Chapter 4: Fuck me running
I don't own nothin...
Circa 282 AC
Maester Lowry was not old. For a man of three and forty, he was quite young for a maester. Hailing from a little village from the Vale, he was fortunate enough to have studied at Old Town. For he had no real future in front of him, which made him even more eager to excel at his crafts. This is why he was quite alarmed when he learned he was selected to serve House Mormont in the North. It was his opinion that he was here for some past transgression done to some petty divinity.
For Lowry did not quite like Bear Island. It was cold, dry, windy, and as far away from civilization as possible. The people were down-to-earth, yes, but that also meant they had no interest in the finer knowledge.
The Mormonts themselves were better than the lot. Yes, they tended to be boorish and heavy-handed at times, but he could tell they meant well. Lord Jeor Mormont truly cared for his lands and the small folk inhabiting them. He also had a respect for knowledge that was a rare sight in these parts.
His son Jorah, the new lord since Lord Jeor joined took the black two years earlier, was a good pupil, quick with his numbers, and seemed to carry a fascination for the lands to the South. His favorites, however, were Alysanne and the young Mormont lad, Beor.
Alysanne was, in his opinion, shaping to be quite the remarkable woman, with a quick mind and even quicker wit, and showing signs of grace in her features fit for a lady of stature. Dacey, her older sister, took more after their mother, Lady Maege. Not quite daft, but always more willing to let her fists do the talking instead of using more civilized methods. At the age where most girls were given their first doll, lady Maege shoved a diminutive mace in her and told her to "go play with the others."
His salvation came in the form of a hairy little boy name Beor, however. The odd-looking toddler with his large amber eyes and thick, shaggy chestnut hair, at first looked to be an absent-minded child. "He wasn't like most his age", the maester thought, "not full of energy and bouncing around like a dying fish".
No, the boy seemed to be always in the clouds, lost in a little world of his own making. That is not to say he wasn't intelligent, far from it. The four-year-old wasn't uninterested in learning as would be expected of children, no. He was bored. Never before had the young maester, as he thought of himself, seen such prowess in one so young.
When he first introduced him to letters, Beor seemed to have been relieved, as if he expected it to be different or harder. He then lost complete interest in the lessons, answering questions haphazardly, as if he had done so thousands of times prior. Numbers faired no better. At least, he could find the boy reading, yes reading, massive history tomes or some dry expose on rocky formations by some maester in the North. But numbers? the boy showed no interest in hearing what one such as he had to say about such matters.
At times, he could hear the condescending way in which the child answered him when asked a fairly advanced set of calculations. He had rolled his eyes and answered without even looking up from the tome he was perusing, a treatise on agriculture if his memory served him right. The maester himself wasn't sure if he wanted to smack him in the back of the head or marvel at such precociousness. One thing he knew, however, was that he was witnessing something few had the chance to. And for that he was grateful. Because the Bear Island was quite drab, once you got used to the place. At least, this could serve as a distraction between wildling attacks.
"For fuck's sake! Fuck me running" Beor screamed in his head, almost slamming the door of the library, which doubled as the maester's study. Rolling up the long sleeves of his woolen tunic, he forced himself to ignore the hair sticking from his forearms. He had issues more important than out-of-control bodily hairs.
Beor had to admit, he had been too eager in his declaration those few years back. He had been confident that he could single-handedly bring "the future" to Westeros.
However, in his hubris, he hadn't realized the obvious. Yes, he was a highly educated person, and he knew how to run a business. But what mattered even more than the knowledge was the infrastructure needed to make such a colossal achievement possible. No actual rule of law to protect patents and investments, no real banking systems, and the utter lack of expertise in the fields he wanted to revolutionize.
It was almost impossible to imagine the amount of leg work it had taken to forcibly drag the world out of the Middle Ages, and the greater effort to keep it going in a positive direction. The thought sobered him.
He had confidence in his abilities, but ten lifetimes would not be enough to even begin to chip away at the mountain facing him. Realistically, he would have to be s once in a civilization kind of genius. A John Locke, Da Vinci, Newton, and Carnegie wrapped in one. Despite being learned, even by the standards of his old world, he wouldn't dare presume to be anywhere near this capable.
He continued on that trail of thought, roaming the halls of the keep like a tiny preoccupied ghost. As he quickly discovered, Martin's architectural gigantism also affected the modest Mormont castle. Their humble abode was more akin to a very large manor, as opposed to what was described as a large log house surrounded by an earthen palisade.
This, in turn, made him realize that all was not so dire after all. The Mormonts, as a house were poor. But Bear Island was chockfull of resources. He was surprised that they haven't gotten around to exploiting them though. In the North, they had other more pressing priorities. The harsh and long winters, wildlings, and Ironborn. That type of disruption can go a long way into stymieing the progress of a country.
There was also the fact that they didn't do much beyond subsistence farming and coastal fishing. These were the most pressing issues: food security and a better, cheaper form of producing energy. "That's as good as any place to start, then," he said to himself, arms folded behind his back, lost in thoughts.
This is why he did not get out the way of the larger man in front of him until it was almost too late. Looking up, he took stock of his older cousin, Jorah, the new master of the keep and lord of Bear Island. The young man had long black hair that he kept neatly trimmed and a well-kept beard framing his strong jaw. He truly cut an imposing figure, as for where he wasn't the tallest, he made up for it with burly and strong, like the typical man of Bear Island. Or woman, for that matter.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he politely greeted the young man. "Good morning, cousin" Beor said, attempting to look contrite " my apologies, I was lost in thoughts."
"No worries, my boy." Jorah smiled when he saw the little boy cringed at being addressed as such. "I do hope you are not giving maester Lowry any trouble with your lessons, are you?" he asked, stroking his chin. a slight smile on his face.
Beor rolled his eyes at the reminder of the troublesome man. Always asking asinine questions about asinine things. The poor sod didn't even know much about circles and there talk to him of geometry?
" Uh, no, not at all. I was let out early today. Alysanne is still there, finishing a few tasks. the Maester judged my work adequate to take my leave." He did hope that the politeness in his voice covered the exasperation he felt at having to start kindergarten all over again.
"Indeed, Lowry has told your mother and me about how much faster you were progressing compared to your sisters" Jorah answered, squatting down, putting at eye level. "When I was your age, I could barely string a few sentences together, let alone count, read or write. Keep that up and I might even be of the mind to send you to Old Town and trained to be a maester yourself. I have no doubt you would excel in that field. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he finished, a condescending smile on his face.
Beor found himself fidgeting under the gaze of his cousin. He had no real desire to be a maester. All they'd try to do would be control him. Then it clicked in his mind. Call him paranoid, but he had quickly learned that some people tend to be two-faced about some things.
One might think the North to be free of this kind, and he might be right, but Jorah fancied himself more enlightened than most Northerners. His cousin has been having issues with Rosalyn Glover, his wife of eight years. She has had two miscarriages so far. Maybe Jorah was a bit insecure about that and felt like Beor was a bit too close in the line of succession. Making him a maester would kill two birds with one stone, after all.
Beor, a childish smile on his face, knew where to go with this: "Oh, what does the mother think of this? Maybe I should tell her of your idea?" He tried to look as innocently happy as possible. "I'm sure she'd be beyond delighted to hear of this."
Jorah's eyes widened a bit. He stood up, straightening himself, looking around as if an enraged Maege would burst out of the walls. Clearing his throat, he ruffled his younger cousin's hair, plastering a smile on his face. "No, no need, my boy. I just wanted to hear your opinion on the matter. We'll talk of this some other time, then." he replied, hastily taking his leave.
"Good day, Jorah" Beor responded, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "How clumsy", he thought, staring at the retreating form of his cousin. "Wanting me to think it was my idea, knowing that if I brought it up to mother myself, she'd support my decision. I suppose it's a perk of being seen as a child, they always start by underestimating me", he said subconsciously trying to shove his hands in pockets that didn't exist.
"Note to self, invent pockets" he mumbled to himself. But to return to the task at hand, it seems that Jorah would become a problem in time. He did show some signs of glory-seeking, and the annoying need to seem more than he was. Beor understood how this degenerated to the point it did in the story.
In his ruminations, he had wandered into the courtyard where Dacey was busy pulverizing some training dummies under the watchful eyes of their father, Torrhen. The man wasn't the most loving father, nor the gentler. But he cared for them, that he knew. He also seemed to have an undying devotion to his wife, Maege.
"Fancy meeting you here, little bear", he heard, whilst being suddenly picked off the floor. Twisting himself, he turned to see his mother holding him, a warm smile on her face.
The woman had long wavy black hair that went midway down her back, framing a face with rougher features. With her short, stocky build, Maege was surely not of those southron beauties. But the kindness and strength that radiated from her did more than makeup for that.
She was smart and decisive. and took crap from no one. The people loved her and she loved them back. One needed only to see the way she interacted with her children and husband to grasp the kind of person Maege Mormont was. And despite being old enough to be her much older brother, at least mentally, Beor couldn't help but feel affection and admiration, for the Lady of Bear Island. She was the only one for whom he didn't mind being a child.
He shifted his eyes back to her and said: "Good day to you to mother", an equally warm smile blooming on his face. "Have you been running from your lessons again?" she asked a glint of amusement in her eyes.
" Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he asked, in mock exasperation. " I'm a Mormont of Bear Island, we don't run from anything," he said, puffing his chest.
" Well said, my little bear," she said, the sweetest smile on her face. "I'm off the idea of dragging you to the yard instead, seeing as the maester says you don't have much to learn from. Maybe it'll tickle the bear in you, take you out of that blasted study" She said, carrying to the training yards, going to stand by her husband who greeted her with a warm smile.
" What say you, Beor, fancy trying your hand at being a fighter?" she continued.
Beor thought about it. On the one hand, he did confirm that Jorah did try to manipulate him, as laughably stupid and clumsy of an attempt it was. That aside. he couldn't do much as he is now. he was just about to turn five years old. and wasn't free to explore the island and figure out what resources he could exploit in the short term. "Might as pick up a new skill in the meantime, one never knows enough, I say", he thought to himself.
A beaming smile on his face, he turned to face her and said: "Yes mother, I think I'd like that."
Sorry if this chapter is a bit ramble-y. I'm still trying to get my stride in writing and it's not easy to keep an outline in my head. I wish I could make it of better quality, but as I stated multiple times, I write this on my phone, when I have the time.
now to answer some questions. Some of you have mentioned the fact that Maege never married and the whole bear thing. That's actually where this story came from. I doubt that she had sex with an actual bear, which is why I made Torrhen a bear-shaped person. He is massive, burly, and moody with a short temper unless it comes to Maege. He sees his children with her more as young nobles he has to protect with his life than his actual kids.
As for Beor, yes he will grow up to be a massive man himself, and if you've seen the Hobbit, you know he might even get to be more than that. And yeah I kinda threw a few digs at those fanfictions where the mc comes in and just revolutionizes everything in a matter of years. Whilst I'm not trying to be too realistic, I don't want him to just even gunpowder out of nowhere. the infrastructure for progress is just as if not more important than the progress itself.