The White Knife

300 AC

Mormont woke precisely an hour before dawn.

Through the fur flaps of his tent, he'd barely spotted the dying embers of the fire that they'd held the night before. It was smoking now since there was no early morning wind in the forest.

Soon though, Mormont knew they'd be subjected to the blisteringly cold coastal waves of the Narrow Sea. It had only been a few weeks since they left Winterfell, and they'd be arriving in White Harbor today.

A few days after today, and then they'd be sailing out of the Bite and along the coast of the Vale of Arryn heading straight for Runestone-Mormont had already worked out their voyage with both Ned and Jon-and if the winds were kind, perhaps Gulltown. Then they'd make for Claw Isle, Duskendale, and finally, King's Landing. Though Mormont knew that most of their destinations would pass by in the blink of an eye. They'd barely stay for half a day as it would only take them a week's worth of sailing to make it to the capital.

He stuffed those thoughts away in the back of his mind for now. At this very moment, he was awake, and that meant only one thing.

Training.

Mormont glanced down at the softly sleeping young woman who had burrowed herself into his neck and chest. Rhaenys had wanted to come along for the ride to White Harbor, though she would be staying in the North once he'd begun sailing down South.

Mormont smiled briefly at the sleeping girl in his arms and gently kissed her forehead. As if she were conscious, a beaming, almost dreamy grin adorned her lips in response.

He carefully slid his way out of the bundles of fur and linen. She didn't wake. Once he was on his feet, he covered her up with the rest of the blankets so she wouldn't get cold. He left Longclaw just within arm's reach of her. Even so, she wouldn't need it unless they were suddenly attacked by grumpkins or snarks.

Feeling the chill of the morning himself, he hastily put on his trousers and slipped on his shirt. After tucking on his leather boots, Mormont allowed the ice to pour into his mind, switching to that of the professional.

Mormont looked at a large wooden box that lay vertically in the corner of his tent. He gripped it by the handle and lifted it easily off the ground. He smirked as he knew that the box itself probably weighed more than the weapon within. He then plucked a large green apple from a small pack of food they'd taken from their supply wagon.

Mormont walked briskly out of his tent and into the full blast of the cool morning air. It was snowing only lightly, but it would probably get cloudy later on as the day progressed. He looked around the campgrounds and picked out about seven men who had taken the night watch. There were eight more who were also roaming the grounds out of his sight.

The other two large fur tents had remained undisturbed. One belonged to Ned, and the other to Jon and Margaery-who had also wanted to see Jon off before she returned to Queenscrown.

He knew Jon would be rising in perhaps an hour or so to begin training himself. Mormont wanted to make it back in time for a good sparring session, so he pressed forward and strode out of the main circle and into the large encampment of assorted House Mormont and House Stark men-at-arms. He nodded to the men who were still awake when they greeted him with, "Good Morning, Lord Mormont." They said nothing about the large wooden case he held in his right hand.

Mormont was soon out of the clearing. He walked up to Bear, who nickered softly in his direction. He was stabled with the rest of the horses belonging to the company. Morning, boss. The large beady brown eyes had greeted him. They then narrowed greedily on the apple in Mormont's left hand. That for me?

"Of course," Mormont held out the apple to his horse, who had gently bit down on the green core and furled it into his mouth. The gratifying crunch! of fresh fruit was satisfying to Mormont's ears. "Need you to take me somewhere very private today. I've got to get some more practice in."

Bear eyed the pine-brown case with unease. Just don't burn down the whole forest, alright?

Mormont snorted. Most of the time, his horse had a sort of god complex. Then again, he couldn't exactly blame Bear for being uncomfortable around the weapon in the wooden box.

"Deal."

They rode out of the clearing and into the forest. Hooves clopped against hardened snow, and the wind rushed by them and blew Mormont's charcoal black hair backward as they accelerated through the trees and brush.

The pair had made it about five miles north of the encampment, in a large grove where there was nothing but pine and fir trees for miles. It was as if they'd found themselves in an endless maze.

Mormont brought Bear to a halt and inspected the place. It looked rather isolated. That was good. Hopefully, nobody else comes here for the next few weeks…

Mormont slid off Bear's saddle and took hold of the wooden box. He looked at his horse and smiled. "Go back the way we came. I'll whistle."

Bear looked almost relieved. Just be careful, boss. And with that, he turned back around and galloped away out of sight.

Starag Mormont watched the line of trees for his horse. Once he was sure Bear was gone, he put the wooden case on the ground and gently opened the two clip-locks that held both sides of the box together.

Slowly, almost reverently, Mormont opened the fifty-five-inch-long case. He looked down at the gleaming smoky steel shaft wrapped in boiled black leather. The Valyrian Steel handle took on a sort of dim gold color, but it would turn darker once it got more exposure to the sun.

The shaft was about forty-and-a-half inches long, just over three feet-which was the length of Longclaw's blade.

The head of the axe was split between a large square-like hammer's head and an axe blade into a sort of hybrid between the two. It was technically a splitting maul, except that both the hammer-head and the axe-head were enlarged and absurdly wide. It was set in dark silver, unlike the shaft. But it too was also made of Valyrian Steel.

When Mormont had first received the weapon from Tobho Mott after reforging the Valyrian Steel-from some spare weapons he'd picked up in Valyria-for about nine days, he hadn't initially believed that the weapon was usable. After all, he'd simply picked up the schematic for the axe from the Grand Forges in Old Valyria. The Dragonlords must've been off their rocker when they thought this one up.

The hammer-head simply appeared to be far too bulky. It looked more like a hindrance than a benefit.

But after seeing Tobho Mott hold it in both hands-the smith was lean, but he wasn't at all muscled like a man-at-arms-Mormont's mind had swiftly changed. Valyrian Steel was known for being far lighter than normal castle-forged steel. And so, the oddly imposing but absurd design would work to his advantage.

But it was not the weapon itself that he was required to practice with. Mormont had already been adept with axes and hammers in his youth and had only mastered the sword as he got older. It was the charming series of runic letters that were etched into the head of the axe that was the present challenge.

After taking the weapon from Tobho Mott, Mormont had gone to the Isle of Faces in the Gods Eye, as per the instructions he'd received from his god. It was there he had met a small urchin-like creature with large bug-like green eyes and tanned brown skin.

"We have been waiting for you, Tempest." The Child had said ominously. Mormont had immediately taken notice of her two three-fingered hands. "You have brought a gift, yes? A sign from He Who Rules The Sky?"

Mormont nodded and pulled back the sleeve of his right arm, showing off the sapphire blue boxes and squares that were tattooed onto his skin.

The Child had grinned playfully, jumping up on both of her feet and treading over to him. She was practically half his height, but she simply marveled at the patterns on his skin. "He blesses you with his power. You are his tool, his… Champion." She said reverently. Then she turned around and clucked her large teeth together. "Come, and bring your symbol. We have much to do."

What followed was two hours of chanting and druidic ceremony by the Children of the Forest-who hadn't at all met Mormont's expectations from the stories he'd heard about them as a boy. He was sorely disappointed to find that they were probably shorter than Howland Reed, just below four feet tall.

His disappointment had been short-lived when, for all the marvels he'd witnessed up until that point, they had returned his axe to him. This time, runes and symbols had been etched into the Valyrian Steel. Some of them, Mormont knew, was the same runic language that belonged to the First Men. The others were indecipherable, but they matched some of the dotted patterns on the nut-brown skin of the Children of the Forest.

"The runes are enchanted. You can channel His power into this weapon. The words themselves are simple, as we have taken them from your people. The rest are from our people. They speak the same phrase."

Mormont raised a curious eyebrow. "What does it say in the common tongue?"

"Here I Stand,"

He didn't ask how they were able to carve runes and letters into Valyrian Steel-which was practically indestructible. Neither did he ask how the Children knew the words of his House, even if they'd purposely altered it from "Here We Stand" to "Here I Stand" Mormont simply took his new weapon and left.

Mormont had called the axe 'Tempest' to keep it simple and left it at that. And until now, he'd only ever used it once-to cut down a tree on Bear Island, just to satisfy his curiosity about how many swings it would take.

The blade had cut through the wood like it was paper. But it was the surprise blast of lightning that finished it off-and that nearly burned down the forest if Mormont hadn't been next to a running stream. So, in effect, one swing was all it took.

Now, as Mormont stood in the wide open clearing, he gripped the shaft of the axe tight in his right palm. It weighed about as much as a large mallet despite the impractical dimensions of the twin axe and hammer heads. Longclaw held similar traits. It was far lighter than a standard castle-forged longsword, almost a few pounds heavier than a big hunting knife.

Mormont remembered the last time he'd used his… abilities. Inside the pit of the First Flame in Valyria. Then, he'd been near the brink of death-and he remembered the amount of strain it had taken him to summon lightning at will. He realized that training with this magic would be akin to training one's muscles-one had to stress them out in order to grow stronger.

But just what would he be able to do? And was the magic limited only to his imagination? What would be a good place to start without burning down the whole forest or causing a freak storm to blanket the North?

In a matter of moments, the answer came to him. It was in the form of a childish dream, of magically summoning things to one's hand. Telekinesis was the term that the Maester's had for it.

Starag had thought of it as a boy when he was in the practice yard with Jorah many many years ago. When his older brother had knocked the wooden sword clean out of his hands, Mormont had only thought of summoning it back to his palm in an instant, if only so he wouldn't have to face the righteous bragging from Jorah about who was better with the sword.

Mormont briefly wondered how that old memory had surfaced in reply to his inner question. Then he recalled the words of the Children of the Forest. "The runes are enchanted. You can channel His power into this weapon."

Perhaps… Could he do it? There was only one way to find out.

Mormont held Tempest with both hands and lifted it over his head in the traditional axe-throwing stance. He then flicked his hands forward, letting the warm leather shaft leave his grip and explode outward into the trees. Tempest had rotated twice before it landed square in the base of a massive fir tree perhaps thirty-five feet away from him. Even from that far of a distance, he saw that the axe blade had bitten into the wood right to the base. The hammerhead had glared right back at him.

Mormont extended his right arm and opened his hand in the direction of the massive axe. He channeled his will into the blue angular lines along his arm and felt them light up with a burning blue glow. Small sparks of electricity had begun to crackle and pop along his forearm and chest.

After a few moments, Mormont had felt the oncoming ache of his muscles and mind. His whole body felt like it was in motion like he was running along the walls of Winterfell or Bear Keep. His heartbeat had gotten faster and sweat beaded down his brow.

Keep going. It may feel strange and new, but it's just like training a muscle. He told himself. Mormont persisted, imagining the axe lodging itself out of the tree and flying into his hand. While also trying to avoid the personal embarrassment of himself straining his body while standing in the same position.

Mormont ignored the quiet voice that told him to stop. More minutes passed, and the sky had turned from purple to dark pink and then orange. All the while, he felt the inward pressure, the pain in his muscles and nerves slackening, and the heat of his body beginning to flush throughout his senses.

That was when he saw the shaft of the axe move. It shifted back and forth only a few inches, but that was precisely the momentum Mormont needed. He grinned into the discomfort. Come to me. Come here. To my hand.

Tempest dislodged fully out of the fir tree. It fell to the hard snow with a loud DING! Mormont saw the faint blue glow of the runes along the head of the weapon. Yes, that's right! Come here!

As if waiting for encouragement, Tempest immediately picked up into the air and flew over to him, crossing the distance between himself and the oak tree in less than five seconds. Mormont nearly stepped back as Tempest landed squarely in his palm. The glowing blue runes had purred, making the weapon hum as if it were alive-a living and breathing entity.

Mormont let himself relax, allowing himself to catch his breath and feel the cool forest air enter his lungs. His whole body felt as if he were on fire. It was difficult to imagine how he'd gotten a few hours' worth of exercise only by standing still with his arm outstretched. Then again, he supposed that magic itself had the tendency to defy one's expectations. His astonishment at summoning his own weapon to his hand was superseded by the disappointment that it hadn't been fast enough. Three-four seconds would've been more than enough time for a man to run him through or injure his arm, or worse yet-sever it completely.

He supposed the amount of time it would take was chalked up to the distance. How far the weapon was thrown would also play a role in that equation. Yet Mormont knew he could always get better-and faster-with practice.

And that was precisely what he'd planned to do.

Though his whole body had pulsed and creaked as though he'd trained for hours, Mormont held the axe over his head and threw it back out into the forest, this time sending it beyond the oak tree.

It landed with a satisfying DONG! Tempest lay on a cluster of snow-covered rocks perhaps over fifty feet away from a first glance.

Mormont held out his arm again and smiled. Once more, the boxes and squares on his skin had pulsated to life and he willed Tempest to come to his hand.

Tempest obeyed much faster than before. It had taken a few minutes before the large axe shot toward him from its position on the rocks. The impact in his hand was sharper, but more satisfying since it was faster. Still, it wasn't fast enough.

For a third time, Mormont hefted up the axe and threw it farther. This time it landed almost out of his sight by a small frozen pond.

Mormont grinned and wiped away the sweat from his brow. Time to get to work.


A warm feeling had entered Mormont's belly upon seeing the white stone citadel of White Harbor.

Beyond the rows of birch and oak trees, he could see the sleek towering keep of New Castle-the seat of House Manderly. It was a more imperial-looking kind of architecture. Far different from the cottage and homely feel of Bear Keep and Frostgate. At the same time, Mormont could smell the rich spices that had come from the other side of the Narrow Sea-from the Free Cities of Pentos, Braavos, and Tyrosh.

There was plenty of gold swimming in White Harbor. With the North taking its Navy much more seriously in the last six years, House Stark now had its own fleet of perhaps over one hundred war galleys-with half being kept in White Harbor and the other half in Westhelm. That didn't include the separate navy forces of both House Manderly and House Mormont.

Mormont's own House had over one-hundred-fifty warships-used to defend the North from potential Ironborn raids. He also had plenty of merchant vessels which did trade with Lannisport, Oldtown, Sunspear, the Summer Islands, and even Essos.

House Manderly probably had just a bit more than he did, though. Since they'd been in the game much longer. But Mormont wasn't about to lose the almost brotherly competition he had with Wyman Manderly. Soon enough, he would catch up to the fat bastard.

"What are you thinking about?" Rhaenys had asked from his side. She was riding Meleys, her Dornish sand steed while he was sitting atop Bear's saddle.

Mormont gave his wife a sideways grin. "I'm thinking we could do with an extended harbor on Bear Island."

Rhaenys beamed as soon as she read his lips. "I know a few lovely spots we could begin construction at on the Western Shore." She added, playing along.

"Not bad…" Mormont nodded. "The eastern front would do much better, though. It would provide protection from the wind, and we can build out toward the Northern Mountains. Take over the Bay of Ice in a year or so."

"Is this part of our Grand Conquest to take over the North?" Rhaenys asked with a delighted laugh. "One ship at a time?"

"Naturally," Mormont chuckled. "It's you and me against them, sweetheart." He said with a sly wink, squeezing her thigh at the same time.

He knew women simply loved hearing that small, seemingly innocent phrase "You and me against the world" Even more so a man meant it. It implied the banishment of loneliness, and the worst existence one could ever live was to truly be alone in this world.

Mormont meant every single word. And Rhaenys knew it. As such, she immediately melted into sweet, blushing laughter.

As for conquering the entire North, Mormont had no personal ambitions in that regard. Eddard Stark was one of his best friends. House Mormont would remain among House Stark's bannermen.

But Mormont wouldn't mind snatching up a few of the smaller houses that fell behind or died out. He could ask Ned to grant him their lands if it made sense, and if there was no proper heir running around.

That likely wouldn't happen anytime soon. Perhaps when Mormont was a pile of bones in the crypt underneath Bear Keep, his descendants would continue the tradition of conquering native and foreign lands-and taking both their gold and their women.

Or perhaps once all was said and done, there might be more opportunity across the Sunset Sea-beyond the great white mist at the edge of the western sea. But that would just have to wait, for Mormont had today's battles to fight. He'd win them so his children and their children after him could take over the Known World one small step at a time.

Their company had slowly approached White Harbor. The massive circular wall of pearly white stone had gotten larger and larger until they came upon the massive oak and steel portcullis. It was called the Forest Gate, for the obviously placed orchard just two hundred feet beyond it.

Mormont pulled up towards the front of the company, riding with both Jon and Ned as they stopped in front of the gate. Even from the other side of the city, Mormont could smell the thick salt breeze of the Bite and the Narrow Sea.

There seemed to be a commotion at the top of the thirty-foot-tall wall of white stone. Mormont, Jon, and Ned all shared mildly curious glances before they looked up and saw the grinning fat face of Wendel Manderly.

"Aha! Lord Stark and Lord Jon! We've been expecting you!" The fat man had greeted them with an ear-to-ear smile, his thick brown mustache had curled excitedly. "And you brought Starag with you! My father will be working the kitchens like a pack of mules!"

It took them only a few minutes to open the gate. Once Mormont and the others were through, they met Wendel with a squadron of men-at-arms on horseback.

"My lord," Wendel bowed to Ned again. "We have taken most delicate care of your ship and have readied it for your voyage South. It is not of our own making, but it will fly fast, faster than most vessels I should think."

Ned's personal ship had not been built by House Manderly-though they would've loved the honor to do so. Neither had Mormont ordered its construction. In fact, the ship itself was none other than the Silence, Euron Greyjoy's former ship which Mormont had taken as a spoil of war only a year ago. Since then, Ned had accepted the gift and had the galley stripped of any remnants of the Ironborn, had the hull painted Stark grey, replaced the mouthless figurehead with a large iron direwolf, and installed two more square-rigged sails. Besides Mormont's own ship, The Maiden Fair, and House Manderly's brigantine The Waking Serpent, the Silence was quite possibly the fastest ship in the North.

"You have my thanks, Ser Wendel." Ned smiled. "You'll be happy to know that your niece is coming along quite well. Wynafred is as healthy as can be last I saw her."

Wendel laughed. "As she should! I expect my brother's lady wife-Leona-would ride down to Winterfell and whip her daughter if she was not!" He said. "But let us talk of food, women, and of gambling! For there are no greater pleasures in life than the delights of our table and our appetites!"

Mormont felt a surge of affection for the fat Northman with his large brown mustache. Just like old times. He thought to himself.

Wendel led them onto the Searoad-the main street in White Harbor that went all the way to the Seal Gate on the other side of the city. During the fat man's impromptu tour, many of the smallfolk they'd passed by had stopped to watch the progression of House Stark and Mormont men-at-arms. They smiled and bowed to Ned in subservience.

Soon enough, they turned left onto the Castleroad, which led straight to New Castle-the seat of House Manderly. Almost as if they'd been prepared, there were more and more rows of smallfolk throwing out winter roses to the procession, almost as if this whole entrance was right out of a fairy tale.

Jon smiled at him. "Think he accidentally let the word out to the whole city that we'd be here?"

Mormont smirked knowingly. "I'm not sure what Wyman would stand to gain by buttering up his liege lord. His granddaughter is the wife to the heir of Winterfell."

"Well, he's certainly done a good job so far, I'll tell you that." Ned cut in. He was not normally one for ceremonies and such, as Ned Stark had once been a quiet, unassuming young man who had fostered in the Vale of Arryn. Almost the complete opposite of Mormont, who had spent a significant portion of his upbringing in Winterfell with the proud and hot-blooded Brandon Stark.

Now, Ned was practically forced to wave at his own people, who were now cheering for him as they progressed up the Castleroad. And he found himself enjoying it, even giving them a small smile in return. Were he any younger, Mormont swore that he might've blushed.

No doubt these people also had their own reasons for showing their gratitude to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. The North had positively boomed in the last decade under his rule. The Kingsroad was always safe with a Stark in Winterfell, there was more gold in circulation than ever before, food and shelter were more abundant than in generations prior, and they'd been receiving more and more migrants from the South coming through the Neck or by ship to White Harbor or Westhelm. It was actually somewhat safer to live in the North than in the Riverlands or the Westerlands-or even the Crownlands for that matter-due to the skirmishes and raids between House Tully and House Lannister.

Were even Rickard Stark alive to see the progress that the North had made in such a short time-His heart would've burst from the overwhelming pride he'd feel for his second-born son. Mormont knew the old man wanted to get Moat Cailin into proper shape and had even wanted to improve relations with the other Great Houses.

By now, Moat Cailin was practically an impenetrable fortress. And with Jon set to marry Margaery Tyrell in the coming moons, and with Mormont married to Rhaenys Targaryen-whose uncles were respectively both Doran and Oberyn Martell-Rickard Stark's dream had become a reality.

Mormont briefly wondered if this had been the old man's plan from the beginning, in a sort of comical way. Perhaps Rickard Stark had the greensight-or whatever the Children of the Forest had called it.

He put it out of his mind as they continued climbing up the pale road to New Castle. The gleaming silver gate had opened. They rode past the clapping and cheering smallfolk and into the great square courtyard within.

House Manderly's entire household had been there waiting for them. Mormont waited for Ned to get off his horse first, then both he and Jon soon followed. Mormont helped down Rhaenys while Jon had done the same with Margaery.

Wyman Manderly was a big man. Though he was often referred to as a cowardly man by the other northern lords, Mormont knew better. Behind those pale blue eyes and four chins were a calculating, almost joyful intelligence and shrewdness. It was precisely the reason why Mormont enjoyed being around him because he'd completely deceived countless others by his appearance alone.

"Lord Stark, I welcome you to White Harbor!" Wyman Manderly had grinned cheerily. And honestly. "New Castle is yours if you will have it!"

Ned shook the fat man's meaty hand. "Glad to hear it, Wyman. I could do with a good meal before I head down South. And I've been told that your granddaughter is expecting a strong son."

"That is most pleasing, my lord." Wyman clapped his hands together rather loudly. "Our Wynafred doesn't take after our gluttonous habits, but I'm sure she's taking good care of Lord Robb."

Next came Jon and Margaery, who greeted the fat man with the same warmth. Especially when Wyman had made a particularly delicate comment. "Ah, Lord Jon I had once hoped to match you with my Wylla. But I have to say both you and Lady Margaery make quite the handsome couple."

Margaery had blushed. Jon smiled graciously and gave his host a polite bow.

Then it was Mormont's turn. Wyman had grinned at him from ear to ear. "Aha, Starag!" The two men firmly shook hands. "You always seem to be getting stronger and taller every time I see you!"

"And you seem to get bigger each time I see you." Mormont laughed in return. "You've got some more of that Braavosi Firebrand in your cellar, don't you?"

"I always keep several casks in reserve specifically for you," Wyman said. He then looked to Rhaenys. "If it isn't Lady Rhae. Well, I've ordered my kitchen to prepare a ravishing set of dishes from Dorne. Your father, Prince Oberyn had also visited me just the moon prior and wanted to relay his excitement to see his grandchildren."

Rhaenys gave Lord Manderly a curtsy. "Thank you for your hospitality, my lord. I hope my father was a good guest for you?"

Mormont continued his grin. He didn't mention the small slip of paper that Manderly had planted in his palm. As soon as they parted, he deftly pushed the piece of paper into one of the lower inside pockets of his bear pelt coat.

"Only the best! And quite the dancer, too." Wyman smiled brightly at the both of them.

They continued down the line, meeting Wylis Manderly and his wife Leona and then their youngest daughter Wylla. It was almost like Mormont had never left Winterfell, like he was still living in his boyhood home surrounded by a much more powerful-and sometimes strange family. What with the individual quirks of each member of the Stark brood. He'd also felt much the same underneath the roof of Wyman Manderly.

It made him briefly forget about the mystery behind the slip of paper in his pocket. What was it? A warning? Some kind of hidden message? Were there spies in the Merman's Court?

Perhaps it was all three. But Mormont knew it wasn't particularly good, either. He and Wyman were quite close, the fat man would divulge rather private information on a whim. If he was keeping this close to the chest, then it must've been of incredible importance.

Mormont didn't know what the message was, but he knew he was about to find out.


Yes, my friend...

You know what Starag's new weapon is...

Better get ready for the THUNDERRRRRRR