The following story takes place in the period between the Red Wedding and the Battle of the Wall. As yet, there are no established characters from ASOIAF in it, though that may change. It's my first fanfiction story, and my first chapter. If you like it, I'll write the rest as quickly as I can.

The Smuggler's Tale – Chapter 1

Grouter looked nervously upon water. The Bay of Seals swelled ominously, water rising in black hills as if by the leviathans of old tales, intent on swallowing their ship whole. Thankfully, there were no leviathans tonight, nor storms, which was the Mother's mercy. He made a note to say a prayer to her the next time Septon Pol returned the village on his next circuit. Giant waves, icy winds and freezing rain were norm for autumn and they could sink a war galley like a stone, gifting its crew as banquet for the fish, rather than the usual way. The fisher wasn't a particularly faithful man and the Seven had never given him reason to be, but when one gambled, as he did tonight, Grouter believed it never hurt to hedge your bet. The absence of the rotten cogs or skimmers of the Night's Watch was another blessing she had bestowed upon. Despite the relatively calm weather, it seemed only the Lovely Bess graced the bay tonight, her oars pulling the ship slowly but silently past the rocks of the shore. Grasping one of the starboard oars, Grouter turned his eye to the not-quite-distance lights of Eastwatch. If our luck holds, he thought, that'll be all we'll see of the Crows. Autumn was usually the safest time for this; the weather was chill and the Crows would be more mindful of their Wall than the waters beside it, and wildings seldom had boats sturdy enough to cross them safely. They wouldn't even bother patrolling in Winter. The waters would as be deadly as the Wall then. Nevertheless, there were patrol boats and merchant ships which brought Eastwatch food and supplies, as well as poor devils to add to the Watch's numbers. It was for this reason that Marten Barrow had brought the sails down and Bess's crew put their back into the oars. They couldn't risking the white of the sails being sighted and oars had been wrapped to muffle them; an old smuggler's trick. That had been Grouter's idea, as was the whole venture itself. Despite this, even Grouter had to pull his weight. It might've been his scheme, but it was Marten's boat. The Lovely Bess was a fisherman's boat, and Grouter was a fisherman, but now both were bent to a different purpose.

"How far now?" grumbled the Lon Ballard beside him. "Mah bleedin' hands are going to freeze to the damned oar if this keeps up!" That was Ballard, a gruff, bald man 10 years older than Grouter, though no smarter or richer for the difference. He was stout of build had a face with a permanently sour disposition. Marten gave him a stern look as he steered. "Stow your bloody tongue, you twit!" he hissed at Lon, "You want the damned Crows to hear yur whining?" That was unlikely, thought Grouter. Who could hear the man speak above the howling gales and the crash of the waves? He kept his own mouth shut though, and continued to pull at the oar silently even as Lon muttered a river of curses. Marten was the captain, and the captain decided when it was safe enough to raise sails again. Across the deck Marten's son, Raymun, began chattering his teeth. "I-It's the ice off the Wall. It's going freezzzze us! Got lots of magic, and it senses our business. It'll freeze us solid!" Next to him, Willas Pike pulled the oar with a determined expression on his face and pretended not to hear his companion. "Just a bit longer," Grouter told Raymun hopefully, "we'll be able to put up the sail soon and then we can warm ourselves up with that wineskin." Marten gave no remark in support of the notion, but he didn't refute it either and Raymun seem to take comfort in the words. The five of fisherman continued their quiet voyage northward, the torches of Eastwatch casting no shadow upon them. Safely distant and soon to be further still, Grouter mused.

Though it took near an hour, the lights of Eastwatch finally to dimmed to a mere twinkling among the night's sky. We could do it, he thought encouragingly. They were fishermen, all five. Able hands who had worked these waters all they're lives. And he had made the journey before. All it would take is the getting there again, and making the voyage profitable.

A cold spray blew over the vessel and Grouter shivered again. Marten finally answered his silent prayers. "Alright, hoist up!" The crew brought the oars in, then pulled up the sails quickly. They sprang with a pop as cloth caught wind. After the rigging was tied, Marten handed the rudder over to Raymun and retrieved a skin of spiced wine, which the fishermen passed around as they huddled together to fight off the cold. The Lovely Bess's little hull cleaved through icy water, taking them further northward. Everything was going to plan took a swig of the wine, and thought of how it had all come together.

It had all happened due to chance, which had seldom favored Grouter in all his life. Chance was what had born him to his mother, Myra, the wife of a fisherman who later died in a storm while Grouter was still a babe. When he was old enough to be shamed, his mother had abandoned him too. She had taken a cart for Moles Town, leaving him in the care of his uncle, Brer, ostensibly to earn money as a washer woman. That, at least, was what she had told him, though later the other boys of the village would scornfully inform him that the only way women earned money in Moles Town was on their backs. He had thrown stone and fist at his tormentors, but there was nothing he could say that would prove them wrong. No word ever came again of his mother, nor any coin she might've earned. The only money he ever saw was what he earned as a fishermen, plying the waves for cod to sell to the Watch or the local fish market. There was nothing to distinguish his life from the rest of villagers of Thacker's End. Lying on the eastern shore of the New Gift, Thacker's End kneeled to no lord but instead depended on the Black Brothers of the Night's Watch for protection and their living. Few others bothered with the little spot, as there was little to bother. When the sun died every afternoon, he and others would crowd the village's nameless tavern, drinking sour wine that must've been rejected by every port North of King's Landing. There was little other folly to be had, save for gossip and the occasional fight. Grouter had seen his share of those when the inevitable slurs about his mother were flung around, though the smallness of the village meant that the slanders occupied the dual roles of friend and enemy, depending on the day.

Every once in a while they were visited by ships who would stop for fresh water and to take on the salt cod for provisions. Sailors would come ashore to drain the tavern's wine casks, try to fuck the girls, and enrapture the village men with tales of the world beyond the dull pines that surrounded Thacker's End. Knights' tourneys, pirate skirmishes and the spicy kisses of Dornish women filled their heads as the sailors weaved a tapestry of rich adventure between sips of wine. He knew most of it where fibs, of course, but Grouter also knew that some of it had to be real. White Harbor. King's Landing. Braavos and the great cities of East. People had to come from somewhere. Wonders that Grouter and all the other boys could scarcely imagine in lands they could only dream of. The effect of this was that the ship captains would find themselves swarmed with would-be sailors, beggaring themselves in order to work the lines and find a life, any life, away from Thacker's End. Those that succeeded certainly made sure to never come back. Traffic was seldom the other way. Every once in a while you got a sailor fleeing his debts or boy from one of the mountain clans which already had too many mouths to feed but didn't want to condemn him to the Watch. In terms of marriage prospects, the village was equally at a disadvantage. Whenever Septon Pol visited, arrangements were made with him by the families of bachelors, and on his next trip he would bring some unfortunate soul from Last Heart or a semi-reformed slattern from Moles Town. Beggars could not be choosers, though Grouter had chosen to abstain from that choice when his uncle had tried to arrange a wife for him. "Other than the usual business, what's a wife got to offer me?" he scoffed, "Companionship is fine, but not when it drains you of your last copper!" Especially, he thought, when it went slagging off back to Moles Town to whore again after the coppers were all gone. This had happened to Balon Snow, the fishmonger. His errant wife, Taina, might even be talking his mother now. Maybe they were both laughing as they had a draught of ale while Crows sucked on their teats. Balon had Grouter's pity and his scorn. I won't suffer that, he thought to himself, I won't! He would have a way out, with coin to carry him to the far corners of the world. All he needed was a chance. Funny, enough, it was a wife who would provide that very chance.

Few visitors to Thacker End's were unwelcome, but wildlings were definitely among them. Like all the parts of the Gift, they had had to endure raids by the occasional band who came sneaking over the Wall or by boat. Eastwatch was one of the few fortifications along the Wall that was still manned, but on occasion the village would still face the danger of raiders who slipped through, especially this year. It got worse as the Watch's numbers had thinned over the years, and all manner of reeving had taken place. Stolen fish and stolen women was the usual result, though the Watch was pretty good about hunting down the savages before they got too far southward. These days that was usually the way they fled, though in times before they would more likely head back the direction they came, to be protected by the very Wall which kept them out. Now, all their attention was making for warmer lands. The black brothers said this was typical when Winter was on the onset, yet some of the older men of said they couldn't remember the wildlings being so desperate in previous years. Something was driving them southwards, and the settlement was enduring more and more raids. The village had a strong gate and a palisade of sharpened logs, but town guard were too few deter all intruders. All those that they did catch, though, would meet a sharp end via arrowhead or spear. All of them, save for Wild Maggy.

It had been nearly two months ago, when it had it been Grouter's turn for guard duty. A night duty at that, with his torch providing little warmth against the wind. There were eight men total that manned the guard; two were posted on each side of the four sides of the village. Willas had been on duty with him on the South side, his father's bow slung over one shoulder along with a quarrel of boiled leather. He was a fairly decent shot with it, and won the occasional bet at the buttes when he was practicing with other lads. The same could not be said for Grouter, who stuck with the spear loaned him by Morei Drenn, the village smith and headman. The night had been made especially miserable for the lack of wine in the village; the last cask had been drained a week ago and no ship had stopped by in more than a month. So instead of sharing a wineskin they shared gossip and stories. They talked of the sack of the Riverlands, the battle of the Blackwater where a 100,000 men had burned to death, and of Lina Drummer's getting with a bastard. She had claimed the father was some Bravoosi sailor who had used magic to charm her out her clothes in the smokehouse, but most credited it Somon Mill, a village boy who had gotten aboard a cog heading toward White Harbor soon after the news of her pregnancy had spread. "Dumb bitch should've found a woods witch, but Somon was a pretty fellow so she must've tried to snag him in her net," Willas had said with a chuckle. "Her net needs mending now," Grouter had replied, and they both let out barking laughter. Willas was a good fellow like that. Just like Grouter, the bowman wasn't intent on rescuing some poor girl from Moles Town or dying in Thacker's End. One way or another, he told Grouter, he'd get out of village, even if it meant joining the Watch. Grouter was glad that there was someone who understood exactly how he felt. He wasn't staying in the village either, even if the rest of the kingdom was being devastated by war. He was going to grab the rigging of whatever wayward ship strayed into this port, and never look back.

Twilight had fallen on the village after a while. They were ambling on the walkway of the palisades when Willas stopped him suddenly. "Someone's broken into the shrine!" he said in a quiet whisper, pointing to the little ramshackle cabin which contained the village's shrine to the Seven. Grouter brought his spear to the ready while Willas took his bow in hand and set an arrow on the notch. Grouter didn't want to alert the rest of the guard, not yet. It wasn't uncommon for the wildlings to make a distraction on one side of town while another group made off snuck into the other side. Thinking quickly, he whispered to Willas. "Keep your bow ready up here while I scout it out below. And try not to feather me while you're at it!" The other man nodded as Grouter threw his spear into the ground and scrabbled off the walkway. Retrieving it, he readied the weapon and pointed it towards the shrine door. It was ajar, barely noticeable in the moon's dull light. He pulled it open slowly to reveal a wildling crouched in the corner. The thief had broken into a sack of salted cod which the village had put away for the Septon, his hunger apparently so ravenous that he was eating the fish while it was still heavy in preserving salt. The raider had heard him, and turned towards the doorway with a fish held in one hand with a stone knife in the other. It took a moment before he realized that the he was actually a she.

She was gaunt woman with shaggy hair, unruly tangles the color of mouse fur, and covered in patchwork of skins. Instead of boots, her feet covered in rough leather and stuffed with what looked like grass. Keeping the spear point between them, he stepped a little closer into the shrine. "Not closer!" she snapped, and waved the knife in the air for emphasis. Grouter almost laughed. The leveled spear was nearly six feet of fire hardened ash ending in a sharp iron point. He could finish her in one quick thrust, if he wanted to; the brave guard defending his home from a savage raider. Like most men, Grouter had dreamed the life of a fighting man when he was young, perhaps as a knight. When he was a boy, Grouter would wave some fallen stick about like a greatsword, and pretend he was a knight of the King's Guard. This, however, was different. He wasn't Ser Duncan the Tall, nor was the woman, no…a girl now from the closer look of her, some Blackfyre rebel. She had a handsome face; had she grown up in the village she would be even more comely, it those shallow cheeks hadn't missed so many meals. A pitiable creature, perhaps having spent her short life starved and likely as not raped in the wilds beyond the Wall. And now to end it on the iron point of a fisherman's spear. Grouter had never killed before.

Something else caught his eye. The girl was wearing a necklace, almost hidden by the strands of her ratty hair. Even in the pale light of the moon that streaked the shrine's door, it gleamed with beautiful color. It was golden chain, not too thick but thicker than most, queer but elegant patterns wrought in the bands. At center was an emerald the about the size of a river pebble, almost glowing in the milky light. Gold. Gems. The fisherman had never seen anything worth that much in his life! Grouter thought, but where would a wilding have gotten something that valuable? Another thought came to him. With something like that, I could book passage to King's Landing, maybe even Braavos! Thoughts turned one after the other, so consuming his attention that didn't even hear the movement from behind.

"What are doing?" asked Willas, startling Grouter so much that he nearly jumped out of his skin as turned to face the fellow guard. The wild girl made a move to run past while he was distracted, but Grouter grabbed a hold of her and shoved her back into the shrine, nearly knocking a woven seven-pointed star off the wall. Grouter scolded him. "You're supposed to be covering me!" His companion shrugged. "I can't do that if you're out of sight." He then turned his attention to the girl, his eyes agog. "A wildling? And she's a pretty one to boot!" he said with a smile. "That's a shame. We're at a loss for pretty girls around here. Oh well, you better get done with quick."

A look of panic crossed the girl's face. "Please," she pleaded, her eyes losing the fire that a minute ago was ready to cut Grouter's throat. "I was just hungry. I'll not take more. Let me leave and I'll make for it South. You'll never see my face again!"

"Aye. Once Grouter's done stickin' ya we won't see that face of yours again, pretty or not." Grouter, however, did not stick her. Though his point was at the ready, his eyes remained on the necklace. It hypnotized him like a hedge wizard's charm, the green glow seeming almost to ooze out of it. The question he had asked himself continued to turn in his mind: How did a wildling come by such wealth?

"That necklace there," he finally spoke, "who did you steal that from?" The girl grasped the little trinket, shuttering the green glow within her left fist while the other kept the knife at ready. "I didn't steal it!" she protested. "You want it? Let me go and I'll give it to you!" she offered. Willas let out a guffaw of disbelief. "Found my ass! Who did you cut that off of, eh? Some stranded captain? A lost knight? Or would you have us believe it was gift from your lord father?" At this he let out another chuckle, but Grouter's face was made of stone, his eyes never leaving the necklace. Its beauty was glamour upon him.

She shook her head. "I found it. My brother and our folk. We found it out in the ruins. Nobody there to steal all that shiny from. It was all just lying there in the silent place!"

Grouter's curiosity peaked, and he gestured with the spear point towards the necklace. "Give it here!" he demanded. The girl's eyes were fearful but defiant. The object was the only thing she had to bargain with. "You gonna me stab after?" He considered it a moment. It be simple to kill her now and take the necklace. He'd have to share it Willas, but it was still probably worth enough for the both of them to get passage on the next visiting ship, at least as far as King's Landing.

What after, he pondered? After they got to the capital, what would they do for a living? The voyage would leave them with little coin, he knew. There were so many ships in King's Landing. Surely, there would be one who'd need another hand onboard, he thought. And yet doubt crept in. What've they've been burned and there were no ships to work? Or what if they didn't need sailors? Grouter recalled how one sailor, a man from the White Knife, told him that King's Landing had become overstuffed with refugees. A sea of hungry mouths, all willing to work like a slave just for a crust of bread and water. If that were true, ship captains would have all the hands they would ever need. He and Willas would have to work as fishermen again or, worse, they might end up as beggars if even that work was taken.

She said she found it, he repeated in to himself. Time slowed and the words turned over in his mind, again and again like a water wheel. They found it. All that shiny. So there was more! And she knew where it could be found! Grouter considered his options carefully. If the rest of the village had found out that he let a wildling go, he'd be forced to take the Black and end his days freezing on a block of ice. He dreaded the black but the green entranced him, spoke to him. There's more it said, much more. If one necklace can by you freedom, what would three or five get you? Or ten! A cabin of his own for the voyage, the finest whores when he got to King's Landing, and later a share of a merchant's ship. He could work the sails, see the world, and all the while his share of the cargo would be making him rich. A wife to keep his hearth and bed warm in the meantime and someday perhaps a son. Grouter could imagine bouncing him on his knee while he dazzled the boy with tales of how his father had come to fortune. When he got too old for seafaring, he'd be one of the old men at the pub, smoking a pie and drinking wine by a fire while laughter and song was all about him. It was all there. His opportunity. His chance!

"Aye," he said at last, raising the spearhead away from the girl, "You give that here, and I'll spare your life and more. You do as I say, and I'll help you get all the way to Dorne, if you like." The girl was taken aback by this additional offer, uncertainty creeping over her face, but finally she put away the blade, and handed him the necklace.

Willas gave him a look of shock as the other turned over the treasure over in his hand. He couldn't look more surprised if Grouter had said he was the trueborn heir to the Iron Throne. "Have you mad? Morei will skewer you himself for this!" Looking at the gleaming jewel one last time, he studied it now. It was elegantly crafted. The jewel, about the size of his finger tip, was set in the silver mouth of a fish. At least, it looked like a fish, though Grouter had never seen one so strange in all the years he had worked the waves. The top of the head resembled an eel, but the jawline was one that no eel he knew of ever bore. And ears! Why did it have ears? It had to be the work of some mad artisan, he thought, so this would not diminish its worth. Grouter tucked it safely into a pocket of his woolen tunic. "Morei isn't going to find about this," he said, turning to look at his friend, a smile springing to his face. "I've got a little plan," he continued, struggling to contain the excitement in his voice. "A plan?" Willas was incredulous. Grouter nodded. "Aye, one that'll make us a rich as a Lannister!" He then turned back to the girl, who had put away the rest of the fish she had been eating and was now licking the salt of from her fingers.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Maggy," she replied.