PART II: The Great Game
The Mountains of the Moon
300 AC
It had only taken Mormont two days to make his way across the Vale of Arryn.
And it was by chance that the day he'd begun ascending the Mountains of the Moon, that a terrible blizzard had come down from the North, striking the mountain range with its ferocious, cold, and unrelenting force.
Mormont had assumed that this might happen, however, and had prepared by purchasing some extra blankets and furs from a well-to-do farmer who had been situated at the base of the mountains. As he and his capable mountain steed-a sturdy mare who he decided to name Janessa-had climbed up the rocky hills and treacherous steppes, Mormont knew that this journey, if he actually descended from the Mountains of the Moon alive, would be a long and stony memory.
He could not go back to the Bloody Gate. Not after he'd been arrested by Robert Arryn, and had subsequently escaped imprisonment. Now, he was more or less a fugitive on the loose in the Vale. And no amount of shared kinship that he'd felt with Brynden Tully would save him from being thrown back into a cell at the narrow pass in the mountains.
As such, his only solution was to trek the Mountains of the Moon all on his own. A task that was considerably formidable, judging by the weather alone. And of the inhabitants of the mountain range itself.
From what he knew, most of the mountain clans in the Vale inhabited the Mountains of the Moon. They would provide a dangerous threat if Mormont wasn't careful. And then there were shadowcats that often prowled the sleek gray-green rock passageways for stray animals and travelers.
And if there was anything Mormont truly despised, it was shadowcats.
He wasn't in much of a mood to encounter another of the bloody big cats, not after his last encounter with one in Dorne. Yet, he would be letting down both Jon and Ned by getting himself caught by the Knights of the Vale. So, the mountains needed to be breached and passed by any means presented to him.
Besides that, Mormont decided that the only lead that he had on his plate was his meeting with Oberyn. But even that he was unsure about.
Had his letter been intended for an earlier meeting? Mormont was somewhat partial on that front. Oberyn had not stated when they should meet, only that they should meet at the Inn at the Crossroads by the Trident.
That alone was enough for Mormont, who only desired to see friendly faces after his brief evening in a cold cell inside the Eyrie.
This line of thought was only amplified by the simple fact of the howling storm that persisted around him, as his horse slowly trotted up the slope of snow and rocky terrain.
The chill in Mormont's bones had gotten worse, despite all of his coverings. The blankets that were covering his lap were damn near frozen and were heavy with fresh snowfall. The weight kept him firmly seated in his saddle.
Best to find shelter from this bloody storm, he thought to himself. It would keep up for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. Perhaps even for the entirety of tomorrow, at that.
Mormont was also a stranger to this mountain range. He'd never traversed it before, not at least to the other side of the mountains which led directly into the northern foothills above the Riverlands and the Kingsroad. A part of him, the young man who had once gone out into Westeros to explore the vast continent before him, was excited at the prospect of a new challenge. Yet it was the older, wiser, and more cunning man within him that recognized the journey for what it was; a wildly long and dangerous inconvenience, along with what else had occurred in his quaint little trip to the Vale of Arryn.
Up ahead of him, he knew there was a sharp turnabout in the rockface. A sharp turn further into the rock passage. With any luck, it might just provide a brief reprieve from the storm.
Mormont forged on ahead, scanning the white blanket ten feet in front of him with his singular blue eye.
He fixed his gaze on the dark cut into the rock, and at the yawning open gap of the turnabout. As he came closer to it, he was relieved to see the uneven arched ceiling about seventeen feet above his head.
Mormont led his horse inside and began brushing off the snow from the thick blankets on his lap. Then, satisfied that the power of the blizzard had noticeably decreased, he dismounted his horse. After slinging the blankets onto the saddle, he grabbed hold of the reins and led the way further inside the cave.
The natural light coming from the storm had partially illuminated the path ahead of him. He didn't need a torch, he found, as he discovered that the cave passage only extended for about twenty feet more until it opened out into the mountain range once again.
And back into the blizzard itself.
Mormont was thankful for the reprieve, however. He led Janessa to the middle of the passage, getting her well out of the storm's blast, and settled her in a corner she could use all to herself in the meantime.
"You've earned your rest, girl…" Mormont patted her long face gently.
The mare neighed back at him tenderly, why thank you, I think I did a pretty good job myself in that storm.
Mormont snickered to himself and began going through his packs. One of them he'd stuffed with dry wood, bark, and some herbs he'd use to get a fire going whenever he'd need to. The other was filled with food and water.
It was the latter pack that he'd gone through first. Mormont pursed his lips as he ruffled through it, finding only a fistful of dried bread, some dried trout, and a few stray berries. Besides that, there was still a full cask of fresh water left to go.
Mormont realized that he'd soon need to rely on the elements to feed himself. And if all else failed, he'd decided that he could go without food for several days. If the situation became absolutely dire, he'd have to kill his horse. But again, Mormont wasn't entirely sold on that idea. He loved horses and detested killing them or harming them in any way.
"You can tell your horse anything, and he won't rat you out to the powers that be." Lyanna Stark had once said to him. And how right she was.
Mormont snickered at the thought of the willful Stark girl and her whispering to her horse. That was practically her childhood. Never got along much with the other girls her age. Only her horses and her brothers…
Soon enough, however, he sobered upon recalling a time when he would take his own horse out for a ride, and Lyanna would sit in the saddle behind him, holding onto him with her arms around his waist and laughing her stupid, girlish laugh as they rode up and down the hills outside Winterfell.
Mormont decided to put those thoughts away. It wouldn't do him any good to think about those times. Not now, at least.
He instead decided to put together his impromptu fire. Mormont rounded up all the necessary stones from within the cave, piling the wood carefully in the middle and putting some bark between the chunks of wood. After striking a match and lighting up the bark, Mormont carefully blew onto the young flames, watching as they grew higher and higher, eventually latching onto the wood itself. Then, satisfied with his work, he removed his pipe from his coat pocket, struck another match, lit the pipeweed inside the bowl, and threw the match into the now-growing fire.
In a few minutes, the fire was going. And so too was the bowl of his pipe. Mormont sucked in a lungful of the pipeweed, held it in his mouth, and blew it out in a controlled whistle. His satisfaction increased tenfold upon seeing the thick cloud rise to the top of the cave.
Home sweet home, he thought to himself.
It took two more days for the blizzard to subside completely.
By then, Mormont had only scraps left of the trout since it would've lasted longer. The bread and the berries, he decided to give to Janessa. She would be expending far more energy than himself.
The end of the cave passage led out to a small valley. One might be so inclined to call it a "hidden gem" within the Mountains of the Moon. Yet Mormont knew it was just as potentially dangerous as the hills within the Vale.
There was a narrow stream that led from a steep waterfall up the heights. The stream went out into a large pond where one might see a swimming elk or even some smaller fish. Then there were the large patches of snow, and the old aspen trees. If it was not winter, those trees would have verdant leaves the color of amber or gold. But now, each branch was laid bare, being too cold to grow anything.
Mormont soon found a small spot next to the pond. The area was flat enough to set up a fire, maintain a good sleeping space, and have plenty of pasture for his horse to walk around in. As the night came upon them, he decided to set up camp.
He got the fire going again and enjoyed the last of the trout in his pack. He would've been able to get something from the pond, possibly. Or if he was careful enough, perhaps even an elk to cook up and take with him through the rest of the mountain range. It would be some time before he saw even a sliver of civilization once more. Hopefully, if he was lucky and the weather was kind, within a fortnight.
The mountain air was calm and cool, and Mormont was thankful to finally see the vast curtain of stars in the night sky once more. He led his horse to the pond for her to drink while he looked up into those same stars that he'd seen weeks prior.
Do they look back at us? He wondered to himself. Or do they have better things to do?
Probably, he decided, it was the latter. Why would the stars want to watch the common man go about his lackluster day? Wake up, work, eat, drink, whore, sleep, repeat. What a dull existence and such a bore to watch firsthand.
But what do stars do in that case? He knew, of course, that his question was probably counterproductive. Yet in his travels, Mormont had always found himself asking such questions about the nature of things. When he did not have any pressing matters, or any stressing concerns to deal with, then what else was he supposed to do?
There was no battle to fight, no merchant to swindle, no noble to charm, no women to fuck. In an attempt to keep his mind from being bored, Starag Mormont would let his curiosity out to play.
It was a staple, he realized, of being attuned with oneself. It was the ability to be fine with being alone for long durations of time. If you were fine on your own, then you were fine anywhere.
Mormont sat back down on the upright log he'd cut earlier and placed in front of the fire, and plucked his pipe back in his mouth. He let loose another large puff of smoke from his mouth and looked from the forty-and-a-half inch-long axe that sat upright against a nearby tree. Tempest almost looked out of place, with the Valyrian Steel axe blade and hammer head providing a striking black shade against the white bark of the birch tree.
Mormont then looked to Janessa, who turned her head toward him after having drunk her fill of water.
"You know, I usually talk to Bear on these kinds of outings," Mormont said. "He's meant for open fields though. Wouldn't take well to these mountains. Horses for courses and all that…" He snickered. "Don't tell him I said that, though. He'd get furious."
Don't worry, I won't. Janessa turned toward him, approaching the fire carefully.
Mormont took another draw from his pipe. "Good. Good…" He said. "I imagine nobody's ever spoken to you like this before."
Janessa neighed, almost shaking her head. Nope. You're the first, actually.
"Yeah, well… Where I come from we don't usually talk to horses. They'd call you strange if you did..." He laughed. "But I've spent so much time out here in the wild that… It just doesn't seem so strange to me anymore."
I see, Janessa snorted, so you're crazy then.
"Well, that's rude."
I didn't mean it like that.
"I know," Mormont said with a lighthearted smile. "I know what you mean…"
He said nothing for a few moments. Mormont simply stared into the fire, feeling his eye grow heavier and heavier.
"I have a son, you know?" Mormont said, looking at Janessa now. Those gray-brown eyes looked back at him. "Well, I've got plenty of sons by now. Some that I might not even know about. But this one… He's my trueborn son. Name is Duncan." Mormont sat back and blew out another puff of smoke. "He's a good lad. Does as he's told, looks as dashing as his father does, and looks like he'll be good with a sword, too."
Mormont scratched his ear. "But… I don't want him to grow up as a spoiled brat. That's just not how a son should be raised." He said. "Men need to know what it's like to lose, to go through pain and stress. That way we can perform when we're at our lowest, and win despite the chips being down." He waved his hand idly through the air. "I've made a good life for my family, and if I die tomorrow, I'll be a happy man because I've brought honor to my house's name and made us one of the richest houses in the North. But I know that means my sons will grow up living soft, at least softer than I had."
Mormont pointed the end of his pipe at Janessa. "You know, my brother and I had to go sleep outside in the cold like a bunch of squatters for weeks because our keep fell apart in the night. But my sons, they won't have to know what that's like. And it's unfortunate. Because I believe harsh experiences ground men, mold them into the best versions of themselves." Mormont paused. "A day will come when my sons will lead men into battle. And when that day comes, they'll need to look those men in the eyes and understand that those men will die for them. If they cannot do that… Then our house will not survive."
Why not raise them similarly to yourself? Janessa had turned her head curiously at him as a dog would.
Mormont sat back in his seat and looked back up at the sky. Janessa returned to drinking water from the pond. Meanwhile, Mormont indulged himself in possible solutions for his predicament.
It all rested on Duncan. He was the future of House Mormont along with Mormont's other children, and probably Dacey's children as well. How could Mormont get him started on the right path?
A raw and old memory came to mind. One that flashed in his mind as if he'd been there the day before. A strong, potent memory that ignited feelings of personal pride.
His father had first taken him hunting when he was only six years old. Mormont recalled the time perfectly. It had been just after a morning on a clear summer's day. Besides the fresh summer snows in the forest, it was only him and his father out in the woods on Bear Island.
"You are hunting for deer. Not we. You."
The short bow had been thrust into his hands rather unceremoniously, along with a quiver of twenty-four arrows which was far too big for him at the time. Mormont distinctly remembered the events that followed.
The missed shot. The loose quarry. The prey getting away. And then the shame and disappointment that followed when his father took the bow away and told him to find the prey again. It… hurt… to not be trusted with the bow.
But then… Then he found it again. The bow was given back to him and this time he resolved to hit the deer.
He missed again.
His father took the bow again. "Find it, son."
Another day passed by, and Mormont had found the deer again.
This time, his nerves were cool. His mind was sharp. All thoughts of failure, guilt or doubt were replaced by anger. Anger, that he'd not gotten it right the first time.
And this time, he hit his mark.
Yes… Mormont realized. I could take him hunting once I return. That would get him started on the right path. Teach him the right lessons…
That was if he made it out of these mountains first.
"I think I will…" He said to himself as he continued poking at the fire.
Snap!
Mormont turned his head sharply in the direction of the intruding noise. He narrowed his eye as he scanned the surrounding darkness, his palm resting on Longclaw's pommel.
Mormont had already dove for the ground by the time the arrow thudded into his sitting log. He was back on his feet within two seconds and snapped his fingers. Tempest immediately glowed a bright blue and flew straight into his left hand. With his right hand, he drew Longclaw.
There was a sudden uproar of laughter that echoed out from the forest. Many pairs of voices joined together and chuckled as if Mormont had made a funny jape on the central stage.
Once the laughs had died down, he heard heavy feet crunch softly against the snow as they approached. Soon enough, he saw faces and heads belonging to men shift through the shadows beyond his fire.
There might've been ten, probably more surrounding him. Mormont stayed calm and looked on as one walked closer to him than the others.
The fire had illuminated the man standing in front of him.
He was a large, hairy sort of fellow. Though he was perhaps two heads shorter than Mormont, this tribesman carried himself with a usual sort of confidence. He was dressed in many animal skins, and his fat face was adorned with an enormous beard that flowed down to his chest. There was a fierce frown set into the face of stone.
"Mountain Man," The tribesman said in a deep voice. "Do you have any last words for your gods? I like your axe. It is pretty."
Mormont might've been able to take the others if he knew where they were. Yet there was a bowman out there in the shadows, which itself posed a very dangerous threat. Mormont decided to play for time if only so he could figure out where the archer was.
"You like it, hmmm?" Mormont asked, to which the tribesman simply nodded. He half glanced in the direction of where the arrow had been fired. In the three seconds he'd looked around, he saw about nine heads plus the man in front of him getting closer to the fire. They were getting ready to descend upon him. "I'm not surprised. It's a very special axe. I doubt you can lift it, though."
"You mock the strength of Shagga, son of Dolf?" The tribesman pointed his own axe at Mormont, though it was a wood axe and not a weapon of war like Mormont's. "You will not be so funny when I cut off your cock with your own weapon."
Mormont spaced out his feet, getting ready to move if he needed to. "Everyone in the Vale knows that Shagga, son of Dolf, is simply a cowardly goatfucker. Why else do you see so many ugly-looking mountain goats around here?"
There were a few loose chuckles coming from the circle around him. There was even one a bit further back behind the closing ring of tribesmen. There you are…
Mormont lowered his grip on Tempest's shaft, getting ready to throw it. "Seek." He whispered to the axe. It pulsed again in his hand, acknowledging the order.
Shagga seemed to be growing angry. "I will chop your limbs into seven pieces and show them to your gods."
"I don't worship the Seven," Mormont said with a wicked grin. "You've talked enough. My turn."
Mormont immediately stepped forward and threw Tempest towards Shagga. The tribesman had narrowly ducked to the ground just in time. Meanwhile, Tempest continued on to its destination, spinning and twirling in the air while it illuminated the woods around it.
Mormont was satisfied to hear a howling scream echo out from a spot up in the hills. Tempest had found its mark.
The circle closed in faster around him. Mormont met the first man who held a makeshift spear. The tribesman lunged for his belly, but Mormont spun his blade under the long wooden shaft of the spear and cut upwards. Longclaw's Valyrian Steel edge had effortlessly cut through the wood along with the weight of his body. Crrrrck! Mormont followed up by ramming Longclaw's pommel into the man's face. Crunch!
Bone cracked and splintered, and blood spurted from the tribesman's face as he fell backward into the snow clutching his face madly, in some attempt to stop the pain.
Mormont turned to face two more who had gotten closer to the fire. Before he'd only noticed they had shields, which might've been a bit challenging to face if they were well-trained (which Mormont had doubted), yet he was more than surprised to see that their shields were more or less simple large bucklers made of hard wicker.
Mormont knew he had the advantage with his Valyrian Steel blade. He pressed forward and easily cut down the first shield presented to him. He wasn't surprised to see the tribesman drop his blade and scream while he clutched at the stump of his missing left hand as the wicker shield fell to the forest floor, along with the missing appendage.
The next tribesman had taken an uneasy step back, yet Mormont still came forward and cleaved his blade downwards towards the man's neck. The tribesman had just barely blocked the attack with his sword but was straining underneath the weight of Mormont's blade.
Mormont followed up by stepping back and then bringing his momentum around for an upwards swing. The tribesman had already been attempting to move backward, but Mormont continued his aggressive advances. He snapped the man's blade out of his hands and kicked the tribesman right in the gut. He heard the snapping of bone once again as the tribesman fell backward, crying out. "Arrrrgh!"
Mormont snapped his head around. Five more plus Shagga were closing in on him. Mormont moved on his feet, getting clear of the six tribesmen who wanted his blood. Shit.
That was when the sky was set on fire.
Mormont felt the scorching heat of the gold and orange flames and nearly fell to the ground in response. His eye readjusted to the light above him, and the fire that was now attached to the trees.
The tribesmen had not fared better than he had. Many of them fell to the ground and looked up in shocked terror at the sight before them. Their leader Shagga was one of the only ones to stand tall and proud before the oncoming storm.
The flapping of wings-gigantic wings-was heard over the breathing of fire and the snapping of branches. Mormont heard water crash against rocks as something big set down by the pond. BOOM!
Mormont recognized the sheen of bronze scales and the bat-like forest green wings. Bronzie?
And not just Bronzie, as Mormont saw riding on the back of the dragon was someone he thought was back on Bear Island…
His wife.
Mormont saw her holding onto Bronzie's mane. His instincts kicked into high gear as he remembered the threat of Shagga and his men. They would not have her.
Mormont snapped his fingers again. Tempest flew back to his hand, and he threw it again, this time at one of the other tribesmen who had been staring at the great bronze dragon behind him. The axe head entered his flesh with ease, blasting the man back and into the ground. Crunch!
The others started scrambling away back into the woods, whereas Shagga remained in his stolid pose, watching as Bronzie approached, and then calmly looking back at Mormont.
He snapped his fingers again. Once more, Tempest lifted out of the dead tribesman's body and flew to his grasp. Both he and Shagga stared at one another.
"You are blessed by your gods, Mountain Man," Shagga said. "Shagga, son of Dolf, will not take your life today."
"Then I won't take yours," Mormont said coldly. "Now leave."
The lone tribesman immediately began backing away into the woods. When he was gone, Mormont made sure there were no others laying in wait. Then he sheathed his blade and made his way over to Bronzie, and to the woman who was mounted on her back.
"Hey Starag!" Rhaenys waved from atop Bronzie's back. "I…" she cut herself off when she saw the distinct lack of a smile on his face. "Umm… I know you said to stay home, but…"
Mormont said nothing. He simply kept his gaze directly on his woman. And then back at the great bronze dragon she had mounted. How in the seven hells would he get-
Mormont had a flash of inspiration. Yes… That just might work!
Rhaenys had opened her mouth to say something, but Mormont waved his hand aside first. "Not now. I need a ride."
Rhaenys blanched. "What? Where?"
"The Trident." He said, deciding to use the situation to his advantage. "Will she allow me?"
His wife looked a bit lost at what to do, looking back and forth between him and Bronzie. "I… uh… I think she will. As long as I'm up here, at least."
"That will have to do," Mormont said.
He found Janessa on the other side of the pond, watching the large dragon with wide eyes. He calmly took off the leather saddle and removed the reins from her. "Go on back the way we came. You know the way," he said, patting her neck.
Janessa snorted. I sure do. Bye now.
When he came back around to Bronzie, he'd made sure that Tempest was well in his grasp as he approached her shoulders, which was where he'd seen Rhaenys mount her only one time before.
Yet, instead of getting angry like she usually would, Bronzie simply nudged her snout into his chest and purred affectionately. Mormont decided that the dragon was more or less giving her permission for him to ride her, at least this time around. It became more clear to him when he saw her lower her shoulder to him so that he might be able to climb properly onto her back.
Mormont latched Tempest onto the axe hook on his back and climbed Bronzie's wing. He made sure to not slip on the wet bronze scales as he made his way to his wife, who was sitting comfortably on the wedge between Bronzie's neck and her shoulder blades.
Rhaenys blushed deeply and looked rather nervous under his gaze. As if she were a child having been caught stealing lemon cakes by her father. Mormont said nothing as he sat behind her.
As soon as he took his seat, however, he felt her back press flush against his chest as Rhaenys fell into his arms. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, both silently enjoying the other's presence, and the mutual warmth they both felt.
"I'm sorry," Rhaenys said softly as she glanced up at him with her pearly amethyst eyes. "I… had a really bad feeling and… the only thing I could think of was to find you and see if you were alright."
Mormont said nothing for a moment, only looking into those purple eyes. He felt the sincerity and the worry within her voice.
Women always had a strange sixth sense in that respect. In a way, they could tell whether or not something bad was about to happen. Yet they were usually incapable of acting on it.
But not Rhaenys…
No, she had a dragon at her disposal. And if she had a bad feeling, or had cause to worry for Mormont's safety, or for the safety of her children. She was damn well capable enough of seeing to it that they were safe and sound.
Mormont looked down at his wife and smiled. "All right, sweetheart." he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "Thank you for worrying about me, and for bringing Bronzie around. I appreciate it." He gently kissed the crown of her head, noticing her dreamy smile. "Now let's get out of here."
Rhaenys nodded happily. It was as if her lover had threatened to send her away from dinner, and now had relented. She leaned towards Bronzie's head and whispered "Let's fly, sweetling."
Bronzie immediately got to work. She lifted herself off the ground and began flapping her wings. Large gusts of wind blasted Mormont in the face, parting his hair, and pushing Rhaenys back again into his chest. Or did she push herself toward me?
It was probably the latter.
Mormont watched on as the ground below them seemed to get smaller and smaller. His mind was racing on full alert as the water below got further and further away.
"Don't look down!" Rhaenys shouted over the howling of the wind. Mormont nodded but continued to look down anyway. He forced himself to remain ice-cold as they took flight.
Riding on dragonback… he mused to himself with a smile.
Now that's a first.
