(Third-person perspective)
An uncomfortable silence hung between Aermir and Dacey as they made their way up the hill. Aermir struggled with uncertainty, unsure how to navigate this new dynamic. Dacey, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, punched him in the shoulder, unleashing her pent-up frustration.
"Enough, enough! Am I the woman, or are you? Just like you've always done, be the man I like! Be confident, demanding, and authoritative. I don't want you to act like I'm some delicate woman who needs your protection."
"But Dacey, if others find out, they'll talk badly about you, not me." Aermir hesitated, his worry evident.
Dacey gave him a haughty look and retorted, "Hmph, do you know who my father is?" Aermir was taken aback, admitting that he had never heard of her father, which only added to the mystery surrounding her parents' identities. "Nobody has ever talked about it." "Nobody knows our father," she said. In that instant, Aermir realized the significance of Dacey's choice of words.
Father?
"Yes, Father. My sisters and I don't share a father. Our mother was a thorough the North warrior. She raised us as warriors too. Mother never married because she knew that once she married, she would become a caged bird, and we Mormont women are not birds. I am a mother bear, and I will live freely in the wild forever."
Aermir began to understand the key points: Although women enjoyed more respect and autonomy compared to other regions, men were still perceived as having a higher status within an implicit hierarchy.
"I'll never be someone's hen. You know why most women want to be with you?" Dacey's words were tinged with frustration.
Aermir looked at her, a confident smile playing on his lips. "Because I'm handsome and strong." Dacey wanted to punch his smug face, but she held back; he wasn't entirely wrong.
"Perhaps that's true for some women, but not for women like Sansa and me. We are already women of influence and respect. We love you because you don't consider us inferior to you; we can feel that you truly respect us and see us as your intellectual equals. That's why I don't mind marrying you, because I know you won't confine me to Citadel, expecting me to be a Lady whose sole purpose is to bear children."
Dacey sighed, the cold air carrying her scent. "That's why my mother never married; when my grandfather tried to marry her off for political reasons, she ran away, found a powerful warrior, and eventually became pregnant. She chose freedom, to be with only the men she wanted, and never married. Who dares speak ill of my mother?"
As she recounted her final words, a confident smile graced her face. "Of course, people would gossip behind closed doors, but they would never dare say anything to her face. After she slapped those gossips a few times with the mighty Dawn Star, no one dared to speak ill of her anymore. Now, there's even a legend that she was impregnated by a male bear, and I am destined to be stronger than she imagined."
She gripped Aermir's collar tightly, asserting, "Don't worry about my honor, I can protect it well. Just be yourself." Seeing the fiery temper in her eyes, Aermir couldn't help but laugh. He had just created her Magic Heart, giving wings to a bear. Aermir could imagine the storm she would unleash on the rumors in the North, and a chill ran down his spine.
Upon reaching Rickon and Adru, they would have to wait two more days, as Adru couldn't immediately create his Magic Heart. Rickon didn't understand why Dacey and Aermir ventured deep into the forest every night. He tried to track them with a magic circle, but Aermir's circle prevented them from getting close. Rickon assumed they were conducting secret training, which fueled his curiosity.
A biting wind swept across the desolate land as Jon, Benjen, Pyp, Sam, Eddard, and Grenn trekked into the North. They passed through the Skirling Pass, followed the Frostfangs northward, and arrived at the " Lands of Always Winter." The endless expanse of snow-covered landscape seemed destined to never disappear, but the chilling silence was abruptly shattered when they stumbled upon a horrific scene that sent shivers down their spines.
In a small clearing, surrounded by towering trees and a biting wind, lay a gruesome corpse. Human remains were scattered everywhere, each body torn to pieces, limbs strewn about like horrific jigsaw puzzle fragments. The brutal reality of the massacre had dealt them a heavy blow. Women, children, and the elderly were among the victims, their lives cruelly shortened.
Jon's eyes narrowed, his face etched with sorrow and anger. Benjen surveyed the horrific scene, his jaw clenching even tighter as grief and resolve intertwined. Pyp and Sam, unaccustomed to the brutal reality beyond the Wall, retreated in terror, unable to withstand the overwhelming stench of death.
" Old Gods and the New Gods bless us," Eddard murmured to himself, his voice barely audible in the biting wind. Grenn, usually so boisterous, was now silent, his gaze fixed on the strange sight before them.
Pyp clutched his stomach, nauseated by the horrific sight. Sam struggled to remain calm, whispering, "What did this? What kind of barbarity is this?"
Benjen, his face resolute, said, "We must find out who or what did this. I don't care if they're Wildlings; no one deserves to die like this." Jon nodded in agreement. "Gather all the information we can, and we'll track down the perpetrators. They can't have gone far."
Sam stammered, "Should we really pursue the culprits of the massacre? Shouldn't we go back and inform Castle Black?" Benjen shook his head. "As a ranger, such ambiguous matters cannot be reported to the Citadel. We must track down those responsible, observe them from a distance, and, if possible, determine which tribe they belong to, then inform the Citadel. Now, let's get to work!"
As the group begins their investigation, attempting to piece together this terrifying mystery, the chilling reality of the dangers lurking beyond the Wall becomes increasingly clear. The North, ruthless and cruel, holds secrets that even seasoned rangers could hardly fathom.
Jon crouched beside the Ghost, his gloved hand gently stroking the wolf's fur. As he delved into the depths of their shared consciousness, the Ghost's senses became an extension of Jon's own. The snowy landscape unfolded before them, and through the Ghost's keen senses, Jon tried to discern any hidden clues.
The Direwolf's nose twitched, catching the stale, deathly scent in the air. However, despite the gruesome scenes of the slaughter, there had been no recent activity.
All he could sense was the stench of death; more than a week had passed since the massacre. Jon frowned, completely absorbed. His talent was inferior to Bran's and the Druid'; he could only bond with one animal. Rickon and Bran were the most gifted, for each of them could bond with three beasts. Even Robb could bond with two.
" Ghost, what do you sense?" Jon asked in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the ravaged circle. When Jon reconnected with it, the icefield's red eyes deepened to a more intense crimson. A lingering sense of foreboding, a feeling Jon couldn't shake, lingered that something was amiss. He could sense his wolf's unease; there was something unnatural about this place beyond the carnage.