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Chapter Text

The chill of the snow and the nipping of the winds roused Edith from unconsciousness. Her head pounded as if she had taken a blow directly from a hammer and her body thrummed uncomfortably, residue from whatever spell had been cast on her slowly fading away. 

Blinking away the fogginess in her head, Edith’s breath hitched as memories flashed behind her eyes. A cry for help from her captured students. A fierce battle against the elves of her youth, spiteful and selfish as they had always been. The hot rush of fury thick in her blood and burning in her eyes. She knew that she had managed to rescue her captive students and then… and then…

Edith remembered a flash of light and a trap closing in on her, lighting the floor with glowing runes and arcane circles. Analyzing the scene around her, Edith understood that the spell she had been caught in must have teleported her somewhere far away. Ebril sat near the center of Ossia, where the climate was gentle and temperate. This harsh cold was certainly uncharacteristic of her home city. Except for druidic seasonal holidays when the forest folk summon snow from the skies. The Snow Lantern Festival had already passed and it would be several months yet until Starry Night’s Eve and Blessing’s Day came round again. She could only assume that the spell had cast her far north, to the tundra in Hiol or past the Silver Mountains. 

Observing the runes burned into the snow and mud around her, Edith pursed her lips. She’d never had reason to travel north, Hiol being a country made primarily of small villages and monasteries tucked away in the forests and mountains of the tundra. It was well known that the Silver Mountains were home to Sim’rual, an ancient Silver Dragon. Peaceful in nature, but best left alone as dragons typically are. As such, she could not recognize any of her surroundings, but she could very well recognize the runes and glyphs of a banishing spell. The spell components were truly bizarre, unlike anything Edith had ever seen before, an amalgamation of different spells slapped together haphazardly. It was honestly a miracle that the circle functioned in any way at all. By all accounts, the spell should have rebounded hideously when placed by the caster. It most definitely should have fizzled upon activation. Edith mentally cursed as she tried to read the smoking remains of the spell circle. She couldn’t fully unravel the spell as it was, fractured into pieces and half melted away in the snow. 

Sighing, Edith readied her own teleportation spell, recalling the sigils to the permanent circle in her dwellings at the Archmagi’s Tower in the College of Arcana. As she activated the spell, a horrible dread crept into her gut, realizing too late the feeling of a spell failing, it rebounded violently and sent Edith tumbling into the snow, her body wracked with pain as volatile magic exploded around her. 

After a long moment of wheezing and shaking, Edith forced herself up on her feet, trying to make heads or tails of her situation. It had been years since Edith had a spell fail on her, much less rebound as powerfully as her teleportation spell had. The specific spell that she had cast should have been perfect, teleporting her anywhere in Ossia. But that was assuming that she was still in Ossia. 

There had been a banishment component to the spell, warped and disorganized as it had been, but banishment was extraplanar by nature. Still, the banishment shouldn’t be permanent, and most certainly should have run its course already. She should have returned to her native plane by now. Edith couldn’t say for sure that she was on her native plane, but the casters that she had fought certainly did not have the power or capability to create a permanent banishment spell. 

Biting her lip, Edith drew another glyph into the air, attempting instead to summon a high level Interplanar Gate back to Ebril. The magic swirled and coalesced into a glowing gate of arcane energy, but where there should have been the shining city of Ebril, there was only inky darkness. 

Edith cursed. That spell was the strongest transportation spell in existence. It should have been able to transport her to any plane she chose. It was blockable only by deity, though Edith had no reason to believe that a divine being would take enough interest in her squabble with the elves to exile her to another plane indefinitely. 

With few remaining options, Edith resigned herself to scouting the area. Perhaps there was a town of some sort that could provide her assistance. A mage tower even, if she were lucky. With a wave of her hand, her familiar, a beautiful barn owl with snowy white and nearly-blue gray feathers on her wings, appeared in the air next to Edith. The familiar, Minaeve, perched on Edith’s arm as she awaited instruction. She mentally bid the owl to fly overhead and scout out any nearby landmarks or signs of civilization. Channeling her magic to link her senses with Minaeve’s, Edith gazed out over the snowy fields and forests from high above the earth. Spotting signs of houses and chimney smoke off in the distance, Edith returned to her own senses and dismissed Minaeve with a quick word of thanks and a small treat of dried meat rations.

As she walked towards the town, Edith pulled her spellbook from her bag, thankful that she had had the presence of mind to grab it in her haste to rescue her students. She recorded the fragments of the spell that had caught her, attempting to untangle the layers as best as she could with the limited information at her disposal. With over an hour to walk, Edith had plenty of time to get at least a little research done to resolve the predicament she found herself in. She, The Grand Enchanter of the High Council of Ebril, one of the greatest spellcasters in the world, Master Bladesinger. 

Edith’s blood boiled. All this because she was sharing the bladesinging arts with the world. The elves had no right to horde that knowledge, not when they were using it to enact violence on others. No, it belonged in the hands of those who would use it for good and protection. Edith took on only the best students for her bladesinging class, those who she knew would go on to do great things.

As she grew closer to the town, the ground grew more even, a sign of a well trodden path packed hard over time by traveling feet. By the time the houses and structures were visible in the distance, Edith was shivering violently from the cold. Not expecting to have been exiled to an endless frozen countryside, she had not brought a cloak with her. Hopefully, she’d be able to quickly find an inn to warm herself up in. Edith didn’t carry a whole lot of coin on her person, but kept enough for emergencies. That being said, the coin was of Ossian mint, and Edith did not know how stringent this place was in regards to coinage. Hopefully she was truly in Ossia and the coinage would simply not be a problem. Otherwise she hoped that gold was plenty enough incentive, regardless of the imagery pressed onto the surface of the coins. 

The little town in the distance sat outside of a massive castle, ancient and weather-worn. The structure was impressive, well built and sturdy despite its clearly aged walls. Edith summoned Minaeve once more, sending her forward to get a closer look at the town. The owl familiar perched on the rooftop of the largest structure, presumably an inn. Or at least Edith had believed it to be an inn, but the girlish squeals and grunts emanating from the inside suggested that it was perhaps a brothel instead. That aside, the town itself was drab in color, filled with muted grays and browns on both houses and clothing. 

Scanning around through Minaeve’s eyes, Edith quickly realized that this town was inhabited by humans only. And there wasn’t a scrap of magic in sight. Which meant that Edith was certainly not in Ossia. 

There wasn’t a single city, nation, or kingdom in Ossia with a wholly human populace. Majority human certainly, but not truly homogenous. Further, magic was commonplace all over Ossia. Very few spellcasters pursued the art to its fullest, but it was incredibly common for people to learn simple spells of convenience to mend clothes or light torches and such. There were no flickers of the arcane, not so much as a magically mended button, anywhere to be found. Flying over the walls of the castle, the environment was much the same. 

Dismissing Minaeve once more and returning to her own senses, Edith suppressed a groan of annoyance. Casting a quick illusion to disguise her pointed ears, Edith trudged into town to find the inn (or brothel) that Minaeve had perched on. From the moment she stepped into the quaint little village, she was followed with eyes and whispers, some people even unabashedly pointing in her direction. 

Edith did her best to ignore the attention, uncomfortable with the number of eyes around her. She had never been a particularly social individual, opting out of most major events unless her presence as Archmagi demanded her attendance. Even then, she would excuse herself at the earliest possible moment and retreat to the privacy of her tower. The Electi Supreme was understanding enough to allow Edith peace the majority of the time, but there was always a bit of posturing necessary as a member of the High Council. Archmagi tend to be high in demand as well, which sent Edith on a number of diplomatic missions, More often than not, Edith was astounded when a mission ended without a diplomatic incident occurring, though she supposed that could be attributed to pairing members of the Council to others more suited to niceties and politics. Especially after a particularly disastrous mission involving the Master of the Guard and the Lorekeeper. Edith still isn’t sure exactly what happened on that trip to Ethary, but she knows that it somehow ended in a coup. Which was strange since they were only meant to be there to collect some lost tomes. 

Edith made her way to the inn, a relatively large building compared to the surrounding structures with a creaking overhead sign labeled The Smoking Log. Pushing through the heavy wooden door, Edith sighed in relief as she was immediately hit with a rush of warm air. That relief was short lived as it seemed every pair of eyes in the building turned to stare at the newcomer. Stiffening, Edith marched her way over to the bar counter, where she presumed the keeper of the inn was serving ale and warm food. Stomach grumbling at the reminder that Edith had not eaten for… Actually she was not sure how long it had been since her last meal given the oddness of the spell cast on her. She didn’t know if there was any alteration of time going on within the spell, but she did know that she was currently very hungry.  

“A room and a meal, if you please,” Edith said, sliding a gold coin across the counter. The coin should be plenty valuable, more than enough for a month’s stay in a quality inn back in Ossia, but Edith couldn’t be sure that this place followed the same standard. Gold was typically a universal language and Edith could only hope that the innkeeper was an honest man. Otherwise she would have lost a quarter of her current wealth and she simply could not afford to spend blindly in her current condition.

The innkeeper blinked at Edith in a daze, openly staring at Edith, taking in her attire and staring at the sword tied to her hip. He picked up the coin she slid across the table, scrutinizing it with a confused expression on his face. Much to Edith’s disappointment, he slid it back to her and shook his head. Before Edith could try and negotiate with the man, he started to babble at her rapidly in an unfamiliar language. 

Oh for gods’ sake. 

Of course she would have landed in a magicless, frozen wasteland where the people speak one of the few languages that she doesn’t understand. On sound alone, she could only presume that it was a native tongue of this plane as it was wholly unfamiliar to Edith. At least the innkeeper did seem to be an honest man, returning the coin despite the communication barrier. This left Edith with the new issue of trying to figure out where to go if the inn was not an option. She could summon her mansion she supposed, but that wouldn’t get her anywhere in regards to figuring out where she was or provide any new information that could potentially help her get home. If she could only find a library of some kind, then she might be a step closer to figuring things out. 

Edith sighed in exhaustion, turning to leave when the innkeeper reached across the counter to grab at her arm, saying something to Edith and gesturing to one of the stools in front of the bartop. The innkeeper called out to someone in the crowd, gesticulating at Edith and the door. Whoever he was shouting at left hurriedly, door slamming behind him with the force of the night winds. Edith turned cautiously to the innkeeper, who looked back at her in contemplation. He spoke gently to Edith, giving her a soft pat on the shoulder before calling out to one of the scantily clad women in the room. The young lady hopped out of the lap of the man she had been sitting on, sauntering into a back room. Seeing the drooling idiot she’d left behind, Edith confirmed that this was, in fact, a brothel. After a few moments, the woman returned with a steaming bowl of savory smelling stew, a chunk of bread, and a small wedge of cheese. The innkeeper poured a tankard of ale and set it in front of her. Exceedingly grateful, Edith offered a polite thanks to the man before digging into the meal. 

About halfway through her meal, Edith heard the door open behind her once more. Moments later, a young man perhaps in his late teens dropped into the seat next to Edith. The innkeeper tried to say something to the teen, but the young man silenced him with a wave of the hand and a cocky smirk. The innkeeper seemed distinctly displeased, but said nothing more. Edith was content to ignore this interaction (though a bit miffed on behalf of the kind innkeeper), until the boy placed a hand on her upper thigh and attempted to trail his hand upward towards Edith’s more intimate body parts. 

Edith shot up in her chair and snatched the young man’s hand, bending it backwards and forcing the boy to the floor with a cry of pain. Both of their stools toppled over at the sudden movement and the room went deadly silent save the pained whimpers of the boy in Edith’s grip. The innkeeper’s mouth hung open in shock before he raised his hands to Edith in a placating gesture. Based on his movement and tone, Edith surmised that he wished for her to release the boy. She huffed, but let him go so as not to cause trouble for the innkeeper. He’d been exceedingly kind to her and she had no wish to inconvenience the man over some handsy drunken fool. 

The young man spat insults at Edith from the floor. Or she assumed that he was cursing her given the tone of voice. Not that she particularly cared and the boy was sufficiently distracted when a pair of busty girls picked him up and ushered him off, pressing against him suggestively. Edith rolled her eyes, righted her chair, and continued to eat as if nothing had happened. The noise slowly picked up in the alehouse as the commotion died down. After Edith had finished her meal, she was sat by the fire with a thin woolen blanket draped about her, courtesy of the kind innkeeper whom she most certainly would repay tenfold once she could figure out the language of this land. Or at least she could understand the language without resorting to magical means. 

She had little magical energy remaining after the events of the day and so chose to conserve it for as long as she could. The spell also required components that would be too obvious to cast in front of this many people. She had no idea how they felt about magic in this place, and she couldn’t be sure that they would respond favorably to Edith suddenly casting spells. Best she wait until a better opportunity comes along.

As if responding to her thoughts, the door swung open again, the same man that the innkeeper had sent out into the night reappeared with two new men in tow. Both were dressed in the same coat of arms depicting a large gray wolf on a white field, guardsmen of some kind. The innkeeper met the three men at the door where they began to discuss amongst themselves, presumably about Edith’s strange and sudden presence in town. Edith sipped at her ale as the men murmured to each other, vaguely gesturing at her ever so often. 

Eventually, they came to some sort of decision, and one of the new men approached her, speaking slowly in the unfamiliar language of this land. He extended a hand to Edith, tugging her gently to her feet. He guided her towards the door where the other guard was waiting uncomfortably, one of the brothel workers attempting to flirt with him as he blushed and stared fixed at the ceiling. The girl didn’t seem to mind, smiling gleefully at the embarrassment of the guard. 

Edith unfurled the blanket that she still had draped across her shoulders to return to the innkeeper, but the man pressed the fabric back around her shoulders with a warm smile and a friendly pat on the back. Without any way to offer thanks in words, Edith offered the kind innkeeper a deep, respectful bow. The act seemed to fluster him somewhat as he reddened and waved Edith off to the door with the new men. The two guards posted themselves on either side of Edith, guiding her out of the inn and towards the castle. 

Out in the chilly night air, a cold breeze swept past the street and Edith’s thin blanket fluttered in the wind. She tucked her chin into the folds of the fabric as best as she could, both to stave off the cold and to discreetly utter the magic phrases required to cast the language spell that she needed in order to understand the inhabitants of this plane. Edith nearly jumped out of her skin when a heavy weight landed on her shoulders mid-cast, only years of training keeping her from breaking the spell in process at the sudden intrusion. Peeking up through her lashes, Edith saw that the weight was in fact the heavy fur cloak of one of the guardsmen.

Edith mumbled the last phrase before peeking up at the two men from under her lashes, feeling the familiar weight of magic blanketing her mind.

“-ight be from the East. Dunno what some Essosi would be this far north for if not to see the Starks,” one of the guards spoke.

“Lord Stark would have known if some Essosi noble were coming to Winterfell,” the other argued, “And he wouldn’t have let her wander around in the cold without so much as a cloak if he’d been expectin’ her. I think she just got really lost.”

Essosi must be some kind of foreign country or kingdom far off from this northern region. And Lord Stark must be the one in charge of the castle and the surrounding lands. She’d need to seek out more information on both as soon as she had the chance. Claiming to be Essosi might be a convenient way to ward off too many questions from overly curious parties. Actually, it would be safest to find some sort of map charting the topography of the plane and work her way around history from there. She’d need to start with this ‘Essosi’ place to solidify her alibi, then she could focus more on her immediate surroundings and how she might be able to leave if necessary. 

Conveniently, the castle would be the best place to look for books and maps as it likely had a library tucked away somewhere. And now that she’s seen the inside, Edith would be able to come and go freely via teleportation. Carefully, of course. It wouldn’t do to be caught so early before she could appropriately gauge the people’s general reaction to magic.

The two guards chattered a bit more on their speculations of Edith’s origins as they approached the great wooden gates of the castle. Just beyond the gate stood a thin, middle-aged man with graying brown hair and a trimmed beard. Beards seemed to be a common fashion trend in the area. Both her guards also had beards. One was a neat sandy blonde whereas the other was bushy and dark. 

The man at the gate waved down the guards with Edith as they entered, calling out what Edith presumed were her escorts’ names: Alyn and Harwin. 

“Vayon,” the blonde guard, Alyn, greeted, “It’s just like Rory said. She doesn’t understand a word of common, but she definitely acts highborn.” 

“Has she said anything that might give us an idea of where she came from? A recognizable language?” Vayon asked. 

“Hasn’t said a word since we picked her up,” Harwin answered, “Seems like a quiet sort of lady. Though ol’ Hothar at the Log tells it that she nearly broke the Greyjoy boy’s arm.” 

Vayon laughed at that, “Well I’m certain he did something to earn it. Come, Lord Stark is waiting inside.”

Vayon turned on a heel and guided Edith and the guards into the castle. Upon entering, Edith immediately noticed how warm it was inside, unnaturally so for a massive stone castle. She pondered the notion that there may be some sort of enchantment built into the structure to keep it warm and sturdy. She hadn’t caught any traces of magic thus far, but that wasn’t to say that it was impossible for magic to exist anywhere in this world. A dying or lost art perhaps, or one that was rare and accessible to only a privileged few? She would need to conduct greater research into the foundations and histories of the castle to say for certain if magic was spelled into its walls, and there was no way for her to accurately gauge the spells that may or may not be at play with the thickness of the stone walls. Magic detection was simply too weak of a spell to penetrate past layers upon layers of stone work.

Edith was so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized that they’d stopped until she ran squarely into the back of one of the guards, Harwin. He reached an arm back to steady her as the man, Vayon, hurried across the room. They had brought her to a large hall lined with heavy tables lined with food and ale. There were several people sitting for a meal, all turning to look curiously at the new arrivals. At the very end of the hall was a table on an elevated dias, where a large family sat with their own meal. Based on their clothing and position, Edith assumed that this was the Lord Stark’s family. The man in question was speaking over the table to Vayon, casting glances in Edith’s direction with furrowed brows. 

While Vayon and Lord Stark discussed at the table, Edith tried to use her status as a foreign-woman-who-doesn't-know-the-language status to learn a bit more about her unwitting hosts. After all, it wasn’t every day that one found themselves stranded in another dimension where she could not understand anyone and no one could understand her. Novel really. 

First, she attempted to wander around the hall to pick up some snippets of conversation, maybe learn a thing or two about where she had ended up. She was immediately stopped by Harwin, who seized her by the arm after only two steps. He made a disgruntled noise and scolded her for causing trouble before remembering that Edith didn’t speak common. Alyn snickered. 

Then, she attempted to speak to the guards in several different languages to see if there was any potential overlap. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened. Though, if Edith intended to ‘play dumb’ for the sake of access to the castle library, it may not be the wisest course of action. However, Edith was very tired and not particularly in the mood for a great deal of wisdom. If she managed to find a common language to give her a potential method of communication sans magic, all the better. The real problem would be coming up with an excuse as to why she knew absolutely nothing about this place. Maybe she could claim she got ran over by a cart and ended up with amnesia like in all of those romance novels that her assistant loved so much.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, she wasn't a particularly gifted liar and amnesia was flimsy at best), her captors seemed entirely baffled by every language that she tried. So much for that then. At least she still had her ‘sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying’ plan to fall back on.

Before she could try anything else, Vayon returned with Lord Stark. He was slightly taller than average, with long brown curls and a graying beard. He scrutinized Edith with dark gray eyes set into a long face.

“This is her then?” Lord Stark asked, “She doesn’t look like any Westerosi lady I’ve ever seen, not in the North or South.”

“Maybe she’s from Essos?” Alyn offered. 

Lord Stark looked Edith up and down. His eyes lingered on the sword at her waist and the crest of the Archmagi emblazoned on her coat. “I’m not sure. I don’t know much of Essos, but I’ve never heard of a place where women carry swords and dress in breeches. Much less any noblewoman.”

“What reason would an Essosi noblewoman have to be in Winterfell?” Vayon added. He turned back to Edith to scrutinize her just the same as Lord Stark, as if she were some sort of puzzle that was particularly difficult to solve. “What shall we do with her, my Lord?” he asked.  

Lord Stark hummed, rubbing at his bearded chin, “She doesn’t know any common at all?”

“Not that we can tell,” Alyn replied with a shrug, “Maybe she’s simple?” 

Edith bristled. Simple? The youngest Archmagi in the history of Ebril? The Grand Enchanter of the High Council? Headmaster of the College of Arcana and the first recognized Master Bladesinger in all Ossia? That simply could not stand. Edith was many things, but simple was far from one of them. 

Edith exaggeratedly cleared her throat to draw attention. “Edith,” she declared. From the bewildered expressions, it was clear that the men truly hadn’t thought much about her presence outside of what they intended to do with her.

“Edith,” she repeated, gesturing to herself. “Lord Stark,” she added, pointing to the man, “Vayon. Alyn. Harwin.”

The four men were staring at her dumbstruck. Harwin stammered, “You speak common?”

Edith nearly laughed at the young man’s confusion. She couldn’t very well reveal that she could understand them, especially since she would only be able to understand them for another forty minutes or so. She settled instead for teasing the poor flustered guard.

“E-dith,” Edith repeated slowly, as if speaking to a child, and pat herself on the chest for emphasis.

“Edith, then,” Lord Stark responded once the surprise had worn off, “Welcome to Winterfell, Edith. I am Lord Eddard Stark.” He punctuated his name by patting his own chest.

“Has she been listening this whole time?” Harwin asked warily. Edith was fairly certain that the man was concerned about Edith having overheard him earlier comment on her, ahem, body shape while they were walking to the castle. And while yes, she had heard and yes, she would have normally been quite furious, she wasn’t bothered by it enough to blow her cover. She actually felt rather sheepish to have been too prideful to remain silent when her intelligence was questioned. Already the Lord was looking at her with suspicion and caution. So rather than reacting in any way that might further implicate herself, she instead stared blankly back at the men surrounding her.

“Seems like she was only able to pick out our names,” Alyn said, “At least we know what hers is now too.”

“Strange name though,” Harwin added, “Almost sounds Northern, but she’s definitely no northerner.”

“Vayon, find her a guest room,” Lord Stark ordered, “I’ll see if I can’t figure out where she came from, but in the meantime we can’t just let her wander off without any coin or knowledge of the common tongue.”

“Very well my Lord,” Vayon replied with a polite bow. He extended an arm to Edith and guided her out of the hall, the other men walking off towards the tables and loudly greeted those already seated. 

Vayon walked Edith through the castle which felt even larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. The design was cold and imposing, but simple and strong, something Edith could respect. And despite the harsh exterior, there remained a coziness from the warmth emanating off of the stone walls. Literal warmth. By all means, the castle should have been an ice box with its stone bricks and bare walls. There weren't even tapestries lining the walls to buffer the chill and draft. Edith itched to investigate further, to dissect the structure and what magic might linger beneath the surface to keep the castle heated.

Vayon guided Edith up a set of stairs and down a short hallway, stopping in front of a simple wooden door. He opened it up, revealing a small but quaintly furnished room with a bed, fireplace, and a small table with a couple of chairs tucked into the sides. The floor and walls were littered with furs, and a thick fur blanket draped across the bed. Overall, it was a nice little guestroom, likely reserved for visitors of some importance, but not where high profile guests might stay. 

Vayon cleared his throat, waving his arms widely at the room. “This is your room,” He spoke slowly and loudly as if Edith were just a child rather than a grown woman. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out that this was her quarters and the condescension very much aggravated her. It had been a very long time since she had been subject to such flagrant disrespect and she did not miss it. She grit her teeth in annoyance, but otherwise simply nodded absently in acknowledgement. Looking pleased with himself, Vayon left the chambers and bid Edith a good night. When the door clicked shut, she instantly summoned the doorway to her pocket dimension manor. Thankfully, whatever spell that trapped Edith on this plane didn’t seem to affect her ability to summon her personal pocket dimensions. She stepped through the threshold hesitantly, afraid of the unstable backlash should the spell implode once she steps through. 

Thankfully the spell held once she was on the other side. So while the spell circle had trapped her in this material plane and prevented her from opening gates to other planes, it didn’t seem to prevent her from entering pocket dimensions within the greater dimension, so long as the pocket plane existed within the material. Edith briefly entertained the idea of summoning the shared dimension of the council to see if it could serve as a bridge of sorts to get back to Ossia but ultimately decided against it. She simply did not have the magical energy at the moment to make any more attempts at complex spellcraft. And it was probably safer that she come up with a contingency plan ahead of time, just in case the pocket dimension explodes or something once she starts experimenting with her bridge theory.

The manor itself was two stories tall and had rooms that imitated several of her favorite places within the College of Arcana. There was her study, a sitting room, a research lab, an alchemist station, a divination chamber and a grand library (and a master bedroom with a luxurious bath of course). Edith lamented that the creations of the dimension were limited to her own knowledge, and thus the books were all ones that she had already read and memorized. While convenient for consolidating resources, cross referencing from new material would have been her first priority in trying to break the spell. And she couldn’t guarantee that she had everything necessary to break the spell with her knowledge alone. Innovation is a long process, and Edith did not have the luxury of time. She needed to get home as quickly as possible and return to her duties. And, she thought darkly, she needed to give retribution to the dishonorable wretches who threatened her students and trapped her in another plane. Edith stalked towards the library, mind whirling. She’d gather her thoughts, break the spell, return home, and rain hell. But first, she needed to get out of the snow.

Chapter Text

Ebraxima, the Hidden City of the Violet Woods, loomed heavy and imposing around Edith. The ancient High Elven city boasted its longevity and magical prowess, though their true claim to fame was the infamous Spellguard. The Spellguard were the most powerful wizards and warriors that Ebraxima had to offer, trained in the ancient art of the bladesong, a style of magic developed by Ebraxima since before Ebril had even been established. The members of the Spellguard trained from youth to earn a position in the guard and be recognized by the city as a true bladesinger. She stood in the paved pavilion where the bladesingers practiced their craft. It was spacious and beautiful, as most things in Ebraxima were. Edith had always hated this pavilion, the center of her youth and a daily promise of pain. 

The white-gold cobblestones started dropping away, piece by piece. Around her, Ebraxima began to be swallowed into shadows, inky black and closing in fast on Edith. She fearfully shuffled away from the disappearing cobblestones, backing up further and further until her heel dropped out from beneath her. She braced herself for the fall only to find that she was not falling at all, simply floating in an abyss. 

“You should have never been born.”

A brilliant flash of light. The squeeze of a vacuum in space. The excruciating heat of invasive magic.

“ Teacher! ”

Edith woke with a jolt. A cold sweat seeped down her temple and she gasped for breath, a phantom stinging in her veins from the spell she’d been caught in the day before. 

The Archmagi rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stretching and popping her aching back. She had fallen asleep at some point during her research and spent the night uncomfortably slouched in a desk chair. She hardly made any progress on dissecting the spell. The caster had blended together so many different runic languages that it was near impossible to decipher. Furthermore, the circle alignment itself was completely off. A spell as malformed as this succeeding in any capacity was a million to one. It was a statistical anomaly and yet.

Crafting complex spell sequences requires precision and stability. The spell circle was about as sloppy and unstable as one could possibly make. The instability of the spell made it even more perilous to alter, as even the slightest miscalculation in correcting a sequence could have disastrous consequences. In Ebril, such mishaps were far more easily containable, especially with the aid of the Artificer's Guild, but Winterfell had no such defenses. 

Edith sighed, despairing over the lengthy, but necessary, precautions that she would have to take for the safety of the denizens of the castle. As much as she wanted to return home quickly, slow and steady was the safest route for a world unfamiliar with magic. 

Edith bathed quickly, the semi-corporeal humanoid servants of the manor having already set up the large porcelain bathtub. She didn’t want to be gone too long from her borrowed chambers in the Stark castle, not while she still had more questions than answers and someone could walk into her room at any moment to find her missing. Reluctantly, she redressed herself in her dirty clothing from the previous day. It would not do to raise suspicions by greeting her hosts in clothing that she most certainly did not have on her person the night before. Once she was dressed and ready, she hopped out of the mansion. The pocket dimension dissolved behind her as she dropped the spell maintaining its form. The room was still dim and the sun was only barely peeking above the horizon. Fortunately it didn’t seem like anyone had intruded in the night to find her missing. 

While she still had the privacy, Edith quickly disguised her pointed ears and cast the spell allowing her to understand the so-called ‘Common Tongue.’ She felt the two spells settle into her person with a warm pulse of magical energy. It would be tedious to focus on upholding both spells throughout the day as they were not designed for such extended use, meaning that she would have to focus her concentration on maintaining both spells. It would be a major hindrance to her investigation of the new world she found herself in, not to mention the danger of the spell breaking and her deception revealed. Based on everything that she learned so far about this place, she sincerely doubted that they had a very robust judicial system, much less an efficient and ethical prison. It was much more likely that being caught lying to the Lord of the castle would result in banishment at best, execution at worst. If she was lucky, she’d have no need of her magic for any other purpose today, but Edith preferred to err on the side of caution. Having to drain all of her magic on rounded ears and a universal translator was vexing to say the least. 

Peeking out of the window of her little room, Edith could see that the castle had started to wake already. Members of the household staff were already scurrying to and fro across the yard to get to their respective duties. She could make out the figure of Vayon directing the staff below. Unsure of where to go and unfamiliar with anyone else in sight, Edith made her way downstairs and outside to meet him in the yard. Vayon looked surprised as she approached, waving off the last of the staff and making his way towards her.

“Oh, my lady, we hadn’t expected you to be up so early. Not even the Lord has awoken yet.” Remembering that Edith did not know the common tongue (to his knowledge), he started muttering to himself, “Well now what should I do with you? Go break your fast maybe? Honestly, what is Lord Stark thinking? Bringing such a strange woman to live in the castle. The last thing Winterfell needs is another mouth to feed. Grain is scarce as it is already.”

The tone the man took was rather rude, but Edith understood his grievances. Snowy towns (castles? countries?) like Winterfell would hardly be farmable land and wild game can only go so far. 

Edith allowed Vayon to guide her by arm to the same hall from the night before, seating her at a long table where some of the staff were having their own meals before heading off to work. Kitchen staff had begun placing trays of food down on the tables, and more extravagant dishes set on the high table for the noble family. Edith herself snagged a few sausages, a bit of cheese, and a fresh bread roll with a tart jam. She nibbled at the meal as she waited for Lord Stark to arrive. Vayon had left her to continue his duties, gesturing for her to remain where she was. 

It was roughly an hour after she first sat down that Lord Stark strode into the Hall. With him was a tall, red-haired woman who must’ve been his wife, an infant with red curls half asleep on her hip, as well as a preteen boy with red-brown curls and bright blue eyes. The boy, Lord Stark’s son she presumed, followed after his father like a duckling, chest puffed out in an adorably childish attempt to seem larger. Edith didn’t often have the chance to interact with children, but it was always entertaining to watch the trouble they could get into. She’d gotten to spend time with a handful of children in her time at Ebril, and always enjoyed their unabashed curiosity and sense of wonder. There was something marvelous about watching someone so young experience the world for the very first time, so awestruck by the simple things that would often grow to be unappreciated later in life. Adulthood tended to kill such whimsy very quickly, some much earlier than the rest. 

Lord Stark’s wife and children headed up to the high table to break their fast, each sparing Edith a curious glance as they passed by. The Lord himself beckoned for Edith to come to the high table.

“Lady Edith,” Lord Stark greeted with a nod. 

“Lord Stark,” Edith returned with a slight bow of her own.

The nobleman sat her by his side, right between himself and his son. Vayon situated himself behind Lord Stark, leaning down to whisper, “She’s broken her fast already, my Lord. She’s an early riser.”

“So I see. Would you go and fetch Maester Luwin? Mayhaps he will know something about where this woman may have come from.”

“Who is she father?” Lord Stark’s son asked.

“A traveler,” he said, “Seems she’s gotten herself quite lost. She does not know our language nor we hers. Once we find out where she is from, she’ll be on her way. In the meantime, she will be treated as a guest while she remains in Winterfell.”

“She would have to be very lost to have managed to accidentally find herself in Winterfell,” Lady Stark said with raised brows, “Are you certain that Winterfell was not her destination?”

“If it was, then I think that would be news to the both of us. The way Alyn and Harwin tell it, she seemed rather lost down at the Smoking Log, and she’d not dressed for the cold at all. Shaking like a leaf, even after Alyn gave her his cloak.” 

“How strange,” Lady Stark murmured. 

“She has a sword,” Lord Stark’s son said, eyes wide and glued to the rapier tied at her hip, “Do ladies carry swords where she comes from?”

“Mayhaps,” Lord Stark replied, “But we won’t know until we can figure out how to speak with her.” 

The boy scrutinized Edith, taking in her clothing and the emblem across her chest. Edith couldn’t help but chuckle at the serious expression on the little boy’s face. He couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, but clearly fancied himself a little man already. 

“Edith,” she said, patting her chest. She then gestured to Lord Stark, repeating his name and then Vayon’s. She gestured to the boy, who blinked owlishly at her.

“Robb Stark,” Robb answered, mimicking Edith’s gesture. He then pointed to his mother, “Lady Stark,” and the infant, “Rickon Stark.”

“Lady Catelyn Stark,” Lady Stark added, “And Lord Eddard Stark,” she said, smiling bemusedly at her husband. The two were clearly enjoying themselves as they watched their son set about introducing the table, clearly imitating his Lord father’s demeanor. 

Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. Robb Stark and Rickon Stark. Edith committed the names to memory. By the looks of it, Robb was the eldest and presumed heir. His pride and confidence certainly sold the image of a noble lordling.

“Edith Roxton,” she said politely. They would find no Roxtons in Westeros, but figuring that out would likely take quite a bit of time. Edith regretted wasting the Lord’s time and resources on her deceit, but needs must. The longer that they tried to find her (nonexistent) home, the more time that she had to take advantage of their library and learn the language so as to not have to rely on the translation spell. 

“Edith Roxton,” Lord Stark repeated. He turned to his wife who gave a light shrug and slight shake of her head. Lord Stark frowned, deep in thought, “I’ve never heard of a House by the name of Roxton before, and it is certainly not Northern. I’ll write to Jon Arryn, see if he can’t find anyone familiar with the name.”

“We will be needing to find her new clothing,” Lady Stark furrowed her brow at Edith’s dirty clothing. Edith frowned, looking down at her day-old outfit. Certainly it was scuffed and marred by the battle, but it wasn’t that horrible. 

“She’ll be needing warm dresses,” Lady Stark continued, “She won’t last in the cold in thin silks like those.”

Lord Stark nodded, “Agreed. I’ll have Vayon make arrangements with the seamstresses to have some Northern clothing made for her.”

It was Lady Stark’s turn to nod before returning to her own plate and attempting to feed her fussy toddler some warm broth. 

Over the next several minutes, more people trickled in and out of the hall. Some more of the children that Edith had seen sitting at the high table the night before made their way to the dias, grabbing for their own plates and food. The two children, a redheaded girl and another little red haired boy, sat themselves at the table and dug into their food. Or picked away at it in the girl’s case. Both were very young, definitely younger than Robb, and both took very strongly after their mother. The last to join the table were a pair of children who both took strongly after their father instead. The little girl was happily chattering at the older boy who smiled down at her sweetly. As they approached the table, the boy ruffled the little girl’s hair and seated himself with Robb on his left and the little girl to his right. After piling food on her plate and jamming a spoonful of oats in her mouth, she noticed Edith and pointed rudely.

“Who is she?” The girl asked, cheeks bulging with half chewed oats.

“Arya!” The red-haired girl scolded, looking positively scandalized. 

“What?” Arya whined, “I’m just asking who she is.” Arya glared at the older girl, who sniffed and turned away disdainfully. Angered, the little brunette piled oats onto her spoon with clear intentions to fling it across the table. Fortunately, her dark haired brother noticed and grabbed her by the wrist to pour the oats back into the bowl. The girl huffed and stuck her tongue out at the boy, but he only smiled, leaning in to whisper something that had both children breaking down into giggles. 

Food related crisis averted, Lord Stark answered, “This is Lady Edith. She’ll be staying with us for a little while but she doesn’t speak any common, so try not to bother her too much.” 

“She doesn’t know how to speak?” asked the younger boy with bright curls.

“She can speak, just in a language that we don’t know,” Lord Stark corrected.

“She’s got a sword,” The older boy, the one who took after Lord Stark, observed. He leaned around his brother to look at the rapier strapped to her hip. 

Edith really hadn’t expected her sword to be such a spectacle. She had surmised that it was uncommon for women on this plane to fight based on what Lady Catelyn said earlier, but not so uncommon as to cause such a commotion. No one had mentioned anything about it the night before. She supposed that there were more pressing matters about her appearance than her sword at the time.

Nearly jumping out of her seat, Arya gasped in delight, eyes wide and bright with interest. “She has a sword? Can she fight? Can she teach me to fight?” The little girl turned excitedly to her father, who was smiling indulgently. 

“I’ve haven’t seen her fight, but I doubt she’ll be doing much fighting here. Better that we focus on finding her a way home,” he said. A roundabout denial, but a denial all the same. Lady Stark nodded in agreement, but little Arya’s face fell in despair.

“Oh please father!” she begged, “Please please please! I’ll be good and go to all of my lessons!”

Lord Stark just sighed fondly, looking over at his wife. Lady Stark seemed much more exasperated with her daughter. 

“If you want her to teach you, you’re going to have to figure out how to ask her by yourself. And that’s assuming she actually knows how to fight at all.” Lord Stark said, “You could start by introducing yourself.” He looked pointedly at his three other children as well.

Arya turned gleefully to Edith, pointing at herself, “I’m Arya!”

“I’m Bran,” the little boy offered shyly. 

“My name is Sansa,” The red haired girl said primly.

“Jon,” The last boy offered.

Edith nodded at each of the children. Individually, she pointed at each of the children repeating their names back at them, “Arya Stark-” the girl smiled brightly, “Bran Stark-” The little boy smiled and nodded before turning back to his plate, “Sansa Stark-” Sansa nodded politely, “Jon Stark.”

The room immediately grew tense and silent. Edith glanced about, confused. The Stark children looked around uncertainly, while Lord and Lady Stark had gone completely rigid.

Lady Stark was red in the face and breathing heavily through her nostrils as she gritted, “Jon Snow.” She emphasized the surname with a startling amount of venom. Lady Stark had seemed a genteel woman up until this point, so the sudden anger startled Edith. “His name is not Stark. It is Snow.”

When Lady Stark set the boy with a hard glare, Jon mumbled miserably in affirmation, “My name is Jon Snow.”

Clearly, Edith had unintentionally set off a landmine. Was Lady Stark not Jon’s birth mother? They looked nothing alike, but neither did the younger daughter resemble Lady Stark in any way. Looking between Robb and Jon, they appeared very near in age. Perhaps Lord Stark had a wife before Catelyn? It wouldn’t be the first time that Edith had encountered embittered nobles, spiteful over the fact that their children fall behind someone else in inheritance. 

Actually, Edith had no idea why his surname wouldn’t be Stark in the first place, if Lord Stark was his father. Edith had to assume that there was a story behind it. Was he removed from the succession and therefore stripped of his name? Was he a child born out of wedlock? Was he an adopted child of the Starks? Given the reaction of Lady Stark, Edith had to assume that it was one of the former.

The stiff and uncomfortable atmosphere at the table was, thank the gods, broken by the arrival of an old man wearing a massive chain around his neck. Curiously, each link appeared to be crafted from a different metal.

“Maester Luwin,” Lord Stark greeted, sounding relieved. The tone had the old man pausing for a brief moment, a falter in his step as he took in the awkward tension around the table.

“You called for me, my Lord?” Maester Luwin asked hesitantly. His eyes lingered on Edith in a blend of confusion and curiosity, “And I take it that this is our new arrival?”

Lord Stark nodded, “Indeed. I was hoping you might be of some assistance. We’ve not been able to figure out where she might be from nor how to speak with her. She doesn’t know any of the common tongue. Well, none but some names.”

Maester Luwin hummed, “I can’t say I’m familiar with the crests on her clothing, though families outside of Westeros are not one of my primary subjects of study. I doubt we’ll have anything of use in Winterfell’s library to resolve this matter. Our maps and writings mostly concern matters of the North and Westeros, so I shall have to write to the Citadel. Based on her look, I would wager that she comes from Essos, mayhaps The Farther East even. In the meantime, it may be best that she join in on the children’s lessons. Arya and Bran have already started learning their letters, I’m sure we can teach her as well.”

“As good a plan as any,” Lord Stark acknowledged, “It will be easier to keep track of her if we keep her busy.” Edith had to work to school her features into neutrality, no matter how badly she felt like scowling. On the one hand, she found out that a) Winterfell is the name of the castle, and b) that Winterfell did (thankfully) have a library. On the other, it rankled her to be treated like a child. At least the lessons with the Maester would help her decipher the language more quickly.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks were excruciating. Lord Stark had assigned Edith a handmaid to guide her around the castle and remain at her side at all times. The maid, Ricka, was a sweet girl but it aggravated Edith to have her every step monitored. Worse even, Ricka had been instructed to dress Edith like a ‘proper lady’ for the duration of her stay. Lord Stark had been sensible enough to provide Edith with a few pairs of breeches, seeing as she had arrived in a pair, but because of Lady Stark’s insistence, Edith rarely had the opportunity to wear them.

Edith had nothing against dresses, truly. There were several occasions back in Ebril where Edith found herself fighting in dresses and skirts (Balls and Galas, as it turned out, were surprisingly common battlegrounds), but she always made a point to choose ones that were lightweight and unrestrictive. The Westerosi dresses were heavy and impractical given her typical activities in swordsmanship and spellcasting. The bladesong required that she be swift and surefooted, and she could not very well do so in layers upon layers of skirts and girdles. The heavy gowns made Edith feel as though she were constantly moving at half speed. That wasn’t even to mention how awful attempts to style her hair were.

Edith had a thick mane of dark, wild curls that she typically tied back with a simple ribbon for practical purposes. She had never really bothered to style or brush it out as it typically resulted in a greater mess than simply leaving it be. Taming the curls was so tedious and time consuming that it was hardly worth the effort. She had far too many duties to attend to to worry about something as trivial as hair styling (though the Electi seemed to take great joy in styling Edith like a doll for any given formal event). Now that she was forced to endure Ricka painfully raking combs through her hair in an attempt to straighten it out, Edith was sorely tempted to shave all of it off.  

Edith used the dressing and styling time to learn more about Ricka and Winterfell. After she’d learned enough rudimentary common to communicate simple concepts, she’d taken to practicing on her handmaid without using the spell.

She discovered that Ricka was nearly twenty and the eldest of six children. She worked in the castle alongside the second eldest child, a boy named Creagan who worked in the stables. Ricka and Creagan were the only literate kids, but they were teaching their siblings when they had time. Whenever Ricka had the money to spare, she would pick up butter cookies from the bakery. Her favorite food was beef stew and she couldn’t stand the taste of ale. She loved the color blue, winter roses, and fancied the smith’s apprentice, Tomas. She was diligent in her work and exceedingly polite, though easily flustered if by anything considered ‘improper’ by Westerosi standards. Overall, she was a sweet girl and a diligent maid. Edith found herself enjoying her company for the most part.

Lessons with Luwin and the children were fine enough. Edith picked up the alphabet quickly and was learning the language at a rapid pace. Without her spell, she wasn’t fluent and her speech was choppy, but it was understandable which was the most important thing. She was well versed in several languages back in Ebril as part of her arcane studies. Several spells utilized the runic language of several different languages, and learning how to successfully compile the runes together was essential for successful spellcraft. Improperly laid runic script could have calamitous and unpredictable effects if the spell being cast backfired. Edith had seen the result of violent backlash from sloppy runes before, and the poor guy didn’t even leave ashes behind.

Once the ravens carrying the larger world maps arrived at Winterfell, both Maester Luwin and Lord Stark attempted to get Edith to point out where her home was. Each time they brought a new map, Edith would merely shake her head in the negative, baffling Maester Luwin to no end. His communications with the Citadel became more and more frequent to the point where the man could probably compile all of the letters into a full book. The slow travel speed of the ravens meant plenty of research time for Edith, and she didn’t even have to lie to Lord Stark or Maester Luwin. Ebril was not on their maps after all.

Her study of Westerosi history was… interesting to say the least. It seemed that many important events were passed down through oral tradition, meaning that there were gaping holes and majorly conflicting details that drove Edith mad. And the fact that much of the history was best remembered through song irritated Edith to no end. She'd always disparaged folklore and song to be flowery and completely inefficient as a means of sharing accurate information, much to the chagrin of the Council’s Loremaster. The Loremaster was responsible for recording history and developing the arts for Ebril. More often than not, he also served as the Council’s diplomat, to Edith’s eternal consternation. Somehow, the two of them found themselves paired constantly in diplomatic missions requiring Edith’s presence. Edith believed that the Loremaster felt that these missions were always secondary to his personal mission of annoying Edith to death. In her opinion, he was flighty and irresponsible, but she begrudgingly acknowledged that he was undeniably talented in his craft. He was well liked in Ebril, had a talent for steering negotiations in the directions most favorable for the Council, and his epics and plays and songs were outrageously popular across Ossia while also providing accurate, if not dramatized, details of important historical events. It helped to keep the people educated and remind them not to repeat the mistakes of the past. It left a bitter taste in her mouth to admit it, but Westeros could learn a thing or two about record keeping from the Loremaster.

He was still an arrogant, smug little asshole though.

To Edith’s surprise and delight, the numerical system was identical to the one in Ossia. Mathematics was something that Edith excelled at as part of her spellcraft. Perfect precision required perfect calculation after all. It wasn’t long before she was excused entirely from math lessons, or sums as they were called. In that time, she had discovered Winterfell’s library and took it upon herself to devour the books within. The library was off limits to the majority of the castle, allowing Edith plenty of privacy in her research. She voraciously consumed the books in Winterfell’s collection, dedicating every word to memory to add to her conjured library within the pocket manor. 

So far, Edith had come to understand that Westerosi history was spotty at best, nonsensical at worst. Some important events were well recorded, whereas others were made up of so much hearsay that it was questionable that the event ever even took place or if it was just a greatly exaggerated tall tale. The geography was incomplete, the sea to the west was completely unexplored and thus far, any ship that traveled out failed to return. Edth had her suspicions that there might be some sort of barrier wrecking the ships or that they simply met land and there remained. There was a great deal of land to the East that Westeros seemed to ignore almost entirely, apart from minor trade with a place called Yi Ti. It was fully possible that the west-bound sailors ended up in the Farther East and never managed to make it home. This was pure conjecture, of course, but Edith couldn’t help but be curious about all of the strange possibilities that might reside West of Westeros. 

The sciences seemed to have been completely stunted. There had been no major inventions in decades, centuries even so far as Edith could tell. One would think that a three hundred year old kingdom would have innovated even a little.

Winterfell itself seemed to have been built on the most advanced technology that she had seen from Westeros to date. Initially, Edith had hoped that it was some form of permanent enchantment on the stone walls. It was said to have been built by Bran the Builder and rumored that it had magic in its walls that kept the halls warm. Edith was somewhat disappointed to find out that it wasn’t really magic heating the castle, but a rather ingenious pipe system that funneled water from hot springs that the castle was built over into the walls. But that had all happened centuries ago and such little progress had been made that it was almost impressive. Impressive in the worst kind of way, but still. 

The majority of conclusive historical records revolved around the now mostly-extinct Targaryen dynasty. There were hundreds of tales about the Targaryens of Westeros and their achievements, all recorded in great detail. Unfortunately, for every outstanding ruler, there was an equally vile one. When a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. Or so the saying goes. The incest likely had more to do with it than the Gods, but that was just Edith’s theory. 

If it were up to her, Edith would spend the entirety of her days in the library, going through the shelves and absorbing all that Winterfell’s books had to offer. She needed to familiarize herself with this plane as much as possible to search for any potential resources in breaking the banishment spell. The longer she dallied, the more suspicious the Starks grew and the flimsier her alibi became. If they were going to expel her from the castle, she wanted to finish going through the entirety of their library first. That, and there were legends abundant in Westeros full of magic, long since lost to the people. She was sure that there was some magic remaining in Westeros, that the ancient stories of magic and wargs and Children of the Forest were born of at least some level of truth. Edith was sure that if she dug deep enough, searched long enough, she would eventually unearth all that Westeros had once known and long since lost.

Unfortunately, Edith’s research was often hindered as she was rarely given access to the library. Maester Luwin had ultimate say of who had permission to enter the castle’s small library, and Edith was not one of those people. She had gone to the library on a handful of occasions with the Maester, mostly as an extra set of hands along with Ricka. Each time, Luwin would swat her away from the tomes and volumes she would reach for and scold her playing with the delicate pages. Edith had to resist rolling her eyes at the old man each time it happened. 

It was easy enough to bypass the Maester and sneak into the library. Teleportation magic was so very convenient after all. Every evening, after Ricka said her farewells for the night, Edith would pop into the library to grab a handful of books and return to her room. She would finish them before morning and return the books before Ricka arrived to help ready Edith for the day. The pattern continued for weeks, Maester Luwin none the wiser. Well, actually, there was a possibility that Luwin had noticed something amiss as he seemed to scrutinize Edith more and more as time passed.

It was only on rare occasions that Edith was able to use the training yard. She would have used the training yards in her pocket manor, but she couldn’t disappear from Winterfell entirely for large chunks of the day, and nighttime was reserved for her Westerosi and arcane research. The practice yard was the only option that she had, but the men were obnoxiously disinclined to share the field with her. The first time that she tried, she was laughed off of the field before being dragged away by a flustered Ricka. She’d taken to sneaking a few exercises in at daybreak, while half the castle was still asleep and the yard was empty.

A side effect of her gaining access to the yard for practice was developing a little shadow in the form of Arya Stark. While she was going through her stances one morning, a bleary eyed Ricka waiting patiently off to the side, Arya had snuck into the yard in ill-fitting trousers and a worn tunic. The little girl watched Edith go through her forms, completely enraptured. She was so captivated that she didn’t notice her Septa stomping across the yard until she’d grabbed the girl by the wrist and dragged her back to her room to change. Edith could hear the Septa berating Arya for her clothing and sneaking around and fascination with swords as they trailed away. Arya screeched about the unfairness as she was dragged off. The scolding didn’t seem to deter the Stark daughter though, as Edith spotted her again the next day, spying from the shadows. She seemed to at least have learned from the day before to stay vigilant, ducking behind a weapons rack to hide when the frothing Septa came rushing into the yard in search of her young charge. The Septa looked down her nose at Edith as she passed, so Edith was wholly disinclined to tell the woman where Arya was hiding.

Once or twice, Edith caught Arya slicing through the air with a little branch in a clumsy imitation of Edith’s sword forms. The first time that it happened, Arya was with Jon, eagerly demonstrating what she’d observed from Edith during her morning sessions. The two children were startled and meek when they’d noticed Edith watching, but she merely smiled and grabbed a stick of her own to correct Arya’s clumsy swordsmanship. She’d barely managed to properly adjust Arya’s stance when Septa Mordane appeared in a swirl of skirts and righteous fury. She’d screeched at Arya for her unladylike behavior and scolded Jon for encouraging her. She’d even snapped at poor Ricka for mishandling Edith and letting her be a bad influence on the children. Edith was certain that Ricka had been further scolded, as she came to her room the next morning with red-rimmed eyes and a guilty reminder that Edith was to behave like a proper lady while a guest of the Starks.

Propriety and impropriety in Westeros was incomprehensible to Edith. For the life of her, she could not imagine how the standards of propriety came to be in this land. For one, women held virtually no rights. They could not claim land of their own, they could not claim trade professions like masonry or smithing, and they fell to the bottom of succession behind their brothers, even if they were the elder child. Worst of all, women could not even claim the right to their own bodies. They were treated as commodities, pretty things to sell for dowry and claim for power. She had no say in whom she may be forcibly wed to and she had no protection should she try and refuse her husband. It was husbandly right to his wife’s body. Disgusting.

In what she had seen of the Stark women in her time at the castle, the Lady and the eldest daughter were the perfect image of noble ladies. Graceful, demure, poised, and completely subservient to male counterparts in positions of higher authority. Certainly, the Lady Stark was respected and dignified. The household staff never argued with or complained about her, at least no more so than was to be expected from workers in any profession. The treated her with deference and respect, but the Lady’s authority ended at the whim of her Lord husband. No matter how she might disagree with a decision made by her husband, there was no argument or discussion to be had. It was the Lord’s decision that held the power. 

What Edith truly could not understand was why women complied with such constraints. They simply accepted their lot in life and carried on. Sure, there were plenty of matches made of love among the villagers, but the wealthier the family, the more likely that a daughter would simply be sold to the highest bidder. And sometimes immediately after their earliest ‘moon blood,’ girls as young as eleven or twelve! 

The only rebellion against this standard the Edith had seen seemed to be Arya. She was an entertaining child, reckless and full of energy. She cared little for the proper ways of Westerosi ladies and spent her time running around the castle, delighting and exasperating the staff with her antics. She was a vibrant and lovely girl, and Edith hated to remain silent every time her mother or sister or Septa came along to scold her and stuff her right back into the ‘proper noble lady’ box. A box Arya escaped frequently, but one that continually trapped her nonetheless.

After the incident with the Septa, Edith rarely caught sight of Arya out and about Winterfell. Any time Edith stumbled across the girl, her mother or Septa seemed to be with her and would drag Arya away on sight. Conversely, she seemed to run into Jon every morning as he’d suddenly taken to sharing the training yard for early morning practice. She knew for a fact that Jon preferred to train in the evening while the majority of the house was taking their supper, and yet here he was. The boy was a rather miserable liar and had all of the stealthy cunning of cooking pots being banged together, very clearly paying more attention to Edith’s footwork than his own practice. Regardless, Edith would always slow her movements and repeat her basic forms more times than necessary for Jon to better memorize them and show to his little sister in secret.

Despite her many issues with the ways of life in Westeros, Edith had to admit that the Stark family and the castle staff grew on her. She hadn’t intended on getting so attached, seeing as she would eventually be leaving and all, but she couldn’t deny that they were good people leading an honest and simple life. Edith’s own life was anything but, so simple was a very refreshing change of pace. 

The Stark children had especially grown on Edith. The oldest, Robb, was courteous, if not a bit overly-conscious of Edith being a woman taking up ‘manly’ hobbies. Sansa was somewhat aloof with Edith, and definitely turned her nose up whenever Edith was fighting or wearing trousers, but she was compassionate underneath her posturing. She would often help correct Edith’s spelling and pronunciation without prompting. Bran was a curious and adventurous little thing. It amused Edith to watch the boy zip around rooftops until his mother inevitably showed up and forced him back to land. Baby Rickon was young yet to have really developed a character, but he was loud and energetic and always gave Edith big gummy smiles.

It was Arya and Jon who Edith had grown the most fond of. Arya was a clever child with an adventurous spirit and a kind heart. She cared about everyone in Winterfell, regardless of their status and was fiercely loyal to and protective of the people around her. She was passionate, dedicated, and athletic and had managed to mimic the forms she’d seen remarkably well on her own. There was so much potential there and Edith itched to teach Arya to bring it forward. If she were back in Ebril, Edith would have offered for Arya to be one of her students in a heartbeat. 

Jon was an interesting case. He was very talented with a sword, clearly better than the others his age and probably one of the best fighters in Winterfell if she were to hazard a guess. And yet he always restrained himself, allowing Robb to win near every spar and enduring Theon’s constant insults. As it turned out, he was, in fact, Lord Stark’s bastard child, and Lady Stark hated him for it. Given all that she knew of the man and his reputation, the fact that he had fathered a bastard child was surprising. The way that the infamously honest and honorable Lord clammed up whenever Jon’s mother was mentioned was even more surprising. And suspicious. There had to be some reason that the Lord refused to tell even his wife or Jon himself who the mother was. It really wasn’t any of Edith’s business but something about it ate away at her. Of course it ate away at Lady Stark and Jon Snow far more than it did Edith herself.

Edith’s stomach churned with quiet fury every time she noticed the Lady of Winterfell glaring at Jon Snow, the boy shrinking under her intense glares. The image of Lady Stark overlapped with that of her despicable grandfather, back in the forest city of her childhood. Just like the Lady, her grandfather took every opportunity to remind Edith just how unwelcome and unwanted she was. She was a stain on his family legacy. In his eyes, Edith was nothing, no more worthy of attention than the dust beneath his feet. It had to be even worse for Jon. Lady Stark didn’t treat him as though he were nothing. She acted as if his very existence was a personal insult, a constant eyesore that she itched to throw away. At nearly every opportunity, Lady Stark made it clear to Jon that she did not want him in Winterfell, that the attention he received was scorn and ridicule. Edith had taken to avoiding Lady Stark, unable to restrain herself from snarling at the woman whenever she passed by. All of her old wounds rose to the surface and rubbed raw in the presence of the Lady of Winterfell.

There were little things that endeared Jon to Edith, outside of the natural kinship she felt for him as a fellow unwanted bastard. He was quiet and courteous, sweet to his half-siblings and had a strong spine, remaining calm and composed despite Theon and Lady Stark’s antagonism. His relationship with his youngest sister, Arya, was deep and loving. When Arya wasn’t at her lessons or sneaking off to go riding or exploring, she was glued to Jon’s side. Jon obviously loved his siblings, even Sansa who treated him coldly, but he clearly adored his baby sister. He and Arya were closer to each other than any of the Stark siblings, practically attached at the hip. If Jon wasn't with Robb in the yard and Arya wasn't in her lady-lessons, one could most likely find the pair up to some sort of mischief around the castle (well, Arya's mischief. Jon mostly acted as a lookout and kept his sister from doing anything overly risky). Whenever Jon was feeling particularly down, Arya would be right there to climb all over him and regale him with stories of her adventures or dragging him into games with the other children or begging him for sword lessons. In turn, he was there to tend to her hurts, wipe her tears, and encourage her to be whoever she wanted to be. It was achingly sweet, a loving relationship that Edith would have killed for once upon a time. 

Yes, if Edith were to choose among the Stark children to take as her students, it would be Arya and Jon. They had the talent and the drive to make excellent bladesingers. Edith hadn’t realized how much she missed her students and her classes until Arya and Jon. She missed teaching. She missed having students, watching them grow and succeed. She missed the warmth of accomplishment and pride as her students grew into powerful bladesingers in their own right. 

Arya and Jon were perfect contenders to be Edith’s very first students in Westeros. If she could only convince their parents, who were born and raised in a land that considered magic to be unnatural and vile, that magic was actually a good thing. Edith supposed it was about time that someone shook things up in Westeros. After all, if Edith was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, then some changes needed to be made in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Edith was going to have a lot of work to do.

Chapter Text

About six weeks after Edith’s arrival in Winterfell, she finally learned to speak common to a nearly fluent degree. She continued the charade of ignorance as she had yet to come up with a solid explanation for her arrival in Winterfell. From the maps of Westeros that she had seen, Winterfell was near the dead center of the northern half of the continent. Claiming shipwreck wasn’t an option. And her other options were no better. She could say that she was traveling with a merchant wagon or something and got separated by wolves or bandits or whatever. Storytelling and the arts were far outside of Edith’s expertise. Coming up with ridiculous plans like this had always been the responsibility of the Loremaster for obvious reasons. The man was a narcissistic idiot, but a creative liar and expert actor. Never in her wildest dreams did Edith ever think that she would want the Loremaster around. And yet here she was. How low she had fallen.

Edith knew that she was running out of time. Lord Stark had mentioned on more than one occasion that he’d turned up nothing from his allies regarding a foreign woman matching Edith’s description, nor could they figure out where she might be from as they had yet to find any place that Edith recognized on a map. There was no one familiar with the crest on her clothing and the Lord was growing more wary of Edith because of it. She would have to come up with something fast. 

Edith debated whether or not she should just tell them the truth, especially given her desire to take Arya and Jon as students. Hell, she would have taken Bran as well if not for the fact that he lacked the strong natural talent for swordplay to be a bladesinger. He had intelligence in spades, certainly, but Edith had a sneaking suspicion that Bran would be a much better student amongst the druids with the Lady of the Wilds. Edith would have to arrange a meeting between the Lady and - no, no, she was getting ahead of herself. One issue at a time. 

Edith would likely be forced from Winterfell if she couldn’t provide the Starks with a believable story. Actually it would be more likely that she were tossed into a cell if she were caught in a lie that large. If not beheaded. She had heard mention before of the Stark motto for execution. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Or something to that effect. Edith was rather fond of her head and was still in need of it to continue her research into Westerosi magic tradition and the magical abilities claimed by priests and sorcerers and witches from Westeros to the other side of the Narrow Sea. She’d barely scratched the surface of the mysterious land of Asshai and doubted that she would find such easy access to the tomes sent by the Maesters outside of Winterfell’s walls. Or mounted atop them as a decapitated head. Not that she was actually in any danger given that she could topple Winterfell with a snap of her fingers but she really, really did not want to resort to violence.

Thus far, the texts that she’d found regarding magic were few and far inbetween. Most of them were collections of stories and folklore. It wasn’t until she’d met Old Nan, an elderly servant woman, as she was watching over the children that she found out about the Westerosi opinion on magic. And it was not favorable. In Old Nan’s stories, those who used magic were either maniacal killers, fictional creatures, or brutally murdered at the end of their story. It was not an attitude that inspired confidence in Edith to tell the truth.

On the other hand, as far as Edith could tell, she was the only true magic user on the continent, if not in the entire plane. What little she had dug up on other potential magic users seemed to indicate that they were either charlatans or simply weaker than Edith by spades. Again, if the Starks tried to punish her or throw her in a cell, she could easily overpower the entire castle. But the Stark family had been perfectly generous and kind thus far. The Lord and Lady had been keeping her comfortable and fed while working hard to try and return her to her nonexistent home. The children were all sweet and considerate. 

In the end, Edith did not have much in the way of options. She was very nearly at the point of overstaying her welcome and did not have the talent in deception to keep up a convincing lie indefinitely. And as much as she’d like to be optimistic about, Edith doubted that she’d be unraveling the spell circle any time soon. Better to live with people she could tolerate and make use of their familiarity with the customs of her new plane then to completely sequester herself off. Edith was not a social person by any stretch of the imagination, but she wasn’t so antisocial that she would want to live in complete isolation indefinitely. The biggest problem was how to approach the Starks with the truth.

Ultimately, Edith decided that the best course of action was pure honesty, plain and simple. And to preemptively accost Lord Stark before he grew even further suspicious. She doubted that he would take to her dishonesty well, but hoped that he would at least be willing to hear her out. Worst case scenario, he tries to arrest her or banishes her from the North. Not that he could really enforce either of those things upon her because, again, powerful wizard and all that. Still, Edith preferred that it did not come to blows. She didn’t think that the Electi would appreciate her botching diplomatic relations with a newly discovered plane almost immediately upon arrival. The Electi was a patient woman, but her temper was fierce and terrifying to behold. Edith did not want that temper aimed at herself.

Donning the full regalia of the Archmagi of Ebril, Edith strode to Lord Stark’s solar. She knew that he and Vayon handled Winterfell’s paper affairs once a week and it was the only time that Edith would be able to catch him privately without arousing too much suspicion. And she didn’t think that the Lord would mind all that much to be given a respite from counting taxes.

“Where are you going my Lady?” Ricka asked, “This is the way to the Lord’s solar. I don’t think he wants anyone botherin’ him. He’s doin’ his work m’lady. We shouldn’t interrupt.”

“No,” Edith said firmly, “This way. I need speak with Lord Stark.”

Ricka wrinkled her brow, “Whatever for my Lady?”

“I must say in secret to him.”

“Oh, you must speak to him in private, you mean,” Ricka said. Edith, nodding, quietly rejoiced in the fact that she would soon be able to drop the farce of broken sentences. It was dreadful to maintain the lie and generally annoying to be so limited in vocabulary. 

There was a single guard posted outside of the solar, Jory Cassel if Edith recalled correctly. He seemed to be the Lord’s favored guard as he seemed to accompany Lord Stark wherever he went. Upon seeing Edith and Ricka walking down the hall, he shifted uncomfortably in place. Edith pursed her lip at him. He always seemed fidgety and on edge around her, avoiding her eyes and darting away at the first opportunity. Edith wondered if he had maybe caught on to her lies or disliked when women behaved ‘improperly,’ as Edith was wont to do. Ricka seemed to find it all entertaining for some reason.

He nodded politely at Ricka and Edith, “Miss Ricka, Lady Edith. Is there something that you needed from Lord Stark?”

“Lady Edith says she needs to speak with Lord Stark in private.”

Jory furrowed his brow, “Is she even capable? I don’t know that she knows enough to hold a conversation with the Lord.” Edith scowled at the man, making it clear that she understood enough to know he was doubting her. He reddened and began to splutter, “Not that she isn’t capable of speaking, only that she does not speak well enough yet- I mean, she speaks well for what she has and-”

“Seven hells, just send her in Jory!” came a muffled shout from behind the door. Ricka giggled at the very flustered Jory as she pushed the door open for Edith to enter. Dismissed by Lord Stark, Vayon Poole walked past her with a suspicious glance. Edith wasn’t fond of the steward and he seemed to dislike her just as much. The man was a tad snooty, ranking high among the household staff and therefore used to being obeyed. He had something of an ego and Edith went out of her way to ignore the man whenever he tried to herd her some way or another. She thought he might have wanted her to join the other ladies in their sewing and tea parties, but all of the hells would freeze over before Edith allowed that to happen. The door shut behind Vayon, Jory, and Ricka and two pairs of footsteps receded into the distance. 

After a beat or two, Lord Stark looked up from his work with a polite but confused smile.

“Was there something you needed my Lady?” he asked, setting down his quill and leaning back into his seat. 

Edith took a deep breath before bowing her head low and saying, “I owe you a considerable apology, Lord Stark. There is a great deal that I have not told you, and even more for us to discuss.” 

Lord Stark shot upright in his chair, the wooden legs scraping along the floor with a harsh screech. There was alarm in his eyes, quickly bleeding into anger as the muscles in his jaw clenched. On the other side of the door, Jory knocked and asked, “Is everything alright in there my Lord?”

“Please, Lord Stark,” Edith begged, “Just give me a chance to explain.”

Lord Stark stared at her, long and hard before shouting, “It’s fine Jory. Stay as you were.”

He leaned forward his arms on the table. His heavy brow shadowed his eyes ominously. “Speak,” he commanded, “since it would seem that you’ve suddenly become so well spoken in the common tongue.” 

Edith couldn’t help but wince under his judging gaze, but refused to break eye contact or shrink away. She had done what she felt was the safest and wisest course of action given her unusual circumstances and she would not be cowed for it. 

“Please, keep an open mind, my Lord,” Edith asked, “I’ll tell you the whole truth of who I am and how I ended up in Winterfell. You will find it difficult to believe, but I promise you that everything I am about to say is true.” 

For a moment, Edith thought that he might yet call for Jory, but instead, he just crossed his arms and set Edith with a stony gaze, a silent permission to continue. 

“I am a wizard, my Lord,” Edith said. When Lord Stark stared vacantly at the revelation, she added, “A mage. Spellcaster. Someone who practices magic.”

“Is this meant to be some form of jape?” Lord Stark spat.

“No, my Lord, but I must request that you let me finish explaining. Trust me, I want to go home far more than you will ever want me to leave Winterfell,” Edith said. Lord Stark’s frown deepened, but he nodded for her to continue.

“As I said, I am a wizard,” Edith resumed, “My home is known as Ebril, the Eternal City, in the prime material plane of Ossia. You have never heard of it because it exists on another material plane, one entirely separate from this one, adrift in the astral sea. I-” 

“Ebril?” Lord Stark interrupted. His voice landed somewhere between fury and confusion. “Ossia? Astral Sea? What is this nonsense? Do you mean to make a mockery of me? Of my House? We have no need of such madness in Winterfell-”

“There was a confrontation,” Edith interrupted forcefully, “I am well known in my homeland, and have made many enemies because of it. I’m sure you can relate. Certain people held a very old vendetta against me, and wanted me gone by any means necessary.” 

Edith took a deep, unsteady breath, willing her body to stay calm and loose despite her magic buzzing in distress, all the way down to her fingertips. The phantom sting of the spell still lingered whenever she thought about the fight that led her to her forced banishment. 

“It was a trap that caught me and sent me here. They had created a complex spell circle that, for some reason, has bound me to this plane. I’ve been working to decipher the circles so that I might return home, but I’ve thus far not had any luck. My landing near Winterfell was purely happenstance, my Lord.”

Lord Stark stared darkly at Edith and she could see that she had not convinced him. Rather than fruitlessly trying to plead innocence, Edith figured that it would be far simpler to just give a small demonstration. She released the spell disguising her pointed ears, the illusion fading away with a shimmer. Lord Stark’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could react, Edith conjured several colorful orbs of light with a quick gesture and some muttered arcane words. The glowing spheres leapt from her open palm to hover around the room, casting a colorful haze over the walls. The spell was just a simple set of floating lights, one of the first spells taught to young wizards in training, and particularly to the ones without the ability to see in the dark. 

The immediate reaction was about as bad as Edith had expected. Lord Stark again leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair this time with a noisy clatter. He looked between Edith and the lights in shock, mouth opening and closing as he tried and failed to articulate a response. 

The loud clatter of the chair had Jory bursting into the room, sword drawn and at the ready. Seeing the lights dancing about the room, he froze in place, mouth agape.

“They’re only lights, my Lord,” Edith remarked, dispelling the lights with a flick of the wrist, “They’re perfectly harmless, no more dangerous than a candle. Less so actually. We teach that spell to children.”

“Witchcraft," Jory breathed. 

“Spell craft,” Edith corrected, “I understand that you have very limited knowledge of magic here, but magic is no more good or evil than an arrow or a sword. Only truly dangerous in the hands of someone who knows how to wield it and would use it for ill.”

Lord Stark took a moment to steady himself, righting his chair and returning to his seat in a heavy plop while Jory did an excellent imitation of a gasping fish. The Lord slouched in his chair and rubbed at his temples. Edith hummed, observing the two men’s reactions. It was easy to forget just how marvelous something so simple as a mote of light would be to someone who had never experienced magic before. Magic was such an integral part of Edith’s life, of Ossia at large, that it was almost impossible to imagine how these men must be feeling, witnessing true magic for the very first time. She had been warned before that she lacked a certain amount of tactful delicacy required for diplomacy, and she certainly fell far short of the mark here. In her defense, she would never claim to be a diplomat. And she had no clue what the fuck else to do to resolve this mess. It was a poor defense, admittedly, but also the truth. 

“I am at a loss, my Lady,” Lord Stark said wearily, “I’ve only ever believed magic to be the stuff of songs and legend. Long since lost to Westeros or stories to tell your children before bed.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be a lot to take in,” Edith replied, “Apologies for the subterfuge my Lord, I assure you that I never meant you or yours any harm. I needed your library, that was all.”

“Hold on, you can speak the common tongue?” Jory asked in alarm.

“Indeed,” Edith said.

“And how long have you been able to speak in common like this?” Lord Stark asked pointedly. Edith winced slightly at the silent reprimand.

“Er, since the very beginning, My Lord. Magic and whatnot,” Edith smiled guiltily.

“Magic and whatnot,” Lord Stark sighed exasperatedly, running a tired hand down his face, “I should hope that there are no other surprises that I should know of? Grumpkins or snarks or white walkers?”

“I can’t speak to grumpkins or snarks or white walkers, but there is nothing left for me to hide. I had originally intended to leave once I became at least mostly fluent in the language, and learned enough about Westeros to pass as the average villager.”

“But still you remain,” Lord Stark pointed out, more a question than a statement, “My Lady, speak plainly, what is it that you still need from Winterfell?”

“It isn’t a matter of need, Lord Stark. Rather it is a matter of want,” Edith said, “In truth, I require absolutely nothing from you. What I want, however…”

She had agonized over what she would say to the Starks about wanting to stay in Winterfell for the duration of her involuntary exile. She liked the Starks, their honor and integrity. They were just and patient, kind in ways that many nobles were not. The villagers adored the Starks and Lord Stark made sure to take the time to engage with each and every member of his staff, a rare and noble habit for a Lord. The Stark children were sweet and lively and the staff dutiful and patient. Overall, the Starks were about as idyllic as a blue-blooded family could be.

And then there was Arya and Jon. The memory of the two children giggling and swinging around their stick-swords flitted through her mind. Edith couldn’t help the small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. 

“If you are amenable, my Lord,” Edith started, “I would like to remain in Winterfell and take Arya and Jon as my students.”

Lord Stark nearly choked in surprise, “What? You want to– I–” 

“My Lord, I know that the prospect of magic may be… startling to you, but magic is only part of what I would like to teach your children,” Edith continued, patting the blade at her hip, “There is a blade art, one as ancient as it is rare, that only I am able to teach.”

Edith unsheathed her blade and let magic wash over her form. It flooded her veins, her muscles, her senses. It settled and shimmered almost invisibly over her skin, accompanied by the clear chiming of bells. Jory startled, automatically leaping into a defensive stance in front of his liege. Lord Stark merely watched in fascination.

“Bladesinging,” Edith said, “That is what I am offering to your children. I have no doubt that Arya and Jon have the potential to be incredible bladesingers someday. Arya is passionate and clever. Jon is already a talented swordsman. But more importantly than that, I would trust them not to abuse the power that I am offering them,” Edith smiled softly, “In short, they’re good kids.”

Edith, Lord Stark, and Jory all jerked in surprise when the door slammed open forcefully enough to rattle the furniture in the room. Poor Jory nearly fell face-first onto the stone floor with how on edge he was. Arya appeared in the doorway and dashed over to her father, clinging to his leg. In his startled state, Lord Stark was barely able to brace himself for his energetic daughter, stumbling slightly to keep from tripping. Arya was disheveled and dirty, mud clinging to the hem of her skirt all the way up to her knees. Edith smirked knowingly. The little girl was definitely meant to be in lessons with the Septa at the moment. Not that Edith blamed her, the Septa’s lessons seemed as dreadful as they were meaningless. Looking back to the doorway, Edith raised a brow at Jon, Robb, and Bran all peering sheepishly inside in similar states of embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping.

“Please father!” Arya begged, “Please, please, please! I promise I’ll work hard and be good! I’ll go to all my lessons and I’ll be nice to Sansa and-”

“Breath little wolf,” Lord Stark said fondly, kneeling to be at eye level with Arya, “Your mother and I will need to discuss–”

“No, you can’t!” Arya wailed, “It’s sword fighting! Mother won’t let me unless you say so!” Arya’s eyes were big and wet, lip wobbling as she looked miserably up at her father. Lord Stark sighed deeply. The sigh of a man who had just been defeated by classic puppy-dog eyes.

“Arya…” he trailed.

“Father,” Jon Snow stepped quietly into the room. He approached Lord Stark’s desk, glancing at Edith hesitantly.

“Please father,” Jon said, “I’ll watch her, I promise. I’ll make sure that nothing happens and that she doesn’t get hurt. But if what Lady Edith says is true, then we’ll never find a chance like this again.” 

After a brief staring contest between father and son, Lord Stark deflated, looking as if he’d aged years in a matter of moments. At this point, Edith was impressed that Lord Stark was entertaining this conversation at all. It had been something of a gamble to request to teach his children at all, but Edith simply couldn’t resist the opportunity to educate such rare and obvious talent. Given the popular opinions on magic in Westeros, she would not have been surprised if he outright refused to let magic anywhere near his family. Instead, Lord Stark remained silent and contemplative for a long moment, eyes flitting between Arya, Jon, and Edith. Finally, he dropped his head with a deep sigh.

“You’ll have a guard escort at all times,” He commanded tiredly, jerking his head in Jory’s direction. Craning his neck down to Arya he added, “I expect you to attend all of your lessons. Every day. On time. All of them . Or else the… magic sword lessons-” 

“Bladesinging,” Edith grumbled under her breath .  

“-stop immediately. Do you understand, Arya?”

Arya beamed, “Yes, yes, yes! I understand father, I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t even throw food at Sansa, you’ll see!” She giddily threw her arms around Lord Stark’s neck, burying her face into the crook. Lord Stark softened and hugged his daughter close. When she was released, Arya sprung over to Jon instead, practically throwing herself on top of him to hug him tight. Edith coughed awkwardly, uncomfortable with interrupting the intimate family moment.

“I’ve a few rules of my own,” she said. Edith straightened and folded her arms behind her back, holding her chin high and taking on the full, proud image of the Archmagi of Ebril. 

“There will be no magic without supervision until I give you express permission. Any attempts to exploit loopholes will result in you losing lesson privileges immediately. You will not breathe even a single word of what I teach you to anyone else. Not your friends, not your siblings, not even your parents unless I say otherwise. You will do as I say when I tell you to do it, for your own safety.” 

Edith stepped closer to the two children, looking down at them intensely. The Council’s Warmaster liked to jokingly call it her ‘pissy’ face, on account of it being ‘so scary that it makes little kids piss themselves.’

“My most important rule, the one by which I dedicate my life to, is peace. My bladesingers will use their magic to defend the innocent, never for mindless violence. Should you ever use my teachings to harm or destroy without due cause, then you will have to answer to me.” 

“I will tell you this now and you will remember this at all times. Magic is wild and it is dangerous. Mishandled, it is capable of catastrophe. If you do not think you can follow my rules, if you do not think that you can handle the responsibility, this is your opportunity to decline.”

The children stared up at Edith with wide eyes. Jon nodded solemnly, “I understand. I swear to follow your rules and commands if you would take me as a student.”

“Me too,” Arya piped, “I promise.”

“Can you truly do magic?” Bran asked from the doorway. He and Robb were both watching the conversation unfold in curiosity and a touch of envy. It wasn’t every day that one was offered the opportunity to learn powerful arts long since believed lost to history, after all. 

Feeling indulgent, she waved her fingers through the air and summoned Minaeve into being. The snowy owl popped into existence and perched herself on Edith’s extended arm with a curious hoot as she blinked her large golden eyes at the Starks (and Jory) in the room. The four kids oohed and ahhed, rushing over to examine the owl familiar. Lord Stark gave another tired sigh and Jory looked just about ready to pass out. 

Minaeve, a fellow introvert, ruffled in surprise at the sight of all the strangers before shooting an annoyed glare at Edith. Edith smiled apologetically at her familiar, but she still had more business with Lord Stark and needed the little ones out of the way. Thus, trustworthy magical familiar to keep them occupied. She’d find a nice, juicy chunk of meat for her companion as an apology gift later. Nevertheless, Minaeve weathered the attentions of four overeager children with dignity, even going so far as to let each child take a turn with her perched on their arm. 

Edith smiled and said, “Very well then, now that that is settled,” She turned back to the Lord of the castle, “I’ve another request to make of you since I will be staying in Winterfell for an indeterminable length of time. That tower out there, the broken one,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of the crumbling structure, “May I have it?”

Jory nearly choked where he stood while Lord Stark blinked in surprise, “Why in the world would you want the Broken Tower?”

“For residency,” Edith replied simply, “Not that I have any complaints about the room I’ve been kept in, but there is a level of secrecy and space required for my spellcraft. Should anything go awry, I would rather there be some distance from the rest of the castle. For safety.”

“What happens if anything goes awry?” Jory asked warily.

Edith shrugged, “No idea. Like I said, magic is wild. If you don’t control it properly, it will simply do as it pleases. Typically, that means something explosive, or at the very least extremely inconvenient.”

Edith had seen a young alchemist accidentally flub a potion once. The ensuing explosion destroyed the potions lab and stained half of the College purple for two weeks. Edith was not keen to repeat the incident anywhere near the rest of the castle. Winterfell did not have the same luxury of auto-teleporting enchantments that the College had in place for safety. She made a mental note to add such a feature to her soon-to-be tower and the castle at large. Wizards-in-training were so very volatile after all, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

“It will be a great expense to repair the Broken Tower,” Lord Stark said, folding his hands under his chin, “and an expense that we cannot afford. Are you familiar with our house words, my Lady?” 

“Of course.‘Winter is Coming,’ was it not?”

“Aye,” Lord Stark nodded, “And that means we need everything that we have to survive. The North is a hard place when the winter snow falls heavy and thick. The tower remains broken for exactly that reason.”

“If expense is the concern, fear not Lord Stark. You’ll not need to pay a single coin. I’m perfectly capable of repairing the tower myself,” Edith said, “Though I would appreciate it if you could direct me to your local craftsmen. I require their expertise and would request their guidance. I’m sure that I can negotiate some form of satisfactory repayment.”

Jory’s eyes widened, “How could you possibly manage rebuilding a tower of that size on your own?”

Edith smiled, bemused, “Good Sir, I’m certain you already know the answer.” Jory flushed red in embarrassment, quickly averting his eyes again.

Edith had spent the better part of the last few evenings in her pocket mansion’s library reviewing her knowledge repository on the various schools of magic that she believed to be weaved into the garbled mess of a circle that had sent her to Westeros. In her study, she had rediscovered a few transfiguration and conjuration spells that were often used by the Artificer’s Guild. 

Artifice, the newest branch of magical study, revolved around the joining of magic and technology. The Guild was fast growing, and had revolutionized nearly every facet of life in Ossia. From vehicles to communication to construction, to warfare, Artifice was quickly changing how the entire world operated. 

The spells that she had found, or rather rediscovered, were ones that she had previously discussed in length with the Council’s Lead Artificer, a new position added to the High Council as the craft grew to prominence. Edith appreciated the man’s straightforward and cheerful personality, and his keen mind led to valuable and informative discourse. Edith didn’t have the head for engineering required to be a successful Artificer, but she was still a leading expert in arcane study, and therefore a common partner to the early stages of design and conception for the Artificer’s work. The spells in question were mostly from the schools of transfiguration and conjuration that the guild frequently used to quickly construct new architecture around the city. It would be so much more convenient if she had access to their magical devices so as to not use up all of her own magical reserves but there was no use crying over spilled potions.

Lord Stark hummed in thought, “I take it that you already know that magic has a poor reputation in most of Westeros?”

“Unfortunately.”

“There will be many who will oppose you. They may even attack you for it.”

“Potentially.”

Lord Stark paused, leaning in towards Edith, “If not you, then they may target my family for it. I am putting a great deal at risk by allowing you to remain here, by allowing you to teach my children. I only do this for the sake of my daughter and son. I know about your little morning training sessions in the yard. That you’ve been wordlessly teaching Jon already. That you know he passes along that knowledge to Arya. You have clearly grown fond of my children, but I will not tolerate anything that would put them at risk. Hurt them in any way, and I will prove to you just how harsh winter can be.”

“I understand, My Lord,” Edith replied seriously, “I would never allow anyone to harm your children, not even a single hair. You have my word,” She stepped up to Lord Stark’s desk, leaning forward towards the older man, “For as long as I remain within your castle walls, you will find an ally in me. So long as you do not ask for anything cruel or unjust, my magic is at your disposal. I will not wage war for you, but none shall dare challenge your castle so long as I reside within.”

Lord Stark gave her a long, hard look before nodding slowly, “The tower is yours if you can fix it on your own. Otherwise you are welcome to remain in your rooms at the castle.”

They discussed a few more details about the tower and magic in general, the children shuffled out by Jory and Minaeve dismissed for some well deserved rest. Lord Stark agreed to let her do with the tower as she saw fit, provided it was neither a hindrance nor a danger to the residents of Winterfell. He also agreed to schedule a meeting with the local craftsmen first thing in the morning. In turn, Edith tried to explain the basic principles of arcana to assuage some of Lord Stark’s worries about his children learning magic, but even the beginner’s rundown proved too much for the man. There was a certain level of imagination and a strong memory required to be a good caster, and intensive dedication to the craft to be a truly great one. Lord Stark was by no means unintelligent, but he was far too busy and set in his views to really put in the effort to memorize the information. That, and the learning curve was rather steep, even for a grown man. Still, she was fairly certain that enough of the information stuck to assure Lord Stark that there would be nothing particularly dangerous to start with, mostly minor tricks and spells of convenience that were commonplace in Ebril. She neglected to mention the destructive potential of the spells that she intended to teach them later down the line, but she was at least mostly confident (ok, maybe half) that she would have any potential situations under control. She had been teaching fully grown, already well developed wizards back in Ebril, surely two children would be far easier to manage.

Chapter Text

True to his word, Lord Stark arranged for Edith to meet with his Master Crafters after breaking their fast. Why they did not simply call the meal ‘Breakfast’ for shorthand, Edith did not know. Cultural differences, she supposed.

The craftsmen met with Edith, Lord Stark, Jory Cassel, and Vayon Poole early outside of the broken tower. Jory still seemed to be somewhat shaken by the previous day’s events, skittish and red as he avoided eye contact. Vayon had already been informed by Lord Stark that Edith would be claiming the tower and that she was capable of magic unlike anything to be found in Westeros. The revelation left the man even more wary of Edith, keeping as great a distance as possible. Edith didn’t particularly mind. The steward had an inflated ego and often grated on her nerves anyway. 

“Good morning gentlemen,” Edith greeted, “I am Edith Roxton, a pleasure to-”

“You will address Lord Stark with respect, girl.” Vayon bristled.

“If you are going to be disruptive to this process, then you are free to leave,” Edith retorted flatly. That only made Vayon rile further, but any outburst he might have made was silenced with a hard look from Lord Stark. 

She turned to address the Lord and his craftsmen, “Apologies Lord Stark, I meant no insult. I am rather… unaccustomed to using deferential titles so routinely. It is only to the Electi and the High Council that I answer to in an official capacity. Unofficially, my loyalties lie with Ebril and her people.”

Given the calculating look Lord Stark sent her, Edith knew that he fully understood the implication of her declaration. She agreed to be House Stark’s ally, but she would not be his subject. As a guest in his home, she would show him respect of course, but she would not be tacking on ‘my Lord this’ or ‘my Lady that’ onto every Gods damn sentence. Edith knew her manners, of course, but she had her dignity as well. There were only two people in her life that she would ever give her complete and utter devotion to: The Electi Supreme and her former Master, Archmagi Merryweather Bibbletea. Though the both of them tended to chuck formalities straight out of the window more often than not. 

“It is quite alright, my Lady,” Lord Stark said, “Though other Lords may not be so lenient. But may I ask your whereabouts last night? Poor Ricka was beside herself with worry when she could not find you in your chambers this morning.”

“Damn, I knew I had forgotten something,” Edith mumbled, “I’ll have to apologize later. I had spent the night in my pocket mansion. There were some spells that I wanted to review before starting construction on the tower today.”

“Pocket mansion?” one of the craftsmen asked, “How can ye' have a mansion that fits in your pocket?”

“No, no. It’s a pocket dimension given physical form once summoned into existence. The spell creates a temporary distortion in space to form a pocket plane within the larger plane in which the spell is cast, in this instance the Prime Material. The pocket mansion in particular is a larger scale plane in which the creator can manipulate the entire form to suit their needs. The mansion is crafted by design of the caster’s choosing, in whatever arrangement of rooms that they choose and in as much detail as they are capable of imagining. They can arrange the mansion within the boundaries of the plane, it’s limits being far smaller than the greater prime material, to any layout they so desire, constructing whatever type of room it is that the caster may require for the duration of the spell, such as a bedroom or ballroom. Though there are certain limitations; The mansion has limited boundaries and no outdoor space, no forests or fields, but you can incorporate things like gardens with a false sky so long as it is enclosed by walls in some way or another. And you cannot conjure any information, books and such, unless you are already familiar with said information. It is typically where I spend my evenings when away from my tower in Ebril. Terribly sorry for the confusion.” 

Ah, it would seem that she’d gotten a bit carried away in her explanation. The men were all staring blankly her, dazed and glassy eyed and in various states of confusion. Pursing her lips and grumbling to herself, Edith decided that she did not have the time (or patience) to delve more deeply into the dimensional space theory around building stable and malleable pocket dimensions. Best to just move on to business. 

Edith cleared her throat behind a fist, shaking the men out of their stupor. “And your names were…?” 

The two craftsmen bowed their heads to Edith, apparently a common habit for greeting visitors. A number of the household tended to politely dip their heads and greet Edith with a quiet, ‘m’lady,’ whenever she was passing by.

"Fryderyk, m’lady. I’m the Head Mason ‘round Winterfell,” said the burlier of the two men. Had he been about half a foot shorter, Edith might’ve mistaken him for a dwarf. He had a broad, barrel chest and his beard was long and well kept. His biceps looked to be as thick as a tree trunk. 

“I’m called Erik, m’lady. The Lead Carpenter,” the other offered. Edith recognized Erik from her time in Winterfell as he was one of the few residents of the castle with brilliant red hair, outside of the Starks themselves. He was a bit portly from drink it seemed, and was missing half of a finger on his left hand.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance,” Edith said. She pivoted to face the old, broken down tower that she would soon call home. At least temporarily. Already she could feel the soft buzz of magic under her fingertips in anticipation of this new project. 

“Now,” Edith said to the craftsmen, punctuating the word with a sharp clap, “I’m sure you’re wondering why it is that you were summoned here this morning.”

Both men looked hesitantly at Lord Stark. He merely stood with his hands folded tidy behind his back, Jory stalwart and silent by his side, allowing for Edith to control the conversation.

“Er, we were told something about you wanting to fix up the ol’ tower m’lady,” Erik said.

“A waste of time and supplies, if you ask me,” Fryderyk grunted, folding his arms as he scrutinized the crumbling structure, “We’ve not got near enough stone or mortar to fix ‘er up. Got plenty o’ other things to work on an’ they’d never finish if we set all our boys to work on the tower instead. It’s a fool’s errand m’lady.”

“I won’t be needing any of your stone or mortar if that is your concern, good sir.”

“Ain’t no ser, m’lady. Don’t need to be callin’ me such, I’m only a simple mason,” Fryderyk said.

“Pardon?”

“I ain’t no knight m’lady,” Fryderyk replied.

“Ser Roderick’s the only knight in Winterfell far as I know m’lady. He’s the Master at Arms. Teaches the boys their sword work,” Erik added.

“Ah, a miscommunication then. In Ebril, sir is simply a term used to address a male acquaintance. No knighthood required.” 

“If ye say so m’lady,” Erik said with a shrug, “Still, it’s just Erik and Fryderyk m’lady. No fancy titles for us.”

Edith chuckled, “Well, if you insist. But I must then ask in turn that you call me Edith. I think it only fair, if we are to be working together on equal terms.”

Both craftsmen suddenly stiffened, shuffling in discomfort. Their eyes flit between Lord Stark and Edith.

“We wouldn’t dare m’lady,” Erik said nervously, “It’s not proper. You’re a Lady. I’m just a simple lowborn carpenter.” Fryderyk nodded in agreement behind Erik.

Edith furrowed her brow in confusion. In her time at Winterfell, she understood that the Lord and his family were referred to as Lords and Ladies. There were a handful of others that the staff referred to as Lord or Lady on occasion, the Pooles and the Cassels. She assumed that they must be some sort of minor nobility to be referred to as such-

Oh.

Oooh.

In the whirlwind of activity in the past several weeks, Edith had completely forgotten that the castle residents had mistaken her for some sort of foreign noblewoman. While she did carry herself with a level of high decorum, it had nothing to do with her parentage. As a member of the High Council, Edith needed to maintain a certain air of dignity and authority, lest she besmirch the position that she’d worked so hard for. In other words (the Commander’s), she was uptight.

“I believe that there has been a misunderstanding,” Edith said, “I am no highborn lady sir. I’m just as lowborn as you. A bastard daughter of a city guard.”

The two craftsmen stared at Edith in disbelief, jaws hanging open. Jory eyes were wide in surprise and Lord Stark himself seemed slightly startled at the revelation. Vayon Poole could not have looked more pearl-clutching scandalized.

“You- You!” he spat, “How dare you impersonate a highborn lady! You ought to be thrown in the cells-”

“Vayon!” Lord Stark barked. The steward startled at the Lord’s harsh tone, but otherwise backed down with only a withering glare directed at Edith. The two craftsmen shuffled awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. Edith was not ashamed of her parentage, nor did she think that Lord Stark would think less of her for her birth, given his own bastard son. She had only ever been scorned once in her life for her birth, and she would not stand for that disrespect again.

Lord Stark turned back to Edith, “Lady Edith, are you truly baseborn?”

“I’m going to assume that baseborn means a bastard, so yes. That would be correct.”

“You speak proper for a lowborn m’lady,” Fryderyk said, “Never met no lowborn that walks and talks like a highborn. Much less a bastard. And a girl bastard at that.”

“She’s a pretty one. Sometimes they teach the pretty ones to be all proper when lordlings come ‘round. And ‘round and ‘round and ‘round again,” Erik grinned. He and Fryderyk laughed at the double entendre, turning their backs on Edith and dismissing her entirely. Lord Stark cleared his throat and sent the two men a pointed look that had them both dropping their heads in shame. Jory was scowling fiercely, shaking his head in disapproval at Fryderyk and Erik.

“My ‘pologies,” Erik said bashfully, “That’s no way to be speakin’ ‘round a woman.”

“You needed help lass?” Fryderyk asked, voice pitched high and condescending, “M’lord said you wanted some help fixin’ up the ol’ broken tower, but I still say it’s not worth the trouble,” he smiled gently at Edith, as if she were no more than a curious child, “Yer better off bundled up in the castle as ye are.”

Edith prickled and her fists clenched, using every ounce of her willpower to restrain the wild magic coursing through her veins. In a matter of moments, after only a handful of words, these men all decided that she was not worthy of their time or respect. They looked down on her, they patronized her. They acted as if she were some naive little girl, all because they learned that she was just some bastard daughter that they needn't pay any heed. Trembling with rage, Edith roughly pushed past the men to stand before the tower.

“How much of the surrounding walls will need repair for the tower to be reconstructed safely,” she asked sharply, turning to glare at the surprised craftsmen.

“Er, I already told you, it isn’t worth-”

“How much. Needs to be. Repaired.”

Erik and Fryderyk looked uncertainly at each other before turning to Lord Stark. The Lord merely raised a brow and tilted his head in Edith’s direction. Her clear fury and grinding teeth took both men aback.

“Uh, from there-” Fryderyk pointed about fifteen feet to the left of the tower, then dragged his finger across the wall until it rested about the same distance on the right, “-to there.”

Edith turned her venomous glare on Erik, “And where can I find the best lumber in the area?”

“The Wolfswood miss, but it’s really not safe for a little lady like yourself to go wanderin’ out there. There’s wildlings and wolves and the like.”

Edith took several deep breaths, steadying herself and attempting to smooth the magic still raging wildly through her body. She needed to be concentrated and disciplined if she wanted to make any progress on the tower today. She had the information that she needed, so now Erik and Fryderyk could go fuck themselves with a rotten stick .

Now, Edith had never been prone to large displays of grandeur. She had long since decided that she had no need to lower herself thusly in a sad attempt to command fear or awe. No, her reputation spoke for itself and only a true idiot would dare question her power and authority. 

But that was Ossia, where she was practically a household name. Ossia, where birth and bloodline meant nothing special. Ossia, where hard work and diligence and merit were what truly mattered. Here in Westeros, she was just some trussed up bastard girl at the bottom of the food chain, playing at being a highborn lady. 

No. Absolutely not. Edith had spent her entire life fighting and fighting and fighting for her place in the world. It was Edith who outperformed every son of a bitch that tried to knock her down. It was Edith who left her abusers behind to forge a new life at the College Arcana. It was Edith who the former Archmagi chose as his successor. It was Edith who held the title of Archmagi, Grand Enchanter of the High Council of Ebril. And Edith would never, ever, allow anyone to push her down again. 

Winterfell would learn today exactly why Edith was considered the greatest wizard of her generation.

Marching up to the half destroyed walls, Edith pooled a massive amount of magic to her hands. The energy thrummed the air around her, radiating out of her palms as she slammed them against the destroyed wall.

Immediately, the stone walls rumbled and shook, the earth trembling beneath her feet as the magic poured out from her hands. She could hear the shouts of alarm behind her at the sudden quaking, and could hear several loud thumps and yelps of the people nearest to the epicenter falling to the floor. 

Edith pulled and pulled and pulled at the broken stones. She felt the strain on her body as the walls began to climb higher and higher, solid stone shooting up from the ground, conjuring brick upon brick into existence as the natural earth grew scarce. She filled the gaps, shaped the crumbled outer bailey, calculating in her mind exactly how much she needed, where she needed, what she needed. She watched the walls as they rose higher and higher, calculating, recalculating, transfiguration to conjuration to evocation, switching from spell to spell to spell and back again to perfect the reformation of the battlements that surrounded her soon to be tower without compromising the rest of the castle.

What she was doing was dangerous. Reckless. Stupid. She hadn’t done the proper measurements on the pre-existing structure. She hadn’t surveyed the surrounding area for spare material to help ease the process. She hadn’t consulted the Head Mason on the castle’s layout. She was flying by the seat of her pants, using every ounce of magical knowledge that she possessed to keep her magic stable and under control. The rapid casting and recasting of spells, layering entirely separate schools of magic atop one another, exerting huge amounts of force to create solid stone from pure, magical energy. Not only was the strain immense on a mortal body, but even the slightest error could result in a backlash so fierce that not even the Champion Divine could undo the damage. Had she caught one of her students performing such a feat, she would have confiscated their spellbook and set them on cleaning duty for a year.

But there was no turning back at this point. Dispelling even a single one of the active spells prematurely could result in Edith’s arms being blown clean off of her body. She grit her teeth so hard she thought they might shatter. Edith strained, watching the last of the structure as it reformed dozens of feet above her head. As the last stone settled in place, Edith cut off the flow of magical energy and sagged against the wall, panting as the rumbling ground finally stilled.

When she looked up, Edith was met with dozens of wide eyes, full of awe or fear or both. Fryderyk and Erik were both still on the ground, unable to tear their eyes away from the newly reformed battlements. Even Lord Stark, who had been aware of Edith’s magic abilities and intentions beforehand, gaped in wonder, slowly rising to his feet.

For several moments, the yard was dead silent. Edith glared into the crowd, wiping sweat from her brow and silently daring anyone to challenge her now. She stood upright and magically cleaning her dust-stained clothing with a quick hand motion, refusing to let anyone see any weakness as her body worked to recover the magic that she'd so recklessly released. Edith looked down on Fryderyk and Erik who were slowly and unsteadily pulling themselves to their feet.

“The tower itself will require more delicate reconstruction in order to suit my needs,” she said blandly, “The layout of an Arcane Tower is drastically different than that of the average castle tower. I am not experienced in the construction process, and I am certain that you are not experienced in building alongside arcanum, which is why I requested for Lord Stark to have us introduced. I will be building this tower, with or without your help, though I would prefer to have the expertise of a professional at hand.”

Edith stepped into Erik and Fryderyk’s space, forcing the two to take a frightened step backwards.

“Will you, or will you not, be helping me fix the fucking tower?” she hissed.

The pair stared wide-eyed at Edith, like kobolds in daylight. Before either could answer, Lord Stark stepped between the men and Edith.

“That was some display, my Lady,” he said. There was only a slight tremor to his voice to indicate how the event had shaken him as much as the rest of the castle.

“Terrifying,” Vayon quaked as he rose from the ground, eyes still glued to the newly rebuilt walls “My Lord what should- how can we- the other Lords-”

“One thing at a time Vayon,” Lord Stark said, holding up a hand in a placating gesture, “First, we must fetch Maester Luwin. I will have many ravens to send. The King will want to know of this.”

“My Lord,” Vayon said hesitantly, “Do you really think he’ll believe-”

“Word will spread quickly. Best he hears it from us first. Whether or not he chooses to believe, that is out of our hands.”

Vayon nodded and hastily made his way back towards the castle. He offered Edith a small bow and a quiet m’lady as he passed, eager to escape back to the castle. 

As he scurried off, more people poured into the yard to investigate the strange earthquake. Maids and cooks and guards alike all ran amok in confusion and fear, the castle grounds quickly turning into a mess of noise and chaos as those who saw mingled with those who didn’t and shouted all around. In the confusion, Edith pulled Lord Stark aside to address her next steps, since she could no longer rely on the Head Mason or Lead Carpenter to provide any assistance. 

“Lord Stark, I have much to do and no time to waste,” Edith said, “The outer bailey walls do not require the same enchantments as the tower will eventually, so I had no need to delay,” Except to guarantee that she didn’t implode from magic overexertion, but Lord Stark didn’t need to know that.

“I must admit, when you demonstrated your magic yesterday, I had not expected it to be capable of such grand feats.”

“Capable of this and much, much more,” Edith said proudly.

Lord Stark looked awed before grimacing slightly, “I worry about my daughter now receiving such training. Jon is disciplined and careful, but Arya… She’s got the wolfsblood in her. Sometimes she’s too wild for even me to handle. I cannot imagine the sort of trouble she could cause with such power at her hands.”

“Worry not, my Lord,” Edith chuckled, “Magic of this caliber is far and beyond what she and Jon will be capable of for a very, very long time. And have faith, Lord Stark. I wouldn’t have chosen your daughter if I did not think she would use this gift for anything but good. You may find that her ‘wildness,’ as you call it, could be a wonderful blessing when channeled in the right direction. Now, in regards to the tower itself, if I am to repair it on my own-”

“My Lady,” Fryderyk interrupted, startling Edith. It seemed that he and Erik had managed to seek her and Lord Stark out through the chaos, both men bearing down on them with determination written on their faces. 

“Tis said that the walls of Winterfell were made with magic long ago. That Bran the Builder called upon the Children of the Forest to set spells to the stone, to keep the castle sturdy an’ strong. I’d always thought the stories child’s tales,” Fryderyk said, “But I see now they are very much real.”

Fryderyk lowered himself to one knee, bowing before Edith Roxton and Eddard Stark, “M’lord. M’lady. If you would allow, it would be an honor to rebuild the castle to its true glory, to build alongside true magic as Bran the Builder once had, long ago.”

“Aye,” Erik said, kneeling himself, “I beg forgiveness m’lady. Whatever you need of me an’ my men, it's yours as you please.”

Edith stilled, surprised by the level of reverence. She knew that her large-scale spellwork would deeply affect the way that the people of Winterfell treated her, but she had assumed that they would grow to fear her and her magic more than respect it. She was content with the knowledge that the Lord and (at least two of) his children would provide some level of friendly company, but she certainly wasn’t expecting this.

“Erm, yes that is acceptable,” Edith stammered awkwardly, “Well, um, if you could please rise, I’ve a great deal of work to do. Shall we lay out the groundwork and clear the rubble then?”

“Of course, m’lady,” Fryderyk said. Immediately, Fryderyk and Erik jumped to their feet and began barking orders at a handful of men that had been lingering nearby, all staring at Edith in naked awe. Edith assumed that they were the other masons and carpenters under Lord Stark’s employ, and all of them scurried as quickly as possible to clear out the broken tower, shooting Edith the occasional reverential glance. It was quite uncomfortable. Edith had no idea how the Electi and Champion Divine managed it all the time. Edith had seen her fair share of admiration, sure, but this something entirely else. It wasn’t as if she’d hung the moon. She’d only built a wall.

“Ned!” came a startled cry, “Ned, what has happened!? The castle was shaking and-” Lady Stark, flanked by two guards and as disheveled as Edith had ever seen her, barrelled frantically through the chaos in the yard only to stop short at the sight of the pristine bailey walls where there had only been ruins just hours before. 

“Gods be good,” one of the guards breathed. Lady Stark stood equally agape. 

“Lady Stark,” Edith nodded, schooling her features into neutrality. 

“Ned, what- I- What is going on here?” Lady Stark looked near a breakdown, clearly shaken by the effects of the walls’ construction, even though she was not present in the yard to bear witness. 

Fortunately for the Lady, that was about when Bran scrambled down from the rooftop of the neighboring dilapidated keep, Arya darting past him from where she had hidden (probably from her Septa) by some supply carts. The sudden arrival of the two Starklings startled Lady Stark enough to distract her from her own distress. The pair raced towards Edith and their parents, eyes shining bright in excitement.

“That was amazing-”

“The whole castle was shaking-”

“-stones flying around-”

“-looked so cool!

“-am I going to learn that?”

The two children babbled excitedly, jumping around Edith in a whirlwind of questions and enthusiasm.

“Whoa, whoa, one at a time now children,” Edith laughed.

“How did you do that!?” Bran asked excitedly.

“Magic, of course. Weren’t you watching?” Edith answered with a raised brow as Bran and Arya both shook their heads vigorously up and down.

“Are you going to teach me to do that too?” Arya asked eagerly.

“Eventually. Maybe. Let’s start with the basics first, shall we?” Edith said. Turning around, the men were diligently at work clearing the interior of the tower, but the sheer amount of rubble would likely keep them busy for a considerable amount of time. Had she not just performed an intense and dangerous feat of magic, she would have stayed to offer more assistance, but as it was, she hardly had the energy for a full day of spell concentration.

Actually, now that she thought of it, it was still early enough that Arya would have at least a few hours before her lessons with her Septa. And Jon was likely up and about somewhere as well. If he wasn’t, then Edith was sure that Arya would most gladly awaken him at the prospect of their first lesson.

“Absolutely not,” Lady Stark nearly shouted, clearly overwhelmed, “That was- well- I don’t know what it was, but I will not have my children anywhere near it!”

“Father already said I could!” Arya countered, stamping her foot. Lady Stark whirled on her husband who grimaced and avoided his Lady wife’s eyes. Edith sucked in a breath through her teeth. Well someone was certainly in trouble.

“I want to learn too!” Bran whined. Edith shoved down the guilt at Bran’s tearful, envious eyes. She willed herself not to cave into the boy’s longing expression. He would have made a wonderful wizard, she was sure, but he just did not have the same natural talent as his siblings to become a bladesinger. If only the Lady of the Wilds were here. Bran would have flourished under her tutelage. Maybe a spell or two in the future, once Arya and Jon were further along in their lessons and would not need as much supervision while using the song.

“Ned! How could you allow this!? How could you not tell me!?!” Lady Stark demanded. For all that Edith disliked the woman, she had a fair point. Lord Stark should have given her at least some warning about all of this. Though, seeing the imminent disaster blowing in, Edith understood at least a little why Lord Stark would have kept it to himself. 

“Cat-”

“Don’t you ‘Cat’ me Eddard Stark! I want an explanation! What in the seven hells is going on here!?”

Edith was prepared to teleport herself literally anywhere else when Robb, Theon, and Jon ran up, out of breath and half in shock. 

“Father! Mother! What was that?” Robb panted. Turning to Edith, he gasped, “Is that what you’re going to teach Jon and Arya?”

“Absolutely not.” “Not at the moment.” Lady Stark and Edith spoke in tandem. The Lady shot Edith a furious glare. 

In another circumstance, Edith would have simply ignored the frothing mad Lady, but seeing as she was a concerned mother who had just found out about the existence of magic and that one of her children was going to be learning it, Edith figured that a little peace offering would be appropriate. If nothing else than to assure her that her youngest daughter would not be dropping hundred foot walls of earth on anybody anytime soon.

“My Lady, if I may, allow me a demonstration,” Edith said. 

Lady Stark eyed Edith cautiously, sharing a look with her husband. Through the silent, non-magical communication that only long time partners could have, Lady Stark heaved a sigh and set Edith with a flat stare, nodding begrudgingly.

When Arya had first barreled into the yard, she was already muddied and her dress torn at the hem. Knowing Lady Stark’s exasperation with her daughter's perpetually disastrous state of dress, Edith knew the perfect spell to better improve the Lady’s opinions on magic.

With an echoing snap of her fingers, Arya’s dress billowed lightly, the hem repairing itself and the stains vanishing as if they’d never been there in the first place. In a matter of seconds, Arya Stark stood before them in a pristine dress, entirely free of dirt and not a hair out of place in her northern braid. Arya examined herself in wonder, peeking under her fingernails and tugging at her skirts to try and find any blemishes. In doing so, she accidentally ripped her skirt again, setting the boys off in laughter while Lady Stark sighed a long suffering, “Arya.”

If there was one thing that Edith agreed with Lady Stark on regarding her youngest daughter, it was her state of dress. A bladesinger was dignified and presented themselves with pride, not covered in ripped and dirtied clothing. Edith would be making sure that Arya practiced good hygiene from here on out, though Lady Stark would still likely disapprove of Arya’s wearing trousers.

“Would you look at that,” Theon laughed, “The perfect spell for Arya to finally smell like a lady and not like the dog pens.”

Robb and Jon both laughed as well, though little Arya pouted angrily and attempted to stamp on Theon’s foot, only for Lady Stark to grab her by the shoulder, thereby saving the older boy's toes.

“Arya Stark, if you think that this… magic is going to get you out of your other lessons then you are sorely mistaken. You are wild enough as it is and Septa Mordane tells it that you disrupt most every lesson with your wild ways. I expect-”

“-Her to be at every lesson on time, Lady Stark,” Edith interrupted, “That was part of the arrangement made with your husband. I will personally ensure that she makes it to every lesson, on time. I will join her even, if it please you, so that she cannot sneak away.”  

Arya’s eyes snapped up to Edith, looking almost betrayed, but Edith laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, offering a gentle pat. Lady Stark looked suspicious for a moment before finally straightening herself out to her usual image of the perfect noble lady. 

“I will hold you to your word then, Lady Edith. But one toe out of line and-”

“-And there will be consequences, yes. I am aware. I assure you, my Lady, that you will find no trouble from me, nor shall I break any of my promises to your family.” 

Lady Stark looked Edith up and down critically before nodding tightly and turning back to Arya, “All of your lessons. Every day. And no more trouble young lady.” Arya grumbled in agreement. 

“Now,” Lady Stark huffed, “if you will excuse me, I need to check on Sansa and Rickon. I left him with Old Nan and one of the maids, but I’m sure that Sansa will be terribly frightened.” The Lady held herself high and hurried back inside, the chaos in the yard finally calming as the gawkers either returned to their duties or joined the small crowd still staring at the newly repaired walls. Ever so often, Erik or Fryderyk shooed away an onlooker who got too close and disrupted the work process. Lord Stark excused himself as well, likely to go and smooth things over with his reasonably upset lady wife. She did not envy the man.

Edith had to admit, for how foolish and reckless her actions had been, the reaction that she received from Winterfell was a welcome relief. She was certainly glad that, of all places that she could have landed, she landed in the one part of Westeros most receptive to the idea of magic. 

And speaking of…

“Arya, Jon, is there anywhere you are meant to be right now?” Edith asked. Arya shook her head in the negative and Jon shrugged, saying that he “would have probably gone back to the training yard with Robb and Theon.”

Searching around for the nearest loitering guard, Edith spotted Alyn leaning on a fence post, still staring at the magically built wall along with a good portion of the crowd. She used a simple cantrip to send a shimmering purple hand over to the man and flicked him on the forehead. He squawked, rubbing the sore spot and turning to see Edith standing with Jon and Arya, beckoning him over. She had made an agreement with Lord Stark and intended to honor it.

Edith turned back to her new students with a grin stretched across her face. “How would the two of you feel about starting your lessons? Right now.”

A wide smile stretched across Jon's face and Arya nearly bounced out of her skin as she whooped in excitement. Edith smiled at the pair and extended her arms, casting the familiar sequence to summon the gleaming gilded doors that opened into her pocket dimension mansion. The spell attracted more gawking from nearby onlookers as the doors slowly swung open into seemingly nothingness. A shimmering veil of magic separated the pocket plane from the greater prime material, obscuring the magical mansion inside.

“Come along children, Alyn,” Edith said, standing tall and proud as she walked through the threshold, “There is much to be done.”

Without hesitation, Arya Stark and Jon Snow charged through the veil and into the mansion, taking the first steps into their journey to become the greatest bladesingers that Westeros would ever see.

Oh, and Alyn was there too.

Chapter Text

Normally, Edith would shape her pocket manor into one semi-reflective of her tower at the College. A foyer, a personal bedchamber, a research lab, a lavatory, a dining room, and so on. And of course her expansive library. It was only on occasion that she added a training yard to the mansion, finding that training with the Commander’s high caliber warriors in the public training grounds to be far more rewarding. And exhausting. Edith wanted to know what the hells that woman was feeding her trainees to give them so much energy.

For the purposes of Arya and Jon’s first lesson, the entirety of the mansion was made of a large courtyard for practicing bladework, a chamber for beginner’s spellwork, and, of course, her library for advanced study. 

And a lavatory as well, for obvious reasons. 

Arya and Jon were absolutely floored upon entering the mansion. Alyn, the guard that Edith had roped into supervising the practise looked about in absolute glee. The entrance was a vast courtyard in the style favored by warm climate kingdoms in Ossia: A large, square, open air courtyard surrounded by columns and archways leading to the other rooms in the manor. Weapon racks lined the walls, filled with a vast array of different swords, spears, daggers, and so on. Several incorporeal servants lingered around the edges of the room, carrying trays of refreshments and towels to use throughout the practice.

Edith smirked in satisfaction as the three northerners gawked at the mansion, basking in the relief that she no longer had to restrain herself and hide away her magic. Allowing the trio a few more moments to take everything in, Edith clapped her hands sharply to get their attention.

“Now,” Edith began, “Before anything else, I need to evaluate your bladework. Come, let us find the appropriate weapon for each of you to train with. But first,” Edith swiveled to face Arya, “let’s get you some trousers, young lady.”

Arya bounced gleefully as a servant appeared with a pair of pants for her to quickly change into. Edith gave her a stern warning to put her dress back on before they left the mansion, lest she end up butt-naked in the middle of Winterfell’s yard. Nothing conjured by the mansion was able to leave the mansion, it would simply unravel into nothingness without the existence of the pocket dimension to support it. Arya paled and nodded vigorously before running off to change.

Once she returned, Edith guided Arya and Jon over to the weapon racks, gesturing Alyn over to the side where one of the translucent servants was waiting beside a lounge chair with a pitcher of ice cold lemon water and a tray full of fruits and cheeses. The guard beamed in delight, plopping down and helping himself to the treats.

“The weapon you choose today is the weapon that you will dedicate your song to,” Edith explained. She drew her own rapier from her hip, resting the blade across her palms for the children to examine, “While this is not the first blade with which I have trained, it is the one with which I am attuned to now. It is connected to me, an extension of my being, and the instrument by which I play my song.”

Arya furrowed her brow in confusion. “I thought we were learning sword fighting, not songs .” Arya spat the word out as if it had left the most foul taste in the world in her mouth. Edith couldn’t help but give a light chuckle.

“You will be learning both,” she said, “The sword and the song dance hand in hand. That is why it is called Bladesinging.” Edith straightened, extending her blade out in her preferred stance. With a clear chime echoing in the courtyard, she activated her bladesong, whirling through her forms with the grace and elegance of a trained dancer. Every swish of the blade cut a melody into the air, her body moving in perfect harmony with her song. With one last flourish, Edith deactivated her song, the music fading alongside the dissipating magic. 

“Seven Hells,” Alyn gaped from the corner of the room, “Jory’d said that your blade was something else but that... That was unbelievable.”

“And so you see why it is both sword and song,” Edith smirked, sheathing her blade. 

“Maybe songs aren’t so terrible after all, little sister,” Jon said, nudging Arya with his elbow, “Soon the both of us will be singing even more than Sansa.” 

Arya snickered, shoving her brother back lightly. Edith cleared her throat to bring the pair to attention. They both straightened, though the mirth lingered on their faces. Edith suppressed a grin of her own. Oh, these sweet children had no idea what they were in for. 

In Ebril, for as effective a teacher she was, the ‘First Note,’ as her students had dubbed the first bladesong lesson, was notoriously difficult. For Edith, it was an evaluation of her student’s potential and determination. Bladesinging was a strenuous art, and not for the faint of heart. The first steps in the learning of any skill were always the hardest, and Edith had to know that her students could handle all that she had to give them. 

Edith gestured to the rack of weapons. “Take your pick, my students. But choose wisely. This will be a weapon that you will dedicate your life to.”

“How do we know which one is the proper one for us, my Lady?” Jon asked.

“Firstly, you will refer to me as ‘Teacher’ for as long as you are under my tutelage. I’m rather tired of all this ‘My Lady’ nonsense,” Edith said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She was only referred to as ‘Lady Edith’ by foreign dignitaries, as is custom, but she was generally known as Miss Edith informally by the people of Ebril. Or formally as Archmagi Roxton or Headmistress Roxton during major events and/or school hours. Her personal students all simply called her ‘Teacher,’ and the High Council each had their own personal nickname for her, some more welcome than others.

Edith swore, the next time that the Loremaster calls her ‘his Sweet Songbird,’ she was going to stab him. Well, assuming she ever breaks the spell and sees him again.

“And secondly, you will only know through trial and error. Find the weapon that fits the most comfortably in your hand, one that you know you will be able to wield with utmost precision. If you cannot trust your instrument, then your song will fail.”

Arya nodded seriously before striding determinedly over to the weapons rack. Edith watched her pick up blade after blade; Longswords, shortswords, sickles, even a glaive. Jon, far more hesitant and careful than his sister, inspected the weapons before picking up a longsword that Arya had near immediately discarded. He weighed the blade in his hand, testing the feel and balance. He stared at the sword for a long moment, clearly conflicted. His heavily furrowed brow made him look very much like a miniature Lord Stark. 

Jon heaved a sigh before very reluctantly returning the sword to the rack, much to Edith’s surprise. She was almost certain that he would have chosen the weapon that he was most familiar with and already trained in using. Instead, Edith watched him approach a broad, slightly curved saber, a human-made Willowleaf Dao. It was one of the most versatile weapons on the rack, designed to be effective at cutting, slashing, and thrusting, whereas most other blades were designed for more specific styles and purposes. A true Willow-Dao master was a menace on the battlefield. It was one of the Commander’s personal favorites, behind her barbed whip and custom-made dual shortswords. 

Jon inspected the saber, giving it a few test swings before nodding to himself. While the sword certainly seemed to fit comfortably and naturally in his hands, Edith would have to take special care to ensure that the boy could adapt the steps from the grounded Westerosi forms he already knew, to the far more delicate and agile bladesong sequences.

Once Jon decided on his weapon, he watched as Arya grew more and more frustrated, looking for her own weapon that felt right. She continued to gravitate towards weapons that the Westerosi were more familiar with, heavy blades and axes and spears. Edith knew immediately that none would suit the little girl. She could see the frustration beginning to form on Arya’s face before Jon placed a gentle hand over his sister’s. He guided her away from the large weapons to the thinner, lighter ones. Ones that Edith herself favored. 

“You know this little sister,” Jon murmured gently, “Your sword will be just like you. Small and skinny and quick.” Arya looked uncertainly up at her brother who squeezed her hand reassuringly. She turned back to the rack of weapons, looking at them far more carefully now. After a moment’s deliberation, she stepped forward and picked up an elvish rapier, nearly identical to the blade Edith carried, only with a very slight ‘S’ shaped curve from pommel to the point. The blade was one of the most popular for the dance being that it was naturally designed for graceful, flowing movement and timed staccato thrusts. 

Arya swung the sword somewhat clumsily, but smiled brightly before turning to Jon, opening her arms wide in an attempted hug. Collectively, Edith, Alyn, and Jon called her to a halt before she could accidentally slice her brother’s arm off. Pinking after realizing her error, Arya gently set the sword on the rack before throwing her arms around her brother’s neck.

While the two siblings cutely embraced, Edith and Alyn shared a deep, relieved sigh at the averted crisis. Edith was well learned in many schools of magic, but healing magic was a gift restricted to those touched by divinity. The Champion Divine was the most powerful healer in Ebril. The position was one of two on the council selected through a unique process. The Champion Divine was selected by the gods themselves. The Oracle was born with the gift and guided to the Council by their predecessor right before they passed on. Every other position was selected via majority vote. The retiring Councilperson would present their desired successor to the Council, the potential successor would shadow their mentor, and then the Council would hold a final vote to decide whether or not that person was fit to hold a position on the most powerful governing body in Ossia. The Electi Supreme had ultimate final say, and could reject a candidate, even if the council voted in favor. There were only a handful of occasions in which the veto power was used, and on each of those occasions, the rejected candidate would later prove themself to be power hungry or vile in some shape or form. The Council’s primary edict was to protect the peace, so the violent response to rejection was only proof that the correct decision was made to keep that person off of the Council.

The current Champion Divine was powerful enough to revive the dead, even capable of creating a new body from nothing if the deceased left behind no remains for the soul to return to. Edith had no such abilities, so any grievous injuries her students might receive would be entirely out of her hands. In Ebril, she kept a constant supply of healing potions and tinctures for emergencies, but she had very few on her when she was transported to Westeros. She made a mental note to begin the brewing process for a batch of strong healing potions as soon as the tower was in livable condition. She promised Lord Stark that his children would not come to harm, and she intended to keep that promise.

“Have you made your final decision?” Edith asked, watching Arya and Jon examine their weapons thoroughly. They shared a look before nodding seriously. 

Edith grinned mischievously at them, “Very well. Feel free to test a new weapon any time that you like. The song is compatible with many, after all.”

Behind her, Alyn gave a deep-belly laugh while the kids stared at Edith in disbelief.

“But you said that we had to pick one weapon that we can trust! The one we know won’t fail!” Arya exclaimed.

“I never said that it had to be only one weapon that you had to trust,” Edith shrugged, “After all, it is fully possible to learn to play more than one instrument.”

Jon groaned and Arya pouted at Edith as Alyn continued to chortle in the background.

“In all seriousness, this weapon will most likely be the one you will always prefer in battle,” Edith said, “There is no guarantee that you will always have your favored weapon at hand, so versatility is encouraged. But just like how you have a favored cloak or pair of boots, this will be your favored weapon. Now, if you’ve finished pouting, we can begin your first forms.”

Arya and Jon immediately perked from their sour demeanors, grabbing their chosen blades and falling into position at Edith’s direction.

Over the next few hours, Edith guided the pair through the first and simplest sword form. Though simple would be putting it rather generously. Arya and Jon tripped and stumbled several times over, tangling themselves over their own feet and even running into each other on occasion. Just as she predicted, Jon struggled to break the habits taught by the Westeros bladestyle and Arya had trouble concentrating on her footwork and her surroundings at the same time. As the pair fell over and over again, Edith finally decided to put a halt to their clumsy dancing. 

“You are flat-footed,” Edith remarked, “To dance, you must be nimble.”

“But we’re fighting. Don’t you need to stand firm in a fight?” Jon asked, confused, “If you don’t stand your ground, then you fall. That’s what Ser Rodrick says.” At Edith’s raised brow, he hastily tacked on a quick ‘Teacher’ to the end of his sentence.

“That may be true for the average swordsman, and your Ser Rodrick,” Edith replied, “But you two are bladesingers now . And when you play a song, you don’t root yourself to the ground, you move. You dance.”

“But dancing is stupid ,” Arya insisted, “Sansa is the one who’s good at dancing.”

“Just because you do not like something, that does not make it stupid, Arya. Remember that,” Edith scolded, “What I mean is that a dancer is agile, sure-footed, and balanced. These are all important qualities in swordsmanship overall, not just bladesinging. If you can’t think of the movement like a dance, think of it like this: You cannot fall if you cannot be hit. Have you ever tried to catch a leaf in the wind? ”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with fighting?” Arya asked, crossing her arms in consternation.

“What does that have to do with fighting, Teacher, ” Edith corrected, “And it has plenty to do with fighting. Alyn, would you mind coming over here just a moment?”

Alyn startled at hearing his own name, his cheeks puffed out with food from the now half finished tray. Arya and Jon snickered at the guard’s chipmunk expression and Alyn quickly rose, dusting crumbs from his tunic. He tried to march over as dignified as possible, but Jon and Arya continued to snort and giggle under their breath at the lazy guard. 

“Yes, my Lady?” Alyn asked.

“Miss Edith is fine,” Edith sighed in exasperation, “I want you to try to touch me.”

Alyn went bright red, stammering, “My- Miss Edith? I- I don’t think that is entirely appropriate-”

“Oh for the heavens’ sake, I mean just try to catch me while I try to dodge you.”

Alyn spluttered and nodded, the redness slowly fading from his face and ears. Edith rolled her eyes. Honestly, for all that these Westerosi men insist on everything being ‘proper,’ they certainly tended to keep their minds in the gutter more often than not.

“Watch closely, my students. I am the leaf on the wind, and Alyn will try to catch me.”

Alyn stood across from Edith in the courtyard, approximately ten feet away. He took a low stance typical of the Westerosi fighting style as she had seen thus far. Turning side-face and shifting ever so slightly to balance herself on the balls of her feet, Edith called, “Begin!”

Alyn immediately charged forward, arms outstretched. Edith slid smoothly under his arm with a graceful spin, sending Alyn flying forward from his own momentum. He windmilled his arms to stop and brace himself before slamming sideways into one of the courtyard pillars. Meanwhile, Edith had barely moved from her starting position. Alyn huffed, turning and readying himself to charge once again.

Determined, Alyn dashed forward, attempting to feint to right at the last second, only for Edith to twirl behind him as he staggered forward, skidding to a halt by his toes. Recovering far more quickly this time and having better control of his speed than his last attempt, Alyn pivoted on one foot and swung backwards, palm open, only to be met with empty air as Edith ducked and smoothly side stepped him.

Over and over, Alyn lunged and swiped and grabbed, only for Edith to dance around and away with ease. As the poor guard began to slow and pant, Edith hopped a few steps out of reach and said, “That’s enough Alyn, thank you.”

Alyn wheezed and nodded, staggering over to his chair where the incorporeal servants awaited with a new pitcher of lemon water and a refilled snack tray.

“That was amazing!” Arya said, starry eyed.

“A leaf in the wind,” Jon said, nodding in understanding. 

“A leaf in the wind,” Edith repeated, smiling, “Now, my students, are you ready to try again?” 

After her little demonstration with Alyn, Arya and Jon returned to practicing their forms with gusto. Something seemed to have clicked in the two of them as they followed Edith’s steps with far more ease. They still stumbled and misstepped several times, but it was a remarkable improvement from only moments ago.

Arya especially seemed to have caught on rather quickly after watching Edith move. She repeated the mantra of ‘a leaf on the wind’ over and over again as she took each step. Her progress had Edith grinning proudly, knowing that she had made the correct choice in her students. 

Just as she moved to correct the awkward shift in Jon’s transitional steps, another incorporeal servant appeared, raising a clock to Edith’s face, indicating that nearly five hours had passed and it would soon be time for Arya’s lessons with her Septa.

“Damn,” Edith hissed under her breath, “Well students, this is where we shall end for the day.” 

“But we haven’t even learned any magic yet!” Arya whined. Or rather panted, with how out of breath she and Jon were.

“You’ll be learning magic once you both can make it through the first sequence without tripping or hesitating. Now, the baths are that way and I’ll have a meal ready here before we return to the castle. Then it’s off to your lessons with the Septa, Arya.”

Arya and Jon both groaned but otherwise trudged away without complaint. They should count themselves lucky, really. She hadn’t even set them on acrobatic drills yet. Arya was still young and more flexible, but Edith sincerely doubted that Jon had ever done the splits. 

Alyn hardly had a chance to open his mouth before Edith said, “Yes, there is a bath for you as well, Alyn.” The guard disappeared down the corridor without a second glance.

After they’d gone, Edith cleaned the sweat and dirt off of herself with the same spell that she had used earlier on Arya. She could have done so for the others, but figured that the hot water would do well for their sore muscles. And the mansion’s baths were far nicer than the wood and metal Westerosi tubs. She was sure that Alyn would be an insufferable brag about it to the other guards.

The incorporeal servants floated around, setting out a table and a vast array of food and drink. While they worked, Edith pulled her astrolabe out of her coat’s inner pocket.

The astrolabe wasn’t an astrolabe so much as it was a multi-tool. Edith had been adjusting the time features to better monitor the daylight hours, as Westeros was still effectively running on the sundial. 

Unfortunately, many of the features of the astrolabe were non-functioning after her last battle in Ossia. Even its use as an astrolabe in and of itself was rendered worthless at the moment, as Edith had not yet had the opportunity to chart the stars in Westeros’ skies. 

The most important feature, an ingrained sending stone allowing free communication with anyone else holding their own sending stone, was lifeless. She had tried a handful of times to reach the others on the Council using the device, but the stone remained silent. It still contained the magic that allowed for communication in the first place, meaning that a partial function of the banishing circle that Edith was still under contained a level of divination magic to prevent others from finding her via divination themselves. It was likely that even the Oracle wouldn’t be able to divine her location while Edith was under this spell, so she was well and truly on her own.

Frowning at the device, Edith lamented the stunted technology of Westeros. If only she had an Artificer here…

Wait a moment.

Edith was not herself an Artificer, but Artifice and Wizardry had plenty of overlapping qualities. Edith had also worked with the Head Artificer enough times that she would be able to deliver the basics. If she could find someone skilled enough in metalworking and clever enough to innovate beyond what Edith was capable of teaching, then perhaps there was a better chance of her breaking through the magical barrier that was keeping her trapped in Westeros!

Edith could have cheered until she remembered that in its three hundred years of existence, Westeros hadn’t even invented the compass. So the likelihood of finding someone both inventive enough and already equipped with the necessary skill sets that Edith could not teach were dismally low. With a deep sigh, Edith adjusted the timekeeper on her astrolabe before pocketing it and grabbing a plate at the table. 

Arya was the first to return, hair dripping and tangled and dress laced messily. Her face lit up at the sight of the banquet, but before she could feast, Edith called her over.

“Sit,” Edith commanded, “You look a mess.” 

Arya sat timidly, looking down at her knees. Edith could see her lip begin to wobble, face turning red and tears starting to swell. It startled Edith, how badly four words affected the little girl. She never thought that Arya really minded her appearance all that much, but perhaps she was mistaken. 

Edith sighed, holding a hand out for a translucent servant to drop a soft towel into her hand. “Turn, Arya. Let me fix your hair. I promise to be gentle.”

Arya still looked about half a second from tears, but nodded and turned so that her back was to Edith. Remembering how Ricka had tried to force brushes and combs through her own curly hair, Edith thought that Arya may have never actually seen it in its natural state. It would certainly explain the perpetual tangles and frizz. Her hair was still soaked and heavy from her bath, but Edith believed that, once dry, Arya’s hair would spring into thick, untameable curls not dissimilar to Edith’s own.

Arya’s curls were not quite so tight as Ediths, but curly enough to where brushing it as Lady Stark and the handmaids were wont to do, it fluffed out into a gnarled mess, especially as Arya’s high levels of activity warped her complicated braids and tangled the curls further. The Lady and her other daughter, Sansa, both had straight hair and likely had never had to worry much about brushing and styling their delicate braids. Arya, on the other hand, required patience and time for her hair to dry and her curls to hang naturally before anything could be done with it. With how similar her hair seemed to Jon’s, Edith was certain that Arya would have lovely, bouncy curls if only they were allowed to spring free.

“You have lovely hair Arya,” Edith commented, gently patting away much of the moisture still dripping from the ends.

“You don’t have to lie to me because you're my teacher,” Arya grumbled.

“Do I strike you as a liar, Arya?”

“You lied to father.”

Ouch.

“That was under exceptional circumstances,” Edith countered, willing away a blush. Arya only huffed in response. 

Arya was such a vibrant child that seeing her behave so morosely unnerved Edith. She had been aware that Arya often butted heads with the other ladies of the house when it came to their hobbies and interests, but Arya was acting as if Edith were marching her to her own funeral. Edith could only think of one way to cheer her up while also getting her to her Septa’s lessons on time.

“Do you want me to show you a spell, Arya?”

Arya perked up immediately, rigorously nodding her head and saying, “Oh, please, please, please!”

Handing the now soaked towel off to a servant, Edith held her hands out in front of her far enough for Arya to see. Arya watched with bated breath as Edith’s palms began to glow a soft orange, radiating from the center all the way to her fingertips.

“It’s warm,” Arya murmured in wonder.

“Indeed. Now hold still, I’ll show you how to use it.” 

Arya sat up as straight and still as she was capable, still a touch fidgety, as Edith gently began raking her warmed hands through Arya’s hair. At first, Arya startled and jumped from the sensation, before slowly beginning to slouch, relaxing to the warm hands steadily threading through her hair.

“Is this spell just for drying hair?” Arya asked, “Because that’s-

“If you’re about to say stupid then I’m going to stop.”

Arya clamped her mouth shut. After a few more strokes, Edith pulled her fingers out from Arya’s now dried hair, using the strip of leather that had originally held Arya’s braid in place to pull the curls back into a ponytail, much like Edith’s own. Edith thought it looked nice, but wished that the Electi, or even the idiot Loremaster were here to better style it. 

With a snap of her fingers, another servant appeared in front of Arya with a small mirror, showing Arya the results of Edith’s spellwork and gentle hands. Arya blinked at her reflection, shaking her head from left to right to examine the hairstyle, inadvertently whipping Edith in the mouth with the ends of her hair. 

“How did you do that?” Arya gasped, tugging at one of the neat ringlets, “Was that really just a spell to fix my hair?”

“It can be,” Edith replied, adjusting the sloppy lacings of Arya’s dress while she was distracted by her reflection, “But really, it’s just a practice spell for beginners. I’ll show you and Jon how to cast it tomorrow. It can warm things up, cool things down, make little illusions,” Edith flicked the back of one of Arya’s curls, “clean up little girls who like to play in the mud.”

Arya giggled, turning back to face the table once Edith finished re-lacing her dress. She reached over and squeezed Edith’s middle in a tight hug before piling food onto her plate. Unused to casual touch, Edith awkwardly patted Arya’s back in return. With how frequently Arya seemed to throw herself at the people she was close to, Edith had a feeling that she would get used to it fast.

Shortly after, Jon entered the courtyard and paused at the sight of Edith and Arya sitting side by side. Arya, mouth half full of roasted chicken, jumped from her seat and ran over excitedly to her brother, eager to show Jon the results of Edith’s work.

“Jon, look! I look like you now!” she beamed.

Jon smiled gently in return, “You’ve always looked like me, little sister.”

“Not my hair. Mother and Septa Mordane always pull my hair into stupid braids. I like this better. Now come on and eat! Teacher said she’ll show us spells tomorrow!”

It was spell singular, but Edith figured that she would let Arya have her moment.

“Alright, alright, just swallow your chicken before you choke,” Jon laughed.

“Well, well,” Alyn said, appearing in the doorway behind Jon and Arya with a big earnest smile, “Would you look at that. Little Arya Underfoot, all cleaned up and not a spot of dirt on ya.’ Did you cast a magic spell on your hair to make it all nice and pretty?”

Arya eagerly explained to Alyn all about the spell and how she was going to learn magic tomorrow. Alyn teased Arya about her first magic spell being one to fix her messy hair, to which Arya stomped on his foot and adamantly denied that it was only for her hair.

Edith tucked into her own meal, enjoying the free entertainment. Jon took a seat by her side, silently piling food onto his own plate.

“I saw what you did,” he said quietly, “it was kind of you.”

“I took you and Arya as my students,” Edith replied, sipping at a cup of tea, “It’s my responsibility to take care of you.”

Jon remained quiet, staring at his plate. “Will you teach me that spell too?”

Edith smiled softly, continuing to sip her tea. “Of course. I am your teacher, after all.”

Chapter Text

Alyn was pleased as punch leaving the mansion. He generously offered his services in supervising the bladesong lessons, every day even, gladly. Edith rolled her eyes at the guard as he sauntered off, whistling cheerfully to himself. The man had a big mouth, so Edith doubted that the other guards would give him daily supervision privilege so that he could take advantage of the luxuries in Edith’s mansion. She would likely end up having to help Lord Stark arrange a fair rotation so that his household guard wouldn’t riot.

Waving farewell to Jon, Edith and Arya made their way to her next lesson with the Septa. Along the way, Arya received a number of compliments from the household staff, several noting the style similarity between Arya and Edith. Arya beamed happily with each compliment. 

However, the nearer they got to the room, the more agitated Arya became. She fidgeted nervously, chewing on her lower lip, responding less and less enthusiastically to any compliment given as they approached the ladies’ solar. Edith raised an inquisitive brow at Arya’s sudden shift in behavior. 

For as long as Edith had been in Winterfell, Arya had seemed so bright and fearless. She laughed freely, she played with children of every social rank, she was friendly with nearly all of the household staff, and generally ran amok around the castle, bringing both chaos and joy with her. There were occasions where she would run to Jon or her father, obviously upset, but they were few and far in between. Edith had chalked it up to a particularly bad day or really just children doing… children things.

Edith frowned, considering Arya’s earlier behavior in the mansion, before Edith fixed her hair. She had been so excited to show off the style to everyone, and yet, now that they were approaching the room where the other girls Arya’s age would be at, she seemed almost terrified.

“Is there something wrong, Arya?” Edith asked.

“No!” Arya answered just a bit too quickly. Edith hummed, but didn’t question further. As pointless as Edith believed the ‘lady’ lessons to be, perhaps she would sit in on this one. She was sure that the experience would be very educational.

Approaching it as if it were a mimic ready to bite, Arya hesitantly pulled the heavy wooden door open. The other ladies and Septa were already inside, chatting away and threading through embroidery hoops. At the sound of the door, the girls looked up, all of them gawking upon seeing Arya at the door. The Septa, known for her constant exasperation with her youngest charge, reflexively spun around, ready to scold Arya for some thing or another before stopping short at the sight of a perfectly clean, well dressed Arya Stark.

“Arya,” The Septa said, blinking in surprise. She turned to check an hourglass sitting on a table in the corner of the room. “You’re… on time,” she finished lamely.

“Apologies for the disturbance Madam,” Edith said, standing tall, “But would it be quite alright for me to sit in on today’s lesson? Since Arya takes lessons with me just before, I want to make sure that I don’t tire her too much that she can’t complete her studies with the rest of the ladies.”

“Ah yes, your… magic lessons,” Septa Mordane said with a disdainful sniff, “I’ve already told Lady Stark how much I disapprove of you and your teachings, but the Lord has given his final say on the matter. But very well, if you must stay, you may, so long as you do not disturb the girls.”

Edith smiled genially, debating turning the old goat into a literal goat, and pulled one of her borrowed books from the library out of her bag (a pocket dimension of its own that, upon opening, brought forth whatever item the user was searching for so long as it was inside. Edith loved pocket dimensions. So versatile, so convenient. So very liable to rip a hole in the fabric of space and time if handled improperly), taking a seat off to the side. Arya took a seat between Edith and the other girls, edging as far away from them as possible. The Septa shoved a needle and embroidery hoop into her hands.

“I want no trouble today young lady,” the Septa said sternly, “you’ve finally taken the effort to look the part of a noble Lady, so I expect you to act like it as well.”

Arya scowled at the woman, sticking her tongue out when she turned her back, but otherwise putting her needle to the fabric. Oddly, she was using her right hand, though Edith knew Arya to be left-handed.

As the girls continued to work quietly, giggling here and there about some boy or another or some dress or another, Edith buried herself in the pages of her book. 

Prior to meeting with Erik and Fryderyk, Edith had sought out the castle Maester to get a head start on furthering her studies. The old Maester had something of a fascination with the old stories of magic in Westeros, often bringing them up while teaching the Starklings their history lessons. Upon learning that Edith herself was a well practiced Wizard, the old man was delighted, eager as a boy to pepper her with questions on the machinations behind spellcraft. Edith was equally delighted to have a fellow intellectual to build complex discourse.

Maester Luwin had agreed to send for as many books with mention of magic from the Citadel where he had once trained to fore the chain he wore, each symbolic for a mastery over a different area of study. His chain seemed rather long (and quite heavy looking for a man of his age), so Edith trusted that he would be able to find the best resources possible from the Citadel.

The Citadel was apparently the only repository of knowledge in Westeros. Only men were permitted entrance and they hoarded their collection the way a dragon hoards gold, so Edith was already predisposed to dislike them. 

Knowledge is meant to be shared, not stifled. No wonder this place doesn’t have indoor plumbing.

In the meantime, Maester Luwin handed over all of the books in Winterfell’s library containing any reference to magic. She had sheepishly returned the ones that she’d already ‘borrowed,’ but Maester Luwin was more than willing to overlook her petty theft once she used her magic to mend the books to near pristine condition. He'd even requested to be updated on any findings or conclusions she might come to. 

Her current readings regarded legends of the First Men and the magic of the north. Most of the readings were of this subject, considering the locale, but the subjects of warging and greenseeing in particular caught her interest.

From what she pieced together from the various texts, warging, or skinchanging, was basically akin to druidic wild shaping, though far more limited. The druids did not share minds with other animals while wild shaping (though they did have magics that allowed them to do so), but rather turned their own physical forms into that of beasts, even pure elements on occasion. It was similar to certain spells in the school of transfiguration that anyone could learn, but the druids did not require the same magic that a wizard or other caster would. It was simply part of who they were, an ability that came naturally upon entering a druidic circle. 

In a way, being a warg meant being a sorcerer, the magic already existing naturally in the blood, but Edith had never heard of a sorcerer whose magic only allowed them to meld minds with animals, and not even fully controlled at that. The Electi herself was a sorceress, touched by divine magic, giving her a natural affinity for spells of light, fire, and healing.

Combining warging with greenseeing, it painted a better picture of what stronger magics lay dormant in the North. The legends of ‘Children of the Forest’ sounded to be almost certainly some form of druidic circle, able to manipulate nature at will, though in a manner unheard of among the druid circles in Ebril. As far as Edith was aware, the druids cast most spells in the same way that any other caster did, bar some exceptions. The Children seemed to cast through song form, something that was mostly a bardic gift. The ability to see past and future was rather convenient as well, though unsurprising as most Oracles tended to be druidic anyway. A very strange combination of skill sets.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Children were wiped out in a war with the First Men, from whom the Starks are descended. So the likelihood of any collaboration there was low. Old Nan, bless her heart, tells tales that the Children may still yet live somewhere north of the Wall, but Edith needed to follow more solid leads before chasing the wild geese.

Edith was certain that there was magic somewhere north of the Wall. The Wall itself was a marvel, or so she had been told. Allegedly another construct of Bran the Builder, a massive sheet of ice seven hundred feet tall and three hundred long. Edith would have liked to visit it herself to analyze any potential magic in the construction as was oft claimed in legend, but the Wall was yet another ‘no ladies allowed’ area. Honestly, this place. 

And then there was the legend of the Long Night. Just like every other story in Westeros, there seemed to be a dozen and a half variations, all of which wildly different from the next and yet bizarrely the same. Well, not truly the same, but connected by threads that Edith was unraveling, slowly but surely. What she did know was that she sincerely hoped that the Long Night and its Night King were well and truly fiction. Based on the stories, she had her suspicions and if the Night King was what she feared he might be…

Edith couldn’t help but feel an uneasy stirring in her gut about this plane. Something not in the books and out of place in this world. Something was off, and she didn’t know what. She would love to meet some of the so-called ‘Wildlings’ who apparently keep to the ‘Old Ways’ and thus retain more of the magic than those south of the Wall. They likely had greater insight on Northern magics than the Citadel, or even Winterfell. She wanted to know what that something to the north was, because it felt… dangerous. And at this point in her life, there were few things that Edith considered dangerous.

Not that any of the information actually much helped her make any progress towards breaking the banishment spell, considering the books contained no direction or runic pattern on how any of the magic actually worked. Just that it could have, possibly, probably, maybe, might have existed at some point in time. Just not at this point in time. 

Now if she could only get her hands on more books about Asshai, Qarth, and the Farther East, where magic is rumored to still be in practice. Maester Luwin had been a wonderful help, but was doubtful that the Citadel would be compliant with several of his book requests, given their general skepticism and stinginess. Still, what little she’d found so far had been promising-

“It’s perfect! A horsey tail for Arya Horseface.”

Edith snapped her book shut with a loud clap, startling the room into silence. Arya was sniffling, gripping the embroidery hoop so hard that her knuckles had gone white. The other girls all stared wide-eyed at Edith, fear and embarrassment written clear across their faces.

“Would you care to repeat what you just said young lady,” Edith asked flatly. Her tone made it clear that she most certainly knew exactly what the girl had just said. The girl she’d heard insulting her student was Vayon’s daughter, if Edith was not mistaken. Jill or Joan or something. 

“I- I- I think you misheard, my Lady, I didn’t say anything,” Jan, or whatever her name was, stammered. The Steward’s daughter probably assumed that she’d spoken quietly enough for neither adult in the room to have overheard. The Septa may have been an oblivious old bat, but unfortunately for Joyce, Edith was of elven heritage, and if anything good came from that rotten half of her life, it was the enhanced senses.

“So I didn’t hear you say anything along the lines of ‘a horsey tail for Arya Horseface?’”

Julie flushed scarlet. “I didn’t mean anything, it was just a joke!”

“Oh?” Edith exclaimed in mock surprise, “It was just a joke? Why, if you girls all found it oh so funny, why don’t we go and repeat it to Lord Stark? I’m sure he’ll find it hilarious.”

At that, all of the girls went white, clamoring over each other to insist that Lord Stark didn’t need to hear the ‘joke.’ Edith stood and the girls’ pleas grew more insistent. Jenna had started crying even. The Septa looked absolutely baffled, swiveling her head around the room as if she were unable to decide who she was meant to be scolding. 

Arya was still clutching the wooden hoop, and Edith could see the teardrops staining the fabric. Edith kneeled in front of her and gently removed the hoop from her hands, taking her little fingers in her own and leading Arya out of the room. She could hear the girls still crying and pleading in the room behind her, the Septa simultaneously trying to calm them down and tell them off for their crass words. 

“Are you really going to tell father?” Arya asked in a small voice.

“Would you like me to?”

Arya chewed her lip, free hand anxiously wringing the fabric of her skirt, wrinkling the fine linen.

“Does he already know?” Edith asked. If Arya answered yes to that question, then Lordship be damned, they would be having words.

Arya shrugged, “I think Mother does. She scolds Sansa sometimes for picking on me. But Septa Mordane always goes and says it’s my fault. Then Mother scolds me for being a bad Lady.”

Edith frowned tightly. Yet another reason for her to dislike Lady Stark.

“Father tells me I’m pretty,” Arya added softly, “And Jon,” And then the dam burst and Arya began to sob in earnest, “But I’m not! I’m not pretty at all! Just stupid, ugly, Arya Horseface!”

Arya wracked and heaved at Edith’s side, hiccupping as the tears slid freely down her face. Edith teleported them to Arya’s chambers, the only place in the castle she could think to go for privacy until her tower was finished. Holding Arya close, she summoned Minaeve and sent her out of an open window with the silent command to fetch Jon.

“I hate Jeyne!” Arya cried. Edith assumed that ‘Jeyne’ was Vayon’s daughter and the main perpetrator, “I hate stupid Jeyne! Jeyne and stupid Sansa! I wish you were my sister instead!”

Edith sighed sadly, unsure of how to comfort her distraught charge. All of Edith’s students up until this point had been grown adults, and she definitely did not have the family experience to unpack Arya’s fraught relationship with her sister. Comforting crying children was a skill that Edith would likely have to learn so long as she had her two students in Winterfell.

“...I’ve never had a sister,” Edith replied softly, wiping stray curls out of Arya’s face, “But if I did, I would be honored if she were like you.”

The statement brought a fresh wave of tears to Arya’s eyes as she clung to Edith even more tightly. She tried not to stiffen and distress Arya further, but was this a good sign? A bad sign? More tears was a bad sign, but hugs were good, right? Edith rubbed what she hoped were comforting circles around the girl’s tiny back. 

“I may not be your sister, Arya, but I am your teacher,” Edith said, “And I will protect you from any and all kinds of harm, as best as I am able.”

When Edith had been a student in Ebraxima, she was often bullied and beaten by her peers. Full-blooded, self important, cruel little elflings. They would jeer at her half-elven blood, calling her a freak and a half-breed. And a bastard. While Edith had eventually overcome those children, she would never forget how it felt to be a scared little girl without anyone to dry her tears. Edith did not tolerate bullying in her classrooms in Ebril, and she would not tolerate it in Winterfell either.

Just as Arya finally calmed down, Jon burst into the room, panting as Minaeve swooped in behind him. At the sight of her favorite brother, Arya ran into his arms, sobbing all over again as she blubbered about the events of the Septa’s lessons. Poor Jon scrunched his brow, trying to piece together the story from Arya’s frantic half-sentences.

“It’s okay, little sister,” Jon shushed, “Don’t listen to Jeyne. She’s stupid, just like you say.”

The little joke made Arya giggle under her tears, slowly managing to calm back down. 

“Teacher says calling things I don’t like ‘stupid’ is bad,” Arya said.

“I’ll let it slide, but just this once. How long have the other girls been picking on Arya?” Edith asked, frowning.

Jon shrugged, “I’ve no idea when it started, but it’s been going on for a long while now.”

“And do the Lord and Lady know about this?”

“I don’t know how much they know, but they know that Arya doesn’t get along with the other girls,” Jon answered, “I‘m pretty sure that they think they’ll all grow out of it.” 

Edith huffed, the sound coming out a half growl. She sorely wanted to hunt down the Lord and Lady of the castle to give them a piece of her mind. But watching Jon brush the stray tears from Arya’s face, Edith knew that this was the best place for her to be for her students. It had been an eventful enough day for Arya, and certainly an exhausting one for Edith. 

Good Gods, over the course of one day, she’d rebuilt centuries-destroyed battlements, taught her first bladesinging lessons, and told-off-without-actually-telling-off a group of ten year olds for bullying one of her students. She almost wished to return to just a few days ago, where she was left well enough alone and no one thought she could speak common. Such peaceful, uneventful days. Edith had a sneaking suspicion that uneventful days would be few and far in-between from now on. 

Glancing out of the curtained window, the sky was rapidly darkening, the orange sunset already mostly fading into an inky night sky. 

“It’s about dinner time, my students,” Edith said, dismissing her familiar after handing the owl a strip of jerky from her bag. She kneeled down to Arya’s eye-level to ask, “Are you feeling up to dining in the main hall? Or would you prefer if I went and fetched a meal for you?”

Arya sniffed and looked down at her feet, wiping her nose and smearing snot across the sleeve. Edith cleaned it once more with a quick spell as Arya chewed her lip, deep in thought.

“Whatever you decide Arya, do not let those girl’s push you down,” Edith said, gently lifting Arya’s face by her chin to meet her eyes, “If there is any teaching of mine that I want you to remember, it is this: The only way that you can be made small, is if you let others make you feel small.”

“The only way that you can be made small, is if you let others make you feel small,” Arya repeated.

“You are a bladesinger now, Arya,” Edith asserted, standing to her full height, “And a bladesinger is proud, dignified, and strong. We walk with our heads held high, for we know our worth, and there is nothing in this world, or any other, that can hold us down.”

“Now,” Edith asked, extending a hand, “Will you be joining me for supper?”

Arya took one final sniff, roughly scrubbing the rest of the tears from her face. “I’m a bladesinger now,” she declared, “and I won’t be small.”

“Does that mean I have to call you medium sister now?” Jon joked. Arya stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed Edith’s hand, marching imperiously towards the door. Jon snickered and Edith gave him a light shove through the door as well, rolling her eyes.

"Alright, my medium students, keep walking. You’ll be needing to eat quickly if we’re to make any progress on learning your first spells tonight.”

Arya and Jon’s faces lit up in excitement.

“But, Teacher, I thought that you said we had to wait until we could finish our first forms?” Arya recalled.

Edith raised an imperious brow, “Would you like me to change my mind?” 

Arya’s eyes widened as she rapidly shook her head in the negative, the wild curls at the back of her head flying all over the place with the movement.

“Come along then students,” Edith said, quickening her pace, “there is much to be done.”

Chapter Text

For as confident as Edith sounded while encouraging Arya in her room, she was equally confident that she would soon be getting an earful from the Lady of Winterfell. Entering the dining hall hand in hand with her students, the room went silent.

Oh right, the whole castle knew about her magic now. She probably should have expected this.

Both of her students grew restless and wary at all of the eyes on them. Edith could see Lady Stark’s hard stare from the end of the hall, though she was unsure if it were directed at Edith herself or at Jon. With the way that Jon wilted at her side, she knew that Jon believed it to be directed at him. Without breaking her gaze away from the high table, Edith stuck a hand under Jon’s chin, lifting his face as she had done for Arya only moments before. He resisted at first, but then gulped and raised his head the rest of the way. 

Expression fully neutral and stature high and poised, Edith strode to the high table for Arya and Jon to sit and eat. Depositing her students in their respective seats, Edith offered a polite nod to the Lord and Lady. Both Lord and Lady were clearly unsettled, the Lord more in exhaustion and the Lady in indignation.

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark. I hope you are well this evening,” she said.

“Do not feign pleasantry with me, Lady Edith. We both know very well what transpired in the girls’ lessons today,” Lady Stark glared, “I told you one toe out of line and-”

“I fail to see where I have misstepped my Lady,” Edith interrupted cooly, “May I know how it is that I have offended you?”

“You know exactly how you frightened the girls in their lessons. Jeyne was inconsolable for hours,” Lady Stark retorted.

“Frightened?” Edith asked innocently, eyes sliding over to a red-eyed Sansa seated beside her mother, “I merely asked the girls if they would like to share their joke,” she emphasized the word with disgust, “with their Lord Father.” 

The word gave the Lady pause. Arya shied away from her parents, hiding her face behind Edith, who stood protectively in front of her. Both Lord and Lady looked befuddled, glancing between their two oddly behaving daughters. Robb and Theon, who had already been mid-meal, shared a look and hastily excused themselves, wisely escaping whatever fallout that was about to happen between the rest of the table.

“Joke?” Lord Stark asked quizzically. 

“What joke?” Lady Stark asked, “The girls and their Septa made no mention of a joke.”

“I don’t believe the Septa heard it quite so well as I did, my Lady,” Edith said, gesturing to her pointed ears, “These are more than just for show, you know.”

The Lord and Lady shared a look before turning to Sansa. She shrank in on herself, guiltily refusing to meet her parents’ eyes. With how confused and surprised they were at Sansa’s guilty expression and Arya’s timid hiding, Edith wondered if Arya had ever had anyone to defend her against her sister and her Septa.

“Sansa,” Lady Stark said warningly, “Does Lady Edith tell it true? Was there a ‘joke’ that you failed to mention to me and your father?”

Sansa’s breath hitched as she stood and pointed accusingly at Edith, “It was her fault! She said that she was going to tell Father that I made the joke, but I didn’t, I swear!”

“Liar!” Arya shouted, “Liar! Liar! Liar! Father, she’s lying!”

“Girls!” Lady Stark scolded, grabbing Sansa by the arm and pulling her back into her seat. Sansa started sobbing and leaned into her mother’s side as the Lady tried to soothe her tears.

Arya grew red in the face, ready to shout more at her sister, but Edith put a firm hand on her shoulder and raised a brow. Arya quieted, still glaring at her sister, likely imagining stabbing her with a fork. She leaned into Edith’s side, which did not go unnoticed by the Lord or Lady. Lady Stark's jaw clenched but Edith's face remained still as if carved in stone. 

“My Lord, My Lady, I have been a teacher for some years now-” about two but that sounded less impressive “-and I do not tolerate bullying, inside or outside of my classrooms. I did nothing to the girls, I only informed them that, if they enjoyed their cruel joke so much, then you should know about it. Arya has been through an ordeal today, so I will leave it to her what she would like to share, but I tell you now, I will not stand for the other girls picking on her any longer.”  

“I assume that ‘bullying’ is a term from your homeland?” Lord Stark said, “One that is not flattering?”

“Picking on, insulting, deriding, take your pick. If the other girls’ words are arrows, then Arya is the target. It was cruel, what they said. And I very much doubt that it was the first time either.”

“I’ve never heard of Sansa misbehaving like this before,” Lady Stark exclaimed, still trying to quiet her crying daughter, “What happened in that lesson for you to make such an assumption?”

“It wasn’t me!” Sansa insisted tearfully, “I didn’t say anything bad.”

“Sometimes inaction is just as cruel as the action itself,” Edith retorted, “If you found a wounded man at the side of the road and you had the ability to help him but chose not to, does that make you any different than the one who wounded him in the first place?”

“I would ask you to leave the disciplining of our children to myself and my wife, Lady Edith,” Lord Stark said warningly. Edith clenched her jaw, but nodded, understanding that she was edging close to disrespectful territory. 

“But Sansa never gets in trouble,” Arya grumbled, “I’m the one who gets in trouble, even when I didn’t do anything.”

Lord Stark frowned, his heavy brow softening as he took in the state of his youngest daughter. After a long moment of silence, he finally said, “What did you do to your hair Arya? It looks lovely today.”

Arya smiled timidly, answering, “Teacher did it for me. She doesn’t pull like everyone else does.”

“I see. So you’ve grown quite close to your Teacher already,” Lord Stark said, shooting Edith a curious, considering look. Edith coughed and turned away, flushed. So maybe she had gotten attached rather quickly, but Arya and Jon were easy to get attached to. And keeping one’s hair out of one's face while training was important. And a dozen other excuses so that the Lord would please stop looking at her like the cat who ate the canary. 

“Did you do anything else with your Teacher today?” Lord Stark asked, bemused.

At that Arya lit up, immediately going into a long winded explanation of the day’s lessons in the mansion. When she mentioned the story of Edith and Alyn’s little game of tag, Jory, standing guard behind Lord Stark as he most always seemed to do, snorted and shared a smirk with the other guard beside him. 

By the end of her story the entire table seemed to have calmed. Lady Stark excused herself to bring Sansa back to her chambers, assuring her husband that she would be hearing the full truth of what happened in the girls’ lessons today.

Edith left Arya and Jon at the table to finish their meals, assuring them that she would make good on her promise to show them how to cast the minor practice spell she’d been using throughout the day. Lord Stark, bless him, gave Edith an opportunity to take her leave by inquiring more about the spell Edith meant to teach them.

With her students thoroughly distracted, Edith wandered about the dining hall, leaving a trail of whispers and stares in her wake as she searched around for someone important, finally spotting her near the edge of the room.

“Ricka!” Edith called, startling the maid mid-sip. The poor girl coughed up the water she’d been drinking while a brown haired boy who must’ve been her brother, Creagan, laughed next to her.

“My apologies,” Edith said, flicking her wrist and cleaning the mess, “I hadn’t meant to startle you.”

“S’alright my Lady, it was an accident,” Ricka coughed, bowing her head low and elbowing Creagan behind her to do the same. 

“None of that now Ricka,” Edith insisted, “Just call me Edith, or Miss Edith if you really must insist on titles. The two of us are equals, and I consider you a friend.”

“So it’s true, Miss Edith?” Creagan cut in eagerly, “You’re lowborn like us?”

“Indeed.”

Creagan screwed up his face, “But, you sound so highborn. How’d you get to be so proper?”

“Years of hard work,” Edith replied smoothly, “But that’s not what I came here for. I came here to offer you a job, Ricka.”

Ricka blinked in surprise, “But, my La- Miss Edith, I don’t understand? I’ve already got a job,” she suddenly inhaled sharply in fright, “The Lord- I didn’t- have I done something wrong? Am I being’ thrown out?”

“No. no. no, Ricka, it’s alright! I promise,” Edith quickly assured, “I haven’t spoken to Lord Stark yet about it, but I find I am in need of an assistant.”

“Ansisistent?” Creagan repeated, confused.

“An assistant. Someone to aid me in daily tasks. It isn’t dissimilar to your job already, only I would require your assistance in keeping schedule, taking notes, helping me sort through research and the like. Something close to a steward, I suppose. You did say that you could read, correct?”

Ricka flushed, “I can read well enough my La- Miss Edith. Our da’ was a scribe. He taught me and Creagan some before he passed, but I-I don’t think I can do well enough to be of proper help, Miss Edith.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job so far, Ricka,” Edith encouraged, “When you were assigned as my handmaid. Sorry to have startled you by disappearing like I did, by the way. I’ll have to show you the Mansion sometime. But that is besides the point,” Edith took one of Ricka’s hands in her own, “You are a sweet girl Ricka, and I trust you to do a good job, should you come to work under my employ. I cannot pay you in conventional means since I earn no wages from Lord Stark, but I assure you, you will be compensated.”

“How can you pay if you don’t got no coin m’lady?” Creagan asked. Ricka elbowed him sharply in reprimand.

Edith smiled, “How would you feel about learning a bit of magic, Ricka.”

Ricka gaped, mouth flapping open and closed as she tried to formulate a response. Creagan, wide-eyed, shook her frantically from behind.

“Magic Ricka! You could learn magic! You gotta say yes, you gotta! You saw! She built the wall and not even the Lord could do that!” He exclaimed. Ricka still seemed to be in shock.

“Like I said, the pay is unconventional, and not something that I offer lightly. I won’t teach you spells as advanced as the ones that I will be teaching to my students eventually, nor the art of bladesinging, but you can join us while we learn the simple things: Mending small things, cleaning messes, lighting candles and hearths, even being able to speak to someone who could be in another town entirely. Utilitarian things, along with a few spells to better protect yourself, I think.”

Ricka's eyes grew wider and wider as Creagan seemed to almost bounce out of his seat behind her.

“I will warn you of one thing, however,” Edith said seriously, “I intend to make big changes, not just to Winterfell, but Westeros at large. If you are at my side, it may bring you the same enemies that it might bring me.”

“You- you don’t mean to take-”

“Nothing treasonous, I assure you. Everything within the North will be done by agreement with Lord Stark.”

Ricka exhaled in relief, the very thought of treason rendering her frozen in terror.

“What changes then, Miss Edith?” Creagan asked, “Are you making more walls?”

Edith laughed, “Not quite young man. Though I do intend to ask Lord Stark if I might eventually repair the First Keep. There is much that can be fit in such a large structure, and, if it is agreeable, I would like for it to be used for the common folk.”

Creagan and Ricka both shared a confused look.

“What do you-”

“Teacher!” Arya raced over from the table, the front of her dress, once again, stained with some sort of oil or grease. Edith rolled her eyes and lazily waved a hand to, once again, clean Arya’s dress. Jon trotted along behind her, a bit more sheepishly than his very rambunctious sister.

“Think on it Ricka,” Edith said, standing to meet her students, “Come and find me when you’ve made your decision.”

Edith could hear Creagan continuing to plead with his sister to take the job as she walked Arya and Jon back to her chambers.

“Teacher?” Jon asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why aren’t we going back into your mansion?”

“Oh we will be,” Edith assured, “Tomorrow, when we have a guard supervisor as I promised your Lord Father. But the doors open and shut in the same location in which the spell is cast. So by casting it near your rooms, I can find you bright and early to continue our lessons.”

“How early Teacher?” Arya asked hesitantly.

“Sunrise,” Edith smirked, the groans of her students music to her ears, “Oh hush, the earlier that we start, the more that you get to learn in a day.”

Snagging the nearest guard, a young freckled man named Wyl, and shutting the door of Arya’s chamber’s behind them, Edith directed her students to sit on the bed. She sent Wyl to the corner of the room, where he awkwardly sat on a cushioned chair.

“The spell I am about to teach you is a simple one called ‘Prestidigitation.’ The spell does as its name implies, simple magic tricks, mostly used for entertainment. It is often the first spell taught to anyone seeking to learn magic in Ebril, and many, many people learn it for the convenience that it is capable of.”

“Like cleaning clothes?” Arya asked.

“Precisely. Every seamstress, tailor, washerwoman, and maid that I have ever met in Ebril is familiar with this spell, alongside another simple one used to mend small things.” 

“Like torn dresses,” Jon said, playfully elbowing his sister. Arya grumbled and stuck her tongue out.

Edith nodded. “Correct. Now, the reason that prestidigitation is typically the first spell that people learn, apart from the sheer convenience, is that it gets casters in training used to feeling the magic that exists in the air around them. It also gives beginners the chance to test several different schools of magic through one single spell. We’ll return to the schools of magic later, but for now, we focus on this cantrip. It requires only a single, simple rune that looks like this.”

Edith held out her palm, and above it appeared a glowing orange rune.

“Now, beginners like you will need to speak the rune and draw it into the air, like so.”

Using her index finger, Edith recast the spell by drawing the same glowing sign into the air and uttering a phrase in the Sylvan runic language, the ancient language of the original elves. 

There are many runic languages that can be used to cast any number of spells, to varying levels of intensity. Sylvan, Draconic, and Infernal were among the common beginner languages, the signs simpler in form and annunciation easier on the tongue. Edith chose Sylvan in particular for its stability in comparison to the other two languages. Sylvan originated in the Feywilds, essentially a magic mirror of the Prime Material but flooded with wild magic, and has been the language longest accustomed to containing the wild nature of magic, having been invented by fey creatures well used to living alongside it. 

Draconic and Infernal could be a bit more temperamental if used incorrectly, and Edith was pretty tired of putting out fires for the day. And this time could be literal fires, so Sylvan it is.

Completing the casting components, an illusionary miniature of Winterfell sat in her palm. Arya and Jon inspected it carefully, startling when the little illusion blew away like ash in the wind.

“Why did it go away?” Arya asked.

“Because this spell is only meant for small things, parlor tricks and the like. Not every spell can last forever,” Edith explained.

“It lasted longer when you used it on Arya’s hair,” Jon pointed out.

“And that brings us to the topic of spell concentration,” Edith replied, “A subject that we will return to at a later time. For now, why don’t we try and see if you can’t light that candle over there.”

Edith pointed to a candelabrum in the corner of the room next to Wyl, who had apparently dozed off at some point during the lecture. Edith shook her head. Between Wyl and Alyn, it was a wonder the household guard got anything done at all. She pitied Jory for how much he had to be carrying the responsibility of guarding the place. It must be why he was so frequently stationed at the Lord’s side.

“Now. watch carefully,” Edith repeated the spell sequence she’d used to conjure the little Winterfell illusion, lighting all three candles in the candelabrum at once. Wyl shifted slightly where he was slumped in his chair, but otherwise did not react. Arya snorted as Wyl’s head tilted to the side and a string of drool ran down the corner of his mouth. Rolling her eyes, Edith repeated the spell once more to snuff all three candles. Still no reaction from Wyl.

“Alright now,” Edith said, kneeling next to her two students, “Jon, you try for the one on the left, and Arya, the one in the middle. Try to avoid the last candle. I don’t want you accidentally setting Wyl’s hair on fire.”

Both of her students turned to look at her fretfully at the idea of accidentally singeing their household guard, but Edith was quick to assure them that the spell was not strong enough to do any real harm.

“Now, when you draw the sigil into the air, you need to do so with strong intent,” Edith said, “At the very core of it all, magic is about intention. If you connect to the magic that exists inside of and around you, with the proper channeling, the runic and spoken components, you can connect it to your own personal will and intention.”

“Channeling?” Jon repeated.

“Yes,” Edith said, “Think of it like an aqueduct. The water is already there, and now you are shaping the canals and tunnels and bridges to guide the water where you need it.”

“What’s an aqua duck?” Jon asked. Edith could have screamed.

“It’s something that is generally used for farming and fresh water resources, but that is beside the point,” Edith sighed. How? How has this Kingdom managed to survive for 300 hundred years? 

“The point is, that you are looking for the source of your magic and using the runes and incantations to form it into the shape that you will it to be. To guide it where you want it to go and give it a purpose.”

“So, like the castle pipes?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Edith answered, relieved that Jon had managed to find an appropriate metaphor, “Like the pipes.”

Aqueducts. How did they not have aqueducts?!?

“So… we already have magic in us?” Arya asked.

“There is magic in life itself, my student,” Edith replied, “Everything in the world, the people, the plants, the animals. All of it. All you need to do is reach out and grab it. Give it form. It’s right in front of you.” Edith once again drew the rune into the air, allowing it to hover in the air. Mesmerized, Arya reached out to touch it.

A sudden pop filled the air, as well as the startled yelp of Wyl as he fell out of his chair, covered in candle wax. All three candles in the candelabrum looked as if they had exploded outward from the center, the remaining wax slowly dripping down the arms. Arya and Edith both turned to face Jon, who had one hand outstretched and the other covering his mouth in horror.

“I’m so sorry Wyl,” Jon exclaimed, “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

Jon was interrupted as Wyl slowly began to laugh, louder and louder until he was doubled over on the floor.

“Gods be good lad!” He laughed, “Actual, real magic, right ‘ere in Winterfell. I still can’t believe it. Can you do it again?”

Jon raised his hands, likely to attempt to clean Wyl of the wax, but Edith quickly waved it away before he had a chance, saying, “Perhaps we wait on using the spell on others until we have just a tad more control, yes?”

Jon flushed, but nodded, clenching his fists in his lap. Edith was not scolding him, so his reaction troubled her. Both he and Arya seemed to respond very poorly to perceived criticism. She would have to be looking into that. 

Edith ruffled his curly hair. “Good work Jon. Now, why don’t you help me show Arya how you did that, shall we?” She gave him an encouraging smile while Arya looked at him as if he’d made all the stars in the sky. Jon smiled shyly from under his lashes and nodded.

Over the course of the next hour, Arya and Jon worked to use the prestidigitation spell as creatively as possible; making illusions of tiny dragons, turning the sheets of Arya’s bed bright yellow, imitating the sound of howling wolves, and even briefly disguising Wyl’s freckles.

By the time that night had fully set over Winterfell, Jon and Arya had nearly perfected the spell, able to cast it several times over in creative ways. They still required the incantations, of course, but they were well on their way to becoming fully-fledged Wizards in training. Edith decided to end the lessons once one of the guards came knocking on the door, searching for Wyl, who had been missing from his post for quite some time. Wyl went white, but the other guard, Desmond, assured the younger man that he would not be in any trouble, as he had still been doing his duty in guarding the Lord’s family, as was expected. 

Jon bid Edith and Arya farewell for the night, following after the two guards to his own chambers. Shortly after, a few maids entered to help Arya get ready for bed. After promising to help Arya with her hair again in the morning, Edith summoned her mansion doors, Arya waving sleepily at her as the doors shut.

An incorporeal servant appeared next to Edith, holding a clock that read roughly nine o'clock. Though still exhausted from the very eventful day, Edith sighed and trudged her way to the library, pulling the latest borrowed book and plucking a mug of hot tea off of a servant’s tray as she walked past. It seemed that it would be yet another long night.

Chapter Text

If looks could kill, then Edith would be dead ten times over.

“C’mon Jon, it’s not that bad. You just need to stretch!”

Jon glared daggers up at Edith as she smirked at him, gently pushing down on his shoulders in an attempt to deepen his side split, still half a foot above the ground. Beside him, Arya snickered as she sat perfectly comfortable, flat against the ground in her own side split.

When Edith had first told her two students that they would be working acrobatics that morning, they had both been buzzing with excitement, no doubt imagining themselves flipping about and cartwheeling around their opponents, swords drawn and magic at the ready. And while they would be fully capable of doing such in the future, at the moment, they still needed to perfect the splits.

Jon groaned as he managed to make it just another inch towards the ground before finally giving up, letting himself fall onto his backside against the soft mats covering the mansion floor. Today’s layout included an extended courtyard and gymnasium course. Edith modeled it after one of the Commander’s training courses. The Commander let Edith share the yard on the condition that she got to watch Edith’s bladesingers run though the ‘Corpse Course,’ nicknamed such because most trainees ended the course flat on the ground in exhaustion, groaning like a field of undead corpses. No one had actually died on the course, obviously. But the clerics did tend to be particularly busy after every run. 

The course that she’d made for her students was significantly simplified and less challenging, but they’d work their way up.  

“Aww, don’ give up lad! You were so close!” the guard-of-the-day, a large man nicknamed Alebelly laughed from the corner of the room, sipping away at a pitcher of cold ale and snacking on a tray of cheese and nut breads.

“If you’re so keen to give encouragement, you’re welcome to join in,” Edith called.

Alebelly shook his head vigorously in the negative, his cheeks jiggling from the force. “I’m plenty good over here Miss Edith, won’t bother yer lessons no more.”

Edith harrumphed, turning back to her students. She set them on more drills to increase their flexibility when she heard loud knocking on the Mansion door.

The mansion doors appeared and disappeared at Edith’s will, and only those that she approved of were able to enter. It was an excellent escape for both safety and privacy, should the need arise. In the past, Edith had used the spell a handful of times to hide away innocent people being pursued for one reason or another until she could transport them all to safety. The mansion was safer than mass teleportation in a pinch, and far less likely to splice people together. 

Edith willed the doors to open, revealing Lord Stark, accompanied by Jory and Ricka. Edith straightened, doing her best to hide her sudden nervousness. She had been somewhat hasty in offering Ricka a job before consulting the Lord, still very much unused to having to seek permission from anyone for something so small as hiring an assistant. If Edith had been forced to bring Lavander before the Electi before hiring her in Ebril, the poor little gnome might’ve had a heart attack. As it stood, as Edith’s right hand, Lavander would have been forced to take over many of her duties in her absence. She hoped that her gnomish friend was doing well, she was even more awful with people than Edith herself.

Alebelly leapt to his feet with a panicked yelp, spilling ale all over himself and the floor in his surprise. Though the servants of the mansion were incorporeal and devoid of personal thought, the servant holding the snack tray, also upended in Alebelly’s haste to present himself to his liege, seemed to sigh at the mess on the floor. 

“M’Lord, I was just-”

Lord Stark raised a hand to silence the guard. “It’s fine Alebelly. I know plenty how my guards are pampered in Edith’s magical mansion. Alyn has made quite sure that the entirety of Winterfell knows of its finery.”

Jory smirked at Alebelly, quietly marveling at the expansive mansion hidden behind its magical doors. For her part, Ricka trembled in fright, fists clenched as she stared at the floor, peeking up hesitantly now and again between Lord Stark and Edith herself.

“M-Miss Edith I- I, um,” Ricka stammered, red in the face.

“Lady Edith,” Lord Stark said, not unkindly, “May I ask why you are pilfering members of my household?”

“I don’t know how many times I must repeat it, but just Edith or Miss Edith is fine. And it's member, singular. I’ve only offered a position to Ricka,” Edith huffed indignantly. Turning to Ricka, she asked, “So may I take it that you have accepted the job?”

Ricka bit her lip, but nodded firmly, “I can start whenever you need Miss Edith.”

Edith smiled brightly, “Brilliant Ricka! We can begin as soon as I finish with Arya and Jon’s lessons this morning. Actually, now that you’re here-” Edith turned to her students, both panting and sluggish as they tried to complete the acrobatics course before them, “-Arya, Jon, that’s enough for now! We’ll be starting on magic for the day!”

Arya and Jon sighed in relief, flopping gracelessly to the ground.

“Lady Edith, may we speak privately for a moment?” Lord Stark asked.

“We may if you start addressing me as either Edith or Miss Edith,” she grumbled, “but yes, give me one moment.”

Edith clapped her hands and a pair of servants arrived with cold water and granola snacks for her students to help them regain a little energy. 

“Why don’t the two of you practice your prestidigitation by showing Ricka its many uses. I’ll be back momentarily.”

With that, she turned on a heel and made her way briskly down one of the corridors leading to her library. Normally, she would have brought Lord Stark to her study, but she hadn’t conjured it along with the mansion this time, believing it unnecessary for the day’s training. Her library, however, she conjured every time she cast the spell, no exceptions. It may only be made up of her own collective knowledge, but having the library present was a comfort for her. 

There was a desk and chair, conjured so that Edith could research uninterrupted without leaving the room, and the servants had brought in a few chairs for the Lord and Jory, though the guard seemed to have taken it upon himself to stand at the door, despite the fact that there was literally no possibility of intrusion or danger within the manner unless Edith willed it.

“Now,” Edith said, dropping into the plush chair behind her desk, “What was it that you needed Lord Stark?”

Lord Stark ignored the armchairs opposite Edith’s desk, uncomfortably shooing away servants that appeared to offer different refreshments. The parallels to Edith’s conversation in Lord Stark’s solar only a few days ago was not lost on Edith By the looks of it, it was not lost on Lord Stark either.

“Ricka came to me this morning,” Lord Stark started, “To request permission to leave my employ for yours instead. Word has spread quickly around the castle that you are taking her on as another student.”

Edith had to refrain from rolling her eyes. That must’ve been Creagan’s doing. He and Alyn would’ve gotten along like a house on fire.

“No, I am not taking Ricka on as a student, nor do I have any intention of taking on more at this time. I only accept students who I believe to be exceptional candidates for learning the bladesinging arts,” Edith replied, “Ricka is smart and diligent, but more importantly she is someone that I would consider a friend. She was very good to me as my handmaid, and I trust her that she will make for a fine assistant.”

Lord Stark did not reply, but looked at her expectantly. This time, Edith did roll her eyes.

“Yes, I am teaching Ricka a bit of basic magic in payment as I have no other means with which to pay her.”

“I had not considered that you would have no funds of your own,” Lord Stark said, “I ought to be offering you a wage for all you’ve done for Winterfell already.”

“It isn’t as if I am wanting for anything,” Edith said, gesturing to the expansive library around them, “I would really rather that funding go someplace where it is more needed.”

“My Lady, you single handedly repaired a centuries destroyed portion of the castle that remained in ruin because of how costly repairing it would be,” Lord Stark said, “It's only right that I offer you some compensation.”

Edith leaned forward on her desk, cradling her chin on the backs of her hands. “If that is the case, then I would like the First Keep.”

Lord Stark choked, “Tha- My Lady, when I said compensation-”

“I would like to restore it, I mean. And use it for the common people. I would like to discuss some ideas that I have, Lord Stark, to improve the quality of life for the people of Winterfell and Wintertown,” Edith continued, “So that when Winter comes, as you so like to remind everyone, life might not be quite so hard, especially for the townspeople.”

“The North is a hardy place, full of hardy people. For thousands of years we have fended off the winter winds, and after thousands of years, the North remains strong,” Lord Stark answered, “But you are right. The Winter is hardest on the common folk. They flock to Wintertown when the snow falls heavy, and the food grows scarce quickly. Many lose themselves to the cold before they can even make it to the castle. If you speak true, what would you do to spare my people such hardship?”

“Build a school,” Edith said simply.

“A… school,” Lord Stark repeated blandly.

“Yes, a school. A place where anyone can go to learn letters and numbers. Where they can get an education and use it to better their lives. Like the Citadel, except open to everyone. And no bizarre rules about celibacy,” Edith explained, “And a guild hall, for the trades. It would make it much easier for more people to learn new tradecraft, so your workforce would expand, especially if women join the guilds. Though knowing this place, the men will resist for ‘proper’ this or that or whatever.”

“My Lady, I fail to see what this has to do with the First Keep and with easing the burden of long winters,” Lord Stark panned.

“I’m getting to that, let me finish,” Edith replied.

“An educated population is an inventive population. The common people aren’t stupid. They just don’t have the same opportunities and resources as highborn Lords and Ladies. They probably have more creative potential and revolutionary minds than most Lords, at least based on my readings. Honestly, half of your ruling monarchs seem to have been completely unhinged.”

Lord Stark tensed slightly at that. Edith mentally reprimanded herself. Right, the Mad King Aerys who brutally murdered his brother and father. Probably best to keep the Targaryens out of the discussion then.

“Anyway, aside from educating the populace, a proper guild hall for the trades and the arts will increase the opportunities for work and the quality of your exports, therefore a hub designed in traveling merchants. And likely attract more people to Wintertown to learn which, again, expanded workforce.”

“My Lady, I must admit, I am having difficulty following you. We have no merchants or artisans of great renown. I fail to see how establishing any of this helps us with the coming Winter,” Lord Stark insisted.

“Because where there is education there is innovation and where there is innovation there is creation and where there is creation there is progress!” Edith half-snapped impatiently, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had to remind herself, constantly, that this place was not like Ebril. There was no meritocracy, only aristocracy. They have never known any different and, apparently, never thought to. And Lord Stark was scowling now, so she really needed to calm herself before she pissed him off too much.

“If you improve the quality of your exports, create things of finery and patronize the arts, then merchants will weather the difficult trek to your castle and spend money in the town. The North may have no need for the fanciful luxuries of the South, but the North can certainly make plenty of coin off of the South for its love of fine things. Not only that, but as the Lord and overseer of the guild, you can tax directly from the guild rather than from the people individually. Or at least you can lower those individual taxes so that the strain might lift a touch. With that money, you can purchase more food to be distributed once Winter truly sets in. You could even use it to build more greenhouses for food production.”

The damn greenhouses. They had greenhouses and they didn't even have screwdrivers. Edith was positively going to lose her mind over the technological progress in Westeros. It was so all over the place that it made her head spin.

Lord Stark looked contemplative, like he was finally starting to see the greater picture that Edith painted. 

“I can fix the Keep, just as I am fixing the Tower, it will not cost you a single coin from me,” Edith promised, “Just like the outer bailey, I am plenty capable of restoring it myself. Furnishing it will be the difficult part, but that is a problem for another time, assuming you agree to this.” 

The Lord continued to study Edith, like a particularly difficult puzzle. Edith cocked her head in confusion and annoyance. She understood that he was nicknamed ‘The Quiet Wolf,” but she hadn’t realized that he was also ‘The Elongated Periods of Silence and Staring Wolf.' She really didn’t see the issue here, it wasn’t like they were using the Keep anyway. And she offered to do the work herself! Well, Ricka would by helping, and probably Arya and Jon eventually, but that was beside the point.

“Why are you doing this?” Lord Stark finally asked, “Why do you care so much about Winterfell. Do you no longer intend to break your spell binding you here?”

“I fully intend to break the spell and return home,” Edith swore, “But do I need a reason to care about other people? I have the power to do something useful and it costs me nothing to use it. So why not? It seems the natural thing to do, really.”

Lord Stark fell back into one of the armchairs with a heavy sigh. He rubbed at his temples with one hand, looking truly exhausted. Most of their conversations seemed to end with Lord Stark looking truly exhausted. Edith really needed to figure out this whole diplomacy thing.

“Northerners are a stubborn lot,” Lord Stark groused, “They don’t take well to change.”

“Change has to start somewhere, and your people will follow your example,” Edith countered, “Besides, you’re their liege and I’m the only wizard around so far as I know. So between the two of us, what would they do about it?”

The Lord snorted at that, “I will think on it, my Lady. I must discuss it further with my council before I make any agreements,” The Lord sobered again, folding his hands together, “But this is not what I wanted to speak with you about.”

Edith raised a brow, “Is this about Ricka again?”

“Partially,” Lord Stark admitted, “My Lady wife is rather cross with you.”

“A recurring trend.”

“She wonders why you have chosen to train a nameless lowborn woman over our highborn children,” Lord Stark said, “Bran has been near inconsolable after hearing that you would be teaching Ricka magic and not him.”

“First of all, she has a name and you’ve just said it,” Edith snapped, “and secondly, it is up to my own discretion who I will or will not take on as a student. Thirdly, I thought your Lady wife didn’t want any of her children learning magic in the first place.”

“That is still true. She would prefer that none of this magic came anywhere near our family, but she cannot deny its power or convenience.”

Edith folded her arms, trying to articulate a response. She had wanted Bran as a student at first, really. Not as a bladesinger, but just in magic overall. He wasn’t suited to Edith’s style of magic (and if she was correct on her suspicions, then she really wouldn't be able to teach him anything at all), and frankly, she didn’t believe that he had the mental resilience to handle her teaching style either. Arya and Jon were stubborn as rocks and had already been pushing themselves, long before Edith arrived. Bran was certainly stubborn as well, a common Stark trend it seemed, but he… well…

“Do you know why I chose Jon and Arya, Lord Stark?” Edith asked.

“I believe your words were ‘they’re good kids.’”

Edith laughed, “Yes, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. You have very good kids, all of them. Well, I have my opinions on Sansa, but she has her moments.”

“I sense there is a but’ coming, so I take it that it is more than just a bit complicated,” Lord Stark accused, raising a brow,

“But, Arya and Jon are more than just good kids,” Edith smiled, “I genuinely believe that, in time, they will change this world, shake it to its very core. That the very things that Westeros disapproves of in them are the things that will make them truly magnificent.”

“That is high praise,” Lord Stark said, “Especially since they’ve only been your students for two days.”

“Jon has a good heart,” Edith continued, “and an unshakeable sense of honor. He is loyal, yes, and he would defend your House and family should the need arise, but he is a gentle, honest soul. He is willing to break the rules for what he feels is right, no matter the disapproval it might bring him. Self-sacrificing, almost to a fault.”

“And Arya. Arya has one of the biggest hearts I have ever seen in a person. She cares for everyone that she meets, everywhere that she goes. She ignores convention and propriety, and your household embraces her for it. I trust her instincts to choose the path of a guardian, to create her own definition of a Lady. She would have flourished in Ebril.”

“But this is not Ebril,” Lord Stark reminded. He did not say it unkindly, but Edith ached to her very core at those words.

“No, this is not Ebril,” Edith agreed, voice soft and more vulnerable than she was comfortable with, “But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t room for improvement in Westeros. Like I said, change starts somewhere, so why not here?”

“And Bran?” Lord Stark prodded.

“Like I said, Bran is a good boy. He’s clever as well, and I’m sure that he would have been an excellent wizard. He has a desire to see the world, but he has no desire to see the world change.”

“You seem very intent on having the world change, Lady Edith,” Lord Stark remarked.

“I am,” Edith said, raising a challenging brow, “I would make it change for the sake of boys like Jon and girls like Arya.”

“I doubt my wife will accept that answer easily.”

“Then tell her this,” Edith said sternly, “I am no fool, and neither are you. You once warned me that others would notice the power that I am giving to your house already by training Arya and Jon, but Jon is a bastard and Arya is the last in line to inherit. Of all of your children, they are the least threatening, politically. I have already tipped the balance of power deeply in favor of House Stark by taking them as my students. If I take Bran as well, then the other Lords will make assumptions. Ricka is no one to them, but she is a friend to me, and I trust her.”

Lord Stark sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head, admitting, “They will see a threat, I understand, Lady Edith. As a Lord, it is a dangerous line that we tread, introducing magic to the world. But as a father…”

The pair sat in silence for a long moment. 

“I will inform my wife about this. She will not be happy, but she cannot deny the fact that this is a dangerous game that we play. Winter is coming, and we cannot afford to make enemies out of the rest of the Kingdoms,” Lord Stark sighed.

“I am sorry for this, Lord Stark. Truly,” Edith frowned, “In another world, all of your children could learn magic freely.”

Lord Stark acknowledged her with a tight frown and a small nod in farewell. Once he had gone, Edith let her head fall to her desk with a loud thump. That could have gone better. Though it also could have gone a lot worse, she supposed. At the very least, Lord Stark would consider what she’d said. For now, she could worry about repairing the Tower and training her students.

Speaking of…

An incorporeal servant floated over, carrying with it two leather bound books. Edith plucked them out of the servant’s ‘hands’ with a satisfied smirk. At least there was still one thing to look forward to today.

Chapter Text

“Students!” Edith chirped, striding cheerfully into the courtyard-foyer of the mansion. Arya, Jon, and Ricka all looked up at once, Ricka’s normally light brown hair now a dazzling blue, though quickly fading back to normal as Arya dropped the spell in surprise.

“I’ve got presents,” Edith announced, waving the two books in the air. Arya and Jon both hustled over and a servant appeared to beckon Ricka towards a chair beside Alebelly. The big guard seemed somewhat dejected, turning away the servants that floated nearby with food and drink. 

“Books?” Arya asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Not just any books,” Edith answered, handing a book to each of her students, “These will be your very own Spell books.”

“Spellbooks?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Edith smiled, tugging her own spellbook from her bag. Hers was significantly larger than her students’ and well worn with use. There were extra notes and pages tacked in that plumped the book thicker than the bindings intended, and was bound shut with a thick, leather latch.

“A wizard’s spellbook is the heart of their magic. Everything that you know and learn will be written into those pages. As you grow as wizards, so too will your spellbooks. Go on and open them.”

Arya practically tore the cover of her book open in excitement, eyes bright as she flipped through the pages. Jon was far more careful, handling the book as if it were made from delicate glass.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing in the basic runic alphabets that you’ll be starting from: Sylvan, Draconic, and Infernal. Once you’re familiar with them, you’ll be able to use them fairly interchangeably, but each language has its own benefits and drawbacks,” Edith explained.

“This is the rune we learned last night,” Jon said, tracing the Sylvan character with his finger.

“Correct. That runic language is Sylvan, the ancient language of the Eladrin elves, the original elves that hail from the Feywilds. The Feywilds are full of wild magic, but the Eladrin learned to carefully channel it with precision and control. Of the three basics, it’s the most stable, but the least powerful. Very useful for simple spells and spells that require concentration.”

“You said that last night too,” Arya said, “the thing about concentration.”

“Concentration is exactly as it sounds. Instead of casting a spell and releasing it for brief effect, if you concentrate on keeping the spell alive, continuing to funnel magic into it, then it will last for as long as you are able to concentrate on it. Remember when my ears used to look round like yours?” Edith asked. 

“You were concentrating on a spell the whole time,” Jon realized.

“Correct,” Edith nodded, “A minor illusion to keep up my disguise.”

“Can we do that too, Teacher?” Arya asked.

“Eventually,” Edith said, “But not so long as I can just yet. You aren’t used to casting well enough to maintain concentration that long without hurting yourselves. Think of concentration spells like running, or fighting. The more you do it, the longer that you can keep it up without tiring yourself out or injuring yourself. Now, the other languages.”

“Draconic is great for evocation magic, the school of magic dedicated to powerful and typically destructive spells utilizing the natural elements, like fire and lightning. But just like those elements, Draconic can be more volatile and unstable. If you cast in Draconic and the spell fizzles or backfires, there can be a lot of collateral damage,” Edith warned, “Infernal is similar, but more attuned to enchantment and transmutation. The language originates from the Nine Hells and has something of a corrupting draw to it. It makes it easy to cast spells that bend others to your will, but can also easily corrupt an inexperienced wizard’s mind. I’ve only ever known tieflings to be fully immune to that draw, and that’s because infernal blood runs through their veins, a natural resistance.”

“If Infernal is so dangerous, then why are we learning about it, Teacher?” Jon asked.

“It isn’t dangerous so long as you don’t mishandle it,” Edith returned, “And of the three basics, it will be the last that we’ll be learning. By then, the two of you should have a strong enough grasp on magic and casting to integrate the Infernal runes without being influenced by the language itself.”

“You said Nine Hells, Teacher,” Arya pointed out, “But everyone says there are only seven.”

Edith sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, “We will most certainly be saving any discussion of multiversal theory and inner/outer plane dynamics for another time very far from now. The multiverse is vast and complex and if I tried to explain it to you now, when we’ve only barely scratched the surface of magic itself, I’m fairly sure that all three of us would lose our minds by the end of that conversation.”

Arya and Jon both seemed confused, but did not argue, for which Edith was grateful. Frankly, the multiverse was so incredibly complicated that not even she knew much about it. There were the inner, outer, elemental planes and of course, the Feywilds, but there were also infinite versions of them just as there were infinite alternative universes. Trying to disentangle all of it was mind-boggling and only ever resulted in headaches.

“Moving on, aside from the runic alphabets, I’ve also included the basic incantations for a few more beginner spells. Once the two of you are able to cast all of them, then you’ll get a special reward,” Edith said.

Arya’s eyes widened in delight, “A reward? What kind of reward?”

Instead of answering in words, Edith waved the incantation into the air to re-summon Minaeve, the snowy owl perching on her arm. Jon’s lips parted into an ‘o’ while Arya gleefully jumped up and down in excitement.

“Summoning a familiar is something of a rite of passage for a wizard. Your familiar will be your partner for as long as you are connected. There are many forms that your familiar can take, though when they are first drawn to you, they will take a form befitting your character,” Edith explained. A servant appeared at her side with a clock, reading roughly nine o’ clock. 

“We have about three hours until lunchtime and then your lessons with the Maester,” Edith declared, “So let us begin, my students.”

Over the course of the next three hours, between the two of them, Arya and Jon managed to successfully cast four of the ten spells that Edith had written in for them. Arya seemed to have a penchant for illusions and transfiguration magic and Jon was capable of casting frighteningly powerful evocation spells for how simple the cantrips were meant to be. 

Edith had Ricka join the pair in learning the mending spell as she taught it to Arya and Jon, and was pleasantly surprised at how quickly her new assistant picked it up. She seemed to pick up the Sylvan runic language fairly quickly, able to determine the primary function of several Sylvan runes before Arya and Jon, and then carefully explaining to them just how she’d figured them out. Between the three, the magic lesson progressed far more quickly and smoothly than she would have predicted otherwise.

After a quick meal provided by the servants of the mansion, poor Alebelly staring longingly at the small cask of fine honey mead at one end of the table, Edith ushered everyone out of the mansion and bid farewell to her students as they headed off to their next lesson with their other siblings. Edith caught sight of Bran as he hopped down from one of the rooftops, wincing guiltily when he spotted her and Ricka and hurried away as if they were hellhounds on the prowl.

Ignoring the lead feeling in her chest at the hurt expression on the little boy’s face, Edith made her way to the tower, where construction was progressing smoothly. Edith had been able to repair most of the stone at the base of the tower, tall enough for Erik and his men to lay down the framework for a second story. Edith herself used her magic to reform much of the scattered rubble into usable blocks, conjuring platforms to lift the heavy stones up for Fryderyk’s masons to mortar in place. Before setting the stones, Edith etched a complicated series of runes on several key locations to better protect the tower from crumbling again, and adding many of the fail safes that the College had in its walls in case of emergency, such as the auto-teleport-in-case-of-massive-explosion. It was time consuming, but made significantly quicker with the aid of Ricka, who had a very deft and precise hand, able to perfectly copy many of Edith’s rune patterns. She had no idea how to activate them, of course, but it saved Edith a considerable amount of time just having them pre-carved for activation.

Most of the reason for all of the fail safes was that Edith intended to add a potions and alchemy lab to the tower. Since potion-brewing was an extended and delicate process, it couldn’t be done inside of the mansion since the space was only temporary. She wanted to finish the lab as quickly as possible to get a batch of healing potions started, as the process would take roughly three months for a single effective batch to be made. Three months would produce the lowest quality potion, but Edith had to prioritize time over quality, as wizard training grew more dangerous the longer that one practiced. Between Jon’s strange proclivity for overpowered evocation spells and Arya’s general recklessness, she wanted those potions ready as quickly as possible. She could worry about higher quality batches later. 

The tower also had another key feature that Edith was already in the process of setting up: indoor plumbing. The castle already had its hot water piping system, so it was easy to explain the design to her construction crew. They were confused as to why she would want an empty piping system, since the outer bailey and the tower had never actually been connected to the warm water pipes, being that the main purpose was for lookout and defense rather than a living space. They didn’t question it too much, since Edith was (literally) doing most of the heavy lifting.

Edith worked with the men until the sun began to set, when they all started packing up and heading home. They made good progress each day, but the tower was so tall that it would take some time to get to the top. And that was just the exterior. They’d hardly even touched the interior. At their current pace, Edith thought the tower might reach completion within four months. A lot slower than the construction work in Ebril, but leagues faster than what Westeros was capable of on its own. 

Once the craftsmen all left for the day, Edith and Ricka joined a number of the rest of the household in the Great Hall for dinner. Her students were already seated at the high table, mid-meal. Once they spotted Edith, Arya quickly abandoned her plate in favor of rushing over to her, barreling into her midsection and flinging her arms around her. Jon followed behind her, exasperated, carrying both of their plates with him.

“Teacher!” She exclaimed joyfully, “Teacher, are we having more lessons tonight? Jon showed me how he figured out that fire spell, and I helped him with the illusions and-”

Edith spent the rest of the evening reviewing Arya and Jon’s lessons with them. As it turns out, the pair had gone to the Godswoods after their lessons to get more practice in. They were progressing quickly in their studies and their dedication to extra study delighted Edith, though she did have to instill a ‘no evocation spells’ rule once Arya revealed that she had nearly set one of the weirwoods on fire during their practice. 

Bidding farewell to Ricka and walking Jon and Arya back to their chambers, Edith summoned her mansion, ready to return to her research on a method to break her banishment. She had started to untangle the knotted web of runic text, slowly deciphering the nonsensical connections, but still had no luck in putting them to any kind of order that made sense. There were so many layers and different schools of magic all tangled together, all written in dozens of different runic letters. At the moment, she was doing her best to pry apart the aspects of the spell that fell under the school of divination. With her sending stone rendered useless, but not broken, she knew that she could reach the council for help if she could only break the portion of the spell keeping her hidden. And if she could make contact with Ebril, then she had a whole slew of new resources at hand to work with. Between herself and the other casters on the Council, she was sure that they could pry the spell apart and get her home.

She was halfway through the threshold when she heard a voice pipe from behind, “Why won’t you teach me magic?”

Edith heaved a deep sigh, “Did your father not speak to you already Bran?”

“Father said that you said that I would be good at it, so why won’t you teach me?” He insisted. 

Edith turned around, mentally cursing herself for mentioning it if it was only going to give the boy false hope. He stood in the hall, little fists clenched and chest puffed to appear larger. He was already dressed for bed, so he had likely waited until he’d heard Arya and Jon passing by in hopes of catching Edith alone. Clever, just like she thought, and perhaps a stronger spine than she initially believed.

“Did your father also mention that I can’t teach you without putting your family in danger?”

“But you’re already teaching Arya!” He exclaimed angrily, “and Jon! Why can you teach them but not me? I’m going to be a knight someday, the best knight, so why can’t you teach me?” he cried.

“And what does being a knight have anything to do with me teaching you magic?” Edith asked, raising a brow.

Bran faltered, “I- Well a knight has to be strong, and your magic is strong and…”

“So nothing then,” Edith said. Bran went red, from anger or embarrassment, Edith wasn’t sure, but she was sure that she did not want to have this conversation in the middle of the hallway. “You’ve never been inside the mansion before,” Edith stated, “Come, follow me.”

She entered her mansion, and headed down the halls into her study, the whole way hearing the sounds of Bran’s little feet scurrying to keep up from behind. In her study, she seated Bran in a plush, velvety chair next to a gently burning fireplace, a servant appearing with a mug of hot chocolate for the little boy. He looked absolutely awed by the mansion, wary of the translucent servant, but the smell of chocolate enticed him too much to turn the treat down. Edith seated herself in her reading chair, crossing her legs and accepting a steaming cup of tea from a servant. 

“Why do you want to learn magic, Bran?” Edith asked.

Bran looked startled, “Well, it’s magic,” he said, as if the answer were obvious.

“And if I were to teach you, what would you do with it?” 

“Become a knight!” Bran exclaimed proudly, “I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard someday, like Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan the Bold!”

“Did this ‘Ser Arthur’ or ‘Ser Barristan’ know any magic?” Edith inquired.

“Well, no but-

“So then that doesn’t answer my question,” Edith said, “What would you do with my magic, if I were to teach you?”

Bran stared at Edith, confused, “I don’t know? I would just use it to be the best knight there is.”

“A knight of the Kingsguard?”

Bran nodded, gulping down his cocoa.

“A knight of the Kingsguard answers to the king, does he not?” Edith asked pointedly.

Bran nodded again, this time more hesitant.

“And if the King ordered you to kill innocent people, if he ordered you stand aside whilst he committed atrocities, would you not be bound by oath to obey?” 

“I- I don’t- That’s-” Bran fumbled for an answer. Edith felt terrible, grilling the poor boy like this, but she needed him to understand why she could not teach him. Why she had chosen Arya and Jon. 

“Bran,” Edith said, setting her teacup aside, “Why do you want to be a knight?”

“Because knights are good, aren’t they?” Bran asked.

“Depends on the knight,” Edith countered, “But a knight serves a King, or a Lord. The knight might be good, but the King or the Lord may not.”

Bran dropped his head in thought, “The last King, the Mad King, he was bad… He killed my grandfather and uncle… But Arya wants to be a knight too.”

“But she can’t. Because she’s a girl. And girls don’t get to be knights in Westeros,” Edith pointed out, “Besides, Arya doesn’t really want to be a knight. Not truly. She wants to prove that she is good enough to be a knight, that’s all.”

Bran let his head drop, staring into his half empty mug of cocoa, dejected. His little face crumpled in sadness and confusion, and Edith heaved another sigh. She was going to regret this, she knew it.

“Bran,” she said, rising from her chair to kneel before the little boy, “You are a good boy, and you would make a wonderful knight and a great wizard, I’m sure. But I can’t teach you to be a bladesinger.”

“But-”

“But-” Edith interrupted, pulling one of his hands into hers. She let magic flood her fingertips, her hands glowing the same warm orange as they did when she helped Arya with her curly hair, “This is what magic feels like. And here’s what I want you to do.”

Edith pulled her hands away, taking Bran’s mug of cocoa and setting it to the side. She took both of the little boy’s hands, cupping the right over the left and gently squeezed them shut.

“Find a seed, any seed. Put it in your hands like this and try to fill it with magic. Now that you know how it feels, you can try to pull it from the world around you. If you can fill it with magic, and you’ll know it when you do, come and find me. But you can tell no one, and I mean absolutely no one, that I’ve told you any of this. Not your siblings, not your parents, nobody. Do you understand?”

Bran stared at her, clearly confused, “This isn’t a trick, is it?”

“No,” Edith replied softly, “No trick Bran. If you figure out how to do magic, you will know, I promise you that. I can’t explain any more until you do. But know this Bran,” Edith’s voice became stern, “Magic is dangerous. For you and for others. Promise me, that if you are able to do magic, that you will not use it to harm others.”

“I wouldn’t-!”

“Promise me,” Edith insisted. 

Bran looked at his hands, then met Edith’s eyes seriously, “I promise. And I promise not to tell anybody, like you said.”

“Good lad,” Edith smiled, handing him back his mug, “Now finish your cocoa and head back to bed. Your mother is angry enough with me as it is. I don’t need her thinking I’m kidnapping any of her children.”

Bran giggled and quickly finished his hot chocolate, leaving a smear across his upper lip that Edith waved away with a small smile. She walked him to the door of her mansion, waving goodnight to him as he disappeared to the other side of the threshold. 

When he had gone, she rubbed at her forehead, slumping in exhaustion. These damn Starklings were going to be the death of her, she knew it. Frustrated and tired, Edith decided to forgo research for the night, instead taking the time to go through her own sword forms to focus her thoughts. 

Once she had worked up a significant sweat, she sheathed her blade and headed up to her Master Bedroom, soaking in the tub until she was pruned and then passing out in her bed in nothing but her bathrobe. 

In the morning, she repeated the same routine, dragging her students out of bed, putting them through their paces, working them through their cantrips with Ricka, building up the Tower, researching and researching and researching, day in and day out. 

And just like that, a whole month passed. Arya and Jon were well on their way to mastering their cantrips, Ricka was fulfilling her duties wonderfully, keeping schedule and organizing research, helping with construction as best as she was able. Bran had stopped avoiding her and had taken to collecting seeds from the ground, much to his parents' confusion. True to his word, he told no one of their conversation. She and Maester Luwin had many a discussion on magical theory, the old man delighting in every new piece of information to the point where he had already filled out a whole journal from their conversations. He was still waiting for word from the Citadel, which should be arriving any day now (with some new books with any luck. Edith was running on short supply). She and Lady Stark had made a silent agreement to remain as far away from each other as was possible, and Lord Stark had given her permission to restore the First Keep once she’d finished with the tower. 

All in all, it was peaceful. Arya was doing better in her lessons now that the girls were more hesitant to pick on her. Jon was confident and proud, showing up the others in the training yard and happily knocking the obnoxious Greyjoy boy on his ass in every bout. The tower would soon be built up enough to at least be livable, and Lord Stark and his Steward, who had become significantly nicer to her since her grand display of magic, were hard at work making plans to improve the infrastructure around Winterfell. Edith was content to continue in this routine until one day, upon meeting Lord Stark and Vayon in the Lord’s solar for more planning, she found Maester Luwin there along with the Lord. They were all reading a piece of parchment with worried expressions. Lord Stark looked grim and apologetic as she stepped into the room.

“The King rides for Winterfell.”

Chapter Text

According to Maester Luwin, the King would be arriving in roughly a ‘moon’s turn,’ so about a month. In that time, the castle was abuzz with activity. Winterfell was practically scrubbed from top to bottom, the finest guest room imaginable was set up, the cooks were busy at work preparing for the onslaught of guests bound to arrive with the King, and so on. 

It seemed as though every day, a new raven arrived. Another Lord sending an envoy to Winterfell along with the King with some excuse or another, though everyone knew that they were all curious about the spectacle that drew the King north. 

Edith hated all of it. Construction time was cut in half, plans for the First Keep were always interrupted by something or another, and Edith never seemed to find a moment of peace. It was a constant production and Edith wanted absolutely no part of it. 

Lord Stark seemed to dislike the fanfare just as much as Edith, and Lady Stark was absolutely frazzled, her workload suddenly increased tenfold. At least ten Lords would be accompanying the King on his trek North, or would be arriving on their own to ‘pay respects.’ 

The only silver lining was that Edith was left with a good deal of free time amidst the chaos. The Stark children were largely kept out of the preparations, too young to really be of any help, so Arya and Jon got plenty of extra training in those few weeks. Edith herself knew nothing about prepping a castle for arriving nobility, as she was typically the arriving nobility. Sans any actual noble blood, of course, just her powerful title. And as her assistant, Ricka was not bound to any duties within the castle, and was therefore free to help Edith in collecting materials and engaging in trade in the town. 

Despite the slowdown in construction, the Tower had reached a state where the first few floors were in livable condition. Although she had insisted that she did not need a wage, Edith acknowledged that she could not furnish her tower without coin, and so finally accepted Lord Stark’s offer of payment for her work thus far. Ricka had helped negotiate the fee, the initial offer being a hundred and fifty gold dragons (an offer that had Ricka’s eyes bugging), down to fifty paid in various coinage. Edith used a good deal of the money in Wintertown to commission furniture, clothing, and certain spell components that she was running short on. 

As it turned out, fifty gold was worth significantly more in Westeros than it was in Ebril. It made it convenient for purchasing the things that she needed to set up her tower, but it also made her feel incredibly guilty for having accepted that much money in the first place.

Regardless, she was able to commission most everything that she needed to begin setting up her living space in the tower. It would take some time for the artisans to finish their work, but Edith did not mind the wait. Using the raw materials, she was able to shape the interior of the first level to suit her needs, mimicking the layout of her study in her mansion. It wasn’t half so luxurious, obviously, but the more important matter was that she finally had space to begin brewing the healing potions. Ricka was thrilled that Edith would be teaching her potioncraft, especially when Edith mentioned that there were cure all elixirs that could be brewed. The elixirs would take at least eight months, but would heal any ailment or disease, no matter how severe.

The other major purchases that she had made were for her students. Arya and Jon were each ready to move on from the cantrips to larger spells. To do so, they would require foci. An Arcane Focus could be pretty much anything that the caster chooses, but most wizards tended to lean towards precious rocks, metals, and effigies. Edith herself used a polished lapis lazuli that she wore around her neck as a brooch. 

A good foci represented their caster in some way. For Arya and Jon, she commissioned gem brooches similar to her own from the only jeweler in Wintertown. The man had limited stock, but Edith was able to find two gems that she felt suited her students.

The other major purchase involved a very long conversation with the castle's blacksmith, Mikken. Soon, her students would be ready to perform the song, but to do so required instruments of their own. The blades that they practiced with inside of the mansion were well enough as stand ins, but they would be needing true blades of their own in order to master the bladesong. Since their chosen weapons were not native to Westeros, she needed to bring Mikken into her mansion to show him exactly what she needed made. To say that he was excited by the mansion would be something of an understatement, but it was an excellent way to bribe him into keeping the project a secret. She doubted that he'd ever eaten the famously mouth-watering South-Central Tonda cuisine before. Given how limited Winterfell's kitchens were in terms of spices and herbs, Edith doubted that Mikken had ever even seen paprika before, much less tasted it. Rather than the conventional pay, Edith agreed to feeding Mikken in the mansion any time that she had it summoned.

As a bonus, she invited Tomas, the apprentice that Ricka liked, to join him. She had done it both in gratitude and personal amusement, as Ricka was nearly always present in the mansion during the daytime as Edith's assistant. With the way that Tomas seemed to flush any time that Ricka passed by during their meal, she thought that she made the correct decision. The Electi would be proud to hear of her matchmaking. 

Edith also decided to use some of the money to commission some clothing for Arya in secret. Apparently, her birthday (nameday is it was known in Westeros) had already passed while Edith was masquerading as a foreign noblewoman, but Edith figured a late gift was better than no gift at all. She had a seamstress in town prepare three sets of tunics and trousers for her little student, each made of fine linen and thick wool. Lady Stark would definitely be unhappy about it, but Lady Stark was pretty much always unhappy with Edith. She decided to give two of the three sets to Arya, but hold on to the third just in case the Lady tried to confiscate them as she often did whenever Arya ‘borrowed’ some of her brothers’ old clothes.

The first of the Lords to arrive at Winterfell were the Cerwyns. Lord Medger Cerwyn arrived with his son and heir, Cley, and both were introduced to Edith, spewing nothing but compliments for the ‘Lady’ and her work. 

Edith was fairly certain that Lady Stark would have spit fire at her if she could when Edith replied with nothing but a, “Yes, thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, there is still work to be done,” before marching back to her tower to continue construction along with Ricka and a handful of free workers. As she walked away, she could hear the Lady behind her trying to apologize and make excuses for Edith’s lack of manners. Fortunately for the Lady, the Cerwyns seemed suitably pacified watching Edith work, conjuring her floating disks and animating tools to continue working in place of the men who were pulled away in preparation for the King’s arrival. And being frequent visitors to Winterfell, due to the close proximity of their castles, the Cerwyns were awed by the rebuilt outer bailey walls, especially upon learning that Edith had repaired it in a matter of minutes.

After the Cerwyns came the Tallharts, then the Glovers. Each house brought along their sons and daughters, either in hopes of making a match with one of the Stark children or, potentially, a royal match. Upon learning that Arya was one of Edith’s two students and was in the process of learning the arcane arts, her little student was constantly hiding away from the boy heirs being pushed in her direction. They were all clearly more interested in the soft, ladylike Sansa, but the lure of magic was strong, which is why Edith had taken to hiding Arya away in the tower or the mansion as much as possible. Jon, also shoved to the side by the Lady, joined them more often than not and the two siblings observed as Edith and Ricka brewed their potions in the still fairly ramshackle tower.

It was on one such occasion that Edith was training Jon and Arya in the mansion, having mastered their first forms and starting into their second, that Edith had another loud knock at the door. Edith had set the mansion doors to be invisible and intangible to anyone that wasn’t a member of the Stark household. As much as she wanted to lock everyone out until this entire affair was over and done with, she at least had enough sense of decorum and respect for her hosts to answer when summoned.

“Enter,” Edith called. She heard the doors swing open behind her and turned, ready to tell whatever guard or servant that had been sent in that she did not wish to be bothered until at least midday. Then she’d go greet whatever stuck up ponce had just ridden through the gates. 

Much to her surprise, it was neither guard nor servant at the door, but the Lady of Winterfell, standing tall and imperious, doing her best to pretend as if she were not deeply fascinated by the interior of the mansion. The guard today, Wyl again, stood at once to bow respectfully to his Lady. 

“Lady Stark,” Edith greeted quizzically, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Try as she might, Edith could not fully mask the disdain in her voice. The Lady, displeased, narrowed her eyes.

“Lady Edith,” she said cooly, “May I speak with you, in private.”

The two women stared each other down for a moment before Edith nodded, turning to lead Lady Stark down a hall and into her study, which she had taken to conjuring at all times with the spell since her visit with Lord Stark. 

“Students, back to drills, or else it’s double acrobatics tomorrow,” Edith called behind her, knowing full well that they had stopped to watch her exchange with the Lady. Her students groaned as they returned to their sword forms, “Ricka, make sure they don’t slack off!”

“Yes Miss Edith!” Ricka, who had been flipping through the pages of a book on herbal remedies, returned in the distance. 

Once inside the study, Edith sat in her plush armchair, gesturing for the Lady to sit where Bran had not so long ago. She hoped to the seven heavens that this discussion had nothing to do with that conversation. She had no idea how she would even begin to explain it, especially since Bran had yet to succeed and return to her.

“Tea, Lady Stark?” Edith asked politely, a servant floating nearby to offer a cup each. Edith plucked hers off of the tray and sipped at it, the Lady hesitantly following her lead with an equally polite thanks. 

The pair awkwardly sipped at their tea in silence before Lady Stark finally blurted, “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

“Pardon?”

“Arya,” Lady Stark said, “You are training her in magic, chosen over any of my other children, chosen over her brothers who, many would say, are more deserving of the right-”

“And those many can keep that to themselves. No one has a right to my teachings, it is my right to choose who I teach to,” Edith bit.

“But they will not keep it to themselves,” Lady Stark retorted, “They already talk of Arya, of her wildness and her unladylike ways. She was already difficult enough to handle without you encouraging her willful behavior.”

“I only encourage her to be herself. I cannot possibly understand why I am the only one, aside from Jon, inclined to do so!” Edith snapped, setting her teacup to the side.

The Lady’s face soured at the mention of Jon. “I will never be able to find an appropriate match for her at this rate. You have given me an entirely new set of issues to consider while trying to find her a good husband!”

“Husband!?” Edith practically screeched, “She’s eight! Why in the world are we talking about a husband!”

“Because that is the way of things here!” Lady Stark shouted in return.

“It doesn’t have to be-”

“You don’t know that!” Lady Stark yelled, “Ned says that you speak of change, changing the world for Arya and-” She cut herself off with clenched teeth, “You speak of change, but you can make no guarantees. Like it or not, Arya is a highborn Lady and will be expected to marry and carry heirs one day. That is the way of our world, and the only way that I can ensure Arya’s safety is by finding her a good husband who will treat her well.”

“I am giving Arya the tools to protect herself and her happiness,” Edith responded stubbornly.

“And her House? Our family? Because of you, half of our bannermen and the King himself have ridden for Winterfell. They may not be able to touch you, but Arya is different. What if the King demands a betrothal between Arya and one of the princes? What if the Stark bannermen refuse to raise arms at being slighted? What then? Will her magic be able to fight off the entire Kingdom? Would she be forced to bear the burden of her entire family’s safety?”

Edith closed her eyes wearily. She hadn’t thought about that. She was so focused on the future, on Arya’s future, that she failed to see the bigger picture. Like it or not, Arya was a Stark and would be dragged into Westerosi politics eventually. She had always thought Lady Stark to be suffocating Arya out of a sense of propriety, but now she realized that it was the concern of a mother who loved her children fiercely. Change starts somewhere, but it also starts slowly. 

But there was one thing that Lady Stark hadn’t considered, and that was Edith herself.

“Did I ever tell you how I ended up in Westeros?” Edith asked. 

Lady Stark looked taken aback, tilting her head in confusion, “No, I do not believe so. I take it that there will be a point to this story.”

Edith chuckled sardonically, “I grew up in a city of elves. Fully blooded elves, not half-elves like me. And these elves in particular did not take kindly to anyone who wasn’t a full blooded elf. I’m sure that you can imagine what my childhood was like.”

The Lady’s mouth twitched downwards, but she did not interrupt, nodding for Edith to continue.

“I learned my bladesinging there. It’s an ancient elven art, only known to the elves of Ebraxima, my childhood home, and one that they guarded fiercely. When I left, I took that knowledge with me, and eventually started to pass it on to new students in Ebril. People from all walks of life. Knowledge is meant to be shared, and the elves of Ebraxima hoarded this knowledge for destruction, even from other elves, to slaughter any who dared enter their territory. I would use it for peace, to protect those who could not protect themselves.”

“I was in my tower at the College when one of my students ran in, injured and frantic. She and some of my other students were on a job outside of the city, suppressing a group of bandits causing trouble for a nearby village. It turned out to be a trap. My old elven acquaintances were unhappy to find out that I was sharing their secrets. They let one student go as the messenger. They held the others hostage and demanded my head for theirs.”

“I killed them all. Every last one of those fuckers. Twenty trained bladesingers and I cut them down like weeds. They must have known that it was a possibility, I am the Archmagi after all, and the last man standing managed to catch me in a trap before he died. He ran, I chased. I was blind in my fury. I was sent here, and he was sent to the hells.”

Lady Stark was wide-eyed, teacup trembling in her hands. 

“As a Councilwoman, I am meant to be neutral in political conflicts unless the innocent are at risk,” Edith said, voice low and dangerous, “But as a teacher, I will defend my students to my dying breath, from anything and everything that would try to hurt them. When I requested to take Arya and Jon as students, I told your husband that no harm would come to them. If I have to level this Kingdom to keep that promise, then so be it.”

Edith stared the Lady down, eyes dark and hard as steel. Everybody had their weak points, and for Edith, it was her students. The elves of Ebraxima made the mistake of thinking they could get away with touching even a single hair on them. Westeros would burn before Edith ever let it happen again.

Lady Stark released a breath that she didn’t seem to realize that she’d been holding. She set her teacup to the side and folded her hands neatly in her lap, the image of a perfect Lady. She met Edith’s eyes with fire burning in her own. 

“I can fend them off until she flowers,” Lady Stark declared, “And then I will have to entertain the requests. If you can find a way to protect her life and her happiness by then, then I will personally tell every last one of her suitors to go to hell.”

Edith huffed a laugh at that, “It shall be done, my Lady. I must apologize. I have misjudged you. You are a good mother, and I can see where Arya gets her strength from.”

Lady Stark smiled gently and nodded, “I would apologize in turn. You have done a great deal for my family already, I should not have doubted your loyalty to my daughter and to… and to Jon.” The Lady couldn’t quite get the name out without her face twisting sourly, but Edith thought that, maybe, she might have said it kinder than she’d ever heard before. For today, that would have to be enough.

“Apology accepted, Lady Stark. Unless there was more that you wished to discuss, allow me to walk you out. I’m sure that there is still much to be done before the King arrives,” Edith smiled tiredly. 

The Lady’s face contorted in distaste, “Yes, there is indeed much to be done. The King as his retinue is only a sennight away and King Robert can be…”

“Obnoxious,” Edith supplied.

“Difficult,” Lady Stark replied diplomatically, “The Gods know that we don’t have room in the castle for all of the guests that will be arriving, especially since the King travels with several Southern Houses and the Manderlys of White Harbor.”

Edith’s eyes lit up at the mention of the Manderlys, “White Harbor is a port city, is it not? And are bannermen to House Stark?”

“Yes,” Lady Stark answered, raising a curious brow, “Why do you ask?”

Edith smirked, “Because I think they might just be the only House that I actually look forward to meeting.”

Lady Stark raised a brow at Edith, but did not question her on it. 

Escorting the Lady to the door, she paused in the foyer to watch as Arya and Jon matched swords, smiling and twirling about gracefully in her bladesong forms. She ended up getting disarmed by Jon with an excellent wrist maneuver, but rather than yield, she tackled her brother’s midsection, sending them both tumbling to the ground

“Lady Stark?” Edith asked.

“Lady Catelyn is fine,” she said, eyes soft, “I think it only fair, Miss Edith.”

“Of course, Lady Catelyn,” Edith bowed respectfully to the Lady who curtseyed in return, shooting a now dusty Arya one last fondly exasperated look as she exited the mansion.

Chapter Text

The week seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. The King was due to arrive any day now, and Edith had taken to hiding away in her tower entirely to escape the bustle and noise. She’d stopped construction a few days prior, annoyed by the constant interruptions by the Lords and Ladies curious about her work. Out of respect for Lady Stark and their recent (and very enlightening) conversation, she had started to actually entertain conversation with Winterfell’s guests, and by all the Gods in the multiverse did she regret it.

Every waking moment after her first conversation with Lord Helman Tallhart, it seemed that everyone took it as an invitation to have their turn to interview the Wizard of Winterfell, as they’d taken to calling her. Both Lord and Lady Stark tried to correct them, as Edith was only residing in Winterfell as a long-term guest, not serving under their banner, but that didn’t seem to deter their bannermen in the slightest. They’d taken to greeting her as ‘Archmagi Roxton’ to try and mitigate the damage as much as possible, but the nickname would not fade.

She was certain that the nickname would become a point of contention down the line, an inevitable headache that she shoved to the back of her mind for the time being. Edith had plenty enough of a headache already entertaining so many nobles at once. She knew that Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn were grateful for her efforts, but if that Benfred Tallhart brat came around to try and hit on her one more time, she was going to launch him into the stratosphere. 

The Greyjoy boy would be going with him. She knew that he was encouraging it for his own personal amusement. He’d never really gotten over Edith humiliating him on her first day in Westeros down at the Smoking Log.

Since she had taken to holing herself up inside the tower, she had plenty of time to brew the healing potions that she had been wanting to work on. She had only just started this batch about three weeks ago and was monitoring its progress carefully, showing Ricka the ropes as she went along. So long as the potion retained a ruby red hue, the potion would be safe for consumption, but the slightest offset could result in very unpredictable side-effects. Unless she botched the potion entirely, it wasn’t likely to be fatal, but it could end up very inconvenient. She had heard of a student taking a potion that was slightly underbrewed and ended up losing all of their hair. And she meant all of it.

Edith would have happily remained in the tower with Ricka for the rest of the day if not for Jon bursting in through the doorway, hair neatly trimmed and wearing his finest clothes.

“Teacher!” he exclaimed, “The King has been spotted down the Kingsroad, he’ll be upon us any moment now!”

Ricka gasped in surprise while Edith swore, “Why did no one come to get me sooner?” 

“They tried, but they couldn’t get the door open, and you wouldn’t answer when they knocked.”

Edith mentally smacked herself. She had gotten so fed up with everyone outside that she had placed an arcane lock on her tower, preventing anyone who wasn’t herself, her students, Ricka, or the Lord and Lady themselves from entering the tower. The spell blocked out the noise as well, so who knows how long they’d been trying to reach her.

“Miss Edith…” Ricka muttured worriedly.

“Oh for fu-'' Edith grumbled, using one hand to summon a servant like the ones in her mansion into being. For a second, she was taken aback by the servant’s appearance, having formed into an uncanny shadow of her gnomish assistant, Lavander. Edith rarely called upon servants outside of the mansion for exactly this reason. She had a tendency to subconsciously shape them into people that she was familiar with, the appearance changing depending on what the servant was summoned for. While it wasn’t much of a problem in Ebril, it only worsened the aching sensation in her chest to be reminded of the home that she was cut off from. 

Quickly shaking out of her stupor, she handed her mixing spoon to the translucent figure, pointing at the brewing potion, “Stir that clockwise for the next twelve minutes, then add that sprig of peppermint over there and stir in the reverse for twenty. Then add the powdered chalk over there, stir clockwise again for two minutes, and then leave it to simmer.”

“How long do we have to get to the gate?” Edith asked, turning back to face her fidgeting student.

“Not long, he’s probably passing through the gates as we spea-”

Jon didn’t get to finish his sentence as Edith grabbed him and Ricka by the arm and teleported all of them to the front of the gate. They appeared just next to the Stark family, all lined up and dressed in their finest. Ricka squeaked and Jon nearly fell over from the surprise teleportation if not for Edith steadying him. Sansa shrieked, startled by their arrival. The rest of the Stark family all stared at the trio in various states of surprise.

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark,” Edith greeted.

“Oh, just get in line!” Lady Stark hissed frantically, “The King’s carriage is about to pull in the gate!”

Ricka immediately darted towards the back of the welcoming assembly to where Creagan would be standing among the other servants. Edith nodded and yanked a still disoriented Jon to stand next to her in line. He tried to tug away, but Edith held him in place.

“Where are you going?” Edith asked quietly.

“I can’t be in front,” Jon whispered nervously, “it isn’t my place. I’m meant to stand behind, by Theon,” He gestured his head in the direction of the Greyjoy who was not so subtly smirking at Jon, no doubt some terrible joke sitting at the tip of his tongue. 

“If I have to be at the front, then you have to be at the front, my student,” Edith commanded, holding Jon firmly at her side. Jon looked terribly anxious, eyes darting between Edith and Lady Stark, but the Lady was steadfastly ignoring him. 

“Jon can’t stand at the front,” Sansa hissed, “he’s a bastard, it would be an insult to the King!”

“Then perhaps I should take my leave as well, Lady Sansa. As a lowborn bastard myself, I’m sure that my presence will be far more insulting than Jon’s,” Edith glowered. Sansa flushed and stared down at her feet in embarrassment. Arya seemed torn between glaring at her sister for her mean words and laughing at her misstep. 

The King’s entourage began pulling in through the gates, flashy and bright and dripping with finery and wealth. Everything was emblazoned in gold and black, the stag of House Baratheon everywhere that you looked. In the middle of the procession rolled a large, extravagant carriage, no doubt containing the royal family. It came to a halt in front of the Stark household and everyone dropped to their knees.

Everyone but Edith.

“Teacher,” Jon whispered, tugging at the hem of her coat, “You have to kneel now.”

“I will not,” Edith answered stubbornly, “My allegiance is to the High Council of Ebril. I kneel only to the Electi Supreme. I answer to no King, and I shall not start today.”

Any further pleas were silenced as King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, stepped out of the carriage. As far as kings went, Edith would say that he was far from the most impressive that she’d ever seen. Possibly the largest though, in both height and girth. When he stepped out of the wheelhouse, it almost seemed to groan in agony. His face was ruddy and sweaty, and Edith could smell the reek of alcohol, even from the distance she was at. Behind him, a blonde woman with the most ridiculous hairstyle that she’d ever seen crawled out of the carriage, followed by three golden haired children who must be the royal family. The two youngest looked around curiously, but the Prince and Queen scrunched their faces as if they’d just stepped in dog shit.

The King, upon seeing Edith still standing, looked startled before glowering at her. Two knights in golden armor swung down from their mounts, advancing menacingly. They hesitated when Edith bowed low to greet the King and he held a hand out to call them to a halt.

“Who do you think you are, girl, to not kneel before your King?” he growled. His voice was deep and harsh, echoing throughout the courtyard without him even raising his voice.

“Archmagi Edith Roxton of the High Council of Ebril, your grace,” Edith said, straightening.

“Archmagi? High Council of Ebril?” The King asked before guffawing loudly, “You must be the strange foreign wizard I’ve been hearing all about then. I could have your head for this girl, you know that?”

“You could certainly try, your grace.”

The yard was silent enough that you could hear a pin drop. Edith could see Jon go white and tense beside her. A part of her regretted her stubbornness, putting the Starks and their family at risk by angering the King, but she had her pride. She owed this King nothing, and she would make that known. He may be King of Westeros, but she was not of Westeros, and she would not be cowed.

The King stared her down, and Edith stared back unflinchingly. After a long, tense moment, the King slowly started to laugh, deep and loud until he was fully cackling with mirth. The two golden guards dropped their hands from the pommels of their blades and the yard took a collective sigh of relief. 

“You’ve got a spine on you girl, I’ll give you that,” King Robert chuckled, eyeing her in a way that made Edith’s skin crawl, “You’re younger than I thought you’d be. Prettier. I was expecting some sort of shriveled old hag, chanting nonsense at the weirwoods.”

“Sorry to disappoint, your grace,” Edith replied loftily. 

The King laughed once more, “Disappointed to see a lovely young maiden? Ha! Hardly. I’d take your face over these ugly fuckers any day,” He gestured vaguely at his golden guards, both looking deeply unamused at the tactless joke. Truthfully, neither guard was terribly ugly. One was actually fairly handsome, Edith supposed. Blonde haired with strong features. Though it could be that he vaguely resembled the Champion Divine and she was just feeling nostalgic.

“So it’s true then?” The King asked, “all this talk of magic, the so called ‘Wizard of Winterfell?’” He gestured vaguely at the towering walls on the opposite end of Winterfell, eyeing them with both curiosity and skepticism. 

Edith pursed her lips at the false moniker, but refrained from rolling her eyes. She had no idea if King Robert had ever visited the castle before to know how the walls had looked before Edith’s repairs. If he hadn’t then there was no reason for him to believe that Edith was actually a wizard outside of Lord Stark’s word, so she supposed a healthy dose of skepticism was to be expected.  Knowing that she had caused enough stress for the Starks already and not wanting to potentially sour the relationship between the Lord and his old friend, Edith decided to entertain the King and his entourage with a bit of magic. A demonstration seemed the least that she could do to ease the stress that she had most certainly caused for Lady Stark within the past fifteen minutes alone.

She raised a hand and let motes of light fly into the air, as she had done for Lord Stark in his solar ages ago. Only this time, instead of letting the lights dissipate harmlessly, she raised her arm to the sky and the little motes of light shot into the air before exploding into a myriad of colorful fireworks.

The King’s guards (aah, the Kingsguard. Not very inventive but accurate at least) startled, several drawing their blades only for the King to bellow at them to stand down and “put your damn swords away you sorry bastards!”

“Seven fucking Hells,” he laughed, “It really is true. Ha! I told Jon that you didn’t have a sense of humor, you tired old man. Ned! Stand up, dammit.”

Lord Stark rose to his feet, his family and house following suit. 

“Your grace,” Lord Stark greeted formally.

“None of that ‘your grace’ shit, Ned. Get over here!” He pulled Lord Stark into a friendly hug. It was possibly the first time that Edith had ever seen Lord Stark smiling for so long in public.

“Where is Jon?” Lord Stark asked. Edith looked curiously over at her student, who leaned over to whisper, “Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. He fostered father and the King together when they were boys.”

“Back in King’s Landing,” the King answered, “running my Kingdom like he always does. Someone has to be sitting in that ugly fucking chair while I’m up here, freezing my balls off.” He slapped Lord Stark on the back before turning next to Lady Stark.

“Cat,” he smiled, “As beautiful as ever, my Lady.”

“You flatter me, your grace,” Lady Stark curtseyed. 

The King continued to move down the line of Starks, complimenting Robb, Sansa, and Bran, all but ignoring Arya and baby Rickon.

“And you must be the bastard,” the King said once he’d reached Jon. 

Jon turned pink, but nodded, “Yes, your grace.”

“Ha! Spitting image of you Ned, back in the day. Looks more like you than than the others, save the girl over there,” The King laughed, either completely unaware or totally uncaring of the damning effect that his words had on the family. Lord Stark had gone rigid, Lady Catelyn blank faced and still as the dead beside him. If not for the clenched fist and clicking of her jaw, one could have believed her to be made of stone. All of the Stark children shifted uncomfortably, save Jon, who trembled beside her, and Arya, who glared at the King in quiet fury.

“One of my students,” Edith cut in, “along with his sister, Arya.” 

Edith beckoned for Arya to stand at her side, and she obediently shuffled over, doing her best to avoid glaring daggers at the King directly to his face.

“Students?” the King asked.

“Yes. Lord Stark has generously given his permission for me to train both of his students in the bladsinging arts,” Edith answered.

“Bladesinging?” The King questioned, “That some kind of magic as well?”

“Indeed. An ancient and deadly art form. I train them in the song alongside their magic studies. I expect that, one day, they will far outstrip me in their power and skill,” Edith smiled proudly, “They’re quick learners, my students,” Edith placed a hand on each of her students’ shoulders, “And speaking of learning, it is time for their lessons.”

Edith offered the King another polite bow, much shallower this time, before teleporting herself and both of her students back to her tower. The unseen servant inside briefly looked up before diligently returning to its task.

Jon quickly threw Edith’s arm off of his shoulder once inside the safety of the tower.

“Why would you do that!” he yelled. Edith blinked in surprise. It was rare for Jon to raise his voice like this, especially to her.

“What are you talking about, Jon?” Edith asked, concerned.

“All of it! I’m not meant to be at the front with the others, I’m a bastard! Ned Stark’s bastard. The Lady hates me enough as it is and after what the King said she-”

“You leave Lady Stark to me,” Edith interrupted, “And need I remind you that I am a bastard as well? And a lowborn bastard at that.”

“It's not the same!” Jon exclaimed, “Father is the most honorable man in all the Seven Kingdoms, everyone knows that. I’m his only shame, the only stain on his honor, and you put me right in front of the King and his entire party. Lady Stark could take away our lessons because of this, could take away Arya’s lessons,” Jon looked miserable and near tears in his anger.

“She wouldn’t,” Edith assured, “She and I have something of an… understanding, and I would never give the two of you up unless it was what you wanted.” 

Jon sniffed, clenching his jaw and refusing to meet Edith’s eyes. Her chest ached at the sight.

“Jon, look at me,” she said, tilting his head gently with one hand. He still refused to make eye contact, but Edith could see how truly distraught he was, willing the tears not to fall. 

Her gut twisted in guilt. She hadn’t realized how upsetting it was going to be for him when she had forced him to the front with her. She had acted selfishly, unthinkingly, and her student had suffered for it.

“Jon,” she said gently, cupping his face with her hands, “I will never be ashamed of you. You are one of my precious students, and you make your teacher proud.” The conviction in her words had Jon’s lip quivering as he finally looked up to meet Edith’s eyes.

“Don’t you ever be ashamed of who you are, Jon. You are a bladesinger, and you are your own person, not just ‘Eddard Stark’s bastard.’ I am sorry for putting you in such a difficult position, it was unfair of me. But I am so proud of you Jon, you and Arya. Nothing will change that.”

Edith pulled him close, squeezing him tight. Arya took that as her queue to join in, latching onto the both of them and assuring Jon over and over that she loved him and that he was the best brother in the world and that she would beat up the stupid old King if he wanted. Jon half-chuckled, half-sobbed at that. He shivered at Edith’s side, doing his best to cry silently and doing alarmingly well at it. The idea of Jon spending lonely nights quietly crying to himself made Edith’s heart wrench. She knew that feeling very well, once upon a time.

Edith held her students tight for just a few moments, letting the quiet bubbling of the simmering potion lull them to a calm. 

“I wasn’t lying about lessons, by the way,” Edith said, slowly untangling herself from her two charges, “But before we begin, I have a gift for each of you.”

“A gift?” Arya perked.

“A few gifts,” Edith replied, “consider it a late birthday, er, nameday gift.” 

She grabbed her bag and pulled out a few parcels, handing a larger one containing Arya’s new clothes to her, plus two smaller ones to each student. Arya tore into hers with gusto, squealing excitedly at the new trousers. Opening the smaller parcels, her students pulled out their new brooches, examining them in wonder. 

“An Arcane Focus is essential in casting spells of a higher level,” Edith said, tapping the lapis lazuli at her neck, “and since you will be summoning your familiars today, you’ll be needing yours to channel your magic into the call.”

Arya gasped in delight, throwing her arms around her teacher, crying ‘thank you’ over and over. The idea of finally summoning his familiar had Jon’s lips pulling into a smile.

“Your focus is meant to represent you, in some way. You may switch foci at some point in your lives, should these be lost or destroyed, but for now, these foci will be the source of your casting.”

“Why jewels Teacher?” Jon asked.

“Excellent question,” Edith responded, “Magic of a high caliber can be fickle, and comes at a material cost. These foci will help to mitigate the material cost so that you won’t have to carry around the components for casting in a bag. Many wizards opt for a component pouch, as they are cheaper to use early on, but I find that a good foci pays off in the long run. The higher quality the foci, the higher caliber of magic you can cast without requiring components. Thus, gemstones.”

“And why these stones?” Jon asked, “You said that they represent us. Why did you choose these ones then, Teacher?”

Edith smiled, “Another excellent question, my student.” She ruffled Jon’s curly hair and the boy half-heartedly batted her arm away with a smile.

“For you Jon, I chose a Tiger’s Eye. It represents growth, the ability to push aside your fears to grow strong and fierce. A force to be reckoned with.”

Jon flushed and tucked his chin as he examined the brooch. 

“And mine Teacher?” Arya asked eagerly.

“A sapphire,” Edith answered, “Another stone of strength, but also of wisdom and clarity. It is a gem that reminds us that there is strength in kindness and vulnerability, the gem of a good leader.”

Both students handled their foci carefully, reverently. Jon attached his to the neck of his fine tunic while Arya clutched hers close to her chest.

“Now, go fetch your spellbooks, and Arya, go change, then meet me back here. We’ll be working in the mansion today. I want to see your sword drills before we start summoning,” Edith instructed. Both kids were halfway out the door before she could finish her sentence. “And don’t forget your foci! And grab one of the guards on your way back!” she called after them.

Once they were out of sight, Edith shut the door to her tower with a heavy sigh. And to think she had once thought that two children would be easier to teach than a classroom full of adults. 

By the time her students returned, practically buzzing in excitement, Edith’s unseen servant had finished its work and vanished. Edith herself was examining the potion’s coloring for any flaws. Edith noted that Arya had mimicked herself and Jon by fastening the neck of her new tunic shut with her foci brooch. Along with them was Jory, pulled along none too gently by an eager Arya. The sight of the grown man being practically dragged by an eight year old was almost comical. 

Edith snorted, summoning the mansion and stepping through the threshold. Her students followed diligently, practically racing to the weapons racks once inside to start their drills. They dropped their spellbooks next to the rack, exchanging them for their swords and falling into their sequences without prompting. Poor Jory was practically yanked off of his feet by Arya running off, spared from eating dirt only by Edith reflexively grabbing him by the arm to steady him. The long suffering guard flushed and stuttered a thanks before awkwardly making his way to what Edith had dubbed ‘the guard’s lounge,’ in the corner of the room.

Once her two students finished their sequences to Edith’s satisfaction, she had them square off against one another.

“We’ll begin sparring, starting today,” Edith announced, “Now that you have the basic forms down, we’ll be moving into the more advanced sets, but before we do, I need to make sure that you’re able to apply what I’ve taught you in battle. Arya, try not to get frustrated if you can’t beat your brother. He’s had significantly more practice in sparring, so I don’t expect that you will be able to meet him on equal footing just yet. And Jon, do not hold back. I will know if you do, and you do Arya no favors by coddling her in battle. Her opponents will not afford her the same luxuries, so do not instill bad habits this early on in your training.”

Jon paled slightly at the idea of fighting Arya to his fullest, but Arya seemed more determined to perform after hearing Edith’s instructions. 

Good. The push will benefit them both. Jon to be more assertive and Arya to be smarter and more patient.

Her students faced each other, Jon hesitant and Arya focused.

“Begin!” Edith called. 

Arya leapt straight for her brother immediately, her fervor admirable, but her movement predictable. Jon easily deflected her attack, instantly switching to the offensive and knocking his sister to the ground in a matter of seconds.

“I’m so sorry Arya, I didn’t mean to-” Jon started.

“Again!” Arya demanded stubbornly, pushing up to her feet. Edith smirked. She called the next bout and Arya charged again, Jon pulling the same maneuver to deflect her only for Arya to spin around him at the last second. Taken by surprise, Arya nearly managed a blow to Jon’s exposed back, but he reacted quickly and dropped low, sticking a leg out behind him to trip her up and knock her down once again.

See? Edith told him that learning the splits was important.

The two continued to spar for the next two hours with only a handful of breaks for water and food to re-energize. Over and over, Jon knocked Arya down, but she was tenacious. And every match, it took Jon just a bit longer to fend off his little sister. Just as Edith had hoped, Arya grew smarter and more patient with every fight, seeing the gaps in Jon’s defense and learning to bait and feint rather than attack recklessly.

At the two hour mark, Arya finally managed a decisive blow against her brother, baiting him into a lunge that she side-stepped, Jon’s forward momentum nearly launching him into Arya’s blade as she held it upright, the edge resting precariously along Jon’s jugular. They were using blunted blades, Edith having decided to hold off on sharpened blades after Arya’s first weapon selection had nearly cut Jon’s arm off, but Jon would have just sliced his own neck open had the blade been real.

Upon realizing that she had won her first match, Arya squealed joyfully, dropping her blade to the floor and tackling her brother in a delighted hug. Jon laughed, congratulating his sister on her win as she beamed.

Edith smiled, clapping loudly to get their attention, “Alright students, time to move on. Go ahead and put your weapons back and take a quick bath. Once you’re finished, we’ll eat and move on to summoning your familiars.”

Jon and Arya scrambled to their feet to return their weapons to the rack and ran off down the corridor. As soon as they had gone, servants began to float in with tables and chairs and trays of fresh food. Edith sat and started filling her own plate, beckoning Jory over so that he might eat as well. 

“You push them hard,” Jory said, taking a seat opposite to Edith, “I don’t think Ser Rodrik trains the other boys even half as hard as you do Arya and Jon.”

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t think they could handle it,” Edith replied easily, “But they're resilient. Determined to prove themselves in some way.”

“To you?”

“Themselves most likely,” Edith shrugged, “If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that we have no need to prove anything to anyone but ourselves. One day, they will realize this, just as one day, they will no longer need me to teach them. They’ve nothing to prove to me that I don’t already know about them.”

“Did you not need to prove yourself worthy of your position?” Jory countered.

“You could phrase it that way if you’d like, but the reality is that I did not prove myself worthy of the title, I worked for it. I earned it not by aiming for it, but by aiming to reach my full potential.”

Jory looked confused, “Is that not the same thing?”

“Semantics are important Jory,” Edith tutted, “Earning something for yourself is different than proving something to someone else. I spent a long time trying to prove myself to other people and in the process, I pushed everyone away to reach an unattainable goal. It was the Electi who showed me my folly, and who set me down a brighter path.”

“You speak highly of this Electi. I hear you talk about him often,” Jory said.

“Her,” Edith corrected, “The Electi is a goddess amongst mortals. The most powerful being in all of Ossia. She is the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen, inside and out.”

Edith held the Electi in the highest of regards. She respected the entirety of the Council, idiot Loremaster included, but the Electi stood miles above the rest, and the others on the Council would all agree. She had saved each and every one of them, in their own way. For Edith, the Electi had saved her from herself. Except…

“I think she would be disappointed in me,” Edith sighed, expression somber, “In the end, I could not heed her advice and I got myself trapped here. I could not let go of the hate that I held on to for so long. That I still hold on to.”

Jory sat still for a moment, considering, “It sounds like you want to prove yourself to the Electi,” he said, “If you aren’t trying to prove yourself to the Electi, then it shouldn’t matter if she would be disappointed right? It would be that you had disappointed yourself.”

Edith blinked before chuckling, “I suppose you’re right.” 

“It happens from time to time,” Jory smirked.

“You’re a wise man Jory,” Edith smiled gently, “and a good listener. Thank you.”

Jory flushed at the compliment and coughed, “I- er, you’re welcome.”

The pair finished their food in silence, waiting for Jon and Arya to return. Arya came first, hair still wet as she sat herself next to Edith, piling food on her plate before looking pleadingly at Edith. Edith rolled her eyes and heated her hands with magic, Arya happily turning away and munching on her food as Edith combed gently through her thick tresses. Jon arrived shortly after, adjusting his tiger’s eye brooch as he sat to grab his own food. 

“Alright my students, based on what you’ve learned so far, what do you think the spell to summon your familiar will look like?” Edith asked. Jon looked up from his plate, mouth half full of Nii’hai barbeque that he had grown particularly fond of while Arya peered at Edith over her shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to show us Teacher?” Arya asked.

“If I just showed the two of you everything, how would I know that you’re actually learning to do any of this on your own?” Edith responded loftily. 

“But we haven’t covered summoning spells yet,” Jon complained.

“On the contrary, my student,” Edith corrected, “We’ve covered plenty of conjuration spells. What do you think makes summoning a familiar different from a regular conjuration spell? Or a spell to summon a mansion like this?”

The two children thought hard for a moment, staring absently at their half eaten plates of food.

“Well,” Arya started, “You said that the mansion is a pocket dimension, and the Minaeve is a fey spirit from the Feywilds, so… We have to find our familiars in a different dimension?”

“Very close,” Edith smiled, pleased, “You have to use your magic to call out to another dimension and entice a spirit to find you.”

“Like fishing!” Arya exclaimed.

Edith laughed, “Yes, sort of like fishing.”

“But Teacher,” Jon said, “How do we call out to another dimension?”

“How do you think?” Edith asked. When Jon only seemed to be more confused trying to figure out the spell components, Edith added, “Remember, a spell might technically fall under a particular school of magic, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t take elements from other schools in its use.”

“Divination!” Jon gasped near immediately, “We have to conjure them through a divination ritual!”

“Excellent!” Edith exclaimed, ruffling Arya’s hair from where her fingers were already entwined in the curls. Arya whined in complaint, but Edith only laughed.

“Alright students, as soon as you’re done with your food, we’ll begin the ritual,” Edith grinned. Her students nodded eagerly and scarfed down their food as quickly as possible. Arya, bless her, got herself covered in barbeque sauce in her haste. It had been a while, Edith grilling Arya over her manners and eating habits weeks earlier, but Arya was now able to cast the spell to clean her tunic on her own.

The servants cleared away the table and brought out a brazier already alight with flame. From her bag, Edith pulled the necessary material components, laying them down in front of her students.

“Now, everything you need to cast the ritual is already in your spellbooks. Everything that we’ve been learning so far has been working up until this point. I will correct you if needed and will offer you guidance when you ask, but this ritual is yours to complete. Just like your foci, your familiar is unique to you, and so this ritual will also be unique to you.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Arya asked nervously.

“It will,” Edith assured, “I have faith in you, my students. Now, we only have a few hours, so you’d best get started.

Over the course of the next two hours, Arya and Jon poured over their notes together to figure out the correct runic pattern to summon their familiars into being. Edith was pleasantly surprised that she had only needed to give one correction, and they had only needed to ask for her assistance a handful of times. 

Once they had figured out the runic sequence, approved by Edith, they approached the brazier with the required materials. 

“Ready?” Jon asked Arya, taking one of her hands in his own. Arya nodded. 

Together, her students lifted their components over the fire, dropping them in as they chanted the runes aloud. With each dropped item, the fire sparked a new color, from its natural orange to a deep red to a striking blue to vibrant green. When the last of the components fell into the fire, the children raised their hands above the flames, repeating the mantra one last time. Once the final rune was uttered, the flames sparked and roared in a myriad of colors, startling the children backwards a step. 

The flame lifted from the brazier and split into two floating orbs of fire, one hovering in front of each student. After a moment of stillness, each fire popped into a cloud of arcane energy. When the clouds dissipated, in front of Jon appeared a sleek, jet black raven. In front of Arya, a black cat with bright blue eyes. The raven flapped its wings and perched itself on Jon’s shoulder. The cat hopped from the air delicately into Arya’s awaiting arms. Both students examined their familiars in wonder.

“Now, to finalize the pact, you must give your familiar a name,” Edith instructed.

“Vhagar!” Arya said almost immediately, eyes sparkling, “Like Queen Visenya’s dragon.”

“A strong name,” Edith remarked.

“Shadow,” Jon said, stroking his familiar’s black feathers.

Arya made a face, “That’s boring!”

“Is not,” Jon said defensively, “It’s a good name!”

“Because he’s all dark, like a shadow?” Arya sniped. Jon grumbled, but didn’t deny it.

“Alright, alright,” Edith rolled her eyes, “Now that you’ve both summoned your familiars and completed your pacts, you’ll be able to summon and dismiss them at will, just like I do with Minaeve. You should keep them with you for the next few days to get used to each other, then we can move on to practicing sharing your senses, communicating telepathically, and casting spells through your familiar.”

“You can do that?” Arya marveled.

“Indeed. But that is a lesson for another day. Come, there are only a few hours left before the feast and I’m sure that your mother will want to be getting you ready beforehand,” Edith said, ushering Arya, Jon, and Jory to the door. 

“Do I have to?” Arya groaned.

“Yes, you do. Your mother will be angry enough with me as it is, I’d rather not push her any farther today,” Edith replied, “Why don’t you go introduce her to Vhagar? I’m sure that she’d love to meet her.”

That seemed to brighten Arya, Vhagar seemingly meowing in agreement from the cradle of Arya’s arms. 

Edith ushered her students and Jory from the mansion, then from the tower itself so that they could prepare for the night’s welcome feast. She shut the door behind them with a wave and a promise to find them at the feast, though internally sighed at the idea of more socializing with the rude King and his vapid entourage.

She tried to console herself on the fact that her students had just hit a major stepping stone in their training, summoning their own familiars. And they had done so well in figuring the ritual out as well.

Her students’ familiars intrigued Edith. More specifically, Jon’s familiar, Shadow. Arya’s familiar was a fey spirit, like Minaeve and most other familiars. The Feywilds were the nearest dimension from which one could call a familiar spirit, and so typically was the place from which most wizards found their companions. Edith had fully expected Arya to call forth a fey familiar, mischievous and curious in nature, just like her young student.

Shadow, however, was a celestial spirit. It wasn’t unheard of for a wizard to summon an infernal or celestial spirit from the outer planes, but it was highly uncommon. The fact that Jon managed to summon a spirit from the Seven Heavens… How interesting.

Either way, between the summoning of their familiars and their success in the sparring ring, Edith had already decided that it was time to move on to the next major stage in their training.

It was time for them to learn the bladesong.

Chapter Text

Edith hid away in her tower for as long as possible, going over research, keeping an eye on her potion, contemplating excuses to get out of the feast as quickly as possible, and so on. Eventually night rolled in and the festivities would be starting, so Edith begrudgingly made her way to the Great Hall.

Before she’d even made it to the door, she could hear the ruckus inside. She groaned. Why did it always have to be such a spectacle to be the Archmagi? Nobody ever pulled these kinds of stunts with the Commander or the Master of the Monastery. Granted, the Commander would probably send anyone who pissed her off into a coma and the Master was just… something else. Most people probably just didn’t consider it worth the risk. Maybe Edith should start threatening grievous bodily harm.

She made her way into the hall as discreetly as possible, doing her best to stay low and out of sight. She hoped to find Ricka and Jon, hide from any and all visiting nobility, avoid the King and Queen until the last possible second, then flee the hall like a bat out of the hells. 

Of course, she could never be so lucky so about ten seconds after she tiptoed her way inside, an arm snaked its way around her neck, yanking her over with a loud, “Miss Edith! You finally joined the party!”

She looked up to see a very much drunk Alyn dragging her over to where a group of equally drunk guards were all laughing and yelling along to the bawdy songs being played by the musicians that had traveled to Winterfell with the King. 

“Look who it is lads!” Alyn cried, “Here, Jory, catch!”

He suddenly shoved Edith in the direction of a startled Jory Cassel who barely managed to toss his tankard on the table before awkwardly catching Edith as she fell forward. She landed halfway in his lap as the rest of the guards jeered and laughed, sloshing ale all over the place. Edith gave a startled, high-pitched gasp, shooting upright and out of Jory’s arms as one of the guards behind her drunkenly stumbled and splashed half a tankard of cold ale down her back.

The guards, save a very red and apologetic Jory, laughed at Edith’s misfortune as she used her magic to clean herself off. In a fit of righteous fury, she reached out a hand and uttered a few Draconic runes. All at once, the guards’ tankards froze completely solid, to their collective surprise and drunken horror. She stalked away as they cried apologies after her, begging her to unfreeze their drinks.

“Only Jory is allowed in the mansion until I’ve decided to forgive you idiots!” Edith shouted behind her. The guards all whined in complaint, ribbing Jory and pleading with him to make Edith change her mind. As if that were likely. The only reason that Jory was allowed was because he was the only one to apologize and Edith needed someone to supervise lessons. Honestly, sometimes Edith was surprised that Winterfell was still standing with how ridiculously its guards behaved at times.

The loud display, of course, caught the attention of pretty much everyone in the room. Soon she had a queue of people practically lining up to speak with the oh so mysterious ‘Wizard of Winterfell.’ Biting her tongue and smiling pleasantly, Edith entertained each conversation with as much poise as she could muster. 

Gods, she hated events like these. At least in Ossia she could foist the attention off to another Council member. This was far too much for her.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, The King had noticed her amidst the chaos and the forming crowd. One of the Kingsguard, an older gentleman, came to fetch her.

“My Lady-” he started.

“Yes, of course, I must speak to the King. Apologies my Lords, my Ladies, but our discussion will have to wait,” Edith interrupted hastily. She grabbed the surprised knight by the arm and practically dragged him away from the crowd. The man half stumbled half walked Edith to the high table as she hastily yanked him along. 

She never thought she’d see the day that she was happy to be called in by a King. 

“Edith!” The King bellowed as she neared the table. He had a buxom woman in his lap, one who was definitely not the Queen that was sitting just about five feet away. She was steadfastly ignoring her husband’s blatantly disrespectful behavior, far more interested in her glass of wine. Lady Stark seemed to be attempting to make polite conversation, but the Queen mostly just smiled tightly and responded in short, curt sentences.

“Good evening, your grace,” Edith greeted politely, offering a slight bow.

“A good evening indeed,” the King laughed, squeezing the breasts of the women in his lap. She squealed and giggled as the King shamelessly groped her in front of hundreds of people. Edith pretended that she hadn’t seen the tasteless display, staring blankly at a fixed point over the King’s shoulder in an attempt to keep the disgust from showing on her face. 

“You called for me?” She asked.

“Yes, yes. You left the yard before I could introduce you to my children,” he pushed the woman off of his lap, slapping her behind as she sauntered away, eliciting a new round of giggles. 

“Joffery, Tommen, Myrcella! Get your asses over here!” King Robert shouted.

The three golden haired children from the yard all rose from their seats to stand beside their father. The oldest held himself tall and proud, looking down his nose at Edith. The younger two were far more hesitant, shuffling awkwardly in place and glancing uncertainly at the father. It was far and removed behavior from what Edith was used to in comparison to the loving and close-knit Stark family.

“My eldest boy here is Prince Joffrey. He’ll be a warrior someday, just like his father. Isn’t that right boy?” He slapped the skinny young preteen on the back, causing him to lurch forward gracelessly, but he grinned proudly at his father’s praise. Edith somehow doubted that it was at all genuine and had a sinking suspicion as to why the King was keen on her meeting his children. She glanced at Arya out of the corner of her eye as she happily fed scraps of chicken to her familiar.

“And my younger children, Tommen and Myrcella,” he added, almost like an afterthought. The little boy and girl bowed and curtseyed respectively, smiling shyly at Edith. She returned it with a gentle smile of her own.

“Princes, Princess, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said with a cordial nod. 

“Ned tells me that you’ve been training his daughter and bastard son for over a moon’s turn now. Now, tutoring the children of a high Lord is certainly an honor, but not half so much as tutoring royalty,” King Robert grinned. He acted as if he was doing Edith a favor by offering his heirs as her students. 

“Did Lord Stark also tell you that I have no intention of taking on any more students at this time?” Edith replied coolly. 

“Surely you can make an exception to tutor the next ruler of the Kingdom?” King Robert insisted.

Edith sighed, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. She seemed to be doing that quite often recently.

“I do not choose my students based on bloodline, your grace, only by ability,” Edith answered, “Arya and Jon showed themselves to be excellent candidates to learn the bladesinging arts. I would have taken them on as my students regardless of their station. That is simply the way of things in my homeland.”

The King frowned, but before he could say anything, the Princess, Myrcella, said, “Arya told us a little about your home. She says that it is very different from Westeros.”

“Yes Princess,” Edith replied, “In Ebril, birth station means nothing. Positions of power and authority are earned by right of merit. I am the most powerful wizard in Ebril, and so I have been given the highest position that a wizard could possibly attain outside that of the Electi Supreme.”

“Are you really that strong?” the little Prince asked.

“Ah, I suppose that depends on what you believe strength to be. But in terms of raw magical prowess, I would say yes, I am quite strong,” Edith answered sheepishly. It was always uncomfortable to speak to her own abilities. She would not lie about her achievements, but she also did not like to give the impression of a braggart. She left such behavior to the Loremaster.

“For true?” the Little Prince asked.

“Indeed little one,” Edith answered.

“So you’re the strongest person in your homeland?” Princess Myrcella asked.

“Not necessarily,” Edith hummed, “The Electi is certainly more powerful than I, and several others on the Council are arguably stronger than me. And then there are the dragons, of course.”

“Dragons?” Prince Tommen gasped excitedly.

The whole table seemed to be collectively shocked at the mention of dragons. She supposed that they might find the idea strange, given how long they've been extinct in Westeros. Still, it wasn’t as if dragons were completely outside of the realm of possibility, all things considered. Edith’s very existence was far more shocking, given that there was actual recorded proof of dragons, but none of wizards in Westeros.

“Yes, dragons,” Edith said simply.

“You’ve met real dragons?” Tommen asked, eyes wide.

“Met one. Fought others,” Edith shrugged.

A fully grown dragon was one of the deadliest beings known to Ossia. The dragon of the Silver Mountains was friendly enough. Edith had had many a pleasant conversation with her. But she was the exception, not the rule. The rampage of a dragon was deadly and destructive, entire cities and even Kingdoms falling victim to the monstrous beasts. Edith had helped to slay two dragons in her life thus far, one during her apprenticeship to Master Bibbletea and one during her time as Archmagi. No one really knew where the dragons came from, and Simrual of the Silver Mountains had only ever known the icy peaks in her life, so the Council could only wait and react to the threat of a dragon. It was frustrating as that typically meant the extensive loss of life before they were even aware that a dragon had appeared. Not even the oracle could predict a dragon’s arrival. Dragons had too much knowledge of the arcane and were able to protect themselves from such divination.

“Bah! Nonsense!” The King scoffed, “Dragons have been gone from the world for over a hundred years!”

“Maybe in Westeros,” Edith said, “But not in Ossia. And it is the duty of the Council to handle such threats.”

“If that is the case, then that would make it the duty of the Royal family to handle such threats in Westeros,” The King said shrewdly, “Would it not be wise to arm the heirs to the throne with the power to face such threats?”

“You said it yourself that dragons are long gone from this world, your grace,” Edith countered. The King reddened, clearly intending to push the matter further. Edith sighed and added, “but if you insist, then I will evaluate your children while they are in Winterfell. Should they impress me, then, and only then, will I accept any of them as students alongside Arya and Jon.” 

There wasn’t a chance in all nine hells that she would actually take on any of the royal children as her students, even if they showed potential. With magic being so scarce here, the political ramifications were far too great to even consider it. She would not be party to any notions of power-hungry tyrants capable of mass magical destruction.

“I am a Prince!” Joffrey scowled, “You would take a stupid little girl and a bastard before me!?”

“Well, your grace,” Edith grit, voice dripping with disdain, “as a ‘stupid little bastard girl’ myself, I find that such backgrounds have little effect on the capabilities of a wizard. Now if you’ll excuse me, your graces, I still have much work to do tonight.” 

With that, Edith teleported herself back to her tower. She dropped herself in an old worn chair, one of the only furnishings in the tower as of yet. 

She had desperately wanted to tell that little brat of a Prince off, only restraining herself for the sake of the Starks. She worried that the crown would attempt to take any grievances with Edith out on her hosts, and with her upcoming project with the First Keep, she couldn’t afford to offend the royal family. 

Worse yet, she risked offending Lady Stark and she’d only just managed to find common ground. 

She summoned her mansion, heading to her library to lose herself in her research in an attempt to rid herself of her frustrations with the King and instead focus her frustrations on cracking open her banishment spell. She was more inclined to call it a curse than a spell at this point.

Hold on a second.

Edith hurried to the library, the servants quickly compiling all of her collective knowledge of curses on her desk, at least a dozen volumes. 

Curses operated on slightly different rules than the average spell. They were able to cling indefinitely to a person or object, the effects anywhere from a minor annoyance to a deadly threat. She hadn’t seen any traces thus far of the typical curse, but the possibility of a curse being woven between the cracks of the greater spell could help explain the way that it managed to stick so stubbornly to her person. 

It was around her eighth tome that Edith finally caught a connection between the runes of a powerful curse and the runes of her banishment. There was an element of a blindness curse that mingled with the fragments of the divination aspects that she had managed to separate from the greater mess of runic circles, as well as partial runes for an imprisonment curse as well as a repellent curse. Unfortunately, it was impossible to fully decode due to the missing chunks of the circle that were melted into the snow upon Edith’s arrival. Because of course nothing could be easy for Edith.

She frustratedly ran a hand through her hair, mussing her ponytail and allowing the curly strands to break free and dangle over her face. She was sorely tempted to chuck one of the books across the library out of sheer anger at her current situation, but instead rubbed wearily at her temples.

Deciding that the day needed to end, Edith left the library for the master suite, taking another long soak in her tub. She let her mind go numb, imagining that tomorrow she would simply wake up in her tower at the College and all of this would have just been a horrible dream. 

Her only consolation was her students. Come morning, she would finally be teaching them the art of the bladesong. She could already picture the joy on their adorable little faces.

Once the water had gone cold and she was sufficiently pruned, she fell into bed and into a restless sleep.

When morning came, Edith exited her mansion, but did not dispel it. She teleported directly into Arya’s room. She was dead asleep with Vhagar curled up on the pillow next to her head. Adorable.

“Wake up my student, lesson time!” she sing-songed, yanking the sheets off of the bed. Arya groaned, but obediently crawled off of her mattress and let Edith help her dress and fix her hair. She then teleported the two of them just outside of Jon’s room, pounding at the door and calling for him to wake. Oftentimes, Jon rose even earlier than Edith, a habit for when he wanted to get early morning practice in or to avoid eating breakfast at the same time as Lady Stark. It seemed that today was one of those days, for within moments after knocking, Jon emerged fully dressed and ready for lessons with Shadow perched on his shoulder.

She sent Jon to the guards’ barracks to fetch Jory, instructing him to meet them at the tower as soon as possible for a special lesson. Those words had Jon nearly sprinting to find Jory. Edith felt a flicker of remorse for waking Jory so early when he most certainly would be hungover, much like the rest of the household. Only a flicker though. She would make it up to him by introducing him to the finest coffee that Ossia had to offer.

Once everyone had gathered in the mansion’s courtyard, a now permanent fixture to its summoning, Jory wandered tiredly off to the guards’ lounge where the servants awaited him with a bountiful breakfast spread and the promised coffee. Edith had a light breakfast ready at hand for her students as well: some fruits, sweet breads and sausage links.

“Alright my students,” Edith grinned, “I’m sure that you’re curious as to what today’s special lesson entails.”

“Are we practicing the things you said before with our familiars?” Arya asked eagerly, snuggling her familiar in her arms. She had gotten very attached to Vhagar in the short time that they’d had together to the point where Edith wondered if she’d ever dispel the cat to its pocket dimension.

“Not quite,” Edith replied gleefully, “Today, you’ll be learning the bladesong.”

Both students gasped in delight. Arya jumped up and down in excitement while Jon practically buzzed in anticipation.

“And as an extra special surprise,” Edith held up her bag, “I have another gift for each of you.” She reached inside and pulled out the first of the two blades. Mikken had finished them just before the arrival of the King and Queen and Edith had treated him and Tomas to the banquet of a lifetime in thanks. 

She handed the blade to Arya, who held it in reverence, eyes watering as she brushed her hand delicately across the lacquered sheath. Pulling out the second, she handed it to Jon, who immediately unsheathed it to admire the shining steel, testing its weight and balance. 

“These are no toys,” Edith warned, “They’re genuine blades, sharp and deadly. I expect you both to handle them with utmost care, understood?”

“Yes Teacher,” her students chorused.

“Good,” Edith smiled, ruffling their hair, “Now pay attention.” 

She gestured for them to sit and stepped to the center of the room, unsheathing her own blade. 

“The bladesong turns your entire body into a vessel for magic,” Edith started, “Your blade is a part of your body when you play the song, magic channeled directly from your core, down your arm, through the blade and back,” Edith positioned herself in her starting form, blade at the ready, then activated her song with the ringing of a chime in the air, “When you play the song, you radiate magic. You must draw it in and release it at the same time, let the melody flow through you,” She whirled through a complicated sequence, magic singing across her blade in step with her movement, “Allow the magic to pulse in tempo, just like dancing. Your every step is the next note in the song, every swipe, stab and thrust in harmony with your footwork,” She whirled around the room, practically gliding across the floor, ”Just like your familiars, just like your magic, your song will be unique to you. Let it flow. Build it, note by note,” Edith stepped into a new sequence, increasing the speed, “And in time, you will complete your song, your own personal symphony, unlike any other,” She flourished her blade, twirling it expertly in her hand before resheathing it with a click, the song reaching its end, “That, my students, is the bladesong.”

Arya and Jon both stared at her, wide eyed and jaws dropped. Their awestruck expressions only made Edith more eager to begin teaching them to compose their own songs. 

“Grab your blades, students. Let us begin.”

Sending their familiars away to rest near Jory, Edith ran her students through their drills with their new blades to help them familiarize themselves with the weapons. After an hour of drilling, she set them in their stances, ready to teach them to compose the first note.

“Alright students,” Edith started, “In order to activate the song, you must draw the magic inwards through your foci, as if you were casting a spell on yourself. Then you must release it through your body evenly, from your head to the tips of your fingers and toes. But not only that, you must extend that magic, that sensation, through your blade as if it were truly a part of your arm. Take your most natural starting stance, feel the magic flow, and find the first note.”

Edith turned to face her students, drawing her blade once more, “The very best way to discover this note is to step into the song,” She positioned herself across from them, moving into a basic starting stance and grinned madly. This was always her favorite lesson. 

“Today, you will be fighting me. The only chance that you have to defeat me is if you can play the song.”

Arya and Jon’s eyes widened.

“But, Teacher,” Jon started.

“No buts!” Edith exclaimed, “Only song. Are you ready?”

“I don’t-”

“Begin!”

Edith dashed towards Arya, who startled nearly freezing before raising her blade in a defensive block. Edith smacked her blade to the side, spinning into a quick side-strike only to be parried by Jon, stepping in from the side to protect his sister. Edith twisted around, almost unnaturally flexible, raising Jon’s blade overhead to deliver a kick to the inside of his leg, sending him down on one knee.

Arcing downwards, Arya raced in thrusting at Edith’s exposed side, only for Edith to twirl her blade in hand to parry the thrust away. By then, Jon had recovered his footing and rejoined the dance, the three of them spinning and twirling, fighting and dancing, getting faster and faster with every move until finally, a chime.

After maneuvering Jon into an awkward position, Edith nearly ripped his sword from his hand only for Arya to rush in at the last second, unnaturally quick to deliver what would have been a deadly strike, forcing Edith to dash backwards as Arya spun past. Recovering quickly and gracefully, Arya cut an arc through the air with her blade, meeting Edith’s with much greater force than an eight year old should be capable of, her blade slicing through the air with a distinct melodious hum.

“Halt!” Edith called, ending the duel. As soon as she stopped, Arya dropped to the floor in exhaustion, the activation of the song taking its toll on her small form.

“Wonderful Arya!” Edith exclaimed, pulling her student to her feet, lifting her and spinning her in joy, “You've done it! Oh you’ve done it my student! I’m so proud!”

Arya was beaming, tiredly hugging Edith as she spun around. A servant floated over with a chair and some water, where Edith set her down and instructed her to drink.

“The first time is always the hardest,” Edith said, taking a damp towel from another servant and dabbing at the sweat on Arya’s forehead, “But each time, you’ll get stronger and faster. You’ll build the next note in your song until you’re able to play it throughout an entire battle. Now rest. You need to recover before we can continue.”

She left Arya to relax and rehydrate, turning back to a panting Jon.

“Alright Jon,” Edith said, settling back into her stance, “Are you ready?”

Jon moved into his own stance, nodding. This time, Edith didn’t bother calling the start, simply spinning at Jon in a broad arc. He batted it away with a fervor. They danced, again increasing the tempo until they were little more than a whirl of blades.

“Feel it Jon!” Edith cried, “Embrace it! Let it flow in your own style, do not simply imitate mine. Your song must be your own!”

“I’m trying!” Jon yelled back.

“Do not try Jon!” Edith returned, “Perform! Play the song!”

With a loud battle cry, Jon swiped furiously through the air, their blades meeting with the deep, echoing gong of a bell. With one final exhausted stroke, Jon slashed through the air, leaving a trail of music in the wake of his blade.

“Halt!” Edith called. She could nearly cry with joy. Her students were incredible! She sheathed her blade as Jon fell to his knees, dropping his sword as he panted and dripped with sweat. Uncaring of his dirtied state, Edith swept the boy into a tight hug, laughing hard.

“You've done it Jon! The both of you! Absolutely marvelous!” She released him to ruffle a hand through his hair. She could feel happy tears prickling in the corners of her eyes.

“I am so proud of you,” she said, “Both of you. I could not have asked for better students.”

Jon gave her a watery smile, falling back into her into a tired hug. Edith felt Arya jump at her from behind, squeezing her little arms around her and Jon as best as she could. Edith twisted so that she could hold the both of them, truly content for the first time in a long while.

From where he sat in the corner, Jory clapped, smiling broadly. Arya waved and Jon smiled. Edith sighed happily before disentangling herself from her students and rising to her feet. 

“Alright, time for a bath, students. You reek,” she said. She helped the pair to their feet and the two of them trudged away to the baths. Their familiars lazily trailed behind them at a sedate pace. Edith cleaned herself off with a snap of her fingers before plopping down in Arya’s vacant chair, thoroughly satisfied with the day’s lessons. 

Honestly, she hadn’t expected either of them to be able to activate the song in one day, but her students continued to amaze her with their progress. When she’d told the King that she fully expected her students to outstrip her in ability someday, she had meant it and she had never been more sure of it than in this moment. It certainly made up for all of the frustration she’d faced the day before.

“You certainly seem pleased,” Jory said, wandering over with his mug of hot coffee. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? I have the two most incredible students in all of Westeros,” Edith smiled.

“I won’t argue that,” Jory smirked, “That was something else.”

“Indeed.”

“So how did you get Lord and Lady Stark to agree to give swords to Arya and Jon?” Jory asked knowingly.

“Ah,” Edith coughed, “It is possible that I forgot to mention it to the Lord and Lady when I gave the request to Mikken…”

Jory laughed, “Let me know when you plan on telling them. I intend to be as far away as possible when you do.”

Edith pouted, “It’s not as if I’m just going to let them wander around armed and unsupervised. I’ll be holding onto them outside of lessons.”

“I’m sure that that will appease the Lady,” Jory smirked.

“Please don’t tell them,” Edith begged, “Honestly, I hadn’t thought much of it, only that they needed it for their next steps in their training.”

“They won’t hear it from me,” Jory promised, raising his free hand in a placating gesture, “Like I said, as far away as possible.”

“How reassuring,” Edith panned. Jory merely smirked and sipped at his coffee. 

After a few more minutes, Jon and Arya reappeared, clean and refreshed from their baths. Edith smiled at the approach.

“Students,” she smiled, “I’m quite proud of the progress you’ve made today. So as a reward, tomorrow’s lesson will be our first on draconic. I think it’s time that I started teaching you some real evocation magic. And I know that you’ve been excited to learn how to teleport Arya.”

Arya gasped in delight.

“Thank you Teacher,” Jon said.

“Thank you Teacher!” Arya echoed.

“Alright students, pull out your spellbooks and we’ll-”

Edith was interrupted by a knock at the mansion door. It must have been Ricka or one of the Starks. No one else was permitted entry to the Tower at the moment.

“Enter,” she called. The door opened and, indeed, it was Ricka at the door. Only she wasn’t alone. 

“Greetings my Lady. I believe that you wished to speak with me?”

“Indeed,” Edith smirked, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Lord Manderly. There is much that we have to discuss.” 

Chapter Text

Arya and Jon were disappointed to have had their lesson cut short, but Edith had assured them that she’d make it up to them tomorrow. It would also give them a bit more time to recover their strength after performing the song for the first time which was probably for the best. Talented as they might be, they were still children and the song was taxing enough on an adult to perform. Edith herself had been young when she’d first performed the song and remembered just how exhausting it had been to perform at that age.

They had been equally disappointed when she had informed them that she would be holding onto their blades until they were experienced enough that she felt she could trust them to carry them on their persons safely. Unspoken was that she would be holding onto them until she could explain to the Lord and Lady why she had seen it fit to arm their children without their permission. Jory escorted the two back to the main castle so that Edith and her guest could discuss their business in private.

“Lord Manderly, if you would please follow me,” Edith beckoned, “And Ricka, if you could keep an eye on the potion please.”

“Yes Miss Edith,” Ricka answered diligently.

Edith led Lord Manderly to her study, the servants appearing inside with tea and small cakes and finger sandwiches. Pleasantly surprised, the Lord helped himself to a cup and one of the little cakes.

“I must admit, this mansion of yours is quite impressive,” The Lord remarked.

“I aim to please,” Edith said, accepting her own teacup from a servant, “I’m sure you're curious as to why I invited you here.”

Before the King’s arrival, Edith had asked Ricka to invite Lord Manderly to her mansion after the feast, as soon as she could find the man. She must have caught him just after he’d eaten.

“Certainly. It isn’t every day that one is called upon by a powerful wizard, after all,” the Lord laughed, “How is it that I can help you, my Lady?”

“I have a business opportunity for you, one that I believe would be most beneficial for both White Harbor and Winterfell,” Edith offered.

“Oh?”

“White Harbor is a wealthy port, is it not?” Edith asked.

“We do quite fine, yes,” Lord Manderly agreed curiously.

“I would like to establish a direct trade route with White Harbor to Winterfell,” Edith said, “And by direct, I mean extremely direct.”

“And how would you manage that?” Lord Manderly asked, “Not that I am refusing, my Lady, but Winterfell is quite a ways away.”

“Edith is fine, my Lord. And distance is of little consequence,” Edith said.

“Oho? I admit, you’ve certainly piqued my interest. And please, Lord Wyman will suffice.”

“Lord Wyman then,” Edith nodded. A servant appeared, carrying one of Edith’s many books with him. She flipped open the book and presented it to Lord Wyman.

“This is a teleportation circle,” Edith explained, “It will allow instantaneous travel between Winterfell and White Harbor. If a circle is set on either end, then we will be able to send goods to and from Winterfell with absolutely no delay whatsoever.”

Lord Wyman’s eyes sparkled in interest, “Your magic can truly do such a thing? How remarkable!”

“Indeed,” Edith answered, “I plan on establishing a trade guild here in Winterfell, for tradecraft and artisans alike. Lord Stark has given me permission to repair the First Keep and use it as a base of operations.”

“A guild?” Lord Wyman asked.

“Yes. And a school to accompany it. The more educated a population is, the faster that progress is made towards technological and artistic advancement. Given the opportunity to establish a trade link with White Harbor, I believe that both castles will be able to thoroughly prosper. What say you, Lord Wyman?”

“I say it sounds almost too good to be true,” he smiled shrewdly, “What is it that you would ask in return?” The older Lord looked ready to barter harder than a fishmonger’s wife. Edith merely raised a brow. No doubt he was expecting some sort of great demand in exchange. The Westorosi could really learn a thing or two about charity. Was it really that hard to believe that someone might help another without expecting some kind of reward?  

“Favorable trade, perhaps encouragement for artisans and craftsmen to visit Winterfell, but aside from that, nothing,” Edith shrugged, “Establishing this link in and of itself is plenty reward for me, my Lord. I can only see it being beneficial for the both of us.”

“You would do this for so little?” the Lord questioned, brow raised, “I find that somewhat hard to believe.”

“Lord Stark felt much the same, but I give you the same answer that I gave him: Why not? I am fully capable of improving the quality of life for the people of Winterfell by doing this and it costs me nothing but a bit of my time,” Edith responded, “It may seem hard to believe Lord Wyman, but I do this simply because I want to help the people who cannot otherwise help themselves.”

“Very altruistic,” Lord Wyman nodded approvingly, “You are an honorable woman. I can see why my liege Lord has taken a liking to you.”

“Thank you my Lord,” Edith smiled, “so can I take this as a yes?”

Lord Wyman barked a laugh, “You strike a hard bargain Lady Edith. But yes, I agree.”

“Excellent,” Edith grinned, extending a hand, “so it’s a deal?”

Lord Wyman raised a brow but took her hand. He attempted to raise it to his mouth for a kiss, only for Edith to laugh and shake it instead.

“Apologies my Lord, I see that this is not a shared custom. In Ossia, we shake hands when sealing deals and making formal arrangements. A sign of good faith between business partners, if you will.”

Lord Wyman grinned, shaking Edith’s hand firmly, “A deal then, my Lady.”

“Excellent,” Edith said, “With that settled, if you could introduce me to the most trusted members of your household when the opportunity arises. I’ll be needing to teach someone to operate the circle on your end once it is completed. Best start learning as soon as possible. Magic has a steep learning curve.”

Lord Wyman choked on his tea, “You would take a member of my house as a student?”

“Not exactly,” Edith said, “Not like Arya and Jon at least. More like my assistant, Ricka, the young woman who brought you here. I won’t be teaching them the same powerful magics that I teach to my students, just the basics and the sequences required to activate the teleportation circles.”

Lord Wyman dabbed at his mouth delicately with a napkin helpfully provided by one of the servants.

“I see,” he said, “I will make the arrangements as soon as possible. Is there anything else that you needed of me, Lady Edith?”

“Two things,” Edith answered, “One, just call me Edith, or Miss Edith if you must insist on titles. And two, could you do me a favor and describe in as much detail as possible a specific place in White Harbor for me? A room or a street or something?”

Lord Wyman looked at her, puzzled, and said, “Well, I suppose. There’s our main hall in New Castle, the Merman’s Court. It’s the heart of the castle,” Wyman’s voice swelled with pride and he puffed his chest out, ”The room is painted from top to bottom of life beneath the surface of the sea. Great big sharks, octopi, crabs, cod, shellfish, a great battle between kraken and leviathan. The Merman’s Court is truly a work of art.”

“Wonderful,” Edith said, “Your hand please?”

Lord Wyman tilted his head in confusion, reaching out to take Edith’s extended palm. As soon as they made contact, Edith teleported the both of them to New Castle’s main hall in White Harbor, as per the Lord’s description. Lord Wyman staggered at the sudden teleportation, held upright by Edith’s sturdy grip. There were a handful of people milling about the room, several of whom shrieked at the sudden appearance of Edith and their Lord. 

“By the Gods,” Lord Wyman murmured, awestruck, “Are we really in White Harbor right now?”

“Indeed,” Edith answered, “But only momentarily. I apologize for the sudden teleportation, but now that I’ve seen your halls, I will be able to travel freely to and from your castle without requiring your accompaniment.”

“Seven Hells,” he said, running a hand through his greying blonde hair. Edith took him by the hand once more and teleported them back to the tower in Winterfell. Ricka, to her credit, hardly reacted to the teleportation, offering only a smile and a polite, “Miss Edith, my Lord,” in greeting. She had gotten well used to Edith’s constant teleporting about. She had nearly fainted the first time Edith had done it. And now that Edith would be teaching Arya and Jon, she didn’t know how much use the tower door would be getting from here on out.

Giving the Lord a moment to steady himself, Edith shook his hand one last time, “A pleasure doing business with you my Lord. I look forward to our partnership. Come and find me whenever you are ready for me to meet your household.” 

She guided the still somewhat dazed Lord to the tower door, waving him off as he wandered back to the castle, still just a bit in shock.

“Jory said the Lady was looking for you Miss,” Ricka said once Lord Wyman had gone, “I think she’s in her solar, takin’ tea with the Queen and the other ladies.”

Edith groaned. She had a sneaking suspicion that the Lady wasn’t necessarily the person who wished to speak with her, “Very well. Keep working on that potion Ricka, and start on the elixir if you have the chance. I’ve already set up the glyph to heat the cauldron and I’ve written the instructions for you on the papers next to it.”

With that, she teleported herself just outside of Lady Stark’s solar, startling a nearby maid in the otherwise empty hallway. She straightened her coat and knocked on the door. A young woman, one of the Princess’ ladies in waiting she assumed, opened the door for her, eyes widening upon seeing Edith on the other side.

“Hello my Lady,” Edith greeted, “Lady Stark wished to see me?”

“Lady Edith,” Lady Catelyn called, “Please enter.”  

The Ladies in the room all stared at Edith upon entry. Arya, who had been seated near the Queen and the Princess, rushed over to greet Edith with a hug.

“Teacher!” she smiled, “Is it time for lessons again?” She almost seemed to be pleading with her eyes, clearly eager to escape tea with the ladies. She had been stuffed into a dress and her curly hair had been forced into the braids that she despised, likely at the insistence of her mother. 

“Not just yet my student,” Edith said, ruffling Arya’s hair. Arya grumbled in protest.

“Teacher, you’re going to undo my braids. I don’t want to have to redo them. The maids pull too hard,” she complained. 

“I’ll fix it, don’t you worry,” Edith smiled. Ever since Edith had first done Arya’s hair, Arya had gotten quite touchy about keeping it neat and shiny. Aside from Edith, the only people that she let near her hair were herself and Jon. Lady Catelyn had been relieved at the change, though she wasn’t fond of the styles that let the curls hang proud and free. Edith isn’t sure how the Lady managed to force Arya into letting the maids do her hair today.

“Lady Edith,” Lady Stark greeted from where she sat between the Queen and Sansa, “Please, sit.”

Edith nodded, moving to sit in Arya’s place. She set her student in her lap and undid the tight braids, allowing her wild curls to spring free. Vhagar leapt into her master’s lap, purring as Arya stroked her sleek black fur. She summoned a large chunk of ice into her hand before melting it into water and heating it to a cozy, warm temperature. She used the warm water to dampen Arya’s frizzy hair and began to run her magically warmed fingers through to detangle the locks. 

Lady Stark pursed her lips at the sight, clearly displeased to see Arya’s hairstyle ruined, but otherwise did not comment. The other Ladies marveled at the novelty of Edith’s casual use of magic.

“Lady Edith, may I introduce you to Queen Cersei Lannister Baratheon?” Lady Stark said, emphasizing the Queen’s title. The Queen smiled at Edith, pretty and well practiced. Her eyes, however, were sharp and dangerous.

“Your grace,” Edith greeted with a nod. 

“Lady Edith, it is a pleasure. I have heard such wonderful things about you from little Arya,” The Queen said. 

“Oh?” Edith said, her fingers stilling for a moment in Arya’s hair. Her eyes cut over to Lady Stark, who looked grim and tense. This was not going to be pleasant.

“Yes,” the Queen continued, “She tells me that you are the most incredible warrior that she has ever seen, that you could best any of the Kingsguard.”

Edith couldn’t help the small fond smile as she started gently twisting Arya’s hair into a thick braid at the crown of her head, “Is that so? Well I haven’t had the chance to see any of the Kingsguard in battle, but I hear that they are quite formidable.”

“The greatest fighters in Westeros,” The Queen agreed, a sly smile on her face, “And Arya tells me that you are training her in the art of the blade as well.”

“Indeed,” Edith replied cautiously, trying not to tense and startle her student, “She and Jon have been doing wonderfully in their training. They’re very diligent. They do their Teacher proud.”

Edith felt Arya straighten in her lap, puffing up in pride. Edith smiled and finished braiding back Arya’s hair, tying it at the nape of her neck and allowing the remainder of her curls to fall freely down her back. Arya grinned up at Edith once she’d finished, hopping up off of her lap to find her own seat beside her mother and sister. 

“My Joff has been learning from the Kingsguard himself,“ the Queen said. Her smile turned genuine for the first time in their conversation when she brought up her eldest son, “He is so very talented already, but if you are as good as Arya says, then I’m sure that he could do so much more if you were to offer him some guidance.”

“That remains to be seen, your Grace,” Edith frowned, “I am very particular when it comes to my students. If he is as talented as you say, then I must see it for myself before I make any decisions.”

“Of course,” the Queen replied gracefully, “You must be rather busy with two students on your hands already.”

"I suppose," Edith hummed. The Queen's smile was unsettlingly predatory.

Queen Cersei turned to Lady Stark, “Lady Stark, your daughters are yet to be betrothed, are they not?”

Edith went cold and tense. She did not like the direction that this conversation was heading.

Lady Stark’s lips tightened slightly as she answered, “Yes your grace.”

“Well, my Joff and Tommen are still seeking matches as well,” the Queen smiled genially, eyes glinting. She looked like her House sigil in that moment, a lioness on the prowl, ready to pounce on Edith’s one and only weakness: her students. 

If this woman thought that she would be laying a finger on Arya, then she would soon find that she was terribly, terribly mistaken.

Lady Stark inhaled sharply while Sansa marveled, looking absolutely delighted at the idea of a betrothal to a Prince. Arya, on the other hand, looked deeply disturbed. She opened her mouth, ready to protest, but Edith caught her eye and shook her head sternly. Arya frowned, but closed her mouth with a click, gnawing anxiously at her lower lip. Out of the corner of her eye, Edith noticed the Princess tense and shift uncomfortably at the mention of marriage and the crown Prince. Odd and worrying behavior, especially considering his little outburst at the feast.

“And I wish them the best of luck,” Edith deflected, practically glaring at the Queen. 

“My girls are yet young,” Lady Stark added, taking Edith’s queue, “Ned and I would like for them to enjoy their childhoods, just a bit longer, before we consider any betrothals.”

The queen’s smile pinched as she answered, “I see. As a mother, I understand completely the desire to keep your children as close as you can for as long as possible. But I must also do my duty as Queen to ensure that the Princes are made fine matches with daughters as lovely and highborn as yours. They will only be young for so long, after all, and you can never know what the future might hold for them.”

Edith was rigid, gripping the arms of her seat so hard that she thought they might crack under her fingers. She did not trust this woman and she wanted her nowhere near Arya, or even Sansa. 

“Of course, your grace. One can never know what tomorrow might bring. It brought us a wizard once, after all,” Lady Stark laughed lightly, cutting a look to Edith who answered with a polite nod.

“Yes, of course,” The Queen said, “Still, what a pity. Who knows who might snatch up these beauties before we get the chance ourselves. Girls this lovely shouldn’t be hidden up here forever. They belong in the sun where they can truly shine.”

Lady Stark’s smile dropped immediately, expression turning solemn and hard. The Queen would not relent, and the insult to the North clearly stung the Lady of Winterfell.

“Apologies, your grace,” Lady Stark said, “But my husband and I have already decided to wait-”

“But Mother!” Sansa whined desperately. Lady Stark shot her eldest daughter a sharp look in reprimand, but Sansa seemed determined to get herself betrothed to a Prince, “Prince Joffrey is so handsome and gallant. I don’t care about waiting, I’m nearly a woman grown!” She stamped her foot in emphasis. Yes, very grown and womanly indeed.

“Sansa!” Lady Stark scolded.

“It is a shame, Lady Stark. Joffrey and Sansa would make such a lovely pair. And I am sure that Tommen and Arya would get along just fine. He has a love of cats as well,” the Queen sighed exaggeratedly. 

“Mother, please!” Sansa begged. Lady Stark looked between Sansa, Arya, Edith, and the smirking Queen, looking very much torn.

“I- I will speak with my Lord husband, but I make no promises,” Lady Stark finally sighed. 

Sansa squealed in delight while Arya paled in terror, eyes already starting to water and swell. Arya jumped from her chair and sprinted from the room, Vhagar yowling in surprise at being tossed from her lap, but diligently following suit.

“Arya!” Edith called, following closely behind, “Arya, wait!”

She chased her student down the halls, both impressed and annoyed with the little girl’s speed. Still, Edith was older with a much longer stride and managed to catch up after only a few minutes. She grabbed Arya and hoisted her up, snatching Vhagar from the ground and teleporting the three of them to the Tower for privacy.

“I don’t want to marry a stupid Prince!” she sobbed, “I don’t want to marry anyone! I want to be a bladesinger and go on adventures and- and-!”

“Hey, hey,” Edith shushed, gently pushing Vhagar into Arya’s arms. The familiar licked at Arya’s tears.

“You aren’t marrying any Prince Arya,” Edith said, “You aren’t marrying anyone anytime soon, alright?”

“You don’t know that!” Arya cried, “Mother said she’d speak with father, and now I’m going to have to marry a stupid Prince all because of stupid Sansa!”

“Alright, first, remember what I said about calling things stupid. Prince Tommen did not ask for any betrothal either, so don’t be unkind to him for this,” Edith scolded gently, “And second, your mother will talk to your father, but only about Sansa, I promise you. She and I have already talked about this together, and I’m going to find a way to keep you from any arranged marriage,” Edith set Arya on the ground and wiped away her tears, “Have a little faith in your Teacher, Arya. I promised you that I would protect you, and I meant it. You are not being betrothed to Prince Tommen.”

Arya hiccuped and threw her arms around Edith, squeezing her tight around the middle. Edith held her close, gently petting her now messy hair. 

“Miss Edith, Lady Arya,” Ricka said softly from where she stood in front of a bubbling cauldron, “If you’re looking for Jon, I believe that he’s in the training yard with the other boys right now.”

Arya perked immediately at the mention of her favorite brother. Edith sighed in relief. Thank the Gods for Ricka. 

“Come now, let’s go and watch your brother knock down everyone in the yard,” Edith smiled. Arya giggled and nodded, wiping her snot away on her sleeve. 

Edith walked Arya out of the tower, mouthing ‘thank you’ over her shoulder at Ricka who smiled and nodded in return.

When they reached the training yard, Tommen and Bran were heavily padded up and whacking away at each other with wooden swords. The poor boys were sweaty and puffing, likely more tired from all of the makeshift armor than the actual clumsy swordplay. 

Just off to the side, there seemed to be an argument heating up between the Stark and Baratheon men, Ser Rodrik red in the face as Robb yelled furiously at a smirking Prince Joffrey. Theon and Jon were attempting to pull the heir to Winterfell away from the scene, but something that Joffrey said only seemed to enrage the boy further. 

As tired as she was of dealing with nobility, she couldn’t let this escalate and have Robb get in trouble for something that, if she had to wager a guess, was entirely the Prince’s fault.

“Excuse me gentlemen,” Edith called, walking up from behind a cluster of agitated Stark men, “But if you’re going to sit around and gossip, the Ladies are taking tea in Lady Stark’s solar. I’m sure that you’d be welcome to join. But there are others who would like to use the training yard for its intended purpose.”

“You heard the Lady,” Prince Joffrey mocked Robb, “Go on and run to your mother now.”

Robb’s nostrils flared as the Baratheon men laughed. He shot Edith a betrayed look, but she set a hard stare on the nasty little Prince.

“Now, correct me if I am wrong Robb, but this is not what is considered proper etiquette for a guest in treating with their hosts?” Edith asked.

“No my Lady,” Robb growled, more at the Prince than at Edith, “It is not.”

The Prince reddened and scoffed, “I am a Prince . I can do as I like.”

“What odd customs. In Ossia, a Prince is typically meant to set a good example for his people, not the other way around,” Edith hummed. 

Now it was the Prince’s turn to flare his nostrils as the Stark men stifled their laughter around her.  

“You dare mock your Prince-!”

“Mock?” Edith tilted her head, “It was simply an observation, your grace. Now, did you intend to use the yard today or just clog it with your father’s men?”

Joffrey scoffed, “As if I could even if I wanted to. These boys don’t even train with live steel.”

“So you're looking for a sparring partner with live steel?” Edith asked rhetorically, “Well, your grace, I would be honored to help you practice, seeing as I use live steel myself.”

“Ha! Surely you jest my Lady. I could not fight a woman. They are too frail and weak. It would simply not be fair. It is beneath me,” Prince Joffrey bragged.

“Well then,” Edith smiled, “If I am so far beneath you that we cannot match blades, then surely I am too far beneath you to offer you my teachings.”

Theon snorted and Robb bit his lip to suppress a grin at how badly the situation had turned on the Prince. The Stark men all seemed quite smug at the turn of events, while the Baratheon men all shifted awkwardly, cautiously eyeing the Prince the way one might eye a rabid dog.

“That isn’t- I only meant-” The Prince stammered, looking caught between cursing Edith and begging forgiveness. She was sure that his father must have ordered him to try and impress her so that she might take him as a student. Fat chance.

“Only meant what. Your grace?” Edith asked airily. 

The Prince looked comically confused, much to Edith’s amusement. As if someone had told him that the sky was down and the ground was up. He took several deep breaths before turning on his heel and stomping away calling behind him, “Let’s go dog, these little boys are not worth our effort. I suppose I’ll let them keep their pride today, instead of beating them to the dirt.”

A hulking brute of a man followed the boy with an annoyed sigh. He glared at Edith, made more threatening by the half-burnt side of his face. The wound looked painful and very old, but the man, not so much. He must have been young when he’d received those injuries.

“Well that was fun,” Edith remarked dryly. 

“I think you and I have very different definitions of the word ‘fun,’ Miss Edith,” Robb grunted, still somewhat annoyed by whatever the Prince had done before she’d arrived.

Theon snickered, “They sure do raise those Southern Lordlings to be poncy little twats. With all that bitching and moaning, you’d think he had a cunt instead of a cock under all those fine silks and velvets.”

Edith shot the boy a glare, to which he only smirked in response. Arya seemed to have taken just as much offense at the poor joke and stomped on the older boy’s foot. He cursed and hopped on one foot at the pain, the smirk wiped clean off of his face. Jon stifled a laugh and ruffled his little sister’s hair. 

“Well, I think that I’ve had plenty enough socializing for today,” Edith sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “If you need me, my students, I’ll be in the Tower.”

“Wait!” Robb exclaimed. Edith and the others all turned to look quizzically at him and he flushed, “Well I just- There was something that I wanted to speak with you about, Lady Edith.”

Edith cocked her head slightly. In her time at Winterfell, Robb had not really paid her much attention. He was kind and polite and Edith liked him well enough, but he had never sought her out for conversation before. Watching him uncharacteristically shuffle in place, nervous and shy, Edith figured that this was probably a conversation best kept private.

“Very well,” Edith said, “Follow me.”

She led Robb back to her tower (giving a passing greeting to Ricka) where her mansion still waited. Robb had never been inside before and looked around, amazed.

“This is where you train Jon and Arya?” Robb asked incredulously.

“Indeed,” Edith answered without breaking stride. She guided him to her study (which was quickly turning into a meeting room instead) and sat across from him. The servants appeared with refreshments, offering Robb a cup of cocoa and Edith her usual tea. Robb sniffed at the drink curiously before taking a sip. His eyes lit and he took several gulps before remembering that he was trying to be a little grown man and composed himself, setting the drink to the side.

“You wished to discuss something with me?” Edith asked curiously.

Robb took a deep breath before straightening tall into his best imitation of Lord Stark’s dignified posture. Edith had to stifle a grin at the sight. These Starklings were adorable.

“Father told me about your plans for the First Keep,” he said, “I want to help. If this is as good as you say it will be, then, as the future Lord of Winterfell, it is my duty to provide any aid that I can.”

“Is that so?” Edith smiled. Robb nodded, determined.

“You are a guest in our Keep, and yet you offer us more than any of our bannermen, even our King has ever offered us in aid for the upcoming winter. I would be a poor heir to not involve myself in these matters. How can I call myself an honorable man if I leave all of the hard work to someone else? And someone who owes us no allegiance at that,” he declared. He set his jaw after his (clearly practiced) speech and Edith suddenly saw the resemblance between Robb and his Lord father. 

“It will be a lot of work young man,” Edith warned, “Are you positive that you want to be involved in this?”

Robb nodded, brows furrowing slightly at the somewhat patronizing tone that Edith had used. Negotiating required a certain level of maturity that she needed to have in a potential partner. Edith was still surprised at just how mature these Stark kids could be, but at the end of the day, they were still kids. She needed to make sure that Robb had the patience and resilience it took to deal business with the savviest of traders and nobility. 

Robb was yet another stubborn Stark with a backbone to him. Inexperienced as he might be, he certainly spoke with the sort of strength and intelligence to be expected of a future Lord Paramount. At this rate, she’d end up with Sansa and baby Rickon in this room as well, discussing some serious subject or another. Honestly, she hoped that Sansa would surprise her like this someday. If any of the Stark kids ought to grow out of their current behavior, it was that one. As it stood, she was pleasantly surprised by Robb’s conviction when it came to doing right by his people.

“Speak to Lord Manderly,” Edith said, grinning, “I approached him earlier today about joining White Harbor and Winterfell using a teleportation circle. It will allow instantaneous travel between the two castles so that goods can be better transported to and from the port. I need to know the best location in White Harbor for the circle to be set up, and I need you to observe his household for anyone who might be a good contender to learn basic magic, like Ricka, so that there is someone to operate the circle in White Harbor. And study your sums and trade tactics. You’ll be leading the negotiations from here on out. It is your Kingdom, after all.”

“Can you really connect Winterfell to White Harbor?” Robb asked incredulously, “If we did that, then getting food during the winter…” Robb nodded seriously, eyes blazing in determination, “I’ll do as you ask. Please keep me informed on your plans and next steps so that I can assist in any way that I am able.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” Edith replied lightly, “And one more thing.”

She extended a hand out for Robb to take. Like Lord Manderly, he seemed confused and attempted to kiss it at first, only for Edith to firmly shake his hand instead.

“This is a handshake. In Ossia, we use it to seal deals. A sign of good faith and camaraderie. I taught it to Lord Manderly earlier today,” Edith explained, “And now that we’ve shaken hands, we’ve sealed the deal. I will keep you informed on all progress regarding the First Keep, my Lord.”

Robb flushed happily, “Very well Miss Edith. I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise, Lord Robb.”

Edth offered Robb a polite bow before walking him out of the mansion. She chuckled as the young Lord practically skipped away. Edith sighed contentedly. These Starks were good kids.

She turned and headed back to her library, determined to at least make some progress in her research to make up for all of the awful socializing that she had been forced into during the day. And it was only day two of the King’s visit. 

Gods help her, she was not looking forward to the next few days.

Chapter Text

“Now, teleportation is a form of conjuration,” Edith said, her spellbook open for her students to examine. They rapidly scratched in the patterns and symbols denoting the spell into their spellbooks, doing their best to make sense of Edith’s well diagrammed algorithms on coordinating instant travel within the same plane. 

Arya was doing surprisingly well at figuring out the calculations on her own, helping Jon where he struggled with his own. Should she ever give up her career as a bladesinger, she would make a wonderful physicist.

“Think of it as conjuring yourself at a fixed point in space, essentially using your magic to distort the space around you so that you end up in the space you intend to travel to. Not every teleportation spell works this way, mind, but this spell in specific does.”

“How do you conjure yourself? ” Arya asked incredulously.

“Similar to how you flood your body in magic to start the bladesong, my student,” Edith answered, “When you cast a spell on yourself like this, you need to encase yourself in magic. Then, you treat it similar to summoning, only you are summoning the magic that you are encased in to the fixed destination, thereby bringing you along with the magic.”

Jon stared at the spell pages, somewhat lost. Arya on the other hand, nodded eagerly, peppering Edith with questions and noting her every word. 

Arya continued to surprise Edith with just how clever she could be. Between her natural talents and creativity in illusions and transfiguration, it would seem that she had yet another affinity for conjuration. If she could master her temper and reckless nature with the blade, then she would be an absolute menace on the battlefield someday.

Jon on the other hand seemed to struggle with the wider variety of schools, taking strongly to evocation and a bit to abjuration, but he lacked the diversity that he would need to be as effective as possible with a blade. Though with the power behind his evocation spells, he wouldn’t even really need the song to become a devastating force to be reckoned with.

“You won’t be teleporting until you’re able to accurately pinpoint your destinations using the arithmancy required for the spell to succeed on paper, and even then you’ll only be able to travel short distances at first,” Edith said. Arya nodded along while Jon furrowed his brow. 

“The spells for long distance travel operate under different rules. You don’t always need to use arithmancy if you are well practiced enough to guide yourself on intention alone, but that’s a ways off for you two yet. For now, arithmancy will be your guide. Finish those algorithms and I’ll help guide you in your first teleport,” Edith instructed.

Arya nodded eagerly, already halfway finished with the first set.

“Moving on, let’s get started on your Draconic,” Edith said, setting her spellbook back in her bag.

“Draconic is the language of dragonkind. The Dragonborn are not true dragons, but they are descended from the progenitor god of dragons all the same. And as such, the dragons and Dragonborn share a runic alphabet, but there are subtle differences in Dragonborn Draconic and the ancient Draconic of the true dragons,” Edith explained.

“We’ll be using Dragonborn draconic for now. Draconic runes are already temperamental on their own, but the Draconic runes of the true dragons are used only in the most powerful of evocation spells. I tell you this because, with Draconic runes, you must be as precise as possible in their markings. The slightest misalignment could mean that you’ve accidentally drawn in a true dragon’s Draconic rune in place of the Dragonborn’s, and the consequences of such a mistake can be dire, fatal even.”

Edith let the statement sink in for her students, an important reminder of the dangers of magic given their quick successes in the far more stable Sylvan runes.

“Because of how carefully these runes need to be handled, we’ll be spending the foreseeable future copying lines until your Draconic handwriting is absolutely flawless,” Edith said cheerfully, pulling two large stacks of loose paper from her bag. Her students groaned.

“Oh hush, this is important. The sooner you perfect your lines, the sooner we can move on to bigger spells,” Edith chastised. 

“We get enough lines and sums from Maester Luwin,” Jon grumbled, unhappily grabbing a stack of parchment and scribbling runes across the first sheet.

“So you’ll have plenty of practice,” Edith grinned. Her students groaned again.

When Edith had offered the special lessons, she was certain that this was not what her students had in mind. But magic was not all fun and games. A good deal of it required long hours of study and practice. The work was tedious, yes, but the payoff would be significant. And once they were able to write their Draconic runes safely, they’d have the familiarity with magic to be able to incorporate the Infernal alphabet without running the risk of being drawn in by the language’s corrupting influence. 

They currently sat in her library where she had conjured extra desk space for her students to work at, Jory content to nap on a chaise lounge brought in by the spectral servants. Arya’s familiar was curled up on his chest, though Edith couldn’t tell if she was actually sleeping or not since familiar spirits did not need to sleep. Vhagar was a particularly catlike familiar however, so Edith would not be surprised if the spirit had managed to figure out how to catnap. Shadow, a far more conventionally behaved familiar, was perched at the edge of Jon’s desk, examining his work curiously. 

Edith worked on her own research as her students worked through their lines and arithmancy. Arya seemed significantly happier to work than Jon, no doubt flying through her numbers so that she might learn teleportation as soon as possible. The first time that she had seen Edith do it, she had been completely enamored with the idea.

Jon looked about as impatient as Edith had ever seen him while going through his lines. Every so often, Edith would check in on their progress, unsurprised to see Arya making her way steadily (and correctly) through her arithmancy. Jon, surprisingly enough, was a natural with the Draconic runes. She wondered if she should have expected it, given his talent for evocation, but he was much closer to being able to cast in Draconic than she would have expected.

As far as her own research went, Edith had hit something of a wall. The divination runes that she had been looking into were half missing, so she could not decipher them anymore than she already had, and it wasn’t enough to reverse that portion of the spell. She didn’t know enough about the rest of the spell’s bindings to try and fish the divination blocker out using guesswork without potential backlash. She had focused on curse breaking instead, only to be met with a similar issue, just ten times more obnoxious given that she couldn’t even discern exactly what the hex was meant to be doing.

Setting the circle itself aside for the time being, Edith instead turned to looking through her old knowledge on the planes and the greater multiverse. She hadn’t been lying to Arya when she’d said that multiversal theory was a headache, but given what she knew of Westeros and the prime material plane, she worried that she had been sent to an entirely different Crystal Sphere. In doing so, she would have had to pass through the Phlogiston, a feat that was near impossible and certainly beyond the limitations of the elves that she had known from Ebraxima. 

Perhaps the spell had warped the dimensional space. That could help explain why she was sent to another world on the Prime Material plane as opposed to a different plane entirely. She had recorded at least four references to other planes that Edith believed that the elves might have been trying to send her to, and none of them were on the Prime Material. Unless Westeros was a secret eighth layer of the Hells, which had been referenced no less than three times in the circle. It very well could be, given how miserable everything here was (aside from the Starks, of course).

Edith did not have enough knowledge of the multiverse to make a solid guess as to why she was trapped in Westeros aside from the banishment component, but she was certain that Westeros had to exist outside of Ossia’s world. Best case scenario, it was another world within Ossia’s crystal sphere and, therefore, the same prime material plane. In that scenario, she could astral project to see if she couldn’t swim her way home, but that would be both extremely dangerous and not possible. She knew this because she had already tried and had not been able to reach the Astral Plane. 

She could still reach the Ethereal Plane, but the Ethereal wouldn’t allow her to travel to another world within the greater Crystal Sphere. So useful for certain spells but significantly less so for anything else. Unless she wanted to try and reach one of the elemental planes, but since she couldn’t plane shift to them she figured that the banishment barrier would limit her to strictly the ethereal where it overlapped with Westeros’ world.

In short, without better access to more research, trying to unravel the mysteries of the multiverse was ultimately a moot point in her current predicament. Hopefully, Luwin would hear back from the Citadel soon and she could get her hands on something that might be at least a little useful. She was running low on ideas.

After about two hours of fruitless research, Edith decided that she had put her students through enough paperwork for the day. Both students had started flagging, the restlessness of youth settling into their skin.

“Pens down students, that’s enough for now,” Edith said, clapping to get her students’ attention. She stood and started down the corridor, “Let’s head back to the courtyard to start on your bladesinging for the day. Wake Jory, if you don’t mind.”

Both kids practically tossed their pens down, jumping from their seats, falling in line behind Edith in their haste to get to practice. Their familiars quickly followed after, Shadow landing on Jon’s shoulder and Vhagar rubbing at Arya’s ankles to be picked up. 

Jon grabbed a book and tossed it at the sleeping guard as they passed to wake him up. The heavy book smacked Jory on the stomach at a painful looking angle and he startled awake with a wheeze.

“No throwing books please. I know that they are technically only conjurations, but they’re still books,” Edith scolded.

“Sorry Teacher,” Jon said, sounding completely unapologetic. Jory glared at the two of them, grumbling as he stood and followed at a far more sedate pace. Edith snorted. 

Edith handed out Jon and Arya’s blades, setting them on their drills before moving on to their actual bladesinging lesson.

“Since you both are still new to the song, you need to get used to activating and deactivating it at will,” Edith explained, “You probably noticed yesterday how tired you were after activating the song for only a few seconds. The first activation is always the most taxing, so it shouldn’t be as difficult today, but it still takes a toll on your body. You cannot keep the song active indefinitely or else you run the risk of burning yourself out. Literally.”

“How long can we keep it active then, Teacher?” Arya asked.

“For now, your time limit is one minute, and not a second more. And that is collective for the entire day, so don’t even think about trying to activate it without my supervision or permission, understood?”

“Yes Teacher,” her students chorused.

“Now, the more you practice, the longer that you’ll be able to keep the song going. For now, you’ll activate and deactivate the song in short intervals, then tomorrow, you’ll be sparring with the blunt weapons, and the day after we’ll practice with the song again. Once you’re able to keep the song up for a full minute without exhausting yourselves, you’ll start sparring with the song activated.”

“How will we know when our time is up for the day?” Jon asked, “Are we supposed to count while we fight?”

“Eventually, you’ll get a feel for it yourself, but for now,” Edith pulled her watch from the interior pocket of her coat, “I’ll be timing you. Now, take your positions. We’ll be starting in intervals of five seconds.”

Arya and Jon took their stances, Jon’s more rooted and low centered to Arya’s fluid and side face stance.

“On my mark,” Edith said, “Three… Two… One… Begin!”

With two echoing chimes, her students shimmered with magic as the song poured from their bodies. Edith gave a quick check over the flow of her students’ magical cloaks to make sure that they were even and stable, keeping a close eye on the little hand of her watch.

“And stop,” she commanded. Both Arya and Jon sagged immediately, breathing heavily. The servants floated over to offer water and towels, which they both took gratefully. 

“We’ll take a ten minute break to catch your breath, then go again. Once we finish this lesson today, you will do absolutely no magic until I give you the go ahead, am I clear?”

“Yes Teacher,” her students panted. Arya was already on her second glass of water and Jon had dumped his water over his head, wiping the cool liquid away from his face with a towel.

For the next hour, they repeated this process. Each time left her students tired and gasping for air, but they were noticeably steadier upon deactivating the spell for the twelfth time than they were the first. Edith nodded in satisfaction. They would be able to up the duration to ten seconds for the next lesson. They would be ready to spar in just over a week, by Edith’s estimation.

“Well done students, we’ll wrap it up here for the day. Go and grab your notes from the library before you go, though you are welcome to continue working if you’d like,” Edith said, pocketing her watch, “I’ll be spending the day in the mansion, so you can stay for as long as you’d like.”

“You’re avoiding the King’s party,” Jon said flatly.

“Indeed,” Edith replied shamelessly.

“Can I stay?” Arya asked, “Mother will make me wear a dress and have tea with the Queen again if I leave.”

“I doubt that she’ll want you spending any more time with the Queen after yesterday. I can’t speak to the dress though,” Edith replied, “but of course you can stay. Just make sure not to interrupt my research. And no magic, I mean it. If you get hungry, just ask the servants for food.”

“And me, Miss Edith?” Jory asked innocently, “Am I to stay as well? I would gladly go and watch the King get drunk and complain about how covered our women in the North are to Lord Stark, but I will stay if it is required of me.”

Edith rolled her eyes as Jory smirked and winked at a giggling Arya.

“Yes, Jory, you can stay too. Now, if you need me, I’ll be in the library.”

Edith spent the rest of her day in the Tower with her students. Arya returned to her arithmancy for a time, helping Jon with his equations before getting distracted by Vhagar pawing at her notes. At some point, the two (plus Jory) returned to the courtyard to get more sparring in with the blunted weapons made by the mansion. She wasn’t sure how many hours passed before Jory returned to the library, looking somewhat confused.

“Please tell me you didn’t let my students maim each other in my absence,” Edith said flatly.

“Such little faith, my Lady,” Jory joked, “But no, that isn’t why I’m here. You have visitors.”

Edith furrowed her brow, asking, “Visitors?”

“Lord Robb and Lord Manderly await you in the courtyard,” Jory said, “They said something about guild business.”

Edith was up and out of her chair before Jory could even finish his sentence. She rushed down the corridor, Jory trailing behind her. When she got there, Robb and Lord Wyman were watching Arya and Jon train in fascination. Robb was holding Vhagar, scratching absently between the little cat’s ears. Absolutely spoiled, that little familiar.

“My Lords,” Edith called, drawing their attention away from her students, “What brings you to the mansion this evening?”

“I must admit Miss Edith, you’ve chosen a hell of a negotiator,” Lord Wyman chuckled,patting a very proud looking Robb on the shoulder, “This boy here will make a fine Warden one day, I can tell you that much. Shall we talk business?”

“Of course,” Edith said, raising a brow at Robb, “Follow me gentlemen.”

By the time they arrived, the servants had already arranged for an extra chair in the study before Edith’s arrival so that the three business partners could all sit. There were three servants posted, one at each chair, each holding up a tray of refreshments. 

“I take it that you have news for me?” Edith asked, taking a plate of cookies and a teacup from her servants.

“Most certainly Miss Edith,” Lord Wyman replied happily, accepting his own snacks from a servant. Robb had a mug of cocoa in his hands already, “We’ve come to an agreement on a candidate for your magical training.”

“Oh?”

“My youngest granddaughter, Wylla,” Lord Wyman announced happily. 

Edith had seen Wylla around here and there, her and her older sister Wynafryd having both journeyed with their grandfather to Winterfell. She hadn’t interacted with the girl at all, but from what she’d heard, Wylla was a great deal like a second Arya. Only an Arya with vibrantly green dyed hair. She was close to Jon and Robb in age, which could definitely help attribute to Lord Manderly’s excitement to have her trained in magic. Well, aside from having his granddaughter trained in magic in and of itself.

As much as Edith already liked the girl from the stories that she’d heard, she was hesitant to accept another noble Lady as a trainee, even if only for basic magic lessons. 

She looked at Robb, raising a brow. Robb looked at her blankly for a second before realizing that Edith expected him to speak to the decision. 

“Wylla is a lot like Arya,” he started, “She’s the last in line to inherit-”

“But the second of only two children,” Edith reminded, sipping delicately at her tea. She examined Lord Wyman closely, but he gave nothing away in reaction. He only continued to drink his tea and munch on finger sandwiches.

“She’s kind though,“ Robb argued, “and loyal to House Stark. I trust that she will not take advantage of this position, should we give it to her.”

“That’s well and good Robb, but will she obey me as well?” Edith asked, “Magic is dangerous, and I can’t give it to anyone that I cannot trust to use it wisely.”

“You gave it to Arya,” Robb countered. Edith’s brow twitched.

“I did, but I evaluated Arya myself, and so I trust her. Why should I trust Wylla?” Edith asked, “I am not saying no Robb, but I need to be absolutely certain that I am not putting magic, even the most basic of spells, in the wrong hands.”

Robb’s jaw set stubbornly, “Lady Wylla is strong willed, honest, and brave. She is neither cruel nor a fool. I trust her.”

Robb was flushed by the end of his declaration and Lord Wyman looked pleased as punch. Edith gave the Lord a flat look. 

Well, she would be able to trust Wylla she supposed, but she also trusted that she should try to find a second trainee for the White Harbor circle in case Wylla instead became a permanent resident of Winterfell.

“Very well then,” Edith agreed, setting down her teacup and crossing her legs, “The next time that we talk business, bring Wylla with you so that I can meet her myself. I won’t be able to teach her until the King has gone, and it’s best that we keep this amongst ourselves for the time being. King Robert is rather set on his children learning magic. I doubt that he will react very well to the news of a noble Lady other than his daughter receiving any kind of magical training.”

A flicker of fear ran across Robb’s expression before he nodded. He must not have considered the consequences of choosing a noble daughter rather than a humble servant. Lord Wyman, far savvier, nodded solemnly, more serious than she had yet seen him.

“A deal then, Lady Edith?” Lord Wyman asked, extending a hand expectantly. He smiled, somewhat smugly, but still genuine.

“Just make sure that none of us come to regret this, Lord Wyman,” she sighed. Edith took his hand and gave a firm shake.

“Agreed,” Lord Wyman chirped. 

Robb seemed uncertain now that he realized the potential consequences of his choice. Edith sighed. She trusted that Wylla was plenty trustworthy in character if Robb was vouching for her. He wasn’t a stupid boy, and he had his father’s sense of honor and cautious nature. He just also seemed to share his father’s head for politics, rather than his mother’s. She wondered if Lady Stark would be willing to act as Robb’s advisor. She would have to bring it up after the King and his retinue had gone.

Lord Wyman and Edith spoke for a while longer, going over more specific details regarding teleportation fees comparable to docking fees, as well as several issues regarding taxes and policy for who and what could go through the circles. Lord Wyman didn’t want to lose all of his merchants and artisans to Winterfell once the circles were active, so placing a fee on transport would be determined by weight, meaning that Edith would have to integrate a weight limit into the circle when she drew it. 

Robb, once he had gotten over his slump, was surprisingly insightful regarding the goods and services that Winterfell had at hand. He was able to offer the names of several potential guild leaders as well as the exact quantities of wool and lumber, Winterfell’s main exports, typically sold by the castle every year. He also gave valuable input on the current tax rate of both the low and highborn of the North and potential adjustment percentages depending on the success of the trade hub. Needless to say, Edith was very impressed.

They discussed for about an hour and a half until Jory poked his head in to let Robb know that his parents were looking for him. It was as good a queue as any to put a pin in the conversation, so Edith bid farewell to the duo with a handshake each. Lord Wyman grinned bemusedly every time that they shook hands, the gesture novel to him. Robb seemed to take great pride in being treated as equal to the two adults.

Edith walked her guests to the door and bid farewell. Jory and her students joined them in leaving, the hour well past dark and time for dinner. Lord Wyman invited her to join his family’s table at dinner, but Edith politely declined, citing her research. Helpful as always, Jory kindly informed Lord Wyman that Edith was doing her best to hide from the King and his family. Edith glared unimpressed at the smirking guard and Lord Wyman laughed heartily. He took no offense and completely understood Edith’s hesitance to be talked at by a drunk King Robert for a full hour. She instead ate a peaceful dinner alone in her mansion. 

Edith tried to do more research after her meal, but found herself well and truly lost as to what she should be looking into next. Between the divination magic, the curses, and multiverse research, she was stumped.

After about two more hours of attempted research, Edith finally surrendered and put away her notes. As much as she wanted to avoid the King and his entourage, she desperately needed to stretch her legs and get away from her research for a while. It was late enough where most of the castle should have retired for the night, so Edith chanced a visit to the yard to get some training in. The fresh air would do her some good in clearing her head.

Fortunately, it seemed that there wasn’t anyone up and about aside from some of the household staff. A few of the guards were doing their rounds inside the castle and greeted her politely, apologizing for their behavior at the feast. The guards, save Jory, had gone out of their way to be well-behaved and respectful in the few times that Edith had left the safety of her tower since the arrival of the royal party. They were eager to go back to guard rotation and have their turn being pampered by her mansion’s servants once more.

Edith was feeling somewhat vindictive so she wouldn’t be letting any of them in at least until the King and his party were long gone. Though Jory was getting awfully comfortable in the mansion these days. She might have to kick him out if for no other reason than Winterfell needing it’s one responsible guard to retain the braincell running the operation.

With the yard blessedly quiet and not a single Baratheon stag in sight, Edith drew her blade and let herself be consumed by the steps of the bladesong. 

Going through the motions late in the night under the starry night sky felt like a release. It was nostalgic, reminding Edith of her many night practices back in Ebraxima and in Ebril. Whenever she was particularly stressed or pent up, she would find a quiet place to train in the moonlight, dancing through the steps and letting her mind drift peacefully. She would let go of her frustrations over everything going wrong in her life to instead lose herself in the one thing that had never failed her, aside from her precious students of course.

The only recourse that Edith had about landing in Westeros was Jon and Arya. If not for them, she had no idea where she’d be right now. Probably halfway across the planet somewhere across the Narrow Sea, sneaking into libraries for scraps of information, all alone in an unfamiliar world. She never would have thought to set up the guild or the school to help the people of Westeros. She would have simply gone every single day bitter and angry, searching frantically for an answer that might never come.

The idea of being separated forever from Ebril stung horribly, but Edith was a pragmatist. She had very little to work with and no guarantees that there even existed anything in this world that might help her return to hers. There was magic in Westeros, but it was long since forgotten. And forgotten things could not help Edith now.

“You must be the Wizard of Winterfell.” 

Edith faltered, startled out of her thoughts by the sudden intrusion of an unfamiliar voice. She sighed heavily, sheathing her sword and tiredly rubbing her hand over her face. Of course she couldn’t have peace, even in the dead of night. Not with the King and his entire fucking clown carnival in Winterfell.

“Yes?” Edith asked irritably, turning to face whichever Lord or knight or whatever had decided to ruin her otherwise tranquil practice. Edith startled upon seeing him.

The man who stood before her was a dwarf. Or at least on first glance, she had thought him a dwarf, like those from home. It only took her a moment to realize that he was actually just a human with dwarfism. Her surprise and subsequent disappointment must have shown on her face, as the short man’s face tightened in response.

“You are a rather difficult woman to find, you know,” the man said curtly.

“That’s probably because I’ve been hiding, my Lord,” Edith replied tiredly, “Apologies for my rudeness, it’s just that you are not what I thought you were.”

“Ah yes, the famous imp,” the man scoffed, “Tell me, were you expecting horns and claws or are all wizards just cunts?”

“Imp?” Edith asked, confused, “No, I thought you were a dwarf. A dwarf like the dwarves in Ossia, I mean,” she sighed wistfully, “But you’re just as human as the rest of Westeros.”

“I don’t follow,” the man said, equally confused, “Were you… not mocking me?”

“Why would I be mocking you?” Edith asked, raising a brow, “We’ve only just met. You’re the one who called me a cunt.”

The man spluttered a moment before shaking his head in disbelief, “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Well you called yourself ‘The Famous Imp,’ but I somehow doubt that is your actual name,” Edith panned.

“Tyrion Lannister, my Lady,” The man, Tyrion bowed exaggeratedly, “The famous ‘Imp’ of House Lannister.”

“Edith Roxton,” Edith answered with a bow of her own, “Never heard of you. I take it that you’re related to the Queen.”

“Ah yes, my sweet sister, the Queen,” Tyrion mock sighed. 

Edith snorted, “If they call you ‘Imp,’ then I can’t imagine what they must call her.”

“Typically, your grace to her face. Plenty of nasty things behind closed doors I’m sure. I know I do.”

Despite her poor mood, Edith snorted and smiled. Tyrion seemed pleasant enough, or at the very least a vast improvement to his Queen sister. He reminded her a bit of the Loremaster. She couldn’t decide if the thought was comforting or painful.

“You know, you aren’t what I expected of a wizard,” Tyrion said, making his way to a nearby bench, “Much more movement involved than I would have thought. A shame really. I had always wanted to be a wizard myself, but I’m afraid I’ve no talent with a blade.That honor goes to my brother, Jaime.”

“You don’t need a sword to be a wizard, only a bladesinger. Anyone can be a wizard if they’ve got the mind for it,” Edith replied, joining Tyrion on the bench.

“Well that is a relief!” Tyrion exclaimed, “There is hope for me yet. I don’t suppose you would be willing to give me a few-”

“No.”

“Worth a try at least,” Tyrion shrugged.

“I hope you’re not here to try and convince me to teach your niece and nephews magic, because it isn’t happening,” Edith stated.

“Gods no,” Tyrion said, genuinely alarmed, “Tommen and Myrcella are lovely children, but Joffrey? I can’t imagine what my nephew might do with magic powers. I assume it would involve torturing small animals.”

“Fantastic. Long live the King,” Edith scoffed, rolling her eyes and mockingly waving her hands in the air for emphasis.

Tyrion eyed her curiously, “Some would consider that treason, you know.”

“Not from Westeros, not my King. Therefore, not treason,” Edith argued, “But I take it that you sought me out for more than small talk and treasonous jokes.”

“Curiosity mostly. It isn’t every day that a wizard appears out of thin air, bringing magic to Westeros for the first time in over a hundred years,” Tyrion said, “But you mentioned something about dwarves earlier, back wherever you’re from. Now, I’ve got it on good authority that I am, in fact, a dwarf. You would be the first to claim otherwise.”

“That’s because you’re not a dwarf as I know them,” Edith explained, “You’re a human with dwarfism. It’s a genetic condition. Completely normal if not uncommon. It doesn’t make you inhuman, just shorter,”

Tyrion went quiet, seemingly taken aback. Based on his reaction, and what she’s seen of this world thus far, she doubted that he’d ever been treated kindly for his dwarfism. With every awful revelation about the cruelty of Westeros’ ideals, Edith grew more and more homesick for Ebril. She missed the days where no one cared what you looked like so long as you weren’t an asshole.

“I think we might get along, you and I,” Tyrion said, hopping off of the bench, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the hour grows late, and I have yet to find a girl to warm my sheets. Unless you’re interested.” 

He waggled his eyebrows jokingly. Edith rolled her eyes. Tyrion shrugged and bowed in farewell before turning to head back towards the guest suites.

“Oh, and a word of advice,” Tyrion called behind him, “Stay as far away from my sweet sister as you can. And keep your cute little students away from her too. She has something cooking in that head of hers. I don’t know what, but I doubt either of us would like to find out.”

With that, he disappeared into the castle, Edith staring after him. She wouldn’t have expected such blatant disdain for the Queen from her brother of all people, but she supposed she couldn’t blame him. The Queen was very unlikeable.

His warning about her students worried her. She already had her concerns about Arya being forced into a marriage, but Jon? Edith wasn’t sure what plans Cersei might have for Jon, but she agreed with Tyrion. She doubted anyone would like whatever it was she had in that conniving mind of hers.

Edith drew her blade once more, settling back into her stance. She stepped back into the flow of the dance with lethal precision and grace. She might be struggling with her banishment spell, but Edith knew one thing for sure. 

If that Queen, or anyone else, ever tried to lay a hand on her students, she would make them beg for death.

Chapter Text

Edith spent the next several days repeating the routine of training, research, sleep, repeat. She had four blissful days of peace before she was finally forcibly pulled out of her mansion.

That morning, her students had completed the bladesong in intervals of fifteen seconds, ending the short lesson only winded, as if they’d gone for a jog rather than panting as if they’d just finished the Death Course. So she had put them through a watered down version of the Death Course for the remaining couple of hours that they had before lunch. 

After their first day hiding out in the mansion, Lady Stark had been rather upset with Arya for her poor hosting. She demanded that she spend the later half of the day entertaining their guests, from the Princess and younger Prince to the many Northern Lords that had come to see Edith and the King. The Glovers had left a few days earlier, Lord Galbart Glover having only really been interested in seeing for himself if magic was real and content to leave after the arrival of the King. 

Edith had liked Lord Glover well enough. He was an older fellow, in his fifties perhaps, and a widower of twenty years. He was still very much in mourning for his wife and already had a Glover heir through his younger brother, so he hadn’t pressured Edith at all romantically, unlike Lord Tallhart’s annoying son Benfred. Lord Glover was a good man, not particularly talkative or clever, but then Edith herself wasn’t much of a conversationalist and was plenty tired of the many clever people currently visiting Winterfell. She was sad to see him go if for no other reason than it wasn’t one of the more annoying Lords who were leaving.

The Cerwyns had left yesterday as well, Lord Medger claiming the need to return to his duties and to his daughter, Jonelle, who would be missing her father. Edith thought that it was actually because of the recent announcement of Sansa’s betrothal to the Prince and Cley and Arya’s complete disinterest in each other.

The Tallharts had announced their intentions to leave tomorrow (thank the Gods) for similar reasoning. Edith wondered if it didn’t have something to do with Arya getting into a fight with Benfred when he tried to helpfully inform her that it was unladylike to run around in boys clothes and play with swords. The nail in the poor boy’s coffin had been when he’d tried to compare her to Sansa and Arya snapped, pelting him with rocks and mud. Arya had been forced to apologize to both the Tallharts and the King for her behavior, but the King had laughed the whole thing off as if it were the funniest joke he’d heard in a long time. Benfred had been terribly embarrassed and just like that, the Tallharts were leaving.

Edith also wondered if Theon didn’t have something to do with the incident. He seemed to find great joy in tormenting the somewhat thick-headed Lord. Edith wouldn’t be surprised if Theon had goaded him into saying something to Arya, now that she could set things on fire with a wave of her hand. She was going to smack that boy into the Shadowfell one of these days.

The only Lord that Edith actually wanted to stay was Lord Manderly. They had met once since their last conversation, Lord Wyman introducing her to his granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla. Wynafryd was every bit as shrewd as her grandfather, but Wylla was just as straightforward and bold as Robb had described her to be. Between the two girls, Edith definitely would have chosen Wylla.

Edith would have been far more relieved at the departure of the other Lords if not for the King’s announcement that they would remain in Winterfell for another fortnight as opposed to just a week. Lady Stark was in a terrible state upon hearing the news, already exhausted from playing host to the other houses and the King. She might have been more relieved than Edith was when the Glovers, Cerwyns, Tallharts, and all of t heir respective sworn banners had announced their intentions to depart. She was sure that news of the Baratheon party’s elongated stay would have the poor woman tearing her hair out. 

Edith had been in her library, tearing her own hair out while pouring over more research on potential conjuration curses that might have been woven into her banishment when Ricka entered the library, looking anxious and fidgety. Edith frowned. She predicted that Ricka was about to tell her something that she would not like. 

“Um, Miss Edith, the King has called upon you,” She said.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Edith had managed to avoid the King’s party well enough, but it seemed that someone finally managed to corner poor Ricka, who had been doing an admirable job of sneaking in and out of the tower without notice for this precise reason. Ricka had about as much desire to meet with anyone in the King’s retinue as Edith did. She should have just offered to teleport her assistant wherever it was that she needed to be whenever she left the tower. Too late for that now.

Edith groaned and stood, trudging her way to the door of the mansion.

“Thank you Ricka, if you would please monitor the potions while I’m gone. And work on your sums, I’ll be needing you to help me calculate costs for the First Keep one we start working, so you need to practice,” Edith sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Yes Miss Edith,” Ricka answered obediently. Such a good assistant.

Just outside of the mansion stood one of the golden armored Kingsguard, tall and blonde. The same Kingsguard that had advanced on her the day the King first arrived at the castle. He looked bored as he examined the room, peering into one of the bubbling cauldrons.

“I’d stand back from that, if I were you,” Edith cautioned, stepping through the invisible doorway. The knight jumped slightly as she and Ricka suddenly reappeared, the mansion doors currently invisible to all but a select few. 

“Apologies, my Lady-”

“No apology necessary Ser, I’d just rather not have it blow up or something should you get too close. Alchemy can be very volatile if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

The knight’s brow furrowed and he nodded curtly. He opened the tower door and gestured for Edith to go through. She let him guide her out of the tower, leaving Ricka behind to continue progress on the potions. 

Ser Jaime brought her to Lord Stark’s private solar, guarded by another Kingsguard that Edith did not recognise. They led her inside where the King waited, along with the Queen and Lord Stark. The three royal children were there as well, along another Kingsguard, the one that she had dragged along at the feast. Jory stood behind Lord Stark. He shrugged apologetically at her when Edith raised a brow.

“You’ve been hiding in that fucking tower of yours,” The King accused, “Nobody’s seen you in days, aside from your students and that fat fucker Wyman Manderly.”

“Lord Wyman and I have a business arrangement,” Edith replied diplomatically, “But I have otherwise been quite busy, your grace. Lord Stark can attest that I spend the majority of my time in my tower.”

“Aye. But not when the King is around you won’t,” King Robert grunted. Queen Cersei shifted next to him.

“Be calm, my love. I’m sure Lady Edith meant no offense. Everyone has mentioned what a busy woman she is,” the Queen said placatingly, a pleasant smile plastered to her face.

“Busy my ass,” the King snapped, “She hasn’t left that tower in four fucking days! What could she possibly be doing that would keep her in there that long.”

“Brewing potions,” Edith answered, “Training my students. Making arrangements to repair the First Keep. Planning complicated spell arrays. Discussing shared business ventures with Lord Manderly. Searching for a way to break the spell that sent me to Westeros in the first place. There are only so many hours in the day, your grace, and I have much to do.”

“Bah!” The King scoffed, “You said you’d see if my children had the potential to be your students, but you can’t see anything from up in that fucking tower of yours.”

“Robert,” Lord Stark sighed.

“Come off of it Ned, she’s been avoiding us and you know it! She’s even more of a shut in than you are, holed up here in your frozen castle. She ought to be in the Capital, where everyone can see her,” Robert groused.

Edith’s hackles rose. Who exactly did this King take her for? She wasn’t his plaything to toss around and show off. She wasn’t his to command.

“I am no court jester, your grace,” Edith harrumphed, “I am a wizard of the highest caliber.”

“Mind your tone girl,” King Robert growled lowly.

Edith clenched her teeth, biting back a scathing retort only because of the desperate look on Lord Stark’s face. The King should count himself grateful that Edith held so much respect for the Starks. He was coming dangerously close to wearing out the little patience that Edith had left.

“Come now,” Queen Cersei said, “I’m sure that we can come to an agreement that-”

“Shut your damn mouth woman!” King Robert snapped. The Queen’s mouth clicked shut, her smile going tight and her eyes hateful. It would seem that Edith wasn't the only woman whose patience King Robert was testing.

“Your grace, I serve the High Council of Ebril. I do not exaggerate when I say that we are the the most powerful individuals in all of Ossia, above any King or Emperor or ruler of any kind. Our only goal is peace. We do not interfere in the politics of the world unless the innocent are put in danger,” Edith said as evenly as she could muster, “I may be stuck in Westeros for the time being, but I will not betray my Council and my Electi be freely handing out magic to royalty,” Edith took a deep breath, shooting Lord Stark a deeply irritated look. His jaw tightened, well aware of the position that Edith had been forced into on his behalf, “I will spend time outside of my tower to observe your children if that is what you wish, but I will make no promises to take any of them as my students. Arya and Jon impressed me enough to make the request of Lord Stark to train them. If the Princes and Princess do not impress me in the same way, then I will not take them as students.”

King Robert frowned at her. For a long moment, he stared her down as if trying to break her through silent intimidation. Edith would not budge. The room shifted awkwardly around them before the King finally said, “Fine. Have it your way,” he then turned to his children and added, “You heard the woman. Impress her.”

Edith’s jaw clenched. As did the Queens. With the tone that Robert had used, it almost sounded like a threat. 

With the way the three children looked away, they seemed to think the same.

“My students and I begin our training at dawn,” Edith said, taking the attention off of the fidgeting royal children, “I will move their swordsmanship lessons to the yard where your children may observe if they wish. Any and all magic lessons will be strictly private. I will take my meals in the Great Hall and I will attend one social gathering a day, for no more than an hour. The rest of my time will be spent in my tower so that I might get some of my work finished. Is this agreeable, your grace?”

“Fine, fine,” King Robert said, waving dismissively, “Just so long as you aren’t holed up the whole fucking day anymore.”

“Of course your grace,” Edith replied, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I still have a few hours until dinner, and a good deal of work to do.”

With that, she teleported from the room and back to her tower. She marched back into her mansion and slammed the door behind her. 

The second that it shut, she screamed. She let her every frustration out, filling her hands with violent magic and slinging it about the courtyard. She threw great balls of fire, lashed lightning about, and encased half of the room in solid ice.

She hated Kings. Entitled, spoiled, narcissistic assholes who couldn’t even find the decency to even pretend to give half a shit about his wife and children! He wouldn’t get a drop of magic out of her. She would not take any of his children. Not a one.

Edith cast spell after spell until she was panting from the exertion and the courtyard was thoroughly destroyed. Once she’d stopped, a flock of servants rushed to extinguish the fires that she’d left behind in her tantrum. By the time that the first flames had died out, Edith had collapsed to her knees, unable to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes.

Gods, what was wrong with her? She had fought dragons, toppled tyrants, single handedly taken on armies. And here she was, crying over a stressful week and a drunkard King. She hadn’t cried like this since Master Bibbletea’s passing. And before that, she hadn’t cried like this since she was a desperate, lonely child.

Edith laughed humorlessly. She supposed that she was a desperate, lonely adult now. 

It had been four months since she’d arrived in Westeros. Four months since she’d been stranded, since she’d last seen her other students. Four months since she’d spoken to Lavander or the Council or the Electi. Four months, and a part of her had already given up on ever going home.

She tried to remind herself that, in the grand scheme of things, four months was hardly any time at all. It was a drop in the ocean compared to the hundreds of years in Edith’s natural lifespan. She hadn’t finished unraveling the runes of the banishment spell, she hadn’t even heard back from the Citadel. There were still plenty of untapped resources that could lead to her going home. She was just tired was all. Gods, was she tired.

Edith didn’t know how long she remained slumped on the floor. At some point she had slid down from her knees to curl into a ball on her side, tears leaking into a cold puddle under her temple. If the people of Ebril could see their Archmagi now. How pathetic.

She was startled upright by a soft knock at the door. She sighed. It was probably someone fetching her for dinner. She very well could have been on the floor for an hour without even noticing. On the other side was Ricka looking even more anxious and fidgety than before.

“Jory is here, Miss Edith, with one of the King’s men,” Ricka said, “to summon you for dinner. They wouldn’t leave when I told them that you take your meals in the mansion.”

“That’s fine Ricka,” Edith sighed, “I’ll be taking my meals in the Great Hall for the remainder of the King’s visit.”

Ricka seemed confused, but nodded. Taking in Edith's tired and disheveled appearance, she asked, “Shall I join you Miss? I usually take my meals with Creagan, but I can sup with you if you’d like.”

Edith smiled at the offer. Ricka was clearly uncomfortable with all of the attention and it would only be worse for her if she sat with Edith in the Great Hall. Her timidness and selflessness reminded Edith a great deal of Lavander, her sister in all but blood. She had to choke down a lump in her throat at the thought. 

“Thank you Ricka, but I’ll be alright. There have been some changes to my schedule that we can go over tomorrow, but for tonight, go enjoy yourself with your family,” Edith said, patting Ricka on the shoulder. 

Fixing her hair and straightening her clothes as best as she could, Edith swept out of the tower, dematerialized her mansion, and breezed right past Jory and one of the King’s soldiers in yellow and black. The two were glaring at each other for some reason or another and were startled out of it by Edith’s quick departure. Jory jogged to catch up, matching her pace with his own long strides.

“Are you alright?” He asked worriedly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Edith returned flatly, ruling her features into neutrality.

“You don’t look alright,” Jory said. Edith shot him a sideways glare, to which he raised his hands placatingly.

“Alright, fine. You’re alright then,” he sighed.

Edith clenched her jaw and sped up. The sooner she got this over with, the better.

When she made it to the Great Hall, there were already a good number of people inside. It wasn’t quite as rowdy as the feast on the King’s first night in Winterfell, but it wasn’t nearly as quiet as it typically was without all of the guests. 

The King and his family were all sitting at the high table where Edith was used to seeing the Starks take their meal. To say that she was disappointed to see the royal family there instead was an understatement. She spotted the Stark family, or at least most of them, sitting at a table nearby and debated taking a seat with them or hiding in some dark corner of the hall only for the King’s man to step in her path and motion to the free chair beside the King, across from the Queen and crown Prince.

Edith glowered, but headed to the table to take a seat.

“Lady Edith!” The King, already drunk, bellowed, “You’re late!”

“Your grace,” Edith greeted, doing her best to keep her tone civil, no matter how much she wanted to spew venom at the man. 

The King laughed, “No need to be so formal, now that we’re out of that stuffy room. We ought to get to know each other, now that we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Unfortunately , Edith thought. She looked down the table at the members of the royal family. Lord Tyrion sat at the very end, watching Edith with interest. He raised his glass to her with a sardonic smile. He seemed to be entertaining conversation with the younger prince and princess. Both children looked tired, their plates and glasses already empty. 

Edith’s jaw ticked in irritation. The King must have forced his family to wait for her to arrive in some inane attempt to get her to spend time with his children. The gall of some people. It made Edith feel guilty for leading them along, having already decided that she would not accept any of them as students.

“What is it that you would like to know, your grace?” Edith asked, using every ounce of willpower to remain still and calm.

"This High Council that you speak of," The King said, "Who are they?"

"The High Council of Ebril are leaders of the city and guardian all of Ossia. The Council is powerful enough that none have challenged our authority since the very founding of the city," Edith explained proudly, "All other powers defer to the Council's decisions."

"You hold complete authority?" the Queen asked with interest, "Absolute power over the entire world?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose," Edith answered cautiously. She didn't like the power-hungry look in the Queen's eyes, "But we remain neutral in all things. We intervene in conflict only upon request or if many innocent lives are at risk." 

"What about war?" Lord Tyrion asked from the end of the table, "You can't mean to say that there is no war in this place that you describe."

"We do what we can to prevent it, but if two Kingdoms march on each other, we cannot intrude. To do so would be to pick a side in the struggle for power, and that upsets the balance of order," Edith said solemnly, "War is a terrible thing." 

"I'd march to war right now if I could. Put a hammer in my hand, relive my glory days. I was unstoppable back then you see," The King boasted, "You couldn't understand, none of you. You've got the soft hands of green boys and the soft hearts of women." 

Edith bit the inside of her lip so as not to snap at the King. There was no glory in war, only misery and death. The King wallowed in misery, drinking his life away. He was just too blind to see that war was the cause of it all.

“I hear such fascinating things of your homeland, Lady Edith,” the Queen smiled, drawing attention away from her drunk husband, “You must tell us more about it.”

“Very well, your grace,” Edith answered, “Ebril is known as The Eternal City of Ossia.”

“The Eternal City? Quite a lofty title,” the Queen said.

“And a deserved one. Ebril has remained a center of knowledge and peace, home to the greatest casters, scholars, fighters, and adventurers for millenia,” Edith explained, “The City’s history goes back well over twenty thousand years. It has remained steadfast and strong through the rise and fall of hundreds of kingdoms.”

“Truly?” Lord Tyrion asked incredulously, eyes wide, “And it has been the world power that entire time?”

“Indeed,” Edith nodded, “The founders of Ebril came together to forge a safe haven in the time of the Blood Reign, a violent era of war and tyranny, three major powers fighting for control of the world. Hundreds of thousands of innocent people suffered and died in those days, but the founders imagined a better world. Together, they were powerful enough to build the city and defend it from those who sought to do harm. Ever since, it has been the sacred duty of the leaders of Ebril to guard the innocent from terror and calamity.”

“If they were so powerful, why didn’t they just take the world for themselves?” Prince Joffrey scoffed, “If I were them, I would have ended this ‘Blood Reign,’ by raining the blood of my enemies across the land, just like my father and grandfather.” The Prince turned to his father for approval, only to deflate when he saw King Robert completely ignoring the conversation in favor of making eyes at a busty serving girl.

“Because the founders had no ambitions other than to protect the people,” Edith replied, “It is a duty that we uphold to this day. We are meant to serve the people, not rule as tyrants.”

The Prince scowled and opened his mouth to say something more, but was cut off by the Queen.

“Such a macabre subject, but a noble cause. Why don’t you tell us more of what your Eternal City is like now?” She asked, placing a hand on her son’s arm. The Prince’s scowl deepened and he wrenched his arm free from her grip. The Queen didn’t so much as flinch, instead delicately folding her hands in her lap.

Edith eyed the Prince disapprovingly before continuing, “Ebril is the pinnacle of life in Ossia. It is a hub of knowledge and technology, boasting the best and brightest. Just recently, we developed an entirely new branch of magic, combining science and the arcane. We call it ‘Artifice.’”

“And what can you do with this Artifice,” Lord Tyrion asked between gulps of wine.

“A great deal,” Edith answered vaguely, “I’m afraid that it would take quite some time to explain. Westeros is rather… behind the times as far as science and invention goes by comparison.”

“Is that so?” Lord Tyrion said in interest, “We must speak more of this sometime. I am quite fascinated with science and invention.”

Unsurprising. Lord Tyrion had struck Edith as a scholar from their first meeting.

“Of course my Lord. Last I was there, the Artificer’s Guild had been in the process of developing new life through a combination of science and magic.”

“Why bother? You can’t make life without fucking and that's the good part,” The King laughed.

The Queen breathed deeply through her nose in poorly disguised distaste. Edith rather shared her sentiment.

Rather than entertaining the statement with a verbal response, Edith gathered magic at the tip of her finger and pressed it onto her spoon, uttering a string of Sylvan and Infernal runes as the spoon shook underhand. The table watched in interest as the spoon lifted and suddenly sprouted little arms and legs before landing on the table with a small clatter. Her newly made tiny servant stood and walked up her arm to perch on her shoulder, kicking it’s little legs back and forth.

The table gaped in awe at the little walking spoon and Edith silently commanded it to jump off of her shoulder and walk to the end of the table, in front of Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella. The little royals watched in wonder as the spoon did a little jig before bowing. Edith let the spell drop and the little arms and legs receded, the spoon falling lifelessly to the table. Lord Tyrion reached out and poked at it with his own utensils.

“Technically, that wasn’t a truly living creature. It had no autonomy outside of the instinct to protect itself from harm. It would do whatever I told it to do otherwise,” Edith remarked, bemused, ”But the Artificers were trying to create an entirely independent, free-willed lifeform out of metal, wood, and magic. They were very close, last I saw. The automatons were only just shy of living, free thinking beings.”

“How is that even possible?” Lord Tyrion asked, incredulous.

“Through magic, of course,” Edith chuckled, “I believe that they were trying to tap directly into the Weave to form life through pure, raw magical energy.”

“The weave? Like a tapestry?” Prince Tommen asked.

“No, no. The Weave is the primary source of magic in the universe. It touches everything. Exists in everything. It is a part of life itself. It surrounds us in every way, almost like a blanket. Hence why it is known as the Weave.”

“And all magic comes from the Weave?” Lord Tyrion asked curiously. He tapped a finger on the table restlessly. Edith would wager that he was itching to take notes. It reminded her a bit of Maester Luwin's excitement for magical knowledge. Lord Tyrion would have made a great Maester, if not for the rule of celibacy. So strange, these Westerosi.

“Technically, no. The Weave is the means by which magic can be most easily channeled ang guided, but there are other forms of magic as well, such as wild magic. And there is magic in the negative space between the Weave; the Shadow Weave. Magic of the Shadow Weave is a bit different from the rest as it has a foundation in nothingness as opposed to the Weave that is all encompassing. Where the Weave illuminates the Shadow Weave conceals. The Shadow Weave…..”

Wait a minute.

The Shadow Weave. She hadn’t considered that the elves might not have based the circle purely on magic from the Weave. The Shadow Weave could tear holes in space and warp dimensions, poke holes in the Weave and send magic running amok.

“What else is there?” Princess Myrcella asked excitedly, shaking Edith from her thoughts. 

“Plenty,” Edith smiled, tucking the idea to the back of her mind for later.  

Edith spent the better part of an hour speaking with the two younger heirs (and Lord Tyrion) about the ways of life in Ebril. Somehow, teaching two deeply fascinated children and joking with Lord Tyrion about her world eased the sting of homesickness that had been poisoning her for the past several days. She would have thought speaking in such detail about her home would have been crushing, all things considered. But the more she spoke, the more confident she became, and the more determined she grew to see her beloved city again. 

Despite the drunken outbursts from the King and the calculating gaze of Queen, Edith found herself growing fond of their two sweet children and appreciative of Lord Tyrion’s sharp wit. The eldest Prince seemed to grow more discontent the longer that Edith conversed with his siblings, but his mother made sure to carefully cut him off whenever he treaded too close to offense, all the while singing his praises. 

She finished her meal and stood to leave, bidding farewell to the royal family. The King was well and truly drunk at this point, too distracted by the serving girl to even notice Edith departing. The Queen bid Edith a friendly good night, eyeing her younger children calculatingly as the two chattered happily about all that they had learned with their uncle. 

The crown Prince, on the other hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, more a demand than a question.

“Back to my work, your grace,” Edith answered, brow raised, “I still have several things to finish before I retire for the night.”

“And who dismissed you?” the Prince asked haughtily.

“I did, your grace,” Edith said flatly.

“That is no way to speak to your prince, Lady Edith,” The Queen snapped.

Any good humor that Edith had found over the course of the dinner faded immediately. She felt her head begin to throb in irritation as her patience was tested yet again.

“Apologies, your grace, but you are not my Prince. You are a Prince,” Edith corrected, “I shall take my leave now.”

“How dare you!" the Prince screeched, "I am the Prince! Wizard or not, I will not be disrespected by some lowborn bastard girl!”

Edith pursed her lips in annoyance. She could only assume that he was posturing to make up for the embarrassment that she put him through in the yard a few days back.

"Perhaps we should all just take a moment to calm down-" Lord Tyrion tried, seeing tempers begin to flare.

“No!” Prince Joffrey yelled, petulant like the spoiled child that he was. He turned to his father, completely ignoring the woman that he was currently fondling, “Father, tell her-”

“Tell her what, boy?!” The King bellowed in annoyance, “Should I hold her hand and walk her back to her fucking tower? If she wants to go back to her books, let her. She’ll be here tomorrow, so quit your yapping!”  

The Prince shriveled as if he were slapped, which he might as well have been given the pained expression on his face. It quickly morphed into anger as he glowered at Edith, who merely raised a brow. 

With one final, “Your graces,” she teleported herself back to her tower. Ricka had already gone for the night, so Edith resummoned her mansion and headed inside. While dinner was not as disastrous as it could have been, it only further cemented her decision to keep magic far, far away from the Baratheon-Lannister family.

Setting aside her annoyance at the royals, Edith rushed to her library, eager to test her newest hypothesis.

The Shadow Weave was the negative space of magic. It was best used for illusion and concealment, as Edith said, and it operated on entirely different rules than the magic of the Weave. What if the divination block was no simple divination block, but part of a spell using shadow magic?

At its most powerful, shadow magic could distort space and obscure portions of reality from the rest of the universe. The spell could be responsible for the strange distortion in space that obscured her gate when she attempted to open it. Was her banishment spell no banishment at all?

No, that wouldn’t explain why she could not plane shift away. Nor the agonizing pain anytime she attempted any planar travel. Banishment was certainly a component, but perhaps not the main one. The Shadow Weave could be blanketing the plane though, not cutting off the weave entirely, but acting as a bubble of sorts. One that kept the entirety of Westeros’ world concealed, Edith included. It could also explain why, if it were indeed another world in the same Crystal Sphere as Ossia, it had never been discovered. 

And she would have to break that bubble open if Westeros was to be discovered by anyone in Ossia. It was a herculean task if that were the case, and Edith wasn’t even truly sure that it was, but it was something to move forward with at least.

Edith sat at her desk and cracked her knuckles. The servants were helpfully stacking up books on shadow magic, shadowstuff, the Shadow Weave, and really anything shadow related. She pulled her research notes from her bag, grabbed a book, and started flipping through the pages. If she wanted to make any headway before the morning's lessons, then she had a lot of work to do. It looked like another long night ahead.

Chapter Text

“Due to certain circumstances, we will be carrying out our swordsmanship lessons in the courtyard until further notice,” Edith declared.

Arya and Jon had both been confused when Edith guided them from their chambers to the practice yard rather than the tower. From the annoyed looks on their faces and the aggravating presence of Prince Joffrey and his massive bodyguard, they must have figured out to a degree what said circumstances were. The question danced at the tips of their tongues, Edith could clearly see, but they both remained quiet. They were clever enough to know such conversations were best kept away from so many prying ears.

It didn’t stop Arya from shooting daggers in the Prince’s direction every few minutes, if for no other reason than it meant that Sansa was also present in the yard. Ever since the announcement of their betrothal, Sansa had followed the boy Prince around like a lost puppy. She was either completely oblivious or willfully ignorant to his many, many faults, for she could not stop waxing poetic about how perfect her Prince was. And Arya could not stop complaining about how annoying Sansa’s pining was. Which meant that Edith was annoyed with the both of them, as well as the Prince.

“What about our swords Teacher?” Jon asked, “Arya won’t be able to use any of these with the way that she fights.”

“I could!” Arya insisted.

“You could not. Not right now, at least,” Edith refuted. She extended both hands out and drew out runic markings in the air, chanting in Netherese, the language of the Shadar-Kai of Shadowfell. Wispy black smoke coalesced around her fingers into the shapes of two blades, two shining steel swords appearing in hand as the smoke faded away. She held them out and each student happily grabbed their respective blade.

“Today will be sparring practice,” Edith instructed, “These weapons will only last an hour, so we’ll break once they vanish to catch your breath. Then we will continue for another hour before we return to the tower for magic lessons. Any questions?”

“Are you going to teach us that spell, Teacher?” Arya asked eagerly.

“Eventually, but not today. You’ll have noticed that I used a language that you are unfamiliar with, so you will first have to get through your Draconic and Infernal. Then, perhaps, we'll start on Netherese. Anything else?”

“Will we be practicing the bladesong in the yard as well?” Jon asked.

“No,” Edith answered, “The song itself will remain inside the mansion, at least until you are able to fully sustain it without falling prone from exhaustion. Is that all then?”

Both students nodded. 

“Good. Take your positions,” Edith commanded. 

Jon and Arya turned to face each other, bowing formally for a duel, a mannerism that Edith had recently instilled in her students. Arya still lost roughly nine in ten bouts, but the gap in skill between her and Jon was closing, slowly but surely. Now that they stood on more equal footing, Edith considered their spars to be true duels, and thus required respectful dueling mannerisms.

“On my mark,” Edith said. Both students slid into their opening stances. The yard had mostly stopped to watch, which had made Jon fidget uncomfortably from the attention. Arya, the social butterfly that she was, seemed to buzz with energy.

“Pay attention students, do not let yourselves get distracted,” Edith called, “Now, on my mark: Three…Two…One…Begin!”

Arya and Jon dashed at each other. Arya was the quicker of the two, spinning on her back foot to use the momentum to heighten the impact of her blow. Jon dodged, deflecting the sword in a way that forced Arya to gracelessly abandon her twirl to avoid falling on her face. With her back facing him, he kicked at the back of her leg to send her to the ground, but Arya rolled into the blow, allowing herself to fall to her knees, quickly rolling backwards and kicking upwards towards Jon’s face, forcing him back a step. Arya carried through the roll into a back walkover, spinning around just in time to block what would have been a devastating sideswipe from Jon.

The two continued the dance, more and more people stopping to watch the spectacle as they passed by on whatever business it was that they were meant to be doing. Eventually, Jon managed to maneuver Arya into an awkward twist, forcing her to fall to the ground as he yanked the sword from her grip. Arya groaned, sitting up and taking Jon’s extended hand and letting him yank her to her feet.

“Alright students,” Edith said, “Tell me of your mistakes. What will you not do in your next bout?”

Once they’d started dueling in earnest, Edith had taken to having her students explain their missteps after every fight. It helped the both of them to notice their shortcomings, as well as pointing out each other’s weaknesses that they might have otherwise missed. The practice had Arya improving leaps and bounds. She had been disheartened at first by her many mistakes, but had been consoled by Jon listing his own flaws and weaknesses, pointing out how much of a challenge dueling her had become. Now, each time they did this spar review, Arya was that much more determined to best her brother the next time.

“I shouldn’t have tried to outpace Arya at the start,” Jon said, “I knew that she was faster than me, but I gambled on catching her off guard and it nearly backfired.”

“I tried to match Jon’s blows with mine, but he’s bigger and stronger, so it tired me out,” Arya added.

“Good,” Edith said, “Not what weakness did you spot in each other during the duel?”

“Jon’s still too slow, and he’s too heavy on his feet sometimes,” Arya said, “It makes it easy to spin around him.”

“And you spin too much little sister,” Jon said, handing her back her blade and ruffling her hair, “You’re good at it and it makes you hard to hit, but you confuse yourself more than you confuse me half of the time.”

Edith nodded in approval, saying, “Very good. Now that you’ve noticed your weaknesses, let's review our forms before we start another duel. Sequence three.”

Edith observed as her students got into ready position. They were only halfway through the steps when the group surrounding Joffrey began to laugh loudly.

“Hold,” Edith called. Both of her students stilled and Edith turned to face the large group of Baratheon followers, including Sansa and Jeyne Poole. Edith’s eyes caught Jeyne’s for a split second and the girl shriveled in on herself like a raisin. 

“Is there something that you find funny about my students’ lessons, your grace?” Edith asked, raising an imperious brow.

Joffrey snorted and shrugged, “Not at all, my Lady, I only thought that you would be teaching them how to fight, not to dance like silly maids.”

Jon and Arya both went red behind her. Arya opened her mouth to shout something insulting at the Prince, stopped only by Jon pulling her back by the shoulder.

“By fight, I assume you’re talking about the ridiculous tantruming that you Westerosi call ‘fighting,’ your grace,” Edith scoffed, “The bladesong requires more than picking up something pointy and waving it about like an idiot.”

“I suppose this kind of dancing swordsmanship is what I should have expected from a woman,” Joffrey sneered, “You’d know better if you ever saw a real knight in action.”

Joffrey’s little posse laughed again.

“If you’re here to titter and gossip, then I will have to ask that you leave. I promised your father that I would train my students in the yard, and I will keep that promise, but I will not tolerate disruptions,” Edith sniffed disdainfully.

“I am the Prince,” Joffrey scoffed, “I can go wherever I please.”

“Then by all means, go,” Edith said, “But do so quietly, without interrupting my class.”

The Prince scoffed again, turning to give his groupies a knowing look, to which they all chuckled. What the Prince thought it was that he knew, Edith had no idea. She did know that he was a blithering idiot if he thought he was winning any favors towards learning magic. And that she wanted him to leave the yard.

Joffrey chuckled, “I think I’ll stay. I’ve been missing my jester.” 

Joffrey smirked as his cronies guffawed like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Sansa and Jeyne giggled as well, but one sharp look from Edith was all that it took for the two girls to sober immediately, looking at the dirt.

Alright then. If King Robert wanted her to teach his son, then Edith would teach him a lesson that he would not soon forget.

“Are you skilled with a sword, your grace?” Edith asked.

Joffrey turned to her in surprise, “What?”

“I asked if you were skilled in swordplay,” Edith repeated.

Joffrey looked confused again before scoffing again, though far more uncertain this time, “Of course. I am the Prince, I have the best knights in the Kingdom to train me.”

“Then you are welcome to join us,” Edith said, raising a brow, “That is, if you think you’ll be able to keep up with us. The bladesong is quite different from how your knights fight.”

Joffrey shifted uncomfortably, looking unsure. Edith pursed her lip, forcing back a smirk. The boy was all bark, no bite. She doubted that he would really let her teach him a lesson after all, but at least she might get him to leave the yard. But then Sansa stepped forward.

“Of course he can keep up!” Sansa cried shrilly, “is that not right, my Prince?”

Joffrey stared at Sansa with wide-eyes before catching himself, false bravado returning if only to impress his new betrothed.

“Of course, my Lady. It will be child’s play,” he smirked. Sansa swooned and blushed prettily. Edith almost felt bad for the girl. She was about to witness her betrothed’s true colors for the first time, and they were not flattering. 

Joffrey sauntered over, snatching a practice sword from a nearby barrel. He stood in front of Arya and Jon, much to her students’ annoyance and Edith’s amusement. Edith drew her own sword, standing beside Joffrey to demonstrate the proper forms while keeping an eye on the Prince. 

“Sequence one students, first step,” Arya and Jon fell into step immediately and flawlessly, moving with the fluidity and grace expected of a bladesinger. Edith herself moved into position with well practiced ease. 

Joffrey had no such grace. He awkwardly wobbled to one side, limbs all sticking out stiffly. Edith stepped out of place and called, “Hold!” and made a show of examining Joffrey’s form.

“You are too stiff, your grace. You must be flexible and fluid,” Edith tutted. She poked and prodded at Joffrey’s positioning, adjusting his limbs until he was standing in a passable step one. 

“Alright now,” Edith said, returning to her own position, “Step two, transition to three.”

Once again, Arya and Jon mirrored Edith’s steps gracefully while Joffrey could only poorly mimic them, like a flailing goose to her students’ swan-like elegance.

“Hold!” Edith called again, stepping towards Joffrey and correcting him once again. The Prince turned pink as Edith adjusted his forms, reminding him to stay fluid and flexible. 

“Enough of this!” He spat, tossing the sword to the ground, “I am the Prince of this Kingdom and I will not waste my time on this- this- mummer’s farce!” 

“Is that so?” Edith asked, crossing her arms and canting a hip, “then I’m afraid that I cannot take you as a student.”

Joffrey turned scarlet in anger. 

“I am your Prince! ” he screeched.

“You are a Prince,” Edith reminded, “And a Prince who has rejected the bladesong. Seeing as my students are all bladesingers, I cannot accept you as a student. You will not learn anything from me.”

“The King ordered you-”

“The King does not order me, and he has already agreed to my terms. I evaluate you and your siblings. I decide whether or not to train you. And I will not be training you,” Edith said definitively.

Joffrey was practically spitting in rage. His face was twisted into an ugly sneer and he was as red as his fine waistcoat. The massive man that was always walking behind Joffrey began to advance slowly, hand on the pommel of his sword. Edith stared the big man down, hand on the pommel of her own blade. She hoped that it wouldn’t come to blows. It wasn’t her intention to spill blood over petty squabbles and childish behavior.

The yard was tense and silent for a long moment, the Prince flaring his nostrils and glaring furiously at Edith, Arya, and Jon. Finally, he spun around on his heel, stomping back to the Great Keep.

“Let’s go dog! This yard is full of filth,” he spat. The large man glared at Edith a moment longer before turning to follow his Prince.

Joffrey staunchly ignored Sansa when he passed her by, despite her attempts to reassure him that it was all Edith’s fault and that she was sure that he was an excellent warrior. She looked heartbroken when he stormed past without sparing her a glance. She shot Edith a venomous look for upsetting her Prince before storming off herself, Jeyne hot on her heels.

Edith frowned. She had no love for Sansa, but she was just a little girl, vapid and naive as she might be. She didn’t deserve to end up with someone like the Prince, no matter how much she wanted to be Queen someday. There was something very seriously wrong with that boy. 

With the Prince and his followers gone, Edith was able to finish the lesson in relative peace. Robb and Theon had come by at a certain point to watch the practice. Theon attempted a similar dancing joke to the Prince, only for Arya to pelt him with mud and chase him off, a laughing Robb following languidly behind. 

Robb had gotten quite a bit friendlier and sociable with Edith ever since he became her partner in business. He often came by to give little updates as he and Lord Manderly chatted about the trades between White Harbor and Winterfell. Edith also saw him strolling around with Wylla Manderly now and again, supervised by a Stark guard at the behest of Lady Stark who had also picked up on Robb’s little crush. Edith wondered if there might be a second betrothal announcement soon. She assumed that Lord Manderly would be thrilled by the turn of events.

Bran and Maester Luwin stopped by as well, towards the end of the lesson. Maester Luwin had been charged with keeping Bran’s feet firmly on the ground for the duration of the King’s visit. Edith knew for a fact that Bran had escaped and climbed up the side of her tower at least twice now. 

“Miss Edith, I hope you are having a pleasant morning,” The old Maester hummed sardonically.

“I take it you heard about the little incident with the Prince?” Edith replied flatly.

“I believe everyone has by now,” Luwin said, “Sansa was quite upset, and the Prince had raged to his King father and Queen mother quite loudly over their morning fast.”

Edith raised a brow in surprise, “I’m surprised that no one has called on me yet.”

“I’m sure they will eventually,” Maester Luwin said, “And it would be wise for you to prepare yourself for that time. The Queen might be a Stag by marriage, but she is a Lion by birth. And a Lioness does not take kindly to insults of her cub.”

Edith hummed in displeasure. The Queen struck her as a petty sort of person. She’d heard a few rumors about the Lannister family and their cutthroat behavior. They had played the Rains of Castamere at the welcoming feast, and if the Queen was anything like her father, then Edith intended to avoid her wrath as much as possible. The Queen could do little to retaliate against Edith herself, but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t target the people that Edith cared about instead. She seemed the type to employ such dirty tactics.

“Thank you for letting me know, Maester Luwin,” Edith sighed, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Maester Luwin nodded approvingly, adding, “Very well, my Lady. But that is not what I originally came here to speak with you about,” He reached into the folds of his robes, shuffling around for a bit and pulling out a rolled up piece of parchment, “I received a response from the Citadel, if you would like to read it.”

Based on the irritated look on the old Maester’s face, the contents were not good. She took the scroll and unraveled it, quickly skimming the response. She scowled and balled the paper up in her hands before immaturely lighting it aflame with magic. 

The Maesters had dismissed all of the rumors as fictitious nonsense and believed Luwin to be going senile in his old age. They would not be sending any books, nor would they entertain any more talk of magic and wizards.

“I have already sent another raven to the Citadel in response, though I was a bit more, ah, forceful than I was with the first attempt,” Luwin said. Eduth snorted. She would have loved to have seen what a ‘forceful’ letter from the old Maester looked like, especially given the circumstances. The letter from the Citadel had been very insulting, and Luwin was possibly even more excited to receive the books on Westerosi magic than Edith was. She hoped that the letter had been as scathing as it would have been had she been the sender. There had been a particularly distasteful line about ‘magic whores with magic cunts’ that she would have loved to ask them about.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Maester Luwin,” Edith sighed, “I can only hope that the King’s visit grants more legitimacy to the letters. It would be at least one good thing to come from this entire mess.”

“One can hope,” Maester Luwin agreed before grimacing, “And one last thing, my Lady. The Queen has requested for you and Arya to sit in with her and the other Ladies for embroidery. They await you in the Lady’s solar.”

Edith and Arya shared a disgusted look and Jon snorted in amusement. 

“Do we have to?” Arya whined.

“Unfortunately yes,” Edith sighed, “I promised an hour, and so an hour of embroidery it shall be.”

Arya groaned again.

“We’ll need to go to the mansion to freshen up, and we’ll need to swing by your room to grab a dress so that your mother doesn’t have a fit about your trousers,” Edith said, putting a hand on Arya’s shoulder to teleport them to her room. She paused for a moment before turning back to address Maester Luwin.

“Why are you the one delivering this message? Is it not usually the responsibility of the maids?” she asked.

“Ah, well, it just so happened that I had the letter to deliver to you and I was in the main hall when the Queen instructed one of the handmaids to run and find you. Since I was already on my way, I offered to deliver the message myself so that the handmaid could return to her duties,” Maester Luwin explained, “But as I am a slow, feeble old man, I’m afraid it has taken me quite a bit of time to find you and send you on your way.” 

The Maester shrugged and Edith smirked. She knew she liked this old man for a reason.

“Well I am grateful that you managed to find us, Maester,” Edith said, “We’d best be on our way. And you should probably start looking for Bran.”

Luwin looked around in alarm, muttering angrily to himself when he realized that Bran was nowhere in sight. He bowed in farewell before stomping around the yard and scanning the castle rooftops for any sign of the mischievous little boy. 

As much as Edith wanted to dally further on their way to meet the Queen, she figured that it was wiser to ready herself sooner than later in fear of offending the Queen. She seemed to be quite upset with Edith already, if what Luwin said was true, and Edith did not want to test the Queen’s patience further. It didn’t matter to Edith if the Queen disliked her, but if she felt too slighted, Edith had no doubt that she would find a way to force the consequences on House Stark instead.

After a shower, a change of clothes, and three teleportations, Edith and Arya stood reluctantly outside of the Lady’s solar about twenty minutes after having been fetched by Luwin. Two Baratheon guards were posted on either side of the door. There was girlish chattering and giggling going on inside, including the recognizable voices of Sansa and Jeyne. Arya groaned unhappily, Vhagar hissing at the door from where she lounged in Arya’s arms. They shared an unhappy look before Edith gently rapped on the door. 

One of the Ladies in waiting opened the door for them and announced to the Queen their arrival. The chatter quieted once they’d all heard Edith and Arya’s names called.

“Lady Edith, Arya dear, please, come in,” the Queen greeted kindly. She was seated at the far side of the room, a ways away from the next nearest Lady. A Kingsguard, her brother Ser Jaime, stood watch just behind her. 

Edith furrowed her brow slightly. That wasn't the reception that she was expecting from the Queen given how Edith had clashed with Prince Joffrey earlier in the yard. If what Maester Luwin said was true, as well as Tyrion’s warnings about his sister, then the Queen was most certainly plotting some form of retaliation.

And Lady Stark was notably absent.

A couple of ladies guided Edith and Arya to their seats, Edith near the Queen and Arya closer to the girls her age, including the Princess. Sansa and Jeyne glared furiously at Arya as she approached, whispering harshly to each other as Arya was handed an embroidery hoop by her Septa.

Ever since that fateful first lesson where Edith had pseudo-disciplined Sansa and Jeyne for their nastiness, Arya’s stitches had begun to straighten. Edith had taken it upon herself to tell the Septa that Arya was left-handed and very strongly recommended that the woman allow Arya to use her dominant hand in stitching. The Septa had complied, out of fright if nothing else, and Arya’s stitches had improved dramatically as a result. They were still clumsy and unpracticed, and Edith imagined that they would remain that way with how much Arya hated the craft. At least the designs were somewhat recognizable now. Jon had once shown Edith an old handkerchief that Arya had given to him as a gift and Edith had to admit that she still had no idea what it was meant to be. It looked something like a toad, but also a chair, and a tad like a chicken leg. Jon thought it was supposed to be a direwolf, but never had the heart to ask as Arya had been so proud to have finished it at the time.

Lumpy and misshapen as they might be, at least Arya’s direwolves now somewhat resembled direwolves. 

Edith politely rejected an embroidery hoop when it was offered to her, instead pulling a book out of her bag on the subject of flora and fauna of the North. Now that she was brewing potions and establishing a trade network, Edith wanted a full grasp on the resources that she had available outside of the main exports that she had spoken to Robb and Lord Wyman about. 

“I hear that your students are quite gifted with a blade,” Cersei commented. She had forgone sewing herself in favor of drinking wine, content to watch the other women at work, “That there was something of a display in the yard.”

“Indeed,” Edith replied quietly, “Though if there is a point to this, I would prefer that you get to it rather than mince words. I have little patience for farcisial niceties.”

The Queen stilled for a second, her tight smile dropping into a genuine glare for just a moment.

“You may have no patience for it, but you will soon learn that these ‘niceties’ are quite necessary for women like us,” the Queen murmured, sipping at her wine.

“Odd. Seeing as I’ve been the same woman my entire life and I’ve never had such a need for anything of the sort,” Edith panned, not once looking up from the pages of her book. 

“Well, not all of us can be all powerful wizards, I suppose,” The Queen smiled tightly, “Or, almost all powerful. I nearly forgot that you were not here by choice, Lady Edith.”

Edith’s jaw tightened at the dig, but she would not rise to the bait.

“You are upset that I will not tutor your children. Or the crown Prince at least,” Edith hummed, flipping the page, “Insulting me will do little to entice me to change my mind.”

The Queen frowned. She took a slightly inappropriately long swig from her wine glass.

“Sansa will likely be joining us when we travel South,” The Queen stated, “Arya as well. Being a Lady in waiting to the Princess of Westeros is quite a privilege, one only a fool would refuse.”

“Or an even greater fool to accept,” Edith countered, “Besides, Arya will remain with me until I so decide that there is nothing left for me to teach her. That will be quite a few years still.”

“And what of her potential suitors? Well, the ones that have yet to be scared off by her beastly behavior. They will wonder what must be wrong with the girl to have refused the offer, given the good relations between House Baratheon and House Stark.”

“They can wonder all they like. There will be no suitors, so that will not matter,” Edith said, finally looking up from her book, “Enough with the games. Speak plainly. What do you think you are going to accomplish by antagonizing me?”

The Queen smiled at Edith, smug and victorious. 

“You are quite fond of your students,” she said, “You are very defensive of them.”

“If you dare bring them into this-”

“Jon Snow, was it?” The Queen said, “He is very talented with a blade. The best fighter in Winterfell, according to his darling little sister. Second to you, of course. He will be four and ten soon, correct?”

“What does Jon-”

“My brother Jaime was only five and ten when he was knighted and joined the Kingsguard. The youngest in the history of Westeros,” the Queen bragged, glancing charmingly at her brother over her shoulder. Ser Jaime smirked, the two of them sharing an uncomfortably knowing look. 

“Normally, a bastard could never even imagine becoming a Kingsguard someday, but Jaime was so impressed by young Jon that he is considering offering Jon a position as his squire,” Cersei purred.

Edith narrowed her eyes at the Queen, tense and furious. What was this woman playing at? Did she really think that Jon would choose Ser Jaime over Edith? Over Winterfell?

“Of course, he would eventually be a contender for the white cloak. Ser Barristan is getting up there in years, after all. Why, it would be a dream come true for a bastard to reach such heights. Who knows,” the Queen smiled cruelly behind her glass of wine, “He might even be able to earn legitimization. He would earn the family great honor, serving the realm as a knight of the Kingsguard.”

Edith’s blood ran cold. 

As much as Jon loved his training, loved magic, loved his home, he had longed for the Stark name his entire life. He had every reason to say yes. And if he did, Arya would undoubtedly follow, no matter how much she might hate the South. 

And Edith would follow them. She could never give Jon up as a student, or Arya. Even if Edith didn’t end up training any of the royal children, Jon would be sworn to protect them and follow King Robert’s orders. And then King Joffrey’s. And either one could order him to teach them magic. 

“Just something to consider,” the Queen smirked. She stood and made her way to the door, taking Princess Myrcella with her, Ser Jaime following loyally behind. The Princess looked befuddled to have her embroidery interrupted, glancing at Edith momentarily in confusion. The twin lions did not spare Edith so much as a sideways glance.

With the Queen and Princess both gone, the other girls began to disperse, leaving only Arya and Edith behind. Edith had yet to move from where the Queen had left her in the back of the room, still frozen in shock and terror.

What could she possibly do to stop Jon from joining the Kingsguard? Being a Stark was all he had ever wanted. Becoming a member of the Kingsguard was the most coveted position for a knight in Westeros. And the Queen was right when she said that it was the best a bastard could ever dream of. Jon would not only get his family’s name, but he would bring honor and glory to his house, all without ever having to fear Lady Stark’s wrath. It was everything that he could ask for and more. How could she stop him from saying yes? How could she even ask him to consider saying no?

“Teacher?” Arya asked, suddenly by Edith’s side. Edith jumped, too lost in her own head to have noticed Arya walk up behind her. Arya looked worried, frightened even.

“Are you alright Teacher?” she asked hesitantly. Vhagar rubbed against Edith’s ankles, almost as if to comfort her.

“I’m alright,” Edith sighed. Her eyes went hard and she took Arya by the shoulders.

“You listen to me now. Stay away from the Queen,” Edith commanded, “You are never to be in a room with her without me or your mother present, do you hear me? And Jon as well. Neither of you are to get anywhere near her unless I am with you, or your mother or father. Do you understand?” 

Arya nodded uncertainty. Edith ruffled her hair in an attempt to reassure her, but it only served to confuse the little girl even more.

“Come now, let’s go get some food. Then we can find Jon and work on our magic lessons, shall we? How are your equations coming along?”

The mention of her teleportation equations distracted Arya immediately as she began to babble on about linear patterns and distance relativity in conjunction with magical numerical theory. She was becoming very adept with arithmancy to the point where Edith was certain that she would be able to start actually teleporting soon. Tonight even. 

Actually, teaching her to teleport would be a great way to help keep her from the Queen’s clutches. If only Jon were at the same level with his own arithmancy. Perhaps it was time for a little push.

Chapter Text

Edith and Arya found Jon in the Great Hall, already mid meal and waiting for them to arrive. 

“How was your time with the Ladies? Did you make something nice?” Jon ribbed his little sister. Arya scowled and punched him in the arm.

“It was boring, just like always. And Sansa and Jeyne were awful the whole time, complaining about Teacher and what happened in the yard this morning, even though it was all the stupid Prince’s fault-”

“Don’t say that out loud,” Edith shushed, “Not with so many people around. If it gets back to the Prince, then he’ll only be worse.”

“Sorry Teacher,” Arya pouted, “But it’s still true. Jeyne wouldn’t stop talking about how great Sansa’s stupid embroidery was and how much the Prince would love it,” Arya made a face, scrunching her nose in displeasure, “Sansa said that mine looked like the rags that the maids used to scrub the floors, even though I was doing fine today, even Septa Mordane said so. I wanted to set stupid Sansa’s face on fire to shut her up.”

Edith scowled, “Arya Stark, never even think about using magic on anybody for something like that, do you hear me?”

Arya’s eyes went wide in surprise. Jon was looking at the both of them oddly, concerned and startled. Reminding herself that her true frustration was with the awful Queen and her family, Edith took a deep breath to calm herself. 

“I’m sorry Arya, I overreacted,” Edith sighed, “But I mean it, both of you. This magic that I am giving you is not to be used to hurt others, only to protect.” 

“But Sansa-”

“No buts,” Edith scolded, “Sansa can say whatever she wants about me and I will do nothing. Do you know why?”

Arya shook her head.

“Because I am not Sansa. I can’t stop her from being unkind, but I can stop myself. I won’t be brought down to her level just because I have the power to knock her down thrice as hard as she tries to do to me,” Edith ruffled Arya’s hair gently, ignoring the way that her banishment spell tingled under the surface of her skin. She was a hypocrite, but the point of being a teacher was to teach her students not to be like her, but to be better. Edith wouldn’t let Arya fall prey to the same vengeful attitude that had clung to her core, poisoning her mind and clouding her judgment. 

“Have I ever told you the motto of the Council?”

“Motto?” Arya asked.

“Think of them like House words,” Edith said, “Mercy over Cruelty, Justice over Vengeance, Peace over War. It is our job to protect others, to keep the peace, to offer guidance, and build a better world with the power that we have.  If you choose to be just as hurtful as the people who would hurt you, then how does that make you any different from them? ”

“So I have to let Sansa be mean and call me names?” Arya grumbled.

“No. Stand your ground and do not budge. She can push all that she wants, but she’ll only tire herself out in the end,” Edith said, “Do you understand?”

“I guess,” Arya grumbled, “But Sansa was still being stupid.”

“But you weren’t, even if you wanted to be, and that’s what matters,” Edith said, “Now finish your food. We have teleportation practice to get to.” 

Arya lit up and attacked her plate, devouring her food more quickly than Edith would have thought possible. Jon snickered beside her, polishing off his own plate at a far more sedate pace. 

As she ate, Edith couldn’t help but think about what Arya mentioned about her sister. Sansa seemed to be enamored with the Prince after only just a few days of knowing him. But from every encounter that Edith had with the spoiled boy, it only solidified that fact that he would one day make a terrible husband, and an even worse King. Edith did not particularly like the girl, but she also did not want her to be hurt. She was only a child, and children grow up eventually. By then, it might be too late for her to escape the Prince. Edith resolved to speak to Lord and Lady Stark about the matter once the King and his entourage departed the castle.

Once they’d all finished, Edith sent Minaeve to fetch Jory to meet at the tower. He had apparently been in the middle of his own meal, based on the squawking and laughter that she heard from the opposite end of the hall. He stomped over to Edith, Jon, and Arya covered in feathers and half soaked in stew and ale, prompting Arya and Jon to laugh at the poor guard. Edith herself suppressed a grin and cleaned him up with a wave of her hand. 

Once Jory had been cleaned and Minaeve dismissed, Edith teleported the group to the tower. She resummoned her mansion and ushered everyone inside, placating an annoyed Jory with more coffee and the best desserts that Ossia had to offer. 

“Now, teleportation, like every spell, requires intention. Not only must you know the arithmetic sequence allowing you to use the spell in the first place, you have to picture yourself in the location you wish to travel to. This particular version of the spell will only let you travel very short distances, thirty feet give or take, but in any direction. That includes vertical distances. Do you follow?” 

“Yes Teacher,” her students replied. Arya practically bounced out of her skin with excitement, but Jon was even more sullen than usual. He seemed almost distracted, upset even. Brooding seemed to be a default state for Jon, but not quite to this extent. It set Edith on edge. Had something happened? He seemed fine during their meal. How strange. 

“Good. Now, casting magic on yourself can be dangerous, but now that you’ve been able to activate the bladesong, you should understand the balance of magic well enough to teleport safely. It should be easier, in fact, since you only need to encase yourself with magic rather than fully absorb and circulate the magic,” Edith explained. She conjured a piece of chalk and walked across the courtyard, marking the ground with two ‘Xs’ at the maximum thirty foot distance.

“Alright students, X marks the spot. Are you ready?” Edith called. Arya nodded eagerly, but Jon shrugged, unsure. Edith pursed her lips. 

Jon had not been nearly as invested as Arya in teleportation. He struggled with the arithmancy and instead chose to focus his attention on his Draconic runes. Once Edith had told him that he was getting close to mastering the shape of the runes, he had all but ignored the arithmancy in favor of the chance to expand his evocation repertoire. Arya had been envious, as her handwriting was sloppy on a good day. That wasn’t a huge issue in Sylvan, but it needed to improve for the other, more complex languages. Otherwise she would face a magical accident or backlash someday, and that would not be happening if Edith had any say on the matter. Which she did. So Arya would keep writing lines for a month at least .

“On my mark,” Edith said, “Three…Two…One…Go!”

Instantly, Arya disappeared and appeared directly in front of her, stumbling slightly off balance and a tad to the left of the X, but otherwise perfectly fine. Once she’d realized that she had been successful, she laughed gleefully and hopped into Edith’s arms, chanting thank yous over and over. Edith laughed and ruffled Arya’s hair affectionately. She looked up and noticed that Jon was standing near his starting position, only a few feet to the left and facing the wrong direction. He seemed somewhat frustrated at the failure, but otherwise lost in his own thoughts. 

She felt her heart nervously skip a beat. Had he been approached by the Queen? Did he already know about her plans? Was he considering leaving to work with Ser Jaime as his squire? 

“Alright alright, good work Arya,” Edith said, forcing the nerves out of her voice, “Keep practicing. I need to speak with your brother.”

Arya grinned and nodded, disappearing and reappearing by guards’ lounge. Jory was seated there at a small table spread with an array of deserts. He startled for a moment and then smirked at Arya over his cup of coffee (Edith worried that she had accidentally gotten Jory addicted to the stuff. This was his second cup already), saying something that made Arya laugh and stick her tongue out.

“Jon?” Edith asked hesitantly, “Is something the matter?”

“No Teacher,” Jon sighed, “I’m just no good at sums like Arya is. I don’t think I’ll be able to teleport like the both of you.”

“That isn’t true Jon. You may not have your sister’s natural gift for numbers, but hard work beats innate talent every time. You’ll be teleporting in no time,” Edith smiled.

“But what if I don’t want to?” Jon pouted stubbornly, “I don’t need it, I don’t mind walking. And I could be working on the things that I’m good at instead.”

“Like Draconic, you mean,” Edith frowned, “It isn’t a matter of need, Jon. It’s about being well balanced. You have a talent for evocation, but you cannot rely solely on a single school of magic. You need more diversity in order to be the most effective bladesinger that you can be.”

“Well I can do that with other spells, can’t I?” Jon complained, “Ones that don’t need sums.”

Edith stared at Jon for a long moment as he kicked at the dirt and crossed his arms. She knew that Jon struggled with his sums, but hadn’t realized that he was having such a hard time as to want to give up entirely. Unfortunately for Jon, Edith did not believe in giving up, not at all, not anymore. 

“Arya,” Edith called, “Would you come here for just a moment?” 

Arya hurriedly teleported back from her new position at the top of the staircase down to ground level, right between Edith and Jon. Edith pulled out her students’ swords and handed them over, surprising the two children. 

“We’re going to be doing a special spar today,” Edith said, walking across the room, “You’ll be keeping your blades sheathed for this. Arya, come here.” 

Arya and Jon shared a confused look, but Arya obediently followed her Teacher.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Edith instructed, “Jon doesn’t think he needs to know how to teleport. I want you to show him exactly how useful teleporting can be, especially in a fight. Do you recall Jon mentioning how you spin too much in combat?”

Arya nodded, brow furrowed slightly in confusion and said, “Jon said I confuse myself as much as I confuse him.”

“You do,” Edith agreed, “but you’ll confuse yourself less if you teleport where you want to be rather than spinning.”

Arya’ mouth dropped into an ‘o’ as she nodded, saying, “I understand Teacher. I’ll show him, just watch.”

“Good,” Edith grinned, ruffling her student’s hair. She walked Arya back over to her brother and had the two bow to start the duel.

“Alright, on my mark,” Edith said, “Three… Two… One… Begin!”

Jon took a defensive stance as Arya darted forward, readying himself to block with his sheathed blade only for Arya to disappear before she could connect. Jon only had time to gasp in surprise before Arya whacked him across the back as she suddenly reappeared behind him. Jon yelped and flipped around as Arya laughed triumphantly at her victory.

“But- That was-” Jon stammered, looking between where Arya had disappeared and where she now stood, giggling at his confusion.

“You would have been cut in half just now if Arya’s sword was unsheathed,” Edith pointed out smugly, “So Jon, have you had a change of heart about teleportation?”

Jon scowled, but nodded. Edith grinned, ruffling her pouting student’s hair. She would pay better attention to where her students struggled from here on out. She had gotten too used to their constant successes. It was only natural that they started facing more difficulty as the training progressed. Maybe she’d give them more abjuration to work on next. Arya certainly needed the practice. She’d only taught them a few spells from that school thus far, but Arya was awful with them, even if she technically succeeded at casting them.

Edith reached out to grab her students’ swords back from them and Arya whined, “Can’t we keep sparring Teacher? Since the stupid Prince got in the way this morning?”

“We finished our physical practices for the day Arya, we’re working on magic now. If we keep sparring today, then you won’t have energy to perform the bladesong tomorrow,” Edith said, “And you might have figured teleportation out quickly enough, but Jon still needs to work on his. You can write your Draconic lines in the meantime. We won’t be able to proceed until the two of you have mastered the runes.”

“But Teacher…” Arya whined, clutching her sword close to her chest.

Edith silently raised a brow and Arya pouted. 

“Can we at least name them Teacher?” Jon asked, “ All the best swords have names.”

Arya and Jon looked at her with big, shining eyes and Edith hesitated. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let them name their weapons. Just a few more minutes holding on to their blades wouldn’t disrupt their lessons too much, after all.

She crossed her arms and sighed, “Alright, alright. But as soon as you do, the swords go away and we go back to working on our arithmancy and Draconic. Understood?”

Her students nodded eagerly before going quiet, staring at their swords deep in thought.

“I don’t know what to name mine,” Arya admitted.

“I do,” Jon smirked, “It’s skinny and small, just like you. Just like your favorite thing in the world.”

Arya grinned and together they laughed, “Needle!” They broke down into mad giggles as Edith looked on, confused. 

Arya and Jon shared a secretive look before grinning wide and chanting together, “Don’t tell Sansa!” They broke down into another round of laughter. Edith looked between the two of them in confusion. Don’t tell Sansa what exactly? About the swords? 

“What about yours Jon?” Arya asked once she’d stopped giggling, “Do you have a name yet?”

Jon flushed and shrugged, “I don’t know, I was maybe thinking… something like Ice?”

“Like father’s sword?” Arya asked, “But there can’t be two Ices. That’s too confusing.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Jon sighed, “But I can’t think of anything else.”

Arya chewed her lip, thinking hard. Jon looked dejected, staring at his blade as if he were hoping it would sprout a mouth and tell him the perfect name itself.

“What about Frost?” Arya asked, “It’s like Ice, but not Ice. Or you could call it Wolf’s Fang, or maybe White Wind? Like the saying that Father has.”

Jon seemed unsure of each name, growing more uncertain as Arya continued to offer more. He was clearly attached to the name Ice, but knew that he couldn’t share the name of the Stark ancestral sword.

Ah. Edith understood now. Like Ice, but not Ice. Like Snow.

“Frostbite,” Edith offered, “Like Arya said, Frost is like Ice, but not Ice, and the frost bites like a wolf. Frostbite.”

“Frostbite…” Jon repeated quietly. He unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming and sharp. He smiled, redness fading from his cheeks and said, “Frostbite. I like it.”

“Does your sword have a name, Teacher?” Arya asked curiously.

Edith smiled, soft and sad. Her sword did have a name. The Lead Artificer had crafted it for her at the request of the Electi Supreme. It was a welcome gift from the entire Council and it was the finest gift that she had ever received. The Council had named it for her.

“Cadenza,” Edith murmured, “That’s its name.” 

‘A one-of-a-kind blade for a one-of-a-kind woman and her one-of-a-kind song,’ they’d said. It was her most treasured possession. Edith closed her eyes, a dull pain lying heavy over her heart.

“Needle and Frostbite,” Edith hummed thoughtfully, “Great names for great swords for great bladesingers. Now hand them over. Time to get back to work.”

Her students groaned but handed Needle and Frostbite over to be stowed away for the night. Edith set Arya on her Draconic lines since she had already figured out the teleportation spell and sat Jon down to work him through his arithmancy, step by step. By the time night fell and dinner was served in the Great Hall, Jon had managed a perfect teleport and Arya’s Draconic was mostly legible as opposed to only vaguely.  

“Alright, that’s enough for the night,” Edith said, gathering her students’ notes, “Go on and get to dinner with Jory, Arya. Jon and I will join you shortly.”

Arya smiled and turned to Jory, gleefully exclaiming, “I’ll race you!” 

Before Jory could get a word in, Arya darted out of the door and disappeared with a teleport. Jory laughed and shouted, “Not fair my Lady!” before running out after the energetic nine year old. Edith shook her head fondly as they both left. 

She caught Jon’s eye and sobered, stomach dropping. Her conversation with the Queen left a dark mark on the back of her mind. While Edith wanted to pretend that it had never happened, it would sit on her conscience for the rest of her life if the Queen got to Jon before she did.

 “I have something I need to tell you,” Edith sighed, beckoning Jon to follow her. She brought him to her study and sat him down while she paced around the room, unable to find the right words to start the conversation.

“Teacher?” Jon asked nervously, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Edith exclaimed quickly. Clearing her throat and lowering her voice, she said, “No Jon, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just…” Edith paused, taking a seat in her own chair and sighing, “I had a conversation with the Queen today.”

Jon cocked his head in confusion.

“About you, Jon,” Edith said.

“Me?” he asked in disbelief, “Why would the Queen be talking about me?”

Edith hesitated before answering, “Because she was talking about having you squire for her brother. To maybe join the Kingsguard someday. She even spoke of… spoke of legitimizing you.”

Jon gaped, “ What?”

“It’s hard to fully explain, but she wants you in the Capital so that Arya will go to the Capital, so that I will go to the Capital. She knows that I would never abandon you. You or Arya. She wants her children to learn magic, so she’s trying to use you and Arya to get her way. I wanted you to hear it from me first so that she couldn’t catch you off guard,” Edith babbled. Jon still looked absolutely stunned.

“I understand if you want to accept. I know that the prestige, the honor, the Stark name, it’s all too good to be true. But there is no saying what the King and Queen would order you to do. I would still be your Teacher, will always be your Teacher, but I kno-”

“No,” Jon growled, “Never. I would never accept that. I don’t want any of it. Squiring for the Kingslayer, joining the Kingsguard, not even the name,” he said the last bit as if it physically pained him to do so, “not if I don’t earn it myself. I won’t be used against my family, against you, Teacher. I won’t. ”

Edith sighed in relief, sinking into her chair. All she had ever wanted as a girl was recognition. Respect. The honor of leading the Spellguard. Had she been given the same offer at his age… 

“I don’t deserve you. You or Arya. You are so much better than I ever was. Then I could ever be,” Edith choked. She hurriedly stood and pulled Jon into her arms, “Thank you Jon. I’m so proud to have you and Arya as my students.”

Jon stiffened in her arms before hugging her back fiercely. She knew how painful it must have been for him to have had the Stark name dangled in front of him like that. Edith had been so afraid that the offer would blind him, but somehow, Jon had already known what it had taken Edith years to learn. That what mattered, above all else, was integrity.

Edith released Jon and ruffled his hair. He blushed and batted her hand away with a whine of “ Teacheeer.”

“Alright, alright,” Edith chuckled, smiling fondly and heading to the door, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” she flashed Jon a grin, “Race you to the hall?”

She didn’t have a chance to finish before Jon teleported ahead of her, dashing down the corridor and out of the mansion. Edith grinned and followed suit. Chasing after her teleporting student, Edith could hardly believe that she’d ever doubted him in the first place. The Stark’s were as good and honest of people as Edith had ever known. He might not have the name, but Jon was Stark through and through.

But as a Stark, he too lived by his house words. Winter was coming, and Edith couldn’t help but feel that there was a storm on the horizon.

Chapter Text

Just as Edith thought her troubles regarding Jon and the Queen were over, a new problem rose in its place. 

The Lord and Lady started to behave strangely a couple of days following Edith’s encounter with the Queen. Where there was normally warmth and trust, it seemed as though a wall even greater than the Wall had formed. The Lady could hardly look at her husband, and when she did she seemed to be trying to set him on fire with her eyes. In turn, Lord Stark alternated between staring sorrowfully at his wife and practically growling at her in their meager conversations. The odd behavior had the castle on edge.

The only person who seemed satisfied with the turn of events was the Queen. She and Lady Stark spent a good deal of time together the day prior to the Lady’s falling out with her husband. Whenever Edith spotted her, the Queen seemed as if she were gloating when their eyes met. She wasn’t entirely sure what her game was, poisoning the relationship between Lord and Lady Stark, but Edith didn’t like it. 

From their last encounter, she had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with Jon. And that simply would not do.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Edith asked, cornering the Queen on a stroll around the glass gardens. The gardens were the warmest part of the castle, heated by the hotsprings and trapping the heat within the greenhouse to keep summer crops alive. It still absolutely baffled Edith that they existed in a place that barely had roads, but she had given up on trying to dissect the evolution of science in Westeros.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” The Queen replied, absently admiring a bush of blue winter roses. She was accompanied by one of the Kingsguard, a man named Ser Meryn Trant. Aside from Ser Jaime, he seemed to guard the Queen more frequently than the other two Kingsguard that accompanied the royal family, Ser Preston and Ser Mandon. Thus far, none of the Kingsguard particularly impressed Edith. 

“With Lady Catelyn,” Edith bit, “And her Lord husband. You clearly have something to do with it.”

“You dare speak against your Queen?” Ser Meryn spat. He began to draw his sword when Queen Cersei raised a hand to halt him.

“Ser Meryn, guard the entrance,” she commanded.

“But, your grace-”

“Now,” Queen Cersei shot the knight a sharp look. He bent his head and backed down, resheathing his sword with a loud click and retreating to the doors of the glass garden.

Edith and the Queen stared each other down. The Queen looked impeccable in her red dress and fine furs, not a curl out of place (even if the style was overly complicated and resembled an overstuffed donut).

“I’ll ask you again,” Edith said firmly, “What did you do to Lady Catelyn.”

“I was simply being a friend to the Lady. Is that so hard to believe?” The Queen asked.

“For you, yes.”

Queen Cersei didn’t even bat an eye. She strolled through the garden, pretending to admire the greenery as Edith followed warily behind her.

“It is difficult to be a woman in Westeros. It is a man’s world and you would not understand it,” Queen Cersei said. She turned to Edith, something ugly and dark in her eyes, “You might be a lowborn bastard by birth, but you are a woman of tremendous power, or so you claim. Women here, we don’t have the luxury of freedom and power that you so love to flaunt. We have to take what we can for ourselves.”

Edith clenched her jaw, part angry and part shamed. It was easy to forget that not everyone could break their constraints as easily as Edith. Not everyone had her power or her mind. And in Westeros, women did not even have autonomy. They were basically bought and sold to the highest bidder. If they were lucky, that person was good and kind, like Lord Stark. If they were not, then they ended up with someone like King Robert. That was exactly what Edith intended to change, for Arya and Sansa and all of the little girls like them in Westeros. 

But Queen Cersei was already married and miserable. Her freedom was long gone. She was stuck in a loveless marriage to a drunken lecher more likely to beat her than love her. It was no wonder that the woman was so bitter and twisted. But it did not excuse her cruelty.

“That still does not explain your sudden attachment to the Lady of Winterfell,” Edith glowered.

“I know a thing or two about dealing with an unfaithful husband,” the Queen’s voice dripped with malice, “I only offer her advice. A few options perhaps.”

Edith’s eyes darkened, “Jon is not interested in becoming your brother’s squire, nor your pawn.”

The Queen laughed mockingly, “It doesn’t matter what he’s ‘interested’ in, only where he will end up. He will not stay in Winterfell forever.”

“That is not something that you get to decide,” Edith growled. 

The Queen smirked cruelly at Edith, “And neither do you.”

She turned to stroll leisurely to the exit, but Edith was done playing nice. No one, absolutely no one, threatened her students and got away with it.

Edith teleported directly in the Queen’s path, startling the woman backwards into the rose bush she had been feigning interest in. She recoiled on contact, yanking her hand forward as blood welled in her palm where it had been pierced by a thorn. 

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Edith asked lowly, “That you can do whatever you want because you are the Queen. You play these petty little games of yours as if you make the rules and everyone else has to follow them,” Edith slowly advanced on the Queen. She opened her mouth to call for her knight, but Edith was faster. A spectral hand shot out and clamped itself over her mouth. Queen Cersei’s eyes went wide as she tried to pry the hand off, but her fingers merely slipped through the semi-corporeal hand.

“It’s time that you learned that I don’t play by your rules, your grace,” Edith hissed, “And since you seem so interested in Lady Stark, in me and my homeland, why don’t you ask her how it is I got to Westeros in the first place? It’s a fascinating story, really.”

Edith was only inches away from the frightened Queen now. The Queen moved to slap Edith, but her hand was caught easily. Edith squeezed the Queen’s wrist just tight enough to make her wince. She tried to hide her fear under fury and resentment, but Edith saw right through her lies. She had seen through it from the very beginning. Queen Cersei Lannister-Baratheon was spiteful, cruel, and egocentric. She would burn the world to the ground if it meant getting her way. But Edith would not let her have her way.

Edith spat in the Queen’s face, nearly nose to nose now, “If you ever threaten my students again, I will erase you from this world. And by all the gods, I swear I will find you in the next and erase you there too.” 

Edith finally stepped back and the Queen trembled in a mixture of rage, humiliation, and terror. 

“If you plan to retaliate against the Starks for this, remember this moment. Remember that I am capable of far worse,” Edith said. She dispelled the mage hand and bowed mockingly, “Your grace.”

Before the Queen could do anything else, Edith teleported back to her tower and then stormed into her mansion. She stalked to her library, ready to tear into her research and her work on the First Keep. If the Queen wanted to play with power, then fine. Edith knew a thing or two about power. It was high time that power in Westeros went back to the people. 

She pulled a stack of paper out from her bag and scribbled a message to Lady Stark inviting her to the mansion. She summoned Minaeve and handed it off. Her familiar flew out of the mansion with the scrap of folded paper in her beak.

Edith was deep into work writing contracts and curriculums for the First Keep when she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

When Edith looked up, Lady Stark appeared from the corridor, looking absolutely miserable. She had deep bags under her eyes, her usually impeccable braids were in disarray, and there was the tell-tale redness around her eyes and nose suggesting that she had been crying recently. 

Edith was almost tempted to run away, but she had been the one to request for Lady Stark to stop by and talk business. Instead, Edith gulped and folded her hands on her desk. She wanted to prepare the Keep and the Guild as soon as possible, and for that she needed Lady Stark. 

“Good evening, my Lady,” Edith greeted stiffly, “Thank you for sparing some of your time. I know that you have been very busy.”

“Of course, Lady Edith. You said that it was a matter of importance, so I came as soon as I could,” Lady Stark said. She sounded hoarse and tired and she seemed utterly exhausted.

“We can do this some other time if you need-” 

“No,” Lady Stark interrupted, “I would rather that we handle our business now if it is so urgent.”

“It isn’t so urgent that you should neglect your health, my Lady,” Edith frowned.

“I am perfectly healthy, thank you,” Lady Stark snapped. The Lady shot her a glare and made a show of seating herself on the seat- Jory’s lounge- opposite to Edith’s desk. 

“If you’re sure,” Edith said, raising a brow. 

Lady Stark took a deep breath and sighed, “I’m sorry Lady Edith, I just…”

“No need to explain my Lady. It has been a trying time for us all,” Edith said. She looked at the Lady over again, taking in her miserable state and asked, “Are you sure that you are okay, my Lady?”

“I said that I’m fine!” Lady Stark snapped again. Edith might have been more convinced had the Lady’s voice not cracked mid-sentence. When the Lady crumpled and began to weep, Edith immediately regretted asking after her wellbeing. Tears were something that she was not equipped to handle. Anyone in Ebril could say with absolute certainty that Edith was the worst possible person to go to for comfort and consolation. 

She hesitantly stood from her desk, approaching Lady Stark the way one might approach a sleeping bear. The Lady didn’t react, either not noticing Edith approach or simply choosing to ignore her as she cried. Edith sat on the lounge next to her, awkwardly raising an arm to pat the Lady on the back. Lady Stark flinched at the contact before leaning into Edith’s side. She continued to stiffly hold the Lady as her sobs weakened into sniffles. 

Once she had calmed enough that the tears no longer fell, the Lady sat up and slipped from Edith’s touch. She looked at Edith with something akin to shame on her face, coupled with anger and sorrow.  

“The Queen has been speaking to me of Jon and his magic. Your magic. That he might usurp Robb, that the power would go to his head eventually,” Lady Stark said, “And I…”

“And you?” Edith asked, a touch of anger in her voice. She knew that the Queen was manipulating the Lady, but the fact that she had entertained such a ridiculous idea made Edith’s blood boil. Jon loved his brother. He had no aspirations other than supporting Robb and the Starks to his very fullest ability. That and becoming a great bladesinger.

“I spoke with my husband about having you take him from Winterfell,” The Lady admitted, “Jon would agree to leave if you were to ask him, and he would be safe from the Queen with you.”

Edith’s eyes narrowed, “And he would be gone from your sight,” she accused. 

“But Ned…” The Lady’s face contorted into the most awful combination of anger and misery. 

“He refused,” Lady Stark spat, “He refused and he… and he…” Lady Stark looked up at the high ceiling of Edith’s library, her throat tight and blinking away a fresh wave of tears, “He said that he loved her.”

Lady Stark, in a motion very reminiscent of her youngest daughter, swiped angrily at her tears as if insulted that they dared to fall.

“Loved who?” Edith asked hesitantly. She had a feeling that she really wasn’t meant to be having this conversation and that she would regret asking. But the Lady was crying and Edith did not know what else to do. Her usual solution to overwhelming emotion was to ignore it until it went away or to go blow something up with a fireball spell. She doubted either method would work very well for Lady Stark.

“Jon mother,” Lady Stark spat the world like it were bile, “Ned has never spoken of her, not once. And as soon as I suggest for Jon to be taken away he says-” Lady Stark swallowed thickly as her voice caught in her throat, “-he says that he loved her and that he promised her that he would protect Jon. He loved her enough that he cannot bear to speak her name, not even to me, his wife. His wife. He would choose her over me. His own wife!”

“My Lady-” Edith tried hesitantly.

“You know, Ned was never meant to be my husband,” Lady Stark said, voice hoarse and hollow, “I was betrothed to his older brother, Brandon, since I was a girl. He was taller and more handsome than Ned, and I was so very happy to be his wife someday.”

Oh Gods, why was this happening? Edith had dated before, but this level of melodrama was far, far from anything that she had ever experienced. What was she even supposed to say?

“But then Brandon died and Lyanna was taken by the Dragon Prince. Then I was suddenly married to my betrothed’s sullen younger brother, right before he marched for war,” Lady Stark sniffled, “I was so disappointed to be marrying Ned instead of Brandon, but when I was pregnant, I was so happy to have done my duty. I couldn’t wait for Ned to come home so that I could present his heir with pride. But he came home with his sister’s bones and a newborn bastard son.”

“Robert’s Rebellion?” Edith asked rhetorically. Edith hadn’t done much reading on modern Westerosi history, choosing to focus on the dregs of magic from centuries past. She knew the gist of it, Rhaegar Targaryen stealing Lyanna Stark, sparking a war in which both her brother and father died and left Robert Baratheon on the throne. Why Robert she had no idea, but the entire thing did not sit quite right with Edith. She supposed that Robert was at least a better alternative to Aerys, he who loved burning people alive.

“I wanted to hate him as much as I hated his bastard, but he was so good to me, and so sweet with Robb. He was easy to fall in love with. And I thought- I thought that he felt the same for me but-”

“My Lady, maybe he did love Jon’s mother, but that doesn’t mean that he loves you any less,” Edith said gently, “He’s an honest man. I think everyone in the kingdom would know if his love for you was fake.”

“I’m well aware,” Lady Stark snapped. Edith tried not to glare, seeing as the Lady was very distraught. Something must have shown on her face for the Lady sighed and buried her face in her hands, “If he loves me so much, then how could he do this to me? After all these years of marriage, after five children, how could he choose that woman over me?”

“I’m sorry Lady Catelyn, but I don’t have the answers,” Edith sighed, “I wish I could help but-”

“You could help by taking Jon and leaving Winterfell,” Lady Catelyn hissed, “Take Jon and go. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Jon would go if you asked, I know he would. He loves you. The way he acts with you, one would think that you were his mother.” 

“I will do no such thing and I am far too young to be Jon’s mother,“ Edith answered without missing a beat, “You are hurt, and rightfully so, but Jon is not a problem that requires a solution. He is not your shame come to life and he is not simply ‘Ned Stark's bastard. He is his own person and I will not tolerate him being treated as anything less than such. And if your reason for being here is to try and force Jon out, then I think we both know that this endeavor of yours is pointless and will only serve to hurt everyone involved.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Lady Stark wailed, “Just sit back and accept it quietly, now that I know that my Lord Husband didn’t just bed another woman? That he loved another woman? I shan’t, not anymore.”

“So you’d take your anger out on an innocent boy? Send him to the lion's den to be devoured for the sake of your pride?” Edith growled, “Jon did not choose to be a bastard. He did not choose to be Ned Stark’s bastard. But he will get to choose what he wants to do with his life and where he wants to be. And I will be there to support him as he does. If Jon wishes to leave Winterfell, so be it. I will follow, and so too will Arya. Do you really think that she would sit idle if you sent the both of us away?”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s caution, Lady Stark,” Edith took a deep breath and sighed, “I go where my students go. Right now, they belong here. I cannot speak to Lord Stark’s mind, but I will keep my students safe in Winterfell and with the people who love them.”

Lady Stark fell silent and still. She turned to Edith with the saddest eyes that she’d ever seen on a person, “Some people are very hard to love.”

They sat silently for a moment, the heaviness in the air dragging them both down. Edith was not built for this type of emotional confrontation, but she didn’t think that she could just brush it off. It seemed callous to just drop the subject when the Lady was still so clearly upset.

“What are you going to do now, Lady Stark?” Edith asked.

The Lady furrowed her brow, “What do you mean?”

“Well you said that you won’t let this go anymore,” Edith reminded, “That you’ve held your tongue long enough.”

“What is there to be done?” Lady Stark sighed, defeated, “You will not take Jon away and my Lord husband has already made his decision. I can do nothing. I will die knowing that some mystery woman holds a part of my husband’s heart that he will not share, even with me.”

Edith frowned, but did not argue. As much as she would like for Jon to know about the mother he so desperately longed for, this was not a matter for her to interfere in. One day, Jon would have to work up the courage to confront his father on his own. It seemed that the same was true for Lady Stark.

“I can’t return to Ned right now or I might strangle him myself,” Lady Stark scowled. Her stubborn and disgruntled expression again reminded Edith of Arya when she was being particularly obstinate. 

“But I will not hide away,” she declared, “I am the Lady of Winterfell, and I have my duties. We cannot present a divided front, not in front of the King and Queen.” 

The dignity with which Lady Stark carried herself was something that Edith admired. As patient as she tried to be, Edith could not tolerate the insults and patronization of Westerosi society. It was very much a man’s world, and Edith could not reconcile their beliefs with the ways of Ebril. But Lady Stark remained composed and proud, twisting the men’s words back against them to demand respect, all the while fitting the mold of the perfect Lady. 

“Well,” Edith coughed awkwardly, “You are welcome to stay in the mansion for as long as you need. I can have the servants prepare a guest room if you would like.” 

“No, I will return to the castle once we have concluded whatever this business is that you’ve summoned me here for,” Lady Stark sighed.

“Shall we talk business then, my Lady?” Edith asked hopefully. Anything to stop the conversation before the Lady started crying again. This level of emotion was far too much for Edith to handle.

“Does this business have anything to do with your and Robb’s business with Lord Manderly?” Lady Stark asked, brow raised. 

“Indeed.” 

Edith rose from the chaise lounge and returned to her desk. A couple of servants floated in carrying trays of tea and snacks, chocolates and sweets that might improve the Lady’s mood. And Edith’s if she were being honest. That conversation had been terrifying. She and the Lady each accepted a cup of tea from the trays and Lady Stark curiously popped a heart-shaped fudge in her mouth. Her eyes lit up at the taste, reminiscent of her sons’ first experience with hot chocolate.

“Robb has gotten quite friendly with Lord Manderly’s granddaughter,” Lady Stark commented, plucking another chocolate from the tray.

“An unintentional side effect of our business that we can return to later,” Edith waved, “For now, Robb needs a political liaison. I mean no offense my Lady, but your son has no head for politics.”

Lady Stark sighed deeply, “No, it would seem that he takes after his father in that regard. Honorable and honest, but oblivious. Straightforward and stubborn as stone.”

“The First Keep, our plans for it, I take it that Robb has shared a few details?” Edith asked.

“It’s practically all he talks about with my husband these days,” Lady Stark smiled fondly, “He’s quite proud of the work that you’re doing with him and Lord Manderly.”

“And I’m quite proud of the work he’s done so far,” Edith smiled back, “You have very bright children, my Lady. But for as clever as Robb is, he is still only a boy. He needs an advisor who can help him entreat with saavier opponents.”

“You would like for me to be his advisor?” Lady Stark asked, “Of course I would advise him. I am his mother.” She sounded almost offended at being questioned.

“I need it to be official, not just as his mother,” Edith explained, “I need to write up a contract for the Guilds and the Circles. I also need to prepare staff for the school and funding for classes. Robb has been an excellent help thus far, but he hasn’t managed a household the way that you have, my Lady. It would be a great deal of extra work, but I can think of no one better for the job.”

“You are asking me to help manage your business?” Lady Stark asked, surprised.

“I am asking you to lead the business, my Lady.”

Lady Stark’s jaw dropped. 

“I-I don’t understand,” she stammered, “Why me? We barely get along most days and you’ve been working towards this project of yours for months now. By the Seven, I nearly forced you and Jon out of Winterfell! You would really hand all of it over to me?”

“Of course,” Edith said, sipping her drink, “Regardless of our differences, Winterfell is your home. I won’t be here forever, and I already have a job in Ebril that will keep me far too busy to dedicate all of my time to the Guilds and the School. I don’t expect you to take on full responsibility, that is asking far too much, but I am asking you to partner with me as I have partnered with Robb. But you would have authority over the Guilds in the First Keep.”

Edith folded her hands together, resting her elbows on the table, “I will be honest with you, my Lady. Of everything that the Queen has said to me, there is one thing that rings true: Women in Westeros do not have the same freedoms that I am accustomed to. I am sure you are well aware of this.”

Lady Stark cast her eyes downwards with a sigh, “Yes, I am very well aware.”

“If you accept this position, it will be the first big step towards changing that. If you take over this business, if you run the Guilds successfully, then Westeros will have to acknowledge the value of a woman for more than birthing children and sewing by the fire. That women are just as capable outside of the home as within,” Edith said seriously.

“You are the Lady of Winterfell. People look to you for wisdom. They respect you and follow your example. I do not understand the ways of this world, and I expect that I never really will. But you do. You know the ways of this world and how to play the game. If you do this, you set an example for all of Westeros to follow, the first ripple of change that will offer your daughters, all daughters, the freedom to forge their own paths.” 

Lady Stark’s eyes were wide and uncertain. She asked, “Do you really think it possible?”

“Yes,” Edith said with conviction, “I admit, it will be difficult and many will try to look down on you, on the both of us. But you are a formidable Lady. I will support you wherever you need, I just need you to accept. Will you be the first Guild Leader, Lady Stark?”

Lady Stark looked at Edith long and hard. She fiddled with the glass in her hand before setting her jaw and sticking out her hand.

“I believe that Robb called this a ‘handshake’?” she said.

Edith grinned and clasped the Lady’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

“It’s a deal then?” Edith asked.

“It’s a deal,” Lady Stark nodded. 

“Excellent,” Edith smiled, “Then we shall discuss terms in greater detail once the King and Queen have left Winterfell.”

“Agreed,” the Lady said. She pursed her lips and raised her chin, giving Edith a disapproving look and adding, “Now, what is this I’ve been hearing about Arya playing with live steel?”

Edith winced. She’d completely forgotten about that. 

“Er, I can explain…”

Chapter Text

Lady Stark stayed in her mansion for another half-hour, munching on chocolates and lecturing Edith over the nearly forgotten swords. All things considered, the scolding wasn’t as terrible as it could have been, and Arya and Jon would be allowed to keep their blades for training. She doubted that the conversation would have gone so well if not for the absolutely awful and terrifying experience of having the Lady of Winterfell crying on her couch and subsequent job offer. What a strange night.

Edith otherwise continued her routine of lessons, meals, and forced socializing. Thus far, she’d attended two more embroidery sessions, two of the Princes’ sparring lessons, four tea parties, and a terrible hunt in which the King was drunk the whole time and loudly regaling the group with old war stories. If there was any game to be found, his bellowing and belching certainly scared it away. 

For as many events as she’d had to attend, she saw very little of the King and Queen themselves. The King spent most of his days drinking or fucking or both, and the Queen… Well Edith actually had no idea what the Queen did in her free time but was disinclined to search for her just to find out. The less time spent with her the better. Otherwise Edith might give in to the temptation to turn her into the rat that she was.

At Edith’s request, Arya and Jon used their newfound teleporting abilities to dodge the Queen and Prince Joffrey as much as possible. There had been plenty of incidents already and the last thing that Edith wanted was to give the King and Queen any potential leverage if something else were to happen. 

As far as the Princes and Princess went, Edith had made it abundantly clear that she would not be teaching Joffrey. The boy had likely been instructed to stay away by one of his parents, for which Edith was grateful. Whenever he saw Edith nearby, he would turn the other direction with little more than a glare. 

No matter the reason for his aversion, it served Edith well enough. She didn’t have to deal with the annoying Prince and he would leave her students for as long as she was nearby. According to Jon and Arya, it had become something of a pastime for him to harass them when Edith was out of sight. It was thanks to Jon’s patience and the ability to teleport away from the boy that there had been no fights thus far, though it had come close on one occasion. The details were somewhat foggy as Arya and Jon were reluctant to speak of what happened. All she knew was that Vhagar had been dispelled during the confrontation. Arya had been almost inconsolable when she’d thought her precious familiar had died. Edith had comforted her for an hour before Arya was calm enough for Edith to help her repeat the ritual to summon Vhagar back from the Feywilds. That same day, Edith showed her students how to safely dispel their familiars to a pocket plane so as to avoid this situation in the future. 

On the other hand, Edith spent a great deal of time with Princess Myrcella due to the tea parties and Ladies events that she had agreed to attend. Myrcella was sweet and much more clever than she let on, but she disdained activities that might get her dirty or sweaty. She and Arya had made quick friends, something that the King and Queen had encouraged, seating Arya and Myrcella near each other at every given opportunity. The Queen was still quite set on Arya becoming one of Myrcella’s ladies in waiting, likely in the hopes that she might manage to manipulate her student into teaching Myrcella a spell or two. Unfortunately for the Queen, Arya was nothing if not loyal, and she would never betray Edith’s trust. And Myrcella was too earnest and kind to try and manipulate Arya in such a way. At most, Arya had shown Myrcella how she could summon and dismiss Vhagar at will following ‘the incident.’ Without knowing the full summoning ritual to call a familiar to service, the demonstration was virtually worthless. 

Myrcella was also somewhat flighty for Edith’s tastes. She didn’t care for trousers or swords, and she didn’t spend much time thinking about math or science. Myrcella might have made a decent wizard, should she ever find a passion for education, but she would never be a bladesinger.

Edith hadn’t as much exposure to little Prince Tommen, but he was a sweet and smart boy by all accounts. He loved histories and stories and was generally intelligent, but he was meek and easily pushed around. Not only that, but the boy had absolutely no talent for the blade. She had seen him all padded up in the yard a few times and he was clearly uninterested in the weapon that he swung around clumsily.  

Like Myrcella, Tommen might’ve made a decent wizard, but Edith would not take him as a student. Decent simply was not enough for Edith’s style of teaching, especially given the circumstances. Certainly, had she been in Ebril, she would have guided the children towards other mentors had they wished to study the arcane (She had a feeling that Prince Tommen would have gotten on swimmingly with Lavander), but with their mother and father being who they were, it was just too much of a risk.

As it stood, there were only four more days until the King’s scheduled departure. The retinue had already started to pack their things up and reprovision for the journey back to King’s Landing. There had been several groups of smaller houses and guards who had already left Winterfell, prepping the road for the King and his caravan so that their journey would be smooth and uninterrupted. It was a relief to the Starks, Lady Stark especially, to finally have the overwhelming number of guests starting to dwindle. There was only one major task, a farewell feast, and then the King would finally, finally be on his way.

That said, today was the first day that Arya and Jon would be able to spar with the bladesong active. The first time that they’d practiced the bladesong inside of the mansion after Edith’s deal with the King, he’d been furious. He thought that Edith was going back on their deal, no matter how much Edith tried to inform him that they weren’t actually doing anything worth watching just yet, but the King had insisted. He joined the group of onlookers two days later to watch Arya and Jon activate the song and stand perfectly still for a full minute before being dismissed to rest. Very anticlimactic. The King hadn’t come to watch the practice since. 

There had been two sessions since then, both consisting of her students going through their forms with the song active to get used to the feel of the magic accelerating their speed and strength. They had quickly realized why Edith had been building to the occasion for so long as just a minute of drills with the song active had them collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Activating and deactivating the song was one thing, but moving with the song active was another. The second day was easier, but they still wound up winded and leaden by the end of their daily minute. Now that they could withstand the strength of the song without passing out, it was time to put everything together.

“Alright students,” Edith said, handing Frostbite and Needle to their respective owners, “Today, you’ll be sparing with the bladesong active.”

Arya and Jon took their blades eagerly. 

“I cannot stress this enough, but be extremely careful. This is live steel and you will be moving at an unnatural speed. There’s still about a month- a moon’s turn- until the healing potions will be ready, so I don’t want to see any grievous injuries. We fight until first blood is drawn, one of you is disarmed, or you are otherwise forced to yield. You will fight for no more than thirty seconds at a time, and you will spar no less than twice. We’ll take a break between bouts to rest,” Edith instructed. 

Arya and Jon nodded seriously, “Yes Teacher.”

“Good, now ready positions.”

Arya and Jon squared off, drawing their blades and taking their favored stances. People milling about the yard began to take notice, some stopping to watch with interest. Ser Rodrik, instructing his own group of trainees, tutted at Jon’s stance and crossed his arms as he noticed Edith’s two students bowing before their duel. Ser Rodrik, having heard her spat with the Prince over a week ago, was rather miffed about Edith having compared the Westerosi style to a wild tantrum. The man held something of a grudge against Edith and her bladesinging ever since. Especially since all of his guards seemed to be so fascinated by the novelty of the style.

“On my mark,” Edith called, “Three… Two… One… Begin!”

Two chimes rang in the air and Arya was suddenly a blur. Jon met her blade with a resounding clang! And just like that, the two were off. The chime had caught the attention of the majority of the yard. Now that her students were bladesinging in earnest, their swords whistled through the air with music, the sounds harmonizing into a beautiful melody of battle. 

To the average onlooker, one could mistake their duel for a dance, elegant and graceful. Arya spun about her brother, leaping and twisting and twirling to rival the best dancers of the Hiol ballet. Jon almost seemed to waltz with his blade, fending off Arya’s relentless onslaught with cool poise.

At the twenty one second mark, Arya attempted a complicated looking sequence of acrobatic steps in an attempt to throw Jon off as she slashed and stabbed at him. Unfortunately, Jon’s defense was rock steady, and on one of her twists he managed to catch the back of her ankle with his own, tripping her as he wrenched her blade from her hand during the fall. Arya landed on her backside with a solid thump, Needle landing in the dirt nearby. Arya groaned, her song abruptly ending with a dissonant chord while Jon’s faded away gently. Jon chuckled at the irritated expression scrunching Arya’s face and grabbed her hand to hoist her to her feet.

“Alright students, what were your mistakes?” Edith asked.

“Arya spun too much. Again,” Jon snickered.

“And you stood too still. Again,” Arya retorted. 

“Remember what we’ve discussed students. A strong defense defeats a strong offense most every time,” Edith said, “Arya, you are too aggressive still. You are skilled, yes, but not skilled enough to expect to win a fight through sheer force. You need to practice patience and observation to build a defense that matches your offense.”

Arya pouted, picking her blade back up and grumbling in assent as she cleaned herself of dirt with a snap of her fingers. She had gotten rather good at it. Though, given how often she ended up covered in filth, it was to be expected.

“And Jon, while your defense is strong, you are too passive. You let too many openings go in favor of waiting for a big mistake. It might work against Arya, but only because you know her style so well. You could very well end up overwhelmed by a more experienced opponent with an unfamiliar style if you don’t learn to press the attack more often.” 

“Yes Teacher,” Jon answered respectfully. Ever since their teleportation lesson and talk about the Queen, Jon seemed determined to show Edith that he was fully dedicated to being her student and her student alone. It was as obvious as it was adorable, so Edith chose not to comment. And his overly respectful behavior was influencing Arya to be more respectful in general, so that was an added bonus. She hadn’t heard her call anyone or anything stupid for a whole day.

“Now, you have thirty nine seconds remaining. We’ll take a brief recess to recharge and start another bout,” Edith said, checking her watch.

She pulled a waterskin from her bag and tossed it to Jon, who caught it easily and chugged down the cold liquid within. As her students rested, she caught sight of Alyn approaching out of the corner of her eye.

“Alyn,” she greeted cooly.

“Miss Edith,” he answered sheepishly, “Still mad about the feast then?” 

Edith narrowed her eyes, scowling.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alyn sighed, “Tell your servants that I do miss them so. They must be so lonely without all the guards to keep them company.”

“They’re not sentient and they have Jory. I’m not letting you back in,” Edith grumbled.

Alyn pouted and shrugged, “Fine, fine. Be that way. I just came to give you a warning and this is the welcome that I get.”

“What warning?” Edith huffed, cutting Alyn an aggravated look. She raised a brow as the guard sobered slightly.

“The King has heard about the excitement of this morning’s class,” Alyn said, nodding to the crowd that had formed in the yard to watch Arya and Jon train. There was a group that showed every morning, half to observe and half to pester Edith with questions full of thinly veiled politicking, charming, and even vague threats. All of which were met with indifference at best, irritation at worst. Mostly, Edith just grunted one word answers until Lord Whosit or Lady Whatsit or Ser Whatever fucked off.

“And?” Edith asked.

“And there he is over there,” Alyn answered, drawing her eye to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He stood alongside Lord and Lady Stark, as well as a handful of guards and one of his Kingsguard, “Pretty sure he’s going to want to speak with you after this.”

“Fantastic,” Edith rolled her eyes. Just four more days, she reminded herself. Then this whole hullabaloo would be over and done with.

“Just figured you should know,” Alyn said before sauntering off to whatever post he was meant to be at. Edith’s scowl deepened at the idea of the impending meeting with the King. She knew that she would have to officially declare that she would be rejecting all of his children as students, but she had been hoping to do so just before the King departed so that she could teleport away and never see the man again if she were lucky. She was certain that the next four days would be hellish once he heard her answer. 

After a ten minute break, Arya and Jon got two more duels in before their daily time limit was up. The second bout lasted only twelve seconds, Jon getting overly aggressive in trying to follow Edith’s advice, leading to Arya easily dancing around him and knocking him off balance. Their last duel ended in a stalemate, neither student managing a finishing blow before the timer ran out. Edith would have called it in Jon’s favor given just a few more seconds. He had beautifully maneuvered Arya into a bad position against a wall before the match was called. She would have had no room for twirling or spinning, effectively trapped in place.

Edith dismissed her students after calling the duel, the pair thoroughly exhausted and leaning on each other for stability. She collected Needle and Frostbite, then sent the pair off to bathe and rest before lunch. She left them under strict orders not to do any more magic until after they’d eaten their midday meal and not to overexert themselves lest they collapse. 

As her students limped off, a Kingsguard approached Edith. Just as Alyn predicted, he informed her that the King required her presence in the Lord’s solar. 

Edith sighed and followed the gold-clad knight in silence. She dreaded every conversation with the King. The man was loud, rude, self-absorbed, and completely tactless. Their every interaction thus far had been a test of Edith’s patience and she had already broken once. Twice if she counted her encounter with the Queen. Given her pent up frustrations with the royal party, she was worried that today the Seven Kingdoms would be crowning Joffrey Baratheon the next King of Westeros. The thought of that boy in charge was enough to keep Edith from sending King Robert flying.

Alongside the King, Lord Stark and Ser Jaime were in the room, both men posted on either side of the King as Edith entered. The Kingsguard that guided her to the room stepped outside to take post by the door.

“Your grace,” Edith greeted with a bow, “Lord Stark, Ser Jaime.”

Lord Stark and Ser Jaime both motioned to return the greeting only for the King to boom, “Oh enough with the nonsense pleasantries, let’s just get to it. I’ve not got all day.”

Edith had no idea what might be keeping the King so busy, considering all that he did in Winterfell was drink and hunt and fuck and generally make everyone around him uncomfortable. Ser Jaime seemed to share the sentiment, given the disgruntled look he shot at the King. Lord Stark, as usual, was stone faced and silent. The only indication of his displeasure was the crease between his brows and bags under his eyes. Edith wondered if his Lady wife was speaking to him yet. 

“Now, tell me,” the King said, leaning forward in the Lord’s High Seat, “which of my spawn is it that caught your eye, eh? Tommen’s a smart lad, and Myrcella is a fine young Lady. I’m sure one of them must have impressed you enough.”

Edith raised a brow and pursed her lips. There were still four days left in his visit and she did not want to spend four days with the King in Winterfell, sour and angry and drunk over her rejection of his children. Well, sourer and angrier and drunker. She could lie, she supposed. But then she would have to explain why she changed her mind and that would likely end up even worse.

“Well girl?” The King insisted impatiently. Edith’s jaw clicked. 

Fuck it.

“None, your grace.” Edith said flatly, “I won’t be taking any of your children as my students.”

The King stared at her blankly before his face contorted into an ugly mask of rage.

“Nearly a moon’s fucking turn freezing my balls off and you won’t take any one of them? I could have your head for the insult girl!” he raged.

“You agreed the decision was mine to make-” Edith started.

“Seven fucking Hells, under the impression that you would pick one- ”

“That was not the agreement that we made.”

“Robert,” Lord Stark cut in, giving the King a stern look. The King scowled.

“Fine,” he grunted, “Bloody worthless. At least tell me why you decided that my children aren’t worth the time.”

Edith frowned at the cruel remark and answered, “They are both bright and sweet children, but bright and sweet aren’t good enough. Neither Myrcella nor Tommen have any desire to be swordsmen and neither of them are passionate enough about study to make up for it. Nothing in this world or any other could compel me to teach Prince Joffrey. I’m sorry your grace, but they simply would not last as my students.”

“Fine, fine,” the King grumbled, waving off the apology, “There may still yet be time for you to change your mind.”

“Pardon, your grace, but I doubt that my decision will change within four days,” Edith panned.

“You’ll have plenty more than four days, girl,” the King said, “I’m offering you a position as my Court Mage.”

Edith blinked, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Court Mage,” the King boomed, “You’ll come and show the court your magic, show those twats something worth swimming through the shit in King’s Landing for.”

Edith turned to look at Lord Stark who pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Robert, we spoke of this-”

“Nonsense Ned! Why would she not accept? This is a powerful position, as good as being on the Small Council! Better even! She doesn’t have to go to all of the fucking meetings to see the Spider and Littlefinger kissing Jon’s ass,” King Robert laughed.

“She is right here and has perfectly functional ears,” Edith panned, “And while I am grateful for the offer, I will have to decline. I have my students and their training to think about as well as my business with Lord Manderly and the First Keep. I do not have the time to play court jester for your amusement.”

“Careful girl,” King Robert warned, “Fuck Manderly, you and your students will come with me to the Capital and Ned will take care of whatever it is you’re doing with the Keep.”

“No, your grace,” Edith said firmly, “I have responsibilities in Winterfell. I will not abandon them now.”

“You will do as you are ordered, girl!” King Robert roared, shooting up out of his chair.

Edith felt her blood boil. She used all of her willpower to retain her cool demeanor, her body taut and trembling in rage.

“Robert,” Lord Stark tried, looking anxiously between his King and Edith.

“Fuck off Ned!,” King Robert bellowed, “I will not be disrespected in my own Kingdom!”

“Disrespect?” Edith felt herself snap, all of her pent up anger at the royal family flooding her veins, “Disrespect? If anyone has been disrespected, it is me!”

“You dare-”

“I do dare!” Edith interrupted, “I have been patient. I have been calm. I have bitten my tongue at every degrading comment, every insult, every crass joke, but I have had enough! I am the Archmagi of Ebril and I will not be spoken down to as if I am beneath you!” She raged, “I will not be treated as if I am less than you! You do not command me!”

“I am your King!” the man bellowed, “It is my right to-”

“It is your right to nothing!” Edith boomed. She laced her voice with dread magic, the words echoing unnaturally through the room. The light seemed to extinguish itself centering on where she stood. Shadows curled up the walls, the torches flickering dangerously low, threatening to go out and send the room spiraling into utter darkness.

Edith glared fiercely at the fool King who dared to try and command her. 

“I have no King. I am not of Westeros and I will not kneel. I owe you nothing, and you’d best remember that, boy,” Edith hissed with a chilling, eerie echo from her spell. She took a deep breath, chastising herself for her lost temper. The dread magic faded and the dark receded, but the silence that followed in its wake was deafening.

Ser Jaime’s hand had shot to the hilt of his blade, but the fear rooted itself in his bones and prevented him from doing anything but stare, wide eyed and terrified. 

The King and Lord Stark were in a similar state. The fear on Lord Stark’s face snapped Edith out of her angry haze, shame washing over her like a wave.

“My apologies, that was inappropriate. I-”

Edith’s apology was interrupted as the King burst into laughter, falling back into the Lord’s chair, the wood creaking in protest. If not for the tremor in his hands, Edith might have thought him brave to the point of outright stupidity to have resisted a fear spell of that caliber.

“Gods be good, I haven’t been scared like that since I almost stumbled out of the Moon Door piss drunk!” he laughed, “You’ve got balls bigger than the whole court put together, you know that girl?”

“My name is Edith, your grace. Not girl.” She snapped. The King laughed again, slapping his knee.

“Lady Edith,” The King repeated, “Are you sure that you won’t come back to King’s Landing to show those cunts what real magic looks like?”

“Quite sure, your grace,” she answered. There was no way that she was moving to King’s Landing just to spend every day with the nasty old King and his viper of a wife. 

Still, King’s Landing was the Capital city. It should be rich in resources, and the castle would surely have a greater library than Winterfell…

“However, I would like to make you an offer, your grace,” Edith said primly, “The very same that I made to Lord Manderly.”

King Robert raised a brow, nodding, “Go on then.”

“One year,” Edith said, raising a finger for emphasis, “Give me one year to finish my work on the First Keep, then I will travel to the Capital once a day and install a teleportation circle.”

“Teleportation Circle?” King Robert asked, “What the fuck is a teleportation circle?”

“A teleportation circle is a spell that allows for instantaneous travel from one place to another,” Edith explained, “With it, you can travel to and from other circles in a heartbeat.”

“Impossible,” King Robert scoffed, “How could you possibly travel across an entire Kingdom that fast?”

“With magic,” Edith answered flatly, raising a brow.

“You mean to tell me that I could fuck a girl in Wintertown then use one of these circles to fuck a girl in Dorne in the same hour?” King Robert asked.

Edith's lip curled in distaste, “Well you could certainly use it to travel from Wintertown to Dorne, provided that there are circles on either end.”

“Ha!” King Robert laughed, “Hear that Ned? Kingslayer? I could make the eight every single day!”

As the King laughed himself sick, Edith turned to Lord Stark and asked, “Do I even want to know what that means?” Lord Stark grimaced and shook his head.

“Alright then, Lady Edith,” The King said once he’d calmed down, “One year. And then I expect to see you at the Capital to make this circle of yours.”

“Yes, your grace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

With that, Edith teleported out of the room and back to her tower. She waved a tired greeting to Ricka before shutting herself in her mansion. While her conversation with the King could have gone better, it certainly could have gone worse. At least she was now off the hook for teaching his children. She even managed to make an opportunity out of it. A circle in King’s Landing would be a great way to scout for talent and create another school branch eventually. She and Lord Manderly had already discussed the artisans of White Harbor and how to prevent an en masse migration, since the Lord still wanted to keep his port city lively with the arts and trades. 

Edith would have felt bad pilfering talent from White Harbor given the good relationship that she had with Lord Wyman. King Robert, not so much. She was more than happy to steal as many artisans as possible from under his nose. 

Setting aside her worries about the King and the circles, Edith hustled to the library and pulled her research out to continue deciphering the banishment spell. Ever since her revelation on the Shadow Weave, she had been restless to return to her research at every opportunity. The magic of the Shadow Weave was as dangerous as its creator, Shar, The Mistress of the Night. If the elves had tapped into the power of the Shadow Weave, then the effects of the spell could have farther reaching consequences than Edith feared. Magic of the Shadow Weave was most notorious for how it powered necromancy and mind-altering spells in the most vile of ways. If the banishment was also intended to drain Edith’s life or break her mind, then she might be running on a time limit.

There were only a handful of Netherese lines in the spell, but the ones that existed were out of order, some mirrored to the accurate runes. Such an arrangement gave the spell entirely new meaning, and one that Edith could not decipher with her limited knowledge of Netherese. From what she could tell, there were components invoking Shar’s domain and ones referencing an unholy death, some kind of twisted, life-stealing necromancy. She might have been afraid of the implication had it not been for the strange ordering of the runes. The way it read was strange, as if unholy death was Shar’s domain, rather than the Shadowfell, and that unholy death stole life from Shar. It was a nonsensical loop, but Edith could not shake the feeling that it was critical to unraveling this puzzle. 

Either way, the new major roadblock was trying to unravel the magic of the Weave from the magic of the Shadow Weave. If she was correct in her theory, then the spell was something like a tangled ball of yarn with two different sets of threads balled together into a knotted mess. The Weave and the Shadow Weave typically existed opposite to one another, interwoven, but never combined. Realistically, the two magics should not be able to coexist in the same spell at all without creating a twisted hole in reality. The caster would have certainly died in the resulting magical backlash for even attempting to merge the two together.

But they weren’t merged at all. They were layered. 

Edith had known from the beginning that there were several spells layered onto one another to form the greater banishing spell. She had assumed that they were layered into a combination and linked together in key locations and that it just so happened to not rebound violently through pure dumb luck. Everything was off kilter and the layers were a mess, but what if it was that way intentionally? Layering Weave over Shadow Weave without ever linking the spells in between, creating a magical fallacy of positive and negative to find an equilibrium in which multiple spells could be cast within the same greater circle. Doing so might prevent several incompatible spells from collapsing in on each other, but the risk of entwining the opposing forces of the Weave and the Shadow Weave…

Those absolute monsters. They would have risked ripping Ossia apart, tearing the Weave asunder and plunging the entire world into chaos unlike anything ever seen. The disastrous potential of the Weave and Shadow Weave exploding on each other would make the Blood Reign look like little more than a playground fight. Edith wished she could kill those idiots all over again.

Hypothetically, the negation effect could work, but the results would be unpredictable at best. There was no precedent and no stabilizing vector. Shar created the Shadow Weave to be the literal opposite of the Weave. There was no possible way to marry the two. The best that you could do would be to stick them side by side and hope for the best.

Still, it had somehow worked. Well, to a degree. It didn’t kill Edith, which was probably their ultimate goal, but it also didn’t destroy the fabric of existence, so small victories.

All of this was hypothetical, of course, and Edith would have to reanalyze the circle to see if it matched her theory at all, but the odd Netherese at least helped to support the idea. 

Edith spent the rest of the day researching the Netherese, breaking only for meals. Even then, she staunchly ignored all attempts at conversation as she tore into her notes with fervor. It wasn’t until dinner that she was finally interrupted by one very amused Tyrion Lannister.

“You’re the talk of the castle, you know,” he said, settling into the seat beside her.

“I’m always the talk of the castle,” Edith scoffed, annoyed.

“I suppose that’s true. I do tend to hear your name a lot these days. But it isn’t every day that someone scolds a King like a naughty child and then turns down a high ranking position in court,” Lord Tyrion remarked.

“A decorative position,” Edith retorted.

“Ah, but you see, a position can be more than decorative if you use it wisely,” Lord Tyrion said, “Many would kill for such an opportunity. You would have practically been a member of the Small Council.”

“Not one with any authority,” Edith said irritably, “the Westerosi all seem to think me incompetent or soft-hearted, incapable of making decisions due to my womanly sensibilities.”

“Those pesky womanly sensibilities,” Lord Tyrion mock sighed, “If only you were some sort of powerful wizard who could force them to listen to you.”

“I don’t use my magic for trivial nonsense,” Edith said flatly, “I’ve no need to prove myself through grand displays. My work speaks for itself.”

“And what work would that be? Your work with Lord Manderly?” Tyrion asked. Edith paused and turned to glare at him. The small Lord gave her a gloating smirk.

“Wintertown isn’t a very large place you know, not compared to King’s Landing or Lannisport. And it just so happens that I frequent the very same brothel as the Greyjoy boy. He has rather loose lips I’m afraid,” Lord Tyrion grinned.

Edith was going to kill Theon Greyjoy one of these days. She knew that he and Robb were close, like brothers, but Greyjoy gossiped worse than the Ladies of the court. She would need to remind Robb that secrecy was of the utmost importance. 

“A lovely redhead named Ros tells me that there will soon be a magical means of travel that lets you go from Winterfell to White Harbor in the blink of any eye. And that once there is one set up in Pyke, he intends to fuck her on the Salt and Iron throne,” he laughed, “Funny, considering that the Salt and Iron throne is long gone and the reason he’s hostage here in the first place. I suppose they’ll just have to settle for a pile of salt and rocks on the seashore instead.”

Funnier, considering that there was never any discussion of drawing a circle on Pyke. And if what she’d heard of their pillaging culture was true, she was more likely to sink the place into the sea than place a teleportation circle there. 

“You want a teleportation circle of your own,” Edith panned. 

“Oh no, not of my own, though it would be quite convenient,” Lord Tyrion remarked, “One for Casterly Rock. I’m sure my father would welcome the ability to travel to and from the Rock and the Capital at will. I know I would.” 

“Ser Jaime told you about it,” Edith heaved a sigh, “Very well. Lannisport is as wealthy a trade port as White Harbor, so I don’t see why not.”

“Really?” Lord Tyrion asked, surprised, “It’s usually much more difficult than this.”

“I’ll need to consult with my business associates first. And we’ll need to be discussing trade arrangements. I have full control of the circles, or circle network I suppose it will be, so I have final say on the major decisions,” Edith said, “When can I be in contact with your father? He will need to take part in the negotiations if Casterly Rock is to join this trade network.”

“And what if we simply want to use the teleportation circle for travel?” he asked, “Lannisport does quite well on its own. We can pay you plenty. We Lannisters shit gold, after all.”

“Then there will be no circle in Casterly Rock,” Edith said simply, “No trade, no deal. Gold and wealth mean nothing to me personally. It will be a shame to waste such an opportunity, but I am building these circles for a reason. If you will not comply, then you will not be getting one.”

Lord Tyrion sighed, taking a swig of wine, “I’ll have to speak with my father. He isn’t a very giving man and there’s no love lost between the Lannisters and the Starks.”

“I don’t care. I’m not doing this for the Lannisters or the Starks. I’m doing this for the people,” Edith said. 

“For the people?” Lord Tyrion scoffed, “The people couldn't care less about the going ons of the nobility. The care only about putting food on the table-”

“And that is why I am putting together this trade network. To better the resources and quality of life so that the people might have time for more than just struggling to survive,” Edith snapped, “In case you’ve forgotten, Lord Tyrion, I was born with nothing. A lowborn bastard who fought to survive. I had the luxury of a world where people reach down to pull the poor to their feet. In Westeros, the world only punches down.”

The Lord raised his hands placatingly, “I apologize, my Lady. It was not my intention to offend.”

Edith sighed, “No, it’s alright. I’ve just been rather on edge lately. The fault is mine.”

“Yes, the royal family does tend to have that effect on people,” Tyrion acknowledged with a shrug, “Well, I suppose that I should go figure out a way to convince my father that helping someone other than himself might do good for House Lannister. I won’t hold my breath, but I might annoy him enough to agree to speak with you at least. Farewell, my Lady.”

With that, Tyrion made his way out of the hall, leaving Edith to her notes. 

First White Harbor, then King’s Landing, and now Lannisport. Edith was quickly wracking up work to do. She thought back to the many maps that Luwin and Lord Stark had shown her of Westeros and Essos, thinking of the major houses in each region and the exports that each was famous for. Every one of them (excluding Pyke but it would be a cold day in all nine hells before Edith touched that place with a mile long pole) had superior goods to barter than the North, at least at the moment. Dorne had its spices, the Stormlands fish and cattle, the Westerlands had gold and riches, and the Reach was the breadbasket of Westeros. 

She had started working on designs for the teleportation circles and had already developed the unique sigil pattern for Winterfell and White Harbor. Just a few more modifications and the teleportation circles would be ready to set in place. Coming up with the sigil patterns was child’s play and the circles, save a few lines denoting location, would all be virtually identical. The true labor of the task was repeating the circle on a daily basis until the effect became permanent, but with only three circles to complete, it would hardly take any time at all. And she had an entire year to prepare for the third circle.

Winterfell, White Harbor, King’s Landing.

Sunspear, Casterly Rock, Storm’s End, Highgarden. 

Well, Edith supposed that it never hurt to be prepared.

Chapter Text

There were only two days left until the King and his party would leave Winterfell and Edith could finally know peace again. The past few weeks had been an absolute nightmare, and the sooner the royal party was gone the better. If Edith had her way, she would never see them again, but alas, duty calls. The Capital city was invaluable when it came to creating a trade network, no matter what Kingdom or country it might be in. Any dignitaries and wealthy foreign nobility would inevitably end up in King’s Landing should they visit, and tourists always came with money.

She had managed to avoid the royal family for an entire day since she was no longer obligated to ‘observe’ the royal children for bladesinging eligibility. Apart from her students’ morning lessons, she had spent the day in relative peace. 

The quiet gave her a good opportunity to finish designing the sigil sequences for her planned teleportation circles. Maester Luwin had generously lent her one of his maps of the Kingdoms to use for reference, and Edith had added Gulltown, Oldtown, Sunspear, and Seaguard to the list of locations that she absolutely needed to place teleportation circles at. Each was a port city of importance, save Seaguard. That town was of key importance to Edith due to its proximity to the Iron Islands, as she fully intended to blockade the islanders from their ongoing campaign of pillaging and destruction. 

She spent most of her day marking out the sigils, only leaving the quiet of her mansion for her meals and for her student’s evening lessons. Since they had done the bladesong that morning, there would be no magic lessons for the day, but they had gotten used to the song enough that they still had the energy to keep practicing after their minute went up. Arya had begged Edith to give them second lessons for the day to escape a long dress fitting for the farewell feast, and Edith couldn’t resist the little girl’s big, gray eyes. Lady Stark reluctantly gave her permission on the condition that Arya behave for her fitting and did not fight with her sister or Septa at all during that time. It had come close a few times, Jeyne and Sansa poking and prodding the whole time, but Arya was determined to have her way.

After dinner, Edith met Arya and Jon in the yard to train. They had eaten late, hoping to have the area to themselves as everyone else retired for the evening. They snuck into the yard, doing their best to avoid drawing attention. Vhagar and Shadow assisted by acting as lookouts for the trio, guiding them away from any lingering guests or guards. Arya seemed to enjoy their little game of stealth and moved surprisingly silently for someone who was usually louder than a drum. Once they arrived, the yard was mostly empty, save two people: Ser Jaime and Tyrion Lannister.

Tyrion sat on the same bench that they had spoken on just a few nights earlier, nose buried in the pages of a book. Ser Jaime, clad in a tunic and breeches, was lazily practicing his swordsmanship against the wooden dummies. 

“Lord Tyrion,” Edith greeted, opening her bag and handing Needle and Frostbite over to her students, “What brings you to the yard?”

“You wound me, my Lady. My formidable battle prowess is known throughout the realm,” he joked. Arya giggled and Edith snorted. Jon glared at the two Lannisters in an uncharacteristically unfriendly manner. 

“You’re the imp,” Arya said, her tone not unkind, but rude all the same. Edith lightly flicked her student on the side of the head, eliciting a small yelp.

“Don’t be rude,” Edith scolded, “he has a name, a very nice one in fact. You should use it.”

“Sorry Teacher,” Arya pouted. She turned to Lord Tyrion shyly, head hung low, “Sorry Lord Tyrion. Teacher says that I speak without thinking and it upsets other people.”

“No harm done. You're hardly the first to call me by that title, and I doubt you will be the last,” Lord Tyrion smiled, "Apology accepted, my Lady."

Arya pursed her lips, opening her mouth to deny her Ladyship before Edith stepped in to interrupt and greet Ser Jaime. The last thing she needed tonight was a diplomatic incident between the Starks and Lannisters just before the King’s departure.

“Good evening Ser. Do you mind if we share the yard?” she asked, stepping between Arya and Lord Tyrion. 

“I might mind, but it isn’t my yard,” Ser Jaime shrugged.  

“I will take that as a yes then, Ser Jaime,” Edith nodded. 

Edith turned to her students and set them to their warm up drills. Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime watched quietly, Lord Tyrion half distracted by his book and Ser Jaime feigning boredom as he studied the unfamiliar swordplay. So long as they did not become a distraction, Edith did not mind the Lannister brothers staying to watch the practice. But based on their few encounters thus far, Edith had little faith that they would remain quiet onlookers.

“When Joffrey said that your sword style looked more like dancing than fighting, I had thought him to be exaggerating,” Ser Jaime drawled, immediately proving Edith correct, “You ought to put them in dresses with how much they spin.”

Arya and Jon looked about two seconds from turning their blades on the rude knight. Edith pursed her lips and huffed in annoyance, “How very original Ser. We’re trying to practice. Just like I told Joffrey when he made such jokes, be silent or be gone.”

“I thought we were sharing the yard,” Jaime said sarcastically, “Can your little dancers not handle a few japes? How kind of their opponents to be so quiet and polite in battle.”

Edith glared at Ser Jaime, but he had a point. She did not dignify him with an answer, but that only made his smirk broaden. Lord Tyrion glanced curiously between the pair over the pages of his book. 

Edith tried to resume the lesson, but Jon suddenly snarled, “You shut your mouth Kingslayer.”

He said the word with such vitriol that it startled Edith. Ser Jaime’s gloating smirk fell away immediately into a scowl to mirror Jon’s.

“I see Ned Stark taught his little by-blow well. An honorable little bastard, aren’t you?” Ser Jaime taunted.

“Shut up stupid! Don’t call him that!” Arya shouted.

“That’s enough!” Edith scolded. Her two students backed down immediately at Edith’s sharp tone, shrinking back but still glaring fiercely at Ser Jaime.

“You are a bastard though,” Lord Tyrion commented. When Edith shot the Lord a sharp look, he raised a placating hand to add, “I only mean that it is the truth of things. You are a bastard, and there are people who would use that against you,” He shot Jaime a sour look from the corner of his eye, “But if you wear the word like armor, then it can never be used to hurt you.”

“And what would you know about being a bastard, Lannister,” Jon retorted harshly, shrinking once again at another scolding look from Edith.

Lord Tyrion just smiled sardonically and said, “All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.”

Ser Jaime immediately turned shame-faced at his brother’s words, trying and failing to cover his discomfort with a scoff.

The yard was awkward and quiet, even as Edith set her students back on their drills. As they practiced, Edith turned back to the Lannisters and asked, “What Jon called you before, Kingslayer, you are the one who killed the Mad King, yes?”

Ser Jaime scowled at her and spat, “What? Another honorable bastard too good for the likes of the Kingslayer?”

“No, I am only confused. You all say it like it is an insult. Why is that?” Edith asked. 

“What sort of jape is this?” Ser Jaime frowned, eyeing Edith strangely.

Edith furrowed her brows and said, “There is no jape Ser. The man was a vile and cruel tyrant. I don’t care that you killed him as part of his honor guard. It was the right thing to do.”

The Lannisters both looked at Edith as if she’d sprouted a second head. Even her students had stopped working to gape at her.

“But Teacher, it was dishonorable!” Jon exclaimed in disbelief, “He swore vows to the King as a Kingsguard and he broke them!”

“He also swore vows as a knight and he kept them,” Edith replied, raising a brow, “I know which vows I would prioritize had I been in his place. If you’ve learned anything from what I’ve taught you, then you would know the same.”

Jon flamed red, from anger or embarrassment or some combination of the two.

“How could you say that Teacher? He’s an oathbreaker, father says-”

“Do you really want to talk about your father and breaking oaths bastard?” Ser Jaime sneered. Edith grit her teeth at the underhanded insult, ready to tear Ser Jaime a new one when Jon stepped forward.

“Draw your blade Ser,” Jon snarled, “I’ll teach you a lesson about honor.”

“Jon,” Edith warned. This was quickly growing out of hand. 

“Don’t be stupid boy,” Ser Jaime laughed, “You don’t stand a chance.”

“On your feet Kingslayer!” Jon roared.

“Jon enough!” Edith commanded, stepping between him and Ser Jaime. Jon ignored her, trying to push past her while glaring venomously at the golden knight. Arya looked worriedly between her Teacher and brother, unsure of who she was meant to support.

“Fine then,” Ser Jaime hissed, standing and drawing his blade, “You can run crying back to your honorable father afterwards, bastard.” 

“Brother-” Lord Tyrion tried, grabbing the back of Ser Jaime’s tunic. Ser Jaime shrugged him off.

Jon tried to shove past Edith again, but she stood firmly in his path.

“I said enough, Jon,” she repeated, crossing her arms, “It isn’t worth it.”

“Let me do this Teacher,” he begged, “You heard what he said.”

“I did. And I will tell you the same thing that I told Arya. Be better, Jon. ” 

Jon scowled and turned away angrily. 

Just as it seemed like the situation had diffused, Ser Jaime chuckled darkly behind Edith.

“Looks like the little wolf has no fangs after all,” he taunted, “Though, I suppose you were never really a wolf in the first place.”

Edith tried to grab Jon’s shoulder to keep him in place, but he wrenched away and charged Ser Jaime with Frostbite. The two met in a clash of blades. It was clear in an instant that, despite Jon’s talent and training, Ser Jaime far outclassed him in skill. Jon was knocked to the ground in a matter of moments. 

“What’s wrong boy? Did you forget how to do your little dance?” Ser Jaime taunted.

“Brother, I think that’s quite enough,” Lord Tyrion said, standing from the bench with a frown.

“Is it?” Ser Jaime laughed, watching Jon stagger to his feet, “I think it’s only just started.”

Before anyone else could say anything, Jon was charging Ser Jaime once again. Edith scowled, stomping over to put an end to the fight when she felt her blood run cold, magic pooling in the air around Jon.

“Jon NO!”

A discordant chime echoed through the courtyard and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Jon swung his sword with as much force as he could muster and Ser Jaime raised his blade to match the incoming strike. Before they could connect, Edith teleported between the pair, yanking Ser Jaime down by his arm to toss him to the ground using the momentum of his swing. The other hand flooded with abjuration magic, slamming into Jon’s sternum and dispelling the song just as soon as it had started.

Time resumed. Jaime hit the ground hard, sword clattering across the dirt. Jon gasped for air, doubling over in agony before vomiting blood.

“Stupid boy!” Edith cried, “What did I tell you about the song! One minute, not a second more! You aren’t ready!”

Jon continued to hack and wheeze, blood dribbling from his lips to the ground. Edith panicked. She had no idea the extent of damage that had been done. She ripped her bag open, frantically pulling out one of the few potions that she had stashed away from her when she first arrived in Westeros and shoved it into Jon’s mouth, forcing it down his throat.

Jon sighed in relief as the pain abated, the potion’s magic instantly at work repairing his insides. He clutched his stomach, eyes wide and still in shock from the sudden fire in his gut. It had to have been a magical overcharge. Edith had pushed herself past the brink many times before, when she was young and dumb and still trying to prove herself to the world. She was intimately familiar with the pain because of it, and that was why she was always so careful with her students.

“How many times must I tell you? Magic is wild, dangerous! It very well could have burned you into a husk from the inside out,” Edith growled.

“I’m sorry Teacher, I-I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t!” Edith spat harshly. Jon stared at her, eyes welling up with guilt and fear. Edith felt herself tearing up from how terribly close Jon had come to death without even realizing it. She pulled him into her arms roughly, hugging him tight to her chest without care for the Lannister brothers watching awkwardly at a distance.

“Gods Jon, you could have died. What then? You foolish, foolish boy,” she choked.

Jon mumbled apologies over and over again, clinging to Edith’s torso. She grunted as a second weight crashed into her and Arya wormed her way into the embrace. She was already in tears, scared for her brother after seeing him so hurt. Edith carded her fingers gently through their hair as they trembled.

Once they had calmed a bit, Edith pulled back, a hand resting on the back of each of her students’ heads.

“Look at me,” She said softly, holding them in place, “No more tears now, You’re alright.”

“I’m sorry teacher,” Jon sniffled, “I didn’t meant to-”

“It’s done now, Jon. Remember this hurt so that you do not face it again. I made my rules for your safety. I can’t stand to see you in pain like this,” Edith shushed, “I want you two to promise me that you will never push yourselves like that. You will never try to extend the song without my permission. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Jon murmured, eyes watery.

“Me too,” Arya sniffled, “I promise.”

“What just happened?” Ser Jaime asked hesitantly, all pretenses of bravado now gone.

“What happened was you goading a child into a dangerous situation, Ser,” Edith hissed, pulling herself and her students to her feet from their little huddle. She glared at Ser Jaime, seriously considering setting the man on fire. He had the decency to look at least a little ashamed which was the only reason that she restrained herself. 

“I apologize on behalf of my brother, my Lady” Lord Tyrion said, “It would seem that he could use a lesson in good manners.”

“Indeed,” Edith glared, “See to it that he is taught well. I would hate to see what might happen should he offend the wrong person.”

Tyrion’s mouth tightened and he nodded, “Of course, my Lady. It was a pleasure to meet you, but this is farewell. I do not believe that we will be seeing much of each other for some time.”

“Agreed,” Edith said. She wrapped an arm around each of her students and teleported them to her tower. She summoned her mansion and ushered them inside.

“You’re staying here tonight Jon,” Edith ordered, “The potion should have healed you completely, but I want to monitor you overnight, just in case. Magical overcharge is serious. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Jon nodded absently. Arya grabbed Jon’s hand and asked, “Can I stay too?” 

She was still very much shaken by the entire situation. Jon as well, based on his dazed expression. Her students were usually so mature that it was easy to forget just how young they actually were. She doubted that they had ever experienced anything so frightening before. And they would not be doing so again anytime soon if Edith had anything to say about it.

“Very well,” Edith said, “But you’ll have to share a bed. I only conjured two bedrooms.”

“Will you stay with us?” Jon asked quietly. He looked so young and vulnerable in that moment that Edith would have agreed to just about anything that he asked.

“I will,” Edith sighed softly, “Go wash up now. It’s already late and we still have lessons in the morning.”

Her students nodded and headed down the hall hand in hand. Arya clutched Jon’s fingers like a lifeline and Jon slouched in exhaustion, the adrenaline wearing away, leaving fatigue to settle deep in his bones. There would be no bladesinging tomorrow, that was for sure. She somehow doubted that the two of them would really complain about writing their Draconic in the morning instead.

While her students cleaned themselves up, Edith headed to her library to try and get some research done on healing spells. Back in Ebril, there had been some talk of instant conjuration of healing potions through a combination of magic and alchemy, but Edith had barely had the chance to look into it before being sent to Westeros. She only had one healing potion left from Ebril and the other wouldn’t be done for about a month still. Brewing another batch would take another three months at minimum and Edith simply could not rely on those potions for every situation. 

Direct healing magic was something that she was not capable of. Life magic was gifted by the gods and divine beings to those of the faith. Clerics and Paladins and Druids alike held dominion over life magics. Edith could pull from death energy, but she could not offer life.

But she did know alchemy. And that meant that she could figure this spell out, given the proper time and research. It pained her to set aside her work on her banishment spell so close to a breakthrough with the Shadow Weave, but her students came first. Her students would always come first.

Edith wasn’t sure how long she had been working on the Elixir spell, but when she looked up, Jon and Arya were both huddled together on the chaise lounge in fresh pajamas. Jon was combing his fingers through his sister’s hair with magically warmed hands. Edith could see Arya’s head lulling with every stroke, slowly dozing off with the gentle massage.

Edith smiled fondly and stood from her desk, abandoning her notes for the time being in favor of looking after her students. She plucked Arya from Jon’s hands, hoisting the tired little girl up in her arms. Arya reflexively wrapped her arms around Edith’s neck and burrowed under her chin.

“Follow me Jon. I’ll show you to your room,” Edith said softly. She put her free hand on Jon’s back and gently guided him up the stairs to the new guest room across the hall from the master bedroom. 

The room was identical to the master bedroom save for a change in color scheme and master bathroom. It still had a lavatory, of course, but it lacked the large personal tub and assortment of soaps and scented oils. 

Edith gently set Arya down in the large bed, the servants pulling back the covers and tucking the little girl in. 

“The servants will wake you in the morning for your meal and your lessons,” Edith said to Jon. She frowned when she saw that Jon would not meet her eyes, fixing his gaze down at the floor and hiding his face under his dripping wet curls. He was shaking as Edith reached two fingers under his chin to lift his face to hers. It seemed that it wasn’t only Jon’s hair that was dripping wet.

Tears ran down his face as his body wracked in silent sobs and Edith felt her own heart sink at the sight. She pulled Jon into a gentle embrace, warming her hand with magic and raking it through his curls as he cried.

“It’s alright Jon,” Edith murmured, “You’re alright.”

“It isn’t,” Jon sniffled, shaking his head, “I didn’t listen. I should have listened. If I did then I wouldn’t have-,” he interrupted himself with another wave of tears, clutching so tightly to Edith’s coat that Edith thought the seams might give. 

“I was so scared,” he admitted quietly, “I thought I was going to die. It hurt so bad and I was so scared.”

“Magical overcharge,” Edith murmured, “That’s what it was. I never wanted for you or Arya to experience it,” She sighed and pulled away from Jon, tucking his hair behind his ears so that she could look him in the eyes, “I’ve had it before. Many times. And every single time was a mistake. I never want to see you or Arya in that kind of pain, Jon. That’s why I have my rules.”

Jon nodded, sniffling loudly. He wiped away the snot and tears on the back of his arm.

“I’m sorry Teacher,” he mumbled, “I don’t know what came over me. I’m alright now, I just…”

He trailed off, cheeks red in embarrassment. Edith sighed. She wondered when it was the last time that someone held Jon when he was upset. Someone who wasn’t Arya. She somehow doubted that the Lord was the hugging type and the hells would freeze over before Lady Stark touched Jon with a ten foot pole.

“I will always be there for you, whatever you need,” Edith promised, ruffling Jon’s still damp hair, “Please, don’t frighten me like that again. You and Arya mean more to me than anything in this world. It would be my greatest failure as a teacher should anything befall either of you.”

Jon nodded again, fidgeting nervously. He hesitated for a moment before quickly squeezing Edith one more time, mumbling, “Thank you Teacher.”

Edith smiled, squeezing him back, “You’re welcome, my student.”

Jon gave Edith one last watery smile before crawling into bed himself and waving goodnight. Edith left with a reminder to call for a servant should he need anything and to find her immediately if he felt any pain at all. She gently shut the door behind her and made her way back down to the library to begin research anew on the conjuration elixir. 

Conjuration could, hypothetically, conjure anything into existence. The more valuable the conjured material, the higher the cost, and healing potions were expensive. Far more expensive than Edith would be able to afford off of Lord Stark’s good will. Meaning that she would need to somehow devise a method to bypass the cost of the spell. Meaning that Edith would likely not be getting any sleep. She cracked her knuckles as servants floated down from the bookshelves, piling tomes around her desk. Edith couldn’t help but sigh. It seemed that there was always more work to be done.

Chapter Text

Edith worked for two days straight on the healing elixir spell. The morning after Jon’s disastrous encounter with Ser Jaime, she dismissed her students with strict instructions to work on nothing but their Draconic until the King had gone from the castle. Both students agreed with minimal protest. Edith had also confiscated Frostbite until further notice, putting Jon under a probation of sorts. That meant no bladesong, no casting, no sparring until Edith said otherwise. Arya tried to protest on behalf of her brother, but one look at Jon’s forlorn expression was enough for her to keep her mouth clamped shut.

Two full days and Edith had made a good chunk of headway in figuring out the spell. It helped that she and the Lead Artificer had laid out ideas for the instant elixir before her forced banishment. They had been early for a Council meeting and passed the time hypothesizing on the logistics of such a spell using alchemical tools as a focus rather than the typical arcane one. Edith already had the alchemist’s tools on hand, but hadn’t quite figured out how to channel through multiple foci at once. She had at least canceled out the value factor using the second foci at least. Now all she had to do was compile a stable runic pattern to conjure the healing potion into being. 

About an hour into her efforts to create said runic pattern, Edith heard footsteps down the hall. She looked up to find Ricka hurriedly making her way into the library.

“Apologies for the interruption Miss Edith, but the Royal procession is about to leave,” she said. 

“No need to apologize, I’ll be along shortly,” Edith sighed. Ricka nodded and dipped into a curtsey, scurrying back out the way that she came in. Edith straightened up her notes, running calculations over her current runes one last time. She hummed in displeasure to find them still unbalanced, though they were closer than the last set that she had devised. And far less likely to explode on activation. 

Edith stood and stretched, cracking her back with a pop. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, readying herself for one last encounter with the royal family. Just one more time, then she would be able to pretend that they did not exist for a whole year. The thought was exhilarating. 

She stuffed her research in her bag and dispelled her mansion, then teleported herself to the castle gates. She landed right next to Lady Stark who jumped and startled before shooting Edith a fierce glare.

“I thought I told you to stop teleporting around the castle like that,” she scolded.

“It’s for convenience, my Lady. I would have been late otherwise,” Edith replied simply.

“Or you could have been on time like you were supposed to be,” Lady Stark said testily.

Edith just hummed noncommittally and the Lady threw her hands up in exasperation. She might’ve said more if not for the King and Queen approaching from the Keep.

“Ah, there she is!” King Robert boomed. The Queen fixed Edith with a hateful glare before ushering her children to the carriage. She offered the briefest of farewells to the Lord and Lady, turning her nose up at Edith in a petty display of disdain. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Edith,” The Queen smiled tightly, “Such an enlightening experience, meeting a real wizard. I shall be counting the days until we can speak again.”

“Likewise,” Edith glared at the subtle threat. She had a year until she’d see the Queen again, and that meant a year for the Queen to plot. Their feud was far from over, and that meant that her students were not yet safe from the Queen and her brood. Edith would have to be on her guard once she got to the Capital.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to join us in the Capital,” the King asked, “We get sunlight in King’s Landing you know. Not all of this cold and snow.”

“No thank you, your grace,” Edith said politely, “Have a safe trip back to the Capital.”

The King frowned at the blatant dismissal but nodded all the same. He bid a fond farewell to Lord and Lady Stark and all of their children. He gave extra attention to Arya and Jon in some inane attempt to further ingratiate himself to Edith through her students, but it only served to irritate her. It would seem that she would have to carefully mind her students around any nobility she might come across. For as annoyed as she was with the Northern Lords when they had first arrived, they had at least been honest in their attempts to earn her favor. None of them had tried to manipulate her students in any way. Though that could have something to do with their father being their liege Lord.

The King ruffled Arya’s hair, much to her chagrin, then finally turned and made his way to his awaiting carriage. He climbed in and the vehicle dipped a full six inches from the weight, the wood groaning pitifully. 

With the sound of a horn, the King of the Seven Kingdoms rolled out of Winterfell, finally allowing Edith to be at ease for the first time in nearly a month.

Once the last of the procession had disappeared out of the gates, the entirety of the assembled household seemed to sag in relief. As the crowd began to disperse, Edith snatched both of her students and headed for the First Keep. She had been completely serious when she meant that she was going to start work as soon as the King had gone. 

She hadn’t wanted to use more magic than necessary around the royal family. The more that they knew of her capabilities, the grander their ideas would become, and the greater their ambitions. Based on what she had seen of them, the King and Queen’s ambitions would only prove to be bothersome at best, dangerous at worst, and Winterfell would be caught in the middle of their power struggle. She would not inflict more hardship on the Starks than she already had just by landing at their doorstep.

“Watch closely my students,” Edith said, “Tell me what you see.”

She weaved through the crowd up to the dilapidated structure and conjured a piece of chalk into her hand. Normally, she wouldn’t bother drawing out the runes for a simpler set of spells like this. Repairing the Keep really only required some basic transfiguration, reshaping the material at hand and shifting the earth to accommodate the weight of reconstruction. She would need more lumber and stone than she currently had available for full repairs, but the amount that she had was at least serviceable for the time being.

She slapped her hands to the drawn runes and grinned as she felt the familiar pulse of magic flood her veins. She drew upon the wood and stones to reshape and rearrange, the building pulling itself back together piece by piece. The crowd around her halted in their tracks, ooo-ing and ahh-ing at the display. 

After a few moments, Edith felt the stonework wear thin and let the spell drop. She frowned as a good portion of the roof remained open, lacking the raw materials for a permanent fix without compromising the foundation by pulling more from the earth underneath. She hummed, mentally noting to search for Fryderyk and Erik as soon as possible. 

Still, the work was solid, if not plain, but decorative elements could come later. Restoring the structure to a functional state came first. The sooner that the building was fit for use, the sooner that the Guild and the school could begin operations. 

She turned back to face her students, raising her brow. They were both looking up at the Keep, starry eyed. 

“That was Draconic, wasn’t it?” Jon asked.

“Mostly,” Edith agreed.

“There was Sylvan too, right?” Arya asked, “Why did you add Sylvan if the spell was Draconic?”

“The spell itself isn’t Draconic,” Edith explained, “Technically, you can cast any spell in any runic language if you know how. But combining languages into a single spell tends to result in more efficient, powerful, and predictable spells.”

“Then the Sylvan was to stabilize the Draconic,” Jon realized.

“That is correct, my student,” Edith nodded, impressed. They hadn’t even discussed combining runic languages yet, so she was pleasantly surprised to see Jon drawing accurate conclusions on his own. 

“Anything else?” Edith asked.

“There was more than one spell, I think,” Arya said, “You drew two circles instead of just one, right?”

“Very good Arya,” Edith praised, “There were, in fact, three spells cast together simultaneously. Can you tell me what they were?”

Arya hesitated for a second, studying the chalk circle etched on the wall.

“Um, I think there’s a transfiguration spell and a conjuration one, but I don’t know the third,” she admitted. Still, two out of three wasn’t bad.

“Abjuration,” Jon said, “There was an abjuration layer there too. To strengthen the stones.”

Edith grinned, “Very close. The abjuration was actually to strengthen and preserve the structure as a whole. It will take nothing short of a disaster to knock this building down now.”

“Remarkable! Truly remarkable!” 

Edith and her students turned to see Lord Wyman striding over, eyes shining as he took in the newly reformed First Keep. His granddaughters and Robb trailed after him, Wylla and Wynafryd looking absolutely awed by the spellwork. Robb was grinning ear to ear as he hustled over.

“Miss Edith,“ he greeted.

“Lord Robb,” she returned, “Lord Wyman. My Ladies. Shall we get straight to business?”

Edith led the group into the First Keep, the interior completely hollow and towering. Light filtered down through the hole in the roof and gave the empty keep an otherworldly quality. Glancing around, there didn’t seem to be any misplaced stones or perilous gaps, but Edith would have to conduct a more thorough scan at a later time. 

“So this will be Winterfell’s new marketplace,” Lord Wyman said, looking about curiously. His voice echoed loudly throughout the massive stone interior.

“Guild Hall and public school, actually,” Edith corrected, “There is a perfectly serviceable market square in Wintertown. This building will be reserved primarily for study and craft, but it is the safest and most convenient place for teleportation to and from the town. I will be requiring an equally secure location in White Harbor.”  

“I already have the perfect place in mind, my Lady,” Lord Wyman said, “Wynafryd here helped me to make my selection. Such a bright child, she is.” 

He beamed proudly at his eldest grandchild. She blushed and smiled softly.

“Grandfather, please,” she said, “We have business to return to.”

“Of course, of course,” he laughed. 

Edith stared blandly at the pair, brows raised. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Robb and Wylla were infatuated with each other, even though no formal announcement had been made. Now that the King had gone, Edith would be starting Wylla’s lessons, as promised, but it seemed that Lord Wyman was pushing for both of his granddaughters to pick up a spell or two. This was the fifth time in three days that the Lord had loudly complimented his daughter’s wits and skill. She appreciated Lord Wyman’s good nature, but he was toeing awfully close to the line. 

“Indeed,” Edith said, “Well, if that is already sorted, then we have only to finalize contracts before you and your House depart for White Harbor.”

“You’ve already drawn the contracts?” Lord Wyman blinked in surprise, “I had expected at least a week’s worth of more negotiations.”

“Efficiency is a talent of mine,” Edith said, pulling the papers from her bag. She handed a set to Lord Wyman and to Robb, “Read these over and mark any changes or concerns to be revised. Lord Robb, if you would, please share this contract with your Lady mother to review. She will be quite involved with the process moving forward.”

“Mother is?” Robb asked.

“She has agreed to become the first Guildmaster of Winterfell,” Edith said, “So she will need to be informed of any and all decisions regarding the First Keep.”

Robb blinked and nodded before flipping through the papers himself. 

“We will reconvene here after the midday meal, so make sure to have read through the contracts before then,” Edith instructed, “And Lord Wyman, make sure to prepare your House for departure by tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?” Lord Wyman asked, looking slightly offended, “Eager to see us out then?”

“Not at all,” Edith replied, “I only assumed that you and yours would prefer to be teleported home. You are welcome to walk if you’d prefer.”

Lord Wyman laughed loudly, holding his large belly, “Always straight to the point, I quite like that about you. I think I’ll take you up on your offer, my Lady. Wynafryd, go prepare things for our departure while I read this over.” He waved the papers in the air and Wynafryd nodded, hustling out of the First Keep.

“What about me, grandfather?” Wylla asked.

“You’ll be staying here, my dear,” Lord Wyman smiled, patting his granddaughter on her head.

“Mother is preparing a guest suite for you, my Lady,” Robb said, cheeks cherry red. Jon and Arya shared a look behind his back, “You are welcome to stay for as long as Miss Edith deems necessary for your training.”

Or longer, if Lord Wyman had his way, Edith thought. As the two tweens smiled at each other, lost in their own little world, Edith turned to look at Lord Wyman. He caught her eye and raised his brows smugly. Edith rolled her eyes and smirked. He might be a politician at heart, but he was genuinely happy for his granddaughter having found a good boy to match with. She doubted that he would ever wed Wylla or Wynafryd to someone who might mistreat them. If he ever did, then she wondered if such a husband might meet with an unfortunate accident shortly after the ceremony.

Edith shooed Robb and the Manderlys from the First Keep, citing magic lessons and turned back to her students, bringing them to the center of the room.

“Alright, it’s time for you to put your Draconic to the test,” She said, “I need a circular platform, about three centimeters tall and four meters wide. The two of you know the runes and your writing is sufficient to complete the spell. I want you to shift the earth to make the platform.”

“Are you sure Teacher?” Arya bit her lip nervously, “I only just got my Draconic lines right. I don’t want to mess up.”

“Then don’t mess up,” Edith said, ruffling Arya’s hair, “I wouldn’t have you do this if I didn’t think you were ready. And if something goes wrong, you can always blame Jon.”

Jon squawked in protest, but Arya giggled, nerves abating. 

Edith marked off the center of where the platform should be placed and took a few steps back. She ushered her students forward, each summoning their own chalks with which to draw the runes. Working together, it took them about five minutes to assemble the proper pattern. Edith checked over their work from a distance, smiling to herself to see that there were no flaws or errors. It would seem that the last few days of lines had finally perfected Arya’s Draconic. If they succeeded on this spell, maybe she would reward them with a little game for their next lesson. Spider climbing and feather falling did go together so very well, after all. 

The pair gave each other one last look before nodding and putting their hands on the circle, funneling magic into the runes to activate. The chalk lit up and the earth began to tremble beneath them. The stone floor slowly pulled upwards into a short, stubby cylinder, just about the proper length and height as Edith had requested. She circled the platform, checking for flaws or holes, but was happy to find that the platform was solid and stable.

“Wonderfully done, my students,” Edith smiled, stepping up onto the raised surface. She cracked her knuckles and pulled ink pots, brushes and specially made chalks from her bag, setting them on the ground.

“Now it’s time for the teleportation circle. I want you both to observe. You already know the basic teleportation spell, but this one is far more complex. I expect you to know how to craft these circles by the end of the year so that you might assist me in the Capital,” Edith said, already marking down characters for the circle.  

“Really Teacher?” Arya asked excitedly. Ever since Edith told her that there are multiple variations of the teleportation spell, she had been eager to learn each and every one. Her fervor was admirable, but somehow Edith doubted that the hyperactive Arya would enjoy this particular teleportation spell considering that it would take at least a half hour to draw the circle.

“Indeed. Make sure to take notes.”

The circle ended up taking almost a full hour to draw given the periodic interruptions of Arya and Jon’s questions. By the time that Edith had finished, her fingers were stained in inks and she was covered in chalk dust. She cleaned herself with a quick snap of her fingers and stepped away from the platform to examine the complex design for any flaws. 

“Is it done?” Arya asked.

“Not quite,” Edith said. Mimicking her students’ creation of the platform, Edith kneeled down and planted her hands on the surface, channeling magic into the drawing to activate the circle. The design glowed with arcane energy, flashing bright and colorful across the stones. Once the energy died down, Edith stood and dusted her hands off with a clap.

“Finished,” She sighed, “Now I only have to repeat the drawing every day for a year.”

“What?!” Arya exclaimed. 

“A full year Teacher?” Jon gasped, “You have to redraw the circle for a full year ?”

Edith laughed, “Indeed students. Welcome to the wonderful arcane tradition of spell permanence. Certain spells only stick with daily repetition, and it just so happens that teleportation circles are one of those spells.”

Arya gaped and Jon pouted, glaring at Edith.

“You’re going to make us do this in King’s Landing,” he groused. 

“Among other places,” Edith smirked. Both of her students groaned in complaint.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough whinging. You two did well with your Draconic, so we’ll be doing a special lesson tomorrow, once the Manderly household is gone.”

“It’s not going to be more lines, is it?” Arya asked suspiciously. 

Edith laughed, “No, no more lines. I promise.”

She and her students left the keep to go eat their midday meal in the Great Hall. Once they’d finished their meal and Edith checked over both of her students’ notes on the teleportation circle, she dismissed them for the day so that she could entreat with Lord Wyman, Robb, and Lady Stark. 

Lady Stark graciously allowed the group use of her solar for the discussion and invited Lord Stark to join them, seeing as this was still his castle. She was carefully neutral in speaking his name, so Edith thought that she might still be upset with her husband, but at least she had warmed enough to speak with him again. Edith only hoped that any hurt feelings did not interfere with their negotiations. She didn’t think that she could handle another emotional breakdown so soon.

“Now, I assume that everyone has read the contract already,” Edith said, “Are there any concerns that anyone would like to bring up?”

“The travel fees,” Lady Stark said, “They are unfavorable towards our lumber workers. Wood weighs much more than wool or spices and is valued at a far lower price. Any wood export to White Harbor would be more costly than it would be to export any other goods.”

“We can amend the fee to compensate for quantity as well as weight,” Lord Wyman said, “You can transport far more rugs for ten stones than you can lumber. Do you find that agreeable?”

“But how would lumber fit on the circle?” Robb asked, “I went back to check on the circle and it’s far too small to fit entire logs of timber.”

“It might just be that timber cannot be transported via the circle in full,” Edith said, “It might be prudent to discuss an improved roadway system sometime, but for now we should just assume that we cannot use the circle for large exports like timber.”

“That cuts down our export by more than half,” Robb pointed out. 

“An issue to be resolved after the Guild is set up. If we can find artisans to take up residency in the Keep, then we can begin exporting excess timber, wool, leather, and furs in a luxury format, as we’ve discussed,” Edith replied, “Speaking of, we need to discuss an incentive for artisans to move to Winterfell from White Harbor and beyond.”

Lord Stark looked surprised by the revelation, saying, “I had not known that such an arrangement had been made.”

“Lord Wyman has graciously agreed to help us search for artisans to come to Winterfell to join the Guild, once it has been set up,” Robb explained to his father.

“That is generous of you,” Lord Stark said. He seemed a bit lost in the conversation overall. Edith supposed that she should have made sure that he was better kept in the loop rather than just assuming that Robb would share everything with his parents. She wasn’t particularly surprised that Lady Stark had chosen not to share anything with her husband as of late.

“Think nothing of it my Lord. Artisans come from all over the world to White Harbor. I’m sure that we could spare one or two who would be willing to move to the home of the Lord Paramount,” Lord Wyman grinned, puffing his chest with pride.

“And the circles will make it easy for those who don’t to come and go at will,” Edith added, “Those who live in White Harbor can still use the circle to travel to the Guild. We could create a traveler’s fee for those looking to hone their craft at the Guild rather than uproot their business. That fee can be split between the castles.”

“That is assuming that the Guild will be successful,” Lord Wyman said.

“They will succeed,” Edith declared firmly. 

Lady Stark twitched slightly but nodded in assent, “They will not fail, Lord Manderly. I assure you of that.”

Lord Wyman nodded, smiling. His face gave nothing away, so Edith was unsure as to whether he truly believed in the success of the Guild or if he was just humoring her and Lady Stark. She supposed it didn’t really matter either way, so long as Lord Wyman agreed to the fees. 

It was well past sundown when the contract had finally been re-written to the point where everyone was content with the results. The process was made longer as the group had to break on several occasions to explain to Lord Stark terms that they had already agreed upon. The longer the discussion went on, the more sullen and quiet the Lord grew, clearly unused to being the smallest voice in the room. 

Once they finally came to a conclusion and hands had been shaken all around (to the befuddlement of Lord Stark), Lord Wyman excused himself for the evening to see to the preparations for his family’s departure and Robb was sent off to grab dinner from the kitchens before bed. Edith herself made her way to retire for the evening, but was stopped by Lord Stark.

“Lady Edith, if you could spare us a moment of your time,” he said.

Edith raised a brow and nodded, returning to her seat.

“Of course my Lord. How can I be of service?” she asked.

“I would like to know everything about the Guild as you intend to build it,” he said, “I will be supporting this project to my fullest ability as the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” Edith said, looking hesitantly between the Lord and Lady Stark. Lady Stark was staring stubbornly ahead, refusing to so much as look at Lord Stark.

“Do you know who will be joining the Guild?” Lord Stark asked, “You mention craftsmen and artisans, but do you have anyone specific in mind?”

“Well, the Guildmaster and I have yet to discuss that in depth, but I had intended for there to be multiple subgroups within the larger guild assembly. Individual guilds for stonemasons, carpenters, smiths, and so on,” Edith turned to face Lady Catelyn, “I had been thinking of approaching Fryderyk, Erik, and Mikken for those roles actually. I’m sure that I will be seeing a great deal of them as I work to remodel the First Keep into our new guild hall and school.”

“I agree, those three are the most talented in their crafts in all of Wintertown,” Lady Catelyn nodded, “And I have been putting together a list of our castle’s servants who are well read and capable of teaching in the school, as requested.”

“Excellent. Once the Keep is in an operable state, we can discuss enrollment and employment. Have you given any thought to the fees and scholarships that we had discussed?”

“I have, and I agree that the fee needs to remain low enough for as many of the smallfolk as possible to attend. We will be needing to set aside a fund for scholarships and-”

Lord Stark cleared his throat, drawing Edith and Lady Catelyn’s attention. The Lady scowled at the interruption.

“Yes, my Lord?” Edith asked.

“Scholarships and fees? Are we still discussing the Guild?” he asked.

“Ah, apologies my Lord,” Edith replied, “We seem to have gotten a bit carried away. Aside from Fryderyk, Erik, and Mikken, I know very few tradesmen or artisans in Wintertown. The Lady and I were going to go scouting once the First Keep is operational to find others. Tailors and cobblers and the like.”

“I see,” The Lord said, surprised, “I had not known that you and Cat had made such plans. I would join you, if you would have me.”

“I’m sure that the Lord of Winterfell will be quite busy with his duties to attend,” Lady Stark huffed.

“Cat, please,” Lord Stark sighed. Lady Stark replied with a glare and stood abruptly, nearly knocking her chair over in her haste. 

“The night grows dark, and I grow weary,” she declared, “I shall retire for the evening. Goodnight my Lord, my Lady,” she bowed her head politely and swept from the room without a backwards glance.

Lord Stark slumped heavily in his chair, sighing loud and deep.  

“The Lady can hold quite the impressive grudge,” Edith hummed, “You ought to do something about that my Lord.”

“That is no business of yours,” Lord Stark glowered.

“So long as you insist on being a part of the Guild and school planning, it is plenty of my business,” Edith said primly, “How am I ever to make any progress if my Guildmaster storms out of our every meeting with you like that?”

“Then mayhaps she should not be your Guildmaster,” Lord Stark groused, “Cat has enough to worry about as it is.”

Edith shot the Lord a sharp look, “Do you really intend to interfere in this? Lady Catelyn wants to be Guildmaster. She knows how important it is that we succeed. And if we do, it opens up a world of opportunities for your daughters. Are you really going to take that from her? From them?”

Lord Stark slumped and sighed, “No, I won’t.”

“Well then, what are you going to do?” Edith asked irritably, “If you won’t tell her the truth, that is. She won’t forgive you easily for saying that you loved Jon’s mother.”

Lord Stark’s eyes went wide and his face drained white.

“She told you?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes, she did,” Edith said crossly, “And you ought to tell her and Jon both the truth.”

“You know not what you speak of,” Lord Stark practically growled.

Edith raised a brow at the angry Lord. It was rare to see him so… expressive. He seemed furious and miserable at the same time. Edith couldn't help but pity the man just a bit, even if he was being irrational. 

“Maybe not, but I know that you cannot leave this be. I doubt that Lady Stark will forgive you any time soon unless you do something to regain her trust,” Edith shrugged. She stood from her seat and fixed the Lord with a piercing glare, “Figure it out Lord Stark. This is your mess, so clean it up.”

With that, Edith teleported out of the room and back to her tower, hurriedly returning to her mansion to get at least a few hours of work in on the healing elixir spell before bed.

Come morning, Edith woke early to investigate the First Keep and redraw the Winterfell circle. The impression from the previous day would still be etched into the platform, so it would take significantly less time to write in than before. After a quick meal, she teleported into the Keep, eager to begin work on the restoration. It took her roughly half the time to rewrite the circle, just around half an hour. 

Once she had finished, she scanned the interior of the Keep, taking in the newly rebuilt walls. The First Keep was very large, but very empty. It was essentially a hollow cylinder with a few windows and a hole in the roof. Certainly not welcoming to prospective guildsmen or scholars. 

Looking up towards the ceiling, Edith guessed that she could fit fourteen, maybe fifteen stories in the structure divided evenly. She made a mental note to speak to Fryderyk and Erik about drafting a floor plan to divide the guild into separate floors. With the raw materials and an architectural blueprint to work from, Edith could have the First Keep ready for business in just a few days. Setting the Guild and school up for operation would obviously take much longer, but that was another matter entirely. 

Edith’s main concern was cost. As grateful as she was to the Starks for their patronage, they only had so much to give. Edith could probably afford the raw materials with what she had left over from Lord Stark’s payment for the reconstruction of the outer bailey, but she had no means to pay Fryderyk and Erik for the work that she needed of them. Lady Stark would no doubt offer to cover costs as Guildmaster, but the school was Edith’s cross to bear. She needed staff and books. Lady Stark had already been kind enough to agree to set aside a small scholarship fund so that the poorest citizens of Wintertown might find opportunity through education, but education required educators. Lady Stark could find her all of the literate villagers in Wintertown, but that would be useless if Edith couldn’t pay them for their service. She did not have the time to take over those duties all on her own, so she needed to find a reliable source of income in order to properly outfit her school with faculty and supplies. 

Edith sighed, setting aside the issue for the moment. She had promised to teleport the Manderly’s back home before her students’ lessons and she would soon be late. Plus, she had plans with Lady Stark to discuss more Guild matters, so she needed to return from White Harbor as quickly as possible. 

She sent Minaeve off with a message for Lord Wyman to meet her inside of the Keep with his household at his earliest convenience. Less than twenty minutes later, the Lord and his household of roughly twenty men and servants arrived with their luggage. 

“Miss Edith!” Lord Wyman called, “A pleasant morning I hope?”

“Well enough Lord Wyman,” Edith replied cordially, “Is this everyone?”

“Everyone but dear Wylla,” Lord Wyman sighed wistfully, “I will miss her so.”

“You will be able to see her freely, my Lord. I will have to go to White Harbor daily, I do not mind bringing Wylla with me upon request,” Edith offered.

“How generous of you, my Lady,” Wynafryd smiled.

“Think nothing of it,” Edith waved, “But we have business to get to, shall we?”

Edith lifted her palms and magic thrummed to life in the air. It swirled and coalesced in the air until it formed a colorful arcane gateway. The rainbow mirage over the surface dissolved away from the center until only the very edge of the portal remained. 

To the astonishment of Lord Wyman and his entourage, on the other side was the Merman’s Court itself. 

“If you would, I can’t hold this open forever,” Edith said, clearing her throat for attention. The Manderlys gathered their luggage and gingerly approached the gate. Having been teleported before, Lord Wyman was the boldest and walked through the portal with only the slightest hesitation. Wynafryd followed suit. With their Lord and Lady safely on the other side of the portal, the rest of the group scurried through. Edith stepped through just as she began to tremble from the strain of holding a gate open for so long.

“How remarkable,” Wynafryd said, looking around the Mermaid Court in awe, “That journey would have taken a sennight on foot.” 

“Indeed. Apologies, but I do not have time for pleasantries and small talk. I must be returning at once. Might I see the location intended for the teleportation circle?” Edith asked impatiently. 

“Of course, of course,” Lord Wyman answered. He shooed away his servants with his luggage and said, “Wynafryd dear, why don’t you go and show Miss Edith to the gatehouse. I’m going to go and begin preparations to remodel the space for its new use.”

“Of course grandfather,” Wynafryd smiled. Lord Wyman bid Edith farewell with a friendly handshake, a mannerism that he seemed to have grown rather fond of.

“If you would, Miss Edith,” Wynafryd said politely, gesturing for Edith to follow. 

“Of course,” Edith replied. She followed Wynafryd out of the hall and the main holdfast, heading towards the castle’s main gate.

“I regret that we did not get to speak more during our visit to Winterfell,” Wynafryd commented, “It is rare to meet a wizard in Westeros, after all. Though I hear there are sorcerers and the like that practice magic across the Narrow Sea.”

“Asshai, you mean,” Edith said, “and Qarth.”

“Among others,” Wynafryd hummed, “There are the Faceless Men of Braavos. It is said that they can change their faces as easily as one might change their clothes. And the magic of Old Valyria, but that remains lost,” she gave Edith a meaningful look from the corner of her eye, “I am certain that I could find more about it in New Castle’s library. Our collection is quite extensive, you know.”

Edith furrowed her brow, “I appreciate the offer, my Lady. But I am afraid that there is nothing that I can offer you in return.”

“On the contrary, you have offered us a great deal already,” Wynafryd said, “I can’t imagine that these teleportation circles are cheap. And you have given House Manderly a direct route to the heart of the North. I’m sure many Northern Lords will wish to follow suit.”

“I’m sure that it will be more than just Northern Lords,” Edith grumbled, thinking on Tyrion Lannister and King Robert.

“And your Guild, your school,” Wynafryd added, “I think that they’re wonderful. I’m sure that many will benefit from it,” Wynafryd paused and turned to face Edith directly, “I know that you are a candid woman, Miss Edith, and so I shant mince words. I would like to be a part of your work with the First Keep.”

“Whatever for, my Lady?” Edith asked, brow raised, “Not that I am ungrateful for the offer, I just do not understand why you wish to join when you are already set to inherit New Castle.”

“Mayhaps,” Wynafryd replied, “But that is only assuming that my mother and father birth no more heirs. Should they have a son, then I will become second in line and likely to be married off. You put the Lady of Winterfell in charge of this project. I know what that means for her, should this venture prove a success. I want a part of that. I want the respect of the people around me. I want no man to question my capability. I will show them all that I am worthy to be the Lady of New Castle all on my own. I want to secure my own future, Miss Edith, so how can I help?”

Edith scrutinized the girl, but found nothing but determination shining in her eyes. As far as she could tell, there was no ulterior motive, only resolve. 

“Well,” Edith hummed, “Once our school is up and running, we will be in need of teachers. How would you feel about commuting to Winterfell to teach the common folk letters and numbers?”

“Teaching?”

“Yes, teaching. I’m sure that you know at least basic linguistics and arithmetic. I’d like for you to share that knowledge with the common folk,” Edith explained.

“To what end?” Wynafryd asked, “How will that help me earn respect?”

“You earn the peoples’ respect. You’ll find that the common people outnumber the highborn ten to one,” Edith pointed out, “And in the instance of an inheritance dispute, who do you think they will favor? Someone kind who they are familiar with or a stranger looking down on them?”

Some kind of recognition flitted across Wynafryd’s face, but she still seemed unconvinced.

“Think of it like this,” Edith sighed, “An educated population is a population that has time to innovate. Your people know the problems that plague them better than any, and a proper education would give them the tools to fix these problems on their own. Don’t you think that they would respect the person who put those tools in their hands?”

Wynafryd nodded, “I understand. I am happy to offer my assistance, Miss Edith.”

She extended a hand and Edith gave it a firm shake. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Edith smiled, “Now where is it exactly that you were wanting your circle?”

Chapter Text

“Today, you will be falling from the top of the tower.”

Edith grinned at the absolutely baffled expression on her students’ faces. She had told them after their morning bladesong training to conserve as much magic as possible for an extra special lesson. She would be teaching them two spells at once, so they needed to reserve their strength. 

At first, her students had been ecstatic at the prospect of learning two new spells, especially after weeks of writing lines in Draconic. Edith had hesitated to teach them anything new and dangerous until the elixir spell was complete, so they had been working on their Draconic for almost a fortnight after the King’s departure. The elixir was complete now, Edith able to summon minor healing potions through a combination of conjuration and transfiguration. So long as she had her alchemy tools and all of the potion ingredients on hand, she could conjure a potion in an instant. The normal batch of healing potions was just a few days from completion as well, so Edith decided that it was time for the special lesson that she had planned before Jon’s injury. 

Now, her students eyed the Tower apprehensively, taking in just how tall the building was. 

With the King gone, Edith was able to resume construction with Fryderyk and Erik and progress was going smoothly. They’d nearly finished the exterior of the building and Erik had started his men on setting down the floors for each level of the Tower. Much of the furnishings for the lower, livable levels had been delivered and the base now better resembled Edith’s study in her mansion. It had a small hearth, a plush armchair and ottoman, warm fur rugs, a small desk set with a couple of chairs for her students to work at, and a larger desk for Edith herself. The walls were lined with several empty shelves for the books she eventually intended to collect. She had set several summoned servants to the task of transcribing Winterfell’s collection down, as well as several major volumes on arcana for her students’ use. The tomes would not be leaving the tower, of course, but it was more convenient than summoning her manor just for a couple of books. 

The potions had been very, very carefully moved to the second floor which was in the process of turning into an alchemy lab. The rickety tables were replaced with ones of sturdy polished oak  and the cauldrons bubbled over magically lit flames etched onto slabs of slate. Ricka had started collecting and drying herbs and flowers for the potions, now bundled and hanging all around the room. It was still rather barren, but Edith was working with Mikken to have a third cauldron commissioned. She also intended to set up an alchemy station at some point to speed and fine tune the brewing process. 

Edith wasn’t sure what she would be doing with the upper floors just yet. One would eventually become her personal chambers, but there were to be twenty stories total to the tower. She hadn’t quite realized exactly how tall the tower would wind up being once fully restored, twice as tall as the outer bailey itself. She had made the first floor roughly three of those stories to try and compensate for space, intending to turn it into something of a personal library, but that still left a whopping seventeen floors.

So far, apart from the alchemy level and her personal chambers, she had plans for a divination room and a private office for herself and each of her students. The divination room would also take up at least two stories, but that still left Edith with roughly ten stories. Only the first three were livable at the moment, so Edith figured that finding a use for the space could be a problem for later.

But now that the exterior was nearly complete…

“Today’s lesson is on transfiguration,” Edith said, “What do you recall about the school of transfiguration?”

“It’s about changing something from one form to another,” Jon answered.

“Very good Jon. What else?”

“It can give something powers that it wouldn’t have normally, like flying or moving really fast,” Arya grinned, eyes sparkling. Transfiguration, for how little that they’d touched the subject, was one of Arya’s favorites. 

“Excellent, Arya. And today, you will be transfiguring yourselves to climb up the tower using only your feet, like a spider” Edith said. She emphasized her statement by setting foot on the side of the tower and casually walking vertically up the wall. About twenty feet up, she turned and shouted, “And then you will be transfiguring yourself to be as light as a feather!”

She released the spider climbing spell and plummeted towards the earth, catching herself in a burst of glimmering feathers just inches from the ground. 

“Spider climb and feather fall. Those are your spells for the day. Now pull out your books so I can show you the runes.”

Edith spent the next thirty minutes going over both spells with her students as they copied the patterns down in their spellbooks. Arya nearly vibrated out of her skin in excitement. 

“We’ll start with falling. On the count of three, you are going to fall backwards and catch yourself with the spell. Are you both ready?” Edith asked.

“Yes Teacher,” her students chorused.

“Alright then. One… Two… Three… Fall.”

Arya and Jon both yelped as they landed roughly on the ground. Edith heard Jory and a couple of the other guards supervising today’s lesson snickering in the distance and her students both turned pink.

“What happened?” Arya asked.

“You tell me,” Edith said, raising a brow.

“Our runes were perfect, you said so yourself!” Arya huffed, puffing her cheeks cutely, “I don’t get it Teacher.”

Edith chuckled and ruffled Arya’s hair, “There’s more to a spell than just runes, my students. Aside from your runes and the magic itself, what is it that you need to successfully cast a spell?”

“You need intention,” Jon answered diligently, “But I intended to fall like a feather. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

“Not quite,” Edith said, “You are not falling like a feather, you are a feather. Therein lies the difference.”

“But won’t we turn into feathers if our intention is to be feathers?” Arya asked.

“Not with this runic pattern. It is far too weak to be capable of a transfiguration that powerful. Now, let’s try again, shall we?” Edith asked.

“Does that mean that a stronger spell could turn us into feathers?” Arya asked.

“Yes, but that is very advanced magic, far beyond your current level,” Edith explained.

“Could you turn into other things?” Arya asked.

“Technically, you could turn into anything with a strong enough polymorph spell,” Edith replied.

“Anything?” Arya asked, starry eyed, “Anything at all?”

“Indeed, but that is a lesson for another time,” Edith said, “Let’s just focus on your feather falling for now.”

It took three more attempts, but eventually Arya and Jon managed to feather fall and float gently to the ground without landing hard on their behinds. After both students managed three successful feather falls in a row, Edith had them stand side by side in front of her tower.

“The concept of spider climbing is the same as feather fall,” Edith explained, “I want you to cast the spell and imagine your legs as spider legs. You’re a spider climbing up the side of the wall as easily as we humans walk across the ground.”

“What if we fall?” Arya asked nervously.

“Then you catch yourself,” Edith answered easily, “Or I will. I’ll be right here the whole time, my students. I won’t let you fall.”

She had her students each conjure a piece of chalk and instructed them to mark their progress as they made it up the wall until they reached the top. Edith did not expect that either of them would make it very far in their first attempts, but she was confident that they both would reach the top by the end of the lesson. The real test was whether or not they could catch themselves once they fell. Switching between two spells so quickly could be a bit tricky for beginners, but that’s why Edith was there to supervise. When she was young, she had learned this lesson in a much harder way that had ended in three broken ribs and three very painful weeks of training. Her grandfather had refused to pay for a healing potion or hire a cleric to help her recover, and Edith was too stubborn to skip any bladesinging classes. She had refused to fall behind her peers just to give them another thing to torment her over.

Arya and Jon eyed the tower warily, daunted by the height. Arya sucked in a breath and set her little face in determination, speaking the runes and taking the first step up the tower. About ten paces up, she wobbled and squeaked, slipping off of the stonework. In her surprise, she had forgotten to mark her place with her chalk. To her credit, she did manage to pull off the feather fall before Edith was forced to intervene and catch her. Instead, Edith snapped her fingers to mark Arya’s progress on the wall for her.

“Don’t forget the chalk Arya,” Edith scolded lightly.

Jon took the next attempt but only managed eight paces to Arya’s ten. The distance itself was further thanks to his longer strides, and he managed to both mark his progress and catch himself before he hit the ground. 

Frustrated, Arya set her jaw and took a running start up the tower. She managed seventeen paces this time before slipping, barely managing to nick the wall with her chalk before she fell. She caught herself and drifted down with her arms crossed, glaring at the mark as if it had personally offended her. Jon’s next attempt landed him fourteen paces up the wall. 

The two continued back and forth, running up the wall and falling back down over and over for an hour. By the time that they’d both reached the top, the tower wall had been scored half a hundred times between both of her students. They celebrated once their feet both safely hit the ground after reaching their goal, whooping and dancing around and hugging each other in glee. Edith smiled proudly at their success.

“Alright, now that you’ve got the hang of it. We’re going to have a little race,” Edith grinned, “First student to the top and back gets to pick the school of magic that your next spell comes from.”

Arya and Jon both perked at the reward. Jon had been itching for more evocation magic, something that Arya had difficulty controlling.  Arya sucked up illusion spells like a sponge while Jon was absolutely hopeless with them. Edith wanted to see if her students could handle the task given a little bit of pressure. Spells that required concentration like this were easy to break for beginners. The incentive would make for good motivation, but prove distracting enough to add a bit more of a challenge to the task. It was a little risky, but she would be right there to catch them should they actually fall, of course.

“On my mark-” Edith announced, Arya grinned wolfishly at her brother who smirked in return, “-get set-” Both students crouched, coiled and ready to spring up at the wall, “-GO!”

Arya and Jon shot up the wall like magic missiles, speeding past a newly arrived Erik and thoroughly distracting his workers as they got closer and closer to the top. Jory and the other guards cheered them on, making bets on who they thought would reach the top first. Her students were neck and neck, but Jon’s longer stride gave him the advantage and he pressed past his little sister. 

And then he slipped. About two-thirds of the way up the tower, he planted a foot against the wall, but the magic did not stick. From her vantage point on the ground, Edith saw Jon slam his palms against the tower, panicking as he reached to grip the stones, but he could not find purchase.

Jon fell with a scream. Edith distantly heard shouts of alarm around her. She immediately threw her hands up and a burst of feathers exploded around Jon’s form. His descent slowed and he floated lightly, the feather fall spell taking hold. Edith rushed over, gently pulling Jon from the air and into her arms, helping him to stand on shaky legs.

“Easy, easy,” Edith murmured, “Deep breaths Jon.” 

She looked up to check on Arya as Jon panted, trying to calm his racing heart. Fortunately, it seemed as though Arya managed to maintain her concentration on her spider climb spell enough to stay rooted in place, despite the obvious fear and worry. 

“I-I’m sorry Teacher, I just-” Jon gasped, “I panicked, I couldn’t- I’m sorry Teacher.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for Jon,” Edith shushed.

“But I failed. I was too craven to catch myself. If it weren’t for you, I would have died. Again,” Jon dropped his head in shame. Edith pursed her lips and lifted his chin with her fingers to look him in the eye.

“It is okay to be afraid, Jon. You ran up that tower and you fell. That is something to be afraid of,” Edith said.

“It was craven. I was supposed to catch myself, like you taught us,” Jon said miserably.

“No one is fearless Jon,” Edith sighed, “Fearless is just a word that the foolish use to feel strong. It takes courage to admit that you are afraid, and even more to face your fears directly. Be afraid, but remember that I will always be here to catch you when you fall.”

Jon nodded, but his shoulders still slumped in defeat.

“Jon!” Arya shouted from her spot on the side of the tower, “I’m going to jump! Catch me!”

Jon’s eyes widened in alarm, “What?!”

“Arya, wait-” Edith called.

“Catch me!” Arya repeated, ignoring them both and settling into a crouch. Without further warning, she jumped, plummeting from the side of the tower. 

Jon leapt to action immediately, throwing both of his hands out and shouting in Sylvan. A burst of feathers erupted around Arya and she giggled as she slowly floated to the ground. Edith sighed in relief. She could have caught Arya, certainly, but the girl was far too reckless. To Arya’s credit, it seemed to be the right motivation for Jon to react as quickly as he was meant to. It did worry Edith how much he put the wellbeing of others ahead of himself. There was a fine line between protecting and self-sacrificing, and she did not want Jon to cross it. 

“Arya!” Jon scolded, catching his little sister, “You could have gotten hurt!”

“But you caught me,” She said, “And Teacher is here too. She would have caught me if you didn’t.”

“I am glad that you have such faith in me, my student, but Jon is right. You are reckless,” Edith scolded, “What would you have done if Jon or I hadn’t reacted in time?”

“Then I would have caught myself!” Arya exclaimed.

Edith frowned, raising a brow. Arya seemed to pick up on her displeasure as she mumbled an apology. 

“Why don’t we take a break,” Edith sighed, “It seems that this was a bit much yet. We’ll try again another time, once you’ve had more practice.”

“But I could. I know how to do it,” Arya mumbled.

“Arya-” Edith started.

“We still have to race,” Jon said, “Neither of us made it to the top yet.”

Edith raised a brow in surprise, “You still want to race?”

“Yes,” Jon said firmly. He smirked at Arya, “And I’m going to win. Then we’re going to learn that shield spell that Teacher was talking about.”

“Noooo,” Arya groaned, “Abjuration is stupid! I want to learn duplicates!”

“Then you’ll have to beat me, little sister.”

Jon took off up the side of the tower and Arya shouted, “That’s cheating stupid!” before following suit. 

This time, Jon raced to the top of the tower without so much as a stumble. When he reached the very final stone, he leapt backwards, flipping in the air and letting himself freefall. Edith’s heart beat heavy in her chest as she watched him go. She admitted that his stumble had her a bit on edge. Magic clung to her fingertips, ready to burst to life at a moment's notice. 

Just as she was about to give in and cast the spell, Jon was surrounded by a burst of feathers and gracefully floated to the earth. He landed on his feet just a bit shakily. He looked up to meet Edith’s eyes and grinned. Just above him, Arya whined as she floated herself down the tower.

“I win, little sister,” Jon smirked.

“No fair!” Arya whined, “You cheated! Teacher, tell him that didn’t count!”

“I said first to the top and back,” Edith replied primly, “You are the one who jumped down when you had the lead.”

Arya’s jaw dropped and Jon laughed. Arya’s face turned red as she geared up for what would certainly be a tantrum about the unfairness, but Edith interrupted her, saying, “I suppose I could be convinced to teach you two new spells tomorrow. If you can win another race, that is.”

Arya didn’t waste a second. She darted off up the side of the tower, leaving Jon behind in her dust. It was Jon’s turn to yelp a protest before chasing his sister up the side of the tower. When Arya noticed him gaining on her from over her shoulder, she surprised Jon and Edith both by teleporting ahead, bringing her to the very top of the tower far ahead of her brother. Edith could hear Jon shout, “Cheater!” as Arya hopped off of the top and feather fell past her brother.

“Well done, Arya,” Edith congratulated once the girl was safely back on the ground. Jon joined them a few moments later. He rolled his eyes as Arya stuck her tongue out at him, and then ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Good work today students, now go get yourselves cleaned up. No sword lessons today, but tomorrow, you’ll be sparring and spider climbing at the same time, so rest up,” Edith instructed. Her students nodded and chorused, “Yes Teacher,” before heading off, laughing and chattering the whole way. 

Edith spent the rest of her morning aiding in construction. Ricka arrived after breaking her fast to assist in etching runes into the stones once more before Edith sent her inside to tend to the potions. She was becoming quite adept with potioncraft, and Edith considered the possibility of introducing Ricka to alchemy. Having a dedicated alchemist on hand would certainly be a blessing. Alchemical potions were versatile and extremely convenient for conserving magic and curing ailments. With how well Ricka handled the healing potions and cure all elixir, she was already halfway there. Edith would have her servants transcribe a few books for Ricka to study from later.

Just before midday, a breathless Bran ran up to Edith as she and Erik were discussing floorplans for the sixth story. 

“Miss Edith!” he exclaimed, “I need to talk to you right now. It’s about the thing. ”

He fished around his pocket before pulling out a handful of small seeds, all proudly sporting little green sprouts from the surface.

Oh.

Oh.

“You’ll have to excuse me Erik,” Edith said, “Bran and I must discuss a thing. ”

Erik laughed and waved her away, interpreting her tone as something of a joke and Edith quickly hustled Bran inside of her tower. She summoned her mansion and herded him inside where they would have privacy.

“How long ago did you manage this?” Edith asked.

“Just a few days before the King left,” he said, “I didn’t know if I was just imagining, but I tried it again and it sprouted, just like this.” He fished a handful of lifeless seeds from his other pocket and cupped them in hand like Edith had shown him. Screwing his face up in concentration, Edith felt the warm, earthy magic coalesce in his palms. When he opened his hands back up, each and every seed sported healthy little sprouts.  

“Remarkable,” Edith breathed.

“Is it real then?” Bran asked, wide eyed, “I have magic?” 

“Yes Bran. You’re a druid,” Edith smiled.

“A druid?”

“A nature mage,” Edith explained, “Come. Follow me.”

Edith guided Bran to her library. He looked around the massive room in wonder and Edith was reminded that Bran was an avid reader himself. Edith grinned and clapped her hands, summoning half a dozen servants carrying piles of books. 

“It isn’t much, but these are all of the tomes that I have on druidic magic,” Edith said, “They can’t leave the mansion, but I’ll have my servants transcribe physical copies for you as soon as I can.”

“Do I still have to keep it a secret?” Bran asked.

“Mostly,” Edith answered, “We’ll tell your parents, now that we know that you're capable of nature magic. Druidic magic is a bit different from wizardly magic, and it’s something that you somehow possess naturally. I thought I felt it on you when I first arrived in Winterfell, but I wasn’t certain until now. It’s still dangerous for others to know, but it will be up to your Lord father and Lady mother what to do about it now.”

“Does this mean that you're going to teach me too?” Bran asked excitedly. 

Edith gave Bran a remorseful look, “I’m sorry Bran, but I’m a Wizard. I can’t do druidic magic.”

Bran drooped in disappointment. Edith ruffled his hair gently and said, “The good news is that you don’t need me to teach you. Druidic magic comes from nature. Listen to the world around you Bran, and you will find all the magic that you need.”

Bran looked at her skeptically and Edith chuckled. She plucked one of the sprouted seeds from his hands and examined it in wonder. It had been so long since she’d felt the warm life magic of the druids.

“You know, I can’t do anything like this with my magic. Creating life like this, this is something that only a druid can do,” Edith said.

“I can do magic that even you can’t?” Bran asked, eyes wide.

“Indeed,” Edith nodded, “My magic might be strong and varied, but I do not have the ability to nurture like this. Life is the domain of the druids and the divine. It is truly a gift Bran.”

“For true?” he asked.

“Indeed. Now let’s go find your mother and father.”

Edith guided Bran back out of the mansion after he stuffed the seeds safely back in his pockets. The little boy practically skipped back to the main keep in joy. As happy as she was for Bran, she had to consider the consequences of this secret getting out. The other Lords would already be claiming favoritism because of Arya and Jon. Even if she wasn’t actually training Bran, the timing of his discovery would certainly make people draw conclusions that the ‘Wizard of Winterfell’ was priming the Stark children as powerful magi. If that didn’t put a fat target on the Stark family’s back, then Edith didn’t know what would.

They found the Lord in his solar with Vayon, who bowed deeply to Edith when she arrived. Ever since she had first revealed her magic, the steward took extra care not to offend in any way possible. She was fairly certain that he was responsible for Jeyne practically sprinting away from Edith on sight. Not that she was complaining, considering the alternative was the Pooles sneering down their nose and generally being snotty classists. 

“My Lord,” Edith greeted.

“Lady Edith,” he replied. Edith repressed an eye roll at the term of address. She had all but given up on being referred to anything but ‘Lady Edith,’ by the Lord and Lady of the castle. 

“May I have a word, my Lord?” Edith asked, “In private,” she added, shooting a glance at Vayon out of the corner of her eye. Lord Stark looked curiously between Edith and Bran before nodding at Vayon to dismiss him. Vayon offered a bow to both the Lord and Edith before hurriedly exiting the room.

“And fetch Lady Stark!” Edith called after the retreating steward.

“What business do you have that requires the presence of both the Lord and Lady of the castle?” Lord Stark asked warily, “And what does it have to do with Bran?”

Bran looked uncertainly up at Edith, toying with the fabric of his pocket.

“Show him,” Edith encouraged. Bran nodded and pulled out one of his seeds, folding it in the palm of his hands and filling it with warm nature magic. When he reopened them, the seed lay in his hands with a green sprout shooting from the side. 

Lord Stark gasped, then fixed Edith with an irritated glare, “I thought that you weren’t going to teach Bran-”

“I didn’t, my Lord,” Edith insisted, “He taught himself. Your son is a druid.”

“A druid?” Lord Stark asked.

“A nature mage,” Edith explained, “I suppose the closest thing in Westerosi history would be something like the Children of the Forest.”

“The Children?” Lord Stark repeated in disbelief, “The Children are but a myth.”

“And so was magic up until just recently,” Edith pointed out, “If the Children did exist, I believe that they might have been a druid circle of some variety. And I think that Bran somehow inherited their magic.”

“By the Gods,” Lord Stark muttered, “Does she speak true, Bran?”

“Yes father. Miss Edith only told me to feel for the magic in the air and put it into the seeds,” he said. Lord Stark shot Edith a flat look that she tried to ignore. It was only a small kernel of advice. Nothing would have come from it had Bran not had the natural ability. Probably. 

Lord Stark sighed, “Just how many of my children are you going to turn into mages, Lady Edith?” 

“I did no such thing with Bran,” Edith denied, “He did it himself. And I cannot teach him nature magic anyway, as I am not a druid. This is a journey that he will have to undergo himself.”

Lord Stark rubbed a hand over his face and muttered, “What am I to do with this? Three of my children can do magic now. What will the other Lords say? They will think us greedy, hungry for power and hoarding all of the magic in Westeros.”

“I think it wisest to keep this private for the time being,” Edith suggested, “I’m sure that-”

She was interrupted by a knock at the door as Lady Stark entered. She shot Lord Stark an icy glare before turning to Edith and Bran in confusion.

“Vayon said you sent for me? Did something happen?” She asked.

Bran repeated his trick with the seeds and Edith and Lord Stark relayed their conversation up until her arrival.

“I agree with Lady Edith,” Lady Stark said, “We have enough to deal with as it is. More word of Starks and magic will only spell trouble for our House,” Lady Stark turned to face her son, “Can I trust you to keep this a secret, Bran?”

“Will I still get to practice?” He asked hopefully.

“Would you stop if I told you to?” Lady Stark asked pointedly. Bran did not answer, only looked down at his feet and pouted. Lady Stark smiled and shook her head fondly.

“Go on now son,” Lord Stark said, “Your mother and I have some things we need to discuss.”

Lady Stark went rigid, her jaw going tense. Edith stilled, looking cautiously between the Lord and Lady. Bran, noticing the sudden tension between his parents, quickly scurried out of the room.

“Should I-” Edith started.

“You may leave, Lady Edith,” Lord Stark dismissed coldly. Edith did not need to be told twice. She didn’t even bother with the door, teleporting straight back to her tower. Whatever was going to happen in that room, Edith most certainly did not want to be involved. 

Inside of her tower, Edith dropped heavily into her new armchair, rubbing at her temples. A part of her had hoped that she was wrong about Bran, that the magic she sensed was a fluke and that it would never manifest. But here she was, stupidly weak to the whims and wishes of big-eyed children with toothy smiles and kind hearts. Damn it all.

She was meant to be looking for a way home. What was she doing? Playing house in the Stark’s castle, spending all of her time on the Keep and the children and- 

And who was she kidding. She wouldn’t give up Arya and Jon for any world. She loved them, loved them more than anyone she had ever known, even the Electi. Edith had only taken them on at first because she couldn’t resist the raw potential that they showed, but they had wormed their way far deeper into her heart than she had ever intended. Undoing her banishment meant returning to her duties. It meant that she would no longer see her students, that she would no longer live among the Starks. 

Edith sighed, sinking into her chair. She peered over at the three incorporeal servants currently transcribing for her. One took the form of Lavander, one the Loremaster, and one the Lead Artificer. Her heart ached horribly, watching them etch away at the parchment.

Edith buried her face in her hands. What was she meant to do? Stay in Westeros forever? Return and leave her students behind? She rubbed her hands down her face and took a deep breath. It pained her to know that she would have to make a choice one day, but for now, she was still in Westeros. 

With a deep sigh, Edith stood from her seat, righted her coat, and headed out of her Tower to find Erik. She still had work to do, after all.

Chapter Text

The month following Bran’s discovery of his druidic nature was odd in Winterfell. After whatever discussion they had, the Lord and Lady no longer fought, but there was something… off about them. Especially the Lady.

For whatever reason, Lady Stark could barely stand to be in the same room as Jon. At first, Edith had rolled her eyes and brushed it off as the Lady’s misdirected anger, but the more that it happened, the more that Edith noticed that the Lady wasn’t angry when she saw Jon. Rather, she looked like she might be sick at the sight of him. She no longer glared and shunned Jon, but Edith didn’t know if this sudden proximity nausea was better or worse. 

Moreso, the Lady had grown very distant with Edith. She didn’t seem to be angry or upset with her, but nervous, guilty even. Edith tried not to pay it any mind as it wasn’t impeding their work with the Guild or the school, but it was still off putting. She almost seemed to run in the other direction whenever she saw Edith down a corridor or across the yard. Edith was content to ignore the problem if not for Jon.

Jon and the Lady had never gotten along, but the sudden shift seemed to unsettle her student more and more every day. The anger and the resentment Jon could understand, but this revulsion was something else entirely. At first, he had been relieved that he saw even less of Lady Stark than before, but as the days went on and the behavior showed no signs of changing, it put Jon on edge. He was distracted and anxious during lessons, he spent more time hiding and brooding, and he even avoided spending time with Arya and Robb. 

During one of their spider climbing spars, Jon had briefly made eye contact with Lady Stark as she crossed the yard and she all but ran away. It was enough to make Jon lose his concentration and slip from the side of the tower, just managing to catch himself in a feather fall before he hit the ground. Edith decided then that it was time for an intervention.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” Edith called. Arya hopped off of the tower and feather fell her way down, immediately making her way over to check on Jon.

“I’m alright little sister,” Jon assured, “Just got distracted is all.”

“Arya, why don’t you go get cleaned up?” Edith asked, more command than suggestion. 

“But-” Arya protested.

“Go on. I need to speak with Jon privately for a moment,” Edith said. Arya chewed her lower lip for a moment before nodding and scurrying off. Edith sighed and turned to Jon, who was awkwardly scuffing his foot against the ground.

“Let’s go inside. We need to talk.”

Jon nodded and let Edith guide him into the tower. She sealed the door shut with an arcane lock to prevent any interruptions or eavesdropping and sat Jon in one of the sitting chairs. Edith sat in her own chair, wringing her hands as she tried to figure out exactly what to say.

“I have no idea what’s going on with Lady Stark,” Edith admitted, “But you can’t let it keep distracting you during our lessons like this. You haven’t fallen since our first lesson, but one look at Lady Stark and you go plummeting to the earth.”

“I’ve fallen before. It was just an accident. I’m not distracted,” Jon argued stubbornly.

“Getting knocked down by your little sister doesn’t count,” Edith sighed, “Just talk to me Jon. What’s going on?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Jon snapped, “Everyone is asking me if I did something to upset Lady Stark. Robb, Bran, even Sansa! But I didn’t do anything!”

“I know, Jon. It isn’t your fault-”

“It isn’t! All I ever did wrong was being born a Snow,” Jon spat, “But I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask to be born a bastard.”

“Neither did I,” Edith replied, brow raised, “We aren’t to blame for the circumstances of our birth.”

“It’s different!” Jon insisted, “I have to live up to the Stark name, but I can never be a Stark! Lady Stark always made sure that I knew that but now… now I don’t know what she wants from me.”

Edith frowned, and after a long moment she said, “I was not born to a noble house, but my grandfather was a well respected man. His name had meaning where I grew up. My father was his pride and joy, the legacy that he would leave behind. There were expectations for him too, because of his name. I am the result of his failure to meet those expectations.”

“Because you are a bastard?” Jon asked.

“Because I am a half breed. Half elf, half human. It was unheard of in Ebraxima. Quite the scandal,” Edith chuckled sardonically, “My grandfather had no love for me. He resented my very existence. And I resented him.”

“But he legitimized you,” Jon said, “He let you keep his name.”

Edith laughed, “No, not quite. That isn’t really how things work in Ossia. I refused his name.”

“What?” Jon asked incredulously. The notion must have been unthinkable to him.

“My grandfather’s family name was Nailodel. Roxton is the name I chose for myself,” Edith explained.

“You can just choose a name in Ossia?” Jon asked, astonished, “You don’t need approval from the King or your liege or anyone?”

“It isn’t common, but yes, you can take any name that you like in Ossia,“ Edith answered, “It is your name after all. What is to stop you from calling yourself whatever you want?” 

Jon stared at her for a moment, visibly confused and conflicted. He had probably never even considered the idea before, and Edith wondered what he thought of it. He would never dare call himself a Stark, but would he have given himself a different name?

“Why Roxton?” Jon finally asked.

“Well, it might have been my mother’s name,” Edith sighed, “She died shortly after I was born, but I met someone who thought they might know who she was. Apparently, I look like her.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jon asked, voice small, “That isn’t the way things are done here, I can’t- I don’t understand.”

Edith rose from her chair and walked over to Jon, gently squeezing his shoulder, “Just because it isn’t the way things are done doesn’t mean that it can’t be done, Jon. I will never be a Nailodel and you cannot be a Stark. That is why we must forge our own way, under our own names. Whether or not that name is Snow, that is up to you, my student,” Edith kneeled to meet Jon’s eyes, “I can’t tell you what Lady Stark wants from you, but I can tell you that it doesn’t matter. What matters is who you are now, and who you want to be. Who do you want to be Jon?”

Jon could only gape, his mouth opening and closing, unable to form any words or sounds. Edith sighed and smiled, ruffling Jon’s hair as she stood to her feet. 

“I’ll speak to Lady Stark about her strange behavior, but I cannot guarantee that I will find any satisfying answers. So I need you to focus, Jon. Concentrate on your studies, on yourself, and not on Lady Stark,” Edith said, “Now go and wash up or you’ll be late to your lessons with Maester Luwin. I don’t want to hear another lecture about punctuality and the importance of House words or High Valyrian.”

“Yes Teacher,” Jon said softly. He still seemed a bit morose, but he at least had lost a bit of the tension in his shoulders. 

Edith sighed to herself as he left. Jon was always a sort of quiet and brooding boy, but not with her and Arya. To see him closing himself off so much was upsetting, but Edith had no idea what to do to help him. She was going to speak to the Lady, but she didn’t know if that discussion would only have her revert to her typical silent resentment of Jon. The idea that Jon might prefer it made Edith’s gut twist. She wished that the Lady could just make nice, but the likelihood of that was zero to none.

It was times like this that Edith wished for the Electi to be there. The Electi was great with people, the best and most reliable diplomat on the Council. Edith had yet to meet anyone immune to her charms, both figuratively and literally speaking. She was an expert enchantress, the school of magic that Edith had the most trouble mastering. The Electi would know exactly what to say to fix this mess. Or she would at least be able to charm everyone into doing as she said, either way worked.

Edith had an appointment with Lady Stark later that day to go over Edith’s Guild contracts to ensure fairness for those joining the Guild and security for the Guild itself. They couldn’t have someone join just to take advantage of Guild benefits without participating in any craft or trade. Anyone was allowed to leave at any time of course, Edith had no interest in monopolizing the market from businesses unaffiliated with the Guild, but they needed to ensure that benefits for Guild members were enticing enough to encourage as many members to join as possible. 

The building itself had been fully repaired just a few days earlier, the raw materials needed to complete it finally delivered from neighboring Houses and villages. Edith had long since commissioned Erik and Fryderyk to help her draft up plans for the structure’s interior, a fourteen level building containing office spaces, large workshops, a grand library, a meeting hall, and several classrooms for the school. 

Edith had modeled it after a combination of the College of Magi and the Artificer’s Guildhall back in Ebril. Most professions had their own individual Guilds back home, but the Artificer’s Guild encompassed so many schools of magic and engineering that it required something more extravagant for its members to make use of. The Lead Artificer had put his head together with his best colleagues and built what must have been the most advanced and impressive feat of architecture in all of Ossia. 

All that was left before the Guild could officially open was the finalization of the contracts and furnishing of the building, though Edith suspected that outfitting the First Keep with everything that it needed would be a process that spanned years. The library alone numbered three floors, and Edith could only keep up so many servants to transcribe for her. Her own collection at the Tower was only barely beginning to resemble her personal library at the College. Winterfell’s library was hardly impressive either, and they had only just heard back from the Citadel, finally agreeing to send some books now that they had the official endorsement of the King. Even then, the letter had still been impressively rude.

Edith met the Lady in her solar after midday. Lady Catelyn was diligently looking through the pages of the Guild contract as it was comparative to the notes that Fryderyk, Erik, and Mikken had given after reading it (or having it read to them as was Mikken’s case). The three Guild Heads-to-be had each given a handful of complaints or requests regarding the terms and conditions of the contract, specifically those of a recurring membership fee and shared income. The fee was adjusted to a price lower than originally proposed to better accommodate the lower income residents of Wintertown. Edith had managed to convince the men to give on the matter of shared income when she explained that the sum would be taxed collectively, therefore their households would be exempt from tithes for as long as they remained Guild members. 

“Lady Stark,” Edith greeted.

“Good day, Lady Edith,” she returned without looking up from the papers, “I’ve made the adjustments to the papers, as suggested, and presented them to Mikken, Fryderyk, and Erik. All three have agreed to the terms and are ready to sign. Fryderyk and Erik both have several men that have expressed interest and Mikken’s apprentice wishes to join as well.”

“Excellent news,” Edith nodded, examining a few papers herself, “What of the other trades?”

“Rickard and Wyllem have both agreed to join,” Lady Catelyn said, sliding a few documents over to Edith, “Wyllem would like to incorporate the fletchers into the Hunter’s Guild and Rickard wishes to take on apprentices through the Guild program that we suggested. He says that it is the only way that he can afford to pay for one, so we’ll need to go recruiting again. I’m sure there are plenty of boys-”

“And girls.”

“-And girls,” Lady Stark sighed, “willing to enter the cobbler’s trade.”

“And Caralyn?” Edith asked.

“Too old, she claims. She wishes to retire soon,” Lady Stark sighed, “Her assistant plans to move to Torrhen’s Square once the shop closes.”

“Damn,” Edith cursed. Caralyn was the best seamstress in Wintertown. She and her assistant were the only people in town who knew how to craft lace from wool, so the loss of them both would be a major setback for Edith’s plans for the Dressmaker’s Guild, “We’ll need to go scouting again. We should see if we can’t expand to neighboring villages as well. Didn’t Caralyn come from the Sheepshead Hills?” 

“I can send out some of our men,” Lady Catelyn said, scratching away at her parchment, “And Wynafryd is searching White Harbor for us as well. Now, about the-”

“Why have you been acting so strange this past month?” Edith blurted.

 “Month?” the Lady asked quizzically.

Edith rolled her eyes, “Moon’s turn, and don’t change the subject. You’ve been acting oddly for too long and it’s become a problem.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Lady Catelyn said stubbornly, “I am in perfect health.”

Edith raised a brow to meet Lady Catelyn’s stubborn glare. They stared each other down, neither willing to budge an inch.

Annoyed, Edith crossed her arms and said, “You’ve been avoiding me and Jon ever since that night in the Lord’s solar, with Bran.”

Lady Stark paled. She quickly averted her eyes again, setting her gaze on the papers strewn across her table.

“It is none of your concern what happened that night, Lady Edith,” she said stiffly, “That is between me and my husband alone.”

“Sure,” Edith said blandly, “I don’t care about your conversation with the Lord, I care that it’s disrupting my lessons with my students. Your strangeness is distracting Jon.”

“I have done nothing-”

“You run from him like he’s got the plague, my Lady. It somehow bothers him more than you glaring at him all the time.”

Lady Stark stayed quiet for a long moment, staring guiltily at her lap.

“I have had something of a crisis of faith,” Lady Stark started, “Ever since that night with Ned, when he told me that he loved Jon’s mother, I thought that it was the Gods’ way of punishing me for how I had treated the bas- Jon all these years. And after Ned and I finally spoke again, I swore to the Seven that things would change, that I would do better by Jon. But I don’t know how to even begin after all of these years of hardship that I put him through.”

“An apology would be a good start,” Edith huffed, “I won’t excuse your treatment of Jon. You know very well that I’ve never approved of it, but if you really want to make amends, then apologize. And if he doesn’t forgive you, then accept it. You dug this hole for yourself, so it will take work to fill it back up.”

Lady Stark gulped and nodded, hanging her head. When she made no indication of moving or responding, Edith sighed and made for the door, “I think that’s enough business talk for the day. We can reconvene tomorrow to discuss another scouting venture. Good day Lady Stark.”

Edith teleported back to the First Keep, grumbling as she pulled out her supplies and started work on the circle. She had wanted to get more work done with the Lady, particularly in regards to Wynafryd and the school, but she simply could not handle any more of Lady Catelyn’s self-pitying behavior. She wasn’t the one suffering all these years, it was Jon. An apology was the very least that she could offer him for the spite and resentment that she’d shown him for so long. 

She let the familiar motions of painting the circle soothe her. It wouldn’t do to show up in White Harbor worked up into a frenzy. Wynafryd didn’t deserve the brunt of her anger towards Lady Stark, and they were supposed to tour the Harbor after Edith finished drawing the circle there.

She activated the circle to set the drawing in place and then teleported herself to the gatehouse of New Castle. It had taken them a bit of time to prepare the space for the circle, having originally been used as a guard station. Once it had been cleared and the entrance magically expanded by Edith to accommodate incoming traders, Edith had gotten right to work setting up a platform and laying out the circle. 

Wynafryd, ever punctual, was already waiting for Edith when she arrived, flipping absently through the pages of a book. She curtseyed politely in greeting.

“Miss Edith.”

“Lady Wynafryd,” Edith nodded, “Shall we?”

Wynafryd nodded and swept out of the gatehouse, now dubbed the Circle Gate (the Manderly’s were not particularly creative with naming it seemed) flanked by two castle guards. She guided Edith out of the castle walls towards the port city. White Harbor definitely ranked among the nicer ports that Edith had ever been to with its white stone buildings gleaming in the sun. Not the most colorful port, but beautiful nonetheless.

“How is Wylla?” Wynafryd asked.

“She’s well. Ricka has been teaching her the basics. I try to set aside some time in the evenings to teach them, but things have been rather busy these days. Once Wylla has caught up to Ricka, I intend to invite them to join Arya and Jon’s lessons on more utilitarian magics,” Edith answered.

Assuming that she wasn’t betrothed to Robb before then, of course. Based on Robb’s dopey grin and swollen lips during their Guild business meeting the other night, she doubted that it would be much longer until an official announcement was made. 

Wynafryd’s lips twitched into a smile, “I’m glad to hear that she is faring well. Have you any luck with your dressmakers in Wintertown?”

“None,” Edith sighed, “Our first choice has turned down the position, as well as our second.”

“Shame,” Wynafryd hummed, “I’ll keep my eyes open around the city, but many of our best known craftsmen have already turned down positions. They’re already comfortable with their lives in White Harbor.”

“I figured such would be the case,” Edith said, “Which is why we should look towards the less known craftsmen. Fancy a tour of the Outer Harbor, Lady Wynafryd?”

Wynafryd made a face that suggested that she very much did not fancy a tour of the Outer Harbor, but Edith knew that if there was anywhere in White Harbor where they would find skilled and willing craftsmen, it would be in the Outer Harbor. There was always an abundance of talent hidden in the shadows if one knew where to look.

Accompanied by their two guards, Edith and Wynafryd made their way out of the Seal Gate and into the Outer Harbor. The Outer Harbor wasn’t as nice as the Inner, but it was twice as colorful. Vendors and merchants were strewn about the place, selling fried fish and exotic fruits and vegetables. Dockworkers loaded and unloaded ships and fishermen dotted the horizon. It was noisy and bustling and packed to the brim with all walks of life. 

All the more potential to find someone with skills yet undiscovered. 

Edith and Wynafryd wandered for a good hour, Wynafryd growing ever more restless and uncomfortable by the minute. The small group received plenty of curious stares and pointed fingers. The attention only seemed to unsettle Wynafryd more and Edith wondered if the girl had ever left the comfort of the Inner Harbor before. She would need to get used to mingling with all kinds of people from all kinds of backgrounds if she was to succeed as a teacher and Lord of New Castle.

As they wandered the port, Edith caught a faint whiff of linseed oil and a splash of color from the corner of her eye. She tugged on Wynafryd’s arm and guided her over to the source, a young man and woman sitting at a makeshift stall surrounded by paintings and rolled up rugs. Their clothing reminded Edith somewhat of Ravennian clothing, all bright silks in almost gaudy colors. On closer examination, their clothing seemed worn and dirty, stained with salt and fish oil. It seemed like they hadn’t really washed in several days, if not weeks with how ragged and filthy they looked. They were also worryingly thin, with sallow cheeks and bony wrists. 

“Good day,” Edith greeted, “May I inquire about your paintings?”

The pair, siblings by the looks of it, looked up at Edith half startled, half hopeful. The boy began to enthusiastically speak in an unfamiliar language that Edith could only assume was Essosi of some kind.

“I don’t suppose you are familiar with this language?” Edith asked Wynafryd.

“Braavosi, I believe. I’m afraid that I don’t know much more than basic greetings and farewells,” she answered.

Edith pursed her lips and the young man sighed heavily. His sister rolled her eyes and said something to him in a rude tone that only had him scowling further. The two started bickering in earnest. While they fought, Edith cast her language comprehension spell. 

“-because you just had to fuck the Sealord’s niece!” the woman exclaimed.

“How many times must I apologize Rafella? If you have all this time to complain, why don’t you use it to be helpful instead?” the man retorted.

“Do you see a loom anywhere?! I had a life that I had to give up because of you and your restless cock!”

“It was more than that! I loved-”

“You loved her? Pah! You said that about the last three girls too! You loved her teats and her cunt, that’s all you son of a-”

Edith interrupted their argument by clearing her throat loudly.

The woman glared at Edith and said, “Shoo her away Chiaro, it’s pointless. I wish to starve in peace.”

Edith raised a brow, “Well if that is your preference, then perhaps I should go.”

The pair both startled and the young man shouted, “No! No! Stay, please. Ignore my sister, she is dim witted.”

The sister, Rafella, spat a Braavosi curse and made a rude gesture at her brother. Chiaro ignored her, scrambling to his feet and shooting Edith a charming smile. 

“Beautiful Ladies, this Chiaro offers his apologies for his sister’s rudeness. How can I be of service to you on this fine day?” he smiled and winked as his sister scoffed behind him.

Despite his filth and thinness, he was a handsome young man and he clearly knew it. Edith was sure that he had broken a number of hearts in Braavos based on his attitude and his argument with his sister. 

“Are you the artist who made these paintings?” Edith asked, gesturing to the handful of portraits and still-lifes surrounding the pair.

“Yes, beautiful Lady. Has one caught your eye? I promise you that they are true works of art. I was a master painter-”

“In training,” Rafella grumbled. Chiaro twitched, but otherwise ignored the jab.

“-back in Braavos. These would fetch a fine price there, but for such lovely flowers as yourselves, I am willing to part with them at a reasonable discount,” he winked at Wynafryd this time and the young Lady flushed red. The two guards beside her straightened and reached for their weapons menacingly.

“Damn it Chiaro, don’t you dare get us thrown out again!” Rafella scolded, tugging on her brother’s ear. Chiaro yelped in pain and Rafella offered Wynafryd an apologetic smile, “My apologies Ladies, please excuse my idiot brother. Were you wanting to buy a painting? A tapestry? What is it that has brought you to our humble stall?”    

“Tapestries?” Edith asked.

Rafella beamed proudly, “Yes, the tapestries! I wove them myself. I was the best apprentice in my master’s workshop in Braavos. He was so impressed that he let me use our scraps to weave whatever I wanted.”

“Braggart,” Chiaro coughed.

“Ass,” Rafella retorted.

“May I see these tapestries?” Edith asked, ignoring the siblings bickering. Rafella gladly unraveled the tapestries, not rugs like Edith had first thought, and they were outstanding. At a distance, they could easily be mistaken for paintings in their detail. 

“These are remarkable,” Edith complimented.

“My master taught me well,” Rafella said sadly, admiring her own work. Chiaro shrank guiltily, all sense of bravado draining away. Rafella shook herself from her wistful trance and asked, “So were you looking to buy?”

“No actually,” Edith said. Rafella and Chiaro both deflated in disappointment. 

“I have something better. How would you like a job?” Edith asked

“A job?” Chiaro asked, confused.

“It comes with food and board. All you would need to do is practice your craft in Winterfell,” Edith added.

“Food and board?” Rafella said hopefully.

“Winterfell?” Chiaro asked.

“Yes, Winterfell. It is the seat of the Lord Paramount of the North, Lord Eddard Stark. You would stay in his castle as artists in residence,” Edith said, “Lady Wynafryd and I came here to recruit artisans to join the new Guild in Winterfell. You would be our newest Guild Heads, should you accept.”

“We accept!” Chiaro exclaimed.

“ Brother ,” Rafella hissed, elbowing him in the side. She eyed Edith warily, “What would you want in exchange? There must be something.”

“Your labor,” Edith said, brow raised, “You would craft for the Guild and Winterfell and, eventually, take on apprentices to pass on your knowledge. I expect that there will be others interested in learning your trades once they see what you’re capable of.”

“My own workshop?” Chiaro asked reverently.

“That’s it? Truly? No other conditions?” Rafella questioned.

“Well, there is a contract that you will sign. You will, of course, be allowed to read through it beforehand and raise any objections that you would like. We are open to negotiations,” Edith added.

“Sister,” Chiaro said, “We must accept. You do not truly wish to starve, do you?”

“Of course not!” Rafella snapped. She turned to Edith and smiled, “We accept, my Lady. We will join this ‘Guild of Winterfell.’”

“Perfect,” Edith grinned, turning to Wynafryd. 

“What did they say?” Wynafryd asked, “How can you understand them?”

“Magic,” Edith answered, raising a brow, “and they said that they would join the Guild.”

“Does your Lady friend speak Braavosi too?” Chiaro asked, surprised.

“Oh, no. Neither of us do. I used a spell so that we would be able to communicate,” Edith explained.

“A spell? You are a sorcerer?” Rafella gasped.

“A wizard,” Edith clarified, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edith Roxton, Archmagi of the high council of Ebril and wizard in residence at Winterfell. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Chiaro and Rafella both stared at Edith, mouths agape. Chiaro burst into laughter.

“A funny jape, beautiful Lady Edith,” he chortled, “You are japing, yes? Magic is just the thing of stories, a trick of mummers.”

“Stop it, Chiaro,” Rafella scolded, “She offers us work and you laugh at her? Have you no wits brother?”

“Sorry sister,” Chiaro smirked, “but our new employer is a funny woman.”

“It was no jape,” Edith said, “and call me Edith, if you please. Miss Edith, if you must, but not Lady Edith. We should be on our way though. I must be returning to Winterfell posthaste, I still have much to do before nightfall.”

Edith waved a hand and summoned a floating arcane platform, startling Chiaro and Rafella as well as several passerby. At Wynafryd’s instruction, the two guards started loading up Chiaro and Rafella’s things on the floating platform.

“By the Seven,” Rafella breathed.

“You really are magic!” Chiaro exclaimed, waving a hand under the platform in awe, “A magical Lady!”

Edith just hummed and started back towards New Castle. The platform floated behind her, parting the crowd of people as she passed through. Wynafryd followed suit, her two guards standing at her flank and the Braavosi siblings scurried after. 

“Are you sure about this Miss Edith?” Wynafryd asked, “They are talented, yes, but they cannot speak any common. How are they to survive in Winterfell without knowing the language? No one will understand them.”

“Consider them your first students,” Edith said.

“Pardon?” Wynafryd balked.

“It will be good for you to learn some Braavosi as the Lord of a port city. I’m sure that you see plenty of Braavosi trade here. And they need to learn at least basic common,” Edith hummed.

“But, Miss Edith, how can I teach them if neither of us can understand what the other is saying?” Wynafryd huffed in annoyance.

“It won’t be easy, but you’ll manage,” Edith said, “And I think I’d like to learn some Braavosi as well. I’ll be around to help. I’m the one that has to come get you, after all.”

Wynafryd furrowed her brow in concern, asking, “You told me that you were busy. Don’t you have enough to do as it is, Miss Edith? Where will you find the time?”

“I’ll manage,” Edith assured.

Wynafryd looked unconvinced, but nodded all the same.  

They spent the rest of the walk in relative quiet with occasional brief conversations regarding the school or the circles. Wynafryd didn’t seem to relax until they were safely through the Seal Gate and halfway to the castle. Chiaro and Rafella bickered with each other the entire walk to the castle, either uncaring or unaware of the many eyes following them and their caravan of floating artwork.

Back in New Castle, Wynafryd bid farewell to Edith and their new Braavosi companions. Edith summoned a gate to send herself and the siblings back to the First Keep in Winterfell. The two were baffled by the gate and it took a bit of convincing to make them go through. Once on the other side, they could hardly believe that they had suddenly made a week's journey in only a few seconds.

“This is the First Keep, where you will be staying,” Edith said, sweeping up the stairs past rows of empty bookshelves, “It isn’t much at the moment, but we’ve only just started operations. The Lord has generously agreed to help furnish the building and fund the Guild. We’ll be repaying him in dividends, once our operations gain traction. The two of you will be instrumental in setting things in motion.”

“Us?” Chiaro asked, “But, we’re only artists. We know nothing of operating a guild.”

“You don’t have to worry about operating anything, only perfecting your craft,” Edith said, “You’re artists. You know how much a work of art can sell for. And you have no competition here in Winterfell.”

“Truly? None at all?” Rafella’s eyes glinted. Edith smirked. Her brother might be a bit of a ditz, but Rafella seemed to be the right kind of clever.

“None so far,” Edith hummed, “At least, no one who works in styles such as yours. I’m sure that you will gain popularity very quickly once the Lords of the North find your work in the castle of their liege.”

“Have you a loom,” Rafella asked excitedly, “I’ll get to work immediately.”

“I can have one commissioned for you,” Edith answered. Surely Erik or one of his men would know how to make one. They did have tapestries in the North, but they were simple and functional, like most things Northern. The castle had its own weavers, but they focused more on weaving blankets and rugs than tapestries.

“How many stairs are there in this castle?” Chiaro panted. The two siblings were looking a little worse for wear and Edith was reminded that not everyone trained their bodies to peak physical condition like Edith was used to.

“Many, I’m afraid,” Edith apologized. She led them to one of the top floors of the Keep where they had set up a dormitory of sorts. The top four floors were reserved for live-in Guild members and school faculty, anyone moving to Winterfell in need of living quarters. Each suite had a bedroom, a sitting room with a hearth, and a lavatory outfitted with functioning toilets. It took Edith some time to create a septic tank like those from Ebril, but she was determined to keep the castle clean of any waste. All that the tower residents had to do was pour boiling water down the bowl and pipes would flush the waste to the tank, etched with runes that would purify the water for reuse. Another feat of genius from the Artificer’s Guild. Edith was looking into installing lavatories around the rest of the castle as well. 

Edith guided the siblings into an empty room, gently setting their work down in the corner and dispelling the platform.

“I’m sorry that it’s empty at the moment. We haven’t had the chance or the funds to furnish everything, but I can at least try to commission some beds for you. In the meantime, I can bring you some rugs and blankets,” Edith offered.

“You are too generous, lovely Miss Edith,” Chiaro said, flashing Edith another charming smile.

“Just Miss Edith, if you please,” Edith said, making a face. Rafella snorted. 

“Take some time to settle in. I will inform the Lord of your arrival. There’s a lavatory- excuse me, a privy over there, as well as a bathtub- sorry, washbasin . Just use the pump and water will pour out.”

Edith bowed in farewell and teleported from the room to the base of the Keep. She hurriedly checked her watch and cursed as she had only two minutes before her students’ evening lessons. 

She quickly teleported herself around Winterfell in search of Lord Stark, startling a number of its residents. She cursed, unable to find him anywhere that she looked. Checking her watch, she was nearly three minutes late for her lessons with Arya and Jon. 

Edith huffed and pocketed her watch. Instead of the Lord, she sought out his steward, startling him as he was speaking to a couple of guardsmen. He shrieked in terror and flushed red as both guards guffawed at the high-pitched noise.

“Miss Edith!” Vayon cried, “I thought that the Lady told you not to do that ‘teleporting’ nonsense anymore!”

“Yes, but I’m late. Where is Lord Stark?” Edith asked impatiently.

“Lord Stark? He’s gone from the castle. We received word from the Wall. There was a deserter, spotted near the Crofter’s village not far from Winterfell. He rode out with his sons and a few men hours ago,” Vayon explained.

Edith grimaced. So he was out performing an execution. While Edith respected his motto of ‘the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,’ she felt that it was hardly fair trial. Not everybody deserved mercy, but everybody had their circumstances. She wouldn’t condemn a starving thief for stealing bread.

“Very well,” Edith sighed, “There are two Braavosi siblings residing in the First Keep. See to it that they are brought food and furs for the night. They’re on the eleventh floor, first door to the right.”

Before Vayon could respond, Edith teleported away to her tower where her students awaited. Or rather, student singular. Arya pouted at her desk, idly flipping through her spellbook and scratching between Vhagar’s ears. Jon must have been with his father then.  

“Arya,” Edith greeted, “I apologize for my tardiness. I was a bit held up in White Harbor.”

“S’okay,” Arya grumbled, “Jon’s not even here anyway. He got to go with father.”

“Vayon told me,” Edith frowned.

“It isn’t fair,” Arya whined, “Even Bran got to go, but I’m older! Father said that I couldn’t because I’m a Lady and Ladies don’t attend executions. But I hate being a stupid Lady.”

“Why would you want to?” Edith asked, raising a brow, “Executions aren’t fun, Arya.”

"I know that Teacher!” Arya shouted, jumping from her chair, “But it’s not fair that Father takes my brothers and not me, just because I’m a Lady. It’s stupid!”

“It is stupid, but that isn’t the point Arya,” Edith sighed, “If you weren’t a Lady, would you still want to go?”

“Yes!” 

“Why?”

The question seemed to take Arya aback. She stared at Edith, chewing her lower lip in thought.

“Because it’s honorable? Father says that the man who-”

“-Passes the sentence swings the sword, yes I know,” Edith interrupted, “But you are not passing the sentence nor are you swinging the sword. So why do you want to go?”

“Because- because,” Arya stammered, “Just because.”

“Just because,” Edith echoed flatly. Arya wilted in shame.

“It’s not like I want someone to die, I just don’t like being treated differently because I’m a Lady,” Arya mumbled.

“I know, Arya,” Edith sighed. She sat at Jon’s desk, opposite to Arya and folded her hands together on the desktop, “What does being a Lady mean to you?”

“Being pretty. Sitting and sewing. Singing, playing the harp, dancing, and all of the stu- all of the things that Sansa likes,” Arya answered bitterly.

“What about Wylla?” Edith asked, “Wylla doesn’t play the harp or sing. Does that mean that she isn’t a Lady?”

Arya looked at Edith quizzically, answering with a hesitant, “No?”

“And your Lady Mother. I’ve never seen her sew once since I arrived. Is she no longer a Lady?”

“Mother is a great Lady!” Arya defended.

“Indeed,” Edith agreed, “And what about you? You might not sing and sew, but you certainly dance.”

“Not like Ladies are supposed to dance,” Arya groused.

“Says who?” Edith asked.

“Stupid Sansa and Jeyne Poole,” she grumbled, “They said that I dance like a drunken man.”

Sansa and Jeyne again. No matter how frightened they were of Edith or how many times they were scolded by Lady Stark, they just would not stop picking on Arya. Arya had not cried since that lesson that Edith attended, so she had assumed that her student remained unbothered or that the bullying had lessened, but it seemed that her sister and her friend still managed to get under her skin.

“And Sansa and Jeyne, they’re what you would call Ladies?” Edith asked.

“Sansa is the perfect Lady,” Arya said miserably, “Everyone says so.”

“Is she? Because I thought that Ladies were supposed to be kind, but I’ve never heard a kind word from her,” Edith stated. 

Arya furrowed her brow and chewed her lip, unable to think of a response.

“Whereas you are one of the kindest people that I’ve ever met,” Edith smiled softly, “You don’t care about birth. You treat lowborn, highborn, bastards, and trueborn all the same. The staff adore you and you’re absolutely brilliant, Arya. That sounds like a fantastic Lady to me.”

Arya flushed red and tugged at the ends of her curly ponytail, chewing anxiously at her lower lip. 

“No one ever says that I’m a good Lady,” she admitted quietly.

“Well I think that they’re all stupid,” Edith joked. Arya giggled and Edith smiled, “I think that there are plenty of ways to be a good Lady, and none of them involve sewing and singing.”

“For true?” Arya asked.

“Indeed,” Edith nodded, “You can be brave and honest like Wylla, clever and ambitious like Wynafryd, or strong and steady like your mother. All of them are wonderful Ladies Arya. And you are too, no sewing required.”

Arya darted around the desk and threw herself at Edith, arms wrapping around Edith’s neck as she burrowed under her chin.

“I’ll be the best Lady that there is, you’ll see. I’ll be kind and brave and strong and everything that you said, I promise,” Arya said.

“Of course, my student,” Edith chuckled, ruffling Arya’s curls.

Their tender moment was interrupted by the door swinging open as Jon rushed through, carrying two balls of fur and grinning from ear to ear. Edith and Arya stood to greet him, Arya rushing over and throwing her arms around her brother’s middle. 

“I brought you a gift, little sister,” Jon said, handing Arya a bundle of fur. The bundle of fur wriggled in Jon’s arms to reveal a tiny gray wolf pup blinking big gold eyes. Arya squealed in delight at the same time that Vhagar hissed in displeasure. It seemed that the familiar did not take kindly to competition. 

Jon handed the wolf cub to his sister, hugging another white bundle, presumably his own wolf, to his chest.

“Will this one be Meraxes then?” Jon asked, gesturing to a growling Vhagar.

“No, I think that she looks more like a Nymeria,” Arya grinned, “Nymeria was an amazing Lady.”

“I thought she was a princess,” Jon mused.

“A warrior,” Arya corrected, “A warrior princess.”

“How did you happen upon the pups?” Edith asked, “I thought you were on an execution outing.”

“We were. We found them on the way back. It was the strangest thing,” Jon said, “They’re direwolves. There haven’t been direwolves south of the wall in thousands of years. Their mother was wounded by a stag and followed us back to Winterfell with her pups.”

“How odd,” Edith commented.

“Where’s their mother now?” Arya asked, snuggling her new pup.

“In the stables, being treated by Father and the kennel master. She won’t let anyone near unless father is there.”

“And she let you take her pups?” Edith asked quizzically.

“They came to us. The mother didn’t seem to mind,” Jon shrugged.

“How very odd,” Edith murmured. 

There were a few scouts and rangers that Edith had known to have unusually intelligent animal companions, but they were usually bonded from a young age. It might make sense for the pups, but the mother? 

“How did you find the wolves exactly? I can’t imagine that they were just on the side of the road,” Edith said.

“Bran found them,” Jon answered, “His pony veered off of the path and he found the mother limping through the woods. Nearly scared father half to death.”

Edith hummed. Could it be that Bran summoned them somehow? If he had, had he even done it knowingly? That was advanced nature magic, to command and influence animals like that. Either way, it did feel like some kind of sign, but a sign of what, Edith did not know.

“Well, you’ve returned in time for lessons, so why don’t we go ahead and get started?” Edith said, gesturing for Jon to take his seat, “How do you two feel about writing some lines of Infernal?”

Her students groaned.

Chapter Text

Time flew by and before Edith knew it, a full year had passed since her arrival in Westeros. Chiaro and Rafella settled comfortably into Winterfell, if not a bit put off by the cold. Rafella was delighted by the quality of the wool for her tapestry weaving and Chiaro quickly won over the castle with his charm and good humor. He and Theon butted heads quite a bit, but Chiaro and Rafella otherwise lived peacefully within the walls of Winterfell.

The Guild, or Winterguild as it was coming to be known, was slowly growing, more and more people joining due to the sponsorship of Lord Stark. Seeing their liege Lord supporting the new enterprise encouraged the common folk to join, assured by their unwavering trust and loyalty to Lord Stark. 

They had also finally managed to recruit their Dressmaker’s Guild head in a young shepherd's daughter from a small village just outside of Wintertown. On one of her scouting trips with Lady Catelyn, Edith had noticed the young woman sitting in a small cart, awaiting her father who had come to Wintertown to sell wool from his flock in the Sheephead Hills. She was wearing a woolen dress with delicate applique flowers stitched onto the hem and sleeves, and was in the process of stitching another applique pattern onto a tunic. Edith hadn’t seen anyone using any technique other than embroidery to decorate their clothing thus far. Apparently, it was a technique taught to Mychelle by her grandmother and was relatively common in the Sheephead Hills.

Mychelle had been startled when Edith had approached her to offer her a job, even more so when Lady Stark offered her room and board in the castle should she accept. Her father had all but forced Mychelle to accept, Already struggling to feed himself and Mychelle’s three siblings. Mychelle tearfully agreed once her father had promised to visit every time that he came to deliver wool to town. 

Arguably her most important recruit was Rose, a midwife in Wintertown who was a skilled apothecary in all but name. The local people referred to her as a woods witch, though Rose did not actually know any magic at all. She was nearly as knowledgeable as Maester Luwin on local herbalism and actually knew several remedies used by the lowborn that the Maester was unfamiliar with. More importantly, she knew how to care for women in a way that men simply could not comprehend. In all of her years of midwifery, Rose had only ever lost four babies and two mothers. Two of the babies had been stillborn and one of the mothers had just been too young and frail to withstand the strain of childbirth. 

The Maester had chafed initially at Rose’s recruitment, but Edith had stood firm. The common people were not afforded the same luxury of treatment by a trained Maester and they could not rely solely on Edith and Ricka’s potioncraft for cures and healing. Potions took too long to brew and were too expensive to craft for them to be sustainable for anything other than emergencies. Once Ricka was better versed in potion making, Edith intended to have her teach both Rose and Maester Luwin the art so as to produce more potions, but for now, the more apothecaries in Winterfell the better. After speaking more with Rose, Maester Luwin eventually relented, going so far as to share his own knowledge with the midwife and accept her advice in return. Still, Rose had a difficult time recruiting others to learn her craft as many refused to learn from a former prostitute.

There were still plenty of positions still to be filled, but with the current Guild Leaders in place, more and more of the common folk were trickling into the First Keep- the Winterguild- to join. The small joining fee generated a good income for the Guild coffers and with large commissions from Lord Stark, they were producing stable work, providing the respective Guilds with shared profit valuable enough to entice even more people to join. 

The Winterguild was still largely empty, but they had managed to fill out a couple of classrooms with desks and chairs and the entrance hall had accumulated rugs, wall hangings, and a few other decorative pieces gifted by different members of the castle. Chiaro had donated a beautiful painting of Lord Stark’s family, and Rafella and Mychelle had worked together to weave a set of tapestries depicting direwolves running along fields of weirwoods and winter roses. The pair had hit it off quite well with the similarities in their craft and were already exchanging tips and techniques, just as Edith had hoped.

Between Wynafryd, Maester Luwin, and Edith’s magical servants, the bookshelves had a number of new volumes, but remained depressingly empty. The Citadel had sent word that a Maester would be arriving sometime along with a collection of books regarding magic and ancient histories. They hadn’t given any indication as to when said Maester was to arrive, nor how many books would be accompanying him, but it was about as cooperative as the Citadel had ever been. And probably would ever be.   

Just as the Keep had finished construction, so too had Edith’s tower. The formerly Broken Tower had been renamed ‘The Wizard’s Tower’ and stood tall and proud over the entirety of Winterfell. The tower ended up numbering twenty stories and fourteen floors. The majority of the floors were still empty, but Edith now had dedicated spaces for her personal chambers, a study for herself and each of her students, an alchemy lab, a library, and even a study for Ricka. She intended to install an astrology tower at the top eventually, but at the moment she lacked the means to create a telescope or any of the other astrological and divination tools that she needed. Crystal balls weren’t exactly easy to come across in Westeros. The other floors remained empty until Edith could figure out a use for them. 

With her tower (sort of) complete, Edith had taken to meticulously installing safety features to both the tower and the castle at large. She had already installed a number of wards and safeguards around the castle, but her tower held dangerous arcane secrets inside, and so she guarded it with even more dangerous arcane wards. On top of the arcane lock keeping uninvited guests out, anyone who might possibly manage to breach the tower would find themselves in for several nasty surprises via several dangerous traps that she had etched into the stonework during construction. 

Predictably, just a few months into Wylla’s training, Robb and Wylla were betrothed to be wed once they both came of age. Because of the nature of their relationship and Wylla’s future position as Lady of Witerfell, Edith had been forced to put an end to Wylla’s training. Wylla had been disappointed, but accepted the dismissal gracefully and with minimal complaint. She was far too smitten with Robb to refuse the proposal over magic, something that Edith found both sweet and inconceivable, but then Edith had never been in love before. She would reserve judgment given how young and infatuated Robb and Wylla were. She only hoped that it would last.

In Wylla’s place, Wynafryd had taken Edith on a guided tour of New Castle and White Harbor in search of a new apprentice. She ended up finding one in a young man named Morris, formerly a cartographer’s apprentice before losing his good arm in an accident involving a runaway wagon. Had Edith not taken him in, he likely would have eventually starved in the streets, unable to work with only one arm. He was a sweet man if not a touch overeager to prove himself worthy of his new job, no matter how much Edith insisted that it wasn’t necessary. He was also unfailingly loyal to Edith and the Manderlys, given his gratitude over the opportunity that he had been  presented with. Wynafryd had gone so far as to hire a fake nobleman to try and bribe Morris against them, but Morris had staunchly refused.

The labor kept Edith busy enough that she had little time to focus on her research on the banishment spell. She was still making progress in untangling the Shadow Weave circles from the Weave circles, but progress was slow. Admittedly, she had been delaying her research with her busywork, unsettled by the idea of leaving her students behind, but she simply did not know enough about the Shadow Weave to make much headway anyway. For now, she had to settle with guessing what the missing portions of the spell might have looked like.

Despite her busy schedule, she never once missed a day of her students’ lessons. With the King gone from Winterfell and her Tower fully constructed, there was no reason for Edith to continue lessons inside of the mansion. She instead took to holding lessons inside and around her tower to the eternal disappointment of the guards who had now returned to rotation duty. Edith thought Alyn might never forgive her for the slight with how he whined dramatically during his shifts on watch. 

Jon and Arya were progressing steadily in their training. They had increased their time limit on their song by ten seconds, a feat more impressive than they were inclined to believe. Their Infernal lessons had improved their casting efficiency to the point where they were now capable of omitting verbal or somatic components from a number of basic spells.

Arya flourished in illusion magic, cleverly utilizing the spells in battle to become the menace that Edith had predicted that she would be. Jon, however, struggled with his illusion casting. He lacked the imagination required for complex illusion spells, the false imagery blurry and easily seen through. Instead, he worked to fine tune his evocation casting and better his abjuration. It frustrated Arya endlessly when Edith had taught them how to counter each others’ spells. Jon took to it easily, but abjuration was Arya’s weakest subject and she had yet to pull off a successful counter against her brother.

The direwolves grew and grew fast. It wasn’t long before they were the same size as full-grown hounds. Nymeria and Ghost (Arya gave Jon endless grief over the name) were inseparable from their partners, much to Vhagar’s chagrin. The little cat familiar had never really warmed up to the wolves and had something of a running rivalry with Nymeria. It was a wonder that the wolf hadn’t dispelled the cat yet with how often it yowled and hissed at her. 

Overall, things were peaceful. Her students were progressing smoothly, the Guild was growing successfully, and she had no King or Queen to worry about for a good few months yet. Edith’s only major concern remaining was getting the school up and running.

Wynafryd had already begun teaching Chiaro and Rafella some common, but thus far, she was the only official teacher in the school. Wylla volunteered to assist on occasion, but lacked the passion and patience to teach a classroom for extended periods of time. Edith tried to teach lessons when she could, but she barely had time for her own students’ lessons as it was. With the erratic schedule, attendance was still frustratingly low. It just wasn’t worth the time that the people could be using for work instead. Edith needed skilled, efficient, and companionable full time faculty to draw in more people to the school on a regular basis. Just like with the Winterguild, Edith was sure that once the school picked up, it would snowball from there. Unfortunately, there were few willing or able to take up the dubious and unfamiliar role of schoolteacher and Edith did not have the monetary resources to incentivise anyone to accept the position permanently. 

Edith was sorting through her paperwork and contemplating her options when Ricka arrived at the tower carrying a tray of food and a pitcher of water.

“Miss Edith, you missed midday meal. Again,” Ricka said, a touch of reprimand in her tone. 

“Thank you Ricka, I’ll eat in just a moment,” Edith sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Are you still trying to find teachers for the school?” Ricka asked, setting the tray down on Edith’s desk, “I told you Miss, I can-”

“You can keep on working on your alchemy and helping Morris with the basics,” Edith interrupted, “And then we can worry about you teaching any classes. I don’t want you overworking yourself Ricka.”

“I could say the same for you, Miss Edith,” Ricka huffed, “You’ve been laboring over the Winterguild and the school for moons now. I’ve no idea how you even have the time to sleep.”

She didn’t really, but she wasn’t going to tell Ricka that.

“Don’t worry about me Ricka, I’m used to busywork. If I could only find a way to staff the school, then that would be my largest burden taken care of,” Edith grumbled.

“I’m sure that Lord Stark-”

“No. I won’t rely on his goodwill anymore than I already have,” Edith said firmly, “What I need is a reliable source of income so that I can hire full time teachers. The tuition fees should make up for operating costs once more students start enrolling.”

“Isn’t Lord Stark paying you for the wards that you’re putting up? And for those privies that you made for the castle?” Ricka asked.

“Yes, but that isn’t sustained income. The money will run out eventually, and then I won’t be able to pay my staff,” Edith explained, “I could continue to do work for Lord Stark, and there is certainly plenty of work for me to do, but even he has only so much coin. These projects are expensive, and he has already spent a great deal acquiring material and commissioning the guildsmen.”

“What about your fancy washbasins? Couldn’t you make those for people?”

“Not without a sewer system, and that is another large scale project,” Edith sighed, “Better to start with a bathhouse, but again, any payment that the Lord might offer me for plans would be offset by material and construction costs. I don’t want to take work from the masons and carpenters with my magic if it can be avoided.”

Ricka frowned and cocked her head in thought.

“Can’t you sell your magic like you do for Lord Stark?” she asked, “You can sell your wards and sigils to people in town. I’m sure Hothar at the Smoking Log would want the one to keep out thieves and the like.”

Edith shook her head, “Those wards are specifically designed for castle defense. Putting something like that on an inn could be dangerous and lose Hothar business. I doubt that he’d want every drunken bar fight to end with destructive magical traps.”

“What about the one for our cauldron? The one that keeps the heat on?” Ricka asked.

“That needs to be monitored by someone at least familiar with magic or else it might set a house on fire,” Edith sighed, “It would be easier if everyone was as familiar with magic here as they were in Ebril. I never had to worry about mismanagement of magical wards or items.”

“Magic items?” Ricka asked, “Like your watch?”

“Yes, like my watch,” Edith nodded. When it was working at least. Right now it was mostly just a normal timekeeper.

“Well then why don’t you sell those then?” Ricka questioned.

“Enchanted items take time to craft. An artificer could make something in just a few hours, but it would take me at least a few weeks on my own.”

“Then it sounds to me like you need to find an artificer,” Ricka huffed, “You can’t do everything on your own, Miss Edith. Let me help you. I can teach at least a few days, and so can Morris. Just until you can find a replacement.”

“Ricka, you don’t need-”

“Please Miss Edith,” Ricka pleaded, “I’m supposed to be here to help you, so let me do my job Miss.” 

Ricka’s eyes were big and sincere. Lavander had given Edith the same look many a time in Ebril whenever she felt that Edith was neglecting herself. Had Edith really been so absorbed in her work to worry her assistant that much?

“Very well, if you insist,” Edith sighed, “But I expect that the quality of your work will not otherwise change.”

“Of course, Miss Edith,” Ricka nodded, eyes shining happily. She gave a slight curtsey and excused herself to go and check on the potions upstairs. 

Edith tapped her fingers absently on her desk. Wards and magic items might be off the table, but she was sure that there were other services that she could sell. Her floating platforms, her unseen servants, she had plenty of utility spells that would be useful to the people of Wintertown. But those spells required Edith’s time and presence, of which she had little. She peeked at her bookshelf out of the corner of her eye and hummed. 

There was still no news on the arrival of the Maester and their books. Edith had lamented on several occasions the time required for long distance communication in Westeros. She never thought that she would be this wistful for the postal offices in Ebril. 

Thinking of the time and effort that was required for sending letters, an idea formed in Edith’s mind. 

Sending magical messages didn’t take much time or much energy really. And anyone could receive a message telepathically without having to know how to read. She would basically be a universal sending stone. 

Actually, now that she thought of it, Ricka was right. Edith did need to find an artificer. If she could find someone clever enough to be trained in the basics and innovate on their own, then maybe she could have things like sending stones and flameless lanterns to sell. And to think of the improvement in the quality of life! To be able to communicate across the continent without having to use a frustratingly slow bird or travel for weeks on end.

Yes, sending messages would do fine. And once she could find the time, she could find someone to train in the ways of artifice, then she could sell magic items in earnest. 

Satisfied, Edith stood and made her way to find the Lord of the castle. She was sure that he would be interested in keeping a direct line of communication open with the King as an old friend. And perhaps the Lady might be interested in sending a message to her sister in the Vale or her father in the Riverlands. Maybe even Maester Luwin, should he wish to communicate directly with the Citadel, though she doubted that such a message would be well received. 

The Lord was typically taking petitions at this hour. Edith headed towards the main hall, the Lord seated at the high dias with Robb at his side. The young Lord offered Edith a smile and a small wave that Edith returned with a slight bow. Glancing about the room, Edith sidled up to Alyn and Harwin posted up against one of the walls.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” Edith greeted.

“Miss Edith,” they answered in tandem.

“Here to join the fun?” Alyn asked, tilting his head towards the center of the room where two farmers were vehemently arguing their claim over a calf. Apparently, one farmer owned the mother and the other owned the father, but neither was willing to give up the calf.

“Certainly. There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as a dispute over livestock,” Edith intoned.

“You’ve come at a good time if you’re looking for fun,” Harwin commented, “We’ve had unexpected guests today. A Lordling from the Reach.”

“The Reach?”

“Aye,” Harwin nodded, “Rode in just this morning. He and his guards are stopping in for a visit before moving on north.”

“They’re going north? What business does a southern Lord have farther north than Winterfell?” Edith asked.

“I think the lad is joining the Watch,” Alyn said, gesturing to the side of the room. The group that stood there were certainly from the south, clad in fine silk and linen emblazoned with an unfamiliar sigil. There were three fully grown men, all armed guards by the looks of it, surrounding a nervously fidgeting boy, roughly Jon’s age. He didn’t strike Edith as someone keen on joining a group as dangerous as the Night’s Watch. He was a rather large boy and clearly terrified of his surroundings, shrinking in on himself every time one of his guards sent him a withering look. Guards didn’t typically intimidate their Lords so brazenly. Very odd indeed.  

“If their destination is the Wall, then why stop in Winterfell?” Edith asked.

“It’s a long way from the Reach. I’d wager they’d like a warm bed before freezing their balls off even further North,” Alyn shrugged. Harwin smacked him over the back of the head.

“That’s no way to be speaking in front of a Lady!” He scolded. Alyn rubbed the back of his head and glared at Harwin, grumbling under his breath. 

“You’d be right if she were a Lady, Harwin. She’s no more a Lady than you or I,” Alyn snickered, “Right, Miss Edith?”

Edith rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore the guards’ antics in favor of observing the petitions. Once the farmers’ dispute was settled (with one farmer paying the other half of the value of the calf in order to keep it for himself), the group of Reachmen stepped forward.

“You are a long ways from the Reach. What brings you so far north?” Lord Stark asked. 

One of the guards stepped forward and bowed deeply, the others following suit. In his nervous state, the young Lord nearly tripped, stumbling into one of the guards who shoved him away a tad more roughly than necessary. The interaction was not missed by Lord Stark, who eyed the guards suspiciously.

“My Lord, I am Ser Bertram, a sworn knight of House Tarly. We come to seek shelter for the night. We have ridden long and hard to guide our young Lord to the Wall. He has volunteered to join the Watch, and it is our duty to see that he arrives,” Ser Bertram declared.  

“A recruit?” Lord Stark asked the young Lord. When the boy only stuttered and trembled, one of the guards elbowed him and grunted something lowly that had the young Lord flushing red.

“Y-yes, my Lord. Samwell Tarly. I’m on my way to take the black, but I just wanted to…” he trailed. Lord Stark raised an expectant brow and the young Lord shuffled awkwardly in place. He gulped under Lord Starks heavy, questioning gaze, “W-well, I just- I had heard rumors and I, well- Is it true that there is a wizard residing in your castle, my Lord?”

“Yes, it is. Lady Edith has been a guest of these halls for quite some moons now. Have you business with the Lady?” Lord Stark asked.

“No- well yes, I-” the boy, Samwell, stuttered.

“Spit it out boy!” Ser Bertram hissed.

“I just wanted to meet her before I joined the Watch!” Samwell cried, beet red. The room went quiet at his shout and one of his guards started snickering, only worsening the boy’s embarrassment. 

“I suppose that could be arranged,” Lord Stark said, turning to Jory by his side, “Jory, If you could summon Lady Edith-”

“No need my Lord, she’s right over there,” Jory said, gesturing across the room to where Edith stood with Alyn and Harwin. Lord Stark gave Jory a bemused look that had him blushing and shuffling awkwardly. Alyn and Harwin snickered. 

Edith made her way to the front of the crowd, standing beside the Reachmen in front of the high dias.

“My Lord,” Edith greeted.

“My Lady,” Lord Stark returned, “This is Samwell Tarly of House Tarly.”

“So I’ve heard,” Edith nodded, scanning Samwell from the corner of her eye.

“You can just call me Sam, my Lady. Most people do,” Sam said.

“Sam then,” Edith said, “You may call me Edith. I am not a Lady of high birth, even if Lord Stark refuses to address me as anything other than ‘Lady Edith,’” Edith shot the Lord a disgruntled look that he ignored save a slight twitch of his lips. 

“Oh, I couldn’t-” Sam started.

“Then Miss Edith will suffice,” she sighed, “Now, why don’t we walk together Sam? We can discuss whatever it is you would like to know and let Lord Stark return to his petitions.”

Without waiting for a reply, Edith turned and strode from the room, making for her tower. Sam scurried after her and his guards followed suit, though at a far more lackadaisical pace. The guards’ behavior unsettled Edith. They were unnecessarily rough with young Samwell and odder still was his journey to the Wall. Edith doubted that heirs to powerful houses often abdicated to join a celibate brotherhood living on a massive slab of ice. She would like the opportunity to speak to Sam privately, if only to figure out why he would choose the life of a Night’s Watchman over the more comfortable one that he had been born to. 

“Miss Edith!” Sam called, panting, “Could you please slow down, just a little?”

“Daylight burns Sam and I have too little time to waste. Come, my tower is just ahead.”

Edith hurried the group to her tower, eager to get to the bottom of Sam’s trip to the Wall as quickly as possible. She still had afternoon lessons with her students and the petitions had run far longer than Edith had expected. 

And she had completely forgotten to petition the Lord about her sending services.

She cursed herself under her breath for having wasted all that time, but Sam took precedence at the moment. She could ask Lord Stark about it later.

“Did you really rebuild half of the castle by yourself with your magic?” Sam asked curiously, “There are so many stories, it’s hard to know which are true.”

“It wasn’t nearly half of the castle, just part of it. And I had help from Winterfell’s craftsmen,” Edith answered.

“It’s still amazing. Real magic in Westeros!” Sam smiled.

One of his guards scoffed, “Pah! Mummer’s nonsense is what it is. The tricks of Essosi savages.”

Edith pursed her lip and glanced disdainfully at the guard over her shoulder, “If you are so disinterested, then why don’t you run along? I’m sure you’ll find something to do on your own.”

The guard ruffled in offense and opened his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly irritate Edith, but Ser Bertram stepped in, grabbing the smaller man roughly by the arm.

“That’s enough Lyonel. Do you intend to besmirch the name of House Tarly by insulting an honored guest of our host? Off with you!” Bertram said gruffly. Lyonel shriveled at the scolding, shooting Edith and Sam a nasty look before running off with the other guardsmen. Only Ser Bertram remained, diligently following Edith and Sam in his shining armor. 

Edith guided Sam inside of her tower, reluctantly allowing Ser Bertram entry when he refused to leave his charge’s side. Sam seemed off put by the guard and Edith suspected that she wouldn’t be getting any straight answers out of him with the knight present.

“Now that we have some privacy, what is it that you would like to know?” Edith asked, seating herself behind her desk. Both Sam and Ser Bertram stopped short at the sight of Edith’s servants diligently transcribing volumes of text at the side of the room. The incorporeal figures were hard at work with their task, completely ignoring the stunned Lord and knight staring at them. 

“I suppose I’d like to know everything that you can tell me,” Sam said, tearing his eyes from the servants and seating himself at Jon’s desk, “I don’t expect you to teach me how magic works, but I’d love to know how you learned it.”

“I’ve been learning since I was very young. I was something of a bookish child. A bookish adult now, I suppose,” Edith mused. 

“Where did you learn from? Are there many wizards where you come from?” Sam continued excitedly. Sensing a long conversation incoming, Ser Bertram sighed quietly to himself before leaning back up against the door.

“I had teachers, but I mostly learned on my own. Like I said, a bookish child,” Edith answered, “And most everyone knows at least a little magic in my homeland. It was something of a shock that magic did not exist at all in Westeros.”

“Really?” Sam marveled, “Everyone?”

“Most everyone, yes.”

Sam was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. He asked question after question about Edith’s life in Ebril and the daily life of the average Ossian. He was positively enraptured by every new piece of information, each answer just provoking brand new questions. Edith answered each question diligently, fully absorbed in the conversation herself. It wasn’t until the door clicked open and Arya and Jon walked in with their wolves at their heels that Edith realized how late that it had gotten.

“Who are you?” Arya asked Sam bluntly, “You’re in Jon’s seat.”

“Arya,” Edith scolded.

“But he is!” Arya whined.

“And you’re being rude,” Edith retorted. Arya jutted a lip out, pouting.

“It’s alright little sister,” Jon said, patting Arya on the shoulder. He cocked his head to the side, glancing briefly at the serious Ser Bertram before turning back to Sam. 

“Who is this, Teacher?” Jon asked. Sam shrank in on himself under the curious gaze of her students.

“This is Samwell Tarly,” Edith answered, rising from her desk and moving to stand beside her young students, “Why don’t you introduce yourselves while Ser Bertram and I talk outside.”

“That is not necessary, my Lady. My Lord, it is time that we retire,” Ser Bertram said, “We have a long journey ahead of us and you will need whatever strength you are capable of.”

“Oh,” Sam said, deflating immediately, “Right. Of course, Ser Bertram.”

“You’re leaving already?” Edith asked, surprised, “You’ve only just arrived in Winterfell. Surely it will take you more than one evening to resupply. The wall is still many days travel from here.”

“We must be leaving immediately, my Lady,” Ser Bertram said, “It is my duty to ensure Lord Samwell’s arrival at the Wall and return to my liege with haste. I have wasted enough time entertaining the young Lord’s frivolous fascination with magic as it is.”

Edith pursed her lip as Jon and Arya looked confused between their Teacher and the knight. 

“Children, stay here. Ser Bertram, outside. This is not a request,” Edith commanded. Before he could protest, the door flew open and the knight was magically ejected from the tower. He stumbled backwards and landed on his behind while Edith casually strolled outside and shut the door behind her.

“Would you care to explain what exactly is going on here, Ser Bertram?” Edith asked.

Ser Bertram scowled and rose to his feet, dusting off his armor and cloak, “You dare attack a knight of the Seven Kingdoms?” he spat.

“That was hardly an attack. Unless you would like a demonstration of what a real attack from a wizard looks like, I would start talking,” Edith panned, crossing her arms. 

“You dare-”

“I dare indeed,” Edith interrupted, “Why are you bringing Samwell to the Wall?”

“He has volunteered for the Watch,” Ser Bertram insisted, “My Lord has tasked me with ensuring his son’s safe arrival at the Wall.”

“I have a hard time believing that Sam volunteered for the Night’s Watch out of his own free will,” Edith frowned, “He’s hardly suited for such a life. And far, far too young.”

“You know not of what you speak,” Ser Bertram hissed, “You insult my Lord. You cast doubt on his honesty and you impugn his honor.”

“If I went into that tower right now and asked Sam if he honestly wanted to join the Night’s Watch, what would he tell me?” Edith asked.

Ser Bertram grit his teeth and repeated, “It is my duty to bring Lord Samwell to the Wall-”

“And it is mine to defend the innocent,” Edith answered, “I will not stand idle if you intend to force that young man into a life of frozen misery.”

“It is not your place to interfere in the matters of House Tarly,” Ser Bertram growled, “Samwell will be going to the Wall.”

Edith glared at the knight, his thick jaw set obstinate in its place as he glared right back at her. Without another word, Edith turned on her heel and marched back into the tower, slamming the door behind her. She could hear Ser Bertram shouting on the other side, banging on the door and demanding the return of his charge. Edith waved a hand and blocked out all noise from outside of the tower, effectively silencing the southern knight.  

Edith turned to find her students and Sam all staring at her with wide eyes. Sam looked on the verge of tears while Arya and Jon were puffed up in righteous indignation.

“Are they really forcing you to join the Watch?” Jon asked Sam. The larger boy went red and tucked his head in shame.

“I- I just couldn’t- I mean it was-” he stuttered.

“Sam, tell me the truth,” Edith said gently, “Do you want to join the Night’s Watch?”

Sam went quiet for a long moment, his lip wobbling as tears sprung to his eyes.

“I’m a craven,” he finally admitted, “There, I said it! I don’t want to join the watch, but my father, he-” Sam sniffled loudly, rubbing snot from his nose as the tears began to fall freely, “He never liked me. I was never the son he wanted. I wasn’t any good at fighting or hunting, only at reading books. He took me aside one day, said that I was to join the Night’s Watch or else…” he trailed.

“Or else what?” Arya asked quietly. Jon patted the other boy comfortingly on the shoulder.

“Or else we would go hunting, and there would be an accident,” Sam sniffled.

Fury bloomed in Edith’s chest. To think that Sam’s own father intimidated his own son into abandoning his home, into joining a dangerous order, threatened his life . It made Edith sick. 

“You will not be joining the Watch,” Edith said firmly, “Not so long as I have anything to say about it.”

Sam looked up at Edith, half surprised, half hopeful. 

“What are you going to do Teacher?” Jon asked, “You can’t send him back to his home and father won’t risk angering the Reach, not when winter could arrive at any time.”

“You won’t make him go, will you Teacher?” Arya asked, “It’s wrong!”

“It is indeed, my student,” Edith agreed, “Which is why I will be offering Sam a place in my tower.” 

“You are?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Indeed,” Edith replied, “You seem to be a good, smart boy. I like to think myself a decent judge of character, and I happen to be in need of smart people to teach at my school.”

“Teach?” Sam asked, still a bit stunned by the turn of events.

“Yes, teach. Small classes every day to the common folk of Wintertown,” Edith answered, “In between your own lessons, of course.”

“My own lessons?” Sam asked quizzically. 

“Teacher do you mean-” Jon started, eyes going wide.

“As one of my students,” Edith finished.

“Your student?” Sam squeaked. The poor boy looked near ready to pass out.

“You’ll have to abdicate your seat as heir to House Tarly,” Edith added, “Though that seems to be the case no matter what path you choose.”

“So what do you say? Would you like to learn magic, Samwell Tarly?” Edith asked.  

Sam’s mouth flapped open and closed, unable to form a response. Jon slapped him heartily on the back and Sam stumbled forwards.

“I couldn’t, my Lady. I’m not strong or special. You wouldn’t want someone like me for your student for very long, I’m just not worth the effort,” Sam sighed.

“Don’t be stupid!” Arya snapped.

“Arya,” Edith warned.

“But he is!” Arya whined, whirling on a startled Sam, “Teacher only chooses the best to be her students, so if Teacher thinks that you’re worth it, then you must be special.”

Sam immediately burst into tears, whimpering, “No one’s ever said anything like that about me before. I’ve never been special to anyone.”

“Well now you are,” Edith said, “All of my students are special to me, and now I count you among them. I will not lie to you Sam, the path of a wizard is a long and challenging one. I won’t force you if it isn’t what you want but-”

“It is!” Sam insisted, “Please, I want to learn! At least let me try. Maybe I could even be good at it.”

“How are you going to train him Teacher? He said he doesn’t like swords,” Arya asked, not unkindly.

“Not every wizard is a bladesinger, Arya,” Edith answered, “I’m sure that Sam will make an excellent caster without a sword.”

“What about my father?” Sam asked, “And Ser Bertram and the other guards? They won’t like this, not one bit.”

“Then they answer to me,” Edith replied, “You’re my student now. You have nothing to worry about Sam.”

Sam’s lip wobbled and he nodded vigorously, the tears falling once more. Edith patted the boy reassuringly on the shoulder before turning and opening the door. She sidestepped as Ser Bertram stumbled forward, arm raised mid-swing from pounding on the wood.

“Ah, Ser Bertram, I have news,” Edith said nonchalantly.

“You detestable-”

“Samwell will be staying here, with me,” Edith declared, “I have accepted him as one of my students. Your services will no longer be needed. You and your men are free to return to the Reach, posthaste.”  

Ser Bertram turned red, practically steaming from his ears.

“Now listen here wench!” he spat, “I will not break my oath on the whims of some sorceress whore taking a fancy to fat little boys! I am taking Samwell Tarly to the Wall as I have been commanded and you will-”

“I will what?” Edith scoffed, “I have already told you, Sam is my student now, and he will not be going to the Wall. Force this issue if you insist, but remember that I am Lord Stark’s guest as much as you, and I can tell you right now whose word he will trust more.”

“You make an enemy of a powerful Lord, girl. House Tarly will remember this,” Ser Bertram warned lowly.

“House Tarly will get over it,” Edith replied flatly. With a curt farewell, she slammed the door in Ser Bertram’s face once more.

“Well then,” Edith huffed, dusting off her hands, “Now that that’s settled, shall we begin our lessons?” 

“Yes Teacher,” Arya and Jon chorused. Sam fidgeted awkwardly until Arya elbowed him in the side with an expectant look.

“Oh! Right, yes Teacher,” he flushed, blinking away more tears before looking determinedly up at Edith, “I promise, I’ll prove myself worthy Teacher. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

Edith smiled and ruffled his hair and Sam flushed red once again.

“No need, my student. You already have,” Edith chuckled, “Now, let us begin.”

Chapter Text

Ser Bertram and his men left Winterfell the next morning, leaving Samwell behind along with a series of vague threats that Edith immediately dismissed with a roll of her eyes. Just as Edith had predicted, Lord Stark sided with her over the visiting Reachmen once he had heard the full story from Sam about his forced trek to the Wall. Officially, Lord Stark would not intervene as it would threaten his relationship with the most fertile region in the kingdoms. Unofficially, Sam was Edith’s ward instead of Lord Stark’s and therefore she had final say on matters of Sam’s wellbeing. It was only once Sam officially renounced his position as heir to House Tarly did Ser Bertram agree to go, but he assured Edith that this would not be the end of things. 

If Ser Bertram and Lord Tarly wanted to pick a fight with her, so be it. It was a fight that they were certainly going to lose, so Edith could not be bothered to care all that much. She had far more important things to worry about.

Sam’s first lesson went surprisingly well. Edith had already known that Sam was an inquisitive and smart boy, but he was a remarkably quick study. He had some trouble casting initially, but he grasped the theoretical magical practices faster and with more ease than Arya and Jon had. By the end of his first lesson, he had managed to light a candle and change the color of his cloak three times.

Jon and Sam made fast friends, being close in age. Arya warmed to him quickly as well with Jon’s encouragement, though she often lost patience with the older boy’s overly timid nature. More than once, Edith had to remind Arya not to be rude and pushy with her new classmate.

As Edith’s new ward and student, she arranged a room in her tower, just below her own, for Sam to live in. As he wasn’t technically a guest of Winterfell, he instead became a permanent resident of Edith’s tower. His room was fairly threadbare at the moment, but Edith had set aside a small fund for Sam to use to furnish his room as he pleased. Thus far, he seemed inclined to install as many bookshelves and furs as he could get his hands on. 

Sam fell smoothly into his role as a teacher alongside Ricka and occasionally Morris and Wynafryd. He was far more educated than his peers, given his noble-born advantages, but was exceedingly kind and more than happy to share everything that he knew with his fellow teachers. Between the four of them and a consistent academic schedule, the school was finally seeing a rising influx of students. Most were the children of castle employees sent by their parents in hopes of securing better futures. Others were those just interested in learning what they never had the chance to before. At five copper pennies a day, the school remained affordable and profitable, slowly but surely building up income that could eventually be used to hire more staff. 

With the school, now the Winter College (like the Manderlys, Edith was not particularly clever with naming conventions), and the Winterguild picking up, the population of Wintertown began to grow with it. From there, things began to snowball as the carpenters and masons were hired for home repairs, encouraging more people to join the Winterguild to learn the trades. With more money to go around, people spent more on luxuries and the artisans flourished. Chiaro and Rafella became highly sought after for their works by both high and lowborn patrons, all clamoring to imitate the Starks with their own portraits and tapestries. The siblings had several apprentices of their own now, Chiaro lavishing in the formation of his very own workshop. 

It wasn’t long before more artisans of different crafts made their way to Winterguild; woodcarvers, metalsmiths, jewelers, dyers, leatherworkers, and so on. The boom in membership filled up the Guild’s coffers, in turn used to hire administrators to help Lady Stark manage all of the paperwork. 

Initially, it had just been Lady Stark, Edith, Ricka, Wynafryd, and Morris managing guild and school paperwork between their own already busy schedules. Morris had been particularly dedicated to bookkeeping after learning how to create mage hands to complete simple tasks for him. He had been overjoyed to learn that he could use the mage hand to write and draw just as well as he had once been able with his good hand. Ever since, Morris had spent his days dedicated to administrative work, filling out contracts and preparing trade deals between Winterfell and White Harbor. But even he could handle only so much.

Thanks to Sam and Wynafryd, a few of the students from the College were well read enough to be hired to fill positions in the Winterguild. Four clerks were hired from the school on a salary of three silver stags a week and suddenly the school found itself packed with new arrivals. Sam was teaching classes of almost fifty people on any given day. The spike in attendance was enough to hire two more teachers from the top performing students at a rate of one silver stag a week. 

“This is utter madness! People are flocking to the castle left and right!” Lady Catelyn complained one day during a Guild meeting. She paced around the new meeting hall in the Winterguild, Edith, Robb, and Ricka all sitting in various places around the room. They were only recently able to furnish the room with a long table and chairs and it was otherwise barren, but it was at least functional enough to serve its purpose.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Robb asked, “The Winterguild is working and more people are moving to Wintertown. The other Lords have been making purchases from our craftsmen, and even a few Southerners have been sending ravens inquiring about our new artisans.”

“It would be better if we were better equipped to handle the amount of people coming in,” Edith answered, “We simply do not have the man-power right now to keep up with the growth of the Guild and the school.”

“So we hire more people then,” Robb said.

“We’ve already hired as many people as we can afford for the time being,” Edith explained, “And there still aren’t very many people in Wintertown capable of reading and writing with the fluency required of a desk clerk.”

“So what do we do?” Robb asked.

“What can we do?” Lady Catelyn amended, “We cannot materialize servants-”

“Employees,” Edith corrected. Lady Catelyn shot her a venomous glare and Edith raised her hands in surrender.

“We cannot simply make new employees appear as needed, but we cannot turn away our own people,” Lady Catelyn ran a frustrated hand through her hair.

“We could always ask Lady Wynafryd about prospects in White Harbor,” Robb said, “She has found resources before, why not again?”

“We already have, but there are few people willing to uproot their lives to move to the heart of the North,” Edith said.

“And fewer still who are well read and capable,” Lady Catelyn added.

“Miss Edith, if I may,” Ricka interrupted, “I think I might have an idea.”

All eyes turned to Ricka, who flushed and squeaked slightly from the attention. She swallowed thickly and said, “Well, some of the folk in Wintertown were talking about the school and the price and all, and not everyone could afford to send all of their children every day. They send the oldest and have them come home and teach the little ones. Couldn’t we hire the older children like how you hired me, Miss Edith?”

“With magic?” Robb gasped.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Ricka pinked, “I just meant that, well, maybe we hire them to teach all the little ones, but instead of paying in coins, we don’t make them or their families pay to go to the school.”

“Would that work?” Lady Catelyn asked, turning to Edith. She hummed and tilted her head in thought. Back in Ebril, there were several students attending the school on scholarship, Edith included. For many of those students, they earned their tuition through work study, providing assistantship to faculty or developing research for the city. Edith had done both during her student career, which was how she was initially discovered by her Master and former Archmagi.

“Teacher’s aides. A wonderful idea Ricka,” Edith complimented, “You and Sam can handle more advanced classes and your best students can teach the simpler concepts. That should help mitigate issues in staffing the College.”

“But we still have the Guild to worry about,” Lady Stark sighed, “The Gods know I cannot do this on my own. I barely have the time to manage my own household as it is.”

“You aren’t thinking of stepping down, are you?” Edith asked cautiously. If Lady Catelyn stepped down so soon, it would only prove to the men of Westeros that women were incapable of anything more than running a household and giving birth. Not only that, but the already straining Guild administration would collapse without her guidance. 

“Of course not,” Lady Catelyn huffed, “But we must figure this out immediately. I will not have my House and my Guild falling apart from under me.”

“Of course,” Edith nodded, relieved.

“Wylla and I can help manage the household mother,” Robb offered, “She is to be the future Lady of Winterfell and I the Lord. Better that we learn to run the house early on so that you can focus on the Guild.”

“Robb, you don’t have to-” Lady Catelyn sighed.

“I want to, mother,” Robb insisted.

Lady Catelyn smiled fondly and sighed, “My sweet boy. Alright, if you must, the household is yours. But I am here should you need any assistance.” 

“Of course mother,” Robb grinned.

“It’s settled then,” Edith said, rising to her feet, “I’ll provide you with as many of my magic servants as I can until we can arrange for more people to be hired on permanently. That should at least buy us a little bit of time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Maester.”

“Have you received word on the Maester that the Citadel sent us?” Lady Catelyn asked.

“They sent a raven just this morning,” Edith nodded, “Minaeve is out scouting for me. They should be riding through the gates any moment now.”

Meeting adjourned, Edith teleported herself to the main gate, where Maester Luwin would be awaiting her and their visitors from the Citadel. The old man jumped in fright on her arrival, 

“By the Gods! You’ll make my heart stop one of these days with that ‘teleporting’ of yours, I swear it,” he exclaimed, clutching at the robes over his heart.

“Apologies Maester Luwin. I did not wish to miss our guests’ arrival,” Edith said unapologetically.

The Maester harrumphed, “I don’t know if I should appreciate or abhor your dedication to punctuality if it means for you to frighten old men half to death.”

Edith hummed noncommittally in response, scanning the gate path for any sign of the Maester from the Citadel. Minaeve swooped through the gate, perching herself on Edith’s arm and pointing a wing towards a small covered wagon riding through the entry. On the wagon sat a squat, stocky man with several links of chains encircling his neck. The metal gleamed in the bright daylight and Edith counted that his chains numbered even more than Maester Luwin. Beside the Maester were two youths, one dark, the other pale. Neither seemed particularly pleased with the other’s presence. 

Curiously, once the wagon passed through the gates, Edith’s wards pinged at the back of her head. They were lesser wards, ones that signaled spies, thieves, and other petty offenders who posed minor threats. Had they entered with truly malicious intent, the wards would have immediately teleported them to one of the cells in Winterfell’s dungeons, chained up and naked of any weaponry on their person. It was curious that a group of Maesters from the Citadel would ping her wards, though the letters that they’d received thus far proved that they might just be obnoxious enough to qualify as petty offenders to trigger Edith’s defenses. Regardless, she intended to monitor the visitors carefully. 

Edith and Maester Luwin approached the wagon as it was halted by the gate guards.

“Welcome to Winterfell friends. I am Maester Luwin. Might I ask you all for your names?” Luwin greeted. The squat man clambered off of the cart, spitting red… something into the dirt and offering a slight nod.

“I am Archmaester Marwyn. I have brought along the books requested of me, now where is this wizard of yours? I wish to speak with him immediately.”

“She is right here,” Edith said, “Edith Roxton, at your service Archmaester.”

The Archmaester looked her up and down assessingly. His two companions did the same, though the pale one did so in a decidedly more lascivious manner than the others. The other boy noticed and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Wasn’t expecting the wizard to be a woman. None of the rumors mentioned anything about a woman. The truth is twisted when spread so far by word of mouth,” Marwyn said gruffly, “Come, tell me more of your magics. Alleras and Leo will handle delivering the books to your library.”

The pale boy grumbled in annoyance. The other boy eyed him disdainfully from the corner of his eye. 

“No need Maester, you can all follow me to my tower. Our discussion will be best held privately, and I will be needing the books transcribed there anyway,” Edith explained, turning and heading towards her tower without a backwards glance. Maester Luwin, well used to her abrupt demeanor, matched her step without missing a beat. Edith heard the wagon wheels turn behind them as they made their way to the opposite end of the castle. 

“Just as requested, we have compiled as many books on known magic as could be found, as well as several histories and legend lore,” Archmaester Marwyn said, “I personally selected the volumes with any sense to them. There are far too many mediocre tomes written by simpletons in the Citadel’s collection. The Maesters are too stubborn to see the true value of magical study.” 

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Edith nodded, “And rather uncooperative at that.”

Archmaester Marwyn grunted and the dark skinned acolyte snickered.

“They’re blind old bats, those men. Stick their noses any higher in the air and they might catch flies,” Maester Marwyn groused. 

Edith raised a brow and Maester Luwin looked distinctly uncomfortable. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the Citadel’s envoy, but it wasn’t this. So long as Archmaester Marwyn delivered the books as promised, Edith had little care for his opinions on anything, but it was refreshing to know that at least one of the Citadel’s Maesters was agreeable on the subject of magic.

“Yes, well, it was only quite recently that there was any proof of magic existing in the world,” Maester Luwin defended.

“Not so. I spent time studying magic across the Narrow Sea. There is plenty to be found there, from the shadowbinders of Asshai to the warlocks of Qarth,” Marwyn countered.

“The warlocks are well known charlatans-” Maester Luwin frowned.

“And what knowledge have you of magics old man?” the pale boy interrupted. Maester Luwin reddened slightly, face drawn into a deep frown.

“Leo, stop it,” the other boy, Alleras, scolded.

“Stop asking questions? Is that not the pursuit of knowledge, Sphinx? What sort of acolyte would I be if I were to do that?” Leo mocked.

“A quiet one,” Alleras retorted. 

Their bickering was cut short as Edith opened the door to her tower and flicked her wrist, sending all of the cloth-covered books from the cart flying into the tower. The Archmaester and his two acolytes gaped at the display.

“Come now,” Edith said, following the last of the books inside, “I have precious little time to talk, so let’s not waste it.”

Maester Luwin strode past Leo smugly, eyeing the gaping teen disapprovingly before making himself comfortable on one of Edith’s armchairs. Edith sat herself at her desk, plucking one of the books now neatly stacked on top of it and flipping through the pages with interest. 

Marwyn and his acolytes followed after him and Edith’s wards pinged once again. This time, the acolyte called Alleras fell face first on the floor as soon as he stepped through the threshold. Leo and Marwyn jumped in surprise, Marwyn immediately dropping to one knee to inspect Alleras for injury or illness. 

Edith raised a brow, assessing the young man as the Archmaester checked over the fallen acolyte in confusion. The wards that activated were ones to detain trespassers and spies, anyone that Edith did not give express permission to enter her tower. There were harsher ones in place for would be thieves or, gods forbid, assassins. Edith was not particularly afraid of any assassin of this world, at least not for herself. Those wards were in place with her students and Ricka in mind, should ever a time come that Edith was not in the tower when they were in danger. 

As it was, Alleras was not in any immediate danger, he was simply magically petrified. The boy was fully conscious and able to speak, but it was odd that he was pinging any wards in the first place. It wasn’t out of the question that Alleras intended to spy for the Citadel (or someone else) and the wards didn’t indicate that he was a thief. 

“What is this? What have you done to me?” Alleras cried. 

“I think this position rather suits you if I’m being honest,” Leo laughed, toeing his fellow acolyte with his boot. Alleras snarled which only caused Leo to laugh even harder.

“That would be my security system,” Edith explained casually, “For some reason, you seem to be triggering my wards around the castle.”

“Wards?” Marwyn asked, “What does that mean?”

“My wards are dormant spells, etched in place for later use. They activate when certain conditions are met, such as trespassing or thievery.”

“I am no thief,” Alleras hissed, “And you invited me into the tower, so I am no trespasser.”

Edith eyed the boy, examining his prone form. His face was flushed and robes askew, the three chains around his neck had landed in such a way that they were digging uncomfortably into his cheek. On closer examination, he was remarkably slight and pretty for a boy his age. Curious. 

“Indeed,” Edith hummed, “Alleras of the Citadel was invited into my tower.” 

The youth twitched slightly, sweat forming at his brow. His eyes briefly fluttered to Marwyn and Leo, confused and amused respectively and that was enough for Edith to come to her own conclusions. The Citadel was quite strict about who was and was not welcome, after all.

Edith snapped and Alleras’ magical restraints released, freeing the youth and sending them sprawling across the floor. They scrambled to their feet, glaring at Edith.

“My apologies, the wards are yet untested on outsiders. There must have been an error of some kind,” Edith said amicably. Alleras huffed and eyed her distrustfully. Edith matched their gaze with sharp eyes, mutually distrustful of the acolyte who set off her tower’s defenses.  

“Now,” Edith said, placing the book back on the stack and facing Archmaester Marwyn, “Thank you for delivering to me these texts, they have been long awaited. Your raven said that there were questions that you had of me?”

“Numerous,” Marwyn nodded, “I’ve studied the ways of magic across the Narrow Sea, from the shadowbinders of Asshai the Warlocks of Qarth. I wish to know more of yours.”

“Oh?” Edith asked.

“I would like to study your art, as I have studied before. Teach me how to cast your magic,” Marwyn said. 

Edith’s brow twitched in annoyance. She might be grateful for the Maester’s books, but not grateful enough to be ordered around. Maester Luwin cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between Edith and their visitors.

“No,” Edith replied sternly, “My magic is dangerous in the wrong hands, and I have no idea what yours are capable of.”

“These hands are capable of knowledge and creation!” Marwyn protested, “I would not misuse your magic any more than I would the others that I have learned.”

“The answer is no,” Edith repeated, “You may ask what questions that you like, but I will not teach you how to cast magic as I do.”

“You have students, do you not?” Leo asked sharply, “How can you trust silly children with this power rather than a practiced Archmaester of the Citadel?”

“Children or not, I trust my students to be just and do right. I know them. I do not know you.”

Leo looked ready to argue, but Marwyn huffed, “Very well. If I cannot learn to cast your magic, I would like to at least learn more of it. Tell me what you can.”

The better part of the next hour was spent deep in discussion about the intricacies of magical theory with Marwyn. Edith found that she quite enjoyed the deeply intellectual conversation, Marwyn being even more inquisitive and hungry for knowledge than Maester Luwin or Sam.

Throughout their discussion, Alleras stared Edith down with such intensity that Edith wondered if they weren’t trying to set her ablaze with their mind. They otherwise made no move to interrupt the conversation, or even scrutinize the interior of her tower outside of cursory glances. The acolyte seemed understandably wary of her, but Edith was content to ignore them so long as they caused no trouble. She was fairly certain that Alleras was some alias and that the disguise is what triggered her wards, but there was always the possibility that there was more going on. She would keep her eye on them, but otherwise their business was their own.

“A world where magic is common among the people. Extraordinary,” Marwyn remarked, “I have only ever heard of Asshai to be so cavalier with their magics. The shadowbinders and bloodmages reign supreme there.”

“Shadowbinders?” Edith asked.

“A dark fiction, nothing more,” Maester Luwin frowned, curling his lip in distaste. 

“Are you not familiar with the art?” Marwyn asked, ignoring Maester Luwin entirely, “I would have guessed you to know far more of the practice than I, given your history.”

“Enlighten me,” Edith replied. 

“The shadowbinders of Asshai practice dark magic, summoning creatures of shadow and communing with otherworldly forces. I studied with them for a time as a part of my research,” Marwyn explained.

“Otherworldly forces?” Edith asked.

“Gods. Demons. Whatever you wish to call the source of their powers,” Marwyn answered, “In my time with the shadowbinders, I was never given a clear answer. The people of Asshai are of a peculiar sort. Either incapable of or unwilling to speak plainly, always answering questions in riddles that leave you with more questions.”

“And they draw their power from the Shadow Lands?”

“The Shadow is filled with dark magic. It is the source of all shadowbinders’ power. The further they are from the Shadow, the weaker their magic becomes. Formidable still, but true shadowbinding is terrible to behold in its homeland.”

“Curious,” Edith hummed, “Based on that description, the shadowbinders would be known as warlocks in my homeland. I take it that there is a difference between the shadowbinders and the warlocks of Qarth?”

“As night and day,” Marwyn nodded.

“The Shadowlands of Asshai are a mystery to us all, Miss Edith,” Maester Luwin explained, “Very few people brave the land for long, and none are daring enough to venture into the darkest corners of the shadow.”

“And where would that be?” Edith asked.

“Stygai,” Marwyn answered ominously. The word itself seemed to send a shiver through the room.

“Even the shadowbinders fear Stygai,” Marwyn continued, “A haunted corpse of a city where even the sun dares not dwell. The heart of the Shadow.”

“Curious,” Edith muttered. A dark land of shadows where the sun did not shine? That sounded suspiciously like an anchor to the Shadowfell. Yet another mystery about the strange nature of magic in this world. And if these ‘shadowbinders’ drew their magic from the Shadowfell, then they would most certainly be a problem at best, a threat at worst. 

The forces of the Weave and the Shadow Weave would always be at odds, just as their mistresses, Mystra and Shar. If there were followers of Shar here, then they might one day turn their attention to Edith and their students as they channeled through the Weave. 

Thinking of the danger to her students spiked fear through her core. The Shadow Weave operated on different rules than the Weave. It was specifically designed by its mistress for devastation. A gifted shadow mage could tear down everything that Edith had built like wet paper. Her students wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“Tell me everything that you know of the Shadow,” Edith demanded.

“Teach me your magic,” Marwyn returned.

“No.”

“Then no.”

Marwyn and Edith stared each other down, neither willing to budge an inch.

“I could always find books to tell me more of the Shadow,” Edith said testily.

“Most of those dusty old rags are wholly incorrect or completely worthless. I spent time in the Shadow. What I can tell you will be far more valuable than any book you could find outside of Asshai itself,” Marwyn scoffed.

“Not valuable enough for the price of my magic,” Edith countered. 

“And coin? I can offer you plenty of it,” Marwyn said.

“The answer is no, Archmaester,” Edith said tersely. 

Marwyn tightened his jaw in frustration. Edith suspected that it was not often that the man was so ardently refused. And judging from the flared nostrils and set brow, Edith doubted that he would be giving up without a fight. 

“What would it take, Lady Edith?” Marwyn asked, “Is there nothing that I can offer you that would please you?”

“This isn’t about exchange, Archmaester. It’s about principle,” Edith sighed heavily.

“I do not see what principle mandates that you refuse me so,” he huffed.

Edith rubbed her brow, already well aware that her principles clashed harshly with the Westerosi mindset. Her knowledge was to be shared, yes, but shared responsibly. With how desperate and demanding Marwyn was, Edith was certain that he would use any magic she might give to him for self serving purpose, and that was simply too risky with how little magic there was in the world. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that she would be able to control who did and did not have access to Ossian spellcasting forever. Eventually, her teachings would trickle down to people beyond her reach, and those people very well could use magic for ill. Her only hope was to teach as many good, trustworthy people as she was willing to risk before the knowledge spread.

Fortunately, Edith was spared from having to argue further by the door swinging open. She had been so absorbed in the conversation that she hadn’t noticed how close it was to her students’ evening lessons until they walked through the entry. Jon and Sam were the first to arrive, Arya no doubt held up in her Lady lessons by Septa Mordane. From her most recent complaints, they had been practicing the harp for the past few days and she loathed it. Edith did not envy the Septa for trying to sit Arya still for more than ten minutes, strumming discordant tunes on an instrument that she had no interest in. Arya could be exceptionally stubborn and difficult when she didn’t want to do something, and there were approximately four people in Winterfell who could get her to behave. The Septa was not one of them.

Jon and Sam were chatting as they walked in, all smiles and jokes until they caught sight of Edith’s guests. Sam caught sight of Leo in particular and went pale.

“Leo? What are you doing here?” He asked nervously.

“Well, if it isn’t fat Sam, the craven. I thought your father shipped you off to the Wall to rot,” Leo mocked cruelly.

Sam trembled, his cheeks red and quivering. Jon sent the older boy a dark look and growled, “Leave him alone!” but that only made the youth laugh. Sam shrank at the sound.

“Find yourself a good husband to protect you piggy? Do you warm each others’ beds at night too?” He taunted. Sam’s lip warbled and Edith decided that it was time to intervene. She waved a hand and Leo was sent flying out of the tower with an undignified squawk. Alleras choked back their own laughter at the blonde boy’s disheveled state.

“My apologies Archmaester, but I seem to have lost track of the time,” Edith said, “We can resume our discussion another day, but it is time for my students’ lessons now. Maester Luwin can guide you to the Great Hall to greet the Lord and be shown your rooms.”

Maester Luwin nodded and ushered Marwyn and Alleras out of the tower with minimal protest and an agreement to continue their conversation the next day before the Archmaester and his acolytes returned to the Citadel. Leo grumbled and cursed as he was guided away, shooting Jon, Edith, and Sam a nasty look before storming off.

“How did you know that boy Sam?” Jon asked, “He didn’t seem like an old friend.”

“That was Leo Tyrell,” Sam replied sullenly, “We knew each other as children, before my father sent me away and Leo was sent to the Citadel. We didn’t get along, but most boys didn’t get along with me growing up anyway.”  

“Why do you let him treat you like that?” Jon asked gruffly, “You’re a wizard now, he can’t pick on you anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t say anything,” Sam mumbled.

“Stop apologizing Sam, you did nothing wrong. You need to learn to stand up for yourself or you’re putting all of Teacher’s lessons to waste,” Jon chastised.

“But I’m not brave or strong like you and Arya. I’m a craven-” Sam protested.

“Stop calling yourself that!” Jon exclaimed, “You have to be afraid to be brave. Fearless is just a word that the foolish use to feel strong, right Teacher?”

Edith felt warmth spread through her core, touched by how sincerely Jon had taken her words to heart. She was immeasurably proud to see him taking that lesson and passing it on himself, and humbled to know how impactful her lessons had been. 

“Yes Jon, that’s right,” Edith smiled, fondness evident in her voice. She ruffled his curly hair affectionately before turning to address Sam, “You call yourself a craven, but a true craven is someone like that Leo Tyrell boy. Lashing out and then turning tail when things get rough. You are an exceptionally kind boy Sam, and it takes a great deal of courage to be kind when others are cruel.”

Sam flushed red, “You don’t mean that. You don’t have to say things just to make me feel better.”

“But I do mean it, else I wouldn’t have said it,” Edith replied, “It takes bravery and will to admit weakness. If it didn’t, then more people would do it.”

She ruffled Sam’s hair gently before reaching into her bag and pulling out her spellbook.

“Once Arya arrives, we can begin on your next lesson: Polymorphing.”