Dear Father,
Uncle Starag told me I should write to you just to let you and Mother know how things are going. We won the tourney in Duskendale! We've got 25,000 gold dragons so far. Though Uncle Starag may have spent some of it already. Still, only two tourneys to go!
We came to King's Landing and we met the Tyrells. Garlan is a terrific warrior, though he can't seem to keep up with Uncle Starag. Then there's Margaery! I know Dyanna would love to meet her. She's very smart and she's every bit the southern lady. I've been teaching her how to properly ride a horse in the last few days. She can barely ride a horse without supervision. Or at least, that's what I tell her.
Tomorrow is going to be a big day, apparently. There's going to be a huge feast at the Red Keep with lots of dancing. Almost everyone taking part in the tourney will be there. Uncle Starag says it's a good opportunity to see our competition. I just hope I don't have to dance.
There's so much more I want to tell you, but I'm running out of space. Please tell Arya that I'm doing fine and that I'll be home soon. Love you all.
Jon
The Red Keep
294 AC
The Queen's Ballroom had actually impressed Starag Mormont.
He walked down the white marble steps and glanced around the great room with a twinkle of admiration in his deep blue eyes. The white stone pillars laced with gold were pleasant interruptions in the sea of red curtain walls adorned with Lannister and Baratheon colors.
It had struck him the very first moment he'd stepped inside the Red Keep. There were Lannister colors everywhere. Almost nothing of Baratheon black and gold had adorned the decorations in the red keep. The Lannisters might as well have owned Robert.
Eleven years… It had only been eleven years since Mormont had last set foot in this hallow and haunted place. It was the same place where little Aegon had had his head smashed against the wall. Where the seven-year-old Rhaenys had her throat slashed open, and where Elia Martell had been raped and murdered.
Mormont remembered the scarlet red shrouds laying in front of the throne. He had not wanted to look at the mass of flesh and pulp that had once been Aegon's head. He was glad that he and Ned had left for Storm's End rather quickly. He couldn't stomach hearing Robert's cackling over the dead children any longer.
And now, eleven years later. Mormont was back again for a feast. How lovely.
His current line of thought had sufficiently killed his appetite. Even then, he knew he'd soon have to mingle with the assorted lords and ladies present. Which also meant that Mormont would have to greet Robert and his Queen.
Mormont glanced up at the high table. He saw the large, robust figure of Robert Baratheon eating away and drinking a large cup of wine. And on his lap was one of the serving girls… while the Queen was only seated a few feet away from him.
In another life, Mormont knew he and Robert would've been great friends. They were both men who knew how to take their pleasures and desires. Yet Mormont had drawn the line at the King's open whoring and drinking. Just a drop of sophistication was required, and perhaps a good diet, too.
He felt Jon tug at the golden-black sash on his deep red robe once again. The boy was wearing his black doublet. The white embroidery glittered like silver in the golden torchlight of the ballroom. And the grey sigil of House Stark, the direwolf's head, stood proudly on the boy's left breast.
"Will it be like Duskendale, uncle?" Jon had asked tentatively. There weren't nearly as many guests at Duskendale as there were in the Red Keep. The place was packed, filled to the brim with nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms.
Mormont couldn't blame Jon for feeling nervous. It was a new experience for his nephew, after all. The boy just wanted reassurance. "Just like Duskendale, lad. Let me do most of the talking. The King will want to speak to you, though."
The boy nodded, though his apprehension was displayed clearly in the slight crease on the corner of his lips.
They'd spoken to Robert just the day before, albeit briefly. The King had been preparing to go hunting in the Kingswood when they encountered one another in Jaehaerys's Square. Naturally, Mormont seized the chance to use the rookery at the Red Keep. He didn't want to leave Ned and Arthur in the dark.
The King's hunt must've been successful because once he and Jon had climbed the steps up to the high table, there was a huge boar's head placed on a wide silver tray. The rest of the bloody pig was being eaten by none other than Robert.
Mormont had to admit that the smell of spices and melted fat had done something to reignite his appetite.
They approached the Fat Stag. Nearby, there were two of the Kingsguard with their golden armor and white cloaks. One of whom was staring directly at Mormont.
He ignored the onlooker and gave a bow to the King. Jon followed suit. "Your Grace," Mormont said emotionlessly.
"Aha! Ser Mormont and Jon Stark!" Robert practically shoved the serving girl off his lap and stood up. Even with his brown doublet with gold studs, Mormont could see the massive bulge of the King's stomach. Resting on his chubby red face and mass of black hair was the crown of golden antlers encrusted with rubies and emeralds. "Bloody good to see you two again! Gods know this lot needs some strong northern competition one of these days."
While Mormont did not particularly like Robert, there was no sense in being needlessly impolite. It was well known that the King held the North in high regard, though not for the obvious reasons. "And you as well, your grace. We look forward to showing the South the proper way to use a sword."
The King threw back his head and laughed thunderously, even putting down his cup of wine. "Just like you showed those bloody squids on Pyke, eh?" The King's crystal blue eyes looked to Jon as he pointed at Mormont. "You're in good hands, lad. You should've seen this man on Pyke! Cleaving and cutting down the Ironborn left and right!" Robert gripped his hands together as if he were swinging a sword.
"The men called him… Ironbane!" Robert exclaimed, his eyes were wild with intensity. "Even gutted one of old Balon's spawn that day-what was his name? Miron? Meron? Moron?"
"Maron." Mormont corrected. It was true. When he and Jorah had charged the breach in the southern wall of Pyke, Maron Greyjoy had been leading the defense. Starag had given the young man a quick death.
Robert snapped his meaty fingers in appreciation. "Yes, Maron! You better believe those squids would think twice before angering the Young Bear. Gods that was a battle…" The King trailed off, his eyes looking past them wistfully, likely seeing the Siege of Pyke play out all over again.
The King must've caught himself because immediately, he snapped his gaze back to Mormont. "Well, then. If there's anything I can do for you two, just let me know. Enjoy the feast!"
Mormont nodded stolidly. "We will, your grace." He said before he gave another bow.
Then Starag had turned to Cersei Lannister. For only a moment, his baser instincts had kicked in as he looked up and down the beautiful blonde sitting in front of him.
Her crown of long golden curls was more than enticing to him, and he got a good view of her slim neck as well. It was supple and soft. Then there was the exquisite red dress with impeccable golden accents and embroidery, showing off the Lannister woman's hourglass body perfectly.
Then Mormont remembered that this woman was a Lioness, a snake in a woman's body. She'd pounce on him if he didn't control himself. He needed to be ice cold around a woman like this.
"Your Grace," Mormont said coolly to the Queen as he gave a bow. Jon did the same behind him.
Cersei Lannister's smile seemed warm and gracious, yet her emerald green eyes were pointed at him like sharp bloody daggers that looked ready to kill at any moment. Mormont suddenly remembered that this woman was only a few years younger than himself.
Mormont didn't believe that women were capable of holding the world on their shoulders. Men were far better at taking care of a Kingdom, a community of people, and making sure their needs were met. Men could deal with the stress like a well-defended fortress could withstand a siege.
At least, most women weren't able to do it for very long without going mad. There were outliers like Olenna Tyrell and Ashara Stark, of course. Then there were the ones who simply snapped underneath all the pressure.
Cersei Lannister was one such woman who believed she could do it all and still believed she could do much much more. There was a malicious and vile gleam in those emerald green eyes that, while seeming inviting to other men, had only served to repulse Mormont.
And even as he climbed down the steps and returned to the Tyrell's table, with Jon following close behind him, he still felt those emerald orbs on the back of his head.
Mormont had begun making his rounds after dinner, just before the dancing had started in the center of the Queen's Ballroom. At his side was Jon, making sure he didn't stay too long with any particular group of nobles.
It hadn't been long before he'd gathered all the information he wanted from the drunk and tipsy nobles. Southerners don't know how to hold their alcohol… He grimaced as he saw Lord Fossoway's red-bearded face turn green as he burst out of the hall towards the privy.
The tourney was going to be taking place over the course of three days. Mormont knew the lists were going to take up at least two of those days while the archery and grand melee would be on the final day.
He couldn't care less about the archery, and he didn't even have to bother with it since his squire was here to bet his gold on him. Mormont thanked the Old Gods for that one, he fucking hated archery.
As for his opponents, Mormont knew he'd have his hands full. Barristan the Bold would be entering into the lists. The Mountain would also be taking part as well.
Mormont had been surprised to hear that Jamie Lannister would not be taking part in the melee. Though Starag would not discount the Kingslayer's potential appearance in the lists.
He spotted one such guest who he was actually excited to see. He strode up eagerly to the tall man standing with one other lord. They both seemed to be chatting quietly about something.
"Baelor!" Mormont grinned excitedly as he wrapped the man in a bear hug and lifted him off the ground.
He heard the man chuckle in his arms and pat his back. "Good to-oof- see you too, Starag."
Mormont gave the man one last squeeze and let Baelor back down onto the floor. He shook hands with his good-brother, and then with the man standing next to him.
Baelor Hightower was a stout-looking man, of course. He was quite tall with some scruffy-looking dark blond hair and beard, and narrow grey eyes. Besides that, the man's arms were huge. Mormont knew he was quite good with a lance, as well.
"I heard there was a Bear wandering around in the Crownlands. I just knew it had to be you!" Baelor smiled warmly. "Also heard you gave Duskendale quite the upset. Bad business with one of the lords, or something?"
Mormont nodded his head. "Just the one. They all love me now." He remembered the boy standing behind him. He stepped aside. "This is my squire, Jon Stark."
The two lords exchanged pleasantries with Jon, who returned their greetings in kind. The man speaking with Baelor turned out to be another lord from the Reach. One Lord Ernst Graves.
He was a thin man, and while his face appeared gaunt in shape, there was a sort of rich color to it that displayed impeccable health. Mormont couldn't decide which. "But as I was saying, Lord Hightower and Lord Mormont," he took a slow sip from his cup of wine. "I do believe this tourney is, as they say, a "toss-up" or something of the like."
"Really?" Mormont raised a taught eyebrow. Perhaps this thin and pale-looking old man knew more than most of the other nobles. "Why might that be?"
Lord Graves took out his handkerchief and wiped his nose quickly before putting it away. "There's quite the lineup already for the lists. The Bold, The Mountain, The Hound, too. Great riders, all of them." He paused as he looked Mormont over again. "Are you competing Ser Mormont?"
"Naturally," Mormont answered. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
"Well, then." Graves had shrugged, his movements seemed almost robotic in nature. "I'm sure you'll have your hands full with that bunch."
That twisting feeling in his gut had returned. He felt it when he locked eyes with Cersei Lannister, and he felt it now. Not because of Graves, but because of the implication. The man thought these riders were better than him.
Mormont was torn between pride and opportunity. If everyone thought he was just another Knight from the North, then there wouldn't be many who would bet on him during the competition. More gold for him.
And then there was Mormont's pride, which demanded that he go out and face these competitors now and beat their sorry hides until everyone recognized him as the best warrior on the field. He-
"And then there's an odd fellow from Dorne. Just arrived yesterday. Goes by the name 'Darkstar'. Haven't seen him yet, but supposedly he's quite good with the sword." Baelor had said suddenly, breaking Mormont out of his thoughts.
Lord Graves was about to speak when Starag interrupted. "Darkstar? Gerold Dayne?" he asked.
Mormont's good-brother nodded with a slight frown. "Of course… Funny, that's the first of his real name that I've heard. Didn't know the fellow was a Dayne, though. A tough lot, that bunch."
That was certainly odd. Not many Dornishmen had decided to take part in the frivolities of King's Landing and the Crownlands. Dorne was perhaps one of the most united kingdoms in all of Westeros, at least in the sense that they would certainly not forget what happened to Elia Martell and her children.
But the Darkstar? Mormont knew vaguely of Gerold Dayne. Arthur had told him little about his distant cousin. The man was handsome but cruel and vain. He ruled over his own little castle north of Starfall, a quaint place called High Hermitage. And… he was an excellent swordsman.
That only made Starag's job harder, but he'd deal with it all the same. He wasn't about to lose his gold to anyone.
He'd just have to see what Gerold Dayne was made of.
Mormont had excused himself from the company of Lord Graves and Ser Baelor and began making his way back to the Tyrells' table. Only Margaery was sitting there by herself, watching the dancing nobles with wistful brown eyes.
He stopped and smiled. A fresh idea had immediately sprung to mind. Starag looked down at Jon. "Ask her to dance."
Jon froze up. Mormont could literally see the boy's cheeks filling up with blood as he glanced back and forth between him and Margaery. "I don't know how to dance," Jon said, embarrassed at his lack of finesse.
Mormont waved a hand idly through the air. "It's just like swordplay. If you're fast on your feet, you'll get the hang of it." he smacked Jon on the back and prodded him towards the young girl sitting by herself. "Go get her!"
As he watched his nephew walk sheepishly up to the young Margaery Tyrell, Mormont could not help the overwhelming sensation that he'd been in this exact position before. He smirked as he remembered saying those words to Ned at Harrenhal when his friend had been too shy to ask Ashara Dayne to dance with him.
He didn't hear what Jon had said to Margaery over the loud music from the bards and the clicking of heels from the dancing nobles. Mormont almost laughed when he saw Margaery's big brown eyes lit up with excitement, and he even noted the faint dust of red on her cheeks. She's a fan. Practically belongs to Jon already…
His nephew took the girl's hand and they both walked to the dance floor. Margaery had linked her arm on Jon's shoulder and in his hand, while Jon had uneasily wrapped an arm around her waist. After a few moments, they disappeared in the crowd of laughing and drunk nobles jigging away to the music.
"Ah, young love… Isn't it just charming?" A voice had come from beside him.
Mormont turned his head slowly to look at the man who had just sidled up next to him. He ignored the tall man's golden plated armor and billowing white cloak, he didn't even look at the gilded longsword on his belt.
Starag was looking at the beaten gold hair and cat-green eyes of Jamie Lannister.
The Kingslayer's gaze was still on the crowd as if he could still see Jon and Margaery dancing away.
"Indeed it is," Mormont said coldly. His prior enjoyment had been thoroughly squashed. He was not in the mood to deal with any more Lannisters that evening. "I heard you won't be participating in the tourney, Ser Jamie."
Jamie Lannister turned his head and glanced up into Mormont's deep blue eyes. There was a crooked amusement in those emerald orbs. That damned smirk seemed to be a permanent feature on the man's face. "Unfortunately not, Lord Mormont. Duty calls after all. Besides, I'm sure my absence will give you Northmen a chance at least."
If you're so damn sure of yourself, then why are you talking to me? "Shame that. I would've liked to have seen you in action. Oh well…"
Mormont made to turn away when he felt a stiff hand grip his arm. Its owner was still looking at him with those predatory cat-green eyes.
"You know…" Lannister grinned wickedly at him. "A little bird told me there was a man parading around the Crownlands who claimed to have been knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne. It could be true, of course… yet…" He trailed off slightly as he looked into Mormont's eyes. "I find myself disappointed," he said.
Mormont smiled kindly at Lannister. He was ice-cold as he gripped Jamie's hand and squeezed through the golden vambrace until Lannister let go.
Jamie, he realized, still must've held Arthur in high regard if he came to see the man who was also knighted by the Sword of the Morning. Too bad for Lannister, he'd just have to watch Mormont from the stands.
He did not expect everyone to believe him. Knights were quite easy to find, yet there was only one man in the Seven Kingdoms who could publicly claim that he'd been knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne, The Sword of the Morning himself.
At least, that was until Mormont had been given the honor himself. Something which he'd rarely spoken of or mentioned to anyone. He'd tell them if they asked, which they almost never did.
But… Mormont wasn't about to take shit from anyone, least of all the Kingslayer.
"Tell me, Lannister…" Mormont maintained his kind smile, though his eyes held no warmth. "How disappointed would Rhaegar be, if he knew you failed to protect his wife and children? All because you were too busy polishing that chair with your golden ass."
He remembered that same fucking smirk on Lannister's face when he and Ned had entered the throne room. The cold body of Aerys was at the foot of the Iron Throne, and sitting on it, with his bloodied golden sword on his lap, was Jamie Lannister.
Then… the dead had been brought in shortly after, and the three bodies covered in crimson shrouds had only served to make Mormont angry and wonder why their lives weren't saved.
Mormont's scathing remark had instantly struck a chord in the man standing next to him. Jamie's cat-green eyes had twitched violently for nearly a second and stopped. His smirk was cold and warning him to not press the topic.
Instantly, Lannister's white cloak snapped as he turned from Mormont and walked away. His boots could be heard stomping against the pale marble floor as the music stopped.