Bear Keep

298 AC

Rhaenys Mormont did not enjoy her sleep being interrupted.

Not in the least.

So, when one of the servants in Bear Keep-Amelia was the girl's name- had knocked hurriedly on her door during some godless hour of the morning, Rhaenys had been in half a mind to send the poor girl to sleep out in the cold…

That was, of course, before she heard those four blessed words that sounded like music to her ears…

"Lord Mormont has returned!"

Rhaenys' foul mood had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and she quickly managed to fix up her brown-auburn hair so it looked presentable to her husband. Starag liked playing with her hair. Especially when they were in bed…

Then, she had gone out into the grey stone halls of Bear Keep and had soon met with Maege at the top of the circular staircase that led down to the Great Hall.

Maege Mormont also was not in a good mood to have been awakened so early. She was not at all a "morning person" as the older woman had said on many occasions before. Not at all like Rhaenys, or Starag for that matter.

It was not that Rhaenys wasn't gladdened by her husband's return. In fact, she'd been missing him terribly the last few days. So much so that she'd been teased by Maege and her daughters.

Especially by little Lyanna…

But those thoughts had quickly been forced out of her mind as she saw her husband walk into the Great Hall with his usual powerful stride. Behind him, old Maester Torwyn was trying to keep up, along with Benjen Stark.

Rhaenys did not look at either of them… As a matter of fact, the only thing that troubled her was the look on her husband's face…

Starag's single lightning blue eye was blazing with a tireless fury and anguish. There was dried, unwashed blood on his face, but it wasn't his own…

A battle… But against who?

The wildlings… The answer had quickly come to her. It had to have been the wildlings. There was little else in the way of answers. No other northern lord would dare stand against her husband. He was one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms…

But… Something felt off… Starag had gone out to fight wildlings before in the past several years. Never once had he come back with that wild and furious look in his eye… Not once…

No… It was something else that had made her husband this way… What was it?

The curiosity of the matter had begun to gnaw and eat away at her. She wanted to know why- if only so she could help him, or even at least soothe the pain he felt. He was her husband, after all.

She heard Starag's voice lash out into the air like thunder during a mighty storm as he spoke to Torwyn. "-For the next few days, I want you combing through every single book we have in the library. The Others. The Long Night. And find out if there are any possible connections to Valyrian Steel. Do you understand?"

"I-I do, my lord. But what is this all-"

Her husband had cut off the old man by simply staring at him with his single lightning blue eye. Torwyn gave a quick bow of submission and turned away, walking back up the stairs on the other end of the hall towards his tower.

Finally, her husband had glanced her way. She felt her heartbeat quicken when she saw his eye soften ever so slightly upon seeing her.

Starag spoke a few final words to Benjen Stark, who had nodded gratefully. The First Ranger would probably be staying for the next few days if Rhaenys' suspicions were right.

"Something spooked him," Maege commented with a whisper. Despite the harsh tone of her voice, there was a wild curiosity that burned in her dark brown eyes. She was also dying to find out what had worried Starag.

Rhaenys' husband approached the two of them right then. He said nothing as his arm fell over Rhaenys' narrow shoulders and pulled her close against him.

She felt whole again as she pressed herself into his chest. Her Bear had come home. Back to her…

"What happened?" Maege had asked behind her. "Did the wildlings get to you?"

"No." Starag had answered stonily. And had left it at that.

Rhaenys did not bother asking. She did not want his frosty gaze pointed at her. That wouldn't do at all.

Then, he'd taken her back to their chambers. Rhaenys' earlier grogginess at being woken up so very early had completely disappeared. Now, she simply wanted to tear off his clothes and have him inside of her.

He had beaten her to it, however. The moment he closed the door behind him, Starag had swept her off her feet and had thrown her onto the mattress covered in furs. He descended on her and had quickly torn open her dress with his strong hands.

Rhaenys did not remember if they'd ever gone a single night without coupling… Always, they rutted and fucked in their chambers like dogs in heat…

But this was much different. Even though it had been a handful of days since they'd last fucked… This was harder, more aggressive, and much much longer…

Rhaenys had been utterly exhausted by the time the sun had begun rising beyond the triangular glass windows of the Lord's Chambers. She fell on top of Starag's bare chest and placed her ear against his breast.

Thu-thump! Thu-thump! She could clearly hear the beating drum of his heart. It made her feel warm and safe inside…

She didn't know what plagued her husband so, but she would do everything in her power to make it even just a little bit more tolerable for him…

As such, when they'd finished their rough lovemaking, she'd fetched a cup of warm coffee for him. She'd carefully laden the mug with honey. He always liked his coffee with honey.

Then, she'd had a hot bath prepared for the both of them. Partially for the sweat that clung to their skin, but also because her husband still had small blotches of unwashed blood on his face…

Rhaenys would clean it off. If any of the smallfolk came in later that day and saw their lord's angry face covered in blood, there would be countless rumors by the end of the morning…

By the time she returned to the Lord's Chambers, however, she found her husband fast asleep on their shared king-sized bed. The large circular tub was filled with steaming hot water. Completely untouched.

She smiled lovingly at the sight of the mountainous, one-eyed man sleeping silently on the bed of furs. They must've kept sailing through the snowstorm. Not even sleeping through the night…

Whatever Starag had seen on the other side of the Wall… It must've been dangerous enough that he'd forced himself to stay awake during the voyage back to Bear Island…

Her husband was not a man who became easily tired. He had no qualms about going without sleep for several days at a time, especially when there was work to be done. Or when there was a battle going on.

Rhaenys gently closed the door to their chambers behind her. And then she joined her husband in bed, leaving the mug of coffee on a nearby table.

She intertwined her toned legs with his own and placed her head on his chest. She could feel the war-torn tension in his body, the blood flowing underneath his skin, the finely muscled ripples in his lean and hard chest, and finally, she heard the thumping beat of his heart. It willed-no, it lulled her to sleep…

Down her eyelids went as her pulse soon matched his slow drumming beat. Down, down, down…

"Father!"

Starag Mormont had barely been a moment outside of his chambers when he felt a small pair of arms wrap around his knee. The combined strength of a four-year-old had collided into his left leg.

He'd woken up late that same morning and had cursed himself. He was getting sloppy with his timing. Even if he'd been dead tired, Mormont realized that he should've just washed and gotten back to work…

Yet despite his insistence, Mormont remembered how relieved he'd felt when he'd picked up his wife into his arms and had thrown her onto his bed. How overwhelmingly safe he felt the moment his ship had landed in the harbor at Frostgate…

It had been far too long since Starag Mormont had felt genuine, skin-crawling fear for pretty much anything in his life. At least these days, he'd feel concerned without getting emotional about it. That was usually how it went…

But standing against the Other in that damnable frozen blizzard?

That had been something else entirely…

Something told him that he'd been extraordinarily lucky to make it out alive. He and his men were not supposed to have survived that encounter. It had all been a trap from the start, every angle having been calculated thoroughly and professionally by the enemy…

The enemy? The Others themselves come to life? They looked nothing like the dead, icy things that Old Nan had spoken of in her stories…

No, the Others were living, breathing creatures. They were capable of cruelty and emotion and they were capable of miscalculating their odds…

That was all too clear judging how Mormont himself had gotten out of that bind…

If they could be wounded… They could be killed…

But how?

Valyrian Steel? Longclaw had been his saving grace, yet the other men in his company were not so lucky to have Valyrian Steel blades as he did…

Even then, the rest of Westeros was not nearly as lucky… There were perhaps two hundred or so Valyrian Steel swords in the Seven Kingdoms. Not bloody good enough to take on the Others…

They were expert swordsmen, at least judging from the performance of the one Mormont had fought in the snow. And they were fast, too. Besides, there was no way for him to know exactly just how many of them there were beyond the Wall…

But perhaps there was a chance… There was a small inkling in Mormont's wild mind that scratched at him underneath the piling thoughts and ideas… But what was it?

What was the solution to the return of the Others? To the next coming of the Long Night?

Those questions had been quickly pushed aside when Mormont glanced down at the small bundle of lean muscle and giggling boyish laughter. The first he saw of the boy was a full head of curly black ringlets.

Flashing amethyst eyes had glanced up excitedly at him. Starag could see in them the magnificent mixture of love, fear, and respect… All aimed directly at Mormont.

Duncan Mormont was the first child of his own making that he'd ever seen. There was no doubt that Starag had many bastards throughout the Seven Kingdoms, but to actually hold his own son in his hands was… Well, it was certainly new.

When the lad had first been born, he was about the size of Mormont's palm. Now he was as tall as Mormont's thighs at the age of four. Already an impressive height. Starag doubted that the lad would ever stop growing.

Might even be taller than me one day… Mormont had mused to himself. There was a good chance that might happen. Especially since the boy showed signs of being as gluttonous as Starag himself when it came to food.

"I thought you left, Father?" Duncan had asked with a polite frown as he let go of Starag's leg. "You went away to the Wall, right?"

"I did, son." Mormont smiled warmly at the boy and knelt down on one knee. "But now I'm back. Your grandfather had a little trouble and he needed my help."

Duncan's frown had deepened into confusion. "But I thought the Night's Watch was independent?"

And the boy had also inherited Rhaenys' mental sharpness, to it seemed. He was definitely smarter than most children his age… That was plain enough to see whenever Mormont had received other northern lords who had brought along their own children.

Though the boy looked more Mormont than Targaryen, there were still the flashing violet eyes. And perhaps, there were even the makings of Rhaegar Targaryen's stern jawline underneath the baby fat. It had been the same for Jon, after all. Why not Starag's own son?

"Yes, well…" Starag purposely trailed off. "It was a bit more complicated, let's say. Had to go, but now I'm back." He said finally as he stood up to his full towering height. "Now, how about some breakfast? I'm starving."

Breakfast had already long been served by the time Mormont had gone to the dining hall.

Which was another mark against his prolonged sleep. Starag Mormont thoroughly enjoyed breakfast. It was his favorite meal of the day.

The dining hall in Bear Keep was not much compared to the massive cathedral of Winterfell's great dining hall, but it was far better than the dreary holdings of most other northern lords.

It was a large rectangular room made of dark brown pinewood and dull grey granite. Well-placed wooden beams and banisters were held in place so as to support the ceiling and walls and had also added to the homely and simple aesthetic of Bear Keep. Hanging on the wooden support beams were countless hunting trophies of the men and women from Mormont's family, a collection of heads belonging to bears, stags, mountain lions, treecats, and there was even a shard of chitin taken from an ancient Kraken that once haunted the Bay of Ice long ago.

To snuff out the Kraken once and for all, Starag's great-great-grandfather, Priam Mormont, had ordered for a massive spearhead of iron to be made. Then, he'd had the pole covered in flesh taken from both fish and land animals. Fresh, so as to draw out the Kraken with the overpowering scent of blood. It was this massive iron spearhead that he used as bait for the tentacled monstrosity, so as to trick it into eating it whole and fatally wounding it.

Apparently, it had worked like a charm. Though they never found the corpse of the Kraken, the large iron spearhead had washed ashore a few days later, still covered with the rotted and bloated flesh of dead animals, and also layered in a thick sheen of black ink and slimy blood. Washed up on the same beach were pieces of chitin belonging to the beast. No Kraken was spotted in the Bay of Ice ever since.

Though Starag questioned the story's authenticity, he couldn't deny that the shining black piece of hard shell was an almost convincing sight.

Moving on, there was the great hearth by the center of the room. Wrapped around it on one side was the high table, where the members of House Mormont- along with any other important northern lords- would sit during feasts and meals.

At most, he could hope for an early lunch with whatever leftovers they had from the first meal of the day. The men were as ravenous as men usually were when it came to food.

And so, Mormont had sat down at the head of the dining table, wanting to make up for the last day and a half of going without food entirely. Again, he felt an overwhelming feeling of relief spread over him as he smelled of the freshly baked loaves of bread, along with spiced and gingered venison chops, lightly seasoned with salt, pepper, and herbs.

He had obviously ordered for another mug of coffee to be made, and a jar of honey to be brought before him. All the while, his son sat next to him with a much lighter plate of smoked haddock and chopped potatoes.

It wasn't long before he heard the twin pine doors open to his left. With a quick glance, he had seen both Rhaenys and Maege walk into the dining hall, along with Mormont's other two children.

Thalia Mormont clung to her mother's side like the shy little girl of three that she was. Her deep blue eyes had yielded immediately upon looking in Starag's direction. Her hair was not black like her brother's, but was instead the gleaming platinum-silver of the Targaryen Dragonlords…

Not exactly the right combination, especially with the current political climate…

Still, Starag Mormont loved his daughter with a fierce passion, even if she was too shy to speak a few words to him.

The youngest of his trueborn children was actually being held in Maege's arms. He was barely two years old, but he already had the intense and observing gaze that one could consider to be brooding.

His name was Jeor, named after his grandfather. Yet he looked nothing of his namesake. Little Jeor's hair was spun into pale gold locks, and his eyes were indigo. That, and it seemed the boy would be far smaller than his older brother. More Targaryen than Thalia…

The two-year-old glanced in Mormont's direction and smiled brightly with the few tiny teeth that he did have. "Papa!" He said cheerily, as he wriggled in Maege's arms.

Despite his effort, Maege held him in an iron grip. The sight of Starag's youngest trueborn son trying to escape his great-aunt was wildly entertaining.

Rhaenys had beamed lovingly at him, to which Starag had given her a wink as she took her place next to him.

It was a jarring transition… Just over a day ago, he'd been fighting for his life against one of the monsters from legend, praying and hoping for a swift death to take him in its cold embrace…

And now? Now he was back with his family… Right where it had all begun…

Was this all simply a happy dream? A taste of the afterlife that awaited him? While in the real world, his family was mourning his loss, and his father preparing for the cold and dark winter ahead of them?

Or was it even worse? Had he been given a far worse fate? Had he simply survived, and subsequently been given a burden so heavy that it would crush even the most experienced of men?

His next great test… The challenge that might very well spell doom for all of Westeros?

It had all become much clearer now that he remembered his dream in the Water Gardens so long ago… The millions of blue eyes behind the white veil of snow and wind, and how he'd witnessed one of Them firsthand…

He made it out alive by the skin of his teeth, and he was well-regarded as one of the most skilled swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms after his duel with Jamie Lannister back in Highgarden…

Any other soldier or warrior-besides a select few- would've been killed just like Ulfgar and Jorum had been. And most men in the Night's Watch could barely swing a sword the right way…

The Long Night was coming again… And Starag Mormont didn't have a single clue about how he'd stop it.

The odds were completely against him this time. What could he do to stop it? What could he do to prevent the Others from passing the Wall and invading Bear Island? How could he stop them from taking his family from him? The loving wife and children he'd fought through wars and rebellions to have at his side?

But why him of all people? Starag Mormont did not consider himself to be a good man. He had killed hundreds in his lifetime, and was known as a barbarian who drank, smoked, and took the women he wanted…

He was even well-hated among his fellow northern lords, even if he held more valuable connections with other houses in the South. Neither did it matter that he was best friends with Eddard Stark himself…

Stop complaining, Mormont… You wanted this, remember? You wanted to go back to living on the edge just one more time… And the Old Gods have listened, and they've sent their answer…

The Others were returning one way or another… And Starag Mormont realized that if he did absolutely nothing… Then the world would fall…

And his wife, aunt, cousins, and children, would go with it…

But… What could he do? How could he stop the Others? How could he find a way to destroy them, or at least combat them and their limitless legions of the dead? Was there some kind of-

"My love?" Rhaenys had placed a warm hand on his forearm. Her skin burned hot against his own and was a pleasant relief from the cold and calculating analysis that had settled in his mind. "Is something the matter?" She asked with pleading and loving violet eyes.

She knows. Mormont had guessed immediately. Rhaenys always knew if something was wrong. If a problem was eating away at him, she'd know. And her amethyst orbs were asking him what was wrong…

He wouldn't tell her. Not now. If he worried her, then her mood could easily affect her work. And the children as well, which would soon spread to Maege, and then Starag's cousins, and so on…

No. This was exactly like it had been after the Tower of Joy during the end of Robert's Rebellion. Where Arthur Dayne had sworn him to secrecy over the true identity of Jon Stark…

This matter was his secret to keep…

Mormont would find out as much as he could about his new enemies. He'd find out whatever he needed to know to defeat them. He'd find a solution, or die trying…

This was not a simple matter of fighting for his own life… Now, Mormont was fighting for the lives of his family, of his people…

He wasn't going to do this for the rest of Westeros. And neither was he going to do it because of the millions of souls in Essos, either...

Starag Mormont didn't care about any of them. He simply couldn't. They could rot in the Seven Hells for all he cared...

No... He was going to wage this war not out of any kind of hopeless universal love for the Known World... He was going to wage it for the people who lived underneath him, and who looked up to him and depended on him in Bear Keep, Frostgate, Westhelm, and the Stony Shore...

For his close friends in Ned Stark, Wyman Manderly, Oberyn Martell, Garlan Tyrell, Tobho Mott...

And especially for his family... For his father, his aunt and her own daughters, and then for his children, and for the woman he loved...

"Yes," He admitted slowly. His nerves deadened, and he became ice-cold underneath the warm and charming smile he gave to his woman. "Something came up North of the Wall. It's a bit of trouble, but…" He trailed off and leaned over to kiss Rhaenys' forehead.

Underneath his lips, he felt the blood rush to her face in a fierce blush, which did help lighten his mood. He took much pleasure and delight in making his wife blush like a maid…

"I'll handle it personally," Mormont promised.

Father,

The situation is far worse than we suspected…

I will spare you most of the details. Benjen is on his way back to Castle Black. He will tell you what we both saw in the village of Seafell.

While there, we were ambushed in a mighty snowstorm by a small army of the dead. And with them was one of the Others…

Luckily, we managed to escape. Not without several casualties, however. The wildling leader, Ulfgar, had died bravely but foolishly standing against the Other.

During my escape, I was attacked by it, and several of my own men were killed. It seems that normal steel is ineffective against them, as it freezes and shatters against the Other's sword upon impact.

Luckily, I managed to literally disarm the Other, but not without a good shake of luck and timing. I could be wrong, but it may have been because Longclaw is of Valyrian Steel. I will look further into the matter personally.

In the meantime, whatever resources I can lend to the Night's Watch, you can have it. Winter is coming, and this one will be the coldest of them all.

Your son,

Starag Mormont, Lord of Bear Island

It had been barely a full week since Mormont's return to Bear Island…

And while he was tirelessly searching for leads concerning his current problem, the rest of the world had moved on…

The party of sixty-two wildlings being hosted at Westwatch was well on their way to Bear Island. Mormont would have to greet them himself and prevent blood from being spilled on both sides.

In the last letter written by Ser Endrew Tarth, the wildlings had elected Ulfgar's son to lead them. A tall and barrel-chested man named Sigmund. Supposedly, he was not nearly as… polite as his father was, but had complied with Tarth's orders nonetheless, and acknowledged the deal his late father had made with Starag.

They would be arriving soon. Perhaps today. More business to take care of…

Mormont pulled back his hand from the letter in front of him and set the quill down gently back on the iron rim of the inkpot. He sat back in his chair and reflected.

He didn't know how his father would keep the news of the Others from getting out of the Night's Watch. It likely wouldn't be anytime soon, as pretty much every lord and lady south of the Wall would laugh and slap their knee upon hearing about the "White Walkers beyond the Wall".

Word would still get out, but it would take far longer for anyone to actually take it seriously. They'd just be rumors and nothing more.

That said, there was still the chance of getting the rest of the North on board…

Onboard with what? What good would a march beyond the wall do for them? Practically nothing…

The Others were clearly expert strategists. They were patient. Far more patient than any one human being. Not to mention, they could raise the dead and control them like puppets…

Mormont had rarely thought much of magic. Not since he was a boy. Yet there was the odd occasion in his life where he'd had little taste of the supernatural.

The first was those blasted flaming swords that Thoros of Myr wielded in battle or in tourneys. Even then, Mormont suspected they were lit with wildfire…

He recalled another moment when his father had come back from another failed wildling raid on Fisher's Ridge. He'd had a bad wound on his shoulder, and had said an eagle almost tried to tear his throat out. He said something about wargs and skinchangers…

And finally, there was that strange stint in Greywater Watch a few years back. Where Howland Reed's son, Jojen had claimed he could see the future with… What was it? The Greensight? Yes, that was it.

But this business with the dead being risen and being controlled by an otherworldly entity… That was sheer madness. Never once had Starag Mormont encountered something like it, and for once, he didn't know how to combat it…

How was one supposed to stop a dead man? Something that does not need to eat, drink, shit, breathe, or even get tired… Something that does not fear for its life… Something that won't stop until its prey is dead…

And what about the Other itself? Mormont had only gotten out by the skin of his teeth. Not to mention he'd been trained to the bone by Arthur Dayne himself, and even then it seemed the Other was the faster swordsman.

Normal steel didn't stand a chance. It was just like the stories. Steel would freeze and break into a million shards of glass. Completely useless.

And yet, the only thing that had done the trick against the Other was Valyrian Steel, but that-

Valyrian Steel… Valyria… His mind began to work quickly. Wasn't there something he heard about Valyria and magic? Wasn't there some kind of connection between the two?

Valyrian Steel was forged with dragonglass and ancient spells, supposedly. But hadn't Valyrian Steel been created after The Long Night?

There was so much he didn't know about the subject. Far too much that he didn't know about the enemy. Did they sleep? What did they eat? Did they have a stronghold? He-

Thump, thump, thump! There were three hard knocks on the door to his office. They were the kind that belonged to the hands of a man.

"Lord Starag?" It was Torwyn. Thank the Old Gods. "I've done as you requested with the books. Would you-"

"Come in," Mormont said sharply. Anything the old man had gathered from the books would be a boon right now.

The large pine door had opened rather quickly. Soon, the lanky, and tall figure of Torwyn had shuffled inside and sat down in the seat across from Mormont.

Torwyn was perhaps in his late seventies, but he was spry and energetic enough to have the fitness of a man in his fifties. One couldn't afford to slip up on Bear Island. The old man had a large red nose, and probably one of the largest white beards Starag had ever seen.

Were this a fairy tale, Torwyn would've looked every bit the part of the old wandering wizard. From an early age, Starag had considered him more of a grandfather figure than anything else. Especially with his odd liking for burning things such as pine needles. Torwyn seemed to like explosions…

But today was business. The information the old man had gotten thus far would greatly help Mormont in narrowing down his next decision. Or so he hoped.

"What do you have?" Starag nodded to the stack of loose notes and bundled books in the old man's arms.

Torwyn smiled slightly. There was a slight twinkle in his gleaming blue-grey eyes. "Well, I do wish you would've told me what this was all about… That way I would've been able to find more specific answers…" He bowed his head when he saw the lack of expression on Mormont's face. "But, I have found some information on the topics you requested."

"To start with the Others… Well, there was precious little about them except for a few recorded legends or so. They had come from the Lands of Always Winter some eight thousand years ago and brought with them a terrible darkness that swept over the land. We call it The Long Night-which lasted about a generation or so…" He looked quizzically through his notes again. "Yes! It was a generation-long winter at the time. About twenty-five years."

Mormont posted his elbows against his desk as he leaned forward. "And what about the Last Hero? How did he drive the Others back to the Lands of Always Winter?"

Torwyn stroked his beard with one hand as he sat back in his seat and reflected on the best and most efficient way to answer the question. "Well… That is a bit more complicated…"

"How so?"

The old man pursed his lips for a moment in deep thought. Finally, he looked directly at Starag. "There's not exactly much that was recorded during the Long Night. And all we know of the Last Hero is a few variations of the children's story. It gets much more complicated when you take into account the other versions of the story from the East. There are more than a dozen different names and heroes for him. Most prominently is Azor Ahai, who is spouted often by the Red Priests of R'hllor. Then there is… ah… Yes, here we are; Hyrkoon The Hero, Eldric Shadowchaser, Neferion, and Yin Tar are the names that come up most often-"

"I get that." Mormont cut through the old man's ramblings. "But what did these… Heroes do to stop the Long Night? I know Azor Ahai used a magic sword-Lightbringer if I'm not wrong. But I'm afraid we're in short supply of both magic and magical blades."

Torwyn nodded patiently, and appreciatively as well. He knew he tended to ramble on, especially on matters of great importance to the state. "Ah yes, well… You are quite correct on that count. Azor Ahai had wielded Lightbringer. The Red Sword of Heroes. However…" The old man trailed off and held up a pulpy finger. "That is not exactly what our northern ancestors claim…"

It was as if Mormont were a boy all over again, listening to the old man spin stories from his seat next to the fireplace. Now he sat in rapt attention and waited for Torwyn to continue.

He did. "After a little more digging, I found a few more details in relation to the story of the Last Hero. The passages say that when normal steel failed against the ice-blades of the Others, it was a sword made of dragonsteel that the Last Hero used to do battle with them. Supposedly, he was able to slay the Others with this sword in hand…"

Dragonsteel? Mormont ran a hand down his face in contemplation. Did he mean Valyrian Steel? Surely the connection was fairly obvious…

Torwyn had likely thought the same question, as he continued to elaborate. "At first, I also thought dragonsteel may be a reference to Valyrian Steel. However, the timeline does not match up. Valyrian Steel was not invented until 3000 years after the end of the Long Night."

But… That was incredibly odd… Mormont had cut off the arm of an Other, and had blocked its deathly cold blade with Longclaw, a bastard sword made of Valyrian Steel…

So, if Valyrian Steel was not the same dragonsteel as wielded by the Last Hero… Then what was it? A sort of replacement? Or simply a different version of it?

"But… If I may be insistent…" Torwyn coughed loudly into his hand. "Might I know what this is all about, Starag? It is a bit sudden after all, and I'd prefer to have a specific target in mind when conducting deep research like this…"

Mormont had known Torwyn for practically all of his life. He was a good, dependable sort of man, even if he was a bit of a pyromaniac at times.

All great men never did great things alone… Arthur's voice echoed in his mind. Aegon had his sisters and Orys Baratheon when he conquered Westeros. Without them, he would've been King of Nothing…

He'd gotten nowhere on his own with this private war he was waging against the Others. And while he would not divulge this information to his family just yet… Perhaps he could bring on board a few others who might know more…

With a reluctant sigh, Starag Mormont had begun the story from the beginning. All the way from Westwatch, and then to Seafell. The whole time, Torwyn had listened with the easily captured attention of a five-year-old.

When Mormont was finished, he had quickly put back on the ice-cold mask of the Lord of Bear Island. "You are not to tell anyone, not even Rhaenys or Maege of what occurred north of the Wall. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Torwyn nodded in agreement. There was a grave look on his face as he continued stroking the middle strand of his white beard. "By the Old Gods…" He said with a low voice. There was no hint of doubt in his eyes.

The old man was one such person he could trust. Even though Mormont preferred to make his own decisions regarding ruling over his people and holdings, Torwyn was considerably wise, especially in more intricate subjects…

"I understand why this shouldn't get out. It wouldn't do to unnecessarily burden Lady Mormont and the children with such news…" Torwyn sat forward and clasped his hands together. "That being said… I'm afraid my knowledge of the subject is quite limited. There may be more information in the Citadel, or perhaps with the Night's Watch."

Mormont took his pipe out from his coat pocket and lit it effortlessly with a single stroke of a match. "I thought as much." He commented dryly right before he blew a puff of smoke out of his mouth. "But I've been racking my mind for a solution, Torwyn. And I know far less than you do about this… Dragonsteel business…"

The old man leaned forward in his seat. "Did you not say that Valyrian Steel was capable of wounding this… Other? Well, then perhaps it is a variation of dragonsteel-the more modern equivalent if that makes sense. While its creation is currently unknown, there may be others who know more…"

Starag knew what the old man was getting at. He sat forward, interested. "How? I understand the smiths of Qohor know how to rework it, but they don't know how to actually forge it."

That particular detail was once told to him by his close friend and personal quartermaster, Tobho Mott, who was in fact, a master blacksmith hailing from Qohor.

This detail, Torwyn had also accounted for. "Yes, well… Strangely enough, I just so happen to know someone who has a far more cultured insight into Valyrian lore. He's also a fellow Maester, and an old friend."

"What's his name?" Mormont asked.

"Marwyn." Torwyn had said. "Though he's often called Marwyn The Mage. He's an archmaester at the Citadel. Specializes in the "higher mysteries" though mainly Valyrian magic and technology. He's a bit of an odd fellow and is distrusted by many other Maesters, but he's a good chap once you get to know him."

Mormont had heard whispers of a fellow going by that name. Though he'd only heard it in passing during his youthful travels. It meant nothing to him then… But now?

Now, Starag needed to know everything he could about Valyria, which was potentially his next lead. This man Marwyn might know something crucial, something that might just lead to a solution…

He'd come to a decision. "Send a letter to this Marwyn fellow. For his eyes only. Invite him to Bear Island personally, or say I invited him-it does not matter. We require his knowledge and expertise on Old Valyria. And now."

It had been after luncheon, that an old and creaky ship had sailed into Frostgate harbor.

The midnight black sail identified it as a ship belonging to the Night's Watch. Mormont wondered how the old boat even managed to sail through a light snowstorm without breaking apart like a hot apple pie…

Still, the ship had successfully landed, and soon enough, the strangers from far beyond the Wall were coming up from below deck and being lined up carefully on the dockside at the tip of a sword.

When Starag Mormont had come down from Bear Keep to meet with the good men of the Night's Watch- led by a man named Derry- he had looked over the group one by one.

There were more wildling women than there were men. Which was a fairly good ratio. They'd populate quickly in a few generations, and a few among them would likely couple with Mormont's own people in Frostgate… That was inevitable.

So, it would be best for everyone if he showed them where they'd stay and lay their roots. Who knows… They might even be useful in fending off other wildlings who come from the Frozen Shore looking for a good raid.

Mormont had thanked the black brothers of the Night's Watch for bringing his people to their new home. Because they were his people now, whether they liked it or not. Their previous leader had made a deal to save their lives, and if they had any honor amongst them, they'd live up to it…

Which, was exactly what Starag had expected from the new headman of the wildlings. The young man of twenty-four had stood almost as tall as Mormont himself. His shoulders were broad and held back, so as to implicate a certain level of confidence.

"You must be Sigmund." Mormont had held out his hand to the large man. "Your father fought bravely. Ulfgar was a good man."

The tall wildling had narrowed his dark blue eyes just slightly. "Aye, he was. He spoke well of you. Said you put him in a tough spot." His tight, deep voice relented as he took the offered hand with a firm squeeze. "How did he die?"

Mormont also squeezed the other man's hand. "He died trying to kill one of Them if you understand what I mean." He added quietly. "It was foolish of him, but I don't think I could've convinced him otherwise."

"Aye, you wouldn't have." Sigmund gave a grim smile and let go. "He was a stubborn old ox. Doesn't deserve to be one of their dead puppets… But the past is the past." His expression turned stoic. "Do you have land for us? I can see we are not welcome here…"

Sure enough, the collective mass of soldiers both from House Mormont and the Night's Watch were keeping their eyes peeled directly on the -rather small in comparison- party of wildlings… Most of them kept their hands on the hilts of their swords.

That aside, Mormont was glad to know that Sigmund did not blame him for his father's death. To honor Ulfgar, Starag would gladly help settle his people on Bear Island. "I do. But there are some conditions. I'm sure your father told you."

"He did." Sigmund nodded. His deep blue eyes were unwavering. "Us free folk don't want to take part in southerner wars, it's not our way…" He trailed off as he glanced at the rest of the wildlings. "But you've been too kind in allowing us to settle here. We're your guests now. And it is the duty of a good guest to do what his host bids."

It was a more veiled way of saying "We'll follow your command. But not if it imposes on our freedoms." It was the best Mormont could ask for. He already had no intention of forcing the wildlings to do anything.

"And we will respect your ways and laws," Sigmund added finally. "If one of us breaks them, I will give you their head myself." He pledged stolidly.

Starag Mormont cracked a wicked grin. The other man was dead-honest. He could feel a sturdy partnership of sorts coming on between the two of them. One that might last many generations.

He thrust out his hand again so as to finalize their pact. "Excellent. We're in agreement."

More than a hundred men and women watched on as two separate tribes of people had buried the hatchet in a single day.