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The Grind (Book 2) Ch.4
🕑 Added 2024-07-16 23:00:50 +0000 UTCLord Paramount Eddard of House Stark, the Quiet Wolf, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. Ned to his friends. Even after nearly twenty years, the titles hadn’t fully grown on him… Ned Stark was a man of many things. Honor. Righteousness. Shame… Love. He loved his wife. He truly did. It was not a marriage of choice. More one of circumstance, tragedy, and duty. But he’d come to love her all the same.
Catelyn Stark nee Tully was an undeniably attractive woman. Beautiful, in Ned’s eyes. She was fair of skin and red of hair. Her eyes were blue as a still lake. She held herself as befitting a Lady of two Great Houses: composed and suitably caring if stern, with a presence that commanded obedience from Ladies and lesser men alike.
Age had been kind to her, only enhancing her natural beauty. She was still fit and trim and didn’t sag anywhere, as Ned was blessedly familiar with. Ned had never known another woman, and though an old promise stained his honor there for the rest of the world, he never wished to.
Yet Ned was also far from blind to her flaws. He loved her in spite of them but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice or that they didn’t worry him. Oh, not the little ones. Like how she snored, even if she would never tell a soul, and denied it when Ned teased her. Or how she had a tendency to worry at her fingernails in private, a trait she’d passed on to their eldest daughter. Those little quirks only made Ned love her more.
It was the deeper cracks that showed, the more personal and hateful qualities that made Ned’s heart ache for his wife. Her faith and Southron sensibilities grated on Ned at times, but he could accept them. They were what made Catelyn herself — his Cat.
The spiteful, bitter hatred that Catelyn held toward one of their family — one of the pack — was where Ned drew the line. He understood the hatred and bitterness. That was the worst of it. Especially since Ned knew the truth of the matter, and kept it a secret so intimately close to his heart.
To the rest of the world, Ned’s second oldest son was a bastard he’d sired at war during Robert’s Rebellion. Jon Snow, a boy of nearly ten and three like Ned’s firstborn Robb. Nearly men grown, both of them. The truth wasn’t nearly as simple and yet no less shameful because of it.
Jon Snow was not Ned’s son — though he’d come to see and accept him as such. He was his nephew, the son of his sister Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar, who Ned had waged war against with his sworn brother, fellow fosterling, and now King, Robert Baratheon. Jon was no bastard. He was a trueborn prince and child of true love, the legitimate heir of the Iron Throne.
With her dying breath, Lyanna extracted a promise from Ned. A promise to watch over her son, to hide him from Robert’s wrathful eyes. Such was Ned’s shame and crime against Robert and his reign. Robert, in his unworthy pain and mourning for a woman he’d never known, vowed vengeance against the Prince who’d ‘stolen’ Lyanna from him. And his entire dynasty…
Robert would surely kill Jon if he had even a single suspicion. Ned couldn’t allow that to take place. Jon was all he had left of Lyanna. He was Ned’s blood, even if not the true spawn of his loins. So Ned kept his secret, his promise, his betrayal of one of his oldest friends and liege.
Worst still, it was a betrayal of his beloved wife. Cat knew nothing of the truth. Like all except for one, she thought Jon to be Ned’s bastard. A living embodiment of her womanly shame. A disgrace and stain upon their marriage. And instead of directing that pain and pique where it belonged, she took it out on young Jon.
Jon did not live a blessed existence. Not in Catelyn’s household. She kept him at arm’s length. Not just from herself but from the children as well. Children who should have been his brothers and sisters despite his supposed status. Even if the truth was known — in some ideal world — they would have been treasured cousins: family all the same.
Ned did his best to temper Catelyn’s hatred. He included Jon in pursuits that should have been his by birth — riding, swordplay, and even some matters of ruling. He encouraged the brotherly bond between Jon and Robb. He treated Jon as his son in every place he could and had taken Catelyn to task more than once over her treatment of the boy.
“The bastard should know his place!” Catelyn would hiss, her vitriol coming to the surface when they were in private. And though their marriage was good, the ever-present betrayal in her tone stabbed deep into Ned’s heart every time.
“You favor him, Ned,” Catelyn would say imperiously, and Ned would see the fuming pain behind her composed Lady’s mask. Worse, he would hear her unspoken, cutting, and above all vulnerable question, “Did you favor his mother the same…?”
It was a terrible situation Ned found himself in, one he maintained despite the pain it spread around. Though he deeply wished to share his secret, to absolve himself in his Lady’s eyes and heart, Ned had never been able to make himself take Catelyn aside and say the words. The more who knew the truth, the more danger Jon was in.
It would go against his promise to Lyanna. Of course, the same could be said for the current situation. Ned still saw his sister in his dreams at times, hearing her last words and even words she never said.
“Promise me, Ned… Promise me…”
He would. He always would. Over and over again in his dreams. Anything for the pack. Yet still, her familiar rage come roaring to the fore. The fire of her Wolfsblood snarled in Ned’s dreams — even more vicious than when Ned and his younger brother Benjen put snow in her small clothes.
“He is a prince, Ned! You took that from him! You stole it! He was born to rule! He deserves a throne, not to be scorned and sneered at by all who hear his ‘last name’! The blood of Dragons and Wolves runs through his veins and you side with a friend who never even knew me!”
Aye, he did… And with each passing year, he knew his mistakes clearer and clearer. Robert had met Lyanna once and yet claimed her as his ‘true love’. Ned supposed he loved the idea of her more than Lyanna herself. If they’d married as intended, would Robert have respected her? Would he have let Lyanna ride as she loved? Or would, as Ned suspected, he see her as nothing more than a womb, a tool to tie himself further to his sworn foster brother, and a challenge to tame?
The last time Ned had seen Robert, he’d barely recognized the man. The now-king had never been a tame fellow. But the excessive drinking and blatant whoring grated on Ned’s familiarity with his friend. By the Gods, he’d had a wench service him beneath the table right next to his wife and queen! If Robert had done the same to Lyanna, Ned would have slain him where he sat. Bonds of brotherhood be damned.
Breaking his peace would have been simple. Difficult, yes, but oh-so-simple. Catelyn would keep his trust. All he had to do was come clean with her and not another soul. Ned hoped she’d be relieved in a way. Conflicted due to Jon’s true parentage but relieved that Ned hadn’t truly stained their marriage as she’d long thought.
Jon could be told when he was older. It would hurt him, yes. He would likely never trust Ned again. But that was simply the price for Ned’s shame. Jon knowing the truth would more than make up for it. He’d always be Ned’s son, no matter who his father truly was. In Ned’s most idyllic dreams, Jon would even forgo his claim to the Iron Throne and simply stay safely in the North, content with a pack who knew who he was.
Alas, Ned knew the last was merely optimism. Revealing the secret in totality would throw the realm into chaos. Robert would march for Jon’s head. Ned would not give his nephew and adopted son up easily. Targaryen loyalists would flock to Jon’s cause. Not even 20 years after the first, the Seven Kingdoms would be plunged into war again.
Still, maybe it was that fledgling optimistic hope that made Ned do as he did. Catelyn certainly loathed it when Ned included Jon in Robb’s lessons on lordship. Yet he continued to do so, even now. Matters had been called to Ned’s attention as Warden of the North. Ned thought to take Robb and Jon to see to them, something Catelyn protested vigorously.
“This is far above his station, Ned! It’s not right, not proper!”
“Would you rather him here while I’m gone? Around Sansa? Training with Arya? Climbing with Bran?”
Ned knew he shouldn’t find humor in the terrible situation but the way his words had brought Catelyn up short made him chuckle still. Love her as he did, his Lady’s Southron sensibilities were impossible to deny. And to get her to cease her protests, Ned may well have used them against her.
Ned, Robb, Jon, and a host of men numbering a dozen had ridden out from Winterfell soon after dawn the next morning. The matters they rode to address were curious. Strange, even. Impossible, perhaps. None of the men nor Ned’s sons knew the full truth of them. Old Hells, Ned didn’t either.
He’d received a raven from the Lord of White Harbor less than a week ago concerning a recent development in his lands. Wyman Manderly was a good man. Soft of gut but sharp and quick of mind. Ned had never known him to deceive or obscure the truth. Yet from the contents of his letter, if Ned hadn’t known and trusted the man, he would have thought Lord Wyman to be going spare.
Something had happened north of White Harbor. The lands there fell under Lord Wyman’s domain and yet he saw fit to bring the matter to Ned’s attention. From his limited understanding of events, Ned couldn’t blame him for that. Feeling that Lord Wyman’s concerns deserved some haste on his part, Ned set out as soon as he could.
On the ride south to Lord Wyman’s lands, Ned turned the events described in the letter over and over in his mind. But as much as he did, he couldn’t make sense of them. If the rumors Lord Wyman spoke of were accurate, Ned would be rather out of his depth here. Everyone would be.
To Ned’s surprise, Lord Wyman greeted him personally. The Lord of White Harbor was not one to travel easily. Put simply and rather rudely, he was a fat man who strained every horse he sat atop. For him to travel to meet Ned personally despite that was almost worrying. Still, Ned was glad to be able to confirm the contents of the letter directly. Lord Wyman even brought additional proof and testimony.
“We rode past it on our trip here, my Lord. So I can say with some level of certainty that there is now a castle where there previously was not. We didn’t put witness to the other reports I wrote of. The Smallfolk were surprisingly tight-lipped and we didn’t stay around to press further. But I can see no other way for the castle to have appeared and gone unnoticed than by magic.”
“Magic?” Robb gaped at the Lord’s words, his first time hearing the true purpose of their journey. “To build a castle?!”
“Like Bran the Builder,” Jon said.
Ned paused at that, having not yet drawn that parallel from the letter and Lord Wyman’s personal report. Lord Wyman blinked as well before nodding slowly.
“Yes, lad, you might be right. A miraculous construction like that springing up overnight is something straight out of your family’s legends. Like Winterfell and the Wall, the castle itself might even be magical. Though I doubt its inhabitants share any Stark blood. Storied and noble as your House is, we would have heard of some forgotten cadet branch or the like showing abilities from the Age of Heroes.”
Jon sat a bit straighter on his horse at the praise. And both boys preened, sharing grins with each other at the recognition of their ancestors. Ned watched his boys with a small smile for a moment but his expression quickly set like ice again as he turned his focus back to the business at hand.
“And of the other rumors you’ve heard?” Ned asked.
“Magic to heal and ghosts of joy,” Lord Wyman nodded. “Again, we saw no such thing for ourselves but I’m inclined to believe them. The Smallfolk in the village nearest the castle certainly seemed healthier than the norm.”
“Will this be an issue for you, Lord Wyman? The magic? I know your House is one of the Faith,” Ned nodded in acknowledgment of the other Lord’s beliefs. “But I would prefer if this matter could be handled without any conflict breaking out.”
“Lord-…” Lord Wyman shook his head, giving a jovial grin, “Ned. My family has been in the North for a thousand years! Thanks almost entirely to yours, I’ll remind you. Your will is mine. And you won’t have to worry about me and mine doing anything unnecessarily rash. The Faith we practice is a touch removed from the Faith of the South.”
Robb’s face scrunched up in confusion, “But Father, it’s healing magic. I understand the stance of the Seven but who would hate and fear healing magic of all things?”
“I imagine your Lady Mother will not be wholly pleased,” Ned chuckled in reply.
Jon let out a boyish giggle, reminding Ned of just how young his boys still were at times, “And healing or not, Septa Mordane will have a fit!”
“It’s a rather good thing we’re men of sense and reason, now, isn’t it?” Lord Wyman joined the laughter.
“Let’s just hope these magicians are the same,” Ned’s voice settled into the grim and quiet sobriety that he was known for.
In contrast, Lord Wyman only laughed louder, “Why, of course! Ideally, you’d earn yourself a new bannerman today, Ned. A House of mages, imagine that!”
“Aye, potent potential allies, to be certain,” Ned nodded. “But we won’t know anything until we entreat with the Lord of this cast-…”
A ruckus in the forest beside the road cut Ned off. At first, Ned thought it to be a bear. It certainly sounded the size of one. The very trees closest to the road may well have come down. A blur of dark fur, streaked with white, burst from between them, skidding to a sudden stop before the party.
Upon getting a good look at the beast, Ned lost his breath and words — for how could he not recognize the symbol of his House? He saw its noble and terrifying form on every letter he sealed, much less the engravings and decorations around Winterfell. A Direwolf stood before them, its breath misting in the air.
In person, the legendary beast was more intimidating than Ned could ever imagine. A tremendous, powerful bulk — standing taller at the shoulder than any warhorse and longer from tail to snout. Paws the size of Ned’s head, with claws that Ned could hear grinding against the road. Fangs the size of Ned’s palm crowded its panting maw, yet they weren’t being brought to bear against him and his fellows.
It was a glorious beast. Ned had no doubt in his mind that it could have torn them all asunder if it so wished. The men under his command rang out with shouts and aired steel. Ned couldn’t bring himself to draw his blade. Not against the symbol of his house. This was a sign. One of fate or favor from the Old Gods. It had to be — meeting a Direwolf this far south and one that didn’t seem immediately hostile, at that.
The horses panicked. The boys were nearly thrown from their mounts. They were perhaps even more stunned than Ned, in both awe and terrible fear. Yet even as the men closed ranks to guard Ned and his children, the Direwolf merely cocked its head at the group like a docile puppy.
A moment later, Ned gasped. His words came in a rush, barely registering in his mind, “Skinchanger…!”
Where once there stood a monstrous wolf, an unarmed man had taken its place. He was tall but not massive, with a lean sort of build to him that spoke of speed, agility, and endurance instead of pure strength. His pitch-black hair was streaked with white, tied back loosely to be kept away from his face. His clothes seemed of good make if of a style and quality that Ned had never seen. Strangest about him were the thin-framed glasses he wore in front of his shockingly purple eyes — something Ned would have been amazed to see even on a Maester, to say nothing about the worryingly Targaryen eye color.
He spoke in a strange accent — both familiar and foreign — calling up to the heavens above instead of addressing the armed men before him, “Luna? Could you fly ahead back to the castle and let the others know we have guests? Important ones too, it seems.”
Ned and the others looked up, trying to see who or what he was addressing. All they saw was a white raven, the kind the Citadel used to warn the realm of winter. Then, it too transformed without explanation or warning. Suddenly, a young girl was plummeting to almost certain injury and Ned’s heart lurched.
He got a bare glimpse of her as she fell. She was young. Flowered, certainly, but likely no more than a maiden. Beautiful, with pale blonde hair, unblemished skin, and a fair face. But the expression that overtook her face at that moment was mischievous, merry, mirthful… and quite frankly mad, in Ned’s opinion. As was the noise she let out, a whoop of exhilaration akin to the sound Arya had made the first time Ned took his youngest daughter galloping on a horse.
“Weeeeeeeee~!”
The moment of madness was thankfully short-lived. And didn’t end in tragedy as Ned expected. Long before she hit the ground, the young maid transformed back into the white raven. She let out what could only be a giggle at their expense before winging off in the direction she and the Direwolf Skinchanger had come.
The man on the road hung his head with long familiarity, “Good Merlin, that girl is going to be the death of me…”
Ned and the other men were left stunned, barely processing the whole scene. Absently, Ned couldn’t help but commiserate with the Skinchanger man. He could easily imagine his own children doing something similar if they had the ability. And likely giving their Lady Mother a few heart attacks in the process…
Lord Wyman broke the stunned silence with a strained chuckle, “Well… It seems fortune has brought our sought-after mages straight to us, Ned.”
“That… was… amazing!” Robb was next, unable to contain his excitement. “That’s magic?! Old Nan’s stories didn’t say anything about that!”
Ned shook his head slowly in agreement, “… Aye, nothing at all… But it could be nothing else. You’re right, Lord Wyman. We seem to have found our first mage…”
“Ahem, Wizard, actually,” The Skinchanger corrected with a slight smile, somehow hearing them across the distance between them.
One of Ned’s men shouted back in response, “You stand in the presence of Lord Paramount Eddard Stark and his Lord Wyman Manderly! A-Announce yourself or come no closer!”
Ned winced at the quiver in the younger man’s voice. Jory Cassel was a good lad and a skilled warrior, the nephew of Ned’s master-at-arms Rodrik. Ned had brought him along as a trial of sorts, looking to install him as the captain of his guards. He showed promise in taking initiative but they were all far out of their depths. To be more fair to young Jory, it was a miracle there was only a slight quiver to his words.
The Skinchanger sketched a bow, the motion practiced but not inherently ingrained, Ned noticed, “Atlas Black, Primary Heir of House Black. Greetings, Lords Stark and Manderly. On my behalf and I suppose, on Hogwarts’ as well.”
“Hogwarts?” Jon asked, bewildered.
“The name of his castle, I presume,” Lord Wyman said.
Robb’s nose scrunched, “Not a very intimidating or grand name for a castle, is it?”
“Not as such,” Atlas chuckled, demonstrating that he could still hear them perfectly. “But good ol’ Hoggie Hoggie Hogwarts, we love her all the same.”
Robb clamped his mouth shut rather quickly after that and Ned gave his son and heir a chastising glance, “Manners, Robb. Don’t insult a man’s castle and home when he’s done you no wrong.”
“So… I can if he has?”
“Not the time, Robb,” Ned sighed.
A few of the men chuckled at the father-son interplay, joined by Atlas as he waved for them to follow him, “Heh, Well, I assume you aren’t here to talk to just me. Luna should have let the others know we’ve got visitors by now. C’mon, I’ll show you the way. The castle isn’t far.”
IIIII
In the end, Ned had been the one to make the first move. He’d steeled himself and urged his horse forward to follow the ‘Wizard’ Atlas, despite the protests of Jory and his men. Lord Wyman followed him. Then Robb and Jon.
They trusted Ned’s judgment at that moment. Ned wasn’t even sure he trusted his own judgment. But he couldn’t help but think it was fate. At the very least, a portent of good fortune to come. The first of these Wizards that they met was a Skinchanger, and a Direwolf beyond. A legendary magick of the Starks of old and the symbol of their House. Given that and how friendly Atlas was, Ned couldn’t help but put a bit of faith in the man and the meeting to come.
The horses trotted along down the road, the men following their Lords. Atlas transformed back into his wolf form to keep up, seemingly thinking nothing of the action. Meanwhile, the rest of them could do nothing but marvel at the magic at play. It didn’t fit the stories Ned knew of Skinchangers and Wargs. But that only made the magic more amazing in his mind.
Atlas was not simply entering the mind of a beast. He was the beast, even seeming to share its instincts and qualities. If Ned hadn’t seen the transformation for himself, he would have never seen the difference.
The boys were even more taken with the Wizard Heir. He looked a few good years older than them — in his human form, at the least. Ned was no expert at telling such things in Direwolves… Still, he knew both Jon and Robb would be getting… ideas… in their minds. Hells, Ned himself was getting ideas. Their lineage — their blood — was famous for skinchanging, after all. With someone to teach them, could they not accomplish the same feat?
Unfortunately, Atlas’ transformation didn’t give itself over to conversation easily. Somehow he still paid them the proper attention that a host should, coming to pad alongside Ned’s nervous steed. But Ned doubted conversation came easily to a muzzle, as humorous a thought as that was.
Eventually, their destination came into view between the trees as the road curved around them. Immediately, Ned put his mind back on the meeting and the matter at hand. Magic or not, he was here to do his duty as Warden of the North. That meant assessing the newcomers to his lands and hopefully establishing a good rapport with them. Ideally, an alliance, no matter how his Lady Wife would likely chafe at the idea of treating with magic.
The Castle Hogwarts was certainly a thing of beauty, not matching its almost lackluster name. It was set atop a craggy outcropping above a rather large lake. One that Lord Wyman informed him wasn’t there only a scant fortnight ago. Towers dominated the castle, seemingly springing up everywhere they could find space. Combined with the blue slate roofs and eccentric architecture at play, the castle was a masterfully unique sight — a home brimming with character and history.
But it was sorely lacking in defenses, in Ned’s eyes. The lay of the land could only do so much for the castle. What it did was noble, cutting off lanes of attack from two sides with the cliffs and lake below, and a dense forest on the third. But Ned worried it wouldn’t be enough. There were no walls to be seen, not even wooden palisades. The towers were beautiful and unique but poorly suited to defense, without a proper turret or vantage point in sight.
“Why, I’ve never seen a holdfast like it,” Lord Wyman mused.
Atlas transformed back into a man as they grew closer, chuckling as he jogged easily beside them, “Normally, one would first see it from the lake. It’s a shame you lot won’t get that chance. The castle lit up at night, the moon shining down overhead, the reflection of it all in the calm, dark waters… it’s a truly breathtaking scene.”
Ned could only imagine. As could the rest of the party, it seemed. Atlas painted quite the image with his words.
“It must be truly… magical,” Jory quipped before quickly paling and shaking his head. “Your pardons, milords. I don’t know what came over me.”
Atlas simply laughed, “You’re good, man! And rather right as well. I first saw the sight when I was only 13 and it heralded my entrance into an amazingly magical world.”
“You only saw your castle when you were 13?” Jon asked shrewdly.
Atlas smirked, but not maliciously, “It might be best for us to meet with the others before I answer that question. It’ll make everything much clearer.”
Slightly puzzled, they followed his lead. As they approached the main doors, Ned saw faces watching their arrival from the windows of the castle. Young faces, all of them. Some only Jon and Robb’s age, some closer to Jory’s. Strangely, there wasn’t an adult among them. Young men and women grown, yes, but barely, in Ned’s mind.
Upon their entry into the castle proper, Atlas took them straight to what appeared to be the castle’s Great Hall. Immediately, an almost blinding light greeted them. Sunlight. Indoors. And not merely from a window. The ceiling itself was as if open to the sky. An impossibility as Ned knew he saw a roof from the exterior. If he hadn’t been certain before, the clear blue sky above the Great Hall would have sealed it. Magic was as commonplace to this castle as the hot springs were to Winterfell.
Barely suppressing his awe, Ned examined the welcoming party in the Hall. Here, he saw proper adults. Most older than him but a few his age and some younger. They were a queer bunch. Ned had been expecting nothing less. Still, a few stood out as even more queer than the rest.
A bearded giant of a man — larger than the Greatjon of House Umber or even the despicable Mountain That Rides — with a friendly if simple smile on his face. Contrasting him, an equally friendly but much sharper-looking dwarf of a man, similar in stature to the infamous Lannister Imp. A young woman with hair of a shocking pink-purple color that would have put the most vibrant Southron dresses to shame. A gruff and grizzled soldier — someone who’d certainly seen and survived war again and again — with a peg for a leg and a living false eye set in a scarred socket.
Ned saw the young Skinchanger girl who’d been with Atlas happily standing off to one side as well. But the strangest among the welcoming party, the one who held Ned’s attention, was the one at the fore: an old man with a sparkle in his eyes. He was the oldest man Ned had ever seen, easily older than the Late Walder Frey and wearing his years vastly better than that weasel.
Yet it was the man’s manner of dress that boggled Ned’s mind. He wore the robes of a Maester. They were not simple things, flush with color and almost literal life. It was as if a scene was playing out within the fabric of his robes. A grand battle, to Ned’s eye, with both sides meeting in clashes of sword and magic.
Ned’s attention was pulled from the mesmerizing sight by a gasp from his sons. Instantly, he saw the reason. Bare womanly legs. Nubile young flesh. All but the oldest of the women were showing scandalous amounts of skin. Robb and Jon were captivated, Jon blushing as well. Thankfully, the rest of the men were honorably looking anywhere but at the maidens.
Since he couldn’t very well take the young women to task in their own castle, Ned clicked his tongue at his boys, “Eyes up, Robb, Jon.”
“Ah, I probably should have realized this would’ve been a problem,” Atlas shook his head. “Girls? Ladies? Do you mind?”
Equally, exasperated sighs and giggles went through the female half of the welcome party. Still, most of them took out seemingly simple sticks and waved them, their scandalous ‘dresses’ growing to a reasonable length with the gesture. A few weren’t as immediately agreeable.
A quite literally blindingly beautiful young woman glared at Ned and his fellows, though there seemed to be no real hostility behind it, snapping dramatically, “Moi exquisite, divine form is for Atlas’ eyes only! Hooligans! Degenerates! Scoundrels!”
Even with her beauty, the men shied away from her — completely justified — reproach, Jon and Robb in particular looking rather ashamed of themselves. Ned and Lord Wyman made note of the maiden’s words, marking her connection to their initial host. Meanwhile, another young girl — short with messy hair and brilliant emerald eyes — glared at Atlas himself.
“You won’t catch me dead in a long-ass skirt like that.”
“Pants then, Heather,” Atlas shot back, shockingly unoffended by the girl’s vulgarity. “Just something to cover up so we can actually have a somewhat productive first impression on our visitors.”
There was still a certain fire in her eyes — a familiar sight that reminded Ned so much of Lyanna — but she complied. One unfortunate man behind Ned breathed a sigh of relief as decency and modesty returned. The old man chuckled, though his eyes held a hint of danger to them as well. As did Atlas and the other men of the castle, Ned noticed. Directed at the man who sighed and the rest. Ned resolved himself to keep an eye on his men to ensure none overstepped.
“Amusing differences in culture aside,” The old man said. “Introductions seem to be in order. You’ve already met my successor, Heir Atlas Black…”
For some reason, Atlas seemed to suppress a groan at that. The older Wizard’s eyes twinkled as he continued, “I am Albus Dumbledore. I shan’t bore you with the names that come between those two and the titles that come after. Still, as Headmaster here, I would like to welcome you all to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
“School?” Lord Wyman glanced at Atlas. “Is this castle not the holding of House Black?”
“While young Atlas and his House are very important to the castle and its running,” Dumbledore explained, shaking his head. “It is not.”
Atlas chuckled, “This is why I said it might be best to wait until you meet the others to explain things.
Ned nodded, more than a little confused but falling back on decorum, “Thank you for hosting us, Headmaster Dumbledore. I am Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North. With me are my heir Robb, my bastard Jon, and my bannerman who rules the immediate lands here Lord Wyman Manderly. May we ask to partake in Guest Rights?”
“Guest rights?” Dumbledore tilted his head ever so slightly.
Ned blinked, not expecting the confusion. Thankfully, Lord Wyman elaborated for him, “The sharing of bread and salt to establish hospitality and prevent hostilities.”
“Even the Southern Kingdoms know of Guest Rights, don’t they?” Robb’s face scrunched up curiously.
“Ah, there is a tale to be told there. But I assure you, young Robb, there is a good reason for our ignorance,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling at some hidden humor.
Ned’s mind was practically racing as Lord-… No, Headmaster Dumbledore had bread and salt prepared. He barely even noticed the curious, undoubtedly magical being that brought the offerings — unusual enough to give the men a start. Something very, very strange was happening here. That was no recent development though. He’d been sure of that much since he received Lord Wyman’s raven.
After partaking in bread and salt, they were seated at a round table in the Great Hall. Well, Ned, Robb, Jon, and Lord Wyman sat while their men stood behind them. Everyone from the hosting party had a seat at the table though. Headmaster Dumbledore and Atlas took the lead for their side, spinning an unbelievable yet undeniable story of how they came to be where they now were.
They spoke of lands to the West, across the Sunset Sea, so far removed as to be a ‘whole other world’. There, Hogwarts taught generation after generation of these Witches and Wizards, Highborn and Smallfolk alike. They tamed magic itself, more so than even the legendary Valyrian Freehold. Magic had never died out for Hogwarts, never been forgotten and lost to myth.
They spoke of a war waged in the shadows of their homeland, against the shadows of dark magic. Here, Ned heard Atlas and the spirited young maiden who argued with him be exalted for bringing the war to an end, for triumphing in the name of everything good and just. They were heroes to their people, and likely now to Jon, Robb, and Ned’s men as they told their tales.
The rest of Hogwarts was far from green and untested. As they told it, Atlas and Lady Heather’s victory was not the only one won that night. The younger generation also led a coup — one that thankfully didn’t remind Ned of Robert’s bloody rebellion — against an Incompetent Minister, instead of a Mad King.
Yet only a few moons later — practically still on the eve of their victory and when everything was looking up for their kingdom — catastrophe struck. Hogwarts and her inhabitants were struck from their lands by some terrible, awe-inspiring magick and arrived where the castle now sat. They were so far from home as to lose hope. Their entire lives were upended and irrevocably changed. Ned could never understand that tragedy… but he could sympathize and wield his power as he could to help them settle into their new home in the North — almost like his ancestors did for the Manderlys a millennium ago.
And help he wished to. From talking to Heir Atlas and Headmaster Dumbledore, Ned knew them to be good men. If they spoke for Hogwarts, the rest of the castle would be as well. And as outlandish and outright ridiculous as their story was, Ned believed them. Too many details and oddities lined up for the story to be false, in Ned’s eyes.
The unfamiliar oddities were everywhere when one knew to look, much too regular to be a deception. From their words and accents to their clothes. From the cultural differences to their ignorance of common matters. They even presented gold coinage, minted in a style Ned didn’t recognize. To waste good gold on a farce was rather unlikely, in both Ned’s and Lord Wyman’s opinions.
Most damning of all though, was their magic. Wonderful, impossible things made real. They demonstrated to a certain extent when asked. The rumored ‘ghosts of joy’ — or as the Wizards called it, a Patronus — took Ned’s breath away, radiating a feeling that everything was right in the world. When Atlas ‘cast’ it, the spirit took the shape of a Direwolf — something that seemed to surprise him and the others but only deepened Ned’s conviction to help the man and his fellows.
Judging by the looks in his boys’ eyes, Jon and Robb would never have forgiven Ned for doing otherwise. They were taken by Atlas and Lady Heather’s tales of glory, victory, and magical battle — brief though they were — and further taken by tales of the younger generation leading the charge. They looked as if they were just about set to burst with questions and curiosity.
After Hogwarts’ tale had concluded, Ned sighed, “That is… simply amazing. All of this is. I find myself almost at a loss for words. Yet your story is also tragic, my Lords. You and your people have my deepest condolences.”
“Thank you, Lord Eddard. You seem a good bloke,” Atlas grinned. “If we had to end up anywhere, I’m glad it’s in your lands.”
“Perhaps a short recess, my Lords?” Lord Wyman suggested, chuckling as he patted his rather prominent gut. “I’m afraid I need a bit of time to ‘digest’ everything that’s already been revealed.”
“Oh, how droll, Lord Wyman,” Headmaster Dumbledore joined Lord Wyman’s chuckles. “How very droll, indeed. Very well, perhaps refreshments are in order. Would any of you care to try a magical drink?”
Eager and excited noises greeted Dumbledore’s offer. The men were always in the mood for some good drink, though young Jory did his best to remind them of their duties with a glare. Lord Wyman sounded positively tickled pink at the prospect of magical wine. Even Robb and Jon were curious, something Ned did his best to cut off at the knees.
“Well-watered, I should hope? There’s still business to be discussed after this short respite, after all.”
Atlas exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, “Butterbeer for the boys, I would think. Would Fire Whiskey be too strong for the men?”
Despite his earlier words, Ned’s pride flared at Atlas’ doubt, “We’re men of the North, one and all. We can handle any drink put before us! Just be glad the Greatjon isn’t here. He might very well strike you down for such a slight, well-intentioned or not.”
… Ned would quickly come to regret his pride when he and his men spewed literal flames from their lips at the Fire Whiskey’s first gulp.
IIIII
Comments
Based_Bass
You’re right. I forget that not everybody is as familiar with GOT. I retract my statement. Very necessary then 👍🏾
Xazo
I see thanks for the info
dryskies_btb
~295 AC, so 3 years before the first episode of the show/chapter of the book, and ~4 before everything really goes to shit.
dryskies_btb
Don't worry, there's more/proper banter to come. Next chapter continues the meeting and we'll get more cultural differences, bonding despite them, and the usual Hogwarts madness.
dryskies_btb
To be fair, the age gap isn't all that strange for the setting (SO not a justification but at least it's a reason)... Plus, Rhaegar was a Targaryen. Even for the setting, that family is, uh... 'liberal with their love', let's say. Something I think tends to go back to their Valyrian roots. Even after ~280 years, they're kind of like 'ruling foreigners', putting them at odds with/making them even more extreme than the already weird Westerosi culture around 'women/girls flowered'.
jp9901
Thanks for the chapter
jp9901
As a newbie in GOT, it helped me understand Ned and his plight more
QuantumServer
Thanks for the chapter
Xazo
Loved the chapter can't wait to read more. A question though how many years is this prior to GoT start?
placid
Isn't pants underwear to the Brits? Totally changes that entire scene in my mind.
Based_Bass
I’m loving this. Only complaint is the Ned introspection at the beginning was unnecessarily long so we didn’t get to more of the fun.
TheRavenbrand
Nice hope Jon stays.
Boredom01
That’s so insane, a fully grown 21 year old is like “yeah so if we don’t smash the world is over.” To a 13 year old girl.
Jordan
I mean, Rhaegar basically convinced her that the world would end if they didn't elope, so it was technically a very confusing albeit still disgusting form of grooming
Steven Baldwin
Great chapter. Really looking forward to more, especially once the south learns of them and all their carefully laid plans are smashed apart by well meaning wizards/witches.
Boredom01
Ohhhh so you went “born out of love” way with it. Me personally I can never think R+L = Love, The age gap is too insane, Lyanna should be about 13 when she first meets Rhaegar
