I oversaw the clean up again, and had the bodies hauled onto the beach to be stripped of gear and processed. As son of the local shot caller I got first dibs on loot, but there was precious little worth imposing my rights for as the man with the most jewelry and finest equipment was the axe and sword wielder I personally slew.
He had three rings on his fingers of silver and gold and several bracelets and chain necklaces of the same, one bearing a gold amulet with an inset oval cut emerald of impressive quality and his sword had round rubies set in the pommel and a blade of high quality steel.
By the Old Way, Ironborn men can only wear jewelry taken while reaving, and so the lack of adornment by the vast majority of the bodies made sense. Nearly all of them were teenagers. The man who gave me so much trouble was one of the few handfuls among the hundreds of bodies around the age of thirty. It painted a picture of why these guys committed to such a dumb attack. The fatal flaws of young men everywhere: arrogance and peer pressure.
Just about a score of bitter and angry men and a horde of young idiots raised during lean years due to severely limited targets from the ban on reaving who likely grew up hearing about how much better things were before Quellon outlawed the ancient Ironborn practice of being the worst neighbors possible.
Theon's every last one of them, longing for some bullshit they'd never seen the truth of, and likely whipped up into a frenzy by the older men who were mostly under thirty, so just old enough to have tasted the raider life before the Lord Reaper put a squash to it. They gathered up young and stupid boys hungry for approval and a better life and set off to raid the ass end of Westeros where they wouldn't find anyone from Quellon's regime to gunk up their plans as pirate hunting - currently the only valid source of traditional income for the Ironbron - is done mostly around the waters of Dorne.
Common sense would have them retreat and look for easier targets when they saw us ready for battle, but common sense in a band of mostly adolescent boys is in short supply in any company, let alone a group raised to view themselves in a predatory role. They'd leapt off their ships thinking they'd run right through us pathetic 'greenlanders', and anyone thinking otherwise kept his mouth shut so as not to reveal himself as craven to his peers. A perfect loop of completely fucked thinking that landed me with some fine loot and three ships known for hauling enough lumber to build 'a thousand ships' any time the King of Iron Islands feels like it.
Obviously Euron used his magic to summon the spirits of all the men who died in the catastrophic rebellion Baelon launched a decade prior to both build and crew those vessels.
We anchored the ships not far off the docks within the natural harbor of the island. We'd need to build an addition for the new docks for ships that size, and new dry docks too, but those were great problems to have. Just like the logistics problem of moving food, tables, and chairs down from Mormont Keep for the victory feast held down in the port village overlooking the newly pink waters of our harbor.
The sight of it, the pink waters as fish and bird feast on the chopped up pieces of hundreds of teenagers, and men and women and children feasting to our victory, our incredibly one sided victory over our hated and ancient foe. This was my flayed man and my golden rose. Fear and love, brutality and celebration. No one here would ever forget the sight and its association with me.
My sons were presented to my people at a party exalting the destruction and mutilation of hundreds of teenage boys. I've never been a man impressed by symbolism and other such artistic and poetic forms of communication, but even I felt the power of this moment.
Alysa just looked queasy, and couldn't take her eyes off a gull chowing down on an eyeball.
Nom nom.
"That guy is going to be so good in a pie." I told her as her face twisted.
"Please… don't mention eating the animals that are eating people right now." she grimaced.
"I find…" I started my thoughts on the matter slowly, "That it is easy to see a man and view him as more or less than he truly is. To build a person up as the lowest scum of the earth, or the highest paragon… without him having earned either of those things. But when I do this, when I reduce men to buckets of meat. For a time, I have a greater capacity for compassion and empathy. And when I begin to forget that, and harden my heart once again. The world is kind enough to provide me with more resources from which to grow such feelings."
Alysa's jaw dropped as she stared at me, trying to put to words the feelings in her own heart.
"That is… the absolute worst thing I have ever heard anyone ever say." she informed me and I hmmmed in thought at it.
"Once, I came upon a Wildling woman during the defense of a village. I liked the look of her hair, and her large teats. I struck her to the ground with the back of my hand and reached down, seizing hold of that hair. I was going to rape her, but the cries of 'help' from a woman in distress elsewhere in the village caught my attention so I pulled back and dashed the Wildling's head upon the stones under us." my monologue ended leaving my wife completely distraught.
"Why would you tell me this?" she weakly asked with teary eyes.
"So that you would have heard something worse." I informed her and went back to my feasting.
"Well, I think that is enough story time for me." Jeor, seated next to me stood up and banged his hand on the table brought down for the feast a few times.
"Listen up!" he shouted to get everyone's attention, "Listen well. From the time he was a small boy, I knew that my son could take on my role of Lord of Bear Island. For a long time now, I knew he could do it better. Now, everyone else does too."
Ah damn it. The old codger sees his chance to run away and is taking it.
"Which is why it's time." Jeor announced as he unfasted the family sword from his belt and raised it up for everyone to see, "It's time for me to hand down my sword and travel to Castle Black, to become a sworn brother of the Night's Watch like so many great men before me, and so many that will come after me."
No one knew whether to clap or cheer for the announcement until Jeor started the cheer himself, then handed me Longclaw with a huge grin on his face.
"To Lord Jorah Mormont, Lord of Bear Island!" he shouted and lifted his tankard beginning to chug it while everyone repeated his toast.
I looked around at those assembled then nodded my head, standing to tie the sword to my belt. It was the right time for this. Jeor gets to leave on a high note, passing the mantle to someone people feel they can trust with their security, and I get to go about my business without a traditionalist curmudgeon gunking up my plans.
So it begins.
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One of my long time fans asked for more Jorah X Alysa content.
Here's to you fam.
This isn't a parallel with the sheltered naivety of Sansa. I just don't think Northern men tell it straight like that despite all their blunt honesty. I am certain that retellings of battles and skirmishes are sanitized and even aggrandized when they can get away from it. They got the 'Brave Danny Flint' song for scaring girls straight, I doubt any of them would ever tell their wives and daughters which side of the equation they are on in that tale.
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