HEINRICH III

It was usually a grim and primeval place, truthfully better suited for the worship of Taal and Rhya than the veneration of Sigmar. Yet, as the sun rose in the east, the grove went through a miraculous transformation, as the golden glow of morn dispelled the creeping shadows, just as Sigmar beat off the Old Night. It was truly a wonder of a view, one that Heinrich took full of advantage of as he knelt in the humus and foliage, performing his dawn prayers to the Heldenhammer. If there was a disadvantage, it was that he had to pray before this damned ugly tree. It was a twisting goliath, with bark as white as bone and leaves like crimson blood. If that wasn't enough, the bloody tree had a face carved into it, long and melancholy like a statue of Morr. If Heinrich had to venture a guess, he'd say this was where the locals venerated their heathen gods.

Ugh, damned savages.

Well, a true Son of Sigmar did not fear malevolent and wicked forces, not so long as he had the might of the Heldenhammer beside him at all times. He tried to capture the spirit of that faith as he bent his head before the rising sun, feeling its gentle warmth caress his scalp.

"Almighty Sigmar, saviour of the Empire, hear my words and give me strength. I tread an uncertain path in a foreign land, far from the soil of my fathers before me. As always, the Old Night gathers, and with it the scourges uncountable that blight the realms of men. But I despair not, for the Hammer that smites the wicked protects me, and my way is lit by your blessed Comet, oh eternal lord. Ave Sigmar, for in all things your…"

Heinrich had not become a knight of the Reiksguard through a lack of vigilance. His head shot up as the words died in his throat, gazing all around in this lightning wood. A branch had broken, he was sure of it. No small creature would make a noise like that. Instinctively his mailed fist closed around the hilt of Beast Slayer, and he silently cursed himself for having gone out into this wood without his plate. All he had besides his gauntlets were his tunic and a doublet with the colors of the Reiksguard emblazoned upon it. So be it.

"Reveal yourself! Or come taste Sigmar's fury!"

He regretted the words almost the instant they left his lips. He couldn't just go about threatening people in their own castle, Reiksguard or no.

Nonetheless, his threat apparently hit its mark, for a small old man in smoky robes stumbled out of the bush with a cry of alarm and his hands raised high above his head. His eyes were as grey as the rest of him, and currently wide in alarm.

"My apologies, Ser Hen-rich! I did not mean to spy."

Heinrich slowly released the pommel of the enchanted blade, resisting a roll of the eyes at the mispronunciation of his name while savoring his relief that he had not inadvertently insulted some local heathen nobleman. This mousy little fellow was...Lowun, Louis, something like that. From what information Heinrich had managed to divine from his observation, this fellow was some sort of learned man or healer. He certainly had the look for it. In fact, he almost put him in mind of Friedrich, the cranky old archivist at Castle Reiksguard.

That memory caused a most unexpected spike of pain to drive itself into his heart. There was a good chance he would never again be chided by Friedrich for walking too loudly. He was indeed far from home, and the was no path in sight. Heinrich stamped down upon that thought as soon as it wormed its way to the forefront of his mind. There was a path, he merely needed faith to find it. In the end, a man has nought but faith. Sons of Sigmar knew that better than any.

A thousand miles away from his mental turmoil, the little man still stood, his wrinkly face clearly lined with worry for all his efforts to appear not so.

With an internal sigh, Heinrich stood, moulding his face into a vaguely pleasant mask. He had done it so many times before, it came like breathing by now.

"Ah, but the apology must be mine, good man. I am merely a guest here, and this is hardly a private place. You are… Master Lowin, I believe?"

Noticeably more relaxed now, the little man managed a small smile, one hand idly worrying at the small chain of multi-coloured metals that hung about his neck.

"It is Maester Luwin, Ser. Truth be told, I meant only to search the godswood for some herbs I suspected I might need for poultices and decoctions."

Luwin vaguely gestured towards a small pouch around his waist, which Heinrich could see was indeed stuffed with all manner of wildflower and small herb.

"I had no intention of watching you," Luwin continued, "But I could not help but be fascinated by your religious rites."

Heinrich rose an inky eyebrow at that.

Religious rites? Man makes me sound like a damned cultist.

"I am merely performing my morning prayers to Sigmar, good man. They are customarily directed towards the rising sun."

Luwin nodded, eyes shining with naked curiosity.

"I have heard you and your fellows refer to Sigmar before. If you'll pardon my asking, what is he? Some manner of god?"

Heinrich bit his lip, conflicted. On the one hand, Klutzer had made it clear he did not like them socializing with the locals. On the other… was it his duty to spread Sigmar's light? Was that why he was chosen? But why him? He was a good Sigmarite in his own humble opinion, but hardly an Arch-Lector. He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts before he answered the old man, who looked about set to begin bouncing on his heels like a little boy.

"Sigmar is the name of the mightiest of our gods, the Heldenhammer, who was once man. Born under a twin-tailed comet, he would grow to be the mightiest warrior who has ever lived, as well as the wisest and cleverest king. With his divine warhammer, Ghal Maraz, he united the twelve divided tribes of our ancestors into one Empire, with himself as the first Emperor. Though his reign was fraught with all manner of danger, he nonetheless ruled over the most prosperous and successful era in the entire history of the Empire."

Luwin nodded sagely, clearly fascinated.

"Astounding. I myself have studied history at the Citadel. Mostly Westerosi history, though, with only a minor education on the Essosi. But this Sigmar… I have never heard of a man who became a god. Nor of this Empire, either. Where is it located? Beyond the Sunset Sea, perhaps?"

Now that was a question that Heinrich could not answer, both because he had no desire to, but also because he did not know himself where it was relative to this land. If the wizards were correct, one could travel the width of this world and never find the Empire, as this was a different world altogether. That thought still ignited a measure of anxiety in his bosom.

"I know not, I'm afraid to admit. It is located in the Old World, though I've never heard of this 'Sunset Sea'."

Luwin gave a dissatisfied sigh.

"Most unfortunate. Though very enlightening, in any case. Here, many gods are worshipped, though in this particular region folk venerate the nameless Old Gods of river and tree and rock. This is a holy place to them, in fact, and it's said that the faces of the gods were carved into the weirwood trees. I've come upon Lord Stark praying here countless times over the years."

That prompted Heinrich to look back at the tree. Frankly, he could not see the appeal. Taalites at least believed that Taal and Rhya were in every tree, that they could see all beneath the sky. A god so limited as one that needed physical eyes was a god not worth worshipping, in Heinrich's opinion. He carried his god with him wherever he went, for the Spirit of Sigmar was with all who truly had faith. But, he was not about to sneer at these folk and their primitive superstition. He had a bit too much grace for that. His pondering was interrupted by a nervous cough by Luwin beside him, who looked to be clearly still holding himself back from unleashing a barrage of questions.

"I've also been wondering, good ser, about that magnificent creature you ride. None of my colleagues have ever heard of a real, living griffon. At least dragons we know exist, but a griffon? Never in a thousand years of learning has a maester ever came upon such a beast, and the members of my order have travelled to the ends of the world. I would like to study it, if you would permit me."

That took Heinrich back a bit. Griffons were certainly rare in the Empire, but everyone knew they existed. What sort of mundane realm had they stumbled upon? It seems dragons were an exception, naturally. Heinrich had himself never seen one, though like all Reiksguard he knew of the beast that lurked in the deepest parts of the Imperial Zoo, the dragon that Karl Franz managed to tame.

"Well, as long as I supervise you, I see no problem with that," Heinrich allowed, "I warn you though, griffons are ornery beasts, and you must heed my commands exactly."

Luwin nodded emphatically, thirsty for knowledge.

Before Heinrich could ask another question, the air was pierced by the low mourning wail of a horn, and then by the steady pealing of the castle bells. He stiffened instantly, and once more his hand dropped to the pommel of his blade. Usually, horns meant incoming attack, though truly he had no clue himself. Luwin dispelled the mystery for him, glancing upwards and sighing.

"It would seem the search party returns. I would suggest you accompany me, Ser Heinrich, I suspect that Templar Klutzer will want you there."

Heinrich could not deny him, so followed the little man as they swept through the neat gate to the sacred grove. Klutzer had told him to keep the griffon roosted, as their gracious hosts apparently feared that Victory would rip them to pieces at the slightest provocation. That was not strictly true, but Heinrich was hardly about to shatter their misconception. Fortunately, griffons had no problem with sleeping the day away. Most people only saw the eagle part of the beasts when they looked upon them, but truthfully griffons take after their cat side more. Klutzer did not want any conflicts with these people thus far, not until they knew where Johann was. He did not miss how the guardsmen eyed him, no doubt sizing him up in case the worse came to be and Lord Stark ordered his imprisonment. Thinking objectively, Heinrich figured he could kill an easy 6 or 7 before they wisened up and try to fill him with arrows. To be quite frank, his reception here didn't ease his mild distaste for these heathens. In the Empire folk would all but fall on their knees at the sight of a Reiksguard knight on a griffon gracing them with his presence. Of course, he was not so arrogant as to expect such, but certainly it would be nice to receive something other than hooded glances from wary commoners and openly suspicious glares from guardsmen.

At least the women still gave him slyly appraising looks when they thought he was not looking. Heinrich was certainly not ignorant of the fact that the gods had graced him with handsome features.

So that hadn't changed. Another constant to add on his small mental list of things that were the same between this world and the one he had left. It was minor, but it was something.

Luwin made good pace for such an old man, and navigated the yawning courtyards and dirt coated pathways with the grace of someone half his age. Though morning had come, the air still had a bite to it from the previous night, and only begrudgingly did the sunlight dispel the gloom of dawn. He took the time to casually give the castle yet another lookover, in case he had missed something. As ever, he saw a citadel that was visibly ancient, grey like the wolves that coated every bloody banner here. In fact, the whole thing put him in mind of Middenheim, the mighty City of the White Wolf. Of course, this place was a poor imitation, but the similarity remained. Spiralling towers and curtain walls looked down at him, as confident and assured as an elderly Sister of Shallya. This was a place that was built to last, for certain, like a Bretonnian keep.

He was forced to cut his examination short, for Luwin redoubled his speed as they passed through yet another inner gatehouse to reach the sizeable courtyard that held Winterfell's Northern Gate. It seemed they were a bit tardy, for the search party was already dismounting and being attended to by the castle folk. His first once over had him sighing in relief, for there as always was implacable Klutzer, swooping off his black stallion with practiced ease. He was not alone on his horse, for behind him rode…

Oh dear.

That insufferable Greatsword hobbled off the mount with Klutzer's assistance, and as he came around the horse, Heinrich spotted the arrow that sprouted from his calf like some evil flower. Klutzer looked up and spotted Heinrich and Luwin, waving them over before helping Klaus to lean against a fence post. Luwin dropped to his knees before him, feeling the wound and rummaging in his satchel for some healing poultice, which he applied liberally to the crimson gash.

"Fortunately, the arrow did not penetrate very deeply, which means that I can…" Without warning Luwin yanked the arrow out, immediately stemming the blood flow with a large rag.

"AH, YOU SHIT EATING CHAOS CURSED WHORESON BLOODY FUCK!"

Klaus had murder in his eyes, and had to be restrained by Klutzer and Heinrich. Luwin only gave him a small grin.

"I have heard worse, but that was admittedly one of the more creative curses I've had thrown at me," The little man quipped, wrapping the irate Greatsword's leg with a clean bandage, "This should heal fine, but please do come see me tomorrow so I may determine if corruption has set in."

The ordeal ended, Heinrich looked around them to see that Lord Stark approached, his sons behind him along with the Lady Stark, who had two children clinging to her tightly. Even from here he could see the tears of relief that stained her gorgeous cheeks. It seemed they had found the missing Starks. Well, that was good at least. Unfortunately, Lord Stark's face was utterly inscrutable as he regarded them, those stormy grey eyes missing nothing.

"My lords, good ser. I must apologise, for I had assumed that one of your number had stolen my children. Instead, you have helped find them, and suffered wounds protecting them," Lord Stark raised his hand, which Klutzer haltingly took, staring at it like it was the strangest thing in the world. For a witch hunter unused to gratitude of any kind, it likely was. "You have my thanks."

That surprised Heinrich. Noblemen in his experience were almost invariably self-important slime, and the more powerful the slimier. That such a powerful lord was giving them his thanks rather than sneering was refreshing, to say the least. Behind Stark, his two sons inclined their heads with similar sentiment, but only after sharing a quick glance between themselves. Before Heinrich could say anything, Klaus spoke up from his place in the dirt.

"It wasn't any trouble at all, m'lord. Defending the innocent is commanded of us by Sigmar, after all," Klaus declared, and his usually jovial appearance turned deadly serious, "But I really must insist we go looking for the direwolf. It saved my life, we owe it that much, at least."

Klaus looked like he wanted to say more than that, but decided against it. Lord Stark frowned, but nodded.

"Aye, if it helped save my children, I'll have my sons take some men to look for the beast. A direwolf you say? There hasn't been one of those seen south of the Wall in centuries," Lord Stark explained, "That they've returned is troubling news, if you're speaking true."

Klaus seemed satisfied by that, and then craned his head past them to get a look at something past them, grimacing when he saw it.

"Will someone go lend poor Johann a hand? Sorry bugger looks ready to keel over."

All of them turned to see that sure enough, the blue-robed mage slouched over in the saddle of a mangy gelding. He looked like shit, to be quite frank, his skin an unhealthy chalk white, and blood dripped from his nose and ran from his eyes like tears of crimson. His clothes and short beard were already being stained red. Heinrich strode over to him in a hurry, and just in time, for the ailing wizard fell from his seat into the Reiksguard's arms. Klutzer ran over and helped sling the wizards arms over their shoulders. Luwin inspected him at a glance, a grey eyebrow furrowed in confusion.

"What's happened to him? He looks like he's been poisoned!"

Klaus grabbed a fence railing and pulled himself up with a pained groan, waving away a groom's hand of assistance.

"Ah, not poisoned exactly. Perhaps we should take him to a sickbed, and then we can talk."

Klutzer looked miffed at that, seeing as he was usually the one giving the orders, but agreed nonetheless.

"Indeed. It wouldn't do if Johann died on us," Klutzer announced, and then muttered under his breath, "At least not before I get to kill the idiot myself."

Lord Stark nodded his assent, leaning in to say something in private to his sons, who both nodded and moved off to speak with some of the trackers and grooms. Lady Stark looked over at himself and his countrymen then, her bright blue eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed. Heinrich resisted the urge to give her his most charming smile. Lord Stark was a fortunate man indeed, for his wife was the very image of beauty and grace. Heinrich imagined that she was more or less what most Bretonnians had in mind when they prayed to their Lady in the Lake. Finally, she broke off the stare and turned to attend her errant two children, who were wildly gesturing towards Klaus and Johann and talking over each other in what sounded like a rather fantastical story. The Stark children were the spitting image of their parents, he had to admit. Either they had the fiery hair and blue eyes of their mother, or the long face and grey eyes of their equally dour father. It was quite remarkable, truly. Both of Heinrich's parents had been fair of hair, as was his uncle. His father had oft liked to joke that he had been dropped in a barrel of ink when he was a babe, that left his hair stained black for life. That thought was unexpected, for Heinrich had not thought of his father for some years, dead as he was. Perhaps a new world was making his sentimental. They could hardly afford that now, so he suppressed the thoughts. It was a skill he had learned long ago, and he was a deft hand at it by now.

Beside him, Klutzer cleared his throat pointedly, and with a sheepish smile Heinrich helped him haul the limp wizard across the courtyard, towards a tall tower that Luwin beckoned them over to. He chanced one last glance up, and smiled even wider, for high above them soared his own venerable mount. Even from as high as Victory was, his powerful form and mighty wings beating steadily were readily visible.

Another thing that was the same here as in the Old World. His griffon was his guardian.

Praise Sigmar.