7 Meeting the Bears
The ship sailed hugging the coast of Bear Island, as all ships did in this world. They always hugged the coast, and if they couldn't, they hoped the stars would guide them.
Once, he wanted to make a compass to help the sailors. He was even close to making a printing press, but after some thinking, he decided against it. He planned to rule the Seven Kingdoms in the future, and an invention like the printing press would have unintended consequences, especially for the noble class. And a compass... well, he imagined some Ironborn getting their hands on it.
He still wanted to introduce the compass, but only when he had the means to control the Ironborn.
His thoughts drifted to the Mormonts, especially Dacey. They had become fast friends when she and her family visited Winterfell last year. They had found common ground in their love for hunting and sparring.
Dacey was the epitome of a northern woman—fierce, independent, and unapologetically bold. She possessed fair skin that contrasted sharply with her jet-black hair, which fell around her shoulders in a wild, untamed mane. Her body was both muscular and slim. Her eyes, striking and expressive, seemed to challenge and invite all at once... also, she had very nice tits.
They had sparred, ridden, and hunted together. She had even promised to take him hunting on Bear Island whenever he visited. Dacey was straightforward with him when she confessed her attraction to him. She knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to pursue it, a quality he found very attractive. After that, they spent the rest of her stay in Winterfell having secret rendezvous all over the castle. They were even almost caught one time.
He shook off the memories of their trysts. Trying to take his mind off it, he took the far-eye he had brought with him, one of his prized possessions. He looked through it, surveying the rugged landscape dotted with large pine trees and craggy rocks.
Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary at first. However, as he continued scanning, a sudden movement caught his eye.
A small group of figures moved swiftly towards the cover of the trees. He counted six, possibly nine wildlings, their movements furtive and purposeful as they disappeared into the thick greenery. A cold knot of worry formed in his stomach.
Seeing wildlings this bold and this close to Mormont Keep was alarming.
Switching his view, he moved the far-eye to the right and spotted a small fishing village along the shoreline.
"Fuck," he muttered, the far-eye still pressed to his eye as he tracked any further movement. It became clear that the wildlings were heading towards the village, likely planning an attack.
"Captain, change course to the fishing village. Now," he called out to the captain.
The captain hesitated, shouting back, "We can't dock there, m'prince. The waters are too shallow and rocky."
"Then get us as close as you can!" he yelled, frustration edging his voice. The captain cursed under his breath but nodded, giving the orders to adjust their course.
As the ship began to turn towards the village, Maekar ordered his men to arm themselves. He looked through the far-eye again and saw the wildlings getting closer to the village, their intent clear.
The ship, though unable to dock directly, maneuvered as close to the shore as possible. The crew worked quickly, lowering small boats into the water to ferry the armed men to land.
"Arm yourselves!" Maekar commanded, his voice carrying across the deck. "We need to be ready the moment we hit the shore."
They boarded the small boats and began to row towards the shore. As they got closer to the shore his heart sank as he heard screams from the village. He could wait no longer. With a determined roar, he leaped into the shallow water, his men following after him. They charged towards the village, the icy water splashing around their legs. They had caught the wildlings off guard; the shock in their eyes was evident as they saw the armed men emerging from the sea.
"For Winterfell!" Maekar screamed, his spear held in an attack position. His battle cry was echoed by his men.
"FOR WINTERFELL!" they roared.
The clash was immediate and brutal. Maekar thrust his spear into the first wildling he encountered, the point driving through the man's chest with a sickening crunch. He pulled the spear free and spun towards another wildling who was charging at him, swinging a crude axe. He ducked under the swing and drove his spear into the wildling's side, the force of the blow knocking the man to the ground.
Around him, his men fought valiantly, their swords flashing in the morning light as they cut through the attackers. The wildlings, though fierce, were no match for the well-trained warriors of Winterfell.
He looked for his next opponent, only to be lunged at by a burly wildling. He sidestepped the attack, his spear finding its mark once again. He stopped to take a breath, his gaze turning to a nearby hut where a terrified child stood, a wildling looming over her with a raised weapon.
"NO!" he bellowed, charging forward with a burst of speed fueled by desperation. Realizing that he wouldn't reach the wildling in time, he made a split-second decision. With a powerful, practiced motion, he threw his spear. The weapon sailed through the air with deadly precision, striking the wildling in the back. The wildling dropped his weapon and fell to the ground, dead.
His men had killed the last of the wildlings. He looked to see two trying to escape, but before he could give the order to pursue, the sound of thundering hooves filled the air. A group of ten horsemen in Mormont colors surged forward, cutting down the retreating wildlings with swift, decisive strikes.
Maekar knew immediately who was leading the charge.
The survivors of the village celebrated, some crying out in relief and others mourning their fallen family and friends. He saw the leader of the horsemen riding toward him.
"You're late, Dacey," he called out, a hint of teasing in his voice.
Dacey Mormont removed her helm, letting her dark hair fall free. "I think I was just in time," she replied with a confident smile, her eyes meeting his.
Dacey dismounted and approached him. "We have been tracking them for a day. Glad you were here; otherwise..."
"It's done. The village is saved," he said.
"Still…" she said, looking at a woman crying over her fallen husband.
"We can't save everyone, Dacey," he said.
Dacey turned to him, her expression softening. "It's good to see you, Maekar."
"Good to see you as well, Dacey."
.
.
Dacey arranged for Maekar and his men to be provided with horses, as she was leaving some of her own men to help fortify and secure the village. Once mounted, they began their ride towards Mormont Keep.
As they rode, he turned to Dacey. "Tell me about these wildling attacks. How long have they been happening?" he asked over the sounds of hoofbeats.
Dacey's expression grew serious. "They began last month. At first, we thought it was just the usual. We get one or two small bands every two months or so, but now they keep coming. We don't know how they're managing to get this far."
Maekar frowned, his mind racing with possibilities. "Have you found any boats? If the wildlings got their hands on a ship..."
Dacey shook her head. "No, we haven't found any. But we suspect someone might be ferrying them here."
His thoughts churned as he considered the implications. Who would ferry wildlings past the Wall, and for what reason? The question gnawed at him, the mystery deepening with every passing moment. They rode in silence for a while, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on them.
The path they traveled wound through dense pine forests, the towering trees forming a canopy overhead that filtered the sunlight into dappled patterns on the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the ground still wet from recent rains. The occasional rustle of small animals in the underbrush and the distant call of birds added a sense of life to the serene yet imposing surroundings.
After some time, he decided to lighten the mood. "You promised to take me on a hunt, She-Bear. I'm here now, so when will we go?"
Dacey smiled slyly. "Oh, I have many things planned, Maekar. In fact, I'm planning something right now."
He chuckled. "Oh, then I look forward to it," he said.
Mormont Keep came into view after two hours of hard riding. Along the way, he and Dacey caught up, sometimes exchanging flirtatious banter and playful barbs.
Mormont Keep was a wood-walled castle built of huge logs. An earthen palisade encircled the hall, adding a layer of defense to the fortress. On the gate, there was a striking carving of a woman in a bearskin, a babe suckling at her breast in one arm and a battleaxe in the other—a powerful symbol of House Mormont's strength and resilience.
Riding through the gates, he saw Jeor Mormont, the Old Bear, and his son and heir, Jorah, drilling men in the yard. Jeor spotted him and broke into a wide smile.
"Welcome, Prince of Winterfell!" Jeor called out, his booming voice echoing across the yard.
Maekar smiled back. "That title hasn't been used in three centuries, Lord Mormont," he replied with a grin as he dismounted.
"Well, you are a prince, aren't you? One with Stark blood, so I think it's fitting," Jeor said, his tone both jovial and sincere.
Maekar approached the large man and embraced him warmly. He had always liked Jeor, who had been nothing but kind to him during his visits to Winterfell. As they broke the hug, he saw Jorah walking towards him, Longclaw in hand.
"Prince Maekar," Jorah said, bowing his head respectfully.
"Jorah," Maekar replied, acknowledging him with a nod. "So I hear you have a wildling problem."
"A problem?" Jeor interjected with a bark of laughter. "It's an invasion!" he bellowed.
Jeor then turned serious. "We can talk more inside," he said, gesturing towards the keep.
Maekar gave Jorah a nod before following Jeor into the hall. Inside, the atmosphere was warmer, the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat mingling in the air.
Jeor was not one to exaggerate, and if he called it an invasion, it was a matter of dire importance.
Once inside the main hall, Jeor motioned for him to take a seat at the long table. "We've had wildling attacks before, but nothing like this," Jeor began, his voice grave. "They're more organized, more determined."
Maekar met the Old Bear's eyes with a serious expression. "They've already attacked Deepwood Motte."
Jeor's eyes widened in alarm. "Deepwood Motte? It is an invasion!" he bellowed, his fists clenching. "How have the Watch allowed this to happen?"
"I've already sent word to Winterfell from Deepwood Motte," Maekar replied. "Reinforcements will be coming soon, and my uncle will be investigating the Wall to see how this breach could have occurred."
Jeor sighed, a mix of relief and frustration in his gaze. "You Starks have never let us down before."
"I hope this will be over soon," he muttered.
Maekar nodded confidently. "Do not worry, my lord. A single Northman is enough to take on ten wildlings."
"Bah!" Jeor bellowed with a hearty laugh. "Well said, my boy, well said!"
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Dacey Mormont.
Next chapter
We go to Kings Landing and see Rhaegar and his million problems.
