Song of A Northern Sorcerer

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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.