A Multiversal Journey (GOT/ASOIAF)

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The Arrival of the Lords

The first signs of the approaching guests came with the deep echoes of war horns ringing through the crisp northern air. Alaric stood on the grand steps of Evergrace, his silver eyes gleaming as he watched the banners fluttering in the distance. The wind carried the sounds of hooves, steel, and voices—hundreds of men marching toward the city.

He was dressed simply but elegantly in a black tunic lined with silver, a silver direwolf embroidered across his chest. His long, white coat, trimmed with fur, draped over his shoulders as he stood tall, waiting for the Lords of the North to arrive.

At the front of the procession rode Lord Richard Stark, his broad shoulders and strong frame making him an unmistakable figure among the northern lords. His long brown hair, streaked with grey, flowed past his shoulders, and his sharp, calculating eyes scanned the city ahead. Beside him rode Brandon Stark, his eldest son, with his usual easy smirk, and Benjen Stark, the youngest, who looked more excited than serious.

Behind them came the banners of the great houses of the North—House Manderly, House Karstark, House Umber, House Glover, House Reed, House Dustin, House Hornwood, and many more. Each brought their men, banners high and spirits wary as they took in the sight before them.

Evergrace.

[Pic]

A city unlike any other in Westeros.

Evergrace is a city unlike any other, a shining marvel in the middle of lush green plains. Built entirely from white marble, the city seems to glow under the sunlight, its beauty visible from miles away. It sits on a large hill, with walls and roads spiraling upward, leading to the grand castle at the very top. This castle, with its tall golden spires, stands as a symbol of hope and power for all who see it.

The city is carefully organized in layers. Each level is home to different parts of life—bustling markets, quiet neighborhoods, peaceful gardens, and grand halls for nobles. Streams of clear water flow through the city, feeding fountains and pools that add to its peaceful charm. Wide roads connect everything, making it easy to move between the layers.

At the base of the hill, a large, circular lake surrounds the city like a protective moat. Beautiful stone bridges lead to the city gates, offering a breathtaking first view to travelers. Outside the city, fertile fields stretch out as far as the eye can see, growing the crops that sustain its people.

The Lords of the North had seen Winterfell, White Harbor, and the Dreadfort—but nothing like this.

As Richard Stark dismounted, his sharp grey eyes took in everything—the towering walls, the perfectly built roads, the steady movement of workers and traders. It was a city that looked more like something out of a legend than a place built by men.

Richard Stark: grunting "So this is Evergrace."

Alaric: smirking "Impressed, Lord Stark?"

Richard Stark: giving a slow nod "I must admit, it is... something else."

Brandon Stark: grinning "Gods, you built all this? You sure you weren't born in Valyria?"

Alaric chuckled, shaking his head. "No dragons, just good planning."

Benjen Stark: whistling "It's warmer here than in Winterfell."

Alaric: "Magic."

Richard Stark shot him a sharp look, but Alaric only smiled.

Richard Stark: gruffly "We'll see if your city lasts as long as you hope."

Alaric simply gestured toward the castle. "Come, my lords. You must be cold and hungry. Let's eat, drink, and celebrate before winter comes knocking."

The other Lords dismounted, their men leading the horses away as they followed Alaric toward the great hall.

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The Arrival of House Ryswell

The cold winds of the North carried the banners of House Ryswell as they approached Evergrace. Lord Rodrik Ryswell, a strong man with sharp features and a calculating mind, rode at the front with his son, Creagan Ryswell, a broad-shouldered warrior with a face hardened by battle. Riding slightly behind them, wrapped in a thick fur cloak, was Barbrey Ryswell.

Barbrey was no delicate southern lady. She was a Northern woman—strong, bold, and not afraid to speak her mind. Her long auburn hair was tied in a loose braid, and her sharp green eyes scanned the city before her. Evergrace was a sight unlike anything she had ever seen.

[Barbrey Ryswell]

The shining white marble, the golden spires, the elegant bridges, and the perfectly built roads—it was nothing like the rough stone castles of the North. It almost seemed like something out of a fairy tale. But the man who ruled it was real enough, and she had been given a task by her father.

Seduce Alaric Noir.

It wasn't an unpleasant order.

She had only seen the young heir a few times from afar, but even then, he had stood out. Tall, powerful, with haunting silver eyes and an aura of quiet confidence. He was not a man easily swayed, but that only made him more interesting.

As they rode through the city streets, people turned to watch them. The citizens of Evergrace seemed… different. Well-fed, well-clothed, and more organized than any town or village she had ever seen.

Her father glanced at her and spoke in a low voice.

Rodrik Ryswell: "Remember what I told you, Barbrey. This boy is no common lord. He is young, rich, and powerful. If you can get him to marry you, our house will rise like never before."

Barbrey smirked.

Barbrey Ryswell: "Father, you make it sound like I'll have to beg for his attention."

Creagan snorted beside her.

Creagan Ryswell: "Just don't be too direct. The man isn't blind. He'll know what you're trying to do."

Barbrey only chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Barbrey Ryswell: "Oh, brother, you think I don't know how to catch a man's eye?"

---

They reached Evergrace's main castle and were led inside. While their father was taken to meet with Lord Richard Stark and Alaric and that's where she saw him carefully for the first time.

A specimen carved by god's, though there she couldn't say much as this was the business of lords and her speaking will only make her appear rude and without manners so she gave her greetings and stayed silent after that.

Later when her family was settled in their respective rooms provided by House Noir in th castle, she decided to roam this beautiful castle.

Following the sound of steel clashing, she found herself at the training yard.

And there he was.

Alaric Noir.

The young lord stood in the center of the yard, shirtless, his entire body glistening with sweat as he sparred against three men at once. His silver eyes burned with focus, his muscles flexing with every move, his body moving with a predator's grace. His black hair was damp, sticking to his forehead, and his bare chest was covered in sweat as he dodged, blocked, and countered every attack.

Barbrey felt her mouth go dry.

Her father had told her to seduce him, but he hadn't told her she'd be the one getting flustered first.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she watched him move—raw strength, controlled aggression, and perfect precision. He was nothing like the young, soft-bellied lords she had met before.

A throbbing heat curled in her stomach, and she shifted slightly, feeling an uncomfortable itch between her thighs.

Barbrey Ryswell (thinking): Gods…

She was still staring when Alaric finally finished. His opponents collapsed to the ground, groaning, and he stretched his arms, his muscles flexing in a way that made her feel even warmer.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, the world stilled.

Then, to her surprise, he smirked.

Alaric Noir: "Enjoying the view, Lady Ryswell?"

Barbrey felt her cheeks heat up slightly, but she quickly composed herself. She was no blushing maiden. She smiled back, stepping closer.

Barbrey Ryswell: "It is quite… impressive."

His smirk deepened.

Alaric Noir: "Is that so?"

Barbrey tilted her head, pretending to admire the yard while sneaking glances at his toned abs and powerful arms.

Barbrey Ryswell: "Evergrace is beautiful… but its lord might be its finest feature."

Alaric chuckled, grabbing a nearby cloth and wiping the sweat from his face and chest.

Alaric Noir: "Careful, Lady Ryswell. That almost sounded like flattery."

Barbrey took another step forward. She was close enough now to smell the scent of sweat and steel on him, a strangely intoxicating mix.

Barbrey Ryswell: "Only if it's undeserved."

He met her gaze, and for the first time, she saw something flicker in his eyes—amusement, curiosity… perhaps even interest.

Alaric Noir: "You're bolder than most ladies I've met."

Barbrey Ryswell: "And you're more interesting than most lords I've met."

They stood there for a moment, the tension thick in the air. Then Alaric chuckled again, tossing the cloth to the side.

Alaric Noir: "I'll have to clean up before the feast. You'll be there, I assume?"

Barbrey Ryswell: "Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

Alaric Noir: "Good. Then I'll see you tonight."

He turned away, walking toward the castle, his muscles shifting with every step.

Barbrey let out a slow breath, realizing she had been holding it.

She had come to seduce him, but instead, she had found herself captivated.

And she had a feeling this was just the beginning.

---

The Great Hall — Feasting and Talking of Winter

The great hall of Evergrace was a sight to behold. Unlike the cold, grey halls of Winterfell, this one was alive with warmth and color. The walls were adorned with banners of each northern house, and large hearths blazed with fire, casting golden light over the long feasting tables.

Rows upon rows of food stretched across the tables—roasted boar, venison, buttered bread, spiced wine, fresh fish, honeyed cakes, and steaming bowls of stew.

Brandon Stark: grinning as he grabbed a piece of roasted meat "Now this is how you welcome guests."

Lord Wyman Manderly, a large man with an even larger appetite, already had a plate piled high in front of him. He laughed heartily. "Lord Alaric, if this is a taste of what Evergrace has to offer, I may just move here!"

Alaric: chuckling "White Harbor is still the North's greatest port, Lord Manderly. I wouldn't dare steal you away."

Lord Umber, a giant of a man with a booming voice, raised his goblet. "To the feast! And to Evergrace!"

The lords echoed his toast, raising their cups before drinking deeply.

After a while, as the feast settled into relaxed conversation, Richard Stark cleared his throat, drawing attention.

Richard Stark: "Now that we are all gathered, it's time we speak of winter."

The hall grew quieter. Though the festival was meant for celebration, winter was never a laughing matter in the North.

Lord Karstark: "Our stores are full, but if the winter is long, we may need help come the third year."

Lord Hornwood: nodding "The same for us. We've stored as much grain as we could, but you never know with the cold."

Lord Glover: sipping his wine "Deepwood Motte has plenty of fish, but little grain. We'd be willing to trade."

Lord Reed, the quiet but clever lord of the Neck, spoke up. "The crannogs will survive as we always do, but I have brought dried fish and mossbread for those who may need it."

Alaric listened carefully, then leaned forward.

Alaric: "Evergrace has more than enough grain, salted meat, and root vegetables stored for a long winter. Any lord in need will be provided for."

Richard Stark studied him. "And what do you ask in return?"

Alaric: smirking "Nothing. It is my duty to see the North strong."

Lord Umber: grinning "A rare lord, one who gives without asking!"

Brandon Stark: laughing "Enjoy it while it lasts, Umber."

Lord Manderly: grinning "I would like to request a steady supply of your Vodka and Beer. Gods, it's better than anything in White Harbor!"

Alaric: laughing "I'll send some your way."

The mood lightened once more, and talk turned to other things—old stories, past winters, and the occasional jab between rival lords.

Lord Ryswell: grinning "If we're lucky, this winter will only last a year or two."

Benjen Stark: rolling his eyes "And if we're not?"

Lord Dustin: grinning "Then we stay drunk until spring."

The hall erupted in laughter.

The feast continued late into the night, the lords drinking, eating, and speaking of times past and times to come.

As Alaric sat back, watching the gathered lords of the North, he knew one thing for certain—this winter, the North would not break.

*Ahem*Red flag *Ahem*

Ah,Well, It should not, considering the current situation but Alaric thinks he can do something about that.

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After the Feast used to entertain the Lords and talking about important matter regarding food harvest, it was time for the greatest and grandest Winter Festival of the North to begin. Today, the whole city will feast food for free and my people even from outside the city were gathered here.

The Great Hall of Evergrace was alive with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Lords and ladies drank, feasted, and exchanged stories as the Winter Festival celebrations began. The air was warm with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the faint scent of Evergrace's flower-scented candles. The feast before was only for Lords to talk important business with the real festival has just begun.

At the head of the hall, Alaric Noir sat in his high-backed chair, relaxed, yet commanding. He wore a simple, dark tunic embroidered with silver, yet even in something modest, his powerful body couldn't be hidden. His broad shoulders, his strong chest, the way the fabric stretched slightly over his arms—it all made him look like a warrior who had been forced to sit on a throne.

Across from him sat Barbrey Ryswell, her green eyes bright with interest and her lips curved into a teasing smile. She had changed into a deep blue gown that hugged her figure in just the right way, though it was hard to tell if it was her dress or her bold personality that caught Alaric's eye.

For the past hour, they had been talking. Or more accurately, Barbrey had been flirting, and Alaric had been toying with her, his mischievous smile never leaving his lips.

And it was driving her mad.

Barbrey Ryswell: "I must admit, Lord Noir, The success you achieved in your business and now this grand city, Evergrace, It's really a story of legends. How were you able to get this almost magical castle made."

Alaric Noir: "And here I thought you were more interested in its lord than its walls."

Barbrey laughed, but she felt her pulse quicken. He was sharp, too sharp.

Yes, she was more interested in this fine specimen of human carved by god's themselves.

Barbrey Ryswell: "What if I told you I was interested in both?"

Alaric took a slow sip of his wine, his silver eyes watching her with amusement.

Alaric Noir: "Then I'd say you have good taste… but also that you should be careful. Some things in Evergrace are dangerous."

Barbrey Ryswell: "Oh? And what danger could possibly come from admiring a handsome lord?"

Alaric leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make her stomach flutter.

Alaric Noir: "The danger is that the handsome lord might notice."

Barbrey swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Was it the wine? No. It was him.

The way he looked at her—not like a boy trying to impress, but like a man who already knew his worth.

Barbrey Ryswell (thinking): Seven Hells, he's too damn confident.

Though it's understandable with what he has accomplished and if tales of his ties with Princess of Dorne were true.

She crossed her legs, shifting slightly, feeling warmth pool in her belly.

Her father had told her to seduce him, but it was her body that was burning.

She picked up her goblet and took a sip, trying to cool herself down.

Her eyes flickered to his hands—strong, veined, capable hands. The kind that could build a city, wield a sword, or—

Barbrey Ryswell (thinking): Stop.

Her throat felt dry again, and she licked her lips without thinking.

Alaric noticed. Of course, he noticed.

He smirked.

Alaric Noir: "Are you thirsty, Lady Ryswell?"

She almost choked on her wine.

Barbrey Ryswell: "W-What?"

His smirk widened. Oh, the bastard was enjoying this.

Alaric Noir: "You just drank as if you've spent a week in the desert."

Barbrey huffed, trying to regain control.

Barbrey Ryswell: "Maybe I just enjoy good wine."

Alaric Noir: "Or maybe you enjoy good company."

Her breath hitched.

Gods, why was this man so infuriatingly good at this?

She shifted again, the heat inside her growing worse.

Her eyes flickered down, trailing over his chest, which was slightly visible from the open collar of his tunic.

He was a work of art.

His body was not the lean softness of a pampered lord, but the hard strength of a warrior. His arms, his chest, his broad shoulders—all of it screamed power.

And worse, he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Barbrey Ryswell: "You talk as if you know everything, Lord Noir."

Alaric Noir: "Not everything."

His voice was silky smooth, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Alaric Noir: "But I do know this."

He leaned in just a fraction, his voice a soft rumble.

Alaric Noir: "You're looking at me like you want to eat me."

Barbrey felt a full-body shiver.

Her thighs pressed together.

Barbrey Ryswell (thinking): Damn him.

She quickly looked away, pretending to admire the hall, but she knew it was pointless.

Her face was warm. Her breath was shallow. And her body was betraying her completely.

Alaric Noir: "You don't have to hold back, you know."

Barbrey turned back sharply.

Barbrey Ryswell: "Hold back?"

His smirk returned.

Alaric Noir: "If you're hungry, just say so."

That was it.

She slammed her goblet down, stood up, and glared at him, though her lips curved into a smirk.

Barbrey Ryswell: "You are the most infuriating man I have ever met."

Alaric laughed, leaning back in his chair.

Alaric Noir: "I'll take that as a compliment."

She turned on her heel, storming off before she did something reckless.

Like drag him out of the hall and into a dark room