Chapter 9: In the lion's den
Uh, you guys actually liked the last chapter... nice. Clarifications:
Asha/Yara Greyjoy isn't mentioned because it wasn't essential to the conversation at the time.
I thought about making Beor lord of the Iron Islands, but he's 11. Suspension of disbelief can only go so far.
Technically, Maege is the ruler of Bear Island now, but Beor has a good claim to it too, seeing as everyone knows him as THE Mormont, now. But that's even a problem since he's first in line to inherit, being the first maleborn child.
And as most stories do, I will age up most of the younger charaters, one by making them born one or two years earlier than in cannon, and by having a wider gap between the rebellion and the WOFK. The ages of GRRM characters can be really ridiculous. Also it makes it weird to write GOT style romance/ flirting with tweens and teens. Makes me feel icky...
Beyond that, I also realized that there's no word limits, so I don't have to make the chapters shorter for the sake of convenience. It's my story, goddamnit!
So yeah, good stuff, hope you guys enjoy the chapter.
I own nothing, besides the OC, and so on and so forth...
When Maege Mormont saw the boats, her heart sank in the pit of her stomach. When the wounded started disembarking, she held her breath. She was standing on the small but growing harbour, clad in fur, and loose tunic to accomodate her growing belly.
When the remains of the fallen were carried off the boat, she felt her legs nearly give out.
She waited, waited for the gruesome news, that her son had met his end on the battlefield. She didn't know what came over her when, a scant eight months earlier, she had allowed her tit of a nephew to drag her son to war.
He was only one and ten, after all. A boy, no a child. She had let his talent and intelligence blind her from what he really was. When talking to her son, most had the tendency to remember him as much older than he actually was. He spoke, walked, breathed like a grown man, and Maege, alongside everyone had allowed herself to be caught in the spell.
When had she started to think of her boy as more than child? What is when she realized how smart he was? or when he started reforming the island for the better? Whatever the case was, she had let the charade go to her head, and she had sent a child to war. What kind of mother does that? Willingly leading her little bear to the killing fields? She could taste the bitter taste of bile in her mouth. She was disguted with herself.
Not one night had gone by that she hadn't tossed and turned, barely sleeping. The guilt was too strong. Here she was, in her bed, with her man, safe and warm, whilst the little bear somewhere south battling squids and grumpkins, all so his cousin could parade his little success in front of lords.
Turning her attention back on the ships, she saw Duncan, one of the younger soldiers, carrying a small bundle to her. She could hear the thunder of her beating heart roaring in her ear, louder and louder, the closer the young man got.
"m'lady." he salutated, bowing respectfully.
"How does the war goes, good man?" She asked, composing herself. "The last news we recieved was three months past. How fare my kin?"
" The war goes well, m'lady, last I heard, only Pyke stood as the last stronghold of the Iron Islands. The Bearmen have made a good showing, the Old Gods be blessed." he answered, pride beaming in his grey eyes.
"What of your lord, what of his cousin?" she asked, as propriety asked she showed respect to Jorah, as the ruler of Bear Island.
Duncan sombered, suddenly avoiding her gaze. Her mind froze. The dreams she'd been having these past months, haunting her ceaselessly. Her boy, maimed, dead, or dying on some wretched island, crying to her, but she was nowhere to be found, for she was in her bed, warm and comfortable.
"Duncan! I've asked you a question!" Maege said growling, taking a step towards the young man. He stumbled back, out of fear, scares by the sudden outburst.
" Y-yes, m'lady", he stuttered. I bring ill tidings from the battlefield, however. Lord Jorah has fallen at Old Wyk. Slain by the cowardly Euron Greyjoy. He answered somberly.
"What of my son?" she said releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"The young lord has avenged his cousin, m'lady. He fell the Greyjoy by himself. You should've seen him, m'lady" The young man's was getting more agitated, excitement clear in his voice.
"You should've seen him, m'lady. Tall and strong, our enemies quaking at the sight of him. The Red Bear, they call him now. A more frightening warrior I have never seen."
Was she a bad person for feeling relief insted of grief for her nephew? She had liked Jorah. He was a good man, ambitious and bright. 'Jeor will be devastated', she thought, a shadow falling on her at the thought.
Yet she couldn't help but be happy that it was Jorah who had died. The best case was for both of them to survive, but in the instance she had to choose, she knew whitout a doubt that she would let thevwhole of Westeros burn before choosing anyone over her children.
Maybe that made her a bad woman, but she hoped it made her a good mother.
She turned her attention back on the soldier who was still raving about Beor and how he was blessed by the Old Gods and the New.
"Duncan." she said interrupting him. "Come with me at the keep, I want to hear more about the war and how all that came to pass.", she said turning away from him, not bothering to look and see if he was complying.
She was holding a thin piece of parchment, having read it for the tenth time, by now. It was a simple note from Beor, as attested by his horrible handwriting. He expressed how sad he was at not being able to save Jorah and that he died a hero's death. Above all, he expressed his love and affection for his family and his mother. He even said that he loved her. Try as she might, she couldn't get rid of the little insolent speck of dust that was irritating her eyes.
Duncan was now adressing her daughters, counting stories of the Bearmen war successes, how they, led by Jorah and Beor, captured the Drumm keep, slaying The Unsmiling and Euron Greyjoy .
Alysanne was understandably distraught about the fate of her older cousin, even Darcy had shed a tear, they had been close to him, after all. Maester Lowry seemed enthralled with the stories about the young lord's accomplishments. He seemed to have developped a form of adoration for the boy as he went through the notes left for him on various "science experiments", as he called them. Prior to these batches of news, one could see him roaming the halls of the keep, a forlorn look on his face, as a lovesick puppy would awaiting the return of his master.
The thought brought a smile to the woman's face. She was indeed sad about Jorah's death, but she was happy that her son has gone and done his duty. She still felt guilty for sending a boy to war, but to hear of how well he had done ,and what he had done, she couldn't help but feel the warmth of motherly pride blowing i her heart.
Even Tohrren, ever laconic, had commented on how he was proud of "the young lord". And of course, the war wasn't over. According to Duncan and others, as they were leaving Old Wyk, the greater host was a week away from sailing to Pyke.
The danger was still there. and she will not stop worrying until her son is safe and sound here, where he belonged. That day could not come fast enough.
She laid back on her sit, her lower back bothering her. "Maester Lowry", she said beckoning the older man, "write to my brother at Castle Black. Tell him of the news about his son."
The maester nodded somberly and bowing to the new lady of Bear Island, he took his leave.
She reclined her sit, and slowly allowed herself to relax, a tiny slip of parchemin held tightly in her grip.
Beor Mormont had no desire to leave his quarters this morning. It was one of those days where, despite being in young body, he truly felt his age. He would have been in his late sixties in his old life, no doubt still juggling family, teaching and doing research with his wife. But he was here, not having had a lick of sleep, as he tended to, sitting at his desk scribbling notes in one of his numerable notebooks. They were in cyrillic of course, not trusting anyone or anything that breathed. Heck, he didn't trust anything that wasn't himself. Because if he so much blinked in the wrong direction at the wrong, there's no telling what could happen.
Because, you see, Beor was having the time of his life. No, really, he was. What wasn't to enjoy? The two-face lords of the South? The never ending back stabbing and oneupmanship? Or was it the incessant, mind numbingly stupid attempts at manipulating him?
Indeed, the Red Bear,he thought dismissively, was having the time of his life. Of course, they all had of the same flavour to them , offers to squire him, money, a daughter to wed. What made it annoying was the pressure and frequency. The greater lords hadn't shown their hands yet, but the minor lords of the westerlands and crownlands were rabid, looking to add a new jewel to their list of useless accomplishment.
'Woe is me, he thought wrily, 'being the new commodity in town. All those young women and men throwing themselves at me, whatever shall I do.'
He had been in Casterly Rock for two weeks now, instead of heading home, as he had planned. The king, who seemed to have taken a liking to him, insisted he stayed with him and the Stark Lord in Rock itself. Of course, the Lannisters didn't seem to have a say in this.
Apparently, Robert Baratheon had the annoying habit of imposing his presence and whims on his subject, whether or not they were willing. Not that Tywin Lannister minded that much. The castle was massive, horrifiyingly so. Set on a "hill" seemingly taller than the Wall and carved out of its very stone, the fortress was tall and mighty, overlooking the harbour of Lannisport.
He had been dragged here, in the den of the lions, with two valyrian steel swords, one of them being the sword of the Reynes of Castamere. It was only a matter of time before the pressure started mounting.
However, there were silverlinings to his current circumstances. He had done plenty of networking, met lords, great and small. His notoriety preceded him, for better ofbfor worse. The goods he had brought from Bear Island were a hit, no doubt due to the king's appreciation for the whisky in particular. The bourbon was appreciated among the female gentry, especially the ones with slight fruity flavours.
All in all, he had made some serious coin. Scarcity and the niche market made the Bear Island's Sweet Fire(TM) a luxury commodity. He, of course, had plans to sell cheaper brands, especially spirits enriched with vitamin in the likes, specifically to target sailors and older smallfolks at risk of scurvy. He had also made his men hint to some lords of his future plans glassmaking and other luxury items such as porcelain and ceramic.
That made him an even more valuable commodity. He had no doubt about that. This is all he was to those leeches, a commodity. He had experiences in fundraising, where kissing arse and brown nosing were a surefire way to get yourself a nice grant or investment. He knew what these people, the donors or the banks, wanted. The same thing he did, as a matter of fact. Money and prestige.
But here, things were not so cut and dry. Tywin Lannister was willing to spend a rather large fortune to secure a valyrian steel sword for his house. He was rebuked- politely, of course- over and over by noble families that were dirt poor and could have found a better use to the gold than they would a sword.
To them, it was not about the money, but the ever elusive "power". Danearys Targaryen would soon attempt to cross the Narrow Sea to conquer a land she did not know, had no attachment to, a land who had just ousted her family. A sensible person would've taken the money for that campaign and lived the best life he could, far from death and dangerous court intrigue.
That was because to those people, the goal was not to have money and live a good life, what they sought was power over each others' lives, be it highborn or smallfolk, septon or pirate.
Which made him realize something. He had no desire to play their little games, not that he had any talents for it to begin with. He had seen the evolution of those games in his world, from the petty wars in Asia all the way to The Great Wars of the twentieth century. He knew how to counter them. Be useful to them until they're no longer useful to you, trust and verify, and above all, speak softly and carry a big ass stick.
He wished life didn't have to go that way, but this was the world in which he was stuck. Where people despised traders and merchants because they were not chilvarous, and were in the trade not for a lord or a king, but only for their own benefit, as if that were the worse crime imaginable.
'Well, I'm here to make my life and the lives of those I care about better. Fuck their duties and their loyalties. I'm not here to be ruled. I'm here to take over and usher a new vision of the world.' he thought to himself, smiling.
Not that he wanted a democracy, mind you. He knew very well how that could end, if gone awry. But a feudal system, while stable, stunted the growth of the land and condemned the vast majority of people to a life of misery and servitude.
Having gathered the courage to get up and dress himself, he caught a glance of himself in the gaudy glass mirror in the room. The ugly thing was plated with gold and had an on the nose lion theme going on. But what really struck him as bizarre was the ridiculous amounts of changes that occured to him in the last nine months.
He had grown almost half a foot, making about as tall as the king, give or take a few inches, despite only being eleven years old, twelve soon. That of course was highly unusual. He was never as tall in his past life, he was tall, maturing at a respectable six feet and four inches, but now, he was that height much before his expected growth spurt. Thankfully, he was not gangly or skinny, far from it. His arms might have been a tad too long, but he already had muscles and the frame to go with it.
It worried him, thinking he had some form of gigantism, or maybe some thyroid issue, coupled with myostatin- related muscle hypertrophy. Did it just affect his red muscles? Or is his heart also at risk? He didn't seem to develop any symptoms that pointed that way, but again, without advanced medicine, there's no way he could figured that out.
Besides that, however, he had to admit he was quite handsome. He had never been a vain person, but he could not help but appreciate the way he looked, with roguish features and sharp cheekbones. There was the matter of his out of control bodily hair, but he learned to live with it. He supposed there was some style to it, cemeting him as a true Northman. Add his smooth chestnut hair and bright gold amber eyes, and what you had was a boy that look much older and much dashing than he had any right to.
He dressed himself in his new garments- the old ones had stopped fitting him a long time ago-, he strapped Longclaw to his waist. He still considered himself pretty mediocre with a sword, as he never cared much for swordplay, much preferring the mace or the spear. He had decided to sell Red Rain to the highest bidder possible, and wring every single dragon out of the poor sucker, whoever that might be.
He left the room, finding his way to the great hall, lured by the sweet smell of food. He had been experiencing other changes, his worrying growth spurt non withstanding. His senses, all of them were dialed up to eleven, the changes occuring at random, if his notes were to be trusted. He was always stronger han anyone he's ever seen, strength that should be far beyond the grasp of a child his age.
Thinking back to what he had accomplished during the Rebellion, it was obvious that whatever was happening to him was not natural. He always had serious doubts, of course, assuming that it was somehow linked with his being reincarnated, but he wasn't stronger than the strongest child, he was strong enough to topple horses, and rip a man's head from his body. Kinda cool, he thought, but worrying. Shitty world and it's bloody magic.
A beautiful blonde blue-eyed gurl brought him his breakfast, giving him sweet looks the whole time, shamelessly bending over to give him an ample look at her bountiful bosom. If he could hazard a guess, she was maybe fifteen or sixteen, a child, compared to himself.
But to his everlasting shame, his young body reacted, going against his will. He couldn't help but steal glances like a naughty schoolboy. The girl seemed to be enjoying his embarassment, however, so he supposed one of them was having fun.
" Just the Mormont I was looking for" a voice behind him said. Turning around, he saw Tywin's youngest son heading towards him. Lord Tyrion Lannister was a feather shy of four feet with mismatched eyes, one being green, a typical lannister feature, and the other black. A full mane of platinum blonde hair sat on top of his misshapen skull.
Waddling towards him on his stunted legs, he held a small smile on his face. " I'm the only Mormont you know, Lord Tyrion." Beor said, reciprocating with a smile of his own.
" That is true, which makes me all the more happy. It'd be shame if I misplaced the one Mormont I know, wouldn't it?" he answered, chuckling.
That illicited a laugh from the bigger boy, happy to have his new friend lightening his earlier foul mood. He was glad to have at least met the infamous Lannister. They had hit off quite quickly, despite the slight age gap between them. They had similar senses of humour, enjoying quick wit and dark humour.
They also connected through their shared love of knowledge. The lannister had a sharp mind, with great interest in sciences, and Beor was more than happy to go along with his manic sessions of wisdom seeking. Tyrion enjoyed the attention he recieved from the Mormont, one that seemingly didn't come attached with any hidden strings while Beor was just satisfied to have to whom to talk without having to think over every single word he said.
" How are you this morning, my dear Lord Beor", Tyrion asked, good naturedly, taking a sit next to his friend, and motioning to a servant
" Compared to what, yesterday?" Beor said, taking a bite out of his pork.
"Uh, sure?" the Lannister answers, smiling.
" Well, I can't complain", Beor said. "I wouldn't want to insult anyone."
Tyrion chuckled easily, as his food was settled in front of him.
"How was yours?" Beor asked, while tearing through his food
" I was having a bad morning until I heard that a new shipment of Bear Island Sweet Fire was on its way to Lannisport." he answered, actually sounding contented.
" I was wondering what got you so chipper, I should've known."
" What can I say? I'm quite the simple man. Give me women and wine, and I am a happy man. And you my friend, have given me better than wine. So I get to be especially happy."
" Well, House Lannister is gifting a lot of gold in exchange, so I suppose we can be happy together" Beor answered.
" My, my, Lord Mormont, how forward of you", Tyrion said, smirking.
" I'm not the type you go for, Lord Tyrion, I don't have nearly enough tits for your liking."
They laughed at that, enjoying their breakfast.
"Any plan for today?" Tyrion saked
"Not particularly, I'm here till the tourney, then it's back to Bear Island. I haven't seen my family in more than half a year."
"Yes, must be quite harrowing. I can't imagine how I would feel if I went without seen mine for so long?"
" But a man can dream, I suppose?"
" Yeah, he sure can.
" Though,I don't understand why you can't just stay here. The women are beautiful, the weather is beautiful, and the wine plentiful. Bear Island sounds quite dreary, you know. No offense meant, of course."
Beor waved him off. " None taken. It can get quite dreary in my home, I agree. But I have a lot to do. Lots of plans and projects. It's exciting, you know?"
" Aye" Tyrion answered, hearing the passion in the voice of his friend. " I can't wait to see what else you accomplish, Beor."
"Thanks, Tyrion. It'll be glorious, you'll see."
" I know, friend, I know", he replied patting Beor on the back.
"Is this a bad time? I wouldn't want to intrude in such a touching moment" A third voice chimed in, causing Tyrion to whirl around.
A man was standing there, roguish smile on his face. The white armour, paired with the golden hair and striking green eyes gave away his identity.
"Jaime!" an excited Tyrion exclaimed, waddling quickly towards his brother, who knelt and caught him in a tight embrance.
"Hello, there, little brother." Jaime said chuckling
" When did you get here?" He asked, happiness etched on his features.
"Just now", Jaime said. "I rode ahead of the convoy, they should be here in the early afternoon."
" Is Cersei coming too?" Tyrion asked, wary
"Yes, Tyrion. It's supposed to be a great celebration. The whole kingdom will be here."
"Ah", was all he said, visibly not pleased with the answer. Then remembering Beor-who had taken to eating Tyrion's food- , he motioned to his brother.
"Come, Jaime, you must meet my new friend".
"Jaime, this is Lord Beor Mormont, of Bear Island" he introduced him, to the boy who was hastily swallowing his food before standing up to meet them.
"Ser Jaime, it is a great honour to finally meet you. I've heard many things about from your brother." Beor said, attempting to look presentable.
"Greetings to you too, my lord. I hope they were all good things."
"Oh great things, all of them. He pines, for you, good ser."
" Hey!" interjected Tyrion, illiciting the laughter of the other two.
" I've heard great things about you too, Lord Mormont. They say you fight like the Warrior made flesh. That you slew Andrik the Unsmiling in single combat." Jaime stated, an unimpressed look on his face.
" Let me guess", Beor said, a cheeky look on his face. " you expected me to be taller and or older?"
The white clad knight chuckled. " You must admit, the stories are rather extraordinary, don't you think?
"Eh", Beor said, shrugging,"Don't blame for the stories or the songs. I only fought, I didn't write the damned things."
They continued like that, talking and bantering, Jaime enquiring on his brother's endeavours and Beor telling some stories about the Old Wyk campaign.
"I must take my leave, now." Jaime said after a while. " My duty is to be with my king, first and foremost."
"I shall see you later, Jaime", Tyrion said to his brother as he left.
" Good day, Ser Jaime. It was a pleasure" Beor added.
"Indeed it was, Lord Mormont. We should spar together, sometimes. I would like to see first hand what the Red Bear can do."
" It'll be my greatest honour, Ser Jaime"
Beor answered, looking at the retreating knight.
If you lived in Westeros the chances to be gazed to the death by Tywin Lannister were low, but never zero. The chances grew astronomically,however, if you were summoned to his solar a few days before the biggest tourney since Harrenhall.
Power move aside, this was something Beor was expecting. He was now sitted in the room, opposite to Tywin who was busy ignoring him in favour of some papers on his desk.
The man was tall and well built, with a straight back wearing a red doublet with gold trimmings, the Lannister colours. Even when looking at innocent papers with his keen green eyes, it looked like he was sterning judging their life ambitions.
Beor was more than aware as what was taking place. Tywin Lannister was testing him, quietly establishing his domninance. To him, he was but a child. Exceptional, maybe, but a child nonetheless. He wouldn't be fawning over him as all the other nobles were.
He had done the same, as a professor, to students and faculty. It was an easy way to convey who held the reins in this power dynamic. Smirking inwardly to himself, Beor stood up and walked towards the shelves who were bustling with books and parchment, noticing Tywin glancing at him in the corner of his eye.
He ran his fingers on one of the large bookshelves, nothing that there was more books in this room alone than in the whole library on Bear Island. Picking one at random, he made a show of scanning through the pages, leaning against the bookshelf, seemingly entranced by his lecture.
"And what it is you think you are doing, boy"? Tywin spoke up, his voice deep and strong.
Beor snapped the book shut, startled. "My lord?" he asked, innocently.
Looks cannot kill, but Tywin's seemed to be intent on being the execption to that rule.
"Sit", he said, in a tone that did not leave any room for dissent.
Bringing the book with him, Beor sat in front of the older lord. When Tywin returned to his papers, Beor opened the book again, vaguely intersted in some tripe story about the Seven. Who knew Tywin was a religious man?
"You are a queer boy, has anyone told you that?" Tywin said, not looking up from his papers.
"So I've been told, my lord. I wear it as a badge of honour, at this point" Beor answered, still flipping to the page.
" Do you have an interest in the Seven?" Tywin asked
Finally putting the book aside, Beor looked up at the older man. He was scrutinizing him, fingers interlocked, in a relaxed pose, but one that expressed calm and power.
" Not particularly, my lord. My family follows the Old Gods, but I don't have an opinion on the matter."
"Oh, and why is that? ", Tywin wondered, amusement shining in his eyes.
" I decided to let godly men deal with the matter of the gods. I'm afraid it's not luxury I can afford."
"Wise", Tywin answered. " Maybe too wise for your own good, even."
" There's no such thing my lord, I think. The problem would be to think oneself smarter than they actually were. I have too much pride to ignore my own stupidity."
" You also seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice, it seems." Tywin said sternly, though he seemed slightly amused.
"It does have a nice timbre to it, I must admit." Beor answered, unfazed. "But enough about me, my lord. You've summoned me, thus here I am.
"Not summoned, Beor. Invited."
"It's only an invitation if I can refuse"
"I'm not certain if you're foolish or intelligent at this point."
"Well, I am a war hero at my age, my lord. Most people would go with insane." Beor answered laughing.
Shaking his head, Tywin decide to cut to the meat of it.
"It has been brought to my attention that you have taken Red Rain from Dunstan Drumm, is that correct?"
"That is the truth, lord Tywin, though it did cost me a cousin."
"Yes, a shame that was", he said, not caring one way or the other. Continuing, Tywin said, leaning back in his seat, "I'd be willing to take out of your hands, in exchange of an adequate sum, of course."
"Continue". Beor said simply.
If Tywin was put off by the lack of respect, he did not show it.
" Half a million gold dragons."
"H-half a million?" Beor said, stuttering.
"You could leave the Westerlands richer than most lords in the North, what say you, little Mormont?"
"I'd say that'd be a good deal, if I were slow of wit. And as we established earlier, I am not slow of wit." Beor said.
Tywin frowned at that.
"Do you know why I went to Old Wyk, my lord? Instead of waiting at Pyke with my fellow Northmen?"
"Do tell." Tywin said.
"I went there to get you Red Rain. I sought out The Drumms personally, at great cost to myself, might I had, to retrieve the ancestral sword of the Reynes of Castamere. Surely this is worth more to you than a measly five hundred thousand gold, wouldn't you say?"
Tywin's eyes widened slightly at that. He did not expect Beor to be so well informed about what he had in his possession. Attempting to regain control of the conversation, he decided to change tactics.
"You're bold, he said, to refuse such an offer, Mormont. I offer to make you a rich man, and you scoff me, in my home? You said you were not slow witted. I have my doubts, now, however."
"Now, now, Lord Tywin", Beor said , holding his hands chest high, in a placating manner. " All I am saying is that, this sword ought yo be worth more to you than the amount proposed. The story that started your legend, cementing you as one of the most greatest men of this generation, what better way for it to end than for you to own the sword of that same house you wiped out?
Personally, it's not worth much to me, as the Mormont already have a valyrian steel sword. I could give it to you for free or throw it in the harbour for all I care. But I fear those choices would both be equally insulting to your House. Wouldn't you agree?"
"And half a million dragons would be seen as being gifted it for free?" Tywin finished his thought process.
" Might as well be, no?" Beor asked, shrugging. "I'd see it as quite the cheap way to close that chapter of your life."
Tywin laughed.
Well, it was more of a chuckle. But it caught the boy off guard nonetheless.
" You amuse me, Mormont. You have courage, I'll give you that. No one would have ever dared to bargain with me, let alone use such wily means to get more gold from a Lannister in his home. Very well, then. One and a half million golds, up front, with lands of your choice in the Westerlands."
" Four millions with access to your ports for commerce and trades."
" Careful now, Beor Mormont. I tolerate you, but I have limits."
"This is my price, I'm afraid."
Tywin looked at the boy. For this is what he was, a boy. Or what he should have been. The Mormont, despite his young age, was an accomplished fighter of great repute, and smart, cunning individual. He was incensed that the boy had the gall to talk back to him, never taking a step back. But he also admired that. He wished he children had an ounce of the backbone that boy had. But it was also time to teach him a lessom.
"Leave." Tywin said. "We shall talk another time."
" Of course, my lord." Beor said, bowing slightly, ready to take his leave.
As he got to the door, he heard Tywin calling his name.
"Mormont", the older man said.
"My lord?" Beor turned around, a confused look in his face.
"Sit down" Tywin ordered.
Walking back to the chair, he sat down, looking at the older man.
"You will gift the sword to my son Jaime, before the tourney starts, in front of all the lords and ladies in attendance, with all the pomp and praise you can muster."
" Lord Tywin, I..." he began only to be interrupted.
" Three and a half millions gold, access to the ports free of tarrifs for ten years, and a personal favour from me."
"Deal" Beor answered without hesitation.
"Good", Tywin said turning back to his papers, signaling an end to the transaction.
Taking it as his cue, Beor made for the door.
"I would have been willing to go up to five millions, if you must know.", Tywin said, not looking up from his papers.
" I only wanted two", Beor said, still facing the door, hand on the handle.
"Then I suppose we both won." the older man said.
'You're not used to that, are you?' Beor thought, smugly.
"Yes, I suppose we did.", he said the door closing behind him.