My ego has gotten much more fat as of late. I shall add "King of Fluff" to my list of titles.

Oh! And there's another chapter, of course. Enjoy :)

The Barrowlands

294 AC

There was a light layer of fog that hovered overtop the large plain out beyond the edge of the woods.

Along with the dark clouds that hung high above them in the sky, and the distant rumbling of thunder… Mormont knew that they were in for some rain.

Lucky for us…

Castle Cerwyn had been an altogether brief affair. Medger Cerwyn was kind and courteous to young Lord Jon, though he had quite the disdainful glint in his eyes when they were directed at Mormont himself. Which only encouraged Mormont to add the good lord Cerwyn to his ever-growing "shit-list".

Many-no, practically most of the northern houses did not like that Starag Mormont had come back to the North. A part of Starag had smiled when he imagined Galbart Glover and Roose Bolton squirming in their seats upon reading the letter he'd had sent out from Bear Island.

Mormont would absolutely make their lives a living hell. That is if they got in his way.

Right now, though… Mormont was sitting idly beneath the trees of the Barrowlands. Only a few feet away from him and sleeping peacefully was Jon Stark.

The boy had handled the Kingsroad quite well in the past few days. He liked riding his horse and had made decent enough company so far. They'd made far better distance than Mormont anticipated. Today, no doubt, they'd be arriving at Moat Cailin.

Likely they'd make it to Moat Cailin by the late afternoon and Starag, the glutton for pain that he was, had already made up his mind about marching through the Neck. He and Jon would be sleeping in the cold dry swamps later that night.

"Hmmm." Starag let a waft of smoke escape his mouth as he saw Jon stirring on his cot. He clutched his blankets tighter as Mormont had not elected to relight the fire from the night prior.

Still, the boy had soon sat up and glanced around warily. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Almost time we get going." Mormont looked back up to the gray skies above. It would rain. Almost certainly. "Eat up and pack your things," he ordered. The effortlessly stern tone of his voice left no room for argument.

Jon nodded ruefully as he stood up and stretched like a cat. After which, the boy had walked over to the packhorse and withdrew one of the tightly wrapped bundles from an open sack.

Mormont watched as the boy opened the cloth with a look of utter disdain on his face. "Dried beef again?" his lip curled up in distaste. "Don't we have something else?"

"No." Starag didn't even bother shaking his head. Now his eyes had drifted to the plains beyond the wood. "All we'll be eating for a good while is dried beef and stale bread. I told you it wasn't going to be comfortable."

Jon had opened his mouth to argue but then closed it-albeit reluctantly. He'd likely remembered Mormont's warning.

"Besides…" Mormont smirked. "Hard rations build character."

The boy rolled his eyes. "They certainly don't stop you from being hungry…" he muttered as he sat down on his cot and began ripping at the tough and hardy dried meat with his teeth.

Mormont smiled to himself. He couldn't wait to tell Jon about what they'd be eating on the trip back.

Moat Cailin was a sight to behold.

The sturdy keep had blotched out of the surrounding swamp and bogs about as well as Gregor Clegane would in a mummer's show. The tall stone walls had nearly reminded Mormont of the outer wall at Winterfell.

As he and Jon came closer to the mighty fort on the hill, Mormont could not help but thank one person for finally having gotten this place cleaned up: Ashara Stark.

Ned had of course put together plans to rebuild Moat Cailin and fortify it, yet Ned-like Starag himself- was the kind of man who would always get around to something when he damn well felt like it.

Not his lady wife, however…

No doubt, Ashara had probably politely reminded Ned on more than a few occasions to get Moat Cailin fixed up. The Dornishwoman was quite the taskmaster like her brother.

The result of their union was a far more productive North, along with a collection of lords who were damn near afraid of their liege lord's lady wife. As well as five children-and, as Starag suspected- there was likely a sixth along the way.

Eddard's lady wife was quite possibly one of the best personal assistants Starag had ever known. Mormont would need one of his own if he was ever going to get anything done on Bear Island.

But the Bear Lord had shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. He'd think more on that when it mattered. He refocused his attention back on the three towers sitting on top of the fortress beyond.

The Drunkard's Tower had been torn down entirely and built again from the ground up. Now instead of having its incredibly lean, it stood tall and proud in its newly sober glory.

The Children's Tower was not as lucky to be reformed entirely. It had seen repairs for the most part. Likely refurbishment on the inside as well.

And finally, the Gatehouse Tower had the least change about it. The tower itself stood squat and wide. It was not as tall as the Children's tower. Mormont figured the local garrison would sleep in that one. Hopefully, they'd fixed the drafty roof…

He and Jon had ridden by the treeline, and now the fort lay almost a few hundred meters from them. Mormont scanned the surrounding bog with narrowed eyes. He saw just barely what looked like a soaked wood log dip sharply under the water.

"Stay close to the road." He ordered as he looked at Jon. "Lizard-lions hunt in the water."

The boy cracked a grin and nearly laughed. His smile died as he kept watching the ice-cold look on Mormont's face.

They kept trotting on the road, but this time Mormont had Jon on his horse behind him and had kept the packhorse in the far back.

The bronze northern gate had been shut when they stopped in front of it. Mormont glanced up at the castle walls and saw nothing for a good few moments.

And nothing…

"What if they don't come?" He heard Jon ask behind him.

Mormont shook his head and said. "Then I'll climb the walls and throttle them."

Almost as if the Gods had heard his decree, he saw a head pop over one of the turrets and then quickly disappear. Then he heard quite a bit of shouting, none of which he cared to decipher.

Soon enough, the bronze gate had begun to raise. The deafening creaking of rusted bronze and wood had filled his ears. Bear, his horse, had snorted nervously at the foreign sound.

Starag trotted inside the keep, hearing Jon and the packhorse follow close behind him.

They were greeted with the sight of a large, robust-looking man with quite the gut on him. He stood waiting for them along with a small company of men-at-arms. Manderly… What was his name? Harlan. That's right…

"Welcome, Lord Mormont!" The hearty man greeted him with a smile. Despite him clearly being out of shape, Mormont found the man's grin was genuine, which only endeared him to Starag.

Starag got off his horse and felt his feet hit the solid stone ground of Moat Cailin's courtyard. "Greetings, Lord Manderly." he shook the man's meaty hand. "My squire and I will only be here for the hour. We've got some more distance to make before nightfall."

"Of course." The man's double chin had nodded up and down, though it was carefully hidden underneath a salt and pepper beard. "Call me Harlan, by the way. Much easier for us all I should think."

Mormont nodded and glanced back to the horses. He nearly chuckled as he saw Jon was still sitting atop his mount. "Come, lad. They've got warm food here."

Jon nearly jumped off his horse.

They walked over to the newly built wooden keep that stood by the eastern entrance. It wasn't Winterfell, but Mormont knew the place could host perhaps a few hundred people inside.

There were four stone towers at each corner of the keep, each with archers standing atop and on duty. Mormont suspected the place had five floors to it. It was almost reminiscent of the kind of architecture one would find in White Harbor. No doubt the Manderlys had put a great deal of effort into helping rebuild the place.

Harlan Manderly had led them into the keep, passing by what looked to be a lounge area and into the dining hall nearby. On the inside, the keep resembled a large estate rather than a castle.

The dining hall was nothing too particularly special. Nothing like the one at the Red Keep in King's Landing, but then again the Northerners didn't have much use for flair, not that Mormont could blame them. If it worked, it worked. That was enough.

Still, the long dark brown table was a pleasant change from the campfire the previous evening. Mormont took his seat on a chair that seemed just a bit too small for him.

Jon sat by his side, not saying a word. Meanwhile, Harlan had clapped his hands together in a thunderous boom. CRACK!

A well-dressed man came into the room, back straight and hands behind his back. A bald man with a nice tunic like that did not belong at Moat Cailin. "Yes, my lord?"

"Have a small luncheon ready for our guests. I'll be joining them as well."

The bald man nodded. "Of course, my lord." He was about to turn around when Starag opened his mouth.

"Coffee as well. Bring any honey if you have some." Mormont said. The man nodded again and left the room.

Harlan sat down opposite Mormont. "Coffee in the late afternoon? Do you plan on not sleeping tonight, my lord?" he asked with a thickly raised eyebrow.

Mormont waved his hand idly. "Nonsense, I can fall asleep anywhere. Coffee just keeps me alive."

The Manderly man had let out a bloated laugh upon Mormont's quip. Starag didn't think it was that funny, yet the man's laugh was genuine. Beside him, Jon had snickered quietly.

A moment later, the bald man had come back into the room and set a steaming pot of coffee down in the middle of the table along with three mugs. Lastly, he placed a much smaller pot right next to Starag. "Fresh coffee and honey for you, my lord."

Mormont smiled his thanks to the man. He immediately got to work on his afternoon cup, pouring the rich black liquid into his cup and dipping a generous spoonful of honey into it.

Harlan Manderly watched him briefly with curious eyes, and then looked to Jon. "And your squire? Where does he come from?"

Starag didn't even look at Jon or Harlan, only at his coffee. "Winterfell. He's Lord Eddard's second son, Jon."

The fat man nearly fell out of his seat as he gave Jon a deep bow. "My apologies, Lord Stark! I hope I did not offend you."

Jon only frowned and then looked at Mormont, who shrugged. "All is forgiven, Lord Manderly." he said with an unsure smile.

The one-sided tension in the room had immediately ceased as Harlan had sat back down in his chair. A look of intense relief had spread on his chubby face.

The bald man had come back into the room with several plates balanced on his arms. Carefully, he laid them down on the table and presented them to Mormont and Jon. Thick, orange cheese, cold sliced beef and pork, and lots of fruit.

Mormont actually preferred his hard rations at this point, but he wouldn't insult his host. Jon however, had eagerly begun taking portions of meat and cheese along with a handful of grapes.

"So, ahem!" Harlan coughed into his hand as he adjusted his seat. "Forgive my curiosity, Lord Mormont, but may I inquire why young Lord Jon is with you?"

Starag supposed the man could be forgiven for his inquiry. After all, it was far more common for the Lord Paramount to foster his children with other Lords Paramount, or even the most loyal and supportive lords in his kingdom.

The Manderlys were more or less the richest house in the North and by far the most loyal judging by their history.

Well, except House Mormont, of course.

No doubt it would puzzle Wyman Manderly just as much to know that Jon Stark was traveling with a Mormont instead of being fostered at New Castle. Oh well…

"As I said, he's my squire," Mormont answered after taking a long draft from his cup. "We're headed to the tourney in Duskendale. Know anything about that?" He said, opting to change the subject.

Harlan Manderly however, gladly took the change in stride. "Ah, of course. My cousin Wendel will be attending. Says it should be a day or two of the lists. Nothing more."

Blast! Mormont had been hoping for a larger outing. Duskendale would be a simple matter of jousting. Either way, he'd have to win, even if he was going to make barely half. "And the champion's purse? Has that been announced?"

Lord Manderly nodded his head. "Yes, Wendel mentioned some number around 20,000 gold dragons." He snorted as he stuffed a slice of cold beef into his mouth and swallowed. "The Crownlands must be doing quite well under King Robert, it seems."

Mormont didn't doubt it. There had always been money to throw at tourneys and the like in the Crownlands. Though he knew Robert himself likely had nothing to do with it. No, it was more likely Jon Arryn and Tywin Lannister dealing with the financials of the kingdom.

Starag had only met Robert a few times himself. While he knew that the King and Ned went a long way back, Mormont only had a unique distaste for Robert's habits-while similar to his own- were not to lessen Robert's personal burdens, but only to serve the King's pointless and gluttonous appetites.

If Mormont saw a beautiful woman, he would either charm her and sweep her off her feet or he would cut his losses and sleep alone that night. Hiring whores was the mark of a desperate man, Mormont believed. A man who craved the satisfaction and validation of another.

As for the drinking… Well, Mormont had seen Robert's magnificent gut. Starag hadn't the same problem considering his flat stomach.

Mormont had a purpose for his drinking, smoking, gambling, and fucking. It was to silence the screams of all the countless men he'd killed… And of all those warm and caring women he failed to protect…

He took another sip of his coffee, feeling the sweet honey clash against the bitter aftertaste in his mouth. "Any notable riders I should watch out for?" he asked. He wanted to take his mind away from those screams for a little while.

"There's Wendel, of course." Harlan would obviously speak well of his cousin. "Then there's another man: Byrch, Balman Byrch. Knight of a good half-dozen years. He's married to one Falyse Stokeworth. Supposedly, he's quite good with the lance."

Mormont never expected there to be much competition at Duskendale. "I suppose other lords might take part as well?"

Harlan nodded. "There is the Velaryon bastard-what's his name… Aurane Waters. He'll be taking part as well- though the boy is only seven-and-ten. Not sure how he'll pan out." The fat man poured himself a cup of coffee. "Maybe a dozen other petty knights and lords. That's about all I know on the matter, unfortunately."

So, there was a seasoned knight and a greenboy to contend with. Mormont had already won.

But there was another question on his mind. "And what about King's Landing?" He asked. "King Robert is throwing a tourney for his son's name day is he not?"

Lord Manderly had sat forward in his chair. "I don't know much about that one… Just that there'll be more competitions. Lists, grand melee, even an archery contest. Supposed to take several days, I should think." he said.

At least there's that. Mormont had thought idly in his mind as he downed the last of his coffee. King's Landing would likely be the most dangerous of the bunch. It was for all intents and purposes, the Lion's Den.

The Lannisters controlled that city, and without a shadow of a doubt, Robert's Kingsguard may even be taking part. Hell, Mormont might even run into the Clegane brothers, too.

And there was an inkling in the back of his mind that the Kingslayer might just take part as well… Mormont would have to get into shape if he was going to have even a slim chance at defeating Jamie Lannister in one-on-one combat.

The long-forgotten tension he felt in his gut had stirred wildly at the thought of fighting the Kingslayer. It was the same feeling he'd felt when he dueled Arthur just days ago…

Mormont forced those thoughts aside, but the terse sense of excited anxiety had still remained. He looked back at his host and smiled.

"Thank you, Harlan." He set his cup down and reached into his coat for his pipe. "Tell me, how is your family?"

Mormont did not have many regrets in his life. He lived each day like it were his last.

But as soon as he and Jon had entered the Neck, as their horses began stepping in muddy puddles and long grassy strips of dirt and brown water just as it began to rain…

He thought back to his words to Harlan Manderly. "My squire and I will only be here for the hour." They had echoed in his mind as he pulled up the hood on his coat.

Mormont shook his head. He told Manderly he'd only stay for an hour. He wasn't about to turn around and go back on his word.

Jon hadn't been as lucky. The boy's tight black curls were drenched, hanging heavily from his pale head. The look on his face was just as stone-like as the statues in the crypts beneath Winterfell.

The trees nearby were swaying with the wind and rain. Slanted with overgrowth and murky waters. There were tossed over logs and hollowed-out trees that had fallen over into the depths. Some of them had been covered in a rather pale-looking mushroom.

Mormont had no illusions about the Neck. It was more dangerous than it looked, more treacherous than any of the Seven Kingdoms. Even the Ironborn feared going into the swamps. They'd blanch at the mere thought of facing the crannogmen.

Is Howland well? Mormont had wondered as his horse trotted through the rain. Haven't seen him since the Tower of Joy…

He didn't know how Howland Reed could live in such a place and maintain his sanity. The tiny lord of Greywater Watch was a quiet man who rather minded his own business. Exactly the kind of neighbor one would appreciate.

Still, Mormont preferred to stay somewhere dry. The swamps of the Neck were the stark opposite of his ideal living situation.

To each their own…

The rain coming down from above had only gotten heavier as they came along the narrow causeway. Mormont felt it pelt against his thick hood. He turned around to check on Jon.

The boy had lifted up his cloak and wore it as a makeshift hood. It threatened to slide off his slippery wet head every time his horse had stepped into a deep puddle.

Mormont turned back around and settled himself in his saddle, ready to sit through the bad weather all the way down past the Neck and onto dry lands…

The pleasant feeling that he felt when he traveled rough country had only emboldened itself in his mind, however.

This is the dream…

The fog had gotten thicker as night descended on them. The skies had darkened and the rain only kept coming for him.

Mormont felt the cold winds finally jump into the mix. He was fine, though. It was Jon who he was worrying about.

The boy was shivering in his saddle, robbed of the warmth of his cloak seeing as it was now completely drenched. He'd taken out his blanket, but that too had been soaked just as quickly.

He'd live, of course. The boy was tougher than he realized. Jon still wore than same stoney mask that he'd likely inherited from Ned. Still adamant about doing his duty.

Mormont watched the waters. Even on the narrow causeway, they were still surrounded by lizard-lions and snakes. He trusted them about as far as he could throw his horse.

Then he saw it.

Something moved deep in the murky depths. Mormont couldn't tell what exactly, but he knew whatever it was, it was big.

His hand instinctively found the bear's head pommel of Longclaw. The primal fear of encountering a much larger and much more dangerous predator had entered his mind as he kept his eyes fixed on the water just twenty feet away.

The fog had only kept getting thicker as he saw the liquid glass shudder and move as something floated near them. It had to be generating the fog somehow, whatever it was.

They walked onto a thick patch of wet dirt and grass. Were it not raining, the patch would be more than enough for them to camp on. Now, though it was the only refuge they'd get from whatever creature was dwelling in the swamp. There was a lone tree that gave them precious little in the way of cover.

What would it be? A giant snake of some kind? Crocodile? He heard a great creaking in the air which sounded eerily like the loud scratching of wood and metal.

"Greetings, Young Bear."

In a flash, Mormont had drawn Longclaw from its wet sheath and held it at the ready. He scanned wildly around him in search of the owner of the voice.

"Up here."

Starag glanced up at the lone figure squatting on the thick tree branch. A girl. She seemed completely unfazed by the weather. As Mormont got a better look at her, he realized she must've been eleven or so. The same age as his squire.

Jon himself had already drawn his knife, though there wasn't much he could do besides to throw it.

Mormont sheathed Longclaw. He wasn't about to get nervous over a girl. "I haven't been called that for some time now…" He remarked dryly. "Who might you be, my lady."

The girl's laughing green eyes had crinkled with her smile. "My name is Meera," she said. "Meera Reed."

Mormont widened his eyes at that. He didn't know that Howland had a daughter. "Greetings, Meera. I am Starag Mormont, and this is my squire. Jon Stark."

"I know," Meera said as she sat on the tree branch and dangled her legs. "My father told me you'd be here."

That was especially odd. Mormont hadn't spoken a single word or sent any letter to Howland Reed since the ending of Robert's Rebellion. How had he known Mormont would be coming through?

Meera continued. "He's told me to tell you that he would be honored if he could host you for the night," she said with a bright smile. "He said that you and he are old friends." She added on lastly. "He also said that you might not trust me. So I was to remind you about somebody called the 'Knight of the Laughing Tree'."

Starag nodded firmly. It was Howland alright, with his secret codes and whatnot.

The Knight of the Laughing Tree had been Jon's mother- or his birth mother at least. He remembered how he'd seen Lyanna Stark ride up to the three knights whose squires had beaten Howland at Harrenhal. Even Ned managed to have a good laugh that night.

As he considered the girl's offer, he figured that Jon could do with a good night's rest at the least. "I'd be delighted to see Howland again. I'm sure my squire could do with a warm fire as well."

Howland's daughter grinned at him. She was definitely a Reed. No two ways about it. She easily hopped down from the tall tree and landed effortlessly on her two feet. "Come this way, then!"

Mormont frowned when he saw her pointing to the edge of the island they stood on. Was this some kind of joke?

He was about to open his mouth when suddenly, he heard the familiar creaking of wood and steel chains from inside the thick fog. It sounded almost like a great beast prowling in the night.

THHHHHUWUMP! A wide and thick pad of oak had landed hard on the edge of the island. Almost like a sort of drawbridge over a moat.

Meera simply turned around and walked up the wooden ramp. Mormont looked back to Jon. The boy's eyes were drooping as he barely held himself up in his saddle.

Howland, you are one crazy bastard… Mormont thought to himself as he urged his horse onto the ramp.