Winterfell
298 AC
Starag Mormont watched his glass as it slowly filled with the smoky golden brown liquid.
Already, he could feel the hairs on his nose begin to burn at the smell of it. The flavors of spices, oak, honey, and fermented fruit had overwhelmed his senses, leaving them dull and senseless.
Ned gently set the bottle back down on his desk once Mormont's glass was full. He did not offer any to Jon or Arthur, the former of whom sat to Mormont's left, while the latter was pacing the large office behind them.
Standing vigilantly by the front door was none other than Gerold Hightower, who had resumed his duties as a Kingsguard. He'd been hiding out in Highgarden only years prior, but under the name of "Garth Bellsbrook" he had come to the North when Arthur had married Dacey.
The old man was surprisingly spry for his age. He stood imposingly with his dark brown leather coat of plates, with a set of ringmail underneath. His hand was placed firmly on the pommel of his longsword. The grey and white hairs masked his face in a rather thick beard. Yet underneath the armor, Mormont knew there was the lean and hard body of a seasoned soldier and warrior, one no less capable than any of the men in Mormont's own household.
By the fireplace stood Maege, though she only stared into the flaming coals, staying completely silent and to herself. Mormont knew she was still dealing with his father's death. In her own way, naturally. He'd asked her to come along to this meeting. It was time she also knew the score.
Just as Mormont was about to take a sip, in walked Sigmund and Marwyn. The tall, barrel-chested wildling had towered over the short and stout Archmaester. Yet they both looked eerily imposing, like two misshapen brutes walking into a tavern.
Neither of them spoke a word. They simply took their separate places around the room. Marwyn simply stared at the two Direwolves who sat cloistered in the same room, while Sigmund had gone to stand by the war table. Both of them knew exactly what was going on, so they'd been invited as well.
Ned stood up from his seat to welcome the newcomers. "I thank you two for coming." He then scanned through the rest of those present. "I trust all of you know that whatever words we speak now cannot leave this room." He said icily, now wearing the mask of the Lord of Winterfell. "Is that understood?"
As if in response, Lya had stood up and growled at everyone present, even Jon and Ghost.
Mormont nodded, and so must have the others, as Lya immediately ceased her growl and lay back down on the stone floor.
"Good." Ned took up his pipe and lit it. He gestured for both Mormont and Jon to follow. They both complied and got up from their seats.
Maege soon fell in line as they marched over to the war table. "What's this all about?" She asked quietly.
"Remember that trip I took beyond the Wall with Benjen?" Mormont asked. When his aunt nodded, he continued. "You're about to find out what we saw on the other side…"
His aunt had only widened her eyes in response to the revelation. She nodded once more and stayed silent.
Ned stopped at the head of the war table, moving aside the charts and maps from the night before. "I suppose most of you know what is going on north of the Wall. But for those of you who do not, I'll be brief…"
"The Others have returned." He said. "They attacked the fishing village of Seafell along the coast of the Frozen Shore almost two moons ago. And at their beck and call is an army of the dead…"
Mormont said nothing, though he heard his aunt nearly gasp. Everyone else had heard the story from others, but to hear it straight from the Lord of Winterfell was something else.
"Before his death, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont sent my brother, Benjen, and Starag to investigate this fishing village and see if what the wildlings spoke was true. Unfortunately, they were right…"
Ned nodded to Mormont to continue the story. He did. "Benjen and I discovered that Seafell was a trap. Meant to lure out both my father and Benjen at the same time. Instead, they got me." He took his first draft of his cup. "The Others are nothing like the stories say they are. We believed they were dead things covered in ice and snow. But… They are not… They are living, breathing creatures like us. Capable of reason and emotion."
Now everyone was gathered around the large oaken table. They leaned in slightly, so as to listen better.
Mormont continued. "They are incredibly intelligent, possess strength capable of rivaling the Mountain's when he was alive, and are deadly swift on their feet. Their weapons are made of ice, I believe. But ice that can freeze and shatter even the best castle-forged steel in a heartbeat."
"How did you escape?" Jon asked. His face had paled.
"Longclaw," Mormont said as he patted the white bear's head pommel. "Otherwise, I'd be dead."
"What do you mean?" Maege prodded angrily. "How can a bloody sword save your life? It's you who's holding the damn thing."
In a way, Mormont was thankful for his aunt's clear frustration. It certainly did wonders to help lighten the mood. He opened his mouth to answer, but Marwyn was much faster.
"Because it's made of Valyrian Steel." The Archmaester said confidently. "Only magic can fight magic, or so the theory goes."
"Magic?" Maege nearly spat out. "You can't be serious? This is all a joke, right?" She glanced at Starag with pleading brown eyes. "Right, Starag?"
"No, aunt." Mormont shook his head seriously. "It's all true." He resumed his story. "The Other was temporarily surprised. I don't think It even knew that Valyrian Steel could counter its blade. I managed to cut off Its arm before I escaped. A few weeks later…" He grit his teeth in frustration. "My father was killed in his own bed by another of these dead men."
"King Crow was killed?" Sigmund spoke up, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Aye, that'll make Mance more confident about attacking the Wall. Plays right into the Other's hands. They'll wait out until either the Crows or the Free Folk remain."
"Which means we ought to put an end to that conflict before it even starts," Arthur added on. "We can't give the wildlings to the Others. I'm not about to give ground to the enemy."
"Neither am I," Ned said. "That's why we're going to send a ranging north of the Wall. Hopefully, we can make contact with Mance Rayder and convince him to send his people across."
"They could settle in the Gift," Jon said quickly, much to the surprise of everyone at the meeting. "The lands are fertile, and there's plenty of open space for them to hunt. It would be the ideal spot for them."
Ned smiled proudly at his son. "Exactly what I was thinking, lad." He looked back to the rest of them. "But it will be some time before we can bring the wildlings through the Wall. The rest of the North must be aware of the Others as well. We planned to spread the rumors of Lord Commander Mormont's death in order to get the Lords thinking about it all. At least by then, they'd be more… malleable to having the wildlings occupy the Gift."
"But what of the South?" It was the White Bull who had spoken up. "How will we bring them into the fold? If what you say is true, then this army of the dead must number in the hundreds of thousands, perhaps more. I understand we can count on Dorne and the Reach… But three kingdoms cannot hope to stand against these beings if what Lord Mormont says about them is true…"
"What are you saying, Gerold?" Arthur leaned forward onto the table. "That we need to bring in the other Great Houses?"
"Not necessarily…" Hightower began stroking his beard thoughtfully. "But it would be much easier were Westeros united against this threat. We would have many more resources at our disposal…"
Mormont sighed. "There's not much we can do to bring the other Great Houses on board. The Lannisters and the Tullys are probably about to ignite a civil war. Jon Arryn will no doubt be interceding with that, too. Unfortunately, there's little else we could do in the meantime."
"Well…" Marwyn had seemed a little sheepish for interjecting, but he continued nonetheless. "There… Have been a few rumors I've heard on the road. Nothing serious, but I do believe they could help…"
Jon leaned forward on the table. Curious. "How?"
Marwyn had strangely addressed Jon with a certain… reverence in his voice. The Archmaester had given an almost imperceptible bow of his head. It was not lost on Mormont. "I've heard talk of a… Red Woman who now resides on Dragonstone, in the care of Stannis Baratheon. I'm not the superstitious type, but I do believe in the strange and magical. I believe this Red Woman- a priestess of R'hllor- may be able to help with the Others and their undead army."
Mormont had recalled what the older man had said back in his office at Bear Island. The Red God was supposedly the antithesis of the Great Other, the dark entity who commanded the Others themselves.
Bringing this Red Woman into the fold likely meant bringing in Stannis Baratheon as well, which was a breach in the circle of trust. Stannis was loyal to his brother, and nobody else. He'd be a wild card if anything. And so would this Red Woman, depending on where her true allegiances lay.
"You spoke of this back on Bear Island," Arthur nodded. "What could this Red Woman do for us?"
Marwyn began chewing on… something in his mouth. Occasionally, Mormont saw bits of red leaves on the older man's pink teeth. "Not so much what she could do, but I was thinking more of what connections she could provide. Dragonstone itself lays beneath the Dragonmont, a very powerful volcano. As such, the island is ripe with dragonglass, which is exactly what can kill the Others due to its magical nature."
"And if this Red Woman would help us, then perhaps Stannis would let us mine it…" Ned had finished the Archmaester's thought. "Tricky business, but it could work. Would this Red Woman be duty-bound to help destroy the Others?"
"I don't see why she wouldn't. I don't know why else she'd be there." Marwyn shrugged. "And it doesn't hurt to try."
Perhaps. At the same time, Mormont did not like the thought of entering another outsider into the fold. His tribe was full enough, and he'd prefer to keep it that way.
Not to mention, the Red Priests were particularly… Intolerant of other religions. They were quite dogmatic in their ways, and often preferred sitting atop their high horses. Exactly the type of people Mormont found wanting in a desperate situation.
Of course, not all Red Priests were like that. Thoros of Myr was one of Mormont's close friends, as together they'd once charged the breach in the southern wall of Pyke during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Thoros was a likable man, despite his drunkenness, and his habit of burning up his swords with wildfire.
Mormont had not had the same experience with other Red Priests. He preferred to keep them as far away as possible. As he did with those he found to be annoying.
Yet, Marwyn did have a point. If it meant acquiring more dragonglass, or obsidian to arm themselves with, then this venture might prove fruitful. Especially since the stuff was supposedly capable of killing the Others.
"I don't like it, but the idea does hold some merit," Arthur said. He looked to Mormont. "As you said, Starag. There's little else we can do. If Stannis becomes aware of this threat, then so would the other Great Houses. That makes it far easier for Westeros to unite under one banner. At least for a little while."
"I agree." Jon nodded briskly. His expression was stoic and reserved. "I'll lend whatever aid I can to the Night's Watch, but there isn't much else I can do."
Everyone else nodded their agreement with the plan. But nobody spoke up to add any other ideas. Nothing else of what they could do in the meantime…
Mormont had immediately thought back to his dream from earlier that day. He'd been running through the snow, likely in some faraway place beyond the Wall. And he'd had a broken sword…
It had felt so real, and strangely enough, he did not feel in total control of his actions inside that haunting dream. It was as if he were spectating life through the eyes of another as if he were reliving somebody else's memories…
And who exactly was that dark figure? The one standing on the rock in the midst of the undead army? The terrifying Other wearing the skull-like mask, ornate robes, and armor?
Was that this… The Champion or King that Marwyn had spoken of? Was it their leader? The one behind everything? The one who took orders from Its dark god and waged war against the entire world?
The one who had likely ordered his father's death?
Perhaps… It was too soon to tell. It might be years before the Others fully reveal themselves. Or it might just be a matter of weeks. Either way, Mormont did not know.
This was it. Time for Mormont's pitch. His grand plan. His crazy, absolutely out-of-this-world insane idea…
"I do have an idea…" Mormont said coolly. "You're not going to like it, though…"
Immediately, the collective pairs of eyes around the table had swept up and locked onto the mountainous one-eyed man. It was now or never. Time to bite the blade.
Mormont hardened his voice and got right to it. "As I've said, Valyrian Steel is capable of withstanding the magic of the Others, as well as their weapons. And it can easily destroy their armor…" He said slowly. "It was this fact alone for which I summoned Marwyn to Bear Island. He too elaborated that Valyrian Steel was created with magical spells… Magic that was wielded by the Dragonlords of Valyria long ago. Magic… That could give us the advantage we need against the Others…"
Across the table, he noticed Arthur's pained gaze. Those pale purple eyes had pleaded with him not to speak any more of his plan. To stop right now so they could all go home. Unfortunately, Mormont knew he'd have to disappoint the other man.
"As such…" Mormont trailed off. He forced the ice back into his veins. He needed to be cool and dispassionate. "I'm going to mount an expedition to Valyria."
The whole room was silent as the grave. Almost immediately, it seemed as if the torchlights had flickered and darkened in the large office. The wind outside had picked up significantly and began howling like wolves in the night. Nobody spoke up, as Mormont's words weighed heavily in their minds.
On the other side of the table, Mormont heard Arthur's hands squeeze the wooden rims. The cat had been picked out of the bag, and thoroughly tossed against the wall.
Even Maege had been frozen in fear. She said nothing from his side and simply looked down at the large map on the war table, gazing into whichever region of Westeros she could find.
It was Ned who had spoken next. "Why? What for?" He asked simply.
Mormont was ready. "To find something, anything we can use in Old Valyria. Something that will help us against the Others, or at least even the odds. Whether it's more Valyrian Steel, the method of its creation, or something that we can leverage to recover their magics…" He relented. "It's far too dangerous, but if we're going to win this war, it's something that must be done. And it's a price I'm willing to pay."
He smoothed his hand out over the map of Southern Westeros. "We've already spoken on the South. It's a broiling mess, a crate of wildfire ready to go off. When war inevitably breaks out, Westeros will be more divided than ever. Not to mention, we're the only ones south of the Wall who know about the Others' existence. Even if we do manage to get Stannis and his Red Woman on our side, what else do we have?"
Mormont knew that they had plenty of objections. Still, he continued. "I've fought against one of these demons, and I survived because I had this," he patted the white bear's head pommel at his side again. "More than anything, I'm certain that whatever we need to win this war, it lies in Valyria." He ended his pitch firmly as he pointed his finger to the broken peninsula at the southern edge of Essos.
That was when Maege finally spoke up. "By the Old Gods, Starag! You can't just leave us! Not again! You have a family, a people to look after!" She gripped his arm with both of her strong hands. "What about Rhaenys? And Duncan? Thalia? Jeor? Alysane? Lyanna? What about your people? With all that we've gained since you returned, why would you want to go on this… folly of an expedition?" her brown eyes were pleading, so very uncharacteristic of his tough and hard-headed aunt. "We need you, Starag…"
"I know, Maege." He placed a calm hand on her shoulder. "But I can't go to sleep at night knowing there's more I can do for them, and for you, Dacey, Rhaenys, Duncan, and the rest of our family." He shook his head. "No. This needs to be done."
Before Maege could raise her voice again, Arthur interjected. "Starag, I know you told me about this weeks ago, but this is sheer madness." He looked to Marwyn. "You're the expert, Marwyn. What are the odds of surviving an expedition to Old Valyria?"
All eyes switched to Marwyn right then. The Archmaester, however, was looking at Mormont with searching, incredibly curious eyes. "Out of all of those who ventured to Valyria since the Doom, there is only one who came back." Marwyn's eyes darkened.
"Some two hundred and fifty years ago, around 54 AC if I'm not wrong, Aerea Targaryen had claimed Balerion, the Black Dread, as her mount. However, the day she claimed him, Balerion had taken flight from Dragonstone with Aerea on his back. The Dragon had flown across the Narrow Sea, all the way to Valyria."
Everyone had leaned forward. Nothing could be heard as the Archmaester recounted the tale, likely having read it multiple times over and over again. It had thoroughly gripped everyone present in a sort of morbid fascination. Like they were telling horror stories over a campfire…
Marwyn continued. "About two years later, Balerion and Aerea returned to King's Landing. The Dragon had suffered grave wounds, having a huge gash on his left side, almost nine feet long, supposedly. The blood dripping from the wound was fresh."
What in the Seven Hells could cause such damage to a dragon? One of the very beasts of legend, and to the Conqueror's own mount, no less…
"Aerea herself was completely malnourished. She'd lost so much weight and muscle that she was practically skin and bones. Not to mention, her skin was blistered and boiling constantly, as if she was burning alive from the inside out." Marwyn sighed heavily as he stroked his goatee. "One of the Kingsguard, Ser Lucamore, also gave an account of her state. He said she had a fever so hot, that he could feel it through his armor. And that 'There's something inside her, something moving.'"
Mormont had made to take another draft of his Firebrand, but he found his glass to be empty. Resignedly, he'd placed the glass on the table and continued listening. Is that what awaits me? He wondered to himself.
His aunt had only a look of absolute horror on her face. She was speechless. The others in the room only watched Marwyn in stoic silence. Even Jon.
"The Grand Maester, Benifer, had placed Aerea into a tub of ice to cool down her fever. Apparently…" The Archmaester looked gravely at Mormont. "Whatever had been inside of her, came crawling out… These 'slimy and unspeakable things' emerged from beneath her skin. But they perished as soon as they touched the ice. Aerea herself was begging for death, and did not survive much longer than… Whatever had lived inside her." He now looked down at the table. "A few moons later, King Jaehaerys I had ordered that any ship having been suspected of sailing to Valyria or the Smoking Sea itself was now forbidden from landing at any port or harbor within the Seven Kingdoms. Anyone who had gone to Valyria and returned was to be executed on sight."
Arthur finally turned his gaze back to Mormont. Those purple eyes stared deep into Starag's very soul. "Think again, Starag. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do? Because that is the fate that awaits you across the Narrow Sea. An end filled with misery and torment…"
Mormont had known the risks before. But to hear of one such account was… Well, he was not as confident in his plan as he was before. Certainly, he would not like to meet the same end as Aerea Targaryen had…
He knew that Arthur was simply trying to protect him, as a brother always should. He did not want to lose everything they'd built, everything they'd fought through wars to achieve. Especially not in one swift stroke.
But what was the alternative? Pray to the Old Gods that their forces could hope to stand against the Others? Even their relentless undead army and calculating intelligence, their sheer professionalism in war?
No. Mormont would not like to become an undead puppet of the enemy. And neither would he want that for his wife and children. He'd rather meet a grizzly and terrifying end than become some sack of bones under the control of the blasted Others…
Marwyn continued. "There have been many attempts to plunder Valyria and its secrets over the course of history. None of them have succeeded. None of them returned." He said with conviction as he looked to Mormont. "All sources indicate that you will fail. It is a certainty."
"However…" Marwyn relented, biting his red lip. "I suspect that this won't stop you from trying." He elaborated. "Since before I took my first step on Bear Island, I did my research on you Lord Mormont. I think I understand what kind of man you are. I've heard your name spoken in every tavern from Oldtown to King's Landing, talking of a man who had risked his life against living legends and impossibly good swordsmen all for some gold, just so you could feed your people."
"From what I do know of you, you're not the kind of man who does something this grand without reason… Which is more common than you might think with most nobles I meet. With anyone I meet." The Archmaester gestured to the large map on the table, to the northern peak of Westeros. "This… war with the Others, and this army of the dead… That sounds like a damn good reason to take this kind of risk…"
Wait…
Was the Archmaester agreeing with him? Mormont wondered what the man was getting at…
"Which is why I want to go with you." Marwyn finished. "If you'll have me, that is."
The whole room had gone silent once more. Arthur looked absolutely shocked at the Archmaester, who not just minutes prior had recounted a harrowing tale of the only survivor to leave Valyria alive…
Gerold Hightower watched Mormont with steady eyes. He said nothing, but inwardly, Mormont knew the man would probably have his own reservations against this plan. He did not like it at all.
Ned had looked as if he'd aged ten years, all in the span of a few moments. He looked about ready to fall to the floor out of exhaustion and lack of sleep, with dark circles underneath his baggy brown eyes. Everything had quickly fallen to pieces before his eyes, and he was wondering just how he was going to clean it all up.
And Jon himself was locked deep within his own contemplation. He was pondering deeply on the matter, tossing and turning the idea inside his head again and again. His dark grey eyes were locked onto the table, looking conflicted as to what he'd say next.
Mormont waved his hand aside. "I'm not asking any of you to come with me." He said firmly as he looked at Marwyn. "I'm simply telling you what's going to happen."
"I understand what you're saying." Marwyn nodded. "But you'll need someone who can translate High Valyrian. Not to mention, I'm sure all of my knowledge on the Valyrians and their technology would aid you greatly."
Starag Mormont had unwittingly acquired his first volunteer for his doomed voyage. He doubted he'd get any more, but what the Archmaester said had made sense. He would need an expert in these matters.
"Are you sure?" Mormont asked. His voice was cold. This was not a laughing matter. He didn't need to go over what the potential outcome was for them. The stout man knew the risks better than anyone.
"I am." Marwyn nodded. "For whatever it counts, you have my staff."
Sigmund had stepped out from the shadows just then. His appearance was akin to if one had dropped a large stone into a pool of water. His large form had immediately rippled out and grabbed everyone's attention, making them gaze in his direction. "And you have my ax."
Mormont widened his eye in genuine surprise. Perhaps he'd made his pitch too well. "Sigmund, you do not have to come. Don't you have your own people to look after?"
"I do, Starag." The wildling nodded at the observation. "But I must go for the same reason you are. I have not known you long, but you are willing to risk your life for those you care for, and for my own people in turn." He cracked his fist against his chest as a sort of salute. "If we go to our deaths in this foreign land, we do it for them."
And that was the second volunteer. This was not what Mormont had thought would happen. At the most, he'd thought he would've been left to his own devices at the end of the arguments. Now, he doubted he could change Sigmund's mind. The wildling had made his decision and he was ready to die for it.
Arthur had let out a resigned sigh. "By the Stranger…" The Sword of the Morning looked up from the table and into Starag's eye. Those Dayne purple eyes told him everything he needed to know. Arthur did not like this at all, and he knew that he couldn't stop it from proceeding…
"I'm going with you." The four words that had come out of Arthur's mouth had completely shocked everyone in the room, even Ned, and most especially Jon and Gerold. "Someone's got to make sure you get back alive. And I don't think Dacey or Rhaenys would forgive me if I stayed behind while you went off to sail the Smoking Sea."
"Arthur." Gerold had stepped forward. His voice was calm but as hard and cold as iron. "Lord Mormont can handle this matter. Your duty lies here in the North." The older man had reminded firmly.
"No. It doesn't." Jon had spoken up then.
The boy's voice boomed like thunder in the Lord's Solar. Even then, Mormont could detect the plain nervousness and tension within it. Everyone looked to the fifteen-year-old who stood tall and proud just like the men and women who had come before him. Like one of the Targaryen Kings of old…
"Because I'm going too."