The Bite

294 AC

Mormont couldn't sleep.

He'd gotten out of bed early in the morning, just before dawn. Even though Rhaenys had complained about the lack of warmth at her back, he'd thrown the thick fur blankets over her pale-gold body and left her there.

Then, he'd gotten to his exercise. He couldn't jump into the water and go for his swim, so he'd simply done his laps around the length of the top deck of the ship.

After that, he'd done as many press-ups as he could before his arms began to ache terribly.

It had been nearly two moons since he lost his left eye, but gradually, over the last few weeks, Mormont had begun to adjust to it. Albeit a bit slowly. While he wasn't as far along as he liked, he had gotten better with daily sparring by slightly shifting his body to the left so he could see the whole of his enemy.

He supposed it could have been worse. He'd almost lost his life to that Shadowcat, but it didn't really matter anymore. Now, he was heading back home.

The cold northern air had hit them just as they passed by the coastline of the Vale of Arryn, by the edge of The Fingers.

Naturally, Mormont was not bothered by it. Though he couldn't very well say the same for the rest of his passengers.

Jon had been far more comfortable in the cold than he had in the sweltering Dornish heat. Which was a blessing of sorts. His nonchalance made Margaery more welcome to the change in temperature, even if she clutched at her cloak a little tighter. Garlan, too, had gotten used to it by this point.

The Sand Snakes had each made some complaints of their own about the bitter cold, and Mormont had once caught Oberyn hastily throwing on a cloak of his own to protect himself from it, too. Of course, The Red Viper denied it completely.

And Rhaenys? Mormont chuckled to himself as he was walking back to his room. She had acted as if nothing had really changed, and even wore the thick shadowskin cloak he'd gifted to her from the Shadowcat that had taken his eye.

If she was trying to impress him, which she probably was, then she was off to a good start.

Mormont opened the door to his room and found Rhaenys sitting like a proper northern lady at the adjoining table in the corner of their room. Both of her legs were crossed underneath the forest green linen dress she wore today. The accents had been lined with silver threads and embroidery.

He smirked again. She was wearing the colors of his House. Must really want to make a good impression with Maege and Dacey.

Her hair had been done up in a fresh northern braid, with the strip of platinum hair being concealed carefully underneath the mass of auburn-brown curls.

Rhaenys looked away from the book she had been engrossed in and smiled at him as he closed the door behind him. "Good morning, love."

"Morning," He said in reply. He took off his boots and clothes and jumped into the waiting bath, washing the sweat and salt off his skin. Rhaenys did not bother him with questions while he worked. She kept silent.

They'd absolutely be arriving at White Harbor today. Mormont was actually a bit excited to see Wendel Manderly again. It had been ages since he'd last seen the fat man with his burly mustache and strange accent.

He'd only sent ahead two letters from The Water Gardens. One addressed to Ned, and the other to his aunt. So, there was a good chance that his own family might be there on the docks waiting for him.

Only time would tell, of course.

The welcome party was larger than he expected.

As Mormont watched the wide dock from the bow of the ship, he could see the blurry outlines of perhaps thirty different figures. Twenty of whom were men-at-arms split between Manderly and Mormont colors.

He cursed the blur. When he had two eyes, he could see far better than that. Get used to it, Mormont.

When they finally landed at the docks, Mormont had been surprised to see not only Maege and Dacey but also Arthur along with the Manderlys.

Mormont got his passengers together. He and Oberyn would first exchange pleasantries, and then Garlan, Jon, and Margaery. The Sand Snakes would go last. If they wanted to at all, of course.

He had approached Wyman Manderly first. The enormously overweight man was his host after all. Underneath his thick blonde-white beard, Mormont could tell that man had more than one chin.

And yet, despite his rather unkindly physical appearance, Mormont saw the rapt intelligence behind those pale blue eyes. This was not a simpleton like most of Mormont's fellow bannermen. Wyman Manderly was calculating, measuring him up, and was soon to be one of Starag's rivals. At least, when it came to business.

Then again… Perhaps not. Mormont had enough enemies both in the North and in the South. And perhaps even a few in Essos…

It would be far wiser to get Manderly on his side, even include him in some of Mormont's schemes. They were both staunchly loyal to House Stark. Why not get along with the only other rich man in the North? One who even had a lick of intelligence, too.

He'd make his pitch to the fat man later. First, he'd make his introductions. "Lord Wyman. Thank you for your hospitality in allowing us to make port here."

Wyman Manderly smiled at him with crooked teeth. "Not at all, Lord Mormont. I'm delighted to host you and your companions. Your family has been quite pleasant as far as most guests go."

"That's good to hear." Mormont chuckled warmly. He liked the fat man already. He was the first northern lord to have not sneered at him. And while it could have been faked, Mormont was sure Wendel had put in a good word for him. "If they caused any trouble, I'd have to have them whipped."

Lord Wyman had laughed, his flabby chest rumbling with chuckles. "And I'd have handed you the whip, Lord Mormont."

Next, he had moved on to the man's family. Wylis Manderly and his wife, Lady Leona were standing with their two daughters, Wynafryd and Wylla. They were all smiles and warm welcomes and had been kind and gracious towards even Oberyn and his daughters.

Mormont felt thick arms wrap around his shoulder when he came up to Wendel Manderly. "My friend! It is good to see you once again. Though you seem to have lost an eye!"

"It's a long story." Starag grinned as he embraced the fat man. "It's good to see you, too, Wendel."

Then he'd moved on to his own family. He pretended to not notice Dacey giggle at something Arthur had said to her. Dornish bastard… A girlish laugh like that could only mean one thing…

A smitten girl would tend to find everything a man said funny when she liked him in that way. Yet it was still unknown whether or not they'd coupled at this point. Was it reciprocated by Arthur?

Mormont stifled the exasperated anger in his chest. They must have met recently, perhaps at Winterfell, or before he'd landed at White Harbor. Because they certainly hadn't met before then.

It was Maege who hugged him fiercely and nearly wept upon seeing his eyepatch. "Thank the Old Gods you're home!" She cried into his chest. "What happened to your eye? You must tell me."

He smoothed his aunt's salt and peppery hair and smiled at her stress-racked and worried face. "A Shadowcat got me. Look it's really nothing-"

"Shadowcat?" His aunt had separated from him and gripped the handle of the mace on her belt. "Where is it? Back in Dorne? Let's go!" She suddenly demanded. Her voice had become hard like iron in an instant.

Starag physically held his aunt from marching onto the ship. She was always a willful kind of woman. She'll get along perfectly with Rhaenys. "It's dead, aunt. No need to worry about it."

Dacey had stepped up to him then and grinned warmly at him. "Welcome home, Starag." She said simply, trying to ignore his missing eye, which he was partially thankful for. She was tall enough to wrap an arm up and around his shoulder.

"Thank you, Dacey." He embraced her in turn and had turned to Arthur.

Dayne was standing perfectly still, like the sentinel he was. Still, his lips had curved upward into a wide beam. He held out his hand.

Starag took the smaller hand and shook it. "Arthur," Then he looked to his aunt and cousin. "Maege, Dacey. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

He turned slightly and held out his hand to a patiently waiting Rhaenys Targaryen. She gladly took his hand and stepped forward, integrating herself into the compressed circle of four.

"This is Rhae Sand. My betrothed…" He couldn't stop himself from grinning at the various reactions of his aunt, cousin, and mentor.

His aunt had briefly widened her eyes and then glanced at Rhaenys up and down with a hardened glare. They were around the same height, but Maege seemed unimpressed by the younger woman in front of her. She was definitely not excited at the prospect of another southern Lady Mormont.

Dacey was far more courteous and had given a polite smile to the auburn-haired girl. She was pleasant enough and had even begun asking a few questions about Dorne.

It was Arthur who had the most visceral reaction of them all. He looked at her strangely for a few moments, and then his face had turned white, flushing away the permanent Dornish tan from his skin. He recognized her, of course, as Rhaenys Targaryen.

His questioning gaze told Mormont that he'd be grilled about it later. Starag didn't mind.

It had taken the crews a few more hours to load up all the gold into some armored carriages, supplied graciously by Wyman Manderly. The Lord of White Harbor had also invited Mormont to stay for a few days before they all rode to Winterfell. Starag accepted the offer.

And after that… Life for Starag Mormont would begin to get a lot more interesting.

"Another, Lord Mormont?"

Starag slid the glass across the table. Wyman Manderly had nodded in approval and poured more of the golden brown liquid into it, filling it up just one-quarter of the cup.

He was pleasantly surprised to find out that the Lord of White Harbor had several barrels of the Braavosi Firebrand Mormont had come to enjoy so much in Duskendale. It was a welcome change from stale ale.

Wyman set the bottle by the corner of the table and held up his own glass. "Cheers,"

"Cheers," Starag clicked his glass against Wyman's. They both took a deep drink and tasted the delicious mix of oak, spices, and honey.

When they set their glasses back down, both had been emptied.

"You're about as gluttonous as I am with alcohol, Lord Mormont."

Starag chuckled again. "Probably. But call me Starag. All my friends usually do."

The fat man smiled warmly at him and filled up their cups again. "Then you may call me Wyman."

Everyone had likely gone off to bed. Mormont was about to tear open Rhaenys' dress when he heard a knock on their door. He'd been summoned to meet with Lord Wyman Manderly for a nightcap of sorts.

Mormont immediately knew that it was largely for business. Neither of them had met one another before earlier that same day. But Starag was fine with meeting his potential business rival, or business partner.

Or both. He thought to himself. Any man who came into the possession of a literal fortune in a matter of a few moons would have gotten everyone's attention. And no doubt Wyman Manderly had wanted to size Mormont up earlier at the docks.

And he'd likely seen the same thing that Mormont had seen in the older man. An unusually strong cunning and biting wit. Rugged and calculating intelligence, that of a man who forged his own opportunities.

The wide smile on Wyman's face had soon died away completely as he sat back in his chair. "Wendel has told me much about you, Starag. He said he's never met a more honorable fellow such as yourself. Besides Lord Stark, of course."

Mormont nodded. "Wendel's a good man. One of the best I've ever met. That aside, I'm not quite as spotless as he says I am."

"I'm aware." Manderly's quick smile was lopsided. "I've heard of your recent exploits, and of some others that deserve mention another day. Despite you and your family's reputation in the North, I can tell you're one such man who takes himself seriously, and who cares for the livelihood of the people he loves."

Starag had no objections to the fat man's observations. "Ah, you're just trying to butter me up." He cracked a grin.

"In a way, yes." Wyman nodded, though he matched him with his own conspiratory smile. "I can tell you're a man of great ambition. And there's no reason why we should be enemies considering we both serve the same liege."

Mormont nearly laughed. The Lord of White Harbor was getting around to his pitch. Still, it was nice to know that they were on the same page. "I was thinking much the same, Wyman."

Both of them stood to gain from a strong partnership with one another. Starag had personal connections with both the Tyrells and the Hightowers. And now he'd just added the Martells to that same list. There was lots of money to be made from more lucrative deals with Oldtown, Sunspear, and Highgarden. Lots of gold.

And Manderly had better access to Essos than Mormont did. Another boon in itself. Not only that, but he had far more resources at his disposal than Starag. He could help the Mormonts begin building their own port, or whatever Starag asked of him. Even if the Manderlys had less gold now.

"I don't know what exactly you have planned for your corner of the North, Starag." Wyman had said. "But whatever it is, afterward I believe you and I can do good business with one another. Perhaps even bind our Houses together at some point."

Mormont thought over the simple proposal. He didn't mind being strong allies with House Manderly at some point in the future. It was a reprieve from the often bitter and poorer lords.

There was a popular saying that he'd heard often from his less fortunate fellow bannermen when he'd tried to talk to them about gold. Money doesn't make you happy, Lord Mormont.

Maybe not, but it certainly fixed a lot of problems. And it absolutely relieved stress from one's shoulders. Besides, even if Mormont was sad at some point, he'd rather be sad AND rich at the same time.

And Wyman Manderly had understood that point exactly.

"I don't see why not, Wyman." Starag shrugged. "It's a welcome change to be around someone who has their own money."

The Lord of White Harbor grinned enthusiastically. "Precisely." He said as he raised his glass.

Mormont picked up his own cup and clicked it against Wyman's.

Soon enough, the office was filled with boisterous laughter and the pleasant smell of oak and spices.

Rhaenys Targaryen had never seen snow before.

It was perhaps one of the most beautiful things she had ever witnessed as the tiny white flakes had descended slowly from the inky black night sky. They landed softly on her nose and immediately melted onto her skin. It was an odd tickling sensation, but a welcome one.

The North was the most foreign place to her, far more than King's Landing had ever been. It wasn't often that she clung desperately to her cloak to fend off the biting cold. Otherwise, it would seep into her bones and snuff out the fire in her heart.

Yet, funnily enough, she didn't hate it. Neither did she dislike it. Nor was it merely an annoyance she'd have to get used to.

No… Rhaenys Targaryen found an odd sort of enjoyment out of making sure she was warm at all times. It kept her busy. It had brought up primal feelings within her and had given her fantasies of sharing more of her body heat with Starag underneath a pile of furs.

And to think she'd only been in the North a few weeks, that so far, she'd already taken to it.

Sure, it was grey and the sights of snow-covered hills and dried mud were not nearly as glamorous as the view of the Summer Sea. But it was the simplicity behind the lifeless trees, and the soft, powdery snow, that charmed her.

And the people! They were not like the indirect and often two-faced courtiers of King's Landing. More often than not, Rhaenys had gotten direct and straightforward answers to her questions. She supposed that with the permanent chill in the air, the hardy people of the North didn't have time to care about doublespeak or lies.

"They're good folk." Arthur had told her from his seat next to her. He had immediately singled out who she was and had pulled her aside. "While the lords will play the Game, they prefer to lead simpler lives. Even the lowest northern lord has more character than any southern knight. Your betrothed is more than a testament to that."

Rhaenys found that observation to be more than true when the She-Bear herself passed by the campfire, and stopped a few feet in front of Rhaenys. The stout and stocky older woman narrowed her eyes dangerously at her.

"I'm watching you, little lady." She warned with a stony expression. "Southerners can't handle the air up in the North. Just say the word, and I'll have you shipped back to Dorne first thing in the morning."

She had straightened her back firmly and put a hard edge into her voice. "I've never given up on anything in my life, Lady Mormont. I'm not about to start now." Rhaenys declared. "I think you'll find that I can handle much more than a little snow."

The She-Bear had watched her with a stern gaze for a few moments. Until finally, she'd smiled slightly with crooked, yellow-stained teeth. "We'll see." She said simply, then walked briskly away.

Neither she nor Arthur had commented on the sudden interruption. A few moments later, she clutched her coverings flush against her skin. She was determined to see this through even as she shivered slightly underneath the shadowskin cloak.

The cloak was a gift from Starag. Though Rhaenys believed that he should wear it as a trophy, her Bear had found his current gambeson coat more to his liking. After she put it on, she had no objections to its thick, warm fur.

To distract herself, she glanced up and scanned around the camp with searching violet eyes.

Their escort was traveling in a large caravan. There were about five carriages filled with gold and around fifty or so men-at-arms. It was mostly a mix of Tyrell, Manderly, and Mormont soldiers.

Across the fire from her was her Bear. He was teaching Jon how to play Poker with a few gold dragons and a fresh deck of playing cards. His large, calloused hands had deftly cut the deck in half and sliced it again as he shuffled the cards.

Poker, Rhaenys knew, was more than a simple card game. It was a game of wits. More often than not, you'd play the man sitting across from you than your actual cards.

It wasn't a simpler kind of game like Whist, but Rhaenys supposed that throwing something new into the mix was always pleasant enough.

Still, Jon Stark laughed as the fifth and final community card was flipped down, revealing the Dragon of Spades. Starag's face had been perfectly expressionless the whole time.

"I won!" She heard Jon say over the crackling fire. He flipped down his two cards to reveal both the Dragon of Clubs and the Dragon of Hearts.

Starag, however, had quickly flipped his two cards. Both were Spades. The King and the nine. Those two, along with the Dragon of Spades, and the additional seven and five on the board, gave him a Flush. Which, was higher than three-pair.

Rhaenys kept herself from giggling as Starag began collecting the gold dragons in the middle of the tree stump they played on.

Jon huffed and crossed his arms. "I want to play again."

Her betrothed glanced up at the narrowed dark grey eyes. "I just cleaned you out. How many gold dragons do you have left?"

"Five," Jon answered. He held up the light pouch he'd been given by two fingers. "That's more than enough."

Starag gave him an exhausted smile. "Why not. I'll take those off of you, too."

Jon hadn't said anything in reply, though Rhaenys could tell he was itching to win the gold back from his uncle. This time, the boy kept his face in an icy mask.

"Those two certainly are a pair." Arthur had said from the stool a few feet to her side. "They remind me of you and Rhaegar, actually."

Rhaenys blushed. Even now, she could remember clearly just how crooked her father was when it came to card games. He'd cheat all he could out of anyone he played against. He taught her how to play Whist, and how to nimbly move her hands so she could expertly shuffle a deck of cards.

"He'd be proud of you," The Kingsguard had said with a grim smile. "I know more than anything that he'd want you to move on from what happened." He paused briefly and looked her right in the eyes. "And there's no better man I'd suggest to be your husband than Starag. Though how you were lucky enough to nail him down, I don't know."

She giggled lightly. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" She asked. "That's how they normally put it in the books."

"I know… But this time, the books are wrong." Arthur paused again. His purple eyes had glanced back at the fire. "He's had a hard life, Rhaenys." He said softly. "While you grew up in a wealthy and loving family, being the firstborn daughter of the heir to the throne, you didn't have to worry about how much those toys, dresses, or dolls cost in gold."

She opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but he continued. "Starag, though? When he was growing up, every single moon he and his family had to scrape by on whatever silver and copper they could get their hands on. Just enough so they could feed themselves and their people, and buy meager supplies from Torrhen's Square." Arthur's purple eyes shimmered sorrowfully in the firelight.

"He once told me that he and his brother had to sleep out in the snow for three moons after one of the foundations in Bear Keep collapsed, taking the Lord's wing of the keep with it. And it had taken them years until they could finally afford to have it repaired."

She remembered Starag's strict distaste for copper and silver, how he refused to take anything less than gold dragons when he'd pay for something…

Was this the reason why? Because he'd grown up seeing his parents literally counting their coppers one by one, desperate to see to their people's needs?

Her uncle looked up at her then. "He understands what it's like to be at the bottom, Rhaenys. And there are few lords in Westeros who truly know what it's like to have absolutely nothing. House Mormont was a noble family in name alone. No gold, no resources that anyone else wanted, and no friends to call on. Not even House Glover, their closest neighbors, would aid them. No matter how much his parents had begged for their help."

"It was a sheer miracle that his father managed to send him to live with the Starks," Arthur said as he tossed a loose twig into the fire. "Otherwise Starag would still be there. And he'd only be a fraction of the man he is today. I don't know anyone else who can endure as much as he can and still keep going..."

Rhaenys didn't doubt him one bit. Arthur absolutely had known Starag far longer than she did. The vivid and cruel scars that had been marked all over his body were a permanent reminder of the life he had led up to that point.

That, and the fact that even after he'd lost an eye, and had been terribly wounded by the Shadowcat, he still found the will to keep on living. He must've been nearly dead during his ride back to the Water Gardens that night…

Arthur was absolutely right.

And then there was the implication that she was the lucky one and not Starag. That too was clear enough to see. If she hadn't decided to play that game of Whist with him, then she'd still be back in her library, all alone with her books.

What had she done to deserve this wonderful man? This man who had come from nothing, who had brought himself up from the dredges of the North? Who had taken his life into his own hands and decided to shape his destiny?

Her uncle's praise of Starag had solidified in her mind that she had indeed made the right choice in leaving Dorne, even if it would be a long time before she saw her cousins and uncles again.

Now, she would become part of another family. She'd embrace them with open arms and learn their ways of life. She'd even learn how to use weapons and how to properly manage a household. She would do her best. Because she loved Starag with all her heart.

"He'll take care of you. Not to mention, I'll be visiting often." Arthur finished his impromptu speech with a warm grin. "But I want you to take good care of him in turn. For all intents and purposes, he's my brother. And he needs a good woman in his life."

Rhaenys beamed at her uncle. That's me. I'll make sure he's looked after. It's my duty. My honor.

She would do all she could for Starag Mormont. All she wanted was to see that thin, cruel smile aimed directly at her.

"I will, uncle. I promise."