Lian 'Leanne' Zheng listened to Wild Girl Merida and the Funny Man take an oath of their own making, that they would obey the Sergeant as an ally and do nothing that would offend him as liaison. A word neither one of the Free Folk understood.
As the words were spoken, Lian wondered idly if the Lieutenant had been a law student before joining the Army. What our allies do isn't our responsibility, she thought, So if they fuck something up, we have better odds against the lawyers when we get back.
If we get back, she reminded herself. Survival was first in Lian's mind, most of the time.
Any time she thought of the other goal, the logical one of getting home, her throat closed with fear and despair.
Her mind and gut both agreed; there was no way back. What had happened was a freak occurrence. The so-called King Beyond the Wall was indulging his Canadian guests with tales of a magic island so he could get what he wanted. She'd never see her family again. To say nothing of her two homelands or the conveniences and safety of modernity.
Lian crushed the existential dread viciously in her head, imagining smashing the King's face to the point of caving in the front of it with the butt of her carbine.
She had said nothing through arrangement of the summit. Pessimism or defeatism would kill any sense of purpose the small group had and she knew it. So while she had admitted that she thought they were stuck on this world, she did not draw attention to the problems with the others' supposed belief in getting home.
Like the strong possibility that a doorway that could move you from one world to another likely could go to many worlds, and they had no way to be sure they'd arrive on the right one .
Or that the doorway was likely to be exactly where they had landed, so by the time they got back to it, the ice demons would likely have turned it into a hotel for the walking dead.
Or that the King Beyond the Wall didn't know jack shit about magic south of the Wall and was lying about it, so the magical science to open the doorway might be lost forever.
Lian was sure that the Lieutenant had considered these problems himself. Which was why he had chosen to involve them in the affairs of this world so quickly. It was an immediate problem to solve, one that mattered, and a convenient place to start on pretending there was a way home.
She looked at the Weeping Tree to her left. The oaths were being spoken in front of the weirwood tree nearest to Craster's Keep. The thing was the polar opposite of the tree that had watched them enter this fucked up world. Its mouth was turned down with a wailing grimace of pure sorrow.
"Ugly thing, isn't it?" Sayer remarked from beside her, quietly so the Free Folk wouldn't hear. They were touchy about their gods.
Smart kid, Lian thought. "Uglier than the first one," she agreed, "And that one scared the hell out of me."
Sayer nodded. "So… do you think this alliance thing is going to work out?"
Don't ask me that, Lian thought, crossing her arms under her weapon. "Do you want the truth the Sergeant would want me to tell you?" she asked, "Or the one the Lieutenant would want?"
The Private frowned. "Which is the truth?"
"Neither," Lian said with amusement, "But the Sergeant's line has more elements of truth at least. Shut up and make it work, because all our arses are on the line."
Sayer snorted. "You said arse just like he does."
"Not sure it's possible to say arse without sounding Irish."
"I can do it in an English accent if you'd like."
"Another time."
Ryk and Ygritte were proceeding to get a lecture from O'Neill, about how much of a 'bollocking' they would get if they disobeyed him, while the Lieutenant watched, giving the polite glare that he was taught to give when looking like a superior asshole. Our new friends look unhappy, but they haven't stabbed O'Neill yet. Progress, Lian figured.
"We're never getting home, are we?" Sayer said.
Lian flinched. Where did that come from?
"I know Duquesne and O'Neill don't want to believe it," Sayer continued, "But some way, I know it's true."
Time to do my duty. "We see and use magic every day here, the idea that there's magic to get us home isn't so crazy," Lian lied, "As for the Sergeant… you wouldn't know this, but he has kids. They're with his ex-wife. Not sure what the Lieutenant's reasons are. Don't think he's married, or he is and he's a complete prick for stringing that girl along."
Sayer grinned at that. It's not a funny thing, Private.
"And how do you feel about it then?" Lian asked, "If we can't get home, I mean."
Sayer shrugged, his grin not dying. "Didn't have much of a future anyway. Except maybe working in the mines, which is good money but a bad way to live. I'll miss my mother, and I'd like to think she knows I'm still alive. But here… I feel like I could be somebody. An explorer or something. Not in the crappy colonial way, but like Marco Polo or something. Travel the world, write about it."
Lian couldn't meet his eyes after hearing that. He's been here a couple of weeks and he's already planning to be a great explorer. So optimistic, it's like looking at a laser pointer. "Well, that's a healthy attitude, I guess."
"What about you?" Sayer asked.
"I want to go home too. I have parents, siblings, and I'm not happy about living in a place where kidnapping and rape is how you get proposed to."
"That's just here though. Maybe there are other places that are better?"
"Maybe, but I doubt it."
"What language is that?" came a question from nowhere.
Lian turned her head, to find Ryk approaching with a hand raised in greeting. "Is that your mother's tongue?" he asked.
"You didn't understand what we were saying?" Sayer asked.
"Barely heard it, but it wasn't any tongue I know of," Ryk answered.
Is the magic malfunctioning? Lian asked herself, before it clicked, No, maybe it's just more complex than we thought. "Ryk, can you listen to us for a second? I want to try something."
The man looked back blankly, but waited. Satisfied he'd do what he was asked to, Lian turned to Sayer. English, she thought, I want to speak English.
"Private, what time is it?" she asked.
Sayer's eyebrows raised up, but he looked at his watch. "It's sixteen-hundred, almost. But my watch isn't really set to this world's time. Why?"
Ignoring his question, Lian looked to Ryk. "Did you understand what I said to him?"
"You asked him what time it was," the man replied, glancing dubiously at Sayer's watch.
Okay, so it isn't based on what language I want to speak. That would be too easy. Maybe it has an off switch. She remembered that they were trying to be quiet, so the Free Folk wouldn't hear their comments about the weirwood tree. Is that the key?
Lian tried again, this time thinking to herself that she wanted the words to convey only to Sayer. "Private, what time is it?" she repeated.
Sayer shook his head. "I don't get it."
With a smirk, Lian looked again to Ryk. His blank face was now one of interest, his eyes wider and posture straighter. "What'd you say this time?" Ryk asked, "You were speaking in that language again."
Lian shook her fist in triumph. She had cracked it.
"Yes! Private, try saying something to me but intended only for me. Anything at all. I don't want Ryk to know what we're talking about."
Sayer's eyes widened in surprise, but he paused, as if preparing his statement and its secrecy. "I'm afraid all the time," he admitted, "And excited."
Feeling immediate sympathy wash over her, Lian pat him on the shoulder. "It didn't need to be a secret, Private," she replied, "But so am I. If you felt any different, we'd need to take your gun away." Sayer snorted again at that.
They both looked to Ryk once more, to see if he understood. He shook his head. "Just sounds like you're babblin'."
Lian smacked Sayer on the back, laughing. "I've cracked the code! Or part of it, at least."
"What code?" the Private asked.
"The magic that lets us speak to the people here. I've been wondering how it works. We can activate and deactivate it whenever we want, so we can speak to each other without them understanding. And we'll always understand each other, because auto-translation is always on for us. "
Ryk cleared his throat. Lian saw that the man was annoyed, which put a surprisingly threatening look across his narrow face. "Go back to speaking our language. Don't like not knowing what you're saying."
Easily able to relate to that, Lian smiled at him. His annoyance melted at once. Useful, she thought, before mentally flicking the switch to let him back into the conversation.
Sayer scratched the back of his neck for a second, before clicking his fingers.
"Do you speak Chinese?" he said, "Have you tried to see if it translates that? I can try some Dogrib or North Slavey if you don't?"
Lian sighed at his ignorance. "There is no one spoken Chinese language, Sayer. Most of them are related, like French and Spanish are, but they're separate except for the written characters. Because Chinese characters relate word concepts first. Their sounds vary by region and language. The character for dog is the same in all of them, for example."
Sayer's eyes moved from side to side, as he processed the information.
"Ah, sorry. Still, you speak one of them, right?"
"Yeah, Taiwanese Guoyu. Mandarin, more or less. Bit of Hokkien too."
"So try it out."
Figuring it hurt nothing to do just that, Lian turned to a very confused Ryk. She wondered about what to say, and came up with something that would send a message. She turned off the magic with a thought, so Ryk could hear the phrase in its true language first.
"Wú guīju bù chéng fāngyuán."
Ryk tilted his head. "What's that?" he asked, "It's different." He gave his best attempt at saying it back to her, but mangled it and stopped halfway.
Well, at least he tried. Lian turned the magic back on so he could understand the explanation. "It's my mother tongue."
"I didn't understand it either," Sayer confirmed.
"What's it mean?" Ryk asked with narrowed eyes, "What'd you say to me?"
"Without boundaries, no standards are set," Lian replied, "A lesson for you, now that you're our ally. It means that nothing can be accomplished without norms or rules, we're nothing but savages without law. All of us."
Lian felt regret rake her for a moment. Her mother used the phrase to lecture her to become more 'normal' as a kid. She never listened. She was the family rebel, in most things. Now that she'd never be lectured by her mother ever again, she questioned every life choice she ever made.
Ryk grunted, dissatisfied. "You too?" he asked, "You Canadians seem very afraid that I'll do something you don't like. The O'Neill just finished telling how you all follow laws as best you can, and that anyone who doesn't has no place among you."
How to explain without referring to lawyers and court martials…
"Because we are afraid," Lian replied, "We can't live like you, Ryk. It's not our way. Anything you do wrong as our ally, it reflects on us, and we feel further from home. We can't live like the Crows or 'kneelers' either, which is why we don't just go to the Wall. Accept it or move on."
Feeling like she was projecting her mother's lecture energy a little too much, Lian left Ryk and Sayer, and went to inform her superiors of what she had discovered about the translation magic. Her own hypocrisy was left behind too, she hoped.
They reached Craster's Hall, or Craster's Keep according to the tied-up-in-the-back-seat Qhorin Halfhand, as darkness was falling. It was a longhouse made of mud and wood on top of a small hill, surrounded by the forest as well as an circular earthen rampart with sharpened wooden stakes forming a palisade on top.
Smoke rose gently from small cuts in the clay walls of the hall, the cold making it visible in the dying light. There were other outhouses and roofed animal pens around it. A stream flowed around the base of the hill at the north, a bucket and pole standing up against the palisade.
Wondering about how they were going to announce themselves to the incestuous rapist who owned the place, Lian eased off the speed and brought the crawler to a halt on a hill of the same size a little ways off. She turned around in the driver's seat. O'Neill crouched down from his position in the roof hatch to see why she had stopped.
"What approach do you want to make, sir?" she asked the Lieutenant, before the Sergeant could open his mouth to complain, "Should we take him by surprise?"
So hopefully he'll be spooked, shoot something at us and he can be dealt with.
Lieutenant Duquesne shook his head, scratching his chin. He looked to Halfhand.
"It's just this Craster guy and his… family, right?" the Lieutenant asked, "No others living there?"
The Crow nodded, a little too quickly. "Just him."
"What about your people?" Lian asked, "Any Crows there?"
A sly grin broke on Halfhand's face. "How should I know a thing like that?"
Of course he knows, he passed through here, Lian thought to herself, Probably knows what other patrols are nearby too.
"I saw into the shack being used as a stable," O'Neill said, "Only one horse. Reckon we're clear, for now."
The Lieutenant leaned back in his seat. "Good, no battle then. Where's the gate?"
"Southwest side," the Halfhand replied.
Duquesne looked again to Lian. "Drive us straight to the gate. Stop just before it. O'Neill, Mr. Halfhand and myself will talk to this Craster. See if we can't reason with him."
A choking sound of disapproval erupted from the seat directly behind Lian.
"Reason?" Ygritte said, "He is cursed. Mance sent a man to 'reason' with him before. Craster cut out his tongue."
Lian found herself agreeing with the wild girl with all her heart.
"We should take this 'keep' as a necessary military asset, sir. We don't negotiate with everyone who owns a building we have to use, sir."
"And if he objects?" the Lieutenant asked.
Fuck around and find out, Lian's mind joked at her. "Detain him," her mouth said instead.
"He's a fuckin' bastard anyway," Ryk added for good measure, "Even if he agrees, he'll ask something in return. Might be one of the women. Might be your strong drink."
"I wouldn't recommend you offer me, sir," Lian stated to the Lieutenant, to his great amusement.
"Nor me neither," Ygritte agreed.
"And he'll have to pry my strong drink from my dead hands," O'Neill stated, "I'm keeping it for the first occasion we are in any way safe."
"We have to try talking," the Lieutenant said, "When Tormund and Six-Skins show up, I don't want Craster dead in case they use it to say 'look, this foreigner killed him, you're next' to their people."
"Tormund's tribe would cheer it," Ygritte countered, "And Six-Skins don't come this far west, usually. They won't care."
"You're probably right, but we'll still conduct ourselves diplomatically unless Craster does otherwise," the Lieutenant said, "Corporal Zheng. Take us in."
Seeing that she wasn't going to get her way, Lian resumed driving. She sent the vehicle around the western side of the hall's hill and across the stream. A few faces had appeared in between the wooden stakes to see what the noise was, but these disappeared quickly. Their arrival did not go unannounced.
By the time the vehicle reached the gates, Lian could see a crowd of a dozen women and just as many little girls at the entrance to the hall, staring with interest. Little girls, Lian thought with horror, Soon to be wives.
A man appeared from within with a crossbow. Tall with a frame that spoke of strength, but old, grey haired, with a flat nose and mouth that gaped open. He wore sheepskin and a thick gold ring around one wrist.
To Lian's eyes, he could've been just another one of the Free Folk. But she remembered what this Craster was, and what he was said to possess; some way of holding the ice demons at bay. This ugly rapist isn't a sorcerer, so how has he not been attacked by dead men? What does he know that no one else does?
The Lieutenant, the Sergeant and Halfhand got out and walked towards Craster. He barked, and the women began pushing each other in a rush to get back inside the hall. Only those hanging around outside near the animal pens remained, looking from behind whatever object would give them the most cover.
The anger at trespassing seemed to disappear as Craster spotted their prisoner and his situation. Halfhand had his hands bound with duct tape. Maybe the LT knows what he's doing, she thought idly, Tying up the Crow seems to have been a good icebreaker.
"Here we go," Lian sighed, "Negotiating with assholes. Again."
Ygritte moved to sit in the LT's seat, just opposite her. "Asshole? First dogfucker and now asshole. You Canadians have such mad insults… As for Craster, just wait 'til you meet the Crows. Halfhand's gentle in manner compared to most. And he's killed more of us than anyone else except Starks."
Lian rubbed her face. Someone save me. "Mance was a fucking manipulative asshole too."
The talks between Craster and the Lieutenant did not take long. A brief demonstration of a rifle, a few items handed over, something offered to eat… Threats and bribes. O'Neill was soon waving to bring the vehicle up.
Lian obeyed, driving straight into the compound at a snail's pace, parking by the stable. The horse neighed and pigs squealed loudly in protest, the horse straining against the rope keeping it inside. She turned the engine off and dismounted.
The smell of dung and the sight of the rapist himself met her. Craster walked quickly towards her and the others with his crossbow. Three or four dogs followed, looking up at him and barking, as if asking what the hurry was. The Sergeant soon strode around the hall's corner too, rushing to keep up with him from behind.
A cold fury descended through Lian, as she flicked the safety of her carbine off with her thumb. Come on, you prick, do something, she begged the world, If even half of what they say about you is true, you deserve a bullet.
When Craster locked eyes with her, she felt physically ill. An effect that doubled as he drank in the sight of her body; she had ditched her coat and most of her combat webbing, and was side on to him, so her profile was visible to him. She turned her body so her armour would hide it. His rushing gait slowed, and the direction changed straight towards her. He touches me, I kill him. Her spare hand brushed against the handle of the bayonet at her hip.
Sayer in his red hoodie moved next to her, aiming his scout rifle right at the approaching man, not caring for diplomatic niceties. There's that male territoriality.
"Put that weapon down, boy!" Craster called, raising his own weapon, "This is my home!" This is a prison and you're the raping Warden, Lian thought, biting down so she wouldn't say it.
Sayer did not budge. "Do as he says, Private," O'Neill ordered, arriving at last.
Not taking his eyes off the rapist, Sayer reluctantly lowered his weapon. Craster sneered back at him, revealing half-rotted teeth. Their host generously lowered his crossbow in response, while moving closer. Lian now grabbed the bayonet, using her carbine to cover the movement. I stick him, then turn the bang-stick on the dogs she calculated to herself.
Craster's eyes moved to Ygritte and Ryk.
"What are you doing with these?" he hissed at O'Neill, "I recognise the red one. She's one of Rattleshirt's bitches. She was with the lot that picked up Mance's rider after I'd shown him what I thought of kings and kingly commands. The horse made a nice gift, I admit."
Ryk grabbed Ygritte by the wrist, just as she was about to launch herself at the man, axe in hand. Craster laughed at this. He had a lot of weight on the tiny Ygritte.
"They're guides," O'Neill replied, "We put down a group led that Rattleshirt. She was the only survivor. Ulysses took her prisoner."
Craster licked his lips. "Oh, taken to wife then. Your leader knows what to do, I see." His eyes flickered back to Lian. "What about this one? She has a strange look about her."
Lian gave a false smile. "It would be a true charlie foxtrot, you whiskey tango," she stated.
The rapist grimaced. "Talk to me like that again, I'll cut out your tongue," he said, "Doubt it not."
"Talk to me like that again, and they'll need a bucket to collect your remains," Lian quipped back.
O'Neill stepped in between, using his greater size to prevent Craster from turning the situation into an execution. "You've exchanged insults," he said to the man, "She'll stay out of your hall."
"Mayhaps not," Craster replied, "Mayhaps I'll drag her into the hall for my own pleasure-taking."
"She'll kill you if you try," O'Neill said, "Now hand over what you were supposed to. Or Mance's warbands will descend on this place and we won't stop him. I could even make a few suggestions. Ever see someone being burned alive in a wicker man?"
Lian's mood improved instantly. Who knew the Sergeant could be so creative?
The rapist's eyes bulged, and he grumbled fierce insults, but complied. Out of a pouch, he retrieved some small carrots and handed one each to Ryk, Ygritte, Sayer and Lian. His hand was yellowed, particularly under the nails.
"Guest right time," O'Neill said, "You know what to do."
Craster watched as all of them bit into their carrots and chewed. Looking for protection from being killed in his sleep by any of them. Lian kept chewing, but did not swallow. Instead, she tucked the small piece she had bit off under her tongue, guessing what the man would want. Correctly.
"Open your mouths," Craster ordered.
Everyone did. Including Lian. He looked inside each of their mouths, from where he was standing. Not close enough to see the pulped vegetable under her tongue.
"Stay away from my women," the rapist grunted, turned on the spot and left, his dogs staying behind to try for the rest of the carrots.
Lian hocked and spat the chewed carrot out. She had no need of protection from that man. And she wasn't pledging to leave him unharmed either. She pet a dog as it went over and ate up the remains she had ejected, before giving her a number one puppy beg for more. She threw it the rest of her carrot, and it chewed it happily, tail wagging wildly.
O'Neill glared at her. "If he finds out you did that…"
"I'll straight up murder him, Sergeant," Lian warned back, "One more little comment. A single touch. If I see him touch one of those little girls. I won't care. You will have to disarm me right now if you want to stop me."
O'Neill blanched. "I didn't hear that," he said, "What happens… happens. We're a long way from judges, and Craster's a long way from a sympathetic victim. But that isn't license to go kill him right now. He gets one chance, you hear? No Canadian can kill him without provocation. Remember the regs. Am I making myself understood, corporal?"
The message was loud and clear. Imminent threat. Wait until he's an imminent threat again, then ask permission. "Clear as mud, sergeant," she said, her confidence in her NCO restored fully.
The Sergeant nodded to her. "Good, because I want a check on what we have versus what the gobshite reservists wrote we had. A full inventory of everything," he said, "It'll be a week before Tormund shows up, probably longer until that warg gets here with a wight or two. I have determined that each of you will do something useful in that time, or so help me God, I will make you regret it."
Taking a manual inventory of the contents of the vehicle's rear cabin took two hours.
Ryk volunteered to provide the muscle to move things around, to avoid being voluntold to do something less pleasant by O'Neill. Ygritte and Sayer had gone to hunt, and had brought back a large deer by the time the process was finishing up. They were dressing it in a hut on the other side of the compound.
We've been shooting like it's a World War, Lian thought to herself as she inspected the list she had written down, And we still have a damn arsenal. Plastic explosives for 'tree clearing', flares, grenades of various types, bullets, maintenance kits, tools. Everything the rear-echelons said was there, accounted for.
It wasn't all weapons and equipment, of course.
Their No.3 Service Dress uniforms were still there. The Prime Minister himself had been scheduled to drop in on them as soon as the exercise was over. Their operational uniforms would not be suitable for dog and pony shows after all that screwing around in the wilderness, so leadership wisely ordered that all of the troops bring their more camera-friendly walking-out ones. What the hell are we supposed to do with shined black shoes in the fucking snow?
All the Robo-Cop stuff like the solar and leg-brace chargers, night vision goggles, rail-attachments, multi-tools, GPS, the radio pack… And the less impressive stuff, like the jack for the crawler, Jerry cans, rope, traps and camo-netting, shovels and picks, etc etc etc.
Two extra phones, now useless because no one but the dead knew the codes. Two spare helmets, two spare pairs of boots, two spare uniform jackets, six more rations, a bunch more candy and some booze. Arran and Singh's final gifts to the cause.
A bunch of snacks and instant coffee, which were untouched by order of the Lieutenant himself. The temptation of the Pringles and a cup of the strongest stuff she could brew called to Lian, but she resisted. If I don't get a cup of coffee soon, I might have to kill Duquesne.
"What?" Ryk asked.
Oops.
"Ah, did I say that out loud?" Lian replied sheepishly, "Sorry. Joke."
The Free Folk man looked at her like she was a little crazy for a second. Just a second, then the look changed to the usual gaze-given-when-I-think-she-can't-notice. A glance up from the notepad, and his target shifted from her ass to her eyes. Don't even think about trying it.
"What's coffee?" Ryk asked, almost as a dodge.
"Nectar of the gods. Keeps you awake."
Ryk accepted this as truth, and got back to putting the metal ammunition boxes back into the vehicle. "What about charlie foxtrot and whiskey tango?"
Lian hmm'ed to herself. She knew the translations probably wouldn't start with the correct letter. "Cluster Fuck and White Trash," she replied without translation, before repeating both terms with the addition of 'in one of our languages'.
Ryk laughed. "Cluster fuck?"
"Something bad."
"Sounds like somethin' good."
"Well, it isn.."
Movement in her peripheral vision stopped Lian's explanation cold. Heart lurching with fear, she span on the spot and brought her carbine up. The pen and notepad she had been using dropped onto the dry mud, her fingers flying until they were squeezed around the foregrip.
Big brown eyes looked over the top of the weapon, wide with surprise. A young girl. Younger than Ygritte. Fifteen or sixteen, tops. She's not Craster, Lian's brain told her, Easy. Maybe you're a little too paranoid, Ryk is here. Though Ryk also wants to take his pleasure, he has seen enough to not be that stupid.
Lian slung the weapon and held up both hands to the newcomer in a gesture of peace, taking in the sight of her as a person and not just a target. Thin, about the same height, draped in sewed animal skins. Face that's younger than the rest of her. There was a strange familiarity there too, something across the nose. Ah, one of his daughters.
Rage boiling up in her belly at the girl's father, Lian controlled herself. She didn't want the girl to think the anger was directed at her. "A piece of advice for you. Don't sneak up on us."
"I had to sneak, m'lady," the girl squeaked back, barely above a whisper, "H-he can't know."
M'lady? What?
"Craster?" Ryk mumbled.
The girl nodded. "He doesn't want us to talk to you," she breathed, water pooling in her eyes, "We saw you spit out the carrot."
"We?"
"Me and two of my sisters. You didn't eat the food. The others know now too. All except him."
Lian rubbed a temple in frustration. Should've made sure no one else was watching. Now they know I didn't accept guest right. "What's your name?"
The girl fidgeted. "Gilly. After the flower."
"Gilly, why are you defying Craster's order?"
"He wants to marry me. I-I don't want to. He's old. His teeth are rotting and his mouth tastes bad. He's my…"
"Father," Ryk said, completing the sentence, "He's your father. And he's cursed."
Gilly nodded rapidly.
Not as cursed as he's about to be, Lian promised herself.
"Ryk, go to the front and make sure we're clear. Now."
The man gave a nod and wandered off, taking his bow and arrowbag with him.
Lian waited until he was gone, before moving closer to Gilly. "You don't want to marry him. What do you want?" Come on, just say you want to be rescued.
The girl knelt and clasped both her hands over one of Lian's own.
"Please, m'lady, I need to leave, else he'll put a baby in me. If it's a girl, he'll marry it. That's not so bad. But if it's a boy… he gives the boys to the blue-eyed gods at night."
Lian froze, like the White Walker the girl spoke of was in front of her. It was beyond anger now. So that is how he avoids the walking dead breaking in here. He serves their masters his sons. He'll bring them down on our heads.
Her hand went to her radio control, to inform Duquesne and O'Neill. But she stopped it. They had taken the food. So had Sayer, Ryk and Ygritte. If word got back to Mance's army that they had broken the tradition, they could never count on it again.
I have to deal with this, she realised, I'm the only one who didn't eat. And even that might not be enough. We need to provoke him.
Shaking free of the girl's grasp, Lian took her by the shoulders gently. "Gilly, go tell your father you won't marry him. Shout it at him from the doorway, so he can't grab you. Then run as fast as you can, around the other side of the hall so he can't see me, to that stable. Close the door. I'll be waiting for him."
Gilly's mouth dropped open. "What are you going to do?"
I'm going to give him more holes than a fucking pasta strainer, Lian's mind declared darkly.
"Teach him a lesson he'll never forget. Go, do it now. Tell him you won't marry him."
The girl sucked in a breath, but gave a firm nod, and marched away past the returning Ryk towards the front of the hall.
"What's she running for?" he asked.
"Wait and see. Craster's going to come. Watch and listen. Can I count on you to watch my back?"
Ryk's face warmed up, delighted he had been asked. My back, not my ass, idiot.
"If y'mean watching out for you."
"Good enough," Lian sighed, hearing a ruckus from the hall already, "Show's starting. Put an arrow on your bow there."
The exact words of Gilly's screamed declaration of her own freedom from being raped by her father were not audible, nor were the roared words of reply by Craster, but it was clear that the message had been delivered. I really wish I had been able to see his face, Lian thought to herself,
The exchange ended as abruptly as it had begun, and twenty seconds later, Gilly appeared from the other side of the hall at a sprint that tore part of her sewed furs. She ducked into the only fully enclosed part of the stable, and slammed the rough-made door behind her. That is a brave girl, Lian thought, genuinely impressed, Lived her entire life under that rapist's abusive rule, still she took the first real chance to escape with both hands.
Craster himself arrived soon afterwards, crossbow cocked and a bolt nocked. "Open that door, you ungrateful little… You know would happen to you without me?! What is going on beyond my lands?!" He grabbed the hole in the door to push it open, but it wouldn't give.
Show time.
Lian activated her radio. "This is Zheng. Craster is going to shoot one of his daughters. I have imminent threat on civilian. Request permission to open fire, over."
"Permissi…" the Lieutenant began.
"Warn him first," O'Neill interrupted, "We're stuck in here. The wives are stopping us from leaving, over."
Lian waited for a beat, for the Lieutenant to repeat his order and overrule the Sergeant… But it didn't happen. The Sergeant was being cautious and had the LT by the balls over the Ygritte thing. For the moment. Whatever, better to not to shoot the rapist in the back anyway. Ryk is watching.
"Roger."
She moved away from the vehicle and towards the stable, where the single, shaggy horse was becoming restless. She raised her weapon, and then her voice. "Craster, put down the crossbow and step away from the door!"
The rapist swivelled on the spot, swaying, his mouth drooped open and face red. He's angry AND drunk, perfect.
"What I do with my family is mine to decide," Craster slurred at top volume, "My roof, my rule."
"Your rule? You give your sons to the White Walkers," Lian called back, "They rule you."
There was a gasp from the side, followed by the knock of an arrow on wood. Ryk had followed her.
"I am right with the gods," Craster shouted, taking a step towards them, "I will survive! You have not the right to deny me that!"
"Stay where you are, put down the crossbow!" Lian shouted back, "This is your last warning!"
Craster spat, and moved sharply to the right towards one of the empty stable stalls, bringing up his crossbow to loose a bolt at her.
Lian put a burst through him, hitting the right side of his chest. The bullets were faster than he was. One of Ryk's arrows sprouted in his gut for good measure. He fell down into the dirt and shit, legs splayed open, arms waving like he was trying to swim in the air, the crossbow still in his hand.
Still, the rapist lived, snarling as his lungs filled with blood. Determined to send at least one bolt in revenge for his death.
Lian shot him again. A burst at the arm still holding the crossbow. Another at his groin. Both became bloody ruins of meat, the man possessing them screaming with the pain. The crossbow clattered away, while his remaining hand went to his destroyed genitals. Two weapons he'll never use again.
Fifteen seconds later, he had bled out enough. Craster the Rapist stopped moving at last, his eyes rolling back and his head hitting the ground with an audible thump.
Within a moment, the whole population of the hall arrived all at once, led by the Lieutenant and the others. Ygritte bypassed him to look down at Craster, a satisfied grin on her face. The LT soon followed her, to examine the man and his weapon.
"He refused to drop his weapon and attempted to evade me, sir," Lian reported, before she could be asked, "He was menacing both myself and Ryk, as well as the girl inside. He broke guest right against Ryk, and I didn't eat the carrot he offered. I believe I'm right with the regs and local customs, sir."
"Aye, we're in the right," Ryk declared, confirming the locals wouldn't have a problem with it. Or at least, Mance's group wouldn't.
"The Lord Commander will not be pleased," said Qhorin Halfhand, his hands still taped up, "This man was a friend to the Watch."
Every woman and man present glared at him, showing just how much anyone gave a crap about what the Night's Watch thought.
"He deserved it," one of Craster's 'wives' told him, "Every time he gave you Crows food, he took it from our mouths." Halfhand had the dignity to look embarrassed at that retort.
How did this man keep these women down for so long? Lian wondered, They don't seem to take shit from anyone. Was it the threat of the White Walker?
The lieutenant said nothing about any of it, taking Craster's crossbow and rifling his body until he found a chocolate bar tucked away in a pouch. So that was the bribe.
"It was a legal kill, sir," Lian repeated.
O'Neill scowled at her, but was unwilling to say anything to the contrary given the crowd. "I leave you for two hours... Not sure blowing his balls off counts as a legal action, Corporal, but very well. We can leave it out of the report, if there ever is one. The evidence seems to be in your favour in general. Where's the girl?"
"Gilly! You can come out now! He's dead!" Lian called.
The door on the stable opened a crack, and the girl stuck her head out.
"Come out!" one of the older women shouted, "It's over!"
Gilly practically jumped out of the stables after that, avoiding the body of her father and abuser. "Why'd you kill him? Who'll protect us from the gods now?"
Lian was surprised. She would've wanted such a man dead more than life itself. "Because he didn't drop his weapon. Because he deserved it. Because of the story you told me about his sons. As for the gods… There is an alliance of tribes against them. You should join it." The fate of being kidnapped is still better than being made undead.
The same old woman who had called out agreed. "Aye, he left many a son in the woods for the gods. My sons. And the gods came to take them. Mance's man spoke sense when he was here, before Craster took his tongue."
The Lieutenant perked up at once, and stood from where he was kneeling beside the dead man. "The gods took his sons?" he asked.
"Blue eyed gods, according to Gilly," Lian replied, "She saw them too."
The Lieutenant's brow creased, and he looked at the young girl. "We'll need to talk to you about that." He understands what it means, Lian thought, relieved.
Gilly shook with fear, until Lian steadied her with her hand. "It'll be okay, don't worry. He just means talk, nothing else."
"What you did, Gilly," the Lieutenant added gently, "It took a lot of courage. More than I have, I think. You're safe from us, you hear?" The girl smiled, and wiped tears away. Oh boy, another one. Lian looked at Ygritte, who seemed to be having the same thought about the pretty big-eyed daughter of Craster. Ah well, I'll just let her take care of it, she thought.
O'Neill grumbled something to himself. "What now, sir?"
A smile spread slowly over Lieutenant Duquesne's face, like he had wanted this outcome all along. Maybe he did, Lian thought.
"Run up our colours, Sergeant," he commanded, "This is now CFB Gilly's Hall."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: CFB – Canadian Forces Base