Chapter Text
Harry didn’t want to get out of bed that morning.
Not out of defiance or depression, but because he was tired—not just in his bones, but in his soul. His magic, though steadier now, felt like a faint hum curled under his skin.
He shifted slightly beneath the furs, still tucked against Benjen’s body, listening to the slow breath of his husband as it tickled the back of his neck.
He didn't want to move.
He didn't want to think.
He just wanted to be.
Benjen shifted slightly behind him, arm curling tighter around Harry’s waist, and a press of lips brushed against his shoulder, still half-asleep.
“You awake?” Benjen asked, voice rough with sleep.
Harry nodded faintly. “Don’t want to get up today.”
Benjen hummed in agreement, burying his nose in Harry’s curls. “Then don’t.”
Harry swallowed. “Could you… could you tell Maester Luwin that I’ll carve the runes tomorrow? I just… I can’t today.”
Benjen pulled him closer. “Of course. The food’s still stored safely for another few days. He’ll understand.”
Harry exhaled slowly, warmed through with gratitude. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go get us breakfast,” Benjen murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Then we’re doing nothing all morning. Just lying here, together.”
Harry managed a small smile. “Best husband in the world.”
Benjen chuckled softly and pulled away, tucking the furs around Harry before slipping out of bed.
Harry watched him dress with half-lidded eyes. There was something comforting in the way Benjen moved, his quiet power and simple grace.
As the door shut behind him, Harry let himself drift again, until the soft creak of the door startled him awake, and the scent of warm bread and tea filled the room.
Harry sat up with effort, blinking blearily as Benjen climbed back into bed, setting the tray between them.
Warm, sweet berry rolls. Hot water in his favourite mug with a tea bag already in it. Soft cheeses and dried meats and a small jug of milk.
“I asked the cook for something easy,” Benjen said.
Harry smiled faintly. “It’s perfect. And you made me tea, it’s more than perfect.”
They ate in comfortable silence, Harry’s appetite was weak, but he still managed to get through his own plate.
After a while, as Harry leaned back against the headboard, while Benjen set the tray aside and tucked himself close, arm slung lazily around Harry’s waist.
Benjen’s voice came gently gruff and hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”
Harry turned his head to look down and nodded.
Benjen shifted, eyes searching his face. “The pregnancy. Was that something all magical men can… do?”
He faltered.
“You don’t have to talk about it, not now. I know it’s still…”
Harry shook his head, scooting down and resting his cheek against Benjen’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
He breathed in once. “In my world, yes. All magical men can carry children—as long as the other parent is magical too. It’s rare. Not because it’s hard, but because no one wants to be that man.”
Benjen frowned. “Why not?”
Harry laughed bitterly. “Pride. Status. Wizards marry witches from strong bloodlines. Heirs are bred like horses in some circles. Male pregnancy—especially among the noble lines—is seen as selfish. Weak. The Lords would rather marry off daughters than sons, just in case they need the spare heir.”
Benjen made a low, disbelieving sound.
“I remember,” Harry went on quietly, “Ron—my friend at the time—he used to say that any man who’d choose to bear a child instead of marrying a woman was less of a man. ‘What’s the point of women then?’ he’d ask. Like we were all meant to fill a bloody role.”
Harry smiled grimly. “Before I left, I taunted him about it. I told him I’d marry a man and bear as many children as I can.”
Benjen was quiet for a long beat.
“And then you landed beyond the Wall,” he said dryly. “And the Old gods led you into the arms of someone you thought wasn’t magical.”
Harry huffed a laugh, the warmth of their time together brushing over his grief like a balm.
“Exactly.”
Benjen leaned closer, brushing his knuckles down Harry’s cheek. “Well. I must have had some magic left in me. We conceived on the first night, if that’s not magical I don’t know what is.”
Harry laughed softly, a real sound, and kissed him.
“It’s still so strange,” Harry murmured afterward. “When you spoke of Stark magic, I thought it was just some ancient tales. I didn’t realise it was still alive in your blood.”
Benjen looked thoughtful. “Neither did I.”
Harry’s expression dimmed. “I should’ve known. After you started warging—I should have realised. But I’ve never had to use a contraceptive charm before, you were my first. And you weren’t a wizard. I thought… I thought it was impossible.”
He bit his lip, the old guilt swelling. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think—”
Benjen silenced him with another kiss. “Don’t apologise, never about this.”
Harry swallowed hard.
Benjen’s voice was lower now. “Despite everything… I’d like to try again one day. When you’re ready. If that’s something you would want.”
Harry met his gaze.
There was no demand in Benjen’s voice, only quiet longing.
Then Benjen tensed, eyes hopeful. “Could you already be…?”
Harry gave him a sad smile. “No. I checked the parchment again. No signs of pregnancy.” He hesitated. “But it didn’t say I was barren either. I think… I think the miscarriage caused some trauma. Maybe I just need time to heal more.”
Benjen nodded slowly.
Harry reached for his hand. “I want to cast the contraceptive spell. I’m just not ready, not yet.”
Benjen turned to him, concern creasing his brow. “Would casting it harm you? If you’re still healing, I’d rather just… not. We can be celibate until you’re ready.”
Harry barked out a surprised laugh. “You? Be celibate?”
Benjen looked affronted. “I could be. If I had to.”
Harry smirked. “You’re a wild wolf, my love. A very hungry one. You wouldn’t last a week without making me yours again.”
Benjen leaned in close running his nose along Harry’s neck, his voice low and wicked. “My mate is just as hungry. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
Harry flushed, but grinned. “You’re not wrong.”
“Tell me how the spell works,” Benjen said after a nip to his skin.
Harry laced their fingers together. “It has to be recast every thirty days. Once cast, it prevents conception immediately.”
Benjen nodded slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “That’s good. That… gives us time.”
Harry’s chest tightened. He could see it in Benjen’s eyes—the hope, the want, the soft sorrow still lingering.
He was going to be a wonderful father one day.
Harry turned his face into his shoulder and whispered, “I want that, too. Just… not now.”
Benjen kissed his temple. “Whenever you’re ready.”
They lay there in silence for a moment longer.
Then Harry groaned, looking across the room at his wand, lying just out of reach on the desk.
“Bloody thing,” he muttered.
Benjen moved to get up, but before he could, the wand flew toward them—
Harry yelped, ducking, but Benjen caught it with lightning reflexes.
“Got it,” he said, amused.
Harry stared at the wand, wide-eyed.
“That’s the second time,” he muttered. “Yesterday, my brush flew at me the same way. I didn’t summon it. I thought about it, and it happened.”
Benjen frowned. “You cast that spell that prepares you without it as well, just before we—”
Harry nodded and cut him off with a blush. “My magic is stronger. You wanted me to check that there was nothing wrong with it the night before. That’s why I ran the diagnostic spell. I just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.”
Benjen’s voice was quiet. “Was there?”
“Nothing… besides the—” He didn’t finish.
Benjen didn’t press.
Harry stared at his wand, thoughtful. “I’ll have to start training in wandless magic. I can’t afford to have my magic reacting to every stray thought like this.”
He gave Benjen a wry glance. “I might just accidentally transfigure your sister-in-law into a fish.”
Benjen howled.
He threw his head back and laughed, deep and loud, and for a moment it felt like the air in the room lightened.
“A fish?” he grinned. “That’s it. We’ll put her in the godswood pond. Or give her to Jon as a pet.”
Harry was laughing now, too. “Could transfigure a nice bowl for her.”
“With her very own castle inside,” Benjen added, eyes sparkling.
Harry leaned into him, still smiling.
They were going to be okay.
~
They had lunch together, sitting quietly by the hearth.
As Harry pushed aside his empty dish, Benjen sighed. He looked reluctant, and that alone made Harry frown.
“I need to go,” Benjen said, brushing his knuckles lightly over Harry’s cheek.
Harry tilted his head. “Ned?”
“One more meeting,” Benjen said nodding. “Jeor leaves tomorrow morning, and we still have some reports to finalise, adjustments to the ranger assignments, and the Wall’s food supply. The wights are moving closer. They need every man in the right place and a lot more rations than they have.”
Harry nodded. “They should stock up on dry wood as well, just in case wights breach the gate. They’ll need all the fire they can get. I’ll be sad to see him go.”
Benjen smiled faintly. “He likes you, you know.”
“Well, I did save his favourite Rangers life,” Harry said dryly, “and let him live in luxury the last few weeks. I’ve never seen a man take so many hot baths in one night.”
Benjen chuckled. “I can’t blame him, compared to the Wall your tent was a gift. You spoil people, love.”
Harry leaned forward and brushed a kiss to his bearded cheek. “Only the ones I like.”
Benjen pressed their foreheads together for a moment, then stood and shrugged on his cloak.
“Make sure to call for me if you need anything. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” Harry said softly.
The moment the door shut behind Benjen, the warmth he left behind began to thin, but Harry didn’t let it settle into sadness. He knew how dangerous idleness could be when grief was only half-healed.
He turned toward the trunks at the far end of the room, heart set on doing something good.
He would make Jeor a parting gift.
The old commander had been a surprising source of support and friendship since their first meeting. A practical man, yes, but never cruel or suspicious. He hadn’t flinched at Harry’s magic, hadn’t sneered at his marriage to Benjen. He had treated them like brothers-in-arms from the start.
And without him, Benjen would still be stuck at the Wall with that pesky vow.
That counted for a lot in Harry’s eyes.
He pulled out one of his travel bags. With a flick of his wand and a few murmured words, he softened the colour, darkened the stitching, and removed any lingering traces of modern construction. It looked like something a high-ranking ranger might carry. A little refined maybe, but still something someone in this time could craft.
He began to fill it with care.
A charmed sleeping bag that could seal shut and stay warm in the worst snowstorms. Several days’ worth of stasis-preserved meals left over from the cave. A metal flask he charmed to purify any liquid put inside.
Even a spare cloak and gloves—originally owned by a Black— which Harry thought looked to be his size.
When he was done, he set it gently beside the door and turned to a smaller task.
A gift for Aemon.
The old maester had intrigued him from the start. There was magic in the man, barely pulsing beneath his skin, and it had made Harry ache with curiosity the first time he felt it. It felt like fire. Not surprising really with whatever blood magic Aemon’s ancestors used.
But the elderly man’s magic felt so sad when they had first met, as if it was reaching out for something that wasn’t there anymore.
I could make his life a little happier, Harry thought.
He gathered a dragonology book from his world, its edges slightly singed. He added a primer on fire-aligned magic—something Aemon might find fascinating—and two well-thumbed texts on magical and herbal healing. Carefully wrapped in cloth, they went into a bag alongside a sealed bottle of ink and two sharpened quill pens.
Then came the hardest part—the letter.
He sat for a long time before writing, staring at the blank parchment.
Finally, slowly, he wrote.
He told Aemon of Winterfell’s peace. Of Ned’s acceptance, and the quiet way he ruled his home. Of Jon, shy and sweet and deeply observant. Of Rickon, who had taken to Harry like a duckling, trailing after him with sticky hands and wide eyes.
He hesitated, but told him, gently, about the magic between him and Benjen. That male wizards could conceive with magical partners. That somehow, impossibly, they had done it. That it was real.
And that it was gone.
We didn’t know until it was too late, he wrote, hands shaking slightly. But it happened. And now that we know it’s possible… we have hope.
He paused then, throat tight. Then finished the letter with a line that steadied him: Perhaps one day, if fate is kind, you’ll be the one to help bring our child into this world.
There’s no one else I would trust with this.
He folded the letter and slipped it into the bundle, adding a slim manual on magical pregnancy, one meant to educate both healer and bearer.
It felt soothing, to do this.
He could think of no one else that would be accepting enough to help deliver children from a man, then someone who was magical themselves. He supposes that it wouldn’t hurt to inform Winterfell’s Maester but then winced remembering his disbelief at seeing Harry’s magic first hand.
He hated to imagine if word got back to the Faith or Citadel.
As he tied the last knot, there was a knock at the door that startled him slightly.
Harry frowned.
Benjen wouldn’t knock.
He groaned getting to his feet and padded barefoot across the floor, tugging it open.
Standing there was Ned, holding a plate of cake and wearing an expression that, on anyone else, might have looked sheepish.
“Ned?” Harry blinked. “Is that cake?”
“I thought you might like something sweet,” Ned said, clearing his throat. “Benjen said you weren’t expecting company.”
Harry leaned on the doorframe, smiling. “I’d always welcome company with cake.”
“Then I’ve come to the right place.”
Harry stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in, my lord. You’re carrying something too precious to leave in the hall.”
Ned huffed, stepping inside with his usual solemnity.
Benjen’s brother was a hard man to read, but Harry could see the softness in him. The corners of his mouth curled often when they spoke. He made jokes, even if they were quiet and deadpan. It wasn’t joy, exactly. But it was more than he had expected from the man that he had heard was so sombre.
“I brought you this,” Ned said, setting the plate down on the table. “And… well. I wanted to ask if you might be up for company.”
Harry blinked. “You mean more than you?”
“Yes. Some smaller company.”
Harry tilted his head then smiled. “Jon or Rickon?”
“Both. They’ve been asking for you since breakfast,” Ned admitted. “Especially Rickon. I tried to hold them off but…”
He gave a low whistle toward the corridor.
There was a pause—then a shout.
“Un’ca Harry!”
The sound preceded Jon’s appearance, flushed and grinning, arms full of a wriggling toddler. Rickon was kicking like a cub, yelling happily as he squirmed free the moment he spotted Harry.
“Sticky fingers inbound,” Jon warned.
“I can see that.”
Harry swooped forward and caught Rickon mid-wiggle, hoisting him up as the boy clung to his neck.
“Cake!” Rickon declared triumphantly while sniffing the air.
Harry struggled to keep the smile off his face. “You must be the tiniest bloodhound in all the North.”
Rickon grinned. “I wan’ cake.”
“I’m sure you do.” Harry turned toward Ned. “He’s definitely related to Benjen.”
Ned looked pained. “He has no shame.”
“Neither do I,” Harry said cheerfully. “It’s why we get along so well.”
He ushered them all in, placing Rickon down on the rug with a slice of cake. The boy immediately began digging in with both hands.
Jon settled nearby, carefully nibbling at a piece. “He missed you.”
“I missed him too,” Harry said.
Rickon, mouth full, said, “I wan’ Un’ca Harry!”
Harry laughed and tousled his hair. “I’m flattered, little wolf.”
Ned sat back in the chair by the fire, watching them quietly.
For a long while, the room was filled with the soft clatter of forks, the murmur of voices, and Rickon’s occasional battle cry when he got syrup on his nose.
Honestly, it was nice of Ned to visit him.
Seeing Jon and Rickon again had been more than pleasant. The laughter, the warmth, the normalcy of the toddler smearing cake into his own hair and Jon smiling shyly over a second slice—it all helped ease something Harry.
He leaned forward, brushing a hand through Jon's curls with soft affection, before passing him another wedge of the sticky, spiced cake Ned had brought. "So," Harry said gently, watching as Jon tried to avoid the crumbs on his tunic, "what have you been up to this past day?"
Jon looked up with a shy smile, cheeks slightly flushed at the attention. "I asked Maester Luwin about Braavos. What the ships are like, the canals. And I’ve been sparring with Robb and Theon."
"Theon?" Harry asked, curious. "I’ve heard his name mentioned a few times, but we haven’t met yet. Is he a good friend of yours?"
Jon wrinkled his nose, his scowl faint but unmistakable. "He’s more Robb’s friend. But... he’s not the worst I guess."
Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. "That doesn’t sound like a glowing endorsement."
Jon sighed. "He got jealous when he found out that I was sailing to Braavos. He thinks it should be him because hes a Greyjoy."
Harry looked toward Ned for context, only to find the Lord of Winterfell already watching him, expression looking slightly resigned.
"Theon Greyjoy," Ned began, "is a ward of House Stark after the last Greyjoy rebellion."
"A ward?" Harry repeated, then blinked as his mind caught up. "Wait… you mean he’s a hostage."
Harry’s first instinct had been outrage—how could a child be kept like that? But then he calmed, fighting back the assumptions.
Don’t jump to conclusions, this isn’t your world anymore, he reminded himself.
Ned didn’t flinch at his accusation, but it was a near thing.
"His father, Balon Greyjoy, led a rebellion against the Crown a few years ago. Theon was the youngest living son. The Crown was either going to execute him or send him to the Wall, I offered to raise him here as a ward instead. Aye, he’s a hostage, but he’s just a boy and I won’t let any harm come to him.”
Harry took a breath and let go of his sudden anger.
"Then as long as he’s your ward hes safe. Have they tried to rebel again since?"
Ned shook his head. "If the Ironborn ever rebel again, Theon’s here. His father knows it and is under the impression that his heir will be killed if he tries. Balon is not a kind man, but he’s not a fool. It’s a hard bargain, but it has kept the peace so far."
"And Theon’s settled here?"
Ned tilted his head thoughtfully. "He’s a respectful boy."
Jon snorted.
Ned gave his son a side-eye glance. "To adults, at least."
Harry chuckled.
"He and Robb are close. They bring out each other’s bravado." Ned paused. "But I believe the boy will turn out alright."
Jon sighed and leaned back against his chair. "He’s not that bad. He just calls me a bastard sometimes. But... that’s probably because I win most of our sparring matches."
Harry laughed, light and genuine. "Boys compete. You may not be friends now, but shared hardship forges bonds. At the very least, you’ll have each other’s backs in battle."
Jon looked up, eyes warm and proud as he beamed shyly. "Aye. I’ll have everyone’s backs."
Before Harry could respond, a small sticky hand tugged at his sleeve.
Rickon stood there, syrup on his chin and cake crumbs in his hair, holding his empty plate up with the solemnity of a knight presenting his sword.
Harry smiled down at him. "Did you enjoy that, little wolf?"
Rickon grinned wide, nodding.
"Come here," Harry said, taking the plate and setting it aside. Rickon lifted his arms without hesitation, and Harry hoisted the toddler up into his lap.
"He’ll ruin your tunic," Ned warned, though his voice was fond.
Harry snorted and flicked his wand. A quick cleaning charm swept the boy free of sugar and crumbs, and Rickon blinked in surprise, mouth forming a soft “oh!”
"Is that what magic feels like?" Jon whispered, eyes wide.
Harry turned toward him, curious. "You felt that?"
Jon nodded slowly. "It was like... a breeze through my chest."
Harry blinked. That wasn’t typical. Not for the average non-magical person, even the average magical person wouldn’t feel the effects of magic being cast.
With Rickon still wriggling slightly in his lap, Harry let his magic reach out gently toward the boy out of curiosity.
He almost startled.
Rickon’s magic was there.
Rickon had magic.
Not wizarding magic, not exactly. But something old. Wild. The same feral energy that Harry feels in Benjen. It felt like trees and wolves and the heartbeat of winter.
It felt like the Old Gods.
Carefully, Harry handed Rickon back to his father, and the toddler whined trying to reach out for him again.
Harry just brushed a hand through the boys hair and stood, turning toward Jon, and kneeling before him.
Jon looked surprised, but didn’t move.
Harry raised his hands to cup the boy’s face. "May I?"
Jon nodded slowly, not really knowing what he was asking for.
Harry closed his eyes and let his magic flow, just barely brushing against Jon.
And there it was.
Wild, old magic—but also something else. Something hot. Fiery. Like flames curling in the dark.
Harry sucked in a breath.
Jon flinched slightly then looked awed. "I feel it! It’s like its reaching out to you!"
Harry opened his eyes. "It is."
He kissed Jon’s forehead gently. "You’re very special, Jon."
The boy looked stunned but beamed in excitment.
Harry turned to Ned.
"Your boys are blessed with magic, Ned."
Ned looked baffled. "You’re sure?"
"May I?" Harry asked, hand hovering near Ned’s chest.
Ned nodded, looking bewildered.
Harry reached forward and felt for it again. Not as wild and young as Rickon’s, nor as icy and burning as Jon’s, but solid. Unshakable. Wildly protective.
He stepped back and beamed. "I’m very sure."
Jon was staring at his hands. "I have magic?"
"Yes," Harry said, voice soft but steady. "Not like mine of course, but you have something. Benjen has told me a lot of Stark legends, Jon. You’re connected to the North in a way I don’t fully understand yet. But it’s beautiful."
Ned said nothing for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he spoke. "My grandmother used to say the blood of the First Men still runs in our blood. That some lines were still gifted by the gods. I never thought to believe it for myself and the boys."
Harry smiled gently. "Well, you should start believing, because its real.”
Jon was glowing with excitement.
Ned was in a quiet state of shock.
Harry didn’t mention Jon’s fiery magic. That, he kept to himself for now. The boy was Ned’s to protect, and Harry wouldn’t interfere in whatever secrets the man held close. He would speak to Benjen about it later, though. The magic in Jon was unmistakably different from the Starks, it wasn’t just old magic. It burned.
Hot, like dragon fire.
Like Aemon.
He thought back to what Aemon had told him, the whispers of fire and blood. There would no doubt be some illegitimate children among the Targaryen’s. That was certainly possible.
Somewhere along the twisted tree of that house, Jons mother must have carried their affinity for fire magic. And now Jon carried that fire alongside the ice of the Starks.
God, no wonder Ned refused to tell Jon about his mother.
Considering the rumours he had heard about what happened to the Targaryen children, he thought Ned had the right idea about keeping it hidden.
He winced feeling like the biggest hypocrite, but it really was safer for him not to know right now.
It does put thoughts of teaching him fire magic on hold though…
He was still turning that puzzle over when Ned's voice broke into his thoughts.
“This magic…” Ned’s tone was heavy, measured. “What kind is it, exactly? Warging, like Benjen?”
Jon nearly dropped his fork. “Uncle Benjen’s a warg?!”
Harry shared a look with Ned, whose sigh was long-suffering. "That was meant to be a secret. You can’t repeat what you’ve heard here today. To anyone. Not Robb, not Sansa, not even Arya."
Jon nodded quickly, eager. "I swear it. I won’t tell anyone."
Ned looked to Harry for confirmation.
Harry smiled faintly. "It’s true. Benjen’s had the magic his whole life, though he didn’t know it. It was only recently we discovered his ability to warg. Storm was the one who made it clearer.”
Ned folded his arms. "Is his magic is stronger now because of you? Since…?"
Harry gave a small nod. "Since our marriage, yes. My magic amplified his own in a way. The vows we took were magical; we shared ourselves with one another. Benjen will age slower than he would have, wizards can live well over a hundred and our bond would ensure that he would live as long as I will. And I might get the gift of Warging from Benjen in return. It’s too soon to tell really.”
Ned’s eyes flicked to Rickon, who was giggling at something on the table. “Will the rest of my children have it?”
“Most likely,” Harry said. “If you have it then the rest of the children may as well, though it’s not guaranteed.”
Jon looked between the two men. “Do you think I could warg too?”
“I don’t doubt it,” Harry said. “Especially with a direwolf of your own. I don’t know if the bond must be with a direwolf specifically, but I know a wildling that did it with a bird. There’s no instruction manual for this sort of thing, Benjen is just learning as he goes.”
“All the old tales,” Ned said slowly. “Of the first Starks. They say they turned into wolves, walked in their skins and lived two lives.”
Harry nodded. “It’s as good a foundation as any. Barring another Warg as a guide, trial and error may be the only way.”
“I might know someone,” Ned murmured. “An old friend who knows a lot about greenseers. I’ll have to send a letter.”
Harry smiled. “That would help. And if you’re willing, I’d check the other children for magic as well.”
He glanced toward Rickon and added with a grin, “If Arya doesn’t have any wolf blood in her, I’d eat my wand.”
That got a surprised snort out of Ned, followed quickly by a giggle from Jon. Even Rickon giggled, though he hadn’t heard a word, he was just happy to laugh with everyone else.
Harry turned back to Ned. “Benjen told me that the First Men used to use runes of their own, I think there’s a good chance they will work with your magic. Maybe when we travel to Braavos, we can see if Jon’s able to use some of my runes. I’ll have Benjen try as well.”
Ned looked wary. “As long as it remains hidden for now. The Faith may not be as strong here as in the South, but if they get wind of this it would be a conflict we want to avoid. Best not tell Catelyn either.”
Harry sighed, then smiled in delight. "She won’t be pleased to hear her children have 'heathen magic' in their veins. Might even blame me for corrupting her children."
Ned choked on a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Jon covered his mouth to hide his own giggles.
Ned composed himself quickly, though his lips still twitched. “It’s still best she never hears of any of this. And given her recent conduct as Lady Stark, I doubt she’ll be leaving her rooms any time soon.”
Rickon yawned suddenly and tried crawling back into Harry’s lap. He reached for Harry again, arms up with and giving a little whine when his father pulled him closer instead.
Ned sighed but passed him over when the toddler started huffing, muttering about favourites.
The little boy snuggled into Harry’s chest without hesitation, pressing his cheek against Harry’s shoulder and heaved a tired sigh. His tiny fingers fisted into his shirt.
Harry stroked Rickon’s hair gently, running his fingers through the soft brown curls. He became lost in thought for a moment, memories from yesterday bombarding him slightly as he held the baby close.
His chest ached, but the grief didn’t overwhelm him this time.
“It’s almost time for the evening meal,” Ned said gently after a while and bringing Harry out of his thoughts. “Will you be joining us tonight?”
Harry hesitated.
He glanced at Jon, who had gone quiet and was watching him closely, worry pinching the corners of his eyes.
Harry gave him a small smile and reached out to ruffle his hair.
“I think… I’ll stay in tonight. If that’s alright.”
Jon looked like he wanted to argue, but before he could, Ned laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Of course,” Ned said. “I’ll send a servant with some food. Benjen mentioned you were planning to work on the runes tomorrow. But if you’re not ready…”
“I am,” Harry interrupted gently. “Thank you, but there’s no sense in putting it off.”
Ned gave a short nod and gruffly said. “Right. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” Harry said again, more firmly this time.
Ned shifted awkwardly for a moment, then reached out and patted Harry on the shoulder a couple of times.
It was stiff and unsure but filled with honest care.
Harry had to bite back a smile at the endearingly awkward action.
Ned cleared his throat. "I’ll tell Benjen you’re staying in tonight. He’s with Jeor still. I imagine they’ll want one last conversation before the old bear returns to the Wall."
Harry chuckled. "Tell him he can stay as long as he likes."
Ned gave him a dry look. "Good luck making my brother stay away from you for much longer."
They shared a small smile and Harry passed Rickon over gently.
As they left, Harry heard Jon whisper to Ned, "Is Uncle Harry okay?"
The innocent concern in that voice... it was almost too much.
He didn’t hear Ned’s reply, but he imagined it was filled with quiet reassurance.
The door clicked shut and Harry pressed his forehead against the wood.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered to himself.
~
Benjen did come back for dinner, just as Harry had expected he would.
The door creaked open, letting in a draft of chilled air, and Benjen entered with snow still dusting his shoulders. His hair was slightly windblown, cheeks ruddy from the cold. But in his gloved hand, he held something delicate; a single flower, pale blue with frosted tips.
Harry blinked. “Is that for me?”
Benjen gave him a crooked, boyish grin. “Saw it blooming in the courtyard. It looked stubborn and beautiful. Made me think of you.”
Harry snorted, amused but touched, and took the flower gently. “Stubborn and beautiful, I’ll take the compliment. Thank you."
He cast a stasis charm on the flower before placing it carefully on the bedside table. “It’ll last for a long time now.”
Benjen closed the distance between them and leaned down to kiss him softly, hands rubbing at his waist slightly. When they pulled apart, Harry smiled and Benjen sat on the bed, struggling to take his boots off.
“Thank you for sending Ned to visit me,” he said. “I didn’t think I would be up to having company, but it was nice. We found out a few things too.”
Benjen looked surprised. “I didn’t ask him to visit you.”
Harry raised a brow. “You didn’t?”
Benjen shook his head. “He left us to finish the reports. Said he was going to the kitchens and would be back before supper. I didn’t know he had seen you until he came back and told me you said not to rush.”
Harry blinked slowly, heart warming at the revelation. “So he came on his own.”
“Aye,” Benjen said. “Despite his sombre face, he was concerned about you. About both of us.”
Harry nodded and smiled. “I’m glad we get on so well. Sometimes I wondered how far his hospitality would stretch.”
Benjen tugged him closer until Harry was standing between his legs, and looked up at him with a small, rueful smile. “It’s impossible to dislike you.”
Harry laughed. “Tell that to your good sister down the hall.”
Benjen grunted. “No one sane can hate you.”
They both chuckled, their lips meeting once more.
~
The next morning dawned, and the courtyard bustled with activity as the Lord Commander prepared to return to the Wall.
Harry stood beside Benjen, a thick fur cloak wrapped over his shoulders. He squeaked suddenly when Jeor lifted him in a bear hug that defied the man’s age and usual stern attitude.
“I’ll miss that wit of yours lad,” Jeor grunted, setting Harry down.
“I’ll be sure to send you plenty of letters, and sass you from a distance,” Harry replied cheekily, brushing his cloak straight.
Jeor chuckled heartily, then accepted the two enchanted packs Harry offered.
“Thought these might ease your journey,” Harry said. “Camping equipment, preserved meals, and the other is for Aemon.”
Jeor’s face softened. “The old maester will appreciate it. We both will. You’ve got a good heart, lad. And a strange kind of magic. But it’s a good kind.”
Harry smiled and dipped his head. “When we next visit the Wall, I’ll see about placing preservation runes on your own stores. Ease the burden a little.”
“That would be a great gift indeed,” Jeor said, clapping Harry hard on the shoulder.
Benjen stepped up, clasping the old commander’s arm in a fond goodbye. “Stay alive, Lord Commander.”
“You’re free now,” Jeor said, eyes twinkling. “You enjoy it. Though,” he looked at Harry, “you’re not quite free, are you?”
Harry raised a brow.
Jeor smirked. “Married life. Practically a second oath.”
Benjen smirked. “I survived the Wall, I’ll survive this.”
Harry gaped, scandalised at their union being likened to the Wall.
“Excuse me?!”
Benjen’s smirk faltered. “That came out wrong.”
Jeor howled with laughter.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “So I’m an icy hell, am I?”
Benjen stammered uncharacteristically, “I meant—I mean—the Wall is cold and unforgiving and—oh gods, I’m making it worse.”
Harry huffed but let his smirk show. He accepted the kiss Benjen tried pressing to his cheek, then whispered, “You’re lucky I love you.”
Benjen sighed in relief. “Gods, yes I am.”
With a final farewell, the Lord Commander departed, and Harry watched the gate close behind him.
He left Benjen with Ned and the others, making his way toward the first storage area.
The servants had done their part. It was empty now, cleared of barrels, sacks, and whatever rot had festered over the years. But the grime and dust still clung to every surface.
They had done their part; it’s time for him to do his.
Harry rolled up his sleeves, staring into the dark interior.
“Right,” he muttered. “Let’s get to work.”