Owen knelt on the ground, his papers spread across a wooden board as he sketched detailed diagrams and scribbled calculations. The cleared land stretched before him, ready and waiting for his ambitious plans. Steam constructors moved with mechanical precision across the space, their metal forms gleaming as they carried stacks of Dwemer beams and crates filled with exotic ores.
Mikken leaned over Owen's shoulder, his weathered face creased with curiosity as he studied the intricate drawings. Robb and Jon flanked him, their eyes tracking the busy constructors as they assembled foundations and support structures.
"What manner of building are you planning now?" Mikken's calloused finger traced one of the detailed sketches. "And what's this word here - 'factory'?"
Owen paused, his charcoal stick hovering above the paper. He'd forgotten that such concepts didn't exist in Westeros. "Well, think of it as a very large forge, but more specialized." He pointed to different sections of his drawings. "Instead of one smith working on a single piece at a time, we'll have multiple stations set up for different stages of production."
"Like an huge assembly or smiths doing different things?" Jon asked, crouching down to get a better look at the plans.
"Exactly." Owen sketched a quick flow diagram. "Raw materials come in here, get processed through various stages, and finished products come out the other end. One building will focus on armor, the other on weapons."
Robb crossed his arms, watching a constructor carefully stack gleaming ingots of orichalcum. "And you're planning two of these... factories? One here and one at Sea Dragon Point? At your castle when its constructed?"
"Yes. Having production facilities at both locations gives us redundancy and better distribution." Owen drew a rough map of the North. "Winterfell can supply the inland holds, while Sea Dragon Point handles the western shores and northern territories."
Mikken ran his hand through his beard. "The speed at which these metal men work - how many swords could such a place produce in a day?"
"With the right setup and enough resources?" Owen did some quick calculations. "Hundreds. And not just swords - axes, spears, shields, full sets of armor. All crafted to the same high standards."
"Hundreds?" Mikken's eyes widened. "That's more than I could forge in a year."
"The constructors don't tire, don't need rest." Owen gestured to where the machines methodically sorted different types of ingots. "They'll work day and night, as long as we keep them supplied with materials."
"And these exotic metals you're using?" Jon picked up a piece of ebony ore, turning it in his hands. "They're the same ones from the mine yes? But they're not the dwarven metal like the constructors are made of?"
"Each has different properties." Owen pointed to the various piles. "Ebony for exceptional strength, malachite for flexibility, orichalcum for durability. Combined with the right techniques, they'll produce arms and armor far superior to standard steel."
"The North's armies would be unstoppable with such equipment," Robb mused, watching another constructor lay down foundation stones with perfect precision.
Owen nodded, adding final notes to his diagrams. "That's the idea. With Good men armed with masterwork weapons and armor of better quality than bandits, pirates or any invading force, the north will have a great advantage."
As the others continued examining the construction site and his drawn work, Owen kept his deeper plans carefully hidden behind a pleasant smile. While his explanation of the factories' capabilities was truthful, he had deliberately omitted several crucial details about the planned production tiers and material restrictions.
The factories would indeed produce masterwork weapons and armor far superior to common steel, but Owen had no intention of freely distributing items crafted from his rarest and most precious materials. The automated production lines would be carefully calibrated to create excellent but not extraordinary equipment - good enough to give the North's armies a significant advantage, but not so remarkable as to draw unwanted attention or questions. Or be turned on himself should betrayal occur.
In his mind, Owen had already established a clear hierarchy of production. The basic factory output would consist of high-quality steel weapons and armor, enhanced through his knowledge and techniques but without the use of exotic materials. These would form the bulk of what was provided to the Northern lords and their armies.
The truly exceptional weapons and armor - those crafted from ebony, stalhrim, orichalcum, and other magical materials - would be reserved for a much more select group. Some would go to a small corps of elite guards sworn directly to House Stark, hand-picked by Lord Eddard himself for their absolute loyalty. A portion would be designated for the Night's Watch, fulfilling Owen's desire to help prepare for the threats he knew were coming from beyond the Wall.
But the majority of these special weapons would be produced at his own factory and kept for those sworn directly to Owen at Sea Dragon Point, ensuring his own seat of power would be well-defended by warriors equipped with arms and armor of nearly mythical quality. If any other lords or warriors wanted weapons made from these materials, they would need to pay handsomely for the privilege - and even then, Owen would strictly limit the quantities sold to prevent any single house from amassing too large an arsenal.
Robb's voice pulled Owen from his thoughts. "Father will be pleased with the progress. When do you expect the first weapons to be ready?"
" When the forge and factory are built, the basic production line should be operational within a week or so after i have made sure the steam constructors have built everything to specification," Owen replied carefully, watching another constructor position support beams with mechanical precision. He kept his tone neutral as he added, "Though of course, we'll need to test everything thoroughly before beginning full-scale production. Quality and safety is essential."
What Owen didn't say was how that "quality control" would allow him to maintain strict oversight of exactly what was produced and for whom, even if he was far off in sea dragon point. The two factories/forges would give the North a decisive advantage, yes - but they would also ensure Owen's position remained secure and his most powerful creations stayed firmly under his control. If there ever came a time an….unworthy lord stark came to power or Winterfell was occupied by an outside force through unknown means, he could easily stop production or destroy the factory to avoid anyone using it.
Jon picked up a piece of malachite ore, studying its gleaming surface. "Will all the weapons be made from these special materials?"
"No," Owen answered, choosing his words deliberately. "Most will be made from high-grade steel, though we'll use special forging techniques to ensure superior quality. The exotic materials require... special handling. They'll be reserved for specific projects."
Mikken nodded sagely, though Owen could see the questions in the old smith's eyes. "Aye, makes sense. Wouldn't want to waste such rare materials on common swords and spears."
Owen smiled, letting them assume his reasoning was purely about efficient use of resources. In truth, keeping the most powerful weapons restricted would help maintain the balance of power he desired. The North would be strong - but Sea Dragon Point would be stronger still. It wasn't that he didn't trust the northern lords or the starks but time and human nature could always change things between them and if that day came either he or his descendants needed to have the upper hand.
Mikken's weathered face creased with concern as he watched the steam constructors work. His calloused fingers stroked his beard, a nervous habit he'd developed over decades of smithing. The old blacksmith shifted his weight, choosing his words carefully.
"My lord, if I might ask..." Mikken's voice carried a hint of worry. "With these metal men working day and night, what's to become of me and my apprentices? Of all the smiths across the North?" He gestured at the busy constructors. "These machines could do the work of dozens of men. We'd have no way to feed our families."
Owen's eyes softened as he heard Mikken's fears. "You misunderstand my intentions entirely." He placed a reassuring hand on the older man's shoulder. "I don't mean to replace you - I mean to elevate you. You'll be the forge master of this factory."
Mikken's brow furrowed. "Forge master?"
"Yes. Someone needs to oversee these constructors and automatons, to ensure the quality of their work." Owen swept his arm toward the construction site. "The machines may be tireless, but they need human guidance for specific tasks and to be told to change to produce other things if needed, like hoes or sickles and scythes for farm work. They need someone with real smithing knowledge to maintain standards, to check their work, to make repairs when weapons and armor need fixing."
"And that someone would be me?" Mikken asked, hope creeping into his voice.
"You and your apprentices, yes. I'll train you personally in working with these new metals and overseeing the production lines." Owen smiled. "When I leave for Sea Dragon Point, Winterfell's new forge and factory will be your domain. You'll be responsible for maintaining the quality of everything produced here."
Robb nodded approvingly. "A master smith overseeing a forge that can arm the entire North - that's quite a promotion, Mikken."
"But what of the other smiths?" Jon asked. "Those in White Harbor, Deepwood Motte, and all the other holds?"
"They'll need to come here, to Winterfell," Owen explained. "Learn from Mikken, once I've taught him. Every hold that receives weapons and armor from these factories will need skilled smiths who understand how to maintain and repair them." He turned back to Mikken. "You won't just be a forge master - you'll be a teacher, passing on these new techniques to others."
The tension drained from Mikken's shoulders as understanding dawned. "So instead of putting smiths out of work..."
"We're giving them new purpose," Owen finished. "The North will always need skilled smiths, Mikken. These factories won't change that - they'll just change what those smiths do."
Mikken beamed with pride at the prospect of his new role, completely unaware of the deeper truth Owen kept hidden. The reality was far different from what he'd described to the aging smith and the Stark boys. The Dwemer lexicon had shown Owen the true nature of these facilities - marvels of engineering that required no human oversight whatsoever.
In the ancient ruins of Tamriel, Dwemer forges and factories had operated for centuries without supervision, their automated systems handling everything from quality control to repairs. The master craftsmen of that lost civilization had created perfectly self-sufficient production lines, allowing them to focus on their true passions - pushing the boundaries of science and engineering.
Owen studied the steam constructors as they continued their work, knowing that each one contained sophisticated magical programming far beyond what he'd revealed. Hidden within their mechanical minds were protocols for maintaining the entire facility, from detecting flaws in production to executing repairs. Special security automatons would patrol the premises, their sensors alert for any signs of trouble or unauthorized access.
The "overseer" position he'd described to Mikken was, in truth, largely ceremonial. Owen had deliberately designed the facilities to operate at less than peak efficiency, building in small inefficiencies and tasks that would require human intervention. It wasn't that the factories couldn't run themselves - they absolutely could - but Owen understood the importance of preserving the livelihoods of the North's smiths.
Robb clapped Mikken on the shoulder, grinning at the old smith's obvious pleasure. Jon studied the diagrams with renewed interest, while Mikken launched into excited speculation about training apprentices in these new methods. None of them suspected that the true capabilities of the facility far exceeded what Owen had shared.
The deception weighed on Owen somewhat, but he justified it as necessary. The truth about the factories' true capabilities would have been too shocking, too disruptive to the social fabric of the North or all of Westeros when finally revealed. Better to maintain the illusion that human oversight was essential, than to reveal that the Dwemer had solved the problem of fully automated production thousands of years ago and Owen could make as many as he wanted. Forget Westeros. If it got out to Essos and the rest of the world he would have assassins from as far as YI-TI knocking on his door.
He mentally shrugged off these thoughts and his eyes swept over the intricate diagrams spread before him, each line and calculation precisely measured. The steam constructors had just finished positioning the last of the materials - great stacks of metal planks, countless ingots of various metals, and crates of specialized components. Everything was in place for the factory's construction.
With a sharp snap of his fingers and blaze of will to the dwarven control rod, Owen's mind flooded the hundreds of steam constructors with detailed instructions. The mechanical workers surged forward in perfect coordination, their movements precise and purposeful. What had started as merely thirty constructors had multiplied rapidly - first to five hundred, then to a thousand, each new generation replicating itself according to Owen's specifications.
A crowd started gathering at the construction site grew steadily. Curious residents from Winter Town abandoned their daily tasks to watch the spectacle. Winterfell guards left their posts, drawn by the rhythmic clanking and whirring of the mechanical workers. Even the most jaded observers couldn't hide their amazement as walls began rising from the ground at an impossible speed. Luckily they had all been sworn to secrecy by lord stark and if anything they were always grateful for how generous their lord was and would keep their silence about what Owen created.
Mikken's mouth hung open as he watched support beams slot perfectly into place. "By the old gods and new..."
The constructors worked with inhuman efficiency, their movements synchronized like a perfectly choreographed dance. Some units welded metal plates together while others installed intricate machinery. Specialized constructors focused on the internal forge, carefully positioning the equipment that would soon produce weapons and armor for the North.
Robb and Jon exchanged stunned glances as the massive structure took shape before their eyes. In just over an hour, what had been an empty plot of land transformed into a fully-realized factory complex. The building stood proud and imposing, its metallic surfaces gleaming in the northern sun.
"We... we should go get Father. He'll want to know," Jon managed to say, still staring at the completed structure in disbelief.
Robb nodded wordlessly, and the two brothers hurried off toward the keep, leaving Owen standing before his creation with a satisfied smile. His gaze swept over the factory - another piece of his vision for a stronger North now made real.