A Midnight Stroll

Griffith's long-lashed eyes slowly flicked open and he sighed as he gazed up at the wood-planked ceiling of the gally he, his father and the Winterfell men had boarded to reach Bear Island.

Leaning sideways he fell off the hammock he was previously sleeping on.

Landing on his feet the young boy slowly stood upright and looked around, finding his boots he slipped them on.

Trudging up the steep stairs he soon reached the deck where the howling winds tore at his linen tunic.

Raising his arm before his face he stumbled forward towards the centre mast where he saw the silhouette of a person.

"HELLO?" he shouted, but the person didn't seem to hear him through the raging storm.

"HELLO!" he shouted, louder this time but again the person didn't react, grimacing he struggled forward towards the mast.

Grabbing hold of one of the ropes which were attached to the centre mast, Griffith stared at the motionless figure.

He felt a chill crawl up his spine and reaching down he pulled a small dagger out of the inner part of his boot.

It was about as long as his hand, with a finely engraved hilt, and a castle-forged, steel blade.

Holding it in a backhand grip, Griffith shuffled forward slightly, careful not to lose his balance on the rocking ship.

Leaning forward he grabbed hold of the person's long black robe and pulling them down to his level held the blade to their throat.

But the person before him wasn't some grizzly scar riddled man as he expected, no, it was a tall young woman with long raven hair and a longish face.

A deep frown appeared on the woman's face and she grabbed Griffith's wrist tightly.

He gasped in pain when the woman twisted his wrist harshly forcing him to release the dagger.

Grabbing hold of the weapon the woman threw her whole weight on him, forcing Griffith to the floor.

His head smashed against the wet wood planks of the deck, his ears were ringing and he blanked a few times to get rid of the lights flashing before him.

Still disoriented, the boy of nine tried to get up but a gloved hand wrapped itself around his forehead and smashed him back onto the floor, forcing all the air out of his lungs.

Opening his mouth Griffith tried to breathe in but he couldn't, his heart raced, and he grabbed onto the hand with both of his, trying to pry it off.

The wind howled as though laughing at his futile attempt, but Griffith wouldn't give in and he pushed against the attacker's hand, that was until he felt the cold touch of steel against his neck.

"Don't move!", the woman's voice was cold and unfeeling, speaking of horrors she could inflict upon him.

Griffith's eyes widened and he shuddered in absolute fear, as he gazed into the woman's dark eyes.

All strength left him at that moment and he released the woman's wrist, he even stopped trying to breathe in.

Shuffling forward the woman placed her knee on Griffith's chest immobilising him, "Now, what's a little dragon doing here?"

Her voice was soft but firm and carried a steely note to it.

Griffith couldn't speak, he was frozen in absolute fear, and even if he could he didn't wouldn't know what to say.

"Speak!" the woman harshly snarled, her face distorting in anger.

Griffith opened his mouth but he couldn't form a whole sentence, "I-I-I"

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and grabbing hold of the boy's long hair, which now noticed had lost some of it colour, she forced him to stand.

Pulling his head back the woman placed Griffith's knife to his throat, "Now don't try anything funny, you hear?" she shook his head for extra effect.

Scoffing, at the boy's reaction or lack thereof, she started pushing him towards the door that led towards the quarters reserved for special guests.

Griffith knew his father slept there and any other child would have called out for him but he wasn't that stupid he knew that the mysterious woman would cut his throat in a heartbeat if he ever attempted it.

Reaching the door the woman pushed Griffith against it, "Open the door!" her breath tickled his ear sending another shiver up his spine.

Reaching out with a trembling hand the boy of nine slowly pushed down the handle.

The door creaked open and the woman roughly pushed him inside.

There were three doors, behind one of which slept his father, Griffith gulped, he was so close, if he managed to remove himself from the woman's grasp for only a second he could flee to his father where he would be safe.

But his chance passed as the woman wrenched at his hair pulling him towards the door at the far right.

He stumbled and nearly fell but since the woman had a tight hold on his hair he didn't hit the floor, he hung suspended a foot off the floor, he nearly cried out at the pain.

He tried to stand up but the woman didn't let him, all Griffith heard was a door creak open, and then wrenching at his hair she pulled him inside.

His face hit the ground with a smack, he gasped and felt something warm run across his upper lip.

The door shut with the horrifying sound of a lock snapping into place, the boy shuddered in fear, his current situation remind him of when he used to sit by the hearth with his brothers listening to old Nan's stories of Grumpkins and Snarks, of the wildling and the Others.

A sob racked his body, as he heard the woman's thick leather boots approach him.

He shut his eyes and prayed to the old gods but as fate would have it they didn't answer, they never answered.

Griffith felt as the woman grabbed a fist full of his long hair and dragged him over to the simple bed.

Pain exploded at the back of his head and he knew no more.

***

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