Chapter Text
“Healer Peverell, I think Lil’ Sam broke his wrist again m’lady.”
Glancing down at the dirty rag she was wringing out, an older, middle-aged man moaning in agony lying on a cot in the little hovel she privately called a hospital, even if the villagers insisted it was a healing house, Helena quietly sighed.
This was the third time in the four months that she had been working as the village’s healer that Lil’ Sam –not to be confused with Big Sam (his father), Ol’ Sam (his grandfather), or Tiny Sam (his youngest sister) –had fallen off “The Fist” as many of the younger kids in the campsite liked to call the gigantic, boulder-sized rock at the edge of the village where the last hut met the sprawling woods of the Haunted Forest.
Apparently, it was supposed to be a test of strength and courage amongst the children of the village with the premise that the gods would only allow the strongest and bravest warrior to reach the top of the boulder.
And so, to prove themselves, dozens of little seven- and eight-year-olds had tried over the years, apparently, to climb the 10-foot-tall rock and reach the top so that they could claim the title of the “strongest-and-bravest-warrior-to-ever-live” or some such drivel.
To be honest, she had been worried at first, when she had just taken up the mantle of being the village healer and had heard about this potentially dangerous game the kids had been playing. But their parents hadn’t seemed all that worried and, when asked, Robard had just shrugged with a “kids-will-be-kids” mentality, so Helena had put aside her worries assuming that this was the norm in this village.
And for the most part it had been fine, sure every once in a while, some poor little boy or girl would fall on their way to the top and sprain their ankle or get a cut from the jagged surface of the rubble but a little essence of dittany would fix them right up and they would be on their way with a concerned warning from her to be more careful.
No one ever came in frequently enough for her to truly be concerned, well no one except for lil’ Sam.
See, Lil’ Sam was the son of the second in command, the lieutenant chieftain of the village, Big Sam.
As such, Sam was the second most important person in the village and one of the primary leaders of the village’s fighting and raiding force. This also made him one of the most prideful and arrogant men she had ever had the displeasure of meeting, no matter how brief an encounter it may have been.
Unfortunately, due to his position and personality, it was almost always common to see Lil’ Sam bearing the brunt of his father’s expectations and disappointment.
From what Helena was able to glean, Lil’ Sam was a skinny, easily frightened, and overtly shy child. He had red hair that clashed horribly with his orange freckles and snaggled teeth. He hated conflict of any kind and had a horrible stutter that made him come off as a simpleton to these more Middle-Age minded people. The stutter is only made worse since he is almost constantly picked on and put down not just by his father, for being a coward and a simpleton, but also by the other village kids, who like to mock him when he stumbles over particularly hard words.
With all of these problems put together, it didn’t surprise Helena that he was also the only kid who almost religiously went to the rock, every day, to climb for hours on end in a bid to climb the top and prove once and for all that he wasn’t “craven or stupid” as he told her after the second time he fell from the boulder and she had been applying soothing ointments over the sight where the skele-grow had finally restored his broken leg.
Shaking her head and dusting off the debris from her lavender blue apron, Helena gently placed the wet rag on the sickly man’s forehead, offering him some relief. Pained moans giving way to labored sighs, Healer Peverell had the teenage boy, Carmen, her assistant of sorts, since he had asked two months ago if he could learn from her, lead her to where Sam had been seen last.
She wasn’t surprised to find him silently crying at the bottom of “The Fist,” wrist twisted almost unnaturally to the right.
Quietly, so that she didn’t startle the distressed seven-year-old, Helena approached Sam, face concerned and kind. Upon seeing her, the poor boy started to sob and flung himself into her skirts hugging her around the waist, seeking the comfort his father would never give him and his mother, being dead for almost two years from child bed fever, no longer could.
“I…I…I w-w-was al-almost to the t-top, if it wasn’t for…”
“I know, honey, how about we get you healed up and take a break for today?”
“No! L’dy ‘Lena I just need—”
“Sam”, Helena interrupts, cutting off the freckled boy’s fervent objections. Kneeling into the ice-covered, muddy grass, as apparently, according to the locals, this moon turn was the warmest it had been for years as the three-year long winter had seemingly come to an end the past couple of months.
That was another thing Helena had come to realize about this strange, new world. Seasons, contrary to what she knew of her old home, seemed to last years here rather than just months, and while the two were obviously connected somehow—cause how else would she have been able to get here—the former Hogwarts student was able to tell that both planets seemed to have fundamental differences.
Helena knew that if Hermione had been here, she would have been enthusiastically ripping through some poor schmuck's library to figure out the logistics of the climate phenomenon and how this world’s axis, size, tilt, sun, and whatever else went into contributing to the continent's climate as a whole. While she and Ron looked on with long suffering amusement.
Gods she missed her friends, The dark haired witch sighed mournfully, but looking down at the little boy's watery blue eyes so similar in color to her love’s and their son, James, she couldn’t help sigh.
I miss my children more.
Shaking her head and pushing those feelings aside or else risk falling into yet another hole of despair and guilt, Healer Peverell cupped the boy’s pale, freckled cheeks gently and looked him in the eye.
“I know you feel as if you have something to prove, my dear, but the rock will still be there tomorrow, but if I don’t heal and let your wrist rest, it might become infected, and then you might have to wait longer than a day to climb again and I know you don’t want that, so will you follow me?”
After a quick grimace at his hand and a reluctant nod, Sam raised his uninjured hand, placed it in her right and together they began the long trek back to her hut.
As they were wading through the evening rush of the village, people stopped to talk, wave, or nod greetings to her as they passed by. She couldn’t help but notice how different everything was compared to when she first stepped foot on this campsite nearly five months ago.
Four and a half months ago
They’d been walking for 10 minutes in tense silence with only the occasional twittering of birds and the crunch of ice covered grass and sticks, Robard and Alys leading the way, she was starting to wonder just how much longer till they reached their destination, when she noticed the dense forest was starting to thin out and if she squinted hard enough into the distance, she could start to make out the sign of smoke rising from the tree line about a mile ahead.
Realizing that they were getting close to civilization, the group began to speed up until they were met by a large wrought iron gate that connected to what, Helena assumed, was a medieval cob wall that stretched for miles and wrapped around the little village in a circular pattern.
On either side of the gate sat two wooden, sentinel towers with armed men in either tower. Upon reaching the entrance, Helena was close enough to make out their appearances.
Looking just as scruffy but well-built as Robard, the one on the right had jet black hair with threatening black eyes, garbed head to toe in grey and dark brown, he looked as if he could fit in with the surrounding mud walls and dreary backgrounds, but what truly caught her attention, however, was the large hammer he carried on his back that had to be taller than she was, being 5’6 herself, that was no small feat for a man to wield, however he carried it as if it was barely even there.
Turning slightly to the right, she was able to better observe the other guard.
Unlike the older guard in the left tower, this one seemed to be a teenager, she would mark him as being no older than perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old.
His face was still round with the innocence of youth. He had full lips and a dimpled shin and would have looked more appropriate in one of the teenage drama series her daughter always liked to watch rather than standing guard over a gate for hours on end.
He too had a weapon, however, unlike his elder counterpart he carried a quiver on his back loaded with arrows and was holding a bow in his left hand.
“Halt!” the man with the axe stroud forward, leaning over the railing ledge.
“State your name and business”
“Gorm, you brute, open the fucking gates.”
“Rob? I didn’t know you left the village and with ye wife too?” Turning around to signal to the boy in the other tower to begin cranking open the gates, the axe man, Gorm, finally seemed to notice her standing slightly behind Robard. Lifting one bushy grayish black eyebrow, after having carefully considered her appearance Gorm asked suspiciously,
“Who's the broad?” bristling, hackles raised at the blatant disrespect and unwarranted suspicion, and completely ready to lay into this Viking era reject, Helena opened her mouth only to close it when she felt a gentle hand encircle her own.
Turning, Helena spotted a similar frown decorating Alys’s tan reflection and impatient irritation on her face. Both were directed at Gorm. Whether it was because he was eating up precious time that could be used to save her sick son, the way he was speaking to their guest, or both, the woman looked angry enough to do something about it despite her earlier hysteria. However, her comforting gesture served as both a warning to stay silent and have Rob take care of it and also a way of assuring her that she understood her plight.
Tensing, the brimming worry and impatience that had made up most of Robard’s stature thus far shifted into one of authority and danger.
From the way that Gorm shifted about uncomfortably, even from all the way up the tower, he could feel it too.
“Careful, old friend, the lass is a healer, my guest, and the minute she steps through those gates she is under my protection. Let it be known that further insult unto her will be regarded as an insult to me and mine as well.” Robard announced, deadly serious tone and all.
And while she didn’t like the thought of being a burden unto anyone, if this would make finding her way home easier, she would follow Alys’s example and keep quiet, no matter how reluctantly.
For now.
While Gorm didn’t display any further outward displays of disobedience the way his jaw tensed and his eyebrows slightly furrowed was a dead giveaway that the hardened warrior was upset by this turn of events but evidently cowed enough to not outwardly disagree with Robard.
The other guard, having missed the whole exchange since he had been slowly drawing the gate leaned over from the wall where she assumed the lever was.
Sometime during their conversation, the gate had been drawn and reached the top. Beyond the entrance Helena could see the beginnings of a dirt road lined with tents and hastily built wooden cabins on either side of the road.
“Gates open! And welcome back, chief!” the younger boy called back cheerfully, completely oblivious to the tension that had settled over the group like a wet blanket.
As if a tight string had finally snapped, the two men stopped glaring at each other threateningly and turned to the boy. Replacing his scowl with a slight upturn of his thin lips. Robard acknowledged the teenager with a silent nod.
Looking back at the women, Robard inclined his head slightly to the entrance encouraging them to keep going and with one last warning look aimed at Gorm, the trio finally made it into the village proper.
Looking around, Helena decided to take stock of the village as its inhabitants went about their usual routines.
The first thing she noticed upon stepping into the encampment was the fact that looking around at the various patched and heavily stitched tents as well as the clearly rushed and poorly made mud-covered huts, the people living there seemed to accurately reflect their environment.
Men and women garbed in heavy wool and linen shifts, tunics, and a sea of black and grey furs respectfully, bustled around. The men either lugging around heavy weight material, sitting in groups talking, laughing, and drinking from wineskins, or carrying slaughtered venison and other such animals she couldn’t name, likely hunted from the forest outside of the encampment.
Meanwhile the women she could see, were outside hanging and washing clothes, giggling together while holding their toddlers, picking the few herbs and vegetables that were able to survive in this harsh climate, and even dueling a little farther away.
Helena didn’t know why but this surprised her. She had assumed, with how “old-timey” everything looked and felt, that the women would follow more “traditional” roles and be either confined to their homes or to looking after the children while the men were away fighting or hunting.
Catching on to her slightly intrigued but not judgmental look aimed at the two female warriors dueling, Alys huffed amusedly at her expression.
Turning around Robard quirked his eyebrow at this sign of his wife’s obvious amusement, inclining her head towards where Helena had stopped to watch the two spearwives duel, Robard caught onto the reason for his wife’s amusement and his lips lifted slightly from the worried scowl it had been in since he heard word of his son’s possible death sentence.
“Their called spearwives, lass.” Startled from her dazed trance as she watched the warrior women fight as if they were made of wind, dancing around each other with deadly precision, Helena looked at Robard and Alys leagues away from where she stood, having paused to catch a glimpse, she blushed slightly at having gotten so distracted.
Catching onto her embarrassment but also curiosity, the chieftain of the village, continued, “Spear wives are women who show great promise in the ways of the sword or other such weapons, so much so that they’re allowed to become warriors for the village and keep the women and children safe when the men have to go on raids and such. Although they too are, more times than not, allowed to take part in the raids too if they wish.”
“But—you just called them spearwives so don’t they have like husbands and kids of their own?” Helena asked with an inquisitive tilt of her head.
“Hmm, some do, yes, but honestly, lass, most of them ain’t married. Tis not really a requirement to be a spear wife, just a title really, we respect them all the same”
“And is everyone here accepting of it? Sorry if I seem nosy its just this place seems more… primitive than what I’m used to back home so I thought the cultural expectations might be similar.”
“Primitive, eh?” Robard huffed slightly. Wincing upon realizing how that came out, she tried to back track.
“I just meant—"
“No, no I know what you meant,” Robard interrupted her nervous stuttering.
“It’s alright, and while I don’t know how they’re livin’ down south I can imagine its better than this. With their fancy castles and such, but up here we live constantly on the move. It’s not that we don’t have the means to create better settlements, we live like this not for comfort but survival. Most winters are so cold that the crops die out early, if we’re lucky those winters will last a couple months or a year at most and give way to some summer snow.
In those cases, the vegetables and meats we keep stocked up from the previous falls and summers are put to good use. It’s the longer winters that pose the most threat to our survival. Usually if they last more than two years we have to leave and find better lands since most of the prime game will start to die off without anything to eat themselves.”
“I’m sorry” Helena interrupted, bemused. “But did you just say that your winters could last… years?” This—This couldn’t be right, she thought fervently. Now, Helena was no meteorologist by any means, but even she knew, as everyone else did whether educated or not, that the weather no matter where or how cold, hot, or remote a place was didn’t last years.
Even if these people were living in the most remote, desolate plot of land in the dead center of Antarctica, the winters should still only be at maximum six or seven months, and give way to summer, still cold by normal standard but not by a lot compared to winter storms.
Ever since she had woken up in this strange place, Helena had become increasingly aware of the fact that something wasn’t right. The land felt…wrong. To her it felt strange and foreign. Even the magic she could feel registered as foreign to her senses.
Everything from the towering trees to the people who inhabited the lands below them, nothing seemed to add up. Nothing felt familiar. And now she was being told that even the seasons were different. Not to mention the fact that she, herself, even looked different.
She had taken a look at her face when they were passing by a large puddle on the way to the village and had nearly faceplanted into a tree from the shock of what she saw reflected back at her. It was like her body had de-aged to when she was fifteen all over again.
Her magic and body felt younger and springier than she had felt in over forty years. Gone was her constant back pain and the growing arthritis in her fingers (from her harsh life of constantly dueling with her wand as an auror and healing as a mediwitch) that she had become increasingly used to in her old age.
She felt like she had been dipped into the mythical fountain of youth and been remade again. It should have made her relieved but all it did was drive home the suspicion that something was terribly wrong.
All of the abnormalities were starting to paint a picture, Helena really didn’t like.
It was, honestly, starting to scare her.
“Aye, but only the bad ones truly last longer than two summers.” Chieftain Robard said, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil.
“Anyway, You’re in luck, m’lady. You’ve come during the perfect season; winter has passed at last, and it seems we are finally headed into spring. So, it shouldn’t snow nearly as much as usual mayhaps some light flurries here and there at most.” Jerking his bearded chin towards the road, Rob raised an urging brow.
“Shall we continue?” Flustered and still slightly disoriented from the information she had received, Helena finally registered how dim the skies had become as the sun’s rays waned and began to set beyond the snowy hills in the distance painting the skies a beautiful collage of pinks and oranges.
Shaking her head and pushing her worries aside to analyze at a later date, Helena nodded to Chieftain Calonson, took the elbow his wife offered with a grateful, gentle smile and together the group left the training yards behind.
Ten minutes later, Helena found herself outside of a small two-story log cabin. Sitting at the northeast end of the village, the cabin wasn’t that far from the village center. That said, compared to the tents and huts she had seen on the way here, the cabin stood out as probably one of the most well-built structures in the entirety of the village, second only to the meeting hall they had passed a few houses back.
With a wraparound porch, the outside of the house consisted of hardy, pine wood logs notched together to keep the building stable even through the harshest of winds.
The dried mud she could spot in some corners of the cabin acted as a sealant for the few cracks where the logs didn’t cover the area completely. Looking up, the witch spotted shingles made of the same material as the logs, lining the roof as well.
To the sides of the home, she noticed various edible and medicinal herbs and flowers growing in the patches of land surrounding the house creating a lovely, earthy aroma as they approached the wooden steps of the porch.
The couple wasted no time entering and quickly guided her into the home. Though they were leading her quickly to what she assumed to be their son’s room, Helena was able to get a brief glimpse of the cabin’s living and dining room that sat directly in front of the main door with a hallway behind it that she assumed housed the bedrooms of the family which Robard and Alys were leading her towards.
And while she could attest to the fact that, though not overly large, the cabin more than made up for this fact with how warm and homely it was. From what she could see the living room and kitchen seemed to be one room combined as the living room had no couches or other modern appliances, but housed four fur lined chairs all surrounding a fireplace that currently had a large pot hanging above the lit furnace. Something was definitely cooking as a delicious smell wafted throughout the home bringing the scents of roasted meats, spices, and boiling vegetables. The floors were wooden with animal furs lining some corners of the room. On some of them Helena spotted handcrafted wooden toys one would typically see a toddler play with.
Further back towards where she assumed the kitchen was, though she couldn’t see all of it from her position she could make out a small table with four chairs surrounding it and a loaf of bread sitting on a wooden plate in the center of the table.
With a rug underneath the dining table and the fireplace lit, the cabin looked like it belonged on the cover of one of those furniture advertisements in the winter-themed magazines they sell in stores around Christmas time.
Especially with the window that sat behind the kitchen table that gave way to a beautiful scenery of snowcapped hills and a sprawling white landscape that reminded her of holidays at the Burrow.
And with the pink and orange rays reflecting through the glass and casting a kaleidoscope of bright vivacious colors on the cabin walls as the sun set, the home had a truly magical feel about it.
Sadly, she was rushed down the accompanying hallway before she could see more or where the stairs she saw led to.
However, as they entered the second to last room in the narrow hallway all of her previous distractions were washed away as she took in the heart wrenching scene before her.
Sitting beside a crib made of straw and hay, a beautiful woman, who looked like an older version of Alys, sat in a chair with a brown-haired baby cradled in her arms as she gently dabbed a damp threadbare washcloth over the babe’s sweaty forehead.
With the trained eye of a professional mediwitch and auror, she could tell that the child’s breathing was uneven, and their throat was more than likely partially blocked with mucus and saliva from the horrible gurgling and labored wheezing sounds the child was emitting.
The woman’s eyes were sad as she cradled the child in her arms. Almost like she knew he wouldn’t last long and wished to make his suffering lessen even slightly.
Upon hearing the door open fully, the woman, who Helena assumed to be Alys’s older sister, Zara, looked away from the baby and upon seeing her sister, good-brother, and a random but well-dressed stranger standing at the door, got up.
“Sister, I fear l’il Artos won’t make it through the night. His fever has gotten worse and now… now he just makes hiccupping noises. I’m so sorry, Al, I tried everything I could.” Zara said tears gathering at the corner of her eyes as she held the little boy out to her sister to take.
“I know, Zara, and thank you for taking care of my boy, but you need not worry so. For it seems the gods have heard my prayers. This woman says she is a healer and believes she can save my son.”
Turning slightly, Zara took in the woman who by all means looked as though she were barely old enough to have flowered nigh a couple of summers ago.
Skeptical and suspicious, Zara knew she had never seen this woman before. She doubted she would have missed a budding beauty such as this walking around the village. For though their people were larger than the average groups of Free Men that made up the bulk of the population of those that lived Beyond the Wall, they were a close-knit society—had to be—in order to survive this frost covered wasteland with all of the dangers that living beyond the wall brought with it. In a place like this everyone knew everyone, and foreigners and outsiders were looked upon with a great deal of suspicion.
It’s this cautious nature that has kept them alive for as long as they have.
The people of Woodsville lived by the rule that trust must be earned, even amongst other wildlings from similar parts of the North.
Stepping in front of her sister and nephew, Zara looked her up and down.
“And who are you to be making such claims? From the looks of it you’re much too well dressed to be a common woodswitch. Who are you and what do you want in return for healing my nephew?”
Incensed, as this was the second time someone had blatantly questioned her with suspicion and distrust in their eyes despite it being completely unwarranted, Helena answered back in a clipped and snappish tone that bordered on hostile.
“As I have told your sister and her husband before, my name is Helena Peverell and while you may not believe it to be true, I do have experience as a healer. I don’t know what a woodswitch is, but I’ve been a mediwi—mediwoman for almost nine years and am more than qualified to heal your nephew,” Helena said irritably. While still fuming at the woman’s audacity to imply her a liar or opportunist, she was also internally scolding herself for nearly giving away the fact that she was a witch and breaking the statue of secrecy to these “more-than-likely” muggles.
Honestly, she has had little time to process everything that has happened so far and being called a liar on top of all the pressure she was under from being in her current condition made her defensive. After the year when she, Ron, and Hermione had been on the run with people constantly slandering her name in the papers as well as the harsh punishment (torture, really) that Umbridge had put her under for being a “liar”, Helena can honestly say that that was the one thing she hated being accused of even so many years after the end of the war.
Watching as the two women glared at each other, Robard decided to step in and bring the conversation back to his son’s condition.
“Enough good-sister, she is my guest, and I will not have you questioning her as though she were a common thief. The girl has offered to help me in exchange for information on how she can go about returning home. Let her try and heal my son, if she is telling the truth, she will be free to go to the meeting hall and observe the map we keep there and be on her way. If she is lying however…she will reap the consequences. Am I clear Zara?”
“Yes chieftain”
“And you…m’lady?”
“Crystal.”
“Excellent, now if you would please?” Robard finished guiding her to where his wife sat in the chair with her baby wrapped in her arms.
As they approached, Alys handed Artos to Helena.
However, upon feeling out the baby’s condition with a quick invisible diagnostic charm while outwardly checking his nose and mouth to her carefully watching audience.
Helena realized that she was going to need more than just a fever-reducing potion. For the baby wasn’t just suffering from a high fever but also a severe ear infection that she believes may have been the cause behind the fever.
Biting her lip uncertainly, she knew she needed to use a spell to dispel the infection before healing the fever or else the fever would simply return should she not treat the main cause.
That said, she also knew that using magic in front of these people wouldn’t be a good idea. Not only would it break the statute of secrecy, but it would also endanger her if these people were magic-hating muggles.
For Helena was not stupid, she had seen the look on many of the people’s faces when she had walked here with Alys and Robard and though they had looked upon them with respect and familiarity, Helena didn’t miss the looks of suspicion, judgement, distrust, or downright hatred (those where usually from the few that took note of her cleaner, more flashy clothes, something Robard briefly mentioned being similar in style to that of the Southern nobility—whatever that meant) most of the citizens had shot her when she passed by.
Ever since she had stepped foot in this village everyone had treated her with caution, like she was a potential enemy that they would eliminate should she step one foot out of line.
That said, Helena was confident that if she displayed her magic here, these people would burn her at the stake “Salem Witch Trials” style.
“So,” Alys began anxiously twisting her fingers around desperately in the fabric of her hemp gown, “c-can you save him? will he live?”
Looking up at the woman, Helena could see the fear and desperate hope she was clinging onto for dear life reflected in her hazelnut eyes. Helena knew that feeling intimately, it was the desperate pleas of a mother who did not want to witness the pain of living with the knowledge that she had outlived her children.
That she would have to bury the same life she had struggled to bring into this world.
Helena would know since she had felt that same fear when Sirius told her the fate of her beloved children.
The knowledge of their deaths had broken her.
Crushed her will to live on in a world without her son and daughter, only her husband had prevented her from throwing herself off the nearest cliff when she had heard the news.
Him and the promise of revenge for their children’s murder.
Looking at this woman who, despite worrying for her son, had been nothing but patient and kind to her since the moment they met, Helena knew that she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t try everything in her power to save this woman’s son.
If she let him die the same way that her own son had, just to uphold the Statute of Secrecy, she would be no better than Dolohov.
It was that final thought that pushed her to do something she hoped she wouldn’t come to regret later on.
And so, with a heavy heart, the-girl-who-lived, looked down at the sickly baby and closed her eyes. Her hands that rested on the boys back started to glow faintly, then got increasingly brighter until the light made the little bedroom glow an unnatural yellow light in the otherwise dark room as the sun had finally set and the stars had become visible in the night sky.
As she continued to perform a silent Infestus Reparo incantation that worked to repair his infection, she could hear Robard and Alys gasp. Though she tried to remain focused on the child she was healing she could hear Zara begin yelling at Robard for bringing an unknown witch into their camp.
The spell was starting to come to an end as she sensed that the boy’s infection had finally been healed and as she reached into her bag to pull out the fever reducing potion, Robard’s deep threatening voice called out to her.
With his hand still on the axe he kept strapped to his back, Robard looked at the, now revealed witch, with suspicion and warning in his eyes. He knew that his good-sister had a point. For all that she seemed like a good girl when they first met, Robard had been suspicious of her sudden arrival in the Godswood.
Despite what his wife’s sister may believe, he wasn’t just some empty-headed barbarian. He wouldn’t have survived as long as he has, nor been able to keep his position as chieftain of the village if he had been an overly trusting or easily influenced leader.
That said, Robard liked to think that while he may not be the most trusting individual, he did have a talent for being a pretty good judge of character and so he could say that no matter how his people felt about foreigners or how Zara felt about the witch, he knew with almost complete certainty that the woman was not a bad person.
As a wildling living in the farthest reaches of the North one could possibly get, he had seen many men and women succumb to the harsh climate and conditions of the land. The never-ending cold and snow, especially when it was at its worst during the long winters, was capable of hardening even the softest of men.
Sometimes this was for the better, but most times it was for the worse. These hardships drew out the worst aspects of men and made them monsters in turn, willing to sell out even their mothers if it means they would survive one more day in this frosted hell. It’s for reasons like this that his villagers as well as other wildling settlements were averse to strangers trotting about their lands. Even so, Robard knows that it is because of these circumstances that he is able to recognize that wickedness in others and treat them accordingly.
So, despite the fact that, for all intents and purposes Helena Peverell should be viewed as a potential threat with her powers, her dragon, and her overall strangeness that was so queer when compared to everyone else he had ever met in this life, it was her eyes that kept him from running her off.
For in her sea green eyes, he saw nothing but sadness, hurt, but also care and compassion, especially when she looked upon his wife and child. A woman like this, despite displaying power he had never even seen the woodswitchs, wargs, or greenseers display, couldn’t possibly carry nefarious intentions towards him or his people.
Even so, he had to remain vigilant for she was still a stranger. A stranger who was holding his son and had just put some kind of unknown spell upon him and so as calmly as he could with his hand still holding the hilt of his axe but not having drawn it yet; he looked at the witch trying to go into her satchel and called out to her.
“What did you just do?” Robard said deeply, both curious and wary. Alys kept her hand on his shoulder trying to take a peek at their son as he remained swaddled in the witch’s embrace.
Zara glared at her from the furthest corner of the room brandishing an iron fireplace poker, one she most likely got from the hearth in the living room, like a weapon at the woman.
Looking up, Helena rolled her eyes at Zara’s threat, sighed, glanced at Robard and reluctantly she answered, “I just healed the ear infection that was causing the fever to persist. If you’ll allow me, I would like to get a fever reducing potion from my bag.”
The room was quiet for a moment with only the child’s labored breathing filling the tense silence that had blanketed the dimly lit room.
“Look, I know that you have no reason to trust me, but I swear to you. all I wish to do is heal your son if you’ll allow it.”
Looking deep into her eyes, Rob turned to look at his wife. Whatever he found in her expression must have finally convinced him, for not a second later, he was nodding at her to continue.
Incensed, Zara, still holding the poker stick finally lost control of her temper after watching Robard allow the witch to continue.
“Have you lost your mind!” Zara shouted glaring at her good-brother and sister.
“Zara—” He started warningly.
“No! I refuse to step down on this matter! You have allowed a strange foreigner to invade our lands and your home. You have allowed her near my sister and nephew and if that weren’t bad enough now, you’re saying that you will allow her to preform her queer magics upon him all while feeding him poison?! I will not stand by as you allow this vile woman to cast despicable blood magic on my family. I will—”
“ENOUGH!” Alys roared at her sister, anger lacing her tone. Turning, Zara glared at her sister with equal heat.
“He is my son, Zara. Not yours. No matter how much you wish it was so. I will not have you in my home, yelling at my husband, your chief may I remind you, and upsetting my guest who is clearly trying to save my son. I want you to leave.”
“How dare you. You dare to bring up…” She grimaced but tried to continue “sister you cannot possibly—”
“Now Zara!” Alys yelled, pointing at the door.
The two women stared at each other for a tense few minutes, both breathing heavily before Zara huffed angrily, went to the chair she had been sitting on, grabbed her fur shawl, and with one last hateful glare at Helena, stomped out of the room.
A slam could be heard from the front of the house indicating that she had left.
Shaking her head but glad that the horrible woman was finally gone and hoping that she would never have to see her again, Helena reached into her bag.
The bag was a multicolored purse with stripes on it that, though she thought the design was a bit tacky, she never went anywhere without it as it had an extendable charm on it that Hermione had given her for her thirty fifth birthday. She was so glad it had traveled with her as it contained most of her belongings as well as her family’s money and jewels that she had withdrawn from Gringotts after she and her friends had freed the dragon being held captive and destroyed most of the bank in the process.
After that, the goblins had wanted nothing to do with her and she was of a similar opinion. Anyone who mistreated a creature, any creature really, the way that the goblins had treated that dragon weren’t people she could stomach interacting with let alone handling her family’s wealth.
And so she had extracted half to put in a chest in her extendable bag and half she had put into another magical bank in France that was run by other wizards and was as removed from the greedy goblins and their gold hoarding ways as feasibly possible so that her children and grandchildren would have accounts there instead in case she should die, in which case all of those riches would go to them.
Shifting through her bag, she got to the potion section and felt around a bit until her hand brushed over the yellowish green liquid she had been looking for. Pulling it out, she uncorked the top, leaned over, and with one hand supporting the babe’s head tipped the liquid between his cracked parted lips.
After two drops, the boy swallowed and almost instantaneously his labored breaths decreased until he was breathing easily. His cherry red cheeks began to fade to their natural color and his deep blue eyes lit up as life was slowly poured back into the two-year-old. Curious blue eyes stared at her as the boy began to happily babble at her.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed his improved state either.
Letting out a relieved cry, Alys rushed to cradle her adorable son. Tears of joy and love rolled down her rosy cheeks as she cooed and rocked her son contentedly. Robard wasn’t far behind either as he too rushed to his wife’s side to look at his son happily, immense relief reflected in the eyes he shared with his son.
As the little family rejoiced in their own bubble of happiness, Helena watched the scene with sad but understanding eyes. She couldn’t help but see another picture overlapping this one but with Fred and her as they had held their children when they had first been born.
The thought of them and the feeling of being without her family, lost and confused, Helena shed a single tear as the feeling of loneliness washed over.
Gods she missed her family, her home. Helena thought sadly.
Hearing a throat clear, she looked up to realize that Alys and Robard were looking at her worriedly but after a while, Alys, seeing an all to familiar expression cross Helena’s face understood immediately what she must have been thinking about.
Looking at her husband, Alys raised her eyebrows in an insistent you-know-what-to-do gesture.
Taking the hint, as the witch wiped her eyes and cheeks with the back of her cloak sleeve, the chieftain of the village offered her the opportunity she had been promised upon healing their son.
“Thank you, m’lady, for healing our child. I will forever be in your debt for this. And it is because of this that I must say that I am a man of my word. I promised to show you a way home if you healed my son. And while I know not where your land of Eng resides, I can say that you might find some answers as to your location in the meeting hall we just passed.”
Tilting her head, green eyes still slightly watery but with renewed hope at the prospect of being able to finally go home.
“Truly?” She wondered.
“Aye, a few years back, I and a few of my men led a raiding excursion on House Umber. We were able to take a lot of the precious wool, linens, and riches we could find but as we were searching through the keep, we came across a room full of books and parchments.
We were going to pass on—seeing as few free men know how to read nor is it essential to survival—but then I came across a long desk that held a map of Planetos. Tis most likely from the maesters so the accuracy of it should be up to par. When we were bringing back the loot to be distributed, I decided to post the map in the meeting hall since it also gives a fairly accurate depiction of the North as well. It’s been useful so far as a means to plan our next settlement grounds.
I believe if anything will show you your way home it would be the map. Would you like to see it?”
Ignoring the fact that he had just admitted to robbing someone blind, Helena decided to contemplate that fact at a later date.
Right now, she was too giddy at the prospect of finally getting some answers and hopefully a way back home.
Nodding her head, Robard left the room to get his boots and cloak he left at the door leaving the two women and now peacefully sleeping baby alone in the quiet bedroom. Alys was rocking Artos, when she looked up at last.
“Who was it?” she whispered glancing briefly at Helena before returning to watching her sleeping son.
“Who was what?” Helena replied bemused at the sudden and seemingly random question.
“The man that you loved. The one who gave you the children you loved and lost.”
Shocked Helena stuttered, “I…I Don’t—”
“There’s no reason to deny it, dear. I’m not asking out of maliciousness, simply curious. I know that look in your eyes for I feared the same fate would fall upon me should I have lost Rob to battle or Artos to sickness. Someone you loved deeply has been lost to you. I merely wish to know who so that his name, his memory, shall not be forgotten. It’s the least I can do for the woman who saved my son from an early grave.”
Touched she whispered, “Fred. His name was Fred and our children, twins, they were named Liliana and James.”
“Liliana, James, and Fred” nodding she continued “I shall never forget them as I doubt you ever will either, but may I give you some advice. One mother to another. While it’s okay to mourn your husband and children, expected even, I pray that you do not let their deaths weigh you down. Never forget them but you must learn to live again, to continue without them. The fact that you’re here means that someone somewhere wishes for you to live on, to find happiness again.
And while I might not have known them, I’m 100% certain that if the love you still hold for them is an example of the bonds you three shared then that is something they would have wanted as well. I know it’s hard right now and nothing seems worth it without them, but I urge you. Continue a little longer, it might be hard at first, but I’m sure you’ll find your purpose once again” Alys said softly hazel eyes soft and warm.
With tears gathering in the corner of her eyes once more, Helena, throat heavy with emotion replied with a simple, “I—I will try”
“That’s all that we can ever do”
The two women talked for another minute or so about everything and nothing until Robard knocked on the door
“Ready lass?”
Nodding Helena sat up, got her striped bag and with a final goodbye hug to Alys and a kiss to baby Artos’s head that had the little guy stir in his sleep. Helena and Robard left the little log cabin in the direction of the meeting hall.
The roads were dark and quiet compared to the hustle and bustle she had witnessed during the day. Everyone was in their homes sleeping, and she could only spot a couple of huts that had light, most likely from a lit fireplace. The only thing that lit their way was the torch light Robard was holding and the stars in the sky.
She could hear the singingof crickets, the coos of owls, and if she listened hard enough the howls of wolves. The night air was fresh and crisp and the snow soft and malleable under her boots. Feeling a slight chill Helena tugged her cloak tighter.
Despite this they made record time in reaching the meeting hall steps. Looking up, Helena drew her eyes away from the snow at her feet and stared at the building before them. To her 21st century eyes, the log cabin before her was nothing special.
She did notice that compared to the Calonson family’s cabin, this cabin was significantly bigger. Just like the Calonson’s cabin this one was made up of notched pine wood logs and pine bark-made shingles on the roof with a wraparound porch. However, this cabin had three stories with many more windows compared to the last.
She also noticed that where the Calonsons had plants and herbs outside of their cabin that gave it a homier feel, likely touches made by Alys, the meeting hall had none of that. It really did seem like a building that was made for the sole purpose of carrying out important village business with no one living there to give it any personality.
After making it up the porch steps, Robard makes quick work of the door and together they make their way to the war room, which is where Robard told her they keep all the maps, armor, leather, and weapons they’ve either made or stolen from northern houses beyond the wall.
They pass a few halls till they make it to what she assumes is the right room because the minute Rob opens the door, she takes note of all the swords and chainmail on display. However, that’s not what catches her attention.
It is a ginormous map located on the only desk in the room.
As she and Robard walk towards it she noticed some figures that look like chess pieces scattered across the map. They are mostly centered around one area she assumes to be where they are now.
But as she looks down, Helena’s breath stutters to a halt. Her eyes widen and the sense of dread she had pushed to the back of her mind since the moment she met Robard and realized that he didn’t know where she came from, nearly made her collapse as she was assaulted by the sheer wrongness that had overcome her being.
For as her eyes frantically searched every inch, speck, and corner of the map she realized more and more that everything was wrong. If the map had only gotten some countries or cities wrong, it would have been fine, she reasoned. She could have measured the distances herself and found the closest magical community in that vicinity. Almost everyone knew where magical Britian laid, and it wouldn’t have been impossible to get answers that way.
But as she looked at the map it wasn’t just the cities or countries she didn’t recognize, but even the continents were wrong. If she was reading this correctly, and as a former Hogwarts student she was sure she was, then this planet had four continents; Westeros, Essos, Ulthos, and Sothoryos with cities and places she had never heard of before. Lannisport, Oldtown, The Summer Islands, The Valyrian Freehold, and so many others.
Places she had never heard before, a map she had never seen before, she remembered looking at the stars earlier and, while she had dismissed it as due to being too dark or being so far from home, as the reason why they were probably in different positions she had recalled not being able to find a single constellation she recognized.
Then she remembered the foreignness of the land and how different the magic had felt here. Finally, it was all starting to come together, but Helena, in her mounting panic didn’t realize that she had begun to hyperventilate, her breathing becoming choppy and rushed as her dread rose.
She didn’t hear Robard worriedly calling out her name, didn’t feel the hold he had on her shoulders, it was as if he was speaking to her from the top of a shallow pool, everything was blurry, and her vision was starting to fade.
It was then that she recalled the words spoken to her by Cannibal before she and Fred had drawn their last breath.
The Song calls and he will take her where the Song awaits her answer, for they shall burn together.
She had thought he meant that they would die together, and that the song was death calling her back to the fate she had escaped that day Voldemort had killed her in the Forbidden Forest. She had assumed that her time had run out.
How foolish she had been. When was she ever going to learn that her fate had never been in her own hands. Because for whatever reason rather than meeting her end that day in Hawaii, someone or something had, instead taken her not just to another time or place. But a different universe entirely.
And it was with that painful realization that she finally closed her eyes to the panicked voice of Robard speaking to someone at the door as he cradled her limp figure on the floor and fainted.
The world was silent, save the hoots of a single owl trees above as a cloaked figure made its way across the snow-covered grass. Draped head to toe with a large hood covering their features, none could make out the person’s face. The dark cover made them blend in with the shadows making them appear as if they were one with the night itself.
As the cloaked being made it deeper into the wood surrounding a semi-lit village, having snuck through the part where the guards were least likely to patrol especially so late during the hour of the wolf.
Everyone was asleep save the one making their way deeper into the forestry.
Suddenly a hand yanked the figure behind a tree and pinned their body to the rough bark.
Looking up, the hand is attached to a handsome but deadly looking man with an evil glint in his pitch-black eyes so dilated with malice and madness that the pupil is barely visible.
Licking his lips he looks down at the cloaked individual held tightly in his grasp, pulling off the hood, he reveals a beautiful feminine face framed by long curly brown hair, pink pouty lips, and flushed red cheeks from the cold bite of the artic breeze.
Hazel eyes look up at the man with both fear and lust.
“Well…” The man starts.
“What information do you have for me this time Zar-Zar. And it better be good, or the boss will have my head and yours too I’ll bet. No matter how prettily you may beg.” The man says mockingly fingers trailing down her plump cheeks in the facsimile of a loving caress typically given by a lover.
Moving her head slightly away from his fingers, the woman carefully grasps the wrist of the hand that, after moving away from her cheek, now casually rests wrapped around her throat in a clear warning of what he would do to her if she stepped out of line or wasted his time. Haltingly, she tries to speak with as much authority as she can, caged in as she was.
“The—there is a woman, a witch, who just showed up out of the blue in the Godswood. My good-brother and sister have brought her into the village, and she is currently staying with them. I—ck” she tried to continue speaking only to have the hand wrapped around her throat draw tighter.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk” The man drawled threateningly shaking his head mournfully as his grip tightened until her face began to turn bright red from the lack of oxygen.
“My dear girl. As much as I adore your warm cunt and shall miss it when it’s gone, I deeply hope that you did not call me all this way so that you may waste my time speaking of woodswitches and wargs or I fear you shall not be long for this world.
Surely you wouldn’t do something so foolish would you. Hmm… I know you may not be the brightest of women, but I doubt even you could be so stupid,” he said shaking her slightly by the throat as the other hand he had on her shoulder moved to join the other around her neck.
Struggling, the brown-haired woman dug her nails into his wrist trying to stop him from cutting off her airways completely, desperately, she choked out, “N-Not a woods-woodswitch”
“Hmm?” He said releasing her slightly so he could hear her better.
Gasping desperately the cloaked lady’s hazel eyes gathered moisture as she heaved, trying, fruitlessly to get air through her nostrils as she coughed wetly. Seeing her assailant’s impatient expression grow the longer she took to answer, she carried on hurriedly, fearful he may tighten his grip once more.
“I-I don’t know what she is, but the sorceress is no woodswitch. At least not one I have ever met; she was able to heal my nephew with little to no effort at all. She merely touched the boy, and he got better instantly. Before that, the Winter’s Death poison you had given me to pour into his ears was progressing smoothly.
His death would have looked natural as you wished but the woman—I swear to you I have no idea where she hails from—was able to stop the infection and has healed his fever with a wave of her hand. No woodswitch here or south of the wall could do such a thing. At most they will prescribe poppy milk or tree bark in order to heal their patients and we both know that they are basically useless. But this, what that witch was able to do, it aligns more with the kind of magics ye would find in Essos.”
Looking up she saw the annoyed look enter her lover’s eyes as well as contemplation.
“I see… well the boss wont like this especially seeing as how his biggest rival now possesses a powerful potential weapon. Tell me Zar-Zar do you know if that good-brother of yours plans to keep the girl in the village?”
Shaking her head, the brown-haired woman said, “the witch is a foreigner who Robard came upon by accident. I overheard that she wishes to find a way back home so I doubt she will be with us long, good riddance I’d say, but if she is unable to find her way home, I doubt Rob would kick her out of the village she is both his guest and has proven herself to be a valuable ally to have.”
“Tsk” the man bites his lip angrily, “this complicates things. We had planned to invade the village three weeks from now. However, we didn’t factor in this new variable, one that could potentially be a threat to our entire operation. Damn it!” The handsome man punched the tree behind her head making the woman flinch further away “no-no this is no time to be losing my composure, we’ve been planning this raid for nigh on a year. We’ll just have to wait a couple more months perhaps we can see if she chooses to stay or not and if she does, we’ll need to gather intel on her powers as well,” pacing in front of her, he finally calmed down and nodded to himself.
“Yes, boss will understand that that is the best course. Even better, when we succeed in taking Woodsville, we can take the witch too and have her work for us. Yes-yes, I think that just might work” He whispered to himself.
Looking up, he glanced at where the cloaked woman was delicately touching her bruised throat and quietly hissed when touching it. Scoffing at her dramatics, the man called out to her.
“Zara enough of that, you will be fine I didn’t even choke you as hard as I could have.”
Watching her flinch at his tone, the man decided to soften up a bit. Walking over to her, he gently cupped her face and began to roughly kiss the wring of purple bruises he had lined across her neck. Upon hearing her breath hitch he said softly, love in his voice.
“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You know I love you; I’ve just been so stressed lately. You know how the boss can be. He’s been running me ragged with all these tasks as if I were his page boy.”
Continuing to kiss her neck he began to suck on a part he knew her to be sensitive to. And as her pained whimpers turned into desperate moans and he felt her grow damp where his leg was pressed between her thighs, he couldn’t help but smile victoriously as she moaned his name.
“Oh, Gorm more please” she moaned, and he knew he had won her over
The Great Barrier Pearl, Ulthos
“Did you see?” One of his men whispered.
“Yeah, I didn’t think it possible. I mean it hasn’t been lit in over ten centuries, right? I had thought t’was a myth, y’know?” Another whispered.
“The light it gives off is so ominous.”
“I wonder how long it has been glowing.”
“My cousin says he was sailing pass the isle on his way to Merceria and he was the first to encounter the strange light.”
“Your cousin’s a drunken fool who I doubt could see his own toes even if they were right before his eyes.” Another man scoffed
“You bast—”
“Quiet!” an authoritative voice spoke over all the whispers of the deck.
Upon seeing who it was all the sailors on board the ship stood straight and turned their eyes away from the plot of land they could see in the distance. Simultaneously they all saluted the man with a unanimous call of “Captain sir”.
“Quit standing around gossiping like a pack of hens and get back to work. Am I understood men?!”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” They cried.
“Dismissed.”
With that the sailors that were looking out past the sea nearest the bow of the ship went back to their duties, but he could see that every few minutes they would give the island a superstitious glance and honestly, he couldn’t blame them.
As he looked towards where the sacred island, the Isle of the Blessed, rested. He saw what had his men so spooked. For in the center, amidst the golden trees native to the island, a light so tall it pierced the very heavens, blasted through the night sky as the torch—that hadn’t been lit for over ten centuries—glowed with ethereal light once more.
“Lieutenant Thorne”
“Yes, Captain Illyn?”
“Write to my elder brother.”
“And what shall I write to his grace, sir?”
“That the time draws near for the song of Ice and Fire to be sung at last”
“Will do, Captain.”
