The point of this is to show someone learning magic instead of just being born with it.
Two years before Canon Starts
Grateful he had the next day off, Markos was tired and worn out after his exposure to magic. He felt happier than ever, but deeply exhausted. Other than eating his meager food, he slept for as long as he could before returning to the library with a happier, lighter heart. As he entered the library, something shifted in his skin. A lightness, a heat, a magnetic pull.
"I wonder why I am feeling this way." He whispered, and he followed the pull. Slowly, he was lead through the library to new books in an adjacent group of shelves. He smiled as he reached the source of the feeling, a singular book with fading gold print on a leather binding. Grabbing it, he felt the weight beyond physical, a sort of spiritual presence. "I wonder why it is so... heavy." Upon opening the tome, he was amazed to see words in Valeryian, Old Valyrian. He only recognized it through the mentions of the language in many of the older tomes. "Is this a book on true magic, beyond just theory and..." Letting his fingers stride across the page, he felt sparks of knowledge burn through. " This is it, my true start. I will become great, greater than I could be otherwise and I can help the world become better. Help myself become better."
And so he started to read, on the language of old Kings and the Hidden arts of magic. Absently, he wondered how the heck a tome on such a language ended up here in Winterfell... but he would worry about that later.
For three days, off and on, he studied refusing to use his newly vested powers until he better understood them, not wanting to risk his life or that of those around him if he could help it. He learned fast, he had no intentions of causing harm when it could be avoided. When he ran out of book to read on magic, and notes to take, He studied botany and anatomy. When he was done with that, he studied the Old Religion and the secrets it held.
By the end of the three days, tired from less sleep than he ought to have, he moved out of library and returned to the Godswood. Hidden by a veil of mist, he sat by the Godswood and took out his notes, relishing in the wellspring of prayers and divine spark that filled the air with great lingering power. "Okay, let us start." Lifting his hands, he focused on the heat of his blood pounding in his veins. Slowly, he let it pool together and before he knew it, a tiny flame appeared on his fingertips, dancing merrily. "This is incredible, why have people been unable to do this before?" Shaking his head, he extinguished the flame by dipping into the pond by the tree. "A question for another time." Grabbing a small seed, from a local flower, he pricked his finger and let it fall onto the seed. "A little light, a little life, I share with thee."
Closing his fist around the seed, he focused on the heat in the air, the power of magic free floating. Breathing it in, he let it fill him with heat and he pushed it into the seed. He muttered a small prayer, one in Old Valyrian, one he found made it easier to focus on the flow of magic. He held it for a solid minute, only letting go when he felt heat burning in his palm and a wave of exhaustion creeping up on him. As he released, he opened his palm and saw a tiny fleck of green sticking out of the seed, tiny and unassuming, looking at him merrily. "I did it!"
And he laid it in his pocket. As he did so, his reflection in the pond drew his attention. He was fair skinned, even by Northern standards, with wild brown hair and the beginings of a beard even at his tender age of fourteen. He was tall, and pudgy despite his life of meager supplies. His mother, though short, had been the same way. Hair and all. He looked so much like her it hurt, he missed her. Even though his eyes were more green as opposed to her beautfiul blue, he saw similarities in their shape and intensity.
"Maybe one day my magic will let me see you again, even for a moment, mother..." Sighing, he stood and put a palm against the Godswood, ignoring the surge of heat. "If I can, thank you but also ask that you send my mother a message. I am here. I am happy. I am making my best way in this world... that is all." Pulling away, feeling just a little lighter, he moved back to the pond and rested, breathing in the magic of the world, and deepening his connection to life and light and the peace it brought him.
"""
For the next few weeks, things did not change much for Markos. He planted his magical seed into a small cup he found broken in the yard. Every day he poured more power into it and it grew faster and faster, making him smile at the simple proof of power he had. He spent at least a few hours a week, when he could manage it, either reading about magic or practicing the craft. Moving small pebbles, causing fires, splashing water and so on. Nothing extreme, but he tried.
Things really seemed to be almost normal... and then, foolishly, he burned himself.
He was carrying a tray a food back into the kitchens, only to slip on water left on the ground. He stumbled, and his hand landed on a black pot filled with stew. He did not scream, but he did groan as new agony burned through his palm. He said nothing to anyone, no one cared enough to notice really, and he put away his tray and moved out to the backyard, where no one could see him.
Holding his hands, he cursed the fool who left water on the floor. 'Fuck them,... gods that hurt... gods... wait. I can move things, light fires and grow plants. Why not heal?' Closing his eyes, he focused on his power, the burning strength in the air, the earth, his blood, his heart, his soul. He breathed it in and hummed a small Valyrian prayer, a generic tone without proper names, all just intent and warmth. Feeling strength rising in him, he breathed out onto his palm, and watched as the burn twitched and shimmered before slowly but surely, fading away and healing. It hurt more than the actual burn, itching like crazy, but it was worth it to not get an infection and lose his hand.
Shuddering, he fell against the bricks of the Winterfell walls. "I think I know how to help the world... so many go without healing, losing life and limb and more, just by accident. I can help where the Maesters cannot... and I can heal who the Maesters will not." Smiling, with that focus in mind, he returned to his work, content with his new plans and the path he set before him...
Chapter end, telll me what you think in the reviews.
This was a joy to write, I love this approach.
Love, your Ninja Overlord,
Mika.
