The cottage now felt cramped, filled with a palpable sense of anticipation. Oliver's children clung to their mother's skirts, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. Elsa, Dorin's eldest, eagerly whispered to Sirius about the enormous cities of Narnia.
Harry stood up.
"You've made a wise choice. I won't leave you waiting for soldiers again. We leave tonight."
Beth blinked, surprised.
"So soon?"
Lyanna smiled softly.
"It's safer this way. The fewer who notice, the fewer questions we'll face."
Harry moved across the room, unraveling a thick rope from his satchel. It shimmered faintly as he laid it on the floor. The families watched, as if it were a living creature.
"This is a special rope," Harry explained. "It's enchanted. When you all place your hands on it and say 'Narnia,' it will transport you and everything you can hold to safety. Take what you cherish—tools, heirlooms, weapons. Leave everything else behind. You won't lack for anything when we arrive."
Marya, Dorin's wife, gasped quietly.
"True magic..."
Oliver looked troubled, caught between wonder and apprehension.
"And this… it won't harm us?"
Harry chuckled, a reassuring sound that eased the atmosphere.
"I've used it hundreds of times. It may jolt you and spin you around, but you'll arrive intact. You'll even be stronger for it."
The men nodded in agreement, while the women exchanged anxious glances, then hurried to gather their meager belongings. Beth held her baby close. Elsa dashed to grab a carved toy, while Nina clutched a worn doll. Maria murmured prayers to old gods, her gaze fixed on the glowing rope.
As they prepared, Harry stepped outside with Oliver and Dorin. The cold winter air stung, but the mountains stood silently, concealing their secrets.
"Once we leave," Harry said quietly, "others may come after us. Soldiers will be suspicious. I'll ensure their search leads to nothing but snow and empty homes. By the time they realize what happened, you'll be Narnians."
Oliver gulped hard.
"I don't know how to express my gratitude."
Harry placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder.
"Raise your children well. Work with pride and craftsmanship. That's all I ask."
When they returned, the families were ready, bundles tied, their faces pale yet resolute. Lyanna held Sirius by the hand, steadying him as he bounced with excitement.
Harry gestured toward the rope.
"All of you, now. Hands together."
They gathered close, their fingers intertwining along the glowing fibers. For a moment, a tense silence filled the room—the kind that comes before a storm.
"Narnia," Harry declared.
The word resonated throughout the cottage, and suddenly, the world shattered into a whirlwind of light. Wind howled, colors blended, and the ground disappeared beneath them. Children screamed, mothers clutched their babies tighter, and fathers held onto their possessions.
Then, just as quickly as it began, it all stopped.
They found themselves in a warm stone hall, its walls adorned with runes, a roaring hearth at one end. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat filled the air. Laughter and the sounds of construction echoed beyond the open doors—the vibrant pulse of a bustling city.
Harry opened his arms wide.
"Welcome to Narnia."
Lyanna took them to the courtyard adorned with black-and-white banners fluttering in the wind. The great bronze gryphons by the archway shone in the afternoon light, while the castle bustled with activity—carts rattled over cobblestones, apprentices hurried after a steward, and the aroma of hot bread and smoke mingled in the air, causing Nina to tiptoe and sniff eagerly.
"Welcome to Gryffindor Castle," Lyanna said, her smile bright, as if she'd been waiting all day to say it. "You're safe here."
Marya's fingers clutched her cloak tightly. Beth stood rigid beside her. Elsa craned her neck to admire the stacked terraces of the hill-fort, the lanterns hanging along the galleries resembling constellations caught in a net. Dorin, with the worn look of someone who had long abandoned faith in intact doors or roofs, simply stared, mouth agape, as an oak and iron crane hoisted a massive beam into the air, delivering it to masons laboring on a half-finished tower.
Oliver let out a low whistle.
"Seven hells. It's as large as Dreadfort… and cleaner," he muttered. "What did you call it again, my lord?"
"Not my lord," Harry replied, correcting with a friendly grin. "Harry will do. And yes—this is Griffindor Castle. The city and surrounding lands are called Narnia."
"It shouldn't be this… this…" Marya struggled to find the right word, tears shining in her eyes. "You said you were beyond the Wall."
"I am," Harry confirmed. "But walls are meant to keep out winter and wolves—not hope."
Lyanna placed a comforting hand on Marya's elbow.
"Come. I'll show you where you'll sleep, and then the kitchens. You'll meet Mistress Tamsin and the other women—hard workers, all of them. We keep a kettle boiling all day; a warm drink has a way of making problems seem manageable."
She guided them across the outer yard, past a practice green where young people trained with spear and shield under a loud instructor. Children chased after a cart with laughter until a boy in a striped scarf called them back, tossing biscuits to each one from a wrinkled paper. Nina held her biscuit aloft in wonder, admiring its sugary surface.
As they walked, Harry kept pace with Dorin and Oliver, passing beneath a ceiling adorned with lion symbols and curling runes.
"You won't put you to work today," he said. "Rest. Eat. Tomorrow we'll discuss where you'll fit in. You mentioned you're a builder before," he added, addressing Dorin.
"When work finds me," Dorin replied. "Mostly I've set hearths and patched roofs. Built a smokehouse once. Truth be told, I've hunted more than I've built in recent years."
"There's plenty of construction work throughout Narnia," Harry said, nodding toward the skyline—scaffolds, gleaming white mortar, a network of new streets leading down to the river. "We can place you with Master Rorik's crew while you find your balance."
Dorin swallowed hard.
"A crew," he repeated softly, as if the word weighed heavily in his hands.
"And you, Oliver," Harry turned to him. "Do you still want to work as a miller?"
"Aye," Oliver confirmed. "My father had a small watermill by the White Knife. And I worked all my life as a miller."
Harry's smile broadened.
"Then the castle's kitchen will welcome your expertise. We have enough grain for winter stashed in my trunks, but it needs to be milled. I've jury-rigged something—part waterwheel, part… well. Magic does assist too. We'll need someone to oversee the milling and ensure we have the right flour for bread rather than paste."
Oliver's eyes sparkled with the pride of a craftsman that he had long kept hidden.
"Show me the setup, and I'll verify it's right."
They entered the heart of Gryffindor Castle, where the impressive keep rose against the sky. Lyanna saw to it that the women were settled first—leading them through a long gallery adorned with drying herbs to a cozy set of rooms on the castle's south side. The windows captured the afternoon sun and were outfitted with panes salvaged from a ruined structure to keep out the chill. A thick woolen rug lay before the hearth, and in a corner, a box bed with blue curtains awaited.
"It's too much," Beth murmured, fingers grazing the intricately carved bed-rail. "We'll repay you somehow."
"You'll work," Lyanna replied succinctly. "That is enough payment. We support one another here."
A girl with flour smudged on her cheek peeked through the door.
"Queen Lyanna? Tamsin says if you've brought new hands, she'll put the kettles on for tea."
Lyanna chuckled.
"We're coming."
Next, they passed through the kitchens, where the warmth enveloped them like a hug: red-hot ovens, spit-roasted meats, and a cauldron of bubbling stew releasing fragrant steam. Tables overflowed with chopped veggies. Men and women moved swiftly together, not shouting but working in harmony.
"Marya, Beth," Lyanna said, "this is Mistress Tamsin. She ran a cookshop in Essos before the ironborn attacked her small coastal village. She manages this place like a well-oiled machine."
Tamsin sized them up with sharp, piercing eyes before smiling.
"You look like you can handle both a spoon and a secret. That's all I require. Tea, then work. I've a fresh honey-cake out of the oven, if that little one can be persuaded to try it."
Nina glanced from the cake to Marya, then solemnly nodded after receiving a gentle nudge. Her first taste left her lips coated with sugar, which she licked off like a cat.
"Alright then," Tamsin said, satisfied. "Let's get started."
Harry left them in Tamsin's capable hands and led Oliver down a side stair, with Dorin curiously following. The stair opened into a vaulted chamber where a steady, deep sound, reminiscent of a sleeping giant's breath, emanated. Water flowed through a stone sluice, turning a wheel embedded with iron. This wheel powered a shaft, which connected to two grinding stones: one fixed, the other rotating, both sporting clever grooves.
"What do you think?" Harry asked over the soothing rumble.
Oliver paused before responding. He approached closely, eyes half-closed, listening intently. He touched the frame, then the rim of the stone, finally pinching a bit of flour from the catcher, inhaling its scent and tasting it. Gradually, his shoulders relaxed.
"She hums true," he said. "The wheel has a great bite. The stone's dressed perfectly for bread flour, not coarse meal. Load the hopper steadily, and she'll produce flour as white as a septon's sleeve." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Never thought I'd find a mill inside a castle."
"The river froze over last month," Harry explained. "We constructed the sluice from a spring beneath the hill; it's warmer and flows steadily even when the river is low." He placed a hand on the timber and let the magic within him resonate with the wood's grain. Runes glow softly along the shaft, strengthening the joints, easing friction, and shedding frost. "It won't freeze. While we'll use hand-querns in the wards, this will serve the castle's needs for bread and porridge."
Oliver chuckled, the sound rusty from disuse.
"I thought I had left my father's stones behind. Looks like they followed me north."
"If you're interested," Harry said, "this mill is yours to manage. We'll assign a couple of boys to assist with carrying and cleaning. You set the pace and decide how fine the grind will be."
Oliver pressed his hand against the timber as if making a vow.
"Aye. I'll make her sing."
Dorin had wandered over to a chalkboard pinned with waxed twine, where a steward had outlined streets and marked in red where sewer lines would run.
"You're laying drains," he said, somewhat surprised and skeptical. "Underground?"
Harry joined him.
"Indeed. A city goes sour without a method to dispose of waste. We've a mason's yard west of the fish market crafting clay pipes. Master Rorik could use someone unafraid of getting muddy boots."
Dorin snorted in amusement.
"That's me. I've had mud in my boots more years than I've had coins in my purse." He traced a chalk line with his finger. "If you cut here instead of there, your drop will be straighter, and the smell won't linger under the baker's lane."
"Show that to Rorik in the morning," Harry instructed. "You'll earn your keep by breakfast."
By nightfall, the new residents had rooms, blankets, and full stomachs. The children fell asleep like stones dropped. Maria and Beth assisted Tamsin in peeling apples, laughing softly at some story the old cook shared about gulls stealing bread as if it were treasure. Dorin found a half-pint on a bench and sipped it, absorbing the discussions of men debating whether to reinforce the riverbank with willow or stone.
Harry and Lyanna found a quiet corner of the great hall's gallery above the clamor of voices. From there, they could observe everything—the banners, the long tables, the flickering torches. Lyanna leaned against him, exhaling a lengthy breath.
"They'll put down roots," she affirmed.
"They will," Harry replied. "We'll give them time, work, and names on the rolls. We're not merely building walls and mills; we're fostering a community that believes they have a place to call home."
Lyanna turned her head to look at him.
"You sound like a King."
He grimaced.
"Please don't do that to me."
"You don't have to be like the Kings we once knew," she said, laughter glimmering in her eyes. "You can simply be Harry. Harry builds drains."
"And mills," he countered.
"And kitchens where the kettles sing," she added.
Nearby, a pair of boys began a lively tune; a fiddler joined them, and the end of the hall filled with a spirited dance. The castle buzzed with life, as if it were exhaling, full as a lungs filled to the brim.
Lyanna's hand found Harry's.
"You did well," she remarked simply.
"We did," he corrected her.
"You opened the doors."
"I merely held them," she replied.
"You're the one who created a place worth entering."
Outside, night cast its deep blue shadow over Narnia. Lanterns flickered to life along the streets radiating out from the castle, a stream of tiny suns winding toward the river. One by one, hammers fell silent, and the scaffolds transformed into silhouettes against the stars.
Harry gazed down at the city, at the people who were beginning to feel like his own, and felt a serene joy at a plan that might just hold together. Tomorrow would bring challenges—a missing brick, a barrow with a broken wheel, a fisherman irate over new tariffs, a tipsy mason who tumbled from a scaffold. There would be meetings concerning grain distribution and letters to compose warning the outlying farms of a band of raiders lurking nearby. Morning would bring training, and he would walk the riverbank, searching for areas where the shore would give way unexpectedly.
But tonight was for bread, warmth, and the comforting hum of a hall where strangers had started to feel like family.
He squeezed Lyanna's hand and rested his other palm on the gallery rail, feeling the vibrant wood beneath his touch, the magic woven into its grain, softly pulsing in rhythm with the heartbeat of the city.
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