Of Forge and Magic

by Rogue-Mando

The Dragon Smith, one of the finest blacksmiths apprenticed to the High Smith of the Goblin Nation, finds himself in front of a portal three years after his graduation from Hogwarts. When this portal leads Benjamin Stark back to the realm of his ancestors, a new song is written. A song of Forge and Magic. Rated M for Language, Violence, and Adult Situations.

4. The Lords in the North

"My Lord?"

"My Lord," I answered with a small smirk. While I had been at Winterfell, things had fallen into a rather comfortable rhythm, but tonight was due to be one of the last I was going to spend in the legendary castle. For as long as I was here, Rickard had rooms prepared for me up in the Great Hall, in the family wing no less. The man treated me as if I were a member of the family from the start and as such, the servants also treated me like I was a member of the house - like nobility. For me, a member of the middle and working class, this was something I had never experienced before. The people here adored the Starks, from the servants to the smallfolk of Wintertown, everyone paid their respects when a Stark was present.

But, as nice as the attention and homage were, it didn't change the fact that most of my time here was spent with the castle smith, Mikken. He was a bear of his man, no older than his mid-thirties, with arms that were bigger than my thighs – and that was saying something considering I was now six foot two and had bulked up tremendously in my time with Master Grashnog. I was still pretty lean, there was no one who could stay wire-thin when they were swinging a four or five-pound hammer day in and day out for three years under a Goblin, and I had been forging for five years even before that. Mikken, though? The man looked like he was well accustomed to using a twenty-pounder throughout his life – and I had seen his bloody twenty-pound hammer! The bear of a man swung it with one hand like I'd swing a stick!

So, with the help of the living power hammer, I had helped the man create a few new sets of armor for the swelling castle guard. Mikken had no idea that charcoal and lime, of all things, could help make better steel in the smelting process. I had taught him how to refine his iron a bit and the quality of his steel had improved dramatically. Which was necessary as for years, Rickard had taken to opening the gates of Winterfell to any in need, or those who just didn't want to farm their entire lives and the people loved him for it. Rodrik Cassel in particular had excelled in finding men who wanted to be men-at-arms - but those men needed two things: training and armor.

Though, I wasn't quite sure how that translated into my life at Winterfell taking another turn as Rodrick basically forced me into the position of drill sergeant after I gave him a few simple suggestions… Turns out that not even the Master-at-arms had thought to run the recruits through a basic physical routine – as he preferred to just let the recruits have at each other with wooden swords, shields, and leather armor until they built up stamina. With Rickard's permission and at Rodrick's purview, I had put the new recruits through absolute hell for the past fortnight I had been here.

But I was just a man, I needed a bit of time to myself every now and then – especially with the Lords of the North streaming in one by one. I had taken to sequestering myself away in the quiet of the godswood in the sight of the Weirwood tree. At first, the sight of the bleeding face was a bit unsettling but that disappeared rather quickly. There was a bit of magic in the air but nothing I could pinpoint directly, it honestly felt like a sound dampening ward mixed with something similar to a weak truth compulsion. But besides that, the peace of the forest was appealing even if I wasn't the only one to seek refuge here.

"I had thought you would be with the recruits?" Rickard asked me as he knelt in front of the tree with the sword Ice in his hand.

"Rodrik is. He 'let,' me have the day off, especially since he's seen actual improvement in the boys," I said with a small grimace. Say what you will about Rodrik, the man is utterly committed to what he does.

"Ah, yes. I had been meaning to speak to you about that," Rickard's eyes were uncertain as he turned to look at me. "The training just seems so… Foreign, I suppose would be the correct word? Anyway…" he paused and looked at the weirwood. "How is war conducted in your home? You seem to have vastly different ideas about combat than any other man I have met, I would know them."

"Different is the best way to put it," I muttered as I looked at the weirwood myself. "I told you there had been around two thousand years that had passed since Jorah arrived in my homeland?"

"Aye, you had."

"We spoke of Thermopylae and, in those times, battle was like what you have here - and that was a few hundred years before Jorah was lost. Infantry, battle lines, cavalry? All of those have been around for as long as war has. The people of my world have been fighting each other for thousands of years but, in the last two hundred years, everything has changed."

"How so?" Rickard asked, obviously highly interested now. I just scoffed.

"Well, my Lord, that question has many answers, and those answers will bring up many new questions. The one I'm partial to is that there was a period in the Western World called the industrial revolution. That period mechanized warfare and the battles that were fought in Germany and France…" I shivered slightly and the Lord of Winterfell noticed. "The death toll of those were in the tens of millions, my Lord."

"Tens of millions?" Rickard whispered in horror. "What kind of world did you live in, that death was unleashed so thoroughly?"

"I lived in a world of wonders; a comfortable world paid for in blood… Your land is a hard land, Lord Stark, but I know a few ways to make your lives a little bit easier. People from my world always strived to improve things - lives, machines, art - but nothing pushed that need more than war. My people created amazing things, wonderful yet fun terrible things. Wonders used to both harm and help people on an unfathomable scale. We had to feed billions of people-"

"Billions? What is this number?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and I couldn't help but wince.

"A thousand million," the Lord of Winterfell looked like he was going to faint but managed to stay conscious.

"Gods…" He muttered quietly. "A thousand million people… Now ten million seems a small number to have died," the Lord trailed off as I nodded.

"At the last count, there were seven billion people who lived in my world at once. Yes, my lord, I lived in a vastly different world, but I still know how some of those technologies worked. We had railways, paved roads, ways to send messages faster than a Raven could ever hope to. I would need a team of hundreds and quite a fair bit of supplies, but I could build a road that would last for hundreds of years, if not thousands. Either one would be better than that sorry excuse of a goat trail that you call the Kingsroad."

"As we have discussed, you'll have those men, Lord Stark, but I won't pay for them. Moat Cailin will bear that expense." Rickard said quietly and I nodded in turn.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," I smirked. This was a game we played occasionally. Since he had raised me to Lord of the Moat, he'd joked that there were two Lord Starks now and refused to address me as anything else.

"Though I would like to have the Moat rebuilt before you go gallivanting over the length and breadth of the North just to fix some bloody roads."

"I'm sure your Lords would have appreciated a fixed road for their journey to Winterfell, my Lord," I said with a smirk that he returned with an exasperated huff.

"Aye, I could hear the Umbers whinging all the way from Last Hearth," he said with a small smirk. "Jon Umber loves nothing more than to complain, not even his women or ale."

"Umber? They're your northernmost House, correct?"

"Nearly, my Lord. The Mormonts of Bear Island are further than they by a matter of leagues. Jeor, that old bear, is leaving his son Jorah to rule in his stead while Jeor is in Winterfell. Jeor's sister, Maege, and her eldest daughter, Dacey, are due in tonight. In fact, they are the last of the guests I expect to arrive. It troubles me tha-"

"Rickard!" A booming voice thundered through the Godswood. I nearly whipped around but saw that the Stark was exasperated at worst.

"Speaking of," Rickard muttered before he turned and called, "I was beginning to think you had lost your way on the road, Jon!"

"Bah!" And I thought Mikken was a bear of a man. This giant - whose face said he couldn't have been too much older than me - striding out of the trees was nearly the same height as the stable boy – Hodor – and twice as thick at the shoulders. The fact he had a great sword's handle protruding over his shoulder shouldn't have surprised me, but the fact that I could see the end of the scabbard was a bit frightening simply because of how massive the sword was. "The roads are shite, always are, always will be with all the fuckin' snow we have. Now who the bloody hell is this?" he asked pointing a finger at me.

"This is Benjamin, of House Stark," Jon's eyebrows shot into his hairline before he threw his head back in a booming laugh.

"I knew thar' were Starks out in the world somewhere, lad! Tha' company of the Rose business in Essos damn well proves it if the rumors of a Stark leading them are true!" He said with a broad grin. "So where'll you be from? The Company or some place so frozen I've never caught wind of it?"

"That's about right," I said evasively. Besides, Hogwarts was frozen most of the year after all. I walked up to the man and, probably stupidly, offered my hand. "Benjamin Stark, at your service, Lord Umber."

"Call me Greatjon, boy!" he said with a grin, nearly crushing my hand in his.

"Greatjon?" Rickard asked as he joined us. "And where in the name of the blasted Seven did you come up with that name?"

"I didn't," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Ol' Whoresbane did that for me. I named mi' boy after meself and Whoresbane said that if there was a Small Jon then there had to be a Great Jon. It's been that way ever since!"

"And how are your uncles anyway?" Rickard said as I pondered over how a man got a name like Whoresbane.

"Cold bastards as usual," Jon muttered with a roll of his eyes. "But alive to tell the tale and rule the Hearth for me. You the reason I'm here, boy?"

"Most likely, but Lord Stark was the one who summoned the Lords," I grinned cheekily and the Greatjon snorted.

"Aye, tha' he did. So, Rickard?! Why the bloody hell did I just waste a week of me life trudging through the snow and ice to get to yer bloody city-castle?"

"It's hardly a city, Jon-"

"Hardly a city!? You could stuff Last Hearth in here three bloody times and still have room for the bloody Queenscrown! Not to mention that not even you know how far down Winterfell goes!"

"By no fault of mine, Lord Umber," Rickard growled. If I had hackles they would have shot up at the ice in the Stark Lord's voice. "You know well that time has not been kind to Winterfell, nor has the crown. We have neither the men nor the gold to excavate the crypts! Much less repair them!"

"How much gold would you need to do all that?" I asked curiously.

"More than I'm sure you have on hand, Benjamin," I just scoffed and unslung my pack. Jon looked at me curiously making me blink as I realized he was still here.

"Before you panic, my Lord," I said cautiously, "know that in the place I come from, magic is a common art. I quite like my head attached to my shoulders and my neck not cut with a bloody warsword, so what you're about to see will look impossible but I assure you it won't harm any of us."

"Magic? You think I'm like one of those bloody southrons who'll kill anyone for a bit of witchcraft? I'm of the North! Brought up on tales of Wargs, Greenseers, and the Children of the Forest on me mam's teat! Use yer magic and let's see what could bring us this gold!" He said with a glint in his eye. I couldn't help but snort as I summoned Brightroar to my hand. Instantly, Jon's jaw fell open and Rickard's eyes bulged.

"Seven hells," Rickard muttered, massaging his forehead. After all, this wasn't exactly the plan we hatched. The Greatjon finally managed to get a hold of himself and let out another roaring laugh that startled the birds out of the trees as he pumped his fist.

"Yes! That'll do it, lad! We could get Tywin to give us our independence if we offered him that bloody sword! Fucking hells, it has to be bigger than Ice!? Have you any idea how badly that golden shit wants that sword?! Every one of the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne, and those fucking rock lumps those Iron fucks call home know that Tywin wants that sword more than a Martell wants a woman! Rickard! We're getting properly drunk tonight!"

"After I introduce the new Lord of Moat Cailin to the rest of the Lords," Rickard said as I belted the greatsword to my right hip – leaving Winter's Bane on my left. Rickard had known about the blade for quite some time now, after all, it was one of the bigger bargaining chips we had with the West.

"Moat Cailin!? Why would you give the lad a death trap like that when he's brought you a crown on a platter!? We can finally be free of the bloody worms on that metal chair!" Jon barked down at his liege.

"Because if anyone can restore the Moat, I can. I might not have as much free flowing gold as the North, Rickard, but you of all people should know I have bargaining chips to spare," I said simply but the Stark flushed.

"My apologies, I had forgotten myself."

"Apology accepted. As for why I have the Moat? I asked where I could be the most useful, Moat Cailin was Lord Stark's answer."

"I still don't like this, Rickard," Jon growled. "He deserves his own bloody stronghold, not that ruin."

"And where would you have me, my Lord Umber?" I asked sarcastically, furiously thinking of the few places I knew were abandoned in the North, "Skagos? Sea Dragon Point? Oh! Maybe the Stony Shore! Where I could kill Ironborn for the rest of my bloody life!"

"Aye!" Jon agreed happily, "Rickard! Give him the Stony Shore!"

"No, you blasted idiot!" I snapped at the Umber who looked like I'd smacked him with a trout. "We need Moat Cailin reinforced, can you think of why we might need Moat Cailin reinforced?"

"Er… The Ironborn? It isn't like we're going to war with the Sou-" Jon stopped himself mid sentence and looked at me like I was insane. "The South!?"

"Not quite, but you said it yourself. The North could wash their hands of the Targaryens, the North could be free. But none of that's possible without Moat Cailin if the Iron Throne starts sticking their noses in the North. If the South marches before we're ready then we won't be able to withstand a host of two-hundred thousand strong even if it were the height of Winter – and I don't mean a thaw like this. No, we need to do things quietly, starting with the Moat. Then we can move to other things."

"Things like wha'?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow and I just shook my head slowly as I glanced over to Rickard with a lifted eyebrow of my own. He gestured for me to go on. I sighed and nodded.

"Things that involve the whole of the North. We didn't just invite the Lords to meet tonight, my Lord Umber."

"Wha'?" He asked, rather stupidly in my opinion, as Rickard nodded over Jon's shoulder to indicate the seven men who had just walked into the Godswood silently. "Ah! Rickard, you bastard, you! You didn't tell me the Mountain clans were coming!" He boomed good-naturedly as the seven rough-looking men stepped forward.

"I am the Wull," the leader said, stepping forward. "I know the Jon and graze sheep with him, I have seen the Rickard, but you," he said stepping chest to chest with me, "I do not know." I stared down the shorter, stocky man who was just as intimidating as the towering Greatjon and nodded.

"And I do not know the Wull," I said harshly but choosing my words carefully around the Clansman as Rickard had told me to do time and again. These were a hard people and would bend like the ice and stone of their mountains, meaning barely if at all. "Well met. I am Benjamin, son of Lincoln, of House Stark."

"Well met, Benjamin, son of Lincoln," the Wull said, a glimmer of something in his eye I couldn't quite place. "Do ya' follow the Old Gods, boy? Or are ya' some southron pansy who kneels in a nice, warm box?"

"I do not follow, but I will answer the old Gods' call if it comes," I said simply, getting a raised eyebrow from the Wull as he stepped back and moved to the Heart tree.

"Well, ya' don't kneel to those seven Andal cunts and tha's good enough for me. Has the Rickard bread an' salt?"

"Aye, it is waiting for you in the great hall. My son, Brandon, has it at my table."

"Aye, yer table," the Wull growled. Rickard's eye twitched as he nodded.

"Then I will take bread and salt with you personally. There will be meat and mead tonight, and you, Wull of Wull, will dine at my table." I noticed Jon's eyebrow flicker up for a second but the Wull of Wull? Looked rather happy with that.

"Meat and mead at yer own table? The Ol' Gods smile on us, boys!" Wull said to his companions who whooped loudly at the proclamation. "We'll wait cha' in yer Grand Hall, Rickard of Stark. An' tonight, we feast!" Another round of whooping followed that as the seven men, one by one, stepped up to the heart tree and laid a hand on the face carved into it. Once they had all finished the strange ritual, they gathered and left without another word being spoken. I just blinked in shock at the strangeness of all of it.

"All bloody seven of the great Mountain Clans? Rickard, yer one mad son of a bitch," Jon muttered as he turned to look at the Stark Lord.

"They're to be instrumental in the years to come, Lord Umber," Rickard said with a small grin.

"Aye, Grashnog says that there's gold, iron, gemstones, and other important elements in those mountains and not in small deposits. There are enough resources in their mountains to boost the Northern economy higher than what the Reach or Westerlands have. The Riverlands sends us rye and barley and believe they're shorting us while pocketing our coin, but I know a man who can distill the raw rye they send into booze." Thank Merlin for Buln needing a hobby…

"Booze? What kind of Booze?" The Greatjon asked with a raised eyebrow. I snorted in amusement and unslung my pack again, shoving Brightroar into the bag and summoning a glass and the bottle of Jack. I had plenty of Firewhiskey but I needed to save that for the dragons… Anyway, I poured the Greatjon a few fingers worth of the whiskey and offered the glass to him. "Think I can't take more than a fuckin' mouthful?" He snatched the glass out of my hand and took it all in one go. Neither Rickard or I could hold our laughter in as the Greatjon swore and sputtered from the whiskey. "Seven hells! Give me another!"

XXX

"My Lords and Ladies!" Rickard's voice rang out as he stood over the great hall. Not including House Stark, twenty-eight families had answered the call of their liege. But not all twenty-eight could sit at the Lord's table. Only the Wull, Royce Bolton, and Jeor Mormont had joined the Starks while the rest of their parties sat among the other Lords, Ladies, and households. "I welcome you all to Winterfell! Eat, drink! But I ask you not leave the hall after you have ate your fill, we have business to discuss! Though before we begin, I would introduce you to the newest member of House Stark!" Immediately, whispers kicked up throughout the hall as Rickard's eyes sparkled. "His family was lost to the far west, beyond the Sunset sea," that had been our little backstory we concocted for how to explain to everyone where I had come from. Far easier to believe someone had found land and sailed back east than a man who had come from another world. "And a son of House Stark has returned to us! It is my pleasure to introduce Benjamin of the House Stark, the newest Lord and Commander of Moat Cailin!" There were no roars of approval as I stood up. Everyone's eyes were locked onto me as I stood there awkwardly, up until I met the most beautiful pair of green eyes I had ever seen. My voice stuck in my throat as I stared the brunette down for a moment too long, she just smirked and wriggled her eyebrows, breaking any sense of awkwardness I had – though my nerves were still frayed rather badly. I hated speaking in public, always have, but I knew I had to say at least something to the Lords.

"My Lords, my Ladies," I said with a bow, "it's an honor to be among you, to stand in my family's home with ancient friends once again!" I picked up the tankard in front of my plate and raised it high. "If you'll drink with me? To the North!"

"TO THE NORTH!" Every single voice in the hall boomed as one. Five hundred throats yelling the three words as loud as they could. I nearly staggered backward but thankfully I stood firm as I raised the tankard to my lips. I raised it one more time and sat down heavily as I caught an elbow to the ribs.

"Dacey Mormont, eh?" Brandon said with a smirk. I didn't say anything, but I felt the heat creeping up my neck. "You could certainly do worse, though I think I might have a go at one of the Ryswell girls. Mayhaps I'll even get her in my bed," Brandon said with a lecherous grin. I just rolled my eyes. While I was no virgin, I wasn't a man-whore like my best friend/cousin in this world was.

"Maybe, maybe not," was all I said as a plate was sat in front of me.

"Maybe I'll have to take you to the brothel instead," Brandon said with a playful grin. "There's no way you'll be able to bag Mormont."

"I'd rather like to keep my balls, thank you very much," I snarked having heard rumors of the women of Bear Island.

"Hah! And that's why I'm after the Ryswell! Though the Forrester lass isn't hard on the eyes either…" this time I elbowed his ribs as he leered at the middle of the hall.

"Not only are those your father's bannermen," I muttered, "but one day they'll be yours. Tell me, Heir Stark," I growled, making Brandon stiffen. "What will those Lords do when they realize you defiled their daughters when you're promised to another?"

"A bloody Tully," Brandon spat.

"One I've heard is quite a beauty," I said calmly, internally shuddering considering the girl was probably no older than fourteen. "And the future lady of Winterfell. You would not only dishonor yourself but her as well. So, sleep with them if you like but remember there's always a bill to pay – especially if you get either one pregnant."

"I'm not going celibate, Ben," Brandon hissed. "If I wanted to do that, I'd join the bloody Watch!"

"Who said anything about celibacy?" I smirked, "just as long as you don't treat the ladies of the North like they're your whores you can fuck and forget, there's a brothel for that after all." Brandon let out his barking laugh and looked at me with mirth dancing in his eyes.

"Seven hells… You're right, of course, but I'm still going to try for the Ryswell," he said as he looked down the hall. I followed his gaze just in time to see a rather plain girl with chestnut hair turn to face her plate to hide her fire-engine blush. I just shook my head in exasperation.

"Of course, you will."

"If you two are quite done plotting how to dishonor one of my bannermen's roses – of which plans I have no knowledge of," Rickard said with amusement clear in his voice, "mayhaps you would explain to Lords Bolton and Mormont what you intend to do, Benjamin?" I nodded as I looked at the Lords seated to Rickard's left.

"My Lords, good evening," Royce Bolton nodded his acknowledgement while Jeor grinned.

"And a good evening to you, Lord Stark," Jeor said.

"Lord of a ruin, one would think…" Royce said smoothly and almost at a whisper.

"Aye, the Moat is in a sorry state now," and boy wasn't it… When Rickard had said there were three towers standing, he meant it - except one was leaned over, another was half crumbled, and the last was relatively intact. Grashnog and Buln had to let the craftsmen Grashnog hired know they could use magic before the three of us went to work tearing down the remaining towers. While I may have spent time plotting with Rickard these past two weeks, I had been anything but stagnant. I had visited the Moat, flown over the Mountains, and brought Rickard to the clans directly. He wanted to bring word of what was to happen here in Winterfell to the clans himself, and I let him. The broom ride I had subjected him to terrified the poor man but his reaction to the Portkey to return to Winterfell was even worse, the poor man refused to leave his solar for the entirety of the next day. While he was with the clans, Grashnog and I scouted for anything we could use to help build up the North.

While I wanted to simply redo the Kingsroad, Grashnog was a bit more ambitious. The old blacksmith decided he wanted a full-blown, underground rail system connecting the North from the Moat to the Wall. Rickard was curious as to what a rail system was but when he learned that a single train could haul enough grain, stone, and lumber to build and feed an entire castle in one trip, he was instantly onboard with it. The idea that he could get resources to his people even in the deepest snows without worrying about losing men to the cold was a gift from the gods in his eyes. But to build the rail line we wanted, our estimates for iron weren't exactly low… Especially when Grashnog and Rickard had decided and agreed that Wintertown should be the newest version of Grand Central Station in connecting every stronghold in the North. So we needed to make steel, and a lot of it very quickly. The first thing that came to mind was a Goblin refinery – though the Nation didn't use muggle steel very often, they made quite a bit of high quality material very quickly. The problem was that we didn't have the raw materials on hand to do that yet but what I did have was a wand and vast knowledge of runes. Together with Grashnog, I decided to try my hand with the Bessemer process. Thankfully, a giant bloomery wasn't going to be too hard to come by with magic, it was the resources that would be a pain in the ass to find.

Iron, carbon, manganese, limestone. All of these were needed to make good, strong steel. Thankfully, there was little phosphorus in what little iron we had already collected but the limestone was still necessary. Fortunately for us? The North was covered in it. From the Grey Cliffs made from pure limestone to the Stony Shore made of magnetite, limestone, and volcanic rock, the materials weren't in short supply – other than manganese. Usually, you would find manganese in iron ore (or at least around it) but there was little to be found here. Mercifully, we had found just enough that we could start on the steel production.

"But when my architects and builders are done with it, the moat will be stronger than when she was first built."

"That remains to be seen. I doubt Aerys, in his fragile state of mind, would take kindly to the North building a stronghold of any sort," Lord Bolton said. I simply nodded.

"Aye, he probably wouldn't, but my builders will have the walls and gates built within a month. Let the Dragon King scream at me from the gate while I stand on the wall with a hundred good men with bows," Jeor and Brandon roared in laughter, with Brandon actually slapping the table. Unfortunately, that would be all I had of the castle by the time Aerys could have a few hundred men rallied and marshalled at the Moat. The conservative estimates were that even a quarter of the towers wouldn't be done for five years with the few men I currently have, much less a proper keep, a great hall, and all twenty-two towers I wanted. "I'll need more men if I'm to build back the Moat with the other projects I have in mind."

"Other projects!?" Jeor snorted, "lad, the moat will take ya' twenty years to build back proper – if not more! What in the name of the old gods could you possibly be thinking about doing?"

"Repaving the Kingsroad to be worthy of the Kings of Winter. Connecting the North with roads built in such a way that ice and snow melt off the stones when it touches the ground, even in the darkest depths of Winter."

"Now I know yer mad," Jeor said with a twinkle in his eye, "but if this scheme works, House Mormont stands with House Stark. Now and always. Though I'm afraid I have precious few men to spare…"

"Then I'll make you the same offer I will make to the rest of the Lords after the feast, Lord Mormont," I said with a grin that the old bear returned with a chuckle.

"And what offer would this be?" Royce asked with a cold glint in his eye.

"I'm in possession of three Valyrian steel swords I'm willing to part with," I said, making the Bolton Lord's eyes widen in shock. "I offer each family an ancestral weapon, a sword or knife to match their efforts in helping me rebuild or defend the North from enemies from the Isles or from the South."

"House Mormont has a sword, lad," Jeor snorted, "I don't need yer blades… Though if Lord Stark will allow us the use of his solar after the feast, I'm sure there's another offer I could make you."

"I will allow this but I will remain to observe," Rickard said calmly even though neither of us were expecting this. We had discussed what I was going to do with the swords and, since we were still low on gold for the time being, we talked about what we could do with the swords in my pack. I was starting to regret giving Robard one for free (looks like I'll have to revisit Valyria or figure out their steel as soon as possible) but such is life. For the return of Brightroar, we were going to get Tywin's gold and men to help build three things: a canal through the Neck connecting the Saltspear and the Bite, and two castles straddling the canal to make sure Ironborn or other pirates weren't going to use it to make more havoc for the rest of the known world.

After that, there was little more conversation to be had between me and the High Lords. Wull had stayed strangely quiet through the feast, choosing instead to chew on his meat like a starving man but we already had the barebones of an agreement between Rickard and the Mountain clans: good meat, strong weapons, and steel in return for letting the Starks mine the Mountains for gold, iron, and any other precious metals but they insisted on coming to Winterfell to iron out the details, something about their honor? The mountain clans were barmy. But either way, we would keep that bargain for as long as the Stark men were in the mountains, a ridiculously good agreement for the Starks. Before long, servants were rushing through the hall collecting plates but setting out pitchers of beer, water, and wine.

"My Lords and Ladies, now that the feast is over, I fear we must get to business."

"What sort of business?" a whale of a man, a Manderly going by the sigil on his massive chest, called out.

"My Lords," he raised his hands. "As you well know, Benjamin is the Lord of Moat Cailin. He has asked for help to rebuild the Moat and improve the roads connecting the Moat to Winterfell and as far north as Castle Black – starting with the Kingsroad."

"What do we get for our men? It's bloody Winter, Stark! Surely you know that the snows could come any bloody time!?" Another man, this time in a gaudy yellow with a pair of axes over his chest. "It's bad enough you called us here but what the bloody hell happens when the snows do fall?"

"Then you and yours are welcome to Winterfell or to brave the snows, Lord Dustin. But Benjamin assures me that the roads he intends to create will melt off even the worst falls we've seen."

"Impossible! I've seen your new Lord, now I'm taking my people home before we get fucked by the snow!" The man barked to murmurs of approval. I figured it was time to go all-in now. I stood and nodded to one of the servants I had asked to help with this – one who had no idea what Valyrian steel was. He nodded and gathered the swords from a dark, unnoticed corner, laying them in front of me.

"You ask what you get?" I called to the standing man. I picked up the first sword and drew it from its sheath, using a bit of magic to hold it upright with the tip just touching the table as I drew the others and did the same. The hall had fallen into stunned silence as I drew sword after sword and now it sounded like a mausoleum. "Those willing to give their strongest men, their bravest men, their engineers, carpenters, masons, and smiths, will receive one of these blades tonight. I need as many men as you are willing to contract with me for at least one year of service to rebuild the Kingsroad and other projects the way I, or my foremen, direct them to. Who would volunteer their men?" The silence transformed to chaos with the Manderly, Greatjon, and a man in drab brown with three trees on his doublet being the loudest, shouting the most interesting offers. "My Lords," I said with a raised hand. "I thank you for your time. Lords Umber, Karstark, Bolton, Manderly, and I am afraid I do not know your house, my Lord," I said as I locked eyes with the man in brown.

"Ser Helman Tallhart of Torrhen's Square, my Lord," he said strongly, I nodded.

"Lord Tallhart, then. Do you all pledge at least one thousand men to my cause?"

"Fer a sword like that, I'd give you two!" the Greatjon boomed and the rest of the men agreed quite thoroughly.

"I'll bear it in mind, my Lord Umber," I said with a grin as I pulled six daggers from underneath the table. "These are of old Valyria as well, what would you give for one of these?"

"Half a thousand at least, my Lord," Tallhart said without a second of hesitation.

"My Lords? What are they worth to you?" I asked the hall with a grin on my face, pulling three of them off to the side.

"Two hundred!" a voice from the left of the hall shouted and the bidding war was on. I just grinned ferally as voices started falling off leaving only the higher numbers from eight other lords.

"My lord," a new voice called, "House Forrester has not many men, but we have Ironwood. We would offer that in return for a dagger along with two hundred men to work the wood."

"House Glover offers as much wood as you'll need, duty-free, with men to work it! The finest carpenters of the North!"

"Lord Forrester, Lord Glover, step forward," I said with interest – I wasn't expecting resources but from what I've heard of Ironwood, it could be a wonderful gate material for the Moat. "My Lords, only two slots are left."

"Three hundred horses!" A man next to the Ryswell girl Brandon was still staring at called. "The finest coursers in the North!"

"My Lord Ryswell, please join us," I said calmly.

"Moose, bear, and wool!" A man in orange called out. "Furs and cloaks for these men to bear the cold of winter!" The hall fell silent as I looked at the man who made the offer.

"Your name, my Lord?"

"Gerard Hornwood, Lord Stark," he said nervously.

"You are aware of how many men I am likely to assemble, yes?"

"Aye, I am," he said carefully. "The men will need meat as well. While bear isn't the best tasting, a man could live on dried Moose for as long as he would live - House Hornwood also raises the best cattle and sheep in the North. The pelts and wools alone will be worth their weight in gold when the snows fall."

"And I quite agree," I said with a small smile, "Lord Stark? Will you allow this?"

"I will if you are willing, Lord Hornwood. Winterfell will pay a stag," and there was one of the oddities of Westeros. The name of their silver coins depended on what was on the back of them: a moon or a stag, "for each pelt - whole and salted - house Hornwood provides each man or fifteen pennings per woolen cloak but only should you receive a dagger. I am afraid we will not shoulder that expense should you claim a sword."

"It's decided then," I said with a grin, "Lord Hornwood, please remain with Lords Umber, Tallhart, Manderly, Bolton, Karstark, Glover, Forrester, and Ryswell. Lord Mormont? Would you stay as well? I believe we have business to discuss."

"We do indeed, lad."

"Excellent! My Lords, I thank you all for your time and consideration. The men these Lords in front of you are providing will help the whole of the North while you never have to leave your nice, warm halls," a round of chuckles followed that as I grinned too. "Every one of you will always have a place at Moat Cailin should you come. For the North!"

"For the North!" The Lords still in their places cried as the band struck up a tune, this time a song about a Dornishman and his wife… 'Were all the songs in Westeros like this?' I wondered as the ten chosen lords, Rickard, and I made our way from the Great hall to Lord Rickard's solar – a pair of servants carrying the Valyrian steel blades behind us. It didn't take too long to make it to the Solar that had been arranged for tonight's meeting specifically. This meeting was weeks in the making. Tonight, I was seated beside Rickard while the ten Lords sat across a small table with the blades arranged on it.

"I believe congratulations are in order, my Lords," I said with a small grin. "You will each get an ancestral weapon, though only three will be fortunate enough to gain a sword… Lord Hornwood, we will discuss your position last as numbers need to be hashed out before you commit to the furs and cloaks."

"Aye, my Lord. That is no bother."

"Then onto business," I said with a smile. "You are aware that I will be asking a high price for each of these?"

"Aye," the Lords said in unison while Royce just nodded.

"Good, good," I said with a slightly pained grin. "Lord Umber? You said you were willing to provide two-thousand men for a sword?"

"Aye, I did," he said nervously.

"Then two-thousand men is the minimum price for the swords. Lords Glover, Forrester, and Ryswell, I am afraid that immediately disqualifies you even with the resources you bring to the table."

"Damn," Ryswell muttered, "I can only offer a thousand men at most."

"By no fault of yours, my Lord," I said calmly, passing three of the six daggers to the lesser Lords. "Though I am afraid I will have to ask you to stay through at least tomorrow for paperwork purposes."

"Bah," Lord Glover spat, "bloody paperwork? Surely our word is good enough?"

"Trade you Valyrian steel for your word?" I asked incredulously, "my Lord, I do not know you, Lord Rickard may but I do not. This agreement is not with the Lord of Winterfell, it's with the Lord of Moat Cailin. Any silver or gold paid from Winterfell's coffers will be charged to me and if I do not get the work or workers promised, I'll take back your blade and you will be minimally reimbursed for what you did send. Do you understand why there will be a contract?" Lord Glover looked stunned but nodded slowly. "Excellent! You will be providing 'as much wood as I will need, duty-free, with men to work it,' I believe were your exact words, yes?"

"Aye, my Lord, they were."

"Then you will be providing the backbone of construction, as such, Moat Cailin is loaning you three hundred dragons to build a shipyard and port from this wood."

"A shipyard?!" Jon Umber barked. "What the bloody hell are we doing with ships!?"

"And why isn't House Manderly building them?!" the Manderly whined. I just grinned ferally.

"Killing Ironborn. As for you, Lord Manderly," I said with a bloodthirsty grin, "I'll give you one of these swords to dig a canal from the Bite to Saltspear, you can choose whether to go around the Fever or use it to your advantage. Either method is acceptable as long as those ships of House Glover's can make it to White Harbor without having to go overland. It'll need to be one hell of a canal."

"You want House Manderly to dig a canal through the Neck?! No! That's absurd!" The fat man squealed. I just rolled my eyes and pulled another sword from behind my table, drawing the Lord's eyes to it.

"T-two swords!?" Manderly quavered.

"No, if you want even one you'll dig the bloody canal. If you don't then someone else can have your sword while you leave here with nothing," I said firmly, making everyone at the table relax a little bit. "This is Brightroar, House Lannister's sword." Instantly, the nine lords not in the know started protesting. I slammed my palm down on the table making the tankards the servants placed there rattle. "Enough!" The Lords glared at me but I glared them down just as harshly and pulled my hand up from the smoking wood. The Lords looked down at the Ironwood table, shocked at the handprint seared into the wood. "I don't plan on parting with it for cheap. If Tywin wants this sword, he'll bloody well pay for it like I've heard Lannisters are known to do."

"With what? Gold?" Lord Forrester asked cautiously. I looked at him with a smirk.

"No, if he wants this sword it will cost him two freshly built castles and a canal if Lord Manderly won't dig it."

"You want gold of the Westerland to pay for two castles!?" Lord Tallhart barked. I just nodded.

"Aye, Tywin is Aerys' hand but he's also the Warden of the West. The West has the best castles and masons in all of Westeros, not including the High Tower, Storm's End, and Winterfell of course," and it was true. Those three castles had been built by the same guy who built a three hundred mile long Ice Wall, some Stark named Brandon - aptly called the builder. Strangely, I hadn't found much on him in the Stark library besides references to those three castles and the Wall. "And say what you want about the Westermen, they can build castles bloody fast. I want them up and ready for use within five years - sooner if I can manage it."

"You're mad…" Bolton whispered. "I'll provide five hundred men and aurochs to assist in the road reconstruction but I will have no hand in the other madness."

"Seven hundred fifty men and five hundred Aurochs."

"Six hundred of both and not a single more. My son, Roose, will see them to Winterfell," Bolton snapped coldly. I simply nodded and passed him the most unwieldy, inflexible dagger on the table.

"The contract will be drawn up by tomorrow, my Lord," I said as the man unsheathed the dagger and found it to his liking.

"Very good, if that is all? I should like to retire. Good night," and Royce Bolton was on his feet and out of the room.

"You gave a Bolton a Valyrian steel knife? Are you mad!?" Jon Umber hissed, glaring at me. "Have you any idea of the rumors of what that man does!?"

"That's why I gave him the seax, Lord Umber. Gold would never buy a man like that, though a blade? I was unsure, but now I have six hundred men more at my command."

"It's a bloody bad idea, Stark," he growled and I nodded.

"Maybe, but what would he have done with a sword?" Crickets met that particular question as we moved onto the specifics of the meeting. Jeor had finally gotten in on it but refused to tell me what he wanted out of the deal until we were in private - but he was committing half of his men to the deal so whatever he wanted had to be pretty big. He and Lord Glover would be working close together to fight the Ironborn up and down the west coast of the North until the canal was built and then House Manderly would take command of the Navy, with the conditions the Starks got to choose an admiral to command the fleet. If dad were here I would have instantly volunteered him as he was a Commodore in the Royal Navy, he retired right before I graduated Hogwarts. Half the reason we lived in America for as long as we did was because he was posted there, to this day I still didn't know why.

And so it was decided, House Mormont would provide marines to deal with the Ironborn reavers, House Glover would build a fortified port and shipyard with siege weapons provided by myself and build ships until the Manderly's finished digging through the Neck - which the greedy, fat man finally agreed to with the threat of not getting the sword forcing him to concede. Houses Umber, Tallhart, and Karstark would provide two thousand men each for the work effort while House Manderly was given a deadline of five years to have the canal finished. Construction wouldn't start in full swing until the men were all assembled and that was expected to be a few months in the making meaning the house Hornwood had that long to hunt the Hornwood and Wolfswood for bear, moose, elk, boar, or other large animals to bolster their meat reserves. The high lords would each receive the bear pelts while the working men would receive the woolen cloaks (made from the wool of House Hornwood's three thousand sheep… Which was an honestly absurd amount of sheep). Lord Hornwood insisted that if there was going to be a hunt then I should get the skin of the largest bear killed as house Hornwood's personal thanks for the Valyrian hunting blade.

All in all, it was a rather tedious meeting that lasted hours into the night when the last of the Lords (Umber, of course) left Rickard's Solar, leaving me, Jeor, and Rickard as the final occupants.

"Now, onto our business," Jeor said with a slightly off-putting grin. "If ye' want my men, you'll need to pay for them, Lord Stark."

"You've already refused gold and Valyrian Steel," I said, narrowing my eyes at the man. "What is it you want? Weapons? Armor?"

"Aye, good steel is a start. A shirt of chainmail and a sword for every man and woman of Bear Island - don't worry, there's not many of us - while these marines you're asking for be fitted with strong leathers," I nodded slowly. I could do all of that so far. In fact, I could probably make the chainmail and swords myself on Bear Island if Jeor wanted me to. "But there's one more thing I'd ask of you, my Lord."

"Name it, Lord Mormont," I said calmly, wondering just what the bloody hell the man wanted.

"House Mormont has always been House Stark's most faithful ally, have we not?"

"You have, my Lord," Rickard said earnestly. "And for that you will always have House Stark's gratitude. Ask your request."

"If it pleases my Lord, I would have our houses joined," I felt my jaw drop as the Lord, who I figured had to have balls of steel to ask that question, carried on. "My sister's daughter, Dacey, is unwed and you, Lord Benjamin, are as well. I plan to join the Watch so my boy, Jorah, can rule Bear Island. He's a young lad but unwed as well. I'll go to the wall when he finally marries. If he dies without an heir, Bear Island goes to Maege. I love my sister, but she would let her daughters live out the rest of their days without marrying. Seven hells, I don't even know if my sister is married herself. I would not ask for Dacey to be lady of Winterfell - no, House Mormont does not bring enough to the table for that honor - and she is too old to be married to your Eddard without the rest of the Lords suspecting something was amiss. No, my Lord, I want the best for my niece. The way I see it, a marriage between the Lord of Moat Cailin, a Stark himself, and Dacey would provide her with a better life than I could have ever hoped she could have. She's a fierce one, killed as many Ironborn as I have, maybe more at this rate. If I hadn't given Jorah my sword, Longclaw, already Dacey would have it even if she prefers her morning star."

"I have no authority here, Jeor," Rickard said slowly, "this is between you and the Lord of the Moat. Do know, however, you have my blessing. More than that, I would wed them myself in Winterfell's godswood." I felt my jaw fall further as Rickard said that.

"Very good! What say you, boy?" Jeor turned to look at me with mirth and hope dancing in his eyes.

"I… I don't know… Rickard you know this isn't how things are done back home."

"No, but you are not back home anymore, lad. I know this is the last thing you wished for but the opportunity is fair. A marriage to House Mormont would also stop any of the Southron lords from attempting to force their daughters onto you, a risk I cannot accept. I strongly recommend you do this. Tomorrow would be best, the Lords of the North will be here still to bear witness."

"Give me two days," I said, my mind racing as I tried to figure out what to do.

"You will have them," Jeor said with a nod. "I'm off to bed. Find me tomorrow if you've made up your mind by then, Benjamin. Good night."

"Good night, Jeor," Rickard said with a small smile as the bear lord left the solar.

"A marriage? A bloody marriage?" I said weakly.

"Aye. You could not ask for a finer house to wed into, Ben. Jeor is House Stark's staunchest ally. I was unaware that he planned to take the Black. Jorah is a good lad but one nearly as wild as Brandon, he would need a good woman to temper him - you, though, you will need a woman to stand as your equal."

"Are you calling me weak, My Lord?" I asked with a small smirk.

"No. But, you must admit that when you are in your forge or your books, you lose yourself. A castle requires a strong administrator - a maester would usually take this role but you have made your stance on them clear."

"I don't trust spies, Lord Stark," I growled as Rickard shrugged.

"They may be spies but Winterfell has had nothing to hide, until your arrival that is. If the Order wished to know what little gold we had, they simply had to look at our reports to the King. The other kingdoms doctor these reports but the North can neither say we have more wealth than we do, as we cannot afford the tax, nor is there any reason to report our income lower than it is as then the crown would demand we increase the taxes on the smallfolk - something I refuse to do. If the order wishes to listen to our business then they are free to. I fear the order will know of all that has conspired here, regardless of what you wish. The King will know of the assembling men within the moon."

"Of course," I said rubbing my forehead. "I need to go to the Moat."

"Go, Walys is not due back from his whores until early in the morning."

"I still can't believe he actually went when there's a gathering of Lords."

"He is a learned man but a simple one, too easily he falls to the wiles of a woman."

"You know that I'm not letting a damned Maester into the Moat, right?"

"Indeed, I do. Though I fear you will only be met with suspicion for this."

"Better than being killed in my sleep by some jumped up scholar," I muttered darkly. "I'll be at the Moat until well past dawn and may be as late as tomorrow afternoon, my lord.."

"Go, you will be hunting the wolfswood thinking of tonight's offer should any of the Lords ask for you. Think on Jeor's proposal," he said with a bit of steel in his tone.

"Aye, I will," and with that said, I turned on heel and apparated away. While I couldn't go as far as King's Landing in a single jump, the Moat was well within range and, from what I was seeing, well under way.

"Dragon Smith! We weren't expecting you this late," Buln's familiar voice called out from a beside a brazier. It was times like this I was glad the old goblins never really slept.

"Buln!" I called back, "I wasn't expecting to come back at all tonight either."

"What changed?"

"I was offered a marriage proposal."

"Hah! Of bloody course you were. Did you take it?"

"Not yet, but the offer's attractive."

"Is the lady attractive?" he asked as I joined him beside the brazier.

"You have no idea," I said quietly.

"Fancy yourself in love already, dragon smith?" Buln asked a toothy grin that looked more like a wolf baring its fangs. Most people who had never seen a goblin actually smile would have tucked tail and ran if they saw the expression on the Warmaster's face, I just rolled my eyes.

"In love? Hardly," I scoffed but looked toward the recently started, ten foot high walls and rudimentary barracks against the west end. "The walls are looking good. What kind of foundation do we have here?"

"The walls stretch doubly far down as they'll stretch upward, a hundred and a half again feet. It was a simple matter to transfigure the dirt to granite - I've already begun etching the runes myself, the foundations will remain here for millenia when that's done. With the runes the walls won't be knocked over by anything less than a raging Dragon. The main foundations for the castle proper stretches down further than the wall's base but Grashnog's still digging, apparently. He's a good half mile or so down by now. He wants to start tunneling to Winterfell as soon as possible. Of course he has his bloody forge set up too."

"And the little ones?"

"Somewhere down there as well, probably with Grashnog. They love his bloody forge. The chute's over in the barracks," Buln threw a thumb over his shoulder and I nodded. Honestly, the place was truly impressive… or would be when it was completed. Right now it was little more than a reinforced, stone motte buried in the bedrock and pushed into a flat, circular foundation standing five feet above the swamp and nearly two-thousand feet from gate to gate with a solid Roman style road connecting the North and South - the same kind of roads I planned to connect the North. Grashnog had already planned to make the Keep and Great Hall sit on either side of the road and would connect them with a glass-paned, covered bridge so an observer could watch anyone walking on the road. The fact that there would be twenty-two, one hundred foot tall towers spaced so that every single tower could look down on the causeway with a second, shorter wall in front of the first massive one (planned to be seventy-five feet tall), while the space the walls and in front of the second each had a moat that were going to be fed by the soon to come canal was mind boggling. But that was a long way away as right now there was only the circular, concrete foundation and a single, ten foot high wall with a moat in front of it. Though, I still had no idea how the Goblins had done this in two weeks with just twenty men and a little magic.

But my wondering could wait as I pushed the door to their barracks open and found the twenty men snoozing away. They had been working hard with few breaks ever since arriving from White Harbor, and it was a three-day trek from the Moat from there. Whatever Grashnog was paying them to work as hard as they had, would have had to have been an enormous sum. I just shook my head and moved to the door settled into the stone wall. I pressed the button beside it and grinned as it opened to reveal an empty drop shaft. I stepped in and felt gravity take over. The Goblins were fond of these things, runic elevators that would let you off at a certain floor or stop your fall once you reached bottom. Either way, they were a hell of a lot faster than any muggle elevator had a right to be - at the expense of having ground under your feet. It took a few seconds but I finally felt my fall being slowed until it was stopped altogether at a large, open cathedral-like room with the sound of a ringing anvil.

"Benjamin! About bloody time, lad," Grashnog called as I was nearly knocked off my feet by thirteen, very happy, fire breathing reptiles who had dove out of Grashnog's eternal forge. To them, the fire was like catnip, they just couldn't stay away. Actually kind of reminded me of the time Professor Potter pranked McGonagall with Catnip back at Hogwarts in my sixth year… That poor third year Slytherin was never the same…

"Guys, guys, I missed you too!" I said as I struggled to regain my feet, thankfully I did though and tried to make my way over to my master with Ancaleon and Inferna - two of the largest I had hatched - perched on my shoulders while Oramir (the third largest), Quintus, and Kalinel tried to scramble up my back. Thankfully, those three joined the rest (sans Ancaleon and Inferna) in the middle of the forge where they were happily playing in the pyre that was making the room feel like a bloody sauna. "It's good to see you, master."

"And it's good to have those bloody mongrels not distracting me," he said gruffly, getting a laugh from me. I had hatched the bloody mongrels last week in the eternal flame Grashnog was now using as a forge with a drop of my blood. Usually, I wouldn't even need the blood to hatch the eggs but these were being particularly stubborn about not hatching so I gave them a small push. In one go, I managed to hatch all thirteen of them with the three largest coming from the first eggs I found in Valyria; I named them Ancaleon, Inferna, and Oramir. All three were the size of medium sized dogs (and still managed to wriggle themselves onto my shoulders) and slightly different looking to their smaller brothers and sisters with their wings slightly longer in proportion to their bodies, their heads larger, while their tails each had a small, macelike growth that would do untold damage when they got older. Ootun, Guntolf, Aquilon, Janus, Quintus, Baromax, Ergarion, Kalinel, Saruli, and Arcton, on the other hand, were only a fraction of Ancaleon's (the largest of the clutch) size but were fiercely loyal to me already - and it appeared they had taken a liking to Grashnog as well.

"Oh Master, don't be like that," I said with a grin, "they just want to help. Speaking of, how goes the bonesteel?"

"I know how to rework it, but nothing I've done has managed to recreate it!" He hissed. "I had to melt down that damned chamber pot seat you were so bloody fond of to simply make that," he said pointing across the room at an enormous crossbow. "I had one of the carpenters on hand make the stock and tripod while I created the swivel, trigger, and windlass for it."

"Have you tested it yet?"

"Aye, from the top of the wall, the arbalest flung an eight-pound bolt nearly two thousand yards," I couldn't help the whistle as I ran my hand down the smooth hickory stock up to the recurved, Valyrian prod.

"What do you reckon it draws?"

"Nearly five hundred pounds," the goblin said and I felt my eyebrows shoot up at that.

"Five hundred pounds and it fires two thousand yards? I would have expected two-hundred, three at most."

"You would be right if this bow was normal steel, but this bonesteel does not seem to want to lose its shape and strains much harder to return to true than any other metal I've ever seen. In fact, I had to pad the underside of the prod's groove with Ice Vibranium so the wood didn't split from the vibration."

"It's that strong?"

"Aye, lad, it's that strong."

"We really need to figure out how to make Valyrian Steel then… Ancaleon, Inferna," I said to the dragons dozing on my shoulder, "go play with the others, I have work to do. Okay?" Inferna whined but Ancaleon snorted a puff of smoke and nipped my ear, gliding off toward the rest of the other hatchlings with Inferna not far behind. "Alright. Where do we start?"

XXX

"This is different," I muttered as I examined the steel in my hand. It sort of looked like Valyrian steel but it wasn't quite right. Grashnog and I decided the best way to approach this would be to use different bones from the dragon skeletons I found and layer them in a damascus pattern, it looked almost identical to Valyrian steel but Grashnog wasn't able to cast any magic through this attempt. "Is it possible that dragon fire is the key?"

"I wouldn't see why," Grashnog said gruffly. "Dragon fire isn't magical enough to make a difference in the… forging… process…" the Goblin trailed off, staring at the thirteen playing in the eternal fire, something hot enough to melt tungsten if given enough time, as if it were a warm bath. "How on Earth did I miss that?"

"We aren't on Earth anymore, my old Master," I said, clasping his shoulder. "I've heard stories of Dragonstone, and not the island, but like the Black Walls of Volantis. The rock is supposedly harder than granite. It's possible dragonfire hardens the material heated which could explain the properties of Valyrian steel. But do you think we have enough dragon iron to finish making the arbalests?"

"No, we don't," he said, obviously running ideas in his head. "It would be inferior to the Valyrian bow anyway. We have enough ribs to make into recurve bows from that first dragon skeleton you found alone. I've heard of Dragonbone bows while I was in Qohor but haven't seen one before."

"Then we start making bows from dragonbone until the little ones are big enough to breath fire, but we can start making those later. I'm expected back in Winterfell soon."

"Then why are you still here, lad? Get back to Winterfell and your woman!"

"She's not my woman, Master," I snarked. Throughout the night we had talked about the advantages and problems that would come from marrying the Mormont girl. I was still uncomfortable with the idea but had to admit that, from what I knew, she had the potential to be a wonderful administrator and worthy battle commander from living on Bear Island. She would be a worthy wife for the Lord of Moat Cailin, and one who wasn't likely to betray me for money or family like the ladies of the south were prone (and worse, known) to do.

"Not yet, lad, and she never will be if you hide down here your entire life. Go!" I just grinned and shook my head, scratching the dragon on my shoulder, Aquilon, this time, behind the ears before pulling him into my arms and onto the floor as I made for the lift. The dragons didn't like that and protested vehemently as they always did when I left. I would have apparated up, but this was by far my favorite part of going back to the surface. I stepped into the second lift and felt myself rocket upward like a missile. I grinned as wind whipped around my face but the trip was over all too soon. What was interesting was the fact that Buln was headed to the downlift at a run as I exited.

"Dragon Smith! There's been a breach!" He barked, turning back to the door at full sprint. I didn't hesitate for a second as I ran after him as fast as I could. I nearly fell on my face when I saw that there was a huge group of people, armed and armored, with steel drawn in the dead center of the new foundation (and settled on the Kingsroad) spreading outward. I drew my own sword and yelled out to the group.

"Who goes there!?"

"Ben!?" I nearly fell on my face at the painfully familiar voice and couldn't believe my eyes when six, unarmed, people pushed their way through the throng of people - no, Goblins! - and ran to meet me as well. I didn't even think as I shoved my sword back into its scabbard and apparated thirty feet in front of the group, crashing into the leader of the charge and scooping her off her feet.

"What the bloody hell are you all doing here!?" I laughed as I sat my sister down and looked her over in disbelief.

"Rescuing you, dumby!" the fourteen year old Rebecca Stark said with a grin. "What has uncle Andrew always told us? Don't go poking stuff if you don't know what it is or can do!"

"She's right, kid, I do always say that," I grinned and turned to face my uncle, embracing him as I turned to my brother, mom, dad, and teacher.

"So do I, and I'm the resident expert in Gryffindors forward! But does he ever listen to me?" Professor Potter asked with a grin.

"Only when you're teaching me cool spells, prof," I snarked, getting a rap on the back of the head from Ryan.

"You're an idiot. Did you know that?" he asked with a roll of his eyes.

"Ryan!" Mom snapped before looking at me with watery eyes, "I'm glad to see you safe, sweetheart, but where on Earth are we? Andrew and your father said we could be in the past or another world but I refuse to believe that!" She said snootily. I just rubbed the back of my head and looked at dad and professor Potter.

"Bloody hell," Harry said quietly. "Did my luck rub off on you?"

"I guess it did," I said quietly. "Welcome to Moat Cailin, the fortress defending the Kingdom of the North from the now united Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Dorne and the Iron Islands, of which, the North is the largest 'Kingdom,' by land area. It's kind of like the United Kingdom but with a few more kingdoms. This castle is under my jurisdiction but, as I'm a bannerman to the Stark in Winterfell, I'm a direct subject to the Warden of the North. Think of the Lord in Winterfell as a Duke whereas I'd be an Earl."

"Stark?" Andrew asked in shock, "Jorah Stark was real?"

"As real as you and me," I confirmed, "I was actually just leaving for Winterfell now," I glanced up at the sky and saw that it still wasn't quite dawn yet so I had a little time. "I just brokered a deal to get the country up on its feet and need to be back by dawn to sign some papers."

"Why do I sense an 'and?'" Dad snarked but I could only grimace.

"And I was going to agree to a marriage contract, one that Lord Rickard would see done tonight if he had any say in it."

"Tonight!? My son's getting married tonight and I don't have clothes for it!? No, no, that won't do at all! Rebecca, be a dear! We simply must be ready for it! Oh! Andrew! I'll need your fancy tent again!" Andrew waved his hand and a roll of canvas came racing toward him from over the group. I just shook my head, Uncle Andrew was always over the top with his magic.

"Mom," I said exasperatedly as Andrew passed the tent to her, "you don't ha-"

"If you say I don't have to do that, I'll impale you with that toothpick on your hip. I've been waiting twenty one years to see you married and I'll be damned if I'm not dressed my best for it!"

"Prepare for the weather," I said as she tossed the tent in the air and let it set itself up. "It gets terribly cold at night here now that winter's come." She smiled gently at me before ducking into the tent with Becca.

"Married? Just how long have you been here, Son?" Dad asked quietly.

"Two weeks in the North, five weeks in this world. I don't know why you all appeared here though. Master Grashnog, Buln and I all appeared all over Essos at different times. Grashnog has apparently been here the longest with three years."

"Ben…" Dad started slowly, "it's been a week since you disappeared… Just what have you've gotten us into?"

"Something strangely similar to feudal Britain… But how many bloody Goblins did you bring with you?"

"Nearly a hundred," another familiar voice called out from the crowd as none other than Filius Flitwick pushed through toward us. "All skilled miners, builders, warriors, and a few bankers. They didn't bother sending another smith as Grashnog and yourself were already here. King Aluneas claimed that two Master Smiths would be enough to see us through. Right now, they're led by Garstal. But, Benjamin Stark, you have no idea how good it is to see you!" The little man squeaked. "What's this I hear about you getting married?"

"That's still up in the air, prof," I said with a small grin. "But how did you all even get here?"

"The house daggers and wizarding tents," Uncle Andrew said with a grin, "speaking of…" he tugged on both his wrists and handed me a pair of familiar bracelets. "I know you gave these to me for safe keeping but, seeing as they won't do us any good until we find another portal, they're yours - more specifically, they're your kids'."

"I don't have kids, yet, Uncle," I said with fire building in my cheeks.

"Tell that to me again in nine months," he said with an easy smirk. I just rolled my eyes. "Lord of a castle, bannerman to a King… Who would have thought it?"

"Lord of a fortress, bannerman to a Lord Paramount," I corrected gently, "no one in the North has any respect for the King in the Red Keep but he's still the king - for now. We're working on that," I said with a small smirk.

"In a world for a month and some change and you're already trying to overthrow a King? What would your mother say?" dad asked with a grin.

"I'm hoping she'll accept it. I've been trying to find a way back but now that you're all here, is there really any point?"

"Your sister needs to finish her magical studies and your brother made the Celtic just this season," dad said seriously and I couldn't help but wince. "Is that a problem?"

"It will be for him, dad," I said quietly. "You came through the portal just the same as me but is there another one anywhere in sight? There wasn't one in Myr, Qohor, or Valyria either - that's where Buln, Grashnog, and myself each ended up before running into one another in Volantis purely by chance."

"So your brother does what? Gives up his life?" Dad snapped at me and I gave him the coldest look I could. Though I couldn't say I was surprised, I just rattled off names that meant absolutely nothing to him and suggested we shouldn't go back home.

"No, dad, I never said that. I hate that I never made it to one of his games in the Premier but look at where we are. Do you think soccer exists here? I'll help him try to get back but we might have to accept there is no going back and we make the best of what we have here."

"Would you stop talking about me like I wasn't right here?" Ryan finally snapped. I glanced at him and nodded.

"Sorry, man."

"Yeah. You're sure there's no way home?"

"Sure? Absolutely not. But if there is a way, I haven't found it yet. We can talk more about this later, I have to go now."

"No you don't, not yet. Whatever you're doing can wait. Figuring this out is more important than anything."

"Not this, dad," I said hotly. "I just made an agreement with ten of the fourteen High Lords of the North. These are not people you keep waiting, they'd gut me with the blades I gave them if I backed out now."

"Are we really going to fight when we just found each other again?" Andrew asked quietly. "Lincoln, this is obviously important and I, for one, would like to see this Winterfell. How far away is it?"

"Three hundred miles as the crow flies," I said as the first rays of dawn broke on the horizon. "But we can be there in ten to fifteen minutes. We need to ride for a little bit so the guards won't see us."

"Ride? In what?" Ryan asked with a raised eyebrow as I grinned and turned to the small stables.

"Not in, on. We'll have to go on Horseback through the Wolfswood to get past the Hunter's gate. The guards are used to not knowing if I went out or came back and have just accepted it at this point so they won't be too surprised. But keep in mind, don't offend anybody." I said seriously, tossing them portkeys left and right as I made my way to the stables. "You may get away with it with Lord Umber but if you offend Royce Bolton he may gut you just to prove a point. I really don't trust that man."

"Seriously," Ryan asked in a deadpan, "what have you gotten us into?"

"Not quite sure of that myself," I said with a small grin.

"You have enough horses for two more?" Harry asked, "I brought my godson and his grandmother with me, you see."

"Aye, we do, go get them. I'll prepare your horses," I said with a small smile. Harry grinned and waved to an older woman and another familiar face.

"Teddy? What the hell are you doing here?" I asked as I shook hands with the former hufflepuff.

"Chasing you, apparently, Stark," he said with a grin that I returned easily.

"You two know each other?" Ryan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye, Harry was my defense teacher."

"And he's my godfather, we saw a lot of each other in his classroom when I finally got to Hogwarts."

"All too true, you know how to saddle a horse?" I asked with a grin and was actually surprised to see the metamorph grin.

"Grandma likes to ride and taught me early."

"That I do, though usually I prefer Freisens or a good Arabian," the woman said with a small smile, "Andromeda Tonks, dear. Harry's told me a little about you. Apprenticed to a Master Smith of the Goblin Nation? That's no small feat."

"Thank you," I rubbed the back of my head nervously as a shout rang out over the courtyard.

"Wait!" came from my right and I saw mom and Becca running at us full tilt with Aunt Jessica and cousin Jennifer. "You aren't leaving without us!" Becca called. I just rolled my eyes but couldn't help the grin that splayed across my face when I saw the craftsmen and Grashnog exit the barracks with either dropped jaws or near jubilation. A hundred goblins would change everything in terms of building. If only we had that many Valyrian daggers… Eh. I'm sure Grashnog will figure it out, I have business to take care of anyway.

"Wouldn't dream of it, little sister," I called back as the group of twelve assembled at the stables. "Please, take your pick," I said to the group. Mercifully, the craftsmen had found horses for themselves so everyone would be able to ride. I snatched up the courser I found in White Harbor while Filius took Buln's pony and the rest took the ones that took to them best - though mom did take Grashnog's pony. "Don't mount up yet," I said as I proceeded to stun all of the horses and turn their saddles into portkeys of their own as I snatched my newly made standard from the wall. "Everyone has their portkey? Yes? Winter is Coming." Was the last thing I said before we disappeared in a flash of blue.

XXX

[A] - Dragons: I understand some of the names may be difficult to pronounce and not all of their colors were listed so I'm including a pronunciation guide and color reference here:

Ancaleon - Black: An-Cal-E-On

Inferna - Crimson: In-fur-nah

Oramir - Green & Dappled Grey: Or-ah-mir (as in mirror)

Ootun - White & Grey: Oat-in

Guntof - Grey: Gun-tov (As in Mazel Tov)

Aquilon - Gold & Scarlett: Ah-key-lahn (rhymes with khan)

Janus - Black & White: Jay-nus (as in truss - not pronounced Jay-noose)

Quintus - Purple & Silver: Quinn-tus

Baromax - Desert Brown: Bah-row-max

Ergarion - Dappled Grey & Black with Purple Streaks: Er-gar-E-un

Kalinel - Muted Blue and Green: Call-ah-nell

Saruli - White: Sar-ew-lee

Arcton - Winter Camouflage: Arc-ton

[B] - Swords and Knives given by Ben:

House Umber - Sword

House Manderly - Sword

House Tallhart - Sword

House Bolton - Knife

House Karstark - Knife

House Glover - Knife

House Forrester - Knife

House Ryswell - Knife

House Hornwood - Knife

[C] - Character Guide

Northern Lords: Year - 278

Royce Bolton: Father of Roose Bolton, Grandfather of Ramsay Snow - Age: 47

Jon Umber: Greatjon as seen in Canon - 24

Wyman Manderly: Lord of House Manderly of White Harbor - 37

Jeor Mormont: Lord of Bear Island - 48

Dacey Mormont: Ben's soon to be wife - 19

Rickard Stark: Lord of Winterfell - 42

Brandon Stark: Heir of Winterfell - 17

Eddard Stark - 15

Lyanna Stark - 12

Benjen Stark - 11

Extended Stark Family/Earthborn

Lincoln Stark: Father of Ben Stark - 45

Alice Stark: Mother of Ben Stark - 39

Ryan Stark: Brother of Ben Stark - 20

Rebecca Stark: Sister of Ben Stark - 14

Andrew Stark: Uncle of Ben Stark - 42

Jessica Stark: Aunt of Ben Stark, Wife of Andrew Stark - 35

Jennifer Stark: Cousin of Ben Stark, daughter of Andrew and Jessica - 13

Harry Potter: Hogwarts Professor - 36

Edward 'Teddy,' Lupin: Son of Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, friend of Ben Stark - 18

Andromeda Tonks: Teddy's Grandmother - 64

AN: Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading this, hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter will be coming on March 31, 2021 if life doesn't decide to get in the way. Please review and let me know what you think! Until next time!

Edit 3/19/2021 - typo on Royce Bolton's age. Changed from 27 to 47.