It's a curious yet rather fulfilling dynamic. I sit down with a rather simple idea for a chapter, and I turn it into 5,000+ words. Funny how that works...

Anyway, enjoy :)

Duskendale

294 AC

It hadn't been until after their brief visit to Maidenpool that Mormont had fixed his training routine. He'd neglected to get himself back into top shape 'til then, but he figured that he'd need the exercise since he was up for his first tourney.

Up before dawn. Run a mile. Swim a quarter of a mile. Breakfast. Then he and his squire would get underway with the day's travel. He had done that for the five days it took them to get to Duskendale.

Though Mormont definitely preferred to be by himself on excursions like this, he had invited Wendel Manderly and his men-at-arms to share the road with him and Jon. There was no harm in traveling with a rather likable fellow like Wendel. His men had certainly come in handy when they went hunting and came back with deer.

Starag had figured that he might as well get along with his fellow bannermen if he was to take up the mantle of Lord once he got back to Bear Island. He had no trouble with Wendel, though. As grating as his eating habits were, he was easy to get along with.

The party of seven had arrived by the front gates of the large port town around the late morning of the fifth day. There would be no official tourney grounds for tents and such. Therefore, the contenders would likely take to the inns and taverns around the town.

Mormont and Jon parted ways with Wendel and his men as they entered the market square, though both knew that they'd be seeing the large boisterous Manderly quite soon.

After which, they had quickly found themselves a suitable tavern: The Seven Swords. Just hanging above the-thankfully tall- door was an elegant-looking wooden sign in the shape of a shield with seven white swords on it, blooming in a sort of flower.

Mormont had sent Jon inside while he left the horses in the nearby stables. He made sure each of them was given apples and water. Soon enough, they'd also need a good rub down.

He'd entered into a large common room, with the regular bustling of the tavern regulars who were talking over spilled ale. Lovely young girls with thin waists had glided back and forth between the tables.

As he walked towards the bar, he noticed more than a few pairs of eyes land squarely on him. It always had to do with his bloody height.

Not that Mormont really cared. His larger size helped him in battle, but it lost him more beautiful dames than he won.

Jon was standing at the bar, waiting for him with a glass of… something. Mormont couldn't really tell what it was as he looked at the cool creamy-colored liquid in Jon's flagon. He didn't really care either.

Regardless, his squire had answered his rescinded question. "It's eggnog," he said excitedly as he took another sip. When the boy had put his cup back down, Mormont saw the small liquid mustache above Jon's lip.

He decided he wouldn't tell the boy about it and looked to the waiting Innkeeper. "Good morning," he greeted as he reached for his coin purse. "We'll be needing 2 rooms for three nights."

The Innkeep was a short, stocky woman who looked to be in her fifties. Despite her rough worker hands and hard eyebrows, she had a kindly, motherly smile that would warm anyone who just met her. "Of course, dear! Arrived just in time, you two did! We've been getting knights and lords from all over, we have!"

Mormont didn't comment on it. This tourney was good for business. Not just for Lord Renfred Rykker, but also for the man's subjects. "What's on the menu? My squire and I are famished, miss…" Mormont asked with a polite smile.

"Oh!" The older woman had blushed. "Rhowina, my lord. As for the menu, we've got a nice warm beef stew with fried bacon and potatoes. Along with some fresh coffee since we've gotten more beans from the lads at the harbor."

"We'll have some of that. Sounds absolutely delicious. Right, lad?" He looked down at Jon, who had nodded his head eagerly. He still had the eggnog mustache on his lip. Mormont remembered that he'd nearly forgotten something.

"Ah, and have a bath drawn up for us both. We'll be attending a feast later tonight and we must look our best." Mormont said finally as he slid five gold dragons across the table.

Rhowina had looked at the coins with a look of pure astonishment. "B-But, ser! That's more than enough to book a room for several weeks-"

"I know." Mormont smiled warmly at the kindly woman. "You've taken good care of my squire while I handled the horses. It's the least I can do." He paused as he put his purse back in his pocket and reached for his pipe. "Now about that food-"

"Right away, my lord!" Rhowina had swept up the gold dragons in her hands and was about to turn away when Jon had spoken up.

"Do you have any honey, my lady?" Jon asked inquisitively. His gray eyes were attempting to scan the kitchens through the half-closed door behind the woman. "We prefer our coffee with honey."

Mormont had beamed at the boy's comment. He could imagine Jon sitting on the Iron Throne surrounded by his Queen, his children, and his subjects. And in his hand was a large mug of coffee swirling with golden sweet honey.

It would almost be a month since the two of them had left Winterfell. Already, Jon was hooked.

"Why of course, my dear!" Rhowina grinned with a playfulness Mormont hadn't often seen in older women. "We've got some in back. Just have yourselves a seat and I'll bring it all over!"

Starag Mormont decided to listen to this older woman. She clearly knew how important food was to a man, and now he was in the hands of her expertise. He patted Jon's shoulder and nodded to a nearby empty table. The boy understood and followed.

It wasn't long before Rhowina had brought out the coffee and honey. And by then, Mormont and Jon had long forgotten the harsh treatment of the road.

They found their deliciously sweet solace in a hot cup of sweet coffee.

Mormont was proud of his attire. It would absolutely piss off the noblemen he was about to meet.

He had put on his best robe. It was certainly not the standard wear of doublet and tight-fitting trousers. The robe was a deep velvet red that had extended down to his knees. Around his waist was a thick black and gold sash that covered the robe from his midsection to his waist.

The sleeves of his white cotton shirt had been unevenly rolled up his arms, revealing his hairy forearms for all to see. The space where his collar would've been had instead been left wide open, letting the world see his bare chest.

Along with some comfortable leather pants, Mormont had also worn tan brown leather riding boots.

Then he'd had his long black hair washed and tied to the back of his head. They gleamed softly in the pale lantern light of his room. He'd shaved his beard just a bit with his hunting knife.

If anything, he'd come off as the handsome and rugged 'Mountain Man From The North'. He was a northern savage, and he was taller than everyone else there. Who would insult him for his attire, but a fool?

Damn. I look good… His self-adoration had been stopped short when he heard a hand knock on his door.

Thud, thud, thud.

He walked over and opened the door. Jon was standing there, wearing the same black doublet that his sister had given him. Its silver accents had looked exceedingly pretty, along with the white direwolf's head emblazoned on his left breast. Jon would be getting a lot of attention from the ladies tonight.

Jon's wild mane of tight black curls had been let out to play and hung loosely from the boy's head.

Despite how well the doublet had fit Mormont's nephew, Jon had stood in front of him looking quite stiff. "Do I look silly, uncle?"

Mormont grinned with good humor. "Nonsense. You look just like your father did at Harrenhal."

"You said he was terrified of talking to mother."

Starag shook his head as he grabbed Longclaw on the nearby table. "True, but your father had dressed sharply for the occasion. Do you think your mother would've preferred to have danced with someone who wasn't as handsome as your father?" he said.

Jon had shaken his head as he thought deeply about it. "No." the boy said with a rather sudden wistfulness. "But… won't others think I look silly?"

That had stopped Mormont completely even as he was about to strap the family sword to his belt. He slowly glanced down at Jon with curious realization. Of course…

Jon was young enough to still be insecure about what others had thought of him. Mormont had once been plagued by the same line of thought, but he had long forgotten what it felt like.

"Jon." Mormont began as he finished tying his sword to his belt and got down on one knee. He was still taller than the boy. "Do you think I look silly?"

Jon Stark meekly nodded his head. "A little bit," he said uncertainly.

"Good." Mormont smiled to ease his nephew. "I want you to do me a favor tonight. It's really important," he said as he shuffled closer to the boy. Starag glanced suspiciously down the hallway outside his door for added effect.

"I want you to watch me very closely tonight when I'm speaking to the lords and ladies. You'll make sure and remind me not to stay with anyone for too long, alright? Do you think you can do that?"

Jon's head had inclined with nervous tension. "Yes, uncle." The boy had fixed his expression. "I can do that."

"Excellent." Mormont stood up and patted Jon on the shoulder. He took one last parting glance at his room and decided he had everything he needed. "Let's get on."

Jon Stark was not impressed with the Dun Fort.

He'd spent his early years running in and around the stone citadel that was Winterfell. The snowy castle was a sheer wonder in Westerosi architecture. Jon hadn't gone to many other castles, but he knew that most would have a hard time topping his family home.

His uncle didn't seem to be very impressed by the small square castle, either. The tall stone drum towers stood high and proud, but they were nothing compared to the Library Tower or even the Great Hall Jon had grown up with.

Still, Jon wore his best smile and rode slowly behind his uncle as they came up the wide stone road that led into the castle courtyard.

There were tiny carriages all parked neatly in the circular courtyard. Lords from the Crownlands stepped out of them with their ladies. Jon noted that some of the poorer lords had simply stepped off their horses. All of them had begun flooding inside the keep.

He remembered his uncle's words earlier that evening. Make sure he doesn't spend too long with everyone. I can do that. Of course, I can. He had reminded himself as they hitched their horses nearby the edge of the garden.

Jon watched his uncle jump off his massive warhorse and put an apple into the horse's mouth. Jon had done the same and decided to give Bella an apple as well. She did well on the journey from Winterfell.

Don't be late. His horse had seemingly nodded to where Jon's uncle had once been. Jon turned around and saw Uncle Starag striding confidently with all the swagger that Jon would expect in a southern lord. He hurried to catch up with his uncle.

Uncle Starag had made it to the front entrance. A man dressed in regal-looking armor stood like a statue. On his chain hauberk was a coat of arms emblazoned on a thick white cloth.

Two black warhammers lay on a white cross on a blue field. Which house was that? Jon had asked himself. He searched his mind for the answer, trying to go through the contents of every boring lecture from Maester Luwin. A name came to mind just moments later. Rykker! House Rykker.

House Rykker had taken over Duskendale after the Defiance. Of course! The reigning lord since then was Lord Renfred Rykker- though Jon's uncle had already told him as much.

"Good evening." The armored man's accent sounded rather posh to Jon. As if the man was trying to one-up his uncle or something. He was a rather thin-looking man who had a short beard and pointed chin. His dull brown eyes were about as lifeless as a corpse. He had his hands placed stiffly behind his back. "And you are…"

"Mormont. Ser Starag Mormont." Uncle Starag introduced himself to the man, though he hadn't offered his hand. Despite his uncle towering over the armored man, the latter had turned up his nose slightly as he looked Mormont up and down.

"A… Knight? I wasn't aware the North had knights of their own…" The armored man hadn't even looked at Jon once. His expression was about as disdainful as could be as he stared at Uncle Starag. "Who knighted you, if I may be so bold? Out of curiosity, of course."

Jon knew that the North didn't normally have knights due to the worship of the Old Gods. One had to swear to the faith of the Seven in order to become a Knight. Though there were some northerners who had been given the title by their lord for great deeds and such.

"Arthur Dayne." The answer came swiftly, cracking down on the shorter man like a hammer. Jon had to hold himself back from laughing as he saw the armored man's face blanch. There seemed to be some life behind those eyes after all. His uncle continued. "Where might I sign my name for the lists?"

The armored man seemed like he was ready to vomit on the floor. "Inside. There will be a large booth with several scribes. They will admit you." He recomposed himself. "Enjoy the feast, Ser Mormont."

"Thank you." Uncle Starag strode past the uncomfortable armored figure. Jon followed close behind.

The castle was regal looking enough. Beautiful tapestries of lords past had decorated the halls along with blue linens that displayed the House Rykker coat of arms.

Jon kept watching his uncle stride quickly through the clusters of lords and ladies. He kept his confusion to himself. Why hadn't Uncle Starag been bothered by their shrewd looks of contempt? Why didn't he care?

Was that why his uncle had asked Jon to look after him this evening? And what for?

They had entered into the dining hall, the first floor in the square keep. The comfortable glow of torchlight on gray stone was present all around the box hall. There were a vast collection of smaller rectangular tables dotted around the hall. On the left side, there was a wide-open patch of stone flooring where lords and ladies had already begun dancing, marching to the tunes of the bards nearby.

And to the right, Jon had spotted a lone wooden table with three short and spindly men sitting behind it. They were furiously writing away at some papers. He could only assume that was the booth.

Uncle Starag had begun walking over to the booth. Jon kept in step behind him. They approached the scribe in the middle, who had quickly pushed up his glasses upon spotting Jon's uncle.

"A-ah! Good evening, my lord." The scribe had said hastily. "I-I-I assume you want to join the lists?"

"Yes." Uncle Starag smiled kindly. "Ser Starag Mormont of Bear Island."

The scribe had nodded quickly and dipped his quill in a small pot. He scribbled something down on what appeared to be a list of names.

Uncle Starag then bent and leaned closer to the spindly scribe. Jon managed to hear what he said. "Has a Lord Horace Blount signed up for the lists? I've some personal matters to discuss with him."

Jon couldn't help but frown. Blount had been the man who had pummeled him at the Inn at the Crossroads. He felt his blood boil. Were he bigger and older, he would've beaten the man himself.

"I-I uh…" The bare-chinned scribe had quickly piled through the papers in front of him. "I don't believe so, my lord. He is of the Crownlands, however! He should be coming soon enough." he said with an audible gulp. He was clearly scared that Jon's uncle might snap him in half.

"Hmmm." Uncle Starag had straightened himself and glanced around the hall. Jon knew he was searching for Blount. He heard his uncle curse the man's name more than a few times over the campfire. He looked back to the scribe. "Send a servant to notify me when Lord Blount arrives. Understand?"

The scribe nodded hastily. "O-of course, my lord!"

"Good." Jon's uncle had made off then. They approached the high table, a small podium with a wide square table and a few chairs. Sitting by it, Jon assumed, was Lord and Lady Rykker.

Lord Renfred Rykker was a tall and lean man, with sandy neck-length hair, a matching beard, and weathered pale blue eyes. He instantly spotted Uncle Starag the moment they'd left the scribe behind. The Lord of the Castle stood to greet them.

"Ah, if it isn't Lord Mormont and young Jon Stark." Renfred held out his hand to greet Jon's uncle, which Uncle Starag had gladly accepted. Though Jon had been curious enough to wonder just how the Lord knew that they were coming.

Lord Rykker had unintentionally answered his question. "Word travels fast on the road. I've no doubt it will have reached King's Landing by now."

"Just my luck, it seems." Uncle Starag chuckled. "It's an honor to meet you, Lord Renfred. I do hope I haven't spoiled the evening with my attire."

Jon had expected the Lord to pucker up at his uncle's bait. He was astounded to see Lord Rykker throw his head back and laugh boisterously.

"Not at all, Lord Mormont!" Rykker wiped a stray tear from his eye. "Truth be told, it's refreshing to see some new fashion in the mix. I'm sure you know how it is with trends and such." He clapped his hands together. "But, why don't you meet my lady wife? She seems most impatient to meet the two of you."

Lord Rykker had also extended his hand to Jon. He shook it, gave a polite greeting, and then stayed silent. His uncle was to do most of the talking.

Jon's eyes had found the expectant figure of Lady Rykker. She was around the same height as her husband, yet her hair was darker. Much more of a golden brown. Though she might've been thinner months ago, Jon noticed the swelling bulge in her dress that told him she was very pregnant.

"Good evening, Lord Mormont." Lady Rykker had smiled gracefully at Uncle Starag, and then at Jon. "And to you, Lord Stark. I'd curtsy, but I'm afraid that's a bit difficult in my current condition."

Uncle Starag had given Lady Rykker a bow and kissed the back of her hand gently. "Lord Rykker is still a lucky man, my lady. As far as my savage tree worshipping ways go, I do pray you two have a strong and healthy child."

Jon had quickly shot his gaze up at his uncle, who had winked back at him. Again, both Lord and Lady Rykker had laughed rather unexpectedly at his uncle's quip.

"Thank you, Lord Mormont." Lady Rykker inclined her head in a pleasant bow. "If there's anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, you need only ask." Her smile was genuine as she spoke the words.

Jon was utterly confused. His uncle had already made himself a social outcast by dressing inappropriately and then had gone another step further by calling himself a tree-worshipping savage. It's as if he was going out of his way to get rejected…

Unless… That's exactly what he wanted Jon to see.

Would his uncle refuse their offer? It would be the polite thing to do, no?

"Well now that you mention it, I could do with a strong drink." Jon's uncle had said with a relieved smile.

Lord Rykker immediately had summoned a nearby servant. "Fetch a bottle of the Braavosi Firebrand. The stuff that came in on the Tidewater." he glanced at Uncle Starag with playful eyes. "You'll love this particular beverage. Distilled grains and barley from Braavos. Very strong."

A few moments later, the servant had come back with two small glasses and a strange-looking bottle filled with a golden brown liquid.

Jon's uncle had taken one of the glasses and frowned at it. "Isn't this a little light? Should the glass not be full to the brim?"

Lord Rykker had seemingly expected the question. Likely having answered it before. "Its alcohol content is much higher than that of wine, Lord Starag. One small glass of this stuff is supposedly the same as five cups of wine," he explained with a patient smile.

Jon hadn't really known all that much about wine or alcohol. He'd had some before during the occasional feast at Winterfell. It had made his head buzz and throb the next morning. That was about as far as his knowledge on the subject went.

Uncle Starag however, had seemed quite impressed and had clinked his glass against Lord Renfred's. Both men downed their cups eagerly.

"Damn." Jon's uncle had winced slightly upon drinking the golden brown fluid. "Tastes of oak and spices. Bit of smoke in there, too… And honey." Uncle Starag grinned wickedly. "Say, how many of those bottles have you got? I wouldn't mind taking a few back to Bear Island."

After Uncle Starag and Lord Rykker had discussed sending the Firebrand back to Bear Island, he had his glass refilled and left the high table. Jon followed close behind.

Jon's uncle had spent the rest of the evening going around to the cloistered groups of lords, knights, and their lady wives. Every time, the group had seemed to look down upon his uncle with a petty snobbery and disdain for Northmen.

Strangely enough, though, it had only taken Uncle Starag a handful of lines to get the assembled lords and ladies cracking with laughter and smiles. They were genuine, too.

It was as if Uncle Starag had come along and thoroughly disarmed their southern hostility. He charmed them and swept them away with his rather outlandish appearance and wildly intense deep blue eyes.

Jon had quickly remembered his duty after his uncle had walked away from several groups of hyped-up nobles. And the pattern had begun to set in his mind.

Whenever his uncle had directed the conversation of the group and landed on a particularly high note, Jon had tugged lightly on his uncle's golden-black sash around his waist. Then, Uncle Starag would make his exit from the group.

"Ah well, I believe I've spent too long talking your ear off."

One of the Lords had perked up at his uncle's comment. "Not at all, Lord Starag. I believe you mentioned a story about you and your cousin, Dacey?" he said with an eager smile. The rest of the nobles had been thoroughly hooked and waited for Jon's uncle to tell the story.

"I'm afraid I must be getting around. Perhaps later in the evening, hmm?" Jon's uncle smiled sadly and so did the other nobles. They had gone from wanting his uncle to disappear entirely to wanting him to tell them stories like Old Nan would do for Jon and his siblings. "Have a lovely evening all of you."

"You as well, Lord Mormont."

"Good fortune to you, Lord Starag."

"Please do come around again! You were a delight, Lord Starag."

They hadn't even paid so much as a glance in Jon's direction, but he chalked that up due to being his uncle's squire. No, there was something his uncle was doing, and Uncle Starag had wanted him to pay close attention.

By the end of the evening, practically all the nobles in the box dining hall were looking kindly upon both Jon and his uncle. They laughed more easily at some quip his uncle would make, even if it was at their own expense.

Why?

Jon considered that he was possibly quite wrong about how to approach other lords and ladies. As he watched his uncle go around and effortlessly chat up the stoney-faced noblemen and their wives, and then making those same nobles cry their eyes out with laughter, he came to a startling realization.

It certainly wasn't the alcohol. Uncle Starag could drink a barrel of ale and still be as sober as a mule.

And Jon knew it wasn't some sense of grandiosity, either. His uncle was by far one of the best warriors Jon had ever seen. He deserved to believe he could do anything.

Uncle Starag was just being… Uncle Starag.

He accepted his imperfections. He had outright called himself a tree-worshipping savage to the Lord and Lady of the Castle. Southerners took to the faith of the Seven and disregarded the Old Gods as a false religion.

Then there were his drinking habits, and how he ruthlessly smoked his pipe whenever he wanted. There was his obsession with coffee and honey. And Jon also knew he had a particular vulnerability for beautiful women. One not shared with Father or Uncle Arthur.

The whole concept behind their trip was one big gamble. It would be so easy for Uncle Starag to go up against Jamie Lannister and potentially lose everything to the man who was considered the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms. They even thought Jamie Lannister was better than Uncle Arthur.

Everything that Uncle Starag did was based on one singular principle: Maximum Risk.

His attire for the evening, his approach to the stifled and compressed nobles, everything bordered on risk. But Jon's uncle didn't care.

It had been perhaps a few hours later when a servant had approached Uncle Starag and whispered something into his ear. Then, the look on his face turned ice-cold as it scanned the dining hall. Jon knew who his uncle was looking for.

Blount.

Jon spotted the lordling just on the other side of the dining hall. He was speaking with Lord and Lady Rykker. The Lord of the Castle had a fixed, uncomfortable smile on his face as he exchanged words with Lord Blount.

His uncle had noticed as well. But just as quickly, he looked away at something else at the entrance to the dining hall. Jon tried to see what he was looking at.

Of course…

Uncle Arthur had told Jon that Uncle Starag was a hothead. He knew more than enough about Lord Mormont's habits concerning women.

Standing tall and graceful by the steps leading to the tall oak doors was a lady. Jon figured she must've been in her early twenties, around the same age as his Aunt Allyria. She had beautiful ash blonde hair that went down past her shoulders, and a curve to her back which even Jon would admit was enticing to look at.

Her dress was made of pale green silk that hugged her exquisite figure and teased her large breasts, thin waistline, and ample rump. Her face was charming to look at; small and glowing, but her expression was more akin to one of the statues in the crypts of Winterfell.

She would've looked exceedingly pretty if she was smiling.

Jon had looked up to see his uncle's deep blue eyes dilate in real-time. "Who's that?" he asked curiously.

"Who knows?" Uncle Starag had said with a dangerous flicker in his eyes. It was a simple expression of desire, Jon knew. "But she'd certainly bear closer inspection."

Jon shook his head incredulously. His duty was to keep his uncle out of trouble. It was more than likely this woman was the wife of some southern lord. "We're here for the tourney, remember?"

His uncle had finally torn his eyes away from the blonde woman and looked down at Jon. There was a fierceness and intensity in those dark blue eyes that had seemed… haunted to Jon.

He'd heard stories from Father about men who had seen too much after wars and battles, men who had gone too far to the edge of their minds and had lost themselves completely to insanity.

Jon Stark realized he was looking into the eyes of one such man who had held onto himself. A man who had seen far too much for his own good and knew so many secrets that nobody else would ever know.

A man, who wouldn't let go of his mind and his sanity no matter the cost. Even if he had to drink, smoke, or use women just to survive and hold on.

As if the dark blue irises had noticed their sudden vulnerability, they blinked quickly and moved away from Jon's gaze.

Uncle Starag let out a deep sigh and withdrew his pipe from his pocket. He took a nearby candle and lit the tobacco in the tiny bowl. "You drive a hard bargain, Jon." His uncle looked at him again with a soft smile. "Alright. No married women."

Jon smiled back at his uncle. He glanced back at the elegant noblewoman who had made his uncle stop and stare. He frowned as he saw her approach Lord Blount's side.

A pit had grown deep in his stomach as he realized who the woman was. Wendel Manderly had mentioned that Lord Horace Blount would be attending with his lady wife…

Uncle Starag had watched, too as the 'Ice Queen' as Jon referred to her had gone up to Lord Blount and stiffly kissed him on the cheek.

That boiling anger Jon felt deep within himself had surged and resurfaced again as he looked at the thin cruel smile on Lord Horace's ugly fat face. How his own wife had been leaning away from him slightly. Even she was repelled by him...

Jon had grown up looking to Father for guidance on how to conduct himself in the world. Father was strict and honorable. He always did things as he needed to, no matter how he felt about it. Whatever it was, he'd get it done.

Uncle Arthur was the same in that regard. He'd always follow his duty to the letter. Even if it meant that others would suffer for it.

Uncle Starag was just as strict and honorable at times, but Jon's other uncle also had a crooked side to him. He'd play clever pranks, or he'd deliberately disadvantage someone else for his own personal gain. He was a man of his word, a man of honor, yet he also had no obvious moral compass like Father or Arthur had. He had no qualms against sleeping with married women or betting all of his money on a particular combatant in a tourney. He wasn't rigid like Father was at times.

And it only took Jon Stark a moment to realize that's exactly why the nobles in the dining hall had suddenly liked him so much. His uncle had revealed a taste of his crooked side to them.

It would be honorable to hold his uncle back despite Jon's vendetta against Lord Blount…

Jon looked back up to his uncle. At the same time, Uncle Starag had glanced down at Jon with a wide, questioning smile.

His heart beating wildly in his chest as he realized the magnitude of his potential revenge against Lord Horace Blount, the man who had thrown him against a stone brick wall just a week earlier. Jon felt the blood rush to his face as he spoke the words into existence.

"I take it back. Go right ahead."