#stomped and trampled to death by a tiny little horse

[incendiorum-arch]

my wonderful beautiful freyja has already attempted manslaughter (viciously stomped a scrap piece of tarp to death)

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request a revali x reader where revali and reader are best friends and are in love with each other but they’re both too oblivious to notice until one day something happens and they find out? i love your writing! thank you so much😊

Hey there! Sorry this took so long, but here it is! This is gonna be a two parter because I got super carried away with all the banter and scenes. Thanks for the request because I had a lot of fun with this! So, here is

Oblivious Actions Part 1 of 2

4015 Words (sorry it’s so long)

Revali x Reader

It was a perfect day to disobey your elders.

The sky was just waking, strokes of rose and honey painted the edges of the horizon. The wind was crisp, and playful, ruffling through his feathers as he flew. Lake Totori glistened below. Sunlight shone across a bright blue expanse, laced with only a few, white clouds. The plateaus surrounding the area were dotted with pine trees, their umber trunks rooted to the ground. The air was open and infinite. Gliding through the sky and observing the tiny specks of nature below filled him with a sense of wonder. Revali flapped his little wings down towards the forest.

HA! See? I’m already an expert flyer! I can explore as much of the world as I want, without any adults. I’m not a kid anymore!

The Rito baby blush marks that painted his cheeks said otherwise.

Even though Rito under 10 years of age were heavily discouraged from venturing beyond the bridges, Revali had decided he was big enough to go where he wanted. Behind him, the towering spire of Rito Village continued to shrink. To his left, the jutting figure of a wooden horse head could be seen. Hylians are so weird, needing other animals in order to move around. The stable in the distance then drowned into an evergreen sea. Gliding closer to the earth, the view of the sky was now covered with dry pine needles and brittle branches. He focused his attention to what was under him, trying to find a safe place to land. The breeze cooled and quickened. Revali angled his wings downward, trying to move his body to land gracefully among the trees.

He would fail.

There was a small clearing in the middle of the grove, a dirt path that travelers would use to hike between Warbler’s Nest and Rito Stable. Supposedly, following the trail even further up would lead to the infamous Hebra Peaks, a mountain range that lay just outside the view from his house, full of secrets and sights that no one has ever explored. Being the child that he was, naivety clouded his judgement, as Revali had ignored the warnings given to him about monsters nestled in the woods. The Rito was desperate to get out of the village in any way he could, even if it meant learning to glide all on his own.

Trying to plan his descent, he positioned himself at an angle, moving his weight backwards, ready to land. His feet shifted forward, ready to grip onto something solid, but the wind suddenly changed. It’s direction altered only slightly, but it was enough to catch him off guard. Flailing his wings, Revali tried to catch the current under his wings again, but it was no use, the current keeping him in the air was gone, and his baby wings weren’t big enough to flap a large gust of his own. A stray branch knocking into his side, the little Rito tumbled into the dirt. 

“Gaah!” he grunted, panic coursing through him.

Revali plunged through the trees, not unlike how a snowball tramples down a mountain slope, picking up debris as it rolls. Falling through the branches, his feathery features caught sticks, leaves, and pinecones, until he connected with the earth with a thud.

“…ow…” 

The impact caused dust to cloud around him. It got in his eyes and settled on the edges of his feathers. The dirt wasn’t the worst place to land, but it still hurt. His crash had broken a few branches, causing a couple of pinecones and leaves to break loose. One stray, falling leaf hovered through the air, delicately. Its flight was much more elegant, dancing in the wind. It landed gracefully on the tip of his beak, its cinnamon hue and crinkly features mocking him. Revali blew it off with a “hmph!”

Sitting in the dirt, Revali brushed off the dust and twigs on his tunic as best he could. It was one thing that he had snuck out of the house, but coming back all dirty wouldn’t do either. Mumbling to himself, he sat there, taking in the sights and sounds of the woods. A much better setting than sitting in the house all day. Then there was an abrupt shuffling in the bushes. 

Looking up, Revali searched for the source of the noise. Getting to his feet, he picked up a twig and held it in front of him like a sword. Was it the monsters everyone had warned him about? His heart quickened, his mind raced. The trees still swayed in the wind, and the birds and bugs chirped, but suddenly everything was looking a lot more ominous. Another rustle. He hastily faced his left side, where a single dark green bush greeted him. Do I move closer? Back away? Revali was frozen in place. Finally, he dared to whisper.

“W-who’s there?” he asked.

Instead of a cliché silence, his question was immediately answered with a loud scream from the bush.

“AHHHHH! IT’S TALKING!” the bush yelled.

Revali followed suit and screamed himself, as it was only natural to be scared of shrieking plants.

“AAHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHHHH?!”

This exchange of confused and fearful yelling went on for a few seconds. A few sparrows took off for the sky, startled by the noise. Then, silence took hold again, with only the wind brushing through the woods. The bush and Revali stared at each other for another eternity. Finally the bush spoke again.

“Why are you pretty?”

“AGH?! What?” the Rito took a step back, bewildered. “W-wha…what’re you talking about??”

Suddenly, a small face peeked out from the bush. Their eyes were wide, and curious, but their expression was still wary. “I said, why are you pretty? Monsters are supposed to be ugly.”

Revali tightened his grip around the twig. “I’m not! You’re the one hiding in a bush, so you’re the monster if anything. I’m a Rito!”

“A Rito?” a small, Hylian child stepped out of the bush. They were wearing a maroon tunic, along with stable gloves and boots. The collar of their shirt was lined with cotton. A loopy scarf, that was far too big for them, was wrapped around their shoulders, etched with the emblem of the Hylian Stable System. Their hair was messy, probably from hiding within the bush. Gripped in their hands was their own makeshift sword, a wooden spoon. They waved it in Revali’s direction. “You’re way too tiny to be a Rito. The ones who visit the stables are always taller than my mom.”

“W-well, then maybe you’re mom’s short!” Revali sputtered out.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh!’

He stomped his foot. “Obviously, I’m not a monster. I’m just of a… different height, because kids don’t leave the village without supervision. It’s only the adults you see. So quit being dumb. I mean, I can talk can’t I?”

The Hylian crossed their arms, tapping the spoon against their elbow. They considered his argument… I guess a tiny monster couldn’t eat me in one bite anyhow. “Fine then. If you’re not a monster, then you should have a Rito-sounding name, right? So what is it?”

Revali held his beak in the air and turned his back, crossing his own wings in imitation. “Hmph! Well why should I tell you when you’re a complete stranger! I thought you were a monster too, you know.”

The Hylian squinted their eyes thinking. “Well… fine. Your name probably sucks anyway! Thanks for scaring me half to death, tiny Rito!”

With that, the child turned around and started marching back in the direction of the stables. They made an effort to pound their boots on the ground to make as much sound as possible. Revali was left with his beak hanging open. How dare they! They’re the one with a sucky name, whatever it is.

He ran behind them, trying to catch up. He fluttered his wings to shake off any other dirt and twigs. He matched their pace, and puffed out his feathers. “I’ll have you know that I have a supercool nickname! Nicknames are always cool, therefore my name doesn’t suck. So, Ha!”

The Hylian raised an eyebrow. “Well, what is it then? What’s your fancy name?”

“They call me…” he stopped and posed, both wings outstretched in front of them, “…the Supreme Master of the Sky!”

They Hylian clutched their stomach, laughing hysterically. “HA! There’s no way that’s true. I saw you crash through the trees earlier! Some master you are, that’s probably even dumber than whatever your real name is.”

Revali narrowed his eyes, “Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh.”

“Hmph! Well at least I have a cool nickname. I bet you don’t even have one!” 

“Nope. People just call me [Name], because my name is already great and I don’t need dumb nicknames or titles.” They stuck out their tongue at him.

Revali made a dumb face in retaliation, before responding. “Fine, if you won’t call me that, you can just stick with ‘Revali,’ and you better remember it!” 

[Name] shot him a look, then huffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

The two of them continued their walk through the woods. Revali trusted it was the route back to the stable. They talked and jeered, laughed and scowled at each other, their conversations about nothing in particular. At one point, the Rito attempted to show off by gliding through the air. It would end with another crash, and the Hylian child chuckling.

“It’s cause you still have a bunch of stuff tucked in your wings!” [Name] said with a sigh. Removing a pinecone and several bits of dried leaves, they cleaned up the rest of Revali’s wing. When taking out a twig, they accidentally took out a feather.

Revali yelped, “Ow! What was that for?”

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to get rid of this.” [Name] chucked the twig over their shoulder. The feather they had taken out was mainly white, but faded into a deep, indigo color at the bottom. It was like a star had shot across the sky, and its streak had colored this single, delicate feather. [Name] brushed it against their fingers, and stared at it in awe. It’s so pretty.

“Pfft. I know that. Anything from me is great.” Revali’s feathers puffed up in pride.

Oh no! Did I say that out-loud?? “Uh…yeah.” [Name] mumbled. They suddenly became very interested in the condition of their boots, turning their head to the ground as the two of them walked. 

A silence fell between them. Then, 

“Can…can I keep this?” 

Revali cast them a glance. “Uh…sure, why not. Not like I need it anymore. I’ll have plenty next time I molt.”

[Name] looked up, eyes wide. “Really?! Are you sure? This doesn’t, like, curse me or anything right?”

He scoffed. “No, of course not. It’s just a feather. I’ve seen adults trade them all the time. It’s fine. Whatever…”

The large horse head was now in front of them. The trees were more dispersed, and piles of lumber scattered the ground. The muted colors that decorated the stable billowed in the wind, the breeze blowing loose cloth and banners across the sky. To the left were the wooden bridges. They led up to a towering spire, the familiar shape of Rito Village casting over the two of them. The two of them stopped by the back side of the stable. [Name] forced themself to plaster on a grin.

“Well, guess I’ll see you never!” they jeered.

“Ha! If I’m lucky, I’ll never see you or your wooden spoon again!” Revali stuck his tongue out at them. 

After staring at each other for another eternity, [Name] finally turned around and ran back towards the entrance to the stable. Revali then began his walk back over the wooden bridges.

The next day, Revali would be punished for sneaking out of the village. His grounding would include having to do extra chores, specifically by having to help around Rito Stable for the rest of the month, much to [Name]’s surprise. Neither of them minded.

- - - - - 

Years Later…

- - - - - 

The Champions had arrived. 

The letter had reached the village around a week ago, but they had come a day earlier than scheduled. But, that was to be expected, as the princess was always eager to go out and explore the shrines. The sun was set high in the sky, Rito Village’s shadow cast down on the woods below. The breeze exposed the pine cones nestled in the trees. The birds sang a familiar tune. However, the state of Rito Stable was very much unusual, or at the very least, uncustomary. Hylians and Rito alike were bustling. What was usually a quiet setting was now full of life and movement. People scrambled to set up decorations and supplies, most of which was being transported towards the village. Some were preparing lanterns, others setting up bright blue banners, adorned with the Hyrulean Family’s crest. The colors of the stable were now even brighter than usual, even the Rito flying about added streaks of bright colors in the sky. Children ran through the boxes of cargo, and stable hands moved barrels of goods towards the bridges that led to the towering stone spire. Among the chaos, a few individuals were chatting by the roadside. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t wanna accidentally break the bridge! It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened…” Daruk scratched the back of his head, chuckling. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. The bridges are sturdy enough to handle the strongest of winds, after all.” Mipha gave him a reassuring smile. She glanced at Urbosa for confirmation, “Don’t you agree?”

The Gerudo nodded, “There’s no need to worry about such things. The whole point of throwing a party is to sweep your worries away. Besides,” she cast a glance towards a particular Rito’s direction, “we owe it to everyone who worked hard to organize it to be there. Isn’t that right, Revali?”

The Rito Champion was busy observing… something, but it was clear he wasn’t listening. He kept watching people file in and out of the stable, as if waiting for something. Revali kept fiddling with the edges of his blue scarf, smoothing it out to make himself more presentable. 

“Revaaaaaali?”

“Hmm?” Finally snapping out of it, he turned to face the other Champions. “Ah yes, sorry. Daruk, there’s no need to be concerned, if you break the bridge all the Rito are perfectly capable of flying home, so it won’t matter anyhow. Plus Lake Totori is quite refreshing, so when you fall—”

Urbosa elbowed him on the side, cutting him off. He mumbled something about practicing honesty. She sighed, “Why did I expect you to add something genuine to the conversation…”

Revali scoffed, “Tsk. Your mistake.” Mipha gave a small laugh. The Zora princess tilted her head before chiming in, “Revali, Urbosa does have a point. You’re going to come to the celebration this time, yes?” The Rito Champion had a habit of not attending events that weren’t necessary or mandatory. He had skipped out on nearly every noble party, feast, and nightly social gatherings, on the pretense that “diplomats were boring,” “it’s utterly useless,” “I didn’t come here to socialize,” and “I’m busy doing something that’s actually important.”

However, it would be a bit more difficult to opt out of something that’s held right in your hometown. Revali turned and sighed. “Unfortunately, my schedule is quite clear for tonight. So, unless something more significant comes to my attention, I suppose I’ll attend the damn p—”

“HEY! IS THAT THE SUPREME MASTER OF THE SKY I SEE?”

The Champions turned in the direction of the voice. The feathers on Revali’s neck fluffed up in surprise, or was it embarrassment? Well, some sort of combination of the two. A Hylian stable-hand, carrying an assortment of wildflowers in their arms, made their way towards the group. 

Mipha snickered, “Master of the Sky?” The Rito shot daggers in her direction, before facing back towards the stable-hand. 

“Are you ever going to live that down? I was six. I think I’ve grown out of that.”

A bright grin grew on the Hylian’s face. “Hmm. Not vertically you haven’t!” They stood on their toes and used a hand to pat the feathers on the top of Revali’s head like a puppy. “I mean, you’re taller than me and I can still make fun of you for being a short Rito. That’s an achievement all on its own!” 

Daruk didn’t try to hide his laughter that time. Revali shot more daggers at the Hylian. Although no one could notice it (and he would certainly never admit it), there was the slightest creep of a smile on his face when they patted him. He responded with his own quip. “Funny hearing that from someone who awarded themselves the title of ‘Number One Horse Boss,’ don’t you think?”

Their cheeks flushed, their grin was replaced with an awkward smile. “I was nine…”

“Oh? Does age matter now?”

The two continued to laugh among themselves about things the other Champions couldn’t really understand. Daruk was scratching the back of his head again, clearly it was new seeing the Rito so carefree. Mipha also watched them curiously. Urbosa’s gaze continued to switch between Revali and the Hylian. She then asked, “So Revali, are you going to continue insulting each other, or are you going to introduce us?”

He quickly coughed and straightened himself out. “Right, sorry. Well, esteem fellow Champions, this is [Name], they’ve been working at Rito Stable for as long as I can remember.” He wrapped his wing around their shoulder, pushing them forward. “Say hi, [Name]”

Snapping their attention to them, [Name] turned to greet them with a beaming smile. They excitedly shook everyone’s hand, a bundle of wildflowers still in their other arm. “It’s great to finally meet you all! Revali’s told me so much about you guys.” 

Urbosa raised an eyebrow, looking at Revali. “Oh, what sort of things has he said?”

Before he even had a chance to stop them, [Name] gestured to Daruk. “He said that your optimism and laugh are very contagious,” they turned to Mipha, “And that you’re one of the nicest people he’s ever met.” Mipha blushed, Daruk had a grin plastered on his face. Turning to Urbosa, [Name] added, “And he said that you basically act as everyone’s mom in the group.”

Revali suddenly stepped in front of them, his feathers were puffed up. “AAAAAND NONE OF THAT IS TRUE OF COURSE. THAT WAS ALL A JOKE, A DUMB JOKE I TOLD A LONG TIME AGO. I GUESS THEY DIDN’T PICK UP ON THAT, OBVIOUSLY URBOSA ISN’T ANYONE’S MOM HAHA YEAH GOOD JOKE [NAME].” 

Urbosa put a hand on her chest fake offense. The Rito turned back to [Name]. “So you’ve met everyone now, maybe now’s a good time for you to leave and not say anything else about our old conversations, got it?”

“Oh! Wait before I go,” [Name] took a wreath of yellow wildflowers from their arm, “The, uh…the Rito children were making these flower crowns…I, uh…I thought you all might want some..?”

[Name] draped them over Revali’s head before he could object. The flowers were a bright, bumblebee color, with small blushes of white. It matched well with his indigo and white feathers. “See? Now you look, uh, pretty…” they said. Their cheeks were beginning to rose in color.

Urbosa took three flower crowns from [Name], blue, green, and red in color. She took the red flowers and placed them in her own hair. “Thank you [Name]. I’ll give these other two to Link and Zelda. He’s off somewhere chasing the princess near the shrine at Tabantha. So I’ll just give them these later.” 

[Name] nodded. Daruk took a pink flower crown, the salmon color bright on his white hair. It was more of a bracelet if anything. Mipha draped some on her own head, the pure, pearly white hue seemed to glow along with her other jewelry.   

Revali then took lavender ones. “Don’t forget yourself, don’t think you can escape without also wearing one of these ridiculous crowns…” He gently set them on [Name]. They mumbled a meek “thank you” to Revali.

“Awww” Daruk gushed, “you both look cute together.”

Revali and [Name] stared at him in confusion. 

“Uh, yes. The flowers are pretty…neat.” the Rito mumbled.

“Yeah,” [Name] whispered, “It’s pretty…swell…?”

Another silence fell over the group. Urbosa seemed to be barely holding it together, ready to snicker at any moment. But [Name] didn’t notice, they turned to Revali, slightly flustered. 

“And, uh, Revali?” He glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. “Since you’re back in town, maybe we can hang out later? Or tomorrow? Maybe sometime before your big Champion party, we could hang out at our usual spot? You up for it?” Their ears and cheeks were starting to red, perhaps from the cold…

The Rito smiled, “Yeah, I think I can make room in my schedule for it. I’m very busy, but I’ll make it work.”

The two just stared at each other for a moment, both oblivious to the other Champions staring wide eyed at Revali. Then [Name], broke their gaze, giving a forced cough. “Well, *cough* I think I should get back to work. There’s probably a bunch of guests I need to serve inside.” They turned to the other Champions, “Feel free to stop by and I’ll whip up something for you to eat! On the house!” With that, they cast one last glance at Revali, and then started walking back. The purple petals in their hair rustled in the breeze. 

“Uh, right. I’ll see you later.” Revali mumbled. He watched them walk away. “AND, um, Y-YOU LOOK NICE!” he called. [Name] turned, fumbling, and gave him a thumbs up, before joining the other workers inside the stable. 

Revali turned back to the other Champions. They were all staring at him in silence. 

“Tsk. What are you looking at?” he asked with a grimace. 

Urbosa finally broke the silence, half laughing as she spoke. “What in the hells did I just witness?” 

This cued all sorts of chaos in the group. Mipha started to barrage Revali with questions about his relationship with [Name]. Daruk was gesturing wildly at him, mouth agape, as if to wordlessly ask who are you?? How come you never smile like that when you’re around us? What’s the deal here?!

In the end, it was Urbosa who had to get everyone off Revali’s back. Placing an arm around him, she said, “Ok, now, now. Let’s leave our fellow Champion alone. We’ve been traveling for awhile, so I’m sure he’s eager to get back home without us all pestering him.”

Revali shook his wings and held his head in the air. “Hmph! That’s correct. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Giving a mighty flap, he summoned his gale and took off into the air in one smooth, fluid motion, literally leaving the other Champions in the dust. It seems he couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

Mipha turned to Urbosa with a teasing expression on her face. “Are we really going to pass up the chance to see how Revali’s gonna act around his obvious crush?”

“Oh don’t worry,” a knowing smile spread across the Gerudo’s face, “I’m not gonna let this opportunity go to waste.

- - - - - 

“So is it your title as Champion, or Gerudo Chief that entitles you to lurk on my property?”

Revali gave a condescending glare at Urbosa. While it was one thing that she had the audacity to visit him so early in the morning, he was mainly just embarrassed she had caught him with his hair still messy. She gave a smug smile. “Neither, it’s simply my role as a concerned mom.”

The Rito hopped off his hammock. He fitted messy ribbons into his braids, before wrapping a white scarf around himself. Glaring back at her, he added, “Just to clarify, I don’t need any additional parental figures in my life.”

Urbosa sighed. “Just follow me when you’re ready. I’m gonna take up [Name]’s offer on the free food.”

Revali clicked his tongue. “Tsk. I don’t see why it’s necessary that I tag along.”

“Just for the company, we can chat over a drink.”

“About what?”

“Well, I have a few interesting conversation topics,” she turned back towards the wooden stairs, a grin still shone on her face.

 “It’ll just be you and me, but I find the topic of your love life quite interesting.”

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Black - Chapter 7

Yes, I still am not done with this irregular, random, weird travel blog...

Fandom: the Hobbit

Characters : Thorin x OC, many others

Setting: Before the unexpected journey lol

Rating : Mature (not yet...still...but a little)

Warnings: none, it's just light-hearted silliness

It's a longish chapter (around 4k words...sorry)

“All is well, Master Dwalin. Do not distress yourself!” She called out to the vision of prowess stomping towards her.

She would not necessarily be welcome here, she knew, but it made her feel safer already to know that, at the very least, they would not have looked on as she was raped and murdered by some stranger.

“The lass has chased away a grown man with a tree branch. Aye, she might be well assorted to Oakenshield.” Balin laughed, carrying the infant easily back to the settlement. She remembered the impossible weight in her arms, pushing down on her bones and compressing her flesh, and she was amazed at the strength of these beings.

“May I borrow a knife?” She asked the two warriors who were apparently waiting for her to take her back into the confines of the settlement, Thorin looking positively eager to take her to safety and slightly annoyed at the delay.

Dwalin handed her a small blade and she knelt again, opening a small wound in her forearm and sticking the bloodied knife-edge into the ground. It was a hungry earth, she knew for she felt its thirst, and old nan had told her that dung and blood fertilised the soil best.

“What are you doing, lass?” Dwalin approached, cautiously, suspicious of an obviously insane woman with a knife. “Gardening, Master Dwalin, gardening.” She replied with a small chuckle. Maybe, she could get some seeds out of those vegetables she had bought. When dawn broke, she would inspect the wilderness around the Mountains in search of herbs and fruits she could use for her other, meagre talents in hopes that she could be of service in any other way.

“Mistress? Mother asks what is to be done about the food you have brought…” The blonde kid came up to them, exclaiming: “Oi, mistress, you’re hurt!” and offering a rather dubious handkerchief right away.

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” She looked to Thorin, seeking his help in explaining. “She does things differently.” Thorin said tonelessly but inclined his head at her to get her to answer the original question of his nephew.

“Come, Mistress, you must be cold. Really, uncle, to have that poor woman sitting on the cold ground.” Fíli seemed outraged and dragged her away towards the settlement, shaking his head at an equally indignant Thorin.

“So…about that food.” The young man asked again, pointing at the cart nobody had touched hitherto. “It was a gift…”

Thorin had said it would be welcome, but maybe they distrusted her that much? “I have purchased it from a merchant from the Shire and Thorin has been there all the time, I have…there is…it’s good.” She stammered, biting her lip, she had never been so far from home and comfort; she felt painfully outmatched by all these gloriously self-possessed people around her.

“Oh yes, nobody said there was anything wrong with it. No…but it’s yours, Mistress. Uncle said you’ve bought it.” Fíli replied gently, steering her to a nearby bench and twisting his moustache. Evidently, he was trying on the role he would have to fill sooner or later; she hoped it would be later, much later, for she could not even envision the death of one Thorin Oakenshield.

The very man approached and lifted his hands when she wanted to defer that decision to him. “You bought it with your past, woman, you decide of its future.” He declared and waited.

“What are you talking about, Master Dwarf?” She mumbled, waving at the cart and the foodstuffs within. “These are offerings to the venerable royal family and their people.” She spoke to the young prince, handing him what little was left of her savings.

“Woman, did you just hand him your money?” Thorin roared. “Yes, Master Thorin, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the same thing.” He protested. “I am not a kept woman, Master Thorin, and I am not your guest. Your people cannot bear another idle mouth to feed, another idle body to warm, isn’t that the truth you tried to hide from me?”

He retreated one step, startled by her candid words. “That first night, you took me in, you gave me food.” He murmured.

“And I will continue to do so, Master, I will forage and hunt, I’m used to walking to markets to sell my wares and I shall go on doing just that. I have survived on my own for a long time and I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

Her pride shone bright in that second as she went toe-to-toe with a king, with a man she respected, with a person she venerated for his kindness and generosity. “I want you to be my guest.” He said, just a tiny bit petulant.

“And I’m telling you that I don’t want to be your guest. You are my master…and my friend. Have I ever offered you less than my service?” She barked back, proud and strong, standing in the middle of the courtyard with her cart.

“I have made a vow, Thorin-king, I have promised hard work and humility to purge the sins of my forefathers. Have you forgotten about that? I shall not renounce my promise to the creator.” She went on, softer.

“You are delivered. Men don’t work for the likes of me.” Thorin retorted, with deceiving calm.

“I am not a man though, am I? All kinds of people work for their king if their king works for them, and women have worked for a man since the beginning of time.” She smiled. “I am not a slaver!” He exploded.

“They are not your people.” As soon as he saw her face fall, he knew that he had gone too far, that his words and his pitiful mastery of them had failed him; like wild horses, they had run off and trampled someone he cared for.

“Thorin!” The princess, beautiful and wreathed in flames of just anger, stormed into the yard and let both her palms clash heavily onto his broad chest.

“Do not listen to him, he did not mean it the way he’s spoken it; Thorin has ever been a mulish, overly proud, misspeaking fool.” She whispered to the frail creature huddled in her hurt as a babe in a blanket.

“It runs in the family.” Thorin hissed and earned another withering, punitive stare from his sister.

“Your gifts are very welcome. What he means to say is that we do not want to be seen as the kind of people who take advantage of the…goodwill of a gentle maiden such as you. We are said to be ruthless and greedy.” Her eyes went dark with sadness. “There are things that may point into that direction. If you were to sacrifice that tender life of yours in service to a…homeless people, it would shame us.” Her royal hand rested heavy and solid on the frail and shivering one.

“I would be part of a great destiny, of retribution, of redemption, if you permit, Milady.” She whispered, begging under her breath. “Such faith have you in a king without a crown, without a realm, without an army?” The princess was surprised.

“Such faith have I in the person who’s led me out of misery and through peril to a safe haven, yes.” She replied firmly.

“Harbul…” Thorin sighed, much to the dismay of his sister and the onlookers. He had called her “mudlike”, which was in itself not a compliment, but when she looked up to question him on his choice of name, he smiled: “Creature of mud, creature of soil, fertile daughter of water and earth.”

She bowed to him, accepting “mud” as her name, as her epithet, as her identity, amongst those strange people who were so private with their own names. Her previous name was strange and outlandish to them, so she encouraged the outraged crowd to address her by a word of their own language.

They were so proud of their heritage that it was unimaginable to them to feel honoured to be given another name in a foreign language, but she hoped that at least Thorin would understand. “I am sorry.” He murmured as he took her arm to go into the dining hall, small and cramped as it might be. So, he did not understand.

“If I had been less hasty, if my words had been less careless, please believe me that I’d have bestowed a name worthy of your courage and your loyalty upon you. I’d have praised your beauty and your good heart rather than harp on your own erroneous vision of yourself. I am truly sorry.” He whispered into her ear, while his sister still looked at him as if he had crawled out under a rock.

“Don’t…I love it.” She beamed up at him, trying out her own name tentatively. “I feel like I’ve arrived.”

“From dust to mud? I don’t want that, I don’t want you to stay a slave to ghosts forever.” He sounded exasperated by her meekness. “Some of us are born for greatness, harbingers of momentous change and icons of a bright future, Master Dwarf. You are more than just a man, you’re a promise, you’re an oath, you’re the physical embodiment of an excellence spanning centuries and millennia…and some of us…are not.”

“Arzâm, that’s what I should have named you.” He groaned. “Woman, growled impatiently, has worked perfectly for us this far, no?” She grinned, then, overcome with curiosity, she asked: “What does it mean then?”

“It means “faith”; despite everything you say about yourself, it is what I think of first when I think of you.”

“And do you think of me often?” She laughed. “Yes.” He gave back in a serious, ponderous tone.

“Then I shall accept that name as well. Faith, it suits me well.” She was still smiling, shedding her old skin and everything she had been born into with an easy shrug that confused and amazed Thorin.

At the closed door though, she hesitated, then stopped completely.

“I…Should I go in there? I can eat out here.” The woman henceforth and forevermore known as Faith offered.

“You are not a dog, woman, come in. There are still dwarrows who want to meet you…and they’re pushing against this very door from the wrong side.” With an impatient call through the wooden partition inviting unseen people to please clear the doors, Thorin gave it a hearty shove.

Excited murmurs and threatening growls erupted in a sound like waves crashing onto the shore.

“I am unwelcome.” She whispered, biting her lip to keep her calm while Thorin moved with impervious determination through the throng of people towards a table where his nephews were already seated.

“Let me leave, Master Thorin, I beg you.” His hand only tightened around her arm as he pushed her forward, feeling miserable because he was treating her like a prisoner now, but she would not just scurry away to eat scraps of the food she had bought herself. “Don’t be afraid; these are the sounds living, breathing beings make…Okay, dwarrows might be a little louder than the fine people you’ve grown up with, but…” He gave her a crooked smile.

It was true; she was overwhelmed with the sheer volume of the cacophony of life around her. After years of wandering in an endless, wooded tomb, she had almost forgotten what vivacity sounded like.

“If you go any slower, uncle, she’ll be dead of starvation before you make it to the table. We’ve all seen the beautiful maid you’ve brought along with you, now make haste, we want to eat.” The younger one of the nephews called out and ducked behind his brother to avoid Thorin’s glaring look. Only, he had not minded his own mother who gave him a sharp rap on the head that might have broken Faith’s neck from the look of his head flying forward and almost knocking over a pitcher.

“Friends, kinsmen, join me in welcoming Mistress Faith who not only has provided this dinner, but, as I am told, has also chased away a potential intruder AND tried to hold a pebble.” Dís announced, apparently silently agreeing with her son’s assessment that Thorin’s dignified and regal entrance was basically just annoying and boring.

General laughter from the surrounding crowd made Faith look around in wonderment and interest. “Why is that funny? That infant was adorable, why wouldn’t I try to hold it?” She looked up at Thorin questioningly. “They’re heavy and notoriously difficult. Your new friend here was a terror.” He grinned as they reached the table, nodding at his sister.

“I was absolutely nothing of the sort; I was a proper angel compared to my older brother.” She spat back and, for a moment, Faith thought that she would stick out her tongue in defiance.

“Fíli was a fussy baby, but Kíli was not all that difficult.” Dís informed her as she pushed the woman down on a chair with a force that made her bones creak. “They must have been so adorable.” Faith sighed under her breath.

“They were okay.” Thorin grumbled, but his eyes were warm. She remembered the stories he had told her on the road about their first weapons and their first ponies; she had traded him old women’s tales for recollections of his beloved family and so she knew that he loved those rambunctious boys more than his own life.

“Also, that baby was not difficult at all.” She turned back to Thorin. “It tried to scalp you!” He exclaimed. “Nonsense, it merely played with my hair…It was charmed to find someone who let it touch their hair.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“Well…you may touch mine, for good luck, as you say. Would that make you feel less nervous?” It was a surprising offer and she shook her head immediately. “Oh no, I won’t touch your hair, in the dining room, in front of everyone!” She hissed under her breath which made him break into booming laughter.

Fiddling around with his braids for a second, he pressed a small metal bead into her hand under the table.

“For good luck.” He winked. “Thorin-king, you cannot do that.” She blushed. “I am king; I can do what I want.”

Being back home with his people brought out that other side of him as well, she noticed; he seemed to have a streak of wicked, quick-witted humour that made her head spin. She knew this to be a joke for she was fiercely aware that she had only known one single person in all her life who had lived observing a more extensive array of rules and restrictions than her: Thorin.

“Be true to your name, woman, and have faith in me, have faith in my people. We are a private folk, suspicious, distrustful, wary of outsiders, but we also know a gem from a pebble, and we value loyalty above all else.” He said with that weighty, serious tone that made him sound so much like a king of old.

He served her prime cuts and a good heap of vegetables. “Eat your greens, Thorin-king!” She whispered as she understood that he was trying to smuggle her his portion as well. Despite the face that he made at her, he shoved a fork full into his mouth grimly and stared her down defiantly.

“Thank you, Mistress.” Fíli bowed his head at her with a cheeky smile. “At your service, prince.” She replied, her deference marred by the grin she couldn’t suppress. “Do you want to walk with Kíli and me after dinner? We can show you the others.” The prince offered eagerly. “Others?” Faith was immediately interested.

“Don’t overtax her.” Thorin cut in, stern, afraid that too many dwarrows at once might still make her run for the hills.

“Oh, please say I may go, Master Dwarf. Please.” She begged, grabbing his arm with both her hands. “Well, my nephews can open the doors for you.” He said with a sly smile and had she not been in the dining room in presence of a good many of his subjects, she might have smacked his arm for his cheeky insolence.

“Will you heap blessings on them as well?” Thorin asked, a tinge of jealousy piqued within his heart. “I shall beg the great creator to be merciful to those who would follow you into the great unknown, yes.”

“That great creator you always talk about…who is he?” Thorin shoved away his plate and turned to her fully, to the surprise and confusion of the other people in the room. “Well, he’s the great creator. We are not given his name, Thorin-king. He is one and he is many. He is the source of everything.”

Thorin made a gesture that encouraged her to go on. “He’s the beginning and from him flowed all powers and things, which in turn created new things. Creatures of mud. Creatures of stone.” She smiled up at him with open warmth.

“We believe that Mahal has created us. Hewn us from stone and Eru Ilúvatar gave us consciousness.” Thorin murmured in a low voice to her. Faith raised her hand and puckered her lips in strenuous concentration. This sounded familiar…had she perverted her nan’s stories? Had she diluted the tale?

“He is one and he is many, from him all things sprang, the holy maker of things, fashioner of chains and forger of wonders…the name escapes me, Thorin-king, but I might have heard of that Mahal.” She whispered, more to herself than to him until she became aware of his burning gaze upon her focused face. “Yes, I might have known that story…” She repeated.

“That’s a part of the great creator that had no bearing on my life though, I am sorry.” She went on, apologetic. “The story doesn’t end there; Yavanna, his wife, is queen of the earth, bringer of fruits, protectress of all things that grow.” Thorin interrupted her.

“So, you’ve given the different parts of the great creator names?” – “It’s what people say…there are many names and a lot of stories, I thought you might like them.” He smiled gently; he had seen how she was grounded in her faith and how she thrived on stories and tales. This was a gift to her, and he hoped that she would not be offended.

“Hmmm, interesting.” Faith was consumed by curiosity now. “So, you were hewn from stone?” – “No, not me.” He laughed.

“Durin then? Was Durin hewn from stone?” She asked, remembering that mystical first king. “Yes…”

“And he had a long beard?” Faith beamed up at him. “Yes, he had a long beard.” Thorin chuckled, amazed by her naïve fascination and earnest wish to learn; to her, all of this were stories, fairy tales and pretty lies, but his people had cherished and passed on those accounts for generations.

Faith’s mind was churning with questions; to her, there had always been a notion of sacrifice and devotion to her observance of her belief and she wondered what might please this Mahal.

“Have I leave to go to the nearest river in the morning?” She asked Thorin as their plates were cleared away. “What for?”

“Have I leave to use one of your furnaces?” She went on, not answering his question.

“I accept your faith, I accept your vision of the creator, and I hope they might accept my way of honouring them.”

She would go and collect loam, purify it to clay and turn it into pottery, he understood. Offerings had ever been her way of expressing and observing her faith; he had seen her twice bleed onto the ground and a hundred times call out to the great creator while offering her time, her tears, and her pain to him.

“What for?” He repeated slowly. “To give thanks for the walls that encase me, for the man who’s saved me, for the creation of this beauty that fills my soul to the brim, Master Thorin. I have seen great wonders, they were gifts, and gratitude is expected.”

When he didn’t reply, Faith went on softly: “I have surrendered my life to you, I have surrendered my name to you, let me worship the way I always have and hope that it finds grace.”

Industry and creation had ever been pleasing to Mahal, Thorin thought and he could barely imagine that any Valar could be displeased with such ready and absolute devotion. One could have believed that her soul was easily swayed, but as he looked into her eyes, he discovered that her belief had only deepened thanks to his words.

“I’ve told you about Yavanna because she sounds like someone you’d feel…close to.” Thorin went on, disregarding his nephews who were chomping at the bit to get the poor woman away from him. No doubt, they had some mischief in mind.

“Many times you’ve called me king of stone, immutable and intransigent…” He went on. “Strong and steady.” She corrected.

“Well, allow me to call you queen of growth then, queen of thriving things, queen of change.” The way his face melted into a dazzling smile made her feel weak in the knees; he was the fire and the smith in equal measures, and she would never grow accustomed to the flashing blaze that engulfed her unexpectedly.

“Let us call you queen of moving away from the grumpy old dwarrow.” Kíli said cheekily and pulled her by the arm, almost tearing the whole limb out of the socket. “Gently!” Thorin warned his nephew, who apologised but kept drawing her away.

“So…how do you find uncle?” Kíli asked as soon as they were – almost – out of earshot.

“What are you talking about? He’s just over there! I had no reason to search for him this far.” Faith replied with a smirk.

“Haha, funny, no, but…how do you find him?” The young prince insisted, not discouraged by her side-stepping.

“I find him much restored in his health and mood now that he’s amongst his kin.” Faith provided amiably.

“Mahal’s beard, woman, do you think he’s cute?” Ah, the impatience of the young, Faith thought, increasingly enjoying this little game. “No, prince, there is no creature on this earth less probable to be called “cute” than your uncle, the king.” She chuckled.

“Really? Look at him, look at the fuzzy beard…Is it the beard? Really, he could grow a proper one, not like Kí here…He has his reasons to wear it short…It is the beard, isn’t it?” Fíli plunged into the conversation.

Faith wondered how good the king’s hearing was and how he’d feel about her being asked inappropriate questions about him by his intrusive but adorable nephews. She also knew that beards and hair were not up for discussion usually.

“There is nothing wrong with the king’s beard.” – “You can call him Thorin, he’s not here…You can call him everything you like…” Fíli was an irreverent creature, Faith thought, cheeky to a fault, but she felt warm affection wash through her immediately, nonetheless.

“I shall call the king what he is. A king. Your most revered uncle. A man deserving of respect and esteem.” She said severely.

“You sound like mother…Come on, give us something. Any little thing, you like the beard then?”

“He’s a good man.” Faith said slowly. “But do you think he’s handsome? I feel like he hasn’t been told that he’s handsome lately. Mom tells him he looks like a raincloud that was stuffed inside a rotten tree trunk for too long.”

Faith knew that it was a trap, but she couldn’t help herself. “I am pretty sure that the honourable princess would never say anything quite as callously untrue to her brother, the king.” She cut in sharply.

“You should tell him that he’s handsome.” Kíli looked at her with huge, wet eyes pleadingly. “No, I should most definitely not do anything of the sort. Are you out of your mind, good prince?”

Faith bit her lip, that was no way one was to speak to a prince.

“I am not. He’s my uncle, I am fond of him…and he’s lonely. Also, he’s worn his best tunic tonight and you did not comment on it, did you? Screaming at him and all.” Now, he was making her feel guilty; she had indeed almost argued with Thorin tonight.

“Durin blue and all…” Fíli added. “You know Durin?”

“The one hewn from stone with the long beard, yes. I have not had the pleasure as that was before my time, but yes, I have been made aware of him.” Faith replied cautiously; she knew not if she was allowed to talk about this to other people.

“Do you think him ugly? It’s okay if you do, many of your kind do. We had just hoped that you’d…cheer the old boulder up with your feminine guiles.” They seemed dejected by her words and Faith was quick to want to reassure them. One would have thought that she had insulted their Mahal and Durin by not answering their question and their sad eyes broke her heart.

“Who? The king? He’s the most beautiful creature in the world.” Faith almost stumbled over her own words.

“Oh really? Can you tell him? Please, tell him.” Strong hands closed around her arm. They must have been adorable as children, Faith thought again, no wonder Thorin loved them with such fierce intensity and tender indulgence.

“To his face?” Faith was doubtful that this would be a good idea. “To his goofy, fuzzy face, yes.” Kíli laughed.

“Kí…Let’s go meet a friend of ours. I think you’ll like him.” Fíli grabbed her sleeve ever so delicately and gave it a gentle tug, apparently afraid to damage his uncle’s plaything. “I am not made of sugar.” Faith laughed.

“You have no idea what they’re like if you dare…touch, take, damage or steal what they consider theirs. Great-granddad, he was…intense.” Fíli chuckled, but there was a darker, painful truth behind his light tone. Faith retraced their family tree, potential centuries of history, reciting under her breath: Thorin II, son of Thráin II, son of Thrór. What had happened to them? Thorin had spoken at length about the family that lived, about the people she’d meet, but he had avoided the subject of his forefathers as much as possible. What did the prince mean by “intense”?

“I am not his. Not in that way. I am a tool, not a valued possession.” Faith tried to protest, but heavy dwarven brows raised in evident mockery stopped the gush of indignant words immediately.

“Yeah, that’s probably why I can already feel our mother’s breath on my neck…Uncle didn’t want to let you go, let you out of his sight…as if we’d ever let any harm come to you.” Fíli puffed up with wounded pride. “The king says you have a tendency to mislay and lose your…things. Toys. Ponies.” Faith dared interject.

“This is different! Mother would…oh, she’d be furious and so would uncle. No, we’ll take you to see Ori and let uncle introduce you himself to the rougher fellows. Do you have any valuables?” Kíli asked in a nonchalant tone as they led her down a narrow corridor.

“No?” Faith patted the pockets of the dress that didn’t belong to her, just in case the previous owner had left anything in them.

“Good, because Nori will pick your pockets.” They both laughed. “Oh…maybe I should have brought something of value then?” Faith felt bad and slightly irritated at the boys for not having warned her beforehand.

“Here, it’s your own coin you handed to me so gallantly. It will make the old boy happy.” Fíli handed her a coin and she tucked it away in one of the skirt pockets diligently. “You’re a good sort, Mistress.” Kíli grinned, giving her a small slap on the shoulder that propelled her a few feet forwards.

“Be careful, Kí! Uncle will not let her come with us anymore if she’s all bruised afterwards!” His brother reprimanded the young prince immediately who apologised with another one of those melting puppy-eyed looks that made her heart shudder with maternal instincts. “I have to toughen up.” She just smiled.

“No, we need to learn delicacy. Ah, here’s one who will know how to act…Ok, he’s fled. We’ll get him!”

They ran off, after a reddish flash dashing around a corner, with surprising agility. To Faith, it felt like watching wolf pups chase after a deer; there was the distinct cuteness of youth, but already, one could not oversee the instincts and the single-minded determination of predators, of warriors, of flowering strength and power.

Sighing, she decided to follow them, praying that there would be no doors to open or sullen dwarrows to confront before she found them. In her mind, she turned over the question if it would really be appropriate to tell the king that he was handsome…She had said so before, but she had spoken abstractly, never really adopting the tone his nephews so ardently claimed was necessary. The mere possibility that those two rascals could be right when hinting at the king’s loneliness overruled her sense of propriety and what little pride she had left. Once she’d find her way back to her companion, she’d tell him.

“Mistress? Here’s Ori.” Kíli shoved another youngish dwarrow towards her who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in her presence. Her heart froze. Two other silhouettes appeared from the shadows and the hairs on her neck raised in gooseflesh.

[seanbeansimp59]

Watchdog of the North (Part One)

Hey all! This is my first fic to post here, and I’m really excited to see what you think! Feel free to leave any comments or criticisms you’d like--I’m always happy to listen! I will be posting part two once I’m done writing it (which should be by next weekend at the very most) so stay tuned. 

I’ve had this concept floating in my head for a while and I figured I’d write it down for once in my life. It’s the story of a shapeshifter who lives in the woods outside of Winterfell and protects the surrounding countryside. In all honesty, I have yet to watch Game of Thrones, so if some of my knowledge is incorrect, not only is it excusable, it is to be expected. Please go easy on me. 

Winter in Northern Westeros was brutal, it always had been. The bitter cold settled deep into brittle bones and encased the lungs of any soul brave enough to step outdoors. Everything was coated in a brilliant white, blinding in the sunlight and gloom alike. Outside was unbearable, indoors wasn’t much better, but the forest? The forest was a death wish, save for one.

The Shifter.

Unlike the villagers, the Shifter lived in the forest. For years it wandered alone, estranged, more of a bedtime story than a living being. Children were told tales of a massive wolf that roamed between the trees, standing over two metres tall at the shoulder with huge yellow eyes and sharp white fangs. This wolf, according to legend, was not actually a wolf at all, rather a man who had been twisted by fate into a ravenous monster. “He still walks among the trees,” parents would warn their wide-eyed charges, waving their hands like wolf paws. “And if you wander off alone in the woods, he’ll snatch you up and scarf you down!” Of course, the story was an effective method of keeping children safely indoors, especially during the brutal winter months, so very few believed the tale of the Shifter in the forest. For years, it remained a legend and the people remained unworried, safe within the walls of Winterfell.

But the Shifter was real, very real indeed. And unbeknownst to the citizens of Winterfell, it did much more than devour children and slink unnoticed through the snowy drifts. It protected. When troubles came from the south, the Shifter slayed the attackers before they reached the village. When a pack of direwolves began to devour the livestock, the Shifter killed their alpha and drove the rest from the region. Time and time again, though the villagers knew it not, the Shifter continued to keep them safe from danger with neither thanks nor acknowledgment to keep it sated. It knew one thing and one thing alone—to protect.

Years passed. New leaders came and went, changing Winterfell for better and for worse. The Shifter never left, never stopped protecting. It stayed among the trees, always watching for any new danger yet never exposing itself, for even in its human form, it was intimidating. It stood at two metres tall with a wild mane of charcoal black hair, its skin viciously scarred from the battles it fought for Winterfell. Memory of the Shifter had all but vanished, and for the moment, it intended to keep things that way. Yes, it would protect, but it would do so from the shadows. That was how it had always been. At the moment, the land resided under the care of the very capable Lord Eddard Stark. He and his wife, Catelyn, had four children whom the citizens loved very dearly—Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, with Catelyn heavily pregnant with a fifth child. Life went on rather the same in Winterfell, full of its comings and goings, sparing no thought for the being lurking in the woods.

One particularly sunny afternoon, the children of the Lord of Winterfell decided to take an outing to the clearing near the village. It wasn’t far from the outskirts of Winterfell, and although the children were all rather young, they were extremely capable of surviving in the cold, as their father had taught them such skills at a young age. Once they’d said goodbye to their father and hugged their smiling mother, they scampered off, bundled up in furs and cloaks, giggling and chattering as the cold air nipped at their reddened noses and cheeks. Into the woods they raced, scooping up handfuls of the freshly fallen powder and making little spheres to sling at each other. Robb, a rambunctious lad of eleven, began pelting his younger siblings with snowballs, causing them to stumble and stagger about, spitting snowflakes to the ground and flailing blindly in irritation. The littlest ones, Bran and Arya who were four and five respectively, decided to join forces with Sansa, their older sister, and collectively they launched an attack that left Robb completely overpowered. His mood soured rapidly as he found himself being mercilessly barraged with snowballs, and he began to lash back in annoyance. Aiming blindly, he flung a snowball directly into Arya’s face, stinging her eyes viciously and making her fall on her backside into a rather large snow drift. Quite suddenly she burst into tears, swiping furiously at her face to get the snow away.

“Oh Arya, come off it,” Robb scoffed lightly. “It’s just a bit of snow, it’ll melt in a moment.”

“That hurt, Robb,” she cried in reply, rubbing her eyes miserably.

Sansa, ever the negotiator, put her hands on her hips and turned to him. “Robb, you ought to apologize. That was awfully mean of you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” he protested. “I’m not going to apologize for Arya being a big baby!”

There was silence for a second. Then Arya’s lower lip quivered, and she turned swiftly on her heel, storming from the clearing in a huff.

“Arya-” Sansa began, but Robb held his hand up.

“Don’t follow her. She’ll be over it in a minute or two.”

Sansa nodded. After all, Robb was probably right. Arya’s little outbursts didn’t typically last more than a half hour, so she’d be back in a few minutes and they could go back to playing. With that, she began to help her brothers build a snowman, almost completely forgetting about Arya’s anger.

 As they resumed their play, a very disgruntled Arya marched through the woods, not going to any particular place or in any particular direction. Rage throbbed in her ears and made her head hurt and she found herself muttering aloud to the silent snow. “Why has Robb got to be so horrible? That really did hurt, and he had no right to bash me in the face like that! It was only a silly game. I hate him.”

The longer she walked, the angrier she became, and the angrier she became, the less she paid attention to where she was going. Lost in her own head, she crashed deeper and deeper into the forest, stomping furiously through the trees, smacking their branches in irritation. After a while, she heaved a deep breath and finally looked up to find herself in a very unfamiliar clearing. Leafless trees stretched menacingly into the sky, their spindly branches scraping in the breeze. All around her, the snow stretched into the distance, the now-setting sun making it glitter and shift with the dying rays. She had no idea how long it had been, but it was getting darker by the minute and she realized just how cold she’d become. A bitter wind began to whip through the trees, biting her cheeks and piercing through her clothes. Shivering, she pulled the furry cloak closer around her and turned back in the direction she’d come. Her angry path through the snow left a clear trail to follow back to the clearing, so with any luck, she’d be back very soon.

Luck, as it seemed, was not on her side.

The trail wound back and forth through the towering trees, seemingly erratic and mindless. Time wore on and Arya found herself becoming desperate and increasingly irritated with herself. The wandering trail was taking too long—the sun was already kissing the edge of the horizon and there was still no sign of the familiar buildings of Winterfell. Even though she was very young, she knew that once the sun went past the horizon, her chances of making it through the bitter winter night were very, very low. She began move faster, hurrying as best she could along the trampled snow. Tears pricked her eyes and she swiped them away in anger, stumbling through the bone-white drifts. Much to her dismay, the increased effort did nothing but exhaust her, and she could only watch in terror as the wind slowly ate away at her previous footsteps. Behind her, the sun dipped lower still and shadows fell long across the land. All alone in the woods, surrounded by nothing but cold unfeeling snow, Arya Stark began to sob.

 Back in Winterfell, the village was in an uproar. Eddard and Catelyn had watched three of their four children come racing back into the village square, Sansa and Bran sobbing uncontrollably while Robb’s face was as white as the snow in his hair. In a tiny, halting voice, he explained that Arya had run off into the woods and she hadn’t come back. His body shook like a leaf in a gale, and he couldn’t meet his father’s horrified gaze. Robb knew it was his own fault, that if he had just apologized to Arya none of this would have happened, and he was deeply ashamed.

“We tried to find her,” Sansa wailed, running into Catelyn’s arms. “We tried, Mummy, honest we did!”

“I believe you, dear,” Catelyn murmured, stroking Sansa’s hair. “I believe you. It’s going to be alright.”

Ned was already rushing past the little throng, heading to the stable as quickly as his legs would carry him. He called for the guards in a rough voice, moving to where his horse was tied. He vaguely heard Jory, the captain of his guard, reassuring him, though the words were far away and blurry. Ned’s foot was in the stirrup, his hand gripping the reigns as he swung onto the horse’s back. One thought pushed to the front of everything, one brutally awful reminder that stilled the very blood in his veins. We have to find her before the sun sets, or else….

His mind wouldn’t let him finish.

He dug his heels into the horse’s side, thundering out into the village alongside his guard, sword gleaming at his side, torch burning brightly in the dying light of the sun. His face was grim, his jaw set like stone. “Hold on, little one,” he growled. “I’m coming.”

 The sun set like it did every day, unaware of the chaos left in its wake. The moon took its place, though it were nothing more than a silver sliver hanging amidst the sparkling stars. Beneath the pale light, something moved, something massive. The Shifter was awake, prowling about in the powdery snow as it had done every night for the past eighty years. Nothing much moved in the woods these days, it thought to itself as it padded along between the trees. Everything was peaceful and still, save for the occasional travelling wolf pack, and danger hadn’t reared its ugly head for almost five years. Yes, the Shifter mused, nothing much had happened. Everything was good. Everything was quiet.

No sooner had the thought crossed the Shifter’s mind than a sharp shriek split the frigid air like a knife.

The Shifter’s head snapped up, its yellow eyes scanning the snow before it. What was that? it wondered. It was so out of place in the serenity of the snow that for a moment, the Shifter thought it was simply hearing things. Then, again, that same cry rose into the sky, this time more intense and terrified. It sounded like a child. Without another thought, the Shifter broke into a sprint through the trees toward where the shriek had originated.

It wasn’t long before the Shifter found the source of the voice, and when it did, its blood ran cold at the sight. A little girl, no older than five or six years old, was cornered against a huge boulder by a pack of snarling wolves. Her grey eyes were wide with fright, tear tracks running down her reddened cheeks. The largest wolf took a step towards her, saliva dripping from its sharp fangs as it sized up the little girl. She whimpered in fear and cowered away, shielding herself from its gaze.

The Shifter had seen enough.

In a single bound, it threw itself between the wolf and the little girl, spreading its massive paws wide as it faced the leader of the pack. For a moment, nothing happened. The wolf seemed a bit nervous, having never seen something so huge, but the girl whimpered again, and its mind was made up. It gave a sharp snarling bark and lunged at the Shifter, red jaws gaping.

The Shifter met it halfway.

With a visceral tearing sound, the Shifter’s fangs ripped into the wolf’s throat. Red splashed hot against the cold snow and the wolf lay still. Silence covered the clearing for just a second as the wolves hesitated, but the lull was broken as another charged. The Shifter whirled and snapped at the neck. It missed but recovered quickly, grappling with another assailant that attacked its turned back. Another wolf leapt. And another. The Shifter’s teeth ripped into flesh and fur and bone. Howls and yips turned the sky into a symphony. Pain bloomed through the Shifter as fangs sank first into its shoulder, then its belly. Fiery agony pulsed in its veins. It bit down hard and heard a squeal. A wolf fell motionless to the snow and didn’t move again. Scarlet touched the ivory, salty iron tingled in the crisp air. The Shifter’s eyes were blazing, its jaws clamping on exposed fur, and another wolf didn’t stand. Where once were five, only two now stood, tails tucked and ears flat. The Shifter staggered, swayed a bit, but braced itself once more, baring bloodstained teeth at the survivors. Without hesitation, they turned and ran, disappearing into the trees.

The Shifter heaved a broken sigh, its body aching as blood dripped from its wounds onto the snow. Amidst the pain it remembered the frightened girl and turned to where she lay, shivering and shaking. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow, her lips and nose already a shade of blue. The Shifter had seen many lives lost to the brutal cold, and the little girl was already nearing the point of no return. She needed to be warmed, and fast.

Wincing in pain, the Shifter dropped to the ground next to the girl, curling its massive, furry body around her like a living blanket. It pressed its muzzle against her brown hair, breathing gusts of hot air against the trembling form. Within its warmth, the child stirred, and the Shifter sighed in relief. She would be fine, given enough time. However, she would need better care than the Shifter’s rudimentary medicines could provide, and the Shifter knew that she must be returned to Winterfell as soon as possible. At least, assuming she was from Winterfell. Moving a bit, the Shifter scanned her little body, trying to find any indication of where this girl resided. A flash of bronze around her neck caught its eye, and it used its muzzle to coax the little chain from within the folds of her cloak.

The Shifter’s heart skipped a beat—proudly engraved on the pendant’s face was the Stark Crest.

Suddenly anxious, the Shifter’s eyes focused on the little girl. Could she be one of Lord Stark’s children? Was it possible? If his child were missing, Winterfell would be in chaos and gods only knew what frightened villagers would do in such times. A father who had lost his child was more dangerous than any beast, and a father in a position of power whose child had gone missing? The Shifter swallowed thickly. This was much more urgent than it had anticipated. It knew it needed to get the girl back to Winterfell as quickly as possible, likely before the sun rose.

Staggering to its feet, the Shifter looked down at the trembling girl. It could hardly carry her into the village in its jaws in the form of a massive wolf, not with the entire village on edge as it was. No, this journey would require something different, something just a bit less frightening. For the first time in months, the Shifter would have to shift, assuming a human form to deliver this girl to her anxious family. However, it couldn’t keep her warm as a human, not without some form of fur or clothing. Shifting to such a body left it naked, and skin wasn’t near as insulating as fur. The Shifter had clothes, true enough, as well as some pelts and furs, but it would have to take the girl back to its den to retrieve them. Would she make it that far? For that matter, would the Shifter make it that far? Its wounds certainly weren’t minor, and it was bleeding rather badly—could it carry the little girl all the way its den and then through the streets of Winterfell? It honestly wasn’t certain.

But as it debated, the little girl stirred, whimpering a bit as she curled closer in on herself. “Daddy…” The sleepy whisper left her mouth, dreamlike and frightened in her half-conscious state. The Shifter’s heart ached, feeling a rush of warmth and determination flood its tired body. It had protected her this far, it wasn’t about to leave her here to freeze. Stooping down to her stiffly, it opened its jaws and took her clothes between its teeth, lifting her like a mother wolf would lift her pup. Then, letting out a lightly pained growl, it turned and began to plod through the woods, the girl swaying slightly beneath its head as it walked deeper into the forest. The Shifter would protect, as it had always done, no matter the cost.

 Back in Winterfell, the house in the center of the village was as silent as a graveyard. Catelyn sat with her children in the great hall, pacing anxiously back and forth in front of the blazing hearth. Robb was gazing blankly at the wall, his mind wandering aimlessly from worst case scenario to worst case scenario. Sansa sat on the floor, holding a trembling Bran in her lap, playing with his curls as he whimpered softly. Night had fallen long ago, and Ned had not yet returned. The cold was seeping through the floorboards as it always did, and with each passing minute the dread sank deeper into their bones.

It’s too cold. The thought gnawed at Catelyn’s mind like frostbite. Worry ate away at her soul, nibbling at her heart and making its home among her insides where it lay, writhing and twisting wickedly. It's too cold for her to be…. She shook her head viciously. No. Such thinking was pointless and only served to further distress her. It would do no good to have such doomsday thoughts, not with her children already being consumed by the same anxiety that plagued her every breath. She was their mother, and as their mother she was to be a stronghold. Not torn asunder by the realization of just how cold it was and just how small Arya was and just how dreadfully unlikely it was that Arya was still…. Alive.

Just then, heavy footsteps sounded through the echoing halls. Catelyn’s head snapped up to see a familiar form moving into the room, shrugging away the snow-speckled furs as he walked. She tried to push aside the realization that his shoulders were slumped in defeat and that each step seemed to drain him more than words could convey, but it was painfully evident. His eyes, so grey and bleary, met hers for just a moment before darting back to the floor. Her Ned had returned empty-handed, and Catelyn felt herself sway.

“Cat….” His voice faltered and he trailed off into silence.

“Daddy,” Bran whispered. “Where’s Arya?”

Catelyn saw his body shake, watched the labored breaths leave his heaving chest. He wet his lips to speak, but no sound left his mouth. The room stayed still as death.

“Children, you need to go to bed,” Catelyn found herself saying, though her voice was far away and foggy. “It is late, and we are all very tired.” Moving slowly, she helped Sansa and Bran to their feet, ruffling their hair. “Go on, dears. We’ll see you in the morning.”

The children, knowing better than to argue with their mother, gathered themselves as best they could and made their way to their rooms. All of them felt a growing sense of gloom and anxiety, but none of them could bring themselves to say so. For now, they could only wait.

Once the children had left, Catelyn turned to Ned, who had fallen into the armchair, his head in his hands as he gazed blankly into the fireplace. “We searched everywhere, Cat,” he mumbled. “We lost her trail on the other side of the old riverbed.” His voice broke and his shoulders began to shake as silent sobs racked his body.

Catelyn moved to his side, placing a slender hand on his arm, kneeling by him, and resting her head against him. She was dreaming, she knew it. She would wake up in a moment, wrapped in his arms and see little Arya running wildly through the great halls, brown hair flying and grey eyes sparkling with laughter. It was all some dreadful nightmare, she told herself. Just a horrible nightmare. But deep down, she knew it was no dream, that somewhere in the woods her little girl was freezing and alone, lips turning blue, fingers turning black, body going still, and heart beating slower and slower until….

A choked sob left her lips despite her best efforts. She tasted blood where she’d bitten her cheek to keep it in, but now the tears were flowing, and she couldn’t stop their onslaught. Ned’s form shifted as he rose to his feet and his arms slowly came up to wrap around her, warm and strong and familiar, only this time he could offer little in lieu of comfort. They stood before the fire, clinging to each other for dear life.

“I tried, Cat,” Ned wept. “I swear I tried.”

“I know,” came her reply, muffled by his shoulder. “I know.”

But trying wasn’t enough and they both knew as much. Ned had tried his best, yet Arya was still lost in the cold. Nothing they could do would save her now; all they could do was wait. And wait they did, wrapped in each other by the roaring fire, praying silently to whatever would listen, a plea from their bleeding hearts rising to the skies like the smoke from the hearth—please bring her home.

 The forest was still and silent, snow sparkling cruelly in the soft light of the moon. Crunch, crunch, crunch, broke the trance-like hush as a form made its way slowly through the trees, limping lightly with each step. The Shifter walked upright for once, though it was unused to being on two legs rather than four. Primitive bandages were wrapped around its torso underneath a simple tunic, its breeches were ill-fitting and loose, and its feet were clad in a pair of boots that had been stolen long ago. Despite this, it was kept quite toasty by the layers of furs wrapped around its body, and the little figured clutched against its chest shared in that warmth. Her breathing was even and her body no longer frigid. Rather than passed out with exhaustion, she now was fast asleep in the Shifter’s arms, mumbling slightly as she squirmed. Even though every step brought a fresh wave of pain over the Shifter’s tired form, it knew that this little girl was worth it. The Shifter was first and foremost a protector, and this girl was no different.

In front of the Shifter, the wooden walls of the buildings of Winterfell rose into the sky. The streets were dark and quiet. Not a single soul seemed to be awake, and for once, the Shifter was thankful. Moving through a sleeping village would be much easier than navigating one that was awake and vigilant. Perhaps it could simply drop the little girl off on the doorstep of the great hall and leave before anyone saw it.

The Shifter took a deep breath and began to move through the darkened streets, taking care to step lightly on the firmly packed snow. It was almost too quiet, almost too sleepy. A child of the Lord of Winterfell was missing, and the people slept like logs? The Shifter was starting to feel anxious, unsettled in spite of itself. It was nearing morning, and it needed to hurry, but every step placed it deeper in the heart of the place it had avoided for nearly a century. Closer and closer it moved to the center of the village, seeing the rafters of the great hall peering between the rooftops. Nearly there, it reassured itself. Just a little further and she’ll be safe. It was dimly aware of the pain throbbing in its body and the little scarlet drops that followed its path, but it had come too far to turn back now. The girl was worth every step.

Finally, it came to a halt outside the gate that led to the house of Lord Stark. Timidly, though such a word seemed unfitting for such a massive being, the Shifter stepped into the yard, glancing around to scan for danger. To its surprise, there were no guards at the outposts, no soldiers patrolling the walls. Everything was deathly quiet. Everything was deathly still.

Crunch… crunch… crunch…. The Shifter cursed its heavy feet. The door was still a good hundred meters away, and the Shifter felt its heartbeat speeding up. Body aching, it took another step, and another, inching across the snowy yard to the doorstep where it could leave the girl. Just a little more, it thought, more a prayer than anything. Just a little—

The doors burst open with a bang. Standing in the doorway, eyes blazing in the cold, stood Lord Eddard Stark, his sword drawn and gleaming. “Guards!” he roared, striding quickly towards the Shifter. “At the ready!”

All around the Shifter, men rushed to their posts. Arrows were fitted to bowstrings and swords were drawn with a singing of steel. In less than a minute, the Shifter was cornered in the middle of the yard, staring down a furious Ned, whose blade was fixed at its neck with an alarming ferocity.

“Who are you?” The words were less of a question and more of a command. His voice was hoarse and grating, worn away by hours of tears. Frozen in fear, the Shifter stayed silent, gripping the little girl tightly beneath the furs.

“Who are you?” he barked, more forcefully now. The sword trembled in his grip, pressing into the Shifter’s throat and drawing a drop of crimson from the pale flesh. “What are you doing here?”

Behind him, Lady Catelyn rushed down the steps, hair flying as she rushed towards him. “Ned,” she cried. “What is going on?”

“Stop,” he commanded, turning his head ever so slightly to face her. “Stay where you are.”

She obeyed him instantly, hearing the seriousness in his voice and taking in the scene before her. Confusion and fear made her head spin, and she found herself shaking.

Ned turned back to the Shifter, his voice trembling with rage. “I will ask you once more. Who are you?”

The Shifter didn’t reply directly, only met his gaze with soft yellow eyes. Wincing in pain, it slowly knelt, feeling the point of Ned’s blade digging deeper into its neck. Ned was frozen, watching as this fur-clad figure got to its knees in the snow before him. The bowstrings creaked as the archers aimed, but Ned held his hand aloft and the guard lowered their bows. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Shifter bent to the ground with a hiss of pain, opening its arms and letting something slide to the snow. Swaddled tightly in furs and scraps of cloth, the bundle wriggled a bit and made a soft noise. The Shifter didn’t move, keeping its eyes on Ned as he watched the form in curious dread.

“Daddy?” The tiniest whimper rose from the shape.

For just a moment, no one moved.

“Arya?” Ned’s voice wobbled.

A hand emerged from the furs and Arya’s brown hair peeked through the pelts. Sleepily, she rubbed her eyes and muttered, “Oh there you are, Daddy. I was having the strangest dream.”

Ned let out a cry and dove to the snow, grabbing his daughter in his arms and drawing her to his chest, kissing her hair and her face and weeping in relief. “Arya, oh my Arya,” he sobbed between kisses. “You’re safe now, darling. Daddy’s got you.”

Catelyn was at his side in an instant, dropping to the snow next to him and wrapping her arms around the both of them. Tears ran silver down her cheeks, and she gathered Arya to her once Ned let go, kissing the top of her head and stroking her tangled hair. “Arya,” she murmured over and over between her sobs. “Arya, you’re safe!”

Behind them, the children burst from between the doors, running pell-mell down the stairs to where their parents cradled Arya between them.

“Arya!” Bran whooped, crashing into his father as he raced through the snow. “Sansa, it’s Arya!”

Sansa was there in another second, laughing as she grabbed Arya in a hug. “Oh Arya, don’t run off like that again!” she chided, pinching her cheek lightly.

Robb trailed behind a bit, standing sheepishly next to Ned as though waiting for permission to touch the sister he’d accidentally endangered. Catelyn noticed him shifting from foot to foot and stood, taking his hand, and leading him to Arya who sat between Bran and Sansa. Unable to look at Arya, Robb simply stared at the ground, muttering something about being happy to see her and thankful she was okay.

Arya stood up on shaky legs and moved until she stood in front of him. “Robb,” she said in a very no-nonsense voice, making him look up in surprise. “It’s alright. I forgive you for hitting me in the face with a snowball. Don’t be angry with yourself, it wasn’t your fault.” And with those words, she patted him softly on the hand and turned back to her father.

“Robb, what do you have to say to her?” Catelyn questioned lightly.

There was a moment of silence before Robb burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Arya,” he cried. “Thank you so much for coming back alive!”

Ned roared in laughter and gathered the two of them in his arms, tousling their hair and grinning from ear to ear. “Ah, if only grown adults could forgive as easily as the two of you, I’d have a lot less work to do.” He let go of them and kissed Arya on the forehead again. “We’d better get you inside, little one.”

“Ned.” Catelyn’s voice was low and sharp.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to face her, instantly recognizing why she’d gotten his attention.

The Shifter hadn’t moved from where it lay slumped in the snow. Its breathing was rapid and shallow, its closed eyelids trembling slightly. Underneath its form, a pool of red was blooming slowly across the stark white, and the acrid tang stung the cold air.

Arya was the first to move, breaking away from her father’s arms and rushing to the Shifter’s side. “Arya,” Ned barked, but she ignored him, dropping to her knees next to the huge form. Her hand reached out, small and white against the blackness of the furs ‘round its body and began to pet the matted black locks on its head. The Shifter started, opening its yellow eyes to see the grey eyes of the little girl looking intently at its wounded body.

“You’re the wolf,” she stated. There was no question, no uncertainty, just a gentle accusation.

The Shifter nodded slowly, wincing in pain.

“You saved my life.”

Again, not a question, so again, the Shifter nodded.

“Now you’re the one who’s hurt.” Arya ran a hand over the Shifter’s forehead, and it chuckled lightly, a sound like thunder boiling in a black storm cloud. “We must help you.”

That caused the Shifter to stop. Help? No one had ever helped the Shifter before, only run in fear from its presence. Breathing deeply, it gathered a voice that had gone unused for almost fifty years and spoke in a rasping growl that made the hairs on Ned’s neck stand straight up.

“There is no need, little one.” It’s voice was deep and rumbling like an earthquake, yet gentle when it spoke to Arya. There was no malice, no anger, only a sort of tender adoration.

Arya’s voice replied, high-pitched and sharp against the mellow nature of the Shifter’s voice. “There is too need,” she retorted. “You’re bleeding out in the middle of the courtyard.”

The Shifter laughed again and made as if to sit up, before letting out a short gasp and falling back. Arya put her little hand on the Shifter’s shoulder and held it down as best she could. “See?” The tone was very reproachful, and she stroked the Shifter’s hair as she continued. “You’re in no position to be going anywhere. That means we have to heal you, right Daddy?”

Ned Stark stood behind her, completely torn. On the one hand, Arya seemed to believe that this massive creature of a man had saved her life and it had, after all, brought Arya to Ned safe and sound. On the other hand, this man was larger than any man Ned had ever seen, standing two meters tall with the muscle structure of a bear. Should it decide to turn on them for any reason at all, Ned was uncertain of how much good he could do. In addition, the beast hadn’t introduced itself and they knew nothing about it save for the fact that it’d stumbled wounded into Winterfell with Arya in its arms. It was a tricky situation and Ned wasn’t entirely certain what to do.

“Well, Arya….” He trailed off, much to his disappointment. He couldn’t find the words to say what he wanted to say, and it seemed wrong to say I have no idea who this is so I’m not comfortable with it, or him, staying in my house, but it was what he would say if it weren’t for politeness’ sake. Instead Ned was staring down this man, this thing, that seemed more animal than human, knowing it, or he, had saved his daughter and was bleeding out in the snow, but Ned felt so uncertain of whether or not it was safe.

Catelyn saw her husband’s internal battle and shook her head, stepping past him to kneel next to Arya. “How badly are you hurt?” she asked the Shifter, extending her hand to sit next to Arya’s upon its mane of snake-like hair. “May I see?”

The Shifter hesitated, then nodded slowly, still anxious as whether or not to trust them. Catelyn’s hands moved slowly to the furs covering its massive body and peeled them back, making a wet sound when they separated. The Shifter growled in its throat, head falling back against the snow, chest heaving violently. Its eyes sparkled wildly with pain, fingernails digging into the calloused flesh on its palms and leaving little crescent moons of blood. Layer by layer, Catelyn’s skilled hands removed its wrappings until at last, the Shifter lay exposed before them, panting, eyes glazed and lips parted, feeling pained, afraid, and vulnerable. Moving to the bottom of the garment, Catelyn gently pulled it up to see the damage that had been done—puncture marks dotted the pale skin, oozing viscous red blood onto the snow. There was a moment of silence as Catelyn took in the scene before her. The blood, the wound, and perhaps most confusing of all, the fact that the body on the ground was undeniably…female.

“The wolves got her, Mummy,” Arya explained. “There were five of them and they were huge, but she jumped in front of them and killed all but two.”

“She?” Ned’s voice was full of shock.

“Yes,” Catelyn replied evenly. “She.”

Ned looked back and forth between his wife, his little girl, and the massive thing, or rather woman strewn on the snow before them, the blood spreading quickly. For a second, he said nothing, then “Can you stand?”

It, she, seemed uncertain. Her eyes were still full of fear, like an animal caught in a trap, but she shrugged her good shoulder and made a move to get up. A sharp hiss left her mouth, but she gritted her teeth and continued to rise as best she could with a body so broken.

“Ned, help her,” Catelyn said, and Ned moved swiftly to the Shifter’s side, wrapping her good arm over his shoulder. “Now, let’s get her inside.”

Slowly they made their way across the yard, up the steps, and through the doors. Arya stayed fixed at her mother’s side and the other children trailed a few steps behind, whispering to each other fervently. Despite the pain and exhaustion evident on the Shifter’s face, they finally made it to one of the guest rooms in the great hall and Ned guided her slowly to the bed.

She hesitated. “I’ll ruin it.”

“I care not,” Ned replied. “Please, lie down. I’ll have my healers tend to your wounds.”

Unwilling to disobey the Lord of Winterfell, she nodded and lied down, making a little pained noise in the back of her throat as she came to rest among the blankets. No sooner had her head hit the pillows than a huge wave of unconsciousness washed over her and bore her into a deep, dreamless sleep. Ned stepped back, watching as her form went limp almost instantly.

“Will she be okay, Daddy?” Arya asked from behind him.

“Yes, little one, I believe she’ll be just fine.” He pulled Arya to his side and ran a hand through her hair. “In fact, I think you could use some similar treatment. Why don’t we get you to bed?”

Too tired to argue the fact that she was not tired in the slightest, a common argument despite the level of exhaustion, Arya simply nodded and leaned her head against Ned’s hip. He chuckled and stooped to pick her up, sighing deeply as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in the crook of his shoulder.

“Daddy?” her little voice whispered next to his ear.

“Yes, little one?”

“I love you.”

Tears filled his eyes, and he took a deep breath. “I love you too, Arya.”

With that, he turned and walked from the room, leaving the Shifter to the skilled hands of his healers. He knew she would be safe given enough time, and unbeknownst to his family, he planned on keeping her in their home until she healed completely. He had no idea who she was or where she came from, but she had saved his Arya and that was enough for him. He had his Arya back, and that was enough. Stroking her hair, he made his way slowly to her bedroom where he gently deposited her on the cushions and furs. She give a little sigh of contentment and curled up almost instantly, snuggling deeper into her bed with a smile. “Good night, little one,” he murmured as he backed from the room. “Thank the gods you’re safe.”

And the Lord of Winterfell shut the door, pressed his back to the wall, and began to weep once more.

[authorellenmint]

Cullen being licked to death by a puppy, drawn by @voidtakeyou

"No."

The moment the word left his lips, he knew how fruitless voicing it was. Shaking her coiffed head, the ambassador clicked the point of her quill against reams of parchment they'd been bitterly arguing over for what felt half the day. While it all seemed beyond frivolous to Cullen, their spymaster was nearly always on Josephine's side to weigh each noble frippery request as serious. Not that those two being in harmony surprised him much, the two often thick as thieves.

Growing up with two sisters had greatly prepared him for such an eventuality, and having two women constantly gang up to veto whatever suggestions he had doubly so. Normally, Cullen would dig his heels in if he thought the matter important, but the last and most important voice always curbed his tongue.

Peering over the war map as if she didn't already command nearly half of it, the Inquisitor sighed, "I agree with Josephine. We best put on a show for the Duke lest he make life harder for our forces stationed near Jadar. Ambassador?" The woman who seemed to flit in and out of the wake of this nausea-inducing Game like a bird darting the clouds was much quicker to side with lady Josephine and the ex-Bard over a grumbling, broken down templar.

While they conversed about the best way to appease an overstuffed peacock in silk frills, Cullen pinched into the bridge of his nose. He couldn't wipe the snarl off his lips if he tried, and after the issues of the morning he saw no reason to attempt it. Minor things really; a broken cup here, a foolish soldier caught cavorting outside of his duties there -- all problems that he should be able to shake off. But they kept building in the back of his brain, forming a great mass until he knew one more problem to land in his lap and the Commander was liable to snap at whatever crossed his path.

In this mood, with the never ending headache setting up square in the back of his jaw, there was a great chance someone would wind up going over the walls. Which, sadly, wouldn't do well for morale.

"Well," the Inquisitor said with a tip of her head, "I think that's enough for today. I'll be heading off to the Western Approach for a few weeks. Do try to not burn the place down while I'm gone."

Leliana snickered a moment and tipped her shadowed head, "We shall endeavor, Inquisitor."

Third to escape from the war room, Cullen sneered at the sunlight breaking through the shattered bricks. Birdsong, rather than the harmonious flute trill it should be, shattered nail after nail into his skull. Trying to wipe away his hatred of all creations in the natural world by shielding his eyes, Cullen paused when he heard the ambassador clear her throat.

"Commander, if we may discuss...?"

"No," he repeated the only word that seemed to exist inside of his narrow vocabulary anymore. Her eyes narrowed at his impolite curtness, everyone unaware how he hung by his fingernails upon the cliff's edge most days.

Racing to take back the sting in his tone, Cullen sighed, "Not...not at this moment, Josephine. I have to get to something first."

"A matter with the troops?" she couldn't let it be, always curious. Like that damn dwarf who'd pry with questions that seemed perfectly crafted to flay off as much skin as possible.

With a steady step, Cullen walked away from the war room and towards the great hall. Behind himself, he added to her, "Something of that kind."

He could sequester himself safe inside the cool walls of his office. No doubt there'd be a good dozen soldiers tramping back and forth but at least they all had to listen to him, even if the click of their heels increased the throbbing in his teeth. But Cullen turned from the path to his sanctuary, growing more certain with every step that there was only one balm to cure him of this foul mood.

Rounding past the kitchens, where the cook barely deigned a glance at the man in armor and bear fur marching around their future dinner, Cullen stepped down the stairs towards the stables. It wasn't the horses he had his mind set on, though riding far from the concerns of a world on edge and the anxiety of looming death sounded tempting. Instead, he walked briskly past the stables, well aware that any person who spotted and recognized him would most likely pull him from his only salvation.

The building was small, barely large enough to fit a few pigs should Skyhold feel the need to raise such. Scrubbing off the heels of her boot stood the master in charge. She smiled at the Commander approaching, perhaps noting the grit in his teeth and the rise of a vein throbbing from the top of his head all the way down to the heel jammed inside a too tight boot.

"Here for another round?" she asked, a hand wrapped around the sun dappled apron cinched tight to her stomach.

"Yes, please," Cullen sputtered, well aware that any excess words could be the death of him.

She snickered a moment and opened the door just a breath. Peering into the darkness within, when the woman glanced back at him she winked, "I think they're ready for you. Ah, might want to take off your boots. It can get a bit messy."

Nodding his thanks, he wedged off his shoes. Despite being dressed in the full armor of his station, for a brief respite Cullen flexed his toes into the soft lull of grass. The winter mountain wind -- as brash as Sera's caw -- faded to a gentle caress, and if he closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was back home. Without the shoes to get in the way, he pushed on the door the woman all but guarded with her life and stepped inside.

Shadows shifted, his eyes burned from the sun struggling to discern the shapes of who slumbered inside. The cracked walls barely formed alcoves, perhaps the building once meant for a sty, but those Fereldens found another use for them. He glanced into one, the straw fully covering its occupant who wasn't in the mood for visitors.

Stepping cautiously, Cullen's eyes hunting the ground for surprises, when he came to the last stall he paused. The smile he kept buried deep inside his soul, the one that couldn't be touched by politics, by fear, by hatred, by death and pain, by Uldred, rose to grace his lips. Five little bodies slumbered in a pile, heads resting upon backs, legs nearly knocking into a brother's or sister's nose. They'd trampled down the straw during their last play session, their mother left to draw up a small towel as her bed while her pups got in the dozen or so naps necessary to grow.

He held his breath intending to watch the grey and tan mabari puppies sleep, when a yellow eye popped open. They all but sensed his arrival. It didn't take long for the entire litter to catch on that an old visitor arrived. The first one, a little boy with a small patch of white on his flank, rose to stubby legs. He proceeded to walk over his siblings, not caring who got in the way, in order to dash head first into Cullen's legs.

The pup wasn't slowed for a moment by the armor, his tiny paws padding back and forth over the top of his bare feet. He was so ecstatic to see Cullen, his little tail was thumping at the beat of a humming bird's wing. Tipping over, Cullen ran his gloved fingers against the pup's back and scooped under his stomach.

By the time he raised the little boy to his face, a scratchy pink tongue lapped all over his cheek. The pup made a little yip of excitement, and Cullen began to laugh from the joy in the dog's sparkling eyes. Something as simple as being cuddled in an arm was causing the dog to wag so much he was shaking Cullen's arm.

Stumbling away from the luster of sleep, the rest of the litter began to rise to see what got their brother so excited. All of the pups who were nearly six weeks old by now began to descend upon the great Commander. Laughing without any pause, without any trepidation curbing his tongue, Cullen tumbled to a knee. This gave all the pups the perfect chance to slather him in kisses. Some leaped onto him from the sides and the back. Everyone wanted to get into his face to show how excited they were to see him.

He never meant for this to become a tradition. The Ferelden man happened past a very pregnant mabari one of his soldiers found and felt it his duty to check on her progress. At a day old, looking more like rats than the mighty dogs they'd become, when the kennel master placed a pup in his palm to hold something changed. He didn't realize how much strain he carried upon his shoulders until this tiny puppy, its eyes not even open, its tail little more than a tremor when it suckled, nestled against his arm.

The pups were often finding that dusty old Commander stomping by. They certainly didn't want for entertainment in a keep surrounded by people who were ecstatic to play with puppies, but the kennel master maintained a tight watch on who could and couldn't see them. Perhaps it was abusing his power to be the only one to break the rules, but as he crumbled to his stomach letting twenty paws climb all over him, Cullen didn't care.

One of the girls, tan fur and a dark set of three lines on her back end, managed to make it all the way up to his shoulders. She dug her paws deep into his fur and, with a tiny growl, started to tear into it. Laughing, Cullen reached back to scoop her off, still fending away another four tongues attempting to lick him clean. The girl wasn't happy about losing her toy, but when he drew his fingers up and down her belly, the tongue lolled out and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

Unhooking the surcoat, Cullen lay his fur upon the ground. Without a thought, two of the pups grabbed onto both ends and began to tug. Their snarls were adorable chirps, but they meant them, one day growing into the warriors they were destined to be. But for now, their greatest foe to defeat was that pile of brown hair that smelled of a bent but not broken man.

Scooping two pups into his arm, and another clambering into his lap to find safety there, Cullen reached over towards his coat. The fighting pups paused a moment and looked towards the human who commanded this place. With a quirk of his lip scar, Cullen snatched onto the fur. A growl reverberated from his throat and he shook it for the pups. Both latched on quick, snarling to try to take down this great nemesis and win the game. Unimpressed with the whole thing, the pup in his lap opened her mouth wide in a yawn, then curled up to sleep.

The pressures of life, of the responsibilities he wore every day in an attempt to find restitution couldn't be shrugged off as easily as his coat. But for a few minutes with these puppies, the Commander could wipe his soul clean, put a smile inside his stomach, and be Cullen once again.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Oblivious Actions (snippet)

A teaser appears!

This is for a request I got for a Revali x Reader, and its the thing I posted the “no context” memes about. This is just like, a third or maybe a fourth of the full thing. Any critiques or typos found are appreciated! Anyway, Enjoy :P

It was a perfect day to disobey your elders.

The sky was just waking, strokes of rose and honey painted the edges of the horizon. The wind was crisp, and playful, ruffling through his feathers as he flew. Lake Totori glistened below. Sunlight shone across a bright blue expanse, laced with only a few, white clouds. The plateaus surrounding the area were dotted with pine trees, their umber trunks rooted to the ground. The air was open and infinite, gliding through the sky and observing the tiny specks of nature below filled him with a sense of wonder. Revali flapped his little wings down towards the forest.

HA! See? I’m already an expert flyer! I can explore as much of the world as I want, without any adults. I’m not a kid anymore!

The Rito baby blush marks that painted his cheeks said otherwise.

Even though Rito under 10 years of age were heavily discouraged from venturing beyond the bridges, Revali had decided he was big enough to go where he wanted. Behind him, the towering spire of Rito Village continued to shrink. To his left, the jutting figure of a wooden horse head could be seen. Hylians are so weird, needing other animals in order to move around. The stable in the distance then drowned into an evergreen sea. Gliding closer to the earth, the view of the sky was now covered with dry pine needles and brittle branches. He focused his attention to what was under him, trying to find a safe place to land. The breeze cooled and quickened. Revali angled his wings downward, trying to move his body to land gracefully among the trees.

He would fail.

There was a small clearing in the middle of the grove, a dirt path that travelers would use to hike between Warbler’s Nest and Rito Stable. Supposedly, following the trail even further up would lead to the infamous Hebra Peaks, a mountain range that lay just outside the view from his house, full of secrets and sights that no one has ever explored. Being the child that he was, naivety clouded his judgement, as Revali had ignored the warnings given to him about monsters nestled in the woods. Revali was desperate to get out of the village as soon as he grew enough feathers for it. 

Trying to plan his descent, he positioned himself at an angle, moving his weight, ready to land. His feet shifted forward, ready to grip onto something solid, but the wind suddenly changed. It’s direction altered only slightly, but it was enough to catch him off guard. Flailing his wings, Revali tried to catch the current under his wings again, but it was no use, the current keeping him in the air was gone, and his baby wings weren’t big enough to flap a large gust of his own. A stray branch knocking into his side, the little Rito tumbled into the dirt. 

“Gaah!” he grunted, panic coursing through him.

Revali plunged through the trees, not unlike how a snowball tramples down a mountain slope, picking up debris as it rolls. Falling through the branches, his feathery features caught sticks, leaves, and pinecones, until he connected with the earth with a thud.

“...ow…” 

The impact caused dust to cloud around him. It got in his eyes and settled on the edges of his feathers. The dirt wasn’t the worst place to land, but it still hurt. His crash had broken a few branches, causing a couple of pinecones and leaves to break loose. One stray, falling leaf hovered through the air, delicately. Its flight was much more elegant, dancing in the wind. It landed gracefully on the tip of his beak, its cinnamon hue and crinkly features mocking him. Revali blew it off with a “hmph!”

Sitting in the dirt, Revali brushed off the dust and twigs on his tunic as best he could. It was one thing that he had snuck out of the house, but coming back all dirty wouldn’t do either. Mumbling to himself, he sat there, taking in the sights and sounds of the woods. A much better setting than sitting in the house all day. Then there was an abrupt shuffling in the bushes. 

Looking up, Revali searched for the source of the noise. Getting to his feet, he picked up a twig and held it in front of him like a sword. Was it the monsters everyone had warned him about? His heart quickened, his mind raced. The trees still swayed in the wind, and the birds and bugs chirped, but suddenly everything was looking a lot more ominous. Another rustle. He hastily faced his left side, where a single dark green bush greeted him. Do I move closer? Back away? Revali was frozen in place. Finally, he dared to whisper.

“W-who’s there?” he asked.

Instead of a cliché silence, his question was immediately answered with a loud scream from the bush.

“AHHHHH! IT’S TALKING!” the bush yelled.

Revali followed suit and screamed himself, as it was only natural to be scared of shrieking plants.

“AAHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHHHH?!”

This exchange of confused and fearful yelling went on for a few seconds. A few sparrows took off for the sky, startled by the noise. Then, silence took hold again, with only the wind brushing through the woods. The bush and Revali stared at each other for another eternity. Finally the bush spoke again.

“Why are you pretty?”

“AGH?! What?” the Rito took a step back, bewildered. “W-wha...what’re you talking about??”

Suddenly, a small face peeked out from the bush. Their eyes were wide, and curious, but their expression was still wary. “I said, why are you pretty? Monsters are supposed to be ugly.”

Revali tightened his grip around the twig. “I’m not! You’re the one hiding in a bush, so you’re the monster if anything. I’m a Rito!”

“A Rito?” a small, Hylian child stepped out of the bush. They were wearing a maroon tunic, along with stable gloves and boots. The collar of their shirt was lined with cotton. A loopy scarf, that was far too big for them, was wrapped around their shoulders, etched with the emblem of the Hylian Stable System. Their hair was messy, probably from hiding within the bush. Gripped in their hands was their own makeshift sword, a wooden spoon. They waved it in Revali's direction. “You’re way too tiny to be a Rito. The ones who visit the stables are always taller than my mom.”

“W-well, then maybe you’re mom’s short!” Revali sputtered out.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh!’

He stomped his foot. “Obviously, I’m not a monster. I’m just of a… different height, because kids don’t leave the village, it's only the adults you see. So quit being dumb. I mean, I can talk can’t I?”

The Hylian crossed their arms, tapping the spoon against their elbow. They considered his argument… I guess a tiny monster couldn’t eat me in one bite anyhow. “Fine then. If you’re not a monster, then you should have a Rito-sounding name, right? So what is it?”

Revali held his beak in the air and turned his back, crossing his own wings in imitation. “Hmph! Well why should I tell you when you’re a complete stranger! I thought you were a monster too, you know.”

The Hylian squinted their eyes thinking. “Well… fine. Your name probably sucks anyway! Thanks for scaring me half to death, tiny Rito!”

With that, the child turned around and started marching back in the direction of the stables. They made an effort to pound their boots on the ground to make as much sound as possible. Revali was left with his beak hanging open. How dare they! They’re the one with a sucky name, whatever it is.

He ran behind them, trying to catch up. He fluttered his wings to shake off any other dirt and twigs. He matched their pace, and puffed out his feathers. “I’ll have you know that I have a supercool nickname! Nicknames are always cool, therefore my name doesn’t suck. So, Ha!”

The Hylian raised an eyebrow. “Well, what is it then? What’s your fancy name?”

“They call me…” he stopped and posed, both wings outstretched in front of them, “...the Supreme Master of the Sky!”

They Hylian clutched their stomach, laughing hysterically. “HA! There’s no way that’s true. I saw you crash through the trees earlier! Some master you are, that’s probably even dumber than whatever your real name is.”

Revali narrowed his eyes, “Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh.”

“Hmph! Well at least I have a cool nickname. I bet you don’t even have one!” 

“Nope. People just call me [Name], because my name is already great and I don't need dumb nicknames or titles.” They stuck out their tongue at him.

Revali made a dumb face in retaliation, before responding. “Fine, if you won't call me that, you can just stick with ‘Revali,’ and you better remember it!” 

[Name] shot him a look, then huffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

The two of them continued their walk through the woods. Revali trusted it was the route back to the stable. They talked and jeered, laughed and scowled at each other, their conversations about nothing in particular. At one point, the Rito attempted to show off by gliding through the air. It would end with another crash, and the Hylian child chuckling.

“It’s cause you still have a bunch of stuff tucked in your wings!” [Name] said with a sigh. Removing a pinecone and several bits of dried leaves, they cleaned up the rest of Revali’s wing. When taking out a twig, they accidentally took out a feather.

Revali yelped, “Ow! What was that for?”

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to get rid of this.” [Name] chucked the twig over their shoulder. The feather they had taken out was mainly white, but faded into a deep, indigo color at the bottom. It was like a star had shot across the sky, and its streak had colored this single, delicate feather. [Name] brushed it against their fingers, and stared at it in awe. It’s so pretty.

“Pfft. I know that. Anything from me is great.” Revali’s feathers puffed up in pride.

Oh no! Did I say that out-loud?? “Uh...yeah.” [Name] mumbled. They suddenly became very interested in the condition of their boots, turning their head to the ground as the two of them walked. 

A silence fell between them. Then, 

“Can...can I keep this?” 

Revali cast them a glance. “Uh...sure, why not. Not like I need it anymore. I’ll have plenty next time I molt.”

[Name] looked up, eyes wide. “Really?! Are you sure? This doesn’t, like, curse me or anything right?”

He scoffed. “No, of course not. It’s just a feather. I’ve seen adults trade them all the time. It’s fine. Whatever...”

The large horse head was now in front of them. The trees were more dispersed, and piles of lumber scattered the ground. The muted colors that decorated the stable billowed in the wind, the breeze blowing loose cloth and banners across the sky. To the left were the wooden bridges. They led up to a towering spire, the familiar shape of Rito Village casting over the two of them. The two of them stopped by the back side of the stable. [Name] forced themself to plaster on a grin.

“Well, guess I’ll see you never!” they jeered.

“Ha! If I’m lucky, I’ll never see you or your wooden spoon again!” Revali stuck his tongue out at them. 

After staring at each other for another eternity, [Name] finally turned around and ran back towards the entrance to the stable. Revali then began his walk back over the wooden bridges.

The next day, Revali would be punished for sneaking out of the village. His grounding would include having to do extra chores, specifically by having to help around Rito Stable for the rest of the month, much to [Name]’s surprise. Neither of them minded.

- - - - - 

Years Later…

- - - - - 

The Champions had arrived. 

AAAANDD That's where that ends. Mwahahaha that’s right. I’m cutting it off right there. Take that nerds. Oh what’s that? You want more? You want to understand the no context memes? You want more Revali? And the Champions? More cute stuff? More dumb stuff? Well you’re going to have to wait.  So here’s a cliff for you to hang on

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