Her Protector (closed for prettyserpentine)

In a fantasy world with humans, elves, dwarves and creatures both magical and mundane, the human kings and rulers of multiple kingdoms and republics have outlawed the use of magic under penalty of death after a group of court wizards attempted to seize control. Any human who is discovered having a natural magical ability is immediately executed for "crimes against the Gods". Inquisitors, highly trained and deadly mage hunters, travel the human realms, commissioned by the Church, searching out young men and women with magical abilities and quickly end their lives.

It isn't seen as murder. It is seen as serving the will of the Gods.

In a scarcely populated Human region to the far north known as the Frozen Knolls, Valgar silently crawled along the ground, stalking a herd of elk. The Frozen Knolls were a frozen and savage place, where it was bitterly cold all year. The humans who lived there lived in small villages, with small huts and cottages, and wore fur coats whether they were inside or outside. The place survived by hunting, and Valgar was the best of his village.

He was 30 years old, and had a reputation for being a hard man. He was a hulking 6'3", 230 pounds, with a thick solid physique covered by thick black hair. He had deep blue eyes and flowing, shoulder-length black hair, and a thick beard that he bothered to shave down from time to time. He was his village's lead hunter, and was solely responsible for keeping them fed most of the time.

He lay in the ground, just beyond the peak of a small foothill, wearing a fur coat and fur leggings. It was snowing softly, but it was still cold and windy, and clutching a small hand axe, he watched carefully as a herd of elk gently meandered his way, towards the foothill.

He waited for close to 45 minutes. Finally, the alpha male of the pack, the biggest, wandered within range. With a deep, guttural yell, Valgar emerged from his hiding spot, rose to his knees and swung the axe into the elk's neck with a furious anger.

25 minutes later, he was walking back into the village. It was a small village with just a collection of small huts. Children played hunter in the snow. Women cooked the elk meat and skinned the elk for leather and furs. Men sat around, complaining about the cold or telling stories the elk that got away on their hunts. Valgar walked into the village dragging the carcass of the big elk and got cheers and applause from the people of the village.

"Hey, Valgar. The Chief wants to see you, immediately," one of the other hunters piped up, and Valgar gave him an acknowledging wave. Leaving his elk in the care of those who would clean it for its meat, he headed inside the Chief's hut and dropped his hood.

"Valgar, I hear you brought another grand elk home. Congratulations, young man," the Chief said.

"Thank you, sir," Valgar said softly. He was a humble man, who didn't take much pride in his accomplishments.

"I have another task for you. This one may not benefit the village, but it will benefit me," the Chief said in a solemn tone. "I need you to escort my daughter far to the south, across all the human kingdoms and republics, to the Elven city of Starspire."

"The elves? Sir, we are Knollers, I don't understand," Valgar said.

"I am sorry to say, Valgar, that my beloved daughter has started to show signs of being able to weld magic," the Chief said softly. There was a pause in the hut. Neither the Chief nor Valgar knew what to say. "I cannot allow the Church Inquisitors to kill her. You must take her to the Elves and ask for asylum. The traders who come up here for our furs tell us that Starspire is where the Elves train their magic wielders. They aren't afraid of them like our bastard kings are."

Valgar said nothing, just watched the small fire in the Chief's hut burn. He had known his daughter since they were children. Her, a magic wielder? It was almost unthinkable.

"I will do this, my Chief," Valgar said bravely.

"You're a good man, Valgar. And I shall never be able to repay you," the Chief said. "Collect your things, you leave when she's ready in her hut."

Valgar returned to his hut, which he shared with another hunter. He grabbed his fur bag and threw some bedrolls into it, as well as some flint and tinder for starting campfires, a few small knives and generous amounts of dried elk jerky. He swung his bag over his shoulder, and checked his stone hand axe. It was sharp, he wouldn't need to sharpen it again before his adventure. He turned and headed out of his hut and headed over to the Chief's daughter's hut.

"Aye, you ready to go?" he said before sticking his head inside the doorway.

Aneyra had been suffering the nightmares again. The ones where her mother had come into her room one night upon hearing her cries and found her six year old daughter with hands that seemed to spark like cold fire. Then the dreams swirled, and Aneyra couldn't remove her frozen hands from her mother's face, those eyes forever open, frozen in terror. Her father, the Chief, had said it had been an accident, and he prayed that the magic would fade.

But it hadn't.

The rest of the village had been told that the Chief's wife had got lost in the forest, and died in a snowstorm. Not that his young daughter had been responsible.

But that was twenty years ago, and Aneyra was a woman. As she grew and matured, she learned to hide her abilities from everyone. But the nightmares and the fear of the Inquisitors made it difficult. Her father had decided for her own safety to send her away, accompanied by Valgar, the hunter. She had protested, of course, claiming she could make it to Starspire alone, without having to risk anyone else's life, but the Chief wouldn't hear of it.

She had a large leather-hide bag, filled with her meagre belongings. Her plain cloth dress was hidden by warm furs and thick boots and her long black hair hung in waves and curls over her shoulders. Her eyes were violet, a sure giveaway of her unusual heritage.

A voice broke through her reverie. "Aye, you ready to go?" As Valgar stuck his head into her hut, she slid her flint dagger into the belt of her dress.

"I am. I just want to go and say goodbye to Father." She dropped her bag at the doorway of her hut and walked the short distance to the hut of the Chief, entering and smiling at her Father somewhat sadly. "I am ready to go."

He rose from his chair and surrounded her with his big arms. He smelled like smoke.

"I will miss you, Daughter. Be careful, be safe."

She buried her head against him and wept, knowing they would probably never meet again. He held her tightly, kissing the top of her head.

"Father, everything you've done..."

"Sssshhh, child. This is a new life for you. Where you won't be afraid. Valgar will protect you, I know he will. He is a strong and capable man, and he is loyal to me. He will be to you too."

"But ... But he doesn't know..."

Her father ushered her to the door. "Aneyra, you cannot tarry. You must go before anyone comes. You know how dangerous this is."

She hastened away, throwing her bag over her back and tying it. She pulled on thick mittens, and pulled her hood up. Her father was talking to Valgar.

"She has nightmares," he was saying. "Be wary of them. Wake her, but do so from distance." He looked up at her. "Are you ready?"

She simply nodded and he came to her, hugging her for one final time. "Be careful, be safe." He repeated his mantra, it seemed to calm her. She stopped crying so badly and he walked with them to the end of the village, to the southern edge near the forest. "Find clothes once you get to the cities. You have to blend in. Be unseen. Here." He handed Valgar a small bag of coins. "Look after her."

Aneyra turned, clutching at his furs. "Please, Father..."

He pried her hands away and looked at Valgar with a look of pain. He couldn't look at Aneyra as he turned, telling the men who stood guard to close the gates. His daughter looked back into the village, heartbroken, before she turned, crying quietly to begin her long journey.

Valgar watched Aneyra head over to the Chief's hut one more time, and he stood patiently outside. It would take weeks, surely, to take her by foot across the continent. We'll have to camp outside, avoid the Inquisitors or any noisy townspeople that would love to tell them about the young girl with the magical abilities, he thought to himself.

The Chief and Aneyra emerged from his hut and he gave one final warning to Valgar, "She has nightmares," he was saying. "Be wary of them. Wake her, but do so from distance."

Valgar was taken aback. He had no idea what the Chief was talking about, or how he would stop these nightmares from a distance. But, he was a loyal soldier and hunter to the village, so he nodded. "Yes, sir. She will be safe with me."

They said a few more goodbyes and hugged one more time. Valgar felt something tugging on his heart strings. His own mother and father had died when he was 15 or so, and he had survived by giving up all emotions and becoming a heartless instrument that served his own village. But, something deep inside him stirred watching the Chief and his daughter. A very small part of him longed for friendship with another person.

Valgar said nothing as the Chief walked with them to the edge of the forest, letting the two of them enjoy what could be their final moments together. Finally, when they reached the edge of the forest and the Chief gave him the money and the instructions, he nodded and again in a solemn tone repeated, "Yes, sir. She will be safe with me."

He watched as the father and daughter had another tough final moment together, he having to pry her hands from him, before Valgar and Aneyra finally set off on their trip. He couldn't think of anything to say to her as they started walking alone through the thick snowy forests.

"I figure it will take us a few weeks to get there by foot," he said, deciding to stay focused on the journey. "The fur traders that come up to our village says there's a little town on the edge of our forest. We should be able to get some southerner clothes there and blend in a little more."

He looked over at her and she still seemed upset. He wished he knew how to cheer her up, but admitted to himself that nothing would do that, short of returning to the village and her father allowing her to stay.

"I'm sorry you're upset. You want anything to eat? I have some dried jerky in my pack."

Aneyra pulled her furs around herself and watched the clouds her breath made when she exhaled.

"Thank you. Jerky would be nice." She took the dried meat he offered and she bit into it, pulling some off and chewing on it. She didn't really know what to say to his "sorry you're upset" so she didn't say anything at all, just trudged along beside him in the snow.

"I haven't been to that town, but I remember Father telling me it took him two days to travel there. But that was before I was born, so I don't know if it will take us as long, or even maybe longer." She sighed, chewing another piece of the jerky and fixing her bag on her back.

"I'm sorry if this is taking you away from something you were doing that was important," she said, looking up at him with those clear violet eyes. She was tall for a woman of the village, standing at five feet and six inches, but she was still small compared to him. And her furs hid her body. She was a slender woman with shapely hips and an average bosom. Her lips curved in an alluring way and her skin was pale and cold. Her heart shaped face was framed by dark tumbling hair that hung almost to her waist. The elder women in the village hated to cut it and she often toyed with the ends of it.

Aneyra lifted her skirts as they trudged up a hill. "Have you been to this town before?" She tried to keep the mood light, to not think about the life she was leaving behind.

Once she took the jerky, Valgar shoved the rest of the dried meat back into his pack and slung it back over his shoulder. He listened to her politely talk about the town and then spoke up. “I’ve never been there. I’ve been all over the Frozen Knolls but never outside our lands. I’ll let the people smarter than me deal with the Southerners,” he said, pausing for a moment. “I’ve never actually dealt with anybody other than our kind before. But, our business is straight forward so it should go smoothly. I guess it should take a day or too. We’ll have to camp outside in the snow. I have two fur bedrolls in my pack,” he said as they kept walking.

He thought about her earlier question and went back to it. “And no, you’re not keeping me from anything important. I mean, I hunt most of the food for our people, but the others will have to go on without me,” he said. “Besides, your father would say this is the most important thing I’ve ever done,”

There was another long pause. “It’s going to be strange not seeing you around the village. We’ve known each other since we were little ones. Nobody leaves our village unless they die, it’s bizarre seeing somebody…” he paused, and realized he was maybe going to upset her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m used to spending my time alone in the wild with the elk.”

"I know," said Aneyra. "I didn't want to have to leave, but I suppose I can't stay and bring danger on everyone." She chewed at another piece of the jerky and shrugged a little. "Don't be sorry. It's for the best. No matter how hard it is." She trudged alongside Valgar, looking at him through her wavy, curly hair. "It'll be strange not seeing you either."

They walked along in the forest in comfortable conversation. Remembering old times, their childhood, stories of their first hunts of their teenage years.

"You don't need to worry about offending me. Sometimes elk are more friendly than the Knollers." She smiled, laughing slightly. "I wonder what the Southerners are like. I've only seen one or two, their skin is darker than ours. Not as pale. It will be strange to see people so pale there, for them anyway."

The sun started to dip above the tree line and Aneyra realised they would have to set up camp soon. It started to get colder and she pulled her furs around herself a little tighter.

Valgar couldn’t help but smile when she looked over at him and told him it would be strange not seeing him either. It was a rare break in character for a tough and hard man. He hated getting close to people but there was something strange about Aneyra that he couldn’t put his finger on.

“I know nothing about the Southerners, other than they like obsess about their money and coins. I don’t think their villages are as tight-knit as ours, either,” he pondered as he scratched his head.

As it got darker, colder and the wind picked up, Valgar stopped walking. “I think we should set up camp for the night,” he suggested, and headed off the path to a spot where three trees formed a little bit of protection from the wind and snow. He broke off a few low branches from the trees, then knelt down, cleared away some snow and opened up his sack and pulled out his flint and tinder. After a few minutes of trying in the cold and wind, he managed to start a small camp fire. Then, he replaced the flint and tinder and took out the two fur bedrools. He laid them out on opposite sides of the fire.

“Not the fancy Elven hotels you’ll soon be staying in, but it’ll have to do,” Valgar said jokingly with a smirk.

Aneyra pulled a blanket out of her bag and lay down by the fire. It warmed her and she threw the blanket over herself, huddling underneath it. Valgar kept the fire going until she fell into a restless sleep. But she would wish she had never slept. The dreams came to her again, and she saw priests in long robes, maesters, coming to take her away for the magic she held inside her. She dreamed they stormed her village, killing and maiming, and she could not protect her people.

She dreamed she saw the faces of the dead. Her father, her friends. She ran, trying to escape when she saw another body in the snow. Valgar. She started to scream, her hands bursting into blue flames.

The forest was quiet and dark, the only thing penetrating the night time was the sound of crickets and the wind rustling the branches of nearby trees. The fire between Valgar and Aneyra crackled heartily, keeping them warm. Aneyra was sleeping quietly until proof of her nightmare became evident. She tossed and turned, throwing her cloak off and kicking away the blankets. She uttered small noises, grunts, like a restless sleeper often does.

That is, until the flames of the fire seemed to explode in blue light. They were no longer orange flame but now it seemed as if the fire had been replaced entirely with ice. The ice steamed as Aneyra tossed and turned.

This is what the Chief had warned of.

Her hands clenched and unclenched. Her veins seemed purple along her wrists and neck and as her eyes opened, they seemed to glow pure violet with unbridled magic. From her fingertips, there sprang blue flames. She tossed and turned, crying out for her mother...