THE BLACK RIDER
There weren't many options the Deserter from the Night's Watch had left. He fled the Wall maybe a day or two ago and couldn't push his body to run any further. The ground was too muddy and had caused him to slip over half a dozen times already, further covering himself in a thick layer of filth that did nothing but weigh him down. Even though he had covered a great deal of distance during that time, he knew it wouldn't be enough to elude the rider clad in black. Through forest, grass, rock, or river. There wasn't a single place that any other man before him could escape. None were spared, and they were all caught in the end. The Rider wasn't known for being merciful.
The Deserter came stumbling to a halt after an hour-long sprint through the snow-frosted forest. His body couldn't take it anymore, and he stopped, standing in the middle of a slippery mud puddle, taking in these deep gasps of cold air that burned his lungs like dragon fire. He couldn't get his limbs to stop shaking, and he was sure they were going to fall apart if he tried to move them anymore.
The Deserter was at his wit's end, but there still might be a chance to escape the Rider. If he kept heading east, he knew he would eventually cross the border into the Highlands. A vast and rocky grassland that was utterly lawless. He didn't know how far the Rider would track him down, but there was a chance they would stop if he reached the Highland border. It was the Deserter's only chance, even if it was a slim one.
It took a minute or two, but the Deserter finally lifted his wobbly legs and continued heading east. He stepped on snapping twigs and broke off branches in his way, but the loudest snap he heard was the one that came from directly behind him, a couple feet away.
Instantly, all the hot blood flushed from his system, and he quickly ducked out of sight. The Deserter held his breath and tightened his jaw to keep his fear from spilling. He braced his body against a tree and sat there as the sound of snapping branches got closer and louder.
A dark-clothed figure slowly brushed past the leaves and stepped out into the forest clearing, standing right where the Deserter was a couple minutes ago. There weren't many eye-catching things about the Rider. He wasn't tall-looking, and almost every part of him was covered in black leather or thick wool. His hood covered most of his head, and a wool scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth too. The only visible thing was his eyes. Which were colored in the shade of silver, dusty smoke. They were sharp, keen, and looked to see further than any other man.
The Rider pulled his black and gray horse by the lead and stopped firmly in one spot. He released the rope and hunched close to the floor, running his hand over the dirt and brushing away some leaves, revealing what looked like a set of deep footprints in the mud. It was the same footprints the Deserter made when he stopped to catch his breath only moments ago.
Continuing to hold his fear behind his teeth, the Deserter watched closely as the Rider stood up and retook the horse's lead. He looked around the forest for a couple of seconds before turning around and returning from where he came, disappearing into the thick brush and melting back into the darkness.
Once the Black Rider was gone, the Deserter let out a sharp breath and leaned his head against the tree trunk. He felt his body give out and slump against the muddy ground. It was cold, but he didn't care. The Deserter couldn't even feel it because of the surge of hot adrenaline pumping through his veins.
That was close. Way too close. The Deserter didn't have the slightest idea that the Rider was there. He thought he had at least a day's run between them, but instead, as he realized with cold fear...he only had minutes.
His heart couldn't even have time to settle when a deep growl suddenly rattles him to his very core. The Deserter's stiffened like a statue as the brush parted before his very eyes…and a giant tiger prowled out. Its fur was stark white with spots of gold, and two large saber-sharp teeth pultruded down its jaw from the roof of its mouth. The tiger's lips curled up as it made an awful-sounding growl, and the bright blue eyes shinned with absolute wildness.
The Deserter gasped sharply and sputtered out his words. "Ma…Ma…" He couldn't even finish when the large tiger suddenly pounced at him, screeching out this guttural howl that came all the way from the back of its throat. The Deserter could do nothing but scream and cover his face with his arms.
"Nià, Maira!" another voice howled out, making the giant beast stop dead instantly, only inches away from the Deserter's face.
He slowly lowered his trembling arms and stared right at the black nose of the tiger. The beast huffed once at him before turning around and trotted right up to the Black Rider that emerged from the thicket. It was clear that he never left and was simply waiting, but it was over now. The black brother was found.
The Deserter swallowed hard and bowed his head to his future demise. "I knew I wouldn't be able to escape from you. No one ever had before," he said with a fearful and trembling voice. It took a long time to look up at his capturer. "I'm sorry. Truly…I-I am. I know I put you in a tight spot but...I know what I saw. The White Walkers… they're real," he spoke, but the Rider remained silent.
They must have been close to the Highland borders, as the terrain had shifted dramatically. They no longer wandered through deep woods but walked along an open field, where wet, cold grass greeted them. As they reached the top of the hill, they saw armed knights waiting in a row, along with the Lord of Winterfell himself, Lord Eddard Stark. His three sons even joined him. His eldest Robb, a young ten year old boy named Bran, and the bastard that everyone begrudgingly knew as Jon Snow.
With his hands tied together with a burning rope, the Deserter stumbled along slowly behind the mounted Rider until they finally came to a halt. The Rider swung his leg over his black horse and hopped off. He then began to guide the Deserter over to a block of wood that had been indented and stained with blood from the ones that came before him. All of which were found by the Rider and brought here.
The Deserter swallowed the lump in his throat and shakily lowered his eyes away from everyone. "I know I broke my oath. And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know," he choked out while slowly accepting his fate. "If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."
Ned didn't say anything but acknowledged the unfortunate man's last wish. He closed his eyes and nodded his head.
The Deserter then turned his attention to the silent Rider standing behind him. "And… I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I know you didn't have a choice," he croaked.
The Rider stared at him with his silver ashen eyes that seemed to burn right through him. His short sword and battle axe jingled at his side as he stepped up close to him, dropping a heavy and rough hand on the Deserter's shoulder. He pulled out his short sword with his other hand and severed the rope that bound his wrists.
The Deserter was then grabbed by the shoulders by two other guards and positioned on the tree limb with his neck exposed. Ned drew out his sword from the scabbard Theon Greyjoy was holding. It was a hefty-looking blade with a dark silvery hue, glimmering beautifully under the misty gray skies.
"Forgive me, lord," the Deserter whispered and closed his eyes tightly.
Ned bowed his head over the icy cold blade and began to speak. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, and the First men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realms, I, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."
Ned Stark took up the giant and heavy blade and brought it swiftly down on the neck of the Deserter, taking his head off in one clean and easy blow. A death sentence with a tinge of mercy and firmness to it. In a way, it was respectable and forgiving.
Once it was over, Jon Snow walked up behind Bran and patted his shoulder. "You did well," he said before turning and walking off.
Robb wrapped his arm around his little brother, and the two walked away from the scene, momentarily making eye contact with the Black Rider.
As the crowd slowly began to part, the Rider kneeled beside the headless body and rested a hand on his shoulder. Which still had a lingering sensation of warmth. He closed his eyes briefly and opened them back up when he heard Ned approach him from behind.
"I have to thank you yet again," Ned said once the Rider stood up and turned to face him. "And apologize at the same time. You have always been the ones to capture the deserters and bring them to me…but I know it's hard for you. You both are brothers of the Night's Watch, after all."
He waited for the Rider to say something, but no words came from his mouth, like usual. It wasn't a sign of insult, just a fact that the Rider had never spoken to anyone before. Not even to him. It had caused small rumors to spread. Some say it was a sign of arrogance; others say that the Rider had his tongue ripped out long ago. Another even claimed that the Rider was just mute and had never spoken a word a day in his life.
The Rider's silvery eyes lowered slightly with a somber look. He offered his hand out, which Ned took and shook firmly. Ned never needed words when dealing with the Black Rider. He can understand him just fine through his action. Loyal, persistent, but somber all the same.
"It had been a long day. I ask you to come back to Winterfell with us and take a night to recover. You can return to Castle Black in the morning." Ned offered, to which the Rider responded by closing his eyes and bowing his head. A silent yes. "If you will excuse me. I need to talk to my son."
The Rider nodded before turning around and walking towards his black horse to get ready to depart.
Ned approached one of his youngest, Bran. "You understand why I did it?" he asked the young boy.
Bran kept his face and tone neutral as he spoke. "Jon said he was a deserter."
"But do you understand why I had to kill him?"
"Our way is the old way?" Bran said with a puzzled expression.
"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Ned declared while studying his son's face, seeing if he could make out an acknowledgment on his young and innocent features.
Bran held his lips shut for a second before voicing a question that's been on his mind. About what the Deserter claimed he saw right before he fled the Wall. "Is it true he saw the White Walkers?"
"The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years."
Bran turned his face up into a perplexed expression. "So he was lying?"
"A madman sees what he sees." As he said those words, the Black Rider trotted past them before suddenly coming to a halt. Ned looked up and saw the Rider's attention turned elsewhere, staring intensely at something.
"What's that?" Bran said, pointing to a hill where he saw the likeness of a large animal peering down at them from the top of the valley. It was such a giant creature that even Bran could tell it was a large feline of some sort with a stark white coat with flecks of gold mixed in.
Jon turned around to look at it. "Looks like a saber-tooth from the Highlands. We're not far from their borders. It's just east from here," he said.
"Do they usually come this far west?" Bran asked.
Jon could only shrug. "I'm not sure. Only the Highlanders would know of their patterns…and not even those people would cross their own border."
The tiger continued staring at them for a couple more seconds before turning its large body around and walking out of view, back from where it came from.
Rob looked grim. "Let's hope it keeps its distance. Highland tigers are very dangerous creatures…and I wouldn't want to try and fight one."
Shortly after that little scare, the men of the North quickly rounded up their things and began to head back to Winterfell, hoping that the tiger doesn't change its mind about leaving them alone.
"Could you tell me about the Highlands?" Bran asked while riding up beside Jon. He had never heard much about the Highlands, but seeing one of their tigers caught his interest.
Jon battled a small smile as he spoke. "I don't know much...but I can tell you what I can."
"Why don't they leave their land?"
"Perhaps it's because the Highlands is an independent kingdom. King Robert has no jurisdiction over there, and the ones who watch over that kingdom is House Saber. One of the great old houses that have been around since the beginning. Unfortunately though…the Sabers are no longer in control of the Highlands. There was a battle five years ago at their capital, Castle Sabriel. The Highland army was pushed back by a group of people who called themselves the Nameless Folk, and I've heard even their king, Lux Saber lost his life that day," he explained the basic knowledge.
"So what happened to the kingdom?" Bran asked, tilting his head to the side.
"It's now run by those men. Practically lawless," Jon finished when he noticed the Black Rider staring at him over his shoulder. As always though, he didn't say a word and looked back to the road. Jon was then startled when the Rider suddenly road ahead of him and the rest of the convoy. "What's wrong?" he called out.
The Rider slowed to a halt and got off his horse to approach something blocking the road. Upon closer inspection and by the putrid smell of rot, they soon realized it was a mutilated deer with its guts splayed all over the ground. Maggots were crawling all over its flesh, and coffin flies were going in and out of its hollow eye sockets. The smell not only had a putrid scent to it, but it also stank of musk, dirt, and rotten leaves. It must've been under the muddled skies for at least two or three days.
Ned immediately dismounted his horse and approached the deer, stopping beside the Rider that inspected it.
"Mountain lion?" Theon Greyjoy questioned.
Ned shook his head and squatted by the deer. "There are no mountain lions in these woods?"
"Then what about the Highland tiger we saw in the valley? It could be the one responsible," Theon continued to theorize.
"I'm not sure it was that either. There would hardly be anything left if it was," Ned sighed. He lifted his head when he felt someone walk past him.
The Black Rider took the lead, and everyone followed close behind with swords in hand. They adventured down a ridge close to a streaming river and suddenly stumbled upon a gruesome sight. It was a dead direwolf with an antler through her neck, and at her side were a couple whimpering pups, all with different fur colors. The dead wolf was in a worse state than the deer, and the smell that came from the body made some of the men heave with disgust.
Ned brushed past the Black Rider and kneeled before the dead wolf. He looked over her body with a puzzled look until Theon spoke up first.
"It's a freak," he said.
"It's a direwolf," Ned corrected, looking uneasy as he exchanged a look with Ser Rodrik. "Tough old beast," he said grimly, yanking the antler out of the wolf's neck.
There was a grimness to Rob's voice. "There are no direwolves south of the Wall."
"Now there are five. Along with A Highland tiger." Jon reached down and suddenly picked up one of the pups. "You want to hold it?" he offered to Bran.
Bran took the pup into his arms and held closely onto her. She was cold to the touch, but her fur was nice and soft. "Where will they go? Their mother's dead."
"They don't belong down here," Ser Rodrik said.
"Better a quick death." Ned said while standing to his feet. "They won't last without their mother."
Theon wasted no time and descended down the rest of the slope. "Right. Give it here." He snatched the little wolf pup from Bran's arms and ignored the child's plea. He pulled out his dagger, but the pup was suddenly ripped from his grasp. Theon was startled by the action and looked up to see the Black Rider with the wolf in his arms. "What? Do you want to do it yourself!" he taunted him, but the Rider clearly wasn't fazed. Theon could see his eyes. See that they were calm and confident.
"Put your blade away," Robb hissed at him. The disgust was evident on his face.
"I take orders from your father, not you," Theon barked.
Desperately, Bran turned to his father. "Please, Father!" he begged.
Ned looked solemn, but his word was final. "I'm sorry, Bran." He turned to leave but halted when Jon spoke up, sounding calmer than the rest of the group did.
"Lord Stark? There are five pups," Jon began, looking down at the wolves that huddled around their mother's body. "One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They were meant to have them."
Everyone immediately stopped and turned to Ned, watching him as he contemplated his following words. Bran looked hopeful and kept glancing at the pup, still safely in the Rider's arms.
"You will train them yourselves," Ned stated as Bran's face lit up. "You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves," he said harshly, turning up the slope.
Bran looked excitedly at the pup as the Black Rider returned it to his arms. "Rider, um…thank…thank you," he said quickly to the Rider as he turned to head back up the slope.
The Rider didn't look back and followed Ned and the rest of the group.
Bran glanced back to Jon, who picked up the pups and handed two of them to Robb. "What about you?" he asked, noticing that Jon was the only one who didn't have a wolf of his own.
Jon shook his head. "I'm not a Stark. Get on." He gestured for Bran to head on up.
As they began to leave the creak, they noticed that Ned and the rest of the group had stopped and were staring at something. Ned suddenly stepped to the side when the Black Rider hurriedly walked past him, carrying something small and white in his arms. The Rider half-jogged back down to Jon and Bran, and they could finally see what was in his arms. It was a sixth wolf pup, smaller than the rest of the litter, with fur as white as snow.
The Rider stopped in front of Jon and outstretched his arms for him to take the last wolf. Jon couldn't even will himself to speak and remained baffled when the small animal was dropped into his arms.
Theon laughed a little when he saw the wolf. "The runt of the litter. That one's yours, Snow."
"What?" Jon looked down at the small wolf, then back to the Rider. Appreciation quickly flooded his eyes. "Um, I..." he stumbled to say.
The Rider tilted his head to the side and slowly lifted his hand. He pointed to the small wolf squirming around…and then jabbed his finger right over Jon's heart.
Jon knew It must've meant something, but he couldn't tell what the Rider was trying to say without using words. Still…he just had a feeling that it meant something more profound than just a playful jab.
"Come on," Jon gestured for Bran to go ahead, following close behind by the mysterious Black Rider of the Night's Watch.
