Chapter Text
Cregan Stark finished speaking, his deep voice steady as he summarized the North and its long, bloody history—its kings and wars, its alliances and betrayals, the unyielding strength of Winterfell and the duty that bound House Stark to these lands. He had spoken of the Wall, of the Night’s Watch, of the ancient kingdom that predated the Targaryens by thousands of years.
PLEX had processed it all, compiling data with an efficiency that made even Cregan hesitate. He wasn’t a man easily impressed, but he found himself eyeing the strange glowing machine with a trace of respect. It had absorbed his words, sorted them, and produced something cohesive in moments—a feat no maester, no scholar in the Citadel, could ever accomplish.
He turned back to the woman who commanded the creature.
Lacy sat still, staring at the console with an expression he couldn’t quite place. Then, without warning, she exhaled sharply and let her head drop onto the surface of the desk with a dull thud.
Cregan blinked.
His first instinct was suspicion. Was this some strange ritual? Some silent way to commune with her glowing beast? But then he noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the slow rise and fall of her breath—not of injury, but of frustration.
Still, the sight unsettled him. He was no healer, but—
“Are you ill?” he asked, his voice edged with concern.
From where her forehead pressed against the desk, Lacy let out a muffled, tired sigh. “No.”
Cregan studied her, skeptical. “You look unwell.”
She lifted her head slowly, rubbing her temples before composing herself. “I’m not sick,” she assured him, though her voice carried the weight of exhaustion. “Just… trying to make sense of all this.”
Cregan frowned slightly but said nothing. He had seen battle-worn men—soldiers who had fought for days without rest, men who carried the weight of grief and duty until it crushed them. She looked different, but the weariness in her expression was the same.
She was lost.
Not just in his lands, not just among his people—but lost in a way he could not fully understand.
For the first time, he wondered if she truly had no way home.
He crossed his arms, watching as she took a steadying breath and straightened. “Then,” he said, “tell me what sense you have made.”
Lacy hesitated, glancing toward PLEX’s display. The screen was still active, glowing softly with compiled data—her AI’s best attempt at making order from the chaos.
She didn’t answer right away.
Because the truth was, she still didn’t know.
Lacy exhaled slowly, her fingers tapping absently against the edge of the desk as she stared at the data scrolling across PLEX’s screen. The words were there—the compiled history, the structure of this land, the kingdoms, the rulers—but none of it made sense in the context of her own world.
Finally, she spoke.
“I think I’m in a feudal world,” she said.
Cregan narrowed his eyes. “Feudal?”
Lacy sat up a little straighter, her scientist’s mind falling into familiar patterns—categorizing, explaining, dissecting the problem at hand. “It’s a system of government,” she explained. “A way society is structured. Lords and vassals, knights and peasants—rulers who control land, and the people who serve under them in exchange for protection.”
Cregan’s expression remained unreadable. “And this is strange to you?”
Lacy let out a short, humorless laugh. “It’s nothing like the world I come from.”
Cregan tilted his head slightly, watching her closely. “Then tell me,” he said. “What is your world like?”
She hesitated. How could she explain an entire civilization, thousands of years of progress, in a way he could grasp?
She thought for a moment, then decided to start with the simplest truth.
“We don’t have kings or lords,” she said. “Not in the way you do. My world is built on something else—governments chosen by the people, leaders elected, not born into power. Land isn’t something ruled by noble houses; it belongs to nations, to entire groups of people who govern themselves through laws and policies.”
Cregan’s frown deepened. “No kings?”
Lacy shook her head. “No kings, no lords, no noble bloodlines ruling over generations. Power isn’t passed from father to son. It’s given—or taken—by the people.”
He studied her carefully, his mind clearly turning over the implications of such a world. “Then who commands your armies? Who defends your lands?”
Lacy exhaled, knowing this would be the hardest part for him to grasp. “We don’t have armies that belong to individual rulers,” she said. “Our militaries serve the nation itself, not a single king or family. Soldiers train under organized institutions, and wars are fought not for a ruler’s claim, but for the interests of an entire country.”
Cregan’s jaw tightened. “Wars are never fought for the people,” he said. “They are fought for power.”
Lacy looked at him for a long moment, then admitted, “Sometimes, yes. But not always. Our wars are different—fought with weapons you couldn’t imagine, spanning entire continents, even reaching beyond our world.”
His brow furrowed, but he did not interrupt.
Lacy pressed on, feeling the weight of her own words. “The biggest difference isn’t just who rules,” she said. “It’s how we live. Our people aren’t bound to the land. We don’t farm for survival or serve lords for protection. We have machines that do much of the work, cities that stretch high into the sky, ships that cross oceans in hours, and…” She hesitated, then finally said it. “And we travel among the stars.”
Cregan’s expression remained unreadable, but his silence was heavy.
Lacy swallowed, feeling the sheer enormity of what she was saying.
“I come from a world where people don’t live under the shadow of castles,” she said. “We don’t fear winter taking our harvests or depend on knights to keep us safe. We’ve built machines that make life easier. We have medicine that can heal wounds that would be fatal here. We have libraries that hold more knowledge than every maester in your world combined.”
She paused, letting the weight of it settle between them.
Finally, Cregan spoke.
“This world you speak of,” he said slowly. “It sounds like a world of gods.”
Lacy blinked, caught off guard by the comparison. “No,” she said quickly. “Not gods. Just people—people who built their own future, step by step, year by year.”
Cregan studied her, his gaze sharp as a wolf’s. “And yet, you are here.”
The words were simple, but they cut deep.
Lacy had no response.
Because he was right.
She had come from a world of technology, of progress, of logic and reason. And now she was trapped in a world ruled by swords and kings, by wars fought for land and honor.
A feudal world.
A world that should not have been hers.
And yet—here she was.
Lacy ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly. The conversation had taken a weighty turn, the vast gulf between their worlds laid bare between them. Cregan had listened without interruption, absorbing everything she said with the quiet intensity of a man who did not take new knowledge lightly.
But now, he wanted more.
He wanted to know why she had left a world so different from his own.
Lacy hesitated.
Not because she didn’t want to answer—but because she wasn’t sure how.
She looked down at the console, where PLEX’s data shimmered faintly across the screen, waiting for her next command. But no machine could explain this. No cold calculation could reduce her choices into a simple equation.
“I left because I had to,” she finally said.
Cregan didn’t react, waiting for her to continue.
She swallowed. “My world is built on knowledge, on discovery. We don’t just live on one planet—we explore beyond it. We study the universe itself, trying to understand it, to map it, to survive it.” She let out a short, bitter laugh. “And that’s what I was meant to do.”
She shifted slightly, glancing at the wreckage of her ship through the still-open doorway. Smoke still curled from the torn metal, the last remnants of its burning descent fading into the frozen air.
“I was part of something called the Lazarus Mission,” she said, her voice quieter now. “A deep-space expedition designed to find new worlds. Our own was… dying.”
Cregan’s brow furrowed, but he did not speak.
Lacy continued, “It wasn’t sudden. It happened over generations. Our air became harder to breathe, our crops failed more and more each year. Dust storms consumed entire cities. We pushed our planet too far, took too much without giving back. And by the time we tried to fix it, it was already too late.”
She exhaled, the memory heavy in her chest. “So we did what humans always do. We looked for a way to survive.”
Cregan’s expression was unreadable, but she could see the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, the way his stance shifted—not in anger, but in contemplation.
“We sent explorers through the stars,” Lacy went on. “I was one of them. Twelve of us were sent out—one astronaut per ship, each tasked with finding a habitable world. Each tasked with securing humanity’s future.”
She let out a slow, bitter breath. “I was supposed to find a new home for my people. Instead, I ended up here.”
Silence stretched between them.
Cregan’s gaze didn’t waver. He was weighing her words, testing them the way a blacksmith might test steel—searching for cracks, for weakness, for proof that she was speaking the truth.
Finally, he spoke.
“You left your world to save your people,” he said slowly. “And now you are stranded in mine.”
Lacy pressed her lips together. “Yes.”
Another pause. Then—
“What would you have done, if you had found another world?”
She blinked, caught off guard by the question.
“I—” She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “If I had found a habitable planet, I would have sent a signal back. My ship had a beacon—a way to communicate across the vast distance of space.” She gestured toward the wreckage outside. “But that’s gone now. I have no way to reach them.”
Cregan studied her, something thoughtful passing behind his dark eyes. “You would have left,” he said. “If your ship had not failed.”
Lacy hesitated. “Yes.”
He nodded once, as if confirming something to himself.
“Then you are truly lost,” he said.
Lacy felt the words settle deep in her chest.
Yes.
She was lost.
Not just in distance. Not just in time.
She had spent years training, preparing for the mission of a lifetime. She had crossed the void between stars, traveled beyond the reach of her own people, ventured into the unknown with the knowledge that she might never return.
And yet, despite all of that, she had never imagined this.
A world that shouldn’t exist. A history that had no place in her understanding of the universe. A feudal kingdom ruled by swords and blood, where dragons were spoken of as real creatures and castles stood against the test of centuries.
“I don’t belong here,” she murmured, half to herself.
Cregan’s gaze remained steady. “No,” he agreed. “You do not.”
Lacy swallowed hard. She had known that. But hearing it spoken aloud made it feel… final.
She looked away, inhaling sharply as she tried to ground herself. She had survived impossible things before. She had made it through atmospheric entries that should have torn her apart, navigated frozen wastelands on Europa, repaired life-support systems with nothing but sheer determination and instinct.
This was no different.
She would survive this, too.
She had to.
Lacy turned back to Cregan, squaring her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter if I don’t belong,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m here. And I need to figure out what that means.”
Cregan studied her for a long moment, then gave a slow, measured nod.
“Then we will see what the gods have planned for you,” he said.
His words sent a chill down her spine—not from fear, but from the quiet certainty in his tone.
Because if she had learned one thing in her short time in this world, it was this:
The North did not suffer weakness.
And neither did its Warden.
Cregan stood in silence for a long moment, his gaze unreadable as he studied her. The weight of their conversation hung between them, the sheer impossibility of her existence in this world still pressing against the edges of his mind.
He had learned many things tonight. He had learned that this woman was not of his world. That she came from a place beyond even the maesters' wildest dreams. That she had not been sent by any king, nor by any known force of gods or men.
But one thing remained clear.
She was alone. And she was vulnerable.
His instincts warred against each other. She was a mystery—a potential threat, an unknown force that could bring chaos to his lands. But she was also something else. Something that intrigued him.
And he could not leave her here.
He stepped closer, the firelight from the wreckage casting sharp shadows across his face. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, measured—but edged with finality.
“You have a choice, Dr. Morin.”
Lacy tensed slightly at the formal weight of her name.
Cregan continued. “You can stay here. Alone. Among the ruins of the thing that brought you to this world.” His gaze flicked toward the wreckage outside. “You can remain in the woods, fending for yourself, hoping that the cold or the beasts of the wild do not claim you before you find another way to survive.”
His tone hardened slightly. “Or you come to Winterfell.”
Lacy met his gaze.
Cregan folded his arms across his chest. “Under my protection. Under my watch.” A pause. “Under my command.”
Lacy inhaled slowly.
She had known, from the moment these men had found her, that she wouldn’t be left to her own devices forever. That sooner or later, she would have to integrate—or risk being seen as an enemy.
But surrendering herself to Winterfell meant giving up control. It meant placing herself at the mercy of a world that did not understand her.
Still, the reality of the situation was clear.
She had no food beyond what remained in the pod’s storage. No way to hunt effectively. No guarantee that the technology she relied on would last forever.
Cregan tilted his head slightly, watching her carefully. “Decide now,” he said. “My men will not wait all night.”
Lacy swallowed.
Her mind raced with possibilities, calculations, risks and rewards.
And then—she made her choice.
Lacy didn’t rush her decision. She met Cregan’s gaze steadily, weighing her options. The choice had already been made—she would go with him. But not as a prisoner.
“If I come with you,” she said, her voice firm, “it will be on my terms.”
Cregan’s expression didn’t shift, but she caught the slight tilt of his head, the way his arms tensed slightly at the suggestion. He had expected her to comply, not negotiate.
“I will be treated as a guest,” she continued, “not a captive. I will keep all my belongings, and I will be allowed to ask you whatever I need to figure out how to survive in this world.” She paused. “I will follow your rules, as long as they do not harm me.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. The flames from the wreckage crackled in the cold air, casting flickering shadows across the snow.
Cregan considered her words carefully. He was a man used to giving orders, not being questioned. And yet… he had never known anyone like her.
Finally, he gave a short nod. “Agreed.”
Lacy exhaled, tension she hadn’t realized she was holding finally releasing from her shoulders. She tapped a few commands into her wrist display.
“PLEX,” she called out, “initiate breakdown of the landing pod. Prepare it for redeployment at a secondary location.”
“Acknowledged,” the AI responded.
The air hummed with mechanical life. The landing pod, once a hardened structure, began to shift. Plates folded inward, reinforced panels retracting into themselves as the entire shelter compacted into a transportable form. Cregan’s men murmured in astonishment, some gripping their weapons instinctively.
Cregan himself watched with quiet intensity, his expression unreadable as the pod shrank down into a reinforced container no larger than a storage chest.
“Where will you put it?” he asked.
“Somewhere safer,” Lacy said vaguely, locking the container in place. She straightened, dusting her gloves off before turning to him. “Alright. I’m ready.”
Cregan gave a curt nod and turned toward his men. “Bring her a horse.”
Lacy blinked, then let out a short laugh. “Oh, no. I’m not riding a horse.”
Cregan frowned slightly. “Then how—”
She smirked and turned toward the wreckage. With a few more taps on her wrist display, a low mechanical whir filled the air.
From the ruins of her ship, a sleek, four-wheeled machine rolled forward. Its surface was smooth and matte black, its reinforced tires designed for uneven terrain. The vehicle came to a stop beside her, lights flickering to life along its dashboard.
Cregan stared. “What… is that?”
“My rover,” Lacy said simply, patting its side. “It’s faster than a horse.”
Cregan shot her a skeptical look. “No beast is faster than a good stallion.”
Lacy grinned. “Want to see for yourself?”
Cregan hesitated. He wasn’t a man who took foolish risks, and stepping inside a moving metal creature seemed like a very foolish risk.
Before he could answer, Jory rode up, his expression tight with unease. “My lord, this is unwise.”
Lacy leaned against the rover. “There’s room for one more if you want to ride along,” she offered.
Jory stiffened, throwing a glare between her and the creature. “Absolutely not.”
Cregan ignored him and took a slow step forward. He ran a hand along the rover’s surface, noting the strange, cold smoothness of it. It was nothing like the wooden carts or iron wagons of his world.
Lacy opened the side panel and gestured to the seat. “Get in.”
Cregan studied her for a moment before exhaling sharply. Without another word, he climbed inside, adjusting his broad frame into the seat with a cautious glance around the interior.
Jory cursed under his breath.
“Last chance,” Lacy said, looking at him.
Jory looked from his lord to the creature. Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, he dismounted his horse. “Damn the gods,” he muttered before climbing into the back.
Lacy grinned and powered up the rover. The dashboard came to life, buttons and readouts glowing softly in the dim light.
Cregan shifted slightly. “And what of the metal beast?”
Lacy glanced at PLEX and smirked. “He’ll walk.”
As if on cue, the AI’s transport unit unfolded itself into a humanoid shape. PLEX’s bipedal frame stood tall, its mechanical limbs adjusting smoothly as it took its first step.
The Northmen gasped. A few even drew their weapons.
“Remain calm,” PLEX’s voice said, completely unbothered. “I am merely mobilizing.”
Cregan stared at the moving metal creature, his fingers twitching toward his sword. Lacy just rolled her eyes and pressed the accelerator.
The rover lurched forward.
Cregan’s hands instantly braced against the sides as the vehicle shot ahead, moving over the uneven terrain with smooth efficiency.
Jory, however, did not handle it as well.
The moment the rover surged forward, his eyes went wide, and he let out a strangled yell.
“GODS PRESERVE US!”
Lacy smirked, glancing at Cregan. He wasn’t screaming, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed firmly ahead as if expecting the thing to throw him at any moment.
She pressed the accelerator a little harder. The rover picked up speed.
Jory’s scream only got louder.
Cregan’s grip tightened.
Lacy just laughed.
They were on their way to Winterfell.
And this was going to be fun.