Again, I am simply amazed at how much attention this has gotten in so short a period of time. May sound sappy, but the response to this is genuinely helping me write. Also gonna apologise for the slight delay with this one. Work decided to be a bit of nitwit and I had to pull double shifts... fun.

In some updates regarding the tabletop game that Guillaume comes from. He's still alive, and so is his horse despite the many efforts of our GM. Still two fate points, though that may change given we're currently in a ever so slightly bad situation of dealing with... rough estimate 50 or so... Beastmen without any means of escape. I used to consider the Beastmen the joke faction for Chaos but holy mother of god are they terrifying when it's just you, a light wizard apprentice, a huntress, 4 religious nutjobs and one arrogant wood elf.

Hope you enjoy!

**I do not own either Warhammer Fantasy Battles/Roleplay and nor do I own A Song of Ice and Fire. I make no profit from this at all.**

Chapter 2

When Guillaume awoke that following morning, it all felt like it had been one long unending dream. For a sweet moment it was almost like the last year was but an unpleasant nightmare from which he had failed to wake. But that moment was fleeting, as he soon remembered where he was. Wherever that was.

As he pushed himself up on the cot, there was this odd sensation that he was missing something but that could not quite place what it was. Guillaume racked his brain as he stood, but try as he might his mind could think of only one thing, to find something to cover himself, for he could feel the soft breeze against his skin all over. As such, he found himself, rather than trying to focus on what gave him this queer feeling, instead looking for clothes.

Mercifully, he found a tunic of black wool neatly folded on a dresser that he had been unable to see day before, due primarily to how much it hurt to move his head, or any of his body for that matter. It took what Guillaume would later consider an embarrassing amount of time to realise what that meant. In fact, it was only after he had pulled the tunic over his head and let the bottom of it fall below his knees that he did eventually realise.

The pain was gone.

Not some small part of it. Not just enough to be able to wake and move and function, but every last bit of it. The realisation struck Guillaume dumb for what felt like several long minutes. How? Why? His mind raced with the possibilities. Perhaps Olyvar truly was that accomplished a healer, but Guillaume doubted that thought as soon as it popped into his head, he had not seen the old man use anything even resembling magic and only that could be responsible for such. Eventually, after banishing several ideas that either banked on the will of chaos or some other wholly nefarious force causing it, Guillaume once again convinced himself it was just the Will of the Lady. All of this was the will of the Lady, it was all her will. It was a reasoning that was beginning to wear thin.

With his brief moment of panic over, or at least subsided for now, Guillaume also realised that he probably shouldn't really be able to stand, not with the wound he had seen bandaged on his leg. Tentatively looking down at his leg and pulling up the tunic to reveal the affected area, all he saw were the now day old bandages. Olyvar would likely come to change them, but it honestly seemed like such wouldn't be needed, for Guillaume examined the bandages closely. Not being a trained healer, he simply prodded them with his finger and slowly went further and further into the realm of something one was likely not supposed to do to bandages. Eventually, Guillaume tired of simply prodding the thing, and unwrapped it.

His leg showed no injuries at all.

The miraculous moment was interrupted by the gasps of Olyvar. Perhaps a little too quickly, Guillaume turned to look at the old man, who was stood, mouth agape, at the entrance of the tent he had awoken in. Both men just stood there for several moments, unsure quite what to do on Guillaume's part, and a mixture of shocked and confused on Olyvar's, if his expression was anything to go by.

A silence that was almost deafening was held in the air, until at last Guillaume broke it with a sheepish "Bonjour."

It still took Olyvar a little while to process everything, shaking his head when he did as if trying to dispel drunkenness. "Ho... How?" Was all that escaped the man when he opened his mouth to speak. But he did not give Guillaume even a moment to respond to the question as he sprung into action, moving to Guillaume and looking at the leg in the place where once bandages had covered a gash given to Guillaume in the depths of the Old World. "I saw it myself. This is not... Sit, sit, sit." Olyvar said, pestering Guillaume to the stool that Olyvar himself had sat upon the day before.

Guillaume did not object to the orders of the old man, sitting as he was told and not resisting one bit as his leg was lifted, rather forcefully too for a man of Olyvar's apparent age. "This... I saw it with mine own eyes." Olyvar said, more to himself than Guillaume. Wrinkled fingers traced over where the cut had been, and gradually they moved to elsewhere wounds had once existed. "All gone." Were the final words spoken with disbelief.

"I do not know why nor how either, Maester Olyvar." Guillaume said when it became clear the man was done. It did not come to his mind at the time, but later he would marvel at how little it now bothered him to speak the new language he had been gifted by the Lady.

Olyvar's eyes went wide for a moment at the words, evidently he had quite forgotten about Guillaume really being there beyond his injuries. "No... No, Ser, I do no think you would." He stood, holding a hand first to his brow and then to his wrist. "Perhaps... perhaps I was mistaken, Ser. My heat and blood are up, and I am not a young man, Ser." He looked embarrassed now, while still being obviously concerned. "Mayhaps I was mistaken when you were found. Yes, yes, I was mistaken. You were not wounded as I had first thought." It was clear he was, like Guillaume had earlier about the will of the Lady, convincing himself of his own argument to allay greater concerns and worries. "You were merely bruised, clearly. Concussed as well mayhaps. Your pain was internal. Yes, yes, internal." The old man was more talking to himself than Guillaume, it was so obvious that he himself noticed it. "Ser, forgive me." He said looking back to Guillaume. "How... How do you feel?"

"Well. I am well." Guillaume said calmly. "I apologise, I should have waited for you to come before I stood."

"No, no." Olyvar said, still shaken and his voice uncertain, but slowly returning to normality as he convinced himself of the fiction he had told himself. Not unlike himself, Guillaume thought before dismissing such thoughts. "You are well enough from what I can see now. I should have taken a closer look initially. However by the looks of it a night's good rest did you well."

Guillaume nodded, giving a slight smile. "That it did, maester."

The smile was returned weakly by Olyvar. "Good, good. And your mind ser?"

"My mind?" Guillaume's smile soured.

"Your mind, my good ser. When you woke yesterday you talked about some place called Bretonnia I recall."

Guillaume harrumphed and stood from the stool. "And I still would. I recall you suspected it to be some madness. I would take offence if not for the fact I realise how odd it must all seem to you."

"His lordship believes you, if that helps." Olyvar said following a short pause between the two men where both simply looked at each other. At length, Olyvar sighed. "I apologise, ser. I did not mean to offend. In my excitement I quite forgot myself."

"No. It is fine, maester. I forgive you. No harm was meant."

Olyvar nodded. "None." He said. "I apologise also for mistaking your wounds. I am old, ser, and the mind does not age like wine, quite the opposite in fact. If you would excuse me, ser, I would inform his lordship of your recovery."

"Do as you will, maester. But can I mayhaps have my clothes sent to me?" Guillaume asked. The tunic he wore currently was neither his, and nor did it come with anything besides, being simply the only garment he could find in the pavilion when he awoke. "And my armour."

There was a thankful nod followed by a moment of hesitation from Olyvar. "I fear that your own garments were quite tattered when we found you, ser. Your armour was broken and battered, which is perhaps why I took you for so gravely injured. We still have it, his lordship would not hear of it when Arryk, one of his lordship's retainers, suggested we leave it by the roadside. I shall go to him, and all shall be explained to you more thoroughly."

"No. I shall go to him myself." Guillaume said, already striding towards the flap of the tent as he spoke.

"Without boots on?" It amused Guillaume no small amount that that was the maester's concern.

"Without boots on." Guillaume answered simply.

Regardless of the words of the maester, Guillaume left the tent, glad to be free of it and to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, devoid of the frigid cold of Kislev that had soured him to such exposure he had now. The ground was hard beneath his feet, and though the maester's objections had amused Guillaume, he set aside the stinging in his soles as he trod over pebbles and the odd thorn that lay upon the gravel road. The road was indeed the first thing he noticed, a wide expanse of gravel that honestly barely deserved the name of road. The forest was the second, and to see it sent cold shivers down Guillaume's spine. In the Old World, the forests were places of terror and caution, especially the deep forest, which this was, rather than the carefully maintained and patrolled outskirts that were at least safe enough to be in for a few hours of daylight without worry.

But the dread, if it had ever truly been there, evaporated quickly as Guillaume laid eyes upon the rest of the camp of Lord Beric Dondarrion. There were as many as sixty men there with tents to fit them all. They were not organised, merely being spread around varied sections of the road and some nestled in and among the trees. A force of such size could easily discourage a beastmen herd, or a small one at the least, the ones capable of not being heard from long before they attacked.

Lord Beric himself was easy to spot, sat as he was in a chair near a circle of felled logs that within held a roaring fire. He was not alone, and nor was he silent, as he laughed along at some jape made by one of the perhaps dozen men sat upon the logs. Around the fire too was another man, dressed as a servant, who was attending a boiling cauldron of steaming stew, while the rest were of the martial sort.

Beric was not the first to spot Guillaume walking towards the circle of men, instead it was a boy, a teenager by the looks of it, with hair of a blonde so pale it looked like silver. The boy swiftly pointed Lord Beric to Guillaume and the red-haired lord stood from his chair, a smile broad across his face and hands held out in astonishment.

"Ser Guillaume! I did not think to see you up so swiftly!"

"I did not expect to be up so swiftly."

"Ha! Well you are up now." Beric said, still smiling though he did look to his now rather sheepish maester. "Why Olyvar, did you make some mistake?"

"It appears so, my lord." The apologetic voice of Olyvar answered.

Another laugh from Dondarrion. "It is no matter. No doubt it was an easy one to make. But Ser Guillaume! You are up now, please, join us around the fire, Ellis is making his most wonderful stew."

Guillaume would not refuse an invitation to sit and dine, especially not one from a lord. And so, he approached and seated himself upon one of the logs. He saw at once that most of the other men around regarded him somewhat oddly, and a few with suspicion. It was only when he noticed the boy to the side of Lord Beric glancing at his feet and exposed lower legs that he remembered exactly how under dressed he was. Guillaume had gotten too used to the unrefined nature of his previous travelling companions it seemed. "I apologise." Guillaume said eventually, looking to Beric, who himself didn't seem to care, rather than any of those who actually did. "When I awoke this was all I could find. In fact, I had come out to ask where my trappings were."

"Oh? Ah yes, my old tunic. I had it placed there for you by one of my fellows." Beric said. "As for your own, it is being fixed as it happens. When you were found it had been torn and slashed, though I dare say your armour protected the bulk of it. You shall have it all back once the women have repaired it. For your armour though..." He paused, and shot one of the men around the fire a knowing look, which caused the man in question to flush a shade of pink. "It was suggested we leave it, for there were so many rents, holes and indents in it that we quite feared it was worth little more than scrap. However, I would never have it said that Lord Beric of House Dondarrion makes light of other men's property. It too shall be brought to you so you can decide what to do with it yourself."

"My thanks, lord."

Beric nodded happily to the appreciation. "It is the least one could do. But perhaps, you would like to share why you were so battered upon the road? I see you were not truly injured, but still quite clearly waylaid by quite the opponent. Mayhaps the Kingswood Brotherhood still thrives even! Tell me if it is so and we shall have a grand hunt!" His declarations of bravado were met by cheers of agreement from his fellows, the excited look of the boy to his side, and the barely audible sigh of Olyvar the maester, who still hovered behind them all.

Though Guillaume would likely have relished telling tales of his great deeds in days prior, of the siege of the Reaper's Bounty within the Drakwald, or the combat at the Villa Hahn further within the Empire, the horrors of the womb beneath the earth were not counted among the stories he would wish to tell. Not that they were likely to believe him, if their doubts about him the prior day were anything to go by, or their ignorance of Bretonnia, or even the still odd language they spoke. So instead, Guillaume fell back on an altogether simpler tale that was not so much a lie, as more an incomplete one.

"I fear, Lord, that my memory is hazy." Guillaume began, which drew an understanding look from Beric, but still one that desired to know more. "Though I know whom I fought. A foe I have met before, and a great one. A fellow knight, but one of ill-repute and I would not bless him the dignity of 'sir'. We fought once before, in some village I have forgotten the name of, we were not so evenly matched back then, he was the clear master. However, before you found me, we met once again by chance." Guillaume paused, and saw he had the attention of every warrior present along with the boy. "We came to blows again, but alas, that is where my memories fail me, for I remember nothing beyond the first clash of our blades. I lost, or I suspect I lost at the least, for you found myself on the roadside and not him. If I had won his corpse would be where I had been. Why he spared me, I know not."

"What is his name?" The boy to the side of Beric, who spoke with a regal voice for his young age.

"Wilhelm von Hollenbach. I shan't expect you to have heard it. He is from near my own homeland, far from here."

The answer did not sate the boy. "Why were you here? Did he follow you?" The question got an agreeing sound from a few others around the still cooking stew, whose tender, Ellis, was far more interested in seasoning it well than listening to anything anyone else had to say. Lord Beric also seemed interested, though he did shoot the boy a certain look that Guillaume could not see.

"Why am I here?" Guillaume had asked himself much the same, he had asked it more times than he could reliably count, though he never had much of a head for numbers beyond counting coin, that had been the wizard's job. "To tell the truth, I do not know, or at the least I do not recall. I am not the victim of some madness, but my memory is not clear." Oh it was, it very much was, but these did not seem like the sort to understand the will of the Lady.

Again, his answer was not met with much welcome by the boy, and this time it also seemed to irritate a few of those around. Before any more questions were levied, Guillaume answered the second. "And he did not follow me, that much I at least know. Nor did I follow him. As I said, it was by chance, a moment of ill luck on my part, else wise I would have been riding in days gone and been out of the accursed woods."

"Why-" The boy began again before he was cut off by Lord Beric.

"You must forgive my squire, Ser Guillaume." Lord Beric said, sending the boy a jokingly scolding look. "Lord Dayne is yet learning his manners." At Guillaume's following look of confusion he explained. "Young Ned here is the Lord of Starfall, but also happens to be my squire and has yet to be knighted, in fact I'd wager that is some years off yet." Ah, so this was a realm where knighthood functioned similar to how it did in the Empire, a useful fact if ever there was one.

Dayne pouted slightly at this. "I'll be a true knight some day." He said with a conviction that Guillaume couldn't help but recognise as so similar to that showed by Guillaume himself and thousands of other young Bretonnian men as they started their quests of errantry. "Just like my uncle."

"One day, yes, but not now." Beric smiled again and ruffled Dayne's blonde hair. "I am to wed his aunt you see, Ser Guillaume. Part of it was that I take young Ned here as my page as well. I raised him to become my squire when he passed his first decade..." He looked to continue, but a noise from Ellis drew his attention. "Ah! The stew, thank you Ellis!"

All the conversations around the circle of men halted as the food was handed out, steaming pottered bowls filled with a delicious smelling stew of rabbit, onion and carrots. Guillaume was also handed a bowl and he thanked Ellis as well, he could not think of the last time he actually ate anything warm, nor this good. In an eye blink, he bowl empty whilst all around him people still ate. It draw another small laugh from Beric when Guillaume set down the bowl on the wooded floor.

"I had forgotten. You have not had solid food since we found you." He said in between spoonfuls.

"Nor for some time before that." Guillaume replied, returning the smile for once.

Another laugh. He was a merry Lord was Beric Dondarrion. Guillaume wondered how long that would last, for he did not see a scratch on the man who was his own age, it did not seem like he had seen much in the way of real action. Guillaume found it likely that at the same time he himself had been wandering Bretonnia on errant quests and further into the Empire both during the Storm and the Crusade of the Child, Lords Beric and Dayne had merely played at it all.

And if they had, as unlikely as it may be, Guillaume could not help but worry what would happen if men such as these had found Hollenbach in place of himself. It was a thought that would plague him for some time he felt. In fact, he knew that it would.

"Would you stay with us?" Beric asked him, interrupting thought once more. "Take part in the tourney in the capital? I would vouch for your knighthood, I have known the organisers to be quite the prudes."

Guillaume considered this for a moment. It was not a long moment, for the answer became clear to him quickly. That old fire within him was rousing, and he welcomed it with open arms. "I think I shall, Lord Beric."

"Most excellent! Why, we can both bring our wounds and scraps to Olyvar together when it is all said and done. Mayhaps a few we would have given to the other."

The sigh that came from Olyvar was of titanic preportions, and his moan of "Mother's Mercy." was met with a hearty laugh from all present, and the boyish chuckles of Dayn,. even Guillaume had joined in.

Green or not, these were good company, Guillaume decided.