JON
The wildlings were known to come south of the Wall on occasion. Those who braved the climb would spend hours inching towards the top of the icy barrier with nothing to support their weight other than thin picks and even thinner rope while those that feared death by a great fall would bypass the Wall altogether and descend into the Gorge to make their way around the Shadow Tower. Wildlings have been found as far south as Bear Island and the Umberlands but the King's hunting party was a hundred miles even further south than that.
While Ned Stark had expressed interest that Jon join the hunting party, Lady Catelyn was not in favour of his presence being known. When the caravan left Winterfell, Jon blended into the stewards at the rear where they tended to the luggage and food supply. He spent most of the trip north in silence, watching the backs of soldiers march ahead until they entered the densest section of the woods.
When the wildlings attacked, Jon was ready to defend. He was trained in Winterfell alongside his brothers, so he knew his way around a sword, but he had never fought for his life before. The stewards cowered together while Jon did his best to hold back the wildings; some managed to steal from the carts before disappearing into the green bushes. Jon's direwolf, Ghost, a pale white, red eyed creature, attacked the wildlings with deadly force. He flew like snow in a blizzard, tearing apart wildling enemies while protecting the people of Winterfell and King's Landing.
The screams of a woman could be heard from the front of the caravan, and Jon feared that those were the cries of the princess. He lost focus for a split second, and a wildling took advantage of this opportunity and knocked him from his horse. Jon hit the ground hard, a shooting pain made its way up his side and ended at his shoulder. A man stood over him with his axe raised when suddenly two arrows penetrated his chest and stuck out of the leather on his back. The wildling man stumbled backwards before falling to his knees; Theon Greyjoy aimed afar with his bow raised, another arrow notching in place as he shot again in another direction. Jon didn't waste the opportunity and before the wildling could take his final breath, Jon's sword opened his throat. More help from Winterfell soldiers arrived and the carts were better protected. Abandoning the stewards who were surrounded by northern guards, Jon met up with Theon.
"Where's the princess?" Jon asked, his eyes scanning the surrounding area as his sword deflected a wayward sword.
Arrows flew from Theon's bow and were quickly replaced as he shot into the crowd; even in practice, Theon never missed his target. "The wildlings took Isolde into the woods and the princess chased after her. I think the King sent some men to find them," Theon said.
The battle continued to rage, and the wildlings weren't going down without a fight, but anyone could tell that the northerners and southerners would find victory in the end. Knowing that there were trained soldiers out searching for the princess didn't put Jon's mind at ease, they didn't know the wildlings and they didn't know the North. "I'm going after them," Jon stated.
Before Theon could protest, or follow, Jon had taken off away from the battle, in pursuit of where he last heard the cries for help. While the King's guards may be skilled knights, Jon was certain they were no match for the tracking abilities of a direwolf. Ghost's snout took in all of the scents in the air above before pointing down and taking in the smells of the earth; once he caught the trail, he vanished into the brush with Jon in tow.
The wolf and his master hadn't run for long when the screaming came to an abrupt stop. Ghost paused briefly, looking towards Jon who was unmoving. His blood ran cold and his feet began to move again in the same direction they were originally headed. He was moving blindly, unsure of where to go next; perhaps he should have turned left at the large boulder instead of moving right, or should he have passed the group of young pine trees instead of continuing through them. Parting the leaves of low hanging branches, Jon pushed into a clearing; the scene in front of him was worse than he had expected. Blood stained the forest floor where the bodies of three wildlings and a gold cloak lay dead, the princess was nowhere in sight. "Princess Ragnelle?" He called, circling the clearing in each direction but she was nowhere to be seen. "Princess!" Ghost had stopped close to the dead bodies, distracted by the overwhelming smell of blood and open flesh; his teeth were exposed as he growled low.
A small moan came from the bushes opposite of the wildling corpses and a young woman pulled herself through the dirt. "The princess, where is she?" The woman asked, her fingers digging into the ground as Jon came to her aid. It was the princess' handmaiden, Isolde.
"Do you know what happened here? Where is Ragnelle?" Jon asked hurriedly. Rationale was not at the forefront of his thoughts. He realized this late and then moved to help the dark haired woman with eyes as green as fresh summer grass.
Isolde was hurt, he noticed the red stains on her temple and the purple bruise forming around the open wound. Besides her one injury, she seemed to be in good health. "The wildlings... they dragged me from the caravan. The princess chased after me and... a knight. He killed two of them but he was wounded terribly. I got in their way and... something hit me. Princess Ragnelle, she..."
Rustling came from nearby and Jon's sword was raised, but he lowered it quickly when he realized it was Theon, Robb, and Grey Wind, his brother's direwolf. "The King and his men were still driving away the wildlings when we left. I informed father we came to help in the search for Ragnelle," Robb explained.
"We mustn't waste time... there are others out there, the princess-" Isolde fell back into Jon's arms, half conscious; it was impossible for her to tell them where Ragnelle might have gone.
"You need to go back," Jon said. "We'll find her."
A fire burned in Isolde's eyes and with whatever strength she still carried, she pulled herself up, pressing a gloved hand to her wound. "I... will not return without the princess."
"Then you must keep up, we cannot afford to continue standing around," Robb stated.
Theon offered to assist Isolde who was reluctant but accepted his help so that they may find Ragnelle with due haste. From what Jon could tell, Ragnelle must have taken the attention of the wildlings and led them astray in order to protect Isolde. Grey Wind and Ghost were able to catch a scent and led the group deeper into the woods. What troubled Jon was as they followed heavy footprints and broken branches, there were faint traces of blood on stones and leaves that he hoped did not belong to the princess.
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RAGNELLE
It took a while for Ragnelle to circle around and head back in the direction of the hunting party. After Ser Lamiel had appeared and killed three of the wildlings, Ragnelle watched in horror as Isolde struggled against her captors and was hit with the blunt end of one of their axes. She couldn't tell whether her friend was alive, because in that short moment, the knight also became distracted and lost his life at the end of a sword. Ragnelle took the chance and jumped from her horse, grabbing Ser Lamiel's blade and injuring one of the attacking wildlings. He screamed out in pain while his companion lifted his weathered blade to deliver a devastating blow to the princess, but in that moment, Midnight came between them. The horse cried out as its hooves kicked at the wildlings, trying to keep them away from her rider. Ragnelle had no other choice; with the weapon gripped tightly in her hand, she began to run.
The sky began to turn pink as the world grew darker and Ragnelle was armed with a sword too heavy and the cloak Robb had gifted her earlier was the only thing that kept her warm. There were still a few hours left until sunset, but her worry was that the caravan had changed locations in an attempt to search for her. Ragnelle hoped only a few scouts had been sent to track her down; she was confident that she could make it back on her own, but she worried about the dangers lurking around her. She had temporarily lost the wildlings who were chasing her, and she wanted it to remain that way until she found help. There was also the matter of getting back to Isolde and checking on her condition, Ragnelle feared about the fate of her friend.
While walking along a small river, Ragnelle heard the loud outburst of someone clearly angered. She hid in the bushes, watching as the wildlings who were hunting her appeared from behind thick trees. The animosity of the northern invaders was highly underestimated, she had never seen people so desperate to shed blood.
"Did you see where it went?" One of them asked. It was the man she had injured with Ser Lamiel's sword; his wound was wrapped in dirty cloth that was starting to bleed through. His puffy red cheeks matched the colour of his hair, but his narrow eyes held more bloodlust than Ragnelle had seen in someone more dangerous like the Mountain. The red-haired wildling's companion, a stumpier man, waddled past him and looked towards the water.
"The trail ends here, the hart must have fled through the river," The stumpy man stated.
The red-haired man cried out in frustration and anger, grabbing his companion and practically lifting him off of the ground in a blind rage. Ragnelle held her hands to her mouth, afraid that any sound she made would draw their attention.
"First you lose the girl, and now you lose the white hart. I am not going to starve out here while hunting down that high born bitch."
The stumpy man did not take the insult to his character lightly. He dug his fingers into the wound of the red-haired man, reopening any fraction of skin that began to heal, bringing his companion to his knees. "Gods be damned if your stomach goes without food for more than half a day," he snarled. "I'll not lose my head now that we're this far south. More fool you if you want to run off after a girl and a stag. Fill your belly and fuck until winter comes, but I'll be as far south as south goes by the time the white walkers descend upon us all."
The two wildlings disappeared down the river's edge, their fading voices giving Ragnelle relief that they were unable to discover her. The princess emerged from her hiding spot and ran to the running water. Her fingers dipped into the stream and pulled a drink to her mouth while the sword lay motionless beside her. She didn't realize how violently her hands shook as droplets left stains on her skirt. As she moved her cupped hands to her face for a third time she stopped when she felt a presence coming. Ragnelle gripped the hilt of her weapon and rose to face what she assumed to be the two wildlings but was shocked at the creature that approached her.
The white hart, a rare beast, moved gracefully towards the water; it bent its long neck and licked the running stream. It was not what Ragnelle had imagined from the wildling's conversation; this animal was young, it would not have made a filling meal. The wet red blood that covered most of the fawn's fur must have belonged to something bigger, perhaps a full grown white hart. The fawn was on its own, Ragnelle knew that for sure.
The princess reached a hand up, offering peace to the hart who hesitantly took a step towards her. Her septa was not in favour of spreading what she considered to be folk lore and fairy tales but Isolde loved to retell stories of legend, and from her fables Ragnelle learned that white harts were said to be creatures of magic.
"I'm alone too," Ragnelle said, speaking to the animal. The fawn touched its face to the palm of the princess, nudging her lightly before standing on alert at the sound of a broken branch.
"We need to go," Ragnelle stated, looking at the fawn briefly until she realized she was having a one-sided conversation... with an animal.
No, I cannot be speaking to the hart as if it were a person. That's foolish, I'm not responsible for this beast. Perhaps it will go away on its own.
Ragnelle set off into the woods and was surprised when the fawn trailed after her. The two of them began a long trek through unfamiliar territory. The cold of the north began to nip at her skin and Ragnelle shivered, pulling the cloak as close to her body as she could. If she had stopped, even for a short break, Ragnelle knew she would be settling down for the night. But she didn't want to, she couldn't spend a whole night away from the caravan with enemies lurking close. Even the direction she trekked was not guaranteed to lead her back to her father; she tried not to be honest with herself, but Ragnelle was truly lost.
Her eyes grew heavy and her pace began to slow; the fawn behind her nudged her back, almost encouraging her to continue forward but Ragnelle couldn't. Her blistering feet and swollen limbs forced her to stop as she leaned against a tall, dark oak tree. The fawn seemed agitated, it started kicking at the ground, looking around and whining. Ragnelle felt that something wasn't right, and as she pushed off of the tree a low growl sounded from in front of her.
Shadowcats? Ragnelle thought. No, something far fiercer.
The princess moved her arm in front of the hart and pushed the two of them back slowly, away from the threatening sound only inches from where they stood. Before the creature could reveal itself, Ragnelle and the hart ran. The animal was faster than her, but her fear pushed her faster than she had ever moved before. Branches cut at the fabric of her clothes and tore at the thread as Ragnelle continued forward. With no destination in mind, Ragnelle kept running until her fear subsided. Nothing was familiar, no stump nor boulder looked as if she'd crossed its path before. She was truly lost.
Ragnelle could have been ten feet away from where she last saw the caravan or she could have been ten kilometers away. She knew not where she stood, every leaf mirrored the next and the only thing she was certain of was that night was coming.
Just as she tried to catch her breath, something grabbed at her hair and dragged her into a small clearing. The sword of the fallen knight slipped from her grasp and tumbled into the hard dirt. Ragnelle reached for the hand that violently pulled at her, her eyes stinging with tears because of the pain. She dared not cry out and give them satisfaction that they hurt her or scared her. Even if she didn't confirm it with her words, Ragnelle could do nothing to stop the truth her eyes were sure to reveal.
The two wildlings at the river laughed at her as she was thrown into the ground. "Looks like we found ourselves the tiny kneeler," the red-haired man said, his hand resting on the hilt of his axe. He noticed the white hart had appeared from the brush, its soft cries anything but threatening. "And she's brought us back our meal."
Go, they'll kill you, Ragnelle thought. Run!
Almost as if the hart heard her words, it ducked back into the woods and out of sight. Ragnelle was glad one of them would see another sunrise. The red-haired man was angered, he shouted after the hart but the stumpy one told him to let the fawn go.
"This one will have to do," The red-haired man said.
"If your intention is to eat me, I promise I won't make a satisfactory meal," Ragnelle said, her fingers pushing her further across the ground and away from her captors.
The red-haired man was fast, reaching at her breast and pulling her up by the fabric of her clothes so that their faces were inches apart. His breath held a foul odor, his black, crooked smile matched the hunger in his eyes as he drank in the sight of his victim. "I'm nothing as savage as the Thenns to eat my enemy," The red-haired man snarled. His fingers dug into the strings of Ragnelle's bodice, threatening to rip it open. The cloak from Robb fell off her shoulders as the man roughly handled her. She felt like an aged doll, her handler using her with disregard for her wellbeing. "But I can promise you this," The wildling began. "My night will be filled with satisfaction once I get this off."
Ragnelle could hear the fabric tear as the wildling man tried to undress her. The stumpy man just watched, almost enjoying the display in front of him as Ragnelle struggled to get away. All of this, all of her running and hiding, just for her to be assaulted in the woods.
No, Ragnelle thought. She would die before letting this happen to her.
Without thinking, Ragnelle dug her fingers into the eyes of the red-haired man, pushing them deep into his skull and watching as his tears flowed red. His grip on her released instantly; he flew backwards and cursed while cradling his bleeding face in his hands. Ragnelle caught her breath and turned to run but was stopped by the stumpy man's shadow. He stood over her, his weapon raised. His voice rang as he shouted, pulling down his sword with swift force. She knew she was going to die, so Ragnelle closed her eyes and waited for the sweet relief of nothingness.
The sword should have cut her down, but the sharp blade never opened her skin and soiled the ground red. Instead, quicker than her eyes could see, a white creature sprung from the woods and launched itself at the stumpy man. It was the hart. It knocked over the wilding and stood over Ragnelle protectively.
"I've had enough of this," The stumpy man snarled.
As the wildling rose, the hart gave a loud cry, something high pitched and chilling; it was definitely not a sound Ragnelle had heard from an animal so young. Ragnelle and the stumpy man froze, even the wailing red-haired man who finally found his footing but blindly held out his weapon against nothing in front of him dared not move.
Leaves rustled, and the low growling Ragnelle heard before was closer and louder. From where the white hart emerged, two large wolves appeared; their teeth barred sharp fangs, and their eyes focused on the two wildlings around them. For a moment, Ragnelle believed there was something familiar about these wolves, then she remembered where she had first been introduced to these creatures.
The stumpy man lunged towards the wolves before they could attack but, naturally, they were faster. The grey wolf dodged around the wildling's blade and sank its teeth into the pale skin of his throat. The stumpy man lay writhing on the ground, an awful sound came from him as Greywind mauled him past recognition. The red-haired man turned in the direction of the stumpy man's cries and charged with his axe swinging at random. Ragnelle clung to the white hart as Ghost guarded her, snarling at the red-haired man and preparing to lunge. Before the wildling was taken down by the wolves, the flash of a sword appeared from behind him and came out between his breast and his shoulder, straight through his heart. As the blade slid out of his body, the wildling collapsed onto the forest floor, dead before his head hit the ground.
Ghost's warning growl went silent, and Ragnelle looked up to find Jon with a red soaked sword. The princess struggled to calm her breathing, and her eyes flashed between both of the dead wildings around her; she needed to see they were both dead.
"Princess," Jon breathed. He crouched down to her but stopped when she flinched. "It's alright, you're safe."
Ragnelle knew Jon was in front of her, but she couldn't bring herself to call his name. Her lips were numb and her body began to ache; she felt faint but would not allow herself to lose consciousness. When a gloved finger began brushing away tears she wasn't aware of, Ragnelle finally recognized that she was crying. But why was she crying?
"Princess!"
Isolde, Robb, and Theon approached the clearing from the same direction the direwolves came from. "Seven hells," Theon muttered, taking in the gorey scene around them. The direwolves sniffed at the body of the stumpy man that lay furthest away from the group, but the boy's focus went to the man closest to the princess. They noticed his blood streaked face, the holes in his skull where his eyes should be, and the puncture wound prominent in his back.
"Princess, you're bleeding," Isolde said, taking Jon's place and comforting Ragnelle. She looked down at her hands and noticed the blood that belonged to the red-haired man.
"I-It's not mine..." Ragnelle muttered, finally finding her words.
Isolde helped the princess stand, keeping her balanced as she covered her shoulders with the discarded cloak Theon found not far away. Robb approached her, unsure of what words that may comfort Ragnelle, but he could see clearly the princess held no more strength.
"The caravan isn't far," Robb stated. "We can send for a horse-"
"I can walk," Ragnelle replied, though this wasn't convincing for the others.
Robb was sure he shouldn't argue, and nodded in silence. Before the group left the clearing, a soft cry came from behind them. The foggy daze Ragnelle was in started to lift as she remembered the small white hart that came to her aid. She turned around and looked at the hart who stood as tall as it could.
"Is that-?" Theon began but he lost his words as the princess approached the animal.
"Thank you," Ragnelle said, her hand moving across the fur on the hart's head. The fawn gave a sweet reply as it nuzzled against Ragnelle's touch. The princess looked back at her companions, pulling the cloak around her and standing tall too. "Thank you all," Ragnelle said, offering a small smile.
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ROBB
No one spoke a word on the short journey back to the hunting party. Isolde took one side of the princess, offering her support as they moved. Robb took her other side, offering what protection he could but what stood between him and the princess was the white hart. The creature followed after Ragnelle with no hesitation; Robb was shocked to see a white hart this far north. In all his time spent wandering the woods and hearing stories from the hunters who frequented the area often, there had not been a white hart seen alive in the North for at least a hundred years.
When they found the caravan, the King emerged from a group of knights and approached them with a speed faster than any fat man Robb had seen move. The King, knights, and other members of the royal party surrounded the princess to ensure her safety. Robb noticed that Ragnelle pulled the cloak around her tighter during the King's inspection; he wondered if the wildlings had done something to her. The hunting trip was cancelled, and the King instructed an army of guards to surround the princess and Robb on their return to Winterfell. Robert Baratheon personally instructed Robb to guard the princess on their journey home, to which he swore he would with his life.
The trip to Winterfell saw less men than those who first departed that morning. Few of the northerners and the King's knights had lost their lives fighting off the wildlings. The King ordered the hunt and execution of any wildlings that crossed their path, but Robb knew better; the wildlings were long gone into the north, maybe even back over the Wall if they were smart enough.
"Robb," The princess mumbled. She was cradled in his lap, exhausted from the overwhelming day and unable to ride her horse with what strength she had left. Having one hand on the reins and another keeping the princess close to him, Robb's eyes didn't leave the path in front of them. On his right was Greywind, matching the pace of his master's horse as they rode home. On his left, much to Robb's surprise, the white hart continued to stay by the princess' side. The creature trailed after Ragnelle like an imprinted new born after its mother. It was very protective of her and dared not leave her side. The princess leaned onto Robb with her full weight, entrusting him completely to keep her safe. Robb had never held a girl in his arms before, let alone the First Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. "Isolde... was she hurt terribly?"
"She wasn't badly injured," Robb answered. "I'll have her looked at when we return to Winterfell, she'll be alright. You, on the other hand, should rest."
"I told you I'm fine," Ragnelle stated, unable to keep her eyes open any longer.
"You fought, untrained, against wildlings and saved the life of your handmaiden, I'd say you've earned the right for rest," Robb half smiled. He was almost certain the soft breath from Ragnelle's lips and the even movement of her chest indicated she was asleep. "Rest now, princess. I'll not let anything harm you."
The caravan arrived at the gates of Winterfell just before the sun hid below the horizon. The pink sky bled into the purple night, and the stars flickered overhead like fireflies trying to stay alight. The gates were not manned as heavily as they should have, and Maester Luwin stood by the slightly agape doors. Robb could see the look on the old man's face as he approached on horseback; the sinking feeling in his stomach was confirmed when the Maester revealed what events took place after their departure that morning.
The princess stirred awake in Robb's arms just as the Maester told Ned Stark about Bran's fall from one of the old towers. A heavy, unseen weight pressed against Robb's chest like being blown back by a warhammer. Even though Maester Luwin assured Bran's survival of the fall, the young boy was unconscious and was still being tended to.
Robb's attention was pulled from the Maester when Ragnelle touched his arm. "I'm better now," Ragnelle began. "Go to your brother, I can manage on my own from here."
Robb remembered his promise to the King, but the loyalty to his family was much stronger. He steadied the princess while dismounting from his horse. She wished for Bran's quick recovery as Robb and Ned Stark hurried into the castle.