Chương 18: Chapter 17
Early in the morning, with the first light of dawn filtering through the heavy drapes of Winterfell, Cregan Stark sat by the window in his chambers, deep in thought. The events of recent days, particularly his encounter with the Old Gods and the revelation of his past life as Harry Potter, weighed heavily on his mind. The Resurrection Stone now sat securely in a hidden compartment, a constant reminder of the monumental task ahead of him: acquiring the Cloak of Invisibility from the Valyrian Gods.
He knew convincing his Uncle Ned to let him undertake such a perilous journey would be no small feat. Lord Eddard Stark was a man of practicality and caution, especially when it came to the safety of his family. However, Cregan also knew that his uncle valued knowledge and preparation. If he could present his case logically, emphasizing the benefits and the necessity of the journey, he might be able to secure his approval.
Cregan considered his approach carefully. He knew that he couldn't reveal everything to Uncle Ned—especially the more mystical elements, like his previous life and the Hallows. Instead, he would need to frame the journey as a practical step in his education and preparation for his future role as the Warden of the North.
He decided to propose a plan where he would spend the next three years laying the groundwork for the trip. This time would be used to study the cultures, languages, and histories of Essos, with a particular focus on the Free Cities and the legacy of Valyria. He could justify this by explaining that understanding the broader world was crucial for any Northern lord, especially given the changing political landscape. Additionally, it would be an opportunity to forge alliances and strengthen trade relations, which would be beneficial for the North.
Cregan thought about the best timing for his journey. He could suggest that, a year before he formally took up his lordship, he would travel to Essos as part of his final stage of training and education. This would coincide with his sixteenth year, a time when young lords often embarked on journeys to broaden their horizons. He would frame the trip to Valyria as an educational excursion while in the nearby city of Volantis, known for its ancient libraries and scholars with knowledge of Valyria.
He planned to emphasize the importance of this journey for the future strength and independence of the North. By learning firsthand about the ancient Valyrian steel-making techniques and exploring potential new trade routes, he could bring invaluable knowledge and resources back to Winterfell. The idea of securing a Valyrian steel sword—something that had always been a symbol of power and prestige—might also appeal to Uncle Ned's sense of tradition and practical strength.
As he finalized his thoughts, Cregan felt a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. He knew that persuading Uncle Ned would not be easy, especially given the risks involved. But he was determined. This journey was not just about his past life or the Hallows; it was about securing a future for the North in the face of growing threats, both known and unknown.
With his plan set, Cregan resolved to approach Uncle Ned with his proposal soon, ready to present his case with clarity and conviction. He would need to tread carefully, balancing honesty with discretion, and most importantly, show his uncle that he was ready to take on the responsibilities and challenges that came with his birthright.
—
The sun dipped low over the walls of Winterfell, casting a warm glow over the courtyard as the first of the wards arrived. Domeric Bolton, a ten-year-old boy with a thoughtful expression, rode in on a sturdy horse, accompanied by a small escort from the Dreadfort. His sharp features were softened by a gentle demeanor, a contrast to the reputation of his house.
Awaiting him in the courtyard were key figures of Winterfell. At the forefront stood Cregan Stark, the twelve-year-old Lord of Winterfell, exuding a calm authority. Beside him was his uncle and regent, Eddard Stark, a man known for his stern yet fair nature. Flanking Cregan was Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Cregan's betrothed. At fifteen, Rhaenys was striking, with her Dornish features, dark hair, and the vivid violet eyes of her Valyrian lineage, adding a touch of mystique.
Cregan stepped forward first, a friendly smile on his face. "Welcome to Winterfell, Domeric. We're glad to have you here."
Domeric dismounted and approached, offering a respectful bow. "Thank you, Lord Cregan. It's an honor to be welcomed so warmly."
Eddard nodded, his expression softened by a rare smile. "Winterfell is your home now, Domeric. We hope you'll feel at ease and learn much during your stay."
Rhaenys smiled warmly, her eyes kind as she stepped closer. "Welcome, Domeric. Winterfell is a great place to learn and grow. And if you ever want to talk or need anything, feel free to find me."
Domeric smiled, slightly nervous under her friendly gaze. "Thank you, Princess Rhaenys. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Rhaenys exchanged a glance with Cregan, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'm sure you'll settle in quickly. And perhaps Cregan can show you around."
As they spoke, the staff of Winterfell busied themselves with unloading Domeric's belongings and seeing to the needs of his escort. The atmosphere was one of quiet anticipation; the arrival of the first ward heralded the start of a new chapter at Winterfell, one filled with learning and alliance-building.
Cregan, conscious of his responsibilities as both host and lord, gestured towards the entrance of the Great Hall. "Shall we go inside? You must be tired from your journey. We've prepared a meal to welcome you."
Domeric nodded, his eyes wide with awe at the grandeur and warmth of Winterfell. "That would be wonderful, thank you."
As they made their way into the Great Hall, the chill of the Northern evening began to settle in, but inside, the warmth from the great hearth welcomed them, along with the comforting aromas of roasted meats and fresh bread. The hall was alive with the sounds of the household, a vibrant contrast to the quiet outside.
For Domeric, this was the beginning of an important journey, a chance to learn from the Starks and understand the complexities of Northern politics. For Cregan, the arrival of the wards was a crucial opportunity to build the relationships and alliances that would support his role as Lord of Winterfell. And for Rhaenys, it was a chance to become more involved in the Northern court and to stand by Cregan as they prepared for their future together.
As the doors of the Great Hall closed behind them, the young heirs knew that their time at Winterfell would be filled with challenges, adventures, and moments that would shape their destinies in ways they could not yet foresee.
—
The arrival of more wards at Winterfell brought a sense of excitement and bustling activity to the ancient fortress. Soon after Domeric Bolton was settled in, the courtyard was once again filled with the sounds of horses and the welcoming committee of the Stark family.
First to arrive was Cley Cerwyn, a young lad with sandy brown hair and a quiet demeanor. As the son of Lord Medger Cerwyn, Cley bore the sigil of his house—a black battle-axe on silver—on his cloak. He was greeted warmly by Cregan Stark, who extended a hand to the boy.
"Cley, welcome to Winterfell," Cregan said with a friendly smile. "We're pleased to have you join us."
Cley, though slightly shy, managed a polite smile and took Cregan's hand. "Thank you, Lord Cregan. I'm honored to be here." He then turned to Lord Eddard and bowed. "Lord Stark, thank you for your hospitality."
Ned nodded kindly. "Welcome, Cley. Winterfell is your home now. I hope you find your time here both educational and enjoyable."
Rhaenys offered a warm smile as well. "Cley, it's a pleasure to meet you. Winterfell has much to offer, and we're glad to have you with us."
Not long after Cley's arrival, the gates opened once more to admit Alys Karstark. Alys, with her striking dark hair and bright eyes, carried herself with a quiet strength. The daughter of Lord Harald Karstark, she wore a cloak adorned with the sigil of her house—a white sunburst on black.
Cregan stepped forward to greet her. "Lady Alys, welcome to Winterfell."
Alys curtsied gracefully. "Thank you, Lord Cregan. I'm honored to be here."
Ned acknowledged her with a respectful nod. "Lady Alys, we are pleased to welcome you. Winterfell is a place of learning and camaraderie. I hope you feel at home."
Rhaenys smiled warmly at Alys. "It's lovely to meet you, Lady Alys. I look forward to getting to know you better."
The last to arrive that day was Smalljon Umber, a towering boy even at his young age, with the same fiery red hair and boisterous nature as his father, Greatjon Umber. The Smalljon rode in with a wide grin, his cloak bearing the sigil of House Umber—a roaring giant breaking its chains.
As Smalljon dismounted, he approached Cregan with a hearty laugh. "Cregan Stark! It's good to see you again!"
Cregan laughed and clasped hands with him. "Smalljon, it's been too long. Welcome to Winterfell."
Smalljon's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Aye, it has. I'm looking forward to our time here."
Ned greeted him with a nod. "Smalljon, welcome. It's good to have you with us."
Rhaenys, amused by Smalljon's infectious energy, smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Smalljon. Your enthusiasm is refreshing."
As the new wards were led inside to settle in, the atmosphere in Winterfell grew livelier. The arrival of Cley, Alys, and Smalljon added to the diverse group of young nobles who would spend the coming years learning, training, and forming bonds that could shape the future of the North.
Cregan felt a growing sense of responsibility and excitement. As the host, it was his duty to ensure that the wards felt welcome and that their time in Winterfell was enriching. With each new arrival, he sensed the importance of the role they would all play in the North's future, especially in the face of the growing shadows to the south and the mysterious threats lurking beyond the Wall.
—
Early the next morning, the sun barely cresting the horizon, Winterfell prepared to welcome more wards. Among them were Asher Forrester and Gwyn Whitehill, arriving with the retinues of their respective houses. Despite their youth—ten and nine years old, respectively—their presence at Winterfell carried the weight of their families' intense rivalry.
The gates of Winterfell swung open to reveal Lord Eddard Stark, Cregan Stark, and Rhaenys Targaryen standing in the courtyard. The chill of the early morning air was offset by the warmth of their welcome.
Asher Forrester dismounted from his horse with a wide grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Gwyn Whitehill, more reserved but no less curious, dismounted with the grace expected of a noble lady. They both stood before the Stark hosts, taking in the grandeur of Winterfell.
Cregan stepped forward, his presence commanding but welcoming. "Welcome to Winterfell," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "We are glad to have you here."
Asher, brimming with enthusiasm, bowed deeply. "Thank you, Lord Stark. It's an honor to be here."
Gwyn followed suit with a curtsy, her demeanor respectful but her eyes bright with interest. "Thank you for having us, Lord Stark."
As they straightened, Asher and Gwyn exchanged a quick glance. Despite their fathers' stern warnings, an undeniable curiosity flickered between them. Both had grown up on stories of their families' enmity, but those tales seemed distant here in the heart of the North.
After a formal welcome, Lord Eddard and Cregan led the children through the castle, explaining their duties and the expectations during their time at Winterfell. They were encouraged to learn from one another, to build friendships, and to honor the North's legacy.
Later, as the wards were shown to their quarters, Asher and Gwyn found themselves walking close enough to converse. The weight of their fathers' warnings loomed over them, yet the natural curiosity of youth pushed them to interact.
"Winterfell is even more impressive than I imagined," Asher said, attempting to break the ice.
Gwyn nodded, her eyes wide as she took in the ancient stone walls and bustling courtyard. "Yes, it is. I've heard so many stories, but seeing it in person is different."
There was a brief silence, then Asher lowered his voice, glancing around as if to ensure no one else could hear. "My father told me to stay away from the Whitehills."
Gwyn glanced at him, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Mine said the same about the Forresters. But we're here now, aren't we?"
Asher grinned, feeling a flicker of camaraderie. "I guess we are."
Though too young to grasp the full complexity of romance, there was a budding connection between Asher and Gwyn. They were intrigued by each other, drawn together by more than just curiosity. As they navigated their new environment, their interactions hinted at a deeper bond that might grow stronger over time.
The days at Winterfell were filled with training, learning, and forging new friendships. Despite their fathers' warnings, Asher and Gwyn often found themselves gravitating towards each other. Whether during sparring sessions, lessons, or simply exploring the expansive grounds of Winterfell, they shared a unique, unspoken understanding.
Asher admired Gwyn's quiet strength and intelligence, while Gwyn was captivated by Asher's boldness and sense of adventure. Their interactions were innocent, marked by the playful curiosity of youth, but beneath the surface, a connection was forming that defied their families' bitter rivalry.
Over time, the subtle intrigue between Asher and Gwyn would deepen. They would share stories, dreams, and aspirations, finding in each other a kindred spirit. This bond, forged in the halls of Winterfell, would set the stage for a future filled with challenges and possibilities.
Despite their fathers' stern warnings, fate seemed determined to weave their stories together. As the young wards of Winterfell continued to grow and learn, Asher and Gwyn's friendship would blossom into something neither of them could yet fully understand but would ultimately prove stronger than the enmity that sought to keep them apart.
—
A fortnight after the arrival of the earlier wards, Winterfell's courtyard was filled with activity as a new delegation arrived. The banners of House Manderly flew high, heralding the arrival of Ser Wylis Manderly, his daughters Wylla and Wynafryd, and their companions: Tobho Mott, Ser Daemon Sand, and Gendry Waters. The day was crisp and clear, with the Northern wind carrying the anticipation of new beginnings.
Lord Eddard Stark, Cregan Stark, Rhaenys Targaryen, and Oberyn Martell awaited the newcomers in the courtyard. The arrival of Ser Wylis, a stout and dignified man, was marked by his imposing presence and the proud manner in which he carried himself.
Ned stepped forward, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Wylis. We are honored to receive you and your daughters."
Ser Wylis Manderly dismounted from his horse, giving a respectful bow. "Thank you, Lord Stark. My daughters are eager to begin their time here, and it is a pleasure to finally arrive."
Wynafryd Manderly, a few years older at around thirteen, stood with grace and poise. She curtsied elegantly, her demeanor reflecting a mix of excitement and reserve. "Thank you for the warm welcome, Lord Stark. We appreciate your hospitality."
Wylla Manderly, younger and full of youthful enthusiasm, followed her sister's example but with an added brightness in her eyes. "Thank you, Lord Stark. We're looking forward to our stay."
As the introductions continued, Ned's eyes briefly fell on the young boy traveling with the Manderlys. Gendry Waters, a sturdy lad of ten, stood beside Tobho Mott and Ser Daemon Sand. His resemblance to a young Robert Baratheon was striking, a detail that momentarily disrupted Ned's usual composure.
Ned quickly regained his composure but couldn't entirely mask the flicker of surprise. He knew that Gendry's resemblance to his old friend Robert was more than coincidental.
Cregan Stark, ever perceptive and attuned to the subtleties of his surroundings, noticed his uncle's reaction. Using his Legilimency, Cregan delved into Ned's thoughts. The revelation was clear: Gendry was indeed one of Robert Baratheon's bastards. This knowledge was significant, but Cregan chose to keep it to himself for now, understanding that it could complicate future interactions.
Catelyn Stark, ever the gracious host, approached the Manderly sisters with a welcoming smile. "Wynafryd, Wylla, we are delighted to have you here. I trust you will find Winterfell to be a place of learning and growth."
Robb Stark, at eleven years old, stood beside his mother. His demeanor was friendly and open. "Welcome to Winterfell. We're glad to have you with us and hope you enjoy your time here."
Wynafryd, who had already begun to appreciate the grandiosity of Winterfell, responded with a polite smile. "Thank you, Lady Stark. We are eager to learn and experience all that Winterfell has to offer."
Wylla, full of youthful excitement, beamed as she spoke. "Thank you! We can't wait to explore and make new friends."
Tobho Mott, the esteemed blacksmith, was introduced with respect. "Welcome, Master Mott. We are pleased to have you and your apprentice here. Your reputation precedes you, and we look forward to your contributions."
Tobho Mott gave a nod of appreciation. "Thank you, Lord Stark. It is an honor to be here."
Ser Daemon Sand, with his striking appearance and history as a former squire of Oberyn Martell, was also greeted. "Welcome, Ser Daemon. We are honored by your presence."
Ser Daemon returned the bow. "Thank you, Lord Stark. It is good to be here."
Gendry, though somewhat overwhelmed by the formalities, offered a respectful greeting. "Thank you, Lord Stark."
Oberyn Martell, standing beside the Starks, acknowledged Ser Daemon's role in the journey. "It is good to see you here, Ser Daemon. I trust your journey was comfortable?"
Ser Daemon replied, "Indeed, Prince Oberyn. The North has been most accommodating."
As the formalities concluded and the guests were shown to their quarters, Robb and the other wards gathered to meet the new arrivals. The presence of Wynafryd and Wylla, along with Gendry, added a new dynamic to their circle.
Asher Forrester and Gwyn Whitehill, despite their young age, were intrigued by the new faces. Their earlier connection, despite their fathers' warnings, seemed to extend to the new arrivals, hinting at future friendships and alliances.
In the quiet of his chambers, Cregan Stark reflected on the new arrivals. The knowledge of Gendry's parentage and the dynamics of the incoming wards would play a significant role in the unfolding story at Winterfell. As the new chapter began, the bonds being formed would shape the future of the North and beyond.
—
After everyone had settled into their respective quarters, Cregan Stark, Ned Stark, Arthur Dayne, and Oberyn Martell gathered in one of Winterfell's more secluded chambers. They were joined by the renowned blacksmith, Tobho Mott. The room was dimly lit by the flickering fire, casting dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls. On the table lay two pieces of parchment and two Valyrian steel swords: Red Rain and Nightfall.
Ned began, addressing Tobho with respect. "Master Mott, thank you for coming to Winterfell. We have a matter of great importance to discuss with you."
Tobho nodded, his curiosity piqued. "It is my honor, Lord Stark. What can I assist you with?"
Cregan stepped forward, carefully placing Red Rain and Nightfall on the table. "These are Valyrian steel swords, Red Rain and Nightfall. We wish to reforge them into new blades."
Tobho examined the swords with a practiced eye, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the Valyrian steel. "Reforging Valyrian steel is no simple task. It requires great skill and precision. What do you have in mind?"
Cregan handed over the two pieces of parchment with detailed designs. "I have designed two new swords: Winterlight and Dawnshade. Winterlight is to be a bastard sword. I was wondering if the blade could have an icy blue hue with grey ripples."
Tobho raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the specific request. "An icy blue hue with grey ripples? That is a unique request, but it is possible. It will require rare materials and precise craftsmanship."
As Tobho unfolded the second piece of parchment, his eyes widened in amazement and confusion. The design of Dawnshade was unlike anything he had ever seen. The blade was curved and sleek. "This design... I have never seen such a blade before. Where did you come up with this?"
Cregan met Tobho's gaze steadily. "The design came to me in a dream." In truth, the design was based on Cregan's memories from his previous life as Harry Potter. He had envisioned Dawnshade as a Katana, a weapon of both beauty and lethal precision.
Tobho studied the design, turning the parchment this way and that. "A dream, you say? This is remarkable. The blade is unlike anything I have crafted before. And you mentioned in the parchment that you want golden ripples in the steel?"
Cregan nodded. "Yes, if it is possible. I believe the golden ripples will enhance the blade's strength and beauty."
Arthur Dayne, a legendary swordsman in his own right, leaned forward, examining the designs with a critical eye. "These blades, especially Dawnshade, will be unique. If anyone can craft them, it is you, Tobho."
Oberyn Martell, known for his appreciation of fine weaponry, added, "If these blades are forged as envisioned, they will be unmatched in all of Westeros."
Ned, always pragmatic, asked, "How long will it take, and what will you need to accomplish this?"
Tobho Mott pondered for a moment before replying. "Reforging Valyrian steel is a delicate process. To achieve the desired hues and ripples, I will need specific materials and time. Winterlight, with its icy blue and grey ripples, will take a few months. Dawnshade, with its unique design and golden ripples, may take longer—perhaps a year or more. I will also need access to a special forge and the right alloys."
Cregan, sensing the gravity of the task, responded, "We will provide whatever you need. These swords are more than weapons; they are symbols of our house's legacy and future."
Ned nodded in agreement. "Winterfell's resources are at your disposal, Tobho. Do whatever it takes to forge these blades."
Tobho gave a solemn nod. "I will begin the preparations immediately. With time and the right materials, I will forge Winterlight and Dawnshade as you have envisioned."
As the meeting concluded, Cregan felt a surge of anticipation. The forging of these new swords was not just about creating weapons; it was about preparing for the future, a future where he would stand ready to face the challenges that lay ahead. The Old Gods had given him a mission, and these swords would be a crucial part of it.
Arthur Dayne, ever the mentor, placed a reassuring hand on Cregan's shoulder. "Your vision is clear, Cregan. Trust in it, and trust in those who help you. Together, we will forge a future that is strong and just."
Oberyn Martell, always the strategist, added, "These swords will be more than just weapons. They will be symbols of your leadership and your destiny. Use them wisely."
Ned, Cregan's steadfast guardian and regent, gave a final nod. "You have our support, Cregan. We will see this through, together."
With the plans set in motion, Cregan knew that the path ahead would be challenging. But he also knew that he was not alone. Surrounded by those who believed in him and armed with the knowledge of his past life, he felt ready to face whatever lay ahead. The journey to Valyria and the completion of the Deathly Hallows would be the next steps in fulfilling his destiny and protecting the North from the darkness that threatened it.
—
A week after the Manderlys' arrival, Winterfell was abuzz with anticipation as the last of the wards were expected to arrive. The Reeds, known for their mysterious ways and deep connection to the old magic of the North, were to join the growing assembly of young nobles. Jon Snow, eager to see his friends from Greywater Watch, stood at the gates of Winterfell, the morning sun casting a soft glow over the ancient castle.
The sound of approaching horses drew the attention of those waiting. A small party of riders emerged from the treeline, led by Jojen and Meera Reed. The siblings, though young, carried an air of wisdom and confidence beyond their years. Their mounts moved gracefully over the uneven terrain, a testament to their skill and familiarity with the wilds.
Jon stepped forward, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Jojen! Meera!" he called out, waving to his friends.
Meera dismounted first, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Jon. "Jon, it's good to see you," she said warmly, embracing him.
Jojen followed, a serene smile on his lips. "It feels like ages since we last met, Jon. Winterfell looks as grand as ever."
As the Reeds were welcomed by Jon, other members of the Stark household gathered to greet them. Ned Stark, ever the gracious host, stepped forward with a nod of respect. "Welcome to Winterfell, Jojen and Meera. We are honored to have you here."
Meera bowed slightly, her hand on her heart. "Thank you, Lord Stark. We are grateful for your hospitality."
Jojen, always the more reserved of the two, inclined his head. "It is an honor to be here, my lord."
The Reed siblings were soon led to their quarters, where they could rest and refresh themselves after their long journey. Jon accompanied them, eager to catch up and share news from Winterfell.
As they walked through the halls, Meera looked around with curiosity. "It's so different from Greywater Watch. The stone, the size... everything feels more permanent."
Jon chuckled. "Winterfell has been here for thousands of years. It's seen a lot of history. But I imagine Greywater Watch has its own mysteries."
Jojen nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "Indeed. The swamps hold many secrets, and the old magic runs deep there. But Winterfell has its own magic, too."
Later, as the sun began to set, Jon, Jojen, and Meera found a quiet spot in the godswood. The ancient weirwood trees stood silent and watchful, their red leaves whispering in the breeze.
Jon leaned against a tree, looking at his friends. "It's good to have you both here. Things are changing, and it's reassuring to have familiar faces around."
Meera smiled. "We'll be here for as long as we're needed. And who knows, maybe we'll find our own adventures in Winterfell."
Jojen, ever perceptive, looked at Jon with a knowing gaze. "You have a role to play in the times to come, Jon. The old gods have a plan for you, and for us all."
Jon nodded, feeling the weight of those words. "I know. We'll face it together, whatever comes."
As the Reeds settled into their new home at Winterfell, the bonds of friendship and loyalty strengthened. With the arrival of Jojen and Meera, the young nobles of the North were united under the watchful eyes of their elders. The future held many uncertainties, but with their shared strength and determination, they were ready to face the challenges ahead.
---
Over the following week, the wards, including the Reeds, became more integrated into the daily life of Winterfell. The young nobles spent their days training in the courtyard, learning from Winterfell's maester, and exploring the vast grounds. The camaraderie among them grew stronger with each passing day.
Cregan, ever the diligent leader, ensured that the new arrivals were included in the training sessions. Jojen and Meera, with their unique skills, quickly found their place. Meera's prowess with a spear impressed even the seasoned guards, while Jojen's quiet wisdom made him a respected voice among the young wards.
During the afternoons, they gathered in the library, poring over ancient texts and discussing history, strategy, and the old magic of the North. Maester Luwin, patient and knowledgeable, guided their studies, encouraging them to think critically and learn from the past.
In the evenings, they often ventured into the godswood, finding solace and reflection among the ancient weirwoods. The sacred grove became a place of bonding and contemplation, where they could share their thoughts and dreams.
The young nobles formed close friendships, their shared experiences creating a strong sense of unity. Robb Stark and Wynafryd Manderly, despite their age difference, developed a mutual respect and understanding. Wylla Manderly, though younger, found a kindred spirit in Meera Reed, their adventurous natures drawing them together.
Asher Forrester and Gwyn Whitehill, though aware of their families' rivalry, couldn't help but be intrigued by each other. Their interactions, though cautious, hinted at a connection that might one day transcend their houses' enmity.
Cregan, while participating in these activities, also kept a close watch on Gendry Waters. The boy's resemblance to Robert Baratheon was unmistakable, and Cregan's suspicions were confirmed through subtle use of Legilimency. He resolved to keep an eye on Gendry, understanding the potential implications of his true parentage.
One evening, as the sun set over Winterfell, the young nobles gathered on the ramparts, looking out over the sprawling lands of the North. The air was crisp, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink.
"We're all here for a reason," Cregan said, breaking the silence. "The future of the North depends on us. We need to be ready for whatever comes."
Jon nodded, his gaze steady. "We'll face it together. We've already come this far, and we'll go further still."
Meera, her eyes reflecting the fiery sky, added, "The old gods have plans for us. We must trust in them and in each other."
As the night descended, the young nobles stood united, ready to embrace their destinies. With the bonds they had forged and the strength they had gained, they were prepared to face the challenges ahead, knowing that together, they could overcome any obstacle.
—
Tobho Mott and his young apprentice, Gendry Waters, were hard at work in the forge, ensuring everything was set up to their exacting standards. The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the space, mingling with the heat from the forge and the scent of burning coals. Gendry, though only ten, moved with a focused determination, mirroring his master's precision.
Gendry, his face smudged with soot, looked up at Tobho with a mix of excitement and concentration. "Master Mott, do you think we'll have everything ready by the time the materials arrive?"
Tobho nodded, his experienced hands moving deftly as he adjusted the bellows. "We will, Gendry. This is a rare opportunity, and we must be prepared."
As they worked, Cregan Stark entered the forge. The heat and noise did little to deter his purpose. He approached Tobho, his presence commanding despite his youth.
"Tobho Mott," Cregan called out, capturing the smith's attention. "I wanted to inform you that the materials you've requested will be arriving in a fortnight's time."
Tobho wiped his hands on a cloth and nodded. "Thank you, Lord Stark. We will be ready to begin as soon as they arrive."
Cregan stepped closer, his voice lowering to ensure only Tobho and Gendry could hear. "There's another matter I need to discuss with you. As you forge Winterlight and Dawnshade, there are certain modifications I wish to make to their construction."
Tobho raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Modifications, my lord?"
Cregan nodded, his expression serious. "Yes. I need you to keep me informed of the forging process at every stage. It is imperative that these modifications remain discreet."
Gendry listened intently, his young mind trying to grasp the gravity of the situation. Tobho, however, understood the importance of discretion. "Of course, Lord Stark. What modifications are you referring to?"
Cregan hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a low voice. "Winterlight's pommel and Dawnshade's handle. They need to be hollowed out and reinforced. I have certain items that must be hidden within them."
Tobho's eyes widened slightly at the unusual request but remained composed. "I see, my lord. You have my word that I will handle this with the utmost care and secrecy."
Cregan nodded, his expression resolute. "Thank you, Tobho. This is crucial to our preparations. The fewer people who know about this, the better."
Unbeknownst to Tobho and Gendry, Cregan planned to conceal the Resurrection Stone within Winterlight's pommel and the Elder Wand within Dawnshade's handle. These artefacts, remnants of his past life as Harry Potter, held immense power and significance. He couldn't risk anyone discovering their true nature.
Gendry, though young, sensed the importance of the task ahead. He looked up at Cregan with admiration and determination. "We'll make sure everything is perfect, my lord."
Cregan gave the boy a rare smile. "I have no doubt you will, Gendry. Your skills will be put to good use."
As Cregan left the forge, Tobho turned to Gendry. "We have a great responsibility ahead of us, lad. Remember, this is about more than just forging swords. We're crafting something extraordinary."
Gendry nodded, his resolve strengthening. "I understand, Master Mott. We'll make them the best swords anyone has ever seen."
With the materials soon to arrive and the forge preparations well underway, Cregan felt a sense of progress. His plans were coming together, and with Tobho Mott's skill and discretion, the forging of Winterlight and Dawnshade would be a pivotal step in his journey.
As Cregan walked back through the halls of Winterfell, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He knew the risk he was taking by involving others in his plans, but the stakes were too high to leave anything to chance. The Old Gods had entrusted him with a mission, and he had to ensure he was prepared for the battles to come.
The memory of his previous life as Harry Potter lingered in his mind, reminding him of the power and responsibility that came with the Deathly Hallows. The Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand were powerful tools, but they were also dangerous. He had to handle them with the utmost care, ensuring they remained hidden until the time was right.
—
Later that evening, Cregan sought out Oberyn Martell, hoping to gain some wisdom from the experienced warrior. They met in the courtyard, the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone walls.
"Oberyn," Cregan began, his voice low, "I need your advice on something important."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What troubles you, young Stark?"
Cregan explained his plans to travel to Old Valyria and the importance of the journey. He left out the specifics of the artefacts but conveyed the gravity of the mission.
Oberyn listened carefully, his expression thoughtful. "Your journey is dangerous, but if it is as crucial as you say, you must prepare carefully. Lay the groundwork, build your strength, and gather trusted allies. When the time comes, you will be ready."
Cregan nodded, grateful for the advice. "Thank you, Oberyn. I will do just that."
—
With Oberyn's guidance and his own determination, Cregan felt more confident in his plan. He had three years to prepare, to build the alliances and gather the resources he needed for his journey to Old Valyria.
The forging of Winterlight and Dawnshade was the first step, and with Tobho Mott's expertise, he was confident they would be formidable weapons. As he moved forward, he would continue to trust in his instincts and the wisdom of the Old Gods, knowing that his destiny was intertwined with the fate of the North.
As the days passed, Cregan kept a close eye on the progress in the forge, ensuring that Tobho and Gendry had everything they needed. He communicated with his uncle Ned, subtly laying the groundwork for his eventual journey to Essos.
Each night, Cregan continued to have dreams that guided him, visions of the path ahead and the challenges he would face. He knew that the road to Old Valyria would be fraught with danger, but he was ready to face it head-on.
With Winterlight and Dawnshade nearly complete, Cregan's resolve only grew stronger. He would honor the trust placed in him by the Old Gods and fulfill his destiny, no matter the cost. The fight against the Great Other was looming, and he would be prepared to stand against the darkness with the power of the Deathly Hallows by his side.
---
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