The Water Gardens

294 AC

The first thing he felt was the cool air.

Starag Mormont's one remaining eye had fluttered open as he felt the soft and cool Dornish breeze brush against his skin and black curly hair. He felt so incredibly tired that he could barely lift his arm.

He tried to scan his surroundings as his eye adjusted to the flooding darkness of what he assumed was his room back at the Water Gardens.

A quick glance towards the open veranda had helped him see better almost immediately. The dull white moonlight poured into the room through a narrow crack, though it was close to the horizon.

Briefly, the bright grey light illuminated the room, revealing the nearly half dozen sleeping bodies that were sitting comfortably in their own chairs.

Most notably were Jon and Margaery, who sat flush next to one another in separate armchairs. Not that the wood between them stopped the girl. Margaery's crown of golden-brown curls lay gently on Jon's shoulder. Both of them were fast asleep.

Garlan was resting on his own seat by the end of the bed. For a small moment, Mormont saw the black bags underneath his eyes and the gaunt look on his face. He looked absolutely worn out. Laying rather explicitly in his lap was Arianne Martell.

The large round table that had come with his room was now reserved by none other than Oberyn, who had seemingly pushed it against the wall, and now lay squarely on top of it with three other heads resting on his shoulders or his chest.

Obara's mannish, and quite ugly face had glowed softly in the fading moonlight. She looked like a purring kitten. A far different shade compared to the snarling and hissing Sand Snake he'd sparred with… however long ago it had been. She sat on a chair by The Red Viper's feet.

And then there was the shining golden hair of Tyene Sand. Her head lay against Oberyn's right shoulder. On the left was the blue-black hair of Nymeria Sand. Both of them were silent as the grave. Finally, with her head of black curls on Oberyn's lap, was Ellaria Sand.

All of them here… Just for me…

There were a few moments in Starag Mormont's life that he truly considered having a family. Where he'd imagine that for once, he'd have people to take care of other than himself, and perhaps some passing fancy he had for a woman.

This… was one such moment. When everyone involved forgot about the tensions and delicate alliances interwoven between every single member of the group. When nobody cared for pettiness or rivalry…

Those times were as uplifting and joyous as they were rare. Indeed, Starag envied Oberyn and Ned for their luck. It bitterly reminded him of what he'd had when he was a child, of how he'd chase Dacey around Bear Keep and toss her into the Bay of Ice. Of how he and Jorah would build mighty fortresses out of fallen branches and messy clumps of ice and mud before the summer snows flowed over their home once again.

How long ago had that been? It seemed as if Starag had lived ten thousand lifetimes since then.

Now, he was the professional, the hardened and seasoned warrior who could slaughter men as if he were taking a piss. He had his objectives to reach, his job to do. Surely, he wasn't suited to the life of a Lord. There was far too much barbarian in him to laze comfortably on a bloody throne.

He always had to be doing something. There was always work to be done, no matter what. He-

Something had shuffled gently against his left arm. It felt soft and warm when whatever it was had pressed itself against him again. Mormont felt the smoothness of a woman's skin on his own, and of the light tickle of healthy and shining hair.

Slowly, he crooked his head to the side. He cursed the bloody Shadowcat a thousand times for having deliberately clawed out his left eye.

There was a strategic determination in those large glowing yellow eyes before Mormont had snuffed them out for good. Oh, how he had enjoyed gutting the little shit open and skinning it while it still croaked the last few gasps of its wretched life.

Shadowcats were not simple Mountain Lions. They were born and bred predators that calculated each and every angle, in a manner that was oddly enough, more sophisticated than most humans. The cat knew that humans relied on their eyes as a dog relies on its nose.

But the last mesmerizing glimpses of the black fur with rippling white lines had gone from his memory in an instant as soon as he saw just who was sleeping on his left arm.

It was Rhaenys.

She had thoroughly cleaned herself up since the last time he'd seen her. She wore one of those linen Crownlands dresses, one of the burgundy ones. It perfectly outlined the hourglass figure of her pale-gold body.

And her hair? Those brown-auburn curls were like a curtain of blood that swept down his arm and onto his chest. The platinum lock of white gold hair dangled loosely on top of his left breast.

The inconsistent hair made her seem uniquely childish in a sense. There was an air of innocence about her that simply made him want to pull her closer and tell her that everything was going to be alright.

Yet there was nothing childish about her body, and there was certainly nothing childish about her personality, either. She was a bookworm, and very prone to falling into bouts of melancholy. At least, when he wasn't around.

She was a lone girl, Mormont knew. Not tied up with friends and pointless relationships with men like most girls her age. She had a sense of adventure about her, too.

And… Rhaenys seemed to understand him. At least, in the sense that she'd let him get along with his life. She wouldn't try to change him. She didn't want to.

Mormont had forgotten how long he'd been gazing at the sleeping girl, only that he saw those eyes crack open slightly, revealing the blooming violet pupils within. "Hmmm." She moaned softly as she clutched his arm tighter against her chest. Immediately, Starag felt himself harden as the girl tucked his arm flush against her large round breasts.

Why was it Dornishwomen who were always so well equipped in regards to lovemaking? The toned thighs, laughing mouths, and the bouncing and welcoming breasts… They put their northern counterparts to shame more often than not.

Starag gave a dry, aroused growl. He cupped Rhaenys' right breast with his hand and gently squeezed the warm, soft flesh. He felt the pink nipple harden underneath his cold palm.

"Hmmmmm." Rhaenys groaned again. This time her legs shifted accordingly, and her eyes had opened fully. For a brief moment, she seemed too intoxicated to realize that he was completely awake. She pulled his right hand over, placing it on her other breast. "Does my Bear want his prize?" She asked dreamily.

"That, and a good cup of coffee," Mormont said lowly. He squeezed both of the fleshy mounds. Rhaenys' body coiled, her legs making patterns in the silk sheets of the bed.

It was then that Rhaenys' eyes had shot wide open in realization. "Starag!" She said half startled, and half aroused.

Mormont's back fell against the pillows as Rhaenys threw her arms around his neck and tackled him in a rather powerful hug for one as small as she was. Now he smelled her sweet scent of honey and roses, touched with a dash of charcoal.

Her lips tasted of the same smoky sweetness, and he was thoroughly reminded when she kissed him firmly once more. Mormont forgot about his missing eye as he wrapped one arm around Rhaenys' thin waist, and another along her back and narrow shoulders.

When they had separated for air, Mormont remembered his dry throat. "Water." He said simply. "And coffee." He couldn't eat now. He'd need to get started with his exercise soon enough. And who knows how long he'd been out.

Rhaenys nodded quickly and slid off his lap. She straightened her dress, and her hair, and then expertly weaved her way out of the room without waking anyone up.

She returned perhaps ten minutes later with both a pitcher of water and a fresh mug of coffee. Pinched tightly between her side and her elbow was a neatly tied package wrapped in a thick blue cloth.

Rhaenys closed the door softly behind her and placed the two drinks on the bedside table next to Mormont. The bundle, she put in his lap. Then the girl resumed her place by his side.

Mormont smelled the coffee from outside the hall and had been ready for it. He easily gulped down the black liquid and was pleasantly surprised to find that it had already been honeyed. He'd thank the girl after, of course.

Then, Starag put the clay pitcher of water to his lips and did not stop drinking until it was empty. The cool crystal liquid made him feel alive again, and not as if he'd climbed out of the grave just a few minutes ago.

"Thank you, Rhaenys," Mormont said with a warm smile. The girl beamed sweetly at him in turn. "Be a good girl and make me another." He said as he pressed the empty mug towards her.

Rhaenys nodded deferentially and graciously took the mug. Then she got up again and left the room just the same as before.

Mormont had unwrapped the bundle by the time she came back with a fresh cup. Once again, she placed it down on the bedside table and sat next to him.

As for the blue cloth package, underneath were finely chopped pieces of smoked cod and stale garlic bread. Likely from dinner the evening prior. He thanked her for her thoughtfulness and wrapped it up again. He'd stopped exercising on a full stomach after Winterfell.

"Maester Caleotte…" She began slowly. "He said you wouldn't wake soon."

"How long ago was that?" He asked. How much time had been wasted while he was sleeping?

Rhaenys pursed her lips. "Three days."

Three days? Gods… That was a bloody long time. At least it was to Mormont. He was hoping he'd only been out for a day and perhaps another night as well. But three days?

Time was not as rigid as most people thought it was. It could slow down or speed up depending on what one did every single day. For Mormont, years seemed to have passed since he first arrived in the Water Gardens.

Productivity, Starag had found, was the antidote for aging. If one simply got things done efficiently all the bloody time, then life would slow itself down, they'd literally live longer in a sense. They were using their time wisely, and therefore, time would gladly give more of itself to them.

It was a fairly simple concept that Mormont had figured out early on. Why other people didn't bother was beyond him. It was plain as day to see.

Three days to anyone else was just three days. To Starag Mormont, three days was three years.

So much could be done in three days. He could've already been well on his way to White Harbor. Mormont's heart clenched and twisted uncomfortably as he bitterly accepted the literal loss of life. Three days that he'd never get back.

Another glance at Rhaenys told him what he had already suspected. She most likely blamed herself for the whole affair. Mormont had lost an eye for protecting her, and now he'd lost a portion of his remaining life in this world.

I'll just have to make up for it in the next few days, then. Pick up the slack and all that. Somebody had to, and now that Mormont was back on his feet, he'd have to organize the voyage to White Harbor, continue training with Jon and Garlan, and recover from his new impairment.

Two… Three days at the most. Then we'll leave. He thought to himself. He needed to get back to Bear Island, and now. That vision he'd experienced had only prodded him further to return home.

It was a warning, no doubt. The Kraken, the Storm Giant, the Others. All of it was completely out of his depth. Not a lick of it made any upfront sense to him. Not now, at least.

That didn't mean he wouldn't take it seriously. Dreams were never as vivid and real as that one. No… Something was coming, and Mormont could only do so much to prepare his people for it. Whatever it was.

He forced the new wave of problems out of his mind for the moment. He set his eye back on Rhaenys, who was now looking down at the bed. Melancholy was written all over her pretty face.

Mormont placed his hands on her narrow shoulders and smiled warmly. "It wasn't your fault, Rhaenys."

She glanced up at him sharply, tears threatening to slide down her high cheekbones. Those violet eyes glistened in the pale moonlight. "It was my idea that we stay behind in that clearing, though… And if I hadn't caught my hand on that rock-"

"Shhhh…" He said softly. Starag took the girl into his arms and held her tight. "I went along with it, remember? The fault lies on me." His comforting words did not stop the girl from weeping into his chest.

"Rhaenys." Mormont grabbed her chin and looked her in the eyes. "There's no point in thinking about what we could've done. We both did what we thought was best at the time. And that's that." He said firmly. "Do you understand?"

His question sounded more like a statement. Regardless, Rhaenys nodded slightly in his palm and wiped away the tears. "I understand." She answered with a light sniffle. "It's just… Your eye. Swordsmen need their eyes intact. Both of them."

"It's nothing I can't handle, Rhaenys." He shook his head and kissed her forehead gently. "I'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about…"

Rhaenys smiled sadly at him. She lightly bumped her forehead against his own. "That Shadowcat was going to eat me alive…"

"I wouldn't hold that against him," Mormont said coolly. "I've thought of doing the same thing once or twice."

Instantly, the melancholy and tears had been replaced with burning red cheeks and a small fit of giggles. She fell back into his arms and kissed his bare chest. "Would it…" She trailed off. "Would it be so bad if that's exactly what I wanted?

Mormont grinned wickedly at the beautiful girl in his arms. "Not at all." He said as he slid his hand down to her right breast. Judging by her reaction to his touching, she was likely very sensitive there.

He'd been right. After his palm grazed the hardened nipple once more, Rhaenys let out a soft gasp. Not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear, but it was more than enough for Mormont to continue teasing her.

"Y-y-yes…" Rhaenys said with a low growl. Her legs squirmed, but her violet eyes narrowed dangerously. "P-please…"

As much as Mormont wanted to indulge the girl… He again felt that sharp grain of guilt in the back of his mind. Could he simply take her maidenhead and pass her along to whoever came after once he left? Sure, but it wouldn't help Starag Mormont in the slightest.

He knew that most men viewed the act of sex as a prize. In their attempts to get what they could, they would trip over themselves and each other just trying to appease a woman like Rhaenys.

Mormont had found long ago that sex itself was work. Not that it wasn't pleasurable at times, but that it was more so for the woman's benefit than for his.

No… It was what happened afterward that Mormont enjoyed the most. When the woman would enslave herself and do every single thing he wanted without question, regardless of her previous allegiances.

It was this almost blind subservience that made women so addicting to him. Nothing was more satisfying than taking a lord's wife, and making her fall in love with him and want to do anything for him. She'd gladly abandoned her husband's holdings and come live on the road with him if he wished for it. She would absolutely have his children and raise them under her lord husband's name if he so wanted.

Those days would be coming to an end, however...

Soon enough, he'd have to find a lady wife of his own. He would be shirking his duty if he left Dacey as his heir, so he needed sons. And even though House Mormont was the lowest of the northern houses, he was sure he could-

Wait… He glanced down into the patiently waiting and inviting violet eyes of Rhaenys Targaryen. Perhaps…

The stain of dishonor on House Mormont would last for a few generations at the least. And more than a few northern lords- the poorer ones, of course- would claim that Mormont's gold was the same money that Jorah had gotten from the Tyroshi Slaver...

As a result, Mormont knew, his house would be outcaste among his fellow bannermen, even if he was best friends with Eddard Stark and held countless connections down South. No self-respecting northern lord would sully his daughter with an assumed family of slavers. Not in the slightest. No matter how much money Mormont had.

And Rhaenys? What about her? By the Old Gods... I'll never find another girl like this one...

She listens to me. She obeys me. She even seems to love me. She's beautiful. Not to mention she's quite sharp as far as women go. She's a fast learner, too. It'll be someone I can look after. She could be one hell of a Lady if put under the right conditions. Why not make it for always?

He quickly made the calculations in his mind and came to a decision within minutes. Why not? Why not take her back to Bear Island? What did he have to risk by trying? Besides a bit of heartache, absolutely nothing.

"Rhaenys," Mormont let his grin die away and paused deliberately. His silence had thoroughly gotten her full attention. "I love you."

Those violet orbs widened and froze sharply. There was a slight tugging in Mormont's chest, but he ignored it and simply kept watching the girl's face.

Amethyst pupils searched his eyes desperately as she struggled to find the words to speak. "I-I love you, too, Starag." Her voice was completely genuine.

Mormont forced himself to ignore her loving proclamation. He continued. "I'm going back to Bear Island soon. I'll be leaving in three days." He said coolly. He needed to be ice-cold when he would finally speak the phrase that he never thought he'd ever say in his life. "And I want you to come with me. I want you to be my wife."

Those flushing red cheeks had turned a pale white, and even glowed brightly in the failing gaze of the moon. Her lips trembled, and her searching violet eyes were shaking. "Do you mean it?"

"With all my heart," Starag answered. He meant every word.

She covered her face with her hands. When they came back down, there was a tearful, and joyful smile on her face as she gazed at him lovingly. "I'm so sorry, Starag. It's a complete surprise to me, but yes! Yes, I'll be your wife!" She said delightedly as if she'd been given another chance at life.

They kissed again, this time much more fiercely than before as Mormont rolled Rhaenys over onto her back while he hovered above her. He felt her small hands begin to explore his hair and back.

Neither of them noticed the pair of narrowed black eyes that had watched the whole encounter with a steady and dangerous gaze.

Clang!

Ting!

Tang!

Jon Stark had never once seen his uncle make so many mistakes in the training yard.

By all means, his technique and timing were impeccable, but it was the loss of coordination that had given Jon the small opening he needed to deflect Longclaw away and nick his uncle's left arm with Wolf Queen.

Even though his uncle had actually made to step out of the way of Jon's sword, the lack of his left eye had made a massive difference. "Hmph." Uncle Starag had grit his teeth as he stepped away.

Jon paled upon seeing the sharp red line along his uncle's arm. "Uncle, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, Jon." His uncle had held up a steady hand. The lone blue eye had gazed calmly at him. "Just something I'll have to get used to. That's another lap for me."

When Jon had woken up earlier that morning, he was shocked to see that his uncle's bed was empty, save a happily sleeping Rhae Sand. He'd waked everyone else up, and soon enough, they were all searching the palace for Uncle Starag.

The search hadn't lasted long, as they soon found him running along the length of the Water Gardens, doing his usual morning cardio. He was even still wearing the bandages on his arms, torso, and the one coiled around his head. All of it was soaked with fresh sweat.

To Jon's uncle at least, it was as if his duel to the death with the Shadowcat hadn't even happened. Or more accurately, that he'd moved on from it rather quickly.

In less than half a day, everything seemed to go back to normal, almost. Except now, there was a stern black eyepatch covering his uncle's left eye socket. He looked more like a pirate than a northerner.

And for some strange reason, Uncle Starag had insisted on keeping a hard training regime. He'd reverted to the unforgiving training methods of Uncle Arthur. He had counted each mistake he made while they sparred, and Jon knew he was going to run just as many laps.

Rhae Sand immediately came over and dabbed at the fresh cut with a bloodstained towel, staunching the bleeding. Then she gently kissed the angry red line and went back to her seat.

Jon had also been pleasantly surprised upon hearing that set of news. Uncle Starag had woken up in the middle of the early morning and decided that Rhae would be coming back with them to the North.

He was happy for both of them. And he liked Rhae Sand a lot. She was very easy to talk to despite her formerly reclusive ways. She had been his uncle's main caretaker besides Maester Caleotte and Oberyn.

As long as his uncle was happy, Jon was happy.

Uncle Starag raised up Longclaw again, trying to avoid the sun's glare in his eye. "Again."

Jon nodded stolidly. He didn't understand why his uncle was going so hard on himself, but Jon was sure it was for a good reason. He'd just have to trust the older man.

They sparred again for another two rounds. Starag had made seven more mistakes- at least the ones that were obvious to Jon- adding on seven laps to the other fourteen he'd made in the previous rounds.

When Jon began to overexert himself and get exhausted, he switched places with Garlan, who had been watching silently while he waited for his turn in the practice yard.

He took Garlan's seat at the refreshments table next to Margaery. Immediately, Jon began chugging down the waiting glass of tepid water.

When he was finished, he noticed the devious lopsided grin on Margaery's face. He asked after it with a frown.

"That was Garlan's cup." She answered knowingly.

Jon gagged and pushed the glass aside. He'd already had the water, so the most he could do was spit out what was left of it.

Margaery giggled mischievously into her hand, covering her mouth so she would break out into full laughter. Then, she poured him his own glass of cool ice water.

He looked ruefully at her and shook his head. He'd get back at her. Somehow. Still, he gladly accepted the cold cup and downed that one, too.

They sat there in comfortable silence as they watched Uncle Starag and Garlan slashed and lunged back and forth in the training yard. With Garlan- a seasoned swordsman himself- Jon's uncle seemed to be making far more mistakes than before.

"Uncle Starag said you'll be going back to the North in three days." Margaery's voice had piped up from his side. While it sounded like a statement of fact, Jon knew it was just to get the conversation going.

He looked over at her and nodded. "We'll be sailing for White Harbor." He said, noticing the slight waver in those big brown eyes. "What of it?"

Margaery's smile flickered. "Oh, nothing…" She trailed off softly. Naturally, however, she soon began again. This time with flushed cheeks. "It's just… Will you write to me?"

"Of course," Jon was surprised at how easily the words came out of his mouth. He'd barely given them a thought.

It had felt like years since he'd first met this girl back in King's Landing… Since that very first game of Whist so long ago…

Back then, Jon supposed he had a sort of crush on her. He still did for that matter.

Yet now… It was as if Jon felt bound to the wonderful girl from Highgarden. In a good way, of course. She was always treating him like he was the most important person in the world.

He always loved listening to her ramble on about some passage in a book or whatnot. She enjoyed being listened to, and Jon didn't mind hearing her tirades about the meaning of some law passed by one of the Gardener Kings or her conspiracy theories about how the Dragons truly died out.

And sometimes, she'd look at him as if nobody else existed. Jon liked Margaery. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

Of course, he'd write to her. That much was obvious. But as he looked into the large brown doe eyes… He wondered if, by the end of the next three days, that would truly be the last he ever saw of Margaery Tyrell.

Would they simply write to one another and forget each other as they both grew older? A passing childhood crush? They both lived on opposite ends of Westeros. The journey from Winterfell to Highgarden was long enough by itself. It was enough to dissuade anyone from traveling. Especially in the winter.

The dilemma had only made him wonder. What would his uncle do?

The answer literally appeared before him in the shape of Rhae Sand. When Uncle Starag and Garlan had taken a brief rest for a few minutes, Rhae had come over to Jon's uncle and patiently wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead with a cool cloth.

Surely, it couldn't have been that simple… Could it?

Another glance at Margaery had only made him realize that it was. She obviously would have to return to Highgarden at some point, but she could absolutely meet his family. Not to mention she would get to actually see the North in all its cold beauty.

"Margaery…" He started. There was a dancing flutter in his chest. Why wouldn't it stop? "Would you like to come to the North with us?"

Those doe brown eyes lifted themselves back up at him. They paused in excited apprehension at his invitation.

"R-really?" Margaery asked. "You want me to come with you?"

Jon nodded firmly. No going back now. "Yes, I do. You can meet my family, and you can see Winterfell with your own eyes. You'll love it, Margaery. I know you will."

His heart thumped loudly in his ears. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Gods… It was just a simple question, wasn't it? Why was he nervous?

He sat there completely composed, however. Inside, there was an unbridled tension that thrummed brightly. What if she said no? What would he do then?

You'll be fine.

It was the beaming smile on Margaery's face that had iced over the thick warmth that had built up in his chest. "I'll have to write to my family, of course… But I'll do it!" She said excitedly. "I'll go anywhere with you, Jon."

I'll go anywhere with you, Jon. The words had echoed in his mind. He managed a stupid grin in reply and simply kept hearing the same words over and over again.

In the middle of the training yard, Starag and Garlan had decided to take up their next round. Before they raised their swords, however, Mormont had stopped to look at the pair sitting by the large round table.

Garlan had turned to see what he was gazing at. "Why he's looking at my sister like that?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "I know they're close, but…"

Mormont shrugged. "Maybe she told him a bad joke or something." Then he smirked. "Or perhaps he's in love. Either way, doesn't really change much, now does it?"

"This is all your fault." Tyrell had shaken his head at Starag. "He's taking after you with your womanizing ways… Now I've got to save my poor sister from his pretty black curls."

The Lord of Bear Island frowned innocently at the implication. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Garlan. Not once has Jon ever taken my advice regarding the opposite sex, and I doubt he's about to start now." He said with a quick wink.

"Besides," Mormont continued. "Who are you to speak ill of womanizing? If I'm not mistaken, did I not see you flexing your biceps to Arianne Martell when you two first met?"

Garlan huffed. He was absolutely private about his current relationship with Arianne. Wouldn't tell Mormont a lick. "Yeah… But this is my sister we're talking about."

"And Arianne is the sister to both Prince Quentyn and Prince Trystane. I don't see you apologizing to either of them." Starag had pointed out.

Tyrell paused for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. He pursed his lips and shook his head for one final time. "Let's just get back to swordplay." He grumbled.

Mormont nodded with a light smile. "Agreed."

Forty-six laps.

By the time Mormont had finished his late afternoon exercise, the sun was already cut in half by the thin white line of the horizon.

He was considering skipping dinner due to just how exhausted he was, but he knew that he'd need to eat all he could in order to recover for tomorrow.

Dinner was mostly fun. It felt nice to be sitting at the table once again and not laying motionlessly on his bed. He gorged himself on shrimp, salmon, chicken, and bread. He even had multiple servings of coffee to help keep him awake.

Mormont had noticed the calculating stare of Oberyn's black eyes and had done his best to ignore it. Yet whenever he tried, he felt an itch on whichever side of his face the Red Viper seemed to be looking at.

Then there was Doran Martell, who also pretended that his food hadn't existed. He too, watched Mormont with those yellow-gold eyes, calmly studying him with a polite mask. Occasionally, he also looked to Rhaenys.

Understandably, they were not happy that Mormont had decided to take their niece as his wife. Of course, it never would've happened had Mormont simply left weeks ago.

There was a saying for that, he knew. You reap what you sow. And he knew if he said that to either Doran or Oberyn, then there was a decent chance he wouldn't wake up the next morning.

When he had been summoned for the third and likely final time to Prince Doran's solar, the coffee had done its job to the letter. Now, at least, he was sure he could put up something of a fight before Oberyn gutted him with his stiletto.

The familiar trip down the winding marble halls had relieved the tension in his muscles, however. They ached terribly, but he would either be dying tonight or be running more laps tomorrow, so there was no point complaining about it.

Finally, he stopped in front of the twin copper doors. Once again, the servant bowed his head inside. "Lord Mormont for you, my Prince."

"Send him in." There was no warmth in the aging voice. It was clinical. The tone of a professional sent to do a job.

The servant also acknowledged the change in voice, and had given Mormont a look that said "Nice knowing you."

Starag ignored the silent farewell and stepped inside. He heard the copper door close shut behind him.

This time, it was only Doran Martell who was sitting on the other side of the coffee table. Oberyn was nowhere in sight. Still, that didn't stop Mormont from scanning the rest of the room just in case.

"My brother is not here, Lord Mormont." The Prince of Dorne had said sternly. "He has gone to speak with Rhaenys."

Trying to dissuade her, no doubt. Perhaps they wondered if it was some variant of the Targaryen madness that had taken her earlier that day.

Mormont gave the room one last look before he carefully took his seat across from Doran. It hurt to remember that the last time he was in this very room, he had two eyes instead of one.

"Do you know why you are here, Lord Mormont?" Doran asked emotionlessly.

Starag nodded firmly. "I do."

"And you know why I'm concerned about these recent developments surrounding your activities with my niece?"

The air was cold in the room. A different kind of cold compared to most nights in Dorne. "I can make a fair assumption. No conclusive evidence yet."

Prince Doran perched his hands on his cane and leaned forward slightly. "I asked you to help mend my niece's relationship with her family…" He growled. "It is true, she has not been to the library in the last few weeks. And she has been speaking to us regularly once again…"

Mormont had half a mind to cut him off right there and give himself a job well done. Mission accomplished. He could finally go home now. Still, he valued his life much more than his pride.

"And yet…" Doran sighed with obvious frustration. "We did not ask you to court her, Lord Mormont. We simply asked that you help us breathe life back into her. Get her to join her cousins again. Do you see why I am angry?"

Starag Mormont did understand. After all, Rhaenys was the only remainder of Elia Martell. She was a Dragon. A Targaryen. She was descended from Princess Nymeria, and Aegon The Conqueror himself.

A part of him had almost laughed at the absurdity of the match. House Targaryen and House Mormont? Never would the Targaryen Kings of old have married their daughters off to the Starks of Winterfell, much less House Mormont. It was comical in its own way.

That, and Mormont supposed he was to blame for the girl's interest in him. After all, he had been the one to initiate their relationship together. Rhaenys simply fanned the flames.

"I realize now, Prince Doran, that I have overstepped my bounds as your guest." Starag bowed his head. "It was not my intention to do so from the beginning, but it happened. There's nothing I can do about it, save an apology."

He leaned forward and continued. "Just know, however, that I meant what I said. I do love Rhaenys." He said firmly. "She'll be looked after and kept well out of sight on Bear Island. It's the backass-end of the North, anyway. Not to mention Lord Stark will do his utmost to make sure her real identity is kept secret. And as my Lady Wife, she'll play an important role in helping me rebuild my house from the ground up. Far better than pissing away all her time in the library, I should think. A girl like her needs to be put to work, and I know exactly how to put her talents to use."

With nothing else to say, Mormont leaned back in the comfortable leather armchair. He waited for the fireworks to go off.

Doran Martell simply studied him impassively. Those yellow-gold eyes seemed to examine him with the clinical precision of a Maester. As if he went over every single line, every single intone of Mormont's voice. Again, and again, and again.

Finally, the Prince of Dorne smiled warmly. "Good." He said resignedly. "That's good."

He clarified when he saw Mormont's visible confused frown. "Oberyn thought much the same. He does not wish to see Rhaenys go, of course, but he saw how she looked at you…" Those yellow-gold eyes met his gaze again. "And how you looked at her…"

Doran continued. "As you know… Our sister Elia did not marry Prince Rhaegar out of love. At first, she was infatuated with lust, as all young women her age would have been with a Targaryen Prince… But their marriage quickly became one of duty…" He said wistfully, looking off into the inky void of the early night sky.

"When Rhaenys came to us… We could not imagine seeing such beauty before as a child. Her hair was strangely red, yet her eyes were just like Rhaegar's. We hoped that one day, she might be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or perhaps Aegon's Hand…"

And then came the Rebellion. Mormont figured. Everything went tits up after The Mad King burned Rickard Stark alive and let Brandon choke himself to death.

"And now she'll adorn the mantlepiece of the Lord of Bear Island…" Starag finished the thought with a playful grin. It was accepted.

Doran chuckled lightly. "Indeed, that was not what we envisioned. Yet Rhaenys loves you, Lord Mormont. We would dishonor our sister if we were to refuse her only daughter to marry out of love." He said bitterly. "And we… We do not have any plans in mind for her."

Mormont frowned again. "What about the Iron Throne? Surely you wished for her to reclaim it at some point?"

"At first, yes…" The Prince nodded. "But she made it clear to us that she wants nothing to do with it. And that was that." Doran's face twisted grimly. "But that is no matter. You are leaving in two days starting tomorrow. We will give you ships, and you will take Rhaenys with you…"

It was then that Doran leaned forward on his cane. There was a fiery determination in his golden eyes that pierced into the very depths of Mormont's soul. He looked more like Oberyn in this instance.

"If I ever hear of Rhaenys coming to harm, Lord Mormont… I shall place responsibility squarely on your shoulders, and I will act accordingly. Do I make myself clear?" He said stonily. Every single word was laced with venom. It wasn't a threat. It was a pledge. A promise.

Starag Mormont reached into his coat and picked out his pipe and matchbox. With one quick stroke, he lit the pipeweed in the bowl. Then he sat back and let the mouthful of smoke flow out of his mouth.

"Crystal."