Valyria
298 AC
Starag Mormont had been surprisingly well-rested.
It was a rather curious affair, especially with his current predicament of being captured within the enemy camp.
He didn't know how long it had been since he and Jon had been taken away from the entrance of the Solaerys spire. He estimated that it had to have been at least half a day or so.
Would that be more than enough time for Arthur and the others to find the Silence? He hoped so. There was much less fog on the Flaming River than there had been on the Smoking Sea. There was just the slightest of chances that Arthur could find them and put together a plan of attack.
He'd certainly hoped so. He couldn't stand the Silence for much longer.
Mormont's cell had been strangely comfortable. It was a small box room inside the brig of the galley. The wooden cot had a thin mattress of cotton, and fresh clothes and water had been delivered to him by a member of Greyjoy's mute crew.
The guard standing outside his cell was a Brindled Man, a Sothoryi. His skin was dark brown, with black patterns, and his hair was a mop of stringy gray curls. Though what had stuck out to Mormont the most was that this Sothoryi was just a few inches taller than himself, damn near as tall as the Mountain had been before Starag had removed Gregor Clegane's head from his shoulders. He had big bones and thick muscles, and a large gaping forehead that looked unlike any other Mormont had seen.
There were other freaks in the service of Euron Greyjoy. Though for what reason, Mormont didn't really know. Why anyone would sail with a madman for a captain was beyond him.
Speak for yourself. A traitorous voice had spoken inside his head. Sailing for Valyria? All for some books and magic swords? Sounds like insanity, doesn't it?
Mormont shut that voice away. Right now, he needed to think of a way out of this cursed ship.
He sat inside of his cell, having been unable to sleep now that his mind was racing. He wondered what time it was, and if Arthur and the others had already found the corpses of the men-at-arms who had been killed outside the spire.
Had Marwyn found his way back to the Serpent? Had he followed the Ironborn to the Flaming River?
Then again, there was also the possibility that Marwyn had run into some monster and had gotten himself killed. The Ironborn might've even known where the Serpent was, had already plundered it, and killed his friends. If the others were dead, then Mormont was stuck in a real shit show.
"Lord Mormont?" A light, feminine voice had asked from his right, by the cell door.
Starag Mormont lifted his head and looked over at the pretty Lyseni woman now standing behind the iron cell door. She was wearing a beautiful summer blue dress of light silk. He could almost see her caramel skin through the thin material and the shapely curves on her body. Her head of soft black curls reached down just below her neck, and the heart-shaped face had smiled softly at him. In her hands was a fresh jug of water and another pair of Volantene robes and trousers.
What in the Seven Hells was she doing onboard? Was she some kind of plaything for the crew? Or was she reserved only for the captain of this harrowed vessel?
"Yes." Mormont smiled politely at the woman. He would not forget his manners. "What is it?"
Her smile widened. "The Captain wishes to dine tonight with you and Lord Stark. He wishes for you to wear these. And he also wants to know what you wish to be eating?"
Mormont forced the pain out of his smile. They really had been expected. What sort of man other than Euron Greyjoy could have his own kitchen aboard his ship?
Despite the fine treatment he'd been receiving, Mormont knew that underneath the façade it was all humiliation. At the fact that Starag Mormont had been captured by an unknowable enemy, one he had not expected, and that he was now totally within Greyjoy's power. He was practically a prisoner of war. More or less a "distinguished" hostage of the kingdom of the Golden Kraken.
"Tell the Captain I'd be delighted to dine with him this evening," Mormont said. He knew that Greyjoy had likely not intended for his request to be seen as one. It was meant to be an order. He decided to test whether or not they really did have enough food to give him an open menu. "And I'd like to have grilled venison chops with fresh bacon and eggs. Have the venison cooked rare, and sprinkled with garlic and ginger."
"An excellent choice!" The Lyseni girl clapped her hands after she'd handed over the water and the clothes. "The Captain will be most pleased. Will that be all, Lord Mormont?"
By the Old Gods. He was going mad. It was as if he'd never been captured whatsoever, but had been taken away to the Citadel to be put away in its asylum. He'd thought he'd seen it all with the two-headed ape demon with tentacles for arms. Now he was losing his marbles. Come on, Mormont! Keep your wits about you. Whatever happens, you have to get Jon out of this mess. No matter what!
"Ah, yes…" Mormont said. "How is Lord Stark doing by the way?"
The Lyseni girl had nodded at his request. "Lord Stark is dressing as we speak. He has been resting and also wished to know how you were doing as well."
"That's good to hear." Mormont grinned at her. "Now, I would like to look my best for the good Captain. However, I haven't bathed in days. Is there a bath I can use?"
She had grinned right back at him. "Of course, Lord Mormont. I can have a bath prepared for you in ten minutes. Is that acceptable for you?"
"It would be lovely." He replied. "Thank you."
With a final bow, the Lyseni girl walked away from the opposite door of his cell. Mormont half wondered if she was some kind of ploy sent to him by the more than generous Captain of the Silence. They were all stark-raving mad.
Ten minutes later, the girl had come back for him, this time with the Sothoryi pirate. The Brindled Man had stared only at Mormont however, with that maddeningly thin, hog-like smile. At his side, the man held a rather mean-looking falchion made of Valyrian Steel.
Mormont had narrowed his eye at that particular detail, but only for a brief second. So they were given a share of the plunder… He'd heard that Ironborn captains would take the lion's share of any loot found during raids or taken from the dead. Was that why these men had found their way into the service of Euron Greyjoy?
The moment had passed. Mormont resumed his smile at the girl and followed her out of his cell and down the hall towards another room that held a circular wooden bathtub within.
Mormont got undressed and stepped inside the tub while the girl had set to work. She began by splashing the hot water onto his skin and scar-riddled body, washing the salt and dried sweat out of it from the last few days. Then she had begun meticulously cleaning his curly strands of black hair.
As the girl was massaging his shoulders and back, Mormont finally found the right words to speak. "Does the Captain always treat his captives this way?"
She hadn't even stopped hammering into his back upon hearing the twisted word. "He demands that all his important guests be treated with the respect they deserve. He's been looking forward to hosting you these last few days. He could barely wait for your arrival."
Could barely wait for my arrival? That had given Mormont pause. There was no chance that Euron Greyjoy could've known that he'd sail for Valyria. There were too many factors at play. Too much that had gone into the equation that was Mormont's decision to set sail from White Harbor all the way to the Smoking Sea. The chances of Greyjoy also being in Valyria at the same time as Mormont was also questionable, but the knowledge that Mormont would soon arrive on the ruined peninsula as well? Now that was downright unbelievable.
"And I'm an important guest?"
The girl had giggled. "Why of course! He's been wanting to meet you for some time now. He says that you and he would've been the best of brothers in another life."
That was it. Mormont had seriously lost it. He could not stand to speak another word to the overly cheery Lyseni girl as she soaked his skin and washed his hair, even going so far as to thoroughly clean the old wound where his left eye had been after lifting up his eyepatch. The whole time, Mormont could feel the Sothoryi man staring into the back of his skull. Professional. Completely focused and on point. Ready to split him in two if he made even the slightest wrong move.
Once the girl was finished, Mormont had gotten dressed into the sturdy black trousers and the dark red sleeveless Volantene robe. It almost reminded him of his blood-red robe back at home. With the exception of the golden-black sash, of course.
Mormont felt more or less like a powdered whore being sent to her death. There was more to this dinner occasion than meets the eye. Mormont had the distinct feeling that he'd been a pawn in someone else's game. And that now it was about to be revealed to him just what exactly his prize was to be.
He'd slipped on his leather riding boots and had been escorted to the upper deck. The red afternoon Valyrian sky had long faded into inky darkness. Now, thick dark grey clouds hung high above the galley, with more brownish wisps flowing up from the volcano hundreds of feet in the air.
Other crew members of the Silence had not paid him any mind as he walked by them. And why would they? He was completely within their power. He was no longer a threat.
The mere thought of their apparent superiority over him had absolutely maddened Mormont to no end. He wanted to grab his sword and start lopping off their mute heads. They'd killed more than enough people in the name of their accursed captain, hadn't they?
Soon enough, he also saw Jon standing in front of the Captain's Cabin, also wearing a light grey Pentoshi doublet and also having been washed. The young man smiled hopefully at him, and Mormont did the same. Neither of them knew what lay waiting on the other side of those twin wooden doors.
The Lyseni girl had opened both the doors, revealing a rather elegant-looking dinner room- at least it was fanciful for an Ironborn ship. It was roomier than Mormont's own cabin back on the Serpent and much more opulent. There was a long black ebony table with a few candles already lit and places set for three.
"The Captain will see you shortly." The girl had smiled warmly at both of them. "Will you be needing anything else?"
"No. That will be all." Mormont said. He stepped inside, hearing Jon follow close behind him, and the Sothoryi man as well. The doors closed gently behind them, leaving Mormont and Jon alone with the mountainously tall Sothoryi ape.
The Brindled Man had given him that bloody hog-like grin as he gestured wordlessly to one of the leather-bound chairs on the long end of the dinner table. Mormont smiled back at him with his mouth and had soon taken his place. Jon had also taken up his seat between Mormont and presumably where Greyjoy would be seated.
Mormont glanced all over the cabin. There were ornaments made of gold and Valyrian Steel just laying about on top of wooden tables and countertops. Water paintings from Yi Ti had been carefully placed on the swaying walls, and on their host's end of the table, there was a large cask filled with a thick blue liquid.
Shade of the evening. Mormont had known exactly what it was. It certainly explained Euron Greyjoy's blue lips from earlier that day. The stench of ink and rotting flesh was quite palpable. So much so that it nearly destroyed Mormont's appetite, even in spite of his hunger.
"Do you know what's going on?" Jon had asked in a whisper. Those grey orbs had flashed violet with worry, though the young man's expression hadn't given away his fear. "I never saw the Greyjoys enter Valyria."
"That's because I arrived before you had."
The deep rich voice from just earlier that day had spoken up then. It was nearly cavernous inside the small cabin.
Euron Greyjoy came out from another set of twin doors on the opposite end of the room and had seemingly dressed down. He'd removed the Valyrian Steel breastplate and scale armor and was now wearing an open-collared doublet with multiple buttons down. He almost seemed like a bard, were it not for the angry black eye patch. His black hair and dark beard were trimmed neatly, his blue lips were curved upwards into a smile, and his summer blue eye was laughing.
"I expect you were wondering why you are now my distinguished guests, and not on your way back to your ship."
"I was," Mormont said honestly.
Maintaining his blue smile, Greyjoy walked up to the dinner table and took his seat. The Sothoryi brute had sheepishly walked towards him holding out a clean glass goblet, which Greyjoy happily snatched out of the massive brindled hands. He then proceeded to open the cask and pour himself a glassful of the viscous shade-of-the-evening. The smell of ink had suddenly gotten much more pungent. Even Jon had flared his nose in distaste.
Greyjoy seemed to ignore their dissatisfaction. "Would you like a drink?" He gestured to the cask.
"Not any of that," Mormont said. He threw his manners out the window. This was the man who had ordered his men to be killed. Now he was offering them a drink as if nothing had happened.
"To each their own," Greyjoy said before he took a hearty swig of the evening shade. It stained his lips in a pearly blue as he placed the goblet back down. "However, I would be a poor host to not provide you both with drinks. I'm sure you understand…"
The summer blue eye was dancing playfully, but Mormont could also detect a sort of calculating intelligence behind it. It was weighing them-both him and Jon for any signs of weakness. Testing to see what it could get away with. A madman with the curiosity and creative energy of a child… How wonderful.
"Braavosi Firebrand for me. Double. Served neat." Mormont said. He was still unsure whether or not Greyjoy had the Firebrand. If he didn't, it would look bad for Euron. But if he did, he'd only find out that Mormont had known exactly what he wanted. Decisiveness was a trait that the Ironborn would be looking for.
Greyjoy smiled. "Excellent choice. I'll have it fetched right away. And what will the boy have?"
Jon had also figured out their host's game and decided to follow Mormont's lead. "Ale."
Greyjoy nodded to the Sothoryi. The Brindled Man had walked off towards the other end of the room and opened a metal-plated cupboard. Out came a large board of drinks, some of which Mormont did recognize, and others which he didn't. Those ones were of strange colors and had odd symbols on their glass bottles. Soon enough, the drinks were served in front of them.
"We will have dinner in precisely one hour," Greyjoy said, sitting back in his leather seat. "How was your sleep inside the brig? I hope the beds were comfortable enough?"
"They were." Mormont picked up the glass of golden-brown liquid and downed a quick sip. He was greeted with the familiar blend of spices, fruit, oak, and honey. "Though I could've slept on the floor. Or anywhere for that matter."
"Of course, you would," Euron smiled graciously and laughed as if Mormont had made an outstandingly funny joke.
He shook his head. "I cannot tell you how long I've been looking forward to this. The two of us are here together. A reunion." The blue lips bent down slightly in deprecation as he glanced at Jon. "And I'm delighted that you could join us as well Lord Stark- Or should I say, Lord Targaryen?"
Fuck. What didn't this madman know?
Greyjoy's next words had answered the question. "Let us just say that a raven told me, and leave it at that."
"Was it the same raven who told you we'd be coming to Valyria?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." Greyjoy nodded his head politely, and then quickly waved his hand aside. "But we're making pointless chatter. We are here to talk, not make conversation."
Euron Greyjoy sat slightly up in his chair, holding his goblet on the edge of his armrest. "And now, Lord Mormont, let us be honest with one another. We will soon be dining together, and before the night ends, I wish for there to be no ill-will between either of us. I will share my secrets with you, but then you must tell me yours." He let the goblet rest on the black table and slowly reached up deliberately towards his covered eye.
"If you do not, this will know that you are lying. Understand?"
"I do."
Greyjoy's smile had resumed. "Good." He picked up his blue drink once again. "I already know why you are here. And I must admit," The Ironborn's face had blushed minutely. "There are so few men who would dare to sail the Smoking Sea, let alone step foot in the ruins of Valyria. It warms my heart to know I've found another who shares my… recklessness."
So that was why Mormont was alive? Was that why they had to go through this whole façade? Because Euron Greyjoy felt alone in the big wide world?
"I'm flattered," Mormont said stolidly. "You said you've been here the whole time. Why did you come to Valyria?"
"Yes, of course… It's a bit of a long story, but… I will oblige." The other man took another swig of his shade-of-the-evening and sighed as if recalling a distant memory. "You see, I was the second son of Lord Quellon Greyjoy and Lady Astryd Sunderly. I was born on Pyke. As the middle child, with attention soon splitting between my older brothers and my younger brothers, I was an encumbrance on my family." Euron paused. "No love, you see, Lord Mormont. Lack of parental care. The seed was sown from the beginning." He sat forward. "And when I was ten years old, I had begun having strange dreams that I was falling from the sky. I had stepped off the top of the Sea Tower at Pyke, and now the crashing waves were rushing up towards me…"
To Mormont's right, he'd noticed that Jon had stiffened slightly. Almost like he knew what the Ironborn was talking about.
The young man's stiffness had not been lost on Euron, who only grinned at Jon. "Ah… You understand, boy. We'll get to that later…" He glanced back at Mormont. "As I was saying… I'd had these odd dreams, and inside of them, I was greeted by a raven with three eyes. It spoke to me. And it taught me how to fly." He snapped his fingers. "Suddenly, I was no longer falling. Now, I was soaring through the air like a mighty dragon casting its shadow on the peasants and doomed fools beneath it."
Greyjoy had continued. "As I grew older, I soon took to the reaving and raping of the Ironborn culture. I enjoyed the killing and the slaughter, the screams of women as I gutted their men and took them as my salt wives, the sight of crying children right before I'd remove their little heads from their shoulders. I absolutely loved the death and destruction of people and things. I would always dedicate a worthy sacrifice to the Drowned God, for he had been my god then…"
Mormont watched on as Greyjoy began to sit up straighter in his chair. He'd been excited by his memories. To the point that Mormont knew he was dealing with a degenerate psychopath.
"Of course, it couldn't last forever. Nothing good ever does. During Robert's Rebellion, I convinced my father to join the war effort on the side of Robert. We raided the Mander late in the war. The three-eyed raven had spoken to me again. Told me what a fool my father was, and that he would bring suffering and pain unto me." He shook his head. "Something would have to be done about that. Unfortunately, my father had perished off the coast of the Shield Islands." He said without emotion. "Afterwards, my older brother Balon had been made Lord Reaper of Pyke. He ordered us to return to the Iron Islands. But soon enough, I convinced him to look back to the Old Way. What power did the Iron Throne hold over us? Robert's reign was unstable, his realm acquired through conquest." Greyjoy had laughed harshly. "Balon ate it up. You should've seen his pearly little eyes. Was damn near convinced that I was the Drowned God come again. The rest was easy."
"So it was you who began the Greyjoy Rebellion?" Mormont had asked. "You convinced your brother to start a war?"
"Of course," Greyjoy snickered. "What better way to bring ruin to him? What stupider idea than to declare war against a whole nation of wealthy and well-armed kingdoms? You and I both know the end result better than anyone." He smiled, his pearly white teeth contrasted against his blue lips. "I wish I had been there when you gutted Maron. The little shit had it coming for a long time."
Maron Greyjoy. He'd been one of the first who Mormont had killed when he scaled the wall of Pyke with both Jorah and Thoros of Myr so many years ago. He'd never even spoken a word to the boy. He simply cut him down where he stood.
"He was your own nephew!" Jon had looked horrified at the older man's statement. Having grown up with Theon Greyjoy, he'd heard the name before.
"And he was a pathetic slug of a boy." Euron grinned cruelly, and then looked back at Mormont. The summer blue eye was almost mad with delight. "What was it like? Did he give one last little gasp before the light left his eyes? Or did he shit himself first?"
Mormont ignored the question. With a dead steady hand, he had reached into his robe but soon remembered that his pipe had been taken away from him. Now he was angry. Both at Greyjoy for his tasteless question, and that he'd not be able to smoke.
"Gerossa," Euron had nodded to the Sothoryi man. "Give Lord Mormont his pipe and his matches."
The mute had nodded and had opened the satchel at his side, procuring the pipe that Mormont had come to love so very much and the very familiar box with the red strip on its side. Starag stared at the pair of items warily, as if they'd been tainted. But he soon picked up the pipe. It was still full.
"Now, I know you've done your research on Valyria, Lord Mormont." Greyjoy had grinned maniacally. "But what do you know about Valyrian magic?"
Mormont put his pipe in his mouth and shrugged. "A little. They were quite fond of blood magic, and their experiments…"
"Naturally…" Euron nodded. He slowly raised up his right hand and snapped his fingers once again. This time, flaming sparks had burst from his fingers, and the bowl of Mormont's pipe had lit up instantly. "They also practiced elemental magic from time to time."
Mormont pretended not to be impressed at the other man's feat of casting magic. If he had at all. He'd kept his eyes on the wisps of flame that soared in circles around Euron's hand. This was something else, a whole new world entirely.
"But as I was saying…" Greyjoy had waved the strips of flame away. They dissipated into the air. "My brother's rebellion was a lost cause. Soon after, King Robert rode in to put old Balon in his place. My brother bent the knee. It was very sad." He shook his head with an amused smile. "Not long after, the wife of my brother Victarion had caught my eye. She was a beauty that one. A real screamer, too, if you get my meaning."
Mormont forced himself to stay ice-cold as he watched the other man become amused at his own story. At the things and acts he'd committed unto others, and all for what? Just for a fucking laugh? Euron Greyjoy was no simple madman, he was a monster in human flesh. No better than the demon who Mormont had nearly died to just days prior.
He had to find a way out of this mess. Without a doubt, he and Jon needed to survive. One way or another.
"Our little tryst had been found out, of course." Euron waved his hand idly. "She was Victarion's salt wife. That couldn't be tolerated. He beat her to death and would have attempted to kill me if Balon had not interfered. He would not have kinslaying in his halls, and he instead had exiled me from the Iron Islands. I can never return while he still lives." He let out a satisfied sigh. "So, instead I chose to explore my options. Adventure was calling to me. Essos. Asshai. Volantis. The Summer Islands. Yi Ti. Sothoryos. Ibben. Ulthos. And of course… Valyria."
"So what? You're here because you're bored?" Mormont asked, letting a plume of smoke come out from his mouth. "Run out of clever ways to kill people?"
Euron had laughed delightedly at that. "Not at all, Lord Mormont! I'm here on a much different mission. One of divine importance, really. Much like yourself." He shook his head. "You see, that three-eyed crow spoke to me just a few moons ago. He said that you posed a great risk to his plans and he wanted to get you out of the way…"
Me? Mormont had frowned. What the fuck was this three-eyed crow anyway? What plans could a bird have that Mormont would even manage to interrupt?
Euron had looked at Jon then. "He spoke to you, too, boy. Did he not come to you in a dream? What did he say?"
Jon had looked back and forth between both Mormont and Greyjoy. He was rather put off by the question. He didn't even know the whole story himself. "He did… He told me that… That I needed to learn how to fly."
"And did you?" Euron had pressed further.
Jon had shaken his head. "No. I…" Those gray eyes had flashed violet once they glanced back at Mormont. "I heard your voice, uncle. Then I woke up."
Mormont was utterly confused. What in the fuck had he gotten himself into? Now he was contesting with batshit-insane pirates and three-eyed birds? He just wanted to take his Valyrian Steel and magic books and go back home to Bear Island to sleep in his wife's arms again. To see his children smile at him, to see that his people survived the coming storm.
"And that is why…" Euron sat back in his chair. "You pose a threat to him, Lord Mormont."
Starag Mormont was tired of being in the dark. "Who the fuck are you talking about?" He thundered in the dining room. "Are you saying some fucking bird has been trying to have me killed?"
"Multiple times, yes," Greyjoy confirmed his question with a nod. "His name is Bloodraven, for your information. And he wants you dead, Lord Mormont."
Bloodraven? Hadn't that been the name of some Targaryen lordling who lived perhaps over a hundred years ago? Wasn't he supposed to be dead by this point? It couldn't be the same one…
"It is." Greyjoy had answered his uncertainty as if he'd been reading his mind. "As you might know, Brynden Rivers had once been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He disappeared beyond the Wall. But he was never confirmed to be dead…" Euron's smile had darkened. "Now, he's one of those wargs, skinchangers. He belongs to your tree gods. He sees things that others cannot. And most of all… He can fly."
"Why does some old man, who is more than a hundred years old, want me dead?" Mormont asked stolidly. Had he not been an ardent supporter of Jon? "That doesn't make sense to me. What have I done to him?"
Euron Greyjoy seemed almost bored explaining the new threat on the gameboard. The conversation was no longer about him, after all. "It's nothing personal, I assure you, Lord Mormont. It's simply that you just so happen to be in control of a large portion of his remaining family." The summer blue eye turned directly onto Mormont. "Your lovely Targaryen wife for instance, and those beautiful children of yours… Manipulating them would be much too difficult were you still around, Lord Mormont. Not to mention…" The smile had lightened somewhat. "You're something of a wildcard. Completely unpredictable at times. You coming to Valyria is more than proof of that claim. You, Lord Mormont, represent too many uncontrollable variables in our mutual friend's plans. And quite frankly, that's a risk he's unwilling to take."
Starag Mormont found it all far too hard to believe. Some old bastard far far away on the other side of the Wall had wanted him dead this whole time. And for what? Just so Bloodraven could get his claws into Rhaenys? Into Duncan, Thalia, and Jeor?
He was torn between anger at the discovery of this new opponent and disbelief at the overarching plot that Greyjoy had mapped out for him. Hadn't Greyjoy himself also fit that criteria of unpredictability? What was the Ironborn's purpose in being here? To kill him? That sounded more than likely, but he could've had it done at the fortress. Why bother bringing him here to his ship?
And what about Jon? Had Bloodraven planned for Jon to be brought along? To hear all of this new information from Greyjoy? Mormont doubted it. It was more than likely that if Jon knew of Brynden River's machinations and manipulations, then the young man would never accept aid from him, and would scorn his plans completely.
"The wildling village," Euron had continued. "The Others… He'd manipulated them into thinking he was hiding out in that corner of the North. Naturally, they came, and they killed everyone there. Once they found out they'd been tricked, they decided to use it to their advantage and lure out the leadership of the Night's Watch." Greyjoy explained as he poured himself another glass of his shade-of-the-evening. "Of course, Bloodraven had known your father was trying to keep his men from killing the wildlings. He also knew that your father would send you in his stead, seeing as he trusted you the most, did he not?"
He did. Mormont felt the anger boil within his stomach at the implication of the whole shitshow that was Seafell. So many people had died. All because Bloodraven-Brynden Rivers, had wanted Starag Mormont dead.
He stared idly across the table at his host and nearly laughed. Bloodraven and The Crow's Eye were two of a kind. Neither of them had held human life in high regard, it seemed. Fucking degenerates.
"That aside, when he told me of this plan…" Euron set his cup down and placed his hands behind the back of his head. "I knew that you'd manage to survive. I know what kind of a man you are. You live as a professional, Lord Mormont. Even if you'd been ambushed by the Others, I knew that somehow, you'd find a way to come out on top. My chips were on you, so to speak."
"Thanks," Mormont said stolidly before taking another gulp of his Firebrand. The spices had licked and burned his throat.
"And, of course, I was right." Greyjoy had said, raising his hands in exasperation. "Can you believe it, Lord Mormont? Bloodraven had sent you out to die against the Others, and he did not anticipate that you would not only survive the ambush but also strike fear into their hearts by cutting down one of their own! He had not taken Valyrian Steel into account, supposedly."
Longclaw had been Mormont's saving grace against the Other. The smoky black blade had held strong against the shimmering sword of ice. The one that could instantly shatter even the best castle-forged steel, or cut cleanly through plate armor like a meat knife through rare, bloody, melting beef. He could still remember the terrible hiss that blade had made when it sunk deep into Ulfgar's flesh.
"His plan had blown up, but when he found out that you were taking an expedition to Valyria…" Euron had clicked his tongue. "That's when things began to get rolling. He ordered me to lay in waiting for you, for the right moment to strike." His grin turned savage in the candlelight. "Of course, he wanted Lord Stark alive, and to have those two dragon eggs which are now in my custody. All about Targaryen supremacy that Bloodraven." He pointed across the table at Starag. "You, Lord Mormont, were supposed to be killed immediately. Whether by natural causes, by one of the demons inhabiting the city, or by my own hand, it was to be done. He wanted to give your crew no other choice but to go back to Westeros without you, and to bring dragons back with them. So that a new Targaryen dynasty could begin, and your wife and children would be completely open to Bloodraven's manipulations…"
Mormont had heard enough. He didn't know if Euron Greyjoy was simply blowing smoke up his ass, or if he was telling the truth. It was difficult to know with one as deranged as the man sitting across the table from him.
And yet… The story was simply too unlikely to have been made up. A Targaryen who had lived more than a century ago was somehow still alive and well, and was continuing to pull strings behind the scenes while everyone played their own games around him. An impossibly old man was manipulating events and people, even supernatural entities like the Others, all so he could usher in prosperity for the Targaryen line of Kings.
Had Mormont not proven that he was on the same team as Bloodraven? He also supported Jon's claim to the Iron Throne and had even helped to secure him allies. Mormont had also been a staunch opponent of the Others since day one. Had he seriously been a big enough threat that Bloodraven wanted him eliminated? Even if they were fighting for the same cause?
No doubt it was an insult that Rhaenys Targaryen, the daughter of the last dragon, had married some backwater northern lord who managed to bring his house up from the ashes of obscurity. Even more, that she had sired children on that very same northern lord. Those were the only reasons Mormont could think of.
Or perhaps even, it was Mormont's own influence on Jon Stark- on Jaehaerys Targaryen which made him so very dangerous to Bloodraven's plans. Jon was the old bastard's next target pupil, or so it seemed. A fifteen-year-old boy who knew nothing about the world, and who was the heir to the Iron Throne…
For whatever reason Bloodraven had wanted him dead, it didn't matter. He couldn't do anything about it. Not that he was now sitting in the dining room of Euron Greyjoy- a madman with a penchant for killing and human suffering. A man who was incredibly and maddeningly interested in pain.
"So why haven't I been killed yet?" Mormont managed to ask. "And why is Jon here? You said it yourself. He's supposed to be back on the Serpent, leaving Valyria with the dragon eggs."
The candlelight flickered for only the briefest moment. Slowly, gently, the Captain of the Silence had leaned forward in his seat and stared directly across the table at Mormont. The summer blue eye was cold and distant. It spoke of a horizon of agony, one prepared specifically for Starag Mormont.
"Lord Mormont," Euron Greyjoy had said with a disturbingly warm grin.
"There is a saying in Yi Ti. "Even the finest sword plunged into salt water will eventually rust." I bring up this particular topic because I find it an apt comparison to that of man."
Greyjoy's teeth flashed white against his curled blue lips. The one-eyed man was incredibly calm as he spoke. As if he were explaining a punishment to a naughty child. "And you see, Lord Mormont… I intend to find out exactly just how much you can rust before you break."