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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 40: Cryptic Mystery
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 14:00:13 +0000 UTCAN: I changed Greg's name to Grenn (including in the previous chapter), since someone pointed out that it didn't really seem suitable, and I found myself agreeing with them when I thought about it.
Chapter 40: Cryptic Mystery
123 AC, Dragonstone
“I knew you’d come around, Grenn. Now, don’t worry. I’m not planning on digging into the ground, especially since there is an obvious entrance.” The boy looked exasperated when he asked, “An entrance?”
“Of course. Now, young man, can you point me to where the Winterfell crypts are?”
Rhaena suppressed the urge to giggle at the expression on Grenn’s face. It started with confusion, followed by fear and then outrage, “The crypts? You can’t just go there! Only Starks are allowed down there,” Grenn said sharply, his voice rising a bit. “People here fear the crypts. We don’t wander into them, not without reason. And there are guards, and these ones would not just let you stroll in. You’ll be stopped the moment you try.”
Lord Harry didn’t look the least bit concerned. “I’ll figure it out eventually,” he said, tone maddeningly casual. “But now that I think about it, wouldn’t it be better if we had a guide? Someone who could make sure we don’t make a mess of things? That would save Winterfell a lot of trouble, don’t you think?”
Grenn blinked at him. “A guide? You want me to…”
The sorcerer cut him off with a grin. “Well, you’re clearly clever enough to know the history, and curious enough to ask questions. You don’t want to know what’s within those crypts? The oldest part of Winterfell, holding secrets even the Maesters don’t fully understand? And it’s not like we’re planning to dig up the bones of old Kings of Winter.”
Grenn crossed his arms, looking torn between defiance and intrigue. “You’re completely mad, aren’t you?”
Harry leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “Maybe. But wouldn’t you like to see for yourself what’s hidden under your feet, instead of just listening to stories?”
Rhaena couldn’t help but marvel at the way Lord Harry played the boy so easily. She finally understood what Lady Daphne meant when she said that he was just as dangerous with his words as he was with his magic.
To be entirely fair, Grenn was but a boy and obviously not one who was used to silver tongues. Rhaena hoped she could do that one day. She hadn’t asked the Potters to teach her how to use magic in fear of being rejected and perhaps them even taking it as a slight against them, but this sounded far more reasonable.
Nevertheless, the boy inevitably faltered, “I’m going to regret this.”
“Not at all, young man,” Lord Harry reassured, “That I can guarantee, at the very least.”
And the young girl believed him. Lord Harry did like to give small rewards to people who helped him, and a small favour from a man like him would likely be akin to treasure to a boy who wants to be a guardsman.
Yet, the boy obviously wasn’t convinced and led them near a very old, abandoned keep. Winterfell truly was massive for them to just abandon such a place, and they hid behind it, as Grenn pointed at a massive door in the distance, which two armed men, seemingly vigilant, were guarding.
The young man gave them a smug look, as if challenging them to actually sneak in. Lord Harry winked at her and took out a small pebble from his pocket and threw it near the nearby graveyard, releasing a brief sound.
The guards immediately brandished their swords and yelled out, “Who goes there?” before walking carefully towards the graveyard.
Lord Harry turned towards a baffled Grenn. Rhaena couldn’t believe it either. Were they truly just distracted by a pebble of all things, enough to leave their posts?
She turned towards Daphne, who was rolling her eyes and murmured to her, “Harry enchanted the rock to make it attention-inducing, while also very hard to see. He saw it in some game or book, I don’t remember, but when I said that it was unrealistic, he made a few of them just to spite me.”
Rhaena giggled at the fond exasperation in the woman’s voice, but mostly the sheer bafflement as they all walked casually towards the massive doors made of some kind of black wood. She noticed that Lady Daphne was staring at the door with some intensity and asked Grenn very pointedly, “What is this door made of?”
“Ironwood, my Lady,” the boy replied, but confused, “House Forester harvests it near the edge of the Wolfswood. They say that it’s as hard as iron.”
Lord Harry hummed, “I can definitely believe that. It’s reinforced, at the very least, and did you notice?”
His wife nodded, “I think I’ll need some samples later.”
Rhaena knew the Potters enough to know that the wood was magic somehow, and they were very interested in it, but were probably not speaking of it to avoid making Grenn nervous.
Still, Lord Harry smiled excitedly, “That’s enough dilly-dallying. Let’s get inside. Shall we?”
He casually opened the giant crypt doors, and they all walked inside with the gigantic door opening behind them. Lord Harry took out a small torch from somewhere and ignited it, and in a narrow and winding spiral stone steps, until they arrived near a very large room, filled with a series of granite pillars, each one showing statues of men with iron swords in their grips, in the distance.
They walked forward for a while until they arrived in front of the first statue. Grenn, who had been silent since they entered the crypts, spoke up, “Lord Rickon Stark. He was the previous Lord of Winterfell. Only they and the Kings of Winter before them had their statues made, but the rest of the family is buried within. The older the family, the further down it is from the crypts.”
Suddenly, Rhaena felt a shill go up her spine, like the crypts becoming suddenly cold despite the magic cloak that the Potters had given her. She didn’t know how to put it into words, but she felt unwelcome, like the crypts did not want to see her out.
Lord Harry put his hand on her shoulders, and the feeling completely disappeared. She turned towards Lord Harry and asked, “What was that?”
“Everything leaves a trace, and over thousands of years, Starks had lain in this place, their thoughts, dreams, and legacy here. Here they are celebrated. Here they are mourned. There is enough magic in the air to create a sort of protection for the dead members of this family.”
“Magic?” Grenn spoke up with a huff, “There’s no magic here, Lord Harry, just dead men and lost dreams.”
Rhaena couldn’t help but snort at the sheer confidence in the boy’s voice, knowing how wrong he likely was. Lord Harry also looked amused but nodded, “You are the Northman here, Grenn. You would know best.”
They walked, passing by one Lord of the North after another. It got quite boring after a while, and the crypts seemed to get lower and lower, like an endless cavern, which seemed to stretch infinitely with a few occasional turns.
Yet, for some reason, the Potters seemed fascinated by it all, by statues of dour men wielding iron swords, with stone Direwolves curling at their feet. Yet, they stayed silent until Lord Harry inevitably spoke up, “This is certainly large.”
Grenn, who had remained solemnly silent for most of the walk, nodded with obvious pride in his voice, “They say it is larger than Winterfell itself, that Bran the Builder, himself, made it with the help of Giants and the Children of the Forest.”
“That’s very curious, that a man thousands of years ago would build such a place, especially as large as this, for his descendants to be buried in. Pretty morbid sentiment, don’t you think? And to think that they all start from the bottom down. Quite the hassle to take a body this far, huh?”
The boy’s expression turned thoughtful, “I never thought of it, truly.”
“Ah, people don’t notice a lot of things. For example, you probably didn’t notice that the swords that the Kings of Winter are holding, the ones made of iron, haven’t been lost to rust, have they? They look almost fresh, in a way, despite being centuries old, perhaps even older.”
Rhaena looked at the swords, and her eyes bugged out as she noticed that they all looked like normal steel. Even Grenn turned towards them, torch in hand, touching them, “That’s impossible.”
“Very few things are truly impossible, young man. It seems that we are on the right track.”
“How could no one have noticed?” he muttered.
“As I said, there are many things that people don’t notice, and they are so preoccupied with their lives, their hopes, dreams and problems, that they very rarely ask the right questions, even if they’re very important.”
“Like what?” Rhaena couldn’t help but ask.
“Oh, there are many, but given where we are now, there is one very pertinent question that keeps coming up. Assuming that Bran the Builder was as great a figure as they said that he worked alongside the Children of the Forest and Giants, and that he truly created this place, the largest crypts in history, for his descendants to be buried for thousands of years, then what does it say when the crypts are almost full?”
That question seemed to send a chill running into the seemingly empty cavern, and Grenn especially seemed to become extremely pale at Lord Harry’s words. They continued down, for what felt like hours. Rhaena recognised a few of the names on the statues from her lessons in Dragonstone. She wouldn’t say she remembered them well, but the names rang familiar, at the very least. However, these instances became fewer the further they got, especially as the names started to be written in the Old Tongue, instead of the Common Tongue, likely before the Andal invasion.
The fact that the swords started to be made of bronze instead of steel was proof of that, weapons from a different age.
And for some reason, it was getting hotter.
At first, she thought it was just her. The cloak still regulated her body’s temperature, but she still felt warmer, without being too hot. It was a large contrast to Grenn, who had started to sweat rather heavily, but Lord Potter didn’t seem so bothered.
Darting between statues, mumbling to himself, running his fingers along carvings like he was trying to feel the memory of the stone itself. Every few minutes, he’d stop to scribble something in a small leather-bound journal he conjured from somewhere, then move on just as quickly.
Even Lady Daphne seemed interested, even if she was more reserved about it, also having a small journal of her own, which she scribbled a few things in, while also murmuring a few things to her husband. Rhaena felt somewhat out of her depth. She didn’t know much about the North or magic, like the rest of her party, but she knew with absolute certainty that very few people had ever walked where she had before, likely not in centuries or even millennia.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The crypt just kept going, deeper and deeper, one statue after the next. There were no turns anymore, just a long, slow descent.
Grenn had been surprisingly quiet, especially given how excited he had looked previously. Given that the two sorcerers seemed completely in their own world, she spoke to him, “So, Grenn. Do you have any siblings?”
The boy gave her a surprised look, “Why do you ask?”
“I’m bored,” she answered with a pout.
“I have a sister around your age. Maybe a year or so older than you, at most, perhaps almost as much of a menace as you as well. I had a brother once…”
Rhaena immediately regretted her question, given the pain in the boy’s eyes, “I have a sister too.”
“Is she staying in Winter Town?”
“Oh, no. She stayed home.”
The boy gave her a grin that made her blush for some reason, “Not as interested in adventures like you?”
Rhaena snorted at the image, “I’m the quiet one if you can believe that.”
“You?” The boy choked out with a mixture of dread and amusement, “You are likely halfway around the world from your home, surrounded by dead bodies. How could you be the quiet one?”
Rhaena simply shrugged, “I suppose I have been doing more adventuring things recently. But if she were here, she would have likely taken one of the swords from the statues and tried to duel you with it.”
She didn’t hear his reply because the ceiling cracked.
It was sudden and loud, and Rhaena barely had time to blink before Grenn shoved her sideways, hard. She hit the ground with a grunt just as a slab of rock crashed down where she’d been standing a heartbeat before, splintering into rough chunks that bounced across the stone floor.
Dust filled the air, thick and choking. Her ears rang.
Lady Daphne was already at her side, crouched down with one hand extended, checking her over without a word. Lord Harry stood a few feet ahead, staring at the ceiling, likely trying to see a way out.
“I’m fine,” Rhaena said.
Grenn didn’t say anything, just nodded and helped her back to her feet, his hand still slightly shaking. They turned toward the path ahead.
It was gone.
The tunnel had caved in completely, stones piled high and uneven, some still shifting slightly from the collapse. Any way forward was buried.
“Well,” Grenn said after a beat, brushing a bit of gravel off his tunic. “Looks like we won’t be solving mysteries here.”
Lord Harry, of course, smiled. “Not quite.”
He stepped forward and raised his hand, and the floor rippled like water. Dust lifted off the air, drawn back into the wall. Broken rocks pulled themselves together, smoothing out and slotting into place like they had never fallen at all. Even the ceiling above them reformed.
She grinned at the display of magic, and especially at the expression on Grenn’s face. The sorcerer winked at them and spoke up, “I told you that the world is bigger than you expected.”
“That… That was magic!” the boy exclaimed.
“Yes, it was. It’s very interesting. It seems like the entire next section was already caved in before this little mishap. And given how reinforced this place is, I don’t quite think that this was by accident, a safety measure, maybe…”
“A safety measure against what?” Grenn asked, probably without meaning to.
“Thieves, maybe, or maybe something else… Winter Fell... Winter Fell…”
And yet, the boy got angrier, “You did not tell me that you were a sorcerer!”
“And you didn’t ask either, did you?”
The boy spluttered, “Who asks if someone is a sorcerer? How did you do this? What could you have sacrificed for this power?”
“Sacrifice is a powerful thing, young man, but it is not what all there is to magic. Brandon the builder built the wall, a structure of ice that is seven hundred feet tall, which hadn’t melted in thousands of years. Do you not think there was magic involved? Do you not think that there is magic in this place?”
The boy took out one of the weapons from a nearby statue, a primitive bronze sword, he pointed at Lord Harry. She went to defend him, but Lady Daphne grabbed her, stopping her, “What are your plans for this place? What are your plans for Winterfell?”
“My plan was always discovery and knowledge, to understand this world even slightly more than I had the previous day.”
“How can I trust you?” the boy asked, his hand obviously trembling.
“You don’t have to trust me, Grenn. You only have to trust them.”
Lord Harry moved towards one of the walls and pressed one of the stones. The ground rumbled as the wall shifted. The stone simply receded inward with a slow grinding noise, revealing a narrow archway hidden behind it.
To his surprise, the boy lowered his weapon and looked at what was inside. Hundreds upon hundreds of weapons, perhaps even thousands, seemed to be stored in what seemed to be an endless cavern. Rhaena quickly recognised the material. Dragonglass.
As they walked forward, Rhaena saw a few bronze swords as well, but darker than they used to be. Lord Harry picked it up and ran his hand over it, “This used to be Dragonsteel, but the magic faded over the years.”
There were a few mammoth tusks with odd symbols carved on them, and Rhaena found herself drawn to a pair of necklaces, made of some kind of milky white steel, whose eyes seemed to almost glow white. She snuck one of them into the pockets sewn into her new cloak, and turned towards Grenn, who, instead, stared at a door that Rhaena hadn’t noticed, specifically, the symbols carved on top of it.
Rhaena walked towards him and asked, “What is it?”
The boy’s eyes finally left the carved words, and he hesitated for a moment before speaking up, “It says, ‘He Who Laid the First Stone’ and ‘Winter is Coming’.”
Grenn’s voice was barely more than a whisper, and Rhaena was tempted to ask him how he learned to Old Tongue, but instead, her eyes widened as she realised what it meant, “Bran the Builder.”
He walked forward towards the door and barely even noticed that Lord Harry and Lady Daphne had followed them. Rhaena followed him.
The first thing that she noticed was the wave of heat that assaulted her face, which her cloak immediately negated. Then it was the Light that assaulted her. Illuminating what seemed to be an immense cavern.
They walked forward until she finally saw what was inside the cavern, and she froze alongside the rest when she noticed what was before them. A giant Weirwood Tree, the largest she had ever seen, grew from the ground. Calling it a giant would have been an understatement. It was larger than most keeps at the very least, with even its branches burrowing into the ceiling above.
The light came from some sort of crimson thing beneath its roots, which seemed to be pulsing every second or so, almost shaking the entire room. However, when she followed Grenn’s frozen gaze, Rhaena immediately realised what she was witnessing.
There was something carved into the tree, something akin to a throne. She described it as such, as there was the skeleton of a man sitting on it, holding a white sword which seemed to faintly release a blueish glow, and was also impaled into the ground.
Rhaena didn’t need help to realise who this was.
They have found the remains of Bran the Builder.
AN: First, I’d like to thank you all for your well-wishes in the previous chapter. Things have been somewhat hectic on my end, but I was able to write this, even if I had to rush a bit. I had a few more plans to add for this adventure, and it does feel a bit monotone near the start, and I should have added a few magical traps probably after the collapse, but the chapter had already gotten too long. And I'll probably include a few in the next chapter. As usual, I don’t mind rewriting this depending on your feedback, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Marius Petrauskas
nice
Garri Sarkisov
I wish canon Starks knew of this stockpile of weapons against others
