The Winter Witch III
Hermione decided to take her time packing up her tent. Not that there was much to pack, to begin with, but despite how blase she was when she agreed to join Robb Stark's army, she was beginning to have second thoughts.
Not necessarily regrets. Just… thoughts.
Thoughts like:
What were his goals?
What was his purpose?
What were their numbers like and how were their foot soldiers treated?
How far was this Lannisport?
What was wrong with that Bolton man?
Why did they not know their planet's orbit?
Of course, those were only among the few that were bothering her, but - safety in numbers (as safe as one could be in an army, anyway) - and she could bother people for information about Westeros. Surely there was someone out there who knew the planet's orbit? Knew the general location of Westeros in relation to the rest of the world? How old the planet was or what system it was in?
Surely?
So, there she was: standing the middle of her albeit small living room, the wood-burning fireplace doused and the plates and glasses that were in the kitchen sink gleaming and clean, back in their secured cabinets. Her hands were tightly gripping the cross-body strap of her beaded bag, knuckles white with tension. There was no reason to delay - she was ready to go.
But she hesitated.
It's a new world, out there, she thought, nervously fingering a loose thread to her jumper. Quite literally a new world.
There was a lot that could go wrong: her magic might not always be compatible. She might spark a new wave of witch hunts. Her new allies might turn on her when they realize what she's capable of - after all, she didn't endear herself to Karstark, or to Robb's mother.
Hermione sighed. Procrastination wasn't going to get her anywhere - literally - so with her wand in one hand and her confidence in the other, she stepped out of the tent and - blinked.
The very, very large and burly man that didn't join the others in her tent earlier was leaning against the wide trunk of a tree, his entire body width nearly covering the ancient trunk. His arms were crossed, and a rather large sword hung at his side. Hermione eyed it warily.
Opposite him, standing at attention and poorly hiding a scowl, was a lithe young woman around Hermione's age with dark brown hair pulled back in a thick braid. Her dark eyes fixed solidly on Hermione the moment she stepped out of the green tent.
"Erm," said Hermione, eyes darting back and forth between the two. "Hello."
"Afternoon," rumbled the large man. He too was eyeing her carefully - like one might a spooked horse.
Hermione bit back a sigh. Taking a few steps forward, forcefully, she considered sticking her hand out for a shake but then second-guessed herself; medieval world, daring swordfights… she retracted the hand and tilted her chin up instead in a painfully familiar pose. "Hermione Granger. How do you do?"
The large man stared down at her, and from behind his beard there was a small twitch and he then grinned. "Jon Umber."
Hermione nodded and turned to the woman in armour. Her scowl slipped into a frown and she muttered, in two very punctured words, "Dacey. Mormont."
Echoing another awkward introduction seven years previous, Hermione kept her nose from wrinkling as she replied, "Pleasure."
She turned her back on the two - because if she couldn't trust them to not attack her now, she'd never be able to trust or do anything later - and flicked her wand, nonverbally dismantling the tent. It crumbled in on itself, folding over and over again until it was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, which it leapt from the ground into. She then opened the beaded bag and tucked it in.
When she turned around, both Jon Umber and Dacey Mormont looked flabbergasted.
"What?" she asked. It was enough to draw their attention back to her.
"Is that - um - everything of yours, milady?" Umber asked, with only a slight pause as his eyes trailed back over to where the tent used to be.
Hermione nodded.
"Good," he rumbled, drawing up and away from the tree to stand tall and holy Merlin, Morgana and Mordred, he's like seven feet tall and could give Hagrid a run for his Galleons. "We'll be going to Riverrun, then."
"Riverrun?" asked Hermione, and the three began to walk out of the small clearing, in the opposite direction Hermione took on her village scouting mission. Umber led the way, and Dacey followed behind, a prickle between Hermione's shoulders as the other woman kept her eyes on her.
Umber nodded. "Lord Stark wants to start pushing the army westward within the next few days but we need to prepare first." He glanced back over his shoulder at her briefly. "There will be a feast for successfully capturing the Kinslayer that was put off until now, and he wants you to feel comfortable, as well as show you the maps we have."
Behind Hermione, Dacey snorted.
Hermione kept her eyes resolutely forward. "I see. So what is Riverrun? A castle? Hold fast? Fort?"
"A castle, although that implies it's small," answered Umber. "It's the family seat of Tully - Lady Stark's family. Her father is Lord Paramount but is in ill health."
"Seems a bit in bad taste to throw a party when someone's grandfather is lying in their deathbed upstairs," commented Hermione, shifting her perception of Robb Stark.
Dacey pushed past Hermione, bumping her shoulder into the witch's as she strode by to stand next to Umber. "Lord Stark is a brilliant man and does not do anything in poor taste!"
She quickly took the lead, leaving Umber and Hermione by themselves, surrounded by tall trees and in the cool shade of their leaves. Hermione pursed her lips, eyes narrowed as she stared at the lithe woman's back.
"Is she normally like that?" she asked, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Umber, who just shook his head.
"That?" his nose twitched. "She's being positively cheerful."
Hermione's face eerily matched Dacey's earlier one, but despite knowing it, Umber kept the thought to himself.
Robb did his best not to fidget as he waited in the inner courtyard of his grandfather's ancestral seat, spreading his legs, firmly planting his feet on the flagstone. He crossed his arms across his chest in a powerful pose, and accompanied by a glowering, solemn air, kept an empty radius of five feet around him. Scouts had noticed Umber, Dacey and Hermione, and now Robb's entire entourage spread out behind him in a welcome. Rumours had swirled around the castle in the hours since his return and his order of preparing a room for Lady Hermione - which had the Frey allies among them poorly hiding their disdain.
As if he could forget that ridiculous marriage contract his mother forced on him!
He sighed.
In the privacy of his own mind he could admit he found Hermione to be interesting - even enticing, with her corkscrew curls and disheveled appearance, especially as she had little to no care towards anything from him.
Being in charge of the Northern army, not to mention the heir to Winterfell, meant he had to be wary of any and all single - and even some married - women in his acquaintance. Hermione, however…
I'm pretty sure all that is on her mind is to go home, he thought ruefully. Not like I know where that is. Beyond Ashaii, perhaps? South, so far south of the Summer Isles?
And then, his thoughts turned outward, because Umber and Dacey appeared on the back of their horses. Immediately, Robb frowned, looking for the third member that was supposed to be with them.
Where is she? his heart pounded, pausing at the next, horrible thought: She is no longer coming.
And then a wild riot of curls peeked around Umber's large frame, and her curious face and angled, pointed chin was turned upwards as she observed the flags of Winterfell, of the Northern lords, as well as the Tully and Frey banners, flying high above off the turrets and ramparts.
Daryn, one of his guard who had the fortune of not being hurt by the Kingslayer that evening they met Lady Hermione, stepped forward and helped her off the horse. She stood next to Umber's massive warhorse for a moment or two, an expression flashing across her face that Robb stifled a laugh for; he had seen it before on Sansa, who preferred carriages over horseback.
"Welcome to Riverrun, Lady Hermione," he said, drawing her attention from nearly kissing the dirty flagstone in appreciation, back to him. His heart began pounding furiously and quickly once her amber-like eyes turned to him.
"Hello," she greeted, glancing this way and that. She began walking toward him and his receiving line, all familiar faces. "Thank you for having me."
From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother's face pinch, and behind her, as she slid off her horse gracefully, Dacey didn't hide the roll of her eyes. God's teeth, this could be a problem… despite the amusing niceties her etiquette training suggests.
"Riverrun is pleased to have you, Lady Hermione," enthused Robb, wondering whether he could get away with putting a hand on her back, but under his mother's quelling glare, cocked out his elbow for her instead. "Shall I give you a tour before your retire to your room? To prepare for the feast tonight?"
She hummed her agreement, and gingerly slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, not his bicep as was proper, but lower, curling her fingers almost possessively.
He shivered.
Eddard, Daryn, and Torrhen followed while his mother made murmurs of checking on the feast, and Dacey and Umber left to groom their horses, and Robb felt he could breathe a bit easier. Entertaining foreign guests had never happened previously - other than the brief time he was in charge of his father's old friend's children, Meera and Jojen Reed, and even then, they were quick to attach themselves to Bran's side. Even the Freys, while at the Towers, or under their beady, suspicious eyes, he had never felt as nervous or bumbling as a young man visit the whore house for the first time.
He scrambled for something to say as they started up one of the large, sweeping stairs to the second floor, and blurted, "You don't seem to care much for the grandeur of Riverrun, milady?"
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he chastised mentally immediately, flushing heavily. Behind him, he heard an aborted snicker and a sigh and fought from spinning around and glaring at the Karstarks and Hornwood behind him, enjoying his fumbles with the witch.
"I spent my formative years in a castle," explained Hermione, seemingly ignoring the noises behind him as his attention was back on her.
"Oh?" he asked, hoping the tiny noise would prompt her further as they meandered down a wide and well-lit hall, framed with tapestries.
She nodded. "I attended school in a castle, and let's just say: Hogwarts was… magical." She finished her sentence with a twist to her lips and a sparkle in her eyes at the pun.
"You attended school?" he echoed, brows furrowed. "You were not educated at home, by a Maester?"
"We don't have maesters," she replied, "but teachers - or, professors. Mine were professors, specialists in their fields. Hogwarts offered seven years of schooling from eleven to seventeen before we were legally considered adults and let out on the world."
"You seem very proficient in your magic, Lady Hermione," complimented Robb, catching her eyes. "You must have had quite the seven years at the school."
A shuttered look fell across Hermione's face, and she glanced down at her left arm, the one curled around Robb's right. "Six years," she murmured, but then looked up and her face brightened. "A beloved professor of mine once called me the Brightest Witch of my Age." She smiled, a bit wickedly, and added, "Capitals implied for a full title, of course."
He grinned back, sure it looked as goofy as it felt.
"Of course," he agreed, and then steered her towards one large (and open) door. "Please," he said, gesturing, "This is Maester Vyman's rooms. As our Maester, he is the best person to aid you in what you need to know."
They stepped into the room, with only Eddard, as Torrhen and Daryn remained on either side of the open door facing out. Hermione's face turned to one of curiosity, taking in the large bookshelves filled with knick-knacks and bottles and jars of various shapes, of the long table in the middle of the room, filled with beakers and pestle and mortars, with rolled and unrolled scrolls and a large inkpot and quill.
The old Maester himself was hunched over a parchment, scribbling notes of some sort, and looked up only after a few moments.
"My Lord!" he gasped, eyes wide and standing immediately. Robb watched Hermione eye him curiously, but nodded a greeting back to his grandfather's man.
"Maester Vyman," he said, "This is Lady Hermione. She was instrumental in the Kingslayer's capture, and in repayment, has only asked for our help and knowledge to aid her in returning home."
The tall, skinny and white-haired man nodded, rheumy eyes turning from his liege to the woman beside him.
"Lady Hermione," he greeted, stiffly, if not polite but without the warmth that Robb greeted her with. "How may I assist?"
Hermione cleared her throat. "I need maps, detailed enough to know where we are position in Riverrun in comparison to other major landmarks. As well as any books you might have on the planet and geography, planets, and astronomy."
Vyman blinked. "I - ah - Lady Hermione - maps I can supply, of course, and perhaps I can show you some of the texts we have on geographical positioning, but… I do not understand why astronomy?"
Hermione stared at the Maester. "To… understand… the position of this planet in relation to the sun? And the other planets? And its moon? And where we are in the galaxy? You know - planetary sciences? Astronomical science?"
Vyman looked as mystified as Robb felt. "Planetary sciences, My Lady? I suppose I have some information on the Red Comet that hangs in the sky, but I confess I am not sure what else you mean."
Hermione stared at Vyman, who stared back.
Then, she sighed. "Well, I guess that is somewhere we can start."
Robb sent a glare at the Maester, who grimaced and laced his fingers and folded his wrinkled hands in front of him. "Well, there always is the library."
Hermione's head popped up and she asked, "You have a library?!"
Vyman walked around the table and, alongside Robb, directed her to the large Tully library on the opposite side of the castle, with Robb's guards silently following. He ignored the growing boredom in the description of the library - similar to Winterfell's -that Vyman espoused, going on about the scrolls from such-and-such Targaryen reign, or from the Nine-Penny War, or from before the Doom.
And then, once they stepped inside the library, Vyman's voice trailed off without an audience, as Hermione disappeared into the stacks, leaving five very confused men behind.
Now, this is more like it, thought Hermione with a happy little sigh, firmly planting her butt on a chair by a table, already with at least ten books in front of her and five scrolls put to the side. She plopped her beaded back on the empty chair beside her, and dug into it, her arm disappearing well up to her shoulder, forcing her to angle her chin away to reach into its depths. She finally grabbed a parchment and inkwell and quill, yanking them out and after dipping the nib into the inkwell and gently shaking the excess off, began to take notes.
A cramped hand and three hours later, her happiness had soured down to 'Harry and Ron levels of stupid about to get expelled for not listening to her' annoyance.
Dacey, the unfortunate one chosen to seek her out and remind her to prepare for the feast that evening, appeared at Hermione's elbow, the scowl on her face not detracting from her pretty looks.
"The feast will begin soon," the Mormont soldier began succinctly. "As Lord Stark's - guest - you are required to attend."
Hermione barely heard the woman and looked up at her plaintively. "Dacey," she began, eyes wide, "Why hasn't there been a study about the position of your continent relative to its place on this planet?"
Dacey, wrongfooted, stared at Hermione. "What?"
"Has no one done soil deposit studies to know how old your planet is?" continued Hermione, her voice rising with each passing sentence. "What about even naming your planet? What's it called? It can't be as bad as mine; ours is earth, which literally means dirt. We named our planet dirt - this one isn't anything embarrassing in comparison, I promise! And what about your moon? The comet? You've had asteroids land, I know that much - the text here, Auld Mythes and Legendes alludes that Valyrian steel comes from ore deposits from an asteroid, not like the author actually understands what he's writing - so why hasn't anyone done a more thorough study? And -"
"Please stop," groaned Dacey, and Hermione, realizing she was turning a breathless verbal vomit reminiscent of her earliest Hogwarts days into a rant, snapped her mouth shut.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"Why do you need all this-" Dacey waved her hand, "Information?"
Hermione blinked. "To go home."
"Home?" repeated Dacey, skeptically, eyeing the texts and scrolls. She crossed her arms. "Can you not just book passage on a ship?"
Hermione snorted, ducking her head. "Um, no."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not from here."
Dacey rolled her eyes - a truly expressive roll - and looked down at Hermione with a sneer on her red lips. "So you've said, but what does that mean?" Her eyes narrowed. "If you are here to hurt Lord Stark, or sabotage the army, I swear on the Old Gods-!"
Hermione pushed back from the table quickly, standing and facing the irate woman whose hand had moved from being crossed to resting on the sword she carried at her hip.
"God, no!" implored Hermione, staring at Dacey. "I swear I'm not here to hurt anyone! Or sabotage anything! Honest!"
The two women stared at each other for a long, tense moment, but then Dacey nodded and slowly removed her hand from the hilt. "Then, explain it to me."
Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm from another world."
At Dacey's blank stare, Hermione's next sigh was even louder. "Okay, look - um…" she grabbed the parchment she had finished taking notes on and picked up her quill. She drew a circle on one side, and then another, making sure there was a tiny smudge of overlap: a Venn diagram without the middle connection. She wrote in one, Earth, and in the other, after a contemplative frown, wrote Westeros/Easteros/Summer Isles, etc.
She pointed at her circle. "This is where I am from: Earth, my planet. I was walking through the Forbidden Forest near my school - Hogwarts - because I was looking to treat with the Centaurs. Except I kept walking. And walking, and walking some more. Finally I pitched my tent and tried to figure out where I was, but during my walk, I somehow… slid between my world, and ended up in yours." She let her finger trail and smudge the line between Earth and Westeros.
"That is not possible," argued Dacey, baldly.
"Is so!" argued back Hermione, snapping her eyes up at the slightly taller woman. "It's called quantum physics! I slipped through a wormhole between two dimensions and ended up here! None of the constellations match, Dacey! None. You have Crone's Lantern and Sword in the Morning-" Hermione yanked forward one of the books and jabbed a finger at the drawn starmap, and then pointed at her old Asstronomy text from Hogwarts. "-and I have the Dipper, and Orion's Belt. They look nothing alike."
Dacey's gaze turned from haughty to thoughtful as she looked at the two books, comparing them; perhaps, in Hermione's eyes, not so much the content as she should, but rather the quality of the paper, the ink, the binding.
She then flipped to the cover, and her eyes darted up at the inside title page, along with the copyright and ISBN that modern texts were beginning to copy from their muggle counterparts, appealing to the increased number of Muggleborns in the magical world post-Blood War.
Finally, her eyes met Hermione's, and a swell of triumph - similar to when she cast her first Patronus and the otter galloped around her in the Room of Requirement - because, even before she spoke, she believed.
"What do you need?" asked Dacey.
"Land deposits," immediately replied Hermione, turning back to the parchment, and then shifting it to reveal another one underneath. There were several lines of bulleted points. "Preferably asteroid deposits, but I'm not picky. Information on the seven planets also in orbit with this sun. Detailed charts of moon orbit and season length going back at least three hundred years. Detailed maps."
Dacey frowned. "Much of that is impossible to find, let alone be lying around - even in a castle such as this. It could take years to collect this information."
Hermione's face fell. Years?
"Lord Stark promised his help," said Dacey, and her voice was the softest Hermione had ever heard it. It prompted her to look up at she noted that the woman's brown eyes had gone gooey, like melted chocolate instead of the hard, brittle look she normally wore in them when around Hermione. "He is a wonderful man who will keep his promise. But first-"
Dacey stepped back and reached forward to grab Hermione's wrist in her hand and pull her forward. "We have a feast to attend."
Hermione now groaned. "Must we?"
The feast was underway all of twenty minutes before Robb noticed Hermione - it wasn't like he was hyper aware of the time it took between when food was brought out to when she arrived, of course, no that would be silly - but because she looked so different.
Her hair was in a strange half-up, half-down mass, framing her long neck. Her dress was a pretty periwinkle blue, her arms bare and her collarbones on display with a square neck and dress that hugged her curves, gently wafting out in layered pleats. Her face even seemed different, glowing or shimmering around her eyes and her lips were as pink as a rose.
(And because Dacey was smirking beside the witch, when before she couldn't stand to be in her presence, so Robb wondered what had changed but he didn't wonder that much because God's above, was that a slit in her gown?)
Hermione strode forward, ignoring - or attempting to, Robb could see the discomfort on her face - the stares as Dacey led her behind and to the Head Table, where he sat with his mother to his left, his uncle Edmure beside her, and then his Great-Uncle Brynden; to his right, where an empty chair sat for her as his guest of honour.
"My Lord Stark," announced Dacey, eyes bright with amusement, "May I present the Lady Hermione Granger?"
He inclined his head, minutely, and Hermione turned to thank Dacey with a quiet murmur. She then glanced at the empty seat, and he jumped to his feet, just as Torrhen, who stood behind him, moved forward to pull the chair back from the table.
Hermione stared at them both, eyes wide, but then accepted the chair and gingerly sat. Robb glanced at Torrhen, who, rebuked, lowered his eyes and the young Wolf pushed the chair in gently.
Robb swallowed thickly and motioned to the platters and bowls of food in front of them. "May I, Lady Hermione?"
She nodded, and silence fell between the two as he served her from the many dishes, and then, attempted to not look like a fool watching her eat.
"Was the - ah - was the library satisfactory, milady?" he asked, fumbling the beginning as they finished their food. He had completely ignored his mother and uncle, and felt conscious of the Blackfish's amused eyes on him.
Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "It was a good starting point, but I haven't gone through everything yet. I may have to change my plans - if that's okay?"
"Change your plans?" he echoed dumbly.
She nodded, and her curls bounced and he was entranced. "Yes; stay at Riverrun longer instead of joining your army towards Lannisport." She made a face. "Especially as I now know how far everything is."
"The library, the castle; all of Riverrun is at your disposal," blurted Robb, and from his other side, he heard his mother's sharp hiss.
Fuck, he thought, I all but declared her Lady of the Castle with that. His eyes darted around the Hall, looking for the nearest Frey. Shit - did a Frey overhear? Are they going to consider that a breach in our contract? Fuck!
"That's very kind of you," said Hermione, drawing his attention again. "But I honestly just need to borrow the library. You won't even notice me, I promise."
"I doubt anyone could forget you, Lady Hermione." And there goes my mouth again. God's teeth - what am I? Three and ten and around the first maiden to give me a compliment?
"My Lord?"
Robb happily and gratefully turned in his chair to look at Torrhen, who was struggling between keeping a straight face and smirking as his eyes very quickly moved to Lady Hermione and then back. "The Lords are gathering for the meeting, if you're ready to join them…?"
"Yes!" he nearly shouted, rising from his chair. "Yes - I'll be right here. Uncles, will you be joining?"
Edmure and Brynden both nodded, also standing, and Robb turned back to Hermione. "Lady Hermione, Torrhen here will escort you to your room, and-"
"Is Lady Hermione not joining us?" called Lord Karstark, over the din of the men in the Hall, drawing everyone's attention to the Head Table. Robb grit his teeth. "After all, she was the one who brought the Kingslayer to us."
Everyone's eyes turned to the witch beside Robb, and her own went wide and her face pale. "oh, no - really - honestly - I couldn't…"
"Please," added Lord Bolton, his reedy voice carrying across the now silent Hall, "Your different opinion and insight would be a breath of fresh air."
Robb, seeing he was being backed into this corner, graciously ceded the fight to his manipulative Lords. He sighed, holding out his elbow again. "Lady Hermione, this way…?"
Staring at his arm, Hermione paused, indecision on her face. He waited, patiently, but he dearly hoped she wouldn't reject him or cast some strange magic. Finally, slowly, she reached out and curled her fingers into his arm. Heat seared him, racing down his arm and straight into his stomach which tightened uncomfortably.
They led the way, past his mother and her very disapproving face; past a smirking Bolton and amused Karstark and Umber; past the Mallisters and Hornwoods and Mormonts and others, into the side room that Robb used for the Northern Lords and Lady to discuss their next move, but also to discuss what went wrong and what improvements they could make for the next battle.
He moved to his usual seat, at the head of the table, Hermione still on his arm. He gestured to the chair to his right, and, ignoring the symbolic nature, helped her into it with a swollen throat and a thick tongue, murmuring quietly to her as the others entered, "Welcome to the Northern Army, Lady Hermione."
He tried not to read too much into it -
Or the jolt of pleasure saying it had to him.
AN: I just must really hate marking, because every time I'm supposed to be marking my students' work, I end up writing fanfiction instead...