The winter sun cast long shadows across Winterfell's courtyard as Owen and Eddard watched the steam constructors at work. The mechanical army moved with eerie precision, their metal limbs gleaming as they carried massive sheets of specialized glass and frames of dwarven metal.
"The glass is a blend of melted moonstone and malachite," Owen explained, gesturing to the translucent panels being lifted into place. "The combination creates a material that traps heat while allowing more sunlight through than regular glass."
Eddard's grey eyes widened as he observed the automatons working in perfect synchronization. Some units welded metal frames together with built-in heating elements, while others installed the glass panels with methodical efficiency. The sound of metal on metal filled the air, punctuated by the hiss of steam from the constructors' joints.
"By the old gods," Eddard breathed as the structures took shape before his eyes. Four massive glasshouses rose from the ground, their frames gleaming with the distinctive golden-bronze hue of dwarven metal. The buildings dwarfed the surrounding structures, their peaked roofs reaching toward the sky.
Owen raised the control rod, directing the machines to finish the internal systems. "The pipes are connecting directly to your hot springs," he said. "The heat will keep the soil warm year-round, and the automated watering system will ensure consistent irrigation."
When the last panel clicked into place, Owen gestured for Eddard to enter the nearest glasshouse. The Lord of Winterfell stepped through the doorway and stopped, amazed by the dramatic temperature change. While winter's chill gripped the outside air, the interior felt like a warm spring day.
Inside, more constructors moved up and down the rows, their specialized attachments breaking up the soil and creating perfect furrows for planting. The machines worked with impossible speed and precision, transforming the bare earth into orderly plots ready for seeds.
Eddard walked the length of the glasshouse, noting the intricate network of pipes running along the walls and ceiling. Water droplets sparkled as they emerged from carefully placed spouts, creating a fine mist that settled evenly across the freshly tilled soil.
"The watering system is on a timer," Owen explained, pride evident in his voice. "Every two hours, it will automatically dispense the perfect amount of water. The glass amplifies and traps the sunlight, creating ideal growing conditions even in the depths of winter."
Eddard reached out to touch one of the glass panels, marveling at how it seemed to capture and intensify the wan winter sunlight. The entire structure hummed with quiet efficiency, a show of the incredible capabilities of Owen's mechanical workers.
When he turned back to Owen, the young smith wore a satisfied smile, clearly pleased by the lord's reaction to his creation.
Eddard's mind raced with possibilities as he surveyed the vast interior of the glasshouse. The structure dwarfed Winterfell's existing glass gardens - those precious buildings that had sustained his family through countless winters. Where the old gardens struggled to feed even his household, these new constructions could feed hundreds, perhaps thousands.
Memories of harsh winters past flashed through his mind. The haunted looks of parents forced to send their elderly out into the cold to die so their children might survive another day. The whispered tales of desperate men and women driven to unspeakable acts when food stores ran empty. The shame of having to bow and scrape to the Tyrells, paying their extortionate prices for grain just to keep his people alive.
But now... now everything could change.
"With your permission, my lord," Owen said, interrupting Eddard's thoughts, "I could have the constructors build more of these across the North. White Harbor, Deepwood Motte, even the mountain clans could sustain themselves year-round."
Eddard walked between the rows of freshly tilled soil, already imagining the bounty they would yield. "How many could you build?"
"As many as needed. The constructors can replicate themselves and harvest the necessary materials from the mine. The only limit is space and time."
"And the cost?"
"Nothing but the initial investment in materials, which the mine provides. Once built, they require minimal maintenance. The automatons handle everything."
Eddard stopped and turned to face Owen. "Do you understand what this means for the North Owen? For generations, our people have fled south seeking better lives, driven away by hunger and hardship. With these..." He gestured at the gleaming structure around them. "They could come home."
"The North could be self-sufficient," Owen agreed. "No more relying on southern kingdoms for food. No more watching your people starve while the Tyrells grow fat on northern gold."
Eddard's weathered face broke into a rare smile. For the first time, he truly understood why the old gods had guided this remarkable young man to his lands. This wasn't just about weapons or marriage alliances - this was about the survival and prosperity of the North itself.
"When can you begin building more?"
"The constructors could start tomorrow. We could have similar installations in White Harbor before the month is out."
"Do it," Eddard commanded. "I will have ravens sent to my bannermen. I want every major holdfast in the North equipped with these glasshouses before winter comes."
Owen shifted uneasily, his eyes tracking the mechanical workers as they continued their methodical labor. "My lord, perhaps we shouldn't rush this."
The excitement drained from Eddard's face as Owen continued, "Lord Robett and Lord Wyman know about me and my creations. All they'd have to do is prepare their people and make sure no merchants or sailors who saw the constructors kept quiet and not send word to King's Landing."
He gestured at the gleaming metal army of constructors. "But with the other lords..." Owen shook his head, his expression grim. "They don't know me or what I create. They would take one look at the constructors and, your word or not, they would get frightened and attack." A worried look upon his face. "Which would be bad... for them."
The Lord of Winterfell's earlier enthusiasm cooled as reality set in. He had gotten too carried away with the excitement of a self-sufficient North too much to remember none of his other Northern lords knew about Owen except Wyman and Robett. The rest would panic if they saw the automatons, no doubt sending word far and wide thinking an invasion of magical metal machines was attacking them.
The mechanical workers continued their tasks, oblivious to the tension between the two men as they contemplated the political keg of wildfire their existence represented. Steam hissed from their joints as they moved, the sound now carrying a more ominous tone.
Owen's words gave Ned pause for a moment. "What do you mean it would be bad for them?"
The young smith gestured to the constructors continuing their work. "They're not built for war or battle, but they have defensive capabilities woven into their very being. If anyone attacks them or what they've built..." He paused, watching one of the machines delicately position a glass panel. "They don't fight alone. They swarm like metal spiders, overwhelming any threat until there's nothing left or until I command them to stop."
The machines continued their precise movements as Owen detailed their lethal potential. "They stab with limbs sharp as spears, crush with mechanical strength no human can match, impale with specialized tools, and blast scalding steam hot enough to cook flesh from bone." His voice remained calm, matter-of-fact, but his eyes held a warning. "And since they're forged from dwarven metal, no northern lord or their soldiers could harm them. Regular steel would shatter against their frames."
Eddard's blood ran cold as he watched the automata with new eyes. The rhythmic hiss of steam from their joints now carried a more sinister tone. The precise, calculated movements of their limbs spoke not just of efficiency, but of deadly capability. Where moments ago he had seen only helpful workers, now he recognized weapons of terrifying potential.
One constructor passed close by, its metal feet clicking against the stone floor. Eddard found himself taking an involuntary step back. The machine paid him no notice, focused entirely on its assigned task, but he could not shake the image Owen had painted - these same machines swarming over attackers like metal spiders, crushing and tearing with inexorable mechanical strength.
"How many could they kill?" Eddard asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"All of them," Owen replied simply. "They don't tire. They don't feel fear or mercy. They just execute their inbuilt orders with perfect efficiency. Whether that's building glasshouses or...defending themselves."
Eddard actually gulped, a rare display of discomfort from the usually stoic Lord of Winterfell. His mind painted vivid pictures of what Owen described - men screaming as they were overwhelmed by tireless metal workers, their swords bouncing uselessly off dwarven metal frames while mechanical limbs stabbed and tore. The constructors would move with that same efficient precision they showed now, except instead of building, they would destroy. The thought of hundreds of these machines swarming over soldiers like metal spiders, leaving nothing but broken bodies in their wake, made his skin crawl.
Owen watched understanding dawn on Eddard's face. The young smith hadn't meant to frighten the lord, but he needed him to grasp the gravity of introducing such powerful forces into the delicate balance of northern politics.
"Perhaps," Eddard said slowly, his grey eyes tracking the machines' movements, "we should be more selective about which houses receive these benefits."
His thoughts turned unbidden to House Bolton. While the Dreadfort had kept its peace in recent generations, the weight of centuries of rivalry and mistrust lay heavy between their houses. The Boltons' flayed man sigil wasn't just for show - the old tales spoke of Bolton lords who kept their enemies' skins as trophies. Though such practices were long banned, rumors persisted about secret rooms in the Dreadfort where ancient traditions continued behind closed doors.
Even now, Lord Roose Bolton's pale eyes and soft voice sent chills down the spines of hardened warriors. The man's calculated nature and cold demeanor spoke of someone who would see Owen's creations not as tools for prosperity, but as potential weapons to be understood and exploited.
"House Bolton, My Lord," Owen said, reading Eddard's expression. "You're thinking about the Boltons."
Eddard nodded grimly. "Their loyalty has held these past centuries, but trust..." He shook his head. "Some houses have earned more than just fealty. They've earned faith in their character, in their honor." His eyes met Owen's. "Others maintain their oaths while keeping their true nature hidden beneath the surface, like ice over deep water."
Owen nodded, memories from his past life filling his mind. The stories he had read, both from the books and fanfics, painted a pretty consistent picture of House Bolton. No matter the timeline or circumstances, their relationship with the Starks always ended in blood and betrayal. Their flayed man sigil wasn't just for show - it represented a deep-seated cruelty that defined their very nature.
Even if, in a change of canon history, a Bolton, not a Stark, had united the north, Owen doubted such a reign would have lasted long. People might bow to strength, might submit to fear, but there was a limit to how much cruelty they would endure. Push too far, and even the most downtrodden would rise up, preferring death to continued torment under sadistic rulers.
His thoughts turned to Roose Bolton, the current Lord of the Dreadfort. In the normal timeline, another world Owen had only read about, that same man had orchestrated the Red Wedding - a betrayal so heinous it had shocked even the most hardened readers. The memory of those pages made Owen's jaw clench. He wouldn't let that future come to pass. Not here. Not now.
"Two glasshouses," Owen said suddenly, breaking the thoughtful silence. "Small ones."
Eddard raised an eyebrow, waiting for elaboration.
"For House Bolton and any others you have doubts about," Owen continued, gesturing to the massive structures around them. "Not as grand as these, nor as large as what we'll give to your more steadfast bannermen. Enough to demonstrate the technology, to give them a taste of the benefits, but not enough to significantly strengthen their position."
Eddard's grey eyes met Owen's, understanding passing between them. After a moment, the Lord of Winterfell nodded. "A measured approach," he agreed. "Enough to avoid offense, but not enough to pose a threat should loyalty..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "...waver."
"Agreed," Owen said, studying the mechanical workers as they continued their work. "But there's still the problem of how we'll get the other lords to not panic at the sight of the constructors."
Eddard stood silent for a moment, his weathered face deep in thought as he watched the machines work. Then his grey eyes lit up with understanding. "The North's summer festival is in three weeks - our celebration of a good harvest and another year of summer." He turned to Owen, conviction in his voice. "That would be the perfect time to introduce you and your creations to the lords."
He began pacing the length of the glasshouse, his footsteps echoing against the glass walls. "We'll show them everything - your masterwork weapons forged from exotic ores, Cidhna Mine, these glasshouses, and the steam constructors. They'll see firsthand how your abilities could reshape the North into a kingdom to rival any other in power and influence."
Owen nodded slowly, considering the proposal. "And they'd all be sworn to secrecy before seeing anything?"
"Of course. Once they understand the importance of what you've created, we can begin sending constructors to their holdings and nearby villages to build glasshouses."
A smile spread across Owen's face as the pieces fell into place. The plan made sense - letting the lords see the benefits firsthand would help prevent any panic or misunderstandings. "What comes after that?"
Eddard's expression grew serious. "You'll need to make more constructors. Many more." He gestured to the machines working around them. "After the glasshouses are complete, we'll turn our attention to strengthening Winterfell's defenses, rebuilding Moat Cailin, constructing your castle at Sea Dragon Point." He paused, his voice taking on a solemn tone. "And finally, helping the Night's Watch rebuild their nineteen castles."
Owen watched the steam constructors continue their methodical work, imagining hundreds more like them spread across the North, rebuilding and strengthening the realm piece by piece. The scope of what Eddard proposed was enormous, but with the self-replicating machines, it was entirely possible.
The enormity of the task ahead would have daunted most men, but with the steam constructors' capabilities, what might have taken generations could be accomplished in mere months or weeks. Owen and Eddard walked out of the glasshouse, the mechanical Dwemer constructs following behind them with precise, measured steps. At Owen's mental command, they changed direction, heading toward Cidhna Mine to gather more ore for replication.
"How do you find Winterfell these past few days?" Eddard asked as they crossed the courtyard, his boots crunching against the gravel.
"Your family has treated me kindly, my lord," Owen replied. He had spent considerable time with the Stark children, particularly Robb and Jon. Though if he was honest with himself, he gravitated more toward Jon's company. The young man's quiet nature and dedication to improving his skills resonated with Owen, even if Owen's own swordplay left much to be desired despite their training sessions.
"Arya and Bran seem quite taken with you," Eddard observed, a hint of amusement in his usually stern voice.
Owen smiled, remembering how Arya constantly badgered him about crafting her a sword or bow like the Stalhrim weapons he'd shown them. Bran would always join in these requests, his young face bright with excitement at the prospect of having his own magical weapon.
"They're good children," Owen said. "Curious and full of life."
He had also encountered Lady Catelyn during his time at Winterfell, though their interactions had been limited. While she wasn't as harsh as some of the stories and fics from his past life had portrayed her, Owen couldn't help but feel a slight coldness toward her when he observed how she treated Jon. The distance she maintained from the young man, the subtle ways she excluded him from family activities – it bothered Owen more than he cared to admit, though he kept these thoughts to himself out of respect for Lord Stark.
The steam constructors disappeared from view, their metallic forms vanishing into the entrance of Cidhna Mine as Owen and Eddard continued their walk through the castle grounds.
Eddard's eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched Owen's reaction. "And what of Sansa? I notice you've been rather... scarce whenever she's present."
Owen's face flushed a deep crimson at the mention of Lord Stark's eldest daughter. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself fumbling for words, much to Eddard's apparent entertainment.
The young smith couldn't deny that Sansa Stark was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, in either of his lives (apart from Catelyn). Her beauty was almost otherworldly - regal features that spoke of her noble heritage, eyes as blue as a summer sky, and full lips that seemed perpetually curved in a gentle smile. Her long, flame-red hair fell in straight waves to her mid-back, catching the sunlight like polished copper. The dresses and furs she wore clung to her body in ways that made Owen's brain short-circuit, accentuating curves that would put professional models from his old world to shame.
Jon and Robb had taken great delight in Owen's obvious discomfort around their sister. Just yesterday, Owen had been working at the forge when Sansa had walked past with her friend Jeyne Poole. The moment he caught sight of her, he'd nearly dropped the sword he was tempering and practically fled into Cidhna Mine, much to the brothers' endless amusement.
"I saw you duck behind a pillar in the Great Hall this morning when she entered for breakfast," Eddard said, his usually stern face softening with mirth. "I don't believe I've ever seen anyone move quite so quickly."
Owen groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Was it that obvious?"
"I believe the only person who hasn't noticed is Sansa herself," Eddard replied, chuckling at Owen's mortification. "Though I suspect that's mainly because you vanish so quickly whenever she appears."
Owen groaned again, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Eddard's deep laugh echoed across the courtyard as he placed a comforting hand on the young smith's shoulder.
"She did love the present you made for her," Eddard said, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement.
Owen's blush deepened even further at the mention of the necklace. He had indeed gone overboard with the gift, crafting an intricate piece that combined gold and silver in flowing patterns that mimicked winter roses. The large sapphires matched Sansa's eyes perfectly, while the blood-red rubies complemented her auburn hair. The gems alone were worth more than most lords would see in their lifetime.
Lady Catelyn's reaction had been particularly memorable. She had taken one look at the extravagant piece and come to find him and demanded to know if Owen had somehow managed to raid the Lannister vaults. The young smith had stammered through an explanation about his mine's resources while Sansa in her room had practically glowed with delight, her fingers tracing the delicate metalwork with reverence.
"I may have gotten a bit carried away with the gems," Owen admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
"A bit?" Eddard raised an eyebrow. "I believe my wife mentioned something about it being worth more than Winterfell itself."
"The sapphires matched her eyes," Owen mumbled, then immediately wished he hadn't spoken as Eddard's grin grew wider.
"And the rubies? Did they happen to match something else?"
Owen's face felt hot enough to forge steel. "Her hair," he whispered, mortified at having to explain his thought process to his future goodfather.
Eddard's expression grew more serious, though his eyes retained their warmth. "You'll have to speak with her eventually, Owen. Marriage is more than just shared meals and polite nods across the Great Hall."
Owen sighed, knowing the lord spoke truth. "I know, my lord. It's just..." He gestured vaguely with his hands, struggling to find the right words.
"You aren't exactly skilled at speaking with women?" Eddard offered, his voice filled with understanding.
"Exactly," Owen admitted, relief evident in his voice at not having to explain himself more deeply. "I mean, I can talk about forging or mining or construction all day long, but when it comes to actually having a conversation with her..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Eddard chuckled, the sound rich and warm in the cool morning air. "Most men aren't, until they get to know the lady they want better. Trust and love come with time, Owen. They're not forged as quickly as your weapons."
"I hope so," Owen replied softly, his eyes distant as he considered the Stark lord's words.
Suddenly, a familiar sensation coursed through his body - the Celestial Forge flaring to life within his soul. Unknown to Eddard walking beside him, Owen's entire being filled with light as new knowledge and power flooded his consciousness. The Temple of Solomon blazed into his mind, a place of incredible magical potential sealed away in imaginary number space, accessible only through his will.
Owen huffed out a laugh as they continued walking toward the castle entrance, earning a curious glance from Lord Stark. Under his breath, he muttered, "Yer a wizard, Owen."
POWERS GAINED FROM THE FORGE
Temple of Solomon (Fate/Legends- Oasis of Fantasy) (400CP)
A place that has long been abandoned or, at least, a replica of the one currently in use. The Temple of Solomon is perhaps the grandest magical workshop ever to be created, one so great that it does not even exist in the mundane world. Sealed away in imaginary number space, it is only accessible to others through highly complex and difficult magical workings, though you can enter your hidden base with nothing but a thought provided you are not blocked by some means. The temple itself is quite large, with the small dimension covering several city blocks of area and the building being the size of a large mansion. Within is almost every one of Solomon's personal notes and research on magecraft and magic, along with a great deal of lore from other famous magicians of his time and from later on as well. The small dimension has been connected to a replica of Solomon's created magical circuits which empower the framework the workshop sits on, serving to provide a immense magical fuel source for any project you might wish to run within this space as you can freely draw on the amount of energy the King of Magic had while alive when you are in here. Finally, death in this realm is not permanent and it is far easier to bring back those who die when it is within this place. For your purposes, this means that dying in this temple will not count as an end to your chain. You may import an existing structure into this role. * Solomon made the entire modern magic framework that allows for magecraft in fate