Breaker, Broken | Jorah Mormont

Chapter 10

She was part of the fight now.

Saera and Jorah against five men. A Meereenese, a Dothraki, a Braavosi, a Summer Islander, and a Northern wilding.

Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

"What are you doing?" cried Jorah as she swung her spear right into the Meereenese Champion's head, helping the Dothraki warrior as Ser Jorah was attacked by the Braavosi.

"I am not letting you die for this!" said Saera, twirling the spear and stabbing the Dothraki warrior in the throat and swinging herself on the spear as he fell to kick the Meereenese, knocking him to the floor.

He caught her leg, bringing her down with him. She threw the arakh and spear side, clawing at his face and kicking like a feral cat as he headbutted her when tried to reach for his sword. Her vision blurred, ears ringing and arms feeling weak. Instead, she waited for him to lift his body, grabbing her knife and tilting it up just enough to stab into his gut. He stabbed the sword into the dirt right beside her head, giving her an open to flip them over, landing on top of him and stabbing the knife as hard as she could into his skull.

She ripped it back out, staggering to her feet. She threw the knife at the Northern wilding, who was locked in battle with the Summer Islander, nicking his arm and giving the latter the advantage he needed to slit the wildling's throat.

Ser Jorah was on the ground several feet away, having been hit hard in the face with the end of the Bravoosi's much larger and heavier spear. He struggled to get back up as Saera stepped over the now-dead Dothraki, picking her spear back up to challenge the Summer Islander, who bared his teeth like a rat.

He was much faster than the bulkier Meereenese man, and certainly wearing more armor than the Dothraki had been. She tried to think of it as another practice session. She'd fought large and small men, slow and quick men, bare and fully-armored men. This was no different.

This, she had to win.

She charged, slamming her spear upward, measuring how fast he responded, and whether his sword got caught against her spear or not. It was a very thin blade, easily locking into the small crevices made on her spear over time. If she got it in just the right spot, he'd not be able to move his sword off as easily– he'd need to slide it down or up to release it.

Saera heard Jorah's grunts, watched him be choked from the corner of her eye. She couldn't afford to let it hinder her progress. The Summer Islander was twirling his sword almost as fast as she spun her spear around her body, turning lightly on her feet like a dancer, confusing him and striking at the perfect moment. She thrust the spear into his face, and it seemed this angle was perfect– his blade got stuck against a broken piece of wood on the hilt.

She swung the spear back toward herself, pulling him and the snagged sword close enough that she could grip its hilt over his hand, pushing it into his shoulder as she headbutted him, then ripped the sword away, leaving him weaponless and at her mercy. She threw the spear right into his chest, and he fell just as Ser Jorah bested the Braavosi, mouth and cheek bleeding, but otherwise fairly unharmed.

"Come here," she said, catching him as he stumbled, holding his head. She used her sleeve to wipe the blood off, eyebrows furrowing as he reached out to touch her nose, the stinging only just becoming noticeable. Once she headbutted someone, once she was headbutted. Like a fool, she broke her nose.

"Why would you do that?" he said, the gate opening behind them. Two more fighters had been released, each holding swords.

She stared at him and smiled. "What, you really think I'd let you die when I've yet to confirm if you're in love with me or not?"