Hers Is The Fury

Sparring

[Winterfell - Courtyard]

Early the next morning, Morgana had been awoken to the sound of cheering. Curious, she had peeped out her window to see what was causing such a commotion.

Her youngest brother, Tommen, was "sparring" with Bran Stark, the middle Stark boy.

Both of them were heavily padded and swatting at one another with wooden swords.

They were surrounded by a large group of men.

When all was said and done, it was Bran who emerged victorious. Though, he didn't gloat like Morgana was certain Joffrey would if he somehow managed to win a duel. Instead, he stuck out a hand and helped Tommen to his feet.

Not wasting another second, Morgana quickly dressed in her light armour and made her way down to the courtyard, with her sword.

She wasn't surprised by the shocked looks she received. It was typical. No one expected a princess to be well versed in the art of the sword.

In the bleak and windswept courtyard of Winterfell, Morgana Baratheon stood tall and proud, her raven hair blowing in the biting gale. She was a vision of beauty and grace, despite the cold steel she wielded in her hand.

Morgana was determined to prove herself as more than just a pretty face and a weak-willed woman.

She had always been fascinated by the art of combat, and her parents had encouraged her interest, knowing that it would serve her well in these dangerous times.

Morgana was a skilled fighter, quick on her feet and fierce in her attacks. Her opponent today was Ser Jeremy, a seasoned knight who had fought alongside her father in countless battles. He was a formidable foe, but Morgana was determined to best him.

He had trained her since she was a child, and she respected him for his skill and patience.

Ser Jeremy, a burly man with a scar above his left eyebrow, cracked his knuckles menacingly as he sized up his opponent. "Think you can take me down, little princess?" he taunted.

Morgana ignored his jab, knowing it was not said with malice, and focused on her footwork, her eyes locked onto her target. With a swift kick, she sent a small stone flying towards Ser Jeremy's chest, testing his reflexes. He dodged it easily but lost his balance for a moment, giving Morgana the opening she needed.

With lightning-fast speed, she lunged forward, her blade glinting in the dim morning light. Ser Jeremy parried her attack with a loud clang, but Morgana was relentless. She feigned a retreat, then struck again, this time aiming for his unguarded side.

The two fighters circled each other, their blades clashing repeatedly as they exchanged blow for blow. Morgana could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, her senses heightened as she fought for her life. This was what she lived for – the rush of battle, the thrill of victory.

She was a true warrior, just like her father, and it was clear that she would make a formidable opponent when she grew older.

As they fought on, Morgana's movements became more fluid and graceful, her swordsmanship almost like a dance. She twirled and leaped with ease, her blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Ser Jeremy was taken aback by her beauty and skill, and for a moment, he forgot that he was fighting the king's daughter.

As the sun began to set over the castle walls, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Morgana landed a lucky blow, striking Ser Jeremy squarely on the shoulder. He grunted in pain, stumbling backwards before regaining his footing.

For a brief moment, Morgana thought she might have won, but Ser Jeremy was not one to give up easily. With a snarl, he launched himself at her once again, determined to best the princess in front of the entire court.