Work Text:
The sky was all hidden in thick, pearly-white clouds, and snow was softly falling on the walls of Winterfell. Dacey took a deep breath of the familiar, fresh and cold northern air – only without the slight saltiness of the sea breezes, common on Bear Island.
They had stopped for a while again. The King said they had to wait for the irregulars and the forces from the Crownlands and the Riverlands, as well as for supplies. Dacey could understand that: the army was huge enough already, one could only imagine how many supplies they needed to last even a few months!
King Robb also announced that anyone from his battle guard who wished to visit their families was free to do so. Dacey was hesitant about that. On one hand, she missed her mother and sisters terribly and was anxious for their safety, on the other – Mother had said and written more than once she wanted to join the army herself once it reached the North. Besides, what about her duty? Dacey didn’t want to feel she was abandoning her post in the King’s guard, and she was sure Mother wouldn’t wish it either.
She sat on a bench in the yard, looking at the snow absentmindedly.
At least, she was for the moment less worried about the ironborn. Victarion Greyjoy was defeated and taken prisoner by the Blackfish, and the little princes were rescued. What a relief for her – and what a joy to see the King so happy!
The White Walkers, though, hadn’t grown any less dangerous, and there was no talk of any victory over those. Dacey’s heart clenched anew at the thought of them. She could only hope they couldn’t swim…
“Everything all right, Dacey?” King Robb smiled at her – he was trying on his new fur cape a dozen feet away. There were lots of fur capes in the castle, but most of them weren’t fit for battles or weren’t very warm – nobody had foreseen that one day, the King in the North would have to fight the Walkers north of the Wall.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he had enough to worry about, he didn’t need her troubles.
“You’re looking a bit down. Perhaps you should go to the training yard for a while. I’ve got a lot of guards here, and you can take a break.”
The training yard… Dacey blushed, remembering the training fight from four weeks ago. Ever since she refused him that evening, Addam Marbrand had been perfectly friendly with her – as in, nothing more than that. She had been glad and not a bit amazed that he had said the truth: he wasn’t going to pursue her against her will, and he didn’t look mad at her rejection. But every now and then, when she saw him, she recalled his teasing smile, and how the wisps of his dark-red hair tickled her cheeks, and the feeling of his warm lips against hers…
He is the Kingslayer’s friend! she nearly screamed at herself. He would have been your bitterest enemy if it hadn’t been for the Walkers! Why do you let yourself be carried away like this?!
She picked up her sword and walked to the training yard.
Sure enough, he was there, sparring energetically with the Kingslayer. Just as Dacey entered the yard, both men got swords knocked out of their hands and were ready to go on with their fists.
“Er,” said Dacey.
They stopped, turning to look at her.
“Lady Mormont,” the Kingslayer smiled. “Any message from His Grace?” the insufferable man always said “His Grace” in such a poisonous voice that it sounded like a taunt.
“No, ser. I was actually hoping for a training fight.”
She wanted to say “with Ser Marbrand”, but couldn’t bring herself to speak it out loud. She certainly wished nothing to do with the Kingslayer.
Thankfully, the latter seemed to realize that.
“Oh, good. I’ll leave you to it,” he slapped Marbrand on the back and left, turning again to wink at Dacey (she rolled her eyes).
Marbrand grinned at her:
“A fight, then? Like the last one?”
“Yes, with swords, till yield… oh,” she realized what he was hinting at, and her cheeks burned as there was no doubt left that he was still interested in her. “I thought you meant… I thought you didn’t want it to end like the last one…”
He picked up his sword and leaned against the wall:
“Actually, I don’t. I don’t want a wager like before. Let’s just say that the victor gets a kiss.”
“You don’t know any boundaries, do you?” she snapped. Addam Marbrand’s grin faded a little:
“Oh. Forgive me. For a moment, I believed you began to… change your mind about me. Well, all right, let’s decide the stakes. What do you suggest? Ale again?”
“No… wait,” Dacey exclaimed, completely at a loss. “Ser Marbrand, I don’t know… I think I do like you… a little…” she managed to say in a strangled voice, but it was enough for the knight’s brown eyes to light up.
“That’s a bit of progress,” he said. “And it’s Addam, my dear.”
“I only call the people I trust by their first names.”
“Which would mean you don’t trust Robb Stark, since you call him nothing but Your Grace,” Marbrand countered cheerfully. “So, dearest, shall the winner get a kiss from the loser?”
“The way you put it, it doesn’t matter who wins.”
“Exactly! You are very skilled, Dacey, I have almost lost to you once, I don’t want to take chances.”
“So you have admitted you can barely keep up with the Northerners!”
Marbrand was undaunted:
“Oh, but then, why have you come to me and not to one of the northern men?”
She coughed and looked down, shuffling her feet, before she had an idea:
"Because I want to pay back for my defeat!"
"It was a draw, darling."
"Nearly a defeat, then."
"There! You do admit you can barely keep up with the westermen!"
Dacey stared at him in indignation for a few moments and drew her sword. Still laughing, Marbrand raised his own.
She had missed it – practicing against trees and straw puppets was just a meager replacement for a real fight. Marbrand's style was a little different from hers: she struck less frequently but more heavily, while his blade flashed before her with less force but astonishing quickness. She had to admit that without any real battles for so long, and with nobody from the North wanting to fight her, one of the army's best warriors, she had gone out of shape. She tripped and barely managed to keep herself steady, and the thought that if she went on like that, she would have to kiss that man again, made her angrier.
Finally, somehow her blade managed to cut through the silvery swirl that was Marbrand's sword. It struck his armored shoulder hard, and the knight, failing to catch up for a split second, was knocked down by the force. He recovered his senses quickly, though, and fell on one knee instead of sprawling on the ground.
Again, he looked completely unfazed and gave her another broad smile:
"That was wonderful, Dacey! Nothing can compare to a long fight with a good opponent... well..." his voice dropped, "almost nothing."
Before she could reply, he stood up, took her by the chin and covered her mouth with his.
Dacey gasped with surprise. The heat of his lips and tongue, contrasted with the frosty air around them, seemed to burn right through her. Her hands somehow found themselves in his hair, already disheveled after the training, while his arms encircled her waist, holding her so close to his broad chest she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. The quick peck they had shared four weeks ago now looked like a spark compared to a forest fire.
Unlike her sister Alysane, Dacey had never had any particular interest in romantic entanglements – the love she felt for the King in the North and his father before him being devoid of any passion. Any infantile soldiers who wanted to have a go at her couldn't last two minutes against her sword or mace, and even they were scarce – the Mormont women had a reputation for being independent and generally odd. At twenty-eight, Dacey was a maiden and perfectly content with it... had been, until now.
Don't you dare think further! As if you don't know about this man! He leaves girls after getting them in his bed!
She stiffened, and Marbrand must have felt it. He softly broke off the kiss:
"What's the matter, Dacey? Are you frightened?"
"Of course I'm not!" it came out much weaker than she intended. "Don't you think your wiles have worked on me!"
His eyes were locked with hers.
"Dacey, are you worried that I'll leave you?" he whispered, planting little kisses on her cheek.
"I'm not worried about anything that concerns you, ser," this sounded even less convincing than her previous words.
"I have always told ladies – any ladies, whatever their origin – the truth about my intentions," said Marbrand. "And this time, my intentions don't include leaving in the morning."
"You think I'll believe it?"
"Usually women had me interested in them because I wanted some company for the night."
"Spare me the details."
"You, however," Marbrand continued, "are much more than that. You are excellent with swords, and you are excellent with words, and your company is delightful even when we're standing in different corners of the training-yard, like we've been doing for the past month... although the kiss did make it better still, didn't it?"
He kissed her again – now there was less of the fierce passion and more of the gentleness.
"I'm not going to force you to do anything if you aren't sure," he whispered into her lips.
Dacey's hands traced his arms and shoulders, feeling the steely muscles that had caught her attention four weeks ago already.
Everyone's going to have a good laugh at my expense... The proud and cold Dacey Mormont – falling for the charms of a westerman! these thoughts flashed through her mind, but she suddenly realized she didn't care as much as she believed she would.
"Dacey?!" a shocked cry brought her to reality. Dacey turned to the yard's gates, and her eyes grew wide as she saw her mother, the King in the North, and – oh no – Tywin Lannister.
"Mother, I... er..." she faltered.
Addam was the first to regain his composure as he released her and bowed:
"My lord," to Tywin, "my lord Stark," to Robb. "You must be Lady Maege Mormont! I'm honored to meet you, my lady."
"We'll see about honor, ser," her mother said, glaring daggers at him.
"Lady Maege, please..." King Robb said. "This can wait. We have grave news."
Only now did Dacey notice the desperate look of his face – and the icily furious look of Lord Tywin's.
"What is it, Your Grace?" she asked carefully.
"My sister..." he began and swallowed. "My sister..."
"My wife has vanished without a trace after Crow's Eye stormed Lannisport," said the Old Lion.
"What?" Dacey cried. Oh, why couldn't the ironborn leave the King's family in peace? Lady Arya – whom she remembered as an energetic, mischievous little girl – vanished without a trace, probably dead already... Crow's Eye stormed Lannisport! What now? If he was powerful enough to attack the biggest city of the West, what about Bear Island? It was even closer to the Iron Islands than Lannisport...
"We need to bring the girls to safety! Quickly! Mother, they can't stay there..."
"I have brought them all with me already. I... I don't know... I think I had a feeling I had to," Mother said.
"Oh, thank goodness!" Dacey nearly sobbed with relief. The thought of her little sisters in the clutches of the ironborn was too terrible to bear.
"Please, Dacey, I am happy for your sisters and you know it, but we need to act!" King Robb cried. "My sister is captured... if she's alive at all..."
"I'm sure she is, my lord, I have seen her at Harrenhal and I know she's always a survivor," Addam said.
"Ser Marbrand, we have to talk it over right now," said the Old Lion. "This is something the Greyjoys mustn't get away with. We're going to have a council in the hall."
"Dacey, you come too," King Robb said.
"Yes, Your Grace."
The King and Tywin Lannister walked ahead, and Mother waited for Addam and Dacey to catch up.
"Dacey, did this man force you?" she hissed.
"No, Mother," Dacey assured her.
"You – and a westerman!" she said disapprovingly. "I would never have thought!"
"Lady Mormont, I assure you, I treat your daughter with all the respect she deserves," Addam said.
"Are you good at fighting?" she asked sharply.
"I can defeat Jaime if I try hard. Jaime as in Jaime Lannister."
Mother was impressed, even though she tried not to show it:
"Truly?"
"Addam is really very skilled," Dacey nodded.
Mother narrowed her eyes at her:
"Huh! Well, you are a woman grown, so I don't think I can lock you up in your room or anything. Fine. Ser Marbrand, if you hurt her in any way, I'll smash your head with my mace."
"At your service, my lady," he smiled. She huffed again and walked faster.
"Your mother's quite fierce," Addam said. "I can see how you grew up to be like that."
He squeezed her hand:
"We'll get Lady Arya out of there, darling. Now that you trust me, there's nothing we can't do."
What is he saying? I trust him?! Oh... right, of course.
"You're worried about her too?"
"Of course, she's a nice, brave girl, not to mention smart. But it's not just her..." Addam sighed, and for the first time his usual jolly look was gone completely. "My son is in the Crownlands' army – Humfrey – Humfrey Waters. They must be passing the Neck right now, so close to the sea..."
Dacey was hardly surprised by the fact he had a son – she wouldn't wonder if Ashemark turned out to be crowded to the brim with redheads. Not that I would ever want to visit Ashemark for whatever reason! But she was touched by his concern. So many lords pretended their bastard children didn't exist.
She wanted to say something, but instead just squeezed his hand back.
The main doors to the keep of Winterfell creaked as they opened before them.