To Dance With Monsters
Dacey Mormont I
Child of Fate
Dacey had never liked visiting the Witchers of Kaer Morhen.
Three times she had traveled herein, and three times she had hated every second of it. She knew the reason, it was quite obvious. That deep sense of wrongness and disgust permeating her very being whenever near any of their order's members came from the power within her blood writhing to keep her from approaching the slayers, more specifically, their enchanted and rune-engraved weapons. It was an uncomfortable experience she shared with those fortunate to carry their power; their curse. However, as much as she may hate those cursed weapons and reviled the order as a whole, duty had forced her hand and left her no choice but to once more enter the halls of the very monster slayers who would equally strike her down as they would any other foul creature in their path.
Such was their way, such were the rules of the Path.
A moon had come and gone since their small party of fifteen had left Bear Island, including herself, and taken inroads into the mountain range, whereupon the Witcher's mighty fortress stood erected amongst the clouds. A week alone had seen them climbing the wide, stone-paved path coiling around the mountains like snakes upon bark. Three days of sharing paths with countless horse-pulled wagons filled to the brim with the decaying corpses of monsters near trampling all on their trek upwards seeking to trade their spoils for wealth from the slayers' coffers.
And while the constant stench of decay, vile and nauseating as it was for her enhanced sense of smell, in these such heights, she found the cold to be especially brutal and far more worrying than some mere discomfort to her nose. While her home, Bear Island, was no southerner's dream, there was less bite to every breath one took on her family's ancestral lands, as opposed to here, where not even the warmth of several cloaks and furs staved off the worst of the morning chills for long, much less the ravaging cold they faced every night on their travels.
It was incomprehensible for her to think this freehold, nestled so high into the skies, was the second largest contributor to trade in the entirety of the north.
Clutching her bearskin fur cloak closer to herself, she looked to those in her column. They, like her, huddled underneath their cloaks, gripping them tight to themselves in the hope of staving off the miserable cold, but, by their constant shivering and ever-often murmured curses, were not having much success. However miserable as they may appear, there was no denying the ever-present twinkle in their eyes as they looked towards their surroundings.
Far-off valleys lined with expansive rivers and rapids, waterfalls unloading their crystal clear waters off cliffs, and most impressive of all, winged creatures of golden feathers twirling in dance as they frequently pierced clouds. There was beauty to these wild lands. And even as the majority of her men had already traveled these paths with her in the past, they looked on at the sights, not unlike a child with a new toy.
Had she looked like that on her first trip? She really hoped not.
"My lady," announced Gwent as he dropped from his rank further up the column to ride beside her. "We should be arriving shortly."
Dacey looked onto the man's face, all wrinkly and pimpled, and had to suppress the urge to reach out and strike the old man's smirking face. Only the deep respect she held for him stayed her hand. That, and knowing it was merely a jest from a beloved old friend. Still, it was not easily swallowed. There were few things she truly hated more than being referred to as a Lady.
"I am entirely aware, Master Gwen. This is not my first time traveling these paths, as you should very well know," she said. "Or has your old age at last addled that feeble mind of yours?"
Skin creased and further wrinkled as the older man's face scrunched up into a nearly toothless smile but offered no retort. Tilting his head, he pressed his horse forwards and was soon back at the head of their men, leaving her to her lonesome in the middle of their number.
It won't take long, now. Soon, the walls will be visible and sooner after, I'll be deep in the vipers' nest. She thought, nervously. May the Old Gods watch over me, for this journey and those ahead.
…
Dacey felt the cold that had gripped her tighter than the maws of a hungry Manticore for the past fortnight pass right through her, then transitioned into nothing more than the mildest of chills. She, nor any of her men noticed when, but they had now passed the point of no return. The magic of the hold had taken to them.
She pressed her lips together and blankly stared ahead from the center of her number, not uttering a word.
"There! I can see it!"
"Look at the size of those walls!"
"Forget the walls, look at the towers!"
Those few who were laying their eyes on the hold for the first time spoke in excited tones, so choke-full of awe at the stone fortress ahead they failed to focus on the relatively mundane gatehouse sporting two of the largest towers she ever saw rooted just before a massive chasm.
They stood tall, near fifty feet, built with the same dreary stone used for the Starks' ancestral home, Winterfell. Walls, far shorter in stature than the towers, some thirty feet perhaps, ran down the length of the towers, ending and enclosing at the other side. At the front and on either side of the raised, metal gate, banners depicting a white chalice engraved with three crossed swords below a shining star, and behind that, dual snarling wolves stood on their haunches facing opposite ways, backs pressed against one another, all on a dark blue field. Ballista stood proud on the walls, aiming their deadly armaments at all those below.
For a gatehouse, what laid before Dacey was more in comparison with some of the best Northern castles.
A long line of folks stood waiting before the twin towers guarding the stone bridge connecting the path to the separate plateau at the end where the mighty walls of Kaer Morhen proper rose. Men, dressed in all black, and carrying steel upon their waist walked to and from the folk, questioning them, before eventually allowing passage further. One such man upon spotting the banner they carried, hurriedly approached their column.
He was tall and entirely hairless, even missing the tufts of hair above his haunting violet eyes. A medallion of silver in the form of a snarling wolf hung from his neck, bouncing with each step as he drew closer. His clothing, a simple enough jerkin and cotton pants partially covered by thick wolf furs all dyed black, well kept and cleaned, and entirely unsuitable for the weather. No arms were apparent on his person, nor on any of the other slayers present.
"Greetings, my Lord," he called out once he reached Gwents' well-armed and armored figure atop his steed. "Kaer Morhen opens its gates in good faith to the Mormonts of Bear Island." Reaching into his cloak, the man pulled out a parchment and quill, alongside a small wooden slab, and began scribbling. "What brings you to our hold, Lord Mormont?" He asked.
Gwent shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "It seems you have identified wrong, Master Witcher," the old man said. Pointing a finger behind him, both turned to her, already only a few paces behind but quickly approaching.
"Ah, my apologies, my lady. I meant no offense." Dipping his head forwards, Dacey spotted a nasty, jagged line twisting down the crest of his head downwards until disappearing at the nape.
"None was taken," she said. However, she was not entirely truthful.
It was well known there was no male lord in Bear Island, not ever since her cousin had taken to the seas and fled to faraway lands, and inadvertently forced her uncle to take the black in the name of his disgraced son. Only women ruled Bear Island now, for that was all that was left of her blood. However, the Witchers of Kaer Morhen never involved themselves with the business of lords unless said lords required their services, especially would not care for matters of inheritance, so their mistake clearly did not come from misplaced minds.
Their order was one of service to the realm and its people, nothing else.
"Thank you, my Lady. Now, before I allow you entry, could you answer a few questions regarding the reason for your stay?"
"Of course."
"Thank you, again, my Lady. First, to whom am I speaking to and how many men and women make up your group?"
"Dacey. Dacey Mormont," she answered. "Ten and five, including myself."
The man nodded, furiously writing, then spoke, "And what has brought you all this way?"
"We seek to hire the services of your order to purge a recent monster issue plaguing our lands."
He nodded once more, "Understood."
A few seconds went by filled with only the neighs of anxious horses and the creaking of carts heading further in. Then, finally, the Slayer finished his scribbles and stepped to the side. At once, two children stepped forward.
"Allow these two to lead you, my Lady. The Masters have been notified and will shortly meet with your party upon entering the main gate, just past the bridge. I, and the rest of our brothers, hope you find our services of use. With your leave, my Lady."
The man did not wait for her permission before moving to the next in line behind them, nor did the two children wait before making away. She did not expect anything less.
"How odd," spoke the voice of her sister in all but blood just behind her, followed by a few soft chuckles. "I know father holds them in high regard, but even then, should they not show more respect towards you, my Lady?"
"Do not start this again, Arya. You of all should not be calling me names, sister, lest you wish I return to calling you Horseface."
Arya visibly shivered.
"Understood," she said. "Still, why have they tasked two children with leading us inside? Surely your standing should deserve a better reception than two skinny children, should it not?"
Dacey gave the aforementioned skinny children a glance. Walking three paces ahead, they walked with swift, confident gaits and entirely focused on what lay ahead, seemingly unaware of her sister's comments. However, Dacey would not be fooled.
Children they may be, but normal they were not.
Just by their steps, Dacey could tell these were Slayers in training. Perhaps missing the final of their extensive mutations of their order as clearly visible by the lack of violet, cat-like eyes, but, even still, they were surely capable of unnatural hearing, sight, smell, and most importantly, battle prowess. If she were a betting woman, three pouches would go to said children having overheard her sister's comment.
"The Slayers ar-"
"Witchers," Arya corrected.
"The Witchers," Dacey aquisated. "Are known not to overly care for blood. Whether noble or base, human or elf, they look to the actions of the individual more than status."
"And how did you come to know that, Dacey?"
"Mother told me so. We, Mormonts, have held favorable relations and a deep friendship with the order for as long as my family has existed, for as you very well know, their services hold immense value in our efforts to tame our wilds."
Arya hummed, "So does that mean there are many from your lands who seek to join the Order?"
"Ney," she denied. "We need every hand for winter, especially the males. And since they only take in men, well, mother has forbidden all to join them."
They had now crossed past the gatehouse and exited onto the other side, and onto the stone bridge. It would not be long now.
"And of the Law of Surprise?"She asked. "The Order are usually fair in their contracts, still, most villages are not like Winter Town or White Harbor where coins are plentiful."
"Ah. Well, while our home is not the richest of lands, we take to saving portions of our wealth for when creatures and monsters inevitably try to harm our people. It helps that the Starks of old set precedents for noble houses to receive lower prices in exchange for ever so often sending supplies. And thus, no contract has been accepted from anyone but a Mormont for many, many years, so the Law of Surprise has no reason to ever be enacted."
"That is untrue, my Lady" Gwent called out.
Dacey turned to the old man, narrowing her eyes slightly, "are you calling me a liar, Gwent?"
"Yes," he answered unflinchingly, then burst into quite the bellous laughter. "It was not that long ago, actually. Some… twenty-five-odd years? Perhaps a bit longer, I can not remember. Tell me, my Lady, how old are you?"
"How old am I?" she repeated. "Why would my age have anything to do with the Law of Surprise?"
"Everything. It has to do with everything."
Dacey looked into unblinking glassy gray eyes. She could not help the shiver which inadvertently ran down her back. And yet, she mustered the courage to barrel through the odd feeling and asked.
"And how come I have never been told?" Dacey asked.
The old man looked into her eyes and his smirk grew ever slightly. "It is quite simple actually," he said. "You had only taken your first breaths, and Master Vessimir had no use for a newborn child."
…
Hello!
Welcome, all to my first-ever published story on this website. This idea, alongside many others, have been swimming around my head for many, many months, and I, finally, got down to begin writing most of them down.
Hopefully, you enjoy this first chapter and find the premise at least somewhat interesting, for I have many plans and can't wait to write them down. Something to take note, most of the chapters will be far longer in length. As opposed to 2k, expect some 5k-8k. I just needed a quick introduction before presenting more of the main cast and Dacey felt like the right choice for the task.
And, as some of you may have noticed from the tags, this is a crossover between two of my favorite works, ASOIAF and The Witcher. However, there is a third included, but will not be obvious until well on into the future. For any interested in guessing, there is a pretty large hint in this chapter. Have fun and good luck.
I would appreciate any tips or helpful comments beneficiary to my writing, so if you have any do not hesitate to send them my way. However, the plot has been largely cemented and so I will not be easily convinced to change anything. That does not mean it is impossible, just highly, highly unlikely.
Anyways, have a pleasant day.
See y'all next time.