novelraw Chapter 164 164: Of Cryptic Legacies
Chapter 164 164: Of Cryptic Legacies
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326 AC, Winterfell
Rickon Stark stared at the entrance to his family's crypts, readying himself for the answers that he had searched for since he was but a child. Perhaps it was wrong to have such an obsession, but then again, his obsession with one of the greatest Starks to grace the halls of Winterfell was a justified one in his opinion.
Cregan Stark, the White Wolf of the North, the bringer of Dawn, the slayer of the Night… Was there a more mysterious figure in the last few centuries than such a man? It was a surprise that tales of the White Wolf's deeds were so sparsely written, with most of them having been turned into song, and the few ones made by Maesters, who had not witnessed them directly, were rarely any better. If that wasn't proof of the rot that had been the Old Citadel of Oldtown, he did not know what else would be.
He had always mourned that despite the depths of the man's legend, very little was known of Cregan Stark, and yet, there was little that he could do to solve it. In a way, that was the fate that surrounded most legends, for very little was known of Aegon the Conqueror, of Bran the Builder, of Durran Godsgrief, aside from their tales and legends.
It was not until he became the Lord of Winterfell that he saw a journal in what was once his father's solar. Given the dust that surrounded it, it had remained untouched for some time, and even then, most of the pages were barely hanging inside the journal, some of which were almost completely unreadable, though some had some information, true information, regarding Cregan Stark, beyond his legend.
Rickon had discovered in the few pages that he could read clearly that Cregan Stark's uncle, Bennard Stark, had attempted to usurp him during his regency, but failed, hence his exile to the Wall, where he ruled as Lord Commander after a few decades.
Interestingly, it was said that the Old Gods themselves chose the White Wolf, showing their favour using Bran the Builder's medallion, which proclaimed him to be the legacy of the King of Winters. It was also the same medallion that Rickon now wore, just as his father had before him, and his father before him.
To think that this wolf medallion had been passed down from Lord to heir from the times of Cregan Stark, that it might have dated back to the Age of Heroes… It was truly a treasure of House Stark, one that he would treasure for the rest of his days.
That should have been the end of it, but there was a name that he saw mentioned a few times, one that he had never heard of. Harry Potter. Though the damage to the parchment was too severe to get a full account of his involvement in the event, it was quite near the accounts of Cregan Stark's rise to becoming Lord Stark.
The Grandmaester of the Citadel of Winterfell had thought him to be some member of House Potter, some knightly House in the Reach. That should have been the end of it, the name of some upjumped southerner in Winterfell, maybe even a merchant, nothing more, but the name would not leave him, an instinct that it had been important.
As the thought would not leave his mind, he contacted the Citadel of Highgarden using his glass candle. To his surprise, when he had inquired towards the identity of this Harry Potter, he had been asked, under no uncertain terms, if he was japing.
Apparently, it was the possible name of some sorcerer in Dragonstone that existed centuries ago, one that a few historians were obsessed with. Rickon did not wish to tell them why he looked for such a man, and had instead invited the expert on this sorcerer, an Archmaester by the name of Samuel Tarly, hoping that he would shed some light on the subject.
He had not expected the Tarly man to be almost as large as the late Lord Manderly, who had literally feasted himself to death a couple of years ago. Nevertheless, the young man did seem kind-hearted and more than enthusiastic to explain everything he had on this 'Harry Potter'.
Apparently, the man had been trying to find the homes of the sorcerer in Dragonstone, and had been planning an expedition there, only for some Targaryen nonsense to take place, this time with the Crown Prince breaking a betrothal with the Targaryens of Dorne, a branch whose head was rumoured to not be the most stable of persons. Rickon cared very little for it all, as much like his ancestors before him, he had no plans to involve the North with the affairs of anything south of the Neck. He paid his taxes to the damn royals, and that should be enough for them.
After some moons with the man, Rickon decided that he was of the good sort, that despite his appearance, he was an honest and good worker. He was also knowledgeable about everything related to history, with much of it in the North, and had much more enthusiasm than even the Archmaester of history in the Citadel of Winterfell. It truly was a sad state of affairs when some Reachmen were more interested in their history than their most learned scholars, and he would need to speak with the Grand Maester soon.
Tarly was able to match the recorded reports from the steward of Winterfell with the same passage in the journal and had discovered that there had been tremors going back to his family's crypts by the time Cregan Stark was chosen by the Old Gods.
Were the crypts where he had been gifted the medallion? Was this where he was chosen? Rickon had never ventured deeply into the endless crypts, but had finally decided to do it, bringing Samuel Tarly with him. Without him, they wouldn't have even made this discovery, and he felt instinctively that the man was trustworthy. He was not sure why they existed, but he had learned to trust these instincts over the years, and they had been proven to be the correct choice every time.
Rickon was sure it was some form of magic, but he had never been formally educated in the practice, though not for a lack of trying. Magic needed to manifest first, and telling someone that he had hunches, which appeared randomly, would easily get him laughed out of the Citadel. Still, it was a shame that his cousin, Brandon, was not there, as he was instead in Greywater watch working on honing his magic as a Greenseer, which was something of a secret of the North. He was certainly knowledgeable enough regarding magic and the history of House Stark to have helped.
He did not know what he sought there, perhaps a sign of Cregan Stark, or some measure of his legacy, but it would be interesting, nonetheless. It was likely to be a fruitless endeavour, though he felt the need to take it.
He turned towards the Maester, whose face was paler than it ever had been before, and spoke up, "Need I remind you of my words, Tarly?"
Somehow, the man's face turned even paler, "You do not, Lord Stark. None shall know of anything I witness this night, or any knowledge that I may glean, and I shall require your permission before writing anything on it either, or in the event that I do have it, you shall read it before any other eyes peer at it. You need not worry, my Lord."
While the Maester had done an admirable job of stopping himself from shaking in fear at his threat, that did not change the fact that he looked as if he had pissed himself the first time he threatened him. Gut feeling or no, he was the Lord of Winterfell and would not tolerate any slights to his ancestors in the place of their restful sleep.
He chuckled, and they both entered the crypts, closing the Ironwood doors behind them. The moment he did so, he felt his medallion, one that Cregan Stark once wore, warm up slightly, and he knew that he was on the correct path.
With a renewed sense of purpose and their torches lit, they made their way to the depths of the crypts, hoping to solve their mystery. Of course, that enthusiasm dimmed greatly when he looked upon his father's statue, holding an iron sword, and looking down at him, judgingly.
He spared a mournful thought for the man; he continued his walk down, likely for a long journey, with only their torches illuminating the ends of the crypts. His companion must have noticed the same, as he spoke up, "I had heard that Winterfell's crypts were larger, but no descriptions could ever do them justice."
Rickon preened slightly in pride, "Aye. It is said that they are even larger than the castle itself, housing the corpse of every fallen Stark since Bran the Builder, himself. For ten thousand years, my family has laid their dead to rest in this place."
"All of them, my lord?" the Maester suddenly asked.
Rickon stopped and gave his companion a dry look, as if daring him to contradict him. To his surprise, the man was not intimidated, which often meant that he was convinced about what he would say, "What I meant to say was that I noticed that there was no statue of Cregan Stark so far. That is assuming that House Stark had been buried in the order of their time of death, of course. The swords are also not rusting, though I suppose that some magic could have been involved. If the Builder did make these crypts, then some magicks are to be expected, of course."
Rickon stiffened in realisation, and he raised his torch, and was met with the name of Alaric Stark, who had been Lord of Winterfell during the Conciliator's reign, predating Cregan Stark. He walked back hurriedly and found that his companion was, in fact, correct, for it seemed that every Stark in living memory was buried in the crypts, but not the greatest of them all.
As he continued his journey onward, he couldn't help but wonder why that was. Why was it that Cregan Stark of all people, one who had been venerated across the North and even beyond, not buried amongst his family, amongst his ancestors, and his children, with each statue of the Lords of Winterfell, or Kings of Winter, holding steel swords without a hint of rust on them?
As they walked down, the air grew hotter and perhaps more oppressive, steel weapons turned to bronze, and the names began to be written in the Old Tongue, instead of the Common Tongue, signalling that they had been buried before the invasion of the Andals.
It was what must have been hours of walking that Samuel Tarly, drenched in sweat, commented beneath his breath, "A dead end. Thank the gods. I think I need some rest."
The man simply sat down and proceeded to fall asleep without saying another word. Of course, Rickon had expected the obese man to have stopped some time ago, but it was obvious that the Maester held an impressive sense of will. What truly perplexed the Lord of Winterfell was that there were no dead ends before them, and that the rest of the crypts awaited them.
Deciding to leave the man to his rest, for he had certainly deserved it, Rickon walked forward and stopped as he saw his sword, sheathed atop his back, suddenly beginning to glow, something that it had presumably only done for Cregan Stark.
Rickon almost dropped the weapon out of awe and excitement, especially as he felt the medallion that he wore begin to hum faintly. The hum continued up until he walked through a narrow archway, into a room that had been filled with a small cache of Dragonglass, which was, alone, worth a small fortune. The realisation that the material was very useful for magic users had increased the price of the material.
That alone created some instability in Skagos, where Grenn Magnar wiped out Houses Stane and Crowl, to gain control over the Dragonglass on the island and rebel against the North. This, of course, ended up with the White Wolf himself, going to confront him and slaying him to a man, gifting the island to his third son's bloodline to govern, with the second one overseeing the rebuilding of Moat Cailin.
There were also some words in the Old Tongue carved into the wall, but Rickon had never truly learned it, something that he would need to rectify when he left the crypts.
Still, his mind was preoccupied by the passageway at the end of the room, and he walked forward, feeling the blood rush through his body in anticipation.
Finally, he entered, and the sight before him froze him in his tracks, for Rickon found himself staring at an immense cavern, with in the middle, a giant Heart Tree remained. To call it a giant would have been an understatement, for it was likely taller than most keeps and likely wide enough to fit Winterfell's Great Hall in its trunk.
One of the tree's great branches had seemingly connected to the entrance of the cavern, as if it were some kind of passageway. On the other side, Rickon noticed that the trunk was carved in, as if it were some kind of throne, and on that throne was the skeleton of a man, staring back at him.
It was only the faint feeling in his gut, one that warned him of danger, that allowed him to survive the attack, for the skeleton moved in the blink of an eye, with impossible speeds. It was wielding some strange blackened bronze blade that Rickon was able to parry with his glowing ancestral sword, resulting in an unnatural hum that hurt his ear.
The next attack, if anything, came even faster than the first, and the Lord of Winterfell did not know how he blocked it, only that he did, his hands moving as fast as his eyes, following his instincts, before he felt the urge to go on the attack. His attack was unnaturally fast, though the walking corpse somehow managed to parry it with an easy swipe of his sword.
Rickon prepared himself for the next assault, only for nothing to occur, and the walking skeleton stood still and gave him a nod of all things. Before he could truly react, Ice's glow intensified, and an image appeared above the bones, taking the shape of an old man with a thick grey beard, giving him an unimpressed look, "I suppose you'll do."
It was an illusion, obviously so, and yet, he knew of no illusion that could just appear out of a weapon to hide the features of a walking corpse. Then again, Ice was no ordinary weapon. "What are you? No… No... Who are you?"
The gruff old man released a snort. "The name is Cregan. Cregan Stark, or at least an imprint of him that's left in that old thing," he answered while pointing to the sword.
Rickon froze, breath caught in his throat, though his next question surprised even him: "What is this place?"
"Oh, this place has had many names over the years, the throne of the Kings of Winter, the Heart of the Old Gods, the true legacy of House Stark, and so many things… I, myself, found this in my youth, though it served a different purpose then, a trap to mankind's oldest enemy, though that matters little anymore, for they died in my lifetime."
"What enemy? How are you here? Why are you here?"
The White Wolf chuckled, "So many questions, whose answers you shall learn yourself, one day. Should you accept, of course?"
"Accept what?"
"If my measures have been activated, then Winterfell faces great peril, and the Stark in Winterfell shall need to defend it. A Stark must sit upon the throne of the Winter Kings, for just as it is our privilege, it is our burden, to protect this place."
Rickon found himself flabbergasted by the man's words, "You wish for me to succeed you."
"As I succeeded the Builder and allowed him his rest. You shall wield our weapon in truth and in might, and from it, learn our magicks, just as I had. You shall use this power only when it is necessary, only when the time is right, for there are many who would seek to use it for their own gains. And given the coming turmoil, it is likely that Helaena's contingencies would have started as well."
"Helaena?" the Lord of Winterfell found himself asking.
"Helaena Targaryen, a friend, and quite the terrifying woman. Though she has more of a flair for the dramatics, something that she likely got from Harry. Then again, she did learn under the man, while I had to stumble around for decades trying to make sense of the hints that whatever remained of the Builder's imprint inside what was once his sword."
Helaena Targaryen… The name did slip his mind, for she had been a Princess centuries ago, but he did remember her as a candidate to the Great Council of 123 AC, which would have been when Cregan Stark had fought the Shadowbinders during the attack. Hadn't she been the one that Rhaenyra the Fool had attempted to kill during the Darkest Day? She was also a somewhat influential person later, if he remembered correctly. There must have been more to it if Cregan Stark himself claimed that she was dangerous…
Perhaps Rickon should have focused more on the history of the royal family during his lessons, if only not to embarrass himself before one of his greatest ancestors. And so, he changed the subject, deciding to focus on a particular detail, "Harry? Do you speak of Harry Potter?"
For the first time, the White Wolf smiled, "Did you lot finally realise who he was? Helaena was sure that no one ever would. Given the sheer scale of the events that he had been involved in, I'm sure that he was ensuring that his name and presence would be obscured."
"I confess that I did not know the name until recently," the Lord of Winterfell admitted, "But there are many who theorise that he was the Sorcerer of Dragonstone."
"For a man who loved chasing mystery, it is fitting that he, himself, becomes one, centuries later. But speaking of an old friend is not why you are here, but whether you are to become the Stark in Winterfell."
"I… I do not deserve the honour," Rickon gasped while bowing.
"Stand up, boy," the White Wolf practically growled, "You are the Lord of the North, not some page. And this is not an honour, only a burden, one that I was not prepared for, and one that you are not. Your eyes shall be opened to the wider world, and threats shall be known to you that you have not known before. You shall not be buried amongst your kin, and only stay vigil atop this Weirwood Throne, until this burden falls upon another's shoulders. I can only hope that the gods favour you, Rickon Stark, should you accept this mantle from my shoulders, for it is not a choice that you can take back."
Rickon looked at Cregan Stark's grey eyes and knew that he meant every word, that he thought that accepting such a thing to be a burden, and for the first time, he hesitated, "Is there truly danger approaching?"
"Aye," The White Wolf answered, though his eyes softened.
"Then it is my duty as Lord of the North to fight it. I accept your burden, Cregan Stark," Rickon immediately answered.
Rickon's ancestor smiled at him, "So be it."
Just as he spoke these words, the illusion began to dissipate around the living corpse. The skeleton itself turned to dust before dissipating away, leaving Rickon alone before the throne where the White Wolf of the North, and Bran the Builder before him, had once sat.
His ancestral sword suddenly felt heavy in his hands, with the lights trapped within beginning to pulse. He could hear them, small whispers in the very back of his mind, but he recognised them as something within his weapon.
He waved his sword experimentally and found a trail of light following the edge of the sword, its magic responding faintly to Rickon's will. Following only his instincts, Rickon waved his sword in strange shapes, with the trail of light connecting one another. Suddenly, the trails of light released a great glow before dissipating, and in their stead was a small wolf pup with white fur and crimson, yet intelligent eyes.
Rickon immediately recognised it as a Direwolf, and a connection of some sort suddenly appeared between them, one that he had trouble describing. It was through this connection that he knew its name, which he spoke aloud, as if to ensure that it was correct, "Ghost."
With purpose, Rickon picked up the Direwolf before making his way out of the great cavern, with renewed purpose, for he was now the Stark in Winterfell, the new true wielder of Ice, and the weight of ten thousand years now pressed upon his shoulders like an unseen crown.
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Excerpt from: Of Folklore and Legends in Recent Eras
By Archmaester Samuel of Highgarden
I will admit to having been wary of my time in Winterfell when I first came to the city. Rickon Stark was a gruff, large man, obviously a warrior, but it took some time to know that he shared my excitement in history, though only when it came to his ancestors. Then again, a legacy that dated ten thousand years would keep most preoccupied.
Through some access to a few of the books in the library, I discovered a relation between some events relating to the castle's crypts, with the strange events involving Cregan Stark rising as Lord of the North before his majority, and the strange mention of Harry Potter in the event. Our adventure into the crypts was as terrifying as it was fruitless, with nought of interest being found aside from Cregan Stark likely not being buried there, which is something of a mystery to even Lord Stark himself.
Though interestingly, the days that followed our failed little expedition into the Stark Crypts were certainly interesting, starting with Lord Stark bonding with a Direwolf pup, showing the potential to be a Skinchanger. But more importantly, at least for me, the most important part had been the fact that Lord Stark found an undamaged journal that accounted for the events on that day, though I do not know where he found it. Either way, the book details the clear presence of Harry Potter, whom the White Wolf's father had hired to search for ancient artefacts belonging to House Stark. It also included a clear description of Harry Potter as a thin man with black hair and green eyes, the first true mentions of the man's features.
I know not if this is proof that Harry Potter and the Sorcerer of Dragonstone are one and the same, but they both gifted Houses Stark and Targaryen gifts that were magical in nature, with one having healed King Viserys the Peaceful, and the other, some sort of magical wolf medallion, presumably blessed by the Old Gods. The Parallels do exist, and perhaps, this is the first step to finally discovering the truth of the sorcerer of Dragonstone.
Alas, I know in my heart that it would only be in my expedition to Dragonstone that I would find these answers, though fortunately, Lord Rickon, who had become quite a good friend, had offered me a position as his advisor for the time being, and I would admit that the North's brusque nature suits me more than the games of the Reach, hence my agreement. I shall do so, and I shall wait until Dragonstone is available once more to finally finish what I have started and solve this mystery once and for all.
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AN: I had this idea, with Cregan having a successor in the future, for a while, and I decided to use this as a bit of interlude since the next few chapters are about to be pretty eventful. Anyway, I wanted that to contrast with the chapter with Daenerys and chose to combine it a bit with the historical chapters with Samuel Tarly that I added in the last few chapters, since I thought that the concept was interesting.
Anyway, in my mind, though I didn't push it, Rickon is the son of Brandon Stark, Ned Stark's older brother. He's the cousin of Brandon Stark, who was the Greenseer in one of the previous historical chapters. I sort of thought it would be nice to have him be a bit of a fan of Cregan, while Sam is a fan of Harry, and them having to meet up, a bit like Fate, just as it had with Jon and Sam in Canon. I don't quite know if it came out like I wanted it to. I'm still a bit sick, and I was exhausted when I wrote this. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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