The Northern Mountains

~Nine~

nine

Grumbling under his breath, Jon stomped through the dark forest. Gods, that woman was frustrating. So stubborn, so infuriating, so...devastatingly beautiful, so perfect.

She could just look his way and he would drop to his knees to do anything she wished of him. Whatever she needed from him, he would give. Her offer up his goddamn life for her. Jon just loved her so much, it hurt.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his dark eyes turned to a large tree that looked to be about a few hundred years old. The raven haired man pulled his long sword from its leather sheath strapped to his back, the giant blade glinting off the pale moonlight.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Jon swung with all his might, almost chopping straight through the thick, weathered trunk. He rested his foot against the tree and tugged at his sword, it coming loose with only a small yank.

For about twenty minutes he continued until the tree came crashing down, taking out a few innocent trees with it. He rubbed his thumb over his brow to ease the leftover tension in his mind, before turning his dark eyed gaze to the sky.

A branch snapped to Jon's left and he looked, obviously, finding a dire wolf with bright red eyes and snow white fur.

"Ghost?" he frowned.

Sheathing his sword, the man ran a hand through his black hair with a sigh, ruffling it to get rid of the wood chips stuck in his curls. He cracked his neck, feeling better from his...workout.

The dire wolf sat back on his haunches, an almost on-edge look on his face. Then, beside the former Night's Watchman, a certain midnight furred mass brushed against his side, before she tucked herself under Ghost's chin.

"And Morrigan. Where there's one, there's the other." The King of the North murmured to himself. He looked between the two, noticing that his wolf seemed a lot more protective over Hartlyn's then usual, hovering over her defensively.

His eyes then widened, realizing something when Ghost nuzzled Morrigan's stomach.

:3

Silence had engulfed the two as they rode away from the irritating dwarves and Hartlyn finally felt like she could breathe.

Closing her eyes to inhale the cool, fresh air that was filled with the scent of dew and pine, the immortal tilted her head, making her fiery curls fall off her shoulder onto the back of her dark blue dress, the contrast startling. Hartlyn knew Gandalf was watching her closely, trying to study her, understand her.

"You have questions, Istari. Ask." The red haired beauty smirked softly at him and she could tell he was shocked to be caught out when the Mistress had opened her eyes.

The Grey Wizard stroked his beard, something Hartlyn found incredibly familiar, "I do. I only hope you do not find them intrusive or outrageous in any way, my Lady."

"How thoughtful of you," the Mistress smiled lightly, "But trust me when I say, I shall answer any question you ask. Or not."

A mischievous grin took over the immortal's angelic face, her emerald eyes glittering with laughter at Gandalf's expression. A mix between amusement and annoyance.

"Tricky, young Lady-"

"Ah-ah. If either of us is the younger, it would be you. I am thousands of years old, Greybeard."

"You don't look a day over three hundred." Gandalf joked, pulling a burst of loud laughter from the woman. It made the wizard delighted, hoping to find a friend in her. An ally. Just like Radagast, who had beaten him to it.

But now he had to ask, his voice becoming serious, "How does one become the Mistress of Death?"

The grin Hartlyn wore wiped off her face completely, a sense of dread leaking into her soul. First, she could not remember. Although...since meeting the Wizard, there were small, terrifying flashes of a life that confused her. That made her feel like the villain to another story, a different existence.

She heard Gandalf call her name, but it was like she was underwater...

'A younger version of her clad in gold and red, maybe fifteen, her arm dripping blood, was surrounded by a circle of men in black cloaks wearing skull like masks with a young man who lay still in the dirt, off to the side in yellow and black. They terrified her, but rage had joined the fear that consumed her and she looked ready to kill. Her lip curled up in an evil, animalistic snarl. Adrenaline was pumping through her body, ready for the chance to fight or escape. But she was definitely going to fight.'

"Hartlyn!"

The redhead's mind snapped to the present, having to blink several times to think straight. She then hummed, eyes dull and unfocused, "Hmm?"

Gandalf looked concerned, "Are you alright, my Lady?"

Hartlyn nodded, face blank before murmuring, "One becomes the Mistress, by collecting three items that only respond to a certain bloodline. I am not Death's lover, nor his master. I just have a little more control over the deity. If I did not have Jon..."

The Wandering Wizard looked worried, "What would happen?"

"I am a dark creature, Gandalf. He is my soulmate, and if I did not have him, I would have fallen into the depths of insanity and slaughtered every single living creature in this world."

The red haired beauty looked up to stare into the Wizard's eyes, the intensity making him shudder, "Nothing could have stopped me."