Song of A Northern Sorcerer

Following his friend, brother in all but blood, and King back to the main keep of Lordsport, Ned was internally preparing himself for the discussion that was about to transpire. He knew that Nox was going to be the main talking point for days, perhaps even months to come. And he doubted that such conversations with Robert would be pleasant, and it all stemmed around one aspect of Nox. And amusingly enough, it wasn't his magic that put Robert off of the man. Nor was it his brutal method of executions.

Without saying a word, Robert led Ned and Stannis through the small keep and into the solar that'd been provided for the King. With barely a word to Ser Selmy, Robert threw open the doors of the solar and marched in. The moment Ned and Stannis crossed over the threshold, the Kingsguard quickly shut the doors behind them, leaving Ned and Stannis alone with the more than slightly irate King.

"Alright, Ned," Robert growled, turning towards Ned. "What in all fucking seven hells was that?"

"A Trial by Combat, your grace," Ned answered back, keeping himself calm before Robert. He'd weathered his friend's rages often enough during their time under Jon Arryn, so he knew how to deal with his friend when he was in such a state. "A Trial that should've happened years ago after the Targaryen's fell."

Robert scoffed before turning on his heel and marching to a nearby pitcher. He didn't even bother to grab a cup as he started to drink heavily from the pitcher itself. "That was no fucking trial, Ned. You know it and I know it. It was a fucking execution. But that isn't what I want meant and you know it! What I want to know is why the fuck you have a Valyrian dragon-loving fucking sorcerer amongst your people!"

Holding himself upright, Ned kept himself composed. "He is not a Valyrian, your grace, despite his looks. He's told me much of his people, and they are unlike any civilization I have ever heard of. And despite his looks, there is no doubt in my mind that there is not a drop of Valyrian blood running through his veins."

"Is it not possible, Lord Stark, that he has merely sold you on a mummer's tale?" Lord Stannis asked, not with anger like his brother, but with cool indifference.

"Unlikely," Ned answered. "The amount of detail he's gone into far surpasses any mummer's tale that could be spun."

Growling, Robert threw himself into the chair in the center of the room. "Fine. If he isn't a fucking sister loving dragonspawn, then where the fuck is he from?"

At this, Ned just barely managed to hold in a wince. "Honestly, I do not know, your grace. The land and culture he described as his people are unlike anything I have ever heard of before. It is more than likely that he is from Sothoryos or perhaps even beyond the lands of Asshai. But wherever he hails from seems to matter not to him as he has no intent of ever returning."

Upending the rest of the pitcher, Robert let out a loud belch. "Because he can't return or because he doesn't want too?"

"The latter," Ned answered immediately before elaborating. "Before he left, he had a wife, for lack of better terms I suppose. She was killed by a rival of his within their leadership. After she died, he wanted nothing more to do with them. So, he left. And ended up in the North."

"A likely tale, Lord Stark," Stannis stated, doubt still in his voice. "But again, I must ask. How do you know that this is not a mummer of some kind?"

"Because there was no mistaking the pain in his voice when he spoke of her," Ned answered back immediately, meeting Stannis's challenging look with one of his own. "Her death may not be the only reason why he has decided he wishes not to return to his homeland. But it is one of the primary driving forces."

"Any chance that others from his homeland will come to our shores eventually?" Stannis followed up. "If there are more like him, then the might of the Seven Kingdoms might not be enough to hold them back."

"Truthfully, I do not know," Ned answered honestly. "But as we have not even heard of his people before, if they do mean to grace our shores, it might not be for a long time. Time which we can use to prepare to potentially face those like Nox."

"What in the seven hells do you mean by that, Ned?" Robert asked, a gleam of light entering his eyes. The same gleam that always appeared whenever a prospective fight was presented to him.

"I mean that we can learn from Nox. Learn to do what he can do." Ned elaborated further.

Leaning back, Robert scratched at his lengthening beard. "You think he'll go for it? Teaching others to do what the hell he can? Right now, he seems to be at an advantage over all of us. It would seem silly for him to give up such an advantage by risking teaching others how to use the same magic as he."

"He already has started," Ned answered, taking a breath to steady himself before continuing onwards. "But before I say more, I need an oath from you, your grace. And you as well, Lord Stannis. That what I say next will not leave us. I have a plan in place, but I want as few people to know about it as possible until the time is right."

Robert looked confused, but still nodded. "Alright, you got my oath, Stannis as well. Now talk. What in the seven hells is your plan?"

Breathing in and out, Ned took his time to answer. "Nox, has already offered to train certain individuals in the usage of his powers. But it is not as simple as you might think. Not everyone can learn how to use this power. They have to be born with the ability to use what Nox calls 'the Force' before he can teach them. And he has a stipulation that those who can train must start early, when they are still children. He says that it is because the mind of a child is easier to mold into being able to utilize his unique type of magic."

"And Nox has located said individuals?" Stannis asked, before his eyes narrowed. "And they are in Winterfell, are they not?"

"They are," Ned answered. "Nox has determined that both of my sons, my heir and my bastard, are capable of learning to use the same magic as he."

For a moment, Robert stared at him in silence as the weight of his words settled. But once they did, instead of asking questions, Robert merely threw his head back and laughed, a belly-rumbling, rafter-rattling laugh. "Hahahaha! That's fucking hilarious, Ned! The blood of the First Men certainly run strong in the Starks, don't they?! Ha! If only…If only my love was still with us. She would've given me a son that could learn this magic as well! A son I could be proud of…instead of the spoiled little shit I have now."

Not wanting to push into that topic, Ned pressed on. "When I return to Winterfell, I intend to grant Nox's request to take my bastard on as his 'apprentice', as he called it. Robb will attend lessons with Nox as well. But after listening to the outline Nox gave of the training required, I fear that Robb will be unable to have the time necessarily for full training."

"Why?" Stannis pressed, while Robert merely motioned for him to continue.

"From what Nox has told me, being a…Sith as he called himself, is a lifelong dedication. And not something for the faint of heart. While I have no doubt that Robb would be able to complete such training, there is a good possibility that the training may take the boys away from Winterfell for extended periods of time. And as my heir, Robb does not have that luxury when he must learn how to follow in my footsteps as the future Warden of the North."

"And what of your bastard son?" Stannis asked, his eyes narrowing. "What is to stop him from coveting his brother's position as Warden of the North?"

There was no accusation in Stannis's voice, rather his question seemed to be out of curiosity than genuine concern. "Because I am raising Robb and Jon as if they were trueborn brothers," Ned answered. "Jon loves his trueborn siblings, and I am encouraging such relations. And more importantly, even at a young age he understands his place as a bastard. I am confident that should it come to it, Jon will choose his family over Nox or someone else."

Throwing his head back, Robert let out another belly-rumbling laugh. "Haha! Fucking seven hells Ned! When did you get so devious? Having Nox train a potential weapon to use against himself or his people should they attack us! Ha! Hells, Ned, that's brilliant!"

'I was forced to become this deviant when I was forced to hide my sister's trueborn son and the rightful king of Westeros from your rage and Tywin Lannister's ambition,' Ned through as Robert rose to his feet.

"Alright, Ned, you've convinced me. I'll leave Nox in your hands and we'll keep quiet about your son and bastard for now. But, Ned, I want that fucker watched. I might like him…but he's far too fucking Valyrian looking for me to be able to trust fully. At the slightest hint of treachery, I want his head on a fucking pike."

"As you wish, your grace."

Walking into his tent with his brother Kevan and his loyal bannerman Gregor Clegane behind him, Tywin Lannister uttered not a single word as he walked towards the small chest at the back. Opening the lid, he pulled out a single bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. He wasn't like his son, Tyrion. He rarely indulged in wine simply because he could. But after what he'd just witnessed, a glass of wine was warranted.

"Give me the word, my Lord. And I will crush that bastard's head with my bare hands."

Tywin just barely managed to keep himself from scoffing. It would not due for the Head of House Lannister to scoff so openly in front of his bannermen, even when confronted with such stupidity. Clegane was an excellent killer, a monster, a rapid dog. One that had no problems with any order if it allowed him to kill. He was useful to keep around, primarily as a warning and an enforcer. But at the same time the lack of brain power made Tywin wonder if he was worth keeping around for the long term. After all, rapid dogs often turned on the hands that fed them.

"You will do no such thing," Tywin answered coolly, fixing Clegane with an even look. "In fact, you will leave this tent now and inform the men sworn to House Lannister that we will be acknowledging this sorcerer's demands during this campaign. Any man who rapes will be presented with two options. Take the Black or face the sorcerer. And before you get ahead of yourself, Clegane, don't. If you rape just for the chance to fight against the sorcerer, I will kill you myself. Understand? I lost one good man already today. I cannot afford to lose you as well. And if you think that you cannot control your urges, then tell me now and I will send you back to the Westerlands on the next ship that sails."

Clegane looked less than pleased by his ultimatum. His gaze one that would make any other man soil himself. But Tywin wasn't any other man. He knew Clegane and knew him well. He knew exactly how to handle the man. One had to be strong and have several contingencies in place just in case the mad dog decided to go off the leash.

"As you wish, my lord," Clegane growled, clearly unhappy with his second favorite pastime being taken from him before turning on his heel and storming out of the tent. No doubt to go and 'train' against a few Ironborn prisoners Tywin kept stowed away for just such an occasion.

Once they were alone, Tywin refilled his glass and then poured a second for his brother before taking his seat. Silently, his brother picked up the offered cup and sat down across from him. "You have words for me, Kevan. I would hear them."

Taking a drink, his brother visibly considered his words carefully before speaking. "Forgive me for saying so, brother, but this is unlike you. You are not one to let a slight like this slide without consequence."

Taking a slight slip, Tywin set his glass down and began to fetch out a quill and ink before looking for a piece of parchment. "Slighting House Lannister was not that man's intent." Tywin responded simply, already seeing what game the sorcerer was playing. "That man was merely looking to send a message. I do not know if he truly cares about rape as he so claims, or if he was just using it as an excuse, but he knew that he would be able to find someone committing rape of some kind within the town. After that, he set it up perfectly in order to legally and brutally kill them in a very public manner that would also allow him to utilize his…magic."

It was almost painful to say the last word. For the entirety of his life, he did not allow himself to believe in such superstitious nonsense. Magic was gone, dead with the last of the dragons. But now…now it had returned. And in a rather violent fashion at that.

Across from him, he could see his brother still trying to put the pieces together. He cared for his brother. He was a loyal man and an excellent battle commander. But he did not have Tywin's head for the Great Game. "I don't follow, brother."

"It wasn't about justice. It was about making a statement." Tywin explained. As much as he hated losing a man like Lorch, one with little morals that was easy to command, he had to applaud this Nox fellow's command of the game. "And his message is that he does not care about our rank or our gold or what we could possibly offer him. He has his own agenda. And if anyone gets in his way, he'll kill them."

Kevan leaned back, absorbing what Tywin had told him. "But what is his agenda?"

"I do not know." And that was the truth of it, and irked Tywin something fierce. He prided himself on knowing everything about his opponents, both on the battlefield and in the Great Game. And now, there was a new skilled player in the game that seemed to be was just as equally skilled on the battlefield. "But one thing is certain. We cannot allow such a man to simply rot away in the cold North. And we cannot allow him to remain under the control of the Starks. His talents would simply go to waste."

Kevan's brow perked up as understanding dawned in his eyes. "That is why you are not seeking repercussions against him for slaying Ser Lorch. You want him as a bannerman of House Lannister instead of House Stark."

"Of course," Tywin answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The man possesses magic. The very thing that helped to create the Valyrian Freehold, aside from dragons. Although stories tell that it was magic itself that first gave birth to the dragons. If such abilities were to come under the control of House Lannister, then our position as the premiere House of Westeros would be unquestioned."

The problem though was just how was he to go about such a task. Marriage was the simplest answer. Well, marriage and a title. Castamere was still empty. And despite it being in ruin, the land was still very viable to whoever could drain the ruins, a task he was sure would be mere child's play for the sorcerer. But even if he had a daughter of House Lannister to offer him, which he did not as those in the main branch were either far too young or near the end of their childbearing years, he didn't know if such an offer would be accepted. He could offer the man Castamere, and Stark could turn around and offer the man the abandoned Moat Cailin in return. No. He couldn't make his offer yet. Not until he knew that he could offer the man something that he would not turn down. Which meant that for now, he needed to gather information. He needed a set of eyes and ears in Winterfell, one that was loyal to House Lannister. And fast. But due to his presence here in the Iron Islands, he could not set up such a person. Which left him with one choice that was fast and easy to arrange, no matter how galling as it was.

"We have the advantage at the moment, in that neither the Queen of Thorns nor Doran Martell nor Jon Arryn know of the sorcerer's existence yet," he stated, finishing up the letter and dusting it before letting the ink dry while pulling out a stick of wax and his House seal. "We must act before they do. Should either gain an insight on how to gain the sorcerer's loyalty, then House Lannister will fall. We cannot let that happen."

Rolling up the letter, he heated the wax in a nearby candle, dripping the hot wax onto the edge of the letter before pressing his seal down upon the red wax. "There is a ship leaving before nightfall that is heading back to Lannisport. You will give this to a man you trust and give him the explicit instructions that he is to deliver that to Tyrion's hand alone."

"Tyrion?" Kevan questioned, surprise evident on his face.

"Yes," Tywin growled, hating having to rely on the little creature. "He may be the lowest of us, but he is still a Lannister. And he claims to have the knowledge to keep it that way. This will be his little test. Should he succeed by the time we return, then perhaps I will start giving him other tasks around the Rock other than managing the shit of the castle. But should he fail, I'll find a worse hole for him than the cisterns of the Rock to throw him into."

"As you wish, brother," Kevan nodded, taking the letter from him. "I know just the man to entrust with this."

"Good," Tywin nodded before waving his brother now. "Now go. I wish to think in peace."

"My lord," Kevan bowed back before making a hasty retreat from the tent, leaving Tywin to think in peace about the new piece that'd just been placed on the game board.