Valyria
298 AC - Present
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The tension that had hung thick in the air had been squashed by the distant ringing of a bell.
More mute men had come out from the other side of the room holding large metal dishes and plates. Mormont could smell the aroma of fresh spices, ginger, and garlic, and even the maddening stench of fried bacon. His appetite had come back with a roaring vengeance, having forgotten about the cold and distant warning that had come from the blue lips of Euron Greyjoy.
The plates were set down in front of both Mormont and Jon. Their drinks were refilled, and then the mutes had left the room again, leaving only the Sothoryi brute and their one-eyed host.
Greyjoy himself seemed to have moved on from his threat as well, now gorging himself on a slab of smoked cod and a spice-scented soup.
Jon had glanced warily at the plate of food in front of him. It was a pair of lean grilled chicken breasts, doused in salt, pepper, and the strange oils that the Dornish used in their cooking. He also probably wondered if it had been poisoned.
Finally, the door on the other end of the cabin had opened once more, revealing the short Lyseni girl, now holding a steaming hot pot and a familiar clay jar. Mormont nearly widened his eye as he realized what they were. Coffee and honey.
He glanced at Jon, who had given him a conspiratory smile, as if they hadn't been captured in the first place, and were now feasting back in the great hall at Winterfell for the rest of their family.
Mormont was incredibly thankful for the young man having come along with him. If this was in fact to be his last meal before he was shown politely to his grave, then at least he'd be feasting with Jon. He quickly poured himself a cup of coffee with one of the mugs given to them by the Lyseni girl before she bowed and made her way back out of the room.
He hadn't remembered the last time he'd tasted warm food. It felt as if years had passed by since he was last in Lys or Tyrosh. As if a hundred thousand different wars had been fought and ended since then.
The venison had been expertly cooked. It was perfect. Mormont could taste the reserves of bloody meat and ginger, herbs, and spices. The smaller plate filled to the brim with creamy yellow eggs had also been a boon, along with the smoked crispy strips of bacon that sweated its fat juices.
The remainder of the meal had been mostly silent. Mormont didn't know what Greyjoy had in mind for him. Would it be torture? Feeding him to a monster? Knife? Sword? Arrows? Rope?
Mormont had no clue if Greyjoy's story also held true. What were the actual chances that an incredibly aged Brynden Rivers- a man Mormont had never even met in his life- was legitimately out to have him killed? And over what? Because of Rhaenys and Jon? Because he wanted to control Mormont's own children who had dragonsblood in their veins? It all seemed very unlikely.
Greyjoy was a madman, there was no doubt about that, and Mormont knew that the man sitting across the table likely enjoyed toying with other people's minds as a child would with a doll. Psychological warfare was a staple of Euron Greyjoy. Had he made up this whole story just to screw with Mormont?
Mormont might've thought that was the case if not for the revelation that Jon had also been in contact with this three-eyed crow. Now, Mormont only wondered if it was all in fact true.
But why had Greyjoy not gone along with Bloodraven's plan? Mormont was supposed to be dead by this point, and Jon was supposed to be sailing back to Westeros with those dragon eggs they'd found inside the Solaerys tower. Had Greyjoy knowingly disobeyed Bloodraven? Or was the Ironborn playing a different game, with a completely different objective?
That had to be the answer. Why else would Mormont still be alive? Why else would Jon be captured with him?
He'd eaten his food and felt his stomach quieten down. He needed a weapon. Anything. The steel knife in his hands would've been enough, but he knew that the Sothoryi behind him would've been watching precisely for his grip on the knife.
Mormont spied his eye on his box of matches. Fire would be another weapon he could use. And not likely one that the Sothoryi would expect. He slowly began getting more and more animated with his hands, beginning to talk with Jon over dinner about their respective families, about the antics of Robb and Dyanna back in Winterfell, and what Mormont's cousins would get up to while he was away, the whole time, he was edging the box of matches closer to the edge of the table with soft nudges from his elbow and forearm.
When he made a particularly generous sweep of his hand, he knocked over the pot of coffee onto the floor. Through his apologies, he'd seen the bored summer blue eye of his host, who had then ordered the Sothoryi to clean it up.
Mormont successfully knocked the small box onto his lap. When he pretended to readjust his seat, he deftly slipped the box inside his robe. He felt the soft wood turn warm against his skin between the fabric of the robe.
More coffee came, and the meal had ended. His reserves of energy had been soon been restored. And to cap it all off, Mormont downed the rest of his Braavosi Firebrand.
Euron Greyjoy had pushed away his own plate, carefully wiping at the corners of his mouth with a white cloth almost like a posh Reachlord. He snapped his fingers, and the mute servants had instantly come back inside to clear the table.
Once they were gone again, Greyjoy poured himself yet another cup of his shade-of-the-evening and sat back in his chair. He smiled politely at the both of them. "I trust you both found dinner to your liking?"
Mormont had likewise poured himself another mug of coffee and had taken another spoonful of golden honey from the clay jar, passing it onto Jon. "It was delicious."
"Yes, it was." Jon had agreed easily.
Mormont had placed his pipe back in his mouth. This time, he'd lit it with one of his matches, shaking out the flame once the bowl was primed. "And what happens now, Greyjoy?"
"We can move on to our after-dinner entertainment, Lord Mormont." The blue smile had disappeared. "You see, I am interested in the anatomy of courage. Of the human will to survive no matter what. Even, dare I say, against supernatural odds. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I think I do," Mormont knew that whatever lay waiting for him, it was not going to be anything like the last few days. If he was going to die, he'd have to at least get Jon out of there. "But there's no point in Jon hearing this. As you say, he's supposed to be on his way back to Westeros by now. What would your master do if he were killed?"
Greyjoy's blue eye had turned black in the candlelight. "Lord Mormont, your attempts to provoke me will fall flat. The matter in which your death will occur will be rather painful, and quite novel as it so happens." He stood up slowly from his seat, taking the blue-filled goblet with him. "And do not waste your breath on heroics for the 'good of the realm' and all that. Your pathetic love of country will be your doom. The boy will suffer a similar fate to yours, and when the time comes, Bloodraven will also perish in flames and ash." He nodded to the Sothoryi standing behind Mormont. Suddenly, the blue smile was back.
"Come, let me show you both something."
They'd been led outside onto the main deck of the Silence. The late afternoon sky had soon vanished, and now Mormont was looking back up into a sky of inky black and red smoke. That was likely the darkest it would ever get in Valyria.
Both he and Jon walked side by side as they followed Euron up the staircase to the helm of the single-masted galley. Behind them was the large Sothoryi man, now having drawn the Valyrian Steel falchion. Mormont wondered if he was to be skewered on the smoky black blade.
Greyjoy led them to the back railing of the helm, which was overlooking the tail end of the Flaming River that led right into a rocky chasm just below the base of the First Flame- the largest volcano of the Fourteen Flames.
"Did you know that the Valyrians were once sheepherders?" Greyjoy had leaned back against the railing and looked over his shoulder at the both of them. "Before they had dragons, they were simple shepherds taking their flocks back and forth across these lands. Long before the Doom. They might've been ruled by the Ghiscari if it hadn't been for dragons. If it hadn't been for Him."
Him? The recent memory of Vekara Solaerys' journal had come to mind. She had also spoken of a Him. But she hadn't said much else besides that the entity- whatever it was, had resided inside the earth.
Was it the same Him that Greyjoy was referring to now?
"What do you mean?" Mormont had asked plainly, letting another plume of smoke out from his mouth.
Greyjoy had looked to him then. His summer blue eye had flashed dangerously. "You do not know? Hmm…" He smiled. "The Dragonlords had found the dragons inside the Fourteen Flames, but they also found something else… Something much older…" He spread out his arms and grinned. "How else would a flock of simple-minded shepherds develop into the greatest empire of all time? How else would their lives and gifts be taken away in the blink of an eye if not for divine intervention?"
"They had worshiped too many gods, had they not?" Mormont was undeterred by the madman's speech.
Euron Greyjoy looked harshly at him. "You are obstinate in your assumptions, Lord Mormont, and much stupider than I thought." He shook his head. "No. They struck a deal with Him. Because of the gifts they had received; magic and dragons… They toppled empires and kingdoms! They consumed slaves and innocents by tens of thousands! No living creature alive would be safe from the reach of the Dragonlords! Not one!"
"Until, of course, the Doom." Greyjoy had calmed himself. Now he looked back up at the mountainous First Flame. "Magic, greater than anything anyone had ever seen before, had exploded from the earth. It had swept over this once great empire in a matter of minutes, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake. Great Magic, Lord Mormont. That is what had wiped out the Valyrians." He turned back to Mormont now. "Nothing like Valyrian Steel, in all its simplicity. Nothing like what the Shadowbinders of Asshai do with their pagan rituals or the Red Priests of R'hllor and their pathetic prophecies. Real destruction, real power, millions dead in an instant! That is the essence of true power, Lord Mormont, whether you like it or not!"
Mormont was not in a mind to continue hearing the mad ravings of a degenerate. He was a dead man, and he'd rather not hear Euron Greyjoy's voice when he went to the Old Gods. Starag had simply raised an eyebrow in response. "I fail to see what any of this has to do with Bloodraven. Or myself, for that matter."
"Fair enough." Greyjoy had chuckled. "You are curious to the last, Lord Mormont. I will indulge that curiosity before I show what fate has in store for you." He leaned back on his elbow against the railing. "As for Bloodraven, you needn't worry about him any longer. A raven cannot fly in a storm, Lord Mormont. And I am the storm. The first storm, and the last. Once you and the boy have been killed, there is precious little that Brynden Rivers can do from his little hovel beyond the Wall." He continued. "The old man has no concept of the powers at play in these lands. He cannot see beyond his fickle weirwood trees. No, Lord Mormont, Bloodraven is not what you should be worrying about."
So that was it. Bloodraven and Euron had planned to ambush him, and at the last moment, Greyjoy betrayed his three-eyed raven and kept Mormont alive, if only for a little bit longer. And he planned to deliver the same method of execution unto Jon as well.
But why?
Mormont had to try, if only to play for time. "And what powers are at play in Valyria? What is the next chapter after we're dead?"
Greyjoy grinned heartily. "I'm getting to that, my lord." He held up a patient finger. "As you know, there are many magical enigmas to be found across the Known World. The Wall is one of them. So is the Isle of Faces inside the Gods Eye, so is the Hightower in Oldtown. So is the corpse-city of Stygai, and the Five Forts of Yi Ti. And so are these," He gestured to the Fourteen Flames in the distance. "These 'Hinges of the World' are fascinating, and they hold terrible secrets, too."
Hinges of the World? What in the Seven Hells was the Ironborn on about now? Was he giving some kind of history lesson now?
"These Hinges, Lord Mormont, hold great power within them. Ancient, potent entities of untold proportions reside in these places. Gateways to worlds far different than ours. And they are ripe with magic. Think of it," He said. "The Wall is one of these places. Is it not meant to keep out the Others? To prevent the Long Night itself from falling upon the world? Before it was constructed, millions of men had died upon the grounds where it now stands. Their corpses became the foundation for the Night's Watch. Just as the Others wait in the Lands of Always Winter, so too does one such entity rest below these Fourteen Flames. And He is waiting to be released from his prison to finally re-enter our world once more."
Starag Mormont had been wrong. Euron Greyjoy was no simple lunatic. He was a man on a mission, his own mission to see the world fall. If anyone was to rule over its remains, it would be Crow's Eye. And only him.
"So what? You've really been serving this… creature beneath the earth?" Mormont said. "What happened to your Drowned God?"
"Lord Mormont," Greyjoy shook his head. "You do not understand. I have served thousands of gods in my life. Every time I seek to find meaning in this world, to find out the higher mysteries of life, and what it all means… I find myself utterly disappointed." He said plainly. "I have killed more men, have raped more women, slaughtered more children than any man alive. I am a kinslayer, Lord Mormont. For I have slain not one, but three brothers. There is not a man more accomplished in the arts of killing and reaving than I. Men say the gods give them rules to live by. I have broken those rules a thousand times over, and still yet, I have not been struck down. Why follow a god if you do not suffer the consequences that come with breaking their holy laws? Why not search for your own power in this world? Why not conquer it and become a god yourself?"
Starag Mormont had shaken his head. "Ah yes, it's the old thinking that you're the King of Westeros, or the Sealord of Braavos, or even a God. The Citadel is full of maniacs like you. Except instead of being locked up in Oldtown, you've decided to set sail on a ship and lock yourself up inside it."
Maddeningly, Euron had smiled back at him. "I will take that as a compliment, Lord Mormont. Yes, I am a maniac as you say. Unlike other men, I am not possessed by the herd's needs for money, sex, or political power. Not like my idiot brothers and their pathetic children. They are sheep. Instead, I am driven by a much higher purpose in life, one that calls to me, one of divine evidence. Focus and determination are everything I need to conquer the world. When I see something I want, Lord Mormont, I always get it. That is the mania that drives me forward day after day. What I want now, is true power, freedom from a world that refuses to be free."
Mormont did not want to say anything. There wasn't really anything he could say. There was no point in reasoning with Greyjoy. He was both insane, and also had his mind made up. Mormont would die a horrible and grizzly death, and he'd brought Jon Stark along for one last ride.
Suddenly, Mormont was back inside the Godswood at Winterfell. Sitting before the weeping heart tree and holding Rhaenys in his arms. Telling her that he and Jon would come back home alive. Gods, how many years ago had that been? That one moment when he looked into her violet eyes. Mormont wanted to see them just one last time.
He straightened his back and stared down at the shorter man before him. "I've heard enough, Greyjoy. Let's get on with the entertainment. How will it happen? Rope? Sword? Demons? Be quick about it. The less I see of you, the better."
The cheery summer blue eye had withered and died away. Now, it was almost pearly black. "So be it, Lord Mormont." Greyjoy nodded to the Sothoryi behind him. Quickly, Mormont felt the sharp point of Valyrian Steel poke into his back, easily sinking through the robe and biting into his skin. Warm droplets of blood beaded down his back.
"We'll be doing a little sightseeing first, of course." Greyjoy smiled warmly. "It's rather warm and cozy inside the Flames, you will be there to see it for yourself, Lord Mormont. A little too close for comfort, I'm afraid."
Greyjoy led the way down the stairs and across the wooden plank that served as a bridge between black volcanic stone and the main deck of the Silence. Behind them, more mute crew members had followed along, drawing bows and spears. Their eyes peeled onto Mormont's back.
They walked along the rocky shore until Mormont began to hear the loud noise of a stream. Of heavy seawater clashing and foaming around huge jagged rocks. They came around a sharp bend of the base of the First Flame and finally came upon what looked to be a wide gaping hole in the middle of the river bed. It seemed more like a vortex than anything as water swirled violently around it.
As Mormont got closer, he released that he could see nothing beyond the entrance of the pit. It was just a roughly circular hole of pure darkness. He wondered if it even had a bottom.
Mormont looked to the Sothoryi, who was nodding to the lone jagged rock's edge that hung directly over the pit like a cliff. At his side, Jon had stepped forward, but he'd been held back by the Sothoryi, who gripped the young man's shoulder.
"Lord Mormont," Euron Greyjoy had spoken up again. "I am interested in seeing just how far a man is able to push himself. Just how willing is he to survive at all costs. As such, it was a boon that I found this place when I did. It leads further beneath the volcano, into the mines far below. The Valyrians used to have their slaves dig for gold and silver down there." He paused. "I have no doubt that you will run a good race for me, but it is inevitable that you will die. After all, you are a sacrifice. Your blood will drain into the earth and will open the gateway in the depths below. Eventually, your mind and soul will be consumed, and then, the world will fall."
Mormont stepped up towards the rock face. He looked back to Euron. "Thought you needed kingsblood for these kinds of things. Or so the Red Priests say. I'm not exactly blessed in that regard."
Greyjoy had smiled and gestured over at Jon. "And I have kingsblood with me in case your sacrifice is not enough. However, I believe He will be content with the sacrifice of a devout holy man such as yourself."
Mormont frowned, and turned around to stare aghast at the summer blue eye. "Holy man? You think I'm a priest?"
"What else would you call a man with those markings?" Greyjoy had nodded to the blue angular tattoos that were riddled up and down along his right arm. "Those, Lord Mormont, do not belong to just any worshipper of your tree gods. They are the result of personal sacrifice, devotion, and power. You have been chosen by your gods just as I have been chosen by mine. Such a blessing does not come easily from them, and because of that, your sacrifice means more than ten thousand deaths."
Starag Mormont barely understood the tattoos himself, and he was even more surprised that Euron Greyjoy, an Ironborn, had known exactly what they meant. That frustrated him greatly. He didn't really feel any more special because of them.
Behind him, the great yawning pit beckoned him to leap, to embrace the darkness that waited for him in the mouth below. The overbearing sound of streaming water had gotten louder and louder.
Mormont looked at Jon. He smiled. He thought of all the things he could say to the lad to comfort him, to tell him everything would be alright. Mormont soon realized that he didn't want to say any of those things. He was glad that, if he was going to die, at least he played his part in helping a boy become a king.
"Lyanna would be proud of you," Mormont said with a warm, grim smile. "And if you ever see your sister again… Tell her I said…" He paused. "She's one hell of a girl. The best I've ever known."
Jon looked as if he was about ready to burst into tears. Still, he held strong. He couldn't make a move, however. Not with the Valyrian Steel falchion at his back.
"Don't waste your breath, Lord Mormont," Greyjoy said dispassionately. "Neither of you will leave Valyria alive. You will never see your family again. It will console you to know that they will die painlessly. The same cannot be said for you." He nodded to another mute in his crew, the one who had captured Mormont and Jon earlier that day.
The Summer Islander stepped forward with Longclaw, sheathed along with the dagger on the leather belt. Mormont felt a surge of hope well within him as the smoky-skinned man handed it off to Euron, who had begun approaching Mormont. He stopped just about ten feet away from him. Barely out of reach.
Greyjoy smiled. "You know, Lord Mormont," He started off slowly. "In another life, we would've been brothers, you and I." He chuckled sweetly. "I wish you farewell. Of course, I will allow you to die with your family sword in hand. It is the least I could do."
The Ironborn then did something that set Mormont's heart on fire. He took Longclaw by one hand and tossed the Valyrian Steel bastard sword into the dark watery pit. "Fetch." He said as if Mormont were a dog.
Mormont watched wide-eyed as the sword that his ancestors had wielded into battle, the blade he had come to love as if it were an extension of himself, almost another member of his own family, had soared high into the air and down, down, down into the darkness below. The white bear's head pommel soon faded from view.
Starag Mormont looked back behind him. Greyjoy stood, looking expectantly at him to go after the sword. The archers behind him had not moved an inch. They were waiting for him to make a step in the wrong direction so they could fill his belly with steel-tipped arrows.
And Jon was looking at him. Those grey orbs were pleading with him. Don't jump. They seemed to say.
I'm sorry we came here. Mormont said with his gaze. Then he turned back to the pit. There was only one thing he could do now if he was to get out of this alive. "I'm sorry, Rhaenys."
He got his running start. He launched himself forward, leaping off the pointed cliff's edge, and put his hands out before him.
Starag Mormont dove headfirst into the darkness, falling down slowly through the air towards the shadowy waters that waited for him a hundred feet below.