Jinx locked eyes with Eddard Stark, his gaze unrelenting and unnervingly intense. The chill in the air seemed to thrum around them, wrapping the courtyard in an icy embrace that clung to the skin and gnawed at the bones. For a heartbeat, time itself felt suspended—frozen beneath the weight of Jinx's piercing stare.
Then, with a sharp snap of his fingers, the tension in the air exploded into motion.
The swords of the Stark guards, along with those of Rodrik Cassel and Jory Cassel, detached from their scabbards and hovered in midair, spinning slowly as if caught in an invisible current. The steel shimmered under the dull gray sky, glinting ominously. The guards' eyes widened in panic, but before they could act, Jinx's invisible grip compelled them.
Without struggle, the guards' hands shot out, gripping the floating hilts with desperate precision. The blades were sheathed once more, the guards' bodies trembling under the futility of resistance. They knew they were powerless against this man—this force of nature standing before them.
Around them, the Stark men, their throats constricted by the invisible grip of air itself, crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Choked cries echoed through the courtyard, mingling with the wind and frost that licked the stones of Winterfell's walls.
With unsettling grace, Jinx turned his attention back to Eddard and the maester. Both men were lifted gently to their feet, as if the brutal grip on the others was a distant afterthought. The sheer contrast in force left no doubt: Eddard Stark and his maester were not the targets of Jinx's wrath—at least, not yet.
"It's been a long time since I've seen someone so bound by their past... yet who has accepted their circumstances," Jinx said, voice smooth and cutting through the chill like a dagger. His tone carried the weight of centuries, both scornful and eerily contemplative.
The Stark men on the ground wheezed as they fought for air, their breaths ragged and desperate. As Jinx finished his sentence, they managed to gasp out ragged breaths, their will to live rekindled, at least momentarily.
"Now, while I am hardly pleased by your choices, I will respect them."
A palpable exhale swept through the courtyard as Eddard and his men processed the merciful reprieve, even as their bodies trembled under Jinx's lingering presence.
But the reprieve was short-lived. Jinx's tone darkened, his words slicing through the tense silence like shattered glass.
"However... we are going to have a lesson in proper conduct." His voice dripped with a venomous promise. "In my time... I would have blood-eagled the fool who barred my path to my sister—ripped open their chest, stretched their ribs wide, exposed their lungs like wings... Then, after carving out their heart with my own hand, I would have wiped out their entire line."
A silence hung over the courtyard like the still eye of a storm. For a moment, it seemed as though the very air froze in place.
The Stark men's eyes went wide, horror overtaking reason. The mention of blood eagle—a barbaric and gruesome form of execution—was not taken lightly. To hear it invoked by someone of Jinx's stature felt like a death knell.
Some guards instinctively reached for their weapons, their hands trembling, but logic and fear held them back. Others simply stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the gravity of Jinx's words.
Among the gathered, only those who had witnessed Jinx's resurrection—the ones who knew of his rule before the Doom—understood that Jinx's claim wasn't idle bravado. They knew Jinx as he had been: a king. A conqueror. A force that bent kingdoms beneath his heel.
If Jinx possessed even half the power he wielded then, Eddard Stark would be wise to believe that every word was a promise as immutable as the ice blanketing Winterfell.
Eddard's jaw clenched, but outwardly, he maintained his stoic composure. He could not afford to show weakness, not here, not before this man. His eyes met Jinx's, steady and unwavering, as the weight of unspoken threats hung between them.
"You've made your intentions clear," Eddard finally said, voice resolute, tinged with the icy calm of a man who had faced death countless times. "And I will heed your lesson."
Jinx tilted his head slightly, a shadow of satisfaction flitting across his features. For a fleeting moment, the cold around them seemed to ebb—only slightly—as Jinx acknowledged Eddard's words.
"Good. Then we may proceed. It's imperative you understand... the past shapes us, but the future—" Jinx gestured broadly to the frost-rimed stones surrounding them, "—the future is carved by those with the will to seize it."
With that, Jinx turned, the threat of blood eagle hanging in the air like a blade ready to fall. The Stark men remained silent, their minds churning with dread and a grim understanding: Jinx's lesson would be paid for in blood, whether theirs or another's.
Jinx turned on his heel and walked purposefully toward what he assumed to be Lady Stark. The woman instinctively pushed her children behind her, protecting them with a maternal urgency—except for the black-haired boy, who remained at her side. Jinx's eyes lingered on him briefly before he dismissed the thought silently.
"Hmm… introductions must follow a certain order," Jinx declared in a deep, resonant voice. "My name is Jinx Stark, King of Winter during the Doom, and ancestor to the Starks." He offered a short, almost theatrical bow, but it was clear his gesture was aimed more toward the children than toward the lady. Gasps and murmurs swept through the gathered crowd; the woman's face turned pale, for she had heard tales of Jinx Stark from her father.
"H-how is that possible?" Catelyn cried out, her voice trembling with shock and indignation. "Jinx Stark died during the Century of Blood, according to the tales! You must be an imposter!"
Before Jinx could offer any rebuttal, Eddard Stark stepped forward to defuse the situation. His voice was calm yet authoritative. "My dear Catelyn, his words hold truth. I witnessed the man resurrect himself before my very eyes—along with my men and even Arya. He possesses knowledge beyond any who have lived in the Seven Kingdoms of that time. And the fact that he saved Arya using magic, a power that seems to restore his youth, speaks for itself."
At Eddard's measured defense, Catelyn's outrage faltered. Reluctantly, she gathered her children and dragged them away from Jinx, her eyes wide with conflicting terror and disbelief.
"Healthen! Ned, how can you allow this demon near our daughter? Our children!" she protested, her voice rising in pitch. "We must execute him—ask Rodrik—"
Jinx held up a single finger, silencing her before any more words could escape. A cool, disdainful smile played on his lips as he replied, "Really, madam? You dare call the man who saved your daughter a demon? I suppose southern manners have indeed grown worse over time." He paused, surveying the assembly with the air of a king addressing his subjects. "Allow me to set matters straight: I shall remain here at Winterfell. I will teach my descendants the magic—a gift bestowed upon me by the old gods. From what I gather, you all harbor some trace of that power, a dormant spark that, if fanned, can restore House Stark to its rightful place at the pinnacle of the realm."
His tone grew imperious, and he fixed his gaze on every man and woman present. "If any of you disagree, if you show disrespect to our gods, our traditions, or the destiny of House Stark, then know this: you not only scorn our heritage but also risk consigning our people to the bottom of the barrel. All I require is a simple nod—a token of your understanding and acceptance."
The silence that followed was heavy and tense. Catelyn's eyes flickered with fear and uncertainty. Unable to muster any protest in the face of such ancient authority, she simply nodded. The small gesture, laden with reluctant acceptance, satisfied Jinx.
With a final sweeping glance at the assembled crowd, he turned his attention to the children huddled behind Catelyn. His dark eyes held promises of lessons in forgotten magic and the revival of a proud legacy—a legacy that would reshape the future of the North.
Jinx turned his gaze to the children standing behind Catelyn. He had already met Arya—his little shadow—but now, he was taking in the rest of the next generation of Starks. His dark purple eyes flickered with a strange, unreadable emotion as he studied each of them in turn.
His attention first landed on the brown-haired boy standing protectively beside Arya. "You," he said, stepping forward slightly. "You must be the heir. Tell me, what is your name?"
The boy lifted his chin, trying to maintain his composure, but Jinx could see the cautious curiosity in his grey eyes. "I am Robb Stark, eldest son of Lord Eddard Stark and heir to Winterfell," he answered with confidence, though his voice betrayed the slightest hint of tension.
Jinx nodded approvingly. "A wolf pup learning to be a lord. I see it in your stance—you already carry the weight of leadership on your shoulders. That is good… but tell me, Robb Stark, have you ever learned what it means to wield power beyond the sword? To command the very land that birthed you?"
Robb hesitated. "I know of honor, duty, and strength," he said carefully, "but I have not heard of magic as you describe it."
Jinx smirked. "Then you have much to learn."
His eyes shifted to the red-haired girl standing a little farther back, her hands gripping her dress tightly. She looked both fascinated and wary, the perfect embodiment of a highborn lady. "And you must be Sansa."
Sansa flinched slightly as his gaze settled on her. She had heard the way her mother spoke of this man, had seen the way even the guards feared him, yet there was something undeniably powerful—almost regal—about him. "Y-yes, I am Sansa Stark," she said, her voice softer than her brother's.
Jinx studied her carefully before speaking. "You have your mother's beauty but your father's eyes. I wonder… have you ever considered what it means to be more than a lady of courtly songs and noble pleasantries?"
Sansa swallowed hard. "I… I wish to be a great lady," she said, though there was an uncertainty in her voice now. "A queen, perhaps."
Jinx chuckled, but it wasn't cruel—it was the sound of someone amused by the dreams of youth. "A queen, is it? Ambitious. That is not a bad thing, little wolf, but let me give you a lesson early. Power is not won by beauty or noble birth alone. There is something within you, something older than you realize… and if you listen, you may yet learn to be more than what southern courts expect of you."
Sansa did not know how to respond to that, but the intensity of his gaze made her shiver.
Jinx then turned to the younger boy standing close to Catelyn, the one with red hair. "And you?"
The boy, who had been watching Jinx with open suspicion, squared his shoulders. "I'm Bran," he said.
Jinx raised an eyebrow. "Just Bran?"
Bran hesitated before adding, "Brandon Stark."
Jinx nodded slowly. "A name that carries weight. Brandon the Builder. Brandon the Wild Wolf. Tell me, Brandon Stark, do you dream?"
Bran blinked at the odd question. "Everyone dreams," he said, frowning slightly.
Jinx chuckled again, but this time it was different—quieter, almost knowing. "No, not like everyone else. But we will talk about that in time."
His gaze moved toward the smallest of the children, the one clinging to his mother's skirts. "And you must be Rickon."
Rickon, too young to fully understand the weight of what was happening, simply nodded, his wide eyes filled with both awe and fear. Jinx softened slightly at that. "You will be a wild one," he said, almost to himself. "Good. The North will need wild wolves before the end."
Finally, his gaze settled on the black-haired boy standing apart from the others. Unlike the rest, he had not flinched away or clung to anyone for reassurance. He met Jinx's gaze head-on, his expression unreadable.
Jinx tilted his head. "And you," he murmured. "You are not Catelyn Stark's child."
The boy's jaw tensed, but he did not waver. "I am Jon Snow," he said, his voice steady. "Bastard of Winterfell."
At those words, the temperature in the courtyard seemed to drop again, but this time, it was not from anger. It was something else. Something colder. Deeper.
Jinx took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing. "Snow," he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. He stared at Jon for a long moment before finally speaking again.
"No," Jinx said quietly, "I do not think so."
Jon frowned, clearly confused, but Jinx did not elaborate. Instead, he turned back to the rest of the children and exhaled. "You all have potential. Some of you know it already, others will come to understand. House Stark has been slumbering for far too long, bowing to southern ways, forgetting what it means to be the true rulers of the North." His eyes darkened. "That ends now."
He glanced at Eddard. "The children will learn, and so will you, Stark. Magic is not dead in these lands—it was only sleeping. And I intend to wake it."
Eddard, still reeling from all that had transpired, merely nodded.
Jinx smirked. "Good."
Then, with an air of finality, he turned toward Winterfell itself, his presence a shadow stretching over the ancient walls of his once and future home.
(timeskip)
As the candlelight flickered in their chambers, Catelyn paced back and forth, her nightgown swishing against the stone floor as she continued her tirade.
"He's dangerous, Ned! Whether he is an imposter or truly Jinx Stark, it does not matter! If he is a liar, then he is deceiving us all, and if he is truly who he says he is, then he is an ancient king with knowledge and power beyond comprehension! How can you sit there so calmly?"
Eddard Stark sat on the edge of their bed, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced together as he listened. His grey eyes were thoughtful, his expression unreadable.
"He brought Arya back," he finally said. "And he did it without demanding anything in return. That is not the act of a man seeking to destroy us."
Catelyn threw her hands in the air. "Perhaps not now! But what of tomorrow? What of a year from now? What if he decides that he wants Winterfell back? He calls himself the 'King of Winter.' What if he believes himself the rightful ruler? What if he means to take your place?"
Eddard exhaled sharply. "And if he does?" He lifted his head, meeting her frantic gaze. "Do you truly believe that swords would stop him, Catelyn?"
She froze at that, her lips parting but no words coming forth.
"We are not dealing with an ambitious lord or a southern schemer," he continued. "If Jinx Stark wanted Winterfell, I do not think we could stop him."
Catelyn swallowed hard, the truth of his words making her stomach churn.
"That is what frightens me, Ned," she whispered. "He is beyond us. Beyond our understanding."
Eddard sighed, rubbing his face. "He is no ordinary man. But I do not believe he is our enemy."
Catelyn clenched her fists. "He might not be now, but what about later? He is already calling himself the ancestor of House Stark, demanding to teach our children magic. Magic, Ned! You have seen what magic does! The Mad King had his pyromancers, the Targaryens ruled with dragons—it is unnatural!"
Eddard finally stood, stepping closer to her. "Unnatural?" he repeated, his voice calm but firm. "Catelyn, the Old Gods are older than your Seven. The North has always had magic. We only forgot it because we bowed too long to the south. He remembers. He is what we were before we became what we are now."
Catelyn shook her head. "And what if he turns our children against us? What if he fills their heads with his magic and his ways? What if—"
Eddard's jaw tightened. "He saved Arya."
Catelyn closed her mouth.
"He saved Arya," he repeated. "If he had not, she would be dead. You know this."
Tears welled in Catelyn's eyes, but she remained silent.
Eddard placed a hand on her shoulder. "I do not trust him fully," he admitted. "I do not trust anyone so easily. But I do not believe he is here to harm us. He could have taken Winterfell by force, but he did not. He could have killed us all without breaking a sweat, but he didn't. Instead, he has shown nothing but interest in our children. And not in a way that threatens them, but in a way that…" He exhaled, searching for the right words. "In a way that suggests he wishes to prepare them."
Catelyn shuddered. "For what?"
Eddard did not answer immediately. His mind returned to the way Jinx had looked at Jon, the way his eyes had darkened at the mention of the boy's name.
"I do not know," he admitted.
Catelyn gripped his hand. "Then we cannot trust him."
Eddard gave her a tired look. "If I turned him away, do you think he would leave?"
That thought sent a chill down Catelyn's spine.
"No," she admitted quietly.
"Then we will not speak of removing him," Eddard said firmly. "For now, we will watch. We will learn. If he means harm, we will see it before he moves. But if he means to help… then perhaps we should listen."
Catelyn turned away, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "I do not like this, Ned."
Eddard placed a reassuring hand on her back. "Neither do I."
A cold wind howled outside, rattling the shutters. Somewhere in the castle, Jinx Stark was awake, watching, waiting. And though Eddard did not yet know if he should fear or welcome this man, he knew one thing for certain:
Winterfell would never be the same again.
(timeskip)
The air in the chamber was thick with an eerie stillness as the gathered group stood before the still, dark water. The perfect silence was broken only by the distant sound of dripping water echoing off the ancient stone walls.
The underground chamber was unlike anything the Starks or their sworn swords had ever seen—a vast, hidden structure lying beneath their very home. Its origins and purpose were a mystery, untouched by time yet exuding an ancient presence that seemed to pulse within the cold air. Towering pillars, coiled with intricate carvings of serpents, loomed around them, their watchful eyes fixed upon the centerpiece of the room: a massive stone statue with a solemn, ageless face.
Jinx stood before it, his dark purple eyes glinting with something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, then spoke.
The words that left his lips did not belong to any tongue known in Westeros. It was a strange, slithering language—a whispering, hissing cadence that carried a weight of something old, something unnatural. The sound of it slithered through the chamber, sending an instinctive shiver through all who heard it.
Arya, to everyone's shock, stepped forward as if compelled by some unseen force.
Catelyn's sharp gasp shattered the stillness, her hand flying out to seize her daughter's arm. "Arya, get back!"
Eddard, standing beside her, held up a hand. "Wait," he commanded.
Catelyn turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Ned, she—"
"Wait," he repeated, firmer this time.
Arya, now standing beside Jinx, looked up at him with confusion. "What was that?"
Jinx's lips curled slightly in a knowing smile. "The words will come naturally to you," he said. "Close your eyes. Listen to the silence... and then speak."
Arya hesitated, but there was something in his tone—something ancient, steady, and knowing—that compelled her to trust him. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and listened.
A heartbeat passed. Then another. The weight of the chamber pressed down on them all, thick with expectation. Just as Maester Luwin opened his mouth to object, Arya spoke.
The words spilled from her lips, perfectly mirroring Jinx's strange tongue. The language was utterly foreign, yet it left her mouth with the ease of breathing.
Gasps filled the chamber.
Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane exchanged alarmed glances, their faces pale. "Impossible," Luwin whispered. "We never taught her a new language… much less—whatever that was."
Before anyone could speak further, a deep, rumbling groan echoed through the chamber.
The carved mouth of the massive stone statue began to shift.
The grinding of ancient stone filled the air, deep and thunderous. Then, with a deafening creak, the mouth of the statue gaped open.
A rush of dark water spilled forth, washing over the stone floor, carrying something with it. The clatter of bones rang out as old, bleached remains tumbled forward, scattering at their feet. The sharp, pungent stench of decay filled the chamber, making several of them recoil in horror.
But then, from within the darkness of the opened statue's mouth… something moved.
A flicker of motion. A glint of something deep within the shadows.
Eyes.
Two piercing amber eyes, glowing like embers in the dark. Unblinking. Watching.
Ser Rodrik took an immediate step forward, his hand flying to his sword. Eddard followed, Ice already halfway out of its scabbard.
"Jinx," Eddard began, his voice sharp with warning. But before he could demand an explanation, the thing in the darkness stirred.
A massive, slithering form emerged from the shadows.
The torchlight caught the gleam of scales—black as midnight, smooth and glistening. The creature slithered forward, its sheer size unnatural, its body thick as a man's torso, coiling with slow, deliberate grace. Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. Its glowing amber eyes scanned the gathered group with cold, reptilian intelligence.
The Stark children stood frozen in place, their breath caught in their throats, their faces torn between awe and terror.
Sansa let out a strangled gasp and stumbled back, nearly tripping over her own feet. "Seven hells..." she whispered.
Jon's hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw it. His grey eyes flicked between Jinx and the massive serpent, trying to make sense of the nightmare before him.
Eddard, his grip firm on Ice, turned to Jinx, his expression dark. "What have you brought upon my house?"
Jinx, however, remained utterly calm.
He placed a hand on Arya's shoulder and spoke, his voice smooth, unhurried.
"Ask it its name."
Arya swallowed hard. The weight of the serpent's gaze was crushing, but she obeyed.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she turned toward the creature and spoke once more in the ancient tongue. The words came effortlessly.
The serpent's tongue flicked again. Then, it slowly lowered its massive head until it was level with Arya's small frame.
And then—it spoke.
The voice that rumbled from its maw was deep, resonant, filled with the weight of countless centuries. It was the voice of something old—something that had seen the rise and fall of empires, something that had slumbered beneath Winterfell longer than any living man could comprehend.
Its words slithered through the air, echoing through the chamber, but only Arya and Jinx understood them.
"I am Medusa… the goddess of snakes… and child of Jinx Stark."
The chamber fell into suffocating silence.
Catelyn clutched Eddard's arm, her nails digging into his sleeve. Sansa pressed a trembling hand to her lips, while Robb instinctively took a protective step in front of Bran and Rickon.
Jon Snow stood rigid, his mind racing, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
Jinx simply smiled.
"Now," he murmured, his voice a whisper against the cold air. "The true history of House Stark begins."
Catelyn's panicked cries filled the chamber. "Arya, get away from that thing!"
Eddard was already moving, his instincts screaming at him to grab his daughter and pull her to safety. But the moment he took a step forward, the serpent's glowing amber eyes snapped onto him. He froze. It wasn't fear that stopped him, but something deeper—something primal. The snake wasn't just looking at him; it was measuring him.
As Medusa slithered further out of the statue's gaping maw, the full scale of her size became horrifyingly clear. Her thick, black-scaled body coiled effortlessly across the stone floor, her head lowering slightly as if deciding whether or not Eddard Stark was worth her time.
"Somebody help him!" Catelyn screamed, her voice raw with terror.
One of the Stark guards, perhaps emboldened by duty or foolish bravery, lunged forward, sword raised.
A blur of motion. A snap.
The guard collapsed instantly, his body stiff as stone. Gasps filled the chamber as the others recoiled in horror. His once-living flesh had turned to cold, unmoving rock, his face frozen in an expression of shock.
Sansa let out a strangled scream. Bran clung to Robb's arm, his young face pale with fear. Jon instinctively shifted in front of Rickon, shielding the smallest Stark from the sight.
Jinx, however, simply crossed his arms, unfazed by the chaos. He sighed and shook his head.
"Normally, you shouldn't look Medusa in the eyes," he said casually, as if discussing the weather. "One glance, and you'd turn to stone forever."
His dark purple eyes flicked toward the petrified guard before turning back to the others. "But don't worry. I taught her to be… selective with her stare."
Medusa's massive head lifted slightly, her tongue flicking out, tasting the tension in the air. The golden glow in her eyes pulsed for a moment before dimming, as if she was withdrawing the full force of her deadly gaze.
Eddard tightened his grip on Ice, his voice low and measured. "What… have you done, Jinx?"
Jinx tilted his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I woke her up."
Silence.
Then Arya, still standing close to the massive serpent, turned to Jinx with a furrowed brow. "She called herself your child."
Catelyn stiffened. The others exchanged uneasy glances.
Jinx smirked. "Oh, did she?" His gaze slid back to Medusa. "Well then, looks like we have a lot to talk about."
The chamber was silent, save for the distant sound of dripping water. All eyes were on Jinx as he stepped forward, placing a hand on Medusa's massive, coiled body. The serpent didn't flinch, its golden gaze still locked onto Eddard, as if waiting for something—judging.
Jinx exhaled through his nose, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. "You all look like you've seen a ghost," he mused. "Well, I suppose in a way, you have."
Eddard's grip on Ice was ironclad, his expression dark. "Explain. Now."
Jinx chuckled. "Where should I start? Oh, right. Valyria." He turned, walking past the petrified guard as if he were no more than an unfortunate piece of decoration. "You already know, Ned—Arya too—that I traveled there nearly a decade before the Doom. But what you don't know is what I brought back."
He gestured to Ice, the ancient Valyrian steel greatsword strapped across Eddard's back. "That sword? A gift. I was welcomed as a king, a conqueror, a brother, and—well, let's just say I made an impression on the dragonlords." His dark purple eyes glinted mischievously before he continued.
"They wanted to experiment, to elevate their bloodline beyond what it already was. They had dragons, yes, but I gave them something more. I empowered them, twisted their very essence, made their bloodline stronger, more resistant." He shrugged. "Well, some of them. The others… let's just say, the Doom was a convenient excuse for their failures."
Catelyn's face twisted with revulsion. "You tampered with bloodlines? With people?"
Jinx gave her a look of mock offense. "Oh, spare me the self-righteousness, Cat. Your ancestors married brother to sister to keep their line strong. I was merely helping the Targaryens do what they already wanted to do—just better."
Eddard's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
Jinx smirked before continuing. "Of course, I didn't leave empty-handed. Along with Ice, the dragonlords gifted me something rather… special." His fingers tapped lightly against Medusa's side, and the great serpent let out a low, rattling hiss.
"A basilisk egg—one of their finest treasures."
The room tensed. Maester Luwin paled. "A basilisk? Those are—"
"Tiny little things," Jinx interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Oh yes, terribly venomous, but hardly impressive. But you see…" His smirk deepened. "I don't do ordinary."
He turned back to Medusa, running his fingers over the black scales as if admiring his own masterpiece. "When the egg hatched, I saw potential. So, I experimented. I had… resources—a dragon from another Valyrian house, dying of some sickness I couldn't even pronounce. A shame, really." He waved a hand dismissively. "I took its blood. Mixed it with the most venomous poisons and venoms I could find. Added a bit of stone man's blood for resilience."
A sharp inhale came from Maester Luwin. "Greyscale," he whispered in horror.
Jinx ignored him, his tone almost wistful. "And, of course, I had a little extra help from the Force. In the end…" He grinned. "I created something. Something greater than any ordinary basilisk." He spread his arms wide, as if unveiling a grand performance. "The second most dangerous creature in the world—besides dragons and ice dragons, of course."
Medusa lifted her massive head, her golden eyes sweeping over the gathered Starks and their sworn swords. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and in that moment, none of them doubted Jinx's words.
She was unnatural. A terror born from something beyond their understanding.
A predator unlike any the world had ever seen.
Eddard exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "And now, she's here."
Jinx grinned. "Oh yes."
Arya, who had remained silent, took a hesitant step closer to Medusa. "She's… not going to turn me to stone, is she?"
Jinx chuckled, ruffling Arya's hair. "Nah. She likes you."
Sansa, still pale, swallowed hard. "And if she didn't like us?"
Jinx tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. "Then you'd already be statues."
Jon Snow, his usual brooding expression giving way to curiosity, finally spoke up. "Why does she like Arya when they just met?" His voice was calm, but everyone could sense the unspoken question lingering behind his words.
A few people glanced at Jon, as if realizing they had been thinking the same thing. Even Eddard's brow furrowed slightly, though he remained silent. The only one who didn't seem to care was Catelyn, who, despite her best efforts, could barely mask the resentment in her eyes.
Jinx could sense it, of course. The quiet, burning hatred she harbored for Jon. If it weren't for her fear of Medusa, he was fairly certain she would have prayed for the beast to devour the boy on the spot.
With a smirk, Jinx leaned against Medusa's massive coils, crossing his arms. "Good question, Jon." He exhaled, his dark purple eyes momentarily distant. "You see… when Medusa hatched, I was lonely."
The hall was silent. Even Medusa remained eerily still, as if listening to his words.
"Yes, I had a wife. And two sons." Jinx chuckled, though there was no real mirth in it. "But I never loved her. Never could. It was… an arrangement, nothing more. But you, Eddard…" He turned his gaze to the Stark lord. "You married a woman you didn't love, and yet, in time, you fell in love with her." His smirk twitched, as if caught between amusement and something bitter. "That, I'll admit—I envy."
Eddard, who had been watching him carefully, felt a strange unease settle in his chest. His mind flickered back to a moment long ago—when Jinx had first returned from death.
"I left my love too soon… but now, I must help House Stark once again."
Those words had haunted Eddard ever since. And now, hearing Jinx speak so casually about never loving his wife, a contradiction gnawed at him.
Who had Jinx truly loved?
But Eddard was not one to pry. He kept his thoughts to himself, filing the mystery away for another time.
Jinx, meanwhile, continued as if nothing had happened. "Anyway, back to Medusa." He ran a hand along her scales, the beast letting out a soft, guttural rumble. "I noticed something… odd about her hissing. It wasn't random—there were patterns. Different sounds, depending on what she wanted. At first, I thought I was just going mad, but the more I listened, the more I realized…"
He grinned, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"She was speaking."
Maester Luwin looked horrified. "You mean to say… you believe she has a language?"
Jinx nodded. "Not just any language—I created one from it. After moons of trial and error, I finally cracked it." He tapped his temple. "A language of snakes. I called it Parseltongue."
The room was silent once more, but this time, it was not just fear that hung in the air—it was awe.
Jon's gaze flickered between Medusa and Jinx, as if trying to process what he had just heard. Even Arya, who had been skeptical at first, now looked at the massive serpent with newfound fascination.
Catelyn, however, looked as though she wished she had been turned to stone just so she wouldn't have to hear any more of Jinx's madness.
Jinx leaned against Medusa's massive coils once more, his dark purple eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Before I died," he continued, his tone carrying a hint of nostalgia, "I locked her away within this statue, knowing she would continue to grow in strength."
His gaze then shifted back to Jon Snow, who was still trying to process everything. "As for your question, young Snow," Jinx said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "it's because Arya is, in essence, the heir to my second house."
The room was silent for a moment before Maester Luwin finally spoke up, his scholarly curiosity getting the better of him. "Second house? What do you mean by that?"
Jinx chuckled. "Simple. After Medusa hatched, I realized something—I needed a house that would carry on a legacy separate from the one I already had." He let the words settle for a moment before he revealed, "So, I created a house. A house built on ambition, cunning, and power. A house named Slytherin."
Some of the nobles exchanged wary glances at the name, while Arya looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.
"Unlike House Stark or any of the great houses of Westeros," Jinx continued, "House Slytherin was never meant to be bound by tradition. It was meant to endure beyond bloodlines, beyond time itself. So, I imbued the ability to speak to snakes into my own blood." He tapped his temple. "And I waited. Waited for an heir to emerge. Someone who carried the fire, the ambition, and the instincts to continue what I started."
He then turned to Arya, his smirk widening. "And that heir… is you."
Arya blinked, stunned. "Me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jinx nodded. "You have the ambition of House Slytherin, but your cunning still needs some work. You're reckless—bold, but reckless. However, you have a strong foundation to build upon." He crossed his arms. "With the right training, you'll be more than worthy of carrying the name Slytherin."
Arya wasn't sure what to say. For the first time, she wasn't being told to be more like Sansa, to act more like a lady. Instead, she was being chosen for something, for who she was.
Jon, however, looked uneasy. "And what exactly does that mean?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Training her for what?"
Jinx simply grinned. "That, dear Snow, is for another time."
Jinx leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with an unspoken history, as he prepared to share yet another layer of his past with them. "Now that I think about it," he said, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something ancient and secret, "you and your brother Robb would be perfect for another of the big four houses."
Sansa, who had been unusually quiet up until this point, looked up in surprise, her voice filled with curiosity. "What do you mean by 'the houses of the big four'?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
Jinx grinned, clearly pleased to explain. "Ah, I should've known you would be the one to ask. Well, sit tight, because this is a story you'll want to hear." He paused for dramatic effect before continuing.
"When I was no older than Robb or Jon here, I was still the Crown Prince of the North. And, as you can imagine, I had to build relationships with other kingdoms, forge alliances. I traveled all across Westeros, and along the way, I met three individuals—three, who, years later, I found out, possessed abilities almost as powerful as mine. If not for their Andal bloodline, they might have been even stronger than me."
The room was silent, every eye on Jinx, who was clearly lost in his memories.
"However," he continued, leaning back, "I wasn't content with leaving things as they were. I managed to fix their issue with the Andal blood—gave them something of a boost, so to speak." He gave a small chuckle, his dark eyes glinting. "And once that was done, we came together, the four of us, and founded four houses. Each one had its own philosophy, its own essence."
He raised his hand and started to count off. "House Slytherin, as you already know, was for cunning and ambition. House Gryffindor was for bravery and courage. House Ravenclaw was for intelligence and wisdom. And House Hufflepuff—the one that most people forget—was for loyalty and hard work."
Arya's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Hufflepuff, but Jinx continued without pause.
"The four of us were powerful, but we knew that once our abilities were exposed, it would spell the end of us. So, we did the only thing we could—we hid. We hid in Westeros and Essos, making sure we were never discovered. Over time, our names were forgotten by most, and our houses fell into legend. But the power we wielded… it was never truly gone. Just dormant."
He paused, glancing over at each of the Stark children. "Before we parted ways, I made two magical trinkets—one of them had the power to guide whoever possessed it to their heart's deepest desire. The other would point to the tombs where the houses were hidden, waiting for the right heirs to come and claim their legacy."
The air in the chamber grew heavy with anticipation, each word settling like a weight in the room. Sansa, Jon, Arya, and even Eddard were all caught in the gravity of Jinx's revelation. This was a history older than anything they had known, and it was entwined with their very fate.
Catelyn, however, still didn't trust him. Her eyes narrowed, her fingers clenched into fists as she looked between her family and Jinx. "And what do you want from us, Jinx Stark? You've brought this beast into our home, you've planted your seeds in our children, and now you're speaking of hidden legacies and ancient powers."
Jinx raised an eyebrow, unfazed by her challenge. "What I want, Lady Stark, is for your house to stand at the top again. I want your bloodline to thrive, and I intend to see that done. But in doing so, we all have to acknowledge the greater forces at play. You see, there's more at stake here than just the future of House Stark. We're talking about the future of the very kingdom itself."
Sansa, still processing everything, couldn't help but ask, "What do you mean by that? What's so important about these houses? What do they have to do with our kingdom?"
Jinx's smile returned, but it was far from comforting. "All in good time, my dear. All in good time. You'll understand soon enough, but for now, just know this: the four houses will shape the future of this land. And if House Stark is to rise again, you must take your place among them."