Hey everyone! I'm back! Sorry for the longer than usual delay with this one…but this chapter was fighting me tooth and nail. Filler chapters, while necessary, are often my strong suit. But thankfully, this is the last one, so we will be getting back into the swing of things soon here!

Wanted to address a few things from reviews from the last chapter. First and foremost,…holy cow. Of all the characters in ASOIAF/GOT to create a divide amongst the fan base I was not expecting it to be Catelyn Stark of all people. As for my stance on her…well I'm not her biggest fan (obviously) but I try not to straight out bash characters if I can. Catelyn has a lot of flaws, but like Cersei she has one major redeeming quality, and that is she loves her children. Although, that can be debated. I will say after talking to my beta reader and going through the books, there is a bit of a difference between book Catelyn and show Catelyn. If you want a good break down of her characters and a lot of other ASOIAF Lore, check out the YouTube Channel Order of the Green Hand. I will warn you though, they are not kind to Catelyn Stark.

Second, quite a few people have been asking me about my IATB Series or the Song of the Master of Death story. As a blanket explanation, I have learned the hard way to start one story, and don't start another until you finish the one you are working on. It is very easy to get distracted and forget key points or loose interest in a story if you bounce around too much. So, I am going to focus solely on this story for now. And once it's finished I will then more than likely move back to IATB Unification War (the 3rd entry in the series).

Lastly, I do not own ASOIAF or SW. If I did…well I wouldn't need to work my ass off 50+ hours a week lol. And a big thank you to my beta reader and brainstorm partner for this story, Tellemicus Sundance. And please feel free to leave a Review if you feel so inclined to do so! I know I've been terrible at responding to reviews, but I've got a lot of vacation I need to burn before my rollover date at the company I work for…so I will be spending a lot of time at home over the course of the next month.

Chapter 8

Kneeling in the slowly melting snow, eleven-name-day Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, watched with bated breath as the twenty men he was with slowly moved forward through the lightly snow covered forest towards their destination. Despite the Citadel and the Maesters of the south declaring that winter was officially over, and spring was upon them, all the people of the North knew that only really mattered to the people south of the neck. For in the north, snow was an almost constant. And as the words of House Stark stated, winter always came back.

"Keeping up with us lad? Can't have you falling behind on us."

Turning his head sideways, Jon saw the leader of this group, First Ranger Harwin, the son of Hullen the horse master of Winterfell. Nodding, Jon looked around the trees surrounding him and took his time locating each Wolf Rangers that were accompanying them on this task, which in fact turned out to be all twenty of them.

The idea of the Wolf Rangers came from his brother Robb, soon after the incident in the godswood with Lady Stark nearly a year past now. Numerous lords of the North and smallfolk alike had started coming to his Lord Father claiming bandits had been raiding along the Kingsroad between Moat Cailin and Winterfell, as well as along the lesser roads that connected the major keeps of the North to one another. The Lords of the North had sent out their men to try and hunt them down, but no one had any success. It was as if the bandits were wind: striking hard and disappearing.

Many believe that they were just simple bandits that were trying to take advantage of the large terrain of the North and its sudden increase in trade to make a profit, even his Lord Father believed it to be so. But Master Nox did not. So, with his Lord father's permission, Nox had devised a trap. Four small trade caravans with a handful of covered wagons each left Winterfell and traveled through the area the bandits were known to frequently strike. Word was then sent out that each caravan would be transporting a different item, glass, food, wool, metal and other substances. But the truth was the only thing in each of the caravans were dozens of Stark men at arms.

Word eventually reached Winterfell that the bandits had indeed struck only a single caravan, the one that was supposed to be carrying glass to White Harbor. After the single attack, Master Nox was convinced that the bandits were no ordinary bandits at all, but rather sellswords from Essos and that the North needed to retaliate and rout out the bandits to send a message to Myr, the only other known maker of glass in both Essos and Westeros. His Lord Father wasn't convinced, however, neither about the bandits being sellswords or about Myr's involvement. But he did agree that the bandits were targeting the glass shipments, and therefore ordered the Lords of the North to supply more men to help defend the caravans.

For weeks afterwards, the Lords and men of the North searched for the remainder of the bandits, but there was no sight of them. In the end, it was Robb who came up with the idea of creating a special group of men modeled after a combination of the Mandalorians from Master Nox's tales and the Rangers of the Night's Watch. They would be paid soldiers, much like Master Nox wanted, and their duties would be to specifically travel the North and hunt down bandits and others that threatened the peace of the North. With Lord Stark's permission, word was quickly sent out to every nearby settlement that they were looking for volunteers to create this new group of rangers, what their duties would entail, and that they would be compensated accordingly.

At first, dozens maybe even more than a hundred men, both old and young, came to Winterfell looking to join this new group. But Jon was sure that almost all were lured in by the promise of coin rather than anything else. Unfortunately for volunteers, it was not Ser Rodrik or even Ser Jory that was responsible for training them, but rather Master Nox. Within a few days, over half of the volunteers had left. And by the time that Nox had declared them 'mostly fit' for their first assignment, there were only twenty left. And now Jon was with those twenty men that managed to make it through Master Nox's training, hunting down the remaining bandits and trying to find just where the men had come from in the first place.

"Aye," Jon nodded, breathing deep and calling on the Force to try and calm his racing heart like Master Nox had taught him to do. "I can keep up."

"Good," Harwin nodded. "Lord Stark and your sorcerer said you'd be an advantage to us in finding these fuckers. Hope they were right. And I hope the sorcerer taught you a few tricks that will be of use to us. Cause I have no fucking clue how to find these fuckers that are raiding our lines."

Keeping his mouth shut, Jon bit back the retort that he wanted to let loose. While the people of Winterfell overall had treated him better than Lady Stark ever had, in the end, he was still a bastard in their eyes. Something that Master Nox had reminded him of several times. 'Your name is but a name, Jon Snow,' his Master had told him. 'It does not define you, however much people may believe it otherwise. And until such time as you can prove those naysayers wrong, wear your title, embrace it. Take away that which others feel makes them have power over you. And you will find that they will never be able to use your name against you. And in time, you will prove them all for fools.'

Closing his eyes, Jon knelt and placed the palm of his right hand against the ground. Closing his eyes, Jon let out a low breath as he delved deeply into the force, concentrating the swirling power within him into the ground and then reaching out to feel his surroundings. He could feel the trees, the grass, the animals stirring about the woods as they made themselves scarce. But most of all, he could feel the slight sensation that he'd been searching for.

Keeping his eyes closed, Jon kept his right hand firmly pressed against the ground and let the Force guide his left hand as he pointed off into the distance. "They're that way," he said with conviction. "An hour, maybe two by foot."

He could also feel Harwin's doubt. "You sure, boy?"

"Yes," Jon nodded, opening his eyes and standing upright. "After all, Master Nox has taught me and my trueborn siblings a few 'tricks'. This is one of mine."

Even after studying under Master Nox for several years, it still amazed Jon just how versatile the magic, or rather the Force, truly was. Between him, Robb and Arya, as Sansa had rejected any form of instruction from Master Nox, each of them had their strengths and weaknesses when it came to using their newfound powers. Robb almost had an aura about him, as Master Nox described it. He was a natural leader and could think quickly, answering questions during their lessons with Maester Luwin almost as soon as the Maester asked them.

Arya's Force abilities had formed in a way that was far different than Robb's or his own. His beloved little sister could hardly lift a stone with the Force. But, instead, she could use the Force to strengthen her small body in a way that made her faster and almost physically stronger than Robb and himself. To be sure, both himself and Robb could do the same. But where they needed to concentrate to achieve a desired result, Arya could do it naturally. And not only that, but she had the uncanny ability to make herself disappear. Not literally, of course, but it was almost as if she could make people momentarily forget her presence. Of course, this had caused more than a few arguments with Lady Stark as Arya frequently used her gifts to skirt her 'womanly' lessons with Septa Mordane.

And as for himself, he had developed a skill that Master Nox was most interested in. He could track anyone or anything. Even days after they'd passed by and even if they hadn't left any obvious signs. Master Nox had called it 'Force Tracking', and stated that in time, Jon would be able to track down any individual even if the trail was days or even weeks old. At first, Jon hadn't known what to think of his powers. He wanted to be able to use lightning like Master Nox, but instead the Force had manifested itself within him to give him this ability. To say he'd been disappointed had been an understatement. But after several weeks with Master Nox developing his powers, Jon had begun to see the benefit of such a skill. It wasn't just game or the odd bandit that he could track in the open. But in Winterfell, he could enter a room and, with a decent amount of concentration, could even identify and locate those who'd been in the room recently.

And it was because of his tracking skills that he was now with the Wolf Rangers, hunting down the bandits that'd been plaguing their trade lines for months. Not that he'd be doing any fighting of course. Despite being trained by Master Nox for years, his father had yet to gift him a true blade of his own. So instead, all he had to make do with was the small dagger that'd been gifted to him by his father on his last name-day.

Staying a few paces behind the rangers, Jon did his utmost to keep up with the older, more experienced men of Winterfell. By the time one of the rangers that was leading the group and was currently standing at the crest of a small hill raised his hand calling for halt, Jon was nearly out of breath and had to lean up against a tree to steady himself while he pulled on the Force to replenish his strength. 'I understand what Master Nox was talking about now.' Jon thought, looking around at the ranger's in sight of himself and noticing that none of them were laboring nearly as hard as him. 'We may have the Force at our disposal, but there is much to be said for experience and endurance.'

Sticking close to Harwin, Jon kept himself low to the ground as he followed the First Ranger to the crest of the hill. Once at the top, Jon immediately ducked behind a tree. In a small ravine on the opposite side of the hill was a decently sized house, no doubt a fishmonger's family home as it was stationed so close to the large stream that flowed into the White Knife. But it wasn't the larger than average house that'd made the lead ranger call for a halt. But rather the two men Jon could see standing just outside the door talking to one another. Two men who were most decidedly not Northmen. A fact that was confirmed when Jon used the Force to increase his hearing to try and spy on their conversation, only to realize he didn't understand the tongue they were speaking in.

"Well, lad, looks like you were right," Harwin whispered to him as the two of them observed the homestead. "Two men on guard, but last report we had placed their numbers at well over two dozen."

"Could be inside," the other ranger whispered. "That homestead is big enough to fit them all. Be a bit tight, but it'd work."

"Well, this just makes it easier for us then," Harwin nodded. "Spread the word to the others. Split into groups of three. We hit 'em from the north, south, east, and west. Our best archers will stay here with the boy. The signal to move will be when we skewer those two fuckers standing guard. Jon, you stay here. Last thing I need is you getting a big head and getting yourself killed. Gods only know what Lord Stark will do to me if I fail to return with you safe and unharmed."

Jon wanted to tell the man that he was ready to prove himself, both to Lord Stark and the people of the North, but he wasn't given the chance as the First Ranger seemingly disappeared into the grasses and trees around them, taking almost all of the rangers with him shortly afterwards and leaving Jon with the four who were considered to be amongst the best archers in the North. Hells, Jon had even seen a few of the men shoot an arrow in a manner that allowed it to bend around an obstacle in order to hit the targets that lay behind.

Staying low to the ground, Jon watched, more through the Force than with his eyes, as the rangers silently made their way into position around the homestead. The two guards standing at the entrance were still talking and not noticing their death slowly approaching. 'Something isn't right.' Jon thought as the rangers beside him readied their arrows. 'Shouldn't there be more out on guard? The homestead is big, to be sure… But can it really hold the number of men suspected to be with these bandits?'

Letting the land around him fade, Jon pulled on the Force and reached out with his senses, trying to isolate the uneasy feeling he was getting. Almost immediately he recognized what was wrong, as he felt a dozen presences approaching the few that'd been left behind from the opposite direction of the homestead. "They're behind us!" Jon shouted, rising to his feet, as he drew his dagger from his hip, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

The four rangers started at his yell, but quickly gathered themselves as war cries came from the trees behind them, followed soon by the dozen bandits Jon had sensed. Holding his dagger in two hands, Jon's mind went blank and he froze in place as he watched as the bandits ran at them with weapons drawn. All thoughts of Master Nox's training, his Lord Father's lessons, and Ser Rodrik's advice left him as he just stood there. Even as a bandit closed in on him, sword raised ready to cut him down, Jon couldn't move a muscle in his body.

Just as the sword was about to come down, the bandit jerked as an arrow appeared in the man's eye. A rough pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him off to the side and to the ground. "Get the fuck out of the fight, boy!"

Rolling onto his side, Jon watched with wide eyes as the four rangers fought against the bandits. It was unlike anything Jon had thought battle would be. It wasn't glorious. It wasn't honorable. It was simply…killing. By the time the bandits had managed to close the distance between themselves and the rangers, four of their numbers had been done in by the arrows of the rangers. But even with how close they were, the rangers kept to their bows, using them as staves to deflect swords and axes aside even as they tried to notch arrows.

He watched as one of the rangers grabbed an arrow by the shaft near the head and used it to stab a bandit in the throat, only to pull the arrow back out, spilling the man's blood all over him and then notch and loose the arrow into another bandit's eye. Only to receive a sword in his back the moment he felled that bandit. Another ranger had dropped his bow and had drawn the short sword, but he was outnumbered and surrounded. He managed to land a single cut before a bandit cut open his thigh, making him stagger before a second cut open his throat.

The ranger who'd thrown Jon had drawn his own short sword and stood protectively in front of Jon as he fended off a man who was screaming in a weird tongue. "Get the fuck out of here, boy!" the ranger yelled as he found an opening and cut the bandit down. "We can't fight while trying to protect you at th-"

His words died as something warm splashed across Jon's face. Bringing a shaking hand to his face, Jon wiped at the warm substance and pulled his hand away. 'Blood.' Looking from his hand to the ranger that'd been defending him, Jon's heart raced even faster as he saw the ranger fall to his knees before falling to his side. An arrow in his neck and two more in his chest.

Looking up, the world around him almost seemed to come to a crawl as he watched a bandit in the distance notch an arrow on his bow and take aim. He could almost see the arrow waver slightly as it left the bow, heading straight for Jon. And yet, even watching the arrow coming at him, Jon still couldn't get his body to move. 'Move! Move! Move!' "Move!" The last came out as a shout as Jon final gained control enough to roll to the side. But even then, he was too late as the arrow grazed across his brow above his left eye, leaving a searing pain as he rolled away.

Reaching up to his eye, Jon's fingers touched the cut on his brow. 'Blood,' he thought, pulling his hand away and looking down at it. 'My blood. A ranger's blood. So much…blood.'

A new set of rough hands grabbed him and turned him around, forcing him to look up at the sight of one of the bandits looming over him. "Fuck," the man cursed, his accent not of the North. "We didn't sign up to kill no kids."

"A job is a job," another said, his accent similar but slightly different. "We get paid. We kill. We don't ask questions. Now finish up before the others reach us."

The man above Jon let out a sigh before raising his blade, point aimed down towards Jon's heart. Thoughts of his siblings ran through his head as he stared at the sword ready to take his life. Of Master Nox, of his Lord Father. 'No! I – It can't end like this! It can't!'

"No!" Jon shouted, holding his hands before him and gathering the Force to him before lashing out with it as he'd done countless times under Master Nox's tutelage.

The man standing above him had only a moment to widen his eyes in surprise before he was thrown back away from Jon and into tree behind him. Spinning up to his feet, Jon held his hands out to his sides, waiting for the next bandit to try and get to him. The rest of the men that'd been plaguing the North did little more than stare at Jon as they tried to figure out what'd just happened. But before anyone could move, shouts of 'Winterfell' came from the hill behind Jon.

He almost sagged in relief as he felt the rangers of the North falling on the bandits. But his relief his was short lived as one of the men regained his wits and charged at Jon with his sword raised. Acting on instinct alone, Jon flung his hands towards the advancing man, lashing out with the Force. Just like with the previous man, this one barely had time to figure out what was happening before he was flung back and into another tree with enough force to break the trunk in half as the man impacted it.

Turning on his heel, Jon readied himself to fight some more, only to find that there were no enemies to be had. With the rest of the rangers coming to their aid, the remaining bandits had either surrendered, died, or run off. Jon wasn't sure which. But what he did know was that it was over.

And with that realization, Jon's blood began to cool as he looked down at his bloodied hands. "Well, I'll be damned, Jon," Harwin muttered, coming up and patting Jon on the back with enough force to make him stumble forward a step. "I guess that the sorcerer has been teaching more than just a few 'tricks' eh? Fell a man twice or three times your size at barely eleven name-days. You truly are a son of the North, lad."

Blinking, Jon looked from his hands to the two bandits he'd thrown away from himself. The one that didn't go through the tree was resting at the base of the trunk. His body bent backwards at an unnatural angle. And the second, the one who had gone through the tree had splinters the size of Jon's fingers sticking out of his chest, legs, and arms.

He barely had time to cough before he felt his stomach betrayed him and he lost his fast and meal from the night before. And then the ground was rushing up to meet him as darkness clouded his sight.

Walking into the Small Council Chambers, Jon Arryn, Hand of the King let out a frustrated sigh at the sight before him. Of the seven men that made up the Small Council, only two currently were currently in attendance. Lord Stannis sat with his back straight, reading over a piece of parchment with a chalice sitting next to him. No doubt a water at the strongest. And the other occupant was Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers. The eunuch was standing next to the open window, staring out over the Blackwater Bay. But besides them, the rest of the of the Small Council was absent.

'Pycelle is no doubt shuffling about, trying to act his age and believing that he has everyone fooled,' Jon thought as he spared a quick nod towards Stannis before making his way around the table to too his seat. 'Baelish no doubt is finding a way to make more coin appear out of nothing to appease the King's appetites. And Renly, Seven only know where that boy is. I warned Robert that his younger brother was not yet ready to take on the mantle of Master of Law. But Robert is not one to change his mind once it is set. One need only look at his ongoing opinion of the Targaryens to know that for a fact. And Barristan is no doubt still with the King.'

"Lord Hand," Varys greeted him cordially as the eunuch turned away from the window and made his way towards his seat.

"Lord Varys," Jon greeted the man back.

Of all the members of the Small Council, Varys was the one that caused the most concern for Jon. Stannis was predictable. Renly was easy to manipulate. Pycelle was easy to anticipate once you saw through his façade. And Baelish cared only for his own self-interests in expanding his coin and influence. But Varys…? Varys was an enigma. The man had not only managed to survive his tenure as a member of the Mad King's Small Council, but he'd managed to seamlessly engrain himself into Robert's Small Council as well. And while he could anticipate and predict the other members of the Council based on their wants and needs, Varys was a complete mystery. He truly seemed to mean what he said when Jon had first talked to the man. 'I serve the realm, Lord Hand. Someone has too.' But the day he truly believed that would be the same day that he ate his own shoe.

If Jon had had his way, Varys would have been excused from the Council the moment Robert had been crowned. But the problem was that they needed him. They needed his spy network. He'd been trying for years, ever since his appointment as Hand, to try and subtly find another that could potentially take over Varys's position, but for over ten years he failed with every attempt. So now, he had no choice but to accept the eunuch out of necessity.

Within moments of Varys taking his seat, the doors to the Small Council chambers opened once more as Baelish and Renly came walking in, the two determinedly not looking at one another with a slowly lumbering Pycelle directly behind them.

"Forgive the tardiness…Lord Hand," Pycelle muttered as he stumbled to his seat, his act growing rather thin on Jon but not enough for him to call him out on it.

"I ask forgiveness as well, Lord Hand," Baelish smiled, bowing slightly as he took his seat and pulling out his ledger. "But there were a few discrepancies that I felt the need to deal with before we begin today. And I believe that now that we are all—"

"We are not all here," Jon cut in quickly. "We will wait for Robert before beginning."

Looks of doubt crossed the face of each member of the Small Council, even Stannis looked curious. And why wouldn't they? It was well known that Robert despised these meetings. 'Counting coppers,' he always called them. But Jon knew his former ward and now King. He knew exactly what to say to make the boy do what he wanted him to do. And, sure enough, he only had to wait a few moments longer before the doors to the Small Council chambers were thrown open again.

"Your grace," rising to his feet with the rest of the council, Jon inclined his head as King Robert, cup of wine in hand, entered the council chambers with Ser Selmy and the King's squire Lancel right behind him.

"Ah, save that shit, Jon, and sit your ass down. All of you." Robert grumbled as he made his way to his seat and flopping down in it while holding out his cup for Lancel to refill. "So, I'm here. You said there was news from the North. What is it?"

Jon could see Stannis's jaw tighten as recognition flashed in his eyes on just how Jon had managed to get the king to attend the meeting. "In time," Jon stated, taking his seat as did the rest of the council. "First, though, we have several issues we should discuss that concern the realm. Varys let us start with you. What news from the realm?"

Jon could see Robert visibly deflate. He cared and loved the man as if he were his own son, to be sure. But after years of dealing with the errant man, Jon found he'd simply given up on caring about Robert's whims. Varys, taking the opening, began to speak. "Songs have reached my ears that Oberyn Martell has been making his way through the Free Cities of Essos with his paramour Ellaria Sand."

"No doubt looking to sire a few more bastards on a few Essos women," Renly quipped, chuckling slightly at his own joke.

Jon, however, did not find it amusing. While the younger Martell brother was known to be a wanderer, his current whereabouts were of concern. "Has he made contact with the exiled Targaryens?"

Robert sat up straight instantly, his eyes gaining that same fire as what always entered them whenever the dragons were brought into the conversation. Mercifully, Varys shook his head. If there was one point of contention between Jon and Robert, it was in the fates of the remaining Targaryen children. The idea of killing them both still made Jon uneasy. Although he did admit that it would solve many problems, it would also create many others. No. The best bet would be to capture the two of them and bring them back to Westeros. Viserys, of course, would have to be sent to the Wall. But at least there, once he'd sworn his oaths, he would be unable to legally try and claim the crown. But the girl, Daenerys, she had potential. If she were set to marry the crown Prince Joffrey, then Robert's reign and the Baratheons' continued hold on the throne would be without question. But Robert didn't agree. He only wanted the two dead.

"No, he has not," Varys said with a sigh. "I fear that after the death of Ser Willem Darry that two remaining Targaryens have disappeared. The two are quite adept at hiding from my little birds."

"I want them both found, Varys!" Robert all but shouted, rising from his seat slightly. "I want them found and dead!"

"My little birds are trying their best, your grace," Varys nodded. "But I believe that they are playing on the few families that are still loyal to the Targaryens in Essos or making promises to others in exchange for protection."

"The Targaryens and their fate can be discussed at a later date," Jon cut in, ending the discussion with a pointed look at Robert. "If Oberyn Martell has not traveled to Essos to seek out the Targaryen exiles, then have your little birds managed to learn why he is there?"

"I have, Lord Hand. Prince Oberyn has not been discreet during his travels," Varys nodded. "Apparently, he is asking anyone and everyone for information about a certain man. A blind man with Valyrian features."

It didn't take the wisest man in the realm to understand what Varys was alluding too. "The Northern Sorcerer," Stannis stated. "Why would Dorne be interested in the man? He is sworn to House Stark."

"But he has said no oaths, neither to House Stark nor to the crown." Pycelle cut in, suddenly energetic as his façade slipped, as it always did when the topic of the sorcerer was brought up. "If Dorne is interested in the man, then perhaps he truly is a Targaryen loyalist who is merely preparing the land for his master's return."

Jon could see that same fire return to Roberts eye, and he knew that he needed to cut off that line of thought. He had no idea just why Pycelle seemed to despise the man so much, but the Grand Maester would take every opportunity presented to paint the sorcerer in a poor light. But he was saved from having to say anything this time as Stannis spoke up.

"That is unlikely," Stannis stated, fixing the Grand Maester with a glare that shut the old man up. "Since his arrival in Westeros, the sorcerer has only proven to be a benefit. He almost singlehandedly brought down the Greyjoys and brought peace back to the realm. And with his work in the North in the creation of glass, the printing press, his gifts of new foods to the North as well as his countless other contributions that have brought more wealth and stability to the realm than we have seen in years. If he truly is trying to upset the balance of the land to make it easier for a Targaryen resurgence, then he is doing a poor job of it. In fact, I would dare say that the sorcerer has been responsible for more technological and societal advancements in the past few years than the Maesters of the Citadel have in the past few centuries."

Stannis wasn't lying. The advancements coming from the North, of all places, far outpaced any advancements that the Maesters had ever achieved in well over a century. The printing press that was in Winterfell was able to turn out books as fast as they were able to supply them with paper. And while the effects were still relatively minor, it didn't take an archmaester to know what was to come. Literacy in Westeros was common only amongst the nobility, and even then, competent literacy was usually reserved only to those amongst the noble families. And that was primarily because of the scarcity of books due to the time and effort it took to make them. But now, with a single machine, that argument was now null and void. Literature could be made efficiently and cheaply. Soon, many of the smallfolk all over Westeros would be reading, which in turn would likely force their lords to step up their own lessons in retaliation.

The blast furnace was also a technological marvel. A giant bloomery capable of smelting tons of iron ore at once into high-grade steel far better than anything they had before. And, again, it could be done at a rate almost unheard of. It wouldn't surprise Jon that if in a few years, the North managed to surpass the Westerlands as the most well equipped and armed martial force.

Then there was the glass, whose strength somehow managed to surpass anything they could currently purchase from Myr. And while to many in the southern kingdoms it meant little, to the North it was a matter of life and death. Now that they could produce glass of their own, they could create glass gardens that could feed most of the North even in the middle of winter. However, that also created a new problem as many of the southern houses depended on the North to buy their crops, even if it chaffed them to admit that they depended on the North for anything.

Then there were the dozens of other little items the North had been creating over the past five years. When they weren't producing glass for the glass gardens, the glassmakers were making wine glasses or decorative pieces of art that were becoming very popular amongst the nobility of Westeros and even amongst the rich of the Free Cities, if Varys's little birds were to be believed. Then there were also the springs that were used to not only create new mattresses, which were far more comfortable and durable than feathered mattresses but were also being used in larger sizes to stabilize carriages while they traveled. Truly, the North was quickly becoming the height of technological advancement in Westeros, which was a fact that many, including Jon, would have thought impossible just a few short years past.

"Aye, the bloody fucking sorcerer has proven his worth," Robert grumbled, waving his hand dismissively at Pycelle's concerns. "And if he does show any allegiance to the fucking dragons, then I'll trust Ned to deal with him. Enough of the snakes, what the fuck is next?"

"Songs from the Reach, your grace," Varys informed the council. "Lord Tarly has sent his eldest son North to gain the approval of the sorcerer. From the time my birds sung of his departure, he should have arrived at Winterfell by now. And Garlan Tyrell has taken the Lord Tarly's second son as his squire."

"Tarly's boy?" Renly questioned. "I remember the boy, vaguely. A chubby boy that couldn't even hold a training sword in his hands without shaking."

"No doubt Lord Tarly hopes that the sorcerer will be able to turn the boy into something resembling a reasonable heir," Baelish sighed dramatically. "I do hope Lord Tarly doesn't take offense to the sorcerer shipping his son back south like he has with dozens of others."

Baelish spoke the truth of the matter. Ever since the Citadel had declared the end to the three-year winter Westeros had just endured, dozens of Lords from across the realm from Bear Island to Storm's End and across to Highgarden had sent their heirs to the North to try and garner the approval of the sorcerer. And each one had been turned around and sent back home by the sorcerer. Some managed to last longer than others, but in the end, it always ended the same. With the sorcerer informing the heir that they could not be taught the ways of magic, and the heir dejectedly leaving the North.

"Perhaps the boy will surprise us then and be the first not to be turned away," Jon commented, ready to leave the subject be. "Are there any other whispers, Varys? No, good. Lord Stannis, you spoke last time of an increase in pirate activity around the Stepstones, have you any—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Jon!" Robert groaned, knocking back his wine cup in one go before holding it out to be refilled. "Enough with this counting coppers and whispers horseshit. You brought me here because you said you had word from Ned. So, what is it?"

'Barely more than a scant few updates,' Jon sighed while just barely managing to suppress his outward groan of annoyance. Sometimes, he truly wished that Ned had claimed the Iron Throne for himself that day when he walked into the Red Keep only to find the Mad King dead at the hands of the Kingslayer. It would've taken a lot of concessions to get the rest of the realm to agree to a reign headed by the wolves, but at least Ned would've been an attentive King.

"Yes, we have," Jon nodded. "Lord Stark reports that the bandit raids that've been plaguing the trade lines near Winterfell for the past few months have finally be—"

"Bandits? Near Winterfell?" Robert asked, sitting up straight and his eyes suddenly much clearer than they were a moment before. "Why wasn't I informed of this sooner?"

"It was discussed months ago, when Lord Stark sent word to the council informing us of the raids. And was later confirmed by Lord Varys," Stannis informed his brother calmly, although Jon could see the rage lingering behind the man's eyes as he addressed his brother and King. "Lord Stark informed us at the time that he had the situation under control. And that he and the Northern Sorcerer were working on a solution to the problem."

Robert looked confused, but before he could question further Jon pressed on. "In response to the raids, Lord Stark commissioned the creation of a new group of 'rangers', much like the Night's Watch have that patrol north of the Wall. Only this group would patrol the Northern lands. They were specially trained by the sorcerer and by Winterfell's Master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik. In Lord Stark's latest correspondence, he confirms that the newly formed rangers managed to track down and kill the bandits that were plaguing their trade lines."

"With the aid of Lord Stark's baseborn son, these new rangers managed to track the bandits back to their hiding place and they wiped them all out. Save for two who they brought back to Winterfell for questioning." Jon continued. "While being questioned by the sorcerer, it came to light that these bandits were no mere Westerosi men looking to make a quick amount coin. No. These were in fact Essosi sellswords, sent to the North specifically to disrupt the trade shipments of Northern glass. And while they did not reveal who hired them, as their hiring was done through a proxy and therefore unknown to the two men questioned, it is obvious who stands to gain the most from the disruption to the new Northern export."

"Myr," Baelish supplied seamlessly. "Curious. I was not aware that the Northern glass trade had had such an impact as to attract the attention of the only other glass distributor. Perhaps I need to recheck the Northern records to make sure they are paying the crown its true due."

"Careful, Baelish," Robert growled. "You're coming dangerously close to talking ill of my Warden of the North and one of, if not the, most honorable men in the realm."

"Of course, your grace," Baelish smiled politely. "I am sure that a man of Lord Stark's caliber would never forgo the crown its due."

Robert spared one last glare towards Baelish before coming back to Jon. "Alright, so Ned had some problems with bandits, who turned out not to be bandits but sellswords from Myr. Varys, why haven't your little birds sung that fucking song to you?"

Varys didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the King's ire. And why would he? This was one of the only men who managed to survive his tenure in the Mad King's Small Council. "My little birds in Essos are spread thin, your grace. Songs take time to travel. And I have but a few birds in Myr, and none in such a spot to overhear such plans as the ones that were used against the North."

"Get someone in position then," Robert growled. "What's to be our response to this then? Myr dares to attack Westeros. We cannot let such a thing go."

This time, Jon couldn't help but groan. If there was one thing that Robert longed for, it was war. A good fight. The Greyjoy Rebellion had done a fine job of tempering the King's hot blood. But that was years past now, and Robert was once again itching for another fight. If it was a simple uprising in Westeros, perhaps Jon would've entertained the idea, if only to calm Robert's blood once more. But this attack wasn't originating from Westeros. It was from Essos. And even then, they couldn't prove it fully. And if they were to launch and attack against one of the Free Cities, then the Iron Bank could suddenly start taking an interest in recollecting their due. Which was not something the crown could necessarily shoulder at the moment.

"There is nothing we can do," Stannis supplied, no doubt his thoughts on the matter akin to Jon's. "Perhaps if we had more evidence to prove their involvement, we could demand reconciliation through the Iron Back. But as it stands now, we have no cause to go to war with Myr. And if we launched a seemingly random attack against one of the Free Cities, the other nations of Essos would turn their attention to us. And that would be even if we managed to convince the Lords of the Realm to set sail in the first place, your grace."

Leaning back, Robert scratched at his beard. "Ah, fine. But, Varys, get some of your fucking birds in some fucking corner in Myr so they can actually hear something interesting."

"Of course, your grace," Varys nodded. "But I believe that the end of the bandit raids was not all that Lord Stark had to say."

Jon nearly cursed the eunuch. Jon had wanted to approach the matter delicately, but now that option was taken from him. "Indeed," Jon nodded, shooting the eunuch a withering glare. "During the skirmish with the sellswords, young Jon Snow used magic to kill two of the sellswords in front of the other rangers by blowing the men away and breaking their bodies against several nearby trees."

The implication of his words took a moment to sink in, and when they did the reaction around the table was about what Jon had expected. Stannis and Robert were not surprised by the fact that the boy had magic. Nor was Varys. Pycelle seemed on the verge of having a fit and Renly looked completely blindsided. And Lord Commander Selmy seemed curious. All which Jon expected. But what he hadn't expected was Baelish's seeming indifference to the news. Almost as if he already knew.

"Ah, we knew it would only be a matter of time before this news came to light." Robert shrugged, not caring or not realizing the full implications of what was at stake.

"Your grace!" Pycelle gasped, turning to the King. "You…Is it that you…a-already knew of the bastard boy's usage of this accursed magic?"

"Aye, I fucking knew," Robert shrugged before waving to Jon and Stannis. "As did Jon and Stannis here. And it isn't just Ned's bastard that has magic. His trueborn son, Robb, can use that fucking magic well. The sorcerer has been training both the boys since the end of the Greyjoy spat. Glad to see that the fucking sorcerer is keeping to his word."

"Be that as it may, we will have to prepare for the backlash from word of this development reaching the masses," Jon stated. "A foreign man who can use magic was…acceptable. If reluctantly to the people and most especially to the Faith. But now word will reach of an heir to a Great House being able to use the same abilities, it will cause a stir."

"Eh, let the fat Septon bitch and moan all he wants. The Starks are descendants from the First Men and do not follow the Faith of the Seven," Robert shot back, waving off Jon's concerns. "So, Ned's bastard was managed to kill a couple of sellswords, eh? Not bad for a boy of…what is he now? Twelve name-days? Good age for a boy to start bloodying themselves. If only my own fucking son showed such initiative… What else did Ned have to say?"

The next bit was a subject that Jon didn't really want to broach with Robert, but he knew that he had too. If he held this back and word got back to Robert, it wouldn't be pleasant. "Lord Stark has made an official request that, in light of his actions, his bastard son be legitimized as a true son of House Stark."

Again, the reactions were predictable. Pycelle was furious. Stannis contemplative. Renly unsure. And Selmy stoic as ever. But again, Baelish proved to be the odd man out as he didn't show any reaction at all. 'Does he have eyes and ears in Winterfell? He seems to know a lot more about what is happening in the North than he's letting on. …Wait. Lysa has mentioned receiving letters from her sister in the North for some time but… I just assumed that they were harmless. And the three did grow up together…and then there are the rumors that Baelish claims to have claimed both Tully sister maidenhoods. Hmm. Could Lysa be informing Baelish of news from the North? Or worse, could Catelyn be sending the missives directly to Baelish? Either way, I need to keep a better eye on the man in the future.'

"Eh, why not?" Robert shrugged. "Pycelle, write up the decree and I'll sign it and sen—"

"One moment, your grace," Jon interrupted quickly. "Perhaps we should not be so quick to grant this request. Raising and legitimizing a bastard is not something that can or should be done on a whim. We don't want to set the precedence that all a bastard needs to do is kill a few bandits in order to be legitimized. The problems it would cause with the line of succession within many noble families would be chaotic at least. Bloody, at worst."

In truth, Jon wasn't exactly against the idea of legitimizing Ned's baseborn son. If anything, it could reaffirm the boy's allegiance to the Baratheon monarchy. But if the boy were to be legitimized, then Lord Stark would be forced to do one of two things in order to keep the line of succession in Winterfell clear. Either he would have to give the boy a keep of his own, which would then result in the Lords of the realm throwing their daughters at him to try and gain the favor of the Starks to breed magic into their House's line. Or he would have to send the boy to the Night's Watch to ensure he didn't pose a threat to his siblings. Neither of which coincided with the part Jon needed the boy to play in stabilizing the realm.

'It seems I have run out of time,' Jon thought sorely. 'I'll have to start spreading the rumors of the boy's parentage through the realm and Dorne especially. I need word to reach the Martells, and Arianne especially, about the boy's capabilities and parentage.'

"The Lord Hand speaks true," Renly, surprisingly, spoke up. "The laws regarding legitimization are…muddy, at best. But, still, we can't make it easy for bastards to try and claim legitimization."

Robert didn't seem pleased. But, thank the Seven, he didn't seem to have any allies regarding legitimizing the boy on the Small Council. "Eh, fuck. Fine." Robert grumbled. "The boy won't be legitimized, yet. But I swear, the moment the boy does anything even remotely noteworthy or if Ned asks again, I'll send the fucking papers on the first raven myself."

"Very well, your grace." Not ideal, but Jon could work with the situation. At least he still had time to put certain pieces into play. "There is one last request from the Warden of the North. Due to his exemplarily service, not only to the North but to the realm as a whole, Lord Stark requests that the Northern Sorcerer be given a title amongst the nobility and be recognized as the Realm's 'Master of the Arcane'."

"Preposterous!" the Grand Maester all but shouted, nearly rising from his chair before catching himself and stumbling back down into his seat. "Your grace, you cannot allow this! To—To give the man such a t-title would be to ap-appoint him to the Small Council! Lord Stark might t-trust him. But he is Valyrian, your grace! C-Can we really trust one with s-such ancestry to t-the council given what h-happened with the T-Targaryens?"

"I must agree with the Grand Maester, your grace," Baelish chimed in. "The man has done some good, to be sure. But his loyalty is still uncertain, as is his past and even his homeland, if the stories are to be believed. And that is not to mention what the Faith would do upon his appointment to such a position."

Jon could understand their concerns. The sorcerer, despite having earned Ned's trust, was still an unknown. His past a mystery to all, even to Ned. The only thing that was known about the man was that he hailed from a region of land that was under an Imperium, that he was once a slave, and that he had the look of a Valyrian. Wild rumors stated that he was a remnant from Valyria itself, a man frozen in time by the ancient magics of the Valyrian Empire. And while the tale was outlandish, Jon couldn't banish the thought outright. Too many aspects of the man's tale could be related back to the Valyrian Empire. 'But that would make him over three hundred years old, at least.' Jon thought dismissively, trying desperately to fight back against the thoughts and doubts in his mind. 'To reach such an age should be impossible. Yet, old tales spoke of the Children of the Forest living for centuries or more. So, perhaps…no, I will not think more on the matter.'

"Despite his unknown past, there is no doubt that the sorcerer has done much for the realm. Lesser men have been rewarded greatly for doing far less," Jon countered, drawing attention to himself. "Granting him the title of 'Master of the Arcane' might be premature, given his loyalty to the throne is still questionable. But he deserves a reward, nonetheless. So, Lordship. And the ability to claim land should he be offered it by a Great House or the Crown."

"A lord without any land of his own," Renly smiled easily, leaning back in his seat. "He'll probably see it as an insult."

"No, he won't," Stannis countered his brother sharply. "You were not at Pyke, Renly. You did not see, did not speak with the Sorcerer. The boon of Lordship, he will appreciate. But should we force him to take a lordship of a plot of land that is not too his liking, then he will not accept. And that will cause greater problems as, while his loyalty may be in question, we do not want to aggravate him and drive him to our enemies. And to be sure, brother, we still have enemies."

"Enough," Robert commanded. "Lordship with the promise of land of his choosing in the future should his loyalty to the crown prove true. Jon, write it up and bring it to me to sign. And that is the end of it. Any more from Ned?"

"No," Jon replied, shaking his head in resignation as he knew what was about to happen.

"Good," Robert nodded, rising from his seat, prompting the council to follow suit. "Then I've had enough counting coppers for today. Baelish, I want that dark-haired whore in my room by sundown. You know the one I like."

Baelish merely smiled and inclined his head. "Of course, your grace. She will be ready and waiting for you."

With his piece said, Robert turned on his heel and marched out of the council chambers, leaving the Commander of the Kingsguard to hurry and catch up. 'Less than half an hour,' Jon bemoaned silently as he took his set once more, rubbing at his forehead in a futile attempt to stop the headache that was now ravaging his mind. 'Gods, Ned, why couldn't you have just forsaken your honor for a second time and claimed the damn throne for yourself?'

"Lord Stannis," he said out loud. "You wished to speak on the pirates around the Stepstones. What news do you have?"

Standing on the newly constructed covered bridge that connected the great keep of Winterfell to the First Keep, Lord Eddard Stark stood still as he watched the activity occurring in the courtyard below him. It was strange to think just how much life in the North had changed in the past five years, but there was no doubting that it had indeed changed. Despite winter having been officially declared over by the Maesters, despite the spring snows that still lingered within the North, Winterfell had not emptied of people as it had in the past. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people now resided within the walls of the ancient keep that Ned's ancestor erected over eight thousand years ago.

Men trained daily in the training yards or plied their trade in the smithies or within the 'manufacturing areas', as Nox called them, within the First Keep. And it wasn't just the men either. Women too worked in both the smithies and within the First Keep. And a few more stubborn women had even begun picking up weapons and joining the men in the yard to train. A sight that made Ned more than slightly uneasy. While the North was more open to the idea of women fighting, primarily in the northernmost Houses like Umber and Mormont, it was still a concept that Ned wasn't keen on. Not because he believed that women to be any less than men, but because simply he didn't want the women on the battlefield. He'd seen what happened to men when their blood ran hot and got the better of them. And he would not give them such easy targets to state their battle induced lust.

Moving from away from the railing, he made his way towards the First Keep, keeping an eye on the training grounds below as he walked. He felt no small amount of pride as he watched the men of the North train under the watchful eyes of Ser Jory and his appointed First Ranger Harwin. The men, and few women, were disciplined and skilled. Far more than any levy he'd seen before. He had no doubt that if he were forced to call the banners once more, something he prayed would not happen, that the Northern levies of House Stark would be the finest warriors on the field.

'Through no action of my own however,' he thought, pausing to watch the people of the North train. 'If not for Nox, the North would not be in the shape it is today. Despite the praises the people of the North sing of me and House Stark for leading them into this 'new age'.'

Continuing on his way, Ned made it only a few dozen more steps before stopping once more. Sitting at the base of the Sorcerer's Tower, as the once Broken Tower was now named, was a training area specially designed by Nox to assist in the training of those Nox deemed worthy of his personal attention. Or in other words, those who had the same affinity for magic as he. And on one of those training devices, a series of posts that stood taller than a man with an arch standing overhead that held a spiked log that swung freely back and forth over the posts, was none other than his little wolf, Arya. As he watched, his little wolf moved skillfully back and forth across the tops of the flattened posts as she avoided the swinging log with apparent ease. A feat which was not easy, and he could attest to this fact as he himself had been knocked flat on his arse the first time he tried.

He didn't regret giving his daughter permission to train like her brothers were. He had never seen his daughter so full of life as he had since giving in and allowing her to train to fight, despite the objections of her mother. But even still, watching her train caused a constant war to rage within Ned. She was so much like his sister, the same fire, the same free spirit. The same drive to prove that she was more than just a 'lady'. But in the end, it was that mentality that led his sister to do what she did and led her to her fate. A fate that he did not want his little wolf to suffer.

Shaking his head, Ned forced himself to look away from his daughter and made his way into the First Keep of Winterfell. Despite being the oldest building within the walls of the ancient Stark castle, the First Keep was almost completely unrecognizable from when Ned was a boy, or even from a few years prior. While the exterior of the keep was still the same, the inside was drastically different. No longer was it an abandoned keep that was used only to house citizens of the North during the winter years. No, now it was bustling keep that was almost as crowded as the great keep of Winterfell. Dozens of people wandered the halls, making their way from the rooms that had been set aside for them and their place of work within the Keep. It still amazed Ned just how quickly seemingly frivolous items could be made once Nox had introduced Ned and Maester Luwin to a way of working he called an 'assembly line'. It took more people to be sure. But they could produce items far faster than ever before. Plates, bowls, eating utensils, decorative glass pieces, decorative metal pieces, leather works. All were being produced now in the First Keep.

And while he was more than slightly unsure about the venture, especially once Nox laid out the startup costs, Ned's worries had been quickly dashed the moment the first trade vessels returned from the south and from Bravos. The single trade venture had garnered the North more coin in the few months of travel that it usually gained during an entire year. Many of the Northern Lords had shared his concern with the seemingly excessive expenditure of coin, but just like he, once they saw the coin that was suddenly flowing into their coffers, almost all of the complaints dried up. In fact, many of the lords, Lord Manderly in particular, had sent their castellans, stewards or even their heirs to Winterfell to learn how to recreate this new process of creation that Nox had implemented.

Nodding in greeting to the few north men and women that bowed respectfully to him as he passed, Ned made his way through the First Keep and across the bridge that connected the Keep to the Sorcerer's Tower. Making his way up the winding stairway past the first few levels, Ned nearly ran headlong into an individual who suddenly appeared out of one of the rooms nearly halfway up the tower. "Lord Stark! Um, forgive me, milord. I was not looking where I was going."

He recognized the young woman immediately, not a very difficult task considering her name was on the tongues of just about every Lord and Lady in the North, and not necessarily for the best of reasons. "There is no need for apologies, Nyra. My mind is wandering as well right now."

The young northern woman had her hair pulled back into a simple braid as was custom with almost all the women of the north. And for a moment, Ned had to catch himself as he took a good look at her. She reminded him far too much of his sister. And not just with her looks. But with her strength. Her time with Nox had awoken a fire within her. A fire that, to his shame, Ned had not seen before. If he were being completely honest with himself, after watching her help Nox with his ventures, he was almost positive that this young woman could run Winterfell just as well as his own Steward…or even his Lady wife for that matter.

But despite the fire and strength that'd been awoken within her, the girl still remembered her courtesies. "Of course, milord. Is—Is there something I can aid you with today?"

"Yes," Ned nodded. "Would you happen to know where Nox is at the moment? I need to have words with him."

"Of course, milord," Nyra nodded as she stepped aside and pointed up the stairway. "He is with young Lord Tarly in his…la – laboritary…laboratory, milord."

"Thank you," Ned thanked the young woman before making his way past her and up the stairs another level.

Arriving at the door leading to the strange workshop Nox had set up, Ned reached up for the latch. "The door is open, Lord Stark," Nox's voice sounded through the door. "But I ask that you stay within the entry way for a moment."

Lifting the latch, Ned made sure to stay just beyond the entrance way as Nox had requested. While Nox was known to have a rather queer sense of design, at least according to many that knew him, this workshop, or rather laboratory, was without a doubt the strangest. Nox had used his own coin that he'd earned to commission the creation of dozens of different types of glassware from the glass smiths and blowers. Rounded glasses, cups, plates and dozens of other designs Ned had no head for recognizing were all scattered throughout the room. Along with dozens of clay jars that were filled with many types of different plants and substances that Nox had spent nearly the entire winter years and the spring months collecting, both from the North and from trade with Bravos and the south. But perhaps one of the oddest things Ned noticed during his brief look about the workshop was a single tabletop that had several different types of food that was laid out. Food that was well past being edible going by the rotting and mold growth that was present. And strangely enough, some of the molding food was in one of the clear glass containers, soaking in water with a candle underneath to heat it. 'Nox is almost impeccably clean… So, why would he keep rotting food so close by?'

Standing at the far back of the workshop with his back turned towards the door was Nox, although he wasn't alone. The two 'students', as he called them, that had been recommend by Lady Bethany to undergo further tutelage were standing beside him helping him with whatever task he had at hand. Ned also knew that if not for his duties tending to the ravens or teaching his sons their lessons, Maester Luwin would be right there beside the two youngsters. The old maester honestly spent almost as much time with Nox as he did with Ned. And standing just off to the side, his eyes wide as he eagerly took notes one a piece of parchment was Lord Tarly's son and heir, Samwell Tarly.

If Ned were being entirely truthful, the young lad was the exact opposite of what he'd been expecting when word reached them from Horn Hill that Lord Tarly was sending his son north to try and gain the approval of the Northern Sorcerer. The boy was nearly half as wide as he was tall. And the first time he stepped foot into the yard with Jon, Robb and Theon, the boy had barely managed to parry a single strike from Jon before he dropped his sword and curled into a ball on the ground. There was no getting around the facts the moment that scene was made. The boy was a fat craven, the exact opposite words that anyone would think to use when describing a son of House Tarly.

Ned had fully expected for Nox to dismiss the boy before he could even have his first evening meal in Winterfell. But to Ned and no doubt just about everyone other denizen of Winterfell's collective shock, he had not done that. In fact, he had encouraged the boy to continue learning under both himself and Lady Bethany in the Winterfell college while he worked on his skill at arms. Ned had been, to say the least, dumbfounded. Nox had turned away dozens of fit and skilled heirs and spares over the course of the past year. And yet, the first acolyte he took outside of Ned's own children was perhaps the mostly unlikely choice in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms.

After Samwell had accepted Nox's invitation, nearly shaking with glee as he did so, Ned had approached Nox privately and asked if the boy had the same Force sensitivity as his children and could use magic as well. Again, to his utmost surprise, Nox merely laughed. The sorcerer had then proceeded to tell Ned that Samwell had about the same Force sensitivity as a pile of horse shit. But he then followed it up by saying that, just like horse shit, just because you can't use it in one way doesn't mean that it isn't useful. According to Nox, Samwell had a keen mind, a very keen mind, especially for a boy his age. And while he would more than likely never become the Warrior reborn, as Lord Tarly wanted his son to become, Nox was confident that given enough time he could mold the young boy into something just as useful.

"-need to let this boil for at least two hours now." Nox declared, bringing Ned back around as the sorcerer used his powers to flip an hourglass over that was clear across the room. "Lucca, Rin. Once the time is up, remove the flask from the heat and let it cool. And then add the ingredients in the order and quantity that we discussed. Samwell, keep with them and make sure to keep track of everything, especially any color changes that occur during the addition phase after boiling. Other than that, do not touch anything until I return from talking with Lord Stark."

"Yes, Master Nox," the three youngsters nodded as Nox stepped away from them and over to Ned.

For his part, Ned hardly waited for Nox before turning on his heel and making his way further up the tower towards Nox's personal quarters and solar. Marching into the room, Ned barely waited for the door to shut behind the two men before starting. "I received a raven from King's Landing this morning," he began, marching away from Nox so that he could stand before the open window that peered out over the courtyard of Winterfell.

"I suspected as much. Given your aura, I take it that news was not all that you hoped it would be?" Nox questioned.

"No," Ned replied, shaking his head. "No, it was not. Robert has denied my request for Jon's legitimization."

Nox didn't necessarily seemed surprised by the announcement. "Unfortunately, it doesn't necessarily surprise me. The South, and even most of the North, place a heavy stigma on those given bastard names. It's a shame really. And it comes back to the nature versus nurture as to how they turn out."

That wasn't a concept that Ned was familiar with. "Nature versus nurture?"

"Yes," Nox continue as he stepped up beside Ned, a glass of dark brown liquid in his hands. "It's a philosophical argument that contemplates what determines the being of a person. Are we like we are from birth? Or does our upbringing truly define what we are?"

Taking the offered glass, a newly constructed form of cup that was roughly the size of a man's fist that Nox called a 'tumbler', Ned idly swirled the brown contents within. 'Whiskey,' he thought, taking a small sip and letting the liquid warm his throat and stomach. 'Another gift from Nox. Far more potent than even our most fortified wines and ales. Yet simple to make. Barley, sap, water, yeast and some patience. And you have a drink that, even within only a single shipment having left the North, is in such a high demand amongst the nobility that I doubt we will ever be able to fulfill all the requests sent to us for the drink. Robert in particular seems to have taken a shine to it. Which I am not sure is such a good thing, given the potency and the man's love for drink.'

"There was more," Ned continued, this time turning to face Nox. "The King has authorized your ascension into the nobility and has given you the title of 'Lord'. Despite this, however, no lands have been conferred unto you."

Nox knocked back the drink in one go with hardly seeing to even notice its strong bite. "Lord, huh? Well, it's been sometime since I've held such a title. I've gotten quite used to just being 'Master Nox' or plain old Nox. The title of Lord once more, that will take some getting used to."

"Aye," Ned nodded. "Despite the fact that the king has not bestowed any lands upon you, I'm sure I can find you a suitable keep should you wish it."

In truth, Ned didn't necessarily want to see the sorcerer out of his sight. While he was in Winterfell, Ned could keep an eye on both him and how he went about training his children. Not only that but should Nox ever turn against the realm, Ned would be able to hopefully stop him before he could cause too much damage. But those were just the logical arguments. In truth, Ned had come to consider the foreign sorcerer his friend and perhaps even his closest advisor. But still, now that Nox was considered a Lord of the Realm and considering everything that he'd done for the realm and the North in particular, it would've been rude of him not to at least offer the man a keep of his own.

Nox appeared contemplative as the man scratched at the slight growth on his chin and jaw. Unlike other men of the North, the sorcerer seemed to prefer to keep his beard close cut instead of letting it grow. A trend that had actually started to spread slightly as many of the men throughout Winterfell began to imitate the sorcerer, especially once word began to spread of how the woman of the land apparently found the look refined and attractive.

"The offer is appreciated, Lord Stark. But I am quite comfortable here in Winterfell for now. Unless, of course, you would rather see me gone from your halls."

"Not at all, my friend," Ned replied, letting out a sigh of relief. "Your presence and advice has been a boon to myself, my children, and the North, and I would see you stay as long as you so choose to do so."

"Then I'll stay, my friend," Nox smiled back to him. "Although, I suppose with my new status, I can be expecting quite a few ravens from various lords across the land trying to throw their daughters at me in hopes of tempting me away from the North. Not that any of them could hope to tempt me away from Nyra of course. Perhaps I'll let her use them as kindling for the fire."

At that, Ned unwillingly frowned. "I would be careful on ignoring some of the Lords' letters, Nox. Many will know that gaining your favor to be a, how did you put it? A long shot? But some more prominent Lords will not take refusal well and may seek retaliation. And not necessarily on your person."

His meaning was not lost on Nox, and Ned just barely managed to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine as he could feel the unmistakable coldness that was associated with one drawing heavily on the dark side of the Force. "They harm a hair on Nyra's head…and they will learn the wrath of a Sith is the most terrifying thing to ever evoke."

"Aye, I believe that." Ned nodded as the warmth slowly returned to their surroundings. "Now, onto other matters. As well as the ravens from King's Landing, I also received a letter from White Harbor. Lord Wyman Manderly has begun construction on the vessel you, Maester Luwin, Asha Greyjoy, and Wendel Manderly collaborated on. While the cost will be within your projections, unfortunately Lord Manderly estimates that it will take a year at best to complete construction of the vessel and to make sure it's seaworthy."

A year past, Wyman had sent his second son Wendel to Winterfell to try and garner the approval of both Nox and himself, much the same as many of the other Lords of the Realm had done since the declaration of spring by the Maesters. And like almost all who came before him, Wendel was met with disappointment as Nox informed him that he did not have the means to learn the Force. But unlike many of the other second sons and heirs who immediately turned tail and left, Wendel stayed and sought to learn whatever he could from Nox. It was during his stay at Winterfell that he, Nox, Luwin, and Asha of all people began creating the designs for a new ship. A ship that, once completed, would without a doubt be the power to best on the water.

The ship was a galleon in design, but that classification almost did it an injustice when compared to the few galleons in the South. The ship, once completed, would measure at least ninety paces long and nearly thirty across. Including the main deck, the ship would have three lower decks beneath it. Multiple cabins would be scattered throughout the lower decks, and side slots in the hull above the water level would be able to be opened, creating an opening for scorpions to fire from. And to help with protection of the ship, the inner workings were reinforced with iron plates to reinforce the ship from breaching. The top deck would have four masts and the second to lowest level would have the ability to run out oars as well. And due to the ship's sheer size, it would take hundreds of men to properly man the vessel.

When the proposal had first be brought to him, Ned had nearly laughed the men, and woman, out of his solar when he saw the sheer scope of the project. Not only would it cost a substantial amount of coin to build, but to keep the sailors onboard and the ship properly maintained would cost a small fortune. But Nox, like always, had a counter to his argument. As well as laying out the designs, the four had also laid out a plan to pay for the vessel without putting a dent in the coffers of the North, as well as to how to keep it manned. And if their plans worked out, not only would the vessel hardly cost them anything, but in a decade or less it would be bringing in a substantial amount of coin from trade.

"A year will be fine. It will give us time to prepare." Nox responded almost immediately. "That is, of course, if you still plan on allowing the expedition I requested to come to fruition."

Ned felt his head start to ache as Nox brought up his wish once more. "Your request is not one that is so easily granted, Nox," Ned sighed. "Many have tried to navigate the ruins of Valyria and the Smoking Sea. Gerion Lannister, the youngest brother of Tywin, set out himself no more than a few years past. And he, like all the others who have attempted the venture, have yet to return home."

"All those others were missing one key aspect that we will have, Ned. Me." Nox responded, sounding incredibly sure of himself. "My lack of eyesight is exactly what will allow me to help to navigate the Smoking Sea and venture deep into the ruins of Valyria. And once there, perhaps I can locate the strange darkness I've felt emanating from the east."

'The darkness,' Ned thought, his eyes wandering to the east.

Ove the years, Nox had been able to help him hone his abilities with the Force. He wasn't nearly as well versed in the Force as Nox, nor even his own children at this point. But he was able to at least meditate and reach out with the Force, and at times even receive visions as Nox called them. Although deciphering the cryptic messages from the Old Gods and Force was still something that mostly alluded Ned. But during one of their meditation sessions, Ned had sensed what Nox had. A great darkness to the east, an almost…hunger. An insatiable hunger to devour. It was a strange sensation to say the least. And one that Ned had no desire to ever encounter at its source.

"Is this darkness you speak of the one you saw in your vision when you first arrived?"

"No," Nox answered almost immediately. "It is…similar, almost kindred if you will. But it is not the darkness that I sensed that threatens to devour the land. However, should this darkness in the east not be quelled, then it will aid the other darkness that is to come."

And that is what it always came back too. This darkness that Nox claimed will devour the land unless it is stopped. Even after years of knowing him, Ned still wasn't completely convinced of the darkness that Nox spoke of, it sounded too much like the myth of the Others and the White Walkers to his liking. But in the end, Nox believed in his vision, and that belief led to Nox aiding and strengthening the North to almost unheard-of levels. And Ned knew, that if he didn't aid Nox in combating what he perceived as a threat, that the man would go off and do it himself.

"Very well," Ned nodded. "But the Lords of the North will be most anxious. As I have said, few have dared to traverse those lands since the Doom. And if you should find any spoils of Valyria, they will want something as well."

"Then send out ravens a moon's turn or so before the ship is ready to depart," Nox counter argued. "Offer a spot on the vessel to the Northern houses. And whatever spoils that are collected from Valyria will be given out accordingly."

Scratching his chin, Ned nodded. "I'm not sure if allowing their heirs or vassals to travel with you will ease their anxiety or increase it. But the thoughts of scavenging the ruins of Valyria will most definitely be worth the risk to many, I think."

"Then it's decided." Nox declared with a note of finality. "But there is one more thing we need to discuss, Ned. A rather…personal matter regarding the expedition. I've been meditating long on what might happen, and most is still uncertain. But there is one factor that I know must occur. Jon must accompany me on this voyage. I am unsure as to the exact nature of what will happen, but something will occur during the voyage. And Jon must be present for it. Maybe it has something to do with his ancestry and where we are heading."

Ned felt his blood run colder than the wall and his heart cease in his chest. "Jon, why?" Ned asked nervously. Truthfully, he didn't want Jon within a hundred leagues of the home of the Dragonlords. "He is but a boy or not even twelve name-days. And despite his actions of late and the fact that he has been bloodied in battle, he is not yet a man. And his blood, Jon is my son, a son of the North. Nothing more."

Turning his back on him, Nox waved his hand towards the door. The door closed abruptly as the latch clicked shut. A gentle wave of the Force pulsed from Nox, settling around Ned and the sorcerer. 'A…silencing dome,' Ned recalled Nox calling such a technique, his anxiety growing with each passing moment. 'A useful technique to ensure there are no unwanted ears to a conversation. But what could he say that is so pressing that…no. He can't know. Can he?'

His hopes of Nox not knowing the secret of Jon's birth were quickly dashed as Nox faced him once more. His eyeless face completely devoid of all emotion. "I am not a fool, Lord Stark. So please do not take me for one. Think back, my friend. I have been here for nearly five years, and in all that time have I once called Jon your son?"

Ned felt like he'd been punched in the gut by the Great Jon while wearing a steel gauntlet. "How long?"

"Since the first moment you two stood side by side," Nox answered. "I will admit, it is a good ruse, and you're lucky the boy takes after his Stark heritage. I doubt that any who simply look at the boy would mistake him for anything but your son. Especially given your reputation as the most honorable man in the realm. But to someone like me, someone who can see beyond the surface, I can tell that is not the case. There is a familial connection between the two of you, to be sure, but it is not the connection that is held between a parent and their biological child. So, at the start, I knew he was not yours. Which left three options. He's not Ben's, as he would have no need to hide it. Your elder brother was a well-known skirt chaser so that was a possibility, but it was unlikely that you would dishonor your brother's name by denying him the knowledge of who his true parents were. Which left one option. And the mostly likely candidate for the father became obvious when I read the history of what happened. Which even goes to explain your motivations in naming him your bastard and keeping him, and indeed the rest of the realm, in ignorance."

If he had a dagger on his person, Ned would've been gripping it's hilt by the time Nox had finished speaking. There were only two people who knew the truth of Jon, himself and Howland Reed. And now Nox. While two people could keep a secret, especially as one preferred to stay isolated in his keep in the Neck, three people increased the odds of others finding out. And how long until more pieced it together? And what would Robert's reaction be once he learned of Jon's parentage? Would his love for Ned's sister overrule his hatred for the dragon blood that ran through his veins? Or would the fact that his sister had a child and with her last breath begged Ned to keep him safe finally push his friend over the proverbial edge?

"You are worried that I will spread this secret, or that I have plans to put Jon on the Iron Throne to usurp your friend, Robert," Nox stated, giving voice to Ned's thought, which made him immediately pull back on himself as he tried to form the 'mental walls' around his mind as Nox had shown him. "I don't need to read your mind to know your thoughts, Ned. Your feelings are practically screaming them. And to ease your mind, I have no plans to place Jon Snow on the Iron Throne or to usurp your friend. You have my word and oath on that. And seeing as how I haven't brought up Jon's true parentage in the past five years, I hope that I've earned your respect enough to acknowledge that I can keep this a secret. No one, and I mean no one, will learn about Jon's true ancestry from me."

Ned felt himself relax at the oath. 'He speaks the truth.' He thought, trying to calm his racing heart. 'By his own admission, he has known of Jon's true parentage for nearly his entire time here in the North. And no one knew, not even myself. He's proven he can keep a secret, especially one that is as dangerous as this. If word got out of Jon's parentage, combined with the spreading knowledge of Nox training him, many would assume that, given Nox's appearance, that he was indeed trying to put the dragons back on the Iron Throne. And while his word and oath are enough to ease my mind, Nox's sense of self-preservation does so in equal measure.'

"And what purpose will Jon serve on the expedition that another man cannot?" Ned pressed, trying to see if there was anything nefarious in Nox's request.

"Truthfully? I don't know." Nox shrugged, surprisingly Ned. "All that the Force has shown me is that if we are to survive the coming darkness, then certain things need to happen. Some of which will occur on this voyage. And Jon must be there to experience them. But don't worry, Ned. I don't plan on putting Jon in a situation I don't believe he can handle. I've grown quite fond of the boy over the years."

Breathing deep, Ned closed his eyes. 'Lyanna…what would you want for your son?' It was a silly question, and he knew that the moment he asked it of his sister. He knew what she would want for her son. She would want him to live free. Live a life of adventure and excitement. The life that was denied to her. "Very well, Nox." Ned nodded. "Jon will accompany you on this voyage."

"Thank you. And there is one more topic regarding this voyage that we need to discuss. Asha. She will be coming along as well."

Now Ned wanted to ram his head against the stone wall of the tower. "Another Force prediction, Nox?"

"No. Just saying, Asha helped to design the ship we'll be using to get there. And honestly, from what I've seen and heard, the Northmen are not the greatest sailors. And even at a young age, the girl probably has more time on the water than most of the sailors in White Harbor. Her knowledge will be vital. That, and I doubt you'd be able to keep her from going even if you wanted too."

The sorcerer had a point. The girl was even more headstrong than Lyanna. And that was saying something. And although she was still a ward of House Stark, per the King's command she would be free to return to the Iron Islands in a little over a year, roughly the same time during which the expedition would be taking place. Staying silent, he began weighing the decision in his mind should anything come to happen to her during the voyage. He could argue that he did not have a say in her decision should anything come to pass during the voyage. But still, he doubted that Lord Greyjoy would be so understanding should his only daughter come to harm during her stay as his ward. On the other hand, he was sure that the possibility of having his daughter on a voyage to the heart of Valyria would be something Balon would want. Especially if she was able to replicate the voyage under the banner of the Ironborn. And he wasn't so sure he wanted the Greyjoys to have a map laid out to them that would lead into the heart of Valyria. There was no telling what a man like Balon or his brothers would do if they managed to get their hands on such knowledge. But then again, allowing her to go could reaffirm her loyalty to the crown and help to influence the Iron Islands back into the true fold of the Seven Kingdoms. Something that Ned knew Nox was working on.

"Should she request it of me, I will not deny her request," Ned spoke, coming to a decision that he truly hoped he wouldn't come to regret. "I take it that you will be continuing her training in her Force abilities during the expedition as well?"

Ned had hoped to have caught Nox off guard with his comment, but to his surprise, Nox only shrugged. "Of course. She's not as Force sensitive as your children or Jon. But she does have certain skills that can be honed. Much like your own."

Turning to his friend, Ned stared at cloth covering the man's ruined eyes. "You don't sound surprised that I know of your secret training of Asha."

To this, Nox scoffed. "Please, Ned. Winterfell is your keep. The seat of House Stark. Plus, while your powers have not been able to be refined like the young ones, your powers are still developing. Enough so that you should be able to sense an individual's Force sensitivity and be able to identify if they've had training or not. At this point, I'd be more disappointed and surprised if you didn't know that I was training her. And as you have not stopped her from learning, you must obviously know what I'm trying to accomplish. And tell me the truth, Ned, if you had to choose, who would you rather see on the Seastone Chair leading the Ironborn? Theon or Asha?"

The choice wasn't a difficult one. Or at least it wouldn't have been had both been men. "Asha is a Lady of the Realm," Ned countered. "She cannot inherit her father's seat in front of her brother."

To this, Nox merely shook his head. "Why? Because her reproductive organs are inside rather than swinging between her legs? Cause she bleeds once a month in a biological cycle that? How does that make her unfit to rule a land? She is far smarter, more skilled, more powerful, and most importantly older than her brother. Why should she not rule the Iron Islands? Lady Dustin rules her lands in the absence of a husband and son does she not? And if the tales are true, Lady Orlenna rules the Reach through her puppet of a son. And in Dorne, the eldest regardless of gender takes the mantle of rulership when the time comes. Why should Asha be any different?"

"The Lords of the Iron Islands will never accept a woman to lead them." Ned tried to argue, trying to make Nox understand. He'd grown to care for the girl. He saw his sister in Asha almost as much as he saw her in Arya. The Lords of the Iron Islands would tear her apart should she try and stake a claim to her father's seat.

"Asha knows full well the uphill battle that she will have to fight, should she wish to claim the Seastone chair. And she more than willing, and capable, of fighting and winning such a fight. Especially if she has the backing of highly influential individuals in the mainland Kingdoms."

Ned was losing the argument, both to Nox and to himself as he began to see the benefits of having Asha controlling the Ironborn. As much as it pained him to say, as he did not like to favor one child above the other, if he had to choose between the Theon and Asha, he would choose Asha. The young woman had a good head on her shoulders. And she seemed to genuinely want the Ironborn to abandon the 'old way'. Something that Ned was highly in favor of. "And what of Theon?"

To that, Nox merely shrugged. "That would be up to Asha. She will be his head of house if all goes well. What position he will hold will be up to her."

Looking down at the clear glass in his hand, Ned finished off the small amount of whiskey within. "Very well," Ned sighed. "Should Asha manage to have herself named as Heir to the Iron Islands, then she will have the backing of the Starks and the North."

"Your backing will help her keep hold on the islands after she's managed to take it for herself to be sure," Nox nodded, taking the empty glass from Ned. "Now that those unpleasantries are out of the way, shall we start discussing the specific details of the expedition to Valyria? Even with a year wait, I'm sure it will take some time to gather enough volunteers for the voyage. And the more details we can give your bannermen the better odds of getting those volunteers quickly and getting them trained to sail."

Walking across the smooth deck surface of the newly christened 'Sea Wolf', Nox took his time to examine every inch of the large sea vessel that had quite literally just been put into the water less than a month prior. 'I have to give credit where it is due,' Nox thought as he finished his examination of the vessel, finding no faults in the construction of the ship that would serve to ferry the Northmen and himself across the Narrow Sea and to Valyria. 'While primitive, the natives of this world can truly build some wonderous constructs when they put their minds to it.'

The ship was impressive to say the least. And the builders had managed to follow the designs that he, Asha, Luwin, and Wendel had collaborated on. Although, truth be told, his contribution was less in the actual designing of the ship and more along the lines of potential ways to improve it while the other three worked his ideas into something that was functional. It was…humbling, to say the least. His time as a slave and amongst the Sith had forced him to learn an extremely wide range of subjects from anatomy, to medicine, to ship mechanics to politics, to agriculture and just about everything else in between. But one thing that he had spent very little time on was seafaring wooden ships, understandably given the primitive nature of such a vessel.

Stopping near the bow of the ship, Nox heard the voice of Lord Manderly as he led Lord Stark around the deck. The man had puffed up like a prized winning bird when Lord Stark had arrived and congratulated the Lord and his men on their construction of the ship. And now, it looked like the man was trying to capitalize on the praise to integrate himself even more so into the good graces of Lord Stark. His ambition shining like the suns of Tatooine. 'Which is reassuring,' Nox thought silently with a smile as he sensed the two men wander away from him. 'I wouldn't be able to trust the man if he'd gone through all of this for nothing.'

Leaning against the railing of the ship and breathing in the sea air, he let his mind wander as he took stock of those of import that had decided to join on with the expedition. He'd been pleasantly pleased with the response that Ned had received from his bannermen when he'd announced the expedition to Valyria to his bannermen. Within a mere two weeks of having sent the initial ravens, dozens were flying back from the various keeps littered across the North promising their backing in the forms of men, coin, or even in a few cases heirs or spares of the Lords themselves. Although what was even more telling were the houses that had not offered men or coin and had merely offered their well wishes.

'House Bolton, Dustin and Ryswell,' Nox repeated in his head for the hundredth time since the ravens had returned to Winterfell all those moons ago. 'To give up the chance to explore Valyria and take a share in the riches of the land… Even if they truly believed the voyage was doomed to fail, the chance was well worth the price. So why would they snub the chance? Does their hatred of House Stark truly run so deep?' To that, Nox almost laughed at his own naivety. He'd sensed the pure hatred and loathing almost rolling off Lady Dustin the first time he'd met her before heading to the Iron Islands. And Lord Bolton, while he didn't outright hate Lord Stark and was able to keep control of himself at least visibly, was clearly lusting after the power that came with the title of Warden of the North. 'Be it the Sith Empire, the Galactic Senate, or here in this backwater world. Politics and the desire for more power, no matter the definition, never ceases.'

Chasing away such thoughts, he went back to those who were on the ship with them. Asha Greyjoy was near the helm of the ship and was, unsurprisingly, grilling three shifts of helmsmen on the controlling of the ship. No doubt the young woman was intending to take the ship designs back with her to the Iron Islands when she left the North to return home, something that Ned had brough up with no small amount of concern. Which was understandable to a point. Should those who wished to continue the 'old way' get their hands on this ship, it would take an armada to stop it. Especially if it was under the control of such seafaring people like the Ironborn. But Nox had faith in Asha. Or rather in her ambition at any rate. She was smart enough to see the path of destruction that her people were on. They needed to change. And she had the spine to do it. And if a ship akin to the Sea Wolf could help further her plans, then Nox and a begrudging Ned were willing to accept it.

Near the gangplank were Jon, Robb, and Theon. The three boys, or rather almost young men according to this land's sense of appropriate age, were laughing good-naturedly with one another. But despite their good-natured barbs, Nox could sense the underlying feelings within each of them as clearly as if they were shouting them at the top of their lungs. Jon was excited and nervous, understandable considering the voyage ahead of them. Robb was…more complicated. He was excited, but at the same time extremely jealous that his 'brother' was going, and he was being forced to stay behind. The boy had gone so far as to get down on his hands and knees and beg his father to let him go as well. But Lord Stark had been resilient. Which was understandable, Robb was his heir. The boy couldn't risk himself on a potentially dangerous voyage like this one. Not when he was still so young. And as for Theon, well, the Ironborn boy was a whirlwind of emotions. Depression at being left behind. Anger by the fact his sister was allowed passage over him. And mixed in was a sort of…relief that Jon and Nox would be away from Winterfell for a time. A sentiment that Nox mildly shared with the boy. Whereas Jon, Robb, Asha, and even Arya had begun to excel and grow substantially under his tutelage, Theon had stuttered and basically failed. The boy had very little Force potential, and his sense of entitlement, which was still prevalent even after several years, was still a major hurdle that the boy was unable, or willing, to overcome.

Letting the three have their moment to themselves, Nox scanned the other Lords and Ladies that were giving last minute instructions to those who would be accompanying Nox. The Great Jon had his son 'Small Jon', which was an ironic title as the young man was just a fist width shorter than his father, firmly by the shoulders. A fair distance away, the Lord Karstark has his second son Eddard Karstark in a fierce hug. And a small distance away from the Karstarks stood Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey Mormont, the latter of whom would be accompanying Nox. While many were joining the expedition for the chance at fame and glory, the Mormont's reason for joining was not as grand. It was no secret in the North that Jorah Mormont had recently been draining the coffers of Bear Islands in order to keep his new wife, a noblewoman from the Hightower House from the Reach, pleased. No doubt the she-bears thought that this voyage would be their best, and potentially only, way of refueling their coffers without having to resort to anything drastic.

All in all, the diversity of Northern houses that were represented was impressive. But it was who would not be joining Nox that he felt most keenly. Nyra. The young native Northern woman that had managed to work her way into his hardened heart so thoroughly that even now the thought of leaving her for months on end caused a pain in his chest. He hadn't intended for their relationship to develop to this point when he'd first met her, nor even when he'd returned from the Iron Islands and had taken her under his wing. At best, he figured that she would be a nice little distraction when he needed it. But as time passed, he found himself drawn to the young woman. She reminded him so much of Ashara that it was almost painful. Not physically of course, he doubted he would be able to find any Togrutas here on this world. But all the same, she had the same fire, the same drive within her that had attracted him to Ashara in the first place.

Nyra hadn't been pleased to be left behind either. Their argument at his decision was…unpleasant. And had left him with a very cold bed for nearly a month. But in the end, she relented and saw his point of view. It wasn't because he thought her uncapable. Quite the opposite in fact. He needed her to stay behind because she was capable. She was the only one he trusted to continue overseeing the various projects and business ventures he had set up, both for himself and of the North. The night before they left Winterfell, she had proceeded to give him a farewell that had sent more than a few tongues wagging in Winterfell. Despite his not so inconsequential stamina that came from years of Sith training, Nyra had nearly worn him out to the point where his body almost refused to move. 'I wanted to give you a reason to come back to me,' she had said the next morning, 'and to make sure you were sated enough not to search for the company of whores when the ship inevitably makes port.' Well, she had certainly marked her territory as the nail marks on his back and chest that had still not healed completely were any indication.

He was so caught up in his memories of Nyra's parting night, that he didn't even realize Ned and Manderly were approaching him until the two were nearly on top of him. "Lord Stark, Lord Manderly," he greeted properly, turning to the two.

"Nox," Ned acknowledge back. "The last of the supplies are loaded and all of those who volunteered are onboard."

"Good." Nox nodded. "Well then, I guess that this is it."

"Aye, it is," Ned nodded before turning to Lord Manderly. "Lord Manderly, let the men know that everyone who isn't going should disembark. Once everyone is off, the ship is to cast off."

"As you wish, Lord Stark." Manderly nodded, bowing once to Stark before bowing to Nox and making his way away from the two.

Once alone, the two men stood in silence as Ned's grey eyes met Nox's ruined eyes. "I need your word, Nox, Alim," Ned began. "He may not have my name, but he is my blood and my son. Your word that you will make sure he will return."

"He will, Ned," Nox nodded. "I give you my word on that."

Ned's presence in the Force relaxed ever so slightly. "Then, I will hold you too it." The Lord of the North said, holding out his hand. "May your gods watch over you, my friend."

Clasping Ned's forearm, Nox nodded. "And may the Force be with you, my friend."