Chapter 30: Who Dares to Be More Miserable Than Me?
Daenerys nodded. A good horse cost at least one gold dragon, not to mention the cost of gear, daily feeding, and care. Without steady resources, ordinary mercenaries could never afford to maintain a horse.
"Knights, however, are more complicated," Jorah continued. "Typically, a boy aspiring to become a knight would begin as a page around the age of seven, serving a knight. Pages would perform light duties like pouring wine and running errands, tasks that allowed them to form a close bond with their mentor.
"Of course, this stage isn't devoid of martial training. Swordmasters often teach pages the basics of combat. As the boy grows older, around the age of 12, he transitions into a squire. At this stage, the knight personally trains him in the use of weapons and horseback techniques, while also sharing battlefield survival skills.
"Chivalry is another significant aspect of their education.
"Squires also have the duty—and privilege—of accompanying knights into battle. Preparing their armor and horses, fighting alongside them—this process allows squires to learn more advanced warfare skills. That is, if their knight has any worth teaching.
"However, many squires remain squires for life because they cannot afford their own horse and armor."
Daenerys clicked her tongue. "Their knights can't gift them a set of armor and a horse?"
Jorah looked at her deeply, his face tinged with self-mockery. "Because I repeatedly lost my armor and horses in tournaments, I soon exhausted my savings. I had no choice but to borrow heavily from the Iron Bank of Braavos. Bear Island may be a noble house with a history spanning thousands of years, but even I—a landed lord—was drowning in debt."
"I heard the Lannisters lent the Usurper millions of gold dragons," Daenerys added.
"That much?" Jorah was skeptical but soon shook his head with a sigh. "There's an old saying in Westeros: 'Tywin Lannister shits gold.' Nobles aren't all the same. The Westerlands are rich in mountains, and many of those mountains hide inexhaustible veins of gold and silver."
Ah, so that's what it means to "own a mine," Daenerys thought. "Go on," she prompted with a nod.
"Go on with what? About knights or my story?" Jorah licked his lips. He had been talking for so long that his mouth felt dry.
"Knights first," Daenerys said.
"Any knight can knight another. When a knight deems a squire ready, they will place a sword on the kneeling squire's shoulder and loudly declare the squire's name and family lineage.
"The ceremony is more elaborate than I've described. The newly knighted individual is anointed with holy oil by a septon and must spend a night in a sept, a symbolic act of devotion to the Seven. This is why Northern nobles, who follow the Old Gods, rarely become knights."
"So you're a fake knight?" Daenerys tilted her head at him.
Jorah flushed, quickly retorting, "There's no such thing as a 'fake knight.' Northern nobles are recognized as knights even without formal anointing."
He then continued, "However, I am one of the few Northerners who was properly knighted. Beyond the traditional method I just described, there's a faster way to become a knight.
"During wartime, a liege lord can knight someone directly for their contributions. That's how I became a knight."
"For helping the Usurper overthrow House Targaryen?" Daenerys asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, no," Jorah quickly denied. "It was during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion."
Unbeknownst to him, Daenerys, with her current perspective, didn't care about the rebellion that led to her family's downfall. She shifted the topic. "Besides hedge knights, there are also mercenary knights and sworn knights. What's the difference?"
"A sworn knight serves under a noble lord, taking an oath of loyalty. Most of them are minor nobles with the title of knight but no lands.
"I used to be your brother Viserys's sworn knight. Later, I became yours, and eventually, you honored me by naming me to your Queensguard."
Daenerys rolled her eyes internally. You practically begged to be Viserys's sworn knight, and later, you volunteered to join my Queensguard. When I was testing the idea of bloodriders, you seized the opportunity for yourself.
Unaware of her thoughts, Jorah continued earnestly. "Great lords often hire hedge knights to patrol their lands. Hedge knights are more flexible and cost-effective than sworn knights, who require lifelong service."
He sighed deeply, his expression darkening. "I went bankrupt. I couldn't even pay the wages of my cooks and minstrels. When Lynesse learned I was considering pawning her jewelry, she..."
Jorah's voice faltered. "For money, to keep Lynesse's jewels, singers, and chefs, I...
"My hired knights caught some peasants poaching on my lands. According to tradition, their punishment would have been to lose a hand or take the black and join the Night's Watch. But for the sake of money, I abandoned my honor completely.
"I sold them to Tyroshi slavers. This violated the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, where slavery is forbidden under the Faith of the Seven."
"You were exiled for that? Isn't that too harsh? Couldn't they have fined you or issued a warning instead?" Daenerys asked.
"Exile was actually more honorable—and more merciful. What I committed was a capital crime, punishable by death," Jorah replied grimly.
"Oh..."
"According to the laws of the First Men, Eddard Stark would have had to personally preside over my trial. After hearing my final confession, he would have had to personally execute me with Ice, his greatsword."
Daenerys fell silent, absorbing his words.
(Ice: The ancestral sword of House Stark, made of Valyrian steel. It is used by the lord to execute criminals—nobles and commoners alike may equally face its blade.)
Daenerys glanced at the crude map of Westeros Jorah had scratched onto the stone slab. "Winterfell seems quite far from Bear Island," she remarked. "You ran away?"
"Roughly a thousand kilometers," Jorah replied. "Riding hard and switching horses, you could reach the coast in two days and Bear Island by the third. But three days was plenty for me—plenty of time to escape with Lynesse and her jewels."
"If I remember correctly, you're the only son of House Mormont," Daenerys said.
Jorah nodded. "Yes, my father had only me as an heir. I do have an aunt, but all five of her children are daughters."
"Your father took the black, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"And you once served as Eddard Stark's guard and fought in the Usurper's War?" Daenerys asked.
"I also fought in the Battle of the Trident," Jorah added softly, his voice carrying a mixture of caution and subtle pride, like a breeze brushing against one's cheek.
"You risked your life for Winterfell for so many years—fighting rebellions, following him into betrayal—and yet, because of a few poachers, he was willing to execute the last male heir of House Mormont?" Daenerys asked, her tone even but laden with complexity.
"That's just the kind of man Stark is," Jorah said bitterly. It was clear he still resented the severity of his liege lord's judgment.
After a moment, he sighed and added, "But I suppose that's part of his rare charm: fairness, integrity, and holding both himself and others to the same exacting standards."
Charm? Daenerys thought with a touch of sarcasm. True charm would be holding oneself to strict standards while being lenient with others.
Jorah's plight would be inconceivable in any dynasty of Daenerys's homeland. His case went beyond impartiality. Even the sternest judges had moments of mercy. Without such moments, how could the legendary heroes of justice survive to tell their tales? It seemed to Daenerys that Eddard Stark lived far too comfortably and was far too rigid in his ways.
She mused, Does ruling a kingdom in this world come so easily? House Stark acts this way, yet the North remains stable. And how did the Targaryens lose their throne? Could this body's father, the "Mad King" Aerys, have been more reckless than Stark?
Heavens preserve us, she thought bitterly. These people lack the cunning and strategy I've read about, yet their kingdoms endure for centuries. Were the emperors of my homeland to know this, they'd be green with envy.
In truth, it wasn't all Westerosi nobility that lacked cunning. Families like the Lannisters, Tyrells, and Martells were as skilled in intrigue as any monarch from her homeland.
"All right, continue," she said finally, realizing how much she still had to learn. This world's rules of survival differed too greatly from the ones she knew.
I'll have to adapt, she thought. Though true change might only come when my dragons are so powerful that no crossbow could kill them—or perhaps I should clad them in full armor like Westerosi knights?
Her mind wandered as Jorah kept speaking. "I told myself that as long as Lynesse and I truly loved each other, nothing else mattered—not honor, status, homeland, title, or family. I took her to Lys. We sold the ship and lived lavishly for half a year."
The moment Jorah mentioned "true love," Daenerys knew tragedy was coming.
Sure enough, his bear-like, fierce eyes turned red, glistening with unshed tears. His rugged, square-jawed face twisted into an expression of pure misery.
"I had no skills besides fighting wars," Jorah continued bitterly. "I became a sellsword. One day, I took on a mission that required me to leave Lys and travel thousands of miles to the Rhoyne to battle Braavosi over land disputes.
"I left her the deposit and gave her my earnings. The day after I departed, she took the gold, her jewels, and moved into the bedchamber of Triarch Tregar Ormollen, a merchant prince."
How tragic.
Daenerys couldn't help but see the word miserable practically stamped across Jorah's broad face, replacing the word suffering.
In the original story, the Daenerys he loved and served so devotedly would later only ever regard him as a friend, constantly handing him the metaphorical "nice guy" card. And yet...
If Jorah Mormont were to step forward and loudly declare, Who dares to be more miserable than me?! Daenerys thought hard and could only imagine Theon Greyjoy sheepishly muttering, Maybe I can just barely reach your ankles.
Of course, Daenerys herself, as the one trapped within these unfolding events, failed to see that there was someone whose misery far surpassed Jorah's—herself.
(End of Chapter)
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