PART I: Curious

Bear Keep

300 AC

The soft humming stare of the morning sun through the triangular glass windows had signaled that it was almost dawn.

Outside of the Lord's Chambers of Bear Keep and down in the stone-walled town of Frostgate, the fishermen and merchants had woken up perhaps thirty minutes prior to get their early start on the morning. Winter had been kind to them so far, what with the fishermen yielding great amounts of freshly caught haddock and black cod from the Bay of Ice and some well-bred batches of salmon from the cold rivers and streams on Bear Island. They would be good for eating and would set up the fishermen quite well for the foreseeable future with boatloads of silver stags and possibly even, golden dragons.

The merchants in Frostgate had also experienced a sort of economic boom. Ever since their liege lord had returned from his expedition to Old Valyria over a year prior, Valyrian Steel had been fresh in circulation around the island and off in Sea Dragon Point. Lords hailing from the North and the South had come to Bear Island seeking the fabled metal, perhaps to have a magical trinket of some kind or a family blade. But those who had come were rarely able to get their hands on such a weapon, for the weapons were distributed among the guardsmen who proved their loyalty ten times over to House Mormont. People understood how valuable Valyrian Steel was, and they were reluctant to hand it over to just anyone.

Besides Valyrian Steel, there was also a sudden desperate need for fresh pinewood elsewhere in the North and in the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea. Bear Island seemed to have limitless amounts of it despite its size on the map, and Lord Mormont was only too happy to have more gold land in his pocket. It was a match made in the Seven Heavens, so to speak.

Across the Bay of Ice at Sea Dragon Point, lay the booming port city of Westhelm. It was still growing fast to this day, thanks to the stern leadership of Lady Dacey Mormont, who ruled the peaceful and surprisingly quiet town with an iron fist. Ships coming from Oldtown, Dorne, and Essos had stopped in the large harbor, plying their trade and selling rare and exotic goods from far and wide. Gold and silver had exchanged hundreds of hands by the time the sun had begun to rise in the east.

Billowing from the tops of each cobblestone chimney of the lodges and cottages dotting the city streets were fresh fumes of smoke, the sight of which warmed the heart of each seaman and merchant who were staying out in the snow and chilly weather.

Life was good for the people of Westhelm and Frostgate. It was much the same further down the coast, at the town of Vallenheim, which was under the leadership of Lady Alysane Mormont, the She-Bear. The women would be up managing their households, while the men had already dressed in their furs and leathers and made their way out to their boats. The children would be waking soon, ready to gather 'round the fires in their homes to settle in on a cold winter's morning.

Back inside the Lord's Chambers in Bear Keep, Lord Starag Mormont had awoken to feel rather well-rested and ready to start the day. The soft glare of the sun was starting to beam through the triangular glass windows of his room and the dying light of the fire had illuminated the cool stone floor. Soon enough, the sun would be up, trying to nudge him awake with its warm and caressing light.

Underneath him and pressing against his chest was the shapely and voluptuous backside of his wife, Lady Rhaenys Mormont-nee Targaryen. She was sleeping soundly, clutching his right arm tighter against her flushed breasts in her slumber. Her curtain of reddish-brown hair had been slightly parted by the thin slice of platinum-gold hair hanging down from the left side of her head. As Mormont gently pulled back her hair, he had clearly seen the small bit of drool hanging out of her thin pink lips.

Mormont smiled at the childlike quality and then looked up and out the triangular glass window directly at the slowly rising sun. He felt as if he was drowning.

The comfortable arms of the soft life had gripped him around the neck and were pulling him in with each passing day. It was strangling him by this point, smothering him in its warm embrace. For Starag Mormont was a man of war, and when there was no war in his life, that was when his spirit went into decline.

Peace had reigned ever since he returned from his expedition to Valyria over a year ago. By now, peace would surely kill him.

And on that lovely winter morning in Bear Keep, Starag Mormont knew that he was utterly and entirely bored with the prospect of the day ahead of him. It was this boredom that concerned him greatly, as he almost considered it sinful upon first contact. He had no problem with drinking, gambling, womanizing, or even risking his life in battle. It was boredom that was the most dangerous of all the sins in his life. And it was the one that he hated with a deep and virile passion.

Mormont knew there was only one way to relieve oneself of boredom- to sweat it out. It was time for his morning exercise.

Gently, he'd pulled back his right arm from the surprisingly strong grip of his wife. When he was free, he'd noticed her violet eyes fluttering awake at the absence of his arm. Slowly, her head had rolled over and she glanced dreamily up into his single lightning blue eye.

"Hmmm… Good morning, my love…" Rhaenys purred, her body turning to face him. Now he'd gotten a full view of the large Dornish breasts, of the wide healthy hips, and of the taut flat stomach. There was a thin sheen of sweat on the golden body below him. Mormont had gotten hard within seconds. "Does my bear wish to play with his maiden fair again?"

"You have no idea…" Mormont growled. He slipped his hand underneath her head and grabbed a handful of her hair at the base of her neck. He pulled it back sharply, seeing the primal fire light up behind her violet eyes. She couldn't get enough of him pulling her hair, it seemed.

Mormont slowly leaned down and kissed the waiting open pink lips. He felt his wife's arms reach up and around his neck, pulling him down further as her naked body pushed against his own, gyrating and begging for him to take her just as he had the night before.

Mormont smiled as he pulled away after a moment. Rhaenys had pouted immediately, her eyes glaring at him for teasing her so early in the day. He let go of her hair, flicked up the fur blanket, and swung his feet onto the stone floor.

Mormont looked around his room and quickly found his trousers laying on the floor, just where Rhaenys had pulled them off last night. As he put them on, he got another glance at his wife, who was now looking at him with her arms crossed underneath her full breasts. A dangerous glare had been written all over her face.

Normally, such a look would have worked on their children. But to Starag Mormont, he laughed. It was simply hilarious the way a woman would get angry knowing full well she couldn't control her man, especially in the bedroom no less.

"I'll be back soon, love." He said, slipping on his leather boots. "Training takes precedence over lovemaking."

Rhaenys' glare had softened. "I know…" She sighed. "But…"

Mormont had finished slipping on his shirt. It would be drenched with sweat soon enough. "If you can get the children off to their lessons with Torwyn before I'm back, well…" He paused for extra emphasis on his next sentence. "I'm sure we could both do with a bath."

Rhaenys had immediately understood and grinned wickedly at him. She slipped out of bed and strutted towards him until they were standing just a few inches opposite of one another. The scent of charcoal and honey filled Mormont's senses as she came closer, her hands slipping up his chest and straightening his shirt. "Don't be too long." She said huskily. "I'll have that bath ready for us. Wouldn't want the water to go cold, now would we?"

Mormont smirked. "No. We wouldn't."

They kissed one last time before Mormont turned and walked out of his chambers. But not without one last glance at his wife, who had wiggled her hips excitingly at him as she reached for her morning shift. Mormont shook his head and slammed the door shut.

Mormont tried forcing the image of his wife bent over in front of him out of his mind as he strode down the halls of Bear Keep. He passed by several guardsmen who stood to attention as he passed by, they said. "Morning, my lord!"

Mormont had nodded in return, trying to rein in his focus on his exercise routine. He passed by several serving girls who had bowed respectfully and blushed as he smiled at them. They giggled the moment he turned the next corner and went down the stairs to the Great Hall.

It was cold in his throne room. The long hall of grey stone yawned at him. He briefly glanced at the large throne of dark brown pinewood towards the back of the hall up on the stone dais. He'd be sitting on that bloody chair in about four hours or so.

"Good morning, my lord." Torwyn had said with an elderly smile as he shuffled out of the dining hall. "Clear weather today, I should think. Ought to have that serpent of yours hiding a bit more carefully up on the peak."

Mormont nodded, knowing exactly what the old man had meant. "I'll see to it after I've bathed and eaten. Doubt the smallfolk will see her all the way from Frostgate."

Torwyn raised a finger. "True, but there may be some early birds who might. Already there are rumors of a great winged beast flying in these parts, especially out in the Frozen Shore or the Northern Mountains. Best to take care, my lord."

Mormont grinned. "I'll see to it later." He chuckled. "Go back to setting your pine needles on fire, old man."

"Youth these days…" The old Maester had scoffed as he shambled up the stairs. His ramblings became incoherent as he left Starag's line of sight.

Mormont continued his stride until he found himself out in the courtyard of Bear Keep. The square expanse of grey stone covered in fresh snow was somewhat appealing to his eye. That was when he got to work.

Mormont ran ten laps around the full length of Bear Keep's battlements. Which amounted to precisely eleven and a half miles. Then, he had done twenty slow press-ups to put extra strain on his muscles until they screamed at him. Then he stretched out his abdominal muscles, so as to release the tension and pull his ribcage away from his pelvis. This had the burning effect he intended, and then he finished off his training by sparring with the men-at-arms in the lower courtyard.

By the time he had returned to his chambers, the steaming hot bath had been ready for him. And so too had his wife.

Mormont felt the fresh snow crunch underneath his boot as he climbed the rocky steps.

He had thoroughly enjoyed his wife's body that morning, had gotten a nice refreshing bath, and had then eaten with his family in the dining hall. They were their usual selves.

Duncan was practically bouncing off the walls with energy at this time of the day, so it was normal enough to see him eating his food quickly and then running off for his lessons with Torwyn.

Thalia had seemed to have gotten bolder over the last year or so. Now she could hold eye contact with Mormont for more than a minute before she would look away elsewhere. It seemed she was taking after Maege and Dacey, as she preferred battling her older brother with a spoon rather than a knife. Mormont knew instantly that one day, she'd be wielding a mace into battle.

Little Jeor had been sitting with Maege, as he seemed to be her favorite out of Mormont's children. He too had also grown deceptively tall in the last year, and Mormont wondered if he would actually be as tall as Duncan when he was older.

And then there was Mormont's fourth trueborn child; his third son Arthur, who he had named after the Sword of the Morning himself. For the cherished friend who had died only a year earlier in Valyria.

Little Arthur would be a killer with the ladies once he was older. He had inherited Mormont's charcoal black curls and had the same chocolate brown eyes that belonged to Starag's mother. Besides that, his complexion was of Valyrian make. Mormont could make out the sharp face of Rhaegar Targaryen underneath the baby fat.

And it was these same children who walked behind him, along with Rhaenys and Maege, as they climbed the carved-out mountain path that started in a small passageway just off the road from the White Gate and led upward to the peak of the tallest of the two mountains that Bear Keep was wedged between.

Mormont had ordered for the pathway to be carved out by stonemasons who lived in Frostgate. They'd done such a good job that Mormont had set them up for life with one hundred gold dragons each and an extra fifty to keep the matter quiet.

Because once he had ascended the final step, Mormont had gotten a good look at the great bronze beast that slept soundly atop the mountain peak.

Its shelter was a great stone bastion that was carved into the mountainside, almost like a gargantuan half-dome. Despite the harsh winds, Mormont knew it could sleep well enough. It had been ever since it hatched from its bloody egg.

The creature itself lay in the middle of this stone half-dome. The tail was longer and thicker than when he'd last seen it, perhaps as wide as two horses. The titanic body was covered in a thick layer of hardened copper scales, and the field-wide leathery wings were set in deep forest green. And the head was gigantic and sharp. It was a lean and tough monster, one bred to handle and live in the harsh cold of the North.

The great bronze dragon had slept like a baby. Emitting from its mouth was a thunderous, "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." Like the rolling of thunder in a cloudy sky. It filled Mormont's ears as he approached it.

Slowly, lazily, a single serpentine blue eye had opened upon hearing the snow crunch underneath his feet. The nose snorted in the air, picking up the stench of raw meat, both of the man and his family, and of the large basket containing beef and venison.

But the nose had recognized the scent of the man, and the narrowed serpentine eye had blinked again, and this time the pupil was wide and happy. Almost like a dog who had gotten excited upon seeing his master.

"Bronzie!" Thalia had started running towards the great bronze dragon. Mormont felt himself step forward a bit faster, his instincts ready for the worst.

But as always with this particular beast, his instincts had been wrong. The long bronze neck had risen from the mound of snow it had been resting on and lowered itself towards the little four-year-old girl. The serpentine blue eyes were loving and motherly as the dragon's head leaned gently towards Thalia's touch.

Mormont sighed and suddenly wished his daughter had named the blasted dragon something else entirely. After it had first hatched, Thalia had been the one to give it the name "Bronzie" and neither Mormont nor Rhaenys had the heart to deny her. After all, the dragon was completely covered from head to claws in golden bronze scales.

"Could I feed her today, father?" Duncan had asked by his side, nodding to the basket of bloody meat. There was an excited gleam in his purple eyes.

Mormont nodded, albeit reluctantly. He knew that the dragon wouldn't dare harm any of his children, for they were Rhaenys' children as well. And Rhaenys was Bronzie's rider. At the same time, he couldn't help but think back to his last grizzling experience with a live dragon. "Tell her to be gentle when taking the food. Almost nipped me last time."

Duncan grinned happily and took the offered basket from Mormont. He joined his sister in petting Bronzie's shimmering snout. Mormont watched the both of them carefully as they groomed the great bronze dragon. He flexed his right hand, feeling the blue markings glow sparkling hot underneath his clothes. He'd put the damned dragon down if it even harmed a single hair on one of his children.

He felt a warm hand brush against his shoulder. Even in the biting cold, Rhaenys' skin was hot to the touch. It was soothing, and it assured his nerves that everything would be fine.

Mormont glanced down at his woman. Her violet eyes were laughing and joyful. "They'll be fine." She said calmly. "It won't be like the one in…" She paused, reforming her smile. "Nevermind that. Do you…" She trailed off. "Do you think we could introduce her to Arthur?"

Mormont looked into those pleading violet eyes. His nerves ramped up only slightly, but just enough to fill his mind with images of the great bronze dragon eating his fourth child whole. He would be well within his rights to say no.

Mormont forced himself to turn ice-cold. Those fears were just that. Fears. If anything happened, he'd be able to get Arthur and the children out of harm's way. He forced a smile onto his face. "Maybe. But you'll have to be extra good at dinner tonight. If you aren't, I'll have to spank you."

Rhaenys had smiled, gripping his hand tightly. "Doesn't sound like such a bad thing, Lord Mormont…" She growled. "I've grown rather accustomed to being a bad girl…"

Thankfully, Maege had already taken Jeor and Arthur over to the wall of the rock dome, Starag's aunt seemed suddenly interested in the grey stone. So none of them had to hear the lewd conversation between Lord and Lady Mormont.

"In a place you won't expect," Mormont had added sharply.

"Oh!" Rhaenys squealed, blushing at the implications, and the mystery behind it. "I see your point, Lord Mormont. I shall be on my best behavior this evening."

"Good." Mormont nodded, putting his arm around her waist. Though he doubted she would actually hold up her end of the bargain. "Let's go feed a dragon, then." He said plainly.

Rhaenys wrapped her arms around his chest and up his lower back. She pressed herself against him. "I love you, Starag."

Mormont smirked. "I know."

"-And my boat was stolen in the night, m'lord!" The fisherman had bowed again, his face nearly touching the floor. "I can't do any fishing without a boat! My children will starve! Please, m'lord! Can you give me another? Just for this winter."

Mormont sat coldly on the dark pinewood throne, picking at his nails while he listened to the fisherman wail about his stolen boat. He sighed. "Do you know who stole your boat?"

The man had stopped. "Well…"

"Do you know who stole your boat?" Mormont repeated. "Or do you have suspicions about who committed the crime?"

"Well," The fisherman started again. "I think it was that new innkeep, Irving. Yes, that's 'is name! He's a shady one, always lurking about town, looking to cause trouble, he is!"

Doubtful. Mormont had thought. Mormont had met Irving, the new owner of the Dancing Fox moons ago. He'd been an excellent manager of the staff and had kindly received Mormont upon taking over from the previous innkeeper. Mormont was a great judge of character, so either Irving was a professional liar or the fisherman in front of him was trying to spin a story.

Or, it was always possible there was a thief roaming about Frostgate. It was one of the wealthier towns in the North, after all. But then again, Mormont trusted his guardsmen to the hilt. If there was trouble, the men were on top of it fairly quickly. The last tavern brawl at the Dancing Fox had been broken up in less than fifty seconds- a record if anything for House Mormont men-at-arms.

And Mormont was notoriously stingy with handing out resources to the public, especially to those who didn't need them. Everyone on Bear Island knew how to chop down a tree and put together a suitable watercraft. Mormont wasn't about to give this man a handout for allowing his boat to be stolen.

"Do you own a boathouse?" Mormont asked.

The fisherman looked mildly confused. But he nodded. "Errr… Yes, m'lord. I do." He answered.

Mormont nearly burst a vein. He could smell the answer to his next question a mile away. "And where was your boat the night it was stolen?"

The fisherman soon began to realize the gravity of his mistake. "O-Outside. By the docks, m'lord!"

"Now that's rather curious." Mormont bristled in his seat, the cold fury on his face was etched into a scowl. "Now, why exactly aren't you keeping your boat- your primary source of income- in your boathouse where it's supposed to be kept? Precisely where thieves would have a much harder time stealing it?"

There might as well have been a school of crickets in the Great Hall of Bear Keep. The long line of petitioners behind the fisherman had echoed a series of dry coughs and for some-hidden chuckles.

The older man tried to put together the right words to say. Mormont beat him to it. "I suspect it's because you wanted to beat your competition to the best fishing spots in the Bay of Ice, and you believed you'd have an advantage by keeping your boat out in the cold docks, unwittingly allowing a potential thief to stow away with it in the night." He took his pipe out of his coat pocket and lit it with a single match. "Am I correct?"

The fisherman nodded. "Aye," He said, his face flushed in embarrassment. "I just-"

"No excuses." Mormont had sucked on his pipe and blew a fresh plume of smoke out of his mouth. "Did your mother not teach you how to build a boat? Mine certainly did."

"Aye, she did, m'lord! But-"

"No," Mormont said again. "You're a man. Get an axe and go chop down some trees. You have children to look after, and your time would be better spent building a new boat as opposed to trying to scrape one off me." He leaned forward. "My guardsmen will look for your previous vessel. If they cannot find it, then you'll have to build a new one regardless. Do I make myself clear?"

The man had looked defeatedly at the floor and nodded. "Aye, m'lord…" He said, standing up. There was no bitterness in his dull blue eyes. He simply accepted his lord's verdict. "You're fair, m'lord. I'll get started right away."

"Good," Mormont said, sitting back in his chair. He blew another cloud of smoke out of his nostrils. "And don't bother returning here until you've got it built. I'll know if you do."

The fisherman had gulped at the veiled threat. He bowed one last time and then turned around, making his way past the long line of petitioners.

Mormont shook his head and sighed. Sometimes he wondered how his people managed to get out of bed in the morning without him having to tell them to do so. It was shocking that anything got done in Frostgate, much less Westhelm. Even the wildlings at Northbeach-the town where Sigmund's people now settled on the northern front of Bear Island- had managed to be the sharper tools in the shed.

"Next," He said carelessly, watching as an older woman in her late forties walked up to the middle of the room, lifting her skirts in a rough curtsy.

"Milord," She greeted him. "I-"

Towards the right side of the room, Mormont had heard the faint shuffling and clinking of chains, and he felt his spirits lighten as they moved closer and closer.

Torwyn had appeared at the base of the stairs leading up to his tower, and in his hand was an unfurled letter. He seemed to be hurrying along rather quickly.

Mormont ignored the voice of the middle-aged woman and watched as Torwyn climbed up the stone steps to his throne. He bowed to Mormont and came closer. "Letter from Lord Stark, my lord. It's urgent." He whispered, holding out the letter to him.

Mormont took the letter and scanned the contents with his one good eye. This is what it said:

Starag,

There's some bad news coming down from King's Landing. Jon Arryn passed a few days ago, and the Lannisters and Tullys are at each other's throats once more.

Robert has commanded me to travel down south and help quell the chaos as the new Hand of the King. I must obey him, but I have my doubts.

Last I heard about Jon, he was as healthy as a horse. And that was a few weeks ago. I find it strange that now he's suddenly gone. Ashara shares my doubts, and she suspects treachery.

I ask for your counsel before I ride down south, old friend. You know these southern lords better than I do, you've spent more time around them. Come to Winterfell as soon as you can. And bring your family as well if you wish.

Your old friend,

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell

Mormont rolled up the letter, coming to a decision within seconds. He stood up from his throne, halting the woman before him in her speech. "That's enough for today, you lot. Back to your homes." He ordered.

The petitioners had not uttered a single word. Even though some of them seemed exhausted at the prospect of climbing back down the winding path towards Frostgate, they turned around and filed out of the Great Hall one by one. The woman in front had looked exasperated, but she too had kept silent and made her way out. The large twin doors of pine and white steel shut behind her.

Mormont looked to Torwyn. "What's going on in King's Landing? Do you know anything?"

"Only that Lord Arryn had died just a few days ago. They say it was his startling old age, clocking in around eighty, I believe. Just a few years older than myself." Torwyn rambled, waving his hand aside. "Anyways, both House Tully and House Lannister have a few thousand men stationed in the city on both sides. Lysa Tully claims her men are there to protect her sister and her children, while Lord Tywin claims his men are there to defend his grandchildren if the need arises."

"What about Hoster Tully?" Mormont asked. "Isn't he in command of his own forces?"

Torwyn pursed his lips underneath his large white beard. "Well, that is a most curious question, isn't it." He said, puzzled. "Last I heard, his health was getting better by the day. But just the other week I received a letter from Vyman, the Maester at Riverrun-good chap by the way- and he had said that suddenly, Lord Hoster's health had been failing. It was as if he was healthy one day, and then sick the next. Most troubling news, of course."

"And most curious indeed," Mormont agreed. "Isn't the Blackfish available? He's the last heir to Riverrun, is he not? Or is there still that bad blood between him and his brother?"

"To the death, I'm afraid," Torwyn confirmed with a heavy sigh. "Lord Brynden is watching over the Bloody Gate in the Mountains of the Moon."

"Perfect." Mormont ran a hand down his face, stroking his beard. "Jon Arryn is dead, and Hoster Tully is on the way out the door, too. Ned and Ashara suspect foul play in the background." He stared thoughtfully at the twin pine doors at the other end of the Great Hall. "Shit."

"Should I tell Lord Stark you'll be riding to Winterfell immediately?" Torwyn asked, reading his liege lord's mind.

Mormont nodded. He didn't even care that the old man had read the letter. Torwyn was practically a member of the family by this point. "Tell him we won't spare our horses. If Ned can pick up a whiff of smoke from King's Landing, then there's fire."

Torwyn bowed deeply. "Right away, my lord." He said, turning around and shuffling back the way he came, back up the stairs to his tower.

Starag Mormont watched the old man disappear up the stairway. Then he turned around and made his way up to the opposite staircase. He walked down the grey stone halls towards the Lord's Den. The whole time, his mind was racing about the sudden southern plot. Just as quickly, he thought of a loose bastard phrase he heard long ago from the lips of Brandon Stark.

"Those whom the Gods wish to destroy, they first make bored."