11th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Breaking Fast (8 A.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Westerlands, Lannisport
"The unloved son of a bitch wasn't lying."
Pacing back and forth while cursing the Warden of the West, Maege is furious.
Leaning against the wall, watching the scene in silence, was Jorah, who wore a worried expression.
In the center of the room, Jeor stared at his sister in reprimand, while Rickard, summoned to our quarters at my father's request, scratched his beard and stared at the floor, thinking about what to do.
The situation was dire.
The king had just summoned us to his personal chambers for breakfast, and we had only a few minutes to prepare.
After staying out of the king's line of sight for the past few weeks, he still hadn't forgotten about me and was now calling for me once again; likely wanting to question me about magic again, despite his excuse of merely wanting to dine with the war heroes.
And this time, Tywin wouldn't stop him, as he is the one to blame.
It all started eight days ago, when Father was summoned by the Lannister, surprising us all. An hour later, which he said he spent alone waiting for Tywin, Father returned with the news that Tywin wanted to buy Red Rain and was willing to pay 300,000 gold dragons.
That was an obscenely large amount. From what Maester Yves had told me during my personal lessons, the most important Great Houses collected between 50,000 and 250,000 gold dragons a year in taxes and business. House Stark, for example, by his estimates, must collect between 250,000 and 300,000 gold dragons.
Tywin was basically offering more than a kingdom could earn in a year in exchange for a sword.
Of course, considering that, according to Maester Yves' other estimates, House Lannister produced a minimum of 500,000 gold dragons per year, and could go much further if they chose to exploit their gold mine, it wasn't surprising that he could throw money around like that in his first offer.
But still. Obscene.
But the obscenity of the offer did not seduce Jorah, who shouted that, as the owner, he would not sell his sword. To his surprise, I supported his decision.
A Valyrian steel sword was simply too valuable. They are priceless in my eyes.
But to our misfortune, the words Steffon Baratheon spoke to me on his dromond, that Tywin would not take no for an answer, became reality when Jeor mentioned that the proposal for the sword came with a veiled threat.
Apparently, Tywin had been keeping the king away from me as much as he could during the entire post-Old Wyk period, but should House Mormont refuse his offer, we might end up gaining the king's attention back.
With the threat looming over us, we turned to Lord Stark, warning him that another Lord Paramount was threatening his vassals and practically trying to steal an heirloom.
Claiming he would resolve the situation, Rickard set out to find Tywin, but returned with a somber face instead of a triumphant one.
Tywin had not only refused to back down, but doubled down. He sent Rickard to warn us, as if he were a messenger and not the Warden of the North, that he had increased the offer to 500,000 gold dragons.
And worst of all, he also gave a veiled threat to Rickard, saying, to our further surprise, that the North, thanks to our casualties and war merits, would likely gain one of the islands during the partitioning, as would House Lannister.
In fact, he said he would push for it to fall into our hands so that the North and the West would become neighbors. Close to each other.
According to Rickard, Tywin's tone, contrary to his words, was not friendly, even more so when he immediately followed by saying that if Rickard was so bothered, he could very well sell his own Valyrian steel sword in our place.
800,000 gold dragons were his proposal for Ice.
The man is obviously unhinged.
Rickard obviously refused.
The next day, I went to Steffon seeking help, but he said there was nothing he could do. Perhaps in the past, he said, he could have done something, but no longer in the present; he, Tywin, and Aerys had drifted apart over time, and there was nothing more he could do.
We discussed simply not going to Lannisport and heading straight home, away from him and his threats, but as if we had been overheard, a messenger from the king came to us, informing us that the king expected our presence at the tournament, trapping us into following him to Lannisport.
Since then, we have been in high tension, waiting for Tywin or Aerys to do something.
The Lion's next move was yesterday, when he summoned us again, asking what our answer would be, which was another no.
According to Jeor, Tywin did not react to the rejection, remaining composed throughout the interaction.
But apparently, his lack of reaction was a sign of lost interest.
Twenty minutes ago, a messenger came to our quarters to inform us that King Aerys was calling House Mormont to have breakfast in his company.
And here we were.
"We can say Alaric is not feeling well," Rickard says, thinking he has figured out what to do.
Truly, it seems guile is not in the Stark blood.
"He will simply keep avoiding us until I attend. And considering how interested he is in me, he will likely send a maester to check my condition. There is no way we can refuse him without offending him, so it is better that we go."
"He will want to question you about your magic, boy, and without me by your side, it will be much harder to refuse him."
"There is no other option. We have to take the risk." I try my best to look serious and resolute.
But my aunt, stopping her pacing and cursing, did not give up.
"Can't we just tell the king that his Hand is blackmailing us? I bet he would love to know his Hand is using his name for personal gain."
Maege had a malicious smile plastered on her face.
"We would just be trading one problem for another. As soon as he knew Tywin's terms, he would probably push a similar proposal, but this time wanting me instead of Red Rain."
With a sigh, Jeor speaks resignedly, "Then we have no choice. We have to hand over the sword."
"No!" Jorah shouts, clutching the pommel of Red Rain sheathed on the left side of his waist.
Approaching Jorah, Jeor holds his shoulder and looks into his eyes as he speaks.
"We will still have Longclaw, Jorah. One day you will wield it, you just need to have patience."
An attempt at comfort, however rusty and clumsy it was.
And Jorah, even with the assurance that he would have a Valyrian steel sword in the future, continued to grip the pommel of Red Rain tightly.
What Jeor, Maege, or Rickard didn't realize was that, to Jorah, Red Rain wasn't just a Valyrian steel sword. Having been won in combat—proving, in the simplistic view of Westeros, that he was more worthy than its previous wielder—Jorah saw Red Rain as an affirmation of his worth.
Poor boy. Without the existence of a psychologist to treat his problems, this piece of magical metal was the only thing keeping him afloat.
That was yet another reason for me not to let Tywin win.
"We don't need to give any sword to anyone!"
Everyone turns to me upon hearing my shout. Jorah was barely managing to hold back his tears.
"Do you remember what I said before, back in Old Wyk, about why I came to the war?" I look at my family as I ask.
Not having been there, nor having been informed about the conversation, Rickard stood to the side, watching us in confusion.
"To gain more power... more spells," Maege answers, somewhat uncertainly.
She didn't have a good memory.
"Yes. But I didn't come after power just for power's sake. Getting more power is just the means to an end. Which is the improvement of our house and the North, to raise us to a point where not even the royal house can touch us, to prevent extortions like this from happening again. That is what this is all about."
I notice Rickard looking deeply at me from my side, but saying nothing.
"And it worked. I gained magic that will allow me to do exactly that, starting today. So, not only will we not surrender to Tywin, but we will also survive this dinner with the king without any issues."
It is time to put my new Feat into practice.
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Name: Alaric Mormont (12)
HP: 51 / 51
Sex: Masculine
Race: Human of the First Men
Class: Druid (Circle of the Moon)
Level: 9
Exp: 54,212 / 64,000
Ability Scores
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 14
Constitution: 9
Intelligence: 13
Wisdom: 14
Charisma: 9 (+1 = 10)
Skills
Nature (Int): The ability to recall lore about terrain, plants and animals, the weather, and natural cycles.
Animal Handling (Wis): Calm or train an animal, or get an animal to behave in a certain way.
Insight (Wis): Discern a person's mood and intentions.
Perception (Wis): Measures your general awareness of your surroundings and the keenness of your senses.
Survival (Wis): Grants the ability to identify poisonous plants, track footprints, build fires, predict the weather, avoid natural disasters, and hunt animals.
Feats
Polearm Master: Grants one talent point to all polearms.
GM Eyes: Grants the ability to see other Characters' Sheets and Item descriptions.
Telepathic: You awaken the ability to mentally connect with others and +1 in Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma.
-
From their expressions, it seems that putting a point into Charisma was the right move.
***
The atmosphere was extremely uncomfortable.
Not a word was exchanged, only glances—mostly those from Aerys directed at me.
When we entered, we were surprised to find not only Aerys but also House Lannister, represented by Tywin, who ate as if it were just any other morning; Kevan, who copied his older brother; Gerion, who poked at his food impatiently as if he were about to explode at any moment; and, to my surprise, Joanna Lannister, Tywin's wife.
I thought she would be dead by now. It seems my knowledge of the original work has some holes.
Surprisingly, she seemed like a genuinely pleasant person. She was the only one trying to start a conversation.
And my Insight caught no falsehood in her words. Nor did her status panel show any manipulation skills like Deception or Performance. Persuasion was her only skill.
How someone like Tywin managed to win her over intrigues me.
"So, Lady Maege, is it common for the women of Bear Island to take up arms?" she asks, trying once again to lighten the mood.
"Only when the men are away," Maege responds reservedly, not even bothering to correct the fact that she was being called 'Lady,' as she usually likes to do.
Joanna didn't give up so easily this time.
"Ah, so you are the outlier. What is it like? Surely not easy. I doubt the men react well to being defeated in front of their friends."
"They don't."
"Just as I imagined." She smiles, taking no offense at the rudeness coming from a lady of a much smaller house. "But from what I've heard of your deeds, you did well not to be discouraged by the lack of acceptance you certainly faced."
"Thank you."
And with that, silence returns.
This time, it was too much for Gerion, who seemed to be only fourteen years old. Like a child who could no longer stand the silence and the need to behave, he begins to stir his food with increasing speed until he explodes.
"Ah, by the Seven! This is torture! Can't you all just get straight to the point and end this?"
His words draw everyone's eyes toward him. Tywin stared at him with a blank look, while Aerys had an expression that was almost entertained.
Kevan tried again to copy his older brother but let glimpses of anger slip through. Joanna, on the other hand, only gave him a disappointed look.
Unfortunately, Aerys took the bait.
"So, Ser Alaric, in which event do you intend to compete?"
What?
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