Sea Dragon Point

314 AC

Sea Dragon Point was a rather large piece of land somewhat akin to a mixed bag.

There were many hills which dotted the landscape that also still contained many of the ancient weirwood circles that once belonged to the Children of the Forest. It was a place filled with lush pine forests that were now largely used for ship-building, along with hundreds of various hidden coves which housed colonies of seals. Otters roamed the local lakes in both summer and winter. Salmon swam up the many flowing river streams, and clams resided by the shorelines.

Then, there were the bogs. Freshwater marshlands which proved to be the primary inconvenience to the inhabitants of Sea Dragon Point, as well as any other lords who would come visiting Lady Dacey Dayne before they sailed across the Bay of Ice.

Thankfully, years ago when Duncan's father had first acquired Sea Dragon Point, he made sure to oversee the construction of a paved road which began from the port city of Westhelm, and extended to the westernmost edges of the Wolfswood. It was called the Sea Road for the sake of simplicity, and because of its close proximity to the Bay of Ice.

Of course, this hadn't prevented snow from forming into iced slush which caked Duncan's boots. He decided to simply put up with it for the meantime.

It had been just over a week since his banishment from Winterfell. The trek through the Wolfswood had been clear of all storms. For obvious reasons, he decided not to stop at Deepwood Motte, as he knew by now that even the Glovers would've known what he'd done to earn the scorn of Robb Stark. And because he simply didn't like them.

He had complied with Lord Stark's commands. He packed his things quickly and efficiently. Duncan wanted to go back to Robb Stark, to defend himself, but he knew it would've been in vain. If anything, such an attempt would have resulted in him being sent to the Wall in chains.

What went wrong? Duncan asked himself. And after having nothing to do but to travel, Duncan soon put the pieces together, and realized the sheer magnitude of what transpired.

Bellanora Tallhart was having his child. A Mormont bastard. Yet she was betrothed to a Karstark. That's certainly an insult to them…

Perhaps it might've been overlooked, perhaps nobody would have found out. Yet it was the girl who'd brazenly told her father that she wished to have the child. She'd threatened to end her own life if the babe was taken from her prematurely.

A big deal was being made out of a rather tiny and insignificant matter. It wasn't as if he hadn't slept with the daughters of other lords before. The matter was usually kept quiet, of course. Oh, they'd claim that they loved him, but then he'd simply move on and later find out that they were to be married. They'd write to him, asking him to come and sweep them off their feet, but Duncan never replied to those letters. There was nothing in it for him.

And what could he, Duncan, do about it? He wouldn't even consider the idea to give the Tallhart girl the moon tea himself. He wouldn't kill a child, and the damage was already done.

The only thing he could do was to figure out the best course of action ahead of him. And deal with the aftermath.

He could see it now. The Glovers would claim that they were right all along to be suspicious towards the Mormonts, the Karstarks might even call for Duncan's head. And the Manderlys?

No, they wouldn't support him either. Lyarra was Lord Wyman's great granddaughter. Had he also strained the friendship between House Mormont and House Manderly? His father certainly would not be happy about that. Not when the Manderlys had been one of their biggest supporters.

And the Starks? They were the ruling family, not just over the North, but of Westeros itself. What sort of example would they be setting if some lordling in the North decided he was too good for them, and thought he could have as many wives as he wanted simply because he shared Targaryen blood? Would they let him get away with it?

No. They wouldn't.

Duncan knew that some sort of punishment would come. And after spending a week languishing in the depths of his own thoughts, he knew he deserved it.

He didn't care about the Manderlys, nor the Karstarks, or the Glovers. No, it all came back to the girl. To Lyarra.

How could he explain it to her? How could he tell her that, even though he'd been with another woman, that he would only love her?

How can I set things right?

The answer never came.

In the distance, Duncan saw the rising stone towers which belonged to Westhelm. Tall wooden buildings and rows upon rows of hundreds of different homes were lined neatly in the streets. Smoke billowed from chimneys built upon the rooftops, and there were plenty of lights which could be seen behind glass windows, making the city a luminescent metropolis of sorts. And sitting atop the highest hill nearest to the northern peninsula was Anchorage Hall, the main keep and castle of House Mormont's cadet branch under his Aunt Dacey.

Under any other circumstance, Anchorage would've been a warm sight. Yet now, Duncan felt weary at the prospect of looking his own family in the eyes, knowing full well the shame they'd feel.

He once asked his uncle Jorah about his own exile decades prior. Back before Duncan had even been born. Jorah had told him that even he did not wish to look his own father in the eye after he'd been caught selling poachers as slaves. He only elected to leave behind the family blade, and flee Westeros with his wife at the time. Duncan hadn't understood then what he meant, but now?

Now you understand him perfectly, don't you?

Duncan would hold his head high in any case. This would all blow over eventually. It had to. He was confident that he could handle whatever the world threw at him.

His party made their way to the Wolfswood Gate. It was made of pinewood, and lined with iron and steel. Surrounding it and encompassing the rest of the city was the great stone bulwark wall that reached about sixty feet in height. Not as impressive as Winterfell's walls, but then again, Brandon the Builder had not been in charge of Westhelm's construction.

They passed under the gate with no issue and made their entrance into the city itself. Duncan watched the darkening skies, knowing that soon enough, the people would finish their work for the day and go inside to eat supper.

The streets were paved with smooth stones, the homes made with timber frames, clay, tar, and tiled rooftops. Though the stench of shit came about every so often, Duncan found it much more bearable than King's Landing.

Eventually they found their way to the market square, where the vast majority of traders and merchants came to sell their wares. They'd come from Oldtown, Dorne, Essos, even the Summer Islands. The rest of the cityfolk simply went about their day, only giving passing glances and making way for Duncan's retinue.

The long winding road narrowed the further along they went. As the hill became steeper, so too did the walls get higher. At the far end of it, Anchorage Hall sat waiting for him.

The gleaming steel gate shuddered open as he approached. They've been expecting me, then. He might've known. His father probably informed his aunt of his arrival.

He passed under the stone arch, and the jagged teeth of the raised gate and into the main courtyard. It was a wide, circular place roughly the size of the yard in Winterfell, and it expanded as it opened up towards the main keep. Rows of guardsmen were making their rounds, some of them even training and marching together. Duncan smiled grimly, Dacey's always having them ready for anything. Probably learned that from Uncle Arthur.

Sure enough, by the foot of the center stairway leading into the main keep, Duncan had picked out the familiar tall figure of his aunt waiting for him. At her side were unmistakably her children, and then there was one other figure as well.

Duncan approached on horseback, then dismounted as soon as he drew near. He immediately recognized the fourth as his little brother, Arthur, who had been named after the late Sword of the Morning following his death.

He had a head of dark brown-reddish hair with a few streaks of silver-gold, much like their mother. Yet he also had their father's bulkier build. Where Duncan considered himself to be more outgoing and jovial, he saw Arthur as much more reserved. Still, that did not make Duncan love his little brother any less.

His aunt Dacey had barely aged at all in all the times Duncan had seen her. She looked as youthful as ever. She was taller than most men, yet carried herself with a distinguished elegance in spite of her use of a mace when in battle.

Likewise, her children also seemed to have the same willfulness. Amelia was growing just as tall as her mother, and also had a mace on her belt. Yet she had the same stern narrow jawline that her father had. Ulrich was practically the spitting image of Arthur Dayne. Except with the stocky Mormont build. Brown hair, purple eyes, hard gaze. Duncan knew that one day, Ulrich would be the next Sword of the Morning after Robb Stark.

"Nephew," Dacey greeted him with a warm smile.

"Aunt," He replied in kind. "How are things? I haven't visited for some time, you know."

That was when her smile hardened. But only slightly. "Well enough, I suppose. But Duncan, you should know that Starag had to call in a lot of favors to make sure you even arrived here safely. While you were in the Wolfswood, Lord Tallhart threatened to ride after you and cut off your-"

"I get the picture, aunt." Duncan said, placing a hand on her shoulder as he did so. He didn't even want to bother imagining that thought.

"I don't think you do," Dacey shook her head plainly. She was clearly frustrated now, but she tamed it down. "You'll be safe here for the night. Tomorrow, you'll sail for Bear Island. Your father wants to speak with you."

That one single sentence instilled more fear in Duncan's mind than anything else he'd heard prior. He felt compelled to maintain the easygoing smile he'd worn when he walked though the main gates to Anchorage Hall. "I see," he said, before moving onto his cousins.

He knew by their moods that they hadn't been informed of what happened. There was that at least. Amelia beamed at him. "Good to see you again, Duncan."

"And you as well, Amelia." He said as he hugged her.

They separated and Mormont moved onto Ulrich. The Sentinel shared a brief, but firm handshake with him. "Duncan. Glad to see you. Up for a spar later?"

"Not tonight, Ulrich. I've got to get an early start across the bay. Perhaps when I come back?"

His tone was hopeful, but his cousin hadn't appeared to have noticed it. Ulrich was happy with the answer nonetheless. "Of course,"

Then there was his little brother.

Where Amelia and Ulrich had been more narrow in frame, Arthur was much broader, and taller to boot. He wore a simple, functional tunic and trousers. Yet that was not the highlight of his brother's appearance.

Coiled around Arthur's neck and laying atop his shoulders, was a slim green-gold scaled body. It was connected with two bat-like wings which had acted as protective pauldrons, covering Arthur's shoulders from the cold. A long spike-ended tail fluttered playfully by his brother's backside, and staring up at Duncan from just below Arthur's chin was the long glimmering serpentine head of a dragon. A very young dragon, just barely around six moons old or so, but still a dragon.

What was the little creature's name? Sundancer, that had been it. Because of the blazing orange shimmer that the dragon would adopt in the morning sun.

"Arthur," Duncan grinned warmly. "Good to see you again, little brother."

"Likewise, Duncan." Arthur offered his arm. Duncan accepted it, grasping it and bringing his younger brother into a half hug.

They proceeded into the main keep. Dinner would soon be served, and Dacey offered him a room with a good view of the Bay of Ice. He would be able to keep his belongings there until tomorrow morning.

Duncan couldn't wait until tomorrow, though. He was reminded of his earlier musings. Of Lyarra.

"Aunt, where is your rookery again? The eastern tower was it?"

Dacey looked plainly at him. "Yes, of course." She said, with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Why?"

"There's a letter I need to send. It's rather important." He said. "Do you mind?"

"Be my guest, Duncan."

Duncan thanked his aunt and split from the main group and went to the eastern tower to write a letter for Lyarra Stark's eyes only.

When it came to more formal occasions, such as feasts and jousts, Duncan Mormont prided himself on maintaining a sharp appearance.

In the North, dressing to impress wasn't exactly high on everyone's priorities. Though the lords would make an effort and show up wearing fitting doublets, cloaks, and jackets, they would never go out with style.

Duncan very much departed from this sense of over simplicity. He preferred to put a bit more effort into his apparel, especially on special occasions, or when he would present himself before his hosts, or others in higher positions. A good high collared brocade coat with cuffs suited him just fine. But never with too vibrant a color. He would simply look the part of a Reachlord, and that just wouldn't do.

So, when Duncan Mormont woke early the next day, knowing full well he would meet his father, he decided to at the very least make himself presentable. His Lord Father also kept a watchful eye for appearances, though his tastes were far more focused on the functionality of a thing rather than its look. Still, he taught Duncan the importance of dressing well, and it took hold.

After training on his own, and thinking to himself about how he would speak to his father on the matter at hand, Duncan opted for one of his dark blue cuffed coats with gold detailing. Paired along with a good pair of black trousers, and crisp brown leather riding boots, he was set.

The morning air was cold, as was to be expected. Gray clouds marred the sky, blocking out the orange-gold gaze of the sun. His aunt had come with him to the docks, and then gave him one more hug before he stepped onto the ship that had come for him specifically across the Bay of Ice.

And now, he stood alone at the bow of the small brig. The sailors behind him were dressed in furs and wool so as to keep warm. The black waters below him still carried mist. The morning fog was permeable, and thick with moisture. Even as they drew closer to the island, Duncan could feel his nerves ticking in the back of his mind. Without a doubt, he'd certainly made his father angry. And the line of, 'no small amount of shame on my part' still repeated itself again and again and again.

The ire of Lord Starag Mormont was not easily gained. His father was always completely unaffected by everyone and everything around him. Whether it was one of Duncan's sisters or cousins crying about something, or even Duncan's own mother growing restless and nervous at the thought of one of her own children going out into the wide world, his father always knew how to handle it. And with considerable ease at that.

The people of Bear Island only saw a fraction of this. They were scared of their lord, but not actively fearful of him. It wasn't uncommon for the people to solve their own disputes between one another, their own problems in their lives, before even considering raising the issue to Lord Mormont himself. They were more productive precisely because they thought that bringing a rather menial and nonsensical issue to their lord simply wasn't worth the squeeze. As such, the lines outside of the White Gate decreased in number, and only important matters were made known to Lord Mormont.

In return, the people lived considerably better lives than most in the North. The Bay of Ice was generous to them with literal boatloads of cod and haddock. Frostgate was next to a central tradehub in the North, and was one of the few places in the Known World where one could obtain Valyrian Steel. For a rather hefty price, of course.

They respected their lord and his time. Lord Starag Mormont had single handedly raised House Mormont and his own people out of the dirt, and they loved him for it.

A blazing orange light sitting atop a lean stone tower by the port made itself known to him. One of the sailors up on the mast had called out to his fellow crewmen below. "Land!"

Then Frostgate itself came into view.

It was a much simpler town compared to Westhelm. There were considerably fewer buildings, and almost everything was constructed of pinewood. Still, it had a rather substantial port, lined with dozens of docks which were all busy throughout the day and night.

In the heart of Frostgate was the market square, a vast and intricate complex that held all sorts of goods hailing from King's Landing, Oldtown, Sunspear, to even the far reaches of Essos. With the primary commodities being pinewood and fish. The place stunk to all hell, but it was certainly profitable. Almost every shop and establishment was partly owned by Duncan's family in some form or another.

The Ironborn probably wish they could raid this place, Duncan thought as the town came within his view.

The dock closest to the lighthouse was their target. It was reserved specifically for family members of House Mormont, or House Stark whenever they came visiting. If any of the island's inhabitants were to dock there, they would lose their right hand. The same punishment for thieves and poachers.

And beyond the warm, bustling town, further beyond the rising pinewood trees topped with fresh snow, were the twin mountain peaks in the distance that Duncan called home. Bear Keep sat squat in the middle of the crevice, with a few towers rising close to the jagged peaks themselves. And high above them-

A great rush of wind blew right into Duncan's chest then. One massive shadow sailed far above his head. Instinctively he ducked, then watching as the shape passed over to the docks, giving him a much better view of it.

Cream-white scales, paired with golden horns, wing bones, and spines was all Duncan needed to place the name. Viserion. One of the dragons whom his aunt Daenerys had brought to life from stone. The white dragon soared higher above the lighthouse now, and he continued to make his ascent until he turned. Viserion began to circle around the harbor now, his wings flapping occasionally to keep afloat.

Years ago, the people of Frostgate had once cowered before the great beasts. His mother's dragon, Bronzie, had been kept hidden from the smallfolk for close to a decade. And their sudden appearance and close proximity nearly caused an exodus.

Yet now, there were no screams of protest at the dragon's presence. It was as if the beasts were part of their daily lives now. And while none of the people would dare approach Viserion or Bronzie, even if that chance itself was rare, they seemed to have gotten over their fear for the most part. Especially as both Viserion and Bronzie hunted around the Northern Mountains rather than around Bear Island. And they were not adverse to diving into the sea and eating their fill of fish.

The dock was closer now. Duncan caught sight of a head of platinum gold hair, a tall slender figure much like his aunt Dacey. He immediately recognized her. His sister, Thalia, was waiting for him. Along with a small retinue of Mormont men-at-arms.

When the docks were in spitting distance, and the plank was lowered to bridge the gap, Duncan was the first across it. He strode up to his sister and gave her a warm smile. "Sister," He greeted her, giving her a hug.

Thalia returned it in kind. "Duncan," She smiled kindly as they parted. Then she glanced at his apparel. "As opulent as usual, I see."

"Ah, you know me Thals. I always want to look my best."

His sister nodded. "I'm aware," She said as her smile faded. "Dunk, it's good to see you again. But…" She paused. "Father is not pleased with what's going on. Neither is Mother for that matter. Even I wanted to smack you over the head after-"

"Thalia, everything will be fine." Duncan pressed a hand on her shoulder. "We'll sort this out in no time at all."

"Not this time, Dunk." She shook her head, looking sharply at him then. "What were you thinking disrespecting Lord Stark and his family like that? They're among some of our only supporters here in the North, Duncan. Them and the Manderlys. And you've snubbed both of them all over some girl. Not to mention the damage you've done to the Karstarks and the Tallharts and-"

"I don't know what you're worried about," Duncan deflected the issue, glanced up at the massive white dragon that still roamed the sky above. "We'll be safe, Thal. We have dragons and they don't."

"I have a dragon, Duncan." His sister said sternly. "You don't. And try telling that to Father. I'm sure he'll take it well." She looked over her shoulder, back to where Bear Keep lay in the distance. "Come on, then. I'm here to escort you, so let's go."

Duncan Mormont let out a quiet sigh. His brief conversation with his sister did nothing to calm his nerves. She led the way over to her horse, meanwhile Duncan collected Eregar from the ship and mounted him.

They set off up the main road of the harbor, which would lead them into town and then up to Bear Keep.

It took them about an hour to finally reach the White Gate itself. The gleaming gate of white steel that never seemed to rust. Though Duncan figured that the men in the gatehouse likely looked after the bloody thing's condition as well. It was a symbol all on its own, both to them, and to the people of the island.

The gate shuddered open, lifting cleanly off the ground. As it raised, Duncan got a nice view of the courtyard on the other side.

He immediately noticed the short line of people waiting for him. Much shorter than usual. And missing one crucial element…

His father was not present in the yard. That hurt the most. Duncan's smile flickered before he fixed it, pressing on.

His mother stood at the head of the line. Next to her was his aging great aunt Maege. After her came Lyanna, another one of Duncan's aunts whom he really considered to be an older sister.

It certainly made sense as to why the line was shorter. Alysane was the head of the cadet branch ruling over the Stony Shore. Lyra had married Smalljon Umber years prior, likewise Jorelle had paired up with Sigmund, the leader of the wildling settlement along the northern coast. Though they were apparently married by wildling standards, supposedly. Duncan hadn't really cared and wished them both nothing but the best.

That wasn't to say that the Mormont family had gotten smaller over time. As after Lyanna were two more of Duncan's own siblings; Argelle and little Beron.

Both of them were roughly two years apart in age from one another, with Argelle being nine and Beron being seven. Both of them looked distinctly like Duncan's father. Jet black curly hair and blue eyes, though Beron had small wisps of platinum in his hair, just like their mother.

Mormont suspected his siblings weren't told about what had transpired, as they both seemed rather excited to see him again. He couldn't help but grin slightly when he saw Argelle give him a small wave.

He dismounted, and made his way over his mother first. Her smile was warm, but pained. She immediately embraced him as he came closer. "Duncan! I'm so glad you're home safe."

"So am I, Mother." Duncan shared the sentiment, returning the embrace.

It was then that she separated from him. Instantly, her smile turned into an angry glare. She slapped him on the arm. "What in the Seven Hells were you thinking? How could you do that to Lyarra? She's just a girl, Duncan!"

If he was unable to move Thalia, then he certainly felt slightly embarrassed being berated by his own mother. Especially in front of his present family. It was a rather uncommon occurrence. Duncan recalled that if his mother wanted to discipline him or any of his siblings, she would always use the veiled threat of, "I'll tell your father," and simply leave it at that.

In practice, it was outstandingly effective. Duncan knew all too well from experience. The thought of his father having to come in and straighten things out himself was terrifying. Mother was far more lenient, so it was best to go along with her.

Yet now, it seemed that threat had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. His father was nowhere in sight.

Probably inside Bear Keep, but still, the fact that he had not come out to greet Duncan, even with a cold glare, had spoken volumes about the present situation at hand.

His mother had it as well. It would not do for Lady Mormont to publicly scold the Heir to Bear Island in front of the men and women he'd eventually be looking after. She recollected herself and spoke calmly now. "Your father is waiting for you inside. I suggest you greet your siblings and your aunts before you see him."

Duncan felt his blood run cold at that first sentence. He was right, but that alone did not instill confidence in him.

Putting on a kindly smile, Duncan met with the rest of his family. Maege, too, was brimming with anger, but kept it under control. She was only able to get away with jabbing him sharply in the foot with her wooden cane. It hurt like hell, but Duncan acted like it hadn't affected him.

Lyanna was kinder, but still as stone-faced as usual. She hugged him before letting him move on to his sister and brother.

Argelle, as expected, had jumped up as high as she could and hugged him. Her energetic attitude had warmed the cool blood in his veins, and had briefly masked the worry he felt in his bones.

Beron, too, had been excited. "What did you get up to, Dunk?" He asked with sparkling blue eyes. "Did you slay any bandits?"

"Bandits? In the North?" Duncan grinned. "You've been reading too many adventure novels, little brother."

"That's what heroes do, right? They save the day." Beron asked. "I mean, you are a hero after all. 'Gelle and Thalia always say so."

Duncan gave both of his sisters a short glance each. Thalia tried to seem indifferent, but cracked a slight grin. Meanwhile Argelle was completely unabashed, and nodded eagerly. "That's right." She said.

The full weight of what he'd done to hurt Lyarra fell on him then. His mother's words came back in full force. Every single thing that Robb Stark had told him in that dimly lit office haunted him in that one moment for what seemed like years…

Guilt plagued his mind then. Overwhelmingly so, to the point that he couldn't force out the slight strain in his voice.

"That's me… a hero." He said.

He hid his thoughts with one last tousling of Beron's hair. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed his mother lean in and whisper something into Maege's ear.

Duncan's great aunt nodded sternly, and turned to the children. "Come on you three. It's time for breakfast."

Argelle looked sharply at her aunt. "But Aunt Maege! What about Dunk? Isn't he coming with us?" She then looked at Duncan. "Will you eat with us, Dunk? Please? I want to hear about the direwolves."

Mormont shared a small look with his mother. She nodded briefly, tell her what she wants to hear.

He looked down at his sister and smiled as best he could. "Soon enough, 'Gelle. I've just got to speak with Father, first. After that, I'll tell you everything you want to know about the direwolves. Alright?"

His little sister seemed satisfied with that answer. "Okay," She said warmly. "See you soon, Dunk."

And with that, Maege took both of his siblings and Lyanna in the direction of the dining hall. She made it a point to talk about some random thought that had entered her head, probably trying to distract them from Duncan's upcoming punishment.

Punishment… what would it be? Duncan didn't know. And that thought terrified him.

"Duncan. It's time." His mother said sternly.

Mormont nodded, and wordlessly strode to the twin pinewood doors that would lead right into Bear Keep's great hall. Behind him, he heard both his mother and Thalia walk with him.

Once he was at the threshold, he paused briefly. His mind thundered along with his pulse. His heartbeat quickened. This was it.

Gently, Duncan placed his hands on the twin doors, and with one great push, had thrust them open.