Through the Veil (GOT)

Ron's footsteps echoed through the stone corridors of Winterfell as he made his way to the Great Hall, his mind replaying the whirlwind tour Robb and Jon had given him earlier. 

The castle was bloody massive, nothing like the cozy chaos of the Burrow or the magical twists and turns of Hogwarts. He tugged at the collar of his new tunic, the fabric rough but warm against his skin.

"Blimey," he muttered under his breath as he approached the heavy wooden doors. "What I wouldn't give for a Chocolate Frog right about now."

Taking a deep breath, Ron pushed open the doors and stepped into the Great Hall. The warmth hit him first, a stark contrast to the chill outside. Then came the weight of curious eyes, dozens of faces turning to stare at the tall redhead in their midst. Ron felt his ears burn as he shuffled forward, acutely aware of how out of place he must look.

The Stark family sat gathered around a long wooden table, their faces showing a curious welcome. Ron's gaze flicked from one to the next, trying to remember the names Robb and Jon had rattled off earlier. There was Eddard—no, Lord Eddard, his thoughts supplied—at the head of the table. Lady Catelyn beside him, her dark auburn hair reminding Ron painfully of his mum. Then they're children: Robb and Jon, of course, then the girls Sansa and Arya, and little Bran and Rickon.

"Ah, Ronald," Lord Eddard's voice carried across the hall. "Please, join us."

Ron grimaced slightly by the use of his full name but nodded all the same, his legs carrying him forward on autopilot. He slid into an empty seat between Robb and Jon, offering a weak smile. 

"Thanks for having me," he managed, his voice sounding strained to his own ears.

As plates of steaming food were placed before them, Ron couldn't help but notice the subtle glances exchanged between the Stark siblings. Arya leaned forward, her eyes bright with curiosity, while Sansa regarded him with a more reserved interest.

"So," Robb said, breaking the silence, "how are you finding Winterfell?"

Ron swallowed a mouthful of bread, buying himself a moment to think. "It's brilliant," he said finally. "Bit different from home, though."

"Where is home for you?" Arya piped up, earning a sharp look from her mother.

Ron's mind raced. How much could he say without giving himself away? "It's, uh, quite far south," he hedged. "Lots of fields and such. Nothing as grand as this, though."

As the conversation continued around him, Ron found his thoughts drifting. Everything here felt so different—the heavy stone walls, the furs draped over chairs—but what bothered him the most was the distinct lack of magic humming in the air. 

He thought of the Burrow, with its precarious floors and self-knitting sweaters, and of Hogwarts with its moving staircases and talking portraits. The land filled with magic….A lump formed in his throat.

"You alright there, mate?" Jon's voice pulled Ron from his reverie.

"Yeah, 'course," Ron replied, plastering on a grin. "Just thinking about how different everything is here. It's like being in another world entirely."

He had no idea how right he was.

*WHINE*

Ron's attention shifted to the sound as a low whining reverberated through the room.

As Ron saw the wolf pups settle around their owners, he couldn't help but draw comparisons to some of the magical creatures he'd encountered. These direwolves reminded him of hippogriffs in their proud bearing, but with the loyalty of a crup. It was fascinating, really, how this world without much magic still managed to produce such extraordinary beings.

Arya, the youngest Stark girl, leaned across the table, her grey eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What kind of creatures do you have where you're from, Ron? Are they as fierce as our direwolves?"

Ron chuckled. Fierce? They're more cute-like in their puppy forms though. "Well, we've got some... interesting animals, I suppose." Kneazles and Hinkypunks are interesting, right? "Nothing quite like these pups, though." He joked and gestured towards the direwolves, buying himself time to think.

"Come on," Arya pressed, "what about your home? What's it like?"

Ron took a deep breath, his mind racing. "Well, it's... cozy, I guess you could say. Bit cramped with all my brothers and sister running about. We've got this big garden where we play... er, games and such."

Ron didn't notice the exchange glances that Ned and Catelyn shared.

"How many siblings do you have?" Sansa asked, her interest piqued.

"Six," Ron replied truthfully, grateful for a question he could answer honestly. "Five brothers and a sister. I'm the second youngest."

"Six!" Arya exclaimed. "We're the same! What do your parents do?"

Ron felt a twinge of homesickness as he thought of his family. "My dad works for the... government, sort of. Deals with Mu- I mean, ordinary folk. And my mum, well, she's brilliant at keeping us all in line."

"What's 'dad' and 'mum'?" Bran blurted.

At the same time Robb questioned mid-bite, "Government? Is that some type of council?"

Ron froze. They don't know what a government is? Or the terms 'DAD' and 'MUM'?! What the bloody hell? Don't they have one? Wait—How do they even rule here?

Before he could ask, he heard Lady Stark speak. "Do you mean you're parents, father and mother? And a royal court?"

Merlin! Ron was thankful for her interruption. "Yes! My parents! And ah, no, not royal exactly. Britain does have a Queen ruling- but my father is more from...local administration?" He fumbled for words that might make sense in this world. "He helps keep things running smoothly, you know?"

"This 'Britain' place sounds interesting," Sansa said, surprised. "Is she a sole Queen ruling?"

Before Ron could fumble for an explanation or an answer, Lord Stark cut through the chatter. "Perhaps we should let our guest eat peacefully," Lord Eddard Stark said, his tone gentle but firm. "He's had a long journey, and I'm sure there will be time for more stories tomorrow."

Ron felt a wave of relief wash over him. He caught Ned's eye and saw a flicker of understanding there.

Dinner finished quickly enough and the children began to disperse, still chattering excitedly about their new pups, Ron noticed how they immediately deferred to their father's authority. Yet there was warmth in their obedience, a respect born of love rather than fear.

Eddard approached Ron, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I hope you'll forgive their enthusiasm," he said with a small smile. "We don't often have visitors from... so far away."

Ron nodded, feeling appreciation and guilt. "No worries, mate- er, my lord. They've been brilliant, really. I just hope I haven't bored them with my rambling."

Ned's eyes twinkled with amusement. "On the contrary, I think you've given them quite a lot to think about. If they bother you in any way, let me know. You're welcome here." Lord Stark went on his way after patting his shoulder.

Ron felt a growing respect for the Stark patriarch. He'd seen right through Ron's discomfort and stepped in without making a fuss. It reminded him a bit of Dumbledore, in a way – that quiet authority that made you feel safe and uneasy at the same time.

As Ron entered his room, he couldn't help but wonder how long he could keep up this charade – and what would happen when the truth inevitably came out.

Ron collapsed onto the bed, his mind whirling with the events of the evening. 

Arya's fierce curiosity reminded him of Ginny, while Sansa's poise brought Hermione to mind. Robb and Jon's brotherly bond made his heart ache for Fred and George. And Bran reminded him of Harry…

As the candle flickered, Ron found himself pondering Lord Stark's words. "You're welcome here," he'd said. But for how long? And at what cost?

Sleep came fitfully, dreams of spiders crawling around him, direwolves and dragons chasing him through unfamiliar stone corridors. It was a hellish night of nightmares upon nightmares. 

When Ron blinked awake the next morning, sunlight was already streaming through the narrow window. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and taking in the modest guest chamber. No moving portraits, no house-elves popping in - just solid stone walls and the faint smell of pine.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "It really wasn't a dream, was it?"

As he dressed in the clothes the Starks had provided - rough wool and leather that felt strange against his skin - Ron steeled himself for the day ahead, keeping his wand hidden.

"Right then," talking to himself. "Time to be the best bloody diplomat Hogwarts never trained. Just... act natural. And for Merlin's sake, don't mention magic."

His stomach growled loudly, reminding him of another pressing concern. "And find some breakfast before I start gnawing on the furniture," he added with a wry grin.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted Ron's musings.

"M'lord?" A gruff voice called. "Lord Stark requests your presence in his solar."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. Lord Stark? Solar? He swallowed hard. "Right, er... I'll be there in a moment."

Following the servant through winding stone corridors, Ron's mind raced. What did Lord Stark want? Had he somehow slipped up last night?

The solar was a warm, wood-paneled room dominated by a massive desk. Lord Stark stood as Ron entered, his grey eyes keen but not unkind.

"Good morning, Ronald," he said. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, m'lord," Ron replied, trying to channel his best Percy impression. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Eddard gestured to a chair. "Please, sit. There are matters we should discuss."

As Ron lowered himself into the seat, Lord Stark's gaze seemed to pierce right through him. "Your manner of speech, your bearing, the way you spoke about your home... you're of noble birth, aren't you?"

Ron's eyes widened, feeling a bit flabbergasted. What kind of misunderstanding is this? He opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but paused. Well—he is from a pureblood family and part of the sacred 28. The Noble and Ancient House of Weasley. But Ron never really thought about them as 'nobles' per say. 

"I..." Ron hesitated, his mind whirling. If he admitted to being from a noble family, it might explain away some of his oddities. But it could also lead to more complicated lies.

Lord Stark's voice softened. "I understand the need for discretion, lad. These are uncertain times. And you are lost. But I need to know how you ended up in Wolfswood, as it is part of my land I rule."

.

.

.

Throughout the morning, Lord Stark had interrogated him. Ron tried his best to answer without revealing anything about magic, weaving lies with some partial truths.

He told of a fight at his father's workplace that knocked him unconscious until he woke up in the mysterious woods, unsure of how he got there. 

Lord Stark showed him a map of Westeros, but Ron claimed no recognition of any places. When he asked about other continents, he called in a Measter named Luwin and presented maps to him, but Ron denied knowledge of them as well. 

In the end, despite the small suspicion from Lord Stark, Ron was still welcomed as a guest at Winterfell until more information could be gathered on those who left him in Wolfswood. Measter Luwin declared that this was a concern for Winterfell's safety and was better to get to the bottom of it with caution.

Lord Stark also noticed Ron's unfamiliarity with Westeros and offered to help him adjust. Ron was assigned to attend classes with Robb and Jon, led by Maester Luwin, and receive sword fighting lessons from the master-at-arms, Ser Rodrick. Since Lord Stark believed Ron was a noble, it seemed fitting for him to lend his assistance accordingly. Ron had no reason to refuse such generosity and accepted without hesitation.

For Ron only hopes to learn about this strange land and survive…