Gasi

Greg stood at the treeline, arm cocked back, ready to launch the stick for what felt like the millionth time. The forest loomed behind him, a wall of dark pines dusted with fresh snow, their branches creaking softly in the cold breeze. He glanced down at Ash, the bear cub sitting a few feet away, staring at him with those big, dumb eyes.

"Okay, buddy, this time for sure," Greg muttered, more to himself than the bear. He let the stick fly, watching it arc through the crisp air before landing with a soft thump in the snow about twenty feet away.

He looked eagerly at the bear, pointing with his other hand. "Go on, buddy. Get it!"

Ash didn't move a muscle.

Fetch, Ash. It's not that hard, Greg sighed, trudging through the ankle-deep snow to retrieve the stick. You run, you grab, you bring it back. Easy peasy.

But the bear cub just sat there, staring at him with those big, dark eyes, head tilted slightly to the side as if to say, "What do you expect me to do with that, you weirdo?"

Greg sighed, picking up the stick and tossing it again. And again. And again. Each time, Ash remained rooted to the spot, watching the impromptu game of fetch with a decidedly unimpressed air.

"I'm just teaching myself how to play fetch," he realized, muttering under his breath. He narrowed his eyes at Ash. "I am, aren't I?"

The bear blinked back at him, utterly unimpressed.

Great. Outsmarted by a baby bear. 

"Gregory!"

The shout startled him out of his one-sided staring contest with Ash. Greg glanced up, grimacing as he spotted Gwenna marching purposefully toward him from the direction of the village gates. Her auburn hair was a vibrant splash of color against the stark white landscape, her green cloak billowing behind her like a banner.

"Heyyyyy, Gwenna," he called out, trying for casual and missing by a mile. He glanced down at Ash, hoping for some moral support, only to see the little traitor hightailing it back into the trees, watching from a safe distance.

Coward, Greg thought, narrowing his eyes at the cub. Leaving me to face the music alone.

Gwenna stomped over to him, her boots crunching against the fresh snowfall with each step. As she drew closer, Greg could see the anger etched on her face, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line.

Uh oh. That's not a happy face. That's a 'you're in deep shit' face.

"Is it true?" Gwenna demanded, coming to a stop right in front of him, close enough that Greg could feel the heat of her breath on his face.

Greg stared back at her blankly, already aware of what this was about but desperately hoping he was wrong. "Is... what true?"

She got right up in his face, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her gray eyes. "Is it true?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Greg remained silent, his tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth. What could he say? That he was ditching her and the entire village to go on some wild adventure with a guy he'd just met? That her dad was all but kicking him out because he didn't want his daughter getting too close to the weird outsider?

His mind raced, trying to come up with some excuse, some explanation that wouldn't hurt her. But he came up empty. Yeah, that'll go over well. 'Sorry, Gwenna, but your dad thinks I'm a bad influence. Gotta go, bye!'

Gwenna's eyes were slightly wet but blazing with anger. "You're leaving!"

It wasn't a question, but Greg nodded anyway, slowly, like he was confessing to a crime.

"You're leaving!" Gwenna shouted again, a balled fist landing on Greg's chest. The blow wasn't hard, but it might as well have been a sledgehammer for how much it hurt.

He grimaced slightly at the hit. "...I take it your dad told you," he said, rubbing the spot where her fist had landed. The words left his mouth lamely, Greg immediately wanting to kick himself for stating the obvious.

Now, it was Gwenna's turn to nod silently, her jaw clenched tight. For a few seconds that felt like an eternity, she just stared at him, her eyes searching his face for... something. Greg wasn't sure what. Finally, she spoke again, her voice small and hurt. "Why?"

Greg swallowed, suddenly finding it very hard to meet her eyes. "I need to seek adventure," he mumbled as he stared at the ground, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears as he watched the flakes of snow land on his sneakers. "I don't belong in Frostfall."

"But you said you loved it here," Gwenna countered, a note of betrayal in her voice.

Greg's heart clenched. I do love it here, he wanted to say. *I love... * But he couldn't finish that thought. Couldn't say it out loud. 

"...I-it's nice," Greg stammered, still avoiding her gaze. "It's just not for me."

Not for me, or not for her dad? the voice in his head asked snidely. Let's be real, Veder. You're running away. Just like you always do.

Gwenna stared at him as he avoided her gaze, her narrowed eyes searching his face like she was trying to read his mind. "Me da wants you gone, doesn't he?"

Greg's head snapped up, his eyes going wide. How did she... "I..."

"Doesn't he?" Gwenna pressed, her voice rising and her tone hard.

Greg frowned, then nodded slowly, reluctantly. "I think he doesn't want you to get yourself tied up with me... or whatever."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Gwenna demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Greg ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, before throwing up his hands. How could he explain this without sounding like a total loser?

"I don't know, Gwenna," he said with a groan. "I'm just some stranger who showed up out of nowhere with a weird sword and a bear cub," he glanced at the treeline, seeing Ash rolling around in the snow, "that's also a coward," he added, glaring at his so-called animal companion.

He turned back to Gwenna, shoulders slumping. "If I was him, I probably wouldn't want my daughter getting involved with some strange guy who doesn't have any..." he racked his brain for what medieval people cared about, "land or servants or something."

Gwenna stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, out of nowhere, she asked, "Are you stupid?",her voice flat.

Greg blinked, caught off guard. "I mean, sometimes, I th—"

He never got to finish that sentence. Because suddenly, impossibly, Gwenna was kissing him. Her lips were soft and warm against his, tasting faintly of honey and berries. Greg's brain short-circuited, unable to process what was happening.

Almost on instinct, his arms came up to wrap around her, pulling her closer. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest, the heat of her body seeping into his own. For a moment, everything else faded away—the cold, the uncertainty, the looming specter of his departure. There was only Gwenna, and the feel of her in his arms, and the sweet pressure of her lips on his.

As they kissed, Greg felt his soul expand again, ballooning out only to reach nothing. But for once, he didn't care about gaining experience or leveling up or whatever the hell his weird powers were supposed to do.

All he cared about was this moment, this girl, this kiss.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the kiss was over. Gwenna pulled back, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with a mix of emotions Greg couldn't quite decipher.

"Wow," he breathed, blinking dazedly. He felt like he'd just been hit by a truck.

A really nice truck. "That was... wow."

Gwenna laughed, the sound soft and sad as she wiped the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yes, wow." She laughed again. "Ye've got a funny way o' talkin', don't ye?"

"I guess… I guess I do," Greg replied, trying to smile even as his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

He watched as Gwenna turned and walked back towards the village, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed, feeling like his chest was being squeezed in a vise. Part of him wanted to run after her, to tell her that he'd changed his mind, that he'd stay in Frostfall forever if it meant being with her.

But he didn't. He couldn't.

"...can't stay where I'm not wanted, though," he muttered to himself, trying to ignore the voice in his head screaming that he was, in fact, very much wanted.

With a sigh, Greg turned back to the treeline, where Ash was watching him with a curious tilt of his furry head.

"Come on, buddy," he said, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. "Let's go pack. We've got a long road ahead of us."

A long, lonely road, his mind whispered. But hey, that's the hero's journey, right? Leave behind everything you know and love, set off into the great unknown, become the chosen one or whatever?

Greg snorted, shaking his head as he trudged back through the snow, Ash trotting at his heels. Some fucking Chosen One.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

​His canvas bag felt heavier than it should have.

Greg adjusted the strap on his shoulder, wincing as it dug into his skin through his thin shirt. The bag was filled with dried food, water skins, and a few personal items he'd scrounged from around the village during his month-long stay. Somehow, it felt like it weighed ten times more than it actually did.

Maybe it's all the emotional baggage, he thought with a smirk, then immediately cringed at his own lame joke.

But whatever...

He stood outside the South gate of Frostfall, eyes fixed on the caravan. Two canvas-covered wagons loomed before him, giving off a lot of "Home, Home on the Range" sort of vibe.. These would be all he'd be seeing for the next month and a half on the road, this and the snowy forests.

Month and a half, he held back a groan. God, I miss cars. Cars, phones, computers, television - he was missing a lot of things, honestly. Fantasy worlds sucked all kinds of balls, if he was being real, and boredom was the greatest enemy.

He could honestly feel his ADHD starving to death with nothing to distract him but snow, guard work, snow, and combat training.

Did he mention snow?

The blond boy fought the urge to frown, keeping his face blank as he stared at the two horses a few feet ahead of him, one hitched to each wagon. Ash, at his feet, stared at them curiously, the bear cub clearly new to the sight of an odd-looking animal that large.

At least I don't have to learn to ride a horse on short notice, Greg thought, feeling a small wave of relief. That had been a worry, at least, something he'd been confused over. He hadn't even seen a horse since he was single digits before he ended up in this hellish snowscape, so the slight anxiety was real. He quickly learned that the horses were being used to pull the cargo wagons with only Merek, his trader friend, and their two assistants actually getting to sit down.

The five guards for the caravan — him included — were walking.

Which is probably going to be another problem, but I'll stress over that later, Greg mused, already imagining the blisters he'd be nursing by nightfall.

He glanced up as he heard the crunching of snow approaching him, eyebrows rising slightly as he spotted Merek walk up to him. The tradesman wore a smile on his clean-shaven face, looking like the neatest person Greg had seen since he landed in Westeros. His clothes were well-made and practical, a far cry from the rough spun wool most of the villagers wore.

"Gregor, aye? How's th' day find ye?" Merek asked, his voice carrying a strong hint of polish that his brother Harl's lacked.

Greg winced internally at the name. "It... it's just Greg," he corrected, lips pursed as he nodded slowly. "Y-you can just call me Greg."

"Ah, me mistake," the caravan owner responded, his expression not shifting one bit. That fixed smile was starting to creep Greg out a little. "Got yerself ready t' be off, then?"

Greg glanced down at himself, then at Ash, who was now pawing at his legs. "Yeah, we're..." He looked back at the village, at the small crowd that had gathered to see off the caravan and Merek. Apparently, his rare trips back to his home village were always something of note. "...we're ready."

Merek's gaze followed Greg's, lingering on the crowd for a moment before dropping to Ash, just now seeming to notice the bear cub. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he quickly schooled his features back into that unnervingly steady smile. "Ye know," Merek began, his voice taking on a more earnest tone, "when I left Frostfall, I weren't much older than ye. I saw me future clear as day—out there, not here. There's a world full o' wonder in the kingdoms, lad. Ye don't want Frostfall t' be the whole o' what ye know."

We've been over this yesterday, Greg thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Whatever. Out loud, he just nodded, keeping his expression tight. "Yeah... I get that."

After a few moments of quiet staring, during which Greg tried not to squirm under Merek's calculating gaze, the tradesman simply nodded at him. Greg couldn't help but notice the man's face didn't even shift in the slightest bit, his smile and expression almost perfectly still which was... off. Like talking to an NPC in a game with limited facial animations.

"Right, all's sorted. Let's get movin'," Merek said, turning away.

The man walked off and hopped onto the front of the wagon in the lead. Greg turned to follow, his mind already racing with thoughts of the journey ahead. Will we run into bandits? Monsters? Please, God, let there be something more interesting than snow...

His musings were cut short as he felt a hand on his back. Greg turned around, blinking in surprise as he came face to face with-

"Gwenna?"

The girl nodded silently, looking Greg in the eye. There was a softness in her gaze that made his heart do a little flip. Before he could say anything, she lifted something over his head and let it fall around his neck. Greg glanced down at what she had just given him, recognizing the bone-white wood pendant on the piece of string. It was something he had grown familiar with seeing around her own neck over the last month.

"Your necklace...?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Aye," she smiled, the expression way more sad than he liked. "Old Gods brought you to Frostfall. Only right that they see you off."

"Gwenna, I..." Greg started, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to tell her how much this meant to him, how much she meant to him. But the words wouldn't come.

She shook her head, silencing him without a word. "...I'll miss you, m'lord."

Greg swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to just say 'screw it' and stay. But he knew he couldn't. This wasn't his world, no matter how much a part of him wished it could be. "And I you, my lady," he managed, forcing a smile.

Gwenna ran back to stand with her family. Her father's face was stormy, his eyes fixed on Greg with a mixture of suspicion and resignation. Her mother, a kind-faced plump woman, offered Greg a small, sympathetic smile. They stood at the forefront of the small crowd, the village chief and his family a picture of both authority and normalcy.

Greg glanced back and waved as he walked away with the caravan, doing his best to convince himself he didn't see the tears on Gwenna's face. It's for the best,he thought, the words ringing hollow even in his own mind.

As the gates of Frostfall receded behind him against the open tundra, Greg felt a strange mix of excitement and dread settling in his stomach. He was leaving the only bit of stability he'd found in this world, heading out into the unknown. Part of him thrilled at the idea - wasn't this what he'd always dreamed of, being the hero in his own fantasy adventure?

But another part, a part that sounded suspiciously like his mom, whispered warnings about stranger danger and the perils of the wilderness. Mom would freak if she knew I was going on a road trip with a bunch of medieval strangers, he thought, a pang of homesickness hitting him hard.

He looked down at Ash, padding along faithfully beside him. At least he wasn't completely alone. "Just you and me, buddy," he muttered. "Ready for an adventure?"

The bear cub just blinked up at him, utterly unimpressed.

Yeah, Greg thought, turning his eyes to the snowy road ahead. Me neither.