Winterfell

298 AC

That was when all hell broke loose.

"Absolutely not!" ordered Gerold Hightower. He looked about ready to burst a vein.

Mormont had to agree with the older man. "Not a bloody chance!" He thundered.

"Out of the question!" Arthur sliced his hand through the air as if cutting off any argument before it could happen.

"ENOUGH!" Ned had boomed, seemingly returning to his sense. He cracked a closed fist down onto the war table with a mighty BAM. Everyone had immediately shut up.

"Marywn, Sigmund, Maege. You all may leave us." It was not an ask. It was a firm order. One which was not going to be questioned.

The Archmaester had bowed, while Sigmund had given a wordless nod of the head. Maege had also bowed to Ned and then gave Starag one last worried glance. Then, all three of them marched out the door, past the snarling Lya. Once the door was shut, left behind in the Lord's Solar were the five remaining men.

"Jon." Ned had calmed instantly as he looked at his son. Now he spoke with the cold iron voice of Lord Stark. "Have you not heard everything that was spoken tonight? Even I am against this folly of a plan."

He looked to Starag with a hard glare. "Do not think that I will so easily allow this expedition to happen, not for Jon's sake. But for yours. Do you remember what Marwyn said? Even King Jaehaerys had declared it against the law to sail the Smoking Sea. And as Lord of the North, I am well within my rights to do the same."

Mormont was torn. He knew on one hand that Ned was trying to protect him, probably from himself. He'd already lost his father, brother, and sister. No doubt, Eddard Stark was not keen to lose two more brothers. And a boy he considered his own son at that.

Yet Mormont himself was also prepared to defend himself, to stand firm on his decision. Though he certainly did not want to take Jaehaerys Targaryen with him as well. "You know our situation is dire, Ned. We're surrounded by enemies on all sides. With the Lannisters and Tullys to the south, along with Arryn and Baratheon, then to the west the Ironborn are waiting for the right moment to strike. To the north lies the Others, and we don't even know if the wildlings will join us. No, Ned. This is a chance that must be taken. For all of us."

He said firmly. "I'm not about to let the Others march right past the Wall. Something must be done to keep them in line, and I see no other solution but to use magic against them. And that is something we'll only find in Valyria."

"Damn it, Starag!" Eddard cursed angrily. "Is there not some other way? Is there not something we can do to keep them at bay? Surely, with the resources from Dragonst-"

"Resources we don't even have." Mormont pointed out. "We talk about plans and things that we could do, that we might achieve…" He shook his head. "What I am suggesting here is something we can do now! Not later, not sometime in the future, but now!"

"Starag is right," Jon spoke up again, more confident now. "Uncle Benjen told me everything that happened at Seafell. He saw Starag beat back the Other, and I believe it." He looked to his father pleadingly. "How long before these creatures march upon the Wall? What do we have but a few thousand men who can stop an army of hundreds of thousands?"

Jon's voice slowly began taking on the same deep iron tone as Ned's. "How can I be the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms if I am not allowed to fight for my people? If I am not willing to risk my life for them?" His face twisted into that of accusation. "Do you honestly expect me to cower in my hall in Queenscrown pretending that there's nothing I can do? While other men go out and die for people who I am supposed to one day rule over?"

The whole room sat silent as all four men contemplated his words.

"Well?" Jon raised his voice further. Letting the question hang in the air.

"Your grace," Gerold had addressed the fifteen-year-old with the utmost patience. "Forgive me, but we do not believe it best that you sail across the Narrow Sea and unnecessarily risk your life all on a wild gamble at best."

"So what? Isn't everything risky?" Jon asked. His wild gray eyes were gleaming violet. He's more like his mother than we all thought…

As if reading Mormont's thoughts, Jon had looked up to him right then. "You showed me, uncle, that everything we do in life involves risk. Everything. Or have you forgotten the journey we had taken years ago?"

"That was to season you up." Arthur pitched in. "Get you more accustomed to your future kingdom." He said pointedly. "Going with us to Valyria, however, is not the same thing. Not a single expedition to Valyria has ever returned, and I don't plan to let my promise to Rhaegar go up in smoke. If you go with us, you may never return."

"But that's just it, Arthur!" Jon exploded with anger. Boiling behind those gray orbs was a powerful mixture of Lyanna's Wolf Blood and ancient Targaryen fury. "Can I not do the same? How can I look Robb, Dyanna, Arya, Bran, Rickon, or Mother in the eyes knowing I could've done more? How could I ever look at Margaery knowing that men were going to their deaths for me, and I was not even brave enough to follow them?"

That was when Mormont had seen it. He understood exactly what the boy was trying to say.

Too many people had died for Jon Stark-for Jaehaerys Targaryen to live. How many men had perished during Robert's Rebellion? How many women had been raped and slaughtered during the Sack of King's Landing? Too many to count.

And what kind of treatment had the defenders of Storm's End endured? They were damn near close to eating each other alive… And all because Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark had fallen in love?

What of Aegon? And of Elia Martell? Both of them died horrible and grizzly deaths. Even Rhaenys almost suffered the same fate herself. Mormont did not want to think of a world without that girl, or his children…

Thousands had died at the Battle of the Trident alone. Rhaegar himself had fallen to Robert. And not soon after -giving birth to the boy herself- Lyanna had also perished.

In order for Jaehaerys Targaryen to live, too many lives had been sacrificed as a result. No wonder he feels obligated to go on this journey… It must've been a realization the boy had come to years ago. The burden was too much to bear for him. Too much for him to simply care about his own well-being. He could not sit idle while there was work to be done.

He needed to do something that would change the world. Or at least have an impact. His ancestors had gone through too much so that he could cower away in Queenscrown while Mormont and Arthur went out across the Narrow Sea, all to stop the Others…

Even then, there was little that all four of them could do to stop him, either. In one way or another, they were all sworn to protect him from his enemies. But they could not protect Jon from himself.

Despite Arthur and Gerold's objections, they could not stop their King from doing what he believed was right. They could do their best to counsel him, but forcing him not to leave on an incredibly dangerous expedition? That was not possible. Not in the least.

Which meant there was little that Mormont or Ned could do about it, either.

"Your grace," Gerold seemed on the brink of frustration. He'd dealt with more than enough unruly Targaryens during his lifetime. This one's also got the Wolf Blood in him, too. "You do not have an heir. If you fell, there would be nobody to-"

"Not true." Jon smiled warmly and looked up at Mormont again. "Duncan would be my heir."

Clever little shit. Mormont thought to himself. He checked his glass again, hoping against everything that it had been refilled. It hadn't.

Being the firstborn son of both Starag and Rhaenys- Jon's half-sister- Duncan would in fact be next in line to inherit the Iron Throne. Were Jon not to return alive that is.

"You've got everything figured out, don't you." Mormont let out a heavy sigh as he glanced wearily at Jon.

The boy chuckled lightly. "You did say your plan was going to be crazy. Knowing you, it probably involved some kind of adventure. I was right."

Ned, having recovered from his son's outburst, wiped his face down with his hands. There was sorrow in those Stark gray eyes. "Jon," His voice was petitioning. "Please, don't do this..." He pleaded. "Think about what this means. You might never see your family again. I don't know how Ashara would take it…"

"I must, and I will, Father," Jon said. "It's for their safety. You cannot change my mind on this. Any of you. I'm going to Valyria. It is my duty."

Starag Mormont studied the hard, resolute look on Jon Stark's face. The boy knew about the risks. He knew the score just as well as anyone.

Perhaps it was simply the foolhardy nature of youth, how they constantly strove to outperform those around them, how they would go against the grain just to annoy you…

Mormont knew the boy's decision was not because of any of these things. Jon Stark was old enough to make his own decisions. And on some level, just like all youths, he desired to test himself against the world, to temper his mental sword in the fires of reality and hardship…

He'd grown up living in Winterfell, under a warm roof with plenty of food within hand-reach. He'd never grown up poor as Mormont had, he'd never experienced what it was like to starve on the road, to live in poor conditions, to know what it's like to have absolutely nothing.

And while Starag definitely did not want to lose Jon, a boy who he almost considered to be Duncan's older brother, his own son… Mormont knew that a long time ago, he was also in a much similar position.

Back then, he'd taken the path of ice and stone. He'd gone out into Westeros with only a sword, his horse, and nothing else. He'd taken the hard way. And thankfully, Mormont had come out the other end as the man he was today.

Was that why Jon wanted to come along? Perhaps. Or maybe it was one reason, among many others.

Regardless, Mormont had more or less pledged his fealty to this boy of fifteen years. He could not really disobey him if he was commanded to take him along.

Neither could the others standing around the table. No matter how much they did not want Jon to throw away his life on this almost doomed expedition, they could not stop him from going…

Because he was their King.

Not at all how I expected tonight to go… Mormont felt the weight in the back of his mind grow heavier as he imagined Rhaenys' reaction to all of this. She's definitely not going to like this at all…

The silence that had grown in the room was thick and palpable. Tension was rising between all of those gathered. Except for Jon, that is.

"By the Old Gods…" Ned ran a hand down his exhausted face. His dark eyes looked baggier than ever. Lya had come up to his side and licked at his other hand, almost in an attempt to give him what comfort she could.

The Lord of Winterfell looked at his son with resignation. "You better come back, son." He smiled unexpectedly. "Otherwise, your mother and Arya will haunt me all the way to an early grave. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Father." Jon grinned back at the older man. "I intend to come back alive."

I intend to come back alive…

That was just it, wasn't it? All of those expeditions to Valyria… It was quite possible they succeeded in getting there, but they never returned because they never made it a goal to get back alive. They just wanted to loot and plunder. Mormont decided to keep that thought in his back pocket for later.

"Your Grace," Gerold Hightower had spoken once more, this time the defeat could be heard within his voice. He bowed in reverence to Jon. "I ask that you take me with you as well. Essos is a dangerous place after all."

"No." Jon shook his head with a light smile. "I can't ask that of you, Gerold. I need you here to watch over Queenscrown in my absence. I'll have both Arthur and Starag with me. They'll be more than enough."

Gerold looked like he wanted to speak some more, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded reluctantly. "It will be done, Your Grace." He said as he stood back up. "I will make sure it is still running upon your return."

Jon nodded his thanks to his Kingsguard. It was then that he looked back to Mormont. "When do we leave, uncle?"

Everyone in the room looked to Mormont right then. He was more than ready.

First, they'd have to plan out the voyage itself, which was something Mormont had experience with. He had a fairly good idea of where they'd go along the way to Valyria, as they'd travel by ship. But it always helped to take into account other tangibles and potential dangers that might happen along the way.

He figured they would travel along the western coast of Essos, visiting the Free Cities of Braavos, Pentos, Tyrosh, Lys, and Volantis. Then from there, they'd head right into the heart of Valyria; The Smoking Sea.

Once they'd gotten what they needed from Valyria, they'd get out as soon as possible and travel back the way they came; back up the chain of Free Cities all the way to White Harbor. Then, they'd all go home…

But, that was just his first rundown of their journey. And without taking any potential hazards into account, like storms for instance.

The planning stage would take one, maybe two weeks at least. They'd need to assemble the necessary supplies, rations, and water stores. Not to mention Mormont would need his ship to be sailed all the way from Bear Island to White Harbor.

Unless… Perhaps Wyman may be able to give me a ship. Or I could just purchase one from him.

That would work splendidly! No doubt the Manderlys had faster ships than he did. White Harbor used to be the only port town in the North until Mormont had built Westhelm on Sea Dragon Point. That, and they still dominated trade with the Free Cities in Essos due to their close proximity with them.

Mormont was going to set sail from White Harbor regardless, so he'd cross that bridge once he came to it.

Right now, he needed to gather up his up-and-coming crew. He needed enough men to crew a three-masted brig. Though he wanted around fifty fighting men total just in case they came upon pirates or piss-taking Sealords while they sailed the Narrow Sea.

The drowsiness of the evening had suddenly caught up with him then. He'd spoken his plan into existence now, and it was going to happen no matter what.

However, they could get started on the planning tomorrow. Right now, Mormont needed to get some much-needed rest.

"We'll be planning out the voyage first, Jon. Should take a few weeks. A moon at the most." Mormont said with a heavy sigh. He looked to Ned. "I'll need to borrow your rookery. Chances are, I'll be buying a good ship from Wyman."

Ned had nodded. "Of course."

Mormont smiled his thanks to his old friend. It was time they all called it a night. He didn't know how long Ned could function without proper sleep.

The meeting had quickly adjourned, and they all left quietly, tired from the dramatics and speeches of the evening. Tense with nervous excitement and anticipation of the journey to come.

But for Starag Mormont? He still felt that ever-looming sense of dread. A feeling that told him he was walking straight to his doom. Just what had he gotten himself into this time? More so, how in the Seven Hells had he convinced his friends and allies to go along with it?

As Mormont walked down the long winding corridors of Winterfell Keep, he realized there was something he needed to do, something he'd always done when everything was on the line.

He threw on his heavy bear's pelt cloak and turned towards the stairs that led down into the Great Hall.

It was time to call on the Gods.

There was no wind inside the godswood.

The hustle and bustle of the castle staff were all but echoes in his mind. Even in this sacred place, they quieted down, completely muted. Mormont was left all alone, and with his troubled thoughts.

Mormont approached the massive heart tree that stood in the middle of the godswood. Shimmering nearby was the familiar hot spring. A gentle layer of steam rose from the warm pool in the crisp evening air.

Mormont knelt down in front of the two bleeding eyes and sorrowful face that had been carved into the tree so long ago. He closed his eye and began to pray.

"I fully admit…" He trailed off, feeling partially silly for talking openly to a tree. Even if they were the conduits his gods had listened with, they were still trees. "I do not know if I will come back alive from this journey. It feels as if I am entering a whole new world. Like I am a child taking his first steps once again…"

"And yet…" He continued. "I am not worried for myself, but only for my family, my friends, and my people. The Others have returned, and I fear that we cannot stop them. Even with the Reach and Dorne at our backs, even with a limitless supply of dragonglass, I know that somehow, the Others have powerful weapons we have not even seen, weapons that will surely destroy us…"

Mormont reached out blindly with his hand and felt along the rough wooden edges of the downturned open mouth of the heart tree. "And I believe that this… quest to Valyria will provide us with the tools we need to defend ourselves from the Others. Perhaps even to end them once and for all. I pray to you that you grant me strength and guidance in the days to come, that you grant me victory and good fortune in my mission to find the tools I and my people need to fight back against these dark creatures from the Lands of Always Winter…"

Mormont prepared himself for the words he would speak next. He would never be able to take them back. Not to his gods. Never to his gods. "And in exchange… I will dedicate my whole life to protecting my people, to safeguarding those who worship you, as well as those who do not. I am not a kind man, and I am certainly not a good man. But for you? For a chance at destroying the Others once and for all, I am willing to make that sacrifice." He said finally, and with an uncharacteristically shaky breath. "I am your man until the end of my days. That is my promise to you."

He stayed silent for what seemed like hours. He held onto the open mouth of the weirwood tree, gripping it tight, and feeling the numbing cold seep into his fingers and freeze his blood.

That was when he felt something… cold tickle his nose.

As Mormont opened his eye, he felt a light breeze brush against his face and beard. The loose black curls of his hair had flickered in the wind. He looked up past the blood-red leaves of the heart tree and up at the inky black night sky.

It was snowing.

Small flakes of fluffy white snow glided down gently from the stars above him. They landed on the ground around him, adding to the fresh layer of snow from the morning.

Mormont didn't really know if the Old Gods had answered his prayer. Or if they had even listened to him in the first place. He didn't feel any different about his plan or his upcoming expedition. Only that he knew that, regardless of what happened, he would live up to his word.

He let his hand fall away from the open mouth of the weirwood and back to his knee. He continued sitting there, knelt in submission to the gods that judged him from worlds away.

Soon enough, he'd heard something- a distant noise of grating iron and wood. The opening and closing of a door. Someone had entered the godswood.

Light footsteps had begun echoing behind him, crunching softly in the snow, and getting progressively louder as they approached. They didn't belong to a man.

Rhaenys…

Mormont knew instinctively that it was her. He didn't have to turn his head to see her. A pale, golden hand had gently brushed against his head, her fingers coiling with the curls of his black hair. Next to him, he felt her thin, perfectly shaped body press against his own as she also knelt in the snow beside him.

"Do you remember the last time we were here?" She asked. Her voice was somewhat strained, but it tried to remain optimistic.

She knows.

"I do," Mormont said. "Last time you were here, you were Rhaenys Targaryen. Now, you're Lady Rhaenys Mormont." He looked down into her shining purple eyes right then. Immediately, he had picked out the thin, barely visible lines on her forehead that told him she was worried. Scared, even.

"Did Maege tell you?" He asked, half knowing the answer himself. He wasn't even angry at his aunt.

Rhaenys nodded. Her hands clutched tighter to his arm. "She did. She told me everything… Even about what happened in that wildling village…" She trailed off, reaching up with her hand and tracing her fingers along the scar that ran down the left side of his face. "She said you fought a demon, an Other…"

"Please," His wife pleaded with him then. She clutched at the bindings of his cloak. "Please tell me it isn't real, Starag. Tell me it's all just some silly dream that I haven't woken up from."

Even after all their years together, even after all the hardship and adversity, he'd gone through his whole life, and even when this girl had seen her mother and brother murdered before her own eyes… Rhaenys somehow still continued to amaze him.

Starag Mormont had always enjoyed it when his women were, on some level, naive about the world. About reality. That way, he could show them what the world was like himself, he could guide them and love them at the same time.

And with Rhaenys being her bookish self, and having been introduced firsthand to the brutality of war, she still managed to be naive. She still didn't want to believe the Others were real, because it would shatter the dream she was living in. Now, there was simply more death on the horizon, more war to tear her world asunder.

Now, she might possibly lose him. All because the Long Night was coming again, and they needed to be able to defend themselves from it.

"Rhaenys…" Mormont said slowly as he took both of her hands in his. They were warm. "I cannot lie. Especially not here," He gave the heart tree a passing glance. "Everything Maege told you was true. The Others have returned, and something must be done to stop them."

"But why do you have to leave?" She asked, squeezing his fingers and thawing away the numbness from before. Now she seemed almost desperate. "And to Valyria of all places? Surely there's some other way? There has to be! I can look in the library. There's bound to be some sort of-"

He quickly cut her rambling off at the head as he descended and pressed his lips against hers. Instantly, she shut herself up and kissed him back.

When he separated from her, he found that she had begun crying. But he'd need to remain strong. He forced himself to be ice-cold while he kept wearing his warm smile. "Rhaenys… If I don't go, everything we've built, everything we've made… Our children… Everything will be gone." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

He gripped her by the shoulders and gazed deep into her violet eyes. "I need you to do something for me, something only you can do…"

"Anything, my love." Rhaenys sniffled, she wiped away the stray tears. "Anything for you."

"Good." Mormont nodded. He smiled at her. "I need you to be strong when I'm across the Narrow Sea. Duncan, Thalia, Jeor… Everyone on Bear Island… They need someone they can look up to. Someone who'll make sure Frostgate doesn't burn to the ground."

Rhaenys giggled at his quip. The tavern brawls at the Dancing Fox often got out of hand, requiring quite a few of Mormont's men-at-arms to break up the fights. Mormont himself had been called in more than a few times to judge the situation. Regardless, Rhaenys had nodded. "I can do that."

"Good girl." Mormont kissed her forehead and stroked her reddish-brown hair. "They'll need you. Even Maege. She's not one for handling stress, and she'll need you to help her from time to time. Do you think you can do that?"

This would be the most difficult challenge of them all, at least at the beginning. Mormont knew that in order to keep Rhaenys sane, and from throwing herself into melancholy, she'd have to be given a duty of some kind.

In the months where he was off doing business with other lords and away from Bear Island, Rhaenys had managed it in his stead. She'd done well enough, better than Maege herself. And now that he would be gone for gods knows how long… She'd be in the hotspot longer than ever.

Again, Rhaenys nodded. "I can do that."

"Good girl." Mormont kissed her again, this time on the lips. "I'll be coming home. And Jon will come home, too. Safe and sound. Understand?"

"I do." Rhaenys smiled back at him. She let her head rest against his chest and wiped away the extra tears from her eyes. "Silly me… Of course, I do. I wouldn't love you if you weren't a barbarian. It's probably in the blood." Her warm palm came up to his cheek. "Don't mind if I howl like a wolf every now and then. It's only love after all."

Mormont took her hand and kissed it. Then he gripped her neck and pulled her closer. They kissed again, this time for much longer and with much more passion behind the act. Mormont let his hand roam up and squeeze his wife's left breast. Even underneath her thick dress, he could feel the hardened nipple pressing against the maroon velvet material.

They both separated to catch their breath. Their foreheads touched as they breathed in the crisp evening air. Together, they stayed sitting, with Rhaenys leaning on Starag for a few minutes.

"Come on, let's go inside. I do not want to traumatize the Old Gods with what I plan to do with you tonight." Mormont said as he took Rhaenys' hand and stood up. She rose up slowly with him. There was desire in those violet eyes.

They dusted the snow off their clothes and cloaks. Mormont brushed one last stray tear from his woman's eyes and kissed her on the forehead. Then, he took her hand, led her away from the heart tree and the shimmering water of the hots spring, and out of the Ironwood gate that led back into Winterfell's courtyard.

As they went, neither of them had seen the bleeding red eyes of the heart tree suddenly glowing lightning blue.