The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 42

Aida Stark

It's been a month since I gave birth, and life in Meereen has begun to find a new rhythm. Daenerys traveled to Braavos with Missandei and Tyrion in their efforts to make an alliance with the city as was promised to the slaveholders and just returned yesterday. The city is calmer, and for the first time, hope seems to linger in the air rather than fear.

In the training courtyard, I catch my breath as I face Grey Worm, sweat trickling down my temples. He stands firmly before me, his expression as composed as ever, spear in hand. I lift my leg, aiming a kick at his side, but he blocks with a swift turn of his spear. Pivoting, I swing up, trying to catch him off guard, but he deflects the blow effortlessly, his strength pushing me back until I almost stumble.

"You are skilled, my lady," he says, watching me closely. "But you're not fast enough. If you can't gain speed, then you must learn to outsmart your opponent."

I press my lips together, feeling a familiar sense of frustration rise. He bends down, picking up a spear and tossing it to me. I catch it mid-air, my grip tightening around the rough wooden shaft.

"Grey Worm, I told you I'm no good with these," I say, feeling the weight of the weapon in my hands.

He nods, his expression unwavering. "Nor was I once. But we lack the time to rebuild your speed to how it was before your pregnancy. A weapon like this will give you reach, a way to keep distance if an enemy gets too close. It may be the difference between victory and defeat, my lady."

Taking a deep breath, I shift into a fighter's stance, raising the spear in front of me. I give him a determined nod, feeling the tension hum through my limbs. "And for the thousandth time, call me Aida. I'm not your lady."

Grey Worm's lips curve into a faint smile, a rare softness breaking his usual stoic demeanor. "Yes, my lady," he replies, teasingly. "You see, I make joke."

I roll my eyes, smirking. "Tyrion would be proud." Without further warning, I charge forward, spear aimed at his midsection. He parries, the sound of our weapons clashing ringing out across the courtyard.

"Good," he says, shifting his weight to block my next move, "but remember, your stance leaves you open. When you strike, don't forget to protect yourself."

I nod, adjusting my footing, his words settling into my mind. My arms feel the strain as I continue to thrust and block, each movement bringing me closer to mastering the weapon. Grey Worm counters each strike with ease, but I begin to notice the tiny openings he allows, subtle hints of where I might gain an advantage. He's teaching me even as he deflects my blows.

I grit my teeth and lunge forward with renewed focus, determined to keep pushing, to keep learning. For in a world as dangerous as this, I know that strength and skill are the only shields I'll have.

I narrow my focus on Grey Worm, watching his every movement, looking for any hint of a weakness. His stance is flawless, balanced, and controlled. I take a quick step to the left, feinting, then sweep my spear toward his side, hoping to catch him off guard. He pivots smoothly, blocking the strike with ease, his spear a natural extension of his body.

"Not bad," he says, his tone steady. "But your movements are still predictable."

"Predictable?" I retort, breathless, frustration creeping into my voice. "I'd like to see you keep up with this after giving birth a month ago. Give me another month and I'll be able to beat you."

Grey Worm's face softens slightly, but he doesn't let his guard down. "From what I've heard of your family, I'd expect nothing less from a Stark. Also, in battle, distraction is deadly."