Dacey had been surprised at the depth of Rick's diligence. After one week of working alongside him, she realized that he was not only incredibly talented but also remarkably hardworking. No matter what task was assigned, Rick would not stop until it was completed, and when the task was something that spanned days, he understood the importance of pacing himself. He knew when to take breaks—never pushing himself too hard in a single stretch to avoid mistakes from fatigue. It was a discipline Dacey hadn't expected from someone so young, especially not from a boy who hadn't grown up with the same expectations she had.
He seldom spoke, but when he did, his words were short, precise, and to the point. Dacey often found herself straining to understand the layers beneath his clipped replies, wondering if his silence was an unwillingness to share or simply a matter of personal preference. She had yet to see him smile, and most of the time, his expression remained neutral, occasionally shifting into a faint frown when he was irritated or deep in thought.
At first, Dacey had wondered if he was simply a boy made of ice—distant, cold, and seemingly unaffected by the world around him. But that perception began to change when she saw how he treated others, particularly her younger sisters. Despite his stoic demeanor, Rick was kind, attentive, and genuinely helpful. He never hesitated when it came to doing something for anyone, and he handled her youngest sister's tantrums with the patience of a saint. Dacey stifled a laugh as she recalled the staring contest between Rick and little Brenda. For half an hour, the two of them had stood locked in a silent war of wills, Brenda trying to snatch his knife from his belt, while Rick, unwavering, simply stared back at her with an icy glare that sent a chill through the air.
It was Brenda's icy stare that made Dacey chuckle. At only five years old, the girl's gaze could freeze water, but Rick's response was an answer made of pure frost. It was only when their mother had stepped in, laughing, picked up the child, and carried her away for lunch, that the standoff ended. Dacey's little sister had been no match for Rick's cold intensity, but the whole scene had been a strange testament to the boy's patience and composure.
The encounter left Dacey pondering if Rick was simply adjusting to the new environment or if this was the essence of who he was. She couldn't help but think of Ned Stark, whom she'd met briefly at a gathering of Northern lords. The Lord of Winterfell had presented himself in much the same way—serious, reserved, and unapproachable, though even he had shown moments of warmth in the presence of his children, slipping past his grim exterior when they made him laugh or smile.
Now, as they walked through the dense forest, Dacey studied Rick from the corner of her eye. They were hunting today—something that she thought would be an excellent opportunity for him to test his skills. He had already shown his prowess with a bow, but shooting stationary targets from a distance was one thing. Hunting was another beast entirely. She had no expectations of him catching anything, especially if the rabbits were on the move. But it would give him a first taste of real archery, something beyond simple practice shots.
Yet, Dacey knew that hunting wasn't just about shooting an arrow or bolt; it was about tracking, sneaking up on prey, and learning to move quietly through the woods without disturbing the wildlife. It was about patience, observation, and precision. She stopped walking suddenly, signaling to Rick to do the same. The air around them grew still, and she motioned for him to crouch down beside her.
Using her finger, Dacey pointed at something on the ground, her voice low and measured as she instructed Rick.
"That's rabbit shit. Fresh. Means at least one's close by."
Rick glanced at the droppings, his brow furrowing slightly. "It may already be gone—spooked off or dead."
Dacey shook her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faint, knowing smile. "No, it's too fresh. Just left." She reached down, picking up a small twig, and poked the droppings gently. It was still soft, malleable under her touch. "Move slowly, silently. Watch where you place your feet."
Rick's eyes narrowed, taking in the seriousness of her tone, and he gave a quick nod. "So no breaking twigs or crunching dead leaves, right?"
"Exactly," Dacey replied, her voice barely audible. "And be aware of thick piles of leaves, brush, and fallen trees. They like to hide there."
She could feel his focus sharpen, the air between them thick with anticipation. She moved like a shadow through the undergrowth, every step calculated, every movement fluid. Rick mirrored her, his footfalls careful, as if he were learning to move as one with the forest. His silent precision was almost unsettling, but in a way that made Dacey respect him more.
A few moments passed, and Dacey's senses sharpened, her instincts on edge. Then she heard it—a faint ruffle of leaves off to the right. She froze. Without a sound, she pivoted, her body flowing into a fluid motion as her bow was raised, taut and steady. Her eyes scanned the area, searching for the source of the noise. There, twenty feet ahead, a thick patch of brush shifted as something small moved within it.
Dacey's breath caught, but she held it steady, not wanting to alert her prey. The rabbit emerged cautiously, its nose twitching in the air, its ears flicking to and fro, unaware of the danger that lay ahead. In one fluid motion, Dacey drew and released the arrow, her aim true. It struck the rabbit squarely in the neck, killing it instantly. The animal crumpled, lifeless.
Rick was already moving before the rabbit hit the ground. His hands were quick but controlled as he crouched beside the kill, his fingers gentle as he picked it up and brought it back to her. She couldn't help but notice the look in his eyes—calm, focused, and unhurried. His silent competence was impressive.
"One down," Rick said softly, placing the rabbit in her hands with the same reverence he might show to a valuable weapon or a rare treasure.
Dacey's lips tugged into a small, approving smile as she accepted the kill. "Nice work," she murmured, inspecting the rabbit for a moment before tucking it into her bag. "Let's hope it's only the first."
She stood up, brushing off her knees, her gaze sweeping the forest around them. She could feel the pulse of the hunt in the air, the quiet hum of the wilderness. It was a delicate balance between predator and prey, one that required patience, timing, and an intimate knowledge of the land. The forest was never easy to master, but Dacey was beginning to believe that Rick had the potential to become one with it.
As they continued through the woods, she began to see more clearly the type of person he was—quiet, yes, but far from cold. There was a focus to him that made him seem older than he was, a sharpness that suggested he had faced challenges beyond the training yard. He was thoughtful, not only in his actions but in the way he moved through the world, always observing, always calculating.
And yet, for all that, there was still a sense of restraint in him, a distance that made her wonder just who he truly was beneath that quiet exterior. Was he always this way, or was this simply how he was adapting to his new life among them?
They moved deeper into the woods, their footsteps light and careful, and for a moment, Dacey almost allowed herself to forget the complexities of the man beside her. Almost.
____________________________________________________________
Rick and Dacey returned to Mormont Keep after two hours in the forest, the weight of three freshly slain rabbits between them. Dacey walked with a sense of pride, her shoulders squared, her steps purposeful, while Rick's usual stone-cold expression remained in place, giving away nothing of his thoughts. The pair made their way into the hall, where Lady Maege was seated, awaiting their return.
"Good hunt, I see," Maege commented, her eyes flicking from the rabbits to the two hunters.
"Yes, I'm surprised we even got one, so three… I guess Rick is a good luck charm," Dacey replied, her tone light but with a touch of smugness.
"It may seem so. How did he do?" Maege's gaze shifted to Rick, her curiosity piqued.
"I did well," Rick answered flatly, not liking to be discussed as if he wasn't present. His voice was neutral, offering nothing but the facts.
Dacey, clearly not in the mood for Rick's modesty, refuted him quickly. "You didn't do shit, I caught them all."
Rick's expression remained unchanged as he met her challenge. "This was my first time hunting. I watched, listened, and learned. Of the three rabbits we encountered, we got them all. As far as I'm concerned, I did well by just not messing up."
A grin tugged at the corners of Maege's lips, and she chuckled. "Ha! He got you there, daughter!"
Dacey's frown deepened as she tossed the two rabbits she had on her back to Rick with an exaggerated sigh. "Then keep on doing well and cook them for lunch," she muttered, turning on her heel and storming out of the hall with a huff.
Rick watched her retreating form with a subtle, almost imperceptible glint of amusement. "So short-tempered. Like mother, like daughter, I guess," he remarked dryly, his voice calm, but a slight edge of humor laced in.
Maege's lips curled into a half-smile, though her tone held a hint of warning. "That loose tongue of yours will get you a hit on the head with a mace one day."
Rick shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed. "I've been hit by plenty of them in the yard. What's one more?"
Maege raised an eyebrow, clearly amused despite herself. "...True."
There was a brief silence before Rick turned his attention to the rabbits, his mind already shifting gears. "Any preference on how I should cook them? I found berries, mushrooms, and some root plants during our outing."
Maege stared at him for a long moment, her gaze considering. "I think my daughter wasn't serious when she said that. Do you know how, though?" she asked, a note of genuine curiosity entering her voice.
Rick's face remained impassive, but his eyes flickered with a hint of confidence. "Read plenty about it, and I have some experience with the black brothers during my travels."
Maege's expression softened into something akin to resignation, but also a touch of respect. "...Hell, why not. Go ahead."
As Rick moved to prepare the meal, Maege leaned back in her chair, her eyes studying him with a deeper interest now. The boy was more than just a silent, brooding figure—there was a quiet competence about him that even she couldn't ignore. It was in the way he carried himself, in the confidence with which he spoke, even in his calm response to Dacey's sharp retorts.
Her thoughts lingered on the strange boy who had come into their lives so unexpectedly. What kind of person was he really, beneath that stone facade? The more she watched him, the more she found herself wanting to know. But for now, she simply let him work, trusting that whatever he was, he would prove it in time.
Those were Maege's parting words as she, too, exited the hall through the same door her daughter had just used. Rick, left alone with the task at hand, moved swiftly to the kitchen where the freshly hunted rabbits lay waiting. He didn't waste a moment. First, he removed the organs from each animal with practiced ease, setting them aside to later be used for sausage. The rest of the process was methodical—he skinned the rabbits carefully, knowing their fur would be valuable either for warm clothing or as a commodity to sell.
Once the skins were off, he cut off the feet, and then, with a sharp knife, began deboning them. He was quiet in his work, his mind focused, his movements efficient. Once the bones were removed, the meat was chopped into small pieces, ready to be made into stew. He filled a pot with the meat, adding water to cover it. Then he reached for the garlic and onions he had found in the forest, tossing them in along with a generous chunk of butter. A few sprigs of thyme followed, and lastly, he added the mushrooms he had gathered earlier. The lid was placed on the pot, and he set it over the fire to simmer.
Rick didn't stop there, though. He turned his attention to the edible organs—the heart and liver—taking the time to carefully prepare them into sausage. As the stew bubbled, he stirred it occasionally, tasting it to ensure the flavors melded together properly. He worked with steady precision, knowing that while the task was simple, the result would be appreciated by all. After an hour, the stew was ready.
With the pot in hand, he carried it from the kitchen to the hall, where the Mormont family was gathered, eagerly waiting for their meal. He placed it carefully on the table and began to serve each of them one by one. The women sat in silence as they ate, their eyes reflecting the warmth and comfort of a hot meal. When he had served everyone, Rick placed the lid back on the pot to keep the remaining stew warm and sat down next to little Brenda, who, despite her youth, was already digging into her meal.
The hall fell quiet once more, the only sound the clinking of spoons against bowls and the occasional sigh of satisfaction. After a moment, Alysanne, Maege's second oldest daughter, spoke up.
"That's tasty," she remarked, her voice carrying across the table, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she savored the warmth of the food. Her comment was met with the appreciative murmurs of her sisters. For a place like Bear Island, where food was often simple and the winters long, a dish like this felt like a rare treat. The North was a harsh land, and its cuisine reflected that. Spices were a luxury and most meals were stark and plain, but the stew had a depth of flavor that made it stand out. It was a simple meal, but well done. Rick had managed to find wild ingredients, giving the dish a richness that was not usually found here.
As the meal continued, Rick's mind shifted, and he couldn't help but wonder aloud, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. "Lady Maege?"
"Yes?" she replied, glancing at him across the table.
"Is making a rabbit den such a bad investment?" he asked, his curiosity evident.
Maege raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"
"Well… Rabbits mate three to four times a year, and the average number of kits is six per litter. They eat mostly hay, but since they can survive in the wild, they can live off other plants. The three rabbits Lady Dacey caught today were enough to feed six people, so on average, that means one rabbit could feed two people for a meal." Rick's voice was calm, measured as he laid out the reasoning in his mind. "If we could get enough rabbits, it could be a steady food source."
Maege listened, her gaze thoughtful, but there was a hint of skepticism in her expression. "We would need lots and lots of them to feed everyone, and it's a lot of work for so little."
Rick nodded, his face neutral. "I see."
"That idea of yours is good, though, just not practical," Maege conceded, her tone softer. "It would be a lot of work for too little return."
Rick considered this, his eyes flickering to the windows where the cold winds howled outside. "I guess fishing is easier," he muttered, his voice thoughtful.
"In a sense, yes," Maege replied, "though it's still a lot of work. But it's more rewarding if we can make it work. Fishing can feed everyone more easily, and it's something we can rely on through the seasons." She leaned back in her chair, her expression turning more serious. "Now, come. It's time for training."
Rick didn't hesitate, standing up and bowing his head slightly. "Yes, Lady Maege."
As they walked toward the training yard, Maege couldn't help but reflect on the boy's questions. They were practical, intelligent, and showed a deep understanding of survival. Despite his stoic nature, Rick's mind was sharp, and his ideas had the potential to be more valuable than he seemed to realize. But for now, there were more pressing matters—like the training that awaited him.
____________________________________________________________
Maege Mormont set her training mace back on the rack with a sense of quiet contemplation. She stood still for a moment, her eyes lingering on the yard where her ward, Rick, was engaged in another sparring session with her eldest daughter, Dacey. It had become a daily ritual, and Maege couldn't help but be impressed—no, astonished—by how quickly Rick had progressed.
'The lad's improving again,' she thought, her mind racing. 'He's learning at a speed that feels unnatural. Every mistake he makes, he learns from it, but not just that—he doesn't make the same mistake twice. I've never seen anything like this. It was just a week ago I taught him how to wield a mace, and now he handles it like it's second nature. I don't know if it's those books he reads that are making the difference or if it's all him, but I'd like to see one for myself...'
Her thoughts wandered to the forest. 'And then there's his hunting. Never been in a forest before, but he was able to find edible mushrooms and berries with no trouble. Dacey didn't even have to guide him. He's sharp, no doubt about it. I'll need to make sure Dacey watches him closely next time, though. He's growing too fast, and I can't afford to let him slip.'
Her eyes returned to the yard where Dacey and Rick circled each other, the sound of their footsteps on the hard ground punctuated by the occasional thud of metal on metal. Maege studied the way Rick moved. He wasn't just fighting; he was hunting. The way he circled Dacey like a wolf closing in on prey, looking for weaknesses and exploiting them. His strikes were fast, precise, and when he hit, he moved immediately, retreating just as quickly. There was no hesitation in him—no thought of taking a hit.
'It's like watching a wolf hunt, not a boy spar,' she mused, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 'He's alone, no pack to back him up. He has to be smart if he's going to succeed. Dacey is bigger, stronger, more experienced, but he's making her work for it.'
She had seen many sparring matches in her time, but Rick's style was something different. He wasn't reckless, but he wasn't afraid to take calculated risks. He'd learned quickly to dodge and weave, using his agility to stay out of range while landing fast strikes to her legs, where she was most vulnerable. He was smaller, but in some ways, that worked to his advantage.
But Maege knew there was a limit to how much agility could help him. Despite his speed, the four-year age gap between them couldn't be ignored. Dacey, with her strength, could easily overpower him if he didn't pick his moments carefully. And in that moment, he didn't.
Rick had crouched to dodge a swing from Dacey's mace, and then, seeing an opening, he rushed toward her, aiming for a strike to her throat. It was a brave move, but Dacey was quicker. She swatted his arm to the side with ease and delivered a brutal headbutt that sent Rick sprawling to the ground with a sharp cry of pain.
Maege watched with a smile as Dacey smirked, taunting him from above, and Rick lay on the ground, holding his forehead where he'd been struck.
'Well done, girl. Maybe now, he'll think twice before rushing in like that,' Maege thought, impressed with Dacey's swift response.
"Alright, that's enough for today. You both did well," Maege called, her voice firm. "Rick, let that be a lesson to you. Just because you see an opening doesn't mean you should always take it. You were baited, and you fell for it."
Rick, grimacing as he rubbed his forehead, nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, Lady Maege," he said quietly, clearly trying to shake off the pain.
"You can take the rest of the day off, Rick. There's no chore for you at the moment," Maege continued.
Rick didn't hesitate. "May I go to the town?" he asked, his voice steady.
"Aye, but be back before the sun is down," Maege replied, her gaze lingering on him as he straightened up.
"Yes, Lady Maege," Rick responded before walking quickly to the weapons rack, placing his sword in its spot, and heading toward the keep.
Maege turned to Dacey, who was watching Rick leave, a thoughtful expression on her face. "You underestimated him," Maege said with a knowing smile.
"Aye. Won't do it again," Dacey muttered, her frown deepening as she watched the young man disappear into the keep.
Maege nodded, her eyes following Rick's retreating figure. "See that you don't. Next time, he'll counter that headbutt. He's learning faster than any of us can keep up with."
Dacey crossed her arms, her voice tinged with disbelief. "He's a monster. Progressing this fast… it doesn't make sense."
Maege's lips curled into a smile. "No, it doesn't. But strange things happen in this world. I've seen it before, in others—people who grow in ways that defy logic. But you can't deny it, can you? He's getting better, and faster than anyone would expect."
Dacey groaned and leaned against the wall, clearly not as thrilled by Rick's rapid progress as her mother. "True, but it doesn't make sense. He's not like the others."
Maege gave her daughter a pointed look, her voice turning more serious. "You're right. He's not like the others. Now, come. We've got numbers to go over. There's no time to waste."
With a resigned sigh, Dacey put her training mace back beside her mother's and followed her inside the keep, her thoughts still lingering on the strange boy who seemed to defy all expectations.
_____________________________________________________________
Rick walked to Bear Town, two empty buckets slung over his shoulder by a sturdy branch he had found in the forest. He had fashioned it to pass through the holes in the bucket handles, ensuring they stayed balanced as he moved. Today, he was testing a concept that had come to him during one of his cooking sessions while traveling with the Night's Watch. He remembered how, when water was heated, it evaporated, leaving less water in the pot. The realization had struck him, and a question formed in his mind: What would happen if I removed the water from seawater? Would I get salt?
Salt was a luxury in the realm, often used not only for seasoning food but also for preserving it. If Rick could find a way to efficiently produce salt, it could be a boon for Bear Island, both economically and practically. It could provide the island with a valuable commodity and possibly make food more flavorful. He had to try it.
The walk to Bear Town was quick enough—fifteen minutes at most—but it took him another ten to reach the sea. There, he carefully filled both buckets to the brim with seawater. The weight of the water made the walk back longer, especially as the road leading up to Mormont's keep was a steep incline. Rick didn't mind; he had time to spare. The sun wasn't set yet, and he was eager to see if his experiment would succeed.
Once he arrived at the keep, he carefully set the buckets down several feet from the building. He didn't want to risk any accidents that might soil the interior of the keep if something went wrong. The sun hung lower in the sky, casting long shadows as he began to gather large stones to form a circle for the fire. The stones were heavy, but Rick moved them with a steady focus, creating a solid base for the flames. Once the fire pit was ready, he ventured a short distance into the forest to find sturdy branches for the support that would hold the cooking pot above the fire. He didn't stop there. Gathering small pieces of wood for kindling, he prepared himself for a long night of tending to the fire.
What he was missing were two critical items—a rope to secure the branches, and a cooking pot large enough to hold the seawater. He couldn't borrow these from the Mormonts, so he made his way back to Bear Town. The money Varys had given him came in handy once again; he had converted most of the gold into silver and copper at White Arbour, making it easy to purchase the materials he needed. As he made the transaction, he couldn't help but feel a small thrill of satisfaction for his foresight.
Back at his makeshift camp, Rick wasted no time setting up his experiment. The evening light was fading as he positioned the pot carefully over the fire and filled it with seawater. Knowing that it would take a full day for the water to completely evaporate, he made his way back to the keep. The silence of the early evening hung heavy in the air as he entered the kitchen, hoping to find something to occupy himself with.
To his disappointment, the servants did not need any help. It seemed they had everything under control, and Rick was left with little to do. The idle feeling gnawed at him. He disliked this—he hated being without purpose. It reminded him of his time in his own prison, despite the fact that he was now free. The thought of wasted time was enough to stir an unsettled feeling in his gut.
With a sigh, Rick turned away from the kitchen and made his way to the training yard. If he couldn't keep his mind occupied with the task at hand, at least he could work on his skills. He grabbed his bow and set himself up at the target range. His thoughts, though, kept wandering back to the experiment. Would it work? Would he succeed in drawing salt from the sea? Only time would tell, but in the meantime, Rick lost himself in the rhythm of the bowstring, trying to push aside the restless feeling that had followed him all day.