Winter's vast wings beat against the icy wind as Harry, Lyanna, and young Sirius clung to the saddle. The dragon's body shimmered, fading into invisibility with a pulse of its pendant. To anyone looking up, the sky was empty, though the air trembled faintly with the sound of beating wings.
Lyanna pressed her arm around Sirius, who squealed in delight.
"Hold tight, little wolf," she said with a smile. "You're flying higher than even the Eyrie's towers."
Sirius kicked his feet and leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement.
"Faster, Winter! Faster!"
Harry chuckled, steadying him.
"He's already faster than everything, lad. You'll see."
From above, the Ice Raven village came into sight, huddled against the snow like a dark patch on white canvas. Smoke curled from crooked chimneys. The palisade was crude, built from logs and stones, but sturdy enough to mark their territory. To Harry's eyes, nothing had changed. It was still the same village that once gave him and Lyanna passage through the frozen land.
Winter landed in a clearing far from the village, snow spraying under his talons. The dragon lowered his neck so the three could dismount. Harry patted Winter's scales, whispering in his mind, Hide and wait. The dragon rumbled softly, then folded himself into the shadows, invisible once more.
They trudged toward the village on foot, their breath misting in the air. Sirius skipped beside them, crunching the snow with every step.
When the first villagers spotted them, a cry went up. Men armed with axes and spears gathered quickly, suspicion heavy in their eyes. But Harry noticed something else—these were not ragged wanderers. Their furs were cleaner, their tools sharper, their movements more disciplined than before.
An older man with streaks of white in his beard stepped forward. Recognition lit his face when he saw Lyanna.
"Stark," he said, bowing his head. "So you have returned."
Lyanna smiled warmly.
"Not Stark," she corrected gently. "Lyanna Gryffindor. And my son, Sirius and I hope you remember Harry."
The man's eyes widened, and whispers ran through the gathered villagers. Harry stepped forward, his voice steady.
"I came to see what became of those who once showed us kindness. You gave us passage when others would have looted us. For that, I have not forgotten you."
The man's weathered face softened.
"Times have been hard. The cold grows harsher. Game grows scarce. But we endure, as always."
Harry looked around, at the thin faces of children peeking from behind their mothers, at the men clutching their spears not with pride but desperation. He glanced at Lyanna, and she nodded.
"You don't have to endure as you always did," Harry said. "You can be more. You can join us—become Narnians."
The villagers murmured at the strange word. One woman stepped forward, clutching her shawl.
"And what does that mean? To be Narnian?"
Lyanna answered, her voice carrying warmth.
"It means food enough for every mouth. It means schools where your children will learn letters instead of hunger. It means you will not fear the next storm, or the next raiding clan. It means safety, and a future."
The villagers' suspicion faltered, replaced by hope. The elder stroked his beard, studying Harry with keen eyes.
"And what must we give in return?" he asked.
Harry met his gaze evenly.
"Only your will to work. In Narnia, no one lives off another's back. Every hand has purpose. Every person contributes. If you are willing, then you are welcome."
For a long moment, silence hung heavy. Then the elder slammed the butt of his spear into the ground.
"We will hear more," he said. "Come into the hall. Let us talk."
Sirius tugged at Lyanna's cloak as they followed the elder inside.
"Mama," he whispered, eyes bright, "are they really going to come live with us?"
Lyanna squeezed his hand.
"That depends, little wolf. But perhaps soon, you'll have many new friends."
The chieftain's son, Jarl, strode into the village dragging a slain moose behind him. Snow still clung to his hair and beard, and the weight of the animal made his shoulders glisten with sweat despite the bitter cold. The moment he spotted Harry and Lyanna, his eyes widened with recognition.
"Seven hells—so you survived!" Jarl exclaimed, dropping the moose with a heavy thud. His voice boomed across the gathering villagers. "There was a storm the night you left. We all thought the blizzard swallowed you whole."
Lyanna smiled faintly, her cheeks pink from the wind.
"Storms don't kill Starks, Jarl. And they certainly don't kill Gryffindors."
Harry stepped forward, shaking the young man's arm with a firm grip.
"I'm not that easy to kill," he said with quiet amusement. "Come, we've much to talk about. Your father should hear this too."
They moved into the longhouse, the great firepit glowing red at the center. Smoke curled upward through a hole in the roof, and the scent of roasting meat hung in the air. The villagers pressed close, eager to hear what these returning guests had to say.
Harry spoke for a long while, describing Narnia in vivid detail: the stone houses with warm hearths, the paved streets, the schools where children learned letters and numbers, the great ships that sailed to Essos and returned laden with food, silks, and spices.
The warriors frowned at first—freedom to them meant lawlessness, and lawlessness meant pride. But when Harry explained that in Narnia, every man could work for his family's comfort, and every child had a full belly, their eyes softened. Mothers exchanged hopeful glances. Old men nodded thoughtfully.
Jarl leaned forward.
"And these ships you speak of? They truly cross the sea?"
Harry smiled.
"Not only cross. They bring back treasures your people have never known. Whale oil, iron, firewhisky, fine cloth. A man in Narnia may have more than survival—he may have a future."
A silence followed, broken only by the crackling fire. Then the elder of the clan—stooped but sharp-eyed—spoke.
"You would take us from our home?"
Lyanna answered, her voice steady.
"We would take you from hunger and cold. Narnia is not chains. You will still be free folk, but free in ways you've never imagined."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. The decision was not easy, but the temptation of warmth, food, and security was greater than their pride.
At last, Jarl rose and slammed his palm against the table.
"We will go."
The cheer that followed was cautious but real.
Harry reached into his cloak and drew out a massive rope, thick as a man's arm. He laid it across the floor, and the firelight gleamed off its strange sheen.
"This," Harry said, "will carry you to Narnia. When you are ready—every man, woman, and child—touch the rope together. Speak the word Narnia. Bring your belongings, bring your hearts, and it will deliver you safely. None will be left behind."
The villagers stared in awe, some crossing themselves in superstition, others leaning closer to touch the rope as though it were alive.
Lyanna took Sirius into her arms, the child wriggling with excitement.
"Say farewell for now, Sirius," she whispered.
"Goodbye!" the boy called brightly, waving at the villagers. "See you in Narnia!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd, breaking the tension.
Harry and Lyanna clasped Jarl's hands once more before stepping out into the snow. Winter shimmered into sight, wings folding low so they could mount. The villagers gasped, some stumbling backward at the sight of the massive dragon, though awe quickly overtook fear.
Harry gave them a final nod.
"When the time comes, you'll know the truth of what I've spoken."
With that, Winter launched into the sky, vanishing into invisibility once more. But instead of turning northward, Harry angled the dragon south.
Lyanna leaned close, the wind tearing through her hair.
"Where are we going, husband?"
Harry's emerald eyes glimmered.
"There are some people I must meet."
Winter descended silently onto the frost-bitten peak above the Dreadfort lands. The dragon remained cloaked in invisibility, his vast wings stirring the air without a whisper. Sirius clung to Harry's arm, grinning wide, while Lyanna's eyes studied the familiar river valleys below. She knew now where Harry meant to go.
The three of them climbed down the rocky slope until the smoke of a small mill's chimney came into view. A modest stone cottage huddled against the trees, the wheel of the mill half-frozen in the stream. Harry rapped his knuckles against the door, and Lyanna pulled Sirius close, tucking the boy's face into her furs.
A young woman opened it, weariness etched in her eyes. She held a swaddled infant to her breast. Harry recognized her instantly—Beth, Oliver's wife—though she gave no sign of knowing him.
"Is Oliver home?" Harry asked gently.
"He's at the mill," Beth replied, her voice cautious. Her eyes drifted over their fine cloaks and silks, and suspicion flickered before she stepped aside. "But… come in, m'lord. Best not to keep a child standing in the snow."
They entered the small room. The fire was little more than embers, the shelves nearly bare. Lyanna's heart pinched at the sight—she had grown used to the abundance of Narnia, and now she saw again how the North truly fared.
The door creaked again, and Oliver himself strode in, sleeves rolled up, smelling of sawdust and cold river water. His eyes widened as he froze on the threshold.
"Lord Griffindor!" he shouted, voice breaking with disbelief.
Beth gasped, turning sharply toward her husband.
"This… this is him?" she whispered.
Oliver's grin split his face. He rushed forward, seizing Harry's arm in both hands.
"The man who cut down Roose Bolton, who freed me from that bastard's first night claim."
Beth's eyes softened with sudden recognition. She clutched her child close, her gaze lingering on Harry.
"Sorry for not recognising you milord, I only saw you once… on our wedding day. You saved us."
Harry inclined his head, his expression calm but warm.
"I only did what had to be done. The Boltons were butchers, and their time ended with me."
Oliver pulled out a chair, urging Harry to sit.
"Gods, you've come back to us after all these years. We thought you'd left Westros for good."
Lyanna exchanged a glance with Harry, a small smile tugging at her lips. Sirius wriggled free, bounding toward the hearth to peer at the baby in Beth's arms.
"He's small," Sirius declared."
"Sirius," he warned, though there was affection in his tone.
Harry listened as Oliver recounted what had become of the Bolton lands.
"After you struck down Roose," Oliver said grimly, "the Starks divided his holdings. Some went to the Umbers, some to lesser houses that bent the knee. A few upstarts were raised to lordship for their loyalty. But…" he hesitated, glancing at Beth, "for us, it's been nothing but trouble. Soldiers whisper we helped you, Harry. They squeeze us for coin, take what they please."
Beth nodded, her face pale.
"Every bit of gold you left us, every copper—it all went into their hands. To keep them from burning our mill, from hurting the babes."
Harry's jaw tightened. He glanced at Lyanna, who stood silently with Sirius by her side, then back at Oliver.
"That ends today," Harry said firmly. "You will not live like hunted beasts for the rest of your lives."
It was then the door opened again, and Beth ushered in a familiar figure. Dorin entered, his shoulders broader than Harry remembered, with his wife Marya at his side. She looked unchanged, her dark hair braided neatly. Their eldest, Elsa, now stood almost as tall as Lyanna's shoulder. She gasped in delight.
"Lord Gryffindor!" she cried, rushing forward. "I remember you!"
Harry laughed softly, bending to clasp her shoulders.
"You've grown into a fine young girl, Elsa. And Nina…" he crouched lower to catch the eye of the younger girl clinging to her mother's skirts. "I suppose you wouldn't remember me. You were still in swaddling cloths the last time I saw you."
Nina peeked out shyly, her wide eyes softening when Sirius waved at her.
"This is my son," Harry said proudly, pulling Sirius forward. "Sirius Gryffindor. And this—" he reached for Lyanna's hand, drawing her close, "—is my wife, Lyanna."
Dorin bowed stiffly, then straightened, his face lighting with genuine warmth.
"A wife and son… the gods have blessed you indeed."
Harry motioned for them all to sit. He wasted no time.
"I'll not dance around the truth. I've built a kingdom beyond the Wall. Stone houses, schools, food enough for all, ships that sail to Essos. A future." He let his gaze sweep across Oliver, Dorin, their wives, their children. "Come with me. Your families will want for nothing. Your children will grow with learning and strength. You will have work, good work, with pay enough to live in comfort and dignity."
Oliver blinked, stunned, and then his voice cracked.
"You mean… leave all this behind? The mill, the fields?"
Harry spread his hands.
"What have they brought you but hunger and fear? In Narnia, you will live free. You will be Narnians, no longer the prey of soldiers or lords who care nothing for you."
Dorin's decision was instant.
"We'll go," he said with steel in his voice. "Marya and I spoke of it often, what might become of us. If you'd have us, Lord Gryffindor, we'll serve your kingdom."
Marya nodded in firm agreement. Elsa's eyes shone. Even Nina gave a small, shy smile.
Oliver exchanged a look with Beth, and she whispered something to him. Then he turned to Harry, resolute.
"We'll go too. Better my children grow in a place where the future is not measured by how long winter lasts."
Harry leaned forward, clasping each man's hand in turn.
"Then it's settled. You'll come with me. Your names will be honored among the first friends of Narnia."
Lyanna's eyes glistened as she watched. Sirius tugged on Elsa's sleeve, whispering eagerly about dragons. The room, once dim and worn, now seemed lit with new hope.
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