Elder Scroll series, Game of Thrones 1. Stranger in a strange land

I am trying my hand at his again after many years. A rouge plot bunny that just keeps on coming back. This has not been edited by anyone but me. This is a prequel in a sense to a greater story, that is still in my mind. The segments containing individual interactions do not have defined time of occurrence. All I can say is that they occur before the events of the first episode.

There is no specific parings as of right now and certain deaths that occurred in canon will still occur, but the exact manner will not be the same. Also as this is FF, expect some characters to undergo personality changes, some can be due to having different things happening to them, whilst others will have experience a more forced personality change due to single traumatic events.

The Dragonborn in this story is modeled to my play style of the game. I will try to remove his general overpoweredness as the story progress, making him more multidimensional and not just a 2D Gary Stu. I am open to suggestion on how i can do this, so vices and personality quirks that I can add to him will be nice.

* * *

Bjorn, a man barely into his second decade of life looked out onto skyrim from the throat of the world. From up here it seemed so peaceful as if the war going on below him was nothing more than single drop in a vast ocean. After the defeat of Alduin the Elves did not wait long before they attacked again. Bjorn fought in this war, but after witnessing the destruction he had caused he decided to retreat to the peak of the mountain where his mentor Paarthurnax once lived. In his last battle he dealt a crippling blow to the Aldemeri Dominion.

Bjorn acting on his own attacked the Summest Isle. It was not a bloody affair as he did not go in Bound Swords swinging and he used only a single shout. The shout was the one the first one he had learned. He fueled it with his anger and hatred for the Thalamor, his wish for the war to just end, he honed this rage and hate with an Elder Scroll consuming it as he would do with a dragons soul, the power was overwhelming, his entire body vibrating from the great influx of power. His voice had ripped the sea apart. It shattered stone and turned wood to dust. Life on the Isle was removed from existence, in the wake of the supernaturally powered shock-wave, nothing survived and the Isle became a wasteland. With three single words of power he had committed the greatest act of genocide ever recorded in the history of Tamriel.

He knew the Divines were not happy with him. He did not care. He renounced all worship of them when his parents were killed, even the worship of Talos. The energy given to him by the Elder Scroll he had absorbed had all but left him. He was now as he was before consuming it, a man with the soul and heart of a dragon, but unknown to him it had changed something fundamental to his being. Mortals were not meant to wield the power of the scrolls, so the scroll changed him to something which could.

Bjorn felt a presence behind him, he turned slowly. The figure was bathed in light, it lacked a solid form but it radiated divine light and authority, from this alone he knew it was not one of the princes but one of The Nine.

"Dovakhiin, your actions have tilted the balance." The figure's voice was deep, Bjorn could hear and feel it in his mind simultaneously, it spoke with such power that Bjorn had to fight the urge to bow down before it.

"If mortals were not meant to wield the power of the gods, then the gods should not have left their trinkets lying about." Bjorn answered defiantly

"Nonetheless, your actions have shifted the scales; the balance of the realms is at risk. Had you been a normal mortal I would have struck you down, with the same amount of remorse that you should when you destroyed the Summerset Isle. You are not however a normal mortal. You are Ysmir, The Dragon of The North. You are also my last child, not of my flesh but of soul."

Bjorn was stunned when he realized who he was talking to. "Akatosh"

"Yes, child, that is my name."

"So what is my fate then?"

"As I said earlier death would have come swiftly to you, but you are my child and all parents want nothing but the best for their children, I can no more kill you than I can kill Alduin. The other divines called for your head, I over ruled them, as there also lies some fault with us. Your fate is that of exile. Today marks the last day you will be on this world. When the sun breaches the horizon tomorrow, Nirn, will forever be lost to you."

"It is a fitting punishment… I deserve no less, however please sate my curiosity and tell me where I am to be sent?"

Akatosh gave a bemused laugh. "Always the curious one, it is a world much like this one, but the divines have no power there. It is a world where the race of man rules. Magic is rare and obscure and the horrors of this world barely exist there."

"What of this world, what of Skyrim?"

"The war will come to an end within a fortnight. Peace will reign for the next three thousand years. You shall be remembered in history as the man who doomed himself to save the future."

"What can I take with me? Am I to enter this new world with naught but the cloths on my back?" Bjorn was a bit stressed; he didn't want to start over again, like when he was caught by the Imperials in that ambush.

"You shall be allowed to take nothing but the clothes on your back and the gold you own."

"Akatosh I thank thee, though I had renounced you, yet you still saved my life. I would not say remorseful for my actions, I know them to be wrong but someone had to do it. Maybe in this new world I can be a force of good without leaving a trail of death and destruction behind me."

"In this new world you will not be forced to follow a prophecy. Live your life as you wish. I will give you this final gift my son." A golden beam shot out from Akatosh and struck Bjorn in his chest. "Your actions with the Elder Scroll made you a demi-god; you shall not die of mortal shortcomings until you choose to. This will let you choose companion to spend your life with until you decided to leave the world of the living. Goodbye my child for this will be the last time we meet."

"Farewell, Akatosh…Father."

After those words Akatosh vanished, leaving Bjorn alone on the mountain top again. Bjorn looked out onto Skyrim again, a smile now on his face. The world will be okay. He returned back to his cave. Magelight flared up as he entered. He slowly dressed himself in his armor. The Deadric plates extremely heavy yet to him it was a reassuring weight. Each piece was in immaculate condition.

He wielded no weapons however, favoring instead to just conjure his weapons from the planes of oblivion. He took all his gold, which after his adventures equated to a rather substantial amount, yet it defies the laws of nature by fitting into a single coin pouch. He then prepared his last meal eating in silence and contemplating the new world he would be sent to.

After his meal he journeyed down to High Hrothgar. The sun had set and the darkness of the moonless night had completely enveloped him. His final act as dragon born was to impart all his knowledge he had acquired into a scroll, in a manner similar to how he was taught by the greybeards. He left it for them to find. While their understandings of specific words were greater than his, his overall knowledge of the language dwarfed theirs.

He returned to his look out at the summit. He sat down his legs hanging over the edge. His stomach was doing flips. He could see the far off glow of the sun starting to reach the horizon. The sunrise was beautiful, bards would lament on about the vibrant glow of the sun. In a single instant Bjorn could see all of Skyrim in front of him; he saw his home for the last time, in all its natural splendor.

To an onlooker Bjorn started to glow as the rays of sunlight hit him. The light he was emitting matching the sun as it rose, his armor losing its physical appearance becoming ghostly blue, like a bound weapon. At its apex a single pulse emitted from Bjorn and he was gone.

* * *

Eddard –Ned – Stark, Lord of Winterfell and head of House Stark, was out hunting with two eldest sons, Jon and Robb. He was hoping that there would be a greater love between them. But there seemed to be none, this was due to Robb, having adopted his mother's cool attitude towards Jon. It pained Ned that his children did not get along, family was always important to him.

There was movement in the underbrush and a boar charged out, ignoring them, completely. The boar was not the only animal to do this, within moment's dear, squirrels, birds and a multitude of other small animals that called the woods their home rushed past them. It was not in a mad panic as if there was a forest fire, rather they were just startled and wished to get way from whatever startled them.

His curiosity peaked he walked in the direction from which all the animals were running from. His sons followed, arrows notched but bows not drawn. They walked about a hundred yards where upon they came across a clearing. A figure stood there kneeling on his one leg and arm, panting slightly. A twig snapped underneath Ned's boot. The figure looked up. He was wearing demonic looking armour that seemed ghost like in nature, glowing a soft blue and slightly transparent. He stood slowly his hands in a non-threatening position. The figure was tall, taller than any man Ned had seen in the last decade. The figure slowly raised his hands to his head and removed his helm. Upon doing so the armour seemed to fade from him, leaving only a young man dressed in dark blue.

The quality of the clothes was a good indicator that this was not some sell sword. Ned was surprised to see the armour vanish completely. The young man looked up. Blue eyes met his brown eyes, and through some silent contract, Ned lowered his bow, however he did not remove his arrow.

"State your name stranger," commanded Ned, now in his full capacity as Lord of Winterfell.

"I am Bjorn Svenson. Who are you?" replied the now identified Bjorn.

"I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, these are my sons, Robb stark and Jon Snow. What is your business here?"

"My intentions are peaceful, but they are of mine own, if that is what you are inquiring, where am I?"

"You are currently in the Wolfswood. A few miles from Winterfell, which lies in the North."

"I thank you for your rather informative answer but I am still lost, as I am a stranger to these lands. Would it be possible for me to accompany you to this Winterfell, where I might be able to look upon a map?" At this point in the conversation Robb and Jon had moved closer to their father to get a better look at the stranger.

"A man of unknown origin and power is not someone I will allow into my keep so easily."

"I would give you my word that I mean you and your kin no harm, if I do harm them, I will kneel so that you may separate my head from my shoulders, for what is a man if he does not honour his word." Bjorn gave a reassuring smile, "What is it you and your sons are hunting?"

"We were hunting a bit of wild game, but I think you have scared away all game in a few miles."

"I apologize, I had no control over my arrival here. The Nine were rather swift when judgment had been passed, but again I would prefer banishment to a death sentence."

"The Nine?" asked Ned, curious about his seemingly powerful group.

"The Nine Divines, the gods and goddesses who created Nirn, my home world. They banished me for using their power. They have no power here and I can never return home."

"What had you done to deserve such a harsh punishment?"

"My home was at war, the civil war had barely ended when the Thalamor, Elves, attacked with brutal efficiency. I acted alone using an ancient artefact left behind by the gods to destroy the home of the Thalamor. My actions killed thousands if not millions, but many times more would have died if the war went on any longer. Mortals are not meant to wield the power of the gods, in an act of mercy the king of the gods, spared my life and banished me instead."

"You do realise that story makes me no more willing to allow you to enter Wintefell."

"Worry not Lord Stark, I do not seek war, the power I used was not mine to begin with and it is no longer within my ability to use."

"I will take you to Winterfell, but we are on a hunt, and something must be caught." Though weary of the stranger, Bjorn did look like someone who kept his word. Ned's gut was telling him he could trust this person

"Very well, let us hunt." Bjorn then raised his hand it glowed purple and an ethereal bow appeared in his hand, the same time as a quiver full of arrows appeared on his back. Ned, Jon and Robb all gave a collective jump at the act of magic. "What? Do you not have magic here?"

By Nightfall, the four returned to Winterfell, a rather large boar rested on Bjorn's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Bjorn was rather happy he had come across Eddard and his sons. Had he not he would have walked aimlessly around the woods, for days before he found someone. Robb and Jon were weary of him at first but after Bjorn had taken the boar down with a single arrow, their curiosity was peaked.

"So you mean to say, you don't use any real weapons, you just make them with this magic?" asked Jon.

"Yes, I can do much more than just make swords and bows, but I think your father would be a bit more nervous if I started throwing ice and fire around."

"Could you teach us?" asked Robb

"I could if your father allows. I learned it because I never wanted to be without a weapon. What say you Lord Stark." Ned who had been silent on the way back, more absorbed in his own thoughts, but still listening to the conversation between Jon, Robb and Bjorn.

"I would allow it, but I wish to be present, since it is a skill that I would like to learn as well."

"But father you are too old," said Robb.

"One is never too old to learn magic for it requires nothing more than a sound mind and the power of will. I will teach you then. It will be hard though, magic is dangerous and it can run rampant and out of control if you are not careful."

They approached the gates of Winterfell which was held open for them. "You were gone longer than we expected my lord," said one of the watchmen.

"We had a few interesting developments. Bjorn you can hand the boar to those men."

Bjorn did so, the men he hand the boar to struggled a bit, not expecting it to be so heavy, due to the ease with which Bjorn handled it. Robb and Jon went off to the too their respective rooms, to clean themselves and change for dinner.

* * *

Bjorn remained in Winterfell after that fateful encounter, finding the Starks to be the family he had lost. At first people were intimidated by his presence, but soon they learned he was like a sleeping bear, he was no threat to you unless you angered him. The Lady Catelyn Stark, did not like him at all at first. However she warmed up to him when he fixed Bran's broken arm when he fell off his horse on his first lesson. Bjorn slowly integrated into the daily running of Winterfell.

The Stark children of WInterfell, adopted Bjorn unofficially as an older brother and he adopted them as his own kin in his heart, he watched them grow older, stronger and smarter, feeling great pride in his role in their development. He taught them his skills. The magic he taught was kept secret from outsiders. It would be something known only to the members of House Stark. However it would not remain a secrete forever.

Bjorn did not display his magic frivolously; however he did not hide it. If a situation ever occurred where magic was needed, Bjorn did not hesitate to use it. His proficiency was in Conjuration, Destruction, Illusion, Restoration, Marksmanship, One-Handed weaponry and Alchemy. He also had skill in enchanting and armour smithing, only due to him having to repair his own armour, but they were minor skills at best and since his armor was now bound armor, he doubted he would use said smithing skill much. His greatest hidden skill was his ability to go undetected. He could sneak through a room of people and no one would notice him.

Bjorn was helping Bran with his archery; Bran was using a bow made for someone of his size, while an ethereal bow was in the hands of Bjorn. "Bran, watch your left arm, otherwise the draw sting will give you a bruise and I will not heal it again."

"Will do, Bjorn," Bran said as he adjusted his left arm slightly. He took a breath and aimed at the centre of the target. The bow made a twang as he released it the arrow sailing through the air. It struck just off centre of the target.

"Not bad, but I know you can do better." Said Bjorn in the time it took Bran to blink, Bjorn had notched and arrow as well as released it. The ethereal arrow sailed silently through the air. It did not strike the centre, but had split Bran's arrow down the middle of the shaft. "I will leave today's lesson with that. The day after tomorrow we will have a lesson again."

"Bjorn, when will you teach me magic?"

"Bran, I cannot answer that question at this moment. You possess a power inside you, something that the gods of this world have granted you, I do not know what it is but it's something special. It is this power which makes your connection to magic narrow. There is something I might be able to teach you but your need to be older. I will have a list of words for you by our next lesson."

* * *

"Sansa, you have come far. There is three more spells I can teach you. If you can do these spell I will call you a master in the arts of Destruction. From there it would be up to you to make your own spells."

Sansa beamed at the praise, being the oldest of the female Stark children she knew she had a certain place in society, and if push came to shove, she would be married to some lord to improve a political tie regardless of what her father promised her. However Bjorn treated her differently. When he was teaching her, she was not Sansa Stark. She was just Sansa, the adopted little sister of Bjorn.

He had started teaching her when she was very young. He taught her two schools of magic, destruction and illusion respectively. When she asked him why, he told her that, she was the eldest Stark daughter. One day she would be someone's wife, or even queen if she were to marry the son of the king. "The art of illusion will make you undefeated in a battle of words, where you can turn someone into a sobbing mess with a mere wave of your hand. The art of destruction will make you feared by your enemies, and instead of a sobbing mess a wave of the hand could make someone a bloody smear on the ground." She did not like the strange glint that was in his eyes as he spoke of how she could end someone.

A thing that Bjorn kept silent about was that Sansa had one of the largest untrained and untapped Magicka reserves that he had ever seen, the closest one to here raw potential was her half-brother Jon. He would not be surprised if she had the largest reserves of Magicka in the whole country. Her timid nature however kept her from reaching her full potential.

"Are you sure I am ready?" She asked tentatively. Bjorn gave a reassuring smile and unexpectedly pulled her into a hug. Sansa enjoyed his hugs. Another thing she liked about him was that he didn't stink, ever. He bathed regularly and took great pride in being clean. He smelled of wintergreen, which he claimed was one of the few herbs powerful enough to purge the smell of his alchemy from him.

"Little sister, if I did not think you ready of this power I would not have offered to teach you. Come, I found a rocky out crop where I want to show you the spells I want to teach you."

They rode for an hour by horse through the Wolfswood, until they came upon a clearing with a strange rock formation in the middle; the rocks were arranged in a spiral patter, getting taller and thicker as they spun to the center. The middle stone was roughly five meters in the air and two meters across. The air was brimming with a natural yet supernatural energy, both could feel it. Unbeknownst to both of them the clearing represented a place where two ley lines intersected.

"Do we need to get to the top of that?" asked Sansa

"Yes we do little sister. Come we are burning daylight." The climb up was not difficult. The stones were worn smooth by time and the gradual difference in height made it akin to climbing stairs.

"Now, Sansa, I will be showing you the three most powerful spells that have been created. They are known respectively as the spells of Fire Storm, Blizzard and Lightning Storm."

Sansa gulped at the manic grin that now adorned Bjorn's face.

* * *

Robb was not in the greatest of moods as of late. The reason for this was that his youngest sister Arya was now training with him under Bjorn. It all started because he bad mouthed Arya saying that girls had no place on the battle field and should not be taught the skills of a swordsman, when she had asked to be taught as well. That remark had gotten him a frim smack against the back of the head courtesy of Bjorn. Currently he was sparing against her. He was using a normal sword since he had little skill in conjuration, whilst Arya was fighting with a bound sword.

He might have been stronger than her by many degrees, but her speed with the weightless weapon made her deadly and he had already received a few cuts all over. "Okay that is enough." Steal met ether with a hollow clang and both combatants disengaged. "I am impressed with both of you. Robb what have learned from all of this?"

"Never under estimate an opponent, speed combined with precision will win every time against brute force." Robb's hand started glowing in a yellow white light and his wounds or rather cuts started healing. Though he had no skill in conjuration, he was quite gifted in the art of restoration, something he accepted grudgingly; he would have preferred to be able to summon swords out of nowhere or rain down ice and fire on his foes, but no his skills were in restoration and alchemy.

"Good, good. Arya what did you learn?"

"I learned that you are a slave driver for one," Bjorn just gave her a bemused look, "And that blocking blows head on is stupid if you are my size." Arya had a skill for non-animated conjuration, being able to summon any weapon she wanted from Oblivion, she also had some skill for destruction and illusion but not the level that Sansa possessed.

Jon Snow had always felt as an outcast. The bastard son of Ned, he was never truly accepted by the majority of his half siblings. Of all of Ned's children, Bjorn had had the biggest impact on him. He looked up to him a lot more than he did to his own father. Jon showed an aptitude for conjuration, same as his half-sister, Arya, except his was in the ability to bring forth creatures and familiars from the Oblivion realms. He favoured summing the flame and frost atronach. He had achieved his dual summoning mastery only a year prior. His skill in destruction was nearly as great as Sansa's but it was limited to frost magics.

"Bjorn… what would you think of me taking the black?"

Though not a northerner by birth Bjorn knew what taking the black meant. He did not answer immediately. He was pensive for a few moments. Thinking about how he would phrase his opinion. "I can tell this has been on your mind for a while. My honest opinion would be to say do not join the Knights Watch. You have skills and power that will make a name for yourself. You will be able to serve the realm much better if you were not restricted to the wall. That said your presence at the wall will be a great boon to them. I think the best option for you is to join them on an unofficial basis. Maybe I can take you as an apprentice and then send you to the wall as part of your training."

* * *

The members of House Stark were seated at the dining table including Jon, Measter Luwin and Bjorn. The atmosphere was somber. A raven had arrived from KingsLanding informing them of the death of Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King and a man who was a surrogate father to Ned. This was followed by the news that the King and a whole entourage of people were travelling on the Kings road towards Winterfell. Everyone was eating in silence. The children were all containing some level of excitement because they now each had their own pet, dire wolf pups. Bjorn decided to break the silence and cleared his throat.

"I have been in Winterfell for nearly a decade. I have grown to love all of you as the family I had lost many years ago. I have taught you all many things, I have also learned a lot. However, I have not been completely honest with you all. My past is much darker than I have made it seem and I feel you all deserve to know the truth."

"Whatever it is, you can tell us, for we will not judge you, you are family in all but blood. I myself have done some horrible things in the war." Ned's statement summed up everyone's thoughts, except for the war part.

"As you all know this land is not the land of my birth. I come from another world entirely, one ruled by The Nine. My home country is called Skyrim, its weather much like the north, just the winters last longer, almost permanent in some places and it is much colder, which is why you rarely see me warming myself in front of a hearth.

When I was but a child barely in my tenth year of life, my family was murdered by the Thalamor for their worship of the god Talos. For ten years after their death I drifted around Skyrim, I learned tricks here and there to allow me to survive. When I was about nineteen, I was capture in an ambush by the opposite faction of the civil war, a case of mistaken identity as I was not on any side in particular.

I was due for execution without a trail and as my head rested on the chopping block, a great black dragon appeared. His appearance saved my life and allowed me to escape.

In Skyrim, dragons are natural calamities. They are proud and powerful they had enslaved the race of man and ruled with cruelty. Eventually we stood up to our oppressors and killed them all… or so we thought. The Leader of the dragons, Alduin the World Eater, was not killed, and since he would bring about the end of the world, could not be killed. My ancestors flung Alduin 4000 years into the future.

Back in present time Skyrim then entered the Dragon Crisis due to his return. Dragons long thought dead and buried were being brought back to life by Alduin. Only a dragon can truly kill a dragon, for the looser forfeits his soul to the victor in a fight to the death, if not the dragon would live again if summoned by a stronger dragon. I found out when I slayed my first dragon and had absorbed its soul and power that I was Dragonborn, or Dovahkiin, a mortal with the soul and power of a dragon. The ultimate dragon slayer for one felled by my blade would never rise again.

Alduin met his end again with the aid of the great heroes of the past. With the Dragon Crisis now over, I rushed head first into the civil war. I was a beast in battle, they called me Ysmir, The Dragon of the North, for I fought with the same ferocity and power as that possessed by the dragons I had slayed.

My actions after the war caused my banishment. As you know I used the power of the gods to destroy the home of the Thalamor. That power was an Elder Scroll, the power of the gods were not meant to be wielded by the hands of a mortal, so the scroll change me when I used its power, I became something in-between a man and a god. A demi-god is what Akatosh, the king of the gods, called me. I could only die at my own hand. So the standard punishment for mortals could not be applied to me.

My actions had upset the balance and the only way to restore the balance was to remove me from the scale all together. My removal from Nirn is what caused me to arrive here"

The dining hall was deathly quiet. No one spoke everyone was contemplating this in their heads. It was Sansa, the most timid of the Stark children who spoke first.

"How strong are you now?" was all that she asked

"I have read your history, I am on the same level as those three dragons used by the Targaryens during their conquest of Westeros. However I am most likely stronger since I am smarter and can use magic."

"Are you going to leave us?" asked Rickon, his voice filled with childlike fear. He was the only Stark child to have not received any training from Bjorn simply because he was still too young

"No, Rickon, I have taken quite a liking to you all, you are like the siblings that I never had."

That seemed to ease the tension that had built up. Ned was a bit weary of Bjorn again, if even just a grain of what he said was true, Bjorn could change the tide of a battle on his own. If not win it on his own entirely.

"Why tell us this now?" ask Ned

"My gut is telling me that a cold dark winter is coming. I would rather there not be secretes between us. The arrival of the King dose not sit right with me."


	2. Winter is Coming

Okay so here is Chapter 2. It is un-Betad only I have done the editing. So sorry about any mistakes. I tried to make it less of an Info dump but sadly that is difficult for me to do as I do not notice when I do it. Feel free to leave reviews, I love feedback, I have decided to add a plot element which will allow me to add things from some of the Skyrim DLC's. I have also taken the liberty of altering the magic a bit it, but for the most part I will stay true to ES magic.

* * *

ARYA

Black mist spun around her ankles obscuring the smooth ground below her feet. It was tepid to the touch shifting between the fringes of warm and cold. A sweet fragrance hung in the air; it was a gentle nonintrusive smell. Had she been in a normal room, the scent would have put her at ease. She was not in a normal room though. A smell of damp would have been more frightening than the one she currently smelt; at least damp is a smell one expects in the dark. She moved forward, drifting through the black mist, some supernatural force leading her onwards. She could not stop as her legs refused to listen to her.

A bird began to sing. Its song a contradiction, opposing melodies and rhythms combined into one beautifully unattractive sound. The emotions it invoked inside her were impossible to descried with just one word or phrase, Arya knew that even if she had till the end of time she would never be able to truly describe what she felt. The song came from all over and nowhere, as if the bird was on her shoulder singing into her ear and at the same time flying high above her head.

Shapeless shapes moved around her, staying out of her direct line of sight; at best appearing in her peripheral vision. She could feel the shapes getting close and closer, yet when she turned her head to glance backwards nothing would there, just the ever present black mist. Without warning the birdsong stopped. The silence that followed was louder than a room full of drunken guests. Slowly the mist began to ebb away. The force compelling her forward ceased. Her legs, now her own again finally obeyed her brain and she came to an immediate halt.

A figure stood in the mist, a female figure. She was clothed in woven darkness so exquisite that the finest silk in the world would be naught but rags by comparison. A hood and veil covered her face partially. Her true appearance obscured by dancing shadows and the movement of the veil in a non-existent breeze. The figure would put any queen or highborn lady to shame, in just posture and figure alone.

Slowly the figure reached out with her right hand while at the same time bending down to Arya's level. Her palm being neither hot nor cold cupped the youngest daughter of House Stark's face. Arya's fear began to dissipate. The touch reminded her of her mother's soothing hand when she was sick. With her left hand she tucked a flower into the young female's hair behind her ear. A whispering kiss was placed on her forehead. A queer sensation ran through Arya's body, starting at the kiss and running down her frame to the soles of her feet. It made her feel light headed. Arya swayed on her feet. Slowly she tipped back. A nightingale flew past her as she fell.

Bjorn was the first person Arya sought out the next morning, foregoing breakfast in favour of his council. She found the Nordic man working at his desk in his quarters. He was writing in a language she did not recognise. He muttered to himself in a foreign language as he wrote. Most people would assume that Bjorn was just scribbling, but to those touched by the arcana, could feel that there was some magic in the air.

The script he was writing in consisted of scratch like line and dots. It was a rather destructive script and he had a pile of ruined quills growing on his left and side. She waited for him to finish. He was so absorbed in his work that he never noticed her standing by his door. Arya cleared her throat when he lifted his quill from the page. He jumped slightly startled by her presence.

"Arya, what are you doing here at this early hour, our lesson is only much later today." The Nord was one of the few fair haired and skinned people in Winterfell. Numerous scars ran across his arms, some seemed to have been created by a weapon whilst others looked animal in origin. Bjorn had grown a slight beard during his stay at Winterfell, he kept it neat and trimmed though as long beards were only a hindrance in battle and a hazard when working with destruction magic.

"I am aware of that, but I had a strange dream last night. Something about it was off. It didn't feel like my dreams, I had no control over my actions until the very end. It was as if the dream was created by someone else and I was forced to take part in it."

This was certainly strange for Bjorn. Arya Stark was not a seer of any kind, he suspected that Bran might have some prophetic talent, however it was something he had little working knowledge of. Anything beyond identifying potential was beyond his abilities. "Can you explain to what happened in it?"

"I can try. It's difficult though because everything about the dream was contradicting itself. Trying to make sense of it only made it make less sense. There was this bird song, it made me feel so…so…I can't explain it…I just can't, no words can describe it." Arya was getting rather upset with herself, feelings of frustration welling up in her as she searched for words to describe what she felt only to come up short. She took a deep calming breath and continued describing her dream to Bjorn. "There was a lady in my dream. She was dressed in the most gracefully; he clothes would put anything made by a seamstress to shame. The fabric seemed to have been woven from pure darkness… it was enigmatic," Arya's description of the lady was very detailed, or as detailed as she could have made it. Bjorn was beginning to suspect a rather specific person the description progressed. If he was correct it would mean that he had a whole list of new potential problems to deal with. "And then she leaned down, cupped my face and kissed me on the forehead. She also placed a flower behind my ear, but there was nothing there when I woke this morning"

Bjorn froze. He who body rendered unmoving with shock, he blinked once and exhaled in very controlled manner. Things just became infinitely more complicated, never had he heard of such actions being taken by the Night Mistress, people sought her out, rarely the other way around. That flower also meant something, Bjorn's eyes widened considerable when he came to a rather vexing conclusion "Arya, I want you to come to me from now on whenever you have one of those dreams again. I do not care what the time is. If I am asleep then wake me. That dream was not your own. It was a fabrication created to seek you out. Arya you were visited by a Deadric Prince, that flower she gave you was a symbol of another, he sister in fact. The Princes do not seek people out, unless that person is of value to them. I can just thank the fates that it was not one of the other ones."

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JON

"Come apprentice, time is of the essence." Jon Snow, apprentice of Bjorn, followed his new master out of the Keep in the dead of night. They used one of the more obscure passageways, one that was in disrepair and forgotten about by most. The day after he had spoken to Bjorn about taking the black he was offered and apprenticeship.

He would be a liar if he said he did not shed a shed a few tears when he was formerly offered the position. His father was there to, a great look of approval on his face. The full impact of it did not hit him until much later that day. For the first time in his life he felt wanted, though his father loved him dearly he was never truly welcome in his home. He was slightly older than seven when he along with his brother and father discovered Bjorn.

In the ten years since the Nord's arrival he had grown to see Bjorn as his father. Eddard might have loved him, but it was Bjorn who was always there for him. He would be forever grateful to Bjorn. While Jon's main talent was in living conjuration and frost based destruction magic. Whilst he had only been apprenticed for a week, Bjorn had already gotten him to heal some minor injuries as well as brewing mild poisons that were anaesthetic in nature and not really lethal. "Where are we going?"

"We are going to a place where prying eyes will not see us. For it is dark work that must be done tonight, work that I do not greatly enjoy but sometimes it must be done."

They moved in relative silence. Winterfell having long since disappeared from view as they headed deeper into the woods, the forest drank in the light cast by the moon and soon nothing but pitch black surrounded them. A small ball of light appeared above their heads, "A mage light, one of the few alteration spells I use."

"Will you teach me how to cast that?" asked Jon.

"Had I not wanted to impart most of my knowledge onto you I would have taken someone else as my apprentice," Bjorn had humour in his voice as he spoke, though upon continuation it became of a much more serious nature. "Jon, tonight I am going to show you one of few magics that I will not be teaching you. It is something I will never teach as it is disrespectful to the dead."

The purple light of conjuration magic flared to life in Bjorn's hand. His eyes were closed in concentration, though Jon could see his eyes moving rapidly behind their lids. Bjorn's eyes snapped open and the spell charging up until now launched itself from his hand two meters in front of them.

The spell caused the air to ripple as a purple void like gateway formed. The gateway lasted for a mere moment before collapsing into the ghost of a man Jon had seen beheaded just days prior. At this point Jon was to shocked for words and just starred his mouth hanging open slightly.

"Will of the Night's Watch, I apologize for disturbing your rest."

"You're the one they call Ysimr, so many people died because of you! They curse your name in the afterlife!" shouted the ghost.

"I do not regret my actions; however I have need of you, I did not cause your death that was your own doing, you have no quarrel with me." The ghost wanted to argue but its words died in its mouth, it thought for a second before it decided t otalk again.

"And what would someone as powerful as you want with, and oath breaker such as me?"

"I want Information, no not about the world beyond," Bjorn said before the ghost could interrupt him, "But of the events that caused you to break your oath. I want to know about the thing that attacked you and the men you were with."

The ghost seemed to pale even more, despite how it would not even have been possible for a construct of ether. It answered the question nonetheless. The ghost of Will told its tale. It was not long, but it gave Bjorn enough information to work with to start formulating a plan to deal with this threat from beyond the wall. The White Walkers, known by those below the wall as The Others, were a fearsome race of beings malevolent in nature. Bjorn had read about them, but actual had facts were shrouded in layers of superstition.

"Our weapons could not harm them; they broke when they stuck its skin. There was also a Wight. A wilding ling girl, she was just a walking corpse. After the walker killed the two rangers with me, I ran, I ran and did not stop until there was a wall of ice between me and it. Those glowing blue eyes still haunt me even in death."

"Thank you. I will let you return to rest now. The knowledge you gave me now will save many lives." Bjorn released his hold on the ghost letting it return to the afterlife. The atmosphere in the forest around them had become more menacing that it had been before they entered.

"Come Jon, we must return to Winterfell. Necromancy is one of the few magics that will earn you the ire of nature spirits. We are no longer welcome here tonight. Had our intentions not be good, we would not be able to leave the forest. The magic here is old and unused; I think it would be best before they decide we are good targets to practice on."

They left the forest quickly, Jon having to jog to keep up with the pace the Nord walked at. "I did not know the spirits of the dead could be called back to life. I know you can reanimate a corpse with magic. How did you do it?"

"I will not tell you how, but the knowledge for that spell came from when I consumed an Elder Scroll. The power contained within the scroll is no longer mine, but over the last few years, knowledge that I did not previously possess began to appear in my mind, as if I had studied it and committed it to memory."

"Have you learned anything else besides bringing ghosts back?"

"A few things, but you are not yet ready to know of them. Jon, I will be sending you to The Wall soon as part of your training like we talked about. I have a feeling that certain events in the near future will require my intervention. Onto a less serious topic, as the mood tonight has been rather dark. I have decided to teach you how to create a blizzard. Your talent for frozen destruction is nearly unmatched. I will also be starting a new project. I have decided to create a new type of conjuration spell and I will need your input to finalize the prototype I have planned."

BJORN

Bjorn was bestowed the title of Thane again, a reward from Lord Stark for services to the North. At first he wanted to Knight Bjorn, but he declined. Ned knowing that Bjorn would not accept the title, named him Thane of Winterfell, using his full authority before Bjorn could object. He accepted the title; it would be a unique title, the first Thane in Westeros. He had also taken the emblem of a roaring bear as his family crest, the symbol of the Stormcloaks. He was a proud member of the Stormcloaks, and in some way this would be his way of honouring those who had perished in the war against the Empire.

The air was filled with an almost palpable sense of anticipation. The sky was slightly overcast, the grey light that filtered through sapping the colour from the world. Today was the day the king and his entourage would be arriving. The week leading up to their arrival had been rather hectic; as everyone was rushing about making sure everything was ready to host the royal guests.

The Dragonborn's mood was not that of happiness or even excitement. Several things were weighing down on his mind. He had exchanged ravens with the Lord Commander, and he had agreed to have Jon join them as part of his training. The Lord Commander was very grateful for the medicines sent by Bjorn to aid the watch. His medicine being more potent than anything he had ever seen produced by a Maester. While accepting and outsider to join the watch temporarily was against many laws that the Night's Watch stood for, to turn down the aid of an apprentice of someone like Bjorn would be foolhardy.

The members of House Stark were all dressed and waiting for the sound of approaching horses and carriages. Well most of the members of House Stark stood in the courtyard. Arya Stark was not with them as she had snuck out of the keep to go and see the party before they arrived. Her mother disapproved of her unladylike behaviour however she knew nothing she said to Arya would change it.

"They're almost here!" shouted Arya as she ran up to the group in the courtyard. She was slightly out of breath, but here training with Bjorn had paid off in some regards and she was much fitter than she would have been without his training. Her mother just gave her a disapproving look as she fell in line with the rest of her family. Arya was not wearing the dress laid out for her. Instead she was wearing a set of form fitting black leather, with black boots and gloves; and a charcoal cloak fastened around her shoulders fasted with a silver clasp.

Catelyn did not approve of this clothing at all. A rather large argument had occurred between mother and daughter, which were quelled by Bjorn. Catelyn was told in a rather frank manner that to force women into a specific role was unjust, and that in his travels he has met several females who could best almost any knight. Secretly Bjorn had begun to prepare Arya for her role as the only follower of Nocturnal in Westeros. He was unsure what Azura wanted with the youngest female Stark, however with Azura being one of the more benevolent Princes he was not too concerned.

The king was travelling to Winterfell with a rather obvious purpose. Robert was going to ask his old friend and brother in arms to be the new Hand of The King. He was not sure on how Ned would answer when asked. The lord of House Stark was an honourable man none the less and would act in the best interest of the Kingdom. He could now hear the approach of horses; he could smell them to, having the soul of a dragon tended to sharpen the mortal senses to a degree. The Kings entourage was extravagant; the king himself was riding a horse, which seemed to strain under its riders rather rotund form, whilst his family followed in a wheelhouse of a rather ostentatious nature. They came to a stop in front of the assembled Starks. The king tried and failed to dismount his steed.

"Well, in none of you going to help me?" he asked indignantly. This spurred several of the servants to rush forward and help the king to dismount. The younger members of the assembled group had to bit their tongues to keep them from bursting out in laughter. After finally dismounting his horse Robert walked forward towards Ned. He stopped barely two feet away from the Warden of the North.

"You have gotten fat." The King stated bluntly. Ned's only reply to this was to look at Robert, one eyebrow slightly raised as if to say, 'Not as much as you'. The king's statement caused for a rather pregnant pause before both men burst out laughing. "Catelyn, you are as lovely as ever," said the king as he turned to greet Catelyn.

"Thank you my Lord. You seem to be quite healthy." She replied, the jib at his weight going unseen to most, even the king. Those of higher intelligence got the joke, but remained silent.

"You must be Sansa, you will be a real beauty one day." Sansa blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, your grace, but I am sure my beauty pales when compared to the queen." Robert gave a small grunt of amusement at the obvious sucking up Sansa was attempting.

"You are Bran, if I am not mistaken," Robert stated as he looked at the middle Stark child. "Yes, I am your grace," answered Bran. "I can tell you will be a strong able soldier when you are older."

The King greeted all the stark children rather warmly, giving out some small compliment to each. He stopped when he saw Bjorn standing behind the family. He blinked as if to take in the sheer size of the man technically Nord.

"Who are you?"

"I am Bjorn Svenson of House Kodaav, Thane of Winterfell, your grace, Lord Stark took me into his home ten years ago, I have been a loyal protector of his family since. I am one of the sword and bow masters here at Winterfell. Jon Snow here is my apprentice." Bjorn did not bow, nor did he break eye contact with Robert. This shocked some, but refrained from commenting or acting. Robert had an instant respect for this man. 'This man values people by their actions and not by their titles' the king thought to himself.

"Well you're a right beast of a man," boomed Robert humour clear in his voice. "What is a Thane? I have never heard of such a title in my life."

"I will tell you at a later time your grace, I mean no disrespect but I think your family would lie to disembark and stretch their legs a bit. A month on the road must be tiring even if it is in luxury."

Their conversation seemed to end after that, Robert returning his attention to Ned. "I wish to pay my respects, lead me to the crypts."

"The dead can wait my love; we have been on the road for a month." Robert seemed to completely ignore Cersei's objection, as he followed Ned to the Stark family crypts. The was obvious resent towards Robert coming from the queen. Bjorn did not like Cersei. There seemed to be something foul about her. The sneer on her face disappeared as quickly as it appeared when she spoke to her twin.

"Jaime, go find the lecherous imp of a brother. He won't be that difficult to find," disgust clear in her voice.

It irked Bjorn the way she spoke about her brother. Family was important to Nords, and to speak with such disdain for someone you share blood with was frowned upon by most. The flirtatious smile shared between Joffery and Sansa did not go unnoticed. What most would not have seen however; was the look of determination Sansa was had, she hid it well behind her façade as a timid highborn lady, but underneath she was ambitious and cunning. If the rumors about Joffery's disagreeable nature were true, he would soon be soiling himself. Sansa detested cruelty.

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SANSA

"Mother, what do you think it is like to be queen?" asked Sansa as he mother helped he with her hair. They were preparing for a feast, in celebration of the kings arrival. "Joffery seems like such a nice boy. I love his golden hair, so different to the shades of brown here in the North," Sansa winced slightly as her mother pulled a bit too tight with one of the segments of the braid.

"I can only but give my best guess. Remember my dear daughter, you will only be queen if your father accepts the position as Hand, and Robert passes on. I would imagine that the role as the queen is much like mine, just with more work and responsibility." Catelyn greatly enjoyed these moments she spent with her eldest daughter. She knew ultimately that her husband would accept the position and leave with Robert to King's Landing, taking Sansa and most likely Arya with him. She reached down for a clip to fasten in Sansa hair, but was stopped by her daughter.

"Wait, use this one instead. Bjorn gave it to me." Bjorn had become very important to her children. She had a love/dislike relationship with him. He brought out the best in her children, but he undermined her authority on a regular basis. The comb clip handed to her was of a strange design, the metal use was gold going by its weight and feel. It looked like a hand with the fingers all ending in flames. Set roughly were the joints would be were small diamonds, with a single diamond in the palm, for a grand total of 14 stones. The diamonds shone and glittered more than any cut stone she had ever seen. This clip would have cost a fortune, but Bjorn never seemed to worry about money, in fact she had never even heard him ask for it.

"This will surely catch the interest of more than one and must have cost quite a bit. I have known the man for ten years and he is still a mystery to me. There all done, I must go and see what your younger sister has been getting up to." As Catelyn left the room, Sansa took out a necklace, the design being of three circles spiralling together in a triangle formation. Encrusted into this one were thirteen diamonds they shone with light similar to those in her hair clip.

Both these items were of great importance to Sansa. They were given to her by Bjorn when he deemed her as an expert in her respective arts. They were lightly enchanted to protect her from poising and projectile weaponry. She had noticed Jon being given a similar gift but his was a rune she did not recognize which he used to fasten his cloak.

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JON

Jon was outside hack at a training dummy. He was frustrated, for some reason we was refused admittance to the feast. Bjorn stood up for him, but it was for naught. He did not notice it but the ground beneath him had frozen solid, with a thin layer of white frost creeping out around him. His sword also had a layer of frost forming on it, a faint mist drifting off, existing for barely a moment before disappearing. He gave one last swing and cleaved the dummy in two. Panting slightly, he sheathed his sword. His dire wolf pup Ghost sat and watched him silently, his only reaction to his masters actions being a slight tilt of the head.

"One day," he said to Ghost, "One day they will respect me." A new sense of determination filled him and he turned to return to his quarters just as his uncle Benjen arrived. Jon looked at him in surprise. "Uncle, what brings you here?" He greeted.

"Jon, it's been a while, I have some things to discuss with the king and since he is in Winterfell, doing so would be easier in person than with ravens. Why are you outside at this hour, should you not be at the feast?" Benjen said as he dismounted and hugged Jon in greeting.

"Bastards aren't welcome at feasts. Not even those who are apprentices. "

"You are an apprentice?"

"Indeed uncle, I have been one for a few weeks. I have learned much and am quite grateful for being selected to be one."

"Who are you apprenticed to if I might ask."

"I am sure you have heard of the man called Bjorn, who arrived here ten years ago." Benjen nodded. Bjorn's name had travelled rather far throughout the North, even up to the Wall, a man nearly the size of The Mountain. He was known for being generous with gold, and always had something useful for the sick. His remedies he sent to Night's Watch had saved many of his brothers at the Wall.

"Well, I was talking to him about taking the Black, when I asked for his opinion he offered to take me on as an apprentice, I think he sees me as a son of sorts and he did not want me to disappear from his life. I will be going to the wall though. Bjorn has been exchanging ravens with the Lord Commander and I have been given temporary position as a sword instructor and builder at Castle Black."

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Cersei had a look of displeasure and disgust on her face as she looked at Robert group the serving girl in his drunken haze. She hated the man; he was nothing like the warrior he had been during the rebellion. All he was now was a fat drunk brute, a putrid man with temper. She had gone to great lengths to never bear one of his children. Her children only had Lannister blood. They were her precious little lions.

Catelyn could seeing the mood the Queen was in intervene. "My Queen you look quite lovely tonight, it is impossible to tell that you have been on the road for a month."

"Your hospitality has been adequate. I would have liked my bath in King's Landing but to bring it with me would have been impossible."

"We northerners tend to enjoy a simpler lifestyle than those in the capital." The small talk between the Cersei and Catelyn continued in this fashion, Cersei saying things that in a certain light would be considered rude, but the Lady Stark seemed to ignore those remarks. Sansa chose this interval to make her appearance.

"My, you look beautiful, the dress making you only more so." Complimented Cersei

Sansa blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, your grace." She replied.

"That hair piece and necklace, they are quite striking. Where did you get them?" Cersei was intrigued. The designs of the two jewellery pieces were quite unique and the diamonds set in them would catch anyone's attention.

"They were gifts from Bjorn. He made them, but how he did it I do not know."

"I might have to ask him to make something for me. They are beautiful pieces. How old are you my dear?"

"13, your grace," replied Sansa

"Have you bled yet?" the question was so blunt that Sansa and Catelyn had to take a moment to comprehend what the queen had just asked. Sansa flushed with slight embarrassment.

"No, your grace," replied Sansa, taking the opportunity to curtsey and take her leave. She did not want the queen asking her anymore questions of such a personal nature

"That daughter of yours will do well in the capital. A real lady, a flower as beautiful as her should not be confined to the North."

Catelyn just smiled. Inside she was cringing. If she had learned one thing form the evening thus far it would be that the Cersei, was not all that she seemed. A lion in sheep's clothing.

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ARYA

Arya watcher her sister flirt with the prince. Personally she didn't understand it. She found Joffery greatly annoying as well as full of himself. He was the original target, but she switched to Sansa knowing that the trouble she would cause would be less severe. In hindsight hitting the prince would have caused her less grief in the long run.

The launch of the food morsel was perfect. It arched through the air, its trajectory easy to see. It struck Sansa in the face with a soft splat. The look of shock was priceless for Arya. She did not expect Sansa's revenge to be so swift though. The candles around Sansa flared slightly, her elder sister levelling her gaze onto her. Without warning Sansa cast a spell at her, Arya knew it was from the Illusion school of magic, but not fast enough to dodge it. The spell moved quickly through the air, the nearly colourless purple spell, going unnoticed by the guests, all of them with vary degrees of intoxication.

Arya's world flipped when the spell hit her. Suddenly everything was inverted; she didn't bother trying to move since she knew she would fall. Fortunately or unfortunately, her mother saw the whole altercation and with a single look had her eldest brother take her away.

Robb carried her under his arm away from the feast. "Arya, will you ever learn?"

"hguone tasf t'nsaw tusj I" came an unintelligible reply.

"She hit you with that inverting Illusion didn't she?" Arya shook her head. "That one is rather nasty, she used it on me once, took three hours to wear off. I am going to put you down just sit on the floor. Give me a second to dispel it from you." Arya waited patiently. She had closed her eyes, but that didn't help much. She still felt as if she was hanging upside down.

Robb, concentrated as ball of light smaller than an apple formed in his hand. The light pulsed out sending a faint wave of light out in a circle around him. The wave washed over Arya and the illusion placed on her dispelled.

"Thanks, I don't see why you don't like being skilled in Restoration. It's so useful. You could heal yourself in the middle of a fight; do you know how much that would demoralise your opponent?"

"I have never thought of it like that. I can't heal broken bones yet though, Bjorn said he will teach me how next week."

Come if you dress differently then maybe you can sneak back to the feast.

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BJORN

Bjorn was drifting through the crowd at the feast. Sanguine would be so proud at the amount of drinking taking place around him. Though he was not the kind to sleep around, being rather conservative about the whole thing, he did enjoy getting himself severely intoxicated on mead, but due to honey being hard to come by in the North, it was a vice he was rarely allowed to indulge.

He was not paying attention as to where he was walking and walked straight into Jaime Lannister. Jaime though not a man of slight build felt as if he walked into a wall and found himself flat on his arse.

"I ask for your forgiveness, Ser Jaime, I did not see you." Bjorn reached out his hand to help the King-slayer to his feet.

"Think nothing of it; it should have been me who was more attentive and I am sure if you had meant it I would be getting up anytime soon." Jaime accepted the hand offered to him and quickly returned to his feet. Jaime had the looked like and Imperial. Bjorn was sure he would not stand out in The Imperial City.

"My brother in law was right, you are a beast. I felt as I had met with a wall. You may call me Jaime, you seem like a man who does not care much for titles."

"A man is defined by his actions. This land has too many title and not many men are deserving of the one they are given. How are you enjoying the feast?"

"The atmosphere is certainly lively. However I much prefer the celebrations of those in the capital. This kind level of alcohol consumption is more to my brothers liking. I have noticed you drifting about all evening. Do you not enjoy celebrations?"

"I have a lot on my mind. I have learned disturbing news, my apprentice is being denied entry to the feast on account of him being a bastard and the weather here does not favour bees."

"Bastard or not, an apprentice should be allowed, to follow his master. Why does the lack of bees upset you?"

Bjorn smirked. "I see you caught that last bit. Well in simplest terms. Bees make honey, and honey is used to make mead. I like drinking mead; ale and wine are not to my liking. Simple really, though I do have one casket of mead, but I am saving it for a special occasion, and it is not enough for me to get thoroughly smashed on."

"I prefer wine myself. You are one of the sword masters here correct. I must ask what type of sword you use."

"Well I am a Sword and Bow master here. Some of the guards still flinch when they see me approaching. I know you have a reputation as being quite gifted with a sword, so what type of sword do you think I use?" Jaime gave a grin.

"Well master of Bows and Swords, I would say you use a claymore or a long sword, someone of your size could easily over power a smaller opponent with a weapon of that size."

"Then you would be surprise to hear, that I use two one handed swords. I would like to fight against you some day, test my metal against yours."

"Something that I too would enjoy, being the best can be boring, a challenge is always exciting."

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"Sorry you were not able to attend the feast," said Bjorn to Jon as they were out in the woods. Bjorn had told Jon that they would be heading out to of hunting. This was just a ruse played by Bjorn. He actually wanted to get into contact with a certain Prince.

"It matters not. I know you tired your best to get me inside. What are we hunting by the way?"

"I have not yet decided on what our quarry will be." As they began to move deeper into the woods the ambient light decreased. It made the hairs on the back of Jon's head stand up. "I asked the smith to forge Arya a sword."

"That is kind of you. Why though she can protect herself without one."

"Ah, but I was thinking, no one really knows about our magic, so if she has a sword people will think that's all she can do, so if she is ever in danger she has another option, it is also good to always have weapon, we don't have the magika reserves that you have."

Bjorn laughed at that. He stopped abruptly, Jon nearly walking into his back. He held is hand up. Silencing Jon's question before he could ask it, it was at this moment that Jon realised that there was not a single sound coming from the forest. It was if all sound was being sucked out. His heart began to beat faster as an unknown fear began to stir inside him.

Jon felt like prey. As if some great animal was staring at him form an unseen vantage point, his master remain completely still. His should were tensed and his hands glowed with contained magic, conjuration in one and pulsing frost in the other. Jon heard movement spinning around dropping his bow and drawing his sword. He was surprise to see nothing. It was then that he felt a presence behind him, he turned slowly.

The presence turned out to be a humanoid significantly taller than Bjorn. He was dressed in leathers and his head was adorned with a deer skull, obscuring his face. In his hand was a spear. Standing next to him was a massive wolf, too big to be of a natural origin. The power that rolled of the man was enough for Jon to almost wet himself. He required all his willpower to keep his pants dry.

"Dragonborn, why does one as faithless as you call upon me?" The figure spoke in a deep baritone. "My power is limited in this world."

"Lord Hircine, I am honoured that you would answer my call. I can see you are having great difficulty staying in this plane. I will not keep you long." Bjorn spoke with a tone of respect, one that Jon had not heard from him in a long time.

"What do you want from me mortal?" Hircine's voice now possessed a slight tinge of annoyance.

"I am no longer some mere mortal. Technicalities aside, I wish to have the Wolf's blood. Not for myself but people who would benefit from the blessing. I would also think that a few followers here would do you well. "

"Interesting request, I shall grant it. This world has not had a proper hunt, and your willpower to meet with me will not be enough for me to enter the plane whenever I want to." In Hircine's hand appeared a spherical flask filled with a red blood-like substance.

"Thank you; I will start the rumours which will bring you your first followers in this world."

Hircine, gave a curt nod. "May you be successful in your endeavours."

Jon blinked and Hircine was gone. "I am impressed; your first meeting with one of the Princes and you didn't shit yourself."

"I wasn't aware that they could come here."

"They can't actually; they need worshippers to give them strength to enter this realm. I won't put my faith into the higher beings, they are rather fickle, and I carve my own path. It was not belief that allowed Hircine to enter this plane, it was my determination in the fact that I know he is real. It was the actions of Nocturnal that gave me the idea of trying to bring one here."

"What did Nocturnal do?"

"It is not my story to tell, nor is it finished yet. Don't worry though; I'm sure you will be informed once the pieces start to move."

Bjorn's gut had a sinking feeling. Something had happened while they were gone. Subconsciously he had been quickening his pace to the point where Jon was jogging lightly to keep up with him.

His gut proved him right because the castle was in a commotion when master and apprentice arrived at the keep; people were running about like chickens without heads. Bjorn's presence in the courtyard was instantly felt. A male voice called out to them

"Bjorn!" it was Robb who had been shouting. His eyes filled with fear and hopelessness. Bjorn grabbed the youth by his shoulders and held him still. "Please save him. I did everything I could but he won't wake up." He was on the verge of crying. His unshed tears caused by frustration and the feeling of failure. Bjorn pulled him into a hug.

"Hey it is all right, I am here now. Who was hurt?" Bjorn's voice was soft. It brought Robb great comfort, taking him back to the times when he was sick and Bjorn tended him alongside his mother. "Bran fell… He fell so far… His back, I tried my best I couldn't heal him. Please you need to help him."

Upon hearing that Bran fell, all colour drained from the Nord's face. If Bran fell it was from one of the high towers. Bran was also very sure footed, so something must have caused him to fall. His demeanour changed, becoming strangely calm.

"Where is he now?" He asked voice still soft but with a keen edge.

"In his roo-" Robb was interrupted before he could finish.

"Jon, I want you to take Robb to my study. On the floor next to the bookshelf is an urn. In it are three scrolls. Bring all three to Bran's room, and charcoal. Robb look at me. I will save him. I am proud of you. Now stop worrying and go with Jon and get those scrolls."

The door leading to passageway to Brans room exploded from its hinges. Not caring for the few splinters it earned him. He would have it repaired later, but if they didn't want it destroyed it should have opened when tried the handle.

The mood in Bran's room was tense. His mother was at his side stroking his hair; her eyes closed her lips moving in silent prayers. He cleared his throat. Catelyn stop and looked at him. Her eyes red and puffy with tears, "Please save him. Robb did what he could. I beg you please save him."

He answered her in the tone he used when comforting people. "Cat, I will save Bran, he is an important and special person to me too."

"Bjorn we found the scrolls you were asked for." Said Jon with Robb closely behind him, Sansa was with them too.

"All right, Catelyn you will need to leave the room, you can stay outside the door, but I will need people with magicka," Catelyn nodded her head and got up moving out of the room quietly, knowing that here hovering over his shoulder as he worked would not save her son. Bjorn turned to the three at the door. "Sansa I am glad you came, your help will be appreciated. Hand me those scrolls please."

Bjorn unrolled them, intricate runes written in complex patterns written on them. "Jon, I know you will recognise this. I want you and Sansa to copy them onto the outside of the door and the adjacent walls on either side of the door inside the room. This one goes onto the door and these two the wall. Use charcoal to draw the runes. Finalize the schemes with a drop of blood in the centre, it will cause the runes to straighten and centre themselves, but do not push any magic into them. I don't want those schemes active yet. Robb I need to keep Bran from bleeding out. I am going to cut open his back so that I can make sure his bones heal correctly and don't damage his spine."

The three youths sprang into action, Jon producing the needed charcoal from his apprentice pouch. Robb turned his brother onto his stomach and removed his shirt gently.

Small blade appeared in Bjorn's hand, ethereal in nature. He cut carefully using just enough pressure to open the skin. The bones in Bran's back were shattered by his fall. Thankfully Robb's magic had healed his nerve tissue and organ damage rather nicely. Magic was a strange thing, when given a purpose it would usually do things that were beyond the casters knowledge, almost as if it were sentient to some degree. Restoration itself worked best on living tissue, healing what the caster intended back into its most natural position, bone being dead to a certain degree made them difficult to heal with magic. Bones required a unique type of Restoration spell to be healed properly.

The yellow white glow of healing magic sprang to life between Bjorn's hands; it had a green tinge on the outer edges. The Nord knew he had to act fast. Robb was already straining on keeping Bran's blood from running out of his body, having taxed his reserves saving his little brother from the brink of death. Like building a three dimensional puzzle, the pieces of bone started aligning in place. The magic guiding them to the correct position, it took time and Robb was nearly passed out from exhaustion nothing but pure willpower keeping him going.

With the final bone set into place Bjorn focused his magic on healing the bone itself. The cracks between the bones shone with magic. Slowly the light and the cracks began to fade, leaving whole bone. "Robb, you can stop now, I can heal the rest."

Robb collapsed on the floor next to his brother's bed. His reserves having run completely dry. Bjorn now focused on healing all the connective tissue, muscle and finally skin. He worked carefully on each layer leaving nothing but smooth unscarred skin when he was done.

"Done, he is healed. Now I need to bring him back to the land of the wakeful. But first I need to get Robb to a bed" Bjorn pick Robb off of the floor, carrying the eldest Stark child to his room with great ease, Sansa and Jon following behind him.

"Bjorn, those rune schemes we had to draw. I know what some of the runes are used for. Why would you want us writing containment runes on Bran's door?"

Robb was placed onto his bed gently by Bjorn. "Jon you know that person we met earlier. He gave me something. That something will be the final piece to healing Bran. He gave me the Blood of The Wolf. Drinking it will curse of bless the consumer with lycanthropy. The first transformation is rather violent; I don't want to set a werewolf loose in Winterfell."

"You went out seeking Hircine didn't you," accused Sansa. Her eagerness for magic caused Bjorn to tell her about the Princes much earlier than he planned to tell any of the other children. "I can't believe you managed to bring a Prince into our realm. I want to hear how you did it but you can tell me later."

"I planned on offering it as a choice to the members of House Stark, but I will unfortunately have to take Bran's freedom to make that choice himself away." They returned to Bran's room. He looked much better now. The colour having returned to his face but he would still not wake, Catelyn having taken the liberty to try waking him with smelling salts while they returned Robb to his room.

"Catelyn, if I said I can bring Bran back healthier and stronger than ever, what would you say?"

Catelyn took a few seconds to think before she answered, "What are the consequences?" She was no fool. She knew the old tales, when dealing with certain magic there was always a give and take. Just because Bjorn was like family didn't mean there would not be a price, though if the price was too steep he wouldn't have offered.

"Bran would be a werewolf. A human who can turn into a ferocious lupine beast at will. However he will be more animal than man on nights of the full moon. When the moon turns red he would become even more so."

Catelyn contemplated this. Who knew when Bran would wake? If he would ever wake, she felt so helpless when they brought him in. She prayed to the gods to help and they did. Now she was being offered a sure thing. But could she do this to her own child…?

"Do it, you said you can save him. I will take the blame and his hatred if he is unhappy."

"Very well, I am going to ask you to leave the room again. Jon, Sansa please active the schemes written on the walls. I will activate the one on the door."

From one of his pockets Bjorn removed the vial given to him by Hircine. The liquid inside brighter than before, he opened Bran's mouth tilting his head back and dripped five drops into his mouth. He quickly closed the youth's mouth hand sealed the vial again. He began to move back quickly from the bed towards the door. He was the last one to leave the room.

The first twitch started when he got to the door. The twitch became a jerk, which became violent shudders and spasms that passed through Brans body. The young Stark's eyes flew open. What Bjorn looked into where not human eyes. No they were the eyes of a wolf, filled with animalistic fury. Bran lunged at Bjorn, who slammed the door shut. The final rune scheme glowed with arcane energy. The three now active rune schemes sent out lines, encircling the room and door. The door shuddered as the beast on the other side tried to break through but the scheme held it firmly shut. No one would be able to enter or leave that room as long as the runes remained active.


	3. Tales from the King's Road

Okay I have written chapter three. I still haven't gotten a Beta, but will be doing so soon. I am ashamed of all the typos in chapter two. I looks as if it was written by a thirteen year old. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I decided not to go back and edit the chapter as it causes a notification every time I make a change and I feel that you as my readers got the just of what i was trying to convey to you. I am also a South African so I use British english not american english, so some of my words will be perceived as a typos but they are not.

The introductory stage of this story is now complete. From here on the plots will thicken, and plans carefully laid out will be scattered to the wind by wild cards appearing. I have dragon speech occurring a few times in the chapter, for the most part translations are provided in text but if you are wondering Kodaav means Bear.

Please leave constructive criticism, reviews and ideas. GOT is a diverse and complex world, my mind is reeling with all the different plots i have to keep track of, each change made by the Dragonborn will cause ripples which I have to account for.

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BJORN

Dark rings surrounded Bjorn's eyes. His back rested against the door to Bran's room. He had kept a silent vigil by the door. His vigil may have been silent but it was not alone, all of Bran's family members where there too canine and human alike. The older members were still awake but Sansa, Arya and Rickon had all passed out. Robb was still out like a light in his room, having pushed his magic to its limits. Rickon was sleeping curled up on his mother lap. Arya had curled up against Bjorn's side, Sansa was at the other.

The entire pack of direwolf pups had congregated around Bjorn's legs. They slept in shifts, one pup always keeping a look out for new developments. The door did not stop shuddering the whole time they had been there. The runes, glowing with their arcane light, kept the door shut but it was slowly draining Bjorn dry of magicka. The ambient magic in the keep was not enough to sustain the runes, with most of it being absorbed by the Godswood.

Unheard to normal human ears, Bjorn heard the heartbeat of the werewolf that was Bran slow down. The attempts to break through the door became less forceful as the beast blood inside Bran's body calmed. This could not have come at a better time as the Bjorn was now running on fumes. When the door stopped shuddering, Bjorn cut the flow of magic to the runes. The rune scheme slowly lost their light and power.

"He is human again," Bjorn's words did not cause immediate action. The people around him were all exhausted, being emotionally and physically drained from the transpired events. "Come Arya, Sansa, it is time you return to the land of the wakeful, both my arms are dead." The two sisters stirred slowly, blinking the sleep from their eyes.

"You know Bjorn, you make an excellent pillow," said Arya as she got up. The wolves moved away when their masters got up. Bjorn stretched, his joints popping rather loudly as he did. This was accompanied by his yawn, which sounded more beast than man.

"I know all of you want to see Bran now, but I think that his parent should be allowed in first. Ned, we will have to move him to a new room to. This one will be wrecked." Ned and Catelyn moved to the front of the small crowd, ashen faces with ring not dissimilar to those possessed by the Nord. The door opened slowly.

It was as if a tempest had been unleased within the confines of the warded space. The bed was shredded; bits of bedding, feathers, pieces of cloth and splintered frames were all that remained. The wardrobe was in a similar state along with its contents. Curled up in a foetal position was Bran. He was also as clothed as the day he was born. The dark mop of hair on his head comparable to a bird's nest, with bits and pieces of wood and feathers caught in it. The floor had gouge marks, being the only thing along with the ceiling not to have a layer of magic protecting it.

Ned moved over to pick up his son. He wrapped his cloak around him and hugged him close as he lifted him up. Ned walked past Bjorn. Their eyes met briefly, in that instant words were not necessary for Ned to describe his gratitude. Bjorn remained in the room, giving the family some privacy. He watched Ned carry his son to their master bedroom, two packs of wolves following him, one human one animal.

At a very reserved pace Bjorn made his way to his quarters. He regretted for the first time choosing a top floor in a tower as his bedroom, the slayer of hundreds of dragons fell onto his bed unceremoniously. Sleep came within moments.

Bjorn found himself in a skeleton forest, the trees bare of all foliage with bark whiter than dried bone. He moved through the trees. The ground beneath was bare and more than once he nearly tripped on a knarred root. A raven's caw drew his attention. Perched on a tree branch in front of him was an albino raven. Three beady red eyes starred back into his blue ones. The avian twisted its head nearly 180 degrees. It cawed as it returned its head to the normal position.

The raven took wing and flew a few yards away before landing on a tree again. It cawed again, indignantly, egging him on to follow it. This went on for miles, the woods around never changing as he moved through it. The raven disappeared when he came to a corpse of trees. Not normal trees though. All of them had faces with serene expressions carved into them. These were werewoods, they too were leaf less. The faces all looked at a stone centred in the small clearing that the trees surrounded.

Slowly he moved forwards as he drew near voices began to chat, they sang the same verse over and over. It was strangely familiar harmony. Written on the stone in the Dragonish script he knew as well as his mother tongue, was the chant he kept on hearing.  
Realisation set in as he continued reading, the voices becoming clearer and clearer the further he progressed.

_Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin_,( Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn_,)_

_Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal_! (To keep evil forever at bay!)

_Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan_, (And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,)

_Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal_ (Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray)

It was the old song about the Dagonborn, sung by his ancestors; well… it was the first verse of it. He also sung it, as a small child, not really knowing the words or their meaning. However as they were written now they had power. This was a reminder he realised. Though he might no longer be part of a prophecy, his soul was given a duty when it was created. He was bound to this duty with honour and soul.

His duty was to keep the evil at bay. To never let it harm those who could not defend themselves from it. A single line at the bottom of the song verse struck him to the core, it was not part of the song verse, but closely resembled it. It was also in Dragonish, making their meaning and power so much more profound than had they been written in common. Wah dein _fin_ vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal (To keep the evil forever at bay). He decided there that those words would be his motto from now on, but he would change the first word to make it a family motto. This epiphany caused the woods around him to change. It was as his Kyne had breathed life back into it.

Bjorn's dreams became a blur of colours and sound after that, his mind having had little rest the last few days. As it processed and sorted information, knowledge that was not his own also began to take root. Spells he had never heard of nor used became like old habits. Shouts of power etched into his dragon soul, as world already known to him gained new meaning.

Two days of uninterrupted sleep later saw Bjorn waking up more refreshed and energized than he had ever been. He took his time bathing himself; he cropped his beard short again, along with cutting his hair significantly shorter, ending just above his jawline. Finding the length it had been at the last month annoying. Longer hair was great and all but it tended to get very grimy and caught up dirt like a mop.

When he entered the dining area of Winterfell he was tackled by Bran. The young wolf hugging him with strength deceptive of his size, the Stark's scent had also changed, smelling much more like a wolf than of a man. "I see you are up and about. How do you feel?"

"I feel great; my senses are so sharp, it is as if I had been living with cotton in my nose and ears." Bran Stark looked different to. He was taller and had more muscle on him than a nine year old ought to have. He was no longer the skinny youth he was before his fall.

"You should thank your brother; I just made you walk. Robb, he saved your life."

"I did, but who taught him how heal? You made everyone worry you know. You slept like the dead, Jon tried to wake you after the first day, but he is missing an eyebrow now. You sent a fireball at him in your sleep." Bjorn chuckled, a deep rumbling sound like gravel grinding together. He followed Bran to the table, the food available was plentiful but I looked as if there had already been one meal eaten here by a group of people. He seated himself and began eating immediately, having gone two days without food tends to hunger a man out.

"I don't hate you for what you did," said Bran, his voice softer and less excitable. "I would have said yes had you been able to offer me." Bjorn's seemed to sag as if an invisible weight had been lifted off of him.

"That is a great relief. How do you feel emotionally? I know becoming a werewolf tends to make one more aggressive."

"Not so much as you would think. I am able to keep it under control for the most part, but only time will tell if can keep myself in, it has only been two days. I went out last night; I ran through the woods as a beast. I will have to practice a lot, when I turn I have difficulty going against my instincts. I can also do this really intimidating growl now when I am a human." Bran demonstrated this by growling at Bjorn. While the sound was intimidating, Bran's look was not, this was a source of great amusement to the Nord who just laughed which caused Bran to huff with exasperation

"Was anybody aware of the fact you went out last night?" The young boy was given a look by Bjorn, similar to his mother when he did something irresponsible.

"Yeah, Sansa knew, she helped me out of the keep. She told me what you did; she seemed to know more about the whole thing than any of the others. I also know that you slept for two day because you used all your magicka. Jon knew, after some study, that those wards wouldn't have stayed active unless someone kept them so. Thank you from keeping me from hurting anybody."

"Think nothing of it; you're a little brother to me. Can you remember what caused you to fall?" It was a well-known fact that Bran had excellent balance and that he could climb a wall even in the rain.

"I knew you were going to ask eventually but I can't. I can barely remember the events of the day before."

"Don't worry about it. Your alive and if I must say so myself, you came out on top. Will you be traveling to the King's Landing with your father and me?" Bjorn had decided roughly the same time he knew Ned would be traveling south as the new hand of the king, that he would follow, the Lord Stark.

"No, if I go then only Robb and Rickon would be here and that would not be fair to them. I am staying here in Winterfell, the king will be leaving tomorrow at first light though, but the king's brother in law, the little man, Tyrion, will be staying here for another day before travelling with uncle Benjen and Jon to go see the Wall." The Nord raised an eyebrow, impressed with the maturity that Bran showed, as well as the consideration to him siblings being left behind.

"Bran, you are now the keeper of the Wolf's Blood, it is unlikely I will be giving it to anyone else in future. You are responsible for granting its power to those you deem worthy, five drops of your blood into a goblet of wine or water, if consumed knowingly and willingly is all that it will take to give someone the gift."

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It was a teary eyed affair come the next morn. The group set to depart south to King's Landing, had varying moods. Those of royal blood wanted to leave the cold damp North, whilst the Northerners and Nord, did not mind the cold weather having been born into or having living in it for a large portion of their lives. The royal wheelhouse had been fully packed and stocked for the journey down south.

Bjorn's horse, Shadowmere – named after the legendary horse of the Dark Brotherhood, had a coat darker than pitch, was fully saddled and ready for the journey. The horse's mother had passed on shortly after its birth and Bjorn had then taken the foal and raised it himself. It was not a normal horse, having been fed with food infused with magic, it had become a giant amongst horses. Standing at 20 hands, it was by far the largest horse in the North. It had to be, due to its rider being equally big amongst men.

Bjorn gave his apprentice a massive bear hug. Said apprentice was not expecting this and gave a small startled yelp of surprise. Bjorn released Jon, laughing at his apprentice's reaction. "Some fierce warrior you are,"

"I am fierce, but you make less noise than a cat when you want to. Be careful in the capital."

"Don't worry I will be. However death does not scare me nearly as much as it scares you mortals." Bjorn had recently revealed to Jon, the true depth of his immortality. Commanding his apprentice to run a blade through his chest and pull it out again. Jon reluctant at first could only stare in shock and morbid fascination as the wound sealed up again after he did as he was told.

"I have left you a book in my room. You can't miss it; it glows a bit and floats in the air. It is a grimoire, I have imparted the majority of my spell knowledge into it. However you will only have access to the spells you will be able to use efficiently, you need to practice your magic, as it is like any muscle and only grows stronger through continuous use." Bjorn's face went from teacher to serious commander within moments. "Jon it is of great importance that you give this letter to the Lord Commander when you get to Castle Black."

Jon accepted the letter handed to him. It was sealed in an envelope of yellowed paper. It was sealed with blue wax, the emblem of House Kodaav, the roaring bear, pressed into it. "I will personally hand this letter to him."

"Jon this is the last time I will be seeing you for a rather extended period of time. I am so proud of the man you have grown into," Bjorn's eyes had become a bit moist, and he blinked rapidly to hold back the tears. "As of today I am naming you my heir. I do not know if I will ever take on a mate and produce children of my own, and if I ever did have children I would want them to be like you." Jon was shocked. His entire body had frozen. Never in his life would he have dreamed of this happening. Bastards did not get much, if anything at all; they were usually seen as stains in a family. He considered himself lucky to have been taken on as an apprentice.

Had Bjorn not taken him on he would soon be riding with his uncle Benjen to take The Black. Now he was being named the heir to a House, not a big one mind you, since it only had two members as of now. He did not bother hiding his tears of joy as he embraced Bjorn. "You know it is not manly to cry," Said Bjorn hugging the young male back, "but we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. It shows that we are not made of stone. Take this seal. It is similar to the one I use, the bear is just smaller and it is not roaring yet."

Jon took the seal, it was a ring, there were words written on it below the bear but it was backwards. "What do those words say?"

"They are the motto for House Kodaav, of our house. Mu dein fin vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal (We keep the evil forever at bay), you know what those words mean. Think about their meaning as a whole, if you can give me the true meaning then I will teach you something I have never taught nor told anyone about."

"I will… Father, I will." It was now Bjorn's turn to freeze up. The mostly stoic Nord having a wave of emotion pass through him that he was unfamiliar with. His only reply was to hug Jon again.

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EDDARD

Eddard watched the interaction between his Thane and son. Sorrow welled up inside him as he saw the bond the two shared, similar to the bond shared between him and Robb. He wished he was that close with Jon, but he could never be. He loved his bastard, but his duty called him to favour his legitimate children.

He did not know what to expect of this journey south. He had a feeling of foreboding however. There was a malicious plot afoot in the capital and he would get to the bottom of it all.

"Ned, see to it that you are careful, there are far too many lions in king's Landing than I am comfortable with and I fear for your safety."

"My dear wife, I will be vigilant, don't worry so much. I worry more for those who threaten me. Bjorn is very protective of us all and our eldest daughter can do things to a man, that will make him soil himself at the mere sight of her." Sansa Stark had gotten herself a name in the North, the small folk called her the Scarlet justice. She never executed anyone, nor did she touch or poison them. When dealing her judgement she took no longer than a minute or two at most. The innocent was left with no recollection of what transpired between them and the eldest Stark daughter, the guilty were whimpering messes, incapable of talking about what happened to them, but became model citizens after it, many of whom had decided upon taking the black, in repentance of their crimes.

"I doubt a more honourable and loyal man than him has ever graced our lands and I have watched Sansa, work her magic on some of the more unsavoury criminals brought in for judgment. Send me a raven when you get to King's Landing." Catelyn knew that between the two of them Sansa and Bjorn could fend for themselves. She worried about Arya though but Bjorn put her worries about her to rest. She was the chosen of Lady Luck, no harm would befall her daughter.

"I will send one first thing my love; I will not sleep before the bird has taken flight."

Ned shared a kiss with his wife. It was short, but no less passionate, for he did not know how soon he would see his beloved again.

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BJORN

The procession moved at a steady pace down the King's Road, the mounted horses enjoying the pace set by the wheelhouse which housed the royal family. Bjorn rode a few feet behind the king and his liege lord. The two were in deep discussion catching up on the general events that had transpired in the other's lives since the last time that had met.

Shadowmere was a bit restless; he did not enjoy the pace the procession was moving at. Bjorn did not ride him as often as the horse would have liked and the mount was itching to gallop at full speed for miles and miles. The country side was unspoiled as they moved south. The wilderness of the North remaining mostly untouched, Bjorn savoured every breath of fresh air he could for he knew how much big cities stank.

As they reached the last third of their journey Bjorn found himself, to his great displeasure, in the company of the queen and the heir apparent, it was his own fault really, having ridden to close to the wheelhouse when the queen and prince sat on its outside for some fresh air. He could see the queen loved her children, but her overall haughty manner annoyed him. It was times like this that he had to fight to keep his dominating dragon soul at peace. It was when Joffery opened his mouth and brought forth to the world his lack of general intelligence on how things worked that Bjorn had enough.

"Arrogant little thing aren't you," said Bjorn interrupting the prince causing him to turn red with anger.

"How dare you speak to me like that? I am a prince, one day I will be the king." Joffery showed his maturity or lack thereof in a manner most childish. Bjorn remained impassive and unintimidated by the child's words.

"I do not see how what I have said is a falsehood, _your grace_. Compared to me you are little, and the way you speak tells me that you have never seen the cruelty of the world but your own, therefore you are arrogant."

"Do you really think it is wise to speak like that?" asked Cersei, who had remained silent up until now. The veiled threat was rather apparent.

"I feel that if the prince does not have someone set him straight he will run the kingdom to ruin when he is king, your grace." The Nord did not change his tone nor show any outward emotion, adopting his rather expressionless monotone he reserved when dealing with arrogant fools.

"Fine then," said Joffery, in a rare show of humility "If I am such a fool, correct me then." This came to a surprise to the queen, her son was more arrogant than any Lannister she knew, so for him to admit to a mistake was a rare thing indeed.

"I will do as you command little prince." Bjorn adjusted himself slightly in his saddle as to better face the prince. "First off, your whole perception of being king has been severely skewed. A king is only as strong as the people willing to follow him. Your father proved himself during his rebellion to be a strong warrior. As such people respect him. You have accomplished nothing of note, and any respect you have comes from who your parents are. This means you need to prove yourself worthy to the people, the smallfolk the ones you rule over they are your power. Inspire them, gain their loyalty through deeds and not command and you will have them dying in your name with pride.

Your second fault is your arrogance, you are not always right, you have little to no knowledge of how things work in reality. The world is not black and white. It is painted in shades of grey; your upbringing is mostly at fault here. To put it bluntly, the sun does not shine out of your arse. I suggest you go and study up about all the kings that have ruled Westeros, if you can identify where they made good and bad decisions then you will be one step closer to being less arrogant.

The last thing is can say is more of a warning, there are people in the world with power that do not care for titles and positions. The gods of my home gave me a duty when my soul was created, that duty is to protect the world from evil, to keep it at bay. It was a duty I was reminded about recently by the gods of this world.

The majority of the pain and grief in the world is caused by the evils of man. Should you not change your ways you will become a cruel king. Should that be the case, I will end you. There is nothing you do will be able to stop me from doing so."

The look in Bjorn's eyes at the end of his monologue sent shivers down the spines of both Cersei and Joffery. The look was predatory in a way. He was the apex predator; they were cattle, his prey. It caused their hearts to race as their fight or flight instinct kicked in. Bjorn left them in their silence, having his mount slow down so that the wheelhouse passed him.

"Mother, he wouldn't really kill me would he?" asked the prince, anxiety evident in his voice.

"Worry not, my lion; he said only if you became a cruel king would he kill you. Besides if that day comes there will be an entire garrison he will have to fight through to get to you." In her heart Cersei knew her words to be false. That look in Bjorn's eyes showed such determination she knew that even if she had an army ten thousand strong it would not be enough. Joffery would need to change, she realised. His current path would only lead to and early death.

The group stopped at the Crossroads Inn. They were now only a few days travel from King's Landing and it would be their final big stop before reaching the capital. Bjorn took this time to stretch out his legs and give his mount some time to graze. On his way back to the inn he noticed Joffery and Sansa talking, the two walking in the direction to the river. Curiosity took him and slipped from sight, casting a spell he rarely used. Being invisible was a strange sensation and there was a reason why it was not taught to young mages.

Not only did the caster become invisible to others, they also became near invisible to themselves. It was a spell that required great awareness of one's body so that one did not injure oneself needlessly. He followed the two staying just out of ear shot, to the point where his trained ears could not hear their hushed conversation.

Eventually they came upon Arya who was practicing sword forms with Mycah. Well Mycah was just told to block as Arya completed the sets she had been taught by Bjorn. He was impressed with her progress. Though she was using a stick instead of a real sword her form was near flawless when taking her age into account. Their practice was interrupted by the arrival of Sansa and the prince. Bjorn moved closer as to get a better view but the running water made it difficult for discernable words to be heard. He decided not to intervene, children needed to learn how to deal with things on their own. He would just be there to manage the fallout.

Things turned sour rather quickly when Joffrey cut the butcher boy's face, the reason for this was not clear, but judging from Joffrey's body language he was mocking the poor boy. This caused Arya to whack Joffrey with her stick hard enough that it cracked in two, Joffrey's reaction being to turn his blade onto Arya.

This would be a land mark moment in the prince's life. It would be something he would have nightmares about for years to come. Threatening Arya was a mistake, for two reasons, those being the presence of an overprotective older sister and a loyal direwolf familiar.

Nymeria moved first, the animal's reaction beating Sansa's by barely a few breaths. Her fangs sank into the prince's hand causing him to drop his sword. Before he could yell in pain a torrent of flames shot past his face singeing his eyebrows and hair. In an instant he was on his back, blood flowed freely from his wrists. He would have gotten up if Sansa had not pinned him down with her foot.

Her eyes ablaze with rage and dancing around her fingers were the tell-tale signs of a charged fire spell. She seemed to give the prince a warning, he nodded meekly. Arya took the princes sword and with and application of Alteration magic bent it so out of shape that it could never be used again. A very impressive feat as she was mostly self-taught since Bjorn himself knew only the basics of that particular magic school. Sansa gave Joffrey one more look of disgust before hitting him with another spell of her own creation, one that altered memories in particular. She was smart, the spell could not erase memories, just alter them slightly, and Sansa most likely caused the prince to forget about all the magic he had just witnessed.

Bjorn returned back the inn, knowing that the actions of his adopted siblings would have significant consequences that he would have to mitigate to a degree.

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JON

Jon slipped the ring given to him by Bjorn. His eyes widened slightly when he felt his magic flare. The ring was enchanted, not strongly however and Jon knew Bjorn enough that it was most likely an enchantment to prevent poisoning. The keep was rather quite with a chunk of the staff having departed with their lord South to King's Landing.

Jon had packed for his journey to The Wall. All his belongings except one were in a bag. He had gotten a satchel to carry his grimoire. His horse Shadowmane, sired by Bjorn's beast of a mount Shadowmere was saddle and ready to depart before first light. The horse was nearly as big as its father; his colouration was similar too, the only difference being a patch of white that ran like a jagged scar across the mounts chest.

He was sitting in Robb's room; it was late at night, their younger brothers already asleep. The relationship between the two eldest children of Eddard stark having changed from animosity to brotherhood over time, both brothers were studying to a certain degree. Jon reading out of his grimoire and Robb was tinkering with a potion. Bran had offered them the Wolf's Blood, though only Robb had accepted, Jon did not. When asked for a reason he did not supply one. They left it at that and Jon was grateful that they did not bother him about it.

The grimoire given to him was fascinating. It felt alive in a sense, it was drenched in magic, Bjorn's magic, and it was very comforting to hold. The script was all in Dragonish, with the odd mix of Deadric here and there. Jon was the only one currently in Winterfell able to read both fluently. Robb could read and write in Deadric, and Bran had a decent grasp of Dragonish but neither was as fluent as he was.

There was a hissing noise from the alchemy lab Robb was working at, followed by a loud bang and a bright flash of light. The book in Jon's hand snapped shut as he jumped up ears ringing from the noise. Robb had staggered backwards, his one hand covering his face.

"That was not supposed to happen." Said Robb.

"What were you trying to do?"

"I was trying to make a new healing salve. I added to much ammonia to the magnesium mix."

"Well it might not work as a healing salve but think how effective it would be to use at night in a battle." The two brothers shared a look, grins forming on their faces as they realised the implication of this discovery.

They would have continued experimenting had they not heard the yell of despair and the howl of a wolf coming from Bran's room. The two rushed out of the room towards Bran's room, the room having been cleaned before the young Stark moved back in. The sounds coming from the room were of a disconcerting nature. It sounded like flesh ripping. They opened the door slowly.

The sight that met them was gruesome, blood and entrails covered the room. Bran in his werewolf from was tearing a unrecognizable body apart. An ornate steal dagger on the floor, Bran stopped tearing at his victim when he heard sensed their presence, he rounded on his brothers eyes filled with bloodlust. He crouched down. A menacing growl escaped his blood drenched muzzle, his lips pulling back to reveal razor sharp teeth.

The werewolf Bran launched himself at his brother, intending to rend them apart as well. He collided however with a solid wall of magic. A Greater Ward sprung up between the brothers protecting the two human ones. The ward was intensive on Robb's magicka reserves but it kept Bran from going on a killing spree preventing him from leaving his room. Jon blasted his younger brother in the face with a stream of Frostbite. He channelled the spell using both hands increasing its potency.

The sudden arctic blast to the face seemed to have the same effect as a cold bucket of water thrown on a drunk. Bran, snapped out of his bloodlust his eyes gaining human intelligence again. He backed off and his form began to shudder and his bones shifted and popped as he returned to a human form. Robb dropped the ward and rushed forward to his younger brother who stood rooted to the ground, checking for injuries but found none.

"What happened?" asked Jon his voice full of concern, as Robb checked him over.

"A man tried to kill me. I woke up just before he could stab me. I grab his arm and tried to fight him off. I did not know when I changed. I just remember a bloody haze clouding my mind as I tore him apart. "Bran was oddly calm, but Robb attributed this to his younger brother's reaction to being in shock.

"It's alright little brother, the man is gone now. Come let us go get you cleaned up." Bran looked rather grizzly, blood ran from his mouth down his chest and his hands were also stained red all that remained of his cloths were his trousers protecting his modesty, but only barely. "Jon can you please take Bran and get him cleaned. I need to speak with my mother. If anyone asks what happened here, say an assassin tried to kill Bran but his direwolf ripped him apart."

Jon took Bran to his quarters which were directly beneath Bjorn's. Though it was a bit of a walk, he knew they would be safer there than anywhere else. Once he got to the bathing room he filled a copper cauldron above a stall with frost and snow, before melting it by activating the fire rune etched into the side of the cauldron. He heated the water until it was comfortable and warm.

"Come Bran, take those clothes off and get in the stall." His younger brother followed his brother's command and did as was requested of him. Jon pulled a small disk at the bottom of the cauldron which revealed a series of perforation through which the water he had heated up ran out of in a stream. Bran was still in shock, but not completely out of it and worked with Jon who helped was the blood stains out of his skin. Bran dried himself and dressed himself with the clothes provided for my Jon.

Jon took him to Bjorn's quarters, knowing that his adoptive father would not mind him using his bed. With practiced ease Jon removed a small bottle from one of the shelves. It was a mild sedative, one that Bjorn used often when dealing with the sick. It made you sleepy as well as lowering your fever. Jon was just after the sleeping effect and dosed Bran accordingly. He tucked his younger brother into the bed built for a man twice his brothers size.

A flame atronach was brought into the mortal plane of existence a few paces from the bed. Jon had come to the conclusion after a few attempts that the atronachs summoned, by a mage; from Oblivion were always the same one. He had two flame elementals he could summon but this one was his second elemental ever conjured. A second oblivion portal flared into life briefly before collapsing into the imposing form of a frost atronach. This was Jon's first ever elemental he had conjured. Together he worked in perfect tandem with his elemental familiars in combat. "Evain, Yokul guard him, anyone but me who comes to this room is to be knocked out and detained." Evain replied with snapping and popping sound of a hearth fire. Yokul replied affirmative with a low moaning rumble. "Bran these two will protect you while you sleep. I will come later; I need to see Robb and Catelyn." A drowsy moan was all he got from Bran in reply. Jon left the room quietly heading over to where he suspected Robb would be in the keep.

Jon found Robb in deep discussion with his mother and to his surprise Tyrion Lannister. The dagger wielded by the assassin lying on the table between them. Upon closer inspection it was a rather expensive piece. The dagger was of Valarian steel with a dragon bone handle. Someone with money had sent the assassin after Bran There was a tension in the air. His presence seemed to break that tension. Catelyn looked up at Jon when he cleared his throat at the door. Their strained relationship had improved overnight when he announced his adoption into House Kodaav, as a member and heir.

"Is Bran alright?" she would have gone to check on him herself but, there were more pressing matters currently at hand.

"Yes he is. I cleaned him up, dressed him in night clothes and gave him the sedative Bjorn gave us when we got sick, the one that smells of lavender, he is sleeping in Bjorn's bed. I also summoned Evain and Yokul to keep watch over him. They are under orders to incapacitate anyone who enters that room except for me." Catelyn gave a visible sigh of relief. The two atronachs were a fearsome pair. She had sometimes watched Jon's combat training with Bjorn. The three of them worked with perfect synchronicity as they fought against the spectral copies of Bjorn.

"Who are Evain and Yokul? Those names are most strange," asked Tyrion.

"They are the names of a Flame and Frost atronach, some call them elementals. They are my familiars that I can summon, I would appreciate it is you did not spread that around too much."

"Fascinating, you must tell me more when we travel to The Wall," said Tyrion.

"What have you determined about the dagger? Will it help us identify the assassin's contractor?" asked Jon as he sat down at the table.

"The dagger originally belonged to Lord Baelish, who lost it in a bet to Robert. How the assassin got his hands on it is beyond me, but a servant could have easily stolen it from the king. He is drunk most of the time. It would not have been a difficult task. I can tell you now it is no one of my family, using a priceless weapon to kill someone is too elaborate a scheme and a waste. I think this was an attempt by someone in power to frame the Lannisters, our relationship with House Stark has never been on the best of terms, there quite a few houses that would benefit from a war between North and the West." Replied Tyrion, Jon nodded, having studied at Bjorn's request the histories between the major houses. It would make sense, a war between house Stark and Lannister would benefit many of the other noble houses in their never ending quest for power.

"So all we can establish at this point is that, Bran saw something he shouldn't have. This caused him to be pushed from a height to his death. He survived but someone still wants him dead. The second attempt on his life was done to frame the Lannisters, so that the tension between the two houses can be increased and hopefully lead to a war" Summarized Jon

"That is all we can say for now," said Catelyn her voice was tired but filled with frustration.

"When I leave tomorrow morn, with Uncle Benjen and Tyrion send a letter to King's Landing, have Robb help you code it. Lord Stark should be informed of the second attempt on his son's life." Jon showed a remarkable level of maturity when he spoke. He was well chosen as the Heir for House Kodaav.

"Lady Stark, I think it would be a good idea to give this dagger to Jon here as a congratulatory gift, for being named Heir. It is not every day that a bastard becomes a legitimized heir." Tyrion's words were not spoken in malice, but honesty and sincerity.

"I think that idea to be excellent, Tyrion. The weapon is of no use to us, it will not tell us anymore of who sent the assassin after Bran. Jon, please take the dagger. I give it to you; I hope that in future I will be more cordial towards you." Their discussion ended soon after Jon too the dagger.

The next day before the crack of dawn saw three men and a direwolf head out of Winterfell towards the wall. Robb stared at his brothers retreating figure in the predawn glow. The atronachs guarding Bran had been dismissed when Robb offered to stand guard so that Jon could get some sleep.

The group of three moved North at a brisk pace. If they managed to maintain it they would be at the wall within a fortnight. On the way there they were joined by the newest recruits to the Night's Watch.

"Rapist and murders, what a lovely bunch protecting us form the wildings," commented Tyrion. He was riding beside Jon at the front of the group.

"There are more than just wildings beyond The Wall. An ancient evil is waking; Bjorn is sending me to help the Night's Watch prepare for the coming storm." Jon spoke with grim insight. He knew better than most below The Wall of the dangers beyond it.

"Well that sounds rather morbid, what evils are waking?" asked Tyrion

"The Others, they are called the White Walkers by the wildlings. Mortal weapons can't harm them and they can raise the dead as their servants."

"That certainly is grim, and how will you a mere apprentice aid the men of the Night's Watch?"

"I have a unique skillset, not yet as diverse as the one possessed by Bjorn, but enough to be of service to the Watch until Bjorn is able to join us."

They rode on stopping only when the sun was starting to dip below the Horizon. "Tyrion, why do you read so much?" asked Jon

"I am a dwarf. Had I been born to peasants I would have been left out in the woods to die, alas I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock and certain things are expected of me. I read because my mind is my only weapon, and a mind needs books like a sword need a whetstone."

The wineskin shared between the two was finished rather quickly. Jon stared into the fire contemplating the events of the past few days as well as those yet to occur and come.

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EDDARD

The Lord of Winterfell looked at his daughter Arya in annoyance. He knew she was a proud person, but she needed to learn that there were consequences to her actions. Sansa was there to, though he did not know what she had done in all of this but the prince whose hair had been singed must have done something to gain her ire. Though judging by the way they interrogated Arya, Sansa's actions were not mentioned by either party.

"Why was I not informed that Arya had been found? What are you interrogating her about?" He spoke with the authority he held as Warden of the North.

"Who gives you the right to speak to the king in such a tone?" replied Cersei. Joffrey stood by his mother's side smug expression on his face.

"Quite! Woman, their stories are conflicting, at this point I do not know which one to believe." Robert also had a look of annoyance on his face. He found the whole thing trivial, but Cersei would not stop bothering him until he did something.

A loud shout was heard from outside the beginning not clear the last word was like a thunderclap, "…RAH!" Suddenly the doors to the inn were blasted apart by a concussive force that made gale force wind seem as insignificant a breath by comparison. Bjorn walked in, his eyes filled with fury. Ned had known the Nord for ten years, and in all that time he had never seen him this angry. In one arm he carried the butcher's son, Mycah who was unconscious and in the other he dragged a rather large man, also unconscious. His appearance silenced everyone. He walked in slowly, people gasped when they saw that the unconscious man was Sandor Clegane, better known as The Hound, the sworn sword of the prince.

"Can someone tell me, why a grown man, was running down a child with the intent to kill him!" He voice resonated around the room, while at the same time he flung the body of The Hound away from him causing him to bounce and roll for several yards. For the first time Ned saw Bjorn in his full capacity. This was a man who had slain dragons. This was a man who levelled an entire island. This was a man who bowed to no king. Mycah's father moved quickly through the crowd and took the unconscious boy from Bjorn, he retreated quickly his son now in his arms muttering thanks over and over as he walked.

Cersei spoke first, though her voice did not show it she feared Bjorn. "The boy attacked Joffrey, along with Arya, and her beast."

"That is not what happened," interrupted Arya. Ned wanted to slap his daughter for her insolence. One does not interrupt the queen The Seven Kingdoms.

"Hush, Arya," Bjorn's sharp words caused her to stop talking immediately. "It seems as if my advice did not reach the ears of the prince. Judging by the way Joffrey is cowering. I would say he was not man enough to face the consequences of his actions and ran to his mother telling lies to get his way." The Nord's words had a bite to them. It was cold and sharp.

"Where you there to witness the events that transpired?" asked the king. Robert was shaken by Bjorn's rage. It would have put any Baratheon's to shame, considering the House's motto was 'Ours is the Fury', this was quite significant.

"I was your grace. I followed Joffrey and Sansa out of sight and sound. They seemed to just talk at first walking down to the river, and you know a beautiful lady such as Sansa should not be left around with hot blooded male. They seemed to exchange naught but small talk as they continued to follow the river, of what I do not know as I did not want to infringe onto their privacy more than I already had.

When they came across Arya practicing her sword forms, hostilities instigated by the prince caused Arya to react in defence of the butcher's son after your son slashed him across his face. This resulted on Joffrey turning his sword on Arya. Nymeria acted in defence of her mistress, she perceived Joffrey's sword arm as a threat and bit the offending appendage."

"You are loyal to House Stark, your testimony can not be trusted," said the queen. This caused Bjorn to laugh. It was not his characteristic warm booming laugh well known to the halls of Winterfell. It was a cold mirthless laugh. Chills ran down everyone's spine, Sansa and Arya included. This was a side of Bjorn they had never seen.

"Arya, has been personally trained by me for the last four years. She can best men thrice her age and weight with a blade. If she had attacked first, prince Joffrey would be missing a hand, or an arm." His gaze was cold and unflinching when he spoke to the queen.

"I do not care, I want there to be some punishment! Joffrey will bear those scares for the rest of his life." The king cut his wife off before she could continue. Having had enough of the whole affair, though he would never admit it, Bjorn started scaring him when fire began to burn brighter along with all the candles in tempo with how his rage waxed and waned, though it never quite subsided and the blazing fury in his eyes kept on burning.

"Enough, children fight, if Joffrey was a proper son he would not have lost to a girl. Ned, I will leave the discipline of Arya to you, I will also see to Joffrey's punishment personally." Ned was slightly relieved at the chosen resolution.

"What of the direwolf. A beast like that should not be allowed to live."

"The familiars of the Stark children shall not be harmed. Loyal animals like them are hard to come by. I will kill all those involved in actions which cause any harm to befall them."


	4. It was not built, it was summoned

Finally i have completed Chapter for. To be honest the majority of this Chapter had been written a few days after I had posted the Third chapter. I went and finished Skyrim again with all the DLC's which has been keeping me quite distracted, I have also learned many things that I had completely forgotten about the game. I have had employed the help of a Beta reader (Kazaru13) to smooth out the grammatical errors that I am so fond of.

This will be the last chapter with so many point of view shifts. In future expect maybe one or two POV per chapter. Events that occur at the end of the chapter are done with the sole purpose of giving Bjorn a method to travel around quickly. It will rarely be used outside of travel. I have also been very loose with the developmental time frame of the characters. I might be going over it in a flash back(tell me if you want it, since I personally do not care much for them)

Hope you guys enjoy it. please leave constructive criticism or reviews.

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JON

Castle Black though an impressive structure was more of a footnote when compared to the giant ice wall next to it, the black stone from which it was hewn had been weathered smooth over the last thousand years, but the structure still stood solid as ever. The frigid air agreed with Jon and he had shown a remarkable improvement to his overall mood. The majority of the Night's watch brothers were not greatly bothered by his presence. He was currently helping train the newest recruits with their sword work.

"Stop," he said as he could see a fight between three recruits were moments away from breaking out, they ignored him and as he had predicted they started brawling, "I said STOP!" he shouted. A wave of frosty air rippling out from him, the sudden blast of cold air to their faces seemed to bring the three back to their senses. Jon did not keep the fact he could do magic a secret. It would be pointless. Many knew what Bjorn could do it, and with him being the man's apprentice it would be but a logical conclusion that he had similar abilities.

"Stop squabbling like little children and concentrate. You are Brothers of the Night's watch act like it."

Jon was about to deliver a punishment when he was interrupted by Tyrion. "My, my, that is impressive, Jon, I will be heading back to the capital, the Lord commander asked me to send you to him on my way out."

"Safe travels Tyrion, I will go see the Lord Commander right after I deal with these three."

Tyrion gave him a curt nod and turned and walked towards Yoren, who would be accompanying him back to the capital. "Did I tell you that you can stop?" asked Jon turning back to the recruits, the others having stopped to watch his altercation with the brawlers. "Grenn, Pypar, Rast since you three seem so keen on fighting, you will be sparring against me." The three collectively swallowed.

The spar did not last long. The three of them were uncoordinated against Jon, they attacked him one by one, resulting in their swift defeat. Grenn was sporting a broken nose and Pypar's face looked as if he had been out in a blizzard. Rast was unconscious, he tried to attack Jon just after he had defeated Pypar and got elbowed in the face when Jon spun around. Jon had not meant to do it, not that he would ever admit it, and knocked the man out cold.

"Grenn, Pypar, come see me later. I must go speak with the Lord Commander."

Jeor Mormont watched Jon go at the new recruits from the balcony. It pained him that the boy would not be joining the watch, he showed such potential. His swift victory over the new recruits was rather amusing, but he saw that there was more to it than just humiliation. He wanted to teach them something.

The letter Jon gave him did not put him at ease at all. The undead was something told as childish horror stories. He himself would not have believed it if Bjorn did not show him it was possible to make a corpse move about again. Jon looked up and the two of them made eye contact briefly. They shared a nod and Jeor moved back into the keep.

Jon found Jeor in the library. It was one of the few constantly warm places in the keep, as the books did not do well with the cold and the damp that accompanied it.

"Your sword play is rather impressive."

"Thank you Lord Commander, Bjorn and Ser Rodrick taught me well. However I think I would be correct in assuming you did not want to see me to compliment me on my swordsmanship."

"You are correct. The letter Bjorn sent me bore little good news. I was thinking of sending an expedition beyond the wall again, but now, I think to do so would be foolish."

"The undead can be a menace, they do not feel pain nor fear, so most of the standard battle tactics are useless against them. I do know that silver and fire is particularly effective against them. However I do not know if that would actually work against The Others."

"True, Bjorn said the same thing in his letter. Jon the reason I wanted to see you was to get your opinion on the new recruits. Alliser has too much disdain for them to give me an honest report."

"They show potential sir. Some might even be able to use magic. However most don't really want to be here, they only took the black to escape death."

"I see. It is a shame that we have become what we are. The watch use to be thousands strong, every castle along the wall had been manned but now we barely have enough men to keep three active."

"If you do not mind I would to get your permission to explore the entirety of the keep. The wall is seeped with old magic, but familiar at the same time. I would also like to start training those capable of it in magic."

"I have no problem with you doing either. Though if you find anything important please notify me immediately."

Jon delved into the bowels of the castle, following the draw of magic more than his other senses. He came to a locked door, as he approached it he was hit with a strong compulsion to turn away. However he sensed the illusion magic immediately and banished it from his mind. Once the illusion was gone from he was able to study the door in earnest. It showed no signs of wear, and looked new, yet it had to have been eons old. Jon tentatively reached out and grasped the handle. When there was no immediate reaction, such as electrocution he turned the handle. The ancient door glided open without a sound as if the hinges had just been oiled.

Jon froze in shock at the sight before him. He recognized it immediately, as Bjorn had had plans of building his own at some stage and shown him the schematics for its creation. It was an Atronach forge. The thing was massive, he was sure the thing would barely fit into the courtyard of Castle Black.

The forge was also active, as column of ice extended up from it into the ceiling. His eyes widened when he realized what the forge was for. "Well I'll be damned; Bran the Builder didn't build the wall. He summoned it, but from where?" He said to no one in particular.

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ARYA

Arya Stark was agitated, the last leg of their journey was not pleasant for her at all it as she was confined to always being within her fathers sight. The prince was fortunate in the fact that Sansa and Nymeria were there. She would have done so much worse if they weren't. She restlessly paced about her new room. She didn't like it, it was far too big, and she felt exposed and open. Her punishment from her father was that she would be confined to her room for the day. Considering what had happened this was barely a slap on the wrist. She felt incredibly guilty though.

Her mind kept on thinking of what could have happened had things turned out differently. Mycah would certainly be dead, so would her beloved Nymeria. Her familiar was in her room with her. She sat by the window looking out at the city. Arya could see that Nymeria missed the North. It was a mistake bringing her here to the capital. She stopped her pacing and moved back to her bed to continue unpacking.

She ceased sorting out her belongings, which she had brought with her, when she came across her gift from Jon. The sword, Needle, had been packed carefully and wrapped in cloth. The rapier was made for stabbing, not the hacking and slashing she did with conjured swords. She liked the sword; it would be the mask she would use to hide her true ability.

Arya was blessed with raw luck. If chance played a factor in an endeavor she was attempting she would almost always succeed. This was most likely due to her being the favored by Nocturnal; favoritism was something the Prince did not actively show, which only served to make her more special.

Her skill in Conjuration paled in comparison to what she could do with Alteration. Bjorn was amazed since he had a minor skill at best with the almost alchemical branch of the arcane arts. She learned through trial and error, basing her experiments off of what Bjorn had taught her about the branch of magic. On her own she had been able to advance up to an adapt level with alteration spells and with time she would be an expert. To date her two proudest achievements were the ability to transmute iron to silver to gold, in one step, and use the Ironflesh spell, hardening her skin to the point where she had little worry about common steel. Bjorn was extremely pleased with her when she showed him what she could do. She had beamed at his praise.

The Lady Nocturnal had also been visiting her in her dreams, it was a weekly occurrence. Bjorn had told her she did not have to come see him every time she spoke with her mistress, but that if anything dangerous was asked of her that he was to be informed. Nocturnal had no problem with the arrangement, knowing that the Dragonborn would help her champion if she ever needed it. The Deadric Prince trained Arya in a wide array of skills. Train was not the right word; imparting theory would be a better description. Occasionally Nocturnal was joined by her sister. The Mother of Roses, never spoke much but tended to give some profound advice to Arya from time to time.

Needle cut through the air as Arya gave it a few practice swings. She knew she was making horrible mistakes. Her form was off and she knew it. She would need someone to teach her how to use it. She stopped awkwardly mid pirouette when her father entered her room.

"How are you holding up?" asked Ned, he was rather weary from his small council meeting. He was shocked by how much the crown was in debt.

"I feel like I am going to go crazy, I am not use to being confined to one room." She placed Needle on the table. Bound swords flared to life, one in each hand, her father studied the rapier before moving to sit down at the foot of her bed. She started going slowly through her sword forms that Bjorn had taught her.

"That sword is Mikken's work if I am not mistaken," commented Ned as he sat down, referring to the rapier. He watched his daughter flow through her style. It was beautiful, the ethereal swords made for a rather entrancing show. When the style was slowed down as it was now, it looked like a dance. At full speed, it sliced and diced faster than most could block.

"Jon gave it to me as a present. He said people would expect someone like me to use a sword like that, not like these. Just imagine the shock on their faces when I dance circles around them with conjured swords." Arya did not want to be a lady, she refused conform to what society wanted of her. "I am not good at using it though; Needle is made for more delicate work, like stabbing into the exposed joints of a knight's armor. I cannot slash and cut with it like I can with these."

"I will arrange for you to get an instructor who can teach you. Sometimes I wish I had the talent for magic like my children," said Ned as he lit up a small mage light in his hand. Age turned out to be a contributing factor to being able to learn magic. It was not that his body was frail or his mind dull. His mind was just not open enough to the idea of magic. This permanently stunted his ability to use it.

"Well, if anything you always have a light, and you can use the flames spell, so you can always be warm. So many people would give and arm and a leg to be warm at night." Ned was surprised by the maturity shown in that statement. She dismissed the swords and joined her father at the bed resting her head against his shoulder. "Bjorn scared me that night," her voice was small and soft. It betrayed her tough façade, showing that underneath she was still just a little girl, ignorant of the cruelties of the world.

"I think everyone was scared of Bjorn that night," Ned chuckled a bit. He wrapped his arm around his daughter, giving her a tight one armed hug. "You know what though, he was angry because someone tried to threaten you. He considers us his family, you and your brothers and sister are siblings to him. Jon being an exception, he sees him as his son. Since I could never really give Jon more than I already had, I was relieved when he asked to take Jon as an apprentice and name him his heir."

"That is true. Bjorn is a big bear, big and scary but as long as you don't threaten him he leaves you alone." Arya snuggled a bit into her father's side, though he did have a bit of a smell about him, his scent was comforting. "Life isn't fair," she stated bluntly.

"I know my sweet girl, I know. Being Hand of The King is going to be a lot of work. I don't want you spreading this around, but the realm is millions of dragons in debt. To add to this the king is holding a tourney to celebrate my inauguration as Hand; with the total reward money being 80000 dragons." Eddard Stark knew he could trust his daughter not to spread that piece of information around.

"Wait, that reminds me, I want to show you something," said Arya excitement filling her voice. She jumped up and grabbed one of the unlit torches from the wall. Ned got up and walked over to her, puzzled by how his remark about debt could spur her into crabbing an iron light fixture. "You told me something confidential. I have been taught that in the real world, gaining information is a lot of give and take. So, I am going to show you something which can maybe help you a bit. I can see the whole money thing is vexing for you. Here, take this torch. Feel its weight in your hands, the feel of the metal. All right, now give it back to me." Arya took the iron furnishing from her father and gripped it between her hands.

Ned watched with perplexed fascination as the tell-tale light associated with spell work lit up between his daughter's hands. To his utter shock and amazement the black iron started glowing. The glow spread from Arya's hands to the center of the torch. She stopped channeling magic when the whole thing glowed with a blue green light. Slowly the light began to recede. When the glow faded it was not black iron he saw, but the gleaming yellow of gold.

Magical transmutation was different from the alchemical one. The key difference being that magic did not follow the laws of conservation and equivalent exchange. Magic simply changed natural laws to make up for any discrepancies. This is why the torch in Arya's hand had not changed size, but instead increased in mass.

"It took me a while to figure it out, but I can transmute anything made of iron into gold or silver. I am still practicing so that I can do it faster and with just one hand," Ned just stood and stared at the now golden torch in shock.

"W-w-what, but how? This…this, I need to sit down," stammered Ned as he moved back to the bed. "I am getting too old for this," Ned said as he ran his hands through his hair, "Arya, do you know what this means?" He looked his daughter straight in the eye, worry obvious in his features.

"It means that I can change the power structure of the entire kingdom. Father, if you can supply me enough iron, you can buy the debt of the crown in the name of House Stark." Ned was shocked again, his daughter was right; they could bail out the crown, and just write the debt off. The cost of the iron would be but a fraction of the total debt.

"Arya, I will need to think about this, don't show that ability to anyone else. Your life would be on the line if certain people caught wind of this."

SANSA

The eldest Stark daughter was very grateful to be off of the road. The incident with Joffrey at the inn had caused her to become moody and short-tempered. This resulted in most people giving her space, even the queen noticed the foul mood Sansa had been in the last few days. So when she was finally able to get a good soak no one dared to bother her, not even Arya. The water worked magic on her mood, and the last few days now seemed like a distant memory.

The water here in the capital was different from the one she was used to. It was softer in a way, not as harsh on her skin. It took Sansa two tubs of water to feel properly clean, though she did not purposefully get dirty; the dust kicked up by their group, from the King's Road, seemed to get in everywhere. She dried herself using the flames spell, not the version used for combat, but one she had modified to suit her cosmetic needs. The development of the spell was a hit and miss. In the beginning it was not uncommon for Sansa to be seen in Winterfell with either an eyebrow slightly missing or some of her hair singed. The flames coming from her hand were soft, red, and twirling around her fingers like nimble acrobats. She rubbed her flame clad hands over her body and through her hair. To an on looker it would have seemed as if she was performing a very sensual and exotically erotic dance.

She tied her hair up in a tight bun; every single lock of her crimson hair was accounted for. The dress she chose to wear was not one a highborn woman would be caught dead in. It was her practice dress created for her to wear when she practiced her magic with Bjorn. It was plain and beige. It lacked frills and lacy embellishments. It was a workers dress. Though the eldest daughter of House Stark was a beauty, as she was dressed now most would assume she was an escort or a servant to one of the smaller noble houses that resided in the capital.

The room was spacious. Almost double the size of the one in Winterfell. It was currently void of all personal belongings. A smile found its way to her lips. It was not a friendly smile; it was a smile of excitement, one commonly worn by those about to initiate the first step of a beautiful plan. The rush of magic as she slipped from sight exhilarated her.

The streets of the capital smelled of piss and shit. Sansa weaved through the crowd completely unseen. She was grateful for the fact that she had not eaten yet. Her particular destination would have earned her a slap from her mother and a very stern talking to from her father. On the journey down she had gathered information from the menfolk traveling with them. The information she was gathering was not of the proper sort for a lady to ask. None of the men who spoke to Sansa would remember speaking to her.

The assault of odors on her nose, as she entered the brothel, was a bit more overwhelming than she had expected. She had to enter and leave the establishment three times before being able to stomach the smell. The brothel she had entered was not a high-end establishment, nor was it a five copper Sally. It was a brothel for those with a bit more coin to spare, but could not afford the prices of the establishments visited by the noble lords. The girl who greeted customers gave a frightened squeal when Sansa appeared out of thin air in front of her. The calming spell to the girls face silenced her before she made any noticeable noise.

"Take me to the owner, now," commanded Sansa in a surprisingly gentle yet firm voice. The girl obeyed the command, too calm and happy to really deny what was being asked of her.

Big Jon, the ironically named owner of the brothel was a fat, pasty skinned little man. He had beady eyes, set too close together. His face was flushed red, his round nose and cheeks giving him a pig like appearance. He was shirtless, his bulbous stomach hanging over his waist. His feet were slightly swollen and purplish. He was sitting on a bed. On his lap was a prostitute ‑ a girl barely into her womanhood ‑ she was not a pretty thing, nor was she an eye sore. Her skin was olive toned and she had mousey brown hair that came down past her shoulders. The owner was fondling her breasts, his grubby hands far too rough for the delicate organs. The girl gave out moans of pleasure, fake moans, but he didn't seem to care. She did not seem at all comfortable with her situation, but she had an air of desperation about her. 'Poor thing,' thought Sansa. He stopped groping the girl when he noticed another presence in the room. Considering how inebriated the man was, this took a while

"W-Who… are you? I got e-enough whores, I don't ne-e-ed another." The man's speech was slurred, but he was not that far gone to have lost all of his mental faculties.

"Oh, you mean me?" Sansa said, her voice sweet and sultry, "I am nobody special." She moved closer swaying her hips in a sensual way, loosening the top of her dress, as to show a bit of her bare virgin flesh. Illusion magic oozed from her, lust and calming spells laced together in a toxic mix. She came to a stop at the little table close to the foot of the bed.

"Well, maybe I had been a bit too hasty," backtracked the swine of a man, Sansa's smile grew predatory, her eyes gleaming. The prostitute on the man's lap took her opportunity to slip away from his not so gentle ministrations. Though she was not able to escape completely, she was able to cover herself a bit.

"Really, now?" said Sansa as she leaned a bit closer causing her developing cleavage to show ever so slightly. The perverted owner's breathing became noticeably heavier. "You see, I think you can help me."

"What can I help you with?" asked Big Jon. Sansa stopped leaking out her calm spell. Leaving only the lust, this caused Big Jon to start sweating as he became more and more excited. The fat man's heart beating in his ears as the stressed organ tried to keep the blood circulating.

"You see…" said Sansa as she moved closer and closer to the foot of the bed. She was trying not to gag, the man's odor was rather pungent. "I want to take over this house of pleasure." Her answer shocked Big Jon, but his excitement did not wane.

"Why would I give this place to you?" he asked. Sansa didn't answer instead she pulled her hair out of the tight bun it was in. Letting her hair cascade loosely around her shoulder, she raised her right hand up to her face to sweep a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Red light started collecting in her hand as she did so. The Fear spell she was charging up was rather potent. It was meant to be used on a group of people. The use of this spell would consume a considerable chunk of her magicka reserves.

"I apologies, I should have explained myself better. I am not asking you to give this place to me. I will be taking it for myself." The charged spell flew from her hands and impacted Big Jon right in the center of his chest.

The man's poor heart wasn't able to keep up with the sudden change of emotion. The adrenalin rush caused the already stressed organ to rupture and implode on itself. Big Jon clutched at his chest as terror filled his eyes. He did not utter a sound as he slumped over. He died in extreme fear; he had soiled and wet himself as well.

Sansa now turned her attention to the prostitute on the bed. The girl nearly wet herself, afraid that she would suffer the same fate as her employer. "Hush now, don't be afraid of little old me," said Sansa her voice sincere and genuine. "What is your name?"

"Lysandra, me' Lady, I beg ye' don her' me," Lysandra was close to losing control of her bladder, tears having welled up in her eyes.

"Shh," hushed Sansa soothingly as she moved next to the shaking girl. Gently stroking her hair, "I am not going to hurt you Lysandra, I am in charge, and you work for me now."

"W-Wha do'ye want frem me?" stuttered the prostitute.

"I want you to start cleaning this place up. Inform the others working here that there have been a change in management. I will be back in a week. Close the doors and get this place spotless. Dispose of any… you know," Sansa tilted her head in the direction of Big Jon's corpse. "It would also be in your best interest to forget that you had ever seen me. If people were to find out about me, heads would have to roll metaphorically."

"Yes, me Lady," Lysandra was nodding her head not really trusting her mouth with more than the confirmation. Sansa gave her a warm smile and stood up, tying her hair back into the tight bun. She moved to the door leading out of the room.

"Remember, one week," said Sansa and vanished from sight.

Sansa exited her pleasure house; the first phase of her plan having been successfully initiated. She moved through the streets back to the palace. She felt grimy and dirty, though not at all remorseful for the murder she had just committed. The man was scum of the earth; he deserved no better than what was given to him. If everything went according to plan she would eventually have an information network that rivaled the Master of Whispers' one. She was relieved to find that her absence had not been missed, after taking another bath she dressed like the highborn she was and left her quarters to go find her betrothed.

* * *

ROBB

"Please tell me there is a good reason why we are naked and outside at this gods forsaken hour," said a non-too pleased Robb to his younger brother. He was currently in nothing but a loin cloth, Bran was with him, he too was showing a similar lack of clothing. He had a small bottle in his hand. They had traveled a few miles away from Winterfell, before stripping down.

"Would you rather be clothed and have everything destroyed when you change?" Replied Bran, he did not seem to mind the cold. His beast blood kept him warm. The last few weeks had been tiring for the younger Stark. He was no longer able to get a proper nights rest and he had seem to hit a massive growth spurt, he was now just a couple of inches shorter than Robb, he was massive if one remembered he was just nine. His aggression had also increased as the days had gone past but he was able to prevent himself from lashing out at anyone. "Now I must ask you again, do you accept this gift?"

"Yes, I do." Answered Robb.

"Will you accept Lord Hircine as your Lord above all others?"

"I will."

"Then drink brother and become one with your inner beast and join the hunt." Robb took the bottle from his brother and drank its contents. It tasted of wine but it had a strong coppery after taste. A strange warmth began to spread through his body. It originated from his throat where the liquid passed and blossomed outward once it hit his stomach. When it had spread through his entire body the warmth turned to pain rather abruptly. His muscles began spasming out of control. He dropped down onto all fours. His joints popped and his bones cracked as his form began to shift.

His skin began to itch and burn as if thousands upon thousands of fire ants were biting him. The bones in his face began to shift and elongate. He yelled out in pain but an anguished cry did not escape his mouth. Instead it was a bone chilling lupine howl. His mind became blank as the wolf inside him was unleashed.

Robb woke covered in blood, dirt and animal fur. His head was throbbing with pain worse than the hangover he had with Jon when the two of them had snuck wine from the cellars and gotten completely smashed. His senses particularly his nose and ears were very sensitive. He took a deep breath through his nose. Taking in the scent of the woods around him, he turned his head when he heard footsteps approach from behind.

Bran appeared from between the trees carrying his clothes. He was already dressed, trailing behind him were the three wolves that had remained at Winterfell. They ran over to Robb and began sniffing him. Before Rob would have said they all smelled the same. However now he would be able to pick them out individually blindfolded.

"Well they seem to like you," said Bran, "come follow me, there is a stream not too far from here where you can get cleaned up before we head back.

"Did you get the name of the owner of the cart that hit me?" asked Robb, as he massaged his temples.

"When you changed into a werewolf, you tried to fight me, I beat you into submission. After which we hunted for a couple of hours. After you had gorged yourself on the local wildlife you passed out here." Robb stood up, noticing only now that he was truly bare. His face flushed with embarrassment at his lack of modesty. "Get used to it; you are going to be nude every time you change."

"Well, you could have told me that earlier."

The two brothers walked in a comfortable silence to the stream. Robb could hear and smell the running water. It was not much, stream was an over statement, it was more of a trickling brook. He dammed it up so that he could collect enough water to actually clean himself off.

"I didn't hurt anyone did I?" asked Robb as he walked back to Winterfell. He was dressed now feeling a lot less exposed with a layer of cloth over his skin.

"Well you gave me this rather wicked scar on my stomach but no person was killed or harmed."

"Bran, why did you not tell me I had hurt you?"

"We heal faster now, especially when we eat. Besides I gave you a few scares of your own. Mother will not be pleased at what I did to your face."

"What did you do to my face?" asked Robb rather shocked.

* * *

BJORN

The Nord did not like the capital of the seven kingdoms at all. It was if the worst parts of Riften and Solitude had been combined into one. It stank of piss and shit, and class discrimination was rife. He was currently searching for the king. For such a large man he was being hard to find. He had searched most of the obvious places and was now just following his nose. He turned a corner and spotted Jaime, the king's brother in law.

"Ah, Ser Jaime, you wouldn't perchance know where the king is?" Jaime gave a short laugh.

"I am standing guard for him right now. He is talking to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Oh, would you mind me waiting here with you?" Asked Bjorn

"Not at all, but you would be waiting a while, from the sound of it, the two of them are reminiscing about the past."

"Ah, nostalgia, a wonderful yet dreadful thing, do you not agree?" the Nord asked Jaime.

"Aye, it is. I find it best to not dwell on the past too much, rather to live in th‑"

"Then go get more!" came Roberts shout from the other side of the door interrupting Jaime's reply. "Jaime, come in here" commanded the king.

The door to the king's chamber opened and a rather flustered Lancel Lannister rushed out, empty wine jug in hand. "Bjorn, you too."

The two entered the room, Robert had that flush of a drinking man on his face, but he was not completely gone, tipsy at worst. "Tell me Jaime what was your first kill like?" asked Robert

"I remember it well, I was just a squire, six and ten years old. It was one of the Kingswood Brotherhood. Decapitated the man, I felt no pity for him," replied the Kingslayer.

"What about you Bjorn?"

"I was barely ten years old, three days after the day of my birth. I was out hunting and had just finished skinning the rabbits I had caught. I returned home to find my family slaughtered, by an agent of the Thalamor. I saw red, I attacked the man, caught him by surprise, stabbed the bastard 63 times and left the bloody mess out for the wolves to eat. I have only gotten better at killing since then, though it is something I am trying to put behind me, killing is something I know I will always have to do."

"That is a very young age to start killing." Said Ser Selmy

"It is, though talking about first kills is not why I am here. Your Majesty I am here to apologize for my actions at the Inn a few days ago. I was extremely disrespectful, and though you are not my king. You are still a king and as one you deserve respect to a certain degree."

"Think nothing of it; it has been too long since someone had the guts to actually speak their mind in front of me."

"Thank you, now I would like to excuse myself, I heard that there are dragon skeletons kept at the keep and I wish to see them for myself."

Bjorn left them with that. He had heard that the skulls of the Targaryen dragons were kept underneath the castle, having been moved out of the throne room after Robert had usurped the throne. It took him a few wrong turns and dead ends but he finally found the dragons skulls. He felt some degree of sorrow for them.

He knew dragons were prideful creatures and to be forced into servitude for men, must have killed them inside. He walked up to the largest of the 19 skulls. It was massive, significantly bigger than Alduin's own, but considering the dragons of this world did not have the same amount of intelligence as his own, they needed the size to make up for the lack in smarts.

Almost as if he was in a trance he reached out to touch the skull of Balerion. Looking back it was something he would have done differently had he known the consequences. Upon making contact with the enormous dragon skull, a surge of energy knocked him back. His own Dragonsoul having lain rather dormant woke at that instant when it sensed dragon souls it could dominate and consume.

Without warning the still lingering souls of the dead dragons bound to their bones were pulled into Bjorn and consumed by his own soul. The force of 19 souls slamming into him knocked him over. He tried to twist and catch himself mid fall but it failed. He landed on his side. The crack of glass and a sharp pain of his skin being pierced caused his eyes to widen.

The wolf's blood contained in the vial, was potent, far stronger than the blood of a normal werewolf. Bjorn kept it on his person to prevent it from being easily stolen. This was folly in hindsight. The cursed blood entered Bjorn's body, being drawn into the jagged cuts. In most cases, this would have made Bjorn a werewolf. However that was not the case.

The newly consumed dragon souls gave Bjorn's own power to overpower the curse in the blood. Hircine's power was morphed, the dominion he would have over all man beasts stripped from it. Bjorn's souls saw the blood as an outlet. It took the shape shifting power of it into itself merging it with the knowledge of the Dragon Aspect. Bjorn had long since lost consciousness at this point and was out like a snuffed candle.

The Nord woke up some hours later in the wee hours of the morning with no recollection of what happened to him. He just wrote the gap in memory off as a consequence of having 19 dragon souls forced into you at once, the glass and dried blood being vaporized by the ancient magic when the assimilation was complete. He left the skulls, finding no more interest in them. He returned to his quarters and began to unpack his belongings, having not done so when he first got to the capital like a normal person would. He bathed himself and dressed, as he always did at Winterfell, dark linen tunic with similar colored pants and leather boots.

He decided that he would explore the city itself today. He headed down to the kitchens. He scared one of the poor servants when he appeared silently behind her and asked where the kitchens were.

The cooks were very accommodating of him. However the hospitality might have been due to the few septims he passed their way. Inconsequential to him, but the solid gold coins had significantly more value to them than it did to the Nord. He sated his hunger and departed from the kitchens, keen to familiarize himself with the city.

The cool morning air helped with the general smell of the city but he knew that it would only get worse as the day progressed. In the distance he could hear the ring of a blacksmiths forge. His interest peaked he moved in its direction.

The rhythmic pounding became louder as he approached, as did the smell of the forge, a clean, dry heat that seemed to banish the smell of the city. The blacksmiths workshop was bare accept for one. A boy with dark hair was busy repairing a piece of armor. Beating out the dents from the chest, Bjorn watched the youth. He was talented, that much was obvious; Bjorn's skill was journeyman level at best, being able to repair his own armor when it was damaged. However since coming here he was unable to call it to him. He knew it was stuck in Oblivion somewhere but every attempt he made at summoning it failed miserably.

The youth finally noticed his presence and looked up, slightly startled, by Bjorn's size. "What can I help you with?"

"Nothing actually, but I might have need of your services later. For now I am just admiring the work of a skilled blacksmith, who taught you your craft?" asked Bjorn

"Tobho Mott taught me all I know, he is very skilled but his age has been catching up to him as of late."

"What is your name? I am Bjorn, Thane of Winterfell."

"Gendry, milord" answered the youth.

"None of the 'milord' stuff, I am not a Lord of anything yet, Bjorn is my name." said Bjorn, humor in his voice. "Anyway I will be off; I won't keep you from your work any longer. A word of advice, I might not be skilled as a black smith but I know folding the steel as you forge it makes for a much stronger blade."

"I did not know that, I will certainly try it later. Mind your pockets though, the city is full of thieves."

Bjorn nodded and left the forge. He drifted through the city, as beautiful as the Red Keep was, the city was comparable to the grey quarter of Windhelm. The Dragonpit loomed in the distance. The ancient stable used by the Targaryens to stable their mounts. It was now just a ruin, abandoned and falling apart due to disuse.

Bjorn walked towards it. It took him the better part of the morning. The sun nearly at its peak by the time he reached the entrance. He was rather excited to see the main entrance doors sealed shut. He spent two hours looking for an opening. When he finally found a collapsed section of wall at the sea facing side and climbed in. fond memories of exploring crypts and ruins came back to him as he made his way inside the Dragonpit.

The inside was blackened by fire and in a similar state as the outside but it was open. Bjorn walked to the center of the building. He stopped and looked around him. A smile made its way to his face, this space would do perfectly. He would be able to practice his more destructive magics here away from the general populace.

Flames began gathering around his arms as he charged up on of his most destructive area of effect spells. The Fire storm spell blasted away from him. Incinerating the dust in a twenty meter diameter around him, leaving naught but a blackened stone floor, nothing shook and the walls didn't show any signs of collapsing.

His Dragonsoul itched to shout to bring forth its destructive power to the world. He didn't allow it though, knowing that any one of them could bring the ceiling down on top of him. His mind finally reached an accord with his dragonside and he decided on a shout focused inward and not outward, as those did not disturb the outside world as much.

"MUL QAH DIIV!" He roared, infusing the ancient words of the Dragon Aspect with his power.

* * *

Sansa looked out at the city under her; the Dragonpit was in the distance. Light flashed from inside it catching her attention. She felt Bjorn's magic wash over her as the spell discharged, 'So he found a place to practice' she thought to herself. She might go there herself later if Bjorn did not take her to practice her magic. A second shockwave rippled through the air. The power behind it was Bjorn's but it was nothing like she had felt before.

Her breath was taken from her when a Dragon flew from the pit, a terrifying roar, inspiring fear in all who heard it, issued forth from its maw. The dragon flew towards the keep, circling it before heading out towards the sea. The beast was beautiful; it had golden bronze scales with black spikes and markings over its body. As it passed by Sansa, one of its enormous eyes made contact with hers for a brief second. She knew those eyes, that particular shade of blue was unique to only one person. However before she could call out to it, the beast was gone, flying out towards the ocean.


End file.
