Eternity
All he could see was snow…
It was so heavy and cold that Mormont had barely realized he'd been running. All the way through the great mounds of snowflakes that barreled high up to his knees. The blood in his cheeks stung in the cold winds, making his nose hot and runny.
Mormont glanced behind. He didn't see them. Were they still on his tail?
Probably. His heavy trail through the snow was plain for all to see, even in a storm such as this one. His footsteps could've been tracked by a five-year-old.
He'd need to keep moving. Otherwise, he'd be dead soon enough. It wasn't like he had anything to fight with. His sword had frozen and snapped off two days ago. And the day before, he'd had to kill his own dog for food.
The Children had to be near. They had to be…
Mormont allowed himself to catch his breath for another minute. He tried to see if there was a large tree or cave of any kind. At least something for him to find shelter in. Getting even a few minutes of sleep would be a blessing…
That was when he saw them. The dozens of beady blue eyes glared at him. The eight hard, spindly legs connected to those terrifying frozen carapaces. The smacking and screaming mandibles longing for his warm flesh…
Mormont began running again from the Ice Spiders, his instincts overruling his sense of reason. How could he shake them off? And in this damnable storm as well?
He gripped the broken hilt of his cold iron sword. While it wasn't a full blade, it would make a suitable dagger. He just hoped it would be effective against the spiders… It had been useless against their masters…
Mormont trudged as fast as he could through the fresh snow. All he could think about was the winter chill that breathed down onto the back of his neck. How close were the spiders behind him? Would they catch up to him?
He didn't know. He came upon a wide gap in the snow and suddenly stopped himself from walking over the edge before him.
A gorge! How was he supposed to cross it? It looked too long to go around, at least from here.
He turned back and saw the spiders approaching steadily. They were nimble on their legs, barely sinking even a few inches into the fresh snow. They weaved quickly overtop the snow that he'd spent so long trudging through.
He'd have to leap for it. The gorge was wide enough, but he'd need to get a running start for it.
Mormont gripped his dagger tight and gave himself some running space. It was either leap or be food for the spiders.
He sprung forward, calling upon the reserves of his strength. His aching muscles screamed out at him as he clambered through the snow…
At the edge, he jumped and raised his dagger. He soared into the air between the gorge, and quickly found himself descending…
Mormont felt panic surge and beat within him as he began falling. But he was so close to the other side! Almost in anticipation, he raised his arm to catch his grip!
He felt the broken iron blade catch a purchase deep into the snow and ice. His free hand gripped at something hard, cold, and sleek. Like a thick root of a tree. His legs dangled freely in the gorge, trying to catch some sort of foothold in the slippery ice.
With all the strength in his arms, Mormont heaved himself up and over the cliffside. He saw red stars as his creaking muscles cried out once more.
He was up! His legs scrambled for the cliff's edge and found the ground! Mormont shot to his feet and glanced at the other side of the cliff…
The spiders were there. They were glaring at him, the intelligence behind those beady eyes was enraged that its prey had gotten away, putting an obstacle between it and the food.
Mormont knew they'd find a way across. He'd put that time to use and make his escape. He wouldn't make it easy for them to find him and eat him, after all…
When he faced away from the spiders, he saw a horde of shapes moving in the snow. Below him was the foot of a large valley, and even in the blizzard, he saw what looked like an army marching through the mounds of snow…
Even now, he could tell they were not living. They were the undead. His people, killed and used like puppets by the blasted Others…
Mormont quickly drew his eye away from them, however… He soon saw a lone figure standing atop a large rock pedestal in the middle of the horde…
It was wearing a suit of shimmering blue, black, and white armor overtop priest-like robes and a flowing cloak of crystal ice. It reflected in the storm, and beneath the elegantly carved folds of armor was a faint blue glow.
If It had a face, It did not show it. Instead, the figure wore a mask of the same material as Its armor. A terrifying, skull-like visage that held furious, pale blue eyes and a frozen crown on top of it…
Mormont was completely shocked to his core. He found he could not move an inch from where he stood.
To make matters worse, the figure had slowly turned Its gaze to him. Those burning blue spots for eyes had gazed at him impassively, objectively, and coolly. Like It knew that It was looking at an ant about to be stepped on.
"Wake…" A deep, rich voice had called out to him in the storm… Yet Mormont somehow knew it did not belong to the figure on the rock.
Black clouds swirled over the horde of the dead. Thunder rolled and rumbled in the sky, and rain began to pour. Lightning crackled and forked high above…
The masked figure on the rocks did not show concern. It still maintained that haunting deep stare.
Mormont then saw a man's face begin to form out of the black tendrils in the storm. Two lightning blue eyes crackled and formed in the smoky eye sockets.
"WAKE."
Mormont shot up from his bed. His face felt cool and slick with a cold sweat…
His left hand immediately found Longclaw's hilt from where he'd left it against the wall next to him. Mormont quickly searched around the room with his one roaming eye, letting himself adjust to the darkness…
Quickly, Mormont felt the tension leave his body as he realized he was back in Winterfell. Back in his old room. Back in the real world, and no longer in a dream…
The fire had long since died down. Only embers remained of the crackling fireplace from just a few hours earlier…
Mormont looked down at the young woman on his right. Rhaenys was still fast asleep, though she looked particularly annoyed that she was robbed of a warm body to cling to. Mormont steadied his breathing as he tried to remember what in the Seven Hells he'd just seen.
What was that dream all about? Ice Spiders? That figure on the rock? The broken sword? It was so incredibly real, and yet those thoughts and memories he'd experienced were not his…
And that booming voice? He'd heard it only once before…
Thud, thud, thud!
The knock on his door had immediately shaken him out of his thoughts. He glanced out the window and saw the first hint of deep orange crack open across the purple morning sky…
Of course. It was time for his morning ritual with Arthur.
"Coming." Mormont quickly got out of bed and threw on his trousers and a clean shirt. His muscles ached slightly at the lack of rest, but he ignored it and continued on.
After he'd slipped on his boots, he'd buckled Longclaw onto his belt. Then, he locked his hand around the handle of the door and pulled it open. "Tell you what, Arthur-"
Mormont stopped himself from talking as he saw just who was standing on the other side of the door. In a matter of seconds, all thoughts of his strange and terrible dream were forgotten as a smile stretched across his face.
Standing right in front of him, was Jon Stark. Who also wore a matching grin. "Good morning, uncle."
Breakfast was Mormont's favorite meal of the day. Naturally, it had all the best foods.
But he'd only ever allow himself a taste of food once he'd done his exercise. Which he usually did as soon as he woke up. Afterward, it was a free-for-all.
This time, Mormont was particularly happy about his post-exercise meal. He'd spent almost four hours training with Arthur and Jon, and Robb. It was the kind of morning that made him miss the old days of traveling on the road with only himself and his horse.
Supposedly, Jon had arrived in the night just after Mormont had gone to bed. His contingent from Queenscrown was supposed to be staying for the next week or so. Only visiting, of course.
The boy's arrival was a pleasant surprise for Starag Mormont, and very much a welcome one. With the addition of a hard-earned breakfast, Mormont was in high spirits.
Especially once coffee was served.
"Are you finished with the honey, my love?" Rhaenys had asked from his side. She held her own honeyless mug of coffee in her hands and looked at the lonely clay jar sitting in front of Mormont with greedy eyes.
Mormont nudged it over to his wife, who took a large spoonful and jammed it into her coffee.
"Is all the honey gone?" Ashara Stark asked from her lord husband's side as she looked down the table towards them. Her purple eyes rested on the now empty jar laying in front of Mormont. She shook her head and called over one of the servants to fetch a new jar.
Both Jon and Robb sighed in frustration as they both needed to wait for another jar to arrive. "Why didn't you leave any for us?" Jon demanded. He glared back and forth between Mormont, Arthur, and Rhaenys.
"Don't know what you're complaining about," Mormont said. "You two should be grateful. Black coffee builds character. Isn't that right, Arthur?"
"Indeed," The Sword of the Morning nodded in agreement. He kept perhaps the best poker face Mormont had ever seen. "I don't think they worked as hard as we did in the yard today. Don't deserve honey in their coffee."
The two boys had seemed almost offended at the implication. "You made us run thirty laps!" Robb scoffed.
"Because you made thirty mistakes." Arthur shook his head. "You're lucky I didn't make it fifty. You'd be recovering the rest of the day, and you wouldn't be able to enjoy your black coffee, now would you?"
Robb paled at the thought of running fifty laps along the length of Winterfell's outer wall. Jon on the other hand looked at Rhaenys. "What about Rhae? How come she gets honey in hers?"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Jon." Mormont shook his head. He looked to his wife. There was shared humor in her violet eyes. "Do you know what he's talking about?"
"Not a clue," Rhaenys said. She was about to start cracking up into laughter. Luckily, she managed to hide her smile behind the mouth of her mug.
Jon had shaken his head at his older sister and decided to take a mean bite out of the thick slice of ham on his plate. Next to him, Arya burst out into laughter at the sight of her two smoldering older brothers.
It had been far too long since everyone in his family had gathered in one place, far too long since he'd enjoyed a proper, rowdy breakfast at the table of the Starks. It was almost as if they were conspiring to lighten his mood.
Just as he went to stab at a potato on his plate, he felt a swift breeze whizz by his ear. He turned his head to find the source of the disturbance and quickly found himself staring into two blood-red eyes.
Ghost would've been a rather imposing sight for any other lord, especially seeing as he was almost as large as his mother. He gazed at Mormont, and sat down politely, his eyes occasionally darting to the food on Starag's plate.
"Jon, what is it that you feed Ghost? Don't tell me he gets his food from the high table?" Mormont asked.
As if in response, Ghost crooned his head to the side.
"Well…" Jon had the decency to look half-embarrassed. "Only when Margaery comes to visit."
Across the table, Dyanna Stark had swooned playfully, pursing her mouth in an "o" shape. "Ohhhhh, and just how often does Margaery visit, hmmm, Jon?"
"Yeah, Jon." Robb decided to join in. He couldn't hold himself back from snorting at his brother's expense. "How often do we see Margaery coming through Winterfell, again? I can't quite remember…"
"Shut up…" Jon's blush had gotten progressively redder with each sibling that had taken up the call to arms. When it came to brothers and sisters, all it took was one teasing voice, and it all came crashing down on you.
"Jon and Margaery kissing in a tree!" Arya Stark began singing. "K.I.S.S.I-" Her mouth was firmly clasped shut with Jon's hand. Still, underneath the boy's palm, Arya kept singing her tune. Mormont could figure out the rest of the song on his own.
Though he already knew the blooming relationship between Jon and Margaery, it was… reassuring to hear it from several horses' mouths. He didn't set up that match just for it all to fall to pieces in a matter of years…
In a way, it was… Incredibly odd seeing the boy once more. It was as if Mormont had stepped through time itself, and now suddenly, Jon was taller, older, with more defined muscles and sharper facial features befitting of a Targaryen King. He even had the beginnings of a light stubble. And the lad was barely five-and-ten…
Mormont hid his amazement by giving Ghost a piece of the last garlic sausage on his plate. He held it up above the Direwolf's head and held out a hand. "Paw."
Instantly, Ghost raised his right paw and placed it gently in Mormont's open palm. In response, Mormont gave the sausage to the hungering and smacking snout of white fur. He accepted the food gently, probably having been trained like that by Margaery Tyrell.
"Good boy." Mormont patted the albino wolf on the head, and then returned to his meal.
"Father!" He heard Duncan pipe up from beside Arthur. Mormont glanced up and saw his son running his tiny hands through the light grey fur of Summer, Bran's Direwolf. "Can we get a Direwolf?"
Mormont nearly spit out his coffee but managed to hold it in and gulp it down. Even if there were other Direwolves, Mormont seriously doubted they'd go anywhere without a Stark. Even if they liked Mormont himself.
"I'll make a deal with you, Duncan." He said. "If you can convince one of them to leave with us, then you can keep them. How does that sound?"
"Deal!" Duncan cheered. His violet eyes lit up and twinkled vibrantly. Mormont felt Rhaenys' hand on his arm and felt her head of hair lean against his shoulder.
Yet it was not the false deal that made Mormont's nagging doubts return to mind. Obviously, it was impossible for them to bring a Direwolf back home to Bear Island. They seemed to be bound to the Stark family, as was their right…
No, it was the plain and simple fact that Mormont would not be returning to Bear Island with his family. Not from Winterfell at least. Not this time around…
It was just before dinner when Mormont found himself wandering into the crypts of Winterfell.
He'd not been there for years… But it was a long time coming that he'd come to pay his respects.
The winding dark stairwell was haunting in its appearance. He'd taken one of the glowing torches off the wall and went further down into the dank crypt. That, and it would help him not bump his head against the ceiling.
Soon enough, the dim glow of the sky ceased and now was replaced by golden torchlight. On the last step, Mormont glanced down to the left of the winding crypts of Winterfell.
They were buried down that way. The Kings of Winter had been buried farther down to the right. Mormont was not here to pay homage to old Torrhen Stark.
He quickly found the stone boxes he was looking for, though they were on opposite sides of the hall, as he remembered.
Next to the large stone caskets were two statues. They'd aged well enough since Mormont had last seen them. On the left side was a stone figure of a large man. On the right end, there statue was of a young woman.
Mormont reached into his satchel and plucked out the two winter roses within. Even in the dank air of the crypts, they stretched and bloomed as he placed them in the cupped hands of the young woman. She'd absolutely adored winter roses.
"You'd absolutely hate your statue, Lyanna," Mormont said to the smiling face of stone. "It doesn't look nearly as glorious as Brandon's." He pointed to the statue towering behind him.
He could almost hear the Stark girl's exasperated sigh of acknowledgment. Which would then be quickly followed up by a quick-witted insult of some kind. "Well, at least my statue isn't a gluttonous barbarian. Can't say the same for you, I'm afraid."
Mormont snorted at the imagined slight. She'd always take it back once he picked her up in the air. Or maybe she just liked being held… That was probably it.
"First your horse, and now statues as well? What don't you talk to?"
Mormont glanced around his shoulder, and soon found the source of the questioning voice.
Jon Stark stood by the entrance to the stairwell. He also held in his hands three winter roses, likely plucked from the Godswood just recently. Despite his quip, there was a somber hint to his expression, and a violet flash in his dark grey eyes.
"Fat Tom," Mormont answered with a grin. "Been avoiding that poor sod my whole life. Wouldn't want to start breaking the record now."
Jon crackled heartily at the joke. He walked up beside Mormont and also lay the roses in the statue's palm. Then he looked to Starag. "Nothing for Uncle Brandon?"
"No. Brandon hated flowers." Mormont shook his head. "Always liked giving them when they suited his needs, but once they had no use? He'd toss them right into the fire."
"Why?" The boy asked.
"Ah… Some girl he was sweet on or something along those lines." Mormont said. Another memory sprang to mind right then, one which made him grin. "You know, there was this one time when Brandon went out to Castle Cerwyn. While he was gone, Lyanna and I gathered up all the flowers we could find in the Godswood and stuffed them into his pillows."
Jon shared the amused grin. "And what did he do once he got back?"
"Nothing," Mormont said. "But the next morning we saw him burning the pillows in the courtyard. He stopped sleeping with pillows after that."
"Are you telling me that my fearless Uncle Brandon was scared of pillows?" Jon asked with a disbelieving tone of voice.
Mormont shrugged. "He probably assumed it would be less work on his part to stop using them altogether, rather than if he had to keep checking them for flowers. Especially with Lyanna ready to pounce at all times."
The boy's smile turned warm upon hearing his mother's name. Almost as if in a matter of seconds, the childish and mirthful look on the boy's face had aged well beyond his years, into that of wizened sentiment. As if he were also reminiscing in distant memories of years gone by.
That change in Jon's mood itself had given Mormont a disturbing feeling. This boy seemed so different from one he'd taken on as a squire only four years earlier, so much more worldly and experienced. He'd all grown up in such a short amount of time…
That must've broken Ashara's heart. Mormont knew that Ned had told Jon everything at some point in the last two years. While the boy hadn't taken it well at first, he adjusted to it, and eventually accepted it. He was still the son of Eddard Stark.
Yet at the same time… Something seemed to die within the boy. A part of him that Mormont had only remembered so well from their shared travels together, and a part which was now replaced by the keen awareness of reality.
In a way, Jon Stark- or Jaehaerys Targaryen rather- was not a boy any longer, Mormont knew. He was a man.
Despite all of his and Arthur's teasing at the breakfast table, Mormont could see it in everything Jon did. In the kind manner with which he spoke to servants and guardsmen, in the confident stride with which he carried himself, and in the calm and cool way how he dealt with bad news and solved the problems facing him.
Mormont realized that he himself was greatly responsible for eliciting this change in Jon Stark. He'd single-handedly forged a boy into the hardened Lord of Queenscrown.
Of course, that wasn't to say that the boy didn't have much to learn, but the difference was clear as day when compared with his cousins at the breakfast table. Jon seemed years ahead of even Robb Stark.
Those dark grey eyes wandered up to the carved-stone face of his mother. "Unc-" He stopped himself. "Father said that she… She would've carried a sword if Lord Rickard had allowed it. Is that true?"
"It is." Mormont didn't even hesitate to answer. "Lyanna would've walked around the whole keep with a longsword strapped to her belt. Even while wearing a dress."
Jon grinned at the thought of his mother striding back and forth across the narrow halls of grey stone, wearing a sword too big for her on her belt. Admittedly, Mormont also thought the image was absurd and equally hilarious to think of.
They both relapsed into a comfortable silence as they both took a moment to pray to the dead. It was then that Jon looked to Mormont.
"I'm sorry about your father." He said sadly. "I'd only met him a few times, but he was a good man."
Mormont smiled his thanks to the boy for his thoughtfulness. "He was a crotchety old bastard. But…" He stumbled off, catching himself. He didn't really know the right words to say about the Old Bear. There was too much he could say but decided to leave it all unsaid. "He didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody does." He saw the searching look in the boy's eyes. "How much did Benjen tell you?"
"Everything," Jon said. "Not without difficulty, of course. But he told me about what happened in Seafell."
Mormont wasn't surprised. Jon was more or less one of the biggest benefactors of the Night's Watch due to his lordship over Queenscrown. Benjen would have to tell him as part of the regular communications between the Wall and Queenscrown.
That, and Jon could always use the "I'm your King/Nephew" card, too…
"Then you know why I'm here," Mormont said simply. "I can assume you're here for the same reason?"
"Yes." Jon nodded quickly. "I want to be part of the planning. The North is my home as well, and if the Others have actually returned, then I want to help."
Mormont saw the purity in the boy's dark grey eyes. The violet flash told him that, in a way, the boy was trying to live up to his kingly duties as best he could. Even if the Red Keep was being ruled by Robert Baratheon, that fact alone did not stop Jaehaerys Targaryen from wanting to save his people.
"You understand why we're hesitant about this, right?" Mormont said. "You're not even six-and-ten, Jon. And we've already done most of the-"
"I know, uncle. But this is something I need to do. I might not be ready for it, but if not now, then when will I ever be?" Jon asked, almost pleading with Mormont. "If I'm going to be King one day, then you've got to at least let me take a stab at it."
Starag Mormont didn't quite know what to say at that moment. Perhaps the boy had learned too much from hands-on experience… But he did make a good point. Nobody was ever ready the first time they did something.
"Do you even have a plan to stop the Others?" Jon asked inquisitively.
"We've got a few things set in place. But there's little else we can do at the moment…" He trailed off. "Arthur and Ned will tell you later this evening. As for me, well…" He said. "I've got a plan. It's bat-shit insane, though. Even for me."
Jon gave him a knowing grin. "It can't be worse than taking an eleven-year-old on an incredibly dangerous expedition across Westeros…"
"Worse," Mormont said with a heavy sigh. "But I'll share that with you all later. Tonight."
"Okay, uncle." The boy nodded his thanks. "Thank you,"
Starag Mormont was tired of the apprehension, of the knowledge of the danger of it all. Going to Valyria was a gamble, a big one. The type of risk that more often than not sent men to their death…
But it had to be done. What else could he do but wait around on Bear Island and twiddle his thumbs up his own ass? What other grand ideas could he put to work that would change the tide of battle against the limitless legions of the dead? Where else in the world could he find what he needed to fight against the Others? Those demonic beings of ice and magic…
Action had to be taken on his part. He might not be able to defeat the Others today, tomorrow, or even a moon from now… But he could at least go out and bring back something they could use to crush the Others…
Valyrian Steel had saved him once, and there was a good enough chance that Valyrian magic-if it still even existed in this world- could produce the same result. It could drastically increase their odds of winning. Just as magic had done with the previous Long Night…
They both continued the silence from before for some time. Eventually, Jon took his leave, and Mormont was all alone in the dank crypt.
After a few penetrating moments of quiet, Starag turned around and stared at the laughing stone eyes of Brandon Stark. He shook his head at the towering figure.
They'll call me a madman. But they'll never know I got it from you.