Chapitre 1: A Terrible Beginning
[2nd Moon | 281 A.C.]
"By the gods! Henry, wake up!" An aged feminine voice yelled, startling a figure from the warmth of their covers. As the young man slowly rose from bed, a groan slipped from his lips as he held his head as the drink from the night before ravaged his mind with terrible aches…
"Aye! I'm up! I'm up!" Slowly, Henry rose to his feet and drained the tankard that lay at the side of his bed, a wince immediately coming to his face as the warm northern ale burned his throat as it went down. With a shake of his head, in hopes of driving the aches away Henry slowly began to slip into a pair of linen hose and a tunic of the same material before making his way through the house made of planks smothered with mud, ash, and broken stone.
As he slipped past the door, the midday sun bore down upon him with all the gods wrath as the light assaulted his addled mind, still recovering from drinking far too much of the ale that Allen's father had brought from the north to their village on the Trident River.
As Henry's eyes focused, he was immediately met with the sight of an aged woman with a few deep auburn streaks of hair slipping through her wimple and piercing blue eyes, "It's about time you awoke… With your father gone to war; May the gods keep him safe, it's your duties to make sure his work is complete—"
Before she could go on a lecture about his newfound duties, Henry showed a pained smile as the throbbing of his head intensified, "I know Ma… I'll make sure to finish the nails for Melena today, and shaping the wood for Harold's axe to be finished by the sun rise t'marrow…"
"Tomorrow…" The woman patiently corrected, causing Henry to let out a long sigh that followed a nod, "…and don't forget that you have your lessons with me before the sun sets. No child of mine will be ignorant of the world."
"Aye Mother, how could I forget," Henry felt a drop of sweat build upon his back, having completely forgotten despite having a lesson every week… It seemed he had drunk far too much the night before if he had even forgotten which day of the week it had been…
Making his way up the beaten, dirt path to the forge that sat upon a small hill he cast a gaze to overlook the village and the Trident River beyond…
An unfamiliar, unidentifiable feeling settled into the center of his chest and before he could ponder beyond that feeling a sharp whistle—dozens of them, filled his ears from behind. Not a moment later a great number of small dark streaks filled the sky before they shifted into dots and a handful of impacts rang from the wooden roof above…
His gaze rose to find the familiar glint of worked metal… An arrow hung dangerously over his head a nestle of bright embers held within a pointed metallic cradle, yet he couldn't focus on that as his thoughts fell upon his Mother and without a thought spared towards the hail of arrows he burst into a sprint towards the garden next to the house where he had seen his Mother head off to last… His head pounded with the sound of his heartbeat, and his every breath was deep and heavy with a sense of panic and dread that he was incapable of fully processing, only for a choked gurgle to catch his ears just before he rounded the corner of the house, ignoring the growing flames washing across the thatch roof.
His steps slowed as a fear filled his heart, and as he took that final step he saw his Mother choking upon her own blood, desperately clawing at the fletching of the arrow which had pierced her chest… He ran to her side, and found a moment of relief in those tear stained, fear riddled blue eyes…
She mouthed a word, her voice choked and broken yet Henry's eyes were blurry and blinded with tears, he didn't even hear his own scream as he took his mother's bloodstained body into his arms as he wailed… However, her voice echoed in his mind as the sound of clashing metal, shouts, and cries…
"Run…" It echoed through his mind reverberating off all his rampaging thoughts, yet his body refused to move…
He let out a scream of savage anger that washed away all logical thought… The primal fear of death faded away, as Henry refused to leave his mother's corpse out to rot… Even if he was to die, he'd do it here so that he may join his mother in the Stranger's embrace…
He moved towards the forge, a psychotic light in his eyes, as he grabbed the dull wood—axe he was supposed to sharpen for Allen and returned to find a small group advancing through the village below towards the bill where the forge rested…
Even if he was to die…
Henry's grip around the handle of the axe tightened, as he made his way to his mother's corpse… Intent on protecting it until either his final breath, or until he has completed the Rites of Passage upon her allowing her soul to fully embrace the Stranger's grasp.
Armor unlike anything he'd ever seen glinted in the sunlight… Weapons with curved blades akin to a sickle gleamed with dangerously sharp glint… Colors and Sigils that were not of the Seven Kingdoms if his memory of his Mother's lessons held true… Skin a shade darker than what he had grown familiar, yet a different shade than those of Dorne…
Essosi… They had come to burn his village… Whether it be by Kingly Gold, or that of the rebellion Henry knew naught… Little did he care, they would fall to his axe, or he to their weapons. It wouldn't end any other way, or so Henry had convinced himself.
They pointed and jeered in a language he couldn't understand, a few gave out barking laughs and mockingly held their weapons in a shaky manner…
Was he shaking…? Henry didn't lower his gaze to find out as his body grew increasingly tense, as one of the figures shared a few words with the others then stepped forward and settled into a stance while the others began to circle around him… As Henry's brow creased with understanding what they had expected from his with this scene, he felt a sickness build in the back of his throat…
They thought of this as a game… They thought of him as a fool… They thought only of their victory…
He grit his teeth— An impact ran through his body as he was kicked forward, the laughter grinding at the back of his mind eating away at the distracting thoughts, and he swung his axe—A weighty clash followed, with metal meeting metal as the Essosi met his attack head on—The Essosi's arm shook as he crumpled under the weight behind the blow, having underestimated a well—fed Westerosi apprentice blacksmith as Henry thrusted forward with a heavy step…
What little Henry had learned of swordsmanship and spearmanship from his Father translated poorly when it came to weilding an axe, and it's flat end rammed into the Essosi's chest sending the man stumbling back for a breath, and Henry pressed forward with a downward slash having used the rebound off the cuirass to reposition his axe, in the same manner he would when hammering iron…
An arc of scarlet found his vision as he axe dug into the gap between the figures cuirass and helmet, before the searing pain registered in his mind and Henry lumbered forward as the heat spread across his back… and before he could gather himself the sword that he kept in view cleaved through his sight and darkness took him…
A coldness seeped through his body, pushing away any semblance of warmth… Yet, far in the distance a pinpoint of light surfaced within the darkness, it grew with every passing moment before it overtook EVERYTHING…
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[?? ?? Later]
A sharp gasp resounded amongst the smoldering ruins of what seemed to once be a flour mill… As a figure rose from the ashes with sun—kissed milky white skin, a figure as delicate as a flower yet wielding its own seductive thorns…
Henry immediately knew something was wrong… His body felt different… His chest felt heavy, and his legs felt more planted on the ashy earth laid beneath his feet. His balance felt off, yet far more focused…
His gaze fell and two mounds found his gaze, a familiar mole laid upon the left a fingers distance away from the rosy nipple…
"What?!"
His mind, unable to process the familiarity as it tried to comprehend exactly what he was seeing, exactly what had happened to him, and why he was in a woman's body… A distant giggle washed through his mind, one that his mind could only comprehend as 'Divine'…
Then Henry crumpled to the ground gripping his head as he felt a weight fall upon his mind. Thoughts as heavy as his own, though wholly unfamiliar surfaced in his mind alongside memories, regrets, emotions that he never experienced seared themselves into what he could only understand as his 'SELF'…
There was no pain, only a seeming insurmountable weight that weighed down on his mind… A weight that blurred the lines between 'Henry' and 'Melena' and forced them to merge, becoming something completely different yet the same.
By the time the weight began to fade revealing the ungodly pressure held within, darkness had already taken over the surroundings, with only the moon and stars overhead to cast down a dim light… Henry was lost in their own thoughts. Trying to comprehend the newfound complexity of their mind… By the time the sun rose, they couldn't even recognize their names as their own, as they no longer envisioned themselves as 'Henry' or 'Melena'…
They could no longer recognize themselves, and the sensation that realization left upon their mind was akin to a smoldering flame that sought to burn away at all that was not recognized within their mind… Slowly, they began to process their shared experiences, while the flame took whatever they pulled their comprehending focus away from.
This continued until they were no longer two separate beings, but a singular.
Thus, the world recognized the birth of a new soul. One born not through conception, but through a paired apotheosis…
"Helena."
As if to reconfirm, or to recognize oneself, Helena spoke her name aloud as she listened to the tones of her voice and while it was reminiscent of her Mother; Melena's voice it carried the depth of her Father; Henry's voice… It was pleasing to her ears, and soothed the fading pressure held within that retreated into a warmth that lingered in the depths of her 'SELF'. The last embracing, lingering fragment of Henry and Melena.
Then a realization came upon Helena's mind… She was a bastard…
As if being a lone woman in the raided remains of a village with not a hint of cloth veiling her frame wasn't terrible enough…
After scouring the smoldering remains, Helena had found her Father's, and Grandmother's corpse… Her Father bore a terrible gash across his face that opened his skull to the open air… Most of Helena's time was spent finding a spade, digging graves, and going through the Rites of Passage for the both of them…
However, Helena was blessed by luck once more as she found a burnt chest within her Father's home, filled with an unharmed assortment of clothes… From the stone chest, Helena had picked out a soft sheer shift with thin shoulder straps, an unstained plain white cotton dress and a dark outer cotte.
Though, she had decided to wear some of her Father's clothes, using a long cotton shawl to bind her chest, and a few bundles of bandages to bind her thighs and waist. Stuffing the more feminine outfit into a bundle fashioned from a linen cloak.
A singular half of the lingering warmth felt content, whilst the other seemed faintly relieved which only deepened as Helena pinned her hair up and hid it away under a woolen cap. It seemed both Father, and Mother approved of her actions, putting a faint smile on Helena's lips as she made her way through the charred remains of the house…
With the sun falling upon the horizon, marking the ascent of the moon, Helena made her way up the dirt path to the forge gathering a few items that survived the flames… Most notably, a few handfuls of arrowheads, a few axe heads, a number of sickle blades, and the vast majority of the forging tools. With the only major loss being the fact that the handles of the hammers had been reduced to a brittle charred mess…
Using the sickle blades to cut the spare clothes in the stone chest into strips, and a needle she had been lucky to find amongst charred remains of the forge, Helena split her time between picking strands from the cut cloth, and sewing herself a linen pack in hopes of being able to carry everything she'd be able to scavenge from the remains of the village.
By the time the moon was at its peak, Helena had scavenged all she thought she could… Nothing that would make life as a wayfarer a simple affair, but she had managed to find a few things that would make it easier, such as a shallow pot, a bundle of salt, a fair amount of charcoal, and a handful of assorted coin among a number of things that would make life more convenient whilst traveling the road… Much like the small cart Helena pulled out of the charred remains of the village, that was loaded with the stone chest she had found in her Father's home, and the larger things she had scavenged but couldn't carry on her person…
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[13 Days Later | 4th Moon| 281 A.C.]
With a sharp upward flick, Helena sent her dripping wet hair flying from her front, producing a wet smack as it impacted her back, with her hands running down her face wiping away the excess water from the secluded and shallow section of the Trident River, Helena returned to scrubbing her body with a bundle of moss using a diluted sap from an assortment of local flora to help cleanse the filth from her skin, while also leaving a pleasant scent… One that wouldn't pair well with her male disguise…
Yet, as of this moment Helena could care less. Her scalp had grown sore from having her hair pulled tight and stuffed under a woolen cap, and didn't even get her started on the heat…
Thus, Helena had decided that she would spoil herself… She would spend the time carefully putting her hair into a loose braid, and dress herself in a comfortable sheer shift and a cotton dress, perhaps even a decorated surcotte that her Grandmother used to fancy…
Shifting towards the shore, where she had laid out a small assortment of items she had whittled in her free time, making the most of her Father's favorite hobby; apart from drinking, Helena used the reflection of the water to care for her brows before using a relatively clean square of linen to dry her hair and smooth out any unruly strands with a crude comb before climbing out of the water and patting herself dry, intent on getting dressed while waiting until her hair to dry further before tying her hair back in a loose four strand braid, allowing the braid to layer over her wavy hair before crouching over the wate's edge and inspecting herself in the water…
Having chosen against a surcotte, a dark blue dress laid across Helena's body, with a leather half—corset laid atop her stomach and her cleavage laid bare to the wind, Helena couldn't help but wonder if her grandmother was such a promiscuous woman… Not that Helena didn't like the pronounced appeal it provided… With a shake of her head, dispelling the thought before she ended up selling herself in a brothel, Helena fastened the last few buttons drawing the neck of the dress tight around her throat, not tight enough to impede her ability to breath, nor tight enough to restrict her movement…
As Helena began to bundle her things in a large patchwork square of linen; fashioned from an assortment of lightly charred dresses and tunics, to return to her cart that she had hidden amongst the trees… Helena's ears caught a pair of voices in the distance, muffled by the sound of wildlife, rustling leaves, and the whooshing of the wind caught her body to grow tense as she fell into a focus… A sense of ease fell across her mind as that Essosi accent was nowhere to be heard, instead a thick northern tone spoke alongside something boisterous…
Helena had thought she had skirted around the path of the armies, having been intent on heading deeper into the network of trees that line the Trident River towards the East, though that seemed to have brought her into the lap of what she assumed to be the Rebels…
With a newfound haste, Helena quickly tried to gather her things, hoping that she'd be able to keep the distance between whomever was unknowingly approaching her before they caught sight of her dark auburn hair…
"Haha! I told ya I flatten that thieving dragonspawn! Ah! I can still hear the crunch in my dreams, it won't be long before Lyanna is found, and the North is tied to the crown… Oh, my old friend… It will be our names that are sung by the bards in every tavern—"
The boisterous man's words came to a sudden halt as they broke through the edge of the clearing just in time to catch Helena lift a heavy patchwork linen bundle over her shoulder staring at them light a deer caught in the torchlight… Those brilliant steel blue eyes wide, and filled with an emotion the two men could easily recognize…
It wasn't truly an emotion, but it was filled with varying emotion… A look that told them that this woman wouldn't be caught without a fight, even if it meant her death. An unwieldy confidence that she would die before she was captured, a momentum that assured one of them to be injured if they attempted to act upon the more dark intentions that lay in every human's mind. The intrusive thoughts that everyone is plagued with…
"We mean you no harm…" The first to speak was the man with the northern accent, his steel gaze drowned in exhaustion yet respectful, his eyes never lowering from her gaze. Though, his company was nowhere near as respectful with his gaze, allowing his eyes to roam across her body as he pleased…
Helena dropped her linen bundle, her hand reaching towards her back as she cautiously took a wide stance finding the handle of the sickle—dagger she had stuffed into the back of her corset, while her other hand gently reached out her words rolling off her tongue in a deep, yet feminine tone, watching the two men in dirty chainmail, "Words mean naught in the wilderness, far away from the heavy gaze of nobility… There are no bailiffs here, no catchpoles, no guards… Only a woman stood across two unfamiliar, bloodied men in armor and with weapons…"
The boisterous man let out a guffaw as he slammed the pommel of his bloodied warhammer into the soil, while the Northman at his side let out a heavy breath before his voice slipped from his lips, "Come Robert, let's leave the lass to gather her things—"
"Nope," Robert shook his head as he released his hold on his warhammer allowing it to fall into the soil, catching the sharpened gaze of his fellow Robert loosed a chuckle, "Ah, Ned, don't tell me your not even interested in hearing this lass' story?! Look at her eyes! Not even those Crannogmen have such a sharp gaze…! Truly, women are the most fascinating!"
Helena's confusion slowly began to show on her face, having been taken along by the boisterous man's momentum, while Ned; the Northman let out a long exhale, "Robert, who's to say she wishes to tell her story… It's not as if I'd allow you to force her—"
A loud impact resounded, as Robert gave a weighty smack to Ned's back, "Bah! Let's ask the lass shall we…?"
Helena furrowed her brows, interrupting Robert before he could even pose his question, her gaze catching a skin hanging from the boisterous man's hip, "I'll tell a tale in trade for your waterskin."
Robert hadn't even hesitated, as he gave a strong tug on the skin at his waist snapping the thin leather cordage, before he tossed it at Helena with a broad grin…
Ned shook his head as Helena caught the skin, popping the cork with her thumb to give its contents a sniff, her nose immediately wrinkling at the strong scent of wine that spilled out leading Robert to give a boisterous guffaw. With an internal curse washing through her mind; having hoped it'd be clean water, Helena took a seat upon a moderate sized dry stone and began to weave a story of a Miller's daughter, and an apprentice blacksmith… Skillfully blending truth, half—truth, and lies slowly weaving a complexity that drew the two men into the fabricated story…
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"Haa… Truly a shame… To think your Father had been able to wound one without even being properly trained and with a dull woodsman axe at that…" Robert grieved the loss of a drinking partner he never knew, taking a swig from the wineskin that Helena had passed around halfway through the story; hoping to have it drained before she had finished, "Damned honorless Sellswords, I say if they had half of the honor of Ned here, your Father would have cut them down one by one! A true man worthy of such a beautiful daughter!"
Ned withheld the urge to plant his head in his palm, while Helena just gave a blank stare that blatantly showed her distaste for Robert's lack of subtlety.
"I've decided!" Robert shot to his feet and loudly clapped his hands, "Helena, daughter of an unnamed Blacksmith with balls of Valyrian Steel, and the courage to defend that which he held dear! I, Robert Baratheon, demand we drink till our stomachs burst! IN HIS UNSPOKEN NAME!"
Helena's eyes dulled at the revelation, that hindsight told her was obvious…
This boisterous man was the leader of the Rebellion, the one who wishes to be king, and was crazed enough to challenge the Dragons who forged the Seven Kingdoms in fire and blood… Her body shook as her mind processed that heavy information, as her gaze focused she found a pair of piercingly scrutinizing steel—colored eyes watching—studying her reaction to the information, that exhaustion that had filled his eyes the whole time gone without a trace… His hands interlocked as he leant forward resting his elbows on his knees, eventually bringing his chin to rest on his thumbs hiding his lips that remained impassive the whole time…
Immediately, Helena began to have doubts, her mind ran back her story over and over and over, seeking any faults, paranoia filled her mind, her eyes hiding the machinations of her mind… As she ran that whole interaction through her mind, Ned cast a sidelong glance past the small clearing and Helena frowned at having her expectations met…
Immediately she rose to her feet, hoisted the linen sack and began to walk away, her voice momentarily filling the clearing, as Robert who had sensed the change in atmosphere drew quiet, "Thanks for the skin. I've learnt something I shouldn't, and will now be on my way."
"Stop," Ned spoke, his voice quiet yet powerful, piercing through the lull that followed Helena's words causing her to stiffen, her blue eyes peering over her shoulder as her head turned to meet that steel gaze, "It'd be better for you to head, back whence you came, if you keep East you walk into the Crown's army."
It seems the Northman can keep his word…
(A/N - Status
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Stats -
Main Level: 16 [-]
Strength: 6 [|||||—————] +
Agility: 5 [||||||||————-] +
Vitality: 5 [||||—————] +
Combat -
Defense: 2 [||—————] +
Warfare: 0 [|—————-] +
Axe: 1 [|||—————-] +
Bow: 0 [—————] +
Hammer/Mace: 0 [||||||————] +
Spear: 0 [||||||||||————] +
Sword: 0 [||||||||————-] +
Unarmed: 4 [|||||—————] +
Skills -
Alchemy: 0 [——————-] +
Blacksmithing: 5 [||——————] +
Bowery: 0 [——————] +
Carpentry: 1 [|||||||||————--] +
Drinking: 3 [||||||||||||||||||||——] +
Herbalism: 3 [|||||||||||———— ] +
Horsemanship: 0 [——————] +
Houndmaster: 0 [——————-] +
Hunting: 0 [——————] +
Lockpicking: 0 [——————] +
Maintenance: 7 [||||||||||||———] +
Pickpocketing: 0 [——————] +
Reading: 2 [|||||—————-] +
Tailoring: 4 [||||||||||||||||||||||||-] +
Stealth: 0 [——————-] +
Total Level: 48
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A/N: The system isn't visible, or known to Helena only the 'Omniscient Beings watching from outside the veil'… AKA the readers… However, I will try to keep it 'shown' through the story, this chapter was meant to indicate her 'Baseline'. For those of you who have played/watched, Kingdom Come: Deliverance it may seem familiar, though with a few alterations. One of which ties main level to Basic Stats (Strength, Agility, and Vitality) and is capped at Level 60. Thus you could have 30 STR, 15 AGI, 15 VIT, or any number of combinations…
This also means it doesn't contribute to Word Count.
Ah! There is no way you actually expected a Male MC right…?! Well, I understand if you had, but seriously…?
As for scaling… Barristan Selmy is Level 19 in Sword, Level 16 in Warfare, Level 18 in Defense, Level 15 in Horsemanship, Level 10 in Bow, and has a Main Level of 42 and a Total Level of 150 at the point of Canon. His peak would be Main Level 59 and a Total Level of 204… Age really hit him hard…
Level 20 Strength would be Peak Human.
The Vitality Stat does not equate to health. Instead it would affect the strength of the Immune System, how long someone can go without food/water, the general resilience of their skin, the density of their mass… so on and so forth— and how long one's body can remain inactive without experiencing atrophy. Which means the higher one's Vitality, the slower ones Strength/Agility will decrease without stimulation or with age.
An average Human would be Main Level 8–20 in their peak.
Anyways, until next time,
- White_Dog
)
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
White_Dog
White_Dog Uh, hello…? Who’s there?! Can you hear me…? Hello…? Please sa—
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone