Chapter 9: Flying Sword? No! A Fire One!

~289 AC~

"A flying sword! A flying sword, Ned! Can you believe it?!" Robert Baratheon threw his head back and roared with laughter. "The tales these dimwits try to tell me. Gods, I'm surrounded by bloody idiots, I tell you."

Ned found himself laughing along with his friend. The Greyjoy Rebellion was nearing its end, and the siege of Pyke was to start on the morrow. In light of that, he had decided to spend the evening in Robert's camp.

While the memories of the events that had happened in King's Landing at the end of the Rebellion still stung at Ned, it was said that time healed all wounds. And as he reminisced with his brother in all but blood over their days in the Eyrie and of other outrageous and fanciful tales of things like flying swords, he found that there was some truth in that statement. It felt like his and Robert's friendship had never suffered that rough patch, picking right back up where they left off.

This tale of a flying sword had intrigued him, though. Ned would've said such a thing beggared belief if he had heard it just a little over a year ago, but exposure to his son's magic had taught him otherwise.

"A flying sword, Robert? Pray tell."

"Ha! Didn't take you for the type to lend your ear to such a tale, Ned. As luck would have it, we have someone here in this very tent who swears it by the old gods and the new that he saw it with his own eyes, aye." Robert raised his chalice and made to call for a blonde, green-eyed boy—a Lannister, no doubt, who had been acting as his cupbearer for the evening. "Tyrek!" Robert shouted. "More wine! And tell Ned here what you saw."

"It's Tyren, Your Grace." Robert's cupbearer mumbled, not pleased that his king had gotten his name wrong. Again. It wasn't that hard to remember!

"What was that, lad? I couldn't hear you. Speak up!"

"I said my name is Tyren, Your Grace." The cupbearer said, a little more loudly.

"Well, why didn't you say so earlier! Been calling you the wrong name this whole time, have I?" Tyren nodded, relieved. It seemed like he'd finally gotten through. "So you've had me calling you the wrong name this whole time, have you? Making me look like a bloody idiot is what you've done!" Robert roared, slapping his knee.

"A thousand pardons, Your Grace! Forgive me!" Tyren squeaked out an apology as he lowered his head due to the king's furious retort. He should've known!

Robert ran his hand through his beard as another round of laughter erupted from his belly. "Relax, Tyren! Just a jape. Gods, aren't you Lannisters supposed to be lions? Kittens more like from what I've seen lately. Eh, Ned?"

Ned let out a small chuckle. He felt a little bad for the Lannister cupbearer.

Tyren relaxed at his king's admission. While he had been eager at first to serve as the king's cupbearer, he hadn't been quite ready for the larger than life man that was Robert Baratheon. He could never tell when he was serious or not, and a wrong guess could result in him being shorter by a head!

After refilling the king's cup, Tyren thought back to that fateful day. The king might have thought him a fool for believing what he did, but Tyren knew what he saw.

The Lannister cupbearer who had been a frightful mess just a moment ago, lit up with excitement as he regaled Ned with what he saw that day. "'Tis true, Lord Stark. Just a year ago was when I saw it. It was my cousin Tymond's name day, and me and some others thought to take him out to town in King's Landing to celebrate. Some way through the festivities, we saw a gathering of people atop Rhaenys's Hill and made to see what was amiss."

Ned considered the tale so far. There wasn't much on or around Rhaenys's Hill. There was the Street of Silk that ran northwest from it, most like where Tyren had taken his cousin and others to for a night out. Many brothels could be found on the Street of Silk. Ned hadn't ever been there, of course, but you learn a few things about brothels when your best friend is Robert Baratheon.

The most notable thing about Rhaenys's Hill was the Dragonpit, but it was abandoned. Had been for over a century, ever since the Storming of the Dragonpit.

There was a peculiar piece of history regarding the Storming of the Dragonpit, though.

It was said that a knight wielding the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of House Royce, Lamentation, had joined the smallfolk in the assault on the Dragonpit, and had managed to cut off a wing of one of the dragons. Syrax, he believed.

Ned thought back to his days in the Vale, of how squires and knights alike would jape and boast of one day finding Lamentation amidst the wreckage of the Dragonpit. Winds and words, of course. The ceiling of the building had caved in, bringing the entire structure down with it. To try to make way through all that debris for a mere possibility simply wasn't worth it.

Tyren continued his tale, bringing Ned out of his thoughts. "Once we had come upon Rhaenys's Hill, we saw no small number of smallfolk at the foot of the wreckage of the Dragonpit. They were clamoring, talk of dragons long dead rising up once more running rampant amongst them." Ned heard Robert growl at the mere notion. "Amidst it all, a distinct sound could be heard. Steel grinding against stone."

"Steel grinding against stone?" Ned asked with a lifted brow.

"Indeed, Lord Stark. It was most loud, even with all the smallfolk about. As time went on, some of the debris even started to sink and topple. It was as if something underneath was cutting through the wreckage at the bottom to make room for what was at the top." Ned noticed that Tyren's eyes started to gleam as he seemed to near the end of his tale. "And then I saw it! I swear on the old gods and the new, I did! A sword cut a path out of the debris and flew away into the night sky as if it were a star! It had to be Lamentation! Summoned by sorcery, no less!"

"I still think the lad and his little gaggle of friends had too much drink that night, is all." Robert chimed in, already halfway through the cup Tyren had refilled.

"And what of the smallfolk?" Ned was curious about what others at the scene had to say.

Tyren didn't seem to be affected by Robert's jape this time, and answered. "They all shared similar accounts. The smallfolk that witnessed the scene have gone on to tell anyone that would lend an ear that magic is back."

The tale did indeed sound outrageous, but Ned knew better. Tyren didn't know how right he was. It was a strange feeling for Ned, someone who didn't participate in gossip and games of intrigue, to be privy to such a piece of information.

As his son had shown him, magic was indeed back.

And apparently, Robb had started some queer cult amongst the smallfolk in King's Landing with his stunt. There was no doubt in his mind that Robb was responsible for the incident Tyren witnessed.

Ned wanted to sigh.

"Pah! Enough about flying swords and magic." Robert cut in. "Tell me, Ned, what type of drills have you been putting your men through? I've heard word, people have been saying it takes ten of those iron shits to put down just one northerner!"

Ned smiled at Robert's praise. His bannermen had been performing very well this war.

So well, in fact, it was a little strange. Almost like magic, really.

But it couldn't be, could it?

Ned had a feeling, though.

"We northerners are made of sterner stuff, Robert. You know that."

"True enough. Would that I could replace the summer knights that've been filling the Red Keep as of late with northern swords instead. It seems like every day my lady wife has some new Lannister halfwit knight or squire she wants me to give a post to!" Tyren looked a little embarrassed at that remark. "Enough about that, though. How've the kids been doing? I hear Lady Stark is due for another one soon."

Ned brightened up at that. Nothing made him quite as happy as his children. Speaking of his kids though reminded him of that parchment Robb had gifted him. Best not forget to write something down.

"Well, Robb is almost seven. If you were to hear what the maids say he gets up to, though, you'd think he was a man grown. Reminds me a bit of you, Robert."

Robert laughed at that, and his and Ned's talk continued long into the evening.

"Padfoot, to me." A streak of black pattered up to Robb and sat in place, awaiting his master's next command.

"Very impressive, m'lord." Farlen, Winterfell's kennelmaster, looked on, impressed that the direwolf pup did as told. He was rather good at his trade, if he could say so himself, and he'd never managed to train any of his pups half as well as this direwolf pup was at its age.

Cheers and claps could be heard in the background from some of the kids and house guards as they watched on in amazement.

"Gods be good. To think I'd see a direwolf at my age." Old Nan said, as her needles went click click click. She'd taken to doing some of her knitting outside since summer had started to come in, and she wasn't one to miss an occasion like a direwolf sighting.

Farlen almost snorted despite himself. He didn't think Old Nan could see much at all at her age. When his young lord had come to him with news of having found a direwolf pup, he had been doubtful. It had been gods know how long since one had been spotted south of the Wall. Yet, he had been proven wrong.

Farlen was familiar with the differences between direwolves and regular wolves. This "Padfoot", as his lord had taken to calling him, was indeed a direwolf; even if his fur and eyes were queer colors.

"Farlen, I'll need you to speak to my father and mother about Padfoot." Winterfell's kennelmaster nodded at Robb's statement.

"Of course, m'lord. I did give my word." While Farlen had been excited at the prospect of a direwolf, he wasn't a fool. They were beast that even just after a year were capable of tearing off the limbs of a man grown. He had bargained with Robb, saying that if he could command the beast, he would put in a good word with the lord and lady of the house. But if he couldn't, he would have to put it down.

He had been expecting to have to put the pup down, but the Heir to Winterfell had shown him otherwise.

House Stark's sigil wasn't just for show, it seemed.

He watched on in awe as Robb gave the direwolf pup command after command, each one executed with no fuss. It seemed almost as if man and beast were one.

"Excellent!" Robb clapped his hands in excitement. "We'll have to build a whole new kennel for him. I have a feeling Padfoot isn't the only direwolf Winterfell will be housing for long."

Farlen's eyes widened at that statement.

In truth, Robb knew it to be a fact. He'd been putting Sharley to work, and was expecting a new direwolf pup to show up in the First Keep any day now.

Suddenly, a piece of parchment started to heat up in Robb's pocket, causing him to smile.

It seemed it was time to make his move.

"Padfoot! With me!" The kids sighed in disappointment as their newest entertainment was leaving them, but Robb couldn't leave Padfoot unattended, no matter how well-trained he was. Not yet, at least. Once their bond was stronger, Robb was sure that Padfoot would have no problems around people even when he wasn't there.

Since a kennel had yet to be built for his direwolf, Robb had taken to keeping him in the First Keep when he wasn't around.

His lady mother had recently given birth, and so he hadn't thought it wise to walk around with a direwolf in the Great Keep just yet. He'd gained another sister, Arya was her name. Unlike him and Sansa, she took after their father in coloring.

Robb made his way to the First Keep, filled with excitement.

This would be his first big move in Westeros involving magic.

While summoning Valyrian steel swords was nice, it was just a stepping stone to building wealth. The move he would make against the Ironborn today would be felt for centuries.

Pulling out the parchment after having entered the First Keep, he began to read. "Siege of Pyke to start on the morrow." It was a simple message his father had sent.

After having collected the orb he planned to make use of in his taboo spell plan, Robb then focused on the parchment. It was easy to determine the location of his father as long as he focused on the link between the two pieces of enchanted parchment.

Once he found it, he cast a Disillusionment Charm and then prepared to apparate.

Soundless apparition was one of Robb's greatest magical feats from his previous life. It was also one of the reasons he had been so successful as head auror. He'd been able to conduct dozens of sting operations that wouldn't have been possible without it otherwise.

Though his apparition was soundless, it wasn't any more comfortable.

Having arrived in his location, Robb took a look around.

The tent for the head of House Stark was quite grand. Robb took in the sight, furniture made of high-quality wood, the direwolf insignia perched high and proud at the center of the tent.

The highborn considered appearances very important, and his lord father wasn't different in that aspect. Even in the middle of a battlefield, you had to look good.

Robb didn't want to be distracted by his father, so he made to leave quickly. He had a few things to take care of tonight.

A Silencing Charm later and Robb was out of the tent.

Here at the center of House Stark's camp, Robb could feel that the enchantments he had cast on the armaments of their bannermen had become very weak. The final battle was tomorrow, and so he wanted to renew them.

He was curious about how well they had performed. He'd never done anything like outfitting an army with enchantments in his first life, so he wanted to know how much of a difference it had made. Doubtless he'd hear accounts of it when they returned to Winterfell victorious.

Robb visited the largest tents, making sure to enchant all the armor he had found once more.

It had been a long time since he'd snuck around like this, and he found it rather fun.

Once he had finished enchanting any armor he could find, he looked around for something resembling a medical tent. He focused on his hearing, listening for something that sounded like men in pain. Having found his destination, he made his way there.

Robb wasn't a healer by any means, but aurors were taught a handful of healing spells due to the inherent dangers in the field. While things like replacing bones and organs and replenishing blood were solely in the realm of potioneering, it was entirely possible to mend broken bones and clean infections with just spellwork.

He hit the watchmen and medics with a weak Confundus Charm, and went to work.

Groans of pain and the scent of blood and death filled the tent. With practiced eased, Robb ignored the sounds and scents and began his work.

Bones that would've never been set properly otherwise due to the lacking knowledge of the world were reset with ease en masse. Infections that would've otherwise resulted in death, disease, and loss of limbs were cleaned with the wave of a wand.

To finish the job, Robb cast a Cheering Charm on everyone in the tent.

What was once a place filled with death and decay just a moment ago had now become one of healing and relief.

This event would later end up being recorded by the maesters who had taken accounts of the Greyjoy Rebellion for posterity as one of the great mysteries of Westeros.

The watchmen that ended up stumbling on this scene would later call it a "miracle of the old gods." An account of the event claimed Eddard Stark was spotted at the scene, shocked and muttering something that his bannermen would later claim sounded rather similar to "Robb".

Having finished his work in camp Stark, Robb prepared to cast a spell he had been working on recently, a derivative of the Four-Point Charm. When he had been summoning Valyrian steel swords, the idea of summoning dragon eggs had crossed his mind. The problem was that it was highly likely the eggs would be damaged during the summoning process by something, unlike Valyrian steel.

His solution was to create a spell that would show where the dragon eggs were, instead of bringing them to him.

It was a common misconception amongst young wizards, but the original Four-Point Charm with the incantation of Point Me was simply a compass in the form of a spell. It always pointed north.

Robb had plans for the original Four-Point spell that he would be discussing with Lord Manderly at some point. While he knew that compasses were responsible for great developments in sea trade, he had absolutely no idea where to begin on making an actual compass.

Luckily, making a magical tool that performed the Four-Point Charm for others to use was entirely possible for him.

Robb held his wand flat in his hand. "Point Me Robert Baratheon." His derivative spell successfully cast, Robb made use of his unassisted flight to get to the Baratheon camp.

As he flew over the tents, he noted the siege engines that had been constructed, the watchmen taking turns, and the cooks at work. It was the first time Robb had been in something resembling a war camp, and he found it fascinating. It certainly wasn't anything like the Quidditch World Cup, where you could find thousands of tents out in the field.

He wondered when he would end up acting as a commander for a war. Surprisingly enough, he found himself excited about the prospect.

The Baratheon camp hadn't been far, Robb noted as he reached his location.

His spell had led him to what was clearly the main tent.

As Robb snuck in, passing the tent flap without a sound or movement to indicate he had done so, he took in his surroundings.

While House Stark's tent was grand, House Baratheon's was just as impressive. Robb found the same high-quality furniture that made up House Stark's tent. Robb had to admit, while he had grown very fond of the direwolf insignia, he rather liked the stag insignia of House Baratheon.

His first father had been a stag, after all. But that was his old life.

The blood of the direwolf ran in his veins, now.

He made a mental note to cast a patronus when he got the chance. He was curious on if it was the same, or if it had changed. It wasn't well-known, but genetics played a factor in the form a witch or wizard's patronus would take.

The same was true for the Animagus transformation.

Robb had managed to achieve the feat in his early twenties once he took his studies seriously.

He had been expecting his transformation to be a stag, but surprisingly, it had been a Grim like Sirius.

Robb wondered if his new one would be a direwolf since he had a different body, now. The ability to transform into a giant direwolf in this world sounded like fun.

Having found his target, he shelved those thoughts for later and focused.

The Confundus Charm was a versatile spell, limited only by the skill of the caster. He'd remembered of how Snape had managed to cast such a powerful Confundus Charm onto Mundungus Fletcher's mind, that Mundungus was convinced that the plan Snape had implanted in his mind was of his own making. And Mundungus had been a wizard, with all the passive mental defenses and resistance of one.

Confunding the king into reinstituting Quellon Greyjoy's reforms would be simple, even if he was stubborn as all hell.

Especially in the face of a mighty wizard like himself.

Robb didn't have a hobby of messing with the minds of people, muggle or magical, to quite this degree, but needs must be met. Deathstick in hand, he channeled his immense magical power and cast his Confundus Charm on the king.

Feeling his charm take hold, he left and prepared to enchant some of House Baratheon's armaments and visit their medical tent as well. Robb wouldn't call himself a hero, but he could do this much. Besides, it made him feel less bad about confunding the king.

This occurrence too would later confuse the maesters that had taken accounts of the Greyjoy Rebellion.

After carrying out the same routine he'd done at House Stark's medical tent, he prepared to carry out his final task of the night.

Part of the setup of his taboo plan involved calculating the relative center of the Iron Islands for the optimal spot to place the orb.

He could've placed it anywhere, but he'd never been the type to half-ass something like this. Besides, magic had made the task relatively easy.

Having long marked the placement for the orb, Robb prepared to cast his own Fidelius Charm.

The Fidelius Charm was a spell that had seen much research in the years after the war. After all, it had been widely used in the war by both sides. In theory, it seemed like the perfect spell. Especially so if you were your own secret keeper.

And in a way, it was.

While the soul only allowed someone to be the secret keeper of one secret, it wasn't much trouble if it was used solely for personal use.

However, there were trade-offs to every spell.

As the Fidelius Charm saw wider use, dark wizards had created a spell to determine whether someone housed a secret in their soul.

Many wealthy witches and wizards who acted as their own secret keepers to protect their riches had been targeted and tortured until they had given up the secret.

The spell even had the secondary effects of being able to determine whether someone had damaged their soul by doing something like creating a horcrux, or if they were receiving the blessing of someone else; namely something like a boon from a deity.

Indeed, there was some irony in the fact that the Fidelius Charm had caused such deep research into soul magic. Robb had been curious about what Tom and Dumbledore would've said about such a development.

Robb mentally thanked the arithmancers that worked for the Ministry of Magic as he finished casting his Fidelius Charm. What had once been a complicated, ten-minute long spell had been streamlined down to a single minute.

While his original plan had been to activate the orb after the battle, he decided he'd do so on the eve of the siege of Pyke. Robb felt a little bad for the Ironborn, they were going to have a rough day tomorrow.

Having finally finished his work, he prepared to apparate back to the First Keep. He'd gotten a lot done tonight.

All that was left was to see the fruits of his labor after the end of the war. Hopefully, winter town would become home to some of the more skilled thralls soon.

"For King Robert!" Ned watched on in amazement as Thoros of Myr shouted. He was the first to cross the breached walls of Pyke. Wielding a sword coated in wildfire, he made for quite a sight. Jorah Mormont and his fellow northmen trailed close behind.

Ned wasn't far behind, either.

He had never been one to seek out battles. He'd always been only just above-average in the yard. His brother Brandon had been the best sword in the family.

Today was different, though.

He felt better this morning than he had in a long time.

By some strange miracle, almost all the injured in the medical tents had been healed. Bones were reset and life-threatening infections had been cleaned. It was good news to break his fast to, no matter how strange the actual contents of the occurrence were.

Furthermore, he felt light as a feather. He didn't feel hampered by his armor at all as he swung Ice, felling an Ironborn with each swing. Wielding a greatsword effectively was tricky. Using one involved making large commitments. If you swung, you had to follow all the way through. Even if the greatsword in question was a Valyrian steel one. Ned's armor had felt so light today, though, that whenever he saw an opportunity to swing, he was swift and decisive.

"What is dead may never die!" Shouted one Ironborn.

"For the Drowned God!" Shouted another, only to drop his weapon and hold his head after being assaulted by a sudden head splitting headache. Unfortunately for him, he was soon relieved of his head by the Quiet Wolf of the North.

Even among all the bloodshed, Ned saw that he wasn't the only one having great success today. The Greatjon seemed like he could give even the Demon of the Trident a good fight right now, and Lord Karstark was making quick work of foes, too.

"Not bad, Ned!" Robert boomed to his right, felling an Ironborn with a single swing of his maul. He had to admit, even though his friend had gained a bit of weight, he was still perhaps the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms.

It was a flurry of steel, and before Ned knew it, Balon was on his knees, swearing oaths of fealty.

However, if Balon had known what was to come next, he might've not sworn any oaths at all.

"…If you would have me, I wish to serve you, my lord." Spoke Thoros of Myr, as he kneeled before Ned.

Ned considered the man before him. He had been surprised when Thoros of Myr had called out to him. While he didn't know the red priest personally, he'd fought a few battles with him and had heard word of his character through others. The most unpriestly priest there was. A man more interested in spreading the legs of wenches than spreading the word of his god, R'hllor. It was said that he could even outdrink King Robert.

However, he had seen his valor at the siege of Pyke. Thoros was a capable warrior, if not a brave one. He would be a good addition to his household guard, if not an entertaining one at least.

There were a few problems, though.

"Before I accept you into my service, I would ask why sought me out. The North is a far cry from King's Landing, and even further from Myr. It's a harsh land. What do you mean to gain by entering into my service?" Ned was no fool. He knew Thoros enjoyed a close relationship with the king. Why would he throw that away for a position in the North?

"I've seen it in my flames, my lord. R'hllor wills it." Thoros answered.

"The flames?" Ned felt a headache coming on. He wasn't familiar with the red priest. Most of the ones in Westeros were either in King's Landing or Oldtown.

"Indeed, my lord. I've seen visions of it in my flames. A mighty direwolf lording over the Seven Kingdoms, the world over even. Fighting back great threats to man, and bringing in a new age of peace and prosperity." Thoros spoke solemnly.

He had seen some other things in his flames, too. A figure surrounded by dozens of beautiful women.

Thoros had been a little jealous of the person he saw in his visions.

If only maidens showered him with kisses like the man he'd seen in his flames!

Ned was glad that he had the foresight to make this meeting private. If any of his bannermen had heard this red priest talk, they'd have sent him off claiming he was mad. Of course, he knew better.

"Very well, Thoros of Myr. I will accept you into my household. And while I am tolerant towards your faith, talk of burning anything will be met with hostility."

As Thoros spoke his oaths, Ned thought about his son. His magic was already attracting people, and it'd only been a little over a year. While Ned considered the danger of bringing such a man around his son, he also considered the benefits.

It seemed his son was going to end up attracting all kinds of attention in the very near future, and he could feel another headache coming on.

Dammit Robb!

A/N:

Looks like ~289 AC~ got three chapters. Whoops. Busy year.