Dragonlord Chapter 146: A bronze brother in the North

Harry rode through the gates of Winterfell amidst the call of trumpets and drums in the background, with wolf banners fluttering in the wind. Winterfell was the heart of the North and a city in all but name. In the past, Winterfell was the last refuge of people living close to the Wolfswood to take shelter in winter.    

But now, Winterfell was more than that. It was also a hub for trade due to its strategic location at the heart of the Kingsroad. It controlled the flow of goods to and from Avalon, Barrowton, Deepwood Motte, White Harbour, the Northern Mountains, and even the Wall. The castle loomed tall and formidable, its grey stone walls familiar yet changed by the echoes of celebration within. The people of the North had gathered in the courtyards and along the ramparts, a sea of fur-lined cloaks and raised fists, their voices lifted in cheers as they welcomed their newly crowned king.

More trumpets rang through the air, their bright notes carried on the wind, mingling with the steady pounding of drums. The sound resonated in Harry’s chest, an exhilarating and solemn rhythm. It was akin to a victory march, but in truth, it was a declaration—Winterfell had a king once more.

Harry’s eyes roved over the familiar sights of his home. The stables bustled with stable hands rushing forward to take the reins of weary horses, their breath misting in the chill. The great keep stood proud as ever, its grey stone facade bathed in the amber glow of torchlight.

Before them, the lords and bannermen of the North awaited their king. Lord Greatjon Umber, ever the boisterous one, raised his great sword to the sky.

“To Eddard Stark, King in the North!” his voice boomed, sending another wave of cheers cascading through the courtyard.

Harry dismounted quickly after his father’s arrival and stood by his side as he ascended the steps to the Great Keep of Winterfell, where the throne of Winter sat, waiting for a Stark King to host upon its ancient wood. The great doors of the Great Hall were thrown open, revealing the heart of the celebration. Inside, long tables groaned under the weight of roasted boar, fresh-baked bread, and flagons of ale. The scent of spiced wine and honeyed mead filled the air, mingling with the laughter of men and women from all over the North.

The lords, ladies and anyone of good standing were quickly assembled inside the hall as his father ascended the steps to the throne of the North.

A hush fell over the hall as Eddard Stark sat on the throne; his sharp grey eyes fell on the people inside the hall. The torches burning inside the hall flickered as a gentle breeze sneaked inside, carrying the freshly minted scent of the godswood of Winterfell. Those old and wisened lords and ladies muttered about the blessing of the old gods on the auspicious occasion.

Harry threw his searching eyes and found them settled on his Valkyrie guards. They waited not a moment before they brought forth a crown of weirwood studded with the finest rubies and gems he recovered from his Valyrian expedition.

“Robb – you must crown father.” Harry muttered to his older twin while passing on the jewel-encrusted crown.

Robb nodded and moved toward their father to do the deed while Harry procured a silver circlet with blue gemstones from his trusted guards. This one was more feminine, one he made for his mother.

“In the presence of the lords and ladies of the North as well as the hallowed ancestors of House Stark, I crown Eddard Stark King in the North.” Robb declared before placing the weirwood crown on Eddard’s brow.

The hall erupted in cheers once more, men raising their goblets in salute, fists pounding against the tables. Harry didn’t waste the moment, managed to cajole his mother to his father’s side, and passed the circle to the newly crowned King in the North. The hall erupted in jubilation, and trumpets blared once more as his father placed the circlet on his mother’s brow.

It was now official that the North now had a king and queen of its own with the Stark name. It was the final act that settled the complete secession of the North from under the authority of the Iron Throne.

As the feast continued, the hall was filled with the sounds of songs sung by bards, the clinking of cups, and the telling of war stories. Harry drank deeply, feeling the warmth of the ale spread through him, but his mind never strayed far from the long road that lay ahead. Tonight was a night of celebration, but from tomorrow onwards, the North’s enemies would become many. He harboured no doubts about the increase in the number of enemies once the North’s secession became common knowledge in the continent.

Harry mingled with the crowd for a time before sneaking to Elsera and Josera's side.

“It’s time that you put your skills to a real test. The Ironborn are a threat to our interests in the Sunset Sea. It’s time they disappear into the dusty old tomes of the Maesters.” said Harry before casting searching eyes on the twins, “Are you two up for this task?”

“We are, my lord.” Elsera said confidently while her brother nodded sharply.  

“Good. You may take an airship of your choosing for the duration of the mission, and Captain Nimpton will be in charge of the fleet. I shall arrange with Lord Leobald Tallhart of Blacktyde to support you in case our plans with Victarion Greyjoy suffer any setbacks.”

“When can we expect your arrival, my lord?” Josera asked curiously.

“As you prepare the ground for the purge, I shall gather the banners of House Fisher, Glover, Mormont and Tallhart to end the Ironborn menace for good.” said Harry.

Harry watched the twins set out from the hall without even gracing the Forresters a glance. He was confident of their success because they were confident in their magical abilities. It felt incredibly satisfying to have raised two powerful sorcerers under his tutelage. Josera’s skill in skinchanging was unparalleled, with greater range than even Jon's, while Elsera’s unique shadow magic allowed her to perform magic at a level unimaginable for most witches and wizards.

He went back to mingling with the guests after the twins were out of his sight. The feast and oath-swearing ceremony went without a hitch as all lords and ladies of the North renewed their oaths to House Stark. By the time the celebration came to a halt, it was nearly midnight, and Harry was ready to fall into a bed and sleep like a baby.

But when he arrived at his chambers, he was met with the sight of Alaenera sitting on a stool facing a giant oval mirror, showing her back to him. She was dressed in a sheer golden silk dress that left much of her back bare, hugging her curves like the mist over the morning hills. The flickering candlelight in the room shined a warm golden hue over her smooth skin and cascading silver hair, which glittered like moonlight.

Harry felt a catch in his throat as he watched Alaenera comb her smooth hair while looking into the mirror.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Alaenera said softly as she brushed her hair.

“I bet I’m not going to get a wink of sleep either.” Harry breathed as his eyes remained trained on the mirror, which showed her hourglass figure and the delicate contours of her waistline.

*** Lemon scene in Discord (Patron-only channels) ***

*****

The great gates of Winterfell stood wide open, their ironwood weathered by centuries of Northern winter and war. Waymar Royce rode through them at a slow, measured pace, his cloak billowing like a dark shadow behind him. His horse snorted and tossed its head, its breath steaming in the cold Northern air. He had travelled hard and fast from Castle Black, the urgency of his mission driving him past fatigue, past exhaustion, past all but the necessity of reaching the Stark stronghold as fast as possible.

The courtyard bustled with activity, stable hands hurrying to take his mount, blacksmiths hammering at their forges, guardsmen in Stark livery practising with spears and bows. The smell of baking bread mixed with the fine aroma of spices and lemon-scented oils flittered around the castle grounds. The banners of the Great Houses of the North fluttered in the wind inside the massive curtain walls of Winterfell. The bone-chilling cold that he was so familiar with was absent inside the walls of Winterfell, which was a comfort. The closer he got to Winterfell’s walls, the lesser the cold. It was a strange phenomenon he had noticed the last time he visited the ancient castle. He suspected it had something to do with the famed magical prowess of Harrion Stark.

But the signs of celebrations in Winterfell were hard to miss. Word had already spread. Eddard Stark was crowned King in the North. The North seceding from the Iron Throne was madness, but he kept those thoughts to himself lest he lose his head.

The guardsmen posted at the entrances only briefly stopped him and allowed him entry when they realised Benjen Stark was accompanying him.

A boy in a dark wool livery approached him hesitantly, offering to take the reins of his horse.

“Mycah, I didn’t know you became a stable boy.” Benjen said, looking at the large stable boy with some surprise.

“Mi’ father said they needed more stable boys, milord. Too many lords and knights to serve in the castle.” Mycah said with a blush.

“Ha! I suppose the sight of my brother’s head being weighed down by a crown is a sight the lords and ladies of the North could hardly deny themselves.” Benjen guffawed.

Waymar looked around warily, fearing for his life at the open insult Benjen was hurling at the newly crowned King in the North. While Benjen might be free to do so without consequences, he didn’t want the people nearby to think he held the same opinion as his fellow black brother. Once their horses were adequately secured, they entered the castle together.

Benjen Stark led him through the stone corridors of the castle, past tapestries depicting wolves in battle, past high-burning torches that cast flickering shadows in the darkened corridors. When they finally entered the Great Hall, Waymar found Eddard Stark seated on a weirwood throne with a gleaming crown on his brow. The King in the North did not stand, nor did he smile in greeting as Benjen and Waymar walked into the hall. The hall was half-full with House Stark’s bannermen gathered around the long tables. Their conversation hushed as Waymar approached the throne beside the First Ranger.

“Announcing Benjen Stark and Ser Waymar Royce of the Night’s Watch.” the crier loudly proclaimed once they stepped into the hall.

“Welcome home, brother. You seem to have come at an auspicious time, though the many ravens I sent to the Wall remained unanswered.”

“Unfortunately, I was gone ranging beyond the Wall, but Lord Commander Mormont conveyed your message upon my return.” said Benjen.

“A ranging beyond the Wall, you say. Have the wildlings started to become a threat for the Night’s Watch to send their First Ranger into the heart of wildling-infested lands?” Eddard asked with a look of concern.

“There is much we have to say, and I implore you to listen to the words of my fellow brother. There is cause for us to be concerned.”

Eddard’s eyes fell on Waymar, making him stand straight.

“You’re a Royce – a son of Lord Yohn, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes, your grace. I’m Waymar Royce, Lord Yohn’s third son.” Waymar said with a respectful bow.

“I hold your father in great esteem.” said Eddard before nodding at a servant in the corner. “I offer you guest rights, and you may rest today. No doubt you’ve had a long journey, and going by the sound of it, you have something of import to share. You may share your worries with a clear mind and a rested body.”

“We will do that, brother. We thank your grace for his hospitality.” Benjen dipped his head before withdrawing from the hall.

“We should not waste any time.” Waymar whispered heatedly.

“Are you daft boy? Look around the hall. All the Great Houses of the North are gathered here. Do you really want to spread panic across the North?” Benjen whispered.

Waymar became silent, seeing the sound reason in Benjen’s words.

“Besides, I thought you’d have wanted to meet my nephew and share the details of your encounter with Mance Rayder. I also have some choice words for my troublesome nephew and his penchant to befriend all the troublesome lot in the North and beyond.”