When You Wish Upon a Star
Crimson red blood splattered on the pure white snow, like paint on a canvas. Soon a dark dirty figure crashed into the spot. Another black figure, ran past the body, not taking the time to look past. For to look back would be to die.
The runner was a boy, a man, something in between. Aged seven and ten, scars adorned his face, black hair crowned his head. By his side was his companion, a wolf white as the snow he was running in. As white as the Snow he was named after. The wolf almost blended in with the snow, only noticeable by its red. Red eyes and stains of red blood on its fur.
Jon Snow came to a running stop for he thought he heard his wolf growl. Not that the beast ever makes a noise. Into his vision came a fresh corpse sauntering towards him. How a dead man could walk I cannot explain. Neither could the boy. If the boy recognized the corpse he never let it show. It wore black rags, an eye socket hanging out, head half bashed. In a quick reflex Snow drew his sword and cut the corpse in half. Red blood poured onto white snow like wine spilling on to a table cloth.
Jon looked around him. The settlement of Hardhome was up in flames. Along the water was a sinking boat. Dead things in the water. In the distance was another boat, long gone. It had escaped and would not be turning back. Poor Cotter. At least he got some reprieve. Snow was stranded. He tried to find comfort in the fact his arrival allowed his allies to escape. His sinking boat made that difficult. The gloating skeletal figures in the distance, made that hopeless feeling in his stomach even worse.
Things are bad.
Really bad.
There was not an ally in sight. And the boy and his dog could only run, playing their hide and seek game, for so long. Deceased allies began to rise as new enemies. And that white bone covered man monster was staring at him with dead glowing blue eyes. Snow could have sworn for a brief moment he saw the curves of a smile and a flash of glimmer in the White Walker's sunken blue eye sockets.
The boy prayed for a miracle.
A shooting star flew overhead.
The boy wondered where it was going.
The star was getting closer and closer, the corpses and their ghoulish masters turned their heads toward it.
Jon's eyes widened.
The flaming star was coming right at them!
•
Bruce frowned. Bruce hated the weather. The Stormlands weren't always rainy, despite the name. Bruce had seen the crystal clear blue waters of Tarth. Storm's End on a sunny peaceful day. Sure, the Stormlands had lots of storms. But poor weather wasn't as common as you'd think for most of the kingdom. Except Gotham.
They say the city's cursed.
Gotham, where the peasants and nobles alike refer to their lord affectionately as 'Prince' as if they were in Dorne. Gotham, where peasants and nobles alike would murder their so called 'Princes' in an instant for a mere crumb of bread. Gargoyles hung from the bannister walls all over the city as if they were in dreadful Dragonstone. The people were Andals but the city was built by First Men.
The young lord of House Wayne frowned. Gotham was one of 6 cities in Westeros. The other cities were prosperous, economies built on seafaring trade. Hubs of learning. Lannisport was built on gold mines. What was House Wayne built on? Hunting?
The boy remembers a Mummer's Play. Riots in the slums. His lord father and lady mother being gutted as they fled down an alley.
His father and mother often paid visits to the orphans in the slums. Distributing food. And that was their pay?
Never again. He swore to himself. If only there was a way.
There was a loud *thump* against his window
The young orphan prayed, prayed for a way to save his city. A way to avenge his parents.
Glass shattered.
And then the symbol of his family flew in, a bat.
•
A simple farmhand, living in the Riverlands worked the plow.
He had special abilities but his ma and pa wouldn't let him use them.
Abilities that could save people. That could end the bloodshed that decimated the Riverlands. Abilities that were wasted on watching pigs and planting carrots.
He pushed the plow across the dirt.
He asked his ma and pa why he could fly. Why he was so strong. Why they wouldn't let him leave the farm.
They told him it was all 'cause he was special. He had been born on a shooting star.
Whatever the seven hells that meant!
•
•
•
Sorry for the short intro. If you wanna see where this story goes, please fav and follow. The ground, the origins have been set for our heroes, our major players. If you have any thoughts or speculation, please leave a review. Hearing from y'all helps me improve and is encouragement to write.
Numbers 6:24-26