Windsong - A Tale of The Sword and the Spear

[Light Ice]

The hard riding was behind him and still there was no comfort. There wouldn’t be. Around him the woods rose up as grim sentinels in the night. The boughs of ironwoods hung across the log road and bore the weight of the ice and snow without complaint. This was the only place within the Great Kingdom where the ironwood grew and its harvest was the hardest of work. It was aptly named; stout, strong, and grew wider than ten men arms stretched. These woods bore many of such trees. Old, ancient trees. They were too far north to be touched by the hands of the woodsmen and the cold here too dangerous to risk. Aeger knew that well. His horse, dying beneath him even as it walked on, was learning.

He had left the survivors of the Queen’s column at her command. The command had been to ride north and find their last hope, find it and send it out to retrieve them. In the dark they had moved slow, ponderously, until finally retreating from the road to camp at its side. The women and children were near their end and many had already been lost. The cold was a stealthy killer. It crept into a man and chilled him, calmed his shaking hands, and then stole him away in the night while he slept. Horses, beautiful animals from the King’s Keep, had begun dropping three nights before. They were taken awake, in the midst of the morning, without whinny or complaint. One moment standing, braving the cold on stout legs with muscled flanks - the next they keeled over, eyes rolling wide and lifeless.

Aeger was wrapped in furs and wools and still he feared for himself. His face had burned but was numb now. His ears, in particular, did not feel as though they belonged to him. The cold, he reasoned, was greedy. A man’s piss could turn to ice before it touched the ground on nights like this. Merciless, the cold of the North had been the greatest enemy to any invader. The men that lived here, the men that the Queen sought to give her refuge, were amongst the hardest of the hard. Uncivilized, said some, but hard none-the-less.

He had ridden for almost three days and seen nothing but the road. In places, buried beneath the snow that plagued this place, he had lost it and hours in finding it again. His horse’s breath came in wheezing gasps that spilled thick mist into the chill of the night air. It’s nostrils and lips were frozen over with a layer of ice. Still, Aeger felt it drive on undeterred. The animal’s training was the greatest he had known to brave this place and carry him so stoutly. He named the animal Iron Heart and decided he loved it. The animal seemed to felt it and picked up a step or two.

Hours later, born in the blackest part of the night, Iron Heart gave a sudden shudder and stopped walking. Aeger slipped from the saddle and felt his feet strike the earth and found it entirely frozen. Hard, like stone, and unforgiving. He stood beside Iron Heart and stroked his face, felt it cold to the touch and looked into the animal’s brown eye. It saw without seeing, staring out across the road. It’s breath came without great plumes now but little puffs of steam. It’s chest heaved, slow and stilted.

“You were of great stock and courage.” He heard himself say.

The animal attempted to step forward, faltered, and collapsed with a sudden and sad thud upon the hardpack of the road. Twice, then thrice, it lifted its head in defiance of death and failed upon each. Aeger’s heart broke and he knelt, pushing aside the truth that his end would come soon as well, and stroked the animal’s side as it breathed unsteadily.

The sound was from the wood and to his right. Not far off. A sudden crack of frozen foliage shifting as something moved amidst the cover of the North Wood. Aeger’s hand found the short sword and axe upon his belt and fought them free, fingers stinging from the cold. There was rumor of Frost Giants and ancient creatures this far north. Years ago, from the shelter of these trees, packs of massive Dire Wolves ravaged south laying waste to animals and man alike. They had not been seen for a thousand years but rumors spoke of them. Great Bears, monstrous brutes that stood twenty-five hands high, had vanished as well to the south where they roamed. It mattered not. Ancient or not, a Bear of any shape would be the end of him. Still, he had his sword. It was steel and its edge sharp. Perhaps, if he struck true, the beast would fall as it killed him and the skin would save the next rider his Queen sent north.

Aeger readied himself. He was not a Knight, nor nobleman born. He held no lands, no titles, no fame. A soldier, simple a title as it was, he was also not without skill. Amongst the Queen’s scouts and riders he would have trusted himself against them all. His sword hand, while not peerless, was true. He was a whirl amongst the field with hand-axe and sword, moving swiftly. The cold, undoubtably, had and would slow him. Still, he did not shy. There was no place to run. None to hide. Only steel and the cold.

The sun broke upon the horizon, sudden, as though it was apt to rush into the sky. Dawn broke in a blur of fiery vermillion, gold, and red that filled the sky and colored the clouds radiant pinks and crimson. From the woods they came, not wolves or bears, but a host of men in ebon leathers and heavy cloaks. They were bearded, dark-haired and fair-featured, with bows in hand and swords upon their backs. Rangers of the North Wood. The soldiers of the Bastard Lord.

One gestured. They were silent, vowed to it once outside the castle walls. Aeger had heard word that they were as rare a sight to the living man as any ghost from the ancient past. He obeyed as he thought he should, kneeling, his blades left within the snow before him. They came. Advancing as though the cold and the snow was naught to them. The one that had gestured knelt beside his animal and spoke words in their harsh language. It was elegant in its brevity, its strength, but guarded in the wood and impossibly rare to hear south in the Kingdom.

The Ranger struck out a hand and soothed Iron Heart, who did not look frightened and still breathed.

Another came on to Aeger, his bow wrought of silver-chased Ironwood. His face was wrapped in sable fur, masked so that only his eyes peered out. They were blue as the sea, crisp and cold. The Ranger, all of them, were tall and lean and moved with strength and purpose. Savages, whispers said. Cannibals and worse. Yet, upon his knees in the dawn’s light at their feet, Aeger felt strangely safe. He did not see the blow as it came, a blur as the Ranger brought his bow across his temple. He did not hear the crack of the silvered length as it struck his skull. He fell, the world a blur of movement, before his eyes began to slide closed. Iron Heart locked eyes with him as they lay face to face in the same snow; this stayed with him even as consciousness faded away.

_________________________________________


He had woken within the Keep of the Castle Black and been much afraid. The men that surrounded him were hard-featured and strong, strangely silent. Rangers. A ghost story upon the lips of drunken soldiers; they were the elite harriers of the Bastard Lord. Little could be said about the lands beneath his command. They were cold, always, and the frozen wood was hard harvest and unwealthy was the land that was now the Lord Black’s. But for that, for it all, the people of the North lands held to the Old Gods and the Old Way and championed duty and service above all things. The people loved their Lord, loved their home, and were fierce and strong and savage at once.

Aeger saw them clearly now. Men, not ghosts, but hardened and bearded and lean and terrible. Many had small scars and most had pale eyes. Blue. Dark hair, coal black, was typical of the Northman’s blood. They stood around him with their longbows and greatswords. He remembered their meeting and how they’d simply appeared from the woods as though they’d been born from it. None of them, even now, had spoken a word.

He had sat like that amongst them for some time until another came clad in darkened chainmail. The man’s look was not of the Rangers and he had spoken with quick, warm elegance. This one was taller than the others and lean, rakish, with handsome features and a clean-shaven face save a short, neat ebon beard. Aeger had seen no women come, or go, but were there had been some he imagined they’d have looked upon this man and loved him. He was terribly, terribly handsome.

They had spoken of his Queen’s peril and he had inquired of Ironheart.

“The horse lives, barely. It rose up when the Rangers bore you from the wood and staggered after them. They had expected it to die, lungs frozen and heart bursting, but it made it to the gates. It is a strong animal and we are seeing to it.” He paused. Grim. “I cannot say with confidence it will come through.”

“Thank you.” Aeger found himself answering. “My Lord.”

The man laughed some, not unkindly, and shook his head. “I am no Lord. Another Bastard of the North, though many times of lesser blood than the Lord of the North Wood. We are brothers of sorts, however, and I serve as his hand. Come, you’re unhurt and we’ve a horse for you. We go to rescue your Queen.”

“You believe me?” Aeger was incredulous.

“It would not have mattered.” The man smiled. “The Rangers have seen your words for truth and met you on their return to tell me so.”

Aeger felt foolish. The Rangers would have, of course, seen the column of his doomed Queen upon the rode. They were not hidden nor adept at staying discreet. It was a marvel, he’d once thought before riding for aide, that they had not been found and butchered by brigands upon the road.

He had let himself be lead to the courtyard of the Castle and took in the seat of the North Wood for what it was. The castle had not been fashioned like those to the south, part beauty and part business. It was all business. Rounded walls and smooth stones without hand-holds or accent. There were no carvings of Gods, old or new, or the Kings and Lords of this or any other land. It was a castle of old bones, strong and stout, with smooth stone impeccably fitted and maintained. There were no signs of age creeping its cruel hands. The Bastard Lord’s Hand saw him and smiled some. Proud.

“You expected a band of barbarians. You will see. Come.” And he spurred his horse, a shaggy-flintlocked destrier, in a tight circle.

It was true and Aeger let himself see it. The men of the Black Castle were not savages so that he could tell. They were grim, silent, and stout. Ranks of soldiers in perfect unison moved through their patrols without word or whisper. Everywhere, around him, was a cold weight of discipline that leant their actions a bold nobility. Each man of each station, that he could see, conveyed himself with respect and education and handled his arms, even at rest, like a man that knew to use them.

A hundred armies, he thought, and this one amongst the smallest. I would take it over any. This Lord Black has forged himself a fist of Steel amidst this cold and quenched it in the ice of the mountain.

The northland’s horses were of another stock entirely and he rode his with curiosity and wonder. Amongst him the Riders were upon garrons and chargers, not so large as the destrier the Lord’s Hand rode. Still, they were larger than the Southland’s warhorses and had great shaggy manes, tails, and flintlocks. They moved easily through snow with massive, broad hooves and breathed the frozen air without distress or worry. Mighty, beautiful horses they were with brown-black eyes as wide as silver pieces.

Were it not for the cold, unyielding and cruel, it would be easy to see the magic of this place.

Aeger learned upon the ride that The Rangers did not speak before strangers and never within the forest upon their rangings. They spoke with their hands, subtle and silent, and waged war for their Lord in the same way they saw to his lands and served as his eyes. Adaptive. Much like brigands, but noble. They were not a part of this ride that Aeger had seen, though he assumed one was watching. The Rangers were a small and fiercely elite group. It was said that they could sleep a fortnight in the North Land winter without a fire and survive it. This was a legend that Aeger would not have believed until meeting them.

The men of the ride, however, were Castle Black regulars. Soldiers, cavalry and infantry; they were known as the Black Watch. They moved in rank and file of six across and eight deep and carried the massive, steel-hafted speers of the Northlands Armies of fable. In formation they were known as the Dragon’s Teeth, aptly put, by the means in which they stood shoulder and shoulder with spears levied and those of their brothers behind them levied beside.

For now, though, they all rode. It was a half-day before they reached the Queen as she sat amidst the cold ruin of her host. An army of 40,000 had been reduced to a paltry 200. Still, Garrus went to her after dismounting and paid the bow. Of who she was, Aeger noticed, was no longer in doubt. The man heard only fragments of their conversation but looked on, warmth stirring in his belly.

The exchange was marked by the warmth of Garrus Black and his great politesse. It stood in bold contrast to the men that rode with him. The Black Watch afforded no gentility of their own. They remained as they had been, grim sentinel, and reminded Aeger of the towering Ironwoods about them. He had seen war, much too much of it, and while he was proud of his House and the Queen’s regulars as they had been, he had naught seen a force so hale and so stout.

He noticed he was not the only one taking count of their manner. The impression they made was going far to wash away the reservations of the straggled survivors of the Queen’s House. Two-Hundred of her soldiers were joined by as many men, women, and children without arms and armor. The refugees, as thats what they were, had been terrified of this wood and the terrible rumors of the Lord Black’s men. Cannibals, some said. Monsters, said others. His men were said to be made of brigands and criminals, rapists and murderers and all sorts of terrible men whom could not be relied upon or trusted.

Beasts, they were called in the Courts they so often neglected. The Lord Black had not been seen within the Queen’s hall since he had taken his father’s land. His claim had been tenuous, a scribble on parchment by his dying father’s hand, but with no heirs there had been no opposition to speak of and it was said the host of the North had stood with him and made the matter moot.

Regardless, they carried themselves as professionals now and served him proud by means of impression. He watched as they unhorsed with courtesy and hoisted women and their children to the backs of their great mounts. The animals, bred for war, allowed their new riders and went slow by the bridle. The regulars, Men at Arms much as Aeger, flanked the column of refugees with care and order. Garrus Black watched them, looking now and again from the Queen to check their progress. He had no corrections to make. The Officers of the Field, marked only by the small silver wolf upon their collars, saw to their ranks with deft and easy hands.

The going to the Castle was slow but they arrived without casualty. A crowd gathered outside the Castle’s keep. The Queen and her retinue passed through them as the women wept their thanks to her and her men took knee to rest and recover. But her work, he knew, was not done and so he moved to follow her. The few Knights left of her command at her side and he trailing some as they followed Garrus Black into the sparsely furnished halls of the Castle Black.

A great man, young and tall, stood by the hearth at the hall’s end. His approach was marked by measured, powerful strides. He was not as handsome as Garrus Black, harder in the feature and sharper in the eye, towering with broad shoulders and strong arms. His garb was not the surcoat and arms of a Knight, a Lord, but rather the leather and furs of a Northman. He wore no jewelry, no rings or chains. The sword upon his back, too long to be worn at the hip, was broad and its hilt protruded from the man’s shoulder. Ironwood, no doubt, wrapped in worn and oiled ebon leather with a silvered Wolf’s head. The eyes were tiny, pale sapphires. A Bastard’s sword, ironic and fitting, for the Bastard Lord of the North.

When he reached the Queen he knelt, his hair shorn tight to his skull and his face cleanly shaven. The only beauty in his face, in-fact the only feature that was not hard and strong, lay in the storm gray of his eyes and the keen, gentler intelligence within them. His voice was a low, throaty rumble. Inelegant but educated.

“My Queen.” He greeted her from his knees, head bowing with such feeling and formality that Aeger felt shamed to silence. There was no sound until the man spoke again. “My Castle is yours. What would you have of me?”

And for the first time in weeks Aeger of the Hornwood felt hope.


[This thread is closed.]

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Fists clenched and swinging, feet kicking and screaming her head off. That was how the Lady FAI Dumont came into this world. Some speculated it was her fiery hair. Others thought it was her genetics. Her mother had red hair and could be quite fierce when she needed to be. Her father was cool, calm and collected, everything a good king should be. FAI had been born into a cruel, harsh time but even so, her parents took great care to see that she grew up padded from life’s treachery. In her younger years, they succeeded well. Not so much when she got older. FAI always managed to evade her nanny. Well, almost always. She would find some shadowed nook or cranny to hide in so she could watch her father run the kingdom. FAI saw other things too. Her father dealing out justice; thieves that lost a hand, traitors that lost their heads, compensations given. The list seemed endless. As she grew older, she realized that the role of a king, his responsibilities, seemed endless.

Years rolled by. It seemed like a war broke out every five year or so. FAI could remember standing in the courtyard with her mother, as they sent the king off to do battle. Her mother would stand stoic. When FAI was younger, her father would lift her in his arms and kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear.

“Look after your mother for me, Milady Fyre and Ice.”

FAI would solemnly put a small hand on each side of his face, stare into his brown eyes with her own hazel ones and promise to do just that. Then she would lean in and kiss him. Her father would chuckle, bury his whiskered face in the side of her neck, making her giggle. She never wanted it to end, but of course it did. He’d set her down on her feet and mount his horse, brown eyes would linger on her mother, drinking in her beauty, setting it in his mind before he would look to FAI, smiling.

“Watch for me with the dawning sun, my fyre and ice.”

And he would be gone. She was a princess. A lady. She wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of everyone. She raced for the battlements with just enough time to see her father ride off. She watched until there was nothing more than a cloud of dust to be seen and her tears had dried on her cheeks.

Wars came and went, each time she saw her father riding for home. She recalled vividly when he didn’t. The call came from the wall. Her father was home. FAI ran to the battlements to watch. There were so little of them. Her eyes scanned the front. She didn’t see her father’s charger. FAI still didn’t want to believe what was clearly in front of her eyes. Not her father. Holding her skirts up she ran down the stone stairs into the courtyard as she waited for the gates to open. Her eyes were focused on the gates and nothing was going to change their focus. The sinking feeling in her stomach told the truth of it, she just didn’t want to believe it. They filed in, two, sometimes, three abreast. Many were bleeding and barely able to sit their horse. Horses hung their heads, their sides heaving with the effort to simply breathe. But it was the horse that came through the gates, halfway through her father’s army. It was her father’s horse. A body draped over it, covered by a red cloak. No. No. No. She ran to meet it, taking the reins, bringing the horse to standstill just beyond the gates. FAI could only stare. From somewhere behind her, a woman’s scream of bereavement. FAI barely heard it over the pounding sound of her heart.

“Come, child. Let us take him now. He needs to be prepared for his funeral.”

The priest tried to take the reins from her hands and at first, she resisted. She must have eventually given them up as she found herself walking along the side of the horse, her palm moving across the horse’s barrel chest. It stopped at the covered bundle draped over her father’s saddle. Her hand lifted from the horse’s side, hovered over the cloaked covered body as she warred inside of herself.

Do it. Don’t do it. I want to know. I don’t want to know.

If she didn’t lift the cloak, then she could pretend he really wasn’t dead. She knew that pretense fooled no one. If she didn’t lift the cloak then she could believe he really wasn’t under there. Maybe he was still alive, just injured, lying on the battlefield somewhere and he had lost his memories. She could live with that. After all, he was still alive then. All they had to do was go find him. Her fingers closed over the cloak and tugged it back. The material fell from deadened fingers. She turned. Not one ounce of emotion showed on her face or in her eyes. FAI walked away from her father’s corpse with a heart that was filled with a pain she couldn’t describe.

Once again, in days to come, FAI became a shadow within the shadows. She listened to the men talk. Her father had lost the war. They must flee before the usurper came to claim this place and turned them out or even worse, had them all killed. More than that, much to FAI’s already broken heart, they found her mother’s body draped across her husband’s early one morning. Dead. Her mother had taken her own life to be with her husband. On one hand, FAI couldn’t blame her mother. Her father had been larger than life, her mother’s whole world. On the other hand, FAI wanted to rant and rave, she was angry. How dare her mother leave her to face this world on her own? Who did she have to depend on, to turn to? Who would lead their people? Look after them now? The answer was plain. The responsibility was hers now. They were her people. They called her their Queen. Looking around, at a place that was no longer hers, she wondered what she was queen of.

They found her on the battlements, the priest and the Hand of the young queen. He hadn't been her choice, he was her father’s Hand. FAI felt that her father’s choices had always been wise, but with his death, she trusted no one. She kept her own counsel, however. For now.

“Your Grace?”

It was Jon, her Hand. Turning from the contemplation of the sky with a sigh. She already knew what his next words were going to be.

“It’s time.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

Jon bowed and departed, however, the priest remained. FAI turned her hazel eyes in his direction, her brow arched slightly in inquiry.

“Is there something you wish, Priest?”

Her hands rested on her abdomen, one lying on top of the other. She really did not wish to speak with the holy man at this moment. FAI found no faith in the priest and his religion at all. Her family had always been of the Olde Ways. The Old Gods.

“Your Grace, I beg you, please rethink this. Allow me to bury your parents in holy ground. They will find heaven.”

FAI moved forward, toward the stairs, pausing at the top to answer him.

“Priest, I and my family serve the Olde Ways, not yours. I do not claim to know which way is right although you infernally forever are spouting that your way, your church’s way, is the right way. I will allow you to stay with us, so you may tend to your flock, but if I ever hear of you defiling those who choose to walk Olde Ways, I will have your tongue cut from your head. You may then serve your god in silence."

She started down the steps. It was time for final good-byes to her parents.

She stood in silence, her eyes glued to the forms of her parents, lying side by side on their funeral pyre as her men pushed it out into the water, letting the gentle swells of the water take them further and further from her.

“Archer,” she spoke in a firm, clear, controlled voice, “ready.”

The archers were standing behind her. A lone archer notched an arrow then dipped the tip in a brazier of fire, pointing his bow upward and angled. FAI swallowed hard, her eyes still on the drifting bier.

“Fire.”

The arrow released, arcing through the sky, like a comet with a flaming tail. A few moments later, the bier started to smoke and just beyond that, caught fire and within seconds, was fully engulfed in flame. Her parents were in death as they were in life, together.

~~~~​

The travel north was arduous. She had all that was left of her father’s people. Her people now. There were only two hundred men left of her army and about the same number in men, women, children. They had been struggling north for weeks. If there had been any other choice but to head north, into the cold, unforgiving land, she would have taken it. Her, their, only hope lay in the north lands with a man she did not know, certainly did not trust in these troubled times.

She had sent Aeger out to ride ahead to this lord of the north and beseech him to send men to find them. Looking about her, she knew they wouldn’t make it. She would lose them all if they attempted to travel further. She prayed Aeger would make it. FAI knew he would die trying if necessary. She looked around at the people milling about camp. There weren’t many. Most lay huddled close together. They had lost a few to the cold. There was no way to bury them so she had a few of her men take the bodies away from camp where the living didn’t have to see them all the time. Three days. Three days Aegar had been gone. She prayed to the old gods that he got safely to the lord of the north.

On the sixth day, just before FAI had decided to send out another rider, she felt the rumble beneath her feet even as she heard the hooves of horses pounding on the frozen ground. She got to her feet, turned and stared, admiringly, as they came out of the woods toward them. The mounted men halted, just shy of her camp. FAI watched as a man dismounted, approached her and bowed. Well mannered and groomed, a stark contrast to the men he brought with him, the fabled Black Watch. Yes, even she had heard stories. Her people feared for their lives. She could see it on their faces. As she and the one called Garrus stood talking, she almost excused herself to go talk with her people. FAI even made a move toward them, but stopped. The men of the Black Watch dismounted and began lifting women and children on the back of their horses. When her people realized they weren’t in danger, things happened more quickly.

One of her own men helped her mount and the journey to the castle in the north began. It was slow going but they arrived without mishap. Once within the walls of safety, her men took a knee in the courtyard of the Keep, to rest. She knew they would be seen to. Likewise, her people would be cared for. She was grateful. Tired as she was, she had more to do, that was to meet the Lord of the North himself. Her remaining knights rallied to her side as she followed Garrus Black into the castle.

The furnished halls of the castle were anything but lavish. Sparse as they were, they were functional. She had seen no women milling about either here in the castle or outside. At the hall’s end, they came to a halt. A man stood by the hearth, but moved in her direction upon seeing her arrival. He was tall and young, though older than she. His shoulders were broad. His arms strong. He wore no jewels but bore a great sword upon his back. His manner of dress was anything but regal, but he didn’t need it. His manner alone commanded attention. There was an air about him. The air of a man who was use to commanding. His face was by no means beautiful, unlike Garrus’, but the lines of his face spoke of strength and a hardness, something she was positive that was needed to live in this harsh place to begin with. The color of his eyes were unlike anything she had ever encountered before. They were gray, like a storm. His voice, when it came, was earthy and rumbled. She found, she rather liked it. She stood before him, the hood of her cloak still pulled low over her face. It hid her features from view. He did not bow, instead, he took a knee before her.

“My Queen.” He greeted her from his knees, head bowing with such feeling and formality. There was no sound until the man spoke again. “My Castle is yours. What would you have of me?”

A slender hand was removed from her cloak as she pushed back the furred hood, exposing her face to all that were gathered in the hall. A mass of red hair tumbled free of its confinement and fell around her shoulders, to curl against the leather of her cloak. Hazel eyes peered down at the closely cropped head bowed before her. Gentle fingertips slipped beneath his chin and applied soft pressure, urging him to look up at her.

“My Lord, I wish to thank you for coming for us and taking us in. We are waifs with no home to call our own and I can not thank you properly if you are on your knees before me. Come. Rise. I would ask to share your hearth for I fear I am chilled to the bone and beyond. Perhaps something warm to drink as well? We shall talk of a great many things, Lord of the North. For I have come to seek, nay, implore your help. There will be time to talk of such things later however.”

Beneath her closed cloak and under her dress, her knees were trembling. FAI had had little time to think about being a queen, let alone adjust to it. One moment, she was merely a girl awaiting her father’s return. Now, she held a world’s worth of responsibilities on her slim shoulders. There was determination in the way she held herself. Vengence strengthened her spine and though she spoke civilly enough, there was ice in her eyes. Any who knew her well, knew that beneath the ice was the banked fire of resolve.

 

[Light Ice]

The dark hall paid no mind to beauty. It was a spartan place. Walls of bare stone rose up around all that filtered through its confines, moved on, dwarfed by the immensity of its strength if not by its otherwise modest dimensions. There were tales of greater halls, for certain. The Great Hall of the Capital had a hundred hearths, for instance, and the Hall of Isles had a hundred yard table. Still, the great keep of the North held within it the strength of a thousand generations and bones rumored magical by those who kept to the Old Way.

He wondered if the Queen could feel it as he could. He wondered if there was anything of the Most High that perceived the world as he could. A Bastard. It was a title that he had embraced wholly; embodied. It was a stain upon which he had built the reputation for which he was now known. No, not that of the raging monster. That was of the South’s tongues. That was a stupid game played by the long-faced, thin-fingered politicians and their soft-bellied subjects. A game, he knew, that meant naught in the face of a Northern Winter and the tide of a thousand barbarian hordes.

No, his reputation with the men whom called his lands home was all that mattered. To them, born of lesser subjects and heraldry than the nobles of the south, he was from the same fields and alleys that they were. He was a monster born from their breasts, taught in their same halls, and taught to survive the disgraces and discredits that they had known. In the end it had been this, the way his soldiers stood with him, that had forced the south to accept what his father had sold them. Colton Black was to inherit the duties of the North, bleak as they were, and not a distant cousin or other unwarranted progeny of some stuffy relation.

It was to be the boy, strong and grim, to whom none of the nobles could relate or befriend. It was the child to which the Lord’s wife could not stand to be beside. He was a mark of the Lord’s shame. His disgrace. But, more than this, he was a mark of his humanity and a glimpse as to the love an otherwise loveless man could have. It had endeared the old Lord Black, and therefore his Bastard, to the people of the North.

It made it more difficult than it had been.

Still, he would not have been the same man if it weren’t for those long and difficult days. The words that left him were practiced in thought and spoke of old oaths. He recalled them from lessons of heart as well as scroll, ingrained, built up within his heart when he had longed to be a Knight like his father. His eyes would speak mostly for him now. When they would not serve then his friend, his Hand, would do the rest. Colton was not much known for waxing poetic.

His eyes did most of the speaking for him. They cut across her beautiful frame with a man’s stark appraisal. The stormy cast of his eyes had a pension for leaving people to shiver, naked beneath his glance, and he was too honest to temper it even now. She was a scant girl, strong in the eyes but not in the arms. The look of her inspired no strength. She looked a refuge, a chick, chirping away.

So, she looked. He knew better than to think her so.

“Your story is apt to be a long one, My Queen.” The propriety of the moment was met though his voice was unpleasant for it. His was a tone meant for battle. For killing and for leading. There was nothing tender in it. “I would see your host sheltered and your chamber prepared. Do you have further need of me?”

He spoke as he was taught to feel. This Castle was hers now. Not, in any way, his own. The displeasure of his Hand did not escape him. The handsome man, looking on, pursed his lips in a tight, discontented line.

But pleasing had never been much of Colton’s thing to begin with.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She was weary. Oh, so weary, of mind, of body, of soul and yet, there would be no rest for her. No comfort. The road ahead of her would be long and weary. Life had taught her early that it never played fair. It was cruel and hard as it was giving. Her fingers drifted away from his chin. She knew so little about this bastard lord that was her last hope.

This was a man’s keep. Stark. Sharp. There wasn’t an ounce of softness to be found and she knew, instinctively, this man was the epitome of his surroundings. He had no knowledge of it yet, but she was going to ask of him a great deal, maybe more than he would be willing to take on. She had little choice. She needed a rugged, hard man. One that had been honed by the elements. But did he have the passion? She saw him studying her. She could almost imagine what he was thinking. She was but a girl queen and queen, in her eyes, was just a word. Fai had plans to change that and just enough steel in her to see it through.

Most men saw only her surface beauty and she was not blind when she looked in the mirror. She knew she carried looks and was surrounded by a fragile air. Of course, she was fragile! She had lost her father and mother, finding herself tossed into the harsh realities of life before she was ready for them. But she had little time to dwell on such things. The welfare of her people fell on her shoulders and she had come to him, a beggar. She held out a hand, palm upward, toward him.

“Rise, Milord. Do not bow to me. I have come as a beggar to your home, your lands, seeking sanctuary for my people and your help in getting back what is rightfully mine and yes, Milord, I have further need of you but such matters can wait for another day. If your men will see to my people, I will be eternally grateful. A seat by your fire would not go amiss. I am chilled to my bone and beyond it seems. For the moment, that is all I require.”

Her eyes were weary and though she strove to suppress it, such weariness laced her voice as well. There wasn’t a bone in her body that wasn’t overcome with cold or tiredness. Fai couldn’t give in to it. Not yet. Her people, her guard, needed to be seen to and cared for and once her chambers were ready for her, no matter how sparse, she would greet it with relief and gratitude. The morrow would be a new day and safe in the knowledge that her people were looked after, she could begin her new journey and she would need the lord of this keep’s help to do so.

 

[Light Ice]

Colton Black rose thinking about her small finger on his chin. It was a blade-like, feminine digit. The rounded nail well-kept could have carried with it quite the bite. It lacked strength now. Sapped, as it were, by a loss that Colton himself could not imagine though life in the North was much familiar with grief. Heartache. Loss.

To go bereft of things in the North was as like to go with water within the sea. The harshness of an ever-winter brought with it many forms of danger and many forms of grief. It stole people, places, and things in the night as suddenly as an instant and as crisply as a fresh now. Bastard Nobles, even the High Born themselves, could not escape the cruelty of the world in which they fought to live. It was inevitable. Part of what they are.

But she had lost a Father, a Brother, and a Kingdom. She'd lost a life.

It'd been torn from her delicate fingers, from those well-manicured nails, as violently as a wolf tears a babe from its mother. They had been betrayed and beset, unawares, by the Usurper's swords and spears in the midst of the night. She'd seen men and women who had long served her family butchered like pigs in the beautiful halls of the King's Keep. Silk and linen dressings, draped over ornate windows, had been stained dark with the claret rent from those who had watched her grow from adorable babe to budding, beautiful woman.

It was not the end of innocence to which most Noble girls could aspire. In his mind, Colton saw her swooning over imaginary Knights from powerful houses with beautiful long hair and wealthy features. He imagined that one day her father would marry her to another Great House and she would celebrate her ushering to the court with such a flourish that those small hands, now tired and sapped of their youth, would come alive to hold cups and be kissed by adoring patrons and denizens of the realm.

Now, as he rose to reclaim his full height and dwarf her once more, Colton Black saw only a tired girl whose heart lay heavy with the weight of grief.

He nodded.

Words so frequently abandoned Colton Black that he had long ago learned not to rely upon them. Some, albeit most, truly found him unnerving. The only answer he could muster for the Queen was the short, assertive nod to which his men were so familiar. At once, peeling from the room with instinctual swiftness, two cup bearers vanished to present another room.

In the meanwhile he moved to leave her, struggling only briefly to turn away from the beautiful young girl to which he now owed everything. The horrific intensity of his oath came back to him now as the world's end gathered in the powerful keeps and castles of the South. It struck him as he abandoned the room for the chamber presently prepared. It had been several years since he'd once stayed as a guest in the Castle Black.

She would have his chambers. It seemed only suitable.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

He was a man of few words, perhaps even less. For most, that was probably disconcerting. For FAI, it was norm. Her father had been a man of little words but when he did speak, his words held meaning and were heartfelt. His captains, who often accompanied her father, were more like this man. Suited to action and deed not pretty words. For these men, words were a method of communicating actions, little more.

Her face was pale with stress and fatigue. The lord of the Keep rose, his height made her feel small and insignificant, but none of this showed in her eyes as she watched him. With just a nod, he left her to see to whatever arrangements he felt needed to be seen to. Presumably, her people and her chambers since that had been her request. Garrus stepped up, offering his arm for her to take. Slipping her arm through his, she allowed him to guide her to a chair by the fire. It was a simple chair made of wood, but it felt of comfort to her as did the fire that started to warm her through the furs she still wore. One of the men in the Keep’s great room, procured and handed Garrus a warm drink. In turn, Garrus placed it in her hands. She smiled graciously and took a sip, feeling the warmth start to unthaw her veins.

~~ ~~​

Garrus, ever the gracious, showed her to the room given to her. She sensed something inside him that had remained unspoken throughout the evening. She couldn’t find fault with his demeanor. He had been and continued to be, the epitome of good manners. Fai knew better than to think this was the heart of the man, for it was not. The air about him spoke of strength, character and ruthlessness. His body spoke of a man use to the song of the blade. If not his build, then his eyes.

Garrus took her to the room assigned her, swinging open the door with a push. It was a simple room. It was a man’s room. Stepping inside, Fai looked around before her thoughtful gaze came back to Garrus. Her words were low, laced with exhaustion.

“Who’s room does this belong to?”

Seconds ticked by before Garrus answered, directly and pointedly.

“Lord Black’s. “

He bowed from the doorway, closing the massive wooden door closed behind him as he took his leave. Disapproval was etched into his face, peeked from the darkness of his eyes. Garrus was being circumspect whether out of deference to her, being a woman or to the man he served, she wasn’t sure which.

Left alone in the lord’s chambers, she shed her furs, draping them over a nearby chair. Her hands rubbed at her upper arms as she walked aimlessly around the room. The room was sparse in furnishings. It was a room used to sleep in and little more. It was a much different room than the one he had stayed in when he had visited her father years ago. Yes, she remembered him. She had been young, personable, and impressionable. Her eyes had followed him everywhere. FAI had been drawn to his silent strength. Her eyes had been the only thing to follow him. He was a man grown and beyond her. Back then, she had been the picture of innocence, in oh, so many ways. He was a man who had seen bloodshed, who had shed blood, and who had people under his care. The north was harsh and cruel to those who chose to live there. It toughened them. Perhaps too much.

Her hands unbraided her hair, fingers raking through it. She was far too tired for a woman’s delicacies. Too tired to root through her bags that sat on the floor just inside the room, for her hair brush. For now, all she wished for was the oblivion of sleep. Clothes were shed, left on the floor beside the bed as she pulled up the furs and slid onto the surface, sighing at the feel of comfort. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would seek audience with Lord Colton Black. There was something more she wished from him. Skills. She wanted to learn. Needed to. She would take back that which had been stripped from her family. She couldn’t bring the dead back from the Summerlands, no matter how much her heart ached to feel her father’s arms around her again, to hear her mother’s laughter again. She would learn to take back what her family had held dear. Their title. Their lands. But more than that, security. Battle was always a course of action, especially for ambitious men. She needed to be a leader her people looked up to and believed in. Right now, it was loyalty that held them. She wanted there to be something more concrete.

Colton Black was going to be her guiding light. She trusted no one. Not now. Not even the lord who had opened his doors to her. A man who was her sworn bannerman. The young girl, whose eyes had followed him, who had been drawn to him like a firefly, was gone. She had died the moment her parents had, leaving her to shoulder the mantle of leadership she knew so little about. On that thought, she surrendered to sleep, letting it draw her deeply into its arms, to hold her a willing captive.

 

[Light Ice]

When the Castle Black woke it was with the sun. Men and women, of all walks, rose from their humble homes at its stone foot to take to work amidst the night's fresh snow. For all the hardships of the North, for its relative poverty in comparison with the Noble Lands to the south, the Market and causeways bustled with steadily growing activity as the early hours passed and late morning came.

The people of the North were of many heritages. There were the people of the true North, fair skinned and dark-haired, descendants (it was said) of the Old Ones who first walked the realm and gave life to it with stone and axe and sword. They were the original Keepers of Dragons, archaic Lords with True Steel and arms. Long gone. Few were their ancestors now and only in the North could they be found. The half-dozen small, but proud, houses who were the Lord of the North's Bannermen could all claim their heritage back to the proudest of the Old Ones. It was a tired line in the South.

It was a point of pride in the North.

But amongst them were the southron folk of the Kingdom. There were Barbarians from the North who had turned from the hordes and built new lives amidst the known world. Some were mix-bloods or half-bloods or worse. A populace, on paper, that were of savages and paupers both from the world entire. Still, those that had taken oath to the Black bore themselves with a tireless and gaunt discipline. The rest, working for a living amidst the Ice Wood and the Northern Snow, were hard-bodied and determined folk.

So, while the Queen slept, her people were swept from their beds by the industrious hands of the Northlands and taken up for the forging of their new homes. Timber was cut, stripped, shaped, and lain. By mid-morning the skeletons of a half-hundred homes had been raised. By evening that night twice that would be thatched and ready for families to claim.

Colton's orders, however, had stopped there.

His Captains made no effort to recruit the Queen's retinue into their ranks, though it were custom of refugees to be asked. They, instead, oversaw the construction of homes and the reparations to arms and armor torn and notched from the column's harrowing journey. Jobs were offered and found for those who were not otherwise employed. Pay was forwarded in advance to assist families in the stocking of breads, frozen meats, and grain. The Castle Black opened its doors to the people but afforded them no real charity. They worked for what they were given.

That was the way of it.

None had been sent to wake the Queen. The mid-morning turned to late and still she slept. There was no mutterings or whispers. Any man who had taken the road south in high-winter knew better than to laugh. Winds, alone, could kill most while they walked. Nights were beyond dangerous with creatures and barbarians thick in the hills. She'd need rest, some said. Lucky to be alive, said others.

Colton Black said nothing at all. Instead, flinging open the door of his chambers, the massive Lord stalked past the bed upon that which she slept and found curtains to throw them wide. Outside, beyond the walls, the land of the Castle was a powdered white. Each flake, invisible from here, seemed to sparkle with the light of a thousand suns caught in a delicate and frosted trap.

"Wake, my Queen." Came his words, like gravel, as he stalked to the bed's foot. "And dress. You will have time for more sleep on the morrow."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

From the depths of exhaustion he woke her. The bedroom door meeting the wall behind it as the door was flung open. His voice demanding she withdraw from Morpheus’ arms, even though at that moment, she didn’t understand a single word he had said. The light that shot into the darkened room. All this happened consecutively but they all meshed into her brain at once, causing her to instinctively shoot upright, the sleeping furs falling to her naked waist. Fai’s eyes were dazed over with sleep, her mind befuddled with it. At least her body was somewhat preserved. Her hair was a red cloud, falling over her shoulders and cascading over her breasts. Her eyes found Lord Colton at the foot of her bed and at the same moment, she realized her state of undress and mentally cursed herself for not having the will to open her bag and dress in her night dress. Hurriedly, she scooted back under the furs, pulling them up over her chest and merely glared at him from across the expanse of the bed. Raising an impatient hand, she pushed her hair back from the crown of her head. Her eyes flared with indignant fire which was quickly followed by logic, which tamped down the fire, remembering who she was, where she was.

“What time is it?” Her voice was soft, modulated.

A turn of her head to glance out the now exposed window, showed that the day had truly begun without her. A softer sound of dismay left her lips as she made to swing her legs from the bed and stand. Her feet appeared from under the covers, dangling over the edge. Her fingers were about to turn back the furs guarding her curves when again, it dawned on her that she had not a stitch on her body. Feet were retracted back under the covers. Fingers stilled. Storm gray eyes glanced back to the giant of a man still standing at the foot of her bed.

“Milord? If you will take your leave I shall rise and dress and meet you in the Great Room momentarily. I truly did not mean to slumber this late.”

A soft flush stained her cheeks. Her eyes regarded him warily. She was not afraid of him but rather, wondered why he was in her sleeping chambers, even though he had given them to her. She would speak to him about that as well. This would not do. Surely there was another room in his Keep she could occupy. It did not feel right to her to take up his room. This was his keep. His home.

She wouldn't admit it, but she felt safe in his room. His bed felt like bliss after what she had been sleeping upon of late. The fire in his room had been banked and gave off a pleasureable warmth, but there was still a chill in the air. She should have been up long before this. There were her people to see to before she even considered her wants.

Now, if only the lord of the Keep would grant her some privacy to dress so she could meet the rest of the day with more than just her skin.

 

[Light Ice]

Aeger / Colton Black

Aeger of the Queen's Guard


There had been nothing in Aeger’s life to ready himself for the morning. Sleep, heavy and necessary, had laid upon him like a dark blanket the moment he’d bedded himself amidst the barracks cleared for the Queen’s Arms. The bedrolls were soft, stable, and utterly warm. A thousand generations had lived and died amidst the cold of the Northern Winter and surviving had become as art to them. He’d seen men with missing fingers, ears, and noses make their way past with grim certainty. There was no shame. It was so common that even the few chamber girls Aeger had noticed within the barracks hall had given no evidence of repulsion to see it. The Cold, he reasoned, had claimed many such things with great regularity. It was as nothing to them. A mere consequence of life at the foot of the Mountain.

He’d fed Iron Heart and stroked his mane with a soft-haired brush. Aeger could not bring himself to ride the animal, yet. It had served with devotion until what had surely seemed like its end and a few days rest was the very least that it had earned. The animal’s large black eye had followed him adoringly through the stable as he worked to muck its course and lay fresh hay down for it to bed within. There was a debt that existed between them and a bond besides. Aeger carried both with weight.

Still, for this common gesture, nothing in the morning was common. The cold was brutal from start, biting as it swept in on mountain winds and ripped through the town that lay at the foot of the Castle itself. Aeger could not understand how the men of the North dressed in such limited bulk and appeared well-comfortable when he was a mountain of thick, plush bear-fur and felt thoroughly chilled. It was a strange dichotomy that made him feel all the more alien, made him wish to shed his fur and go without, but he could not brave the cold so and stayed with it. Sullen.

The people of the town had poured out of their homes. Some, boisterous, called loudly to others and moved on to make their daily earnings. Aeger, lost amidst a sea of purposed strangers, found himself caught up by several younger boys as they flanked wide along a stretch of recently constructed houses just beneath the Castle’s looming form.

One of the boys, no older than twelve, took his hand and tugged sharply.


Aeger followed.

_____________________________________________________

By mid-morning’s time they had constructed and prepared three houses. The boys had outworked him. They’d shamed him with their speed and deftness as they mounted rafters and joists with fervor. To his part, Aeger had not done terribly. Still, the morning’s work had left a deep ache to arch through him. He sat now upon the porch of their latest home while one of the lads, a boy named Timlin, crawled across the top to ensure the thatching was proper.

Further on down the street they were busy building upon met a circle serving as the crossroads to which all spires of the township were based. Aeger saw the high walls and grim men serving as sentry and could not imagine a force that could breach them. Still, in the stories of old, this place had twice come near to fall against the hordes of old and the black magics that came with them. In those days it had been the King of the North, before his grandson bowed to the South, that had stood alone with Old Steel and faced down the darkness. Ever, and always, had this place been the vanguard.

Rangers passed through paying mind to none that they passed. The crowds parted for them, almost hurridly, and children turned to watch them. He imagined their grim faces beneath the wraps they wore to be handsome, not unlike the Lord of the Keep. The man whose features were not beautiful or refined as the Nobles to the South but harder, stronger, and not unpleasant. Aeger could see why they followed him. In many ways he was them.

“Will you be staying?” Asked Timlin. The boy had dropped down beside him as silent as could be and sat now on the porch’s wooden ledge. He was clad in a navy leather tunic and wolf-fur cloak that fit him well, perhaps a bit too largely.

“For a time.”

“You serve the Queen?”

“I do.” He answered, looking to the boy.

“She’s very beautiful.” Timlin said, coloring.

Aeger nodded. She was, indeed, beautiful. The Royal line was strong in her father and in some ways stronger still with her. It was a pity she was born a woman.

“Tell me about your Lord.” He looked back to the boy once more, watching him.

Timlin, all of ten, drew himself up in his seat so that he sat taller. The full of his slight height on display, with shoulders that would one day be broad and a body that would fill to be strong. He had auburn hair, nearly red when the morning sun struck it right, and clarion blue eyes. A northman’s boy, through and through, his accent thick with heritage and education. It made Aeger question where he’d been taught. The common boys in the South spoke the common.

“Lord Black’s a bastard.” The boy began. Frankly, though he’d the awareness enough to flush when the word left him. “But he’s still half of the Old Line. He can swing a two-hand sword with one and lift men clean from the ground. He’s strong as can be. There’s nobody stronger. And he’s tough as nails, says m’dad. M’dad fought under him for years until an axe took his leg. He said he saw a horde’s spear go clean through the Lord Black, clean through him, and out the other side. Lord Black just pulled it all the way through and kept fighting. That’s the Old Blood, says m’dad. But he’s fair, too. Good to the people here. He says that the nobility of a man is in his day’s work and the way he keeps his family.”

The boy gushed. Adoration visible. Aeger was not surprised to see it because in many ways, in such a short time, he’d seen it thick in the people here. For all that made the Lord Black lesser in the South - his common mother had made him greater in the hearts of the people here. He’d won his battles, all of them, with brutal efficiency. He’d sapped the will from the barbarian hordes and adopted those that came to him without malice or mistrust. The community was built around an ideal of survival and strength. It was built to come together, not tear apart. These things, Aeger saw, had helped forge the place to iron beneath Lord Black’s hand.

He looked out past the bustling streets before rising, the boy at his side peering up at him and the daggers he wore. Aeger had warred for years at the King’s command, and now would do so for the Queen. Still, as he looked out, he felt hope since they had first taken flight.

She had been right to bring them here.

___________________________________________________________

Colton Black

The prattle of the girl who would be his Queen was ignored as simply as the protests of her guards had been. Certainly, at first, their outrage had been a potent mix and hands had fallen to swords. In the end, though, they’d wilted like flowers too long from the sun and shrunk back as he’d brushed past. That, amongst other things, had troubled him greatly for the morning. The oath that he had sworn would be held. He would serve the girl as he’d served her father, diligently in all things. There were no conditions upon which his loyalty was based but rather a long-imbued sense of things. He was aware of that to such a great degree that even now, walking in them, the chambers no longer felt like his own. They were hers, now, and forever should she will it.

Yet, she was not being served to be treated as such. The truth of life, particularly the tragic truths to which sometimes were a part of life, could not be ignored or softened. They deserved the blunt force of their manner, direct and indirect, so that impact could be felt and hearts recoiled. Strength, he had been taught, came not from the arm but the heart that knew well what loss and grief and shame could be and how to rebound from them. The girl, coiled beneath his furs, was a gorgeous and unkept thing of flawless skin and wild, stunning mane of sunrise red. Still, for all her beauty, he looked now only to the ferocity harbored in her eyes and searched for the depths of it there.

“Your guards are clucking hens when it comes to displeasing you.” The words were nearly a grunt.


He moved to abandon her there. His mail was quiet, rippled links of steel over supple leather. The ebon length of his attire interrupted only by the gray Dire Wolf emboldened upon the back of each of his large hands. At his back, crossing beside one another from right shoulder towards left hip, lay the bow and quiver that was his own and the massive, broad-bladed bastard sword his father had left him. The massive brand meant, truly, for two hands to wield. The rumor was that the Lord of the North could heft it comfortably with one.

Still, he found words on his tongue once more. Strange, truly, given how rare they were intent to leave him. In the room’s light, spilling through the open window across her bed where she lay nude beneath the bundles of fur, he was struck by how young she was. The years upon her features were softer than those upon his. Gentler.

“You must present yourself as a Queen, your grace, if you wish men to follow you for theirs.”

And then he was gone, descending to the Great Hall below. Her guards would sweep in after him, concerned in the post script with what harm he may have laid upon her.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She could see it in his eyes as he regarded her over the end of the bed and up its length. Honor and oaths, meant everything to him. It didn’t matter what he personally thought of her, he would see them through. He had entered her room, threw back the curtains and awakened her. His words about her guards were what? Disparaging? Judgmental? She wasn’t sure.

“You must present yourself as a Queen, your grace, if you wish men to follow you for theirs.”

Advice? Observation? Or had he found her to be less than her destiny? No matter what he thought. No matter what she thought, his parting words rang with truth. She waited until he left, then she threw back the covers, shivering a little in her skin from the coolness of the room. Determination was in her stride as she crossed the room, snatching up her two packs, dumping the contents on the bed. FAI rummaged around in them, setting aside this, stuffing something back in the bag. By the time she was finished, three articles of clothing were spread on the bed for her don. There were trousers and a tunic, both made from leather and dyed black. To accompany them was a pair of finely tooled boots, also black. These were things Fai had her tailor make for her, against his better judgment. She hadn’t wanted to hear it. She simply required him to make them in three days and had rewarded him properly for doing so. The whole trip north, she hadn’t donned them. No matter how cold it got. They were a symbol of a new beginning and until she reached this Keep, there was no new beginning.

She had watched day by day pass as the eyes of her retinue dulled and glazed over. It was up to her to keep them moving, give them a reason to move forward until they just couldn’t and when that day came, she refused to just let them sit down and die. She sent Aeger out to bring others back to rescue them. In the meantime, she hardly slept for all the days Aeger was gone. She moved among them, talking, touching, reassuring and trying to lift spirits. She needed to instill in them a spark to live. Her furs went to a child, she seldom slept anyway. Besides, she could sit by the small fire the men kept burning for her. All of her guard insured that whatever fires, and they were kept small and communal, to conserve the wood, were kept burning. At first, no one joined her at her own fire. When it did, she fetched the children and women first. They were the easiest to reach and convince.

The past, no matter how far or close, faded from her thoughts as she hurriedly dressed. The clothes would take some getting use to. She had never worn breeches before but she found them comfortable. Her hair brush was found quickly and drug through her hair before she plaited it again in one thick braid that hung down her back. A quick glance out the window and FAI noticed that the day was getting later. It made her hurry through to make the bed and set her bags by the door again. She was thankful that her mother insisted that she learn to menial chores. She had been of the mind frame that one should not expect others to do what you are not willing to do yourself. FAI stopped at the door and took in a deep breath. She wasn’t sure what others were going to think of her mode of dress, but she cared not. Standing tall, shoulders squared, FAI closed the bedroom door and made her way downstairs.

Semi-distracted by her thoughts, especially when her thoughts turned to the lord of the Keep, she almost had gotten herself lost. Only by listening to the sounds floating up from below, the laughter and tones of men, was she able to find her way. With her chin tilted slightly, she stepped softly, yet precisely into the room of men. Her eyes took in faces and activities there was but one face, she sought diligently. FAI reached the cleared trestle table that held only a bowl of fruit and idly wondered how on earth did they manage to obtain fruit this far north, in these cold climes? Her small feminine hand reached for an apple in the dish and bit into it with relish. The morning meal served long ago was no longer in evidence and rightly so. She would make due until the next meal was served. The tartness of the apple washed through her mouth and she enjoyed it. Thinking of tart, her eyes scanned the room again in search of Colton Black, her host and bannerman.

 

[Light Ice]

The day had brought with it little quarter against the cold for it was winter and the chill that had settled with it was heavy and unrelenting. That was, in so many words, the very nature of the North. Heavy. Unrelenting. So it was that the men that carved their living from the ice, the ironwood, and the mountain were as such. The bustle of the Castle betrayed so many things. It was this, this true introduction, that would dictate the nature of his relationship to the Queen. Duty aside, she was but a girl in the eyes of the world entire and her education a thin veil deprived the true lessons of loss, hardship, and heritage. Hers was a superficial thing. A veneer applied by maesters and their old books and not lived and bled and appreciated. Ironic, in a way, given that it was to be a Bastard to show her. To guide her. And still, for it all, he was glad to do it. To serve. And service, as his father had taught him, came in many forms and fashions to which few truly could prepare themselves. Service, sometimes, came to displeasure.

So it was.

They would not linger in the Great Hall. He wordlessly moved past her and paid little mind as Garrus moved once more to her side and wrapped her in the thin, capable furs of the North. She, a slight and beautiful thing, suddenly embraced in the clothes and manner of a people to whom most in the South sought savage. But the furs, ebon and gray wolf furs lined with wool, were adept at shielding the body from the cold. Adept at veiling a woman's gorgeous form and leaving the world to appreciate the stark conviction of her purpose beyond all things. He led her and she followed. And so it was.

Through the high doors of the Keep, massive oaken things reinforced with braces of blackened steel, and beyond into the courtyard at the head of the town that flanked in all directions towards the high walls. She, just behind him, left to judge and understand as she was able. It was not in his nature to narrate. Soon, perhaps after they ate, it would be for Garrus to give her history and supplication. Now, as they moved after him, the Lord of the Castle was to show her and speak to her amidst the people that would now and forever be hers.

They walked for an hour. Unyielding. They saw the miners, the loggers, and the paupers. They drew past their small, stout homes. There were stables, and training grounds, where entire groups of men engaged rigorously in movements and drills as a unit and individually. There were the high walls, the ebon wall hangings braced with a silver wolf upon the dark field. For it all, Colton Black was comfortable away from the Castle. He smiled some, spoke little. He watched quiet and approving as the men training fought through flaws and errors with a disciplined commitment to the task.

And when the walk was done, and the sensation rose in them all that it was time for it to be done, the Lord of the Keep drew the young Queen instead to the stables and the horses within. Great, capable animals. The beasts of the North. She was given the finest mare and the Lord Black took an ominous gelding. Colton turned to regard her then, watch her amidst the stable as men moved to claim their own mounts and they were left before the stall of her own.

"Your Kingdom will not come from well-laid plans and politesse. It'll come by blood. Some of it, My Queen, will be that of your people - both those that are and those that will be. We ride now to the House Aeredon, my Bannermen. The Head of House, Lord Bannister Aeredon, fought beside my father. It is my hope that he will fight beside us."

And as it was, he educated her. The sun's light played through the slatted wooden boards and spilled inward. It lit in her fiery mane and along his fair features.

"Your Captains have been told and will join us. We ride."

Colton Black swung up onto the Gelding that was his own. The animal shied faintly, whickering, before settling. His eyes remained on the girl queen. Her reaction. Her commitment.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

He had spotted her no doubt because he simply chose to move past without a word of acknowledgement of her presence. That stung a little, however, not for long. Here, she was a refugee like the others. She had come for sanctuary and help and Colton Black would give both, in his own way, in his own time.

In his eyes and perhaps more than few, through bonds of loyalty, she was their queen. It simply didn’t matter she was a deposed queen. FAI’s bloodlines were ancient. One of the oldest. When she was but sixteen years of this world, against her mother’s protests, her father had taken FAI to see someone. The instructions were clear. Bare your back and bite down on the thin reed offered to her lips. She refused the reed and bore the pain upon her back until near fainting. When the ordeal was complete, she bore a bloody back but undeniably etched into her skin just below her shoulder blades, with wings stretched wide that covered her scapula, was a phoenix rising. This was her family crest. The House of Dumont. The third house of the Ancients. Her sigil, which her guards wore upon their uniforms, was that of a golden dragon. FAI wore a gold chain around her neck and tucked snuggly into the valley of her breasts, rested a small gold dragon on the end of it. This had been her mother’s contribution. Her mother, the Lady Elaine of the House Aerie, fifth house of the Ancient bloodlines. Perhaps, that also amounted to something in their eyes. Her lineage was undeniable, from the way she carried herself, her pattern of speech to her porcelain skin and fine bone structure. Lineage, however, did not rally men to her cause.

As she followed Lord Black from the Keep, Garrus fell into step with her, placing a fur, more suited to the clime than her own had been, around her shoulders. She offered him a soft smile of thanks, gathering it close. She was thankful of the warmth it provided as they stepped into the light of the cold late morning. They walked. Her eyes took in everything, from buildings to men training. Most of all, she watched Colton Black as they moved through the throngs of people, each working industriously and though it wasn’t often, when he smiled, she found that it made him quite handsome, in a wolfish sort of way that she found, surprisingly enough, appealing. For herself, now and then as one of her people stopped her to thank her yet again, she would smile, clasp a hand, a forearm or a shoulder and remind them that she had done little. It had been their fortitude, their spirit, that had forged on through perilous times and survived.

Colton led her to the stables and there, he finally spoke to her.

"Your Kingdom will not come from well-laid plans and politesse. It'll come by blood. Some of it, My Queen, will be that of your people - both those that are and those that will be. We ride now to the House Aeredon, my Bannermen. The Head of House, Lord Bannister Aeredon, fought beside my father. It is my hope that he will fight beside us."

She had no reply for him. He knew he spoke the truth as did she. What could she have offered in response to that? That she was sorry men were going to die because of her? She was, obviously enough. She had a woman’s heart after all. But it was more than that. The Usurper was a greedy man. He would bleed the countryside dry of their wealth, be it crops, coin or happiness. Her lands he had taken over as a stepping stone in acquiring more. People mattered little to him other than a means to an end. He killed indiscriminately. There had been no need to run down women under the hooves of the horses his men rode or to condone his men raping the young girls simply because of their rutting needs. Oh, she had heard. FAI had sent back one of her men to check on the people who had chosen to stay behind, whether out of fear or stubbornness, she could not say. The stories had been horrific.

The mare, whose reins had been placed in her hands by one of the stable hands, was wary of her presence. She turned to face that proud and fine lady and spoke softly, extending a hand to the velvet nose, letting the mare take in her scent before FAI lifted a hand to stroke between its eyes. She never ceased speaking softly to the animal as she ran palm over its head and along its neck. Reins in one hand, she stood on tiptoe as the horse lowered its head, ear flicking as it listened to the soft dulcet feminine tone.

“Are you ready now, my beauty? You have nothing to fear from me.”

The chestnut nose bumped into FAI’s arm, making the young queen laugh softly, gently pat the mare’s neck before moving to its side. The animal stood docile. The girl waved away the stable hand that had come to her side to help her mount. She offered the lad a smile of thanks. The mare was a couple hands shorter than Lord Black’s gelding. It was still a feat for FAI to snake one hand around the pommel and her boot into the stirrup before she swung herself up into the saddle and settled. She was thankful for the leather trews she wore. It was much more comfortable riding this way. FAI was also thankful that the horses in the North, while heartier to suit the clime, they were shorter and a bit more stout than she was use to. All the same, she wiggled her backside into the saddle, adjusted the fur around her shoulders before her gray eyes, steady and sure, looked to Colton Black. Her voice held strength and determination. Her chin lifted with the steel of conviction.

“Then let us ride, Milord.”

 

[Light Ice]

They rode from the gates, a flood of animals with long legs churning and iron-shod hooves clawing at snow and ice and road. The thunder of their passing rumbled through the portcullis and up through the walls, shook stone and turned heads, and this time like so many others the people of the Iron Wood watched as their Lord rode out into the cold with his ebon-veiled retinue. This time, for the last time, they watched him as his great mount lead the column on through the woods and down the pass that lead invariably on.

The woods were full of wonders. A small white-coated fox spooked from a copse of dense pine at the first turn. It was gone in a flash of movement, a flicker of white on white. There was a quickness and an easiness to its stride. A brief glimpse of black-socked paws amidst the white, and then one last turn back of its triangular muzzle before it vanished. Small wonders, bright wonders. The Fox a herald of a lesser house that had served his father. Fleet of foot and sharp in eye. The Lord rode on, feeling more so now than ever, with the girl-Queen at his side.

She rode well, better than he'd anticipated. The animal beneath her churned, all muscle. Hearty. The animals of the North were not handsome. They were brutish creatures. A wondrous horse adapted to the cold and the hard riding of deep snow and ice. Sure-footed. Ferociously strong. It was strange to see so delicate and beautiful a girl upon one. They were animals born for survival and bred to fight. Ferocious. Most, by design and by nature, were as hard-tempered as the most bestial of men.

As still they rode on. The Forest stretched on before them. There were evils, too. Those, thankfully, they did not see. The Great Bears. The Dire Wolves, such as that which his house had worn. These were natural horrors. Beautiful in a dark way. They existed like so many things in the world that were untamed and glorious. The North was the last vestige refuge of these beasts. They were hold overs of the first age. In the South they were but legend. Dire Wolves. A creature that stood as tall as a man at the shoulder. A hide thick enough that a sword was of little use. Fairy tales to scare small children.

Colton had seen them once. And only once. He had been hunting with his father, just before he'd come of age. They had rode down an Elk into a valley many miles east of the road. It had turned and his father had loosed an arrow, missed. A true shot made untrue by the intervention of a Dire Wolf pack. A male. A female. Two smaller cubs. The male had dragged the Elk down himself, taken hold of it by the shoulder with a frothy snap of its massive jaws and jerked it down as though the Elk weighed naught of its fifty-plus stone. Another snap and the animal's neck had been crushed through, splintered. His father's arrow had sailed on past the entire thing.

His father had gone stock still. And Colton smelled fear in him the first time.

Then he saw them. That small pack. And the fear caught in him as well.

On this ride, with the girl-Queen, and every ride since that day he had never again seen them. His father had backed them away and told him how fortunate, both to be alive and to have seen them, they had been. Still, Colton looked through the trees. The boyish hope to see the massive animals, their broad muzzles and lean bodies, still alive. It haunted him always. Existed in the dark places of his mind. He did not hold such aspirations for the Great Bear.

Those he could do without.

But still, darker than these natural wonders, were the unnatural ones that wandered the Ice Wood. These were the product of ill-things and nightmares that lived to both men and children of the North. He wondered, briefly, if the South still held belief in such things. Trolls. Giants. Orcs. Did they believe in the dark magics of the Barbarian tribes or had those things fallen to fable as well? He had seen them. Killed them. The sword at his back was heavy from the blood of creatures and abominations of such making they had no names and still, he wondered, if the girl-Queen should see them in the trials ahead.

They rode. And hours passed. And these were the thoughts that slipped through Colton Black's head as the retinue of his office and those of the Queen's made their way through the winding wood and looming darkness of the Ice Forest. The trail was chopped earth beneath hard snow, tough pack that their mounts navigated with skill and strength. They tore up great clods of earth and ice in their wake, left tracks the most foolish could find. A column of men in mail and chain, dressed in grim ebon. Their faces hard and lean, bearded, frosted.

The walls of The Gateway loomed. Shorter, older, they were not of the Castle Black's ferocity. But still, formidable and ancient, with bones that had been set in the First Age. All of the North was old and the Castles of its people, those of the Old Blood, were magic in their own right. They survived the winters and the wars. The men upon it were veiled in snow-white lined with blood red, pale and terrible. A trumpet sounded and the gates drew open, creaking, like the mouth of some horrible creature. A few heads lay staked along the way and the column rode past them. Barbarians, Colton recognized. It was grim tidings.

Worse still was the muster of men in the Courtyard and Bannister Aeredon mounted to meet them. His helm was a great helm carved into the likeness of a snarling bear. The sigil and Warden of his house.

"Lord Black." Said Lord Aeredon, bowing his helmed head. His face shrouded by steel. His eyes a blazing green fire in the slit of it. He paid no mind to the girl, having never seen her and likely not recognizing her as she was.

"Bannister," he answered. "You're dressed to ride?"

The man's nod was grim, helmet or otherwise. His hand lifted the visor of the massive thing, revealing an older man in the midst of his forties. Strong. His face gauntly cut but strength visible in his sharp jawline and clenched teeth. The look of him was pale and noble, as were most of the Northern Houses.

"Aye, and glad to see you, I am." His words were terse and unhappy. "The Skin-Cloaks are in my woods again in numbers. My wood cutters have been butchered and flayed. Would you ride with me and see to it that they are properly fucked?"

His language did not cause Colton to flinch. The North had a harsher way and it was customary, though his father had never allowed it in his own home. Here, though, he was a guest of sorts and it did not offend him. The Queen, however, was another matter. Colton had not forgotten her. His hand lifted from the horn of his saddle, black-gloved, and gestured to her beside him.

"I will." He was nodding even as he spoke, it was his duty to ride down the Barbarians. An opportunity, as well. "But I will leave some men behind with her Grace. I introduce to you our Queen, Mother of the Realm."

In his saddle Lord Colton Black turned once more, aware that this time his eyes found the girl's lips before her eyes. Her beauty, amidst the snow and the bleak canvas of the North, seemed to grow more striking.

"Your Grace, may I present Lord Bannister Aeredon, third of his name. Keeper and Guardian of the Southern Pass, Lord of the Northern Gateway. The Aeredon's have long held the Gateway for my Father, and the Throne, and have been ever-stalwart. Lord Bannister, here, is perhaps the best with a Lance that I have ever known. Better, still, when it comes to leading Cavalry. The Horsemen of The Gateway are the best of the North."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Mud and snow flew as the horses moved toward the gates and then out of it. If any were foolish enough not to be fleet of foot, they found themselves covered in it. The sound of hooves beating against the snow, frozen in some places, before making contact with the sodden ground under it, was tremendous. It was, she thought, what the world would sound like if it beat with one heart. The legs of the great beasts under each rider, were strong and sure. Now and then, FAI leaned forward and petted the mare’s neck, talking softly to the horse. She would have wondered if it could hear her over the sound of other hooves tearing up the land beneath them, if it were not for the fuzzy ears, flicking back.

All she had ever heard in her lifetime was how harsh, cold and unforgiving the North was. It was all those things and more. The snow lay like a virgin blanket covering the earth on either side of them. It was marred from time to time by tracks of the small beasts that lived in the woods. Her eyes caught sight of a small silver fox that paused, frozen in its tracks for but a moment before it bounded off back into the shadows the woods provided. Overhead, a hawk flew soundlessly before, with a speed that stole her breath away, it swooped then flew upward again with what appeared to be a small white hare in its talons. The hawk shrieked once as it disappeared from sight. Sunlight sparkled across the virgin snow like glittering diamonds. It would have seemed magical if it weren’t for the fact that FAI knew better.

Conventionally, she could have ridden in the middle of his retinue, it was, the most safest place to ride. However, FAI had chosen to ride beside Colton Black, at the front. She trusted in his men and in Colton himself to protect her and yet, that very notion irritated her. She had yet been able to have a word with him about her intentions. She did realize she needed to meet and speak with this Lord Aeredon. He was the second stepping stone in righting the wrong that had just happened. The people of the North had a vested interest in seeing her put back into power. She knew what would be in each lords mind. Why? What made her, a mere girl and that was a big issue, in a place of such power to hold the peace and distribute justice? She couldn’t hold a weapon, had never been taught to fight. What could she possibly know of strategy and warfare? She barely had enough time to think, let alone catch up on her sleep or mourn the parents she had lost before she was tossed into the harsh reality of having people look up to her for the answers, someone to protect them and lead them into safety, to give them a sense of direction. Thanks to Lord Colton Black, she had a small inkling of where to start. But that wasn’t enough. She didn’t have time to dwell on her own emotions.

Massive gates came into view. They were old and worn but sound, thick and would, even to her inexperienced eyes, protect what was within their walls. As they approached, from somewhere trumpets sounded, her eyes went from the walls to the few spiked bodiless heads. They were a barbaric warning. FAI never understood the meaning for it. Was it meant to instill fear in others? Was it partly something primal that was buried in the breast of men? There were better ways to instill fear into the enemy. They rode past those heads caught in the grimace of death and now forever immortalized in this fashion. FAI turned her gaze from them and focused on the slowly opening gates. They rode in silence as they had done from the start. Colton Black was a man of few words.

They were met by the sight of mounted men and one stood out in her eyes. He wore a great helm carved like a snarling bear.

”Lord Black.” His voice was deep, gravelly and at the moment, terse.

FAI’s mare shifted on its feet where they stood. Her hand automatically came out and patted the animal with a reassuring touch. Mares, she found, were always more flighty than geldings. More high strung. However, this one had been trained well. A soft mouth that required only gentle direction.

”Bannister, you’re dressed to ride?” The man beside her spoke.

FAI remained quiet and observant. The man Colton was speaking with lifted a hand to push back his visor. This was the man she had come to appeal to. It seemed they had come at an unfortunate time. Skirmishes and wars were part of life. Lord Aeredon’s straight forward words made her cringe on the inside. It did not matter who she was but what she was, a female. That afforded some consideration, she felt even while being aware that men of the North, in this still wilderness, were basic men. This was something she was not use to but she would not be cowed by it either. She would need this man’s help. The hood of the fur she wore was still pulled up over her head. She had not dropped it. Colton’s voice drew her back from her thoughts, her eyes going to his but then to the man before them he was introducing to her. A gloved hand raised to push back her hood, exposing her soft, refined features to all who were watching the exchange. Gray eyes met green speculative ones. Wrapping the reins around the pommel, she pulled off her glove and held out a hand to the Lord of the Northern Gateway.

“I fear we have come at an inopportune time, Milord Aeredon. My apologies. If I might accept the hospitality of your house, I will not detain you and Lord Black from seeing to these Skin-Cloaks. I will keep one of my captains with me, but the others will ride with Lord Black and yourself. Upon your return, it is my hope we can speak of the realm I hope to save with help from the fierce men of the North.”

Plain speaking? She could do that.

 

[Light Ice]

Aeger - Of The Queen's Guard

In the end the Queen had gone in, flanked by her retinue and despite objections the very best that Lord Black and Lord Aeredon could offer. This seemed inevitable to him. The world that Aeger had known had forgotten old traditions and honors. Those that had kept them in the past had slipped to shadow for the sake of Gold and lust of station. Nobles had preened and fauned over one another for so long they had replaced the iron of a man's word with the serpent of a man's tongue. Aeger was not a noble man. The earthen nature of his beginnings had afforded him a certain understanding of hardships and how to overcome them. His means had always been any means. This place was different.

The Queen's humble insistence had been defeated by honor. She was forced, most likely without being aware, to understand that her presence in the North was not only some strange turn of chance but the most high of honors. These people, girl or not, looked to her with reverence. They followed the ways of old. She did not understand, at least not that Aeger saw, that the best of men were chosen as an honor and they took it so. It was something of pride to stand beside her grim and daunting. Everyone of them, without question, would die for her. There was a power in that. Aeger felt it here.

It was a very different world than he had known. Foolish in some ways (in that there was no denying) but romantic and inspiring as well.

The battle was a different story.

There were faster horses in the realm but none had been so ferociously bred for war that he had ever known. Iron Heart did not labor to stride but like all horses seemed to slow just a step as it bore down on the barbarians. Battle was never natural in a horse's heart, or so it had been said, yet the animals of the Northmen seemed unawares. They lowered their great heads and squared their shoulders, gaining an extra stride even in the snow. It kicked up in great clouds behind the column, perhaps two-hundred strong.

Aeger had followed with the handful of the Queen's men that had come. They were few amongst the Northern many. He did not know these lands but recognized immediately that the Northmen had flanked wide and come back around towards the horde. They had not caught the Barbarians unawares, heavy cavalry were not much for surprise, but they had claimed the high ground and were riding downhill.

Still, for the Barbarians, there were thousands. A seeming tide of men clad in rough furs and uneven leathers. They looked every bit the part of savages. Many had gnarled beards and great, ebon tattoos across their faces. Most wore cloaks fashioned from hide that Aeger knew, but did not recognize, to be human flesh. He had never seen such a thing. They were ready with spear, crouched and snarling.

The Northmen rode through them like an arrow sails through water. For a moment amidst the thunder of hooves there was a great breath drawn by both sides in anticipation and they they came together. Aeger's horse lost ground to those beside it, slowing in fear of what lay ahead. Iron Heart was as stout a mount as he had ever known but the horse was more companion than killer. The half-step was enough to allow Aeger an instant to observe carnage he had ever seen. A heavy cavalry charge was a fierce thing. It carried with it an impact.

The force of the Horses broke the Barbarian line clean and began to smash deep within its heart. Aeger reached out with his spear as he rode through the line and caught a Barbarian clean in the belly. The man was driven onto his back and run clean-through before Aeger released the shaft and left it with him. In the madness he could see the men he had rode with reaching out on one side, then the other, to cleave men through with wide-bladed swords. The horses of the North did not slow but charged on, undaunted as they waded into the sheer numbers of the Horde. They never faltered or slowed but carved a path straight through, heedless of what lay before them.

Iron Heart fell in behind them, following in their path. Aeger never touched another man on the first pass. There were none near enough for his short sword to reach.

On the second charge they finally were stopped amidst the Skin-Cloaks. Most of the horde was already fleeing. The consequence of being ridden through on their courage was great. Aeger's last vision before he slid from Iron Heart's back was of a few hundred Skin-Cloaks turning for the trees and running.

They never made it.

Out of those trees came arrows, a great hail of arrows, loosed from the air itself. They thinned the fleeing crowd in waves, again and again, until the last few hit the tree-line screaming. They simply vanished, cries cut off the moment they were gone, and then the dead silence of the wood in contrast to the battle.

A man charged him then and Aeger rounded, slipped his axe, and brought his sword down on the soft place between neck and shoulder. The blade of his sword hacked through flesh and bone, lodging there, forcing him to use his boot to kick the body from his blade as the man's head rolled lifelessly. He slipped in and buried a thrust under a man's arm while he beat on the shield of a White-Clad warrior. This was battle that Aeger knew. Dirty. Messy.

In the immediate mess of the skirmish, though, order was slowly falling together as Lord Black stalked past him. The Black Bastard, tallest on the field and wearing a simple obsidian steel barbute helm, waded on. From all directions the men in White and Ebon came to his side. Their shields locked in a wall, wordlessly finding rank behind him. And slowly, steadily, a great round wall was formed where each man covered the one beside and so on. Aeger was swallowed up in the second rank as it passed, having no shield, and someone passed him a spear.

He knew not what to do but found the answer in the man beside him who lifted it and laid it on the shield of the man before. It was clear then. Aeger had never fought a battle this way.

Still, there was a freedom in it. They came upon a line of Barbarians and he thrust one through the throat, withdrew, and took another in the chest. The shield infront of him was steady and unrelenting in its press forward. Without distraction, no need to worry for himself, Aeger found it remarkably simple to be an excellent spear. He was strong and quick and the weapon was not so much different in principle to the short blade he had always used.

The Lord Black, though, was something else entirely.

The man to which every Barbarian would have wanted dead walked out ahead of the wall without a single hint of reservation. In his hands, its hilt as long as a lesser man's sword, the massive length of his Bastard Blade stretched out and glinted in the sun's light. It was nearly five feet of obsidian steel, razor sharp.

He, himself, was not some artist of motion. The movements of the Lord Black were sharp, direct, and efficient. He parried and struck in one sure cleave, rending men apart and leaving them in a ruin upon the field. One, reckless as he charged on, was levied his head and an arm in one motion. Another, dropping to his knees for mercy, was run through without word or thought.

The battle lasted less than an hour by Aeger's wager. It saw precious few lost, perhaps a dozen total, amongst the Northmen.

The Barbarian tide had been thinned by a hundred times that number and sent scattered into the dark. Some, undoubtably, were taken in the back by the Rangers whom shadowed the woods like horrible spectres. Others, perhaps, froze in the cold when they ran reckless and alone into the boughs of the Ironwood trees. It was this that Aeger told to those in his company that asked him when he returned.

But he took note of the Lord Aeredon and Lord Black moving into the Castle's Keep. The Lord Aeredon with helm beneath his arm laughing, stout and strong. The Lord Black, grim and silent, moving on beside him.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She had a lot to learn, admittedly but FAI knew what she was about. If she had chosen to go with the men into this battle, she would be a liability, not an asset. Someone would have had to been in charge of her well-being while secured from a location removed from the fighting. That alone, was intolerable to her. So much more was. However, she had to make a start somewhere and it was here, that it would begin.

The men left in a cloud of dust and thundering hooves. She could feel the anticipation cut through the air like the well-honed edge of a sword. Her captain, Cassius, helped her dismount.

“Cassius, I have heard tell that one of the best sword smiths resides here. Find him and bring him to me in the Keep. I wish to have words with him.”

Cassius bowed in deference and strode off to do his queen’s bidding. FAI watched him go before turning to look upon those of Lord Aeredon’s household who had stepped outside the Keep to gawk at the young queen. She moved toward them, smiling.

“Come, let us return inside. I daresay your lord will wish drink and food upon his and Lord Black’s return.”

His servants parted, allowing FAI to enter the Keep proper. It was impressive, not quite as stoic as Lord Black’s Keep but then, she figured, that Lord Black was a single man and as such she found little warmth to the place. Certainly not a woman’s touch. Did not the men of the North take a woman to wife? Or did they simply just find one willing to warm his bed? Her thoughts faltered, cheeks growing warm, as she briefly wondered if Lord Colton Black did just that. She put away such thoughts as she was ushered into a chair close to the fire and given a mug of mulled wine to warm her insides. She had removed her robe, placing it over her legs to keep them warm. Cassius returned shortly thereafter. FAI glanced up from her silent contemplation of the fire as Cassius joined her accompanied by another man.

“Your Grace, may I present Dougal, Lord Aeredon’s blacksmith.” She inclined her head in Cassius’ direction first.

“Thank you, Cassius,” her attention turned to the blacksmith beside him, “I have been told that here in the North one can find the best sword smiths, are you one of them, Dougal of the North?”

The man was wringing his hands. A nervous reaction, she knew. Setting aside her drink, she stood up, catching the fur before it could hit the floor. She turned slightly to secure it into the chair before she turned back to Dougal and stepped toward him, a small hand coming out to lay lightly over his. He automatically jerked back.

“My Lady.. er.. Your Grace. My hands, they be filthy.” She smiled warmly and again touched his hands.

“Nonsense, Dougal. They are good, strong, talented hands that are covered with an honest day's work. They won’t taint mine. Now, the reason for my question. I have need of a sword. Something I can wield. It needs to be made to fit my hands specifically with the proper balance. There are many things I need to accomplish if I am to take back my kingdom and it begins here and now, with you. I do not at the moment have the money to pay for such a weapon, but I will get it. This I promise you.”

“Your Grace, I cannot allow you to pay---“ She held up a hand to silence him.

“Yes, you can and you will. Time and effort must be paid for. You are not my sword smith and even if you were? I would still see you well paid. Will you see to the task for me? And if you tell me aye, then I shall confer with Lord Aeredon to insure his blessing as well.”

The poor man’s hands, roughened and stained, twitched beneath her softer one. She removed her own hand. Once freed of her touch, his hands went behind his back. His head bobbed.

“Yes, of course, My La—Your Grace. “ Her pleasure was evident as she beamed at the poor man.

“Very good, Dougal. I know next to nothing of sword making but I am sure you have some measurements you will require of me? Let Cassius know what you need and I will see to it that you get the answers. I am staying at Lord Black’s Keep and the sword may be brought there when it is finished. I thank you for your time, Dougal of the North.”

After Dougal had departed, she had Cassius escort her about Lord Aeredon’s Keep where she stopped and spoke often with the men and women going about their day, asking questions and earnestly listening to their answers. The people here were as busy as Lord Black’s. FAI stopped to watch the men training. All of which reminded her that she needed to speak with Lord Black, if the man would stand still for a moment and give her his time. He seemed to have his own personal agenda, of which she didn’t mind in the least, but she also had hers. She had not only come here to rally men to her cause, but also to learn something more.

Men, she knew, would fight to the death out of loyalty but she wanted more than that. She wanted them to fight for her because she had earned their loyalty. Darkness was falling by the time she and Cassius made their way back to the Keep. Her mind was teeming with information and thoughts. Her body was tiring. She still had not slept her fill and probably would not for some time to come. The sound of masculine, hearty laughter, filled her ears as she and Cassius re-entered the Keep. Lords Aeredon and Black had returned.

“Well, I gather you were successful in your endeavor, Lord Aeredon?”

Her eyes slid to Colton Black but his face remained stoic in the flickering shadows from the blazing fire.

 

[Light Ice]

He had never found much beauty within a castle's walls. They were, all too frequently, dressed as though cold stone could warm and the measure of a man's might to turn brick to fortress could all at once be turned to something else entirely. Some, that he had seen, had endured a woman's touch which in any other realm would have been a welcome thing but in a castle's keep was naught but garish and terrible. The very best went instead for regal. Aeredon's, for all his blustering, was modest. It was a huntsman's keep. The wall was adorned with Great Stag heads and a few bear. There were no wolves, and never would be, so long as they shared bonds.

Celebration was beginning to break out. It was a slow, almost lazy affair, but an affair all the while. It stretched out with an eventuality that told him before long he'd retire. It was no grudge of his to watch the men whom fought beside him indulge in the pleasures of victory. There would be whores and wine and mead and dances and curses and fights. The debauchery could only extend so far, however, because in a guest's home his men held themselves to a standard entire. Those who trespassed would inevitably find consequences.

Few would trespass.

Aeredon, his axe braced upon a mount along the back of his chair, was in high spirits. The man's seat was at the right hand of a chair that was now empty. Before, without the royal line present, it had been for Colton's family. He had witnessed his father sit in that very seat, grim and gaunt and beloved all the same. They were not of the same make. All that had made his father amicable and likable had died with him and what was left, half a whore's genes and some shred of what had composed a truly great man was all that was left.

He'd been ready to leave. It was poor manners but he'd not held to them much at all since he'd come of age and less so after his father had passed. The North did not begrudge his means and he was glad of it. The country was too hard to pay mind to pomp and circumstance.

She entered with escort but he hardly saw them. There was, in her steps, a sleek glide that defied the way of the people whom he'd raised. It were as though with each step she cut a path into the stories of his childhood when the ladies of the realm were of a beauty both earthy and ethereal. There was a grace in her that he could naught remember but in the first of a new winter's snow.

And though, diverted as she was by conversation, she drew on towards him.

"You are staring, Colton." The words came from the man whose home he was now a guest. They were old friends. He did not take offense to the informality and he did not reply to the implications.

There was no reply to be had. The older man was smiling through his thick beard and drinking from a half-full tankard.

Instead, Colton greeted her with a low dip of his head. The wear of the day was shedding even as he stood there. The cut of his eyes sharp as they returned to the girl queen's features and levied themselves against her beauty.

"Your Grace."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

The question was rhetorical of course. From the actions of the men in the Keep, it was obvious what the outcome had been. The Keep clamored with roughed edged men in celebration of their victory. It seemed to come alive as its lord and his men filled it. The air was a rowdy, joyful one. Having been raised around such men, FAI took little notice of it. She had witnessed both the joyful and the grim. Platters of food were brought from the kitchens, for either way, men had to eat. Ale was plentiful. Tankards were being refilled at a rapid rate. The scene around her made her smile. She wouldn’t be surprised if in months to come that Lord Aeredon’s holding would grow substantially in about nine months.

FAI made her way through the crowded room toward the host’s table with an almost ethereal quality. Slight. Dwarfed by the brawny men of the north. She felt small and all the more reason why her chin tipped upward just that bit more for it. She was vulnerable. She was the beggar here and it left a sour taste at the back of her throat. Yet, its reality she could not deny. Her eyes slid from man to man sitting at that table. Until they came to Colton. She found him watching her. How long had he been doing so? What was it about him that made her heart beat strongly in her chest and yet flutter like a butterfly captured? Her eyes studied his face, took in every line, every contour and if her attention was pulled from him by attending another, it always came back to him. Eventually, she had finally arrived at the host’s table. His eyes were still upon her. She could feel the slight color blossom in her cheeks. It mortified her but there was little she could to stop it.

“Your Grace.”

She wondered if he would always maintain that wall between them. It did not make for an easy wall to breach and she found that she did want it breached or rather torn asunder. She not only needed an ally but she needed something more. She needed someone she could trust, rely upon. She needed someone she could be herself around, not a queen. Her station would never change, she realized that but she was human too. Her mind was already in a state of quandary, a place she could not afford to be. A place she could not be in. Too many people depended upon her despite the fact that Lord Black had given sanctuary. They were still her people. Her responsibility and one that so far, she was failing miserably at. There was no one to be her strength, her light. She was on her own.

She inclined her head with a cool refinement that was as unconscious as it was inbred into her. An indication of her heritage.

“My Lord Black.”

Her voice was always soft. Too soft to her own ears. The man seated in front of her seemed to mock her with his silence and sparse words. Her spine straightened. Shoulders drew back slightly. Her chin elevated marginally as she regarded him coolly, despite her inner turmoil.

Fate was such a fickle thing. Here were the two men she needed to speak with. One who had been elusive thus far and the other? A hard man of the north that she had to convince to join her cause. A man she knew naught of. As much as she wished a few words with Lord Black, it was Lord Aeredon she must speak with at this time. It was why they had come here after all. Her captains stood at her back. They were an impressive sight but impressions meant very little up here. FAI turned but slightly, motioning to Cassius, who approached her shoulder. She spoke quietly. He replied, turned, speaking with the others. They bowed to their host and departed. FAI turned fully back to their host. She was determined to keep her eyes on him though she could feel Lord Black’s still upon her.

“My congratulations on your victory this day, my Lord Aeredon. I hope it does not offend you but I have engaged the services of one of your smiths. Dougal, to be exact. I have commissioned him to make a sword. I do not mind waiting for it while he sees to your service. I wonder if I might interrupt your enjoyment of this evening’s festivities to speak with you in private? Accompanied by Lord Black, of course. Perhaps after the meal?“

Better to catch a man in good humor than to catch him in a poor one. It was not much of an advantage but every little bit helped.

 

[Light Ice]

A storm was coming. He felt it. The air was chilling. Outside, visible through the small slats that served as windows, he could see that snow had begun to fall and wavered now as the winds came. Storms were nothing new to the North. There were some of mention; great blizzards that had descended on the wood and the mountain with vengeance. There had been losses. Men, women, old, young. They had fallen against the North's cruel indifference to those that sheltered within the hardship of its bounds. Still, a storm was coming. He'd felt it the moment his eyes had caught sight of the waif of a girl that was now his Queen. It'd been there when he'd woken her in the morning and fought with futility the desire to see the covers slip from her. A storm. Coming. It threatened all that he knew.

He'd gotten lost in the Iron Wood once. Ten years, and barely so, had passed in his life when he'd gone beyond the castle with a boy's aspirations. In his mind were stories of great Elk hunts and comparable triumphs. In his heart there was an expectation of nothing more than a hare or two.

For all his daydreams and whimsy, he'd ever been a practical boy. The upbringing of a bastard did not suit itself to carelessness. He'd worn layers of hide and his wolf-skin surcoat. His own day of birth had naught known celebration. A bastard's birthing marked only the shaming of a name. It existed, like so many things in life, as a cruel reminder to a mistake passed. Or, so he assumed, because it was a day he had never known. The records were not in the library. But he did have a day of gifts. His mother, whom he'd never known or come to know, had a day of birth as well. On that day, 5th of December, his father always left him something. The coat was the latest of these gifts and it was very warm.

Still, as practical as his preparations had been, the Iron Wood was a proven killer. It could kill with wind and snow and ice. It could kill with hunger or thirst. The beasts that lived within its confines all lived by nature's cruel indifference and were killers of their own. He'd gone without anyone's knowing. He'd gone alone.

The day ended when he'd finally stumbled through the wind and made the gates. His father had received him, trembling and bowless, with a coldness made familiar by his stay in the wilds.

"The wood would have taken you without malice or mercy - and so will I." He'd said.

Lesson learned.

But now, looking back to the filtering crowd of lesser nobles and soldiers alike, he was reminded of that day in late afternoon when he'd first realized the trouble he'd made for himself. The winding track he had taken to find game had vanished amidst a fresh snow. It fell swiftly enough that with each blink his lashes caught more. After over an hour of searching for his way back he'd found only a small clearing. The stump of a tree long cut centered with twenty feet of snowy ground stretching in all directions to form a great ring. It had seemed majestic to him as a boy. Special. He'd felt his fears of the cold, of freezing to death slip away to wonder. And, capturing all of this, was a small flower growing from the stump of that tree. The green of its stem stood in contrast to the white of the snow that covered the stump and blanketed the field. It was dotted with small thorns. A flower. Alive. Here. It felt then as if it had been meant for him. He felt certain that if he reached for it there would be a place it could be warm and grow under his eyes.

But he was a bastard. And lost. And certain to die, or not, he'd no business with a flower. In the end he'd abandoned it. Reluctantly. The years would pass and he would sometimes attempt to find his way back. It'd gone, though, from the world. The clearing would always escape him and the flower with it. One regret amongst many.

He remembered now its blossoms were red but had no name for what it was. He had never seen it again.

The memory held as he watched her and as he had not understood then, he did not understand now. For all the movements of the crowd, her gentle machinations towards the throne that had been taken from her, there was a fragility to this that he recognized.

"We can speak, Your Grace." Came the words of their host. He was already half-drunk on victory. The brandy that soaked his beard would quickly see to the rest.

The large man lurched to his feet heavily. Colton said nothing. The revelries and celebrations were treasured parts of the northern heritage that he had never had a taste for.

No Noble of the South, the Lord of the Keep reached out with a broad hand and smacked the backside of a serving girl skirting by. The lady of the house had died with the birth of their fifth child and he'd never remarried. There had been love affairs with peasant girls but they had not be suitable brides. The greatest burden to the North in terms of court was its inability to wed their towering sons to the daughters of those jockeying for position in the southern court. Their host had been lucky enough to accept a young daughter who'd disgraced her family. Their wedding had been a way for her to be exiled from the royal court.

Colton shared the man's appetites, however, and felt a stirring in him with its acknowledgement. It'd have to wait. Soon, they were in the guest quarters that would be the Queen's. He stood beside the door.

"I know what you've come to ask me, Queen." He started. "And I'll give it."

Colton felt there was more and disappointment that was so. The man's posture changed as he considered the girl before him and then Colton in turn. It was enough, thankfully, to push Lord Aeredon to proceed more carefully than Colton feared he was capable. The qualities of the man that were so fitting for war were ill-fitting for court.

"But my people need to be protected and I can't spare many men right now."

A part of Colton, a part he was not very familiar with, felt outrage. Lord Aeredon was to be their staunchest ally and he was, in fact, stalling them. The other understood it. The man, just now, had engaged a barbarian horde less than a few leagues from his gates. Sending men to the south, making his people vulnerable, would not be the decision of a man that cared for the people that trusted upon him. The cold truth of it was that the armies of the North were sparse and would always be so.

"How many?" He asked. The words left him clipped and muted.

"Fifty, at most."


And all at once he found himself watching the girl's reaction.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Her line of vision was such that she could take in the visage of both men. Though she kept her eyes firmly on Lord Aeredon, her awareness was constantly being brought back to the silent Colton Black.

"We can speak, Your Grace."

His rough voice was slightly slurred. Men were men. They put their lives on the line for their lord whenever they needed to. Survival called for celebration and if they were anywhere from slightly in their cups to deeply into them, who could blame them? Colton, Lord Aerdon and herself moved to private quarters to speak. FAI moved into the room with the Lord of the Keep while Lord Black, she silently noted, remained by the door. Always setting himself apart. She wondered if it was deliberate. Always careful not to get too close to anyone.

"I know what you've come to ask me, Queen. And I'll give it. But my people need to be protected and I can't spare many men right now.”

Before she could speak, Lord Black’s clipped voice split the air. There was something in his tone she detected. Her eyes flashed in his direction. He wasn’t pleased.

"How many?" Her eyes went back to Lord Aeredon.

“Fifty, at most.”

She could feel Lord Black’s eyes upon her but her gaze never wavered from the man directly in front of her. She took a moment to marshal her thoughts before she spoke and while she was doing that, her feet took her to a chair beside the fireplace and stood behind it, her hands resting on the back. FAI lifted her eyes to Aeredon, their grayness reflected the sky beyond the windows of this room.

“My Lord Aeredon, I can appreciate your stance on such issues and I have yet to speak privately with Lord Black here, but I do not think it would be remiss of me to say that winter is fast approaching. Passages will be closed. Travel, while common enough for the men of the north, is not so easy for others. Besides, there must be others recruited for this war so it would not be ignorant of me to say that battle will probably come as early as Spring. Surely by then you will be able to spare me more men than what you have offered thus far. I do not need to tell you, for I know you are an intelligent man, that unless I regain my throne, even the people of the north are not safe from The Usurper. I do promise you, your sacrifice will not go unrewarded. The men of the north will band together, care for each other, fight for each other if need be. This attitude I have seen. War is harsh on all. Sacrifices must be made for the common good. I would not see your Keep without protection but without your men to fight for me? I promise you, you will not have a Keep to protect for long. The Usurper is that ruthless and has the men to carry it out. Your men may be fierce in battle, My Lord…” her eyes slipped to the silent one by the door as she continued to speak, “but unless we all band together, we shall find ourselves the servants of the devil incarnate.”

She spoke to Lord Black as well as Lord Aeredon. For whatever intuition she had where Colton was concerned, she knew he would give all that he could to serve her. He would not forsake his responsibilities to his own people but nor would he shirk his fealty to her. Her focus returned to the older man and FAI smiled softly.

“We will approach the subject of your men before spring’s arrival. I mean to recruit others, Lord Aeredon from the Western and Eastern kingdoms of our lands as well. I would not wish for you to look anything less than the fierce, brave lord you are, in their eyes, with such a small offering as you propose to me at this moment. When we take back my kingdom, I will reward loyalty generously. I hope we understand each other?”

Inside she was quaking. On the outside, she was calm. Poised. Firm. She hoped she had spoken as she should have. Concern for the people, yet, being adamant in her pursuit of having her kingdom restored. What had Colton said to her the morning after her arrival?


“You must present yourself as a Queen, your grace, if you wish men to follow you for theirs.”


Thus began her Swan Song.