A Favor to Old Friends (ASOIAF/GOT)

AUTHOR'S NOTES; it's been like half a year 😭 I'm sorry!

But! In my defense, now there are 8 parts to this series and I wrote over 45k since you guys last saw me!

Still… I am sorry 💙 you guys are my dear readers so I feel bad for the wait.

Y'all know how this series works by now, but if you're new, hi! Welcome! Each part of this series can be read independently or in order as part of a soul's journey through the cycle of reincarnation.

Side note, I started school again, so I had to slow down in updates again. So sorry. But I'll be updating all break. And I think I'll be able to update a bit more now that I've gotten into the swing of things.

As always, thank you guys for showing your love for my work. I hope yall enjoy!

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The Singers are amicable enough, and after the Northerners process a bit, they all accept the non-human beings with a mix of awe and excitement. With little fanfare, the Singers insert themselves among the Order mages, offering to teach them what they could. Marwyn was nearly foaming at the mouth at the prospect of learning lost magicks, so much so I had to threaten to ban him from interacting with the Singers so he wouldn't scare the bewildered beings off with his feral gremlin self.

We decided to extend our time at the Moat with Bran and I electing to be housed in the Children's Tower. Since it's one of the three standing towers and still 

mostly intact, it's relatively safe. Bran, after a few days, agrees to sleep on the floor below me in the tower, finally allowing me my alone time again, relenting off constant supervision once more, although he ordered extra guards to maintain watch on the tower.

It's not long after that Lord Bryen Reed and His heir, Howland, as well as young Lord Danyer Flint of Flint's Finger arrive. Alasadaire and Sybelle Locke, as well as Wyrenna Manderly who had intended to only travel with us until our next escort appeared, end up remaining to learn as much as they can until we leave the Moat. While the reaction of the Northern Houses of the Neck finding out Children of the Forest had joined us is genuinely hilarious, more interesting to me is Howland Reed, who held one of the highest potentials for magic that I've seen so far outside of my own family. The crannogman had a strong talent for skin changing and an inclination towards earthen and water elemental power, his steadiness and goodness reminding me a great deal of Ned in nature and immediately endearing the short teen of 13 years to me. 

"Deep breathes, Lord Howland," I instruct, one week into our extended stay at the keep, watching the boy from above as a group of us mages perch quietly in anticipation on one of the Moat's walls.

In between one moment and the next, Howland's body shifts, the air rippling around him as cloth tears, leaving a giant alligator thing, nearly ten feet from snout to tail tip. I whistle, impressed, as Howland growls and flounders, trying to figure out how to walk in his new form.

"Remarkable," Marwyn barks gleefully, snatching the poor lad's snout and pulling his jaws open to inspect the rows of dagger like teeth, the lizard lion skinchanger letting out an affronted noise. "He's learned so quickly."

"That would be the blood of Singers in his veins," Leaf states, sounding a bit smug, and I raise my eyebrows at the confirmation that the Crannogmen do, in fact, have the blood of the Children of the Forest in their veins. Reading the silent question in my expression, Leaf elaborates. "Our peoples intermarried to seal the peace between the First men and we Singers."

Howie makes a befuddled noise and shifts back into a naked person, and I toss I cloak over him as the mages cheer and congratulate him, making him smile shyly.

I grin at the older boy. "Well done."

The older boy shakes his head, smiling more widely. "No, thank you, Lady Stark. While magic isn't quite as drained in the Neck, a handful of mages and wargs still alive, there would have been no skinchangers to teach me or even inform me I had such a talent."

I wave it off. "It's merely my duty. Please, just call me Lunarya. I hope we can be friends."

Howland smiles, reaching out to gently pat my head. "Aye, Lady Lunarya. Please just call me Howland or Howie."

I got a feeling it was the start of a beautiful friendship.

XXXXXXXXXX

On my first night alone at Moat Cailin after convincing my brother I am safe sleeping in my own room on the highest floor of the well guarded tower, I wake up to a dark presence by my feet. Sitting up on my little nest of blankets, noting the alert but not aggressive feeling of Sahaar, Saiya, and Frostbite, I let out a quick flare of magic that lets me know that Bran is safe on the floor below me, as is everyone else staying in the Children's Tower, including the guards stationed outside my door.

I hum, glancing at the boy crouched by the foot of my bed. "You came through the window? That's rather impressive considering how high up we are…"

The boy stares silently, slanted purple eyes peering behind grimy dark strands, a dirty mask covering his lower face. I stare back, curious. Even now, he gives off a strange vibe. He is dangerous, extremely so, perhaps one of the most dangerous auras I'd ever encountered, but the way he sets off my instincts is interesting. The boy is utterly threatening, but in the same way a natural disaster is. It's not malevolent, just an inherent quality not aimed at anything in particular.

"Why are you here, Little One?" I ask softly, slowly resting my elbows on my thighs, jaw on my clasped hands as we watch one another. 

After a few minutes, the boy, the same one we'd uncollared at White Harbor that had somehow followed us all the way to Moat Cailin, speaks, and I startle at the raspy voice hearing the obvious trouble he is having articulating. "Nowhere… else." 

"You had nowhere else to go?" I clarify, recognizing this as the first time I've heard his voice.

The boy, a child really only around the age of Bran, reekes of trauma, and every line of his body is pulled taut like a bow string. Luckily, or unluckily, traumatized people were sort of a specialty of mine at this point. He wouldn't believe me, not right away, but there were some things I could say to help establish our interactions. "Alright. My name is Lunarya Stark of Winterfell, I am currently traveling my kingdom to bring back magic to these lands. I felt your collar back in White Harbor, how it was restraining your magic, and because you are a child, I decided to free you."

The boy doesn't ask why, but I can sense his bafflement, his inability to understand such a concept despite clearly understanding the words, and my heart fucking aches for him.

I fold my legs carefully, ever cautious of making no sudden movements as I draw on my understanding of abuse victims. "In the North, we believe harming children is bad. And since you were in my kingdom, helping you is something I see as my duty. People will often make decisions on what they view as right or wrong, and while it might be hard to understand, that is why I did what I did."

I hum, feeling his attention even in his silence, swirling shadows and flickering candlelight brushing my senses. "I think you might have lived a very hard life before this. You don't have to answer if you don't wish to, but I am curious to know how you ended up on that slaver ship."

It's not a question, but an open statement, and instantly the shadows writhe near violently as he struggles internally, his emotions still only detectable to me through the roil of power inside him and my empathic abilities, thankfully back to normal with all Siphons in the area destroyed. I have a hunch that if I ask him directly, the boy will take it as an order to answer and do so, but I need this to be a conscious decision on his part. It wouldn't feel right otherwise.

"…I fought… for my master. He sent me…" the pause is long and lasts several moments before he manages to speak again, voice heavily accented, but not like he is entirely unfamiliar with the Common Tongue. "… to Lys for…. a mission…"

"Ah, but you ended up stopping in White Harbor and the collar was taken off," I fill in, remembering the malicious device used to control him. The boy hesitantly nods. "Right. We don't need to talk more about this if you don't want to, but you realize that with the collar gone, you no longer have to obey your master, yes?"

After another long pause the boy speaks again. "I don't know how to have… no master."

The reply has me grinding my teeth, fighting back the sting of tears in my eyes and the lump in my throat. This pitiful, pitiful child…

On impulse, I make a snap decision, for once not thinking my actions through in the slightest. It is unusual for me to do such a thing, to carelessly court danger without looking ahead for the consequences, but if there is one thing that can consistently destroy my typical cautiousness, it is a hurt child. The words are tumbling out before I even know what I'm saying. "I can teach you."

"Teach?"

"How to live without a master. How to be a person on your own," I clarify. "Because you are a person, no matter what you were told, and you were treated wrongly."

I rake my fingers through my hair, ignoring the way his hand goes to a sheathed dagger at my hasty movement. "You don't have to say yes, but I am offering you a position as one of my people."

"… Slave?"

"No," I say, carefully neutral, fighting back my anger and sadness at this world for what it did to this child. It honestly kind of made me want to let it burn as it was previously destined to without my interference. "My people are my friends, servants, helpers, guards, and even family. I will make sure you are fed and healthy and hopefully happy one day. You will be safe."

The boy says nothing, silently pondering for the rest of the night. At some point, I fall asleep and when morning light finally streams through the window, he's gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next night, he appears again, the mild prickling sensation of incoming danger that seems to surround him waking me up once more, like the air just before lightning strikes. Once more, I talk to him, making my offers and reassurances, but he says nothing more, merely listening to me ramble on and on. The next night goes much the same. As does the night after that.

During the day, Singers show me how to redo the runes on the keep since so much of it has crumbled to ash and can't just be reactivated like Winterfell. Thankfully though, most of them were written into the foundation or largely intact. With some ingredients like weirwood sap and ash, my blood, and various other things we manage to dig up from around us, it only takes all the siphons in the area being destroyed, some singing on the Singers' part, and infusing most of my energy into key points around the Moat for the giant keep to begin rebuilding itself.

Like time flowing in reverse, bit by bit, the broken stone begins to reform and shift stacking up once again, reforming and infusing together, the tops of the towers creeping towards the sky. It is a slow process, but as Moat Cailin shifts and rebuilds itself, more of the ancient writing and inscribed magical language would reveal itself from under rubble, and the whole process would need to be repeated again, but by the time two weeks had passed, the ancient keep had gone from having only three towers left to having 10, albeit not fully formed. The Drunkard's tower had righted itself, no longer leaning over dangerously, the Children's Tower, (or perhaps it should be the Singer's Tower), had been nearly entirely restored, and most of the foundational issues of the keep had actually been fixed.

The Singers, true to their word, set up some kind of rune array around the entire keep, leaving it covered with fog and illusions using branches of a heart tree, projecting an image out of time. Even while standing directly inside the keep, it was impossible to see anything but that which the followers of the old gods wanted you to see. None of us, including the mages, could recognize any difference between now and how the Moat looked when we first arrived. When coming through the Moat, travelers and merchants would be none the wiser that they were essentially watching looped footage pulled from the memories of the weirwood trees.

Magic remains the ultimate cheat code. 

Soon, it was time for us to move on, and the Lockes and Manderlys, and their respective retinues, reluctantly went home, viewing me with slightly disturbing looks of reverence. Wyrenna even took me aside to inform me of something. "Messenger of the Old Ones, House Manderly is planning to stop worshiping the Seven."

I pause, face going blank in an effort to keep from gaping as I examine the older girl before calling Nahsa to bring me my little potted heart tree named Aldo, and after a bit of greenseeing, I turn blindly back to the green haired teen. "Could I request a favor from your House?"

Wyrenna startles. "Lady Lunarya, no, Lady Priestess, please feel free to give your command. After all, it was one of our men that dared betray you to the Faith, putting your life in danger. That is still something we must atone for."

I shake my head, trying not to grimace at yet another new title and the way it made my insides twist in discomfort. "Please, it is not your fault. None of us anticipated it. Regardless, I would like it if your family kept the act of following the Seven for a while longer."

Wyrenna, despite being only just a bit older than Brandon, is as quick witted as her father and brother. "You wish to avoid bringing the Faith Militant down upon the North as long as possible by maintaining House Manderly's status as Defender of the Faith in the North."

I nod, pleased with her understanding. The attack from before had actually occurred when a few Manderly soldiers had secretly gone to a nearby sept and conspired with them to attack me. Luckily, they had been unable to send a raven out to anywhere important, meaning that the attack was, in fact, very small and local. It would've been far more troublesome had they managed to contact a high septam or something since fanatics wouldn't wait for evidence to move against us. But thankfully, they recklessly tried to eliminate me without thinking things through. Small groups like that were easy enough to take care of, but if rumors of magic were taken seriously before we were ready, and the real Faith Militant would be brought down on us and it would be a lot harder for me to accomplish my goals.

Wyrenna nods before saying something that actually takes me off guard. "Do you wish us to spy and feed them false information?"

This time, I don't manage to keep my jaw from dropping, my young body still lacking the ingrained emotional control I so desperately miss. I had not actually considered the idea, only intending for the Manderlys to keep the act publicly so as not to draw attention. "I- I'm not sure if I can ask that of your House."

Wyrenna squares her shoulders, eyes sincere as she takes my hands in hers, kneeling. "My lady, not only did you remove the veil over our eyes, showing us the truth of the false gods we worshiped, but you forgave us for the actions of our men, which, despite what you might think, was the result of our negligence. House Manderly is loyal to the Starks of Winterfell, and you're the beloved Messenger of the Old Gods, an existence beyond us all, as well as the North's greatest hope for prosperity. Something like this,… It is nothing you should be troubled to ask for."

I purse my lips, not liking a majority of what just came out of her mouth, but unable to deny it either. "… I will write a letter to my father. When you return to White Harbor, talk to your own. We will let them decide, but I thank you sincerely for your loyalty."

XXXXXXXXXX

Bran and I recieve letters from our siblings, clearly before father receives the one I sent him about the Children of the Forest joining us. Lya and Benny discuss how training is going, and how Lya adores her water dancing teacher.

Bran, who is reading the letters out loud to me, suddenly laughs. "Lya is asking you to convince Father and Mother to stop forcing her into embroidery and etiquette lessons."

I sigh. "Nahsa? Add to our reply, 'Sister, womely arts are useless, except if you personally enjoy them or in politics. You can learn a great deal from gossipy women by partaking in such activities, even about enemy Houses. Think of it as another form of warfare. Additionally, many of them, like embroidery, are ones I cannot do because of my eyesight. People will try to use it to dishonor our house. I ask you to take on this form of battle for us both, for I cannot.'

Bran scrutinizes me with something between horror and awe. "Gods, have you always manipulated people so smoothly?"

I shrug. "Well, I didn't lie, did I? And yes, good on you for finally learning to recognize it."

Howie snorts, slapping a palm over his mouth as he shakes with suppressed laughter. I wink at my new friend, grinning, before nudging my brother to read the next letter, this one from Ned, who is apparently having the time of his life in the Vale with a certain Baratheon lordling, and I do my best not to grimace, my feelings on the Stormlander incredibly conflicted. 

As far as I'm concerned, neither I nor my poor sister will be getting betrothed to that whoremongering drunk, but in my visions, he had shown a surprising amount of loyalty to my Ned and even Lya in a twisted way since he went to war for her, if not to anything else. A terrible, disloyal husband and betrothed and a shit king, but a shockingly determined companion and warrior, Robert is an enigma I have yet to determine a way to handle, one that gave me very conflicting emotions.

Regardless, I have Nahsa write a response to my brother, sending him all my love and reminding him to make friends with both the House Arryn and Baratheon. Gods know we'll need the backing of both Houses later. I also remind him to practice his magic discreetly with the mages he has guarding him.

Then, I have Nahsa write a letter to my parents. I remind them to take care of themselves, inquire about Lyzanna and a few of our investments, like the mines and apartments, before finally requesting they look into fostering Stanis Baratheon at Winterfell, allowing us to strengthen the relationship we have with that House without a definite marriage contract, even if it would lead to some assumptions. 

On the last night in the Children's Tower, much warmer now that the holes in the walls are fixed, I wake up to the boy at my bedside again. Once more he's silent while I ramble to him until I drift off. But when morning comes, I find the little shadow still curled up on the stone floor, large purple eyes fixed out the window, and when I head downstairs to meet the others, he falls into step behind me, silent as ever.

XXXXXXXXXX 

The others take the newest addition to our party with mixed reactions. My pseudo uncle and loyal knight is utterly disturbed by the boy, and I can't really blame him when the boy's every move rings death knolls, too smooth and silent and like he's a hair trigger away from pouncing.

Marwyn, however, is fascinated, as he is with any new magic or user of it. If I didn't know how much of a magic obsessed freak he is, I would've most definitely suspected him of alarming things with how he stared at the lad. In fact, the first time he saw the boy, he'd tried to ambush the young shadowbinder with rapidfire questions, and I'd ended up having to give him an electric shock to make him stop, an incident that sincerely pissed me off because the boy bolted and took two whole days to show up again. Thankfully, while Marwyn is a magic nerd, he is not at all a cruel man and was careful to mind his behavior afterwards, even giving the boy a sincere apology that seemed to confuse him for days after.

Nahsa, the faithful maid servant that she is, had taken the boy under her wing so to speak. She helped me make sure he was eating and taught him how to do simple chores to help me since we knew that he couldn't just stand around following me all day.

Bran, however, was actually the most conflicted out of all my close companions. Just like Cregan, he found the Essosi boy more than a little off putting, but he also seemed to greatly pity him. After I made an effort to explain traumatization to him, it only made him more sympathetic, but it was still clear that my older brother didn't much like having the dangerous child from gods know where hanging around me. Still, he did his best to talk gently to the boy and upon my request, helped me teach the boy things like how to bathe and clean himself. It didn't take much time afterwards for a bit of fondness to grow in his heart for the former slave. It brought a great deal of pride to me that my brother was turning into such a good little lord.

A few days later, as we follow the Reads to Greywater Watch using specially trained birds to find the floating keep, we began to try to pick a name for my newest companion. Apparently, his former master had been an exceptionally large piece of shit, even by my standards, and refused to give him one.

"What did you used to be called?" Nahsa asks innocently, handing the boy a plate. 

"Ginre. Tool, in my master's tongue, Asshli'i," the boy replies immediately, always answering quicker when he felt like he didn't have a choice. Carefully he holds the plate out to me and I smile, reminding him quietly that the food is for him.

I pointedly ignore the uneasy silence that fills the air at that declaration and I promise myself to try and kill such a monstrous individual if I ever manage to come across them. I shoot the others a sharp look before turning back to him. " Would you like a new name?"

"…" The boy nods after a long moment.

I find myself thinking quite hard about what name would suit such a child. The boy felt like all consuming shadows influenced by dancing flames. His whole life has been drenched in blood and violence, that much is abundantly obvious, and yet, here he stands, embarking on a new journey, learning how to be more than a tool, bit by bit every day. This poor being is being reborn. What kind of name would suit that?

"Jon?" Howie sneakily steals some jerky off my plate only to offer me some fruit, much to my delight.

"Eh, it's very Northern, I suppose, but it feels a bit underwhelming."

"Sam!" A glance at my new friend, and Howie wrinkles his nose at me, letting me know he also dislikes it. 

"…No, I can't see it."

"Me neither."

"Rickard!"

"What? No! Why would you even suggest naming him after our father?!" Bran says baffled, and I snort, agreeing because it's not like our father was dead, just at Winterfell.

"Timotty!"

"Does he look anything like a fucking Timotty to you? I've never seen someone look less like one!"

That one has me shaking in suppressed laughter, carefully not looking at the Cranogman next to me because doing so would definitely send us both into hysterics.

Meanwhile, the former slave merely observes, silent and solemn, a sword procured from gods know where on his hip, his face still concealed as he tries to take bites. He has yet to really show it since White Harbor, often taking his food and disappearing so he can eat freely, although today he seems to be using my body to shield himself from any wandering eyes. He reminds me oddly of both samurai or ninjas. It actually had very little to do with the mixed race features he had that would have definitely been considered partly East Asian on earth, and more something about his unflinching obedience and ultra disciplined demeanor. Before I know it my mouth is opening of its own accord, a name slipping past my lips. "Kurohiko."

My companions pause, turning to me, and I startle, realizing I actually said it out loud. Immediately, I want smash my head into the tree I'm leaning on, and only barely manage to refrain, because, honestly, what the hell had I been thinking just now?

"… What does that mean, sister?" Bran asks curiously.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I flick my eyes towards the sky. "It means something like dark or black flame."

"What language is it?" Our archmaester calls from across the fire, his flask having ended up paused halfway to his mouth, characteristically distracted by his vehement academic curiosity.

I sigh. "Not one of this world. Forget it."

"Kurohiko,"

Everyone freezes as we turn to look at the boy in question and I try not to gape at the fact that this might be the first time he's ever voluntarily spoken without being asked something. "I- Do you like it?"

After several minutes of silence, something we'd all come to expect while waiting for responses from the boy, he nods.

Kurohiko, or Kuro, would go on to become one of the most loyal and precious companions I'd have in any life.

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AN; I love, love, love kuro! He'll be very important, and not just to this fic, but the series as a whole. Please leave your thoughts down below 💙