A/N: Finally making progress on this story! If you find any inconsistencies, please don't hesitate to let me know and if you enjoyed this chapter, please give it a like :)
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Year 298 AC
Winterfell, The North
Luke sat beside Maester Luwin at the high table, the elderly scholar's chain clinking softly whenever he leaned forward with another question. The universal translator had made remarkable progress in the past hours, allowing Luke to understand most of what was said around him, though his own responses remained somewhat halting.
The Great Hall of Winterfell hummed with conversation and the clatter of wooden trenchers. Firelight danced across stone walls that had stood for thousands of years, casting long shadows behind the massive wooden beams overhead. Luke had visited many worlds with medieval-level technology, but rarely had he encountered a structure that radiated such a profound sense of history.
"Your device," Luwin said, gesturing discreetly to the translator at Luke's belt. "I've never seen its like. The craftsmanship is extraordinary."
Luke nodded, carefully choosing his words. "From my... homeland. Helps me learn your language."
The maester's eyes sparkled with intellectual curiosity. "Fascinating. And where exactly is this homeland?"
"Very far," Luke replied, grateful when a servant arrived with another platter of roasted meat, providing a momentary distraction.
As he ate, Luke's attention drifted across the hall. The Force signatures of the Stark family blazed like beacons against the more subdued presence of the other diners. He'd encountered Force-sensitive families before—the Halcyon clan on Corellia, several Miraluka lineages—but never had he seen such raw potential concentrated in a single bloodline.
Lord Eddard sat at the center of the high table, his presence in the Force steady and resolute like bedrock. Beside him, Lady Catelyn's energy flowed with protective currents, her eyes constantly moving between her children. Though not Force-sensitive herself, her love created bonds that resonated clearly in the Force.
The eldest son, Robb, radiated leadership and duty—his Force signature pulsed with controlled power, disciplined but untapped. His connection to the grey direwolf pup at his feet was already strengthening, the animal's wild energy harmonizing with his own.
Beside him sat Sansa, the eldest daughter. Her Force presence shimmered with sensitivity and perception—a natural empath whose abilities, if trained, could allow her to sense emotions and intentions with remarkable clarity. Her connection to her own pup was more tentative, reflecting her cautious nature.
The younger daughter, Arya, was perhaps the most intriguing. Her Force signature crackled with untamed energy—quick, adaptive, and incredibly strong. Where her siblings' potential remained dormant, hers seemed to strain against invisible boundaries, seeking expression. She caught Luke watching her and stared back boldly, unabashed by his attention.
At a lower table sat Jon Snow—the dark-haired youth who rode apart from the others. His Force signature was perhaps the strongest of all, yet somehow contained, as if hidden behind a wall of ice. The white direwolf pup with red eyes slept in his lap, their energies already intertwined in the Force.
Young Bran's presence flickered with visions not yet seen, his potential oriented toward perception beyond normal senses. The smallest child, Rickon, was a wild flare of unformed power, too young for Luke to discern its eventual nature.
Such concentration of Force sensitivity in one family was unprecedented in Luke's experience. On most worlds, Force-sensitive individuals appeared randomly throughout the population. Here, it seemed to run strongly in bloodlines—a genetic trait rather than a cosmic accident.
"More ale?" A servant approached with a pitcher.
Luke covered his cup with his hand. "Diluted, if you have it."
He needed to keep his wits about him for the coming conversation with Lord Stark. Already, Luke was formulating how to explain his presence without overwhelming this pre-spaceflight society. His years as a Jedi had taught him to respect indigenous cultures, to avoid disrupting their natural development with knowledge they weren't ready to receive.
Lord Stark rose from his seat, signaling the meal's conclusion. He approached Luke with measured steps, his expression guarded but not hostile.
"If you're finished, we'll speak in my solar now."
Luke nodded, rising from his seat. "I am ready."
As they moved to leave the hall, Luke sensed Arya's disappointment. The girl had been watching him throughout the meal, her curiosity a palpable force. He offered her a small smile as he passed, receiving a reluctant half-smile in return.
Lord Stark led him through stone corridors lit by torches set in iron brackets. Guards in grey cloaks stood at intervals, their hands resting casually on sword hilts as they watched Luke pass. The universal translator continued to process the ambient conversations, expanding its vocabulary with each passing minute.
They climbed a narrow spiral staircase to a tower room—Lord Stark's private solar. The chamber was warm, heated by a fire burning in a stone hearth. Maps of the North adorned the walls, alongside mounted weapons and the mounted head of a great elk. A heavy wooden desk dominated one side of the room, covered with parchments and ledgers. A side table held a pitcher of ale and two cups.
Luke's gaze swept across the solar's northern wall, drawn to the massive map stretched between two iron sconces. Ink lines traced rivers and roads, mountains rendered in careful crosshatching. His eyes found Winterfell quickly—a small castle symbol at the heart of the North, surrounded by vast expanses of forest and frozen wasteland. The Wall dominated the map's upper edge, a thick black line separating the known from the unknown.
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. Luke caught the faint scent of pine resin from the logs, mixed with old leather from the books lining the far wall. His peripheral vision tracked Lord Stark moving toward the door, the soft scrape of his boots on stone marking each step.
Lord Stark closed the door behind them, the sound echoing in the quiet room. He gestured to one of two chairs before the fire.
"Please, sit."
Luke took the offered seat, noting how the firelight cast long shadows across the stone floor. Stark remained standing for a moment, studying his guest with penetrating grey eyes before finally taking the second chair.
"Now," Stark began, his voice low and direct, "I would know the truth of who you are and how you came to be in the North."
Luke met his gaze steadily. "My name is Luke Skywalker, as I told you. My... ship crashed on your shores. I was seeking help when you found me."
"Ship?" Stark's eyes narrowed slightly. "From across the Narrow Sea? You're no Essosi trader I've ever encountered."
Luke considered his words carefully. "I come from much farther than that. Beyond any sea your maps show."
"And this ship—where did it crash?"
"In the forest. About a fortnights walk from where we met." Luke gestured northward. "It struck a rocky shore near the ocean."
Stark seemed to accept this partial truth, though suspicion lingered in his eyes. "What brings a man from beyond known waters to the North? Few seek these lands willingly, especially as winter approaches."
This was the moment Luke had been preparing for—the delicate balance between truth and overwhelming revelation.
"I seek an ancient artifact," he said carefully. "Something of great power, hidden in the far North. I can... sense its presence."
"Sense it?" Stark's hand moved subtly closer to the knife at his belt. "What manner of man senses things from leagues away?"
Luke kept his posture relaxed, non-threatening. "Where I come from, some people are born with abilities others don't have. I was born with the ability to sense certain energies, certain objects."
"And what is this artifact you seek?"
"I'm not entirely certain," Luke admitted. "But I believe it's very old, and very dangerous. I was drawn here to find it before others do."
Lord Stark's expression darkened. "The lands beyond the Wall are no place for treasure hunters, no matter how unusual their gifts. Wildlings would cut your throat before you traveled a league. And worse things lurk in those snows."
"The Wall?" Luke asked, genuinely curious. "I sensed something vast to the north—a barrier of some kind."
Stark studied him with renewed intensity. "You truly aren't from any known land, are you? The Wall is seven hundred feet of ice stretching across the neck of Westeros. It's stood for thousands of years, guarded by the Night's Watch, keeping the realms of men safe from what lies beyond."
"And what lies beyond?" Luke asked, sensing they were approaching something significant.
"Officially? Wildlings—assortment of clans who refuse to kneel. Unofficially..." Stark paused, seeming to weigh his words. "The deserter we executed today claimed to have seen White Walkers—the dead walking. Most dismiss such tales as madness, but..."
"But you sensed truth in his words," Luke finished. "As did I."
Their eyes met in shared understanding. Luke felt the Force stirring between them—not because Stark was sensitive to it, but because truth itself resonated in the energy that bound all living things.
"There's a darkness beyond your Wall," Luke said quietly. "I've felt it since I arrived. It's what drew me here, I think. The artifact I seek may be connected to it."
Stark nodded slowly, some of his suspicion fading. "The old gods may have brought you here for a purpose, then. Few heed the warnings of the North these days."
Luke decided to shift the conversation, seeing an opening. "Your children are quite remarkable."
The effect was immediate. Stark's posture stiffened, his hand moving closer to his weapon. "What do you mean by that?"
Luke recognized his misstep—he'd moved too quickly, touched on something fiercely protected. "I meant no offense. They seem... gifted. Especially in their connection to the direwolves."
"What do you know of my children?" Stark's voice had taken on a dangerous edge.
Luke decided that words alone would not suffice. Sometimes a demonstration was worth a thousand explanations. With a subtle gesture, he reached out through the Force toward the pitcher on the side table. It rose smoothly into the air, floating across the room toward them. Another gentle manipulation of the Force removed the stopper, and the pitcher tipped to pour ale into Lord Stark's empty cup before settling back on the table.
Stark half-rose from his chair, his hand now gripping his sword hilt, partially drawing the blade. "What sorcery is this?!"
Luke kept his posture relaxed, his hands visible and empty. "Not sorcery. Where I come from, we call it the Force. It's an energy field that connects all living things. Some people, like me, can feel it and use it."
"Are you a sorcerer from Asshai, then?" Stark demanded, his sword now partially drawn. "A shadowbinder?"
Luke seized on the cultural reference. "Similar, perhaps, but not the same. I use this power to protect, to help. Never to harm unless absolutely necessary."
Stark's sword remained half-drawn, but he didn't advance. "And you claim my children have this power?"
"They have the potential," Luke said carefully. "I can sense it in them, dormant but strong. All your children have it to some degree."
"And the darkness you sense beyond the Wall—it's connected to this Force?"
Luke nodded. "The Force has two aspects—light and dark. What I sense beyond your Wall is the dark side, growing stronger. That's what concerns me."
Stark slowly resheathed his sword, though wariness remained in his posture. "And my children—what does this mean for them?"
"Without training, their abilities will likely remain dormant, though they might manifest in small ways—intuition, quick reflexes, prophetic dreams." Luke paused. "But power, especially untrained power, can be dangerous. Particularly if someone with ill intent recognizes it and tries to exploit it."
"Are you suggesting my children are in danger?" The protective father emerged fully now, Stark's eyes sharp with concern.
"Not immediate danger," Luke clarified. "But if the darkness beyond your Wall continues to grow, those with sensitivity to the Force may feel its call, even unconsciously. Training would help them recognize and resist such influence."
Stark returned to his seat, his expression troubled. "And if I refuse this training? If I send you on your way?"
Luke met his gaze honestly. "Then they'll continue as they are. Most will likely never know what they could have become. But some—those with the strongest connection—might experience things they can't explain. Dreams, visions, perhaps even abilities that manifest in moments of extreme emotion."
"Would they be harmed?"
"Not by the Force itself," Luke said. "But untrained abilities can be frightening, confusing. And those who are different often face suspicion, fear."
Stark fell silent, considering Luke's words. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across his troubled face.
"This training," he finally asked, "what would it involve?"
"Nothing more dangerous than what they already learn in the practice yard," Luke assured him. "Meditation, exercises to focus the mind, techniques to sense and eventually use the Force. I would never put them at risk."
"And you believe this would help protect them from the darkness you sense?"
"I do," Luke said simply. "Knowledge is often the best defense against fear and manipulation."
Stark rose and walked to the window, looking out at the night sky. Snow fell softly beyond the glass, illuminated by torchlight from the courtyard below.
"I must think on this," he said finally. "Such decisions cannot be made hastily. You'll stay as our guest until I decide."
"I understand," Luke replied. "Thank you for listening with an open mind. Few would have."
Stark turned back from the window. "The North remembers, Skywalker. Our histories speak of the Long Night, of the Others, of magic in the world when most southron lords dismiss such tales as nursery stories. I am not so quick to disbelieve."
"Wisdom often lies in remaining open to possibilities others dismiss," Luke observed.
"Perhaps." Stark moved toward the door. "Rest tonight. We'll speak again tomorrow, after I've had time to consider your words."
Luke rose, sensing the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Stark."
As they left the solar, Luke felt the weight of the encounter lifting. He hadn't revealed everything—nothing of spacecraft or distant worlds—but he'd shared enough truth to establish trust. The seed had been planted. Whether it would grow depended on many factors, not least Lord Stark's decision about his children's potential.
The darkness beyond the Wall troubled Luke deeply. It felt ancient, patient, and malevolent—not unlike the dark side nexus he'd encountered on other worlds. Whatever artifact had drawn him here was somehow connected to that darkness. Finding it had become more urgent than ever.
As a servant led him to his assigned chambers, Luke reached out through the Force, sensing the sleeping minds of the Stark children scattered throughout the keep. Their potential shimmered like stars in the night, each unique, each powerful in its own way.
Whatever Lord Stark decided, Luke knew his crash landing on this world had not been an accident.
----------------------------------------------------
Luke's chambers lay shrouded in darkness, the dying embers in the hearth casting faint orange shadows across stone walls. He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, breathing steady and measured. The Force flowed through him like a river finding its course, stronger here than anywhere he'd experienced save Dagobah itself.
Three hours until dawn. Three hours before the castle stirred to life.
He rose in one fluid motion, muscles protesting slightly from the unfamiliar bed. The translator at his belt, with its soft blue indicator the only modern light in the medieval room. Luke secured it beneath his tunic, then wrapped his cloak around his shoulders.
The door opened silently—he'd oiled the hinges before retiring. Stone corridors stretched before him, torchlight flickering at distant intervals. Guards would be posted at main entrances, but Luke had mapped their patterns during dinner. He moved like smoke through the shadows, the Force muffling his footsteps.
A guard dozed at his post near the kitchen entrance. Luke extended his hand, deepening the man's sleep with a gentle Force suggestion. The guard's breathing grew heavier, his chin dropping further onto his chest.
Outside, snow fell in thick curtains. The cold bit through Luke's cloak immediately, but he'd endured worse on Hoth. He pulled the hood up and set off across the courtyard, leaving shallow prints that the falling snow would soon obscure.
Winterfell's walls loomed dark against the pre-dawn sky. Luke found the small postern gate he'd noted earlier—used by servants fetching water from the hot springs. The bar lifted easily with the Force, and he slipped through into the Wolfswood beyond.
The forest embraced him with ancient silence. Pine boughs heavy with snow created natural corridors between the trees.
He moved swiftly now, using Force-enhanced speed to cover ground. His boots barely touched the snow as he leaped fallen logs and wove between towering sentinels.
The crash site appeared through the trees like a scar on the landscape. The X-wing lay half-buried, one S-foil torn away, the cockpit canopy spider-webbed with cracks. Snow had already begun to claim it, drifting against the fuselage.
"R2?" Luke called softly.
A muffled beep answered from beneath the snow. Luke brushed away the accumulation, revealing his astromech's dome. R2-D2's photoreceptor flickered to life, followed by an indignant series of whistles and chirps.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry I left you." Luke checked the droid's systems, relieved to find minimal cold damage. "We need to move the ship. It's too exposed here."
R2 swiveled his dome, sensors sweeping the area. His response scrolled across Luke's datapad: STRUCTURAL DAMAGE SEVERE. FLIGHT SYSTEMS INOPERABLE. SUGGEST ABANDONING VESSEL.
"We're not abandoning her." Luke circled the X-wing, assessing options. "There's a cave system about half a mile north. I saw it on the way down."
The droid's skeptical whistle needed no translation.
Luke placed both hands on the ship's hull, closing his eyes. The Force flowed through him, into the damaged metal. Lifting the X-wing was simple enough, the damaged fighter rose smoothly at his command, hovering several feet above the snow.
"The problem isn't lifting you," he said to the floating ship. "It's the distance."
R2 offered an understanding series of beeps from his position nearby.
Luke sighed, gently lowering the X-wing back to the ground. Even a Jedi Master couldn't maintain that level of concentration over the miles to the cave while navigating unfamiliar terrain. The Force was powerful, but practicality mattered too.
"We'll have to try something else," he muttered.
Luke shifted his approach. Instead of sustained lifting, he created a Force cushion beneath the ship and began to push. The X-wing slid forward through the snow, leaving a deep furrow. This method required less constant focus while still making steady progress.
An hour passed. The sky lightened to pewter gray as Luke guided the ship across the landscape. His connection to the Force remained unwavering, though the repetitive work was physically draining. The cave mouth finally appeared—a dark gash in a rocky hillside, partially concealed by overhanging pines.
Luke guided the X-wing inside, the fit tighter than he'd hoped. Metal scraped against stone as he maneuvered the ship deeper into the cave. Finally, it settled in a wider chamber, hidden from casual observation.
"R2, run a full diagnostic. Check all systems."
The astromech extended his interface arm, connecting to the ship's computer. After several minutes, his report appeared on the datapad: HYPERDRIVE DESTROYED. SUBLIGHT ENGINES 15% FUNCTIONAL. LIFE SUPPORT FAILING. COMMUNICATIONS ARRAY DAMAGED BUT REPAIRABLE.
"Can you boost the comm array? Try to reach Leia?"
R2's dome swiveled back and forth—a mechanical head shake. NO HYPERSPACE BEACONS DETECTED. NO HOLONET NODES. UNKNOWN STELLAR POSITION PREVENTS STANDARD COMMUNICATION PROTOCOLS.
Luke's heart sank. He'd suspected as much, but confirmation hit hard. This world existed beyond the known galaxy's communication network. Even if they repaired the array, there was no one to receive their signal.
"What about passive monitoring? Can you detect any transmissions?"
NEGATIVE. NO ELECTROMAGNETIC COMMUNICATIONS DETECTED. PLANET APPEARS PRE-INDUSTRIAL.
"Set up a passive receiver anyway. Route it outside the cave—use the emergency antenna. If anyone from the New Republic comes looking, we need to know."
R2 chirped acknowledgment but added a questioning whistle.
"I know it's unlikely," Luke admitted. "But we have to try. In the meantime, I need you to go into hibernation mode. Conserve power."
The droid's response was decidedly unhappy. A stream of agitated beeps and whistles filled the cave.
"I'm not abandoning you," Luke said firmly. "But I can't have you rolling around Winterfell. These people have never seen a droid. You'd cause panic."
R2's photoreceptor dimmed—the mechanical equivalent of a sulk.
"I'll check on you regularly. And if I find technology that can help repair the ship, I'll bring you back online immediately."
More reluctant beeps, but R2 began his shutdown sequence. His various lights dimmed one by one until only the faintest standby glow remained.
Luke turned his attention to the cave entrance. He needed to seal it—both to protect the ship and to prevent discovery. A massive boulder sat nearby, half-buried in snow and earth. Luke reached out through the Force, feeling its weight, its connection to the ground.
The massive stone rolled forward with surprising grace, gathering momentum as it crossed the frozen ground. It settled across the cave mouth with a deep, resonating thud that Luke felt through the soles of his boots. Perfect. The entrance was sealed, with just enough gap at the top for ventilation.
A gap remained at the top for ventilation, but the entrance was effectively sealed. Luke used smaller stones to fill the worst gaps, leaving the emergency antenna cable snaking through a narrow opening.
Dawn was breaking as he finished. Pale light filtered through the forest canopy, turning the snow to silver. Luke needed to return before his absence was noticed.
The journey back took less time—he knew the path now, and urgency lent him speed. The postern gate remained unbarred, the guard still dozing at his post. Luke slipped back through Winterfell's corridors like a ghost, reaching his chambers just as the castle bells rang the morning hour.
He stripped off his snow-dampened cloak and boots, hanging them carefully to dry. Evidence of his expedition removed, Luke settled back into meditation position on the floor. To any servant who might check, he would appear to have spent the night in contemplation.
But his mind raced with implications. The X-wing was hidden but irreparable with local technology. R2 slept in electronic hibernation, monitoring for signals that would likely never come. He was truly stranded on this world, at least until he could find the artifact that had drawn him here.
The Force had guided him to Winterfell for a reason. The Stark children's potential, the darkness growing beyond the Wall, Lord Stark's grudging openness to the impossible—all threads in a pattern he couldn't yet see.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Lord Skywalker?" A servant's voice, hesitant. "Lord Stark requests your presence at the morning meal."
"Thank you," Luke called back, surprised at how smoothly the words came now. The translator had done its work well. "I'll be there shortly."
He rose, muscles stiff from the night's exertion, and prepared to face another day of careful half-truths. The X-wing was hidden, R2 was safe, and he had work to do. Whatever purpose the Force had brought him here to serve, it started with the Stark children and their untapped potential.
As he dressed, Luke felt the white direwolf's presence somewhere in the castle below—Amidala, adjusting to her new surroundings just as he was. They were both strangers in this land, both guided by forces beyond normal understanding.
He opened his door and stepped into the corridor, ready to continue the delicate dance of truth and necessity. Winterfell's stones seemed to watch him pass, ancient and patient, keeping their secrets as carefully as he kept his own.