Previously, on The Last Tour…
Highgarden
294 AC - Present
Not a single word had been uttered between the two men as Mormont stepped over the limp and headless corpse of Gregor Clegane. Even the smallfolk and the nobles in the stands had grown completely silent.
The sun had bored down onto both of them, glinting off their shining armor, and illuminating the yellow sand beneath their feet with a golden, healthy glow.
A heavy and oddly comfortable wind had picked up through the air as Starag Mormont and Jaime Lannister had begun to move in a circle, their swords held out in front of them. Each step was slow and steady, balanced perfectly on the balls of their feet.
All Mormont could hear was the wind blowing into his face and past his ears. It was only the wind. Nobody else existed right now. No one else but him and Lannister.
He prevented his mind from making any hasty calculations about what might happen in this final duel. Right now wasn't the time to think. Instinct would soon take over the moment their swords clashed. It was inevitable.
His once relaxed nerves had come back again with a roaring vengeance. It was thrilling to Mormont. His heartbeat was thunderous in his chest, and his blood ran hot in his veins, the adrenaline pumped eagerly while he took a single step forward.
Jaime had mirrored his movement and also stepped forward. His stance was exactly like his own. Just like Arthur's. Sword held out in front, pointed towards him. Both hands were on the hilt with an iron grip. His right foot was placed expertly in front of his left.
Another step forward, this time by Lannister first. Mormont matched him. They were merely a few meters away from one another. Just another step…
Tang! Both men had clicked their heels forward at the same time. Their swords glanced off one another sharply. Then they both stepped back.
Mormont knew it was a sort of greeting, though rather informal as sword duels usually tend to go. Most of the time, he'd have hacked away at his opponent. But Jaime Lannister was a much different beast, one who also knew the greeting of the sword.
Now… the duel would get well underway. Mormont suspected that Lannister was faster than him. It made sense as far as body mass and weight had gone. Starag was at least two heads taller than Jaime and weighed almost twice as much.
Speed. A definite advantage that Lannister had over him. Speed was always more important than strength to a swordsman. The-Mountain-That-Rides had learned that the hard way.
Which meant that Mormont would have to play defensively. No doubt the Kingslayer had already made similar calculations behind those narrowed cat-green eyes. If he was faster, he would be able to make more strikes at Mormont, forcing Starag to defend his neckline.
And yet, Starag had his Valyrian Steel sword. He supposed that Longclaw was his only advantage against Lannister. Whereas Jamie had to put his castle-forged blade to Mormont's neck, Starag could cut through the Young Lion's white armor rather easily.
There was the inkling of an idea in Mormont's mind, yet he couldn't quite place on what exactly to do. What was the nagging question? How could he outwit one of the greatest swordsmen that Westeros had to offer?
Mormont didn't get to fully formulate an answer. His feet moved quickly on the golden sand as Lannister sprung forward, attempting to lunge his blade past Mormont's guard.
Ting! Starag parried the sword to his left and moved away. He needed to play for time in order for this idea of his to form. Lannister would attempt to wear him down in the meantime. His attacks would soon become relentless.
Counter and move. Counter and move. Arthur's voice replayed in his mind. There would be no locking of blades like before. This was to be a quick and fast ordeal. Lannister would attempt to strike him, and all Mormont could do was block, parry, and counter.
Just then, Lannister came at him again. This time with a soaring strike that came diagonally at Mormont's neck. Starag blocked it just in time and pushed the gilded steel blade away with Longclaw.
A small burst of air had brushed his tight black curls as Lannister came back again with another penetrative lunge. Mormont arched Longclaw to the left and redirected Jamie's sword downwards and away from him, allowing Starag to make a counter jab towards Lannister's right arm.
The Kingslayer deftly danced away on his feet, giving Mormont a temporary respite. Come on, Mormont! How do you beat him? Wearing down Lannister was an option, but not one that Mormont would like to take a chance on. If Jamie was any bit as clever as Arthur, he'd know full well how to trick Starag in that regard. All it would take was a small slip up and then he'd get behind Mormont's guard.
No… There had to be another way. One that Lannister would not expect, and one that would instantly put an end to this duel. But what was it? There was something he was missing. Something he couldn't remember. Something Arthur had told him about. What was-
Lannister stepped forward once more and whirled his blade at Starag in a sweeping overhead strike. His sword glanced off Longclaw, which Jaime then speedily followed up with another lunge for Mormont's neck.
Starag heard the awkward shuttering grind of metal sliding harshly against metal as he sidestepped the blow and brought Longclaw upwards to fend off the deadly sharp steel blade.
He pushed the blade away again and made a sweeping side strike aimed for Lannister's right leg. Jaime's blade had diverted Longclaw away with a single swipe.
Their swords had clashed again and again in the seemingly lonely tourney arena for what seemed like hours. Nothing else could be heard except the violent and elegant Clang! Neither men had given ground, and both men could likely have continued their awesome and sophisticated dance of blades for the rest of the day.
Mormont was still racking his mind for the answer to his question. For every one counter, he was able to make, Lannister seemed to have two or even three attacks set immediately afterward. He attacked so quickly that Mormont's legs were getting far more exercise than when he'd gone running in the early morning.
It had to have been an hour when Mormont finally made another counter lunge, this one aimed for Lannister's own neck. This one he couldn't divert away, so Jamie had danced backward on the balls of his feet. They separated, if only for the moment.
A wild flash of inspiration had struck Mormont as he remembered exactly what he needed to know. Now, as he and Lannister were pacing one another again, a plan began to formulate and build rapidly in his mind. Yes… that might just work…
Arthur had once told him about The Smiling Knight. About how he'd dueled the man for quite some time until he had eventually slew the psychotic knight where he stood. And it was the crucial detail in that story that ignited Mormont's roaring curiosity, and his hope for a quick solution as well.
The Smiling Knight had to replace his sword once or twice-how many didn't matter to Mormont. Yet it was the reason why he had done so which only gave way to wonder. The swords had been notched many times by Dawn, the family blade of House Dayne. Surely if The Smiling Knight hadn't replaced his sword, Dawn would've cut right through it like a loaf of bread.
Dawn had been forged by a meteorite, though… Mormont wondered almost madly. Can I do the same with Valyrian Steel? If he could break down Lannister's steel sword strike-by-strike… then Mormont would absolutely win.
His eyes had glanced briefly at Lannister's sword. Nothing, in particular, had stuck out to him in the short moment. Mormont didn't notice anything that would help. I'll just have to see for myself.
Mormont then immediately switched to the offensive, he quickly stepped forward and delivered a sweeping overhead strike. His surprise attack had worked like a charm. Lannister was briefly stunned before his blade struck against Mormont's, diverting Longclaw away.
Starag continued attacking with slower, heavier strikes, intending to find out if his plan had any stock. He hammered Longclaw down on Lannister's gilded steel sword again and again.
Quickly, he'd been forced back on the defense by Jaime's almost blindingly fast assault of sweeping strikes and jabs for his neck. Any other man would've been finished. Mormont, however, was just fast enough to fend off the blows one by one.
As he pushed Lannister's sword away once again, he saw them. The well of reserved excitement began to boil and spark within him as saw the small horizontal lines marking the shining steel blade in Lannister's hand. By the Old Gods! He was right!
Immediately, Mormont dedicated himself to action. He'd have to be careful when he played the offense, for Lannister could still have a few tricks up his sleeve himself, and Starag himself would have to keep up the pretense of going for Jaime's neck and joints. But what else could he do besides wait for Jaime Lannister to wear out his defense?
Mormont lunged forward again, using the strength in his legs to aid him as he struck at Jaime's sword again.
Cling! The two blades met. He attacked as many times as he could, the hope building up bit by bit inside of him as the Kingslayer used his sword to block and parry the blows. Then, once more, he was forced back onto the defense.
He had kept this up for some time. Going off onto the offense and then back again to parry his opponent's sword. He didn't know how much time had passed, only that the sun had probably gotten much lower. Mormont didn't know for certain. He was too busy fending off the Kingslayer's gilded blade.
Mormont had felt his arms begin to ache and tire as their duel persisted longer still. It had long ceased to be a glorified spar at a tourney. It felt far more akin to the real thing. The actual nervous thrill of real battle. A single mistake could cost him his life, and it simply made Mormont more and more excited.
The notches on Lannister's blade had grown significantly larger and were more apparent during the brief glimpses Mormont would steal. He was close. So very close.
Lannister himself seemed to be tireless, yet equally frustrated that his mountainous opponent had not yet succumbed to the onslaught of blows and lunges. He didn't seem to notice that Mormont was wearing down his sword.
Finally, he'd seen the opening he was looking for. He diverted Lannister's sword off course and entered his guard. It was then that the pit in his stomach had dropped as he realized just what had happened.
Recognition flashed in his mind, flooding over him like a dark wave of saltwater. It had been the same maneuver that Arthur had done to him way back in Winterfell.
He only had a few seconds at most before Lannister had swept to his left and brought up his sword. The gilded steel blade glinted with the warming golden rays of the sun. It was already directly above Longclaw, nearly within Mormont's guard.
Mormont instinctively moved his feet to step back. He felt the power and strength in his legs well up into his terribly aching arms and prayed to the Old Gods that his next, and only possible move, would work.
As Lannister's badly marked and notched steel blade swung down, Mormont brought Longclaw closer to his midsection and swung upwards as hard as he could muster.
CLONG! The shattering clash of swords had ended abruptly as Mormont felt Longclaw meet the tough and resilient castle-forged steel and then having dragged through the grinding resistance until it sheared the gilded steel blade in two.
Almost two feet of gilded steel had landed in the sand nearby, leaving Jaime Lannister only holding a hilt with a broken blade. Those cat-green eyes stared at the useless sword in simple amazement and shocked curiosity.
Mormont immediately took advantage and landed his fist in Lannister's side, knocking the wind out of him, and sending the Kingslayer to the floor of golden sand. Then, Mormont gently lay Longclaw's smoky black edge just inches from Lannister's neck.
It was over.
Starag looked down into those cat-green eyes. He didn't need to ask the question that everyone else in the stands was dying to know the answer to.
After heaving and regaining his breath, a sweaty-faced Jaime Lannister looked up at Mormont with resignation and even a small hint of respect in his eyes. "Yield." He said emotionlessly.
Mormont stepped back and sheathed Longclaw in the loose furs hanging from his belt. He'd noticed that Lannister still hadn't gotten up from the sand.
The fat herald had taken his chance and stepped up to the small wooden podium. "And the Champion of the Grand Melee is… Lord Starag Mormont!"
The following eruption of cheers and boundless clapping had nearly made Mormont cover his ears. He was then sternly reminded of the beads of sweat running down his slick face and into his beard. I could do with a good drink and a smoke…
He returned his gaze to the Young Lion who was still laying on his back on the sand. Lannister seemed to be contemplating something as he stared at the broken blade just a few feet away. Those cat-green eyes were… searching for something.
This was the same man Mormont had come to contempt since the day he saw Jaime Lannister sitting on the Iron Throne, bloodied blade on his knee and with one leg hunched up on the armrest of the great black chair.
This man had been born with riches and into a Great House that was far more reputable and ruthless than Starag's own. He'd never appreciated the money or comfortable life his lord father had made for him, never had to scrounge for scraps at the dinner table. He'd had that same fucking smirk that Mormont had disliked immediately.
Yet, that cruel thin line on Lannister's face had only turned brooding and thoughtful. Mormont simply wondered if holding his victory over the man's golden head was worth it.
It wasn't. Not to Mormont. He'd grown up in the hardy and quarrelsome North. Where lords would fight, drink, and then fight again just for the hell of it. Mormont would be rejoining that world quite soon.
And as he looked down at this fresh and new side of Jaime Lannister, Mormont wondered if his prior thoughts of the man were correct. If perhaps he'd been right in his assumptions of Lannister's arrogance and spitefulness.
The man he saw stretched out on the golden pearls of sand had a look on his face that Mormont knew all too well. It was the look of a man who had gone to hide away within himself. A man who had seen, and knew far too much for his own liking, for his own good.
Starag Mormont knew then that he and Jaime Lannister were far more alike than either of them had once initially thought. And it only made him wonder just why they'd had that bitter spat back in King's Landing.
Coming to a decision, Mormont stepped over to Jaime Lannister and offered his hand.
The Kingslayer had glanced away from the broken sword and looked up at Mormont. Those cat-green eyes remembered the mask they had to wear, and resumed their haughty and arrogant glint.
"Nothing to say, Ser Mormont?" The accusing smirk had hit him once again. Lannister did not take his hand. "No condemning words to lay upon the name of Ser Jamie Lannister, The Kingslayer?" The last two words had almost been spat out.
Mormont had simply pressed his hand forward and smiled warmly. "You almost got me with that feint, Ser Jaime." He said. "I've no more unkind words to say to you. How does a flagon of mead sound?"
Lannister had laughed bitterly at his question. "I think you're making a mistake," He shook his head with a heavy sigh. "Eddard Stark wouldn't like one of his bannermen breaking bread with an oath breaker."
The Kingslayer had likely expected that to scare Mormont away. Starag was undeterred. "See, I was always taught that mistakes should be remedied." He said with a wicked grin. "Especially between friends."
The last word, in particular, had almost instantly cleared away the cruel smirk and haughty gaze. Now, Lannister looked positively bewildered and had glanced back and forth between Mormont's sincere gaze and his huge gauntleted hand.
It had only been a few moments before Lannister had shakily raised his hand and taken Starag's paw. Mormont heaved the smaller man upwards and back onto his feet.
"Friends…" Jaime let out a small chuckle, and for the first time, had looked at Mormont with a hint of warmth. "I… I don't have any friends."
Mormont wrapped an arm around the Young Lion's shoulders. "You do now." He said and began walking off to the exit of the arena. He turned around and gave Lannister a confused glance when he noticed that Jaime hadn't begun walking with him. "Well? Come on then."
"What are we going to do?" Lannister asked as he tentatively walked forward, stepping over the broken remains of his sword.
Starag simply smirked. "Get pissed drunk, of course." He said like it was obvious. He was about to continue walking when he stopped himself and glanced back once again at Jaime with a questioning smile.
"By the way, have you ever played Whist?"
"Blast!"
Once Gregor Clegane's headless body had been hauled out of the arena on a small wagon, Mormont had specifically requested that the Mountain's head be kept from being burned. He would need it for his trip to Dorne.
As for the tourney itself, he had been awarded his share of the bets placed by the knights and lords, and all 163,000 or so of his gold dragons.
Mormont was by far the richest man in the North. All he had to do was to make sure it all got home perfectly safe, and then he could brag about it to Galbart Glover and his ponce of a son, Robett.
I'll definitely need to order Maege to build a ship. He'd use the rookery tomorrow. Tonight, however, he was enjoying a nice and peaceful game of Whist.
Sitting to his right was Jaime Lannister. On Mormont's left was Garlan Tyrell. And sitting directly across from on the other side of the small circular wooden table, was Mormont's grinning and black-haired nephew, Jon Stark.
The feast had descended into perhaps one of the greatest parties that Mormont had ever been to in his life. Mead and wine flowed like water in the heat of Highgarden's rather large dining hall. The bards were absolutely top-notch, playing a variety of hearty country songs to get the blood flowing between the lords and ladies. There was even a new jolly tune being sung which Mormont had not even heard before.
You heard my voice, I came out of the woods by choice
Shelter also gave their shade
But in the dark, I have no name
So leave that click in my head
And I will remember the words that you said
Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart
But I am sure we could see a new start
So when your hopes on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road
But hold me fast, hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer
And hold me fast, hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer
I wrestled long with my youth
We tried so hard to live in the truth
But do not tell me all is fine
When I lose my head, I lose my spine
So leave that click in my head
And I won't remember the words that you said
You brought me out from the cold
Now, how I long, how I long to grow old
So when your hope's on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road
But hold me fast, hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer
And hold me fast, hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer
I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under
And I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under
The skies I'm under
The dance floor was a mesh of flailing arms and twirling legs and dresses. Feet stomped and tapped the floor eagerly, marching to the beat of the drums and beautifully strumming chords of the lute. Everyone was having a cracking good time, and Starag absolutely loved it.
As for Mormont himself, he simply watched as Jon reached out a hand to the small pile of playing cards in the middle of the table and pulled back the four that they had all just played. With four players, Whist was played in teams of two. For tonight, it was Starag and Jon vs. Garlan and Jaime.
And Jon had just won him and Mormont another trick.
In response, both Jaime and Garlan had taken a deep drought of their mead. Once they were done, the Kingsguard was absolutely fuming at his assigned partner.
"Damn it, Tyrell!" Jaime practically slammed his remaining five cards down on the table in obvious frustration. "Don't you have anything in that blasted hand of yours?" His question was more like a snarl.
Garlan had frowned in concentration. He ignored his partner's anger. "It's been a while since I've played Lannister. Relax." He said.
Jon gave Mormont a slight smile and placed down his next card. It was the Dragon of Hearts. And the trump was diamonds.
They had explained the game rather quickly to Jaime, and fortunately, Lannister had managed to pick up quite fast.
Unfortunately, he was facing down both Starag and Jon. Both of them had had more than enough practice with the game.
Mormont watched as Jaime's face paled upon the dreaded sight of the red dragon holding a heart in its jagged claws. The Kingsguard reluctantly had reached into his hand and picked out the nine of hearts, laying it down on the table with as much distaste as he could muster.
Starag lay out his ten of clubs. He had no hearts to play.
To his left, Garlan had tossed out his Knight of Hearts with a deep sigh. Jon scooped up the trick with a victorious beam in his dark grey eyes.
"And I've only just learned an hour ago, Tyrell!" Jaime cracked his fist down on the table, rattling the mead in their cups. His cat-green eyes were accusing. "If we lose one more trick, I swear-"
"We'll be fine. They've only got two tricks on us and we each have four cards left." Garlan held up his empty dry palm as a sign of peace. "Their luck will run out eventually."
Jamie huffed in his seat and took another swig of his mead. Mormont stopped himself from smirking. In his own hand were the Dragons of Clubs and Spades and the King and Queen of Diamonds.
Now, who had the Dragon of Diamonds? That was the real question. He scanned all three of his fellow players at the table, and his eyes rested finally on Jon. The boy shared a conspiratory look with him that told Mormont exactly what was about to happen.
Jon put down the Dragon, much to the dismay of Jaime Lannister and Garlan Tyrell. Both of them groaned and almost threw their cards down in surrender.
By the time the game was over, both Garlan and Jaime had needed their mead flagons refilled. Both looked absolutely dreary at the prospect of another game. At least until Mormont said that they wouldn't have to drink every time they lost a trick.
They had switched partners a few times, but eventually, all four of them had grown bored of the game and had just opted to sit by the great hearth in the dining hall instead.
The music in the hall had begun to die down, and lords and ladies were leaving in droves to go get some much-needed sleep. Mormont decided that it was probably the very early morning.
Mormont himself was practically about to fall over from exhaustion, yet he found himself immensely enjoying the company of his three companions. It felt much like the meeting of old friends after a few long years apart.
Despite their earlier feuding, Jaime and Garlan had gotten well enough along and had even talked of sparring together later that week. Lannister was even more enthusiastic about the addition of Jon once the boy had begun relaying stories of him growing up with Arthur Dayne as his uncle. Especially when he heard that Jon was training under Arthur himself.
"You'll be far better than me in just a few years, then. Keep up with the sword. It's well worth it." Jaime had said with a warm grin. "And please do give Arthur my regards when you see him again. It's been too long since we've had some strong competition."
The evening between the four of them had descended into stories of battle and even a few exploits during the Greyjoy Rebellion. None of them had called Jaime "Kingslayer". They didn't need to. He was simply "Jaime" or "Lannister" now.
Of course, all Jon could share were the war stories and old wounds he'd had making sure Arya hadn't gotten herself into trouble, and the occasional spat between himself and Theon Greyjoy in the training yard. Mormont had frowned at that but gave his advice nonetheless.
"Crack him over the head with one of those practice swords." Starag had said after he blew a large puff of smoke from his mouth. "He'll learn to shut up real quick."
Jamie nodded resolutely in agreement. "You're being trained by the Sword of the Morning. Give the lad hell."
"It's only right that a lord should take his satisfaction upon being insulted," Garlan added with a slight smile. Mormont forgave his friend's coyness. The Reach Lords were far more strict on chivalric codes than any other of the Seven Kingdoms.
It was perhaps just before they'd all decided to get some shut-eye that they gathered back at the table and played one last game of Whist for the night. This time, Jon and Jamie had won against Starag and Garlan. Eight tricks to five.
"And for the final act of the night," Jamie had raised his flagon and gave Mormont two grinning cat-green eyes. "To Lord Starag Mormont and his Last Tour. I pray you spend your gold wisely."
"I'll drink to that," Garlan said and had raised his own wooden tankard and clicked it hard against Jaime's. Mormont did the same, though he kept himself silent.
Jon too raised the flagon of ale he'd been allowed, and with a smile directed at Mormont, he joined his tankard with the others. "To you, uncle."
As Mormont had stumbled his way back to his room that dreadfully early morning and had landed onto his bed out of sheer drunkenness and exhaustion, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd deserved all of this.
Then, he remembered his promise to the Old Gods way back in Winterfell's library. Perhaps the Old Gods had been listening then, after all…
Right before he closed his eyes and let himself be consumed by the inky black of sleep, he knew that he wouldn't let them down.