Chapter Four
The Bastard of Winterfell
Winterfell did not welcome gently.
Its gates groaned as they opened, not in ceremony, but in the weary acknowledgment of centuries pressing against stone. The towers rose jagged and gray, carved by wind, snow, and siege. Moss clung stubbornly to the walls, cracks ran deep, and the banners above the gate flap weakly in icy gusts. This was not a palace meant to impress visitors. It was a fortress meant to endure, and it bore the weight of that purpose in every scarred courtyard and uneven cobblestone.
Elara felt it in her bones before she even crossed the threshold: endurance, vigilance, history, and quiet menace.
Men watched her like one might watch a spark near dry timber — uncertain whether she would warm or burn.
Jon Snow walked beside her, steady and quiet, neither touching nor fully distant. The direwolf padded alongside her other side, its massive head brushing her hip as if marking territory she did not yet understand.
"Ghost doesn't take to strangers," Jon said, voice low, carrying only to her.
"I'm flattered," she murmured, half-smiling.
He almost returned it. Almost.
Inside the walls, life moved with quiet efficiency. Blacksmith hammers rang out in rhythmic clanging, children darted between snowbanks in bundled layers, and women carried baskets of dried fish and barley, hurrying but unhurried. Men cleaned weapons, chopped wood, and walked with careful purpose.
No one knelt. No one bowed.
Good, she thought. She did not want kneeling. She did not want gratitude that came with subservience. She wanted observation, and perhaps that much she could handle.
Maester Wolkan examined her with the detached suspicion of a man who had read too many histories in which sorcerers, witches, or miracle-workers ended badly.
"You say you healed broken bones?" he asked.
"I gave her something to drink," Elara replied evenly.
"What something?" he pressed.
She hesitated. How does one explain a Life Elixir in a world where herbs froze into ice by December? Where miracles did not come wrapped in neat descriptions or tutorials?
"An extract," she said finally. "Herbs."
The maester's eyes narrowed sharply. "There are no herbs growing in winter."
Jon's gaze shifted to her. Just for a moment, a flicker of unease passed over his face — not doubt, but calculation.
For the first time since she arrived in this world, Elara felt the faint tremor of risk. She had power, yes, but power invited scrutiny. Here, mistakes were costly, and miracles drew attention like sparks to dry brush.
That night, she stood alone in a small guest chamber overlooking the snow-choked courtyard. Frost traced intricate patterns along the windowpane. The walls smelled faintly of smoke and pine. She opened her inventory.
It hovered before her like a secret no one else could see.
Life Elixirs × 36.
Bread × 112.
Starfruit Wine × 162.
Galaxy Sword.
Return Scepter.
847,322g.
The numbers glimmered as if daring her to acknowledge their impossibility. She could build a farm here overnight. Feed every mouth within these walls. Make herself indispensable.
The thought settled like cold steel against her chest. Indispensable was just another word for controlled.
A soft knock broke her reverie.
Jon entered without ceremony, closing the door with a quiet click.
"You could have stayed in the South," he said quietly, voice careful.
She turned from the window. "And miss the charming hospitality?"
He ignored the attempt at humor. "You draw attention."
"So do you," she said, catching the subtle flicker in his expression.
"I didn't choose it," he said.
"No," she agreed softly. "Neither did I."
Silence stretched between them — not awkward, but cautious, like two hunters assessing the wind before a strike.
"You helped people on the road," he said at last. "Why?"
Because in her world, helping cost nothing. Because here, it cost everything.
"Because I could," she answered simply.
Jon studied her, his gray eyes sharp as ice, searching for cracks, signs of weakness, deceit, or vanity. Instead, he found steadiness. Not arrogance. Not flattery. Steadiness.
"We'll see what you truly are," he said finally.
She inclined her head slightly. "I imagine you will."
When he left, the quiet returned. The wind outside rattled the shutters. Snow piled against the walls. Elara exhaled slowly.
Trust would not come easily here.
Good.
Easy things rarely lasted. And she had long since learned that survival demanded more than ease.