Allegiance to House:
The Brotherhood of the Night’s Watch
Role to House: First Ranger of Castle Black
Personality:
Arian is not like many girls when it comes to the typical feminine behaviours of flaunting and flirting what the Gods have gifted upon women that make them so attractive to their male counterparts. Arian was forced to hide these feminine characteristics a long time ago, which, in turn, has caused her to become desensitized to many aspects that would make women cringe on the very spot. Gaining a hardened heart from the constant jeering and mockery that were betrothed upon her when she could no longer hide her gender from the ravenous men of the Night’s Watch, Arian has grown into a cold and bitter woman who always seems ready to unsheathe her sword and partake in a dastardly fight. With a temper as foul as the dragons that once sculpted the lands of the Southern regions of Westeros, Arian is definitely a woman to take seriously; while many men are fooled by the femininity of her body, those that are unsuspecting will be deviously tricked into a false sense of security before the “ice queen” unleashes her shards upon them.
Cunning and intelligent, Arian was kept on as a ranger of the Night’s Watch (after her true identity had been uncovered) only because of her rare talents of formulating strategic battle plans and actually leading an army of men through it in order to defend the Wall from the constant battles that are provoked by the attacking Wildlings. Arian knows this, which drives her to be more cut throat and more precise about the decisions made when leading a group of rangers through the Haunted Forest, which is located beyond the Wall in the lands where the Wildlings are dominant, and the White Walkers are a force that is to be reckoned with. It is a natural response to fear this domineering woman, who seems to invite pain into the initiates’ lives with rigorous training techniques invented by herself and reinforced by the Master-At-Arms as well as the First Rangers of the other two inhabited fortresses of the Night’s Watch.
Overall, it can be concluded that Arian is not a woman to mess with, nor to swoon over, for it is believed by many of the men that her heart has been hardened by the constant snows that fall over the frigid region of the Gift, where the Wall has been stationed. It is here that one may come to the conclusion that regardless of her gender, Arian is a strict ranger that will take no nonsense and no disrespect from the members who are lower than her rank; she will only take orders from the Lord Commander, whom she has formed a close friendship with due to the fact that he was the only one who did not mock her for her gender when it was first discovered that she was not some miscreant boy that had wandered down the wrong path in life. Arian can definitely be summed up to be sinfully proud and terribly arrogant, thinking that she is the best above everyone else due to her rank as well as the fact that she is a woman who can better most of the men.
Physical Description:
In her youth Arian was a tomboyish character with a plump round face and short, scraggly black hair, equipped with pale skin and calloused hands. Thin and almost fragile due to the lack of meals provided to the boyish adolescent, the scrawny figure that Arian held definitely seem to suit the boyish charm that this girl possessed as she ran through the streets stealing hot pies from the bakers and pick pocketing the unsuspecting victim. However, as the years passed and her body began to lose the puppy fat, Arian’s shape seemed to become revealed. Small perky breasts grew larger, making it harder for them to be strapped down beneath her torn, grimy clothing, while her feminine curves of a slender body began to become more pronounced beneath the shirt that she casually threw on in the mornings before training. Allowing the scraggly strands of black hair to grow, Arian became the true sigil of a woman during the year of her 18th name day.
Presently, Arian possesses stick straight, raven black hair that sits just below her shoulders, and frames the pale face in almost the perfect contrast of light and dark. A crudely chopped fringe covers her left eye slightly, casting a mysterious veil over this cut throat woman, while her deep grey eyes only reveal their true appearance and colour via the right side of her face, which remains clear of the coal black hair. She possesses a reasonably pretty face that suits many emotions, particularly the bitter scorn that is commonly worn upon her visage, with high cheek bones that finish off her definite facial structure, along with the strict jaw line that was a classic trait found amongst her father’s lineage when they were all still alive. Arian is a small, petite woman whose body has been kept in top condition since her arrival at Castle Black, however that does not mean it hasn’t taken its fair share of abuse; along her left shoulder blade there is a long scar that travels almost down to the midline of her back, in a diagonal manner, which she acquired from a Wildling ambush that was carefully constructed by Mance Rayder and his band of thugs. Accompanying the treacheries of her life as the First Ranger, Arian also has a few smaller scars etched across the pale canvas of her soft abdominal region, which remain to be the badges of honour that remind her exactly what she has sworn to protect the Realms of Men from.
Usually adorned in the classical black attire, equipped with a bear skin cloak, Arian definitely does not make a point to dress to impress the crowds of brutes, thugs, rapists and murderers that are brought to the Night’s Watch. She’ll stick to the boyish cotton pants and shirts, with riding leather boots to keep her feet warm, even though there are the few occasions when it appears that the slender figure is drowning within the large clothes that have been made to fit the men that take their oaths and become part of the Brotherhood.
Arian’s fingers and palms are definitely not the smoothest felt; they are hard and calloused from the constant swordplay and archery that her rank requires of her; however, her hands are normally sheathed within black gloves to hide their battle-hardened exteriors.
Powers and Abilities:
Since Arian is of mortal birth, she possess no extreme immortal powers, nor can she bend the elements to her will. Instead, she has the fighting heart and spirit that each man is equipped with, along with that undying courage to fight until death takes her from the world, and her oath is fulfilled. Filled with determination and daunting pride, Arian is a lethal weapon regardless of her mortal state; she has been trained to be swift, agile, as well as skilled with a blade and a bow. Her smaller, feminine figure allows for this extreme sense of agility, which allows her to duck, dart and weave her way through her enemies, while swinging the finely crafted Valyrian steel blade in swift motions that look to create a pattern in mid air before crashing into the enemy with a sickening blow. She is definitely one of Castle Black’s more graceful fighters...
Apart from her fine swordsmanship, Arian is an excellent horseman due to the fact that in her youth, her father owned a large farm where he bred horses for the knights, squires, and noblemen of the North. There she learned to ride these massive beasts from an early age, gaining knowledge of how they moved the timing of each of their different gaits, as well as their temperaments. Often enough, it has been said that Arian would prefer the company of these massive steeds instead of that of the other humanoid beings that walk the face of this planet. So, along with this expert skill of riding, Arian learnt how to shoot a bow and arrow from horse back as one of the starting levels of her fighting skills, giving her a keen eye to aim and fire an arrow with an insane level of precision.
Strengths and Weakness: Strengths:
Although she is a mortal woman, Arian possesses many strengths that have allowed her to survive the cold, harsh years of service amongst a male dominated community upon the isolated strip of the Wall, as well as climb up the ranks of the Night’s Watch to become the First Ranger of Castle Black. With hard work and dedication unseen by any of the brothers, Arian has proven herself in more ways than one, which suggest that she is among the best of the best. Arian’s strength lies in, not only her ability to assess and comprehend situation upon the battle field, but also in her ability to formulate seemingly flawless battle plans and ambushes that have prevented many invasions from the forces beyond the Wall. With a deviously sharp mind, Arian has been known to devise a quick and fool-proof plan in a matter of life-threatening seconds, when the pressure seems almost paramount, when an ambush has been acted upon them while patrolling the lands that are found Beyond the Wall, and thus, she has saved many of the rangers’ lives with that quick, keen mind that never seems to be clouded by the added stress of an on-the-spot moment. Apart from that, her determination, dedication and loyalty to the Brotherhood spurs on her courage and valour upon the battle field.
However, it hasn’t only been the intellect that has allowed her to survive within the ranks of the Night’s Watch, but it has been a combination of this knowledge and her superb fighting skills. While her mind is hard at work, her blade seems to act almost in an instinctive amalgamation with the plan that is being devised as the blood is coated upon the pure blade. With an increased ability of speed and agility, Arian has been able to dodge many blows that may have been fatal to her, and has thus escaped with only a few scars.
Weakness:
Although Arian cons everyone into believing that she is the one mortal that is almost invincible and cannot be broken emotionally, Arian suffers from a lot of drawbacks that may be classed as her weakness as they do affect her performance. With that stern, bitter attitude towards the world, Arian has created herself the sense of independence; however with this independence there comes a price and this price is the fact that she will rarely ever let anyone get close to her emotionally. Automatically placing a barrier around her fragile heart, Arian will welcome generosity and love with bitter spite and belligerence, which ultimately leads to no one befriending her nor being able to get through the iced wall that not only guards the Realm of Men but also her heart. It is with this emotional bondage that Arian is forced to suffer with the internal issues, such as the demons that continue to haunt her from the past and the various stresses and strains of being a woman amongst the men of the Night’s Watch. This emotional set back will often cause this brusque woman to become almost intolerable and blind to reasoning if even the slightest of issues were to strike her temper like a hot coal would ignite a fire; due to this biting temper, her actions become more impulsive and she seeks to do harm to, not only others, but to herself as well. This has brought many consequences to the table, which include secretive suicide attempts and brutal unnecessary slayings of Wildlings. With blind rage, Arian can become a destructive force with both good and bad outcomes, depending on the situation.
Apart from these emotional weaknesses, Arian possesses the general flaws of humans, which include the lack of strength, speed, other mystical powers that many immortals may lavishly demonstrate (or as Arian would see it – show off) in front of the mortals. A lethal blow will easily end her life, as well as a false move could be detrimental to her well being, whereas an immortal may be given the opportunity to avoid this risk of death and instead predict what is going to happen.
Weapons and Armour: Weapons:
Arian Stone is a woman of many talents when it comes to combat, therefore it is necessary for her to have an array of weapons at her disposal. Silver Thorn is a well balanced blade that was forged of Valyrian steel, which is otherwise known as Dragon Glass; it is comprised of a long blade that appears heavy, however, it is light enough for a woman to handle with surprisingly accuracy and swiftness. The hilt allows for space for the grasp of two hands, if the extra force is needed to swing the blade in order to decapitate a head from the body of an enemy, however, as mentioned previously, the flawless blade seems to be light enough for the woman to handle with one hand. Silver Thorn gained its name from the great House that it was crafted for: House Tyrell, who is seen to be the kinsman of the roses, and bringer of thorns amongst those who have come to know them as their enemies. Due to the fact that this magnificent blade was meant to be wielded by some pompous noble knight that enjoyed the appearance of the blade instead of its perfectly crafted balance, this blade has a hilt that has been extravagantly decorated with etchings of twisting vines that possess thorns and roses, while the ends of the hilt are spiked up to resemble the rose amongst the thorns. Arian gained this gorgeously crafted blade only by chance and luck, for when she had taken to the roads and streets as nothing more than a common thief exiled from society, she just so happen to come across the brilliant blade that lay forgotten in a tavern that stank of drunken brawls and salty sweat. The actual Valyrian steel blade is long and slender, with a sharp, pointed edge marking the side with which to stab the enemy with, however, there is a unique feature to behold upon this magnificent blade; near the pointed end, there is an extension of steel that curves downwards into a hook like shape, which is said to represent the thorns of a rose. This makes the blow much more fatal if the sword were to lodge within its victim, as when being yanked out of the flesh, there is no doubt that the little “thorn” will do additional damage by wrenching bits of skin and internal tissue as it is yanked from its host.
Apart from this magnificent display of fine craftsmanship, Arian also possesses a hunting knife, which her father gave to her before their village was ransacked and the inhabitants killed, that bears her initials along the curved blade, as well as she keeps the ribbons that her mother used to wind into her hair wrapped tightly around the short hilt that provides only enough space for one of her dainty hands to grasp upon. This is kept in a sheath that is bound to her hip, on the opposite side to where she keeps Silver Thorn hidden. Around her thigh, a small dagger is housed, which is easily accessed in tough situations and is easily hidden away from the sights of those around her.
As for range weapons, Arian makes use of a sacredly carved recurve longbow, that is equipped with lethal arrows that possess a treacherous spear like head, making them able to pierce through different forms of leather, and sometimes steel, armour. However, once lodged within its victim, the arrowhead will cause severe damage if pulled away from its host, making these an uncomfortable parasite to dislodge should they ever happen to penetrate skin. The recurve bow was designed by a tribe of Druids that dwelt within the Wolfswood. It has been custom designed to suit Arian’s draw-back strength, as well as her frame. Upon the dark, ebony wood, silver inscriptions are said to be a blessing from these sacred beings, and the Old Gods that they forever represent.
Armour:
Being female means that Arian is not able to bear as much weight on her being as that of the average man, due to the fact that there is a gender difference between the strength and power of a man and a woman. Therefore, in order to compensate for this gender-based weakness, Arian has taken to wearing hardened, leather armour that has been boiled and treated repeatedly in order to gain the toughness that it possesses. Equipped with leather pauldrons and a chest plate that is fitted snugly to her body, Arian embarks upon the journeys beyond the Wall in this free, easy moving armour, which shows no side effects with regards to her speed and agility, which she is heavily reliant upon. The leather armour is complete with gauntlets that cover her forearms, and possess etchings of the Night’s Watch’s ravens as a design, that has been tainted with a steel silver dye. However, this deadly female may choose to wear the heavy mail and steel armour during the brutal invasions and attacks upon the Wall, when close heavy, hammering combat is inevitable.
Background History:
What more can be said about a poor, unfortunate life brought about by the constant war mongering, power crazy noble families that seem to seek out a battle amongst those who have not provoked any reason for anger and violence. However, the unfairness of life is something that many of the commoners are accustomed to within the lands of the Seven Kingdoms. We shall take a journey back in time to uncover the source of the bitterness and cold spite that has consumed a once spritely little girl, turning her into a sour, violence driven warrior of the Night’s Watch. We shall begin this tale, not from the very beginning when life seemed to flutter by gently and gracefully like the wings of a butterfly amongst the summer’s breeze, but instead, we shall focus on the turning point in the young girl’s life, where her once comfortable carefree world was turned upside down into the very fires of hatred and war...
Arianna sat in front of the warm fire, her deep grey eyes imitating the gentle flickers that the flames caused as they danced this way and that. It was a cold night, typical of the Northern climate that never seemed to allow for an opportunity of warmth during these dark days; snow fell from the heavens, creating a blanket of white upon the frost-bitten grounds that surrounded the small village that was set on the outskirts of Moat Cailin, which remained to be an abandoned fortress that marked the entrance to the Neck – a swamp filled with unspeakable creatures, such as a lion-lizard. Behind her, her mother sat in the old rickety wooden chair, her fingers worked quickly and delicately through the dark strands of ebony hair that this pale girl possessed; colourful ribbons, bought by her father from the tradesmen near White Harbour, wound themselves amongst the coal black silken strands of her long hair that stretched down to the midline of her back, adding that little burst of colour to her pale complexion. The world seemed to be at peace at this very moment, the silence was well welcomed within the small log cottage as only the crackling of flames seemed to disturb the quietness that had settled over the entire village. However, this magnificent peace could not last long; it was a well known fact that the North was at war, a war that was foolishly started when one of the Knights of the Roses challenged one of the Knights of Winter, which broke out in a huge brawl. This ended up in a battle being declared and it was this senseless battle that disturbed this welcomed silence...
In the distance, the cries of horses being pushed into a hurried gallop rang through the silence, accompanied by the clash of steel against steel. Arrows sang through the clouds, tearing streaks amongst the darkness that they provided, while fire began crackling all around. Arianna’s mother’s eyes widened in fear, her fingers halted in their soothing strokes through Arianna’s hair, before her head shot towards the direction of the door that remained sealed. Almost as if she could sense that it was about to open, the wooden door flew open to the appearance of a distraught looking man. Wrinkles of wise age were enhanced within the shadows that stretched across the room, while the worrisome look deepened each line that was etched into his visage. His chest heaved up and down as his lungs were constricted by an invisible force; his eyes were alert and resembled the size and shape of saucepans. In his eyes the same fear that had consumed Arianna’s mother’s eyes was seen. The little girl, who was no older than 15 years old, looked from father to mother and then back again; confusion was dabbled across her porcelain skin before a sinking feeling suddenly hit her hard in her stomach.
“Father, it’s happened, hasn’t it?” The girl’s voice contradicted her youthful age, instead of the sweet innocent voice, Arianna’s words were laced with maturity and understanding – a controlled variation of both.
Aeron Stone nodded his head with a solemn look embedded within his sunken eyes. It was then that the little girl allowed her cold grey eyes to sweep over the frame of her father; he looked exhausted with sweat drenching his clothes. Black soot stained the pallor of his skin, while brown grit and grime was smeared over his clothes. He slowly walked towards his family, his eyes alive with urgency; taking his daughter by the hand, along with his wife, he ushered the two from the room towards the large stables, which he owned. The world outside was almost completely different to the one that Arianna had left before she had finished her chores in the paddocks and stables in order to settle indoors for the night. Fires clouded the skies with grey, choking smoke while the orange flames consumed the wooden houses. The screams and agonizing screeches of the inhabitants of this small village filled the air, while the clash of steel sounded more brutal to the ears than it had before. Arianna stared at the scenery painted in the distance with a look of utter horror embossed over her features. A timid hand flew to her mouth before she looked at her mother, and then towards the disappearing shadow of her father as he made for the stables.
Inside the dark stables, the grunts and snorts of the horses replaced the terrifying, nightmarish noises of the outside world; however, there was a definite uneasiness that was present amongst these large creatures. Hooves pawed the ground nervously, rustling the straw and striking against stone, while others threw their heads up defiantly. Eyes went wide with terror as the noises of the outside war started to leak closer and closer to where they were. Eventually, the screams of their neighbours stirred the horses into a frenzy. Some reared high up, with hooves scraping at the sky, while other started pacing about their stalls nervously. Arianna’s favourite horse, Midnight, stood in his stall flinging his head about the place, before bowing the muscular neck downwards to stare at the hoof that struck the ground with a brutal force. Arianna hadn’t even noticed her father’s disappearance into the tack room before he emerged from it carrying a crudely crafted sword, and adorned in old frail armour. A grave look fell over his face as he approached his daughter and wife.
“I want you two to get out of here. Ride to the walls of Winterfell and spread the message that the Neck is being attacked by the Southern riders of Tyrell and Lannister. We do not have much time...” His voice was nothing more than a whisper to the ears; however, it was burdened with much urgency that was accompanied by a nervous stutter.
“But father, we can’t leave you!” Arianna pleaded, her arms flinging around her father’s waist in a tight hold, almost as if she were to prevent the hardened, retired soldier from standing up to the thugs that were burning down the villages.
“I have to go, child.”
“I will fight with you! I can fight, you know I can.” She whimpered, her hold tightening even more, while crystal tears glistened within her grey eyes.
“No, Arianna! You must go call for aid... Here, I was going to give this to you on your sixteenth name day, but I’m afraid fate may decide to alter my future.” From a rose wood box that was held in his right hand, he revealed a delicately crafted hunting knife that possessed the inscription of Arianna’s initials, along with another strange writing that was not of English decent. “May this protect you when you need it. You remember how to use knives don’t you?!” He handed her the knife gently, a smile spreading over his sad lips.
Arianna nodded slowly, her eyes fixated upon the gleaming silver blade that seemed to imitate the colour of her eyes. She bit her lip, fighting back tears that wanted to spill forth. A numb feeling washed over her as she looked up at her father once again.
As the emotional event took place, Katalina, Arianna’s mother, was preparing the horses quickly, placing their tack on and securing it tightly, while packing bread and other necessities into the saddle bags. However, to cut the sore goodbye short, the door of the stable burst open to reveal blood covered men that possessed sneers of taunting humour over their faces. Immediately, Aeron pushed Arianna behind his back and took his old stance that signalled he was seasoned in battle. Catcalls and jeers were made towards the two women before one of the muscular thugs took a threatening step forwards, causing the defensive manner of a man fighting for his family to give way to a swinging blow of the sword. It struck the thug with a surprising force, sending him staggering backwards. A maddened, rabid look seemed to invade the foreigner’s eyes before he lunged forwards only to meet the steel of Ser Aeron’s blade. This is when the fight happened. Blood was sprayed everywhere, painting the walls with its sickening glow, while the horses panicked terribly, breaking down their stalls and escaping from the stables, knocking a few of them men as they galloped away. Katalina turned to grab Arianna, however, as soon as she made her way forwards, one of the attacking men grabbed her and tightly pulled the defenceless woman towards him. This is when Arianna acted. Using the brutal blade that had just been given to her, she lunged towards the man, slitting a gash into his arm, which caused him to release his hold of his mother. This caught the attention of her courageous father, who swivelled on his heel and gut the attacker like a pig on the spit. This distraction, however, was a fatal mistake. From the side, a devious soldier plunged a javelin through Aeron’s leg, forcing him to fall to one knee; however, this was not enough to bring down a seasoned fighter. With all the strength that was left in him, with everything that would be used to defend his family, he regained his staggering stance and held it there for a few moments before calling over his shoulder to a shuddering wife, and a daughter that had seen blood and war for the first time:
“Go! Now!”
It was in that instant, that Katalina swept a belligerent daughter away and forced her to climb into the saddle of the black horse that had been tied in the corner of the stable, away from the brutish battle. Climbing onto a horse herself, the two kicked their horses’ sides urgently, sending them forth in a quick gallop out of the back entrance of the stables. Immediately, they were greeted with the sight of death and fire.
“Do not stop!” Katalina called to her daughter, who had ultimately turned her horse around to take a last look at a fighting father.
Tears clouded her eyes once more, before she turned her horse away and followed suit after her mother.
It was terrible trying to escape from the holds that the Southerners had gained upon the Neck. Fire licked the skies as it consumed the buildings, while corpses scattered the grounds making it hard to navigate their way through the open fields where many had met their end. Just when the two escapees had thought they were out of harm’s way, they had, instead, taking a leap into the lion’s den. Soldiers flanked them, urging their horses faster in pursuit of the two women until eventually one of them caught up with Katalina. Pulling her horse to the side, they yanked her from the saddle, while the rest continued racing after the girl on the black horse. Regardless of the wind that screamed into her ears, Arianna could still hear the sounds of her mother’s cries, pleas and screams as the men had their way with her like the animals that they were. This was something that would forever haunt Arianna’s dreams and nightmares.
The ride was tiresome and hard as she kept pushing Midnight forwards, weaving in and out of the trees, leaping over logs and splashing through the swampy waters where the lion lizards dwelt, until eventually, she lost the part that had been trailing her. Slowly Midnight into a long, slow walk, it was then that the reality of it all hit her hard like a rock to the head. Bending over, she could feel exhaustion crawl over her limbs while her nose burned from the coldness of the sharp wind that had constantly been blown into her face. Her eyes were red and swollen from the tears that are cried, however, now she remained numb with the knife still lodge in her small hand, with the blood stains congealing upon the silver blade. Her hair was wild about her shoulders, the ribbons hanging on to the mere ends of the strands. Pulling Midnight to a halt, she dismounted quickly, and fell from the saddle to weakened legs. Collapsing on the ground, Arianna felt the grief wash over her once again. Her body shuddered violently as the cold started eating away through her clothes, before her eyes welled up once again, and the crystal tears were sent rolling down her cheeks. This is when she vowed to avenge her parents’ death and defilation.
Sitting beside a stream, Arianna washed her face clean of the tears, cleanser her blade of the blood, before hacking away at the long hair that framed her pale face. Cutting it shorter and into a more scraggly style she attempted to rid herself of the pathetic girl who could do nothing to defend her parents. The ribbons were torn from her hair; however, she did not discard them. Simply, she wrapped the coloured bits of silk around the handle of the hunting knife as a reminder of what had been destroyed due to these bandits of the south. Arianna now held the appearance of a petite boy. Arianna Stone now became Arian Stone.
Arian rode for 7 days and 8 nights until she reached the confines of the massive stone walls that marked the great fortress of Winterfell. Her body was frail with fatigue and hunger, while her eyes were dull with exhaustion and lack of sleep due to the wretched dreams that haunted her every night, and reminded her of her uselessness when it came to defending her family. Her body was frail and malnourished as her last decent meal was about 4 days ago, when the last of the bread packed was eaten, and she had been left to survive only what the wild lands of the North would provide for her. When she reached Winterfell, her eyes had never seen such a busy place before. Regardless of the dull skies and snowy grounds, the people of Winterfell seemed to be at peace with life, going about their daily chores as if they had not a care in the world, where there were places in the north that were being ravaged by the bandits of the South.
Seeking an audience with the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, Arian was escorted into a grand room where wooden tables and chairs filled out the massive room. Her eyes wandered over the grand sight of it all, taking in each and every aspect of the Great Hall of Winterfell, before they finally fell upon the appearance of the Lord of Winterfell. Feeling as those it were instinctive to bow, Arian lowered her head simply, before looking up sternly to face the Lord of Winterfell with a challenging glare.
“A party of southerners have invaded the Neck, my lord. They’ve ravaged the villages and raped the women there. I was lucky to make it out with my life.” Arian’s masked her voice with a deeper tone that held a gruff edge to it. “They need the aid of the soldiers of Winterfell.”
Lord Eddard raised his hand simply to silence the urgent words of the “boy” before a smile graced his merciful lips.
“Do not worry, son. We have received word of this war, and have already sent forces to aid the village. Please, take a seat. I would assume that you have not had a meal for some time?”
Arian nodded her head slightly, surprised that she was able to pass off as a boy, but as well as at the kindness of the ruling Lord of the North. She did as she was told. Taking a seat at the nearest bench, she looked up at the Lord and offered a smile of gratuity.
That was the last time Arian had ever had a decent meal and a warm bed to sleep in. From that day forth, she was cast out onto the street, with no home to turn to and no family to soothe her worried mind. She was an outcast, learning to thrive off of her stealthy abilities of pick-pocketing and scheming gold and silver coins from the citizens of the North. She never stayed in one village or town for more than a couple of days at a time in order to remain elusive to the authorities that were continuously bothered by the paupers that roamed the streets committing a variety of crimes at a time. She seemed to have developed the ability to adapt to survival with only her beloved horse and the knife that was presented to her by her father before he was killed in a battle defending both her and her mother; however, his attempts were in vain due to the fact that her mother, Katalina, did not survive the planned escape. She was an outlaw amongst the thieves; she learned how to fist fight when it came to the scary encounters between the other thieves and herself – she learnt how to defend herself against a male dominated society. But, for the months that continued to fly by, this ludicrous nightmare of survival could not continue onwards.
Her capture occurred late one night, when she had taken refuge in a tavern filled with men and knights from both the faraway lands of the South, as well as the locals of the North. The air stank of ale and sweat, combined with the hot dank smell of drunkenness. Knights were flaunting their reputations and kill counts about the place, telling exaggerated tales of how they “single handed” defeated masses of mercenaries and rebellions and how they had saved the most beautiful of maidens. With her head lowered and the scraggly, layered lengths of her hair fallen over her face and eyes, Arian listened to these disgusting tales. If only these cowards knew the truth of their tales. She thought to herself with disdain etched into the pallor of her grimy, unwashed complexion. Tales of heresy are what these are.
She could not believe how exaggerated these tales were. They were a false representation of what true courage was; there were no maidens to be saved, only villages to burn down and families to kill. She scoffed to herself, shaking her head slowly in disgust for these pretentious shadows of people. Just as she was about to stand to her feet in order to leave from this dreadful scenery, something flashed silver in the corner of her eyes. Besides one of the foreign knights, who was easily identified as the foreigner due to the fact that he possessed skin shaded with a light brown hue due to the rays of the golden sun, lay a sword that shone with the most gorgeous gleams that one could ever imagine. The shine it held was enticing – it held Arian’s gaze and did not allow her eyes to part from its sleek surface. Arian stole another look at the knight; his head was thrown back in a drunken ecstasy as he let out a raucous bellow of laughter, followed by some simple staggering that caused the ale to slosh from the edges of his wooden mug. Her eyes were snagged by the tempting gleam once again.
Very slowly, Arian rose to her feet, taking long, elegant strides that would have been suspicious to those of a more sober category; however, thankfully these knights were too drunk to notice. Her heart pounded in her throat; never had she had the courage to steal from a member of the knighthood, whether they were local or foreign, and now that silver glittering blade was causing her to lose all sense of awareness of just how much power they did hold over the judgement of her fate if she were caught. Her breath stammered and faltered as she crept along unnoticed; her eyes continuously darted upwards to check if she had been noticed or not, however, thankfully, these idiots had definitely had more than they were able to handle. She was so close now. She could smell the nasty odour that emanated from the Knight of the Roses; the scent was so strong that it almost felt as if bits of his sweaty, ale-stained flesh were caressing her taste buds. She paused momentarily, allowing a great gust of air to surge into her lungs, before her hands darted forth and grabbed the gleaming blade that bore appearances of roses and thorns etched onto the mighty blade. However, if there was one thing that this tomboy didn’t account for, and that was the weight of the blade to an untrained hand. As soon as she grabbed it and pulled it towards her person, the magnificently crafted tip of the blade clattered to the ground. Squeezing her eyes shut momentarily, Arian felt as if time had stopped for that brief terrifying second, before her eyes fluttered open and she was standing face to face with the knight whose face was as red as the roses that probably decorated his hall. Instinctively, Arian turned on her heel and bolted from the sight of the guards as well as the knights; obviously she was faster than the intoxicated, stumbling buffoons who staggered after her swaying this way and that, however, she couldn’t run forever... Eventually she would be caught and taken to the courts in order to find out what her judgement would be. Theft from a knight would not be treated kindly.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Arian ran. She ran so far and so fast without looking back, that she didn’t really plot the course of direction she was taking in order to make her great escape. It seemed like hours had flown by before she ceased in her tactical escape, and when she did, finally, come to a halt, she was surrounded by an expanse of trees that towered over her in a haunting manner. She was alone in Wolfswood – which was not particularly the best place to be on one’s own. The wolves’ howls flooded her ears, which were now only growing accustomed to the noises other than the horrific wind that had drummed against her face. She shuddered lightly, her eyes darted from corner to corner of the forest, searching for just a speck of light that may reveal her whereabouts. However, this was to no effect. The canopy that veiled the Wolfswood was so thick that not even the rare golden rays of the sun could penetrate the leaves fully.
And so she journeyed onwards, with the prized blade gripped tightly within her grimy hands.
She stumbled and staggered without stopping, feeling roots snag at her feet while finger-like branches clawed at her already torn clothes. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the lack of light within the Wolfswood, allowing her to make out decent shapes of the silhouettes of trees; however, there was one element that Arian felt uneasy about, and that was the multitude of glowing yellow and green eyes that seemed to follow her every movement through the forest.
Her expedition through the Wolfswood lasted about 4 days of continuous trudging through the thick undergrowth, with barely any rest and almost no sleep. Her eyes had grown heavy with exhaustion, so much so that dark rings stained the dirty face of the girl; her figure seemed to appear to be more fragile and frail than usual due to the lack of food and water, while her hair seemed to be matted with grease and bits of leaves, dirt, and other elements of nature that were found within the Wolfswood.
Arian was knocking on Death’s door.
Just as her fighting spirit was about to give up on the slightest bit of hope, which she still managed to cling to, the trees started to thin and a pale, weak light streamed through the thinning canopy of the trees. Grateful for this newfound light, Arian finally let a smile grace her cracked lips as she stumbled across the woodland floor. A small village was seen in the distance, however, her legs were growing weak from constantly bearing her weight that they could no longer move so freely as they once did. They weighed like lead, increasing her mass and causing more effort to be required. This is when her body refused to venture any further, and Arian found herself falling through the dark abyss of her sub-conscious, while her body crashed upon the snow-speckled grounds, rustling the few brown leaves that had fallen from the trees.
The life was fading from her...
The darkness was like a cold blanket of ice that wrapped around her body, shrouding her from any comfort, isolating her from a warm home that provided a hot soup of some sort. It groped at her body, claws digging into her skin causing the utmost pain to be experienced. She shivered violently as a natural reaction to this terribly frigid feeling. In the distance, through the blackness of her mind, Arian could hear the tormenting cries and pleas of her mother as she was pulled from her horse – her clothes were ripped from her body, the bandits threw her from arms to arms before pants were pulled down, and her mother’s sacred body was desecrated over and over again. When she tried to fight back, a slap to the face would silence her words, but it would never silence the tears that streamed down her cheeks as the brutal penetration occurred over and over again without rest. She was passed from man to man, feeling their appendages pushing inside of her, stabbing her insides... another slap issued to the face, sometimes a punch to the jaw or gut. They doubled her over, so that she was on all fours like an animal, like a bitch; her dignity was washed from her body with each ejaculation and her pride was torn from her with each pulsating move. While Arian had only caught glimpses of this horrific event, they were enough to accumulate within her mind, which conjured up and combined the images so that they forever haunted that dark abyss locked away within her subconscious mind...
Arian awoke with a start. Her eyes flickered open, her lips parted in a fresh breath of life as she propped herself upon her elbows; her vision was slightly blurred at first, however, the longer she stared forwards and blinked her eyes a couple of times, the clearer things began to become. This was not where she recalled falling into the blackness... she was not where she once was.
Instead, in one corner, there was a warm fire, while in the other a dark hooded figure sat with fingers laced together and a chin gently resting upon the hands. Arian attempted to prop herself higher, and as she did so, she discovered that she was not upon hard earth, but instead in a comfortable bed of some sorts. A confused expression gleamed over her now clean visage as she looked around her, before her grey eyes focused on the man that sat in the corner of the room.
“You’ve been asleep for some time.” He stated simply, raising his chin from his hands in order to address her. “What was a boy like you doing so far from the walls of Winterfell?”
“A boy?” She looked at him quizzically, before the realization of it all hit her; she was the one who was running around posing to be a male to avoid any unwanted attention.
“Aye, a boy, is that not what you are?!” The man was growing suspicious now, a perked eyebrow lost beneath a mop of dishevelled hair revealed this to Arian who still remained propped on her elbows.
“Aye, sir... Whereabouts am I?!” She said with a deeper voice as she sat up fully now, before her tender hands ran through her short, scraggly hair and over her eyes.
“Deepwood Motte, young sire. Where’s your family?”
“I don’t have one.”
The older man furrowed his bushy eyebrows before standing to his feet. The heels of his riding boots clattered against the wooden floorboards of the simple cottage like room as he approached the bed. His strides were long, strong, and oozing with the sense of a battle hardened past – this was seen in the manner that he treated his right leg as he stepped on it, limping slightly, which definitely indicated some wound had been afflicted upon the appendage.
As he approached, Arian defensively sat up strong and swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at him with those strong, defiant, piercing grey eyes. He stopped just at the foot of her bed, his eyes sweeping over her fragile form before nodding to himself.
“I take it you’re an orphan then. No parents, no family, wandering the streets by yourself?” His words were filled with a sense of remorse, of empathy towards this lost child.
Arian looked down at her hands towards her knuckles that were slowly starting to turn white from gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly.
“So you have no ties whatsoever?”
Arian shook her head once again.
“I don’t understand what this is all about, sir. Why are you asking me so many questions?”
“My child, if you have not noticed then I shall reveal to you that I am a member of the Night’s Watch, an organization of brothers that man the large icy Wall further North. I have been asked to venture to these lands in search of recruits to help man the Wall and defend the realm of men against the eternal Winter that would fall over the world should we fail. They call me a Wandering Crow – and you, my dear boy, seem to be a perfect candidate for the Wall, should you choose to take the black. All orphans sooner or later end up there, all outcasts find a family amongst the brothers.”
His words seemed to strike a sensitive spot within Arian, a sense of longing for something that she knew was almost impossible to have in her current predicament. Her eyes averted from his, choosing to stare down at the crinkles made in the blanket. She seemed to stare at them for a long time before her deep grey eyes flickered towards the side, choosing a careful route that would avoid any contact with this Wandering Crow. However, she couldn’t help but bring those bright grey eyes towards the lined face of the man in black.
“I can see the thoughts already run through your mind, boy. If you would like this chance, then meet the party in the main yard when the sun is at her highest, and we shall embark towards the greater stretches of the North.”
With those final words, the Wandering crow gave a final nod of his head before turning towards the small door to take his leave. A few moments later and he had vanished.
Arian shifted uncomfortably within the bed – nerves pinched her muscles, causing her to continuously move in her soft seat, before she decided to throw her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up fully now. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned deeply. She climbed down from the height of the warm bed and walked towards the door, which she opened to peek around at the world she was in. As usual for the North, a thin layer of snow coated the grounds, staining the scenery with a frigid blanket of white. She looked around for a while, trying to spot the black stain of the Wandering Crow against the white canvas, however, he was nowhere to be seen – it was almost as if he had disappeared into thin air.
Arian wandered through the streets of the small village town of Deepwood Motte, her arms were folded tightly against her chest in order to keep the cold away from the sensitive area that was prone to illness. Her grey eyes flickered quickly over the various faces that passed by in an attempt to locate the man who had saved her life. Alongside her, sheathed in her scruffy belt, was the Silver Thorn sword that had caused her so much drama, yet it was something that she wasn’t about to throw away. Her left hand casually moved from the comfort of her right arm pit, falling downwards to rest upon the rose head hilt of the shining silver blade. It was definitely worth the crime, or so Arian thought.
“A fine blade for an orphan...”
The voice was familiar enough. Arian turned on her heel to face the direction from where the voice echoed from. The sound of her heels clicking against one another signalled her change in direction. As her weary dark eyes fell upon the familiar sight of the man clad in black robes, Arian felt a small smile flicker over her cracked, thirst-riddled lips. He took a step towards her battered body – a warm expression shone from his deep emerald eyes – before halting just in front of her.
“Now, where did you get such a fine blade?” He asked with an amused tone, almost as if he already knew the answer. Before Arian could part her lips to speak, he waved a hurried hand and shrugged his shoulders. “Never mind, boy. I should know better than to ask a question like that to an orphan. I suppose ye have come to join our party as we embark for the Wall?”
Arian nodded her head slowly in response. There was nothing left for her in this Northern city. She had nothing, no one, to sway her mind else wise. She was alone in the world, and there was no one who would care for her if she were to fall gravely ill, nor was there anyone to love her in a way that would cause her mind to debate this departure.
The party that she was to travel with was comprised of a multitude of convicts and bastard children, fellow orphans and apprentices that were no longer wanted by their teachers. Especially the miscreants that were pulled from the dungeons looked as if they might be some of the most dangerous individuals that Arian had ever seen in her life. There were five characters, in particular, that caused the few hairs on the back of her neck to stand alert and attentive as her eyes wandered over their forms as she passed. They were stowed away within a caged wagon; shackles bound their wrists and ankles. They were said to be the meanest and most terrible felons found within the confines of the dank, cold dungeons. Put on death row, they were given a second chance by the Wandering Crow who came recruiting a variety of willing men that would sell their souls for the benefits of the Realms of Men. The one, who sat on the very edge closest to the right corner of the wagon, possessed a long scar that run from his left cheek over his lip, while the other that sat just besides him was missing an eye. They grunted and scowled as the feeble girl sauntered past with the Wandering Crow who was guiding her to the head of the party, where there seemed to be less ominous characters lurking about.
The journey took about 2 weeks from the confines of the Deepwood Motte. After hearing tales of the ravenous cold that bit the large ice wall, Arian did not expect that the Wall would be that far from the closer confines of the cities within the North, yet it was. She couldn’t bear to imagine just what it might have been like to journey from the Wall to the Southern-most regions and back again in search of recruits. This just showed that these dedicated men were willing to brave the extremes in order to recruit more lads to defend the nations.
Arian continued in silence. Barely opening her lips to utter a single word, she walked close to the head of the long line of convicts and outcasts with her scraggly head of hair bowed downwards and solemn eyes cast upon the breaking leather shoes that hugged her feet. Her fingers continued to clench onto the intricate sword that had brought her into this mess in the first place; was it even worth the trouble to steal such a finely crafted blade? She often asked herself this question as she lay on the uncomfortable earth with nothing more than a crudely made, itchy blanket to cover her slender frame. The nights were long and cold within the North; the air was always filled with the melancholic songs of the wolves that seemed to populate the forests and open expanses of land within the North – often, Arian would find herself unable to sleep during these nights, and instead, she would lay awake on her back, her eyes lifted towards the ink black skies that were spotted with bright stars and lit up by an incandescent moon. In the distance, the wolves’ melancholic howls were often the lullaby of the evenings, which combined with the gentle rustle and soft pounding of the sentries feet as they stood guard over the group of misfits destined for the frigid Wall of the Night’s Watch. It was during this time of silence and eeriness that Arian often found herself thinking of the family she had never had the opportunity to grow with, the family that was cut down by some rabid Southerners with a thirst for making other people’s lives a living hell. It was the final sight of her father’s valiant attempts and her mother’s crying screams that would haunt her dreams when she finally drifted off into a delicate, fragile sleep.
“We’re here,” the Wandering Crow said triumphantly on the final day of their two week journey. “Welcome to the castle Black of the Night’s Watch, and home to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.” He said without stopping, pushing the weary horse into a canter through the streets of the town that lay on the outskirts of the castle that hid behind the ice-covered wall.
Arian’s eyes followed the structure as the stronghold grew larger and larger with each stride the horse took forwards; those pale grey eyes were wide with amazement at the expanse and size of the Wall that was to guard the Realm of Men against the terrors that lurked beyond it. When they entered into the castle yard that lay at the entrance behind the portcullis and large doors, Arian could not believe what she saw. A couple of men were in the yard practicing their fighting techniques at the instructions of a grizzled old fellow with a face lined with age and experience. Wood struck wood, yelps chorused through the air as one hit the other flat on back, knee or hand. The clanging sound of a blacksmith working near the forge joined in the electrifying atmosphere. Arian did not know where to focus her gaze as her eyes flicked back and forth in rapid succession. However, the moment a large man draped in black bear’s fur stepped out onto a balcony that over looked the castle yard, she felt her gaze immediately drawn towards the figure. A hand was raised in greeting towards the old crow before his eyes swept over the miscreants that had been selected to serve as members of the Night’s Watch.
“So few?” He frowned, his scruffy grey eyebrows enhancing the displeasure at the sight of only a couple of men. “One would think that Lords would still see the honour in sending us a few men.” He cursed, before he embarked down a flight of steps. He ambled between them, looking at the group, assessing their features and looking for masked strengths. “Put them with the others.” He barked before turning and fleeing towards the balcony from whence he came.
“You heard ‘im” The crow said over the loud clatter of the yard. “Dismount and join the others o’er there.” He nodded towards the direction of the party that were taking blow by blow and shuffling their feet to avoid being struck by the opponent.
Arian did as she was told, and swiftly swung her slender leg over the back end of the saddle, before allowing herself to drop to the ground with a gentle thud. Her legs felt like jelly beneath her weight; yet she tried to walk it off as she ventured closer towards the training men. She took hold of the wooden swords that were stacked against the wall, and held it firmly within her hand. She had never fought another man before, and only had the guidance of her father’s words to back her movements.
“Alright, you criminals; form a circle around Snow o’er there and attack him one by one on my mark.” The voice barked with a sharp bite to each and every syllable that escaped the mouth.
Again, Arian did as she was told, and when she heard the Master-of-Arms urge her forwards, she did precisely that. She leapt forwards with a graceful move, before feeling the bitter strength of the wooden sword connect with her own. She gritted her teeth tightly, her jaw clenched, as she felt his powerful blow send a shock of pain through her arms. Yet, she did not falter, and instead, she rushed for him again. For a few minutes, the dark haired boy and Arian were combined in a dance of swords, with each wooden blow finding target, or crashing against each other with a heavy force. Her lungs were burning at this stage, wanting break, yet they seemed to enjoy the sight of Snow finally finding an opponent whom he could contend with.
Once the training was complete, Arian couldn’t help feel a surge of pride filter through her body; she hadn’t been the worst on the training field today.
The months flashed by quickly as Arian maintained the guise of her male counterpart; she kept trimming the scraggly ends of her hair, and when she needed to make water, she made sure that it was in a private fashion so that others would not witness the appendage that she lacked. She started to bind her growing breasts with cloth so that they lay flat against her body, giving her the chest of a boy. Her fighting improved greatly, and a friendship was formed between 5 of the initiates and herself, namely a man named Jon Snow seemed to get along quite well with herself. If it weren’t for her disguise, she would not deny the temptations that he posed for her, and each interaction between them sent shivers down her spine and ended in a rosy blush on her pale features.
Six months to the day, and the initiates were given their roles within the Night’s Watch; Arian was overwhelmed when her name had been called out to serve as a ranger of the Night’s Watch, a task that she had grown to love as Silver Thorn was kept within its sheath and attached to her hip at all times. Snow, on the other hand, was given the role of steward to Mormont, something she knew he would not be happy about, and yet they went on with their lives.
However, Arian could not keep her gender disguised for long.
Another six months passed away, and Arian was in the hall where they all dined, alone and left to bask in the quiet silence of the world. The pale sun had sunk behind the great towering keeps of Castle Black, bringing a dark night that could only be illuminated by the few flickering flames that the candles and torches provided. She knew that she would be on her own as many of the men decided to join in the merriment within the barracks while others had ventured into the town to seek a warm burrow for their manhood for the eve, and the rest were left on guard to keep a close eye on the happenings beyond the Wall. It was during this time that Arian decided to use her time wisely, and instead, stayed behind after the supper was ravished and the plates were cleaned; she had said she would join them later, yet it was a lie. Arian had succumbed to the idea that she was male for far too long that she decided now would be time to reveal herself to the darkness around her. Reaching beneath her clothes, she untied the cloth, allowing her plump, small, perky breasts to fall loose beneath the clothing, causing a slight curvature to be noticed upon her chest. She had taken a seat at the end of one of the long tables, and revealed the silver blade that had been the cause of her exile. Her eyes gazed at the blade for a long while, as the orange flickering hue cast shadows upon the wall, as well as upon the Valyrian steeled blade. She had been caught in this trance for quite a while now, that she failed to notice the slight creaking of the door as it opened and the flash of another light fall onto the darkness.
“Arian, is that you?” A voice called out amongst the shadows.
This sudden noise caused her to jerk towards reality, her eyes widened with fear, while her lips parted to allow more air to rush into her lungs. She tried to stand abruptly to her feet, but fell back onto the wooden seat with a loud thump. There was no way she could continue to pretend as if no one were here. She had made far too much noise to keep her presence hidden. She had no other choice but to answer. “Yes. It’s me.” She answered keeping her face hidden and deciding to turn her back on the figure that was getting closer and closer to where she sat.
“What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to be alone for a while, to clear my head...” She confessed in a hurried fashion that she hoped would imply that she really did want to be left alone.
Yet the figured did not leave. Instead, he ventured even closer until she could feel the slight heat from his wrapped body besides her. She sighed to herself, cursing that she should find this misfortune upon the one evening that she dared to show her true self.
“I know what you mean.” He said slowly. “I’ve often found myself wanting a quiet place to deal with my thoughts. You know, they executed my father the other day...” The voice grew shakier, almost as if there was a combination of rage and sorrow emanating from the voice.
Arian turned to face the figure so that her face could be illuminated by the flickering flames of the candles and torches that were brought to accompany her. “I’m so sorry, Jon.” She whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
She knew exactly what it was like to lose your family to the cruel intentions of another. Yet, it was as she put her hand upon his shoulder that his head raised and turned to face hers. A sharp intake of air stung her lungs as she jerked backwards; she could feel the colour and blood rush to her cheeks, but yet she didn’t back away fully. She chewed her lip for a while, b
Name: Arian Stone