After much deliberation the company set out for the city of Nuln the great Jewel of the Empire, yet not all is well and soon our companions find themselves waylayed by denizens of the great forests of old.

So sorry for the wait life has been diffcult and I've been in a rut but I hope you enjoy the chapter, kindly leave a review.

Province of Reikland the journey south

They departed Altdorf two days later; Margaery rode in a grand carriage, pulled by four white horses, while Jon rode beside her with Ghost trotting after them. The countess had even been so kind as to send an escort of soldiers, some forty halberdiers and crossbowmen, while a regiment of men armed with pistols and sabres brought up the rear, all attired in grey and white of Wissenland commanded they were commanded by a man who had introduced himself as Hans Shribber. Jon found he enjoyed being on the road again. Sadly, he had not seen Ingfried again before they had left. She was too occupied with her tests. He had left a letter explaining what had happened and urging her to write to him if the time came for her to leave Altdorf, and he had not returned to tell him where she was going so that he could join her. While he wished he could have said goodbye to her, part of him was happy that he had not had to tell her that he would be travelling and with whom, which had caused Gunther a great deal of amusement, which had caused Gunther a great deal of amusement.

The journey south was blessedly free of dark, monster-filled woods; Shribber had told him these woods were called the Bloodpines. The name was apt, he thought, as the trees that grew here were a deep crimson. It was evident that these woods were regularly tended to. As they ventured deeper into the forest, they saw several lumber camps with the woodsmen hard at work harvesting logs. The land seemed to be given over to agriculture, although the fields were currently bare, awaiting the arrival of the planting season. It was near the end of winter, yet the sky remained clear, and only a scant layer of snow covered the ground, which many in the company took as a sign that their journey would be an easy one.

"It seems that Taal has convinced his brother to go easy on us for a change. Sigmar be praised." Shribber said as he rode beside Jon. Jon knew that Taal was one of the gods of the Empire, but he was not sure what that had to do with the winter being mild. Still, he did not want to show his ignorance and merely nodded in agreement.

They travelled southward for the better part of a week, and soon, the farmlands slowly gave way to denser, darker tracts of woodland, where the trees were older and more tightly clumped, and the ground was thick with fallen, rotting leaves. Still, no enemies appeared, and they continued on their journey unimpeded. They often spent the night at an inn; Jon would have baulked at the cost of such an arrangement; however, he could not deny that it offered far better than sleeping on the cold ground and the fact that someone else was footing the bill only sweetened the deal. Although he would never openly admit it, he found it amusing how people would jump when Ghost first entered a room. Over time, as the soldiers grew accustomed to the Direwolf's presence, they, too, ceased to be alarmed. In fact, many among them seemed to regard Ghost with a kind of reverent devotion akin to Ingfried's own. Despite all being Sigmarites, it seemed that the soldiers still paid homage to the old god of war, seeking his aid in times of conflict. Jon couldn't help but recall Sam and how he had ultimately renounced the Seven in favour of the Old Gods upon joining the Watch.

It was near sundown on the eighth day when they first saw the signs of trouble.

It started when they saw a column of smoke rising ahead of them. It was clear that it was too large to be a cooking fire, and everyone was immediately on edge, with Shribber ordering his men to prepare for battle. Once he was sure that Lady Margaery was as safe as the men could make her, Jon spurred his horse forward to investigate the source of the smoke. Coming up on the rise, Jon looked down upon a small glen where there stood an inn, or rather what was once an inn.

The structure was burning, though the flames had clearly died down somewhat. Here and there were dead bodies, many of which were riddled with strange arrows. Not all of the bodies were human; it looked as if most, if not all, of the inn and its guests' animals had been killed as well. Additionally, Jon saw the remains of several wolves, as well as small green bodies. He felt his lip curl as he recognised the latter as goblins, like the ones who had attacked him and Ingfried on the river. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword, though all the signs suggested that the green-skinned wretches were long gone. More than one ranger had died in places which they believed safe. Ghost, too, was clearly alert; his fur stood on end, and his gaze swept back and forth over the devastated inn. After a moment, the Direwolf went stock-still, clearly having caught the scent of something. Jon dismounted and tied the reins to a tree branch, though he did so loosely to allow it to be hastily untied should the need arise. Leaving his shield, he drew his sword and followed Ghost into the inn, careful to avoid the still smouldering ruins.

Jon choked back bile as he surveyed the mangled corpses of the villagers. Evidently, the goblins had swiftly dispatched anyone who resisted, but they had cruelly taken their time with those who couldn't defend themselves. Though he did his best to stay away from the flames, the heat and the smell of burning flesh still buffeted him, with the former heating his armour to an uncomfortable degree and the latter nearly making him vomit once again. Ghost paid no heed to any of this, trotting forward until he came to a halt in front of a cluster of toppled barrels. Jon couldn't fathom what had piqued Ghost's interest, but he didn't doubt the wolf's senses. Fairley certain there was no threat, he sheathed his sword and began moving the barrels, revealing a hidden trapdoor; it was difficult to be sure over the sounds of the inn burning, but he thought he could hear the sounds of people coming from the cellar. Angling his sword so that he would be ready to strike if the need arose, he grasped the ring handle and ripped the hatch open. Frightened faces stared up at him. There looked to be seven or eight of them, most of them women and small children. The only exception was a man nearest the ladder leading down into the basement.

He bore the visage of a man well into his fifth decade; his hair was streaked with silver, as was the long moustache that hung down past gaunt cheeks. In his left hand, he held a short sword which, while as nicked and scarred as its wielder, was clean and looked well-cared for. He wore a simple roughspun tunic and boots, yet most telling of all was the void where his left hand should have been, replaced by a fearsome hook.

As the others drew away, he squinted up at Jon, clearly wanting to believe that they had been saved but not quite willing to believe it.

"Who are you?" He demanded in a voice made horse by both shouting and, Jon guessed, heavy drinking. After a moment's consideration, Jon put his sword away.

"I am Sir Jon il Cuor di Lupo. I was making my way to Nuln when I saw the smoke and came to investigate." The man seemed to relax slightly, and one of the women began crying in relief.

"Sounds foreign, but you're human, and right now, that's good enough for me." He put his weapon away and began climbing up the ladder, Jon moving aside to give him room. As soon as he finished ascending the ladder, the others swiftly followed behind him. As soon as they were all out, they quickly hurried out of the inn, no doubt wishing to be as far from the flames as possible. Jon was just considering what to do next as he had told the others in his party to hang back until he had determined what was causing the smoke. He would either have to go back to them to bring them to the survivors or lead the survivors to them. He did not want to leave the refugees alone while he fetched the rest of his party, but he was unsure they could make it there alone. He was still considering what to do when one of the survivors, a plump woman of about thirty, screamed in terror. Jon whirled about, his hand going to his sword as he looked about for the cause of her terror.

Alas, it seemed Ghost thought this the best time to return, providing the people with their first glimpse of him. It quickly became evident that none of them held the same religious awe that the others had displayed; instead, they were gripped by fear, much like the people of Westeros when they first encountered the giant wolf. Indeed, the old man was trying to pull his sword out while the others grabbed large pieces of wood, hoping to fend him off.

"Sigmar preserver us! They're back!" One of the women shrieked as the children began to cry.

"It is fine!" Jon tried to assure them, "He won't harm you." They looked from Ghost to Jon as if he were mad.

"I have raised him from a pup; he will not harm you." Jon was not sure they were convinced, but they made no move to either attack Ghost or flee. For his part, Ghost seemed to sense their fear and kept his distance. Finally, perhaps prompted by the sound of part of a wall caving in, the older man gathered his courage and made his way forward, though he kept as much distance between himself and the wolf. Once the man had exited the ruins, the others seemed to gain some courage and followed him out, Jon and Ghost bringing up the rear.

As Jon stepped out of the ruins, thunder rumbled overhead, and several raindrops struck his face. Several of the people cursed, and one of the smaller children began to cry, clearly overwhelmed by all that had happened. Ghost padded up to the child, ignoring the sounds of alarm coming from the others and licked the child's face. The child looked frightened at first but then seemed to relax when he saw that Ghost wasn't planning to hurt him. It also seemed to have the same effect on the remainder of the refugees. Soon, the rain was coming down in great sheets, turning the trail into a quagmire of clinging mud. Water ran uncomfortably down the inside of Jon's armour; he knew he could not leave them here; he had to get them to the rest of his party as soon as possible."

He quickly retrieved his horse and placed a pregnant woman and several of the smaller children on its back. He doubted that even their combined weight would bother the horse as he commenced leading them back along the same path he had traversed earlier, while Ghost moved about, circling the group and keeping alert for any attackers. Jon soon found himself walking alongside the man who introduced himself as Otho, a former Sergeant in the Wissenland Swordsmen.

"So, what happened to your town?" asked Jon.

"Goblins," Otho spat angrily as he replied, "Little green bastards, that's what happened!" He muttered angrily to himself for a moment, and Jon thought that he would get no more from him, but after a moment, Otho began speaking again.

"There had been talk, there is always talk, of goblin raiders. There was some disagreement as to how many there were, but all agreed that, as they only seemed to attack isolated farms and small groups of travellers, there could not be very many of them."

Otho laughed bitterly. "How wrong we were," he said. "They attacked just before sunrise, and there were dozens of them, perhaps a hundred, all mounted on wolves and moving too swiftly to count. The guest and I did our best to repel them, but they didn't attempt to storm the inn. Instead, they circled around, firing fire arrows and igniting the entire place. Bach, the innkeeper, ushered the women and children into the cellar and instructed me to protect them. He and the other men ventured out to confront the goblins."

"You can see the outcome," said Otho, glancing around at the mounds of corpses.

Jon nodded. "And you hid down there all that time? Why not try and escape?"

Otho sighed and paused before he spoke again. "After the battle ended, we could hear the goblins ransacking the inn," he said. "Fortunately, Sigmar watched over us, and they didn't discover our hiding place. The inn was burning, and we were afraid to come out due to the flames and the fear that the goblins might still be around. Not too much smoke had come into the cellar, and we were planning to wait as long as possible before coming up in the hope that both the fires would have gone out and the goblins would have departed."

Jon supposed that that made sense. It would also explain why the goblins had not troubled his party. From what Otho had said, it sounded as if the goblins were only going after prey, which offered little or no resistance. Even if they had spied on them, Jon doubted that the goblins would attack such a well-armed party as the one he was travelling with. He remembered battling other goblins on the river. For the most part, they had been a craven lot and presented little danger to a determined resistance.

On the other hand, the more Jon thought about it, the more he began to consider the attack on the inn. It was concerning, and it was possible that his party might not be as safe as he had just assumed. From what he had been told, goblins and the larger orcs, like men, only grew bolder with each successful attack and more and more would be drawn to victorious leaders. They had attacked the inn, a large structure and had been defended by at least a dozen men. If there were as many goblins as Otho said there were, they might have to be cautious, particularly if the goblins used their numerical advantage wisely. What stood out was the goblin leader's approach; they hadn't directly assaulted the inn but had cleverly employed fire to force the defenders out of their stronghold and into a more vulnerable position. This suggested the goblin leader possessed at least a rudimentary grasp of tactics. It also meant that if they were to target their company, it would have the wit to at least try to counter their tactics.

Fortunately, the goblins did not attack them, and they reached the company without trouble. Jon ordered Shribber to ensure the refugees were fed and cared for. They made camp, positioning the wagons and carriages to create a crude barricade, and posted a heavy guard. Several times during the night, the howling of wolves woke the camp, prompting Jon and the others to rush and arm themselves. However, no attack came, though Shribber ordered the watch to be doubled.

At last, dawn came. A hasty breakfast was eaten, and the camp was swiftly dismantled. Jon found himself both surprised and heartened by Lady Margaery's compassion as she offered aid to the refugees. She graciously allowed the pregnant woman and several of the smaller children to ride in her carriage while the rest either trudged alongside the wagons or forged ahead on foot. The going was slow, with the spearmen marching on either side of the road and the pistoleers riding behind and ahead to warn of any attack.

They passed the remains of the inn without stopping, the sight of it bringing fresh tears to several of the refugees and continued on their way. They saw no sign of the goblins; however, they soon came upon evidence of their rampage. Farms lay in smouldering ruins, livestock brutally slain, and corpses left as carrion. It was a gruesome testament to the cruelty of the Goblins. Fortunately, it appeared that these atrocities had occurred some time ago. Still, Jon was wary, glancing from side to side, and would often have halted to listen to the sounds of the wood. He wondered why whichever lord ruled these lands had not sent soldiers to deal with the marauders. He said as much to Shribber. Before the captain could answer, Otho, who had heard the question, gave a derisive laugh.

"As if Her Ladyship gives a shit."

"Careful, old man," Shribber growled, and several of the soldiers looked eager to gut the old man.

Otho snorted. "Well, it's still true."

Shribber looked unhappy but did not argue the matter.

All that day, they continued on, even eating as they moved. Shribber informed Jon that there was a village some distance ahead, and if they pushed themselves, they could make it before sundown. This was welcome news to Jon. All the towns and villages he had seen since coming to these lands had at least a palisade around them, which would be welcome protection. As a boy, Maester Luwin had taught Jon that in Essos, the Dothraki Horselords were a threat even to the great walled cities of that land. However, nothing that he had heard indicated that these goblins had yet reached that point, as none of the tales Otho had heard spoke of them attacking a fortified town or village. Though they were all stiff, sore and tired, especially those who were on foot, Shribber proved to be correct, and they reached the village just as the day was drawing to its end, and cold stars were glinting in the sky high above.

In a middling-sized village, Jon estimated a population of around four or five hundred souls, placing it larger than many Northern holdings but dwarfed by the great cities like Altdorf or Marienburg. Yet, there lingered here a dread all too familiar - fear. It hung heavy in the air like a cloud, and it was apparent why the village had swelled with refugees, driven from their homes by the menace of goblin attacks, and they had spread word of the creatures to all who would listen, and the villagers were clearly afraid that the goblins would come for them.

Once Lady Margaery had been settled in the village's lone inn, Shribber and Jon set about organising the village's defences; alas, there was little they could do.

While there was a small militia, the villages were, for the most part, farmers and tradesmen, and only a few of them had served in the state troops. The best fighters they could muster were thirty hunters from the surrounding countryside. Shribber placed his men along the walls of the village; several of the pistoliers had protested, but Shribber had silenced their foolishness and pointed out that their horses would be of little use in the confines of the streets. He and Jon had then walked up and down the walls inspecting the troops and offering words of encouragement. He had almost walked the whole of the palisade when the long, deep note of a hunting horn rent the night air.

For a moment, he wondered if there were more refugees, but then he saw that hundreds of torches flickered between the dark forms of the trees, moving so fast that the bearers had to be mounted, and dark shapes moved within the twisted woodland as the massed forces of the enemy drew nearer. The entire forest was alive with movement. There was to be no escape. The enemy had completely encircled the village. Cries of alarm continued to sound, and soldiers and armed villagers rushed to the gate. As they drew closer, Jon could now see that the torchbearers were, as he had feared, goblins riding on wolves. As they drew nearer to the walls, some threw their torches at the walls, while others notched their bows and sent a volley of arrows soaring over the parapet. The torches all fell short, and the goblins' aim proved to be poor, with only one man being hit. The human return fire was far more effective; at least a dozen goblins were thrown off their mounts stone dead.

Jon ducked as another arrow splintered into the wood of the parapet in front of him. He reached down and took a crossbow from the fingers of the guard who had just died—the man lay with an arrow through his throat. Jon fumbled for a quarrel and strained to cock the weapon, eventually slipping a bolt into place. He leapt up; fire arrows flashed overhead like falling stars. From behind him came the stench of burning. Jon looked down from the parapet. Wolf riders circled the camp as a wolf-pack circles a herd of cattle, and he could see the green skin of the riders glistening in the light of their burning arrows, the flames highlighting their jaundiced eyes and yellowish tusks.

"There must be hundreds of them," Jon thought.

"That's it, lads!" Shribber called the defenders, "We'll have them on the run in no time!"

Jon found himself sharing in the captain's optimism. There didn't seem to be as many goblins as they had been led to believe. While it was unsettling that these goblins had dared to attack a fortified village, they appeared to suffer from overconfidence due to their limited numbers. Jon suspected the goblins had only targeted smaller and weaker settlements until now, and this time, they had bitten off more than they could chew. He relished the opportunity to teach them a lesson and make them pay for the death and suffering they had inflicted on the local people.

Suddenly, cries from the men to his left interrupted his thoughts. But these were not just cries; they were screams. Whipping around, Jon was met with a horrifying sight.

Goblins, a considerable horde of them, had breached the walls and were assaulting the defenders.

It became clear what had happened. The goblins wielding torches had acted as a diversion; the ruse had allowed a larger contingent of goblins to approach the walls unnoticed, scrambling up to launch a surprise attack on the defenders from the flank. Jon cursed as the man closest to him fell, and a group of goblins advanced towards him. Reacting swiftly, Jon advanced, raising his shield to fend off the oncoming assaults. Thankfully, the narrowness of the palisade meant the Goblins couldn't overwhelm him as they had the others.

"ON YOUR RIGHT!" a voice shouted out.

It was too late as a huge black goblin tackled him to the ground. He struggled with the creature, but it was no use; the beast struck the side of his helm, and his ears rang. The goblin snarled, revealing bloodstained teeth, and drew a dagger; its blade glowed a sickly green, and he sensed the terrible power within it. With surprising strength, the goblin drove the dagger downward, finding the gap between the gorget and helmet; several links burst. However, the goblin was no stronger than the rest of its kind, and Jon's frantic writhing meant that the blade did little more than leave a shallow, stinging cut. It hurt, to be sure, but it wouldn't kill him. Gathering his strength, he kicked the goblin hard in the stomach, and it doubled over. Seeing his chance, he grabbed the goblin by the throat and hurled it into its charging kin. Three were bowled off their feet and were swiftly set upon by their wolves, while another four rushed forward to rob their companions' corpses. Nevertheless, the greenskins continued to charge, bellowing guttural war cries, and screeching for blood.

Jon heard the ring of steel on steel and the hoarse grunts of exertion followed by more cries of pain he turned and saw a dozen Goblins had made it over the parapet and began cutting down the militia. For most, this was clearly their first battle, and they were beginning to waver at the sight of their comrades being wounded and killed. Jon knew that as soon as one ran, the fear would spread, and soon they would all be running, and the soldiers were not numerous enough to hold the whole wall alone. He had to act swiftly, drawing his longsword from its ornate scabbard. Reddened dwarfish glyphs blazed along the length of the blade; the blade felt light a feather in his hand. He rushed forth to meet the greenskin's the blade almost seemed to sing as he clove a goblin's head from behind. The runes blazed brightly as stars at it cut the through helm and flesh as easily as a butcher's cleaver might a shank of beef. The goblin's brain fountained messily forth. Jon wretched as the offal splattered his face. But he forced down his disgust as he kicked another goblin off the parapet, by this time, the creatures had taken notice and rushed to meet him, he batted aside the blade of another goblin and rammed his own underneath a rusted iron breastplate into its heart. He saw its eyes go wide with terror and pain; its cruel face wore a look of horror as it snarled what might have been a prayer or a curse as it died. Jon's hand was wet with blackish blood, and he adjusted his grip on the sword to keep it from slipping; soon, two more goblins were upon him he ducked the thrust of a barbed spear and lashed to the right. Karaghul bit deeply into the cheek of the goblin, severing the strap of it's headdress. The cap slid forward on the goblin's face, covering its eyes and momentarily obscuring its vision. Jon brought his blade down and split its bony skull down to its sternum. Jon growled in pain as one of the enchanted blades caught him with a glancing blow beneath his arm. He glared and turned, and a cold fury rose in him. The goblin, perhaps knowing it made a foolish mistake, froze for a moment. It raised its hands in what might have been a gesture of mercy. Jon smiled evilly and chopped the creature's wrist. Putrid blood splashed down the front of his breastplate. The goblin howled and writhed, desperately trying to mend its severed hands as its compatriots fled in terror. It was then that a brilliant red light leapt through the night. The air stank of ozone, and he watched as the lightning flashed among the horde. He heard them scream. Some cheered, capering like fools, while others were not so lucky, falling in a heap, bodies smouldering, and the horrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Again and again, the lightning lashed out, and the goblins fell back. The night air was heavy with the smell of putrid flesh. He wondered what could have done this. Then he noticed, off in the distance, a sickening red glow, peering into the darkness, he spied a large goblin. A red miasma swirled around his skull, illuminating the many beads and necklaces it wore; in one of its gnarled claws, the goblin clutched a bone staff even as Jon watched, the creature, which appeared to be some sort of wizard, stuffed something in its mouth. As it chewed, it rocked on its mount, and its eyes rolled about. After a moment, it went rigid, and then its arms shot out as it shrieked, and a beam of blood-coloured light flickered from his head and lashed out at struck several of the men who began wailing in agony as the strange magics fused flesh to armour while others were reduced to piles of meat. The goblin cackled and reached for another of whatever it had eaten before.

Without thinking, he snatched up the bow of one of the fallen hunters and nocked an arrow. He aimed high and loosed it; the arrow blurred across the night. Yet, by cruel fortune, the goblin raised his gnarled hand and reduced the arrow to kindling. Jon cursed and notched another. However, before he could fire it, the goblin began convulsing and let out a horrid shriek. Then, in a blinding flash, its head exploded. The blast killed its wolf and several other goblins who had been too close. The goblins shrieked in terror at the death of their leader, and it seemed whatever enchantment on them was broken. Mustering his courage, Jon sped down the stairs, expecting the goblins to be hammering at the gates, but it seemed fate had other plans.

The death of their shaman had demoralised the goblins, and they began to turn upon one another, there was a muted shout from the militia, and with horns blowing, the men of Wissenland charged through the battered gates eight abreast, halberdiers with the pistoliers and hunters close behind they drove into the goblins slaughtering those too foolish to run this proved to be the final straw for the greenskins. They broke and fled, the mocking laughter and insults of the defenders following after them and as quickly as that, the battle was over. Jon sighed; he was as exhausted as he had ever been, and now that his limbs were at rest, the pain began to seep into the dozens of wounds he had taken during that long, long night. He was cut, bruised, scraped, and battered from head to foot. There was nowhere on his body that didn't ache. In the half-light, he stepped on one of the goblin corpses. He stumbled and would have fallen if not for Shribber, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Now, now, good knight. We cannot have you falling over at our moment of victory." Jon smiled at him, gritting his teeth from the pain.

"That would be a bit embarrassing, would it not?"

"Precisely!" Shribber exclaimed with a laugh.

"The knight never falls over after the battle is won. Unless, of course, it is a tragic yet glorious death. One which is preceded, of course, by remarkably well-delivered speech considering it is coming from a dying man."

Jon thought it better not to die and allowed Schribber to lead him to the local healer. She was an older woman who was more herb seller than maester, but she appeared to be skilled enough at treating things as simple and direct as cuts and arrow wounds. There were cries of pain as several strong men held their fellows down while she worked to extract arrows or spearheads. This done, she would smear a paste on the wounds and then tightly wrap it in linen. Sometimes, she would give them men some to drink, presumably for the pain. For the most part, however, the men seemed to content themselves with consuming as much beer and other spirits as they could get their hands on. By the time Jon approached her, Gunther had joined him and eased him out of his armour so the healer could mend his wounds.

The woman, for her part, was clearly tired but gave the wounds a good look. "Have no fear, M'lord; they're neither deep nor infected."

This relieved Jon, though he had a second concern caused by the memory of the glowing blades.

"Could they have been poisoned?" He kept his voice low so as not to cause a panic, but the old woman was shaking her head.

"You're not the first to be worrying about that, but never fear; there's no poison. Believe me, if there were," She paused and tapped the side of her nose, "I'd know.

"No, the worse you'll have is a few scars, and I've yet to meet a young noble like yourself who did not enjoy a good scar or two, nor a young lady who'd object to gushing over them."

Shribber had assured Jon that it was doubtful that the goblins would attack again so soon after being repulsed, and so Jon made his way back to the inn where both he and Lady Margaery had taken rooms. He had meant to go to sleep and hope that his wounds had stopped aching by the time he arose. This plan was brought to an end by the Lady sending her maid to request that he call upon her in her rooms. Ignoring his squire's smirk as he helped Jon out of his armour, Jon quickly donned clean clothing from his pack and went to her room. Lady Margary appeared to be dressed for bed, though sleep was the farthest thing from her mind. Though she tried to hide it, it was clear that she was full of nervous energy and was visibly restraining herself from pacing about the room. As he entered and gave a bow, she addressed him in a tone which showed that she was forcing herself to remain calm.

"I have been told that we won." She looked him up and down worriedly.

"My maid says that you were wounded." Jon hastened to reassure her.

"We have indeed won, My Lady.

"The goblins have fled and are unlikely to return tonight.

"As for me, it was nothing more than a few scratches. I have had far worse in the past." At his words, she gave a sigh of relief. She knew they had won and could see he was not badly hurt but seemed relieved to have his reassurance.

"Praise the Lady."

"You will think me a dreadful coward, but I have been rather fearful this whole time. I have never been in a place under siege before, and I must confess that I did not care much for the experience. The sounds of battle, the shouts and the screams." She shuddered slightly.

"No, I did not care for it at all, and it is a wonder that your sister endured it when Stannis attempted to take King's Landing, which was far worse than this. She is courageous. You must be proud of her."

Jon, who had never thought of Sansa as brave, was surprised at hearing her called as such. He supposed that she could be brave; many people discovered the most miraculous things when in danger. Before he could say anything, a look of concern came to the Lady Margaery's face.

"Do you think that the creatures will attack us when we attempt to leave the village?"

Jon was not sure himself. It would be what human foes would do, but he knew little of goblins and was unsure what they would do, and he had to confess as much to Lady Margaery.

"Captain Shribber has, I am sure, faced the wretches before and will know what to do." She still appeared to be apprehensive, and he cast about for a way to change the conversation. He remembered what she had said earlier.

"My Lady, earlier you said Thank the Ladies rather than Thank the mother. Why did you say that?"

She smiled. "When I was still a servant of Lady Lucrezia, I met an ambassador from Bretonnia, and we had many pleasant talks one topic that was often discussed was religion. He spoke frequently and eloquently of his goddess, the Lady of the Lake. In many ways, she reminds me of the Seven, and along with Shallya, the Lady in White, they are far more agreeable than many of the others. And, since there are not many septs around, as you may have noticed, I find comfort in praying to them."

Jon hesitated for a moment and then spoke again.

"If I may, Lady Margaery, it still seems strange that a devotee of the Seven would pray to other deities."

"Not as strange as you think. The septons teach that the Seven are, in fact, one and what many worship are simply different aspects of one God. Therefore, one could consider the gods here the same, all aspects of the one god. And, as I said, it is comforting to have something to pray to.

"It also helps in other ways. The peoples of these lands seem to put more stock in their gods than those back him, and it does not do well for one to be seen to not honour the gods. They know nothing of the Seven, but the Lady of the Lake is a familiar, if foreign, deity here, and all seemed fond of Shallya; their worship makes me more acceptable to the people, both noble and peasant."

That made sense to Jon, though it seemed somewhat cynical. His thoughts were interrupted by Lady Margaery changing the subject.

"Do you think we will try to leave immediately, or will the good Captain choose to wait to see if the monsters attack again?"

"I do not know, My Lady," Jon replied.

"As I said, I am unfamiliar with these creatures and unsure of the best course of action."

At his words, Lady Margaery looked thoughtful.

"That makes sense, though I hope he shall soon inform us of his decision." Before Jon could reply, a knock came. At a gestured command, the maid went to the door and opened it. Standing in the doorway was one of the pistolliers of the escort. He clicked his heels, bowed to the Lady Margaery and saluted Jon.

"Apologies, My Lord, but Captain Shribber requests to speak with you immediately." Jon hastily made his respects and departed, following the man.

He was led to a barracks near the town gate, requisitioned as an impromptu headquarters. The captain was there himself, speaking with several of the hunters.

He looked up as Jon arrived. "Sir Lupo, thank you for coming so quickly.

We have dealt the nasty little green buggers a blow, perhaps their first defeat since they started raiding, but we need to follow it up, or they will just slip away and begin again."

Jon saw the wisdom in this and nodded his agreement. However, he knew that this would be no simple task.

"Do we know where they are?"

The captain responded by waving his arm in the direction of the town gate.

"We know that they are hiding in the woods beyond the town. It goes on for miles, and we do not have the manpower to simply tramp through it in the hope of getting lucky. That is where these fine gentlemen come in." He gestured to the hunters who had come to their aid.

"These men have hunted and trapped in these woods since their boyhoods and know it better than anyone. They have agreed to track them and lead the rest of us to their camp. The goblins will be disorganised and demoralised from last night's defeat, and if we can move swiftly enough, we will scatter them and end the threat." He now turned to look directly at Jon.

"I believe you mentioned that you had experience with such work, and I request that you accompany them and aid them as you can."

Jon nodded, knowing it was no mere request, and he did not wish to insult the man by remaining here. Less than an hour later, they departed through the gate. Despite not having slept, Jon felt no weariness. Instead, he found himself strangely exhilarated. It felt good to be tracking through forests again, even though the situation was dire and much different from what it had been before. Jon had removed his plate armour, as it would only hinder him in the confines of the forest. He kept his mail shirt, over which he wore a heavy woollen cloak to prevent any stray reflections or clinking sounds from giving away his position. Another wounded hunter, unable to join the expedition, had lent Jon his bow. Jon found comfort in the weight of the familiar weapon and the bulging quiver of arrows at his side, almost as if he were back, ranging with his brothers beyond the wall.

The hunters were a silent, hard-bitten lot, and there was little talk as they departed. Their leader was a man named Heinz, who glanced suspiciously the look was not necessarily unfriendly, simply watchful as if searching for a potential problem. If Jon were to hazard a guess, he suspected Heinz was harbouring doubts about the woodcraft abilities of anyone who had Sir in his title; most amusing was their reaction to Ghost.

While several hunters made the sign of Ulric at the sight of Ghost, most did not seem overly awed. Jon thought he overheard a few men grumbling about pampered nobles keeping monsters as pets. Thick smoke was rising in the pink sky as Jon and his companions stepped through the gate. A great pyre was burning a little ways beyond the palisade where the townsfolk were tossing the rotting greenskins he hadn't the time to count the bodies, but he was pleased to see at least half a hundred dead goblins as they passed the townsfolk offered them cheers and prayers of safety as they and made their way through the fields and into the forest beyond.

The goblins had either not considered the possibility of pursuit or did not care. The trail they left proved to be quite easy to follow, between broken branches, trampled grass and even the occasional body of a wolf or goblin which had succumbed to its wounds. As they travelled deeper into the forest, however, and the undergrowth grew thicker and the light lessened, the trail grew more and more difficult to follow, or it would have if not for Ghost.

The Direwolf was as silent as ever but never slowed nor wavered. He moved through the undergrowth. At first, some of the men grumbled, but after Ghost led them to signs of the goblins, they were convinced that Ghost was leading them correctly. Jon was not sure how long they made their way through the forest; all around, the great trees brooded, ominous presences whose branches met over the trail, clasped like the hands of a giant in prayer, blocking out the sun until only a few solitary shafts of light illuminated the way forward. Moss clad the branches, and the ruddy bark of the trunks reminded him of the withered hides of dead serpents. A quietness as old as the vast primaeval woodland surrounded them, broken only by occasional stirrings in the undergrowth. The sound spread across the silence until it vanished as mysteriously as ripples from the surface of a pool. Just when he was considering whether or not they should consider turning back, Ghost halted. He did so suddenly that Jon and the others almost ran into him. For a moment, there were muttered curses, which Heinze swiftly quieted. Once silence had fallen, new sounds were heard. Silently, the men crept forward until they came to the edge of a sudden gap in the trees. Scattered about in the clearing were the goblins they had been searching for. Despite the heavy losses they had taken in their attack on the village, there still appeared to be many of them. However, Shribber's guess seemed correct, and the leader's position was far from certain.

The goblins seemed to be seated in a rough circle, watching two goblins engage in a fierce duel. Beyond the goblins were many crude tents and other shelters. Disturbingly, all throughout the camp, giant wolves moved about, some gnawing on bones, some sleeping and others snarling and snapping at each other. Jon returned his attention to the duel. The two goblins, though still small and scrawny compared to humans, appeared slightly larger than the rest of the creatures. No doubt it was a challenge for leadership of the horde, but it seemed more akin to a tavern brawl. Even as Jon watched, one of them tackled the other, and they rolled about on the ground, biting and clawing at each other, weapons forgotten as the rest of the goblin howled with laughter and urged them on. Jon felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Heinz looking at him.

The other man motioned back the way they had come; Jon nodded his understanding. They had found what they needed; it was time to go back and tell Schribber what they had seen. Jon began to move back into the forest, careful not to make any noise to alert the goblins, when he felt the breeze shift. Where before it had been blowing in the men's faces, it was now blowing on their backs, taking their scent into the goblin camp. The wolves' heads turned towards them, and they began to howl. This caught the goblins' attention, including one of the combatants, whose opponent took advantage of its distraction by burying a dagger in its chest.

"RUN!" Heinz cried, and as one, the men turned and fled.

Jon and a group of others, including Heinz, found themselves running together as they fled back the way they had come. They had not gone far before the howling of wolves reverberated throughout the forest. Though he was running as fast as they could through the woods, Jon was under no illusion that they would be able to outrun the wolf-mounted goblins. Screams of men echoing through the forest gave awful proof of his appraisal. Though it tore at his heart to think so, Jon hoped that the whole of the goblin force had run down the screaming men so that they could make good their escape. It was not long before he was disabused of this hope.

Before long, he could see goblins and their wolfen mounts running alongside them through gaps in the trees. Suddenly, a dozen goblins appeared before them, while more appeared on the side. Instinctively, the men ground to a halt and swiftly formed a circle so as to not be overtaken. One of the goblins in the group in front of them urged its wolf forward. It was the victor of the leadership duel, bleeding from a dozen wounds, and wore a shirt of mail that looked as if it had been made for a man and then crudely cut to fit its smaller body. Its mount was black as pitch and double the size of its packmates, barring its fangs eager for blood.

"Yu's wolf food!" cried the goblin.

It kicked its heels into his wolf's heel as Jon and the others braced for the charge, but the wolf did not move; the goblin looked down at the wolf in confusion, snarled and kicked it again harder than it had before. The wolf still did not move; it appeared to not even notice that the goblin was kicking it. Its gaze was fixed straight ahead and unblinking. Jon looked to see what the wolf was looking at. It was Ghost.

The Direwolf had moved to stand ahead of the men and had locked eyes with the other wolf, just as he had done with the dog back in Winterfell when it had challenged him for the chicken. The two wolves stared at each other, the black wolf ignoring the goblin's increasingly savage kicks. All on both sides watched, barely breathing and all thoughts of fighting seemingly forgotten as they watched the unfolding drama. At last, the two wolves seemed to reach an understanding, and the wolf broke from its paralysis and moved, though not in a manner that the goblin wanted it to. The wolf lunged forward, came to a sudden halt and twisted to the side. The goblin, caught unprepared, dropped its crudely forged sword and tried in vain to cling to its crude saddle. Its efforts, however, proved to be too little and too late, and it was thrown to the ground. Before it could recover, the wolf leapt upon its former master, tearing great chunks from the goblin's flesh as the creature desperately tried to crawl away, but the wolf cared little for mercy and tore the goblin's head from its shoulders The wolf howled in glee, and then hell broke loose at the sound, the wolves emboldened by their brother turned upon their goblin masters. Many of these were also thrown from their saddles and were devoured. A few were able to keep their seats but could do little else, and the other wolves attacked them once they were finished with their own riders, apparently uncaring if the goblin's mounts were injured or killed in the attack. Cries of pain drew Jon's attention to the sides and showed him that the same was happening on the flanks and rear. Within minutes, it was all over. Once the goblins were all dead, the wolves merely stood there silent as statues, as if soldiers awaiting some command. For his part, Ghost moved through the pack, the wolves parting to allow him passage, and once beyond them, he ran into the woods in what Jon believed was the direction from which the earlier screams had come. The hunters stared about, looking at the carnage in awe and a little fearful. At last, one of them looked at Jon.

"Should we wait for him?" Jon remembered when Ghost had left before, when they had gone beyond the wall, and shook his head.

"No need. He will return when he has done what he needs to do." The men seemed content with that answer, and they began moving again.

They moved through the forest more swiftly, occasionally glancing about in case the wolves decided to ambush them. Fortunately, they encountered no more trouble. The hunters appeared to be engaged in conversation with their fellows. Jon couldn't overhear their discussion, but judging by the occasional glance in his direction, he could guess. The sun was past its zenith when they emerged from the forest and entered the town. Most of the hunters went to rest, but Jon and Heinz made their way to Shribber to give their report. The captain was, as before, staring at the map on the table. He looked up as the two men entered his impromptu office.

"The sentries informed me that you had left the forest and were returning. Tell me, did you find the goblins?" Jon and Heinz looked at each other, and then they looked back at Heinz.

"We did indeed find them, Captain," Heinz responded. "I reckon we may safely say that the goblins will no longer be a threat."

At these words, the captain looked up.

"What in Sigmar's name are you talking about?" He demanded, his voice a mixture of hope tempered with experience.

Quickly, Heinz summarised their expedition into the woods and the battle, if it could be called that, which had followed their discovery of the goblins. When the part that Ghost had played was discussed, the captain stared at Jon in a way which made him uncomfortable. When the report had been delivered, with Jon merely agreeing that it was accurate, Shribber ordered them to get some rest. Heinz wanted to go and see if any of the other hunters were still alive, but Shribber would have none of it. He promised that as soon as the hunters had eaten and slept, they would discuss a search party for the missing men, which seemed to reassure Heinz. Jon was more than willing to join in the search, but he was also pleased, or perhaps it would be better to say he was relieved, to hear that they would rest first. It had been some time since he last slept, and he had both fought a battle and gone on a long expedition that included a great deal of walking and running. Now that he had stopped moving, all his strength and energy seemed to leave him, and by the time they left Shribber, Jon found that he could barely stand.

Ambling so as not to damage his dignity by falling over, he made his way to the inn. As he made his way there, Jon was convinced that the inn was moving away from him and that his armour was growing heavier with each step, digging into his shoulders. Finally, he managed to reach the inn. Once there, Gunther swiftly helped him out of his armour, and he sighed as it felt as if he was relieved of a great burden. There was food, and after so long at war, he was starving, yet weariness won out. He ascended the stairs, found the nearest unoccupied room, threw himself onto the bed, and instantly fell asleep, not awakening until shortly before sundown.

"What?!" He exclaimed when Gunther informed him of the time, horrified at what he had done. He had not intended to sleep so long. Then, another thought occurred to him.

"Has the search party departed to look for the missing hunters?" He had wanted to participate in it, and he could only assume that his absence would be noted. To his relief, Gunther shook his head.

"There was no search party, My Lord." Jon gave him a curious look.

"What do you mean?

"Captain Shribber and the hunter Heinz were discussing organising one."

"Perhaps they were, but things changed." Gunter's words brought a new surge of fear and guilt to Jon, and he bolted from the bed, desperately looking for his armour and weapons.

"Have we been attacked again?!" The thought that he would have slept through a battle was too horrible to contemplate. Fortunately, Gunther hastened to reassure him.

"No, no, My Lord, there has not been another attack." As Jon sagged in relief, Gunther continued.

"And there has not been a search party because a number of the hunters came back on their own, and I heard someone say that all those that are coming back have come back." Jon looked at his squire in surprise.

While he knew the hunters were familiar with the land, he thought they might have become lost during their panicked flight through the forest. He was surprised that they had managed to find their way back so quickly. Gunther seemed to guess his thoughts, and as he spoke, his expression took on an increasingly peculiar quality.

"They were led back by your wolf." He indicated the foot of Jon's bed. Looking, Jon saw Ghost curled up, sleeping soundly.

"The hunters said your wolf found them in the forest and guided them back here." Gunther paused and looked even more uneasy as he continued speaking. "They are saying that he was sent to guide them back. Some of them are saying that Ulric sent him, while others are saying he was sent by Taal, god of the wilds."

"They held a service of thanksgiving, both for the victory and for the safe return of so many of those who went out. Even though he is a Sigmarite, the priest made a point of thanking all the gods, and everyone knew why he would do such a thing. Some people are also wondering if your wolf was indeed sent by the gods; what does that make you,"

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Would he never be free of people trying to deify Ghost, an act which always included Jon in some way?

"Has there been any sign of the goblins?" He asked in an effort to change the subject. His squire shook his head.

"No, My Lord, there has been no sign of them. The talk of the town is that they broke when you, or your wolf or the gods or whoever, slew the goblin chieftain. Any still alive have likely fled to the mountains or deeper into the woods and are unlikely to trouble these people again for some time, possibly years." He fell silent, and in the silence, Jon could hear what sounded to be celebrations in the streets. As in Westeros, the smallfolk were celebrating the end of a siege in the traditional way.

Feeling much better, Jon rose, left the room and made his way down into the streets. People were dancing and drinking. People handed offered him food and drink, and Jon gratefully accepted both. He dismissed Gunther and told him to enjoy himself. The boy lost no time in scampering off, and Jon could only hope that none of the villagers started finding possessions going missing. He put that thought away and proceeded onwards.

As he continued, he found the going harder and harder as the crowds grew thicker and thicker. Several people had gotten their hands on musical instruments and were playing loudly with varying degrees of skill, making the whole a cacophony of noise. Despite this, many people had begun dancing. Well, at least Jon thought that it was dancing. Between the disjointed music and the number of people clearly being intoxicated, it looked more like a mass of people mostly moving in the same direction as far as Jon could see. Still, everyone was laughing and smiling and clearly having a good time, and he could not help but smile as he felt his spirits rise. As he walked along, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he was surprised to find himself facing the Lady Margaery, dressed in a green and yellow dress. To Jon's surprise, she was smiling while dancing with the people of the village.

"Join me." She said, her voice filled with laughter. Before he could respond, she took hold of his hand and dragged him into the group as they danced in a circle.

Lady Margaery laughed along with those around them, and Jon found himself joining in. He felt all weariness and fear ebb away. Whatever the future held for this place, it would be safe from the deprivations of the goblins for some time. From what he had learned of this land, that was something to be thankful for. His thoughts drifted back to Westeros, wondering if they would ever be free of the Others. He shook his head firmly, not wanting such thoughts to ruin his mood. He even saw Shribber dancing with a mug of wine in one hand, looking decidedly flustered as he was the source of attention for several young women of the village. Seeing this, Jon decided there would be no hurry for him to speak to the captain and let go and enjoy the event. The only thing dampening his mood was the unsubtle looks of reverence some held for him.

The remainder of the day and early evening passed with dancing, drinking and feasting. A service would be held for the dead the next day, but now was a time for celebration and merry making. Jon found that he enjoyed the aftermath of this battle far more than the aftermath of the battle at the wall against the Wildlings. He and Lady Margaery danced several times after the group dance had ended. He already knew that she was an excellent dancer in a ballroom, but she handled the more energetic dances of the smallfolk. He was also surprised to see how well she mingled with people who were far her inferior in rank. She smiled at men, laughed with women, and even play-danced with several children. Perhaps it was simply that they were all happy, but it seemed that the people loved her for it and had taken them to their hearts. At long last, the festivities ended, and the people began returning to their homes. Lady Margaery allowed Jon to take her arm in his and escort her back to her room. At first, they walked in silence, but as they mounted the stairs to her room, she turned to him and began to speak.

"I am glad my prayers were answered, and you returned safely."

"I thank you for your prayers, My Lady."

"I suppose we shall be leaving the day after tomorrow. For we must, of course, stay to attend the ceremony to honour all those who were lost." Having been taught and observing the proper rites for the dead, Jon nodded in agreement. Lady Margaery smiled again.

"I pray that the rest of the journey to Nuln will be more eventful than the last couple of days." Jon nodded in agreement and made a small joke.

"Let us hope that the gods do not think you are too greedy and are asking too much." She laughed and patted his arm.

At last, they reached the door to her room. Her maid was still out making merry, and so Lady Margaery let herself in. She entered the room and made to close the door. Before it closed, However, she stopped and smiled at him sweetly.

"May I make a request of you?"

Jon bowed. "Anything, Lady Tyrell."

She smiled. "Could you please call me Margaery, and could you, in turn, allow me to call you Jon?"

He smiled. "I would be honored. Margaery."