Chapter 2: Winterfell part 2

"Father!" Jon yelled, taking off like a bolt from a crossbow through the tress as he sprinted for what he was sure was his lord father.

"Jon!" His voice! That was his father's voice! Which only served to quicken Jon's sprint even more.

Jon didn't even notice the trees passing him by, nor anything else as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the towering form of his father. Nearly jumping the last little of space between the two, Jon began crying openly as he clung to his father. "I'm sorry, father!" he cried, holding tightly onto his father as all the emotions he'd been holding back came to the surface. "I – I should've never…I'm sorry!"

"Gods, Jon," His father's voice and arms that were holding Jon tight against him were as comforting as a warm blanket in the middle of winter. "Gods, Jon…I am so…gods…"

Feeling his father's hands move to his shoulders and gently push him back, Jon tried his best to hold back the tears falling freely from his eyes as he stared into his father's grey eyes. "I'm sorry, father." Jon sniffed. "I – I don't know what I was doing go-"

"By the gods, that's for damn sure!" His father growled in a low tone, making Jon flinch. "Do you have any idea what you have put me through these past few days? You could've been hurt in these woods! You could've died, Jon! What in the name of the gods possessed you to come out here on your own!?"

Feeling more than slightly ashamed, Jon suddenly found his feet incredibly interesting as he couldn't meet the disappointed look in his father's eyes. "I – I wanted to find the fallen star I saw. I – I wanted to prove that I – that I'm not just a…a bastard. I just…I just wanted you to be proud of me."

"Hells, Jon. Look at me, son," Lord Stark breathed, on hand going underneath his chin to tip his head up and forcing him to meet his father's eyes. "I am proud of you. I'm as proud of you as I am of Robb. Never doubt that. And never, never, do anything foolish like this ever again! Do you understand me!?"

"Yes, father." Jon sniffed, feeling conflicted as he felt happy that his father said he was proud of him, and ashamed at the anger and fear he'd caused in his father.

"My Lord," A guardsman, who Jon recognized quickly as the Captain of the Guard, Jory Cassel, walked up next to the two them, his eyes wandering around the forest. "We should leave quickly, my Lord. The wildlings from the camp we just found cannot be far from here."

"There is no need to worry about the wildlings. They have been taken care of."

Jon had never seen his father's men move so fast as they did when the distorted voice of Lord Nox spoke. Although, how the strange Lord managed to sneak up on them in the first place was beyond Jon. The guardsmen of Winterfell quickly formed a line in front of Jon and his Lord father, separating the two of them from Lord Nox while drawing their swords from their sheathes.

"Fath—Lord Stark," Jon said, trying his best to keep his voice steady as his fought against his still raw emotions. "This–This is Lord Alim Nox. He saved me from the wildlings! He's an incredible sorcerer! He fought the wildlings off with a sword made of fire! And he healed my leg as well!"

His father stared first at Jon and then up to Lord Nox. After a moment's hesitation that almost seemed to last forever, his father nodded to the guardsmen of Winterfell, all of whom immediately lowered or sheathed their weapons and took a step back. Falling into step behind his father, Jon followed Lord Stark as he stepped towards Lord Nox. Once they were within a few paces of the strange Lord, his father stopped, and Jon was left to stare with an ever-growing amount of worry as his father and Lord Nox just stood there staring at one another.

"Lord Nox," his father finally said, breaking the silence between the two. "I am unaware of any Lord carrying that name in the North or the South. Where do you hail from?"

"I would be surprised if you knew," Lord Nox answered in his distorted voice. "Suffice to say that it is a fair distance from these lands, such that I can never return nor can anyone from my home be likely to find me."

"He's lost, father." Jon spoke up, wanting – no, needing – to stand up for the man he'd soon realize he was quickly coming to idolize for saving him from the wildlings. "He has nowhere to go."

His father spared him a quick look before returning to Lord Nox. "I would ask then that you remove your helm, my Lord. I would know the face of the man responsible for saving my son's life."

Jon held his breath as Lord Nox moved his hand up to his face plate and grabbed hold of it. A strange hissing noise sounded as the mask almost seemed to fall off his face. As his hand fell with the mask in hand, Jon couldn't help but gasp. The strange Lord was young! Younger than his father. But even then, he had hair the color of silver! It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. But stranger still was the single black cloth that ran over the Lord's eyes. A cloth that would've been impossible to see though. There was only one other person Jon had ever seen wear such a thing. One of the old blind men from Winters Town. Which meant... "You're…You're blind?!" Jon nearly shouted in surprise.

"Jon," His father chided him, making him flinch.

But instead of seeming to be offended, Lord Nox merely smiled. "If you mean that I cannot see as you do, then yes. I am blind as you understand it. But as I told you just a short time ago, young Jon, there are many ways that one can see. And I use those ways to compensate for my lack of eyes."

Jon frowned until he made the connection. "Magic!" he shouted excitedly. "You use your magic to see! That's how you knew my father and his men were close by!"

"Jon," His father chided him once again, this time making Jon take a step back and slightly behind his father. "I apologize, Lord Nox, for my son's behavior."

"There is no need to apologize, Lord Stark," Lord Nox responded with a wave of his hand. "He is a child. An inquisitive nature is only natural. And something to be encouraged, as long as they understand that there are limits."

His father nodded and then paused as he continued to stare at Lord Nox. "You saved my son's life, Lord Nox, House Stark owes you a debt of gratitude. And as you are a stranger to these lands, I invite you to rest at Winterfell until such time as you can find your own way."

Lord Nox bowed his head slightly in response and Jon felt his heart jump at the thought of the foreign Lord staying with them for a time. "You're offer is much appreciated, my Lord."

His father nodded before adding, "Despite you saving my son, however, I must ask that you aid House Stark in some manner as you rest in Winterfell. Everyone in Winterfell has a purpose, and I would ask that you find one as well during your stay."

Again, Lord Nox's lips curled upwards. "Don't worry, Lord Stark. I'm sure there are quite a few things I can offer you and your House to help earn my stay."

Sitting before the low burning fire with his back set firmly against a tree and a soundly sleeping Jon tucked into a small ball next to him, Lord Eddard Stark stared across the makeshift camp at the one who'd apparently saved his son. The man was an enigma. First, there was the fact that he defeated a group of wildlings on his own while blind aside, a fact that Ned was still trying to come to terms with. And that he'd then brought Jon back to him had earned him Ned's gratitude. But even still, there was something almost…off about the apparently sleeping man across from him that Ned just couldn't put his finger on.

After finding his son and sending Jory and two others to verify that the wildlings were apparently dealt with, Ned had started asking the stranger a series of questions, trying to pry whatever information he could from the man without making it seem like he was interrogating him. He wasn't of Westeros, that much was obvious to anyone. But his accent, Ned couldn't place it. Essos was the most likely candidate, but of all the traders that Ned had spoken with over the years, which admittedly was a limited few, none had the same drawl as this man.

Then there was his armor. Ned had never seen armor like it before, but it was obviously very well made. And obviously made to intimidate with its pitch-black coloring and spiked almost claw-like gauntlets. It also appeared to be almost too thin to be of actual use in battle. A good war hammer looked like it could still cave the man's chest in without much trouble. But what it potentially sacrificed in strength, it more than made up for in terms of allowing a wide range of movement. While heavy plate mail was good for taking blow after blow on the battlefield, it could be highly limiting. This style of armor was not. Then there was the mask. A solid piece of metal with a strip of Myrish glass for an eye-slit. Another abnormality. How did he breathe in it without a way to let air flow through?

Then there was his face, which Ned could admit was quite comely, enough so that many a maiden would swoon at the sight of him without his mask. But it wasn't his comely look that demanded attention. Nor his silver hair which instantly reminded Ned of the Targaryens. No, that belonged to the finely made black and gold cloth that covered his now-ruined eyes. The fact that he was able to overcome such adversity and excel spoke volumes of his will. But even still, Ned had seen blind men before. Even if they'd had years to get used to their condition they would still fumble on occasion, especially through terrain such as the wolfswood. But this Nox did not fumble once. His steps were sure and his movements precise. Gods, he was even able to catch the guard that'd been walking next him when he'd tripped. Ned had no idea just how he was able to move as he did. But Jon apparently did; magic.

'Magic,' the very word stirred a complex well of thoughts within him. The North and the First Men have always been more open to the idea of magic than their Andal brethren. Hells, his own family's history was littered with tales of Starks that were supposed masters of the magical arts, including skin-changing into wolves and the greensight. And Bran the Builder had supposedly used to magic, in conjunction with the Children of the Forests magic, to help build his wonders. So, the Northern aspect of him accepted that it was a possibility. But he hadn't been raised in the North, at least not entirely. His time in the Vale had instilled a sense of…doubt, as it were. He didn't believe that magic was inherently evil, as many Andals believed. Magic was merely a tool, much like a sword. It all depended on the user. But at the same time, was magic even still around? And if it was, should it be used at all?

Valyria had been reputedly to be rife with magic, yet that did not save the greatest civilization from collapsing in the Doom. Many Maesters even accredited the Doom to some form of magic gone wrong. And then there was the dragons, the alpha predator and greatest of magical creatures. If magic still existed, did that mean that it was possible for the dragons to return as well? Such a thought did not bode well in the mind of the Warden of the North. Especially if the remaining Targaryens or their loyalists got a hold of them. If they did, they would no doubt live up to their house words and bring fire and blood to all those who were responsible for removing them from the throne. 'Well, maybe not all of them,' he thought, his eyes almost involuntarily flickering to Jon before he forced his eyes away and back to Nox.

Before he could ponder the enigma that was this mysterious Alim Nox, one of his guardsmen gently prodded him on the shoulder. "Milord, Jory has returned with the others."

Nodding, Ned carefully extracted himself from Jon's side, taking care not to wake the boy as he stood up. After casting one last glance down at Jon and a sideways glance towards Nox, he turned his back on the camp and made his way towards his Captain of the Guard who was standing just outside of hearing range from the camp.

As he got closer to his Captain and the two he'd sent with him, he noticed something. Despite the steadily fading light of the sun, all three men appeared to be slightly ashen for some reason. "What did you find?" Ned asked the moment he was close enough to Jory and outside of hearing range of the camp.

The three men looked at one another as if they weren't sure just how to answer his question. "We…found the wildlings, Lord Stark," Jory answered after a moment's hesitation. "At least, what was left of them."

Frowning, Ned looked around the woods. "Did an animal get to them first?"

"No," Jory replied almost immediately.

"Then what happened?" Ned asked, starting to grow impatient. These were grown men who, while they may not have been a part of the Rebellion, had certainly bloodied themselves on bandits and wildlings in the past.

"It…It was a slaughter, my lord." Jory finally answered, swallowing deeply as if trying to find the words to explain what he'd seen. "The wildlings, they…they were cut to pieces. Literally. Some looked to have drawn and quartered. Arms, legs and heads all cut clean off. There was even a torso that'd been cut in half with what appeared to be a single stroke of a blade. And that wasn't all my lord. All the wildling's wounds were…burned. Cauterized. As if whatever had made them was red hot. What kind of weapon can do that, my lord? And it wasn't only their bodies, but their own weapons as well. Spears and even an iron sword were cut clean in half. What weapon is sharp enough to cut through bone, leather, flesh, wood and iron while at the same time being hot enough to burn the flesh closed? It…It was almost as if he'd—"

"Used a sword made of fire," Ned answered for his Captain, echoing exactly how Jon had described the weapon Nox had used just a short time ago.

"Aye, my lord," Jory nodded. "Exactly as your bastard said. What should we do, my lord? This…apparent sorcerer, he massacred eight wildlings on his own while at the same time protecting young Jon and all without taking a single wound to his person. What manner of knight is he?"

Only years of practice kept Ned from bristling at the slight against Jon. 'He's not a bastard. But he has to be for his sake and the realms.' But Jon's status aside, Jory's question wasn't without merit. "We are not the south, Jory. We're the North. We do not bristle at the thought of magic." He said, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady despite his own considerable doubt in his own words. "His abilities aside, the fact remains that he saved my son. Until he proves otherwise, he has earned the benefit of the doubt. And according to him, he has no way of returning home. So, once we reach Winterfell, he will be given guest rights and permission to stay if he can prove himself useful. We have no need for freeloaders in the North. But even still, I want a constant watch kept on him, but from a distance. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord," Jory responded immediately, closing his fist across his heart in salute. "And what of his apparent weapon? This sword made of fire. Just from looking at him, unless he has somehow managed to fit a sword in that bag he carries around, he looks to be unarmed."

At this, Ned scratched thoughtfully at his beard. "We will inquire to see his weapon on the morrow, before we leave the forest and ask for a demonstration of its capabilities. Better we learn now what he might be capable of instead of waiting for us to reach Winterfell. Now, you and your men get some rest. We've set a hard pace, and we will be setting the same pace on our trip back to Winterfell."

"Yes, my lord," Jory nodded, once again saluting him with a hand over his heart before setting away from Ned and making his way back to the camp.

Watching his man head back to the camp, Ned stared up at the steadily darkening sky above his head. He'd felt something…almost shift the moment Nox had accepted his offer to stay in Winterfell. It felt…almost like something was glad that this foreign Lord was going to stay in the North for some time. 'Is this a sign from the old gods?' He thought as he made his way back to the small camp. 'I cannot say for sure. But one thing I know, even without a sign from the gods, is that this foreign Lord is about to change things. I can only pray that the old gods are graceful and smile upon House Stark and the North, and that whatever changes this man brings about will be for the betterment of the North and the Realm.'