{01}

My eyes burst open, startled by the bump on the road.

Moving. I'm moving.

I heard the rattling of the wooden carriage as it went down the road, the horse neighed.

I coughed, wheezed, my body ached.

The driver, an old man, turned to look at me a moment. Sweat trickled down his face.

"Ah, you're awake dear. We'll be home in a bit, dontcha worry."

Home?

Then I remembered.

My heart started pounding.

Heat filled my eyes.

So I took deep breaths.

I stared at the trees around us, the sun shining through their leaves. 

I was sweating too.

Then I heard talking.

People talking.

 Survivors? I hoped.

The carriage stopped, the driver stepped down and pulled me from the back.

Grain and grass were stuck in my messy, dark hair.

I tried pulling it out, silver-white streaks in my locks, not there before.

Where am I?

Passersby stared at me in awe. They looked at my bloodied, ashen mess of a self, eyes agape.

They muttered.

"Poor dear, caught up in that fire."

"Where are her parents?"

"It's been smoking a couple of days now."

A woman approached us, ushering the old man over to her home. They muttered some words to each other, though I couldn't remember what.

I was set down on a bed, small, but more comfortable than the one at home.

Home.

"Leave us," the woman said, wiping me with a wet cloth.

I eyed the room half-awake, herbs hung from the ceiling, bottles of powders everywhere.

I crow watched from the window.

"What's your name dearie?"

I replied weakly, "it's Mira...Mirabel. But mother called me Honeysuckle."

The woman smiled, "well Mira, don't worry, you're safe. We'll get you cleaned up, and something to eat."

I smiled weakly, "thank you."

"Did your mother tell you about this?" She asked, eying the dried blood between my legs.

"She said I wasn't dying," I replied.

"Oh, of course not," she chuckled, "every girl goes through this at a certain age. It's a time when they grow."

"Grow?"

"Yes, you're a woman now. Maelo found you on the side of the road, said you must have been there a couple of days. That's why there's no more blood coming out, it'll come again next month though. We call it a cycle, Mira. It's a time of regrowth, rejuvenation."

She wiped my face with a wet cloth, rubbing away the blood, dried tears, and ash.

"Horrible they are, those Nilfgaardians. Needless violence I say. Burning that poor village, the innocent..."

Innocent.

"What's your name, mam?"

"Oh," she chuckled, "how rude of me. I'm Brienne, though everyone here calls me Brie."

As she poured water into a bath, heating it with her hands, she undressed me and placed me gently inside. The water turned a sickly color as she rubbed me down with a cloth.

I looked at her then, her olive skin, dark braided hair, sunken face, and thin, long fingers.

She was older.

And I think she was like me.

She had pointed ears, concealed mostly by her hair.

Catching me staring, she brushed her hair over her ears, then placed a gentle hand on my face.

"You're safe now Mira, don't you worry."

Only a couple of days later though, I would find that a lie.

Maelo, the old man, a farmer, was given the task to care for me while Brie aided the villagers.

"Our safe keeper, that one," he said once, seeing my curiosity in Brie.

I looked at him and his silver hair, "really?"

"She's gifted, like a mother to us all. She makes sure our crops grow, that our families are healthy, and she keeps the dangers out."

"Dangers?"

Maelo nodded, "wrongdoers."

My heart sank, "oh."

Innocent.

Life had gone on like that for several days, the smoke still visible in the distance.

Home.

-----

They looked like coal.

Some of them sang.

Some of them were on horses, others marched.

All of them carried a weapon,

a bow.

an axe.

a sword.

They bore a symbol on their chest, a Sun, a star, a light.

One man, in particular, leads the march down the path.

Their horses winnied.

They sweated, stunk like piss and shit and death.

They'd just finished a raid a few hours earlier.

In a few months' time, they'd face Queen Calanthe.

That's all the leading man could think of, felt in his heart which was as dark as his name.

The Black Knight.

As they readied themselves for the next raid, a village right around the corner, The Black Knight could feel the surge of adrenaline in his veins.

His lust for blood.

He licked his lips in anticipation, his hand drawing nearer to his sword.

But when his blue eyes landed on their next target, he signaled a 'halt' to his men.

His heart skipped a beat.

A light.

Remnants of a fire.

Had another troop already seized the village?

No.

He was the only troop.

He dismounted his horse, whose heavy, hot, stinking breath filled his nostrils.

Fury and frustration turned to curiosity.

He moved around, the dirt still hot from the flames.

He nudged a charred body with his foot.

Looked around again.

And saw a house, its door open.

Not usually strange in such a situation, anyone would have wanted to flee.

No, what was strange was the space sat in the middle of the home's kitchen.

It was fine, unburnt, as if someone had been sitting there.

He followed traces of fresh blood on the ground, up a small hill, and down again along the dirt path, where carriage trails and hoof prints continued the journey.

The journey which he would continue too.

The Black Knight mounted his horse and continued down the path, his army in pursuit.

'Twas in their sights already.

He could almost feel himself smile.