Cerah
Nearly a league south of Castle Black, stood Cerah. Her lips were tinted blue and icicles hung from her hair but she tried her hardest to trudge through the growing mass of snow. She needed to reach the wall within the day and the sun was falling quickly toward the western horizon. Never in her life had she been this cold.
She came to a halt, watching a herd of elk eat pine needles from the forest's trees, envious. I'm so weak compared to them, she thought. They're built for this. I'm made of the south and of the sea.
That's when she heard the horn. She froze, every hair on her frozen body raised. Wildlings? No. Weeks ago she received a raven with news that their company had been eliminated.
Deep within her southern soul she found the courage to move. She was halfway up the tree before her senses returned to her. Without the forest to block her vision, she could see all the way to the wall. It was taller than she had ever imagined, the top seemed to disappear into the clouds. She was close, too. Another hour, maybe two and she would be at Castle Black's doorstep.
She scanned the land for the horn's source with no luck. Did I imagine it? Maybe the isolation has finally taken hold. Her eyes trailed down to the elk. They didn't seem to notice the sound. She released a long breath and let her eyes close.
The world was changed when they opened again. The herd had dispersed, running for their lives in all directions. A sound plagued with death erupted from where they had been grazing. The largest of the pack was lying on his side panting, coloring the snow red. An arrow skewered his neck.
Within seconds a large group of men were crowed around the body, all on horseback.
Cerah yanked an arrow from it's quiver and strung her bow with staggering speed.
"What'd you do that for?" a short plump man complained.
"I dunno, seemed like the right thing t'do. Did you hear the way he screeched? Ha!" laughed the archer. He unsheathed his sword and drove it through the elk's skull. "Let's cook it up, I'm hungry."
"Are you some kind of half-wit? You know we don't have enough time for that!" cried another man, "If we don't do the deed soon, someone else might. And were almost there. Think of all the ale and cheese and warmth we'll have when we take the Castle!"
"Aye!" the rest of the men cheered.
Cerah's mind was racing. The men bore no sigil. Sellswords, she assumed. But why would men of Westeros want Castle Black to fall?
"Can't we just rest a bit?" complained the archer man, "We can attack at nightfall when everyone's sleeping."
There was chatter amongst the group, too quiet for Cerah to hear. Minutes later the men began to dismount. They would stay here, for a few hours at least.
Cerah surveyed her surroundings once again. She was far enough from the group that she might be able to slip out of the tree and away before anyone noticed. But even if she did, there was still another hour of open land to travel through. If she couldn't make it before the men rode for the wall, she would be helpless.
Staying here wasn't an option. It would only be a matter of time before one of the men decided to look up and she wasn't well hidden. She considered trying to take them all on from the tree. If she took out the archer first, they would be defenseless. No one else had a bow and it was unlikely another man could reach her before she shot him. She counted the men and the arrows in her quiver. Nine arrows for thirteen men. The odds were against her.
She looked toward the wall, towering what seemed like a league high. Her best bet would be to head strait toward it's base and hide under it's cover for the rest of the journey west. Seconds later she was on the ground and running, quiet as a ghost.
They were coming. This time they weren't daft enough to warn her with a horn, but she could feel their horses hoofs shaking the earth. It was an hour since the gods swallowed the sun back up and she didn't know how much further she had to travel. She could see the Castle's silhouette and the elevator lying eerily distance but her depth perception was useless in this light. There was no moon tonight.
All she could do was run and hope she reached the entrance before they did, but she was beginning to loose hope. The hoofs grew louder and louder until Cerah was sure they would trample right over her. She kept running until the sound stopped. The starlight reflecting off the snow made it so she could see their shadows in the distance. They dismounted, gathering the things they'd need for battle. The smallest of the men was told to stay with the horses.
Cerah lowered herself to the ground, hoping they wouldn't notice her green cloak against the snow in the darkness. She held her breath. He right hand clung to her sword's hilt. Once the men began their decent, she got to her feet again and began trailing behind them. Every once in a while, one of the group would look backwards and Cerah would slowly come to a halt, slinking back into her cloak.
Like a shadow, Cerah thought. I'm only a shadow.
Soon enough the group stood within the Castle's grounds, near the stables. There were a few men of the Night's Watch tending to evening chores. The sellswords easily overwhelmed them.
Cerah had found shelter behind a grain shed. I have to do something. The Night's Watch will never respect me if I sit here while their brothers are killed. She scanned the yard, desperately trying to form plan.
Cerah counted her arrows and tightened her belt before she started running. She leaped onto a pile of hay and from that to the roof of what seemed to be a barn. Under her feet, horses kicked at their stalls.
She strung her bow and pulled the it's string back to touch her lips, peering strait down the arrow. She let her eyes fall shut and a long breath escape her lungs. Her mind calmed down a bit. Fighting, for a righteous cause, was where she belonged. Twelve to one, she thought. I guess it could be worse.
Then things started happening very quickly.
"Ey!" she screamed, hoping to draw the attention away from the castle and to wake someone of the Night's Watch. All twelve sellswords looked her way. The archer reached for his bow, but Cerah's arrow was already racing toward his face. It stuck him right between the eyes and he fell. She took out four more men and used all but one of her arrows before they reached her.
Her sword hissed as it left the sheath. She took a running jump over then men's heads. The battle high kicked in before she reached the ground. Her plan was not to fight, but to run inside the Castle to better cover or to where someone would hopefully come to her aid. She was very fast.
She made it halfway across the courtyard before she saw the arrow poking through her right shoulder. One of the sellswords had picked up the archer's bow and was standing in the doorway. He smiled.
She reached him soon enough and drove her sword through his throat. Inside the Castle she could hear commotion in nearby rooms, but no one was there to save her yet.
She turned to fight, driving the remaining attackers back into the yard. She sliced through two and a half more men before a swords blow sent her flying toward the ground. Her consciousness was slipping away from her. Four men towered over her, one with his sword to her throat.
"Who are you?!" a man screeched, there was fear in his words.
She studied their faces. They were old, each with his own gray hair and bushy beard. These were the kind of men you'd expect to find at a tavern, drinking over chatter of women and the seasons. The wrinkles of their faces told stories of happiness and tourneys and long summers. She could trace their laugh lines with a finger if she wanted. Sellswords had much harder faces. These were men of Kings Landing.
Desperately, she reached for her sword but the pain from the arrow made moving excruciating. Her mind was too slow to reason her way out of this.
Luckily, she didn't have to. The men fell, almost in unison.
Her body was too weak to look for her saviors. She heard voices and the sound of feet. She could feel the warmth radiating off the bodies that had surrounded her. One man frantically screamed a familiar question, "Who are you?" Cerah smiled. The figure's face was only a blur to her but she knew he was a man of the Night's Watch.
"Cerah... Cerah Baratheon," escaped her lips before her body went limp.