When Lord Rickard Stark received Lyanna's letter, he had expected many things.
Confusion, certainly. Concern, almost definitely. His daughter rarely sent messages that demanded immediate attention, and when she did, it usually meant trouble was not far behind. For several days after receiving the letter, he had considered every possibility. Perhaps Lyanna was ill. Perhaps Sirius was injured. Perhaps some political matter within Narnia required his presence.
Never, even in his wildest imaginings, had he expected to find himself standing aboard a Narnian whaling vessel sailing beyond the Wall.
The vessel itself fascinated him. It was larger than most ships he had seen in White Harbor and far more organized. From sunrise until darkness fell, every member of the crew remained busy. Sailors climbed the rigging, repaired ropes, cleaned equipment, maintained harpoons, and inspected supplies. Nobody stood idle. Nobody wasted time.
Even more surprising was the young prince carrying crates alongside them.
Rickard had recognized him almost immediately.
"Prince Viserys?"
The young man turned at the sound of his name, and his face lit up in genuine surprise.
"Lord Stark!"
Rickard stared for several moments.
The last time he had seen Viserys Targaryen, the boy had looked exactly as one would expect a prince to look. He had expensive clothes, and the slightly arrogant confidence common among young nobles who had never truly worked for anything.
The young man standing before him now barely resembled that prince.
His skin was darkened by months beneath the sun. His shoulders were broader, his arms visibly stronger, and his hands bore the calluses of someone accustomed to physical labor. Instead of silk and velvet, he wore practical sailor's clothing stained by saltwater and hard work.
Most shocking of all was the expression on his face.
He looked happy.
Not the practiced smile of a courtier or the polite expression of a prince surrounded by nobles. This was genuine happiness, the sort that came from a man who woke every morning excited about the day ahead.
"What in the Seven Hells happened to you?" Rickard asked.
Viserys laughed.
"I got a job."
The old Stark blinked.
"A job?"
"Aye."
The grin widened.
"I'm training to become a harpooner."
For several moments Rickard genuinely wondered if he had misheard.
"You are the king's brother."
Viserys simply shrugged.
"And?"
The answer left Rickard speechless.
Several nearby sailors burst into laughter. One of them slapped Viserys on the shoulder hard enough to nearly send him stumbling.
"He's actually decent now," the sailor announced proudly. "Nearly fell overboard three times during his first voyage though."
The entire crew laughed.
"Twice," Viserys protested.
"Three times."
"Twice!"
Rickard found himself smiling despite his confusion.
During the following day, he spent much of the voyage speaking with the young prince. What he heard surprised him more than anything he had witnessed so far.
Viserys spoke constantly about the places he visited.
He spoke about ships, trade routes, navigation, whaling expeditions, and distant ports. He described voyages across unknown seas with the enthusiasm of an excited child. He talked about merchants from foreign lands, profitable trade ventures, and plans for future expeditions.
The more Rickard listened, the more he realized something important.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Viserys Targaryen had discovered a purpose that belonged entirely to him.
No expectations.
No family obligations.
Just a life he genuinely enjoyed.
It was a strange thing to witness.
When the Wall finally appeared on the horizon, Rickard's attention shifted once more.
The enormous structure rose from the sea like a mountain of ice, stretching farther than the eye could follow. Even after a lifetime spent in the North, the Wall never failed to inspire awe.
The ship continued onward.
Beyond the Wall.
Into lands that most men considered little more than myth.
Rickard stood silently at the railing as the realization settled upon him.
For centuries, explorers had searched for lost kingdoms and forgotten civilizations. Men crossed deserts, explored jungles, and sailed dangerous seas seeking hidden lands.
Nobody had thought to search beyond the Wall.
Because nobody wanted to live there.
The absurdity nearly made him laugh aloud.
The cold northern wind whipped through his beard as he stood near the railing, watching endless gray waters stretch toward the horizon. The Wall had long since vanished behind them, leaving only sea and sky. It was an unsettling feeling. Every Stark grew up believing the Wall marked the edge of the known world. To sail beyond it felt strangely wrong, as though he had crossed some invisible boundary that men were never meant to cross.
Yet the crew around him treated the journey as entirely ordinary.
Several hours later, Telmar appeared on the horizon.
At first it seemed little more than another coastal settlement. Then more details emerged. Towers. Walls. Docks.
The closer they sailed, the larger it became.
By the time the full city revealed itself, Rickard had completely forgotten how to breathe.
"Gods..." he whispered.
Even White Harbor appeared small in comparison.
Massive stone walls surrounded the city. Countless ships crowded an enormous harbor. Warehouses lined the waterfront while cranes moved cargo with relentless efficiency. Roads stretched outward in carefully planned patterns, connecting markets, workshops, temples, and neighborhoods.
Unlike King's Landing, which had grown chaotically over centuries, Telmar appeared designed.
Planned from the beginning.
The harbor alone was enough to leave him speechless. Workers unloaded cargo from foreign ships while fishermen returned with fresh catches. Merchants conducted business in dozens of different accents. Sailors shouted instructions while cranes moved goods from vessel to warehouse with astonishing speed.
The entire city felt alive.
More importantly, it felt prosperous.
As the ship finally docked, Rickard remained standing for several moments, simply taking everything in.
The gangplank dropped with a heavy thud.
Viserys immediately jumped onto the dock before turning back toward him.
"Need a guide?"
Rickard laughed.
Looking at the vast city spread before him, he could not deny the truth.
"I think I do."
The young prince grinned.
"Good. I want to see my mother."
The excitement in his voice was impossible to miss.
"And Daenerys."
For just a moment, the seasoned sailor vanished and Rickard saw the young boy underneath. Despite all his adventures and newfound purpose, Viserys still missed his family.
Together they left the harbor and began making their way through the city.
Rickard found himself constantly looking around. The streets were remarkably clean. Lamps lined the roads. Market stalls sold food from every corner of the known world. Essosi nobles walked beside Narnians, merchants from Essos, sailors, craftsmen, and travelers from places Rickard could not even identify.
Most surprising of all, nobody seemed particularly concerned with who was noble and who was not.
It was perhaps the strangest thing he had witnessed since arriving.
As they climbed the road leading toward Gryffindor Castle, the city spread beneath them in all its glory. The harbor glittered in the afternoon sunlight while thousands of people moved through streets that looked more organized than many noble castles.
Rickard slowed his pace.
For a moment, he simply stood there watching.
The kingdom his daughter had chosen over Westeros.
And somewhere beyond those castle walls waited Lyanna.
The daughter he had not seen for many months.
For the first time since beginning the journey, Rickard felt genuinely nervous.
Viserys noticed immediately.
"Lord Stark?"
Rickard glanced toward him.
"What?"
The young prince smiled knowingly.
"You look like a man about to face a dragon."
Rickard Stark was having a difficult time accepting what his eyes were telling him.
These were the savages the North had feared for thousands of years?
These people?
The same people his ancestors had fought beyond the Wall? The same people every northern child grew up hearing stories about? Raiders. Thieves. Wildlings who stole women and butchered villages.
Rickard looked around the streets of Telmar and felt something dangerously close to embarrassment.
Children carrying books ran through the streets laughing. Merchants called out prices from well-maintained stalls. Craftsmen worked openly outside their shops while guards patrolled in neat pairs. The roads were clean. The buildings were well maintained. Everywhere he looked he saw signs of prosperity.
If he was being honest with himself, Telmar looked more refined than half the North.
Perhaps more than half.
The realization was not pleasant.
He remembered the temple ceremony in King's Landing. Northern lords had spent weeks speaking with Narnians. They had eaten together, drank together, and celebrated together. Many had returned speaking highly of Narnians.
Rickard almost smiled grimly at the memory.
If those same lords learned that most of these Narnians had once been Free Folk, they would choke on their own pride.
Viserys seemed to notice his silence.
"Not what you expected?" the young prince asked.
Rickard glanced toward him.
"No."
Viserys smiled knowingly.
"That's how everyone reacts."
Rickard grunted.
The city grew busier the closer they approached the center. Traders pushed carts loaded with goods. Laborers carried supplies between warehouses. Messengers hurried through the streets with bundles of documents tucked beneath their arms.
A wealthy merchant walked beside a fisherman. A former Free Folk hunter shared a table with an Essosi trader. Nobody seemed interested in titles.
The entire city operated according to rules Rickard did not fully understand.
When they finally reached Gryffindor Castle, another surprise awaited him.
The entire lower floor resembled some sort of administrative center. Men and women waited near counters while clerks worked through stacks of ledgers. Citizens spoke with officials regarding taxes, housing disputes, permits, wages, school placements, travel permissions, and dozens of other matters.
The sheer scale of it caught Rickard off guard.
He stopped walking and looked around carefully.
"This is the king's castle?"
Viserys nodded.
"The lower floors mostly handle administration."
Rickard frowned.
"Administration?"
"If people have problems, they come here."
The old Stark looked around the crowded hall.
"And King Harry deals with all of this?"
Viserys laughed.
"No. That would be impossible."
He gestured toward the dozens of officials working throughout the hall.
"Most issues are handled by appointed administrators. Only important matters reach the king or queen."
Rickard slowly nodded.
Efficient.
The thought lingered in his mind as they continued deeper into the castle.
At the staircase leading upward, a guard stood watch in polished armor. The moment he saw Viserys approaching, he straightened and bowed respectfully.
"Viserys Targaryen."
Viserys returned the greeting casually.
"I'm taking Lord Stark to see the queen."
The guard immediately stepped aside.
"Of course."
Rickard followed Viserys upstairs, his attention shifting toward the walls.
Portraits covered nearly every corridor.
The old Stark slowed his pace immediately.
One painting showed Lyanna laughing while riding a horse across a snowy field. Another displayed Harry standing beside a massive white dragon. Several portraits featured Sirius at different ages, often causing trouble.
Eventually they reached the king's office.
Or rather, the queen's office.
Harry was away, and according to Viserys, Lyanna handled most matters requiring royal attention during his absence.
The young prince paused before the door and suddenly became noticeably more formal.
"It is proper to greet the queen first."
Rickard looked at him carefully.
The boy really had changed.
Rickard found himself approving.
"Then let us greet the queen."
The doors opened.
Inside, Lyanna stood beside a large desk covered in papers. Across from her stood Sirius, who appeared to be arguing passionately about something.
The moment the boy noticed them, every trace of seriousness vanished.
"Grandfather!"
Sirius practically launched himself across the room.
Rickard barely had time to brace himself before his grandson collided with him.
He caught the boy automatically.
Strong arms wrapped around him while Sirius grinned broadly.
"You've grown."
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"You always say that."
Behind them, Viserys entered the room and bowed respectfully.
"My queen."
Lyanna smiled warmly.
"Viserys. Welcome back."
Rickard finally released Sirius and turned toward his daughter.
Immediately, something felt different.
There was a brightness to her face. A softness around her eyes. A quiet happiness that reminded him of years long past.
He studied her for several moments.
"Daughter," he said carefully, "you are glowing."
Lyanna laughed softly.
"That's because I'm pregnant."
For several seconds Rickard simply stared.
Then all coherent thought abandoned him.
"Pregnant?"
Lyanna nodded.
The old Stark crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped his daughter in a careful embrace.
A broad smile spread across his face.
"Gods be good."
Relief, joy, and pride crashed into him all at once.
"That is wonderful news."
Sirius immediately inserted himself into the conversation.
"I'm going to be a brother."
Rickard laughed.
"Aye. You are."
The boy looked ridiculously pleased with himself.
Rickard felt happier than he had in months.
So happy, in fact, that he completely failed to notice the office door opening behind him.
Lyanna gently stepped back from the embrace.
Then she exchanged a glance with someone behind him.
"She too," Lyanna said.
Rickard frowned.
"She?"
Slowly, he turned.
Rhaella Targaryen stood in the doorway.
For several seconds, his mind refused to process what he was seeing.
Then it did.
The queen mother looked healthy.
Calm. Composed.
And unmistakably pregnant.
The room became completely silent.
Viserys froze.
Every trace of confidence vanished from the young prince's face.
"Mother?"
Rhaella's expression softened immediately.
"Viserys."
Rickard looked from Rhaella to Lyanna.
A terrible realization began assembling itself inside his head.
The urgent letter.
The secrecy.
The request that he come personally.
The fact that Lyanna had specifically refused to explain the matter in writing.
All of it suddenly made sense.
The old Lord of Winterfell stared at the two pregnant women standing in front of him.
One was his daughter.
The other was the former Queen of Westeros.
Rickard closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them again, he sighed.
Long.
Slow.
Tired.
And entirely resigned.
Now he understood exactly why Lyanna had summoned him beyond the Wall.
Author's Note:
Enjoying the story?
Consider joining my Pat*reon to get early access to more chapters and exclusive fanfictions! Even as a free member you will get one extra chapter and you'll receive early access to chapters before they're posted elsewhere and various other fanfictions.Your support helps me create more content for you to enjoy!
Join here: Patre*on(dot)com(slash)Beuwulf