Preface
It was never meant to be anything more than a brief excursion. Belatedly, Harry knew this – and had known it all along – but what Dumbledore was demanding was going against everything he held dear. He had a life here now. If the old man hadn't desired this then why had he pushed for him to befriend as many people as he could in this place?
Harry couldn't forsake the vows he'd taken any more than he wanted to let go of his last ties to his old life… Dumbledore should know that. But he knew what was going to happen next. They were going to fight. Like two bulls in a prairie. Harry had sat too often with Jon in the lands neighbouring Griffin's Roost watching them fight and it was from this that he outlined the fight coming to the doorstep of his beloved.
Dumbledore was the old bull – he had more grit and experience, and he knew how to extend himself and when not to. He, Harry, was the young bull. He craved the fight and he desired to prove himself – not for his own personal wants – but for that of the family he'd carved since coming to this land.
'Harry,' the baritone of Ned sounded close to him. 'The Red Wizard's approaching.'
'He won't get past the outer gate,' Harry replied firmly. 'I'll ensure it myself.' He paused for a moment – this may very well be my last chance – and asked tentatively, 'How is she?'
'She's fine – the babe is on the way as we speak,' said Ned. Harry smiled, pleased.
'That's good… and Lyanna?'
'She named him Jon,' Ned replied. Harry turned. His friend's face was still full of grime and his clothing bore the remnants of all of his battles: blood and dirty had dried on the leather of his tabard, and his under-tunic was soiled from the sweat and toil it required to fight in a war. If he squinted hard enough, Harry could still see the boy that had descended down from the Eyrie to answer Prince Rhaegar's call-to-arms those three years ago.
'It's a good name,' said Harry. His lips twisted sardonically; the smile they bore was bitter. 'This may very well be the last time I see you, Ned. If that is the case… I need you to promise me something.' Ned moved forward and clasped his hands to Harry's shoulders.
'You mustn't say anything like that!' He said sharply, 'You will come back -!'
'Prepare for the worst but hope for the best,' Harry said quickly, calmly. Ned turned his gaze downwards. 'Promise me, Ned?' The young Lord of Winterfell nodded with profound resignation. 'Promise me that my child won't forget me, help her to remember. And make your sister's son a Stark. Don't leave him as a bastard – or a dragon.'
'He'll be a Stark of Winterfell,' Ned vowed, 'and your child will learn of you. I promise.'
Harry clapped his friend on the back and hugged him tightly. Ned crushed him to his body and Harry closed his eyes, savouring the roughness of the hug and the natural scents he had grown oh-so accustomed to.
'Thank you,' said Harry. He turned and left, lingering only long enough to look up into the tower wherein was his wife, giving birth to the child they had created together. But then he squared his shoulders and was gone with the whirling of his cloak, leaving behind only memories and a little girl with the bright, expressive eyes of Lily Potter…