King's Landing

294 AC

When Mormont had woken up early on the morning of the first day of the tourney, a part of him had suspected he'd be hard-pressed to find a spot for his tent when he and Jon would go to the tourney grounds later that day.

Wendel Manderly-bless his soul- had arrived at the Tyrell manse and had offered to find a suitable camp for both him and Mormont for the duration of the tourney. Mormont had been glad to see his fellow Northman again and welcomed the offer gladly.

Now, as Mormont and his squire had trotted up the Street of Steel, he was feeling quite unsure about what was to happen later in the day. He'd been used to his plate mail and felt a sense of reluctance to give it up forever.

There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the hot summer sun had come out to play. Quite possibly the best weather for a tourney. We'll all be boiling in our armor, then…

Mormont wasn't quite sure how he'd handle full plate armor. He never really bothered wearing the stuff up until now, and had always maintained the axiom of "Don't get hit".

He did not want to be weighed down to a snail's pace, he always appreciated how fast Arthur could move with his feet, and wanted to replicate that in his own, northern and oftentimes brutal style.

No words were spoken between him and his squire, though while Mormont was brimming with anticipation for what Tobho Mott had cooked up for him, he saw Jon's beaming grin and wide grey eyes as they trotted up the hill.

On the boy's belt was his brand new bastard sword. Wolf Queen. His nephew had called it.

Underneath the dark red leather scabbard was a pale white blade that was almost as long as Jon himself. At the base of the blade, on either side of the rainguard, were two identical wolves' heads made of black steel, as if the pale sword was the long tongue that came from their snarling mouths.

The bottom half of the grip, towards the rather simple curved crossguard, was wrapped in similar boiled red leather as the scabbard. The top half was slightly shorter but more than enough to grip with two hands. The pommel was a slim pear-shaped thing, which flared outward and was perfect for countering the weight of the blade.

For the first few days, Jon had not stopped looking at the sword, making sure it was still there. Almost like he couldn't believe it existed. He remembered how angry Margaery had been that Jon had suddenly been paying more attention to his new sword than to her.

They stopped at the top of the hill, next to Tobho Mott's towering home and massive stone barn. Plums of thick black smoke flowed out of the chimneys and windows like water in a stream.

Mormont dismounted, and Jon followed close behind. They approached the twin-sided doors and were greeted with the now-familiar and oddly comforting hunting scene painted lovingly on the wood.

Just as he raised his hand to knock on the black ebony wood, the twin doors had opened. Ruby stood there waiting patiently for him, a warm and expectant smile graced her thin lips.

Her golden spun hair had been let down today, Mormont noticed. Her exposed neck was taunting him. He always noticed the desirable varieties of the opposite sex, yet Ruby was simply exquisite today.

"Good morning, Ser Mormont." She gave him a very practiced curtsy. Then she did the same for Jon. "Lord Stark."

"Beautiful as ever, Ruby," Starag said as he stepped inside. He smirked when he saw the gorgeous young woman's visible blush. "I don't suppose you'll be at the tourney later today?"

Ruby smiled prettily at him, there was a mirthful twinkle in her crystal blue eyes. "Of course, Ser Mormont. I'll be there with my sisters. But afterward…" Her tone of voice implicated a sort of hope, which was only amplified by the curious raise of an eyebrow. "Afterwards, perhaps we could have sup-"

"Please skip the foreplay for today, Ruby. Ser Mormont has a tourney to compete in." The gruff and rushed voice of Tobho Mott had boomed from the next floor upstairs. "Send him up, will you?"

Ruby's pale skin had flushed scarlet in embarrassment. She gave Mormont one last wink before she led him and Jon to the circular stairwell.

The stairs turned out to be just a smidge too narrow for Mormont's huge feet, but he managed to climb the stairs successfully and made it to the second floor of Tobho's home.

While the first floor seemed more like a typical reception room in a wealthy lord's keep, the second floor looked more like a lounge one might find in an expensive tavern or club. The walls and floors were dark wood and the pungent and welcoming air of smoke filled the room.

Mormont realized it was Tobho's actual office. Not the forge below. This place was clean and tidy, with leather chairs and a great big desk that rivaled Mormont's own desk back at Bear Island.

And at the other end of the room was a statue with a curtain draped over it. Mormont frowned as he glanced at it. Seems out of place… Why was it there?

Mott was sitting behind his desk, pouring over a large tome with a pipe in his mouth. His pale yellow eyes had looked up as Mormont and Jon had entered the room. "Ah, Starag." He grinned and stood up from his desk. "Getting ready for the tourney, hmm?"

Mormont nodded. "Naturally. Though I'm wondering just what exactly you've set me up with," he said.

The master armorer dipped his head in agreement. "I'm sure you are. Don't you worry, though. It'll protect you much better than the muck you're wearing now. Goes well with that pauldron on your shoulder, too as a matter of fact."

He had been surprised at that remark. He'd expected the bear's head pauldron to have been saddled in scrutiny along with the plate mail he wore. Apparently, Tobho Mott had seemed to approve of it anyway.

Mott approached the curtained statue and pulled the heavy fabric away with one single swipe of his hand. The light rattling of metal occurred as the curtain fell to the floor.

Wordlessly, Mormont approached the armor stand in awe at the pure craftsmanship of what stood before him. It wasn't a statue like he'd thought it was… No, it was perhaps one of the greatest works he'd ever seen…

It wasn't particularly fancy. There were no elegant patterns of flowers or antlers carved into the metal plates…

The armor on the stand was light-tinted grey steel. There were waves in the metal, giving the impression that it had been folded thousands of times. He was surprised to see a nearly identical bear's head pauldron made entirely of steel placed on the right shoulder of the stand.

On the breastplate, the standing bear of House Mormont was tinted pristinely in black so as to make it stand out. Starag noted that, underneath the gaps in the armor, there was a brown gambeson with metal studs threaded onto it.

And on the top of the armor stand was one of the most amazing helmets Mormont had ever seen. He didn't usually like wearing helmets, yet he couldn't help but admire the magnificent steel bear's head helmet that opened and closed like a bear's snapping jaws.

"It's beautiful," Mormont said as he turned back to Mott. "Thank you."

Mott smiled warmly and pointed to the shoulders on either side of the armor. "It should work well enough with your current pauldron, and the armor won't snag on your coat should you decide to wear that, too."

Mormont wouldn't dream of not wearing his coat, even if it got hot outside. "Of course."

"And it should take you just five to ten minutes to get in and out of it." Mott finished, letting a puff of smoke out of his mouth. "Any questions?"

Starag shook his head. His prior worries had been completely alleviated. Now he was grinning at the prospect of showing up these knights and lords with his newly made armor.

Of course, there was just one question that came to mind. Mormont glanced at his old friend with a playful grin.

"Just one more thing… How good are you with shields?"

Mott slowly took the pipe out of his mouth and blew out another puff of thick white smoke.

When it cleared, all Mormont saw was the older man's sinister smile.

Mormont sat high on his horse as he trotted onto the tourney grounds. He carefully scanned the vast array of tents and the explosion of colors of the many houses taking part in the competition.

It was strange, the general atmosphere of the huge camp. It felt more like a temporary army encampment than anything. Knights and squires were bustling and chattering as they went from their tents to the nearby blacksmith to make last-minute changes to their armor. Lords were calming their nervous wives, embracing them, and in other cases, leading their women into their tents.

In the distance, Mormont could see the massive arena, the sight of the great citadel of wood excited him down to his core. The blood in his veins flushed and ran with adrenaline and vigor.

Behind him, Jon was simply watching the whole scene play out before him. Mormont realized that his nephew hadn't actually been to a large-scale tourney like this one before. But that was no matter. The boy would get used to it.

He glanced casually at the passersby who stopped at stared at the towering figure on his massive warhorse, wearing a long black and dark green coat that stretched down to his shins and clad in smoky steel plated armor with two identical bear's heads mounted on his broad muscled shoulders. One was made of metal, and the other was actually taken from one of the deadly animals.

Mormont saw the veiled fear in his competitor's eyes as they looked closer at the seemingly snarling bear's jaws on his shoulders. Then, they realized just how tall he was. As if they were looking at The-Mountain-That-Rides himself who had taken a bear's head and stuffed it on his shoulder.

Just a few yards ahead, Mormont spotted another figure approaching his horse. A tall, portly figure with the familiar white merman on a green field on his coat-of-arms.

Wendel Manderly grinned yellow-stained teeth underneath his fine mustache as he stopped just a few meters in front of Mormont. "Starag! It is excellent to see you, my friend!"

"You too, Wendel." Mormont gripped the other man's arm firmly and nodded. "Is there space for us on the grounds?"

"There is." Wendel nodded. He looked reverently at Jon and smiled warmly. He gave Mormont's nephew a bow in his seat. "Lord Stark." he greeted.

It hadn't taken them long to find their little slice of the tourney grounds. There were four tents in all. One which stood to the far left was a large hut of thick green cloth. Emblazoned on the front and sides were was the sigil of House Mormont.

Next to it was a slightly smaller tent. It was a simple dull grey, reminding Mormont of the walls of Winterfell. The lone direwolf's head on the front flap made it clear that the tent was Jon's.

Then on the right side, there were two similar-looking tents with a sea-green sort of color. The white merman of House Manderly was stitched onto the light green cloth. No doubt one was for Wendel, and the other was for his men-at-arms.

Mormont knew he was one of the first competitors to start the joust, so he didn't bother making himself comfortable in his tent. He'd do that later.

He looked to Wendel. "Do you know where the betting booth is, Wendel?"

Wendel's mustache flared upwards with his fat lips. "Of course! The smallfolk booth is outside the arena, but the one for the nobles is in the stands. Can't miss them!"

Good. Mormont had thought. Jon would have to use the booth in the stands. The nobles were far quicker with their bets than the smallfolk were, so a lineup wouldn't be an issue.

His nephew would have to bet on the finals or even the semi-finals of the joust. The most money would be won that way. Provided I make it that far.

He cursed that doubting voice in his head. Mormont reminded himself that losing was not an option. It was all or nothing. If he cocked it up and lost, he'd be drowned in debt for the rest of his life, and Jorah would get off scot-free in Essos. Fuck that.

As he and Jon went to the arena, to the dome containing that long straight stretch of sweat-stained sand separated by a wooden fence, he heard his square move up beside him.

"Are you alright, uncle?" Jon had asked. There was worry in those dark grey orbs. As Mormont glanced at the boy, he saw that now familiar flash of violet.

Mormont nodded, quickly fixing a firm smile on his bearded face. "I am." He said simply.

"You've been staring at the ground for the past few minutes…" Jon prodded him again. "Are you sure?"

Mormont, what in the blazes are you doing? He chided himself angrily. Keep a stiff upper lip and hold your head high. These southern knights can't hold a lance to save their lives! You're supposed to set an example for the lad! Get to work.

He held himself upright, straightening his back. "I'm fine, Jon," Mormont said firmly. He tousled his nephew's tight black curls and grinned. He needed to change the subject. "What about you? I heard Margaery taught you how to play Whist."

Jon's long pale face filled up with blood again in the most entertaining fashion. No wonder Arthur teases him about girls.

Margaery had taken to Jon quite well. And while Mormont hadn't been around them all of the time during their stay, he knew a smitten girl when he saw one. Even if the boy didn't know it himself, Margaery Tyrell was hooked on Jon Stark.

Doesn't know how to ride a horse? Mormont had seen Jon's letter. He'd also seen Margaery ride a horse when she was only seven years old. No, that was just an excuse to spend more time with Jon. Though admittedly, Jon was a far better rider than her.

"She did." Jon finally answered. He glanced sheepishly at Mormont when they passed by the smallfolk's betting booth. "She's very good at it, too."

"Of course she is." Mormont brimmed with pride as he passed under the high wooden arch of the arena entrance. "Who do you think taught her? Mace?" He chuckled to himself.

Mormont absolutely adored card games. They were the one thing he would never get bored of. It was sort of like battle in a sense. It was one-on-one, and if you made a single mistake, the potential to lose was high. Trick-taking games like Whist only illuminated that one had to take advantage of the initiative, no matter what.

When he taught eight-year-old Margaery Tyrell how to play, he was astounded at how fast she'd picked it up. Of course, Margaery was very bright for her age. She'd make a wonderful lady one day. Or perhaps even a great Queen.

Jon's Queen? Mormont had wondered to himself. He couldn't tell the future, yet since he was a betting man, he'd put good money on that match…

And so would Olenna Tyrell once she found out who Jon really was.

It wasn't until the third match that Mormont's name had been called.

His opponent was a lordling from the Stormlands. A man named Beric Dondarrion. Mormont had met him during the feast the week prior. He was a jovial, yet taciturn young man who seemed to have little experience at least in the way of combat. Mormont was pleasantly surprised to know that the man was betrothed to Jon's aunt, Allyria Dayne.

Another surprise was that Dondarrion's page was none other than young Edric Dayne, Ashara's nephew on her brother Lord Atticus Dayne. Small world.

As Mormont trotted over to the King's Stand, he saw the purple forked lightning bolts that had been slashed onto the man's dull black armor. He gave Dondarrion a respectful nod as the two men stopped next to one another. Beric smiled white teeth at him underneath his helm and nodded back.

Both men turned to Robert, who sat upon his high chair and grinned wickedly at the two of them. In his meaty hands was a huge golden goblet full of sloshing red wine.

"Let's get this show on the road! Both of you!" Robert shouted, much to the cheers of the smallfolk, and raised his glass high and eagerly downed the rest of the cup.

Mormont took that as his queue and turned, riding to his end of the stretch. Jon stood there holding his lance in his hands. Starag scooped it up with one hand.

On the other end of the line, Dondarrion took up his own lance and lined himself up along his side of the wooden fence. For only a moment, the whole arena was dead silent.

Hummhumhummmm!

Mormont clapped his spurs against Bear's sides and jetted off down the narrow stretch of sand. He hefted his lance up underneath his armpit and held it firmly.

Surprisingly enough, he felt much more at ease and comfortable in his full plated armor. He could properly move his arms and joints, and there was no stiffness thanks to the gambeson. He felt almost like a feather as he sped along, his horse's hooves tossing sand into the air.

He aimed his lance straight at Dondarrion's exposed right breast. He knew if he hit the lightning lord too hard, he might kill him. He'd have to thrust with just a bit less power.

Crack! The two men had met in the center of the field, their lances smashing into the other man. Mormont felt the shock of a blow to his arm disperse and subside in a manner of seconds.

His lance had broken on Dondarrion, however. Splinters flew in the air as Dondarrion jolted backward in his saddle, losing his grip on the reins and almost falling off his saddle.

Mormont for his part had been just fine. His new armor had taken little of the impact, and his large round shield had been scratched. Besides that, there had been little damage to him.

He tossed his lance aside onto the ground. Jon had quickly run over with his replacement and handed it off to him.

Starag turned Bear right around and set off again. Dondarrion, true to his title, had quickly recovered and was galloping down the line once more. Mormont slowly lowered his lance and lined it up perfectly with the lightning lord's right breast. Just before they met again in the center, Mormont thrust his lance forward.

Thrrrrack! His lance had broken on Dondarrion's torso and sent the lightning lord clean from his stirrups and off his horse. He heaved backward and fell right into the yellow pearls of sand below. Thump!

The surrounding crowd of smallfolk gathered behind the perimeter fence had erupted into cheers and the wild flailing of arms as they saw the Bear Lord sit triumphantly on his horse. He knew they didn't particularly care about his victory, they'd always cheer for the winner unless it was someone they immensely disliked.

The nobles were clapping politely, though Mormont knew there were many among them who'd rather not see a barbaric Northerner beat the best Knights and Lords the South had to offer. Too bad for them.

He checked on Dondarrion and found the lightning lord already stumbling back to his feet and wiping sand off his armor. He took off his helmet and revealed his head of red-gold hair for all to see as he glanced up at Mormont with a light grin.

"You right well, Ser Mormont." He said as he tucked his helmet underneath his arm.

"And you as well, Lord Dondarrion." Mormont had replied. It wasn't his fault he was so bloody good on horseback. Well, maybe a little bit. "I'll see you at the feast?"

Beric had nodded and pounded his chest with a closed fist. "I'd have it no other way. I wish you good fortune in the tourney."

Mormont trotted back to his end of the line and tossed aside the broken lance in his hands. Even over the cheering of the crowd and Robert's incessant yelling, he could make out the well-dressed figure of Ruby in the crowd.

It was her pretty blue dress that had singled her out. It was far different from the rags and worn shifts that poorer women would wear. Being Tobho Mott's personal assistant came with great benefits, of course.

She was beaming in his direction. Ruby waved her hand, her dangling golden curls danced lightly.

Mormont waved back and stopped over by Jon, who handed him a bucket of water. He couldn't be distracted by a young damsel right now. He needed to be ice-cold.

It was perhaps five minutes later when Jon came down from the stands and ran over to him.

Jon placed a hand on Bear's neck and glanced up at Starag. "You're up again, uncle. Against Balman Byrch, that one lord from the Crownlands that Wendel talked about."

Byrch? Mormont thought to himself. He replayed every single conversation with Wendel Manderly in his mind. Ah yes…

Back when they'd met at the Inn at the Crossroads, Wendel had mentioned one Balman Byrch. The man had also been at Duskendale, but Mormont didn't have the pleasure of unhorsing him. Now, apparently, he'd get his chance.

"Let's show these lords how we do things in the North, then," Mormont said as he closed the bear's head helmet.

Jon grinned at him and grabbed one of his lances. Mormont took it easily and trotted over to his end of the fence.

Riding up to the other end of the line was his next opponent. A stout-looking man wearing glittering steel armor that shined brightly in the sun. On his shield was gyronny white and black quartered and the silver axe on a green field.

The noisy crowd had died down to a standstill. Everyone would stay completely quiet, and Mormont had remarked to himself that it would only be bloody sports like this that brought people together. Maybe I should do something similar on Bear Island…

He was about to contemplate making bears fight one another, but his thoughts were cut off by the sounding of the trumpet.

Humhumhummmm!

Mormont shot off towards his opponent. He skillfully lowered his lance until it was nooked just under his arm. He honed in on his target: Brych's right breast.

Byrch was a skilled knight himself and had done the same as he came at Mormont like an arrow on a flighty wind.

Crack! Mormont's lance had nearly knocked Byrch from his saddle. Likewise, Mormont felt a massive impact against his chest as he nearly lost balance in his saddle. He sustained a firm grip on his reins and recovered quickly.

After a few seconds, Mormont had turned around and sped off again, watching Byrch closely as he did so. The Crownlands knight was good, but not good enough.

They closed in one another again, and this time Mormont thrust his lance hard into Byrch's shield while moving forward his saddle, adding any extra power and strength he could muster into the thrust.

Crrrack! Mormont's lance snapped instantly, sending splinters everywhere. He felt the blunt end of Byrch's lance hit home on his right breast, nearly sending him backward. It also broke.

Mormont heard the rattle of metal meeting the ground behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Balman Byrch spread-eagled and face down in the sand.

Relief had exploded within him as he tossed aside his broken lance and heard the thousands of cheers filling the arena around him.

Byrch was still alive, though Mormont was sure the man's arm would need some looking at by a Maester. It might've been broken, too.

He flipped up his helmet and rode back over to Jon, who was grinning at him with an expression that held awe and pride, which had only infected Mormont with similar feelings. Starag was glad that Jon was proud of doing squire work, however monotonous it was. At least the boy was doing something instead of twiddling his thumbs in Winterfell's library.

Almost instinctively, his deep blue eyes had found Ruby once again in the crowd. She waved something in the air at him, some kind of cloth or handkerchief. When he looked closer, he realized what it was. A favor.

Why not. Mormont shrugged to himself. He looked to Jon. "Any more contenders?"

"Not now, uncle. Though you'll be up again in an hour or so." Jon said with a bit of relief in his voice.

Good. He'd get Ruby's favor, and then probably spend the rest of the hour sparring with Jon. Then perhaps some light drinking to prepare him for the feast later that evening.

A totally and completely productive afternoon was ahead of him.

"Here you are," Ruby came close and stuffed the silk strip underneath his breastplate. His baser instincts had yearned to feel those soft, delicate hands of this young woman on his bare skin. Just the lightest touch was prone to get him going. "I hope I wasn't late. Master Tobho tried to let me go early, but I had some extra work that needed to get done."

Mormont grinned. "You were right on time." He said lowly, almost in a growl as he looked into the young woman's crystal blue eyes.

He'd only known the beautiful blonde for a few years since she signed on to be Tobho Mott's personal assistant, but in those few years, he'd wanted to have her and make her his. Unfortunately, his short stays in King's Landing never allowed him such an opportunity.

She knew what Mormont wanted. He knew she wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Excellent." She said as she reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, though it felt much closer to the corner of his lips and beard. Her thin pink lips were like the finest pillows in Winterfell on his skin.

When she lowered herself, she smiled prettily at him and giggled into her hand. Mormont realized he was staring blankly at her.

"Well, then." He fixed his smile and kissed the back of her hand. "I must be off. I'll be back again in a little while."

"I look forward to seeing you again, Ser Mormont." The last two words were said with that playful lilt of her voice. She gave him a parting wink before she rejoined her sisters, who were whispering together and staring directly at Mormont. Neither looked as elegant as Ruby did.

Mormont turned and began walking off into the encampment behind the arena. He was intent on quickly finding the corner that Wendel had cut out just for them.

Jon had already gone ahead back to their tents. Mormont had already pitched the spar to him, and the boy was excited to finally test Wolf Queen against Longclaw.

Yet as Mormont made his way past the smallfolk's betting booth, he glanced just a few yards ahead and spotted a lone figure standing in his way. The man's dark purple eyes were peeled directly at him.

Darkstar. Mormont knew who he was instant. High cheekbones, strong jaw, and strange-looking and downturned nose. He smelt of Dayne. With the exception of the man's silver hair, which had been parted oddly enough by a singular strip of black.

Mormont supposed the man could be considered pretty, but there was a hardness in those purple eyes which seemed akin to a lion's big brown eyes once they'd locked onto their prey. Starag realized that Gerold had been looking for him.

Starag was unfazed by the Darkstar's presence, however. He strode up to the man and stopped just a few feet short of him. Might as well deal with the pest now before it got too big.

"Lord Mormont." The greeting was more like the snarling hiss of a snake. "What a surprise to find you here." He said as his hand had smoothly found the hilt of his glittering longsword.

"I don't believe I have the pleasure, Ser?" Mormont asked without a single care in the world. Why not stir up a little competition, it might just help him win.

Darkstar's purple eyes narrowed an inch. "Of course, how impolite of me…" He smiled cruelly at Mormont. "I am Gerold Dayne, cousin of Ser Arthur and Ashara."

The hissing manner of how he'd said the names of his cousins implied that the man held little love for Mormont's friends. Excellent. I have no qualms about shoving a sword through your gut.

In the back of his mind, Mormont had an inkling that this man was not a country bumpkin like Horace Blount. No, Mormont knew from the first moment he met those dark, cruel purple eyes, he was looking at a professional. A man who was expert at killing, and had the discipline to know when to stay his hand. He would not give Mormont the same chance that Blount had.

"Ah, yes… Shame that Arthur rarely mentioned you." Mormont remarked. Still, he'd see just how far he could push this man.

Darkstar's thin smile had stayed perfectly still. "Funny, he mentions you quite a bit in his letters." He said, then remembering to correct himself. "That he sends to Starfall, of course. He says you're quite good with the sword, perhaps even better than him."

Mormont would've blushed in the praise from his swordmaster were he not facing down a killer. "He's too humble. He's beaten me more times than not."

"Still," Darkstar persisted. "How about a sparring match one of these days? Does that work for you, old man?"

For only a moment, Mormont was just slightly confused. Old man? I'm only thirty-four… Then he realized just what the Darkstar was doing.

The man standing in front of him did look quite a bit younger, perhaps twenty-four- only ten years younger than Mormont himself. Yet still…

"I'm fine, thank you." Mormont smiled without warmth at the Darkstar. He was wasting his time on this pretentious and oddly calculating young man. "If you'll excuse me, I've my squire to attend to."

Mormont was about to step away when he heard the Darkstar's hissing voice once again. "Ah, I suppose dealing with slavery made you Bears quite snobbish, hasn't it, old man?"

He stopped instantly. Starag heard the quieting voices of those around him go silent completely as they heard Dayne's words. The fucker! How does he know?

When he glanced over his shoulders, he saw the barest hint of triumph in those blasted purple eyes.

Arthur's words had struck him again like a bolt of lightning. Judge the situation dispassionately. He had to keep Jon safe, and mutilating some lordling from Dorne would only put the boy's life in jeopardy.

Reluctantly, Mormont turned his head and held it high as he strode away. His anger had spiked again and again with each step he took as he walked to his tent.

And all the way there, he still felt those dark purple eyes watching him like a hawk.