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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 102: Unforgiving Ice
🕑 Added 2025-11-11 14:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter 102: Unforgiving Ice
123 AC, The Wall
Cregan Stark stood atop the wall that his greatest ancestor had ever made and stared into the distance. It was time again, Winter. The Maester may wish to deliberate all they wanted as they tried to unravel what was to come, but he could feel it in his bones. Winter was coming, and this time it was different.
The change in seasons was sudden, as it had been Summer mere moons ago, and Autumn had barely lasted more than two moons, with the world becoming colder every day. Yes, as much as he hated it, Winter was upon them, and that meant that House Stark had to be united.
The sudden change in seasons had already rendered the situation in the North dire, as the castle did not stock as much grain as they should have in the possibility of a long Winter. Cregan knew that what was to come would likely be the greatest challenge in his rule as Lord Paramount of the North and would have often been considered the nightmare of many of his predecessors.
After the events in Winterfell, the Lords of the North put their trust in him despite his younger age. They had all gathered and named him Lord Stark despite his youth, and he had officially triumphed over his Uncle Bennard and his designs of usurping him.
And yet, the sudden arrival of Winter bittered whatever victory he felt over his uncle, especially as the man walked up behind him and spoke up, “Nephew. I must urge you once more. Do you think it is wise to send so many men to the Night’s Watch? Winter has not yet been announced, and this will leave Winterfell far more vulnerable than it has been for centuries. If you did this just to hasten my vows to the Watch, then you need not weaken Winterfell for it. I shall do it tonight, even should you take the rest of the men back home.”
As much as he disliked it, his Uncle Bennard had not lied to him. Usurper, he might have been, he was also a Stark, and thus, his duty to save their people from Winter was above any other personal motivations.
And his advice was sound. He had employed his baseborn sister, Sara, to discreetly spy on Bolton lands, as they would be the first to cause him trouble, and they were starting to aggressively train their men. Cregan did not know if they planned on rebelling during the coming civil war in the south, as it meant that the crown would not involve itself, or perhaps it was the Ironborn’s civil war that emboldened them. Maybe it was the fact that Cregan was still untested beyond a magical medallion that he found in his ancestor’s tomb.
Torrhen’s offering, as most people called it, was the tradition of giving away one in ten men from the Starks’ household to the Night’s Watch. Most thought that he had done so to banish the men who would rebel against House Targaryen, as he had knelt to the Iron Throne. Even Cregan had thought it foolish, in his younger years, until he had seen with his own eyes what his ancestors had built the Wall to protect it from. It was a necessity that drove Torrhen to this measure, and the wish that the tradition would continue until their dying day.
Even then, Cregan had not given away as much of Winterfell’s strength as he pretended. While he had offered a good number of members of his household, most of the men accompanying him were Greybeards, older warriors who had not planned on surviving Winter. Cregan thought that they might be more useful in the Night’s Watch than they had freezing to death in the Wolfswood.
No, should anyone attack Winterfell while thinking it to be defenceless, then they would be in for a rude awakening, something that he planned to use against the Boltons later, should he survive what was to come.
Cregan did not turn to face his uncle as he replied, “The Starks have stood guardians against the Cold and the Dark ever since the days of the First Men. Torrhen Stark was right that the Night’s Watch would not survive a winter without good men, noble men to join the doomed men who only joined to live a few more years.”
“But why couldn’t you wait until Winter to do it?” Bennard almost demanded, “The Wildling incursions will soon die out when the cold forces them to settle down. You needn’t concern yourself with the wilding attacks. They are common as Winter pushed them further south.”
For the first time, Cregan turned back to his uncle, and the man almost flinched as their gazes met, “No, this is different.”
Cregan turned away once more, staring at the seemingly endless snow in the distance, “Swear your vows, Uncle, and leave Winterfell to me. Your sons will be my heirs until I father one of my own, just as we agreed. Rise in the Night’s Watch, for I shall have need of you in the future.”
Bennard gritted his teeth but understood the dismissal for what it was. Cregan Stark wished he could speak his suspicions to him, but he would have sounded mad. Only Sara knew, if only because she knew him so well. She had been oddly understanding, but he supposed that a Skinchanger would be more open to unbelievable claims.
She had taken her role to spy on the Boltons with an enthusiasm that was typical of her, and in mere moons, she likely had the greatest network of spies in the North. He had no idea how she did it, but he supposed that she was quite friendly with the servants of Winterfell, or perhaps it was through other Skinchangers. He did not broach the subject, pretending to be ignorant as he spied on his lords, but appreciated the information, nonetheless. He had planned on rewarding Sara, one day, perhaps even asking her to be legitimised as a true daughter of House Stark.
It was thanks to her that he knew that the wilding attacks were different this winter. It was thanks to her that he knew that the number of attackers had more than doubled, and yet the number of raids had been almost halved. It was thanks to her that Cregan knew that the ones who survived the way South and were taken prisoners by the Umbers had begged for their bodies to be burned, something that felt like a warning.
Something was happening North of the Wall, and he needed to be ready for it.
As if it was confirming his suspicions, Cregan felt the medallion, the one that his ancestor once more hummed faintly beneath his coat, and yet he stayed quiet, watching as the silence and wind in the dance, making every breath feel more ominous than the last.
“It’s a beautiful view,” a voice spoke up behind him.
Cregan turned away, his hand rising to grab his sword, Ice, with practised instinct, and point it at its source, only for his hand to refuse to do so. His heart started to rise in panic until he recognised the source of the voice, and relaxed, “I thought that I would never see you again.”
“Now, that’s a very mean thing to say,” the man before him pouted childishly.
Cregan would have thought less of any other man who acted like this. Alas, the man before him was Harry Potter, the man that Cregan had seen perform miracles with a wave of his hands, and who had helped him stop Bennard’s attempts at usurping him and secure his place as Lord of the North.
Behind him was the man’s wife, Daphne, and Cregan suppressed the urge to blush as he saw her once more. The woman smirked at his reaction and curtsied, “Lord Stark.”
Wishing to stop his embarrassment, the Lord of the North looked around behind them, looking for the third companion who had come with them to Winterfell last time, before he commented, “You came alone?”
“Yes,” Potter answered, “We didn’t think it was wise to take someone with us, not here.”
Cregan couldn’t help but agree with that. He, himself, regretted not bringing Sara with him. She would have liked the view, at the very least. Alas, the Wall was no place for a woman.
Of course, that was when Daphne continued, “If you miss Rhaena, I don’t think that she would mind exchanging letters with you. She still wears her wolf medallion everywhere, even while she was punished by her grandparents for her actions in Winterfell.”
Her grandparents…
That would be the Sea Snake and the Queen Who Never Was.
Had the Potters truly told the Velaryons, of all people, the richest house in the realm, about the girl’s insult to his house’s honour, and they punished her for it? He didn’t know how to feel about that.
Truthfully, while Cregan had forgiven the girl on the matter, he did not forget the insult, the attempt to steal one of his family’s heirlooms. The only reason he had not reacted more harshly was that she was still a child, and a princess at that. He had no wish for the Rogue Prince to burn Winterfell to cinders in a fit of rage, after all.
Cregan couldn’t help but wonder who the Potters truly were, the travellers who seemingly came out of nowhere, likely through some kind of magic, but with a Targaryen princess alongside them, one that hadn’t been reported missing. Sure, Cregan didn’t concern himself much with the affairs of the South, but the news of the Rogue Prince burning the realm to the ground in search of his daughter would have grabbed his attention, nonetheless.
Still, aside from the dangers of a young girl being at the Wall, he was glad that they did not bring a Targaryen here. “This is no place for a Targaryen. The last time one of their kind came here, the North was forced to cede a kingdom’s worth of land to the Night’s Watch. The new Gift, it might be called, but it is anything but that.”
Yes, Cregan had been quite bitter about the new Gift, as his father had and his father before him. It was a blatant form of interference in the affairs of the North in a way that they had not before or since. Perhaps, if it had been beneficial to… anyone, Cregan would have understood its goals, but that wasn’t the case.
Most of the land remained unmaintained for decades, with the villages remaining unpoliced and even its few holdfasts being abandoned, becoming nothing more than hideouts for thieves or Wildlings. It was also why there had been an increase in wilding attacks further south, with Last Hearth being hit the most. It had been an act of foolishness that did nothing but weaken the North, while also being an insult to House Stark, one that they did not forget even decades later.
To his surprise, Harry nodded in agreement, “That was a very stupid idea. Extremely reckless, too. Then again, they were young and afraid, and Targaryens are often rash when they feel unsettled.”
Cregan’s eyes widened slightly. His own comment about the Gift would have likely had his tongue cut in King’s Landing had he not been a Lord Paramount, of course. And yet, Potter’s veiled insult of the royal family would have gotten him killed without any further questions.
A small part of Cregan had thought that the man worked for the royal family in some way, perhaps as some sort of hidden weapon aside from their dragons. After all, why else would a Targaryen princess travel around with the Potters and even be scolded by them when she erred? Of course, there were many issues with this theory, mainly the fact that he could not imagine anyone with their power being subservient to anyone, even the royal family.
This comment, an insult to Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen, was not something that anyone who feared or even respected the royal family would say.
The man continued as if he hadn’t committed a crime that would have had his head cut off, “Imagine being young, after a war that shook the realm, and then going to the North, and having their dragons, what they consider the greatest power in the world, refuse to cross a wall of ice. It was proof that there is something out there that their dragons fear, and their first instinct was to strengthen the Wall as much as possible, to keep what’s on the other side there. They, of course, were very impulsive with it, which, in a way, was far worse than just leaving things be. The recklessness of youth and fear of the unknown, a very nasty combination indeed.”
“You seem familiar with them,” Cregan couldn’t help but comment, “The Targaryens.”
“I had a few conversations with them. Most have an overinflated sense of their importance. Unfortunately, the fact that they ride dragons makes it so each of their temper tantrum could end with hundreds losing their lives, or even a war starting.”
“Things do seem to have… changed in the Capital. I assume that this is your doing.”
Calling it a simple change was an understatement. The King suddenly healing from an incurable disease, followed by removing much of the Hightower’s influence, and even naming Rhaenys Velaryon as his Hand, had all but shaken the realm, with the lines drawn in the inevitable civil war starting to blur.
He hadn’t thought of it much, since it did not concern him, and he had not planned on being involved in any wars, as they wouldn’t benefit the North in any way. However, looking at the sorcerer now, he couldn’t help but compare it to his own scheme when they faced Bennard all those moons ago. This was also the man who had tricked Cregan into leading them into his family’s crypts, essentially having taken permission of the heir to Winterfell by ‘accident’. Some trickery and subtlety were expected from him.
Given the mischievous glint in the man’s eyes, he had guessed correctly, “Perhaps.”
Cregan snorted at the reply. Perhaps admitting to manipulating the royal family to not burn the realm to the ground was a bad idea.
He did not have the time to say anything else, as the sorcerer spoke up, while staring up into the distance beyond the Wall, “It’s a beautiful piece of magic, this wall. It draws magic from the South, not even a drop from the North, to power a gigantic enchantment on a scale that I don’t even think is possible. Then again, it is a continent’s worth of magic that’s being constantly drained. And the magic itself, a complete separation, as if the True North was shifted into a realm of its own. There’s a reason everything feels different on both sides of the Wall. I can see traces of the principles used in the Builder’s tomb in Winterfell. Be proud of your ancestor, Cregan Stark, for this is a masterpiece of magic that I don’t think I’ll ever see the like again, even if it is weaker than it should have been.”
Cregan suppressed the urge to preen at the compliment to his ancestor, but he froze as he digested the sorcerer’s last statement, “It’s weaker?”
“Well, I imagined that in the last few centuries, magic has been on a downturn, with most of it being used to stop the horrors of the Doom of Valyria from spreading. That meant that the Wall hadn’t gotten enough of its magic. Don’t worry, we went on a trip to Valyria and sorted this out, so magic is roaming more freely in the world. It’s slowly getting better, getting reinforced back to its former glory.”
Cregan couldn’t help but nod absentmindedly. He had heard of the so-called Second Doom of Valyria, which didn’t seem nearly as disastrous as the previous one, where most of the peninsula was almost shattered into pieces. The fact that it coincided with the Red Comet’s appearance and Sara’s reports on an increased number of Skinchangers in the North reinforced the man’s claims. Cregan had spent much time hiding the Skinchangers, in fear of the Andals trying to attack them in their usual religious fervour, but that would not work, not forever.
Still, without really meaning to, he couldn’t help but speak out about the troubles that he had to deal with in the last few moons, “The Wildings are acting up, all of them migrating south. Most attributed it to the sudden winter, but this sort of movement is unusual, especially without the report of a King Beyond the Wall,” Cregan confessed.
“They’re afraid,” the man replied with a calm voice, “This was not supposed to happen now. Something pushed things forward.”
Cregan couldn’t help but shiver at that statement, immediately realising that Death was at their door, “Was it because of the Builder’s tomb?”
Harry shook his head, “Probably not. They were probably waiting for the Night’s Watch to weaken, for the Wall’s magic to slowly wither away. I do know that there’s some connection between the White Walkers and the horrors of the Doom, so they might have planned on its effects. The fact that the Wall is suddenly strengthening because of the resurgence in magic would have surprised them. This is likely urging them to move quickly, or they will miss their chance.”
Cregan opened his mouth, and yet words would not leave it. He took a deep breath before finally asking the question that he plagued him, one whose answer he had dreaded since news of things stirring beyond the Wall, “Will it be another Long Night?”
“That is the most likely situation, yes. But lucky for you, we’ve been meaning to look into things a bit more regarding the Walkers. We’ve been having a lot of different accounts of them, enough that we decided to take a look ourselves.”
Cregan immediately jumped at the chance, “Take me with you.”
The sorcerer shared a look with his wife before turning towards him, and Cregan could almost feel the refusal before it was uttered. And so, he raised his hands and said his piece, “I am the Lord of the North. My ancestors were the Kings in the North, and you have shown me that my family had a single purpose since Bran the Builder became the first King in the North, and that was to protect the realm of men from the horrors beyond the Wall, to stop the Death of every man, woman, and child in the world. Winter is coming, those are our words. Fighting them is my purpose, like my ancestors before me. I have wielded the Builder’s sword and swore to take up his throne as Winterfell’s endless protector. And how better to protect my people than to bring the fight to those who would harm them. It is my duty to battle the White Walkers, so I ask of you to help me fulfil it.”
The Potters stared at him with a complicated expression before the man nodded, “This will not be an easy journey, Cregan Stark.”
“I know.”
Harry studied him for a moment, then gave a single nod. “Then we leave at dawn. Make your arrangements before we leave.”
Cregan exhaled slowly, feeling oddly satisfied despite the situation. He still felt his ancestor’s medallion on his chest humming ominously, and couldn’t help but murmur, “Then it begins.”
Harry gave a faint smile. “It began long ago, Cregan Stark. This… This is the end.”
And just like that, Cregan blinked, and the sorcerer and his wife disappeared completely, leaving Cregan alone just as they had found him. The wind howled across the Wall, and for the first time, Cregan thought he could almost hear it speak.
AN: Phew, I was a bit rusty writing Cregan, so this took a bit more out of me than I expected. I hope that my portrayal of him is still consistent. I decided to jump straight into this arc, despite having a few interludes from the previous arcs. I think I can do them after it, since I was too excited to get started. Anyway, I hope that this chapter came out like I wanted it to, but if not, then I don’t mind rewriting it depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
mintmonarch424
Don't you think it's a bit much to describe the wall as something so extraordinary that a timeless being who can travel dimensions will 'never see the like again'? Sure the wall is very cool, but compared to some magic in the fiction verse, it's really nothing special
athass_prkr
The plan is for me to do a poll with your desired universes and get your suggestions, make a plotline for each one, and choose one in the end. So far, I have a nice one in mind for Worm, and maybe a bit with Arcane and Witcher, which I started to scribble with when I get bored, but I'm not particularly attached to any of them.
WColeman417
Is the plan for this story to be much shorter than enchanting melodies? I imagine the long night and fighting off a potential cataclysm wouldn’t take more than 100 more chapters. What universe will Harry and Daphne go to next I wonder?
