This is a non-profit fan fiction
Harry Potter and Game of Thrones are owned by J.K Rowling and George R. Martin
Chapter 1
The Apperating Castle
There was not a man in all the North of Westeros that could not deny that Lord and Lady Stark where completely Honourable. They were the last people you'd expect to lie, or to be involved in anything strange, underhanded or mysterious, because they were just to respectable to be involved with such peculiar affairs.
Lord Eddard Stark was Warden of the North. He was in his mid-thirties with a long face, dark hair and grey eyes, though he did have a closely-trimmed beard that was beginning to grey. Lady Catelyn Stark was beautiful, with long auburn hair, rich blue eyes, and long fingers, which were very useful when performing Needle work. The Starks had had Five True-Born child, who were the most wonderful babes in all the land, and one child that Lady Stark never spoke of.
The Starks where content with their life ruling over the wild and open north, but Lord Stark had a secret, a secrete passed from father to son, a secrete no man could know. He didn't think he could bear life if anyone found out where the Starks had come from. Many stories from the Age of Heroes spoke of the Original Stark, Bran the Builder. But no whispers before that Age were ever spoken; in fact, Lord Stark pretended he didn't know anything before the Age of Heroes, because the origins of his family were as unrespectable as it was possible to be. Ned shivered at the thought of what the other kingdoms might say or do if they learned the truth. War, blood and death would soon fly across all of Westeros, and old alliances and friendships would be broken to see the end of his line.
When Lord and Lady Stark woke upon on a grey, boring summer day our story starts, there were a dozen or so clouds in the sky as was normal, there was no suggestion that anything strange or Mysterious would soon happen across the frozen land of The North. Lord Stark whistled calmly as he strapped his sword to his belt sitting down at the high table with his family, and lady Stark critised her two daughters Sansa and Arya for acting unladylike at the table.
None of them noticed a large, white owl flutter amongst the rafter of the Great hall. At finishing a lovely breakfast of kipper and sausage's, Lord Stark pushed his plate away, kissed Lady Stark on the cheek, and ruffled the hair of his children, but missed baby Rickon who had fallen off Lady Stark's knee, and sat of the floor grumpily.
"Little monster," chuckled Lord Stark as he left the Great Hall.
He walked to the stables and was met by Ser Rodrick. Climbed atop his horse and trotted out of Winterfell.
It was as he left through the Hunters Gate that he noticed the first sight of something strange – his brother Brandon was standing by the Portcullis. For a second Lord Stark didn't understand what he had seen— he pulled the reigns of his horse and jerked his head back to look again. But there was no one there. What had he been thinking, his brother was dead, wasn't he? It must have been a trick of the light. Lord Stark blinked and stared at the Portcullis. But there was nothing there. As Lord Stark rode away from Winterfell and down the road to Wintertown, he watched the castle carefully. It seemed ancient and old, a colossus of the landscape, then he heard a laugh, deep and booming an arrogant, his brothers laugh—no, not his brothers laugh, it was the wind, it had to be. Lord Stark gave himself a little shake and put his brother's face from his mind. As he rode with Ser Rodrick and several men towards town, he thought of nothing except doing his duty as the towns Leige Lord.
But on the edge of the black forests, duties were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat atop his horse and trotted down a muddy path, he couldn't help but noticing that there seemed to be shadows moving through the trees. Hungry shadows. Lord Stark disliked shadows— they were dark omens that spooks marched in. He kicked his horse lightly and moved fast through the forest, till he was in the open fields that lead to Wintertown and his eyes fell on a huddle of darkness from a passing cloud that lingered close by. The shadows were whispering, excited whispers. Lord Stark shook his head; the whispering soon disappeared, he thought it was all an illusion that, sleep still clouded his mind... yes, that would be it. The traffic to Wintertown was almost non-existent, and a few minutes later, Lord Stark arrived in Wintertown his mind back on performing his duty.
Lord Stark always started his day the same. He met with Magistrate of the town, if he hadn't, he might have found it very difficult to concentrate of doing his duty. He didn't see a rather large black dog roam through the streets of Wintertown, though people all around the town did, they pointed and gazed open-mouthed. Most people had seen a dog, but not one of this big, nor one whose fur smoked with a coughing mist and with vengeful red eyes. Lord Stark, however, had a perfectly normal, monster-free morning. He collected the monthly taxes from the various farms in the area. He spoke with several minor officials about the preparations for winter. He even had time to visit the orphanage. By the time lunch arrived he was in a good mood, when he thought that he'd stretch his legs, walk to the closest tavern, and buy himself a mug of beer with a plate of meat.
He'd forgotten all about his brother's face and the whispering shadows, until he sat down in the tavern, and a dark corner started murmuring. He eyed the corner angrily as he took a sip of his beer, ignoring it. He didn't know why, but he was sure there was something in the shadow, something that made him uneasy. Like before the whispering was excited, too, and he just as before couldn't seem what was making the sound. It was only when his plate of meat arrived, that he caught a few words of what the shadows were saying.
"The Starks, all dead, that's what will come to pass, Father shall tell him, tonight."
Lord Stark did not move. Fear flooded him. He looked into the shadowy corner expecting some child to walk out laughing, but no one did, he wanted to say something, but he thought better of it.
He didn't touch the meat the wench delivered. He left the tavern and hurried into the Magistrates office, snapping at the overweight man not to disturb him, and slammed the door, he thought of telling Ser Rodrick what he had heard, but changed his mind. He stroked his beard, thinking…no, he was being silly. Voices from shadows were impossible. He was sure he was just hearing thing, creaks of floorboards that sounded like words. As he thought about it, he wasn't even sure he had heard Stark. It was more of Ark sound he heard. There was no point in worrying Ser Rodrick or anyone else; Lord Stark always got upset when there was any hint of his ancestors oddity. He didn't blame his ancestor—if he'd been the same … but all the same, that whisper…
He found it a lot harder to concentrate on performing his duties that afternoon and when the sun began to set as he left Wintertown, he was still so worried that he didn't watch were he rode and his horse tripped sending him flying into the ground.
"Shit," he grunted, as he hit the ground hard. It was a few seconds before Lord Stark realized that he was on the ground, his head hurting and his ears hearing a low murmur.
He thought he should have been upset at being knocked to the ground. But on the contrary, Lord Stark felt fine, but the voices in the shadows squeaked excitedly that made him stare at the shadow of a tree which morphed into his dead sister Lyanna, "Rejoice, rejoice, my dear Brother, for tonight is a glorious night! Hail to thee, hail to the house of Stark! For now our family's long journey upon this globe comes to an end, celebration galore, praise this night, this wonderful night!"
And then Lord Stark's sisters shadowy face smiled at him and disappeared. Lord Stark lay there stuck to the spot. He had seen two deceased siblings. He was perplexed by what his eyes had seen, whatever he had seen. He was rattled. He climbed off the ground and hurried to his horse and set off for Winterfell, hoping he was tired from the day and imagining thing, which he had never hoped before, because nothing like this had happened to him before.
As he rode through the Hunter gate of Winterfell, the first thing he saw— and it didn't improve his mood— was the Gargoyles that decorated that battlements where moving, staring at him whispering and laughing to each other. Ser Rodrick and none of the Guards seemed to notice. He was sure they were moving, they had to be.
"Stop it!" said Lord Stark loudly. The Gargoyles gave him a stern, wary look. Was that normal Gargoyle behaviour? Lord Stark wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he gave his horse to the stable boy, and walked into the castle. He was still determined not to mention anything to anyone.
Lady Stark had had a perfectly normal day. She told him over the evening feast all about Sansa's sowing lessons, and how little Rickon had managed to make it down the stairs of the great keep. Lord Stark tried to act normally. When the children had been put to bed, he went into his study in time for the weekly Raven Report from the other lords of the north.
The news was rather strange:
Lord Umber had reported seeing a great sea serpent in the bay of seals, and fish flying from the water onto the land in fear. Lord Karstark wrote informing Lord Stark that a herd of horses with the bodies of men had been seen riding near his strong hold. Lord Bolton whispered of ghosts of deceased men haunting the Dreadfort. And the Mormonts scribbled urgently a frost dragon flying over Bear Island.
The news from the south was not much better:
Prince Renly of the Stormlands informed him that the sea had grown vicious towards storms end destroying the royal fleet at habour. Lord Tyrell, reported trees coming to life and roaming the Reach, replanting the forests of old. While from the Vale, Trolls had been seen climbing the Mountain of the moon.
Lord Stark sat frozen in his chair. Tree's coming to life? Sea serpents, roaming the oceans? Old friends growing wings? And the whispering shadows, whispers from departed siblings.
Maester Luwin came into the study carrying his many chain links. It was no good. He'd have to say something to someone. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er—Maester Luwin— have you by chance… have you read the letters from the ravens?"
Maester Luwin looked shocked and angry. He gave a stiff nod.
"I have, my Lord," he said sharply, "Why?"
"Strange occurrences across Westeros," Lord Stark Mumbled, "Tree's…Dragons…Beasts long thought dead…"
"Your point, my lord?" snapped Maester Luwin.
"Well, it's just that… Maybe… it was something to do with…. You know… the Higher Mysteries."
Maester Luwin stood very still his lips pursed. Lord Stark Wondered whether he dared tell him he'd heard whispers from the shadows, and seen his dead siblings faces. He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "You don't think there is anything to worry about. Just sailor stories…nothing more."
"Yes, my lord. Just sailor stories," said Maester Lyuwin stiffly.
"Are you sure, though?"
"Yes, my Lord. Perhaps The Higher Mysteries was once a mighty force in the world, but no longer. Nothing of that forgotten age remains, they are but wisp of smoke that lingers in the air after a great fire has burned out, and even that is fading. Valyria was the last ember, and Valyria is gone."
"Oh, yes," said Lord Stark, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."
He didn't say another word on the subject to anyone that night. Instead he went to his chamber and crept to the window. Lady Stark soon joined him as he peered into the courtyard below. A Knight in full burnt armour was standing there.
It was staring at the keep as though it were waiting for him.
He blinked once, was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the whispers from the shadows? If it did... if it got out that he and his family were descended from— well, he wouldn't let that happen.
All of Winterfell went to bed. Lady Stark fell asleep quickly but Lord Stark lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. But no comforting thought reach him. In fact, it was nearly midnight before he climbed out of bed and walked to the window, and peered out again. The knight was still there, still waiting for him. After a moment of hesitation, he ventured down to the courtyard.
All of Winterfell might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the Knight in the court yard was showing no sign of sleepiness. It stood as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the gate of the great keep. It didn't, so much as quiver when Lord Stark walked out and slammed the great door behind him.
Lord Stark stepped forward, walking through the courtyard as the summer snow ran across the ground. The knights' grip twitched on his sword, and its black eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this Knight had ever been seen in Winterfell. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with his face hidden beneath a thick helmet. He was also very burnt, judging from the black charcoal and ash that stained his armour, which was in great quantity that put a fireplace to shame, on the breast plate was an engraved animal: A Direwolf.
He turned, his armour groaning. He raised a long arm, ash cascading to the floor from twisted joints, and pointed to the Gods wood. This man, this knight, was Lord Starks deceased father, Rickard Stark.
Rickard Stark didn't seem to realize that he was dead. Instead he walked off creaking and groaning to the God's Wood. His last living son following very confused. For some reason, the sight of Lord Stark following him seemed to amuse Rickard. He chuckled, and muttered, "Should have known it would have been you. Not Brandon, not your brother."
He pushed the door to the Gods Wood open. It seemed very dark in the sacred forest, till Rickard drew his sword and it burst into a flaming light, he held it up in the air and lit the way. They walked unhindered to the Weirdwood tree. Rickard Stark plunged his sword into the ground as a beckon and walked to the pale tree, where he sat down on a low branch next to the wooden face of the old gods. He didn't look at Lord Stark, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Strange times these are, strange times," sighed Rickard. He reached up and removed his helmet.
Lord Stark gasped. His father's face was pink, blistered and smouldering from a great fire that had taken his life, he had no hair, and an eye was completely covered in ash. But there was no pain on his father's face. Instead Rickard was smiling through a set of broken teeth.
"F-F-Father, how have you been?" Lord Stark asked.
"My Dear son, I'm dead. I'm in a bit of pain here and there, but nothing to cry about."
"I'm not surprised. You were burnt alive in your armour," Said Lord Stark.
"Was I? Well that certainly explains why I looked like this. Now that you have grasped the obvious, can we please move on?"
Lord Stark nodded dejectedly.
"Sorry Father."
"Ah, be at ease boy. You should be celebrating. Everyone else is."
"Celebrating?" asked Lord Stark.
"Yes celebrating." he said impatiently. "You'd think the others would be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on." he jerked his head back at the Library towers. "Those bloody Raven. Monsters in the sea….Dragons in the sky…well the Maesters aren't completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Sea Serpents in the bay of seals, those over grown tuna, were told to behave."
"Father?" said Lord Stark gently. "What is it that we are supposed to be celebrating?"
"What we haven't been able to celebrate since before the Age of Heroes." said Rickard irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. Everyone is being downright careless, wandering about, getting seen, not even attempting to hide themselves, swapping rumours like ladies in waiting."
He threw a sharp, sideways glance at Lord Stark here, as though hoping he was going to tell him something, but he didn't, so he went on. "A marvellous thing it would have been if on the very day we were about to disappear, the Muggles hunt us down. End all of us in one foolish fell swoop."
"Disappear? What do you mean disappear?"
"Oh, hush boy. We have much to be thankful for. Thankful, that our line survived the cruelty of this chaotic world."
"But I don't understand! Muggles — Serpents — Our kind…. What does any of this mean?"
"My dear Ned, surely a sensible person like yourself can understand what is happening? Surely the quiet wolf, who, watches and learns, can see that his heritage is calling to him. Surely a: wizard." Lord Stark flinched, but Rickard, who was still smiling, seemed not to notice. "Surely you've figured out, that magic is slowly saying its final farewell."
"B-B-But father, you said never to speak of… you-know-what."
"Ba, that is in the past my son." Said Rickard, sounding half exasperated, half happy. "This whole situation is different. Magic no longer has a place in this world. Those Blasted Maesters of the Citadel have seen to that. As the last bloodline of Wizards we are moving on."
"Moving onto where and why?"
Rickard shrugged.
"You shall just, be moving on. You, your family and our ancestral home will soon leave the North, never to return. As to why there are a hundred rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why magic is finally leaving this world? About what has finally forced us out?"
It seemed that Rickard Stark had reached the point he was most anxious to discuss, the real reason he had come to his son from beyond the grave, for neither alive or dead had he fixed his son with such a piercing stare as he did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, he was about to tell Lord Stark the truth. Lord stark sat in preparation for the reason behind leaving.
"What is everyone saying? Father."
"What they're saying," he pressed on, "is that it just our time. There is no great enemy to run from or some horrible villain to fight. It is just time that you move on."
"But I can't go. I'm Warden of The North. I have a duty, I have responsibilities."
Rickard shook his head.
"And you shall have death. Our line will end. You will be killed by the Queen. Your wife and sons Robb, Jon shall be betrayed by friend. Bran will die north of the wall, alone. Rickon will kill himself in grief as will Sansa. And Arya, shall be so consumed by vengeance, she will become something worse than man." Said Rickard desperately, "this is the fate of our family should you stay."
Lord stark shook his head.
"No. No, it's a lie, they can't be, they— they—can't – Die."
"They will," said Richard glumly.
"Our line dead...my children dead… I can't believe it... I don't want to believe it...Father!"
Rickard reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.
Lord Stark's voice trembled as he went on. "What of my wife? She's not a Stark; she has no Stark blood in her. She – Won't come with us. She'll be left here, alone. She won't know how, or why, we left; she'll think it's her fought – and she'll go mad."
Rickard shook his head sternly.
"Catelyn shall go with you and your children. She may not have our blood, but she is bound to the house of Stark. Magic is not cruel. It does not wish to take mothers from babes."
Lord Stark smiled happily.
"Is it – it true?" whimpered Lord Stark, "That my children shall have their mother… she'll be with them…our family will be safe? This is all so strange… of all the thing to happen…where will we go, where shall we call our new home?"
"I can only guess," said Rickard. "But magic is strong there. It is practiced."
Lord Stark sighed. He looked back over the trees of the Gods Wood to the castle that held his family with in. Rickard gave a great groan as slowly stood up looking up examining the stars. The stars were rather odd.
The stars had a pinkish hug; with little droplets of blue that danced across the black velvet curtain of night. It must have made sense to Rickard, though, because he smiled and turned to Lord Stark and said, "The night is nearly over. The time has nearly come. Our time in Westeros is at an end?"
"Yes," Said Lord Stark, "I suppose it is. I suppose we will have to make this new place, we are to go to, our home?"
"You will my son. You will thrive there, as much of our kind has. There is the only safe haven for our family to survive now."
"But… What of my house-hold? The men and women who serve our house, who live here?" cried Lord Stark, jumping to his feet and pointing at the castle.
"They will be left without a home. Winter is coming. They won't survive the north without the protection of Winterfell. Would you leave them to the Bolton's? That family is evil. How can you ask me to go Father, to leave the First men? How can you, ask me that!"
"You cannot stay." Said Rickard firmly, "Pain and death are all that will follow, if you stay here. There is a chance, a chance for your children to live happy lives. I know it is hard, I know you were not taught, to run from confrontation. It is a fair sacrifice, though."
"Sacrifice?" Lord Stark repeated faintly, sitting back down on the tree branch. "Father, I have sacrificed so much for my family, haven't I? I have given my blood, my body, my honour for this family. Was it for nothing! Now I am to run—far away—like a coward who runs from battle at the first sign of blood—people will talk of the disappearance of Winterfell and our family—everyone in Westeros will know what we are, if we leave!"
"Exactly," said Rickard, looking very seriously through his badly burnt eyes. "They will know what you are, and they will kill you. That is why you must leave! Death awaits this family if you remain in this world, if you remain in Westeros! Can you not see how much better off you'll be, away from all the madness of the Game of Thrones?"
Lord Stark opened his mouth, changed his mind, swallowed, and then said, "I understand—yes, you're right, there is no other way. We have to leave, there is no other choice. When shall we leave?"
"At the last stretches of night."
"Are you sure—Father—sure, we are to leave tonight?"
"Perfectly," Said Rickard.
"Look I'm not saying that we won't be going," said Lord Stark grudgingly, "but you can't expect us to just leave this night. We have to get our affairs in – what was that?"
A whirling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked back to the castle that had started to glow with a faint blue aurora. It stretched form the highest towers, to the walls of the Gods Wood.
If Winterfell was the jewel of the north, now it was the greatest treasure ever seen. The glowing blue seemed to be alive; it covered the large curtain wall, the great keep, till the castle itself was complexly blue. The slow rising of this blue aurora soon spread and started to encompass the Heart Tree of the Gods Wood, though it seemed far slower than the rest of the castle.
"Don't worry, Ned," said Rickard, sounding relived, "soon you shall feel the spell on you flesh, and it shall soon be over."
Lord Stark looked to his feet.
"What is happening?"
"Be calm, my son," said Rickard as the blue Aurora flowed over his head, and he yawned loudly. "You will sleep, and awaken away from this troublesome world."
"But it is too soon. There is much that I need to do."
The blue aurora started to wrap itself around Lord Stark's feet; he stood up sharply, as the light started slowly crawling up his legs to his knees. He found that the blue light tickled him, as the blue light grew closer and closer, encompassing his body soon after, and finally covering his face. He started to panic.
"Be—calm, son. Give into the magic. Let it wash away this world, let it cleanse you of this chaotic place, let it embrace you. My son,—give into the journey, Ned— this must be done."
Rickard yawned again and slouched slightly his gaze slowly dropping away from Lord Stark.
"But how can I go—can't I say goodbye to my house-hold?" asked Lord Stark. He twisted and turned towards the castle, but felt very tired and only managed a few steps before he had to stop. Then, suddenly, let out a cry like a whimpering child.
"Shhh!" hissed Lord Rickard, "you'll wake the Muggles!"
"B-b-but," sobbed Lord Stark, collapsing to his knees, and swaying from side to side exhausted, "I c-cant abandon my duty—leave them alone—to face unknown trials without my guidance."
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but like time, all things must slip away from us," Rickard whispered, slowly fading away into the blue aurora, as Lord Stark saw small white stars dance across his eyes and fell to the ground, face first. He laid there upon the ground, looking out to the Heart Tree had glowed the brightest blue, the wooden face of the Old Gods looking at him sadly, he felt his eyes lids whimper under a great strain, and finally close. For a full minute Lord Stark was sure he was still awake, only consumed in the blackness of his eyelids.
A breeze ruffled the neat beard of Lord Stark's face, as he lay silent and still under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect to find the Warden of the North. Eddard Stark slept on the ground, the cold mud brushing his face. He was as still as a statue and he slept on, not knowing where Winterfell would take his family, not knowing the adventure he would take part in, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Arya's scream as she shook him awake trying to find where all the servant had gone, nor that he would spend the next day meeting the most strange man he had ever seen…He couldn't know that at this very moment, all of magic was meeting in secrete, accepting the same similar blue aurora, and slowly disappeared, whispering in hushed voices: "goodbye Westeros—you shall never see our like again!"
Authors brothers notes
This was written by my brother, I would have preferred the title: Harry Potter and another Game of Thrones crossover, but hay can't have everything.
