After calling Ghost back to his side in the echoing silence following Harry's words, Jon thought over all he'd been told.
He still didn't know much about the warrior, most of what he'd learned was more from his own inferences from the tale Harry had spun and what he'd seen around the lower chamber that Harry was at that moment securing before waking the others to eat and plan.
But of one thing he was certain.
His Uncle's final task he'd set him had not been in vain.
If anyone was capable of helping him save his cousins from those Lannister twats in the capitol it was the lithe mage climbing to his feet and dusting off his hands after using his blood to seal the entrance to the lower chamber.
Come what may, the Starks might survive this Long Winter yet.
…
With a look that clearly told Jon to keep silent about the lower chamber – not that he really thought Jon would say anything but it was better to be safe than sorry – Harry slid the lower facing panels on the casket to the side, making it appear that his armor and supplies had been stored underneath, and then took down the warding he'd set around the sleeping watchmen.
After hustling Jon and Ghost back to their pallets and encouraging them to eat and fortify themselves, Harry even dipping into his pack for a haunch of beef for the direwolf which gained him an arched brow from the dark-haired Targaryen, Harry padded on quiet feet around the hunched and sleeping forms of the men, casting diagnostics and healing those with minor wounds he'd not been able to take care of before the exhaustion of being woken and then doing major healing knocked him out for the night.
By the time he made it to the side of the grizzled Lord Commander it was to the sight of watery blue eyes watching him carefully as the older man rested with his back against the wall, sipping from his skein and tearing at salted meat.
Remembering the night before, Harry concentrated and then cast a spell, completing the information-sharing that Jon's bloodletting had begun when the Stark-Targaryen had broken the enchantments on his tomb.
"Well?" Mormont all-but-barked. "Stark get over here and translate for our newly-risen friend."
"No need." Harry said haltingly as he assimilated the rest of the knowledge he'd gained from Jon's blood.
And what blood it was.
It…tingled…for lack of a better word. Like firewhiskey but with less of a burn and without the literal fire-breath.
This information-sharing was the backbone of the spell that Teddy had cast, altering his imprisonment.
The last of the Blacks had made it not only so that he would hear and assimilate what was spoken in his tomb despite his waking-not-waking sate but also that whoever woke him would unknowingly create a link – albeit a temporary one Harry could sever at any time – allowing Harry to take what information he'd need without being bound permanently to his waker if he didn't care to be.
And thank god for that.
The thought of being woken by someone like Dumbledore or gods-forbid Umbridge and being stuck to them for the rest of his life was enough to make him nauseas. If such a thing had come to pass he very well might've AK'd himself before living as a slave and glorified tool for someone like them to use as they saw fit.
Hours and hours it had taken Harry to learn what he needed and then minimize the connection, but now he had at least the minimum he needed to make a start in this new epoch, keeping the connection as a backup in case he needed it. It wasn't as if being tethered – at least in part – to Jon Targaryen had been onerous thus far.
Now he knew the common tongue, and that his native tongue was now known as High Valryian. The man before him was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch…and he'd given Jon his impressive sword. Jon's uncle had been beheaded by a vicious and juvenile false-king. And his cousin had called up an army to first rescue the Starks trapped in King's Landing.
All this and more Harry now had access to.
Though for the most part he tried to keep from peeking at the more dirty bits he'd found lurking in Jon's mind.
Like what the outrageously handsome man looked like naked for starters…or his equally impressive cousin.
Harry blinked, shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind and focusing on the gaping old soldier before him.
"You can speak the common tongue after all, can ya lad?" Mormont grunted after his shock had passed.
"It's what Benjen?" He cocked his head to the side in a gesture of pretend thought. It was as good of an excuse as any for his sudden knowledge. And only talking to Jon would curtail his ability to get to the gritty bottom of the fight going on that he'd been awakened to help with. "Always spoke when he came to talk to Rhaegar?" He shrugged. "And change out the oil in the braziers and such. The Starks have maintained my tomb for more than eight thousand years if I have my counting right."
"That's right." Jon confirmed quietly, nodding from his spot sitting beside Ghost not far from the Lord Commander. His words were nearly hidden under the sound of the men getting up and moving about, seeing to their needs and unwrapping bandages no longer needed and stowing them away, some sharpening their swords or fiddling with wrappings. "A Stark every generation from the first of us has come and taken care of this place. When it was first found by the First Men we were selected to be the Keepers – both of the tomb and of the prophecy that was discovered with it."
"Prophecy." Mormont leaned to the side and spit into one of the braziers, the flames sizzling before recovering from the onslaught. "Smoke and hokum for all the good its ever done."
"Couldn't agree more." Harry said drily, thinking of how he wound up among this malodorous group. It was as if none but Jon had ever even heard of the concept of bathing.
"Now, lad." Mormont rose to his feet with a stretch. "You healed my men and me – no small power that. Is there any sorcery in your prophesized self that will help against the white-walkers or will we have to either die in here or die out there?"
"Oh." Harry said with a half-grin, twirling his wand between his fingers as he thought. "I've got a trick or two up my sleeve for them…"
:::
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