8 White Harbor

AUTHOR'S NOTES; TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR TALK OF SLAVERY AND SEX TRAFFIC ING AND RELATED TOPICS. ITS MILD THOUGH.

Y'all, even I don't know how I got this chapter out soon soon after my last update of a different fic 💀 bruh, two chapters in a day is crazy, but this fic is weirdly easy to write for compared to some of my other ones.

It's been a while since I've updated this story though, but not long enough for me to feel bad considering all the fics I update. Lol.

Feel free to check out the rest of the series if you want to read about the MC's interdementional cycle of reincarnation, but all installments can be read separately.

As always, y'all be killing it with the support, particularly comments, which are my favorite fuel for writting. You guys are the best. Seriously. 💙

So, without further ado, I give you the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading and commenting!

Discord!

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I love Bran, truly, but if he didn't give me some fucking space, I'd become a Kinslayer, ruining all my plans, and Ned would become heir to Winterfell. I growl low in my throat as my older brother grabs me by the hand and drags me closer for the fourth time in half an hour, nevermind that we were now so close he was elbowing me and that we are surrounded by guards and walking around White Harbor with the Manderlys,.

I shift so that he isn't hitting me, a scant few inches, only to be pulled closer once more, his fucking pointy elbow nearly jabbing my throat from his wild movements due to our height difference, and my patience abruptly runs out. "Brandon Stark, drag me around one more time and I swear to all the gods, I'll start using my lightning magic on you!"

I grab his ear, twisting it painfully as I hiss curses under my breath, but there is no one to reprimand me with my parents back at Winterfelll. Bran yelps, jerking away with a pout that is almost cute enough to make my forget my ire.

Almost.

"Luna!-"

"No!" I snarl, stopping the whole retinue in the middle of the market as I whirl on him, unable to stop from stomping my foot, not noticing the cracks in the stone under me. "I told you that I had no idea I'd be attacked! I didn't deliberately leave myself open to a small group of Faith Militant. I had no idea they'd start up so quickly, nor influence a traitor. Now, my magic is working just fine and I will see any future attacks coming, so you will cease this nonsense immediately!"

Ser Cregan was watching silently but with amusement. Hells, most of our guards were stealing mirthful glances even as they watched the small folk vigilantly. Bran huffs, crossing his own arms and facing me indignantly before he suddenly slumps, his aura filling with pain and genuine fear so quickly, I nearly lose my balance. His voice is smaller than I've ever heard it when he speaks. "Lulu, you could have died."

I feel myself deflate just as quickly, but he just grabs me by my shoulders and shakes me slightly. "Sister, you… you really nearly went to meet the gods that favor you so much, and it's my fault because I didn't notice a traitor nor provide enough protection to you! If something had happened to you, how could I have faced our lord father and lady mother when it was I they entrusted you with? Or our people who see a brighter future for the North with you, a divine messenger, relaying the words of the gods?"

I soften, taking in his near frantic words. "Bran, none of that would have been your fault. No one noticed the traitor, not even I who can see into the hearts of men. And I'm the one who asked for privacy to pray, something I don't regret since it was rather pressing. If something happens to me, it will never be your fault."

I curse myself silently for forgetting that as wild and boisterous as my brother could be, he is still a lordling raised with all the responsibilities of a kingdom on his young shoulders. It never occurred to me that he would take my attack as a failure on his part.

Bran frowns, but doesn't argue, instead taking my hands in his. "…you had to kill to protect yourself. A young lady shouldn't have to-"

"Bran," I cut in seriously. "Despite what people might like to think, the warrior spirit is not just restricted to men. And frankly, I would have gotten my hands bloody at some point or another in my duty to the gods. I regret that it had to happen so soon, but while I prefer to preserve life whenever possible, I'm aware that it is sometimes necessary to kill. If anything, I'm more upset that you had to kill so soon at my defense."

Bran had led the charge to my rescue, killing one of the attacking septons before most of the guards had even made it to the scene, the 12 year old having realized I was in danger as soon as he heard Bloodbringer's howls. Bran just huffs, shaking his head. "I'm the heir. It would have happened at some point. What better reason to kill than to protect my family?"

"Aye," I concede. "How about we let this go and say it was no one's fault, hm?"

Bran nods hesitantly and I take his hand to continue our walk, ignoring the ever watchful guards. Lord Waylon Manderly beams as he guides us around the richest city in the North. White Harbour is a beautiful place, even more advanced than Wintertown with how much trade it sees. Despite the white and grey stone of the roads and buildings, the city still manages to be vibrant do the all the people and things being sold. So many have their hair dyed green that I consider dying a chunk of my own hair before I leave just for the amusement, (and perhaps to endear the Manderlys more.)

"Girl!" Marwyn barks, shouldering his way through our guards, much to my amusement, not at all bothered by how they glared and reached for weapons. "Come see these Essosi vendors."

Bran and I join him as he leads us near the harbor. I take note of the myrish lace and glass, mentally reminding myself to figure out a few Houses to entrust to produce such things. I skip over the vendors from Lys, not wanting to fuel their economy of sex slaves, even if the vendors were only selling wine and perfume. I don't really want to buy from any of the cities with slave economies but Lys is particularly revolting. I end up dragging Bran away from Tryoshi vendors selling some admittedly cool helmets for the same reason. We do end up buying some spices from the Pentosi vendors for our journey, but mostly so I can have Marwyn help me grow it all later in our Blessed Fields. I also buy some jewelry, again, mostly for replication and shameless plagiarism. The only merchants I really went to town on are the Lhazareen merchants that came bearing their sheep and goats. Using my father's authority, I made sure an entire batch was sent to Winterfell for some later schemes of mine. The unicorns from Skagos should have already arrived at Winterfell.

A tingling along my spine has me shifting towards the armor and weapons stalls.

"These are metal workers from Qohar. They are known as the best blacksmiths in the world currently, and the only ones who know how to reforge valyrian steel," Marwyn growls quietly.

I tilt my head, watching a young man get chewed out, likely my his master, over gods know what, the older man cursing him loudly and nearly cutting him with the sword he's waving around. The young man, already in his 20's looks frustrated but resigned as he dodges, body tense but silent. A faint vibration in the air that I know no one else will feel has me heading forward, pulling Bran along. The master blacksmith barks something at his apprentice and storms off, his wine flask in hand, leaving the apprentice to deal with the customers on his own. I approach with our retinue following close behind, wide eyed at the bits or armor and weapons splayed before me on the table. They were beautiful works of art no doubt, and even I could tell they were high quality and expensive, the engravings and designs more delicate than anything I had seen on armor in this world. But, more than any of that, it is the magic seeped into the metal that has my heart thumping. I look sharply at the boy-man in front of me. "You. Can you understand me?"

He looks taken aback, but answers carefully, his eyes lingering on the guards and the direwolf sigils they carry. "Yes, Milady."

Clever. I nod, lips curling in satisfaction. "Do you speak the common tongue well?"

He nods, eyes shifting to glance at the adults, clearly expecting one of them to step forward and take over the conversation. "I do."

"Good. Which of these peices did you make?" I ask, gesturing to the armor. He pauses, startled again. "Don't give me that look lad, I know how apprenticeships work. Despite what your master would say, you likely made some of this, yes?"

This time his gaze is assessing and I have to bite back a smile. I always appreciate a quick witted person. He shows me some pieces and I grin, feeling the magic in them. I pass them to Marwyn, who senses what I do as soon as his skin touches the metal, his head whipping up to bore holes at the poor young blacksmith with dusturbing intensity. "This…"

"Aye," I agree turning back to the now confused and slightly terrified man. "Have you finished your training?"

"I have not repaid by debt to my master for teaching me," he replies cautiously.

I raise an eyebrow. "But you have learned everything he knows already." He nods slowly, and I smirk. "Even reforging Valyrian steel?"

He nods, interest finally blooming in his eyes. "Yes. I even have decent practice with it."

I smile. "Then if I paid off your debt, would you come work at Winterfell for me? The only person you would be under would be the Starks. No more having things thrown at you," I add almost teasingly.

He studies us warily. "Will I be paid for my work?"

I nod. "You will still have to repay your debt to us, but we will not take more than 10% of your earnings, nor will we charge you interest. And we will make sure you are safe and living decently." My grin is sharper then normal when I discreetly hold a hand up to him, letting a small blue flame spark in it, delighting as he gawks with fascination, but no substantial fear. "And I'm sure there are some smithing secrets in the North that might interest you. What say you, Blacksmith?"

Tobho Mott is departing for Winterfell the very next day, his debt now transferred to the Starks of Winterfell.

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"Where are we going next?" Bran aks gleefully on our last day in White Harbor, guided by Wymrn Manderly, the heir of the house. Tomorrow, we'll be getting back on the road to continue our tour of the North. "The Barrowlands?"

I hum, shaking my head. "No. We'll be going to Moat Callin then Grey Water Watch."

Bran startles gazes at me curiously. "We're going to the Neck?"

I nod. "We have to. It's some of the most promising land in the North in regards to what can be grown there."

Bran furrows his brows. "But, so much of it is just swamp?"

I smirk. "Exactly." I spent too many lifetimes at least part Asian and I needed rice so bad it hurt.

I sense something odd, something that felt almost like Siphon-like yet not, and stiffen. We were walking past the docs where the huge merchant ships were. I tug on Cregan's wrist "Ser Cregan, that ship…"

The master at arms of Winterfell glances over. "It's from Lys."

I sneer. I don't know when or how, but I am going to do something about the slave trade at some point before I leave this world. Let the gods hear this vow. My magic flares brightly in my chest.

The sudden crack of thunder has me looking up, bemused, as dark clouds began to roll in, the air seeming to grow thick with ambient power. "Ah, they heard me."

I'm a bit surprised but not entirely. It's not like it is my first time receiving a message from the gods of this world. I had met Garth the Greenhand after all and this was significantly less direct, even if the feeling is much the same.

"Luna?" Bran asks quietly, looking a little confused, one hand going to press at his chest where he no doubt felt the sudden pulse of magic. "Just now…. Did you…?"

"Just a vow to the gods. What you are feeling now is their acknowledgement," I answer quietly, eyes now focused on the merchant ship. I turn to Lord Wymrn, noting his wide eyes and the hands pressing to his chest over his heart. Oh, he feels it, too.

For a second, I think I see shimmering scales dappling his skin, but when I blink, it's gone and I realize it must have been a trick of the light. Lord Wyman has

 a strange look on his face, his hands trembling as they fall to his sides. "Lord Wyman?"

"Y-yes?" He stutters and I decide not to mention it. After all, it seems he just accepted proof of gods his house didn't directly worship like the rest of the North.

"That Lys ship," I gesture. "There are people hurt and confined in the bottom of it."

Wyman snaps to attention. "People? Are you sure?"

I shrug. "I can sense them. Their souls are filled with pain and despair. Can we do anything about it?"

Wyman narrows his eyes as he examines the ship. "We can order a search, but there may be little we can do if they are just abused workers. It will depend on if the captain wrongly declared the cargo and number of passengers. I'll call over the harbourmaster."

I nod, watching him disappear. "Ser Cregan, have someone fetch me Marwyn. I'm sensing magic, but something's odd. Tell him to bring Aldo."

"Aldo?"

"My tree."

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The Lysi merchants created quite the fuss, but Lord Wyman manages to "find" some legitimate reason to search the ship that wouldn't cause diplomatic issues with Lys, something about wrongly declared merchandise. The merchants are tense but smug when the guards find nothing in particular on the ship, but the cocky smiles vanish rapidly when I sneakily inform Wyman of a secret door in the captain's office that leads to a hidden area in the ship's hull, separate from the normal cargo hold, filled with what turns out to be slaves, only found due to a vision I'd seen using Aldo, my potted heart tree to summon a greendream. I can have grendreams without using weirwood, but it is extremely difficult to find something specific like that, and I can't control what I'd see at all. So, instead, I've taken to bringing the little heart tree on my journey and naming it Aldo for shits and giggles.

The Lysi merchants are immediately detained since bringing slaves to Westeros is a massive crime and the whole ship is confiscated. Lys will automatically abandon them for getting caught since it wasn't worth it for the magisters, the rulers of Lys, to endanger the trade relationship with White Harbour by protecting a single merchant group at the cost of diplomatic ties when they were so clearly in the wrong.

Bran and I wait patiently as the slaves are led out of the ship, and I cringe at the dead eyed looks and near nudity. As far as slaves went, they were objectively well cared for since Lys liked their slaves beautiful, meaning they weren't physically in terrible shape and even looked relatively well fed, but the way most of them were barely clothed to the way they flinched at every movement told a very grim tale of their time enslaved. Some even acted brazenly seductive, flirting with the soldiers and guards, clearly used to an existence that meant they had a better chance of being treated well, or just surviving, if they played along with their masters.

"What will we do with them?" Bran asks, face twisted in something like rage and pitty. These slaves weren't Northerners, but rather a mix of Essosi races. However, it was still a terrible sight to witness and something that horrified my noble brother who has been trained his entire life to care for the smallfolk. "Will you give them work with your whores and orphans?"

My mouth opens in surprise. "That's…. actually not a bad idea. The Blizzard Trading Company will be coming through in the next few moons. Lord Wyman, can you make sure that those who wish can join my company after being vetted by my workers?"

Lord Wyman nods eagerly. "I'll translate and ask. House Manderly will try to find work for them either way."

I bow my head a bit in thanks, much to the large man's flustered embarrassment. Then, my attention is caught by a single, lone figure. Without a moment of hesitation, I turn and head towards them, the feeling of sealed magic, of wrongness abrasive on my senses. The trail leads to a boy around Bran's age. His face is hidden by inky black hair so dark it was almost blue. More remarkable though was the thick color wrapped around his throat.

With significant effort on my part, I shove down the revulsion and ire rising up inside me, instead taking in the way his magic burns like a dark star yet remains perfectly frozen, not flowing and swirling like all the other mages I've met.

"Hello. Can you understand me?" I ask softly, crouching next to him where he's seated on the ground, doing my best not to seem threatening. The boy watches me between strands of hair, utterly blank and I mentally curse whichever sick fuck put a collar on a child. Just as I'm about to turn to call for a translator he nods, much to my surprise.

"Hm?" Marwyn murmurs, leaning closer to the abnormally still child, one meaty hand braced on my shoulder. "The boy looks like he might be from Leng or Yi Ti, but he has purple Valyrian eyes. And the runes,… these are Valyrian and Asshai'i…"

I nod, feeling the dark, cool feeling of the power beneath his skin. "He's a shadowbinder."

Marwyn whips his head towards me. "You can tell?"

"Aye, now behave. You're startling him," I reprimand, my tone still soft, as I push him farther away. The boy hadn't reacted to Marwyn in any way, but the hairs along my skin had started to raise in warning and I've lived too many lives to ignore such gut feelings. "We'd like to take that collar off. It's sealing your magic, yes?"

Again, the boy remains impassively silent. I can tell it is starting to both anger and unsettle the guards, who are perceiving it as disrespect, but a sharp look from Bran keeps them from doing anything. After a while, the boy nods so slightly that Bran has to confirm it actually happened. "Alright. I take it you don't know how to remove it, Marwyn?"

The mage scowls. "… not yet."

I nod, tilting my head to squint at the craggily black walls of the Wolf's Den, the ancient fortress turned prison looming in the distance as the first drops of icy rain fall from the now completely gray sky. "We'll go to the godswood. I'll try to dream it and you can study it afterwards. Is that alright with you?"

The boy stares, and this time I notice his confused discomfort. Deciding to test a theory, I turn, ordering gently rather than asking. "Come."

Immediately, the boy falls into step beside me, startling everyone who had expected silence and stillness once more into defensive stances. Bran, although freaked out, is following my lead, odering the guards to put away their weapons when they instinctively go for them at the fast and sharp movements of the unknown boy who doesn't even twitch when blades are aimed at him. Whatever life he's lived has made it hard for him to do anything but follow direct orders. My heart aches for him.

I watch the boy on our trek to the godswood of White Harbour, which is actually located in the Wolf's Den itself. His eyes are dull, almost lifeless, except for the fact that I instinctively know he's watching absolutely everything. The way he moves is interesting too. There are no extraneous or unnecessary movements and everytime I pause, he freezes too, perfectly still, eyes trained forward. It takes me a while to realize that he is maintaining an exact distance from me, like this is how he was trained to follow his masters. It is genuinely disquieting considering his youth and something about the lad screamed that he was a predator and brought to mind the image of large feline stalking its prey. The only reason I am even willing to turn my back on him is because I could sense no malice. Hells, I could barely sense anything, but the closer we got to the godswood, the more I was certain of just one thing. 

The tiniest, weakest, ember of hope had begun to burn beneath his skin.

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It took awhile, but I eventually got a vision of someone taking the collar off him using blood and magic, not a surprise considering the origin of the runes. It was actually an extremely simple process, but since the boy's magic was sealed, he couldn't do it himself, requiring another magic user, a knowledgeable one at that, and considering how unlikely it would be to find one, how coincidental our meeting was, it it was sheer dumb luck that this boy would be free.

"Ready?" I ask, kneeling next to the boy, the heart tree of the Wilf's Den so massive that it's branches and roots grew through the walls and windows of the keep, easily shielding us from the rain summoned by the gods' attentions. He nods, and this close with my bloody palms on his collar, his eyes seem to have taken on a sharpness that wasn't there before. 

With a pulse of magic, there is a click and the collar is skipping off. The boy remains perfectly still as I pull away, backing up, the collar in my hands quickly snatched by a near feral Marwyn, already muttering to himself about the mechanics.

I smile, trying to give him space. "You are free. You may go wherever you wish, though I ask you don't harm the innocents or smallfolk. Or, should you desire it, you may work for me."

The boy remains still and silent before carefully reaching a hand up to brush his neck and I make sure not to wince at the scarred flesh that was once concealed by the collar. Then, he very slowly gets up, warily darting his eyes about. I remain placid and sitting but make no move to stop him. Abruptly, in a blindingly fast movement, he steps back into the shadow of the heart tree we were kneeling by, and, like rising smoke, shadows wrap around him. In between one moment and the next he vanishes.

I whistle, eyebrows raised, even as several people panic and lose their minds, nearly all drawing their weapons, even Bran who pulls the Dustins' valyrian dagger. "Damn."

"Seven hells," Cregan croaks, body tense as he hovers over me.

Bran gapes for a while longer before shaking his head. "Nothing's ever simple with you, is it, Sister. Are you not going to employ him?"

I shrug. "That would be nice, but you can't demand someone's loyalty if they aren't willing to give it."

"You freed him, though!" Bran points out, indignant on my behalf.

"So? That doesn't mean I'd automatically receive his loyalty. We know not his circumstances," I counter, rising and rubbing the blood off my hands with a damp cloth before lighting it on fire and dropping it, ready to watch it until it turns to ash. You can't be too careful with blood. "Don't make the mistake of assuming you will receive loyalty simply because you yourself would offer loyalty in such a situation. That's how you end up with a blade in your back. Regardless, it's best not to pressure and anger someone that dangerous."

"Dangerous? Lady Lunarya what exactly have you unleashed?" Cregan asks, alarmed.

I shrug. I could sense he was strong, but I'd never sensed anyone whose emotions were so controlled. No, not controlled, but suppressed. Emotional control is healthy, but whatever that was, was far from it. "The gods didn't see fit to show me anything about him when I was greendreaming, but I didn't get the impression it was a bad idea to remove the collar. But, honestly…. I'm not really sure."

Ser Cregan was not amused and I got a feeling, one that had nothing to do with my powers, that I'd be getting a very angry letter from father. 

Oops.

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AN; And so, we meet my most favorite and important OC of the series so far. I have mentioned his name as an Easter egg in a different fic during a glimpse of the MC's time in the afterlife so bonus points to anyone who can find it before I reveal it.