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King's Landing
294 AC
A new problem had arisen for Starag Mormont.
He had been awarded his 25,000 gold dragons for his stunning, and a rather brutal victory at the tourney of Duskendale. The "mourning" widow Alyss Blount had told him she'd have an additional 1000 gold dragons sent to Bear Island to cover her late husband's bet.
Mormont had spent his last day at Duskendale in his room at the Seven Swords. All alone with Alyss Blount. Naturally, he doubted that many people had gotten much sleep that night.
Even though it had been nearly two days since he had won his rather unexpected battle with Horace Blount, Starag could still feel the stinging soreness in his left arm from when he'd bashed his shield against Blount's lance. The skin had turned blotchy red and purple. It would stay like that for the next few days.
Mormont was thankful for that. The tourney at King's Landing would not take place for another two weeks, and Starag had a lot of time to kill between now and then.
Which had reminded him of his problem.
He hadn't a single clue about where he was going to keep his gold.
Where the hell am I going to keep it? The singular question had pervaded his mind as he, Jon, and Wendel Manderly's party had ridden through Rosby with the significantly large carriage tailing behind.
The sun had come out to play in the vast clear blue sky high above them. Starag felt the great orb of light beating down on him with its intense hot summer rays. He was long used to it by now. He glanced back at the massive cart behind him. Jon was sweating like a sailor.
Jon had wanted to stay on his garron, but Mormont ordered him to man the carriage. As they looped through the Iron Gate, Starag had glanced back on his horse to see the sullen Jon Stark diligently holding the reins of the horses pulling the massive cart.
Mormont knew he'd be spending the whole bloody day just trying to find a suitable location to stash his gold. He had to keep an eye on it, yet he knew that if it was too readily available, he'd just blow it all on booze and cards.
He was going to do that anyway. Just with a little bit of the money, at least. 5000 gold dragons won't make too much of a difference, now would it?
And then there was the matter of Jon. The boy had done quite well as his squire so far, and he was learning quickly. Mormont was the kind of man who rewarded good behaviour towards him. Jon would be no exception.
The Bear Lord had remembered that he'd specifically asked for Blount's armor to be given to him. Even if it was mangled from where Mormont had stabbed him. He had an idea…
Wendel had chosen to sidle up beside him right then. "Any specific plans, Starag?"
Mormont nodded slightly. "Just a bit of light shopping, really. I assume you want to get your men settled in?"
Manderly smiled. "Yes indeed. It has been a long ride, and we wish for ale!" He patted his bulging stomach. "But I shall leave you with two of my men for the time being. I trust you will look after them?"
"Of course." Starag offered his hand. Wendel took it and the two men shook hands. "See you soon, Wendel."
"And you as well, Starag." The Manderly Knight turned around on his horse and looked to Jon. He gave a deep bow in his saddle. "Lord Stark."
"Bye, Wendel." Jon waved to the fat man. His smile was morose. Mormont too had been slightly sad to see the Manderly leave. But the man wanted booze, and Starag could sympathize.
Wendel had shortly left with two of his men-at-arms, leaving the other two behind on either side of the carriage.
They had continued riding down the Street of Looms, passing by Flee Bottom on the way. Mormont tried to ignore the pungent stench of piss and shit as they went by. The Manderly's certainly hadn't been prepared, either. They visibly winced and flared their nostrils.
Jon had covered his nose with his cloak, though Starag didn't really know why he still wore it this far south. King's Landing was sweltering hot in the summer. The boy would soon figure out that the cloak was more a hindrance down south.
The smallfolk on the streets had made way for them as their horses trotted along and the grand carriage behind clambered on the stone brick road. They likely thought someone important was inside. Mormont preferred to keep it that way.
They wore pitiful rags and their pale skin had been blotched with spots of soot and what Mormont had figured was likely shit as well. He would've felt pity, but then he remembered that these people had chosen to live this way.
It didn't take them long to make it to Jaehaerys's Square in the middle of the city. The market stalls littered in the grand plaza were bustling and filled to the brim with customers eagerly waiting to buy a loaf of bread.
Mormont did not understand why people waited in line for something they wanted. It was an unbelievable waste of time, and it was far easier to just reach out and take what one wanted.
Still, Starag had scanned the beautiful stonework and flowing fountain of Jaehaerys's Square. The statue standing above the water founts was of a tall and elegant-looking man with an abnormally long beard and thick braided hair. His expression was stoic in nature. It was Jaehaerys, The Conciliator, Mormont knew. Jon's namesake.
He frowned as he kept looking at the statue. It was just a statue, after all… Yet as he glanced back at Jon on top of the carriage, Mormont swore he could see a vague resemblance. Just the barest hint of a shared jawline and high cheekbones.
It was probably best for him to ignore it, he decided. Drawing attention to Jon was not a part of the plan. To everyone else, the boy looked every inch like Eddard Stark. Mormont, however, saw Lyanna's black-brown curls and Rhaegar's strong jaw.
He turned his gaze away from the statue of The Conciliator and searched for his next target. Starag had several stops to make before he found a place to call his den for the next few weeks.
Firstly, he had wanted to get Jon to stop his sullen and brooding bouts that had continued on the road. Mormont decided it was a hereditary trait from Rhaegar, after all. But Starag Mormont was not one to give up on a challenge.
There! He spotted the lone building sandwiched between a tailor and a blacksmith's shop. On the sign hanging above the door was an instrument of some kind carved out of wood. The print on the sign had said: "Grimnar's Musical Instruments & Accoutrements".
He led his small caravan over to the small hole in the wall. Despite its rather uncomfortable size, the wooden walls and support beams looked newly polished. If he can afford to look presentable, perhaps he's got the stones.
Mormont ordered the Manderly men-at-arms to stay with the carriage. "I won't be long," he said. Then he looked to Jon. "Come, lad. I've got a surprise for you."
Jon had jumped excitedly down from the carriage and ran over to him. Though Mormont had spotted a confused frown on the boy's face as he saw the sign.
He walked in with his nephew close behind. The bell attached to the door had rung as Mormont pushed it open with one hand.
They walked into a small gallery that held a vast collection of neatly and rather well-crafted instruments, at least as far as Mormont could tell. He didn't know the proper names for most of the instruments he set his eyes on.
Beyond the gallery was a long desk that looked more like a bar at a tavern than anything. Behind it, standing to attention, was an unusually tall figure with broad shoulders and long, well-toned arms. He was wearing a tanned leather jerkin.
If this was the shop owner, he seemed incredibly out of place. Seems like he'd be more at home with a good spear.
Mormont smiled pleasantly at the bearded man. "We're just browsing."
Grimnar, he supposed, had simply bowed his head and returned to a book he had been reading.
"Well," Mormont turned to Jon. "How do you feel about singing, Jon?"
Jon Stark smiled sheepishly as he blushed. "I don't sing all that well, uncle," he said. "Why are we here? I'm hungry, uncle."
"So am I," Starag said. "Ever taken up a hobby besides playing with swords? What about playing music?"
His nephew shook his head. "Uncle Arthur tried to get me to play the harp, once. I didn't like it all that much, though."
Mormont wasn't surprised. Jon had inherited Rhaegar's natural talent with the sword, but not the Silver Prince's tongue or taste for music. Arthur had likely tried to bring more of Rhaegar out of the boy. He didn't know at the time that Jon was as stubborn as Lyanna Stark.
Still, Starag was not deterred. "You know, just because we're not good with something right away doesn't we don't have a talent for it." He patted Longclaw on his belt. "I could barely swing a sword the first time I tried it."
"Really?" Jon asked with a disbelieving eyebrow. "You've beaten Uncle Arthur, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have." Mormont would have to beat Arthur once they got back to Winterfell. After he took his victory, just to mess with Arthur, he'd deny a rematch and go back to Bear Island. "But I was so shit with swordplay that Arthur would make me run a lap for every mistake I made during training. Know how many laps I had to run?"
"How many?"
"The most I ran in one day was fifty-seven." Mormont continued. "And that was only about half as much as I had to do that day. I passed out because of exhaustion halfway through."
Jon blanched his face draining of any color whatsoever. He probably realized that was exactly what Arthur had in mind for him and Robb as well.
"So," Mormont smiled and patted Jon on the shoulder. "If I can learn how to properly swing a sword, you can learn to play an instrument." He gave the boy a sideways glance as he smirked. "Besides, girls love a man who can make them swoon with an instrument."
After turning a pale white, Jon's face had all the color in the world flood right back into it. His cheeks had flushed a deep scarlet red. "If you say so, uncle," he said as he glanced aimlessly around the gallery. "But which one do I pick?"
Mormont shrugged. "Whichever one suits your fancy."
Jon looked around the small gallery for a few minutes. He approached what Mormont thought was a flute and shook his head at it. The boy inspected a few others, but only pursed his lips as he tried playing them. Even with the harp inside the shop, Jon had managed to nick one of his fingers on the sturdy strings.
Finally, Jon had come upon a Lute. Mormont had seen many a bard with one such instrument. Usually, the ones who soon took a serving girl back to their room for the night.
The wood seemed an almost pale orange in the torchlight above. Six strings glittered like silver in rows on its neck. It was a beautiful piece of work.
"What about this?" Jon asked. "Can we get this one?"
Mormont almost laughed. Jon hadn't even tried to play it. But if the boy wanted it, then he wanted it. "Sure."
They walked up to the counter, where the bearded man stood. He flipped his book closed and looked up at Mormont and then at the lute in Jon's hands. "Ah, lovely piece. Made by myself," he said with a rather charming smile. "I trust you know how to play it."
Jon shook his head. "No, I don't."
Grimnar only raised an intrigued eyebrow at the boy. "Really?" His rich, and somewhat grating voice had asked. He looked to Mormont. "Buying a gift for your brother, perhaps?"
"He's my squire, actually." Mormont corrected the man. He didn't blame him, though. Both he and Jon had very tight black curls. "But his father dabbled with music. Thought I'd help him get started."
The shop owner smiled kindly at Jon. "I see. Well, I do happen to have a few manuals handy. I wrote them myself, and they can get you started. How does that sound?" he said.
Starag's nephew nodded his head eagerly. Grimnar gave them both a bow and retreated into the back of his store. He came out a moment later with a thin book that had a distinct drawing of a lute on the cover.
While Jon poured over it, Mormont approached the counter. Grimnar stood opposite of him. "Consider the book a gift. The lute on the other hand will be 250 Silver Stags."
Mormont dug into his coin purse. He didn't think he had that many stags in his pockets. He usually just carried gold.
Sure enough, he glanced inside his leather satchel and frowned. All he saw were gold dragons. Whatever. He took two gold coins and tossed them onto the table. "That about cover the cost?"
Grimnar's eyes had widened significantly as he saw the two gleaming gold dragons before him. "B-But that's double! More than-"
"So it does. Excellent." Mormont shook the tall shopkeeper's hand firmly. "Thanks for the lute, my friend. Best get on." He shuffled his squire out the door while Grimnar struggled to find the right words to speak.
Mormont never did understand why they always had that look about them after he'd paid up.
After he'd paid Grimnar, Mormont and Jon had continued on with their little shopping trip. The next stop, however, was a place Mormont would check out all on his own.
At the foot of Visenya's Hill lay a dormant and haunted-looking building of dark smooth stone. Inside, the faintest hint of emerald green torchlight could be seen from the outside world. It looked quite sinister, Mormont had to admit.
Still, he swung open the door, leaving Jon and the Manderly men-at-arms outside with the carriage.
It was a serious matter. One of the utmost importance. Something that Mormont could not ignore even if his life depended on it.
He walked into a long, empty chamber. The walls, floors, and ceiling were all made of shiny black marble. Mormont wondered how anyone could live in such a place. Humans were meant to be out in the sun.
Coming from the passage at the end of the chamber was a short and gaunt-looking old man. His neck had craned forward from the years of… whatever the Alchemists' Guild had gotten up to.
The old man wore a thick black robe that covered his whole body except for his pale and lanky hands. Mormont only saw accusing green eyes stare back at him
"Ser Mormont?" The old man asked emotionlessly. He seemed too tired to be able to make any kind of expression. "You are five moons late to receive your order."
"Well… you chaps did such a good job the last time I came by." Mormont smiled. "Besides, I'm in town for the next few weeks anyway. Might as well come and get it."
The old man made no comment. His eyes bore deep into the back of Mormont's skull. He turned around. "Come, Ser Mormont. And watch your head."
Mormont followed the surprisingly quick old man as he padded lightly into the corridor. The door frame had been shorter than Mormont was, so he had to duck.
The Alchemists' Guildhall was a labyrinth that Mormont was not in a mind to explore. Even if the Alchemists were quite possibly the worst company one could have, they still knew their way around their winding guildhall.
Eventually, they came upon a thickly padded oak wooden door. The old man reached to his belt and produced a large ring of keys. He picked through each one until he finally found the key to the door.
He opened it slowly, so much that Mormont decided to push it open fully. It was a tiny room that seemed more like one of the tiny storehouses one might find in the quay outside the River Gate.
There was an assortment of wooden boxes stacked in threes in the left corner of the room. On the right side, there was a small wooden desk that had some documents, a quill and inkpot, and a much smaller box likely containing Mormont's prize.
The old man wrote something down on one of the papers and picked up the box. He briskly handed it to Mormont. "Here are your matches, Ser Mormont." He looked at the box with a unique disdain. "If I may ask, why would you pay so much gold just for a handful of sticks tipped with phosphorus sesquisulfide?"
Mormont was not even going to ask about whatever that was. "Smoking mostly," he said. "I'm surprised you don't make more. These make fire instantly. They'd make a killing throughout the Seven Kingdoms."
"Doubtful." The old man snorted. "By the flame, why would… 'Matches' ever appeal to the lords of Westeros…" He sighed. "Still, it was an… interesting experiment to say the least."
Starag shrugged. If he had developed a method to instantly make fire from thin air, he'd be selling it left and right. He'd probably be the richest man in Westeros, even more so than Tywin Lannister.
"I understand you know how to use them. However, it is still a procedure to show you…" The old man opened the wood lid and took out one of the cartons inside. He took out a match and held it up to Starag. "You take it and strike it against the red strip on this side of the box."
He held up the carton to Mormont and effortlessly struck the match against the red substance. The small light on the end of the stick burned brightly.
"Thank you for the demonstration." Mormont smiled politely. "I've got to be on my way. Lots to do today."
The gaunt man nodded, shaking the match with a single flick of the wrist. The flame went out instantly. "Of course, Ser Mormont. I will show you out."
"Excellent. Lead the way." Starag stepped aside and pointed to the hallway outside.
Mormont was glad the old man had offered to guide him. He didn't want to get lost and accidentally stumble into a cache of wildfire with his easily flammable matches.
Mormont's last stop of the day was also the most exhausting. For the horses at least.
Tobho Mott's shop was at the very top of the Street of Steel. The street itself was a winding hill that led up towards the Great Sept of Baelor. Accordingly, each of the blacksmith shops leading up the street housed master blacksmiths who worked on the arms and armor of many lords throughout the realm.
Mormont wanted nothing to do with any of them, however.
It was a towering four-storied building at the top of the hill that interested him greatly.
Even as they passed by the homes of the greatest master craftsmen in Westeros, Jon had pointed and looked at the works on display; magnificent and ornately dressed longswords with rubies and diamonds, and armor gilded with gold and titanium.
Mormont had no use for such things. A sword was a sword. Longclaw, while an excellent-looking sword, was not necessarily dressed up with gold and precious gems. The smooth black grip and white bear's head pommel were more than enough for him. He'd kill more men with Longclaw than any lord in Westeros could with a shiny gold-rimmed blade.
Practicality is all that mattered in battle and there was only one man on the Street of Steel who knew that: Tobho Mott.
The master armorer's home was much taller up close. It was a great hulking building made of timber and thick white plaster. The two stone knights wearing armor that resembled both a griffin and a unicorn were standing between the tall double door entrance.
Behind the great house, there was a massive building made purely of polished black stone. Out of the windows and chimney came a thick smog of steam and smoke.
Starag had gotten off his horse and patted Bear on the neck. "Last stop. I promise."
Bear had given him a sideways glance. What are you talking about? I can do this all day. It's the mortals driving the carriage who can't keep up.
Mormont glanced at the horses driving the carriage. Sure enough, the two stallions had been stumbling slightly to the side as they came to a stop. One of them brushed into the other. They were losing their coordination.
"That's just because you're not lugging around half a ton of gold." Starag didn't bother commenting about his horse's god complex. It was an inherited trait, no doubt. "I ought to clip you onto those reins when we go to Highgarden."
Please don't. Bear's eyes had turned pleading. He'd been caught. Carrying you around night and day is more than enough, thank you.
"Uncle?" Mormont slowly turned his head to look at Jon, who was standing just a few feet away. "Why are you talking to your horse?" A suspicious-looking grin had spread across the boy's face.
Starag tried to think of a way to turn it around. Instantly, it came to him. "You don't?" He asked sincerely.
Nice save. Bear glanced away from him and found the Sept of Baelor suddenly far more interesting to look at.
Before Jon could answer, Mormont walked over to the carriage and opened the small hatch that led inside. "Stand here, lad." He ordered.
His nephew marched over at once. Mormont began handing him the mangled pieces of armor that once belonged to Horace Blount. It smelt of stale ale and expired pork. At least it has some use to us.
By the time he closed the door, Jon's arms were full of steel armor that once adorned a dead man's corpse. He looked about ready to accidentally drop a piece. "Uncle?" he asked again. "Why-hmph! Why are we taking Lord Blount's armor to a blacksmith?"
"Why, is it not obvious?" Mormont furrowed thick black eyebrows. "We're going to make you a sword."
Jon's eyes had shot wide open. He froze right where he stood. "B-But-"
"Come on, lad." Mormont had already begun walking towards Tobho Mott's shop and had reached the front door. Jon nearly barreled over behind him as he followed.
The front door was rather strange itself. The twin doors were an odd mix of black and white wood. Even stranger, there was a sort of mosaic on the doors depicting a hunter shooting an arrow at a large stag.
Mormont knocked respectfully on the door. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Almost immediately, the door opened to reveal a slim and beautiful young woman wearing a dazzling blue dress that complimented her shining blonde hair. Her face was small and carried childish mirth in her crystal blue eyes.
Now that's good customer service.
"Hello, Ser Mormont!" The girl clapped her hands together and beamed at him. "It's so lovely to see you again! Do you have a scheduled appointment?"
"No, Ruby. Unofficial visit." Mormont shook his head. He stepped aside and showed off Jon and the bloody steel armor in his arms. "It's high time my squire got started on live steel. Want Tobho to make him a sword."
Ruby put a hand to her mouth as she spotted the blood. "Oh, dear… What happened?"
Mormont decided to get out of the sun before he began melting. "Long story. May we come in?"
The girl had moved aside. Starag walked into the home of perhaps the greatest smith in all of Westeros. His nephew lumbered in behind him.
After shutting the door, Ruby had expertly shuffled some papers on her desk by the entrance. Then she turned to Mormont. "I will inform Master Tobho of your arrival." She said with a business-like smile.
Ruby turned around and headed into the large wooden door by the back of the entry hall, which Starag knew had led into the stone building behind the house.
A few moments later, the large door had swung open, revealing a rather tall and lanky man with multiple soot marks and burns adorning his arms. He had thrown on a black coat made of velvet as he stomped through his home and up to his guests.
"Starag Mormont!" The bearded man's thin smile had widened as he offered his hand. Mormont took the offered hand with a grin of his own. "Damn good to see you again! In town for the tourney, hmmm?"
Starag nodded. "You know me, Tobho. Can't stay away when there's plenty of boozing and gambling to be done."
"Bah! Sounds exactly like you." Tobho Mott chuckled. His face suddenly grew serious. "I don't suppose there's a reason why you're stopping by? I'm in the middle of a big project of mine."
Mormont nodded briskly. The master armorer was taking time to see him. And Mormont always respected the time of those who had mastered their craft. "This here is my squire, Jon. He's going to need a sword soon enough and I brought along some materials you might find useful."
Tobho Mott inspected the bloody armor in Jon's arms. He had a funny look on his face, which he directed to Starag. "Why is it covered in blood?"
"Some lordling in the Crownlands tried to kill me. I killed him. Let's leave it at that."
Mott nodded stolidly. "Fair enough." he turned around to Ruby and said calmly. "Get the boy, will you."
Ruby nodded again and went back to the large door at the rear of the corridor. Meanwhile, Tobho Mott had looked to Jon. "What kind of sword do you want, lad?"
Jon was starstruck at the moment. Not a single word came out of his mouth. "I… uh…" he began slowly. He glanced up at Starag. "What's your sword, uncle?"
Mormont was about to answer, but Mott was faster on the draw. "Bastard sword, hmmm?" He said without even looking at Longclaw. He took a once over of Jon's skinny arms. "You sure?"
"Y-Yes." Jon's unsure nod was enough for the master smith.
Mott nodded again. "Alright. Should have the blade done by tomorrow," he said. "Though I'll need you to be here in case you want any special work done on the sword. Pommels, crossguard, grips. Those kinds of things."
Jon nodded in agreement. Starag saw the excited anticipation on the boy's face.
"But what about your big project?" Mormont asked.
Tobho Mott waved an idle hand through the air. "Bah! Lord Renly can wait another day or two." He said without a single care in the world before he grinned at Mormont.
"Besides, what else are friends for, eh?"
The day was nearly done, and Starag Mormont still did not have a single clue about where he'd stash his gold for the night.
Mormont was contemplating sleeping in the carriage when a rider had approached them as they came down the Street of Steel and landed in Fishmonger's Square.
The young man on the horse wore green and gold. More specifically, his tabard was that of gold rose on a green field. Mormont smiled to himself. The Tyrells.
"Lord Mormont." The young rider gave him a respectful bow on his horse. Mormont was surprised. He had been given the same respect by precious few on the road thus far, at least from those he did not know.
The boy continued. "I come bearing greetings from Lord Garlan. He had heard of your arrival to King's Landing and wanted to invite you to stay at his manse for the meantime."
Garlan, I could kiss you right now. Mormont only had the inklings of a plan to keep his gold safe, but shelter with the Tyrells was an absolute godsend. Of course, Garlan would be in the city. He never could miss a good tourney.
He probably wants that rematch as well… Mormont would give Garlan all the rematches the young Tyrell had wanted. He'd saved Starag an uncomfortable night's rest in the carriage with his gold.
"I accept Lord Garlan's invitation." Mormont grinned. "The horses could do with a bit of rest."
The rider had smiled. "Follow me then, my lord."
Mormont did so. The Manderly men-at-arms rode behind him, and so did Jon up on the carriage. His nephew did not seem so sullen anymore as he occasionally pricked a string from his lute.
He wondered who else in the family was in King's Landing. Mace? Probably. Likely trying to butter up Robert so he could pitch a match between Joffrey and Margaery.
Margaery! The little she-devil would be turning eleven soon enough. Not to mention she was quite bright for her age. She'd managed to beat him a few times at Bridge. And take some coins from him, too.
Mormont glanced momentarily back at Jon, who was now holding the reins for the tired horses in one hand while he played his lute with another. Those two might get along… Besides, I don't think the Old Flower would accept anything less.
Then there was Loras. Mormont hadn't seen the boy for quite some time since he'd been shipped off to Storm's End. Starag hoped that Loras was doing well.
It hadn't taken them much longer to find the Tyrell's manse along the road heading up to Aegon's Hill and the Red Keep. It was a large and bustling building, with its two square drum towers and massive circular dome.
They passed by the Tyrell men-at-arms guarding the front entrance and went into the courtyard. Waiting for them, as gracious and kind as Mormont had remembered, was Garlan Tyrell and his six men-at-arms behind him.
And standing at Garlan's side was little Margaery Tyrell. Golden brown curls and small, and doe-like brown eyes that swirled with playfulness and mirth.
Mormont got down from his horse. He stopped himself just before he was going to walk up and greet the two Tyrells. Something felt… off.
He glanced back at Jon and knew what the problem was. Or rather, who the problem was.
Jon Stark's face was beet red and he was looking directly at Margaery.
Mormont let out a deep sigh and shook his head. Well… he was going to fall in love at some point.