The hauntingly dark forest howled and groaned as a strong gust fought it’s way through, leaving a sway in the treeline once it had passed. Freya walked a few steps behind the limping Odin Umber, whose foot left a trail of blood every step he took. Freya had done her best to bandage the wound, though she believed she had hit and punctured an artery in the old man’s foot, causing it to bleed without a halt. Freya groaned, they travelled at half her regular walking speed, like they were constantly lurking onto their prey before attacking. Though there was no prey, only the howling winds that occasionally broke the silence when their footsteps in the snow did not. The game had been minimal during their travels, so they were surviving off what Freya could scavenge from snow buried bushes. The berries had been frozen, though it had kept them moving for the past day and a half, which was Freya’s only concern at this point. Freya watched as Talon flew over her head and perched herself on a branch that overlooked their reasonably clear path, her yellow brimmed beady eyes fixed on something on the ground. Freya turned her eyes to the ground and grinned. Freya quickened her pace to meet with the slow and old crow, though when she unexpectedly ran into him a fright caught her. The man grunted, his weight falling on his injured foot. He grabbed Freya’s shoulder for support though it was too late, the man had fallen and brought Freya down with him. The two landed in the sharp crystal snow with a crunch. As Freya lay on top of the old crow, she heard the sound of a deep and joyful chuckle, the foul odor of bad ale blowing onto Freya’s face. Freya groaned and got up, irritated with the old man.
“Why did you stop, crow?” She more demanded an answer rather than plainly asked. Odin quieted his chuckle and pointed off in a direction.
“I saw a flash of brown, a hare or large rat I think.” Freya scoured the general direction, until she saw what the Umber had made reference to.
Roughly fifteen metres away from where they were positioned, a timid peaceful rabbit nibbled at some blades of grass that stuck out of the snow. The creature was a sight of beauty, light fluffy brown fur, ears rested and drooping by the side of it’s head. A fluffy white round tail that covered its rear end. Freya quietly unslung her bow from her shoulder, forming a tight grip around the sentinel wood shaft of the bow. She fixed an arrow and pulled back on the drawstring, allowing herself patience for the wind to settle down before the let loose the arrow. As the wind started the settle and Freya was prepared to fire the arrow, the rabbit jumped and started to flee. Freya’s eyes flickered to Talon, who had swooped down and caught the rabbit, snapping it’s neck while in the air. Freya smiled and gently released the tension on the string, eventually putting her arrow back into her quiver. Odin grunted, still on his stomach on the icy shards.
“That fucking bird…” Freya laughed, almost what seemed a giggle.
“Is as hungry as the rest of us. Come on, let’s keep moving.” Freya slung her bow over her shoulder and helped Odin to his feet. The man nodded graciously, and continued to limp on.
Freya looked to where Talon had perched herself on the branch of an oak, and was ripping the flesh from the rabbit’s corpse. She sighed. Fair game sister. Freya noticed the Umber was failing to keep his regular pace, and was putting less pressure on his wounded leg. Freya rolled her eyes and came to his aid, securing his arm around her shoulder. He turned to Freya, is one good eye staring into her very light shaded brown eyes - which appeared yellow in certain lights.
“Thank you, Freya. You wildlings aren’t half bad you know.” Freya shrugged, keeping her eyes ahead of them.
“My thoughts on the crows still remain the same, old man. I don’t know why you still want to serve them.” The old man chuckled and remarked.
“Your thoughts stay the same? If that were so then you would have let your pet finish me off. You have found some respect for us.” Freya side glanced at Odin, then back to their path ahead.
“For the ‘Northerners’ perhaps, though not the crows.” She felt the weight of his head nod up and down.
“Well that’s a start. Ask me and I’d say some arrogant prick built the wall out of his idea for a power system. You poor bastards were just caught on the wrong end.” Freya shrugged.
“Or the right end.” The Umber remained silent, likely acknowledging there was some truth to Freya’s words.
The two continued in silence for a few minutes, until something felt wrong to Freya. She stopped for a moment, taking in her surroundings. She listened to the sounds of the forest, and quickly hushed the old man when he tried to ask why they had come to a halt. She heard the wind starting to pick up, holding a steadier rhythm which the tall wooden figures dance along to. This was not what unsettled Freya, though something else, like she was being watched. She turned her head, checking her surroundings. She saw nothing, heard nothing, yet the feeling still remained. Perhaps I am going insane… She thought to herself, remember Elder Thorrand’s council all those weeks ago. Freya sighed and continued assisting Odin in his steps in silence, though then she heard it. It was a silent sound, deep and perhaps melodic. A series of soft ‘hoo’s’ sang in a repetitive pattern. Freya turned, looking to the dark cloudy sky, and sure enough a snowy owl attempted to blend in with the clouds. Freya stood still, watching the movements of the bird to see if there was anything irregular or out of place. She noticed the owl turn its neck to a fashion that it’s gaze rested on Freya and Odin. When Freya noticed the owl start to tuck in it’s wings for a dive, Freya pushed Odin away and reached for her bow.
“Stay down!” She yelled, directing her words nowhere yet still talking to Odin. She pulled a ptarmigan feathered arrow from her quiver, and nocked it to her bow.
Noticing the owl was drawing closer by the second, Freya drew the arrow back and released the arrow, which narrowly missed as the owl spun and dodged it. Freya knew she would not have enough time to draw another arrow, so she covered her face with her arms to withstand the attack. As she did, the high screaming pitch of Talon swooped in and collided with the owl, digging her beak into the owl’s neck. The owl being larger than Talon easily retaliated and pushed Talon away with a flap of its wing. Talon circled around and commenced a series of swoops, more or less irritating and distracting the owl from its objective, rather than doing it serious harm. After a few seconds the owl had started to retreat, with an angry Talon at it’s tail. Freya felt watched her bow shake from the surging fear out of her hands. Odin stood up, his expression highly confused.
“What in the gods just happened?” Freya got a grip on herself and slung her bow onto her back, her covered hands still with a minor tremor. She turned to the curious Umber, who stood waiting for an answer.
“I think we’re being watched. The only man I know who skin changes into an owl is a sadistic Hornfoot. If that was his bird…” Freya did not know what she could do. “We need to keep moving.” Odin nodded, slinging his arm around Freya’s shoulder.
The two quickened their pace, though Freya could tell the old man was growing tired. His foul stenched breath had grown heavier, and more occurrent. His face was bright red and full of pain, he had basically no power left in his wounded foot. Freya stopped and leant him down against the thick trunk of an ironwood. She turned to the old crow, whose face flourished in distress.
“Try and focus on something else for the meantime, I’m going to take off this bandage.” The old man nodded, looking around for something he could fix his eyes on.
While Odin did so, Freya started unwinding the bandage from his foot. The blood soaked bandages had stuck to his foot, and Freya was hesitant on ripping it off. She turned and grabbed her water skin, pulling out the cork and pouring it onto the molding bandages in hope to separate it from the healing flesh. Freya could not help but notice the blood that had made its way onto her white fur gloves, though she did her best to keep her attention on the matters at hand. The bandage finally giving way, Freya removed the old man’s boot to see a large mess. The surroundings of the hole that had been covered was dark red, verging on black. The old Umber’s toes had gone purple, as well as half way up his ankle. She gritted her teeth. The sound of Odin’s voice pulled her from this struggle to explain what had happened to his foot.
“Freya, what is that?” Freya looked at the man with regretful eyes, though she soon realised the old crow was not referring to his foot.
Freya turned to the man’s gaze, in the distance she could see only trees and shrubbery, though then she spotted what he was referring to. She turned back to the Umber, watering the wound as best she could then quickly wrapping it with her last bandage. Mildly satisfied with her efforts, though disappointed with her results, she stood up and turned to what the two had found. She walked across a small meadow, covered in snow though flowers still rising above the sharp ice crystals that scattered the ground. She stopped in front of a sword that was lodged in the snow. The blade was forged out of black steel, and was polished to the extent that one could identify themself if they looked hard enough in the reflection. Freya gripped the frozen pommel with her hand upside down, so that the top of her hand was facing the tip of the sword. She pulled the blade from the couple of feet deep snow, observing how the ice had preserved the submerged blade compared to the weathered section. She heard Odin’s voice like a soft murmur from behind her, though only the second time could she identify his words.
“Freya behind you!” Freya quickly turned, naturally lifting the longsword into a defense stance.
The steel dagger came rushing down at Freya’s newly found dark-steel blade. She managed to parry the attack, though did not risk trying to send a counter, knowing the dangers of a longsword in close combat. Instead, she let her opponent - who she could not yet identify - lunge at her. She quickly dodged the clumsy attack, grabbing the man’s free arm and securing it in a lock which would have sent an amount of agony that any normal man would have submitted to. Instead, the man turned back, his dagger aiming for Freya’s neck. Freya dropped the longsword and caught the man’s forearm before it could reach it’s destination. Having both arms locked, Freya looked into the eyes of her opponent. The glowing blue eyes had a certain deathly look to them, like there was no life in them at all. The man’s skin was pale, white even. Thomyr? She questioned her sanity once again, disbelieving her judgement. Her foe broke free of her and pushed her back, lifting his dagger in the air. Freya quickly unsheathed her bronze dagger and swiped the strike away, knocking the dagger from his hands. Freya lunged her bronze dagger into his heart, leaving it lodged into his chest as she released it. To her horror, the man remained standing, dislodging the dagger from his chest. Freya shook her head, now recognising this to be Thomyr her friend, tears streaming down her eyes. She pushed the lifeless corpse away from her, who persistently continued to advance on her. As she continued to back away, she felt her feet give way beneath her as she tripped on something behind her. Fear crawled over her as she saw Thomyr continue to walk towards her. Talon swooped down and struck him on the side of his face, scratching out one of his eyes. Seeming barely slowed, the corpse of Thomyr continued to walk towards Freya, until it was right on top of her. Freya closed her eyes, too afraid to look into the unnatural blue eyes. An ear piercing scream flooded Freya’s ears, and she shortly after felt a thud land next to her. Slowly opening her eyes, above her stood her brother Movar, a hand extended down to her. In his opposite hand was a large and magnificent sword. Freya accepted the hand up and found herself in her brother’s arms.
“What took you so long?” She asked, her tears falling off her freckled cheeks onto her brother’s fur coat. He tightly embraced her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Freya knew Movar was referring to Thomyr when he apologised, he knew how extensive their friendship had been. Freya felt herself calm down, she pulled herself from Movar’s arms and looked him in his wild dark brown eyes.
“Why are you out here? You said you were leaving!” Freya banged her fist against Movar’s chest, clearly catching him off guard. He frowned and sighed.
“A lot has happened since then. The village… We were attacked, by the Night’s Watch.” Movar turned his gaze to Odin, who still sat against the tree clearly in pain. Freya found her hand naturally gravitating to Movar’s strong muscled arms.
“It’s alright, he’s no harm to us. I was taking him to Hardhome, so he could go back south of the Wall.” Movar turned his attention back to Freya, his expression confused and mildly outraged.
“You were taking this crow back to his homeland? So he could tell his brother crows where to find us?!” Freya frowned and looked over Movar’s shoulder to where Odin sat.
“He’s an Umber. I put an arrow through his foot, I think it’s getting infected.” Movar shrugged.
“We have to get back to the village, they may still be in danger.” Freya nodded, leaving Movar’s side.
She turned to the corpse of Thomyr, guilt and sorrow consumed her chest and forced her to turn away. I’m so sorry, Thom. She walked over to the black-steel blade that distinctively showed itself on the white snowy ground. She picked the blade up, sheathing it between her belt and hip. She also grabbed her bronze dagger, and Thomyr’s steel dagger which he had owned since his father left it for him once he abandoned the village. Not unbelievably, a great number of Nightrunners had left the village when the last chieftain had allowed for Toregg to join them as a free man. Thomyr’s father had been one of those men. She sighed and sheathed the dagger into her boot. As she turned to walk over to Movar, she heard the crying sound of wolves howling in the distance. She turned to Movar, who showed an urge to leave.
“Good to go sister?” She turned to her gaze to Odin, then back to Movar.
“He needs help, the elder could help him if we could get him back to the village in time.” Freya could see the frustration and impatience building up in Movar’s eyes.
“Did you not hear that? Those wolves are closeby, and I don’t want to be dragging some crow through the snow as wolf bait. Besides, we don’t know if the Elder is even alive, or anyone else for that matter.” Freya shook her head.
“You could carry him if you dropped some of those fucking weapons.” Freya could see Movar’s eyes turn to the Umber, then back to Freya. He shook his head.
“I don’t agree with this, he is still a crow. The decision is yours, but we have to go.” Freya nodded and turned her gaze to the old man.
The respectable Northener who she had travelled with for the past few days now. She couldn’t come to terms with just leaving him behind for the wolves, though taking him along would slow them down to a point where they may be putting their lives in risk as well.
[Carry Odin] , i feel like even if we carry him , he's not gonna make it , i hope not , still . He's an honorable man and deserves better than to be left out in some woods for the wolves to eat .
Freya
The hauntingly dark forest howled and groaned as a strong gust fought it’s way through, leaving a sway in the treeline once it had … morepassed. Freya walked a few steps behind the limping Odin Umber, whose foot left a trail of blood every step he took. Freya had done her best to bandage the wound, though she believed she had hit and punctured an artery in the old man’s foot, causing it to bleed without a halt. Freya groaned, they travelled at half her regular walking speed, like they were constantly lurking onto their prey before attacking. Though there was no prey, only the howling winds that occasionally broke the silence when their footsteps in the snow did not. The game had been minimal during their travels, so they were surviving off what Freya could scavenge from snow buried bushes. The berries had been frozen, though it had kept them moving for the past day and a half, which was Freya’s only concern at this point. Freya watched as … [view original content]
Yeah, it is dangerous for Freya and Movar. Wolves are not to be underestimated. At the same time, Movar is a heavily-armed badass, while Freya has her flying guard dog. And if things grow really dire, they can still leave Odin behind for the wolves. I just wouldn't feel good with leaving him behind, especially after his bonding moment with Freya in this part. Actually, the thing I am more concerned about than the wolves is the owl we saw in this part. This skinchanger Freya mentioned, the owl guy, he sounds like bad news. We know what happens to people who get captured by Hornfoots, so not getting captured should be their highest priority. And for that, they can't leave Odin behind until they absolutely have to. If the owl guy is not only watching, but following them, a dead, or half-dead Odin could lead him right to them.
Freya
The hauntingly dark forest howled and groaned as a strong gust fought it’s way through, leaving a sway in the treeline once it had … morepassed. Freya walked a few steps behind the limping Odin Umber, whose foot left a trail of blood every step he took. Freya had done her best to bandage the wound, though she believed she had hit and punctured an artery in the old man’s foot, causing it to bleed without a halt. Freya groaned, they travelled at half her regular walking speed, like they were constantly lurking onto their prey before attacking. Though there was no prey, only the howling winds that occasionally broke the silence when their footsteps in the snow did not. The game had been minimal during their travels, so they were surviving off what Freya could scavenge from snow buried bushes. The berries had been frozen, though it had kept them moving for the past day and a half, which was Freya’s only concern at this point. Freya watched as … [view original content]
Freya
The hauntingly dark forest howled and groaned as a strong gust fought it’s way through, leaving a sway in the treeline once it had … morepassed. Freya walked a few steps behind the limping Odin Umber, whose foot left a trail of blood every step he took. Freya had done her best to bandage the wound, though she believed she had hit and punctured an artery in the old man’s foot, causing it to bleed without a halt. Freya groaned, they travelled at half her regular walking speed, like they were constantly lurking onto their prey before attacking. Though there was no prey, only the howling winds that occasionally broke the silence when their footsteps in the snow did not. The game had been minimal during their travels, so they were surviving off what Freya could scavenge from snow buried bushes. The berries had been frozen, though it had kept them moving for the past day and a half, which was Freya’s only concern at this point. Freya watched as … [view original content]
Kaiden
For the first time in since Kaiden’s capture, he was cold. His ripped clothing and rags supplied little warmth, though something e… morelse sent a shiver through his bones. Kaiden quietly sat behind the two logs he had tried to catch a rat in, trying to stay as hidden as possible. The footsteps approaching him grew louder and closer, and for a moment he wished he had started running. Kaiden slowed down his breathing, trying to stay as silent as possible. He heard the footsteps stop opposite of the log he had his back to, the sound of a weapon being unsheathed made Kaiden clench his hands scarred and burned hands into fists, or he tried to. His hands had little movement left, though he used the ground to help shut them.
“Rux, you see anything?” Called the same voice, which Kaiden had heard others call Ratter.
“No, must’ve been the wind.” Ratter let out a mocking laugh, adding more shivers down Kaiden’s frozen spine.
“You fucking c… [view original content]
“Aye, we have the bloody Dustin’s. Though at what cost?” Ian remained silent, he figured his words would not protect him now. “The King has … moreto know about this.” Ian lifted his gaze from the floor to Lord Barton. Lady Trysta nodded in agreement.
“Better by your hand than Prince Brandon’s.” Lord Barrock grunted.
“Apologies my lady, but the boy should’ve seen it coming. He’s only angry that Ian made the arrangement and not his father.” Lady Trysta shrugged.
“Aye, but nonetheless he will tell his father unless we get a raven to him first.” Barrock shook his head.
“Or not at all. We could place the ravenry on lockdown, Brandon won’t be able to send anything then. Besides, we don’t even know if Errald will even stay true to his deal. I’ve lived on these lands long enough to know that little spoilt fuck always changes his mind.” Ian looked to Lord Barrock with curious eyes.
“You’re saying he could betray us?” Barrock shrugged.
“If … [view original content]
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come across them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one final search through the rough seas, and spotted what he thought to be land. He quickly turned and climbed the stairs that led to the upper deck and helm of the ship. Behind that helm stood Dracon Estermont, his black rags saturated in salt and water, his beard dripping. Jorge grabbed his shoulder and pointed to the peak of land, a small isle. He turned to where Jorge pointed, and on spotting he nodded and turned the Shadowbeak into the direction. As Jorge turned to descend the stairs, the Shadowbeak collided with a wave that sent him flying to the aft of the upper deck, being caught only by the unsturdy balustrades that had withstood the weather this far. Jorge grabbed the balustrade and hauled himself up, seeing the large amount of swell approaching from the north. Gods help us.
-
The Shadowbeak beached on the small island that Jorge had spotted, after finding it too difficult to find a holding for the anchor. It did not bother the men and women, who gladly disembarked the ship on the sharp stony beach below. Dracon Estermont tapped Jorge on the shoulder, looking at the tall mountain that surrounded the small island.
“Good spotting, we may have been sunk if it weren’t for you.” Jorge turned to the man and nodded.
Jorge walked to the starboard side of the ship and descended down the rope ladder. His feet landed on the hard rocks beneath him, and were then swamped by a wave of water that rose to his ankles. Jorge groaned, tired and short to losing his temper. He walked up the beach, to where his family sat on some dried seaweed that had been washed up. Jorge joined them, pulling off his boots and emptying them of water.
“We’re shipwrecked here, aren’t we?” Tanya’s soft voice barely made it through Jorge’s still ringing ears. He turned back to Tanya after putting his final boot back on and sighed.
“I don’t know, love. We’re lucky we made it out of that storm in one piece.” He turned his gaze to Croll, making sure he was minding his choice of words.
Jorge grabbed Tanya’s hands, holding them tightly and absorbing their warmth. He tried to transition hope through his expression, though all he could show was sorrow. They were stranded until this storm gave way. Jorge felt his shoulder being tapped. He turned and saw Dracon standing behind him, his face saddened.
“A moment, Jorge?” Jorge nodded and turned back to his wife, who weakly smiled. He released her hands and stood, following Dracon back to the Shadowbeak. Before they were about to climb on board, he turned and looked at where all the men of the Watch and Skanish sat.
“Tell me what you see, Jorge. You’re a smart man.” Jorge turned, looking at the tired men and women who had collapsed on the dried seaweed and fallen trees. Jorge shrugged.
“Tired people.” He said, his voice rugged and exhausted from the yelling earlier. Dracon shook his head.
“It wasn’t that I was referring to. Look, they’re sitting on the only dry part of the beach, which means that the tide flows up that far.” Jorge observed this to be true, they were at least twenty metres away from where the people sat. He turned to Dracon with tired eyes.
“Are you saying…” Dracon nodded.
“We can’t stay here long. The tide will take the Shadowbeak out, with or without us.” Jorge shook his head, not liking what he was hearing.
“What will we do?” He asked, feeling there was little hope left. Dracon sighed and shrugged.
“To keep going to Eastwatch would be madness, perhaps we would make it if we had more time to wait though we don’t. The wind is changing to a westerly, which means we would be bashing into it all the way if we tried. We could head back to Skane, though I can’t say Ser Harold would be happy with that.” Jorge shook his head.
“Commander Warrek is in charge, not Ser Harold.” Dracon’s eyes lowered to the ground.
“The Commander is dead.” Jorge could not find any sorrow to spare for the commander, he was too focussed on his family’s safety.
“So, Ser Harold Flowers is in charge?” Dracon nodded. “Where is he? I would speak words with him.” Dracon turned his gaze over to where a small group of black brothers had crowded around a fire.
Dracon had climbed aboard the Shadowbeak to check for damage, his crew still aboard and asleep down below. Jorge turned himself back up the beach, his legs weak from the sea state. The unsturdy rocks made it harder for Jorge to walk, as the ground moved beneath him after every step. Finally making it to the fire, in front of him stood Ser Harold Flowers, staring at him with menacing eyes. Jorge sighed and looked back at Ser Harold.
“May I have a word, Harold?” The knight scowled at Jorge, shaking his head.
“It’s your fault that Commander Warrek is dead. We could have gotten him back to Eastwatch, to the maester. Though you’re little detour cost him his life.” Jorge frowned, turning his eyes to the ground. He spoke in soft words.
“You knew the sickness had already consumed him, there was nothing we could have done.” Ser Harold’s burst of anger caught Jorge by surprise. He kicked the coals in the flames and walked over to Jorge, standing a head taller than him. His height was intimidating, though Jorge found himself not as afraid as he would have imagined.
“You don’t run things around here. I do. Step out of line and I’ll make your life a living hell, you hear me?” Ser Harold spoke with loud words, which echoed through the small beach. Everyone had gone silent, all eyes were on Jorge and Harold.
“You don’t scare me, knight.” Jorge said with courage and bitter demeanour. He had fought a Skagosi twice the man’s size. Jorge held his ground, staring into the angered man’s eyes.
“I should.” He grumbled, lifting his fist in the air.
Jorge saw the attack coming, and quickly thrusted his knee into the man’s groin. Ser Harold winced, bending down to Jorge’s level. Jorge lifted his fist and brought it down, smashing the knight in the back of the head. He turned, unarmed, to see that the other black brothers had unsheathed their swords. Jorge stood straight, anger burning his chest.
“Are you going to kill me?!” Jorge yelled, stepping a foot closer. He noticed the men tense up. Jorge took another step. “Brothers of the Night’s Watch. The honourable men sworn to protect the realm, are you going to cut us down?” Jorge stood in front of a black brother in the centre of the group, sweat trickled down the side of his face.
Jorge stood there, consuming his anger, for what felt like hours. After a few seconds, the man in front of him dropped his sword. Shortly after, the remaining brothers mimicked this act and dropped their blades. Jorge nodded, and turned back to his people.
“Brothers, sisters. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. I ask you to hear me! Our time grow’s short, as a rising tide threatens to leave us stranded here. So I see that we have two options, we continue to Eastwatch where we can joined this honourable Night’s Watch.” Jorge turned his gaze to Ser Harold’s unconscious body, then back to his people. “Or we can go back to Skane, and fight for the land we called home!” Jorge looked the men and women in the eyes, his family stared at him with fear yet pride. Jorge had made his decision.
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come a… morecross them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one f… [view original content]
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come a… morecross them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one f… [view original content]
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he read them. Wayne turned to the wall and chuckled. “You remind me of my young daughter. Don’t move your lips when you read.” Ferraro turned to Wayne, a frown on his face.
“I’m not sure if you understand just how difficult it is to read, Wayne.” Wayne shrugged and looked to the bright moon.
“I taught my brother, my daughter and now I’m teaching you.” Ferraro rolled his eyes and focussed his attention back at the wall. Through his peripheral, he saw Wayne stand up and walk over to the rusty barred window. He sighed, looking down at the sandy stone floor. “Ferraro, we need to talk.” Ferraro’s eyes flickered from the wall to Wayne, then back to the wall.
“About what?” Wayne turned his gaze to Ferraro, despite knowing Ferraro was avoiding his eye contact.
“About you. I want the truth. There is more about you then what meets the eye, and I don’t want to know Ferraro the lie.” Ferraro’s gaze fell to the floor, at the wooden door specifically. “Tell me the truth, who are you?” Ferraro shrugged, raising an eyebrow.
“Ferraro Sand?” He replied, somewhat confused. Wayne shook his head irritably.
“And who was your father. Don’t lie to me.” Ferraro felt a stream of sweat run down his forehead, stopping at the tip of his nose.
“Lord Dorin Toland.” Ferraro finally admitted. “Of Ghost Hill.” Wayne nodded, walking back to his sleeping mat.
“You weren’t a sailor, were you? Ferraro shook his head, causing Wayne to sigh. “Tell me your actual story, Ferraro. I need to know.” Ferraro finally turned his gaze to Wayne, feeling tears start to well up in his eyes.
“I ran away. Ever since I was born my father beat me, so when I was of age I ran away.” Ferraro felt the tears escaping from his eyes and onto his cheeks, though it was not because of his father. He clumsily wiped away the tears. “I caught a ride on a merchant vessel, bound for the Free Cities. On our journey through the Stepping Stones, we were boarded by pirates. The captain was murdered, the crew and I taken captive.” Ferraro stopped to take in a breath. Wayne spoke up.
“So you became a pirate, then were caught once again and brought here?” Ferraro wanted to laugh, but he simply shook his head.
“No, my life wasn’t that easy. The pirates took us to Astapor, sold us to slavers. I became a cleaner of latrine pots, alongside a beautiful girl from the Summer Isles.” Ferraro nodded over to the wall where he had drawn her. “Zhala Xhar. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. The slavers ordered us not to have any sort of relationships with our fellow slaves, though I was young and in love. I slept with her one night, and was caught by the masters. They raped her in front of me… Murdered her.” Ferraro turned his gaze back to Wayne, seeing sympathy in the eyes of the man.
“I’m so sorry.” He said quietly, though Ferraro shook his head.
“So they put me aboard a ship to sail to Yunkai. All the slaves knew that was where slaves went if they disobeyed. As we all sat and prayed, our ankles shackled to bars in the hull. Another ship collided with our own, a pirate liberator ship. We were freed.” Ferraro put on a weak smile. “Pirates started this life, then freed me from it.” His smile slowly faded away, as he recalled what happened next.
“They allowed us to be free, though I stayed with them. Went to Tyrosh and ended up joining a group of smugglers known as the Tyroshi Rainbow. I helped smuggle weapons, gold, spices and even people from continent to continent. Though on our smuggle course to Dorne, we were caught by Yronwood soldiers and brought here, to Ghaston Grey. They slowly killed off my crew, until it was only me left. I have not seen a man’s face since then until you arrived. Is this what you wanted to hear?” Wayne sighed, his face full of sorrow.
“I’m sorry, I needed to know that you weren’t a spy for the Yronwood’s, or were working with them once.” Ferraro shrugged, now standing and walking to the window.
“Now you know.” As Ferraro approached the barred window, Wayne cleared his throat. Ferraro turned and looked at the man, who looked back at him.
“I would not stand there if I were you.” He said, moving towards the door in the opposite corner.
Ferraro shook his head and turned back to the window, staring out of the rusted iron bars to the full moon. The light of the moon shun on the Sea of Dorne and the rest of Ghaston Grey. As Ferraro stared out to the sea, he spotted a vessel approximately one hundred metres away from the base of the tower that Ferraro was held in, a brigantine displaying the spear of House Martell. Flying towards the tower was a large ballista bolt with a thick line connected to it. What in the Seven? As Ferraro’s mind came to play, he quickly jumped away from the window towards Wayne Cross. The thundering sound of impact caused the entire top half of the tower to crumble, stone falling down from the tall tower into the sea below. Ferraro was helped up to his feet by Wayne, who was covered in sand, as well as the remaining half of the cell. Ferraro turned around, a rope cable had been secured on the end of the bolt which reached down to the ship below. When the bolt impacted, it crumbled the wall to the neighbouring cell, homing two men. One being an old rickety fellow with long gray hair and a longer grey beard, his face was gaunt and his bones skinny. The second was a tall and muscular man wearing red garment robes. His eyes were slightly darker than his brown skin, his black hair was short though his beard was large and bushy. He gripped Wayne’s arm with a wide grin on his face.
“Wayne you crazy bastard, should have expected this to happen on your watch.” Wayne chuckled in reply, grabbing the big man’s shoulders.
“Of course, Vogero. I think it is time we get going.” The brutish man nodded, separating from Wayne and starting to descend down the rope.
The sounds of yelling voices approaching the door made Ferraro instinctively run towards it, bracing it shut. He heard the sound of keys unlocking the locks, and curses when they struggled to get the door open. Wayne had joined Ferraro’s side in keeping the door shut. Ferraro turned to him.
“What are you doing?! Get the out of here for fuck sake!” Ferraro yelled, Wayne shook his head.
“You first brother, I’ll meet you down there.” Ferraro took his turn to disagree.
“Those Martell’s came for you. Go! I’ll be behind you!” Wayne stared Ferraro in the eyes, then quickly ran for the line.
Ferraro turned back to the door, holding it shut for as long as he could. He looked around for something that could keep it jammed closed long enough for him to escape. Spotting the full latrine bucket behind his right foot, he nudged it towards the door. Satisfied, Ferraro turned and made a run for line, grabbing onto it and quickly hugging his way down.
Ferraro stared up at the clear night sky, afraid to look down below. Just don’t let go. He kept on thinking to himself, increasing the nerve factor. Ferraro heard the door bang open and slam against the stone wall, men yelling as they saw Ferraro making a quick escape. Ferraro was nearly a quarter of the way down when he felt the odd tugging on the rope, he turned his eyes back to the Yronwood guards, who were hacking their swords at the line. Shit! Ferraro widened his eyes and quickened his pace down the line, desperately trying to get to the ship in time. When he was halfway down the line, and around forty metres above sea level, he felt the tension of the rope release. Ferraro felt his stomach try to escape out of his mouth as he held on tight to the falling rope, which smashed into the water in a couple of seconds. The wet embracement separated Ferraro from the rope, though the impact had winded him. Ferraro struggled to swim, reaching the surface and gasping for air. As he failed to suck in the warm air, he felt himself growing tired trying to stay above the water. Ferraro calmed himself down, keeping a steady easy rhythm which kept his head above the water as he tried to flood his lungs with air. Finally, yet slowly, the air started making its way into Ferraro. Feeling safer, Ferraro turned and started slowly swimming towards the brigantine. A saturated Wayne Cross stood next to the red man Vogero, staring at Ferraro. Where is the other? Ferraro asked himself as he swam towards the vessel. The sound of a large gasping for air, and loud splashing on the surface of the calm waters made Ferraro turn around. Sure enough, the old man was only just above the water, clearly struggling to stay above. Ferraro turned his gaze back to the brigantine, he was halfway between the old man and the boat. Ferraro was growing tired, worrying he did not have enough energy to help the old man, though he knew he did not have much time left.
[Attempt to rescue the old man] [Swim back to the Martell brigantine]
I'm not a big fan of Jorge joining the Night's Watch. In fact, I'm vehemently opposed to it. He has a family and really shouldn't abandon them. If the choice is either to join the NW at Eastwatch or to return to Skane, I choose Skane every day.
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come a… morecross them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one f… [view original content]
The choice we made prior would just be him sticking to his plan if we were choosing for him to keep heading to Eastwatch. I'm more or less pushing for Skane because I would like to have a PoV already there rather than having to make a new one or leave everything at Skane off-screen, though I guess we'll see what happens
[Return to Skane]
I'm not a big fan of Jorge joining the Night's Watch. In fact, I'm vehemently opposed to it. He has a family and really… more shouldn't abandon them. If the choice is either to join the NW at Eastwatch or to return to Skane, I choose Skane every day.
I don't know, it just feels wrong to leave him to drown. I like to think of Ferraro as the type of person that does not leave old men to drown, so he should at the very least try to save him.
Ferraro
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross… more and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he… [view original content]
Ferraro
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross… more and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he… [view original content]
Freya
The hauntingly dark forest howled and groaned as a strong gust fought it’s way through, leaving a sway in the treeline once it had … morepassed. Freya walked a few steps behind the limping Odin Umber, whose foot left a trail of blood every step he took. Freya had done her best to bandage the wound, though she believed she had hit and punctured an artery in the old man’s foot, causing it to bleed without a halt. Freya groaned, they travelled at half her regular walking speed, like they were constantly lurking onto their prey before attacking. Though there was no prey, only the howling winds that occasionally broke the silence when their footsteps in the snow did not. The game had been minimal during their travels, so they were surviving off what Freya could scavenge from snow buried bushes. The berries had been frozen, though it had kept them moving for the past day and a half, which was Freya’s only concern at this point. Freya watched as … [view original content]
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come a… morecross them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one f… [view original content]
Right, well this vote was clear. Ian will send a raven to the king.
This is likely the best option if you wanted Ian to stick with the Starks, which clearly so. However, if there was a split storyline to be made by not sending a raven, it would certainly have been interesting to have said the least.
“Aye, we have the bloody Dustin’s. Though at what cost?” Ian remained silent, he figured his words would not protect him now. “The King has … moreto know about this.” Ian lifted his gaze from the floor to Lord Barton. Lady Trysta nodded in agreement.
“Better by your hand than Prince Brandon’s.” Lord Barrock grunted.
“Apologies my lady, but the boy should’ve seen it coming. He’s only angry that Ian made the arrangement and not his father.” Lady Trysta shrugged.
“Aye, but nonetheless he will tell his father unless we get a raven to him first.” Barrock shook his head.
“Or not at all. We could place the ravenry on lockdown, Brandon won’t be able to send anything then. Besides, we don’t even know if Errald will even stay true to his deal. I’ve lived on these lands long enough to know that little spoilt fuck always changes his mind.” Ian looked to Lord Barrock with curious eyes.
“You’re saying he could betray us?” Barrock shrugged.
“If … [view original content]
Freya
The hauntingly dark forest howled and groaned as a strong gust fought it’s way through, leaving a sway in the treeline once it had … morepassed. Freya walked a few steps behind the limping Odin Umber, whose foot left a trail of blood every step he took. Freya had done her best to bandage the wound, though she believed she had hit and punctured an artery in the old man’s foot, causing it to bleed without a halt. Freya groaned, they travelled at half her regular walking speed, like they were constantly lurking onto their prey before attacking. Though there was no prey, only the howling winds that occasionally broke the silence when their footsteps in the snow did not. The game had been minimal during their travels, so they were surviving off what Freya could scavenge from snow buried bushes. The berries had been frozen, though it had kept them moving for the past day and a half, which was Freya’s only concern at this point. Freya watched as … [view original content]
Ferraro
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross… more and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he… [view original content]
Woah, I was only 2 days off and missed like whole chapter! Damn, Stigz, I must say you're doing really great work here. Luckily, the most votes are still open, so my opinion will still count. I'm really impressed by the pace of the story, when you're going with few parts A DAY, and all this parts are that perfected! Well, what else, I wish that this story got more recognition, as much as it deserves!
Leaving Aia doesn't seem right, but it'll be better for Kaiden in a further perspective. I quite agree with Liquid that it will be hard, as Kaiden is wounded, but I still think he is able to make it, because killing him in his way to the Wall isn't a good option storywise, so I don't think you will decide to do that.
Kaiden
For the first time in since Kaiden’s capture, he was cold. His ripped clothing and rags supplied little warmth, though something e… morelse sent a shiver through his bones. Kaiden quietly sat behind the two logs he had tried to catch a rat in, trying to stay as hidden as possible. The footsteps approaching him grew louder and closer, and for a moment he wished he had started running. Kaiden slowed down his breathing, trying to stay as silent as possible. He heard the footsteps stop opposite of the log he had his back to, the sound of a weapon being unsheathed made Kaiden clench his hands scarred and burned hands into fists, or he tried to. His hands had little movement left, though he used the ground to help shut them.
“Rux, you see anything?” Called the same voice, which Kaiden had heard others call Ratter.
“No, must’ve been the wind.” Ratter let out a mocking laugh, adding more shivers down Kaiden’s frozen spine.
“You fucking c… [view original content]
“Aye, we have the bloody Dustin’s. Though at what cost?” Ian remained silent, he figured his words would not protect him now. “The King has … moreto know about this.” Ian lifted his gaze from the floor to Lord Barton. Lady Trysta nodded in agreement.
“Better by your hand than Prince Brandon’s.” Lord Barrock grunted.
“Apologies my lady, but the boy should’ve seen it coming. He’s only angry that Ian made the arrangement and not his father.” Lady Trysta shrugged.
“Aye, but nonetheless he will tell his father unless we get a raven to him first.” Barrock shook his head.
“Or not at all. We could place the ravenry on lockdown, Brandon won’t be able to send anything then. Besides, we don’t even know if Errald will even stay true to his deal. I’ve lived on these lands long enough to know that little spoilt fuck always changes his mind.” Ian looked to Lord Barrock with curious eyes.
“You’re saying he could betray us?” Barrock shrugged.
“If … [view original content]
I was opting for Jorge joing the Night's Watch from the beggining, so I'll stick to it. In the story there's a choice - "continue to Eastwatch where we can join this honourable Night's Watch" or "fight for the land we called home" - in fact, joining the Night's Watch will be fighting for Skane too, just not directly. Oath says "the shield that protects the realms of men" - that's what Night's Watch do. Protect. Defend. Fight. In my opinion, this is the right choice here.
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come a… morecross them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one f… [view original content]
Haha, damn you lot forcing me to send him back to the Wall xD. I'll bring Aia back into the storyline soon enough :P. Let's just hope this doesn't backfire for Kaiden, he is a completely different looking man now, hideous and most of all - not in NW rags.
[Return to the Wall]
Leaving Aia doesn't seem right, but it'll be better for Kaiden in a further perspective. I quite agree with Liquid t… morehat it will be hard, as Kaiden is wounded, but I still think he is able to make it, because killing him in his way to the Wall isn't a good option storywise, so I don't think you will decide to do that.
Right, well this vote looks like it's not going to change sides. Kaiden will choose to return to the Wall.
I personally don't like this option as I would have liked to have seen a bit more of Aia and the Thenn's. Nonetheless, the Thenns will appear soon enough, just not as soon as they would have with Kaiden appearing there. Of course, there is always the option for a new PoV character to be introduced into the Vale, if you guys can't wait long enough for Julie to get her arse up there xD.
Also, as I said to MicroAce, Kaiden is a completely different man now. He barely resembled the man he used to be, and he does not wear NW clothing so it will be hard for him to convince the NW that he is indeed Kaiden. We'll have to see where this goes.
Kaiden
For the first time in since Kaiden’s capture, he was cold. His ripped clothing and rags supplied little warmth, though something e… morelse sent a shiver through his bones. Kaiden quietly sat behind the two logs he had tried to catch a rat in, trying to stay as hidden as possible. The footsteps approaching him grew louder and closer, and for a moment he wished he had started running. Kaiden slowed down his breathing, trying to stay as silent as possible. He heard the footsteps stop opposite of the log he had his back to, the sound of a weapon being unsheathed made Kaiden clench his hands scarred and burned hands into fists, or he tried to. His hands had little movement left, though he used the ground to help shut them.
“Rux, you see anything?” Called the same voice, which Kaiden had heard others call Ratter.
“No, must’ve been the wind.” Ratter let out a mocking laugh, adding more shivers down Kaiden’s frozen spine.
“You fucking c… [view original content]
Haha, honestly I'm just trying to get this chapter finished so I can get back to The Invasion. I have a real itch which is wanting me to get back there and finish the chapter I abandoned at the start of this year, and honestly I'm getting really pumped. Of course, I'm saddened to see that I will have to let TNC have a break for a little while, so I'm trying to do as much as I can before my holidays end and I'm back to school
Woah, I was only 2 days off and missed like whole chapter! Damn, Stigz, I must say you're doing really great work here. Luckily, the most vo… moretes are still open, so my opinion will still count. I'm really impressed by the pace of the story, when you're going with few parts A DAY, and all this parts are that perfected! Well, what else, I wish that this story got more recognition, as much as it deserves!
[Attempt to rescue the old man] - leaving this old man to die in water ISN'T an option. Really. Doing that will, of course secure Ferraro's escape, but want we trade it for the life of innocent old man? I think not.
Ferraro
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross… more and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he… [view original content]
Darrick stood outside the gates of Oldtown staring at the Citadel. The city was a work of art, a home of multiple faiths and overall a seemingly peaceful city. Still, Darrick was just glad to have a new source of income, as his gold was running low. Darrick stood beside Prince Gilden, who wore his shiny armour and his equally shining smile, and beside him was his sister: Princess Rose. Darrick looked the woman up and down. She still wore her green dress which fell to the ground, and from the way she shifted on her feet, Darrick presumed she was wearing heels or something uncomfortable. Darrick receive a striking glare from Gilden which forced his eyes to look elsewhere. Fucking bastard. Darrick looked at the muddy road which they would follow to Casterly Rock, the road that would make him rich. And the Lannister’s still haven’t arrived. Promising. Prince Gilden clearly was not impressed either with the way he paced and the groans and grumbles he gave. Darrick sighed, leaning against the wall of the main gate. A large portcullis hung above his head.
“In a rush, your grace?” Darrick asked mockingly, and receiving a look so menace he thought it would cut through his soul. Though that expression turned back to his warm beaming smile.
“The king expects me back at Highgarden when my sister is in the safe hands of the Lannister’s.” Darrick resisted the urge to snort and spit. Fucking Lannister’s.
Right on cue, the six Lannister soldiers rode over the hill, their destriers trotting through the mud. One of the men held the banner as they rode, displaying it with pride for all of no one to see. Darrick raised an eyebrow.
“Remind me, why am I needed?” Prince Gilden sighed, leading his sister to her white courser.
“To make sure the princess arrives safely at Casterly Rock, these roads are dangerous.” Darrick turned to the gallant men who rode like knights returning from war. He smirked.
“Your grace, I’m a sellsword. Nothing I do is safe.” Gilden rolled his eyes.
“Just do your job, make sure she gets there, and you’ll be rich within your dreams. If not, both Casterly Rock and Highgarden will come for your head.” Darrick grinned.
“Charming.” Darrick had lost his audience with the prince, as he had turned to greet the Lannister men that had come to a halt in front of the gates.
“Ah, Captain Arren of the Rock. It is a pleasure to finally be acquainted.” Prince Gilden said with cheery words. Darrick rolled his eyes and mounted his dark brown destrier.
“And you, Prince Gilden Gardener. The king gives his regards, and apologises for not sending his son to meet with his future wife.” Prince Gilden shrugged, his face understanding.
“That’s quite alright, the roads are dangerous I hear. This is Darrick Cross, my sister’s bodyguard.” Gilden turned his head to Darrick as he introduced him, though maintained eye contact with the captain. “King Gerold has his payment at Casterly Rock I presume?” Darrick stared at the captain, an ugly gaunt looking man whose legs were barely long enough to reach the saddle foot straps. He turned his gaze to Darrick, then back to Gilden and smiled. It sent shivers down Darrick’s spine.
“Of course, your grace. I am sure the king will be happy to reward the man protecting his future daughter-in-law.” Gilden smiled and nodded, beckoning for Rose to ride forth.
Darrick could see the devastation in the girl’s eyes, he knew this was against her own will. Yet, she still managed to keep a regularly calm expression which most men could easily fall for. Fortunately for Darrick, he had a way of reading women like a maester read his books. Darrick’s horse walked over to the crowd, revealing his face to the Lannister’s. Captain Arren looked at him with a stern and cold face, though the man next to him removed his helmet and walked over to Darrick. The man was young, with short spiked blonde hair. His green eyes stared at Darrick with intent and wonder, he extended his hand which was enclosed in a steel gauntlet.
“I am Lieutenant Malicus Hill.” Darrick firmly gripped the hand in front of him, not that the man could feel it.
“Darrick Cross.” Darrick noticed the man’s expression change to shock or realisation.
“From the Cross Company Sellswords?” Darrick nodded gently. “It is an honour, ser.” Darrick chuckled and shook his head.
“I’m no knight.” He said, turning to Prince Gilden. “Not yet.” Darrick noticed a scowled expression on the captain’s face.
“Well friends, I wish you safe travels back to Casterly Rock. Give King Gerold my regards.” Prince Gilden spoke with calm and melodic words. Captain Arren harshly nodded.
“You have my word.” He turned to his men, his voice stone cold. “War Cubs, to the Rock.” The sound of hooves turning in the mud was loud enough drown Darrick’s pitiful laugh. As he started to walk after the Lannister soldiers, he felt his leg being grabbed by the Prince. He halted his steed and looked down to the prince.
“Don’t fuck this up sellsword.” His words were dark and without passion. Darrick smiled.
“You hired me to do my job, so I’ll do it. Now get your hand off of my leg before you turn me on.” Darrick had already push his destrier into a trot before he could hear the prince’s reply, they were on a long road to travel.
-
Hours had passed and the journey had been silent. Darrick had rode beside the princess the entire way, and she had not spared a word. They rode in the centre of the convoy, the head was lead by the captain and the lieutenant and the back and sides were the remaining Lannister soldiers. Darrick rode irritably, causing his steed to misbehave out of his sheer boredom. When he had failed to gain the attention of anyone, he grunted and tapped the shoulder of the man that rode beside him, his helm covered his face.
“So, I hear the Lannister’s shit gold bricks. Do you think that’s-” Captain Arren’s voice spoke loud, with a harsh and careless tone.
“Shut your mouth, merc. The War Cubs aren’t here to listen to your chatter all day.” Darrick turned his attention to the captain, who faced the road ahead.
“War Cubs ay? Did your mother help choose the name or have you been a poofter from the start?” The convoy slid to a halt, the captain turning and drawing his golden hilted longsword.
“Another word from you, and I’ll remove your tongue. King Gerold will anoint you as Ser Darrick the Hushed. All that gold and land will be no good to you if you can’t communicate.” Darrick found his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes focussed on the captain. To Darrick’s surprise, it was Rose who spoke up next.
“Forgive my bodyguard, Captain. His words are only japes.” She turned to Darrick, her beautiful hazel eyes stared at him with a serious and warning gaze. “Darrick, ride forth and find a place where we can set camp. I grow weary from all this riding.” The captain’s eyes widened, he had finally sheathed his sword.
“My lady, with all due respect…” Darrick cut him off.
“No, you heard her. We will camp.” Darrick remarked, riding through the gap in between the captain and lieutenant. The captain grunted.
“As she commands. Lieutenant Malicus, accompany Darrick Cross. The Seven know how dangerous these roads are proving to be.” Malicus nodded and pushed his destrier into a trot, securing his place by Darrick’s side.
The two destriers galloped over the western hills, following the Ocean Road. After climbing over the final large hill, they were left with a magnificent view of the Sunset ocean. Their ride had been once again silent, so Darrick decided to fill the sound with his own voice.
“The Dornishman’s wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring…” Before Darrick could continue, he heard the chuckle from his riding counterpart. “What? You don’t like my singing?” The man shook his head.
“No, your singing is fine. Just thought you may have wanted to talk.” Darrick grinned, scouring the flatlands.
“The War Cubs aren’t here to listen to me chatter.” Darrick remarked, and he once again heard the man laugh. “Who in the Seven hells came up with ‘War Cubs,’ I swear that man must’ve been as daft as the man who claimed that Lannister’s shit gold.” Malicus’ laugh turned into a grin.
“Apologies, Mister Cross. I cannot speak for my Captain’s actions, only apologise in advance for them. As for War Cubs, the group was formed by Ser Stephas Marbrand. Well, that was before he was stripped of his knighthood and sent to the Wall.” Darrick chuckled.
“I can see why.” The two men joined in laughter, once they had gone quiet, Darrick decided to get to know the man. “So clearly you know all about me, what can you tell me about yourself?” The man shrugged.
“Just a bastard who knows how to swing a sword, I fucking hate the War Cubs. Wish I was as fortunate as you, to own a sellsword company.” Darrick sighed, his gaze lowering to the ground.
“Give it time, one day perhaps.” The man smiled and remarked.
“One day.” He pointed over to a flat topped hill which stood a few metres above the ground. “How about there?” Darrick shrugged.
“Looks good enough for me.” Malicus turned around and met Darrick’s gaze.
“And for the princess?” Darrick shrugged.
“She’ll live.” The two rode over to the hill, where the dismounted and waited for the War Cubs.
-
The sun had drowned in the Sunset Sea right as Darrick had finished his skin of wine. Their small base of operations was well fortified, with jagged wooden spikes sticking out of the hill, and a small gateway for the horses to enter and exit. Darrick had offered to take the first watch, and to his surprise the princess had stayed up with him. It had been a few hours since the War Cubs had retreated to their dens to rest, and the night had been silent since then. Darrick had been polishing his longsword when Rose finally spoke.
“You’re a stupid, arrogant man.” The words were not exactly what Darrick had been expecting to start as a conversation. He nodded all the same.
“Appreciated princess, I’ll be out of your hair once I have my gold and titles.” She laughed.
“Ha! You’re dumber than you look if you really think that is going to happen.” Darrick folded the cloth rag and tied it back onto his belt. He placed his sword on his lap and raised an eyebrow.
“Have I done anything to wrong you, princess? A past life perhaps?” Rose smirked, keeping her eyes on Darrick’s.
“Perhaps.” She remarked. “There is a way you can redeem yourself.” Darrick rolled his eyes.
“You should save your energy, I don’t want to hear it.” Darrick said with strength in his words, though the princess ignored it.
“Take me to the Riverlands.” Darrick turned his gaze to Rose, his face puzzled.
“Why would you want to go there?” Rose shrugged.
“I have my reasons.” Darrick smiled and nodded.
“I’m sure you do, though it’s not a part of my contract.” Rose shot up, standing over Darrick, her face red with anger.
“Is everything related to money with you? Do you have know heart that drives you?” Darrick shrugged, yawning. Darrick relaxed his shoulders and reclined against the log he sat against.
“Quiet princess, you wouldn’t want to wake to cap.” She turned to the captain’s tent, frustration crawling over her expression. “Why don’t you explain to me why you so badly want to go to the Riverlands.” Rose sat down on the log beside Darrick, letting out a frustrated groan. Darrick smiled.
“My lover is there.” Darrick raised an eyebrow.
“So?” Rose looked at him like there was nothing else to it. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” She sighed irritably.
“He is a Blackwood, his name is Thorn. He left a few months ago, and that one night we spent together changed our lives forever. We’re in love, Darrick. I could not live with myself if I were to be married to his enemies, I must got to him.” Darrick sighed, pulling his dagger from his boot and flicking it between his fingers.
“What makes me want to help you?” Rose stood up, bunching her skirt in her hands. As she lifted her skirt, Darrick was half expecting a wonderful payment, though instead was gifted with an unpleasant surprise. Darrick found himself staring at a minor swelling around her lower belly, she was pregnant.
“If you take me to him, I’m sure he will repay you dearly.” Darrick sighed and flicked his dagger in the air, catching it by the hilt as it returned on its second flip.
“As much as the Lannister’s are offering? I am being rewarded a new life with this gold and land, a chance to throw this mercenary life away.” Rose dropped her skirt, her eyes full of fury.
“Would you retire knowing that you sent a woman to near almost certain death to her new husband, or would you throw away that to assure that she might be able to find her lover and marry him?” Darrick sighed.
“This isn’t like the songs girl. If we run away, the Gardener’s and Lannister’s will hunt us down.Your idea of a happy ending would get me killed.” Rose’s lip quivered. She gently shook her head.
“My father is too busy fighting with the Durrandon’s, and the Lannister’s with the Justmen. We have a chance. You have a chance, to do the right thing.” Darrick grunted. They’d find the men to spare to rescue their precious daughter. Darrick thought.
[Take Rose to Raventree Hall] [Take Rose to Casterly Rock]
This is where she wants to go and I see it as doing the right thing. After all, she is pregnant and I definitely don't want to drag a pregnant and unwilling girl through the entire Rock, just to have her suffer at the hands of her new husband. Aside from that, fleeing to Raventree Hall with her sounds pretty damn interesting.
Darrick
Darrick stood outside the gates of Oldtown staring at the Citadel. The city was a work of art, a home of multiple faiths and over… moreall a seemingly peaceful city. Still, Darrick was just glad to have a new source of income, as his gold was running low. Darrick stood beside Prince Gilden, who wore his shiny armour and his equally shining smile, and beside him was his sister: Princess Rose. Darrick looked the woman up and down. She still wore her green dress which fell to the ground, and from the way she shifted on her feet, Darrick presumed she was wearing heels or something uncomfortable. Darrick receive a striking glare from Gilden which forced his eyes to look elsewhere. Fucking bastard. Darrick looked at the muddy road which they would follow to Casterly Rock, the road that would make him rich. And the Lannister’s still haven’t arrived. Promising. Prince Gilden clearly was not impressed either with the way he paced and the groans a… [view original content]
Darrick
Darrick stood outside the gates of Oldtown staring at the Citadel. The city was a work of art, a home of multiple faiths and over… moreall a seemingly peaceful city. Still, Darrick was just glad to have a new source of income, as his gold was running low. Darrick stood beside Prince Gilden, who wore his shiny armour and his equally shining smile, and beside him was his sister: Princess Rose. Darrick looked the woman up and down. She still wore her green dress which fell to the ground, and from the way she shifted on her feet, Darrick presumed she was wearing heels or something uncomfortable. Darrick receive a striking glare from Gilden which forced his eyes to look elsewhere. Fucking bastard. Darrick looked at the muddy road which they would follow to Casterly Rock, the road that would make him rich. And the Lannister’s still haven’t arrived. Promising. Prince Gilden clearly was not impressed either with the way he paced and the groans a… [view original content]
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come a… morecross them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one f… [view original content]
Ferraro
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross… more and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he… [view original content]
Darrick
Darrick stood outside the gates of Oldtown staring at the Citadel. The city was a work of art, a home of multiple faiths and over… moreall a seemingly peaceful city. Still, Darrick was just glad to have a new source of income, as his gold was running low. Darrick stood beside Prince Gilden, who wore his shiny armour and his equally shining smile, and beside him was his sister: Princess Rose. Darrick looked the woman up and down. She still wore her green dress which fell to the ground, and from the way she shifted on her feet, Darrick presumed she was wearing heels or something uncomfortable. Darrick receive a striking glare from Gilden which forced his eyes to look elsewhere. Fucking bastard. Darrick looked at the muddy road which they would follow to Casterly Rock, the road that would make him rich. And the Lannister’s still haven’t arrived. Promising. Prince Gilden clearly was not impressed either with the way he paced and the groans a… [view original content]
Tristifer turned back to help his sister, who was fighting an ironborn lass. Tristifer descended the wooden stairwell, cutting down a man who tried to stop him. The power in the mystical blue sword was daunting to say the least, it glowered blue whenever it pierced the flesh of a man. Tristifer made it down the stairs and started heading towards his sister, who was fighting with a steel sword which looked to have belonged to Marthew. Tristifer dodged an axe which had been thrown at him, and parried an attack that the thrower had lunged at him when unsheathing his sword. To Tristifer’s surprise, the iron did not break against his blue steel. Nevertheless, Tristifer still held a strong advantage over the man. He pulled Wolfsbane away from the iron opposer and swung it back down at his thigh. The man fell to the ground in an agonising scream, and Tristifer finished the man off by lunging Wolfsbane into his heart. When pulling the bloody blade out, the blue glowing light appeared on the sword, rising to the tip of the blade and then fading. Tristifer realised that the blood was also disappearing, though there was little time for him to question the mysterious powers of his blade. Tristifer finally made it to the ironborn who fought against her sister, she had managed to knock Allise to the ground and held her iron axe above her head. Tristifer quickly grabbed the shaft of the axe, clearly surprising the woman. She turned around and smacked her head into Tristifer’s. Tristifer stammered back, blood flowing from his nose. The woman did not wait for Tristifer to make his move, instead she swung her axe down at Tristifer’s sword arm. Tristifer dodged the attack, grabbing her arm with his free hand and twisting it in a manner which disarmed her and forced her to the ground. Tristifer looked at the woman who had submitted to her fate in front of him. She was a beautiful sight, pale skin with brown eyes. Her dark brown hair was tied into a bun to keep it out of her face. Tristifer knew he would regret hitting a woman, though he felt left with little choice. Tristifer succeeded in knocking out the woman in one blow, her unconscious body fell fell in front of Allise, whose eyes flickered to Tristifer’s.
“I told you to stay down below!” Tristifer yelled, ignoring the fighting happening around him. Her expression was as equally bitter as Tristifer’s.
“I can fight, Tristifer. You can’t hold me back!” Tristifer turned his gaze to the woman he had knocked out. Clearly. He shook his head and helped her up.
“Keep your eyes open and stay close.” Tristifer said, some aggression in his tone.
Tristifer and Allise fought their way to where Rickard Royce fought alongside Alon Wars and Mal. Rickard fought against three ironborn, parrying every attack the ironmen threw at him. Tristifer lunged Wolfsbane into the man who was about to strike at Rickard, Allise sliced the ankles of the centreman and stabbed him in the chest. Tristifer turned to get the third man, though saw that Rickard had already swung one of his axes at the man, who had caught it under his arm, and entrenched the other into his skull. Freeing his axe, he turned to Tristifer with a wolfish grin, though Tristifer could not replicate the same. He turned to the ironborn ship, which had made it’s way back to the deck. The ironborn on board had all fallen, the crew had been given a chance to all rally to Captain Costayne’s side at the upper deck. Tristifer turned to Rickard, flicking his gaze to the line connected to grappled hook.
“Take Allise and sever the line, I’ll hold of the Ironborn for as long as I can.” Rickard nodded, grabbing the unwilling Allise by her forearm.
“You have the men, my lord.” He said, his words said with honour and pride. Tristifer nodded, and turned to look at the remaining of his escort guard.
Alon Wars and Mal stood by Tristifer’s side, their longswords in hand. Ollie stood at the portside of the ship, freeing his sword from a ironborn corpse. Jaffer stood by the mast of the ship, leaning on his sword and catching his breath. Tristifer called them in, and when the four men stood by his side he spoke.
“We have to defend the deck for as long as it takes. Once the captain frees us from their ship, we will have to push them away. Kill anything that comes from their vessel onto ours!” His men joined him in a cheer, and they turned to the ship that had reeled itself in.
Allise and Rickard stood by the line, hacking at it with their swords as the Ironborn jumped over them and onto the deck of their ship. Tristifer was the first to charge into the fight, plunging his sword directly into the heart of the Ironborn in front of him. The guards beside him met the Ironborn without fear, clashing their metal against the Ironborn. Tristifer backed away, seeing that there were still more aboard the enemy vessel which would soon overwhelm their ship. Tristifer turned to Captain Costayne’s crew, who were working on freeing the mainsail for a quick escape once they were free. Tristifer turned his attention back to the Ironborn ship, realising that they were starting to swing more grappling hooks onto their ship. Tristifer turned to the mast of their own ship, a line which held the foiled sail was connected to a box of coiled lines. Tristifer ran to the line, forming a tight grip around the coarse rope. He turned back to his men, who were heavily outnumbered.
“Hold the line!” He heard himself yell without even realising it, then cut the rope which was anchored to the deck.
Tristifer felt himself being propelled into the air, as the rope launched him up to the crow’s nest atop the mast. As Tristifer flew up, he realised the sails came tumbling down. Releasing his grip once he made it to the top, he underestimated the height that he had elevated to, quickly backing away from the edge. He looked at a rope which was connected to the boom a few metres down, if he were to cut that rope it would swing him over to the Ironborn vessel. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck. Come on Tristifer, you have stood atop the Wall a thousand times over. You can do this. Tristifer stood up, his legs shaking in fear. As he grabbed the rope and cut it free, he whispered a prayer to the Seven, then jumped.
Air rushed around him as he soared through the wind, his face experiencing the full force of the wet spray that rained down from the storm clouds. Tristifer heard the crew cheering his name as he swung over, though he did not dare to look down, instead he had shut his eyes. Forcing them open had been more challenging than choosing to jump off the mast, though when he did he found himself over the opposing ship. Tristifer let go, falling a few metres and rolling onto the wooden boat. As he stood up and unsheathed Wolfsbane from his scabbard, he noticed that the men looked at him with widened eyes, then snapped back to their senses. This had given Tristifer enough time to make his way to the grapplers, at which he had already plunged his blade through the first. Making his way to the second, an overwhelming force tackled him to the ground. Tristifer felt the wind get knocked out of him, he dropped Wolfsbane. Tristifer looked up to the man on top of him, and felt the full force of the first punch he had laid on him. Tristifer felt a sting of pain in his left eye, though he managed to block the second punch and retaliate. Tristifer swung his fist at the man’s jaw, sending yellow teeth flying out of his bloody mouth. As the man fell off of him, Tristifer crawled to the final grappler, sweeping him off his feet. Falling to the ground, Tristifer grabbed the hook and knocked the man out. The iron grapple proved to be Tristifer’s main defensive weapon. When Tristifer turned around, he caught an attack to his head with the coarse rope and managed to tie the man’s hands. Tristifer quickly located Wolfsbane, and made a beeline to it. Securing his hands around the hilt, he managed to turn in time to deflect the iron sword swinging down at his head. As the sword shattered, Tristifer heard his name being yelled. It was Rickard Royce, who was now a couple of metres away.
“Get the hell out of there!” Tristifer’s eyes widened. They cut the line! Tristifer got up and moved back, giving him enough space to run and jump.
As he did, he once again felt that unnatural feeling in his stomach, like it was all going to fly out of his mouth. Tristifer extended his arm forward, reaching for Rickard who hung over the side of the balustrade. Their hands grasped, though when Tristifer’s arm began to slip an entire army of hands pulled him back on the deck of the ship. Tristifer fell to the ground, exhausted and drained. When he had caught his breath, he looked up to see a crowd of men surrounding him, in front of the was Captain Costayne.
“You’re a crazy son of a bitch, though admirable.” He offered his hand down to Tristifer, which was accepted with a firm grip. Tristifer felt himself being pulled up from the ground, now standing at eye level with the crew and his men.
“Seven preserve the rightful lord of Ol’Tower!” Captain Rickard cheered, and was supported by his men and the crew.
-
It had been a few hours since the Ironborn attack, and Tristifer had found that his eye was swelling from the punch he endured. The sea state had settled once they had entered the Whispering Sound, they had sunken the Ironborn corpses before the had entered the inlet which flowed to Oldtown. All the bodies but one, the woman Tristifer had spared. She sat in front of Tristifer, tied down to a chair, with menacing eyes. She had refused to speak to anyone but Tristifer, at which he now stood before her.
“I suppose I should spit on you, ape man.” Tristifer smiled, though did not let the woman’s threats bother him.
“A thank you would be nice, though I wouldn’t expect it from an Ironborn.” She rolled her eyes.
“A thanking for what? Sparing my life? I would gladly chosen the Drowned God over being tied to a chair, though thanks to you the Storm God rose victorious in this battle.” Tristifer sighed, the speak of distant faiths was giving him a headache.
“Keep at it and I might just give you to your Drowned God.” Tristifer said, careless with his words. He longed to rest. “What’s your name?” The girl smirked.
“Arika Goodbrother.” Tristifer could not hide that his eyebrows slightly raised. A noble woman? He thought to himself.
“Why is a lady of a noble house aboard a ship trying to plunder my own?” Arika shrugged.
“We’re Ironborn, it’s what we do.” Tristifer nodded, expecting that to be the answer. As Tristifer was about to ask another question, Rickard Royce entered his quarters.
“Apologies my lord for interrupting, though I think you should come up and see this.” Tristifer looked at the man with curious eyes, though found no hint of danger or distress in the old captain’s face. Tristifer nodded and turned his attention to Arika, who had seemingly lost interest in their conversation.
Tristifer followed Rickard to the deck, where the crew and guards - as well as Allise - all crowded and stared at something in the distance. Tristifer and Rickard pushed their way through, until he saw it. The large city of Oldtown loomed over them, full of life and interest. We’re here. Tristifer sighed in relief. We’re finally here.
Darrick
Darrick stood outside the gates of Oldtown staring at the Citadel. The city was a work of art, a home of multiple faiths and over… moreall a seemingly peaceful city. Still, Darrick was just glad to have a new source of income, as his gold was running low. Darrick stood beside Prince Gilden, who wore his shiny armour and his equally shining smile, and beside him was his sister: Princess Rose. Darrick looked the woman up and down. She still wore her green dress which fell to the ground, and from the way she shifted on her feet, Darrick presumed she was wearing heels or something uncomfortable. Darrick receive a striking glare from Gilden which forced his eyes to look elsewhere. Fucking bastard. Darrick looked at the muddy road which they would follow to Casterly Rock, the road that would make him rich. And the Lannister’s still haven’t arrived. Promising. Prince Gilden clearly was not impressed either with the way he paced and the groans a… [view original content]
Ferraro
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross… more and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he… [view original content]
Darrick
Darrick stood outside the gates of Oldtown staring at the Citadel. The city was a work of art, a home of multiple faiths and over… moreall a seemingly peaceful city. Still, Darrick was just glad to have a new source of income, as his gold was running low. Darrick stood beside Prince Gilden, who wore his shiny armour and his equally shining smile, and beside him was his sister: Princess Rose. Darrick looked the woman up and down. She still wore her green dress which fell to the ground, and from the way she shifted on her feet, Darrick presumed she was wearing heels or something uncomfortable. Darrick receive a striking glare from Gilden which forced his eyes to look elsewhere. Fucking bastard. Darrick looked at the muddy road which they would follow to Casterly Rock, the road that would make him rich. And the Lannister’s still haven’t arrived. Promising. Prince Gilden clearly was not impressed either with the way he paced and the groans a… [view original content]
The footsteps making their way to the exit of the hall was as loud as thunder on a warm night. Thorn sat silently, beside his cousins Brock Rivers and Alec Blackwood. At the end of the table sat a furious Jon Blackwood, who sat impatiently as the noble men and women were cleared from the hall. When only guards and their table remained, Lord Jon sighed, burying his head in his hands.
“They’ve taken it all away from us, those traitorous Bracken’s.” He said miserably, his words muffled from his hands. Thorn flickered his gaze to where Helyn was sitting, or where she was sitting.
“We must conduct an investigation, my lord. We cannot be certain that the Bracken’s ordered this…” Cryus tried to explain, though only received an irritated groan. Lord Jon arose from his hands, his face redenned.
“Then who else, Cryus? A man in rags comes into my godswood, poisons my weirwood and then screams that our faith is false. Who else holds an anger to our house and gods that are not the Bracken’s?” Thorn observed Cryus to be stuttering on his words.
“Husband, I agree that the Bracken’s must suffer for what they have done. Though making a rash move now would be wounding to the Riverlands as a whole. Our king battles with the Lannister’s to hold the hills, if we are to fight amongst ourselves then we will certainly lose the war.” Lord Jon’s groan echoed through the hall.
“Then what would you have me do, wife? Fight by their side like my ancestors did during the invasion? They were weak enough to fall to the the Faith of the Seven when they were defeated by the Andal’s, though we did not.” Lady Clarissa stood, bunching her skirt in her hands. Her face furious.
“You will remember that the house you married into are of Andal heritage, and that they are also worshipers of the Seven.” Her tone was as hot as fire, and her words burned Thorn’s ears. Lady Clarissa turned and marched upstairs, holding her head high as if it was her final strand of dignity remaining.
“Others take that woman.” Lord Jon muttered. “Things could not get worse.” As if on cue, Helyn’s screams fueled the hall with a screeching terror. Thorn shut his eyes, wincing at the high pitched noise. Thorn could not tell whether his uncle’s yell caught him off guard or just added onto the drama of things that were gradually becoming accepted. Jon turned to Tyros, who looked as frightened as Thorn felt deeply.
“Go shut her up, boy!” The boy nodded and stood from his chair, racing up the stairs. The sound of the screaming becoming louder and more clear was an indication that Tyros had entered the room. Poor child. Thorn thought, sympathising for the pain he would endure.
“My lord, if I may.” Hughes Terrick’s voice spoke with strength and confidence over the uncanny screams which were slowly fading out of focus. Lord Jon turned to his squire and nodded.
“What is it?” Jon spoke with demanding words, his attitude to his minors had never been great, though it had always been better to his squire than his sons.
“In reference to the Brackens, my lord. Perhaps it would be wise to send them a message, a threat more or less.” Thorn saw a look of approval in Lord Jon’s eyes, which Thorn thought of worrying about.
“Like what?” He asked, Hughes Terrick turned his gaze to Alec, then back to Jon. Jon nodded and turned to his heir.
“Go help Tyros in keeping her quiet.” He said, his voice demanding. Alec’s head shook in refusal.
“I’m fifteen father, and your heir. I need to hear this, be a part of this council.” Jon slammed his fist on the table so hard that Thorn thought he would have burst a blood vessel. Alec stood with vexation, storming upstairs as his father had commanded. He turned his attention to Brock, his fingers tapping on the wooden table.
“Bastard, fetch the maester. And the rest of the council too.” Brock stood from his chair, his expression hard to read.
“Would you have me return with them, father?” Jon shook his head.
“I’m sure you will find better things to do.” He turned his attention to Thorn, his eyes glaring at Thorn’s. “You too, nephew.” Thorn nodded, thankful to have finally been excused.
Thorn turned to Brock and gave him a nod, at which he receive a weak smile. Thorn turned and made his way to the stairwell, passing his uncle as he did. When he did, he felt his forearm being gripped, forcing him to stop.
“Stay in one place, I will send Cryus to get you when all this nonsense chatter is over.” Thorn nodded and his arm was released.
Thorn quickly climbed the wooden steps, two at a time. Once he was in the open hallway, he climbed another set of stairs which led him to his cousin’s room. The door was left open ajar, and inside sat a frustrated Alec, along with an upset Helyn and confused Tyros. Thorn stopped at the door, knocking on the wood three times. When he entered, he saw Helyn quickly get up and run to him, he braced himself for one of the most heartwarming hugs his sister gave. The two collided and embraced, and for a moment it felt as if all of Thorn’s troubles were gone, though then he remembered why he had come to her chambers. He stroked her long wavy black hair, her dark brown eyes looked up at his with a feeling of safety and security. Thorn knelt down in front of her, now looking up to her eyes and brushing away the hair that was in the way.
“You alright?” Helyn gently nodded, trying not to move her head much, despite breaking that rule when she ran to Thorn.
Helyn had suffered a great deal of pain in her past fews years, ever since she started getting migraines. Thorn had moved himself to her leather arm chair, and sat beside it, allowing her to sit in it instead. Thorn looked to his cousins, Tyros sat in Helyn’s bed and Alec by his side, his face was miserable.
“Father hates me.” He muttered, staring at the wooden planks that floored Helyn’s room. Thorn sighed, knowing how he felt.
“None of us get it easy, Alec.” Thorn gently said. Alec turned to him, his eyes red, notifying that he had been crying.
“He despises me, Thorn! I heard him say he wishes I would die! He will send me to the Wall, he will get rid of me…” Alec’s weeps turned to a saddened realisation in his eyes, which Thorn refused to believe.
“Yes, uncle Jon isn’t the kindest man in all of Westeros, and I doubt that will change anytime soon. Though we’re still his family, despite how much he claims he hates us, I think it’s just a way to try and strengthen us.” Alec’s eyes had lifted from the ground, now entirely focussed on Thorn.
“You really think so?” Thorn smiled, meaning to encourage his cousin.
“Of course. He is trying to harden you for lordship, Alec. If you can’t follow, then you can’t lead, so go easy on the old man. Think about how it is for Brock, he is a bastard. A nice and great man, yet still a shame to his father. And I… Well that’s something else entirely.” Helyn reached down and pecked Thorn on the cheek.
“You can’t change what your father did, Thorn. Father is naive to blame you for all of the problems your father started.” Tyros turned his eyes to Helyn.
“What did uncle Sterlyn do?” Thorn sighed, thinking of how to start.
Thorn was about to start explaining, though was saved by a banging on the door. Thorn stood up, squeezing Helyn’s hand before leaving to open the door. When he did, the loud creaking of the rusting hinges sent a shiver down his spine. On the other end of the door was Cryus Black, his face solemn yet slightly downcasted.
“Apologies to bother you, Thorn. Your father wishes an audience with you.” Thorn nodded, turning back to his cousins who stared at him intently.
Thorn gently closed the door behind him before accompanying Cryus. Cryus was a seemingly gentle man, his brown eyes showed that. He had a messy black beard, with equally messy hair, though his attire was reasonable. He wore black formal leathers, and could have been mistaken for a man of the Night’s Watch if he wore a cloak and furs. The two descended the stairwell in silence, until Thorn broke it.
“How is your family, Cryus? Last I heard, your brother had been promoted in the Stark army, and his son had become a ranger of the Night’s Watch. What was his name, Chaney? Chase?” Cryus answered with a bold smile.
“Charles, and my family is doing well, thank you. How is yours?” Thorn found himself raising an eyebrow.
“I think you know all too well, Cryus Black.” The man chuckled and shook his head.
“Your father is unreadable to even me at times. No, I was referring to your grandparents and cousins. The Tarly’s.” Thorn shrugged, trying to block the flood of memories.
“Haven’t seen them in nearly a year, I presume they’re caught up between this war with the Gardener’s and Durrandon’s.” Cryus nodded, his face sincere.
“Yes, I had heard such things about this war. I pray to the gods they are safe.” Thorn smiled, acknowledging the man’s sincerity.
“Appreciated Cryus, though I doubt the old gods will look over the Tarly’s. They are followers of the Seven.” By the time their conversation had concluded, Thorn found himself in the Council chambers.
At the head of the table sat Lord Jon, his expression lacking interest and still in a state of misery, perhaps even doubt. Cryus found his seat beside the lord, sitting on his left. Opposite of Cryus sat the master-at-arms, Ser Jarak Rivers. Beside him sat Dexter Vance, captain of the household guard and brother to the Lady Clarissa. Finally, sitting opposite of Dex was Maester Dougas, a reasonably young Maester who was at an age of fifty. Thorn bowed in their presence.
“Thorn, take a seat.” Lord Jon’s voice was as brisk as the winter winds, Thorn took a seat at the other end of the table. “Now, Maester Dougas, you were saying?” The Maester nodded and pulled a scroll from his sleeve.
“These are the ingredients required, my lord. Of course, I will need to travel to the citadel to make such a concoction, as well as permission from the Arch-Maester.” Lord Jon shook his head.
“I can’t have you leaving Raventree, not with winter so close.” The Maester nodded his quick bobbing head. Ser Jarak Rivers spoke up, his tone harsh and cold.
“My lord, we are wasting our times looking to make poisons. We should just charge our army into Stone Hedge and execute him by the sword. Poison is a bastard’s weapon.” Lord Jon sent a glare so menacing it made Ser Jarak squirm in his chair.
“Then I will send my bastard to do it. Though we need the poison first, and Maester Dougas has suggested there are ways of obtaining it through purchase.” The Maester nodded his head.
“It is not ideal, though there is a rogue organisation of expelled maester’s in Oldtown. They call themselves the Rusted Links, untrustworthy men my lord…” Lord Jon raised his hand.
“No matter. Thorn, I am sending you on this mission to receive the poison known as ‘the Strangler.’ You and Ser Jarak will ride for Oldtown at sunrise, questions?” As Thorn was about to speak, Captain Dexter Vance interrupted.
“My lord, I can spare a dozen men to escort-” Dexter was cut off by a raise of a hand.
“An escort would cause too much attention. Besides, I believe Thorn already knows the way.” Lord Jon stared at Thorn in a fashion that made his blood boil, yet he kept calm and relaxed.
“Yes, my lord.” Thorn replied, his teeth gritted. Lord Jon smirked.
“Good, this council meeting has come to a close. Leave me.” Thorn sighed, slowly getting up from his chair. The men of the council had already evaded the room as Thorn was exiting. “Not you, Thorn. We must talk.” Thorn’s movement came to a halt, as he turned to his uncle.
“About what?” Lord Jon stood.
“Your father. Come, I need to show you something.” Lord Jon walked passed Thorn, making him have to quicken his pace to keep in sync with his uncle.
The sound of footsteps on creaking wood was all that filled the air, as well as the anxiety that hung around Thorn. The entire reason for Thorn’s demise in the Blackwood hierarchy was because of his father, and it bothered him that he was unaware of where they were heading. His uncle led him down a flight of wooden steps, leading to a stone floored basement. He stopped at an old cracked wooden wardrobe, surrounded by hay and grime. Lord Jon pulled a key from his belt, unlocking the wardrobe door. Opening it, he beckoned for Thorn to enter. Thorn searched the man’s face, looking for some sort of sick and demented trick, though found nothing. Thorn entered the wardrobe, which he discovered was more than just that. A wooden backing wall slided to the right, and another flight of stairs led down to a dim room. As Thorn stopped at the entrance, his uncle grabbed a lantern off of the wall.
“The crypt of Raventree Hall.” He announced, extending the lantern in front of them. A narrow aisle stretched hundreds of metres in a straight direction, on either side were tombs with names.
His uncle led him down the dark aisle, his dim lantern only vaguely displaying enough light for them to see where to go. After a long walk, the two men found themselves at the end of the aisle, where a tomb rested with the engravings: Sterlyn II Blackwood. Thorn sighed, staring at the engraving.
“I blamed your father on the death of my first wife, you know. He held such jealousy when he learnt I was to marry Sharla Tully. He loved her, he had told me all of our childhood, though when I came of age my father betrothed me to her. That was the beginning of our rivalry. When he fled south, eighteen years ago, and I found my wife drowned in the Red Fork… I had my men scour all of the Riverlands to find him. They searched for weeks, months, until Lord Asteric Tully finally called off the search. I hated my brother from that day on, and you can imagine the guilt I felt when I learnt of his death.” Thorn looked to his uncle, who he could swear had a tear running down his eye.
“When I learned of his death, all I felt was shame and regret. Yet the pain of my wife had never left me, instead you had inherited that anger.” He lightly chuckled. “You are the thorn in my side.” He said quietly, though his face was stern and full of sorrow.
Lord Jon rested the lantern on the empty tomb next to his father’s, and unsheathed Dark Matter from its scabbard. He turned to Thorn, his expression truly devastated, before he cracked open the seal that held the tomb shut. Thorn backed away, feel anxious of what he was going to see. Jon rested Dark Matter against the empty tomb, and removed the lid from his Sterlyn’s tomb. Thorn peered inside, and to his surprise he did not see a corpse, yet a sword.
“The Tarly’s claimed that cremated his body, and that his ash rests at the sept at Horn Hill.” He reached into the tomb and pulled out the red blade. “This is Red Wing, your father’s sword. Twin to Dark Matter. Legend goes that the two sister blades were forged from an Andal great sword that our ancestors fought with during the Andal invasion. It’s yours by inheritance now, guard it well.” Jon rested the blade in his palm, which Thorn took gracefully.
Red Wing’s valyrian steel blade was red, which led into a darker red wing hilt. The handle was black, as well as the raven pommel. The sword itself was light, and highly balanced. Thorn found himself without words. He managed to scramble some words together.
“Uncle, this is… Thank you. This means a lot to me.” Jon nodded.
“Tomorrow, you will ride with Ser Jarak and one other to Oldtown for the glory of this house. There are two suitable choices for your second companion. Alec needs to experience, though my bastard may prove to be of better use. You two also have a better friendship, though I will leave the choice with you.” Thorn nodded, thinking the options through thoroughly.
Alec was a young lad, an age of fifteen. He was not highly talented with a sword, though his strong point was in archery. Not being the most confident, the journey could certainly help guide Alec into becoming a man. Though it was Brock Rivers which Thorn preferred to have at his side, he knew he could trust him with his life and vice versa, though it was not he who was to become to future lord of the house.
Well, this seemed to be another clear vote. Jorge will continue to Eastwatch.
As I mentioned to Liquid, continuing to Eastwatch would be Jorge sticking with Tanya's plan to go to Ol'Tower, rather than joining the Night's Watch. So in essence, this vote was probably his last chance to fight for Skane.
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come a… morecross them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one f… [view original content]
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Freya
The hauntingly dark forest howled and groaned as a strong gust fought it’s way through, leaving a sway in the treeline once it had passed. Freya walked a few steps behind the limping Odin Umber, whose foot left a trail of blood every step he took. Freya had done her best to bandage the wound, though she believed she had hit and punctured an artery in the old man’s foot, causing it to bleed without a halt. Freya groaned, they travelled at half her regular walking speed, like they were constantly lurking onto their prey before attacking. Though there was no prey, only the howling winds that occasionally broke the silence when their footsteps in the snow did not. The game had been minimal during their travels, so they were surviving off what Freya could scavenge from snow buried bushes. The berries had been frozen, though it had kept them moving for the past day and a half, which was Freya’s only concern at this point. Freya watched as Talon flew over her head and perched herself on a branch that overlooked their reasonably clear path, her yellow brimmed beady eyes fixed on something on the ground. Freya turned her eyes to the ground and grinned. Freya quickened her pace to meet with the slow and old crow, though when she unexpectedly ran into him a fright caught her. The man grunted, his weight falling on his injured foot. He grabbed Freya’s shoulder for support though it was too late, the man had fallen and brought Freya down with him. The two landed in the sharp crystal snow with a crunch. As Freya lay on top of the old crow, she heard the sound of a deep and joyful chuckle, the foul odor of bad ale blowing onto Freya’s face. Freya groaned and got up, irritated with the old man.
“Why did you stop, crow?” She more demanded an answer rather than plainly asked. Odin quieted his chuckle and pointed off in a direction.
“I saw a flash of brown, a hare or large rat I think.” Freya scoured the general direction, until she saw what the Umber had made reference to.
Roughly fifteen metres away from where they were positioned, a timid peaceful rabbit nibbled at some blades of grass that stuck out of the snow. The creature was a sight of beauty, light fluffy brown fur, ears rested and drooping by the side of it’s head. A fluffy white round tail that covered its rear end. Freya quietly unslung her bow from her shoulder, forming a tight grip around the sentinel wood shaft of the bow. She fixed an arrow and pulled back on the drawstring, allowing herself patience for the wind to settle down before the let loose the arrow. As the wind started the settle and Freya was prepared to fire the arrow, the rabbit jumped and started to flee. Freya’s eyes flickered to Talon, who had swooped down and caught the rabbit, snapping it’s neck while in the air. Freya smiled and gently released the tension on the string, eventually putting her arrow back into her quiver. Odin grunted, still on his stomach on the icy shards.
“That fucking bird…” Freya laughed, almost what seemed a giggle.
“Is as hungry as the rest of us. Come on, let’s keep moving.” Freya slung her bow over her shoulder and helped Odin to his feet. The man nodded graciously, and continued to limp on.
Freya looked to where Talon had perched herself on the branch of an oak, and was ripping the flesh from the rabbit’s corpse. She sighed. Fair game sister. Freya noticed the Umber was failing to keep his regular pace, and was putting less pressure on his wounded leg. Freya rolled her eyes and came to his aid, securing his arm around her shoulder. He turned to Freya, is one good eye staring into her very light shaded brown eyes - which appeared yellow in certain lights.
“Thank you, Freya. You wildlings aren’t half bad you know.” Freya shrugged, keeping her eyes ahead of them.
“My thoughts on the crows still remain the same, old man. I don’t know why you still want to serve them.” The old man chuckled and remarked.
“Your thoughts stay the same? If that were so then you would have let your pet finish me off. You have found some respect for us.” Freya side glanced at Odin, then back to their path ahead.
“For the ‘Northerners’ perhaps, though not the crows.” She felt the weight of his head nod up and down.
“Well that’s a start. Ask me and I’d say some arrogant prick built the wall out of his idea for a power system. You poor bastards were just caught on the wrong end.” Freya shrugged.
“Or the right end.” The Umber remained silent, likely acknowledging there was some truth to Freya’s words.
The two continued in silence for a few minutes, until something felt wrong to Freya. She stopped for a moment, taking in her surroundings. She listened to the sounds of the forest, and quickly hushed the old man when he tried to ask why they had come to a halt. She heard the wind starting to pick up, holding a steadier rhythm which the tall wooden figures dance along to. This was not what unsettled Freya, though something else, like she was being watched. She turned her head, checking her surroundings. She saw nothing, heard nothing, yet the feeling still remained. Perhaps I am going insane… She thought to herself, remember Elder Thorrand’s council all those weeks ago. Freya sighed and continued assisting Odin in his steps in silence, though then she heard it. It was a silent sound, deep and perhaps melodic. A series of soft ‘hoo’s’ sang in a repetitive pattern. Freya turned, looking to the dark cloudy sky, and sure enough a snowy owl attempted to blend in with the clouds. Freya stood still, watching the movements of the bird to see if there was anything irregular or out of place. She noticed the owl turn its neck to a fashion that it’s gaze rested on Freya and Odin. When Freya noticed the owl start to tuck in it’s wings for a dive, Freya pushed Odin away and reached for her bow.
“Stay down!” She yelled, directing her words nowhere yet still talking to Odin. She pulled a ptarmigan feathered arrow from her quiver, and nocked it to her bow.
Noticing the owl was drawing closer by the second, Freya drew the arrow back and released the arrow, which narrowly missed as the owl spun and dodged it. Freya knew she would not have enough time to draw another arrow, so she covered her face with her arms to withstand the attack. As she did, the high screaming pitch of Talon swooped in and collided with the owl, digging her beak into the owl’s neck. The owl being larger than Talon easily retaliated and pushed Talon away with a flap of its wing. Talon circled around and commenced a series of swoops, more or less irritating and distracting the owl from its objective, rather than doing it serious harm. After a few seconds the owl had started to retreat, with an angry Talon at it’s tail. Freya felt watched her bow shake from the surging fear out of her hands. Odin stood up, his expression highly confused.
“What in the gods just happened?” Freya got a grip on herself and slung her bow onto her back, her covered hands still with a minor tremor. She turned to the curious Umber, who stood waiting for an answer.
“I think we’re being watched. The only man I know who skin changes into an owl is a sadistic Hornfoot. If that was his bird…” Freya did not know what she could do. “We need to keep moving.” Odin nodded, slinging his arm around Freya’s shoulder.
The two quickened their pace, though Freya could tell the old man was growing tired. His foul stenched breath had grown heavier, and more occurrent. His face was bright red and full of pain, he had basically no power left in his wounded foot. Freya stopped and leant him down against the thick trunk of an ironwood. She turned to the old crow, whose face flourished in distress.
“Try and focus on something else for the meantime, I’m going to take off this bandage.” The old man nodded, looking around for something he could fix his eyes on.
While Odin did so, Freya started unwinding the bandage from his foot. The blood soaked bandages had stuck to his foot, and Freya was hesitant on ripping it off. She turned and grabbed her water skin, pulling out the cork and pouring it onto the molding bandages in hope to separate it from the healing flesh. Freya could not help but notice the blood that had made its way onto her white fur gloves, though she did her best to keep her attention on the matters at hand. The bandage finally giving way, Freya removed the old man’s boot to see a large mess. The surroundings of the hole that had been covered was dark red, verging on black. The old Umber’s toes had gone purple, as well as half way up his ankle. She gritted her teeth. The sound of Odin’s voice pulled her from this struggle to explain what had happened to his foot.
“Freya, what is that?” Freya looked at the man with regretful eyes, though she soon realised the old crow was not referring to his foot.
Freya turned to the man’s gaze, in the distance she could see only trees and shrubbery, though then she spotted what he was referring to. She turned back to the Umber, watering the wound as best she could then quickly wrapping it with her last bandage. Mildly satisfied with her efforts, though disappointed with her results, she stood up and turned to what the two had found. She walked across a small meadow, covered in snow though flowers still rising above the sharp ice crystals that scattered the ground. She stopped in front of a sword that was lodged in the snow. The blade was forged out of black steel, and was polished to the extent that one could identify themself if they looked hard enough in the reflection. Freya gripped the frozen pommel with her hand upside down, so that the top of her hand was facing the tip of the sword. She pulled the blade from the couple of feet deep snow, observing how the ice had preserved the submerged blade compared to the weathered section. She heard Odin’s voice like a soft murmur from behind her, though only the second time could she identify his words.
“Freya behind you!” Freya quickly turned, naturally lifting the longsword into a defense stance.
The steel dagger came rushing down at Freya’s newly found dark-steel blade. She managed to parry the attack, though did not risk trying to send a counter, knowing the dangers of a longsword in close combat. Instead, she let her opponent - who she could not yet identify - lunge at her. She quickly dodged the clumsy attack, grabbing the man’s free arm and securing it in a lock which would have sent an amount of agony that any normal man would have submitted to. Instead, the man turned back, his dagger aiming for Freya’s neck. Freya dropped the longsword and caught the man’s forearm before it could reach it’s destination. Having both arms locked, Freya looked into the eyes of her opponent. The glowing blue eyes had a certain deathly look to them, like there was no life in them at all. The man’s skin was pale, white even. Thomyr? She questioned her sanity once again, disbelieving her judgement. Her foe broke free of her and pushed her back, lifting his dagger in the air. Freya quickly unsheathed her bronze dagger and swiped the strike away, knocking the dagger from his hands. Freya lunged her bronze dagger into his heart, leaving it lodged into his chest as she released it. To her horror, the man remained standing, dislodging the dagger from his chest. Freya shook her head, now recognising this to be Thomyr her friend, tears streaming down her eyes. She pushed the lifeless corpse away from her, who persistently continued to advance on her. As she continued to back away, she felt her feet give way beneath her as she tripped on something behind her. Fear crawled over her as she saw Thomyr continue to walk towards her. Talon swooped down and struck him on the side of his face, scratching out one of his eyes. Seeming barely slowed, the corpse of Thomyr continued to walk towards Freya, until it was right on top of her. Freya closed her eyes, too afraid to look into the unnatural blue eyes. An ear piercing scream flooded Freya’s ears, and she shortly after felt a thud land next to her. Slowly opening her eyes, above her stood her brother Movar, a hand extended down to her. In his opposite hand was a large and magnificent sword. Freya accepted the hand up and found herself in her brother’s arms.
“What took you so long?” She asked, her tears falling off her freckled cheeks onto her brother’s fur coat. He tightly embraced her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Freya knew Movar was referring to Thomyr when he apologised, he knew how extensive their friendship had been. Freya felt herself calm down, she pulled herself from Movar’s arms and looked him in his wild dark brown eyes.
“Why are you out here? You said you were leaving!” Freya banged her fist against Movar’s chest, clearly catching him off guard. He frowned and sighed.
“A lot has happened since then. The village… We were attacked, by the Night’s Watch.” Movar turned his gaze to Odin, who still sat against the tree clearly in pain. Freya found her hand naturally gravitating to Movar’s strong muscled arms.
“It’s alright, he’s no harm to us. I was taking him to Hardhome, so he could go back south of the Wall.” Movar turned his attention back to Freya, his expression confused and mildly outraged.
“You were taking this crow back to his homeland? So he could tell his brother crows where to find us?!” Freya frowned and looked over Movar’s shoulder to where Odin sat.
“He’s an Umber. I put an arrow through his foot, I think it’s getting infected.” Movar shrugged.
“We have to get back to the village, they may still be in danger.” Freya nodded, leaving Movar’s side.
She turned to the corpse of Thomyr, guilt and sorrow consumed her chest and forced her to turn away. I’m so sorry, Thom. She walked over to the black-steel blade that distinctively showed itself on the white snowy ground. She picked the blade up, sheathing it between her belt and hip. She also grabbed her bronze dagger, and Thomyr’s steel dagger which he had owned since his father left it for him once he abandoned the village. Not unbelievably, a great number of Nightrunners had left the village when the last chieftain had allowed for Toregg to join them as a free man. Thomyr’s father had been one of those men. She sighed and sheathed the dagger into her boot. As she turned to walk over to Movar, she heard the crying sound of wolves howling in the distance. She turned to Movar, who showed an urge to leave.
“Good to go sister?” She turned to her gaze to Odin, then back to Movar.
“He needs help, the elder could help him if we could get him back to the village in time.” Freya could see the frustration and impatience building up in Movar’s eyes.
“Did you not hear that? Those wolves are closeby, and I don’t want to be dragging some crow through the snow as wolf bait. Besides, we don’t know if the Elder is even alive, or anyone else for that matter.” Freya shook her head.
“You could carry him if you dropped some of those fucking weapons.” Freya could see Movar’s eyes turn to the Umber, then back to Freya. He shook his head.
“I don’t agree with this, he is still a crow. The decision is yours, but we have to go.” Freya nodded and turned her gaze to the old man.
The respectable Northener who she had travelled with for the past few days now. She couldn’t come to terms with just leaving him behind for the wolves, though taking him along would slow them down to a point where they may be putting their lives in risk as well.
[Carry Odin] [Leave Odin behind]
[Carry Odin] , i feel like even if we carry him , he's not gonna make it , i hope not , still . He's an honorable man and deserves better than to be left out in some woods for the wolves to eat .
[Carry Odin]
[Carry Odin]
Yeah, it is dangerous for Freya and Movar. Wolves are not to be underestimated. At the same time, Movar is a heavily-armed badass, while Freya has her flying guard dog. And if things grow really dire, they can still leave Odin behind for the wolves. I just wouldn't feel good with leaving him behind, especially after his bonding moment with Freya in this part. Actually, the thing I am more concerned about than the wolves is the owl we saw in this part. This skinchanger Freya mentioned, the owl guy, he sounds like bad news. We know what happens to people who get captured by Hornfoots, so not getting captured should be their highest priority. And for that, they can't leave Odin behind until they absolutely have to. If the owl guy is not only watching, but following them, a dead, or half-dead Odin could lead him right to them.
[Carry Odin]
[Return to the Wall]
[Send a raven]
Jorge
The tired men and women aboard the Shadowbeak sat silently, their voices drifting away in the strong winds that had recently come across them. The swell grew larger, and the waves on top of that desperately tried to attack the vessel. Jorge stood by Ser Harold’s side as they scoured over the balustrades looking for somewhere they could take refuge. The entirety of the Bay of Seals had been covered in hard downpour of rain, making it hard to navigate too far ahead from their vessel. Jorge turned to Ser Harold, whose face was stern and clearly frustrated.
“We can’t stay out here! Those waves will sink us!” Jorge yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was only just heard heard. Ser Harold banged his fist on the wooden balustrade and turned to Jorge.
“We have to get to Eastwatch!” He yelled angrily, turning his gaze to Commander Warrek.
Jorge turned and shook his head, there would be no reasoning with the knight. Jorge did one final search through the rough seas, and spotted what he thought to be land. He quickly turned and climbed the stairs that led to the upper deck and helm of the ship. Behind that helm stood Dracon Estermont, his black rags saturated in salt and water, his beard dripping. Jorge grabbed his shoulder and pointed to the peak of land, a small isle. He turned to where Jorge pointed, and on spotting he nodded and turned the Shadowbeak into the direction. As Jorge turned to descend the stairs, the Shadowbeak collided with a wave that sent him flying to the aft of the upper deck, being caught only by the unsturdy balustrades that had withstood the weather this far. Jorge grabbed the balustrade and hauled himself up, seeing the large amount of swell approaching from the north. Gods help us.
-
The Shadowbeak beached on the small island that Jorge had spotted, after finding it too difficult to find a holding for the anchor. It did not bother the men and women, who gladly disembarked the ship on the sharp stony beach below. Dracon Estermont tapped Jorge on the shoulder, looking at the tall mountain that surrounded the small island.
“Good spotting, we may have been sunk if it weren’t for you.” Jorge turned to the man and nodded.
Jorge walked to the starboard side of the ship and descended down the rope ladder. His feet landed on the hard rocks beneath him, and were then swamped by a wave of water that rose to his ankles. Jorge groaned, tired and short to losing his temper. He walked up the beach, to where his family sat on some dried seaweed that had been washed up. Jorge joined them, pulling off his boots and emptying them of water.
“We’re shipwrecked here, aren’t we?” Tanya’s soft voice barely made it through Jorge’s still ringing ears. He turned back to Tanya after putting his final boot back on and sighed.
“I don’t know, love. We’re lucky we made it out of that storm in one piece.” He turned his gaze to Croll, making sure he was minding his choice of words.
Jorge grabbed Tanya’s hands, holding them tightly and absorbing their warmth. He tried to transition hope through his expression, though all he could show was sorrow. They were stranded until this storm gave way. Jorge felt his shoulder being tapped. He turned and saw Dracon standing behind him, his face saddened.
“A moment, Jorge?” Jorge nodded and turned back to his wife, who weakly smiled. He released her hands and stood, following Dracon back to the Shadowbeak. Before they were about to climb on board, he turned and looked at where all the men of the Watch and Skanish sat.
“Tell me what you see, Jorge. You’re a smart man.” Jorge turned, looking at the tired men and women who had collapsed on the dried seaweed and fallen trees. Jorge shrugged.
“Tired people.” He said, his voice rugged and exhausted from the yelling earlier. Dracon shook his head.
“It wasn’t that I was referring to. Look, they’re sitting on the only dry part of the beach, which means that the tide flows up that far.” Jorge observed this to be true, they were at least twenty metres away from where the people sat. He turned to Dracon with tired eyes.
“Are you saying…” Dracon nodded.
“We can’t stay here long. The tide will take the Shadowbeak out, with or without us.” Jorge shook his head, not liking what he was hearing.
“What will we do?” He asked, feeling there was little hope left. Dracon sighed and shrugged.
“To keep going to Eastwatch would be madness, perhaps we would make it if we had more time to wait though we don’t. The wind is changing to a westerly, which means we would be bashing into it all the way if we tried. We could head back to Skane, though I can’t say Ser Harold would be happy with that.” Jorge shook his head.
“Commander Warrek is in charge, not Ser Harold.” Dracon’s eyes lowered to the ground.
“The Commander is dead.” Jorge could not find any sorrow to spare for the commander, he was too focussed on his family’s safety.
“So, Ser Harold Flowers is in charge?” Dracon nodded. “Where is he? I would speak words with him.” Dracon turned his gaze over to where a small group of black brothers had crowded around a fire.
Dracon had climbed aboard the Shadowbeak to check for damage, his crew still aboard and asleep down below. Jorge turned himself back up the beach, his legs weak from the sea state. The unsturdy rocks made it harder for Jorge to walk, as the ground moved beneath him after every step. Finally making it to the fire, in front of him stood Ser Harold Flowers, staring at him with menacing eyes. Jorge sighed and looked back at Ser Harold.
“May I have a word, Harold?” The knight scowled at Jorge, shaking his head.
“It’s your fault that Commander Warrek is dead. We could have gotten him back to Eastwatch, to the maester. Though you’re little detour cost him his life.” Jorge frowned, turning his eyes to the ground. He spoke in soft words.
“You knew the sickness had already consumed him, there was nothing we could have done.” Ser Harold’s burst of anger caught Jorge by surprise. He kicked the coals in the flames and walked over to Jorge, standing a head taller than him. His height was intimidating, though Jorge found himself not as afraid as he would have imagined.
“You don’t run things around here. I do. Step out of line and I’ll make your life a living hell, you hear me?” Ser Harold spoke with loud words, which echoed through the small beach. Everyone had gone silent, all eyes were on Jorge and Harold.
“You don’t scare me, knight.” Jorge said with courage and bitter demeanour. He had fought a Skagosi twice the man’s size. Jorge held his ground, staring into the angered man’s eyes.
“I should.” He grumbled, lifting his fist in the air.
Jorge saw the attack coming, and quickly thrusted his knee into the man’s groin. Ser Harold winced, bending down to Jorge’s level. Jorge lifted his fist and brought it down, smashing the knight in the back of the head. He turned, unarmed, to see that the other black brothers had unsheathed their swords. Jorge stood straight, anger burning his chest.
“Are you going to kill me?!” Jorge yelled, stepping a foot closer. He noticed the men tense up. Jorge took another step. “Brothers of the Night’s Watch. The honourable men sworn to protect the realm, are you going to cut us down?” Jorge stood in front of a black brother in the centre of the group, sweat trickled down the side of his face.
Jorge stood there, consuming his anger, for what felt like hours. After a few seconds, the man in front of him dropped his sword. Shortly after, the remaining brothers mimicked this act and dropped their blades. Jorge nodded, and turned back to his people.
“Brothers, sisters. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. I ask you to hear me! Our time grow’s short, as a rising tide threatens to leave us stranded here. So I see that we have two options, we continue to Eastwatch where we can joined this honourable Night’s Watch.” Jorge turned his gaze to Ser Harold’s unconscious body, then back to his people. “Or we can go back to Skane, and fight for the land we called home!” Jorge looked the men and women in the eyes, his family stared at him with fear yet pride. Jorge had made his decision.
[Return to Skane] [Continue to Eastwatch]
[Continue to Eastwatch]
[Continue to Eastwatch]
Ferraro
The cell wall was warm against Ferraro’s back, even though it was in the midst of the night. It had been a week since Wayne Cross and became his cell mate, and he had already learnt the alphabet and how to write and pronounce simple words. His teachings had kept him up most nights, forcing himself to think of what he had learnt so that he would not forget it. Fortunately this night was bright, as the moon was full and shared its light with Ferraro’s cell. He stared at the wall, where the letters of the alphabet were scribed onto the wall. He ran the letters through his head one by one, making sure he had a strong understanding of them. As he silently did this, he noticed Wayne sitting up from his corner, the moonlight shining on him. He turned to Ferraro with tired eyes, seeming surprised he was still awake.
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting himself up. Ferraro kept his eyes focussed on the wall, mouthing the letters as he read them. Wayne turned to the wall and chuckled. “You remind me of my young daughter. Don’t move your lips when you read.” Ferraro turned to Wayne, a frown on his face.
“I’m not sure if you understand just how difficult it is to read, Wayne.” Wayne shrugged and looked to the bright moon.
“I taught my brother, my daughter and now I’m teaching you.” Ferraro rolled his eyes and focussed his attention back at the wall. Through his peripheral, he saw Wayne stand up and walk over to the rusty barred window. He sighed, looking down at the sandy stone floor. “Ferraro, we need to talk.” Ferraro’s eyes flickered from the wall to Wayne, then back to the wall.
“About what?” Wayne turned his gaze to Ferraro, despite knowing Ferraro was avoiding his eye contact.
“About you. I want the truth. There is more about you then what meets the eye, and I don’t want to know Ferraro the lie.” Ferraro’s gaze fell to the floor, at the wooden door specifically. “Tell me the truth, who are you?” Ferraro shrugged, raising an eyebrow.
“Ferraro Sand?” He replied, somewhat confused. Wayne shook his head irritably.
“And who was your father. Don’t lie to me.” Ferraro felt a stream of sweat run down his forehead, stopping at the tip of his nose.
“Lord Dorin Toland.” Ferraro finally admitted. “Of Ghost Hill.” Wayne nodded, walking back to his sleeping mat.
“You weren’t a sailor, were you? Ferraro shook his head, causing Wayne to sigh. “Tell me your actual story, Ferraro. I need to know.” Ferraro finally turned his gaze to Wayne, feeling tears start to well up in his eyes.
“I ran away. Ever since I was born my father beat me, so when I was of age I ran away.” Ferraro felt the tears escaping from his eyes and onto his cheeks, though it was not because of his father. He clumsily wiped away the tears. “I caught a ride on a merchant vessel, bound for the Free Cities. On our journey through the Stepping Stones, we were boarded by pirates. The captain was murdered, the crew and I taken captive.” Ferraro stopped to take in a breath. Wayne spoke up.
“So you became a pirate, then were caught once again and brought here?” Ferraro wanted to laugh, but he simply shook his head.
“No, my life wasn’t that easy. The pirates took us to Astapor, sold us to slavers. I became a cleaner of latrine pots, alongside a beautiful girl from the Summer Isles.” Ferraro nodded over to the wall where he had drawn her. “Zhala Xhar. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. The slavers ordered us not to have any sort of relationships with our fellow slaves, though I was young and in love. I slept with her one night, and was caught by the masters. They raped her in front of me… Murdered her.” Ferraro turned his gaze back to Wayne, seeing sympathy in the eyes of the man.
“I’m so sorry.” He said quietly, though Ferraro shook his head.
“So they put me aboard a ship to sail to Yunkai. All the slaves knew that was where slaves went if they disobeyed. As we all sat and prayed, our ankles shackled to bars in the hull. Another ship collided with our own, a pirate liberator ship. We were freed.” Ferraro put on a weak smile. “Pirates started this life, then freed me from it.” His smile slowly faded away, as he recalled what happened next.
“They allowed us to be free, though I stayed with them. Went to Tyrosh and ended up joining a group of smugglers known as the Tyroshi Rainbow. I helped smuggle weapons, gold, spices and even people from continent to continent. Though on our smuggle course to Dorne, we were caught by Yronwood soldiers and brought here, to Ghaston Grey. They slowly killed off my crew, until it was only me left. I have not seen a man’s face since then until you arrived. Is this what you wanted to hear?” Wayne sighed, his face full of sorrow.
“I’m sorry, I needed to know that you weren’t a spy for the Yronwood’s, or were working with them once.” Ferraro shrugged, now standing and walking to the window.
“Now you know.” As Ferraro approached the barred window, Wayne cleared his throat. Ferraro turned and looked at the man, who looked back at him.
“I would not stand there if I were you.” He said, moving towards the door in the opposite corner.
Ferraro shook his head and turned back to the window, staring out of the rusted iron bars to the full moon. The light of the moon shun on the Sea of Dorne and the rest of Ghaston Grey. As Ferraro stared out to the sea, he spotted a vessel approximately one hundred metres away from the base of the tower that Ferraro was held in, a brigantine displaying the spear of House Martell. Flying towards the tower was a large ballista bolt with a thick line connected to it. What in the Seven? As Ferraro’s mind came to play, he quickly jumped away from the window towards Wayne Cross. The thundering sound of impact caused the entire top half of the tower to crumble, stone falling down from the tall tower into the sea below. Ferraro was helped up to his feet by Wayne, who was covered in sand, as well as the remaining half of the cell. Ferraro turned around, a rope cable had been secured on the end of the bolt which reached down to the ship below. When the bolt impacted, it crumbled the wall to the neighbouring cell, homing two men. One being an old rickety fellow with long gray hair and a longer grey beard, his face was gaunt and his bones skinny. The second was a tall and muscular man wearing red garment robes. His eyes were slightly darker than his brown skin, his black hair was short though his beard was large and bushy. He gripped Wayne’s arm with a wide grin on his face.
“Wayne you crazy bastard, should have expected this to happen on your watch.” Wayne chuckled in reply, grabbing the big man’s shoulders.
“Of course, Vogero. I think it is time we get going.” The brutish man nodded, separating from Wayne and starting to descend down the rope.
The sounds of yelling voices approaching the door made Ferraro instinctively run towards it, bracing it shut. He heard the sound of keys unlocking the locks, and curses when they struggled to get the door open. Wayne had joined Ferraro’s side in keeping the door shut. Ferraro turned to him.
“What are you doing?! Get the out of here for fuck sake!” Ferraro yelled, Wayne shook his head.
“You first brother, I’ll meet you down there.” Ferraro took his turn to disagree.
“Those Martell’s came for you. Go! I’ll be behind you!” Wayne stared Ferraro in the eyes, then quickly ran for the line.
Ferraro turned back to the door, holding it shut for as long as he could. He looked around for something that could keep it jammed closed long enough for him to escape. Spotting the full latrine bucket behind his right foot, he nudged it towards the door. Satisfied, Ferraro turned and made a run for line, grabbing onto it and quickly hugging his way down.
Ferraro stared up at the clear night sky, afraid to look down below. Just don’t let go. He kept on thinking to himself, increasing the nerve factor. Ferraro heard the door bang open and slam against the stone wall, men yelling as they saw Ferraro making a quick escape. Ferraro was nearly a quarter of the way down when he felt the odd tugging on the rope, he turned his eyes back to the Yronwood guards, who were hacking their swords at the line. Shit! Ferraro widened his eyes and quickened his pace down the line, desperately trying to get to the ship in time. When he was halfway down the line, and around forty metres above sea level, he felt the tension of the rope release. Ferraro felt his stomach try to escape out of his mouth as he held on tight to the falling rope, which smashed into the water in a couple of seconds. The wet embracement separated Ferraro from the rope, though the impact had winded him. Ferraro struggled to swim, reaching the surface and gasping for air. As he failed to suck in the warm air, he felt himself growing tired trying to stay above the water. Ferraro calmed himself down, keeping a steady easy rhythm which kept his head above the water as he tried to flood his lungs with air. Finally, yet slowly, the air started making its way into Ferraro. Feeling safer, Ferraro turned and started slowly swimming towards the brigantine. A saturated Wayne Cross stood next to the red man Vogero, staring at Ferraro. Where is the other? Ferraro asked himself as he swam towards the vessel. The sound of a large gasping for air, and loud splashing on the surface of the calm waters made Ferraro turn around. Sure enough, the old man was only just above the water, clearly struggling to stay above. Ferraro turned his gaze back to the brigantine, he was halfway between the old man and the boat. Ferraro was growing tired, worrying he did not have enough energy to help the old man, though he knew he did not have much time left.
[Attempt to rescue the old man] [Swim back to the Martell brigantine]
[Return to Skane]
I'm not a big fan of Jorge joining the Night's Watch. In fact, I'm vehemently opposed to it. He has a family and really shouldn't abandon them. If the choice is either to join the NW at Eastwatch or to return to Skane, I choose Skane every day.
The choice we made prior would just be him sticking to his plan if we were choosing for him to keep heading to Eastwatch. I'm more or less pushing for Skane because I would like to have a PoV already there rather than having to make a new one or leave everything at Skane off-screen, though I guess we'll see what happens
[Attempt to rescue the old man]
I don't know, it just feels wrong to leave him to drown. I like to think of Ferraro as the type of person that does not leave old men to drown, so he should at the very least try to save him.
[Swim back to the Martell brigantine]
[Carry Odin] He is a good man, let's not abandon him.
[Continue to Eastwatch] So they can proceed with the plan they had.
Right, well this vote was clear. Ian will send a raven to the king.
This is likely the best option if you wanted Ian to stick with the Starks, which clearly so. However, if there was a split storyline to be made by not sending a raven, it would certainly have been interesting to have said the least.
Another clear vote. Freya will request that Movar carries Odin.
[Swim back to the Martell brigatine] I know it's wrong, but... I just don't want Ferraro to get caught.
Woah, I was only 2 days off and missed like whole chapter! Damn, Stigz, I must say you're doing really great work here. Luckily, the most votes are still open, so my opinion will still count. I'm really impressed by the pace of the story, when you're going with few parts A DAY, and all this parts are that perfected! Well, what else, I wish that this story got more recognition, as much as it deserves!
[Return to the Wall]
Leaving Aia doesn't seem right, but it'll be better for Kaiden in a further perspective. I quite agree with Liquid that it will be hard, as Kaiden is wounded, but I still think he is able to make it, because killing him in his way to the Wall isn't a good option storywise, so I don't think you will decide to do that.
[Send a raven]
[Continue to Eastwatch]
I was opting for Jorge joing the Night's Watch from the beggining, so I'll stick to it. In the story there's a choice - "continue to Eastwatch where we can join this honourable Night's Watch" or "fight for the land we called home" - in fact, joining the Night's Watch will be fighting for Skane too, just not directly. Oath says "the shield that protects the realms of men" - that's what Night's Watch do. Protect. Defend. Fight. In my opinion, this is the right choice here.
Haha, damn you lot forcing me to send him back to the Wall xD. I'll bring Aia back into the storyline soon enough :P. Let's just hope this doesn't backfire for Kaiden, he is a completely different looking man now, hideous and most of all - not in NW rags.
Right, well this vote looks like it's not going to change sides. Kaiden will choose to return to the Wall.
I personally don't like this option as I would have liked to have seen a bit more of Aia and the Thenn's. Nonetheless, the Thenns will appear soon enough, just not as soon as they would have with Kaiden appearing there. Of course, there is always the option for a new PoV character to be introduced into the Vale, if you guys can't wait long enough for Julie to get her arse up there xD.
Also, as I said to MicroAce, Kaiden is a completely different man now. He barely resembled the man he used to be, and he does not wear NW clothing so it will be hard for him to convince the NW that he is indeed Kaiden. We'll have to see where this goes.
Haha, honestly I'm just trying to get this chapter finished so I can get back to The Invasion. I have a real itch which is wanting me to get back there and finish the chapter I abandoned at the start of this year, and honestly I'm getting really pumped. Of course, I'm saddened to see that I will have to let TNC have a break for a little while, so I'm trying to do as much as I can before my holidays end and I'm back to school
[Attempt to rescue the old man] - leaving this old man to die in water ISN'T an option. Really. Doing that will, of course secure Ferraro's escape, but want we trade it for the life of innocent old man? I think not.
Darrick
Darrick stood outside the gates of Oldtown staring at the Citadel. The city was a work of art, a home of multiple faiths and overall a seemingly peaceful city. Still, Darrick was just glad to have a new source of income, as his gold was running low. Darrick stood beside Prince Gilden, who wore his shiny armour and his equally shining smile, and beside him was his sister: Princess Rose. Darrick looked the woman up and down. She still wore her green dress which fell to the ground, and from the way she shifted on her feet, Darrick presumed she was wearing heels or something uncomfortable. Darrick receive a striking glare from Gilden which forced his eyes to look elsewhere. Fucking bastard. Darrick looked at the muddy road which they would follow to Casterly Rock, the road that would make him rich. And the Lannister’s still haven’t arrived. Promising. Prince Gilden clearly was not impressed either with the way he paced and the groans and grumbles he gave. Darrick sighed, leaning against the wall of the main gate. A large portcullis hung above his head.
“In a rush, your grace?” Darrick asked mockingly, and receiving a look so menace he thought it would cut through his soul. Though that expression turned back to his warm beaming smile.
“The king expects me back at Highgarden when my sister is in the safe hands of the Lannister’s.” Darrick resisted the urge to snort and spit. Fucking Lannister’s.
Right on cue, the six Lannister soldiers rode over the hill, their destriers trotting through the mud. One of the men held the banner as they rode, displaying it with pride for all of no one to see. Darrick raised an eyebrow.
“Remind me, why am I needed?” Prince Gilden sighed, leading his sister to her white courser.
“To make sure the princess arrives safely at Casterly Rock, these roads are dangerous.” Darrick turned to the gallant men who rode like knights returning from war. He smirked.
“Your grace, I’m a sellsword. Nothing I do is safe.” Gilden rolled his eyes.
“Just do your job, make sure she gets there, and you’ll be rich within your dreams. If not, both Casterly Rock and Highgarden will come for your head.” Darrick grinned.
“Charming.” Darrick had lost his audience with the prince, as he had turned to greet the Lannister men that had come to a halt in front of the gates.
“Ah, Captain Arren of the Rock. It is a pleasure to finally be acquainted.” Prince Gilden said with cheery words. Darrick rolled his eyes and mounted his dark brown destrier.
“And you, Prince Gilden Gardener. The king gives his regards, and apologises for not sending his son to meet with his future wife.” Prince Gilden shrugged, his face understanding.
“That’s quite alright, the roads are dangerous I hear. This is Darrick Cross, my sister’s bodyguard.” Gilden turned his head to Darrick as he introduced him, though maintained eye contact with the captain. “King Gerold has his payment at Casterly Rock I presume?” Darrick stared at the captain, an ugly gaunt looking man whose legs were barely long enough to reach the saddle foot straps. He turned his gaze to Darrick, then back to Gilden and smiled. It sent shivers down Darrick’s spine.
“Of course, your grace. I am sure the king will be happy to reward the man protecting his future daughter-in-law.” Gilden smiled and nodded, beckoning for Rose to ride forth.
Darrick could see the devastation in the girl’s eyes, he knew this was against her own will. Yet, she still managed to keep a regularly calm expression which most men could easily fall for. Fortunately for Darrick, he had a way of reading women like a maester read his books. Darrick’s horse walked over to the crowd, revealing his face to the Lannister’s. Captain Arren looked at him with a stern and cold face, though the man next to him removed his helmet and walked over to Darrick. The man was young, with short spiked blonde hair. His green eyes stared at Darrick with intent and wonder, he extended his hand which was enclosed in a steel gauntlet.
“I am Lieutenant Malicus Hill.” Darrick firmly gripped the hand in front of him, not that the man could feel it.
“Darrick Cross.” Darrick noticed the man’s expression change to shock or realisation.
“From the Cross Company Sellswords?” Darrick nodded gently. “It is an honour, ser.” Darrick chuckled and shook his head.
“I’m no knight.” He said, turning to Prince Gilden. “Not yet.” Darrick noticed a scowled expression on the captain’s face.
“Well friends, I wish you safe travels back to Casterly Rock. Give King Gerold my regards.” Prince Gilden spoke with calm and melodic words. Captain Arren harshly nodded.
“You have my word.” He turned to his men, his voice stone cold. “War Cubs, to the Rock.” The sound of hooves turning in the mud was loud enough drown Darrick’s pitiful laugh. As he started to walk after the Lannister soldiers, he felt his leg being grabbed by the Prince. He halted his steed and looked down to the prince.
“Don’t fuck this up sellsword.” His words were dark and without passion. Darrick smiled.
“You hired me to do my job, so I’ll do it. Now get your hand off of my leg before you turn me on.” Darrick had already push his destrier into a trot before he could hear the prince’s reply, they were on a long road to travel.
-
Hours had passed and the journey had been silent. Darrick had rode beside the princess the entire way, and she had not spared a word. They rode in the centre of the convoy, the head was lead by the captain and the lieutenant and the back and sides were the remaining Lannister soldiers. Darrick rode irritably, causing his steed to misbehave out of his sheer boredom. When he had failed to gain the attention of anyone, he grunted and tapped the shoulder of the man that rode beside him, his helm covered his face.
“So, I hear the Lannister’s shit gold bricks. Do you think that’s-” Captain Arren’s voice spoke loud, with a harsh and careless tone.
“Shut your mouth, merc. The War Cubs aren’t here to listen to your chatter all day.” Darrick turned his attention to the captain, who faced the road ahead.
“War Cubs ay? Did your mother help choose the name or have you been a poofter from the start?” The convoy slid to a halt, the captain turning and drawing his golden hilted longsword.
“Another word from you, and I’ll remove your tongue. King Gerold will anoint you as Ser Darrick the Hushed. All that gold and land will be no good to you if you can’t communicate.” Darrick found his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes focussed on the captain. To Darrick’s surprise, it was Rose who spoke up next.
“Forgive my bodyguard, Captain. His words are only japes.” She turned to Darrick, her beautiful hazel eyes stared at him with a serious and warning gaze. “Darrick, ride forth and find a place where we can set camp. I grow weary from all this riding.” The captain’s eyes widened, he had finally sheathed his sword.
“My lady, with all due respect…” Darrick cut him off.
“No, you heard her. We will camp.” Darrick remarked, riding through the gap in between the captain and lieutenant. The captain grunted.
“As she commands. Lieutenant Malicus, accompany Darrick Cross. The Seven know how dangerous these roads are proving to be.” Malicus nodded and pushed his destrier into a trot, securing his place by Darrick’s side.
The two destriers galloped over the western hills, following the Ocean Road. After climbing over the final large hill, they were left with a magnificent view of the Sunset ocean. Their ride had been once again silent, so Darrick decided to fill the sound with his own voice.
“The Dornishman’s wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring…” Before Darrick could continue, he heard the chuckle from his riding counterpart. “What? You don’t like my singing?” The man shook his head.
“No, your singing is fine. Just thought you may have wanted to talk.” Darrick grinned, scouring the flatlands.
“The War Cubs aren’t here to listen to me chatter.” Darrick remarked, and he once again heard the man laugh. “Who in the Seven hells came up with ‘War Cubs,’ I swear that man must’ve been as daft as the man who claimed that Lannister’s shit gold.” Malicus’ laugh turned into a grin.
“Apologies, Mister Cross. I cannot speak for my Captain’s actions, only apologise in advance for them. As for War Cubs, the group was formed by Ser Stephas Marbrand. Well, that was before he was stripped of his knighthood and sent to the Wall.” Darrick chuckled.
“I can see why.” The two men joined in laughter, once they had gone quiet, Darrick decided to get to know the man. “So clearly you know all about me, what can you tell me about yourself?” The man shrugged.
“Just a bastard who knows how to swing a sword, I fucking hate the War Cubs. Wish I was as fortunate as you, to own a sellsword company.” Darrick sighed, his gaze lowering to the ground.
“Give it time, one day perhaps.” The man smiled and remarked.
“One day.” He pointed over to a flat topped hill which stood a few metres above the ground. “How about there?” Darrick shrugged.
“Looks good enough for me.” Malicus turned around and met Darrick’s gaze.
“And for the princess?” Darrick shrugged.
“She’ll live.” The two rode over to the hill, where the dismounted and waited for the War Cubs.
-
The sun had drowned in the Sunset Sea right as Darrick had finished his skin of wine. Their small base of operations was well fortified, with jagged wooden spikes sticking out of the hill, and a small gateway for the horses to enter and exit. Darrick had offered to take the first watch, and to his surprise the princess had stayed up with him. It had been a few hours since the War Cubs had retreated to their dens to rest, and the night had been silent since then. Darrick had been polishing his longsword when Rose finally spoke.
“You’re a stupid, arrogant man.” The words were not exactly what Darrick had been expecting to start as a conversation. He nodded all the same.
“Appreciated princess, I’ll be out of your hair once I have my gold and titles.” She laughed.
“Ha! You’re dumber than you look if you really think that is going to happen.” Darrick folded the cloth rag and tied it back onto his belt. He placed his sword on his lap and raised an eyebrow.
“Have I done anything to wrong you, princess? A past life perhaps?” Rose smirked, keeping her eyes on Darrick’s.
“Perhaps.” She remarked. “There is a way you can redeem yourself.” Darrick rolled his eyes.
“You should save your energy, I don’t want to hear it.” Darrick said with strength in his words, though the princess ignored it.
“Take me to the Riverlands.” Darrick turned his gaze to Rose, his face puzzled.
“Why would you want to go there?” Rose shrugged.
“I have my reasons.” Darrick smiled and nodded.
“I’m sure you do, though it’s not a part of my contract.” Rose shot up, standing over Darrick, her face red with anger.
“Is everything related to money with you? Do you have know heart that drives you?” Darrick shrugged, yawning. Darrick relaxed his shoulders and reclined against the log he sat against.
“Quiet princess, you wouldn’t want to wake to cap.” She turned to the captain’s tent, frustration crawling over her expression. “Why don’t you explain to me why you so badly want to go to the Riverlands.” Rose sat down on the log beside Darrick, letting out a frustrated groan. Darrick smiled.
“My lover is there.” Darrick raised an eyebrow.
“So?” Rose looked at him like there was nothing else to it. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” She sighed irritably.
“He is a Blackwood, his name is Thorn. He left a few months ago, and that one night we spent together changed our lives forever. We’re in love, Darrick. I could not live with myself if I were to be married to his enemies, I must got to him.” Darrick sighed, pulling his dagger from his boot and flicking it between his fingers.
“What makes me want to help you?” Rose stood up, bunching her skirt in her hands. As she lifted her skirt, Darrick was half expecting a wonderful payment, though instead was gifted with an unpleasant surprise. Darrick found himself staring at a minor swelling around her lower belly, she was pregnant.
“If you take me to him, I’m sure he will repay you dearly.” Darrick sighed and flicked his dagger in the air, catching it by the hilt as it returned on its second flip.
“As much as the Lannister’s are offering? I am being rewarded a new life with this gold and land, a chance to throw this mercenary life away.” Rose dropped her skirt, her eyes full of fury.
“Would you retire knowing that you sent a woman to near almost certain death to her new husband, or would you throw away that to assure that she might be able to find her lover and marry him?” Darrick sighed.
“This isn’t like the songs girl. If we run away, the Gardener’s and Lannister’s will hunt us down.Your idea of a happy ending would get me killed.” Rose’s lip quivered. She gently shook her head.
“My father is too busy fighting with the Durrandon’s, and the Lannister’s with the Justmen. We have a chance. You have a chance, to do the right thing.” Darrick grunted. They’d find the men to spare to rescue their precious daughter. Darrick thought.
[Take Rose to Raventree Hall] [Take Rose to Casterly Rock]
[Take Rose to Raventree Hall]
This is where she wants to go and I see it as doing the right thing. After all, she is pregnant and I definitely don't want to drag a pregnant and unwilling girl through the entire Rock, just to have her suffer at the hands of her new husband. Aside from that, fleeing to Raventree Hall with her sounds pretty damn interesting.
[Take Rose to Raventree Hall] Alright then, princess.
[Continue to Eastwatch]
[Swim back to the Martell brigantine]
[Take Rose to Raventree Hall]
Tristifer
Tristifer turned back to help his sister, who was fighting an ironborn lass. Tristifer descended the wooden stairwell, cutting down a man who tried to stop him. The power in the mystical blue sword was daunting to say the least, it glowered blue whenever it pierced the flesh of a man. Tristifer made it down the stairs and started heading towards his sister, who was fighting with a steel sword which looked to have belonged to Marthew. Tristifer dodged an axe which had been thrown at him, and parried an attack that the thrower had lunged at him when unsheathing his sword. To Tristifer’s surprise, the iron did not break against his blue steel. Nevertheless, Tristifer still held a strong advantage over the man. He pulled Wolfsbane away from the iron opposer and swung it back down at his thigh. The man fell to the ground in an agonising scream, and Tristifer finished the man off by lunging Wolfsbane into his heart. When pulling the bloody blade out, the blue glowing light appeared on the sword, rising to the tip of the blade and then fading. Tristifer realised that the blood was also disappearing, though there was little time for him to question the mysterious powers of his blade. Tristifer finally made it to the ironborn who fought against her sister, she had managed to knock Allise to the ground and held her iron axe above her head. Tristifer quickly grabbed the shaft of the axe, clearly surprising the woman. She turned around and smacked her head into Tristifer’s. Tristifer stammered back, blood flowing from his nose. The woman did not wait for Tristifer to make his move, instead she swung her axe down at Tristifer’s sword arm. Tristifer dodged the attack, grabbing her arm with his free hand and twisting it in a manner which disarmed her and forced her to the ground. Tristifer looked at the woman who had submitted to her fate in front of him. She was a beautiful sight, pale skin with brown eyes. Her dark brown hair was tied into a bun to keep it out of her face. Tristifer knew he would regret hitting a woman, though he felt left with little choice. Tristifer succeeded in knocking out the woman in one blow, her unconscious body fell fell in front of Allise, whose eyes flickered to Tristifer’s.
“I told you to stay down below!” Tristifer yelled, ignoring the fighting happening around him. Her expression was as equally bitter as Tristifer’s.
“I can fight, Tristifer. You can’t hold me back!” Tristifer turned his gaze to the woman he had knocked out. Clearly. He shook his head and helped her up.
“Keep your eyes open and stay close.” Tristifer said, some aggression in his tone.
Tristifer and Allise fought their way to where Rickard Royce fought alongside Alon Wars and Mal. Rickard fought against three ironborn, parrying every attack the ironmen threw at him. Tristifer lunged Wolfsbane into the man who was about to strike at Rickard, Allise sliced the ankles of the centreman and stabbed him in the chest. Tristifer turned to get the third man, though saw that Rickard had already swung one of his axes at the man, who had caught it under his arm, and entrenched the other into his skull. Freeing his axe, he turned to Tristifer with a wolfish grin, though Tristifer could not replicate the same. He turned to the ironborn ship, which had made it’s way back to the deck. The ironborn on board had all fallen, the crew had been given a chance to all rally to Captain Costayne’s side at the upper deck. Tristifer turned to Rickard, flicking his gaze to the line connected to grappled hook.
“Take Allise and sever the line, I’ll hold of the Ironborn for as long as I can.” Rickard nodded, grabbing the unwilling Allise by her forearm.
“You have the men, my lord.” He said, his words said with honour and pride. Tristifer nodded, and turned to look at the remaining of his escort guard.
Alon Wars and Mal stood by Tristifer’s side, their longswords in hand. Ollie stood at the portside of the ship, freeing his sword from a ironborn corpse. Jaffer stood by the mast of the ship, leaning on his sword and catching his breath. Tristifer called them in, and when the four men stood by his side he spoke.
“We have to defend the deck for as long as it takes. Once the captain frees us from their ship, we will have to push them away. Kill anything that comes from their vessel onto ours!” His men joined him in a cheer, and they turned to the ship that had reeled itself in.
Allise and Rickard stood by the line, hacking at it with their swords as the Ironborn jumped over them and onto the deck of their ship. Tristifer was the first to charge into the fight, plunging his sword directly into the heart of the Ironborn in front of him. The guards beside him met the Ironborn without fear, clashing their metal against the Ironborn. Tristifer backed away, seeing that there were still more aboard the enemy vessel which would soon overwhelm their ship. Tristifer turned to Captain Costayne’s crew, who were working on freeing the mainsail for a quick escape once they were free. Tristifer turned his attention back to the Ironborn ship, realising that they were starting to swing more grappling hooks onto their ship. Tristifer turned to the mast of their own ship, a line which held the foiled sail was connected to a box of coiled lines. Tristifer ran to the line, forming a tight grip around the coarse rope. He turned back to his men, who were heavily outnumbered.
“Hold the line!” He heard himself yell without even realising it, then cut the rope which was anchored to the deck.
Tristifer felt himself being propelled into the air, as the rope launched him up to the crow’s nest atop the mast. As Tristifer flew up, he realised the sails came tumbling down. Releasing his grip once he made it to the top, he underestimated the height that he had elevated to, quickly backing away from the edge. He looked at a rope which was connected to the boom a few metres down, if he were to cut that rope it would swing him over to the Ironborn vessel. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck. Come on Tristifer, you have stood atop the Wall a thousand times over. You can do this. Tristifer stood up, his legs shaking in fear. As he grabbed the rope and cut it free, he whispered a prayer to the Seven, then jumped.
Air rushed around him as he soared through the wind, his face experiencing the full force of the wet spray that rained down from the storm clouds. Tristifer heard the crew cheering his name as he swung over, though he did not dare to look down, instead he had shut his eyes. Forcing them open had been more challenging than choosing to jump off the mast, though when he did he found himself over the opposing ship. Tristifer let go, falling a few metres and rolling onto the wooden boat. As he stood up and unsheathed Wolfsbane from his scabbard, he noticed that the men looked at him with widened eyes, then snapped back to their senses. This had given Tristifer enough time to make his way to the grapplers, at which he had already plunged his blade through the first. Making his way to the second, an overwhelming force tackled him to the ground. Tristifer felt the wind get knocked out of him, he dropped Wolfsbane. Tristifer looked up to the man on top of him, and felt the full force of the first punch he had laid on him. Tristifer felt a sting of pain in his left eye, though he managed to block the second punch and retaliate. Tristifer swung his fist at the man’s jaw, sending yellow teeth flying out of his bloody mouth. As the man fell off of him, Tristifer crawled to the final grappler, sweeping him off his feet. Falling to the ground, Tristifer grabbed the hook and knocked the man out. The iron grapple proved to be Tristifer’s main defensive weapon. When Tristifer turned around, he caught an attack to his head with the coarse rope and managed to tie the man’s hands. Tristifer quickly located Wolfsbane, and made a beeline to it. Securing his hands around the hilt, he managed to turn in time to deflect the iron sword swinging down at his head. As the sword shattered, Tristifer heard his name being yelled. It was Rickard Royce, who was now a couple of metres away.
“Get the hell out of there!” Tristifer’s eyes widened. They cut the line! Tristifer got up and moved back, giving him enough space to run and jump.
As he did, he once again felt that unnatural feeling in his stomach, like it was all going to fly out of his mouth. Tristifer extended his arm forward, reaching for Rickard who hung over the side of the balustrade. Their hands grasped, though when Tristifer’s arm began to slip an entire army of hands pulled him back on the deck of the ship. Tristifer fell to the ground, exhausted and drained. When he had caught his breath, he looked up to see a crowd of men surrounding him, in front of the was Captain Costayne.
“You’re a crazy son of a bitch, though admirable.” He offered his hand down to Tristifer, which was accepted with a firm grip. Tristifer felt himself being pulled up from the ground, now standing at eye level with the crew and his men.
“Seven preserve the rightful lord of Ol’Tower!” Captain Rickard cheered, and was supported by his men and the crew.
-
It had been a few hours since the Ironborn attack, and Tristifer had found that his eye was swelling from the punch he endured. The sea state had settled once they had entered the Whispering Sound, they had sunken the Ironborn corpses before the had entered the inlet which flowed to Oldtown. All the bodies but one, the woman Tristifer had spared. She sat in front of Tristifer, tied down to a chair, with menacing eyes. She had refused to speak to anyone but Tristifer, at which he now stood before her.
“I suppose I should spit on you, ape man.” Tristifer smiled, though did not let the woman’s threats bother him.
“A thank you would be nice, though I wouldn’t expect it from an Ironborn.” She rolled her eyes.
“A thanking for what? Sparing my life? I would gladly chosen the Drowned God over being tied to a chair, though thanks to you the Storm God rose victorious in this battle.” Tristifer sighed, the speak of distant faiths was giving him a headache.
“Keep at it and I might just give you to your Drowned God.” Tristifer said, careless with his words. He longed to rest. “What’s your name?” The girl smirked.
“Arika Goodbrother.” Tristifer could not hide that his eyebrows slightly raised. A noble woman? He thought to himself.
“Why is a lady of a noble house aboard a ship trying to plunder my own?” Arika shrugged.
“We’re Ironborn, it’s what we do.” Tristifer nodded, expecting that to be the answer. As Tristifer was about to ask another question, Rickard Royce entered his quarters.
“Apologies my lord for interrupting, though I think you should come up and see this.” Tristifer looked at the man with curious eyes, though found no hint of danger or distress in the old captain’s face. Tristifer nodded and turned his attention to Arika, who had seemingly lost interest in their conversation.
Tristifer followed Rickard to the deck, where the crew and guards - as well as Allise - all crowded and stared at something in the distance. Tristifer and Rickard pushed their way through, until he saw it. The large city of Oldtown loomed over them, full of life and interest. We’re here. Tristifer sighed in relief. We’re finally here.
No decision this time.
[Take Rose to Raventree Hall]
[Attempt to rescue the old man]
We can't leave him like this.
[Take Rose to Raventree Hall]
Thorn
The footsteps making their way to the exit of the hall was as loud as thunder on a warm night. Thorn sat silently, beside his cousins Brock Rivers and Alec Blackwood. At the end of the table sat a furious Jon Blackwood, who sat impatiently as the noble men and women were cleared from the hall. When only guards and their table remained, Lord Jon sighed, burying his head in his hands.
“They’ve taken it all away from us, those traitorous Bracken’s.” He said miserably, his words muffled from his hands. Thorn flickered his gaze to where Helyn was sitting, or where she was sitting.
“We must conduct an investigation, my lord. We cannot be certain that the Bracken’s ordered this…” Cryus tried to explain, though only received an irritated groan. Lord Jon arose from his hands, his face redenned.
“Then who else, Cryus? A man in rags comes into my godswood, poisons my weirwood and then screams that our faith is false. Who else holds an anger to our house and gods that are not the Bracken’s?” Thorn observed Cryus to be stuttering on his words.
“Husband, I agree that the Bracken’s must suffer for what they have done. Though making a rash move now would be wounding to the Riverlands as a whole. Our king battles with the Lannister’s to hold the hills, if we are to fight amongst ourselves then we will certainly lose the war.” Lord Jon’s groan echoed through the hall.
“Then what would you have me do, wife? Fight by their side like my ancestors did during the invasion? They were weak enough to fall to the the Faith of the Seven when they were defeated by the Andal’s, though we did not.” Lady Clarissa stood, bunching her skirt in her hands. Her face furious.
“You will remember that the house you married into are of Andal heritage, and that they are also worshipers of the Seven.” Her tone was as hot as fire, and her words burned Thorn’s ears. Lady Clarissa turned and marched upstairs, holding her head high as if it was her final strand of dignity remaining.
“Others take that woman.” Lord Jon muttered. “Things could not get worse.” As if on cue, Helyn’s screams fueled the hall with a screeching terror. Thorn shut his eyes, wincing at the high pitched noise. Thorn could not tell whether his uncle’s yell caught him off guard or just added onto the drama of things that were gradually becoming accepted. Jon turned to Tyros, who looked as frightened as Thorn felt deeply.
“Go shut her up, boy!” The boy nodded and stood from his chair, racing up the stairs. The sound of the screaming becoming louder and more clear was an indication that Tyros had entered the room. Poor child. Thorn thought, sympathising for the pain he would endure.
“My lord, if I may.” Hughes Terrick’s voice spoke with strength and confidence over the uncanny screams which were slowly fading out of focus. Lord Jon turned to his squire and nodded.
“What is it?” Jon spoke with demanding words, his attitude to his minors had never been great, though it had always been better to his squire than his sons.
“In reference to the Brackens, my lord. Perhaps it would be wise to send them a message, a threat more or less.” Thorn saw a look of approval in Lord Jon’s eyes, which Thorn thought of worrying about.
“Like what?” He asked, Hughes Terrick turned his gaze to Alec, then back to Jon. Jon nodded and turned to his heir.
“Go help Tyros in keeping her quiet.” He said, his voice demanding. Alec’s head shook in refusal.
“I’m fifteen father, and your heir. I need to hear this, be a part of this council.” Jon slammed his fist on the table so hard that Thorn thought he would have burst a blood vessel. Alec stood with vexation, storming upstairs as his father had commanded. He turned his attention to Brock, his fingers tapping on the wooden table.
“Bastard, fetch the maester. And the rest of the council too.” Brock stood from his chair, his expression hard to read.
“Would you have me return with them, father?” Jon shook his head.
“I’m sure you will find better things to do.” He turned his attention to Thorn, his eyes glaring at Thorn’s. “You too, nephew.” Thorn nodded, thankful to have finally been excused.
Thorn turned to Brock and gave him a nod, at which he receive a weak smile. Thorn turned and made his way to the stairwell, passing his uncle as he did. When he did, he felt his forearm being gripped, forcing him to stop.
“Stay in one place, I will send Cryus to get you when all this nonsense chatter is over.” Thorn nodded and his arm was released.
Thorn quickly climbed the wooden steps, two at a time. Once he was in the open hallway, he climbed another set of stairs which led him to his cousin’s room. The door was left open ajar, and inside sat a frustrated Alec, along with an upset Helyn and confused Tyros. Thorn stopped at the door, knocking on the wood three times. When he entered, he saw Helyn quickly get up and run to him, he braced himself for one of the most heartwarming hugs his sister gave. The two collided and embraced, and for a moment it felt as if all of Thorn’s troubles were gone, though then he remembered why he had come to her chambers. He stroked her long wavy black hair, her dark brown eyes looked up at his with a feeling of safety and security. Thorn knelt down in front of her, now looking up to her eyes and brushing away the hair that was in the way.
“You alright?” Helyn gently nodded, trying not to move her head much, despite breaking that rule when she ran to Thorn.
Helyn had suffered a great deal of pain in her past fews years, ever since she started getting migraines. Thorn had moved himself to her leather arm chair, and sat beside it, allowing her to sit in it instead. Thorn looked to his cousins, Tyros sat in Helyn’s bed and Alec by his side, his face was miserable.
“Father hates me.” He muttered, staring at the wooden planks that floored Helyn’s room. Thorn sighed, knowing how he felt.
“None of us get it easy, Alec.” Thorn gently said. Alec turned to him, his eyes red, notifying that he had been crying.
“He despises me, Thorn! I heard him say he wishes I would die! He will send me to the Wall, he will get rid of me…” Alec’s weeps turned to a saddened realisation in his eyes, which Thorn refused to believe.
“Yes, uncle Jon isn’t the kindest man in all of Westeros, and I doubt that will change anytime soon. Though we’re still his family, despite how much he claims he hates us, I think it’s just a way to try and strengthen us.” Alec’s eyes had lifted from the ground, now entirely focussed on Thorn.
“You really think so?” Thorn smiled, meaning to encourage his cousin.
“Of course. He is trying to harden you for lordship, Alec. If you can’t follow, then you can’t lead, so go easy on the old man. Think about how it is for Brock, he is a bastard. A nice and great man, yet still a shame to his father. And I… Well that’s something else entirely.” Helyn reached down and pecked Thorn on the cheek.
“You can’t change what your father did, Thorn. Father is naive to blame you for all of the problems your father started.” Tyros turned his eyes to Helyn.
“What did uncle Sterlyn do?” Thorn sighed, thinking of how to start.
Thorn was about to start explaining, though was saved by a banging on the door. Thorn stood up, squeezing Helyn’s hand before leaving to open the door. When he did, the loud creaking of the rusting hinges sent a shiver down his spine. On the other end of the door was Cryus Black, his face solemn yet slightly downcasted.
“Apologies to bother you, Thorn. Your father wishes an audience with you.” Thorn nodded, turning back to his cousins who stared at him intently.
Thorn gently closed the door behind him before accompanying Cryus. Cryus was a seemingly gentle man, his brown eyes showed that. He had a messy black beard, with equally messy hair, though his attire was reasonable. He wore black formal leathers, and could have been mistaken for a man of the Night’s Watch if he wore a cloak and furs. The two descended the stairwell in silence, until Thorn broke it.
“How is your family, Cryus? Last I heard, your brother had been promoted in the Stark army, and his son had become a ranger of the Night’s Watch. What was his name, Chaney? Chase?” Cryus answered with a bold smile.
“Charles, and my family is doing well, thank you. How is yours?” Thorn found himself raising an eyebrow.
“I think you know all too well, Cryus Black.” The man chuckled and shook his head.
“Your father is unreadable to even me at times. No, I was referring to your grandparents and cousins. The Tarly’s.” Thorn shrugged, trying to block the flood of memories.
“Haven’t seen them in nearly a year, I presume they’re caught up between this war with the Gardener’s and Durrandon’s.” Cryus nodded, his face sincere.
“Yes, I had heard such things about this war. I pray to the gods they are safe.” Thorn smiled, acknowledging the man’s sincerity.
“Appreciated Cryus, though I doubt the old gods will look over the Tarly’s. They are followers of the Seven.” By the time their conversation had concluded, Thorn found himself in the Council chambers.
At the head of the table sat Lord Jon, his expression lacking interest and still in a state of misery, perhaps even doubt. Cryus found his seat beside the lord, sitting on his left. Opposite of Cryus sat the master-at-arms, Ser Jarak Rivers. Beside him sat Dexter Vance, captain of the household guard and brother to the Lady Clarissa. Finally, sitting opposite of Dex was Maester Dougas, a reasonably young Maester who was at an age of fifty. Thorn bowed in their presence.
“Thorn, take a seat.” Lord Jon’s voice was as brisk as the winter winds, Thorn took a seat at the other end of the table. “Now, Maester Dougas, you were saying?” The Maester nodded and pulled a scroll from his sleeve.
“These are the ingredients required, my lord. Of course, I will need to travel to the citadel to make such a concoction, as well as permission from the Arch-Maester.” Lord Jon shook his head.
“I can’t have you leaving Raventree, not with winter so close.” The Maester nodded his quick bobbing head. Ser Jarak Rivers spoke up, his tone harsh and cold.
“My lord, we are wasting our times looking to make poisons. We should just charge our army into Stone Hedge and execute him by the sword. Poison is a bastard’s weapon.” Lord Jon sent a glare so menacing it made Ser Jarak squirm in his chair.
“Then I will send my bastard to do it. Though we need the poison first, and Maester Dougas has suggested there are ways of obtaining it through purchase.” The Maester nodded his head.
“It is not ideal, though there is a rogue organisation of expelled maester’s in Oldtown. They call themselves the Rusted Links, untrustworthy men my lord…” Lord Jon raised his hand.
“No matter. Thorn, I am sending you on this mission to receive the poison known as ‘the Strangler.’ You and Ser Jarak will ride for Oldtown at sunrise, questions?” As Thorn was about to speak, Captain Dexter Vance interrupted.
“My lord, I can spare a dozen men to escort-” Dexter was cut off by a raise of a hand.
“An escort would cause too much attention. Besides, I believe Thorn already knows the way.” Lord Jon stared at Thorn in a fashion that made his blood boil, yet he kept calm and relaxed.
“Yes, my lord.” Thorn replied, his teeth gritted. Lord Jon smirked.
“Good, this council meeting has come to a close. Leave me.” Thorn sighed, slowly getting up from his chair. The men of the council had already evaded the room as Thorn was exiting. “Not you, Thorn. We must talk.” Thorn’s movement came to a halt, as he turned to his uncle.
“About what?” Lord Jon stood.
“Your father. Come, I need to show you something.” Lord Jon walked passed Thorn, making him have to quicken his pace to keep in sync with his uncle.
The sound of footsteps on creaking wood was all that filled the air, as well as the anxiety that hung around Thorn. The entire reason for Thorn’s demise in the Blackwood hierarchy was because of his father, and it bothered him that he was unaware of where they were heading. His uncle led him down a flight of wooden steps, leading to a stone floored basement. He stopped at an old cracked wooden wardrobe, surrounded by hay and grime. Lord Jon pulled a key from his belt, unlocking the wardrobe door. Opening it, he beckoned for Thorn to enter. Thorn searched the man’s face, looking for some sort of sick and demented trick, though found nothing. Thorn entered the wardrobe, which he discovered was more than just that. A wooden backing wall slided to the right, and another flight of stairs led down to a dim room. As Thorn stopped at the entrance, his uncle grabbed a lantern off of the wall.
“The crypt of Raventree Hall.” He announced, extending the lantern in front of them. A narrow aisle stretched hundreds of metres in a straight direction, on either side were tombs with names.
His uncle led him down the dark aisle, his dim lantern only vaguely displaying enough light for them to see where to go. After a long walk, the two men found themselves at the end of the aisle, where a tomb rested with the engravings: Sterlyn II Blackwood. Thorn sighed, staring at the engraving.
“I blamed your father on the death of my first wife, you know. He held such jealousy when he learnt I was to marry Sharla Tully. He loved her, he had told me all of our childhood, though when I came of age my father betrothed me to her. That was the beginning of our rivalry. When he fled south, eighteen years ago, and I found my wife drowned in the Red Fork… I had my men scour all of the Riverlands to find him. They searched for weeks, months, until Lord Asteric Tully finally called off the search. I hated my brother from that day on, and you can imagine the guilt I felt when I learnt of his death.” Thorn looked to his uncle, who he could swear had a tear running down his eye.
“When I learned of his death, all I felt was shame and regret. Yet the pain of my wife had never left me, instead you had inherited that anger.” He lightly chuckled. “You are the thorn in my side.” He said quietly, though his face was stern and full of sorrow.
Lord Jon rested the lantern on the empty tomb next to his father’s, and unsheathed Dark Matter from its scabbard. He turned to Thorn, his expression truly devastated, before he cracked open the seal that held the tomb shut. Thorn backed away, feel anxious of what he was going to see. Jon rested Dark Matter against the empty tomb, and removed the lid from his Sterlyn’s tomb. Thorn peered inside, and to his surprise he did not see a corpse, yet a sword.
“The Tarly’s claimed that cremated his body, and that his ash rests at the sept at Horn Hill.” He reached into the tomb and pulled out the red blade. “This is Red Wing, your father’s sword. Twin to Dark Matter. Legend goes that the two sister blades were forged from an Andal great sword that our ancestors fought with during the Andal invasion. It’s yours by inheritance now, guard it well.” Jon rested the blade in his palm, which Thorn took gracefully.
Red Wing’s valyrian steel blade was red, which led into a darker red wing hilt. The handle was black, as well as the raven pommel. The sword itself was light, and highly balanced. Thorn found himself without words. He managed to scramble some words together.
“Uncle, this is… Thank you. This means a lot to me.” Jon nodded.
“Tomorrow, you will ride with Ser Jarak and one other to Oldtown for the glory of this house. There are two suitable choices for your second companion. Alec needs to experience, though my bastard may prove to be of better use. You two also have a better friendship, though I will leave the choice with you.” Thorn nodded, thinking the options through thoroughly.
Alec was a young lad, an age of fifteen. He was not highly talented with a sword, though his strong point was in archery. Not being the most confident, the journey could certainly help guide Alec into becoming a man. Though it was Brock Rivers which Thorn preferred to have at his side, he knew he could trust him with his life and vice versa, though it was not he who was to become to future lord of the house.
[Take Alec to Oldtown] [Take Brock to Oldtown]
Well, this seemed to be another clear vote. Jorge will continue to Eastwatch.
As I mentioned to Liquid, continuing to Eastwatch would be Jorge sticking with Tanya's plan to go to Ol'Tower, rather than joining the Night's Watch. So in essence, this vote was probably his last chance to fight for Skane.