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Chapter Text

The Gods of Westeros rarely spoke to each other. The Old Gods preferred talking through their trees, the Seven preferring their temples and Septs.

The chill of the Long Night seeped even here, the threat of the Others pressed upon their realm like an icy hand slowly closing around their throats.

The Crone was the first to speak “I have seen the threads of what is to come. The Night King marches soon, and even the fires of Dragons may not turn the tide as all paths I see lead to defeat.

The OId Gods mummured as one, hundreds of voices blending together “Our children are brave and yet their strength wanes. Too few remember the oaths, too few bed the knee to the gods. The World will fall without intervention.”

The Mother raised her hand “If we act we break the world that we made. To tear open the barrier between dimensions and to call for aid from beyond will change Westeros forever, the faith of our children will scatter in this new world. The soil will taste other suns and we might change the fate of this world forever.”

The Warrior struck his sword against his shield, the sound ringing through the area as his eyes burn into the other Gods “Better a changed world we do not recongize than one overrun by the dead. I have peered beyond the veil, trillions of worlds beyond ours with their own battles. Yet there is one world not unlike ours. There heroes and villians rise as ours do. They have faced an army not of ice but from the stars where they prevailed.”

The Smith frowned “You speak of the realm where men build towers of glass and iron, where their fire burns without coal or wood. They are clever but dangerous.”

“Dangerous yes yet bold. I see Men and Women who stand as champions. A son of Thunder, a woman who flys in a suit of armor. A captain whose honor shined brighter than any knight in our world. A man with a beast inside. An Archer and assassin who stand alongside them as equals.”

The Old Gods stirred at that, their whispers deepening as they talked “Heroes, as the First Men once were, as they children they hoped they would be.”

The Father spoke up for the first time “If we do this there is no turning back, the realms will bleed into one another but if we do not the planet ends in silence.”

Then the Maiden spoke up “Open the way and let them come. Let our world be changed so that it may endure.”

-

August 2013

It began with the sound of tearing silk.

In the dead of night Central Park’s air rippled, trees bowing as the fountain stilled, its waters lifting into the air before crashing down as a rift opened up to the panic of the New Yorkers. The Battle of New York was fresh on everyone’s mind as people ran screaming from the portal as animals howled and people woke to the panic in the streets.

Down in her lab Toni Stark had been bent over a holographic schematic, one hand on a cup of coffee gone cold, her hair was tied up in a messy bun, grease stains marking the sleeve of her tank top as her secure line flared “Fury if this is about how I should take meetings more seriously…”

“Stark get suited up we got a situation at the Park. Bring Centurion.”

Toni’s eyes shot up “Henry? It’s two in the morning.”

“You think aliens keep office hours? He was trained for this and he’s cleared for field work so move.” The line went dead.

Toni exhaled through her teeth, running a hand over her face. Of course it had to be tonight. She walked up the stairs where the fain sound of soft snorts drifted from the bedrooms. The twins were out cold, Toni peaking in on them as she reached Henry's door.

It slid open at her knock.

Henry was already half awake and sitting on his bed in sweats with a StarkPad lighting up his face as his brown eyes flickered up to her wary “Something’s wrong.”

Toni tossed her son a capsule the size of a soda can as he caught it with practiced ease.

“Central Park,” she said “Portal opened up, maybe aliens again. Fury wants us in the field.”

Henry pressed the capsule, revealing the Navy blue and silver armor chestplate. Light gleamed alongside the armor as it slipped onto him like a second skin, the armor was heavier than Toni’s own suit, Henry’s designed for heavier combat.

“Are Peter and Harley-” Henry began before Toni interrupted him “I’m leaving them here with Pepper, May and Ben.”

Toni squeezed his shoulder, her eyes softening for a heartbeat “You ready kid?”

Henry’s jaw tightened “Yeah.”

The Tower roared to life as her own armor enveloped her. Gold and crimson plating snapping shut around her. Together, Iron Woman and Centurion shot into the night sky, streaks of lights turning into blurs as they flew to the park and landed.

The Park was in chaos, police sirens were wailing as people fled and in the center of it all stood a massive portal with SHIELD agents around it.

“Stark.” a sharp voice called to them.

Toni and Henry turned to see Nick Fury striding across the line of agents, trench coat flaring as behind him Steve, Natasha and Clint followed him.

“Nice of you all to get us out of bed,” Toni said as her faceplate retracted “What are we looking at because if it’s another Chitauri invasion I want hazard pay.”

“Doesn’t look like them, doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen.” Steve said, eyes fixed on the portal.

Henry was already moving, his armor humming as a panel on his forearm split open as a small triangular drone detached from his shoulder rig, hovering obediently at his side as he flicked on a StarkPad, the holographic screen glowing in his hands.

“I’m sending in an eye, if it’s dangerous better the drone gets shredded than one of us.” Henry said as his eyes betrayed how nervous he was.

The drone zipped forward as it disappeared into the portal. Everyone crowded closer, eyes flicking on Henry’s pad. For a moment the screen was nothing but static then it lit up.

Trees stretched out beneath the drone’s camera as a stream glittered below as the drone skimmed above it, disturbing flocks of birds that scattered into the sky as deer bolted from the underbrush, startled by the hum of the drone.

The drone soared farther, catching glimpses of dirt roads, smoke curling from fires as people moved below as children darted past, all of them pointing up at the drone with a language the drone couldn’t catch clearly.

“Great, aliens again. Wish Thor was here now to help deal with this.” Clint said as he pinched his nose.

Henry and the other ignored him, eyes stuck to the holo as Henry flew the drone farther and higher. Fields stretched outward, then walls rose into view, a ring of Stone Towers, banners snapping in the wind as they spotted a castle on a hill.

Chapter Text

Jon was sure this was going to be just another slow day, the kind that blurred together. He had spent the morning training in the yard sparring with Robb under the supervision of Ser Rodrik. Sweat poured down his face as he dodged and parried but he refused to let Robb beat him.

Robb came at him again, a grin splitting his face as their wooden swords cracked together in a rhythm Jon almost welcomed for all the cold and stares sparring with Robb was the one time he didn’t feel like a shadow in his home.

And then it happened, a sound split the air, a piercing, bone deep cry echoing through the air when Greywind threw back his head and howled.

The young pup’s voice was soon joined by the rest of his littermates, even Ghost who was usually silent as his namesake was howling and whining at the top of his lungs, the horses were freaking out in the stables as Hodor and the stable boys tried to calm them down.

Ser Rodrik stared at the direction the pups were howling at as the rest of Jon’s siblings stood by him and Robb, each trying to calm their pup down as they whined and whimpered with unease.

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked, her hand clutching Nymeria’s scruff.

Jon’s chest tightened as his eyes followed when the pups were barking at furiously now, and then he saw it, a dark speck against the clouds, at first no different than a hawk wheeling above the Wolfswood but it moved wrong, it was far too steady and quick, and in the sunlight in glinted blue and silver.

Jon’s breath caught in his throat, eyes widening as he realized it was no bird.

The shape tilted, wings of metal folding in strange angles as it darted low over the trees and beside it, Jon’s heart hammering so hard it almost felt like it would burst, was a person. A man, or what seemed to be a man, was encased head to toe in the same Blue and Silver armor. It wasn’t plate like Ser Rodrik’s, nor was it like the guard’s armor. The armored figure flew just like a bird, and Jon would swear he saw something glowing under its hands and feet.

Jon nearly stumbled backwards as Robb muttered “Wha- what is that thing?” awe and fear tangled in his voice as the direwolves howled louder.

“It’s a flying man!” Arya said excitedly, even as Lady Stark began herding her and the younger of Jon’s siblings into the keep as Jon felt as though the world had cracked open and something had came out that wasn’t meant to be in this world.

The Courtyard was already in an uproar by the time Jon’s father strode into the training yard, the direwolf's howls still echoing through the air as half the keep had poured outside from doorways and galleries to peer into the sky. Jon, Robb and Arya stood stiff with excitement, pointing to the Wolfswood where the strange flying shapes had already dipped out of sight.

“Everyone inside now!” Jon’s father barked in what Jon and his siblings described as his lord’s voice, everyone scrambling to do so as the servants and retainers bowed their heads and scattered toward the keep as Jon and Robb hesitated only for a heartbeat before herding Arya, Bran and Rickon inside as they tried to look skyward again.

“Rodrik!” Ned barked, and the old master-at-arms was already at his side “My lord?’

“Have the scorpions hauled up from the vaults, I want them mounted on the walls before the day is out.”

“You think it’s a dragon?” Robb asked as he blinked at their father “I will not be caught unprepared either way.” Ned said grimly.

“It’s not a dragon father! I swear I saw a man in armor flying next to it.” Arya said excitedly as Robb and Jon looked at each other “We saw it too, a man in strange armor was flying beside it.”

Bran’s eyes widened “A flying man! And if it was a dragon I want to ride it-” he began only for their father to interrupt “That’s enough, the light was playing tricks on your eyes,” Ned said firmly, “Dragons are beasts, not companions to flying men in suits. A hawk perhaps, or the sun glancing off the clouds. Do not let your fancy run away with you.”

Robb opened his mouth as if to argue, then pressed his lips together instead as Jon looked troubled and Bran muttered “I still want to ride it.”

Ned ignored him as he turned to the nearest servant “Fetch Maester Luwin and tell him to bring everyone he has on Dragons and other flying terrors to my solar, if the old tales are stirring again I will be prepared. Robb, Jon with me.”

The two brother stared at each other for a few seconds before following after their father, Bran still saying he wanted to ride the Dragon.

Their father broke the silence the second the door to the Solar closed “Tell me, what did you see?”

Robb leaned forward eagerly “A beast, Father with wings of metal, not leather, but it moved like no hawk or dragon I’ve ever read of. And beside it was a man Flying, somehow.”

Jon nodded in agreement with his brother “It didn’t act like an animal at all. No circling, no hunting. It was steady, too steady. I don’t think it was alive, a contraption, perhaps like a cart without horses. Something built, not born.”

Ned’s brows furrowed. “Built,” he repeated, tasting the word as his gaze drifted down to the map “If it is built, then someone commands it and if someone commands it then they are near enough to see what it sees.” His finger pressed against the western edge of the Wolfswood, dragging slowly across the parchment. “It flew west toward the Sunset Sea but if it was loosed from nearby then the Wall lies north, and its lands where strange things are said to dwell.”

The fire popped as their fathe’s eyes darkened. “If it is some sorcery of the free folk or worse, the Wildlings we know nothing of it. An enemy we cannot name is an enemy that will gut us in the dark.”

Robb’s jaw tightened “Shouldn’t we send word, then? To Lord Umber, to Lady Mormont, to the Karstarks and even the Boltons. If something new is flying over the Wolfswood, the North should not be caught unawares.”

Ned tapped the table once hard, the sound like a gavel. “Aye. You’re right.”

The door creaked, and Maester Luwin entered, arms laden with leather-bound tomes and scrolls. His chain rattled softly as he set them down with a sigh. “Everything the library holds on dragons, wyverns, and other winged beasts,” he said, adjusting his sleeve. “Though most are half legend, my lord so you’ll find more speculation than truth.”

Ned gestured to the books but did not touch them yet. His eyes remained fixed on the map. “If it was a dragon, we must be prepared for it. The scorpions will see to that but if it is something else,.something made by men, then it is worse. A beast we know, even a dragon is still flesh and blood. A contraption…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “If it is a scout from some empire across the sea, one with powers and crafts we have never dreamed of, then the North stands blind and naked.”

Jon shifted uncomfortably but spoke all the same “Then… we must learn what it is, if it is a contraption, we can watch it and hunt it, perhaps. If it is a man in armor, then he surely bleeds like any other.”

Ned’s eyes met Jon’s and for a heartbeat, the boy swore there was something almost approving in them.

Then Ned straightened, his face settling into the mask of the Warden of the North “We will not stumble blind. Luwin, comb those tomes for anything that matches what the boys saw. Robb, you will draft letters to our bannermen quietly. Say little, but enough to keep them wary. Jon…” His mouth pressed into a thin line. “You will help the men get the scorpios set up.

-

The next morning the air was thin and cold on the other side of the rift. Toni’s HUD was clear as she soared over the horizon as endless forest and sprawled beneath her. Her repulsors hummed, keeping pace beside the slim navy-blue drone Henry was piloting from the safety of New York.

“Alright, kid,” she muttered into comms, “your toy’s leading, I’m just the babysitter. Don’t let me down.”

The drone’s lights flickered in acknowledgment, the faint vibration in her ear confirming Henry was fully linked up. Suspended beneath the drone was a reinforced drop-box, matte black and neatly stenciled with both SHIELD insignia and the Stark Industries logo. Inside wereFury’s carefully drafted letter, a sealed package of translated files, glossy photos of Earth from orbit, and a stack of schematics that Toni had argued were way too generous to hand over to what still looked to her like a bunch of very committed medieval role-players.

If they even are people at all, a darker part of her thought. God forbid we’re dropping First Contact protocols on some orcs or Elf rejects in disguise.

Below, the castle’s courtyard boiled with activity as men in mail and boiled leather, banners snapping in the wind, scorpions that looked like museum pieces dragged onto the ramparts as if preparing for siege. And then there were the people, dozens of them with their heads tilted back and pointing as children clutched at their mothers’ skirts as a black-haired man in a long cloak strode into the yard, sword at his side and, barking orders that carried to her.

“Medieval Comic-Con,” Toni muttered.shaking her head. “I’ve seen weirder things the last few years… okay, maybe not weirder.”

The drone leveled out over the center of the courtyard, mechanical arms clicking as they released the drop-box. The chute blossomed in a neat white puff, parachute strings straining as it drifted down to the courtyard. Guards scrambled aside, their spears raised in alarm, while a small girl darted forward before being yanked back by what had to be her father.

The box landed with a solid thump, parachute fluttering down over the stones.

Mission complete.

The drone rose smoothly, wings of light humming as Henry reversed its course. Toni hovered a moment longer, her HUD sweeping across the scene, picking out wide eyes, raised swords, the ripple of panic and awe rolling through the crowd below.

And then she followed, turning in a smooth arc to climb back toward the portal’s shimmer.

Her voice crackled into Henry’s feed. “Well, kid, we just dropped the medieval starter pack. They’ll open it, flip out about the shiny pictures of space, and hopefully not throw it on a bonfire.Then we’re supposed to be meet them in a few days, easy.”

But as she broke the atmosphere, the trees below slowly shrinking to a carpet of green, Toni couldn’t stop the laugh that caught in her throat “God, what’s next?” laughed to herself First I build a suit to keep metal from shredding my heart, then S.H.I.E.L.D. ropes me into the Avengers Initiative, and then Hammer sends Whiplash to crash my racecar, then aliens in Manhattan. Now—”

She glanced back once, the castle’s towers gleaming like teeth against the dawn, banners whipping in the wind, the box already being surrounded by armed men.

“—now I’m airmailing history books to King Arthur.”

Henry absolutely was thrilled, he had built his entire Iron Suit based on Knight’s armors from the old medieval books he had made her read to him as a bedtime story when he was a little kid.

-

The courtyard was still in uproar as ervants clutched children close as the strange red-and-gold figure had vanished into the sky alongside its shrieking metal bird. The thing they had left behind, a black box wrapped in a pale sail, sat at the center of it all. Guards circled with spears leveled, half afraid to touch it.

Jon’s eyes locked on the red-and-gold armor as it dwindled into the clouds. The colors reminded him too much of the lion banner, gold on crimson, and his stomach knotted. Lannisters in the sky? Gods save us.

“Bring it inside,” Lord Stark commanded, his voice cutting through the fear. The guards obeyed, hefting the black box with caution, as if it might burst into flame at their touch. The crowd parted quickly, murmurs following in their wake.

On the flagstones, the pale sail lay abandoned asArya darted to it before anyone else could. She ran her small fingers along the strange cloth, her siblings crowding around in wonder. It wasn’t wool, nor linen, nor silk, slick to the touch, gleaming faintly in the light.

“Strange sail." Bran muttered.

“It looks like something a sorcerer would weave,” Sansa whispered, hesitant but unable to look away.

Jon trailed after Arya, Ghost padding at his heel, eyes never leaving the box as it was carried through the gatehouse into the keep. His heart thudded in his chest, the image of the flying man seared into his mind. No dragon had flown beside him, no, that man had flown on his own. Some sorcery strong enough to lift a man into the sky.

Inside, Lord Stark had the guards set the black box upon the table in his solar. The lid cracked open with an unsettling smoothness, as though the wood, or was it metal?, obeyed unlike anything Jon was used to. Inside lay a folded parchment sealed with a strange mark, and beneath it a neat stack of books and maps bound in materials Jon had never seen.

Arya was quicker than any of them ashe plucked one from the box before Ned could stop her and flipped it open. Jon leaned in, his breath catching.

The parchment wasn’t parchment at all. The pages were thinner than they had any right to be, clear enough that the letters on the back showed faintly through. And the letters themselves were tiny, sharp and perfect. Too perfect for any scribe’s hand.

“Father…” Jon began.

Ned Stark didn’t answer as his eyes were locked on the letter in his hand, his face unreadable but pale, as he read the letter over and over again.

“Father?” Arya chirped, untroubled, already turning pages full of strange pictures and shapes.

At last, Ned looked up and he fixed his daughter with a look that sent even Arya scurrying “Go find Robb and your mother and bring them here at once.”

She frowned but obeyed, darting out the door with her braid flying.

Jon lingered. He couldn’t stop himself. “What does it say? About… the flying man?”

Ned’s hand tightened on the parchment. “I am not sure I believe what it says.”

Jon swallowed. “Please, Father.”

For a moment, Ned was silent, studying him with that quiet, weighing gaze Jon had known all his life, then he extended the letter. “Read.”

Jon took it carefully, the page lighter than it should have been, smoother than lambskin or vellum. His eyes traced the strange yet oddly familiar script.

To the Honorable Lord Paramount Stark, Warden of the North,

On behalf of the United States of America, we send greetings and apologies.

By means unknown to either of our peoples, a phenomenon has opened between our worlds. As of this writing, a passage half a mile wide has formed upon your Stony Shore, linking our land with yours. On our side, this portal lies in the midst of one of our great cities.

We regret that our first appearance startled your folk. The winged machine and armored figures you witnessed were our drones and Iron Man and Centurion, were not meant as a threat, but as protection in uncertain circumstances, know that no harm was intended.

We wish no hostility with the North, nor with any realm of your world. Enclosed within this chest are histories of our country and our planet, as well as a map of the nations that dwell upon it. These are freely given, that you might better understand us.

In a few days’ time, representatives of our nation will cross through the portal, escorted by several members of theAvengers. We hope to meet with you in good faith to discuss trade and friendship between our peoples.

With respect and sincerity,
Director Nick Fury
On behalf of the Government of the United States of America

Jon lowered the letter slowly, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“Another… world,” he breathed, hardly aware he had spoken.

His father’s face was grave “That is what they claim. Not an empire across the sea, but neighbors through a wound in the world itself.”

 The door swung wide the next second as Arya darted in first, Catelyn Stark striding close behind with Robb at her side. The Lady of Winterfell’s face was tight with worry, her eyes flicking from the strange books to the letter still in Jon’s hand.

“Arya.” Her tone cut sharp “Out, you as well, Jon. This is not for children.”

Arya scowled, planting her fists on her hips. “I found the book first—”

“Arya.”

Jon opened his mouth, but his father’s voice halted them both. “No Jon stays. I asked it.”

Catelyn turned, startled. “Ned—”

“He would only hear it from Robb later,” Ned said evenly “Better that he hears it here, from us.”

Robb glanced at Jon, torn between pride and relief as Arya huffed, muttered something about secrets, but Ned’s look sent her retreating to the corner, where she perched with all the stubbornness of a wolf pup.

Ned set the letter upon the table for all to see. “They claim not to be an empire across the sea, but a people from another world entirely, a ‘United States of America.’” He gestured to the box and its impossible bounty. “They say a passage half a mile wide has opened on our Stony Shore. They left us these maps, histories and images.”

Catelyn reached for the letter, her brow furrowing deeper with each line she read. “Another world,” she murmured, disbelief sharpening into unease. “Ned… this could not come at a worse time. We have the King’s feast looming over us and now this?”

Robb leaned over the maps, eyes widening at the sheer detail, the sharp lines, the perfect lettering, the strange shapes marking cities he had never dreamed of. “These drawings, these maps, Maester Luwin could never make something so precise, nor could anyone else in all the realm.”

Jon agreed quietly, staring at the pages “They aren’t from human hands.”

“Then they are magic,” Catelyn said grimly “Or these strangers speak truth. Either path is dangerous.”

Ned’s eyes softened “Dangerous, aye but notice these folk speak not of conquest. They offer trade, friendship, knowledge, and at the least, they do not yet come as foes, that alone is cause for thanks.” He traced one long finger over the edge of the smooth page. “And if even a part of this is true, the boon for the North could be beyond reckoning.”

Catelyn pressed her lips tight. “Powerful, wealthy kingdoms, all pressing against us through this… portal. Gods, Ned. What if they come with armies? With more flying men?”

“They might.” He did not flinch from the truth “But they have not and they speak of no wish for war. That is more courtesy than many neighbors give.”

Robb bent lower over a map, tracing the sharp outline of Westeros printed with uncanny precision, before glancing at a globe of lands none of them knew. “So many kingdoms,” he whispered.

Ned placed another of the strange volumes on the table, the cover emblazoned with words neither Robb nor Jon had ever seen: Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

“This name appears often in their letter,” Ned said. “Avengers. They speak of them as guardians, warriors of renown. I would know what kind of men or things they are.” He looked from Robb to Jon. “You two will go through these maps and these histories, Learn what you can of this ‘United States’ and their world and the so called ‘Avengers.”

Robb straightened, nodding sharply. “At once, Father.”

Jon reached for the book. His fingers lingered on the cover,.figures drawn in strange colors and shapes, unlike any men he had ever seen. He opened the first page and names leapt out at him, sharp and foreign with page numbers beside the names.

Captain America.
Iron Man.
Centurion.
Hawkeye.
Black Widow.
Mimic.
Hulk.
Thor.

Jon frowned at each in turn. Iron Man. The flying one, surely. But the others.,, what manner of warriors bore names like these?

He glanced once at his father. “We’ll know by supper.”

“Good.” Ned Stark’s voice was quiet, but iron lay beneath it as he turned back to the maps, eyes fixed on the strange globe.

Chapter Text

 The next morning foud Robb and Jon in the library early after breakfast, Robb having claimed a thick volume from the pile of books called The History of the United States and the World: Wars and Countries, his eyes  already skimming over maps that stretched farther than any maester’s parchment had ever shown. Across from him Jon sat with a lighter book, its cover gleaming strangely also, too smooth to be leather and the title declaring it Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

“Steve Rogers was bor in Brooklyn, New York in 1920,” the book began “Small, sickly and often bedridden, Rogers nevertheless displayed a stubborn courage, he refused to back down from bullies and longed to serve his country when war broke out in Europe. Despite repeated rejections for his frailty his persistence drew the attention of Dr. Abraham Erskine who was conducting an experiment known as the Super Soldier program. Jon felt a chill as he read the passage out loud, Robb looking up and asking what that was supposed to mean as Jon began reading again “Dr. Erskine believed Rogers’ bravery and selflessness made him the ideal candidate. He gave Rogers the Super Soldier Serum, a chemical compounds designed to transform the body to the peak of human potential. Combined with vita-ray treatment it increased Rogers’ strength, speed, stamina, and reflexes beyond any normal man, he became the world’s first Super Soldier Captain America.”

Both brothers stared at the book in silence ‘That’s absurd, they’re claiming they developed something that would turn a frail boy into a warrior greater than Ser Arthur Dayne?”

Jon shook his head, his hands trembling slightly as he traced the next line of text “It says it made him faster than a car, whatever that is, stronger than hundreds of men and capable of carrying and lifting over 544 Kilograms and able to heal wounds that would kill any normal man.”

Robb swallowed, unsettled despite himself “If that’s true then Gods save us. Imagine if they have entire armies made up of soldiers with the serum, Westeros would be overrun in a day.”

The thought sent a shiver through them, wondering what would happen if every warrior in their world had this serum.

Jon turned another page, his face pale in the candlelight, the next passage seemed to answer their fears “The program was intended to create an army of Super Soldiers, Rogers was the first and only success. Saboteurs destroyed the laboratory on the night of his transformation, killing Dr. Erskie and ensuring the formula could not be reproduced. Attempts to recreate the serum in later years produced unstable results but none was able to match Captain America.”

Jon and Robb let out breaths they hadn’t realized they had been holding, Robb giving a shaky laugh “Seven Hells Jon! For a moment I thought this world would sweep across the North with an army of monsters disguised as men.”

Jon didn’t laugh, his eyes lingered on the drawing of Rogers in his strange star-marked armor, a shield upon his arm “Even one was enough to change their war in their favor.”

Robb leaned forward, a frown on his face as Jon continued reading “Hydra’s weapons were said to be unlike anything that allied forces had ever seen. Powered by energies beyond comprehension they gave Johann Schmidt’s armies an advantage no ordinary soldier could match, yet rather than facing Hydra Rogers was confined to laboratories while scientists sought to replicate Dr. Erskine’s serum. Again and again he asked to be allowed to serve but Colonel Chester Phillips refused, claiming Rogers was not the army the USA had wanted and that no man no matter how strong was not enough.”

Robb scowled “Not enough? Seven hells he was stronger than any warrior alive and they locked him in a cell?”

Jon’s eyes flicked up “They feared him wasted maybe or feared what they could not control.” he said, flicking to the next page “While Rogers despaired,” Jon read, “he was approached by Senator Brandt, who claimed Rogers’ bravery had been noticed by the public. Brandt offered him a chance to serve his country—not on the battlefield, but on the stage. Donning a colorful costume, Rogers toured as ‘Captain America,’ promoting war bonds, acting in plays, and posing for photographs to raise morale. Though awkward, Rogers endured it for the children who looked up to him, knocking out an actor dressed as Adolf Hitler night after night. He became a star, his image spread across the nation in shows, serials, and comic books.”

Robb let out a sharp laugh. “They dressed their mightiest warrior in motley and made him a mummer? The smallfolk of Winterfell would riot if a true knight was used for such farce.”

But Jon did not laugh, his lips pressing thin as he traced the next lines “Despite his fame, Rogers longed for battle. In November 1943, while performing for troops in Italy, he was mocked by the very soldiers he had wished to fight beside. Despondent, he sketched himself as a performing monkey. But it was then Peggy Carter reminded him why he had been chosen, that Dr. Erskine had seen more in him than strength alone. The war grew darker still. Rogers learned that the 107th Infantry Regiment had been nearly wiped out fighting Hydra at Azzano. Among them was his dearest friend, Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

Jon flipped another page, his finger tracing a bold line of text as the story carried Rogers into the heart of enemy territory, his eyes moved carefully, sounding out the strange words “Rogers was aided by Peggy Carter and… Howard Stark,” Jon read aloud, the name hanging strangely in the air.

Robb blinked. “What did you say?”

“Howard Stark,” Jon repeated, slower this time, to be sure he hadn’t mistaken it. The letters were sharp and clear “Stark.”

For a moment, neither boy spoke. The fire popped in the grate, shadows bending across the table where the strange book lay open, full of impossible tales.

Robb leaned closer, frowning. “Are you certain? Show me.”

Jon turned the page back so Robb could see for himself. The name was there in black and white. Howard Stark.

Robb sat back hard in his chair. “Seven hells… our name. Here, in their world.”

Robb’s voice dropped low. “If there are Starks in their world… and if they are the ones who built these machines, these weapons… then Father will want to know at once.”

Jon nodded, his hand unconsciously resting on the page, fingertips brushing over the letters of their own name as though to prove they were real. He swallowed hard, a shiver crawling down his spine.

Stark.

“Rogers snuck aboard a Hydra truck, easily knocking out both of the guards inside before he then managed to successfully infiltrate the Hydra Fortress run by Johann Schmidt. Once there, Rogers knocked out the second Hydra guard without raising the alarm before making his way through the facility to find the P.O.W.s locked away in there and bring them back to the safety of the allied camp.”

Robb shook his head “One man against a fortress? That sounds more like the stories Old Nan told us than any soldier’s account.”

Jon kept reading, his voice tightening as he continued speaking aloud “During his search through the facility, while trying not to be caught, Rogers found a piece of Tesseract technology which he stole, hoping that Stark could analyze their technology in order to find the secret to Hydra’s increase of power.”

There it was again. Stark. Both boys stiffened at the name, exchanging an uneasy glance, but neither spoke yet.

Jon swallowed, pushing on.

“Finally, Rogers located the cell and freed the captured soldiers, being questioned by Gabe Jones about who he was supposed to be, to which Rogers simply answered that he was Captain America, much to all of their considerable confusion.”

He read of Rogers rallying Dum Dum Dugan, James Montgomery Falsworth, and the others, of the soldiers turning Hydra’s own weapons upon them “While Dugan and the other former soldiers kept Hydra on the run Rogers continued with his search of Bucky Barnes.”

Jon faltered at the name, a plain name, almost laughably simple, yet it carried weight in the text.

He pressed on.

“…on the way, he spotted Arnim Zola as he was just leaving a room in a desperate hurry and had taken with him all of his various plans and blueprints and prepared to escape before he could then be captured. When Rogers entered the room which Zola had just exited he found Barnes strapped to a table having seemingly been experimented on.”

Robb leaned closer, jaw set. “Experimented on? Like beasts?”

Jon nodded grimly, continuing the grim tale, Rogers freed Barnes, carried him through fire and ruin, only to face Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull. Jon’s voice trembled as he spoke the words aloud.

“Schmidt revealed his face to be a mask, removing it to display the red-colored, skull-like face.”

Both boys froze as Robb’s eyes widened, his hand going instinctively to the hilt of the dagger at his belt as though the figure might step from the page.

Jon’s voice was a whisper now, hoarse and disbelieving “Schmidt claimed that he and Rogers had both left humanity behind… before turning and making his escape in his flying machine, while Rogers and Barnes were left to die.”

The story thundered to its climax, the beam falling, the desperate escape, the prisoners stealing a Hydra tank, the return to the allied camp.

Jon forced the final words out, his throat dry.

“Rogers was then greeted by Peggy Carter… Bucky Barnes then called for all the people to acknowledge that Captain America was a hero, and every soldier cheered and applauded for the man who had saved the prisoners from the clutches of Hydra and the Red Skull. News of Captain America’s rescue was soon published in papers across the world.”

The library fell silent.

Robb shut his eyes for a long moment, then exhaled shakily. “One man, one man did all of that.”

Jon closed the book halfway, staring down at the thick parchment as though it might burn, his voice was low, troubled. “If this is truth… then their world is more dangerous than ours ever dreamed.”

Robb nodded, his face pale. 

“Rogers traveled to England where he briefed Peggy Carter on what he had learned during his raid on the Hydra Facility, including the locations of other Hydra bases across Europe which he had seen on Arnim Zola’s map. As it was suggested that Rogers would need a team to go back onto the front lines of World War II, Rogers explained he was putting together a team himself. Going into the Whip & Fiddle, Rogers met with some of the men he had saved from Red Skull and invited them into his team, nicknamed the Howling Commandos…”

Jon’s voice trailed as he read the names, Robb giving a small crooked smile “That part at least sounds like soldiers I could believe in.”

Jon nodded faintly, then kept going “The next morning, Rogers returned to the base in London… Stark provided Rogers with a new uniform and showed off new weapons for him to take into combat situations. Rogers, however, stopped at a new circular shield made of vibranium capable of negating large amounts of damage, which he then decided should become his primary weapon and defense during combat missions due to it being almost completely indestructible and vibration absorbent. Finally, Rogers was sent to the front lines of World War II, now in command of the Howling Commandos… Rogers sabotaged Hydra facilities and escaped as they exploded, satisfied with his work. In winter of 1944, Rogers single-handedly managed to stop a Nazi blockade and saved over six hundred men, including the man who would eventually become Peggy Carter’s husband…”

Robb exhaled “One man saving six hundred? Even the first Men never told boasts like that.”

Jon said nothing, eyes moving down the page as his voice turned grim again “In 1945, following receiving some information on the location of one of Hydra’s top scientists, Arnim Zola, Rogers and his Howling Commandos set about a plan to capture Zola, ridding Red Skull of one of his key allies. As the train was spotted…”

Robb cut him off, brow furrowed “Wait, what’s a… train?”

Jon blinked “I don’t know, some kind of war machine maybe?”

“Could be like a wagon?” Robb guessed as Jon kept reading “Dum Dum Dugan and Jacques Dernier assisted Rogers, Barnes and Gabe Jones by setting up their zip line across the mountains as they then led a stealth attack and prepared to board Zola’s armored train. Going first, Rogers warned that they only had a ten-second window to get onto the train…”

Robb shook his head “So it is like a wagon then.”

Jon muttered, “There must be information on it somewhere…” He closed the book a moment, fingers flipping back to the first pages where the table of contents listed Hydra, Stark, and something called Technology of War. For a moment, he scanned the heading on Hydra — a promise of strange inventions and weapons — before turning back, unwilling to lose the thread of Rogers’ tale.

He found his place again and read on.

“However, when Rogers moved into the next carriage, the doors were then suddenly closed between them as they were quickly ambushed, as Rogers had found himself faced with a Hydra soldier armed with Heavy Assault Rifle which he fired at him.”

Robb frowned again. “An assault rifle?”

Jon sighed. “Likely a weapon, there’s probably a drawing of it somewhere in here.” He tapped the margins of the book with his thumb. “Later, let me finish this part.”

He read faster now, the words like hammer blows. Rogers fighting through carriages. Bucky cornered. The shield deflecting bursts of fire. And then Jon’s voice faltered “…Barnes was struck by yet another blast and was thrown from the train before Rogers took out the soldier. Despite all his desperate efforts to save his friend who was hanging onto the side of the train for dear life, Rogers watched in utter horror as Barnes fell down into the ravine to his presumed death, devastated that he was unable to save his childhood friend.”

The fire popped sharply in the silence that followed.

Robb’s face was pale. “Fell from this train into a ravine.” he repeated

Jon’s throat was tight ase shut his eyes briefly, then continued, softer now.

“Luckily, Zola was still captured by Gabe Jones and then handed over to Allied forces and interrogated by Chester Phillips. The mission proved to be successful as Zola provided the Allies with the intel needed to defeat Hydra.”

The words hung heavy as Robb sat back, arms folded, expression caught between awe and dread as Jon continued “Following the interrogation of Arnim Zola, it was learned that Hydra was planning an imminent attack on the United States of America. Rogers attended a briefing run by Chester Phillips and learned of Red Skull’s plans with his Tesseract technology, while they discussed their own plan to bring an end to Hydra and Red Skull himself. Seeking to avenge Barnes, Rogers, along with Howard Stark and the remaining members of the Howling Commandos, crafted a plan in which Rogers rode into the base alone on his upgraded motorcycle, intending for the army to follow once he had broken through their defenses.”

Jon swallowed, eyes wide “One man… into an army’s fortress. Alone.”

Robb gave a low whistle “He must’ve been mad.” but Jon kept reading, caught up despite himself.

“Using his shield as both weapon and defense, Rogers defeated many soldiers inside the outer area of the base, throwing his shield with incredible strength to strike down his enemies. Rogers continued to fight, but flamethrower troops soon trapped him in a ring of fire while gunners surrounded him. Outnumbered and outgunned, Rogers was captured and brought before the Red Skull. Schmidt mocked Rogers’ arrogance, questioning why Erskine had chosen him for Project Rebirth. Rogers replied that there was nothing special about him, that he had been only a kid from Brooklyn. Enraged, Schmidt struck him down. Before Schmidt could execute Rogers, however, the Howling Commandos stormed Schmidt’s quarters, rescuing him thanks to intelligence provided by Arnim Zola.”

Robb blinked “Brooklyn, where’s that?”

Jon shook his head “I think it’s one of their world’s cities, but listen to this,” Jon cleared his throat “As the battle raged, Schmidt fled toward his bomber-plane, the Valkyrie. Rogers, aided by James Montgomery Falsworth who returned his shield, gave chase. Despite battling through flamethrowers and enemy fire, Rogers reached the Valkyrie. With Chester Phillips and Peggy Carter’s help, he leapt aboard before the plane could escape. On board, Rogers discovered Schmidt’s full plan: suicide drones armed with bombs powered by the Tesseract, each aimed at a major city in the United States.”

“What’s a bomb?” Robb asked as Jon ignored him and kept reading ““Rogers fought Hydra soldiers aboard the Valkyrie, preventing them from launching their bombs. Though he succeeded, Johann Schmidt engaged him. During their struggle, the Tesseract was unleashed. Schmidt was consumed by its power and killed. Rogers then tried to steer the Valkyrie away from its path, but the controls had been destroyed. With no way to land safely, Rogers spoke over the intercom to Carter. He told her the only way to save millions was to crash the plane into the Arctic. Carter pleaded, but Rogers chose sacrifice, joking with her about their promised dance before the Valkyrie plunged into the ice. The world mourned Rogers as a fallen hero. His body was never recovered. However, in the wreckage, Howard Stark discovered the Tesseract, which was taken by the Strategic Scientific Reserve for study.”

Robb rubbed the back of his neck, shaken “He… he gave his life for a city he never even got to dance in. That’s…” He trailed off, lost for words.

Jon slowly shut the book, his hand lingering on the page where the Tesseract was mentioned. “That cube again,” he whispered. “The thing that gave Hydra its power, the thing Stark found.”

Robb’s head snapped up at the name. “Stark.”

Both boys stared at each other in the dim light of the library, their breath shallow.

“…Do you think it means… our family somehow?” Robb asked, his voice hushed, almost fearful.

Jon’s mouth felt dry. “I… I don’t know. But if it does…” He glanced down at the words on the page, the name glowing in his mind like a dire warning. “…then our house is tied to this world somehow.”

Jon turned back to the page, eyes scanning the page as he began to read again “Having remained trapped within the ice for nearly seven decades after Rogers’ crash landing following his fight with Red Skull aboard the Valkyrie, a S.H.I.E.L.D. team led by Nick Fury once again searched for his body. The team, searched for a year until they found Rogers in 2011. To their astonishment, Rogers was miraculously still alive within the ice. He had survived the sub-zero temperatures for nearly seventy years thanks to his enhanced metabolism and immune system, both granted by the Super Soldier Serum.”

Jon’s brow furrowed as he lowered the book slightly “Seventy years frozen in ice but somehow still alive?”

Robb shook his head in disbelief.

“When Rogers awoke, he quickly grew suspicious. The radio in his room played a Brooklyn Dodgers game at Ebbets Field, a game he himself had attended decades earlier. Realizing the deception, Rogers demanded answers. Frightened, the woman tending him called for aid as Rogers forced his way free, escaping into the streets of New York City. There, in the heart of Times Square, Rogers saw a world utterly transformed, towering lights, strange moving carriages of metal, and crowds in garb unlike anything he had ever known.”

Robb’s jaw dropped. “Lights that tower like castles? Metal carriages? And this… Times Square. A square where time itself lives?”

Jon gave him a look. “I don’t think that’s what it means.”

Still, the words unsettled him as much as they fascinated, he swallowed and kept reading.

“As Rogers stood in shock at all he beheld, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents surrounded him. Nick Fury approached and told him the truth, that Rogers had been asleep, frozen in the ice, for nearly seventy years. Rogers realized then that the world he had known was gone. His friends from the Howling Commandos were almost certainly dead. And he himself was lost in an age utterly alien to him.”

Jon’s voice softened on the last words, and he closed the book halfway, the weight of them settling heavily on his chest as Robb rubbed at his face, clearly unsettled “Imagine it… waking up to find father, your mother, our family all gone. Everything you knew just dust.”

Jon stared into the fire across the library, his knuckles white where they held the book “And to still live when you shouldn’t. To be the last piece of a world that no longer exists…”

Robb shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how cold the library felt, how heavy the stone walls seemed, “Jon… do you think it’s true? That a man could sleep in ice and wake again?”

Jon’s eyes flicked back down to the name written in ink on the pages. Stark. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “If all of this is true… then what else could be?”

Robb stood up, grabbing Jon by the arm “Lunch should be soon, we should tell Father what we learned.”

And with that, the two brothers left the room, taking the book with them.

Chapter Text

The hall smelled of fresh bread and roasted lamb but no one seemed to notice when Jon and Robb laid the strange book down upon the table.

Ned had been cutting into his trencher when he noticed their faces, too pale and taut with something beyond what he normally saw “What is it?” he asked, knife stilled in his hand.

Jon glanced at Robb, then at the rest of the family gathered around them, Catelyn sat across from them, Sansa beside her, Arya already picking at her meal by their father, Bran squirming in his seat beside Sansa and little Rickon being fed by Catelyn, butter smeared across his chin.

Robb cleared his throat “We… we read some of the Avengers book, about the man named Steve Rogers they call Captain America.”

The name meant nothing to any of them, but the way Robb said it, half with awe and half with fear made everyone look up.

Jon spoke next, his voice low but steady “It said he was born weak, smaller than other boys but then through a… a potion they changed him. It made him stronger than hundreds of men combined, faster than horses and able to heal wounds that would be fatal to most men and that he fought in their great war yet his presence significantly changed the war in their favor.”

Robb nodded “Stronger than any knight, faster than any horse. They wrote he stormed a fortress alone and freed hundreds of men.”

Arya’s eyes widened with excitement “Like Serwyn the Mirror Shield,” she whispered.

Bran leaned forward “Or like Lann the Clever.”

Catelyn however frowned, her lips pressed thin “This sounds like children’s tales, a man made stronger than all others by… by a potion?”

“It is written plain,” Jon said, opening the book where the drawing of Rogers in his star-marked armor gleamed across the page “And he carried a shield that no weapon could break.”

Theon chuckled “Sounds like a mummer’s story to me, next you’ll be telling us he flew.”

Robb’s face tightened “He didn’t fly but he fought things that did.”

The table quieted at that, Ned sitting his knife down slowly, his grey eyes studying the open book then the faces of his sons “You said this man’s name was Rogers, why bring it to me?”

Jon’s hand lingered on the page, his voice almost a whisper “Because of another name in his story, Howard Stark.”

The effect was immediate, every head turning to him at once.

“Stark?” Sansa repeated, her brow furrowed “Like us?”

“Yes,” Robb said quickly, flipping forward in the book “Not just once but several times, he was an inventor, a… maker of weapons. He aided Captain America and built machines they said no other man could.”

A hush fell, even Arya sat very still as she listened to them.

Ned’s jaw tightened “Show me.”

Robb turned the book toward him, finger pressed against the sharp black letters: Stark.

Catelyn leaned forward, her face unreadable, though her hand strayed to her goblet as though she was ready to down it in a second “It could be a coincidence.” she said softly.

“Perhaps, but we can not ignore this.” Ned said, his eyes never leaving the page.

Bran’s voice piped up, curious “Are they kin father?” Are there Starks in their world too?”

Before Ned could answer Robb spoke again, his hand flipping through the pages until he landed on another marked entry “There’s more, another Stark, listen to this.”

Robb cleared his through and read aloud, stumbling over the Strange Words but steadying as he went “At a young age, Stark quickly stole the spotlight with her brilliant and unique mind. When she was four years old, she designed her first circuit board. When she was almost seven, she built a V8 motorbike engine. One thing about Stark’s childhood that annoyed her was the nanny who cared for her until she was fourteen. Stark attended Phillips Academy in Andover from 1977 to 1984. While she was in high school, Stark hacked into the Pentagon on a dare by some friends. In 1984, she was admitted early into Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where she met James Rhodes and they became lifelong best friends. At sixteen, Stark won the 4th Annual MIT Robot Design Award, which was her fourth consecutive time winning, after inventing robots which she named Dum-E and U. In 1987, when she was seventeen, Stark graduated at the top of her class from MIT and was awarded summa cum laude.”

The words spilled into the hall as everyone listened in silence before Theon let out a bark of a laugh “What in the seven hells is a ‘V8 motorbike engine’ or a ‘Pentagon’, or those other mouthfuls?”

Arya leaned forward, eyes bright “She hacked something, that sounds like climbing.”

“Robots, are they like Golems?” Bran asks, his eyes wide as he stared at the page.

Ned raised his hand, silencing them gently “I don’t know what half these words mean,” he admitted “But the gist is plain enough, this Stark is no warrior, she is a… genius, a builder of things, perhaps of the very weapons that gave that world its strength.”

Arya wrinkled her nose “So she’s clever, like a maester?”

“Cleverer,” Robb said “It said she built things when she was around Rickon’s age.”

Sansa’s voice was softer but clear “Do you think she’s of our blood father?”

The question hung heavy in the air, heavier than any of them expected.

Ned’s eyes flicked once more to the page, then to his children and Theon waiting for his word. Ned exhaled but kept his voice quiet and firm “I do not know.”

“There’s more,” Robb said, voice quieter now as he skimmed the page “It speaks of her family.”

The table hushed, even Rickon stopped eating and looked up as Robb began reading aloud “In December 1991, when Stark was just twenty-one years old, she arrived home after studying abroad. Howard and Maria prepared to go away for a few days on a winter holiday and leave her home alone, although her father remained skeptical about how responsible Stark would be while they were gone. The couple died in Long Island, leaving Stark in grief and struggling to process this tragedy. Stark was notified of the event the following morning and cooperated with the authorities. As she stood before her parents’ caskets, she said that this wasn’t part of her plan.”

The words seemed to dim the light in the hall as everyone processed the words, Sansa’s lips parting “Her parents never came home?”

Bran tilted his head, puzzled “It doesn’t say how, just that they were gone.”

Arya crossed her arms “Doesn’t matter how, she was alone. That’s all that matters.”

Robb glanced down at the page again, pressing on “For a short while, Obadiah Stane took over as interim leader of Stark Industries. In the month after the death of her parents, Stark inherited Stark Industries and took over from Obadiah Stane, becoming the youngest leader of a Fortune 500 company in history. Having built herself a custom mansion, Stark created an A.I. system that helped out in the house. She named the system ‘Just a Rather Very Intelligent System,’ shortened J.A.R.V.I.S., in tribute to Edwin Jarvis, whom Stark had often credited for helping to raise her. Eventually, James Rhodes, now a member of the United States Air Force, became the link between Stark Industries and the armed forces, successfully earning Stark vast wealth with military contracts. Under Stark’s leadership with the aid of Stane, Stark Industries quickly thrived and became one of the most advanced companies in the world, creating new forms of weapons technology that seemed highly futuristic to most looking on. Eventually she would wed her future husband in 1995, her first son and heir to Stark Industries Henry Howard Stark being born on February 8, 1996, the boy later becoming Centurion and the second youngest member of the Avengers.”

Theon snorted, trying to lighten the weight in the air “What in the seven hells is a ‘company’? Or a ‘CEO’? Sounds like another kind of lordship, only with coins instead of bannermen.”

Ned nodded once “That is what I gathered as well.”

But Arya’s brow furrowed “She built her own house,” she said stubbornly “With her own mind and hands. And then she made a… what did you call it, Robb? An A.I.?”

Robb looked helpless “That’s what it says. Some kind of… mind in a box? It says it helped her run the house.”

“Like a servant,” Bran whispered “But made of… magic?”

“Or machines,” Ned corrected quietly, though he did not sound certain.

Sansa’s lips pursed “She must have been dreadfully lonely, though, if her only companion was a machine. No mother, no father… just clever tricks to fill the silence.”

“She had a friend,” Jon said, tapping the page “James Rhodes, It says he stayed by her side.”

“She wed just a few years after her parents passed,” Catelyn said softly “And by the next year she bore a son.”

Sansa straightened, a small, wistful smile tugging at her lips “So it wasn’t all sorrow. She had a husband, a child. Even after everything, she had a family again.”

Arya scoffed, though without heat “And the boy became a warrior, that’s the part worth noting.”

Jon’s eyes lingered on the page “But he wasn’t just any warrior, it says he was one of the youngest among their champions.”

Robb tapped the words “Centurion, he carried the Stark name into battle just like us.”

Theon gave a half-laugh “Strange though, isn’t it? To think there’s another Stark line in the other world, lords of coin and strange weapons instead of keeps and swords.”

Bran leaned forward, brow furrowed “If the mother was called Iron Man, and the son is Centurion… then they fight together? Like father and son might ride to war?”

“No,” Sansa corrected gently “Like mother and son.”

That made Arya grin wide, “I like her already.”

Robb cleared his throat and began reading again “On New Year’s Eve in 1999, Stark, with her husband and young son, attended the Bern 2000 science conference in Bern, Switzerland. There, Stark got so drunk she could barely give her speech on integrated circuits and rejoined the party as soon as possible. While celebrating, she met a scientist named Ho Yinsen who introduced Stark to Doctor Wu, although she swiftly dismissed them both. While moving through the hotel with her bodyguard Happy Hogan, husband, son, Hansen, and a group of female attendees, Stark then arrogantly avoided a gifted but crippled scientist, Aldrich Killian, who wanted her financial backing for a scientific think tank, Advanced Idea Mechanics. Once they were alone in an elevator together, Stark then purposely told the excited Killian to meet her on the rooftop of the building to discuss her working with Stark Industries with the intention of never turning up, wanting to continue spending time with Hansen. Back in Hansen’s hotel room, Stark looked at her new research into a project known as Extremis, which had the potential to regrow human limbs if she could get enough funding. Stark was amazed by the concept, although Hogan was less impressed and played with a nearby plant despite being told not to, she completed her formula for her to fix the combustible glitch in it, before discreetly walking out and returning home, leaving Hansen behind. Tragedy would strike a few years later when her husband died in early 2002, leaving her a widow with a young son and heavily pregnant with their next children, giving birth to twin boys Peter and Harley three months later.”

A silence hung in the hall, Catelyn being the first to break it, her tone sharp and full of judgement “Drunkenness before her peers, betrayal to her vows, toying with the hopes of a crippled man who sought her help… disgrace piled upon disgrace. Such conduct is beneath a lady, beneath even common decency.”

Ned’s face was cold “To mock a man’s infirmity, to lie for sport, to treat honor as if it were nothing… I find no pride in such tales. Clever or not, she brought shame to her name.”

But the children weren’t focused on her failings, Sansa leaning forward slightly “A potion that’s able to restore limbs?”

Arya’s eyes widened “Think of men who lose arms or legs in war, they could fight again.”

Maester Luwin, though silent, could not hide the quick spark in his eye, the thought of knowledge beyond imagining.

Robb’s grip tightened on the book as he spoke with a slow, steady voice, but there was awe in it “It would change everything. Battlefields, wars, the lives of every soldier. No more cripples left to beg at the gates, no more broken men after war, if such a formula came into our world it would shake the order of the realm to its very core.”

Ned turned to his son with a hard look “And at what cost, Robb? This woman sought such things yet treated honor as ash. Would you have men healed of wounds only to fight again in endless wars? You see gain, but I see blood unending.”

Robb didn’t flinch “Still imagine it, Father, a world where a man could lose a hand today and hold his child with it tomorrow.”

Catelyn’s voice was cool, cutting through the wonder “Perhaps. But I see instead a woman who used her mind without conscience. Without honor, power is corruption. Remember that, all of you.”

Robb cleared his throat and began the next section, his voice carrying uneasily across the hall “

“Touching down in Afghanistan, Stark was greeted by members of the military before she presented Stark Industries’ newest weapon, the Jericho missile, to the military spectators and demonstrated its capability. Giving a speech, Stark explained that the missile was so powerful that it would only be needed to be fired once to defeat the enemy, noting that was how her father, Howard Stark, had worked and it was a successful method for all of America. The missile was fired and Stark received a round of applause from everyone.

Robb paused there, glancing up, he didn’t need to read further yet; the words themselves had already set the room buzzing.

Arya’s eyes were wide “One shot and an entire war is over?”

Bran looked troubled “But how could that be? How could one arrow, one sword, one anything, do so much?”

Jon’s face was taut with unease “A weapon that strong, it wouldn’t just end wars. It would make men crave them more, knowing they could win so swiftly.”

Sansa, who usually flinched at talk of blood, spoke softly, her voice almost reverent with fear “Something that powerful, no lord or king would ever let it go.”

Theon gave a short, uneasy laugh “Seven hells. If the Ironborn had such a thing, we could sink the whole North with one blast.” The look Ned gave him quickly silenced him.

Ned’s voice was grave, low, like distant thunder “A single blow to decide a war, that is not victory, that is butchery. Such a weapon is a terror upon the world, not a shield for it.”

Catelyn folded her hands tightly “And to think she stood proud of it, To boast of destruction… I can scarce fathom it. There is no honor in such fire.”

As Stark’s convoy drove through Afghanistan to return to the United States Air Force base, they were suddenly attacked by insurgents who blew up the vehicle in front, trapping them. Stark watched in utter horror as the soldiers stepped out only to be gunned down right in front of her own eyes, leaving her ears ringing from the many explosions. While soldiers were dying around her, Stark rushed outside and attempted to find some cover and call for help. While Stark was using her phone in an attempt to contact someone for assistance, one of Stark Industries’ own missiles suddenly landed right by her. Stark saw this and desperately attempted to get away; however, she was too slow, and the bomb exploded right beside her. The resulting blast caused Stark to be thrown backward and lose consciousness. The explosion embedded several pieces of shrapnel into her chest, several fragments dangerously close to her heart, and later the terrorist ring known as the Ten Rings made it known they had captured Stark and were holding her for ransom.”

Sansa’s hands pressed against her skirts “Her own weapons turned against her,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Catelyn’s lips tightened “What else was she to expect? She made weapons meant for destruction and basked in the wealth they brought her, now she learns what it is to be caught in the fire of her own forge.”

Ned’s tone was just as cold, “Aye. He who builds the sword must be ready to feel its edge. Yet to see one’s own arms in the hands of the foe that would be a bitter fate.”

Robb, however, was staring down at the page, his jaw set, his voice lower as he spoke. “But it wasn’t just bitter, it was betrayal. Her creations, meant for her country, ended up killing her soldiers. If that happened in the North, if our steel were sold to enemies without our knowing, it would break us. Trust, loyalty, honor, all undone.”

“The Ten Rings,” Theon spoke up suddenly, his voice uncertain “Who are they meant to be? A guild of raiders? Mercenaries? Or something worse?”

Robb turned the page, his brows furrowing together as he read the next passage ““Stark was missing for three months before she was recovered, having fought her way out in what was unknown at the time as the Mark One Iron Man armor. Having been rescued, Stark was brought back to the United States by the army, where she was walked onto a military airport by James Rhodes. To Stark’s disgust, there was a stretcher waiting to take her to the hospital, which she rejected.”

Arya leaned forward, her eyes wide “She made her own armor while being held prisoner?” Her voice was tinged with awe.

Bran frowned, ever thoughtful “Three months… she must have been starving, broken, yet still made armor strong enough to fight through an army, no man in the songs ever did such a thing.”

Ned’s jaw tightened. “Songs are filled with pride and embellishment. If she truly built such a thing, then she was desperate. Desperation makes men and women do impossible things.”

Robb went on, unable to stop now.

“Stark then met with Pepper Potts and her children, who she noted had been crying, teasing Potts as she claimed she was crying for her long-lost boss, while she claimed it was simply because she was glad not to have to find a new job. Stark then sat in Happy Hogan’s car with Potts, who insisted that he go straight to the hospital to check herself over in the wake of her kidnapping. However, Stark once again refused to get any medical treatment and instead asked to first be given a burger, then called a press meeting for Stark Industries.”

Theon let out a bark of laughter “The first thing she wanted wasn’t a healer, but food? A… burger? Whatever that is.”

Arya smirked “Sounds like something I’d do.”

Catelyn gave them both a sharp look. “She was gravely wounded, and yet mocked the people who cared for her. Flippant in the face of tragedy. It is not amusing.”

Robb read on, though his eyes flicked up at his mother before dropping back to the strange, smooth page “Upon arriving at Stark Industries Headquarters, Stark was then enthusiastically greeted by Obadiah Stane before making her way inside. During the press meeting, Stark finished her burger and compared her experiences to how she never said goodbye to her father, Howard Stark. Stark finally declared that her company would now, for the foreseeable future, no longer manufacture military weapons, which Stane tried to slow down to the best of his own abilities.”

Silence followed, Jon being the first to break it “After building a weapon so powerful it could end wars in a single strike, she gave it up?”

Robb shook his head, eyes narrowing in thought “Not just gave it up, she swore her whole company would stop. All that gold, all that power, all those armies hanging on her craft and she cast it aside.”

“That,” Ned said at last, his voice low and grave, “is a heavy thing. She looked into the heart of war and chose not to feed it further, I cannot fault her for that.”

Catelyn’s lips were pursed “Perhaps or perhaps it was arrogance believing that after years of feeding war, one bold word could undo the blood already spilled.”

Sansa tilted her head, her expression caught between skepticism and wonder “Still she must have been brave to stand before her lords and declare it. Even if it angered them all.”

Arya’s eyes gleamed “I like her. She builds armor, fights her way out of prisons, and tells all the men in power what she thinks, no matter how they scowl.”

Ned exhaled, looking down at the strange book that lay open on his table “Bravery and arrogance often share a face, Arya. Time will tell which she truly bore.”

Robb flipped the page “Over the next few months, Stark secretly created the second version of the Iron Man armor. Stark eventually perfected the flight power after much trial and error, taking the silver Mark II armor for its initial test flight. Stark put on the armor for the first time with great pride and excitement. Despite J.A.R.V.I.S.’ warnings that there had not been enough tests to be safe, Stark insisted upon being allowed to fly outside and fully test its true capabilities.”

Arya jumped up, her voice cracking with excitement “That’s what we saw, all of us saw her!”

Sansa’s face drained of color “The day the chest arrived, we were all in the yard remember and we saw it, the shining figure flying around the towers…”

Bran’s voice trembled “I thought that was a strange thing I imagined.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed, remembering it clearer now “It wasn’t your imagination Bran.”

Robb’s fingers tightened on the book “We all saw it, we just didn’t want to believe it.”

Theon leaned back, shaken for once “Gods be good it’s true then, not tales or fancy writing. She flew the armor over Winterfell.”

Arya was nearly bouncing in her seat, eyes blazing “I know it, no raven flys like that. She was here!”

Ned’s face was grim as stone, but there was no denying what they had all witnessed. His grey eyes swept the table, from Sansa’s frightened look to Robb’s stunned silence, then to the book itself before he had Robb continue: “Later, at a party, while ordering drinks for herself and Potts, Stark was accosted by Christine Everhart. Everhart expressed her disgust at Stark for claiming to halt weapons development only to sell weapons to the Ten Rings. When Stark revealed she had not approved any shipments, Everhart informed her that her company had. Disgusted, Stark confronted Obadiah Stane and demanded to know if he was making deals with Raza Hamidmi al-Wazar as well as the United States Armed Forces. Stane refused to answer, calling Stark naïve for not realizing such things could happen. Stane revealed he was the one who shut Stark out of the board while she recovered. Stane then left the party, leaving Stark shocked and horrified over the betrayal of a close friend.”

Catelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line “A man who called himself friend, all the while stabbing her in the back. That is vile.”

Ned’s jaw tightened “To profit from the suffering of innocents and deceive one you called kin of the heart, that is the worst sort of treachery.”

Robb swallowed and continued “Seeking to do something good with the technology she had created, Stark weaponized her Mark III Armor and flew to Afghanistan. Knowing where al-Wazar’s men were attacking, Stark headed for Gulmira, the home village of Ho Yinsen. Upon arriving, Stark discovered innocent women and children being dragged from their homes to be slaves, while men were lined up to be executed before their own horrified families. Stark attacked and easily subdued all of the soldiers, killing multiple terrorists with single strikes and saving the villagers. Having found her former captor, Abu Bakaar, Stark ripped him through a wall and left him for the villagers to exact their own revenge. Afterward, Stark destroyed the Ten Rings’ stockpiles of Stark Industries weapons.”

Arya gasped, nearly jumping out of her chair “She saved them all! She came down like..  like a knight in armor only better!”

Bran’s eyes shone “She flew into the village and stopped the killings like the stories of the Kings of Winter.”

But Sansa looked troubled, fingers curling on the table “She killed them herself. Isn’t that… frightening?”

Jon, voice quiet, shook his head “What’s more frightening is what they would have done if she hadn’t.”

Robb’s voice pressed on: “Once back at her mansion, Stark was helped out of her armor by both Dum-E and U, finding the experience painful as they struggled to free her. During this, Stark was discovered by Pepper Potts, who walked into the workshop to find her still half in her armor. Stark joked it was not the worst thing she had been caught doing, while Potts was horrified to see bullet holes in the armor. Stark soon uncovered Stane’s betrayal in full. Stane had been dealing with Raza and the Ten Rings from the beginning, ordering Stark’s assassination, then plotting to steal her invention. Stane built his own massive suit of armor from Stark’s designs, and confronted her in Los Angeles. The two fought bitterly, their battle tearing through the city. In the end, Obadiah Stane was killed in the clash.”

Theon let out a low whistle “Her own friend tried to kill her? Gods, what kind of den is this world she lives in?”

Robb scowled, disgust in his tone “A man trusted with her company, her father’s legacy and he sold her to her enemies, then tried to rob her work. That’s lower than a Lannister.”

Ned’s voice cut through the noise, calm but cold “Betrayal like that has always plagued the powerful. One’s own blood can turn, if greed grows too strong, it is a lesson worth heeding.”

Robb’s eyes flicked to the last line, his voice growing hushed as he read it aloud “Days later, Stark stood before the world and, casting aside all counsel to keep her secrets, declared openly: ‘I am Iron Man.’”

The words seemed to shake the very air of the hall.

Arya gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, then burst into laughter “She told them! She told the whole world she was the one in the armor!”

Sansa shook her head, horrified “Why would she reveal herself? Wouldn’t every enemy now come hunting her and her children?”

Jon leaned forward, his eyes burning with something between awe and worry “She claimed it, no lies or masks. She wanted the world to know who had saved them.”

Robb shut the book with a thump, still staring down at the cover “That… changes everything. No warrior hides their face like that, to stand before the world and declare yourself its protector, that’s more than bold.”

Ned said nothing for a long time, his grey eyes fixed on the fire before ordering Robb to continue

“In the months that followed, Stark’s choices placed her once again in peril. A man named Ivan Vanko, the son of her father’s former ally, sought revenge. Vanko constructed his own arc weapons and unleashed chaos, later hacking into Stark drones during a party hosted by the Stark Company. The drones turned on civilians, firing into the crowds. It was during this chaos that Henry—her own son—emerged as Centurion for the first time, alongside James Rhodes in the armor later known as War Machine. Together, the two fought beside Stark, destroying the rogue machines and bringing about Vanko’s death. But that was not the end. Their world was soon threatened by powers far greater than a single man’s vengeance. Loki, a trickster and would-be conqueror, sought to invade Earth. To stop him, their world’s mightiest warriors were gathered together, Thor of Asgard, Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Bruce Banner, Mimic, Centurion and Stark herself. They became the Avengers, the first team of heroes, their first true battle came in New York. Alien invaders poured through a portal in the sky, thousands of them, laying waste to the city as countless innocents died as the streets burned. Stark and her new allies fought together to hold back the tide. At the last, Stark carried a nuclear weapon into the sky, breaching the alien fleet’s lead ship. The weapon destroyed it, ending the invasion. Stark fell back through the closing portal, barely surviving.”

Bran tilted his head, brow furrowed “A… nuclear weapon? What’s that?”

Arya frowned, her nose wrinkling “And what’s a bomb? They keep saying it, some sort of strange sword?”

Theon snorted, though uneasily “If it can burn a fleet in the sky, it’s no sword I’d want to face.”

Catelyn exchanged a worried glance with Ned as Sansa looked stricken, her voice barely a whisper “To carry such a thing, she must have known it could kill her too. Why would anyone wield such a horror?”

Jon’s jaw clenched “Because no one else could and because if she didn’t, her world would have fallen.”

Robb sat back, the weight of the words hanging over him “Whatever it was… it was enough to end the battle.”

Ned, after a long silence, said grimly, “If this is the kind of weaponry her world birthed… then it is a cursed brilliance. A thing of men’s minds unshackled, but not tempered. I pray such horrors never touch ours. That is enough for today, we need to prepare for the king’s arrival tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Henry adjusted the clasp of the watch, the Stark-tech band clicking neatly into place as the face lit up in a faint blue glow, projections flickering across his wrist, readouts for his vitals, comms frequency, an emergency beacon keyed directly to JARVIS, and other things.

Next came the case holding his Centurion armor, Henry would remove it when he got to Times Square, he’d rather fly alongside the plane carrying the representatives than having to be stuck in there with them like Mimic.

The living room wasn’t quiet as he walked in, Alexei Romanoff, better known as Mimic was already there and waiting for him, his feet on the coffee table and completely relaxed, his blue eyes locking onto Henry instantly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Took you long enough, I thought I was going through the magic doorway without you.” Alexei smirked as Henry arched a brow “Yeah, because SHIELD’S really going to let you make first contact with the other representatives by yourself, that’d end well.”

Alexei grinned, tossing a small blade into the air and catching it again with a snap “They should, everyone knows I'm the charming and prettiest one of the Avengers.”

Henry snorted as Alexei slipped the knife the holster on his hip and stood up, shouldering his own pack “Besides you need me, you’d just start quoting Star Wars until they tried to cut your head off.”

Henry shook his head but didn’t disagree as he turned to Alexei, suddenly serious “We’re point team, first ones through, whatever’s waiting on the other side they’re going to see us before anyone else so we go in steady, no screw ups.”

Alexei nodded “Yeah, I got your back, same as always.”

A crackle in their comms cut through the moment. Hill’s voice barked, “Stark. Romanoff. Portal goes live at ten. You two are babysitting Fury’s delegation, no detours, no fireworks. Copy?”

Henry tapped the side of his watch. “Copy. We’ll play nice.”

Mostly,” Alexei muttered, just low enough that Hill wouldn’t hear.\

Boots clicked behind them as the two teens turned to see Toni entering with Reed Richards at her side, both of them juggling datapads. Toni’s black hair was pulled into a loose knot, safety goggles as she caught Henry’s eyes and pulled him to a quick, fierce hug before he protest “Don’t do anything stupid, I don’t care if it’s a medieval fairytale over there, people with swords can still cut you open so keep your heads straight.

Henry swallowed hard nodding, “I’ve got this shit Mom.”

“Damn right you do,” Toni said, turning to Alexei “And you watch his back, if he comes back home with one missing eyebrow I’m holding you responsible.”

Alexei smirked, unfazed, “Relax, I got him.”

“Mm, that’s what worried me,” Toni said, but her smile softened as she clasped their shoulders.

Beside her Reed was already half distracted, gesturing to tech about launch telemetry but he paused long enough to offer the youngest two Avengers a small nod “We’ll be monitoring the mission for the Baxter Building when we get back from our mission in space, good luck you two.”

And then a familiar voice cut through the room “Yo, Stark!” Johnny Storm called as he strolled in, tossing Henry a cocky grim, the lab coat Reed had insisted he wear slung over his shoulder instead of his body “You’re really going through the portal huh? Fine but remember you best keep a list of all the names of the pretty girls over there, pass ‘em along when I get back from space, the bro-code demands it.”

Henry smirked “Got it, I’ve got the swords and medieval LARPers, you get to deal with space exploration. Seems fair to me, just don’t blow up in orbit.”

“Don’t plan to,” Johnny said with that insufferable grin as he clapped Henry’s shoulder once then Alexei’s “Take care of him Red, if you two end up with pretty girls I want details.”

“Out,” Toni barked, pointing toward the door though there was a fond exasperation in her tone as Johnny laughed and followed Reed to the prep bay

Henry and Alexei bid Toni farewell as they made their way into the elevator and down into the garage, two motorcycles shooting out of the garage in a blur as both teens raced towards Time Square, the square closed up as SHIELD agents in tactical blacks were surrounding clusters of suited representatives from the U.S. government and neighboring countries, the helicopters waiting to ferry them through the portal.

Nick Fury stood at the center of it all, trench coat snapping in the wind, Maria Hill at his side barking ordering into the comm, both turning when Henry and Alexei rolled to a stop by them “About time, we’re wheels up in five so get your heads straight.”

Henry swung off his back, taking the canister out “I’ll fly escort beside the choppers,” he said, already calculating the angles and altitude.

Alexei groaned, rolling his eyes as he unstrapped his pack “Of course you will, nothing like showing off to the medievals on the other side.”

Henry smirked but didn’t argue, Fury ignoring their banter “Your job is simple, keep the representatives safe, if anything goes south you handle it and while you’re there gather intel, I want to know everything about its people, its threats, its weapons. We clear?”

Both teens nodded in unison “Good.” Fury said as he turned away.

Hill waved the groups forward, Agents hustled the diplomats into lines, steering them toward the waiting helicopters. Alexei fell in with them, moving like he was part of the shadows.

Henry handed his luggage to a SHIELD agent with a quick nod before kneeling to set the canister down, and with a hiss the case unfolded as the blue and silver plating snapped free and slid onto his body, in seconds the armor snapped into place as its core pulsed.

The Helicopter doors started shutting, Fury and Alexei in the first one as Fury glanced at Henry one last time before the door shut, Henry giving a two finger salute before the armor’s thrusters ignited and he rose into the air, taking position beside the convoys. Flying in perfect tandem as they flew through the portals.

-

Above Westeros

Henry held steady in the air, thrusters humming as the convoy of helicopters cut though the sky, below him stretched forest and rolling hills, broken by the faint glimmer of torchlight from small villages.

Through the comms Fury’s voice carried over the sounds of the rotors “We’ve already had minor contact in the outlying villages, locals are primitive but not hostile. Mostly farmers, hunters and traders. They call this place the North and the closest major seat of power is Winterfell, ruled by a family called the Starks. They’ve been described as honorable, stubborn and influential.”

Alexei cut in next “Weather conditions suggest harsh weathers, terrain favors infantry and cavalry, little in terms of siege engines beyond stone catapults. No evidence of large-scale industrialization, population density low. Potential allies but their resources are limited.”

Henry adjusted his altitude slightly, eyes narrowing as the ground gave way to rising walls and ahead on a broad plain before a massive stone castle dozens of torches blazed. A crowd had gathered consisting of men on horseback, soldiers in steel, banners snapping in the wind behind them. He angeled closer, spotting the landing area marked out by the SHIELD advance scouts.

“Visual,” Henry reported “Looks like a welcoming committee, a big one.”

“We land in three,” Fury replied.

Henry’s HUD tagged the crowd, flagging steels weapons and crossbows but no visible artillery, drawing in a deep breath his eyes flickers over the banners containing a wolf, stag or lions, whatever came next wouldn’t be simple.

-

Jon’s POV

The ground shook with the thunder of wings, no not wings, Jon corrected himself, he had never heard wings roar like this, the noise was deafening, like iron clashing against thunder. He clamped a hand on Ghost’s neck as the direwolf snarled, fur bristling as his eyes locked on the sky.

Adobe them dark shaped blotted out the moon light, metal birds, vast and sleek swept overhead with lights blazing from their noses. The horses screamed and reared, men cursed as they struggled to keep the lines from scattering.

“Seven hells,” Ser Jaime muttered nearby, hand on the hilt of his sword as he squinted upwards.

Beside him King Robert Baratheon let out a booming laugh “By the gods you weren’t joking Ned! These foreigners truly fly!”

Jon’s heart hammered as the flying machines slowed, circling like hawks before angling toward the open field. He could barely hear the shouts of the knights and servants as they tried to calm the terrified mounts.

Then a figure dropped from the sky.

Blue and Silver armor gleamed in the light as the man descended, fire streaming from his boots as he landed with a thud, the ground trembling beneath the weight. Gasps and mutters rippled through the crowd.

Jon’s eyes widened, he knew that armor, he’d seen it sketched in the Avengers book, the same book that told him of the heroes of that world. Blue and Silver, Centurion’s colors. Not Iron Man’s red and gold.

“Gods preserve us,” someone whispered “Sorcery.”

The metal birds touched down one by one, their sides opening as men in strange black garb spilled out, forming crisp lines with weapons that Jon had never seen before, their eyes sweeping the gathering.

Jon’s attention snapped to one of the metal contraptions as a boy near his age stepped down out of the machines, his red hair gleaming in the light, his sharp blue grey eyes sweeping the crowd with a blank face. His armor was simpler than Centurion’s but no less striking with strange blue plating marked with orange stripes, a white helmet under his arm and a white cape trailing behind him.

Jon’s breath caught, he knew this one to, Mimic the book had called him, the so called master of combat with reflexes like mirrors, someone who could learn any fighting style with just a glance.

The boy moved with ease, stepping into place beside Centurion, behind them came a man of dark skin like the Dornish, a black patch over one eye. His presence alone drew silence as he walked forward towards them.

“I am Nick Fury,” the man declared, his voice carrying over the crowd “Director of SHIELD, we come seeking friendship and understand with yours and in time we would speak of relations between our realms.”

The lords and knights muttered, shifting uneasily as King Robert stepped forward with a booming laugh “Well you’ve found the king already! I am Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms and with to many titles to speak of. Talk all you want of relations, Ned here will hear you as his lands border yours and he is my hand.”

Jon’s father inclined his head slightly, grey eyes unreadable as they flicked between Fury, Centurion and Mimic.

Fury hesitated only a moment before replying smoothly “We had no intelligence your king would be present, my apologies Your Grace, but all the better to meet you here.”

King Robert grinned, gesturing toward the metal contraptions “Tell me of these ‘metal birds’, they are contraptions yes, not living creatures like those dragons the Targaryen bastards once rose, if so I’ll ride once and in doing so I’ll have what no dragonlord has in centuries.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter rippled through the lords.

One of the strange men leaned toward Fury, voice load but carrying in the stillness “Director fuel reserves will allow for one short flight, one chopped and one small load only.”

Jon’s father glanced at the king “That talk may wait, Your Grace,” he said “For now, let us make our courtesies.”

He stepped forward, dark cloak brushing against the ground “I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. This is my lady wife, Catelyn of House Tully and my children Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon.”

Each of Jon’s siblings bowed or curtsied, Sansa’s one was near perfect, Arya gave more of a nod, her mouth a thin line, Bran’s head was high though his eyes kept straying to the blue and silver armored figure standing near Fury. Rickon clung to Lady Catelyn’s skirts, peering out warily.

King Robert gave a short laugh, though his eyes were still fixed on the strange “metal birds.” “And this is my Queen Cersei Lannister, my brother Renly and my children Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen.”

The words were spoken like a formality, heavy with impatience, King Robert was not a man who enjoyed being made to wait, least of all when denied the chance to ride one of the flying machines he so coveted.

Jon’s father inclined his head toward the strangers “You have come far to our gates, Winterfell offers bread and salt if you and your company will accept it.”

The one eyed man named Fury answered with a curt nod “On behalf of SHIELD and out governments we thank you Lord Stark. Hospitality is well met.”

The group made their way back to the keep, King Robert going first, his booming laughter masking his frustrations as he muttered about ‘metal contraptions’ and ‘riding one yet’. His Queen and children followed, her eyes sharp and lips pressed into a thin smile.

The black-clad men of SHIELD marched in a disciplined knot, their faces watchful but it was the two youths who drew every gaze. The first in blue and silver armor shone brighter than any knight’s armor, the second marked by the strange blue and orange armor.

Whispers rippled through the Northerners as they passed the gatehouse “Gods, what armor is that?” “No steel ever shone so.” “Flying men, the work of sorcery.”

Jon kept close to Robb, his heart hammering as he watched the two avengers walk into his home.

Whatever happened next, the world that Jon knew had already changed.

Ned Stark POV

The Great Hall of Winterfell was full to bursting at the arrival of the “sky-people” had demanded places be cleared, trestles shifted, benches pulled from other rooms. The high table held Robert in his accustomed place, Queen Cersei beside him, her golden hair gleaming in the torchlight. To Robert’s right sat the man named Fury, his dark coat gleaming in the light of the fire. To his side sat the two armoured lads, the strange white helm next to the red head but the Blue and Silver helmet had somehow vanished into the stranger armor, Ned studied both boys closely. Beneath the blue and silver plating of the one they called Centurion was a boy only a few years older than Robb and Jon, beside him was the red haired youth they called Mimic who had to be around the same age, both boys studying every movement in the hall.

Ned founds himself unsettled, these were not hardened men, nor grizzled veterans from some far campaign, they were boys, yet clad in metal that flew and wielding abilities than even the Maesters could not account for.

Servants poured wine, set trenchers with Vension, Boar and buttered bread as Robert was in his element, his great laugh booming around the hall though his eyes often wandered to Fury and his companions. The queen was quieter, though her eyes never wandered from the strangers.

Ned seized the chance as cups were filled “Director Fury,” he said, keeping his tone even “you have spoke little of your order. This SHIELD, what is it you serve? A King? A Council?’

Fury’s one eyes fixed on him “We serve our world Lord Stark, not one country or man, but all who live in it. SHIELD keeps the world safe from threats both within and beyond.

Beyond, the word chilled Ned though he did not let it show “You claim to guard your world, and yet you stand now in ours.”

“That’s right,” Fury said without hesitation “And I’ll tell you plainly, we didn’t come looking to conquer, we mean to have friendly relations if you’ll have us.”

A murmur rippled down the hall, servants and bannermen shifting on their benches as Cersei’s voice cut through the air, cool and sharp “And what of these ‘Avengers’?” she tilted her head, her smile as thin as parchment “I have heard whispers that they are the greatest warrior of your own world, champions as the Andals spoke of in their songs, but are they tales or are they truth?”

At that the two boys exchanged a glance but Fury answered “They’re real enough Your Grace,” he said “The Avengers are the ones who stood when an army fell ouf of the sky, Gods or men, call them what you like but they saved our world once and they’ll do it again.”

Ned’s hand tightened around the stem of his cup, Gods or men. He looked from Fury to the two boys beside him and then his own children, Robb trying to sit taller, Sansa listening with wide eyes, Arya scowling at her trencher, Bran straining to see the strangers past his sister’s shoulder, Rickon squirming on Catelyn’s lap.

The hall quieted as one of the men in black rose from the benches below the high table, he was clean shaved with pale skin and strange round glasses on his face, his bearing was neither knight or Lord but he carried himself as one used to being heard “If I may Director Fury,” the man began, bowing his head first to Robert, then to Cersei, and finally to Ned “Our mission here is first and foremost to establish communications between our worlds to prevent fear and misunderstandings. Many of our nations would see this as an opportunity for cooperation, they speak of placing embassies within your lands so that our lands may treat with yours directly. In addition one of our most trusted consultant, together with my own government, the United States, have proposals regarding the territory surrounding the portal, we hope to open discussion of trade and agreements for the future.”

Murmurs broke out along the benches “Embassies?” one of Robert’s knights muttered too loudly “Foreign hovels more likely.”

Ned’ brows knit but he did not let the words go unchallenged “You speak of embassies and consultants as though they are know to us, forgive my ignorance but what are they?”

The man inclined his head again, patient “An embassy Lord Stark is a house of peace, set apart for envoys of a foreign land, it is not a castle nor a garrison but a place where our people might speak with yours, exchange knowledge and resolve disputes without recourse to arms. Within its walls the envoys answers to his home realm, not the laws of the land he visits.”

Ned felt a stir of unease “So you would plant pieces of your own realms here in ours that would not answer to the King or Lords but to you?”

The man hesitated then gave a shallow nod “That is the essence of it my lord. A gesture of trust between nations.”

“And this ‘Consultant’?” Robert asked, leaning forward with wine dripping from his beard “What sort of man is that? A maester, a spymaster? Some Conjurer?”

The man smiled thinly “A consultant is an advisor Your Grace. One who does not serve as soldier but who lends his knowledge to guide policy. In this case the consultant in question is among the brightest minds our world has known, they see paths others miss.”

Robert grunted and reached for more wine “Sounds like a fancy word for a clever little man who like to talk.”

A ripple of laughter ran down the hall though Ned did not join in “This talk of consultants seems reasonable, if such a man would dwell among us I can see he is given land for a house or one of Winterfell’s empty dwellings, yet embassies. " His eyes slid to Robert “That is for the King to decide.”

Robert barked a laugh, half drowned in wine “Aye, aye, let in be on my own shoulders. I’ve no lack of flattered and schemers in King’s Landing, what’s a few more with strange tongues and stranger garb? Let them have one of the grander merchant halls by the Red Keep, my council can gnaw at it like daws with a bone, and if they wish to send some envoy of ours back through your blasted hole well let them squabble over who gets the honor.”

He drank deeply, red spilling down his beard “Seven hells, they’ll all be tripping over themselves to be the first.”

Cersei’s voice came cool and sharp, cutting across the laughter that followed “And if we are to speak of trade,” she said, her eyes narrowing “does that mean your weapons also? The flying armor?”

Ned’s stomach tightened as the queen’s gaze lingered on the boy in blue and silver as though she could strip the armor from his body with her eyes alone, the halls going still at her words.

“The armor is property of my family, it does not belong to our country or organization, only to us.” Centurion- Henry- though the name was still strange to Ned’s tongue, spoke up, voice cold and eyes colder.

A murmur spread through the benches, to speak so to a King or Queen would have been seen as insolence from any lordling, Ned could see her face and the prince’s redden in anger at the words.

One of the representatives shifted in his seat “The armor is… safe guarded,” he said quickly with a strained smile “Firmly in the hands of those who built it, none are allowed access to it but them.” For a second Ned would swear he heard a hint of bitterness and anger in his voice.

Cersei’s smile did not reach her eyes “A pity.” she said, though Ned could detect the anger in her eyes.

Ned took a long draught of wine, though it did little to ease the chill crawling in his belly, he had seen that look before in men’s eyes when they spied a blade they coveted or a crown that was not theirs.

Ned’s wine turned ash in his mouth as the thought of that suit falling into the hands of House Lannister chilled him to the marrow. Tywin Lannister would strip it to its bones, bleed the secrets from the boy if he must and then the gold of Casterly Rock would churn out armies of flying men and no one would stop them.

Ned let his eyes wander the halls, some lords had leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity, greed glimmering in their eyes. Renly Baratheon sat further down the table, green clad and smiling easily as ever but there was a tightness in his jaw that Ned did not miss, at least one of Robert’s kin shared his unease, small comfort though that was.

The moment broke when Robert slammed his cup to the table “Enough brooding damn it! You speak of armors and embassies and clever men but what of your battles? You call yourselves warriors, Avengers, was it?”

His eyes gleamed like a boy begging for a tale from an old singer “Tell us them, what fights have you seen? What foes have you bested?”

The red haired boy, the one they called Mimic, set aside his helm as he glanced at his fellow Avenger, then spoke in a voice that carried through the hall “There was the battle of New York.”

The name meant nothing to Ned but the way the Lad said it sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“New York, one of yours cities is it?” Robert repeated, chewing the words.

“A city,” Mimic confirmed “But the foe we faced did not come from any land you know, nor even from our world on the other side of the portal, they came from beyond the stars, an army not of men but of creatures bred for war, sent to conquer our world.”

The hall erupted in whispers, fearful and fierce as Ned’s blood ran cold. Not from this world, nor theirs. What realm lay beyond these foreigners sky?

Cersei’s lips curved in a faint mocking smile though her eyes never left the boy’s, though Robert leaned forward, rapt as a child “An invasion,” he said, almost gleeful “and your beat them back, you Avengers?”

Mimic inclined his head “We beat them but it was no easy thing, our city nearly burned.”

Ned caught the faint tremor in his voice, the shadow that crossed the boy’s eyes, a lad barely older than Robb speaking of cities burning beneath the sky, Ned felt a fear for the future, for if such things had come for their world what was stopping them from coming to theirs and doing the same?

Robert leaned forward across the high table, knuckles white around his cup “Tell me more boy,” he thundered, voice booming off the stone “Don’t give me half a tale, who led these sky-fiends against you? What king dared set his boots on a realm not his own?”

Mimic shifted, his eyes steady despite the weight of so many stares “His name is Loki,” the boy said, his voice carrying, quiet but clear “The brother of one of our teammates, Thor.”

Ned heard the whispers ripple out from table to table, already these strangers spoke of impossible things, now they claimed one had waged war against his own blood.”

“Thor!” Robert barked out a laugh, slapping the table so hard the dishes rattled “I like the sound of him already! A warrior’s name if I ever heard one! Tell me, this Thor, is he a great warrior?”

Mimic nodded “Yes, he’s one of our strongest members. He claims to be the God of Thunder, but his people are more like advanced aliens than anything. His brother Loki sought to enslave us and use us to overthrow Thor and their father and take the throne for himself. He came with an army of Chitauri, the beast like invaders, and opened a portal in our sky to bring them through.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed “A god?” she said, voice low with doubt and something else Ned could not quite place.

Robert only leaned back in his chair, grinning as if the words pleased him “A god who stands with men against his own kin! I’d drink with him, by the Seven! HA!” he turned to Ned, his smile broad “What say you Ned? A god in flying armor, a god who fights against his own kin, next you say the Seven walk among them.”

Ned did not answer at once as he was watching Mimic’s face, the grave way he carried himself for one so young “If this Thor is truly as you say then is loyalty is to be valued, but the tale of Gods who war with their own kind does not sit well with me.”

Mimic inclined his head, a flicker of something in his eyes Ned couldn’t place “Nor us, my lord. But he fought with us all the same. Without Thor we might have lost New York and everything else afterwards.”

The hall grew quiet, the weight of the words settling heavily in the hall, even Robert’s grin faltered just a little as if some part of him knew there was no jest in the boy’s tale.

The laughter and talk dwindled down soon after and at a signal from Ned servants began ushering the women and children from the hall, Catelyn rising with Sansa and Arya at her side, Bran and Rickon reluctantly following behind. Joffrey strutted after his mother, Tommen and Myrcella more subdued, though all three cast eyes at the armored strangers. Robb lingered, eyes still locked on the red-haired boy until Catelyn’s hand on his shoulder drew him away.

Ned rose to feet as well, bowing his head slightly to his wife and children as they passed, it was better this way. Whatever these ‘Avengers’ were, whatever this SHIELD sought, it was not talk meant for the young.

WHen the great oak doors boomed shut the hall seemed smaller and heavier with the silence, only Robert remained of the royal family, slouched in his chair with a hand around his cup, the Kingsguard stood like statues around him, their white cloaks catching the light of the torches. At the far side Fury and his black-clad agents sat stiff backed, eyes ever watchful. The two armored youths, boys no matter their power or experiences, remained at Fury’s side.

Ned lowered himself back into his bench, his hand curling right around the armrest as he felt the same unease creeping into him, a feeling he had known that signalled times were changing. The tales these boys spun, gods walking their realm, tears in their sky, invasions from beyond their world were too vast and perilous yet they spoke them as simple truths.

Robert broke the silence first “Well Ned,” he rumbled “Our guests have given us a feast for thoughts if not for the belly, Shall we get to the meat of it?” he waved a hand “Let us hear what these folk want beyond filling our ears and mind with wonders.”

Fury inclined his head, expression sharp “That is what we came here for Your Grace. Open negotiation and communication between our worlds, a way forward between our people.”

Ned said nothing, though his stomach knotted as the more he heard the more his dread grew, if half these tales were true than Westeros stood upon the edge of something far greeted and deadlier than any game the Southerners could dream of.

Chapter Text

Tyrion Lannister woke up with his skull pounding like a hammer had just been repeatedly brought down upon it. Groaning, he rolled from the mattress, bare feet meeting cold stone as he pawed for the drink he had left on the table, praying it still had some wine left over from last night. There was, though it was half sour and half stale, but he drank it anyway.

Gods, what a night

The negotiations with the so-called sky-people had dragged on into the early morning, he had thought himself haded to spectacle after years in court, but even Tyrion would admit, even if only to himself, that the sight of their maps, shining instruments, and the easy confidence with which they spoke of the money they’d offered Lord Stark had unsettled him.

Thirty million in gold is what they had offered the Warden of the North.

The number alone had stilled even the King’s booming voice, if only for a heartbeat. Tyrion recalled the hush in the Great Hall, the way the candlelight had caught Ned Stark’s solemn face as he studied the parchment the foreigners had laid out, not a crude sketch or a maester’s guess but a map finer than Tyrion had ever seen.

The foreigners wanted the area around the portal.

For that area they offered Lord Stark more gold than Casterly Rock’s mines might spit out in a generation. Robert had urged Lord Stark to take it, and for once even the dour Stark had agreed. Tyrion had watched the bargain be struck, the scratch of quill on vellum echoing in the silence as Tyrion realized that one of the poorer great houses of Westeros was now rivaling House Lannister in terms of money.

Father will not like that Tyrion had thought as he pulled on his doublet with clumsy fingers. Lord Stark with coffers fat enough to hire every sword from here to Dorne would change the balance of power, and the Lion might wilt against it.

The second bargain had nearly slipped through Ned Stark’s fingers until Tyrion himself had intervened, offering to house the foreigner’s companies in Lannisport, businesses that apparently created clothing, toys, trinkets and other nonsense baubles that the smallfolk of the foreigner’s loved, and other companies that wanted to drill into the land to dig for material unseen in Westeros and could build wonders.

Robert, half drunk and wholly impatient, had waved his hand, “Speak with your father Imp, if Tywin wanted the lion’s share, then let him have it so long as coin flows into the realm.”

Tyrion had smiled, though his gut twisted; he knew too well how his father would seize the chance, what the foreigners would build in Lannisport would not belong to Westeros, not truly. It would belong to Tywin Lannister.

The third bargain was stranger, tools and knowledge had been offered, nothing of war or the flying armor, both had been refused instantly, Tyrion cursing Cersei for her earlier stunt, even as Robert bristled at the refusal of not being able to but weapons. But that had been placated when the foreigners had offered several flying machines. Lord Stark, the King, and even Tyrion had taken the chance to buy one themselves when they had learned their true capabilities. Next had been offers of crops that could grow in the cold and winter, grains and fruits Tyrion nor the others had heard of.

Tyrion had leaned forward then, every wit of him alive as he calculated the offer. Food that could grow in poor soil that might feed armies and could enrich lords. Lord Stark had leapt at the chance, buying up their knowledge, tools, and their crystal-glass when they had shown it, enough to create more glasshouses in the North.

Tyrion had kept his counsel then, though his mind raced faster than it had even before. If Stark could feel his people when others starved, if his harvests swelled when southern fields failed, then Winterfell’s banners would swell with men.

Tyrion rubbed at his temple, scowling as a servant knocked at the door with a tray of bread and broth.

“Leave it,” Tyrion snapped.

When the boy had gone, Tyrion sipped the broth and let his thoughts run wild. Deals had been made, gold promised, lands sold.

Tyrion pulled out parchment and his quill, hunching over as he weighed every word before deciding whether to commit to it. His father did not tolerate wasted ink or wasted sons.

To Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, Hand of No Man but Himself,

It is your least beloved but most observant son who writes you, with tidings unlike any that have ever crossed the Narrow Sea; were I a mummer, I would call it a tale. Were I drunker than Robert Baratheon, I would call it a dream, yet I assure you, it is the truth.

Foreigners have come through a gate—a portal—in the far North, upon Stark’s own land. They are men, aye, though their garb, speech, and arts are stranger than any Essosi. They claim no kinship with Valyria, nor with Yi Ti, nor with any place a maester’s quill has ever marked; they are something wholly new.

These Foreigners do not speak of swords or spears, but of tools, knowledge, and machines the likes of which no craftsman here can fathom. They showed us maps, Father, maps so precise that even a maester’s finest chart looks like a child’s scrawl beside them. With those maps, they marked the land they wished to buy: the ground around the portal.

For that land, they offered Lord Stark thirty million in gold. Thirty million, Father. A sum that would drown the coffers of half the realm. Stark, with Robert’s urging, took it. One Northern lord now commands a treasury to rival crowns.

This, you will agree, is unacceptable.

The Foreigners pressed further. They spoke of businesses from their world seeking a foothold here: one that fashions clothing, toys, and other goods beloved by their smallfolk; another that would mine beneath the land, claiming treasures of use only in their world. Stark nearly agreed, but I interceded. I reminded them—and the King—that Lannisport stands ready. Its port, its guilds, and its merchants all make it the natural gateway for such ventures. The King granted me leave to write you and seek your will.

If we seize this chance, Father, we may bind the Foreigners’ trade to our coast rather than the Starks’ snow. Their coin, their goods, their strange knowledge would pass through our hands first. Lannisport could become the beating heart of this new commerce, richer than Oldtown, rival to Braavos.

They also offered implements for farming: tools, seeds, and crops that can grow even in cold weather. Stark, of course, bought eagerly, as did I on our behalf. He also bought quantities of their glass to raise more glasshouses. This is no idle purchase; if what they claim is true, the North will grow food while others starve. And a people well-fed in winter bend their knees more stubbornly than the hungry.

As for weapons, the Foreigners refused us, even as Robert roared and sulked, but they would not yield. They offered instead a handful of their flying machines, perhaps to quiet his temper.

I do not jest, Father, they have flying machines, metal carriages that take to the air.

I counsel caution, but not inaction. The Starks grow richer than is comfortable, and Robert is too besotted with their gold to think of balance. We cannot allow the North to seize every advantage; the Rock must be seen as the Foreigners’ true partner.

For this, I require your leave to act openly in House Lannister’s name. If the Foreigners’ businesses take root in Lannisport, if their goods flow through our ports, then all Westeros will look West for this new age. Let Stark have his thirty million. Let him fatten on his glasshouses. But the lion must take the greater prize.

Your obedient, if not always dutiful,
Tyrion

Tyrion tucked the letter beneath his arm and made for the Maester’s chambers. As he walked, Cersei’s shrill voice rose as it echoed down the hall, “Thirty million! And for what, Jaime? For snow and pine and godswood roots? Robert is as  blind as Stark grows fat with coin, as the rest of us pick at scraps and the King lets him!”

Jaime’s voice was low and weary. “You would have preferred he refused the gold?”

“I would have preferred he remembered his place! The North is not a kingdom; they bend the knee. The land belongs to the realm, not to Stark. And that boy had the nerve to reject my offers to buy the flying armor! Rejected, like I am so fishwife haggling in the streets!”

Tyrion allowed himself a small smirk as he heard her rage at being rebuffed; it tasted sweeter than any wine he had ever tasted.

At the rookery, he handed the letter to the maester. “A raven to Casterly Rock, directly to my Lord Father, inform me the moment it flies.”

The maester had nodded and cradled the letter as he turned away.

Tyrion’s thoughts were already leaping to the next letter he would have to write; he had much to add. More specifically, about these so-called Avengers and the battle they spoke of. A curious collection of warriors that Tyrion had ever heard or read about: A captain who could rival entire armies, a boy and his mother who could use flying armor, a so-called God of Thunder, an archer, a spy, and a boy who could apparently mimic fighting styles perfectly just by observing them only once.

Yes, Father would want to know every scrap of it, especially how Cersei had made a fool of herself and incensed one of the members.

Outside the walls, the cold struck him as he trudged toward the field where the men were setting up targets, rows of straw dummies, wooden planks, and iron breastplates. The Starks and the Bastard boy were already there, Lord Stark standing grimly as he observed the foreigners as they set up for the demonstration, as Tyrion’s family and the King arrived with a small following.

The foreign soldiers leveled their strange metal devices. Tyrion had previously thought them to be strange metal crossbows until the loud booming sounds had rattled his bones and left his ears ringing, the blasts from the weapons coming like thunderclaps, one after the other, small bits of metal spitting from the weapons faster than he could follow. The wooden dummies were shredded into tiny pieces.

Someone swore; he thought it might have been Robert’s brother, but it was drowned out by the next volley.

Tyrion pressed his fingers to his ears, wincing as he risked a glance at the soldiers manning the weapons. Calm, steady, as if the chaos was nothing new to them, the calm disturbing him more than the noise itself.

When a Stark guard carried a steel breastplate into the field and fixed it to a post, Robert and Lord Stark told the others that it was fine steel as far as they could tell when they observed it earlier.

The foreign captain gave a brief order, and another volley answered. The breastplate buckled, holes punched clean through as if it were parchment. The crowd hissed, Ned Stark’s face barely shifted, but Tyrion noted the way his eyes narrowed as he observed the paper.

Even the best armor in the Rock couldn’t save a man from that. Gods save our house if those weapons fell into our enemies' hands.

Then came the boy.

The blue and silver-clad Avenger they called Centurion stepped forward when the one-eyed man gestured, the armor gleaming in the light. Tyrion half expected the boy to take out more of these thunder weapons, but instead the boy raised his gauntlet to the distance.

“What’s he aiming at?” Tyrion heard the youngest Stark daughter whisper to her brother.

Tyrion squinted, following the gesture to see a speck in the distance.

Then came a click and hiss as something small spat from the gauntlet, too small and quick for Tyrion to track if not for the small trail following it, and for a moment it was lost to the clouds, then it bloomed, splitting into smaller pieces that arced downwards like a flock of hawks diving as one.

The ground erupted as a small explosion of dirt took took to the sky, showering everyone with clods of earth. Men stumbled back, hands flying to swords though none dared draw, Tyrion coughing as he stared with wide eyes at the destruction, even Robert was silent for a long moment as they stared at the ruined earth where the target had been.

Tyrion swallowed hard, his gaze warily fixed on the boy in blue and silver armor. If he can wield that kind of destruction easily then Cersei’s insult last night was not merely foolish but dangerous.

Tyrion drew in a deep breath, mind racing. He had thought the metal crossbows that thundered louder than storms were what they should truly fear, but now he knew better. The real danger was the boy and whatever else these ‘Avengers’ were capable of.

Yes, his father needed to know every detail.

-

 Alexei POV

Most of the clamor had gone with the king and his chosen companions into the woods, their hunting horns echoing faintly through the woods as Alexei walked alongside Henry, boots crunching against the frost as the younger man tapped his forearm, JARVIS’s quiet voice humming from within his armor’s systems.

“You think there’s a chance?” Henry asked, his brown eyes narrowed in thought. “That somehow… our family is linked to them? Stark here, Stark there, it’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

Alexei smirked faintly, tucking his hands into his coat. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to dismiss the improbable. JARVIS wouldn’t have raised the theory without some evidence, still…” He glanced toward the towering walls of Winterfell “Perhaps the name’s only a coincidence.”

They might have gone on debating had the scream not cut through the air, a child’s cry, sharp with terror, followed by a dull, gut-twisting thud.

Henry froze only for a heartbeat, then sprinted as Alexei was close behind him, rounding a corner toward the base of a tower where a small figure lay crumpled on the stone.

Alexei’s mind supplied the name instantly: Bran Stark.

Henry swore under his breath, dropping to his knees, his armor gauntlet slid open with a hiss of metal as JARVIS’s scanners lit Bran in a lattice of soft blue light.

“Broken bones, multiple of them,” Henry muttered, his jaw tight. “Spinal fracture likely, damn it…”

Alexei crouched low, heart hammering, the boy’s chest still rose and fell, shallow but steady. His face was pale, his lips tinged blue from the cold.

Guards thundered toward them, and behind them a woman’s voice rang out like a whipcrack, “Get away from him!”

Lady Stark, her eyes were wide, fear strangling her voice as she swept past the guards and fell to her knees beside her son, her hands hovered over him, trembling, as though afraid to make things worse.

Alexei raised both hands in a calming gesture. “My lady, his spine is broken, among other bones as well; he must be seen immediately, or he will not last the day.”

Her eyes snapped to him, full of fury and terror, and for a moment, Alexei thought she might strike him, but then her gaze darted to her son again as she barked orders to the guards, and Bran was lifted with agonizing care and carried toward the Maester’s tower.

Henry exhaled, running a hand through his hair “It won’t be enough, their medicine can’t handle this.”

Alexei straightened “Then we tell Fury.”

They strode quickly across the courtyard, weaving past confused servants until they found the one-eyed commander deep in conversation with Stark men-at-arms. Henry wasted no time, his words sharp and hurried.

“Bran Stark fell from the tower, with spinal injuries, multiple breaks. The Maester can’t save him, not properly, but we can.”

Fury’s eye narrowed, flicking between them “How?”

“We take him through the portal,” Henry said firmly, “To Avengers tower, we have doctors, real doctors, who can mend him and maybe even restore his ability to walk. If we leave him here, he’ll live crippled at best, and at worst, he dies.”

Fury was silent for a long moment, jaw working, then he gave a sharp nod. “Make the call.”

Henry tapped his gauntlet, the holographic screen snapping up. Toni’s face appeared, tired but alert, her hair loose about her shoulders.

“Mom, we’ve got a situation,” Henry said without preamble “A kid—Stark’s son—fell, spinal fracture, multiple other injuries. He needs transport, stat. Can we bring him to the Tower?”

Toni’s eyes sharpened instantly, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Yes, I’ll get the med bay prepped and reach out to Banner, Cho, even Stephen Strange, anyone who can help. We’ll give him the best shot possible.”

Henry let out a breath, some tension easing from his shoulders.

But Toni hesitated, Alexei saw it, the flicker in her eyes before she spoke again quieter this time, “Henry… there’s something you need to know, there was an accident, the shuttle Reed and his team took into orbit, there was exposure, a storm of cosmic radiation. They… survived, but not unchanged.”

Henry blinked, caught off guard, “Not unchanged? What do you mean…”

But Toni only shook her head, “We’ll talk once the boy’s here. Just… be ready.”

Chapter Text

The next morning the pale sunlight spilled across Lord Stark’s solar, Alexei stood at the far end of the long oaken table, his hands collapsed tightly behind his back. He had not slept much, and he could Ned Stark hadn’t either; the Lord of Winterfell sat stiff-backed in his chair, his face shallow and exhausted.

“You said you had a proposal,” Lord Stark said at last, his voice rough and hoarse, Alexei inclined his head “I do and I would not speak of it likely,” here he drew in a breath “Your son’s injuries are grave and we both know it, on this side of the portal yours healers will keep him alive but they can’t restore what is broken.”

Lord Stark’s jaw tightened, but Alexei continued, “Our world has healers,” Alexei continued carefully, “men and women whose skills are greater than your maesters and with tools and knowledge that comes from centuries of discoveries not yet discovered here. If you permit it, we can take Bran through the portal to them, and there is a chance, no promise, but a chance that he may walk again, and even if not,t they can give him devices and tools that would let him live with more freedom than a bed could grant.”

For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the snap of the fireplace before Lord Stark’s grey eyes lifted to Alexei’s “What do you gain from this? I am not so much a fool as to believe men give freely without thought of return.”

Alexei inclined his head, conceding the point. “It is goodwill, Lord Stark, a gesture to show that we mean no harm to your people; trust must begin somewhere.”

Ned studied him for a long time, then with a sigh, he rose. “This is not a choice I can make alone,” he moved to the door, called for a servant, and in a short order the summons went through the keep.

It was Arya Stark who brought Lady Stark, guiding her mother behind her. Lady Stark’s face pale, her eyes rimmed red from hours of sitting by her son’s bed as she sank into the chair beside Lord Stark without a word, one hand gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles whitened, Robb Stark entering not long after with a grim face, his jaw clenched as his sister Sansa followed quietly and subdued, her usual poise dimmed while Arya sat near the fire, restless but attentive as Jon Snow slipped in last, silent as a shadow, his dark grey eyes fixed on Alexei with wary curiosity.

Lord Stark turned to Alexei. “With respect, leave us.”

Alexei inclined his head as he stepped out the door, the oaken door shutting behind him.

The silence stretched until Catelyn spoke, her voice ragged with sleeplessness. “What did they tell you?”

Ned relayed the offer plainy but the tremor beneath his words betrayed him. When he finished the chamber was still again save for the crackling of the fire.

Robb was the first to break the silence, “We have to try if there’s a chance Bran could walk again, we can’t leave him to waste away.”

Sansa shook her head, her hands folded in her lap “It’s too dangerous, we don’t know what those people truly want, what if we lose him forever?”

Arya shot upright, her fists clenched. “Better to risk it than let him rot! Bran would want to run again, to climb! He wouldn’t want to lie in bed till he dies!”

Catelyn closed her eyes “You speak of him as if he is already lost, but he is not, he is here, he breathes still. But if we send him with them-” her voice cracked “If we send him, we may never see him again.

Jon, still leaning against the door, said nothing.

Ned had not spoken and only listened, his eyes moving from each face until at last he reached for Catelyn’s hand, rough fingers wrapping around hers. “Cat, what do you want?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I can not bear to lose him, but I can’t bear to see him suffer either, if there is hope-” she swallowed “then we must consider it.”

For a long moment, Ned said nothing, then he nodded on.ce “We will decide as a family, but know this, if we send Bran with them it will be a step into the unknown and once taken there may be no return.”

Catelyn’s eyes went to Ned, desperation across her face. “If this is to be done, then I will go with him, he is my son and will need me.”

Ned’s face hardened, his jaw tightening as he shook his head, “No, if you cross, you may not return for days, weeks, or even months. Winterfell needs its lady. Our children need their mother.”

Catelyn's voice trembled, grief sharpening into anger. Then, who do you suggest we send Eddard? He is a boy, frightened and broken. He needs blood beside him.”

Ned's gaze slid to the shadows near the door “He will have blood, Jon will go with him.”

Catelyn surged to her feet, her face flushed with anger “Jon, you would send him with Bran? God help you, Eddard. What if he kills him? What if he makes it look like an accident? Will you gamble Bran's life on the loyalty of a bastard?”

Jon's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury as he opened his mouth, a retort burning in his throat, but his father's voice cut through the air, “Enough!”

The word silenced them all as Ned's eyes were stern “I will not have such slander, not in my hall. Jon is my blood, and he will guard Bran with his life.” His gaze locked on Catelyn “This is my decision, and it is final.”

Catelyn trembled, her lips pressed wide as he looked as though she might argue further, but the stillness in Ned's voice left no argument, so she sank into the chair, silent but seething, her gaze fixed on the fire.

Ned let the silence stretch for a few before he turned to where Jon was standing, “Summon them back.”

Moments later, the door opened and Alexie reentered as Ned Straightened his voice, carrying the tone he used with bannermen and servants. We accept your proposal. Bran will cross the portal, and he will be accompanied by 5 of my guards and by Jon Snow, my son.”

Alexei nodded, “Understood, will make their arrangements. Centurion and I will travel back with Fury and your sons. Our duties on the other side don't allow us to stay long in your realm but more representatives will follow in the coming days with guards of their own. We will prepare to receive your boy; the sooner he is seen by our healers, the better.” 

Ned nodded once, “Then so shall it be.”

Jon stiffened as he reached for the door, Ghost padding silently at his heels, everyone else going their separate ways. He was nearly free of her when Lady Stark's voice cut through the air like a knife. You'd best hope my boy survives this, Jon Snow.”

He turned startled, meeting her sharp, tear-glistened eyes. “If Bran does not come back home, if these strangers fail him, then I won't care what excuse they offer. Accident, fate, foreign mistake. If Bran dies, so will you.”

Jon's throat went dry, and he lowered his gaze, too stunned to speak as the ghost pressed closer against his leg, its hackles prickling. However, a warning glance from Jon kept it still. Catelyn's skirt swept around her as he stormed down the corridor, leaving him trembling in her wake as he shuddered shakily before he fled before her fury could find him again.

Hours passed in a haze as Winterfell stirred uneasily with the foreigner’s promise of machines and medicine that no maser could have ever spoken of. The courtyard filled with onlookers when at last the sound came. A deep, throbbing roar that grew louder and louder, rattling shutters and ascending horses wickering in the stalls.

Jon craned his neck upward as another one of the monstrous, gleaming iron birds descended from the skies, its spinning blades chopping the air, snow swirling in gusts around it, guards shielding their eyes as the helicopters settled heavily upon the stone yard.

Ghosts pressed against Jon's thigh but did not flinch. The direwolf's red eyes followed every movement of the yellow-jacketed figures that spilled out of the machine as they moved with discipline, masks over their mouths and carrying strange boxes that clinked and beeped.

Maester Lewin's voice was calm, though his hands shook as he touched Jon's shoulder. “Stay close, Jon, and watch what they do. We must learn how these people heal.”

The Yellow Jackets brought out a bier on wheels, contractions rattling as they hurried into the keep, and soon Bran was brought out soon after pale and still, as Maester Lumen walked beside them and explained his injuries as best as he could. Lord Stark's face was carved from stone, Lady Stark hovered close to Bran’s side, eyes never leaving her son.

One by one the Starks bid farewell. Robb pressed Bran’s limp hand to his forehead as Sansa whispered something Jon could not hear and Arya fought back tears, clinging onto Ned’s cloak, and then Bran was lifted onto the wheeled bed and carried into the belly of the iron bird. Jon lingered at the foot of the ramp until one of the strangers beckoned him forward. A firm hand guarded him inside, and Ghost lept up smoothly after him, planting himself at Jon's foot as though daring anyone to object.

Across the cramped interior Fury sat already strapped in his single eye sharp as he examined Jon,  beside him Mimic adjusted the strange buckles across his chest, glancing curiously at Bran's motionless form as outside the window Centurion hovered.

The courtyard fell way beneath them, Winterfell shrinking to a cluster of gray stone in the sea of white as the roar of the blades drowned out all else. Jon, clutching the harness across his chest, Ghost steady and silent by his side, his gaze fix on Bran and for the first time since.Jon heard Lady Stark's words he offered a prayer Keep him safe. Bring him back home.

The Great Machine's beating blades shook the air, Jon’s teeth ached and yet somehow Fury and Mimic sat as if it was not but a cart ride on Winterfell's muddy road, Ghost seemed unfazed also.

Jon gripped the harness across his chest tighter and turned to the narrow window, and for a moment all he could see were rolling grey clouds,then a glint of metal and light broke through as he spotted Centurion flying beside them.

Jon felt a pang of envy as he stared out the strange glass. If I could fly like that, he thought, I would never come down and ride the winds every chance I could, free from walls and from the scorn aimed my way.

As the helicopter flew forward, the clouds parted and there it was, the portal they had spoken of. It was a shimmering wound in the sky, ringed with light, and Jon's mouth went dry. He had hoped it was a lie, a trick of words, but there it was “Gods.” he whispered  Mimic leaned toward him, voice carrying easily over the roar. “That's the portal we will pass through straight into the city, and from there it's a short flight to Avengers Tower. That's where we've got the best healers in the world waiting for Bran, he'll be seen to fast, kid.”

Jon's hand clinched Ghost’s fur as his heart hammered; the world as he knew it suddenly seemed very small.

The helicopter tilted and surged forward, Jon tensing as the portal filled the window, every muscle bracing for a blow as Ghost lifted his head, ears pricked, a soft rumble in his chest.

It swallowed them whole, and for an instant, there was nothing but brightness and weightlessness, the strangest sensation of falling without moving as Jon gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tight. And when he opened them again, the world was changed.

The sky beyond was blue, but not the clear blue of Winterfell’s spring mornings. It was filled with shapes, flying machines darting like insects, glittering towers that stabbed higher than the Wall itself, and the ground below was a sea of stone and glass. Roads alive with endless movement as Jon forgot to breathe as if rooted in place before he pressed closer to the window, he had never seen a city larger than White Harbor, and this place was as if 10,000 White Harbors had been laid side by side, each more impossible than the last.

“We're in New York City.” Mimic said, grinning at Jon’s stunned face, “And that-” he pointed to the horizon where a gleaming Spire crowned with a shining letter A pierced the clouds, “That's home base. Avengers Tower, where we’ll land right on top.”

Jon could only stare wide-eyed at the sight.

The helicopter touched down on the gleaming platform. Its blades slowed, sending the last gusts of wind skimming across a rooftop as Jon's knuckles were white against the straps of his harness. Ghost was steady at his side, unbothered by the strange storm of sound.

Bran’s stretcher was wheeled out first, the yellow jackets flashing in the sun beside him, their words too fast for Jon to follow. At one of the strange doors, two figures were waiting. “I'm Doctor Helen Cho,”  the woman said briskly, her voice firm but not unkind. “Bring him inside now.”

The man beside her was different. His gaze was piercing and unsettling, but he didn’t move to help. “Stephen Strange,” he introduced himself, his tone quiet as his eyes flickered briefly onto Ghost, then to Jon. “The people inside will not trouble you. Stay near your brother.”

Before Jon could speak, the stretcher vanished to the corridors, Fury and Mimic following as Jon stumbled after, Ghost padding at his feet. But Henry slowed, lingering at the edge of the group gaze, lingering on Bran before breaking away. He had to know what happened to Jonny and the others.

Jarvis's calm voice guided him through the gleaming hallways and to an elevator. “This way, Master Henry, your mother is with Doctor Richards and Ms Storm.”

The elevator dinged and slid open as Henry walked through the Avengers's private medical wing, the doors opening before him as he saw his mother standing stiffly, her hands clapsed so tight her knuckles were white, and across from her were Reed and Sue. They all turned as Henry entered the room.

“Mom,” Henry said “What accident were you talking about?”

Reed adjusted his glasses, voice even but heavy, “We've been changed, we were exposed to cosmic rays during the mission in space; they rewrote us at the very core. We aren't who we were before you left.”

Henry blinked “What do you mean, rewrote you? Changed you how?

Sue stepped closer, her voice softer, “Reed can stretch farther than humanly possible, I can vanish and shape fields of force, Ben's skin has been replaced by this rock-like texture and Johnny…”

She trailed off and gestured toward the far wall as Reed tapped a panel, and the wall turned transparent. The chamber beyond was vast and reinforced, filled with glowing targets.

Henry's heart lurged as Jonny flew by, fire pouring from him in every direction as he soared through the air, laughing, arcs of flame trailing behind him as he twisted and looped, hurling fireballs into the targets. Each strike shook the room, filling it with bursts of light.

Henry staggered back “He’s… he’s burning alive.”

Sue caught his arm gently “No Henry, he doesn't feel the flames for some reason.”

Down below, Bruce Banner calmly tracked Jonny's vitals on a monitor, his expression blank as he stared fixated on the screen. Reed’s gaze was fixed on the chamber. “The cosmic rays unlocked this, if they’re gifts or curses we have yet to decide, but this is our reality now.”

Henry's breath came fast, his palm pressed hard against the glass as he watched one of his best friends soar past, fire streaming in his wake, wondering what the hell his life had become over the last few years.

Chapter Text

Kevan Lannister's boots echoed against the polished stone as he walked the long gallery of Casterly Rock, the sea stretching out beyond the arched windows, gray and restless under the waning afternoon light.

The wind tugged faintly at the banners and sent gulls swelling low across the cliffs. He had spent most of the day balancing ledgers, listening to minor disputes among retainers, and trying not to dwell on the absurd letter Tyrion had sent a few days prior.

Foreigners with ‘metal dragons’ that roared louder than thunder, men in flying suits of armor and a portal in the very skies itself. Kevan almost laughed again, though the sound came out weary. It had been scrawled and Tyrion's slanted hand, Kevan had re read it twice before bringing it to his brother.

Tywin had barely scanned three lines before its jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in cold contempt “Tyrion makes a mockery of himself and of me.” he had growled before tossing the parchment into the fire, watching it curl into ash with a disgusted sneer.

Kevan thought that Tyrion had been drunk, surely who else but a drunken dwarf would imagine flying machines and outlandish suits of steel? It was easier to dismiss it as one of Tyrion's drunken ramblings than try to imagine it real.

He had just about to turn toward his chambers when the scrape of hurried boots behind him broke through his thoughts. A young Lannister retainer, his cheeks flushed from running, bowed quickly. “Ser Kevan,” the boy panted “Lord Tywin requests your presence in his solar at once.”

Kevan straightened in surprise “At this hour?” Tywin rarely summoned unexpectedly unless it was of grave importance. The boy nodded quickly “Yes, my Lord, he said you are to come immediately.”

Kevan gave a curt nod, dismissing the boy, and adjusted his cloak as he set off through the winding passages of the Rock as his thoughts becoming heavier with every step Perhaps it was another Raven from King's Landing or perhaps nothing from the Riverlands. But when he reached Tywin's doors, he found two guards posted outside, both stiff and uneasy, as if they had seen something they could not comprehend as Kevan stepped through the doors.

The doors of Tywin's solar closed heavily behind Kevan, muting the wind and gold cries from the rock's outer walls. His brother sat in his high-backed chair of black oak, the great blind banner draped behind him, pale firelight flickering across the stern face, on the desk before him lay a single letter already opened “Kevan” Tywin began, his voice low “Do you recall the letter Tyrion sent us a while ago? The one you brought me?”

Kevan hesitated, recalling Tyrion's half mad scrawl about as he cleared his throat “I do. You tossed it in the fire.”

Tywin's eyes flicked up “I did. I believed it simple drunken nonsense but it appears the dwarf spoke more truth than lies.”

Kevan stiffened “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Tywin pushed the parchment across the desk as Kevan bent and read, and as his eyes traced the lines, his stomach knotted. The words were in Cersei's hands, sharp and bitter as she rode a stranger's who called themselves ‘Avengers’, who had come to Winterfell and the company of these otherworldly foreigners. She had wrote about how one possessed flying armor, which she had attempted to purchase for Joffrey ‘as a gift worthy of a king.’ The attempt had been rebuffed with what she described as insolent arrogance.

Kevan's throat dried as he reached the next lines. Cersei's temper, unchecked as ever, wrote of one of them and mocked him. She had not named him beyond the boy in the ‘iron armour’, but heard words described how when the foreigners had been demonstrating their weapons the boy in the iron armor had fired a single metal object and turn a hill far away into a crater that had caked everyone in attendance in dirt.

Kevan lowered the parchment, his mouth dry “Gods,” he murmured, half to himself, “Tyrion was telling the truth. These men and these machines, they exist.”

Tywin's gaze was cold as he spoke “It seem so, and my daughter, in her usual short sighted vanity, had made us appear as fools before them.”

Kevan’s mind reeled as he turned to his brother “If what she says is true then these Avengers wield powers beyond anything Westeros has ever seen, they could shatter walls, burn fleets and crops, destroy armies, and no one could stop them.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, steepling his fingers as he stared his brother down “Which means they are dangerous beyond measure, and dangerous men must be handled with care, not insulted or mocked, but used.”

Tywin did not speak for a long moment after Kevan looked up before he pierced Kevan with his usual stern glance “You will go.”

Kevan's first impulse was to ask how he would leave, by ship, by rider, or by some secret envoy, but he had learned long ago that questions at the beginning of an order were folly so he inclined his head instead “My Lord?”

Tywin’s eyes bored into him “You will take the hospitality offered by these foreigners and pass through their portal into their own world. You are present, House Lannister, as a house they should favor if you can manage it.” the way Tywin stared him down as he said the last part made Kevan understand Tywin would not stand for failure in this.

Kevan felt a weight settle in his gut “You would have me cross into the sky, into another realm?” He asked slowly.

“I will not send that drunken dwarf to embarrass our house with his whoring and drinking,” Tywin said coldly “If they have the power Cersei and Tyrion described then they are not mere Craftsman or merchants. They are makers and men who command engines and wield weapons unmake a hill, if they can give the North seeds that grow in the snow snow, if they have weapons that make armor meaningless, if their men in service are greater than any knight then the one who binds such power to his house rules the realm. You will see them and represent our house.”

Tywin's voice hardened “You will do everything in your power to make sure House Lannister is the first choice of these foreigner merchants and men of power. Money, land, marriage, lordships, whatever it takes if these Avengers or their kin can be brought to our side by coin, marriage or by the promise of shelter. You will do it, you will offer what others cannot, and you will not leave any means untried.”

Kevan’s brows rose “Marriage my lord?”

Tywin's mouth pressed into a thin line “Yes, if any of these warriors have can, or if they have companions who may be tied by bond or blood than the hand of a Lannister will be offered. If it comes to my house marrying into another line in their world, we will not flinch if one of these ‘Avengers’ folk will strengthen our power by taking a Lannister wife or son then see it done, the hand of a future Paramount is little way compared to the certainty of a power that can render hills obsolete as easily as breaking bread.”

Kevan had a flash of surprise, though quickly tempered by the long years of Taiwan's council. He understood by now that Tywin measured power by only one scale: Lasting advantage.

“You would marry all blood to them, to bind them to us.”

“I would bind them by whatever means will hold.” Tywin said “Some will not bend to oath or name, some will not take coin for their sword. But men and things are bought and led by many levers, land or law, promises of house, the honour of a name, the need of kin. Find whatever means moves them, and take advantage of it. If a mind will not bow, tempt it with knowledge. If a hand will not swear fealty, bind with corn and influence. If a heart will not yield, we will marry to it.”

Tywin leaned forward “Speak in terms they understand. Trade, protection, land. Offer them Lannisport as the gate to this world. Offer ports and warehouses and rights to miners and workshops. Make Lannister coin the corn they prefer, make us first in their ledgers.”

“If the Starks discover-”

“They will know only of what they find,” Tywin said flatly “Make it such that even if they know they can not take it from us, if they want to sell the land around the portal so be it. If they parley and negotiate then parley better and offer more. If they think their honor will bind these foreigners then let us test it, we will hold the coin these foreigners crave. You will observe and report what you find, make not of names, kin, habits, who these ‘Avengers’ trust, whom they fear, what they value. If we can bind one of these powerful strangers then House Lannister will rule supreme without fears of any other house ever again.”

-

Jon

Jon sat by Bran's bed, hands wrestling against his knees as he watched Bran's chest rise and fall in a shallow but steady rhythm, and that was alone to draw a breath of relief from him.

Across from him sat Centurion, gone was the blue and silver armour that Jon had been used to seeing him wear around Winterfell. Now he wore strange black cloth and trousers cut like no fabric any tailor Jon knew could make, but even without the armor, there was something in his eyes that made Jon hesitant around him.

In his hand was a glowing orange object, the liquid glowing as bright as any fire Jon had ever seen in his life “This,” Centurion began slowly “is called Extremitis.” He locked eyes with Jon “It could heal him better than any medicine we currently have. It will repair every wound in seconds, even nearly all fatal ones. Broken bones, scars, his damaged spine would be fixed, it can even regrow limbs.”

Jon felt cold as the words washed over him, as they stirred a memory of that night in Winterfell's Great Hall when he and the rest of the Starks had read the book about Toni Stark in the book of these ‘Avengers’.

He opened his mouth before he could stop himself “What’s the hesitation then?”

Centurion leaned back, his hazel eyes boring into Jon’s “Because before it was perfected it killed tons of innocent people, it burned them from the inside out, their bodies unable to adapt to this serum. Only three people have taken this since it has been perfected and it has changed them greatly.”

Jon’s heart hammered in his chest “Only three?”

Centurion nodded “Yes, I am one of them.”

And before Jon could speak Centurion spoke one simple word “Watch.” and before Jon could stop him he took a knife and buried it deep into his arm, cutting deep as he dragged it down as Jon jumped up with a startled yell “SEVEN HELLS! ARE YOU MAD IN THE HEAD?!”

But he stopped as he saw the wound close as Centurion wiped the blood away, the skin knitting itself together faster than Jon could track and in a blink of an eye there was nothing, no mark, no scar, only perfect flesh as if he hadn’t just rammed a knife through his arm.

Centurion’s eyes were cold as Jon stared speechless at the sight, his body tense as he looked up at Centurion “If we give this to your brother he will change, he will heal faster than any man alive, wounds that would kill a man will mean nothing, limbs will regrow just as fast as they are lost, he will be stronger, more resilient and perhaps something more than human, but we still do not know what all this thing is capable of and what is does to those who take it, that is the price that Bran will pay if he takes this.”

Jon swallowed hard as his thoughts raced, images of Bran walking again, Bran strong again, Bran never having pity sent his way and being able to become a great warrior filled his mind but it was shadowed by the dread of allowing the unnatural medicine these people offered run through his baby brother’s veins.

He opened his mouth to speak but the door opened before he could, a tall figure stepping in, Jon freezing as he saw the star on his chest and the shield on his back “Henry, your mother and Reed want a word with you.” he said.

Jon’s voice caught in his throat as he took in the man, he knew that star, that shield. He had seen the pictures of this man in the book and had even had stories told about him from the foreigners. Captain America.

Centurion gave a curt nod, rising without another glance at Jon or Bran as he slipped the syringe into a small case on his belt and left with a thanks aimed at the Captain.

The Captain lingered for a moment, Jon would have mistaken him for a Lannister if not for those blue eyes of his, instead of the sneer or contempt the Lannisters seemed to aim at everyone the Captain’s eyes were warm and kind as he locked eyes with Jon for a few seconds before giving a small nod and left, the door shutting softly behind him.

Jon sat frozen, thinking deeply of what had been offered to his little brother. Bran’s life and maybe his very nature might be changed by that strange glowing liquid, he would live, climb, walk, laugh and play but at what cost?

A small voice broke him out of his thoughts “...Jon?”

Jon’s head snapped up, his eyes wide as he saw Bran was wide awake and staring at him from his bed as he looked around in confusion “Where are we?” he asked, coughing as Jon hurried to give him a cup of water before enveloping his little brother in his arms “You’re safe Bran, you’re safe.”

Safe for now but should I let them change you even if it means you might be different than before? What would Father do in this situation? I need to talk to him at once.

Chapter Text

Stark Tower- Laboratory, 3:24 A.M.

The elevator doors hissed open and Henry stepped back into the lab, rolling his shoulder as he saw his mother, Banner, and Reed bent over a table.

Reed had three holographic double helices spinning in midair, Banner had four microscopes going at once, and his mother was leaning against a counter with a cup of coffee, a gleam in her eyes that made Henry eye her warily; usually, that meant she was going to do an experiment that would blow something up.

On one screen, molecular diagrams twisted and unfolded in shimmering orange-blue light; on another, a set of results looped, each ending in a giant, red blinking ‘ANOMALY DETECTED.’

“Reed, you’ve been staring at the sample for fifteen minutes. Are you going to tell us if it’s somehow human, or are we in alien territory again?” Toni asked as she sipped her cup.

“It’s human, just not modern human. The DNA strands are remarkably like people living in ancient Europe around 30,000 years ago.” Reed said dryly, not looking up.

Banner looked up from his station as he adjusted his glasses “Remarkably like ancient Europeans and still somehow thriving in a completely different biosphere, it shouldn’t be possible. The protein synthesis patterns shouldn’t even work in different atmospheres, and yet they do.”

Before anyone else could continue, Johnny Storm walked in, a sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other “Well, look who’s finally back from Narnia,” Johnny grinned, clapping Henry on the shoulder “Tell me you got some pretty girl’s name for me before you left medieval fantasy land. They wouldn’t be able to resist me, I’m the hottest thing on either side now.”

Henry rolled his eyes “Met the Queen. She’s pretty, but a total bitch.”

Johnny sighed dramatically, tilting his head back, “Story of my life, the pretty ones are always the bitchiest.” he nodded at the three bent over the counters “What’s this? They still hung up on the Nerd Shit?”

Toni didn’t bother looking up “Yes, Johnny. Very advanced ‘nerd stuff’ so please step back before you burn any of our IQ points just by standing by it.”

Johnny raised his sandwich in mock salute, “You would me, Mrs. Stark.”

“Doctor Stark.” Henry’s mother said sweetly before Reed cleared his throat as everyone turned their attention to him, “We’ve been theorizing that a portal opened up in ancient Europe around 20,000 years ago. More than likely, a one-way migration happened, and the ancient Europeans settled into the other world before the portal closed. And I’m talking about Paleolithic, pre-civilization ancient.”

“And it gets stranger, when comparing both boys’ DNA, it looks like they’re not brothers, at least not biological brothers.” Banner said, adjusting his glasses as he looked up.

Henry’s brows furrowed “Then what are they?”

Banner sighed, “Cousins, most likely, closely related but completely different parents. Based on the genetic markers, it would seem that if Lord Stark had siblings, one of them had Jon Snow with someone else on that side of the portal.”

“Well, we can’t really ask him that. Last I heard, two of Ned Stark’s siblings died over a decade ago, one was executed by a king alongside his father, and the other died at the end of their rebellion. The only living one he has left apparently joined a celibate organization far North of Winterfell.”

“So Ned Stark is lying.”

Johnny whistled lowly, “Oooh, family drama.”

Banner ignored him as he turned back to the data “But there’s more, when we compared the Starks DNA to ours, specifically yours and your mother’s, Henry, we found they share ancestral markers. Very faint but undeniable.”

Reed tapped one of the holographic threads, enlarging the segment where faint golden highlights shimmered “These sequences shouldn’t exist anywhere outside your family line, Toni, but yet here they are in both Bran and Jon.”

Henry froze as he stared at the strands “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Banner nodded, “It seems like a relative of one of your early ancestors, a cousin or sibling perhaps, crossed through the portal during the migration and their descendants became the Starks of Winterfell.”

Toni frowned “So the members of the Starks on the other side are what… distant cousins?”

Banner gave a small shrug “Extremely distant, but yes, you are related somehow. The odds of those markers evolving identically on separate worlds are astronomically small.”

“I am not getting them Christmas presents,” Henry said when he saw Johnny open his mouth with a smirk.

The door slid open the next moment, Peter and Harley walking in, Peter wearing pajama bottoms and an old hoodie, Harley in shorts and one of Henry’s old shirts.

Toni pinched the bridge of her nose “You two are supposed to be asleep, you have school in the morning.”

Peter raised a folded paper sheepishly “Yeah, about that, we forgot that you need to sign our permission slips for the Oscorp field trip next week.”

Harley nodded vigorously “They said if we don’t turn it in by tomorrow, we can’t go.”

Toni turned in her chair, putting up a mock wounded expression, “Oscorp? Really? What’s so great about Oscorp? You’ve got the coolest labs on Earth right here and over at the Baxter Building, we literally make much better things than they sell.”

Harley crossed his arms “We’re banned from the Baxter labs, remember?”

Reed didn’t even glance up as he adjusted the slide under his microscope “For good reason, last time you two were left unsupervised, you blew up half the chemistry wing.”

Johnny snorted loudly as Henry tried and failed to smother a laugh behind a cough.

Toni groaned and snatched the permission slips from them and signed them with a flourish “Fine, go see Oscorp, but if you do anything that will get you in trouble, you’re grounded.”

Johnny leaned against the table as he smirked, “I’m sure Larry and Ted will be thrilled to have them with them.”

Peter scowled at the older boy, “Their names are Ned and Harry, and you know it!”

Toni sighed “Please don’t antagonize them.”

Johnny held up both hands “Hey, it’s easy.”

Henry nodded “Yeah, too easy.”

Toni rolled her eyes “Get out of here, all four of you. We need to continue our research.”

The four boys exited the room, the door shutting as they heard Johnny say “So do they have any pretty Elf girls over there?”

-

Wintertown

Connor rubbed at his temples as another knight stomped out of his office red faced and muttering about ‘smug foreigners’, the man’s boots leaving trails of mud across the floor as he slammed the door shut, Connor exhaled through his nose as he rubbed his temple.

“I swear if one more of these oafs in armor tried to buy an assault rifle then I’m demanding a raise.”

He looked up as someone knocked lightly on the door, Connor looking up to see a man with a simple wool cloak with no sigil or crest on it standing in the doorway, a lute case hanging from his shoulders.

“Abel, you’re not here asking for weapons I hope.” Connor said, recognizing the man as a bard from Winterfell.

The bard smiled faintly, closing the door behind him “No ser, I’m here to ask for… trust.”

Connor arched an eyebrow “What’s brought this about?”

Abel crossed the room, lowering himself into the chair opposite the diplomat “What I am about you can not be shared by the Starks or any of the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. Can I trust you with that?”

Connor hesitated, he’d learned early that every secret had a price “You can.”

Abel inclined his head “Then listen well, you’ve seen the lands south of the Wall, their castles and banners but what do you know of what lies beyond the Wall?”

Connor shook his head “Not much, the report says it’s frozen wilderness, some tribes I believe.”

Abel’s eyes hardened “Aye, we call ourselves the Free Folk, we live in tribers, clans, warbands and villages. Some are raiders but other are peaceful and we all despise kneeling. We live by our own rules, under no crown. But witner is coming and with it come the Others and their armies of the dead.”

Connor let out a laugh “You’re talking about Zombies?’

Abel frowned “I am not familiar with that word.”

“We have stories of the walking dead in our world also, but they’re not real in my world.”

“They’re real here, I’ve seen  them, fought them and if they come south in force the Wall won’t hold forever.”

Connor leaned back in his chair “So why are you telling me this?”

Able rose to his feet “Because I am not Able, I am Mance Rayder, King-Beyond-the-Wall, and when I return to my people tomorrow I will tell them of another world, one where a man might live free without bending the knee or freezing to death. If your realm would take the peaceful among us, our children, sick and old I promise you they will work, obery your laws and never trouble your borders. I’m sure they will prefer it over kneeling or the death the Others bring.”

Connor exhaled slowly “You’re asking me to have an unknown numbers of refugees brought over to my world.”

“I am asking for a chance to live.” Mace said.

Connor was silent for a long time then he nodded once “I can’t promise anything but I’ll talk to my superiors.”

Mace inclined his head in gratitude and turned to leave “That’s all I ask.”

When the door shut behind him Connor sat in silence for several long seconds before speaking “You got all of that?”

From the shadows a woman stepped out “Every word, and I think this will work in our favor.”

Connor frowned “How will letting a bunch of savages cross into our world work in our favor?”

“A few displaced members of their population would make excellent test subjects for our experiments. No official records, no one would notice a few people disappearing in the relocation. Our contact our superiors.”

Connor’s mouth curved into a faint, calculating smirk “Understood.”

The woman turned to leave then paused and leaned into his ear “Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.”

-

Bran’s Room, 9:04 A.M.

The sunlight streamed through the windows as Henry walked into the room, stretching as he saw Bran sitting upright and watching the TV as Jon was perched on the windowsill looking out at the city in fascination.

“Morning gentleman,” Henry said as he stepped in, a box of old comic books under his arm “Figured you two would appreciate something to look at beside the walls or morning talk shows.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, squinting at the colorful colors Henry dropped at the foot of Bran’s bed “What’s a ‘Green Lantern?’” he asked slowly, a frown on his face.

“Only the best superhero to exist, or well the best fictional superhero. They don’t actually exist here. Guy named Hal Jordan gets a magic ring powered by willpower that can create anything he can imagine, he fights dictators and other beings in space with his ring. Complete badass.”

Bran leaned forward, eyes sparkling as he looked at the comics “So like a sorcerer?”

“Sure, let’s go with that, except a Green Lantern is coolor and has better fashion sense.” Henry shrugged.

Jon frowned “Your little brother Peter was in here earlier with some more of these books, but they were about this ‘Batman’ I think?”

Henry snorted “Yeah, but Batman is overrated. Rich guy playing dressup in a bat costume while he punched clowns, don’t get me wrong I like the costume but Green Lantern is just better in every way imaginable.”

Henry turned serious as he looked between the two “Anyways, I wanted to ask if you thought about the offer we talked about yesterday.”

Jon stiffened “I did, but I want to talk with our father first, he deserves to know and decide if we are to agree to give Bran this… serum.”

For a moment Bran thought he saw something flick across Henry’s face as his eyes flicked between Bran and his brother “Of course, that’s fair.”

Bran looked between them, worry tugging at him “If I take it I’ll be able to walk again? Not just move but be able to fight, run, climb… I’ll be able to be a knight?”

Henry’s smile turned genuine as he turned to the boy “You wouldn’t just walk Bran. You’d run faster than anyone you know, you’ll heal faster, fight harder, You’ll be the greatest knight your world has ever seen.”

Bran’s mouth fell open slightly, hope and disbelief warring in his eyes Jon reached over and ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately.

Then the TV caught all of the attention.

Jon had left it on low volume earlier when one of the Maesters had shown him how, the show had been on a new broadcast and now it showed a crowd in front of a stage, a man standing at the podium flanked by security and a small group of people “-and as we face a new era in our world, it’s clear that after the Battle of New York Humanity must adapt, new threats require new guardians beside the Avengers.”

Henry frowned as he stared at the screen as he examined the group behind the speaker. A tall man with red sunglasses, a woman with a long white cloak, a young woman with silver streaks in her hair, what appeared to be a big blue and furry hulk, a red haired woman, a dark skinned woman that was floating in the air slightly above the grown, and a short man with a grumpy look on his face were all standing patiently behind the speaker as a balf amn in a well-tailored suit rolled forward in a wheelchair.

“My name is Charles Xavier, I am a mutant and the founder of a team dedicated to protecting both humanity and our kind, we are the X–men.”

Bran’s eyes widened “What’s a mutant?”

Henry frowned “You have got to be kidding me. I have no idea what a ‘mutant’ is, but I guess everyone wants a gimmick now that the Avengers are a thing. First aliens, Gods, and now we’ve got… whatever they people are.”

Jon looked at the screen as this ‘Professor Xavier’ was still speaking about peace, unity, understanding and coexistence but several members of the crowd were yelling about dangers and insults while others were cheering and applauding.

Bran looked troubled “They hate them because they’re different?”

Henry sighed “Some people fear what they can’t control, not matter the world.”

Henry turned and made his way to the door “I’ll talk to someone about putting you two in contact with your father, it shouldn’t be long before they come in to check on you two and bring food.”

With that, he left them to stare at the screen as the bald man continued talking over the roar of the crowd.

Chapter Text

Winterfell Keep, Ned Stark’s Solar

Ned watched as one of the ‘S.H.I.E.L.D’ agents came into the solar, a strange black thing on her head as she held a strange black box in her hands “We’ve got a clean connection, signal’s at 96%, should be safe for a long conversation.”

Ned’s jaw tightened as she handed him the strange little black box “Sir, the connection’s live. Just hold the button down when you speak and they’ll hear you.”

Ned took it carefully as though it might burn his if he held it for to long “And they… they can talk to me through this?”

“Yes, Lord Stark,” the woman said “It’s linked directly through the stabilizer frequency, your sons are waiting to talk to you on the other side.”

Ned nodded once then brough it to his mouth “Bran? Jon?”

For a moment there was only static, then came a burst of crackling sounds, a muffled voice that was faint but familiar “Father?”

Ned’s heart clenched, recognizing it as Bran’s “Aye, Bran, it’s me.” he swallowed hard “Are you well son?”

On the other end came laughter, small, breathless and full of disbelief “I can feel my legs again, Father. I can stand, I walked this morning!”

Ned’s breath caught as around him a few agents exchanged startled looks but he ignored them  “You… you walked?” his voice broke slightly “Gods be good… Bran…”

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, willing the moisture away before he spoke again “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to heart that son.”

“Maester Stark’s machines healed me,” Bran said, his voice filled with excitement “They gave me some kind of brace so I can move, it’s like I never broke them at all.”

Then came a shuffling on the other side, a different voice that he recognized as Jon.

“Father it’s Jon.”

Ned exhaled shakily, gripping the little black box tighter “Jon, my boy, you sound older.”

“I feel older,” Jon said, his tone wry but heavy “We’re safe here, they’ve treated us well. They’ve fed us, clothed us, even gave us there strange colorful books they said were for children my and Bran’s age in their world. But there’s something you should know.”

Ned straightened “Go on.”

Jon hesitated and that was enough to make Ned’s stomach knot “Henry Stark, Centurion, he us an offer, says they can make Bran stronger and heal not just his legs but make him more. He said something about a serum.”

Ned frowned at the unfamiliar word “A serum?”

“Yes, Father,” Jon said, his voice filled with unease “He showed us what it does, he…” there was a pause, static filling the air “He stabbed himself, deep, through his own arm, I though he’d lost his mind, then he dragged the knife down to his wrist, blood was everywhere-”

Ned’s hands clenched around the box, knuckles whitening.

“But before I could stop him the wound just…” Jon’s voice dropped to a whisper “closed. Blood stopped seeping out, the skin sealed itself in seconds. It was as if it never happened, he said the serum did that, that it could make Bran the same.”

Several of the agents in the room shared looks but again Ned ignored them.

Ned spoke slowly “And Bran… what did you tell him?”

“I told him yes, Father! Or I will! I can fight again, I can be a knight! I can protect our family like Robb and Jon. Please, let me do it!”

“Bran…” Ned breathed, the ache in his chest deepening “My son, do you know what you’re asking? This power… this magic it is not the gift it seems, I’ve seen what power does to those who seek it.”

“But this isn’t dark magic, Father!” Bran insisted, voice trembling “Maester Strange said so, it’s not like sorcery or blood magic, it’s like medicine.”

Jon’s voice returned steadier now, though edged with uncertainty “Father, I won’t let them hurt him, but he’s not wrong. The serum healed Henry’s wounds instantly, if it truly can do that to Bran that it could change everything.”

Ned closed his eyes, in his mind he saw Bran lying in the snow, saw Maester Luwin’s grim face, heard Catelyn’s weeping, and now his son stood again, laughing, dreaming, burning with a fire that might have once been burned out. How could he say no to that?

But he had also seen what unrestrained power could do to kings, to the realm and to people’s souls “You are both to do nothing until I speak to the Avengers myself, do you understand?”

Bran’s voice faltered “Yes, Father.”

“I mean it,” Ned said “If what you say is true then what they offer Bran is greater than what any Maester can, and no gift like that is given freely.”

There was a pause then the faint sound of Bran’s exhale before Jon spoke softly “He didn’t seem cruel, Father. Reckless, yes. But he meant it when he said they want to help Bran.”

“I believe that they believe it, but belief alone does not make a man’s hands clean.”

The line went silent, then Bran’s small voice came again “Father?”

“Aye?”

“When you come for us, will you bring Mother too?”

Ned’s throat closed, he looked away for a second to the wall “Aye, Bran,” he said at last “Your mother will come, we both will.”

The connection flickered as the voices dissolved into static, one of the agents turning and telling him the connection was broken and they’d need a while to reconnect it.

Ned took a deep breath, before thanking them and walking out, telling a servant to bring his family to the great hall.

When at last Robb, Catelyn, Arya and Sansa were there they looked nervously at each other before Ned spoke “I spoke with them.”

Catelyn’s head snapped up “You spoke… Ned, you mean Bran and Jon?”

He nodded once “Through one of their… devices. A ‘Walkie-Talkie’ they call it. The men of SHIELD said it could carry voices through the portal.” he paused, his gaze distant, still half in awe of what he’d experienced “It was strange, like speaking through a shell and hearing the sea answer back except the sea spoke my son’s voice.”

Robb leaned forward, eyes bright with hope, “Are they well, Father? Truly well?”

 Ned drew a slow breath, his hand tightening slightly on the table “They are alive, safe and Bran…” he paused, regaining his composure “Bran can walk again.”

The room went still, and for a heartbeat, none of them moved, then Catelyn rose sharply to her feet, one hand going to her mouth. “Walk, he walks?”

Ned nodded “Aye, he said he stood and walked this very morning, no pain, he laughed when he told me.”

Catelyn sat back down heavily, her hand trembling against her skirts as tears sprang to her eyes “Oh, gods be good…” she whispered “My boy, my sweet boy…”

Sansa reached for her mother’s hand, squeezing it gently, her own face pale but relief was clear on her face “That’s… that’s wonderful,” she murmured softly, though her voice wavered “truly.”

Arya had a fierce grin on her face “I knew he’d get better! I told everyone Bran wouldn’t let being crippled stop him, I told them!”

Robb smiled faintly, though his brows furrowed as he studied his father’s expression “You don’t see happy, Father. What else did they tell you?”

Ned exhaled slowly “Bran’s recovery came through the work of the Iron Man and Centurion. They’re… inventors of some kind. They and their people made machines that healed him, but now…” his gaze swept over them all, grave and careful “Now they offer him more.”

Catelyn’s brows creased, the mother’s instinct already on high alert “More? What could be more than giving him back his legs?”

Ned hesitated before answering, “Centurion offered Bran something he called a ‘serum’ He siad it would make him stronger, faster, able to heal wounds in moments.” he looked down for a second, then locked eyes with them as his voice turned grim “Jon said he saw the boy drive a blade through his own arm from elbow to wrist and the wound closed before his eyes.”

Catelyn’s breath caught “Seven above…” she made the sigh of the seven across her chest though the gesture felt hollow far from her sept “That’s not healing Ned, that’s sorcery.”

“Aye, though they name it by another word, ‘science.’ They claim it’s not magic but a craft of the mind and body.”

Arya’s face lit with wonder “So Bran could be like a knight from the old tales? Stronger, faster like one of thes heroes?”

But Ned’s expression remained hard “Or like the monsters in them.”

Robb crossed his arms “What do you mean to do, Father?”

Ned looked at each of them in the eye before he answered “I mean to see this world for myself, this Avengers Tower they speak of. I’ll not trust my sons’ lives to the words of strangers, no matter how fair their promises sound. Your mother and I will go through the portal together, we’ll see what truth there is in these ‘serums’ and decide if Bran should take it.”

Catelyn’s eyes widened “Ned, that place is… it’s another world. You mean to leave Winterfell entirely?”

He nodded “Aye, for a short time only, they say their flying machines can cross vast distances in mere hours, we should be gone no more than a few days, if the gods will it.”

Arya immediately sprang to her feet “Then I’m coming with you!”

Ned didn’t even hesitate “No.”

“But Father-!”

“Arya,” his tone brooked no argument “This is not an adventure, nor a hunt. It’s another realm entirely, one with weapons and forces we can scarcely understand.” You will stay here with your brothers and sister.”

Robb’s jaw tightened “Then let me come,” he said “You’ll need someone by your side who can fight if things go wrong.”

Ned turned to him, a flicker of pride visible in his eys “Your place is here Robb. You are the Stark in Winterfell while I’m gone.”

Robb frowned though his shoulders sagged after a few seconds “Aye, Father,” he muttered quietly “I’ll hold the North for you, but if anything happens-”

“Nothing will, you’ll have the bannermen, Maester Luwin and the guards. See that the people are safe, that the hearths stay warm, that is your duty now.”

Arya scowled, her fists clneching “You always get to stay behind and play Lord while the rest of us-”

“Enough, Arya,” Catelyn said sharply, though her tone softened a heartbeat later “Your father’s right, this isn’t safe, we don’t know what lies beyond that light.”

Sansa, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her voice quieter and more uncertain that usual “I’ll stay too, Father,” she said, eyes darting briefly toward the window where the night air shimmered faintly with the moon light “I’ll help Robb with the letters and the household while you’re gone, but…” she hesitated “Do you really think there’s another world and not just an illusion their sorcerers are creating?”

Ned looked at her as his gaze softened “I didn’t think so,” he said quietly “ But I’ve heard my sons’ voices from a small box tonight, I’ve heard Bran laugh again, so aye, I believe it now.”

-

Dragonstone

Stannis Baratheon stood over a map of Westeros, arms clapsed behind his back, and his face in his usual grim expression.

The only sound was the soft shuffle of parchment as Maester Cressen entered the room, his steps slow as he glanced at the letters “A letter from Winterfell, My Lord,” Cressen bowed, “From your brother.”

Stannis turned slightly, his mouth twitching as if the very mention of his brother left a foul tast in his mouth.

“Robert writes?” he said flatly, taking the sealed parchment with a curt gesture “It must be serious, or he’d have sent one of his fools to fetch me instead.”

The seal was broken with a sharp flick of his wrist, Stannis reading in silence as his frown deepened with every word.

Cressen waited patiently, the flames painting his wrinkled face in light as he watched his Lord.

Finally, Stannis exhaled through his nose “He’s summoned me to King’s Landing.”

Cressen tilted his head “Summoned, my lord?”

“Summoned, yes,” Stannis said, his voice filled with disdain “To serve as Hand of the King, he writes that Eddard Stark refused the post before he left, citing an emergency in the North.”

He glanced He glanced down once more at the parchment, compressing his lips as he reread a few of the lines, the side of his mouth twitching with incredulity. "And here, he speaks of. nonsense."

Cressen blinked “Nonesense, my lord?”

Stannis turned the letter toward him, jabbing a finger at the ink as though it had personally insulted him “Flying metal birds, men in armor that breath fire, voices from the sky and strange people that come from a tear in the North.”

Cressen frowned, the lines in his forehead deepening as Stannis gave a sharp, humorless snort “he was deep in his cups, no doubt. But it matters little what fancies he fills the page with, the summons is a chance. I will go to King’s Landing and reveal the Queen’s get are her bastards with her brother, and that it is what Jon Arryn died for. Send Ravens to House Estermont, Tarth and Fell, we will march on King’s Landing with proof and men enough to see justice done.”