Thelmar glittered in the distance as the enchanted carpet dipped toward its gates. Astrid's eyes shone in awe at the sprawling city—its towers of white stone, its bustling streets lit with lanterns, the banners of Gryffindor red and gold snapping in the wind.
"Your hall is greater than any I dreamed," she whispered, clutching Harry's arm. "And soon… mine too."
Harry's stomach sank. He had warned her countless times on the journey, but she had only laughed, brushing aside every caution.
When they landed in the courtyard of Gryffindor Castle, servants and guards bowed, and word spread quickly: their king had returned. Lyanna was already hurrying down the steps with Sirius in tow. Relief shone in her eyes—until Astrid spoke.
"I am Astrid," the girl announced boldly, stepping forward with pride. "Second wife of Harry Gryffindor."
The courtyard went silent.
Lyanna froze, her face draining of color. Slowly, her gaze turned to Harry, then back to Astrid.
"…What did you say?" Lyanna's voice was calm, too calm.
Astrid, emboldened, lifted her chin. "Harry took me from another. By the laws of my people, that makes me his. Wife to wife, I stand before you."
Lyanna's expression shattered. Hurt, anger, and disbelief collided all at once. Her eyes brimmed with tears even as her jaw clenched.
"You—" she turned on Harry, her voice rising. "How could you? After everything? Is it because Rhaegar, after the shame I bore—Don't you want me anymore? Another girl? Younger, prettier, untouched?"
Harry stepped forward quickly. "Lyanna, listen to me. It isn't like that. I didn't choose this. I saved her, and by her people's custom, she declared herself mine. I tried to leave her behind. I tried to explain—"
But Lyanna shook her head, trembling. "No! You've found someone better, haven't you? Someone not broken. Someone not ruined by a prince's folly." Her voice cracked. "And now I am to share you?"
Harry's chest tightened. He reached for her hand, but she pulled back. "Lyanna. You know me. You know my heart. Saving her is not loving her. Do you not remember how I saved you once, from wildlings who would have taken you? Would you have had me turn my back on this girl now?"
For a moment, Lyanna faltered. Her anger warred with her memory. He had saved her, and that had been the start of their life together. Yet the sight of Astrid, so young and bold, tore at the deepest wounds of her pride and fear.
"No," Lyanna whispered, shaking her head fiercely. "I will not share. I will not have her near this castle. If you mean what you say, then send her away. Or send me away."
Harry closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. Sirius clutched Lyanna's hand, looking up at his father with confusion and worry.
"Mother, please," Sirius whispered. "Father wouldn't do that. He wouldn't hurt you."
Harry met Lyanna's gaze. "You are my wife, Lyanna. My only wife. Nothing changes that. But I cannot cast Astrid into the snow to die. I will not. She will not stay in Gryffindor Castle if it wounds you so deeply—but I will find her a place, a safe place, until I can untangle this."
Lyanna's lip trembled, her fury softening into sorrow. "I don't want her here, Harry. Not near you. Not near us."
Astrid, standing to the side, looked between them, her jaw set stubbornly. "I am his, whether you will it or not. I will not be cast aside."
The courtyard was thick with tension, the crowd watching with wide eyes. Harry raised a hand, silencing them.
"This is not the place for this quarrel," he said firmly. "Astrid will not stay in this hall. But she will not be abandoned either. I will decide her place soon. For now, enough."
He guided Lyanna inside, his heart heavy. He had faced White Walkers, slain them with steel and fire. But this battle—this wound between love and duty—felt far harder to conquer.
It took days of careful words, patient explanations, and no small measure of authority before Harry finally persuaded Astrid to leave Telmar. She had clung fiercely to her claim, defiant in the face of Lyanna's fury, and more than once had to be reminded that the laws of Narnia were not the same as the customs of the Frostfang wilds.
"No man in Narnia may claim a woman by force," Harry told her, his tone gentle but unyielding as they sat together in one of the castle's quieter halls. "Not even I. It is the law I swore to uphold. And if I bend it for you, then all I've built begins to crumble."
Astrid's golden eyes burned with stubborn fire. "You saved me. You struck him down. That makes me yours. I will not forget it, Harry Gryffindor. And neither should you."
Harry exhaled, tired but steady. "You are not mine. You are your own. But you will not be cast aside either. You will have a place, and a life, and perhaps—" he hesitated, softening his tone, "—someone who chooses you for who you are, not because of old customs that only bring pain."
She said nothing, but her silence was laced with rebellion.
It was agreed that Telmar was no place for Astrid. Its people were proud, wholly Narnian, and deeply bound to their ways. A wildling girl—loud, unbending, still smelling faintly of smoke and snow—would only clash with them.
So Astrid was sent to Gnome City.
Harry himself escorted her, the carpet swooping low over the clustered homes built into stone hills, their windows glowing with warm light. People were bowing respectfully to their king, their eyes curious as they studied the young wildling girl by his side.
"This will be your new home," Harry said as they walked the narrow cobbled streets. "Here you will work, here you will learn. The school kitchen always needs hands, and the cooks will teach you. Food, warmth, and honest labor—you'll have all of it."
Astrid crossed her arms, lips pressed tight. "I did not ask for kitchens. I asked for you."
Harry paused, turning to face her. "And I told you, Astrid. That cannot be. But here, you will be safe. And more than that—you will be respected. These people will not treat you as a prize to be stolen. They will treat you as one of their own, if you let them."
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, grudgingly, she muttered, "We'll see."
The women of Gnome city welcomed her warmly nonetheless, ushering her toward the school, chattering about food, hearths, and work to be done. Their kindness softened her scowl, though she refused to show it.
When Harry left Gnome City, he sighed in relief for the first time in weeks. Astrid was out of the castle. Out of Lyanna's sight. Out of the storm she had brought crashing down around his family.
He did not fool himself into thinking it was over. Astrid was stubborn—too stubborn to give up so easily.
But for now, at least, the law had been upheld. She had a roof, work, and people who would look after her. Perhaps in time she would learn the ways of Narnia, perhaps she would even find someone else to love, someone who truly wanted her.
Harry glanced southward as he guided the carpet back to Thelmar. "Perhaps," he murmured.
But deep down, he knew. Astrid's fire had not been put out. Only banked. Sooner or later, she would come back into his life, as fierce and unyielding as the northern winds.
With Astrid settled in Gnome City and far from Gryffindor Castle, a new calm returned to Thelmar. Lyanna's shoulders seemed lighter, her eyes no longer clouded with doubt. She laughed more often, especially in Sirius's company, and Harry could feel the warmth in their home restored.
It was not long before Lyanna and Sirius cornered him in the solar, eager for the story he had yet to tell.
"Well?" Lyanna asked, settling across from him, her voice calm but expectant. "What did you find in the land of always winter?"
Sirius leaned forward, eyes wide, barely able to sit still. "Did you really meet the Children of the Forest? Father, tell me everything! What do they look like? Do they speak like us? Can they use magic?"
Harry chuckled, ruffling his son's dark hair. "One question at a time, Sirius. Yes, I met them. Yes, they spoke, and yes—they are powerful, though not in the ways men are. They are bound to the roots of the weirwoods, to the old magics of the land."
Sirius's jaw dropped. "Why didn't you bring them back here? If the Children of the Forest stood with us, everyone would believe! The temples, the stories—it would make our faith unshakable."
Harry stilled, Sirius's words striking deep. He had thought much the same on his way back, though he had been too consumed with survival and duty to act.
"You're right," Harry admitted, his voice low. "It would have made everything stronger—more real, more undeniable. I should have invited them to Thelmar." He sighed, rubbing at his temples. "I'll make it right. I promise you, Sirius. We will go back together. We'll invite them ourselves."
Sirius's face lit up like dawn. "Truly? You'll take me?"
Harry smiled at his son's eagerness. "Yes. I'll take you. You deserve to see them with your own eyes."
For now, Sirius's fascination shifted to the enchanted carpet. It had become more than a tool on Harry's northern expedition. Every mile flown had refined it—every adjustment Harry had made during his journey had smoothed its movements, balanced its lift, and strengthened its runes.
When Harry unrolled it again in the courtyard, Sirius's eyes gleamed with delight.
"Can I?" he asked, his voice hushed with anticipation.
Harry smirked. "Try."
With surprising natural ease, Sirius guided the carpet into the air. The fabric hummed beneath him, rising smoothly as if it recognized his touch. He laughed, the sound carrying across the courtyard as the carpet soared higher, then dipped low in a playful swoop.
Lyanna's hand flew to her mouth, her face pale. "Harry—"
"He's fine," Harry assured her, though he kept a close eye on the boy.
Soon Nina and Elsa were clamoring to join. Sirius beckoned them up, and the three children clung to the edges, shrieking with joy as the carpet swept over Thelmar's towers and circled above the harbor. Other children cheered from below, calling for their turn.
By the time Sirius landed, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled brighter than the stars. "It listens to me, Father! As if it was made for me."
Harry laid a hand on his shoulder, pride soft in his eyes. "Then it should be yours. The carpet belongs with the one who can fly it best."
Sirius's mouth fell open. "Mine?"
"Yes," Harry said with a nod. "A gift. Use it well, and never carelessly."
The boy hugged him tightly, words failing him.
That night, Lyanna stood with Harry on the balcony, her gaze fixed northward. Her hand tightened on his sleeve.
"You faced them," she whispered. "The White Walkers. You saw them with your own eyes."
Harry nodded. "I did. And I killed them. They're not unstoppable, Lyanna. Fire and magic will end them."
"But there will be more," she said, her voice trembling. "And if they come south—"
Harry turned to her, cupping her face gently in his hands. "If they come, they will find me waiting. I will not let them touch Narnia, or you, or Sirius. You are my world, Lyanna. Nothing will happen to you. I swear it."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. "You saved me once. And you've saved me again, tonight."
Harry kissed her brow, his eyes hardening as he stared into the frozen dark beyond the Wall. Let them come. They will find this land defended.