The warrior known as the “Black Bear” was tough and dangerous.
His full plate armor and wooden shield blocked every sword strike, while his heavy spiked flail gave him incredible power and reach.
However, Ser Brynden Tully quickly spotted his opponent’s biggest weakness: a lack of speed.
Brynden circled the heavy warrior like a trout darting through a swift current.
He constantly tested the small gaps in the armor, forcing the Black Bear to waste energy.
Anyone watching could see that in a real fight, Brynden would have already slashed his opponent’s knees and armpits.
But this was only a practice match.
Still, on a real battlefield, Brynden wouldn’t have had so much room to move.
The Black Bear had landed a few hits of his own, smashing Brynden’s shield to pieces and denting his chest plate.
It looked as though one more heavy blow would shatter Brynden’s defenses completely.
Suddenly, Brynden tossed his broken shield aside.
The Black Bear raised his own shield to block, but that brief moment blocked his vision.
The lighter, faster Brynden swiftly moved to the man’s left side.
Normally, attacking from that angle would be a mistake.
The Black Bear’s left side was protected by his shield, and without a shield of his own, Brynden would be open to a dangerous counterattack.
Furthermore, Brynden was standing a bit too far away—neither man’s weapon could reach the other.
Then Brynden made a surprising move.
As he circled, he slid his right hand down his blade, grabbing the steel tip with his armored left hand.
He reversed the sword, using the heavy metal pommel at the handle like a hammer.
By the time the Black Bear noticed, it was too late.
Brynden swung the reversed sword with his left arm.
The extra reach was just enough.
The heavy pommel slammed into the Black Bear’s armored calf, knocking him completely off balance.
Losing your balance in heavy armor is deadly, especially for a warrior six feet tall with a high center of gravity.
Brynden had intentionally made him stumble earlier, and the moment he saw the warrior wobble, he struck.
The heavy knight crashed flat onto his back.
My uncle’s fighting style is so unusual, Edmure thought as he watched.
That winning move—swinging a sword backward by the blade—is risky.
It lacks power and accuracy, and if it fails, it leaves you completely defenseless.
Brynden didn’t pause.
He kicked the flail away, pinned the warrior’s free arm with his hand, planted a knee onto the man’s chestplate, and pointed a dagger through the gap in his helmet, forcing a surrender.
The fallen warrior stayed silent, whether out of pride or stubbornness, and stopped fighting.
With a victorious smile, Brynden used the tip of his dagger to lift the visor.
But his smile quickly vanished into awkward surprise.
Beneath the helmet was a woman.
She looked to be around twenty years old, with delicate features and a noble presence despite her sun-roughened skin.
“What in the world…” Bronn whispered in shock next to Edmure.
Gasps and surprised mutters broke out across the crowd.
Except for Edmure, almost no one—not even the Northerners—had expected the tall, armored warrior wielding a heavy flail to be a woman.
“Ahem…
don’t forget your chivalry, Uncle,” Edmure called out.
“Help your opponent up.
It seems you haven’t introduced yourselves yet.” Ser Brynden quickly stood, took the woman’s hand, and pulled her to her feet.
“I am Brynden Tully.
A pleasure.” “I am honored to learn from you,” she replied calmly.
“I am Dacey Mormont.
Lord Jorah Mormont of Bear Island is my cousin.” She handled the defeat gracefully, though her face flushed briefly when Brynden held her hand.
As she took a step, she winced and stumbled from her injured leg.
“Uncle, why don’t you help the lady to the guest rooms so the maester can check her leg?” Edmure suggested.
“It would be terrible if a bone were broken.” “Me?” Brynden looked around, noticing there were no servant women in the training yard.
“You caused the injury, so you should take care of her,” Edmure argued smoothly.
“Besides, you’re the oldest one here, so it’s most appropriate.
Or would you rather the rest of us watch her remove her boot?” Brynden frowned, looking from Edmure to Dacey.
She was watching him with a hint of expectation in her eyes.
Sighing, he offered his arm to support the tall woman and called out, “Hugo, come with me.” Hugo Vance, a young squire, quickly gathered the weapons from the ground and followed them out of the yard.
A Clever Scheme The crowd slowly drifted away.
Some went to rest, while others stayed to practice.
Edmure watched for a bit before heading to the Great Hall of Winterfell to eat, his mind focused entirely on Dacey Mormont.
Her appearance here was no accident.
It was a secret plan crafted by Edmure and his sister, Catelyn Stark, to find a wife for their stubborn uncle.
In the past, their father, Lord Hoster, had tried to arrange marriages for Brynden with noblewomen from the Riverlands and the South.
Brynden had rejected every single one—partly because he disliked his brother controlling his life, but mostly because he was devoted entirely to his life as a knight.
Yet Edmure knew his uncle wasn’t a cold man who hated family.
He cared deeply for them.
When he left home, he went straight to the Vale to protect his niece’s stronghold.
Realizing this, Edmure had written to Catelyn, suggesting she look for potential brides in the North.
He specifically mentioned Bear Island, drawing her attention to Dacey Mormont.
Northern culture was vastly different from the South.
Since delicate Southern ladies held no charm for his uncle, Edmure reasoned that a fierce Northern woman who could wield a weapon just might.
Years ago, Lord Eddard Stark’s sister, Lyanna, was a wild Northern noblewoman who could ride and joust.
She had once entered a tourney in disguise, knocking armored knights off their horses.
Her fierce spirit had captivated Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, leading to a chain of events that brought down an empire.
Even now, King Robert Baratheon remained haunted by her memory.
Dacey Mormont was tall, elegant, and skilled.
She might not have been as famous or breathtakingly beautiful as Lyanna, but her combat skills were just as impressive.
That shared love for battle was the exact spark Brynden Tully needed.
Furthermore, the women of House Mormont were known as “she-bears.” They were strong, brave, and straightforward, fighting off raiders alongside the men.
Edmure was confident she would be just his uncle’s type.
A Subtle Push Edmure sat at a long table near the fireplace.
A servant brought him fried salted fish, pickled cabbage, fresh rye bread, and light ale.
But before he could take a sip, his cup was snatched away.
Ser Brynden sat down across from him, drained the ale in one gulp, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“How is Lady Dacey’s leg?” Edmure asked.
“Just a bruised muscle.
It will heal in a few days,” Brynden grunted.
“What do you think of her?” “She fights as well as any man, but she needs more training.
At her height, she’s an easy target on the battlefield.” Brynden didn’t hold back, grabbing some bread and fish.
After sparring with young warriors all morning, the old knight was starving.
Edmure thought carefully.
His uncle clearly wasn’t thinking about romance yet, and pushing too hard would backfire.
The last time they mentioned marriage, Brynden had become furious.
“They say her cousin is an incredible fighter with both lance and sword,” Edmure said instead.
“It’s a pity we didn’t meet him.
You should teach Lady Dacey a few moves over the next couple of days.
That way, when she returns home, she can show the Lord of Bear Island how Southern warriors fight.” “Interesting,” Brynden murmured, a faint smile touching his lips.
He didn’t refuse.
Edmure smiled to himself.
By giving his uncle a practical reason to spend time with Dacey, he was opening the door.
The rest was up to them.
Marriage wasn’t something that could be forced, especially with a proud family like House Mormont.
They lived on a harsh, remote island and didn’t care for Southern-style marriage alliances.
Mormont women were independent—they often took husbands into their own house and raised children on their own terms.
That was why Edmure had advised his sister to write a polite, formal letter directly to Dacey’s mother, Lady Maege, ensuring everything was done with respect.