STRAACHAN

The keeper of the Old Stone Bridge in was a welcoming man, eager to accept them after Straachan handed him gold, a far cry from the notes he'd been forced to accept from other 'knights'. He wondered why men assumed he was a knight, his shield was naked and he carried maids from place to place. If aught, he was an errand boy. But he shook the notion from his mind. In this land, any man with arms and armor could be a knight, and a knight was little more in truth. Maids carried happy thoughts otherwise, but they would all learn. He sighed. Might be, he thought to himself, Coliete would never learn.

Putting aside his thoughts, he bid Coliete to the room as he accepted ale from the keeper, having half-listened when the man said there was no wine to be bought. He drank by the fire for a short time, passively taking in the conversation of the men at a table, wondering what could be so interesting at this hour other than drink for a deep sleep.

"Men say that Roose Bolton means to be King in the North."

"Fuck what men say. The Dreadfort would not have killed the Young Wolf had he intent in his mind to replace him. What of the eastern continent? Varys pays well for aught on his 'favorite little dragon'."

"Some saw her die, some saw her ride the dragon and kill the Yunkish. Let matters of her pass. Most like, the dragon will devour her. The other two dragons raise all seven hells in Mereen. A fool loosed them." Straachan inclined his ear. Since he had arrived on this continent, one in ten men had heard of dragons hatching in the east, but these men spoke as though they had been there. Looking more closely at the first to speak, it was not so unreasonable.

The man had a nigh on shaved head with a thin white scar, bright against his darker skin. He spoke with an alien voice, never referring to himself or aught a man by name.

"The Bearded Priests told me as a boy that all the dragons were gone. If men have truly seen them once more- there are those who would kill to know."

"Varys knows. It was he who saved the Targaryens." the Westerosi responded, killing whatever notion the other was beginning to form.

"Does he know of the whispers from Valyria?" asked the Essosi.

"Naught comes out, not after the Doom."

"Oh, but men have. On my way back from Myr, a man from Volantis sent me a raven about all manners of men leaving the black clouds and mists on a great ship."

"Where were they bound?"

"There is no way to be clear. But if we know aught, we know they stopped in Volantis." The man listening to the foreigner's tale nodded in calm acknowledgement.

"Varys will want to know. If the gods are good, he will not already." The two of them exchanged doubtful looks. They retired.

Straachan took a drink, now alone in the Old Stone Bridge but for the keeper cleaning and putting things away. A man may wonder whether the gods were good or cruel, but all he can know is that they allow the greatest of goods and evils to exist. He sighed, as many times before not sure what to make of it all. It was not an affair that made no matter, but one that well and truly had naught that was given, naught that was known but of what the gods did not do.

Straachan slept, deeply dreaming for the first time in days. As though his mind recalled a strange series of images he remembered of Astaron imprisoned, as he had once dreamed briefly on his great trek. But this time, the seemed more real than what he could remember of the dream with the maester behind iron bars, the mad notion that a man would believe Astaron guilty of aught.

This time, Astaron was free, or in the open air, at any rate. Two gold cloaks walked close behind him, silent of pace, eyes flitting left and right, looking for something Straachan could not see. Astaron walked with a somber quietude, though his eyes as well looked to be nigh on spinning out of their sockets. It occurred to him that maester and custody looked for the same thing- a means of escape.

The cloaks led their prisoner up to a platform where above a man Straachan had never seen read the charges against the scholar, who declined the chance for final remark. The man continued, explaining why the Wall could not expect him, that he had been sentenced to die with all haste. It ws then that Astaron visibly noticed a gap between the gold cloaks that encircled him and lunged for it, only to be shot immediately by an archer. The men then dragged him to the block and raised a greatsword, plunging it down in turn. A guard grabbed the head and carried it away in a basket as the others dragged what was left to a heap of bodies for burning. The blood, Straachan saw, was neither cleaned from the block nor aught around it.

He woke with a start, the sun beginning to rise out the window. Someone had kindly finished his ale for him, and he thanked his unknown benefactor by curtly asking the keeper who had been in the room.

"I saw no man here, I swear it by the Seven, Ser." He answered quickly, looking away and returning to his work as such. Deciding he had simply intimidated the man, still wearing armor as he was, though his sword was not at the ready in his scabbard, he went out to the horses to see if another were tied or hoof prints could be seen. There were none, but his sword was not on the grey beast either, who had been unsaddled. Straachan ran inside, hardly thinking, sharply turning at the landing as he took the stairs, and knocked loudly on Coliete's door before throwing it open, the door unlocked.

"Coliete! Where are you?!" He shouted. At a quick search of the room, he found a note from her captor, probably a brigand. It explained in poor writing that they were armed and should aught a man come looking for her, he must needs bring a hundred gold dragons to the stables at Stokeworth.

Within his heart, Straachan raged at the truth he had long since learned. That no man was save, he knew and accepted. That no maid, his blood boiled. He charged back downstairs, prepared to beat the information from the keeper, if fear kept his mouth closed then fear will open it again.

"Please! By the Mother, have mercy!" he shouted as the armored man approached him with a forceful, deliberate pace.

"There is no mercy in this world." Not even for maids who know naught of the horrors.

"I have your sword!" He rounded hastily and opened a chest behind him. He thrust the swordbelt out before him, explaining himself rapidly. "Had the men seen it, they would have killed you!" Straachan guessed the keeper must have seen them in the distance and tried to wake him, but saw that his weapon hung loosely at his side. He sighed, calming himself.

"I am sorry." He said simply, taking the swordbelt and putting it once more about his waist. The brigands wanted him alive and ahorse, or they would have stolen the grey beast. But had they seen him armed, attempting to silently kidnap Coliete would carry too great a risk and they would have killed him, like as not with alternate plans for the maid.

He climbed atop his horse outside, scanning the snow for footprints. On the other side of the Old Stone Bridge, two sets of horse tracks led away, a clever way of disguising their path for there had been naught out front. Like as not, they were using some snow boots to come around the inn, he thought.

Following the trails, he found the tricks had not yet stopped. First the path split, one into a curve, the other going straight. He took the curved path, reasoning that the straight path, which directed him across a frozen lake, was unwise, given that ice would be thicker at midnight than the midmorning.

As he avoided more obvious tricks, he began to wonder why the kidnappers had left him the horse. Even if they wanted him to accomplish the task quickly, they would still check the stables for hidden gold. Looking down at his mount's legs, a thin stream of blood ran down the back of one, suggesting a whip had been used to no effect. A loyal beast, he decided to come up with a name, but could not think of one. Might be I'll let Coliete name it when I find her, he concluded.

Anger built once more as he realized how little had gone to plan. He had paid for the sellsword's bed and should he wake soon, breakfast, but as soon as the man had meat in him, he would be off, perhaps to rejoin the woman from before. He had thought little and less of the man's fate before now, but it would have made no matter had he simply determined it himself. But, thinking on it, Straachan had expected too much of him. He was a sellsword, and he would do what sellswords always do.

He rode on until he came to a fork in the path in a small wood, where no hoof prints could be seen. He decided that either the captors concealed their tracks with snow, or the snow had fallen from tree branches above them as they rode. Looking at the tree branches, a few twigs had broken from a paucity of the lower ones, but only on the course veering east. He took it, decreasing his pace somewhat. If I am to recover her without a hostage situation, they must not know of my approach, he thought to himself with clarity unexpected.

Straachan's mind suddenly raced with images of Coliete, bound, being made to trek through the snow, anger building. Though he told himself that the kidnappers would want her alive and his anger did naught to improve her situation, it made no matter, his rage rose all the same. Might be she's off to be a bed slave in Yunkai, he thought as he struggled to not spur his mount. Might be they pass her off as a Stark and sell her to the crown. Might be-

All at once they were around him. There were six warriors in total, armored and armed to the teeth, mounted, scarlet shields borne.

"The Old Queen sends her regards, traitor." Staachan reigned in and turned his beast to face the man behind him, he who held a bound and gagged Coliete with a dagger to her throat.

"Is a maid of nine or ten a traitor to the realm?" He asked angrily, thankful his helmet concealed his expression. She struggled against her restraints, unable to form words, though he knew what she meant. He raised a hand to calm her.

"I fear naught from you." Straachan said, addressing all of them. "For years have I fought men, armored and seasoned in war. But you have stolen a girl because you are afraid."

"You have leave to fear, knight from the songs. No man will hear you scream."

"This I knew. There are no other men here."

He silently scanned them, having long since learned this was no kidnapping, but it made no matter. The one to his back would strike first, ever are killers bold when the enemy shows his back. He would block with his shield, parrying a spear thrust from the next man like to strike. The rest would wait until battle commenced.

Straachan stared for the final time into Coliete's pleading eyes. There had never been a chance for her to survive and he silently prayed her death would be swift as he felt his anger on the verge of eruption, like the fire from the throat of a dragon.

"Another soul to the Stranger goes." The killer said forcefully, slicing the maid's throat and allowing her blood to drip silently onto the fresh snow.