Not going to lie. This whole story was based on that last scene at the end of the previous chapter.

But you didn't seriously think it was over… did you? ;)

Dorne

294 AC

Starag Mormont had only been to Dorne once before in his life.

It had been long ago during the tail-end of Robert's Rebellion. When he and Ned had ridden to the Tower of Joy. It was scorching hot then, and it was scorching hot now.

Already he felt that simmering and sweltering heat of the sun that beat down on his now tanned and slightly sunburnt face. Every gust of wind had kissed his brow gently and sweetly. He prayed for more.

He replayed their journey in his mind. He and Jon had left Winterfell with three horses, some clothes, and a large pack of hard rations.

They left Highgarden with five armored carriages of his gold and a full company of Tyrell men-at-arms. Garlan had decided to come along as well since things would begin to die back down in his family home.

Margaery had demanded she come as well, despite the chiding of her mother and grandmother. Mormont had no objections and promised the girl's safe return. Garlan had made the same promise that the Little Flower would be taken care of.

It was unfortunate that they had to part with Jamie, who had gone back to King's Landing with the Royal Party. Already, Mormont had considered his former enemy as one of the best friends he'd ever have. Starag looked forward to seeing Jamie Lannister again once this was all over.

The four of them: Starag, Jamie, Jon, and Garlan, had stuck together after the conclusion of the tourney at Highgarden. They had usually sparred together in the days leading up to Mormont's departure from the Reach. Then they would play cards afterward. It was rather simple, yet they all enjoyed their time immensely.

It was a sort of bond that Mormont had only felt with Ned and Arthur. The tight-knit bonding of brothers before they all went into battle. Where he knew he could trust these men with his life if it came to it.

After Highgarden, they had stopped briefly at Oldtown, though it was a rather uneventful affair. While he loved them like family, the Hightowers were not particularly excitable and were always finding ways to distract themselves. Fools, music, booze. None of it was worth remembering.

He found it strange that southerners almost expected one to entertain them. Mormont had done so in King's Landing, but he'd wanted to do celebrate his victory over Barristen Selmy at the time. Now, he'd just be inconveniencing himself.

Then, they had made their way to Starfall and stayed in the holdings of House Dayne for several days.

Lord Atticus Dayne had held a warm reception for them, even if they had arrived with a fully armed company of Tyrell soldiers. The man himself looked like an older version of Arthur. Square jawline, strong craggy face, although where Arthur's hair had been black, Atticus was more of a pale brown.

They had been warm and welcoming to Jon and both Margaery and Garlan, though they were understandably wary of Mormont. After having heard from Gerold Dayne about the monster who had crippled him for life, they were justifiably worried for their safety. Soon enough though, they came around.

But Starag didn't particularly care about any of that. There was something else pervading in his mind.

Mormont had felt a sort of lingering sense of doom hanging over him as he and Jon came closer to their journey's end. After Sunspear, that was it. He doubted he'd ever get the chance to leave Bear Island again. There was so much to do.

At first, he'd been excited at the flood of plans and ideas he'd enact on Bear Island. Mormont would build a port town on the site of Fisher's Ridge. Give it a proper name, too. And there simply had to be a tavern there.

To keep bringing in money, he would also have a distillery made. It would be expensive, but Mormont could see how useful it would be to sell copious amounts of alcohol to his fellow northern lords. He'd take their gold and reinvest it back into his operations. He'd also build a fleet of ships and trade with Barrowtown, Flint's Fingers, and even Moat Cailin.

The makings of a grand empire were at his fingertips. Overnight, House Mormont would go from being the poorest House in the North to the richest.

Perhaps I can get Ned to give me Sea Dragon Point… Mormont had thought to himself. It was on the Glover's side of the Bay of Ice, but they didn't technically have any claim to it. Nobody was using it, so why not Mormont?

He could claim that the North would be ready for another attack from the Ironborn if he took over those lands. Galbart Glover would protest, but fuck him. Mormont had money now, and gold tended to solve more problems than it caused.

House Mormont of Sea Dragon Point? Yes… Then he'd be able to take Stoney Shore and carve out a larger swath of land for his family. They'd have more access to the natural resources that went untapped in the North. The Shore was naught but fishing villages. Surely they'd be grateful to be underneath the protection of House Mormont.

Would he be able to get it all done in his lifetime? He didn't see why not, yet Starag saw the inevitable danger that comes as the generations go on. At some point, one of his descendants would get careless or would be a spoiled brat. He'd have to think of a way to prevent that.

Then that was when he had thoroughly reminded himself of his current predicament. And the sorrow at the ending of this chapter of his life had welled up inside of him. No longer would Mormont see the open road as the sun rose in the east. He would soon forget the nights he would spend by the campfire, or under a cluster of rocks as the rain came down from the murky grey sky.

It was all ending for him. There was an uncertainty that lay upon his mind at the thought of his eventual return to Bear Island. It was the same feeling that all men felt upon having completed some grand task, and the knowledge that they did not know what else to do.

Starag knew he would have to dedicate himself to building House Mormont from the ground up. But that didn't calm his nerves any less.

It had taken them several weeks across the red sands of Dorne until finally, they had seen the great citadel in the distance by the Summer Sea.

Mormont had never been to Sunspear before. He usually stopped short of the Red Mountains and would head into the Stormlands before he made his way back up the Roseroad.

Of course, this wasn't one of those trips.

The dunes of red and white sand they had passed by were alien to him. Mormont was so very used to the white snow and tall fir trees up at Bear Island. They had been the first he saw of nature.

Now, as they trotted along in the dry heat of the Dornish deserts, Starag was strangely interested in exploring this seemingly empty and lonely country presented to him. Too bad I have a job to do.

He ignored the horrid stench of Gregor Clegane's head hanging from the rear of Bear's saddle as he gazed out at the two towers far in the distance, standing high above the cream-colored walls of sand and stone.

One was much shorter than the other. Both were topped with smooth, glinting gold that curved into a pointed roof, almost like a woman's breast. The taller of the two probably stood almost a hundred-and-a-half feet high by Starag's estimates. That must've been the Spear Tower.

The shorter of the two towers was most likely the Tower of the Sun, where Prince Doran Martell and his family would reside.

Mormont did not know how they'd be greeted, or even if they'd be turned away for that matter. His only connection to the Martells was Ashara and Arthur, and that was about it. Otherwise, Mormont realized that he was more or less going into the Snake's Den.

His only reprieve, oddly enough, was the massive head that hung by a steel hook off his horse. Though Bear himself had not wanted anything to do with the Mountain's head, he had done his duty anyway.

I want a full wash after this. Bear's big brown eyes had seemed to say to him. That, and an apple as well.

Mormont's horse would get what he wanted. Starag always rewarded good behavior unto him. Bear had served him faithfully for several years and deserved a good scrub down in the stables once they arrived at Sunspear.

Which, was only just a few hundred feet away.

Sunspear had been built atop a large hill of sorts, and the city itself was similar to Highgarden, at least in the sense of its defenses and structure. Three massive and long walls had wrapped around the narrow city almost in the shape of a U. Mormont knew there must've been some sort of grand alleyways between all three walls, likely districts for the smallfolk who lived there.

Before long, his party had made it to the Threefold Gate. The tall binding gates of wood, bronze, and steel had lived up to their name. Each of the gates was connected to one of the three walls but had folded closer and were lined up behind one another.

The gates had shuddered open one by one when he stopped in front of them. We must've been expected. He had thought as the massive wood gates had risen upwards.

Sure enough, waiting behind the third and final gate with a full retinue of armed Dornish spearmen, was a rider wearing an ornate red and gold silken garb. His head of black hair had paired well with his tanned skin and dangerously narrow black eyes.

Oberyn Martell. Mormont had only seen and met the man once before at the tourney at Harrenhal. He had danced with Ashara Dayne before Ned had gone up to her and asked her to dance with him. Back then, Oberyn had still worn the same slight smile. He looked as if he'd barely aged at all.

Mormont had already begun approaching Prince Oberyn as soon as the gates had opened. Martell had stayed perched on his horse as Bear trotted up to him. Starag had heard Garlan and Jon move up behind him.

"Prince Oberyn," Mormont greeted with a slight bow of his head. He ignored the stench of rotting flesh and smiled kindly at the other man. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Those black eyes briefly glinted as they looked from Mormont to the severed head on Bear's saddle, then back at Starag again. "Ashara had sent word of your arrival, Lord Mormont." His Dornish accent had flared off his tongue in warm politeness. Though Mormont could tell there was an underlying distrust in the voice. "I see you have a gift for me?"

Starag nodded. Oberyn's hatred for anything Lannister, and Gregor Clegane was well known. Mormont, of course, had decided to take the Mountain's head with him as a peace offering. Even if there were maggots infesting Clegane's flesh and eye sockets.

He lifted the steel hook off his saddle and held it up for everyone to see. While the Martell men-at-arms had flared their noses in disgust, Oberyn had only smiled widely at the rotting head.

Oberyn snapped his fingers at one of his guards. The man approached Mormont and took the steel hook from Mormont's hands. Starag did not stop him. He was glad to be rid of it.

"I admit, Lord Mormont." Oberyn had begun. "I was not happy when I heard that someone else had eaten my prey. A Northerner, no less. Still, it is good to hear that Lord Tywin's dog is dead." He sat up straight in his saddle and looked at Mormont curiously. "Now. What are you doing so far from the North, Lord Mormont?"

Yes, now came the clincher. "Matters of state to discuss with you and your brother." He answered simply. "I'm sure Ashara mentioned more in her letter?"

The thin black eyebrows had raised partially. "No. But she did say it was important…" Oberyn clicked his tongue. "You are lucky she is like a sister to me, Lord Mormont. Otherwise, I would have relieved you of your gold and sent you away on a boat."

"How kind of you, Prince Oberyn." Mormont narrowed his deep blue eyes at the Red Viper. "I'm sure we could have a spar later. Now how about we go visit your brother, hmm? The journey back to the North is long and I'd like to get a head start."

Oberyn Martell had shook his head with a playful smile. "Alas, my brother is not in Sunspear, Lord Mormont." He nodded to the road behind him. "He is in the Water Gardens, along with my daughters." The Red Viper said with a wicked grin.

Mormont had thought he'd be staying at Sunspear. Surely there was a good tavern somewhere within the city walls. That, and he had to keep his gold safe somehow.

"I assure you, Lord Mormont, that your gold and your friends will be safe at the Water Gardens. They are especially beautiful in the summer. Besides," Oberyn's viper black eyes had widened slightly. "We would be honored to host the Bear who slew The Mountain."

Starag was drained from the day's travel. The sun would not relent, would not stop beating down on him and his companions. Still, he managed to summon another reserve of his strength and let out a deep sigh. "Alright. As long as you've got excellent stables. My horse needs a proper cleaning."

"Hah!" Oberyn laughed heartily at the red bloodstains that had leaked down Bear's rear leg. "Only the best! I daresay we treat our horses better than most lords. Come!"

The Water Gardens were not what Mormont had expected.

He had been expecting to see some kind of fortress or the like. Much of what he'd seen during his particularly short stop at Sunspear. He supposed he was lucky for running into Oberyn Martell before the man had gone out to this place.

Instead, the Water Gardens was more of a glorified estate. Sure, there were walls, but they were peas compared to the massive sandstone defenses of Sunspear, the Winding Walls which wrapped around the city. In truth, it was a rich man's house which lay right next to the sea.

That being said, Mormont was impressed with its architecture. It had a sort of simplistic elegance about it that charmed him. There were beautiful patterns and symbols carved into each and every stone that he laid eyes on, and the pale pink marble that paved the courtyard and the pathways of the gardens was mesmerizing to look at.

He followed close behind Oberyn as the Prince gave him a tour of the palace. Jon, Garlan, and Margaery were walking close behind him.

Oberyn had not paid them any mind, though he was polite enough to the Tyrells and Jon on the road. Mormont knew there was bad blood between House Tyrell and House Martell, but Oberyn did not seem to blame Lord Mace's children for his feud with their father.

Would he blame Jon for Rhaegar's folly? Mormont had wondered. Oberyn did not seem like the kind of man to take his vengeance out on a child. Still, he would keep a close eye on the Dornish Prince.

They walked past the guards and had entered the actual gardens themselves. Pools of crystal light blue water streamed out of founts and flowed like rivers back into the Summer Sea.

The beautiful pink marble had reappeared and gleamed prettily in the afternoon sun. And just ahead of them was a rather tall and… sensuous woman who approached their group.

She had a full head of black ringlets which extended past her shoulders and down to her back. While Mormont would not have considered her to be the most attractive woman he had met, there was something about her that made him curious, however.

The way her golden eyes had looked upon Oberyn told him more than enough. She was his lover, his woman.

Sure enough, Oberyn had beamed at the approaching woman and kissed her hard on the lips, and linked his arm around her thin tanned waist. He then turned back to Mormont and grinned wickedly. "Lord Mormont, I would like you to meet my paramour, Ellaria Sand."

Sand. That was the surname of Dornish bastards. That might've been Jon's surname if Ned had not wed Ashara.

The venom in the Prince's voice had left little doubt that Mormont was being tested. Or perhaps the Red Viper had wanted to see him squirm. The woman was a bastard and if Mormont were any other lord, he might've been insulted.

Yet Starag Mormont was not a man who judged another despite their birth. Men were only judged on what they could do for their people, not on who they were. Orys Baratheon had been Aegon's bastard brother, and he became the first head of House Baratheon.

There were more than enough crooked and horrible men with lands and titles. Horace Blount had been one of them. And there were just as many bastards with good and kind hearts. In the swimming golden eyes of Ellaria Sand, Mormont could see that she was one of them.

Mormont smiled kindly at the shorter woman and kissed the back of her hand. "Charmed, Lady Ellaria." He said. Then he stepped aside and introduced his own party. "Please, meet my company. This is Lord Garlan Tyrell."

Garlan too hadn't seemed fazed by the woman's bastardy either. He never did care for such things. He and Mormont were much in agreement in that respect.

Margaery had actually complimented Ellaria on her black hair, which Mormont had admittedly thought was ravishing. Were she not Oberyn's woman, he would've taken her all for himself.

"And this is my squire, Jon Stark," Mormont said finally as he stood behind his nephew.

Ellaria Sand had looked upon Jon as if he were her own child. "It is an honor to meet you, Lord Stark." She said with an elegant curtsy.

Mormont felt a surge of pride well within him when he saw the boy follow his example and kiss the back of Ellaria's hand. "And you as well, my lady." Jon's grey eyes were genuine and kind.

He had glanced back to Oberyn once the introductions were over. The Prince was staring at him with what Mormont figured was fascination and… respect. He suspected that trick usually worked on more foreign lords than it didn't. "Shall we continue, Prince Oberyn? I look forward to meeting the rest of your family."

The Prince was quick to find himself. He smiled. "Of course! And I'm sure you are weary from the day's travel, no doubt."

They had been taken to their rooms in the eastern wing of the palace. Mormont was excited to hear that dinner would only just be in a few hours, of course. Which gave him plenty of time to wash up and get dressed into something comfortable.

His room was quite large, and even had an accompanying veranda that overlooked the many pools and courtyards in the Water Gardens, and gave him a good view of the blood orange trees that dotted the inside of the palace.

The cream-colored stone floors went well with the peach and plum curtains and bedding. The fluffy, almost extravagant pillows seemed too soft for Mormont's tastes, but he knew he'd make do.

Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to stay just a while longer. He'd barely gotten a taste of the place, and it would be a shame if he left in the next few days.

That is if the Martells wouldn't have him killed.

It had to have been perhaps in the late afternoon when a servant came for him, knocking on his door and saying. "Prince Doran requests your presence in his solar, Lord Mormont."

He normally wore his red robe for occasions such as this, yet Mormont found the allure of the long Dornish tunics quite intoxicating. It was just his style. He absolutely should've spent more time in Dorne before all of this.

I'll have to make the most of my time here, in that case.

Mormont had already found suitable clothes for himself. A light pale red Dornish tunic that extended down to his shins. Underneath it, he wore a bronze-colored shirt that let his skin brush lightly against the salt sea breeze in the air.

He kept to his usual riding boots but replaced his trousers with lighter pants that didn't make him feel like his legs were on fire. They felt almost dangerously comfortable as he followed the tanned-skin servant walking in front of him.

This palace seemed to be a maze of sorts, but Mormont didn't allow himself to forget the path back to his room. Two rights, then a left, one more right, then two more left turns.

Finally, they had arrived at the copper twin doors that led into Prince Doran's apartments. The servant opened the door and called out his name. "Lord Mormont for you, my Prince."

"Send him in." An aged and grating voice had called from within the room. Mormont nodded to the servant and stepped inside. He heard the door shut closed behind him.

In the middle of the room was a sort of lounge area. Four soft armchairs encircled a lone wooden coffee table. Sitting on one of the chairs was Oberyn Martell, who had also dressed into more comfortable clothing, wearing a similar robe to Mormont's, except his was yellow like the sun.

"Lord Mormont." Oberyn stood and greeted him with warm politeness. He gestured to the chair sitting across from him. "If you'll excuse my brother, he's been having difficulties as of late."

"None of us are getting any younger," Mormont replied easily. He sat down and made himself comfortable. "I thought I'd heard his voice outside, though."

At the sound of a distant shuffling behind him, he turned around in his seat and saw the source of the disturbance.

Doran Martell had slowly hovelled over to them, gripping his cane with a shaky hand underneath his large robe. He gave Mormont the perfect political smile. "That you did, Lord Mormont." The man's voice had grated on his ears again.

Starag was not aware that the Prince of Dorne was sick with gout. He looked far too old to be Oberyn's brother. Couldn't have been any more than his late forties perhaps. Yet he looked like a Maester shuffling back and forth across the Citadel as he sat down next to Oberyn across from Mormont. "I do not often see visitors, Lord Mormont. I'm sure you can understand why."

"I do." Mormont nodded. Who would follow a sickly man? Who would trust him? As far as Mormont could tell, Doran had no visible muscles or definition in his body as Oberyn did.

More often than not, people tended to trust one if they had a strong build. Or were at least in shape. Mormont found it strange that nobody had noticed how most of the high lords were almost always in shape, and therefore, were trusted with the livelihoods of their people.

Still, Mormont figured Oberyn to be an excellent judge of character. And if he trusted Doran, then perhaps Mormont might be able to as well.

"So," Doran had leaned comfortably back in the chair. His white hair and beard contrasted against the tanned and wrinkled skin of his face. "Why have you come all this way to Dorne, Lord Mormont?"

The question lingered heavily on the air. Oberyn too had turned his gaze to Starag. He had already kept the twin letters tucked safely in one of the pockets of his tunic. He reached in and took them out. "These."

Mormont slid them across the clear wooden table. Now was the moment of truth. He was protected under guest rights, but he didn't know if that alone would stop Oberyn Martell from trying to kill him and Jon. He'd just have to find out.

Of course, if anything had happened to him and Jon, and then Garlan and Margaery by extension, then Dorne would soon find the North and the Reach knocking on its doors. And knowing Robert's fondness for anything related to Ned, the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would get involved as well. It would be the Greyjoy Rebellion all over again.

Oberyn had picked up both of the sealed envelopes and handed one to his brother. He ripped it open easily where Doran had taken a bit longer to tear off the red wax seal.

Mormont felt a cold sweat coming on as he watched the two men read the contents on the cream-colored paper. Oberyn's eyes had flared brightly for a few moments before he slammed the letter down on the table and got to his feet.

Starag had too gotten up and already had his hand preemptively on Longclaw's hilt. Oberyn had his hand on the dagger at his belt.

"Oberyn!" Doran had boomed thunderously from his seat. For the first time since Mormont had seen the decrepit and sickly man, the Prince of Dorne had finally shown himself. "Calm yourself and sit down," Doran ordered sternly.

The Red Viper's narrow black eyes had twisted and broiled with anger. Still, he heeded his brother's words and slowly sat back down in his seat. Mormont did the same.

The tension in the room was palpable now, but Prince Doran seemed set on removing it altogether. "Apologies, Lord Mormont. Your proposal was certainly a… surprise, to say the least."

Even though they had lost their sister and her children to the Lannisters, Mormont would not let them take out their anger on Jon. The boy did not deserve it. He was not to blame. "I understand, Prince Doran. However, I must do my duty and protect my King." He said pointedly at Oberyn, who still glared daggers at him. "Are we all in agreement?"

"The boy has no right to live!" The Red Viper lifted a finger and jutted it towards him. "Aegon-"

"Is dead." Mormont stolidly cut him off. "The deaths of your sister and her children are not Jon's fault."

Doran sat forward and looked to Oberyn. His calm visage was somewhat of a comfort to Mormont. "Lord Mormont is right, Oberyn. If Elia were here, would she not treat this… Jaehaerys as her own child?"

That seemed to do the trick. Oberyn Martell had thought it over briefly in his own mind, and slowly, calmed his anger-ridden gaze on Mormont. Those black eyes did not look away from him, however.

The Prince of Dorne now looked to Mormont. "I'm curious, though. Why reveal him to us? Surely Ser Arthur and Lord Stark know of our… distaste for anyone allied with the Usurper?" Including the Starks. Doran seemed to say with his golden-yellow eyes.

They were talking plainly now, it seemed. Mormont didn't take Doran as the hot-blooded type. He was far more politically savvy than his brother and used the formal doublespeak that the nobility used often throughout Westeros. Now that barrier between them had been removed.

"It was Arthur's idea," Mormont admitted. "And it was a risk, but that happens to be my particular area of expertise. Besides… A certain trust should be shared between us, no?"

Both Oberyn and Doran had glanced knowingly at one another, and then back at Mormont. It was the latter who spoke up again. "I see. And Arthur Dayne wishes for our spears to join his King's army? What if we were to refuse?"

"Then we'll go on our way back North," Mormont said simply. "I'm not sure you'll have a better chance at getting your revenge, though. I've already given you Clegane's head, and Lorch reportedly died in the Sacking of King's Landing. Only Tywin remains."

The Red Viper's eyes had gleaned thoughtfully at him. It seemed as if both men were holding something back from him. A piece of knowledge that might undermine Mormont's offer. What was it?

Mormont knew this offer had greatly appealed to the Martells. They might be linked with the Tyrells and the Starks, but they'd no longer be fighting the world all on their own. Especially with the tenuous alliance between the other four Great Houses.

"You make an excellent offer, Lord Mormont." Doran had smiled at him again. "May I think it over in the meantime? I will let you know once we've come to a decision."

Starag snorted. "So we're your prisoners, then?"

Doran shook his head quickly. "No, no. You're our guests, and you are free to leave whenever you like. This," he tapped the letter with a click of his fingernail. "Is quite a bit to take in, however."

If there was anything Mormont detested, it was the slow pace at which people often made their decisions. Almost none of the time it had ever made the outcome any better, and more often than not, waiting too long had made the outcome much much worse.

Mormont found that when one made a decision, they never had the complete picture, they never had all the information at hand. So what good was waiting to make the decision? If you made a choice quickly, then you could move on to the next decision that much faster.

It was Kings and Generals who acted fast. That's why they were Kings and Generals. It was the smartest people, and the dumbest people, in Mormont's experience, who both acted fast, and both who had attained some sort of status in this world. Whether it be riches, women, or battle.

However, Mormont was a guest. He would respect his host's wishes and would place his life, and the lives of his company in Prince Doran's hands.

I guess I could do with a bit of a break here. Just to relax before we head back to Winterfell. Mormont's mind was made up. And the Water Gardens looked exceedingly pretty.

"Take as long as you like, Prince Doran." Starag had said with a reluctant sigh. "As for my gold…"

Doran nodded in understanding. "It shall be protected with the utmost security. Not a single coin will be taken. You have my word, Lord Mormont."

That, Starag would just have to trust. He rose from his seat and had fixed his smile again. "Then I thank you for your hospitality, Prince Doran."

The Prince of Dorne bowed his head slightly in response.

Oberyn stood up and then helped Doran to his feet. He looked to Mormont with a reformed smile. His previous anger had gone completely. The narrow black slits were calm. "Come, Lord Mormont. We have plenty of time until dinner. Would you like to meet my children?"

Mormont figured he might as well. If he would be staying in the Water Gardens for the next few weeks, or however long it took for Doran to come to a decision, he might as well get to know everyone. "Why not." He said with a shrug.

"Excellent." Oberyn immediately began leading the way out of the room. Starag gave Doran a bow of the head and followed behind the Red Viper. Once he was out in the hall, Oberyn had glanced at him with a sternly raised eyebrow. "By the way… May I call you Starag?"

Placid resignation had sounded throughout Mormont's mind. There were no manners in being needlessly impolite. Though he still wasn't sure if he would have to worry about the Red Viper plunging a knife into his back, or have him poisoned over a meal.

"As long as I can call you Oberyn," Mormont replied with a smirk. The Red Viper had matched it with his own and nodded his agreement. Another question had soon replaced the hesitation in Mormont's mind.

"Now, how many children do you have?"