Have 2 chapters early, because you are all amazing, supporting, great and understanding critics...and because work load is getting much and i don't have time to type on my work computer...luckily i am getting my new laptop charger the week after next
Owen watched the Northern landscape roll past from his position atop his horse beside the ornate carriage carrying Sansa. The convoy stretched behind them - a gleaming line of soldiers in ebony-plated armor that caught the late afternoon sun. Their stalhrim weapons glowed with an ethereal blue sheen, a clear message to any would-be attackers that this was no ordinary military escort.
"We could have made this journey in half the time if you'd let me enhance a few horses," Owen called through the carriage window, a teasing smile playing at his lips.
Sansa's auburn hair caught the light as she leaned out. "And deny me the comfort of proper travel? I think not, my lord husband." Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth. "Besides, you know how father feels about obvious displays of your abilities on the open road."
Owen nodded, conceding the point. Though most of the North now knew of his extraordinary capabilities, they still maintained careful control over how much was revealed to outsiders. The soldiers' equipment alone pushed the boundaries of what they typically displayed.
Anastasia padded silently alongside the carriage, her massive white form a constant guardian presence. The direwolf's ice-blue eyes scanned their surroundings constantly, her enhanced senses alert for any threat to her master's mate. Owen felt a wave of contentment through their familiar bond - she enjoyed these journeys, though she shared his mild frustration at the slow pace.
"At least let me enhance the carriage wheels," Owen suggested. "A simple enchantment to reduce friction-"
"Owen." Sansa's tone carried fond exasperation. "We'll arrive when we arrive. Father's message indicated urgency, yes, but not such desperate need that we must break our careful protocols."
Owen sighed, knowing she was right. The attack on Winterfell's factory was concerning, but he was sure the automated defenses and spells had handled most of the threat if any. Still, leaving Jon as castellan of Ice Crest and embarking on this journey with such a large escort spoke to how seriously they took any potential dangers.
"The men are in good spirits at least," Owen observed, glancing back at their escort. The soldiers wore their masterwork armor with pride, each piece a testament to the combination of Owen's magical crafting and the automated production lines he'd established. "Though I suspect they're as eager as I am to learn what prompted father's summons."
"Whatever it is, we face it together," Sansa said firmly. She reached out to squeeze his hand through the window. "As we have these past four years."
Owen brought her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Their marriage may have begun as a political arrangement, but genuine love had blossomed between them. Her steady presence helped ground him, especially when the vast possibilities of his powers threatened to overwhelm his judgment.
The convoy continued its steady progress toward Winterfell, the rhythmic sound of hooves and creaking wagon wheels filling the air. Owen kept one hand on his sword's hilt - not out of immediate concern, but from the habits of vigilance he'd developed since gaining his abilities. The weight of the Celestial Forge's power thrummed beneath his skin, ready to be called upon if needed.
Anastasia's ears suddenly pricked forward, and Owen felt her attention sharpen through their bond. But it was only a deer darting through the underbrush, and the direwolf relaxed again, maintaining her protective circuit around Sansa's carriage.
"We should reach Winterfell by tomorrow evening," Owen calculated, studying the position of the sun. "Assuming we make good time after we break camp tonight."
"Good," Sansa replied. "I miss my family, and I'd rather hear father's news sooner than later." She paused, then added more softly, "And perhaps Maester Luwin will have some new insights about..." She trailed off, but Owen knew she was referring to their ongoing difficulty conceiving an heir.
"We'll speak with him," Owen assured her gently. "But remember what we discussed - there's no rush. We have time."
Sansa nodded, though Owen could see the shadow of worry that still lingered in her eyes. He wished he could ease that particular burden, but even his considerable powers had limits. For now, he focused on what he could control - keeping her safe and supported as they made their way to Winterfell and whatever awaited them there.
Owen guided his horse through Winterfell's gates in the warm afternoon sun, taking in the familiar sight of the ancient fortress. The courtyard bustled with activity as what seemed like half the castle's inhabitants gathered to welcome them. Steam constructors worked tirelessly in the background, carrying supplies and maintaining the grounds with their usual mechanical efficiency.
The moment their carriage stopped, Arya darted forward from the assembled crowd like an arrow from a bow. Owen couldn't help but smile as the young girl…no now a lady, practically tackled her sister in an enthusiastic embrace the instant Sansa stepped down. Despite their different personalities and past squabbles, the sisters held each other tightly, years of separation having softened their former rivalries.
"I missed you," Arya mumbled into Sansa's dress, her usual fierce demeanor momentarily giving way to genuine emotion.
"I missed you too, little sister," Sansa replied, her voice thick with feeling as she stroked Arya's hair.
Lady Catelyn approached next, her grace and dignity unchanged by the years. She embraced Sansa warmly, checking her daughter over with a mother's careful eye before pulling her close again. Owen dismounted as Lord Eddard stepped forward to welcome his daughter, followed by Robb and his bride wynafryd Manderly now stark who he had married 2 years back and Bran. Even Maester Luwin received an affectionate hug from Sansa, his chains jingling slightly as he returned the embrace.
Owen made his rounds through the family, clasping forearms firmly with Robb and exchanging warm greetings with Bran. He gave Lady Catelyn a respectful hug and couldn't help but grin when Arya practically jumped into his arms for an enthusiastic embrace - she'd always appreciated the special weapons he'd crafted for her over the years.
Finally, Owen turned to Lord Eddard. The Lord of Winterfell's face was grave despite the joy of reunion, reminding Owen of the serious purpose behind their visit. After exchanging a firm handshake, Owen's expression turned equally serious.
"Show me the factory, Lord Stark."
Owen watched as Lord Eddard's expression tightened with concern when he glanced at Sansa. The older man's weathered face showed clear hesitation about exposing his daughter to the aftermath of violence.
"Have the others seen it?" Sansa asked, her voice steady and clear in the courtyard.
"Aye," Eddard nodded. "Everyone save your mother and Wynafryd. The scene is... rather grim."
Sansa lifted her chin, a familiar determined set to her jaw that Owen had come to know well over their years of marriage. "If my husband is going, then so am I."
Owen couldn't help but smile when Eddard looked to him for support. He gave a small shrug - he knew better than to try to dissuade Sansa when she'd made up her mind. His wife was a woman grown, not some naive girl who dreamed of knights and fairy tales. She faced faced reality head-on, no matter how harsh.
"The factory has resumed production," Eddard warned as they began walking toward the building. "But we haven't cleared away the... remains. The steam constructors and automatons simply work around them, seemingly blind to the carnage. Even Mikken and his apprentices and all the learning blacksmiths won't go near until you've dealt with it."
Owen nodded, understanding their fear. His creations could be unsettling enough when functioning normally - seeing them continue their tasks amid death and destruction would be deeply unnerving to those unused to their single-minded focus.
Anastasia padded alongside them, her massive white form a reassuring presence. Through their bond, Owen could sense her alertness heighten as they approached the factory, her enhanced senses picking up the lingering scents of violence, blood and death.
The heavy iron doors of the factory creaked open, revealing the stark reality of what lay within. Owen's enhanced senses immediately picked up the overwhelming metallic stench of blood and death that permeated the air. Beside him, he felt Sansa stiffen, her face paling considerably though she maintained her composure with admirable determination.
The automated workers and steam constructors continued their tasks with mechanical precision, moving around and sometimes through the gruesome scene. Steam constructors welded metal plates together, sparks flying as they worked mere feet from severed limbs. The rhythmic clanking of the machinery provided an eerily normal backdrop to the scene of carnage.
Owen's eyes tracked the different types of deaths his defensive measures had inflicted. Near the entrance, a body lay split cleanly in half, the work of one of the automated blade traps. Another corpse showed the telltale signs of superheated steam, no doubt the work of the automatons or Dwemer spiders no doubt, its flesh literally boiled away in places, leaving exposed bone and tissue. Hands and arms littered the floor where would-be thieves had triggered the sawing mechanisms.
But it was the two bodies near the center of the factory floor that drew the most attention - or what remained of them. Owen recognized the effects of his more deadly magical protections. The corpses had been turned inside out before literally exploding, painting the surrounding area with viscera and blood. The curses he'd woven into the factory's very foundations had proven devastatingly effective.
A small sound from beside him drew his attention. Sansa had gone completely white, her usual composure finally cracking. Before anyone could react, she doubled over and retched violently onto the factory floor.
"Sansa!" Owen moved to support her, one arm around her waist as she emptied her stomach. Robb and Eddard were there in an instant, hovering with concern while Maester Luwin approached with his typical calm efficiency.
"I'm fine," Sansa managed between heaves, though her trembling body betrayed her words. "Just... disoriented from the journey."
Owen exchanged a worried look with Maester Luwin. "Maester, would you please escort my wife back to the castle? Perhaps Lady Catelyn could see to her comfort."
The old maester nodded, gently taking Sansa's arm. "Come, my lady. Let's get you some fresh air and perhaps some mint tea to settle your stomach."
Owen watched with concern as Maester Luwin led his still-shaking wife from the factory, her usual grace somewhat diminished but her head held high despite her obvious distress. Even in moments of weakness, she fought to maintain her dignity - it was one of the many things he loved about her.
Owen turned back to the carnage, his jaw set in a grim line. "Two years ago, in my letter, I detailed the magical protections I'd placed on the factory," he said, addressing Lord Stark's unspoken question. "The spells were designed to be lethal and unmerciful."
"Aye, I remember the letter well," Eddard replied, his eyes scanning the blood-splattered walls. "You assured me no thieves or saboteurs would succeed in their attempts."
Owen ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his stance. "I made a critical error in the design. These protective enchantments were created with a specific scenario in mind - a large-scale assault on Winterfell, an army attempting to destroy our production capabilities." He gestured at the mangled bodies. "The spells were meant to activate before such a force could even reach the factory doors, creating a wide perimeter of protection."
"But that's not what happened here," Robb observed, carefully stepping around a severed arm.
"No," Owen admitted. "With such a small group, the defensive magic only triggered once they were already inside the building. The spells recognized them as threats, but not until they'd breached the interior." He shook his head. "It's an oversight I should have anticipated. One I promise to rectify immediately."
"These men died badly," Eddard stated, his voice heavy with the weight of such violent deaths, even if they were enemies.
"The magic doesn't discriminate or show mercy," Owen explained. "It simply eliminates threats with maximum efficiency." He pointed to the grotesquely inverted corpses. "Those two triggered the strongest curses - spells designed to stop someone from reaching the heart of our weapons production or the storage of special weapons within."
"And the others?" Robb asked.
Owen looked around at Robbs question, taking in the bloody carnage, gesturing at different bodies as he explained. "Even before the magical defenses activate, the automated workers serve as the first line of protection. See these clean cuts?" He pointed to a body nearly severed in two. "That's the work of a steam constructor's saw blade. And those burn marks and flesh blasted away - superheated steam from the spiders."
He moved carefully through the factory floor, stepping over dried pooled blood. "When intruders are detected, any inactive machines in storage also activate to defend the premises. The regular workers stop their tasks and join the defense." Owen paused near a particularly mangled corpse. "The automatons are ruthlessly efficient. They don't hesitate or show mercy - they simply eliminate threats with mechanical precision."
Robb examined a body riddled with precise stab wounds. "Like a coordinated army."
"Exactly," Owen nodded. "This is why we made sure to demonstrate my creations properly at the summer festival before sending them across the North. Can you imagine if we'd simply started deploying steam constructors to build glasshouses without explanation?" He met Eddard's gaze. "What happened here could have occurred at any holdfast if the lords had attacked the machines out of fear or suspicion."
"The North needed to understand these weren't demons or monsters," Eddard agreed, "but tools under our control."
"Tools that will protect themselves - and us - without hesitation or remorse," Owen added grimly. "Every steam constructor, every automaton, every Dwemer spider is inbuilt with the order to defend itself and its work."
That said, Owen took one final, sweeping look around the blood-spattered factory floor. The carnage had served its purpose - demonstrating the lethal effectiveness of his defensive measures - but now it was time to restore order. He raised his hand, fingers poised to snap.
"You might want to step back," he warned Eddard and Robb. Once they had moved a safe distance away, Owen snapped his fingers while whispering words of power under his breath. A surge of magical energy rippled through the air as the cleaning spell took effect.
Blood began to evaporate from the walls and floor, dissipating into nothingness. Gore and viscera simply vanished, leaving behind pristine surfaces as if nothing had ever happened. The spell worked methodically through the factory, erasing all traces of violence until only the bodies and severed limbs remained.
Owen turned to two nearby Dwemer automatons, their bronze surfaces gleaming in the factory light. "Collect the remains and take them to Maester Luwin's quarters," he commanded. The machines bowed and moved with fluid precision, gathering the gruesome evidence of their defensive capabilities with mechanical indifference.
He couldn't help but notice how Eddard and Robb's eyes widened at the casual display of magic. Even after four years, his abilities still had the power to surprise them. Pushing aside their obvious amazement, Owen focused on more practical matters.
"Has anyone taken inventory since the attack?" he asked Eddard directly.
His goodfather shook his head. "No one's dared enter properly since it happened. Like i said before, Mikken, his apprentices and the blacksmiths being trained feared the machines might attack again."
Owen nodded in understanding before snapping his fingers once more. A small, spider-like automaton scuttled forward from its alcove, its multiple legs clicking against the stone floor as it approached.
"Full inventory report," Owen commanded the mechanical spider. The machine's crystal eyes glowed briefly as it accessed its internal records.
Owen watched as the mechanical spider's crystal eyes flickered, its internal mechanisms whirring before a thin strip of paper began emerging from its mouth. The paper continued to unspool, covered in neat, precise writing detailing the factory's inventory over four years.
"Six thousand steel swords," Owen read aloud, scanning the detailed report. "Five thousand Warhammers, twenty thousand daggers..." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he continued down the list. "One hundred thousand complete sets of steel armor, six thousand bows, three hundred thousand arrows..."
The spider continued producing its report as Owen's expression grew more serious. "Five hundred Dwarven Colossi, fully operational and combat-ready." He glanced at Eddard, noting his goodfather's raised eyebrows at the sheer scale of their arsenal. Not surprising as most of them were kept in storage once created. He probably didn't even know they had made that many, knowing only of the few he had allowed to be assigned to the northern lords castles and some given to the nights watch. Owen smirked, his goodfather may actually have a heart attack if he knew the amount of the arsenal at ice crest.
When Owen reached the final items on the list, his jaw tightened. "Ninety-nine complete sets of stalhrim swords and daggers." He looked up sharply. "One dagger missing."
Owen watched as Robb's brow furrowed in thought.
"Stalhrim? Aren't those the ones that look like they're made out of ice?" Robb asked, his eyes lighting up with recognition.
Owen nodded, memories of that first meeting with Lord Stark and Lord Manderly flooding back. "Yes, just like the ones Lord Eddard and Lord Wyman first bought from longshores travelling merchant when they found me." He ran his hand along one of the nearby weapon racks. "I haven't made any more since then. The ones made here in the factory were meant as a secondary set made for any special group or a northern knightly order your father would arm with them if he created them."
Through his enhanced magical senses, Owen suddenly caught the subtle shift in weight as one of the automatons lifted a bisected corpse. The movement dislodged something from the dead man's clothing - a heavy pouch that hit the stone floor with a distinct metallic clink. Gold coins spilled across the factory floor, their bright yellow surfaces catching the light as they rolled in various directions.
The sound drew everyone's attention to the severed body the automaton held. The pouch had fallen from what remained of the man's pocket, its contents now scattered across the clean stone floor. Owen's eyes narrowed at the sight of so much gold on what appeared to be a common bandit.
Owen watched as Lord Eddard moved forward, bending to retrieve the heavy pouch from among the scattered gold coins. The Lord of Winterfell's movements were deliberate as he carried it back to where Owen and Robb stood.
Eddard emptied the contents into his palm, the pure gold coins gleaming in the factory's light. Owen's jaw tightened as he recognized them immediately.
"These came from Cidhna Mine," Owen said grimly, picking up one of the coins to examine its pristine surface. "They're pure gold, the ones we have been circulating all these years."
He watched understanding dawn in both Stark men's faces. Robb's hand unconsciously moved to the pommel of his sword, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it.
"You're saying..." Robb started, his voice tight with barely contained fury.
"Only someone from the North would have access to these particular coins," Owen confirmed, meeting Eddard's darkening gaze. "These aren't Lannister mintings or coins from the Iron Bank. They're our coins, produced here in the North."
Eddard's face had transformed into the cold, hard mask he wore when passing judgment. "A Northern lord hired these men," he stated flatly, though rage burned in his grey eyes. "We have a traitor in our midst."
Owen nodded, the weight of this revelation settling heavily on his shoulders. After four years of carefully managed progress, after all the precautions they'd taken to keep their advancements hidden from the South, the greatest threat had emerged from within their own borders.
"The coins are unmarked," Robb observed, examining another piece of gold. "We can't trace them to any specific holding."
"No," Owen agreed. "But how many Northern lords have enough pure gold coins to hire a band of men for what was clearly meant to be a suicide mission?"
His jaw worked as he considered the implications. While it would be easy to point fingers at the usual suspects - houses with historical grievances or those who'd shown reluctance to fully embrace the North's transformation - he knew Lord Stark required more than mere suspicion to act.
"The Dustins have been quiet these past years," Owen mused aloud, though he kept his tone neutral. "Lady Barbrey's initial resistance to the steam constructors was notable, but she's since prospered greatly from the glasshouses we provided."
"The Ryswells as well," Robb added, his hand still gripping his sword hilt. "Though they've shown nothing but enthusiasm for our developments since the summer festival."
Owen noticed Eddard's face darken at the mention of these houses. While they hadn't been openly hostile, neither had they demonstrated the same wholehearted support as houses like the Manderlys or Glovers. But prosperity had a way of smoothing over old grievances, and all the Northern houses had benefited immensely from the changes Owen had brought.
"And what of the Boltons?" Owen asked carefully, watching his goodfather's reaction. "Roose Bolton has been remarkably... accepting of everything these past four years."
"Too accepting, perhaps," Eddard muttered, though Owen could see the frustration in his eyes. The Lord of Winterfell knew as well as anyone that suspicion without proof was dangerous ground.
Owen picked up another gold coin, turning it over in his fingers. "The truth is, my lord, that after four years of shared prosperity, many houses have accumulated enough wealth to fund such an operation. The North's coffers have swelled beyond anything in living memory." He gestured at the scattered coins. "What would once have been an impossible sum for most houses to spare is now... manageable."
"You're saying our own success has made it harder to identify the culprit," Robb stated, understanding dawning in his eyes.
Owen nodded grimly. "When we began distributing the benefits of my innovations, we knew it would change the North's economic landscape. The glasshouses alone have transformed agricultural production. Add in the preserved foods, the new roads, the improved trade..." He spread his hands. "We've created a level of wealth that makes traditional financial tracking nearly impossible."
"And you distributed these pure gold coins widely," Eddard added, his voice heavy with understanding. "To help establish the North's new economy without drawing attention from the Iron Throne."
"Yes," Owen confirmed. "They've been circulating for years now, passing through countless hands. These particular coins could have originated from any number of Northern holdings."
The three men stood in frustrated silence, surrounded by the efficiently working automatons. The mechanical sounds of the factory seemed to mock their inability to identify the true threat to their carefully built prosperity.
"We can't simply accuse houses like Dustin or Bolton without proof," Eddard finally said, voicing what they all knew. "Such accusations without evidence would fracture the unity we've worked so hard to build."
Robb nodded, his expression darkening as he considered the implications. "And yet," he said, running a hand through his auburn hair, "this missing dagger means one of the lords now has a stalhrim forged weapon, for what reason we can't tell. If they wanted to commission a weapon from you, Owen, they now have the wealth to do so, even the ones made from your special ores." He gestured toward the forge where various rare metals gleamed in the firelight.
"Heck, you gifted each lord one special weapon of their choice, crafted to their specifications." His blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "But some lord wanted one of your special weapons that couldn't be traced as them having owned them. They needed something untraceable, something that wouldn't lead back to them." He paused, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. "And now, one of them is out there, in hands unknown, waiting to be used for gods know what purpose."
Owen's mind raced as he considered Robb's words. The young heir to Winterfell had made an astute observation - one that highlighted the true danger of this situation. Each Northern lord already possessed specially crafted weapons, gifts Owen had personally forged to demonstrate his abilities and cement their loyalty. But this... this was different.
"You're right," Owen said, picking up another gold coin from the floor. "Lord Karstark has his Glass greatsword. The Manderlys received those moonstone-inlaid Axes. Even Lord Bolton have their ebony Sword." He tossed the coin back down with the others. "So why steal a stalhrim dagger?"
Owen walked over to one of the weapon racks near the forge, running his fingers along the mastercrafted steel weapons as he thought. The magical properties of stalhrim made it uniquely suited for frost enchantments, and having been made in the factory it was particularly powerful. Enough to overwhelm multiple enemies but not as powerful as one forged by his own hands
"There's something else to consider," Owen continued, turning back to face Eddard and Robb. "Stalhrim has a very distinct appearance. It can't be mistaken for anything else - it literally looks like enchanted ice. Any lord carrying it would immediately draw attention."
"Unless they never intended to carry it openly," Robb pointed out. "A hidden weapon, one that couldn't be traced back to them..."
Owen nodded grimly. "A weapon for assassination, perhaps. Or something else entirely." He gestured at the bodies being cleared by the automatons. "These men weren't trying to steal the dagger - they were meant to destroy the factory. The theft was likely opportunistic, taken by the one survivor in the chaos. Or perhaps it was a secondary mission. Destroy the factory but grab as many rare weapons as they can."
"How did they get past the automatons or your spells then?" Lord Eddard asked. "Why weren't they killed with the rest?"
Owen frowned, his mind racing as he considered Lord Eddard's question. The defensive systems he'd created were comprehensive - a combination of blood magic curses and automated defenders that should have eliminated any intruder. Yet someone had escaped.
Owen remained silent, his thoughts interrupted by the sound of children's laughter filtering through the factory windows. Outside, he could hear Bran's gleeful shouts as he chased Arya through the courtyard, the eleven-year-old boy's footsteps echoing against the stone.
Boy.
Owen's eyes widened as realization struck him like a physical blow. He turned to face Robb and Eddard, his expression clearing as the pieces fell into place.
"It was a young man," he said slowly, certainty building in his voice. "Most probably a boy." Owen ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at his own oversight. "When I created the defensive spells and built the automatons, I specifically ensured they wouldn't harm children. Anyone below the age of sixteen wouldn't be targeted - I saw them as too young to pose a real threat."
Understanding dawned on Eddard's face as Owen continued, "The defenses must have simply ignored him. In all the chaos of the attack, while the automatons were dealing with the adult intruders, a boy could have easily slipped through and taken the dagger."
Robb cursed under his breath. "A clever strategy," he admitted grudgingly. "Send in a group of expendable men as a distraction, while a youth does the actual stealing."
Owen nodded, running his fingers through his dark hair. "I doubt they knew about the weakness in the defenses. More likely they just got lucky having a young boy with them." His jaw clenched as frustration welled up inside him.
With a sudden burst of anger, Owen slammed his fist down onto a nearby metal workbench. The impact sent various weapons clattering to the ground, and the solid steel table actually bent under the enhanced strength granted by his magical circuits. The loud crash echoed through the factory.
Both Robb and Eddard jumped back, startled by the display of raw power. Their eyes widened as they watched the metal bend like clay beneath Owen's reinforced fist.
Almost immediately, several steam constructors whirred to life, their mechanical limbs moving with practiced efficiency as they rushed to repair the damaged table. The machines began straightening the warped metal, their internal mechanisms humming as they worked.
"I'm sorry," Owen said quietly, flexing his hand as he regained control of his emotions. "I just... I feel like I failed. I should have anticipated this possibility. Should have built in better safeguards." He shook his head in disgust at his own oversight.
Eddard stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Owen's shoulder. "This is not your fault," his goodfather said firmly, his grey eyes meeting Owen's. "You created defenses beyond anything we've ever seen. That they found one small weakness and just by luck speaks to your success, not your failure."
"Aye," Robb agreed, nodding. "The factory still stands, and only one dagger was taken. It could have been far worse."
Owen took a deep breath, letting their words sink in. The steam constructors finished repairing the table, the metal now smooth and unblemished as if nothing had happened.
"You're right," he said finally. "I should go check on Sansa, make sure she's not worried about all this." He turned to Lord Eddard. "You can tell Mikken it's safe to resume teaching his apprentices here. The defenses are still fully functional but wont harm him."
Without waiting for a response, Owen turned and headed for the factory doors, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor as he made his way toward the castle.
Owen held Sansa's hand as they sat together on one of the comfortable beds in Maester Luwin's chambers. The room had been transformed from its original sparse state - now filled with well-stocked shelves of herbs and medicinal plants, comfortable furnishings, and proper beds for those under observation. Owen had made these improvements before his marriage to Sansa and subsequent move to Ice Crest, knowing the importance of having a well-equipped medical facility at Winterfell.
Sunlight streamed through the newly installed glass windows, another of Owen's additions that helped keep the room warm while allowing natural light to fill the space. The scent of dried herbs hung in the air - lavender, sage, and dozens of other medicinal plants that Owen had ensured were always in good supply.
"You really couldn't have known about that weakness in the defenses," Sansa said softly, her thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. Her auburn hair caught the sunlight, creating a warm halo around her face. "The fact that you thought to protect children shows your good heart."
Owen squeezed her hand gently, still feeling the frustration of the day's events. He had just finished explaining everything they'd discovered - the pure gold coins that pointed to a Northern lords involvement, the likely use of a youth to exploit the defensive system's blind spot, and the stolen stalhrim dagger.
"Your father and Robb said the same thing," Owen admitted, his eyes tracking the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight. "But I can't help feeling I should have anticipated something like this. The defenses were supposed to be perfect."
Sansa turned to face him fully, her blue eyes serious. "Nothing is perfect, Owen. Not even your marvelous creations." She gestured at the well-appointed room around them. "Look at all the good you've done. One stolen dagger doesn't erase that."
"I suppose you're right," Owen conceded, taking in the improvements he'd made to the maester's chambers. The room was warm, clean, and well-equipped - a far cry from its previous state. "Your father says we'll just have to keep watch, see if any of the lords reveal themselves through careless words or actions."
"That's all we can do," Sansa agreed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Whoever ordered this attack will make a mistake eventually. You'll see."
Owen watched as she take another sip of the warm milk and honey mixture he'd asked Maester Luwin to prepare. The sweet aroma filled the air, mixing with the herbal scents in the chamber.
"Are you feeling better now?" Owen asked, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand.
"Yes, much better," Sansa replied, offering him a small smile. "I'm actually surprised I got sick at all. I thought I was prepared to see the aftermath of the attack, the bodies and such." She shook her head slightly, her red hair catching the sunlight. "But that smell was just... overwhelming for some reason."
Owen nodded understandingly, but suddenly his attention shifted inward. A familiar sensation, one he hadn't experienced in five years, rippled through his being. The energy that had lain dormant since his last gift 4 years ago stirred within his soul. The Celestial Forge, was coming alive once again.
He felt the distinctive pulse of his soul's energy coming to life, like a long-silent forge suddenly roaring back into flames. The sensation was exactly as he remembered it - that peculiar mix of warmth and potential, of knowledge waiting to be grasped and power ready to be channeled.
He felt the familiar surge of power building within him, the Forge awakening after years to unleash its power. His breath caught in anticipation, knowing that any moment now…..
The door swung open, interrupting his thoughts. Lady Catelyn swept into the room, her face alight with joy, followed by Maester Luwin who wore a more reserved but pleased expression.
"Really, Lord Owen," Maester Luwin chided gently as he approached them, shaking his head. "You shouldn't have let Lady Sansa anywhere near such an unsightly scene in her condition. The stress alone could have-"
"My condition?" Sansa interrupted, her brow furrowing in confusion. She glanced between her mother's beaming face and the maester's knowing look.
Owen felt equally lost, the building power of the Celestial Forge momentarily forgotten as he tried to make sense of their cryptic exchange. "What condition are you talking about? Is something wrong?"
Lady Catelyn's smile grew even wider as she moved to stand beside her daughter. "Wrong? Oh no, quite the opposite."
Owen's confusion mounted as he watched the cryptic exchange between Lady Catelyn and Maester Luwin. The building power of the Forge still thrummed within him, but his attention was wholly focused on the matter at hand.
"Maester Luwin, please," Owen said firmly, his hand tightening protectively around Sansa's. "If something's wrong with my wife, I need to know."
But before the maester could respond, Lady Catelyn burst forward, unable to contain her joy any longer. Her face glowed with excitement as she clasped her hands together.
"Oh, I simply can't keep it in!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with happy tears. "Sansa, my darling, you're with child!"
Owen felt Sansa's hand grip his tightly as she gasped. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment as they both processed the news. The nausea, the heightened sensitivity to smells - suddenly everything made sense.
"I'm... pregnant?" Sansa whispered, her free hand moving instinctively to her stomach. Her voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and wonder.
"Yes, my dear," Maester Luwin confirmed, his usual stern expression softening into a gentle smile. "The signs are quite clear. I suspected when you first came in, but I wanted to be certain before saying anything."
Owen barely had time to process the news before Sansa launched herself at him with pure joy. Her momentum carried them both backward onto the bed, the mattress cushioning their fall as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips found his in an enthusiastic kiss, tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks.
Owen's mind was still reeling from the revelation, but his body responded instinctively, arms encircling his wife and holding her close. The Celestial Forge's building power thrummed through him, perfectly matching the overwhelming emotions coursing through his veins.
When Sansa finally broke their kiss, her face was radiant with joy. She leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear as she whispered with pure delight, "We're going to have a baby!"
The words, spoken in her voice, made it real in a way that even Maester Luwin's confirmation hadn't. Owen tightened his embrace, feeling the warmth of her body against his, knowing that within her their child was growing. After years of trying, after all their worry and heartache, it was finally happening.
Owen felt the Celestial Forge surge within him, its power rising to unprecedented levels. The familiar warmth exploded into an inferno of knowledge and possibility, far more intense than any previous awakening. His eyes widened as not one, but two distinct streams of information poured into his consciousness.
The first power, Muggle Technology, flooded his mind with an encyclopedic understanding of modern scientific principles. Complex mathematical formulas, engineering concepts, and technological innovations cascaded through his thoughts. Graduate-level knowledge in physics, chemistry, biology, and dozens of other scientific fields suddenly became as familiar to him as breathing. The information wasn't just static facts - it felt alive, eager to connect and combine in new ways.
Owen's breath caught as he processed the implications. Nuclear physics, quantum mechanics, advanced materials science - knowledge that could revolutionize everything he'd built so far. His previous innovations, impressive as they were, suddenly seemed primitive compared to what he could now achieve.
The second power, Reliable Invention, settled into his consciousness with a different kind of certainty. He understood immediately that anything he created would be immune to normal wear and tear, functioning perfectly unless deliberately attacked or misused. His creations would never break down from regular use, never fail due to mechanical fatigue or natural deterioration.
Still holding Sansa in his arms, Owen struggled to maintain his composure as the two powers intertwined in his mind. The scientific knowledge seemed to dance with the gift of reliability, showing him possibilities that made his head spin. He could create machines that would run forever without maintenance, weapons that would never dull or jam, armor that would retain its protective qualities indefinitely.
"Owen?" Sansa's concerned voice cut through his revelation. "Are you alright? You've gone quite pale."
He focused on her face, seeing the worry in her blue eyes. Behind her, Lady Catelyn and Maester Luwin were watching him with similar concern. Owen realized he must have been silent for several moments while the powers settled into place.
Owen pulled Sansa closer and kissed her gently, his heart overflowing with joy. "I'm fine, my love. Better than fine - I'm happier than I've ever been." His voice was thick with emotion as he pressed his forehead against hers.
The warmth of her smile melted away all his other concerns. The stolen dagger, the factory attack, even his newly awakened powers - none of it seemed important compared to this moment. His wife was carrying their child, a miracle they had waited years to experience.
"We should tell everyone," Owen said, helping Sansa sit up properly on the bed. He couldn't stop grinning as he looked at her, trying to spot any subtle changes he might have missed. "Your siblings will be thrilled to hear they're going to be aunts and uncles."
Sansa smiled and nodded as the four left the maesters quarters to go spread the news. At that moment, all his grand plans and innovations seemed trivial compared to the miracle growing within her. He was going to be a father. After everything he'd accomplished in this world - the factories, the weapons, the technological advancements for the north- this felt like his greatest achievement yet.
POWERS GAINED FROM THE FORGE
Muggle Technology (Make a Wish) (200CP)
You know it, general knowledge of up to graduate level in every scientific field is known to you, not only this, but the knowledge seems very eager to help you and as such whenever you are using magic for creation of something or other, the knowledge will leap up with helpful facts and connect seemingly disconnected facts to help in whatever magical creation you are making next. Post Jump, the helpfulness and eagerness spreads to the rest of the knowledge you have in your mind
Reliable Invention (Kim Possible) (200CP)
Anything you construct is only broken when used improperly or purposefully targeted with attacks. The items you create do not malfunction and are completely resistant to damage caused by regular usage.