PART II: The Great Game

The Vale of Arryn

300 AC

"What this you wrote here?" Orin had laughed as he held the crumpled sheet of paper. "Your voice is like a sparkling mountain stream which flows into my heart!" He barreled over on the log he was sitting on, tears coming from his eyes. "Aye, that'll surely get her wet 'tween the legs, hahaha!"

Mormont had dusted some snow off a thick log of mostly dry timber. He added it to the growing pile in his arms. He let out a sigh as he continued to hear the argument between his two bodyguards on the other side of the forest.

Wouldn't be surprised if the mountain clans knew we were here.

The journey had not largely been like this. Most of the time, it was a rare occasion to see the other two northmen actually spark up a conversation in his presence.

Besides that, their trek through the Vale had taken far longer than he'd anticipated. It had been over a week since Runestone, and the trip to the Eyrie would've taken far less time had the mountain pass from Ironoak to the Giant's Lance not suffered a terrible avalanche.

As such, Mormont decided to take a less convenient route along the southern borders of the Vale, moving north of Wickenden up towards Redfort and then the Bloody Gate.

The new route had taken them about five extra days, though Mormont and his men had been able to travel faster through the lower hills than the mountains. He knew that it might take another week, perhaps longer, to reach the Eyrie itself.

Redfort was a day's ride away, though the weather could catch them by surprise. Who knows when in the Vale?

And because of the their prolonged journey, Mormont suspected that his guardsmen had decided to draft letters to their loved ones back on Bear Island. From what he knew of the ongoing spat, Jorge had written some sort of love poem for his wife, who was with child.

"Shut up! Like I'm about to take romantic advice from you, Ser Whorefucker. You ought to have not been drunk in White Harbor, why that one mutt you went off with must have been a man in disguise-"

"Oh hohoho, you'd know what a man is like in bed, don't you, Jorge! What with you reading poems now like some southern belle!"

"Fuck off, Orin! At least I know who my father is!"

"I'm not the one changing the bloody subject here! You going to open your legs to the next clansmen that roam down from the mountains? Try using your flowery words on them, maybe they'll let us by for a quickie." Orin said, imitating a whore sucking a cock.

"You goatfucking son of a-"

That was when Mormont had strode back into the clearing with his bundle of firewood, both men-at-arms had immediately ceased their quibbling while he'd resumed his seat. Jorge continued to send the occasional glare at Orin, who had smirked while looking into the fire.

Mormont had briefly glanced between the two of them and said nothing for a few moments. He'd not failed to notice the tension between the two.

"Something you both want to say to one another?" He asked.

Both men had looked sharply at him, unease and apprehension in their eyes. Then they glanced at each other, and then back at him again. They elected to shake their heads in denial.

"You sure?"

Jorge and Orin nodded hastily.

"Hmmm," Mormont shrugged and tossed another log onto the fire. He snatched up his canteen and took another swig of cold water.

He pretended not to notice the other two men giving each other small glares.

"Goatfucker," Whispered Jorge.

"Fairy boy," Spat back Orin.

Mormont glanced at the two of them again. "What was that?" He asked, the edges of his mouth threatened to break out into a grin.

"Nothing, m'lord!" They both said instantly.

Mormont shook his head and picked up his fire-poking stick. He chuckled lowly, and to himself.

Rowdy northerners.

Mormont had let out a deep groan as he rested into the shimmering green pool of steaming hot water.

The weakened muscles in his arms, legs, and shoulders had released the build up of tension they had been gathering over the last hour or so of training. As he looked up passed the thin wisps of steam gathering around him, he saw the long curtain of stars and black void that hung far above him. There was a great indigo ripple across the night sky, almost like an open wound that bled out cosmic light in fresh torrents.

He couldn't sleep once they'd put out the fire, and Mormont came to the dreaded realization that he still had pent up energy within his system. To remedy this, he elected to train with his magic.

By now, he could recall Tempest to his hands within a few seconds. The act itself was almost unconscious, as he no longer needed to consciously tell the axe to come to his hand.

Another strange thing he'd found was just how incredibly durable and… strong Tempest was as it flew back to his grip. Tempest would never get caught on a branch, or snagged between some rocks. Every single time the axe broke through whatever was in its path, as if nothing could separate it from him.

It was a realization that made Mormont a bit wary, and insatiably curious about the implications as well.

Could it break through a castle wall for instance? Or could the axe actually navigate itself once he recalled it? Did it course correct whenever something too durable blocked its path?

Perhaps the intent behind the act of recalling it was the key. Mormont wanted to have his weapon back in his hand as soon as possible. So perhaps that played a part in how Tempest could shatter solid rock in the blink of an eye.

Mormont wondered what other miracles he could perform with the weapon in hand. He knew he could channel lightning through it, even on a sunny day. He'd done as much in Valyria. But what else was he capable of with such a powerful tool at his disposal?

I'll be flying like a dragon soon enough. He thought to himself with a snicker, and then a full-blown laugh. That would be the day. When he took to the air like a dragon holding his axe out in front of him. The image had only made him laugh again.

Once he'd finished training, he'd gone for a walk. Mormont had intended to go back to camp when he'd come across a rather large meadow that housed hot springs. Mormont decided he'd go for a dip before he went back.

And as he gazed up at the stars, Mormont found himself enchanted by their cosmic beauty. The small dots of silver and blue were pretty enough to look at on their own.

Then the beauty was overridden by the knowledge of what lurked high above in that vast, endless expanse of void. The Doom of Valyria had come from the stars, and so had the Others. So too, probably, had countless other terrors that once plagued the Known World.

Was man supposed to know of such entities existing? Or was man supposed to look up into the sky and wonder about the things he did not know? Almost as if to remind himself of his place in the universe?

For all Mormont knew, the Doom could've been staring right back at him. Contemplating how it would enact its damning work on him and his ilk.

Mormont shook his head and tried to forget the shining white tentacles that dragged him into that pit. And he tried to shut out the terrifying shadow that blocked out the stars beyond the Gateway.

About ten feet away from him, the water in the great hot spring had erupted and splashed on the far side of the green pool. Mormont was half-thankful for the distraction as he stood to attention, recalling Tempest to his hand.

In a few seconds, the axe landed in his palm. Mormont gripped it tight and watched for any potential intruders. The steam began to rise again and thicken while the water quietened and shimmered. He did not hear the crunching of snow or the rustling of branches, though.

Mormont raised Tempest high, his senses on full alert. Was it a tree? Or was it-

Mormont lowered the axe as he caught a glimpse of shimmering bronze scales in the water on the other end of the pool. "How in the Seven Hells did you get here?" He asked incredulously.

In the deeper end of the hot spring, shaking the scalding water off of her long shining neck, was the dragon he'd left behind on Bear Island over a moon ago. Her shy, motherly eyes beamed at him throught the steam fog.

"Bronzie," Mormont tossed Tempest back over by his clothes' pile, which he hoped had not been drenched by the great splashing bronze dragon on the other side of the pool. He then turned back to the dragon, who was swimming toward him trying to act both innocent and childishly stealthy, despite most of her gleaming bronze body was mostly out of the water. "Come here, girl."

The great spanning tail fluttered excitedly out of the water. The pool rippled and the bronze dragon surged closer to him. Bronzie lifted her head out of the water as it got shallower, and leaned her snout against Mormont's outstretched hand. He could feel her purring beneath his palm. A part of him was apprehensive at getting close to another dragon, but Mormont quickly realized again that he himself had the abilities to put it down.

"Why are you here, girl?" He patted her nose and then the ridge of hardened scales between her eyes. "Miss me that much, did you?"

In response, Bronzie brushed up against his chest again, snuggling against him. Though Mormont had to post himself against the edge of the hot spring so he wouldn't fall over. Bronzie seemed to believe she was much smaller than she really was.

Mormont wondered if the Targaryen Dragons of old had their own distinct personalities. In a similar vein to how humans or dogs responded to different situations in their own individual ways.

Though Mormont was keenly aware that dragons were not dogs, and it would've been an incredibly dangerous mistake for one to make. However, he'd learned that both shared similarities when it came to treats.

Mormont tread over to the edge of the pool and found his belongings, which, thankfully, were dry. He reached inside his coat pocket and found the spare bundle of rations he'd plucked from the pack horse.

He felt something wet bump against his back. Mormont glanced over his shoulder and saw Bronzie's nose getting several whiffs of the new scents and smells he'd picked up over the last few days. "Sit!" He said sharply while snapping his fingers.

Bronzie paused, and then slowly, her long neck craned backward, elongating along with the rest of her body as she lifted herself up and sat back on her hind legs. In response, the water rippled and crashed against his waist in small waves. Her clawed wings dangled loosely against the forest floor. Her silvery-blue eyes were warm and patient.

Mormont smiled. "Good girl," He said as he took out half a loaf of old bread. He tossed it high in the air up to her mouth. The dragon snapped up the bread damn near as fast as lightning and chewed it up in less than a second.

Why are you so easygoing with me? Mormont wondered. After all, he himself hadn't a single drop of Targaryen blood to speak of. Neither, of course, was he descended from the Dragonlords. It was far more believable concerning his children, since Rhaenys was a Targaryen, and she was their mother. But to think Mormont himself-a barbaric Northman-could treat a fully grown dragon as if it were a small puppy, now that held grounds for some kind of comedic play at best.

But that didn't mean he was fool enough to attempt to ride Bronzie. Mormont was perfectly fine with leaving that to Rhaenys. He knew that there were some boundaries he shouldn't, and wouldn't cross. Last time he fed the dragon, he must've done something to make her believe he was attempting to mount her. Or at least, that was his assumption.

Even then, she'd only bared her teeth and nipped his hand. Pretty light punishment considering the alternative.

Mormont had done his research. There had been a few non-Targaryen dragonriders during the Dance of the Dragons, a batch called the "dragonseeds" as Torwyn referred to them. They were all bastards of uncertain birth, though it was generally assumed they all descended from Valyrian heritage. Which was why they were able to ride and tame the riderless dragons of that time period.

The case which had interested Mormont the most was that of the girl Nettles. Supposedly she had bonded with the dragon Sheepstealer by bringing him freshly slaughtered lamb every morning. A curious parallel to Mormont's own situation.

When the copper and green egg had hatched during their voyage back to Westeros, Jon had handed off the small bronze reptile to Mormont. He hadn't really known what else to do besides feeding her fish and meat. After all, Bronzie had barely fit the palm of his hand, and animals needed protein to grow big and strong. Hiding her away on the Waking Serpent while he needed to do business in King's Landing was an even greater hassle at the time.

Now that he thought about it, Mormont had realized that he was more or less the first person who Bronzie had met besides Jon himself. Which must've made it far easier for her to bond with him. And precisely the reason why she was now sitting politely infront of him as if they were both at a delicate tea party.

"You're a strange one." He said to the great bronze dragon, splashing her with a small blast of water.

Bronzie snorted in response. She dipped her gleaming bat-like claw into the pool, stirring the water carefully before pushing it toward him in a starburst of green and white. Mormont stood completely still as the hot water washed over him. He reached up and parted his wet hair. "You're just proving my point."

Thankfully, his gear had been covered by his bear pelt cloak. So this time he elected to move away in case the dragon decided to splash him again. "Well, you just stay there while I sit over here, then." He said, finding a good rock to lay against. "Don't get my stuff wet."

Bronzie's mouth opened and gave a low whimpering sound. Mormont didn't know if she was accepting of his order, or if she was laughing at him. Her eyes had said, Only if you don't splash me again.

"Hmmm, fine. It's not like I have a towel on me."

Good.

"I could zap you with a lightning bolt, though."

Wait, that's not fair.

"Totally would be. Especially if you got my things wet."

Please don't zap me. I like flying.

"You better be on your best behavior then."

Okay, fine!

Mormont smirked up at the great bronze dragon. Bronzie gave an exasperated huff and looked away from him, finding the trees to be suddenly quite interesting.

"For the record, I didn't ask you to show up." He said sternly, crossing his arms. "What exactly are you doing off the mountain at a time like this?"

Bronzie looked back at him with wide blue eyes. Seriously?

"I am serious. What if somebody sees you?"

Then I'll just fly away!

"To where exactly?"

Back home?

"Right, and you'll lead all those dragon-fearing sellswords and soldiers there too?"

Well… When you put it that way…

"It looks pretty bad." Mormont said. He already spoke with his horse on many occasions, why not a fucking dragon? "What about Rhaenys? Or Duncan? What about Thalia, Jeor, and Arthur? You think they'd like having half of Westeros try to kill them because of you?"

Bronzie shifted uncomfortably on her hind legs and croaked. No.

"Exactly." He snapped his fingers and fixed the dragon with a stern glare. "So, what are you going to do after this?"

I'll fly back home while it's still dark.

"And from now on?"

No more nighttime flights. And no more stealing and eating people's goats.

"That's my girl."

It was barely time for luncheon when they arrived at the Bloody Gate.

The small mountain pass from Redfort leading up to the High Road was kept in perfect condition, completely unlike the pass that would normally have led from Ironoak straight to the Moonpath, a natural stone chimney that one could climb all the way up to the Eyrie.

Mormont considered that he was lucky to have avoided that path altogether, especially since climbing vertically up the Giant's Lance during winter would not have been… enjoyful.

The Bloody Gate was a small little thing carved into the rockface of the Mountains of the Moon. Twin watchtowers surveyed over an increasingly narrow pathway, and sandwiched between the towers was a grey stone bridge.

As Mormont came to a halt before the tiny fortress, he'd soon noticed sharpened glints of steel poking out of the various holes and slits along the battlements. Arrows.

Walking along the bridge that arched over the narrow High Road itself, was a tall, lean-looking figure of a man with grey hair and bushy eyebrows. He wore a set of heavy plate armor, and the coat of arms on his tabard was that of a leaping black trout on field of blue and mud red.

The Blackfish. Mormont thought to himself.

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" The Blackfish's smoky voice had called out to him.

"Lord Starag Mormont of Bear Island," Mormont had answered.

"Oh, and what is the privilege of your visit to the Vale, my lord?"

"Matters of state to discuss with your worthy lord, Robert Arryn."

"Does Lord Robert know you are coming?"

"No," Mormont admitted. "But I am sent to aid him on the order of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Hand of the King."

For a moment, the Blackfish had paused. Though he'd stayed as still as a statue upon the archway.

"I remember you from Harrenhal, Lord Mormont. You were friends with Brandon Stark if I recall correctly?"

"I was, Ser Brynden."

Tully nodded. "Very well. In the name of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East, I bid you enter freely, and charge you to keep his peace," Almost instantly, the gleaming tips of sharp steel withdrew from the slits within the grey stone tower and battlements.

The causeway was barely able to fit the three of them as well as the pack horse. Mormont calculated that it could hold about four riders at most. The rest of the way, they'd need to ride single file, at least until the road opened up.

On the other side of the Bloody Gate, they were joined by the Blackfish himself, who sidled up to Mormont on his own shaggy-looking horse. The older man didn't seem to care that Mormont was about two heads taller than he was, or about the massive war axe strapped to his back.

"I thought you'd be taller." The Blackfish said dryly when they faced one another. "The stories about you say you chopped the Mountain-That-Rides in two with a single blow."

"People get a bit carried away." Said Mormont. "What else were you expecting?"

"I heard the Starks have wolves that follow them around. Do you have a pet bear hiding around somewhere?"

Mormont chuckled. "If only," His mind briefly thought about the dragon that had flown back to Bear Island. He held out his hand for the other man. The Blackfish shook it heartily with his own grizzled paw. "I visited Runestone some time ago, is it true the Lords of the Vale are unhappy with the recent developments in King's Landing?"

"That's putting it mildly," The Blackfish said. "The Lords have all but gathered before the Gates of the Moon ready to ride down to the capital. And I agree with them, as you know my nieces, Catelyn and her sister, are in that city with her two little ones. Lord Robert, on the other hand, is not as eager to demand satisfaction."

"Why?" Does Robert Arryn know who killed his father?

"Says it's something to do with 'cultivating good relations with the other Great Houses'" Brynden sighed. "He's a good lad, though. Strong fighter. He's just trying to keep us all together."

"And what about the Imp? I heard he'd come to the Vale all the way from Casterly Rock."

"Well, it's true." Tully admitted. "He came by earlier this morning with some of his men. Said he's here on an errand from his father to see Lord Robert." He looked over at Mormont as they continued up the mountain path. "Don't know if they got lost or not. Apparently they had some sort of guide with them, so they declined my company."

"From what you say, the Imp doesn't sound like much of a personable fellow."

"On the contrary, he's a crackerbox of fresh japes." Ser Brynden snorted. "Tried doing a 'knock knock' joke when I asked who he was."

"That must've torn the barracks down."

The Blackfish barked out a harsh laugh. "He certainly thought it was funny."

Mormont smirked. "And did you?"

Tully gave him a sideways glance, and then looked back behind them to see whether or not Jorge and Orin could hear him. The Blackfish then leaned over in his seat. "A little."

Mormont had forgotten how pretty the Vale was.

In the grasp of winter, the Vale of Arryn was perhaps one of the most beautiful sights in the Seven Kingdoms. Even simply looking down upon the expansive valley filled with rich black soil was worth the slight detour he and his men had had to make coming up around the southern mountains.

By the western end of the valley, Mormont had gotten a crisp view of the Giant's Lance, and of the shimmering white castle upon its peak. It would take them at most two days to reach the Eyrie. Perhaps three if the weather disagreed with them.

At first, Mormont knew the journey would be slow going, as the bottom floor of the valley begun almost two miles below him. But it had only taken an hour or so for the small company to make it by. Once they'd reached the end, Mormont decided to pick up the pace.

The sun had crossed high over the clouds in the sky, meaning it was midday. Despite this, Mormont was still pressed for time, and had decided to eat up his rations while they traveled.

Behind him, Jorge and Orin were as silent as the grave. Though Ser Brynden had taken along four other men from the Bloody Gate with them who kept casual but light conversation in the back of the van. At Mormont's side, Brynden Tully had not made a word.

The verdant green grass was covered in fresh snow and what was left of the morning dew. They'd passed by a small cottage just below the High Road, an old man was outside chopping wood with his axe. Mormont had gotten whiffs of freshly baked bread and garlic coming from the open windows of the quaint little house. The thought of fresh food made his stomach grumble.

Normally, the High Road would have been littered with the occasional travelers and merchants drawing their carriages. But during winter, most kept to the towns and hamlets. As such, the road was quite sparse.

When they reached a crossroads, however, Mormont had spotted two separate patrols meeting and then splitting once more as they went through north and south roads respectively. He'd glanced over at Brynden Tully, who seemed to not have much of a care in the world. "There aren't normally so many men roaming the valley, is there?"

"Not usually, no." Tully admitted. "But the clansmen have gotten a bit restless with winter settling in. No doubt they've grown bold with Lord Arryn's death, too. Probably think Lord Robert is a greenboy."

"Is he?" Mormont asked. He preferred to know what kind of man he'd be dealing with soon enough.

Brynden shook his head and smiled proudly. "Not that lad, no. Was his father's pride and joy. Became a skilled jouster at the age of sixteen, and even better with a blade, too. Lord Arryn had the Kingslayer train the lad." He said with clear disdain in his voice. Mormont had half a mind to stick up for Jaime, but decided that it might not have been wise to insult the Blackfish, or reveal anything that would make the older man distrust him. "He's already had a few skirmishes with the clansmen. Boy wants to get rid of them altogether. I'd say he'd make a fine commander in a few years."

"It sounds like the Lords of the Vale respect him quite a lot."

"They do. I wouldn't be surprised if we see a long line of swooning maidens outside the Gates of the Moon waiting for him. Won't be long now until he's betrothed." Tully said. "Not like his sister-" The older man had stopped speaking when a loud shriek cut through the air.

Mormont had heard it too, and he followed where the sound had come from. Just up ahead of them further down the road, there was a sharp turn into the cliff. Previously before they hadn't seen behind it.

Mormont spurned his reins into gear. Bear sprung to action and bounded forward to the turn. Behind him were the rest of their company.

As he approached, Mormont heard the distinct rush of a waterfall. Once he turned around the bend in the rock, he got a glimpse of a great shimmering curtain of blue and silver water flowing down to the bottom of the road. There was a small patch of earth around a great pond just on its left side.

And taking shelter behind a large coach was a group of around five. Other bodies were littered around the coach or slung over on rocks with arrows in their backs. They each had distinct red cloaks with golden lions stitched into them. There were other corpses not with the Lannister sigil, but with patches of fur clothes covering their bodies. Dirtied skin covered in blood and soil.

Arrows were being fired from the upper rocks. Mormont knew there were clansmen hiding up there with bows. There were others climbing down towards the coach with axes and spears in hand.

"Let's go, lads!" Mormont slung Tempest off his back and held it in his right hand and galloped forward.

At his side, Brynden had gripped his spear tight. He looked back to his men. "Get those stragglers up in the rocks!"

Mormont rode down the path, passing by the coach. Behind him, he heard the confused Lannister men-at-arms come out from their cover and get a look at the newcomers.

Mormont saw a mountain spearman charge toward him with two others. Mormont lifted up his axe and threw it straight at the man's chest. Tempest spun quickly with the momentum. The clansmen had tried to step out of the way, liking believing the axe would be too slow due to its size. Tempest cracked his spear in half and landed deep into his chest, literally knocking him off his feet.

As Mormont drew Longclaw, he heard a loud commotion coming from up higher in the rockface. The archers were distracted, and he refocused on the other two men in front of him.

A man with a large greataxe approached him first, passing by the body of the dead clansmen. But before Mormont stepped forward, a flash of an idea came to mind. He instead summoned Tempest to his hand again, watching as his axe dislodged out of the spearman's chest and fly into the back of his new foe. The other clansmen had let out a roar of pain as his upper spine cracked. Crrrck!

Mormont was not able to follow through with Longclaw, as another clansmen came at him just as quickly. Bear skittered away when the man swung his axe in an upward stroke. Mormont feinted, and knocked aside the man's shield with a quick lunge. Then, Mormont drove his sword into his belly. The clansman spat blood at him as he gave out his last few gasps of air.

The skirmish was over as soon as it had started. Brynden's men up in the rocks had dispensed with the archers. Jorge and Orin had driven off the other mountain men with the aid of the Lannister men-at-arms back into the hills where they could not follow.

Mormont had sheathed Longclaw and picked up Tempest. He turned around to see Brynden come to a halt beside him. He stuck his spear in the clansmen whose spine had been hit directly by Tempest, finishing him off.

Beyond Tully, by the back of the carriage, Mormont had seen a small figure about as tall as a small child walk out towards them. He was barely as tall as Mormont's legs.

Tyrion Lannister was an ugly little creature, true to some of the rumors he'd heard about the Imp. Jutting forehead, mismatched green and black eyes, stubby fingers and stunted legs. Though admittedly, Mormont had seen worse, and was even slightly disappointed when he'd noticed that Tyrion did not have a monstrous-looking tail flowing behind him.

The Halfman had approached him first, gazing up at him with an amused smile. There was a sharp flash in that black eye.

"Well, you must be the third Clegane brother! Well met!"

Author's Notes

Here we are once more in the Vale. Admittedly a bit more lighthearted, but I wanted to have some fun with this one.

And no, Starag is not a hidden Targaryen. He can't ride Bronzie, but he did play a large part in raising her.

I didn't necessarily want it to be too "How To Train Your Dragon-ish" yet at the same time, I read that each of the Targaryen dragons actually had their own personalities. So I decided to play around with Bronzie's relationship with Starag.

Next time, Jon dabbles at ruling Westeros, meets the Royal Family, and does a fair bit of investigating.

Guest: Rhaenys in the Last Tour is actually 18 years old. I aged her up for the purposes of the story.

You can figure out how old she is in Chapter 16 with some basic addition. And Starag correctly guesses her age in Chapter 24.

Sparky She-Demon: It warms my heart that you enjoyed both novels in one sitting. Thank you for your kind words ❤

firestarter1188: I read your review weeks ago and decided I'd bring them back. They played a very minor role in the first book, but Jorge and Orin were/are fun to write. Glad you noticed.