Prologue
It's cold. So very, very, very, cold.
After so many years in Braavos, the biting breath of the North is hard to bare. Even with all the layers of leather I have piled on, the wind still cuts through me like a knife. My teeth are chattering, and my fingers tremble inside their thin gloves. I didn't prepare well enough for this journey.
Six days, I have now been roaming my way through the North. I am far from the sea, and leagues south of the wall, but that is all that I know. A few days back my compass slipped from my numb fingers and was lost to the snow. Since then I have been roaming around praying to the gods that I will make my way into some small village or anything with a warm hearth burning. So far I have had no luck and I can feel the coldness seeping its way deep into my spirt.
Once or twice I have found the sudden urge to tug my dagger from its sheath and bury it into my stomach, but the purpose for my cold prevents me from doing so. I must survive. I must make it southward. I must exact my revenge.
My knees shake and I plop onto the ground without warning. My breath fans out before me in a cold of dragon-smoke and I wish that dragons still drew breath for even the bite of dragon fire would be a blessing on me now. I attempt to tug my legs out from under me but they don't budge. I try to pull them out but I cannot even tell if my hands are touching the wool and leather of my trousers. I cannot feel anything.
A rough breeze whooshes through the air and forces my torso over like a falling tree. My face hits the fluffy white pillow of freezing death and I'm surprised to find how quickly every inch of me goes numb. For the first time I can actually feel myself giving up; the life draining out of me. All my reasons for existence seem to slowly slip away and the comfort of death comes creeping in.
I close my eyes and listen to the wind blow through the trees. The quite scurrying footsteps of a small animal prancing across the snow. The soft sound of snow blowing through the wind. The sound of a horse neighing.
Wait. What?
I use all the energy I can muster to pull my eyelids open. The tiniest slit of light pierces my vision and in the distance I see a horse heading towards me. I open my mouth to cry out but only a dry heave escapes as a whisper on my lips.
As the horse draws nearer I can just make out a fur covered figure on its back. From the size I would presume a young child, most likely a boy. As he draws closer I can see dark curly hair whip behind him as the horse draws near. He is very young. Possible no more than seven. Too young to be on his own, so there must be others nearby. No sooner does the thought come to me do I see more figures materializing from the snow behind him.
I feel the corners of my lip quirk upwards as the hope for rescue comes closer, but that hope quickly vanishes when I see an arrow go zooming past the young black haired boys ear. I hear shouts and cries coming from the tiny part running after the boy and his horse.
My attention is so focused on the troop approaching that I don't realize that the horse is literally on top of me. I flip onto my back just in time to see the horse rear up backwards to avoid me. The boy tumbles off and plops into the snow a few feet beside me.
His head quickly flies up from the snow, his cheeks and nose bright red and his breathing heavy. He glances around looking for his horse until he sees me and his eyes widen. He pants so quickly I'm surprised he can see me through the fog of his breath.
"Who are you?" he squeaks.
I attempt to respond but it's useless. My mouth and throat are far too dry for any sound to escape my lips.
The boys eyes shift away from me and I see the panic set into them even more as we both watch his horse fly off into the snowy mist. He rises to his feet and attempts to chase after it but quickly realizes it's a pointless effort.
It's then I remember the figures chasing after the boy and I quickly look round. They are close enough now that I can make them out. Three men and two women. All wearing fur-styled coats and pants. All carrying some form a weapon, whether it be a spear, bow and arrow, sword, or axe. I see the one with a dagger in his hand come up behind the young boy still looking after his horse. I scream out in an attempt to warn him forgetting that my voice is useless.
The man wraps his left arm around the boy's shoulders preventing him from using his own arms, and points the dagger at the boys throat with his right hand. I feel my fingers twitch slightly attempting to reach for my sword hidden between my body and the snow. The man tugs the boy around so he's facing my direction and I see the outline of a symbol on his chest. It looks like the head of a wolf.
"Well, well now," A gruff voice chuckles above me dragging my attention above me. The man with the axe, who looks to be around forty years of age, wraps his hand around my arm and tugs me to my feet. I make sure to lean specifically so that my sword is not visible to anyone.
"Who would you be now?" the man smiles a gapping toothed smile at me. He leers at me, checking my body from head to toe and I desperately wish I could tell him to keep his damn eyes to himself.
"Well," he bellows when he sees the look in my eyes, "You have fire in your eyes lass. Quite lovely pare you got there two. One brown, one blue. I've never seen the like of it before."
"Oh would you shut it Oliver!" cries one of the women on his left.
"Jealous are you Hana?" the man holding the boy chuckles and I see the tip of the dagger bounce closer to the boys throat.
"Shut your damn mouth!" the woman, Hana, shouts. The man laughs again and the tip of the blade pricks the boys throat and I see a speck of blood come oozing out. My teeth grind against each other at the sight of the speck of crimson in the white backdrop.
"Hey!" cries the man with his gloved hand wrapped around my forearm. "Watch it! He's more use to us alive!" His hand shifts around my arm for a more comfortable hold and he doesn't realize that I'm standing on my own.
I take a glance around me and take in all the information I can. The man holding my arm, Oliver, the woman Hana on his left, the other woman with the bow and arrow and the man with the sword stand six paces in front of me and three paces from the man holding the boy. Five people, one little boy without a weapon, and me. Weak, dehydrated, freezing, adrenaline filled me.
I count.
One.
My left hand slips behind my back and my fingers wrap around the hilt of my dagger. I pluck the dagger out and bring it to my side and take a breath.
Two.
I spin my right arm in a semi-circle so that Oliver's grip is loosened and his had flings away from me. I spin to face him, burying my feet in to snow to steady my stance, bring my left hand up and jam the blade into the side of his throat. The blood gushes out and onto my fingers. I tug the blade free and a splotch of red paints the virginal white snow at me feet before Oliver's body tumbles on top of it.
Three.
I spin around and toss my dagger into the chest of the woman across me. The arrow she had knocked crashes to the ground five seconds before she does.
I unsheathe my sword and spin to my left meeting Hana's blade. A tiny smirk licks my lips and I pull away my sword with a flick and cut just below her right eye. The shock stuns her momentarily giving me the chance to bury my sword into her left thigh. She shrieks in pain and crashes down onto her knees, her sword slipping from her grasp and burying itself into the snow. I pull my sword away and jamb the peen block of my hilt into the gut of the man coming up behind me. I hear his sword quietly thump into the snow behind me. I spin around and simultaneously slice the throat of kneeling Hana and kick the leg out from under the man behind me.
As Hana's dead body drops to the ground so does the surprised figure now laying at my feet. He looks up on me with fear in his eyes and I feel a pang of guilt stab into my chest. The guilt is short lived however when I see his fingers desperately grappling for his sword. I flick my foot, my toe catching the base of his sword and toss it out of his grasp. As he looks after his last chance of survival I bring my sword up above his chest and take the grip in both my hands. He looks back at me the instant my point pierces his heart and I watch as the life leaves his eyes.
My breathing is heavy and my hands shake slightly on the grip of my sword. My knees are shaking a little doing their best to support my weight. I can see the fog of my breath blow away in the breeze and all seems so calm and quiet. Then I hear a whimper.
I tug my sword out of the freezing flesh with a jolt and return it to the sheath at my side. I glance over to my left to see the young boy still wrapped in the grasp of the white-furred other. The man looks at his dead friends with wide blue eyes and his body is convulsing. His grip is loose enough for the boy to wriggle free but the daggers tip still jammed into the young boys pale throat. I take a step away from the body and the man takes a shuffling step backwards, dragging the boy along with him.
I can feel the adrenaline wearing off in my veins but I can't let it show. I push myself through the snow with as much strength as I can. I reach Hana's corpse, her sole surviving friend's eyes follow me. I reach down and pluck my dagger from her chest. I'm about to turn and face the child-holding bastard when I see a water skin strapped to Hana's belt. I almost sigh with relief as I reach down and untie it from her belt.
The man shuffles behind me as I take a good long chug of water. The moisturizing sensation spreads through my mouth and down my throat. I take in a deep breath and feel tiny crystals of ice form on my lips. I can't help but smile gleefully and when I turn around to face them another shot of fear coats the man's eyes at my unnatural smile.
"If you come any closer," the man's voice trembles almost as much as his hands do. "I'll kill him."
My fingers play with the pommel of my sword in a teasing manner; visible so as to warn the man that I have no hesitation about killing him. However, he can't see my other fist tightly grasped behind my back so that my nails pierce through the clothy fabric and into my palm. The pain helps me keep my blood pumping and remain standing.
"Please…" the boy whimpers before the man shakes him by the shoulders telling him to shut up.
"Let the boy go."
For half a second I think that I was the one who spoke. After all, it was exactly what I was thinking. When I see the man's eyes gazing over my shoulder however I know they were not. I look behind me to see what I believe is a hunting party all astride horses. There must be almost twenty men, five of which have arrows pointed directly at the white-furred man.
"Let him go!" the gruff voice, belonging to the fair-haired elder man at the head of the party, shouts.
I turn back round and look at the white-furred dagger holder. I see his teeth clench, his grip on the dagger tighten, the look of determination in his eyes.
"No!" I cry out, my hand wrapped around the dagger and thrown before I even realize I've done it.
The boy has gone even paler then he already is and the man has frozen solid for a split instant before his knees give out and he topples over to the ground. My dagger sticking out of his chest, right where the heart is. The boys eyes stare at me. No doubt I am a frightening sight. My lips are cracked and bleeding, my skin most likely frost bitten and turning blue, the blood of the white-furred men splattered on my dark leather clothes, my hand still outstretched from throwing the dagger.
My hand slowly slips down to my side. I hear a fwump as a man jumps off his horse behind me.
"Brandon!" It is the elderly blond haired man who comes rushing up beside me and to the young boy. "Are you all right?" he asks kneeling down and taking the boys face in his hands. The black haired boy, Brandon, finally takes his eyes away from me and looks at the man. He nods slowly and is quickly tugged into a tight embrace. That man must be the boys father.
I'm so distracted by the affectionate sight that I don't detect the figure coming up beside me.
"Are you alright?" the person beside me is a young man, no more than a year older than I. His hair is black and wavy much like the little boys and I can't help but think that they must be brothers. His clothes are dark and fur-covered and the head of a wolf is also lightly visible on the fabric of his cloak. His cool grey eyes stare at me intently just visible through the fog of my breath.
"Woah!" the young man shouts and it's then I realize I am falling. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest, steadying me. I attempt to push him away but I find myself tumbling towards the ground again. He grabs hold of me again but this time helps me to the ground so that I can lay down. The cold bight of the snow isn't very welcoming but the release of pressure on my legs is. He brings his knee up underneath my head and supports my back so I am not sinking into the snow.
"Is she alright?" the gruff voice of the fair-haired man calls. My vision has begun to blur but I can just make out the young dark haired man shake his head in the direction of the voice. He looks back down at me with concern etched into the white marble of his young face.
"Get some blankets!" the figure above me bellows over his shoulder and the shuffling of feet follow his command. I can feel my body trembling below me. The cold must have come on so fast again that my body instantly went numb. My eyelids flutter shut of their own accord. I feel a heavy weight come down on my chest and a warm sensation starts spreading through my torso.
"Is she okay?" It is the high-pitched sound of a young boy.
"She looks weak," a hand rests on my forehead. "Must have been out here a long while. We should take her back to Winterfell."
"Is that wise sir?" a voice I don't recognize asks.
"She just saved my brothers life!" I feel the knee below my head jolt and know with was the young man that spoke.
"Did you happen to catch what her name is Brandon?"
"No," the little boy sighs. "She just appeared from nowhere. She didn't even get a chance to say anything."
"Eliza.."
I sense six pairs of eyes gaze down on me.
"What did you just say?"
"Eliza…" I mumble. "My name is Eliza…"