Author's Note: I just have a lot of feelings about House Mormont
Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with A song of Ice and Fire or it's characters (or Dacey, Robb and Cat would not be dead)
At six, Dacey Mormont realizes she isn't like most girls her age. She had been playing in the yard when the boy had come up to her and asked her what she was doing. "Girls don't use swords" He had told her. It was only a practice sword, but Dacey had always felt like it was an extension of her arm. She finds it hard to imagine preferring to play with dolls than swords. But her mother tells her the she-bears of Bear Island aren't like most women.
At ten, Dacey spends most of her mornings sparring with Alysanne. Sometimes, when her mother isn't preoccupied with other matters, she takes the time out to watch her children. There is nothing quite as exciting as the feeling of a sword in her hand. With a sword, she moves with all the grace and beauty of a dancer. Beads of sweat drip down her face as her tourney sword clashes with her younger sisters – it's exhilarating, exhausting and Dacey can't imagine anything as blissful.
"That's not fair" Alysanne says as Dacey fakes to the left, which gives her just enough time to artfully press the wooden sword against Alys' chest.
"Is so" She says, smirking, but she offers her sister a hand anyway. Besides, there's never any love lost between them; both girls are stubborn but never cruel. When they did fight, it was always put to a quick stop by their mother – Maege Mormont was not one to harbor patience for petty quarrels.
At four and ten, Dacey is a woman grown. Her hair is longer now, though no less of a knotted mess, and she uses real swords to practice in the yard – steel and iron – the wooden ones are long gone. There's talk of her marriage amongst the lesser knights of Bear Island, those who would compete for her hand, but Maege Mormont soon puts a stop to the whispers. "Dacey will marry whomever she wishes, whenever she wishes." It makes her chest swell to hear her mother say that.
At two and twenty, Dacey and her mother declare for Robb Stark. It is natural, right – what other choice would there be? House Mormont has always been sworn to the North. A strong fighter, and battle-ready, Dacey finds herself amongst the ranks of Stark's army. Her mother is one of Stark's most trusted advisors, and a friend to Catelyn too.
At two and twenty, Dacey has won every battle by Robb Stark's side.
At two and twenty, she is sought out by Robb Stark himself. It's the night after the Battle of the Whispering Wood when he finds her in her tent. His face and hands are covered in dried blood, and his face is twisted into an expression of fear. "There are so many bodies" He says quietly, and Dacey gets the feeling he's never uttered such words to anyone before. She wants to tell him he'll get used to it, but she can't bring herself to lie.
"I know" She replies instead.
They sup together that night on hard bread and cheese, it seems too little a feast for the proclaimed King in the North, yet Robb offers no complaints. He even lets her bandage his wounds that night – a deep gash on his forehead, and a blow to the chest. He's quiet, much quieter than she expected, but it's nice to spend time with someone who isn't bawdy or shouting or drinking all the time. Not that she minds a pint of ale or three, but a drunken Karstark can be hard to contend with.
"I saw you fight today" Robb murmurs, his face softening in the candle light, "you fight with honor. I am- House Stark is forever indebted to you. The north too."
She shakes her head at that, "It's my duty, to my people, to you, Your Grace."
Not once does he mention that she is a woman, not once does he mention that another more experienced fighter could take her place. She knows in that moment that she has truly found something, someone to fight for. Ever since her mother placed her first tourney sword in her small hand, this has been what she was meant to do.
At three and twenty, Dacey chooses to remain by her King's side – the honorable thing to do, the right thing to do. She bids farewell to her mother; a short, brief affair. Maege has never been one to show a great deal of affection. She hasn't needed to. Somehow Dacey has always known she has had her mother's support; words have not been necessary. Still, they share a hug before her mother heads to the Neck. She can't help wondering when they might meet again.
At three and twenty, Dacey is assigned to Robb Stark's personal guard during the wedding at the Twins. Weddings have never particularly interested her, much less dancing. Yet when Robb asks her for her hand she can hardly say no, he is her King. Nevertheless her feet seem to find themselves as Robb leads her to the floor, a small smile on his lips. In his arms, dancing is almost effortless. Perhaps swordplay and dancing are not too dissimilar; there are two kinds of dancing. He looks tired, she notes, but still he finds the time to compliment her.
"I would never have thought you a dancer, my lady" He whispers to her over the sounds of the music.
Dacey laughs, "I never wanted to tell anyone about that talent."
Robb laughs too, the first time she has heard him do so in weeks months.
At three and twenty, Dacey is not quite quick enough to see Ser Ryman Frey's axe before it slices through the flesh on her back. The room spins around her, as the blood runs from the wound. The last thing she hears is Robb Stark's strangled cry as the floor rushes up to meet her.
At fifty, Maege Mormont learns of her eldest daughter's death through passing word from the townsfolk. "The Red Wedding" they call it, and they say Robb Stark never saw the betrayal coming. And Dacey never saw the axe.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this short fic! I wasn't sure how old Maege is supposed to be, so I just guessed. THank you for reading, please let me know if you have any thoughts/suggestions/comments.