In the large chamber reserved for Lord Stark, Ned lay against the headboard of his bed while staring at the wall.
Theon's first meeting with the family had been somewhat tense, but that was only natural. Their cultures were different, and the boy was a little arrogant.
He still had to learn that things were not the same here as they were in Pyke.
Though Ned wondered if the boy had merely been testing the limits. In any case, Jon should not have been his target.
Ned reflected on all of this while lying in bed beside his wife.
Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her reading a book. Her auburn locks curled gently around her face.
She looked peaceful.
Ned could not help but think of Harry's words once again.
How much resentment had his wife been hiding in her heart because of Jon?
It was a question he had perhaps never considered seriously enough.
Not to mention that, in trying to protect Jon through his promise, he might have been harming him instead.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Ned thought he saw his sister dying as she had eight years ago before opening them again.
His eyes became firm.
Determined.
"My love, I have something to confess," Ned said as he looked at his wife.
"So I assumed. You've been staring at me for half an hour," Catelyn replied, lifting her gaze from her book and turning toward her husband with a faint curve on her lips that concealed the unease she felt.
Her blue eyes studied him carefully. The way he avoided her gaze only made her fingers tighten around the book she had not truly been reading ever since she noticed his behavior.
"For many years, you've asked me about Jon's mother," Ned said as he slowly took his wife's hand.
Catelyn felt her stomach twist as her mind immediately drifted toward the worst possibilities.
Had he seen her again?
"Jon is not my son," Ned said quietly, almost as though he feared someone might overhear him.
His hand held hers firmly as a wave of relief passed through him.
Catelyn froze in place.
She stared at him in complete bewilderment.
Even though these were the words she had always wanted to hear, now that they were coming from her husband's lips, she did not know what to think.
"When I found Lyanna, she... had just given birth."
Catelyn shuddered and instinctively tried to pull her hand away, but Ned's grip would not allow it.
"She had lost too much blood. She died shortly after I found her. Her final words... were a plea that I protect her son," Ned said, closing his eyes sadly.
Unfortunately, even after more than eight years, he could still remember that moment with perfect clarity.
"Then Jon's father... he..." Catelyn began before falling silent as she understood the implications without needing to finish the sentence.
The war might well have continued if this information had reached Robert's ears.
"Forgive me for hiding it from you. This secret was important, but you deserved to know. As my wife, and as Jon's aunt," Ned said as he looked into his wife's blue eyes, clouded with confusion.
"Why now? After all this time?" Catelyn asked.
"Today, when Theon called Jon a bastard, I saw him and understood. I wasn't protecting Jon, and I wasn't protecting you either," Ned said, taking her other hand at the end of his sentence.
Catelyn avoided his gaze when she heard Jon's name.
She knew he was not at fault.
Even so, she had poured all of her bitterness onto the poor boy.
Yet she had never been able to help it.
She could never bring herself to smile when she met his eyes.
He represented everything that had hurt her.
Her husband's betrayal.
She had felt humiliated.
Disrespected.
"Promise me that you won't—"
"I won't tell anyone," Catelyn said, closing her eyes as she let out a sigh.
The news had left her utterly exhausted.
"I'm sorry," Ned said, lowering his gaze.
Catelyn looked at her husband silently for several seconds.
"You never betrayed me," she murmured to herself.
Ned opened his mouth several times, wanting to say something, but in the end he did not know what to say.
Nor did he know what to think.
Catelyn looked away and drew her legs up before wrapping her arms around her knees.
All this time, she had been fighting against something that never existed.
The woman she had searched for turned out to be Lyanna.
A poor girl who had met a tragic end.
And her son, whom she had constantly tried to push away.
"I don't know what to think," Catelyn said as tears ran down her cheeks.
She felt dirty.
She felt like a villain for taking out her pain on people who did not deserve it.
"I know," Ned said, cradling his wife's face.
Her mind was surely in chaos.
Catelyn gently stroked her husband's hand before turning over and lying down.
Her hand covered her mouth as she tried to suppress her sobs.
Ned stared silently at his wife's back before releasing an inaudible sigh.
After all these years, the weight of that lie had finally left his shoulders.
Even so, seeing his wife's reaction, he wasn't sure he felt any lighter.
Fixing his gaze on the wall once more, he could not help but wonder.
Had he done the right thing?
...
One year later.
A few kilometers from Winterfell.
A small town rose amidst the steam.
Winter Town.
That morning, the peace was broken by the sound of hooves striking gravel and the rumble of wagon wheels entering the town.
Bulging sacks filled the wagons, drawing the attention of every passerby along the road.
The wagons came to a halt in the town square, where several men immediately began unloading them into the open space.
"Everyone! Come over here, grain is for sale!" a man shouted as he cut open one of the sacks with a dagger.
Bluish seeds were immediately revealed to the small crowd that had already gathered out of curiosity.
"What kind of grain is this?" a woman asked hesitantly. The unusual blue color gave it a rather unsettling appearance.
"It's rye. It was improved by Young Lord Harry Stark. It grows well even in the frost, much better than the wheat from the south," the man said as he plunged his hand into the sack and let the grain run through his fingers.
Murmurs spread through the crowd as disbelief appeared on their faces.
"Are you sure it grows well even in the frost?" one man asked skeptically.
If a southerner had said such a thing, he would have spat on the ground and walked away. But he knew the man standing before the crowd. He was a Northerner. He should know what the frost was like.
"Those are Young Lord Harry's own words. This harvest came from the fields by the river. At the very least, it's definitely more resistant to the cold than ordinary rye," the seller replied, not daring to promise anything more.
"What's the price?" another man quickly asked.
The crowd immediately perked up at the question.
It had been a long time since grain had been sold in such quantities.
"Six copper stars per sack. That's the price our Young Lord set," the man said with a smile when he saw their shocked expressions.
In his opinion, it was practically a gift.
But orders were orders.
Gasps spread through the crowd as people immediately began pushing forward.
"Easy! There's enough for everyone. Form a line," the man shouted quickly when it seemed the crowd might get out of control.
The clinking of coins and the constant murmur of voices brought life to the square as buyers left clutching sacks of grain with broad smiles on their faces.
Grain was the sort of thing that, even if you had money, you often could not buy.
Unless a caravan happened to pass through, and even then it would usually cost several times more.
Word spread through the town, and the grain sold out quickly.
Many who arrived too late could only watch with disappointment as others carried away their purchases.
One curious woman who had been there from the beginning eventually approached the seller.
"Sir, what do you mean when you say Young Lord Harry created this kind of seed?" she asked curiously.
The small crowd immediately became interested in her question.
In their rush to buy, they had completely ignored that part.
"I don't understand it myself. I only know that he created the seeds," the man said, scratching his head.
He was merely repeating what he had been told.
"He created them?" the woman repeated, unable to understand how someone could create seeds.
"People like us can't understand it, but they say at the castle that the Young Lord is incredibly wise and intelligent. He learned to read when he was only a few months old," the man said quietly, repeating rumors he had heard.
"Months?" the woman exclaimed in astonishment.
She was nearly forty years old and could not even read.
"These are things beyond our understanding," the man said, shaking his head before leaving with the rest of the wagons.
The crowd murmured among themselves before slowly dispersing.
Little by little, exaggerated rumors about Harry's intelligence spread throughout the town.
Some stories eventually reached the point where people claimed he had been born knowing how to speak.
One thing, however, was beyond doubt in the minds of the people of Winter Town.
The Young Lord of House Stark was special.
....
In the castle's training yard, Harry held a practice sword while sparring with Rodrik, the castle's master-at-arms.
Several meters away, Jon and Theon stood with training swords of their own as they watched.
Harry already possessed some skill and experience with one-handed swords thanks to Godric Gryffindor's sword.
As a weapon that had been perfect for fighting Voldemort, he had naturally done his best to learn how to use it.
The Sword of Gryffindor was small and light, ideal for quick movements.
Now, however, he was learning to use two-handed weapons, mainly because he wanted to make full use of his abnormally strong body.
Looking at Rodrik, Harry planted his feet firmly before twisting his waist, trying to put his entire body behind the strike.
Both hands gripped the sword tightly as he attacked with surprising strength and speed for a boy his age.
The blade swept through the air before crashing heavily against Rodrik's sword.
The metallic clang echoed across the yard.
Rodrik took a step back, redirecting Harry's blade before launching an attack of his own.
His movements flowed back and forth rapidly as he made sure to teach Harry as much as possible.
Constantly attacking wherever his defense was weakest.
Harry was bold in his movements, always attempting unexpected attacks, which made teaching him somewhat exhausting.
Rodrik could see the bearing of a great warrior in Harry.
His instincts and reactions were incredibly quick.
His counterattacks were deadly.
The only things limiting him were his young body and the habits of a self-taught fighter, habits he could not quite explain the origin of himself.
"Enough," Rodrik said, stepping back and ending the match.
"Well done, Young Lord. You don't leave yourself nearly as exposed when you attack anymore," Rodrik said with a smile as he looked at Harry.
His ability to learn was remarkable.
It was difficult to surprise him with the same feint twice.
Rodrik could only sigh.
Once Harry grew enough, it would not take long for him to surpass him.
"Thank you for training with me," Harry said with a smile as he nodded.
Walking away, he rubbed his forehead and wiped away some sweat.
Gesturing toward Jon, the boy immediately stepped forward with his sword and looked at Rodrik seriously.
Harry moved to stand beside Theon and watched Jon's training.
They exchanged no words, but Harry did not miss the look of admiration Theon sent him.
It had to be said that the boy was incredibly stubborn.
Taming him had taken quite a bit of effort.
Even so, it could not be said that they were friends.
If Harry had to choose a word for their relationship, follower would probably be the most accurate.
With a metallic clash, Jon's sparring match against Rodrik began.
The two exchanged blows for several minutes.
Rodrik occasionally slipped past Jon's guard, though he always stopped before the practice sword could touch him.
Jon was stubborn.
Every time, he immediately demanded they continue.
Harry gave a faint nod.
His brother was doing quite well.
"I've got work to do. I'll see you later," Harry said, patting Theon on the back before heading toward the keep.
Two years had already passed since the war.
He had turned ten a few months earlier and had begun sword training shortly afterward.
Harry was quite satisfied with how things had progressed over those two years.
Most importantly, the rift within the family seemed to have largely healed.
His mother appeared much happier and treated Jon far better than before.
She had apologized to Jon, though Harry had not been present to witness it himself.
Even so, physical affection remained difficult for her.
She limited herself to brief pats on the head or placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Just remembering the frightened look Jon had worn during those first few days left Harry unsure whether to laugh or feel sad.
Harry arrived at his chambers and took a bath to wash away the sweat from training.
Once dressed, he quickly made his way to his study.
After the success of the rye crops, his father had placed him in charge of agricultural matters throughout the territory.
With the new seeds, the harvests had been excellent, allowing many farmers to produce surplus grain for the first time.
As a result, Winter Town's population had begun to grow.
The beginnings of small businesses could already be seen, such as bakeries and breweries.
With a larger population came the construction of houses, roads, furniture workshops, and countless other trades.
The entire town seemed to be coming back to life.
Entering his study, Harry found Vayon already waiting for him.
The steward immediately rose to his feet when he saw him enter.
"I've already told you that you don't need to stand every time I walk in," Harry said with a smile before sitting down in the large chair behind his desk.
His still-small body looked rather comical in the oversized chair.
If not for several cushions raising him up, his neck might not even have been visible above the desk.
Harry could not help but sigh inwardly.
He had reached this position far too quickly.
"Proper courtesies must be observed, my young lord," Vayon replied seriously.
"Fine. Tell me how the harvest went this year," Harry said casually.
"It was a spectacular harvest. Many workers cried when they saw the land of the North producing yields comparable to those of the south," Vayon said with a faint smile.
"Hm. Good work. Plant the fields again and expand cultivation into the newly plowed areas."
"Keep filling the granaries. If we end up with too much surplus, we can sell it to the Houses farther north. Even if it's summer, I doubt they're in a particularly good situation," Harry said, thinking of House Umber near the Wall.
"Yes, my lord," Vayon replied with a nod.
"Wait, there's one more thing."
Vayon stopped before he could leave.
"Reduce the grain tax. The farmers only need to pay fifteen percent of their harvest."
"My lord?" Vayon said in astonishment as he turned back around.
"Just do it," Harry replied.
His bright green eyes fixed themselves on Vayon with unwavering firmness, silencing any argument before it could be voiced.
The steward simply bowed one final time before leaving.
Harry remained seated as he looked at the map hanging on the wall.
There was a hint of longing in his gaze.
Letting out a sigh, he turned his attention toward the documents covering his desk, each detailing the current state of the territory.
The harvests from different regions and agricultural zones were carefully recorded, complete with their respective weights.
All the figures were fairly similar.
There should not have been any significant theft.
Picking up a quill, Harry began organizing the next planting season.
Some time later, he looked over the various documents spread across his desk while gently massaging his aching hand.
After organizing everything, he hopped down from the chair and went in search of his father.
To his surprise, Ned was not in a particularly good mood.
After asking about it, Harry learned that the lord of one of their vassal Houses had been discovered trafficking slaves.
Rodrik had apparently delivered the news and was now waiting for Lord Stark's orders.
"Prepare the horses. We're going to Bear Island," Ned said with a deep frown.
"I want to go," Harry said immediately, his eyes lighting up.
For a long time, he had wanted to see more of the world.
His movements had largely been limited to Winter Town and the farms surrounding Winterfell.
Knowing that a vast world existed beyond those borders filled him with the desire to explore.
"Very well. Inform Jon and Theon as well," Ned said, turning toward Rodrik.
"At once, my lord," Rodrik replied before leaving to prepare the men.
"Did you need something?" Ned asked, rubbing between his brows and calming his expression slightly.
Having to execute one of his vassal lords was never a pleasant matter.
"Hm. I still have some surplus seeds. I was planning to distribute them to the two closest Houses, House Cerwyn and House Tallhart."
"They're both near major sources of water, loyal to us, and close to Winterfell. They're the best places to begin expanding cultivation," Harry explained.
In truth, he had little doubt that some of the seeds had already spread through the North in one way or another.
But for large-scale farming, those scattered amounts were insignificant.
"Hm. I agree. But it will have to wait until we return from Bear Island," Ned said with a nod.
"That's fine. On the way back, we can stop by their castles and tell them to send empty wagons. They can return with the seeds themselves," Harry replied casually.
After all, they were doing the Houses a favor.
Let them come and collect them.
"Go and say goodbye to your sisters. We're leaving immediately," Ned said as he rose to his feet.
They needed to move quickly.
House Manderly had been the one to warn him.
Rumors were already spreading through the city.
And if that was the case, then those same rumors had likely reached Jorah as well.
They were racing against time.
There was a very real chance he might flee immediately.
"Right away," Harry said with a nod.
Leaving the solar, he first went looking for Sansa, who was with Septa Mordane.
If he were being honest, Harry did not particularly like the woman.
Not because she was cruel, but because he disliked the ideas she filled his sister's head with.
"Brother!" Sansa said with an adorable smile.
"Sansa, I'm leaving with Father for a few days. Be good while I'm gone, alright?" Harry said as he lifted her into his arms.
The little girl immediately clung to him like a koala, wrapping both her arms and legs around him.
"Hm. Be careful, Brother," Sansa said, hugging him tightly with a smile.
Her auburn hair seemed to grow longer every day.
Harry smiled and gently stroked her head.
At seven years old, little Sansa looked absolutely adorable.
Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he set her back down and allowed her to return to her lessons.
As he left, Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes at the septa before leaving.
Without wasting time, he went searching for Arya as well.
Unlike Sansa, she had not yet begun her lessons with Septa Mordane.
The little she-wolf was as restless as ever and immediately demanded to come with him.
Harry refused.
After promising that he would take her out to play another time, she finally let him go, albeit reluctantly.
Arya had a small nose and lively eyes.
At five years old, she was well on her way to becoming a tomboy.
Quite unlike Sansa, who seemed perfectly suited to everything the Septa taught.
After kissing her cheek, Harry left his sister behind and went looking for the youngest member of the family.
Bran was still very young, but he was clever.
He happily played by himself with small toys Harry had made during his spare time.
After saying goodbye, Harry returned to his room and changed clothes.
He put on a durable black leather outfit decorated with wolf motifs across the chest.
The collar was lined with the carefully sewn fur of a black wolf, helping keep his neck warm.
With gloves covering his hands, only his head remained exposed.
Even during summer, the wind could be quite cold, and riding at full speed could easily leave one's hands numb.
Making his way downstairs, Harry found his father saying goodbye to Catelyn and the younger children.
Harry also bid farewell to his mother.
She gently cupped his face and told him to be careful on the road.
Rodrik had already gathered one hundred mounted men in the main courtyard.
They were waiting for them.
In his hands were the reins of four horses.
One for Ned.
One for Harry.
One for Jon.
And one for Theon.
Harry smiled and placed a foot in the stirrup before vaulting onto his horse in a single motion.
Riding was nothing new to him.
Ever since learning, he had often gone riding with Jon.
Ned mounted his own horse and gave a short command.
The small force immediately set itself in motion.
Harry waved one last time toward his mother and siblings before following the column out of the castle.
The mounted force galloped down the road toward the Wolfswood.
----
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