Brandon Stark had encountered numerous surprises throughout his life, but nothing struck him as profoundly as the revelation that stood before him: the Queen of Narnia was not some distant enchantress or enigmatic sorceress from Essos or the shadowy eastern lands; it was his own sister, Lyanna Stark.
Even more astonishing was the truth about Narnia itself. All his life, he had been told tales of the harsh land beyond the Wall—desolate snow fields, unruly clans, wildlings in tattered garments and furs, living akin to beasts. The Watch labeled them as raiders and thieves, godless pagans who owed allegiance to no one. In Winterfell's great hall, the wildlings were merely monsters in bedtime stories.
Yet, in Telmar, Brandon found streets wider and cleaner than those in White Harbor. He witnessed children joyfully carrying books to schools. He walked past massive healing center called Hospital, where men and women in pristine linen cared for the ill with herbal remedies and tools far superior to those of Westeros' maesters. He noted smithies crafting precise tools, looms producing fabrics more exquisite than any from the south, and bustling markets brimming with smoked fish, salted meats, whale oil, furs, and shiny coins that Westeros had never seen.
Everywhere he looked, there was order, innovation, and abundance. No destitute beggars. No lords troubling common folk. Just Narnians—no longer wildlings, but industrious individuals living lives of respect.
That evening, Brandon sat opposite his sister in the lofty hall of Gryffindor Castle. Lyanna glowed, not adorned in silks or jewels, but in a simple green wool gown, holding her son Sirius in her lap. She appeared stronger than he recalled, her face displaying the calm confidence of one who had found her place in the world.
"You are their Queen," Brandon finally declared, the phrase feeling foreign as he spoke it.
Lyanna offered a subtle smile, gently stroking her son's dark hair. "Not through a crown or ceremony. They chose me as their voice, their mother, their sister. They trust me."
Brandon shook his head in disbelief. "The songs in Westeros depict these people as savage. Yet I've walked your streets, Lyanna. They are tidier and safer than King's Landing. I've seen people of all tribes and women of every color united in work. I saw children with ink stains. This... this is not the land I heard before."
"It's not the North you left behind," Lyanna replied softly. "Harry built this in just three years. Imagine what it will become in thirty."
Her words rendered him speechless. He gazed at his sister—his little Lyanna, once a wild girl galloping through Winterfell's courtyards, now a woman who governed a kingdom hidden from the world. He saw the determination in her eyes, the pride in her voice, and he understood she was no longer the rebellious daughter of Lord Stark. She was a true Queen.
Later, Brandon strolled through Telmar again with Barbara by his side. His wife clung to his arm, awestruck by the sights before them. "Look, Brandon," she whispered, pointing at a line of children entering a grand hall. "They have place education. School they call it and everyone get free education."
"And healers," Brandon replied quietly, watching a man with a broken leg emerge from a building on crutches, his face glowing with gratitude.
Barbara turned to him, tears in her eyes. "This is... civilization. And they achieved it in three years."
Brandon's heart ached as he gazed at the shining towers of Gryffindor Castle. If this was possible in such a short span, then Narnia's future held endless potential. Yet the world—his world—was not ready for it.
He clenched his fists, torn between pride and anxiety. Pride for his sister who helped bring forth this miracle. Anxiety that if Westeros discovered it, conflict would ensue.
That night, Brandon voiced his inner turmoil to Lyanna as they stood on the balcony of the castle, with Sirius sleeping inside.
"You've created something that will endure beyond us," Brandon said. "But does the wider world know what lies beyond the Wall? Westeros will never accept this. The people of the South will never allow it."
Lyanna's expression hardened as she gazed out over the lamp-lit streets of Telmar. "They don't need to accept it, Brandon. Narnia does not bow. Not to rulers, not to thrones, not to lords who have never cared for these people."
"And if King Rhaegar hears of it?" Brandon asked, his voice low.
Lyanna's hand rested on her son's crib. Her gaze softened, but her voice remained resolute. "Let him come. I am no longer a maid at Harrenhal. I am Lyanna Gryffindor now. And this—" she gestured toward the city below, where countless lives were united in hope and advancement "—this is my song of ice and fire."
Brandon Stark lowered his head, humbled. For the first time, he recognized that his once-wild sister had become someone greater than he could ever aspire to be.
Brandon Stark had spent almost his entire life as Winterfell's heir, a role that came with certain expectations — lifting crates, dragging nets, and shoveling coal were not among them. He was accustomed to hunting, drinking, feasting, and leading warbands. But in Narnia, those privileges meant nothing.
After a few days at Gryffindor Castle, murmurs began. Both wildling-born and Essosi-born individuals regarded him with curiosity and whispered among themselves. In the marketplace, a woman with flour on her arms bluntly addressed him.
"No one eats for free here, Stark. Not even the Queen's kin. If you want to stay, you must work."
Initially, Brandon bristled at her words—such speech would have been unheard of back in Westeros. However, her tone was devoid of malice, merely stating a fact. In Narnia, everyone, noble or common, contributed.
That evening, Brandon shared his discomfort with Lyanna in the castle hall.
"They treat me like a beggar," he lamented. "As if being your brother carries no weight."
Lyanna met his gaze steadily, holding Sirius gently. "It means nothing here, Bran. Narnia is different from Westeros. Titles don't feed the hungry or build roads. To earn respect here, you must work alongside them. That's what makes them Narnians."
Brandon ran his hand through his beard, feeling unsettled. "What kind of work can I do? I'm not a smith, I can't weave or mend, and I have no talent for carving stone."
A hint of a smile appeared on Lyanna's lips. "But you can fight. You understand ships and trade, and you've dealt as a merchant. Start there. Do something valuable."
The next morning, Brandon went to the harbor, greeted by the smell of salt and whale oil as dockworkers shouted amidst the sounds of ropes creaking and water slapping the hulls. The grizzled captain of a whaling ship regarded him skeptically as Brandon offered to assist.
"Your hands are too soft for this work," the captain grumbled.
Brandon grinned. "Let's see how soft they remain after a day's work."
By midday, his shoulders ached and his palms were raw, but he discovered an unexpected pleasure in the labor. Carrying crates of fish, rolling barrels of oil, and shouting orders provided him with a sense of purpose. At dusk, as the men shared roasted crab and teased him about his blisters, Brandon joined in their laughter.
"This," he acknowledged while sipping ale, "feels better than sitting idle in stone halls."
The dock captain slapped him on the back. "You might just become a true Narnian."
Meanwhile, Barbara thrived under the care of the Narnians. With her belly growing each day, she found comfort in Lyanna's presence. Lyanna insisted that Barbara stay at Gryffindor Castle, promising her that healers and midwives would cater to her needs.
"You won't lack for comfort here, sister," Lyanna assured her. "Your child will be born safely, blessed more than many babes in Westeros."
Barbara smiled, her eyes shining. "I feared we were doomed when Brandon spent our last gold, but here… I feel at home."
Lyanna squeezed her hand. "You are home. You're my family now, and in Narnia, family means everything."
Despite this newfound comfort, Brandon often pondered the man he had yet to encounter—Lord Gryffindor. It was hard to believe that one wizard could have erected these cities from the snow in just three years. Who was he? What kind of power did he possess?
One evening at the harbor, Brandon overheard the foremen discussing him.
"They say Lord Gryffindor is in the Frostfangs," one man said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Something about the mines there—deep, hidden iron veins."
"Aye," another chimed in, "and he wards them with magic so that no clan can come near."
A restless desire stirred within Brandon. He yearned to meet this man, to see for himself if he was a sorcerer, a king, or merely an ambitious dreamer.
So, he waited. Each day at the harbor and each evening with Barbara and Lyanna in the castle, he silently counted the hours until Harry Gryffindor returned.
The morning light flooded through the tall windows of Gryffindor Castle, casting a gentle golden hue on the stone walls. Brandon Stark stretched as he readied himself for another day at the harbor when the sudden flapping of wings caught his attention. A sleek, snow-white owl swooped into the hall and landed elegantly on the armrest next to Lyanna.
Barbara, seated comfortably with her hands resting on her swollen belly, chuckled softly. "These birds of yours always manage to amaze me."
Lyanna untied the scroll from the owl's leg, quickly scanning the tidy handwriting before looking up, a spark of excitement in her eyes.
"It's a message from the council at Gnome City," she announced. "They've summoned me. Brandon, would you like to come along?"
Brandon's curiosity piqued. He had heard much about Gnome City—the first significant settlement of Narnia, the root of all that followed. Though Telmar was currently the capital, Gnome City still maintained a respected and influential council. "I'm in," he replied eagerly. "I've been eager to witness it for myself."
He anticipated they would travel by horse or carriage along the nearly finished stone road to Gnome City. However, Lyanna shook her head with a knowing smile.
"No, brother. We won't be taking the road."
Brandon frowned. "Then how? Surely you're not suggesting we fly—"
"Just follow me," Lyanna interrupted, her voice filled with mystery. She rose smoothly and gestured for him to walk alongside her.
They ventured deep into the dungeons of Gryffindor Castle, passing numerous doors reinforced with iron and adorned with unfamiliar symbols. Lyanna held a torch, its flickering flame crackling softly while their footsteps echoed against the cold stone floor.
Eventually, she halted in front of an unassuming wooden door. With a firm push, she opened it and gestured for him to enter. "Go ahead," she instructed.
Brandon hesitated before stepping inside. The room was small and circular, lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes and jars of peculiar powders. In the center stood a tall archway of black stone, within which shimmered what appeared to be a flowing river of light, constantly shifting yet enclosed by the frame.
Brandon gasped. "Gods… what is this magic?"
Lyanna placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Do not be afraid. This is one of the portals Harry created, connecting Telmar to Gnome City. It allows us to travel in the blink of an eye."
He moved closer, enchanted by the shimmering surface. It resembled water, but when he brought his hand near, it felt dry and pulsated with a strange energy, as if touching lightning.
"Come on, Brandon," Lyanna urged softly, stepping into the arch. For a moment, her form seemed to dissolve into the river of light before she disappeared completely.
Brandon's heart raced. He swallowed hard, muttered a curse for bravery, and jumped in after her.
The world folded around him. For a moment, he felt weightless, caught between frigid cold and intense heat. Then his feet landed on solid stone, and he stumbled into a new chamber.
This room was narrower and cozier, with a warm brazier glowing in the corner and crimson and white banners adorning the walls. Lyanna awaited him, her smile faint.
"Welcome, Brandon," she said, gesturing around them. "Welcome to Potter Castle of Gnome City."
Brandon's jaw dropped. "But… we just traveled great distances in an instant." He turned back to the arch, which continued to shimmer softly behind him. "This—this is unlike any magic I've ever heard."
Lyanna's smile widened. "This is Narnia, brother. And you've only just begun to uncover its marvels."
Brandon Stark had already roamed the stone corridors of Telmar, where the walls seemed imbued with history. Hundreds of portraits adorned them—not the dull artwork he was familiar with back home, but vivid depictions that felt like windows into different times and places.
He had glimpsed Harry Gryffindor and Lyanna in the courtyard, a baby Sirius bundled in blankets, and a serene Lyanna during her pregnancy, along with stunning views of Telmar featuring its sparkling harbor and lively streets. There were also scenes from Braavos, depicting merchants shaking hands and schools filled with Narnian children clutching books. The imagery was so lifelike that Brandon had to remind himself they were merely pictures.
Therefore, when he arrived at Potter Castle in Gnome City, the sight of portraits didn't startle him as it once might have. Instead, he found them comforting. They showcased old servants who had served in the castle, a messy-faced toddler Sirius, and Lyanna gazing proudly at her son.
Brandon slowed down, examining them with a hint of nostalgia. "I never thought I'd see anything like this. In Telmar, I questioned my own eyesight. But here… it feels like I am walking among memories."
Lyanna, beside him, smiled knowingly. "Harry has a gift from his world—a device called a camera that captures moments that never fade away."
Brandon's tone softened. "If only we had something like that in the North. So much would be remembered instead of fading into dust and forgotten words."
"You might get that chance," Lyanna said reassuringly. "When Harry returns, you and Barbara can have a portrait taken together. He'll make it happen."
The thought filled Brandon with warmth he hadn't anticipated. For years, he had felt lost, lacking a true home. But now, the prospect of standing alongside Barbara with a moment of their joy captured forever ignited a new feeling within him—hope.
The council chamber in Potter Castle was a lengthy hall with stone walls adorned with flickering torches. At the opposite end, the Narnian banner—a white dragon against a black background—moved gently in the breeze from the tall windows.
As Lyanna entered with Brandon by her side, the councilors—who all resided within the castle—immediately rose in respect. These individuals, once wildlings or freed Essosi slaves, now wore fur-lined cloaks and simple but durable tunics, each displaying quiet pride for having built something significant from nothing.
The councilors only sat after Lyanna took her place at the head of the table, while Brandon remained standing beside her, observing their faces as he adjusted to seeing his sister addressed as Queen of Narnia.
Jorund, the bearded commander of the city guard, was the first to speak. "My Queen," he began, his voice rough, "our scouts have returned with news. A massive clan, nearly ten thousand strong, is approaching our borders. For now, our wards are holding them back, but it's only a matter of time before they push harder. We must decide on a course of action."
The councilors fidgeted and murmured among themselves, the tension escalating in the room like sparks in dry grass.
Koll, a younger man with broad shoulders and fervent enthusiasm, slammed his fist on the table. "Let's confront them with steel! Our warriors are trained, our walls are sturdy. Why wait for them to challenge us? It's better to strike first and demonstrate Narnia's strength!"
A wave of approval surged through several councilors, with some striking the table in agreement. Brandon glanced at Lyanna and noticed their blood's fervor and eager desire for battle. He recognized it—it was the same restlessness he had felt often.
However, Lyanna raised a hand, bringing the room to silence. Her calm voice cut through the noise like a sword unsheathing. "But how large is their host, really? Ten thousand?"
Jorund confirmed with a nod. "Our scouts insist it's true. They are numerous tribes joined together: hungry, desperate, and armed. If it weren't for the enchantments, they'd already be at our door."
Leaning forward with her fingers intertwined on the table, Lyanna responded, "We cannot take lightly a clan of that magnitude. If we engage them directly, the blood spilled will be just as much ours as theirs. Do we want Narnian children to mourn fathers lost in such a conflict?"
Koll bristled but remained silent, glaring down at the table.
Finally, Brandon, astonished by his sister's stance, spoke up. "What if we could integrate them into Narnia? I saw how free folks transformed when I walked these streets. They were once no different from the clan you mention. If we can provide them with law, work, food, and purpose, why not extend that to these people?"
The council reacted with murmurs, some scoffing while others nodded in agreement. Brynja, an elder woman and keeper of the schools, rapped her cane on the floor. "Lord Gryffindor always said we must build, not merely conquer. The strength of Narnia lies not in our blades but in the unity of our people. Though if this clan poses a threat, that danger can be harnessed into strength."
Lyanna surveyed each councilor, allowing silence to envelop the room. "I will not rush to a decision. We won't charge into bloodshed blindly, nor will we open our gates without consideration. This council exists for every voice to be heard. So I ask you—what do you envision for Narnia? A kingdom feared for its strength, or one respected for its wisdom?"
Her words hushed the council, prompting thoughtful reflection rather than heated debate. Even Koll's defiance faded, though his jaw remained tense.
Brandon, standing behind Lyanna, felt a surge of pride. The sister he once saw as reckless now bore the weight of authority. Though he still grappled with understanding this land and its people who called themselves Narnians, he began to believe that Lyanna might indeed be creating something far greater than the old world had ever known.
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