With his piece spoken, Cregan left the room. The weight of the matter now rested solely on Ned and Catelyn's shoulders. Whatever decision they made about the sept, Cregan would wash his hands of any future troubles. He had done his duty.
Maester Luwin and Old Nan quietly followed, each reflecting on the weight of the discussion. Before they departed, Ned asked them both to keep the matter private, to which they both solemnly promised.
As he walked down the corridors of Winterfell, Maester Luwin caught up to him on the stairs. Cregan slowed his pace to let the older man catch up, his thoughts still heavy from the discussion.
"What do you think, Maester Luwin?" Cregan asked, his tone curious but measured.
"It doesn't matter what I think," Maester Luwin replied with a weary sigh. "What you said in there was clear and strong. It should be enough for Lord Stark to make the right decision. But in the end, the choice is his and Lady Catelyn's. We can only wait."
Cregan nodded. "True enough."
"Where are you headed now?" Luwin asked, his eyes studying the boy curiously.
"To the library, actually," Cregan replied. "There are a few books I wanted to check on."
Luwin gave a faint smile. "Ah, always learning. That's good. I'll leave you to it, then."
With a respectful nod, Cregan continued on his way, heading to the quiet sanctuary of the library.
...
It had been more than a month since Cregan had begun practicing his magic, and his progress had been steady. His control had improved, and he could feel his magical capacity growing, but that was as far as he had come. He knew it was time to push further, to find new ways to use this power.
The best place to begin, he thought, was with the ancient knowledge of the First Men—their runes. The library at Winterfell, overseen by Maester Luwin in his spare time, held much of the old histories. Rarely did anyone visit, which made the work of tending the library relatively easy for the maester. But Cregan had become one of its most frequent visitors, second only to Luwin himself.
With his familiarity with the layout of the library, Cregan knew exactly where to search for the books that might contain the ancient knowledge he sought. The dusty shelves held volumes that hadn't been touched in years, perhaps decades, and it was among these forgotten tomes that Cregan hoped to uncover the secrets of the First Men's runes—an ancient magic that could unlock new possibilities for him.
After searching high and low, Cregan managed to find only a few books that might contain information about the runes of the First Men. Why "might"? Because they were written in the Common Tongue, not the Old Tongue, which was the true runic language of the First Men.
The Old Tongue, a language of runes and deep history, had fallen out of use in the North, except in place names and a few cultural remnants. It still survived among the northern clans and beyond the Wall, where the Free Folk, or wildlings, still spoke it. But in Winterfell, the knowledge of the Old Tongue was rare, even among those who should have been its keepers.
It was a bit shameful for Cregan, as a descendant of the First Men, to admit that he couldn't read, write, or speak his ancestors' language fluently. He knew only a few words and phrases, thanks to Maester Luwin's teachings, but that wouldn't be enough to decipher the true magic hidden in the ancient runes.
Today, Cregan's main goal was to see if the library contained any books written in the Old Tongue, but after a thorough search, it became clear there were none. The First Men had left their runes carved on stones, and most of what was known about their age—the Age of Heroes, the Dawn Age, and the Long Night—came from accounts set down by septons thousands of years later.
There were a few books that mentioned the runes of the First Men, but they were translations—prone to error, Cregan knew. And when it came to magic, any error could prove disastrous. The first thing he needed to do was find someone who could teach him the Old Tongue.
Maester Luwin knew some Old Tongue, but he wasn't proficient. The wildlings, who still spoke it fluently, were out of reach for now. But the Northern Clansmen—the ancient hill tribes that still maintained the old ways—were within reach. If he could travel to them, Cregan thought, perhaps he could learn the Old Tongue properly and uncover the secrets of the First Men's runes.
Thinking of the Northern Clans and the possibilities they held, Cregan left the library, knowing there was little more he could gain from the dusty tomes for now.
As he stepped outside the tower, he spotted Ned standing in the courtyard, his gaze following Bael, the stone carver, as he walked away. Noticing Cregan, Ned crossed the distance between them.
"I've decided not to build the sept," Ned began, his voice quiet, as if he were still coming to terms with the decision.
Cregan raised an eyebrow, surprised but curious.
"I offered Catelyn a small sept, just for her, in one of the adjacent rooms," Ned continued, "but she refused."
"Is she upset?" Cregan asked, his tone cautious.
"A little," Ned admitted, "but she understands it's for the best—for Robb's future, for Winterfell. In fact, it was her decision in the end. After hearing what you said about the risks, she saw the sense in it. She's even considering sending Septa Mordane back to Riverrun."
Cregan gave a thoughtful nod. He hadn't expected Catelyn to make such a move, but it was the wise choice.
Ned paused, then spoke with quiet sincerity. "Thank you, Cregan. You've saved me from a great deal of trouble."
Without hesitation or false modesty, Cregan smiled. "You're welcome, Ned. I'm just glad you listened."
"I've a request to make," Cregan said, his tone growing more serious.
"What is it?" Ned asked, curious now.
"I want to learn the Old Tongue. How to speak it, read it, and write it. Do you know where I can do that?"
Ned raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Learn the Old Tongue? But why?"
"We're descendants of the First Men," Cregan replied firmly. "Isn't it shameful that we don't know our ancestors' language?"
"Maester Luwin—" Ned started.
"He's not proficient enough," Cregan cut him off.
Ned paused, thinking hard but coming up short. "I don't know of anyone here who could teach you," he admitted.
Cregan had already considered this. "What about the Northern Clansmen? Do they know it? If they can't come here, I'll go to them."
Ned frowned, looking thoughtfully at his younger brother before becoming lost in thought. After a moment, he spoke again. "You know, I was thinking about your future—that's why I called you to the Godswood on the first day I returned. I wanted to send you to foster with one of our vassal houses, like the Ryswells. But with everything that's happened since, I left the idea aside." Ned hesitated, clearly reluctant to send Cregan away, especially with the valuable ideas he had been bringing to the table.
He paused again, weighing his next words carefully. "So, what do you think, Cregan? Do you wish to foster? If so, I could arrange for you to foster with one of the Northern clansmen. You'd be able to learn the Old Tongue—and perhaps much more."
Cregan looked surprised, but after a moment, his expression grew thoughtful. The Northern Clansmen lived in the mountains north of Winterfell. Their lives were hard, living in wooden houses in a rugged and unforgiving landscape. It was already uncomfortable living in a medieval castle like Winterfell, but this would be a whole new level of difficulty.
Thinking of the magic he might unlock, and knowing the importance of fostering for House Stark, Cregan weighed his options. It would be hard, but manageable. "Alright," he said at last, nodding. "I'll foster with one of the Northern Clansmen—but not for more than two years."
"I can arrange that," Ned replied. "If it's the Old Tongue you wish to learn, then perhaps House Flint of the hill would be best. Our grandmother, Arya Flint, was from there. There's also the Wulls, Norreys, and Liddles to choose from."
"House Flint will do," Cregan agreed.
"Good," Ned said with a nod. "But you'll need to wait six moons. The mountain clans will come to Winterfell to swear their fealty at harvest time. You can go with them when they return."
Cregan could do nothing but accept the wait. Six moons. It seemed a long time to bide, but there was no choice. He'd be ready.
OOO
Patre_n.com/mrcarson - Unlock 20 Chapters Early!
Can't wait to see what happens next? Join me on Patreon to get 20 chapters ahead of everyone else, plus a say in the story, early access, and more!
Your support helps keep the story alive and growing, and as a thank you, you'll get first dibs on every new twist and turn.
Become a Patr_on today!