Winterfell's courtyard was a patchwork of sound and movement that morning. Servants bustled between the kitchens and the great hall with baskets of bread steaming in the cold air. The blacksmith's hammer rang steadily in the yard. Children darted past, chasing each other, their boots crunching in the snow.
Elias spotted Robb and Jon first, leaning against the low wall by the armory. They were talking in low voices, breaths misting in the air. Sansa stood a short way off, speaking to a serving girl, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
He walked toward them with unhurried steps, the frost under his boots giving a satisfying crunch. "Standing about like statues will freeze your bones," he said, voice light.
Robb grinned. "We're waiting for something to happen."
"That's not how interesting things work," Elias said, lowering his tone like a conspirator. "You have to go looking for them. Come, let's take a walk."
Sansa tilted her head. "Where?"
"Just outside the walls," Elias replied smoothly. "We'll be back before anyone notices."
Curiosity won them over. Robb pushed away from the wall immediately. Jon tightened his cloak and fell in beside Elias. Sansa followed after a pause, adjusting her hood against the cold.
They crossed the yard at a steady pace. Near the well, a servant boy was pouring steaming water from a bucket into a clay pitcher.
Elias slowed. "Good. Boil it first before anyone drinks," he said, making sure his siblings heard.
The boy nodded. "Yes, m'lord. Maester says it stops sickness."
"Not just the maester," Elias said. "Cold water from the well might look clean, but it can carry things that will lay you flat for a week or worse. Boiling drives them out."
Robb wrinkled his nose. "Water can make you sick?"
"Water, food, dirty hands, anything that touches your mouth without being clean."
Sansa made a small face. "That's disgusting."
"It's worse living through it," Elias said, his gaze drifting briefly to the horizon. He didn't tell them the memory that stirred how, in another life, the sweet embrace of winter's cold and the press of fur against his side had been his only shield against the sickness that swept through cramped shelters.
As they moved on, they passed the outer kitchens. Two scullions were rinsing their hands in a basin before handling a loaf of bread. Robb pointed. "You told them to do that too?"
"Yes," Elias said. "Clean hands make clean food. It means fewer empty beds in the sickroom come spring."
The guards at the gate greeted them with a nod, letting them pass without question. Beyond the walls, the snow lay thick and untouched. Their boots sank with each step, and the cold was sharper here, the wind slipping in through the gaps in their cloaks.
They followed a narrow trail that wound through the trees. The forest was hushed—branches heavy with snow, and the occasional caw of a raven could be heard as they walked the trail. Robb pushed ahead more than once, breaking the path, while Jon kept his eyes scanning the underbrush. Sansa stayed close to Elias, her steps careful on the uneven ground.
The trail opened into a small clearing ringed by tall pines and boulders crusted with frost.
"Here," Elias said, gesturing toward the largest stone.
A rustle came from its shadow. The male hare-hawk stepped into the light, feathers fluffed against the cold. The female followed, and behind them, three half-grown chicks emerged—down giving way to young feathers, eyes bright and restless.
Robb froze. "By the gods…"
Jon took a slow step forward. "They're bigger than I thought."
Sansa's voice was barely above a whisper. "They're beautiful." Her gaze flicked to Elias, as if to ask if she should be afraid.
"They're mine," Elias said simply. "And today, they'll fly."
The chicks shifted, eager but unsure. Elias crouched, extending the bond. Up.
The first male launched with an awkward hop, wings flapping hard to gain lift. He swayed midair before tumbling into the snow. Robb laughed, clapping once. "He'll get it!"
The second male was stronger—his takeoff cleaner, his glide steadier. He banked in a short circle before landing near Elias. Jon's eyes followed every wingbeat.
The female chick hesitated until Elias sent the intent again, adding a pulse of reassurance. She took off smoothly, lighter and more balanced than her brothers, and landed without stumbling. Sansa smiled faintly as snow sprayed from her wings.
They repeated the process, each attempt better than the last. Robb crouched beside Elias at one point, eager to see if they'd respond to his voice. Jon asked how they knew where to land. Sansa stood back, hands clasped, watching them as if she were memorizing the sight.
Once, the second male came in too low, nearly clipping Robb before banking hard. Robb flinched, then burst into laughter. "Nearly had me!"
Even Sansa gasped once when the female chick landed closer than expected, her talons scraping a rock. But the moment the young hare-hawk tucked her wings and settled, the girl's fear faded into quiet wonder.
When the training was done, Elias fed them scraps from a pouch. He let each sibling offer a piece—Robb bold, Jon calm, Sansa tentative. The birds accepted each one without hesitation.
By the time they reached the gate again, the children's cheeks were flushed from the cold, their chatter light and unguarded. Elias left them in the yard, their laughter echoing as they went inside.
He turned toward the godswood alone.
The heart tree stood in stillness, its red leaves unmoving in the airless cold. Elias knelt at its roots, the snow seeping through his trousers, and placed both hands against the bark.
"I want more," he said softly. "Bigger, stronger. I've made what I can within my limits—but I need to break them."
The air tightened around him. The cold deepened, and his vision narrowed until all he saw was white bark and red sap. Then the visions came—creatures larger than any he'd made, their forms massive and strange, each carrying a different power.
But along with the images came the weight of cost: mana drawn to emptiness, the need for souls far greater than those of beasts, and the risk of the creation turning against him.
The roots beneath his palms seemed to throb, once, as if in warning.
When the vision faded, Elias's breath came hard, and the snow beneath him had melted into a shallow pool from the heat of his body. He had not broken the limit. But he had seen the way forward—and the price.
He rose slowly, the cold wind cutting across his face, and walked back toward Winterfell in silence.