Winterfell

314 AC

Between early morning sparring sessions with Artogan Stark (and even Lord Robb himself), along with a collection of hunts into the Wolfswood, being kind to the staff in Winterfell, and doting on the young woman whom he was to marry, Duncan Mormont knew that life was good.

It was rare to find this type of kinship outside of Bear Island, Westhelm, Stony Shore, and White Harbor. The Starks were practically an extension of the family by this point, and they would always be seen as such.

Time seemed to have come to a standstill of sorts. Important events, both past and future, were forgotten. And Duncan merely decided to enjoy the moment, the now.

Mormont awoke on one cold winter's morning when the weather was particularly nasty, but not intolerable, and he rose immediately from his bed in his old room in Winterfell. He slipped on the loose pair of trousers that he'd left on the floor the night before and simply took one glance out the wide square paned windows.

Thick pellets of fresh snow fell in clumps from the gray moorish sky. It was not a storm, but it would certainly grow tiresome later in the day. The guardsmen would be more occupied with wiping snow off their shoulders and helms, and there would be plenty of servants assigned to shovel snow throughout the castle.

Poor sods thought Duncan. He remembered the days when his father had him perform basic lowly duties around Bear Keep. Sweeping the floors, scrubbing away at pots and pans for the kitchen staff, and even washing the tables within the main hall. His father had even sent him across the Bay of Ice to do the exact same work for Aunt Dacey.

Why had his father done that? What was to be gained from performing such tasks? Duncan thought it all had been a colossal waste of time, but he would never openly say as much to his father. Never to his father.

Not that he was ignorant of the benefits, of course. He learned to appreciate hard work and learned the immense pride one would feel when a task was completed to the best of their ability. He was grateful to these people for what they did, and he would always tell them as much. At the same time, he knew that he had more important things to do.

Was he not the blood of the dragon and the bear? What would his future people think of him if they knew he'd been cleaning out chimneys at the age of nine? Covered head to toe in soot, ash, and dirt? They'd surely think him a pauper. Half a peasant, if anything. Just another one of them…

That was not the inspiring ideal his father set as an example. The people of Bear Island loved Lord Starag Mormont precisely because he was not one of them.

Or is it something else entirely?

"Hmph," grunted Duncan. He ended that small conversation with his mind and then looked down into the courtyard from behind his window. The familiar lean figure of Artogan was training with the men. Duncan decided he would join him.

He put on a white woolen shirt and slipped on his riding boots. Once he was finished, he took the small string band from his nightstand and tied his hair to the back of his head. Satisfied that his hair would not distract him during his training, he went to the door, opened it, stepped outside, and closed it shut behind him.

The walk to the stairs had not taken long. A few serving girls wished him a good morning, and he said as much in return before making his way down the steps to the Great Hall. Once there, he passed by the massive twin wooden doors and got a brief glimpse of about a dozen or so servants making the hall look presentable before breakfast.

Duncan smiled. The thought of food warmed his belly and his mind. But first, he would train.

Just as he stopped at the great ironwood doors to the courtyard, one of the guardsmen held up his hand. "Morning, m'lord." He greeted Duncan.

"Good morning," Duncan replied. "What seems to be the matter?"

"Lord Stark wished to speak with you. Said to meet him up on the balcony overlooking the yard."

Mormont merely smiled. "Of course. I'll see him immediately." He said.

The guard gave him a thankful nod before lowering his hand and letting him pass.

Duncan pushed open the doors himself. The long thin line of gray light cracked further apart, and Duncan was quickly blasted with cold wintery air. Still, he pressed onward and made for the nearby stairwell to the balcony.

Must be something important, then, thought Duncan as he ascended the last few steps. The overlook was a wide roofed platform which gave a rather in-depth view of the main courtyard in Winterfell. It was mainly composed of ironwood beams and was practically bolted into the castle itself.

Standing alone while watching his son train in the yard below, was none other than Robb Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. He briefly glanced over his shoulder as Duncan stepped foot on the wooden floorboards and smiled warmly.

"Ah, Duncan. Come, there's something I wanted to speak to you about." Robb said.

Mormont nodded and smiled back. "Of course, my lord." He said, approaching his liege lord's side.

"No need for formalities, Duncan. Your father is one of my closest friends and most trusted bannermen." Robb waved his hand aside in a cutting motion. "And as I see it, you're practically one of us."

Duncan bowed his head. "I'm grateful you think of me that way. The feeling is mutual."

"Right, right," Robb said. He placed a gloved hand on Duncan's shoulder. "I've already sent word to your father regarding this matter. He's not yet sent his reply, but I'm sure he'll agree with me on this as well. I want the wedding to take place within the next few moons or so, and I want it to be here at Winterfell."

"Of course," Duncan said. It was about his upcoming marriage to Lyarra. "What brought this about?"

"Lyarra's reached her majority, and I don't need to tell you that she's rather taken with you. I figure the sooner we can get you two married, the sooner we'll be able to calm the other lords."

Naturally, Robb Stark was more aware of northern politics than anyone else Duncan knew. Well, besides his own father at least.

House Mormont had dragons at their beck and call. And they were very closely tied to the newly restored House Targaryen of Dragonstone, with Duncan's own mother, Lady Rhaenys Mormont, being the niece of Lady Daenerys Targaryen, who had three fully grown dragons of her own.

The knowledge and close proximity of the terrifying beasts had not settled well with the northern lords, nor many of the other houses in the South. Such dangerous wildcards had only been revealed just over a decade prior and had garnered plenty of hatred and fear.

Likewise, House Stark was the royal family, and Winterfell could be compared to the likes of Dragonstone during the era of Targaryen rule over Westeros. Lord Robb's official title in the South was that of Prince, with his younger brother Lord Jon being King of All Westeros in its entirety.

So… the entire situation was simply a gigantic crate of a wildfire just waiting to go off. Tensions were notably high.

But if this marriage was to go through, then House Mormont (and House Targaryen by extension) would officially tie themselves to House Stark in a way that would go far deeper than one's vows to a liege lord. The fear of another Mad King would quickly diminish among those both in the North and the South. The rule of House Stark over Westeros would be solidified, and the future would look hopeful and certain.

A lot was riding on this. Duncan had been reminded of it often, not that he actually took it seriously, though. At times it was hard to see the threat in the other lords. It wasn't as if they had much, and Duncan sincerely doubted any of them could actually stand up against his House if it came to blows. Fire-breathing dragons and all.

Duncan nodded. "I see what you mean." He paused briefly before speaking again. "Would you like me to stay longer in Winterfell, then?"

"Please do," Robb said, releasing his shoulder. "There are some minor details to work out with your father, but I'm sure we'll get them handled soon enough. In the meantime, enjoy yourself."

Mormont figured that might've been his queue to leave. "I will, Lord Stark." He said, then making to turn. A nagging thought came back to him then. No, a reminder.

His pause had not gone unnoticed. Robb glanced back at him with a curiously raised eyebrow.

"There is one small matter I wanted to speak to you about." Duncan smiled unapologetically. "It's regarding a small dispute the Tallharts are facing. I told Ser Helman that I'd raise the issue with you when I stayed with him and his family."

"What about the Tallharts?" His liege lord asked with renewed interest.

"It's like this," Duncan began, "The Tallharts are attempting to expand towards their legal borders within the Wolfswood. My father wishes to aid them in this as well, if anything for more goodwill between our houses. The thing is, House Glover has been pushing back rather harshly against Ser Helman and his kin. They've been overlapping their own territory within the Tallharts' lands, it seems."

Duncan watched as Robb Stark's face quickly morphed into the stony mask of the Lord of Winterfell, and he then glanced back out at the courtyard below. It was distinctly similar to how Lord Eddard had done so years ago.

Lord Stark nodded grimly. "I see," He said. "...and Lord Galbart is behind this, I presume?"

"Yes,"

It was oddly satisfying to see the reserved frown that crossed Robb Stark's long face. It was as if he were done with the whole thing already. "Lord Galbart has protested against your father's expansions numerous times. However, your father has always kept within Mormont lands, so I never considered it an issue. Lord Galbart has also sent his complaints regarding the Tallharts to me as well." He glanced back at Duncan with a light, thankful smile. "Thanks to you, however, I believe he's simply attempting to make noise. Or perhaps just hold onto what is his. It is a grievous waste of everyone's time. Rest assured, Duncan, I will handle him personally."

"Thank you, my lord." Duncan bowed his head one last time. "See you at breakfast, then."

"And you as well, Duncan."

With that, Mormont turned around and went back down the stairs, making his way to the training yard. And leaving the Lord of Winterfell to his own thoughts.


Breakfast with the Starks was something else entirely. Though the food changed in marginal ways, the atmosphere at the table was always a jovial one. Someone was always laughing, giggling, or cracking a joke that the others somehow managed to hear over the commotion of the entire great hall, where the men-at-arms and other lords would feast.

Moreover, there was usually a bard who camped out at the great hearth in the lower portion of the hall. Music was played for everyone to hear, and whichever minstrel was lucky enough to occupy the great hall during a meal would've been showered with copper stars and silver stags.

But there was something about the high table itself that seemed magical in nature. Almost as if it had been enchanted the day it had been carved. That was what Duncan suspected, at the least.

Years prior, when Duncan was only a boy, he would sit at this very table and witness the Starks themselves. How Lord Eddard always pulled out the seat next to his for Lady Ashara, and then how she would smile lovingly at him before sitting down. How Jon and Robb would casually insult one another, how Arya would take a servant's broom and mess up Dyanna's hair with it.

Though most of them had left Winterfell by now: Dyanna had become the Lady of Queenscrown after Lord Jon began his reign as King. Arya met Lord Edric Baratheon and eventually married him. Bran had taken over the lordship of Moat Cailin, and Rickon had recently traveled south to visit King's Landing.

Regardless, it was much the same with Robb Stark's branch of the family. Especially as-

A turnip had launched forward from the opposite side of the table, flying rather quickly in Duncan's direction. In a split second, just before it would've cracked Lyarra's head, Duncan caught it in his hand.

"Oh!" Lyarra nearly jumped out of shock in her seat right next to his. She looked sharply at him and then at where the turnip had come from.

Duncan was already looking squarely at the culprit. A black-haired nine-year-old girl sat further down the table from them both, one who was wearing perhaps one of the most devilish grins he'd ever seen up until then. He couldn't help but grin back at her.

The girl's older sister was not as amused. "Serrena!" Lyarra gasped. "You little-"

"Come on, now." Duncan interrupted her. He placed the turnip on his plate and wiped his hand clean with a spare cloth. "Would a roasted turnip ruin that pretty little face of yours?" He asked sincerely.

Lyarra turned back to him and blushed profusely. When she didn't answer, Duncan only continued. "It's just a prank. I'd know."

He did know. His female cousins had far worse manners when it came to food than the nine-year-old Serrena Stark.

"Besides," he said with a brief glance at the girl. "We'll get back at her later."

The threat had been heard from across the table, and Duncan watched as Serrena's grin faded completely, with her rosy features being flushed a pale white.

"Please, no theatrics you three," Lady Ashara said from directly across the table, though there was a small entertained tug at the corner of her lips. "Do I need to remind all of you that fighting with your food is prohibited here?"

Duncan firmly remembered why that had become a rule. Arya Stark had once slung a piece of roasted chicken breast with a spoon at her older sister during Dyanna's wedding feast. Retaliation had come swiftly with a hot bowl of venison stew. There had been so much collateral fire that the meal simply erupted into a table-wide battle, with Duncan having taken part himself. Suffice to say, the cleaning staff, along with Lord Robb and Lady Wynafryd, had not been particularly happy after the dust had settled.

Of course, Dyanna would get her own revenge when Arya's wedding came around. Just before the bedding ceremony was to take place, she'd taken a pot of sliced caramelized onions and dumped it over her younger sister's head. Right in front of Arya's newlywed husband, Edric Baratheon.

"Of course not," Duncan said. "It's all in the name of good fun, I'm sure."

"Where have I heard that before?" Lady Ashara shook her head before going back to her bowl of stew.

Another girl, around twelve years old or so, with light brown hair and purple eyes, had spoken up from Ashara's side. "Well, I would've liked to have seen it play out, grandmother. Serrena deserves her comeuppance."

"There's time enough for that later, Berena." Lady Ashara didn't even bother denying it to her other granddaughter.

Berena Stark grinned happily and went back to her meal as well. Really takes after Ashara, I should think. The others have all got the wolf blood in them.

Duncan, too, thought it was high time to get back to his meal. A plate full to the brim with bacon strips fresh off the frying pan, a massive cut of roasted venison marinated with salt and garlic, a large serving of bread covered with butter, and about eight scrambled eggs sprinkled with ground pepper. And to top it all off…

"Could you pass the coffee please?" He asked, immediately remembering where he'd seen the colorful clay pot last.

It was sitting right in front of Lady Wynafryd, who had been sitting next to Lord Robb. She nodded politely and took the pot by its handle, passing it over to him. He thanked her and poured himself a new mug.

The smokey rich black-brown liquid was still hot, much to Duncan's delight. He offered the pot to Lyarra, "Coffee, my lady?"

She gave him a warm and happy smile. "Why thank you, my lord." She said, playing along.

He refilled her mug and placed it back on the table. Thankfully, the honey jar was fairly close by and Duncan snagged it before anyone else could. He opened it, took a generous spoonful of the golden liquid, and jammed it unceremoniously into his third mug of coffee that morning. He did the same for Lyarra.

As things settled down once again, Duncan took his fork and pried off a chunk of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs, chewing them slowly before swallowing them down.

Breakfast in Winterfell was always a delight.


"Show me."

Lyarra obeyed, and quickly got to work. She took the pack of cards and expertly cut it in half, then split it and flipped them all back together like pages in a tome. When she was finished, she had a rather proud beam on her face.

Duncan smiled. "Show off,"

"You asked." She said back to him in a sing-song-like voice.

"That was rather flashy," Duncan said. "Who taught you to do that?"

Lyarra began dealing out the cards one by one. "Aunt Margaery." She answered. "She's rather good with cards, you know." Then she drew three more cards and flipped them facing up. The King of Spades, a Three of Diamonds, and a Seven of Clubs.

"So I've been told," Duncan took the two cards dealt to him and slid them closer to him. He took them in his palm, casually glanced down, and subtly squared his features when he saw what they were.

The Dragon of Spades, and the Dragon of Diamonds. Game on.

Duncan always made sure to carry a hefty pouch of gold dragons with him at all times. Just in case he ever needed them, of course. But today the stakes were a bit different. They were playing for berries and lemon cakes which Duncan had raided from the kitchens just after dinner. And of course, Lyarra was just along for the ride.

They had six lemon cakes between the two of them. Duncan decided that lemon cakes were worth five silver stags and each of the raspberries was worth one. They each would have three cakes and fifteen berries to start.

Across the square table, Lyarra looked at her own cards. Duncan watched her for a few moments, taking note of the slight twitch of her lower lip. She's got something good.

It was then that she locked eyes with him. "What do you have?" She asked.

Duncan looked down at the two glaring dragons in his hand. Let's throw her off the trail, then… he thought. Duncan scratched the side of his face, pretending to be deep in contemplation for a moment. Then, looking back at her, he grinned and moved all of his lemon cakes and raspberries into the middle of the table. "All in."

"You're bluffing," Lyarra said sharply. She moved her own stakes into the pot. "I call,"

Duncan didn't waste any time. He deftly flipped the two cards with his fingers so that they would face Lyarra. "Really now?"

She paused for a moment, looking at the twin dragons in bewilderment and then up at him. "Are you cheating?"

"No," He said. "You dealt, remember?"

Lyarra pouted and proceeded to flip over her own cards. A King of Hearts, and the Knight of Spades.

Duncan shook his head and grinned devilishly. "I'm gonna smoke you." He said as he threw the two cards down with the others.

His betrothed had opened her mouth to give a quick-witted reply, but she was shortly interrupted by the sound of a closed fist knocking on the door to Duncan's room, thud, thud, thud!

It was quickly followed by a familiar, elderly voice. "Lord Mormont, a raven for you. From Bear Island."

Duncan rose immediately from his seat and approached the door. He opened it and saw Old Luwin standing in the doorway. His wrinkled face was deprived of joy, however. If anything he looked rather cagey, even more so when the old man looked past Duncan to see Lyarra behind him.

This cold demeanor had not been lost on Duncan. The matter must've been serious. "Where is the letter? What did my father say?"

"I do not know," Luwin replied with an exhausted sigh. Of course, this man did not share the nosy habits of Old Torwyn, the Maester of Bear Keep. "It was meant for Lord Stark. He sent for you once he read its contents." Luwin gave him a small shake of his head. "He did not look pleased if I recall right."

Mormont nodded. "I understand." He said, then looking back to Lyarra. "We'll have to finish our game another time, Lya. Something's come up."

She stood up and came over to him, placing her hand gently on his arm. "What is it, love?"

"I'll find out soon enough, I suppose." He said softly and kissed her on the forehead. He looked to Luwin then. "Luwin, would you kindly escort Lya back to her chambers?"

"Of course, Lord Mormont." The old man bowed his head and offered an arm to Lyarra.

Lyarra stood on the tips of her toes and pulled Duncan in for a kiss. Her lips were soft and warm. She was reluctant to part with him, but eventually, she let go and went down the hall with Luwin. Just as Duncan closed the door to his room, he saw her glance back at him one last time before she turned the corner and left his sight.


The walk to the Lord's Solar was brief.

Duncan raised his fist and knocked gently against the wooden door. The muffled, "Come in," was heard from the other side. Duncan obeyed the voice, opened the door, and stepped inside.

The Lord of Winterfell sat on the other side of his large desk. The familiar lean mass of smokey gray fur paired with golden eyes was laying cordially alongside it. Grey Wind was a massive beast of a direwolf, practically larger than a pony for that matter. It was a miracle that he was able to fit inside this room at all.

Mormont closed the door softly behind him and watched as the older man finally set eyes on him. Yet, it seemed he was not looking at Duncan, but merely seeing through him.

"Sit," Came the simple order. With a gesture to the lone chair across the desk.

Duncan obeyed and sat in the chair. He took note of the atmosphere surrounding Robb Stark. It was noticeably colder than when he'd received him earlier that day.

Lord Stark calmly eyed Duncan up and down. Then he proceeded to uncork the small bottle of Braavosi Firebrand sitting at the corner of his desk and refilled the empty glass in front of him. In fact, the entire space before him was empty, save for the glass and a single small slip of paper.

The letter thought Duncan. He'd had some practice reading words upside down, but at an angle such as this, it was certainly difficult for him to do so. There were a few larger paragraphs, that much he knew. It must've been a rather bulky subject after all.

He frowned when he saw his liege lord down the contents of the glass in its entirety. A strange feeling twisted in Duncan Mormont's gut right then. What is going on?

"I will give you one chance," Lord Stark said sternly. "Be truthful. Understand?"

Duncan paused again. "I do,"

"Say you understand."

"I understand."

That seemed to please Robb Stark. "Good, good…" He fixed his gaze firmly on Duncan then. "Do you love my daughter?"

What? What sort of question is that? Duncan nearly laughed. Still, he opted to tell the truth. "I do," He said decidedly.

Silence followed for what seemed like hours. Despite his proximity to the roaring hearth next to the desk, Duncan felt a cold sensation enter his bones, into his blood. The tips of his fingers began to tingle like sparks.

Finally, Robb Stark let out a weary sigh and palmed his forehead. "I was hoping you'd say that, Duncan…" He said as he poured himself yet another glass of the Firebrand. His face quickly took on the cold, reserved mask of the Lord of Winterfell. "You will tell me more about your visit to Torrhen's Square. You will answer my questions, and you will not lie. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Said Duncan easily. Something wasn't right. Was there a situation back home?

"Good." Lord Stark took a sharp swig from his glass. "How long ago did you arrive at Torrhen's Square?"

Duncan briefly calculated the numbers in his head. "About three moons ago. Close to four by now."

Lord Stark nodded. "And when did you initiate a…" he bit out the next few words. "A relationship with Bellanora Tallhart?"

Mormont nearly froze in his seat. Her? What about her? Again he sorted through the dates. "A moon into my stay there, my lord."

The Lord of Winterfell sat forward slowly in his seat. Carefully, he placed his elbows on the table. "So you admit to deflowering her?"

Duncan would not lie. "I do," He said firmly.

Robb Stark seemed to age ten years as he heard Duncan's answer. He sat back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you were not aware that Lady Bellanora was betrothed to Uthor Karstark at the time? That she was to be wed within the next year?" He asked, his voice growing harsher with each word he spoke.

"No, I wasn't aware." Duncan was truthful. That likely got called off. Karstark wouldn't want the pie if another man had his hand in it. Was that what this was all about? "She never mentioned it. Neither did her family. I don't believe they considered it relevant."

Again there was the searching gaze, the studious Dayne eyes which looked him over for any hint of a lie.

The Lord of Winterfell let his hand fall on the arm of his chair. He looked at Duncan with a stone-cold glare. "Bellanora Tallhart is with child. Your child."

That was when the cold sensation in Duncan's bones erupted into an icy spear that gripped his heart. "But-"

"She informed Ser Helman of her situation, and of her relationship with you. It seems she's adamant about raising the child as her own. She's refused moon tea and has threatened to end her own life if it is forced upon her." Robb interrupted him. "I should not need to tell you how Ser Helman received the news. He decided to send word of this development to your father, and your father has now just informed me of it." He paused for a moment and narrowed his eyes. "Have you anything to say?"

There was not a single word that came to Duncan's aid then. He'd been discreet about all of it, hadn't he? His own father had carried out affairs with the daughters and wives of many a lord in his youth, after all, why not him?

Your father wasn't betrothed to a Stark. He was second-born. Free to roam Westeros as he pleased. He was not the Heir to Bear Island, came the harsh, critical voice of reason.

When he still said nothing else, Robb simply slid the letter across the table towards him. Wordlessly telling him to read.

Duncan reluctantly picked up the note. This is what it said:

Robb,

I write to you with grave news and no small amount of shame on my part.

Ser Helman Tallhart has informed me of his daughter's pregnancy. It seems that during my son's stay in Torrhen's Square, he deflowered her and gave her a child. She is several moons into the pregnancy now, and she has supposedly refused moon tea. She was also to be wed to Lord Harrion Karstark's eldest son and heir, though both the wedding and the betrothal have since been called off.

I personally gave Duncan the duty of establishing and nurturing relations with Ser Helman and his kin. Though I did not expressly tell him to seduce Ser Helman's youngest daughter, I will take full responsibility for his actions. The consequences should fall squarely on me.

I am aware that Duncan is currently staying with you and your family in Winterfell. I ask that you send him home so that I may carry out his punishment. Any and all reparations to House Tallhart and your family will be paid in full. The child is blameless in all of this and will be looked after. I will see to it personally.

Your friend, now and always,

Starag Mormont

As Duncan gently set the letter down on the desk, he could not remove the fresh stinging pain he felt in the back of his mind, especially when he read the opening line… and no small amount of shame on my part.

Shame… that was what he felt at that exact moment. Especially as he now realized that he let down his father. Had he been too caught up in himself to calculate the potential consequences of his actions?

Consequences? Consequences of what, exactly? Some tumble in the hay with a girl he half cared for? Not likely. Sure, the Karstarks had gotten angry, but that would be the end of it…

Right?

The answer had come to him in the form of a very cold, and very angry Lord of Winterfell. At the other end of the desk, Lord Stark stared into him with eyes that seemed to turn black. "For the love my daughter bears for you, and for the life debt I owe your father, I will accept his request to send you back to Bear Island." He sat forward then, "On one condition."

Duncan gulped. What?

"Earlier this morning I asked you to prolong your stay in Winterfell. That is no longer needed. Your betrothal to Lyarra is now null and void." Came the cold, distant statement that he'd dreaded to hear. Lord Robb didn't stop to let him think it through. "You will leave tonight. Once this meeting is concluded, you will head to your chambers and pack your belongings. You will not be speaking with my daughter. Nor with anyone else. You will take your men and leave. If you elect to disobey my command, I will have you imprisoned and then sent to the Wall."

The Lord of Winterfell was deadly serious. For the first time in his life, Duncan Mormont genuinely felt the cold fear that deserters and traitors would feel when put before the all-encompassing, immovable statue that was Lord Robb Stark.

And at his side, Grey Wind had slowly risen above the height of the desk, now watching Duncan with an icy gaze and a silent snarling mouth.

"Have I made myself clear, Duncan?"