To Die For You If Need Be Chapter 2: Admittance

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Jorah Mormont

I had pulled down the cloak's hood down farther than before. Since I was in Westeros someone could recognize the disgraced Lord who had fled into exile rather than face justice. That was a childish thing to do as the commoners didn't care about politics. To them the Iron Throne didn't matter except in the cases of war. But doing so brought me comfort.

The ride home had been unnerving as there were many people who could have touched me. Now, though, it was easy enough to avoid the small crowds. There were a few pickpockets I had to watch out for and those people were harder to keep away from. I didn't need an outbreak of greyscale to announce my arrival.

There was an excitement that filled me when I entered the Citadel. The chamber was large and provided relief from the outside. A few young maesters were in a corner and must be discussing a fraction of the infinite knowledge this place provided. Or maybe their conversations weren't so remarkable as that. They were people, no matter the knowledge they held.

As I walked by the maesters, they turned to look at me. No doubt I would be a minor topic of conversation. The maester at the desk looked at me with a lack of interest. He made it appear as though it would be best if I left now. But he was not the fiercest opponent I had ever gone up against. When I was a boy, though, his look would have made me pause.

"I'm Ser Jorah Mormont." I said quietly and pushed my sleeve up just enough so he could see my greyscale.

"You are aware that there is no known cure." The maester said with no inflection to his voice. "It would have been better if you had killed yourself in Essos. Now you have spent time and effort to die here."

"Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the true ruler of the Iron Throne, has commanded me to find a cure. If there is any hope for me to fulfill her command it can be found in the Citadel."

I had to stop myself from declaring me her king. I doubted the maester would even care that Daenerys had sent me, much less that I'd be her husband. In recent years the Seven Kingdoms had broken down to Six Kingdoms and the Iron Throne had had many different rulers sit on it. Now Cersei Lannister sat on it as all her bastard children had died.

"Then you have no choice." The maester said with a brief nod. "We have a room that can be spared for a month or two."

The way the maester could casually declare my death turned my blood cold. Now someone beside myself was declaring my sentence. He had repeated my own fears that this venture of mine was useless. Of course I would die. Of course there was no hope for me. Of course I had no choice but to obey Daenerys' orders.

In half an hour at most, I was being lead to a room where my deathbed was. It was hard not to look at everything around me so as to make a few final memories. The last thing I wanted was for the maesters here to think of me as weak. It was already damaging enough that I had sold people into slavery. I didn't need to show them that I was afraid of death.

"Here's your room, Lord Mormont." The maester said and opened a door similar to all the others here.

I looked up and down the hallway with a detached glance. Each door was the same as was each room. And every person in the rooms was diseased like myself. Some had greyscale and others were suffering from different diseases. Even if I died here the maesters might figure out a cure because of me.

I walked into a room that was bare except for a desk and bed. There was no need for more furnishings as I wouldn't be alive much longer. On the desk there was enough parchment to write a letter to any who I'd leave behind.

"We'll need you to change." The maester said and pointed to the bed.

Some clothing that wasn't fit for even the poorest commoner was on the bed. I had to remind myself that I wouldn't be alive much longer so I didn't need any clothing. That reminder did nothing to ease the tension gathering in me. It was very different seeing my death bed and imagining it. I should be dying on a battlefield while helping win Daenerys the Iron Throne, not waiting for death while wearing commoner's clothing.

"May I keep my sword?" I asked with no worry evident in my voice. "If it comes down to it, I wish to end my life quickly."

"When your greyscale is further along then you might have it back." The maester replied.

Of course, it wouldn't do for people like me to die before anything useful could be figured out. That and the maesters might want certain people to suffer. It seemed like this institute favored distance from having opinions on politics. Or at least they wouldn't take an active part in deciding if certain Houses should live or die. Though, as every House had a maester, they could easily decide the political landscape if they wanted to.

I made my way to the bed and the maester left. It took a lot of effort to change as that meant I was closer to death. I was closer to failing my love in my final moments. At least now Daenerys would know I had done my best and failed. Sometimes in life you failed even if you did everything right. Even if you had the noblest of intentions people would hate you.

When I had changed, I knocked on the door and a maester opened the slot. In the near future it would be used to give me food, but now I pushed my old clothing and other effects to a waiting basket.

With a great effort I laid down on the bed just before my legs gave out. It wasn't the most uncomfortable thing I had ever slept on. At least the covers didn't tear into my skin and there were covers at all. At least the room wouldn't make the bed freeze to an unbearable temperature. It wasn't the worst place to die, either. At least I would die fulfilling my love's request and there was honor in that.

It was also the worst place I could die. I would die in Westeros and was close to sharing Daenerys' bed. For far too long I had kept the depths of my feelings from her. So dying now would hurt me but at least my pain would end while hers would still continue.

I couldn't keep thinking along these dark paths. My thoughts quickly turned to seeing Daenerys' face. She would smile in the way that was utterly unique to her. A bearing of the soul that not many got to see. She was a ruler and hadn't earned a reputation for weakness. As there were many that wished her dead or manipulated to their own ends, showing her true self wasn't something she could risk often.

The images my mind conjured for when we were finally reunited started to turn into nightmares. I knew that she loved me and I loved her. I knew that she had declared me her king and her word would remain true no matter what Westerosi man tried to woo her. Yet it was as if my own mind couldn't allow me that happiness to enjoy until death claimed me.

My own mind painted images of a much different scenario. Instead of Daenerys having admitted her feelings for me, she actually didn't love me as I did her. She cared for me as a friend and nothing more. I tried to argue that she would never have declared me her king if she didn't feel something for me. My mind said she did feel something for me: pity.

Daenerys saw me with a death sentence that I had no chance of escaping. She felt guilt at inadvertently causing my demise. To ease her conscience she decided to declare me her king knowing it really meant nothing. It was a gesture with no real obligations made. She knew I would be dead soon and, therefore, was free to seek a better husband. Maybe even Daario.

Why was I doing this to myself? Was it a way of easing the guilt of dying? I had always cared more for Daenerys' happiness than my own. I had always wanted to see her rise to glory no matter what happened to me. My life and death meant nothing in comparison to her. So a part of me figured that dying knowing she wouldn't miss me was a fair sacrifice. Even if that meant being tormented by dark thoughts day and night.

I had to be strong just in case I survived. It wouldn't do to see Daenerys again and doubt the smile meant for me. It wouldn't do to have her hug me and doubt she was offering her body to me. If I died missing her touch that would be the better sacrifice. Just because she loved me didn't mean she'd be less of a person when I died.

Daenerys loved me. Daenerys wanted me as her king. Daenerys had sent me on a quest she desperately needed to believe in. I would not fail her in mind, body, or soul. My body would be healed and she would experience everything I could offer her. Not merely as a friend or husband, but as a dedicated lover.

We would take back the Iron Throne from Cersei. The Lannister who imagined herself a queen would see what a true ruler looked like. It would be better if she fought hard against the inevitable future. Daenerys was the ruler Westeros was destined to have. It was her that allowed dragons to come into the world once more.

What other proof was needed to show that Daenerys was destined for great things?

My body jerked awake as there was a knock at the door. I must have fallen asleep without noticing. My sore body wearily got up and slowly walked to the door. I would have to constantly exercise so that my body could retain its strength. If it was feeling exhausted now, things would only get worse.

I took the tray after making sure no hands were near the slot. The tray contained a bowl of warm soup, bread, and a cup of water. Everything I needed to keep my body alive without wasting money that would be better spent elsewhere.

I put the tray on the desk and started to eat. I dipped the bread into the soup so that it'd be easier to eat. Even after being dipped in the soup the bread was hard to chew through. There was a hint of taste that made it easier to swallow.

The soup was lukewarm when I started eating it. It tasted good enough for what it was. It was supposed to keep me alive for the short time that was given to me. Though not the best meal I ever had, it was over much too soon for my liking. I sipped the water to try and make it last for a few minutes longer.

Once I finished the water, I waited a short time for the slot on my door to open once again. As I walked over with my empty tray, I felt a need to speak to the person. To say anything. But my mouth was silent as he wouldn't care what I had to say. It wouldn't do to sound desperate during my first few hours at the Citadel.

My eyes turned from the door to the desk. I had been given the means to write a letter to someone. Most people here probably wrote to their families. But I had no family but Daenerys now. It was highly doubtful that Lyanna, my cousin and current head of House Mormont, would care to hear from me. Besides possibly harboring resentment because my disgrace lead to her rule, it would be an awkward conversation to have.

But Lyanna deserved to hear about my death from me. She could burn the letter or ignore it altogether, but didn't I have the responsibility to inform her? It could be fear stopping me from writing her a letter. To have such a strong grip on Bear Island told of strength beyond her years.

I could also write to the head of House Stark. From the bits of gossip that my ears had heard, Jon Snow was currently King of the North. House Mormont and Stark were closely linked. So writing to him would also inform Lyanna about my death, albeit indirectly.

Would that be too cowardly of me?

I put my hands on the back of the chair as I thought. A letter would only need to be written in the case of my death. If I lived then there was no reason to send a letter to Daenerys, Jon, or Lyanna. I would be alive to say my words in person. To show Daenerys love, Jon respect, and Lyanna humility.

Did everyone wonder what to say to their loved ones? Or did they decide that writing a letter was a waste of time? If only I could see what everyone else did so I could judge my actions accordingly.

After taking a deep breath I took a seat at my desk. The quill and parchment seemed to judge me. They begged to be used and blamed me for being a coward. If I were to write a letter then I had to think about what words I would use and who I'd send letters to. Of course I would have to send one to Daenerys but I was unsure if anyone else needed to be informed. She would have to inform Jon, since he was a ruler of a major House, that I had passed.

I picked up the quill and dipped it in ink. It would do to write down my thoughts so I could figure out what my letter would say. I held the quill over the parchment and froze. As I was the future King of the Seven Kingdoms and Lord Mormont, the maesters would be willing to give me more parchment. But writing now would cement my thoughts not only into words but for other eyes to see.

It might not be likely, but someone could view my private thoughts. Thoughts of pain and loss. Thoughts that would become more real once I wrote them down. I put the quill down and looked at the blank parchment as if it held answers. As if it could read my mind and answer my thoughts.

"I'm just a child." I groaned as I held my head in my hands. "What have I done with my life?"

I had managed to dishonor my House and shame my father. I had managed to flee into exile instead of facing justice for a woman who had abandoned me. I had managed to win the friendship, forgiveness, and love of Daenerys. I had managed to right my wrongs by following and guiding her.

The night sky could be seen faintly through the window. The stars shone with their mysterious light and my eyes went over every constellation I could remember. Doing so took me back to a much less complicated time. A time long before I had fallen in love with Lynesse.

Was Daenerys looking at the same night sky? If she were in Westeros that meant Dragonstone was under rule of a Targaryen once more. To see her take her first steps on the island would have been a sight to see. It not only represented her heritage but the goal she had set for herself years ago: reclaiming the Iron Throne.

It would only be by an alliance with House Stark that Daenerys could rule all seven kingdoms once more. Which meant there would be a chance for me to encounter Arya Stark once more. At least if I lived.

The girl had appeared determined and true to her word. She hadn't seemed like one who would grant me life and then take it away without forewarning. She deserved to be reunited with the remaining members of her House as they were who she was fighting for.

What would she think of me if I survived? Would there be regret in not killing me herself when she had the chance? If I lived then she couldn't easily touch me without consequence. My love would know of Arya's promise in Braavos and so there would be no question who had killed me.

That meant, of course, to trust that Arya cared more about politics than her own feelings. A young woman who had gone so far to get enough power to enact her vengeance might not be deterred at all by politics.

Why was that causing me to smile?

If Arya were to kill me even while being king meant she'd anger Daenerys. I didn't know who would be more deadly as each cared more for their emotions than what was the better political move. Though Daenerys had calmed down over the years and was able to think more clearly.