PART II: The Great Game

Snow

300 AC

The stale roar of the blizzard outside tried to lull Mormont to sleep.

That, along with the crackling of the fireplace inside the shared room, had also tempted him to lean back in his comfortable chair and doze off for a few moments…

Mormont decided against falling asleep. There was too much on his mind as of late. Too much for him to outright ignore at the moment.

After they'd saved the Lannister escort, Mormont had invited the Imp to travel along with him to the Gates of the Moon, and up to the Eyrie as well. Tyrion Lannister had not refused, since they were both on the same course, and he'd rather not be victim to another wandering party of tribesmen.

And once they'd reached the castle at the base of the Giant's Lance, Ser Brynden Tully had parted from them, making his way back to the Bloody Gate. A part of Mormont was sad to see the older man go, he'd like to have heard another story from Tully about the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Brynden had seen firsthand the great battle between Barristan the Bold and the monstrous Maelys Blackfyre. That would've been one hell of a sight to see.

Mormont had decided not to stay long at the Gates of the Moon. He'd rested for the night and begun his climb the next day, though he knew he'd need to leave behind Bear at the Gates, since the pathways up the waycastles Stone, Snow, and Sky would be far too narrow for a warhorse his size.

Now having arrived at the waycastle of Snow as the sun was setting, Mormont had taken one of the guest rooms in the large timber keep. The Commander of the installed garrison, a young knight from House Waynwood, had allowed them to share one of the common rooms in the keep as they would be leaving soon the next morning.

Mormont sat staring into the fire with Tempest laid across his lap. He'd barely noticed the smoky black edge of the axe blade was caked with dried blood until an hour ago. He took out an oilcloth from his pack and began wiping away the blood, being careful not to cut himself on the Valyrian Steel.

Bit by bit, he'd calmly watched as small chunks of congealed blood were stripped away. Mormont was almost hypnotized as he cleaned his new weapon.

"I almost forgot just how you Northmen prize your weapons…"

Mormont had glanced over his shoulder, looking past the watchful pair of Jorge and Orin, the sleeping Lannister guardsmen, and straight at the Halfman himself. Tyrion had slipped inside their shared room and closed the door behind him, waddling his way over to the chair across from Mormont.

The Imp climbed up and sat down, flipping up a book from his pack. Mormont sniggered at the odd sight of Lannister's legs briefly flailing in an attempt to get a foothold.

"Amused, are you?" The Imp had grinned. "Perhaps I should break out into a northern jig?"

"Wouldn't mind seeing that. Could you also do a backflip while you're at it?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Tyrion said. "My uncles taught me to tumble in my youth. I dare say I could do a better backflip than even you."

"I believe it," Mormont paused. "You'd make a great mummer on stage."

"I can see it already, my father would jump for joy."

Mormont shook his head and smiled. He enjoyed these little sparring sessions with only wits and words. He'd had plenty of them with Arthur Dayne and the Queen of Thorns. It was a pleasant surprise to find that Tyrion Lannister matched up in this regard.

He'd gone back to focusing solely on cleaning Tempest. Most of the dried blood was gone, staining the oilcloth with mud-red.

Likewise, the Imp had cracked open his book, picking up on the page he'd left off.

Mormont gave the book a sideways glance. The firelight shone against the front cover. Written in bold red lettering was Remnants of the Dragonlords. "And I almost forgot how much you cling to a bunch of dusty tomes."

"Not terribly fond of books, are we?"

"An argument could be made for their futility."

"But how can one develop wit without knowledge? Surely you yourself have seen the difference between those who read and those who do not?"

"I have," Mormont said. "Maesters read, but that doesn't make them any more special than the rest of us. And knowledge you can gain from experiencing the world."

Tyrion gave nothing away. "And what if one lacked the resources to experience the world? Would you say such a thing to slaves in the Free Cities?"

Mormont shook his head. "I would not say anything to them, because they are slaves. They do not know freedom, and they would feel safer in the hands of their masters. Therefore, they cannot be reasoned with. Would you feel different in that situation? Or would you simply be focused on getting your next meal?"

"You still did not answer my first question."

"There is no 'lack' of resources. If you want to experience the world, you simply go out and do it."

Tyrion raised a curious eyebrow. "Your sparkling logic does not explain the stupidity of many sellswords or nobles. Both of whom have traveled and experienced the world, and both are largely stupid."

"Because they learn the wrong lessons." Mormont returned. "And you are speaking in terms of the majority, Lord Tyrion. The majority is always wrong. That is why they are the majority, and why they follow the small minority in power. The peasants and smallfolk who live under us are the ones who give us power, and the very same people who could take it all away. Yet they follow the nobility because, at least some of us, know better than they do."

"Interesting…" The Imp had studied him. "But I feel as if we've lost the topic of our conversation. How are books useless to the mind?"

"Futile." Mormont corrected. "I have people to rule, lands to defend, and businesses to manage. My staff, children, and wife demand my attention. Problems arise with my cousins' branches of my house. I will admit, these are problems of my own making." He paused. "Yet you expect me to sit still for a few hours and read a book? When I can have my Maester read its contents and write a report for me?

"Perhaps it might bring some calm to that chaotic life of yours…"

Mormont shook his head. "With all that I've done in my life, why would I want it to be calm? If having chaos in my life brought prosperity to my people and my house, then so be it."

From a single look, Mormont knew the man sitting across from him had led a much different life. While still a dwarf, he always had his father's wealth and the respect of the Lannister name.

Mormont, however, had not had such luxuries. He did not have the time to sit around and read books. His family had been notoriously poor and had garnered little respect in the North outside of recognition from House Stark.

Their reputation had dropped to an all-time low years earlier when Jorah had decided it was a good idea to jump into slavery. Even now, with Starag's efforts to restore honor to their House, he'd still hear whispers at the occasional feast. "A House of Slavers." They'd say behind his back, never once to his face. Not a single Northern Lord would dare utter those words to his face.

It didn't matter that he was close friends with Eddard Stark, and neither did it matter that he could prove himself in the eyes of the Old Gods. There would always be men envious enough to lie about him, to slander him and his family. There wasn't a single book that could fix that stain on his family…

He did not understand why books were entirely necessary outside of what was needed. Knowing about some lordling who existed two hundred years ago wouldn't help him make more gold or win a battle.

Reading a book was easy. It inflicted no pain, no experience on the reader. Nothing to actually make them remember what pain felt like. It was impossible to fail.

And Mormont knew well enough that humans only learned lessons in one of two ways; the hard way, and the harder way.

Mormont knew that Rhaenys was an avid reader, but the case itself was different for women. Mormont did not expect women to go out into the world and become hardened by experiencing it. His wife would stay in his keep and raise his children, and while she knew full well how to swing a sword (and was far better than most men at that), he wouldn't want to take the enjoyment of reading away from her. He'd had a library built for her in Bear Keep, after all.

But Mormont refused to raise his sons in such a manner. For Duncan, Jeor, Arthur, and any other of his future sons, their development would be paved with actual worldly experience. Not from biased words written in some dusty old tome.

"You almost sound like my father," Tyrion smiled politely. "In your own, barbaric type of way."

"Is that a compliment?" Mormont asked.

"Not particularly. My dearest lord father never found a practical use for books. " Said the Imp as he lazed back into his chair.

Mormont had expected the conversation to die off, but he'd then noticed the book in Lannister's lap was laying face-down. "Though, there was that one time when he had you looked up,"

Mormont raised a curious eyebrow. Tyrion elaborated. "He found out all he could about you after that tourney in Highgarden. Wasn't so pleased about the outcome of that particular match."

Makes sense. Mormont thought. He had a pretty good hunch as to why. "And how exactly had I gotten the personal attention of Lord Tywin Lannister?"

"Your meteoric rise to power," Tyrion held up all the fingers on his right hand and began counting down. "First, you set the kingdoms on fire with tales speaking of your great victories against living legends. Secondly, you kill his one of his most loyal bannermen in a particularly disarming fashion. Third, you openly defeat his prized firstborn son in single combat-a feat which even I had trouble believing. Fourth, you come from a poor backwater Northern house and are now suddenly one of the richest lords in the North. Fifth, you quickly became one of his most powerful competitors in regard to business and trade." There was a hint of satisfaction in Tyrion's voice. "And with your little voyage to Valyria, I suppose it wouldn't be so difficult to assume that you are now quite possibly richer than even my father?"

Mormont didn't give anything away with his expression. "And what makes you think I sailed to Valyria? Sailors aren't known for their accuracy when it comes to rumors."

"That," Lannister pointed directly at the axe strewn across Mormont's lap. "There is not a single weapon I've read made of Valyrian Steel that matches its description." He said. "And it looks outlandishly heavy. Sounds right up the Dragonlords' alley."

Mormont snorted upon hearing the rhyme. He didn't say anything as he resumed wiping off what remained of the dried blood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he'd noticed Lannister never taking his eyes off him. "And I've never heard of a Valyrian Steel weapon with First Men runes. I bet if you showed off that weapon at the Citadel, the Archmaesters would throw themselves from the Hightower."

"Sounds about right," Mormont laughed at the dark joke. "You're a smart man, Lord Tyrion. What reason do you think I would have to go to Valyria?"

"The same reason my brother competes in tourneys," The Imp listed off. "The very same reason I read books, and probably the same reason this whole bloody continent is devolving into civil war: boredom."

Mormont smirked but continued polishing the cleaned axe blade. "Not a bad one, I suppose you're partially correct."

A small part of him appreciated the Dwarf of Casterly Rock, even if Tyrion had openly spoken of his exploits with regard to whoring and drinking. At this far-flung corner of the world, Mormont would have entertaining, albeit intellectual conversation.

And Mormont knew he very well could recite his journey to the Smoking Sea, but that would also involve bringing up the context about the Others and what lay beyond the Wall. A revelation that the rest of the Seven Kingdoms was not quite ready for, not yet at least.

That, and it was highly unlikely anyone would believe him.

Their small company fell into a lull of silence as they continued their ascent up the Giant's Lance. Mormont was partially thankful for the gentle mountain winds that hummed into his cold ears.

The blizzard had desisted, thankfully. Otherwise, they would not have attempted a climb. Instead, Mormont had gotten a nice view of the clouds gathering some fifty feet below his current position. And far below them, he'd seen the verdant green valley floor littered with patches of white snow.

That's when he remembered just how high up he was. Mormont stepped away from the edge and forced his eye upon the path in front of him. An all too familiar queasy feeling had entered his gut.

It's not like the volcano. He reminded himself, half-expecting to see the great black void far below him once again. Still, he forced himself to take one foot in front of the other. One, two. One, two. One, two. Until the feeling was forced out by the ice in his veins.

"I have another question, if you may…" Mormont had heard Tyrion's voice far behind him. The Dwarf was sitting on his mule.

Mormont briefly glanced back at the Imp, avoiding the fourteen-thousand-foot drop below the cliff their party stood on. "Depends on the nature of your question."

Lannister smiled. "My uncle Gerion had decided to take his own voyage to Valyria almost fifteen years ago. My father had tracked his progress all the way to Volantis, and that was that. We assumed he died…" Tyrion trailed off. "If you did at all sail the Smoking Sea…" he paused again. "Did you find him?"

Gerion Lannister… Mormont searched through his mind in an instant. Yes… About six years before we set off. "I do not know his fate, Lord Tyrion. Neither can I say that his remains were found." Be careful with what you say, Mormont. Some things are better left unspoken. "You were fond of him?"

"Very," Tyrion answered. "He was my favorite uncle. On my seventh name-day, he'd gifted me copies of Wonders and Wonders Made by Man. I read those until they fell apart at the bindings."

Mormont could feel the warmth in the younger man's voice as he spoke. It seemed to Tyrion Lannister, that warm days spent with family were few and far between. Rare books, too. Must've cost the man a fortune to get his hands on those. Indeed it was a fond memory of Tyrion Lannister, judging by the saddened gleam in his mismatched eyes.

"Well for what it's worth, he was far braver than most men," Mormont added, nudging Tempest with his fingers. "Only madmen or fools sail the Smoking Sea."

He could tell that Tyrion was thankful for the kind words. Mirth had danced back into those mismatched green and black eyes. "And which are you?"

"Neither," Mormont said, taking a swig from his water canteen.

A curve in the rockface had greeted him. He got a glance at a high crescent-shaped stone wall that had been raised against the side of the mountain. Sky. He stabbed the iron pole into the ground once again and stepped forward. Mormont waved behind him, signaling that they'd made it to the final waycastle before the Eyrie.

Mormont smiled in relief, and then looked back to see the puzzled expression of the Dwarf.

"I'm just a man taking care of his people."

They were greeted by a small contingent of Valemen once they'd arrived at the hollowed-out keep.

Soon after, they'd been let further into the cavern that held the small keep of Sky. Their mules were put in the stables, and Mormont and his men were escorted through the long natural halls, passing by the barracks and even the passageway leading to the long stone chimney that would've taken one all the way up to the underbelly of the Eyrie.

Once they came out the other end of the cavern, Mormont glanced up to see the shadowed bottom of the gleaming white citadel. Nearby was a series of great iron chains linked to about half a dozen each of large wicker baskets and oaken supply buckets.

At his side, Tyrion Lannister reappeared. "It is said to be impregnable, more so than even Storm's End." He mused. "In a few moons' time, they will come down and relocate to the Gates of the Moon." He explained.

"I know," Mormont said dryly. He'd approached the nearest of the great wooden and iron baskets waiting for them. "It didn't stop the Arryn's from surrendering to Visenya, though."

He'd briefly glanced at the Imp after recalling that stray fact of history he'd heard from one of Rhaenys' impassioned ramblings about Aegon's Conquest. Lannister looked upon him with renewed interest.

As they stepped into the large basket with Jorge, Orin, and the Lannister men-at-arms, Tyrion had sat down in one of the corners and smiled. "You know Lord Mormont, you're not quite the savage that everyone says you are."

"Seems I've been acting out of character, then."

"You're right," Tyrion smirked. "You'd make a far worse mummer than me."

Mormont smiled upon hearing his earlier comment get fired right back at him. "Fair enough."

He heard the iron chains rattle violently to life. The queasy feeling in his gut was back again as he felt the bottom of the oaken basket lift off the ground. "You've been pleasant company in the short time I've known you, Lord Tyrion. Even if you're a whoring drunk."

Lannister lazed back against the firm wall of the great iron-rimmed basket and smiled genuinely at him. He placed his hands behind his head and looked up at Mormont. "See,"

"That is a compliment."

It was barely midday by the time they reached the top.

Mormont could hear the faint howling winds that came with impossible heights. It was quite possibly the loudest thing in his ear, even though it was calm and patient.

The locked door on the oaken basket had opened sharply, revealing two men accompanied by eight Arryn household guardsmen in a slightly darkened hall of white marble. The man holding the basket door nodded stolidly to him, gesturing to come out quietly.

Mormont did so. A part of him felt relieved upon feeling his feet against solid ground once more. Behind him, Jorge and Orin followed, and then the Lannister guardsmen after Tyrion.

"Come, Lord Robert is expecting you in the High Hall." One of the guards said to him. Then looking at the Imp. "You as well, Lord Tyrion." Mormont could feel the man's animosity seething through his teeth. Valemen were not exactly the best at hiding their fury. Must've received word of our arrival from the Gates of the Moon.

"Not even a spot of lunch for us weary travelers?" Tyrion had asked mirthfully. "No 'thank you for coming all this way, my lord' or 'you are welcome in these halls, my lord'? Does Robert Arryn know what a lord's curtesy is like?"

The Guard Captain-as Mormont assumed he was in charge-had proceeded to ignore Tyrion. He began marching out of the winch room and into the corridors. Some of the other guardsmen gestured to Mormont to follow, with their hands on their hilts.

Mormont knew full well he could cut down all eight of them if the need arose. He still had his weapons on him. But despite the cold reception, he was still a guest in another man's home. It would do him well to earn his host's goodwill rather than add another enemy to Ned and Jon's current roster.

Mormont decided to follow the Guard Captain, giving a warning glance to Jorge and Orin. He'd already worked out a sufficient signal with them if-in the unlikely extreme-they needed to carve their way out of the Eyrie. Mormont would whistle, and his men would draw their swords.

Soon enough, they left behind the cold mountain air and stepped into the warm halls of the Eyrie. The gleaming white corridors were lined with flags bearing the sky-blue falcon on a white moon, the sigil of House Arryn.

The floors were checkered diamonds of black and grey. Though the diamonds were occasionally dusted with flecks of snow whenever they passed by one of the windowed sections.

They'd gone up a flight of stairs and entered a grand circular hall. Mormont knew it to be the Crescent Chamber, for the glittering white crescent moon that was carved into the floor as a sort of mural. It looked almost like a reception hall, with a grand wooden table, a large hearth, and an assortment of chairs and seats.

But the hall was empty, and Mormont's group was prodded further into the mountain keep. They were joined by another six guardsmen, and the bad feeling in Mormont's gut churned to life once more.

There were about twenty-four House Arryn guards accompanying them by the time they made it to the entrance of the High Hall. The Guard Captain halted and turned around to face them. "Hand over your arms. Now." He ordered.

Tyrion gave Mormont a curious glance, to which Starag shrugged. This was not exactly shaping up to be the diplomatic mission they'd both set out for.

Mormont had no quarrel with House Arryn, though. Neither did he have a reason to say no to the demand. He was a guest. But why are they so cautious? We came to this place of our own volition.

Mormont decided against commenting on it. Reluctantly, he'd begun undoing Longclaw's belt strap along with the attached dagger. He'd handed both over to the guardsmen beside the Guard Captain. Next, he'd unslung Tempest from the axe hook on his back and placed it in the uneasy guardsman's hand. No doubt, the man-at-arms expected the axe to be overwhelmingly heavy.

Once they were all unarmed, the Guard Captain opened the tall twin oak doors that held distinct carvings of falcons and eagles.

Were Mormont visiting under any other circumstances, he would've been impressed at the sight of the long hall of white marble and all of its spartan beauty. There were veins of sea blue running in the marble, and the floors were lined with blue silk carpet. There were several rows of thin fluted pillars lining the edges of the hall as well.

A very pretty room. And a very empty one at that.

Far at the other end of the High Hall, Mormont got a glance of a lone figure sitting in one of two weirwood thrones. The one being occupied was noticeably larger than the other.

The bad feeling in his gut dropped to an all-time low when they approached. Their host's light blue eyes were hard and narrowed. His aquiline nose was turned down, and his hair parted between his eyes. Strong build, a capable fighter.

Mormont felt the electric shock of danger enter his mind when he saw the gleaming grey longsword laid out across the lap of Robert Arryn. That's not good. It was the complete opposite of his courteous reception in Runestone.

Mormont stopped twenty feet away from the two thrones. Tyrion stopped at his side, though neither had shared a look. They both knew they shouldn't have come.

All was silent in the High Hall. Not a single word was spoken between any of the men present. It was as if they were all statues.

Mormont watched the young man sitting up on the high dais. He studied Robert Arryn for any hint of expression. He looked at the sword again, recently sharpened. At least judging by the whetstone in the boy's other hand.

Slowly, Robert Arryn rose to his feet, gripping his blade easily with his right hand. Mormont saw traces of Arthur's style in the way he held the longsword. Blackfish did say he was learning from Jaime.

"Ser Vardis," The first words out of Robert Arryn's mouth were firm. "In the name of our King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I charge you to arrest this man," He pointed his blade straight at Tyrion Lannister. "For the crimes of committing treason against the Crown and conspiring to murder my Lord Father, Jon Arryn."

"What?" Tyrion had gone wide-eyed then. His mismatched eyes shot towards Mormont, who could only watch as the Lannister guardsmen attempted to reclaim their weapons and defend their lord.

Though the effort was futile, since the Arryn guardsmen were armed, Tyrion had bought himself a few seconds. "Lord Arryn, I assure you I had nothing to do with your father's death! I am simply here-"

"Silence!" The boy lord had commanded. "Ser Vardis, take the Imp away and throw him into a cell. He will await the King's Justice there. Put his men in cells, too. If they give you trouble, use the Moon Door."

The Guard Captain nodded his head and gestured for the other Arryn household guards to follow. They prodded the Lannister escort with spears, leading them down the corridor to the right. Tyrion gave Mormont one last glance that said, tell him I'm innocent!

Once they rounded the corner, Mormont felt silence slip into the air. Jorge and Orin stood behind him, and he could hear their fists tightening, ready to fight off the remaining eight Arryn guards.

Those hard light blue eyes turned now onto Mormont. This time, Robert Arryn placed the tip of his longsword against the ground and rested his hands on its pommel. He almost looked like one of the sentinel statues in the Crypts of Winterfell as he stared down at Mormont.

"Tell me why you are here, Lord Mormont." Robert Arryn demanded, squeezing the pommel of his blade.

"Tell me the truth, or we'll find out whether or not you can fly."

Author's Notes:

Back again. Hope this chapter finds you well on this fine December morning (don't care if it's still November for you, EST is the real time zone).

Mixing up some lighthearted moments with Starag and Tyrion along with the massive bomb dropped by Robert Arryn's accusation (don't worry, we're not doing a trial by combat like in the canon).

Next up… Jon comes face to face with the Old Lion himself…

As always, feel free to review, ask questions, or even leave behind constructive criticism.

And don't forget…

Your reviews may or may not be turned into content!

revox: I considered giving Starag a bear familiar like the Stark direwolves, but I decided against it because there's not much of a good reason to do so. Would it be cool? Maybe.

This is partially why I chose instead to give him Bronzie. Starag isn't exactly big on live dragons, but his wife has one for a pet, so for him it's kind of a tense "father-daughter" relationship between Starag and his family's dragon.

DukeSomerset: Yeah, it's an absolute banger of a song.

DaolordBlackheart: God of War (2018) was one of the more powerful inspirations for The Last Tour, along with A Knight's Tale, Casino Royale, and a long lost D&D Campaign I played years ago.

Always loved those father-son scenes between Kratos and Atreus though. One of my favorite duos