You knew it was going to happen at some point...

King's Landing

294 AC

On the very early morning of the second day of the tourney, Mormont had gotten up and had run his mile down to the river that had stretched out into the Blackwater Bay. He took a quick swim in the cool morning water and swam a quarter of a mile.

Once he was done, he journeyed back to the tourney grounds and changed his clothes for the day. Mormont mentally prepared himself for his upcoming competition. The skill of the men he was going to be up against had skyrocketed when compared to the day before.

Mormont had unhorsed six men on his first day. And he was surprised to learn that the number of competitors had depleted in such a short amount of time. Now there were only perhaps a handful of knights left for the tilt.

Wendel was one of the finalists. He had jested the night prior that he and Mormont may have to unhorse each other to save the embarrassment. Mormont had only shrugged in response.

Randyll Tarly was another of the final competitors. A stern and taciturn man who, while lacking charm and sophistication, was a man who Mormont respected deeply for his strategic and battle-hardened mind.

Barristen the Bold had made it as well. Despite his age, the old man was keeping up much better than most lords that Mormont had seen thus far. Good for him. Mormont had thought.

Mormont also wasn't very surprised to know that Gregor Clegane had come quite far as well. Mormont had the pleasure of seeing Clegane practically skewer a man on his lance during one of the final tilts. The Mountain didn't seem to care whether he was seen killing a man.

And why should he? Tywin Lannister was in the man's corner, after all. Nobody had the balls to fuck with The Lord of Casterly Rock.

Mormont shoved the politics out of his mind. He did not care for the high lords and their precious Game of Thrones, as Olenna Tyrell had called it. He just wanted his fucking gold.

Jon had gotten out of his tent as the sun began to rise, peering its rays of holy light through the tree branches in their little clearing. Mormont sparred with his squire, and then he washed and went to eat breakfast with Wendel.

By the time the tourney had started up again, he looped Ruby's white silken favor around his wrist. With Jon's help, he got his armor on rather quickly. He took Longclaw with him this time and made sure it had been strapped to Bear's saddle.

Mormont had occasionally seen Clegane throughout his travels. He knew that the larger man was not a graceful loser. In case Tywin's dog had any ideas concerning swords like Horace Blount had, Mormont would be prepared.

They made their way to the arena, where the smallfolk had already gathered, chattering excitedly. The nobles on the other hand had been rather silent. They watched the jousters with calculating eyes more often than not. Likely trying to figure out the right person to bet on.

Just you wait. He thought to himself with a grin. I'll take all your gold. It'll be mine. Mine alone.

He shouldn't have been very surprised when he heard his name called for the second tilt, then quickly followed by the name of his silent and brooding opponent.

Gregor Clegane.

As Mormont trotted up to the King's Stand, he never took his eyes off his opponent.

The-Mountain-That-Rides had only glanced at him with complete indifference. Those dark eyes were a void on top of his massive black horse. The man's black armor and coat of plates were a stark contrast to Mormont's almost silvery grey armor.

They both turned to look at Robert. The King was in the same jovial spirits as he had been the last few days, with his usual large cup of wine. Though Robert's puffy cheeks seemed more flush than normal.

Mormont did not fail to notice the man standing right beside Robert. The beaten gold hair of Jamie Lannister was easier to pick out than the man's golden armor. His cat-green eyes never left Mormont. Not once.

Starag bowed in his saddle. Soon after, Clegane had done the same.

"Have at it, you two! I've looked forward to this match all bloody morning!" Robert thrust his goblet into the air, some red splotches of wine had jumped out of it and landed on the wood entirely unnoticed.

Mormont gave the Mountain one last glance and trotted back to his side of the line. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the deafening and cheering crowd of spectators.

Jon hefted up his lance to him. Mormont clutched his shield tighter and knew he'd just have to place his trust in it, and his new armor.

It was funny how much one's physical strength was underestimated in events like this. It would only shock the members of the audience if someone as strong as Mormont or the Mountain had killed someone with the lance, or even cleaved a man in two with a sword. Then they would forget just how important it was.

Mormont turned his horse and saw the Mountain's own squire holding up his lance to him. Poor bastard… He briefly wondered what it would be like to be squired to Gregor Clegane. The thought made him shudder.

Humhummhummm! The trumpet had sounded off.

Starag slammed his stirrups against Bear's underside. His horse set forward and galloped speedily along.

The Mountain was coming quite fast towards him, lowering his black lance carefully and with ease. Mormont too lowered his lance and sat forward in his saddle. This was likely going to hurt.

The impending impact had struck like a bolt of lightning! CRRACK! Splinters flew as both Mormont and Clegane's lances had broken. While Mormont had aimed for Clegane's right breast, the Mountain had gone for Mormont's shield.

There was a sharp pang of pain that shot up his arm upon feeling the impact. It went up to his arm and shocked his whole body. Mormont had to grit his teeth in frustration.

His opponent had nearly fallen out of his saddle! Mormont cursed the blasted Clegane as the Mountain regained his seating and rode successfully to the end of the stretch.

Jon had already made it to the other side of the field with Mormont's replacement lance. Starag tossed aside his broken one and snatched it greedily from Jon's hands. He whirled Bear around and got ready for the next tilt.

Once again, he set forward down the line and was like an arrow as he accelerated towards Clegane. Or was the Mountain accelerating towards him? It didn't matter, Mormont shoved aside his thoughts on measuring distance.

He brought his lance down carefully and sat forward once more in his saddle. He aimed the lance right at Clegane's right breast.

SNAP! Clegane's lance had broken on Mormont's shield, but Starag's had only glanced at the Mountain's shoulder. Blast!

Mormont broke two more lances on Gregor Clegane's shield. The Mountain had only broken three. When Mormont winded up his horse for another sprint, a terrible feeling of dread had come over him. He tried to ignore it as he took up his next lance, yet the dragging feeling had only been propelled when he saw another lance enter the Mountain's hand.

He cursed himself for not paying closer attention to Clegane's prior lances. Mormont swore that the one being given to the Mountain was different somehow. What was it?

The tip! The thin end of the lance was adorned with a black tightly closed fist that looked more or less like wood. Mormont couldn't be sure.

There wasn't much he could do about it, either as his opponent had begun charging up to run again. Mormont kicked his stirrups again. He'd just have to knock Clegane off his horse.

Snap! When the two riders had met, there was a jagged spike of intolerable agony that had spread up Mormont's arm, making his muscles squeeze and contort violently.

He hadn't paid attention to where his lance had landed. He only looked down at the dark patch of red-stained armor and gambeson.

The black iron tip hadn't gone through the armor, but it had penetrated his gambeson coat beneath it. Gregor's lance had hit home in perhaps one of the luckiest shots of all time. If Mormont wasn't bleeding, he would've been impressed at the Mountain's gambit.

No doubt the Mountain had meant to aim it for his neck. It was unlike Clegane to take very long on the joust, and the fact that Mormont had been slowly overtaking him had no doubt made him very angry.

Just enough to play dirty.

Mormont contemplated calling it a day and having Robert sort out the mess. But then he realized the tourney would be called off, and the Mountain would get off scot-free. Can't have that.

As he came to his end of the stretch of sand, he noticed the replacement lance in Jon's hands and the horrified look on the boy's face. "Uncle, you're hurt!"

"I know that." Mormont groaned as he turned in his saddle. He'd dropped his lance from that last impact.

The details of the situation had only played out once more in his mind. Clegane had used a tipped lance. And what's more, was that the bastard had gotten lucky enough to hit him with it.

Mormont knew he could still use his right arm. Good. That's all he needed to unhorse this goatfucker Clegane. He scooped up the lance and turned Bear around again. He set off down the narrow stretch of sand.

As he lowered his lance, he felt his muscles wail in tortured suffering as the blood seeped into his clothes underneath his armor. I have to win.

This time, his aim wobbled slightly off course as he sped towards the approach Clegane. Come on… Mormont exhaled deeply and steadied his breath. Come on…

Right at the last moment, he thrust his lance forward again, focusing all of his weight into the heavy jab. His arm lurched upwards, stinging sharply once again.

CRRRACK! His lance had landed straight into Clegane's great black steel helm! Clegane's lance fell out of his huge hands as the Mountain had lost balance atop his destrier and fell clean out of his saddle.

THUMP! Particles of sand had briefly left the ground once Clegane landed on it face-down.

Instantly, cheers from all around him had erupted violently as if he were in a great battle. The nobles stood from their seats clapping wildly while the smallfolk began to chant. "Mormont! Mormont! Mormont!"

His instincts had told him to ignore the cheers and to look squarely at the Mountain. There was a massive dent in his great helm, and he was still alive judging by the rise and fall of his chest.

Mormont didn't care, yet he still kept an eye on his fallen opponent as he trotted back to his corner of the arena. The Mountain had gotten back up to his feet and tore off his helmet. Starag distinctly saw the large broken nose leaking with dark red blood.

You cheated and you still lost… Mormont's deep blue eyes stared coldly at the Mountain from atop his horse. His free arm found Longclaw's smooth hilt in a warning.

Clegane only growled at him with stormy black eyes. He threw his helmet to the ground and stormed off, out of the arena.

"And the winner is Ser Starag Mormont!"

The thrust of Clegane's lance had been child's play. Mormont had entered a whole new world of pain once he had gotten back to his tent, right when Wendel Manderly had poured some rum on his open wound.

The result of that tormenting experience had been a round of muffled screaming into a thick cloth, and the massive black eye that now adorned Wendel's chubby face.

As he sat in his chair and contemplated life, Mormont felt a warm and soft hand, one much smaller than his own caress his arm gently.

Ruby knelt on the floor next to him. Her dress was a lovely sky blue with silver accents and embroidery. Her long flowing golden hair had been tied into a bastardized northern braid, yet it perfectly framed her small and pretty heart-shaped face.

Her hands massaged his arm to comfort him, and despite the cool and calm expression on her face, Ruby's crystal blue eyes had told another story. There was a stark plight of worry and fear for him. Him alone…

"Apologies, Wendel," Mormont said emotionlessly. He meant it, of course, yet he couldn't bring himself to summon any emotion for his voice.

The Manderly Knight had waved aside his hand unconcernedly. His black eye seemed to pulse like a beating heart in the silence of the tent. "It is no matter, Starag. None of us were prepared for Clegane to cheat. It is a miracle you still won."

"And that Clegane hadn't drawn a sword," Mormont added before he knocked back his head and downed some of the Sailor's Rum. The honey-colored liquid burned his throat slightly, with a light sweetness coming on immediately afterward. "I can fight left-handed, but I'm not as fast."

Wendel nodded slowly. His mustache curled upwards into a slight grin. "At least you are in the finals! I am sure the worst has certainly passed."

Right then, Jon burst into the tent. He stopped just a few feet from Mormont and hulled over, heaving and catching his breath. There was sweat running down from the boy's tight black curls.

Mormont saw the distressed look on his nephew's long face. He felt something twist deep in his gut as he realized what was about to happen. Bad news…

"We're in the finals, uncle." Jon nearly coughed out. "You, and Barristen the Bold."

Wendel had stood up instantly from his seat and pushed it to Jon. Mormont's squire sat down and caught his breath.

Mormont didn't say a word. He only nodded in acknowledgment and slowly dipped his head backward for another swig of the sweet and spicy rum.

His right arm, while useable, was nowhere near perfect condition. Mormont knew he'd be far too exhausted if he kept hefting up and holding lances for the rest of the afternoon. He could barely lift his right arm without it convulsing and shaking with vivid, almost unimaginable pain.

Jon and Wendel knew this, too. They both seemed quite troubled at the prospect of Mormont jousting against Barristen the Bold without a functioning right arm.

"We should withdraw, shouldn't we?" Jon said suddenly. His grey eyes were pleading with Mormont. "It's too dangerous, uncle. Without your arm, it's impossible."

"I agree with Lord Stark." Wendel's eyes had looked sadly upon the bloody mess that was Mormont's right arm. "The Bold is a strong rider, and one of the best lances I've seen in my life. He may even beat your arm worse than it already is, Starag."

Mormont said nothing. He knew they just wanted him to be safe. Any other knight would obviously withdraw if he had odds like Mormont's. An almost lame arm, and also facing down one of the best knights that Westeros had to offer?

His anger was only directed at Gregor Clegane. His shield should have blocked that lance, even if it was tipped. The Mountain had gotten very lucky with the blow on Mormont's right arm.

It would be so easy for Mormont to withdraw. He'd claim he'd been injured. No one would blame him. Yet…

I would. Starag would never forgive himself if he did forfeit the tournament to the Bold. Isn't that all that mattered? His own pride was at stake. That was the worst of them all.

And what about the gold? His family and his people depended on him to win these fucking tourneys. Would he give them the same excuse? "My arm hurt so I decided to forfeit…" Seriously?

No… Mormont shook his head. He didn't want to go out there into that arena. He wanted to stay here with Jon, Wendel, and Ruby. But I have to go out there. I have to perform. For my family.

He stood up abruptly from his chair. Ruby slid away at the sudden movement, but she stood up with him. Her crystal eyes were watching him intently. Mormont remembered that she hadn't said a single word.

"Get me my shirt," Mormont said stolidly to the young woman. She obeyed and found a fresh linen shirt from among his pack full of clothing.

"Have my armor ready, Jon." He said to his nephew. The boy's grey eyes were shocked with worry and even a hint of outrage. Watch and learn, lad. "Go to the noble's betting booth just before the match. Bet every last drop of gold we have on me."

He took one last swig of the rum and set it carefully back down on the table.

"I have a tourney to win."

Barristen Selmy was not a muscular-looking man by any means.

Yet as Mormont rode into the arena, he couldn't help but think that the Bold seemed much larger than he appeared to be.

Sitting on his pale horse, was an older man with much paler hair. Strong jaw, defined, craggy features, and a full white beard. Pale blue eyes watched Mormont stop at his end of the line. That white armor gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun.

It was far too easy for Mormont to remember that this old man was one of the most accomplished knights in the Seven Kingdoms. Far more so than Clegane or even Arthur for that matter.

Both men had gone up to the King's Stand and bowed. This time, Robert simply nodded to the both of them and gave one final wave with his meaty hand.

Mormont swung back to his end of the long stretch of sand. For once, the entire arena was completely silent. Not a single word had been uttered by smallfolk and nobles alike.

This is it, Mormont. He steeled himself in his seat. His wobbly right arm throbbed painfully as he reached down and took the lance from Jon's waiting hands. The boy was quiet, his eyes betraying his trepidation.

"I'll be fine," Starag assured him. He gripped his lance tight and hoped to every single one of his Old Gods that it would not fall from his grasp.

Humhumhummmmm!

Mormont kicked his stirrups to Bear's sides once more and charged forward. He feverishly felt his fingers slipping as the jagged spike had shot up his arm once he began to lower his lance.

Good. You're feeling pain. That means you're still alive, Mormont. Lower that fucking lance, hold it, and knock this old man off his horse.

As the two men hastily approached one another on horseback, Mormont's grip nearly slipped. He recovered quickly, but his lance was far off course. He seethed as he knew he was too late.

Crack! Selmy's lance had struck him hard on his left breast, aimed precisely above Mormont's shield. The impact nearly knocked him right from his horse. If he hadn't dug his legs inwards, he would've been thrown.

Mormont's own lance had simply rubbed against Barristen's shield. He cursed himself for slipping as he rounded around the wooden fence, ready to run the stretch once again.

Starag lowered his lance again. The immense surge of tormenting agony had seemed far worse than the last time. He was almost tempted to drop the lance. He managed to tuck it underneath his arm.

Just one last ride. One last win. Unhorse him for fucks sake!

Mormont leaned forward in his seat, keeping his eyes squarely on Selmy's left breast. If he got in just one good thrust! Then, the older man would be thrown from his horse.

CRRRACK! Starag's lance snapped hard against the Bold's shield. Blast!

Meanwhile, Barristen's lance had struck him again in the left breast. Mormont fell backward in his saddle and dropped his lance into the sand below. Bear carried him the rest of the way to Jon.

The rushing wave of nausea had hit him like a barrel of fresh wildfire. He saw spots everywhere blinking in and out of his vision. Were they there at all.

He strained to hear a voice, yet there was a deep ringing in his ears. Slowly, he sat upright and looked around, searching for the owner of the voice.

It was Jon. Mormont's squire had his hand on one of Bear's reins. He seemed to be saying something, quite quickly, too. Tears were threatening to fall from the boy's Stark-grey eyes.

Those eyes… Lyanna's eyes. Where was he again? Had he died? Perhaps Selmy had struck him in the head.

"Uncle!" Jon's pleading voice could be heard once more. "Uncle, I have to call it off! You can't ride like this!"

He tried to grab at the reins, but Mormont had regained his senses again. Starag snatched the reins away. "No. Lance."

His nephew's expression practically begged him to not continue with the tilt. Mormont shook his head groggily. "Just one more tilt," he said. "One more, and I'll stop."

"You promise?" Jon's voice was shaky. "You promise, uncle? Just one more tilt?"

Mormont nodded. "On my honor as a knight." he forced himself to not vomit from the pain. "Now get me that bloody lance."

Hesitantly, Jon ran over to a nearby rack and snatched up one of his lances. He came back over and handed it to him. Mormont nearly dropped it but managed to hold on and heft it up close to his chest.

Mormont turned Bear right around and faced down the narrow stretch of sand. Selmy had just received his own replacement and was ready for him.

Starag wasted no time. He kicked his stirrups again, and Bear went into a gallop forwards. Ahead of him, Selmy did the same on his own horse.

Both men rushed towards one another. Mormont lowered his lance slowly and carefully, he nearly bit off his tongue simply trying to stifle the pain that shot up his arm and shocked his whole body.

Just one last tilt. Come on, Mormont…

He leaned forward in his seat and aimed his lance at Barristen Selmy's right breast. Steady… He thought to himself. Steady… And once the two men met in the center of the field-

CRRRRACK!

Mormont flew backward in his seat. He felt his lance hit home, something hard thudded and snapped his lance into splinters. He dropped the lance and fell on Bear's neck, wrapping his arm tight around the horse so as to not fall off.

He had barely turned his head when he heard light feet step onto the wood. "And the Champion of the Jousting Tournament is…"

Wait… Mormont glanced over his shoulder and looked to the sand on the opposite side of the fence. Laying flat on his back and glittering white cloak was Barristen Selmy.

"Ser Starag Mormont!" The herald cheered gleefully into the assembled crowd of spectating nobles and smallfolk.

The arena erupted once again, almost repeating the Doom of Valyria itself with the sheer amount of screams, and excited cries of the people around him.

The chanting began once again and filled his ears. Even some of the nobles had taken up the cry. "Mormont! Mormont! Mormont! Mormont!"

Starag Mormont, for his part, was just about ready to fall asleep. As he still lay quietly on Bear's rather comfortable neck, he figured he could lay there for a short while at the least.

In his fading vision, he saw Jon and Wendel running towards him, with Ruby close behind them.

Ruby… He just wanted to be back in his tent and feel her soft, delicate hands again on his arms, on his legs, and perhaps even his cock, too.

But right now… Mormont figured he could do with a few minutes of shut-eye.

Starag had woken up a few hours later, this time with an absolutely ringing headache. Even as he opened his eyes, he managed to briefly see doubles of everything he looked at.

He sat upright on his bed and felt the cool afternoon air on his bare chest. He was only wearing his trousers and nothing else. There was a thick bandage applied to his once gushing wound on his right arm.

"Uncle!" Mormont wasn't prepared for the two thin arms and eleven-year-old boy that had tackled him in a great hug. He would've fallen back to his bed had he not posted himself upon his left arm.

His nephew's wet face was buried in the crook of his neck, the boy's tight black curls brushing his beard. Had Jon been sobbing? He asked himself. Why?

The memories of what had happened before he fell unconscious came back to him in a vast flood that waved over his mind like fresh saltwater. I did it…

He'd won! He knocked Barristen Selmy straight from his horse, even in his weakened condition, Mormont had managed to unhorse one of the greatest knights in the realm.

His ego and pride had sufficiently buffeted. He was never going to let that live down. He'd take any chance he could to brag about it.

Jon separated himself from his chest and sat back on the bed. He looked at Mormont with red, puffy cheeks dry with old tears.

Mormont tried to speak, but his throat was outstandingly dry. "Water." His voice was grated.

Right as he said the word, Ruby had come back into the tent holding a large bucket in her hands. Her crystal blue eyes widened as she saw that he was awake. "Starag!" She cried as she rushed over.

He snatched the bucket of water out of her hands and poured the cool liquid down his throat, gulping down every last drop in the wooden bucket until finally, he set it down next to the bed, completely empty.

"Pipe." He said to Jon. Mormont needed a good smoke right now. Jon instantly jumped to his feet and found Mormont's gambeson coat, taking out the pipe and the box of matches. He gave both to Mormont.

Starag quickly lit the match and his pipe. His senses were coming back to him in droves now. Even with the headache, he felt much better than he had hours ago.

Ruby's hands had found his chest. Her fingers tapped lightly on his toned stomach. "You fell unconscious on your horse. We didn't have to bring you here… Your horse did."

That's Bear… Underneath all that ego and pride was the heart of gold. His horse was a soldier at heart. I'll have to give him an apple or two later tonight.

"I see," Mormont said simply. He looked to Jon and frowned at the dry tear stains on the boy's face. "Why the long face, lad? What's the matter?"

Jon rubbed his cheeks and eyes. "I was so worried, uncle. I thought you'd never wake up…"

Mormont simply raised a stern eyebrow. "Lack of faith in your uncle, hmmm?" He grinned playfully as he shook his head. "It'll take more than a lance to the arm to knock me off."

"But…" Jon had stopped himself from speaking his mind. He looked down at the floor.

Starag knew the boy wanted to say something to him. He gently lay his hand on Ruby's and looked to her with a warm smile. "Spend a few minutes outside the tent, will you? Come back in if you need anything."

Those crystal blue eyes looked at him with both deference as well as a sort of defiance. She was going to obey, but she did not want to leave his side. There was a… hunger in them, too. One that Mormont knew all too well.

He could get to that later. Clearly, Jon did not want to be embarrassed and wanted a private conversation.

Ruby left the tent, leaving only Mormont and his nephew.

"Out with it, lad. What's on your mind?" He demanded sternly.

Jon glanced up at him with shaky grey eyes. They gleamed amethyst at him as the boy opened his mouth. "It's just that… Uncle Arthur told me to look after you…" He said finally. "I was worried something like this would happen."

Understanding immediately spread its way through Mormont's mind. The boy felt as if he'd let Mormont down by letting him take that last lance. Or more likely because he failed to stop Mormont from taking on Barristen Selmy in the first place.

"Did you bet all of our gold on me?" Mormont asked.

Jon nodded. "I did… But-"

"Then you did your duty." Mormont cut him off. He smiled at his nephew earnestly. "How much did we win?"

"30,000 gold dragons for the Champion of the Joust," Jon answered with an uneasy smile. "And there was an extra 11,368 dragons won from the bets, and-"

"Silver and copper don't matter." Mormont waved his pipe idly and took another draw from it. He let out a puff of smoke as he sighed. "Jon, you've done your duty as my squire a thousand times over. Arthur would be proud."

Even though the boy had blushed, that hadn't seemed to placate him. "But he said-"

"That I'm a risk-taker, yes. I know that well enough. I get into trouble more often than not. I'll just as easily fuck a lord's wife or daughter as I'll take a piss." Mormont felt his muscles strain as he sat forward slightly. "Arthur knows most of all that you can't control what a man does. All you can do is watch and wait to see what he does. It's his choice, not yours."

Jon had the decency to look ashamed. He probably remembered the doubting words he'd spoken to Mormont prior to the final tilt. "I'm sorry I doubted you, uncle."

To that, Mormont simply grinned in delight. "All is forgiven, Jon. Water under the bridge." He allowed himself a light chuckle. "Besides, who else do you know who would decide to trade lances with Barristen Selmy with a lame arm?"

Jon matched his smile. "You're the only one, uncle."

"Exactly." Mormont shifted his cold feet under the covers and tossed them over onto the ground. It felt like he'd just gotten off a ship after a long voyage. The ground was sturdy underneath the balls of his feet. "Now, it's about time we've gotten properly dressed. We've got a party to go to."

His nephew looked at him with wonder and awe in those dark grey eyes. "Even after what happened? You'll still go to the feast?"

Mormont looked almost insulted. "Naturally. They're holding it in my honor, aren't they?"

"Besides, every man needs a strong drink after a good joust."

Starag Mormont still had his splitting headache even as he walked arm-in-arm with a freshly dressed Ruby to the large wooden structure behind the arena.

It looked almost like a massive gazebo placed just behind the great stadium. Made of fresh timber with expensive goat horn sconces and candles. Laid out in an oval shape where the long wooden tables, each seating at least eight people each. There were enough tables to feast almost a hundred or so.

And in the center of the massive structure was the smooth pale wooden floor where everyone would be dancing tonight.

Mormont had worn his silken red robe once again. He doubted he'd actually wear anything else to events like these. It was very comfortable and snug and was more to his style and taste than anything else. His golden-black sash was wrapped tight around his waist, and his ornate brown riding boots were shining and spotless.

Ruby herself had dressed to kill. Her back-length golden honey hair was now in the standard northern lady's braid, no doubt to match Mormont's northerner status. Her dress matched his own garb. It was a crimson velvet red with yellow-gold trimmings and embroidery, making Mormont wonder just how much Tobho Mott paid her to be his personal assistant.

She's either got an awful lot to spend on dresses, or she makes them herself. He wouldn't rule out either of the possibilities. Then again, neither of them had mattered.

Walking behind them was Jon Stark, arm-in-arm with none other than Margaery Tyrell. She too had put her golden brown locks in a northern braid that dangled on one side of her neck. Probably just to impress Jon.

Mormont's nephew seemed about ready to hide away under a table. He was unbelievably shy during official occasions like this. He'll get used to it.

They had arrived quite late to the festivities, but then again, Mormont supposed he could get away with it. He was the Champion of the Joust after all. Robert probably hadn't minded, either.

Yet Starag Mormont was greatly disappointed upon his arrival. While almost every one of the competitors had shown up, he was greeted with slow, lame music and less alcohol than he preferred.

Absolutely nobody was drunk. Every single lord and lady he passed by seemed to be stiff and engaged in a rather dull conversation judging by their lack of expression.

He took his seat at the Tyrells' table. He glanced over at Garlan. "What's going on?"

Garlan, in his pale green tunic with his twin gold roses embroidered on either shoulder, had shrugged. "I haven't a clue." he snickered to himself. "They've been like this all evening."

He glanced to the high table. Robert was sitting and eating away at a massive turkey's leg. There was another serving girl perched not so delicately on his knee.

Mormont scanned the entirety of the massive gazebo once again. He saw all the dull and boring faces. Even the Kingsguard seemed out of it.

He thanked the Old Gods that Clegane hadn't made an appearance. The Mountain would certainly have brought the mood down to an all-time low.

This isn't a party… Mormont shook his head in disgust. Nobody was dancing. Not a single person. He glanced at the band of bards playing the dreary, saddening music. It was good, and it certainly achieved its effect with Mormont. He was sad that these people didn't know how to cut loose and have fun.

No drums, no flutes. No skipping, laughing or jumping. There wasn't even any clapping. Just the depressing light strumming of a lute's strings. Pathetic.

He supposed that if something was going to get this lot out of their moodiness, then it would have to be the music.

As if following along with his thoughts, Robert seemed to have had the same idea. "Alright, alright! Get on with the bloody music and the dancing already before I piss myself!"

Mormont saw the look of absolute distaste on Cersei Lannister's pale face. Though, for once in his life, Mormont found himself agreeing with the Stag King.

Renly, the King's brother, had gotten up from his seat and came to the middle of the dance floor. More and more nobles followed him out onto the dance floor, though it seemed more like a chore for them than anything. He was much more flashy compared to Robert's simple brown doublet.

Renly Baratheon seemed to dress more like a Tyrell than anything. His rich green robe had gold accents and embroidery. With elegant stag antler cuffs and a golden brooch.

Mormont was quite hungry himself, but he was also wanting to see just what Renly had planned to shake some excitement up in the gathered crowd. He stood up, Ruby standing with him, and walked out onto the pale wood floor.

"So, which dance shall we start with?" Renly Baratheon had asked the waiting crowd. "A Waltz? Farandole?"

Starag had stopped by the edge of the growing crescent of mildly interested nobles, Ruby hanging on his arm silently. He supposed it was her job as a personal assistant to be as economic as possible concerning speech.

The King's brother had glanced at Mormont now. "How about you, Ser Mormont? You are the Champion of the Joust, after all."

"Yes, indeed, Ser Mormont." A smooth and deep voice had hissed just behind him. He looked over his shoulder to look at the heckler. He wasn't surprised to see a calm and deadly Gerold Dayne standing behind one of the wide tables.

The look on Darkstar's face was brimming with self-satisfaction at thrusting Mormont right into the spotlight. All chatter in the hall had quieted down, now everyone was looking expectantly at Mormont.

Darkstar continued, flicking a strand of silver-blonde hair away from those dark purple eyes. "Why don't you show us a dance of the North? Surely there's something elegant to be found from a frozen land of barbarians and savages?"

Mormont didn't react in the slightest. Not even when he noticed Jon wincing slightly. Not even as he heard the collective chuckles from the nobles in the wood hall. He just stared at Darkstar completely unimpressed. He'll be in the melee, no doubt.

No matter. Mormont grinned warmly at the challenge presented to him. If it was a party these people wanted, it was a party they were going to get.

Gerold had made a mistake singling him out, which only meant that Darkstar didn't know as much about Mormont as he wanted him to think he did. He didn't know that Mormont was a man finely attuned to culture.

"Why not?" Mormont clapped his hands together in thunderous rap. Everyone was looking at him. "It's a bit like a Waltz, though it changes into a sort of Saltarello." He let go of Ruby and approached the bards.

The leader, a short man wearing a rather lively faded green doublet looked about as excited as Ned would upon hearing he has to execute a stray brother of the Night's Watch.

Mormont leaned close to the man and whispered his orders to him. The dotted brown eyes widened in surprise as Mormont leaned away, and they quickly showed a curious mixture of fascination and excitement. "As you wish, my lord." The band leader had bowed.

Starag came back to the crowd of lords and ladies of the South. He wrapped an arm around Ruby's thin waistline. Her large breasts brushed against his arm.

He snapped his fingers and bards began playing their tunes. The pipes, the flute, the harp, and the drums began beating to a slow-moving beat.

Mormont almost laughed when he saw the nobles who had been snickering at him only moments ago hastily rush to their places on the dance floor. He felt Ruby snake her arm up to his torso. She just managed to lay her hand on his shoulder without having to stand on the tips of her toes.

He held her dainty palm in his own hand and looked deep into Ruby's beautiful crystal blue eyes. They were filled with desire, and Mormont had wanted to dive in for a kiss when he saw her pupils dilate.

They began their stride across the floor, expertly matching pace with the rest of the lords and ladies on the pale wood floor.

The drums beat slowly and thoughtfully with each sway and step they took together. The flutes had soared perfectly with the rise and fall of each lady's dress.

Mormont had waited until he and Ruby had made the full circuit of the oval-shaped dance floor. By now, he had noticed how much more relaxed the other dancers were in their partner's arms. Now they were ready.

He glanced at the bandleader and nodded. The short brown-eyed man had smiled at him and turned back to his band.

It was by far the smoothest transition he'd ever heard from a rather slow piece of music like Black Pine to one of his personal favorites.

Mormont had switched his stance to that of the Saltarello, now he was standing side-by-side with Ruby and held her left hand in his right palm. Everyone else on the dance floor had followed suit once they recognized the change in music.

Suddenly, the drummer had hammered his sticks down the taught instrument in a quick rattle. The lute player had strummed a few healthy chords, and finally, his fingers speedily flicked at the strings with expertise.

Everyone knew what they were about to play as the tone had begun to pick up and quicken. Much to Mormont's delight, he had begun to hear their joyous laughter as the bandleader had begun singing.

A bear there was, a bear, a bear!
All black and brown, and covered with hair.
The bear! The bear!

Oh, come they said, oh come to the fair!
The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!
All black and brown, and covered with hair!

And down the road from here to there.
From here! To there!
Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear!
They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!
The fair! The fair!

Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair!
The maid with honey in her hair!
Her hair! Her hair!
The maid with honey in her hair!

The bear smelled the scent on the summer air.
The bear! The bear!
All black and brown and covered with hair!

He smelled the scent on the summer air!
He sniffed and roared and smelled it there!
Honey on the summer air!

The music had actually worked too well on the lords and ladies present. They had completely lost the Saltarello and had opted to lose themselves in the music. Their arms and bodies were flowing with the music like water in a stream.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Jon and Margaery on the pale wooden floor just a few meters away. Their laughter and smiles were as energetic and vigorous as any pair of excited children.

Ruby herself was smiling brightly and laughing as they hopped and twisted together, their bodies rubbing up closer together as they jumped and skipped. Her wild blonde braid had seemed to be coming undone with her rapid movements. She parted her thin soft lips to sing along with the music.

Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!
A bear! A bear!
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!

The bear, the bear!
Lifted her high into the air!
The bear! The bear!

I called for a knight, but you're a bear!
A bear, a bear!
All black and brown and covered with hair

She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,
But he licked the honey from her hair.
Her hair! Her hair!
He licked the honey from her hair!

Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!
My bear! She sang. My bear is so fair!
And off they went, from here to there,
The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair.

Mormont forgot entirely about his rough day as he watched the young blonde beauty in front of him come in and out of his arms, her flushed chest heaving with each beat of the music. Her rosy cheeks and parted lips invited him closer.

Perhaps there was a point to his suffering, after all, he thought. And as he watched Ruby gaze lovingly up at him, he knew he was right.

And so, as they enjoyed the fine lighthearted company of those around them, the Bear danced the night away with his Maiden Fair.