CHAPTER 195
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CHAPTER 195
294 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
The morning sun stretched its warm fingers across the courtyards of Winterfell, where the previous night's revelry had given way to the aftermath of festivities. The lords who had joined the feast were now nursing their hangovers, still ensconced in their beds. Meanwhile, activity stirred in various corners of the castle.
On the archery range, Dacey Mormont and Arya Stark engaged in a spirited contest of throwing axes, the metallic clang of their weapons punctuating their banter. Nearby, Sansa Stark engaged in the meticulous maintenance task of her bow. At her feet, her giant direwolf, Lady, slumbered peacefully as if safeguarding her mistress's work.
In the midst of their friendly rivalry, Dacey turned her competitive gaze toward Sansa, goading her into an axe-throwing challenge. Sansa, with her head held high, declined, asserting that axes were too crude for her liking. Dacey countered,
"Come on, Lady Sansa, afraid your delicate hands would get hurt?"
Sansa raised an eyebrow, unfazed.
"It's not about my hands, Lady Dacey. I prefer weapons with superior reach and finesse, unlike a crude weapon such as a throwing axe."
Dacey turned around and threw her axe, which was going for a bull's eyes. As Dacey's axe sailed through the air, a sudden streak of movement caught her by surprise. Dacey felt the lick of wind on her cheek. An arrow, masterfully shot by Sansa, intercepted her flying axe, deflecting it off course. Dacey's cheeks flushed with both irritation and the realization that Sansa wasn't a delicate flower as she thought. Turning toward Sansa with a mixture of annoyance, Dacey's voice carried an edge,
"Are you out of your mind? You could've hit me!"
Sansa, seemingly unflustered, retorted coolly,
"Rest assured, there was no danger. As you put it, 'my delicate hands' are quite deft at using a bow."
In an act of defiance, Dacey hurled an axe close to Sansa, a silent dare in her eyes. But the real drama began when Lady, the imposing direwolf, interpreted this act as a life-threatening hostility against her master. The enormous creature growled menacingly, sensing the tension between Dacey and her warg.
Dacey knew the real reason behind this hostility. So, she couldn't back down. With a decision made, Dacey initiated her transformation, unleashing her latent skinchanger abilities. Her form shifted, muscles rippling, limbs elongating, as her nails turned into the claws of a bear. Her upper and lower jaw protruded a bit, resembling a bear's snout, and the sides of her face and arms were covered with fur. Normally, she was 1.80 m, but she was 1.96 m after this transformation. The transformation was incomplete, but she had assumed a formidable semblance of a bear. Towering over the direwolf, she exuded power and ferocity. But it was not obvious who was the stronger one.
Arya, in an attempt to prevent the conflict, stepped in front of her direwolf Nymeria so she wouldn't join the fight, physically blocking the path. Her conflicted emotions mirrored her actions—on the one hand, she sought to quell the fight, yet on the other, she was fascinated by the prospect of witnessing a clash between a skin-changer and a dire wolf.
"This is getting out of hand," Arya muttered, casting a wary glance at Dacey's imposing half-bear form.
Just as tension reached its peak, the archery range's ambiance shattered with the arrival of Aermir Drasil. Informed by Poe about the brewing confrontation, his authoritative voice boomed, commanding the attention of both Dacey and the direwolf.
"Enough!" Aermir's voice echoed, cutting through the charged atmosphere. The abrupt shift in mood was palpable, the ferocity of moments ago replaced by an embarrassed quietude. You could see the aggressiveness of Lady was gone, and it was replaced by defensive growls directed at Aermir, warning him not to get closer. As long as a warg didn't connect with their bond, they were no different from ordinary animals. So Aermir was able to dominate Lady into submission. With an imposing stature and voice, Aermir approached Lady while holding his hand, and the great wolf obeyed him by putting her head under Aermir's hand.
Aermir's presence alone subdued the sparks of animosity between Dacey and Sansa, their eyes downcast, expressions meek. The fire that had ignited their rivalry moments earlier had been extinguished, replaced by a shared shyness in his presence.
As Aermir's voice echoed in the archery range, its gravity lingered like an admonishing echo. The passionate showdown had been quelled, leaving behind only a residual awkwardness. Sansa and Dacey, usually poised and strong-willed, now stood sheepish, their competitive spirits dampened by the piercing gaze of the man they both admired from afar.
Winterfell's courtyards seemed to exhale a sigh of relief in this quiet aftermath. As Aermir stood as an unwitting mediator, the undercurrents of unacknowledged feelings continued to weave their intricate web, veiled beneath the delicate interactions of the Stark and the heart of a fiery Mormont.
Dacey had often watched Aermir from afar, admiring his strength and determination. She saw herself as his equal, a warrior in her own right, and she couldn't help but feel that he deserved a partner who matched his spirit. But she knew Aermir had no equal in battle; she knew who he really was, and this caused her to admire him more, but because she knew who he was she didn't have the courage to openly state her heart.
On the other hand, Sansa had her own reasons for being captivated by Aermir. His mysterious aura and his unique abilities intrigued her, and she found herself drawn to him in a way she had never experienced before. She felt a flutter in her chest whenever he was near, but her sense of decency and the weight of her responsibilities kept her emotions carefully hidden. At least, that is what she thought.
As Aermir's commanding presence diffused the tension, his voice seemed to melt the ice that had formed between the two. The rivalry, for now, was set aside, but the unspoken feelings lingered beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to surface.
Arya, watching from the sidelines, was well aware of the currents at play. She had always been perceptive and witnessed the stolen glances and awkward interactions Dacey and Sansa displayed toward Aermir. She couldn't help but grin mischievously, her thoughts running wild with the potential for a budding romance.