The child proved to be more of a challenge than anyone thought…but also a blessing. Dimeria was rowdy and full of childlike spirit. As a toddler, she spent her days running all over the place: up ramps, down stairs, and all around the towers and halls. The men's first reaction to her was disbelief and possibly some annoyance, but the innocence and happiness grew on the battle-hardened men and they soon grew accustomed to her. Gleeful squeals and high-pitched laughter became a normal sound on The Wall and the men often joined in; of course, their laughter was deeper and they seldom squealed. All the while, Aemon and Jeor looked on with caution and concern. None of the guards knew who Dimeria really was, but the fear had permanently settled in their minds. It was not necessary though; anyone who looked upon the young girl would never have suspected she was truly a Targaryen. Dark hair had sprouted all over her head and lay thick upon her shoulders. She had icy blue eyes, wide and full of wonder. The only thing that caused anyone to question her origins was a thick strand of stark white running through her black hair. Through her growing stages, she had brought life back to The Wall, which was usually known for the exact opposite.
Her adolescent years were no different, except that she had grown developed an attitude. She was sarcastic and rough, just as the men were and her words had a painful sting when she wanted them to. When she was 14 years, Aemon and Jeor decided it was time to start her on fighting lessons.
"Your sword is an extension of your arm, Dimeria. Be graceful and quick, while staying firm and strong." Jeor reminded her constantly.
"Those things are the exact opposite from each other!" She complained as she struggled to pick up the heavy weapon with just one hand.
Jeor sighed angrily as the defiant girl refused to listen to him. "Use one hand!" He said to her.
"I'll never be able to lift the damned thing!" She screamed. She threw it to the ground as hard as she could and stomped away, only to be stopped by Aemon.
"Patience, young one." He said putting a calming hand on her shoulder. "You will never get better if you do not try." He strode past her and picked up the sword while stepping towards Jeor.
"Perhaps this is too heavy for her, Jeor."
"Then what do you suggest, Lord Commander?" Jeor asked trying to stifle his mounting frustration. He cared for Dimeria dearly, but she was much to handle sometimes.
"Start her off with a wooden training sword…teach her the basics. When she gets stronger, then she can use a real sword. Perhaps even throw in a bow and arrow…" He said smiling to himself.
"A wooden sword? That's not going to do any damage! Why don't I just grab a stick and…" Dimeria started in
"Dimeria!" Aemon snapped at her. "The first thing you must learn is discipline. I will not stand for your brash comments and complaints. You either straighten up, or learn nothing!"
His scolding quieted her immediately. She nodded almost imperceptibly and hung her head down, allowing her dark locks to cover her face.
"Go. You will start tomorrow." Aemon said with a softer voice.
She turned and walked out of the weapons shed and up into her quarters. Back down in the shed, Aemon and Jeor still stood reordering the swords.
"I never expected her to be this much trouble." Jeor said to Aemon.
"She definitely has Targaryen blood within her, which is fortunate just as much as it is bad. But she will learn." Aemon said with a sigh.
And she did. The next day, Jeor began teaching Dimeria the basics of sword fighting. Quick on your feet, make fast and precise movements, and keep your core tight.
"Never leave yourself open for your enemy to strike you down," Jeor warned Dimeria, "A seasoned fighter will take advantage of any opportunity he sees."
Dimeria found a passion in fighting. Her muscles toned and with her small figure, she was able to move quicker than all the other guards present. Through her lessons she was taught discipline, patience, and most importantly: battle smarts. She was more focused now; she no longer had the attention span of an insect, although she did still have a temper quicker than a wolf hunting down its prey.
Her teen years were spent physically adapting her to the demands of Night Watch. She quickly evolved into one of the most skilled fighters there. Being gifted in both sword fighting and with a bow and arrow, Dimeria had the confidence of a true warrior. She walked with her back straight, her jaw firm, and her head held high. She no longer let her hair run wild about her back, but she braided it; weaving the dark strands and the one white strand in and out of each other. She became the mature woman that Aemon and Jeor knew she could be and they looked upon her with pride. There were times when she was put in danger, even in the comfort of what was her home. Aemon and Jeor had seen it coming though; men of the Night's Watch were still men, and with someone like Dimeria walking around, they were obviously going to have their temptations. But with her impressive fighting skills and the protection of the 2 highest ranking officials in Castle Black, Dimeria was allowed to live her life unscathed.
The years were passing quickly; Aemon and Jeor still remembered the day that they had taken Dimeria in as if it were yesterday. And just as Dimeria was growing up, Aemon was also growing older. He found he could no longer meet the requirements of being Lord Commander. On the day of Dimeria's 17th year, Aemon could no longer see. It was on this day that he stepped down and gave the position to Jeor. During Dimeria's celebration, Aemon pulled Jeor aside and explained to him the situation.
"It's your time to step up and become Lord Commander of The Wall, Jeor."
"Are you sure?" Jeor asked tentatively. It was a big role to fill and he wasn't quite certain he was ready for it.
"Absolutely. My eye sight is going; it's time for a newer, younger replacement." Aemon said with a smile.
"I will do my best, sir." He said trying to sound confident. He glanced over at Dimeria and couldn't help but feel a sliver of fear slither up his spine. Should he tell someone else about her origins to assist in trying to keep her safe?
"What of Dimeria?" He asked Aemon gesturing in her direction.
"What about her? She shall stay here at the Nightwatch, no one will know."
"Certainly someday she will have questions. Every bastard child does." Jeor responded worriedly.
"She already knows she is a bastard…abandoned by her parents. What more information could she desire?"
Aemon's first speculation was correct. Dimeria was was content and had accepted fairly early that she would most likely never meet her parents; that she was a bastard child. But as she walked away from the other guards of The Wall to refill her mug of ale, she overheard the heated debate over the topic of her origin. Listening in quietly, she heard this:
"If she ever questions us about her birth, we will have no choice but to tell her." Jeor said to Aemon.
"It is too dangerous, Jeor." Aemon said.
Dangerous? Dimeria thought to herself.
"We cannot speak of this…to anyone. If her curiosity is not sparked, she will not go asking questions." Aemon finished saying to Jeor.
Unknowingly, they had sparked her interest. The complete mindset that her life was simple and happy began melting away. What other secrets were they keeping from her? Her entire life, these 2 men had kept up a façade to hide something. Could this mean her entire life was a lie? Heat flooded her cheeks from the growing anger in the pits of her stomach. Burning tears flooded her eyes and her breathing came in quick, but quiet rasps. She no longer felt the constant bite of cold in the north, but the smoldering sultriness radiating from her outrage. But she kept it to herself. She briskly walked out into the frosty night and walked away until she could go no further. Should she just leave The Night's Watch and never return?
No.
That would be stupid and irresponsible; she could never make it out there on her own. She knelt down with her knees in the snow and tried to calm her breathing. Her easy life was no longer so effortless and it killed her knowing that there was so much more than she realized. There was nothing she could do about it, though. Telling herself not to overthink things, she tried to convince herself that Aemon and Jeor would tell her everything when the time was right. But how long would she have to wait?
Weeks, months, and finally years went by and nothing was ever said. She kept everything to herself though, carrying it like match that she could light at any moment and burn everything to ashes. That day she learned not to so easily trust everyone she met. She distanced herself from those around her, making her outer shell even tougher. Those she didn't have faith in, were kept further than arm's length. The men noticed, but didn't know what to make of it. From that day on, Dimeria became colder. But she had a flame within her, a small flame that could still burn like a beacon in the night, one that could burn anyone she directed her malice at.