The Reward for a Job Well Done - ChelleyPam - The Dresden Files (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

I knew this place. I’d been here before. Though last time I had been standing on the tracks with a passenger train headed for me.

“I did it.”

“Yes. You did.”

I did not jump. You’ll have to believe me on this. I took an aerial step to one side. Standing there was a pleasant looking young man in a pair of carpenter jeans and a v-neck tee. He stood with his hands in his pockets as he looked around the station that was cleaner than the L ever had. He had a different face nearly every time I saw him, but I always knew who he was. After I’d identified him and realized he wasn’t mortal, I could always him.

“Mr. Sunshine. I get a personal escort?”

He smiled. “Everyone gets a personal escort. They may not always see the one doing the escorting, but there is always someone there. For you, it’s personal.”

“Gee. Thanks.” My thoughts started catching up to me. “Maggie? Bonnie?”

He smiled. “Will be fine. You have raised them well and taught them what they need to know to survive on their own. And they have each other as well as the family the three of you gathered around yourselves. And they have Mouse.”

I relaxed a little and remembered a little girl who was also my family. “Gwen?”

“Lara Raith has every intention of staying true to her word. And if she doesn’t, Maggie and Bonnie as well as several others will do it for her. Your niece will know what lurks inside her and how seriously she should consider future actions. In the end, it’s still her choice, but she will not go into it blind.”

I couldn’t ask for more than that. Gwendolyn would decide if she wanted a mortal or immortal life. I could only hope there was enough of our side of the family on her that she chose the one that didn’t turn her into a monster.

“I..it did work, right?”

“It worked. You stopped them. They no longer threaten your world and the people living in it.”

I sighed. “Oh, good. Because that was one of my best workings ever. I bet it looked amazing! Did it look amazing? I mean, I kinda missed it, with the whole dying and all.” The arch angel in jeans let out a snort through his nose. “And, am I really dead this time? I’m not actually tangled up in some roots on Deamonreach or in an ice tomb in Faerie while Maab stitches me back together or anything am I?”

“No. You’re safe there, the Winter Mantle is returned and a new knight will be chosen. I believe she’s taking her time with this one. You’ve left some pretty big shoes to fill.”

“My condolences to the poor schmuck they drag into that job. It’s the pits.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, do I get a southbound or northbound ticket?”

Uriel raised a brow. “You feel the need to ask?”

“Well, yeah. I mean…I’ve done some f*cked up sh*t in my life. I’m no Michael Carpenter.”

“Few mortals are. But you’ve also done a lot of good things in your life. Not to mention you just literally sacrificed your own life to save billions. Without hesitation. That’s a significant act.” He smiled a gentle smile. “One worthy of a well deserved rest.”

I released a breath I didn’t really need, what with being dead and all, and nodded. “That’s a relief.” I looked around at the setting. “So I get the Harry Potter treatment, huh?”

“That’s on you. Not me. I suspect you appeared here because this is where you appeared the last time you were here.”

A train, one of the newer, modern models that did not look anything like Harry Potter, rolled out of a tunnel and came to a stop. It looked empty.

“My ride?”

“Your ride. You’ve earned it.”

The doors slid open and I was about to step on it, but I took another look at Uriel and…wait a minute.

“You’ve got ‘but face’.”

“I beg your pardon.”

I turned and frowned at him. “You do. You totally have ‘but face’!”

The arch angel sighed. He did not look happy. “Understand, Harry, angels do not have free will. I did voice that it was a great ask after all you’ve done, but I was still given orders.”

Unbelievable. Orders that I was half certain he was going to try and slip out of by letting me get on that train, but still. “I’ve earned it, buuuuuuut…”

“There is an…opportunity.”

“An opportunity. For what? Promotion to angel. That’s fine, but I definitely want a flaming sword. I mean, you gave Butters a freaking light saber.”

“It doesn’t work that’s way. You have saved this world.”

“That was kind of the plan. It was that or have Outsiders eat everybody.”

“You have saved this world. But there are others.”

“So what? You want me to save aliens now? Real ones?”

“No. And we cannot keep you in this…reality. There are others. How much do you know about the concept of alternate dimensions?”

I shrugged. “About as much as the average comic book nerd.”

“That would be a start.” Uriel scratched at his chin. I still wasn’t certain if he needed to or if it was an affectation he adapted when speaking to mortals. I mean, this is the guy who did that whole First Born of Egypt thing. “Creation is vast. Far more so than the mortal mind can comprehend. It spans multiple universes and realities.”

“And an ‘opportunity’ has opened up in one of them.”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that you are…uniquely qualified for. The kind surrounding a threat to end all life on a planet if it is not checked.”

“Yeah, that sounds familiar.” I ground my teeth. I should just say ‘no’ and step in the train. But…look, I’m not religious. I’m not an atheist. I mean, I was in what was essentially purgatory talking to the Angel of Death. I had met multiple Knights of the Cross who carried swords with the nails from the Crucifixion (capital C) to fight fallen angels. I knew gods and God are real. And Uriel, an Arch Angel, was talking to me about this. When he didn’t want to. That meant it was coming from his boss. The Boss.

“Tell me what ya got.”

“One of your least favorite overused tropes.”

“That’s a long list.”

“This one you’d have some personal experience with.”

“Huh.” I kicked the rusty gears in my brain into a squeaking run. “Prophesied child?”

“Prophesied child.”

“f*ck.” I sighed and gave him a ‘let’s hear it’ motion with my hand.

The L station faded away and we were sanding in what looked like an army camp, only everyone was wearing armor, carrying swords or pikes and there wasn’t a humvee in sight.

“Ren faire?”

“Planetoss is significantly earlier on the technological advancement scale compared to Earth.” He nodded towards a large tent. Black with a three headed dragon embroidered in red on the silk, I was pretty sure the thing was made of black silk, but had standards of green with a grey stylized wolf on a white background.

“Planetoss? Well, we call ours Earth which is another name for dirt. Guess I can’t criticize.” I followed him into the tent to find a man on a cot. Sleeping. “This him?”

“No. His uncle, though he doesn’t know it yet. This is Eddard Stark. He’s the current Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North. Though it wasn’t supposed to be. A few years ago he was just the second son, with no real responsibilities outside of whatever marriage his family needed him to join for trade or martial reasons. Maybe he would be his elder brother’s master at arms later on.”

“What happened.”

“His little sister went missing, believed abducted by the crown prince. His brother, a hot tempered man, rode for the capitol and demanded that Prince Rhaegar come out to face him. The king had most of his party, all sons of noble houses, killed and him thrown into the dungeons. Then demanded the previous Lord Stark come down to answer for his son’s treason. They have trial by combat here, but the king was mad. Enjoyed burning people alive. He roasted Lord Stark in his own armor. Had Brandon Stark tied on a garrote and left a sword just out of his reach, told him he could cut his father free if he grasped it. The boy strangled himself to death trying.”

“f*ck.” I stepped closer to look at the sleeping man. “He’s just a kid. How old is he?”

“Eighteen, and has been at war, leading his army, for nearly three years now. He had to step up and marry the girl meant for his brother in his place to secure an alliance between the North and the Riverlands. To get their armies, they only got a fortnight together but it has resulted in a son. An heir.”

“So what are we talking here? Do I get to play Merlin? I’d rather pass on the Benjamin Button routine if I get to choose.”

“No. There was a battle here today. Rhaegar Targaryen died. He never got to tell Stark his side of things. Eddard doesn’t even know where his sister is or if she’s still alive. But during the battle, he took a blow to the head. They aren’t as knowledgeable about such things here. They think he’s fine.”

“I’m guessing he’s not.”

“No. He’s not.”

Eighteen. And already in charge of armies. Married to his brother’s girl. No idea where his sister is. Has a baby back home….”can’t you fix him? You’re the freaking angel.”

Uriel looked pained. “I…have been told not to. But without him, a baby will be born with no one to protect him. His father died here today and his mother will not live long after he is born. And there will be an entire continent of enemies who would kill him just for existing.”

Kill a baby? I felt my nonexistent stomach turn. “Then what’s the plan?”

“If you agree, you would become Eddard Stark.”

That couldn’t be right. “Come again?”

“You, the essence of you. Your soul. Your self. You would become Eddard Stark. You would have his memories. Live as him.”

“And what am I supposed to do as King of Medieval Land?”

“You would be a good lord. A good father. A good man. And you would not be the King of Medieval Land, just a Lord Paramount. I suspect Robert Baratheon will be king when this is all said and done.”

“And why would this be necessary? What am I really going to be facing?”

“Ice zombies.”

Whatever I had expected him to say, that most definitely was not it. “Ice. Zombies.”

“And the things that make them. It’s a threat this world has faced before, but it’s been thousands of years and they have forgotten. The last time they were stopped. By one of Eddard’s ancestors no less. But you can never truly defeat evil. It was only beaten back. They erected a massive wall of ice and magic to keep them out. Created an order of defenders sworn to man it and keep Watch. But time and hubris have let it all diminish and few still believe in the threat.”

“And somehow a child not yet born is supposed to stand against them. Am I really playing Merlin here? Am I to train the boy up? Get him ready to pull a sword out of a stone?”

“He doesn’t have to be king to win this fight. It might be easier to protect him if he isn’t.” Uriel seemed to consider the matter. “Your gifts, your…extra talent against Outsiders, it was brought into being because your conception and birth were timed to fall under the auspices of the right placement of stars and energies. You were made to be Outsider Bane.”

I nodded in agreement. It knew this part.

“The babe, his birth is also auspicious. Only for him it is a combining of bloodlines. House Targaryen has a strong magical heritage, one that they have lost touch with after they lost their dragons. Don’t worry, there are no more dragons here. They managed to kill them off through their own hubris.

“House Stark is also magical. For thousands of years they worked to conquer and settle the North, taking out rival kings with sorcerous gifts. Whenever they did, the men would be put to the sword or sent to pledge themselves to service at the Wall, but the daughters would be wed to the sons of House Stark. It served a purpose. It ensured that the next child to inherit the conquered region would be not only of Stark blood but of the previous king as well, thus settling any disputes over inheritance and rights. “

“And it also introduced any magic talent into the bloodline.”

“Exactly. The boy will be inheriting from both sides. He will need someone knowledgeable to guide him. And to ensure he has a strong foundation for life.”

“And if he’s left alone? What happens?”

Uriel looked grim. “Darkness. A winter that will last a generation or more. Every living thing killed and risen up again to be foot soldiers in an undead army. And when they are done with this continent, with Westeros, they will freeze the seas and march across them to do the same to Essos, and when they are done there, on to Sothoryos. Until the entire world is nothing but ice and death.”

A man entered the tent. He was small for a man, maybe the build of a boy in his mid teens, and as young as Eddard. He crossed over to kneel down beside the cot. “Lord Stark?” When Statk remained asleep, the man frowned and touched his brow. “Ned?”

Uriel leaned over. “Howland Reed. Lord of Greywater Watch. One of Stark’s most loyal bannermen. Perhaps even the most loyal.”

Children. They had children in charge of things. f*ck.

“You don’t have to accept, Harry. You’ve done more than enough. Say no and you can still catch your train. No one will think less of you.”

I watched as the small man worried over his friend. His friend who was a boy with a wife and child waiting for him. A boy who would soon be an uncle to a child born with a heavy burden on his shoulders.

“Bullsh*t.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said bill sh*t! No one would think less of me? I would. I would think less of me, and you know it! You! Michael! Raphael! Your boss! All of you know it!”

Uriel gave me a sad smile. “Because you’re you. You’re the one who stubbornly continues to throw yourself against tyrants, bullies and monsters to protect those who can’t. The man who dares to spit in the eyes of gods and invoice the Almighty. Because you have the willingness to sacrifice yourself for others, but you have a mortal’s free will. You cannot truly understand just how powerful that is.”

“Yeah, and you still haven’t paid that invoice, bub.” I glowered. “What’s the catch? There’s gotta be a catch. Rules. Regulations. What am I working with, here?”

“The Winter Mantle is returned to the Fae. And there are no Fae here. No Ways.”

“None?”

“The Fae realm was created by belief. No one here believes in the Fae. Not in the way you know. And as powerful as you are, even you don’t possess enough metaphysical mass to bring them into reality here.”

I rubbed at my chin. “That means no Molly and no Za Lord’s Guard. That’ll suck and blow. But…also no Maab. No Lea. No constantly watching over my shoulder for some back stabbing shide to get all back stabby. But no Winter magic.”

“Not necessarily. The Starks were known as the Kings of Winter for a reason. It may take time to get your strength back, but you will not be without an affinity to it. The North is a cold place, after all.”

“How cold?”

“Mmm…think parts of Alaska. The Lapland’s. Greenland.”

Great. “Okay, so no Fae. What else.”

“You will not have immediate access to your magic at first.”

“WHAT?!” Little Howland looked up with a frown. He ran his attentions all about the tent. Huh. Some small talent there, maybe? “What do you mean I won’t have my magic at first?”

“It’s a safety measure.”

“Whose safety?”

“Yours. And theirs. This is a war, Harry. And…you will encounter things in the next weeks and months that will upset you. Anger you. Enrage you. And you know how you get when you’re angry. These people are in rebellion against a madman who finds his entertainment in burning people alive. It would not do for the Lord of Winterfell to start throwing fire around.”

My glare failed to intimidate him. Hard to intimidate an Angel. “You said not immediately. How long?”

“It will come back to you in the near future. It will return faster the closer you get to the North. The Starks have been a part of the North for eight thousand years. They are part of their legends and history . You know how that shapes things.

It meant that their ‘metaphysical weight’ was substantial. They would have ties with their lands, so of course they’d be nurtured and made stronger by it. “Eight thousand years? No dynasty lasts that long.”

“Theirs has. Generations upon generations. Nearly every Northern noble house has married to them at one time or another, with only a few exceptions. They have nurtured and cultivated those bonds. You will be waking up as a formidable man with strong support.”

“Anything else?”

“The weirwoods. Pay attention to them. They are sacred trees in the North for a reason. They will also help you regain your magic faster. “

“I’m gonna be a Druid?”

“Not exactly. You’ll understand better once you have Eddard’s memories.”

Right. “Okay. That it?”

Uriel pursed his lips as though he had to think. Maybe he did. Or maybe he had to run anything he wanted to tell me against what he was allowed to tell me. He was held to rulers that just made no sense. Not to a shmoe like me.

“Don’t forget to ask questions. Things aren’t always what the seem, so remember to ask why things are. It will help keep your vision clear.”

Ask questions. I could do that. I was a detective after all.

“Well, on the bright side, I’m unlikely to kill someone’s pace maker or cause any planes to crash. Doesn’t look like a lot of technology around here.”

“There is that. You agree, then?”

I looked again at the sleeping boy on the cot. He was thin. Too thin. The thinness that happened in soldiers when they were in the field for too long. He continued to sleep and those around him were unaware that he wasn’t meant to wake up.

And without him, a baby might be condemned to die.

“Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Uriel gave that gentle smile again and extended a hand. I shook it. “Thank you, Harry. Really.”

The light from the brazier was too much. I snapped my eyes shut with a groan as soon as I cracked them open.

“Ned?”

I tried to say something but I think it only came out as a groan. That was enough to make my head pound harder.

Calloused hands helped me wrangle myself up into a quasi seated position. More of a lean on one arm. I tried to open my eyes again and managed to make out the face of the small man. Howland.

He offered a relieved smile that reached his eyes. “You had us all worried, Lord Stark. It would be easier on all of us if you avoided such things again.”

My expression must have gone a bit green, because he quickly grabbed a bucket nearby and brought it up just in time for me to pitch forward and unload my new stomach.

Concussions f*cking suck.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Once my magic had truly come in, in my previous life, not this one, things had gotten annoying for me. Magic always had tells. People who had magic in significant amounts had a tell, if you knew what to look for. For a time it was skin blemishes. Moles or maybe an off tint to the complexion. There was also a time when milk would spoil or bread would refuse to rise in your presence, which had to suck. I mean, no cheese or butter? No bread? Brutal.

By the time it had gotten to my generation, it was technology. Anything complicated was right out. In my old life I had killed many an expensive cell phone just by standing too close. I had lived in a basem*nt apartment with candles and oil lamps because I couldn’t keep light bulbs working. I’d had a coal stove for cooking and no hot water heater because electric stoves went the same way as the light bulbs and I wasn’t about to risk modern gas appliances. Even those had delicate computer parts to manage and control temperature. Around me they would have been an explosion waiting to happen. I’d driven an old VW Beetle because it was easy to repair and simple compared to more modern cars, and still I was doing well if it only failed one day in ten.

I say all that to explain that I was used to roughing it. Especially for a modern man from the United States during the twenty-first century. I was used to not being surrounded by comforts and modern conveniences.

Still, life in a feudalistic army was awful.

I stank. We all did. Our clothes were only as clean as we could manage with what little we had. Clean water was needed for food and drinking, so we made due with streams and rivers when they were available. Over the clothes we wore armor, which made us sweat. Add that the new me was a Northman and better adapted to a colder climate, I found the warmth of the South vastly irritating.

Food was whatever could be made up quickly. Movies always depicted thick, hearty campfire stews or roasted venison. Sorry to shatter any illusions, but a stew actually takes hours to cook through. So does roasting a whole deer. You might manage a rabbit in an hour over a spit, squirrels faster. An army on the move doesn’t have time for full meals with fresh, soft bread. It was more often dried meats or smoked sausages, fish that had been preserved in salt, hard cheeses and hard bread that was almost hard tack. If you were lucky, there might be dried fruit or you could get your hands on some fresh berries from a thicket on your way or you might come across a random apple tree.

And no featherbeds. I had it a bit easier, though that was a recent development. The fancy silk tent with the nice cot had, apparently, belonged to Prince Rhaegar. Since I had been swaying a bit at the end of the battle from the bonk on the head I’d taken, and it was my sister he’d taken, Robert had declared I should get to keep it as spoils. Mainly he wanted me comfortable so I could recover. It was nice, and the double layered black silk let me have darkness for sleeping. The black also absorbed the suns heat which kept it a smidge too warm during the day, but comfortable when things cooled down at night.

The enemy forces had started to crumble in our path now that their crown prince was dead. It was relatively smooth sailing to the capitol. We smelled the city long before we saw it. Hundreds of thousands of lives crammed behind stone walls with poor sanitation. It reeked. It didn’t help that the city was under attack.

“Umber!” A massive garron stomped up next to me carrying an equally massive man. I didn’t like being the short one. I’d lived for decades as the bean pole, towering over most everybody. Now I was just slightly more than average.

“We’re Northmen. Not animals. Let the men know anyone of ours found raping and pillaging will be executed. We’re better men than that.”

He grunted in response. “Aye, Lord Stark.” He turned and rode back to give the orders as we pressed forward.

Lions on red banners. My new memories identified them as Lannister. Tywin Lannister had been Hand of the King, but they’d had a falling out. Some say over inappropriate comments the king made about Tywin’s wife. Others said because the man had taken his heir into the Kingsguard, a life long position sworn to celibacy, and left him with a second son born with dwarfism that he hated. He’d been sitting on the sidelines the entire war. Looks like he had been waiting to see who was going to win. Ass.

The city was in chaos. Smallfolk were trying to stay hidden. Soldiers were rampaging through the streets. I had to grind my teeth because they weren’t mine. My men would try to settle things down best they were able, but I had no authority over Lannister men.

We pushed our way to the Red Keep. The gates stood open. There were no signs of damage to them. Almost like they had been opened willingly. Had the city surrendered? If so, why did Tywin let his men sack it? Not twenty feet inside the place we came across a Lannister man forcing himself on a woman.

I saw red. Out of reflex I reached for my magic, but nothing came. There was a moment of fear,of feeling powerless, but it was just a moment. Sure, it was the norm for a wizard to lean on their magic, but even before I had won a good many fights because the other guy didn’t expect me to attack physically. Old me had been a few inches shy of seven feet, which was a lot of bone and muscle to throw around. I’d punched more than one wizard, warlock or sorcerer in the nose and claimed the day.

“Ned! Ned! He’s beaten!” Hands pulled me back. My hand was throbbing and the rapist fell to the floor with a broken nose and a few missing teeth. Karstark, distant kin like most Northmen but the head of a cadet branch of our…my house was the one pulling me back. Howland jerked the red cloak from the soldier and used it to cover the crying woman. He spoke softly to her as he helped her to her feet and led her away.

I gave the downed man a last kick to the leg before storming off. I wasn’t even sure where I was going. I just wanted to find something or someone else to break.

Somehow I ended up pushing through a set of massive doors into what was a throne room. Complete with the ugliest throne I’d ever heard of. A tall, vicious thing made of half melted swords. I knew what it was. The Iron Throne. The throne made from the swords of Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies. I also knew there wasn’t a single Northern sword in there. Our…my ancestor had not been conquered. He’d taken a look at the three massive, fire breathing dragons, considered the battles fought to the South already, and decided to swallow his arrogance and pride to prevent his people from being turned into burnt ends. Some regretted it and called Torrhen Stark the King Who Knelt, but plenty of baby boys in the North were still named after him.

Was there more to it? Probably. But the generally accepted story made him and House Stark look good.

There were bodies here. Two of them. One I couldn’t put a name to, but the other I could. The long, matted hair. The fingernails left untrimmed for so long they’d started to curl and twist. The half healed cuts from the throne. Aerys Targaryen. King Scab. The Mad King.

I looked up at the figure seated on the throne. The white armor of the Kingsguard. A head of golden hair. Face pretty enough to be a girl. Young enough I doubt he even needed to shave yet. Jaime Lannister. Lord Tywin’s first born son, taken from him by the king under the ‘honor’ of being a kingsguard.

I was still trying to balance myself. I was Harry, but I was also Ned. The memories and experiences now added to mine own we’re still trying to settle in and find their own place. The Ned part recoiled at what we saw. Lannister was pledged to protect the king. He had clearly broken his vows and killed him! He was an oath breaker!

I was about to bark as much at him, then recalled Uriel’s advice. To ask questions. That things are t always what they seem.

Okay, ask questions.

I motioned for Karstark to stay back and stepped closer to the throne. “Ser Jaime.” The boy’s head came up and I almost flinched. Those eyes. I’d seen too many faces with eyes like that.

See, I’ve fought monsters. Real ones. Ghouls. Various types of vampires. Fallen angels and demons. I’ve fought wars against them with people at my side. I’d seen those eyes in the faces of their victims and in the faces of my compatriots.

This kid had seem some bad sh*t.

“That thing looks uncomfortable. How about you come down from there.” He hesitated, eyes flicking to the dead king, but got up. He came down the steps and I watched him don his metaphorical armor. He summoned bravado and swagger that would make a high school football star proud.

“I was just keeping it warm. Will you be our king, now?”

“And be stuck living in this place? You couldn’t pay me enough.” I held out a hand and motioned him closer. “What happened here?”

The bravado faltered. Green eyes flicked over to the corpse. “I killed the king.” His voice cracked. “I was sworn to guard him, but I killed him.”

That much was clear. “Just because some f*cker wears a crown doesn’t mean he’s worthy of being a king. And we’ve all heard the things that f*cker got up to.” I heard what sounded like an aborted bark of laughter mixed with a shocked grunt behind me and hoped I hadn’t just broken Lord Karstark.

I might have broken Jaime Lannister. The swagger bled out of him and he stared at me, jaw a bit slack.

“I know why I wanted him dead. Why did you?”

He looked pained. I dug around in my new combination mental space, and trust me that was giving me daily headaches I hoped would lessen over time, and uncovered that Kingsguard were supposed to keep the King’s secrets. Right. He was probably struggling with that. Distraction then.

“I know who that body is.” I pointed at the other one. “Who’s that?”

He looked over and scowled. “Rossart. The King’s latest Hand. He’s a pyromancer. Assigned…a fortnight back? He…”

Ah hah. A stumble. “He what?” Come on, kid. Why’d that one have to die?

He swallowed. “He…was going to light the wildfire. Aerys…he has wildfire under the city. In the tunnels. He said…that Baratheon could rule over the ashes.”

My brain whirred and clicked until it had the definition. Wildfire. Seemed to be akin to Greek fire. f*ckity, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

“How much wildfire is there?”

The boy was shaking in his armor. The stress and horror catching up with him now that the damn was broken. “I don’t know. A lot. Enough to destroy the city.”

“Ned!”

I held up a hand. “No. Stay. We go running off shouting about this, we could start a blind panic and the streets out there become an even bigger meat grinder than they already are.”

“A what?”

Right. No meat grinders here. “Panicked people will trample each other to death trying to get out of the city. We need to be smart about this.”

Think. Think. Think.

Okay.

I snapped my fingers in front of Jaime’s face. Kid had gone inside his head and I needed him. “You with me? Your father’s men. Will they listen to you?”

“I…yes. They should.”

“Good, because they’re acting like a bunch of assholes. I need you to put on your Lannister face and reign them in. Lord Karstark and me will see about finding someone to help with…that other thing. You’ve lived here. Any suggestions?”

He blinked. “The alchemist guild made it. If you can find them. They’re likely hiding. The Spider would know the city best, but he was Aerys’ man.”

“Bet he’d still like to preserve his own hide. That’s Varys, right? Okay, we’ll look for him.”

I took him by then shoulders and encouraged him straight. “Now, Jaime Lannister. Son of Tywin Lannister. Get out there and knock some sense into those idiots. If you feel tired, remember you just saved this whole city from going up in flames.” I patted his shoulders and gave him what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “You’re a hero. Now go do it some more.”

The boy nodded, still a bit shaky, but took off. Rickard frowned. “Was that wise?”

“Maybe not, but I got a feeling about that kid.”

“Kid?”

I was going to have to watch how I spoke. “Kid. Baby goat.” Karstark arched a shaggy brow. I shrugged. “People call children lambs. Little lamb. Sweet little lamb. Why not kid? And goats are more stubborn.”

The burly man blinked, the gave a bark of mirth. Then he shook his head. “What about…that?” He nodded towards the floor under our feet.

“Let’s find Varys or the alchemists. And let’s pray that mad f*cker didn’t have nearly as much as Ser Jaime thinks he did.”

We found the man in one of the more interior rooms. He was a pale man with a bald head and wearing silk robes. He carried himself with an exaggerated delicacy, moving with mincing steps, and had a perfumed scent clinging to him. My new memories told me he was foreign to these shores. He’d been sold as a child in Essos and castrated. A eunuch. Somehow he’d taught himself how to ferret out and leverage secrets to improve his circ*mstances greatly.

This was a dangerous man. But if he’d accomplished all of that, he was also a smart one.

“Just the man we’ve been looking for.”

He simpered, actually simpered! I was reminded of a particularly smarmy sidhe courtier I’d had to deal with from time to time. Not one of the ones I killed. He never really gave me a reason to. “Lord Stark, I ask for mercy.” Definitely like that faerie douche.

“Mercy is for those who cooperate.” I motioned for Karstark to close the door. “Now, what do you know about Aerys storing wildfire under the city?”

The man swallowed. “He was obsessed with fire. It became worse as time went on. His last Hand was a pyromancer.”

“Yeah, I know that part. He’s dead. Along with Aerys. What I want to know is if you know where the wildfire is. Or if you know where the pyromancers might be holed up to avoid the chaos out there.” I jerked a thumb in what I thought was the direction of the city.

“I know where some of the stores are, but likely not all. And I do believe I could determine where the rest of Rossart’s fellows could be found.”

“Excellent!” I motioned to Karstark. “This is Lord Rickard Karstark. He’s going to help you find them. They made it; they should know how to neutralize or dispose of it without sending the city and everyone in it up in flames. I am sure that all of us would prefer not to be turned into coals. Agreed?”

I heard someone calling for me in the halls. “It doesn’t rain unless it pours.” I crossed the room and yanked open the door. “HERE!”

A harried man in serviceable armor and…Cerwyn colors I think, skidded to a stop in front of me, breathing fast. “Troubled the royal apartments. With Ser Jaime.”

Damn. Maybe I should’ve kept the kid with me.

I looked over at Rickard. “You have this?”

“Aye, my lord.”

I considered saying that I was depending on him or we all were, but I wasn’t sure how these guys would respond to such positive reinforcement. I had a feeling Karstark was just the type to get things done.

I left with the young soldier at a near run, already missing my old body with the long legs. I could chew up distance with ease. Though this one was in good shape. All that time riding, running and fighting and left it in good condition if a little underfed at the moment. Food could be hard to find on campaign and time to eat it scarce when you had it. Still, I could run up the stairs without becoming too winded.

The sounds of swords clashing and yells reached my ears, mixed with the cries of a child and the anguished screams of a woman. There were men in Northern livery holding back Lannister men. I yelled for them to part ways and pushed through, drawing my sword as I did. Later I would marvel at the muscle memory that wasn’t wholly mine own, but at the time I needed to get through.

There was a dead man with a crest that included a scorpion. I recognized it as a Western house but didn’t immediately recall the name. In the room Ser Jaime was fighting a giant. The man would have had a foot or more in height over my old self. In this body he dwarfed me. And unlike my old six-foot-nine frame, he was heavily muscled instead of whipcord lean. Jaime looked like a child against him for all that he was holding his own. All that height and muscle meant the man was slower and Ser Jaime was cat quick on his feet.

The wails were from a dusky skinned woman in the torn remnants of a fine silk gown. She clutched a bleeding and sobbing toddler to her with one hand and was trying to claw her way across the room with the other. My eyes tracked her direction and…oh God.

I tore my eyes from the bloody pulp that had been an infant’s skull to the spot on the wall where he’d been smashed. The body was so small. How old was Prince Aegon? A year? Not yet two. He wouldn’t even be weaned yet.

Dead.

Again I saw red. Again I reached for my magic out of reflex and again it failed to come to me. I pushed down the thrill of panic and instead moved forward. f*ck honor. You didn’t leave a boy to fight a beast like that on his own.

Back home, in movies and such, the fights are always choreographed so prettily, with opponents holding back so the hero was fighting them one at a time. In real life, only suckers do that. You train to be cognizant of where your allies are so you don’t accidentally stab them, but you don’t cut the bad guy any breaks. Jaime knew how to fight one on one, but he’d also been trained to work with a coordinated attack. And taught well. I’d tip my hat to Arthur Dane if I were given to wearing one.

The room, though spacious, was cramped quarters. The behemoth ate up a lot of space as well. He’d taken off his helm, probably to allow himself full vision when brutalizing the princess and her children. It didn’t take a genius to decipher what that shredded dress meant. The bastard’s business was still dangling free, swinging in and out of sight between the tassels of his armor. But the lack of helmet gave me an idea.

After solving a particularly grueling case, not a violent one but rather a drawn out and annoying one where some bookas, a less friendly version of brownies, had decided the residents of an apartment complex had insulted them and had taken to sabotaging anything and everything they could, I had treated myself to a night at the drive in down in Aurora. A double feature, the main draw of which had been “Troy”. The beginning of the film Achilles, played by Brad Pitt, fought a massive enemy warrior, Boagrius. It was a quick fight, decided by an excellent move. Of course I had no room for a running jump like Achilles and the guy wasn’t fighting shirtless, but I thought I might be able to pull off something similar using what I had on hand.

In hind sight I am blaming it on no longer being a man kissing the south side of fifty who had been so battered, beaten and bashed over his lifetime that he was plagued by aching joints and old scars. The new, fit body that was well trained but still spry made me arrogant. More so than usual. That is the only explanation why I thought it a good idea to take a run at a wall, use it to kick off to get some air and momentum and bring my sword down where the giant’s neck was visible over the armor.

In the film, Achilles got his more in the shoulder section at an angle that would send his blade to sever major arteries and veins, possibly even piercing the heart and at least one lung. His momentum then carried him over allowing him to smoothly withdraw his sword, land on his feet and continue walking while Boagrius fell face first onto the dirt. It was a thing of beauty. An excellent way to introduce the protagonist of the movie.

In my case, my sword got stuck. The force of that flung me forward and I tumbled into an ornate chair that was far too heavy to be a reasonable design. Ow.

I forced myself to try and get up. In a real fight what can feel like an eternity is only a few seconds, and those seconds counted. I managed to look up to see the giant swaying, a befuddled look on his face and my sword mostly lodged in his neck at desired angle and blood starting to trickle out from around it. Jaime must have been surprised by my stunning aerial work as well, but he quickly shook it off and took advantage of the brute’s confusion to thrust his own sword up underneath his chin and into his head, finishing him off.

He pulled back, then moved back a few steps further. I saw the way the giant was leaning and forced myself to roll out of the way. He landed with a heavy thud and clang of armor.

“Timber.” No one seemed to react. Either they didn’t know much about logging or it wasn’t a common warning when tree cutting here.

Ser Jaime blinked at the man,then looked at me. “That…was a bold move.”

“It was a stupid move. I lost my sword. If there’d been more than one, I’d be in trouble.” I winced at a pain in my back, that’d be a hell of a bruise come morning, and got up. I could finally look to Princess Elia and her daughter.

I took a few steps towards them and she screamed, clutching her daughter to her and cringing back. Right. I was not known to her and she’d just been…well, a lot of women wanted nothing to do with strange men after something like that. Lannister sheathed his sword after making sure there were no others coming and approached her instead.

“Princess, let me see.” He knelt down by her and gently started to look for any serious wounds that would require immediate attention. “Princess Rhaenys has been cut. It was Lorch.” He nodded towards the other guy, the one he’d already taken out.

I saw a bed in the next room, discreetly hidden by an ornate screen. Walking over I searched the bedding and grabbed one of the sheets, good quality, and took out the dagger on my belt to cut some strips off of it. There was a pitcher of water near a platter of fruits and cheese on a nearby table and I took that, too, carry them over to the trio. I did my best to seem non threatening and not at all like a man in full armor with smoke and blood clinging to him. Lannister accepted them and started tending to the girl’s injuries the best he was able.

That done I stalked back o er to the open door. There were Lannister men and Northmen still there. My guys were looking grim and ready. The others looked shocked.

“Y…you killed the Mountain.”

Right. Gregor Clegane. The Mountain that Rides, that was the name of Tywin’s pet giant. “It was joint effort. Ser Jaime did most of the work.” I motioned for one of mine to come over and pitched my voice low.

“Fetch me Lord Reed. And tell him to bring women with him. Preferably ones that either haven’t been brutalized or at least have their wits about them. The Princess will not be pleased to see unknown men at the moment.” I was betting she’d be slightly less put off by Howland. The Crannogman was the size of a boy in his early teens and not what anyone would consider threatening. That was mostly because people didn’t know him as well as I…Ned…we did.

Damn it. I needed to get that under control. A war was not the time to have an identity crisis.

The soldier did as he was bade and I went back to looking around. I went back to grab the thick coverlet from the bed so Elia could cover herself better once her cuts and scrapes were seen to the set two of mine at the door to glare any would be interlopers away and had the others gently encourage the rest of the Lannister men to leave the area. There were likely more metaphorical fires that needed to be put out, but my gut told me to stay here. Jaime Lannister might be Tywin’s son, but he wasn’t Lord Lannister. I was Lord Stark. My authority was greater than his and he might need it.

I found a prettily embroidered wall hanging and took it down to drape over Prince Aegon’s tiny little body. His other’s sobs were like knives cutting into my heart.

“I..I am sorry for your loss, My Princess. No parent should have to bury their child.”

“Y…you’re sorry? You?” I could hear the bitterness in her words.

I looked up and met her eyes. “My fight was with Aerys for what he did to my father and brother. It was with Rhaegar, though there I suspect you have as much right to be wroth with him as I. But you. Your children. You have done me no wrong. Your son was an innocent in this matter. Your daughter is an innocent in this matter. As are you. I wish no harm to befall any of you.”

She stared at me as though trying to find a lie in my words. After a time she gave a slight nod. “Thank you, Lord Stark. I…I am sorry for what happened to your father and brother. Aerys was…he was as mad as everyone says. There were…so many. He saw enemies and assassins everywhere. In every face. I may have been his good daughter, but I was little more than a hostage for the good behavior or my family and husband.”

I looked from her to Jaime and back. “I doubt you were the only one.” No, Ser Jaime was as much a victim as she was. It was just the boy had the physical strength and skill to eventually fight back. He’d slain their monster. Good on him.

I was cleaning the blood from my sword when Howland arrived with two matronly looking women in the Red Keep’s colors for servants. They looked tired and stressed, but they also looked like they had their sh*t together. They immediately took into the bodies of Lorch and Clegane and the Princess and her daughter wrapped up in the expensive bed covers, cuddled together under the watchful eye of Ser Jaime, and moved forward to help their princess.

Howland had his pack with him and was setting it atop a table to start unpacking various things. He knew things about elixirs and tonics you could derive from plants that had made him invaluable in the field. It was good he was here.

“Tywin Lannister is looking for his son.”

“He can wait.” Ser Jaime”s voice was soft, but cold.

“He is rather insistent.”

The green eyes flashed. “MY FATHER CAN f*ckING WAIT!” The shouting roused the little princess who had finally fallen asleep, worn out from all the terror and noise. She came too with a fearful cry and Elia immediately tried to comfort her. Lannister winced and muttered an apology. Truthfully, I was impressed by the kid. I’d seen men with ten years or more on him that would have cracked long before now. He had spunk.

Howland looked my way. I gave a nod. “Ser Jaime has had a busy day, and at the moment there are few people that we know can be trusted with their safety. I’ll talk to Tywin.”

I sheathed my sword and left, but not before telling the guards at the door that no one entered that room unless approved my myself, Lord Reed or Ser Jaime. Time to put out more fires.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

All the dirt, blood and grime was making my skin itch. I wanted a bath, a meal and about a week’s worth of sleep. If I got lucky, I might get two of the three. Sleep would have to wait.

Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn were waiting in one of the many rooms.

Robert Baratheon looked a lot like my old friend, Michael Carpenter, which you might think would leave me leaning towards liking him more. The part of me that was Eddard Stark did have affection for him, but the time spent on campaign had disillusioned him greatly. The man proclaimed a great love for my sister, and yet had a different woman in his bed roll practically every night. He might look like Michael, but he was nothing like him.

Lyanna had asked Ned to help her convince their father to cancel the betrothal. Primarily because she had seen and heard enough about Robert to determine that he’d never be faithful. Ned had spoken up for his friend, saying he’d change once they were wed, but she hadn’t believed him. Seeing Robert’s behavior during the war had shown him what she had seen, and he did not like it. Uriel indicated that Lyanna Stark would die from childbirth, but if we managed to save her, I would not force her into this marriage.

Jon Arryn, he was like another father figure to me. High borns here fostered their children out as a way to maintain good relations. It let a young man learn another place’s customs or make friends outside of family. Sometimes, if your foster family had children of the opposite gender, it allowed a chance to see if two young people would suit one another for a possible marriage in the future.

Ned was fostered with Jon Arryn. Robert had been as well and the pair grew up like brothers. That went long way to explaining why Ned had a soft spot for the man. He still loved him, but he wasn’t what folks back home would call “marriage material”. But Jon was a good man. He’d taught Ned much about honor. And the memories that were now mine made me predisposed to listening to him.

Robert looked up as I came in. “Where have you been, Ned? Lannister’s men have been going on about you killing some of theirs.”

“I beat one’s face in when I caught him raping a woman, but he should live. He’ll be ugly, but he’ll live. The other I only take half credit for. Ser Jaime struck the killing blow.”

“My men tell me Clegane was as good as dead before my son acted.”

I turned halfway in my seat to look at Tywin Lannister. A grim, stern faced man who radiated authority.

“Was he? Hard to be certain with a brute that sized. But he was the kind of man who would murder an infant by smashing his head against a wall then celebrate the act by raping his mother. As it turns out, your son and I were in agreement of how such a villain should be handled.”

“And Lorch?”

“That was Jaime. He was already dead when I reached them. Apparently that one took a knife to little Rhaenys.” I leaned back, propping one foot atop the table with as much arrogance as I could muster in my weary state. “What kind of man stabs a child? You may need to take a closer look at the quality of your soldiers.”

He clenched his jaw. I could tell he wanted to put me in my place, upstart that I doubtless was in his eyes, but Jon Arryn and our presumptive new king were in the room as well. “Men can lose their heads in the heat of battle.”

Deflection, was it? “I don’t know how you handle things in the Westerlands, but in the North if a dog goes rabid, we put it down.” Chew on that.

Green eyes narrowed my way. I gave him what was considered my most annoying grin in my old face. My new one was a bit better looking than my old one, but the effect was apparently the same going by his grimace.

“Are you always this trying?”

“No. Sometimes I’m asleep.” Robert guffawed as Jon Arryn chided me gently. That line always worked.

Lannister clasped his hands behind his back. Probably to keep from throttling me. “Where is my son?”

“Standing watch over Princess Elia and her daughter. It has been a trying day for them and they are…well, it may be rude to describe it as hysterical but it does seem fitting. Ser Jaime is disinclined to leave their side at the moment and they seem unreceptive to the presence of most other members of our sex.”

I heard a familiar voice in the halls loudly asking for my whereabouts. Tywin seemed to have his dick in a knot over something and drew in a breath to say something more. I held up a hand to forestall that and turned my head to one side to shout.

“KARSTARK! IN HERE!” A bit later Rickard filled the doorway. “Find anything.”

My cousin looked grim. “Aye, and it’s as bad as the boy feared. I took the liberty of grabbing Umber. We got some of our scarier looking men we know can be trusted and he and them are minding Varys and the pyromancers. They know how to move it, but they warn it’s still tricky business. They’re going to move it onto the beach behind the cliffs and burn it off in batches. Away from sight. Said it could take a fortnight to get it all.”

“Damn. I was hoping they were playing up the amount to keep the mad man placated.”

“We are not that fortunate.”

Jon frowned. “What’s all this, then?”

I drew in a breath and laid it out for them. Lord Karstark added what he’d seen and it was bad. Barrels of wildfire hidden under the city. And Aerys had ordered it set off. Enough to kill everyone and everything.

“Thus why Ser Jaime killed him. He killed Rossart first but I suspect he was clever enough to realize eventually someone who was afraid enough of that mad man would carry out his orders. So he killed the one giving the orders. The boy saved us all.” All three had gone paler than chalk. Tywin included. “I know that, legally, it could be argued that he committed a crime. Killing a king and all. But surely it can be argued that it was justified.” Robert and Jon gave shaky nods. Tywin steeled himself with a lift of his chin. No doubt planning to play the part of the proud father.

“Others take that mad man.” Robert reached for a pitcher and drank right from it. Jon lowered himself into a chair.

“If there is any justice, he will spend eternity suffering for the harms he inflicted upon others.”

The afterlife was a real thing. Not sure how this world slotted into it. For that matter, when I died again would I go to theirs or one from my old life? Would I finger to catch that train? Get to see Karrin again? My parents?

I also knew eternal damnation was real. I’d met some of the guys running it. Not the sort you went out with for beers. Perhaps some sympathy should be afforded Aerys on the grounds that he had clearly been unwell, but I was having trouble finding any. Let the f*cker burn.

“Lord Stark thought it best to keep things quiet. Thought the small folk and soldiers might get panicky and kill one another trying to flee the city.” Karstark had come to stand behind me, like a supportive wall of muscle and steel. Huh. That was new. As the Winter Knight I was the one usually taking up the guard position. When I wasn’t standing out front or on my own. That may take time to get used to.

Jon Arryn frowned but nodded. “A wise move. The city is already disquieted. We are restoring order, but it is a fragile thing.”

Lannister had claimed a seat of his own. “We need to secure Princess Elia and her daughter.”

What? “Did you miss the part where Ser Jaime is presently watching over them?”

“They should be moved to the cells.

Oh, hell no. “We are not putting a little girl and her mother in cells.” I might no longer have the Winter Mantle, but even I felt the cold in my voice. “And if anyone tries to put them there, I will kill every Lannister soldier in this city with my bare hands.”

“Ned!” Jon frowned in near tangible disapproval.

Robert smashed a fist on the table. “Damnit, Ned! Those dragons took Lyanna from me! Took your father and brother from you!”

I leveled my eyes at Robert. “Aerys murdered my father and Brandon. Rhaegar took Lyanna.” I pointed upwards in the general direction of the royal apartments. “Elia Martell and her daughter were not part of any of it. They were as much prisoners here as Jaime Lannister! They have been trapped here, terrified and tormented, and I will not agree to furthering their nightmare!”

Robert drew in a breath but Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “Dorne, Robert. They will already be furious over Prince Aegon’s death, but we still have Elia and her daughter. If they are treated poorly, it will cause problems.”

Robert glowered but sat back down. Jon took it as a sign to continue.

“Also, a betrothal between Princess Rhaenys and your own would further strengthen your house’s position.”

My brain skidded to a stop. “She’s a child! And he doesn’t yet have a legitimate son.” I suspected he might have made one or two illegitimate once’s during this war. “It could be years before he does, leaving a large gap between their ages. Conception and birth grow more difficult for a woman as they age. And it’s hardly fair to ask her to put her life on hold waiting for some hypothetical son to be born and grow old enough to marry.”

Robert made a sound that was akin to a snort as he poured himself wine. “Your boy, then. You’ve got one.”

“A son I’ve yet to even see myself. Who knows if they could tolerate one another when they’re grown. Who betroths an infant?!” A lot of people, I knew, but that didn’t make it right.

“Besides,” a gravely voice added from above my head, “she’s got desert blood in her. You want us to haul her up North? First Summer snow’s like to kill her.”

Lannister scowled. “This is not a matter needing your opinion.”

I glared. “You heard me call him Kar-STARK, did you not? His house was founded by a Stark. He’s kin to my house and one of my most leal banner men. I value his council. He also isn’t wrong. The North is a hard land. I doubt many Dornish would be comfortable.” But there was something about this guy that made me hesitant about the princesses safety. “Still, I won’t close the door to a furture betrothal. I won’t tie either child to one now, but I am not opposed to them meeting when they are old enough to have developed a personality. I won’t force either into a miserable marriage of a better match is found for either of them.”

Jon frowned in tangible disapproval. “Ned, we need to secure Dorne’s loyalty.”

“And you can do that by returning their princess and her daughter to them, healthy and safe.”

“The Dornish allow inheritance in order of birth, regardless of sex!”

“And the rest of Westeros does not. Aegon was the second born but recognized as the heir. Not Rhaenys.” And the lords were, by and large, rather misogynistic. They would not like a woman inheriting. Was it fair? No, but they hadn’t met and served with women more capable of ruling than most men. And I doubt many women in Westeros were raised and groomed to have the traits of someone like Mab or Lara. Though Dorne and the North did produce women akin to Karrin or Charity Carpenter. “You can also argue right of conquest. We fought a rebellion and it would appear we have won.” Sure, the war wasn’t completely over, but that was mainly due to the time it would take to get word to everyone else that both Aerys and Rhaegar were dead.

I leveled my glare at Robert. “If we mistreat innocent women and children, people who had no power against Aerys Targaryen and his cruelty, who were more prisoners and hostages than royalty, then how are we any different from him? You want to be a king? Then be a better one! Be a better man!”

Robert glared back. Jon looked dissatisfied, but I could see his mind working behind his eyes. “As it is, we still have to meet with Dorne before anything can be finalized. Ned does raise truths in that Aerys’ cruelty is widely known. Everyone knows he hated Elia and disliked that her daughter resembled her blood rather than his. The North is here because of his murder of Lord Rickard, Brandon, but he also summoned the fathers of Brandon’s companions and killed them as well. A king has a duty to his people the same as his people have a duty to him. Aerys broke faith with the Realm. You need to be a better ruler than he.”

Apparently it took both of us telling him not to be an ass to get through to him. Seriously, how did Eddard ever think this idiot was good enough for our sister?

Damn, the identity thing was still a mind f*ck. My head hurt. My everything hurt, really. I ached all over. A dull, constant thing. Too long on the campaign. Too long away from the comforts of home.

“Good. So we agree? No throwing the terrified and abused princesses into a cell? Excellent.” I got to my feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” they looked confused at the word ‘gentlemen’ but I rolled on, “I need to see to my men. And figure out where I’m to sleep tonight.” I made a show of tugging my tunic out and taking a sniff. “And arrange for a proper bath.”

Lord Karstark barked a laugh and followed me, both of us ignoring any half-uttered protests. I waited until we were a good distance away from them before pitching my voice low.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t fully trust Tywin Lannister?”

“No.” Karstark’s voice was a low rumble. “Not the only one.”

“I thought not. Let’s make certainty Ser Jaime has some support for his watch. The kid can’t stay awake forever.”

The got me another snigg*r. “Kid.”

The room I secured for myself gave me a view to the waters behind the Red Keep. I’d chosen it because from there I could see the rocky beach below and the eerie green flames as the wildfire was being burned off. Turns out that the stuff had to be mixed with sand to stabilize it enough to be moved. But to truly dispose of it, you had to torch it. The representative from the alchemist guild Umber had brought to me to make a report estimated it would take a good five or six days to get it all. If we wanted it done safely. And I wanted it done safely.

Servants brought me in a bath in a copper tub. All my clothing that wasn’t being worn was turned over to be laundered. I’d dismissed the squire I’d somehow picked up despite not being a knight to get some food and rest himself after he’d helped me out of my armor. That was something they rarely fully detailed in movies. It can be damn tricky to get in and out of armor by yourself. There are straps, buckles and ties you need two hands to work. Legs are okay, but when trying to suit up you arms you ran into trouble.

I had walked away from the window, stripped off the grimy tunic and trousers and stepped into the water that was just a bit warmer than what was truly comfortable. I was beyond caring. Maybe the heat would help ease the soreness a bit. I was sitting back with my head on the rim after a quick rinse when there was a knock.

I groaned out a “What?”

“It’s Howland.”

At least it was someone tolerable. “Come in.”

He slipped inside. His eyes had dark circles and he was still in his soiled clothes. “Are you going to be horribly offended if I don’t get up?”

He chuffed. “No.”

“Good. I got you a room. I think it’s…two doors that way?” I pointed what would be to the left once stepping out of this one.

“I know. A page found me.” He looked me over. “How is your head?”

“Better. How are you? You’ve been running as hard as any of us.”

“I will manage. You were the one who didn’t wake up for a day.”

“I will manage.” I gave him a tired smile, but dropped it. “Princess Elia?”

“As well as anyone could be given what she’s been through. I stitched the largest of Princess Rhaeny’s cuts closed, but the others should heal without it. There will be scars, but they will be covered when she’s dressed. We managed to convince Elia to let the Silent Sisters take Aegon’s body to prepare it. And I gave them both something to help them sleep.”

Good man. “Thank you. And Ser Jaime?”

“Refused anything to help him sleep. Asked if I had something to help him stay awake. Lord Rickard showed up with a few of his and yours. They have settled on a schedule to watch over them.”

Howland came closer and crouched down next to the tub so his voice could stay low. “Ser Jaime says Clegane did nothing without his father’s blessing. He suspects him of sending those two after them.”

“Does he? Damn.” Looks like I was right about Lannister. “Your thoughts on Jaime?”

“A core of iron. No one that young should have had to go through what he has.” Howland shook his head. “The other Kingsguard left him here with that monster.”

“There are only…what…seven of those?” I started going over the roster. “Selmy is recovering from his injuries, effectively a prisoner. Jonothor and Lewyn fell at the Trident. Damn, another Martell. Something else for Dorne to be pissed over. Jaime was here. That leaves three unaccounted for.”

“Perhaps wherever Lyanna is.”

“All three? One, maybe. I would have thought Ser Arthur would be with Rhaegar, but he wasn’t. He might be with her, but three would be overkill. Especially with one of them being Hightower. He is their commander. I would think he would be with Rhaella if not here. There’s still Viserys as well.”

Reed sat back on his heels. “That would be what is sensible, but the Targaryens aren’t always sensible. And Dragonstone has not yet been taken.”

“So we’ve no way to know for certain.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Have you heard anything about where Lyanna might be?”

“No. Nothing.” He sounded as disappointed as I felt. But I refused to write her off as dead until the very end. Yes, yes, Uriel was an archangel, but I’d derailed the plans of higher beings before. And he didn’t want her dead any more than I did. His wings might be tied as far as taking action, what with the lack of true free will and all, but it was in his nature to be infinitely compassionate.

That’s why beings like Uriel struck up deals with people like me. Mankind. Wonderful little chaos monsters. The lot of us.

“Alright. Alright. We’ve nothing else that we can do tonight. Get some food. Get some rest. You need it as much as I do.”

“Aye. I do.” He rose up to his feet. “There was one more thing. Princess Elia asked that you come see her in the morning.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and bade him a good evening. Reed left me alone in my temporary but opulent room.

I waited until the water was not quite lukewarm the scrubbed up using a soap that was a bit fancy for my liking. Something that smelled of flowers and vanilla. But I felt immeasurably better with all the sweat, dirt and blood finally gone. I dried off, pulled on some sleep pants some servant had found and took up a seat atop the bed with my legs crossed.

I centered myself and pulled my thoughts inside. I might not have my magic back yet, but you didn’t have to be a wizard to meditate. Pretty much anyone could do that.

Robert. My new self still cared for him, but I could not deny that I would not want him for my sister. There was even some lingering guilt from before the merging where Ned had started to regret not supporting Lyanna’s request for assistance in getting the betrothal set aside. If I did manage to prevent her death, my next act as Lord Stark would be to dissolve the union. I would not force her into the marriage if she was still against it.

The Martells. I said I wouldn’t rule out a betrothal there, but I didn’t even know my son, yet. I’d never had a son before. I’d had Maggie, my daughter. And Bonnie, who was…complicated though she presented as female-ish. I was a father figure to my niece, Gwendolyn, Thomas’ daughter who had a demon inside her, waiting for her to have her first boink. If it was with someone she truly loved, the demon would die. If it wasn’t genuine love, the poor guy would die and Gwen would be another vampire of the White Court. I didn’t know the first damn thing about raising a boy. Though…he’d probably prove considerably easier than what I’d experienced thus far.

The Martells probably would not like having their hand forced. I wouldn’t in their place. Their sister had been forced to endure who knew what levels of terror at Aerys’ hands. I could see the concern over Dornish laws regarding inheritance, but the Iron Throne wasn’t in Dorne. Dorne and the Reach might insist that Rhaenys be recognized as the rightful queen with a regent. But the Westerlands, Riverlands, Vale and Stormlands would not. Neither would the North, though I personally had problems with a queen instead of a king. Rhaenys was a child. It would be more than a decade before she could rule herself and that was not what Westeros would need during the time following a war. Now was a time to rebuild and adults would be needed for that. Let her be a child. In Dorne. Where her uncles and the unforgiving desert would guard her from enemies.

As for enemies, Tywin Lannister. His reputation preceded him. He’d wiped out families who angered him. And if his son was right, he’d sent that beast of his to wipe out another. It fit with his nature. Him…I would have to be mindful of. Especially with Elia and her daughter.

There were other things weighing on my mind. Much of which was rooted in Eddard’s doubts, fears and concerns before the merging. He wasn’t supposed to be Lord Stark. He wasn’t supposed to be the son married to Catelyn Tully. He wasn’t supposed to be the Lord Paramount. Now he was. We were. And the responsibility weighed heavy on our shoulders.

Damn it.

I am Eddard Stark.

I was Harry Dresden, too. But I had to be both. I had to be an amalgam of us both. A perfectly blended whole. I might not be able to save our…my sister, but my nephew would need me. My bannermen needed me. War was hard back on Earth in the twenty-first century, but the United States was large enough to have a sizable standing military. The North had sent much of its labor pool to war. Fields and harvests would have suffered in our absence.

I was going to have a metric f*ck ton of work to do when I got home.

Little by little I organized my thoughts. Filed away and catalogued every little worry and concern. Until my mind was still. Tomorrow I would go see Princess Elia and hear what she had to say. Address her concerns if I could.

I could not stay in Kingslanding for too long. I still needed to find Lyanna.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

“What…are you doing?”

“Making a sandwich.” I had butterflied a long roll, spread it open, and was layering on goodies from the spread laid out for us. A little butter and jam on each side. Some fried eggs. Some bacon. Some cheese. Some more bacon. What the hell, a little more bacon. Everything is better with bacon.

Howland watched on as I folded it shut and took a bite. I chewed and shrugged as I swallowed. “What? It’s all going to the same place. And this is convenient. I can take it with me while I walk.”

He considered this and tilted his head in agreement. “Not unlike sausages baked inside a bun, but this one you assemble yourself. Simple but clever.” He quickly copied me and made one of his own. We walked as we ate.

“Any new crises turn up since yesterday?”

“Not that has reached my ears thus far. They have resumed removing the wildfire this morning. Lannister has volunteered some of his men to assist with that.”

I couldn’t keep the grimace back. “Any dust ups?” Reed gave me a confused look. “Uh…any trouble between our men and his?”

“Not as yet. I believe everyone at present is more concerned with not accidentally setting the city on fire.”

“Self preservation is a powerful motivator.” We made our way to the royal apartments. Robert had settled in this wing, likely at Jon Arryn’s urging, but I was here for other reasons.

“Ned!”

We stopped and turned. Jon Arryn was walking towards us. I shoved the last of my sandwich into my mouth and finished it off before he reached us. “Lord Arryn.”

“Good morrow, Lord Stark. Lord Reed.” He looked stressed, but we all did.

“What has happened now?”

“It is more of what continues to happen. Storm’s End.”

My brain took a second. Robert’s home. “Have we heard something?”

“No, but they will still be up under siege. Robert’s brothers are still trapped inside. I would allow Robert to go, but we need him to remain here while we consolidate his position as king. I know you’re weary, we all are…”

Stannis and Renly were both young. Renly was still just a child. Right. “I’ll see it’s done. The Reachmen won’t have had time to hear that both Rhaegar and Aerys are dead. If they are smart, they’ll acknowledge they’ve lost and disperse.”

Jon’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Ned. Truly. Invite Tyrell and his lords to Kingslanding to make their oaths. We stayed up with Robert last night and it’s been decided that the lords will be given to opportunity to keep their positions if they bend the knee to Robert.”

“Risky move, but should make rebuilding easier if we don’t have to deal with shifting authorities at the same time. But who all was this ‘we’?”

“Myself, Lord Tywin, Grand Maester Pycell and Varys.”

He was keeping Pycell and Varys? “Is it wise to keep those last two? They served Aerys.”

“Who is dead, as are his heir and the heir’s heir. Pycell is a maester and thus is sworn to his position, not to the crown directly. Varys…is arguably more concerning but he is too valuable to shun.”

Translation: Varys knew where the bodies are buried. Hopefully they kept a close eye on him. As for Pycell, I doubt academics are any different here than they were back on Earth. No one was truly non partisan.

“When can you depart?”

“As soon as we can get everyone resupplied and geared up. I will need to meet with my banner men.” That would take a few days at least. “If you will excuse me, I promised to check in on Princess Elia this morning.”

Jon’s lips pressed together briefly, his eyes moving down the way where her rooms were residing. He banished the expression quickly. “Lord Tywin has been asking for his son to meet with him. Ser Jaime refuses to leave their side and will not grant him entry.”

Damn. Kid really was pissed. “I’ll speak with him, but I won’t make any promises.” There were two guards outside the doors, one in my colors and one of Karstark’s men. They greeted us and let Howland and myself through.

The bodies had all been removed and most of the blood cleaned up. A heavy dividing screen sectioned off the area with the bed from the rest of the room. On a chaise style lounge, Jaime Lannister was forcing himself to his feet, glaring through bleary, reddened eyes.

I looked him over as he registered who had disturbed his rest. “You realize I went through the trouble of getting you extra guards so you could actually sleep, right?”

He scowled and resheathed his sword. “I slept.”

“Sure you did.”

“Lord Stark?” Princess Elia’s voice was quiet as she came around the divider, tying a robe tightly around her. I gave a bow.

“Princess.”

“Rhaenys is still asleep.” She gestured towards a table with some fruit, cheese and watered wine.

“She has had a trying time of it.” I moved towards the table and took a seat. From there I could just see past the divider to the bed. A little dark haired from was curled up under a sheet, something furry and black on the pillow above her head. As though sensing my gaze, baleful green eyes opened as a sleek, feline head lifted slightly. The cat twitched its ears and gave me a look that clearly communicated that I should think twice if I had any ill intentions towards its human.

I politely declined any refreshments. “Have you had any trouble with anyone?”

“No. Ser Jaime and your people have been polite and vigilant. Thank you.”

“It is no trouble. Lord Reed said you wished to speak with me.” She looked towards Howland. “Anything you wish to say to me, you can say in front of him. I trust him implicitly.” And I did. I knew every interaction Eddard ever had with the Crannogman, from when they first met at Harrenhall to every time he had been able to rely on his counsel or skills. Howland was loyal to me and to Lyanna.

Elia nodded. She took a steadying breath and wore her regality like armor. “Lord Stark, I again wish to extend my condolences for the loss of your father and brother. And I do wish to thank you for coming to my aid yesterday.”

“Thank you. I wish we had been able to get here sooner. You have my condolences for the loss of your son.”

Tears shone in her eyes and she nodded her thanks while she recomposed herself. She swallowed. “I know you have reason to be angry with my husband. I do not blame you. But I think that I can help explain what may have driven him to his actions.”

I refrained from striking out verbally. Elia was a victim here, too. The spurned wife. “I am listening.”

“Please know that Harrenhall was not the start of it. Not truly. He did not crown Lyanna out of any carnal desire. He did so because she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.”

Ser Jaime had been taking a drink of watered wine. Upon hearing that, he very nearly spat it out. I frowned and looked to Howland, only to see a somewhat guilty expression on his face. “Howland?”

“She convinced Benjen and myself to help her find the armor. I painted the shield.” He gave a sheepish shrug. “She wanted to see those squires who attacked me punished and thought of arranging for their own knights to do it.”

Unbelievable. “I thought that was Benjen.”

“He wanted to, but Lyanna insisted she was the better rider. After it was done, Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur found us as we were helping her out of the armor. The king had called for the knight’s arrest, but Rhaegar took the shield and spun his tale about finding it hanging from a tree branch while Arthur’s helped us dispose of the armor and got us back to the tents.”

I sighed and ran a hand over my face. “Of course it was Lyanna.” I looked back to the princess. “That was why he crowned her.”

Her lips curved in a sad smile. “Yes. He told me he would if he won the jousts. Because he thought her deeds should be rewarded, but he couldn’t do so without bringing Aerys’ ire down upon her.”

“What happened to change things?”

“Aerys found out. We don’t know how, though Rhaegar had his suspicions. The king sent men to arrest her in the Riverlands. Rhaegar and Arthur rode out to stop them. They weren’t in time to save her guards. And the situation had no easy answer. If he took her to Riverrun, his father’s intentions to try her for treason would come out and the lords would be angry. If he brought her to the city…well…nothing could dissuade Aerys once he’d decided you were a traitor. It would have been your sister’s death.”

I went back to rubbing my eyes. “f*cking idiots.”

“Agreed.” She sighed. A soft sound. “Word from him was…rare. But I could tell when he’d…” She’d trailed off as though the words had gotten stuck in her throat.

I did not pry instead I poured her a serving of the watered wine as she collected her thoughts. The silence stretched until she could resume.

“Rhaegar…sometimes believed he had the gift of dragon dreams. Like his ancestor who foresaw the Doom of Valyria. He would lose him in his prophecies and omens. The most troubling was one where he would say ‘the dragon must have three heads. He believed it meant he needed three children. That we needed a Visenya to go with Rhaenys and Aegon.”

The prophesied child. Damn.

“I…cannot have another child. Rhaenys was difficult. Aegon nearly killed me. I have been warned another pregnancy would be my end. Rhaegar believed we would have our third child in time. But he did not pressure me. The longer he stayed with your sister, though, the few messages of his that reached me…he started to believe she was the answer. Something about the prophecies mentioning ice and fire’. He became fixated on her being descended from the old Kings of Winter.”

Dan and double damn.

“I do not want to believe my husband could force himself on a woman. Believe me when I tell you he wouldn’t need to. Rhaegar’s tongue was as silver as his hair. Aerys was the only one he could not completely charm. Given enough time, he could convince the most pious septa to foreswear her vows, and he’s had plenty of time with Lyanna.”

Of course he had. “Thank you for your honesty, Princess. Do you have any idea where he might have taken her?”

She reached into her robe and took out a folded piece of parchment. “No, I do not. I am sorry, Lord Stark.” She slid the parchment across to me and I took it. Message received. The walls might have ears.

“I see. Again, thank you.”

“You will be staying until Robert’s coronation?”

“Unlikely. Storms End is still under siege. That must be lifted.”

“I see. How…disappointing. I understand that Lord Arryn has sent word to my brothers that I and Rhaenys are alive and inviting them to come to parlay. I had hoped to introduce you so that we might finally lay any bad blood get our houses to rest.”

“I, too, wish for that, Princess. If you would prefer, I will ask that some of my men remain to continue to assist Ser Jaime until your brothers have arrived with their own.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark. That would go a long way to ease my concerns.”

We made our farewells and left the room. “I will need to meet with the other Northern lords.”

“I will pass the word. Where and when?”

“Twilight, in the Godswood.” It was a pale imitation of a proper Godswood but it would suffice. I unfolded the parchment.

My husband had purchased a simple tower keep in the Red Mountains. Overlooking the Prince’s Pass on the Eastern side. Aerys did not know of it. I do not know for certain she is there, but it is the most likely place I can think of where another lord or noble would not know.

Right.

I handed the note to Howland. He read it over and nodded before giving it back and heading off to advise the other lords.

Later that evening I waited in the Godswood. They did not have a weirwood but an oak for their heart tree.

Uriel had specifically mentioned the weirwoods. I could picture them in my mind. Majestic things with stark white bark and blood red leaves akin to maple leaves in the Fall. Beautiful but with faces carved into them that continued to ooze blood red sap. The faces were supposed to give eyes to the Old Gods, though that could just as easily be a long end that had grown over the long centuries and millennia.

My lords tricked in. Umber. Karstark. Cerwyn. Bolton. Reed. Manderly. Mormont. Ryswell. Clan chiefs such as Will and Liddle, who were not truly lords but still highly respected. There were others, but some were also missing. The houses from Skagos for example. Nominally part of the North but for long allowed to govern themselves as long as they did not cause trouble.

I made note of that. To study it later. That may need to change.

Umber nodded. He towered over everyone else. Clegane had been taller, but he was gone. “What troubles you, Lord Stark.”

“That there’s work to be done before we can finally head home.” A slender young man, a boy really, was lingering on the edges. Ethan Glover. He’d been Brandon’s squire and was the only one of his party still alive. He’d been found int he Black Cells. “The lands South of us haven’t yet realized they e lost and Storm’s End remains under siege. Also, I would feel more at ease if our own men helped to guard Princess Elia and her daughter until such time as the Martells arrive to take over.”

Lord Karstark grunted. “I can see to that, my lord. My men already work well with Ser Jaime. And that way we’ve got our own eyes making sure the rest of that green sh*te is burned off.”

I nodded my thanks and looked to Umber. “I reckon you are now the largest, most intimidating warrior on the continent.” There were some chuckles. “Feel up to leading the men to the Stormlands and glaring those Reachmen into submission?l

What? I said I’d see it was done. I never said I’d do it myself.

Jon Umber bared a grin, sharp teeth flashing through his wild beard. “Aye. I can do that.”

“Good. We are to invite them to come here and pledge fealty to Robert as the new king. You may need to escort them just to be safe.”

He nodded. “Where will you be, then?”

“I’ve got a lead on where Rhaegar may have put Lyanna. I will go there.” I looked at my men. “None of us can leave for another day or two, we all need supplies, but once we’re ready we’ll move fast.” I looked at Howland. “Lord Reed,I will only be taking a few with me. We can move faster that way. Will you join me?”

Reed nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

Chief Wull stepped forward. “I will go as well.” Ser Mark Ryswell, Martin Cassell and Lord William Dustin also stepped forward.

“I will go as well.” Little Ethan Glover stepped forward, his jaw in a stubborn set.

“You’ve been through enough, Ethan.”

“I came here with Lord Brandon to get Lady Lyanna back. I’m the last one left. I would see it out to the end!”

Gods, I don’t think the kid could even shave. But I knew that look in his eyes. No intelligent life there.

I sighed. “Very well.”

I thanked them, all for their service. For riding out with me to avenge their liege lord’s murder. For helping us tear down a mad tyrant. When I bade the, to go get the,selves fed and watered, I asked Howland to hang back.

“Yes, Ned?”

I pitched my voice low. “I know we don’t have much time to find one, but I would prefer to take a midwife with us. One who knows her craft.” It didn’t hurt to be prepared. We might still get there in time.

Howland seemed to agreed. “I take it we would like to be quiet about it. Have her meet us outside the city?”

“Yes. And if possible, someone obstinate.”

His brows rose. “Obstinate?”

“Yeah. Cranky. Mouthy. Someone who is not overly impressed with lords or knights and will put the well-being of a mother and child over the wishes of someone in shiny armor and a white cloak.”

A slow smile graced his face. “Aye. I’ll see who I can find.”

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

It took two more days to get everyone resupplied, giving us a good six days to rest, wash and mend clothes and gear and get ready for the next big thing.

I was frowning over the tightness of my tunic in the shoulders. Maybe it shrunk in the wash? The colors and fabric were right, so I didn’t think they’d accidentally switched mine with someone else’s. Or maybe I’d been eating a bit too much these past few days. My musings were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

“Ser Jaime Lannister to see you, my lord.”

Odd. “Let him in.”

Ser Jaime still had dark circles under his eyes but they weren’t quite as pronounced as before. I believe this is the first time I’d seen him outside of Princess Elia’s chambers since he’d gone to her aid. Even with Rickard’s men shoring him up in guard duties.

“Ser Jaime. What can I do for you?”

“Lord Stark, you are leaving today with your men?”

“Aye. There’s still work to be done.”

“I spoke with my father.” He said it as though the words left a foul taste in his mouth.

“I take it that conversation did not go well.”

“He wants me to be released from the Kingsguard so that I can serve as his heir.”

That was expected. “Can you blame him? I don’t believe there is anyone who isn’t aware that Aerys appointed you to the Kingsguard just to spite your father. You are talented, that is not in dispute, but you were his first born son and heir.”

“He still has my brother Tyrion.”

“Whom he famously despises.” I held up a hand to forestall a rebuttal. “I do not agree it is right for him to do so, but he does. And you cannot ignore that Tyrion’s physical form leaves him… overmatched by any other fighter he might face.”

“He is more intelligent than any of my father’s bannermen!”

“Truly? Good on him. I hope you encourage him in that. If his dwarfism denies other paths to him, he should cultivate the gifts he does have. But as for you, what do you want?”

“I… do not know. I used to dream of being a Kingsguard.”

“Let me guess; serving Aerys in that position left something to be desired.”

He glared and huffed. “A knight takes vows. We are supposed to be honorable. Protect women and the innocent. We are supposed to be good.”

“And a Kingsguard?”

“I… Aerys would become excited when he burned people alive. He’d watch it, then he’d go to Queen Rhaella. We would have to stand outside the door while she screamed. I… I asked if we weren’t supposed to protect her as well. Do you know what I was told?”

“Something I’m not going to like.”

“That we weren’t supposed to protect her from him.” He spat the words out. “He terrorized Elia. Would call her in front of the court and scream at her. Demand her to answer as to why Dorne had not sent more spears. Belittle her for being too weak. He despised Rhaenys. That girl can light up the whole keep with her smile, and he hated her. Said she looked too Dornish. That was the type of man I had been pledged to serve, even if it forced me to go against my vows as a knight.”

Damn. This kid needed a therapist. Badly. “I suppose were I in your shoes, I would think over all of that and ask myself one question.” He looked at me, his eyes pensive. “Where can I do the most good? As Ser Jaime Lannister, member of the Kingsguard, or as Lord Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“The heir to Casterly Rock.”

“Sure, for now. But your father won’t live forever. At the risk of causing offense, given how easily the man makes enemies, your wait might not be as long as you may fear.”

He blinked at me, then chuffed a laugh. “A fair point.” He swallowed. “He’s bringing my sister, Cersei, to the capitol.”

“Well, I suppose that’s his call. I’d still be a bit nervous about doing something like that. Not everyone knows the war is all but over. There could still be problems.”

“He wants Robert Baratheon to marry her instead of your sister.”

Ah. “I don’t tell Robert who he should or should not marry. If he’d rather have your sister, then he has my blessing.”

Clearly he had not expected that. “But… you would not be offended?”

“No. I would not be. I rather expect that, should I find my sister, she will likely want to return North and forget all about the South and crowns. If that is her desire, then I will cancel the betrothal and let her live the rest of her days within Winterfell’s walls.” Provided we could get to her in time and it was possible to save her life. I wanted to put this city behind me!

There was another knock on the door. “My Lord, Ethan Glover is here.”

“That would be my new squire.”

“New one?”

“The lad who has been help me is from Last Hearth. I’m giving him back to Lord Umber so he can travel home with them once everything is settled.” The door was opened and Ethan came in. “Ethan here served my brother and now he wishes to serve me.”

“I will leave you to your armor, then. Thank you for speaking with me, Lord Stark.” The boy was looking better, but he was still lost.

“Ser Jaime.” He turned back around to me. “Never forget that it was your actions that likely saved nearly half a million lives here. Whenever you doubt your actions, or start to doubt yourself, remember you saved the city and all those people. You saved Princess Elia and Princess Rhaenys. No matter what else others may say about you, you reckon you have proven yourself to be a shining example of what a knight should be. What a man should be. Things are horrible now, but a man like you can make changes for the better.”

Sometimes all you need is for someone to tell you that you did a good job. Or that you are a good person. Ser Jaime stood a bit straighter and gave me a serious nod, far too serious for someone so young, and left me to Ethan’s tender mercies as far as getting my armor on.

Howland had the last member of our party meet us at a roadside inn where we parted ways from Umber and the rest of the Northern host, on their way to lift the siege at Storm’s End. He’d had her escorted there by one of his who watched over her and a couple of mounts from my cavalry. Not the heavy brutes, but more docile ones used for couriers or non-combat runs.

“Lord Stark, this is Mona.”

Mona was a slight thing who was supposed to be in her twenties. The hard life of a commoner had her looking like she was in the thirties. She had a slight bronze hue to her skin indicating at some possible Dornish or Essosi heritage and kept her black hair with its occasional strand of silver braided back from her face. Her clothing was simple but in good repair and she held herself with the air of someone who did not see an obstacle in her path as a problem.

“Thank you for joining us. I apologize for taking you from your home and family. We are likely to be gone for some time.”

“Got no home or family to worry about. My husband and son were killed in the sack. My daughter died a few days before, same day she was born.”

“My condolences for your loss.”

“Why? Wasn’t any of yours that done it. Now the city is crawling with them red cloaked bastards. I can’t stand the site of them.”

Chief Wull looked from me to Mona and back. “Lord Ned? Why is she here?”

Before I could speak, Mona hooked a thumb at Howland. “Because this one said his lordship wanted a midwife. I’ve been helping bring babes into this world since I was four and ten. Learned from my mother and she learned from hers.” She fussed with her dress which was a bit tight in the bodice. “And with me you get a wetnurse as well, if the mother has need of one.”

My party went a bit pale, exchanging looks. “You think Lady Lyanna…” Lord Dustin seemed reluctant to finish the thought.

“I prefer to be prepared. Princess Elia did disclose that Rhaegar was fixated on some prophecy that made him think he needed a third child. She believed he’d convinced himself that Lyanna was the woman to give him a second daughter. I’ve no way to be certain, but I would rather have her with us and not need her services than find Lyanna in a bad way and have no way to help her.”

Mona was peering at me. “Yer man said that if I helped, a place could be found for me in the North.”

Well, we had to do something to pay her for her services. “Aye, I see no reason why you could not come back with us. I do warn you that few truly appreciate how cold the North truly is. It’s a harsh land.”
“Does it smell of piss and sh*t?”

Howland and his man were clearly both trying not to laugh.

“No. It does not smell anything like Kings Landing.”

She nodded. “That’s an improvement, then. Besides, you’ll have need of someone like me soon enough.”

Lord Dustin frowned. “How do you know for certain?”

She looked at him, her hands on her hips. “You married?”

He blinked, taken somewhat aback. “Y…yes. To Lady Barbrey.” He exchanged a confused looked with Ser Michael, who was a Ryswell like his wife and her cousin.

“I wager you miss her. Will likely be all excitable to see her again when you finally get home.” She nodded to the others. “Same for any of you what is wed. Those men who aren’t have gotten a long drink of mortality and loneliness and will find themselves wanting to wed shortly after they get home. Before another year is out, you’ll be needing midwives like me to help tend to your wives and your women.”

I exchanged a look with Howland. She was perfect.

The tower was not easy to see. I’d been told it was a tower keep, so I knew to look up. You would build a tower where you can take the most advantage of line of sight. High ground was best. It was almost nearly the exact same color as the rocks it stood upon. Had we been just a few hours earlier, the sun would have been in our eyes in just such a way that we would have missed it.

We approached it cautiously and I bit back an oath when I saw who waited for us. Why the hell where all three of the remaining Kingsguard here? What about Rhaella? She was supposed to be pregnant. And she still had Viserys with her. At least one of them should be there.

I growled and leaned back against a large boulder out of sight. “All three. All damn three.”

We all exchanged grim looks. Not just three, but these three. The best of the best. Well, could be worse. They could have squires and soldiers with them.

I took a bracing breath. “Diplomatic.” A little self-administered pep talk never hurt. “Be diplomatic. Everyone, keep your swords sheathed. Aerys is dead. Rhaegar is dead. We’re just here looking for my sister. And I, for one, am plenty tired of killing. Let’s try to keep things civil.”

I stepped out from behind the covering rock and walked up the slope towards the tower. Oswell Whent saw us first. He was seated, sharpening his sword. He stopped and watched as we drew closer. I saw his mouth move as he called for the others but the wind and rocks swallowed the sound.

We came to a stop before three of the greatest fighters in Westeros. Six men and a woman. Whent’s sword was still out but Dayne and Hightower still had theirs sheathed, same as ours.

I took a breath. “Gentlemen, I’ve been wondering where the three of you were.” I kept forgetting the ‘gentlemen’ or ‘gentleman’ might not be that common. It was something that came about in Britain long ago and was used for the lowest rank of landed gentry. Over time it became a polite form of address for a gathering of men or boys. These three seemed to be trying to figure out if I’d just dealt them some Northern insult or another. “I must confess, I did not expect to find half the Kingsguard in the same place. Not given the state of things elsewhere.”

Ser Hightower squared his shoulders. “We are where our Prince commands us to be.”

“Your prince is gone. He felt in single combat against Robert Baratheon. The lords gather even now to crown him the new king.”

“Our oaths were sworn to House Targaryen.”

“To House Targaryen or to the Iron Thone? I’ve never been sure of which. At any rate, King Aerys is also dead.”

They glowered and I knew that word must have reached them somehow because Whent spoke up next. “By an oathbreaker! He is no true Kingsguard.”

I felt the need to speak up for Ser Jaime. He was a good kid. “Really? Correct me if I am mistaken, but you’re all knights, are you not? Ser Jaime and I had a conversation before I left. He was struggling with the fact that as a knight he was pledged to protect the innocent and women, but as a Kingsguard he was required to stand out in the hallway and do nothing as your king raped and brutalized his own wife!” My temper was rising again. “Tell me, oh great and honorable members of the Kingsguard, how do you justify standing by and doing nothing as she screamed? How do you justify standing by while he had innocent men and women burned alive? Did you know about the wildfire? Not what you saw in the throne room when he was dispensing the ‘King’s Justice’ but the barrels of it he had stowed away under the city?! Enough to burn all of Kingslanding to the ground! To kill every man, woman and child! A half a million souls to be sacrificed to his unholy obsession with fire! His last command was to have it set alight! To kill everyone! And one boy had the temerity of thought and deed to stop him before his orders fell onto the ears of someone who would follow them! As far as I am concerned that makes one boy, whom I am relatively certain isn’t even old enough to need to shave, a far better knight than the rest of you vaunted Kingsguard COMBINED!”

The three of them continued to stand, though I saw the uncertainty flicker in the eyes of Whent and Hightower. Dayne looked a bit green.

Howland was just past my shoulder. I heard his soft voice drift up to me. “Diplomatic?”

I drew in a breath and steadied myself. I lowered my voice. “That was your precious king, good sers. I will repeat what I said to Ser Jaime when I found him over his body. Just because some f*cker wears a crown, doesn’t make him worthy of being a king.”

When glared. “You think your Baratheon will be any better? A kinslayer?!”

“Don’t know. Honestly, at the moment I don’t truly care. I’m here because I’m looking for my sister. She’s the only thing or person who matters to me right now. I’ve lost a father and brother. I’d rather not lose her if I can avoid it. And if you three are so damn worried about being loyal to House Targaryen, then why are you here? Rhaegar was wed to Elia Martell. Any child my sister carries will never be seen as anything other than a bastard in the eyes of Westeros. Princess Rhaenys still lives, waiting in the Red Keep for her uncles to come for her and her mother and take her away from that horrible place. It is my understanding that Queen Rhaella is awaiting another child and has Viserys with her on Dragonstone. My army is already on its way to lift the siege at Storm’s End. Once that is done, House Baratheon will come for them. If you value your oaths to the Targaryens, then I recommend that you lot go where they are. It’s rather the fashion to kill them currently. My sister’s child will be safer off a bastard of our house than one of theirs.”

The knights hesitated. Well, Whent and Hightower. Dayne still looked… unsettled? Unbalanced?

“Enough of this! Just go ahead an unlaced your damn trousers to see who’s longer!”

Mona shoved past me and stomped up towards the knights. Or rather towards the tower. “Get out of my way!”

Dayne stepped in her path and refused to let her by. “You may not pass.”

“I most certainly will pass!” She put her hands on her hips and glared up at the man with more than a foot of height on her. “Is there or is there not a woman in that tower? Has she had a babe? About to have one?” She must have read something in his face. “Then she’s my concern. Unless you already have a midwife up there for her. Do you?” She looked from him to When and to Hightower, then back to Dayne. “Just as I thought. Idiot men. Playing about, waving your sticks and acting all proud! Not a lick of sense when it comes to what needs to be done to care for a woman in the child bed! Well, I do! And I’m here to do just that. So you fools can keep glaring and posturing at one another, waving your fists and your blades. I’m going up those steps to take care of that girl!”

I wasn’t sure if it was just the novelty of being reduced to boys playing at war with sticks or if Mona had more strength than her slender form hinted at, but she shoved at him and he moved. We all watched as she stomped her way up the steps.

“Well, then, that leaves us.” I looked at the knights. “You know I’m right. Aerys and Rhaegar are gone. As much as it pains me to speak of it, so is Aegon. The lords will not accept Viserys. They will forever worry if he is as mad as his father or will be one day. Even if you try, you’ve only the Reach. You can’t rely on Dorne. Not after the way Aerys treated Elia and her daughter.

“When a strong wind blows, a slender, tree will bend and sway with it and survive. A stiff, thick tree will break. The winds of change are blowing. Will you bend or will you break?”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Tense. That was a good word to describe the feeling at the base of the tower. Howland acted as Mona’s assistant when she called for one, but the rest of us primarily did our best to behave ourselves and not try to dismember, disembowel or decapitate each other.

I disliked being down at the ground, but my previous life had taught me not to interfere with a medical professional when they were medical-ing. I would never barge into Listens to Wind’s space when he was with a patient. That was inviting him to address your ass-to-ears distribution. Instead I found myself pacing, occasionally looking up at the tower for a sign of life.

I had spent the first thirty-ish years of my old life as an only child. Then I learned that my mother had a child before she met and married my father. Thomas. The son of Lord Raith, the king of the White Court. A breed of vampires that fed off emotions and life energy. Raith preferred to feed using sex and my older brother was walking sin. I’d seen the most reserved, straight laced, buttoned up women lose all sense and attack him on sight. But still, he’d been a brother. I’d never had a sister.

My new memories could call her up. Dark hair going wild, refusing to remain in its braid in the face of wind from riding. She sat a saddle so well she might as well be a centaur. Something that made her being the secret knight at Harrenhall more believable once I thought on it. The knights might have upper body strength on her, but it would have taken a perfect hit from a lance to unseat her from a horse. She was wild and untamed. Wolf blooded was the saying in the North. A feral streak that would not lie down easy.

Mona came into view and I found myself halfway up the stairs before I realized I had moved. “How is she?”

Mona’s expression was grim. “Young. Too young. Just because a girl has flowered doesn’t mean she’s ready for childbed. There’s still growing to do.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice as she glared past me to the three knights. “It doesn’t help that she’s not had proper care or feeding at all. Salted fish and hard biscuits are fine for fighting men, but a woman needs more when she’s growing a babe. The babe takes as much as it can, leaving less for her. That and heartbreak have done her no favors.”

She looked back to me. “I’m not saying it’s certain she’ll pass, but I warn you not to get your hopes up.”

“How long?”

“Till the babe comes? Could be any day now. Far too close for us to risk moving her. For now we can take care of her the best we’re able. Might give her a better chance.”

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. “Is she strong enough for visitors?”

“If it’s you, yes. I left her with that little man. She seemed happy to see him, but she’s asking for you.”

I gave her my thanks and continue used the ascent.

She was a pale ghost of the vibrant girl in my memories. Her cheeks were too hollow and her once beautifully thick and wild hair seemed lank. Her middle seemed comically large on her otherwise slender frame. She was lying on a bed that was oddly opulent for such a rustic setting. I suppose Rhaegar had his own set of priorities.

“Ned? Is that you?”

Howland rose, pressing her fingers to his forehead in a chivalric gesture that seemed surprisingly natural coming from someone so far removed from being a knight. “I will give you two some privacy.” He slipped past me, but not before giving my forearm a reassuring squeeze.

I moved to her side and leaned down to wrap her in my arms. She was far too slight. Mona was right. She hadn’t been given nearly enough to sustain an expectant mother. I had an urge to march back down there and beat some knights bloody. Instead I kissed her hair and her forehead and sat down at her side.

“I’ve missed you, sister.”

She smiled through her tears. “I’ve missed you, too.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry! I sent word! I swear that I did! I tried to let Father and Brandon know I was safe, but they must not have believed me!”

“Hush. Hush now. I believe you, Lyanna. I’m just glad to see you again.”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“No. Why would I be? You’ve done nothing wrong.” Not entirely true, perhaps. She did sleep with a married man,but she was still a child and he was old enough to know better. Call a spade a spade, Rhaegar was a creep. I also remembered Princess Elias’s words. That he could charm anyone given enough time. I could easily see how it happened. He rides out and saves her from Aerys’ men. Kept her safe from being burned alive as a traitor. He probably seemed like something out of a story book.

I held her hand,rubbing little circles with my thumb. She looked tired, but happy to see familiar faces.

“You brought Howland with you.”

“He wouldn’t stay away. Not after hearing you’d gone missing.” We shared a gentle chuckle. “He has been a godsend. I can think of no one more loyal or reliable.”

“I’m scared, Ned.”

“I know, but I’m here now.” Her grip was weaker than I’d like, but I had to keep up a brave face. “Whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.”

I held her gaze, summoning up my best reassuring smile and got the first sign of my magic finally coming in.

It’s called a Soul Gaze. If a wizard holds your gaze for long enough, they can see into your soul. You can look back into theirs. It only takes the span of a moment, maybe a single heartbeat or two, but it can feel like a lifetime. It only happens once per pairing, and it always stays with you.

Every time I’ve done it, it was different. My friend Michael, his soul was so pure it made me weep. His daughter, who was going through some tough sh*t at the time, had been a room of stained glass windows that showed me all the possible futures she could have based on the choices she would make the following day. Thomas, my brother, had been a marble room with a single mirror where he and the demon who shared his soul were caught in a bloody game of tug-of-war.

Lyanna was a girl in armor in a bower of blue Winter roses. They had blue roses here. Something horticulturalists tried in vain to create back on Earth and only managed using dyes. She was kneeling by a pool of still water, a helm molded to look like a wolf’s head on the ground next to her as she stared at the smooth surface. I stepped closer and peered down to see images of her, like watching a movie without sound. I saw her riding her favorite horse, her curls dancing in the wind. I saw her sparring with us, her brothers. I saw her staring to develop into a young woman and hating the clumsiness that came with the changes and learning to adapt.

I saw her in a crowded hall filled with revelers, watching as Robert drank and ate and groped a serving girl to pull her down onto his knee, occasionally gesturing her way as though bragging. Saw Lyanna standing with bindings wrapping about her and knew this was how she perceived her future as it was laid before her. Saw our father turn a deaf ear to her pleas for help. Saw her try to fight when Aerys’ men came for her only to have a man in dragon skin armor whisk her away from them. Leathery wings spread over her as though to shield and comfort her, but in truth they were winding the bindings tighter. Only now they were the thorned canes of her beloved Winter roses.

I looked back up to find that her armor was now dented and tarnished. The roses were now bruised and torn. But she was still Lyanna. She picked up the helm and shoved it down over her head.

I’m not sure what people saw when they looked into my soul, but I don’t think it was the same for all of them. Michael said he saw enough to convince him that I was a good man. His daughter saw that I was in terrible pain, which I was. Susan, a woman I loved and who later gave me Maggie, fainted. Bad guys I’d fought had been scared sh*tless of whatever they saw in me.

Lyanna had one of the confused, almost awestruck expressions when she looked back at me.

“N…Ned? I…I don’t understand.”

She called me ‘Ned’. That was a good sign.

“Shhh.” I brushed her hair from her face. “I’m here for you, Lya. For you and your son. To bring you home. Both of you if we can manage it.”

She swallowed. “Son? Rhaegar wanted a daughter.”

“At the risk of bruising your feelings, I don’t give a damn what that silver haired c*nt wanted. This,” I put a hand on her belly, “is your son. I am certain of it.”

A slight smile touched her lips and she threaded her fingers into mine. “A son. I’d like that.”

“Aye, I thought you might. I’ve got one of my own. Haven’t met him yet, but I’m told Catelyn named him Robb. They can grow up together. Terrorizing the entire castle like you and Benjen used to do.”

“Not like you?”

“I was the good son. I never terrorized anyone.”

She hiccoughed. “Liar.” I could see her relax, then worry again. “What about Robert?”

“What about Robert?”

“He won’t like that I had a son by…by him.”

“It’s none of his concern.”

“But…am I not still to wed him?”

“Do you want to? Have you changed your mind?”

Lyanna shook her head and I squeezed her fingers. “Then you don’t have to. I am the Lord of Winterfell now. The head of our family. And if my sister doesn’t want to marry Robert Baratheon, then she does not have to.”

A spark of hope flickered in her eyes. It was something. “But…Howland says he’s to be king, now.”

“I don’t care.” And I didn’t. “But for now I need you to fight, Lya. I need you to fight to live. I want your son to know you. To truly know you and not just from my stories and memories.”

“I’ll try, brother. I’ll try.”

Eventually Lyanna drifted off to sleep. I tucked her in and left the room to go back down. Upon taking in the people seated around the fire, I felt irritation rise.

“Why are you three still here? Shouldn’t you be making plans to get Rhaella and what’s left of her children to safety?”

Hightower stood up. “We do not take orders from you, Stark.”

“Never said you did. Just amazed at the fact you don’t realize how unneeded and unwanted you are now.” I came closer to the light and kept my gaze at the spot directly between his. When you can get pulled into a Soul Gaze, you learn how to look someone in the eye without actually doing so. Now that I could again, I needed to get back to my old ways.

“We’re here now. Rhaegar is gone. Aerys is gone. If your prince truly did take my sister to protect her from him, then the danger is passed. You’ve other Targaryens in need of your excellent protection. Let Northmen take care of a daughter of the North.”

“Your sister is a Targaryen. As is her child.”

Come again. “Unlikely. Or did you forget he was already married? I don’t know what tale he spun for you, but no one will ever agree to see her or her babe as Targaryens. They are Starks. You are no longer needed here. Feel free to depart at any time.”

“Prince Rhaegar wed your sister on the Isle of Faces. Before your Old Gods and by your traditions!”

My fellow Northmen bristled at that. I held up a hand to Bud them silent. It worked, but I acted as though that didn’t surprise me. “The Targaryens lost the ability to force the rest of Westeros to acknowledge their polygamy when they lost their dragons. No one will recognize that marriage.”

Ser Hightower drew in a breath to rebut, but a voice on his side stopped him. “Lord Stark is correct. Westeros will not see Lady Lyanna as a princess.” Arthur Dayne looked up from the flames. “They will see her child as nothing more than a bastard. We are in the wrong here.”

Whent and Hightower looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. The commander shook it off first.

“Ser Arthur, you witnessed the union.”

“That does not change that the prince was wed to another. Westeros will not recognize a second wife.” He shook his head. “We have wronged the Lady Lyanna. And by keeping her here, we have continued to wrong her. We should have tried to reunite her with her kin before now.“ He got up to his feet. “And Lord Stark is correct in that Queen Rhaella and her children are in need of protection. With Aerys gone, the vultures will circle.”

“You propose we abandon the orders Prince Rhaegar left us?” Hightower looked offended at the idea.

“I propose that all three of us are not needed here.” Dayne looked up at the tower. “I will stay. I was there at Harrenhall when Lyanna dared to join the lists to seek justice for one of her family’s bannermen. I was there when we stopped her from being hauled before the king on baseless charges. I will stay.” He nodded to the other two. “You should go and save the queen.”

Hightower and Whent exchanged a look. For once I listened to that little voice in my head, who may or may not wear far too much black, and didn’t add my two cents in. Two dragons? No, too much. Two copper stars. Anyway, I kept my mouth shut.

We set up camp, mostly bedrolls layer out by the fire or in lower rooms of the tower. I did not break out my nifty new tent (see? I can be diplomatic.) and instead slept in a chair in Lyanna’s room.

When dawn came, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent departed in hope of getting to Rhaella before the siege was lifted and the Baratheon forces could regroup to attack Dragonstone. Part of me wished them luck, as I suspected Rhaella was as much a victim as anyone else forced to suffer that madman. And Viserys was just a boy.

Sure, logically it was a risk as they could pop up again. But the Targaryens only took Westeros with Dragons. They’d been steadily losing power since they’d lost them. And this last Targaryen monarch had pissed away what was left of any goodwill with his actions. There were a few loyalist houses left, sure, but we far outnumbered them.

Things became less strained now that we were down to only one kingsguard, and that one at least seeming remorseful. Now we could only wait.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

“Is something wrong?”

“I think my feet are swelling.”

Howland came over and examined my foot. “I see no sign of disfigurement. Why do you think so?”

“Because my boots don’t fit properly. They’re tight.”

He picked up the boot and studied it. “The leather could have shrunk. If it wasn’t tanned properly it may have done so after getting wet.”

We were in a waiting game. It had been four days so far. I spent as much time with Lyanna as she could stay awake for. I made certain she was better cared for as much as possible. We were in the mountains, not the Dornish desert, so there was game to be found. And Northmen knew hunting. The simply joy my sister felt when she got roasted rabbit instead of the hard, tasteless trail rations was heartbreaking.

Arthur Dayne pulled his weight in the camp. The rest of my guys watched him as though he were a venomous snake, but he did not rise to any of the pointed barbs sent his way. Mona directed much of things and had us fetching water and keeping things clean. She let Lyanna out as much as she was able for fresh air and sunshine, something those armor clad idiots hadn’t. And Arthur lifted and fetched with the rest of us, often casting guilt ridden looks towards my sister.

I was pondering on how to address my suddenly shrunken boots when Dayne approached me. He glanced to Howland. “Lord Stark, I would ask to speak with you alone.”

Howland looked my way. “I’ll be fine. I’d wager my sister would like to see her friend.”

Reed hesitated a moment, but left. Ser Arthur seemed uncertain. Odd given a man of his reputation. “What weighs on your mind?”

“Jaime…what you said about the wildfire…that was true?”

I worried my foot back into the boot. At least the leather was soft and without modern structure of less forgiving materials, it would somewhat conform. For now. “I would not lie about something so dire. Aerys ordered the murder of the entire city by fire.” I looked at him. “Knowing what you do of the madman, do you doubt such a thing would be beyond him.”

Dayne’s eyes were dark with worry. “No.” He shook his his. “We left him there. Jaime was one of us, but he was hardly old enough to be a man.” He shook his head. “He was too young for the cloak.”

I leveled a ‘don’t be an idiot’ look at him. “You know damn well Aerys took him out of spite.”

He sighed. “Yes, it was spite. Ser Jaime has the talent and skill to make him worthy of the position, but it was spite.”

“What was his beef with Tywin Lannister, anyway?”

“Beef?”

Right. “Why was he so intent on hurting him?”

Dayne shook his head. “I have never been certain. I would be barred from speaking on it if I knew. We are to keep the king’s secrets.”

“Sheesh. Hate to be the one to break it to you, pal, but the Kingsguard vows need to be reevaluated. If the king is a madman, it does no one any favors.”

“He was the king.”

“He was a monster. I would know.” I wasn’t about to elaborate how I know, or people would start to think I was just as mad. “Look, you gotta know you aren’t going to be seen favorably back at Kingslanding. Why did you stay behind instead of helping the other two get Rhaella and the children out?”

“Queen Rhaella.”

“Not any longer. You should probably work on your acceptance of the new reality.”

He glowered,but sighed. “I should have done more to try and dissuade the prince. I do not apologize for saving your sister from Aerys, but…a wiser path could have been chosen.”

“You mean something other than a married father of two bedding a girl that was still more child than woman? Ya think? Prince or not, if he were standing before me right now I would cheerfully geld the f*cker.”

“And I would be forced to kill you to defend him, regardless of how justified you might be in your anger.”

“Again, the Kingsguard vows need to be reevaluated.” I was pretty certain that in the US even the Secret Service could override the President’s wishes if they deemed it needful. The top guy couldn’t just go forth and do something that could endanger himself. His guard would, gently, hog tie him and shove him back inside his armored limo to drive him to safety. There were also safeguards in place if he became unfit for duty. Was it a perfect set up? No. It was difficult and had a lot of hoops to jump through to prevent such actions from being taken lightly, but there were at least hoops to jump.

Getting such a process in place here…would be tricky. Less visibility and transparency. Who knew what could go down in Kingslanding when you were up North. It could be months…moons, or years before word reached you.

One mountain at a time, Dresden. Err…Stark. Starsden? Dark? That last might work.

“So what do you want from me? Absolution?”

Dayne looked off into the distance. “If I go to join Ser Whent and Ser Hightower, should we survive, it is a life in exile. If I stay in Westeros, I will doubtless be stripped of my cloak. Thrown from the Kingsguard and either executed for my part in things or condemned to the Wall.”

I thought of the Ice Zombies. A man with Daynes skills might be useful, but I didn’t know enough of that situation to be certain. “You’re probably right.”

“I would pledge myself to House Stark instead. I ask to be allowed to spend my days in your family’s service to atone for the wrongs that I helped perpetrate against your sister and your family.”

Didn’t see that coming. I studied his profile. “Is this you trying to make sure you’re there to guard Rhaegar’s last son?”

“The prince says it is a daughter.”

“A son. I am certain of it.” I had it on angelic authority after all. “And before you starting thinking it, I’ve no plans to try and make him king. Might as well smother him as soon as he’s born were I to do that.”

“What are your plans for him, then?”

“Get him North. Within Winterfell’s walls, raise him there as is befitting a child of Stark blood.” I considered it further. “Maybe one day he will serve as Master at Arms for my son, or something similar. Or I can find lands and a keep for him. The North is vast. There’s a lot of land to go around.”

But my first goal would be to give the kid the tools he needed to survive whatever hellish mess he was supposed to face. For his sake, I hoped a crown wasn’t involved. No matter what Mel Brooks said, it was not good to be the king. Being the king was a giant pain in the ass.

Dayne seemed to roll this over in his mind. “My offer still stands. If I am to be stripped of my place in the Kingsguard, I would pledge my blade to you in recompense.”

Ser Arthur Dayne was supposed to be the greatest fighter in all of Westeros. Perhaps in the whole world. He would be a fine addition to any house, and potentially an excellent teacher for my son and nephew. He’s done wonders in shaping Ser Jaime’s raw talent into skill.

“I am not in the right state of mind to make such an offer. Not now. Not so soon after losing half my family. Ask me again when I’m not sitting under the threat of my sister’s passing.”

Not a rejection, but not outright acceptance. Dayne seemed to understand. “Fairly spoken.”

We sat in silence for a bit, then “Ashara, my sister, bore a daughter. She didn’t live a day.”

Lady Ashara. The name gave me a twinge. My new memories called up a black haired beauty with purple eyes. Of dancing with her. Brandon had arranged it because I, the Ned part of me, had been too shy. We’d even considered asking our father to negotiate a betrothal between us and her, then the world had gone to sh*t and we’d had to step up and marry our brother’s intended after his death.

“I did not dishonor her.” Ned hadn’t. Catelyn had been our first.

“I know. She was Brandon’s. Your brother.”

Well, wasn’t that a kick in the teeth. We sat quietly for a bit longer as I worked some math in my head. “So…more than a year ago?”

“Yes.”

“Damn. That would have been convenient.”

“How so?”

I sighed. “I could have passed our nephew off as theirs. No one would question me taking my brother’s child in. But that’s too far apart. The timing is all wrong.”

“You intend to hide him?”

“If I can manage.” I grimaced. “He’d be safer.” I stood up, ignoring the pinching around my toes. “I’ll think on it. You coming to Winterfell. I won’t make you any promises, but I will give it fair consideration.”

I won the game, though barely. “Where did you learn to play cyvasse, anyway? Is this what you’ve been doing to keep from getting bored?”

Lyanna gave me a weary smile. “Nay. I would play with Benjen. You and Brandon were gone and Father was always too busy. He needed something to keep him entertained when the weather was too poor for riding or training.”

My younger siblings were tight. No wonder he’d allowed himself to be roped into helping her with that stupid tourney instead of coming to get me or Brandon to do it for them. And I (we, us, whatever) cared little for jousts. Still, the reason was just and I would have done it had they asked.

“Thank you for this. I have been mostly fretting and thinking of names.”

“Names?”

“Aye.” She rubbed at her belly. “He was so certain of a daughter he only chose one name. Visenya. He gave no thought to a boy. And I’ll be damned if I’m calling my wolf pup ‘Aemon’or ‘Daemon’ or something else ridiculous.”

I was feeling positive to how level headed she was being. “Anything you have your heart on?”

She sighed and shifted to get comfortable while I cleared away the board. “I thought maybe Torrhen. He would be the first child who is both Stark and Targaryen, but that might get people thinking about crowns. And I’d rather not have my boy dealing with that mess. Decided against Cregan for much the same reason. Too much nobility and power with those names.”

Good thinking. “what about Theon? The Hungry Wolf?”

“Same trouble. People might start thinking he will ride down out of the North and start stringing up prissy Sothron lords from every weirwood by their entrails. Not that the fear in their eyes wouldn’t be entertaining.” She smiled briefly, but it dropped just as fast. “And the North might not smile much on me naming him after Father or Brandon.”

I nodded. “How about Edrick? Old Snowbeard? Ruled the North for nearly a century?”

“Folks would think I named him for you. Your wife might not like that. Still, I want a Stark name, but one that doesn’t stand out too much.”

“So? Who will he be?”

She threaded her fingers through mine. “Jon. Simple. Strong. A name that people use elsewhere so it’s not too unusual. A name that lives in our family but leaves him room to grow into his own man.”

I nodded. “Jon.” I rubbed her stomach with my other hand, “A fine name.”

Lyanna smiled and opened her mouth to say something more, only to let out a pained grunt. I hesitated as she’d been having those on occasion for most of the day, but her color fled her.

“Ned? I need Mona!”

I got up and left the tower room, hurrying down and calling for the midwife. She was at the camp fire and moved quickly, passing me on the steps as I pressed myself flush with the stone, Howland on her heels. All other faces turned my way.

I took in the campfire and the faces around it. Slowly I made my way down to the ground to wait.

I wish I could say my sister survived. She did, but only a little more than a day. Long enough to hold her son. To tell him that she loved him. Long enough to ask me to promise her that I would protect her boy and keep him safe. To make me promise to keep him away from the back stabbing blood bath that was the politics of the South. To take him home to Winterfell and teach him what it means to be a Northman. To be a Stark.

I made that promise, even as the tears fell from my eyes and onto her forehead. And before we left that accursed tower, we pulled it down and left only a pile of loose stones behind us. Why? Because I had been angry and I needed to destroy something. If my magic had been fully back, I would have done some earth magic or maybe summoned a targeted cyclone. Instead, we used our horses and took advantage of the time loosened mortar.

In the end, it only made me feel marginally better.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

“Lord Stark, I am glad to see you have returned safely.”

I gave a slight bow. “The journey was far less exciting than everything leading up to it. I am relieved to see you and Princess Rhaenys in good health.”

Elia Martell smiled and gestured to the two men with her. The family resemblance was strong. “Allow me to introduce my brothers. Doran and Oberyn.”

I bowed slightly in turn. Dorne was an oddity. It was part of Westeros but wasn’t. Not truly. More of a principality and their rulers were still referred to as Princes or Princesses. For them inherited lands and titles fell in order of birth first, no matter the gender, where the rest of Westeros went along sons first, the daughters.

Oberyn was studying me with the eyes of a man sizing up someone he might have to fight. Doran held himself with the air of a more political mindset. He was the one who spoke first.

“Our sister told us of how you came to her aid, Lord Stark. We are grateful.”

“I did what any good and honorable man would do.”

Oberyn gave a snort. Doran, a tight smile. “What any good and honorable man should do, perhaps, but not what all would. Both Elia and Ser Jaime advise that you are the reason our sister and niece have been so well treated and not locked down in the Black Cells.”

“I considered such a place inappropriate for someone innocent of any crimes.” I looked around the room. “I am glad to see that you have arrived. Lord Rickard and his men were eager to return home.”

“Yes, I heard that you were dismissing your bannermen rather than having them stay for the coronation and wedding.” Doran poured wine for all present. “Our condolences on the loss of Lady Lyanna. I understand our new king is near inconsolable as well.”

The pain was still fresh. I schooled myself not to tear up. “Aye. I was able to say my farewells, at least, but she was too weak to continue.”

Doran nodded. “I would like to extend apologies. I am afraid Dorne has said…less than kind things about your sister. Mine own sister, however, has given me quite the earful. She has reminded me that she was hardly more than a child, ill prepared to guard herself against a determined and lustful man. I will do what I can to correct the record.”

There is only so much you can do to stop gossip. I didn’t doubt that Lyanna’s name had been slandered, and the older brother in me wanted to deliver some old school punishment for it, but it wasn’t politically savvy to wage war against Dorne because of words. “Thank you for your consideration.”

Oberyn studied me. “Why did you send your people home, Lord Stark?”

“Because they’ve been away too long. If they hurry, the levies can return to their farms and fields and get a few more harvests before the seasons change. Winter is Coming. It is always coming. The North needs to be prepared.”

I still needed to figure out what was up with those seasons. It made no sense! I was no astrophysicist but even I understood enough about planetary rotation and tilt to understand that something wasn’t right.

The younger Martell brother nodded. “And I suppose that all lords need not be present to give oaths. The Lords Paramount should be plenty.”

Elia smoothed her gown over her lap. “Lord Stark, I was told that Ser Arthur returned with you. They say he is down in the cells.”

“For now, he did anticipate it.”

Oberyn dangled his cup from his fingers, appearing relaxed and non threatening. Nice try. I recognized a coiled serpent when I saw one. “You have spoken for him?”

“Ser Arthur Dayne feels remorse for his part in my sister’s…detainment. He maintains that what began as an attempt to protect her from being brought before Aerys on false charges of treason grew out of control. He understands that he is no longer worthy to serve as a Kingsguard and has asked that he be allowed to pledge himself me to my house in atonement.”

“And you have agreed?”

“I have. Now I just have to convince the king. He is…wroth with him.”

“I can think of few things worse for a hot blooded Dornishman than to spend the rest of his days freezing in the North. No offense intended, Lord Stark.”

“No offense taken. I have been thinking almost the same thing in the opposite manner the further South I have come.”

The bells signaling the change in the hour range out. “Ah, I should be going. I am to join Jon Arryn for the final meal and my morning meal was interrupted to meet with Lord Lannister.”

Oberyn Martell’s copper skinned face was split by his whiter than white smile. “I had heard that Ser Jaime was not shy in telling his father he only agreed to be released from the Kingsguard because of your counsel. What was it like to see the old lion offering his thanks?”

Like being in a room with an injured predator. “I think it may have brought him physical pain.”

Doran smiled while his brother laughed. Elia chided him.

Doran rose and offered a hand. “I am glad that we have met, Lord Stark. I hope that any bad blood between our houses can be healed.”

I accepted the gesture and gave no indication that I felt the bit of something pressed into my palm. I tucked it between my fingers and made my farewells before heading back to my quarters. Robert and Jon had made certain I had a full suite this time.

Once inside and away from any readily visible prying eyes, I slipped the parchment from between my fingers and unfolded it. A neat but masculine script was written in dark ink.

Dorne does not blame children for the sins of their fathers.

Understood. Doran Martell’s spies had told him that we arrived at Starfall not only with my sister’s body but with a babe. And he had reasoned out who that babe was. Still, I had played a hand in preventing the deaths of Elia and Rhaenys. It would seem that Doran would repay that deed by ignoring Jon’s origins.

I looked at the little bit of parchment and reached. “Flickum Bickus.” The far end darkened, then smoked a bit before catching fire. It had taken a little more effort than I was used to, but it also further confirmed that my magic was returning. I set the burning parchment onto a silver salver to finish its immolation.

I would need to keep an eye on the Martells.

I attended most of the festivities my remaining time in Kingslanding outside of Stark traditional clothing. Not by choice. When we had arrived at Starfall, Lady Ashara Dayne had asked if I had lost my things in some mishap on campaign. She asked because clearly what I had been wearing did not fit me properly.

What had driven it home was Howland frowning, the standing upright himself, placing his hand atop his own head then slowly moving it forward until it hit almost an inch below the curve of my shoulder. He commented that at the start of the rebellion the crown of his head had been a bit above that point. That, coupled with how tight things were fitting and how short my sleeves and trouser legs fell on me (not to forget the too small boots), seemed to indicate that I had done some growing rather than my things had shrunk in the wash.

Lady Ashara seemed to find it amusing that we’d been so busy that I’d missed such a thing and set Starfall’s women to altering some of Lord Dayne’s things to fit me. When Ser Arthur and I had departed on out ship to Kingslanding, I had a small but functional wardrobe to hold me over until I got home.

It did explain the achiness I sometimes felt. I remembered that from my first life. Growing pains. The hard to pinpoint but very real discomfort young people would sometimes feel when going through a growth spurt. What bothered me was that I still was getting them, indicating that it might not be over.

I suppose what kept it in the forefront of my mind was the memory or Gregor Clegane. I had gotten a good look at the man when I’d reclaimed my sword. I wasn’t a doctor but I knew some things. And being a wizard meant you learned a variety of odd things. Given the shape of that man’s skull, hands and feet and his excessive height, I would’ve bet good money he’d suffered from acromegaly. The kind that coupled with pituitary gigantism. Some things I’d heard since made me even more certain of it. Like his trouble with head pain, or what the folks back home would call migraines, and sometimes erratic behavior. I’d bet if they cut open Clegane’s skull and rooted around, they’d find at least one growth pressing in the pituitary gland and maybe others that would interfere with brain function. Did excuse the more monstrous deeds he was known for? Not wholly, but it did indicate that there may have been other factors at play.

But you can’t catch those things. And, true, they could easily onset in adulthood or at any time. It was also true that young men can have growth spurts into their early twenties so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibilities that this body just wasn’t done growing yet. I was probably worrying for nothing.

My borrowed wardrobe wasn’t as fancy as most of the other wedding guests, but it was good enough for my tastes. Ser Arthur was walking with me, newly decked out in simple leathers that were appropriate to my house colors if missing adornments such as embroidered emblems. It had taken some convincing, but I’d finally gotten Robert to agree to honoring my request that Dayne be allowed to swear to my house. This knight had been let out of the cells the previous evening and the new king had witnessed him make his vows in person. He still glared at him any time the Dornishman came into his view, but it was a start.

As it stood now, representing the North there were myself and Lord Umber, who had sent the rest of his men back with his uncle. The giant seemed less sanguine about me staying in the city alone than I was. I’d sent the rest of my party back home on a separate ship out of Starfall, along with Lyanna’s bones after the Silent Sisters her prepared them and baby Jon.

We had discussed my nephew. The consensus we had reached was to not volunteer anything about it. If anyone asked, he was a bastard of House Stark. Lots of such children had likely been created over the course of the war. It was the way such things go. Even back on Earth it was not uncommon for children to be fathered by soldiers. Sometimes the mothers were willing. Many times they were not. It didn’t make it right. It was an ugly part of human nature and the children were the ones left to deal with it. Before my death these DNA tests had become very popular. People could get them for less than a hundred dollars and you could use the results in massive databases to find out where your people originated from. A lot of times they caused upheaval in families because some people learned their parents weren’t really their parents. Other people found ethnic and racial links they weren’t expecting, but if you crossed it with historical records, they often matched up the deviations to periods of war when foreign soldiers would have been in the area.

If anyone asked, Jon was a natural child of House Stark that resulted from the war. With luck, everyone would just assume he was mine. He was too young to be Brandon’s and even though my younger brother Benjen technically could father a child, had he gotten some girl at Winterfell pregnant everyone would have known about it. Connecting him with Lyanna would out his true father instantly though I suspected I could get Dayne to claim him in a pinch. Now that he’d been stripped of his white cloak that would be slightly less unthinkable. It would also further explain his desire to come North with me. My own omission could always be explained away as trying to safeguard my sister’s already tattered reputation. It was a plausible fall back plan.

“I think these Sothron weddings are so drawn out because the Septons like the sound of their own voices.” Umber’s voice was a deep rumble over my head. I bit my lips to fight back a laugh. In truth I was grateful for the quip. I’d been about to doze off out of boredom. The incense and warmth didn’t help. Sloppy of me. I knew better. One should always pay attention to ritual. There was magic in ritual. It could be arcane magic or it could be faith magic.

My sphere was arcane. I know, I know. I knew from first hand account that gods, angels and demons were real, so I should probably pay more attention to faith. I’d seen Michael do some impressive stuff simply because of his faith without even trying. This one time a female vampire thought it would be cute to sidle up to him, she was trying to get a rise out of me by not-so-subtly threatening him, and when she touched him she caught fire. Just because she touched him and the Almighty didn’t like his champion touched by evil guys. Michael didn’t even say or do anything, just blushed, looked embarrassed and muttered something like “that happens sometimes”. It was awesome!

So I should pay attention to the rituals. The Sept was impressive. Lots of polished stone and statues. I’d seen better. Catholics knew how to build a house of worship. I’d always regretted that I never got to see Norte Dam before the fire, but I had made it over to see the Sistine Chapel. Hearing about it and seeing it were two entirely different things. The Sept of Baelor was nice, but in truth I think I preferred the Precious Moments Chapel. Not Catholic. More…Baptist, maybe? Maybe not strictly be attached to any particular faith. I’d been there once, dragged there by a date one time. There’s this artist out of Missouri who makes these little figurines called ‘Precious Moments’. Cute, big eyed children. They often have Christian overtones and are popular collectibles. He built a park that includes his studio, but also the chapel where he paints murals in the same style as his art. There are also beautiful stained glass windows.

The thing with the girl fizzled out. We just didn’t click. But I did like the park and the chapel. It’s easy to appreciate a work that is a labor of love. And I had felt more magic in that little chapel filled with images of big eyed children than I did in this Sept. Maybe that was be a my own magic wasn’t up to full strength yet, or maybe it was because the believers that came here didn’t truly believe enough.

I almost missed the end of the ceremony. Thankfully there was plenty of applause to bring me back to attention.

“Thank the Old Gods that is over with.” Umber’s massive hands were like claps of thunder. “I need a bucket of water to dunk my head in to get that smoke out of my nose. I can’t wait to see the last of this place.”

“Aye.” I did agree. Uriel had implied that my magic would return faster once I got back to the North. Odd to think of going ‘back’ to some place I’d never really been, but I could feel the call of it in my bones. Or that could be more growing pains.

“One more feast. One more feast, one more night’s rest, then we’re gone.”

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Robert had tried to convince me to stay. He had been in a tizzy because somehow a heavily pregnant Rhaella Targaryen and her son had managed to slip away under the cover of darkness before his brother, Stannis, and the fleet could catch them.

No one knew how they’d done it. Truthfully, subtly was not something I would have expected of either Hightower or Whent. Color me surprised.

In the end, we took a Manderly ship back to White Habor and the North.

“War changes a man, but you’ve changed more than I’ve ever seen, Ned.”

I was leaning against the rail of the ship, Jon Umber standing near me.

If you only knew. “Have I?”

“Aye. When you first called the banners, you were a boy so green you pissed grass. It was all a man could do to get more than a few worlds out of you. You grew up, you had to, but now you’re not afraid to piss in the eye of high lords or even kings.”

“Our new king is rather tall. I doubt I could aim that high.”

“You could knock him down first.” Umber grinned into the salt spray. “It’s a good change, Lord Stark. I will admit I was a bit worried when Lord Rickard and Brandon died. He’d sent you South and we didn’t know you, but I like what we’ve seen. We all do.”

”

That was good to hear. “I shall endeavor to continue to do what is best for the North.” Damn. I sounded like a politician. Maybe I should find some babies to kiss.

A meaty hand slapped my shoulder. I managed not to buckle under the force. “I know you will. You wear the title well, Lord Stark. The North is in good hands.”

It was always nice to be told you were doing a good job, because so far I was faking it. Big time. Fighting I could do. The job of the Winter Knight meant it had been my responsibility to act as Mab’s champion. When sh*t really got real, I had to lead forces, but most jobs I’d been able to do solo or with just a few trusted and gifted cohorts. That was when I’d been a wizard as well as saddled with the extra oomph the mantle of the Winter Knight brought to the party.

Now I no longer had the power of the Winter Knight. That would mean less…toughness. Something about that otherness had allowed me to ignore lesser hurts and even plow through some bigger ones to finish the current task. Not surprising. I’d only agreed to become Mab’s flunky because I’d broken my back at the time, leaving me paralyzed from the waist down and monsters had my daughter. Taking the job had gotten me instantly mobile and with a major upgrade.

I had made a deal with a monster. See, this is where the Harry part of me and the Eddard part of me conflicted the most. Jon Arryn had hammered honor and forthrightitude into Ned at every possible turn. And me, well, I’d rarely met a deal I didn’t try to weasel out of if I didn’t have the better part of it. That deal to be the Winter Knight? Before I even called up Mab to make it, I arranged for my own assassination to take place afterwards. I didn’t want her to turn me into her own pet monster, so I took steps to take myself out once I had Maggie safe. It was just my rotten luck that the Queen of Air and Darkness knew me far better than I realized and had anticipated such a move.

So, honor. I like to think I’m mostly honorable, but I also understand that I tend to weigh my honor against who I’m dealing with. If you’re a dick, I might not be as honorable as you expect me to be. I find out you kick puppies and throw widows and orphans out into the freezing cold, I just might find a way for karma to come knocking at your door real fast. Say I won’t.

The internal moral arguments I found myself having were becoming fewer in frequency, which was good. I was thinking more in ‘I’ and ‘me’ instead of ‘us’ or ‘him and me’, which was good. The merging or blending or whatever it was did seem to be settling itself. All good things.

Some of it may have been location. The further North we sailed, the better I started to feel. It was sort of like…blood rushing back into a body part that had been trapped for a bit. When we passed the part of the shoreline that would be considered the ‘border’, it was even more pronounced. Like the North was welcoming me home.

When we got to White Habor and I stepped off the deck onto solid ground, it was even better.

“Are you well, Lord Stark?”

I looked over to Ser Arthur who was watching me closely. “Aye. Aye I am well. Just…happy to be back in the North.”

White Harbor was my largest city, controlled by House Manderly. They had been chased out of the Reach and one of my ancestors had taken them in. Turned out to be a good move, because they were one of the most loyal and stalwart houses of the North. Lord Manderly certainly looked like the stereotype of a wealthy man in a medieval setting. The man was very obese from rich diet, but he did not seem to have any of the greed or avarice melodramas always wrote such men to possess. He welcomed us with open arms and bright smiles, and insisted that we rest under his roof before heading on. I suspected that was partially to have a reason to throw a lavish feast.

This was also my first real life encounter with a weirwood.

There was a Godswood at White Harbor, though it was rarely used. It was in the Wolf’s Den,which served as White Harbor’s prison. Manderly was surprised when I asked to see it, but quickly acquiesced. Probably thought I felt a need to pray after being away from a proper Godswood for so long.

The little wood was wild and overgrown. In the heart was the weirwood with its snow white bark and blood red leaves. I found the face carved into it, the sap still oozing like blood though the carving was old. Just standing in its presence I could feel the power in it. Old. Stalwart. Untiring. It radiated to the rest of the wild patch of wood, though the other trees weren’t as…tangible as the heart tree.

I reached into my still growing well of magic and pulled up my Sight.

Sight, capital ‘S’, is a wizard’s ‘third eye’. It allows you to see the truth of things. It’s a useful tool. It’s also dangerous. There are things out there so horrible that seeing them could wreck your psyche and leave you a jibbering mess. There are things that beautiful,too. And whatever you see with your Sight is with you forever, never dulling with time. That is why a wizard doesn’t run around with their Sight up. That is a guaranteed path to insanity. It is a tool to be used sparingly.

With my Sight I could see the heart tree. It glowed with a power that threatened to take my breath away. There was an awareness about it, as though it bore witness to everything around it. Not just within human eye sight, but actually aware of everything and chronicling it. Like a scribe or historian that never tired. The radiance spread out through its branches into the air and down into the soil through its roots. I pushed with my magic and could tell that it stretched even further. Further than how far the roots of this one tree should be able to wander. As though this one weirwood was reaching out and attempting to stretch itself through the entire North, of not the entire continent. But that couldn’t be right. If the roots extended that far, none of the other trees would be able to thrive.

Too bad my time among the Fae had been in the Winter Court instead of Summer. Then I might have had more understanding of plants.

I sensed someone approaching and closed my Sight. Lord Umber and Wylis Manderly, Lord Wyman’s heir, stopped a few feet away from me. Jon frowned at the sight before him.

“This is a sad state for a Godswood.”

“House Manderly follows the Seven. They have their Sept instead.”

“Aye, but they’re in the North and Northmen come to their city.”

Young Wylis shifted a bit uneasily but said nothing. “It is not our place to tell House Manderly what places of worship they should keep and maintain.” Though something told me Wylis would mention this to his father. Considering how important being a good host was to their family, I would not be surprised if when I next visited White Harbor this area might not look considerably different. Maybe something more manicured and gardenesque.

The next morning we headed out. The trip from White Harbor to Winterfell was not short. To my surprise and delight, Benjen had sent a guard to meet me at the harbor so I did not make the journey alone. I suspect Howland had something to do with that since he was the one I had entrusted with escorting Mona and Jon home.

The guard was good. It meant I could take a moment to look at any weirwood we passed in the forests as we journeyed. They had nearly been completely eradicated in the South, with only a few remaining in the rare godswoods that had not been torn out. Here in the North, however, some still existed in the wild. And each one I Saw, whether alone in the wild or in the designated holy places in the occasional keep or town, gave me the same impression. That they were watching. Observing. And that their roots extended far past where they should end. As though the weirwood roots all entangled together like a massive web under our feet.

When we finally made it to Winterfell, I almost wanted to cry. My memories had served it up for me, of course, but I hadn’t really been prepared. I had half convinced myself that my new memories had exaggerated its scale, but she truly was that massive. Two sets of walls with a moat between them. Multiple watch towers, both on the outer and inner walls. Inside the walls was essentially a healthy sized town with various tradesmen and their families. It made sense as the purpose for a castle complex of this size was to protect the people when under attack.

The Red Keep might be fancy, but Winterfell, as big as she was, was a home.

My brother, my last living sibling, was waiting in the bailey with the household guards and servants. He was young, painfully young to have been left in charge for so long. My memories reminded me that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. It was a saying hammered into us since birth, giving it a near tangible weight that could not be ignored.

Huh. Almost as though there was a reason for it. I put a mental pin in that. I’d need to look into it later.

I dismounted and smiled at my brother, drinking in the sight of him. I’d never been the older brother before. This was new.

“Winterfell is yours, Lord Stark.” He said it with such seriousness. I should probably be serious back. Instead I grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. He made a little grunt of surprise but hugged me back just as tightly.

“Well done, Benjen. Well done.”

I heard a soft sob in my shoulder. His words were just loud enough for me to hear. “I was afraid something would happen to you, too.”

“And leave you with this burden forever? Not a chance.” I let him up and ignored his tears. “It’s you and me against the world, now.”

I dismissed the men and finally entered my home.

Winterfell had a new maester, though he was not yet here. Apparently Maester Walys had slipped on an icy patch on the external steps of one of the towers and fallen. My new maester was on his way to us, but was delayed in the Riverlands where he was present to deliver my son and had lingered there at my wife’s request. Now they were on their way up.

I had a wife. I’d forgotten about that. Not good.

To be fair, she had been Brandon’s betrothed. We had married quickly to secure her father’s support and the two of us had only a fortnight together in hopes of starting the next generation. That worked, obviously.

“When did you send word to Riverrun?”

“When we got the raven that you’d departed White Harbor.” We might be short a maester, but we still had his assistants. They kept up the day to day tasks, such as tending to the rookery.

I was holding Jon as he slept. I’d rarely gotten to hold a baby in my old life. Maggie gad been almost eight when I learned about her and Bonnie was a Spirit of Intellect who grew inside my head until Molly helped extract her safely. I did get to hold Gwen a few times, but my life had been hectic and dangerous, and she’d been kept in a safer and less chaotic surrounding for the most part. So I was taking advantage of my access to a baby.

“Are we going to tell him about her?”

My eyes flicked briefly to the closed door. I’d told Mona to get some rest after she’d given Jon his last feeding. “About whom?”

Benjen rolled his eyes in a show on teenage sass that he rarely indulged in. He was usually such a stoic little lordling. “I know who he is, Ned.”

I frowned. What happened to not talking about it. “Howland?”

“Only said that he’s a Snow of House Stark and you’d sent him here. I didn’t understand at first, but I thought on it and asked if I should take Jon down to the crypts to see his mother.”

“And Howland fell for that?”

Benjen shook his head. “He ignored the question, but he didn’t deny it. That spoke more loudly.”

Nice. “Lya told me you played cyvass together. I thought you were probably good. Because she cheated. I caught her at it twice.”

He sighed, a bittersweet, sad smile on his face. “She said she cheated to force me to be clever.”

“Tell me you didn’t believe that.”

“Of course not. She cheated because she liked it when she could beat us at something other than racing horses. And you’re ignoring my question.”

I resettled my nephew. “It’s not something we should speak on.”

“You want people to think he’s yours?”

“He’s safer that way.” I gave him my serious face. “They killed Prince Aegon, Benjen. He was only a bit older than Jon. They tried to kill Princess Rhaenys and would have if Ser Jaime hadn’t gotten to them in time. Jon is safer if he’s mine.”

My brother frowned and reached out in a quiet request. I passed Jon into his arms. He held him easily. I suspected that he’d spent a good deal of time in this nursery since our nephew’s arrival. “Lady Stark won’t like it.”

“No. No I strongly suspect that she won’t. But that is my burden to bear. You leave it to me.”

I went to Winterfell’s Godswood after the final meal and most had turned in for the night. It was a three acre forest protected by its own wall inside the castle complex. I took a lantern rather than a torch because I didn’t want open flame around dry leaves. It was enough to light my path to the heart tree.

She was massive. Three of me linking hands could not full wrap around her trunk. And in my Sight she glowed more brightly than any of the others. I’d never seen much in the way of computers and networks, but I’d seen my fair of sci-fi at the drive in theater and I had computer savvy friends who weren’t barred from technology who had taught me what they could. Going by that scant knowledge I would describe my heart tree as a major node or hub in a much bigger network. Not the central one, however. I wasn’t certain how I knew, but instinct told me there were a few weirwoods just as big if not bigger than this one out there. Somewhere.

“The weirwoods. Pay attention to them. They are sacred trees in the North for a reason. They will also help you regain your magic faster. “

Okay, Mr. Sunshine, I believe you. There is definitely something going on with the weirwoods. And I’d been feeling my magic more and more since I got back inside my own territory. It was as I’d theorized when Uriel told me just how old the Starks were. There was a definite bond between House Stark and the North. And the weirwoods played into that somehow.

But how?

I examined the heart tree. The face carved into the bark was grim. Odd how the sap still seeped out. Usually trees would develop their own version of scars over a cut like this, but every weirwood I’d seen with a face carved into it had this safe response.

The faces. It was said the Children of the Forest made them. That they gave the weirwoods eyes so the Old Gods could see. But trees didn’t have souls, did they?

On a hunch, I leaned forward and looked into the eyes carved into the tree. I stood like that for several long, slow breaths. Long enough that I started to feel like a complete idiot. Chiding myself for my own attack of whimsy I was about to pull away when I felt myself tumble forward.

I found myself somewhere dark and yet light at the same time. The floor of darkness was illuminated by branches going everywhere and I knew they were roots. Above me was a lacework of branches with glowing rounds of fruit hanging down, and every fruit was a memory. The fruits went up and up and up until I could not discern their shapes any longer.

So they were observing. That was more than a bit creepy, but also very good to know.

I turned my attention to the roots, reaching out with my magic and focusing. With a bit of effort I knew how many trees were in this Godswood (two hundred fifty seven) and how many were in the Wolf Woods (twenty-one trillion, nine hundred thirty-six million, three hundred six thousand, five hundred ninety-two). I knew how many bears, elks, boars and hawks were in the North. I knew where the metal and gemstone deposits were and how large those deposits were. I could see it all.

In my old life I had bonded with Demonreach. It was an island that had its own genus loci, it’s own sentience. It had been constructed by Merlin, the wizard who set the bar for all other wizards, and had been a much bigger deal than I had anticipated. When I’d cast that spell it was because I planned a big throw down there and wanted home field advantage. It was an uncharted island out in Lake Michigan that had a general feeling of wrongness to it that discouraged visitors, meaning we could hurl a lot of violent magic at each other without any bystanders. To my surprise, bonding with it had given me this level of awareness of the island .

It was much later that I learned Demonreach was actually a magic prison housing the kinds of nightmares that would gladly eat mankind. The least terrifying of the inmates were bad enough to have sane men cowering under their beds. And I’d volunteered to be its warden. Oops.

Hope that didn’t blow up without me there. Of course, I’d successfully dealt with the Big Bad that would have been the most interested in staging a breakout. So it should be okay.

This, however, didn’t appear to have a genus loci. No actual sentience of its own. It was more like…I guess my techie friends might liken it to an idle network. Could a computer network be idle? Just running like that?

At any rate, I could definitely use this.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

“Hadran?” The guard looked inside. “Pull yourself to the stairs and don’t let anyone up past you. If we get loud enough you can hear us, go to the bottom of the stairs.”

The guard at my solar door looked at me, looked at Benjen, then nodded. “Aye, Lord Stark.” He shut the door and I gave him time to get at least halfway down the corridor before speaking.

“No.”

“Ned, I want to do this!”

“Absolutely not.”

“I can make my own decisions!”

“And I am the head of this family. You will not take the Black.”

Benjen balled up his fists. His eyes were shining with tears he refused to let fall. There was definitely something there.

“All right. Let’s step back a bit. Tell me why you want to do it.”

“There is honor in the Watch.”

That was weak. “I am not convinced. You act like you feel guilty about something.” I made an ‘out with it’ motion with my hand. He held out for nearly forty seconds. Impressive.

“It was my fault! It’s my fault they’re dead!”

Benjen broke down. He collapsed into one of the heavy chairs by the small heath, the tears finally falling. I let him have at it for a bit. Some people made the mistake of immediately rushing forward to comfort. But a teenage boy needs to be allowed to vent a bit. Better tears than something destructive. Like tearing down a tower keep or somewhat. I never said I was a paragon of rational behavior.

Once he’d gotten a bit under control I joined him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why do you think that?”

“I didn’t stop her. At the tourney, I didn’t do anything to stop her. He wouldn’t have even noticed her if she hadn’t joined the lists!”

Ah, so he thought it was a domino effect. Lyanna rode in the joust which got her noticed by the Targaryens which got her in trouble with the king which got her tangled up with the prince and so on and so on and so on. And now the kid was hating himself because of it. Blaming himself for all of it.

“Hind sight is twenty-twenty.” He looked up at me in confusion and I recalled that optometry wasn’t a thing here. “There is clearer vision in hindsight. When we look back on things we’ve done, we see things we did not see at the time. You’re looking back and you think you should have done something to stop Lyanna from riding in the joust and that would have prevented everything else that happened.

“Now, I’m not sure where you think you would have found the army you would have needed to stop Lyanna Stark from doing anything she set her mind to, but let’s think it over. Perhaps you could have come and found Brandon, but he was just as wild as Lyanna. I don’t know if he would have stopped her or encouraged her. You could have come and found me. I would have done my best to dissuade her. To be honest, until Princess Elia and Lord Reed told me the Knight of the Laughing Tree was Lya, I had thought it was you.”

Benjen blinked. “You thought it was me?”

“Aye. I thought you were damn lucky not to get flattened, as young as you were. That you’d kept it secret so you wouldn’t get into trouble with Father when we got home.”

He flushed. “I offered, but Lya was always the better rider.”

“That she was.” I smoothed his hair. “Listen to me; you did not kill them.” He opened his mouth to protest. “No! You are not to blame. Aerys Targaryen killed Father and Brandon. He was mad, Benjen. Sooner or later he was going to go too far and it was our rotten luck that his madness struck our house. Rhaegar’s actions eventually killed Lyanna. He was just as mad as his father, though it showed itself in other ways. For him it was shadowy prophecies and portents that made him think he needed a third child for some reason or another. If not Lyanna, some other poor girl would have caught his eye. Or he would have forced Elia to childbed again and it would have ended her. But none of this was your fault.”

He sniffed and wiped at his nose. “It feels as though it was.”

“I can understand that. And it will probably feel that way for a long time. But time heals. And I can’t let you go to the Wall. I’ve lost Father, Brandon and Lyanna. I can’t lose you, too.”

“You have Jon. And you have Robb. He’ll be here soon. You won’t be alone.”

“Aye, but they’re both babes. You’re nearly grown and there’s work to be done. I can’t wait for them to grow up. I need my nearly grown brother to help me.”

“Help you do what?”

I urged him to his feet and motioned for him to join me at my desk. “You know the North is near as large as the rest of the realm combined?”

“Aye.”

“How many houses can we call on? How many bannermen?”

Benjen frowned and thought on it. “Three and twenty? Four and twenty.” He frowned. “No…uhm.”

“Close enough. It’s hard to know because what we might consider a bannerman might not always be seen as a noble house elsewhere. Then you’ve got houses like Magnar and Stane on Skagos. Nominally they belong to us but when was the last time a house Stark actually called them up? Which families families in the Neck would be seen as houses apart from Reed? Four and twenty is a fair estimate. And yet the Reach alone has nearly three times that number, for all that they have far less land.”

My brother frowned and looked down where I had a map of the North spread out. “That many?”

“Aye. Below the Neck you can hardly toss a rock without hitting some house or another. In some ways they are overcrowded. There are fights over lands and borders. We have them, too, but less often because there’s plenty of space between us. On the other hand, it means the South has plenty of leaders to help manage and organize their people to effectively work their lands and resources. That is the North’s biggest obstacle. Land and resources we have in plenty, but we aren’t as well equipped to access and use them.”

He pursed his lips. “What do we do? Ennoble more? Second and third sons?”

“It’s not that simple. Which ones do I choose to elevate? How do I know they are up for the task? If I lift up the third son of one house, do I risk insulting another house with a second son they think deserves it as well or more? I can’t just start handing out titles willy nilly.”

“Willy…what?”

I waved away the slip of the tongue. “I have to think on how to determine who gets ennobled. Or do I make new nobles versus more of a minor, masterly house arrangement? Then there is the cost of setting up a new house or keep, though I have an idea on that. One that I will need you to help with. But for that to happen, I can’t have you pledging yourself to the Night’s Watch. I need you as a member of House Stark.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You’ll see. I’ve sent for some workers. I’ll explain further once they’ve arrived. But in the meantime I want you here for when Lady Stark arrives. I haven’t seen her since I rode off to war. I haven’t seen my son, yet. I can’t let you run off and leave me all alone.”

Benjen still looked miserable. I couldn’t pull him out of his funk in one day. For all that boys had to grow up far too soon here he was still in his teens. Couple youthful inexperience with the hormonal soup that his body was still caught up in and emotional lows that were difficult to crawl out of were to be expected. He’d likely be wrestling with these feelings of self doubt and loathing for at least a couple years longer yet. That was something I had some experience with from training baby wardens during the war with the vampires of the Red Court. In some ways Benjen should be easier. He couldn’t hurl fireballs or lightning.

I had been waiting for this dam break. Experience had warned me something was stirring inside his noggin. He was glad I was home but still caught up in something. Sulking as teens are prone to do. But trying to get teenage boys to talk about painful or upsetting things could be like pulling teeth, so I’d waited. I hadn’t expected him to tell me he wanted to swear himself to celibacy on an ice wall.

The Wall. I needed to go up and take a look at that thing. Trouble was the journey was a good month, err…moon, from Winterfell. One way. I couldn’t just drop everything and trek up there. Being the Lord of Winterfell was a big job and there was a lot to be done now that I was home. Still, I’d been poking and prodding at my new Weirwood Network and the Wall was an annoyance. It was like, well, a wall in my awareness. Not fully solid, I could sense something up there, but it was no where nearly as clear. Like peeking under the bottom of a door into a locked room. The lands past the structure were connected, and I could access the memories, but real time awareness was harder. That was annoying, because some of those memories were nightmarish. Especially the really old ones.

Ice zombies. Uriel had not been joking. In the past, the North had been beset by ice zombies. And if his warnings were accurate, which they most likely were, that threat was going to make a comeback. And my tiny, sweet little nephew would be instrumental in fighting them.

I hated the prophesied child bullsh*t. It was a sh*t thing to do. To saddle some innocent kid with a monumental sized burden or quest was a dick move. And yet the fates or the Power that Be or whatever kept the universe going continued to do it. You could try to ignore it and go on with your life, but that did not stop whatever catastrophe was hurtling towards you. So you had to pick what you could live with. If the special baby was supposed to grow up to be a powerful warrior or king, raise them the best you can so they had the tools they needed. Preferably without overburdening them with the knowledge of the ‘prophecy’ so it didn’t f*ck with their head.

If the special baby was supposed to be a blood sacrifice to some hoary old god-like monster, then you tell the fates to go f*ck themselves and instead find a way to kill, banish or imprison the monster.

Nearly a two moons after my arrival at Winterfell, my wife, Catelyn, arrived.

My good father sent her with a guard under the command of her uncle, Brynden Tully. She had a wheelhouse for her comfort and wagons to carry her personal things. She’d also likely brought some servants of her own. Familiar faces in this new land.

There was a more cynical part of me that suspected one or two of them would be my good father’s spies, sent to make certain I was treating his daughter well. I would if I were him. Send Maggie far away to live with some wet behind the ears boy I hardly knew? Yeah, I’d have some eyes and ears on my girl. Believe it.

I stepped up to the wheelhouse as the door opened. Inside were a few women, but my attention was drawn to the fair skinned beauty with a crown of flame colored hair and bright blue eyes. I had remembered my wife was lovely, the kind of lovely men fought wars over, but knowing and seeing were difficult things.

“Lady Stark, welcome to Winterfell.” I offered her a hand and helped her step down into the bailey. She smiled shyly at me before looking around. Winterfell was larger than Riverrun, but was a different type of castle. We were built for sheltering strength rather than courtly elegance. Winterfell was more walled town than fortress.

I could see the trained lady behind my wife’s eyes as she looked around. If I could read her thoughts I would probably have found calculations on how many servants would be needed for each floor and what hours they would need to work in order to keep everything tidy. How she would manage larders and supplies to ensure everyone was fed and clothed. Doubtless she was remembering that my mother had died giving birth to Benjen so there had not been a Lady Stark for a bit more than a decade and a half. She probably envisioned an unholy mess in dire need of a woman’s skills.

“It is an impressive castle, My Lord.” The other ladies were being helped out by guards and footmen. One walked up to us with a bundle in her arms. Catelyn reached for it and turned to me as she unfolded the insulting blankets from a round face. “May I present your son. Robb Stark.”

He was nearly eight moons old. Old enough to sit up on his own without support but big enough to reach for things and show interest. Depth perception should be developed. I was reminding myself that I was a stranger to him. “Hello, Robb. I am happy to finally meet you.”

He was chewing on a pudgy fist as he studied me with blue eyes. Baby eyes nearly always started blue and could take up to a year to settle on a final color. I hoped Jon’s would end up grey or brown and worried they might go purple, but I suspected Robb’s might stay blue. Like his mother.

He popped a slobbery fist from his mouth and reached towards me. I smiled and gently lifted him from Catelyn and didn’t take offense as she watched me closely until satisfied I knew how to properly hold a baby. I settled him into my arms with a smile. “Hello there, little lord. Something tells me you’re going to be running this place with that smile of your in no time.”

I introduced them to Benjen and higher ranking household members and servants. I tried to do it efficiently so as to get them out of the chill and into the warmth quickly, though I may have lingered to show off Robb a time or two. When I introduced Ser Arthur I saw Ser Brynden size him up with a guarded expression. Dayne had gotten used to it. A lot of people didn’t like him based on his actions as a Kingsguard. Presently I had him training my guard and soldiers as well as myself. If I was going to have someone of his caliber in my employ, I’d be an idiot not to take advantage of it. But as far as his own position, Northmen respected actions over words. He was going to have to earn their respect.

They’d had a long trip so a full tour of the castle and grounds could wait until tomorrow. My steward made sure everyone was settled in as I took Catelyn and Robb to the family wing. The moment of truth came about when we reached the nursery.

Catelyn’s steps slowed when she saw the extra crib, all ready occupied. Mona was seated by the wall where the hidden pipes with water from the underground hot springs kept things warm, mending one of Benjen’s tunics he had ripped in training. She was still adjusting to the different climate but Winterfell was comfortable thanks to clever engineering. Most rooms didn’t even need their own hearths. The radiant heating was plenty.

My wife looked at Jon. “My lord?”

I looked over. “Mona, could you give us the room?”

The midwife took us both in before gathering up her mending. ‘Yes m’lord.” She gave left the nursery, closing the door softly behind her so as not to disturb Jon. Or Robb. He’d fallen asleep as I carried him.

“Who is this baby?”

“This is Jon Snow. He is mine.” My responsibility. My reason for being here.

“Y…yours, I see.” She swallowed. “The woman, Mona, is his mother?”

“No. She is the midwife who delivered him, and she was able to serve as his wet nurse afterwards. Jon’s mother died less than a day after he was born. House Stark is all he has left, so I brought him here. Mona lost her family in the Sack of Kingslanding and wanted to leave her ghosts behind. A good thing. Soldiers returning from war mean babes will soon follow. Many women prefer a midwife to a maester. Her skills are welcomed.”

She looked uncertain as to whether or not to believe me. “I would not ask you to tolerate the presence of a mistress under your own roof. You are the lady here.”

“But you would ask that I tolerate the presence of your bastard?”

I settled Robb down into the other crib. “This has the markings of a conversation that could get rather loud. I think we should take it elsewhere and let the boys sleep.” I escorted her from the room gently. It wasn’t hard. She’d been conditioned to defer to male authority when it was in the personage of her husband. In time I was hopeful that we could adapt to one another to more of an equal partnership, but for now I wanted to avoid disturbing sleeping infants.

I escorted her to her room, which was connected to mine by a central solar that was supposed to function as a sort of family space. I remembered spending evenings there with my siblings and parents. Father would tell us stories about our ancestors while the wind and snow whistled outside. Hopefully Catelyn and I could have the same thing once we got over this hurdle.

It did not escape my notice that the Lady’s chamber was one of the warmest outside of the kitchens. I had a strong suspicion that whichever Stark ancestor was responsible for this part of Winterfell had done that on purpose. Happy wife; happy life.

I took a breath and invited her to take a seat in one of the chairs by the solar hearth. “My Lady…would I be to bold to address you as Catelyn?”

She smoothed her skirts. “I am your wife.”

“True, but you are upset with me at the moment, and we do not truly know one another for all that we have a son together. I would have your permission.”

She seemed uncertain how to respond. “Yes, you may call me Catelyn. Or Cat. My family calls me Cat.”

“Cat. You are free to call me Eddard, though my family and friends often call me Ned. I’m not quite how Eddard becomes Ned, but there you have it. At least Cat makes sense.”

A little huff escaped her. She kept her eyes on her hands folded on her lap.

“Cat, we are both young and relatively healthy. If fate is kind, we will have several decades together. That time will go easier if we can talk clearly. I can see that Jon being here upsets you. I would have you speak your mind so that we can come to an understanding.”

She hesitated at first. “I understand that men have needs. You were at war. If you needed comfort, I can understand. And..you said his mother is gone. I can acknowledge that a good man would see to it that his child is provided for. What I do not understand is why you brought him here.”

So it wasn’t that I had a bastard, as far as she understood it, but that I brought him under her roof. I could see that. “Because he is a child of House Stark. It is my responsibility to see that he is raised well and give him the knowledge and skills he will need for his future.”

“Surely he could have been fostered with someone. With one of your bannermen, perhaps.”

“And ask someone else to do my job? I am not fully familiar with how things are done in the Riverlands, Cat, but that would not speak well of me here. And Jon is hardly the first Snow in my house. I am not saying that we make it a habit, but when it does happen we take responsibility for them. Starks are wolves. We protect and guide our own.”

She gripped her hands together. “Bastards are born of sin and lust! They covet! What if he tries to usurp Robb’s place when he is older?”

Ah. The picture was getting clearer.

I leaned back in my chair, tapping my chin. “Born of sin and lust. I follow the Old Gods, but House Arryn follows the Seven. I sat through many a sermon during my fostering. I seem to recall that it is said all children are born innocent in the eyes of the Mother. How can both be true?”

She opened her mouth, but closed it again. I don’t think she expected me to use her own scriptures against her.

“Jon did not ask to be conceived. He did not ask to be born. He came into this world cold, naked and screaming the same as all of us. Who he becomes as a man will depend on how he is treated and nurtured as he ages. And as for true born and base born children, I would mention a Bennard Stark.”

“Bennard Stark?”

“Mhm. Younger son of Benjen Stark. Younger brother of Rickon Stark. Uncle to Cregan Stark. A true born son of this house. And yet he decided he should be Lord Stark and attempted to usurp his nephew’s rightful place. His sons, also true born Starks, helped their father in his treason. It sent the North into a civil war. Cregan won, though he wasn’t much older than my brother at the time. He executed his uncle and banished his cousins to the Wall.”

She stared at me, mouth slightly open.

“It’s hardly an isolated story. There are similar ones throughout the entire realm. Second, third or fourth born sons dissatisfied with their lot and who try to take what was intended for their elder siblings. I dare say there are more such tales around true born siblings than baseborn.

“Cregan had his half sister Sara Snow. Torrhen, the last Stark king, had his brother Brandon Snow. As long as my family has been around, there have been many such siblings. And they have been our most stalwart and trustworthy companions. Are they perfect? No. Human nature is what it is and there will always be those who let greed sway them. But whether or not you were born in wedlock has little to do with that.”

She closed her mouth. There was a pensive frown creasing her brow.

I reached over and took her hands into my own. “I will not demand that you love him. It is not my place to tell you where to place your affections. I only ask that you remember he is a child. He is kin to our son, and should we have more children , he will be kin to them as well. Robb is my heir. Jon will be there by his side and if we are fortunate they will be one another’s leal companion. Jon will not inherit Winterfell. He might one day be Robb’s master at arms, or I can find lands and a keep for him so that he might start a cadet branch of our house and serve as Robb’s bannerman. But he will be raised here, as a child of Stark blood should be. If you need to be angry at someone for that, I would ask that you direct your ire towards me.”

She considered my words. “I…understand, husband.” Well, less formal than ‘my lord’ but more formal than ‘Ned’. It was a start. “I…his mother. Who was she?”

I winced. “I…cannot speak of her. Not yet. Maybe one day, when the pain is healed and we know one another better.” I felt her stiffen a bit at that. “Know that she is no threat to you. She never was.”

“You loved her.”

“Aye. Not in the way you clearly are thinking, but I did. It’s too painful to think on just yet. I need time.”

She nodded again and took her hands back. “I don’t know if I can love him, but I shall try and remember that he is blameless.”

“That is all I can ask.” I rose up. “I believe the kitchens have been working four days straight preparing to welcome you. I will leave you to refresh yourself. I doubt even having a wheelhouse made the journey that much easier.”

It was a start. I couldn’t deman Cat love Jon. Perhaps I could tell her the truth, but I didn’t know her well enough yet. Didn’t know if I could trust her yet. It was entirely possible that my views were somewhat colored by a distrust of Sothrons in general. My main concern was that my nephew did not grow up mired in hatred and abuse. If my theory about his magical gifts was even half right that would be a disaster. I’d seen far too many budding mages lose their heads because they’d gone down the wrong path with their magic, spurred on by poor treatment and fear.

I remembered a parable I’d heard once. It came from the African continent though which tribe or community there I was sure. “A child denied the love of the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.”

I had no intention of letting Jon be bullied and beaten to the point he might start that fire.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

I waited to do this part. Waited for things to settle down. Waited for a full moon for maximum light. Waited until I could gather the right tools and was certain my magic was restored enough.

Finding a silver blade and cup hadn’t been as difficult as I’d feared. There were a few different ones in the family vaults. I’d polished away the tarnish of age and sharpened the blade to a surgical edge. Once most of the castle was asleep, I went out to the Godswood by lantern light. Once there I set a small camp fire in a stone lined ring I had been building over the past few weeks. I then stripped down and slipped into the thermal spring closest to the heart tree and fire pit. A ritual cleansing was needed. Nothing special. It just meant that you cleaned yourself while also ordering your mind. Bathing while meditating if you will.

Water disrupts magic. That’s why old folk tales will list bodies of water as a type of border to magical realms. Running water cleanses away spells. The best action to take if you think you’ve been curse or enspelled is to take a bath or shower. If the working was only surface level, the water will weaken it if not destroy it all together. That was why smart sorcerers try to get you by targeting your blood or attaching the spell to something you will ingest, like food. That is also why you do a ritual cleansing before any serious ritual work. It is to get rid of any residual magic traces that might interfere.

Once I was clean I pulled myself out of the spring. It cold air bit into me, but I needed to do this part in the nude. Fur or cloth could contain magic residue and screw it up. Willing away my shivers, I picked up the cup and plucked a few leaves from the lower branches of the heart tree and placed them inside. Then using the blade I coaxed some of the sap from the carved eyes and added that as well. Using the knife’s bone handle as a pestle and the cup as a mortar, I ground them together into a paste. Once they had the proper consistency, I took the blade and cut the thick, fleshy part of my palm.

Some time in my past a powerful entity made an investment in me. Uriel, to be exact. He had given me the ability to use soul fire. To use my soul to imbue my spells. It was how Creation worked and wasn’t something to be done lightly. I hadn’t known angels had souls, but it turned out that was all they were. Humans were souls housed inside a flesh suit which gave us an added layer of protection. And the resource isn’t finite. It could be replenished, usually by doing something positive like spending time with friends or loved ones, or helping out your fellow man, or even spending time petting a dog or cat. It could also be exhausted using too much too fast. But I didn’t need much for this. Just a bit to tie my soul to the spell.

And, yes, I still had it. I’d checked before coming out here to freeze my bits off in the cold. And considering I was now two souls blended together, I had plenty to work with.

My blood came out with visible lines of blue -white fire, falling into the cup to be mixed in with the paste. I again used the bone handle of the knife to mix them together, focusing my Will. Once it was a hom*ogenous whole, I poured it out onto the fire with a push of Will and Intent.

The connection snapped into place with a near audible pop. Now I would be able to tell what was going on without having to come here or make my way to a weirwood. Magical WiFoo. That didn’t sound right. WiFee? What was it called?

“Well,that I certainly did not expect.”

I spun around to see a man standing next to the heart tree. He was tall and thin with long white hair and a red eye. His other eye was missing. There was a wine red birthmark on his face that looked vaguely like a bird. I scoured my shared memories for a clue as to his identity.

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Not yet. You might soon be if you don’t cover yourself. Though you don’t appear to be turning blue any longer.”

I realized that I didn’t feel the cold any longer. That could be a bad sign, but I quickly did a few compression tests on my fingers and the blood flowed back quickly. Huh. Cold resistance. Hadn’t anticipated that. Nice perk.

Still, I picked up my clothes and dressed. More out of politeness than anything else. I knew Rivers wasn’t actually there. He was a..projection.

“So what brings you into my Godswood? And if you’re not dead, what happened to you?”

“Much what you have done, though my way isn’t as elegant.” He peered at me, or rather around me. “Ah, I see. You have used the bonds already existing between your Stark blood and the North. Very clever. I could not have done that. I lack the foundation.”

“Oh? What did you do, then?” I didn’t get to talk shop often. Might as well take advantage.

“My way requires a physical bond with the Weirwoods.”

“So you lose it when you step away?”

“I cannot. The binding is permanent.”

“Really? Bummer.”

He arched the brow over the empty eye socket, which was creepy. “Bummer?”

I shrugged. “So what brings you here! Just felt the working and got curious?”

“Yes. And you are a curiosity. You are Eddard Stark, but you are not. It is not a possession. You are not a demon. I am not sure what this is.”

“Me neither, if we’re being honest. This,” I gestured at myself, “was the doing of a Higher Power.”

“A god?”

“More like the high ranking servant of one on their orders. Stark was dying and that was determined to be a bad thing. I had just died and was waiting to move on to whatever afterlife awaited me. It was decided that merging us together was the best thing for everyone else.”

“How so?”

I thought on how to explain it. Then I thought of the weirwoods. If he was connected to then as I was, could I show him? A data exchange? Was that what they called it?

I concentrated and we were back at the Trident, with me and Uriel standing over an unconscious Ned.

The boy will be inheriting from both sides. He will need someone knowledgeable to guide him. And to ensure he has a strong foundation for life.”

”And if he’s left alone? What happens?”

Uriel looked grim. “Darkness. A winter that will last a generation or more. Every living thing killed and risen up again to be foot soldiers in an undead army. And when they are done with this continent, with Westeros, they will freeze the seas and march across them to do the same to Essos, and when they are done there, on to Sothoryos. Until the entire world is nothing but ice and death.”

The memory froze. Brynden Rivers frowned. “That is not a man.”

“Nope. That is an Arch Angel. I did work for him from time to time. He’s the one who asked me to…meld with Ned.”

Rivers looked pensive. “And without a guiding hand, we fail. The Other wins.”

“That’s the gist of it. A good father figure is important in a boy’s life. It just so happens I know magic and I’ve got experience in teaching youngsters how to use theirs.” I folded my arms. “Okay. I’ve shown you mine. Now how is it you abandoned your post to bind yourself permanently to the weirwoods?”

“Because I needed to see. I was banished for supporting my family, but I still desired to look after them.”

“You were banished because you essentially violated guest rights and murdered a contender for the throne.”

“I protected House Targaryen’s birth right.”

“And now they are banished and Baratheon sits on the throne.”

“While you hide a dragon under a wolf’s pelt.”

I bared my teeth at him. “I have no dragons. Only wolf pups.”

“Oh?”

The scene changed to one of Rhaegar and Lyanna exchanging vows. I’d seem this one already and I still wanted to punch my fist through that silver c*nt’s head.

“I’ll tell you what I told those white cloaked idiots; no one will acknowledge their vows. Jon is safer as a Stark child than a Targaryen, and that’s what he’ll be. I’m not going to let the realm tear into him. He’s got too hard a road to walk as it is.”

“Does it not occur to you that he might have an easier time of it with the power of the Iron Throne at his disposal?”

“f*ck no! Being king is a sh*t job. No one appreciates you when you do well but everyone calls for your blood the moment something goes wrong. You’re a glorified nanny, only the children you’re minding are grown men with egos the size of oceans and armies at their disposal.” I shook my head. “No. I was asked to do this for kid’s sake. I’m going to do right by him.”

Rivers pressed his lips together into a firm line. “I do not agree with your views. However, I also must acknowledge that greater forces are at work here. The Other did not like it when you arrived. I felt it shudder.”

“Yeah, I have that effect on people.”

“So I will wait, for now.” He paused. “And I suppose you need to be aware of what threatens us all. I shall stop interfering.”

Stop what?

Suddenly the ‘wall’ wasn’t there and I my awareness extended, unimpeded, past the Wall.

“That was you? You put blinders on me!?”

“I merely held the curtain closed using the barrier your own ancestor created.”

“You jackass!”

Rivers shrugged. “I did not know you.”

Why I outta….

Ser Brynden Tully didn’t care to learn that Jon existed, but he also accepted that bastards were born in war. He made an offer to take the boy with him when he left, to take him as a squire when he was older and train him up to be a knight, but I declined. I got the feeling the offer was genuine and he was just looking out for his niece, but Jon was staying put. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue.

Catelyn settled into her role as Lady Stark easily. She was pleasantly surprised at how well out steward and head housekeeper had kept things going without an official lady in charge, but there were little things that needed her touch. Mostly to do with discipline. Honestly, if army logistics were run with even a quarter of the efficiency as a properly skilled noble lady ran her keep, warfare would be a whole different game. Within a fortnight she knew the counts for every bit of cloth, ever morsel of food in the larders, each cask of ale or wine and every candle needed for the chandeliers. Stepping into her mother’s shoes at Riverrun had resulted in a woman who ran a tight ship and left me feeling a bit worried for my good father now that he was without her.

This was all a good thing. It meant less work for me. Here’s where people often got it wrong. A husband and wife should be a team. There was this huge push back on Earth where people cast older marriages in a negative light, saying the wives were basically property during times when she stayed at home and he went out to earn money. What they didn’t realize was that in a healthy marriage the wife was practically in charge. The husband brought home his earnings and handed them over, and she made the budget. Made sure the bills were paid. That food and supplies were bought. Sometimes it went too far and if something were to happen to the wife, the husband would be left adrift without a clue as to when or how a bill got paid. But when it worked, it was a partnership than ran like a well oiled machine.

Were there times when one or the other would forget that and do something stupid such as cheat? Yes. See again how people could be stupid at times.

Maester Luwin was another who slotted into his place easily. I had set the assistants to researching old agricultural records while awaiting his arrival. Within three days of getting to Winterfell he had assembled all their data into a detailed report.

“You are thinking of expanding the current three crop rotation to four?”

“Aye.” My weirwood network had told me where soil quality had been depleted. There were fields now laying fallow because of how they stopped producing quality crops. The idea was to let them rest, but there were ways to speed that up. My time on my old mentor’s farm in the Ozarks had been mostly about livestock but I’d also learned about things like cover crops. I knew turnips were a good one, and they like cooler climates. Animals liked them and they were a good food source for people. We already grew them in the North, they often made an appearance as mash at meal time, but if we planted more of them it could help the soil as well as be an added source of fodder for livestock. They stored well. Legumes were another good one. And types of clover.

There were also the greenhouses. Or glass gardens as they were called here. Winterfell had several. And they were effective enough we even had some lemon trees that produced fruit. But glass was crazy expensive. Myr produced the best quality, guarded their secrets fiercely and charged a fortune. But did I truly need perfectly clear thin glass? Would slightly colored and thicker panes not work? Glass was just sand melted down and reformed was it not? I’m sure there was more to it than that. I’d put that on my ‘to research’ list.

“We need ideas for cover crops. Things we can grow that improve soil quality with minimal human involvement that can also serve as livestock feed.”

Luwin nodded as he looked at the crops I’d noted. “Yes, my lord.”

“And hot boxes.”

He frowned. “Hot boxes?”

I was fairly certain that’s what they were called. I’d learned about them from a para-netter up in Wisconsin while on a job. The paranet was a network an old flame and I had set up using the minor talents who didn’t have enough oomph power wise to interest the snobs in the White Council. They might have a smidge of foresight or a bit of talent as mediums. Unlike wizards they could use computers or cell phones. They didn’t have enough magic talent to screw up tech, but they did have enough to make them tasty targets for monsters. I wasn’t a snob so I had noticed them and tried to help them. In the end we had helped to set up a network where they supported one another. The little fish learned to band together for safety and it was glorious. One of the things I’d done that I was the most proud of.

Anyway. Hot boxes.

“You know how piles of vegetation generate heat as they decompose and break down?”

“Yes. In time the decomposing matter becomes…soil.”

“Exactly.” I took a piece of parchment and started sketching. “A hot box is an open box structure. Coming up about to mid chest on an average man and narrow enough to reach most of the way across. You fill it with plant matter. Hollow logs split open. Vegetable scraps and old vines. Add animal droppings in there as well. Things you would put on a compost pile to break down. Top it off with loose soil. The vegetation breaks down, generating heat and warming the whole thing. You plant seeds in the soil on top and the warmth underneath helps them along. Gives them a protected start to growing. Once they are established you can move the seedlings to the field once it warms up enough outside.”

Luwin nodded. “I think I understand.”

I frowned, scratching at my chin. “Still, it would work better in an enclosed space, but you need light. Glass gardens would be good, but that comes back to the cost of glass. Do they cover the concept of glass making at the citadel?”

“The basic knowledge, yes, but Myr guards their secrets.”

“Yeah, but do we need perfect glass? As long as sufficient light can get through we should be fine. And would thicker glass be better suited to the winds here? I’ve looked at what we have. The glass in the existing gardens isn’t that thin. Nor that clear, though that could be age.”

The maester nodded. “I will look at myself. It would still be a massive undertaking. The heat required to melt sand is high.”

“We’ll make it a project. It’s not dire, there are other things that need doing, but if we can solve that conundrum it would benefit the North as a whole.”

I left Luwin to meet with the Gardener. That was an actual job position. It was held by an old farmer who had probably forgotten more about farming than all the others had ever learned. He was too old to work the fields himself but his knowledge was too valuable to let go. Now he helped plan out the fields and rotations to keep things running smoothly. He was a cantankerous old coot that was more bark than bite. And his name was Bet. Just Bet. It wasn’t short for anything. He claimed his father was certain he’d be another girl, he’d had five already, and his mother had just looked at him and said ‘bet’, certain she was having a son that time. At least, that what his father had told him.

My workers I’d asked for from Lord Royce in the Vale had arrived. If I was going to reach South for workers, I’d look to people I could trust. The next step of my plan was ready.

Benjen found me studying the new embroidery on black silk. It was our house sigil. “What is that?”

“The tent I claimed at the Trident. It used to be Rhaegar’s. I had them take out the dragon and replace it with our wolf.”

My brother frowned. “You wanted to show me a tent?”

“I was making sure the work was done. I’m lending it to you. It comes with a fancy cot that’s almost as comfortable as a bed. You should be right cozy. Try not to ruin it. I’m certainly not going to waste gold on a new one if we lose it. Spoils of war is the only way we’re getting a fur lined silk tent.”

My brother snorted. It was an extravagant waste of money. How many people could have been fed for what the dragons had spent on the thing? “Where am I going?”

I unrolled a map. “Here.” I used a coal stick to mark out a spot. It was a cluster of hills cut through by a river. The lands belonged to House Stark so there wouldn’t be a question of mineral rights. Did they even have the concept of mineral rights here? The soil was rocky and the top soil thin, so it was of little or no agricultural use. And it wouldn’t be the easiest to build on. It was a lot like the Ozarks that way. Pretty, but hard to settle. The Ozark mountains had a lot of smaller towns interspersed within stretches of wild because it was a pain in the ass to navigate and build there. The region I was sending my brother to was the same.

“Why there?”

“You’re going to be doing a bit of digging. The men I brought in from the Vale are surveyors. I want you to look for some rocks.”

“Rocks?”

“Ore, actually. Metal ores. I’ve been looking into it and I’ve got a good feeling about this area.”

A very good feeling. My new weirwood friends told me there were significant veins of gold, silver and copper there. There were others that would be easier to reach, but they were smaller. Small enough we could burn through them in under a decade. This area wouldn’t be the easiest to build or settle, but the same terrain would make it easier to defend once we did settle it and the veins were much larger. Large enough to go for generations. They’d never been found before because there’d been nothing to entice people to the area. Any settlement would be dependent on trade for most of its food outside of wild game and fishing from the river, but the river itself would make transportation a bit easier.

Benjen looked skeptical. I ruffled his hair. “Have faith, little brother. If I’m right, you’re about to become the most eligible bachelor in all of Westeros.”

“What!?” His voice cracked in horror and I couldn’t hold back a snigg*r.

“Who else would I trust? I know I’m right. Just go with me on this. It will be some hard work, but it will be for the betterment of our house and the North. This is the first of many changes we’re going to be making, you and I.”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Maester Luwin’s expression was grim when he came into my solar. Robb and Jon were stretched out on their bellies on the bear skin rug before the hearth, playing with wooden soldiers while their little pups slept curled up nearby.

Though Magic didn’t truly come in until puberty hit, there were some things that could start to show early. And here, in this family, there were some Stark-y things. Such as Warging. An inherent gift that allowed you to bond with animals. It was one of the things my ancestors had purposely sought when conquering other sorcerous foes. Now that I was aware of it, I suspected Starks often used it without knowing. It would explain why we were often better riders than most, or why we had such good control of hounds or hunting birds. To that end, I had let the boys pick pups from one of the hunting hounds when they were big enough to be away from their mother so that they might start bonding naturally. At four they were too young for full responsibility and the pups went back to the kennel at night, but it was a start. Besides,I had once read somewhere that having pets taught children empathy and responsibility as well as helped the body avoid developing allergies.

And my wife was expecting our second child. She didn’t need a pair of rambunctious, energetic boys underfoot. I kept them with me when I could to give her a break.

“Trouble?”

Luwin cast an uncertain look to the boys before coming closer with a raven scroll. “From the castellan at the Dread Fort, my lord.”

I took the scroll and unrolled it. The script didn’t truly surprise me, but I kept my expression neutral. “He found House Bolton’s secret chambers.”

Luwin swallowed. “So it would seem. There were always rumors, though I think everyone hoped that was all they were.”

“Apparently not.” They’d found a body. Or what was left if one. The scroll did not allow for great detail,but the castellan did include that the man had been dead when they’d found him. Poor bastard.

“What of the heir, my lord?”

“He is a boy. Too young to have anything to do with this. And he is with his mother’s sister, now. She and Lord Dustin will see to his raising. William is a good man. Young Domeric is in good hands.”

And the other one was with Lord Karstark. Rickard had agreed to take little Ramsay as his mother wanted nothing to do with him. I didn’t blame the woman. And she had no knowledge that she was the reason Roose Bolton was no more.

My awareness had alerted me to the rotten egg in the North’s basket. Roose Bolton was a twisted sort, though I had lacked the evidence to do anything openly. He’d learned a miller on his lands had wed without his permission and had him hanged. He’d then raped the miller’s wife under her husband’s swinging body. Ramsay had been the result. But it would have been her word against his. Unfortunately that was not enough. Not in this setting.

The act had me wanting the man dead, but it also made me look closer. I could use the animals in the North to spy. Rats were useful critters. Able to squeeze into places most couldn’t go. I’d already known about the torture chamber in the Dread Fort. I had known the Boltons had not given up flaying. But I could not levy charges without evidence, so I cheated.

As much as I liked canines, cats are better hunters. Lions are an outlier with their tendency to hunt in groups. Most cats are solitary hunters. Ambush predators. Nature’s perfect killing machines. The North had shadow cats. Not a lot of them, but we did have them. They were a bit larger than the mountain lions back on Earth and their dark pelts allowed them to hide in the shadows of the dense forests. And if guided to do so, they could kill with the efficiency of one of Earth’s jaguars. A powerful bite to the head that crushed the skull. Quick. Quiet. Instant. And they could drag off the body before your hunting companions even knew you were gone. Poor Roose walked off to relieve his bladder and never came back. All they found was blood, some of his clothes and an arm. Pity.

I’d had to appoint a castellan to manage the Dread Fort until Domeric was of age. In the meantime we’d clean it up. Scour it of the dark and unsavory things. I’d probably have to visit at least once to cleanse the place of any bad vibes. For the kid’s sake. Let him start with a clean slate.

Hey. I’d made my opinion of puppy kickers clear. Roose Bolton was definitely the kind of man who’d kick a puppy. Trust me, Domeric and Ramsay were both better off without him.

“Is something wrong, Papa?” Robb was watching me from the rug. He usually did the talking. Jon was a quiet one. Observant. There was little he didn’t see. He saw. Robb spoke. And close enough in age they might as well be twins. I was fairly sure they had their own language as twins often did.

“More bad things by the bad lord. It will take time to uncover it all, but we will.”

They sat up and paid attention. They were intelligent boys. Eerily so as young as they were. I wasn’t that serious at their age. At least I didn’t think I had been. It was a long time ago.

“Did the Old Gods get him?”

“I suspect it was karma.”

“What’s karma?” Jon spoke. Rare.

I thought on my answer. “Karma is the idea that what we do comes back to us. If you do bad things, bad things happen to you. If you do good things, then good things happen to you. Lord Bolton did bad things. Eventually bad things happened to him.”

I saw Luwin write something down in a journal he kept with him. He’d started jotting down things he heard me say or comments that I made. Sometimes he did so to ask me for clarification on what I meant when I said something Dresden-y later. Other times he wanted to know where I’d picked up some nugget of wisdom or thought. I did not know if I should be flattered or worried.

Things were going… okay-ish? Look, the North is big. Like…ridiculously big. Nearly twice as large as Alaska back on Earth and pretty much the same climate and about the same population. Maybe a bit more at nine hundred sixty-three thousand, four hundred twenty-seven. No. Twenty-eight. Congratulations to the new parents. We were making headway, but it was like crawling up a very steep hill.

Benjen was key to a lot of it, because I’d parked Benjen on the money. We could do a lot with our natural resources, but we still needed cash. Or coin. However you wanted to call it. The ores proved to be there and my little brother was stepping up to the task without fear. I’d only told him I suspected there were ores. I hadn’t warned him what kind. Greed brought out the worst in people so I’d wanted to keep eyes off of Bennie Boy until he could get a feel for the location and set up security.

Most castles started out as simple watch keeps. A tower keep or maybe a ‘drum’ or shell style keep. Winterfell started that way. The round keep that had been her beginning still stood, though had fallen into a more dormant state. I was working on that, because it was a lot of useful space. Next to it was a tower that was presently undergoing repair. A lightning strike had broken out the top ages ago, but I wanted that tower for my personal workspace. It’s a wizard thing. We tend to work out of towers that were usually freezing cold requiring us to wear heavy robes while doing our wizarding, thus the stereotype of the long bearded wizard in robes and a big hat. The hat kept your head warm.

After three years, Benjen had a sturdy tower keep and the beginnings of curtain walls to protect the buildings constructed for his miners and metal workers. The beginnings of a town were there and I’d gotten him people to help him that had strong ties to House Stark. Some Flints, Wulls and Norreys from the mountain clans. They were used to surviving in such rough terrain and they were very intimidating physically. Even as tall as I was, I’d think twice before tangling with one of them. I might now have a good five inches or more on them, but those brutes were solid walls of muscle and liked using heavy axes to swords. More practical. They could fell both trees and men.

I’d had to get permission from the Crown to build a mint to strike coins rather than try to transport ore or refined metals to Lannisport, because when dealing with currency standards had to be kept. Luckily, the King liked me so that had been easy.

Now that the North had more coin, we were free to follow the three rules of proper management; delegate, delegate, delegate. We might not have a lot of people, but the ones we did have were not afraid of a little hard work and they redefined stubborn when it came to getting a job done. I used my awareness of what we had to nudge my bannermen where I needed them.

Bigger, more robust ports were being built by Houses Flint and Ryswell on our Western coast where the Stony Shore and Cape Kraken framed Blazewater Bay. It built a protective gauntlet shielding the entrance to the Saltspear, the first major waterway cutting into our interior and also made the Blazewater a shipyard from where we could launch a navy should the Iron Born get uppity. I didn’t trust those guys.

I had Manderly increasing trade with Essos. They already had an established trading port and Lord Manderly was a shark at the negotiating table. The man should really reconsider his house sigil. Maybe a megaladon with piles of coins between its teeth.

Essos liked our lumber and furs, both of which we had plenty. However I wasn’t going overboard. As tempting as it was to really crank up the timber harvesting with three hundred million miles of trees in the Wolf Woods alone, I was not forgetting how things went in my old life. Unimpeded harvesting would eventually deplete that resource and rob the North’s future. It would also lower the price we could sell for. I might not have been the top student in my youth ,but I did remember some things, like the law of supply and demand.

With House Stark owning the new gold, silver and copper mines, we were in a position to be magnanimous. Luwin and his helpers had managed to figure out simple glass. It was ugly and imperfect compared to what Myr produced, but it was suitable for our needs. We lacked sand of sufficient quality, but I had a friend or two in Dorne now and they weren’t running out of the stuff any time soon. I could get sand from them on the cheap and we made the glass. The first green house (glass garden, Harry. They’re called glass gardens here) to each Northern keep was on us. An act for the good of the North (and apparently had some people calling me Ned the Gardener for some reason). If they needed more than one, we could supply the glass for just a little more than what it cost us to make plus the cost to deliver it. We weren’t to that point just yet, we were still building the first ones. To prevent anyone from feeling as though I played favorites, I drew names to determine which keep got the next one. Except for Bennie. Benjen got two out of the gate, but he was my brother and he needed them to make up for the lack of arable land where he was. And his work was paying for them, after all.

I closed my ledgers. “Boys, let’s get some air.”

They scrambled up to their feet, signaling their pups to rise as well. The fur balls were still at that clumsy stage where they could trip and fall over their own oversized paws. Sometimes they managed to step in their own floppy ears. It was adorable and I had to smile as I was preceded through the door by youthful exuberance.

Now that I was no longer working, the chatter started. Mostly from Robb. There was a guardsman who overslept this morning and who had stumbled to his post while trying to pull on his boots, resulting in his falling and crashing into one of the washerwomen which made her spill the basket of freshly washed laundry into the dirt which made her mad. She’d the chased him around the yard with her now empty basket trying to smack him with it. It had been quite hilarious. He and Jon had gotten an extra sausage each when they’d broken their fast that morning, which they had shared with their pups and surely their pups would grow faster if they could give them more sausages. And there was something about how Jon had learned to spell and write his name first, but Robb did his own only a little bit late.

I had missed Maggie’s earlier years, but I doubt she had ever been as busy as a little boy. I couldn’t really remember being four, so I didn’t know if I was quite this bad or if it just seemed so because there were two of them. Robb and Jon had a readily available accomplice for anything. And it wasn’t just the chatter and always making up a new story or asking questions. It was their apparent lack of comprehension of the concept of mortality. Take your eyes off of them for just a moment, and when you looked back they might be half way up the side of the castle, or trying to scramble out of a window, or poking the fire in a hearth with a stick. I’d found them in the stables trying to get a closer look at one of the massive garrons, oblivious to the fact that one kick from it could cave in their skull. Honestly, how do so many boys survive to become men? They appear to be born with zero self preservation. I was hoping this next child was a girl, of only for some peace of mind.

“Papa, is Aunt Catelyn sick?”

I patted Jon’s head. Cat wasn’t comfortable witness him calling her ‘mum’ or ‘mother’ and I found Lady Stark too formal for a young child. We had comprised on ‘Aunt Catelyn’. Perhaps in time I would be comfortable a bough to let her know it was the truth, but the boys were still too young to under the severity of the secret.

“She’s not sick. Having a baby is just a lot of hard work. It shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Robb hopped down the steps into the Bailey. “We’ll have a new brother!”

“Or a sister.”

He screwed up his face in boyish distaste. “Why would we need a sister?”

Because your parents need a break. “Sisters are just as good as brothers. And you’ll have someone to play the princess in your games.”

Robb did not looked convinced. Jon seemed as though he might not care one way or the other.

I swept my son up with a roar and swung him around. “Come now! You’re the eldest child. It will be your responsibility to keep all your siblings in line.” He laughed and kicked his legs. “You and Jon, of course. If we get a girl, you two will have to help me keep her safe.”

“A brother could keep himself!”

“Oh? You wouldn’t help Jon if he was in danger?”

Robb immediately looked shocked at the idea. “I’d protect Jon!” He leaned to one side, reaching for his ‘brother’. I placed him back in the ground and he looked an arm abut the other boy’s shoulders. “We protect each other!”

Jon nodded in agreement, his face its usual somber expression. Rhaegar was said to be a melancholy sort. Sometimes I worried there was too much of that jerk in him. You wouldn’t know it unless you knew what to look for. His eyes had settled on a dark, slate grey that looked nearly black if he was sad or when he had the odd cold or sniffle children passed between each other. His hair was a Stark shade of brown so dark it was nearly indistinguishable from black, just needed some blueish low lights, but it was a silky texture and fell in curls. He had a Stark’s long face but he was far too pretty. With luck he’d mature into more masculine features, else I’d be spending his teen years driving away lovesick chambermaids. He looked like a child version of my brother Thomas. Stupid pretty. The kind of pretty where women stalked the man in cooperative packs. Only Jon didn’t have a demon inside him waiting to devour some poor girl’s life force.

One of Luwin’s helpers came hurrying down the steps. “Lord Stark!”

I turned my attention to the acolyte. “Deep breaths. Get it out.”

“It’s Lady Stark. Her labors are starting.”

Oh.

I nodded my thanks and dismissed the young man. The boys were looking up at me with wide eyes. Right. Labor could get loud and it would be scary for them. They were too young to understand.

“Let’s go find .Old Nan.”

“But what about Mother?”

I took their hands. “Your mother is going to be busy, and having a baby is hard work. She would feel better knowing you two are somewhere safe and not getting into trouble.”

“We don’t get into trouble!”

Jon nodded. “We’re good!”

Uh huh. Tell Gage that you little pie thieves. “Still, this could take a long time. Old Nan will keep you from getting bored and make sure you get something to eat if we’re too busy. Come along.”

Old Nan, a perfect candidate for the senior spot in a Mother, Maiden, Crone painting, had anticipated my move. She welcomed the boys with a new story about the world and a giant’s eye. I settled them in and returned to the family wing.

It did not take as long as I’d feared, but it was still nerve wracking. I kept thinking of Lyanna and my mother and a,l the other women who died in child bed. The dates were kind, however, and she pulled through beautifully. She and our daughter.

Funny, but Cat seemed worried that I’d be disappointed at having a daughter. Or that Sansa, the name we had chosen for a girl, had a tuft of red hair instead of Stark black. How foolish. How could I be anything other than pleased?

Just to prove my point, I called for the bells to be rung for the rest of the day to herald our daughter’s arrival.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

There weren’t any children’s books. There were books of stories but the reading level was beyond what small child learning to read could manage. Probably because books were expensive things that had to be hand copied and bound. Such labor was reserved for tomes meant to carry histories or other scholarly pursuits.

I had a journal, an extravagance in this setting, in which I wrote stories I remembered. Parables such as The Ant and Grasshopper, The Raven and the Pebbles and the Tortoise and the Hare. I also wrote out things like Snow White or Beauty and the Beast, with a good balance between the princess stuff and action so the boys wouldn’t get bored, but more of the family friendly versions rather than the bloodier originals. Sleeping Beauty was saved by a kiss rather than shocked awake by labor pains because the king had taken advantage of her in her sleep and Cinderella’s step sisters weren’t cutting off their toes to fit into the glass slipper. And I kept the wording and phrasing to something children learning to read could understand.

But the book thing, that was something that we could address. It was good for children to learn to read, and stories were more engaging than dull primers put together by maesters. However it did not fall under the category of ‘necessary to survival’ so it wasn’t something I had time to put on my plate. I did discuss the concept of a printing press with Luwin. He was most excited by the idea but hardly had time to fully dedicate himself to it either. He did have a helper who was very interested in the smithing part of his studies and good with being fiddly. Last time I asked about it, the kid was working on designing the letter tiles with enough definition for a clear print. I wished him luck.

“…and he l..learned not to tell lies again.” Robb reread that last line to himself before giving a definite nod, pleased with his performance. I was fairly certain in the original tale of The Boy Who Cried Wolf the wolf ate the shepherd boy, but in my version it only got his sheep. Like I said, my versions were less bloody. These were children, after all.

“Very well done, Robb. That was a lovely story.” Cat smiled as she set her embroidery aside. “Thank you for reading for us.”

“You are welcome, Mother.” My wife was teaching the children to be far more polite than I ever was at that age. Well, they were perfectly polite around her. I got decidedly more…energetic behavior.

“It is getting late. Time for young ones to seek their beds.” She rose and waited until Robb put the story book back onto the small book shelf I’d had put in the family solar. I helped Jon up from where he’d been sprawled out on his belly to listen then picked up the very asleep Sansa. The dogs had already been walked and allowed to do their business to settle them in. Now that they were older and housebroken, they rarely went to the kennels at night but instead stayed in the boys’ room with them. We got them tucked into bed, pooches on the floor next to the bed when we all knew they’d jump up there once the adults were gone, and settled Sansa into her room next to theirs. The boys had been moved out of the nursery into their own space when I’d decided to let them keep the dogs with them, but they stayed in a shared room together. In truth, it was more common for children to share space, even in wealthier households. Especially in the North where it further served to help protect against the chill. Fortunately the nursery was the second warmest room, with Cat still having the warmest.

My wife was not just a miracle worker when it came to managing the household, but an excellent mother. It was a large part of who she was. An integral part of her psyche and soul. You cannot be intimate with someone as we were without making significant eye contact. It had been inevitable that a Soul Gaze would be triggered between us. What I had seen of her was a woman who was proud, but who was also dedicated to family. For all that House Tully’s sigil was a trout, she was every inch a protective she wolf.

Whatever she saw in me, it had convinced her that I would remain with her and fight just as fiercely for our children. It was, I suspected, a strong part of her choice to be, if not wholly as maternal as she was to Robb and Sansa, at least warm and nurturing towards Jon. And, I’ll be honest, I think that whatever the Soul Gaze had told her about me and my suggestion that Jon call her ‘Aunt Catelyn’ also had her suspecting the truth. We just didn’t talk about it. An unspoken accord to stand in solidarity to protect the extra blessing under our roof.

“You surprise me, husband.” She was stowing away her sewing.

“How so?”

“When we wed, you were so quiet. So solemn. Not at all the sort of man I would believe created stories for his children to read.”

“Stories are good. You can wrap lessons and morals in them and make them interesting enough to stay rooted in young minds.”

Cat crossed the room, coaxed me to bend down and kissed me. “I am thankful to be your wife. A more caring husband a woman could never find.”

“The feeling is mutual, My Lady.” I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her snug. “You are the best wife a man could hope for.” I bent my neck low so I could nuzzle the top of her head. “And I could never manage this place without you. I am in continuous awe of how you keep everyone in line. I could have used you in the war. My armies would have been the most organized in all the world.”

She chided me softly and slapped my arm, but I saw the flattered blush in her cheeks. It was late and our days were busy, so we were heading to bed when I felt it. A feeling of something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Ned?”

“Go to bed. There is something I need to see to.” I kissed her brow, took my fur cloak from the peg by the door and headed out.

The now repaired Broken Tower was now called The Lord’s Tower. Mostly because it was my domain. My solar and the main hall were for official Lord-y things. My tower was for my Other things. Pretty much only myself, the boys, Ser Arthur and Maester Luwin came in here.

I’d gotten the measure of Ser Arthur Dayne before I’d agreed to take him on. A Soul Gaze over a campfire one night. His remorse was genuine. A true knight whose armor had grown more and more tarnished the further his king had slipped into madness. He had believed in Rhaegar, but having a mirror held up to the Silver Prince’s own madness had left him second guessing that as well. And for his part, he did not decry me as some evil sorcerer and try to kill me, so whatever he saw in me must have reassured him that pledging himself to my house was the right thing to do.

I rapped on his door, rousing him and bidding him to come with me to the tower.

“Should we rouse Luwin?”

“Nay. Let him sleep. If I’m right, we’ll have him busy sending ravens come morning.”

I unlocked the door and entered. Arthur moved to stir the embers up to raise the fire in the hearth.

The Lord’s tower rose up three stories with another floor below for supplies and such. In the third floor was a large map table. A work in progress. I had the coastlines and topography correct, but I was still working on the various castles and strongholds.

I’d done this before. Little Chicago. A city in miniature with the buildings cast in pewter. This time I was using silver, as Benjie kept me in plenty of it. Various avian friends brought me bits and pieces of the different castles, keeps and defunct towers. Little bits of mortar and stone.

Thaumaturgy is the concept that you can take a piece of something to affect the greater whole. The little bits of buildings embedded in the silver models of the castles helped me connect them. I didn’t truly need it, not to be aware of what was going on, but the model did make things easier.

But my current problem wasn’t at a castle or keep. Not yet.

“What is it, Lord Stark?”

“Pests. Of the squid kind.”

“Iron Born?”

I nodded as I started placing markers where I felt them. Ser Arthur knew of my…gifts. It had taken him time to believe, then he’d had to balance his upbringing that told him all magic users were evil with my assertion that magic was a tool like any other. Whether it was used for good or ill depended on the intent of the user.

“They’ve avoided Blazewater. Likely swung out far enough to avoid being seen from land so they could land North of it.”

Arthur grunted in understanding. “Flint and Ryswell both have the Blazewater framed on either side with their expanded ports and shipyards. And you’ve had them building heavy trade ships that can easily convert to warships. Clever thinking.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t trust them. They squat on those rocky outcroppings. Instead of finding a better use for the seafood, pearls and iron to trade for what else they need they turn to piracy. It’s laziness. Pure and simple.” Not to mention their practice of slavery. Sure, they called it by different names to slip through the laws, but it was slavery.

“Why there?”

“Lumber. Probably to build more boats. Foolish.”

“How so?”

“Takes time to cure wood. Green wood shrinks as it ages. You can’t fell trees and immediately build. A smart man would have traded for aged lumber, though not many would sell large amounts to Iron Born. We wouldn’t want them to build a lot of boats.”

“What will we do?”

“You pen scrolls ready to go out to Ryswell. They will want to send their soldiers to pick off the stragglers. We’ll have Luwin send them out at first light and start alerting the banners to make ready. I suspect this is only the beginning.”

Arthur nodded and went down to the second floor to write out the scroll. As for me, I focused my awareness on the woody coastline the Iron Born were robbing. I became aware of their unwelcome feet on my soil. Of the bite of their axes against my trees. Stealing what wasn’t theirs.

That wouldn’t do at all.

Water is tricky. Running water grounds magic and washes away spells. Water is what made my awareness of Bear Island and Skagos less clear, though it was still there. Just muted by the water that separated the islands from the mainland.

But water was still part of the land. And a water table could be manipulated. I called it upwards through the soil and roots. The plants wouldn’t like it, but I wouldn’t keep it there long enough to drown them. I wanted the ground…soupy. By pulling the water upwards that way I was basically making quicksand, though not exactly. Quicksand was made when water gets trapped in sand and kind of…separates the sand particles giving it a liquid quality. Fun fact, it’s practically impossible to ‘drown’ in the stuff. The human body is too buoyant. You can get stuck, but you’re more likely to die of exposure when the temps drop at night or to starvation or thirst if you don’t get out in time, but you’re not getting sucked down completely. The air in your lungs will usually stop you about waist high or so.

This was much the same principle, but the soil was more clay, silt and dirt than sand. But I got the same results. Those f*ckers were surprised when the started sinking down and found themselves having a good deal of difficulty getting out. Some of the trees with shallower root systems listed and fell over, and a few reavers got pushed under by them. Oops.

Now, to make sure they couldn’t get away. Hard to flee if you can’t see where you’re going, even if you managed to get out of the swampy muck you’ve found yourself in. My avian friends helped with that owls and nocturnal predatory birds were good for that. And eyes are soft, juicy targets.

There. I’d keep watch over them, so to speak, until Ryswell got my raven and rode out to take over. I’d draw the water back then so my people could navigate and they could take care of the Iron Born. The fallen trees could be cured and repurposed in their own ship yards.

It wasn’t the first time I’d done something like this. Once word of Benjen’s mines got out there had been some raiding attempts. Now there were rumors of how the wolves of the North guarded House Stark. To be fair, half of them had been bears or boars, but we are Starks, so people only remembered the wolves.

I rubbed at my eyes and turned my attention to the small hearth. I hung a kettle of water on one of the swing rods and set it to hear. A nice bracing tea was called for if I was to stay awake and watch my coastlines. There could be other parties headed to other beaches, and I needed to be ready.

“Lord Stark?”

I jerked awake from where I’d nodded off in a chair. Maester Luwin was there with a kitchen servant behind him carrying a tray. “Sorry. Must have nodded off.”

“I suspected that you had. I sent your raven to Lord Ryswell all ready and thought you might like to break your fast.” He gestured for the girl to set the tray down on a nearby table before dismissing her. He had parchment and his writing kit with him. “Ser Arthur says we had Iron Born.”

“Another group earlier this morning. Set their sights on Deepwood Mott. I should really speak with them about building stone walls around those wooden ones. I got them them under control. About half of them fled back to their boats once they found the terrain less than hospitable. We’ll need to send to Lord Glover to tell him to take him men here.” I tapped a place too close to the Mott for comfort. “I think they were planning more than just stealing lumber here. That close they were probably thinking of taking the town. Probably thought it an easier launch point to take than what the Flints and Ryswell have been building.”

Luwin studied Little North and nodded before setting out his writing kit at the table. “You should eat, my lord.”

I grunted and went to claim my bowl of thick oat porridge topped with honey, dried fruits and toasted nuts. My Gardener had gotten the farmers to increase the oat plantings. That, rye and barley liked the cooler climate more than wheat. Though not as tasty, they were healthy and filling grains. Oats were also good for the livestock and the stalks were turned into silage for feed later.

Another thing we’d done was design a proper meat grinder. My blacksmith invented some new curses for me after that one but the butcher and the cooks liked it. Before tougher cuts of meat had to either be stewed slowly or minced with a sharp cleaver which was time consuming. Now they could grind them up faster. It proved a great way to use up those tougher cuts into sausage as they’d mix the ground meat with herbs and extra fat before stuffing the mix into cleaned intestines from the same animal then hung in the smokehouses for curing. They were having fun with combinations. Venison and rabbit with apples were my favorite, and was pleased to see a few had been added to my meal.

I’d talked Gage into baking some bread dough into long, thin buns which were then split down the middle so you could tuck a sausage link inside. They were easy to hold and friendly even for tiny boy hands. Though I didn’t call them hot dogs. Too confusing to explain. Nor was I calling the round version of non-sausaged ground meat on an equally round bun a hamburger, but they were proving popular. The meat used was generally a less popular or tender cut without the grinding but the patties were quick and easy to cook up for the now mandatory training days.

I wasn’t going to let a man of Arthur Dayne’s training go to waste. I had been unhappy with the present use of ‘levies’. They basically took any able bodied man and shoved a spear or long bow in their hand with little in the way of formal training. The ‘small folk’ were just fodder to be ground under the hooves of another lord’s cavalry. I didn’t like that at all. So I had pulled Arthur with me into Winterfell’s library to go over past practices.

The North used to have a more regulated conscription practice but the age had been too young for my tastes, about thirteen, sometimes as young as twelve. That was before the Conquest. And a standing army was expensive to maintain, even with the influx of wealth. Precious metal veins only go on for so long. I needed something more manageable.

We settled on something that I took inspiration from my old world’s military. Specifically, the Reserves. Training only two days a moon with a two week stint once a year. We cycled it so that not everyone had to train at the same time and leave fields and businesses empty. All able bodied men who were not professional guardsmen or soldier were required to participate unless there were extenuating circ*mstances, such as a single father of young children with no one to watch them. In exchange you got two hot meals each of the two days and four copper stars for the two days and two silver stags a week for the longer term. That doesn’t sound like much, but it was a fair wage for most of them.

Arthur and Rodrick Cassell developed the training regime for it. Mostly drills in coordinated movements, target practice for the archers, battle tactics and how to follow orders. We started just with those on Stark lands. As my bannermen learned of it, they made inquiries. I explained the idea, the main reason being ready at a moment’s notice should an area come under attack while also, hopefully, decreasing our losses should we be called to war again. Umber and Karstark tried it first and were finding it useful in quelling Wildling raids. With their support, the prActice spread.

Now I suspected our new training methods were about to be put to the test.

“Two strikes that far apart. The squids are up to something.”

Luwin was sanding the scroll to Glover to encourage the ink to set. “A sound idea. If they are trying to harvest lumber in large quantities, then they most likely plan to increase their fleet.”

“Mhm.” I glowered at Little North. “Send to the banners. Let them know to prepare. We might find ourselves called.”

“Of course.”

At least we had warning. Probably more warning than others. “And send word to Lord Tully and Lord Lannister. We wont be the only place they strike for lumber. They’ll hit the Riverlands and the Westerlands as well.”

“Should i address it to Lord Tywin or to Lord Jaime?”

“Jaime. Better chance it will be read that way.” Tywin wasn’t exactly hostile towards me, but I did have the occasional correspondence with Jaime Lannister. He was chafing under his father’s thumb, but holding firm. And I suspected Tywin was a harsh, judgmental sort. Couldn’t be easy on Jaime going by his writing. I’d noticed that some of his letters were oft times written in reverse or jumbled. I was no expert in child development, but I had a strong suspicion that he had dyslexia. I doubted his father would be very understanding about that. Poor kid.

I looked at my model of the North again. War was coming. I was certain of it. And I was not looking forward to it. Not one bit.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Sometimes I truly despised it when I was right. But we at least slowed the bastards down by crippling their attempts at lumber harvesting.

“Lord Stark?”

I looked up from the missive from Kingslanding to see Luwin’s worried eyes. “Aye?”

“My lord, I consider myself fortunate to have been the one sent to serve Winterfell.”

“Glad to hear it. However I sense something troubles you.”

“It does, my lord.” The maester’s eyes drifted over to my staff and blasting rod in the corner. Both were carved from weirwood, which had been a bitch to work with. Cutting a weirwood tree was anathema, but like all trees they did occasionally lose limbs from a high wind or the weight of ice and snow. Northmen would scavenge these fallen pieces for use. Weirwood bows were highly prized and lengths long enough and straight enough to serve as arrow shafts were hoarded. For a young man to carve a pendant from weirwood to gift his lady love was seen as highly romantic.

For my part, the wood was excellent for my new staff and rod.

“I would counsel…caution, my lord. Around other maesters. And around those of the Faith.”

Ah. “You worry about their reaction to me.”

“I do.” He fingered his Valyrian steel link. “I had believed magic gone from the world. That it had died with the dragons. Then I came here and met you.” He smiled sadly. “I lament that I don’t have your level of skill.”

“That’s hardly your fault. I told you. There’s no real way to explain why some people can work magic and others can’t. Bloodlines can play a part in it, but even that can be quashed if you destroy their belief in it. Belief is a main portion of it, but it can be harder to recover that belief later in life.”

To be fair, Luwin had mastered a cantrip or two. He could now light a candle or small fire without a flint and steel, for example. At his age major workings might be forever out of his reach, but even smaller talents could be useful. In my old life I’d had great success working with smaller talents and went through a lot of work teaching them how to protect themselves. I had done this because the White Council often overlooked the lesser gifted. A grave mistake in my way of thinking. Lesser gifted talents had a belief in magic, which they passed on to their children when they were young and filled with wonder. Many highly gifted wizards were born of long lines of minor talents. Once an enemy had actually realized this and had started picking off women with minor gifts to specifically decrease the birth rate of future wizards. And the White Council had missed it. Fortunately I knew a lady police officer who had enough experience with the spooky side of things that she’d read the room correctly when investigating an apparent suicide and brought me in.

“You like me well enough.”

“I always wanted magic to be real. There are others like me who wish the same. But in general, the Citadel frowns on such things. One of my instructors, Arch Maester Marwyn, he is quite interested in magic. He is not well liked by the rest of the older, more established Arch Maesters. He also has…a theory.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“He believes there is a concerted effort to quash magic. He even theorized that it was a cadre of maesters who made a strategic effort to bring about the death of the dragons and thus weaken the Targaryens.”

I would say I was surprised, but I wasn’t. The history of my old life had multiple instances of persecution against magic users. Witches burnings. Genocide. Mankind was its own worst enemy.

“I understand, Luwin. And I will be careful.”

The Iron Born had attacked Lannisport, burning the fleet there. The raven alerting us to the attack was quickly followed by one from Tyrion Lannister saying his brother asked that I be assured he was alive and well.

The call from the Crown to war followed soon after. Id already told my lords to be prepared for such, so they were able to respond with surprising quickness. It still took nearly a full moon just to gather the bulk of them to Winterfell. Some, the ones to the South of us, were just lords with a few guards rather than march their entire force up only to go back. Instead they had their men move to a rally point for the rest of us to meet up later.

I was looking the sea of banners from my tower window. “They look a damn sight better than I recall the last time.”

“The change in training has much to do with that.” Ser Arthur stood beside me. “And the Northern lords are a good measure better financially sound than before. Thanks to someone making an effort to see their fortunes improve.”

“I had little to do with it. Just pointed out useful resources on lands they already managed and made a few suggestions.”

“Humility may be one of your most perplexing virtues.”

“Pride goeth before a fall.”

“I shall need to remember to tell Luwin that one. He’ll want to write it down.”

Funny man, Arthur Dayne. “I will have need of you, Arthur.”

“You have me, Lord Stark.”

“I mean when we’re out there. Away from the North. Starks do not fare well in the South.”

“A common saying.”

“Starks belong to the North.” I caught his eyes. “I belong to the North. Once I step foot out of it, I may be…lesser. Definitely less aware.”

Realization dawned on him. He nodded. “You have me, Lord Stark.”

Catelyn was handling the influx of guests with a grace that proved her training. All the while with our newest little Stark close by. Arya was, so far, the loudest crier of our children and the most alert for her age. The moment she was fully self mobile, we were all going to be in for a world of trouble. I just knew it.

“I’ve restocked your mending kit, just in case you find yourself without access to a seamstress or laundress.”

“Thank you.” I knew how to do some basic stitching. From both my time as Harry and from my memories as Ned. Sometimes you had to close a hole in your pants, tunic or skin. I’d never manage the gorgeous embroidery Cat had embellished my cloaks with, but I wasn’t hopeless.

Something small and determined yanked on my trousers. “GYAHHHH!”

“Arya! Sweetheart, don’t yell at your father.”

I reached down and picked up the little bundle of chaos. “She just wants attention. She’s Papa’s girl.” I peppered her face with kisses.

Actually, she was Jon’s girl. He was enthralled by having a sibling that looked more like him, and she already had him wrapped around her finger with her gummy smiles. I would sometimes find him in the nursery reading from one of the storybooks I had made them to help settle her down.

“Oh, right. The new journals…”

“Already packed. And I made certain your writing kit has full bottles of ink. I know you planned to take two so you could keep a record of things, but I packed you a third just in case you have some peace and think of something for the children.”

“You are brilliant. I really do wish I could take you with me to keep us all in line, but I’d never ask you to subject yourself to camp life. It’s hell.”

“Ned!” She whisper-yelled and nodded at Arya. I covered her ears and mouthed ‘sorry’.

“At least I’ve got my good tent back from Benji. He’ll help you wrangle the boys and do the heavy lifting. And he knows you really run things around here.”

She snorted in amusem*nt and packed my two spare cloaks. She’d packed, unpacked and repacked this last trunk four times now. “Ned…”

“It will be fine, Cat. There are a lot more of us than there are of them. Greyjoy is foolish for trying this.”

“It’s not the Iron Born I worry over.” She looked up at me, her blue eyes pensive. Arya must have sensed her mother’s worry and reached for her. Cat took her automatically. “I worry about the…the other Sothrons. And the Septons. I worry what they might…they might say about you.”

This was starting to sound familiar. “I have no idea what you mean.

Catelyn gave me the typical ‘don’t be stupid’ glare. “Ned, I’m not blind. I know you’re not…a usual man. I admit I was frightened at first. I’d always been told magic was evil. A perversion. But I’ve never seen you do anything truly evil. And if you’ve acted with cruelty, it was out of justice.” She bounced Arya on her hip. “But others might turn against you, Ned. I need you to promise me that you’ll be careful. I need you to come home. To us. To our children.”

Yep, pretty familiar. I closed the distance between us and bent down to kiss her. “I will be careful. I promise. The Northern lords are with me, and the bulk of them don’t listen to Septons. And they’ve always known us Starks are a bit queer. Besides, I’m too pretty to die.”

Cat blinked, taken off balance by that one. Then she huffed. “Eddard Stark, I love you dearly, and you are not an ugly man, but you are not ‘pretty’. If you’re hoping no one will hit you because they won’t want to mark up your face, I fear you have run out of fortune there and would be better off hiding behind Ser Arthur. And I want you to take me seriously!”

“I always take you seriously. And I seriously promise that I will come home. I’ll cut my way through every army and navy from here to Sothoryos and back to come home if need be.”

The Northern host might not be the largest, but we were the fiercest. The training of already rough and hardy men had paid off. When we rolled out we did so in an orderly fashion. For the most part. But a large force mostly on foot, horseback and wagons was slow. We shaved off some time using boats where the rivers were big enough to allow us to send the bulk of the supplies ahead, but it still took us nearly two months…moons to meet up with the rest of the forces.

“GreatJon, Rickard, make sure our men remember that we’re men, not beasts. I don’t tolerate rapists.”

A couple of grunted ‘Aye, my lord’s were their response before they broke off to oversee the men settling into camp. It might not have been needed. The story of how I nearly beat a Lannister man to death over a simple scullery maid during the sack had grown into a legend of its own. And as much as I tried to deflect Clegane onto Ser Jaime, he continued to recant his view of my actions and tried his best best to give me the greater credit. The little sh*t was making a game of it!

Speaking of Lannister men, one in the scarlet and gold came running my way. “Lord Stark! Lord Stark!”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” He tripped to a halt, looking uncertain. I missed Earth humor. “Why are you running around shouting for me?”

“The…His Grace, King Robert. He said to bring you to him the moment you arrived.”

Of course he had. I sent my squire, a Tallhart boy with a broad face and a strong back, to oversee my tent being set up. I hadn’t gotten to use it since I’d gotten back from Benjen.

“Lead the way.” To my surprise, he did not lead us to a tent. Rather we were guided to a…brothel. Of course. It would seem Robert hadn’t changed.

Look, I have nothing against sex workers. As long as they are in the job of their own choice. A woman’s body was her own to do with as she pleased. I once knew a Red Court vampire who ran a brothel, though I had my doubts how willing those girls had been. Hard to give consent when you were kept buzzed on narcotic vampire saliva. In an unrelated matter that place burned to the ground when a fire was set by an unidentified male reported to be wearing rubber ducky boxer shorts and estimated to be over six feet tall. Then someone else bought the land and built a high tech tower with a different type of brothel. This one was disguised as a private gym with a bevy of young, buxom personal trainers. Those girls, I was mostly sure, were willing. They also got top notch health care and I was pretty certain there were no drugs allowed. Crime Boss Marcone might have been a crime boss, but he had higher standards and morals than most politicians. Granted, that wasn’t a very high bar.

Still, holding your war council in a brothel? Is that really the kind of standard that a king should be setting?

“Ned! Finally!” Robert straightened up from where he’d been bent over a map table, only to pull up short. “f*cking hells, Ned! What happened to you!?”

Huh? “What?” I looked down at myself to make certain I hadn’t picked up any muck or accidentally put my armor on inside out somehow. Behind me, Arthur coughed slightly.

“I think he means how you’ve gotten taller.”

Oh. That. Robert hadn’t seen me since the rebellion and he’d been a bit preoccupied at the end. He was maybe six-five. Six-six? I had been just shy of six feet myself when Uriel had merged my two halves. Now I was back to Harry height, making me taller than Robert.

I shrugged. “I grew. Had to get new clothes and everything.”

Robert gaped at me. “You grew? We were both men grown!”

I shrugged again. “My maester says it’s not unheard of for a young man to have another growth spurt as late as twenty name days. Mine was just…aggressive.” I rolled one shoulder as though recalling an old injury. “And unpleasant. It isn’t comfortable to grow that fast. Aches all over.” I spotted a tall man with long hair shielding most of one half of his face though there were still burn scars seen. “Ask him. He looks like he’d know.”

The man grunted and took a swig from his tankard. He looked to be about seven feet, so taller than me. I saw the sigil on his armor. A yellow field with three black dogs. A Clegane. Well, that explained the height. Here’s hoping that didn’t become a problem.

I looked to the map table. “What have you planned out so far?”

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

There was an unfamiliar face with my squire when I got back to my tent. “And who might you be?”

The lad, skinny with stick straight hair, looked painfully shy. “P…Podrick Payne, Lord Stark. I…I am Ser Jaime Lannister’s squire.”

I looked to Grenn, my squire. “He in there?”

“Aye, My Lord.”

“All right then.” I ruffled the boy’s hair and ducked inside to find Ser Jaime seated at my table.

“Are you eating my supper?!”

He shrugged. “Least you could do, considering you missed my wedding.” He crammed the last bite of not-a-burger into his mouth and smirked as he chewed.

“I sent my congratulations! And a gift!” Wait. I looked back at Arthur. “I did send a gift, right?”

“That’s a question for Lady Stark.”

“You did.” Jaime washed my burger down with my ale. “Two, in fact. A beautifully tanned snow bear hide that will keep us warm on cold nights and a weirwood shield that matches my armor quite well. The shield got me a good number of envious looks. But Lynesse was more impressed by the pelt. She didn’t know bears came that big or fur that white.”

Lynesse. Right. He’d finally caved and wed a girl from House Hightower. “You’re welcome. I am pleased that you were both pleased. Still can’t believe you ate my supper.”

“I was hungry.” He leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t think anything would pull you back out of the North.” He looked past my shoulder. “Ser Arthur.”

“Lord Jaime. I am happy to see you well.”

“And how are you finding the North? Have your balls frozen off yet?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. You’ve grown mouthy.”

He had. And I was glad to see it. Ser Jaime had grown. He was no longer that boy overburdened with the weight of horrors played out before him every day. He was coming into his own. He was still in his co*cky phase, and why shouldn’t he be? He was handsome, rich and high born. And decent in a fight.

“I’m a Lannister. Hear me roar!”

I think we both rolled our eyes at that one. “What brings you to my tent? To steal my supper?”

“Can’t I pay a call to a friend? And I’m supposed to talk to you about betrothals. My father insists. So I’ve mentioned that I’m supposed to talk to you about them and we can be done with that part.”

“Betrothals? You haven’t even been married a full year! Who have you got to betroth?”

“Lynesse is expecting our first child even now, safely ensconced within the halls of Casterly Rock. Though the sight of Lannisport under attack did upset her, she was safe and sound. I will likely miss the birth, thanks to this business, but I am sure I will be forgiven.”

“A happy marriage, then?” I gave up being surly and dug up some more tankards and poured some more ale out from a pitcher. The tent flap rustled and Grenn came in with a tray ladened with more food while young Podrick carried another pitcher of ale. They must have heard the banter over the stolen food. Good squires. Way to act on initiative.

Jaime grimaced. “My father is happy. She’s comely and she’s been trained on how to properly manage a household like the Rock. Her lineage is good. She reminds me a bit too much of my sister.”

“How so?”

“Spoiled. Vain. Both have expensive tastes. It’s a good thing I’m rich. Most men couldn’t afford her.”

A marriage of duty, then. “You can’t betroth a babe that’s not even born. You don’t even know if you’re having a son or a daughter!”

“Not my child. It hasn’t escaped his notice that your brother is still unattached. Remember him? The one in charge of mining the bulk of the North’s newfound wealth? And I have a few unmarried Lannister cousins of an appropriate age.”

I couldn’t stop the groan. “I warned him when I gave him the job that he was about to become a hot property.” I took a seat and checked my not-burger. Ground venison. Some cheese melted on top. Some grilled onions and a bit of fried shredded cabbage. I hadn’t yet figured out if tomatoes or cucumbers even existed in this world yet, so no sliced tomato or pickles. And as odd as the cabbage may sound, it was actually pretty good. Shredding and frying it like that with a little salt and pepper was a common way to fix it up in the Southern parts of the States back on Earth and it had caught on here after I’d suggested it to Gage in the kitchens.

“A ‘hot property’? Haven’t heard it quite described that way before. I do like this way your camp cooks are working. I watched them after they got here and set up and we were waiting for the rest of you. They used those ‘meat grinders’ of theirs to make short work of game. It cooks up faster and you don’t risk breaking your teeth on tough meat.”

The co*cky sh*t helped himself to another not-burger. Grenn had brought three. Arthur got the other.

“That’s why they do it. If you want one for the Rock, write to my smith, Mikken. You can haggle with him.” I ate a bite and washed it down. “I’ll be honest, I’m not comfortable telling my brother who to marry. He’s a grown man. And I believe we’re both in agreement that, should he marry, he should marry Northern.”

“I agree. I only bring it up because my father wants to get his claws into House Stark. Doesn’t mean I agree with it. But there’s another betrothal I wanted to discuss.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, a frown creasing his brow. “I was speaking with Prince Oberyn while he was in Lannisport.”

“When was he in Lannisport?”

“Unlike you, he came to my wedding.”

My brows threatened to disappear into my hairline. “He did? I know he is cordial with you, but I thought he hates your father and most Lannisters in general.” At least he never seemed fond of them if they came up in the correspondence we sometimes exchanged when I was bargaining in trade agreements.

“The feeling is mutual, so I pointed out how his presence would irritate my father. It sweetened the invitation.”

Arthur snorted into his ale. “It is a good thing Dorne and the Westerlands are as far apart as they are. Westeros would not survive you and the Red Viper having easy access to one another.”

“I, on the other hand, would find it a grand time. At any rate, Oberyn mentioned that the Jon Arryn is pressing for a betrothal between Rhaenys and Prince Joffrey.”

I sighed. “There’s, what, six years difference between them? What’s the plan, marry them when he’s six and ten and she’s two and twenty? She’d be his nursemaid at that age, not his wife.” Sure, the difference would seem lesser as they grew older, but that was a massive one early on.

“I don’t disagree. But there’s more.”

I waited, but he decided to down a nearly full tankard of ale first. Like he was building up for something. I waited some more until he set his tankard down with a solid thunk and leaned forward as though to share a confidence.

“The prince is my nephew. He’s blood. He’s also a little sh*t. Not like I was at that age. All young boys can be little sh*ts. Getting into trouble. But it’s just boys being boys. Joff is…cruel. Vicious.” He straightened and refilled his mug. “I blame my sister. She spoils and coddles him. And our king pays little attention to his heir. He might yet grow out of it. Hells, I even tried to suggest he be sent to the Rock so Father could take him in hand. He’s a bastard, my father, but he knows how to instill discipline no matter how stubborn the person. But my dear sister refused. She’s…wroth with me.”

“Why? What did you do to get on her bad side?”

“I agreed to leave the Kingsguard and be our father’s heir.” He shrugged. “Father promised Cersei she would be queen years ago. She believed she would marry Rhaegar and had this grand idea that I would join the Kingsguard and we would always be together, as we had been since we were born. Well, she still got to be queen, just with a different king, then I refused to play my part.”

Whoa. “That is some serious codependency issues.”

Both men gave me confused looks. I waved them away. “So you agree they are too far apart in age for it to be reasonable but you also worry that your nephew might need…some maturing yet.” Pity you couldn’t strike royalty. Maybe a few sound spankings could straighten the boy out.

“I recalled that you’d voiced your disagreement with such a union before. When there wasn’t even a Joffrey yet. And that your son was also recommended. I believe I heard you declined on the grounds they were too young, but did not completely rule it out?”

Oh no. “Did you mention that to Prince Oberyn?”

“I did.” He didn’t look the slightest bit ashamed. “So try not to be too surprised if he mentions it should he arrive with the Dornish.”

Stannis and the royal fleet were dealing with the Iron Born fleet. We were dealing with Pyke.

“You keep shaking your head. What is on your mind?”

The Dornish had shown up, and Oberyn with them. But Oberyn Martell was like a well fed cat. He liked to play with his food, so he hadn’t yet brought up any betrothal talk.

“This,” I gestured around us to indicate the archipelago known as the Iron Islands in general, “is a study on how not to manage your lands. What a pack of idiots.”

Oberyn laughed, twirling his spear. We were keeping Pyke under siege, so there were bouts of fighting between lulls. But with us here, no one could get supplies into a place that already had few ways to get supplies.

“‘We Do Not Sow’. You don’t f*cking say, Numb Nuts! They don’t have enough land to sow on. They have some islands with enough grass for grazing, so they can grow mutton and wool. They’ve got access to plenty of fish and seafood. And they’re sitting on some of the richest iron deposits in Westeros. But do they do something sensible such as, oh, I don’t know, master metalworking until they make it an art form that everyone else would pay a premium for? No! They decide to become f*cking pirates! If they’d just bothered to apply themselves, they could have accomplished who knows what by now! Lazy, useless f*cks!”

Ser Jaime had stopped sharpening his sword to watch me. He was wearing this ridiculously ornate armor his brother had gifted him at his wedding. It was shiny with golden embellishments, but what made it truly over the top were the white enameled lion heads on the pauldrons and on his chest. Since saving Kingslanding people had started calling him the White Lion, and his little brother seemed to find it amusing to give him things with white lions on them. Those two should really grow up.

“You seem unusually grumpy today, Lord Stark.”

“I’m wet. I’m tired. And I miss my wife.” I glared at Pyke. “I should be back at Winterfell. I’ve probably missed Arya’s first words and first steps by now, and it’s all because of Balon f*cking Greyjoy!”

Jamie arched a brow. “Do you think if you glare at Pyke hard enough the walls will just…fall down?”

Now, there was an idea. Pure force could do it. But cold could…those stones were damp. Water would be seeped into every pore and crack. And water expands when it freezes. If I were to freeze it all at once…

“How did you think of this one? How would you even pronounce this?”

I looked over my shoulder to see Ser Arthur reading one of my journals. The one with the red leather cover. “Rumplestiltskin. And it’s meant to be a caution against lying as well as greed.”

Oberyn blinked and looked to Arthur. “What is that?”

“Lord Stark writes stories for his children so they can practice their reading.” He handed over the journal when the prince reached out a hand for it.

“Ned! There you are!” Robert made his way over with Lord Tarly and Ser Barristan in his wake. War agreed with him. He made an excellent warrior, but he knew his limits. He let Tarly make a lot of the plans. The man was the only one to ever defeat Robert during our own rebellion. “Haven’t seen you all day.”

Ser Jaime gave his good brother a helpful smile. “Lord Stark is attempting to glare Pyke to the ground while providing a lecture on proper management of one’s territory. He disagrees with how the Iron Born manage their Iron Islands.”

Lord Tarly peered at Pyke. “He is correct. The region is harsh and resources are scarce, but what is here could be leveraged wisely.”

I jerked a thumb over my shoulder in Tarly’s direction. “I told you so.”

Robert gave a grunt. “You want these islands after we’re done?”

What? “Gods, no! Give them to Lannister. The Westerlands are closer. Or give them and the Riverlands joint control. They could repurpose them as a central shipping location.” I stopped and scratched at my chin. “That could work. They’re actually placed just right that we could use the islands as a merchant hub for the Westerlands, Riverlands and the North. Ships would only have to come this far to trade rather than all the way up or down. Another way these morons could have run things rather than becoming pirates.”

“Well, if you don’t want the islands when we’re done, what the f*ck do you want?”

Let me make you a list.

I quickly went through the past few years of planning and discussions with my bannermen. I had a pretty good idea of what would make them the most happy as well as what I wanted. And I knew my lands. Better than anyone, as luck would have it.

But I also could not ignore the current dust up.

“Salt wives and thralls, those are just slimy, underhanded titles the Iron Born use to get past the Westeros’ laws against slavery. Thralls are slaves. Salt wives are slaves they rape. I want the practice outlawed and the ones already present freed. Any who wish to do so should be allowed to return home. And I would even go so far that the first portion of any war spoils gathered should be distributed to them as recompense for what they’ve endured and their forced labors.”

Oberyn closed the journal on finger to mark his place. “He is not wrong on the thralls. They may push back on the salt wives as they do recognize any children as free born.”

Not good enough. “The women were abducted and forced. Them too.”

Lord Tarly gave a single, firm nod. He was a grim faced sort. “Lord Stark is right. Thrall is just another word for slave. They might not be able to be bought or sold like a slave, but they’ve no freedom of their own. A blind eye has been turned to it too long. An end should be put to it while the rest of this nonsense is settled.”

Robert glared at Pyke. “Ah, I can’t disagree with you there. The practice leaves a sour taste in a good man’s mouth. That all you want?”

“Nay. That’s what I want for the people who have been victims of these c*nts. For the North, I want the New Gift returned.” It was a gamble, but I knew my lords would want it. They’d wanted it since the Targahad taken it.

Tarly frowned. “The New Gift belongs to the Night’s Watch.”

“The Nights Watch is undermanned and underfunded. The lands lie fallow and under patrolled. Wildlings that make it over the Wall raid what few souls are brave enough to settle there and go on further South to pester the most Northern houses. I want to give those lands back into the hands of the lords they were taken from and who have the men and resources to actually use it. And it costs you nothing, Robert. In fact, it’s to your benefit.”

“How do you figure?”

“Anyone brave enough to work that land pays no taxes to the Crown. Their portion goes to the Watch, if there’s any to be paid. Return it to the North and it can be made profitable again. Taxable again. As it stands, those lands give nothing to anyone. Properly managed, everyone benefits.”

Ser Jaime examined his blade’s edge. “We are speaking with the man who has overseen the North’s increase in fortunes since he rose to his seat, Your Grace. If anyone could make those lands profitable again…”

And it wouldn’t cost the Crown a dime. Errr…a dragon. A stag? Whatever.

“Fine, fine. That it?”

“And I want to rebuild Moat Calin.”

Everyone did a double take.

“Moat Calin? Isn’t it yours already? Why you asking me for?”

“Well, because the King’s Road goes right through there. If I just went and rebuilt it with walls and gates and everything, people to the South of me might get nervous. I thought it best to ask nicely, first.”

That got a guffaw out of the king. “Fine! Build your f*cking thing, though why you want to I’ve no understanding.”

I wanted it because if the worst came to worst, the Wall fell, Winterfell fell and we hall to fall back, another line of defense wouldn’t hurt. Also, if anyone started thinking too hard about the end of the Rebellion and remembered Jon, I could keep the South out. The North had been using what was left of Moat Calin to keep them out for centuries and we just had three towers. Massive towers, true, but just three towers. If we had curtain walls and gates, we could do even more.

I huffed and glared at Pyke. I had a crazy idea that might bring this to and end, but I wanted to wait until morning after most of our forces had a good night’s sleep and were rested. “Let’s hammer it all out in writing. And I’ve got a plan for this place, too.”

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

The wind coming off the sea was cold. Away from the North I felt it more than usual, but I still felt it less than most of the others. It was false dawn and the men were up and gathering under their commanders.

“Ned!” The GreatJon fell into step with me as I walked towards the spot I’d chosen. “Is it true? Did you get the King to give our lands back?”

“It’s true. We’ll pull out the old maps when we get home and see where the borders fell. First we need to take care of this lot. Get your men ready to move.”

“Aye I can do that. When will we be moving?”

“If this works, you’ll know.”

“If what works?”

“You’ll see. Get them ready. I’m about to knock on Balon Greyjoy’s front door.”

He peeled off and went towards the Northern host. Ser Arthur and Grenn kept with me.

“You’re about to do something foolish, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep.”

Arthur huffed. “I believe more than one person has asked you not to be foolish.”

“One or two. Yeah.”

“May I ask why you’re going to do this anyway?”

“Because I’m f*cking sick and tired of the Iron Islands. I want to go home.”

Arthur made a sound that clearly indicated that he’d realize talking me out of this was futile. Good man.

Was this stupid? Probably.

Was I still going to do it? Definitely.

I stopped about fifty yards in front of our forces. With my weirwood staff I sketched a circle around myself, then bent down and touched my fingers to it, pushing an effort of Will to close the circle. Standing back up, I focused my thoughts and my Will, building up the energy I would need for this.

The spray from crashing waves were good, but the gloomy weather had kept up a light but persistent drizzle all night. Almost as though something or Something else wanted this mess over, too. I’d considered using Ice for this. Whatever the Valyrians had used to forge their swords left them very highly attuned to magical energies, but Ice was more geared towards fire and force in spite of its chilly name. My staff, however, I’d carved from a branch that had fallen from Winterfell’s own heart tree and was very Winter friendly.

There’d been a time when I’d used fire for just about everything. Well, fire or just brute force. I’d once frozen a part of Lake Michigan in the Summer not by trying to freeze it but by pulling the heat out of the water into a massive tower of flame so quickly that the water just got that cold. Froze it solid enough for multiple fully grown adults to run across it to escape the blood thirsty ghouls coming after them. If you’ve ever had to wait until Winter froze over a lake or pond enough for you to safely skate on it or drag your ice fishing hut out onto it, you know how thick that ice had to be. And I’d done it in seconds. In Summer.

I had known ice magic was a thing, of course. I had just liked fire better. But after I had taken the job as the Winter Knight I had expanded my repertoire. I’d gotten more comfortable with cold things. And for this, it seemed more fitting. What with me being Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North. The latest lord descended from the old Kings of Winter.

I filled the circle around me with magic until it was so thick I felt I could choke on it. A magic circle acted like a wall. It could keep things out or in. And it would stand until the next sunrise cleared it away, as the new dawn was like a clean slate, metaphysically speaking, unless you really knew what you were doing. Or they could be broken by someone with free will, which is much rarer then you think. Few beings aside from human mortals have actual Will. So your magic circle won’t accidentally get dismissed by a random animal trying to cross it. They wouldn’t be able to.

I, however, was a mortal man and had the ability to break the circle. Besides. I’d drawn it. Once I felt I had enough energy built up, I pulled it into my staff. It started to vibrate in my hand enough that I briefly worried it might not hold it all, but the weirwood proved up to the task. With a sharp grin i drug the end of the staff across the line, breaking the circle, focused my Will and pointed the staff at the fortress before me. With a rough bellow I shouted, “ARCTUS!!!”

The magic streamed from the staff in a frosty blue-white wave, crashing into the stones. The white spread as the cold sought out all those nooks, crannies and porous holes in the walls and all the water collected within. The water started to freeze, and as it did it expanded. I took the same force of erosion that would eventually reduce large rocks and boulders to gravel and sand over millions of years and shortened it to a span of maybe….three or four minutes.

The stones began to crack and whine from the sudden change and strain. It wasn’t an elegant waterfall of new sand, the pieces were much larger and chunkier than that, but the walls did start to fall to pieces. Men atop them screamed as they fell with them. Men inside the walls screamed as they watched. As the sun broke over the horizon in a true dawn, I was looking at a large gap in the walls of Balon Greyjoy’s castle that a party of mounted knights more than fifty across could comfortably ride through.

My lips parted in my most deranged smile. “Knock, knoooock!” I sang out before I tossed my staff towards Grenn. “Hold this.” He caught it reflexively, seemed tempted to drop it out of fear, then thought better of it and held it with both hands.

I unsheathed Ice and started walking forward. Behind me I head GreatJon call out to move forward. Rickard Karstark’s voice joined him, then more. They ran to close the distance and I started picking up speed as I felt them growing closer. The Iron Born were starting to shake off their shock, but they were still unbalanced when we crashed into them.

The battle was over quickly. There was one mad c*nt dressed all in red with a flaming sword. Not sure what that was about, but I didn’t detect any actual magic coming off it. Believe me. I checked. And I think he was rather drunk. Didn’t seem to diminish his fighting ability any, though. Fortunately he was on our side.

We cut through them quickly and made out way to where Balon sat on his Seastone Chair. Carved from a black, oily stone in the shape of a kraken, it was aesthetically more pleasing than the Iron Throne, but what wouldn’t be? Two men yanked Balon off of it and forced him to his knees before Robert.

“Balon Greyjoy, you are guilty of treason.”

“I made no oaths to House Baratheon!”

Really? That’s what he was going with? “That’s easy enough to fix. Swear your oaths now.”

The man glared at all of us. “Why should I? Why shouldn’t the Iron Born rule themselves?!”

Okay. That’s the way he wanted it.

I gripped Ice in one hand, lifted my arm and pointed it at the Seastone Chair. The steel seemed to sense my intention and was practically vibrating with glee. I focused my Will and unleashed. “FOZARE!”

A blast of invisible force rushed down the blade and crashed into the throne, shattering it into large, black chunks.

There were frightened shouts, then everyone fell silent. I ignored the weight of their stares.

“Make your oaths to the Iron Throne and King Robert Baratheon or I will tear your entire castle down to ruble. Then I’ll make my way to each and every one of your islands and do the same to them. Your reign of reaping, raping and thieving ends. Now.”

He wasn’t nearly as obstinate after that. I waited until he was at the end of his oaths before sheathing my sword and walking out with Ser Arthur falling into step behind me. People parted out of our way without a word.

“You couldn’t do it before?”

“No. I couldn’t.” I was studying my staff just to make certain it hadn’t formed any cracks under the strain of the spell.

Robert had laid out the law to Greyjoy and his kind and had turned over the grunt work of dividing up the war spoils and hostages to Tarly. The king had shown up in my tent as soon as he’d realized I wasn’t there amongst the other lords and knights.

“What do you mean you couldn’t do it before?!”

“I mean I couldn’t do it before.” The staff was sound. Weirwood was some impressive stuff. I leaned it against my camp table. “Your Grace,” he glowered at me and I corrected myself. “Robert, there have always been tales of my family being…gifted. In one way or another. When I got home I was suddenly faced with lands that had been undermanned, resulting in sparsely populated fields and nearly one million souls needing to be provided for. Forgive me for reaching for every tool I could to do what I could for the North.” I turned my inspection to Ice. The steel was undamaged. Nice. I finally had my magic sword. I never did get one when I was with the Wardens. “As it turned out, I had a knack for magic. Wasn’t easy. Started out with a few things I uncovered. Rites to tell me what soil was richly fertile and where the land needed help. Scrying to give me an idea where there might be resources we could go for.”

“Is that how you found the gold?”

“I knew there was something potentially good there. We got lucky.” I resheathed the sword. I wasn’t exactly lying. Just…stretching things a bit.

Loud voices were drawing closer. The whole camp had been grumbling for a while now, but this was louder and angrier than most. I recognized GreatJon. The other I wasn’t sure of. Both Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan tensed. Their body guard senses were in high alert.

“Well, why did you wait this long to break the walls?”

The tent flaps burst open and a man in armor barged in, GreatJon Umber on his tail. I noted the crest on his cloak. A ring of seven stars. Just in time.

Lord Sunglass jabbed a finger at me, his body trembling in righteous fury. “Your Grace, this foul sorcerer must be bound and tried immediately?!”

I extended a hand in Sunglass’ direction in a ‘there’s your answer’ motion as I gave Robert a gentle smile.

Robert glared at the man. “What the f*ck for?!”

“He…he is a sorcerer! Magic is an abomination in the eyes of the Seven!”

Umber snorted. “Piss on that! We’re Northmen. We follow the Old Gods!”

“He should be executed before he uses his foul tricks against the Crown!”

Ooooh. Wrong thing to say.

Robert’s face darkened and he took a step towards the lord. “You will cease your tongue wagging or I’ll ram my fist down your throat and pull out your balls from the inside!”

Sunglass blanched and stepped back. “Y…Your Grace. Magicians cannot be trusted! He will use his powers to steal and cheat the Crown.”

“How? What has he done save break Pyke’s walls and bring Greyjoy to heel? You know what he asked for as his part of this war? He asked that I outlaw the taking of thralls and salt wives! That was him! Other than that, he asked nothing more than to have the lands the Targaryens took from the North back to his lords! I even offered to let him have the Iron Islands and he turned them down! So where has he shown to be greedy or untrustworthy? Where has he wronged you?”

Sunglass gaped, then shut his mouth with a click. And he’d forgotten Moat Calin. I guess he did see that as Northern business. Good.

“Yes! Exactly! He’s not done a damn thing wrong against you or the Crown! And I’ll not hear anymore talk of him being seized or imprisoned and if I hear another word about executing him, it will be your head I smash open! Now get out!”

Sunglass stuttered, bowed, and fled. Umber smirked at the sight through his beard. I waited until his attention turned to me.

“And our people?”

He shrugged. “Took us by surprise. Some grumbling. But in the end, you’re Lord Stark. And we all know what you’ve done for the North. There may be more grumbling, but it’ll settle.”

“None of you knew?”

“They’re the Starks, Your Grace. There have always been tales about them. Legends. Have you ever been to seen the Wall? Or even Winterfell? Ordinary men don’t build such things. I believe history even says it was Bran the Builder that finally built House Baratheon a castle that could withstand the Storm God’s rage when every one they built before was torn apart.”

Robert blinked. Then he chuffed. Then he chuckled. “Fair enough. You’re not wrong there. We forget that the men from that age were still men.” He shook his head.

The flaps opened again, this time letting in Ser Jaime and Prince Oberyn. Why not? Apparently my tent was the place to be.

“Please, by all means! Welcome! Shall I send for some ale and food?”

Oberyn smirked. “You are very grumpy for someone who just won a war. Should we scrounge up a few more Iron Born for you to pummel?”

Robert narrowed his eyes at them. “Are you here to demand Ned be killed, too?”

Jaime arched a brow and jerked his head at Lord Umber. “And be forced to deal with this giant and all the Northmen that glared at us on the way in? I think I’ve fought enough for one day. No, Your Grace. We simple came to let you know that Lord Tarly and the others have finished settling matters. All that is left is the matter of Greyjoy’s son, Theon. The last one left. The elder brothers died in the war.”

Oberyn sauntered over and helped himself to the jug of ale I had. What was it with people helping themselves to my food and drink? Well, I suppose I had offered. “Someone suggested sending him with Lord Stark here, but the lad nearly pissed himself. I think he may be afraid of you.”

Wonder why.

Ser Jaime nodded. “I can take him. He’s scared now, but that will change after he has time to adjust. Then he might start acting like an Iron Born. House Lannister can…correct that. And the suggestion Lord Stark made of using the Iron Islands as a trading hub to shorten shipping times has promise. We have Lannisport and experience in sea trade. By the time he’s grown and takes over as Lord Greyjoy, we can have him fully educated and tamed.”

And no doubt the next Lady Greyjoy will be plucked from one of Jaime’s many cousins. More power to House Lannister, but the old lion had to die some time. The next Lord Lannister wasn’t Tywin.

“Fine. You take him. Might be best.”

Oberyn took a seat on one of my trunks, holding the tankard of ale loosely in his hand. “I rather think this will all work in our favor. At the very least, I do not foresee any other overreaching lord disrupting the King’s peace any time soon.” He grinned. “They will worry that His Grace will call his Northern Sorcerer out of Winterfell to level their castles. The other lords will be quite happy if you just remained at Winterfell, Lord Stark.”

That would be convenient, considering Winterfell is exactly where I wanted to be.

Eventually it took several jugs of ale and a post-battle meal of Northern sausages, brown bread and an onion and leek soup to get the King sated and out of my tent. Ser Jaime went with him under the guise of discussing Theon Greyjoy’s future in House Lannister’s hands. Oberyn remained, claiming there were some matters between Dorne and the North he’d been tasked to speak to me about by his brother.

Right.

“You surprise me, Lord Stark. You surprised us all. That was…glorious. Cold,but glorious. I especially enjoyed the threat to tear apart all of the Iron Islands at the end.”

“Actually I only threatened to tear down their castles. Don’t think I could manage entire islands.” Not without a lot of preparation. And maybe not here. If I had access to an underwater volcano. Destroy existing ones while making a new one, maybe…

“Give it time. The story will grow that large before the end. You have doubtless made enemies in doing this. Some followers of the Seven can be…irrational. Inflexible.l

“As Lord Sunglass demonstrated.”

“Yes. That house is known for its piety. Even more so than Hightower. It is good you have no septs outside of Manderly’s holdings. It will make it more difficult for the zealots to reach you up there.”

“I am touched by your concern.”

“Of course I am concerned! What visits you, visits your family! Your wife and your…what is it now…four children? Two of each. Dorne does not blame the child for the sins of the father. Speaking of which, how is your…” he looked towards Ser Arthur and gave him a sharp smile, “bastard?”

Nice dig, you smug prick. Oberyn wasn’t a bad guy. He just loved to needle people too much. Was this how people felt about me? Maybe I owed some apologies. Back on Earth, I mean. I didn’t owe anyone an apology here.

“Jon is doing just fine. Smart, honest lad. A bit quiet, but Robb talks enough for the pair of them.”

“But…he is stable? Sound?”

I could understand the concern and pushed down the irritation that wanted to bubble up at the insinuation. Mental instability was a common problem with incest. And the Targaryens had generations of marrying close cousins or even siblings. Hell, there was even one time they married a pair of twins together. The Targaryen family tree was more of a wreath. Westeros might not have decades of scientific study into genetics and biology to fully understand the problems familial marriages could lead to, but I remembered my old history classes. The Habsburgs came to mind.

“He is fine. He is a good boy and will one day grow up to be a good man. Though I don’t think he’s the son you’re interested in.”

“Ah. Ser Jaime has mentioned it to you, I take it.”

“He shared some concerns he has. And he told me he informed you about the discussions about your niece at the end of the rebellion.”

“He did. I will be blunt.”

“That would be nice.”

“Dorne believes that it was the intention that Princess Rhaenys should die that day. You came to the aid of our sister and niece. You spoke on their behalf and made certain they were kept safe until we could make it to their side. We would rather entrust her future safety to the son of the man who protected her than to the grandson of the man who tried to end her.”

“And what of Princess Elia? It’s her daughter you’re trying to marry off.”

“Elia seized upon the idea the moment she knew it had been suggested.”

“She may change her mind once she hears of what happened today.”

“I doubt it. I rather think it just further proves that you can keep her safe and sound.”

Betrothals. I know they happened and often with children, but it was hard to accept for me. My one official marriage in my old life had been arranged by Mab. A marriage to further unite the Unseelie Court with the White Court. Believe me, both Lara and I were shocked when Mab decided it. And my marriage in this life was to secure an army. It was how things were done here.

But the romantic in me wished my children could choose their spouses on their own. Not really something that high born children got to do here.

“All right. Let’s talk.”

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Returning to Northern soil felt like suddenly regaining a limb I’d struggled to do without only to have it unexpectedly regrown. It was both a relief and a pain.

As I drew closer to Winterfell my Inner Voice kept indicating that it was going to be a special day. Of course it was. I was going home! But it also made me nervous because sometimes my Inner Voice was a little psychopath and tried to get me riled up only to smack me in the face with something horrible. Like the time it woke me up as a child in the or the day Justin DuMorne came to adopt me. He turned out to be a monster and escaping him almost got me killed, first by him and then by almost being executed for killing him in self defense.

As horrible as life could sometimes be for children in this world, my childhood in my first life hadn’t been easy or kind either.

As I rode through both gates and into the bailey, I saw my wife and our children. I was so caught up in staring at Cat’s face that I almost missed the bundle bound securely to her chest. Too small to be Arya who was being held by a nurse standing with the family. I didn’t know whether I wanted to curse the difficulties in getting messages to and from the battlefield or celebrate it.

Cut me some slack. The moment I crossed back into the North I was immediately bombarded with information. Ours was far from the only new life, and the number of population steadily grew as more and more of our people marched across the invisible border. To be fully honest, I had a nagging headache from it all for a few days until I’d fully adjusted. Thus the aforementioned pain.

Benjen formally turned Winterfell back over to me. I greeted my wife and our new son, Brandon (named for my elder brother) and then said hello to our other children. Arya was still too small to fully understand protocol, she voiced great displeasure when she was not immediately moved from the nurse to me or her mother upon initial request, but Robb, Sansa and Jon all remained in place until I bent down with my arms opened for a group hug. Honestly, how did Catelyn do that? They were never as well behaved with me. What did she do that I didn’t? That right there, what mothers did, that was true magic.

It did not take long for my beloved wife to learn of my decisive action against Greyjoy. She was…irritated. Greatly so. Fortunately I had excellent ammunition to deflect.

“Dorne wants a betrothal between Robb and Princess Rhaenys.”

Cat sputtered, her tense but ladylike tirade aborted. “The princess?”

“Aye. They believe Tywin Lannister fully intended for her to die that day and would rather avoid her being tied to his grandson, crown or no crown. It seems they’d rather have my son instead.”

She blinked. “There…would be few brides of greater standing. Of course that also means Dorne is unlikely to settle for a groom who isn’t of sufficiently grand origins.

“Arguably she doesn’t have that great of a standing. Part of settling the rebellion was Dorne agreeing to surrender any claim she has to the Iron Throne. And she is not Prince Doran’s heir. But it can be argued that she should come here.” I started looking through the papers on my desk. “Luwin found it for me. An old agreement. Ah, here. The Pact of Ice and Fire.”

“What is that?”

I looked over the summary. “Back when the Targs still had dragons, back when Rhaenyra and Aegon II’s war was kicking off, she sent Prince Jacaerys up here to meet with Cregan Stark. This was after he’d wrapped up the issue with his uncle and cousins and was Lord of Winterfell. Apparently the prince stayed some time to ensure the North would support his mother’s claim. In the end it was agreed that there would be a a Targaryen bride for House Stark. But things fell to pieces and that never happened. Arguably, House Targaryen still owes us.”

“Princess Rhaenys is the last Targaryen princess. There are no other options.”

Not entirely true. Oberyn did slip me a message for myself and Ser Arthur. There hadn’t been much, but he did confirm that it Hightower and Whent who had gotten Rhaella and Viserys out of Westeros. Rhaella did not survive her labors, but her daughter had. So there were two Targaryen princesses. Other than that, we only knew that the last two member’s of Aerys’ guard were watching over the children in Essos, in hiding. Martell did not include whether or not they knew where and I did not plan to ask. And the message was burned once we both had read it.

“Don’t worry. I managed not to get the thing set firmly. It’s only tentative at this time.”

“Tentative? Ned, you can’t refuse a princess!”

“Where is that written? And it’s tentative because she’s half-Dornish. Raised in the South. She’s never known true cold. Look at Ser Arthur! He does well enough at Winterfell where the hot springs help keep things warm, but he’s still miserable. The only thing that prevents him from wearing even more layers is that it might hamper his movement too much. No, we’ve agreed to Rhaenys coming to foster here. To see if she can tolerate the North before shackling her to it permanently.”

Catelyn considered this before giving a slow nod. “I can see the wisdom in that, and it will give her and Robb time to know one another should it prove a good match. When shall we expect her?”

“Prince Oberyn will escort her and her mother here after he’s rested from his journey home. I would expect less than a year.”

“Three Martells?” Cat gave me an exasperated huff. “Any you’re just telling me now?”

“You’ve got moons to prepare?”

She rolled her eyes. “And it will take moons to send for and receive any exotic supplies needed to make their stay a pleasant one. Honestly!” She started muttering to herself. “The Dornish prefer bolder fare. We will need hotter spices so they may season any dishes they find too bland. And I will need to ensure we have extra furs and cloaks should they not bring enough warm clothing. I have work to do.” She hurried out of my Lordly solar.

See? Deflected and redirected.

I looked at the little man before me and was reminded old a small, honorable man who had given his life for mine. Shiro had been a Knight of the Cross, a holy warrior with a holy sword. He had traded himself to the monsters for me, knowing his death would be a long and painful one. He’d also known he was dying already, from lung cancer, but I had seen him at the end. No one should have to suffer what he had.

But this was not Shiro. He was Guan Chi, a farmer from Yi Ti. Wylis Manderly had brought him, which I took as a good sign. Maybe they’d found what I’d asked them about.

“Lord Stark, is this what you were asking about?”

I opened one of the sacks and reached in to pull out a handful of grains. I looked at them and grinned. “Exactly.” I was no expert on rice. These were a slightly different hue than what I used to buy off the shelf at Walmart, a little more golden in color, but it definitely looked like rice.

I looked back up to my guest. “I thank you for traveling all this way. I know you are far from home.”

Guan Chi bowed slightly. “I am honored to be invited into your home.” His common was good but there was a definite accent. “Not many from Westeros ask about or even know of our grain. A few in Essos buy it, but mostly it is sent with our trading ships to feed the sailors. I was surprised and pleased when this one approached me to inquire.”

“I have heard some about it. I have a harsh land and people to feed. The question is whether or not it will grow here.”

Wylis cleared his throat. “We would have been here sooner, but my father suggested we take Guan Chi and his son to see the Neck and the areas around Moat Calin first as it wouldn’t be too far out of the way using the rivers. Thought it more efficient than coming all the way up here only to go back down.”

“Good thinking. And what we’re your thoughts… my apologies but I do not know the proper way to address you per your people’s custom.”

“Chi, is acceptable, as you are the lord and I am the farmer. The lands we saw, I do believe would be suitable for rice farming. The fields would need to be built up, but it would not be too difficult if we had the people.”

I would need to reach out to Howland Reed. If they tried to farm the Neck, they would need the Crannogmen or the lizard lions would tear them apart. “I believe we can get you the people. I will need to reach out to the lord who oversees those lands. The Neck can be a dangerous place if you are a stranger there. The wildlife is not welcoming.”

The farmer nodded. “I saw. From a distance. Something I thought was a log suddenly moved and took a small doe. Pulled it under the water.”

“That would be the lizard lions. Aye. Lord Reed and his people would be our best bet. I smiled down at the sack of rice. They had brought fifty. “Welcome to Winterfell, Chi. I will see to it that guest quarters are arranged for you and your sons.”

This was good. This was very good. If the rice here was similar to back home, it was a high volume producer. And Guan Chi had also brought a few barrels of rice wine. Sake would be a popular addition to what the North could offer in trade goods but that would be secondary to food. Food first. Libations later.

Now that we were back from war, we could get back to the business of doing Northern business. Manderly had brought me the reports from his father and White Harbor. They had reached out to Skagos and there was some tentative progress there. It had been a long time since the Starks had forbidden them from having their own seafaring ships, but they were not barred from being sailors on someone else’s. The people of Skagos were…a different breed. Wilder. Hairier. One would be excused for thinking they weren’t even the same race as the rest of us. Some thought they looked like they might be crossed with the Ibbenese, but Maester Luwin advised the Citadel’s research indicated that regular men and the Ibbenese could not breed with one another successfully. What few children were conceived and lived often proved barren. Like a horse and donkey could be bred to make a mule, but the mule was sterile.

On the other hand, the Skagosi were hardy, strong and seemed unconcerned with the cold. These early steps would hoped bring them back into the fold, so to speak. They’d been on their own too long. That wasn’t healthy.

Another thing I found amusing. Bear Island was a tough nut to crack as far as opportunities to be found for them. But they were an island surrounded on all sides by salt water. In a warmer climate, they could set up shallow pools and use the sun and heat to harvest sea salt. We weren’t warm or particularly sunny, so they had to make a greater effort using shallow kettles and fire. The result was a salt with a pleasant, smoky flavor. And it would seem House Manderly had decided to use their business acumen to play it up. It was rare to Essos and pleasing to the palate. And rich people were the same everywhere. They were willing to pay a premium to get their hands on Bear Island salt or the fish that were smoke cured using it. Good news for House Mormont. Good news indeed.

Things were going well, with a few exceptions. There were a few instances of people crossing into my lands with ill intentions in their hearts. I debated on killing them, but opted instead to make things hostile enough to force them back. Each time the had approached from the South, so I merely used the Neck against them. If I just killed everyone who came after me, it could backfire by stirring up the masses. I was going to try just discouraging them from coming North instead.

Then someone else crossed over the border. This one wasn’t coming to kill me, but they were determined. Stubborn. Intense in their desire to make their way North.

I reached out to some local birds to take a look. A group of four. One older and clearly in charge. Three younger and obviously less enthusiastic about the journey. The leader had an impressive chain. So I described the man to Maester Luwin whose suspicions matched my own.

It was with no small amount of smugness that I made sure to be there in person when the party arrived. “Archmaester Marwyn! Welcome to Winterfell!”

He was a short, stocky, homely man with a balding pate and what might be a perpetual scowl in his beetle brow. His scowl deepened when I gave him my most annoying smile.

“Lord Stark. I don’t recall sending word that I would be arriving.”

No, he hadn’t. How rude of him. “This is the North. I know all that happens in the North.” Ser Arthur choked off a laugh. I shrugged. “And I don’t know of anyone else in maesters robes carrying a staff made of Valyrian steel. Surprised that some lord hasn’t tried to relieve you of that.”

He bared a bloody smile at me. His teeth were red. I’d heard that happened with people who chewed sour leaf. “Some have tried.”

I waved a servant standing close by forward with a plate of bread and salt. The surly maester snorted and took guest rites, followed by his three companions who I assumed were his acolytes or scribes. Poor kids looked terrified. And frozen. Once the formalities were seen to I invited my new guests inside. Rooms had been prepared for them near Luwin.

“The. End.” Sansa gave a single nod, clearly pleased with herself and her reading of The Princess and the Pea. She shut my latest story journal with a definitive sound and folded her hands atop it like a perfect little lady. She did not get those mannerisms from me.

“That was wonderfully done, Sansa.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“It is late. Time for little wolf pups to be in bed.” I got up from my chair, accepting the journal from Sansa and putting it back on the shelf. They boys scrambled to get to their feet as well, much to Arya’s displeasure. The toddler grabbed Jon’s tunic in both of her chubby fists and wailed in protest. “You, too. You to your bed and Jon to his. You act as though the pair of you are attached at the hip.”

Cat carefully pried my nephew free from his captor. He smoothed Arya’s hair and kissed her cheek. “It’s all right, Arya. I will be here in the morning, like always. You will see me when you wake.”

“No!” That had been my youngest daughter’s first word. No. There is a running joke that every generation is cursed to learn first hand just what a trial they had been to raise by having children that were just like them. Arya might be my punishment for the times I had been…less than well behaved. She came out of the womb stubborn and belligerent. Resistant even to Cat’s usually magic touch with children.

My memory would often compare her to Lyanna, and it would send a pain through my heart. I promised myself not to make the same mistake our father had with my sister. I would listen and pay attention, and do my best not to push her into rebellion. I still put the greater share of blame firmly on Rhaegar’s shoulders, but the weakness in my sister’s armor for him to exploit had been put there by our failure to listen to her.

Cat bade the boys a good night and saw to the girls. Brandon was dead to the world in that way that only young children could manage. Able to sleep through anything. The nurse placed him in the crib in the nursery. Arya and Sansa still slept in there until such time as Arya was big enough for her and Sansa to be moved to their own room.

I settled Robb and Jon into their room with the dogs. Robb was talking happily about hunting rabbits and squirrels. Jon sometimes added his own thoughts, and it was his words that caught my attention.

“Though I don’t like it when I wake up and my mouth tastes funny.”

I paused in tucking the blankets around hum. “How do you mean?”

Jon frowned. “Like when you lose a tooth? When it bleeds. I thought I lost another, but they were all there. I checked.” He opened his mouth wide so I could see.

Robb nodded his head. “I taste it too, sometimes. When I wake up. In my mouth, not Jon’s.” Just in case I was confused.

“And this happens when you dream you’re hunting?” Both boys nodded. “I see.” This was a good sign.

Robb tilted his head to one side. “Is that bad?”

“No, nothing bad.” I ruffled his hair before smoothing it back out. I pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads in turn. “We’ll talk more of it later. For now, you two need your sleep. You should get plenty of rest so you can grow big and strong.”

“I’m gonna grow as tall as you!” Robb’s blue eyes were bright and eager. I chuckled.

“Maybe you will. Now, settle in.”

I left them to sleep. The dogs didn’t even pretend to wait these days. Just jumped up on the wide bed with them. I didn’t mind. Even with the hot water piped through the walls to warm them, I’d much prefer a soft bed to a hard floor. Beds, sofas and bacon. Those were the true reason wolves allowed domestication.

But what they said about waking to the taste of blood in their mouths, that was good. That was the first clear sign. The boys were Warging in their sleep. They were joining with something, a predator of some kind, and hunting. They were tasting the memories of their kills.

That would be their beginning.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Thou shalt not kill.
Thou shalt not transform others.
Thou shalt not invade the mind of another.
Thou shalt not enthrall another.
Thou shalt not reach beyond the borders of life.
Thou shalt not swim against the currents of Time.
Thou shalt not seek an alliance or the knowledge of the Others

Maester Marwyn pursed his lips as he read the Seven Laws of Magic. “Where do they come from? Who wrote them?”

An old wizard named Merlin. Long ago. Save for the last,which I had taken the liberty of rewriting. It should be ‘Thou shalt not seek knowledge beyond the Outer Gates’, but that was not a problem here. The Others, however, seemed very Outsider like from what I could determine of them, so I felt the edit was needed. “I can’t say, but I understand the importance of them.”

“How so?”

“Breaking them will be your ending.” I gestured at the list. “As a caveat, most of these deal primarily with humans. And there are very large but valid paths around them.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. For example, you cannot kill another person with magic. Directly. You can’t set them on fire or use magic to strangle them by freezing the air around their throat. But if you destroy a wall and they happen to be on it at the time, that is not the same.”

The maester’s brow rose. “As it is said you did at Pyke.”

“Just so.”

“But if you were to turn your magic against men directly?”

“That would be considered a violation. Perhaps there is no governing body to hold you accountable,” because this was not Earth and there was no White Council with their army of wardens, “but the act will leave its stain upon you. Do you know how in stories about mages, so many of them seem to be mad? Part of it is likely due to the accounts being written that way to influence perception, but there is also a reason. Using magic to directly harm another human mortal leaves a stain on your mind. A taint. Continue breaking the rules and that stain grows, until it breaks you.”

“So violating these ‘laws’ drives the mage mad.”

“Just so. How quickly depends on the strength of the mage’s mind and the strength of the magic used. Or misused, rather.”

Marwyn folded his arms and gave me a grim stare. “There are those who would say that is proof that magic is a corrupting force.”

Ah. Devil’s advocate. Fun. “Magic is a tool. Like a blacksmith’s hammer. You can kill a man with a hammer, but does that mean the hammer is evil? No. It is the intent of the person holding the hammer that was evil. Intent is the key. Intent and belief. You cannot do anything with magic that you don’t believe you can or should do. The thing is, the more little steps you make in the wrong direction, the easier it is to convince yourself that you are in the right.”

I pointed to the list. “Take the third and fourth ones. A young and budding mage, male, realizes he has the ability to influence the minds of people. We’re talking someone around one and ten. Maybe as old as three and ten. He is ignorant of these rules, by the way. Has no knowledge of the potential consequences. What might he do?”

He frowned, considering the question. “I would think he’d use it to avoid getting into trouble with his parents. Convince them not to be upset at him. Maybe discourage assigning him a chore or task.”

“Oh, definitely. And what about when he’s a little older? When he notices the pretty girl who lives down the way. Maybe she isn’t as interested in him. At least not until he pushes her thinking a bit. A push here. A nudge there. Is it rape if he’s changed her thoughts to want it? Is it wrong?”

Marwyn’s frown grew. “Of course it’s wrong, but every time he misuses his power, the more it rots his mind. Eventually he’s too mad to know it’s wrong.”

“Or he knows, but no longer has the conscience enough to care. By the time someone else notices what is truly happening, it’s too late. He’s too far gone to be redeemed.”

It was a sore point with me from a long time ago. Back in that other life. As a warden part of my duties were to hunt down and execute warlocks. But my boss made certain I never had to do that. She made the exception because I used to be one, though not truly. My mentor never taught me the laws of magic. Never told me about the White Council even though he was a member. He’d wanted me strong but stupid. A brawny magical thug to do his dirty work. I’d fought against him and won, killing him with magic. A violation of the first law.

I could still remember the black interior of the bag they put over a warlock’s head. You can’t see any of the people sitting in judgment over you, but you can hear them. Hear them talking about killing you. Id been lucky. My action was deemed self defense so I was given a type of probation and handed over to my second mentor, Ebenezer McCoy. It would be years before I learned the old man was my grandfather. I like to believe he didn’t know about me until then. That if he had I never would have ended up in that orphanage after my dad died. That DuMorne never would have gotten his hands on me.

But the warlocks killed after then. They’d been kids. Most had never been taught the laws and didn’t know they were breaking them. By the time they were caught, it’d been too late. I’d argued many a time that a better method needed to be found. A better way to identify the young talents so they could be clued in before they misstepped. I’d done what I could, but I was only one man. I couldn’t be everywhere at once. And because of my failure, a lot of young kids lost their heads.

Not my boys. Not my children. They would come into this with their eyes open and understanding that there were rules. Understanding the dangers of breaking them.

Catelyn was pleased that I had renovated the old drum keep. The stonework had been sound enough. The hearths had needed a good cleaning and some repairs. The whole place had been scrubbed down. We had found quite a few things that had been stored there and forgotten. Two rooms proved to contain chests of old coins and things like silver plates and cups that had been stashed there by one Stark ancestor or another and eventually forgotten. My wife had laid claim to this unexpected windfall to help offset the expenses for preparing for our Dornish guests.

A lot of old tapestries and cloth were pulled out but were too aged and moth ridden to be used as is. What could be salvaged and cut down for clean rags and bandages had been. Larger pieces were repurposed by washing them then giving them to the smallfolk for their use. Cloth could be prohibitively expensive, so this was a welcome boon to them. Old armors and blades that were dented or had more rust than what could be judged saving were given over as scrap to be melted. Some pieces were sound enough to keep, either to be polished up and used for decoration or added to the armory.

Now the First Keep was available for long term guests. We already had a spacious guest house and many room inside the main keep, but now Winterfell could easily house my bannermen, their families and their guards without consigning the lowest guards to floor space in the great hall from overcrowding as would usually happen. Cat had used her claimed funds to ensure there were plenty of beds and bedding in the First Keep as well as stocking our larders with plenty of spices, delicacies and wines.

“I would care to have a word, Lord Stark.”

I arched a brow and looked up. “Lord Stark’? Must be serious if you’re being formal, Lord Umber. I thought we were past that, Jon.”

He grunted. “I don’t see why you’re looking to Dorne for a bride. You’ve got plenty of daughters amongst the Northern houses to choose from.”

I expected some disgruntlement there. “Aye, we do. I am not unaware. And I have not agreed to a betrothal just yet. It’s a tentative agreement. The princess will foster with my house for now. If she is unable to adapt to the North, I will not force her to stay.”

“But why entertain it at all? What does Dorne have to offer us?”

“Every realm has at least one thing they can offer. But there are reasons. To be honest, I’m mostly doing this for Princess Elia. She is asking for the consideration.”

Umber frowned and seemed to roll it all over in his mind as his eyes watched the Dornish banners approaching down the Kings Road. GreatJon Umber might be large and surly, but he wasn’t an idiot.

“Someone pushing for the Crown Prince?”

“Aye. He might be the prince but he’s also Tywin Lannister’s grandson.”

Umber’s frown deepened. “And Lannister’s men tried to kill her and her daughter. Aye. I could see where they might not like the idea of binding her to the Old Lion’s grandson. Maybe in another generation or two, but not the little princess herself.” He huffed. “Suppose that doesn’t leave many other options. Anyone other than a son of a great house would be seen as an insult to the Crown. Your boy might be the only choice that won’t cause a problem.” He didn’t sound happy about it. “How many of those f*ckers did they need to bring?”

The approaching party was impressive to the eye. “Not as many as it may appear. I suspect some of those wagons contain my trees.”

“Your trees?”

I nodded and turned away from the battlement, waving for him to walk with me. “Aye. You know we have lemon trees in our glass garden?”

“Aye. Nice to have.”

“I bartered with Prince Oberyn to get more. And some blood oranges, limes and fig as well. The fruits don’t keep well enough to survive the trip up on their own. I’m hoping we can instead grown them in the glass gardens as we do the lemons. That’s what those two new houses are for. The trip up will have been hard on them, so my Gardener and the maesters recommend keeping them here for at least a year to let them recover and see which ones might prosper before offering to disperse them out to the rest of you.”

Umber blinked, the looked back in the direction where two new glass gardens stood empty outside of Winterfell’s walls. Waiting for their new charges. I’d had them erected for this purpose.

“A nice luxury. But is it not an extravagance?”

“You should ask your maester about it. They can be quite healthful. Especially during times where fresh greens are scarce in the colder moons. Have some faith, Jon! I am doing what I do for our people.”

He grunted, this time in amusem*nt. “Keep it up and the lords will feel obligated to erect a statue in your honor. Maybe fine marble. Or cast in bronze. Would you like it to be as large as the Titan of Bravos? We could build it straddling acres of fields. Eddard Stark, The Gardener Wolf.”

I half choked on a laugh. “It’s a bit early to be breaking into the ale, Lord Umber. I am shocked to see you so drunk before our guests even arrive.”

We got down to the Bailey. The Northern lords had gathered for a sort of harvest festival. It wasn’t something that could be regularly scheduled like you could on a world with a sensible, predictable seasonal rotation. Sometimes you could get three or four harvests in before the Summer snows. I still hadn’t figured out what was going on with that. The whacky seasons. Because of this we had to determine when the best time to gather and discuss any changes, concerns or new business. I had wanted to do it at the end of the Greyjoy business, but my bannermen needed to return home to check in with their people to have the most current information. Given the delay, Cat had suggested perhaps timing it for when the Dornish came to both show how the Northern lords supposed House Stark as well as be open and honest with them. Also, it meant we could have just one large celebration instead of hosting the harvest feast only to turn around and scramble to do it all again.

The Dornish rode in with their faces set in determination. I suspected it was a determination not to let on that they were cold. They were dressed appropriately. Our correspondence with them in preparation of this visit had included our suggestions on what manner of clothing they should secure and in the end we arranged for much of what they would need to be waiting for them at White Harbor when their ships arrived. But even with enough cloth, leather and fur, you still got the bite of the cold wind on your face and any exposed skin.

Oberyn Martell rode in on horseback, his posture tall and arrogant. In short, he was being himself. He surveyed the gathering of Northmen and smiled broadly as he saw me and my family standing front and center.

“Lord Stark! It is easy to forget just how vast the North truly is until one must travel it.” He swung himself down from his steed and passed the reigns to a stable hand. “I had begun to wonder if we would ever truly reach Winterfell.”

“Ah! You have figured out one of our best defensive weapons. Wait until the other side gives up and goes home.” My lords chuckled at that, as did the prince.

“History would prove it works.” He came closer and clasped forearms with me before turning his attention to the women stepping down from the wheelhouses. The things bore the colors of Houses Manderly and Stark. I had sent ours to White Harbor for their use and Manderly apparently had three of their own. They were the last of my bannermen to arrive, having stayed to greet the Dornish and escort them in.

Hmm. First Guan Chi. Now the Martells. Perhaps Manderly could set up a side business providing escorts to visiting dignitaries and merchants. Might not be a bad idea. They could provide both security for the guests and make sure they weren’t up to mischief.

The ladies descended from the wheelhouses as did Lord Manderly. Not to fat shame, but Wyman and his sons were hefty boys. They loved good food and their coastal location and wealth meant they had plenty of access to it. The man could still move about, but I did sometimes marvel at how his legs still supported him when he did. Some people just carried their weight better than others, I supposed.

Manderly greeted me first and stood aside so that I could greet our guests. “Princess Elia. Welcome to Winterfell.”

Freedom from the Red Keep had done her well. She no longer looked as…frail as she had before. Little wonder. Living under Aerys’ madness, constantly fearing for her life and that of her children,it could not have been easy for her. Her cheeks were fuller and there was a healthier color to them than I remembered. Probably spent a lot of time in those water gardens I’d read about.

She smiled, walking forward and bringing a beautiful little girl with her. “Thank you, Lord Stark. And i believe you might remember my daughter. She was a bit smaller when you last met.”

Rhaenys was holding a black cat in her arms. Smart. The normal body temperature for a domestic feline started at about one hundred degrees. She was carrying her own little furry space heater. Familiar green eyes glared at me from the furry black face. Ah. So it was that cat.

The princess gave a perfect curtesy. “It is an honor to finally meet you, Lord Stark. Mother has told me how you and your men saved us. I…do not remember all of it.” Fingers of one hand curled against her stomach in an absent scratch. Possibly a reflexive action. I bet one of the scars from the attack was directly under that spot.

“That is a blessing, Princess. It was an ugly day. I suspect many of us would like to be able to forget much of it.”

Guest rights were extended and accepted. I introduced my family and my lords. They were shown to their rooms while here. The Martells would be staying in the main keep. Most of their retinue would be housed in the First Keep where the guards of the lords were housed while the lords themselves were in the guest house. Everyone was invited to refresh themselves in preparation for the feast planned.

I had far too many rooms. I wasn’t entirely certain how Cat kept all of Winterfell clean and orderly. I think she and her senior housekeepers had a schedule of some kind so that a number of the rooms were cleaned and aired out on the daily in a rotation or something.

I don’t think I wanted to consider what state the place was in when she first arrived. Not after how long it had been after my mother’s passing. Yikes.

I was helping my wife by pinning her braid back into place and noticed the fine tension in her shoulders. “Something vexes thee?”

She wasn’t distracted by my silly phrasing. Not that she would get the reference anyway. “He brought… Prince Oberyn brought his mistress.” She hissed it in a whisper.

“Aye. He did. Not sure why his brother has let him remain unmarried, actually. Probably because Oberyn is able to out stubborn him. He spoke of her during the uprising. Her father is high born and she’s had a gentle education. He also has several natural daughters of his own.” I smoothed the last few hairs down. “I suspect he has sons as well, I can’t imagine he doesn’t, but you never hear about them. I think he might bring the girls into his home because life can be more cruel for a girl without the protection of a family or a name.”

Her lips pinched together. I kissed her crown. “Their ways are different from ours. Just like the North is different from the Riverlands. They are more open with their…affections. And he’s also done it to test us. To see if we will take offense and be rude. To see if we will sneer down our noses at his niece for her heritage.”

Cat closed her eyes. She drew in a breath, held it and let it out. I’d taught her the principles of meditation when she’d found me sitting atop my bed one night doing just that. “You are most likely correct. And it isn’t as though his reputation doesn’t precede him. He is practically infamous.”

“And he isn’t staying. A moon. Two at most. Long enough for his sister to assure him that Rhaenys will be safe and well cared for in our home.”

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Jon gave a sigh, letting the air rush out in a puff.

He lasted longer than Robb.

“Why is it so difficult?”

“Because you’re boys. One of you is nine and the other will be in another sennight. It goes against your natures to be still and quiet. But nothing worth knowing was ever truly easy.” I ruffled their hair. “You’ll get it in time. But that’s enough for now. Go and play.”

Robb got to his feet so quickly you’d think the blacksmith had developed springs and put them in his legs. He stopped, hesitating. “So…do we have to ask the princess?”

Again. They were nine. To say they were not floored by the Dornish beauty who had travelled all this way to stay with us was an understatement.

“It would be polite to extend the invitation.” He grimaced. Jon kept his expression painfully neutral. “If she accepts, play something she would enjoy. If she declines, you’re free.”

Robb huffed. “Why, though?”

A feminine chuckle drifted over from the forest and the boys’ heads whipped around. I needed to work on their perception and awareness. They hadn’t realized Elia Martell had made her way out here.

Robb’s face reddened, his eyes wide. “P…princess Elia! I…”

She waved off his concern, now giggling. “I am not insulted. Few boys your age actually seek out girls to play with.”

I crouched down. At this age a should gaze was unlikely. Children were too…unsettled. Their souls were still forming and there wasn’t a set ‘them’ to view. Thank God. Given how many responded to seeing my soul, I’d hate to impose that on a child. Good thing, because the motion brought his attention back to me.

“Boys and girls are different. Not just the usual things, but in how you grow and age. You’re nine. Princess Rhaenys is twelve, closer to thirteen. Right now those few years seem like a wide gulf. And girls mature faster than boys. Right now she probably sees boys your age as silly and immature. But that will change as you get older. By the time you two are six and ten and she’s nine and ten, it won’t seem very different at all. When you’re twenty and she’s three and twenty, you won’t even notice. But right now you’re nine and she’s two and ten, and she seems more like a young woman while the two of you are boys. It’s just how things are.”

Jon’s lips pouted as they sometimes did when he was thinking. “Is it a bad thing? That she thinks we’re just children?”

“No. It just means all three of you still have growing to do. Now, off you go.”

They hurried off, glad to escape their lesson. Meditation was welcomed when you were older, but it was so boring when you were a child. Still, I wanted to lay a good foundation to help them better order their thoughts when they got older.

“Wise words. I believe I was told something very similar when I was only a bit younger than my daughter. Though then I believe I had asked why Oberyn was so very vexing.” She smiled. “He still is, but I’ve matured enough to endure it with a modicum of grace.”

“I would think you had gained an ocean’s worth of grace if you’ve been able to tolerate him for long. I understand he decided to join Arthur in the reserve training.”

Elia came closer, pulling her furs more tightly about her. “He did. He found the concept interesting. He had spoken to Doran about how well trained your levies were. How even those who were not guardsmen by trade seemed to adapt well to the role of soldier. I expect for him to take many notes and bring the idea of something similar back to Dorne.”

“Good.” She tilted her head in inquiry. “The better trained the man is, the better his chances of coming home alive. And the better trained your soldiers are, the more likely a potential enemy will stop and think twice before starting anything.”

“You seek to keep peace by being strong?”

“As painful as it is to admit, it takes strength to hold on to peace. Do you know how most predators select their kills?”

“No, I can’t say that I do.”

“By going after the most vulnerable. People fear wolves, but a healthy wolf population keeps your other game healthy by culling the weak. In people, greedy and violent men go after those they believe vulnerable enough to be subdued. We are just another kind of animal after all.”

She seemed to roll this over in her mind. “Yes, I can see that. Only in people, sometimes the ‘strong’ are madmen propped up by others.”

“Aye. There is that failing. A wolf pack drives out a sick or unbalanced wolf lest he injure or weaken the pack as a whole. We often times fail to…secure ours. Instead of putting them somewhere they can rest and not do harm, we let them run wild. Then innocents suffer.”

I offered her a seat on one of the large logs that served as benches around the heart tree. She accepted and drifted down with a liquid grace borne from a life of etiquette lessons.

“How are you, Princess? Truly. How are you and your daughter faring now that you’ve escaped the Red Keep?”

She sighed. “Better. It was hard in the beginning. There were nightmares. For both of us. So many. I still have them sometimes. Dreams where I keep seeing my son…” She drifted off, her expression sad and distant. I took one of her hands into mine and just held it. Offering what little comfort she might find in a human touch.

After a moment she shook herself back to the present. “Rhaenys remembers little. She does remember some of it, she still has scars to remind her. And it was too much horror for her to have forgotten completely. She asked questions on the journey here. Trying to piece together what she has forgotten.”

“How did that go?”

“I told her about the man who tried to kill her and how Ser Jaime saved her. I told her about the Mountain and how he killed her brother, was trying to hurt me but then Ser Jaime got between us and fought him. Then about how Lord Stark came in like a fierce dire wolf and killed the giant.”

I groaned. “Did you tell her how I leapt at him like an idiot, got my sword stuck and was flung into a chair?”

She bit her lip. “I might have smoothed over that part.”

I shook my head. “I got lucky. If Lannister hadn’t already dispatched Lorch, I would have been a dead man.”

“But he had. And you lived. And my brother was telling her how you broke the walls at Pyke and then shattered the Seastone Chair as though it were made of glass. I believe my daughter expected you to be wreathed in fire and floating instead of getting about in such a mundane fashion as walking.”

I scoffed. “Fire? I’m a Stark.” I picked up a twig from the ground, a bit of oak, and held it up. I pushed my will and the wood and leaves frosted over, crackling as the water in them hardened. “We belong to the North and to Winter.”

Elia gasped but leaned forward rather than away. “Is that why your ancestors were called the Kings of Winter?”

“I doubt it.” I let her have the twig. “But I’m not opposed to that rumor spreading slowly. If nothing else it might give people pause about starting trouble with us.”

“You don’t worry how it might affect your children’s prospects?”

“Here? Nay. Most Northmen only care that they’re Starks.”

“You…don’t seek Sothron matches for them?”

I grimaced and looked out over the hot springs. I’d given that very thing a lot of thought. “I’m not entirely certain why my father got it into his head to seek Sothron matches for his children. His bannermen didn’t care for it. Not truly. Part of how the Starks have held the North for so long is our tendency to marry it. Just about every noble house is a Stark cousin, close or distant. I believe the only two we haven’t would be Bolton and Manderly. Manderly is far past due, to be honest. It’s their faith that has prevented it thus far. Though I married Catelyn who also adheres to the Seven. Had there been a daughter of the appropriate age, a Manderly bride might have been my fate while Brandon wed Cat.”

“And Bolton? I heard Oberyn say that it was learned that they’d never stopped there…practices.”

“Aye. I don’t mourn his loss. His boy was young enough not to have been started down that path, thank the gods. And Lord Dustin is a good man. He is married to Domeric’s aunt and they are raising him. I’m told he is an honorable lad with a steady, stable mind. No signs of cruelty in him.”

“You plan to give him the title?”

“Of course. He is not guilty of his father’s crimes. We have scoured that place clean as well. The trophies they kept have been disposed of properly. Most burned. A few brought back for burial.”

Elia frowned. “Burial?”

I nodded. “There were cloaks made of human skins. They had them labeled. Two of them were the skins of Starks who had gone missing long ago. They had empty crypts here in their memory. Now what’s left of them rests there.”

The princess looked a bit green. “I will add the boy to my prayers. That he will remain good and strong. That he will be a better man.”

We sat in silence for a time. Then, finally…

“Should we tell them?” Her voice was soft. “I had thought to tell Rhaenys. Let her know she wouldn’t be alone here. But it wasn’t only her who would be affected. I do not have the right to disrupt his world as well.”

So that’s what was bothering her. “He’s nine. Too young to fully comprehend the seriousness of such a secret.”

“Do you intend to ever tell him?”

“One day. When he’s old enough understand the danger.”

She nodded. “My brothers wonder what you plan for him.”

“Keep him alive. Raise him to be a good man. I’ve secured the king’s blessing to rebuild Calin and have already started making changes there. It should be close to finished by the time he’s of age, or at least livable.”

I noticed the frown between her brows. “You disagree.”

“It’s your realm, of course, but Calin is the barrier to the North. Any attack over land must go there first. You aren’t setting him somewhere…further in? Make it more difficult to reach him?”

He had to survive the ice zombies first. We all did. “Moat Cailin has fallen to a few towers, and still we can stop an army there. Once it’s a proper castle again, it will be nigh impossible to pull him out. It will be secure.”

She didn’t seem fully convinced but she let it drop. “I had not expected him to play the bard last night. Though I suppose it should not be a surprise.”

“Heh. Of all the things he might have inherited from him, the talent for music is the least objectionable. Once my wife realized he had it, she saw to finding him a proper tutor.”

“He did not seem pleased.”

“He doesn’t mind if it’s his choice to sing or play. What he dislikes is being ordered to do so or made the center of attention. He gets embarrassed by how ladies and girls simper over him. He is only nine. He’s too young to appreciate it.”

Elia smirked. “Something else he’ll no doubt outgrow one day.”

Lyarra Wull wasn’t a great beauty. Nor was she plain. She had hair the color of dark caramel, dark brown eyes and an honest prettiness to her face, but her bone structure was the type that would still be handsome when she was fifty or sixty. Long past the time most beauties found their looks had dried up.

She also had a good mind for numbers and ledgers and had proven very capable of establishing a keep by helping my brother with his. And that was before you learned about her skill with a bow and spear. Honestly it was little wonder that she’d caught Benji’s eye.

“Lyarra, do you take this man?”

She smiled softly. “Aye, I take this man.”

Hey, everyone of importance was already here. Might as well see my baby brother hitched in style. And it was a good match. The Wulls were a mountain clan and used to the kind of harsh terrain he was working with. They already had a presence in his lands and he got on well with them. Not many had such a good relationship with their in laws right from the start.

Once they’d said their prayers before the heart tree, Benjen scooped his new bride up and carried her back through the Godswood towards the main hall for the feast. Our bannermen followed, everyone happy and in the mood to get rowdy.

Oberyn chuckled. “A much more enjoyable ceremony than Lord Jaime’s. Or the royal one. Those Septons do love to drone on with their prayers and sermons. I think you Northmen are far more sensible here.”

“You’ll get no disagreement from me. I nearly fell asleep during the king’s wedding.”

“I did. Twice! Doran pinched me awake.” He looked unashamed. I wasn’t certain I’d ever seen the man be serious about anything. I was pretty certain I did not want to be there when he finally was. Or at least, I did not want to be on the receiving end of the violence that would soon follow.

“Come.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get inside before the GreatJon drinks all the mead.”

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Oberyn glared in frustration. “It is even colder up here!”

“Because it’s windy.” I grinned at him. “Now, do as I showed you.”

He scowled but knelt down and drew the circle around himself with the chalk. That done, he pricked his thumb with his dagger and dabbed a bit of blood on the chalk line with a look of concentration on his face. I heard him gasp and he stood back up, the surprise evident. I knew why. His hair and clothes were no longer being ruffled by wind.

“Seeeeeee? What did I tell you?”

“I can scarcely believe it. The air is still. It’s still cold, but quiet.”

“Yeah, it would take a while to warm up. But that is the basic magic circle. Excellent for providing a temporary haven where you can gather your thoughts or gather magical energies to yourself for a working.”

“As you did on Pyke.”

“Exactly. It wasn’t wholly needed, but it does make such things easier and less tiring. Now, lesson two.” I threw a dagger at him. He gave a shout, but it bounced harmlessly off the invisible wall and skittered to a landing a few feet away.

“It acts as a shield?”

“It can, but it’s not fool proof.” He frowned. Right. That wasn’t exactly a term most knew here. People who knew me were used to me using random odd terms, but I wasn’t as close with Oberyn. “It isn’t completely impregnable. Breaking a magic circle takes an effort of Will, same as raising one.”

I stepped forward and put a hand against the barrier. “My intention just now was not to actually break the circle, but to demonstrate.” I flattened my palm against the wall so that he could see the change in blood flow on my skin and tell it was a genuine effort. “It takes intention, an act of Will, to break a circle.” I pushed with my Will and it fell against me, letting me reach through to touch his shoulder. “Like so. Now, the good thing is, people have Will, or the ability to break a circle. Animals do not, so you don’t have to worry about a stray beetle or bird wrecking it. And people have to knowingly want to break it. Considering most people you run up against won’t know what you’re standing in or even believe in it, they won’t know how to or even that they need to make that effort.”

Understanding graced his features. “So one who does know such things can shield himself from attack or harm if need be. And he would most likely be safe provided he did not come across another with the same knowledge.” He nodded. “And yet you share this with me?”

“You planning on attacking me?”

“Only if you harm me or mine.”

“That goes both ways. Come on. Let’s go back down.”

We left the roof of my tower and went back down into the map room. Maesters Luwin and Marwin were still there. Marwin had been going over Little North, making notes and taking measurements so he could compare it to the maps we had of the North. Funny thing, but cartography without satellites, planes and aerial drones wasn’t always exact. The maps weren’t completely accurate.

“I do not under why that was so difficult to comprehend. It seems like such a simple concept in theory.”

“It is because of your age.”

“My age?! You were a grown man when you became a magician, lest you were keeping such knowing to yourself.”

True, but I also had the benefit of having an established wizard plugged into an existing body and two souls blended into one. “I was relatively immature at the time. And I have an endless sense of wonder.”

The prince arched a brow at me. “An endless sense of wonder?”

I shrugged. “I would look at something and think ‘I wonder if I could do that’.”

Luwin groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Marwyn and Oberyn laughed. At least someone got my jokes.

“Besides. I’m a wizard. Not a magician.”

“What is the difference?”

“Wizard has a “Z” in it. Life beats you down. It doesn’t help that the Faith and the Maesters,” Marwyn cleared his throat purposefully, “many of the Maesters actively speak against magic. As we grow older we stop believing that such things are possible. Thus, when we are older, it is more difficult to actually use magic. You have to convince yourself that you should be able to. That you can.”

“I know it can be done. I have witnessed you!”

“Yes. You have. But ask this of yourself; what did you know of Northmen before you actually met me. People elsewhere call us barbarians. Tree worshipping savages.”

Oberyn arched a brow. “You have a point to make?”

Marwyn put a fresh ball of sour leaf into his cheek. “He means Northmen might as well be legends to the rest of us. Up here in the cold with their grumkins and snarks. How are we to truly know what they can do? There are all sorts of queer stories about them.”

I shrugged. “My lords think the same. For the most part. About Starks, I mean. When your house has stood for as long as mine, there are multiple tales and songs about you. I heard one just a moon back that Stark men could transform into dire wolves under the light of a full moon.” I’d heard it because I’d introduced the story of werewolves years back when a bit in my cups at a harvest feast. I’d almost forgotten about it and it had surprised me to learn it had spread and grown to encompass my own family.

The prince’s other brow rose to join the first. “Can you?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. Shame really. The fur pelt would be nice on colder nights.” I gave him a grin. He seemed unimpressed. “At any rate, though you are more open of mind than many, you still have a lifetime of teaching to think past if you want to regain the…ability to believe.”

“He is not wrong, Prince Oberyn.” Luwin was ordering the various sketches of different power circles I’d drawn out as a personal project to record such information for future generations. “It took me more than five years before I could manage to light a candle. And I have longed for magic to be real all my days. I studied the Higher Mysteries at the Citadel and have forged a Valyrian steel link, but I had only managed to convince myself that magic truly had died with the dragons.”

Marwyn scoffed. “That is their intention. The Citadel has worked hard to stamp out magic. It was a cabal of maesters who orchestrated the downfall of the dragons. Convinced the Targaryens to lock them up and it stunted their growth. I would not be surprised if they didn’t slowly poison them as well, speeding their decay and decline. The Targaryens falling into a civil war that killed the larger, older ones worked to their favor. They wanted both the dragons and magic gone.”

Oberyn leaned a hip against the work table. “And what of you, Stark? How did you manage to master it?”

“I never stopped believing.” And I hadn’t. The Harry Dresden part of me, that is. “And i would not claim to have mastered it. I doubt you could ever truly master it. There is always something more to learn. Magic is a living force, and the maesters could never stop it. Life makes it. Every child born. Every seed that sprouts. Everything living generates magic. I have just tried my best to learn to harness and direct that force.”

I tapped my fingers together as I thought. A conversation with my other brother, Thomas, came to mind. “Try to approach it this way. Sex.”

Oberyn arched a brow. “Truly? I doubt your wife would approve, but I rarely turn away a willing partner.”

“Hah hah. Very funny. No, I mean the act of sexual intimacy. I would argue that the act of sex can be considered one of the most powerful, magically potent things we can do.”

“How so?”

“Because it is that act that creates a new life. That helps usher a new soul into the world. Destruction, destroying something, that’s easy. Creating life, conceiving it and nurturing it until it is born then keeping that life living and growing until able to stand on its own, that’s hard. I would propose that every time you have fathered a child, you and the mother were working magic. In its most primal, raw and powerful form.”

His jaw went a bit slack as he took that in. Luwin was furiously scribbling, so I must have said something he liked or found interesting. Marwyn gave a grunt, scratching at his chin as he considered my theory.

As an aside, sex magic and sex magic rituals are a thing. A thing I was not going to get into details with Oberyn Martell. I knew the man’s reputation. Westeros could thank me later.

“By that way of thinking,” Marwyn ventured, “women would be more powerful. They are burdened with the greater weight of childbirth and child rearing.”

“Oh, they are. There’s a reason most tales about magic users talk of witches and not wizards or mages. Though, to be fair, much of that is likely the ramblings of someone angry over something and lashing out. A man upset a woman spurned his advances or a woman angry another one is prettier than she is or attracted the attention of the man she wanted for herself. That sort of thing. Then there are the ones who just can’t accept that women are intelligent, capable creatures. I’d invite them to follow my wife around for a sennight and watch her keep this castle running while managing the children. An unintelligent person could not do that.”

“You hold women in high regard.”

“It would be foolish not to. And short sighted. In the game of life, they are more valuable. A single man can father multiple children on multiple women. Take our friend here as an example.” I made a flourish with one hand towards Oberyn. He gave a nod of his head, not insulted in the least. “But if you kill the majority of the women, you have killed the people. They are the ones who carry and birth the children. Children who are then dependent on their mothers for nourishment and care for years afterwards. Without women there are no sons to grow to become men and to see to the heavier, more physical demands life makes on us as a race. The world might be a less annoying, more enlightened place if some parties would pull their heads out of their arses and understand that men and women are partners on this journey. Equal but different. It takes us both to make things work.”

Luwin was nodding as he continued to make notes.

Marwin shrugged. “I see the logic in your argument. You would be foolish to expect logic from others. I do like the argument that women are more valuable for the survival of a people. Save for the odd exception, there is only one child born at a time and it takes a year for gestation, birth and healing from that birth. And they do need their mother’s milk for nourishment thus it is unwise to rush to conceiving again too soon after. I can work with that.”

Oberyn shrugged. “Dorne has known this. It is why inheritance goes by order of birth regardless of sex. And we know women can fight. All my daughters are allowed to train. Encouraged even.” He poured himself some ale from a nearby table. “And I can see why you would see the act of creating a child a form of magic. If life truly makes magic, then making a child is a powerful act of life.”

“Exactly. Once you can retrain yourself to think of magic as a natural force, something in all of us, the more likely you will be to break through a lifetime of conditioning to touch it. After that, it varies from person to person as to how much you can do. But there are things anyone can do with a little focus, such as a simple circle.”

The prince seemed to consider this and nodded. “What about that what you said earlier?. Something about the dawn clearing away workings.”

“Yes. Most spells you work can be cleared away by the dawn. It is as though each new Dawn cleans away the remains of the previous day.”

“So any working that does not serve a specific purpose only lasts the day?”

“Unless you know how to anchor it. Some workings can be made to stand for ages.” I indicated the map model. “Take the Wall. You don’t build something like that without magic. It’s teeming with it. And the workings are anchored to the Wall itself, subsisting in spite of all the centuries that have passed since its construction.”

It was also connected to Winterfell, though I had yet to figure out how my ancestors had done it. The distance between the two was vast. It would have taken moons, maybe even years, to lay down those workings. Mostly a type of warning system. If the Wall fell, a Stark properly bonded with Winterfell and the North would know it within moments. There were also layers of enchantments and wards built into Winterfell itself. And they’d somehow anchored it to the Stark bloodline. That’s where the whole ‘there must always be a Stark in Winterfell’ thing came from. As long as at least one Stark was at Winterfell, the spells were strengthened and continued to wrap more and more tightly about her. After all this time they were a dense, metaphysically stone hard shell.

It wasn’t meant to keep out mortals. It was meant to keep out monsters. The sort of things the Wall was built to keep out of the North all together. And it didn’t mean just within the castle walls but the lands directly connected to them. Wintertown counted, as did fields and hunting areas that were part of Winterfell’s holdings. So there was some flexibility. But if anyone ever managed to drive us out of the castle, those wards and enchantments would start to weaken. So too would the ones holding the Wall as we were essentially being used like a giant magical reserve to keep it going.

But as long as we were here, should it all fall to sh*t and the Wall failed to keep the monsters out, we could keep a lot of people safe inside my walls.

I still wanted to figure out how they did it. I wanted to use something similar at Calin. You can never have too many impregnable fortresses.

Marwyn studied the model of the Wall. “What is its purpose?”

“You don’t study the Northern histories and legends down there? It was built after the Long Night. To keep out the Others.”

“But the Others are gone!”

“Are they? We are told the First Men and their allies defeated them. Not that they killed them. If they had killed them out, then why would they have built the Wall? What are its dimensions?”

The stout maester scoured his memory. “Three hundred miles long. Seven hundred feet tall. Three hundred feet wide.”

“Seems a bit…excessive, doesn’t it? I mean, if you’re just trying to keep out the Wildlings. Even the giants are only twice as tall as Lord Umber, maybe a foot or two more. Not so tall as needing something seven hundred feet high to keep them out.”

“And the giants are gone.”

“Who told you that?”

Luwin sighed. “The Citadel says they are. Lord Stark maintains that there are still giants.”

“Because there are. Not as many as there once may have been, but there are.” I pointed at the most recent addition to the model. I’d had to rig up another table to extend it out to start fleshing out the part beyond the Wall. It was slow going because although Rivers no longer interfered with my awareness past it, I still didn’t see quite as clearly. Both because of the magic permeating the Wall itself and because other forces (Other forces?) made things murky the further I tried to press on. But I had an idea of some of the areas.

“They are nomadic in nature, herding their mammoths to grazing areas as needed, but they typically range from here to there, then another couple of tribes ranging further East.” I indicated the usual routes they took. “The Thenns stay up here, probably the closest to us as the Wildlings get. They have a Magnar which is akin to a lord, and they still forge bronze, though that may have more to do with the resources available than anything else. There are other clans and villages, many also nomadic to follow herds they hunt for food as needed, and a few more permanent ones. White Tree here and Hard Home up here.”

I tapped the area of the table that was mostly flat and white. No definite topography because I didn’t know it. Unfortunately, it was a very large expanse. I wasn’t even certain how large it truly was. “But here…here is where they pulled back to. The Others. They lurk there. Under the ice in places too cold for the living to go. Waiting.”

Oberyn frowned at the blank spot. “Waiting for what?”

I sighed. “For the time they can strike again. In truth, I’m surprised they haven’t already. People don’t believe in them any longer. They think it’s all children’s stories and bad dreams. They’ve had plenty of time to move. Hit us now while we’re good and ignorant. Unexpecting. Unassuming. A bit flock of sitting ducks.”

I’m fairly certain not all of them understood that last metaphor. It was all part of the spooky wizard thing.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

After nearly five moons it had taken the combination of Ellaria Sand’s refusal to stay in the freezing North for any longer and a missive from his elder brother (requested via raven by Princess Elia) to get Prince Oberyn out of Winterfell. He had agreed to leave though I suspected there was much pouting and petulance when I hadn’t been there to see it. He didn’t leave completely empty handed. He had a set of my children’s stories he’d had a scribe in his party he’d brought for just that purpose copy over, some meat grinders and recipes from Gage in the kitchens and the butcher to help their cooks get started with them and three chests of some of Bear Island’s prized smoked salt.

Somehow we’d managed to weather the visit without any of the girls amongst the servants or in Wintertown turning up carrying another of his daughters. Whew. I just know he’d come back up here to fetch such a babe in person.

We eventually got back to the business of being Northmen and the moons and years continued on.

“So the fish live in the canals?”

These weren’t canals like what you’d use for shipping. More like ditches connecting the fields.

Guan Chun, one of Guan Chi’s sons, nodded with a bright smile on his face. Chi had easily seen that in Yi-Ti he was but one of many farmers growing rice. Here, however, he would be the first to know how and could help set the foundation of the trade. So he’d given his eldest son his inheritance early and had invited any of his younger sons, daughters and other family members to join him in immigrating to Westeros. Not all had the courage to come with him, but enough had to make it work.

Chun was explaining to Jon how they farmed fish as well as rice. The fish in question were a type of catfish native to the Neck and already did exactly what they’d used this method for in Yi-Ti. Since rice required a lot of standing water, mosquitoes were a problem. There were mosquitoes here, too. The fish were allowed into the rice paddies where they ate the mosquito larvae before the little buggers could develop into the stinging, disease carrying pests they would become.

I’d brought Jon and Robb with me for a tour of some of our bannermen. For Robb it was a good opportunity for the lords to see him outside of Winterfell. For Jon it was because we’d come down to Moat Calin so he could see his future holding and we could see the progress in person.

While I was mostly thankful to be free of the Fae, aside from maybe the dewdrop faeries and other wee folk, I did miss the Ways. I used to complain about how dangerous they sometimes were, what with the occasional patch of acidic air, boiling salt pools or deadly beasties, but they did make travel so much quicker. Open a door into Faerie, step through, walk a few yards and open a way back into the mortal realm and poof, you’ve might have gone one hundred miles in under ten minutes. Instead of like here, where it took more than a sennight to travel from Winterfell to Cerwyn and more than a moon to get to the Neck. This tour would take us close to a year.

“Yes! Yes! And the fish are good to eat!”

Jon nodded, watching the waters as sleek, slender fish wound their way amidst the reedy rice grass.

When Guan Chi told me he wanted to do this I had asked him to find a fish native to the area. Rice was a grass and not native, but its water and cultivation requirements would help prevent it from becoming invasive to a dangerous or detrimental degree. I might not have been the best student during my youth on Earth, but I did remember the news stories about invasive species. Zebra mussels in the Great Lakes. The plecco catfish that had been inadvertently introduced into Southern waterways. The feral pigs that were spreading like crazy and doing massive damage to agricultural regions in almost every state. Don’t even get me started on kudzu. The rice was a useful addition whose growth requirements could help in keeping it under control, but I didn’t want to risk introducing an exotic fish from Yi-Ti into our waterways.

The Guan family, with the support of the Crannogmen, were establishing themselves nicely. Each harvest they were able to add more fields, and they were teaching the various ways to process the rice, from curing for long term storage to milling into rice flour and fermenting into rice wine. The younger members who joined Chi had brought a few different varieties of the grain as well, which broadened our options with short, medium and long grain strains. There was even one type that was used for a sticky dough reminiscent of something I’d been given by one of the baby wardens I’d helped to train. Moo-something? They made dumplings from it that they would fill with a sweetened bean paste before steaming. Trust me, it was delicious. Here, however, the dumplings might have a filling of honey and nuts, or a sweet paste made with apples or berries. There were also savory options made with minced and seasoned meat.

Chun walked with Jon, explaining the layout of the fields and their progress. Robb and I remained back, giving my nephew a chance to stand on his own.

“The construction is coming along well.”

I looked back at the new curtain walls and gates. “Aye, it is.”

“Why…keep the old towers?”

“Because they are here. They provided shelter for the builders til they had other buildings erected. And our bannermen would riot if we tore them down after they remained this long. They are part of the North’s history.”

Though I had been sorely tempted with the Drunkard’s Tower. That one had been a nightmare. I hadn’t had the time to ride all the way down here to help out so I’d had to use Little North for some earth moving. A raven was sent down to tell the builders to be certain no one was in the tower or went near it until I sent word it was safe to return. After that, a fortnight of what outwardly probably looked odd in person but from my perspective had been a series of delicate and persnickety workings. Adjusting water and soil levels in varying spots to resettle the foundation to evenness again. More than a few stones had fallen in the process, but because the men were told to stay clear no one was hurt. Once done, they had been able to recover those stones along with rubble from other parts of the overall structure long since past salvaging to repair and rebuild the parts of the three remaining original towers.

I’d had to do something similar to the Children’s Tower as well, though not nearly as involved as it hadn’t been nearly as crooked. That one took only five days.

Huh. Come to think on it, that might explain why several of the building crew seemed a little…cautious around me. I suppose it probably had looked rather scary from out here. Loud, too. I bet it was loud. Real rumbly. It hadn’t been fun from my end, either. It had been exhausting and had left me with bad headaches. Even nosebleeds twice.

The original structure had been mostly a wooden keep with a basalt curtain wall. For its reincarnation I was paying for stone. It was heavier and took more work to stabilize the foundation on this terrain, but it would not rot in the damp conditions as wood would and would be harder to damage. The newer parts were a contrast to the three older towers, but that did not concern me. I was more interested is strength and security than I was about aesthetics.

Robb looked up at the Gatehouse Tower, now once again holding full sway over the causeway. Anyone wanting to travel into the North overland would have to come through a secured path. Or they could try their luck with the marshes. It might prove a bit less dangerous in areas where the rice fields were as they were built to only be about five inches deep, but Guan Chi and the Crannogmen had plotted their fields in such a way that if you didn’t live here, you’d be hard pressed to know for certain where the fields ended and where a potential lizard lion filled area might be. Our Yi-Ti transplants and Howland Reed’s people were getting along swimmingly and it was proving a match made in my dreams and in a potential enemy’s nightmares.

“And…this will be Jon’s holding?”

“That is the plan. Why?” When he didn’t immediately answer, I looked down at him and saw the pensive expression. “Robb?”

“It’s just…I thought you might think him a better choice for Winterfell.”

What? “You are the next Lord of Winterfell, Robb. You know this. Why would you think otherwise?”

My son kicked at a rock near his boot. “He’s better than me.”

“How so? Each of you have things you’re better at than the other. That’s just people. Everyone has a talent or talents of their own. You best him in the training yard three times for every two wins of his. You’re better at the book work involved in running things than he is. Than I am, if I’m being forthright. What makes you think Jon is better than you?”

“He’s stronger at the other things. With the magic.”

Was that what he thought? Both boys had a talent towards magic and were taking to my instruction there easily, but at different strengths. Both were Wargs. Both had an innate understanding of things involving the natural world and had no trouble with things involving cold. But from there they differed. Jon, who was more slender of build and looked too pretty to be real, was more like I had been in my youth. A brawny thug magically speaking (I was never pretty). He was good at force and with fire magics (big shocker there).

Robb, who was built physically more like a bruiser, a big part of what gave him an advantage in the yard, had less in the way of raw force, but he outshone Jon in other things.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Robb, he’s not better. He’s different. You might struggle with fire, but Jon lacks gifts you have. And what you can do is arguably more valuable given your respective futures.”

Robb, for all that he looked like the dashing, burly hero, had a stunning capacity for more empathetic magics. I really had not expected that. If it had come from Sansa, that would have been expected. Or Bran, who for all it seemed sometimes that someone had swapped him out with a monkey at some point, had a strong sense of empathy and caring for others if you could keep him at ground level long enough to have a conversation. I had not even thought that my heir, who was very much a boy with a love for all things daring an adventurous, would have an innate gift for mental and emotional energies. It was one of the rarest gifts amongst the magically gifted and one of the easiest open to being abused.

“Robb, center yourself.” He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Now, what do you Sense?”

He reached out with his magic. I’d made certain he understood the Laws of Magic. That both of them did. With Robb it was doubly important because his gifts involved touching minds. I felt the feather light, barely there brush against my awareness as he felt out the people around us.

“There are a lot of people who are nervous. Uncertain. That is not surprising. They aren’t afraid, exactly. They are our people and they know you won’t hurt them. But they don’t want to disappoint you. But…the newcomers…they are excited. Eager.”

“Makes sense. They’ve been working hard to establish rice farming here. It can be a great boon to the North. It’s already gaining a foothold as a food source. Another way to provide for our people. Since our new friends from Yi-Ti are bringing it to us, they are earning good will. It’s much easier for people to like and accept you when you can provide them with something they need.”

I patted his shoulder. “Now, why would the ability to divine how people are feeling be of benefit to a lord? The power to know if a man is being truthful or lying to you?”

He blinked, then understanding came to him. I nodded and smiled. “In this, you’ve got an edge over Jon. And it also will serve you well when you are the Warden of the North. You will know when your people are worried or content.”

“But Jon is still stronger and he learns those things more quickly.”

“Yes, in some ways he is. That’s no failing on your part. We all have a part to play in this life. Unfortunately I suspect Jon’s path will be a harsh and demanding one. And whatever power sets us on our path in life has seen fit to ensure he has the strength to face whatever comes his way. As your father I pray that neither you nor your children will ever know war or violence. But those things often happen anyway. Should strife come to your door, you and your brother will need to work together. Your gifts will help you to lead your men. To know what they need. And to better understand your enemies.”

“And Jon?”

I sighed. “Jon will be the sword. The hammer against the anvil.” The poor soul who had to face the monsters in the dark.

“Is that why you’re placing him here? At Moat Calin?”

“Moat Calin should have been rebuilt long ago. We finally have the means to do so. It is the gateway to the North, thus it needs to be in the hands of someone loyal to House Stark and to our people. Who else would you entrust with it?”

His mouth twitched up at one side. “No one. Well…maybe Bran. Or Arya. No one would get past her.”

Ah yes. Arya. My little Chaos Monster. May the gods grant mercy to whomever angered her when she was grown, because unless she underwent a complete change of personality as she matured, they’d get none from her.

“You two need to stop encouraging her so much. Your mother is trying to teach her how to be a lady.” He looked skeptical and I couldn’t blame him. Cat may have finally found her match in our younger daughter. Everyone had a nemesis. But Jon’s inability to tell her ‘no’ whenever she asked him for something didn’t help. He couldn’t tell Sansa ‘no’ either. Or Rhaenys. If fate was kind, he’d never have daughters. They’d walk all over the boy.

Catelyn had wanted a compromise with Sansa. I’d wanted to give her a pup, but my wife wanted something more…demure? Docile? Not a hunting hound breed. Turns out Planetoss had little yap dogs…err… lap dogs. A house from the vale bred something that looked a lot like what I remembered Earth’s Yorkshire Terrier to be like, but without the ‘short man syndrome’ so many of the tinier dog breeds had shown. Primrose (Prim for short) was a very calm, relaxed animal. Hardly acted dog like at all, but she was willing to tolerate my elder daughter’s coddling and being dolled up in a different colored ribbon sometimes thrice daily.

Arya didn’t give her mother a chance to interfere. She’d snuck into the kennels herself to play with puppies any time one of the females had a litter and one day came out with an arm full of of a pup fathered by one of our most dominant and aggressive hounds. Out of five pups, four had been ink black but this one had been a blue-grey that matched neither parent and had mismatched eyes, one blue and one dark brown. She named him Silver because she said his coat was the same color as the silver Uncle Benji’s people mined. Given the size of his paws, and the size of the parents, he’d no doubt be bigger than her in under a year. Cat tried to insist she put him back and let her send for a smaller pup more appropriate for a young lady, but as my daughter stood there holding the wriggly beast who was happily licking her cheek and hair, I just couldn’t find it in me to separate them.

Most kids go through an awkward phase as they age. A period where their bodies go through a growth spurt and it takes them a bit to adjust and stop being clumsy. Maybe a struggle with skin blemishes. Just a general period when they are uncomfortable and cranky and all-in-all not having an easy time of it.

Not my nephew, though. No, Jon continued to be the too pretty boy in Winterfell with a golden singing voice and perfect hair. Only he was entering that part of development where he was starting to realize the feminine attention his pretty voice and face garnered him might not be too bad. Thankfully he still wasn’t particularly outgoing. That was Robb, who was also quite good looking with his auburn hair and blue eyes coupled with being quite the flirt.

I once had a dream that my sons were together not in this medieval setting but in my old stomping grounds of Chicago. In a night club. On a ‘Ladies Night’. And I had awakened in a cold sweat.

“Do you think we should tell them?”

I peered over the railing to see where my wife was looking. Below Robb, Jon and Rhaenys were taking a breather from their training and drinking some water. Arthur liked to have her try her skills against male opponents at least once a sennight or so. She might face males in a real situation and would need the practice. The trio were smiling and laughing, at ease with one another.

“Tell them what?”

My wife gave me a stern frown, but checked quickly to ensure no one was within earshot before dropping her voice to a tight whisper. “You know what. She is supposed to be meant for Robb, but she is close to Jon. Should we tell them the truth before things go too far?” She frowned. “Though, it might not matter to them, given the history.”

And there was my confirmation. Cat knew. I had thought she’d figured it out a while ago, she was just too warm and accepting of a situation most ladies of her station would be deeply offended over. But she’d followed my example and just not spoken about it. “I don’t believe they think of one another that way. Not to mention I would think we’ve raised him to be smarter than that. Besides, I suspect Jon’s intentions lie elsewhere.”

My wife frowned, looked about to ask ‘who’, then realized. “Xian Li? The farm girl?”

“There’s nothing wrong with farmers, Cat.”

She huffed. “Of course there is nothing wrong with farmers, but Jon is going to be the Lord of Moat Calin. He is kin to House Stark. Any number of high born families would be happy for such a match.”

Didn’t I know it. There were enough hints, inquiries and outright intrusive questions about it. “True, and if his eyes drifted such a direction, I’d welcome it. But I’ve been watching those two since we brought those kids back from Calin to foster. I believe there is something there.”

She looked unconvinced. “This isn’t a fostering. Not in truth.” And it wasn’t. The Xian family was Guan Chi’s sister, good brother and their children. They’d also thrown their lot in with him on his daring relocation. Xian Li was a year older than Jon and was talented with a Yi-Tish stringed instrument with a name I couldn’t begin to pronounce. The pair of them had played together during our stop at Calin on the tour, finding ways to blend the sounds of lute and…the instrument she played into a harmonious whole. They’d done quite well and even made a few new tunes of their own creation.

When we’d headed back home, I’d invited one of their cooks to come with to teach those here at Winterfell some new ways to incorporate rice and rice flour into their repertoire. Somehow I’d also ended up with three younger migrants to study more on Westerosi language, writing and customs to take back with them to further help their people adapt to their new home. Including Xian Li.

“Guan Chi and his people have taken a great risk coming here, Cat. True, they stand to be quite well off given that they currently have something no one else in Westeros does and we’ve put them in one of the few places where rice can reliably grow, but they’ve left family and friends behind. Left their culture and homeland behind. All to live amongst strangers. Their gamble could have easily failed for them.”

I nodded my chin towards the kids. “Jon’s castle will be the center of the rice trade. Those migrants will be his responsibility. There are those who will be reluctant to fully accept them because they look different from us. Have different ways from ours. If Jon and Li find it in their hearts to wed, it will show our newest group of people that they are welcomed and respected. It will also go a good ways into encouraging other Westerosi to accept them, or to at least be more tolerant. It is not a bad match.”

And, though I would not voice it aloud, there was almost no chance that Li had any blondes in her family tree. The Yi-Tish looked like many of the Asian races back on Earth. A slight warm gold undertone in their complexion with dark, almond shaped eyes and thick, ink black hair. Less chance of my nephew having silver haired children that way.

I looked back to the teens. “But you may have a point. They should be old enough to understand the seriousness of it.”

I had been feeling the pressure of The Secret more and more of late. Especially after Robb had voiced his concerns about himself, Jon and succession. Though he seemed to understand what I meant about his particular set of gifts being more useful as far as ruling and leading the North, I could tell that he still felt that he might be a bit outclassed by Jon. It might help him better understand if he knew that Jon was getting his talents from two bloodlines rather than just one.

And Jon did deserve to know. Rhaenys did too.

I’d spent years in ignorance of the fact that I had a brother. An older brother who, as it turned out, knew about me but had kept it to himself in order to avoid the monsters he called both ally and enemy from targeting me to hurt or control him. When I’d finally learned about him, knew for certain that we were brothers, life was…better. Richer. I was no longer alone and to an orphan, that had meant everything. We may have butted heads at time, what with the whole thing of him being a sex vampire and all, but that wasn’t his fault. That was his father’s side of the equation. Jon and Rhaenys deserved to know they were not alone.

I waited until after our family time following the evening meal. After we’d settled the little ones to sleep. Then I’d asked Jon, Robb and Rhaenys to come down into the crypts with me. There I walked with them to where Father, Brandon and Lyanna were laid to rest. My sister was the only female member of the family to have a statue at her crypt. That was something normally reserved for the Lord, sometimes the heir. It hadn’t been used for daughters or younger sons until I’d chosen to have one made for her.

Ser Arthur lit the braziers. I’d asked him to join us so he could answer any questions about his part in things. The teens looked at me with confused expressions as I laid a blue winter rose across the statue’s uplifted hand. That done I faced them and studied the youths before me.

“I’ve been waiting to speak to you three about this until I felt the time was right. Until you were all old enough and clever enough to fully comprehend the weight of it. What I want to say, what I need to tell you, is dangerous. So dangerous that you cannot risk speaking of it when we leave here. If it reached the wrong ears, it could bring the threat of war to the North. If any of you three do not feel you can hold something that dire, you can walk out and go on to bed. I will not think any less of you.”

The three of them exchanged puzzled glances. Though at seven and ten Rhaenys still sometimes felt the boys could be trying, they were dealing well with each other. I suspected that her mother had explained to her that Dorne did hope for a betrothal between her and Robb and the reasons why. The first year and some after her mother and uncle returned South she had often been cool towards the boys. At that age they’d hardly been unhappy with that arrangement. Now, four going on five years later, they had found a comfortable companionship. They often still seemed like silly boys to her and she likely still seemed the dull, prissy girl to them, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. She could even get Robb to blush from time to time, and went out of her way to do so when bored.

I watched them make a silent accord amongst themselves to stay, hear me out and keep whatever deep, dark secret I was about to tell.

I drew in a breath and started speaking. About all of it. My sister’s disappearance. How our brother, wolf blooded and rash, stormed into the Red Keep to challenge Rhaegar. How Aerys, mad and obsessed with fire, killed most of those with him, all sons of respected houses, then summoned their fathers, all lords, and killed them too. Then killed my father, Lord Rickard Stark, and Brandon. War had been inevitable after that.

I told them how the war ended. Of learning about Lyanna’s actions at Harrenhall and how it had made her a target for Aerys’ madness. Of Rhaegar’s attempt to protect her and how it…changed into something more. How I’d found her in Dorne, heavy with child and too weak to be so. Of promising her that I would take and keep her son. How I came home with a wolf pup in my arms to claim as my own.

“She loved you, Jon.” He had slid down the crypt walls to sit on the floor. His eyes were staring at nothing, silver tear tracks on his cheeks. “She loved you and wanted you. She fought as hard as she could to try and stay with you, but in the end we lost her.

Robb frowned. “But why keep it a secret? Why let ever believe he is yours?”

“Because they would have killed him.” Rhaenys’ eyes were dark and angry. “They would have slaughtered him like they did Aegon. Like they tried to do with me! They let me live because I am a girl. Dorne may let a woman rule, but the rest of the realm would not. The Dance of Dragons happened because there were too many who would not accept Rhaenyra’s rule over her brother, Aegon, even though she was the eldest sibling and it had been their father’s wish.”

She whirled about and stomped towards Arthur. “WHERE WERE YOU?! WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HIM?!”

Arthur flinched. “He was my prince.”

“And she was a girl! She would have four and ten when he first touched her! Flowered or not, she was a child! A child and he was a man with a wife and children of his own!”

He lowered his eyes in quiet shame. In truth, I had not expected such ferocity from her. Denial, that I had expected. This…

“I take it your mother and uncles have had some…serious discussions about your father with you.”

She wiped angrily at her eyes. “They said I should not be afraid to love him, but that I should avoid setting him upon a pedestal. That he was flawed and mad in his own way. That was how they explained it when I’d heard that he’d stolen Lady Lyanna. An act of madness. But they would not tell me more than that.”

Damn. And I thought Northmen were pragmatic. “I see…”

“Who knows? How many know the truth?”

More than I like. “House Dayne. Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold, wherever they are. Your mother and uncles, of course. The lords who rode with me to find her and Mona.”

The princess blinked. “The midwife? In Wintertown?”

“Aye. We hired her to come with us. I knew my sister might need one. Your mother did consider telling you, but she acknowledged that she did not have the right to impact Jon’s life that way. I had determined the secret too heavy to share at their age, thus she gave me her blessing to tell you once you were all old enough to understand why it must be kept secret.”

The princess huffed, graceful hands on her hips and gave me a look that clearly said she doubted my own intelligence. “That is too many. Far too many! The fewer who know a secret the better! Any one of them could let slip their tongue! Or betray us if their relations with you sour! You should have killed them! Whent and Hightower for certain! They are in Essos, true, guarding my..our aunt and uncle from what I’ve heard spying on uncle Doran and Oby, but what if they get it into their heads to try and come take Jon?! Honestly, I don’t know why my uncles have let them be. It would be wiser to replace them with people of their own, ones who don’t know about Jon.”

“Errr…”

Arthur sighed. “That is Prince Doran talking. Or at least his thinking. He would have been the one who taught her to see things in such a way.”

“And he would be right!” Her voice was whip sharp as she snapped at him. “Too many chances that the wrong words might reach the wrong ears.”

She whirled and stomped over to Jon, crouched down before him, gripped his arms and yanked him into a hug. He hadn’t been looking up, so steeped in his own thoughts and confusion, and made a gurgling squawk as he found himself smothered by the only person in Winterfell with better hair than himself.

“They won’t get you. They can’t have you! I’ll keep you safe valonqar.”

She would keep him safe. The princess who had a few cantrips and a moderate skill with water magics, not every child from a magical bloodline could be a powerhouse, was going to protect the boy who could wield fire and ice with terrifying ease. Sure, made sense. I’d always thought the fairer sex was vastly more terrifying.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Jon gave a less than impressed look at the section of glass he’d levered up.

“What did you expect? You did it on the ground. Think instead of how you managed to do it at all.”

Dark grey eyes looked up at me. He did not look convinced. He was becoming something of a perfectionist as he aged. Always demanding more of himself. Driven to be better. Better than what? Just…better.

The boy wasn’t stupid. Quite the contrary. He knew that there were those who would always see him as a bastard. Lesser than my other children. Of course, though plenty of people knew about me, I doubted they realized that Jon Snow was on track to be my equal if not one day outpace me. But that feeling of people looking down on him had left its mark. I’d seen it when his soul had settled enough to trigger a Soul Gaze.

Jon’s soul was always reaching. Always climbing. Always trying to conquer the next obstacle in his path. I had seen him determinedly climbing the steps inside what looked like the Winterfell crypts, only the steps never ended and voices of dead Starks always told him he did not belong there. That he wasn’t one of them.

In another that might have worried me. But Jon lacked avarice or greed. His drive was to prove himself a good person against those who might dismiss him as tainted for his illegitimate birth. To prove himself strong against those who might think him weak because they thought a bastard could never be as good as a true born child. Against those who thought him dull witted because for some reason I have never understood there are a lot of folks who think you can’t be both obscenely attractive and intelligent.

The trick in handling Jon would be to teach him to accept failures with grace and learn from them. And to not think less of himself because of them. Unfortunately he was a boy with a natural tendency towards brooding solemnity who was also still in the angsty teen years. And I’d thought Benji was bad at that age!

Jon broke off a slab of the glass and lifted it up to the sunlight. It was cloudy, rife with inclusions and still had some dirt clinging to the back. He scowled at it.

“Did you truly think you’d instantly be able to make flawless sheets of glass? Maybe something at least as good as what Maester Luwin has the glassworks producing?” He grimaced. “You’re not focusing on the right thing. You just melted a pile of sand into molten glass in under a minute. Think of how hot the glass furnace has to be to do that. And it still takes far longer.”

We’d come out here, away from the castle, the fields and definitely away from the woods to practice his fire magic. Robb was back at Winterfell acting as Lord Stark in my place. It would be good practice for him and I was close enough I could get back in relatively little time if need be. Just me, Jon, Ser Arthur and two wagons carrying about a third of the last shipment of sand from Dorne. The night before I’d had the kid use force and wind to empty the wagons, an exercise in patience and frustration as sand was a bitch to control that way. Today I had him pour fire into the lot, reducing the piles of sand into a molten pool which he then cooled off with more wind magic.

He’d overdone it on the last. It had cooled so quickly that it had cracked in multiple places. Eh. It’s a learning process. That’s why it’s called ‘learning’ and ‘practice’.

He wiped at his brow. He had worked up a sweat and he was looking tired. “Take a breather. Drink some water.” I ruffled his hair, gamely ignoring the residual warmth still rising from the glass. Jon sighed and walked towards our tents and supplies.

Arthur came closer, eyes taking in the glass. The center was still slightly aglow, not fully cooled. “You Starks are a frightening lot.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“And I am thankful for that.” Purple eyes were dark with memories. “I shudder to think what the Mad King could have done with such power. His own or if he’d gotten his claws into Jon.”

“He didn’t. He’s dead and gone, and Jon is here. Safe in the North.”

I felt Arthur’s eyes on the side of my face. “If he’s so safe, why do you act as though you’re preparing him for war?”

I glowered. Wizards are good at grumpy. “Because there will always be some fool spoiling for a fight.”

Though there were fewer idiots daring to come into the North these days, there were still attempts. They’d stopped trying to come through the Neck (took them long enough). There had been a few who tried to come through White Harbor or at the twin ports held by Ryswell or Flint in hopes of avoiding the marshes, swamps and wildlife of the Neck. They were forced to turn back after getting into the wilds where I could discourage them without disrupting the lives of my people too much. Wolves, bears and boars are dead useful for such things.

The Warging was an interesting difference. Between my current life and the last, I mean. I hadn’t possessed such a gift before. Because they were animals the Law against mental control did not come into play. And even here there was an innate understanding that such actions against a human mind was anathema. Rivers and I still spoke, though rarely, and he’d explained that Warging into the mind of a person was considered a perversion of the gift. It could leave permanent damage which was something wizards back on Earth knew as well. I was reminded of Molly’s clumsy actions when she’d been ignorant of the Laws and had tried to use her powers to scare her friends away from drugs. The poor kids never fully recovered from the damage she’d wrought on their psyches.

I bent down and picked up one of the pieces of glass. The kid had talent. I’d done something similar in my old life. More than once though the most terrifying time had been against a ghoul after he and his band has attacked our training camp. I’d just come back from tracking the ones that had gotten away. They’d gotten two of the kids we’d been training and had started eating them. To say I’d been angry would be a massive understatement.

To melt a large amount of sand into glass took a great amount of heat and energy. Over three thousand degrees in what we Americans called ‘Fahrenheit’. About seventeen hundred degrees in the Celsius measurement used by most of the rest of the world. Westeros didn’t truly have such units of measurement just yet. They understood the concept of higher temperatures as they did forge metals and make glass, but they didn’t yet have an effective way to apply a unit of measurement to it. I’d planted that bug in Luwin and Marwyn’s heads and they were no doubt putting their minds to it, but there was nothing official just yet. To give you a frame of reference, that’s hotter than the lava that spews forth from a volcanic eruption, which can run thirteen hundred to twenty-two hundred degrees Fahrenheit (roughly seven hundred to twelve hundred degrees Celsius). That Jon had been able to call forth fire hot enough to melt two wagon loads of fine sand like this would terrify me if I wasn’t absolutely certain he had his head on straight.

My nephew was definitely my bruiser. Robb was no slouch, he could freeze a sizable lake firm enough to bear substantial weight if need be, but Jon was the heavy hitter. The result of getting his gifts from both sides of the bloodline. I could see where Arthur was coming from. In the wrong hands, raised by the Wong person with the wrong set of values, Jon could have turned out completely different.

We finished our day with a brace of hares roasted over the camp fire and some root vegetables that had been wrapped in thick leaves and buried under the coals at the edge for most of the day to roast. Simple but filling fare that was a damn sight better than trail rations.

Jon gazed into the fire, his expression distant. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

He swallowed his bite of rabbit. “Why did he do it?”

He didn’t need to clarify. The kids had kept The Secret, but that meant he didn’t have many chances to ask questions. And of course he had questions.

I took a swig of ale. “In some ways, he was suffering from madness as well. Not like Aerys, not that way, but in his own way.”

Arthur sighed. “Rhaegar was obsessed with prophecy. There was one involving dire warnings of some great darkness threatening the world and believed his children were needed to fight it. But he needed three, and Princess Elia could not risk another babe.”

Given how she appeared to be thriving when she’d visited, I had my doubts that was still the case. I’d mentioned it in conversation with the maesters when we were musing over various matters one day and Marwyn had put forth a dark grumble about possible foul play. The man truly did believe there was a conspiracy to undermine the Targaryens and that the ones behind it had been willing to use poison to interfere with the family’s ability to have children. If he were right, then getting her and Rhaenys out of the Red Keep and back to Dorne had been a mercy.

“So he took Lyanna Stark because he needed another child.” Jon scowled at the fire.

I offered him the skin of ale. “Princess Elia told me that he could charm just about anyone into anything. And your mother was still essentially a child. She didn’t blamed Lya for what happened. She knew exactly who was at fault. It was Elia who gave me the information that helped me to find her and Dorne has kept quiet about you.”

“But why her? Why Lyanna Stark?”

“Because prophecies are a pain in the ass. Don’t ever take a prophecy at face value, kid. He got hung up on some line about fire and ice and convinced himself that meant House Targaryen, who used to fly giant, fire breathing dragons, and House Stark, who were called the Kings of Winter. Got it in his head that he needed a child of those bloodlines.”

Arthur’s expression was sad and remorseful as he looked into the flames as well. “He was certain you were to be a daughter. Planned to name you Visenya to go with Aegon and Rhaenys.”

“Your mother chose Jon. Rhaegar hadn’t even thought of a name for a son. Didn’t think it likely to happen. I was with Lyanna as she thought of what to name you. She chose Jon because it is a name Starks have used before, but isn’t so weighed down by history so as to give you room to be your own man.”

I smoothed his curls. “She would be proud of you, Jon. Never doubt it.”

“Will I be like them? Like Aerys and Rhaegar…and others. Will I go mad?”

I didn’t blame him for worrying. “I highly doubt it. You’re stable. Sure. And before you the houses weren’t related at all. That helps.”

“How so?”

“Think about it. You know how the kennel master makes sure never to let dogs from the same parent mate? Same as the stable masters and the herdsmen with their livestock.”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

Jon frowned. “Because…the pups or foals might come out wrong. Misshapen or…not right.”

“Exactly. People are just another kind of animal. Quite different, but still animals. Why should we be any different? You can see it when it happens sometimes. People who don’t act quite right. Or don’t look quite right. Often sickly. Often women from incestuous pairings have trouble bearing children of their own. There’s a lot of history indicating Targaryen women struggled there as well.” Though if Marwyn was right sone of that could be attributed to outside factors as well.

“Lyanna and Rhaegar were as distant bloodline wise as they could get. That should go a long way in protecting you from such things.” I smiled. “And if a certain foreign beauty continues to hold your attention, the next generation should be even more so.” Jon’s cheeks colored a bright pink that went all the way to his ears and my smile broadened. “And other talents pass on from parent to child as well. Why, with you two I wouldn’t be surprised if Moat Calin one day becomes known for being home to a line of bardic farmers.”

A raven arrived to give warning. It reached me more than a moon before Jon Arryn set his first foot off the gangplank and onto Northern soil in White Harbor. A sizable entourage came with him. Through the eyes of the various beasts and the weirwoods I could tell what banners were with him. His own, of course, but also Baratheon, Crakehall, Tarly and Lannister. Oh. And Sunglass. Joy.

“You look less than pleased.”

Lord William Dustin was paying a visit to Winterfell as well as a few others. For Williamit was to introduce his nephew and let the boy say his vows to me in person. Young lord Domeric’s idea more than his, I’d wager. The boy seemed determined not to be lumped into the same lot as his late and unlamented father. He’d even told me that he wanted to change his family’s standard, though he’d not yet settled on exactly to what. Definitely no more crucified and flayed man, though.

“Can’t be anything good about this visit.”

“The Lord Hand was your foster father, was he not? I thought you were in good standing with him.”

I couldn’t keep the grimace from my face. Annoying. I was Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I should be able to keep my face as impassive and unchanging as the frozen fjords in the northernmost portions of my holdings. But sometimes human expressions won out. Usually only when dealing with my children, which was fine. You are allowed to smile and laugh when interacting with your children. Especially with the little cyclones that were my youngest three. Rickon was just walking well, which meant if you blinked you’d lose him.

“The raven was vague. Only that he’s coming here to discuss concerns raised by other parties at court.”

William’s expression darkened to match my own. “You think there is going to be trouble?”

“Not sensing anything yet, but Sunglass doesn’t like me.”

“Pious prick.”

“Exactly.”

We walked down from the parapets to the walkway over the training yard. Arthur was just finishing up with the boys’ training, Domeric included. William waved his nephew to join us as soon as the boy, man really, had put away his gear. He wasn’t the most handsome young man I’d ever seen, but he wasn’t hideous. He had the Bolton pale, watery eyes and his lips were a bit too fleshy for the rest of his face, but overall he was okay. Thanks in great part by thick, glossy hair that was black enough to have almost blue highlights. Of course I might have been biased given that I’d somehow managed to wind up in a family thick with attractive people when myself and most male Starks were usually only better than average. Catelyn’s Tully looks had helped out most of our children and I had a deep fear that Arya was going to turn out just as gorgeous as my sister.

Mental note: Hide Arya from Robert when she got older.

We went to my tower. “How are you feeling about being Lord Bolton, Domeric?”

The young man kept a calm, almost elegant bearing. It helped. It made him look the part of a lord. A Northern lord, which was usually a bit rougher around d the edges, but still a lord. “I am prepared, Lord Stark.”

Heh. “Famous last words. No one is ever truly prepared for authority. You just get saddled with it and end up doing your best trying not to make a co*ck up of it. But I like your spirit.” I saw William do his best to cover a grin. Gods, had we ever been this young?

Young Bolton gave a nod and looked a little less certain. “Of course. I…I would like to change my standard. If that’s allowed.”

Huh. “Don’t see why it wouldn’t be. What did you have in mind?”

“I..don’t know just yet. I do know that I no longer with to have it be a crucified and flayed man. And my house words should change as well, though that seems harder.”

Nice. A good sign. “Well, think on what you want to be known for. If it makes you feel better, my Jon has the same problem facing him. There hasn’t been a Lord Calin for centuries. Not truly. He has to figure those things out as well. They can seem trivial in the grand scheme of things, but when the nobles gather or you are called to war, the pageantry is expected and somewhat required.”

We went up to the map room. “You might want to hold out until til you’re settled into your keep.” I pointed out where the Dread Fort was located. “Get a feel of the place, first.” It should be fine. I’d taken three separate trips to the place and had cleansed it. There had been some nasty sh*t brewing there. Shades and specters of long dead victims who had clung to the stones and mortar. Left alone, the miasma from them may have played a big part in how the Bolton’s behaved. It would have been damn difficult to be a good man in that place.

“Hey, Kid, look at me.”

Domeric looked up from studying Little North, most people needed a moment to admire it, and met my eyes. I held his gaze deliberately until the Soul Gaze was triggered.

Domeric Bolton was not a monster. He wasn’t exactly a gentle flower, he had courage, but he would be what folks in my old life would consider ‘cultured’. He liked music, which I had learned last night when he’d gotten into a friendly competition with Jon, and poetry. He enjoyed studying philosophy and had he not been a first born son might have found contentment as a maester. But he would not shirk from his duties. He was also prepared to be stripped of his title by virtue of his father’s actions, but I could tell he also wanted to prove he was not the same. He was young, but the foundation was strong. This was a good boy who could become a good man.

Now that the Dread Fort was a lot less dreadful, he just might have a fighting chance.

The Soul Gaze ended and he blinked at me. His breathing a was a bit shaky, but he wasn’t fainting or screaming. Always a good sign.

I smiled at him and tapped the table a bit away from the model of the Dread Fort at a rocky area where some hot springs and fissures were found. “And you might want to check this place out first. Before you decide on a new banner and words. My brother, Benjen, will be sending a crew of his people to help you with that.”

Domeric and William both frowned. “Why, Lord Stark?”

I shrugged. “Call it a hunch, but I think there’s something interesting to be found there. A bit down. You’ll have to dig in…oh…maybe the height of four average men? Maybe five.”

Domeric frowned at the spot. William just looked at me. “What are you on about, Ned?”

“Well I’m not going to just tell him. Where’s the fun in that?” Dustin folded his arms. “I spend most of my time being pulled this way and that by bannemen, smallfolk and whatever chaos my children get up to. And I have the Lord Hand and his entourage prissy Sothrons riding this way.” I tapped the area on the Kings Road where they were currently moving. “Should be here within another sennight. Let me have my amusem*nts where I can find them. I won’t steer the lad wrongly. If it was something that could bring him harm or sorrow, I would have already dealt with it.”

William snorted and shook his head. He waved at the table. “How do you know where Arryn is?”

I wriggled my fingers cryptically. “I know everything.”

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

“Lord Arryn and Lord Renly will be given rooms in the main keep, of course. The other ranking lords will be in the guest house and the rest of their retinues will be housed in the First Keep.”

“Sounds reasonable, dear.”

“Sansa will be helping me with entertaining the ladies with them. I haven’t seen Lysa in years, and I’ve yet to meet my nephew. Li, make certain the household staff has put fresh lavender in the Arryns’ rooms. My sister often has headaches and the scent will help soothe her.”

Xian Li nodded with a demure ‘yes, Lady Stark’ and made a notation on her tablet. After our discussion Cat had taken the girl under her wing and had her join Sansa in shadowing her in her duties so that she might learn how to manage a keep and household. It was adorable watching her and Sansa following after my wife hither and yon.

“Ned, your boots are covered in mud! Your trousers, too!”

I looked down at my feet. “It rained last night. The yard is muddy.” She gave me a look that told me she found that reasoning insufficient. “I’ll just go change, shall I.”

Cat followed me, almost like she didn’t trust me to dress myself. Which was just ridiculous. I could select something suitably fancy to greet arriving guests. Robert wasn’t actually coming, though I did wonder how Jon Arryn had talked him out of it, so it wasn’t as though I had to be fully tricked out. Just reasonably well dressed. More Mr. Sam than Jeff Bezos.

“Ned, children.”

I looked over at my wife as I stripped out of my dirtied clothes. “I’m sure they’ll all behave. Even Arya. You’ve put the fear of you in them enough for that.”

“Of course they’ll behave. But Jon and Robb. I had to let out most of their clothes again.” She put back the brown tunic I’d chosen and replaced it with one in green and gray. People often forgot that our banners had a green field.

“They are still young. It’s not uncommon for them to be growing still.”

“They already have half a head on other boys their age.” She gave me a concerned look. “Do you think they’ll get as tall as you?”

Huh. I thought my height was some oddness dealing with mixing the me that had been six-foot-nine with the me that was Ned Stark. It wasn’t genetic, or at least it wouldn’t have been when Robb was conceived and shouldn’t be for Jon.

Then again…magic did usually have a tell. I wasn’t in a position to be shorting out cell phones or blowing out electric lights here, but that had just been the way things were in the early twenty-first century. I also hadn’t developed any skin blemishes nor was milk curdling in my presence.

Was this the ‘tell’ here? “Could be. It’s still early to know. They could just be tall boys.” She didn’t look relieved at the notion. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m still shorter than Walder or the GreatJon.”

“What about the girls?”

“What about them?”

“What abou…Ned! They’re girls! They shouldn’t be…”. She waved her hands to indicate my frame.

Ah. Yeah, that might make some people uneasy. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Cat. Especially not with Sansa. She could grow taller than the GreatJon and still be the most beautiful woman in all the world.”

My wife looked less than convinced. But we had guests approaching.

It didn’t take long to change into something more presentable. Our guests were arriving soon. In point of fact, the calls that they were spotted sounded out even as I had donned the fresh tunic and surcoat. I quickly affixed the direwolf broach that was my badge of office as Warden of the North as I left our quarters and hurried down to the Bailey. Taking care not to get overly muddy again.

My children lined up with a squirming Rickon in Cat’s arms to my left and the rest lined up on my right starting with Robb. Catelyn did try to speak about proprieties and such but I still had them in order of birth including Jon rather than push him to the back with the servants or armsmen. f*ck proper. He was my kid and I wouldn’t act as though I was ashamed of him.

The gates into Winterfell were likely plenty large enough when they were first built, but some things had gotten larger over time. Some of the fancier wheelhouses (and siege engines) were now too large to pass through so my good sister and a few others had to exit their cushy rides to walk the rest of the way in. An unexpected boon of my ancestors as it would be an inconvenience to an attacking force.

I hadn’t seen Lysa since the joint wedding years ago. At that time she’d looked miserable with her eyes puffy and red from crying. She’d been against her marriage to Lord Arryn, a man older than her own father. I recalled something about her having been ‘despoiled’, an outdated concept around her no longer being a virgin. I didn’t wholly agree with the view. In the present setting I understood it, as the few methods of contraception available were mostly bupkiss and moon tea, a type of herbal concoction that could prevent conception or even act as an abortifacient, could be extremely harmful if prepared improperly.

Look, it was her body to do with as she chose. But given the very real danger of pregnancy, the infant and maternal death rates in labor and the added risk of sexually transmitted diseases, abstinence was a very sound policy if your weren’t married and monogamy if you were. This was Westeros. You couldn’t fix most things with a round of penicillin. They didn’t have the penicillin.

Life had not been kind to Lysa. She’d put on weight, but that wasn’t necessarily bad. In this setting it could even be argued to be a sign that you were well off enough to have plenty to eat and no need for manual labor. Same thing for how fairer skin became popular in many cultures because it meant you didn’t have to work in the fields under the blistering sun. What didn’t help was her expression. She looked as though she constantly sucked on lemons. She looked miserable and unhappy to a spiteful level and when she took in the line of mine and Cat’s children I could almost feel the envy pouring from her.

Jon Arryn approached first and I gave a respectful nod. “Lord Arryn, Winterfell welcomes you.” As though on cue Xian Li stepped forward with a platter of bread and salt. Whereas we might have such a task designated to a servant, Yi-Ti considered it more polite to extend host and hostess customs either directly yourselves or by another family member. Having her bring forth the bread and salt was a melding of the two cultures. And she was eager to partake in such things as part of her learning.

Lord Arryn partook of guest rights as did Lysa. I noticed my nephew, young Robert Arryn. Lysa seemed to have the kid glued to her side. He seemed a bit peakey. I think he was about a year younger than our Brandon, though he lacked our boys’ robustness.

Everyone partook of guest rites in turn. Even Lord Sunglass, as much as it galled him to do so, and a slight fellow named Petyr Baelish. He was Robert’s Master of Coin and he was not my friend. I had been watching him, by wierwood and by beast. He was a slimy git. On par with the slipperiest Sidhe lord, criminal defense attorney or politician. I’d observed him feeling out the various members of Lord Arryn’s entourage to see who he might manipulate. Fortunately most of the lords seemed disinterested in him. Sunglass might be his best bet, but even that lord seemed to dislike him. I suspect it was because Sunglass was a religious man and Petyr Baelish was known to own multiple brothels.

One surprise, however, was just who was representing House Lannister. I’d heard of Lord Tyrion, of course, but I’d never met him before. I’d been aware of his dwarfism but I also knew that Jaime loved his brother and considered him to be quite clever. The man’s wheelhouse was too large to fit through the gates so he’d had to waddle up. He didn’t seem to mind and had a pretty girl with the Lannister look with him. She might have been about Arya’s age but carried herself more like Sansa and was impeccably dressed.

“Lord Tyrion.”

“Lord Stark.” He smiled up, his mismatched eyes sparkling. Xian Li bent down with the bread and salt. “Thank you, dear girl.” He took a bit of bread, pressed it to the salt and ate. “My niece, Joy Hill. She was kind enough to accompany me here so I wouldn’t feel so homesick for family.”

Joy Hill also took guest rites though I saw her studying Li’s exotic countenance and her dress, a brilliant combination of Yi-Ti style adapted to Northern furs and fibers for warmth, with open curiosity. Sansa and her sewing circle had great fun with the challenge.

“You are both welcome.” I made the introductions and I saw the surprise on young Joy’s face when I introduced my second son as Jon Snow, a bastard same as her. Her surprise turned into happiness and she looked down at her uncle who gave her a wink and an affectionate squeeze on her hand.

Guests were shown to their quarters to freshen up from the journey before the welcoming feast. Several of my bannermen were here. The Dustin’s stayed with the young Lord Bolton. The Manderlys, of course. Jorah Mormont was present with his new bride who was, funnily enough, Benjen’s good sister, Myra Wull. Like her sister she had a simple, honest prettiness to her and wasn’t afraid of hard work being from hardy clan stock. Cerwyn had come up with Arryn, having joined them when they passed his lands, and the Glovers had come with Mormont. There were a lot of loud, brash Northmen. I’m sure our Sothron guests found us…discomforting.

Meh. They’d adjust.

“There are…concerns, Ned. About the North. About you.”

Tell me something I can’t figure out on my own. “There is nothing to be concerned about.”

“Ned, the tales that came to Kingslanding after the battle at Pyke…”. Arryn shook his head. “They say you used sorcery to tear down Greyjoy’s castle.”

“That’s absurd. It was one wall. And a chair.” I picked up the chunk of oily black rock I kept as a paperweight on my desk. I had kept three. The other two were in my tower. We were presently in my solar in the main keep. “I still can’t figure out what it is. I thought maybe basalt at first, but that isn’t it.” I turned it over in my hands. “I don’t know what this stuff is. It’s the same type of rock making up the base of the High Tower down in Old Towne, right? I asked Luwin and Marwyn and they tell me know one knows where the black rock comes from.”

Jon sighed. “Ned, this is serious. You are making enemies with this talk of magic! There are people calling for your head!”

“Really?” I looked up. “I’m surprised they have the guts. I heard what Robert threatened to do to Sunglass if he didn’t shut his mouth.”

“They don’t say it around the King, of course.” He sat down in his chair. Jon Arryn was far too old to still be dealing with the stresses of being Hand of the King. It was taking a toll on him. “It’s mostly grumbling in their own private gatherings and to members of the Small Council. If Robert actually held court more often, there would be less of it.”

“Maybe you should have him do that. Less drinking and more ruling would be good for him.”

He did not look amused. “You were the stoic and serious one, Eddard Stark. If I wanted irreverence, I would have remained in Kingslanding with Robert!”

“Fine.” I set the chunk of Seastone Chair back onto my desk. “What burr has gotten wedged in their trousers?”

He let the phrasing slide. “Rumors of beasts chasing people from the North.”

“Only if they come with ill intentions. As long as they behave themselves, there is no danger. And only fools try to navigate the Neck. None but the Crannogmen know that place.” And myself, of course.

“They claim they can feel unseen eyes upon them the moment the cross.”

“I stop watching once I’m certain the person doing the crossing isn’t an active threat. Mostly.”

He stared at me. “You don’t deny it?”

“Why would I deny it? If those who would try to harm the North and her people think even our wildlife will defend us or that their every move will be scrutinized, so be it. Maybe then they’ll keep their asses out of the North.” I took up a pitcher of mulled cider and poured some out for each of us. “What else are they saying?”

Arryn pinched the bridge of his nose. My grandfather did that from time to time. Ebenezer McCoy, not Edwyle Stark. Sadly I had no memories of Edwyle.

“The Reach has noticed that you are purchasing less from them. I brought Lord Tarly along because he was the first to say that it made sense. He was the one that spoke on the expense of shipping food that far and how much is lost to spoilage in transit. And how the North is all but completely isolated during a true Winter when travel is made impossible by the snows and ice so it makes sense that you’d seek ways to provide for yourselves. Said that a man should not be scorned for properly managing his own lands.”

“Glad to hear someone down there is actually using their mind.”

“You impressed him. Both by your actions during Robert’s war and the Greyjoy uprising.”

“Well, I’m not going to apologize for feeding my people. Do you know happens in the North if we don’t have enough food stored up for a Winter?” Jon didn’t answer. “The old men ‘go out to hunt’. They take whatever weapons and armor they feel can be spared and go out into that snow and ice to die so that they don’t eat what food there is. Suicide by cold so that their children and grandchildren have a fighting chance at surviving. I will not be pressured into apologizing for doing everything within my power to prevent my people from facing such necessity.”

“By using witchcraft?”

“By any means necessary. And it’s not witchcraft. Witches have talent, some of them at any rate, but they aren’t the same as me. I’m a wizard.”

Arryn scowled. “Like those men in Essos. The House of the Undying?”

I couldn’t keep the grimace off my face. “No. Those are warlocks. Sorcerers at best. Though I suspect charlatans is a better title. I don’t know enough about them to be completely honest. I haven’t allowed them into the North and I’m hardly in a position to just pack my trunks and take a trip over to Essos to see for myself. I’ve got too much to do.”

“How can you be so…magic, Ned? I did not raise you this way.”

“To be fair , you only had me from the age of eight until the war. Before then I grew up here. Steeped in Northern traditions and beliefs. And the North remembers, Jon. That phrase exists for a reason. Below the Neck most of you may have forgotten the past, but we haven’t. Not completely. Oh, we were getting close. But thanks to my efforts, they are remembering.”

“You are actually proud of this? Do you not realize how fearful the Sothron lords are of you?”

“Clearly not too fearful. Not considering who came with you. The King’s own brother, and I believe he’s brought the youngest Tyrell boy with him. Tarly is well respected and has brought both of his sons. And although Tywin Lannister may famously despise his younger son, I know for a fact that Jaime adores his brother. Sunglass? Well, he was the first to call for my head. Robert shut him down at Pyke and he’s on my turf here.”

“Your…turf?”

I ignored the slip. I’d found it easier than explaining. Unless you were Luwin. He still took notes.

“I’m not going to feel shamed for embracing my natural talents. Read the histories of House Stark. Or, if you’ve not the time for that, I can arrange for you to break your fast with Old Nan. She’s likely forgotten more about the North and House Stark than most everyone else has ever learned combined. Lord Umber said it best when he told Robert there were always queer tales about us. And that mere men do not build such things as Winterfell, Storms End or The Wall.”

“You are not a god, Ned.”

“Who said I was? I never did. Wouldn’t want to be. Something tells me that being a god wouldn’t be any better of a deal than being a king. People always praying and begging for things. Rain. Good harvest. End to Winter. Strike down my enemies, I beg of you, oh god!” I delivered that last with a proper amount of melodrama and a flourish of my arms. Arryn did not seem to appreciate it. Tough room.

“Jon, you’re worried, I understand. You no doubt fear some corruption has blackened my soul. It hasn’t. What I know I use to better the North. I merely have taken advantage of the bonds existing between my house’s blood and the North. Aiding my people in making the best of what we have. Working smarter, not harder.”

Yeah, corporate buzz words and phrases didn’t always work here.

“There is a method and reasoning behind all I do.” I got up and tidied up the pitcher a tankards. Mainly I wanted to be turned away from Jon when I reached out. I’d been told my eyes went white when I warged or looked through the trees, and it could be unsettling.

They’d come to a stop to camp. My new friend and the companion traveling with her made sure to remain on the opposite side of the camp from the others as the horses could grow skittish.

“What reasoning?”

“It’s a complicated tale.” I released my connection and turned back around. “But I’m expecting another party in…three days if the weather holds. They will help me with the clarifications.”

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

I was aware that most high borns treated marriage and betrothals as business deals. I’d been victim of that myself. Not just as Ned, but as Harry. I had only been legally married once on my old life. I had wanted to marry Susan, Maggie’s mother, but she turned me down. She had good reasons. I would most definitely have married Karrin, or at least asked her, though she might have been hesitant given her own three failed marriages. I would never know because a brainless idiot killed her before I could ask.

My one marriage had been to Lara Wraith, my half-brother’s older sister. Yeah, I know that sounds a little Targaryen-esque, but it wasn’t. My old boss, Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness, had decreed it would happen when Lara voiced she wanted a closer relationship with the Winter Court of the Fae. Mab’s answer had been to marry her to me, her Knight. It wasn’t what either of us had expected.

Lara was a White Court Vampire. Instead of blood like the Red Court or Black Court, White Court vamps fed on life energy with the various families having different tastes. Wraith preferred that which was generated by lust and desire. They fed through sex and intimate contact.

Funny thing. The life sucking demon inside them that made them white court couldn’t feed off someone touched by genuine love. When two people in real love were intimate with one another, their souls mingled and a sort of protective essence was left on one another. It could even imprint on tokens of love such as wedding rings. Lara had a scar on her palm from picking up the wrong ring one time and Thomas told me of another relative of his who fell seriously ill after being pricked by the thorns of a rose that had been a token of affection between two people in love. It might not stop an arrow or a sword blade, but it could help guard you against the attack of something preternatural. You could lose it by having casual sex with no real love involved.

Twice I had enjoyed such protection. Lara proved it both times. I burned her once because of the touch left on me by Susan and again by the touch left on me by Karrin. I was pretty sure I enjoyed it now. I may not have loved Catelyn in the beginning, I hadn’t known her, but I’d always been drawn to strong women who knew how to get things done. And it was impossible not to love Cat. She was amazing.

So, as someone who knew for a fact that real love was both powerful and important, I was not going to feel bad about wanting my children to find it for themselves. And I wasn’t going to feel bad about refusing to treat them like game pieces on a cyvass board.

“The rumors are that you plan to give your bastard Moat Calin.”

Tarly was looking down onto the training yard,watching the teens and young men sparring under Ser Arthur’s watchful eye.

“Aye. That is my intention.”

“Have you given thought to his bride?”

Renly leaned a hip against the railing as Robb squared off with his squire, Loras Tyrell. “I believe Robert once mentioned he would like to see his bastard from the Vale for your boy. What is her name…Manda?”

“Mya. Though I suspect I will have to disappoint His Grace. I believe Jon has his eye turned elsewhere.” Not to mention Jon and Mya didn’t even know one another. Not happening.

“That will shatter hearts everywhere. You should let us take him back with us to Kingslanding for a year or two. I heard Lord Tyrion last night saying how he would like to see his sister’s face when she learns a Northern bastard has supplanted their brother as the most handsome man in Westeros.”

“Jon would not enjoy that. He has gotten better about it, but he still finds the attention people pay to his pretty face discomfiting.” I tried to bite back a smile and failed. “And as his father I fully exercise my right to tease him about it. As do his siblings.”

That earned a few chuckles from the gathering. Lord Sunglass merely scowled. “Do you not worry that giving him such a significant holding might lead him to desiring more?”

Not this bullsh*t again. I turned around and leaned back on the railing. “Why would it? Sure, the lands there are not what most would desire, a large portion of it is marsh and standing water, but the rice our friends from Yi-Ti have brought over thrives there, increasing the overall value. The castle has come along nicely. I have complete faith that Jon will do well there.” And he would be responsible for keeping an eye on who came into the North from that route. Robert gave me his blessing. No take backs.

Tarly was watching Jon sparring against the Tyrell boy. Both were slender in build and quick on their feet. It was a good match up if you just wanted to put them through their paces. Jon had a slight edge by benefit of regular training against stockier, heavier opponents. He could take a beating and keep going. “Who is the bride you’ve in mind?”

“As it stands, young Li. The Guan family has taken quite the leap of faith in leaving all they know behind to start over here, but the North isn’t known for being welcoming to outsiders. If Jon and Li continue to get on well, a union between them would be beneficial.”

The man considered this and gave a deep nod. “It would bind the Yi-Tish to the North while also showing that he respects the people working his lands. Shrewd given their importance. I had heard of the crop but paid it little attention as it was not grown in the Reach. What dishes offered last night and this morning were…pleasant.”

“And pretty.” Renly was watching the boys as well. “Those little dumplings that looked like flowers would be popular at any feast table in the South. The ladies would adore them. How do they get the colors?”

“I don’t know the intricacies of it. I think they boil vegetables that have color themselves. Beets. Red cabbages. Some herbs. Use the water to make the dough. It’s not enough to impact the flavors, just to make them pretty. And they do like pretty. From what I can tell they pride themselves on aesthetics in many things. Their food. Their clothing. How they lay out their fields and their homes. Even in hand motions when doing tasks such as greeting a visitor to their home. You came up from White Harbor so you didn’t see the Neck. It’s…changing. In a good way.” A charming mix of Northern and Yi-Tish construction. Unique unto itself. And mysterious to an outsider. Mysterious was good. It gave most men pause.

Jon eventually managed to get Loras to yield, but it was a near thing. Tarly hummed. “Both of your elder boys show promise.”

“Ser Arthur is a harsh but skilled task master. I’m fortunate to have him.”

“And generous of spirit. To take him into your service as his penance for the part he played in your sister’s fate.”

It was bound to come up. “He was Kingsguard, bound to his oaths. Oaths that I think are sh*te.” There were startled noises all around. “I said what I said. Knights are supposed to defend the weak and the innocent. To stamp out evil doers. But if you’re a knight sworn to an evil doer in a crown, all your other oaths get chucked out the window? f*ck that.”

Sunglass looked affronted. Renly looked amused. Tarly looked contemplative. “A Kingsguard should have fulfilled Aerys’ order to set off the wildfire. Not kill him.”

“Exactly! Finally, someone else says it. Thank you.” I gave Tarly a bow of my head. “And it was on those grounds that I told Ser Arthur that Jaime was more of a knight than the rest of them combined. Fortunately Arthur was wise enough to think for himself and recognize they were in the wrong. He was the one who ultimately got rid of Whent and Hightower by telling them just that.”

Renly scoffed. “And you let them leave.”

“I would have been even less use to my sister were I dead at their hands. And I’d lost enough men as it was. I didn’t want to lose any more Northmen to Sothron swords. The war was over. We won. Robert was king.”

“And what if they return with Viserys?”

“They will come back to a realm enjoying peace and without a king with a penchant for burning people alive for any perceived slight. Unless he’s undergone a drastic change since the Iron Born uprising. I do not expect they would find as much support as they might hope.”

I would be more concerned about them outing Jon as Rhaegar’s son. The kid didn’t need that headache.

“My brother considers it a true threat to the Realm.”

Of course he did. “Lord Renly, in many ways I consider His Grace a brother, but in this we will have to agree to disagree. The Targaryens conquered Westeros because they had dragons. The dragons are gone. They no longer have the power to bring us to heel. And, unfortunately for Viserys, people will always remember his father and wonder if he’s not the same.”

True, he had Hightower and Whent, and they were good, but two men were nothing against the armies.

Renly managed to look grim and unconcerned at the same time. He would have done well in a Wallstreet meeting room back on Earth. “He is also a Targaryen. Not everyone agreed with the rebellion.”

“He might be able to rally Dorne, maybe. Might even take the Reach.” I gestured negligently towards Tarly who said nothing. “But that’s all. The Stormlands have one of their own on the throne. You’re not going anywhere. The Vale is loyal to Jon Arryn and Robert. The North follows me and House Tully is bound by marriage to the North and the Vale. And the Westerlands are not going to go against House Lannister. Jaime is too popular, Lord Tywin is too intimidating and Cersei is queen.”

Renly grimaced. “You have not spent much time in Her Grace’s company. She is not nearly so well loved as her twin.”

“Hard to be more impressive than a boy of six and ten who saved an entire city of nearly half a million souls. Unless the queen suddenly developed the power to heal the sick, make the lame walk and restore sight to the blind, I doubt she could.”

Sunglass bowed up like an angry cat but said nothing as Renly threw his head back and laughed. It wasn’t uncommon to not get along with your in laws, but I remembered Jaime talking about his sister. I had no doubt he cared for her, they were siblings. Twins, to be exact. But he wasn’t blind to her faults and flaws. He described her as spoiled and what we back home would consider entitled. Perhaps even a smattering of narcissism.

Tarly finally spoke. “One should not forget that with the North, His Grace has you. Those who remember Pyke have seen what you can do.”

I made a so-so motion with my hand. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but one should not hinge all things on one wizard. The Targaryens made that mistake by putting all their hopes on their dragons. It worked while they had them, but if we’re being honest, their downfall started when the last dragon died.”

Tarly narrowed his eyes in thought. “If King Torrhen were like you, would the North have knelt?”

The other lords turned their attention towards me. Waiting. I scratched at my chin as I thought. I pulled up my memories of the meeting between Torrhen Stark and Aegon Targaryen. “Hard to say. There were three dragons. And the dragons were massive. Going by what we know, there was a bond between dragon and rider. I suspect something close to the ability of a warg to bond with animals but limited to dragons only.”

“Warg?”

“A gift that sometimes appears in First Men bloodlines. A warg can bond with animals. See through their eyes. Command them with thought. But it usually isn’t limited to any one type of beast. If a warg only uses one type of animal it’s generally a personal preference. A…man with a respect and affection for horses might only use his with horses. Or a warg might prefer wolves and hounds. The Wildlngs north of the Wall and some of the clans in our mountains will have wargs that tend to prefer birds, which they can use for scouting.” I considered it a bit more. “I do not believe we have any records of the Targs seeing though their dragons’ eyes or hearing through their ears, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t. They might have declined to disclose it.”

I shrugged. “But as to the original question, Aegon had three very large dragons. When that meeting happened, he’d already used them and well. The North is vast, but harsh. If those beasts had been set upon our fields, it would have been devastating. You’d have to take out all three at once. Let even one get off the ground to retaliate and you’d have a problem.”

“Could you have done it?”

Probably. “Possibly. I’d have needed time to prepare. Time to study and research, which may have required me to kneel and play nice. For a time. Until I knew enough to make a swift and decisive action.”

Sunglass looked affronted. “You’d behave with such dishonor?! Break an oath?!”

“An oath made under duress should be expected to be broken. Three dragons are a lot of distress.”

Tarly arched a brow. “Some might say you applied ‘duress’ to Greyjoy when you demanded he swear to King Robert.”

“Sure. You could say that. But given that they practiced piracy and slavery as a matter of course, it was kneel or be eradicated. If he hadn’t pledged I wouldn’t have left the Iron Born standing. There’s a saying in some parts of the North that would apply to them. ‘Some folk just need killing’.” Okay, so that was a saying actually from the American South and Appalachia, but it fit.

Tarly seemed to roll this over in his mind before giving a short, sharp nod. “Understandable. Acceptable.”

Sunglass sputtered. “Acceptable?”

“The Iron Born are a menace. They needed to be brought to heel. And thus far the islands are recovering and improving under the joint control of the Westerlands and the Riverlands. Stark’s suggestion of making them a trading hub is proving successful. The North only has to run their ships to the islands to deliver their goods and purchase Sothron ones and the same goes for ours. Less time on the seas means less time at risk of the various dangers inherent in shipping as well as shorter times to get goods to market.”

I nodded. “As long as they don’t get so greedy that their fees for docking and warehouses eliminate what is saved by using them, everyone should be happy. Any word on the iron itself?”

Tarly grimaced. “They still haven’t taken any steps to improve themselves there, but some ambitious smiths have gone there to take up the slack.”

I sighed. “Still a bunch of lazy f*cks. Wonderful. Hopefully Jaime and Lord Tywin can make something of that kid. What was his name?”

“Theon Greyjoy.”

“Right! I should have been able to remember that one. We’ve had a Theon or two of our own.” I noted that Arthur had called an end to the day’s training. “If they can get the boy’s head on straight, teach him how to properly manage his holdings, it should work out better for all.”

“Father?”

“Aye my little she wolf?”

Arya grinned. It was my favorite nickname for her. Silver was panting happily by her side. “You should take me and Bran riding!”

“Oh, I should, should I? And why would I need to do that?”

“Because then you can get away from the little man.”

Little man. Heh. “You think I want to get away from him?”

She shrugged. “When you are in your solar all day with him and the Hand, you come out with your annoyed face.”

I did not doubt that. Baelish would annoy anyone. The King’s bean counter was determined to annoy me by going over the North’s books line by line. Fortunately I had Catelyn and Vayon Poole who kept excellent records. Even the ledgers sent by Benjen (kept by his clever wife) were pristine. I could account for every dragon and stag. And there were allowances made to offset what I’d invested in things such as improvements on the Kings Road which was technically the Crown’s responsibility. One that had been woefully neglected. Especially in the area formerly known as The New Gift and through Brandon’s Gift leading up to the Wall. As it stood, the Crown was on track to be owing me. I did hope so, because I wanted to see the expression on that smarmy bastard’s face.

“Maybe I should, but we’re about to have more guests.”

My daughter frowned. “Who?”

As if on cue, the watchers on the walls called out that riders were approaching. A moment later they sounded considerably more concerned. I ruffled Arya’s hair and lifted my voice.

“At ease! She’s friendly!” I ignored the mixture of confused and puzzled looks as I escorted my daughter and her pup over the connecting walkways and towards the Bailey, dispatching a page to alert the other children and to fetch Lord Mormont. He had come with his new bride, who was also Benjen’s good sister. Myra Wull was prettier than her sister, and a bit taller. Maybe not quite as solid on sums as her sister, but far from foolish and not afraid to brave the cold wilds of Bear Island.

It took another fifteen minutes for the riders to cross the killing field and pass through both gates from the time they were spotted. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was as stern as my memories declared him to be. He rode with two other brothers of the Night’s Watch and two people in thick furs but decidedly not black ones.

What had alarmed my men padded in behind them. A wolf. Dire wolf to be exact. Nearly as large as Jeor’s destrier and with a thick coat of greys and browns. A small, hooded figure rode astride her, only a bit taller than Arya.

The few people present in the yard shifted nervously but I’d told them not to attack. The wolf stopped long enough for the rider to dismount, then padded closer to me. I heard Arya draw in an excited breath, but I placed a hand on her shoulder to advise her to stay still while extending my other hand to her so she could take in my scent. She did so with a serene, regal air that could have been found in the greatest queens and allowed me to run my fingers into her thick coat.

One of the strangers laughed. A deep, booming laugh. “I know more than one warg who’d be pissing himself with envy if they could see this. Ain’t many of them that can manage a dire wolf. Old Six Skins has three common wolves, but not even he’s managed one of them.”

I bared my teeth in a grin. “It’s all in where your roots come from. I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

Mormont grunted. “Lord Stark, this is Tormund Giantsbane, a respected leader amongst the Wildlings. And this is Karsi of the Ice River clans. They agreed to accept your invitation to come and talk.”

I nodded to them and motioned for Li to come closer. She had stopped to get the bread and salt once the pages had alerted them as ordered. “Welcome to Winterfell. To you as well, Lord Commander. Will you partake in guest rights?”

Mormont stripped off his gloves. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t entirely convinced of my idea to ask members of the Free Folk to meet with me, but he’d done as I has asked. Once he’d eaten his own bite of bread and salt he stepped aside to greet his son for the first time since his abdication as Lord Mormont.

The other two Night’s Watchmen and the Free Folk took their bites of bread and salt. I looked to the hooded figure. “Are you able to partake in bread and salt, or should I send for something else better suited to your needs?” I hadn’t thought to ask Rivers what they ate. Or to look into it myself. It just never crossed my mind.

The figure came forward and the others parted way to allow it. Dainty, three fingered hands tipped with black claws came up to lower the hood. Around us I heard multiple gasps. At my side Arya was practically vibrating.

Her skin was the brown hue of nuts but dappled with paler spots like a young fawn. The ears were almost comically large on the small head. The same could be said for her green-gold eyes, large enough that it made her overall facial symmetry look something like a baby’s. Like how cats are often considered cute because their faces remind us of babies. The eyes were even slotted like a cat’s.

“I can eat bread and salt, Wolf Lord.” Her voice was sad but beautiful. As though she forever sang a mournful ballad. She reached up, plucked up a bit of bread, dredged it through the salt, then ate.

Oh good. Everyone was properly welcomed and given guest rights. And I hadn’t even needed Cat at my elbow to make certain I minded my manners.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

The parchment Leaf had brought with her was not as fine a quality as what we made, but it got the job done. I had no idea what they’d used for ink.

“Ned, why did you let a dire wolf loose in the Godswood?!”

“Because I did not think she would appreciate being put in the kennels. Besides, she’s too large to fit comfortably in there. She’ll be fine. I had the boys take her a goat carcass from the larders and she has plenty of water from the springs.”

“THE BOYS?!”

My wife sounded distressed. Enough so that I looked up from the census figures Leaf had brought with her. She did warn that Rivers did not have the same level of accuracy I did on my side of the Wall, but their counts should be close enough to get us started. The Wall still did an excellent job of Wall-ing, even after Rivers had stopped his meddling, and I did not ‘see’ as well on that side. It was a trade off for the structure having the ability to keep the Others up there and away from us.

“They’re fine, Cat. Sigrun wouldn’t hurt them.”

“Sigrun?”

“She needed a name. I can go around saying ‘here wolfie, wolfie, wolfie’. It wouldn’t be dignified.” She didn’t look reassured so I set the scroll down and stepped closer to wrap my arms loosely around her. “Cat, it is fine. She’s supposed to be here. Her mate was killed in a fight with a snow bear. They were newly together and had left their family packs to start out on their own. Rather than try to return to her parents and siblings, she’s come down here to be with us. This is a good thing.”

“Be with us? You speak as though that creature will be staying.”

“She will.” Cat looked about to protest. “She is the living embodiment of House Stark’s sigil. The old Starks kept dire wolves as companions for generations. Their bones are buried with them in the crypts. Sigrun is welcomed here, as will be her pups.”

“Pups?!”

“She’s not normally that round. And I did say she was recently mated. Dire wolves are like normal wolves that way. A pack is a mated pair and one to three years of their pups. As the elder pups mature they will pair off with others from packs they encounter, leaving to start their own packs. It’s the way of nature.” The gestation period was about a moon longer than standard wolves, so she had a bit more to go, but she was healthy. Leaf had made certain she’d at least gotten a hare or a brace of squirrels on the regular during their journey down to ensure she was nourishment as well as avoid her deciding to try her luck with one of the horses. Wolves lived on a feast and famine routine in the wild. They would go for days without a meal between hunts then gorge themselves. Leaf’s actions had started Sigrun on adapting to having regular feedings. It was a crucial step to helping her adapt to life amongst humans. She’d never be fully tamed, but she could learn not to be aggressive. To anyone who wasn’t us, of course.

“Pups. You plan to have a pack of wolves nearly the size of horses near our children.”

“Our children are Starks, Cat.” I kissed her forehead. “This all seems strange and wild. I understand. But I had hoped you’d gained some faith in your husband by now. I know it strains the lessons and beliefs of your upbringing. Or is having so many Sothrons in the castle starting to make you second guess your place here?”

That worked. She pulled away and scowled up at me. “Don’t you start such with me, Eddard Stark. I am your wife and this castle’s lady! But a mother would be a fool not to worry about something the size of that wolf being around her children. And you just sent the boys out there!” She paused, frowning. “Which boys? We have four.”

“Robb and Jon of course. Bran’s too young yet to fully understand how to treat an unfamiliar beast. And we’re not foolish enough to let Rickon anywhere alone. He might break something.” Little boys have a delightful lack of comprehension of the concept of mortality. Our boys more than most from what I could tell. Stark children were utter chaos of left to their own devices and so far Rickon seemed determined to catch up to his elder siblings. It didn’t help that Arya seemed to encourage him. As nerve wracking as Brandon’s penchant for climbing could be, he was tame compared to the toddler.

Did I once believe that sons had to be easier than one daughter traumatized by being kidnapped by vampires so they could use her in a blood sacrifice and another ‘daughter’ who was a spirit of intellect formed within my own brain? Yeah. Scratch that. Little Starklings were far more challenging.

“Petyr was speaking of things at court.”

“Was he?” I turned my attention back to the scroll and tried to hide my annoyance. I’d extended guest rites, Baelish had accepted. I could not kill the man. Not directly. Not unless he misstepped first.

Petyr Baelish had once challenged my brother, Brandon, for Catelyn’s hand. Brandon had nearly killed him. I suspected he still carried a torch for my wife. Not that I could blame him, my wife was wonderful, but read the room! With all the guests I could not spend as much time as I would like keeping tabs on the man, which allowed him to deftly arrange quiet, personal meetings with Cat. I trusted her completely, but I didn’t trust Petyr Baelish any further than I could throw him. With my hands. I could throw him significantly further with magic if I really wanted.

Maybe Jon? The Sothrons were not as accepting of bastards as my own people were. I could fob off him withdrawing from public eye on some lame reason of trying not to offend them with his presence or some such. He had a solid grip on his Warging. He could leave his hound, Thumper, in Cat’s custody and keep an eye on Baelish from the privacy of his rooms. Or maybe use his hunting falcon or one of the ravens from the rookery at the windows. Arya would be happy to help but my younger daughter had a temper. If Baelish did or said something she didn’t like she might send her bird to claw his eyes out. Which would be awful. Just awful.

No! No. We mustn’t encourage Arya’s more vicious tendencies.

“He mentioned that King Robert has spoken of a possible union between Prince Joffrey and Sansa.”

Oh hell no. “That isn’t going to happen.”

Catelyn blinked. Okay, I might have said that a bit too sharply. “Ned, it is the Crown Prince. We aren’t likely to find a better match.”

“A crown doesn’t make a person good. Aerys Targaryen was proof of that. As were Maegor, Aegon the Unworthy and several others I could name.”

“Targaryen kings. Their misdeeds could just as easily be blamed on their tendency to marry their sisters.”

“Do you want me to dig up some of the kings from before the conquest? I’ve got seven kingdoms to choose from. And I am more likely to take the boy’s uncle’s word over Lord Baelish. Jaime Lannister is the boy’s own flesh and blood, and even he thinks there’s something wrong with him. He would know. He had to suffer Aerys and his madness for years. If your own family doesn’t like you, it’s time to realize you’re the problem.”

Her jaw snapped closed. Her blue eyes blinked as she wrestled with that. “Why…why would Ser Jaime discuss such things with you? I know you are on good terms with him, but how does such a discussion come about?”

“When we were at the Iron Islands. The Crown was pressuring Dorne for Rhaenys. Jaime has a soft spot for that girl. Always has. And he did not like what he sees in his nephew. He reminded Oberyn that I had not completely shut the door on a betrothal to Robb and encouraged him to bring it to Elia. Dorne believes the Old Lion meant for both of Elia’s children to die that day. They did not like the idea of his grandson as her bridegroom. But they needed an alternative that wouldn’t offend Robert. Fortunately for them, His Grace likes our family and you named the next Lord of Winterfell after him.”

She frowned. “You…believe him? Does Lord Jaime not spend most of his time at Casterly Rock? How often could he possibly see the prince? Perhaps he saw him when the boy was unwell. You know how irritable ours can be when they do not feel well.”

There was that possibility, but I doubted it. “Jaime thinks his sister coddles the boy too much. Never holds him responsible and is raising him with an unacceptable view of how he should act. That the King takes little interest in his heir’s raising and thus does nothing to mitigate things.” I sighed. “Though, if I am to be wholly honest, Robert would not be a good influence on the boy if he did.”

“But…you are close to Robert Baratheon!”

“Aye. We were fostered together. And when we were boys we grew to love each other as brothers.”

I sighed and sat down in my chair. “I was too close then to see his nature clearly. Oh, I knew of Mya Stone. Lyanna knew of her, too, and was far from impressed. She asked me to help convince our father to set the betrothal aside. Said she did not believe Robert could be faithful to one woman. Back then I told her that he would change. That he’d be true to her. She did not believe me.”

“What happened?”

“I saw what she saw during the war. He would talk about how much loved her. Of getting her back. But then he’d have a different woman in his tent nearly every night. By the time it was over, when I rode to a Dorne to find her, I’d already decided that I would dissolve the betrothal if my sister still wished it. I would not force her into such a union against her will.

“And that was the same behavior he displayed during the Greyjoy rebellion. That would be the example Prince Joffrey is growing up with.” I shook my head. “No crown is worth that, Cat. And I will not make the same mistakes with our girls that my father made with Lyanna. I would have them content and happy in their lives.”

Cat laced her fingers together, her expression worried. “One does not refuse a King lightly, Ned. What do we do if he presses the issue directly?”

“I’ve been thinking on that. I plan to play the Northern card.”

“The…what?”

“The Starks have held the North for millennia by keeping to the North. There are few houses that have not married a Stark at least once if not multiple times. We rarely take brides from outside our own lands. I adore you, and I have become comfortable with how Robb and Rhaenys get along, but that is two consecutive Lady Starks from the South. Ones raised in a faith and with customs other than Northern. I’ve got Jon who will start the Starks of Moat Calin,” if I had any say on it, “and it looks as though I will be wedding him to a foreigner. If Robert Baratheon presses for Sansa or Arya, I plan to counter that I need to keep the rest of my children to Northern marriages to keep my bannermen happy.”

She thought this over, giving a slow nod. “That could be sufficient. The Northern lords might remain polite but I know they are not pleased to know Robb will wed the princess rather than one of their daughters.”

“They will survive. Any who had the balls to voice their complaints to me directly have been advised we are saving the damsel from the lions. That they can accept. Begrudgingly, but they can accept it. It will help if we encounter the others to keep their eyes in trained here in the North.”

Cat considered this. “It would help if we had a choice already made for Sansa. But who?”

I sighed. She was of an age to be betrothed. Years away from being wed, I’d rather wait until at least eight and ten, or older. Allow her time to get fully grown and avoid the struggle my sister faced. “As much as I hate making such observations,I have noticed her making calf eyes at someone.”

My wife’s lips twitched. She’d seen it, too. “It might pass. She is young. Though there is the unpleasantness with his family.”

“Lord Bolton is not his father. Not his grandfather or other ancestors either. Dunstin and his wife have done a fine job raising him. And he’s eager to distance himself from the Red Kings. I think he’d tear the Dread Fort down if it wouldn’t be a waste of a serviceable castle.”

I rolled up the scroll and tapped it against my palm. “That could work, though. Bolton and Manderly are the only two Northern noble houses who have never married into the Starks. With Manderly it’s been more a difference in faiths, but our marriage sets a precedent there. With Bolton it was to avoid their lot from having a path to inherit Winterfell and the North, but we’ve enough sons to help there. And I can arrange it so that the Starks of Moat Calin inherit before any Boltons.” Another reason I’d rather Jon not create a new name for himself. And if I could figure out the spells linking the Wall and Winterfell, I could possibly cipher out a way to extend it to Calin as well, adding another line of support. If a Stark at Moat Calin could act as a backup to the ward spells, it would help give those at Winterfell a bit more flexibility.

“I won’t deny the Bolton name gives me pause, but Domeric does seem a good and well bred young man. I will keep an eye on Sansa and perhaps speak with her about it. She is young, yet, but many girls her age already have some knowledge of who their parents want for them.”

“Good. That’s…good.” It felt so wrong! She was just a baby! “But if she says she never wants to get married, that’s fine, too.”

Catelyn gave me a gentle, sympathetic look. She stepped closer and reached up to cradle my cheek with her hand. “You can’t keep your girls with you forever, Ned.”

“Yes I can.” I was not pouting.

“No, we can’t. We have to let them grow up one day. Not today, they are still young, but one day. It is the way of things and the duty of parents.” She stroked my face. “I don’t like giving up my sons, either, but there’s little we can do save pray they find a measure of happiness in their marriages.”

“What do you know of the Others, Lord Commander?”

“The Others? Legends. They may have existed at one time, but they are long gone.”

The Freefolk across from us scoffed. The tall one, Tormund, had a drinking horn filled with a strong mead. “You crows have forgotten your past. The Cold Ones are still out there. They lurk in the fog and the heaviest snowfalls. And we burn our dead lest they raise them up again as wights to kill the rest of us in our sleep.”

I felt the scowl between my brows. “There been a lot of that up there?”

The ginger pondered the question. “Not as often as we once feared. They looked to be getting more aggressive. Picking off the most remote tribes. Then they pulled back. Just have been… back before my first daughter was born.”

Leaf gave a slow, deep nod. “You gave them pause.” She was looking at me.

I met her gaze and held it. Held it long enough to trigger a Soul Gaze. If she’d had a soul, that is. Nothing happened. Like the Fae back on Earth, the Children of the Forest did not have souls the same way mortal men did. Good to know. Some things that did not have souls were not to be trusted. Others just were.

Karsi frowned, looking from Leaf to me and back. “You saying it was him who stopped them?”

“They stopped themselves. They sensed it when he returned from their Southron war against the old Dragon Lords. Felt it when he set foot back on his own lands.”

Jon Arryn frowned, “Why would Lord Stark’s return do that?”

“Because they had thought the Wolf Lords had lost their magic. You have all forgotten about them. Believe them to be only legends or dark stories told to children to frighten them into behaving. You do not remember how to fight them. How to know when they are coming. You have stopped burning your dead so they will have your own ancestors to use against you should they breech the Wall. And they believed the Starks had lost their magic. That the blood of Brandon the Builder and the Wolf Kings that followed him had grown watered down and weak.”

She nodded at me. “Then he returned from war and they felt the change. Felt it grow stronger as he drew closer to this castle. And as he strengthens the old bonds, they draw back to their lands where Winter never ends.”

That…was good. “Any chance they have decided to stay there and give up on their plan to kill all things living?”

Her expression turned sad. “No. You have only bought us time.”

Damn it. “How much time?”

“It is difficult to say, but the next Winter will not be a cruel as we had expected. It will still be long, Summer has lingered and a long Summer means a long Winter, but not a full generation of Man as they did before.”

Tormund leaned forward, not noticing that his horn tipped and spilled mead onto the floor. “How much time?”

“They know the length of a man’s life.”

My eyebrows threatened to climb into my hairline. “Rivers thinks they will try to outlive me?”

“They have waited this long. What is the span of one man’s life to them?”

I kept the smile from my face. I was still learning the difference in magic and how it acted here. The growth spurt I’d experienced when the Blending first happened had taken me by surprise. But in my old life wizards lived longer than regular folks. As in three centuries or more longer. We didn’t necessarily age pretty, old wizards were some shriveled looking folks, but it was longer. A friend of mine in the medical field had a theory as to why. He’d found that my injuries healed more fully than most. Things that would have left permanent scars on most people healed completely for me. It might take a while, I nearly lost my hand to fire and it resembled so much melted wax for years, but it did eventually heal to near perfection.

I hadn’t been sure it that perked had followed me, but there were battle scars Ned had taken before we became one person that had faded to nothingness and there were the nicks and dings boys got from playing that were gone from my children. I was thinking that we were going to get at least some measure of longevity. The Others may be waiting longer than they’d anticipated if they were waiting on me to keel over. And if they were only concerned about me, that meant they hadn’t noticed the kids yet.

Good.

I rubbed my hands together. “Another Winter. I’ll take another Winter. Another Winter means another Spring, Summer and Fall to prepare. I can work with that.”

I unrolled the census Rivers had sent down with Leaf and spread it out on the table.

“Now. Let’s talk about how we can all start working together and maybe stop beating each other bloody.”