The courtyard of Moat Cailin was still cloaked in morning mist, the stones slick with dew and old grime. Levi's boots squelched as he walked, flanked on both sides by the armored men who'd ushered them in. Jory kept glancing back at him with a mix of awe and apprehension—as if waiting for Levi to either reveal a hidden identity or combust on the spot.
Before them stood the two figures who commanded the entire fortress's attention.
The girl—young, fierce-eyed, maybe no older than thirteen—wore a traveling cloak of deep grey, its edges lined with fur. Her dark hair was braided tightly, her posture too proud for someone her age. She looked down from the top step like she owned the stones beneath her feet.
Next to her was a boy, smaller, perhaps ten or eleven, with a narrower frame and a constantly shifting gaze. He seemed less sure of himself, but he stood close to the girl like a shadow to her flame.
Levi, still clueless, leaned slightly toward Jory and muttered, "Who's the kid and the girl? Local royalty?"
Jory didn't answer. His eyes stayed locked on the direwolf sigils stitched into the cloaks of the guards. His throat bobbed as he whispered back, "I think that's… them. Starks."
Levi raised a brow. "As in the Starks?"
Jory gave him a look, as if to say what other kind is there?
Before Levi could embarrass himself further, one of the guards stepped forward. "Kneel before Lady Lyanna and Lord Benjen of House Stark."
Levi didn't move.
The air turned tense.
Jory panicked, yanked at Levi's sleeve, and hissed, "Kneel, you madman!"
"Oh. Right." Levi dropped to one knee, doing his best not to fall over or let his lazy posture make it worse. His brain screamed at him, This is a test, probably. Don't screw it up. They're nobles. Of Westeros. Wait. WHAT?
Benjen stepped forward slightly, peering at them like someone examining a pair of odd stones.
Lyanna's voice cut through the silence. "You're not Crannogmen."
Levi blinked up at her. "I… don't think so?"
"You don't think so?" she repeated, folding her arms. "You're either a man of the Neck or you aren't."
"I'm…" he paused. "Just Levi. I'm new. To everything."
That made Benjen snort. Lyanna tilted her head, examining Levi more closely now.
"Your clothes are strange. Your speech too," she said. "What lord do you serve?"
Levi tried not to wince. "None, my lady."
Lyanna narrowed her eyes. "Then how did you come to be in Bogwater?"
"He… stumbled in," Jory said quickly. "Out of the swamp. Looked half-dead."
One of the guards added, "Gran Mae took him in."
Levi sighed. "I'm really just trying to survive."
Lyanna looked unimpressed. "You survived long enough to stand before a Stark. That means you have a purpose. Or you're a very lucky fool."
Benjen smirked. "He's weird. I like him."
That seemed to loosen the tension a little. Lyanna gave Benjen a sideways glance but said nothing more on that.
"What skills do you have, Levi?" she asked.
Levi hesitated. Skills? What did he have? Cheat engine knowledge? Stronghold save-scumming? Sleeping like a champion?
"…I'm good at watching people? And... sitting?"
Benjen actually laughed out loud.
Jory buried his face in his hands.
Lyanna shook her head, but she wasn't smiling. "You'll find no warmth here for idlers. The North remembers those who contribute. And forgets the rest."
Levi lowered his head. "Then I better find something useful soon."
There was a pause.
Then Lyanna gestured to the side. "There's a camp set outside the keep. Some merchants and workers heading south. Stay out of our way, and you won't be a problem. But you—" she looked at Jory now, "—keep an eye on him."
"Yes, my lady," Jory muttered.
"Dismissed," she said, and just like that, she and Benjen turned and walked away, cloaks swirling in the damp wind.
Levi and Jory both exhaled at once.
"That went better than expected," Levi said.
"She didn't gut you. That's already a win," Jory whispered.
As they walked out of the stone courtyard, Levi glanced back once more at the silhouette of Lyanna disappearing into the halls of Moat Cailin.
He still didn't know what year it was.
He still didn't know when Robert's Rebellion would begin.
But now, he had one thing: a thread of names and history he could start to tug at.
And maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to understand where—and when—he'd landed.