Chapter 3

The flickering light of the hearth cast long shadows across Lord Eddard Stark's solar, the dancing flames reflecting in the eyes of the two men who sat facing each other. The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with unspoken questions and barely concealed wariness.

Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the ancient wooden desk before him. His grey eyes, usually as cold and unyielding as the Wall itself, now held a spark of curiosity as they studied the strange man seated across from him.

Benjamin Gilman, formerly known as Soldier Boy, sat with an ease that belied the gravity of the situation. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was a coiled energy about him, like a predator ready to strike at a moment's notice.

"So," Ned began, breaking the silence that had stretched between them since they'd entered the solar. "You claim to be from a place called America, a land I've never heard of in all my years. You possess strength and speed beyond that of any man I've ever seen. Who, or what, are you truly?"

Benjamin leaned back in his chair, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's a loaded question, Lord Stark. I'm just a guy who woke up on your beaches with no idea how I got here. Where I come from, I'm known as Soldier Boy, America's greatest hero. But seeing as that doesn't mean jack shit here, you can call me Benjamin Gilman."

Ned's brow furrowed, his mind working to process the implications of Benjamin's words. "A hero, you say? Like the legendary figures from the Age of Heroes?"

Benjamin snorted. "I don't know about any Age of Heroes, but where I'm from, I'm as famous as they come. Super strength, speed, damn near invulnerable. The whole package."

As if to demonstrate, Benjamin casually reached out and gripped the edge of Ned's heavy oak desk. With seemingly no effort, he lifted the entire thing a foot off the ground, inkwells and parchments barely shifting.

Ned's eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to awe passing across his usually stoic features. "By the old gods and the new," he breathed.

Benjamin set the desk down gently, his cocky grin firmly in place. "That's just a taste, your Lordship. Now, how about you fill me in on where exactly I've landed? Because I've got to tell you, this whole medieval shtick is throwing me for a loop."

For the next hour, Ned gave Benjamin a crash course in the history and geography of Westeros. He spoke of the Seven Kingdoms, the great houses, the long summers and longer winters. Benjamin listened with growing fascination and disbelief, occasionally interrupting with questions that only served to highlight how alien this world was to him.

As Ned's explanation wound down, a heavy silence fell over the room. Benjamin stood, pacing the length of the solar, his mind racing with the implications of everything he'd learned.

"So, let me get this straight," he said finally, turning to face Ned. "I'm stuck in some fantasy land with no electricity, no modern weapons, and definitely no Vought to bail me out. Fantastic."

Ned rose as well, his face set in grim lines. "I understand this must be difficult for you to accept, but we must discuss what happens next. You've caused quite a stir, and the other lords will demand answers."

Benjamin's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing in them. "And what exactly did you have in mind, Lord Stark?"

Ned straightened, drawing himself up to his full height. "For now, you will remain here in Winterfell, where we can keep an eye on you. You'll be given quarters befitting a guest, but make no mistake – you are not free to come and go as you please. Your power makes you a potential threat, and I have a responsibility to my people."

The words had barely left Ned's mouth before Benjamin moved. With speed that made him little more than a blur, he crossed the room and seized Ned by the front of his furs, lifting the Lord of Winterfell clean off his feet with one hand.

"Listen closely, Stark," Benjamin growled, his face inches from Ned's. "I'm not some pet you can keep locked up. I could tear this castle down around your ears without breaking a sweat. You don't give me orders. You ask nicely."

To Benjamin's surprise, the fear he expected to see in Ned's eyes quickly gave way to something else – a quiet, steely resolve. Despite dangling a foot off the ground, Ned's voice was steady as he replied.

"You could indeed destroy Winterfell, Benjamin Gilman. But then what? You'd be alone in a world you don't understand, hunted by every lord from here to King's Landing. Is that truly what you want?"

The logic of Ned's words penetrated the haze of Benjamin's anger. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered the Lord of Winterfell back to the ground.

"Fine," Benjamin muttered, stepping back. "I'll play nice for now. But don't think for a second that means you're in charge here, Stark."

Ned smoothed his furs, his composure regained almost instantly. "I wouldn't dream of it. Now, shall we discuss your accommodations for the night? I believe we both could use some rest after the events of this evening."

As they worked out the details of Benjamin's stay, a grudging respect began to form between the two men. Ned recognized the potential ally – or catastrophic enemy – he had in Benjamin, while Benjamin found himself admiring Ned's unshakeable courage in the face of a power he couldn't hope to match.

Afterward In his chambers, Ned Stark sat before the fire, a glass of Arbor gold in his hand, contemplating the implications of the day's events. The arrival of this strange, powerful being could tip the delicate balance of power in Westeros. As he gazed into the flames, Ned couldn't shake the feeling that winter was coming, and it was bringing changes none of them could have anticipated.