My Ego has grown fat with strength. Thank you for all the kind words.

Enjoy :)

Highgarden

294 AC

And now it was a moon later.

Starag Mormont and Jon Stark had grown accustomed to the pleasant and comforting paradise that was Highgarden. The Tyrells had seemed to enjoy their company as well, and more often than not, Mormont found himself taking a late morning ride with Garlan, Jon, and Margaery.

The weeks had passed by quietly. Each day flickered out again and again like a candle. Still, Mormont had kept up with his morning routine. Run a mile. Swim a quarter of a mile. Breakfast. Spar with Jon.

He'd finally noticed just how taut his skin was against his muscled and toned body. Arthur had been right, after all, it seemed. Mormont still hated cardio, yet there were many mornings when he woke up looking forward to running up and down the Roseroad.

He didn't know why he wasn't fat like Mace or Robert. All he did was smoke, drink, and eat whatever he wanted. Besides a little running and swimming, there wasn't much else he did for his diet. Unless… unless it's really that simple, isn't it? He wondered.

Mormont would have to be in the best shape of his life for this last tourney, even if he could aptly handle the Reach lords, it wasn't them he was concerned about.

The lords of the Reach had begun to arrive perhaps a week or so before the next moon's turn when the tourney would begin. The Tarlys were the first to arrive. Lord Randyll Tarly had presented himself before his liege lords, the stern and stony-masked lord had only given Mormont a curt nod.

It had come as a complete surprise to everyone when a raven arrived in the rookery, saying that King Robert would be coming down from King's Landing to attend the tourney celebrating Lady Margaery's name day.

"He'll be arriving perhaps in the next week or so," Willas had read the letter again with scrutinizing brown eyes. He handed it to his grandmother, who only gave a scrap of paper a momentary glance and then had given Starag a displeased look.

"This is all your fault." She said pointedly. "Winning two tourneys in a row? And now you're attending a third? No wonder everyone's so bloody excited to see what happens." She tossed the letter across the table.

Mormont finished taking his second draft of his cup of coffee. He let the cup rest on the breakfast table and gently picked up the letter.

Lord Mace,

His Majesty Robert Baratheon I, wishes to attend the tourney celebrating your daughter's name day. His Grace and the Royal Family shall arrive in the coming weeks.

Warm Regards,

Grand Maester Pycelle

He read the letter to himself again and then replayed the Old Flower's words in his mind. Was he to blame for the King's sudden interest in Highgarden? He hadn't been paying attention to any rumors that may have been spreading. Mormont was too busy healing his sword arm.

Starag glanced up at the expectant Olenna Tyrell. The displeased sneer was still on her wrinkly old face. "Has the word traveled that fast about my victories?" He didn't think the matter would be that dire. They were just tourneys after all, not the start of a war.

"I'm disappointed, Ser Mormont." The Queen of Thorns snorted. "I thought you of all people would've paid attention to your growing fame. Perhaps it would fatten up your ego as wine has done for our dear King Robert."

"Mother!" Mace nearly choked on the slab of salmon on his plate. Olenna ignored him and kept staring at Mormont.

She jutted a bony finger at him. "Since before you arrived, all we had heard about in letters sent by raven was about the towering "Bear Knight of the North". How he had been trained by none other than Arthur Dayne himself, and how he could not be matched in strength, not even by The-Mountain-That-Rides."

The Queen of Thorns' voice took on a mocking tone as she kept her steady hazel eyes on him. "And don't even get me started on what they've been saying about your boyish charms."

"Winning one tourney is one thing, Ser Mormont. But winning a second immediately after? And against Barristen the Bold and Gregor Clegane, no less… Now that is enough to get anyone's attention. Times of peace are quite dull and dreadfully boring. Are you really surprised that your little expedition is public knowledge?" Olenna shook her head. "No, my dear Bear. I'm afraid that despite your distaste for the Great Game, you are now a player on the board. Whether you like it or not."

Thanks to Gerold Dayne running his mouth, Starag's newfound fame came many more, much bigger problems. People knew about him. They were talking about him in taverns and behind castle walls. Propped-up stories of his latest exploits were being spread across the Seven Kingdoms, and fast.

No longer did Starag Mormont have the quiet anonymity that he absolutely yearned for. In fact, now he was absolutely sure his name would make the history books. If only for a page or two at the most.

The tourney at Highgarden was supposed to have been a little more difficult than Duskendale, but not nearly as stressful as King's Landing. Mormont knew somehow that this one would decide his ultimate fate. Perhaps… perhaps I shouldn't bet the gold on myself, then, right?

Without a doubt, Jamie Lannister would take part in the melee at the least. If he doubted Mormont's tutelage under Arthur before, it was likely that the Kingslayer either believed the rumors or that it was still just a load of shit.

Mormont would just have to take that chance. He had to if he wanted to get as much gold as possible. It had been too long since he'd fought someone who had actual skill with the blade.

The Kingslayer had been trained by Arthur as well. He was battle-hardened and by far one of the best swords in Westeros. Far more talented than Darkstar, and perhaps even Mormont himself for that matter.

And despite his right arm having healed completely, it was the uncertainty about whether or not he would win that unnerved him. For the first time in his life, he didn't know if he could actually defeat his opponent. His true opponent for that matter.

Arthur wouldn't be there to train him for the duel and after Ruby… Mormont refused to find comfort in another woman's arms. At least, for the meantime. He needed to be ice-cold.

No… There wouldn't be anyone who would come to save Starag Mormont from his fate. It was him, or Lannister. That much he was sure of. Nobody else in the tourney had mattered.

A newfound resolve had welled up inside him. The sheer challenge of the upcoming battle between two men who were masters of the blade suddenly exhilarated him with the overwhelmingly nervous excitement that all men felt before going into battle. It was the same tension he'd felt before he had a duel with Arthur...

Yes... I'll finally get to see who is better. Which one of us will make it to the very end?

It was remarkable to imagine how everything had played out in the last few moons. His private life had been cracked wide open once he'd won the tourney at King's Landing, and now at Highgarden…

The high lords knew about him now. Everyone was curious about the wandering Lord of Bear Island who had taken on a wild expedition to take southerner gold. And how could they not be? It's not as if they had anything better to do at the moment. Olenna was right in that regard. Peacetime was outstanding boring.

Sure, a few lords here and there had known him. Even the King knew who he was. Yet the difference between then and now was that his name was on the lips of every commoner or lordling between Dorne and the North. All because they were fucking bored…

Who was this oddly cunning brute, who took outlandish risks that no other lord would be caught dead doing? Who was this barbaric lord of the North who had come down the Neck just to take everyone's gold? Why had he done it? Why was Jon Stark his squire? What would he do afterward?

Mormont knew those were the questions that his now fellow players were likely wondering about. And he also knew that, if the opportunity had arisen- which it had- that they would come and see him for themselves. Just to measure him up.

He knew when he saw not only the yellow and black stag of House Baratheon coming down the Roseroad but also the colors of red and gold colors of House Lannister, that they had come for him.

And the only person Starag could blame for his misfortune of gaining everyone else's attention was himself.

The first day of the joust had come and gone like a breeze on the wind. Yet before the tourney had even begun, Mormont could tell that he was already being sized up. And it wasn't by his competition.

He'd won four tilts against a few of the Reach lords. They were easy enough, nothing particularly taxing on Mormont's abilities like King's Landing. The wound where Clegane had struck him with his pointed lance had healed comfortably, though the scarring would be permanent.

The real surprise of the event was that Tywin Lannister had come down from Casterly Rock himself just to attend this particular tourney. Though apparently, Willas had mentioned how the Old Lion had gone to visit King's Landing anyway.

Initially, Mormont hadn't thought much of Tywin Lannister, but as he contemplated his fate at being a player in the Game of Thrones, no matter how small he might look on the board, he found himself having a newfound respect for the Old Lion.

The Lord of Casterly Rock had strolled into Highgarden without so much as a word and had been given his own wing of the main keep. He even had his own temporary office during his stay. Mormont couldn't help but admire that tough ruthlessness that he possessed. Even better, he'd brought along Gregor Clegane with him.

Tywin hadn't paid Mormont any real attention. They hadn't spoken any words to one another, and Starag hadn't expected that to happen at all. It was only during one of the rather awkward feasts that Mormont had caught the Old Lion's gaze specifically on him. Those emotionless green and gold eyes studied him ruthlessly in a matter of seconds before they turned away.

Robert had greeted him rather the same as he had in King's Landing, though he didn't bother hiding his plain distaste for the Tyrells. Likely over their withdrawn support during the Greyjoy Rebellion, or something. Why exactly didn't really matter to Mormont.

Cersei Lannister, however… She looked upon him with renewed interest, it seemed. Though she still likely thought of him as a mindless brute from the North. Starag didn't-

What in the blazes was he doing? Was he already taken to playing the Game? Mormont felt a brief moment of disgust as he remembered his situation. He just wanted his gold. Was that really so much to ask for?

Olenna Tyrell had given him a wary glance which held a tiny parcel of remorse and even… even pity. Were it from anyone else, Mormont would've been absolutely enraged. He didn't want anyone else's pity. They could take their pity and shove it up their own ass for all he cared.

Was this the price for winning his gold? For trying to save his family from the rut they've been put in? For making sure his people and his future children did not grow up having to shell up every gold dragon they made?

That now, he'd be involuntarily thrown into another, far stranger land to even him. A world of lies and half-truths, of lords and ladies vying for power over others and the lands they ruled over.

And how would Mormont handle all of that? He was just a man who wanted to get pissed drunk, gamble all his money on cards and dice, and smoke his pipe before he went to sleep.

He saw what had happened to Robert. He'd gotten drunk and fat. He lost the warrior spirit which got him his throne in the first place. The King was soft and comfortable. Did he simply bury his head in a serving girl's bosom whenever the going got tough?

Jon Arryn? The Lord of the Vale was far too rigid, a bit like Ned in that regard. Besides, Lord Arryn had nearly lost all of his hair, probably from having torn it out over stress.

And as much as Mormont loved Ned… his best friend wouldn't have gotten very far without Ashara at his side. The North was in shambles after Robert's Rebellion, and it was Ashara who helped Ned do most of the heavy lifting to get it back on its feet, and then some.

This is what it's like to be a lord, isn't it? He wondered to himself. Mormont thought his life would be much simpler on Bear Island. Now he realized, his life would only become more and more complicated.

Both his father and Jorah had seemingly run away from it in some form or another. They couldn't stand this blasted game of wits and ruling. Would he do the same?

The challenge had welled up deep within him. His mind had shouted back a resounding NO!

Great men are always afraid, Mormont. They just do it anyway.

CRACK!

His lance had struck home on Lord William Ashford's left breast and snapped sharply as he thrust it into the lord's torso. Ashford's feet had left his stirrups and he left his saddle, falling onto the sand. Thump.

"And the winner is… Lord Starag Mormont!" The fat herald had cheered.

There was an exciting round of applause from the smallfolk on the opposite end of the arena, who probably numbered somewhere around a hundred, perhaps even two. This place was positively packed with nobles and smallfolk. Much more so than King's Landing had been.

He tossed his broken lance and rode to his end of the line, where Jon stood waiting for him with another lance just in case Lord Ashford had remained in his seat. Thankfully, it wasn't needed.

The second day of the joust had passed quite breezily. It was largely lords from the Reach and the Dornish Marches who had come to the tourney. And while there were a few lordlings from the Crownlands and Stormlands, they were few and far between.

He had seen Beric Dondarrion make another appearance. And at the Marcher Lord's side had been Thoros of Myr. The Red Priest had given Mormont a wicked grin during the first feast before he'd gone back to his drink. I'll get you this time. He had seemed to say.

Most of the competition had eaten itself during the first day of the joust. As such, it was barely midday by the time Mormont had made it to the semi-finals, where he'd broken three lances against William Ashford until that glorious and invigorating moment when the man took flight from his horse.

Mormont suspected that if this next tilt went by relatively fast, the grand melee would actually take place in the early afternoon. Which was completely fine with him.

"Who's up next?" Mormont asked Jon as he took off his helmet. The sun was beating down on him underneath that blasted metal bear's head helm.

"Lord Tarly, uncle." Jon had answered. He seemed almost excited. Mormont wished he could feel the boy's giddiness, but all he felt was cold. He had a job to do. "He's beaten the Mountain and Ser Arys Oakheart. The finals will be in ten minutes or so."

Mormont nodded emotionlessly. He said nothing as he slowly dropped down from Bear's saddle and picked up the nearby jug of ice water. He still felt Jon's grey eyes on the back of his head.

"Is something wrong, uncle?" The question had come.

Starag finished chugging down his water, letting it cool the hot blood running in his veins. "Nothing for you to worry about, lad," he said as he fixed a warm smile on his lips. "I hear Willas has been teaching you falconry. How's that been going for you?"

The Bear Lord knew absolutely nothing about falcons. He just needed to change the subject. Almost briefly, he'd forgotten about the tension he felt in his bones when he saw the childish elation on his nephew's face.

He listened intently to Jon about his experiences with falcons. How Willas would use them to hunt for small game such as rabbits or squirrels, and how Jon had briefly had put on one of those thick gloves and had Willas' pet falcon Geron hooked on his arm.

There was a part of Mormont that seemed to briefly envy that effortless happiness in the boy. It felt as if it was missing in himself. Like he'd had his own inner child taken away from him. Starag literally felt like there was a hole in his chest. It was quite… strange.

He realized he'd been nearing the end of his journey, of his final tour of Westeros. There was a strong feeling of wistfulness that fell over him. Soon enough... He'd have to give it all up for Bear Island.

A few moments later, the herald had called for the final tilt of the joust. He also announced that the grand melee would be taking part later that afternoon as Mormont suspected.

Suddenly, his emptiness and lack of feeling had been immediately squashed, replaced only with the immense anticipation of the battle he was seemingly destined to fight against Jamie Lannister. And the burning desire to finally beat the man who had looked down his nose at him back in King's Landing only weeks ago.

But first… he had to win this last tilt.

Mormont glanced to the other end of the field. Trotting over on his horse, with his sigil of the hunting man covered in red on a green field, was Randyll Tarly.

Tarly sat proudly and stoically on his horse. He gave Mormont a slight nod in respect before he lined himself up along the other side of the fence that would run between them.

"Last tilt. I'll need you to bet everything we've got." He said to Jon. His nephew glanced up at him with a light smile. "You've been an excellent squire for me, Jon… Now let's take their fucking gold, eh?"

Jon grinned wickedly in response. It looked far too much like one of Mormont's own mildly sadistic grins. "Let's do it, uncle."

Starag finished his jug of water and climbed once more onto Bear's saddle. He closed his bear's head helm and looked to Jon. "Lance," he said simply. A second later, he scooped up the lance in his massive paw.

Bear lined up along their side of the thick wooden fence and glanced back to Mormont. You've got this, boss. His horse isn't nearly as great as I am.

Mormont patted Bear on the neck. "I know." He said with a slight smile. "Ride like the wind for me, alright. I don't want to leave this one to chance. We'll need all the power and momentum we can get."

Can I have two apples later? Those big brown eyes suggested the trade. Mormont simply nodded in response. Why not? If he helped him win, Bear could have all the apples he wanted.

"And for the final tilt, we have our two Jousting Champions! Both have displayed valor and worthiness of their titles!" The fat man shouted to the silent crowd. "The winner of this final tilt shall receive the Champion's Purse of 25,000 gold dragons!"

Mormont wanted all of the gold. He hadn't been training every morning for the last four moons just to lose now. He'd be fucking damned if he didn't win this last tilt. It was always too early to begin losing.

The herald had stepped down from his little podium. Then the damned sound he'd grown to hate had sounded throughout the arena.

Humhummhummmm!

Bear shot forward, nearly jolting Mormont in his saddle. He recovered quickly and leaned forward in his seat. He'd have to be careful with Tarly. While the Lord of Horn Hill wasn't nearly as good as Barristen Selmy had been, he was still a competent rider who clearly outmatched his fellow Lords of the Reach.

He galloped closer and closer towards Tarly. Hooves pounded the ground like hammers, making the sand jump into the air.

THUD! Tarly's lance had landed on his left breast. Mormont just barely managed to stay in his saddle as he nearly toppled over. He straightened himself and ran to the end. Point for Tarly.

Mormont circled the fence again and watched as Tarly came riding back towards him. Mormont adjusted himself to Bear's nearly blinding speed and sat forward again in his seat.

He aimed the tip of his lance just for Tarly's right breast. He kept his lance steady as they bolted forward. They-

CRACK! His lance had broken on Tarly's shield instead, nearly throwing the Reach lord out of his seat. Tarly's lance had only glanced off his shield.

The two men had each broken another lance each, wheeling their horses back around the fence, or tossing aside their shattered lances to the pale yellow sand.

Mormont had thrown his lance and picked up another from Jon. Then he turned back around and bolted down the lane when he saw Tarly doing the same. This was it! It had to be. The anticipation was nearly killing him.

With a hardened resolve, Mormont shot forward on Bear, the warhorse actually gaining more speed on Tarly's own stallion.

They met in the middle of the stretch, and this time, Mormont lifted up his lance and pulled it backward. Just as the two were about to clash, he thrust it hard towards Tarly's right breast.

He struck home. Randyll Tarly had stiffly barreled over in his saddle as Mormont's lance jabbed and snapped on his breastplate. He fell onto the sand with a final and resounding thud.

The stadium had exploded right then into cheers and applause, even before the herald could announce his final and penultimate victory.

Mormont ignored the jeering and ear-piercing crowd and wheeled his horse to check on Tarly.

The Lord of Horn Hill had already gotten back to his feet. He lifted his helmet and gave Mormont a curt yet respectful nod. "You ride well, Lord Mormont."

"And so do you, Lord Tarly." Mormont had replied.

He had ridden back over to his side of the arena when the cheering and clapping finally died down. Now, the fat herald was more than capable of reasserting himself.

"And the Jousting Champion is… Lord Starag Mormont!" The fat man had cried. And in his hands was a beautiful wreath of fresh flowers, likely taken from the flowerbeds in Highgarden. "And now, Lord Mormont, you may choose the Queen of Love and Beauty!" The herald said.

Starag kept his warm smile, though he knew he didn't really have a Queen of Love and Beauty with him at Highgarden. He would've picked Ruby, yet she was back at King's Landing. He took the small garland of roses in his hand. It seemed to fit in his palm.

Why not the birthday girl? It was Margaery's name day after all. It would be his present to her. He turned his horse around and went to the Tyrells' booth, where his extended good-family was sitting.

He grinned at the little she-devil and presented the crown of golden roses to her. "For the birthday girl." He said to her.

Margaery's brown eyes had lit up completely. Though instead of blushing like a maid, she acted the perfect lady and beamed back at him. Gently, she took the crown from his hands and gave him a curtsy. "Thank you, Lord Mormont."

Mormont gave her one last wink and glanced up at the Old Flower sitting above the rest of her family. Olenna gave Starag an approving nod. There was a slight upward curve in her lips.

And with that, Starag Mormont had turned around, trotted out of the arena, and went to his tent. He needed a strong drink. Inside, he could think of nothing else but the grand melee that was coming up soon enough…

It was the only thing Mormont could do before he met the Kingslayer in the open field.