The Present
It is the nineteenth year of King Uther Pendragon's reign after the death of the last dragon King: Jaehaerys Targaryen.
Winds whooshed in the freezing ambiance.
Three Rangers riding through a tunnel, leaving the Wall, and going into the eerie woods. One Ranger splits off and finds a campsite full of mutilated bodies, including a child hanging from a tree branch.
A birds-eye view shows the bodies arranged in a shield-like pattern. The Ranger rides back to the other two.
"What d'you expect? They're savages. One lot steals a goat from another lot and before you know it, they're ripping each other to pieces." Waymar Royce says grimly.
"I've never seen wildlings do a thing like this. I've never seen a thing like this, not ever in my life." William says frantically.
"How close did you get?" Rocye asked.
"Close as any man would." Will replies.
"We should head back to the wall." Gared suggests.
"Do the dead frighten you?" Rocye smirks.
"Our orders were to track the wildlings. We tracked them. They won't trouble us no more." Gared reminds him.
"You don't think he'll ask us how they died? Get back on your horse." Rocye orders.
Gared grumbles.
"Whatever did it to them could do it to us. They even killed the children." William mutters bitterly.
"It's a good thing we're not children. You want to run away south, run away. Of course, they will behead you as a deserter ... If I don't catch you first. Get back on your horse. I won't say it again." Rocye arrogantly says.
William glares, but obeys. Sometime later, the three rangers return to the campsite, which is now completely cleared. He threaded their way through a thicket, then started up the slope to the low bridge where he had found his vantage point under a sentinel tree.
Under the thin crust of snow, the ground was damp and muddy, slick footing, with rocks and hidden roots to trip you up. William made no sounds he climbed.
Behind him, he heard the soft metallics lither of the lordling's ring mail, the rustle of leaves, and muttered curses as reaching branches grabbed at his long sword and tugged on his splendid sable cloak.
The great sentinel was right there at the top of the ridge, where Will had known it would be, its lowest branches a bare foot off the ground.
William slid in underneath, flat on his belly in the snow and the mud,and looked down on the empty clearing below. His heart stopped in his chest. For a moment he dared not breathe.
Moon light shone down on the clearing, the ashes of the fire pit, the snow-covered lean-to, the great rock, the little half frozen stream.
Everything was just as it had been a few hours ago. They were gone. All the bodies were gone. "Gods!" he heard behind him.
A sword slashed at a branch as Ser Waymar Royce gained the ridge. He stood there beside the sentinel, long sword in hand, his cloak billowing behind him as the wind came up, outlined nobly against the stars for all to see.
"Get down!" William whispered urgently.
"Something's wrong." Royce did not move. He looked down at the empty clearing and laughed. "Your dead men seem to have moved camp, Will."
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Blood Of The Dragon || Daenerys Targaryen
FantasíaIn the wake of the flames forbear, the House of the Dragon is now an extinct dynasty, mired in chaos like hues of bitter sweet, there by raising the standing of House Pendragon, their lesser descendants from Old Valyria, whom has staked it rightful...
