Chapter - 50

Catelyn looked around the great hall. She always noticed how much bigger it was than the hall in Riverrun, but also more spartanly decorated. 

The Starks of old had a different perspective on what opulence looked like.

It was quite rare that this hall was ever used, and she always enjoyed having to organize a feast. 

While it was a lot of work, she enjoyed doing it. 

It wasn't every day that they would be hosting the heirs of three great houses; her husband's bannermen rarely cared for such intricacies.

She looked around, directing the different maids to ensure everything was in order. One major headache had been figuring out where to seat the main guest of the evening. 

The head table was for those of noble houses, and the White Mage made no such claims. 

No one even knew what his last name was; he either didn't have one or refused to tell anyone.

But he was also the main reason that so many nobles had gathered in Winterfell. 

It was the same reason that she saw so many more people from as far as Mereen gathering in Winterfell, hoping to gain an audience with the Healer of Winterfell.

Even the street where his clinic was located had become one of the most profitable places to set up any sort of business. 

People had begun to call it El's Street.

She still had conflicting feelings about the man and his sorcery. 

The magic he practiced required no sacrifices, at least nothing that she could find out. It went against everything that she had been taught. Such magic should have come at a cost; she still refused to believe otherwise.

As nothing in this world was granted without a price. And she couldn't even begin to fathom what price El had paid in exchange for such power.

In the years that he had been in Winterfell, she had been looking for signs of foul play, but she hadn't been able to find any. 

The one person that she had thought understood had turned out to be a traitor to the crown. Her childhood friend Petyr had understood her concerns, and then Ned had told her that Petyr had been stealing from the crown. Not even in small amounts - it seemed enough to leave the crown in massive debt.

She didn't know what to believe anymore. 

Everyone that had been healed by him only sung his praises. 

She had stopped trying to convince Ned that allowing the mage to continue living in the North was a disaster waiting to happen since he healed her little Rickon.

It was one of the lowest moments in her life; her youngest son was dealing with a fever that he would not wake up from. She had prayed and prayed to her gods and had received no answer.

She had done nothing but watch as Ned put his foot down and called for El. 

He had healed her son in mere moments before leaving without asking anything in return.

She had stopped trying to find faults in him since that day and had thanked him sincerely and apologized for her behavior. 

But she still felt uneasy around him; it wasn't something she could control.

All her children adored the mage, and a few weeks ago, Ned had informed her that Sansa would be learning healing. 

She had dreaded the worst upon hearing that, but learning that her innocent daughter wouldn't be dabbling in magic brought her immense relief. Instead, Sansa would mainly be learning the normal, slow way of healing from Freya.

Freya was another matter altogether. Catelyn didn't know what to think about that girl. She knew Freya's mother, who used to work in the castle before she and her husband had opened their own shop. 

Catelyn had visited her once, hoping to uncover something about the mage and to check if she had noticed any changes in her daughter since she started learning.

That discussion hadn't gone as she had imagined. The mother's only complaint had been that Freya had all but moved into the clinic and wasn't married yet. 

She did learn that the mage was either unable to teach his magic to others or unwilling and was just teaching Freya to be a better healer.

Even Maester Luwin had nothing but praise for the girl, saying he regularly visited to learn more about healing from someone only slightly older than Robb. 

Catelyn had a hard time wrapping her head around the matter.

But she had relented, and Ned had said he'd convinced their steward to send his daughter, Sansa's handmaiden, to attend the lessons with her. Today had been the first day of classes, and Catelyn had wasted no time in asking Sansa how it went.

Listening to her little girl excitedly explain what she had learned brought a smile to Catelyn's face and put most of her worries to rest. 

As she continued to oversee the preparations for the feast, she couldn't help but wonder how the evening would unfold.

-----------------

Oberyn scanned the bustling feast hall, his eyes searching for the elusive mage. 

The revelry was in full swing, but the reason everyone had gathered here—was still conspicuously absent.

It made sense, he supposed. Everyone had arrived early, eager to catch a glimpse of the infamous White Mage. 

It seems that the warden of the north had just thrown one big feast in order go get done with 

"Looking for someone?" a voice cut through his thoughts.

Oberyn turned to face the speaker, not immediately recognizing him. 

"Willas! Glad to see you. I heard you had arrived. It's been a long while—you've grown taller," he said with a warm smile.

"Prince Oberyn, it's good to see you're doing well. It has been some time. The last we met was under... less than ideal circumstances," Willas replied, his tone careful but not unkind.

Oberyn grimaced at the memory. "I do apologize for that. How is your leg?"

Willas smiled, waving off the concern. "It's alright, Prince Oberyn. It was an accident; I never blamed you for it. If anything, I blamed my own youthful arrogance. I'm wiser for it now." His smile widened. 

"Besides, if anything it has given me an excuse to be here and it's not a problem anymore."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Ah, you work fast. I thought you had just arrived, and you've already met the mage?"

"Yes, but it was a... chance encounter. We were just about to reach Winterfell when we crossed paths with him," Willas explained.

"The gods must favor you," Oberyn mused. "I've been here for days now and haven't had the chance to meet him. Tell me, what is he like?"

Willas paused, considering his words carefully. "Very different from what I expected. I doubt anything I say could truly prepare you for meeting him in person."

Oberyn leaned in, intrigued. "Now you've really piqued my curiosity. Do go on."

As Oberyn and Willas continued their conversation, a sudden hush fell over the feast hall. All eyes turned towards the entrance, where two figures had just appeared.

El strode in, his signature white coat drawing every eye in the hall. At his side was Freya, looking stunning in a simple yet elegant black dress. 

Oberyn couldn't help but stare. This was the man everyone had been waiting for, the subject of countless rumors and speculation. He didn't look particularly imposing or magical, yet there was something about him that commanded attention.

El's eyes scanned the room, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. He leaned over and whispered something to Freya, who stifled a laugh.

"Well," Oberyn muttered to Willas, "he certainly knows how to make an entrance."

Willas nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Oh this is nothing. Just wait until you talk to him."

Willas glanced at Oberyn, a smile playing on his lips. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

Oberyn grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "My dear Willas, I thought you'd never ask. Lead the way!"

They made their way through the crowd, Oberyn's charismatic presence parting the sea of nobles effortlessly. As they approached, El looked up from his conversation with Robb Stark.

"Ah, Willas," El greeted with a grin. "I see you're putting that leg to good use already, Hope you haven't had any more accidents?"

Willas shifted slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I have been careful," he assured El. "Oh, there's someone who has been quite eager to meet you." He turned, gesturing to Oberyn with a flourish. "I'd like to introduce Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne."

Oberyn stepped forward, his smile dazzling and his arms outstretched. "The infamous White Mage! I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

El raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Just El is fine. And avoiding you? I wouldn't dare, Prince Oberyn. I've heard you're quite persistent."

Oberyn laughed heartily. "Oh, I like you already! Tell me, El, is it true that you were able to outdrink the King? Of all the rumors I heard of your abilities, that was the most outlandish one!"

El's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Now, now, Prince Oberyn. I wouldn't be much of a mage if I told you all of my tricks?"

"Ha! A man after my own heart," Oberyn exclaimed, clapping El on the shoulder. 

"I can see we're going to get along splendidly. Now, how about you show me some of that Northern hospitality and join me for a drink?"

El chuckled at Oberyn's enthusiasm. "Just a moment, Prince Oberyn. I believe an introduction is in order." He turned slightly, gesturing to Freya who stood beside him. 

"Willas, this is Freya, my apprentice. She makes sure that I don't get trampled by the long line of patients."

Freya smiled warmly, offering a graceful curtsy to Willas. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Willas," she said, her voice soft but confident.

Willas bowed his head respectfully, a genuine smile on his face. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Freya. I've heard much about your skill and dedication to healing."

A faint blush colored Freya's cheeks at the compliment. "You're too kind, my lord. I merely do my best to help those in need."

Oberyn, not one to be left out of such pleasant exchanges, stepped forward with his signature charm. His eyes twinkled as he addressed Freya. "Ah, Lady Freya! Forgive my earlier oversight. It's a delight to see you outside the clinic walls, And might I say, you look absolutely radiant this evening."

Freya's smile widened at Oberyn's familiar charm. She smoothed her dress, looking slightly self-conscious but pleased. "Thank you, Prince Oberyn. It's a welcome change to be out of my work clothes for once. Though I must admit, I feel a bit out of my element here."

"Nonsense, I must thank you for allowing my daughters to attend your class today," Oberyn continued.

"They had a wonderful time. In fact, Nymeria is quite keen on attending the classes full-time."

Freya beamed. "That's wonderful to hear. We'd be delighted to have her."

She was about to respond when a familiar voice chimed in. "Ah, discussing the illustrious School of Medicine, are we?"

El grinned. "Indeed we are, Tyrion. Glad you decided to join us. I heard you were busy reading through my library?"

"Ha! I certainly tried," Tyrion replied with a smirk. "I barely skimmed through your grade 2 books before my head started getting dizzy. I decided that I needed a drink. And here I am."

Oberyn tried to keep his shock to himself, and Willas beside him was mirroring his expression as they both stared at the completely different person claiming to be Tyrion Lannister. The man formerly known as the Imp looked nothing like he previously had. Instead, he looked and sounded like a teenager. 

The only things that stayed the same were his mismatched eyes and the blond hair that didn't look out of place and appeared oddly mesmerizing on a teenager. 

He was only a head shorter than Oberyn now.

"Hello there, Prince Oberyn, Heir Tyrell. Long way from home, aren't you? Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," Tyrion said with an infuriating smirk on his face that left him with no doubt about his identity.

Oberyn knew that the shortest Lannister had made his way to Winterfell and had expected him to possibly be different, but this was another matter entirely. He struggled to find words, his usual wit failing him in the face of such an unexpected transformation.

Willas managed to gather himself first. "Lord Tyrion, it's... quite a surprise to see you like this. I trust you're well?"

Tyrion's smirk widened. "Better than ever, Lord Tyrell. It's amazing what a bit of Northern air can do for one's health."

El, enjoying the stunned reactions, decided to throw them a lifeline. "Tyrion here has been here for a while making a nuisance of himself."

Tyrion acted offended at that "I'll have you know that I have been on my best behavior since I have been here"

His mind whirled with the implications of Tyrion's transformation. If the mage could do this, what else was he capable of? He looked at El with newfound respect and a touch of wariness. This man was far more powerful than he had imagined, and Oberyn knew he would need to tread carefully.

But for now, he plastered on his most charming smile. "Well then, I believe we have much to discuss over those drinks. Shall we?"

---------------

Jon Arryn sat in the Tower of the Hand, poring over letters from across the Seven Kingdoms. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows as he sifted through the pile of reports.

"Hm, it seems the mage has been busy," he muttered, reading Stannis' account of how El had arrived at Dragonstone, healed his daughter in minutes, and departed the same day. It wasn't something that concerned him at the moment and picked up another letter.

His brow furrowed as he came across disturbing news from the Vale. Ships reported unusual pirate activity in the Bite around the Three Sisters. Rumors spoke of one of the Sweet Sister islands going up in flames, with no survivors. While Jon doubted the severity of these tales, multiple reports confirmed increased pirate movement, as if something big had happened and scattered them like a disturbed hornets' nest.

Littlefinger's escape was another thorn in his side. How that rat had managed to slip away still baffled him, and the missing gold severely limited his options for addressing the mounting problems.

The Queen's behavior troubled him too. Her change in demeanor had been far from subtle. Jon wondered if she somehow knew what he was investigating. No, that seemed impossible. If his suspicions were true and Cersei knew, she would have fled to the Westerlands by now – or had him poisoned already.

So many things were happening at once that Jon wasn't sure if they were all connected. It felt as though the peace he had fought for was slowly unraveling, and no matter how many issues he resolved, more kept appearing.

Weariness settled over him like a heavy cloak. Jon drained the last of his wine, deciding he would deal with it all tomorrow. It was getting late, and the weight of the realm's problems seemed to press down on his aging shoulders.

Still, as he made his way to his chambers, Jon couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. The game was changing, pieces moving in ways he couldn't quite grasp. He only hoped he had the strength to keep the realm together in the face of whatever was coming.

---------------

A/N: If you wish to read ahead you can find 8 more chapters on my Pa treon