The Winter Witch II
Robb sighed. It was hours later, the debriefing between his generals was finally over. The Kingslayer was in a cage on the muddy ground in Riverrun, Grey Wind guarding him through terror and bared teeth; there were nominal losses from the Northern army - and many of his guard survived.
Robb grimaced. Well, he thought, it could've been worse. Torrhen and Eddard could've died if not for Lady Hermione.
Which was another mystery - just who was she, and where had she come from? That tent appeared out of thin air, and questioning Dacey about it later - subtly, of course - left him with more questions than answers. She hadn't seen a tent, she didn't think anything of the faded pink marks around Torrhen's neck. To her, the tent and Lady Hermione didn't exist.
In the Great Hall of the castle they were occupying, in front of the large hearth, Robb stared into the flames and ignored the raucous laughs of soldiers around him enjoying their meal, the constant hum of conversation and the feel of numerous eyes on their silent King.
Robb felt, more than saw, someone come to stand just behind his left, hovering. Pausing.
He turned his head, partially, glancing from the corner of his periphery to see Eddard. There was still a faint, pink line around his neck, from ear to ear, where the Kingslayer's sword had cut through the tender flesh, and where Lady Hermione had healed him.
"Eddard?" asked Robb, tilting his head just slightly but returning his eyes to the fire.
"Milord…" his Karstark cousin and Kingsguard trailed off, shuffling before standing straight.
Robb sighed. When he spoke, his voice was tired. Weary. "What is it, Edd?"
"My father noticed the scar," the tall man said quietly. "And Torrhen… spoke while under the influence of the milk of Poppy, when he had his wound stitched up."
Robb winced. Wonderful. Just what I need - people speaking about what happened when we - no, Lady Hermione - captured the Kingslayer.
"What was said?" he asked instead, his body stiffening in preparation for the worst.
Eddard grimaced, but Robb didn't see it. "He spoke of a strange young woman with powers. Called her a witch, and that she helped saved Eddard's life. And helped us capture the Kingslayer."
By the Gods…! Robb's molars ground. Karstark was a braggart, brash at times, but proud of his sons and their place near their Stark cousins; there were still moments of bittersweet jealousy that rang through the man's voice - not that Eddard or Torrhen shared their father's thoughts - but still! Karstark could jeopardise the support he had of others within the Northern camp.
"Has he spoken to anyone else about this?" asked Robb tightly, his voice pitched low, barely suppressing the anger.
Eddard paused, and Robb shut his eyes tightly. His kingsguard's voice was small when he finally replied. "A few of the other Lords."
'A few of the other Lords' ended up being all of them, and by the following evening, Robb had a pounding headache as his war room - filled with his generals, Northern Lords all except his Tully uncle - spoke over one another, debating their next moves as well as Lady Hermione.
"-think we should meet with her," demanded Karstark, crossing his arms. "If only, of course, to thank her for saving my son's' life."
Of course, thought Robb, straining in the effort to not roll his eyes. Behind him, he felt Eddard shift guiltily.
"Perhaps we could make an offer of allegiance?" suggested another Lord, and Jon Umber guffawed a laugh.
"If that witch is as powerful as the Karstark boys say she is, then she doesn't need us," he expanded - and Robb felt miffed that the man could roll his eyes to punctuate his point.
"You said she was in the clearing where the Kingslayer was captured?" asked a quiet, reedy voice.
Robb turned his gaze to the pale eyes of Roose Bolton. He dipped his head, minutely.
"Why don't we just return there on our way towards Lannisport?" asked another, and then there were murmurs of agreement. "We can ride past it."
And that was how, a day later, Robb found himself leading members of his Kingsguard - Eddard, a contrite Torrhen, and curious Dacey - as well as Karstark, Bolton, Umber, and his mother towards the clearing where he met Lady Hermione for the first time. Grey Wind prowled alongside his horse, sniffing the ground and darting this way and that as he lead the party, separate but not far from the rest of the war band, through the undergrowth.
Eventually, they reached the same clearing.
And there, off to the side, was the green tent.
Robb quietly sighed and slid off his horse, patting its flank absently as Eddard and Torrhen joined him. However, the men with him, and Dacey and his mother, looked around in confusion.
"There's nothing here," rumbled Umber, glancing around.
Eddard silently pointed at the tent, and all eyes moved there, none resting on the green fabric except those who had been in the clearing a week previous.
As the men arranged themselves behind Robb in two rows of a tight semicircle, his Kingsguard making the first, Robb stepped forward and loudly cleared his throat.
And, from behind the tent, a frazzled voice answered.
"I'm not buying whatever it is you're selling!"
Robb felt his lips twitch. At his side, Grey Wind sat himself on his haunches and looked up at his master with his tongue rolling out.
Oh yes, thought Robb, glancing behind at spotting the very confused and taken aback looks on the other's faces. This will be entertaining.
After the terrible interruption of her work, Hermione returned to scribbling out arithmancy equations, hoping that one of them would be the correct one that could explain just how the hell she ended up in another dimension to begin with.
It took two days for her to realize she just didn't have enough information about the damn place to plug into the gaping holes in her equation and that she would need to either a) make friends, or b) explore the strange world on her own. She opted for b, as the strange medieval warriors didn't stick around after the scuffle she was privy to.
(She also didn't think most of them would answer her questions; the blonde, Malfoy-esque one that tried to cut her down with his sword was probably the norm, given how the others were dressed, despite fighting him - honestly, incest? Who was stupid enough to do that? Didn't they know about genetics? Or was bloodletting cutting-edge medical technology?)
So Hermione did some quick, short Apparation jumps, from her clearing to a spot between the trees she could see, and then from there to another, and another, until she was in the middle of a field and then was able to see some thatched roofs and stone buildings in the distance.
In order to not spook the local natives, she chose to walk into town.
And nearly walked right back out the second she took in the smell. Great Merlin - the smell was terrible. It wasn't just manure from the fields and animals, but also the smell of unwashed bodies, and rotting food, and sweat and blood and burnt corpses that a few people were desperately trying to bury.
The majority of the houses were burnt out - she guessed that was where the corpses came from - and the small hamlet of barely maybe ten houses was utterly destroyed and raided.
A small part of her hoped it wasn't the redhead with bright blue eyes and his army who did the raiding.
Luckily, there weren't any language barriers.
Unluckily, the jeans-and-jumper combo she wore out of comfort wasn't high in fashion in this dimension, and it made those who remained in the small hamlet wary of her.
It took some aggressive negotiations and wide-smiles for her to express that she wasn't there to hurt anyone. She resigned herself to helping dig graves.
But she did gain some valuable information: she was between the Riverlands and Lannister-owned land. There was a war going on (no shit), but there were several interested parties who all claimed to be "king" (the redhead didn't want the crown of the main castle, which she learned was in King's Landing - how original - but rather was the Young Wolf, something about avenging his father; she didn't really care.), the "small folk" as they called themselves were tired of the war and their homes being burnt and their men being conscripted as soldiers and their women raped and, and, and.
Hermione had been through war before. It was painful, and even now, barely a year later, she still had nightmares.
This was just exhausting.
In the end, the small folk of the tiny hamlet she stumbled upon weren't educated enough to help her or answer her questions - in fact, "what kind of orbit does this planet engage in around your sun?" responded with blank stares.
Eventually, one brave soul said, "I think you'll need to go to the Citadel, milady, if you want answers to your questions."
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Yes - this Citadel. Where is it?"
"Oldtown."
"And where is Oldtown?"
"Somewhere… west?"
"How far west?"
"A couple weeks, I'd reckon."
"... by foot?"
"From here? Yes..."
"And is there a library?"
"What's a library?"
"What do you mean, 'what's a library'? Where do people go to learn things here?"
"Oldtown."
Frustrated and biting back an unbecoming growl, Hermione handed over some of her rations from her tent as a thanks, walked back into the forest she emerged from until she was out of sight, and then Apparated back to her tent with a sharp crack, feeling tired.
At this rate, she was never going to figure out how to get out of this dimension!
She was in preparation for a long journey to this Oldtown, several days later. Brewing Pepper-Up was child's play, something she mastered in her first year at Hogwarts.
Hermione just wasn't expecting to hear a throat being loudly cleared outside her tent! SHe had proximity alerts woven into her wards and spells that she cast when she, Harry and Ron were on the run, so she knew that there were several people wandering into the clearing, but only three were focusing their attention on where her tent was located.
You have got to be joking, she mentally groaned, realizing who came back.
She looked down at her potion and then shouted, "I'm not buying whatever it is you're selling!"
There was silence, and she sighed, a small smile on her lips as she gathered up the crushed leaves on the flat of her knife and then began to carefully tap them into the potion.
The throat cleared again, louder, different - as if someone else did that. Her hand slipped as she was about to tap the leaves in, dumping it all in one go.
The potion turned a violent, bright orange and Hermione stared at it in horror. She had never pulled a Longbottom before!
There was a new voice that cautiously, but loudly and in a slower tone, ask, "Ah - Lady - Hermione? Are - you - there?"
The potion rumbled.
Angrily, Hermione turned her face towards the tent's opening and shouted, "PISS OFF! I'm very busy here!"
The rumbling continued, and there was blissful silence outside her tent. She scrambled for something to counteract the mandrake leaves she was using, needing something chalky to bring down the acidity.
"Oh, oh, c'mon, c'mon," she muttered under her breath, turning away from the potion to check through her potions' trunk, filled with all manner of ingredients. However, the potion began spewing thick yellow clouds, and Hermione sighed.
What a waste, she thought, and cast a shield charm over the cauldron to contain the explosion. The rumbling intensified and then burst, turning the air above the cauldron into a violent, rolling noxious yellow ball of gas. The scent of sulphur managed to escape the shield and Hermione hastily threw up a bubble-head charm around herself.
"Ugh," she said, eyes cutting towards the tent entrance.
Temper firmly in hand, she stalked forward and shoved the flap aside, her eyes meeting the wide blue one's of the redhead from before - the one the small folk called the Young Wolf. There were several others behind him, arranged in a semi-circle, including, Hermione was amused to see, a wolf. As one, they all took a step back as the fumes wafted out of her tent, a few strangling gasps as she appeared.
"What do you want? You interrupted my brewing and now my tent is going to stink for a week!"
"Erm, Lady…" a burly looking man trailed off, looking her up and down. "Lady Hermione?"
"What?" she growled, turning to look at him directly. Her first impression was if someone had merged a white-haired Karkaroff and Marcus Flint, for the man had the bearing and attitude of the old Durmstrang Headmaster, but the body of the Slytherin Quidditch captain.
"Milady," the man said, rallying himself and stepping forward, but not past the redhead - out of respect? She wasn't sure. "I am Lord Rickard Karstark. I wish to extend my gratitude towards you for saving the life of my sons. It was only because of you and your… magic… that Eddard survived."
Hermione eyed the man for a moment, glancing towards the young man she saved a week previous, having kept his skin together and repairing the damage. He shuffled a bit, not much, but enough to convey his displeasure and embarrassment at his father's grovelling - and Hermione could see the family resemblance in the long, square face, and the small eyes.
She sighed. "No thanks are needed, Lord Karstark."
"Please," the man continued. "It's a matter of honour. May we… speak?"
"Aren't we doing that now?" she asked, crossing her arms.
The Young Wolf stepped forward, drawing her eyes. "Lady Hermione, while Lord Karstark would like to speak to you in thanks for his sons - I too would like to extend my gratitude as Eddard and Torrhen are members of my Kingsguard and friends. Their loss would have pained me."
"Perhaps we could speak here?" a tall, redheaded woman spoke for the first time.
Hermione shook her head. "It's hardly comfortable. I have a couch." She turned to motioned at her tent.
"Erm…"
"Oh? The smell?" Hermione grinned at the tall redheaded Young Wolf, waving her hand. A bit of wandless magic to impress the natives wasn't something that was going to bite her in the arse, she thought, as the air whooshed out of her tent and then up past them with the force of a strong wind, nudging a few to step back in surprise against the flow.
"What smell?" she concluded, and then ducked inside.
Robb felt amusement bubble in his stomach and did his best to keep his face neutral. Lady Hermione's initial shout had confused Karstark. The proud man's face had quickly fallen into confusion and was verging on abject horror when she told him to "piss off." Even if the words - or slang? - was unknown, the message behind it was clear.
On Karstark's other side, Umber tipped his chin down and smothered his smile into his beard.
When Lady Hermione emerged from the tent, however, the entire situation became tense. Perhaps his Lords and mother were expecting someone older - someone wearing long dresses and robes? Maybe even the bright red eyes of the Ashaii?
They weren't expecting a tiny, young woman of an age similar to his and Dacey's, barely reaching his chin. She wore men's trousers and a long, loose tunic, and something about its shape and size had Robb thinking it was a men's tunic. She wore strange white shoes instead of going barefoot. Her brown hair was still as messy and curly as before, but this time was a tumbling mess piled high on her head and held in place with a - Robb took a double glance; yes, those are four quills in her hair, holding it all up.
Karstark continued to make a mess of his first impression, prompting Robb to step forward. He didn't have to, but a part of him wanted those amber eyes back on him and him alone.
And when she disappeared back into her tent, he was the first to follow her.
Immediately, however, he stopped, looked around with an open mouth, and then stepped back outside.
"Robb?" his mother asked, cautiously and her voice tight with worry.
He shook his head, did a quick walk around the tent to everyone else's confusion, and then strode back inside, Grey Wind slinking in behind him, eyes wide and taking in the much larger interior space.
Hermione was standing near what could only be a stove of some sort due to the heat it was emitting, calmly watching him from beyond the rim of a mug she brought to her mouth.
He took a few steps forward, eyes roving from one end of the tent to the other: from his left, an oddly-designed kitchen, and to his right, a living space where Lady Hermione stood, framed by a soft looking seating area and chairs. There was a low lying table in the middle of a colourful rug in the living space, its top covered with piles of books - open and closed - and rolls of parchment and ink bottles.
Beyond, he could see a small hallway and doors, leading further into the tent.
It's a bloody tent! This looks like the inside of a crofter's home! he thought, eyes wide. Behind him, Eddard, Torrhen, his mother as well as Karstark and Bolton stepped forward, each exclaiming wordlessly at the extreme difference.
"Please, would you like to sit?" offered Lady Hermione with all the graciousness of a high-ranking Lady, a sweeping gesture at the furniture around her. Robb immediately went towards one of the armchairs, Eddard and Torrhen flanking him by standing behind and beside it; his mother sat gingerly on the - couch? Lady Hermione had called it - with Bolton and Karstark nervously eyeing the room and remaining standing. Grey Wind immediately moved towards her, and Robb was intensely curious to see how she would handle a large direwolf stalking towards her.
If his men - and mother - were expecting shrieks and cries to call his wolf off - they were disappointed. Hermione's bright eyes lit up at the wolf, and Robb could practically hear her mentally squee puppy! Grey Wind huffed at her, curling behind and then flopping on the carpet in front of where the heat from coming from, picking the best spot to drop into a nap.
"Tea? Coffee?" she asked, a glint in her eyes, turning back to Robb.
There was silence, and Robb broke it with a quick flash of a smile at her. "What is it that you are drinking?"
Lady Hermione paused and turned her attention on him. "Hot chocolate."
"I would like that, then," said Robb, mentally patting himself on his back as they began opening negotiations, demonstrating that he was eager to meet her halfway and get to know her.
Lady Hermione nodded, and made a sharp hand movement with right, flicking it out and making everyone startle; Bolton and Karstark both reached for the pommels of their swords.
"Just my wand," she said evenly, pointing it forward as it was held aloft in her grip, loose. Bolton nearly scrambled out of the way, his back towards the kitchen, but moved with forced dignity closer to the tent flap.
All their eyes were drawn to the kitchen space, where a pot floated from a low cupboard up onto a stove. A cool box opened and a clear jug of something white floated out - milk? thought Robb - and the poured into the small pot. A flame burst into existence under the pot, and the milk began to boil. At the same time, another cupboard door opened and a smaller jar in bright purple floated down, the lid popping off with a small burst of brown powder.
Robb's eyes were wide as he watched the dance: a spoon joined, as did a mug, and then the powder was mixed into the mug just as the milk finished boiling and was poured into the mug - all without Lady Hermione touching it.
The mug then floated towards him, and he reached out with shaking hands to take it.
"Milord, perhaps I…?" began Torrhen quietly, as his food taster.
He shook his head. If Lady Hermione wanted to kill him, she wouldn't need to poison him with a drink of this 'hot chocolate.' He cut a glance towards his mother, who had a pinched look on her face.
He cautiously took a sip of the hot drink, the mug warming his hands even through the gloves he wore. The taste was sweet and strong, but pleasant and he hummed his appreciation.
Once he brought the mug down from his lips, Lady Hermione grinned and sat on the opposite side of the couch from his mother, relaxing into the cushions.
"So," she began, eyeing them all individually for a moment, "What did you want to talk about?"
"Lady Hermione," began Karstark, "Again, my thanks-"
"Not needed," the young witch broke in, shaking her head and dislodging a curl. Robb stared at it. "I saved your son because it was the right thing to do, Lord Karstark. Not because I expect or want payment."
That wrongfooted Karstark, who floundered for a moment. "Well. In, uh, that case, my Lady… I understand that you might not want or expect repayment, but my honour demands it."
Warily, Lady Hermione eyed him and kept silent.
The old Lord cleared his throat and a flash of something passed across her face before disappearing. "I notice that you are alone, Lady Hermione."
Robb interpreted the look on her face as so what? and, surprised, glanced around the space, looking for evidence of someone else. Other than the large tunic Lady Hermione was wearing, it appeared she was truly alone.
"With a debt owed you, perhaps you would consider a marriage alliance between yourself and one of my sons?"
What? Robb choked and sputtered a bit on his hot chocolate, a small trickle slipping down his chin as he caught it with a gloved hand, staring at Karstark and then at Hermione, who stared at the Lord. Grey Wind's eyes opened and his head lifted from his spot in front of the stove.
Her eyes slowly moved over to Eddard and Torrhen, both who were radiating such embarrassment that Robb could feel it, like a heat rolling off them.
There was something dismissive, but also apologetic in Hermione's glance towards Torrhen and Eddard, before she turned back to Karstark. "Lord Karstark, I am," her mouth pulled, "Honoured at the offer, but I am quite happy as I am and currently have no plans of marriage. Least of all from someone I don't know."
"So you'd be open and willing if you knew someone better?" asked Bolton, his thin and soft voice loud in the silence of the tent.
Robb held his breath, watching Hermione as she frowned and let the silence stretch between them as she considered her answer.
"I don't think the current circumstances I find myself in would be conductive for a marriage," she eventually said.
"What circumstance is that?" his mother asked, her voice tight.
Hermione turned to face her, an airy hand dismissing the conversation. "Nothing important."
Catelyn's face pinched further, and Robb winced.
"Well, then what can we offer?" asked a frustrated Karstark.
"Maps," replied Hermione promptly. "I was told information I might need could be found in Oldtown, but I don't know where that is."
"What information are you looking for?" asked Catelyn. "We have several Maesters who are some of the best in all of Westeros."
Hermione hummed low. "Westeros," she breathed, eyes lit up with more information. She slid off the couch to the floor, ignoring the bewildered looks she was getting. Robb leaned forward and watched as she rummaged through the scrolls and parchment, muttering under her breath until she found what she was looking for.
She reached for one of the quills in her hair, and a portion tumbled down, leaving her in a wildly disheveled look that was incredibly fetching. Robb felt a flush spread across the back of his neck and up his ears.
She began scribbling on the parchment, adding strange symbols and squiggles that might have been another language, ignoring everyone else in the room. Robb shared a glance with both Karstark and Bolton; Karstark looked frustrated, as though Hermione was not at all what he expected, but there was a strange, fascinated look on Bolton's face.
"Um, Lady Hermione?" prompted Robb, leaning forward again, almost over the low table in front of him. The witch ignored him - or, thought Robb, was so engrossed in what she was doing she didn't hear him at all - so he tried again. "Hermione?"
Startled, she looked up, eyes wide. "What?"
"You said 'maps,'" reminded Robb, biting back a smile. "Anything else?"
"Maps?" repeated Hermione, blinking. "Maps? Oh. OH! Yes."
She blushed and carefully set down the quill and sat back on the couch, demurely folding her hands in her lap. "History books would be helpful. Science, too, perhaps." She eyed them, and then turned to Bolton, sussing him out as potentially the most science-oriented. "What's the planetary orbit around your sun like?"
The fascination in Bolton's face turned into something else even as he replied to her with, "I beg your pardon?"
"Nevermind," she said, waving her hand. "Oldtown. How far is it?"
"Several hundred leagues and at least a month's journey," replied Karstark, badly hiding his ire. "And certainly not something you can manage on your own, Lady Hermione."
"Mmm," she said, and something in her eyes prompted Robb to offer, "Why don't you join us?"
Immediately, Robb felt six pairs of eyes settle on him, and he squared his shoulders back as much as he could, attempting to present a confident face.
"I'm sorry?" asked Hermione, turning her amber eyes on him. He felt his breath catch.
Robb leaned forward. "We're journeying westward, towards Lannisport. Oldtown is to the southwest. If you join us - at least, some of the way - you'll be protected and can speak with our Maesters. And then when you're ready, you can continue south, although I don't think it's very safe."
He held her gaze, holding firm against the strange colour and hoping his own conveyed his thoughts and wishes. Finally, after a very long, tense silence, Hermione slowly nodded.
And like that, the Northern campaign gained a witch.
After they left the tent, Roose Bolton waited until they had left the clearing and were within sight of the main host, a few paces behind his King, to speak. He came to a stop beside Robb Stark, both of them leading their horses and pausing at the same time to look at one another.
Robb couldn't quite make out the expression on Bolton's face - it was one he had never seen before; partial awe, confusion, and something unreservedly fierce.
When the man spoke, it was in his usual, quiet, reedy voice - but the words themselves could've been shouted for the effect they had on Robb, rocking him backwards in surprise.
"Marry the witch, your Highness, and we'll win the war within a week. She's the best thing that's ever happened to Westeros, and she's going to change everything."
AN: Yeah okay, I'm going to add more to this story. I decided to write fanfiction instead of mark. Whoops. As usual, no idea when I'll update this; school and work should come first, but... well...