Harry watched his father climb up to the balcony to join his mother before turning to look at Jon.
Jon's eyes were following their father as well, though he occasionally glanced toward his mother.
Letting out a silent sigh, Harry walked over to him with a smile. He could not allow his little brother to carry the burden of worrying about the war.
"Father is going to fight. I wish I could go with him," said Harry, pretending to sound excited.
Jon's eyes widened as he stared at his brother.
"I hope we can start training with swords soon," said Harry with a smile before lightly punching his shoulder and walking away.
Jon looked at his brother's back before glancing down at the bow in his hands.
Harry walked away quickly, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He had to admit that he did not really know how to cheer someone up. At the very least, he hoped Jon would take the news of the war calmly after that.
Giving his father a brief glance, he saw him holding his mother's hand while speaking quietly with her.
Seeing that, Harry quickened his pace as a plan slowly formed in his mind.
His footsteps echoed through the corridors of the castle as he ran as fast as he could toward his parents' chambers. The guards and servants he passed merely watched him go by without saying anything.
Though he could have sworn he heard a few laughs.
Closing the door behind him, Harry immediately fixed his eyes on the furniture in the room.
Searching through the cabinets, his eyes lit up when he found a large drawer filled with carefully arranged rings.
He did not remember ever seeing his father wear any of them.
His eyes moved across the collection before settling on one.
It was made entirely of bright silver. The setting looked somewhat crude, barely holding a large blue gemstone in place.
Rubbing it thoughtfully, he muttered to himself before slipping it into his pocket, closing the drawer, and leaving.
As he shut the door behind him, Harry suddenly stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Turning around, he saw a pair of guards who merely smiled and gave him a slight nod before continuing on their way.
Harry touched his chest and let out a breath as he watched their backs disappear.
Pressing his lips together, he headed down the stairs.
For a moment, he had thought his parents had returned.
Without stopping, he ran toward the godswood and finally came to a halt beneath the weirwood.
Smiling, he jumped up and grabbed hold of a thick branch. Using his legs to help himself, he climbed onto it and sat down.
"I'm sorry, but I only need a little," Harry murmured as he gently stroked the branch.
"Diffindo," Harry whispered as his finger traced through the air.
Magic stirred around him before a sharp crack echoed through the godswood and a cut opened across the branch.
Immediately, red sap the color of blood began to drip out.
Not allowing any of it to go to waste, Harry quickly murmured another spell and the magic swirled around several droplets, levitating them before him.
Using both hands, he manipulated them in front of his face before a smile appeared on his lips.
A faint crimson glow emanated from the sap.
His gaze remained fixed on it, admiring the beauty of the liquid with amazement.
His hands slowly moved inward as though compressing it.
His brow furrowed in concentration as he shaped the sap before hardening it with another spell.
"It's done," Harry murmured with a smile as he looked at the beautiful gemstone that resembled a ruby.
His fingers gently rubbed its perfectly smooth surface.
Now all it needed was an enchantment.
As he stared at the gem, the world suddenly seemed to spin.
Before he could react, a powerful impact struck his back and drove all the air from his lungs.
Coughing lightly, Harry looked up at the sky.
The branches of the weirwood barely allowed him a glimpse beyond them, occasionally swaying in the wind.
Letting out a soft groan of pain, Harry sat beneath the tree and leaned against its trunk with a grimace.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
He had drained the magic around him before completely exhausting his own tiny reserves.
Only now could he faintly feel the warmth of the tree entering his body and slowly replenishing them.
With a yawn, he rested his head against the trunk while the feeling of weakness gradually faded away.
Some time later, with more strength in his body, he grabbed hold of the weirwood and pulled himself to his feet before beginning the walk home at a still-tired pace.
On the way back, the changes in the castle were already noticeable.
The smithy, which had once handled only occasional work, now rang constantly with the sound of hammers striking metal.
War was truly approaching.
Dinner was unusually quiet that evening.
No one seemed to be in the mood for conversation.
....
With the tension of the coming war, the days seemed to pass more quickly as soldiers continued to arrive.
Vassals sworn to House Stark brought their own sworn men, who in turn brought theirs, creating a long chain of command.
In roughly a month, an army of more than fifteen thousand men had gathered in the small town outside Winterfell.
From the castle towers, thousands of tents, campfires, and small scuffles between soldiers could be seen stretching into the distance.
It was a truly impressive sight.
At times, Harry almost felt as though he were watching a movie from his previous life.
Though there was one thing those movies had never shown.
How slowly armies gathered.
The war had begun more than a month ago, yet the soldiers were still nowhere near the border.
It challenged his understanding of warfare.
The only wars he truly knew were the lightning-fast conflicts fought by wizards.
Even after studying the map of the North, he supposed he had never fully grasped just how enormous it was.
The night before the army departed, a great feast was held within Winterfell, attended by the lords of the North.
Harry recognized most of them by sight, but he had never been formally introduced during a feast or ceremony.
His father had told him they would use the occasion to introduce him to the Northern Houses.
Meat and drink filled every table while laughter and music echoed throughout the hall.
Each of the great Houses occupied its own table alongside its retainers.
Not all of them got along.
Some occasionally shouted at one another from across the room, though from what Harry observed, everyone remained reasonably well-behaved.
Looking back toward his own table, Harry saw Sansa chatting happily with Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter.
The two had met a few months earlier and had become nearly inseparable.
Arya was being firmly managed by their mother while Bran rested in her arms.
Jon was present as well despite his mother's objections.
Harry had been unusually stubborn about it, insisting that his brother should be there too.
Although it had taken several days of persistence, he had eventually worn his mother down.
Watching Arya stab at her food before stuffing it into her mouth, Harry let out a small chuckle and began quietly chatting with her, pointing out some of the more interesting guests at the feast.
Arya let out small giggles at her brother's comments while her not-so-subtle gaze wandered from person to person.
As the evening wore on, the noise in the hall gradually began to settle.
Deciding it was the right moment, Ned gave Harry a look that prompted him to stand.
Placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, he guided him toward the various lords.
Harry looked toward their destination.
The table had already caught his attention earlier because of the enormous man seated at its center.
After all, he had never seen anyone that large since being reborn.
Judging by the banner beside the table, he immediately recognized House Umber.
The House closest to the Wall.
It could easily be considered one of the North's major Houses, possessing some of the greatest military and political influence in the region.
"Jon," said Ned as he looked at the massive man holding a tankard of ale.
The man paused his conversation before turning toward Ned and breaking into a broad grin.
"Ned!" said Greatjon Umber with a booming laugh as he rose to his feet and pulled him into a hug.
Harry's lips twitched as he watched his father appear small in the giant's embrace.
"Allow me to introduce my heir, Harry Stark," said Ned, a faint smile appearing on his face as he looked toward Greatjon.
"Oh, hello there, little one," said Greatjon as he extended a hand toward Harry.
Harry looked at the enormous hand before extending his own with a feeling of helplessness.
It was difficult to call it a handshake.
Greatjon's hands were rough and thick, and his breath smelled strongly enough of alcohol that it could probably start a small fire.
"You've got a firm grip. Grow strong, boy," said Greatjon with a grin as he felt Harry resist the pressure.
Harry made a face that was halfway between a smile and a grimace before pulling back his slightly sore hand.
"Smalljon, get over here!" Greatjon shouted.
For a brief moment, his voice overpowered the entire feast.
A boy—or perhaps a young man—rose from the table and approached.
Because of his father's size, Harry found it difficult to estimate his age.
Still, judging by his youthful features, he did not seem particularly old.
"This is my eldest son, Jon Umber, though we call him Smalljon," said Greatjon as he slapped his son heavily on the shoulder.
Harry watched the young man's body sway slightly before he quickly regained his balance and offered Ned a respectful nod.
"Hello, I'm Harry Stark," said Harry as he extended his hand.
Smalljon looked at Harry before shaking it.
"You're bringing him to war?" Ned asked as he looked at Greatjon before briefly glancing at his son.
"Of course. He's fourteen now, and he's strong. I'll take him so he can become familiar with war," said Greatjon with a nod and a smile.
Ned nodded and said nothing further.
After speaking with Greatjon for a little while longer, he guided Harry toward another table.
The banner was immediately familiar.
House Karstark.
Harry watched as Rickard Karstark greeted his father.
Tilting his head slightly, Harry narrowed his eyes for a moment.
"Greetings, young lord," said Rickard formally, inclining his head slightly.
"Lord Karstark," said Harry, matching his formality.
The contrast with House Umber could not have been greater.
"My sons remained at the castle, but I brought my daughter with me," said Rickard before calling for Alys to introduce herself.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently guided her forward.
Alys offered Harry a courteous curtsy and smiled at him.
Her hair framed her small face, making her look rather adorable.
Harry smiled back and returned the greeting politely.
At the same time, he overheard Rickard asking Ned whether his daughter could remain at Winterfell while the war was underway.
His father naturally agreed.
In Harry's opinion, it was almost a trick question.
Was Ned really going to send a little girl to war?
The two men continued speaking for a while before Ned led Harry toward another table.
Harry recognized the banner immediately.
House Bolton.
The moment he saw Roose Bolton, memories from his previous life surfaced.
Pale skin.
Cold eyes.
Impeccable manners.
An elegant face.
His greeting with Ned was brief and lacked the warmth shown by House Umber.
After greeting his father, Roose's eyes settled on Harry.
His expression almost seemed kind.
"Lord Bolton," said Harry politely.
Their eyes met for a brief moment before Roose turned his attention back to Ned.
Harry watched him silently, a trace of confusion crossing his face.
The feast eventually came to an end, and everyone retired for the night.
The next day, they would begin marching to join the rest of the army.
The following morning, Harry woke earlier than usual.
His eyes lingered on his reflection with concern.
His father might not come back.
Reaching toward one of the drawers, he opened it and removed a silver ring set with a large ruby-colored gemstone.
The gem seemed almost alive, faint movements shifting beneath its surface while a soft crimson glow emanated from within.
Clenching his fist around it, Harry could only hope that the enchantment would never have to activate.
Slipping the ring into a pocket inside his tunic, he left his room.
He knew exactly where his father would be at this hour.
Crossing several corridors and descending a flight of stairs, he arrived at the armory just in time to see two men helping his father into his armor.
Everyone paused for a moment when he entered.
The two men looked toward Ned.
And when Ned saw his son standing there, he immediately knew Harry had something he wanted to say.
After dismissing the men and asking them to leave them alone, Ned sat down and looked at his son with a smile.
"Father, can you do something for me without asking any questions?" said Harry, smiling as he sat down in front of him.
"Of course. Only if you promise to take care of the castle while I'm gone," said Ned as he looked at his son.
"Don't worry. I'll return the castle exactly as you left it," said Harry with a small laugh.
"Then we have a deal," said Ned, showing one of his rare smiles.
Harry's lips curved upward before he pulled the silver ring from inside his tunic.
Ned's eyes immediately settled on it, one eyebrow rising as he looked at Harry.
"Never take this ring off," said Harry as he placed it in Ned's hand.
Ned looked at the crimson gemstone in surprise.
There was something about it that made it difficult to look away.
And he was certain he had never seen the ring before.
His fingers gently rubbed the gemstone.
He could not tell whether the faint glow was merely a trick of the light or a reflection caused by the quality of its polish.
For a moment, Ned opened his mouth to ask questions.
But as he looked into his son's bright green eyes, he let out a silent sigh and asked none.
From the very first moment he had seen those green eyes, Ned had known his son might be different.
And as Harry grew older, those suspicions had only become stronger.
While his wife and the rest of the castle simply believed the boy possessed exceptional intelligence, Ned could imagine another explanation.
Eight years ago, he had seen similar eyes accomplish something extraordinary.
Even setting aside that personal experience, magic had always existed among the Starks throughout their history.
Unfortunately, neither he nor anyone in his immediate family had ever displayed such gifts.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Ned accepted the ring with a solemn expression.
Even if it were merely symbolic, he felt both grateful and touched by his son's concern.
"Take care of your mother and your sisters," said Ned as he gently embraced his son's head.
Harry pressed his lips together, feeling a sudden and inexplicable surge of panic.
That had sounded far too much like a farewell.