Duskendale

294 AC

The next morning, Mormont and Jon had been cordially invited to break their fast with Lord Renfred and his Lady wife at the high table. Mormont had found Renfred to be a kind host and a good man and he was glad for the invitation.

Thankfully, Horace Blount had not been invited to eat with them. Though Mormont certainly wanted to see more of Blount's wife. He couldn't imagine seeing a more beautiful girl than he had the night before.

Her name was Alyss.

His father had told him of strange and foreign Wildling traditions. It was more often than not that they'd receive unwelcome visitors on Bear Island coming from the Frozen Shore, and Jeor had picked up a thing or two from their guests before he'd execute them.

Mormont remembered one such custom in particular; How if a man saw a woman he wanted, he'd 'steal' her.

Though Starag was quite sure that didn't extend to the wives of other men, he very much wanted to 'steal' Alyss Blount the exact moment he saw her.

Her pale blonde hair had made her stand out among the crowd of brunettes that Mormont had met earlier that evening. She likely had the blood of Old Valyria in her, and it showed in her sharp jawline.

Her waist had been so thin that Mormont knew he could grip it with a single hand. He couldn't imagine why a doe-eyed creature like that had been married to a pathetic slughorn like Horace Blount.

It was certainly not a marriage of love, judging by Alyss's thinly veiled disgust at Lord Blount. Starag knew that Blount had wanted to show her off as a trophy. A waste…

He'd not had the chance to speak with the alluring young woman, but a part of him knew he'd manage it today. It was, after all, the first day of the tourney.

He already had a match lined up against some Celtigar lordling, but he mentally prepared himself for more than that. There was always the chance that he could find himself up against Horace Blount. Mormont relished the thought of him sending the bastard from his horse. And afterward, he'd take Blount's horse and armor, and lastly, the man's wife.

"Where does House Blount have their holdings?" Mormont had asked his host. "I don't recall a particular keep."

Renfred had nodded as he took another draft of his morning cup. "It's a tiny little keep on the coast between Rook's Rest and Crackclaw Point. They mind themselves mostly, though Lord Blount has his unusual tastes…" The Lord of Duskendale had said with an uncomfortable glean in his eyes.

Mormont didn't blame Renfred. "Are they terribly wealthy? I wouldn't want to rob the man blind and starve his people."

"Quite, as a matter of fact." Lord Renfred had curled his lip in disgust. "Not that Lord Horace has much care for his people. Whenever I travel to visit Lord Velaryon, we pass through Blount's little fiefdom. Fleebottom would be more suitable accommodations than Blount's lands."

"And Lady Alyss?" Mormont asked. "Is she from another family?"

Renfred's expression had softened. "House Langward. Much poorer in gold, I'm afraid. I met her a few times before she married Lord Horace. Sweet girl." He shook his head. "Too bad she's stuck with a cruel man like him."

"Yes." Mormont had said as he poured himself another cup of coffee. "Yes, it is."

The tourney grounds were minimal at best. Mormont knew they wouldn't be anything particularly impressive since this tourney was likely going to end tomorrow afternoon.

There had been stands set up for the nobility while smallfolk could watch the competitors from the ground. Many lords and ladies had gathered to watch the joust commence, holding glasses of wine.

Mormont had already missed the stuff Renfred had introduced him to. The Braavosi Firebrand was one of the best drinks he'd ever had in his life. If he was going to drink one thing for the rest of his life, it would've been the Firebrand.

I'll have a distillery made on Bear Island… It would be a good investment seeing as Northerners loved their drink. He'd make a killing from the other houses.

But of course, he had a match coming up.

His name was one of the first to be called, so he and Jon had set to work with outfitting himself.

Mormont couldn't stand full plate armor. It made him too slow and rigid in battle. Half plated mail was his go-to, along with his thickly padded coat and bear's pelt. The bear's head had stuck out on his shoulder, the black stuffed eyes had gleamed brightly in the morning sun.

Jon held his lance and shield with steady hands. The lad was certainly strong despite his lean arms. As he and Mormont approached the grounds, the latter spotted his opponent across the long stretch of sand.

"Won't you need a helmet, uncle?" Jon asked.

Mormont glanced down at his nephew. "I'll be fine. Rule number one…" he paused before he grinned wickedly. "Always have an irrational sense of self-belief about you."

Jon smiled widely. "Whatever you say, uncle."

Mormont winked at him as he took his lance and shield. Across the patch of sand, he saw Lord Celtigar do the same. The field of red crabs strewn on white seemed more like dots on a flag.

He trotted up to the starting line on his horse while Jon had gone near the stands. Mormont positioned his lance underneath his right arm while he brought up the large circular wooden shield on his left.

This was going to be quick.

The nobles and the smallfolk had quieted down as Celtigar had approached the line as well. Splitting the strip of sand was a long wooden fence. Mormont could hear it creak slightly with the wind.

Humhuhummmm! Then, the trumpet brayed loudly, cracking the air like thunder.

Mormont sped off on Bear, galloping down the stretch of sand and angling his lance slightly to his left. Celtigar came straight towards him, doing the same.

Starag leaned forward slightly in his seat as they came closer together. He aimed the tip of his lance at the smaller man's shield and felt the ice seep into his bones. At the last second, he jutted his lance forward.

Crack! He felt the shockwave of pressure from Celtigar's lance glancing off his wooden shield. Meanwhile, Starag's lance had smashed right into Celtigar's shield, the impact had sent the Crownlands lord straight from his horse and onto the sand. Thump!

Mormont urged Bear to a stop and turned around. He poured his eyes over Celtigar. The lordling was alive.

"And the winner is Ser Starag Mormont!"

A round of cheers had come from the stands above, while the smallfolk clapped eagerly. Starag found it strange how they could always be placated by violence.

He rode back over to his corner and handed his broken lance at wooden shield off to Jon. It had been too easy. The first round is always the easiest.

It was what came after that had only made Mormont curious.

He'd unhorsed a few more lords and knights from the Crownlands, and even a knight hailing from the Riverlands, some Frey lordling. All of them survived, though they'd certainly remember the bruises.

It was late afternoon by the time he had joined the other nobles in the stands. Mormont's name had not been called for the last few tilts of the day. Though he was pleased to hear that Wendel had made it this far.

Blount had also managed to get quite far in the lists, and there was an inkling in the back of Mormont's mind that wondered if he and Horace Blount would be the final two competitors. Perhaps… not that he'll have much luck.

Jon had asked him if he could into town and explore, though Mormont knew his squire had only wanted to inspect the Smith's road. Wanting a sword, no doubt. Too bad Jon didn't have any gold to spend on one.

Mormont had approached one of the serving girls in the back of the stands, who had been standing behind a small bar. He was about to order another glass of the Firebrand when he saw her again.

Alyss Blount was standing dutifully in the far corner of the stands. Her look was far away and distant. Ice-cold. Nobody else was with her.

Mormont saw the shapely curve of her hips and he narrowed his eyes at them. Her thin silk dress was a bloody red today, along with a brown wolf's pelt to protect from the slight afternoon wind.

"Two glasses of wine. White." He said to the serving girl. Starag realized that Horace Blount was out on the field. He smiled as he recognized the opportunity in front of him.

The girl had given him two glasses of sparkling white wine. Mormont took them gently and walked over to the pale-haired woman.

She hadn't looked at him as he approached and stopped next to her. "Hello," He greeted warmly. "I thought you'd like to join the party." He said as he held out one of the glasses to the beautiful pale woman.

Alyss had turned her head slowly to look at him. Mormont found himself looking back into emotionless pale green eyes. Her hair had been done in one of those southern braids, making a sort of crown over the veil of ash blonde waves.

She gingerly took the offered glass and glanced away from Mormont. Back to whatever she'd been staring at.

"By the way, my name is Starag Mormont." He introduced himself. "I'm from the North."

Alyss smiled politely at him, though there was no warmth in her eyes. "Hmm. I never would've guessed." Her tone was sarcastic and lifeless. "Your accent has the same lilt as any other northerner."

She was testing him. Mormont had already figured her out, though. Alyss Blount was the kind of guarded and jaded woman who just wanted to be let out to go play.

He remembered something that Brandon Stark had once said to him when he and the Starks had visited White Harbor. Girls just want to have fun. That was more true than most men had realized.

And Alyss Blount had been certainly starved of fun for years.

"I've been told otherwise, lady…" He already knew who she was. But getting her to introduce herself had been harder than he expected.

"Blount." Alyss had said plainly as she looked over at him again. "Lady Blount. Lord Horace is my husband."

No doubt she expected that to scare him off. Mormont was used to that particular treatment from married women. He simply smiled. "A pleasure my lady," he said as he took her hand.

Lady Blount's pale green eyes had flickered slightly as he gently kissed the back of her hand. Curiosity had flooded into those green orbs. Her thin body had turned towards him slightly. "I didn't know the North had knights…"

Mormont was glad that she had changed the subject. "They don't. However, there are some exceptions like the Manderlys."

"I see," Alyss said. She sipped at her glass of wine. "Who knighted you, then? Was it one of the Manderlys?"

She's either digging, or she's already hooked. "I was knighted by Arthur Dayne. The Sword of the Morning." He said rather reluctantly. He did not like boasting about his accomplishments openly to women. Women often lived simpler lives. They preferred to be shown as opposed to being told.

Still, his mention of his old friend had made Alyss raise her eyebrows, intrigued. "Really? I heard that Ser Arthur had been exiled to the North by the King. But I've never heard of him taking on another squire."

"I… wasn't his squire." Mormont chuckled lightly. "But that's a story for another time," he said. "Do you like horses, my lady?"

The corners of Alyss's mouth had turned up slightly. "I do," she answered. Her mask was beginning to crack. "I've always loved an early morning ride."

Mormont cracked a grin. "I'm an early riser myself," he said as he drank some of his wine. The sweetness had a crackling sensation on his tongue. "What do you ride? Garron?"

He was greeted with one of the most delightful smiles Mormont had ever seen in his life. This was Alyss Langward, not the stonelike and distant Lady Blount. "A garron." she nodded. Her body had turned towards his completely. "He's a chestnut bay. I named him Max, after my brother."

"Lovely name." Mormont noticed her pale green eyes staring more intently at him. There was warmth and… desire in them. "I'm sure you've seen my warhorse, Bear."

Alyss nearly spit the wine out of her mouth as she giggled playfully. "Bear? You named your horse Bear?" She asked. "It seems a little unoriginal for House Mormont, no?"

Mormont nodded. "My cousin Dacey told me the same thing. Of course, she can't ride as well as I can." He said. The challenge had been sufficiently issued as he narrowed his eyes slightly at the shorter woman in front of him.

This woman was looking for an escape from her drab and boring life, and she was sophisticated enough to understand the doublespeak that the nobility often used. Very early on in his life, Mormont had found the same language quite useful for wooing the opposite sex.

Alyss had recognized the challenge. He saw the firelight behind those pale green eyes. Her eyes crinkled and she smiled in veiled excitement. "Oh! And how well do you ride, Ser Mormont?"

"Please, call me Starag." He said as he lowered his glass towards hers. "May I call you Alyss, my lady?"

"You may… Starag." Alyss tapped her glass against his. Ching. They both drank until their glasses were empty. Neither had broken the intense eye contact between the two of them.

"As for my riding…" Mormont handed his glass off to a serving girl, who had taken Alyss's as well. "I bet I could ride better than you."

Alyss pursed her pink, luscious lips together in a warm smile. "Oh really? And what makes you think that?" She placed her hands on her curvy hips and pushed out her chest towards him. She's fucking teasing me…

Mormont had wanted to glance down at her breasts. He knew they were hard and perky, inviting him to come closer and grab and fondle them. That would've been incredibly impolite. As well as a sure way to get him disqualified.

"I've acquired a keen nose for these kinds of things, Alyss." He kept his eyes focused on hers. "How about we settle this dispute sometime tomorrow. Early morning perhaps?"

He could've grinned when he saw those pale blue eyes flicker down to his lips. Her breathing pattern had become choppy and somewhat labored. "I'd like that, Starag." she said.

"Why don't we set out around five, Alyss." He said. It was more of a statement than a question. "I'll be heading into the forest for my morning routine. Perhaps you can come along."

With the way her eyes were looking at him, Mormont knew this woman was trying to imagine him naked. Probably inside of her, too. "Of course, Starag. Where are you staying?"

"The Seven Swords," Mormont said. "We can meet there."

Alyss nodded her head in agreement. "I'll be there." She smiled prettily at him. How Mormont wanted to whisk her away right then. He'd hold her close and tell her everything would be fine in the world.

Then he'd make love to her. And she to him.

The last tilt of the day had been exactly what Mormont was dreading.

Wendel Manderly sat high up on his horse. He waved energetically at Starag. Mormont nodded his head in reply as the Manderly Knight had slammed down the visor of his steel helmet.

And far on the other end of the sand line was Horace Blount.

Blount had been wearing the same steel armor as he had when he'd thrown Jon against the wall back at the Inn at the Crossroads. He too pulled down his visor and calmly took his lance and shield from his squire.

Mormont knew the squire wasn't his son. The teen was a bit chubby and certainly did not look anything like Alyss did.

Huhuhummmm! The trumpet sounded again.

The two men had shot off on their horses. They charged toward one another and aimed their lances towards the other's chest.

Crack! Wendel's lance had broken against Blount's shield, but both men were still on their horses. Blount's lance had glanced off Wendel's shield.

Manderly received another lance from one of his men-at-arms and charged again down the line. Blount had come up to meet him.

Thud! Both lances had met the other's shield. This time it had been Horace Blount who shook in his seat, nearly falling off his horse. Still, he remained seated. A point went to Wendel.

Mormont was conflicted. He both wanted to support his new friend, yet at the same time, he also desired the chance to unhorse and humiliate Blount himself. Come on Wendel. Unhorse the goatfucker.

Again, both men charged at one another. Their lances crashed into the wooden shields. Mormont felt the pit in his stomach lurch as he saw Wendel Manderly topple over from his saddle and onto the sand.

And Horace Blount was still on his horse.

"The winner is Lord Horace Blount!" The herald had yelled.

The smallfolk had cheered and clapped. No doubt it was pleasing to see a Northman be sent from his saddle. Surprisingly enough, most of the nobility had only polite smiles and clapped rather… dispassionately.

Mormont narrowed his eyes at Blount, who seemed to have lapped up the praise and attention from the smallfolk of Duskendale. It was then that Lord Blount had glanced Mormont's way.

Starag nearly snapped the wooden beam he was leaning on as Blount had smirked at him. Just you wait, goatfucker. I'll fuck your wife, then I'll take your horse and your armor.

Mormont fumed inwardly but kept his expression ice-cold. He gave Blount a half-smile. His sword hand had felt itchy.

It would be too easy to lop Blount's head from his shoulders. Another idea had entered Mormont's mind, one that could no doubt win him some gold, too.

But first, he had to give Alyss Blount the ride of her life.