A Crown of Thorns

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. Humid drops ran through the forest tops, the fickle snow melting beneath the glory of the sun.

Ethan got up from his resting place and stretched. He had not slept for the entire night, and scacely did he get up until the first ray of sunlight peeked through the canopy and onto his face. His tiger friend had escaped after devouring all of the deer that was left. Ethan himself only ate a part of the leg.

It was hardly a scrumptious meal, bland, tasteless and a bit burnt.

Even though the situation seemed right enough for him to hit the sack, albeit on rocks and wood, he thought better of it. There was no telling of wolves and other tigers like his friend. Although the cat's presence meant there were unlikely to be other big predator's around, the cat itself was more than enough reason for him to be on guard. Even now, Ethan was uncertain if the cat had truly left.

He washed his hands and face in the cold water of the stream and felt himself shiver a bit. It was a strange experience for sure. He did not feel the water was too cold, although he would be lying to say it wasn't. The freezing ice and the snow all around told him of the temperature. Perhaps the blood of Alll-Mer raging inside his body gave him special resistance against the cold.

Hooo~

He exhaled a plume of vapour and rubbed his hands on his arms.

"It is very cold here." He said to himself. It seemed his temperature resistance had a limit after all. In the peak hours of the night, that limit had become especially apparent. But that was an easy fix. He had to poke the spear for a single drop of blood to come out, and summoning the blood sword would heat his body to the point that the snow on his clothes would melt.

Desummoning and resummoning the spear was, of course, a more controlled version of that. He did not need a drop of blood for it, and it warmed him sufficiently to simply ward off the the immediate cold.

He sighed again. "Now..." He looked up. The towering trees blocked his vision. He would need to climb the tree again today.

"I can either try and scout for possible settlements around here from the trees, or I can follow the river, either downstream or upstream. Downstream might take me towards the coast. There's bound to be some village there, right? Upstream might just take me towards the mountains where the temperature would be harsher." He mused. The spear, which he had momentarily kept on the ground to wash his face again appeared in his hands.

"Man... I wish I had some gps. I didn't even bring my phone with me... Woe is me!" He did his everyday share of whining and was now ready to get some work done.

Alright then, let us consider our options clearly. The stream will inevitably join in with a river and drain into a sea. That said, there's no guarantee that there will be a settlement there.

In comparison, there's no con in scouting from the trees... other than me falling. But what are the chances of that? And with that, he had decided.

He hauled himself through the stream and over the opposite ridge. The trees and branches again pressed closer to him. Realizing that moving through the thick growth was going to be troublesome with Longinus, he desummoned the spear.

He moved some distance further into the forest and found a fairly tall pine tree, closeby to a sentinel. The branches were low hanging, making it a easy task to get atop it.

In just a few moments, Ethan had already climbed about 10 meters into the air. After he reached the top, he jumped to the sentinel. The frozen sap from the trees clung to his hands yet again. As he broke through the canopy, the sunlight hit his face unbidden, and what he saw took his breath away.

Dense forest of green as far as he could see, mountains and valleys and jagged peaks in the distance in one direction, flatlands laced with snow in another. And reigning over it all, was the light of the sun. The light split in the air, scattering it's colours into a rainbow that curved through the air and into the far distance. The clouds swaddled in the sky, like sheep going through a bright blue grass field.

Faint traces of snow flakes fell from the sky. One landed on his shoulder.

"Damn..." His eyes shone as he saw the entirety of the world unfold before his eyes. At that moment, he felt as if he were back at his grandmother's house, climbing that tree, away from all the troubles of life and living the best life he could. "This isn't a scene you can ever find in a city." He chuckled, self-deprecatingly.

A strange feeling bloosomed in his chest as he looked upon it all.

"I wish this moment were forzen in time..." His eyes softened. "What a transcendent experience." Shaking his head to break himself out of these thoughts, he focused on the objective at hand. The south blowing winds tore at his skin. And with those, a tactful observation appeared in his mind.

He was someone who prided himself in knowing a little bit of everything. And winds, at least in accordance to his middle school education, flowed as per temperature differences.

Hot air would rise through the atmosphere, creating a pressure gradient. The cold air in other regions which was heavier and could not ascend would flow from their own place, having higher pressure, to the vaccum that the hot air left behind, an area with lower pressure.

Of course, there were hundreds of other factors to consider. The geography in particular. Mountains, seas, rivers, all served to make a difference when talking about how winds blew. When talking in purely temperature terms, in would be logical to assume that the south going winds were going to a warmer area, it could be entirely different based on the landscape. And in the distance, Ethan could clearly see mountains looming ominously.

"Decisions, de~cisions." He said.

And so, he thought of where exactly he might be on the map. Chances were, he was somewhere in the north. South held little land with large forests and cold climates. Antarctica came to mind, but that was an icy desert. Australia was not really known for it's cold.

And so it was decided. He would head south. It had the highest chances of him finding warmer regions. Of course, there was always the chance he was no longer on Earth and he was walking to his demise by heading south, but that could just as easily be refuted by the winds. The cold winds blew southward.

That meant the south was warmer.

His reasoning was simple, if, a bit rash. But frankly, he was not too worried.

I should be a lot more worried for my life right about now... It's not like I don't fear death. The encounter with the tiger testified to that quite clearly. What gives? He could not help but furrow his brows, but then decided better of getting lost in his own thoughts.

With the scouting done, he made his way down.

As he did, he could not help but look at the beautiful scenery again.

...

He did not slip this time. But halfway down, he did notice something prowling the undergrowth.

A tiger, large and ferocious with blackened fur laced with white stripes.

It's following me? Inwardly, Ethan was split on how he should react. Should I be worried, or should I be happy?

He deliberately made some noise in the branches, and the tiger looked up to meet his eyes. Then, baring it's fangs at him, the feline dashed away and disappeared into the woods.

"... I should just keep Longinus summoned at all times."

Feeling a bit speechless, he finally got down and started his travel. Although he had not slept, his body was still full of energy. Something he was thankful for. With how things were with his stalker, he was not sure if he would be getting any sleep for the foreseeable future.

The stream flowed some distance along the south before making a sharp curve eastward.

He drank his last mouthful of water, feeling the cold rush through his throat and finally decided to move. It ought to have many germs and pathogens which could only be served by boiling, but that was a hard task considering he had no containers to speak of. Not to mention that the water was cold. In the frozen lands, any man would suffer grievously if he drank the water without warming it.

Ethan left both of those tasks for his enhanced body to figure out. His immune system also ought to be boosted right?

He summoned Longinus by his side and moved by cutting through the branches that came in front of him. All while feeling the curious stare at his back.

...

The rhythmic sound of hooves tore through the soft snow as a band of wildlings dashed across the landscape, mounted on their large horses, a destrier or two and the rest not so much. The destrier riders led the pack; mounted atop them were large burly men, their beards dropping to their chests and coloured like iron rings, their arms more like wooden stumps and their frames akin to giants. Following them were lesser men, smaller in size but dressed in largely the same manner.

Gerdal looked back and around.

Their chests covered with boiled leather and legs with sewn sheepskin. Cloaks made of animal fur were draped over them, some wolf, other and himself shadow cat and on one of the leading men, his own brother - mammoth. On them were various forms of crude weaponry; spears, axes, bows; made out of stone and wood with a single exception. A war-axe made with gleaming iron and a wooden handle, hanging at the hip of one of the destrier riders. It's steel edge, sharp and shiny was embossed with various markings.

Gerdal and his group had made their way at the first sign of sunlight and passed the Fist of the First Men an hour ago. South-eastm they were heading. Towards the Bay of Seals and from where they would cross the wall and enter the Gift to raid and pillage.

A man in the back line spoke something, but his words were swept by the wind. The cold wind bit into their skin and tore at them with relentless ferociousness. Some felt the skin on their cheeks burn from the cold. Nothing burns like the cold. Gerdal still remebered the previous winter. Half of his tribe had succumbed to the chilly winds then, Gerdal himself laying halfway to death's door, barely surviving off the fear of the one they called the stranger beyond the wall.

He remembered then, he had wept a lot. He was but a boy of 10 at the time. Since then, he had never taken cold lightly.

They passed a short stretch of forest and then a small river. The water was icy and frozen, it made him flinch in fear, but he dared not show it to his brother and the men.

On the way, they saw many animals, deers, wolves, rabbits, snow bears.

Scarcely did they speak, if ever. But that changed when they were about to enter the haunted forest. Their pace slowed as one of the leading men, the one with the mammoth cloak, turned to the others.

"We'll be entering the crows' nest now. Be on guard. Sometimes, they patrol into the far reaches, just enough for some parties to get caught. If you see a man in black, make note of it. Preferably, we will eliminate them." This man, Haud, was one of the strongest of their tribe. He had gotten in conflict with the crows many a times, far too many and had managed to secure with him two destriers, upon which rode himself and his brother, and weapons of glorious steel.

They were his spoils and his medals. Everyone nodded in affirmation.

And so, they continued on, albeit with a quieter pace.

The sunlight turned overhead, falling atop their heads. It did little to combat the cold, but it was better than nothing. They had travelled more than 70 miles, and the collective thought was to rest up for a time, eat and be back on the track.

The Haunted Woods were large, large enough to take multiple days of controlled travel. Of course, if one was stubborn enough, no amount of terrain or cold would stop them from covering it within a single day. But such thoughts were suicidal, and with the thickness of the forest that impeded large travel groups and luggage, impractical. They would be thankful if they could cover half of the distance in a day, much less all of it.

They slowed down further and the Haud sent two of the riders to scout the terrain while the rest set up temporary camp.

There were no wasted movements. They were old players in the field, one might even call them regulars. They had made 5 trips back and again; throughout which they had only ever lost 4 members. This was going to be their 6th. They were well versed with the matters of survival and camping.

Gerdal and Haud supervised the others. However, the situation suddenly took on another turn when one of the scouts came back.

"Man spotted! Up north!" He yelled. Haud's eyes sharpened and everyone instantly became alert.

Man? Gerdal wondered for a moment if he'd heard wrong. It would be different if the scout had said a party, or the crows. But man?

"Crows?" He asked.

"No! It's a lone man, not dressed in black." The scout replied. "He wears strange clothing and is afoot." He said, his tone full of anxiousness.

"Afoot?" Gerdal asked, getting a nod in return. "So far into the forest?"

"Perhaps a wolf got to the horse?" said one of the riders.

"A wolf doesn't hunt alone. What are the chances he survived?"

"Might not have come by himself. Might have been a group." Haud jumped in.

"What else, man?" Gerdal asked the scout.

"He holds an excellent piece of weaponry. It's a spear red as wine and has a tapering blade at the egde to serve as both a piercing and a slashing weapon. It's good craftsmanship."

Hearing his words, Haud scoffed.

"Turning a spear into a blade as well? Is the maker retarded? Doing so would lose the effectiveness of the spear and not have enough leverage to be used as a cleaving weapon anyway." He grumbled. But then, a cruel smirk bloomed on his face.

He licked his lips greedily, his hand grazing the piece of fine iron at his hip.

"Fine then. Let us check it out. I will gut the man myself and take the spoils." In just a few moments, all of them mounted their horses. They waited just a few more minutes for the other scout to come back before they set off.

It was another one of their rules. Never split off the force. Of course, scouting was a different matter. But when talking of possible conflict, they always travelled together no matter how small the threat.

The scout led them this time. They were in a large clearing, the likes of which were scattered in various areas of the haunted forest. Trees, large and imposing still jutted out of the ground hither and tither in various spaces and the landscape was discontinued by small ridges and barrows, making it impossible to see the entire clearing at once.

Some place south, they reached the intended location. A man walked along the clearing. His hair was dark and his clothing was peculiar. His gait, although not much could be gleamed from such a distance, did not seem too impressive.

And sure enough, in his arms was a spear.

Haud and Gerdal's eyes shone upon seeing it. In their hearts there was a collective thought. I want that spear.

The man moved with a surprising ease as they noted. Despite not being extensively clothed, he did not seem too bothered by the cold. His features did not strike them immediately for a particular ethinicity, but they assumed he was a kneeler from the south; not one of the crows though, as shown by his clothes.

"Well, I'll be dammed. Gods have blessed us today. Seems like a fine piece of iron. And the man may serve well as a slave." Haud billowed. Gerdal nodded in return.

And so, they moved.

The scout at the head nocked an arrow at Haud's order and took a shot. The whistling sound of the arrow leaving the string startled a bird in the trees as much as it did the man it was headed towards. The freefolk watched with sharp eyes as the arrow landed just before the foot of the man, stopping him in his tracks.

The man looked up as the freefolk group dashed across the land, mounted on their steeds and looking every bit ferocious and cruel and powerful as they were. The man narrowed his eyes at them as they neared.

Haud, leading the group, screamed at him. "Drop your weapon, boy! And we might just take you for a slave!" The man looked at him strangely.

"Excuse me? Slave? What is this place? What type of a backward, 18th century shit is this?" The accent was foreign to him as well, but that did not surprise him. The world had many places, and numerous accents dwelled in Westeros itself. The crows' also recieved such people from all over.

"Did you not hear what he said, kneeler!?" Assuming that this strange specimen of a man was from beyond the wall, one of the men yelled, nocking another arrow into the bow and pointing at him. Gerdal continued to look at him with a pointed stare. He could feel something wrong. He was dangerous.

His instincts honed from years of raiding and pillaging were erratic in front of him. Gerdal scanned his lanky form. Surely he did not have much strength behind his frame. His clothes weren't suited for the cold either. He ought to have spent his strength surviving so far out here. And looking at the direction he was going, he must've been vying for the wall.

The man visibly tensed at the provacation. They could feel his posture shifting and see the grip on his spear, tight as it was, tighten to the point his knuckles turned white.

"How the fuck are you people?" He said. Gerdal could see how he shifted the grip on his spear to a reverse one, ideal for throwing. He was not worried. The spear seemed solid iron. If anything, it'd fail to reach even their horses. "I'll have to tell you, I don't speak idiot."

That was the breaking point. "Kill him." Gerdal said, plain and terse. The arrow released. And an arc of red followed. Blood spurted behind Gerdal and a splash of warmth at his side and back brought him out of his momentary shock. His eyes widened instantly as the destrier below him whined in response to the sudden turn of violence.

"What the hell?!"

"Kill him!"

A cacophony of noise erupted behind him.

He did not see what had happened. Just a flash of light, and something metallic dashed past him. He had seen the man throw his hand ahead, but nothing beyond that. The arrow that had flown had missed the man by quite a large margin, painfully obvious that it was a consequence of the man being faster at throwing whatever he had. And the man... was unarmed?

Gerdal felt his heart lurch. He threw the spear? He thought. With such speed?

Gerdal unmounted the restless steed, as did everyone else in their fit of panic. They drew their weapons. The remaining archers, scouts was their official position in the team, did not bother to use the bow. At such a distance, the gap could be closed in an instant, and he could hit his fellows in a misfire.

Wooden and stone axes, spears and swords; and finally, a sheen of metal. Haud dashed at the man with a wild roar. The unarmed, eerie figure watched him approach, his legs spread about and his hand bleeding for some odd reason. Gerdal flanked from the left, and two people from the right. The remaining two followed up behind Haud. One of them retreated to the fallen brother, most likely to get the spear that was lodged in his chest.

Haud swung his mighty axe down, it's edge sharp enough and the power strong enough to cut any lesser man in two.

Another flash of red, and Haud's throat was pierced with a blood red sword. Where the sword had come from, Gerdal did not know. He sweeped with the sword in his hand in a wide arc, an action which the man responded instantly with by swiping his sword out of Haud's throat and cutting through his weapon in a single motion.

The men behind him, momentarily shaken from watching their leader die were a step behind. And that was the mistake.

Gerdal could not help but think that time had slowed down. He saw the man take a step forward, and himself take one backward. The red sword, sharp and bloodied swung at him from above. He tried to block with his arms raised high.

He heard a scream behind him, at the place the man had gone to retrieve the spear.

And then, silence.

He died thinking in his heart of the biting cold that rang up his feet and over his body as he rolled down to the ground. He thought of the warm wine and how he would sit beside a warm fire and sing and dance with his brother and stolen women. Finally, he wondered. Why could the sword cut through his weapon so cleanly?

...

Ethan had seen many unreasonable people in life. Most were easy enough to deal with. But this particular group of... barbarians, as he called them in his head, were more difficult than most.

Here he was, walking along a beautiful snowy path. Just until he heard the sound of hooves. He thought he would be saved finally and get to see civilization, but that thought changed soon as an arrow landed before his feet.

He had been scared, but more than that, he had been weirded out. Who the fuck uses arrows these days? He had thought to himself. It was not moments later that he had gotten his answer.

The language they spoke were... odd. He did not know of the language, neither had he had any recollection of learning said language. He simply... understood? And more importantly he could even speak it.

The short exchange he had with them answered a lot of his questions. First of all, he was neither in Russia, nor in Canada. That part might've been cleared the moment he met a tiger, but he wasn't entirely convinced. Now? The language wasn't anything like Russian, neither was it English or French.

And they talked of slaves.

That alone told him he was in for some shit.

It happened a little too quickly to be truthful. He did the only thing he deemed logical at the moment. He provoked them to throw them off. It seemed to work to some degree. The archer that had the arrow was dead. He had freaked out when the arrow was drawn and ready to shoot, so he threw the spear with everything he had.

To his surprise, the spear had pierced straight through his chest, stopped by the cross that lay at the hilt of the blade.

Luckily for him, he had already bloodied his hand when the arrow was shot before his feet.

The men dismounted in their panic, and it led to two more deaths.

Ethan knew little of armed combat. He had taken some lessons in Boxing and knew a bit about grappling. But the phantom feeling again came to save him. His hands drew a perfect arc through the air as the sword fell on the imposing men like the wrath of god.

The man raised his hands in a bid to save himself, yet the sword ran straight through his arms and cleaved him, shoulder to hip. The blood poured over his face and he closed his eyes.

He heard a scream, and he turned.

Some distance away, where the corpse of the man he had thrown his spear at laid amid the horses, there was a man that grasped the spear. Ethan saw, and he froze.

A phantom burn ran from the man's hands and up his arms, covering his face and his chest. The burning caused his skin to split and mold into something hideous. His guttural screams were hard to ignore.

Everyone froze at that moment. Ethan's face hardened, and he knew of the reason. He had touched Longinus without his permission. He had paid the price. The bowls of the sulfur pits were not kind to anyone, anyone expect the one who held Longinus.

He did not wait then. He held his sword and dashed for the two men who had flanked him from the left, his eyes shaking in his sockets and his chest heaving with uneven breaths. They were stunned still from the man's roars of unadulterated pain. And so, Ethan, with his preternatural agility tore through them with his sword.

"Hoooo~" He exhaled and sliced at the air to rid the blade of the blood. His body had turned warmer now. He breathed, heavy and weary. Sweat poured from his temples and forehead as he felt his back wet with nervousness. He felt his hands shake, but he pushed the sensation down.

He looked at the last man who was now kneeling in the snow. There was a puddle of water below him, the snow all but melted and the puddle steamed.

Ethan made a disgusted face at him, but he could not blame the man. Momentarily, he and the frightened man stood silently, watching each other. Ethan was at a loss on how to approach the situation. He had killed people, having taken a life. His heart suddenly felt heavy at what he'd done. Perhaps he should have opted for a better approach and tried to reason with them a bit more? But more than the fact he had done such a thing, he felt a strange calmness about it. Axiousness was part of it, as was panic and dread; but a calm loomed over it, ever watchful and eclipsing.

But he could not falter here, he told himself.

Must push on. There's still this guy here. Make sure of your survival, first and foremost. Think of everything afterwards.

"Hey." Ethan said. The man flinched.

He walked closer, the sword slung over his shoulder. "I'll ask you again. What the hell is this place?"

"T-this is the lands beyond the wall! Please! Spare m-me! I have a wife and- and kids, I have a whole litter of them! How will they survive if I don't go back to them!"

"Beyond the wall?" Ethan raised an eyebrow.

"Yes! Beyond the wall! The continent of Westeros!"

Westeros? The Wall? Suddenly, his mind clicked with an answer. It was vague, but it was enough.

Shakily, he opened his mouth. "Say... is there something like the hourse Targaryen?"

The man nodded fervently, "Y-yeah! They're the kings of the kneelers that live further south! Th-they're dragon riders!"

"Shit."

One of the destriers neighed in response.

...

Give me your stones.