The Wildling Girl
She sat quietly beneath the weirwood tree, her eyes closed in meditation as she had been taught. She was reaching out through the roots of the tree, spreading her mind throughout the network of pathways beneath the solid ground that led her conscienceless to far off distant places, to past, present and future. Her vision through the trees was not as strong as the Crow's of course, for he was connected not just by the mind but body and soul to the trees that whispered the secrets of the old gods. Still, she had some mastery of the skill, though her green dreams were much stronger.
She was unsure what she had been searching for, but she had not found it this day, nor any day prior. She sighed. Slowly she drew back into her self, and thought of the dreams she had had for the past six moons. Fire, blood, cries of the dying...these things held no fear for her, for she had seen them often enough already in her life. The Crow said the old gods protected her, and perhaps they did, but they had never shielded her from the horrors of the world. Not that she would want them to.
There was something freeing in battle, a primal part of her that she could release nowhere else. She was strong in sword as well as bow, but even these abilities were eclipsed by the havoc she wrought with her mind, with the animals of the forests, with the birds of the sky. Many men feared wargs, but none had met one trained by the gods themselves, and hers had become a name whispered among rival clans, a name to feared.
For that she was most grateful, for the raids against her village had all but stopped. Will they continue to fear me even when I'm gone? She didn't want to think about it, and she didn't want to go. She didn't care what the Crow said, this was her home, these people were her family. They had kept her safe, taught her how to keep herself safe, and she would be content to stay here and keep them safe now.
She had begged, pleaded with the Crow and with the old gods to let her stay, to give her burdon to someone else. But this is what she had been trained for, what she had been destined to do. She had seen her future herself in the green dreams. Seeing it made the truth no sweeter, and gritted her teeth to fight back the tears that threatened.
She was six and ten, now, a woman grown and the time to leave had come. The Crow had said as much this morning. They spoke through the trees; she had only actually seen him once, in the bowels of the cave where he resided. Brynden, he named himself, but to her he was only the Crow; teacher, mentor, friend
She felt the presence beside her, and without opening her eyes she smiled sadly. "Come to see me off, Leaf?"
"Come to give you my blessings," came the reply, "and a gift for your journey."
Finally the young woman opened her eyes and stood, her thick mammoth hide cloak billowing around her and her dark hair whipping in the wind. She smiled at Leaf and bowed to her slightly. The Children were the emissaries of the gods themselves, and though she counted Leaf a dear friend, she still accorded her with the respect she deserved.
Leaf took her by the hand, her nut brown skin and green leafy mantle in stark contrast to the snow around her. She smiled at her ward, and spoke softly. "I shall miss you, little snowbird." Leaf told her. Leaf was the only one who called her thus, though her father had told her the man who sired her had used the endearment. "Your presence here has been a welcome diversion to my long existence."
How long and existence, you never told me. "Will we never see each other again, Leaf? Is this our final parting?"
Leaf tilted her head, as if listening to a faint whisper. "The gods have not yet decided how our story will end." she said finally. "Let us leave it in their hands." A staff leaned against the heart tree they sheltered under, bone white as the weirwood it was made from, a face carved into the shaft, and decorated with carvings of weirwood leaves turned the red of their true color by the leaking of the sap inside the wood. Leaf lifted the staff and held it before her. "A gift for you," she said, "so that no matter where your path takes you, the gods will always be by your side."
"A fine gift," she said, hefting the staff appreciatively. It was truly beautiful, and she could feel the power of the old gods within. When she looked back up Leaf was smiling sadly.
"Go, child." she said. "Go and say your goodbyes." With those parting words the Child turned and disappeared into the cleft from which she had come. The young girl turned to make her way back to the village, her heart heavy. "All women leave their village at some point," her mother had told her, trying to console her. Aye, but they don't go so far, or carry so much when they do.
I am a sheild-maiden of the Karhold clan, daughter of Bael and Mara. I am a warrior of the free people. I am not this Stark, this kneeler they say I am. But the words were a lie, and had died in her throat, no matter how defiant she wished to be. The gods would not be kind, they would not give her a gentle path. She must go and do as they commanded. In a way, she supposed, she would still be protecting her village, all the villages if the Crow spoke true. She couldn't shirk a duty like that, no matter how much she may have wanted to.
As she walked slowly through the fresh snow, her mind went back to the instructions the Crow had given her. "Head south, to the wall. Make for Castle Black. Don't fear the Night's Watch, there will be one there who will know you for a Stark. Once you have rested, travel to Winterfell, to your family. That is where your journey will truly begin." I am with my family here, she had wanted to say, but knew better that say as much to the Crow. He could hear her thoughts well enough anyway, no sense wasting her breath to speak them aloud.
Her arrival at the village was greeted by the familiar barking of Garick, her faithful old dog. He was of an age with her, given to her by her father when she was still a babe in arms. They had grown together, played together, fought together. She had never warged into Garick, there had never been a need. He knew her moods as well as she knew them herself, and dealt with her accordingly, without any prompting from her mind. He was her dearest friend and most faithful companion, and just now he was wagging his shaggy tail and rubbing his large furry head against her hand. Pet me, he silently begged, pet me mistress.
And pet him she did, getting on her knees so that he could lick her face and she could wrap her arms around him, pretending she was a small girl once again, pretending she didn't have to leave. She was relieved that she wouldn't have to leave him behind, at least. She would have one friendly face with her on her long journey south. He was old, true, but strong yet. He would see her to Castle Black safely she know.
When she looked up her mother and father were there. Both had tears in their eyes as her mother reached out and clutched her close. "My girl," she whispered, "My sweet, sweet girl." She snorted, she knew she had ceased to be sweet long, long ago.
"Mother." she said, searching for more, but the words would not come. She merely held the older woman in her strong arms. Her father joined the embrace, and they stood together in this way over long, none of them wanting to be the first to let go.
Finally it was she who pulled away, lifting the heavy sack of provisions upon her back. She kissed her parents on the cheek, the only parents she had ever known, and turned away. Don't look back, if you look back you'll never go. And so she didn't. "Come, Garick." she said, but needn't have bothered as the shaggy old dog was already running to her side. One foot in front of the other she began her long journey; to the Wall, to the Night's Watch, to her destiny.
As she walked, she thought more on her dreams, the images that flashed too quickly to make sense of yet. Mostly she remembered the fire, bright and hot and malevolent. A figure took shape from the fire, the one image that remained constant throughout the dreams. A dark figure emerging from the fire, his aura one of blood and steel. She didn't yet know if he was an enemy or ally, she only knew that he would be important. She would have to trust to the Gods to show her the rest when the time came.
She was cold, colder than she had ever been, even though the weather at the Wall was milder than she had ever known. Perhaps it had been the long nights sleeping on the frozen ground, with nothing but a small fire, her mutt, and precious few furs and pelts to keep her warm. Perhaps it was bit a fear seeping into the bones, making them cold. Perhaps it was both. She only knew that the sooner these black kneelers let her in and near a fire, the happier she would be. Beside her, Garick shivered. Aye, you'll be glad for a warm hearth too, won't you boy. The trip had been hard on the old dog, and she knew his time with her was nearing its end. I won't think about it. She didn't want to be alone.
"Wildlings!" she heard someone call, as deep bellow of a horn sounded from somewhere on the other side of the monstrosity the kneelers had built. "Wildlings at the gates!" The horn sounded again, and she shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun as she looked up as far as she could see. Seven hundred feet above, tiny black dots scurried back and forth across the top of the great white expanse. She new there arrows trained on her, dozens most like. Still she held herself perfectly still and unafraid. The gods protect me, I am in no danger here.
Patiently she waited at the great iron gate that barred the way into the tunnel entrance. She knew they would come, and when she heard the commotion behind the wooden doors she was not disappointed. She heard the heavy wooden bars being lifted from the door, and the great hinges creaking as they opened. On the other side she counted no less than a dozen black clad brothers, swords raised and ready to shed blood. Upon seeing her standing there, unflinching, and naught but a mangy old mutt beside her they slowly lowered their weapons and looked around. One of them, a grizzled old warrior with a yellow beard and one fewer eyes than most, began to laugh. "Wildlings? There are no Wildlings here, just a dog and a wench."
She gritted her teeth against the slur, gray eyes steely with anger. As a result her words game out in more of a growl than she had intended. "I am no wench." she said. "I am a Stark of Winterfell." The words tasted strange in her mouth, like a fruit tasted long ago, its flavor forgotten. Still, it got their attention, as the old Crow said it would.
"A Stark, you say?" the one eyed crow asked and spat at her feet. "You're coming from the wrong direction to be a Stark." The men around her laughed, but she only smiled. Speaking as the Crow had taught her, she answered him.
"That may be, but a Stark I am. I wish to speak to your Lord Commander." A commotion from the back of the assembled crows interrupted her.
"What's going on back there?" she heard someone shout.
One of the others spoke up, speaking over his shoulder at the latecomer making his way through the ranks. "This one claims to be your kin, Benjen."
The crow called Benjen snorted and screwed his face in confusion. "My kin?" he asked, but as he turned to look at her his words caught in his throat, and his face went slack. He gazed at her, her long dark tresses near hidden by the heavy furs on her back, her steel eyes glaring back at him from beneath her hood.
"Lyanna?" he whispered, shaking his head because he knew it couldn't be.
She tilted her head, taking in the young mans features, so like her own. "I'm sorry," she said, not unkindly, "I don't know who Lyanna is. My name is Serra. Serra Stark." Again, the words tasted strange in her mouth, sliding from between her lips as though a living thing.
The look of confusion was back on the young man's features. "Serra?" he asked. "But...that can't be. Serra was stolen these six and ten years ago."
"Not stolen." she corrected. "Given. Given to the Free Folk by my father."
Benjen Stark shook his head more vigorously this time. "No." he said. "Our father would never have done such a thing!"
The men around them began to mill about, as if they suddenly realized they were being witness to a private conversation. Most, realizing there was no immediate threat, turned and made their way back through the tunnel.
The wildling girl watched them leave, then turned her face back toward the First Ranger. "Our father?" she asked narrowed eyes.
The crow swallowed harshly. "Aye," he nodded. "If you are who you say you are, then I'm your brother." His next movements were so sudden she jumped back, her hand reaching for the hilt of her sword. Benjen stark unlocked the iron gate over some mild protest by the few crows remaining. He through the gates open and pulled his wildling sister into a tight hug.
She was taken aback, never expecting such a greeting from the stranger. This kneeler. She was tall for a woman, but he was a scant few inches taller. She looked up at his grey eyes, so like her own, and saw that they were shimmering. "Where have you been, dearest sister." he whispered. "Where have you been?"
She pulled away from the awkward embrace. "Take me somewhere warm, brother, and I'll tell you."