"Lord Mormont." Euron Greyjoy had said with a disturbingly warm grin.
"There is a saying in Yi Ti. "Even the finest sword plunged into salt water will eventually rust." I bring up this particular topic because I find it an apt comparison to that of man."
Greyjoy's teeth flashed white against his curled blue lips. The one-eyed man was incredibly calm as he spoke. As if he were explaining a punishment to a naughty child. "And you see, Lord Mormont… I intend to find out exactly just how much you can rust before you break…"
The Northern Mountains
298 AC - Four Moons Earlier
The wind was almost deafening in his ears…
Its soaring and howling blast of icy cold air had even taken the feeling out of the flesh on his bearded face. It felt as if the blood flowing beneath his skin had begun flowing in frosted chunks…
And then there was the snow that had gradually built upon his shoulders and head. The damnable blizzard had not ceased since he'd arrived at the Wall…
In fact… It had seemed to have gotten much worse.
Despite these apparent misfortunes, Starag Mormont was anything but miserable as he trotted along up the mountain path on the back of his sturdy warhorse, Bear.
The great beast also hadn't really cared about the state of the weather. They'd both been through far worse together.
Mormont himself was in one of the happiest moods he'd been in for some time. It had been a good while since he'd traveled anywhere north of Queenscrown or Bear Island, and the howling winds and threat of a slow, chilling death had excited his nerves.
Naturally, he had been looking forward to any little bit of excitement he could get outside of his ancestral home. The letter from his father, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night's Watch, had been a blessing of sorts…
He could even remember the immense feeling of head-splitting relief that had flooded his mind when he'd gotten the now burnt scrap of paper.
A feeling, which was immediately followed by an inkling of impending doom…
Each and every word on the hastily scrawled page had replayed itself to him…
Son,
I recall that you once told me of this… dream you seemed so bloody convinced about…
I did not believe you then, and even now, I don't quite buy everything you've said.
However, strange circumstances have come to my attention at the Wall. A band of wildlings has taken shelter in Westwatch-By-The-Bridge. Ser Endrew Tarth, the Commander of the castle, has allowed them to stay there for the time being.
That event itself is an anomaly. But Commander Tarth also reported strange behavior from the wildlings…
They spoke of a hoard of dead men who raided their village on the Frozen Shore. Walking corpses with glowing blue eyes, just like you spoke of… After they escaped on a boat, they decided to take their chances with the Night's Watch.
I don't believe any of it. Sounds like a trap. Or perhaps it was another tribe of wildlings that raided their village. Yet Tarth was steadfast about how… genuine these wildlings were. They even threw their weapons off the Bridge of Skulls to prove themselves…
That, and apparently, they've also brought not only children but the old and sick with them as well…
I don't like any of it, son. But I don't know everything. And because you once warned me that something like this might happen… I need your help.
I know you're not beholden to me or the Night's Watch, however, there are no other men I trust more than you and Benjen Stark.
I cannot leave Castle Black myself, as some of the other officers are demanding we march on Westwatch and send the wildlings back to Mance Rayder himself in pieces… It's a matter I must deal with personally.
If you will do this for me, please burn this letter after reading it. If word of this gets out, I don't think the Night's Watch will be able to quell the chaos…
I'll have sent Benjen to the Shadow Tower by the time you receive this letter. Meet him along the way, aid him in his investigation, and if possible, find out what really happened to that fishing village…
If not, burn it anyway and speak nothing more of the matter.
Winter is coming, son…
And I pray to the Old Gods every day, that we might be ready for it.
Your Father,
Jeor Mormont, 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch
Starag Mormont did not often consider his father to be particularly good at writing…
But whatever was going on, it must have spooked him enough to contact his youngest son personally. There was precious little in the world that could make Jeor Mormont "worry" about a group of wildlings…
The letter had been written so well and so... convincingly that he doubted it was by Maester Aemon's hand. That, and it had his father's signature messy handwriting.
No, this situation definitely tossed up the bird's nest at Castle Black.
And fair enough. Even Starag had not heard of wildlings having ever willingly taken shelter with the Night's Watch. Not once. Not ever.
The whole matter was so extremely odd that he just had to leave Bear Keep, ride down to his ship with his best fifteen men-at-arms, and sail across the Bay of Ice to the Northern Mountains to meet Benjen Stark halfway.
Which, he had successfully done at The Shadow Tower.
Benjen had been kind and welcoming, though he certainly was not in the mood to meet these particular wildlings, as it could all just be a trap specifically for Benjen. He was apparently well-hated among the "Free Folk" beyond the Wall.
And now, as they rode together through the intense flurry of wind and snow, both men had obviously kept silent to themselves.
They felt the presence of their combined force of thirty men-at-arms behind them, also climbing up the mountain on horseback.
Mormont tended to stay away from the black brothers of the Night's Watch, and he'd only ever speak with Benjen. The rest of them could fall off a bridge for all he cared.
It was his own men that Starag had felt concern over. At least the kind of concern that a parent has for their child who's all grown up now…
His men were trained hard by the master-at-arms in Bear Keep, Ormand Blackbeard. He was a hard taskmaster like Arthur and even Mormont himself, and he kept the men busy despite his much older age of sixty-three.
The lot that Ormand had assigned him was supposedly his pride and joy among the guardsmen of House Mormont. The best of the best. "They won't let you down. Good men, all of them." He'd said to Mormont before he'd ridden out. "If it comes to it, they'll lay down their lives to see you get away to safety."
Starag was grateful for his old friend's care in choosing his escorts. He'd reminded himself that he'd have to have Ormand's granddaughter become a lady-in-waiting for one of his own cousins.
But that line of thought had quickly faded from his mind…
Soon, another question had taken its place in his musings…
What would he do after this?
There were few projects for him to personally undertake these days…
Especially with Dacey and Arthur essentially operating independently in Westhelm, the young sprawling port city that lay on the northwestern coast of Sea Dragon Point. Not that they would disregard his commands or wishes, but that it was simply more efficient for everyone involved if Mormont gave them a task, rather than coming down from Bear Keep himself.
Not to mention, Alysane had proved to be rather efficient herself when it came to watching over the currently growing settlements along the Stony Shore since his house had gained those lands in the past two years or so…
Soon enough, more and more of his days were filled up with terribly dull amounts of paperwork in his office. Split between equally dull but warming times with his family…
The lordly life he'd once thought of as a grand challenge, a complete upending of his usual barbaric lifestyle had soon become boring and monotonous, as it likely always had been from the start.
He supposed it wasn't all that bad… There were around 350,000 gold dragons accumulated in his holdings last he checked. And that was just a rough estimate. There were probably thousands more that he'd not counted.
For the first time in… Well, at all… House Mormont was the richest house in the North. Through no small amount of accomplishment on his part, and on the parts of his family. They'd absolutely pulled their weight.
Yet… Mormont did not feel content with his victory over poverty… Just like he did not feel wholly satisfied after a light meal, or how he would always pick up newer women while out in White Harbor, Oldtown, Westhelm, and Lannisport, even if none of them would ever compare to his wife…
As the years had passed, Starag Mormont felt less and less like a man living on the edge of life, like he was constantly sitting atop a cushion. His life was soft and pliable now.
Of course, he did not give up his training routines. Every morning he got up for a good run and some swimming- if he could manage the freezing Bay of Ice for a few minutes.
And Arthur Dayne certainly hadn't gone any softer on him in the training yard. They were far closer than ever, and the Sword of the Morning had become a regular occurrence throughout his days and weeks.
More often than not, it was every morning that the two men had risen before dawn and had clashed blades. It felt more mandatory than ever since it was more out of habit than need for the two of them at this point…
What was waiting for them? What was going to try to kill them in the near future? The stuffed and comfortable delights of the dinner table? Not likely...
Each and every day that had passed since his vision back in the Water Gardens had made him wonder just when the Others would show up. Or if they would appear at all for that matter…
Or if they even existed...
Mormont sneered at himself. He should've been grateful for the things he had. A good keep, wonderful family, and plenty of wealth to spare…
Relax, Mormont. Stop being so damnably macabre. You're worried you've gone soft with all the gifts and the easy life the Old Gods have given you, and now, once again, you simply want a taste of the gamble, the risk… You want to go back to living on the edge just for one more day…
That was why he was out trekking up this bloody mountain pass next to the gargantuan wall of ice. Not because of some obligation to his father or the Night's Watch, but because deep down, Starag Mormont wanted to feel alive again.
He'd simply missed the risk of it all far too much. This intriguing plot of wildlings mysteriously showing up at Westwatch was the perfect bait for him- let alone Benjen Stark- and he'd knowingly eaten it hook line and sinker.
This simple hike had already brought back many warm memories of his lonely travels in his youth…
And yet…
He could feel the bitter reminder that it would all be over very soon. Too soon for Starag Mormont… He wasn't meant to die in his bed… He was meant to die with his sword in hand, fighting to the last…
There were no more traces of daylight behind the dark grey screen of wind and snow, so as soon as he'd trotted around a particularly thick crevice of the wall, he knew that it was brimming torchlight that he saw behind small glass windows of the keep just up ahead…
Westwatch-By-The-Bridge was one of the first abandoned castles along the Wall to be repaired after Eddard Stark had personally undertaken what was often called the "Reconstruction" of the Wall.
Seeing as it was the westernmost keep, and how it guarded central and important positions such as the Gorge and the Bridge of Skulls, Ned had thought it fitting to be one of the first castles to be repaired and remanned in over a hundred years…
Its walls were squat and square, but also surprisingly tall. All of them were made of thick gray granite stone. And the keep itself was a tall and cylindrical, with part of it being built against the Wall itself…
Mormont knew it held at least three hundred men. There were likely more seeing as it was far more important than the Shadow Tower now.
As they came up over the rise, just barely in the distance could Mormont make out the beginnings of the Bridge of Skulls. Benjen had waved his hand toward the front gate of the castle, which was made primarily from pinewood.
Starag simply nodded, and gestured for the shorter man to lead the way…
Soon enough, he'd be sitting in front of a fire with a good cup of warm coffee in his hands…
Mormont just hoped that they had honey…