I do not own this story. I am just playing in the world that great authors have written and created.
CH1
I find myself constantly pondering the enigma of when exactly I first became aware of my past lives. It's a perplexing phenomenon, as if the memories were already embedded within me, seamlessly interwoven into the fabric of my being. It's a surreal experience, akin to effortlessly accessing the vast library of books I have encountered throughout my various incarnations, whether they be works of fiction or non-fiction. It's as if the mere act of contemplation instantly transports me back to those moments when I first devoured the pages of those literary treasures.
Curiously enough, my recollection extends far beyond the realm of literature. I possess an uncanny familiarity with complex mathematical equations and scientific principles. Yet, try as I might, I cannot summon forth the origins of my knowledge. It's as if the secrets of advanced mathematics and science were imprinted upon my soul, their origins shrouded in a mysterious fog that eludes my grasp.
As I journey through the vast expanse of my memories, I am often granted fleeting glimpses into distant realms and forgotten epochs. These ethereal memories, like delicate wisps of smoke, slip through my grasp no matter how desperately I try to hold onto them. Yet, even in their ephemeral nature, the essence of these alternate worlds remains vivid.
In the depths of my mind, I sometimes catch sight of something that brings me strong emotion. One that seems to echo is me standing on a world as it shatters. I stand there as it rips apart as my eyes focus on a blue hue in the distance. One thing that seems to be ever apparent through my memories, even though they are only seconds fragments, I see my death in countless ways; they seem to be vivid and hazy at the same time but the echoes of the memories seem to sear my soul. Partial details seem to come and go solidify only to be erased and hard to re-find. The harder I concentrate on them the more they seem to slip from my thoughts as if I was trying to grab a hold of smoke in my fist.
These glimpses are blurred and unfocused, lasting for only milliseconds, more of feelings than actual memories leave an indelible mark upon my psyche. I witness myself hurtling through the boundless expanse of space, the heat of reentry scorching my skin as I navigate through the atmosphere.
Hazy recollections surface of flames emanating from within me, my very breath carrying the power of fire. Flashes of me summoning water effortlessly, feeling it condense at my fingers as though an extension of my being. Visions of me raising my hand and miraculous growth of vegetation. The unmistakable scent of earth, and the sound of trees, breaking through the earth, and their roots, stretching across the lands. Trees as tall as the redwoods shoot up from the ground and plants and flowers blossom, the primal forces of nature bending to my will.
Other echoes of fire roaring from my throat and the sensation of water flowing through my hands wrapping around my body in a cool soothing sensation. —all these sensations linger far longer than the fleeting flashes of memory. Vision of a blurry woman but clear tears flowing from her eyes stabbing me in the throat, her voice so distant whispering "sorry".
One of my stronger recollections that surfaces in my mind is my connection to the world of Harry Potter. I distinctly remember immersing myself in the pages of J.K. Rowling's spellbinding saga in a previous existence. However, my connection to this fantastical universe runs deeper than mere literary appreciation. It's as if I was an active participant, living and breathing within the very fabric of the Harry Potter universe.
The memories I possess are so vivid that I can effortlessly conjure images of acquiring my own wand, embarking on the exhilarating journey to Hogwarts, and navigating the intricate corridors of the magical school. It's as if I possess an innate understanding of the mystical runes and the art of wandless magic, alongside numerous other advanced magical practices. Yet, frustratingly, the means by which I acquired such knowledge remains frustratingly elusive.
Intriguingly, my memories extend beyond the Hogwarts castle and inhabitants. I possess vivid recollections of places, landmarks, and objects scattered throughout the expansive Harry Potter universe. However, curiously absent from these memories are interactions with any individuals. It's as if I am a silent observer, a spectral presence traversing the magical landscape.
Witnessing events unfold without becoming an active participant. These fragments of past lives, these glimpses into other worlds, leave me both awestruck and perplexed. I am left to wonder about the origins of these memories.
As I came to the realization of the world I had been reborn into, I couldn't help but be fascinated. Not only did I possess knowledge about the events within this universe, but I remembered intricate details from the television series and the accompanying books. It was as if I had been granted inside information into the workings of this world.
One particular detail that stood out to me was the impending war. I knew that it was going to start soon, I also knew that my grandfather and father would meet their untimely demise less than six months after the tournament at Harrenhal.
But before we delve further into this tale, allow me to introduce myself. I am Leon Stark, a member of House Stark. My parents are Brandon and Barbary Stark, and I am the grandson of Rickard Stark and Rodrik Ryswell.
My father, Brandon, was a complex man. On one hand, he defied his own father's wishes and married my mother under a heart tree as soon as he found out she was pregnant. However, as my mother's condition became burdensome and the comforts of The Rillseat couldn't compare to his ancestral home in Winterfell, my father left her to give birth to me alone, with only her family by her side. Every so often, Brandon would visit to have intimate moments with my mother, expressing his love and devotion to her, only to grow bored after his nightly visit. He stayed a week or more before embarking on his adventures, which often involved indulging with women throughout the north.
Though my Stark grandfather never publicly stated it, he strongly disapproved of the union of my mother and father. The letters exchanged between him and my maternal grandfather hinted at the fact that my mother and I were not welcome in Winterfell. In multiple discussions with my grandfather Rodrik my paternal grandfather reluctantly and grudgingly acknowledged me as my father's heir. Though he refused to announce it to the rest of the realm but did send documents that he will honor the wedding between his son, and my mother.
During my upbringing at The Rillseat, I was showered with love and attention from my Ryswell uncles, and aunt. And I grew, especially close to my aunt Bethany and my uncle Rickard. But my favorite was my mother's cousin Mark Ryswell. The man always had a smile and seemed to go out of his way to find items that I asked for. He also was the one who took his time to teach me how to ride my pony. Though my mother was not amused with her cousin teaching her three name day old son how to ride.
It was evident that I possessed a higher level of intelligence compared to other children. Using compulsions that I knew would not last very long I was able to gather materials to make longer-lasting compulsion. In order to exert a greater influence on others. Using iron I crafted a bracelet. Filling the underside of the bracelet I filled it with rune power through blood. that would make people more inclined to listen to me. Over time the compulsion will lessen, but during the time period their subconscious will slowly change. this charm would gradually seep into their minds, allowing them to accept a child's advice without suspicion.
I know the danger that comes with blood magic and I would normally not use it, but it is the easiest material to get fast results. Though in the future, when my position is more secure, I have much more reliable and safer methods to achieve my goals.
ooo
My father would visit occasionally, primarily fulfilling his duties as a husband to my mother. However, his visits were fleeting, often departing the following morning without sparing a moment for me. It seemed as though he had little interest in my existence. I suspected that he resented my presence, as he felt obligated to marry my mother, causing tension with his own father. This man was a complex individual, with his actions often contradicting one another.
Rumors began circulating in the North, questioning my legitimacy as the true heir. Some even insinuated that my grandfather was a liar and my mother was an opportunistic whore. To put an end to these speculations, my paternal grandfather, with my mother's strong encouragement, convinced my father to throw a grand celebration on my fourth name day. The intent was to showcase and affirm me as his rightful heir. In his easily provoked nature my father went along with my grandfather's suggestions. My grandfather subtly encouraged my father to believe that the insult was more against his honor than an insult to me, my mother or my grandfather's family.
My grandfather extended invitations to lords and ladies from across the North to commemorate my name day as Brandon Stark's heir. Over the course of four days, the festival took place, with my grandfather, Rodrik, introducing me to the esteemed guests. Presenting the Lord's present with irrefutable proof that the marriage was legitimate and recognised by Lord Stark. Lord Stark recognised me as Brandon's heir. Though, there was not much that can be done to not recognise me, unless Lord Stark wishes to cause a huge friction between him and almost all of his Bannerman, if he did not recognise me after proof of my mother and father being married before I was born was presented.
On the final day of the festivities, my paternal grandfather arrived and decided that it was time for me and my mother to relocate to Winterfell, our new home. My Stark grandfather was never cruel to me, but he was never affectionate either. He rarely spent time with me, or my mother and he would seem to go out of his way to avoid us. When he did interact with us, he would throw subtle insults at my mother.
As for my father he clearly was not okay with our present in Winterfell. From what was easily gathered from the gossip throughout the castle, before we moved to Winterfell, my father had multiple mistresses who would regularly accompany him and stay in his chambers.
My father only lasted two months of being a dutiful husband, though, during that time, he was still an absent parent, he was back to his old way. When he did stay in Winterfell, he spent most of his time away from both my mother and me until late at night. As time passed he spent more time in Wintertown with his friends, then in the company of my mother.
It hurt me to see how happy my mother was when he would come and spend time with her. Knowing how devastated she would be when he would leave her. I have to give it to the man he knew how to talk to women and manipulate them into loving him. But my admiration of his didn't stop me from growing a seed of resentment when I saw how hurt my mother was even though she hid it behind pleasantries, you could not mistake the pain in her eyes. She would always be staring at the door throughout the day, hoping for his arrival, only to feel saddened when he never showed up. Even with all the pain he caused her she deeply loved him.
My aunt Lyanna seemed to have a soft spot for me, but she didn't feel the same way about my mother. Which made it hard for me to get close to her at times. For some reason she took pleasure, and seeing my mother miserable when my father would not arrive hinting at who my father was spending time with just to provoke my mother. I felt anger on my mother behalf since my mother never argued or talked back because she knew the love that my father had for his younger sister, and did not want to have his anger turned against her.
Lyanna seemed to believe that my mother trapped my father and resented her for it. And in almost every conversation they had Lyanna maded snide comments towards her and happily joined in with her father's mockery. Only my uncle Benjen remained neutral towards my mother. He seemed uncomfortable with the way his sister and father treated her. He was always kind to us, and as time went on, he seemed to open up and be less neutral and more friendly towards my mother. He would occasionally be caught sharing a laugh with my mother during their conversations.
I am fascinated by how individuals in Winterfell react to my compulsions to be treated as a capable adult. It is truly intriguing to observe the varying responses from different family members. In particular, my father consistently views me as a child, regardless of my efforts to prove otherwise. It is disheartening to witness his dismissive attitude towards any serious conversations I initiate, as if I were merely a babbling child. In fact, at times, it even seems to make him uncomfortable. Similarly, my aunt shares this unfortunate perspective, consistently undermining my desire to be seen as a mature individual. However, I find solace in the fact that my grandfather and uncle Benjen were much more receptive to my attempts to be seen as an adult. they seem to succumb to the compulsion with little effort.
000
The only time my Stark grandfather ever seemed to show any interest in me was when the Winterfell Maester told him about my advanced reading and writing skills. Walys was a remarkable old man, his grey beard cascading down to his chest, adorned with specks of ink and fragments of herbs. His chamber was filled with the aroma of medicine, as he tirelessly experimented and created new remedies. Despite his bald head, he compensated with an impressive beard, held together by elegant silver clasps. Walys always greeted my mother and me with a warm smile and kind words.
Remarkably agile for his age, Walys moved with ease, though his slight hunch betrayed the passing of time. Ascending the steps to his chamber, he displayed a grace that defied his could find him darting back and forth in his chamber engrossed in his various experiments and concoctions. He could be seen at his desk in his chamber scribbling in his journals with his beard thrown over his right shoulder ensuring it stayed clear of his writing or sitting in a corner in the library engrossed in reading tomes for the library while chewing on a twig of miswak or sipping on tea made with slices of ginger.
I was wary of him due to the conspiracy theories circulating about him, claiming that he was manipulating and plotting against the Starks. So, one day, when he was sound asleep, I decided to snoop around his personal belongings and letters. I couldn't find any evidence to support the theories. In fact, it seemed that he genuinely cared about the Stark children and held great affection for my late grandmother. His constant working in his lab and working in crafting tinctures seem to be motivated from his pain of losing my grandmother. His journals contained no negative feelings towards the North or the Starks. While he obviously wouldn't explicitly write about any plots, there was no indication of any ill will or negativity towards us. I spent hours poring over years of entries, but found no signs of him working against us.
oooo
For the past two years, I've been collecting resources in Winterfell, knowing that a significant event was imminent. Using my charms and persuasive abilities, I managed to convince my grandfather to allocate a workspace for me at Moat Cailin. Surprisingly, he agreed without much resistance, leaving me to question if my powers were even necessary. Since settling into Moat Cailin, my aunts and uncles have shown little interest in visiting, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It provided me with uninterrupted time to focus on my creations without any distractions or inquiries. Though I was happy after my second month there, my cousin Mark decided to stay with me. The charms worked on him with surprising ease. He was a great help and treated me as a learning maester and season lord.
Only time the other Stark visited was on their way to the infamous tourney, they stayed two days at Moat Cailin. Though I enjoyed them coming, not for their presents, but because my mother was allowed to come with them, and stayed at the moat with me while they went to the tourney. my mother already figured that I was no ordinary child by then seemed pleased with my progress as I happily showed her around.
With the return of the rest of the Starks their mood somber over what happened at the gathering at Harrenhal. My mother followed my father back to Winterfell since he was agitated and he convinced her that he needed her with him. I was happy to have him and Lord Stark out of my keep frustrated that my mother was ordered to return with him.
To distract myself from my mother's departure I threw myself back in my Ashens and research. Knowing that my time for preparation was shortening. Over the past year I have gathered all the necessary materials to construct ten powerful golem warriors and their mounts. Through a combination of blood, stone, and iron, I have forged ten formidable soldiers, fully equipped with weapons and armor. Towering at an imposing height of seven feet, these figures hold a massive tower shield in one hand, so robust that it requires two men to lift it, in their other hand they wield a 4-foot poleaxe with a spike on one end and a warhammer head on the other. On top of that they were adorned in armor from head to toe in thick steel plates.
Simultaneously, I have also created enchanted parchments capable of containing compelling charms when inscribed upon. These charm parchments possess the ability to influence others through writing. The effectiveness of each paper varies, with the strongest charms lasting less than a year, while others endure for a week to a month.
oooo
It has been nine weeks since I received the King's notification of my father and Lord Stark demise. A rider from Winterfall accompanied by my grandfather delivered a letter from the king. In it he declared that my house was in rebellion ordering me to travel to King's Landing to answer for my family's treacherous crimes. I already knew that Lord Stark's journey would lead to the death of both my father and himself. There was no love lost between my Stark relatives and myself. I was somewhat relieved that they made no attempt to befriend me or show any family affection, as it allowed me to view them with less emotion.
Even so to my surprise I felt an emotion of fear and worry for my father and Stark grandfather as I watched him ride off after his stop at the moat. For a second, I had an overwhelming desire to ride up to him and warn him. I find myself struggling with emotions that I didn't realize I had. I was aware that if they were to survive, it would be a considerable amount of time before I could assume the position of ruler in the north and execute my strategic plans without interference. Ultimately, I couldn't deny that I didn't desire the presence of either man. The short burst of familiar worry was easily squashed when my rational side took over.
I wished to rule without anyone questioning my authority or suppressing the power I wished to wield. Furthermore, even with the influence I possess, it would require a significant amount of time and effort to guide the two. It would be easier if I didn't need to answer them.
00
The night before I planned on marching down south I hosted a feast for the lords of the north who had gathered. As I made my way back to my chamber, deep in thought going over all my plans. I was interrupted by my grandfather Rodrik. Since I had called the banners he has been encouraging me to go back to Winterfell. He did not want me to risk my life by going down south. He was afraid of me meeting the same fate as my father and other grandfather. He looked weary and exacerbated, his voice tinged with desperation as he pleaded, "Leon, I implore you to reconsider this notion. You are but a boy of seven, there is no need for you to venture down south." His voice softened as he knelt down to meet my gaze, a hand resting gently on my shoulder. "I will lead the northern forces in your name, avenging your father and Lord Stark. War is no place for children. You are the future of our houses, and it is your duty to stay and protect the north. Go back to Winterfell Leon your mother is in distress and she could use your presents as she grieves your father's passing." His weathered hands cupped my face, his eyes filled with concern. "I understand your anger and desire for vengeance, my boy, but please, be reasonable. I admit you are clever and your creations are impressive but it takes only an arrow or a lucky break for the enemy."
Taking my grandfather's hand in mine, I held his gaze, a mix of determination and love in my eyes. "Grandfather, I appreciate your concern, but it is crucial that I join this journey. There is more at stake. I fear if I am not there there might be a possibility that I might be usurper for Ned. He has been living outside of the north, raised with southern ideals. He is connected to two Lord Paramount who right now are rebelling. It is possible that the northern Lord seeing him fight and having the backing of two other high lords will have you and mother dismissed as my regent and place him in your stead. I have read many historical stories about Southern houses regents and how they have disposed of their charges. Another scenario could be with the backing of two high lords the other northern lords could outright place him as the Paramount of the north. Not less than three years ago many of the Lords considered you a liar." I said as I took one of my hands that I was holding my grandfathers with and started to rub my temple trying to alleviate the slight headache that had slowly grown throughout the evening. I looked back at my grandfather and continued. "Not only do I seek justice for the north and our family, but I must also go to King's Landing to ensure our, my voice is heard. I will not rest and rely on the honor of men I don't know." I tightened my grip on his hand, silently urging him to understand. "I value your counsel and I will take everything you say into consideration when I make my decision but I must do this for the north, for my mother and for myself. Please, let us not speak of this further. I have made up my mind." With that, I left him standing in the hall, his expression a mix of worry and resignation. It pained me to defy my grandfather's wishes, but I knew that my path I must tread, these will be the first but some of the most important steps to laying down my legacy.
ooo
As I rode out from Moat Cailin Casting a glance towards my cousin Mark and his new steel armor that I had forged for him. He gave me a nervous smile but disappeared from his face as his eyes glanced at my grandfather. Grandfather Rodrik, still carrying some annoyance after our previous night's arguments, tried to convince me again this morning, holding out a letter from uncle Benjen about my mother. Who was distraught and hasn't left her bed since hearing the news of my father's death. In the message I learned about poor Walys who is bedridden, after hearing about my father and grandfather's death, my guess is he had a heart attack from the shock of the news. Despite his disapproval of my decision to march with the army to war at the tender age of seven there was still a look of pride on his face. Uncle Benjen informed me that if there needs to be a Stark in Winterfell then that should be me. He is going to catch up with me further on the Kings road.
Upon turning my gaze backwards, I took note of the ten golems that I had crafted into my bodyguards. With reins in hand, I deftly directed my horse through the gates. It was there that I was met by an assembly of the North's Lords, their presence filling me with pride. I moved my gaze in a panoramic view, taking in the surrounding fields. Each house of the North, with its respective banner and army, stood resolute, marking a formidable force of nearly 23,000 men eagerly poised to march.
In the canon, it is mentioned that there were around 30,000 soldiers who fought alongside Robert. It is reasonable to assume that this number includes the troops Ned Stark gathered in the North after his arrival there. However, it's important to mention that Ned still had at least two days of travel left before reaching White Harbor. Realizing the impending events, Leon wasted no time and called for the banners to be summoned as soon as my grandfather had arrived in King's Landing. As a result, it gave him approximately Ten and a half weeks for the troops to gather at Moat Cailin. Ned would've had to send letters from the Eyrie
The earliest Ned could have called the banners was four weeks beforehand. I had sent the letters to call the banners before I even received the news from King's Landing.
00
Leon sat straight on his stallion, his eyes scanning the sea of soldiers gathered before him. He had practiced everything he was about to say, working on the tone to give it the emotion he needed to present. To ensure my message reached all by dispersing several heralds around the encampment.
With a deep breath, he began to address them "My fellow Northerners, a grave injustice has been done to the North. "Ever since the Targaryens seized control of Westrose, the North has remained loyal to them," he started, his tone resolute. "We stood by them when they stripped our lands and gave them to the Wall. We stood by them when they were on the brink of Civil War, and we journeyed to the South to stabilize the realm. What did we get in return? Were we thanked, were we rewarded? No, we were labeled as barbarians and uncivilized, but we still held faith."
Leon's gaze hardened as he continued, his voice rising with each word. "Even when the Targaryens tore themselves apart, we held faith. Even when we were promised a union through marriage, only to be denied after we won their war for them, we still held faith. Throughout the centuries, we have endured mockery and scorn."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in, before delving into the grievances the North had faced under Targaryen rule. "The Targaryens encouraged the Reach to bleed us dry, forcing us to bear the burden of harsh winters alone. We were barely given assistance, but they demanded our men for their wars and our gold for their treasuries."
As Leon recounted the recent events that had unfolded, his voice trembled with a mixture of anger and sadness. "And then, the Targaryens had the audacity to mock our house, presenting my aunt with a crown of roses in front of the entire realm, in front of his own wife. It was a humiliation for my aunt, for my house. Still, we held faith."
He spoke with a heavy heart as he described the abduction of his aunt, Lyanna, by the prince of the realm. "My father, a lord of the North, traveled to King's Landing to demand her return. But for daring to ask for justice, he was arrested on the steps of the Red Keep, dragged before the Iron Throne." The pain in his voice was palpable as he recounted his father's encounter with the madman king. "My father stared into the eyes of the madman and demanded justice."
Leon's voice quivered with anger and sorrow as he recounted the horrors inflicted upon his family. "My grandfather was summoned, only to witness the abuse and bruises on my father's body. The madman accused my family of not knowing our place. And when my grandfather realized that justice would not be served, he demanded a trial by combat. But that coward chose fire as his champion. He dangled my grandfather above the flames, allowing him to slowly roast, while tying a noose around my father's neck, just out of reach of a sword that would have granted a swift death."
Taking a moment to compose himself, Leon locked eyes with his fellow soldiers and fellow lords of the North. The emotions on his face were raw and unmasked. "I will no longer place my faith in such cowards, such animals," he declared loudly, his voice filled with determination and defiance. "I have been summoned to King's Landing to answer for the crimes of my family, to demand the return of the one who was stolen from us in the night." He paused, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.
"I will go to King's Landing, to the Red Keep, as commanded by the king. But this time, I will not go empty-handed. I will carry my sword, and when I arrive, I will drive it through his skull," Leon proclaimed, his voice thundering with righteous anger. He raised his sword high above his head, the symbol of his unwavering resolve.
The soldiers and lords of the North erupted in cheers, their voices echoing through the air. Leon waited patiently until the commotion subsided before speaking again. "I am but a young boy of seven namedays, and this will be a long and treacherous journey. But I ask you, my fellow soldiers, my fellow lords of the North, will you follow me? Will you stand by my side as I face the king and give my answer?" he asked, his voice filled with determination.
The response was immediate and resounding. The soldiers and lords shouted in agreement, their voices united in their support for Leon. He waited for their cheers to die down before addressing them one final time. "Then let us march together, shoulder to shoulder, and show the world the strength of the North!"
00
As I rode away from Moat Cailin, the ancient fortress that stood as a symbol of our family's strength and power, a multitude of thoughts occupied my mind. I was proud of my speech even though I tweaked some of the facts to be more sympathetic to the Northern side. The fact is the Targaryen were actually pretty good for the north overall. Other than the fact that we couldn't call ourselves king we basically ruled ourselves with almost no interference. More northerners survived in the harsh winter under Targaryen rule than before. The Starks were more secure since we did not have to worry about being betrayed so openly as well as did not have to worry about being invaded by the southern kingdoms.
The reason the southern kingdom prospered so much is the fact that after they stopped fighting each other for expansion, they were easily able to establish trade deals that helped grow their wealth. The reason the north did not prosper as much as others during this time was we did not have a lot to offer and on top of that we were of a different race and religion from the rest. Dorne may be a desert but anyone who wanted to trade with the western side of Westrose had to sail past Dorne which helped enrich that kingdom. Dorne following the same gods didn't hurt them either.
With the weight of responsibility upon my shoulders, I carefully placed my helm on the saddle hook, ensuring its security. I then unsecured my chainmail coif, pulling it from my head and securing it to hang around my neck. The feeling of freedom and relief washed over me as I rode, occasionally rubbing my treasured bracelet, the greatest piece I possessed on this strategic chessboard of power and ambition.
The wind whipped through my hair as I cast a glance towards my grandfather, Rodrik, who rode beside me. Next to him, rode my uncle Rickard, not far behind, my mother's cousin Mark, with a stern expression etched.
Prior to entering the Riverlands, we awaited the arrival of House Reed on the Kings Road. We knew that their knowledge of the land and their skills as scouts would be invaluable to our cause. As we waited, our patience was rewarded with vital intelligence from our scout. It appeared that my uncle Ned, accompanied by the rest of House Manderly, had been sighted. They had chosen to utilize a ship from White Harbor, ultimately landing along the coast in The Bite, closest to the Kings Road.
Quickly formulating a plan in my mind, I instructed the scout to relay a message to my uncle. I requested him to join us at a designated point further along the Kings Road, where we could strategize and unite our forces. Our march continued, with the sun gradually making its descent towards the horizon. Approximately two hours before dusk, our scouts discovered a favorable location atop a hill, located one mile ahead on the road. This spot was not only conveniently situated near a creek, providing us with a water source, but it was also in close proximity to the Kings Road, making it an excellent site for setting up our camp.
Knowing the importance of a strong defense, I had taken the time to design three collapsible towers. These towers were a testament to our ingenuity and resourcefulness, allowing us to adapt to any situation. Each tower required the felling of three trees, which would serve as their structural support. Once erected, these towers stood at an impressive height of 15 feet, towering over the surrounding landscape. They could accommodate 10 skilled bowmen, providing them with adequate protective covering to rain arrows upon our enemies.
The assembly process for each tower was a well-oiled machine. With the assistance of 15 men working together, we could dig the necessary hole and fell the tree in less than 12 minutes. The efficiency and precision of our teamwork allowed us to swiftly set up these defensive structures, ensuring our safety and giving us a tactical advantage.
As the sun sank below the horizon, casting a blanket of velvety darkness over the camp, I settled into the cozy embrace of my camp bed. With the flickering glow of a nearby lantern illuminating the tent, I closed my eyes and let my mind wander as I embarked on my evening meditation routine.
Each breath I took was deliberate, a gentle reminder of the brave individuals who made up our formidable military units. In this serene state, I focused my energy on nurturing their resolve, infusing them with a renewed sense of vitality and sharpened concentration. I envisioned their unwavering determination, their unwavering commitment to their duties, and their unwavering loyalty to one another.
It was astonishing to witness the evolution of my meditative sessions over time. What once began as brief fifteen-minute sessions, ending in complete exhaustion and the need for a lengthy three-hour nap, had now transformed into something much more powerful. Through sheer determination and ingenious planning, I had seamlessly integrated my meditation practice into the soldiers' training activities.
Not only did this allow me to sharpen their focus and enhance their performance, but it also served as a subtle distraction for our adversaries. As I delved deeper into my meditation, I could sense the opposing forces growing increasingly unsettled, their attention divided and their strategic thinking compromised. It was a delicate dance of harnessing my own inner peace while disrupting the tranquility of our enemies.
Now, I found myself capable of sustaining my meditation for slightly over an hour. The stillness and tranquility enveloped me, transporting me to a place of inner strength and clarity. However, surpassing the hour and a half mark proved to be a challenge. The energy required to maintain such intense focus and connection with the soldiers left me utterly drained, my own reserves of vitality depleted.
But despite the exhaustion, I knew that these extended meditation sessions were crucial. They allowed me to tap into a wellspring of power and resilience within myself, which I could then channel into the soldiers. As I lay there, enveloped in the soothing darkness of the night, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction knowing that I was playing a small but significant role in the success of our military endeavors.
However, after much experimentation and personal reflection, I have come to the realization that dedicating a precise forty minutes to meditation brings about an astonishing sense of renewal and rejuvenation. It is comparable to the invigorating effects of a short but restful thirty-minute nap. During these sacred moments of introspection, I am able to access a deep reservoir of revitalized energy and mental clarity. This newfound strength and focus empower me to confront the daunting challenges that await us on the battlefield.
Approximately 30 minutes into my serene meditation session, the tranquility was interrupted by my grandfather, who delivered the news that my uncle had just arrived at our camp. Although I had never met Ned Stark in person, I vividly recalled his portrayal in the popular television series, and my initial impression was far from impressive. However, curiosity got the better of me, and I eagerly observed his entrance into my tent, escorted by Lady Mormont. I couldn't help but notice the uncanny resemblance he still bore to his younger, televised self.
Drawing closer to me, Ned gently placed his hands on my shoulders, offering his condolences for the loss of my father. Responding with a bittersweet smile, I acknowledged his kind words, but made it clear that I too sought justice for the deaths of both my grandfather and father.
Ned nodded solemnly, his face etched with concern, as he suggested that I should return to Winterfell while he took command of the army to avenge our family. However, before he could elaborate on his plan, I interrupted him, reminding him firmly that as the Lord of the North, it was my responsibility to lead these troops. I emphasized that I would not entertain any alternative viewpoints on this matter. Sensing the gravity of the situation, my grandfather spoke up, seeking clarification from Ned on whether he recognized my authority as the Lord of the North. Ned's expression turned sour, clearly affronted by the question, but he swiftly kneeled before me, pledging his allegiance.
During the meeting, I took the opportunity to examine the neatly spread maps of the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Crownlands on the table. As we discussed our next course of action, some lords suggested a direct advance towards Kings Landing, proposing that we scorch the Crownlands along the way. I made a mental note of these lords, marking them as morons in my mind. In contrast, Ned informed us that Jon Arryn had intended to proceed to Riverrun after addressing the rebellious houses in the Vale. Ned suggested establishing communication with both Jon Arryn and House Tully to form an alliance. Agreeing with Ned's perspective, my grandfather provided additional insights and effectively outlined the most suitable route to achieve our objectives.
The next morning, I wrote a letter and sent it to Hoster using one of my specially prepared parchments. These parchments had compulsions infused in them, which would influence Hoster to replicate his actions as depicted in canon and encourage him to propose a matrimonial alliance between Catelyn and Ned. The compulsion also included a demand for a marriage between Hoster's other daughter and House Arryn. Encrypted within the letter was a secondary compulsion, which would gradually take effect when Hoster came into contact with the parchment. This secondary compulsion aimed to make him more receptive to my proposals over the next six months, as long as they didn't directly conflict with his own interests.
Eight days later, we arrived near the Crossroad Inn, where we were welcomed by several lords from the Riverlands and their soldiers. Lord Vypren, Haigh, and Charlton greeted us about a mile away from the inn. They informed us that Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn were waiting for us at the Crossroad Inn. Ned was filled with joy upon seeing his foster father. It took us three days to finalize all the necessary arrangements for forging alliances. Jon and Ned were to marry Hoster's daughters, strengthening our bonds. With careful subtlety, I included a provision stating that Ned's children would not inherit the North nor be considered my successors in case of unforeseen circumstances. I intentionally obscured this paragraph to ensure it remained unnoticed by others for at least eight months.
As preparations were being made for our march towards King's Landing, an urgent report arrived stating that Robert had been defeated in battle by the Reach army. He sought refuge in Stoney Sept, closely pursued by Targaryen forces. In the midst of this troubling news, Ned and Jon engaged in a spirited debate, emphasizing the necessity of joining forces to confront the approaching Targaryen army. Hoster and my grandfather agreed with their viewpoint.
During the meeting, I eagerly seized the opportunity to delve into the maps of the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Crownlands spread out on the table before us. As our discussion unfolded, various lords eagerly put forth their suggestions, advocating for a direct advance towards Kings Landing, proposing a strategy that involved scorching the Crownlands along our path. Suppressing a sigh, I mentally labeled these lords as nothing short of moronic. However, amidst the sea of questionable ideas, Ned shared that Jon Arryn intended to make his way to Riverrun after dealing with loyalist houses in the Vale. Ned suggested a plan that involved reaching out to both Jon Arryn's House and House Tully.
But then Jon had the audacity to suggest that Ned should be the one in charge of our northern armies. I quickly shut that idea down and made it crystal clear that my grandfather, Rodrik, would be leading our forces on my behalf. The other northern Lords agreed with me, nodding their heads in approval. It took us a whole week to gather the rest of the Tully forces and the Valemen before we could march towards the Stony Sept.
While my grandfather took command of our troops, I stationed myself on a nearby hill that gave me a perfect view of the town below. From up there, I could see my grandfather leading our soldiers fearlessly against the Targaryen loyalists. To make sure I stayed safe, my grandfather assigned 50 spearmen and my personal retinue of 10 bodyguards to accompany me. One of my bodyguards took the reins of my horse as I prepared to dive deep into battle meditation, letting my mind expand beyond my physical self.
Concentrating my thoughts outside of my body, I tried to connect with the emotions of our northern soldiers. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and focused on the soldiers. I honed in on the clash of swords, the whistling sound of arrows zipping through the air, and the haunting cries of the wounded, making them the center of my attention. As I exhaled, I gathered all my energy and channeled it into my battle meditation.
Rocking back and forth on my horse, I synchronized my movements with the rhythm of the battle, immersing my mind into the intricate dance of conflict. And it worked wonders. I could see the fear and anxiety that had gripped our soldiers slowly fading away, replaced by a newfound focus and confidence. Their attacks became more precise, and their strikes deadlier.
Meanwhile, chaos and confusion reigned among our enemies. Their unity crumbled, and their fighting spirit waned. I skillfully instilled fear in their ranks, breaking apart their once-united front and throwing them into disarray. The clash of swords echoed through the streets of Stony Sept as the battle raged on. The town turned into a haunting scene, littered with the lifeless bodies of Targaryen loyalists, and the air became thick with the stench of blood and filth. The narrow alleys forced our soldiers into intense close-quarters combat. The symphony of clashing blades filled the air as our soldiers fought with unwavering determination. As the sun set, a calm settled over the battlefield, and the sounds of battle slowly faded away. Eventually, the enemy forces admitted defeat and retreated, leaving us victorious rebels in their wake.