Ned demanded as he took a place between Jorah and the Maester. 

"He intends to let any complications take hold." The Lord of Bear Island accused the trained healer, "Failing that, he will tip the scales of fate personally with a little concoction to weaken the babe and mother." 

"Do you intend to believe this sorcerer!" the middle aged maester erupted with his Stark shield in place, "His every word a spell! He twists you all away from the truth, puppets playing on his strings! Break free, Lords!" 

"Aye. My father is a sorcerer." Ulfric stepped closer to the action, "You'd need to be in denial to not know that already, and I say leave well enough alone. You'd have these men die for your hatred, for their fears, and the little doubts in their hearts. But let me tell you this, if my father is as treacherous and sorcerous as you say, would he even be here if these men could destroy him?"

"Obviously his greed for the sword overwhelmed him." the man countered, "He values it more than your lives, perhaps your deaths are worth even more to him! Who can say how the wicked magic practitioner's mind works? His thoughts are not like ours, for he deals in dark and evil things." 

"You speak of evil like you know of it." Jorah said as he put his hand on his son's armored shoulder, gently pulling him back, "You do not." 

"I am a man both well educated and righteous before the gods. I know evil when I see it, and I see it now amidst us." the maester declared, further emboldened by his lack of censure from men around him. 

"Only one of those things is true, and you are well educated." Jorah countered, "But your heart is a bitter and vile thing. For there is much grief in wisdom. He who increases knowledge increases sorrow. You lack inner strength, your conviction was replaced by dogma long ago. You built your mind but neglected your character, and thus all manner of evil hides within that grey robe, waiting for the chance to leap forth and render its pre-judgement."

The maester opened his mouth to refute, but Ned Stark intervened with a scream of 'Enough!' 

The Lord of Bear Island turned his green gaze upon the Lord of Winterfell, "The choice is yours, my Lord. The hour draws near. Once you ascend the tower, the sight of you will trigger her labor." 

The young overlord's lips trembled as he grit his teeth, at war within, but ultimately reaching his conclusion.

"Lord Mormont, please help my sister." Ned Stark requested. 

"It shall be." Jorah nodded, then seized the Maester by his robe and threw him off the mountainside, "It is good that you listened before, and chose a maester you would not miss." 

His desire for murder satisfied Jorah ascended the tower, delivering orders to his sons who scurried about. They found Lyanna at the top room of the tower, a single servant attending her in the fairly comfortable accommodations. They found the wild girl who rode down knights at the Tourney of Harrenhal replaced by an exhausted and sallow woman, and as predicted the touching reunion abruptly transitioned with her first contraction scream. 

How many Northmen does it take to deliver a baby? 

As the process continued under the direction of team leader Jorah, the other Northern notables made effort not to make their discomfort clear on their faces, something they failed. These men who gladly went to the bloody battlefield balked at the bloody birthing bed, for Lyanna Stark did not smoothly deliver her son into the world. The Mormont boys, so used to their family magic, didn't understand the horrors they witnessed, the youngest openly weeping at the torn sight of the woman. 

Through it all, the dower Lord of Bear Island kept his icy cool, something he temporarily extended to his fellows with shouts and slaps. By the end of the many hour delivery, he alone looked fresh, while his fellows looked not long from the grave. 

Late 283 Spring Me

"And there it is, Stark." I announced as I poured himself some hot water with honey and lemon, "A life saved, and new life delivered. We must care for them here a while to keep it that way." 

Ned Stark held his suckling nephew to the teet of his unconscious sister, the woman finally collapsing into rest whilst breastfeeding. At this point the other men greatfully left the room, leaving us with our thoughts. Dangerous things. Despite the relief of the successful birthing, the young man still warred within his heart, something openly apparent on his face. 

"I am not ready to be the Lord of Winterfell." Ned admitted, "I have been away from the North for so long, and was not privileged to know the mind of my father. His death came as a sudden shock to me, but you knew of it beforehand. And of the death of my brother, and of my sister's kidnapping." 

The Quiet Wolf snarled as I nodded, "For many years." 

"And you held your tongue. You as good as killed them yourself." He hissed in an attempt to both vent his fury and let his sister sleep, "You betrayed your liege lord, your oaths as a Lord of the North."

"Aye." I agreed, "I am accessory to many greater and lesser evils in this world, and I perpetrate no few of my own. But I counselled your brother for many years to change his reckless ways. To think through the consequences of his actions." 

"And yet you did not warn him of the trap, nor my father of the threats to his children or to himself. You are a monster, born from blackest womb." the man accused holding back tears knowing that I could have stopped all the tragedy that befell his family. 

"That was well established long ago." I agreed again.

"You have stabbed my family in the back through your inaction, and I have no way to know when the next betrayal will come." Ned grit his teeth likely accepting his death at my hands for speaking his mind, "How am I to live walking the same earth as you?" 

"Do want me to run your lives, Stark?" I asked of him, "Do you wish for me to take away your choices that may lead to your demise? You ask me how you are to live with me. The same way your family has lived with the Bolton's for thousands of years despite them wearing the skins of your ancestors as cloaks. Despite knowing that if you give them the chance, they will skin you too. I didn't put your family on the path of destruction, they did that with their own choices. Just as I will let you too live and die by your own will. Hate me if you must Stark, many do, but you are not my enemy. Do not make me yours." 

The young man sat silently with his bitterness, and I left him to it. 

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