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After leaving the tavern, Harry headed to the building the serving girl had directed him to. He found it to be a modest shop filled with various tools and supplies. An older man with a thin beard and tired eyes greeted him as he entered, his attention briefly flickering over Harry's out-of-place appearance before turning back to the pile of folded woolen cloaks in front of him.

"Need something, lad?" the shopkeeper asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.

Harry nodded, taking a quick glance around the shop trying to figure out what he might need for his journey. He quickly grabbed a flint and tinder, knowing that if he ran into someone along the road and ended up travelling with them, they would certainly ask questions if he didn't have anything to start a fire. Next, he added a blanket, a couple of sets of simple clothing that certainly fit better with what everyone else was wearing, and a small iron pot that figured he could use to cook food or boil water, if he needed to. Lastly, he picked up a burlap bag, that he could sling over his shoulder, to carry everything in and a small knife, though he certainly hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

The shopkeeper watched curiously as Harry continued to pile the items on the counter. "Looks like you're grabbing pretty much everything," he remarked. "Not often we get travelers who need so much all at once. You lose everything on the road?"

Harry hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I was attacked on the way here. Managed to get out of the clearing with my life and coins, but not much else."

The shopkeeper let out a low whistle. "Lucky you escaped. Most bandits wouldn't think twice about killing a man if it meant getting their hands on a bit more coin." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "You'd best be careful on the road, lad. Even the roads close to here are not entirely safe, especially while traveling alone."

Harry gave a small nod of appreciation. "I'll keep that in mind."

After negotiating a modest discount, Harry paid for his supplies, a little shocked at how much it all cost. He parted with more of the coins he had than he would have liked, but he knew it was better to be spend the money and be prepared than to end up in a situation where he wished he had. As he left the shop, he made a mental note to be more cautious about spending his remaining money, especially unless he found a way to replenish it.

That being said, knowing he needed to eat and currently had no ability to hunt, he returning to the tavern, he purchased fresh bread, cheese, apples, and dried elk meat—enough provisions to last until he reached Winterfell. The serving girl smiled as she packed the food for him, teasing him that even if he got lost heading to Winterfell he should have enough food to last him until he finally found his way.

With everything in order, Harry took one last look around the town before heading toward the gate. Just as he neared the exit, he noticed a man running down from the castle, wearing grey robes and a chain around his neck. Harry stared, momentarily confused, but shrugged it off. He figured he'd see plenty more strange things and outfits.

The man reached the gate at the same time as Harry and immediately walked over to the guard.

"Good morrow, guardsman," the man said his voice full of excitment, addressing the guard. "I need to know if Lord Cerwyn has returned from his ride."

The guard stood at attention, his eyes sharp. "Good day, Maester Rhodry. I'm afraid Lord Cerwyn is still out with his son and guards. But I would assume they'll return shortly; the midday meal is approaching."

The Maester paused looking out towards the forest before nodded thoughtfully, his expression serious. "Very well. When he returns, please ensure that he is directed straight back to the castle. We need to prepare for the arrival of the king."

"The king?" the guard asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yes," the Maester confirmed with a sigh. "We just received word that the king and a large party are on their way to Winterfell and should arrive in just over a fortnight. It's imperative that we make the necessary preparations in case the king plans to spend any time here."

The guard nodded. "Understood. I'll make sure Lord Cerwyn is informed as soon as he arrives."

The Maester glanced out over the road, his thoughts distant. "Good." And with that he turned and headed back up to the castle slower than he had made it down to the gate.

Looking around Harry noticed that he wasn't the only one who had slowed to a stop and listened to the conversation and judging by the way several people were looking between each other he imagined that the entire settlement would likely know about the king's trip before Lord Cerwyn returned. As Harry made his way around the edge of the settlement's walls, towards where the serving girl had told him he would find the road to Winterfell, Harry shook his head at the coincidence of happening to be heading in the same direction as the king. What are the odds, Harry thought, suppressing a smile as he tried to imagine what royalty here would look like.

With a final glance at the bustling town, Harry set off down the Kingsroad. Despite its grand name, the road was little more than a well-worn dirt path. Still, according to the serving girl it was the main route to Winterfell, and Harry followed it with determination. Although the girl had told him that it was a half-day's journey by horse, the old man that gave him supplies told him that since he had no horse it would take him the better part of two full days on foot, and that was only if he really pushed himself.

Happy that the ground was mostly flat, Harry pushed himself hard, only stopping briefly to eat or drink. The landscape stretched endlessly in front of him, a mix of dense forests and open fields. By the end of the second day, just as it was getting dark, he had still not made it, his body ached from the constant walking, but he hoped that tomorrow he would be coming across Winterfell.

It was early morning when Harry was jolted awake by a blood-curdling scream. His heart pounded in his chest as he jumped to his feet, hastily grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. The scream echoed again through the trees, closer this time.

Without hesitation, Harry sprinted toward the sound, dodging between the trees with surprising speed. His mind raced—what kind of danger was he going to come across? Bandits? Wild animals? Whatever it was, someone was in trouble, and he knew he couldn't just stand by.

After a few minutes of running, Harry burst into a small clearing and skidded to a halt. Three men stood around a girl that couldn't have been older that thirteen, their faces twisted with cruel laughter. The girl's clothes were torn, and one of the men was just in the process of reaching forward and ripping off her shirt, eliciting another terrified scream which almost drowned out the laughter of the other men.

The scene sickened Harry to his core. Without thinking, he dropped his bag and stepped forward, his wand slipping into his hand almost instinctively. "Leave her alone!" he shouted, his voice filled with more anger than he had intended.

The men froze, startled by the sudden interruption. They turned to face him, their expressions quickly shifting from surprise to amusement. One of them, a man with a greasy beard and an old, rusted sword, stepped forward.

"Look what we've got here, lads," he sneered, glancing at Harry's wand. "A fool come to play hero."

Harry's grip tightened on his wand. "I'm warning you. Leave her alone, and no one gets hurt."

The men laughed, clearly not taking him seriously. The bearded man drew his sword, while the other two brandished knives. "You're outnumbered, boy. But if you walk away now, we might just let you live. As you can clearly see our hands are full … or about to be."

Harry shook his head and stepped forward, his voice calm but firm, as he ignored the laughter. "This is your last chance."

The men started to spread out, ready to circle him. Harry didn't wait. He aimed his wand at the man with the sword and shouted, "Stupefy!"

The red light of the stunning spell hit the man square in the chest, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The other two men froze, their eyes wide with disbelief, not understanding what had just happened. Only realizing that perhaps Harry was not a helpless boy.

One of the men began to lower his knife, his face pale. But before he could fully surrender, the girl screamed again, pointing at the other man, who had taken several steps toward Harry.

Instinctively, Harry spun and fired another stunning spell. The red light shot out of his wand, but just as it hit the man, Harry felt a sharp pain in his leg. He looked down in shock to see the man's knife buried deep in his thigh.

Harry cried out in pain, clutching his leg as the man who had thrown the knife collapsed, stunned. The third man, the one who had been about to surrender, dropped his knife entirely and bolted into the trees, disappearing into the forest without looking back.

Harry staggered, his leg throbbing painfully. He tried to take a step forward to give chase, but his injured leg gave out beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he looked up at the girl, who was now rushing toward him, tears streaming down her face.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I've been better," Harry muttered through clenched teeth. "But I'll live."

Harry winced as the girl knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she examined the knife protruding from his leg. "You saved me," she whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and horror. "Thank you."

He shook his head, his gaze shifting down to the wound. The knife was still embedded in his leg, the pain sharp and radiating through his body. Gritting his teeth, he looked back at her. "I need your help," he said, his voice strained. "I don't think I can pull it out myself."

The girl paled, her eyes darting back to the knife. For a moment, it seemed like fear would paralyze her, but then she set her shoulders, determination taking hold. She gave a firm nod. "Okay, on three, I'll pull it out."

Before she even started counting, she yanked the knife out swiftly.

Harry cried out in pain, the sudden shock of it nearly causing him to fall back. Gasping, he fumbled for the leather flask he'd filled with ale earlier, uncorking it with trembling hands. He poured the liquid over the wound, wincing as it stung, and muttered to himself, "Wish I'd learned more healing magic."

She watched him with confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Alcohol," he explained, biting back the pain as he shrugged. "Keeps the wound from getting infected. Or at least, it's supposed to. Not sure there's enough in this stuff to do the job properly, though."

She nodded, her expression softening as she looked at the blood seeping from his leg. "You need help. That's not going to be enough."

Harry grunted in agreement. "Could you get me a couple of pieces of cloth from my bag? I need to wrap this up."

Without hesitation, she rushed to his bag, grabbing it and pulling out a couple of torn cloths. She knelt beside him again and handed them to him. Together, they began tying the cloths tightly around his wound. When she pulled them tight, he winced in pain.

She laughed softly, though her voice was tinged with concern. "We need to stop the bleeding, otherwise you're not going to make it over the next hill."

Harry forced a smile, nodding through the pain. He glanced north, towards the direction she had pointed earlier. "Are we close to Winterfell?"

A smile spread across her face. "Yeah," she said, laughing lightly. "It's just over the next hill."

Relief flooded through Harry, and for the first time since the knife had hit him, he allowed himself to smile. "That's good news." Slowly, he forced himself up, with her help, though his leg screamed in protest with every movement. As they started making their way toward the road, she spotted a stout stick nearby and ran to grab it. Harry was incredibly thankful for the makeshift cane—it took the weight off his injured leg and helped him move a bit quicker.

Still, the pain was relentless, but he kept pushing himself forward, determined to reach Winterfell.

The girl, noticing his struggle, tried to distract him with conversation. "My name's Eira," she said, looking over at him with a smile. "What's yours?"

"Harry Potter," he replied, his voice tight with pain.

She giggled. "That's a weird name."

Harry couldn't help but laugh with her, the sound helping to ease the tension for a brief moment. "I suppose it is."

They walked in silence for a few moments before she began speaking again. "My mother's one of Lady Stark's chambermaids," she said, pride evident in her voice. "My father's a guard, one of Lord Stark's men."

"Lady Stark? Lord Stark" Harry asked, curious. He was still adjusting to the names and titles of this world.

Eira nodded eagerly. "Yes, Lady Catelyn Stark. She's the lady of Winterfell. And Lord Eddard Stark, her husband, rules the castle. They're good people, the Starks. Noble. They care about the North and the people who live here. You'll see them soon enough when we reach Winterfell."

She continued to tell him about the castle, describing its towering walls and the sprawling city within. Harry listened as best he could, trying to focus on her words to keep his mind off the throbbing pain in his leg.

What would have likely taken him less than an hour at a regular pace ended up taking most of the morning. By the time they crested the final hill, Harry was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching with every step. But as they reached the top, his eyes widened in awe.

Winterfell sprawled out before him, far larger than Castle Cerwyn. The walls were tall and imposing, and beyond them, the ancient stone towers of the keep rose high into the sky. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and he could see the movement of people bustling around the town within the walls.

But as Harry stood there, gazing in wonder at the sight before him, his leg nearly gave out beneath him.

"We should probably get going," Eira said, her voice pulling him back to the present. She pointed down at the makeshift bandage wrapped around his leg, which was now nearly soaked through with blood. "We need to get you to a healer."

Harry nodded, forcing his focus away from the pain and toward their destination. Together, they made their way down the hill and toward Winterfell's gate. As they approached, one of the guards stationed at the entrance spotted Eira and called out to her.

"Eira! What are you doing outside the walls?" he asked, striding toward them, his tone both surprised and stern.

Eira hesitated for a moment, but as the guard reached them, she stood protectively in front of Harry. "He saved my life," she said, her voice strong but laced with emotion. "I went to play in the Wolfswood after finishing my chores, and bandits found me."

The guard's face darkened with concern. "Bandits? That close to Winterfell?" He looked past her, scanning the treeline as if expecting the attackers to appear at any moment. He waved over two other guards, who came running.

Eira continued. "Harry saw that I was in trouble and came to help. He fought them, but one of them threw a knife at him."

The guard looked at Harry, his expression both skeptical and impressed. "You're lucky to be alive if you confronted three bandits." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Where's your sword?"

But before Harry could come up with an answer, the world around him began to spin. His vision blurred, and he felt himself swaying on his feet. The pain in his leg had become too much, his body unable to take any more.

Eira's voice rang out, panicked. "He needs Maester Luwin! Hurry!"

The last thing Harry heard before the darkness took him was the guard shouting for help and the pounding of footsteps as everything went black.

- HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW -

Then, slowly, as if fighting his way up from the depths of the Black Lake, he became aware of his body again.

Harry blinked, his eyelids heavy as lead as he took in his surroundings. He was in a small, dimly lit room. Despite the lack of metal beds and the distinct scent of potions that usually filled the hospital wing at Hogwarts, the chamber reminded him of it. The bed he lay in was sturdy, the blankets thick and warm, but the stone walls and wooden beams told him this was no place he'd ever been before.

He tried to move, his muscles groaning in protest, and winced as a sharp pain sliced through his leg. With that grimace, it all started rushing back in pieces—the fight, the desperate walk through unfamiliar terrain, the looming silhouette of Winterfell's gates just before he collapsed. He had made it. Barely.

His movement must have caught someone's attention, for a figure at the far end of the room stirred. It was a boy, a couple of years older than Harry, with dark hair and sharp eyes. He had been seated near the hearth, on a pile of furs, but the moment he noticed Harry was moving, he got up and crossed the room quickly.

"You're finally awake," the boy said, a note of relief in his voice. He knelt beside the bed, his eyes scanning Harry's face as if trying to gauge his condition. "How are you feeling?"

Harry grimaced again, fighting back the wave of nausea that rolled over him. "Like I've been hit by the Knight Bus," he muttered, the words slurring slightly from exhaustion. "But ... I'll be alright. I think."

The boy nodded, his expression serious, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, likely at Harry's tone since the reference had caused him to raise an eyebrow in confusion. "That's good to hear. You were in pretty bad shape when they brought you in." He paused, then added softly, "I should fetch Maester Luwin to check on you, I'm only his assistant."

He stood to leave, but before reaching the door, he turned back to Harry, his voice quieter now, more sincere. "By the way ... thank you. Eira is my little sister. If it weren't for you ..." He trailed off, as if unable to finish the thought, but the gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable.

Harry's mind worked sluggishly, trying to recall the details. Eira ... she was the little girl he had come to the aid of.

Before Harry could respond, the boy was gone, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind him. The sound was almost soothing, and Harry's exhaustion caught up with him. His eyes fluttered shut, and despite the pain that throbbed in his leg, he slipped back into sleep.

The next time Harry woke, it was to the creak of that same oak door swinging open. His eyelids felt less heavy this time, and though the pain was still present, it had dulled to a manageable ache. An older man stepped into the room, wearing long, grey robes with chains around his neck that clinked softly as he moved. His face was lined with age and wisdom, and his eyes were sharp, taking in every detail.

"Ah, you're awake," the man said as he approached the bed, his voice calm and reassuring. "I'm Maester Luwin. I've been looking after you these past few days."

"Days?" Harry echoed, his voice weak but filled with surprise.

Luwin nodded, already checking over the bandages on Harry's leg with a gentle but firm hand. "Three, to be precise. You've been unconscious for quite some time, but given the severity of your injuries, I'm frankly amazed you're still with us."

Harry swallowed hard, the enormity of what had happened finally sinking in. He'd been out cold for three days? "What happened to me?"

Maester Luwin didn't stop his work, but his eyes flicked up to meet Harry's. "You lost a great deal of blood. The wound was deep, and the knife that caused it nicked an artery. Frankly, I've never seen anyone in such condition make it as far as you did. Most would've succumbed long before reaching Winterfell's gates. But you ... well, you're fortunate. The bleeding has stopped, and your wound has already begun to heal."

Harry's brow furrowed at that. His wound was healing faster than expected? He thought back to other times—his brush with the basilisk, the bone regrowth after that Quidditch match, the encounter with a dragon during the tournament—and wondered if his body, infused with magic, healed differently than non-magical individuals.

"Where am I?" Harry asked, looking around the room again. He felt he already knew the answer, but he needed confirmation.

Maester Luwin gave a small smile, nodding as if he'd expected the question. "You're in Winterfell, the seat of House Stark. You were brought here after collapsing at the gates, and they've been keeping watch over you ever since."

Winterfell. Relief washed over him, but so did a fresh wave of questions. However, most prominently was: what was he supposed to do next?

Luwin's voice brought him back to the present. "You've been through quite the ordeal, Harry Potter. Tell me ... where are you from? How did you come to be here?"

Harry hesitated, unsure how to explain his situation—how could he, when he didn't fully understand it himself? "I ... I'm not sure how to answer that," he admitted after a moment, his voice quiet but steady. "I'm from a place far from here. But for what it's worth I'm not entirely sure where it is from here."

Maester Luwin studied him carefully, suspicion flickering in his gaze at the evasive response. But, to his credit, the old man didn't press the matter. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention back to Harry's wound, as if deciding that would give him more answers than Harry's words.

"You're a strange one, Harry Potter," Luwin said at last. "But strange or not, you've survived something most men would not. You'll need to rest for a while longer, but I'm confident you'll recover in time. Is there anything you need?"

Harry shook his head, still too overwhelmed by everything to know what he could possibly ask for. "No ... thank you. Just ... rest, I suppose."

Luwin nodded again and gave a small bow before leaving the room, his robes whispering softly against the stone floor as he went. Once the door clicked shut behind him, Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His mind raced with thoughts, but his body ached with exhaustion.

Winterfell. He was in Winterfell, in a world he didn't belong to, surrounded by people he didn't know, and yet he had somehow survived till this point. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the blankets and the dim light lull him back into a state of semi-sleep. He didn't know what would happen when he was well enough to move, but for now, he was safe.

For now, he was alive.

The days passed slowly, but each one was a small victory in his recovery, as the maester constantly reminded him. Maester Luwin came by regularly to check his wound, and though the maester remained puzzled by how quickly it was healing, he seemed satisfied enough with Harry's progress. But despite his quick recovery, in the end, it still took three full days before Luwin deemed him well enough to be released from the small room near the Maester's quarters.

During that time, Harry received several visitors. The first and most frequent was Eira. She was small, with bright blue eyes and a quiet curiosity that reminded Harry a little of Luna Lovegood. Eira would sit with him, constantly trying to ask questions about his home, which more often than not went unanswered, and telling him stories about Winterfell. She even brought him a small carving her grandma had made for her, a wolf, which she gave to him shyly, telling him it would look after him until he was better. Harry accepted it with a smile, feeling a strange sense of warmth as he placed it beside his bed.

On the first evening after Harry had woken, Eira's parents came to visit him. They were simple folk, clad in the rough furs and wool of the North, their faces worn by years of hard work and the bitter cold of Winterfell's long winters. The moment they stepped into the room, they rushed to Harry's bedside, their eyes wide with gratitude.

"We don't have much," Eira's father had said, his voice thick with emotion, "but if there's anything we can give you, anything you want, we'll part with it. You saved our daughter's life—if you hadn't come along when you did …" He paused, unable to continue, his voice breaking.

Harry quickly shook his head, feeling a little uncomfortable under their intense gratitude. "You don't owe me anything," he said softly, trying to offer them a reassuring smile. "I'm just glad she's alright. It wasn't a big deal."

Eira's mother wiped away a tear, her hands shaking slightly as she clasped them together. "No, it was. To us, it was everything. You risked your life for her, and that's not something we can ever repay. But know that we'll always be grateful. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you need only ask."

Harry shrugged, a little embarrassed by the attention. "Really, it's fine. I'm just glad she's okay."

The parents exchanged a glance before thanking him again, a little more subdued this time, and quietly took their leave.

Over the next few days, it was Eira's brother who spent the most time with him. The boy, who eventually introduced himself as Branwyn, seemed to have taken a liking to Harry, and as Maester Luwin's assistant, he had the time to visit often, while checking on Maester Luwin's patient orreading something. Branwyn was a few years older than Harry, but he had the same kind of insatiable curiosity when it came to books and learning that Harry had seen in Hermione. Harry had accidentally let slip once that he didn't know much about Winterfell, which Branwyn took as an immediate challenge that needed to be remedied. It was through Branwyn that Harry learned much about Winterfell and its history, though he often found it difficult to keep track of all the details.

"The Starks have ruled the North for thousands of years," Branwyn said one afternoon, his eyes lighting up as he explained. "They're descended from the First Men, you know. Winterfell itself was built by Brandon the Builder, or so the stories say. Although it's not clear whether he built the Winterfell before the Wall or the other way around."

Harry listened with interest, though he had to admit that he was quickly getting lost in all the names and titles. Branwyn went on about the noble houses of the North, telling him about the Karstarks, the Manderlys, and the Umbers, but Harry's mind began to wander after a while. He'd never been one for history lessons, especially not when it was all so foreign to him.

"You're losing me," Harry said with a sheepish smile, raising a hand to stop Branwyn mid-sentence. "I think that's enough for now."

Branwyn chuckled, slightly disappointed but understanding. "Fair enough. Eira tells me that I can get carried away sometimes. But if you ever want to know more, just ask."

Harry appreciated the offer but doubted he'd be taking Branwyn up on it anytime soon. History was never his favorite subject, after all. Still, he liked Branwyn's company—it was good to have someone to talk to, especially someone who was so eager to help him understand this strange new world.

Finally, after the three days of rest and recovery, after he came to check on him in the morning Maester Luwin declared Harry fit enough to leave the confines of the Maester's room he had been all but confinded to since he had been brought into the castle.

"You've done remarkably well," Luwin said as he examined the now-clean wound. "The healing process is coming along very well. And I'd say you're well on your way to full recovery, certainly out of the woods and infection is unlikely to set in at this point."

Harry nodded, grateful to be back on his feet, more or less.

"Lord Stark wanted to visit you himself to thank you for what you did," Maester Luwin continued, gathering his tools. "But he's been occupied with preparations for the king's arrival."

"King?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. He had heard talk of the planned visit while at Castle Cerwyn, but in the chaos of everything else it had completely slipped his mind.

Luwin nodded. "Yes, King Robert Baratheon is coming to Winterfell with a rather large travelling party. It's not often that a king comes this far north. And as such, Lord Stark has been busy ensuring everything is in order."

Harry nodded slowly, piecing it together. "I imagine he might be busy, there is no worry I;m sure he had more exciting things to deal with than bedridden me."

Luwin gave a small smile. "Well, Lord Stark has offered to meet with you in his solar, if you're feeling up to it. It's not an order, but it's certainly a courtesy not extended to everyone. You saved someone from Winterfell—Lord Stark does not take such things lightly."

Harry considered it for a moment. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but meeting the lord of Winterfell seemed like an opportunity he shouldn't pass up. Besides, he was curious. He had come all this way, found himself in the middle of a strange world, and now he had the chance to meet someone of real importance.

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug. "I'll meet with him."

Maester Luwin nodded approvingly. "Very well. I'll take you to him."

With some effort, Harry pulled himself out of bed, feeling a little unsteady on his feet at first. His muscles were stiff from days of lying down, but the pain in his leg had faded to a dull throb. He could move well enough using a stick which had been left beside the head of his bed, though he knew he'd have to take it slow.

Maester Luwin led him through the winding halls of the keep, the stone walls cold and imposing, yet somehow comforting in their solidity. As they walked, Harry marveled at the size of the castle. It was nothing like Hogwarts, of course, but there was a something about it that seemed … almost magical.

Finally, they arrived at a large wooden door guarded by two men on either side. After explaining who Harry was, Luwin knocked, and a voice from inside bid them enter.

When they stepped inside, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the man standing behind a large wooden desk, covered in scrolls and papers. He was tall, with dark hair streaked with grey, and a solemn expression that seemed to weigh heavily on him. The man looked up as they entered, his eyes sharp and assessing.

"Welcome to Winterfell," he said, stepping around the desk to greet Harry. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of this castle."

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Story Note 1 – With respect to Harry's healing, the point for this is the magic in his blood is good for his health and for the same reason that wizards are able to live longer than normal muggles and Harry seems to shake off pretty serious injuries routinely. I am writing that he has slightly increased ability to recover from injuries. Now this isn't to say he has Deadpool like recovery (just saw the movie – so good) and if someone cuts his hand off like they did to Jaime it will not grow back, but if he gets an injury that would normally heal over time, he would heal a little quicker. Nothing that would break the world or cause people to look at it and come to the conclusion of witchcraft. Just say its odd or much better than normal.

Story Note 2 – Besides changing the plot this isn't going to become an industrial revolution type story as even though Harry lived in a much more advanced time and has access to magic, I highly doubt he would have learned about important skills. Although I'm sure some basics stuck like the benefits of washing hands and food, and boiling water. Although to what extent that ends up getting incorporated by the rest of society … I guess we'll see.

Story Note 3 – For the most part Harry will attempt to try to not use magic in front of people as to this point he was concerned that these were muggles, but as he becomes more involved in society he will come to realize that the people of Westeros are not the most welcoming of individuals to things they do not understand. However, magic (and related practices) will still certainly be a large part of Harry's character. With the exception of apparition, I personally found that while it is very useful it is incredibly OP and any attempt to limit it comes across as contrived. So unfortunately for poor Harry he'll be stuck walking until he gets a horse. This however is a point I'd be willing to reconsider depending on feedback if a good reasoning is provided. But as of now will just avoid mentioning it.

Story Note 4 – As for how Harry ended up here ... That will be certainly come up in a relatively soon chapter. Which I'm sure leads to the follow up question of if he can go back … I guess we'll see.

Story Note 5 – And the first of the main canon characters (besides Maester Luwin) has now been introduced. Winter is coming!


A large thanks to those of you out there who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you all are enjoying them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or have reached out to me directly.

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TheLeon1236, Fenrir070, Celtic J, Rasengan, outcome 5, cameron1812, mick2002, A10riddick, Wrixel, Guest x 3, whovian 2015 - Thanks so much for the feedback and really happy to hear you are enjoying the story so far!

Artur Hawkwing1 - That's a good point, plus I just feel apparation is such an overpowered ability that would break this story.

Into - Thanks! Yup magic will of course play a part of this story however to what extent is still up for debate and will certainly vary chapter to chapter.

Mitkon2001 - Really glad you are enjoying it! Will mostly be trying to follow book canon just cause it gives us so much, but that being said there are some ideas I will be borrowing from the tv just as I find them done really well.

Kj - As for pairings that sounds interesting. Not sure how that would go and have never written something like that but want to PM me with more on that.