Hey all - sorry for lagging on stuff this week! I’ve been sick…but I’m back…Will catch up on mod stuff this weekend.
I’m also available to talk about plots and things, if anyone has any ideas or wants to discuss ideas and such. :)
I’m going to be out of town starting Tuesday through Saturday or Sunday for the holiday, but I should still be around online, though obviously not as much…
lordmormont replied to your post: [OOC]
THAT WOULD BE AMAZING. Maybe Cat and Ned have come to Bear Hall before, to visit Jorah / because idk they were in bfn Scotland, and they met/connected then?That sounds good to me (if it sounds good to Ned)! A Ned and Jorah connection might also be useful *shrugs*, just something to think about.
Yes - sorry, I thought you saw the post where Ned and I discussed Ned-Jorah past. Basically what we determined was that Jeor and Rickard were military friends, and Jorah spent a couple of summers in his youth at Winter Hall. So that would be why Ned and Cat might visit Bear Hall if they were perhaps already in Scotland.
“I… never knew about that.” Galbart muttered, almost to himself.
And it was little wonder; he’d been a small child back then, too young and far too busy running around and constantly fighting with Dacey to understand what was going on in his grown-up sister’s life. Only many, many years later had he started to understand how much she must have suffered: and yet in his memories she was always there, smiling sweetly at her little brother, seemingly without a care in this world. Now, as an adult, Galbart often felt like he’d never known his older sister at all, never really known her, and the thought hurt him more than he could tell. Robett barely remembered Erena at all, and their mother never talked about her in public. Over time, somehow, the Mormonts had become Galbart’s only link to his late sister.
“But you’re right, I don’t think she would have liked it here. Living here, I mean. She was a daughter of Deepwood, Erena. She wasn’t made for the big city.” he added, with a sad smile, turning to look at the endless traffic of carriages and cars just outside of the window as the car pulled to a stop right in front of the inn where he’d booked a room.
He didn’t protest as Jorah made to pay for the taxi; but then, after helping the driver unload his luggage, he offered a smile to his companion as he gingerly dragged his suitcase towards the inn’s small set of stairs.
“I hope you’ll at least let me offer you lunch?”
“She was that,” Jorah said softly. Then he turned to Galbart, his countenance weary and added, “She kept me grounded. Reminded me of what was important. And when she went…”
He thought of Lynesse, of those reckless years, of the publisher’s daughter, of the way he’d turned his back on his family for the sake of his own pride, and it nearly sickened him with shame.
“…part of me—that sensible part—just—” Went with her. He couldn’t finish the thought.
He watched as Galbart dealt with his luggage.
“I hope you’ll at least let me offer you lunch?”
Jorah offered a small smile. “Yes, please.”
OOC: So, Scottish men wear kilts. WWI Jorah. Needs to have some occasion to wear a kilt to. Like now. So what I’m saying is, I agree with Alyssa - we need a fancy party in the near future that everyone can mingle at. And that Jorah can wear a kilt to. :D
Gentlemen, I know this group here is fierce and epic and is taking over some of our RP lives. Yet, remember we had another one which was also fierce and epic? We can’t just forget about the RR, poor dudes over there think the group is dead.
As I’ve said before: The problem seems to be that we still have not reached Harrenhal over there - I think we were waiting for Laurel on that…not sure if we should continue to do so or just…arrive…If we go with “let’s continue to wait on arriving,” my suggestion would be that various traveling parties can combine / more people can interact the closer we get there….That’s my thought, anyway.
Galbart sighed slightly. “Thank you. I hope you will be able to come to Scotland for our wedding. I am sure Mary would be thrilled to finally meet you in person.” he then said, with a smile of thinly veiled relief as he looked at Jorah.
“…I know. I wish she were here too.” he added in a soft murmur as his smile faded, lowering his eyes. His beloved older sister Erena, Jorah’s first wife, had died when he was but a boy, and though more than fifteen years had passed since then, the memory of that painful day was still fresh in his mind, and he still felt her loss keenly. Robett had been too young to remember much at all, but Galbart remembered. He remembered everything.
Nothing had ever been the same again for him and his family: the grief had taken its toll on their mother, but their father had never recovered from the loss, spending the last few years of his existence in almost complete isolation, without ever leaving Deepwood Manor. Galbart had never seen him smile again.
“We’d started discussing moving to London, you know.The paper wanted me there…She wasn’t too keen on it. It always overwhelmed her a bit when we visited…” He smiled slightly. “Besides, she would argue—she could argue, you know, when she wanted—besides, Bartie and Robett won’t be able to visit us so often.“
He took a breath, feeling a tightening in his chest as he thought back all those years ago. “We decided to wait on our decision till after the baby arrived.” Jorah shook his head. “I would’ve stayed if that’s what she wanted. I wouldn’t have regretted it or resented her. That-hadn’t always been the case, but it was then.”
The cab pulled to a stop and Jorah got out, paying the driver. They were supposed to be lunching at the place Galbart was staying at, so he waited for Galbart to get his suitcase, before proceeding with him.
“I understand where you’re coming from, Jorah, but… the front? Is it really a wise decision?” Galbart asked, turning to face Jorah with a perplexed frown. “I can’t believe your cousins would agree with that. Or your aunt, for that matter.” And all that just because of his reluctance to write articles under a pseudonym. Galbart wasn’t sure whether to find that honorable or simply infuriating anymore, considering how many times he’d tried to talk some sense into him over the years.
“Do you mean to tell me that your feelings for her have simply…stopped…after all this time?”
Galbart broke out in a cold sweat at the question, but struggled to keep his composure, clearing his throat slightly and taking a few seconds before answering, visibly stiff.
“What I mean to tell you is that I am now engaged to miss Mary Dougall. We are to be married next year, in June.”“I can’t believe your cousins would agree with that. Or your aunt, for that matter.”
Jorah frowned. “It’s really not their decision. It will be for their betterment—for the family’s well-being—in the end,” he said stiffly. He was tired of justifying his decisions to people. It meant he had to justify them to himself and the more time passed, the harder he was finding to do that.
“What I mean to tell you is that I am now engaged to miss Mary Dougall. We are to be married next year, in June.”
Jorah’s surprise showed on his face. “Oh.“ With the surprise came a sinking feeling of disappointment that he could not quite explain. “Mary Dougall. That is—quite a prudent match.” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, “And this is—what you want for yourself?”
Galbart felt a sudden pang of guilt at Jorah’s reaction. It was quite clear that the older man was not expecting such news, and he silently cursed himself for not being more considerate about it. But there was no roundabout way, and while he had hoped to be able to discuss the matter with more time and more ease there was nothing to be done about it anymore; the conversation had taken an unexpected turn from the very beginning.
He fought to keep his expression impassive.
“…Yes. She’s a very kind woman.”
That much, at least, was true. They did get along well, and she would probably make a good wife, though Galbart preferred to omit the fact that the match had been facilitated - or more accurately, imposed - by his widowed mother, who had always been vocally unhappy about her eldest son’s prolonged bachelorhood.
“I understand where you’re coming from, Jorah, but… the front? Is it really a wise decision?” Galbart asked, turning to face Jorah with a perplexed frown. “I can’t believe your cousins would agree with that. Or your aunt, for that matter.” And all that just because of his reluctance to write articles under a pseudonym. Galbart wasn’t sure whether to find that honorable or simply infuriating anymore, considering how many times he’d tried to talk some sense into him over the years.
“Do you mean to tell me that your feelings for her have simply…stopped…after all this time?”
Galbart broke out in a cold sweat at the question, but struggled to keep his composure, clearing his throat slightly and taking a few seconds before answering, visibly stiff.
“What I mean to tell you is that I am now engaged to miss Mary Dougall. We are to be married next year, in June.”
“I can’t believe your cousins would agree with that. Or your aunt, for that matter.”
Jorah frowned. “It’s really not their decision. It will be for their betterment—for the family’s well-being—in the end,” he said stiffly. He was tired of justifying his decisions to people. It meant he had to justify them to himself and the more time passed, the harder he was finding to do that.
“What I mean to tell you is that I am now engaged to miss Mary Dougall. We are to be married next year, in June.”
Jorah’s surprise showed on his face. “Oh.“ With the surprise came a sinking feeling of disappointment that he could not quite explain. “Mary Dougall. That is—quite a prudent match.” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, “And this is—what you want for yourself?”
Fancy hearing that coming from you.
That was what flashed in Galbart’s mind for a sheer second, but the words just stuck in his throat when he tried to utter them. He gave a quick gulp, nervously shaking his head.
“I- I just cannot face her. You can’t chide me for that, Jorah. And besides, things are… different, now.”
Lowering his gaze again, he uncomfortably fingered the few coins in his pocket for a lack of better things to do, or say, suddenly wishing he had sent Robett down south after all. He hadn’t been in London for more than half an hour, and already his trip was proving to be an awkward stroll down memory lane.
“So…” he started, with an uneasy tone, quite plainly looking for a way to change the subject. “Lyra drunk after breaking into your apartment, Alysane kicking you out of her pub, Dacey working as a governess. I’m afraid you’re right, Mormont women are always full of surprises. But I’m glad to know they are well, at least. And how are you faring?”
“It’s hypocritical of me to say such things,” Jorah said, catching the brief look that crossed Galbart’s face before he shook his head. “But I only—don’t want to see either of you make the same mistakes I have.”
“And how are you faring?”
Jorah scratched his chin. “I’m still the same stubborn ass or maybe coward who won’t go back home to talk to Maege, if that’s what you wanted to know.” He paused. “War is coming.” He knew this wasn’t news to a man like Galbart. He wasn’t like Lyra with her head so far in the clouds, asking him question upon question about it. “I’m in the process of, ah—” How to put it? “—using my connections within the War Department to get credentialed as a frontline correspondent.” A small, weary smile. “A few stories the papers back home won’t be able to resist, no matter who’s said what about me…and maybe the girls can go back home soon enough.”
He tilted his head, curiously. “But you said things are different now—in how you feel toward Dacey.” Yes, he hadn’t been a journalist for all those years without picking up passing details. There had been apprehension in Galbart’s voice—moreso than usual—when he’d uttered the words. “Do you mean to tell me that your feelings for her have simply…stopped…after all this time?” He had a hard time believing it.
“I should do what? Apologize?” Galbart said, the bitterness in his voice barely concealed. “No, I don’t think I could face her. And the last time we talked to each other she made it quite clear that she didn’t want to see me again.” Although that wasn’t exactly how she worded it, he thought to himself. Several hurtful things had been said on both parts, culminating in Dacey giving Galbart a hard slap across the face and then storming off. He had had a bruise for days, and she had never written to him or contacted him again. That was eloquent enough, he supposed.
“But Lyra… at your apartment? Here in London?” he asked, only now turning to Jorah again, brows furrowed in genuine surprise. “Your aunt has worried herself sick over her. The last time I heard from her, she thought Lyra was still somewhere in Scotland.”
As did Galbart, in fact. No-one could have imagined that she would make her way to London all alone, and the possibility of either of her sisters harboring her without telling their mother was unlikely at best. Perhaps she thought her cousin Jorah would be more sympathetic.
“I understand this is none of my business, but… don’t you think she ought to know?” Galbart finally suggested, cautiously. “I could- I could tell her myself, if you prefer.”
“Would you rather spend a lifetime of not facing her—always wondering, the bitterness—the hurt—only growing—rather than risk a bit of pride?” Jorah asked. “I know Dacey as well as you do, Bartie.” He paused to look at the younger man, the pain in Galbart’s eyes reminding him so very much of Erena. “And I know you, too.”
He let out a sigh. “As for Lyra…she showed up a couple of weeks ago…How she found me, I don’t know. She was drunk off my good Scotch, in the middle of the living room, after picking my lock.” He shook his head. “Mormont women, Bartie. Every time I try to understand them…well, they do their damnedest to throw me for a loop. But don’t worry. Alysane has already written to Maege. After throwing me out the pub she works in and threatening to have my head if I return.” That was a whole other matter.
