PART II: The Great Game
The Eyrie
300 AC
Starag Mormont was bored.
It had been nearly six hours since his visit to the High Hall and since his scintillating conversation with Robert Arryn.
And now, having been put inside a dark cell, with the dim torchlight of the outside hallway to illuminate only a small portion of the room, he hadn't a single clue as to how he would get out of this bind.
And even more so, how he would get to King's Landing to warn Ned and Jon of the dangers that were coming for them all?
How in the Seven Hells had it gotten this bad? The royal children were not sired by Robert, Stannis Baratheon was missing, and House Tully and House Arryn were about to declare war on House Lannister. And because some spoilt lordling lost himself in his paranoia, Starag Mormont was sitting in a cold cell while his friends were trying to put out a fire that had long since started.
Feels like we've shown up to the third act of a play, Mormont thought bitterly. The taste was worse after hearing Robert Arryn's scathing words laden upon his own House. If he was half as honorable as his father, he'd have the balls to give me a weapon and then say that to me.
"As High as Honor" What a load of bullshit.
And what was the boy thinking? Or was he even thinking at all? A part of Mormont couldn't blame Robert Arryn for believing the word of his own aunt, his flesh and blood. Mormont probably would've done the same had Maege come to him with a similar problem.
The other parts of the boy's intelligence, Mormont certainly had cause to doubt.
Taking a Lannister prisoner, taking me prisoner… And to what end? He'd piss off both the Starks and the Lannisters-and he still hadn't provided sufficient proof for his claims of the Queen's children being illegitimate other than the color of their hair.
Though, now Mormont simply wondered whether or not it was true. Admittedly, the royal children looked far more Lannister than Baratheon. Golden crowns and green eyes to each of them. Not a single lick of muscle or height like Robert.
None of it mattered, however. Not while he was still stuck inside this blasted cell.
The gaoler in the dungeons was a uniquely delectable fellow by the name of Mord. Mormont assumed that this fine gentleman held an almost childish fondness for torture, both of the physical and perhaps the mental sort too. Though Mormont doubted he had much between his ears besides bone. The gaoler had not nearly been as cheerful when Mormont was thrown into the dungeons, as Mord likely realized that if he dared entered Mormont's cell and upset him, there was a good enough chance that Mord would not leave the cell completely unharmed.
As such, the ugly hunchback of a sot decided to stay away from Mormont's cell, for the most part, having unceremoniously left the bowl of turnips and stringy beef at the foot of the door. Further down the stone halls, Mormont had heard his underdeveloped voice screech in glee as he spoke to the other prisoners-probably Tyrion.
He knew it was night outside. The small diagonal hole towards the top of his cell gave him small glimpses of the moon and the blackened night sky. A good, calm evening, no doubt. Even from within this stone prison, Mormont would've been able to hear the roaring winds were it a blizzard or a storm. Especially in the grasp of winter.
How can I get out of this cell? I need to get to the Trident or to King's Landing, so how can I escape? A bit of a childish question, in a way. He had nothing on him save his black gambeson coat, his bear's pelt cloak, the clothes he wore underneath his grey steel breastplate, gauntlets, and his bear's head pauldron.
He had his magic, but what good would that do? Lightning was still very lethal against men, and Mormont wasn't about to kill any of these men in service to Robert Arryn-even if the boy was a spoilt brat. And Mormont doubted that electrocuting the iron and oak door would win him his freedom.
No, what Mormont needed was something strong, capable of breaking through the stone walls of his prison so he could escape, incapacitate the guards, free Jorge and Orin, and make their escape-the winch lift that they'd arrived with wouldn't do since they'd alert the rest of the castle. The stone shaft in the undercroft would have to do.
Tempest! Mormont remembered just how durable the axe was whenever he recalled it to his hand. It could break through anything. Probably even the solid stone walls that held him.
But what about the noise? Surely the rest of the keep would hear the disruption. He needed some kind of distraction, a way to cover up the loud splintering of wood or the shattering of rock.
Thunder… and Lightning. He knew what had to be done. But could he actually summon a storm without overexerting himself?
He'd just have to try.
Mormont knelt in the middle of his cell and glanced up at the small crack of natural light that poured into the room. He closed his eye and cleared his mind of all other thoughts. Think of a storm, he told himself. A mighty, raging storm.
A storm so angry and spiteful that it would tear down the heavens themselves, that rain would spit from the night sky in fresh torrents, a heavy downpour that shakes the very mountain the Eyrie rested on. With the overbearing clapping of thunder followed by forks of blue and purple lightning licking the dark grey clouds over their heads. A storm great enough to strike fear into the hearts of men, to make them wonder whether or not the gods were angry with them, to convince them that impossible things were in fact real.
Rain, snow, thunder, lightning, and clouds. Black, black clouds thick enough to swim in, dark enough to completely block out the stars. The breezy, tanging, pungent smell that came with the rumbling and crashing of a thunderbolt. All of it coming down and down and down from the sky, down from the gods that dwelt over the earth.
Mormont felt the sweat bead down his forehead. His muscles began to ache as if he'd been lifting a great stone, picking it up and putting it back down over and over again. He continued on howling winds, the slapping, and splashing of rainwater, hail, and pellets of snow. Loud, and deafening lightning, flashing bolts across the sky, leeching their way over the Riverlands and the Crownlands, far over the Mountains of the Moon, a great storm for all of Westeros to see.
He didn't know how much time had passed, the physical and mental exertion proved overwhelming. And when Mormont could concentrate no longer, he finally opened his eye.
Pouring down from the skyward hole in his cell was a steady drumming beat of water. Mormont, ignoring the beads of sweat running down his cheeks and eyebrows, stood up and stepped towards the hole, peering up.
The moon was gone, now covered in a distinct layer of black. He could see flurries of snow and rain interweaved with one another. The wind was roaring and wailing, and Mormont smiled excitedly when he heard it. KRRRABOOOM!
Mormont wiped his brow and put his plan into action. He didn't know if they'd taken their weapons to the other side of the keep, but he imagined that they wouldn't be terribly far. The guards would want to keep both the prisoners and their effects on the same floor for convenience's sake. He stood about ten paces away from the door to his cell. He covered his right eye so he would not be blinded once Tempest came for him, and held out his right hand. He concentrated intently, imagining the axe flying into his palm.
Instinctively, the blue markings on his right hand glow brightly in the dark chamber, illuminating it in a natural sapphire haze.
From further down the hall, Mormont heard a sharp crack! Almost like the violent splintering of wood followed by the familiar humming sound. That's right, come to papa.
Seconds later, he heard a loud crrrrck! It was almost in tandem with another blast of lightning KRACKBOOOOOM! A piece of wood hit the back of his hand, bouncing off harmlessly. Underneath the cover of his palm, more torchlight poured into the cell at his feet.
The familiar grip had met his palm. Mormont removed his left hand from his eye and saw the glowing blue axe blade of Valyrian Steel, purring with it's magical energies.
A few moments later, the blue glow had died away, leaving the First Men runes along the head of the weapon dormant. Mormont paused for a moment, trying to hear any clamoring footsteps of the guardsmen. There was none.
Mormont slung Tempest between the two teeth of the axe hook on his back and stepped forward. Slowly, he inched his head out of the broken frame of his cell door and into the long hallway of stone. He glanced both ways, making sure there weren't any guards on patrol.
The left side was sparse save a door that was hanging open, the wood was clearly splintered and sprayed all over the stone floor. There was a right turn at the far end of the left hall. The right side held about twenty more cells and stretched on for nearly fifty feet until there was another left turn.
Mormont eyed the busted iron and oak door. That's where our weapons and belongings are being held, he surmised. Is there a spare key in that room?
He stepped out into the hallway and silently made his way over to the lone room with the splayed open door that threatened to hang only on a single hinge. Whatever noise he did make was easily covered by the rumbling of thunder and howling of the outside winds.
Before he could glance inside the room, Mord had stepped out into the hall, the heavy-bellied man staring at the swinging door with shock and bewilderment at what just happened. There was a bottle of what smelled like ale in his hands.
Mormont knew full well that killing anyone was out of the question. Even if Robert Arryn had denied him guest rights, Mormont wouldn't shed blood in the Eyrie. As such, he decided to grab hold of the door and slam it against the much shorter Mord.
The gaoler flew back into the stone door frame. He tried to open his mouth and call out for help, but Mormont was already upon him. Starag pressed his hand over the fat gaoler's mouth and got behind him, wrapping his free arm under Mord's neck and applying the necessary amount of pressure.
The struggle was brief. Mord clawed at Mormont's arm and hand to no avail. Soon enough, the gaoler's attempts grew sloppy, and then finally, his hands fell slack.
Mormont released the fat man from his grip and dragged him inside the small room. He removed the keys from Mord's belt and checked to make sure the gaoler was still alive. Torwyn said something about checking the pulse, didn't he? Mormont recalled a loose bit of information spouted from his Maester and placed his fingers just below Mord's wrist.
He felt a steady beat, even underneath all the fat. Mormont glanced around the room, recognizing it as a repurposed stockroom. There was one lone bed by the right corner, a large table with a loose pile of weapons on top of it, and some shelves stacked with other assorted items. His satchel was among them. And just underneath the table was a cone of thick rope.
Mormont got to work. He took the rope and cut enough to bind up Mord's hands and ankles. It took him only a few minutes to get the bindings right. Then, he'd checked outside the hall once again. There were no guards heading down either side.
Mormont went over to the table and smiled thankfully upon seeing Longclaw and his dagger. He felt for the leather attached to the fur sheath and strapped them to his belt within a minute, and slung his satchel over his shoulders, satisfied to hear that his gold dragons still clinked together underneath the leather. He saw Jorge and Orin's swords and collected them too.
He paused, noting the weapons of the Lannister guardsmen as well. Could we?
No. They couldn't go with him. The stone chimney that was beneath the undercroft was likely compact. Even with him, Jorge, and Orin, the descent down to Sky would almost take the whole night, maybe a few hours if they were lucky. Tyrion and his men would just have to stay behind.
Mormont stepped out into the hall and went towards the cells, occasionally looking behind him. He knocked on each cell on the right side until, at the fourth one down from his own, he heard someone scuttle inside. "Jorge? Orin?"
"It's Orin, my lord!" Orin said in a harsh whisper. "What happened? How did you get out?"
"Later," Mormont said. He brought the ring of keys to the lock on the door. It was the fifth key that opened it. Mormont swung open the door and handed Orin his sword. "We need to get to the kitchens, take any supplies we can, and then make for the undercroft. Understand?"
"Aye, my lord," Orin said as he strapped his sword to his own belt.
Mormont ordered Orin to keep watch. It didn't take him long to find Jorge's cell. The fifth key also worked. Once Jorge was free, Mormont ordered him and Orin to bring Mord to Orin's former cell. They'd lock the gaoler inside so they'd have more time to escape.
When Mormont found Tyrion's cell, he knocked on it twice. "Tyrion!" He whispered.
"Mormont?" The Imp had asked. Mormont couldn't see him, but he could hear the Dwarf. "What are you doing out there? Can you get me out?"
"I could," Mormont said. "But I won't. I have to get out of here tonight and both you and your men would only slow us down."
"You're leaving through the undercroft." The dwarf said instantly, putting two and two together. "Well, I'm sure you have a good reason for doing it. Can you at the least tell me what in the Seven Hells is going on?"
Mormont glanced out at the hallway again. Jorge and Orin were nearly finished dragging Mord into the empty cell. No guards had come down the hallway. He looked back into Tyrion's cell. "Robert Arryn's called his banners. He's going to declare war on your father. Don't know how soon. Apparently, your sister had Jon Arryn killed because he discovered that her children weren't sired by the King."
"What?!" Mormont saw the small shadow marching up to the door. "Is the boy mad? Does he know who he's up against?"
"Lysa Tully has also gathered her lords," Mormont informed. "With her force in King's Landing, she could cause a lot of trouble and prevent your father from leaving." He paused. "Is it true, Tyrion? Are the Queen's children not of the King's blood?"
There was a long pause. Just long enough for Mormont to confirm his suspicions. "I don't know," Tyrion said. "Cersei and I… we're not particularly close."
"Whatever the truth may be," Mormont said. "I have to get to King's Landing. I need you to run interference and do what you can to convince Robert Arryn of the truth. I don't believe your family had anything to do with Jon Arryn's death."
"I will see what can be done," Tyrion's green eye blazed up at him. "And… Thank you, Lord Mormont."
Starag simply nodded one last time to the Dwarf and stepped away from the door. Jorge and Orin had just finished locking Mord inside his cell. Mormont pointed to the end of the long hall ahead of them. He knew that passage led back to the Crescent Chamber, which was the main reception hall before the High Hall.
By the time they made it to the Crescent Chamber, the long room was lit only by torchlight. There weren't any guards watching over the place, so they'd carefully made their way across the hall over to the flight of stairs that led up to the Morning Tower. By the base of the stairwell was another tall door that led to the kitchens.
Mormont knew the kitchens would be empty at this time. Perhaps in a few hours, the staff would wake up and begin preparing breakfast. Still, he ordered Jorge and Orin to be ready in case there was a peckish guard going through the larder.
Gently, Mormont opened the door and descended the white stone stairs. He made his way down to the bottom, finding the wide rectangular room with a high ceiling, plenty of cooking fires, some stone ovens, and a great hearth. Luckily, the place was empty. There were a few smoldering embers within the pit of ashes. Decorated along the walls were bunches of garlic cloves, onions, turnips, and rosemary. There were wheels of orange cheese stacked upon one another atop a long table, a large smoked ham adorned one of the meat hooks. Smoked fish hung on hooks above bowls of carrots and mushrooms, and there were loaves of freshly baked bread sitting on the square table in the middle of the room. A series of open barrels revealed more batches of salted beef and pork. There were some rawhide leather bags placed unceremoniously by the meat barrels.
"Take as much as you can," Mormont ordered. "We'll need enough for several days."
Jorge and Orin got to work. They began filling three of the seven rawhide bags with meat, cheese, bread, vegetables, and fish. Meanwhile, Mormont took some of the water casks and spare waterskins on a nearby shelf.
They finished up in perhaps fifteen minutes, having filled the bags with food and water. Then they left the way they came and closed the door behind them. Still, no guards had come to the Crescent Chamber, and Mormont, followed by Jorge and Orin, began making his way to the steep stairwell that led to the castle's undercroft.
The undercellar was a dank and dark pit of a place. Though it wasn't nearly as unclean as the dungeons, there was barely any torchlight to help guide Mormont and his men. Still, he led the way to the entrance of the stone chimney. It was a large hatch door of old iron and oak. Mormont opened it by cutting the lock with Tempest.
They'd eaten some meat and bread-just enough to give them energy for the climb down.
From there, they began their descent, with Mormont going down the stony shaft first.
It took them over four hours to climb down the ladder-like chimney.
There were handholds carved into the dank chamber inside the mountain. And when Mormont or one of his men got tired from the sheer effort, they were able to stop and rest for a few minutes by leaning on the handholds or laying on the wide ledge.
Once they made it to the chimney cellar in Sky, the storm had begun to let up somewhat. Though the sky still rumbled and cracked apart with lightning, Mormont knew that it was still decent enough for them to climb down to the other waycastles of Snow and Stone.
And besides, it wasn't as if they had a choice in the matter.
If Robert Arryn managed to send ravens out from the Eyrie before they reached the Gates of the Moon, they'd end up having to carve their way out of the Vale. Mormont wasn't about to let that happen.
The journey down the slopes would take them perhaps until the early morning. As long as they could reach the Gates of the Moon, retrieve their mounts, and head into the hills by then, they would be in the clear.
But first, Mormont knew they'd need to get past the guardsmen at Sky.
If their escape had not been discovered yet, then there was a much greater chance of the men-at-arms in Sky not actually knowing that they were meant to be prisoners. If Mormont said, "Oh, the bloody winch was broken in that damnable storm. Decided we'd come down the long way." Then perhaps, they'd simply let them by.
It was risky, but anything worth doing was inherently risky to begin with.
The chimney bottomed out in a long stone corridor that led out into the carved-in fortress. Jorge and Orin, who had originally been arguing like fishwives, had recognized the severity of what the three of them were doing, and what would happen if they were caught. They stayed quiet and nodded when Mormont ordered them to stay on guard and watch their flanks.
Mormont walked casually down the hallway that led into Sky. The hollowed-out mountainside fortress was colder than when it had been just hours earlier. The stone quarters for the guardsmen were alight with torches and small fires.
A man-at-arms on duty spotted them quickly from on top of one of the ramparts. Mormont waved, and the man-at-arms, seemingly recognizing him from earlier, waved back and returned to his duty.
Good. Mormont thought, nodding to Jorge and Orin to follow. They quickly made their way to the stables, where the mules they'd left behind the mules they used to come up with. Mormont stopped, however, when he saw a young girl carrying some buckets to each of the mules filled with fresh water.
"Get the mules," Mormont ordered. "I'll see to the girl."
Jorge and Orin nodded and made their way to each of the stalls. Meanwhile, Mormont approached the girl, who had already taken notice of the three men. "Excuse me, my lady. We came up with the Lannister company, do you remember us?"
Underneath the girl's leather hood, Mormont spotted dark blue eyes and a head of short-cut black hair. And for a girl so well-endowed, she wore more mannish clothing, breeches, and a strong tunic.
The girl looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments before nodding. "Yes, I do… You're Lord Mormont aren't you?"
"I am," Mormont said. "You can inform your Commander that we're simply taking our mules back down the mountain. Lord Arryn said the winch up at the Eyrie wouldn't be usable until the storm went away, so we decided to climb down the chimney instead."
"Really?" The girl asked, wide-eyed. "That's an awful lot of climbing for three men. Surely it couldn't wait until morning?"
"It couldn't, unfortunately," Mormont said easily. "We're on a tight schedule, I'm afraid. Have to get back to Runestone within the fortnight." Why not mislead them further? If their escape was successful, the girl would undoubtedly be questioned.
Her dark blue eyes sparkled. "I see… Well, the mules should be brave enough since the storm has lessened. I simply wanted to calm them, was all." She trailed off. "Are you sure you know the way down the mountain?"
"I remember it well enough from our journey up."
"It's not as well lit in the night," She said. "You'll need a guide."
Mormont realized what she was saying. "You can help us?"
The girl nodded. "Aye, that I can. I've made that dark climb a thousand times before, and in even worse storms than this one."
"It will be cold."
"Nothing I can't handle, my lord."
Mormont weighed the odds in his head. Taking a girl along with them wasn't exactly the plan, and a woman would no doubt weigh them down. At the same time, Mormont felt the certainty in her voice. She truly believed that she could lead them down the mountain path, even in this weather. Even if it was dark. That was enough for him.
He made up his mind. "You have a name?"
"Mya," She answered. "Mya Stone."
Stone. That's what they call bastards here in the Vale. Mormont thought. That name sounds familiar, too…
The begotten surname only endeared her to him further. Quite a lot of the men under his command were bastards-hell, Jorge was a bastard himself. The man was still competent with a sword and a man Mormont could trust with his life.
"Get your things then, Mya. And go tell your Commander what's happening. If he has an issue with it, he can come to me." Mormont ordered.
Mya gave him a polite curtsy and walked off inside the keep. Mormont helped Jorge and Orin get the mules ready and to get a final fourth mount for the girl.
The girl came back ten minutes later with her cloak and pack slung over her shoulders. "Commander Templeton said that he's praying for our safe descent."
"Good man," Mormont kept a perfect poker face. In a few hours, the man would be cursing his name. "You know the way?"
"I do," Mya said. "I can lead you and your men down the path. Won't take more than six hours by my reckoning."
"That'll have to do. Lead on."
It took them seven hours to reach the Gates of the Moon.
Besides small stops in between the waycastles of Snow and Stone, where they would eat and drink water, the journey down the Giant's Lance was practically non-stop.
Before, they'd not been in a hurry. And their party was significantly larger, which was why their initial journey up the mountain took so bloody long-even if it was a day and a quarter.
But now, it was only Mormont and his men, along with Mya Stone. The operation was military, and pure efficiency was required. With the incentive of the whole Vale of Arryn about to come crashing down on them, the element of danger electrocuted Mormont and his men to life. Even if they were dead tired by this point and simply wanted to sleep for only an hour's time.
The girl kept her word. She'd led them down the mountain with ease and comfort as if she'd climbed the path in her swaddling clothes. She hadn't even complained when the rain spat at them while they descended the narrow ramparts carved into the rockface.
And once they reached the Gates of the Moon, Mormont could see the sun beginning to rise on the horizon, what with the grey and brown clouds turning pink. They'd have to be swift.
Mya led them to the tall stone garrisoned keep with the two square towers. Up high on the ramparts were two guardsmen wearing thick sky-blue cloaks and holding spears. They inspected the gathered party with scrutinizing pale eyes and furrowed brows. No doubt they've been waiting for their relief for some time now. "Just come down from the Eyrie, Mya?" The guard asked the girl. "Hell of a climb that. How'd you lot got down in that bloody storm? Just came out of nowhere,"
"That's right, Aldwyn." Mya Stone nodded her head, ignoring the man's comments. "This here is Lord Mormont and his men. Just passing through the Gates; they need to get to Runestone within the fortnight."
Aldwyn the guard looked to his comrade and then to Mormont. "I remember you. Northerner, right?"
"That I am," Mormont said. "We're just here to get our horses back and we'll be on our way." The skin on the back of his neck crawled with anticipation. Had they been told yet? Did they know Mormont and his men were escaped prisoners?
However, after a few moments, the guard nodded nonchalantly. "Alright, then. Come on through, my lord." He said, then looking to Mya. "You ought to get some sleep, my lady. Lord Royce was a mite worried about you up there during that storm."
"I'll be fine, thank you Aldwyn," Mya said. Soon enough the gates opened and they were let inside.
Mormont wasted no time. Bear was in the stables right where he'd left the warhorse. Those chocolate-brown eyes greeted him warmly. Morning, boss. That storm was all
you, right?
"I'll tell you all about it later," Mormont said, feeding the warhorse a green apple. Bear munched on the fruit happily.
Mormont ordered for Jorge and Orin to take another mount, one of the Vale mountain horses, along with them. He paid the stablemaster for the extra horse, gave the girl a gold dragon for her troubles, and kissed the back of her hand. Then, rather unceremoniously, the three of them blasted down into the valley as if there was an army hot on their tails.
And then instead of going along the road, Mormont ordered them to go into the hills where they would rest and recuperate for the next few hours.
The party of three fled to a small overgrown glen that was wet with fresh rainwater. Starting a fire would be difficult, so they elected to each take turns watching for the Knights of the Vale or tribesmen while the others took an hour's rest and ate.
By the time they were all rested enough, Mormont gathered Jorge and Orin for their next steps. "You two need to get out of the Vale and get back to White Harbor. Go by Gulltown and take a ship there." He opened his satchel and took out ten gold dragons. "That should be more than enough to get you from here to White Harbor."
"What will we do, my lord?" Orin asked.
"You're to tell Lord Manderly that Lord Stark will require more aid. House Arryn and House Tully will be declaring war on the Lannisters. Which means that King's Landing won't be safe. Tell him this came straight from me." He said, looking at both men. "You'll both need to get to Gulltown fast. Don't spare your horses."
Jorge nodded. "What 'bout you, my lord? Where will you go?"
"I've got to go see an old friend in the Riverlands," Mormont said, handing off Bear's reins to Jorge. "Here, I'll take the mountain horse, much more suited to the terrain, anyways. You'll both have my mount to take with you to the North. You'll be faster with an extra horse."
Mormont took one of the rawhide packs and verified that it was stuffed with meat, cheese, bread, and water and slung it onto the mountain horse's saddle. As he mounted the horse, he turned back one last time to Jorge and Orin, who were getting their own mounts ready for the long journey ahead of them. "If you both make it to White Harbor with my horse in perfect shape, I'll make you both knights. Understand?"
The two men blanched, the blood draining from their faces as they looked at him, then at one another, and then at him one final time.
Knights in the North weren't necessarily common, but there was still plenty of prestige and honor that came with the title. And on Bear Island, they'd be able to start their own households.
Both Jorge and Orin nodded hastily. "Yes, my lord!" They both said. Their eyes were greedy with desire.
"Good." Mormont wheeled his horse around and galloped out of the glen, leaving his men to their own devices.
Far in the distance, Mormont saw the overhanging cliffs that were the Mountains of the Moon. He mentally braced himself for the harsh journey ahead of him. It would be rougher this time since he would be trekking through the Vale in winter, but he knew he could handle it well enough.
Mormont simply prayed to the Old Gods that he'd make it to the Riverlands in time to meet Oberyn…
And, when the time came, that he'd get back to King's Landing in time to warn both Jon and Ned.
Author's Notes:
BOOM! A complete military operation acting with SPEED. Love it.
Originally, this chapter had a much different escape to it-but I decided to axe it because it didn't quite fit in. Not yet at least…
Took a little inspiration from American Gods with that bit at the start-"Think of Snow."
Next up, Jon and Ned deal with the fallout of Robert's sudden death.
stevem1: You make an excellent point about the coffee and potatoes.
Thought about it myself when I was doing research-but then I said, "It's a fantasy world, not real life."
Besides, coffee and honey is delicious.
Maelor Vhaegon: Who knows? Maybe later down the line we'll get to see one of Starag's bastard children inheriting keeps all over the Crownlands 😈
higherbrainpattern: The main point of divergence from the canon story is Starag's existence. This story (unintentionally) became a "what if" exploration into ASOIAF if Starag Mormont actually existed.
I asked myself what would happen if Starag existed in the canon story, and the world you see on the page is the answer I came up with.
Granted, I took some liberties here and there; Rhaenys survived, was aged up a few years and coffee exists in what is the fantasy equivalent of medieval Europe, among a few other things.
But it goes to show that even the actions of a single person can ultimately change other people's lives for the better; Starag helped Ned and Ashara get married before Hoster Tully could intervene, he helped parlay with Arthur Dayne and Aerys' Kingsguard so there never was some grand fight beneath the Tower of Joy-which also greatly affected how Jaime Lannister turned out later on, because he knew Arthur Dayne, a man he looked up to, was still alive. And he decided to hold himself to a much higher standard and stop fucking his sister because of it.
It's kind of amazing how we can create people and vast worlds with only our minds, isn't it?
Anyways, ladies and gentlemen…
Stay hydrated, do your push-ups, and keep healthy.
Also... Have a happy new year 💪