Cregan's POV
So there we were, back at camp, trying to thaw ourselves out after our little diplomatic dance with the Mountain Clans, when Jory Cassel showed up with that face. You know the one—the I've got news, and you're not gonna like it face.
Now, when a man like Jory makes that face, it usually means we're about to be volunteered for something incredibly dangerous, incredibly stupid, or—if the gods were feeling especially cruel—both.
"Word from the clans," Jory said, his breath misting in the cold air. "There's a bear."
This did not impress me.
"We're in the mountains, Jory," I said. "There are lots of bears."
Jory gave me a look that clearly said Stop talking and let me finish before I throw you into a snowdrift. "Not just any bear," he continued. "A big one. Mean as hell. Been terrorizing their villages, killing livestock, even attacking people. They call it the 'Demon Bear.'"
I sat up a little straighter. Okay, I thought. That's a great name. Possibly the best name for a bear ever.
Rhaenys, sitting across from me by the fire, tilted her head, dark eyes thoughtful. "And they haven't managed to kill it?"
Jory shook his head. "They've tried. Spears didn't bring it down. Arrows didn't either. The beast is damn near the size of a horse, and it shrugs off wounds like it's got armor for skin. Even Wull's best hunters are starting to think it's some kind of spirit."
That got my attention.
"Alright," I said slowly, "but have they tried asking it nicely to stop?"
Jory sighed. "No, Cregan, they have not."
"Ah, see, well, there's your problem," I said, nodding sagely. "Bears respect good manners."
Dacey, who was leaning against a tree with her arms crossed, smirked. "You suggesting we go out there and talk to it?"
I waved a hand. "Oh, gods, no. I'm suggesting we go out there and kill it."
That earned me a lot of looks. Some amused. Some concerned. Some (specifically the ones from my uncle Ned) that seemed to say Why is my nephew like this?
"Alright," Benjen said, grinning. "I'm interested. Continue."
I shot him finger guns. "Glad to have you on board, Uncle Ben."
"Don't call me that."
"Noted, Uncle Benny."
He groaned. Rhaenys covered a laugh with her hand. Dacey did not bother covering hers.
I turned back to my father's older brother, who was still looking at me like he was reevaluating all of his life choices.
"If we kill it," I said, "we'll be doing the clans a favor. They see us as outsiders. Strangers. This? This would earn us trust. Respect. Maybe even a cool nickname."
Arthur Dayne, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "I like hunting."
That was all he said. But, seeing as this was Arthur Dayne, legendary knight, Sword of the Morning, and general nightmare to anyone dumb enough to challenge him to a duel, those three words carried a lot of weight.
Dacey gave me a skeptical look. "You're suggesting that a bunch of noble knights and two kids—"
"Two exceptionally talented kids," I corrected.
"—go after a monster that the best hunters in the mountains couldn't kill?"
I shrugged. "Sounds about right."
Ned, who had been silent for most of this conversation, let out the heaviest sigh in the history of sighs. This was a man who had fought wars, survived politics, and raised me, and yet this was the thing that was apparently about to kill him.
"You think this will bring the clans to our side?" he asked.
I nodded.
He stared at me for a long moment, then turned to Arthur. "Thoughts?"
Arthur just looked at him. "I like hunting."
Benjen clapped his hands together. "Alright then! A little Northern tradition, some good old-fashioned danger—this should be fun."
Jory ran a hand through his hair. "Fun isn't the word I'd use, but sure."
Dacey shook her head, amused. "I suppose if we're doing this, we should do it properly. Full hunt. Hounds, horses, and steel."
Rhaenys smirked. "Just promise me you won't get eaten, Cregan. I'd hate to have to explain to your mother why her son is bear food."
I placed a hand over my heart. "Oh, I'd make sure to haunt you. Every night. Cregan Stark, the ghost who never shuts up."
She rolled her eyes. "I believe that."
Benjen elbowed Arthur. "Think this bear's really as big as they say?"
Arthur considered. "Unlikely. But I hope so."
Jory sighed. "Why?"
Arthur's lips twitched. "More of a challenge."
Benjen grinned at that. "Now that's the spirit."
Ned sighed again, possibly regretting every single decision that had led him to this moment. "Fine. But we do this carefully. No recklessness."
"Of course, Uncle," I said, giving him my best innocent look.
He did not buy it.
We spent the next hour gathering weapons, preparing the hounds, and checking supplies. Arthur sharpened Dawn, its pale blade catching the firelight. Dacey chose a spear, testing its weight with an expert hand. Benjen, because he was Benjen, made sure to pack an extra flask of ale.
Rhaenys and I saddled up side by side.
"First one to kill it wins," she said.
I smirked. "What's the prize?"
She thought for a moment. Then, with a smirk of her own, leaned in slightly.
"I'll tell you if you win."
Oh.
Challenge very much accepted.
The sun was beginning to set as we rode out, casting long shadows over the snow-covered mountains. The wind was biting, the cold creeping into our bones. But I felt alive.
Excited.
This was it.
We were going hunting.
And if that bear was as dangerous as they said?
Well.
We'd just have to be more dangerous.
—
So, there I was, standing in the middle of the woods, trying to decide if I was smelling pine trees, fresh air, or my own impending doom. Spoiler alert: it was all three. Because, naturally, when a monster bear the size of a small castle decides to terrorize the countryside, who do they send to deal with it?
A bunch of Starks, a Dayne, a Targaryen, and Jory Cassel.
Great plan. Fantastic plan. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Uncle Ned looked as serious as ever, his jaw set like he was mentally preparing a lecture about responsibility. Uncle Benjen was staring at the tracks, probably debating whether he should be concerned about the whole "giant bear of death" thing or if it was just another Tuesday. Aunt Dacey? She was spinning her spear like this was the best party she'd been to in months. Uncle Arthur—who, by the way, could probably kill the bear with a glare—stood there like he was carved from Valyrian steel, quietly waiting for the chaos to start.
Then there was Rhaenys. She had her bow in hand, her hair in a perfect braid (which was absolutely unfair, considering the rest of us looked like we'd been dragged through the mud), and she wasn't even pretending not to smirk at me.
"You sure you don't want to run back home, pup?" she asked, already nocking an arrow. "I'd hate to see you get mauled before you hit your next growth spurt."
She was thirteen, and I was eleven. But did that stop her from treating me like I was some tiny, adorable thing she needed to look after? No. No, it did not.
I crossed my arms. "I'm just wondering if you'll be able to keep up. I don't want to embarrass you again."
"Again?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean that time you tripped over your own feet in the training yard? Or the time you—"
"We're focusing on the bear," I interrupted, because no one needed to relive those moments.
Jory Cassel chuckled. "I don't know, Lord Cregan. I'd pay good money to hear the rest of that story."
"Great. Let's survive this first, and then we can tell embarrassing stories about me after the bear is dead."
"Assuming we survive," Uncle Ned muttered.
Classic Ned.
We started tracking the beast, which was an absolute nightmare because—fun fact—bears don't just leave a convenient trail with a big neon sign that says Murderous Beast This Way. Instead, we got mud. And trees. And bugs the size of small birds. And, oh yeah, the creeping sensation that something was definitely watching us.
After an eternity of walking (and, okay, maybe complaining), we found it.
And by the Old Gods, it was massive.
This wasn't just a bear. This was the bear. If you'd told me it was secretly an ancient god of destruction, I would've believed you. It had claws longer than my sword. Teeth like knives. Fur so thick it looked like it could stop a ballista bolt.
Aunt Dacey let out an impressed whistle. "Now that's a bear."
Uncle Benjen frowned. "How many arrows do you think it'll take to bring it down?"
Uncle Arthur, completely deadpan, said, "All of them."
The bear turned toward us, and I swear it gave us the look. You know, the one that says I could eat you all and not even be full.
I pulled my sword. "Alright, here's the plan. We—"
The bear roared, shaking the trees.
"New plan!" I yelled. "Kill it before it kills us!"
And then it charged.
Spears flew. Arrows zipped through the air. Jory and Uncle Benjen darted to the sides, moving like they'd done this a hundred times before. Uncle Arthur was the first to engage, slashing at its side with Dawn, his white blade flashing like lightning. Aunt Dacey dove in right after him, aiming for its legs.
The bear swiped, and they barely dodged.
"Alright, that thing is way too fast!" Jory called, rolling out of the way of a claw swipe that probably could've cut him in half.
Rhaenys loosed arrow after arrow, her face set in that determined I am the best at everything and you all know it look. But even her perfect aim wasn't doing much against the bear's thick hide.
Uncle Ned and Uncle Benjen moved in sync, flanking the beast, swords flashing, while Aunt Dacey went for its back leg again. This time, she landed a hit.
The bear did not appreciate that.
It spun with terrifying speed and swung one massive paw—
Straight at me.
I ducked just in time, the wind from its strike ruffling my hair.
Okay. Not great.
"Alright, big guy," I muttered, gripping my sword. "You want a piece of me? Let's see if you can handle it!"
Rhaenys groaned. "Cregan, stop trying to sound cool and move!"
The bear swung again. I dodged left, then right, my feet barely keeping up. I managed a quick slash at its side—
And it just made it madder.
"That's not how this was supposed to go!" I yelped, scrambling backward.
The bear let out another roar, eyes locking onto me.
And then—oh.
Oh, no.
It charged.
Right at me.
Because of course it did.
—
Let me start by saying this: fighting a giant, man-eating bear was not how I planned to spend my evening.
But, as usual, here we were.
The bear—aka the Demon Bear, aka Big Murder Fluff—was pissed. It had already swatted Jory Cassel off his horse like a particularly annoying fly, and it was currently charging straight at me like I owed it money.
Now, at this point, I had two options:
Run. Like a smart person.
Do something absolutely insane because I was a Stark and, apparently, allergic to common sense.
Guess which one I picked?
I let out a battle cry (which may have sounded slightly like a scream), planted my feet, and threw my spear straight at the beast's face.
And missed.
"Seven hells," I muttered as the spear bounced harmlessly off its shoulder.
The bear snarled, very much still alive, and I was very much about to die.
Then, the forest growled.
A deep, bone-shaking growl that made the bear hesitate.
Which, in turn, made me hesitate. Because if something just growled at a murder bear and the bear listened, I definitely needed to rethink my life choices.
And then they appeared.
Two direwolves, massive as horses, stepping out of the shadows like they owned the place.
One was jet black with steely eyes that gleamed like polished iron. The other was this eerie ash-gray, its amber eyes glowing like embers. They looked like something out of an old legend—death gods in wolf form.
The black one moved first. It lunged at the bear, and I swear, it was like watching a shadow come alive. The bear swiped at it, claws flashing, but the wolf dodged like it had been born to dance around death. The gray wolf was right behind, moving low and fast, latching onto the bear's hind leg with a crunch that made my stomach turn.
This wasn't just two wolves attacking.
This was strategy.
And I was standing there like an absolute idiot, mouth hanging open, because—well. This was new.
"Cregan!"
Benjen's voice snapped me out of my 'staring in awe' phase. Right. The bear. The whole reason we were here.
The beast was distracted, snarling at the wolves as they darted around it.
This was my shot.
I grabbed my second spear, took a breath, and charged.
The wolves kept the bear occupied as I dodged past its swinging claws, ducked under a wild swipe, and—before my brain could catch up to what my body was doing—jumped on its back.
I am going to be honest: this was not my best idea.
The bear did not like having an eleven-year-old Stark suddenly hitching a ride. It bucked, roared, and tried to throw me off, but I held on, stabbing downward with everything I had. The spear struck true—straight into the beast's eye.
The Demon Bear let out one final, shuddering growl before collapsing, shaking the ground beneath me.
And then everything went silent.
For a long second, the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Then, Aunt Dacey broke the silence.
"Yes! That's how you kill a bear!" she whooped, punching the air.
Benjen—who had definitely thought I was about to die—grinned and clapped me on the back. "Nice work, Cregan. You didn't screw that up."
Uncle Ned, however, looked like he aged ten years. "That," he said slowly, "was reckless."
I gave him my best innocent look. "But effective."
He sighed. "Why are you like this?"
"Natural talent?"
Dacey snorted. "More like a death wish."
But I wasn't really paying attention anymore, because the black direwolf—the massive, shadowy force of nature—was staring at me.
And then it did something weird.
It walked up to me, its huge frame casting a shadow over me, and—get this—it licked my face. Full-on, slobbery affection, like I was its long-lost brother.
Uncle Ned frowned. "That's… not normal."
"Tell me about it," I muttered, wiping wolf drool off my cheek.
Benjen was looking at me like I'd just ascended to godhood. "Cregan Stark: Bear Slayer… and Wolf Whisperer."
"I'll take it."
The wolf rumbled, something deep and almost familiar in its gaze. And that was when it hit me.
This wolf reminded me of Padfoot. Of Sirius.
My breath caught in my throat. Could it be…?
No. That was ridiculous. But still…
I reached out, scratching behind its ears. "I think I'll call you Padfoot," I murmured.
The wolf let out a low woof, like it approved.
Meanwhile, the gray wolf had walked up to Rhaenys, sniffing at her before nudging her side.
"Looks like she likes you," I said, grinning. "What are you gonna name her?"
Rhaenys' smile was soft, the kind that made the whole forest seem brighter. "Meraxes."
Perfect.
I grinned. "Padfoot and Meraxes. We're basically the coolest crew around."
And just like that, what started as certain death turned into the best day ever.
Because, let's be honest—winning over a pack of legendary direwolves?
Even cooler than killing a demon bear.
—
We rode back to the meeting point, the whole Stark party looking like a rock band after a world tour—tired, a little bruised, but still with that edge of badassery that made everyone stop and stare. In the lead, I had Padfoot at a trot like he owned the place (which, let's be real, he kinda did). Right next to me was Rhaenys, riding Meraxes like she was born for it. Both of us were covered in mud and blood—mostly bear blood, but, you know, a little of our own too. Because hunting giant animals never ends in sparkly clean clothes. That's just how it goes.
Behind us, the crew wasn't much better off. Uncle Ned looked like someone had just handed him a lifetime supply of grimness and had him drink it all in one go. Uncle Arthur Dayne, of course, looked like he'd rather be somewhere fancy in a tournament instead of getting his hands dirty with a bear. Typical. Benjen had that no-nonsense "I'll survive anything" look, which, honestly, was terrifying. Then there was Aunt Dacey. She looked like she was in the middle of a wrestling match with the bear and had come out on top. And that grin on her face? Yeah, she was already calculating how many roast boars she could eat at the feast. If you didn't know her, it might've seemed scary. But I knew better. She was probably thinking about how to find the biggest chunk of meat and claim it for herself.
When we reached the clearing, I could see the Chief of the Wull Clan waiting for us. The dude looked like he was carved from stone. I mean, if I tried to punch him, I'd probably hurt my hand. His face was one giant map of scars, wrinkles, and who knew what else. So, when he gave us a glance at the bear we'd dragged back, he didn't look impressed—he looked… well, almost emotional. Like maybe this big, tough guy was about to start crying. Almost.
I cleared my throat and threw my chest out in a way that I hoped looked more "heroic" than "dorky kid who just killed a bear." "Here it is," I said, trying to sound cool, "the beast that's been causing you trouble."
I swear, I could feel everyone's eyes on me, and not in that nice, "Hey, it's Cregan, he's the cool guy!" way. No, this was the "Holy crap, he's the one who's gonna get us all killed" kind of gaze. No pressure, right?
Chief Torrhen stepped forward, his voice as gravelly as a mountain's spine. "The Cregan," he said, like I was some sort of mythical creature. Seriously? I was just a kid who was really good with a spear. "We thank you for ridding us of this menace. It has been a curse on our lands."
I nodded like I was the expert here. "It's what we do," I said, even though I was pretty sure I was just a kid who got lucky. At least I looked serious next to the dead bear, so that was something.
The chief raised his arms like he was getting ready to announce a huge victory. "Tonight, we feast in honor of this hunt!" he bellowed, and the crowd cheered like we were the heroes of the day. Which, I guess we were. For now.
Feasting was all fine and dandy, but I had more important things to discuss. Like, you know, the whole "let's make an alliance and get some ore to make our swords sharper than anyone else's" thing. So, naturally, I did what any self-respecting Stark would do in a moment of awkward negotiation: I walked up to the chief like I owned the place.
"Chief Torrhen," I said, channeling my best "I'm important but not trying too hard" voice, "I have an idea. We've got the best craftsmen in the North, and you've got ore and mining skills that would make anyone in Westeros jealous. What if we teamed up? We could work together and both profit from it. You get the ore, we get the weapons, and everyone walks away happy."
He stared at me for a long moment. You know, the kind of stare that makes you feel like you're about to be crushed by a mountain. Finally, he spoke, rubbing his beard like he was trying to process what I'd just said. "A partnership," he muttered. "It could bring good fortune to our clans. But only if our lands and traditions are respected."
"Of course," I said quickly, trying not to sound too desperate. "We'll respect your lands, your traditions—heck, we'll even respect the way you grind your coffee beans. You guys know what you're doing. We just need the ore. Fair trade for everyone."
He narrowed his eyes, and for a second I thought he was about to challenge me to a duel or something. But then, like he'd made up his mind, he held out his hand. "Alright, Stark. We'll talk terms at the feast. You seem like you mean what you say."
I grinned and shook his hand. "Deal. I'll even throw in some of the bear meat. Free of charge," I said, because, you know, what kind of Stark would I be if I didn't offer that?
As the chief called for the feast to begin, I glanced over at Rhaenys, who was standing next to me, giving a polite nod to the Wull people. She didn't look as thrilled about the trade as I did. More like she was mentally counting how many dragons we could swap for a mountain of ore. Not today, though. Probably.
"Well, that went better than I thought," I said, leaning in just a little closer to her.
"I'll believe it when the first ore shipment arrives," Rhaenys replied, her lips twitching into a smile. "But yes, it's a start."
I nodded, feeling the quiet thrill of success, but mostly relieved that I didn't have to fight another bear for a while. Now if we could just make sure the politics didn't try to kill us all in the meantime...
—
The feast with the Mountain Clans was something else. If you've never seen a bunch of warriors who could probably bench-press boulders eating like they hadn't seen food in a decade, let me tell you, it's a sight to behold. The hall was loud enough to make your ears ring, filled with enough food to feed a small army (not that anyone was sharing), and the air smelled like wild boar roasting and tankards of ale. They'd even started singing, and not the pretty kind of singing. Think more along the lines of "let's make the walls shake and see if anyone gets offended" kind of singing. It was chaos, and honestly, I was loving every minute of it.
I sat next to Rhaenys (because that's where the cool kids sit, obviously) and across from Uncle Ned, who was surveying the entire situation like it was a battlefield. Typical. Uncle Benjen was nearby, talking shop with a group of Clansmen who probably didn't understand half the words he was saying, but I'm pretty sure they all respected him enough to nod and pretend they did. Aunt Dacey, as always, was in the thick of things, arm-wrestling the biggest guy in the room with a smile on her face like she was born for this. Uncle Arthur was chatting about the mountains, of course, like the man could literally talk about rocks for days.
And then there was me. The kid who's still not sure if he should be fighting or stealing bites of food when no one's looking.
I lifted my tankard high, sloshing ale all over the place (which honestly, made it look like I was doing it on purpose). "To friendship and shared lands!" I bellowed, because that's what you say at a feast, right? Maybe I was just trying to make myself sound fancy, but hey, it worked.
Torrhen, the leader of the Wull Clan, who was about the size of a barn and looked like he could split a tree in half with one swing of his axe, grinned and raised his own mug. "Aye, to friendship and shared lands!" he shouted, his voice enough to shake the table. "May our bond grow stronger, Stark."
I liked him already. Not a lot of words, but the ones he did use were good ones. And considering that his tribe seemed to think "friendship" meant "I'll shove you into the dirt to see if you bleed," I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing.
Rhaenys, who looked like she was trying really hard to stay cool while also looking ridiculously pretty (even with the chaos around her), leaned over to me. "Do they host feasts like this often?" she asked, clearly trying to take in the madness but still holding herself with the kind of regal poise that made her look like she belonged on a throne, not in a room full of yelling, sweaty mountain warriors.
I grinned. "Not exactly like this," I said, taking a long gulp of ale and nearly choking on it. "But when they do, it's always a good time. These people value loyalty more than they value their own weight in silver, and that's saying something."
She raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?"
"Because I'm a Stark," I said with a wink. "We know how to drink and fight and, uh, maybe not get killed in the process."
She laughed, and I swear, it was like the whole room got a little brighter. Okay, maybe I was being a little dramatic, but if you've ever had someone laugh like that at your joke, you know the feeling. It was like the world had just handed me a trophy.
Meanwhile, Aunt Dacey was in the middle of what could only be described as a wrestling match with a Clansman twice her size. It was hard to tell if she was going to win or if she was just humoring him, but I wasn't betting against her. Dacey Mormont-Stark could take on a bear and still have time for a second breakfast.
Uncle Arthur, still talking about cliffs and mountains as if they were his family, was occasionally laughing in that way he does when he's just too polite to leave. He kept glancing over at Rhaenys and me, and I could tell he was trying not to notice how we were definitely more than just two kids at a feast. Seriously, Arthur Dayne could pick up on the subtlest things—and I wasn't about to let him see me actually blush in front of everyone.
The night wore on, and I eventually gave up trying to figure out who was doing what and just enjoyed the chaos. Honestly, it was kind of amazing. These were the people I'd sworn to protect—and they were all here, celebrating together. It wasn't just a feast; it was a reminder of what was worth fighting for.
When the negotiations wrapped up, and I mean really wrapped up, with everyone high on ale and good cheer, I was handed a cloak. Not just any cloak, mind you. This was a bear fur cloak. It was the size of a small tent, and I couldn't help but feel like the weight of it was more than just the fur. This was a symbol. A symbol of everything we had fought for, everything we were going to build together.
I lifted it, like I was some fancy lord, even though I was pretty sure I looked more like a kid playing dress-up. "Thank you," I said, my voice louder than it should've been. "I'll wear this proudly."
I could feel the eyes of the Clansmen on me—respect, admiration, and probably a hint of confusion. But it was real. This wasn't just about some stupid cloak. This was about us. We were in this together.
As we started heading back to Winterfell, the sound of the feast still echoing behind us, I glanced over at Rhaenys. She was talking to Jory about something—probably how she was totally going to win the next archery contest. I was about to say something witty (because obviously), but then I noticed something—her smile. It was like she knew I was about to say something completely ridiculous and was already ready for it.
"Next time," I said, "we should totally invite them to Winterfell. Just imagine the chaos."
She gave me a side-eye. "You think Winterfell can handle that?"
I grinned. "I think we can handle them."
And just like that, I knew it was true. The North was stronger, the Mountain Clans were our allies, and I was one step closer to being that Stark kid everyone talks about in the history books.
Yeah, this was definitely going down as one of the cooler days of my life.
—
The fire crackled in front of me, sending little sparks up into the dark sky like tiny, rebellious stars. The wind whipped through the trees, but the warmth from the flames cut through the night air, making me feel a little less like a popsicle. I had just come off a long, exhausting day of feasting with the Mountain Clans—who, by the way, really need to work on their table manners—and now, as usual, sleep refused to be my friend.
And then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind me.
"Can't sleep," came Rhaenys's voice. She wasn't even trying to hide it.
I didn't even look up. I didn't need to. "And what do you expect me to do about it?" I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. But I was grinning, because that was how we did things. Always.
"Tell me a story," she said, and I could feel her eyes boring into my back.
I sighed dramatically and finally turned to look at her. "You do realize I'm not a bloody bard, right?"
She didn't care about that. She never did. Rhaenys had always been the one who liked to hear the stories, especially the ones about... well, him.
She crawled over to where I was sitting and snuggled up beside me, pressing her head to my shoulder like she used to when we were kids. "You used to tell me stories about him all the time."
I nearly choked on my own spit. I tried not to stiffen. She couldn't know about the past life. She couldn't know I was him. Harry Potter. The boy who lived, the wizard who defied dark lords for breakfast. Sure, I could handle the whole "Cregan Stark" thing, but that other life? It was a can of worms I was not opening. Not now, atleast.
But still... she was looking at me with those big purple eyes, the kind of look that made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. It wasn't fair.
"Alright, fine," I grumbled. "One story. But it's gonna cost you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Cost me what?"
I leaned in close. "A snack."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're impossible."
"You love it," I shot back. "Now, sit back, and let me tell you about the boy. The boy who survived it all."
Her eyes sparkled. I could see she was hanging on my every word, and that made me feel like I was some sort of bloody wizarding legend. So I leaned back against the log, stretched my legs out, and began.
"Once upon a time—well, it wasn't actually a time kind of thing—but once upon a time in a land full of wizards and magical creatures, there was a kid. This kid? Wasn't some heroic knight-in-shining-armour type, okay? He was small. Kind of lanky. Weird glasses. And, get this, a scar. Not like a cool, battle-worn scar either—no, no, no. This one was right in the middle of his forehead. Big, lightning-shaped thing. You know, so everyone knew who he was, even if he didn't want them to."
Rhaenys smirked at that, and I could practically hear her thinking, Okay, now I'm intrigued.
"This kid," I continued, "wasn't just your average, run-of-the-mill orphan. Oh no. He had this... this curse hanging over him, like the world was just waiting for him to fail. But instead of dying, he did the exact opposite." I paused dramatically, giving her a look. "He survived."
"Survived what?" she asked, already leaning in.
"Survived the darkest, most evil wizard the world had ever seen," I said, throwing my hands up. "This guy was such a nightmare that people whispered his name like they were trying to summon him back from the grave. Only this kid? He looked the Dark Lord in the face and laughed. At least, I think he did. I wasn't there for the details, but I like to imagine he threw in a little mocking laugh for good measure."
Rhaenys snorted. "I bet he did."
I gave her a sly smile. "He didn't just survive, Rhaenys. No. He did the impossible. He had these friends, right? These amazing friends who would literally die for him—who, by the way, didn't need to die, because he was that good at keeping them out of trouble." I grinned at her. "And this kid? He wasn't a chosen one. He wasn't some hero. But when he had to be, when the whole bloody world was on his shoulders, he stepped up."
Her eyes softened. "And then what happened?"
"Then," I said, leaning in closer like I was about to tell her the biggest secret ever, "he did what no one expected. He became a legend. And not just any legend. The kind of legend who lives on." I paused and gave her a meaningful look. "But here's the twist. He never stopped fighting. Not even when the odds were stacked against him. And he did it because he cared about his friends—because in the end, that's all that mattered."
Rhaenys didn't say anything for a long moment, just let that sink in. She was staring up at me, her face soft and thoughtful.
"How do you know all this?" she finally asked.
I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly aware of the heavy weight of the truth on my shoulders. "What can I say? Some of us are just... really good storytellers." I winked. "And some of us have to deal with our own bit of weirdness."
She raised an eyebrow. "Weirdness? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just... let's leave it at that."
We both fell into comfortable silence for a few moments, the sound of the fire crackling between us. Rhaenys shifted closer, resting her head on my shoulder again, and I didn't even mind this time. In fact, it felt right, like this was exactly where we were supposed to be.
"You'll tell me more one day, won't you?" she asked, her voice drowsy.
"Maybe," I muttered, staring into the fire. "Maybe one day."
She was quiet, but I could tell she was already half-asleep, a soft smile curling on her lips. I sighed, trying not to let the weight of everything I was carrying crush me right then and there. But, for the first time in a long while, with Rhaenys by my side, I felt like maybe... just maybe... I could handle it all.
---
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