Chapter 16
~Dacey Mormont~
It had been a surprise to discover Lyanna Stark had accompanied Torrhen to Bear Island, particularly since the she-wolf hadn't been there when he had received guest right, only showing up after the sun had set. She had apparently been sleeping off a severe bout of seasickness in the bowels of Hullen's ship and Torrhen had decided it was better to let her rest than wake her when they arrived. An understandable decision in Dacey's opinion though it had completely ruined Lyanna's sleep schedule to the point that she was still only awake at night.
Despite that, Dacey was enjoying Lyanna's company. The pair had spent numerous evenings together and she found the woman to be eminently reasonable. At first things had been slightly tense between the pair, as they attempted to figure out where the other stood in regards to Torrhen. But their relationship had improved after Lyanna made an offhand comment about how she'd be more willing to bed her goodsister Catelyn than Torrhen, and Dacey realized she wasn't someone to compete with.
Which was why the pair was currently relaxing in the godswood together. They had come here after supper (though for Lyanna it was breaking her fast) to make some short prayers but afterwards hadn't bothered to leave. Occasionally they would speak on a subject, lapsing into silence when they were done, something which suited both women.
Dacey breathed deeply as a light breeze blew through, rustling the trees. The needles of the sentinels, the green of the oaks, the red of the weirwood, they all danced. The wood creaked as the branches swayed. She could smell the salt of the sea, carried on the wind. It was peaceful, serene.
Good thing too, I'm still sore from the thrashing she gave me in the yard yesterday.
Dacey wasn't a braggart but she had thought she was quite dangerous with a mace, that she could proudly uphold House Mormont's tradition of warrior women. Fighting Lyanna Stark had been a humbling experience, it was one thing for Dacey to lose to older, more experienced men but it was quite another to lose to a woman that only had a few namedays on her that had admittedly to only receiving formal training after moving to the Dreadfort. Lyanna had credited it to being trained by Krell and another man that had not accompanied them named Oswell.
Torrhen hadn't yet fought anyone in the sparring yard and, despite how much Dacey wished to see it, given her verbal blunder at the docks she had resolved to talk less and not pressure him into anything. So she kept quiet, paid close attention to him, to learn what she could.
And what she had learned left her hopeful. Torrhen, as a former sellsword, did not know the various duties of a ruling lord and so had been heavily leaning on his castellan for the past year. But on this trip he had spent time watching how Lord Stark, Lord Glover, and now her cousin Jorah all held court, heard disputes, and made rulings. He had spent time in the Mormont library looking over journals by previous heads of the House, looking to find out their thoughts.
He had talked to Maester Theo about the taxes of the island. Torrhen was a man who was willing to learn in order to better perform his duties, rather than rest on his laurels and shove the work onto someone else. That didn't necessarily mean Torrhen would be a good or faithful husband, but it did speak of at least part of his character in a positive way.
If we did get married, would I measure up to that?
Regardless of who she married, growing up Dacey had never expected to truly run a keep and the surrounding lands, at most she thought she might manage things with the assistance of a steward and maester while her husband was away. But even with the reduction of its holdings following the deaths of the Boltons, the area sworn to the Dreadfort was still larger than the entirety of Bear Island. It was mildly intimidating to think about. Dacey refused to be like the southern noblewomen, sitting in the keep of her husband while expecting to be pampered by servants, Dacey wanted to be useful. However, while she had received an education from the the maester Dacey could admit to herself she hadn't retained as much of that knowledge as she should have. She knew her letters and could do sums, she knew all the houses of the North as well as most of the southern houses along the western coast, she knew how to survive and thrive on Bear Island, she had trained in the yard since she was old enough to swing a wooden toy sword and even participated in pushing back some wildling raids this past year, but be a wife to a lord with his own keep? That was something she just didn't feel prepared for.
Though I have four years to learn. I'm sure Jorah would allow me to sit in on some of his decisions, just to listen in and see what running a keep is like.
Four years was a bit on the long side for a betrothal but it was still within the realm of normality and the more Dacey thought about it, the more she was thankful for it. It would give her plenty of time to not only learn the skills she would need, but also to get to know Torrhen. Mayhaps they would only exchange messages or she could go visit him at the Dreadfort, though it was still unofficial since Torrhen, Jorah, and Mother hadn't actually finished the betrothal discussion yet.
"Lyanna," Dacey said, realizing she should take advantage of this source of knowledge while it was available. "You're basically the lady of the Dreadfort at the moment, are you not?"
"In the sense that I'm the only noblewoman there and Torrhen is willing to listen to me, yes."
"What are your duties there?"
When she didn't receive an answer, Dacey turned in place to look at her companion. Lyanna was in the same place as before, leaning against one of the enormous roots of the heart tree. She had a pensive look on her face, a single finger resting against her lips, as she stared at Dacey.
"Would you believe that you're the first person to ask me that? Everyone else just assumes that I both have duties and already know what they are." Lyanna shuddered with a grimace. "Or they assume Torrhen only keeps me around only as a bedmate."
Wait, surely she isn't implying. . .
Lyanna continued speaking, "I haven't had any real duties. Martyn, the castellan, and Garth, the maester, would both talk to me, usually wanting me to act as an intermediary to Torrhen, but the only authority I had was if they chose to listen to me." Lyanna grinned at Dacey. "Probably explains why I'm so good with a sword. Other than the occasional lesson when Torrhen would try to teach me. . . anything, which I was not good at by the way, I had the freedom to do whatever I wished so I spent the majority of the time in the yard."
"Oh." Dacey wasn't sure how to feel about that. The two women were not an exact comparison given their situations, but to hear that Torrhen wasn't making use of Lyanna at all was somewhat disheartening. Although, since they are not married she is more akin to a visitor at the Dreadfort. She is currently a guest here on Bear Island, it is not as if we would demand she take up a job while she is here. "Could you do more, if you wanted?"
"Oh undoubtedly, probably should have to be honest. Martyn would have appreciated it, I'm sure. It's just, at the time I didn't want to overstep. Things are so different now, there was a war, people died, my family died, because of me. I honestly don't know what I should do now." Lyanna tilted her head back to stare up at the branches of the heart tree. "In addition to the complications that my son represents, I can't have any more children so, despite being from a Great House, I doubt many men would want me as a wife. If that path is closed to me, what am I to do? What is my duty? My purpose?"
Dacey was at a loss for words. Lyanna was an ideal Northern noblewoman, not just because she was a Stark but because she exemplified everything northern women aspired to be, feminine without being helpless, beautiful yet with a spine of steel. The North had happily gone to war to rescue her from the dragons. The idea that Lyanna was feeling lost, that she didn't know what to do, had never entered Dacey's head.
Eventually, Dacey managed to ask, "What is it that you wish? What do you want?"
Straightening back up, Lyanna regarded Dacey. "I don't know. I want to raise my son but I know I can't be around him. I want. . . I want a husband that will love me, not love my bloodline, not love the political connections I bring, not love the idea of me, but love me. And I think I will never have that." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I'm not sure I deserve to have it."
Why wouldn't she deserve it? Does she truly feel that guilty for being kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar? That she didn't fight back more?
Dacey was trying to figure out what to say when Lyanna spoke, "Sounds like Torrhen is looking for you."
She cocked her head, listening. "Are you sure? I don't hear anything."
"I've got good ears, he's just asking one of the guards if you're in here. You should go see him."
"If you're sure, I'll go meet him." Dacey pushed herself to her feet and quickly patted the dirt off her legs and backside.
It was a quick walk to the exit. Compared to many keeps in Westeros, the godswood of Mormont Keep was not large but it did not need to be. If one wanted to look upon a weirdwood they needed to pick a random direction on Bear Island and start walking, the trees were quite common.
Just as Lyanna had said, Torrhen was speaking with one of the Mormont household guards.
"I don't want to disturb her if she wishes for privacy."
"So you're asking me to go disturb her, m'lord?"
"You're more familiar wit- oh. Nevermind, there she is. Hello Dacey."
Outside of the day of his arrival, Torrhen had not dressed in a showy manner. His outfits were always practical, well made as suited a lord of course, but ultimately rather plain without much ornamentation. Even Jorah and her mother would at least have bear designs sewn into their clothes, the only skull Torrhen had on his outfit was his belt buckle. Today was mostly no exception, his tunic and trousers were a matching dark brown, his surcoat was the color of dirty sand, and his hat was lightly tanned. Even his gloves were plain, simple leather with no exterior designs or trim on them.
His mask drew Dacey's attention though, it was the same green as the Mormont sigil, it could have been coincidence but she hoped it wasn't. She avoided looking at Torrhen's eyes, they were a pale milky white, giving the appearance of someone with blindness or that of a corpse, something that was apparently new because her mother had been shocked by it. Torrhen has assured them that he was healthy and could see perfectly fine but that didn't make his eyes any less odd to look at.
"Hello Torrhen. I trust you had a productive day?"
"Possibly. Found out you guys have a few beetroot farmers on the island. That tickled something in my mind that I haven't been able to figure out. Pretty sure it's not the musical connection to Doug but I can't remember why it's important to me."
Dacey wasn't sure what to make of that statement. "Do you enjoy the taste of beets?"
"No," Torrhen said with a short laugh. "That's part of why I'm annoyed about it. Anyway, enough about my problems. Would you like to accompany me on a stroll?"
"I would love to," Dacey said with an outward calm that she did not feel. She waved off the guard when she met his eyes and he gave her a slight nod in return. They were not in the south, she did not need a chaperone to protect her virtue, she could protect it well enough herself and if she chose to give it up, that was her decision to make.
Not that I plan on bedding Torrhen anytime soon. He seems nice enough but we do not know each other well enough for that.
"How much have your cousin and mother told you about the discussion I've had with them?" Torrhen asked as the pair began their walk.
"Truthfully, not a lot," Dacey said with a slight frown on her face. "Mother said it was mostly negotiating terms for business deals that I wouldn't find interesting. I'm sure if I pushed she'd have told me."
"That's a good summation. We talked about discounts on my exports, how many of your people would move to the Dreadfort, picking up the slack on donations to the Wall, possible defenses against raiders, and all manner of other logistical matters."
"You don't sound angry so I assume the talks went well?"
"They did. Though I think Jorah was disappointed that I didn't even ask about trying to inherit Longclaw. He looked like he had a big speech prepared to tell me no."
Dacey laughed. "I imagine every House with a Valyrian Steel weapon has such a speech prepared. Everyone wants such a blade to pass down to their family."
"Not me," Torrhen said with a shake of his head. "I'm aware of my situation, I've already risen far above what most sellswords could ever dream of. I will not overreach to the point that someone has to smack me down."
"You sound paranoid."
"It's not paranoia if people really are out to get me. And don't claim they aren't. The Ryswells and Flints of Widow's Watch both tried to press a claim on the Dreadfort since Roose Bolton's wives were from their houses. The Umbers and Hornwoods argued they should have gotten more lands than they did, and finally the Karstarks are upset they didn't get an expansion at all. I'm not saying they all want me dead but they certainly have no desire to be friendly."
"That's oddly astute of you. Forgive me if I give offense but I didn't expect a sellsword to have such an accurate grasp of your situation in the North."
Torrhen snorted as the pair made their way up a staircase that led up the battlements of Mormont Keep. "It wasn't me. Ned told me about it when I was passing through Winterfell, advised me to be extra nice to the Glovers when I went through Deepwood Motte."
"Lord Stark told you that?" I'm surprised he's taking sides in a conflict this early. Not that I think it would turn to violence but still, he'd risk alienating a powerful vassal just to support this new one?
"I did save Lyanna's life."
". . .good reason," Dacey conceded.
"We got slightly afield of what I wanted to talk about," Torrhen said when they reached the top. "Reason I sought you out was to tell you that, as far as Jorah and Maege are concerned, a betrothal has their blessing."
Dacey furrowed her brow. "That is an odd way to phrase it."
"True," Torrhen said with a nod. He held an arm out and the pair walked over to look out over the parapet, the coast of Bear Island spread out before them. "I told them I wouldn't finalize the betrothal until after I had a talk with you."
She turned to look at him in surprise while he gazed out over the ocean. "Me?"
"Well, if all goes well you will be my wife in four years." Dacey's heart pounded in her chest at the words. There it was, Torrhen had finally given an opinion on her and the marriage. He had been remarkably weasley with his speech around Dacey prior to this, never giving her much in the way of hints as to what his feelings on the matter were. That had finally changed. He continued speaking, "But if we are to be married, there are some things you should know. The thing is, if you know them you might not want to be married. The last thing I want is a wife that resents me so I have some things to tell you. If, afterwards, you still want to marry me then I'll agree to the betrothal. If not, we will go our separate ways, no hard feelings."
Dacey had no idea what to say in response to that. She had hoped that whoever her husband was, he would respect her, give her the freedom she wanted (and if she was really lucky, love her). But here was a man offering that freedom, he respected her enough to not force her into a situation she might not like.
"Before I divulge anything though, I need your word, your oath, that you won't tell anyone what we discuss without my permission. It's nothing treasonous, I promise, just private."
"Very well. If you swear it will not bring harm to my House or the North, you have it," Dacey said solemnly. "I can swear it in front of the heart tree if you wish."
"That won't be necessary, I trust you. And I do swear it, Lord Stark even knows about all this so you don't need to worry." Torrhen paused and finally turned to look her in the eye. "The first thing you should know is that I'm sterile."
Dacey hadn't known what secrets Torrhen had been planning on telling her. Possibly that he was a bastard of a Targaryen or that he was a sword swallower. His admission caught her by such surprise she couldn't stop herself from blurting out, "What?"
Torrhen seemed to misinterpret the meaning behind her words because his voice was dripping in frustration when he said, "It doesn't matter how fertile your soil is or how often I plow that field, my seed will never take root let alone bloom."
"How will House von Carstein continue after you die?"
"I'll have to find some smallfolk child and either claim him as a bastard or, if my wife is willing and the child is young enough, fake a pregnancy and pretend he's ours."
"That's. . ." Shameful, dishonorable. . . or is it? He's being upfront about it and is making it my decision. If I don't want to subject myself to that I won't have to. Although now I'm curious. "You seem awfully sure that your seed is bad. How do you know? You're not a eunuch, are you? Did you suffer an injury in a fight?"
"Ah, no, I still have everything and it functions normally. The reason I know I can't get you or anyone pregnant is because. . ." Torrhen reached up behind his head and untied his mask. When he dropped his hands, pulling the cloth away from his face, Dacey's breath hitched at the sight before her. "I'm not entirely human."
Dacey had seen freshly caught eels when fishermen brought in their catches for the day. Some of those animals didn't have mouths of teeth so much as mouths of spikes, of nails, of tiny daggers. Those eels had nothing on Torrhen, he looked like he could bite her hand off at the wrist, bones and all.
"Oh." It seemed such a small word, inadequate, not enough to convey everything she was feeling.
Torrhen gave a sad smile, that his mouth was closed, lips covering his maw, helped. At least until he started talking and she could see his teeth again. "That is a better reaction than I expected, to be honest."
"I - I don't," Dacey stammered, trying to find the words to express herself. She had no idea what to say, her mind was as empty as an Ironborn's heart.
"There is one more thing."
More? What else could he have to add?
"Much as a baby needs milk, I need blood. I can't survive without it. I can make do with animal blood when I have to but human is better. It's what the teeth are for, puncturing the flesh so I can suck it out."
What is he? A monster from above the Wall? Is he an Other?
"I'm not requiring you reach a decision right now," Torrhen said as he began tying his mask back into place. "Think about it, sleep on it, talk to Lyanna if you want, she knows about my condition. But only her. Remember your promise."
I did. And now I know why he wanted it. Dacey felt sick to her stomach. She was four and ten, she had flowered and killed men in battle but right now she just wanted to talk to her mother. But she gave an oath that she wouldn't. This is what it means to be a woman grown, I made a decision and now I must live with it.
"Jorah is taking me on a tour of parts of the island, he said it should take three days. After that I'll stay for one more day but I'll need your answer before I return to the Dreadfort." He started to walk away, to leave her atop the walls, but paused at the stairs though he wasn't looking at her as he spoke, "I want a happy marriage Dacey. If you don't think we can live together as husband and wife, don't agree to it, I won't hold it against you. Believe me, I understand how I appear. I wouldn't want to marry someone that looks like me."
Dacey was left alone on the battlements as he walked away. Alone with her thoughts.
~Garth Flowers~
Fucking hells. I know alcohol is flammable, I have a link for mathematics, I know what happens when there's too much pressure in a confined space. How did I not plan for this?
This was an explosion of the moonshine still in the middle of the night, waking up half the Dreadfort and setting the storage room on fire. Garth, despite his position as maester meaning he wasn't required to do so, had joined the bucket brigade as they attempted to prevent the flames from spreading. They had been somewhat successful. The fire had remained confined to that floor but it had worked its way down the hallway and gotten into a few other rooms as the burning alcohol flowed along the floor.
Eventually though, they succeeded in their task, all the fires had been extinguished. Garth was one of many people resting in the great hall. There was no attempt at maintaining propriety, people were exhausted and had collapsed into whatever was the nearest available seat. It was why Garth was at a spot near the entrance while the high table was occupied by stablehands. The only reason everyone was still here instead of returning to their rooms to rest was because Martyn had ordered the kitchen to make meals for everyone. As tired as Garth was, he was hungry and dehydrated, so here he sat.
Or lay, might be more appropriate.
Garth was seated at a table, true. But he was slumped over the table, his head resting against the cool wood. He likely would have fallen asleep in this position if his mind wasn't still racing, unable to let go of what had happened and how much worse it could have been. Though numerous people had gotten burned, in once case pretty severely, no one had died and Garth thanked the gods for that.
But the still is ruined. And all that moonshine we had made, gone. Guess we'll have to make sure we don't produce the moonshine in the same place we store it, in the future.
Garth was not looking forward to when Lord von Carstein returned. He had given Garth the task, the responsibility, of making the moonshine. It should go without saying that basic safety was part of that and yet Garth had failed, starting a fire that could have consumed the Dreadfort if people hadn't been so willing to step up and assist in containing it.
Even the delegation from White Harbor helped.
Part of that was no doubt because they were rooming in the same part of the Dreadfort as the fire and so were in even more danger but Garth liked to think they would have helped out regardless.
"Shove over, I need to talk to the maester."
Garth started to lift his head up but stopped when he felt a pinch in his neck. I'm too young to feel this old, I should be able to rest for a bit without feeling aches and pains in my joints.
He shot upright in his seat when there was a loud bang right next to his head. Taking in his surroundings, he saw Martyn taking a seat across the table, a mug in his hand. Next to where Garth had just been laying was another mug. Given that it was Martyn who had placed it there, there was only one liquid it could be.
"Really?" Garth asked. "After everything we just went through?"
"There's two things that help calm down a man after a battle, and this was a battle make no mistake. But since you're a maester, a woman's cunt isn't an option. So, alcohol."
"Yes, but moonshine? Putting aside how it was the cause of the fire and drinking it now would be in bad taste, I don't even enjoy it like you do."
"Bah, no one enjoys it like I do," Martyn declared. "At least not yet. Maybe once Lord von Carstein returns he'll tell us Lord Glover loved it or something."
"Where did you even get this? I thought all our moonshine burnt up."
"I keep a supply in my room."
"I shouldn't be surprised by that," Garth mumbled to himself. Though he didn't want to, he still reached out and grabbed the cup and took a sip. Gods, still terrible. . . though I didn't gag or cough so I guess I'm getting used to it. Ugh, I'm becoming a Northerner. "What's the reason you wanted to talk to me?"
"That sure is a mystery," Martyn drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm. "It's not as though you nearly burnt the keep down while our lord was away, because if it was I'd want to talk about that."
Garth could only sigh. If he hadn't gotten to know Martyn so well over the past year, the two often bonded over having to deal with their lord's eccentricities, as well as how nonplussed the castellan seemed, he would have worried he was about to be thrown in the dungeons. "Here or do you wish to discuss it somewhere more private?"
Martyn took a long draw from his mug and loudly smacked his lips when he was done. "Let's take a walk."
The pair stood up, Garth grabbing his drink more out of habit than any desire to actually drink it. Martyn sipped from his mug at least five times for every single sip Garth took as they walked out of the Great Hall and down a hallway.
"Alright, this is far enough away from everyone," Martyn eventually said and the pair stopped. "So, what happened?"
"I don't know specifically what happened but I know the general cause. How much do you know about the creation process of moonshine?"
"Nothing at all."
Once again, I should not be surprised by Martyn, Garth thought to himself. "Okay, to keep things very simple: it involved boiling wheat mash under pressure in those copper tubes. A blockage must have formed somewhere in the system which prevented the pressure from releasing until. . ."
"Until it exploded and sprayed alcohol everywhere, including the torches in the hallway."
"There was also alcoholic vapor in the air," Garth added, unable to resist adding in the correction. "But yes."
"So it was an accident, not sabotage?"
Garth pondered the question for a bit before answering. "It was most likely an accident. Sabotage is possible but we keep the room locked and I haven't discussed what goes on in that room with anyone outside of you, Lady Stark, and Lord von Carstein."
"I'm just suspicious that this occurred at the same time we have a bunch of people visiting."
"I'll investigate in the morning, once I'm sure the room has cooled down but I'm unlikely to find anything that would implicate them. It's not as though there will be an unburnt, legible note explaining their orders from Lord Manderly."
Martyn nodded. "We have to make sure to explore every possibility. When Lord von Carstein returns we need to be able to answer as many of his questions as we can. He left the Dreadfort in our, in my hands and I failed."
"That's not true," Garth argued. "This has been a learning experience for us all. I was the one in charge of making moonshine and this is all new ground to cover. It's not as though there's a book I can study about how to distill alcohol from crops."
"Oh! This was a distilling accident? That explains a lot."
Garth and Martyn both spun in place. Coming down the hall, steps as silent as a cat, was Hoth, the second in command of the White Harbor group. Garth had found the man to be quite intelligent with a great head for sums. The fact that he could sneak up on them like this though, that spoke of training a steward wouldn't normally receive. To say it was suspicious was an understatement.
"Why do you speak as if you are familiar with this?" Martyn demanded.
"My brother is a sailor on the Lusty Lass, a ship that does trade with the Summer Isles. He married a woman from Jhala. Before she moved to White Harbor she made rum and told us the process isn't like making wine, they don't ferment fruit, they distill sugar. She also mentioned you have to be careful of fires because the distilleries have a habit of blowing up when people get careless."
"I've heard of rum, it's popular with sailors. Did not know that's how it's made though," Garth admitted.
"I don't claim to be an expert," Hoth said. "I can request my goodsister come here to consult if you wish. She'll likely require a bit of coin though, she was seven months pregnant when I left White Harbor so it'll be hard to get her to come otherwise."
"Let's hold off on that for now," Martyn said. "Lord von Carstein may have specific things he wants done regarding all this."
"Of course, of course."
He just happens to find us after we're done putting out the fire and he just happens to have a relative that knows about distilling alcohol. There is definitely something going on here.