To those who are reading fans of my Harry potter series, this is obviously not it. That story is not abandoned, for a while I completely lost ineptest in harry Potter shortly before I had dive into work and schooling. Then, I wrote fifteen chapters straight that I had planned to release all at once along with this story and then lost the USB I was keeping it all in.

I will update that story, most definitely this month or the next if I can, so it is not abandoned. Just have to rewrite chapters that I had already written before.

Just want everyone to know that I'm more of a fan of the TV series than the books, thus my knowledge is limited to the TV series. Even then, there are a lot of details that I do not know and so sadly there might be a lot of places and characters that are completely new but probably exist as something else already. I gain more insight when reading books than watching TV shows.

Also, I'm no George Martin and thus the odds of this being close to what he can do are slim.

Disclaimer: Do not own Game of Thrones nor A Song of Ice and Fire

CHAPTER 1- The Stranger

The crunching of dead leaves beneath the 15 men was an almost welcome sound, or rather it would have been had they not worried about giving away their position. It might have been a while since the end of the war and the Red Wedding massacre, but Frey, Bolton and Lannister men still patrolled these parts, searching for any surviving Northmen who didn't belong.

This group was not made of northmen; they had been born and raised in the south. They had no allegiance but to themselves, it was rare to meet bandits who still held bonds and attachments to their homelands.

The war had been god for them in equal parts as it was shit. The confusion of battle allowed them to pick off any foolish soldiers dumb enough to wander off into the woods unaided by at least five others. They lived like scavengers sometimes, disguising themselves as medics and looting off the corpses of battle.

Some of their numbers had new shiny swords, swords not found among those of their kind. Ordinarily at least.

The war had also proved troublesome however, soldiers fighting for their lives didn't tend to appreciate rogue men taking from them and the brothers in arms that they'd lost, and the commanders and generals tended to be even stricter against rogues. So it almost became a game for the soldiers, or at least some form of exercise, hunting and killing bandits in the woods.

The Gentlemen of the Rivers, that's what the current grouping currently called itself. Their name changed with each new kingdom they ended up in, Gentlemen of the Rivers now, Gentlemen of the Snow, Gentlemen of the Hill, Gentlemen of Flowers.

It was perhaps some subconscious code of theirs, some deep down way that they found to mock the bastards of wherever they found themselves. If they had one thing that was theirs, it was their names. They were no bastards at the least.

"W'e f'ond tr'cks tha' a' way Lor' Gent'le. No' su'r be solideirs or or no'." Spoke Petter the Dumbmouth, a mousy little fellow who could blend in with any color and disappear into the smallest of thickets. He was a great scout and hunter, probably one of the best in all the seven kingdoms. He did however have a few overgrown teeth that seemed to weigh quite heavily on the lad. He had the habit of taking breathing breaks before finishing his words.

"How many?" asked the gruff voice of the Lord Gentle, the proud man who currently held the position of power in the band. A small and meaningless title perhaps, but every man who joined the band dreamt of gaining that position. Gaining that position meant to have first choice and first refusal of everything. It meant that you chose how to divide and who to divide to.

Most Lord Gentles of the past chose to divide best among a select few chosen, build their own core group of protection within the band. Others chose to divide fairly and equally among the men, to have no favorites, these tended to last long, until some member suddenly decides that they are not satisfied with getting fare rations and would much rather be the divider instead.

This current Lord Gentle had won his seat through fair conquest, once the mightiest of their fighters, he lead a small section of men who specialized on defeating the more seasoned victims. Then he'd grown a tad more ambitious and challenged the Lord Gentle to a duel.

"One, Lord Gentle, moving slowly by my guess, he is probably tired or perhaps even hurt. I may have seen a few drops of blood but those could have been an animal or not blood at all." Answered Lonn, a man of average height, average appearance and sadly average intelligence. Lonn was the type of man who could so easily move through the world without much notice if any. He was nearly invisible sometimes. Which made him a great scout.

"How far from him are we?" The Lord Gentle asked.

"Not far, we should come by him very soon." Came the answer. For their own sakes, they had better hope that very soon really meant very soon, otherwise there would be consequences.

Lucky for them, it wasn't long before they came across the stranger, huddled up in a thicket of trees, shivering like a wet dog.

He looked half dead already, his clothes covered with dried blood, his hair wet with blood and sweat and his body had gone pale form either shock, cold or loss of blood. He shoes were worn out, proof that he'd been walking on them for a while. His nails were uncut and long, black form the dirt that had gotten under. Proof that he'd spent a lot of time on the ground.

The large facial hair made his face nearly impossible to properly make out, and the hair was either red or brown depending on where you looked. None of them could have guessed what kingdom he hailed from, his features far too obstructed.

"Can you get up stranger, we are bandits come to rob you, can you fight back?" The Lord Gentle was a mighty warrior, but he didn't exactly get to power with any excellent thinking skills. He might have sacrificed some brain power for his brawn.

The stranger however just continued with his shivering, showing no sign whatsoever of having heard the fairly kind and reasonable question directed at him.

"Friend, we're about to rob and perhaps even kill you, can you fight back?" This time it was the Lord Gentle's hand that asked the question, a fellow by the name of Gulf. If there was one man in the band who could take the Lord Gentle fair and square with a guaranteed victory it was Gulf. The man was large, not just in height but muscle as well. He looked like he could bend metal with hands and shatter swords between his teeth.

He was, sadly, an absolute idiot. That was why he was the Lord Gentle's hand, he was too dumb to usurp but too powerful to allow anyone else to keep close enough to manipulate.

The stranger said nothing, even after the fair enquiries. He just kept on shivering.

Rob Stark's head hurt, more so perhaps than even his chest or hand. The cut on his hand was close to completely closing, but the hand was still swollen from what had to be some infection that he never managed to remove. The wounds in his chest where the crossbow bolts had pierced him were already closed, but they always stung whenever it got cold.

His head though, that had been a plague upon him for a while now. A plague that would only lessen with sleep, and then the dreams would begin. He loved those dreams. He always felt free in them. He longed for them each day.

The large beard and long hair bothered him; sometimes he feared that he might have lice. But he would not dare shave, lest someone saw him and finally recognized him. It's why he was still in the Riverlands, whey he hadn't headed north where he could hideout and recuperate in peace. He was a coward, too afraid to go back home and take it back from those who stole it.

Too tired to strike at those who had betrayed him and slaughtered his men, wife and mother. Even as he sometimes observed Frey and Lannister men, he still couldn't muster the will to strike them down.

He was in one of his binges that night, those times where he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, just as he always had when he was still King in the North. Only this time he was not the great Young Wolf, now he was a broken and crippled pup, a pup who had dared bare its teeth against a veteran lion and he had been rudely disabused.

He'd found a nice place to sleep, out in the trees and among the stars. The cold didn't bother him, he may have been used to the summer but the North summer might as well be a frozen wasteland compared to the south.

The dreams were once more upon him, he was soaring above the clouds today, speeding through the dark skies like a god who watches over the land. It didn't matter that her knew deep down that he was smaller than any men, didn't matter that his body was fairly fragile, what mattered was that he was flying, and only gods could possibly fly unaided.

He surveyed over the land, stared down the Riverlands and screeched a mighty rage at the sight of the twins. The men bellow looked up in surprise and alarm. But they couldn't see him. He was up amongst the clouds. But he could see them just fine, he could see them perfectly. He was a god of course, an old god of the skies themselves.

He was still enjoying the wind blowing through his brown feathers when he began to hear voices. They were indistinct and hollow, as though coming down a long jagged tunnel, bouncing off the walls and scraping against the ridges before reaching him.

The voices kept speaking, not understanding that he wished for solitude, ignoring his desire for peace. They were beginning to annoy him. And so were the images that kept flashing in front of him like visions, visions of men walking towards him with drawn swords, a few of those swords were pitted and rusted, while some were in acceptable conditions, their blades catching the lights of the stars and moon.

He could hear the men more clearly now, they spoke of death and violence, against him. It was preposterous, he was a god, and how dare they threaten him. Still flying, still soaring, still an old god of the skies, he bared his talons and charged them.

The first man to reach the stranger was Bawen, a fella of great courage who was always one of the first for any job. This time Bawen drew his sword and advanced for the stranger's throat. Not to cut it of course, not unless the stranger refused to cooperate.

Bawen, courageous Bawen, was the first to die that night. It happened almost instantaneously, nearly too fast for even the Lord Gentle to follow. One second the stranger was shivering on the ground with his eyes closed, the next he was on his knees, his sword so gracefully piercing Bawen's stout stomach.

The stranger seemed to float to his feet, beyond graceful now, almost as though the wind simply lift him up itself.

Corich was the next closest man, the stranger glided towards him, graceful as a swan then suddenly violent as an enraged eagle. Corich blocked the first strike, aimed at his stomach, but the next tore his throat open, too fast for him to block again.

Next was Almond and Dagmer, these two The Stranger charged at once, his sword was a blur as it moved between the two men, striking once twice, thrice, then moving to the next while the former reeled from the cuts he sustained in effort to of defense.

One, two, the first blow took Dagmer in the knee, the second cut through is throat before the scream of pain could even escape his mouth. Almond was still staggering back, eyes wide open in pure fright. The rest of the band was hardly any better.

The Stranger advanced upon Almond in that way he moved, as though unaware of the ground beneath his feet. In an instant he was upon Almond. First strike attempted to take the tall rogue's head, but he blocked on what to be pure instinct, the second would have open his gut, but he somehow managed to dodge that, again pure reflex, the next went for his right eye, so he raised his sword to defend, but it was a feint. The Stranger seemed to have already figured out that Almond couldn't keep up and was merely using reflexive instinct, so he tricked him into one way then the changed direction smoothly without blemishing form, cutting right down Almond's body.

The Stranger was already walking away from the rogue even before he fell.

"FORM UP. FORM UP. FORM UP NOW." The Lord Gentle bellowed, nearly mindless with fright and panic. He'd never seen anyone move that way, not even in the training grounds before he was dishonorably discharged and shamed, forced into work as nothing but a common bandit.

But his men didn't form up, instead then tripped over each other in their effort to flee. He was soon left alone on a small space between trees, facing The Stranger who moved like an agent of death, an agent come to collect a bounty.

"COME THEN, COME MEET YOUR DOOOOOO…" The Lord Gentle swung his sword first, that strike was parried and he fell into a natural rhythm that allowed him to move with the parried swing and strike once more for The Stranger's neck, that too was parried and he had to tilt his own head to avoid his throat being opened up.

They moved back and forth, exchanging fierce blows that would have lived on in the stories of rogue bands. But it was clear to all who the victor would be; the Lord Gentle was barely avoiding grievous injuries but was taking small cuts with almost every exchange.

The Stranger advanced with a quick combination, two shots for the abdomen, two for the head, one more the abdomen, another for the head and finally one that cut the right knee open.

The Lord Gentle screamed in pain, almost dropping his sword. He pulled upon whatever reserves he had left and used his own combo, but as he swung for the stranger's neck, the man disappeared from sight and was suddenly right beside the Lord Gentle with his sword right through the rogue leader's heart.

No sound escaped the latest Lord Gentle's lips as he toppled over; death was too swift for him.

Robb Stark wasn't too sure how he came to be with a bloody sword and dead men around him. His mind was a hazy mess and his bones felt like they were melting; it was all he could do not to topple over.

His loss was thus inevitable when the large beast of a man advanced upon him, swinging his battered sword like a club.

Robb had no choice but to block, he didn't have the energy or the capability at the moment to evade. The large sword slamming against his sent tremors up his arms and nearly fell him. He allowed the momentum of the blow to carry him out of the little giant's range.

But quicker than he would have expected; the large man was once more upon him. This time Robb was expecting the force behind the blow, so he mustered whatever strength he could to duck under the blow and deliver a strong blow of his own on the man's arm.

Sadly, he didn't have the power to cut the arm off, but he did manage to crack some bones and cut deep. The small giant roared in pain and dropped his sword.

Seeing his chance, Robb struck for the man's exposed neck, putting the whole force of his body and momentum to grant him the strength he currently did not possess. Only, it didn't work.

Again surprising him with his absurd speed for his gait, the large man turned and planted his two palms on either side of Robb's sword, stopping him in his tracks.

Gulf had to commend The Strangers fighting ability. He never really considered himself an expert swordsman; he always relied mostly on his size to do the work. But he could always tell that the Lord Gentle was a good swordsman, as was expected from a former career soldier.

Yet The Stranger had proved he even better. It was perhaps luck then that the killings had weakened him too much to be able to put up a proper fight against Gulf himself. Though his left forearm was cut open and the bone cracked, he managed to ignore the pain long enough to stop the blow that would have opened up his neck.

As fast as he was capable, and with as much force as he could muster with his injured arm, he struck out with his fist and landed a great punch across The Stranger's face.

The man toppled over, dropping his sword as he did. This allowed Gulf to reach down, lift him up with both arms over his head; and then slam him against the nearest tree. The tree shook with the impact, and The Stranger didn't move or make a sound again.

I am posting four chapters at once today, might post more next week or instead post chapters of my Harry Potter story.

Hope you enjoy, Read and Review.