This is the product of years of effort, and I am so proud of it.

I wanted to make this being for so long and it is masterfully fun to write.


Two years before Canon Starts

It was a gift, a blessed gift, that Lord Eddard Stark allowed for any and all servants to read in the library of Winterfell. Markos relished in that freedom, having long since taught himself to read, it was his salvation, his peace from the tedious days of servitude. Whenever he could be so, he was in the library, reading, learning and relsihing in that freedom as much as he could. A maester could self train in that library, it was that vast. As it was, Markos was pretty sure ( even in jest) that he was half was to becoming a Maester just in the year he had been studying in the Stark's Library.

Today was a special day though, a very special day. He had decided to look for books on magic, having been born in the South in Kingslanding, he was familar with the magic of the Red Priests. He saw the fires they made through will and magic, he watched them make predictions and so on. He wanted to see if he could tap into that power, that strength and make his life better. Tales of magic from eons past had always left him feeling warm and safe, knowing that people once help such powers was... breathtaking. He needed to see if he could manage it, and so he decided to seek books on the craft.

"There has to be some... nearby." He whispered as he stepped, almost mischeviously, into the deeper parts of the library. Parts he had never tapped into before, never even dared to read. It was where the more advanced stories and subjects were, he could not help his desires, to read and research all his heart wanted to. "Aha!" He said, after ten or so minutes of searching. "A Tale of Myth and Magic... The Old Gods and Magic... Magic and the times before the Seven Kingdoms! Not exactally what I wanted, but maybe they have references I can use. Pity I cannot take them out of the library, still, I read fast." And so he set the books on the nearest desk, opening them up and diving inside with a passion unrivaled.

It would take three days to finish the books, but when he did, Markos found and made a list of what he was waiting for. Sixteen books on magic! Only Six of which were in the library, one of which he found immediately. All of which were dusty and old, barely holding it together. He carefully took them down and started to read... the first thing he read was this.

Magic is the art of transfering energy from one thing into another, confining it with intent and power. Some people draw from blood, sacrifice or the gods. You must find your source if you intend to draw on these ancient powers, powers long believed faded from the world. Never forget, dear student of magic, that power requires sacrifice of some variety. You must always tap into one form of energy to cast another. Sacrifice is a needed for magic... be that from your vessel or another.

Stunned, Markos reread the words over and over again. After the fifth time, he moved on.

Magic is stronger in places tied to the Gods, be it Old or New, where people congregate their minds or faith, magic is strongest. Places sacred to the Gods make it easier to connect to the powers of the World, and the energies within ones self.

There were many other pieces of sacred knowledge he abosrbed but the last meant the most.

Magic takes emotional control, never let your thought stray. Your mind must be clear, your intent focused, and your will strong. This is the key to bending the unbendable forces.'

Holding fast onto that idea, Markos finished the book before waiting until it was late. He left the saftey of Winterfell's walls and moved to the God Tree. Kneeling, cold and bitter, he grabbed a clean dagger he owned. "I am in a place sacred to the Gods. I am focused. I am making a sacrifice, no matter how small." Pricking his finger, he let it drip onto the Godwood. "I am Markos, son on Dom and Freya. I am no one special and yet I am asking for power. Be it from the Gods, My forebearers, or the world itself. I ask that I be allowed to wield the forces of magic and mold them to improve my life... and maybe, once I hold enough skill, the lives of others. I can think of so many that would benefit from my aid. I am willing to suffer, to endure for my power, I would never expect something for nothing. So please, If anyone, or thing, is listening... please, help me." he focused hard, praying like he never had before, to the point his head ached.

A silence permeated the world, long and listless, and Markos sighed. Standing, he turned to move only to sway as heat washed through him along with a grey tinge to his vision. He fell, the knife skidding from his hand as his whole body slammed into the Godswood. Nausea rose from his gut and it took everything to not vomit, he started to shake, he felt as if he had never eaten before.

"What... I... guh..." He curled into himself as more and more heat washed into his body, a lightning curling through his muscles and skin. He wanted to scream, but the current stalled any and all thoughts of doing so.

And then it faded away, as fast as it came, he stood up, shaking the terror and horrible feeling from his body. Looking around, he realized he felt... different, not bad or good, but changed. Putting a hand, gently, on the Godswood, he gasped as a shock went through him, he felt as if his mind was expanding, the borders sinking into the earth and into the world at large. He felt the coming storm, he craved the rain, and knew of a great cold to the further north.

Recoiling in shock, he looked at his hands, cutting off the connection. "Did it work?" Looking down, he focused hard and closed his fist. He imagined a tiny magnet in his palm, pulling on the leaves below. When he opened his hand, to his utter joy, a tiny leaf lifted off of the ground and danced for him in the air.

Tears fell down his face. "Thank you, whomever or whatever answered my call... thank you. Now and forever, I am in your debt. I will train, in silence at first, but soon... one day, I will give you the credit and praise and worship you deserve. Thank you."

And as he walked back, he was sure he heard his name being whispered in the air...

'Markos...'

And somehow, born of new instinct, he knew that his gifts were not the product of destiny or bloodline but curioisty on both sides and a willingness to learn and suffer on his side.

It was something he would never understand and never forget... but something he would not stop treasuring.


Chapter end, tell me what you think in the reviews.

This was a joy to write. We will learn of Markos' age, apperance and more soon.

Love, your Ninja Overlord,

Mika.