272 AC
Rowan Umber
Years of painstaking effort. Years of subtle manipulations. Years of silent machinations. All of it had gone down the drain in ten minutes.
It was supposed to be my first of many trips out of the keep. My condition made it hard for me to be trusted by myself without adult supervision even when they knew I was a responsible child. Not that they allowing a six-year-old to travel by themselves anyways was smart.
Guarded with more guards than necessarily needed, I was excited to take in the sights of the medieval world. A world untainted by pollution and other harmful substances and most importantly, to see the home that had raised a woman like my mother.
The too mature attitude for a girl of six name days evaporated, and in its place, was a girl who could barely sit still. I wanted to go outside, walk alongside the carriage or maybe even ride on horseback. But I was not allowed because "The Maester said so"
Seriously fuck that guy. However, I was always secretly grateful for the effort he went through to make sure I was alright and comfortable.
Anyways, the carriage ride was bumpy, uncomfortable and enlightening. Halfway through the journey, we were stopped, forcefully.
I remembered the alarmed shouts from the guardsmen, the primal yells from the bandits, the panicked screams from the handmaidens, the clashing of metal meeting metal, the whistling of arrows.
I remembered my mother, my loving and beautiful second mother, cradling me against her breast with a hug strong enough to break my already weak bones. Her shaking increased as the sound from outside continued to reduce, until silence surrounded the carriage.
The absence of noise was unsettling and terrified me. My mother's whispered reassurances did little to soothe that fear. The thought of the fate that would befall the women I had come to love as a mother, the women who were determined to see me live through my premature birth, the women who saw through my little quirks of smart and still loved me as their child.
But what could I have done?
I was six years old or six name days and on top of that, my bones were weak. I was born with bones that made physical activity way more difficult than it needs to be. Being treated like a porcelain doll when I was familiar with being independent was tiring mentally. But I had enjoyed the attention while it lasted.
Everything else passed in a flurry of activity. The door was thrown open with enough force to rip the door off its hinges, men grabbed at the women in the carriage and dragged them out, even I wasn't spared.
Not that I expected much.
A scarred hand grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out of the carriage, scraping my knees against the frozen mud. I felt the stinging pain from the fabric of my clothes rubbing against the wounded skin moreover my chest hurt from the painful impact against the hard ground.
Cursing the brute in my mind while fighting against the strong grip, I looked up to see my mother fighting against her captors like a cornered wolf.
She held a silver dagger with a wolf motive embedded in the hilt. It was the same dagger she always hid underneath her skirt; a gift from father while he courted her.
Fortunately, she knew how to wield it. She weaved through her attackers like a snake, snipping at offending limbs trying to tag onto her and she would leap whenever she had the chance at a bandit, cutting at their vitals. It was with the Old Gods graces that the bandits continued to act disorganised.
By herself, three bodies laid lifelessly around her. It was beautiful and I was starstruck. I had watched the training of cousin Jon and my untrained eyes could see how master at arms swordplay would flow from strike to strike. As a veteran of the war of the Ninepenny Kings, he often bosted about riding behind Ser Barriston the bold and a body count of hundreds.
My mother carried the same ferocious look. Chest rising and falling quickly and dagger held in a vice grip as her eyes would flicker back and forth looking for weaknesses in the poorly clad bandits.
The poor bandits began to become more and more impatient. With some of them even using the castle-forged iron swords of the guards, they surrounded my mother.
The handmaiden, Jaeneth, was a receiver of their impatience. The leader of the bandits spoke in the rough dialect - it had a harshness to it that made it sound intimidating to my ears. He addressed those closest to him. Their eyes blazed with lust and descended upon her like a pack of hyenas. She was dragged kicking and screaming into the treeline and that was the last time I saw her.
The leader then turned towards me. I remembered the fear that gripped at my heart and the whimpers that emanated from my throat from the harsh glare directed at me.
I wanted to look away, but the tightened grip forcing me to look him in the eye.
Dying once does not eliminate the fear of death, no matter what people say. Also, the fear of what they were capable of doing. I could still hear the pleads and screams of Jaeneth from the woods. The densely packed trees restricted sunlight making the woods look even more terrifying.
I remembered the shadow that enveloped my figure and I remembered my mother's panicked shouts. The light from the sun peeking from the sky; was obstructed by a large body standing behind, holding something within his hands. I rapidly shook my head, gaze pleading at the leader for him to have mercy on me. It was too early for me to die again.
My mother's shouts became muffled, as sound failed to reach my ears. Blood pumped quickly through my ears and the sound of my heartbeat was deafening. Closing my ears to stem the tears beginning to fall, I shivered, expecting the worst. An ear-piercing shriek came from mother before the world became abruptly silent.
When I came to, I was laying haphazardly on top of a pile of stolen loot.
That was all that I remembered from my first and hopefully last experience with wildling raiders.
Yet, I was angry. As heartless as it minds sound, I was not angry for the fate that befell the handmaiden. Nor was I as furious about what happened to mother. Despite the guilt that was eating at me for the choice of transportation. Even though I don't think I would have been allowed to ride horseback, even with the maturity I had shown.
I was more livid about the years of progressive thinking that I had been pushing onto my uncle. The Lord of the Last Hearth was not what I had expected of medieval lords. From the way he governed, you could see that he understood the importance of peasants beyond tax, levies and food.
He understood that House Umber is only their liege Lord because they allow it and he made sure that it stays that way. I had found a kindred spirit in my Uncle Beron.
Compared to the pure muscle-headed men in my new family, my uncle had both brawn and enough brain for all her relatives combined - Except maybe her uncle Hother, who studies at the citadel.
Just the fact that he listened to her rambles with nods and all the conversational social ques endeared him to me all the more. I did not know how to make roman roads or aqueducts, nor did I know how to make gunpowder that everyone else miraculously does. I knew that concrete was created with sand, or limestone- all I knew was that one of the ingredients used to make it was yellow.
Because of all that, I chose the next best thing or tried to. I decided that I was going to become so valuable to my family that marrying anyone below a Lord paramount's family would be seen as an insult to the family.
Even If I was silently against the idea of it, I was born as a female scion of a noble family making my choice non-existent. The modern women in me battled against the idea of arranged marriages but settled for anyone who did not share the same great grandparents.
How incest is still something practised by the Great Houses and the royal family escapes me. Lord Rickard Stark is married to his third cousin Lyarra Stark and the Lord of Casterly Rock, Twin Lannister married his first cousin, Joanna Lannister. There must be something blood relatives have that has people willing to wed their blood relatives.
You would think that from having been ruled by the likes of Maegor the cruel, Aegon the unworthy and Aerys the first would have shown everyone why it is a bad idea. But unfortunately, the citizens of Planetos are less intellectually keen that their less evolved cousins.
However, it was not all bad. I thanked whichever deity brought me to Planetos had chosen the north for my rebirth. In the north, people saw a smart little girl, who was more mature than other babes. Being seen to have the Old Gods favour helped to make things easier.
I like to believe that it has something to do with our connection with magic, which has northerners more willing to accept things. Reading about the different magical beings on the planet had widened my eyes to what was planetos.
Dragons, Skinchangers, Greenseers, Children of the forests, Shadowbinders, Valyrians dragonlords, Rhoynar mages and red priests of R'hllor were just some of the magical beings in the world.
On the other hand, my scheming paid off. I like to think that my cunningness was the reason for it, but it was not. Being picked up whenever my uncle saw me, him buying little presents and trinkets for her and the knee hugs were the result of her cuteness. And yes, I was an adorable little girl.
As I got older, I was allowed in his study. I would stay in there because I know my annoying older brothers were not allowed in there.
The fact that uncle allowed me to read some of the papers stacked onto the bookshelves and look at the daily running of the land was another added benefit. Maybe, it was because I could read well beyond my age and understand what I was reading. But, what put the nail in the coffin was less than subtle glances he would send her way, before looking at his son.
Knowing he was comparing his male heir stroked my ego but, it would always come crashing down when I remembered how petty I am, for being better than a ten-year-old.
Then it would come right back up whenever I saw his stupidly tall seven-year-old self-training in the courtyard with the master at arms. Already showing signs of inheriting the famous Umber physique, he towered over my small height with his stupidly, smug smile, while fashioning himself as my bodyguard cum servant.
It was shortly after my sixth name day that I had finally convinced Uncle Beron about the benefits of toilets. After living a good eighteen years enjoying the benefits of modern technology, I was adamant on my decision to bring something to this godforsaken land. I still remember the long, painful and humiliating year as a baby unable to control my bladder and then having to use chamber pots.
Why was I not allowed to exploit an uncle's love for his niece for the betterment of the realm?
So I felt my anger was justifiable and what stoked those flames was my treatment. Carelessly dumped with all their other loot. From the aching in my bones and pain, It was highly likely I was thrown onto the pile of iron swords, furs and other valuables. Not only that, but my head felt like it had been split open from how painful my headache is.
The blow to the head had been painful and I thank the Old Gods or whichever higher deity is responsible for once again saving my life. Stifling a groan, I tentatively rubbed the side of my face silently hissing from the pain, the action brought with it. Dried blood ran from my temple down to my neck, where my dress had absorbed the leftovers.
I sniffed the room almost gagging from the smell. The room smelt horrible. Maybe it was the blood-stained weapons, or clothing and other materials mixed with the years of usage of the room and the lack of cleaning. Just from the questionable cover, this room was probably used for less than acceptable things.
Not that I had the luxury to worry, I had to make do with the idea that the wooden floorboard has never been washed in forever.
Shakily pushing myself up, I held onto a loose wooden shelf holding bags flushed with coins. If the noise is any indication, these raiders must have gotten a plentiful harvest. Leaning onto my left leg brought more pain to the mix. I was starting to think about how high my pain tolerance would be later.
Slowly lifting the hem of the dress, I gasped at the site of my ankle. It was all red, swollen and ugly looking. I must have broken a bone or the bone was out of place. I lowered myself back onto the ground, careful not to aggravate the wound I had subconsciously avoid leaning onto before.
I scanned the loot beside me with a scrupulous glance. My eyes darted to the ragged material covering the door frame. Without me realising it, my hands had already found itself clutching a cheap silver dagger wrapped around with a piece of cloth and stored it inside a dress.
Making sure the dagger was secured tightly to my undergarments, I crawled towards the door, wincing as my left leg would hit against something or the wooden floorboard.
The heavy scent of the sea slammed against my nostrils, Peeking through the cover, I saw the wildlings sitting in rows holding onto oars as the pushed and pulled to a shouted rhythm.
As I was looking around, I saw the bald wilding that I am sure was the one who pulled me from the carriage. Even though I did not get a clear view, he looks similar enough that I would not regret it. My hands had already reached down to the where I had stashed the dagger.
'Is this that good Idea, Rowan?' A female voice commented in the back of her mind.
"Look who finally decided to grace my humble self with her majestic presence," I whispered back angrily.
'Not like you needed me. It's not like a voice in your head can save you from Wilding's raiders, let alone any men who decide they want what you have.'
"Gee, thanks for your support. Much appreciated." My sarcasm was an indication of what I thought about her support.
'I'm your inner voice, you crazy bint. What can I do?' the voice snapped back.
"Crazy bint? Nice one. I don't think you have used that one before."
'I know. It took me a while to remember it and I wanted to save it for an argument I know I would win.'
I am sane. The development of an inner voice is a rational thing when brought into a new environment with nothing being familiar.
'Who are you trying to convince? You are not sane. You are crazy.' Reminded Inner. 'You would even threaten me by saying you would go to a Psychologist'
"It worked didn't it and I am pretty sure that there are mind healers in this world."
'Which you are not going to meet, or have you forgotten where you are and who captured you.'
"Don't remind me."
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach when I realised once more how precarious my situation is again. Even without my Inner voice reminder, I am surrounded by men who are not afraid to cave my skull in and break a few bones.
'I'm going to miss our mother'
"Me too," I added.
'She was lowkey better than our original one.' Admitted Inner. ' Actually, the original was better. Original definitely.'
"How can you be comparing both of them," I asked incredulously.
'Wait...I changed my mind. Second, she fought tooth and nail for us. She was out there looking like a queen and shit. All amazonian and wolf-like, If you weren't so pathetic you could've helped."
Even though I know she is trying to piss me off, those words angered me so much because she knows why and is perfectly aware.
'Well someone has to say something. With the way you refuse to let other people in, Is it any wonder you have an inner voice. Just like Uncle Beron."
"What does anything have to do with Uncle Beron and my emotions. In case you haven't noticed, I'm surrounded by men who could snap my twig-like bones with their fingers." The irritation leaking through her voice should've been indicative of her mood. The inner voice continued fearlessly.
'You loved him as well. Manipulations my ass. You didn't want to admit that he was the father figure we have been looking for in both lives. Which says something, even I was disappointed in the waste of air that was our sperm donor in this one.'
"He wasn't that bad."
'No, he wasn't. But he was barely better than an absent one. Anyway, if I was you I would pay attention to my immediate surroundings.
"What do you mean, there is no one…" The words froze on the tip of my tongue as I saw a Wildling staring directly at my little face peeking through the fabric.
'Oooo~ told you.' Laughed Inner.
Wide-eyed, I stared at the thin man praying that I won't get killed, or worse thrown overboard. I won't be able to swim for long because of the years of little physical activity or I might even freeze to death from hypothermia.
The dark-haired Wilding's eyes switched from the glare to genuine warmth. He signalled with his hands to hide with a small, kind smile before turning back to continue rowing as if nothing happened.
Taking heed of his advice, I closed back the curtains and rested my back against the wall. Heart poundings against my rib cage and sweat pouring from my pores. Taking steady breaths, I crawled back to my spot in the corner where I had awoken and stayed there.
'You okay?' Quietly questioned Inner.
I was thankful for her trying to lighten the atmosphere, but what I needed was silence. Silence to think about how dumb I was being for doing something like that. My temporary safety had dulled me to a sense of security.
Years of safety behind the ancient stone walls of the keep has failed to prepare me for the outside world. With how my condition makes me weak, chances of me surviving beyond the wall is low.
I closed my eyes once again. Hoping that sleep would come to me naturally, but it never came.
A/N: Hey guys, I edit my own stuff so there is a high chance of me missing stuff or just even making mistakes. I would really appreciate constructive advice on how to improve on my writing because if you haven't noticed yet, It's a bit raw.
Anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy!