ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ, ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴʟɪɢʜᴛ

vii. the warrior

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐

The sun had already set and Jon had truly better things to do than watch Elle practising in the courtyard.

And yet here he was, leaning against a wooden pillar, following every movement of her arms, every step in the snow, every knife burying itself in its target.

Elle was a true master at what she was doing. Admittedly, Jon did not have a lot of experience nor knowledge with throwing knives, but the way she did it looked right. More than right. She flowed through the movements, not taking a single break between letting the daggers fly.

There was another thing Jon stared at. Another reason he couldn't bring himself to step away from her. And that was her hair.

Elle's hair looked dark brown at first glance. But when Jon looked closer he could see the roots appearing blonde, maybe even a lighter colour. Single strands throughout her braid appeared the same.

Had Elle dyed her hair? But why? Jon wrecked his brain trying to think of reasons for her to do this. He had heard that in the Free Cities - the place Elle had been born in - people coloured their hair as people in Westeros would their clothes. However, they mostly used vibrant colours like blue and green. So why choose a dark brown?

Jon wanted to ask Elle about it. Perhaps there existed an easy answer to all of it. But he knew he shouldn't. Sansa had lectured him repeatedly on what one could and couldn't ask a lady. And he knew that asking about hair colour certainly belonged in the latter group.

He felt silly for wasting so much of his time on this topic. It didn't affect him, and shouldn't matter to him. Still, there was something that-

"Would you like to try?"

The question ripped him out of his thoughts. Elle had her arm extended towards him, in her hand a simple dagger.

Jon opened his mouth, preparing to decline. He should, he knew that. But there was a part of him - and it wasn't small in any way - that wanted to spend more time with Elle. A part that wanted to be close to her. A part that wanted to touch her.

Jon hated that part of him, and yet he wasn't able to resist it.

His hand closed around the hilt of the dagger. "Sure."

The smile she sent his way before retaking her position before the target surely made his decision worth it.

Elle carefully walked him through each step, one after the other. She showed him the proper footwork, the way he was supposed to hold the dagger in his hand, explained how he was meant to throw it before actually allowing him to do it. But even after it all, he missed the target by a metre.

She chuckled at his frown. "Do not worry, you will get the hang of it eventually." She handed him another dagger. "You should have seen my first few attempts. It took a whole moon's turn to repair the palace walls."

"It's a bit hard picturing you being bad at this."

Her laugh made Jon forget the sun had already set. "Well, I have had seven years of practice. It is difficult not to be good at something after such a long time."

"How old are you?"

"Six and ten. Why?"

He counted the years in his head. "So, you started with this when you were only nine?"

She raised her brow at his bewilderment. "No, I started when I was seven, right after I had arrived in Sunspear. And do not act so shocked, boys start their weapon's training at the same age."