The Trident
294 AC
The Inn at the Crossroads was a lovely little sight for Mormont and Jon. It was late morning when they saw the little building in the distance.
It was a three-story building with thatch roofing and oak walls and supports. There was just the slightest left tilt to its side, but Mormont doubted that most people really saw it during their day-to-day. And those who did likely didn't care.
The rest of their journey from the Green Fork had been quite smooth. Mormont was somewhat convinced that the worst was behind them. There was of course the little nugget in the back of his mind trying to tell him otherwise.
Dry, hospitable lands and good country were all that he and Jon had experienced so far. They'd even met a few traveling knights from the Vale. Lovely chaps. Mormont had thought to himself. Usually, all Valemen tended to be polite and courteous at the least.
The road, while sometimes harsh and unyielding, had occasionally brought out the best in people. He'd seen Jon more than a few times staring wistfully off into the distance. At the great mountains that had made a fortress around the Vale, or even to the vast rolling hills and rugged green plains of the distant Westerlands.
That being said, there was little in the way of warm food to be found. Unless one decided to hunt. Mormont couldn't be bothered to walk around the woods with a bow.
So, as both he and Jon found the stables nearby and left their horses inside the small barn, they both strode eagerly up to the entrance of the tavern. Their mouths salivated at the thought of delicious beef and vegetable stew, with soft chunks of potatoes and carrots.
Mormont opened the door and remembered to dip his head underneath the top of the door frame as he entered after Jon. He was too tall for these doors.
He had expected the place to be decently full and was briefly surprised to find the Inn nearly full with smallfolk and men-at-arms. There were, however, a few tables that had yet to be claimed.
The smallfolk and men-at-arms near the entrance had stopped conversing and had turned around to look at the newcomers. Mormont felt the pairs of dozens of eyes fall on him alone and look at him with trepidation. No doubt they thought he was the Mountain.
Nobody spoke as he urged Jon forward. The boy had noticed the change in atmosphere as well.
Luckily for them. "Ah, Ser Mormont!" The Innkeeper had waved a dry weathered hand from behind the wooden bar. He was an older man in his forties or fifties, with dark brown eyes and a big gut that nearly spilled onto the bar. He smiled at Mormont. "Glad to see you again, sir!"
The tension in the tavern had been thoroughly cut to ribbons by the Innkeeper's warm greeting. The people around them went back to their food and drink and began talking again.
He urged Jon to the bar with him. "Hello, Martin. How's business?" He said just as kindly.
"Well," The older man leaned forward as if divulging a secret. "Been going quite well in the last few weeks, I should think. Plenty of knights and lords headed down to Duskendale and King's Landing. It's like they simply want to throw all their gold away!"
Martin then noticed Jon. "Ah, and who's this youngin' here, hmmm?" he asked.
"This is Jon, my squire." Mormont introduced the boy at his side, tousling his wild black curls. He knew Jon didn't like it, judging by the boy's narrowed eyes. "He's from the North. Never been down south before."
The Innkeeper raised a curious eyebrow. "Ah, we've got some other northern types staying 'ere. They went out for a hunt this morning, though. Should be back soon enough." Martin clapped his meaty hands together. "But I suppose you're both starving, no? What can I get you?"
Mormont had ordered a coffee pot for two, and Jon had been the one to ask for the honey. Mormont felt the pride swelter in his chest. He was corrupting Jon Stark with his bad habits, too. Just like Ned and Ashara before him…
Martin had told them both about the menu. They were serving seared racks of lamb along with a thick chicken broth and caramelized onions. And on the side, there were helpings of freshly baked bread with butter and slices of cold ham.
Starag wanted all of it. Jon agreed with an eager nod of the head.
"Find us a table." Mormont had said to Jon as he noticed more smallfolk entering the tavern. They'd need someplace to sit and there were few tables left.
The boy nodded and walked off. Mormont saw him quickly snatch a lone table by the back of the tavern. It was perhaps too big for just the two of them, may be able to sit eight men total, but Mormont didn't care. A table was a table was a table.
"Have you heard anything about the tourney at King's Landing?" Mormont asked Martin as the older man set down a cup of coffee in front of him.
Martin scratched his thick beard. "Hmmm, not much, ser. I do know the Mountain-that-rides will be taking part. He came through not a few days past. Scary 'un, that man."
Mormont simply nodded. Clegane was a mindless dog, but that's exactly what made him so terrifying to everyone else. "And what about the prizes? Champion's purse?"
"Don't know, ser. Sorry." Martin shook his head. "They've got to be good ones, though. I've been getting lords and knights from all over Westeros just to enter the lists down there."
Starag heard the door open again behind him, but he paid it no mind. "How about this upcoming tourney at Duskendale? Know anything about that?"
The Innkeep seemed distracted by something in the tavern. "Well, I heard…" his eyes widened as he shot his hand up and pointed behind Mormont. "Your squire, ser!"
Mormont turned to see what the older man had been pointing at. He saw four men standing in front of Jon, all wearing light padded leather armor except for the man speaking to Jon. The boy had narrowed his gray eyes at the leader and said something which Mormont couldn't hear over the loud chattering of the smallfolk.
Starag exploded out of his seat as he saw the man dressed in full steel armor pick Jon up by his collar. The three men-at-arms behind him wearing the same colors, and had turned quickly upon hearing Mormont's sudden movement.
He saw the lordling's coat-of-arms: A greenfield separated diagonally by a thick red line. On either side of the line were two black porcupines. House Blount…
The tavern fell completely silent as everyone watched the display. Mormont stepped forward and drew back his coat, revealing the white bear's head pommel at his side. "Stop right there, Blount."
The lordling had heard Mormont's stool clatter against the stone floor and looked over his shoulder. He seemed rather unimpressed at the sight of the hulking Bear Lord, but his men were noticeably petrified with fear as the towering man strode up to them.
Mormont stopped just a few meters away from the Blount men-at-arms. "I'm only going to say this once." His voice thundered in the small tavern, making some of the smallfolk wince. "Put down my squire very carefully, leave the way you came, and don't come back for the rest of the day. Do so, and I'll let you and your men live."
The decree had hung in the air as the thick fog had in the Neck. Starag kept his eyes on the lordling. A tall, ugly-looking man with a pointed double chin and broad shoulders.
Starag was conflicted. He didn't want to dirty Martin's establishment with blood and gore, but then again, this lordling had assaulted his squire. Satisfaction was something he deserved.
Lord Blount had unceremoniously thrown Jon back into his chair. The impact had made Jon hit his head hard against the stone wall. He heard the thud of skull meeting stone. Goatfucker… The lordling turned around and stared at Mormont with narrowed eyes.
Mormont had seen many men with those same unflinching, foolish eyes. He enjoyed killing those men the most. The sheer arrogance they felt due to what little power they had, had simply consumed them. They were nothing more than petty lords who would always amount to nothing.
He heard the door open again behind him. Starag glanced around his shoulder and saw a large, burly man dressed in rather strange-looking armor. His mail seemed more like the scales of a fish. His mustache hid the fat on his cheeks and underneath his chin. Starag nearly laughed as he saw the white merman with dark green hair and a trident emblazoned on the burly man's armor. Manderly.
And behind the Manderly stood four men-at-arms belonging to his house.
"What's going on here?" The Manderly stepped forward, his hand on the belt near his sword. He looked at the imposing figure of Mormont and narrowed his eyes. "Ser?"
Starag nodded his head. "Lord Starag Mormont of Bear Island." He almost grinned when he saw Manderly relax his face and nod in understanding. "This lordling here has just hit my squire," Mormont nodded to Blount. He then decided to go in for the kill. "Jon Stark."
He only kept his eyes matched with Blount's dark brown ones. The Crownlands lord had widened his eyes at the last two words spoken into the room. He'd just assaulted the son of a Lord Paramount. A lord who was very good friends with the King.
Suddenly, Mormont heard swords being drawn from Manderly and his men-at-arms. "An assault on the son of my liege lord is an assault on myself, Lord Blount." Manderly's voice boomed in the room. "I suggest you leave now before we take our satisfaction."
Blount did not say a word. He remembered Mormont's warning immediately. With one last spiteful look at Starag, he spat upon the stone floor in front of Mormont's boot and made his way out of the tavern with his men-at-arms close behind him.
Almost immediately, the thick tension and suspense had lifted as the door closed. Manderly and his men sheathed their swords. Mormont smiled at the man and offered his hand. "You must be Wendel."
Wendel Manderly gripped his hand with equal fervor. "I am." The large man was not as tall as Mormont, but he was intimidating enough for a Manderly with his intense sky blue eyes. "I've not had the honor of meeting you Lord Mormont. I knew your brother quite well, unfortunately."
Mormont did not mind the barb against Jorah. Understandably, his brother wasn't very popular after he sold poachers to a slaver. "Unfortunate business that. However, my friends call me Starag, and you may do the same."
"Thank you, Starag." Manderly smiled back at him. He looked around the tavern for a moment. "It seems we might have to eat our food outside, though. I wish you-"
"Not so fast," Mormont remembered just how large his table was. "Jon found an excellent table. It could seat us and your men, too. We'd be delighted to have you. It's the least we could give for your assistance."
That seemed to please Wendel greatly. "Ah! Good man!" he turned to his men. "You heard Lord Mormont! The first round is on me!"
As if nothing had happened, everyone had gone right back to their conversations. The noisy chatter in the tavern had returned, and everyone forgot about Lord Blount and just how close everything was from turning into a bloodbath.
"Ah!" Jon had huffed as Mormont dabbed the back of his head with the wet cloth provided to them by Martin's daughter. The hit to Jon's head had drawn blood, as well as a nasty bump.
Mormont's squire had told him what had happened: Blount and his men had sauntered up to their table and demanded Jon leave. However-and much to Mormont's pride-Jon had stood up and refused them.
Which led to Blount grappling Jon's collar with a fistful of chainmail.
Some part of Mormont had wished that Wendel Manderly had arrived a bit later. Just in time to see Starag dismember Lord Blount and his men-at-arms if they fought against him, too.
Of course, that would make Mormont an outlaw. Couldn't have that when his people were waiting for him back on Bear Island.
"Hold this," Mormont ordered sternly as he rubbed the cloth against the boy's head. Jon's hand held the cloth tight while Mormont had turned back to his meal. "The wound will stop bleeding in a minute or so."
Jon bowed his head down and tried to enjoy his meal. Hunger seemed more important to the boy than the pain did.
Inwardly, Mormont had cursed his pride for getting in the way. Their anonymity had been blown because he was reckless for quickly snagging Wendel's aid. Now everyone would be paying attention to him and Jon Stark. Everyone would be watching them with scrutinizing eyes.
Judge the situation dispassionately… Judge the situation dispassionately. He replayed Arthur's words a few more times in his mind.
From beside him, Wendel Manderly had laughed heartily. "You look like you've swallowed a snake, my friend. What is the matter?"
"I'm just wondering which way I'll kill that lordling." Mormont had muttered murderously as he tore off a chunk of lamb with his fingers. The delectable meat had come easily off the bone. "Do you know anything about him?"
Much to his delight, the Manderly had nodded his head. "I do," Wendel said. "He is Lord Horace of House Blount. His brother Boros is part of the Kingsguard, which he claims to have facilitated with his majesty."
Mormont snorted. Doubtful. "Will he be at Duskendale?"
Again, the Manderly had nodded his head, this time with a playful grin. "He will. It is a Crownlands tourney, after all. He will be there with his lady wife and household guard." Wendel saw the excited gleam in Mormont's eyes. "I take it you will be there, too?"
"I will." Mormont hadn't expected Duskendale to be an exciting affair. It would take place over the course of two days at most, and it was only just the lists.
But now, Mormont would relish the chance he had to put Lord Horace Blount down. He'd make the man's defeat a humiliating one, as well. Starag would take his armor and toss it into the Bay of Crabs. He'd give the man's horse to some peasant. Not out of generosity, but out of spite.
"And what about you, Wendel?" Mormont looked back to his guest as he dipped his bread into the chicken broth. "Your cousin Harlan told me you'd be attending Duskendale. What about King's Landing?"
"Why of course!" Wendel beat his fist proudly against his broad chest. "We northerners must show these southern knights what it means to carry the blade! Dare I say, we shall show them what it means to be men of honor!"
Mormont chuckled as he took another draft of his late morning coffee. The Manderly Knight had a strange accent that reminded Starag of the Reachmen. That combined with his brilliant mustache and warm smile, had only made Wendel into a far more likable man.
Starag nodded his head in agreement. "That we shall," he said as he raised his cup to the man. Manderly had eagerly clicked his flagon against it.
The Bear Lord downed the rest of his coffee and poured himself some more. He took another spoonful of honey and swirled it into the cup and waited.
Wendel had finished off his ale and slammed it back onto the table. He looked to Mormont. "Ah… Forgive my curiosity, Starag." he said as he glanced at young Jon, who was eating up his lamb. "I've not heard of Lord Stark fostering his children with your family."
Mormont knew this question might come up. And it certainly would not be the last time, either. He didn't want to implicate Ned, but he'd already done so when he had taken Jon south with him.
Ned was going to get a lot of letters from his bannermen. All politely inviting the chance to foster one of Eddard's children.
"I was heading down south for the tourney in Duskendale and I stopped at Winterfell." He decided he'd bend the truth. Just a tiny bit. "Jon had asked to become my squire. Lord Stark was only too kind to agree."
Lord Manderly bought it effortlessly. "Ah, I see." He said with an easy smile. "My father has been wanting to foster young Lord Robb for some time. I'm sure you understand as Lord of Bear Island."
"Of course." Mormont did understand. The Manderlys were loyal vassals, and they wanted strong ties to their liege lord. He knew that Wyman Manderly had two granddaughters. One of them would be a suitable bride for Robb Stark.
Yet Lord Stark likely wanted to keep his eye on all his children. The loss of his father, brother, and sister had likely instilled that fear in Eddard Stark. Mormont didn't blame him. He would prefer to keep all of his cousins and future children under his protection on Bear Island.
"And my nieces have expressed interest in meeting the Lady Dyanna, as well." Wendel had also mentioned as he gnawed at the rack of lamb in his hand. "They have said she looks just like Lady Stark."
"She does." Mormont knew Dyanna Stark would be a stunner once she was older. Dornishwomen had a particular wild beauty about them that made them irresistible, and the little girl had inherited that same beauty and had seamlessly merged it with northern elegance and grace.
Every lord and their mother would be demanding Dyanna's hand in marriage.
He doubted anyone would foster little Arya, however. Another thought had struck his mind as he remembered his youngest cousin. Perhaps I could foster Arya… She and Lyanna would get along…
Mormont shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself. Already dreaming of the days when he'd be old, fat, and rich on Bear Island. He'd have to win these tourneys first.
"Uncle?"
Starag had glanced over to Jon, who had now taken the damp cloth from his head. "I think it's stopped." The boy said.
Mormont lightly patted Jon's head and smiled. "It has." He gripped the boy by the shoulder. "You were a true knight for defending our honor, Jon."
His nephew had blushed a deep red at the praise and hastily nodded his head. "Thank you, uncle." He smiled back at Starag.
"And for defending our table!" Wendel added on. "Your father would be proud of you, Lord Jon! Those men were no more than honorless brutes, yet you stood up to them!"
Manderly turned to his men and raised his now refilled flagon of ale. "To Lord Jon! For defending our table against southern cunts and brigands!"
The men-at-arms had raised their cups and cheered. "To Lord Jon!" They all smashed their flagons together, spilling waterfalls of ale all over the table. Then, they reared back and poured their drinks into their mouths.
Now, Jon was positively embarrassed. He seemed to shrink away from the praise of the men at the table. Mormont held his cup of coffee in front of the boy.
Jon looked up at the glass, and then to Mormont's waiting eyes. He immediately understood.
Slowly, Jon Stark raised his own cup of coffee and tapped it against Mormont's. Click. The steel-bound wood could be heard over the chattering of the smallfolk nearby.
Starag smiled. "To your good fortune, lad."
If he could stand up for a table in a tavern, he can defend his people when they need him.
Titles never mattered when it came down to life and death. Jon had absolutely been afraid. Any boy his age would've been if a lord and his guards had threatened him. And if he stood up to them anyways...
He could do the exact same thing when armies were marching against him. If the Ironborn ever decided to rise up again and reave and rape the land, or Dragons had come from Essos to burn everything and torch the masses by the thousands... Jon would be able to handle it.
And that's all that mattered to Mormont.