I don't own the ASOIAF franchise
Chapter 8 – The Witch
Things did not look good for Mors Umber. First, he got the news that those wildling dastards had kidnapped his daughter, miles into Umber territory no less! He didn't know how those fuckers managed to slip past both the night watch and his family's own men, but heads will roll. They sent a raven asking for aid from their neighboring lords and the Starks. Hell, they even sent a raven to those Balton freaks. But by the time they manage to send a sizable enough search party, if they do this, his daughter will already be well north to the wall.
And when he begged his brother lord Umber to continue the search, that back stubbing pig-fucker told him that he can no longer afford to waste men and that their lands are already to thin-spread as they are and that bandits are surly to start preying soon. Which left Mors basically on his own in a wild chase against the clock.
But things turned real tits down from there. Seriously, it seemed like everything was acting against him. Sudden snowstorm, crows cackling above him, and those nightmares. Those damn nightmares that didn't allow him to get a good sleep. The gods were really testing him, which may very well explain his current situation.
Wolves, he was surrounded by wolves. The beasts probably followed the crows to get to him, and now he was surrounded by an entire pack of those damned things. At least two dozens of them, each growling with a bloodthirsty look in the eyes. It was clear that they weren't letting him go.
"Alright, you furry bastards, Who's ready to die with me?!" He yelled as he drew his sword.
The wolves tested him, each of them snipped closer and closer to see his reaction. They didn't all pounced at him at once. They were animals after all, their main objective was to survive. But that didn't mean that they didn't take calculated risks. They were just out of his sword's reach, and he couldn't swing the sword everywhere at once. Not to mention that the horse was getting more and more antsy.
Then, from his blind spot (damn his eyepatch) a wolf jumped on him and unhorsed him. Luckily, Mors's thick leather armor protected nim from the sharp teeth, and he gutted the damn beast in return. Unfortunately, the other beasts were almost immediately upon him, not letting the opportunity their brethren made them go to waste.
He shrugged them off and pushed them, using the famous Umber size to his advantage, but there were just too many of them. Just as a wolf bit his sword arm, forcing him to drop the sword, something happened. He heard something break and suddenly there was such a strong nasty stink that both his eyes and his nose watered. Gods be good, what was this thing?!
The animals had it worse, their keen sense of smell made them feel it a hundred times worse. They all fled as one, wiping all the way. Once he managed to stand on his feet, he saw the one who was probably responsible for that infernal smell, as well as the one who he owns his life to.
He rode on a horse, a fine one at that, and had the Stark symbol on his left shoulder. He had a crossbow that was somehow strapped to his wrist pointed at the general direction the wolves fled to. From Mors's own point of view, he could see two axes strapped on the man's back in an X shape, as well as a chain that warped itself many times around the man's waist like a belt. A belt with two mean looking hooks attached to it. The rest of the man was covered in seemingly simple leather cloth, but Mors didn't have any illusions that it was only a curtain to hide numerous other means of butchery.
The most iconic thing about the stranger, however, was his helmet. In was a full-masked helmet made of different shades of grey. It made it look like there was a lighter-grey wolf face over the darker-grey background. And its eyes, where helmets like this usually had slits for eyeholes, this one seemed to have none. Only after a closer look, did Mors see that there were numerous tiny holes that combined an eye. It was ingenious in the way that it basically made the eyehole completely protected. And judging by the distance between them, the man had a good sight on the target.
"Good man." Mors said between coughs. "Saved my butt there. Now I'm thankful and all, truly. But for the love of the gods, couldn't you find another way? Gods, what did you put in there? Pig shit?"
"Among other things." The man answered, his helmet distorted his voice as he dismounted his horse.
"Here, take this." The stranger threw a bottle of some kind, not unlike one ladies use for perfume. "It should mask the stink until you can get properly washed up. Again, sorry for the stink bomb, but it was the fastest and safest way."
"Ha! Don't worry about it, lad." Mors barked as he smacked the back of the man. And the man only barely stumbled, which is a far cry from the regular joe. "So, who's my savior?"
"Michael, sir. One of lord Stark's man." The now identified Michael answered. "I was sent to hunt a group of wildlings and retrieve a woman they kidnapped. I'm sorry for the sudden inquiry, right after you almost died, but have you seen any clues that may help?"
"You're here to rescue my daughter, aren't you? Rowan Umber?" Mors couldn't help but laugh at the irony. "Gods be good, I thought that lord Stark wouldn't send help. Now where are the rest of you?"
"I'm afraid I'm the only one, my lord." Michael explained. "Speed is of the essence, and a bigger party would have taken too long to march. I'm the first response, and they are coming, but we need to act as if they don't."
"Ay, of course it's too good to be true." Mors sighed as he bit down a more frustrated reply. The lad did good, there was no need to vent on him for the decisions of his superiors.
"Do you have a direction in which the wildlings went?" Michael asked. "Besides north, I mean."
"Damned if I do. The fucking storm covers any would be traces, and the only good thing I'll say about the wildlings is that they are good at hiding in the wild." Mors replied before thinking about something. "Wait a minute, how the fuck did you find me then?"
"The ravens up high." Michael pointed at the now raven-less sky. "They circle around a large enough meal for the wolves to feed. Then, after the wolves are done, the ravens feast on what's left. A symbiotic relationship. Thought that a group of wildlings is a big enough meal."
"Damn, it would have been useful…" Mors muttered. "But at least my little girl isn't in danger of being eaten by wolves. Although she may wish to be…"
Calm down Mors, don't go that way.
"So how do we find them now?"
"So how do we find them now?"
Now that was the question. Honestly, Michael was guessing on the way as is. The fact that he found lord Mors was nothing less than a miracle. He didn't lie, he didn't follow the ravens (scared of them as he was), but it was because he had no other idea of what to do. And now he had to tell the bad news to the big unhinged lord. Wait…
"I can climb and see possible shelters from the storm. The wildlings may be well adapt to such weather, but their captive isn't. If their raid is to be of any gains, they need to keep your daughter alive and as well as possible. Therefore, they need to take a shelter from the worst of the blizzard at least."
There were so many holes in it. The wildlings may have warped lady Rowan in thick fur and dragged her, they may have a secret safe spot with mounted help, there could be a thousand different things. But the Umber lord didn't voice any of it as he grunted in acknowledgement. And if he didn't think about it, than the wildlings probably didn't as well.
"Alright lad, but how are you going to climb –" Michael didn't bother responding. He pulled his twin axes and stabbed the tallest tree with the pointy side. He then stabbed higher and higher as he climbed. "Nevermind."
Once at the top, Michael looked around. There were a few caves which looked big enough to house a party, and there were probably even more that he didn't see because of the trees covering them. The strangest thing, however, was a single clearing with complete lack of snow around it, and in its center, a single house with lights.
He got down the tree and told the lord about his findings.
"Strange." Lord Mors mused. "Very strange."
"Shoul we investigated, my lord?" Michael had to ask. He himself thought that they really should figure it up, but the ultimate decision was as lord Umber's hands. It was his daughter after all, and Mors was a lord.
"Aye." Mors nodded. "There shouldn't be anyone living here this far from anything, especially a lone house. Either the wildlings use this, smugglers, bandits, or any other men of ill repute. In any case, there is bound to be provision there. That alone, is a good enough reason to check."
"As you command, my lord."
"And cut with the lord crap." Mors ordered. "I know that there is probably a protocol that you must follow, but it's annoying to hear lord this- lord that all the time. Besides, we're on the clock here."
"As you wish." Michael nodded.
The way to the house was uneventful, suspiciously so. Michael was honestly expecting something to happen. Even on his way here, before he met Mors, he was constantly harassed by wildlife. Nothing he couldn't handle, of course, but it was an inconvenience all the same. Here? Total quiet. He didn't like it.
Finaly, they reached the house. It was a generic looking home with a triangular roof and made of bricks. It had a garden breaming with vegetables and flowers of many kinds, many of which Michael didn't recognize. The mere fact that someone could grow so many different things up here was mind-boggling.
They stood in front of the door, a wooden unremarkable door.
"I'll knock on the door, lad." Mors said in a voice that left no arguments. "You will prepare whatever you have under that cloak in case things go south."
"I think things will go only north forward at this point." Michael remarked, to which the larger man chuckled before knocking on the door.
"A moment!" a pretty voice of a young female was heard from the other side. Light footsteps were heard as the woman spoke again. "Who is it?"
"Lord Mors Umber." The older man answered. "As well as Michael, a guardsman of lord Stark."
"Come inside~"
Damn.
The door opened to reveal a striking woman with straight obsidian-black hair that reached down to her back. She had a hypnotizing pair of blood-red eyes and fair skin, her face was also a perfect mix of aristocratic angular and youthful roundness. Her smile was pleasant, inviting, and a bit mischievous at the same time. On her head, she wore a large pointy hat with extremely wide sides, at the base of her hat was a thick red belt for some reason.
The rest of her was just as striking. Her perfect hourglass figure was tightly covered with a black crust and had a white undershirt underneath. She wore high-heel boots that reached to her knees and the rest of the skin of her legs was covered in skin-tight dark-grey fabric and had complicated flower patterns. She had black silk gloves and puff white sleeves on otherwise bare arms. All of this was covered with a simple cape she wore, black on the outside and stark white on the inside.
And her, ahm… assets, were impressive as well. They were completely covered in the same white shirt and had a papillon with a gleaming red gem covering them, but their shape and volume un-maskable. It wasn't as big as his mother's, but it had firmness the older woman lacked. And considering that they were just in Michael's line of sight…
He shook himself, thanking whatever higher power there was that his mask hide his expression completely.
Sneaking a glance at his side, he saw that the adult lord was having the same reaction as Michael himself. That did put his mind more at ease.
"Would you boys like something to eat?" She spoke again. Her voice was so pretty…
"Bread and salt, my lady." Lord Mors bowed a little. "Pardon for our intrusion, miss, we wouldn't be here for long."
"Ah, guest rights." She nodded. "You two are certainly more well behaver then the last couple of visitors I had."
"Visitors, my lady?" Mors asked.
"Oh you know, the usual people who brave this part of the land." She gestured her hand. "Smugglers, bandits, wildling raiding parties, the kind that doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no'. I of course take care of them very quickly, but the principle still stands."
"Take care of?" Mors said after both he and Michael bit the bread.
"Burnt, cursed, turned into animals or plants, the usual stuff." She counted with her fingers undisturbed. "It's really not a smart idea to threaten a witch."
"Witch?!" Mors suddenly yelled in alarm. "You're a wood witch?"
"I live in the woods and I'm a witch, that doesn't make me a wood witch." She said dryly. "I'm Will the witch, at your service."
She bowed dramatically, and suddenly books and tomes flew and circled behind her in a perfect circle. When she got up, all the things flew back to place. Yes, there isn't any room for questioning her credibility now. Which now left the two men in shock. Magic was thought long gone, a fairytale for kids meant to make them behave. Even those who truly believed in it thought it was dead with the dragons.
Interestingly enough, Mors was the first to react. And not in the way Michael expected.
"Great witch Will, I beg for your aid." The Umber fell to his knees and prayed, outright prayed, to the woman.
"Okay, I'll admit that it's not what I expected." The witch blinked in surprise.
Mors began to retell her his story about his kidnapped daughter. Michael could see that even though the witch tried to maintain an indifferent expression, something in it got softer. By the end, Mors cried with tears as he begged her help.
"Please, you can have all of my money and land, take my soul, anything! Just please help rescuing my little girl!"
The witch sighed deeply in response.
"Look, I'll help-hm?" She turned her head and noticed a crew standing near the window. It bumped at the window with its beak and made a lot of loud noises.
"Excuse me, when exactly did I invite you?!" She seemingly had a conversation with the crow. Michael would have thought her a little hit in the head, but with her being an actual witch… yeah, she probably did have a conversation with the bird.
"Alright, let me get things crystal clear with you." She continued. "You aren't ordering me to do anything you dickless man. The fact that you were 'chosen' by a bunch of delusional children means nothing to me. Ha! You're trying to pull this card on me? You're just lucky that this storm you summoned isn't affecting my garden otherwise protection or not, I will make you suffer."
This continued for a while, until the witch finally had enough.
"That's it, get out!" She made a movement with her hand, one that Michael recognized as a one used to ward off evil, and the crew shrieked in surprise before an invisible force pushed him away faster than Michael could see. Then, silence.
"Do…" Michael spoke for the first time. "Do we want to know what just happened?"
"Just some bloody raven not minding his own business." Will huffed in annoyance before turning her full attention to Michael. "Hmm… You feel… Strange… Michael, yes?"
"Y-yes."
He did not enjoy her full attention on him, especially when her eyes seem to glow a little.
"Well, it's probably nothing." She concluded with a shrug before going back to the main issue.
"I will help you find your daughter." She addressed the lord. "I'll need a piece of your hair to configure a tracking charm that will guide you to the nearest first order relative around you. From there, you will find and rescue your daughter on your own."
"My thanks, lady Will." Mors was crying tears of hope now. "How can I repay you?"
"Simply." She went to one of the shelves and pulled a sack of some kind. "Your quest north to the wall, especially if you'll carry my charm, will give you attention of the less hospitable characters there. When you see blue-skinned people that look like they just went out of an iceberg, kill them. One they shutter, and I mean it in the literal way, put their pieces in this bag and bring it to me."
"As you wish." Mors nodded, completely fine with the murder of another human being if it means saving his daughter.
Michael himself was less inclined. Sure, a lot depended on the success of this mission. Even if one ignored the very glaring issue of rescuing an innocent woman from a life of rape and slavery to sub-humans, lord Stark made it clear that he will banish both Michael and his mother if things go south. Michael was desperate, sure, but the murder of another human being… Something must have shown through the helmet, because the witch now had her full attention on him.
"You're hesitating, that's good. Respectable even." She nodded. "But trust me when I say that when you meet one that fits this description, they will try to kill you on first sight. Probably after making you fight their slaves. So let's make a deal. You will attack only those that try to attack you first. Deal?"
"That's… Okay." Michael agreed.
"Great!" She clapped her hands happily. "Now let me just cover your weapons with dragon-glass dust and I'll start to work on the charm right away."
The charm was very convenient, Michael had to admit. It was a simple crystal on string that pointed them north (obviously). A few hours of riding, and they reached the wall. It was a sight. Black and imposing, with ice covering more then a few places. It reached higher then Michael could see. Truly an impressive fortress, if it wasn't so ineffective.
Don't get him wrong, it was a marvel of engineering. But what use there is to a sky-high wall if it can't even block a bunch of wildlings from getting in and out with impunity?
"There must be a breach somewhere." Michael noted. "There is no way they climbed on that, especially with a hostage."
"Then a breach we find." Mors nodded. "A shame that the charm can't direct us to the breach as well, but we should be thankful for what we already have. Dangerous stuff, magic."
"Still can't believe magic is real." Michael addmited. "Hearing stories about it from old nun was one thing, but this…"
"Aye, that'll keep us at night for a while. Knowing that any moment a skinchanger could come to your bed. Or that the Others probably are real and planning to bring the long night once again as we speak." Moes nodded. "Although I don't know what will keep me awake more, the magic or the witch."
"Pardon?"
"Oh, come off now." The Umber chuckled. "I'm a grown married man with a daughter, and even I must say that the lady Will is hands down the prettiest maiden I have ever seen. If I were young and unbound again, I would have definitely tried to get in her skirt. Turned to a frog in the process, but it's a price well spent."
"And don't think your extreme silence went unnoticed." The mature man gave a knowing look, which caused Michael to stutter.
"Peace, goodman, peace." The lord held his hands in mock surrender. "You're a young man, it's completely normal. I meant no jab. Besides, we're all grown up here. I'm sure you had your own taste with some young maid back at Winterfell."
Michael mumbled some unintelligible things under his mouth.
"What was that?"
"I'm not exactly…" He tried to find an out. "Neither mom nor lord Stark would approve, or Lyanna."
"Wait, how old are you again?" Mors asked, with a bit concern.
"Two and ten, three and ten in a few months."
"Gods be good." Mors muttered a prayer. "You're still a little boy. What was lord Star thinking when he sent you here? You should still be playing with swords at the yard."
Okay, now Michael was offended.
"Hey, I'm the one who saved your sorry butt and found the witch in the first place! You can't even see half of the battlefield. I'm the first among my peers, I can't fail." The stress he was building ever since he ran out of Winterfell. "I can't fail, I can't fail…"
"Easy there kid, easy." Mors put a supportive hand on Michael's shoulder. "Breath in and out, slow and steady."
The old lord seemed to sense that it was something deeper than a kid being a brat, which is why he showed such restraints.
"Tell me what's wrong."
And so he did. Michael didn't know why he did it, it wasn't like he had any relationship with the Umber lord besides this very partnership, but perhaps he just needed someone to let it out on. So he did. He told the old man everything from the prank to the banishment.
"Look." Mors spoke in the end. "While I can't approve of what you did, I also wouldn't have stayed silent if someone disrespected my mom like this. But Rickard is well within his right to do what he did. Even so, from the few times we crossed paths, he probably was never serious in his threat and just wanted to scare you off."
"You think so?" Michael couldn't help but hope.
"He said he was going to banish your mother as well right?" Michael nodded to the question. "Then yes, he was probably bluffing. Rickard is not the man who punished the mother for the son's crimes. In any case, I will regardless send a raven to lord Stark in your favor."
Michael let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding.
"Right, now with this settled, let's find this damn breach." The lord concluded.
Rickard sighed as he saw the door of his chamber closed before him. He just had informed Matilda about everything concerning her son, and things could have gone better. Oh, she didn't misbehave or raised her voice, far from it. She was perfectly behaved, as much as expected from a mother who just heard that her son was sent to what is basically a goose chase. But during the entire conversation he felt like he was kicking a puppy.
He sighed deeply. For all that people say about paperwork and copper counting being the bane of lords, he would take those happily over this. He opened a drawer in his desk, one that contains a good alcoholic drink to ease his mind after a long day of work, before closing it.
"No, Rickard." He told himself. "You're the one responsible for this mess, you wouldn't be getting out of it."
Just as he closed the drawer, he heard his daughter's voice.
"Father, do you have a moment to spare?"
His daughter asking politely. Now that rang alarm bells in his head. Lyanna was always direct, when she wanted to talk to him she just said that she needed to talk. She's only ever this polite when she either in trouble or needs to ask from him something.
"Come in."
The door opened and both she and Brandon came inside. His son looked tall and highly, as much as a boy of five and ten can be. He held himself with an air of smugness and relief, like he just have won a spar with all the white clocks combined. His daughter, on the other hand, walked with the poise and grace of the lady she sould be.
She obviously wanted something.
"How can I help you, kids?"
"Hello father." Lyanna started. "We haven't seen Michael for a while, and no one knows about his whereabouts so we grew concerned. Is everything alright?"
Of course it was about this.
"Michael had been dispatched to rescue the lady Rowan Umber who was kidnapped by wildlings." He answered.
"All alone?" Lyanna's voice grew concerned.
"There was no time to prepare a full team, already the chances of the wildlings crossing the wall back to the true north is too high." Rickard stated before calming her down. "Worry not, reinforcement is sent as we speak."
It was a lie. There were men prepared, but not for this. The business with the bandits was growing bigger the more time passed and the more intelligence gathered. The captured bandits have began to crack, and what they revealed was concerning.
Apparently, those cutthroats were more than just organized, they were an outright disciplined small army with equipment and tactics. The ones that were caught were on a relatively low rank, and it gulls him that they were with such strong foundations, and were not allowed to know the more important things for the exact reason that they may be captured.
All he did know was that they were led by a mysterious figure that calls himself "Wolf", a monster of a man by any accounts. Apparently, the nickname was from the dire wolf pelt he wore around his neck that, by the stories, he snapped the beast's neck with his bare hands.
More concerning was the 'why' and 'how'. The prisoners confessed that they were to extort any small businesses and would be traders, the move was clearly political in nature and its consequences were terrifying. Someone was pulling strings to keep the north poor and dependent on the south.
No small businesses and merchants meant that the only goods they could get are from kingdom-backed convoys, and that said convoys were free to tax the north as much as they wanted due to a rise in need. That made the Reach a prime suspect, as the biggest importer of food and other merchandise to the north by far.
Another thing could be an outside influence from Essos, to destabilize the seven kingdoms perhaps. The construction of this bandit army was far too similar to his liking to the professional mercenary companies in there, the Golden Company chief among them.
Either way, the mastermind wasn't someone Rickard could retaliate against, much to his carnage. But he'll be damned if he'll allow such infection to stay in his domain.
"But he will return, right father?" Lyanna looked at him with pleading eyes.
"Of course." He said, hoping that he wasn't lying right now. "Although I can't say when exactly he will return, so please be patient dear."
"Yes, father." She nodded. "I shall pray before the gods for his safe and swift return."
Piety?! From Lyanna? Gods, she really did fancy the lad. That can complicate things very much, but if that's what makes her put effort…
"Very well daughter, you may leave." Rickard released her. "Just don't ignore your lessons, the gods smile on the dutiful."
She bowed and left, not a single complaint. Huh, he should have tried that years ago.
Once the doors closed, it was only he and his son in the room. The boy, young man, smirked at him.
"You kicked the bastard out, didn't you?" Brandon couldn't hide his glee. "That's what he gets for messing with me."
Rickard sighed. Of course his eldest figured his motives, although he didn't have to be so coy about it.
"Yes son, I did sent him as a punishment. As well as having a few strong words about the incident." Rickard sighed again. "But you shouldn't feel so happy about it. Regardless on how you feel about each other, you two still spent years here together. A good part of your childhood. You shouldn't be glad he is riding to his probable death right now."
Now his son cast his eyes down a little, the grin on his face faltering. It seems that his son was capable of feeling shame after all.
"Talk to me son." Rickard held a supporting hand on his son's shoulder. "Michael is to be your bloodhound, the future enforcer of your will and your most loyal subject. All of this bad blood between you two, why?"
Brandon seemed to resist for a moment, before hunching his shoulders.
"It's just… everyone put him above me, even you." His son started. "I try my best, and yet even when I win they congratulate him. The maester never fails to remind me it when I got something wrong, 'A street bastard son of a whore three years your junior managed to answer it right on first try, why can't you?'. And he had to rub it off every single time…"
Ah, so it was jealousy talking. It… made sense in a way. Brandon, for all of him being the eldest, never had a honest competition. His siblings weren't better than him an any way that mattered to the boy, and by his bloodline he was simply built better than the rest of the smallfalk boys his age.
Then comes Michael, a badtard son of a whore three years his junior with seemingly unnatural competence. And suddenly Brandon found himself with a rival, an obstacle he couldn't just breeze through. Someone, who by all accounts should be his lesser in every way, surpassed him for the first time. And Brandon didn't know what to do with it.
In a different topic, he'll have a few words with the dear master about addressing both Michael and Matilda that way.
"Listen, Michael is… strange." Rickard started. "He done things no boy his age should, one of which is saving your sister, and that's precisely the reason why I brought him under my wing. Brandon, you're a good lad. Strong and brilliant with the blade as well as charismatic, which are the two most important qualities in a future warden of the north. And you're not stupid, you solve problems well enough when you put your mind to it. Don't compare yourself to someone else. You have your faults, but everyone has. Including me. You're my heir, my son, and I couldn't ask for a better one."
Brandon then hugged him and cried to his chest, very alien for the boy and unfitting for a heir, but Rickard allowed it.
"There, there…" He tapped tenderly on his son's shoulder.
It wasn't a bridge mended, not by a longshot, but it was a start. And that's all what mattered.
"There they are." Michael pointed from the hiding spot at the group of wildlings as Mors absorbed them with his far-eye. "How do you want to proceed?"
"Damn it, they noticed us somehow." The lord cursed.
"How? And how do you know?"
"Gods know how, but you see their poses?" Mors gave him the far-eye. "And they look right at our direction, there is no use in stealth anymore."
"So, direct confrontation?" Michael asked as he loaded his wriest-crossbow. "There are seven of them, it will be more than three to one."
"And we have horses, and better equipment." Mors then raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're chickening out now."
"Nope." Michael popped his mouth as he mounted his horse. "Just making sure we're all in agreement."
They rode their horses through the thick snow as they neared the wildling group. Up close, he could see the lady Rowan. Tied in ropes, scared, and definitely cried a lot, but alive. She had long brown hair and was tall for a woman, although considering she's an Umber it's a given. She also was… not as pretty as he thought a lady should be (never let Mors know he thought that), but all women fell short in front of the Will now after he met the witch.
The most surprising thing was that there were two women among the wildlings. One because it's the first time he saw women actually fight, and two because they allowed and supported the kidnapping of a fellow woman. But then he remembered that those were wildlings. Wife kidnapping was praised there.
No mercy will be given to any of them, no matter what's between their legs.
"Wildlings!" Mors blew as they stopped in front of the group. "I give you one chance, and one chance only, to release the girl and scram back where you came from!"
The wildlings didn't look amused.
"How did you find us?" A man that Michael guessed was the leader, by being the biggest and ugliest looking fellow among all of the group, asked in a gruff tone.
"With extreme ease." Mors answered with a smirk. "You're hardly as smart as you think."
Michael could have added his own two bits, but he stayed silent. It was Mors's mission, Mors's daughter. Michael was here as an aid, no more.
"Now, the girl."
"There are seven of us, and two of you." The wildling leader spoke. "And you're far from home."
"And you are mount-less and ill equipped." Mors retorted. "You have until three, two-"
It happened so fast. Michael was about to attack the wildlings as a dark shape came seemingly out of nowhere to pounce at the Umber lord. By instinct, Michael shot the stink bomb he prepared to disarray the wildlings at the shape.
It was a bull's-eye, and just in time. With an inhuman scream, the black shape collided with Mors and his horse. Dismounting the lord in the process, but failing to inflict any serious damage as it instead trashed aimlessly around and ran away.
Unfortunately, the horses were spooked enough from the creature and ran away while making Michael fall as well in the process. Boy, was he glad about the soft snow right now. A glance at the creature revealed it to be a shadow cat, a big feline predator that lives north to the wall and hunts via ambush.
What's interesting was that one of the men was wailing and thrashing on the cold snow as if he was hit by a stink bomb. Never mind, Michael wasn't one to let opportunities go. He immediately threw a throwing axe right at the man, hitting the defenseless skill. Needless to say, the man died soon after.
By that time, the wildlings already shook of their surprise (although it seemed to Michael that they were more surprised about him actually defeating the shadow cat than the fact that there was a shadow cat at all). Mors was still recovering from the stink bomb, which left Michael to deal with all of them on his own.
An axe wilding wildling came at Michael running like a berserker, which got him a headshot by the wriest-crossbow. A roll to the side to evade an arrow brought him right to an axe strike of another wildling, which he blocked in the last moment with a chain. He held it right above him with both hands as it caught the axe right beneath the head.
A moment of struggle, before Michael fell back from his kneeling. Which freed his legs and gave him the momentum he needed to leg-swipe the wildling. He immediately jumped on the man and drew Lyanna (the blade) from his knee-pocket, slitting the neck's main vain in the process.
Michael immediately rolled to the side once again as a spear was about to stab him. One of the wildling women continued her barrage of thrusts as she advanced. He swat a strike to the side, the bone and wood spear was not a match for his steel gauntlet. He caught her spear as he kicked her in the ribs, hard. The satisfying sound of broken ribs was heard before Michael span the spear and thrust, impaling the wildling woman with her own weapon.
Three down, four to go.
He pulled one of his axes and span it in a perfect circle, deflecting arrow after arrow that the archer, the other wildling woman, shot at him. He closed the distance with each step.
"The fuck is that thing?!" She cursed. She cursed even more as she watched her fellow wildling run for his life. "Fuck you Thudor! You limp-dicked coward!"
"Fuck you Tish, it ain't worth it!" he didn't even look back.
Well, Michael couldn't just let him escape, could he? The Wolfsbane drew the chain from his belt, the one with the hooks attached, and threw it in a wide arc in the direction of the escapee and pulled. The hooks, who were right in front of the man's throat, tore it with brutal fashion. The man died agonizingly as his blood sprayed out like a gazer.
The woman then spat to the ground, before running towards Michael with a reckless charge and a hunting knife. He easily blocked her and sent a powerful punch to her face, breaking more than a few teeth in the process. She fell like a sack of stones afterwards. He could have easily killed her, he supposed, but they may want to interrogate someone. Then again, it was all in Mors's hands, and the Umber wasn't being the 'forgiving' sort right now.
Six down, one to go. Now where is their supposed leader…
"Stop it right there!"
He turned around. Of course whatever higher power there was, be it the old gods, the new, whatever they had there in Essos, of even a sick in the head writer of a low-quality entertainment, decided to answer his question in the worst way possible. The leader (really, what was his name?) held the lady Rowan with a knife to her throat, her eyes were crying as she was frozen with fear.
"If you want the bitch to live, you will drop your weapons immediately, you demon!"
Shit! What was he supposed to do in this case?! It wasn't like the bandits where he had the element of surprise, here every move he'll make will cause a throat-slit.
"Well?! Do it!"
Michael slowly went closer to the ground, with no sudden movements, as he laid his axes there. Suddenly, there was a wet noise, and the head of the wildling leader rolled on the snow. Lord Mors stood behind, catching his daughter as she fell. His blade red from the execution he just did.
"There, there, sweety, daddy's here…"
Michael let the two have their private moment as he checked the area. Strange, when did it suddenly get even colder?
His thoughts were interrupted when unnatural groanings came… from the wildlings he already killed? Impossible, but it was the truth. The men and women he (and Mors) just killed were standing up again, eyes glowing blue.
AN
And here we have the chapter.
Will is an OC and will stay in the sidelines, so don't worry about the story being hijacked by OC's (also Michael is an OC...), mu point is that the focus will be around Michael and the Starks.
Anyway, what do you think of the chapter?
Now for the reviews:
Engineer1869 :
As much as one could be relieved in those situations, yes.
Rickard had enough expiriance with his own son, he doesn't need another one. God knowes he'll have to break his head when it's Lyanna's turn.