Chapter 24: The True North part 2

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Wincing, Jon sat down so that the two were eye level with one another. "I can't offer help directly, but I can point you in the direction of someone who might be willing to at least give you and your brother shelter for a time. When you reach Norvos, if that is indeed where you are heading, seek out the manor of Lady Mellario. She might be willing to give you and your brother at least some aid."

Dany blinked. "Why?"

"Because she is the wife of Prince Doran Martell of Dorne," Jon answered, drawing a look of surprise from Dany. "I cannot guarantee that she will be welcoming of you and your brother, but at the very least she might be willing to meet and speak with you about what happened in Westeros that led to the downfall of your family."

Rising to his feet, Jon stared down at the still kneeling form of Daenerys Targaryen. "I – I won't contact you this way again, Lady Daenerys, until you try and reach out. I don't want to cause you any more anguish than I already have. But when you want to talk once more, I will be here for you. And…one last thing. You and your brother…You're not as alone as you might think."

And with that, Jon severed the connection, ending his time in the black void of the Force and snapping back into his body with such force that he nearly knocked himself over from his kneeling position. Taking a moment to regain his bearings, Jon rose on unsteady feet and made his way out of his master's meditation rooms. The moment he stepped out of the room, he was nearly run over by a mass of silk and wavy black hair.

"Gods, Jon," Arianne gasped. "I thought you would still be in meditation and – What's wrong?"

Giving himself a shake, Jon did all that he could to put what had just happened to the back of his mind. "Nothing of importance," he said, forcing himself to look at Arianne, which in truth was not a difficult task in the slightest. "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Arianne didn't look convinced, but she seemed willing to let the matter slide for now in favor of whatever it was that'd brought her to him. "I've deciphered the last of the runes and – and I think we can finally finish your copy of the Rhyonish artifact."

His ill-mood brought on from his encounter with Dany – no, Daenerys – quickly left him as the prospect of finally finishing the task his Master had assigned to him nearly a year past. "Finally," he breathed as he met Arianne's smirk with one of his own. "Let's get this done, shall we?"

The two didn't say another word to one another as Arianne grabbed hold of Jon's arm as they made their way back to the Sorcerer's library and to their own little section that they'd been using ever since the day of Arianne's arrival in Winterfell. The little table that'd been there originally had been replaced with a much larger table that was nearly as long as Jon. Skewed across its surface were dozens of books, sketches, and pieces of jewelry, most of which had been donated by Arianne herself and sitting amid all the chaos was the armlet that Jon had found in Valyria alongside the duplicate that was now nearly complete.

Setting to work immediately, Arianne pulled out a small sketch book that she seemingly took everywhere with her and opened it while Jon grabbed a small chisel to etch the runes into the new armlet. The work was almost excruciatingly slow, mostly since Jon had next to no experience working on metal in this manner, and neither did Arianne. So, the two were learning as they were going. But while the chiseling and organization of the runes was indeed difficult, it paled in comparison to the fact that Jon had to constantly channel the Force into his every etch to imbue the armlet with the Force. Or at least he hoped that he did. If not…well…best not for him to dwell on the matter.

"And the last rune, the one for 'water', should go right here," Arianne stated, pointing to what was quite possibly the last piece of unetched metal on the armlet. "Then you'll need to connect the rune to the others using this arrangement…or at least that was what was done on the original."

Following her instructions exactly, Jon made the last few additions that were necessary to complete the runic design. Thanks to how deeply and continuously he was channeling the Force, the moment his chisel made the last connecting line, Jon felt something. It was like a startling spark. A strong shift in the Force the likes of which that he'd never felt before. The armlet beneath his hands glowed red like a hot ember for the briefest of moments before returning to its normal silver coloring.

"Jon," Arianne breathed, her face so close to his he could swear he felt her breath on his face. "Did that…? Did it just…glow? And—And what was that…feeling? I swear I just got a chill but there was no wind."

Picking up the armlet, Jon stared down at the simple thing. It wasn't that beautiful or impressive looking, all things considered. A silver forearm bracer with a leather pad to protect the skin with a slim golden chain Arianne had provided him that was connected to a ring that was meant to be worn on the user's finger to further their connection and provide better control. Or at least that was his hope. In truth, he didn't know why he'd added the chain and ring. It'd just felt right to do so in the moment, so he did. But now that he was holding the completed armlet in his hands, and with Arianne sitting so close to him, he could feel something else. Something between the beautiful woman at his side and the armlet in his hands.

"So," Arianne said, clearly putting the strange phenomenon out of her mind. "Does it work?"

"Let's see," Jon said, before turning and holding the armlet out for her. "Put it on."

For the first time since he'd met her, Jon finally had the pleasure of pulling a surprise out on the Princess of Dorne. "What?" she gaped, looking from him to the armlet and then back again. "But I thought – Lord Nox said I don't have magic."

"No," Jon replied, shaking his head, "he said that you do not have the same type of Force affinity as my siblings and I. That doesn't mean that you are incapable of manipulating the Force at some level. And plus, this is Rhyonish, your people. If anyone has a right to wear this Arianne, it's you. Here, hold out your hand."

Jon didn't really understand why, but as Arianne held out her right-hand Jon felt something shift within him. And it shifted again as he carefully placed the armlet on her exposed skin and slipped the ring onto her finger on her right hand. The moment the ring was fully on, Arianne shivered and let out a slight gasp. "Jon…? What was…? What's happening?"

Keeping hold of her arm, Jon pulled the two of them up to their feet. Without even realizing what he was doing or why, he arranged them so that his front was flush against her back and her right hand was being held in his right with her palm pointed towards the cup of water. "You're feeling the flow of the Force," he said, her hair tickling his face and her scent filling his nose nearly to the point of distraction. "Let it guide you. Feel the room around us. Then find the cup of water through what you feel."

Arianne's hand was still slightly shaking in his own as her breath started coming in short pants. "I – I can feel it. It's so…gods… Is this what you feel all the time?"

"Focus," Jon gently chided her, tightening his grip on her arm not to cause pain but to make sure she focused at the task at hand. "Find the water."

Nodding, Arianne closed her eyes and her breathing leveled out. "I – I see it. How–?"

"Now command it," Jon told her firmly. "Don't ask it. Don't will it. Command it. Bend the water to your will and form it into a ball and lift it from the cup."

He could feel Arianne almost vibrate against him as a surge of the Force flowed through her. The cup on the table shifted and rocked back and forth as she squeezed her eyes closed. Slowly, the water within the cup began to ripple, then the rippling stopped as the water began to form a ball and slowly rise out of the cup. "Arianne," he said lowly, his lips near her ear. "Open your eyes."

Arianne's eyes snapped open, and she let out a gasp as she saw the ball of water floating before her. "I – I did it!" she all but yelled joyously.

Unfortunately, her elation was short lived as her concentration broke and the small ball of water fell back down into the cup, over half of which splashed back out and onto the table. "That's alright," Jon smiled, trying to be reassuring despite her loss of concentration. "You just need to practice a bit more an—"

That was about as far as Jon got as Arianne turned in his arms, wrapped her surprisingly strong arms around his neck, and firmly sealed her lips to his.

Jon's mind went blank as Arianne pressed herself harder against him to the point where he could feel every sensuous curve she possessed pressed against him. But when he finally began to reciprocate and she let out the slightest of moans of pleasure, whatever control he had snapped as the slumbering wolf and dragon within him both awoken simultaneously. Before he could even comprehend what it was that he was doing, he'd backed Arianne up to the wall and pressed her against it just hard enough to make her gasp. But he didn't stop, he couldn't stop. The wolf and the dragon within him that he always kept on a leash were now unleashed and demanding that he take what'd always been on his mind ever since he'd met her. And for her part, Arianne seemed more than willing to take everything he was giving her and return it tenfold.

But as pleasurable as the sensation coursing through him was, all too soon the needs of the body took hold and Jon had to separate from Arianne to breathe. As he pulled back, Arianne's eyes opened, dark and filled with a heat that made Jon shake.

"You know… That doesn't look all that comfortable doing that against the wall like that."

Jon sprung away from Arianne, his hand reaching out on instinct and calling his lightsaber to him. "Gods…Arya." Jon growled, seeing his youngest sister standing just a short distance away from them. "What are you doing here?"

Arya, for her part, was just staring at the two of them with a blank expression. Well, mostly blank. There was no hiding that slight smirk on her face. "From the stories that I've heard Theon and the other guards tell, this sort of thing works a lot better on a bed. And with less clothes. Though just why you'd want to do something like…well…that is just weird. You two looked like you were trying to suck each other's faces off."

Clearing her throat, Arianne stepped up past him and towards his sister. While Jon was sure that he was completely red by this point out of embarrassment, Arianne looked utterly at ease despite having just been caught doing…well, what they were doing. 'Hopefully Arianne can calm this situation down. Or at least convince Arya not to tell everyone…The last thing I need is for the Red Viper of Dorne to think I've dishonored his niece!'

"A bed and less clothes are the end game of such activities, little wolf, but not necessary to have fun." Any hope that Jon had of Arianne calming things over went right out the window as she glanced towards him and gave him a wink before turning back to his sister. "As for whether it is fun or not, of course it is! It's quite an enjoyable experience for both parties, otherwise you and your brothers and sister wouldn't be here. Give it a few years, and once you find the right man or woman you will understand just how enjoyable such activities can be, little wolf."

"Man…or woman?" Arya asked, which only served to add to Jon's mortification. "How can two women do…that?"

"Quite easily," Arianne answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Such activities are not limited to just between a man and woman. A woman and woman can enjoy one another, as can a man and man. You can even just enjoy yourself should the need arise."

"Gods, Arianne," Jon breathed, his mortification reaching levels he never thought possible. He was not about to have…this conversation with his little sister. "She's just ten! She doesn't need you to corrupt her."

Arianne turned on him with an arched brow, and Jon immediately knew that he'd said something wrong. "Oh? A corrupting influence am I, Jon Stark?"

Jon had next to no warning before something cold struck the back of his neck and quickly ran down his shirt. "Come, little wolf," Arianne said, a smile on her face as she purposefully turned her back on Jon and looked to his sister. "I have some 'corrupting' to teach you. Away from your brother's sensitive ears."

Shivering from the cold water running down his back, Jon could do little more than just stare as Arianne took his sister by the arm and quickly led her out of library. 'I wonder who will actually be doing the corrupting?' Jon sighed, knowing his sister and her…fondness for pulling jokes on people.

"I see that you finally managed to complete the task that I set upon you."

"Shit!" Jon nearly screamed, jumping in place, and turning so that he was facing his very amused looking Master. "Master…"

"Though I do admit that I agree with your sister. If you truly wish to engage in such activities, I would highly recommend a bed. At least for the first time, much more comfortable. After that, well, a little bit of exhibitionism never hurt anyone and can provide quite the thrill when done right."

"By the gods, Master!" Jon swore, trying to shake the water out of his shirt, which of course only spread it out further. "I'm not talking about this with you! Or anyone!"

His Master, seeming to take joy in his suffering, didn't let the matter drop. "Why not? It's not healthy to keep this sort of thing bottled in. Humans, and most sentient beings, are creates of needs and passion. Denying or bottling those up can cause a lot of harm to both oneself and those around them."

"Aye, I know," Jon nodded. "You've lectured on this topic to all of us many a time before."

His Master nodded. "Aye, I have. But you still seem intent on not understanding it. Though it does seem that the young Princess is quite good at getting you out of your shell, so to speak. But let's leave this for now and let's focus on the fact that you finally managed to replicate the Rhyonish armlet you found in Valyria. An armlet that you immediately gifted to Arianne."

Jon's chest puffed out slightly in pride. "Aye, I—wait…You said a Rhyonish armlet…not Valyrian. Which means – oh gods. You knew it was Rhyonish and not Valyrian."

"I did."

Huffing, Jon brought a hand through his hair in frustration. "Then why didn't you tell me? I've been spending months pouring over every Valyrian book I could find trying to make sense of the damn thing. If I had known that it wasn't even Valyrian, then…oh. That…That was part of the lesson…wasn't it?"

"Aye, it was," his Master nodded. "You did good in using the Force to guide you in the recreation of the armlet, take pride in that because I do not know of many Apprentices your age that would've even come close to manipulating the Force in such a precise way as you just did. But you missed one of the larger points of the lesson for a long time. Never make assumptions based on what you think you know. We found the armlet in Valyria, so you simply assumed that it was Valyrian. And you became so blinded by this view that you forgot the fact that we learned one of the key factors in the Valyrians becoming such a dominating force was because they took what made their enemies strong and incorporated it into themselves."

"Aye, Master," Jon nodded. "I won't make the same mistake again."

"See that you don't. Tunnel vision serves no one well." Pausing, his Master held out a hand and summoned a seemingly random book from the depths of the library. "This is a book on how the Rhyonish used the Force to manipulate the elements like water, fire, earth and air to their needs. I would suggest that you gift this book to Arianne as an apology."

"An apology?" Jon asked, taking the book from his Master. "But – But I haven't done anything wrong."

The look his Master gave him was one of amusement. "You know nothing, Jon Stark. But at least you're capable of learning so you're not completely hopeless."

Walking through the darkened alleyways of King's Landing, a man wearing a dark cloak with his hood raised over his head easily avoided the prying eyes of the people of the city as he made his way towards the harbor and one of the more prestigious inns known to house usually only the captains of vessels or visiting nobles from across the Narrow Sea. Pausing near the back entrance, the man took one last look around to make sure he wasn't followed before quietly making his way into the building and up a narrow flight of stairs to the uppermost level of the building. Ignoring the sounds of whores applying their trade, the man made his way towards the last room at the end of the hall and knocked on the door twice, then once, then thrice more.

The door immediately opened, revealing an obese man who could rival King Robert and Lord Mace Tyrell in girth. The man's oily golden forked beard twisted as the man smiled and pulled the dark cloaked man into the room. "It's been too long, Varys," the man said after shutting the door and making sure that they were alone.

Lowering his hood, Varys nodded as he watched his long-time friend make his way back across the room towards a large pitcher of wine and a platter of bread and cheese. "That it has, Illyrio. I take it that you managed to take advantage of the information that I sent you?"

"Yes, for all of a few days that is." Illyrio grumbled as he sat down, the chair beneath him groaning as he did. "There are plenty of wealthy in Essos who will pay good coin for Northern glass, especially those decorative pieces that they've been exporting as of late. Unfortunately, it seems that the North prefers to do direct business with only one of their own in Pentos. Even if he is an exiled kid from a disgraced House."

"Domeric Bolton," Varys said, identifying the young man. "I had heard songs that he was doing well in his exile."

"Doing well is an understatement, Varys," Illyrio laughed. "The boy arrived in Pentos with nothing more than the clothes on his back and few loyal men who were willing to follow him. I thought he'd end up as nothing more than a sellsword that I could perhaps employ and slowly turn to work with us in the endgame. But he proved me wrong. Within a few days of arriving, he managed to get the edge on the glass market. By the end of his first week, he managed to set up a stall and secure a few high paying customers. And within a moon's turn, he managed to grow his trade to the point where he can afford one of the largest manors in Pentos near equal to my own. He has a small army of Unsullied guards and sellswords. The kid either has the greatest mind for trade I have ever seen. Or…"

"Someone is helping him," Varys finished for his friend.

"Yes, and I'm willing to bet coin it's the second. No one establishes a network as fast as he did without help. Then there is the fact that some of his more…aggressive competitors just up and disappear. But not until they try something nefarious against him first, of course. But still, just to be safe I've pulled out almost completely of the Northern glass market and I'm staying clear of the Myrish market as well. This is one trade war that I guarantee will get bloody soon if it hasn't already."

Humming, Varys nodded and kept the information in the back of his mind. "Let us talk on other matters. I've heard an unfortunate rumor regarding one close to us."

Sighing, Illyrio rubbed at his golden beard. "You heard correctly, my friend. Damn cutpurses. The Septa didn't stand a chance. They hardly even left anything behind that could identify her. This will hurt our long-term goals. Her voice would've gone a long way."

"Yes, it would have," Varys nodded. He knew very well how much her voice was needed. That was why he'd done what he did in the first place to secure her loyalty. Or rather service to the cause. "But we still have other options. What of the two that are running? I have not heard many songs of either since they wore out their welcome in Volantis."

Illyrio merely shrugged. "Not much to say. Viserys continues saying that he is the true King of Westeros to anyone who will listen. There are still a few amongst the wealthy who are willing to entertain him with the promise of a return for their generosity, but the boy often wears out their welcome within a few weeks at best. The girl, not much to say on her outside of the fact that she is apparently turning into a true Valyrian beauty. Last I heard, they were heading north towards Norvos."

"I see," Varys nodded. "So, despite a mild setback, our plans in Essos are continuing as predicted."

"Yes," Illyrio nodded. "What of here in Westeros? I've been hearing more than a few tales of late that are cause for concern with our long-term goals. Most of which pertain to a certain sorcerer who has found a home in the North."

Varys felt his stomach turn as the topic of conversation changed. "Yes. Lord Alim Nox of Winterfell, the Northern Sorcerer. Unfortunately, after now having met the man and even played against him slightly, I can say that whatever stories you have heard of him have been…understating his abilities."

"Really?" Illyrio questioned. "I've heard some pretty outlandish tales. The least of which is him venturing into Valyria and returning with enough wealth to buy his own kingdom."

"That is true," Varys stated, drawing a sharp look from his friend. "I am uncertain as to the full extent of what the sorcerer managed to acquire from Valyria, but it was enough for him to offer a tithe to the crown in the sum of eight Valyrian steel longswords. One for each member of the Kingsguard and one for the King himself."

Leaning forward, Illyrio stroked his golden beard with a bit more force. "And what of the tales of those he is training? The children of House Stark? Will they be a threat?"

Varys lowered his eyes as the memories of Pycelle's trial came to mind. "The sorcerer's primary student, his apprentice, is the baseborn of Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne, or at least that is what the rumors say. Though my own investigation into the boy's mother has led me to know that is not the case. Unfortunately, the mother eludes me…but I have a suspicion. And if my suspicion proves true, then we will have yet another obstacle to overcome. But regardless of who Ned Stark sired the boy upon, his skill is without question. At barely the age of becoming a man, Jon Stark managed to fight and kill a member of the Kingsguard in a Trial by Combat. And he did so almost effortlessly. I can only assume that his skill is a result from his training under the sorcerer. And word from the North says that each of Lord Stark's children, even the girls, are being trained in a similar manner. And now Stannis Baratheon has sent his daughter and heir to train alongside them. Even Tywin Lannister's niece has also gone north to train as well."

Leaning back, Illyrio stopped stroking his beard as a worried expression came over him. "That is…concerning. Very concerning for our long-term goals. But they are still children. Young and inexperienced. They follow Nox, do they not? If we managed to turn the sorcerer towards our ideals, it is likely that the children will follow as well. Which will make things much easier for us."

Varys's own experience with magic in his youth, which resulted in him becoming what he is, had left a sour opinion of anyone who practiced the arcane. If it were up to him, he would simply leave the sorcerer be. But as it was, that was not an option. "I do not know if such a thing will be possible," Varys answered honestly. "I tried to get a read on the man while he was in King's Landing after the failed coup attempt by the Maesters. But the man might as well have been a blank piece of canvas for all that I was able to infer about him. But one thing that I know is this: Nox is loyal only to himself. Many in the land, the King included, are deluded enough to believe that the sorcerer owes his allegiance to the wolves, especially now with his wife being named the Stewardess of Winterfell. But I know better. A man like Nox only serves those that he is also using. And once the Starks no longer have any value to him, he will leave them behind and move on. And we need to take extreme care not to underestimate the man. He has proven to be very adapt at playing the game."

"Speaking from experience, my friend?" Illyrio jibbed and laughed, though Varys did not amusing. "Fine. If he can't be brought to our way of thinking, then we simply need to remove him from the board. From what I've heard, this sorcerer's power is like a maul, big and destroying everything in its path. So, let us instead go for a power that is akin to a dagger in the dark."

Varys knew immediately as to whom Illyrio was referring to. "Nox and the Starks just survived an assassination attempt by their own vassal lords. Their guard will be raised for some time yet. I doubt that even the famed Faceless Men would be able to succeed."

"Valar morghulis, my friend. All men die." Illyrio responded with a slight smile. "But I can concede your point in that the sorcerer will be on guard. And our plans are still years away from fruition anyway, so eliminating the sorcerer and those who follow him will be our last resort. For now, I will strive to find a way to level the playing field. And I believe I might just have an opportunity to do so. It'll cost a fair amount of coin, but the payouts will be more than worth the cost should we be successful."

Varys did not like the road his friend was turning towards. "And pray tell, how exactly are you thinking of leveling the playing field against a man like the sorcerer, my friend?"

Illyrio's smirk behind his beard did not diminish. "I know of your history, my friend. While I can sympathize with your plight, now is not a time to let our personal grudges get in the way of plans that have been in place for so long. Not when we are finally so close to seeing them come to fruition. Sometimes, you must fight fire with fire. And that is exactly what I intend to do with this sorcerer and his ilk."

He was right of course. Varys's own history had made him distrustful of anything even remotely related to the arcane. And if it were up to him, there would be no practitioners of the arcane left. But he knew that that was a dream that would never come to fruition. At least not in his lifetime. "Very well, my friend. I will leave this particular matter in your capable hands," Varys conceded. "While you work from the angle of countering him, I will see about trying to entice the sorcerer over to our way of thinking. Just know that the price for such an act will be…quite high. And will more than likely require more than a few concessions in the future."

"As long as he does not stand in our way, we can deal with any fallout," Illyrio nodded. "Now, let us move on to other topics while we still have the chance to do so. There is much that we still need to discuss regarding the plans in motion. Both here in Westeros and those in Essos."

Nodding, Varys finally took the only other chair in the room and made himself comfortable as he and his friend began exchanging what they knew and how certain facts and actions would require changes to their long-term goals.

It'd taken Nox years, but he was finally getting use to the almost agonizingly slow pace of travel that Westeros was limited to. This was a journey that would only take a few minutes to maybe an hour back in the Empire. But here, it could take days or even weeks to complete, and you were stuck either riding in a saddle, in a carriage, or walking. While Nox had become a proficient rider during his time on this world, he was far from what could pass as a 'good' rider. Hells, even his wife Nyra was a better rider than he. A fact that she like to remind him of as it was one of the few areas where she could endlessly tease him good naturedly. So, as their group finally crested the last of the seemingly endless hills that made up the landscape of the Gift, Nox only just barely managed to keep his sigh of relief to himself that they would be given a short reprieve as the Wall came into view.

"Well, well," Oberyn whistled as he pulled his horse up alongside Nox. "Hearing about the Wall is one thing. Now having laid eyes on the thing…no description can do it justice. One can only wonder as to just how the people of old manage to build this thing."

Nox was certainly in agreement with his friend. Well, to him almost every structure of note he'd come across on this world had been nothing short of amazing, especially considering the people of this world managed to build them without access to the tools or techniques that were used daily in the Empire and the Republic. But the Wall…the Wall was something else entirely. He'd been able to sense the Wall ever since he'd first arrived on this world nearly a decade past. Yet with everything he'd been trying to accomplish over the years he'd never had the opportunity to venture to the legendary structure. But now that he was within eyesight of the Wall, so to speak, he was very well inclined to agree with Oberyn. Just reading and hearing about the Wall did it little justice.

The Wall was massive, on the level where even the vainest of Sith would almost consider it over the top. But what truly demanded Nox's attention was not the size or the scope of the Wall, but rather its presence in the Force. Even though it'd been thousands of years, he could tell that the Wall itself was built with the aid of the Force. He could sense the Force, both the light and the dark, incorporated seamlessly into the structure. 'They say that Bran the Builder designed and built the Wall with the aid of men, the Children of the Forest, and giants.' Nox reminded himself as their large party led by himself and Ned began their descent from the hilltop towards a lone castle nestled at the base of the Wall. 'He was the architect for all intents and purposes. Which means that he was able to figure out how to incorporate the light and the dark side so seamlessly. Either that, or history has stolen credit away from where it was due and given it to him. A possibility. But still, if Bran Stark was truly the mastermind behind this behemoth, then I seriously need to look over the architecture of Winterfell again. Force only knows what the man built into his home if he was this capable.'

Urging his horse forward slightly, Nox pulled alongside Ned who, Nox noted, was staring at the Wall with the same awe as he. Though Ned's awe was from not seeing the Wall for the first time, but rather from seeing it differently now that he'd been opened to the Force.

"Quite a bit different, isn't it?" Nox asked as the two trotted along the Kingsroad. "Seeing a structure made by the Force through the eyes of the Force."

"Aye, it is," Ned nodded. "Before my fostering in the Vale, my father brought my brothers and I to the Wall so that we might see it for ourselves and come to understand the value and history that it holds. I remember being awed at the sight when I was but a boy. And now…now that I see it differently, it is far grander than I ever thought as a boy."

Focusing his sight further, Nox tried to get a read on the infamous Castle Black that was nestled at the base of the Wall. 'Strange,' he thought as he felt his sight almost get…repelled by the Wall. Out of curiosity he tried to reach beyond the Wall, but the repulsion from whatever Force rituals were performed on the Wall were still so powerful he was nearly physically rocked in his saddle. 'Interesting. Very, very interesting. The Wall is not just a physical block, it repels Force abilities directly as well. It'll be interesting to see if it repels Force sensitive individuals…and if so to what degree must their Force sensitivity be in order to be registered by whatever runes lie within the Wall?'

"Most of the Lords of the North will be housed in Mole's Town, as Castle Black does not have the space or resources to hold so many," Ned spoke up, breaking Nox out of his musings. "We'll meet up with them first before heading on to Castle Black to speak with Lord Commander Mormont."

"As you say, Stark," Oberyn nodded good naturedly as he turned and looked behind him at the train they were leading. "Let's hope that the Watch has the resources to deal with such a large influx of southern volunteers."

While the comment was made in jest, Nox knew from talking with Ned that it was a valid concern. Usually volunteers for the watch, or prisoners who choose the Black over whatever other punishment awaited them, numbered in the handful at most. The few dozen that'd been sent to take the Black after the attempted coup had been the largest single influx of men heading to the watch since the end of the Rebellion. And now they were arriving with somewhere between fifty and one hundred new men to join the Watch. Most of whom had far too many years under their belt to be of any real use. But there were a couple mixed in there that were still young and strong enough to be of use to an Order like the Night's Watch. But as Ned had stated, the state of the Watch had declined severely over the years as only really the Lords of the North bothered to keep the Wall funded and fed. To everyone else, it was just a dumping ground to send their unwanted, and that was the full extent to which they viewed the Wall.

"The Lord Commander will find a place for them," Ned stated, urging his horse towards a small settlement perhaps a mile or so from the Wall.

As they drew closer to the village, Nox began picking out different presences through the Force that he'd made sure to memorize throughout the years as people of importance. 'The Umbers, both the GreatJon and the SmallJon. Maege Mormont as well. One of the Karstark boys…though I never did get a good enough read on any of them to tell them apart from this distance. And there is also Gregor Forrester, not surprising as Asher and his gladiator friend have decided to join us to speak with the wildlings before he settles down to wed. Which means that other familiar presence near to them is Galbart Glover. There are others, quite a few others it seems. But none that I have taken any note of. Still, this is quite the gathering. Not that I expected any less when we are about to discuss the possible alliance with those that've been considered enemies of the North for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.'

As they drew closer to the village, those that'd accompanied their lords quickly began clearing the roadway as they saw the Stark banners coming towards them. And hastily arranging themselves at the onset of the village were all of the Lords Nox had sensed during their approach. The GreatJon and his son were holding the center of the line, pushing the others off to the side. He could see Glover try and edge close to the center, but all it took was a single look from Maege Mormont while the She-bear was fingering her mace to get the man to move down the line.

"Ned, sorcerer!" The GreatJon bellowed as they drew closer. "See you lot finally got here. We've been sittin on our asses for days waiting for you. And – ah. I see why it took you so long. Bunch of southern pretty boys freezing their balls of holding you down huh? Hope these southern boys learn to thicken their blood before winter comes for us, and not just these light summer snows. The Watch doesn't need a bunch of frozen corpses to deal with."

The men of the North laughed as they all took note of layers of fur and leather that each of their southern guest that choose to follow them were wearing. The men from House Tyrell were all wearing a heavy fur coat over their normal clothes, the same of which could be said for all of those from the Reach. And those from Dorne were fairing even worse. They'd lost one guardsman from House Martell already due to the elements. Obara, who'd been the only one of Oberyn's daughters to follow them, was wearing a thick wool coat underneath a set of furs. And even the famed Red Viper himself was wearing a heavy fur coat over his traditional red leather armor. None of whom seemed particularly pleased at being reminded of their unease with the cold.

"Enough, GreatJon," Ned ordered with a sharp look, bringing a sharp end to the amusement of the Northmen. "We would be faring no better in the Reach and even worse in Dorne during the height of the summer years. And these members from House Martell and House Tyrell are more than just our guests. They have volunteered to come north and face the wildlings with us despite knowing the risks. And they will be shown the proper respect."

The GreatJon scoffed. "Respect is earned in the North, Ned. Ya know that better than any. But I suppose the fact that they're actually here means something."

"Of course, it does," Oberyn stated, sliding off his horse with ease and landing soundlessly. "And if you need further convincing, I will be happy to have a go at you in the yard. Though I do fear I will need to comfort your widow after we are through."

The Umber Lord did not look amused. "I've been making corpses of men since you were still at your mother's teat, Dornishman."

Oberyn merely smirked. "And I've made corpses out of men in just about every kingdom in Westeros, plus every Free City in Essos, Valyria, and even during my brief stay in the Summer Isles. Now, shall we continue with this pointless debate? Or do you wish for us to simply whip our dicks out and get this over with? If so, you best do it now. For I fear that if we wait for a larger audience then you will only find yourself emasculated even more by being outmatched by a mere southern boy."

The GreatJon's face started turning red. Though to the surprise of everyone not from the North, the Lord of Last Hearth did not draw his sword. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed. "Haha! You must be the famed Red Viper of Dorne! My son has told me about you. Good to see he wasn't just blowing smoke up my ass!"

With the tension broken, the men those that'd followed them since Winterfell began dispersing into Mole's Town as Ned went about greeting the Lords with Prince Oberyn and Willas Tyrell by his side. But as they were greeting one another, Nox couldn't help but feel a great surge of…not quite hatred but displeasure coming from some of those that'd lined up to greet them. Focusing in, he found the source of the anger as the only woman, Lady Maege Mormont, was staring with unabashed anger at those from the South. 'Because of Jorah? No. She didn't hold this sort of anger while we were in the south. This is something else. Something…personal.'

"And you must be the famed She-Bear, Lady Mormont," Prince Oberyn greeted the Lady of Bear Island, either not noticing or not caring about the look of pure fury that was etched onto her face. "I had the pleasure of fighting alongside your daughter in Valyria, a woman of the North if there ever was one. And my squire Daemon had the pleasure of dancing with her several times during her brief stay in Dorne."

"Oh, I know all about what kind of pleasurable dances this boy performed with my daughter," Maege all but growled, her eyes alight with fury and directed at Prince Oberyn's squire.

Oberyn's brow raised as Maege pushed past him and marched up towards the young Daemon Sand, who, to his credit, managed to hold his ground if only barely in the face of the scowling She-Bear. "My lady," Daemon said, swallowing hard and bowing, "I – um. Your daughter and I – We, umm…I would ask how she is doing? We grew quite close during her time in Dorne."

"Oh, I know," Maege seethed, her hand now firmly gripping her mace, though she did leave it hooked onto her belt at her side. "My daughter is in good health, boy. As is my granddaughter."

All conversations that were being had ceased at the proclamation. Asher Forrester, who'd been amid reuniting with his father, turned and stared opened mouthed at the scene while the gladiator beside him merely raised her brow. Even the usual carefree Oberyn was struck silent as his gaze bounced between his squire and the formidable Lady of Bear Island. And as for Daemon Sand, he was just standing completely still as if his brain had decided to short circuit on him and leave him high and dry.

"Your – Your granddaughter?" the bastard from Dorne finally managed to croak out.

"Aye, my granddaughter," Maege reiterated, the feelings of fury escalating from her. "A result of those 'pleasurable dances' you and my daughter shared."

One could've heard a pin drop in the mud for all the noise that was happening around them as everyone from both the North and the South turned their full attention towards Maege Mormont and Daemon Sand. The former of whom stood a full head over the bastard from Dorne.

"My lady, I…" Daemon started to say before stopping, clearly not sure just what to say. "I – I don't know what to say a—"

"Heh, typical southern boy," Maege spat. "Fuck the North over and leave them to deal with the consequences. I don't know why I was expecting any different from you, boy. Even after all the good my daughter spoke of you."

Something seemed to snap in Oberyn's squire as the young man suddenly stood up straight. But instead of addressing Maege, he turned to Prince Oberyn and went down on a knee. "My prince," he began, his eyes never leaving Oberyn's. "Serving you has been the honor of my life. But now I must beg to leave your service, my Prince."

"Oh?" Oberyn asked, his eyes darting towards the still fuming Maege. "Why?"

Daemon hesitated, but when he spoke, he spoke with conviction. "Because I can no longer be in your service, nor in Dorne's service while I am here in the North. With permission, I would seek to stay here in the North and serve at whatever capacity House Mormont would have of me."

"And who said that I will allow you to even step foot on my lands, boy?" Maege asked, her eyes narrowing in on the young man.

Rising to his feet, Daemon turned back to Maege Mormont and didn't back down from her gaze. "Then I will stay on the shores near to Bear Island and form a homestead of my own and do what I can to serve the people of the North. And even if you try and drive me away, my lady, I will not go unless you end my life. For I will not allow my daughter to be raised without knowing her father. And while Dacey is strong, perhaps the strongest woman I have ever met, I will not force her to shoulder the burden of raising a child alone. I will be with her and our daughter in whatever capacity I can."

Nox could sense the fury slowly leaving Maege as she took note of the young man's conviction. "Bear Island is not the South, boy. We have no sandy beaches, only ice, snow, and mud."

Daemon just shrugged. "Sand is overrated, my lady. It gets everywhere if you're not careful and you have to spend days cleaning it out."

"We don't have no fancy feasts or tourneys or wines for you to sit back and relax with," Maege pressed further, clearly trying to find a fault with the boy and pressure him into not coming near Bear Island.

But unfortunately for her, Daemon didn't seem bothered in the slightest. "Never really been one for fancy feasts, just ask Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne. Plus, I haven't fought in any tourneys of note, so can't really miss something I haven't experienced. And as for wine, well, I've always actually preferred mead or ale over it. Too sweet, in my opinion. If your next statement is to say that there is no warm weather in the North, I am already aware of that, my lady. And, in truth, I'm actually starting to enjoy the cold of the North."