Gerion laughed like all other occupants of the hall watching Galbart Glover trying in vain to lift Godsgrief.

Godsgrief! What a pretentious name!

Although, in this case, King Robert was right to be grandiose about the name of his new weapon. In the King's hand, the weapon was deadly enough that it could cause even the Gods to grieve.

Gerion eyed the smashed remains of the boulder. He could still remember the sound as the King smashed the boulder with his new weapon. It was as if the Storm God sent out a bolt of lightning from the heavens to aid the line of Durran. A better part of the boulder lay as powdered dust and the rest were turned into small pebbles. No man could claim to turn a boulder into a pile of dust in one strike. Gerion was not as foolish as to believe Robert Baratheon managed to accomplish this feat because of his monstrous strength.

No. It was Godsgrief that turned the boulder to dust. Gerion was quite sure of this.

This realization made Gerion acutely aware of the possibilities of having the allegiance or even friendly ear of Ned Stark and Harrion Stark. For now, Harrion Stark remained a boy dependent on his family and the protective custody of the North. This will not be the case forever. The boy would grow into a man and with the skillset the boy displayed, Harrion Stark will undoubtedly become a powerful figure that'd change the course of Westeros.

Even Gerion, who prided himself being disenchanted from the politics of Westeros, wanted Harrion Stark to be aligned with his family. If not House Lannister some other House would undoubtedly snatch the boy away. By now, ravens should be flying to all corners of Westeros carrying the word of the King's fearsome weapon. A weapon that can shatter stone boulders and can only be picked up by the King and his heirs.

Gerion pushed back his musings to a corner of his mind as the Northern lords broke out into boos and laughter as Galbart Glover gave up his attempts to lift Godsgrief.

"Ha! You Glovers got soft hands. You need a real man for things like this." said Jon Umber.

"If you are so confident you brute why don't you give it a try." Galbart Glover challenged with rosy cheeks smarting from his failure.

"Challenge accepted Glover. You can sit back and watch as a real man take this weapon." Lord Umber boasted before wrapping his meaty palms around Godsgrief's handle.

Gerion observed the strain that Lord Umber's limbs endured as the Lord of Last Hearth tried to lift the King's weapon. The hammer sat there without moving an inch. Its black surface stood intimidating as if it was sucking away all the light. The silver five-pointed star glowed eerily under the light of the chandelier up in the ceiling.

Jon Umber grunted and groaned with effort but Godsgrief never budged as promised by Harrion Stark. It was not long before the whole hall was breaking out into laughter at the expense of Lord Umber.

"Where's the real man you promised Umber? Or did your manly bits freeze off at Last Hearth?" Galbart Glover crowed with delight, the guests of Winterfell further descending into laughter as Lord Umber visibly doubled his efforts to lift Godsgrief.

In the end, Lord Umber's legs betrayed him. The giant of a man fell on the hard stone floor, struggling to breathe properly amidst laughter in the hall.

"A valiant effort Lord Umber. But, I believe you folks are not trying hard enough. Here, let me show you how it's done." said the King, who set his wineglass on the table and proceeded to skip towards the centre of the hall where the hammer remained unmoved despite many trying their best.

King Robert grinned as he gripped the handle of Godsgrief. With a mighty pull, the King raised his new weapon high into the air. Applause filled the hall and the King's booming laughter mixed in with the applause spread to all four corners of the hall.

Despite knowing what to expect, Gerion was still left amazed at the fact that Godsgrief could only be raised by King Robert. If Lord Stark's son could will it so that something can only be moved by those possessing the right blood then what else is possible.

Could it be true that Harrion Stark can deny entry to a castle the same way? What about blocking an entire army from a specific region?

Gerion thought about the many possibilities of the Stark boy's magic. He was by no chance an expert in magic but still, he couldn't help but wonder.

However, his musings were cut short as the King once again demanded the silence of the hall.

"It was seven years ago the dragons were dethroned and Westeros was saved from the grip of a madman and his lunatic son. I don't claim to be a better King than my predecessors but I think everyone here can agree that once I took the throne the Starks have been gaining strength in numbers. I say more Starks is good for the Kingdoms even though I hope they don't inherit the frozen face of my dear friend."

Here, Robert paused and there was a smatter of laughter from the hall.

"Anyway, Ned is now a father to a newborn girl. His fourth child with Lady Catelyn, if I'm not mistaken. I for one am eager to know the name of the youngest daughter of the Stark of Winterfell."

Now, all eyes were on the Lord of Winterfell who for a moment looked stricken as the centre of attention. But, that moment passed and Eddard Stark took to his feet.

"My daughter's name is Arya, Arya Stark."

Gerion watched as a wide smile settle on the King's face. Robert plucked a wine cup from a nearby table and raised it in the air.

"To Arya Stark. May the Gods Old and New bless her with happiness till the end of her days."

Gerion blinked. That was actually smart of Robert. And here he thought, his niece's husband was an oaf. He picked up his wine cup and joined the hall in the toast.

"To Arya Stark."

Gerion quietly slipped out of the hall while the lords, knights and those of noble birth try to once again lift the hammer. He wandered around the castle until finally, he found his travelling companions. Most importantly he found the ravenmaster whom Tywin had loaned him before he journeyed with the King.

"I have a message for Lord Tywin."

XXXXXXXX

Gideon Rodharys tapped his foot impatiently on the floor as he waited outside the large oak doors. Gideon felt the chill of the stone floor and surroundings very keenly. The dew of early morning was also there to make this uncomfortable but such inconveniences has to be endured for there is a matter of great importance at play.

Gideon couldn't help but take peeks from time to time at the intricate carvings of the large oak doors that remained closed. The Titan of Braavos was depicted on the doors in a way that gave the statue justice. He had of course seen many carvings of the Titan but this one carved on an oak door inside one of the oldest abandoned mines of Braavos felt more authentic.

Perhaps, he felt this way because he knew of the powers that be behind these doors. Behind these closed doors lay the guiding hands that have shaped the past and present of Braavos. He did not doubt that the powers that be shall continue to guide Braavos long into the future as well. It was behind these oak doors the most powerful of leaders of Braavos gather. It was here policies were made, wars declared and crises dealt with.

In the end, this council was not just about the ruling. The council was bound by sacred trust, passed down from the wise founders of this great city.

Gideon was startled as he heard a bell ringing from behind the closed oak doors. Immediately he stood up and approached the oak doors. He fished out a double-headed key secured on a chain around his neck. He put the key into the keyhole and gave a full clockwise twist before taking the key back. As he secured the key back on his neck the doors swung open with a distinct growl.

As usual, there was a lone table and a chair further ahead with a simple candle providing the sole lighting in a sea of darkness. Taking a deep breath, Gideon walked forward and took his designated seat. He placed the scroll in his hand on the table so that the council may see it under the candlelight.

He looked ahead into the darkness and he could make out six figures sitting behind a desk. He had no idea about their identity sans their number, gender and the colour of their robes. All six were undoubtedly women of great power and wealth. He knew this of course from their sound and the golden keys proudly displayed on their necks. These six women were keyholders of the Iron Bank. Going by the fancy keys dangling on their necks he'd say their hold on the Bank is considerably more powerful than other keyholders.

This is the extent of his knowledge regarding the Council. The Councilwomen all used iron masks to protect their identity. Not that he was in any rush to find their identity. He was quite afraid to bother his employers. It was commonsense not to cross a keyholder of the Iron Bank.

"Seneschal Rodharys. You have a report for us."

"I do councilwoman. As usual, a detailed report is in the scroll."

"Say your piece, Seneschal."

Gideon gulped at the sharp edge in the councilwoman's command.

"The Stark boy remains immune to the sickness. His cure has effectively wiped away the sickness from Winterfell. It remains at large at White Harbour but it won't be long before the entire North emerge free from the sickness."

Only silence greeted his report. Though a bit disturbed Gideon continued with his report.

"There is however one more crucial piece of information. My people can confirm the Stark boy is not using any human sacrifices to fuel his magic."

"What?"

Gideon was a bit startled to get such a reaction from the Council but he got over the initial surprise quick.

"Yes, councilwoman. The Stark boy is not using human or blood sacrifices. He is using First Men runes to make these Valyrian Steel weapons."

Gideon could hear the Council whispering amongst themselves but it was not clear what they were saying.

"You are sure Harrion Stark is not using human sacrifices?" one councilwoman asked.

"I am councilwoman. One of my agents had gained access to see with his own eyes as the Stark boy made his Valyrian Steel weapon. Not a drop of blood of a human or an animal was used. There was no blood magic involved."

"This certainly changes things. We shall study your detailed report and wait for more information. In the meantime, keep an eye on the boy but be sure to be discreet."

"As the council wills."

It didn't take too long for the large oak door to close behind Gideon. His work was far from done. After all, other potential threats were roaming around the world that he needs to keep his eyes on. A boy at a barn wasteland like the North was not the greatest threat to Braavos.

XXXXXXX

Harry watched on as Jon rubbed his hands as fast as possible to alleviate the cold. The cold air of the North was not easy to endure despite his half-brother wearing a pair of woollen gloves.

"You are shaking like a leaf." Harry observed as he sat beside Jon.

The campfire burned with red flames but the heat was not sufficient. It also doesn't help they were dealt with a series of harsh winds that carried the frigid air of the North.

"Aren't you cold?" squeaked out Jon with chattering teeth.

Harry got the overwhelming urge to laugh at the voice of his half-brother. Jon looked like a wet cat in a rain. Taking pity on the poor boy, Harry pressed his ring on Jon's head while focusing on his magic. The warming charm that he cast on Jon took immediate effect. Some colour returned to Jon's cheeks and the shaking of his hands abruptly stopped.

"Wow. I can't feel any cold!" Jon said excitedly, his eyes as large as saucers.

"Huh! What'd ya mean lad?" asked Doug, a guard assigned to their travelling party.

As Jon explained his recent resistance from cold to the flabbergasted guard, Harry's attention shifted to his uncle who was busy cooking a rabbit over the fire. Before they settled into an abandoned shack near the Kingsroad his uncle had led a hunting party to scour the countryside for food. The only thing they came across was a pair of rabbits and a particularly vicious otter. Harry was no stranger to questionable food as he had his fair share in his world after the war left the habitat in utter ruins. However, it has been quite a while now. The relative safety of Winterfell where fresh water and good food was available was quite a change from his routine in his old world.

Despite six years of normal life, Harry was once again reminded of the war and its horrible effects. It was something that he hoped to never surface in his thoughts. But, when uncle Benjen offered him a portion of the cooked rabbit he was reminded of the devastation and famine the war unleashed. His people were fairly untouched in the first stages of the war but the muggles were living like rats. Little vegetation survived when the war escalated beyond control. The same was true for animals. Anything that survived was rendered useless when the radiations swept across the globe.

Harry bit into the flavourless meat and slowly chewed it down between his teeth. His taste buds protested and he had the urge to spit it out but he forced the urge down.

"You are taking this rather well. I assumed this was the first time you are living off the land." Benjen commented.

"This is the first time. I'm just tough like that." said Harry.

What else could he say? It's not as if he could claim he had lived by his lonesome scavenging off the land on a planet filled with poisonous radiation.

"Hmm… Well, at least your brother has much more of a natural reaction." said Benjen pointing at the pinched look on Jon's face.

Harry suppressed his amusement at Jon's woes before focusing on his uncle.

"So, tell me. Have you thought of any name for the blade?" Harry asked, curious to see whether the blade he gifted to his uncle was named or not.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Since Ned has Ice I thought Frost would be a good name. What do you think?" asked Benjen who unsheathed his sword from the scabbard.

The sword sang as it cut through the air. The light from the fire reflected off its polished surface. Under the light of the fire, the sword looked as if it was made of gold.

"Frost. I like that name."