Two years after Greyjoy Rebellion
It was now dark. He had been riding for the better part of the day. He had spent the last night in an inn near the Last Hearth. He had started early after a hearty breakfast. Since then he had stopped only to rest his horse and lunch in a tavern near the borders of the land of House Umber.
Then after the land gave way to the Gift, the farthest region of the kingdom of the North of Westeros. Endless expanses of nothingness spanned as far as the eyes could see. Dense and dark forests and vast and empty spans dotted the landscape.
Through all this, he was yet to come across a soul. He had stumbled upon a few villages but they had all been empty. He had stopped and scanned few random houses. They were in disarray, empty of valuables and essentials. There were no signs of struggle. It appeared as if these people had deserted their homes of their own accord. While this allayed some of his worst fears, it still weighed heavily on his mind what could have forced these people to desert their homes.
It had been an hour or so since the sun had set. It was now dark. He was riding through a forest. The trees thinned as he rode on. Few sapping stumps dotted the forest. He dearly hoped that a village was nearby and someone lived there. He didn't want to spend the night in a forest. Even a man of his skills would be hard pressed to survive through the night in the open.
His musings were answered by a piercing scream of a girl laden with fear and desperation.
The scream rent asunder the quiet of the forest and of his heart.
Much to his consternation, he was not unfamiliar with the scream and what it entailed but it incensed him all the same.
He urged his ride to trot faster.
Few paces into the trot, his ride lurched rising on its hind legs. He expertly wielded the reins of his ride and turned it sideways away from the fire that now burned amidst the dry leaves littering the forest floor. A fire-tipped arrow had started the fire.
The perpetrator emerged from the trees, holding a lamp in one hand and a bow in other. The lamp showed his features. Leathers and furs and grotty face and soiled hair identified him as a wildling from the lands beyond the Wall.
"Ooo," he mocked in a baby voice, "the little lordling is lost?"
"Your mother didn't tell you not to stay out so late," another voice jeered from behind him.
"Or a monster will get you," more voices poured jibes and taunts.
The man didn't turn to face others who had emerged from the trees, rather turning his horse to better face the man holding the lamp.
"Is that your men the reasons behind those screams?" he asked, his voice deathly calm.
The wildling raised the lamp and the features of the man astride the horse became sharper. Muscled like a maiden's fantasy, his legs and arms and torso flexed even beneath the heavy layers of wool and fur. Long raven locks were pulled back in an elegant ponytail as few loose strands framed his aristocratic face. But most remarkable of all were his emerald orbs, the most stunning shade of green that would send maiden's swirling down the abyss of sinful fantasies.
His comeliness was matched only by his skills with blade and bow. He had moulded and forged his skills under the tutelage of the best of the masters of the known world as he travelled Westeros and Essos.
"I ask again and I will not ask a third time. Is that your men the reasons behind those screams?" he reiterated.
The wildling with the lamp bared his teeth menacingly. "Aye. And soon we will have our turns."
His emerald orbs hardened and his face flushed with fury and quick as a lightning he closed his hands around the resplendent crimson phoenix pommel amid the goods and chattels behind him on his horse back, pulled it free and sliced the man's head clean off.
The lamp cluttered to the ground alighting more dry leaves and fallen branches.
By the time others could react, he had wheeled his horse around and cut open another man from navel to neck spilling his guts.
Others recovered and prepared to face their now minacious and murderous foe.
A woman loosed an arrow. He turned as it whistled by and in a couple of trots cut her down before she could loose another. But others had knocked their arrows and a volley of those rent the air.
Even the most skilled warrior would had a hard time to bat all away but two shields locked in front of him as his other companions joined the foray. The arrows pierced the shields with thuds.
"Go, protect the girl. We will handle them,'' a blonde woman urged.
He turned to the other. He too nodded resolutely.
"Don't worry. She is safe, away from battle" he added in answer to his continued looks of worry.
He looked at both his companions fondly and then turned and rode hard towards the village.
It did not take him long to find the home where the sinful act was being perpetrated. Most of the homes were dark and in few dull light of candles or lamps flickered through the doors and windows but one home was brightly lit.
The entire village appeared deserted but two lumbering wildling stood in the doorway of that home.
He dismounted and approached the home on foot, his sword red with the blood that he had spilled in the forest raised.
As he neared, he could hear the tired and resigned whimpers of the girl within and the cheers and the laughs of the wildling in the door. He crossed the remaining distance and with one long curving swipe he cut down both unsuspecting wildling. With a dull thud they fell face first inside the home. This alerted the third to his arrival.
He stepped over the dead bodies into the home.
A girl no older than eight years was lying on the earthen floor. Her blond hair was fanned on the floor, dirty and sodden. Her hands were tied above her head, her eyes were closed and flickering but never opening, her face was marred by tear streaks and deathly pale. Her cloth had been torn baring her flesh.
A beast of a wildling had her pinned down. He was loosening his breaches but stopped mid-act when he heard the thud.
He raised his sword high and rushed at the wilding eager to cut him down. The wilding raised his sword lying nearby and blocked the blow but clumsily. He didn't let up, raining down blows upon blows but the wildling blocked all. With a beastly cry the wildling pushed back their joined sword hard, sending him stumbling few steps back and stood up.
The wildling swung his longword hard, trying to grab him with his other hand. But he deftly danced around him, always out of the reach of his sword and his arm.
The duel of the two spilled out of the home into the open.
Unknown to the two, many curious and frightened faces peeped from their various hiding spots with bated breath and rising hope.
The wildling accustomed to easy preys grew more and more frustrated with each blow that didn't find a flesh to sink into. His blows became more erratic the more frustrated he became.
He feigned, turned at the last moment, circled to his back and ripped open his left calf, the wildling too slow to parry.
With a pained roar he fell to one knee, a bright finger of blood trailing down the back of his left leg.
Another swipe and a bright finger of blood trailed down his other leg too and he fell to both his knees using his sword as a crutch to keep himself from falling to the ground.
He walked to his front and faced the wilding.
"Who are you?" the wildling asked, his breathing laboured.
"For the crime that you were here to commit today and had no doubt committed on countless occasions in the past, there's only one punishment that befits your vile acts – death," he pronounced the sentence.
He kicked the sword, it skid off out of his reach. The wildling bent over, flaying wildly.
He sunk his sword in his neck. He placed a hand on his shoulder and plunged his sword deeper, a fountain of blood showering his face. With a final twist he wrenched his sword free and stepped back.
The beast fell to the ground, shuddered and fell still.
He turned towards the sound of the approaching hoof beats.
"All dealt with?" the woman asked grimly.
He simply nodded.
"And the girl?" she asked, a note of fear in her voice.
"I arrived in time," he reassured.
She let out a sigh of relief. "I will check on her. She could do with a womanly presence". She dismounted and started for the home.
"I will come with you. A familiar face will help too," a young girl of eighteen emerged from the shadow and trailed after the woman.
"And we will help them find a place to stay," more shapes emerged from the shadows.
Boys and girls, all younger than the first girl. Absence of adult was conspicuous.
He exchanged a troubled glance with his companion and then allowed the children to lead them away.
However he may had thought his day would end, it would certainly not had been this. When he had started for the Wall, his original intention had been to stay for a short while and then return. But now it seemed that his stay would be much longer. He could not in good conscience leave these children to fend for themselves. They desperately needed help, help that didn't seem forth coming any time soon.
He who could help them could not just leave them be. This was not who he was. If he were to leave here today, he won't be able to rest easy for a single day for the rest of his life. Their faces and fears would haunt his nights and their silence and screams would haunt his days. It was not how he wished to spent the rest of his life.
How at times he hated his saving people thing! He guessed it came with the territory. How he hated being Harry Potter!