Autor note i own nothing
Midgard Planet
Eddard Stark POV
After a long and tedious negotiation in the shade of the tree, we reached an agreement, leaving only a few details to finalize. With that, I, Husil, and Brandon Norrey, along with a dozen guards—five from each of our delegations—traveled through the gate to a planet called Midgard, where we would witness proof of the Goa'uld race's power. With this in mind, we crossed through the gate once again.
On the other side, the atmosphere was a complete shift from the spring-like feel of Tatamis, immersing us in a deep winter scene. The sky was shrouded in dark clouds, and ash filled the air, despite no visible fires nearby or far off in the clearing where the gate stood. The white snow on the ground, resembling frozen ash, covered both the ground and the tops of the pine trees encircling the clearing. The pines seemed to cling to life with all their strength; only a few had traces of green that could be considered healthy. The other trees ranged in color from lead gray, black, brown, to a sickly dark green.
In the middle of this landscape lay a cobblestone path that had clearly seen better days. Nature had overtaken it, likely for several winters. Husil gestured for me to follow him down that very path, surrounded on either side by the dying forest, seemingly hanging onto life only by the faint songs of some distant bird. As we moved toward our objective, I couldn't help but dwell on our situation. Many would call me a fool for exposing myself this way—crossing a gate to another land; not just one world, but two! One teeming with life in every direction, and this one that felt more dead than alive. But I couldn't turn down the chance to save my people from the winter, which I suspect will be one of the harshest yet after this ten-year-long summer. Our position is precarious. And if the rumors Hoster wrote to Catelyn are true, the south isn't faring much better.
"Eddard, look to the west. What do you see?" Husil said.
I looked where he pointed, and, without realizing it, saw the forest open along the path. On the western side, I took a few steps in that direction for a better view and found a cliff appearing out of nowhere along the road's edge. It was clearly not part of the original landscape; it was as if someone—or something—had violently torn open the very ground, leaving the land scarred. The cliff extended into the distance, giving way to a deep valley with a series of lakes connected by natural terraces shaped by water erosion, each waterfall higher than the last. At the valley's end, where it met a distant mountain range, lay an enormous lake that, were it not interrupted by valleys, could be mistaken for a small ocean. But upon closer inspection, the landscape felt unnatural, as if it had been sculpted by the tantrum of a giant child. The waters weren't crystal clear, as one would expect from a mountain source, but dark and murky. I found it hard to imagine it was ever a source of life; it was clearly unfit for irrigation, animals, or consumption.
"Fortress," Husil said, pulling me out of my stupor. I could only look at him in confusion.
"That's what once stood here. Not a valley, nor lakes, nor rivers. Just a massive fortress at the foot of the mountain, with towers, moats, cannons, and walls stretching from one end to the other. But that was just the center; five rings of fortifications, each larger than the last. Each one had its own army and families, protected by walls of stone, steel, and wood. No mortal force could have threatened it, but that very strength became its downfall—it wasn't a mortal force," Husil said, a deep sadness and resignation on his face. "A god, or someone pretending to be one, only needed half a day for the Hatak to destroy everything from the sky—land and people alike. Over five hundred thousand souls disappeared in half a day."
I looked on in horror, realizing that what lay before me was proof of his story, the truth of Husil's words. The terror, the hopelessness…such power, such might. How could one even think of resisting it? What have we gotten ourselves into? By the gods, how can I protect the North from this, my people, my family? Cat, Robb, Arya, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and Jon.
"A bleak landscape, but there is still hope," Husil said.
I looked at him, a mix of horror, fear, and slight optimism on my face.
"Hope?" I asked.
"Yes, my friend. You see, we were fortunate that my apprentice found you by chance. The horror you see here would only happen if you ventured into the universe unprepared and ignorant. We're here not only to show you the dangers but also the advantages, provided you make the right preparations."
Hope gradually grew in my chest. Husil was right; he and his people had been nothing but honest about what they offered and the dangers we would face. He had acted honorably at every turn, never trying to deceive us with silvered words fit for a treacherous snake rather than a man of honor.
"How?" I asked.
"We're going to meet the man who was just a child when his people found the gate and experienced the splendor it brought, as well as the tragedy that nearly wiped them out. He, if he's willing, will be your guide through this galaxy to help you avoid the mistakes he made. Of course, at the indicated price." With that, Husil gestured for us to continue down the road. It would only be a few more minutes until we reached our destination.
With a bit more calm, I nodded and started moving. I motioned for Brandon to come closer and walk with me.
"What do you think of all this?" I asked him.
"I don't know, Ned. It's far more complex than I expected. All I know is that this food could get us through the winter safely, no matter how hard or long it may be—at least five or six years in peace, or ten if we ration."
I could hear the sincerity in my vassal's voice, his uncertainty about this strange situation, and at the same time, the conviction in his face. We have a duty to lead our people down the most prosperous path possible.
"And the risks?" I asked.
Brandon ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his eyes reflecting concern.
"They're worth it."
His words were concise and direct, like any true man of the North, but things weren't that simple.
"And what about the South?" I asked.
He shrugged, as if to say, "What does the South have to do with this?" I let out a sigh as we walked toward our destination. It wasn't as simple as he thought; the politics of the Seven Kingdoms is treacherous, lurking in the shadows of the Great Houses and King's Landing.
We buy food from the Reach houses, and that will cease. The same with the Riverlands, to a lesser degree. This will draw attention. We can divert it by increasing imports from Braavos through White Harbor, but that will only lessen the impact.
I could see the gears turning in Brandon's head, thinking about the political reality of the situation.
"Ned, the Reach robs us blind when we buy food from them. I say to hell with them," he said, looking satisfied.
"And when they complain to the Crown, then what?" I asked.
"Robert will tell them to shove it; you know that. He hates anything even remotely related to dragons."
It's true; his hatred consumes him. He is no longer the man he was when we were young and clueless about the world, the man I fought alongside to secure his place on the Iron Throne. Now he's merely a shell of who he once was. But it's not him I'm concerned about; Jon is as cunning as he is wise, and I fear he'll suspect something hidden—and he'd be right.
"And what about the Riverlands? We might be able to keep buying from them; you can never have too much food," Brandon added.
"You're right about that, but it's too early to discuss it. Once we're back, I'll gather everyone at Winterfell to form an appropriate plan."
"Everyone?" Brandon asked.
"Yes, it would be strange to include some but not others. That would only draw more suspicion and attention where we don't want it. Of course, not everyone will be informed—only those I want to involve directly."
I saw understanding in Brandon's eyes, but at that moment, Husil indicated that we had arrived. He pointed to a mansion in a style similar to that of Braavos. Its state showed wear and neglect; parts of the roof were broken, walls cracked, and portions of the outer structure had crumbled, exposing the masonry.
The outer walls weren't in better shape. In the center, two gates of what seemed to be wrought iron lay open.
We followed Husil through them, crossing into the mansion's front yard, where a marble fountain—once a symbol of wealth and status—now stood as a shadow of its former self.
But the most striking thing was a bench beside it, where a man in a light gray uniform, black boots, and carrying an oddly shaped weapon—too broad to be a Braavosi blade yet not quite a sword—sat. Hearing our approach, he turned to face us, revealing his face. If it weren't for our location and his black hair and light blue eyes instead of blond and green, I might have sworn the man was a young Gerion Lannister. As he faced us, I noticed we were of similar height. Husil spoke to him in his own language, exchanging a few words, and then turned to us.
"Let me introduce you: Olaf von Bismarck, the last leader remaining on this planet," Husil announced.