Chapter Text
Harry didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there on the cold stone floor. His breath had long since quieted from sobs to silence. His skin, damp from sweat and tears, clung to his cotton pants. His hands trembled faintly in his lap, fingers still curled into the fabric.
Time passed without meaning.
He didn’t hear the door open.
He didn’t hear the sharp footfalls or the slam of wood against stone.
But he did hear his name.
“Harry!”
The voice was ragged, rough with panic and rising anger.
Benjen.
He blinked, slowly, as footsteps thudded toward him.
Then warm hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks, tilting his head up.
Benjen's breath caught audibly the moment he saw him—Harry, hollow-eyed and shattered, slumped on the floor.
“Harry,” Benjen whispered again.
His thumbs brushed gently across Harry’s cheeks, wiping at dried tears, brushing against damp lashes.
“What happened?” Benjen’s voice grew louder, alarmed. “A servant said they heard a scream from our rooms—are you hurt? Did someone—”
Harry’s heart turned to ice at the realisation that Benjen was there.
The one person he hadn’t wanted to see yet, the one person he couldn’t bear to face with this truth. Not yet. Not like this.
He knew he couldn’t hide this from him though, and a sob returned before he could stop it.
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, brokenly. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
Benjen’s brows knit tightly. “Harry, what do you mean? What didn’t you know?”
“I didn’t know it was possible,” Harry gasped. “I didn’t know I could—Benjen, I didn’t think we could, I swear—”
Benjen pulled him in tighter, confusion deepening. “You’re not making sense—what are you talking about?”
Harry’s hands clutched Benjen’s tunic, but he couldn’t speak it. Couldn’t say it. The words lodged themselves in his throat, too heavy to say out loud.
Benjen’s eyes darted around the room, searching for something—anything that could explain the ruin before him.
And then his gaze locked on the parchment.
Still lying near Harry, slightly crumpled.
Benjen reached out, recognising the parchment as one of Harry’s spells.
Harry went to stop him.
“No—”
But Benjen was already reading.
His eyes scanned the lines quickly, used to the format by now. He’d seen Harry use this charm more than once on him, and he still had his old reports tucked away in his bag.
He reached the middle of the page, and his eyes caught on one word.
Benjen looked up slowly, stunned.
“Pregnant?” Benjen’s voice cracked. “You’re—how…?”
Harry’s lips trembled. He couldn’t hold it back anymore.
“I didn’t know,” he choked out. “I didn’t know it was possible. I thought it had to be two wizards—I thought—”
Benjen’s mouth opened slightly, breath faltering.
But his expression was alight.
Joy bloomed across his face, tentative and awed. His lips parted in a breathless smile. “You’re… we… we’re going to have a baby?”
Harry saw the way Benjen’s entire posture shifted. How his hands cradled the parchment like it was sacred, how every inch of him softened with the wonder of it.
Gods, Harry thought, he wanted it too.
That crushed him even more.
Because he knew what came next.
He turned away slightly, trying to distance himself.
Benjen blinked, startled. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not,” Harry whispered.
Benjen froze.
“What?”
“I was,” Harry croaked. “I’m not anymore.”
Benjen’s smile disappeared.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no—Harry, what do you mean you’re not?”
Benjen frantically looked down at the parchment again, scanning lower for any answer it could give.
And then he stopped, face paling.
His hands clenched the parchment.
Harry didn’t look.
He couldn’t.
Benjen’s voice broke the silence, voice raw. “Miscarriage… ritual… no—”
He looked up, horror blooming in his gaze. “Is this—” his voice cracked. “Is this real? Tell me this isn’t real.”
Harry didn’t answer.
Benjen's voice sharpened, grief and fury flaring together. “Harry, tell me! Did you—did you sacrifice—was my life… was our child the price?!”
Harry’s throat burned. “I didn’t know!”
“Harry,” Benjen’s voice rose, wild and ragged, “was my life bought in exchange for our child?! Answer me!”
Harry couldn’t breathe and he flinched away at the anger in Benjen’s voice.
The words fought their way out, broken and choking.
“Yes.”
The moment the word left his lips, Benjen’s body jerked away like he’d been hit.
Then came the rage.
Benjen surged to his feet and swung the nearest chair, making it shatter against the stone wall, sending splinters flying.
“Gods damn it!” he roared, chest heaving.
Harry flinched again but didn’t move from the floor.
His voice came again, pleading. “Benjen, please—I didn’t know, I didn’t know! I—”
Benjen turned on him, grief and anger visible on his face. “You offered them our child! Mormont said you told the gods they could take anything! How cou—”
“I thought they’d take my magic!” Harry shouted back, finally finding his voice. “I thought they’d take me—I didn’t know!”
“My life,” he whispered. “My life was not worth our child’s.”
Harry shifted toward him, reaching, but Benjen pulled away.
“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t touch me. I can’t—”
His breath stuttered, then his voice turned low and cold.
“You should’ve let me stay dead.”
And then he walked to the door.
“Benjen, please—don’t go—please, don’t leave—”
But Benjen didn’t stop.
Storm let out a sharp bark nearby, whining as the door slammed shut behind Benjen’s retreating figure.
Harry collapsed back onto the floor, the sobs returning in earnest.
Time held no meaning.
Eventually, he dragged himself to the bed, barely managing to climb onto it before curling into himself, fists clenched over his belly where life had once bloomed.
Storm leapt up beside him, the pup’s ears low and eyes sad.
He nudged Harry’s hand gently, then climbed up and laid down across his chest, nose pressed to his neck, whining in small, aching sounds.
Harry didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
He just stared blankly at the wall.
Empty.
Shattered.
Wondering if Benjen would ever come back.
Wondering if he should.
~
Benjen didn’t remember leaving their chambers. One moment, he was standing over Harry, his soul cracking down the middle, and the next he was storming through Winterfell’s corridors, fury howling in his chest.
His footsteps echoed down the stone hallways. Servants scrambled out of his way, wide-eyed, but he didn’t see them. His breathing was ragged, and his hands clenched tight enough for his nails to dig into his palm.
He didn’t know where he was going.
He needed to be anywhere but there.
Eventually, his feet took him to a quiet, half-forgotten courtyard, he recognised it briefly as the one he used to train in as a boy.
The old practice posts still stood, rough and splintered, weathered by snow and time. He marched straight to the nearest one, unsheathed his sword, and began to destroy it.
The first strike was sharp and loud. The second, harder.
By the third, he was grunting with every swing, jaw clenched, breath heaving.
He struck again and again and again.
He didn’t want to think. But the thoughts came anyway.
Harry could get pregnant.
The words tumbled through his skull like ice.
His husband could get pregnant. It was impossible and yet… the diagnosis had been clear.
He had seen it with his own eyes.
Pregnant.
He choked on a bitter breath. He hadn’t even known that was possible. Or… was it just because Harry was a wizard? Had it been Harry’s magic? Had it been his?
His own blood. Stark blood. The Old gods.
He roared and swung again, the sword biting through wood and splitting the post at an angle. He didn’t want to think about the Old gods, the ones who took away his child to give him life.
It should have been impossible, and now it was gone.
He gritted his teeth, teeth bared like an animal.
Harry had looked so broken, his face swollen from crying, voice cracked to ruin, his body curled in on itself.
And Benjen—
Benjen had left.
“Gods,” he rasped aloud, driving the blade down again. “Gods forgive me.”
He thought about Harry holding Rickon earlier that day, eyes full of love and longing, face soft.
Harry told him that he had always loved children.
Benjen had seen it in every tender smile and embrace he gave their nephews.
And Benjen had carried guilt with him ever since.
Because by marrying him, Harry had given up that dream. There would be no children between them, or so they thought. No little ones with Benjen’s eyes and Harry’s smile. No child to carry their legacy, to make the long winters feel short.
They had never spoken about it—not in detail—but he knew Harry had grieved that loss quietly.
And now…
They could have had it.
They did have it.
And now it was gone. Because of him.
He screamed in fury and drove the sword forward again, splinters flying once more.
Behind him, he heard footsteps.
“Benjen.”
He didn’t turn.
“Benjen,” Ned said more firmly. “You’ve been at this for hours. What happened?”
The sky was darkening fast, the sun barely visible through the high grey clouds.
“You can’t keep this up,” Ned continued.
Benjen turned slowly. His face was wild, eyes red-rimmed and blazing.
“Try me.”
Ned didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached for the training sword beside the post and drew it.
Benjen raised his blade without hesitation.
They met in the centre of the yard with a clash of steel.
The fight was brutal.
Blades struck with force meant to bruise. Benjen didn’t hold back. He was fast—faster than he’d been in years.
Ned blocked, grunted, returned blows. But it was Benjen whose sorrow gave him strength.
They fought until their arms ached, until sweat soaked their clothes, until Benjen knocked Ned’s sword flying with a cry of rage.
Then he dropped his own blade and collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.
He didn’t stop the tears this time.
Guttural, choking sounds echoed against the stone like something dying.
Ned approached slowly with a panicked face.
Then he knelt beside his brother and wrapped his arms around him.
Benjen clung to him like he was a child once more.
“I lost them,” he rasped. “It’s all my fault. I lost our baby.”
Ned froze for only a moment, then held him tighter, despite the impossible nonsense his brother was spewing.
Benjen's voice cracked. “He was pregnant. Harry. Did you know wizards could—? Did you know he could—?”
“No,” Ned said softly. “That’s not… I didn’t think—Harry is beautiful, yes, but he’s still a man. That’s impossible.”
Benjen let out a harsh, bitter laugh that turned to a sob halfway through.
“Well. Surprise. It seems I’ve got more magic in me than anyone knew. Enough that we conceived a child. A miracle, Ned.”
Ned was in shock and sat still.
Benjen pulled back just enough to look at him.
“That’s what Harry sacrificed to bring me back,” he said. “That’s what the gods took.”
Ned’s breath caught.
“No,” he whispered. “Harry told us… he said he gave his magic, that the gods took what he could give…”
Benjen nodded hollowly. “He offered them anything. And they took it. They took our child.”
Silence fell heavy around them.
“He didn’t know,” he said hoarsely. “He didn’t know. And yet… how can I look at him now, knowing our child was the cost for my life?”
He stared at the dirt beneath him.
“He would have loved them, Ned. Gods, he already loved them. He would have given everything for that child. He would have lived for them. Even if I hadn’t come back… he would have found a way. He’s strong like that. Stronger than me.”
He shook his head.
“But now that chance is gone. Because I—because they—because they were the price.”
Ned put a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding.
“Ben,” he said, voice low. “You said he didn’t know. That matters.”
Benjen didn’t respond.
“But even if he had known,” Ned continued, “I think he still would’ve done it.”
Benjen looked up sharply.
Ned met his gaze evenly. “You’re his One as well, Ben. You know what that means. You know the stories, just like I do. The bond doesn’t vanish with time. If you had died, if your bond had snapped, he would have felt it. It would’ve destroyed him. You know what happened to our grandmother when grandfather fell. The grief kills you from the inside out.”
Benjen didn’t know what to respond to that.
“He loves you so much,” Ned said gently. “He would choose you. Every time. And though I grieve for your loss. I’m grateful you’re still here, brother.”
Benjen turned his head away, shame burning his skin.
“I left him,” he whispered. “I left him there. Curled up, crying. I shouted. I said—gods, Ned, I said he should’ve let me stay dead.”
Ned’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“I left him alone. After everything,” Benjen said. “After he cried in my arms, after he begged me to understand—I left.”
He stood suddenly, staggering slightly from the rush of movement.
“I have to go back to him.”
He looked up and realised the sun had nearly vanished behind the trees.
He swore under his breath and broke into a run.
He ran through the halls of Winterfell like a man possessed.
His heart thundered. Guilt weighing him down.
I left him.
Harry, with tear-soaked cheeks and shaking hands.
Harry, who had flinched when he raised his voice.
I swore to him that I would never…
I promised.
He promised to never leave him.
He ran harder.
He tore up the stairs to their chambers, nearly breaking the door open as he shoved it inward.
“Harry!”
The room was dark. Only the window gave light, the setting sun just barely visible through the high glass.
Benjen’s eyes darted around wildly.
He saw the chair, splintered from his earlier rage.
The parchment on the floor.
A pile of sick near the bed.
But no Harry.
He was gone.
Benjen staggered back a step, heart crashing in his chest.
He turned in a full circle, eyes wide, breath catching.
“Harry…?”
Nothing.
He was gone.
~
The room had gone too quiet.
Harry didn’t know how long he had been lying there, numb and still. It could’ve been minutes. Hours. The sun was nearly gone, but he hadn't even noticed it setting.
The emptiness screamed louder than any of his sobs had.
Benjen hadn’t come back.
He wasn’t going to.
Harry sat up slowly.
He couldn't stay here.
He couldn’t stay in this room, not where he’d felt joy and heartbreak crash into one another all at once.
He had to move.
But he didn’t know where to go.
He couldn’t leave Winterfell—not really. His magic was barely keeping him upright, he couldn’t apparate and the cave was far beyond the wall. He had nowhere else to go.
Except, there was one place.
His limbs felt heavy as stone, but he pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t grab his boots. Didn’t take his cloak. The snow would bite, he was sure, but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Storm gave a quiet, uncertain yip behind him, and the wolf pup followed, close at his heels, ears low and tail tucked.
Harry walked like a ghost through the halls. His magic—raw and frayed from grief— wrapped around him instinctively to shield him from anyone’s eyes. People glanced his way but they didn’t see.
He moved through the keep unnoticed.
Eventually, the godswood loomed before him, dark and quiet, the tres whispering soft secrets to him in the wind.
The wind stirred the branches gently, and Harry felt it guide him, nudging him down a twisting path through the trees.
It led him to what was probably the oldest heart tree in the grove.
The weirwood stood tall and steady, its bark pale as bone, its carved face worn and sombre as red sap wept slowly from its eyes.
It was crying for him.
He fell to his knees before it.
His voice broke from him in a whisper.
“Why didn’t you just take me?”
The wind shifted.
There was sorrow in the air.
And something else.
Love.
The sob clawed out of Harry’s throat. “Why?” he whispered. “Why lead me to him at all? Why let us be happy if you were just going to take it all away?”
There was no answer.
“We could’ve been happy,” Harry cried, voice rising. “We were happy. I would’ve died for him and now he’s gone.”
He dug his hands into the snow, clutching at it.
“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t—why couldn’t—why couldn’t you just take me?’
His voice cracked on the last word.
“At least if you took me, I never would have had to feel this pain.”
Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper again.
“Please,” he begged. “Give them back. Please, if there’s any power in you—if there’s any mercy—bring our baby back.”
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then a broken whisper came, ancient and deep.
Life for a life… can never be undone.
Harry’s breath hitched.
“No…” he whispered. “I didn’t know—”
…it was the only…way.
“I didn’t know what I was giving,” Harry pleaded, sobbing now. “I thought—I thought you’d take my magic, not them.”
The air pulsed again with sorrow.
Then another whisper came.
Life for a life…only way to save…our child of ice.
Harry’s head dropped.
“Take me instead,” he whispered. “Please. Just—just let me carry them again. Let them live. After they’re born, you can have me. I swear. Just don’t let them stay gone. Benjen doesn’t deserve this pain.”
The wind caressed his cheek like a parent soothing a child.
…no going back.
Harry broke entirely then.
He curled forward, arms around his middle, and cried and screamed until his throat was raw and the tears had run dry.
“I wish I had never found out. I wish—"
Storm let out a keening whimper beside him.
“I’m so tired…” Harry whispered.
He was.
Tired in his bones. In his soul.
There was nothing left in him now.
The wind wrapped around him again and the heart tree moved.
Thick, dark roots curled from the snow beneath him and slowly wrapped around Harry’s legs and back. Not forcefully, but gently, protectively.
Storm backed away at first, but then hurried to Harry’s side, not wanting to be left behind.
The roots pulled Harry slowly against the base of the weirwood, tucking him into its twisted embrace.
Cradling him like a child.
Harry let it happen.
Sleep, our chosen.
He let his head fall against the cold bark, eyes staring blankly at nothing.
Then his eyes closed.
I’m so tired…
~
Benjen’s boots hit stone hard and fast as he tore through Winterfell’s corridors.
He’s not in our room. His boots, cloak and wand were still there.
He clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt, barely registering the sting in his sore muscles. Every part of him ached from sword work, from grief—but none of that mattered. Not when Harry was missing. Not when he could be out there in nothing but his breeches, no cloak, no protection—save for the one small mercy.
Storm’s gone too.
It gave him the faintest thread of hope. If Harry had taken Storm, he hadn’t meant to vanish completely into death. But if he thought Benjen wouldn’t come back—
No. No, he couldn’t bear that.
The corridors blurred as he searched.
Gods, please. Don’t let him be gone. Don’t let me lose him.
He rounded the corner to the barracks, barking out at the first two guards he saw. “Have you seen my husband?”
Startled faces turned to him.
“No, my lord—”
“Search for him!” he roared, eyes wild. “Search everywhere!”
He didn’t wait for their reply.
The kitchens—empty.
The halls—silent.
Servants blinked at him with fearful expressions and shook their heads.
“Not since lunch, my lord.”
That was hours ago, not long after Benjen left him in their rooms.
And no one—not one gods-damned soul—had noticed him leave them.
He left because of me.
The thought wouldn’t leave him.
It bit into his bones like the winter wind.
He reached the main courtyard and stopped. His chest heaved like a dying man’s.
He was supposed to be strong. The one who never faltered. The one who stood tall and defended the innocent from harm. He was supposed to defend his husband from harm.
And yet here he was—helpless.
He’s gone because of you.
He spun toward the stables. “I’ll ride,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll search every gods-damned mile—”
“Benjen!”
Ned’s voice cut through the panic, and Benjen turned sharply, eyes wide.
Ned jogged up to him, worry carved into every line of his face. “Did you find him?”
“No,” Benjen hissed. “No one’s seen him, not since lunch. Not one guard, not one maid. And his cloak’s still here, his boots, gods, he’s just out there in this cold with nothing but his breeches.”
“Benjen—”
“He’s not here Ned.”
Benjen’s voice cracked.
Ned’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Calm down Ben. You need to think, he couldn’t have got far in his state. Where would he go?”
Benjen froze, reluctant to believe that Harry would go to there after everything, but it was the only place he hadn’t checked.
“The godswood. He’s in the godswood!”
Ned’s eyes widened. “Would he go there after…?”
Benjen didn’t even answer.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he ran, heart slamming against his ribs like a war drum.
The old godswood loomed ahead.
He’s there.
He’s there.
Please, gods, let him be there.
The moment he entered, the air changed.
Benjen knew this place. Every inch of it. He’d played here as a boy, trained with wooden swords beneath these trees. But it had never felt like this.
Like it was watching.
“Harry!” he called. “Harry!”
His voice was swallowed by the trees.
He stepped into the clearing, heart thudding wildly.
The red leaves rustled softly above and the carved face in a nearby weirwood stared back at him, sombre, much like his brother.
Benjen stepped forward, voice quieter now. “Did he come here?”
The face didn’t answer but the air shifted, slightly accusing.
Benjen bowed his head, one hand pressed against the bark.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was angry. Gods, I’m still angry—but not at him. Never at him.”
He swallowed hard, reigning in his anger at them.
“Please,” he said again, hoarser now. “Help me find him.”
He stumbled slightly, feeling emotions that weren’t his come from the wind that was pressing against him.
Grief. Sorrow. Regret. And… love?
Was this what Harry felt all the time from them?
He didn’t want their regrets; he wanted to find his husband.
And then he heard a low, sharp bark in the distance.
Storm.
Benjen whipped his head toward the sound, eyes narrowing.
He bolted in the direction that Storms barks came from, going deeper into the godswood until he came across the largest heart tree in the grove.
Storm barked once more, and Benjen rushed to the other side of the tree finally letting out a breath of relief.
There he was.
Harry was nestled against the base of the ancient heart tree.
The weirwood’s roots had wrapped around him in a soft, twisted cradle, like the earth itself was refusing to let him go.
Storm was pressed tight against his chest, the pup’s eyes glowing faintly, head snapping up once he heard Benjen approach.
Harry’s eyes were closed.
Benjen’s knees hit the snow before he realised he’d dropped.
“H-Harry,” he rasped, reaching with shaking fingers. “No, no, no—please, open your eyes, love. Please.”
He touched his husband’s face gently, brushing hair from his forehead.
Harry flinched slightly and Benjen let out a breath so shaky it was barely sound.
“Wake up,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please, my One…”
Harry’s eyes opened.
“Love. Please look at me.”
He hand reached down and gently grasped the back of Harry’s neck.
Only then did Harry blink, his eyes flickering toward him.
Benjen nearly cried at the emptiness there.
He didn’t say anything. He just slid closer, wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, and pulled him in and slightly out of the roots.
At first, Harry didn’t respond.
Then he crumpled.
Collapsed against Benjen with a sharp sob, his arms wrapping around Benjen’s waist.
Benjen held him, pressed kisses to his temple, whispered nonsense and apologies and names and pleas.
“I shouldn’t have left,” he whispered. “I should have stayed. I’m so sorry.”
Harry didn’t speak, but his fists clutched tighter into Benjen’s cloak.
“I was angry,” Benjen said, “but not at you. Not ever at you. I was angry at myself. At the gods. At the unfairness of it.”
His voice shook.
“I didn’t mean what I said. About staying dead. About you choosing. I know you didn’t know. I know, Harry.”
Storm shifted, curling tighter against them both and whined.
“I wanted that child too,” Benjen whispered. “And I still do. But I want you more. And I will never leave you again, I swear it.”
Harry let out a choked breath. Then another. Then, finally, his head rose, eyes swollen and red, voice barely a whisper.
“You came back.”
Benjen nodded, forehead pressing to his.
“I never should’ve left,” he choked. “I’m so sorry. I—gods, I was angry, and hurting, but I should have held you, not—”
Harry’s gaze didn’t change.
“I thought you hated me,” he whispered. “That I ruined everything.”
Benjen let out a ragged breath. “No. Never. I was grieving—I could never hate you. Never.”
He looked down at the roots still curled protectively around Harry’s frame.
“You came to them,” he murmured, running a hand gently through Harry’s hair. “Even after everything.”
Harry’s lower lip trembled. “They wouldn’t give them back; they wouldn’t take me instead. I’m sorry Benjen, I tried!”
Benjen’s hands tightened. “Don’t say that.”
“They said theres no going back,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes.
He pressed his forehead to Harry’s again, breath shaky and damp.
Then Harry’s hand moved.
And reached for Benjen’s.
Their trembling fingers intertwining as red tears fell quietly on the snow around them.
“I’m so sorry,” Benjen whispered, his voice breaking. “We lost our child. But gods be willing, we’ll be blessed with another.”
Harry let out a soft, cracked sound—half sob, half prayer.
He leaned in, and whispered, “You really think so?”
Benjen’s eyes shone, and he cupped Harry’s jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his lips.
“I have to believe it,” he said softly. “I love you.”
Harry closed the small space between them and kissed him.
It wasn’t fierce or desperate, it was slow, mournful, filled with a sad kind of joy.
The wind around them finally stilled.
And the roots of the heart tree slowly, gently, began to pull away.
Unwinding as though the gods had seen enough.
Benjen felt Harry fully sag in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, sliding one arm beneath Harry’s knees and the other around his back.
Harry didn’t resist. Instead, he curled instinctively into Benjen’s warmth.
Benjen managed to pull his cloak around them both, shielding Harry from the falling snow.
He whistled once and Storm yipped happily, rushing to follow.
“I’m so tired,” Harry said quietly.
Benjen tightened his hold and whispered, “I’ve got you. You can rest now.”
~
When Harry woke, it was not with the start of a nightmare or the crushing weight of grief. It was slower than that. Like surfacing from deep underwater.
The first thing he registered was warmth.
Not just the furs that covered him, but the steady heat of another body pressed flush to his own. His face was tucked beneath a familiar chin, breath ghosting across the bare skin of Benjen’s chest.
Benjen’s arms were wrapped around him.
Harry didn’t move.
He stayed perfectly still, his head pillowed against the steady rise and fall of Benjen’s chest. He didn’t dare breathe too loud or think too hard. His mind felt numb—not from shock anymore, but from exhaustion that no sleep could fully heal.
Benjen had come back.
And he had brought Harry home.
But the ache remained.
Even with Benjen here—whole and holding him—there was still the absence. Still the phantom weight of what they’d lost.
I wish they were here, Harry thought, eyes unfocused. I wish I had them. I wish they were between us right now. Laughing. Sleeping. Anything but gone.
He imagined it. A soft bundle of warmth tucked between their bodies, tiny hands curled into fists, soft tufts of dark hair. Maybe eyes the same startling green as his. Or grey, like Benjen’s, clear and sharp.
He imagined reaching out, fingers brushing over the curve of a small face, and Benjen’s arms tightening around them both.
A family.
But there was no one between them.
Harry didn’t cry. Not this time. There were no tears left.
He lay there, waiting. For what, he wasn’t sure.
For Benjen to wake.
For time to pass.
For something—anything—to make it make sense.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Minutes. An hour, maybe. The sky beyond the window was a pale grey. It cast the room in a gentle light.
And then, Benjen breathed in deeply.
His arms tightened, just slightly, pulling Harry closer. His legs shifted, and his head turned.
Harry lifted his gaze in time to see Benjen blink himself into consciousness.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Benjen gave a soft, bleary-eyed smile, still half-asleep, and Harry’s lips curled faintly in return. The sight of that smile—raw, real, loving—loosened something tight inside his chest.
Benjen’s head shifted downward. He caught Harry’s hand in his, turned it, and kissed the tips of his fingers.
They said nothing.
They didn’t need to.
Now, the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full—of sorrow, yes, but also love. Understanding. The kind of knowing that only comes when pain is shared.
Benjen’s thumb traced slow circles on the inside of Harry’s wrist.
Harry’s voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke.
“I don’t know how to grieve them,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t even know they were there until they were already… gone.”
Benjen closed his eyes and leaned forward, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair.
“I don’t either,” he said softly.
Silence again.
But this time, it was gentle.
Benjen’s voice, when it came next, was quieter still. “Maybe… we start by giving them a name.”
Harry’s breath caught.
The suggestion hit him in a way he hadn’t expected.
He turned his face into Benjen’s chest, seeking comfort in the warmth and rhythm of his heartbeat.
“What would we have named them?” he asked softly.
Benjen was quiet for a long time.
“I think…” he began, and then paused. “If it had been a girl… I would have liked Lyarra, after my mother.”
Harry swallowed hard. “She would’ve had your wildness.”
Benjen huffed a soft breath, the closest thing to a laugh he could manage in this moment. “And your smile.”
Harry’s lips pressed into a tight, trembling line.
“What about a boy?” he asked after a while.
Benjen didn’t answer at first. His fingers moved slowly across Harry’s back, tracing patterns into his skin.
Finally, he spoke.
“James,” he said. “I think we would have named them James.”
Harry’s eyes burned.
He nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
“James or Lyarra,” he whispered, voice cracking. “That’s… perfect.”
He shut his eyes tight.
“I wish I had known,” he said. “Even just for a day. I wish I’d had time to feel it… them. I wish I could’ve protected them.”
“It’s not your fault,” Benjen murmured.
Harry’s face twisted. “I killed them.”
“No.”
Benjen pulled back slightly, hands cradling Harry’s face, firm but gentle.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I offered anything,” Harry rasped. “I said they could take anything to bring you back. And they took them.”
Benjen’s voice was thick with emotion. “You didn’t choose that. You didn’t know.”
Harry’s gaze dropped.
“It feels like I chose.”
Benjen leaned in again, resting his forehead against Harry’s.
“Never again,” Benjen said, voice quiet but certain. “We’ll never let this happen again.”
Harry nodded slowly, but deep down…
He knew.
He would choose it again.
Even now. Even through the pain and the loss and the guilt that would never really leave him.
Because a world without Benjen in it… that was a world Harry didn’t want to live in.
He couldn’t even bear the thought.
He thinks Benjen know this, and he thinks that Benjen would choose the same if their roles were reversed.
Benjen pressed another kiss to Harry’s forehead, and when he pulled back, his hand remained on the nape of Harry’s neck.
“We will heal,” he murmured. “Not quickly. But we will, I swear it.”
Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat. “How?”
“We start with each other.”
Harry didn’t respond. He just curled tighter into Benjen’s arms.
They lay like that for a long while, wrapped around each other.
Outside, the snow began stopped falling.
Inside, two hearts, still aching, started to mend.
And between them, the names Lyarra and James echoed softly, gently carried away by the old gods.