The morning air held a crisp bite as the combined procession departed Moat Cailin. Owen rode alongside Eddard Stark, his mount keeping pace with Robert Baratheon's massive destrier. Lord Edmure and the Blackfish flanked them, while Jon Arryn's weathered face showed keen interest in every detail of their surroundings.
"These roads," Jon Arryn ran his hand along his saddle horn, "I've never seen their like built before and it seems you've made them everywhere in the north. Smooth as a castle courtyard."
"Steam-pressed stone and ebony," Owen explained. "The constructors heat and compress it into a single seamless surface. No maintenance needed for decades."
Robert's booming laugh cut through the morning mist. "Seven hells, Ned. Your northern wasteland's turned into a bloody paradise."
They passed the first village, where neat rows of new houses lined the improved roads. Children played in front of a large communal bath house, their clothes clean and faces full. Through the crystal walls of a massive glasshouse, Owen could see workers tending to thick rows of vegetables.
"Three harvests a year now," Eddard gestured to the structure. "Even in winter, the glasshouses keep producing."
The Blackfish reined his horse closer. "And these mechanical guardians of yours?" His sharp eyes tracked a steam constructor as it methodically patrolled the village perimeter, its metal feet leaving precise impressions in the earth.
"They never tire, never sleep," Owen said. "They follow their patrol routes perfectly, day and night."
A deep rumbling drew their attention to the horizon. Two Dwarven Colossi strode across distant fields, their massive forms casting long shadows in the morning sun. Robert whistled low.
"Those things could crush an army," he muttered.
"That's rather the point, Your Grace," Eddard replied evenly.
They rode past another village, this one centered around a newly constructed mill. The wheel turned steadily, powered by an underground steam engine rather than the creek that ran nearby. Farmers in clean, warm clothing nodded respectfully as the procession passed.
"Your smallfolk look better fed than half the nobles in King's Landing," Jon Arryn observed.
"Clean water, proper sewage, regular meals," Owen listed off. "Healthy workers are productive workers."
Edmure leaned forward in his saddle. "Those houses - they all have glass windows?"
"And proper chimneys, insulated walls, raised floors and access to piped clean water and hot showers," Owen confirmed. "No more drafty hovels or smoke-filled rooms."
Owen caught the calculating gleam in Jon Arryn's eyes as the old Hand of the King cleared his throat. "These metal soldiers and workers of yours - fascinating creations. I don't suppose you'd care to share just how many the North has managed to construct?"
Owen kept his face carefully neutral, though he could feel Eddard tense beside him. The true numbers would shock them - thousands of steam constructors working tirelessly across the North, with hundreds more being produced each day, not to mention the growing army of Dwarven Colossi.
"Enough," Owen replied simply, allowing a small smile to play at the corners of his mouth.
Jon Arryn's weathered features tightened almost imperceptibly at the evasion. Before he could press further, the sound of hoofbeats drew closer as Stannis Baratheon urged his horse forward to join their group. The second Baratheon brother's stern face bore its usual severe expression as he fixed Owen with an intense stare.
"What of these ships we've heard tell of?" Stannis's jaw clenched as he spoke. "Reports claim they dwarf our royal fleet, move faster than any vessel on the Narrow Sea. Some say they can sail against the wind itself."
Owen exchanged a measured look with Eddard. They had discussed how much to reveal about their naval capabilities. The ships were indeed revolutionary - powered by steam engines and enchanted materials that allowed them to cut through water like knives through butter. After a moment's silent communication, Eddard gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"The reports are accurate," Owen confirmed. "Our new vessels are larger and faster than traditional ships."
"How?" Stannis demanded, his fingers tightening on his reins. "We've heard wild tales - hundreds of slaves manning the oars, stolen plans from the Braavosi shipwrights." His eyes narrowed as he looked at them.
Owen spat on the ground, his face twisting with revulsion. "Slaves? You think we'd stoop to such barbarism?"
Eddard's expression darkened beside him. "The North remembers its ancient values, Your Grace, Lord stannis. We would never traffic in human bondage. Such practices are an affront to both the old gods and the new as you well know when i made sure to place a bounty on Jorah Mormont."
"The ships move by mechanical means," Owen finally explained, his voice steady as he addressed Stannis's accusation. "Below the waterline, we've installed massive propellers - think of them as giant metal windmills that spin underwater. They're powered by steam engines, pushing the ships forward regardless of wind conditions."
He gestured at the distant horizon. "As for the sails, they're cut from special cloth woven with enhanced materials. The design allows them to catch even the faintest breeze. Combined with the propellers, our ships can maintain consistent speed in any weather."
Stannis's jaw worked as he processed this information. "And these designs? You claim they're original?"
"Entirely my own work," Owen confirmed firmly. "I've never even seen a Braavosi shipyard. The vessels are built in our own dockyards at Ice Crest and White Harbor."
Edmure leaned forward, clearly intrigued. "These propellers - how fast can they move a ship?"
"Thrice the speed of a traditional sailing vessel, even in calm winds," Owen answered. 'They've cut travel to and from Essos by a whole week. More if pushed to the limit."
Jon Arryn cleared his throat. "Speaking of impressive work, when might the Crown expect to benefit from these innovations? Surely such advances should be shared throughout the realm?"
Robert shifted in his saddle, his expression eager as he awaited the response.
Owen kept his face carefully neutral. "All such matters can be properly discussed once we reach Winterfell, my lords. There's much to consider regarding these technologies."
Owen watched as Jon Arryn and Stannis exchanged meaningful glances at his deflection, their tight expressions betraying their displeasure. Neither pressed the issue though, falling into silence as Robert launched into another tale about his and Eddard's youth at the Eyrie.
"Remember that time we snuck into the kitchens, Ned?" Robert's laugh boomed across the countryside. "Old Cook Margaret chased us halfway up the mountain with her wooden spoon."
The improved roads allowed their horses to maintain a steady, swift pace, the smooth surface letting them cover ground three times faster than the old dirt paths. They passed Castle Cerwyn in just four hours, the fortress's newly reinforced walls gleaming with strips of ebony ore that Owen had personally overseen being installed, catching the eyes of the southern lords.
As they approached Winterfell's lands, Owen felt a surge of pride. He'd spent countless hours working with the steam constructors to transform the ancient stronghold. The group crested a hill, and Owen heard the collective intake of breath from the southern contingent.
"Seven hells," Robert breathed, pulling his horse to a halt. "I don't remember Winterfell being this massive."
Owen smiled as he observed his handiwork. The castle had grown to encompass all of Winter Town, its walls now twice their original height and three times as thick. The new fortifications gleamed with alternating bands of ebony and malachite, the magical ores lending both beauty and unparalleled strength to the defenses.
"Indeed," Eddard confirmed. "Owen's innovations have allowed us to expand considerably."
The broken tower, once a crumbling reminder of age and decay, now stood proud and tall, its restored form matched by six new towers that Owen had designed to house additional guards and provide better defensive positions. The main castle itself had been completely renovated, its halls widened and chambers enlarged to accommodate the growing household and garrison.
Owen's gaze swept over the new additions - the expanded barracks that could now house three to four times the previous number of guards, the vast training grounds where soldiers could drill in any weather, and the enlarged stables built to shelter both horses and the mechanical steeds he'd begun producing. Most impressive was the new guest wing, a separate structure connected to the main castle by covered bridges, offering luxurious accommodations that rivaled even the Red Keep's chambers.
Eddard raised his hand in welcome upon his horse, gesturing toward the transformed castle. "My lords, my ladies - welcome to Winterfell."
Owen watched as the southern nobles urged their mounts forward, their expressions a mix of awe and barely concealed envy. Lady Olenna's sharp intake of breath carried clearly from her carriage across the morning air as she took in the gleaming black and grey walls. Beside her, Margaery Tyrell's eyes widened at the sight of the massive glasshouse gardens stretching out beside the castle, their crystal walls catching the sunlight.
The huge wheelhouse bearing Cersei Lannister creaked forward, its gilded exterior suddenly looking gaudy and outdated compared to the sleek magical materials that now adorned Winterfell. Owen could see the queen's face through the window, her features tight with barely suppressed fury as she beheld the castle's magnificence.
Owen rode through Winterfell's first massive gate beside Eddard, the new walls of ebony and malachite rising seventy feet above them. The reinforced portcullis, a masterwork of Dwemer metal and enchanted steel, slowly raised to admit their party.
Winter Town's folk packed the streets, their clean clothes and healthy faces a testament to Owen's improvements. "Long live King Robert!" they called, though Owen noted their cheers grew notably louder when they spotted him and Lord Stark. "The Old Gods bless Lord Stark! Lord Longshore!"
Robert waved enthusiastically from his mount, clearly enjoying the attention, though Owen caught the king's slight frown when several smallfolk dropped to their knees as Owen passed. The mechanical street cleaners and steam automatons had left the cobblestones spotless, while steam vents along the walls released warm air that kept the space between the fortifications comfortable despite the northern chill.
They approached the second wall, even thicker than the first, its black surface gleaming with intricate runic patterns Owen had personally carved. The gates here were his pride - three layers of reinforced metal that could withstand even the strongest siege weapons. Steam constructors stood guard along the battlements, their expressionless metal faces scanning the crowds below.
As they entered the inner courtyard, Owen's heart leapt at the sight of Sansa. She stood with the rest of the household, but his eyes found her immediately. The morning light caught her auburn hair, making it shine like fiery copper, her new form more striking since their dip in Solomon's pool. Her smile, radiant and warm, was for him alone despite the impressive company around them.
Owen swiftly dismounted his horse, his heart racing as he approached her. Without regard for ceremony or protocol, he strode quickly across the courtyard, closing the distance between them in long, purposeful steps, pulling her into his arms as soon as he was near enough.
"I missed you," he whispered against her hair, breathing in her familiar scent of winter roses and fresh snow. Her arms wrapped around him just as tightly, her body fitting perfectly against his as it always had though she did laugh. 'It was just a couple of days my love. You are getting clingy." Sansa chided though she herself enjoyed t=his hug.
The Stark family watched the reunion with knowing smiles. Arya caught Bran's eye and stuck out her tongue in mock disgust at the display of affection, causing her younger brother to stifle a laugh behind his hand. Even stern-faced Eddard's expression softened at the sight of his daughter's happiness.
The creak of the wheelhouse door announced Queen Cersei's emergence, her golden hair catching the northern sunlight as she stepped down with practiced grace. Her children followed - first Joffrey, then Myrcella and Tommen. The crown prince's eyes swept across the immaculate courtyard, taking in the gleaming walls and perfectly maintained grounds before his gaze settled on the embracing couple.
Joffrey's expression shifted as he stared at Sansa, his green eyes widening slightly as he took in her ethereal beauty. The transformation from Solomon's pool had enhanced her natural grace to near supernatural levels, making her appear almost otherworldly in the morning light. The prince seemed transfixed, unable to look away from her fiery hair and perfect features as she remained wrapped in Owen's embrace.
Owen kept his arm around Sansa's waist as the rest of the Stark household noticed the approaching royal family. As one, they dropped into respectful bows and curtsies. Robert waved his hand dismissively.
"Oh get up, get up! None of that nonsense, Ned. Introduce me to your family properly."
Eddard stepped forward, gesturing first to his wife. "Your Grace, you remember Lady Catelyn."
"Cat!" Robert's face split into a wide grin as he embraced her warmly. Catelyn maintained her composure, offering a demure smile and proper greeting.
"And this is my eldest, Robb, with his wife Wynafryd of House Manderly," Eddard continued.
The young couple bowed respectfully as Robert nodded approvingly at them.
"My eldest daughter Sansa." Eddard said next.
Owen felt Sansa curtsy gracefully beside him. When he straightened, he noticed Robert staring at Sansa, clearly struck by her enhanced beauty.
"By the gods, Ned," Robert breathed. "Your daughter has grown into quite the beauty. You're a lucky man, Lord Longshore."
Owen tightened his grip on Sansa's waist protectively as he caught Queen Cersei's venomous glare boring into his wife. Sansa paid the queen no mind, maintaining her perfect poise.
"And my younger daughter, Arya," Eddard continued.
The words died in the air as Robert's face drained of color. He stared at Arya as if seeing a ghost, his voice barely a whisper.
"Lyanna?"
Owen watched as Cersei's jealous gaze snapped from Sansa to Arya, her green eyes turning murderous at her husband's reaction to the young girl's resemblance to his lost love.
Owen couldn't help but notice how Arya had blossomed over the years. At fifteen, her tomboyish features had softened into a striking beauty that bore an uncanny resemblance to the portraits he'd seen of Lyanna Stark. Her dark brown hair, though still practically braided, fell in lustrous waves down her back. Her figure had filled out with womanly curves, full breasts and wide hips that would have made her quite the catch if she wasn't so determined to avoid marriage.
"Your Grace," Eddard quickly interjected, though Owen noticed Robert's eyes lingering on Arya's face. "This is Arya as i said, not Lyaana."
Robert shook his head as if clearing away memories. "Of course, of course. You're right, Ned. But gods, she'll be a great beauty like her aunt."
Arya's lips curved into a familiar smirk. "I don't want to be a lady," she declared boldly. "I want to be a warrior."
Owen couldn't suppress his smile as Sansa's melodious laugh rang out beside him, while Catelyn released a long-suffering sigh that spoke of countless similar declarations.
Robert's booming laugh echoed across the courtyard. "Seven hells, she even has Lyanna's spirit! Do you remember, Ned? Your sister was just the same."
A small, wistful smile crossed Eddard's face as he turned to his youngest son. "And this is Brandon or Bran as we call him, Your Grace."
"Ah!" Robert's eyes lit up as he studied the boy. "Now there's a future knight if I ever saw one!"
Owen watched as Bran's face brightened at the king's words. The boy's eyes darted hopefully toward where Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy stood at attention, clearly imagining himself in their white cloaks.
Owen watched as Prince Oberyn approached with his paramour Ellaria Sand and niece Arianne, their Dornish entourage drawing curious glances from the northerners. The Red Viper's dark eyes gleamed with interest as they swept over Winterfell's enhanced fortifications before settling on Owen and Sansa with unmistakable calculation seeing as they hadn't had time to talk much during the travel to winterfell.
"Lord Stark," Oberyn purred, "Your hospitality since we got to the north has been legendary, but I see the tales of your castles glory barely do it justice." His gaze lingered appreciatively on Sansa, causing Owen to shift slightly closer to his wife though the prince just smirked.
The Tyrells came next, led by Lady Olenna who somehow managed to look both impressed and dismissive as she surveyed her surroundings. Mace bumbled through his greetings while Margaery offered a perfectly practiced curtsy, though Owen noticed her eyes darting between him and Sansa with poorly concealed fascination.
"My dear Lady Stark," Jon Arryn stepped forward to greet Catelyn warmly. "Your sister Lysa and young Robyn send their regards. They remain well at the Eyrie."
Owen observed Catelyn's careful mask slip slightly at the mention of her sister, a flash of worry crossing her features before she composed herself. "I thank you for the news, Lord Arryn."
Her expression brightened genuinely as Edmure and the Blackfish approached. "Brother! Uncle!" she exclaimed, embracing them both in turn. "It brings me such joy to see you."
"The Riverlands have missed you, Cat," Brynden replied gruffly, though his weathered face held genuine affection.
Stannis hung back, offering only the most perfunctory of greetings, his jaw clenched as he continued to study the steam constructors patrolling the walls with obvious discomfort.
Once the formal greetings concluded, Robert's jovial demeanor shifted, his expression growing somber. He turned to Eddard, his voice dropping low enough that Owen had to strain to hear.
"Take me to the crypts, Ned. I would pay my respects."
Owen watched as Cersei's face twisted with barely contained fury. The queen stepped forward, her golden hair catching the morning light.
"We've been riding for a month, my love," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Surely the dead can wait until you've rested."
Robert acted as if he hadn't heard her, his eyes fixed on his old friend. "Ned?"
Cersei's mouth opened again, clearly preparing another protest, but she fell silent as Lord Tywin approached. Owen observed how the queen's spine stiffened at her father's presence, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stepped back.
"Lead on, old friend," Robert said to Eddard, already turning toward the entrance to the crypts.
Owen felt Sansa squeeze his hand as they watched the two men disappear into the darkness of the underground passage. Beside them, Tywin Lannister moved with practiced grace toward Catelyn, flanked by his brother Kevan and his youngest son Tyrion.
"Lady Stark," Tywin's voice carried across the courtyard, commanding attention without effort. "House Lannister thanks you for your hospitality."
Owen noticed how Tywin's sharp green eyes drifted to Arya, lingering on her face with calculated interest. The great lion's mind was clearly working, weighing possibilities and potential advantages as he studied the young girl who so resembled her dead aunt.
Catelyn executed a perfect curtsy. "Winterfell welcomes you, Lord Tywin. We have prepared chambers in the new guest wing for your comfort."
Owen watched as Lady Catelyn stepped forward, her years of experience as Winterfell's lady evident in her graceful authority. "My lords and ladies, our servants will show you to your accommodations," she announced, gesturing to the well-dressed staff waiting nearby. Each servant wore the new Winterfell livery Owen had designed - grey wool trimmed with white fur and subtle magical enhancements to keep them warm.
Turning specifically to Cersei, Catelyn dropped into a perfect curtsy. "Your Grace, if you and the royal family would follow me, I have personally overseen the preparation of your private quarters."
The courtyard gradually emptied as the various noble houses followed their guides, their voices fading as they disappeared into the castle's enhanced corridors. Owen caught fragments of impressed murmurs about the heated halls and magical lighting he had installed throughout the renovated sections.
Eddard sat in his solar, the warmth from the enhanced heating system Owen had installed making the room almost too comfortable. The flames in the hearth cast dancing shadows across the faces of his companions as they shared cups of Arbor gold. Brynden Tully's weathered features looked particularly severe in the flickering light.
"Hoster was quite put out," Brynden said, his gravelly voice carrying a note of reproach. "He expected more consideration from his good-son and grandson by law. The Riverlands have always been loyal friends to the North."
Edmure nodded in agreement with his uncle. "Father felt... overlooked when he heard the rumors and when an informant from Kings landing proved the claims. While the North prospered and grew stronger, we remained unchanged. He believed our family ties should have warranted some sharing of these innovations."
Eddard exchanged a meaningful look with Owen before responding. "We meant no slight to House Tully. Our first priority was securing the North's position. Too many eyes would be watching our progress if we spread our advancements to the south."
"The Crown's eyes, you mean," Brynden said shrewdly, taking another sip of wine.
"Among others," Eddard confirmed. "We had to move carefully. Even now, with Robert himself in my halls, I feel the weight of southern scrutiny."
Owen shifted in his chair. "Lord Tully's disappointment is understandable, but Lord Stark's caution was necessary. The fewer who knew of our true capabilities, the better positioned we were to protect these advancements."
Edmure leaned forward, his eyes bright with curiosity. "And now? With the whole realm aware of the North's transformation, what changes?"
Eddard sighed heavily, running a hand over his weathered face. "The Northern lords will begin arriving within days. Manderly, Karstark, Umber, perhaps even the mountain clans - they'll all come to see Robert and hear what demands the Crown makes of us now."
He rose from his chair and walked to the window, watching as servants scurried about the courtyard below, preparing for the influx of noble guests. The mechanical workers Owen had created moved among them, carrying heavy loads with effortless precision.
"We'll spend a week hosting feasts and entertainments as the northern lords arrive," Eddard continued, his voice tinged with resignation. "Robert always did love his celebrations. But after the wine stops flowing and the music fades, there will be a meeting. The Crown won't let our prosperity go unremarked - or untaxed."
"How much do you think they'll demand?" Edmure asked, swirling the wine in his cup.
"More than we've been paying, certainly," Eddard replied. "Though Owen's illusions have helped hide the true extent of our wealth, they've seen enough at Moat Cailin to know we can afford far more than before."
Edmure looked to Owen. "Yes. Those illusions…..i can say without a doubt talk of your….sorcery in hiding the northern advancement may have startled many of the devout among the southern party. Soon they'll be all asking you to hide their debts with your magic."
The Blackfish grunted in agreement. "The Crown's debts to the Iron Bank and the various merchants and moneylenders won't have escaped anyone's notice. Roberts feasting and tourneys are legendarily expensive and most southern houses sometimes have debts up to their ears though they do well to hide it. They'll see the North as a solution to their financial troubles."
Eddard watched as Owen leaned forward in his chair, his son-in-law's face etched with concern. "That's precisely what worries me as well. The Crown will demand more and more, treating the north just as the Targaryens did - taking everything while offering nothing in return but a letter of thanks. We've worked and built too much to create this prosperity only to have it bled away by southern demands."
The Blackfish set his wine cup down with a decisive thunk. "Which is why the Riverlands must be present for these talks," he declared, his weathered face set with determination. "We're family, Ned. Through Cat and her children, through young Owen's marriage to Sansa - our houses are bound together. The Riverlands will support northern interests in these negotiations."
Eddard noted the calculating gleam in Brynden's eye as the older knight continued. "For a reasonable consideration, of course. A share in some of these innovations would go a long way toward securing our complete backing against crown demands."
Edmure nodded eagerly beside his uncle. "Father would be far more amenable if he saw some tangible benefits from this alliance. Perhaps some of those mechanical workers for our fields, as a start?"
Eddard studied the Tully men carefully, weighing their words. The Blackfish had always been pragmatic, and his support could prove valuable in the coming discussions with Robert. Yet giving away too much of their advantages could risk everything they'd built.
Eddard looked to Owen, studying his good-son's posture as the young man sat deep in thought. Owen's broad shoulders, built from years at the forge and enhanced by Solomon's pool, were hunched forward as he covered his face with one large hand. The silence stretched for several moments before Owen finally looked up, his features catching the firelight.
"Having the steam constructors and automatons help with quick farming and harvests shouldn't be a problem," Owen said carefully, his voice measured. "But anything else will require deeper negotiations."
Eddard noted how the Blackfish's eyes lightened slightly at Owen's words, while Edmure seemed to brighten at even this small concession.
Eddard rose from his chair, his joints protesting slightly despite the magical enhancements Owen had worked into Winterfell's very stones. The hour had grown later than he'd realized, and the feast would begin soon.
"We should prepare ourselves," he announced, gesturing toward the door. "Owen's improvements to the bathing chambers have made getting ready a much quicker affair than it once was. The hot water flows instantly now, and those 'showers' he installed are remarkably efficient as I'm sure you experienced at moat cailin." Lord Stark says and Edmure and Brynden nodded.
"Indeed," Owen agreed, standing as well. "We'll need our wits about us in the coming days. Best to be refreshed and clear-headed. Its going to be a long week.