Chapter Text
The King would be traveling with the Queen and a large entourage, so they’d had been granted a good three moons to prepare. A raven sent by Jory Cassel from Castle Cerwyn warned that their party would depart in the morning, meaning they had a sennight remaining. It had put Catelyn into a flurry of activity. Everything was done, from what Ned could tell, but he was wise enough not to question a lady about the readiness of a castle to receive guests.
“She is in a tizzy, your wife.”
He looked to the funny man who had been his guest for a little more than a moon. He called himself ‘Sheogorath’. His guards had found him wandering outside the walls. The man’s clothing was fine quality, silks and expertly stitched linen, but he also seemed to be a bit mad. Harmless from what he could tell. It wasn’t the madness of Aerys Targaryen, bent on killing any perceived enemy over an imagined slight. Instead he seemed to be a bit out of touch with reality, giving rise to fantastic stories about a hero he called the ‘White Wolf’ who performed daring deeds. His children were entertained nightly by tales of the White Wolf delving into dark crypts where the dead still walked to recover ancient relics that could help defeat the enemies of his lands, or facing down dragons that sometimes breathed fire, sometimes frost and other times a power like lightning itself. He traveled with friends, such as the Dark Elf huntress named Jenassa and the clever half-High Elf mage, Thalia. And he didn’t judge them weaker for being women, which Ned’s little Arya liked best.
He’d even had a few stories Sansa enjoyed, as the White Wolf eventually came to love his mage friend and took her to wife. Last night he had told them how the White Wolf and his bride had settled in a house they had built outside of a city called ‘Solitude’ to await the birth of their children as they started a family of their own. The White Wolf had been stranded in that strange land as a boy, far from his own family and likely never to see them again, whereas his beloved’s parents and siblings had been murdered by people who felt anger and hatred at their mixed heritage. They had decided it was time to step away from their many adventures to build their own life together.
“The King is known to be a man of great appetites and he’s traveling with near one hundred men. It will be a large group to host, and he’ll be here at least a moon with how long he has traveled so far.”
Sheogorath’s brows nearly vanished into his silver white hair. “I hope he doesn’t eat all the cheese!”
Ned chuckled softly. “I’m sure we’ve enough for everyone.”
“Oh, good. Nothing worse than a poor guest who scarfs all the cheeses.” His doublet and hose where immaculate as always. Cat had voiced confusion over it a few times, as none of her women ever had to take them in for mending or washing. Sheogorath was always perfectly groomed, quite unusual for a man plagued by madness, but perhaps his was a gentler insanity. “This is a grand home you’ve made for yourself here. A fine home. It’s no wonder he misses you all so.”
Lord Stark frowned. It was not the first time that his odd guest had mentioned something about a mysterious ‘someone’ knowing Winterfell. “Who do you mean? Have your travels taken you to the Wall to meet my younger brother, Benjen, perhaps?” Benjen did miss home and came when his duties permitted. He’d asked him to make the trip this time he would be here for the King’s visit but Benjen had not yet arrived. He’d been off ranging when his raven reached Castle Black but Lord Commander Mormont wrote back that he would give Benjen his message as soon as he returned.
“No, I haven’t been anywhere but Winterfell and those lovely woods behind her. I mean the White Wolf, of course!”
Ah, yes. His fantasy hero. “I see. The White Wolf is familiar with Winterfell, then?”
“Well of course! You raised him here, didn’t you?” Ned frowned. “He misses the castle, and you and his siblings. He still calls them that, you know, even after he realized the truth.”
The cold of the North suddenly invaded his body, chilling his blood and rooting Ned to the spot. “He… what truth?”
Sheogorath leaned in closer, his smile sly as he pitched his voice low and soft so as not to be overheard. “That you aren’t his father by blood, even if you are his father in deed. Clever one, that boy. Too clever for his own good, sometimes.”
Ned’s arms shot out and grabbed the man by his shoulders. “Jon? Your White Wolf is Jon?” His Jon? His boy? The grey-eyed child his sister had entrusted to his care just before she breathed her last? “You have seen him? You know where he is?”
The funny man grinned widely. “Of course! Good lad. Has grown into a fine man. You did a fine job raising him. It’s a shame more fathers aren’t as skilled.”
“Where is he? Essos? Do you know how to send him a message? How can I get him home?”
Sheogorath raised a hand to his chin and pondered. “Get him home? Well, he has his own home now, doesn’t he. Several houses, but I suspect he only considers the one he has now his actual ‘home’. That’s where he and his wife have decided to raise their own babes. He might not wish to return here. He’s done quite well for himself.”
Worry took hold of Ned’s gut. It could just be more of the man’s madness, he could have heard the children speaking of Jon and woven the boy into his tales. Still, he also had figured out that Jon wasn’t his son by blood, which was something only Lord Reed knew for sure. He hadn’t even trusted Cat with that secret.
“Then again, the war rages in Skyrim. I usually don’t pay attention to the petty silliness of men, but they do pull at him. Each sides wants him to take theirs but he doesn’t wholly agree with or condemn either. And then there are those Thalmor. They despise his wife for her very existence and I know they worry assassins might be sent after the children when they are born. In many ways, this would be a safer place for them. And, really, he’s done what he was sent to Skyrim for already. Some might say he’s earned his respite.”
Ned warred with wanting to hear more, even if it was only a story made up in a fevered brain, but Sheogorath gave a bark of chiding laughter and slapped a hand lightly against his tunic. “Now look who’s being a poor guest! You’ve let me into your home! Fed me! Welcomed me! Your children have been a delight to entertain. Restoring that which you have lost is the least I could do in return. And I have been here long enough. My own realm will fall to ruin if I stay gone too long. Yes, yes, my little holiday should come to an end at any rate.”
The man stepped back from Ned and took a courtly bow. “Lord Stark, i thank you for your hospitality. You have gone above and beyond what most would offer and have been an ever gracious host. I shall take my leave of you. Please do pass my compliments to Lady Stark.”
No, he couldn’t leave! He needed to know where Jon was! “I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome….”
“Nothing of the sort! But it will take too much to bring them here. I’ll need a nice rest afterwards. I will need to return to my own home, but it will be well worth it.”
Sheogorath turned away with a jaunty smile and wave, whistling a melody he was fond of but no one in Winterfell recognized. Ned moved to take step after him when his wife’s voice called out to him. “Ned, I need your help.”
He turned to Cat, her expression stern and hands wringing. That was how she looked when it was either Brandon caught climbing or Arya dodging her lessons with Septa Mordane. Sometimes it was both and the children would be into trouble together. He shoved down the urge to follow Sheogorath and nodded to his wife. “What have they done now?”
“Arya skipped out of her needlework lessons again and now she and Bran are both missing, along with their wolves. Maester Luwin hasn’t seen them either.” Sometimes Arya would sneak in to the boys’ lessons. It frustrated Cat but Ned didn’t mind it. It didn’t hurt for a lady to know the lord’s side of things, and his youngest daughter was better with sums than any of her brothers.
“They likely went on one of their adventures. I’ll look for them. They won’t have gone far.” He doubted they’d leave the castle walls. Most likely they took their wolves into the Godswood. Worst case scenario, they were both climbing a wall or tower they should not be.
Ned left the great keep, his thoughts whirling. Did their strange guest really know Jon or was it just his madness? He knew Robb would sometime speak to the younger ones about their lost brother, Jon’s disappearance had hurt him just as much as it had Ned, and did his best to keep his memory alive. Sheogorath could have heard these stories and it was nothing more than that.
Besides, Jon was too young to be wed. He was the same age as Robb, seven and ten. Yes, there were boys-barely-men who wed that young but that was usually because of need rather than desire. A young man who rose to the lord of his house and needing to get an heir to secure the line, usually. Sometimes the need to secure peace between houses or seal a trade deal, though they could often accomplish that with a betrothal and give them more time to grow up. He didn’t even like the idea of his daughters marrying that young. Eight and ten was a better age, if not as long as twenty. Time for them to grow up fully.
He was nearly to the Godswood when he heard the sound of someone running to him. He turned to see one of the young boys who worked as a page for the guards sprinting his way. He skid to a stop before him, catching his breath. “Lord Stark, you’re needed at the gate house!”
Robert couldn’t be here already.
He nodded and turned to head that direction, needing to pass through one of the inner walls to get to where the gatehouse at the inner wall was linked to the one at the outer wall by the drawbridge. He could see some of the guards standing on the bridge and it looked as though they were speaking to one another nervously. Ned moved towards them, his steps sure. “What is it?”
They turned to face him. “That man, the mad one, he just left.”
Damn. “Left?” He quicken his pace to the outer gatehouse to look out upon the killing field. There was no sign of Sheogorath. “Did he take a horse?” Even with a horse he would not have reached the tree line by now. Ned walked further until he could see to the left and right of the walls clearly. Still no sign of him.
“No, m’lord. He walked through the gate. He had a staff with him. He looked around a bit, then he raised the staff and pointed it at the ground. A ball of something like black and purple light shot out of it and hit the ground, just over there.” He pointed to the right of them. “Then what looked like a door made of the same light appeared and he walked right through it. Vanished, just as we were watching!”
What? That made no sense. Was the man drunk? He was about to open his mouth to ask that very question when the ground began to shake.
The guards still on the bridge over the moat crouched down quickly so as not to be thrown off into the waters below. Ned was on the part touching the earth but he still crouched down to keep his balance. To the right of him, a tight ball of the odd black and purple light the man had described appeared in the air. It seemed to be spinning as it hovered. As they watched it began to grow, becoming larger and larger. Guards and small folk cried out in alarm as it continued to do so. It seemed to plunge into the cold, hard earth itself so that it was soon just a half spear on above the ground but still clearly turning.
The thing grew larger and larger, but eventually began to slow down in its rotation. The trembling lessened in intensity as it did so and finally the odd light broke apart leaving….
… a building.
Eddard frowned and waited a moment to be sure that the shaking had stopped before he stood up. He shook his head, blinked his eyes a few times, then looked again. Standing outside of Winterfell’s walls was now a strange building that had not been there just a few moments before.
“M’lord… am I seein’ what I think I’m seein?” The man’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“A stone building?” He looked over it and noted the decorations on the roof. “With carved dragon heads breathings smoke on the top?”
“Yeah… yeah that’s what I’m seein’.”
Ned nodded. He didn’t have Ice with him. “Give me a sword.” The pommel of a blade was pressed into his outstretched hand. Lighter and quicker than the great sword that was the ancestral blade. Better suited to a fight. He hefted its weight in his hands. “Form up on me.” With a determined step he moved off the wood of the bridge.
Doors at the back of the building flew open and a slender man with dark hair came out, a sword hefted in one hand and a shield in another. He was bare front he waist up and it looked as though he’d just pulled his trousers on in a hurry before arming himself. He came out onto a stone patio and tripped to a stop, looking dumbfounded at the wall before him. He straightened himself from his battle-ready stance and tilted his head up in clear shock.
It had been a bit more than six years since he had seen his boy, and little of that boy was in the man standing there. The man was lean, even from a distance he could see the taught, wiry muscle that corded his frame. Even though he was too far for Ned to see him clearly and turned away so that he could only see his profile, Sheogorath’s words came back to him. Restore that which you have lost. The mention that it would take too much out of him and he would need to return to his home.
He couldn’t have.
“Jon?” His first attempt was a strangled, weak effort. His throat and chest seemed unwilling to cooperation. The Lord of Winterfell steeled himself and summoned his voice. “Jon!”
The man turned quickly, spinning on one foot with a grace that spoke of someone who found himself challenged and often. The sword and shield rose… then started to lower again. He couldn’t see from this distance if the eyes were grey, but he could see them widen. The jaw went slack and the man mouthed something that was swallowed by the cold, Northern wind. The shield and sword fell from suddenly slack fingers, something that Ser Rodrick would have scolded him for.
And final doubts were erased when the now unarmed man came running towards the steps leading to the ground, making it two thirds of the way down before jumping the rest all at once. He was barefoot and seemed not to notice the chill of the ground beneath his feet as he ran towards Ned. For his part, he had dropped his own sword and ran as well, meeting him halfway. They crashed together, arms flinging about one another in an embrace that was accompanied by laughter and tears.
“It’s you! It’s really you! I’m home! This is Winterfell!”
Ned pulled back and framed his face in his own calloused hands. “Yes! You’re really here, my boy. My beautiful boy!” He dank in the sight of his missing son. Lya’s eyes. Lya’s dark hair in a riot of curls that more than a few girls had envied when he was a child. There were signs of his father there, too, in the delicate, regal structure of the jawline and cheeks, but it was tempered by the long, Stark face. Only someone who knew what to look for would see the dragon in him. Most would only see the wolf. And he’d grown taller. He hadn’t been wrong about the muscle, Jon had the body of a man used to hard work and fighting. If he’d developed the skills to go with he build, he’d be a challenge to face.
He felt the men approach more slowly, clearly smart enough to realize that a he would not want them to charge Jon with swords bared and ready. Not when he’d dropped his own.
“M’lord?”
“It’s all right. This is Jon Snow.” He squeezed his son’s arms tightly. “My boy is home.” He knew his voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “He’s finally home.”
Jon returned his smile, his own eyes still wet with tears. Tears of joy.
“Well, damn. There goes my favorite fishing spot.”
The voice was female and a smooth alto in pitch. Ned looked past Jon’s shoulder to see a lean person with feminine curves and wearing leather armor standing on the patio of the building, hands on her hips and looking up at the walls of Winterfell. Her skin was a dark, ash-grey in color and it looked as though her ears extended up into points that ended just at the crown of the head.
Jon looked in her direction and choked off a laugh. “Yeah, looks like. It’s a bit of a trek to the nearest proper one, I’m afraid.”
The stranger turned head in their direction and Eddard saw the not-quite-right features. Long face, but narrow. Eyes sharply slanted in the face and dark. She didn’t appear to have any white to them at all. “You know where we are, then?”
“Winterfell.”
Her brows rose up. “The place where you grew up?”
“The same.” He started towards the building again and Ned followed. “Jenassa, this is Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”
“Your father, then.” She gave him a nod of her head. Most small folk kept their eyes averted, mainly because some lords were obnoxiously touchy about eye contact from those they thought were beneath them. Ned preferred to look a person in the eyes. It let him get a better sense of a person. “Well met, though these are odd circumstances.” She switched her eyes to Jon. “Were you mucking about with some artifact she didn’t yet examine?”
His son seemed offended. “I was in bed! Asleep! This wasn’t my doing.”
Another voice, also feminine but higher in pitch and more.. melodic floated out of the open doors. “I hear a distinct lack of combat. Does that mean I can come out without being scolded?”
Jenassa gave a bark of laughter. “You’ll have to meet your in-laws if you do.”
In-laws?
“My what?” Another feminine figure stepped out. She was tall, as tall as he which made her taller than Jon and a bit taller than the one called Jenassa. She also had a long, delicate face but her skin was a pale, creamy color like a Northern girl. Her hair was deep auburn, similar to most of his children, and she too had pointed ears though they did not extend as far as the other woman. Her eyes were a bright green and not as steeply canted in her face. She likely had a slender build normally, but it was hard to tell as at present she was very, very heavy with child.
“Your in-laws. Well, one of them at any rate.”
Jon had led him up onto the patio and stepped next to the new woman. “This is Eddard Stark. Father, this is Thalia, my wife.”
His wife. Just as in Sheogorath’s fantastical tales he’d been telling the children at night. A ‘dark elf huntress named Jenassa’ and a ‘half-high elf mage named Thalia’ who he later fell in love with and wed. They had built a home near a city called Solitude and had settled down to start a family of their own.
Ned suddenly felt light headed. “Sheogorath.”
Jenassa’s face registered shock. “I thought you said that your people didn’t know the Daedra.”
“They don’t.” Jon moved to his side and encouraged him to take a seat on a nearby bench. “Father, how do you know that name?”
“Because he’s been a guest in my hall for more than a moon. He’s been telling stories about someone called the ‘White Wolf’ and the female warriors fighting beside him.”
This appeared to concern his son. “He’s here? In Winterfell?”
“Not anymore, uh… m’lord?” The guard seemed unsure how address Jon. “He vanished, right after he worked some kind of sorcery on the ground your building is now standin’ on.” The man was saying this from the ground by the steps, seeming to be unwilling to walk up onto the stones. Likely fearing it would vanish and take them all with it.
“Hmm…”. Jenassa looked up at the walls again and frowned. “Did he say anything?”
“He mentioned restoring what I had lost as thanks for my hospitality.” Ned looked up at Jon. “He meant you. He brought you home.”
Jon weighed this information, rubbing his tangled curls. “Not sure how I feel about that. It means that the Daedra could have sent me home at any time, or at least he could. But what was he doing here in the first place?”
“Are there any mad men in Winterfell that you know of?”
“No. The closest would be Hodor, but he’s simple. Not mad.”
“Then more like he came here out of some curiosity he had about you.”
His new good daughter winced. “I’m not entirely comfortable with that idea. It’s best not to draw the attention of such entities.”
“Who was he?” Ned looked at them. “Who has been in my home?”
His son sighed. “A Daedric Prince. The Daedric Prince of Madness, to be exact. For lack of a better explanation, they’re gods. Or at least as close as you can get to being one without actually being one. I try to avoid them for the most part but I did have dealing with him once. Convinced him to let go of the ghost of an old king so that he would stop haunting a wing of the palace and it could be reopened. Didn’t realize he might have taken more interest in me than that. I don’t think I’m mad.”
“You’re not.” Jenassa made the observation in her smooth voice. “But you are interesting and you get involved in a lot of mad things.”
He felt the weight of someone’s gaze upon him and looked up to meet Thalia’s green eyes. “Perhaps we should take this inside. It’s a bit cool out here, and neither Jon nor I thought to put on shoes.” She glanced to Jon. “He didn’t even think to put on armor even though he thought we might be under attack.”
His son arched a brow. “I thought we were about to have a fight.”
Jenassa scoffed. “I put my armor on.” She turned around and walked into the building. Jon ignored her last jab and motioned for Ned to come with them. He turned to his solders and dismissed them.
“I’ll be fine.”
“M’lord… if it should vanish…”
If it should vanish he’d be away from Winterfell, but something told him that it wasn’t a danger. “It won’t. We won’t. Return to your posts.”
The men didn’t look convinced, but they did as ordered. He was certain they would leave a few just outside the gatehouse to keep an eye on things.
He moved to follow them inside, first looking about the patio. To one side was a forge. There was also a work bench, tanning rack and grind stone. On the other side was something that looked like a massive oven, but he didn’t think that’s what it truly was. As he moved inside the building, he was welcomed by the sight of dark earth with growing plants. They had made part of their home into a glass garden, with a wide strip of soil down the center and planter boxes one either wall. There were doors here, two sets to the right and two to the left. The second set to his left was open and he could see a kitchen through it, the scent of bread and roasting meat coming through.
“We were about to rise and break our fast when the house started to shake.” Jon turned around with a frown. “What time of day is it? It was just past dawn when it happened for us.”
“Just past noon.”
“Ah. Will you join us, then? I wouldn’t want to eat in front of you and Thalia really should have something.”
Thalia gave him an indulgent smile before looking to Eddard. “Did you mean to raise him to be so… fussy?”
His son gave her a smirk before heading into the little kitchen.
“He may have learned from watching me with Lady Stark when she was with child.”
“Ah. Leading by example. No hope for it, then.” She motioned for him to come with her. He was loathe to let his son out of his sight, some part of him fearful that he might vanish again, but he also found himself curious about this woman he took to wife and who was now carrying what would be his first grandchild, regardless of the way blood fell. The doors before them were open, revealing tables set into a U shape with a pedestal in the middle upon which sat something he had not seen outside of the Red Keep.
Eddard walked around the table as though drawn until he was standing next to the skull. “He said that Jon fought dragons.” The skull had been embellished with gold, silver and gemstones.
“Mirmulnir. His first. When we were building this place we found that Jarl Balgruuf had the skull brought to him and had been holding it. He had it made into a trophy and gifted it to Jon when we came to live here after the construction was done.
He looked up from the skull. “His first? Sheogorath spoke as though there had been many.”
Thalia sighed. “Yes. Before the end, there were more than he likes to think about. Without Alduin to push them into violence, most of them are content to remain in their mountain lairs. There was little need for them and humans to clash.” She managed to maneuver herself into a chair with a little work, her center of balance thrown off by her belly. “What all did he tell you about Jon’s time in Skyrim?”
Ned noted the two other trophies in the room. One of a massive cat, a golden coat with black stripes and long canine teeth that curved down from its open mouth like daggers and the other a large bipedal creature with long teeth, vicious claws and three eyes. That one took him by surprise. His confusion must have been apparent on his face because Thalia answered the unspoken question. “Troll.”
“And the cat?”
“A saber cat. Jon isn’t usually one for trophies, but Jenassa likes to keep those that nearly got him.” She gave a single shouldered shrug. “She says its to help keep him grounded. I suspect it’s also to remind him that he’s still here because one of us saved his hide.” She gestured too the multiple chairs to choose from. “Please, have a seat. I feel awkward sitting down while my guest stands.”
“Don’t be.” He moved back around the tables to the other side so he could take a seat a few down from her, leaving space for Jon to sit next to his wife. “My wife often moved from sitting to standing later on in her pregnancy.”
“I understand why.” She rubbed her stomach. “It’s hard to get comfortable any longer. And hard to sleep. They keep kicking me in the most uncomfortable spots.”
“They?”
She nodded. “The healers are sure it’s twins. Not wholly surprising. They run in my mother’s family. Two of my brothers were twins and I have three sets among my cousins.” She sighed. “One set of which was traveling to visit us and stay with me for the birth and to help out afterwards. They aren’t going to like showing up and finding us gone, house and all. There will likely be a few accusations thrown about over that one.”
Ned wracked his brain over the stories he’d heard Sheogorath tell the children. “He mentioned a war. One that people wanted Jon to pick a side for.”
“Yes. It’s a nasty business. Jarl Ulfric killed King Torygg. He claims it was a lawful challenge in the old ways, which would mean he’s the High King now, and there are those that follow him. The other side says that it was murder and follow Torygg’s widow, High Queen Elisif.”
“Was it murder?”
“I can’t say. I don’t doubt that Ulfric confronted Torygg. He has his grievances that are justified. Skyrim is the homeland of the Nords, and many Nords wish for independence from the Empire.. I can’t fault their reasons. After the Great War the Empire agreed to peace with the Thalmor, who now control the Altmer, my father’s people. Part of that peace was bought by granting the Thalmor’s demand that worship of Talos be outlawed. He’s the patron god of Skyrim, and the Nords feel betrayed because of it. The Empire always turns to the Nords to fight their wars for them, and little wonder. They are a large and hardy people, and most impressive on the battlefield. My mother was a sword maiden in the Great War. That’s how she and my father met.” She shook her head. “Father suspected the Thalmor made that demand for the sole purpose of causing a rift between the Empire and Skyrim, and I suspect that he was right.”
“Sheogorath mentioned the Thalmor. He thought that you might fear they would harm your children.” A shadow moved across her features. “I’m sorry to upset you.”
“No, it’s all right. And he’s remarkable astute for someone I didn’t think gave much care to mere mortals. Yes, they are a threat. They don’t like me. To them I am a mongrel. An abomination. And a few other words unfit for polite company. They said they caught my parents and siblings worshipping Talos and that was why they had them executed, though that was a weak cover for the truth. They saw my father as a traitor and my brothers’ very existence offended them. The only reason I escaped was that I had been sent to Winterhold to the college and wasn’t there when they took them.” She gave him a sad smile. “My father was a guard over an Altmer prison in the war. The same one my mother and her fellow soldiers had been taken to when they were captured. He did not agree with how the other Altmer treated the prisoners. Neither he nor Mother would tell us any details, only that they played sick, twisted games with their prisoners. Whatever they did, it was bad enough that when the Thalmor demanded my father be turned over to them for desertion and treason, Skyrim refused and petitioned the Emperor to speak on his behalf. He was a minor soldier so it cost the Thalmor little to let him go rather than admit to what many would have seen as war crimes. Anyway, towards the end of the war, things were getting stretched thin and his commanding officer decided to slaughter all the prisoners so he and the other Altmer could leave and join the main army. Father drugged their wine that night so they fell into deep sleep then released the Nords and helped them get across to the border and into Skyrim. He was granted asylum for his efforts, mainly because Mother and the others spoke on his behalf. Some time over the next few years, they decided to marry.”
“He sounds like an honorable man, your father.”
“He was. The Thalmor may hold power over the Altmer, but not all Altmer agree with them. The problem is that enough of those that hold sway do. More than once I’ve found myself in a fight simply because some Thalmor agent was offended by my presence. Or that I looked at him. Or that I was breathing the same air.” She shook her head. “They give the whole race a bad name.”
“She must be talking about the Thalmor.” Jenassa came in first, carrying a tray with what smelled like warmed bread and meat. “Altmer tend to be a bit high and mighty per habit, but that bunch are a more aggressive breed. Look down their noses at anyone and everyone.” She set the tray down as Jon came in.
“Sorry for the delay. We warmed up the bread first. I’ve gotten spoiled being able to melt the butter into it.” He set down his own tray and offered Ned a tankard of something warm and fragrant. “And I needed to mix this up.”
He accepted it and took a drink. It tasted faintly of ale, but was also creamy and sweet. “This is good. What is it?”
“Buttered beer.” He handed another tankard to Thalia. “Warm milk and honey, just as you like it. And your potion.” He set a green glass bottle next to the tankard.
She uncorked the bottle, took a fortifying breath and then downed it in one go. From her grimace it must not have tasted pleasant. “What was that?”
“A tonic for babes. It’s given to women who have had trouble carrying to term in the past or who have other reason to suspect they will deliver early. It encourages their bodies to develop more quickly so that if they are early they have a better chance at living. We’ve been using it for generations but it tastes horrible. Unfortunately adding any sugar would weaken the effectiveness.” She got herself one of the warm rolls and pulled it open, adding some slices of what looked like mutton and cheese within before closing it up and taking a bite.
Jenassa took up her own tankard and leaned back in a chair, her feet coming to rest on the seat of another one on the other side of the table. “I wish I could be there to see your cousins when they find us all gone. I wager they’ll grab up arms and storm the embassy.”
“I hope not. I’d rather they didn’t run off and get themselves killed. Maybe we’re lucky and he left a note where the house was.”
Jon shook his head. “Knowing him he likely replaced it with a house sized wheel of cheese. I still don’t like that he was here at Winterfell near my family.” He turned his dark grey eyes to Ned. The face was young, but the eyes were old. He’d seen too much already, this boy. “What all did he tell you?”
Ned nodded to the skull. “He told us you fought dragons. And other things. Living dead things.” He looked around the room. There were plaques holding weapons, but he wasn’t close enough to see if they were for decoration or for easy access if needed. “He always referred to you as the White Wolf. Where have you been, Jon?”
He sighed. “Far away. No place you could get to, not without help. No place on Westeros or Essos. I don’t even believe it was Planetoss. For one, there were two moons. Though if that hadn’t been proof enough, there were the other races.” He nodded his head towards Jenassa. “You won’t find more of her anywhere here.”
“But.. how?”
“Not sure. There aren’t any mages here that I know off, outside of the occasional wood witch, so it’s unlikely anyone from here did it. I suppose it could have been one of the Daedra, now that we know they can do it.”
The dark elf disagreed. “They would have sunk their claws into straight out. Started meddling right away. I agree with Thalia on this one. It was most likely one of the Devines. I’ve heard more than one Nord say it was Talos.”
Thalia swallowed the last bite of her filled roll and started making another. “I’ve always leaned more towards Akatosh. He’s the eldest of the Devines and is more closely linked to dragons.”
Jon considered this. “‘I am as my father Akatosh made me’. That’s what Paarthurnax said to me when we first met.” He looked to Ned. “Thalia’s in the camp that thinks he plucked me up from Westeros and brought me to Skyrim when Alduin showed back up to deal with him. Though why he’d pick a boy of one and ten for such a task, I’ve never been able to fathom.”
“To give you a chance to learn what you needed to know to accomplish the task. Or because he’s gotten so old and powerful he no longer fully comprehends such things as mortal age and couldn’t process the idea that you were just a child.”
“It certainly made my few months there irritating.”
Ned took another drink of his buttered beer. “How so?”
“People kept trying to send me to the orphanage in Riften, and I kept having to escape from it. I wanted to find a way home!” He took the seat between Thalia and him. “But I had to survive so I kept stumbling into jobs to go after things in places a wet behind the ears boy had no right to be in. Fighting things that seemed to crawl right out of Old Nan’s stories. It was by accident that I finally got someone to take me seriously.”
“What happened?”
“Someone stole a family heirloom from a shop keep and I went to get it back. The thieves had taken it into a crypt that was infested with draugr. They are like the wights from Nan’s tales. Dead but still walking about and able to fight. The legends say they were cursed never to rest because they once worshipped the dragons as gods and betrayed their fellow men. Anyway, the item was a claw made of gold. Turns out it was a key to an inner chamber of the crypt. There was another draugr in there, a tough one. I managed to kill it, only just, and found this stone tablet inside it’s sarcophagus. That proved to be something that Jarl Balgruuf’s court wizard had been looking for. It was a map to ancient dragon burial mounds and he’d needed it for his research into the return of the dragons. That got the Jarl to take me a bit more seriously, then a dragon attacked one of the watch towers. I ended up with the soldiers who ran out to get rid of it and managed to kill the thing.”
“A Jarl is a lord?”
“Yes. On par with you, a warden or lord paramount. After those two things, Balgruuf stopped trying to send me to the orphanage and awarded me the title of Thane. It’s a title that must be earned. It can’t be inherited. His steward told me that I was the youngest to ever be awarded with it.”
Jenassa grinned. “It also came with a house carl. Jarl Balgruuf assigned Lydia, a sword maiden, to be his body guard and shield sister. Though more than once she called herself his nanny those first couple of years.”
“That’s still not funny.”
Thalia smirked. “It’s a little funny.” Jon gave her an expression of exaggerated hurt, picking up a knife and pretending to stab himself in the heart with it. She giggled and sipped her milk.
“Anyway, that’s how I got started. From there I was trusted with bigger and tougher tasks. I eventually got together enough coin that I could purchase a modest home in Whiterun where I held the title and hired Jenassa to come with me so that Lydia could remain behind to mind the home and so that someone was there to accept messages that came in as more people reached out to me for assistance.”
“But you were still a boy. Why would they reach out to you instead of to more seasoned fighters?”
Jon looked at the skull, his expression solemn. “The dragons. Not everyone can kill them. At least… they don’t stay dead when others kill them.”
The overall tension of the room changed. He watched as Thalia reached over to wrap her fingers around Jon’s. A show of support.
“Jon?”
He opened his mouth but closed it again and swallowed. Ned watched as he took a breath and tried again. “When I killed him, Mirmulnir, something happened. His body didn’t just fall. The flesh, the scales, they… changed. Like the body as dissolving. It broke apart into light and… went into me. All that was left were a few scales and the bones. They said I… absorbed its soul. The Nords have a legend about the dragon born, men born with the souls of dragons. When a dragon falls to normal men, they don’t stay dead. A more powerful dragon can raise them again. They aren’t like the dragons of our stories. The ones in Skyrim are smaller, but intelligent. Smart enough to speak and work magic on their own. They have their own language and can learn any mortal one. Apart from illness or injury, they have no apparent natural life span and have all the time they need to gain knowledge. When a dragon born kills a dragon, however, they stay dead.”
Dragon born.
That could not be good.
Jon swallowed again. “There was no reason for the bastard son of the Lord of Winterfell to have such a power. I started thinking, about the stories of the war. About how you went to avenge the deaths of your father and brother and recover your sister. How you returned with her bones and an infant you said was your bastard fathered at war.”
Ned remembered what Sheogorath had said. That Jon still considered the children his siblings even though he had figured out the truth. “Jon…”
“I understand why you lied. In a way I’m grateful for it. Most men would have left me to rot. Or smothered me. You tried to protect me. You are the kind of man who doesn’t blame the child for the sins of the father, so you told everyone I was yours. Because being just a bastard is still better than being rapespawn.” His voice broke over the last word and he could hear the pain it had caused him.
“No. Jon, no!” Eddard reached out and took his shoulders, turning him towards him. “Jon, that wasn’t it.” He saw the pain there and cradled one cheek with his hand. “Yes, I lied about you being mine, but it wasn’t because of that. We were wrong, Jon. All of us.”
“Wrong?”
He had kept the secret so long that it hurt, physically hurt, to speak of it. But he had to. He couldn’t leave his son believing something so horrible.
“We thought he had taken her. That Rhaegar had kidnapped her. That’s why Brandon rode to Kings Landing to demand her back. That is true. And our father went to get him back. Aerys killed them both. It was their deaths that got the North to ride to war. As poorly as it may speak to the lords, they would not have done so just for Lyanna. But the longer things went on, the more questions I had.”
He had to give voice to the suspicions that had been rotting away in his mind over the years. “Robert claimed he rode to war for Lyanna. He claimed he loved her, and had a different woman in his tent every night.” And it had not set well with him or his lords to see that. “Lyanna had not been happy over the betrothal. She asked our father to call it off, but I tried to assure her that Robert would change once they were wed. That he’d stop the whoring once they were together. She did not believe it, and as the war went on I began to suspect she was right.
“Then came the sacking of Kings Landing. Tywin Lannister presented the bodies of Elia and her children,, wrapped in bloody banners. His men had slaughtered them. Rhaenys was only three name days old and they had stabbed her half a hundred times. Aegon was just a babe. Gregor Clegane crushed his head, then raped and killed Elia with her son’s blood still on his hands. It… it was too much. I demanded they answer for the crimes. Be made to pay for the murder of children. And Robert…. Robert said he saw now children. Only dragon spawn.”
He remembered those words as clearly as the day he heard them. Ned downed the rest of his buttered beer in one go, needing to regain control of himself before continuing. “I couldn’t stay. Not after that. I turned my back on the city and left. Lifted the siege at Storms End then sent most of my men back to the North as I continued South to find my sister. She’d been with Rhaegar for more than a year. I knew there was a chance she was with child if one had not already been born, so I only took men I could trust with me. Men I knew would help me keep her and any child safe. I would not allow another babe to be slaughtered.
“We found her in a tower in Dorne. With three kings guard. That should have been the first indication that all was not as we thought, but I was young and war weary. Too young and in too much pain over family and friends lost to think clearly. I should have spoken to them with reason, but in my ignorance we antagonized them. In the end, more good men died and all that were left were me and Howland Reed. And your mother and a single maid. And you.”
He looked back up and took Jon’s hands into his own. “Her last words were of you. She had heard of what had been done to Elia and your siblings. She feared that Robert would kill you if he knew of you, and she was right to fear so. His hatred of the Targaryens knows no bounds. She begged me to promise her that I would keep you safe and I swore that I would. They hadn’t been able to get her a proper maester and none of the kings guard were skilled to know what to do with a woman giving birth. She’d taken with birthing fever and was barely alive when I found you both. All I could do was bring you both home to Winterfell, with her in the crypts with our family and you in the nursery. To keep my promise I had to strip you of your name and hide you under a cloak of bastardy. Even if it caused tension in my own house.”
There was a mix of pain and relief in his son’s eyes. Jon had clearly been in the pain that he had been born in violence. “But it wan’t by force?”
“No. It wasn’t. I have to believe Lyanna tried to get the truth to us, but I don’t know why it never reached any of us. It could have been by accident, but I have always suspected foul play. We found documents in the tower. The High Septon at the time had granted Rhaegar an annulment from his marriage on the grounds that Elia could have no more children after Aegon. It takes more than one son to secure a dynasty. She had written a letter of her own to the septon agreeing with the decision and there was a decree written by your father that Aegon and Rhaenys would remain Targaryens with your brother as the heir before any child of Lyanna’s. There was also proof of their own marriage. The documents recorded that they were wed both by the Old Gods and in the Light of the Seven.” He offered him a smile. “You are not a bastard. You never were. But to keep you safe from those who would have killed you, I had to hide you as such.”
He saw the weight lift off his shoulders. Thalia placed a hand on one of them and squeezed it gently.
“Where are the documents now?”
“Greywater watch. Howland took them with him. It moves, so not even ravens can find it. It was the best place to hide such things. I hope they are never needed. It would start a war. I could have declared for you as a babe, but doing so would have only brought more death and ensured you wouldn’t have lived to grow out of swaddling.” He glowered. “That throne is cursed. I would rather you never had to suffer it. It would only bring you more pain and damn your children. I wanted to burn them, but Howland reminded me that fortune and fate can be fickle. We could not be sure that we wouldn’t have to one day prove your legitimacy.”
“What was his name?”
Jenassa had been so quiet he’d forgotten the strange woman was still there. Ned turned and looked at her.
“You said you had to change his name. What was it before? Other than Targaryen.”
“Jaehaerys. After King Jaehaerys the Wise. A good name, but not one I could keep given the circumstances. If I’d kept it, someone might have put the pieces together about what truly happened. So I changed it to Jon after Jon Arryn, the man I was fostered with and called him ‘Snow’ after bastards born in the North rather than keep the name ‘Sand’ for those born in Dorne. We were fortunate that he has the coloring of a Stark. It masks the more… graceful features he inherited from his father.”
“You’re my father.” Jon’s voice was firm in that. “I never knew that man. I can acknowledge that I am of his blood but you’re the one who took me in and cared for me. You raised me as your son. If life has taught me nothing else, it’s taught me that family isn’t just who is with you by blood, but who is with you by heart.”
He couldn’t put words to how that made him feel. The feeling was soon pushed down as he remembered what was coming. “Jon, the King is on his way to Winterfell. He’ll be here in a sennight. Jon Arryn has died and I suspect he’s coming to ask me to take his place as Hand of the King. He can not suspect who you truly are. It will condemn you as well as your unborn children.”
He saw a fierce, violent look cross Thalia’s face behind Jon’s shoulder. It was matched with Jon’s own. “I understand. He won’t hear it from any of us.” He looked to Jenassa. “Probably should avoid any talk of ‘dragon born’ as well. We won’t be able to hide the bit about the dragons, there’s a skull right there and carvings of more on the roof. But best not mention any special abilities involving dragon souls. Or that I’ve ever rode one.”
Ned’s brows went up. “You rode one?”
“It was the only way he could get where he was going.” The huntress nodded. “You’re a dragon slayer. They are merely decorations commemorating your victories. Simple enough.”
There was a sound of doors opening from behind them, followed by Robb’s voice. “Father?”
That actually took longer than he would have anticipated. He saw Jon’s face light up with expectation and raised his own voice. “In here! Straight ahead towards the tables.”
It wasn’t just Robb. It was Arya and Brandon, along with Greywind, Nymeria, Brandon’s still unnamed wolf and the albino runt of the litter al the children took turns caring for and who was quickly catching up with his litter mates.
The heir of Winterfell froze, staring at Jon with a mix of disbelief and joy. He should have been quicker, because Jon was just starting to rise from his seat only to be knocked back into it by Arya crashing into him.
“It is you! It’s really you!”
Jon wrapped his arms about Arya, hugging her close. “Yes, it’s me. It’s really me.” He buried his nose into her hair. Eddard couldn’t help but chuckle at them all. The wolves were as excited as their humans, tails wagging. The white one was sniffing curiously at Jon, then at Thalia, then at Thalia’s belly.
“It’s about time you wandered home, Snow.” Robb was trying not to sound as though he was crying.
“Figured you were likely lost without me, Stark.”
Brandon approached, eyes wide. “Are you really our brother Jon?”
Jon lifted his head from Arya’s. “You can’t be little Brandon. Were were still toddling around trying to escape your mother at bath time last I saw you.”
“He’s old enough to be more fun now.” Arya spotted Jenassa seated further down and frowned. “Why are your ears like that?”
“Arya.” He loaded some warning into his voice but he doubted his daughter noticed as the woman laughed.
“Because I’m a Dunmer. A dark elf. Our ears are this way to help us hear better.”
The little she wolf’s eyes grew wide. “A dark elf! Like in Sheogorath’s stories?!”
“Depends on what he said about us in those stories.”
“He told us all about how a Dark Elf named Jenassa was a great hunter even though she was a woman. And how she helped her friends fight against dragons and bandits and something called trolls. What are trolls?”
The huntress jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the mounted monster. “That’s a troll. Nasty buggers. I’d rather face the dragons.”
“Why?”
“They don’t heal as fast as you cut them. Trolls do.”
“Is that a dragon skull?” Bran ducked under the table to make a straight line for the thing rather than going around the table like a normal person. Ned considered calling him out for it but decided against doing so. They were excited to have their brother back.
“It is. Thalia. Jenassa. These are my siblings. Robb, Arya and Brandon. I have another sister, Sansa, around somewhere.”
Brandon was studying the skull. “And another brother. Mother has had Rickon since you went away.”
Arya, on the other hand, gaped at Jon, then at Thalia, then at Jenassa, then at Jon again. It looked as though she may have stopped breathing. Robb, for his part, looked rather shocked as well.
Arya grabbed Jon by his shoulders and moved as though to shake him, but she wasn’t strong enough to really do anything. “Are you the White Wolf?!” Her voice was loud and shrill.
Ned fought hard not to smile. “Arya. Calm yourself.”
Robb was staring at Jon, unable to grab him and hug him when he was pinned down by a lap full of Arya. “The one Sheogorath was talking about?”
“Really?” Brandon forgot the dragon skull. “Did you really crawl through crypts and fight living dead men and route bandits from mines and break evil curses that made everyone have nightmares night after night after night until they were nearly mad?”
Arya was now kneeling on his legs which was no doubt causing discomfort because Jon started to gently move her off of himself. “I’m sure he made it sound all much grander than it really was.” He finally managed to stand up and accept an embrace from Robb. “But I did do a lot of such things. Mostly because they needed to be done and I was hoping to find a way home.”
Bran was now staring at Thalia. “Are you really our good sister? Are we getting a niece or nephew?”
Thalia smiled and said ‘Nephews’ the same time Jon said ‘Nieces’.
Arya gave another loud gasp. “The White Wolf!” She pointed at the albino pup who was now sitting next to Jon where he stood, looking up at him as though he was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. “That’s why we have him! He was the runt, but now he’s bigger than all but Nymeria. One more than there were of us, but it wouldn’t have been right to let him die, so we all take care of him. The gods sent us the dire wolves. They sent a white one for you!”
Jon scratched the pup between his ears and looked to him. “You started keeping dire wolves?”
“We came across their mother, dead in the forest. She’d tried to take down a stag and they ended up killing one another. The pups were with her. I was going to put them down, but Robb and Bran convinced me otherwise.”
Robb smiled. “At first we only saw five, one for each child of House Stark. We almost missed that one. He’d crawled a bit away from the others.” He clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I thought of you when I saw him. That’s why I insisted we try to feed him up, even though he was the runt of the litter. As you can see, he’s come a long way. I thought Theon my take him, but the pup doesn’t like him, and Father didn’t seem to want one of his own. I never thought he might be an omen of your return.”
Jenassa peered at the pups. “What’s a ‘dire wolf’?”
“Think ice wolf.”
Her brows rose. “Will they get that large?”
“Most likely.”
Thalia sighed. “You’re half in love with him already, aren’t you.”
Jon knelt down by the wolf, prodded him to turn around, and rested his head atop the white fur, giving his wife the same puppy eye expression Arya used when she wanted to eat out of trouble. Ned covered his smile with another tankard of buttered beer.
“Mara grant me patience. The first time I catch you fashioning a saddle and letting the children ride him like a pony I am locking you out of this house!”
His son grinned and got up, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “You are the finest wife a man could ever hope to have.”
“You’d best keep remembering that.”
Robb smiled and approached Thalia. “A pleasure to meet you, good sister. I hope my brother has not been too much of a trial for you.”
“No more than another headstrong man who often forgets his own mortality. He has told me much about you… Lord Robb? I’m sorry, but I’ll have to learn the proper way to address people.”
“Lord Robb or My Lord is correct, but I would prefer it if you would just call me ‘Robb’. We are family, after all.”
Arya was now very interested in her good sister. “Do you really fight with Jon like in the stories?”
“I do. Well, I did when I was slimmer and more graceful. He needed someone who could patch up injuries and help shield him from unexpected attacks.”
“Sheogorath said you’re a mage. Do you really do magic?”
“Yes. I do. My father sent me to the mage college at Winterhold to study and everything.”
“Can you turn into a bird?”
She grinned. “No, I cannot. Most mages concentrate on one or two schools of discipline. I studied Destruction and Restoration. Essentially I was taught how to take enemies apart and put allies back together. Your brother and I met when he came to the college to try and learn some fire magic because he’d been asked to take out a group of trolls that were plaguing a village. It was quicker to hire a mage that already knew how.”
“I had my doubts when he showed up with her.” Jenassa got up and plucked up some cuts of meat to feed to the pups before they jumped up to steal them. “Half Nord or not, Altmer can be difficult to deal with. Turned out to be one of the best moves he ever made.”
Arya claimed the seat Jon had vacated. “Did you really stop an evil queen from coming back from the dead?”
“Yes, though that was mostly Jon.”
“And did you really take out a nest of spiders as large as dogs?”
“That was mostly Jenassa.”
“And what about the time you went into the world warriors went to after death and fought the evil dragon king?”
“That was all your brother. Jenassa and I couldn’t follow him there.”
That chilled Ned’s blood. “You traveled to the lands of the dead?”
Jon grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. “It… sounds more impressive than it really is. In truth, it just looked like another piece of land, complete with trees and stones. There was a great feast hall where the valiant dead gathered to eat and drink and sing songs of battle.” He gave a shrug that didn’t look very convincing. “I’m sure that he embellished things.”
The huntress met Eddard’s eyes with a smirk. “The White Wolf has always proven a humble man. It’s become quite the amusement of bards and soldiers to see if they how many times they can make him blush in a night. They even place wagers on the number. I won quite a nice sum just a fortnight ago.” She frowned. “I doubt septims can be used here.”
“Septims?”
“Coins,” Jon volunteered. “They’re gold, however. I suppose they could be melted down and restruck into dragons. We have a smelter, though we’d need the molds.”
Most coins were minted by the Lannisters, since they had the gold mines, or at the Capitol, but the lords paramount could do so as well. He had the molds for the different denominations though they hadn’t been used in a while. “Maester Luwin can help with that.”
“That should keep you busy for a while.” Thalia paused. “Provided the lower levels came with us. We haven’t a chance to examine the house, yet.”
“Right, we should take stock and see what we have. And I have been a rude host. Lady Stark would scold me proper for failing to give you a tour.” Jon looked his way. “Care to explore with me, Father? If we’re fortunate, the vaults came with us. I had always hoped that I would one day find my way back here, and we’ve been gathering things that could be of use just for that purpose. Hopefully that mad Daedra sent it over as well.”
He was curious of this home his son had built for himself. “I would welcome a tour of your home. I’d like to see where you intend to raise my grandchildren.”
“I hope you won’t be offended if I don’t join you. I really don’t relish trying to haul my bulk up and down stairs. The longer this goes on, the more clumsy I become.”
“Not at all, good daughter. Please, rest yourself. It looks as though soon enough you’ll have little time for it.”
She smiled and rubbed her middle. “I can hardly wait.”
~***~
Ros has been a pleasant time as always. Theon was whistling to himself as he made his way back towards Winterfell, but the whistling slowed as he spied the new structure just outside the walls.
He was fairly certain that had not been there when he set out that morning.
There were guards near the gate house, clearly keeping an eye on it.
Spurring his horse forward he closed the distance. “Oi! What’s this?”
One the guards looked up. “That funny feller wots been staying with Lord Stark came out, did some kind of sorcery, then vanished. A bit later that building appeared. Had Lord Stark’s bastard in it.”
What? “Snow? He’s back?” He hadn’t been at Winterfell but a bit over a year when the boy went missing after a odd storm. Vanished right from his bed. He remembered Lord Stark searching for weeks with his men and sending ravens out to his lords asking them to keep their eyes open for him. He remembered Robb being unconsolable at the loss of his half brother. The two were close in spite of his bastard status.
The guard nodded. “Yes, m’lord. Lord Stark and most of the young’uns have gone in there.” He pointed at the stairs that led up to a second floor landing.
Of course they’d go inside a strange house that appeared out of nowhere because of some sorcery worked by a madmen. These were the same people who thought dire wolves were perfectly fine to bring home and keep as companions. And Ser Rodrick thought he was reckless!
Theon dismounted and handed off his horse before making his way to the building. It looked solid enough. Sturdy stone work. He was cautious as he ascended the flight of steps to the flagstones where he saw a work bench and a forge along with a large furnace.
So far, so good.
He opened one of the double doors cautiously and waited. No attack. Stepping inside he was met with plants growing in planters and a strip of dark earth. “Robb? Lord Stark?”
“Someone there?”
A woman’s voice, light and melodic. She stepped out of a door to his left. She was lovely, with auburn hair and bright green eyes, though she was clearly with child. “Hello. Are you another Stark?”
“Theon Greyjoy. I’m Lord Stark’s ward.”
“Oh. I’m Thalia White Wolf. Jon’s wife.”
The bastard had a wife? And a new name, apparently. He nodded to her midsection. “Looks like it’s a happy marriage.”
She grinned and nodded. He saw the oddly curved and pointed ears that peeked out through her hair on either side of her head. “Yes, it is. This way. They’re downstairs.”
She escorted him through another set of doors that held a hall and tables. Theon tripped to a stop. “Is that a fucking dragon skull?”
“It is. As you can see, quite dead.”
He saw the other trophies and pointed to the oddest one. “What the fuck is that?”
“A troll. They’re this way.” She walked over to a set of stone stairs going down. “Jon?”
A voice answered up. “Something wrong?”
“No, but you have another guest.”
Theon walked closer. “You down there, Snow?”
It was Robb who answered back. “Theon! Get down here! You’ll love this!”
The woman, Thalia, shook her head. “They’re either in the weapons or the armors. If his brother is anything like my husband, they’ll be in there for hours.”
Curiosity got the better of sense and Theon started down the steps. At the first landing he found another set of doors, this one next to another trophy that, while not as large or as intimidating as the ‘troll’, was more hideous. It looked like a gnarled woman with stringy hair and what appeared to be feathers growing out of the underside of her arms. “What is that?”
“Hagraven.” Feminine voice. Smooth and droll. “If the fact that they can hurl magic at you wasn’t bad enough, you have to watch for the talons, too. That one nearly took White Wolf’s heart right out of his chest.”
He looked at the thing and saw the talons. He could believe it.
Theon walked through the doors to find a room filled with weapons racks, each filled with weapons. There were more secured on the walls. Robb was hefting a sword in his hands that looked to be carved from ice.
“Look at this!” He held the blade out to him. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
He saw Snow standing next to Lord Stark. He was older and taller and… harder somehow. Theon gave him a nod of greeting before taking the offered blade. “Is this… ice?”
“No, but it’s been called that. It’s called Stahlrim. It’s a mineral that, from what I could ever figure out, was only found on one island. The locals there had learned to work it. Properly crafted, it’s stronger than steel but lighter, and it’s always cold. I picked up a few pieces while I was there. Thought it might be a fitting blade for the Heir of Winterfell and future Warden of the North.” Snow said that with an exaggeration of a snobbish air to which Robb made a rude gesture his father called him on.
Theon handed the sword back to Robb. “Where have you been all this time, Snow?”
“Somewhere you cannot reach without a god hurling you there without so much as a polite inquiry first. And I am called Jon White Wolf now, if you please.”
Somewhere what? “How did that happen?”
Snow… White Wolf… Jon shrugged. “I told people I was called ‘Snow’, but they all thought it rather foolish since Skyrim has even more snow than we do. They found it funny. Eventually people around me noticed I liked things with a wolf motif and always stopped to pet a wolf-like hound if I passed one. They asked and I told them how my father’s sigil was a snarling dire wolf. For a time they called me the ‘wolf boy’, then eventually people started calling me the White Wolf, because snow is white and I liked wolves.”
“Huh.” It made a kind of sense. “Pretty wife, by the way. See you wasted no time there.” That got him a blush from the bastard. “How’d you convince a beauty like that to marry you?”
“Keep on, Greyjoy, and I’ll show you how sharp some of these swords are.”
“Theon.” Lord Stark leveled a stern look at him and he dropped it. Clearly he was determined to accept his new good daughter.
“Congratulations on the babe. I hope the gods give you a healthy boy.”
“It’s twins! Thalia says it’s boys but Jon says it’s girls.” Little Arya ran up to Jon with a dagger. “What’s this made of? It looks like bone.”
“That’s because it is. It’s made from dragon bone.” Brandon had come up behind her with a similar axe. “That too.”
Their eyes went wide. Theon’s might have as well. “You can make weapons from dragon bone? Not just a hilt? Isn’t bone brittle?”
“Not dragon bone.”
Arya looked over the moon. “Can I keep this? Please?”
“Me, too?”
Lord Stark frowned. “Arya…”
Jon chuckled. “You can, but only if Father agrees and you both promise to be careful.”
Smart. Arya immediately turned her most powerful weapon onto her father. Eyes soulful, lip slightly quivering and voice plaintive. “Please say we can, Father. Please!”
Theon and Robb shared a quick smirk before looking away.
Lord Stark could be a fearsome person. He could level a look on you that came near to making a gown man shit himself. When faced with either of his daughters, however, he crumbled like an old and weather worn wall. “You will be careful. You will train with Ser Rodrick. And you will not take them out of their sheaths without permission until he and I are both satisfied you can do so responsibly.”
Both children agreed immediately, quickly securing their new gifts in their sheaths to show how obedient they could be.
“You still favor the bow, Greyjoy?”
“Yeah.”
He watched as Jon took a bow down from a plaque on the wall and picked up a quiver of arrows, carrying them over to him. “Here you go.”
Theon took the bow, noting the carefully smoothed surface. “Is this dragon bone as well?”
“Yeah.” He nodded to a corner where a bin with what looked like a jumble of bones sat. “I’ve got some bones still, so I could make you more arrows, but it’s not an endless supply. You can use any arrows so I’d save the matching ones for when you want to show off.”
He hefted the bow. It was heavy for the size, but not too much so to handle. He held it and tested the draw. It took more strength than his usual bow, but he could tell from the tension that it would likely be more powerful. He couldn’t wait to get it to the practice range.
Theon lowered the bow and looked at Jon. “Thanks, Bastard.”
Jon punched him in the shoulder. “You’re welcome, Squid.”
“Boys.” There was no heat in Lord Stark’s voice and they exchanged a grin before Jon’s attention was caught by something else.
“You said the King is coming. Does he still favor a war hammer?”
“From all that I’ve heard.” Jon moved over to another weapons rack and hefted up a war hammer, carrying it over and handing it to Lord Stark. “Is this…glass?”
“Malachite. Tricky stuff, but when you forge it proper it comes out that way. They do call it glass, but it’s strong and durable.”
The woman, at least Theon thought it was a woman though she had a strange look to her, nodded. “The Altmer make their weapons and armor from it, prissy as they are. They like to look pretty, but it does well in a fight.”
Stark ran a finger over the golden accents of the weapon. “And this?”
“Dwarven metal. The Dwarves are gone, but the ruins of their underground cities could still be found. I made quite a bit of coin the early years by scavenging metal from them. No one knows how to make it any longer, like Valyrian steel here, but it can be reforged if you know what you’re doing and smiths paid a premium for it. I was tinkering around and thought the two would look good together. You think it’s pretty enough for a king?”
Lord Stark smile. “Aye. I think it’s more than pretty enough.” He handed it back to him. “From you, though. You made it. You should give it.”
“Sounds like you got yourself a trade while you were gone.”
“Out of necessity than anything else. I wasn’t always able to wait for repairs to be done or needed a weapon from a specific material or of a specific style for a task. I started out just wanting to know how to patch my own weapons and armor and it expanded from there. I was planning to step away from adventuring all together and become a smith instead.” He shrugged. “I would smith and Thalia would do her potions and tonics. This one hadn’t decided what she would do, yet.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the woman who let out a snort of quiet laughter as she sharpened a wicked hunting knife.
“There was still quite a bit of coin to be had in adventuring for hire, and you were dreaming if you thought you’d be allowed to retire. People may have been willing to grant you both time for the pregnancy and time after to bond with your children, but eventually you’d have someone knocking at your door again. Being sent back here is likely your best chance at finding a quiet life for yourselves.”
“And you?” Jon looked concerned for her, but she only shrugged.
“My people were forced to flee our home because of the ash plagues. I was already a stranger in a strange land. New land. New challenges. New adventures. I always land on my feet. I will adapt and I will succeed.”
“You are welcome in my lands, Jenassa. From what I can tell, my son still lives in part to you being there by his side. You have my gratitude.”
Wait. What. “Jenassa? And your wife’s name is Thalia, and you now call yourself…”
“Yes, Greyjoy. He’s that White Wolf. We’ve already figured that part out.” Robb clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Do try to keep up.”
Lord Stark chuckled as Jon started ushering the little ones out. “Come on. We still need to check the rest of the house.”
They followed him out, Jon waiting until they were all out before shutting the door. He started off down the next set of stairs to another landing, opening those doors. “Oh, good. This is still here, too.”
The new room hosted forms that held various armors. Everything from leathers to full plate suits suitable for a knight.
Lord Stark frowned. “Why so many weapons and armor?”
“A lot of the weapons I picked up on various tasks. I sold most of what I found but as I had places to store them I would keep one piece and sell the duplicates. Then as I learned more about smithing I would try out various styles. Some I’d sell or give as gifts, others I would keep to refer back to when I had time to look into making improvements. Also I would need to make things specific for a task, or I’d be gifted a piece from someone as a thank you for a task done.” He waved at the armors. “Some of these, however, were to blend in. I’ve got the uniforms from every hold here and a few specialized organizations as well as some things I put together to provide specific protections.”
Theon looked at a monstrous creation that was designed like full plate but appeared to be fashioned from bony slabs.
Jon sighed. “Dragon plate. Made from dragon scale. I was looking for something that would offer additional protection from their breath and claws, but it proved too heavy and clumsy for me. I ended up making that instead.” He pointed to another stand that had armor that had some of the scales but not as many. “It’s mostly leather and traditional chain but with scales to cover vital areas for extra strength. Much easier to move in.”
Arya whirled on him. “Can you make me armor?”
Jon smoothed her hair. “Let’s see how you train up first. See how you move and if you even need it. I’d rather not risk upsetting Lady Stark so soon after my return.”
She opened her mouth to protest but her father stopped her. “You’ve wheedled yourself a dragon bone dagger, Arya. That’s enough victories for today.”
She dropped it, but she wasn’t happy about it.
Satisfied that this room was in order, they left it and went down another set of stairs to a door set into the floor. Jon opened it and peered inside. “Oh, good. Still here.” He lowered himself onto a ladder to the side and started to climb down. They each followed in turn as he lit oil lamps, though Theon could see how.
Once he looked around, he no longer cared. Light gleamed off what looked like bars or gold and silver. There were sturdy chests but there weren’t also tables. Stop those tables were stacks of coin, wooden heads that housed gleaming circlets and necklaces and pouches and smaller chest that held who knew what.
Lord Stark looked around him with a brow marred in confusion. “Jon?”
“Gifts. Loot gathered on adventures. Payments received for goods and services and from investments in various ventures.” He frowned. “I just sank a lot into buying two ships for the East Empire Trading Company just last week. I suppose they’ll appreciate no longer having to pay that back.”
Jenassa tilted her head to one side. “Didn’t you set it up so that if anything happened to you and Thalia both your house carls inherit the property they are watching and everything within? I’ll lay odds that Elisif and her steward make them pay it to Jordis instead.”
“Oh. Yes that would work out nicely.” He had his way over to one area that had several barrels and sacks. “Here’s what I was hoping for.” He pulled one sack up and patted the sides.
“What is it?”
“Skyrim is as cold and harsh as the North. More so in a lot of places. At first I thought I’d somehow been transported past the Wall. When I got older and gained more sense, I started looking at things that I might try to bring with me if I ever found a way home.” He opened the sack and scooped a handful of something golden into his hand, offering it out to Lord Stark.
His father took it and ran a thumb over the golden grains. “Wheat seed.”
“It’s hardy, and thrives in cold, hard soil.” Jon gestured to the other sacks and the barrels. “There’s also cabbage, potatoes, leeks and carrots. Also apples and a few different types of berries. And cotton.”
Lord Stark’s brows vanished into his hair line. “Cotton?”
Jon smiled a wolffish smile. “Aye. Cotton. The fiber is a bit thicker than the stuff from Essos and the Reach, but it can be spun and woven, and can be brushed to be just as soft. Everything here thrived in Skyrim and Skyrim is as hard a place as the North.”
Theon tore his eyes away from a pile of glittering gems. “That’s what you were worried about? Seeds?”
Lord Stark shook his head. “You’ve grown up too privileged, Theon. The North is sparsely populated because it’s hard to provide here. Food is hard to grow and we spend much to import it from elsewhere. If these seeds can thrive here, in our own lands, then they are far more valuable than anything else in this room.”