Owen stood in the center of Winterfell's factory floor, chalk dust coating his hands as he sketched the last runes of a complex magical array. Sweat beaded on his forehead from five straight days of intense magical work. The magic knowledge burned bright in his mind as he wove protection spells through every inch of the building. This time there would be no mistakes.
"Sanguis protectionem." The runes flared red as Owen pressed his palm against them, blood magic spreading through the factory's foundations like roots through soil.
He traced his fingers along the wall, feeling the thrum of defensive magic. The previous protections had been effective but crude - designed to kill first and ask questions later. Now he needed something more sophisticated.
"Can't have some poor drunk stumbling in here and getting zapped," Owen muttered. Though if any of the now ten guards stationed around the factory actually let someone through, he would need to speak about lacking standards to lord eddard. He pulled a leather pouch from his belt and sprinkled crushed moonstone in a careful circle. "Let's try this instead."
A shimmer rippled through the air as Owen spoke the incantation. The new spell matrix would analyze intent, freezing harmless trespassers while still eliminating true threats.
"Hold still," Owen called to a nearby steam constructor. He pressed an enchanted copper disc against its chassis, etching identifying runes into the metal. "That should keep you and your brothers from triggering the defenses."
He'd spent the first three days reprogramming every automaton and constructor in the facility, fine-tuning their protocols. Now they would attempt capture before resorting to lethal force.
Owen moved methodically through the building, layering protective enchantments. Sleep hexes wove through the outer perimeter. Paralysis wards covered the main work floors. Deadly curses guarded only the most sensitive areas.
"Lord Owen?" Mikken's voice echoed from the entrance.
"Come in," Owen replied, not looking up from his work. "I added you to the safe list yesterday."
The blacksmith crossed the threshold cautiously, relaxing when no magical barriers impeded him. Owen had spent hours creating enchanted tokens for trusted personnel - small medallions that would shield them from the defensive magic.
"Just checking the progress. The other smiths are eager to get back to work."
"Almost done." Owen pressed his hand against a support beam, sending tendrils of magic coursing through the steel. "Just need to finish the integration spells so all these layers work together properly."
He'd discovered that multiple overlapping protective enchantments could interfere with each other if not properly harmonized. The Temple's archives had provided the solution - binding runes that would coordinate the various magical effects.
Owen stepped back, surveying his work. Magical energy hummed through the building in intricate patterns, each layer serving its purpose. Harmless trespassers would be safely contained. Those with darker intentions would face increasingly severe consequences. And those cleared for access could move freely through it all.
"There." Owen wiped chalk dust from his hands. "That should do it. No more security gaps for clever thieves to exploit."
The defensive system was complete - sophisticated, measured, and thorough. Owen allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. The factory was secure.
Owen turned to Mikken, brushing the last of the chalk dust from his hands. "You can get back to training the apprentices now. Everything's secured."
Mikken's weathered face broke into a relieved smile. "About time. Those lads and old blacksmiths have been getting restless with nothing to do but talking lessons on what to do. A smith with no metal in their hands gets grumpy." He headed off toward the training area with a spring in his step.
Owen walked towards the castle, returning nods and greetings from passing guards and servants. Two weeks they'd been at Winterfell now, at Sansa's insistence. She wanted to be near her mother during the early stages of pregnancy, and Owen couldn't deny her anything that brought her comfort.
"Congratulations, m'lord!" called out a stable boy as Owen passed.
"Many blessings to you and Lady Sansa," added a washerwoman, dropping into a quick curtsy.
The news had spread like wildfire through Winterfell and Winter Town. Owen couldn't walk ten feet without someone offering their good wishes. He didn't mind - their genuine happiness for Sansa warmed his heart.
In the great hall, he found Sansa deep in discussion with Lady Catelyn and Arya. They'd been practically inseparable since the announcement, spending hours talking about the baby.
"It has to be a boy," Sansa was saying as Owen approached. "Ice Crest needs an heir."
"What about Lyanna?" Arya suggested. "If it's a girl, I mean. After Father's sister."
"Or Brandon for a boy," Lady Catelyn added thoughtfully. "To honor your uncle."
Owen slipped into the seat beside his wife, taking her hand. "I've told you before, my love. Boy or girl doesn't matter to me. We could have ten daughters and I'd be the happiest man in the Seven Kingdoms, as long as you're happy."
Sansa's face softened as she squeezed his hand. "You say that now, but surely you want a son?"
"I want a healthy child and a healthy wife," Owen replied firmly. "Everything else is secondary."
Owen watched his wife's face light up at his words, her blue eyes sparkling with joy. Yet beneath her visible pleasure, he understood the deeper currents of her thoughts. In this world of noble politics and dynasty-building, a male heir meant security. It would cement Sansa's position as his wife and strengthen the legitimacy of their joined houses in ways that even their genuine love could not.
He'd seen it play out countless times in earths history or in novels and fanfics - noble marriages undermined by the lack of sons, wives set aside or diminished when they failed to produce male heirs. Even with all his technological and magical advances, some ancient social pressures remained deeply entrenched.
"The steam constructors could build a nursery," Arya piped up, breaking into his thoughts. "With mechanical toys and everything!"
"Nothing too dangerous," Catelyn cautioned, though her eyes held an indulgent warmth.
Owen squeezed Sansa's hand gently. In the four years of their marriage, he'd had no shortage of opportunities to stray. Noble ladies from various northern houses had made their interest clear enough when they visited ice crest or winterfell when they had still lived there - a lingering touch here when greeting, a suggestive comment there when sansa wasn't around. Some had been quite bold in their advances, even one or two married ladies, especially after his innovations began transforming the North.
But Owen had never been tempted. Perhaps it was the memories of his past life's values, or simply that Sansa filled his heart so completely. That or just because sansa had been his first wife he had ever had, let alone girlfriend, in his old life or his new one in this universe. The idea of taking multiple wives or keeping mistresses, common enough among powerful lords (or MCs in fanfics) held no appeal. He'd meant what he'd said - Sansa's happiness was what mattered most. Unless she actually approved of such a thing (doubtful with how she had been brough up.) He didn't see them allowing anyone into their bed, no matter what others in his situation would do.
Owen watched as Sansa turned to her sister, her expression gentle but firm. "Arya, mother, as much as you are excited, you know we won't be staying forever. I want our baby born at Ice Crest. If any nursery will be built, it will be back at home."
The disappointment was evident on both Catelyn and Arya's faces. Owen couldn't help but smirk at Arya's reaction - he could practically see the wheels turning in her head, no doubt plotting ways to influence their future child into becoming a wild wolf like herself. He'd grown fond of his young sister-in-law's spirited nature over the years, even if it sometimes drove Sansa to distraction.
Catelyn reached across the table to grasp her daughter's hand. "Promise you'll visit as soon as possible when the baby is born?"
"Of course, Mother," Sansa assured her, while Owen nodded his agreement.
"I would also like to hold my grandchild as soon as they arrive," a familiar voice interjected. The group turned to see Lord Eddard entering the great hall, accompanied by Robb, Wynafryd, and Bran, as well anastasia padding towards sansa and arya for her expected cuddles and petting.
Owen watched as Sansa beamed at her brother and good-sister. "If the gods are good, you'll be sharing similar news soon, Robb."
Robb let out a hearty chuckle, wrapping an arm around Wynafryd's waist. "We're certainly working on it aggressively enough."
Wynafryd's cheeks flushed pink as she swatted her husband's arm. "Robb!" Despite her protest, Owen could see she looked rather pleased at the suggestion.
"Actually," Owen interjected, seeing an opportunity, "I was hoping to gather everyone together. There's something I'd like to give you all."
He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. With a soft shimmer of magical energy, a medium-sized oak box materialized on the nearby table.
Arya and Bran immediately burst into applause at the display of magic. Even after all this time, they still delighted in Owen's supernatural abilities like excited children. Wynafryd leaned forward with evident curiosity - she'd married into the family after Owen's powers became known, but still found each demonstration fascinating.
The rest of the family barely reacted to the casual display of magic, having grown accustomed to Owen's abilities over the years. Only Lady Catelyn showed any discomfort, shifting slightly in her seat. Owen had noticed she never quite adjusted to his supernatural powers, though she'd grown to accept them as part of life with her good-son. He suspected her strict Seven upbringing made it difficult to reconcile such obvious magic with her religious beliefs.
Owen opened the ornate box with practiced care, revealing its precious contents. Nestled in deep blue velvet lay several identical silver lockets, each one gleaming with the unmistakable sheen of masterwork craftsmanship. The metal had been worked with painstaking precision, delicate patterns of direwolves and winter roses and Weirwood trees etched into their surfaces.
He lifted one out first for himself, the silver warm against his palm from the residual magic used in their creation. The rest he began distributing among the gathered Starks, watching their faces as they received their gifts.
"These are beautiful," Sansa breathed, running her fingers over the intricate engravings. Her blue eyes sparkled with delight as she examined every detail.
Arya practically snatched hers from Owen's hand, while Bran accepted his with quiet reverence. Robb and Wynafryd shared a look of appreciation as they received theirs, while Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn handled theirs with careful dignity.
"Open them," Owen encouraged, demonstrating with his own.
The lockets clicked open smoothly, revealing their contents. On one side, rendered with impossible precision, was a portrait of the entire Stark family. Owen had labored for days over the magical process, ensuring every detail was perfect - from the slight curl in Sansa's auburn hair to the mischievous glint in Arya's eyes. The whole family stood together in the godswood of Winterfell, including Jon, Owen himself beside Sansa, and even Anastasia lounging at their feet.
"By the gods," Lady Catelyn whispered, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the image. "It's like looking through a window at all of us."
On the opposite side of each locket was a perfectly polished mirror, its surface catching the light from the hall's windows.
"The detail is incredible," Robb marveled, holding his closer to examine the miniature portrait. "I've never seen anything like it."
"How did you make this?" Bran asked, his young face full of wonder as he studied his own locket.
"A combination of magic and some new techniques I've been developing," Owen explained, watching their reactions with satisfaction. The weeks of work had been worth it to see their joy at receiving these pieces of art.
"They're not just for show, however," Owen said, his expression growing more serious. He glanced around the great hall, ensuring no servants lingered within earshot. "Eventually, I may need to take on a maester at Ice Crest - for appearances if nothing else."
Sansa's hand found his under the table, squeezing gently. They'd discussed this before. Despite the North's growing independence, certain traditions needed to be maintained as much as they had avoided the whole thing simply by the citadel not being asked for one. A castle without a maester would raise eyebrows eventually, even if it was just the fact that the citadel would feel snubbed.
"But Sansa and I still don't entirely trust the maesters," Owen continued, his voice low. "Excepting maester luwin of course."
Owen held up his locket, drawing their attention to the mirror inside. "These will be our way of quick, private communication." He opened the locket fully and looked into the polished surface. "Lord Eddard," he spoke clearly.
Lord Stark's locket immediately began to glow with a soft blue light, vibrating gently against his chest. The Lord of Winterfell raised an eyebrow before opening his own locket. As he gazed into the mirror, Owen's smiling face appeared in place of his reflection.
Owen watched as Lord Eddard's eyes widened, his normally stoic expression giving way to genuine amazement. The rest of the family crowded around, eager to see this new marvel in action.
"By the gods," Eddard breathed, watching Owen's face in his mirror. "Your voice comes through as clear as if you were standing right next to me."
"Even after four years," Robb shook his head with a grin, "you're still finding ways to surprise us, good-brother."
The family quickly began experimenting with their lockets, calling out names and watching the corresponding mirrors light up. Arya and Bran particularly took to the new toys with enthusiasm.
"Robb!" Arya called into her mirror, giggling when her brother's locket glowed. "Your hair looks like a bird's nest this morning!"
"It does not!" Robb protested, but he self-consciously ran a hand through his auburn curls anyway.
"Does too!" Bran chimed in through his own mirror, causing everyone to laugh at Robb's mock-offended expression.
Lady Catelyn watched the proceedings with a mixture of wonder and concern. "What if they're lost?" she asked, ever practical. "Or worse, what if someone takes them?"
"I've thought of that," Owen replied. He stood up and walked to the nearest window, opening it wide. "Watch this."
Without warning, he threw his locket out the window. Sansa gasped, but Owen just smiled and counted under his breath. After about a minute, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the same locket, completely unharmed.
"They're protected by magic," he explained. "They can't be stolen or lost. If someone tries to take them, they'll simply return to their rightful owner. And they're virtually indestructible - I tested that thoroughly before giving them to you."
Owen watched as the Starks tucked their lockets away. Sansa slipped hers around her neck, the silver chain glinting against her pale skin. Arya and Bran pocketed theirs, while Robb and Wynafryd followed Sansa's example. Lord and Lady Stark carefully placed theirs in secure inner pockets of their clothing.
"Remember," Owen said, "all you need to do is call out the name of whoever you wish to speak with. The connection works regardless of distance." He'd tested that thoroughly, speaking with Sansa across the length of winterfell and some distance away from the castle during his experiments.
He turned to Lord Stark, who was still examining his locket with thoughtful interest. "My lord, there's something else I'd like to propose. With your permission, I'd like to construct a faster method of travel between Winterfell and Ice Crest."
Eddard looked up, his grey eyes sharp with interest. "What kind of method did you have in mind?"
"A magical transportation system," Owen explained. "Similar to how I can move items instantly, but designed for people. It would allow us to visit each other within minutes rather than days of travel."
"If it means being closer to family, especially with a grandchild on the way, you have my full permission," Eddard replied without hesitation. His eyes softened as he glanced at Sansa. "It would ease many minds to know help could arrive quickly if needed."
"There's one more thing," Owen added. "I'd like to create more lockets for certain trusted individuals - Maester Luwin and Vayon Poole, for instance. Perhaps even some of our most loyal bannermen. Having instantaneous, secure communication could give us a significant advantage."
Eddard nodded slowly, considering the implications. "Agreed. Being able to coordinate quickly and privately with our most trusted allies could prove invaluable. How many more can you make?"
"As many as needed," Owen assured him. "Though I'd suggest we be selective about who receives them. The fewer who know about this capability, the more useful it will be."
Owen sat in Lord Eddard's solar a few hours later in the evening, the warmth from the hearth doing little to ease his tension. The familiar room, with its heavy wooden furniture and stone walls, had hosted many such meetings over the years. Robb lounged in his usual chair, while Maester Luwin sat attentively, his chain clinking softly as he adjusted his position.
"Thank you for meeting with me tonight," Owen said, watching as Lord Eddard finished pouring the wine. The rich red liquid caught the firelight, casting ruby shadows on the table's surface.
Once they were all settled, Eddard fixed Owen with his steady grey gaze. "What did you need to discuss?"
Owen didn't waste time with pleasantries. He raised his hands, fingers weaving through the air as he spoke words of power. The ancient language rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, each syllable carrying weight and purpose.
Before them, the air shimmered and coalesced into a glowing map of Westeros. It hung suspended above the table, each detail rendered with supernatural precision. Every castle, every holdfast, even the smallest villages appeared in perfect miniature. The coastlines were exact, the mountains and forests depicted with lifelike accuracy.
Maester Luwin leaned forward, his eyes bright with scholarly interest. Robb whistled softly, while Lord Eddard maintained his usual composed expression, though his eyes betrayed his fascination.
With a snap of his fingers, Owen caused red dots to appear across the northern portion of the map. They blazed like tiny flames - one at Winterfell, another at Ice Crest, White Harbor's dot glowing bright against the harbor waters. Deepwood Motte's marker appeared among the wolfswood, followed by more dots highlighting the other major northern strongholds.
Owen gestured to the glowing map, his hand sweeping across the expanse of the North. "Each red dot represents a location where weapons of my creation can be found - either forged by my own hands or produced in our factories."
The dots pulsed softly in the darkened solar, casting crimson reflections across the faces of those gathered. Owen pointed to the larger concentrations at Winterfell and Ice Crest.
"The size of the dot indicates the number of weapons present. Small dots represent one to ten weapons, while larger dots show higher concentrations." He indicated the bright glow at Winterfell. "Here, we have the highest concentration due to Lord Stark's initial purchase of stalhrim weapons and the continued production from our factory. Ice crest follows with its own factory."
His finger traced across to White Harbor's substantial glow. "Lord Manderly's original investment accounts for this one, along with subsequent acquisitions."
Across the map, smaller dots flickered at various castles and strongholds. "Most northern lords possess one or two pieces - typically daggers or swords." Owen gestured to several locations where paired dots glowed. "These indicate holdings where lords have acquired matching sets or pairs of weapons."
Maester Luwin leaned forward, squinting at the constellation of red lights. "Quite the network you've established. I count at least thirty distinct locations."
"Thirty-seven," Owen confirmed. "Though the number grows steadily as lords purchase more if able."
Lord Stark studied the map intently, his eyes narrowing as he took in the strategic spread of weapons across his domain. Robb circled the map slowly, examining the distribution from different angles.
Owen took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the twin dots glowing ominously over the Dreadfort. The magical map cast an eerie red light across the solar, making the shadows dance along the stone walls.
"When I finally perfected this tracking enchantment, I discovered something disturbing," Owen said, his voice steady despite the gravity of his revelation. "There were two red dots where there should have been only one. The Dreadfort."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in. Owen watched as Lord Eddard's expression hardened, his grey eyes fixed on the damning evidence hovering before them.
"The dagger," Lord Eddard said in a low voice, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
"The thieves," Robb continued, stepping closer to the map, his face illuminated by the red glow. "Roose Bolton sent them?"
Owen nodded, remembering the pure gold coins they'd found on the dead attackers. "Roose Bolton had never commissioned another weapon to be made, so he could not have two weapons legitimately. And there hasn't been a trade made between him and another lord from a northern house - as one of the castles would be without a red dot, and our measures require that a lord who trades their weapon must send word for it to be recorded, if only to avoid future fights between houses should they believe a great weapon gifted to them was stolen by another house." He gestured at the complete array of dots across the North. "So he wanted a weapon off our records."
"But why would he-" Maester Luwin began to ask before Owen held up a hand.
Owen cleared his throat, his fingers tapping nervously against the table's edge. "I told you that there was two red dots. That was a week ago, and I was still perfecting the spell to cover more ground and give a constant report of where everything is at once as it happens."
The magical map continued to hover above them, casting its ethereal light across the solar. Owen's eyes traced the familiar patterns of dots spread across the North, but something had changed. His heart sank as he registered the alteration.
"Once I did..." Owen's voice trailed off, his hand rising to point at the Dreadfort's location on the map. Where two dots had glowed before, now only one remained. His finger slowly traced southward, following an invisible path until it stopped at a point that made everyone in the room tense.
"The other," Owen continued, his voice tight with concern, "has moved to somewhere it was never supposed to be." His finger rested on King's Landing, where a single red dot now pulsed ominously among the detailed buildings of the capital.
"Shit!" Robb swore loudly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the solar. He pushed away from the table, running his hands through his hair in frustration.
Eddard muttered something under his breath, anger evident in his usually controlled voice. His grey eyes remained fixed on the damning red light that now illuminated the southern capital, his jaw clenched tight.
Roose Bolton's betrayal had potentially exposed everything they'd worked so hard to keep hidden. The presence of a magical weapon in King's Landing could raise questions they weren't prepared to answer, especially with the royal family's growing suspicions about the North's recent prosperity.
"The dagger," Owen said quietly, watching the dot pulse steadily over King's Landing. "He must have sent it south as soon as he had it. Everything we've done to keep our advances secret..." He shook his head, letting the thought remain unfinished.
Owen watched as Robb turned to his father, anger blazing in his eyes. "He can't be allowed to live after this betrayal," Robb declared, his hands clenched into fists. "The Boltons have always been a threat, and now Roose has proven it beyond doubt."
Owen nodded in agreement, his mind racing through the implications. Four years of careful progress, of building the North's strength while maintaining secrecy from the South. They'd accomplished so much - the factories, the improved agriculture, the restored fortifications. But there was still so much left undone.
He thought of the defensive installations they'd planned for key points across the North, designed to protect against both human invaders and the supernatural threats he knew were coming. The automated defense systems were only partially deployed in the form of the Dwemer colossi and the Dwemer spiders, with many vulnerable areas still waiting for protection that he was working on. Magical and otherwise.
And the Free Folk - they hadn't even begun to address that looming crisis. Owen had hoped to gradually introduce the idea of allowing them south of the Wall, to save them from becoming part of the Night King's army. He'd drawn up plans for settling them in the Gift and other sparsely populated areas, integrating them into Northern society before the true threat emerged. But that would take time and delicate diplomacy.
"There's no way the crown will ignore this now," Owen said, his eyes fixed on the damning red dot over King's Landing. "King Robert might trust you, Lord Stark, but his Lannister Queen and the others will push for answers. They'll want to know how we made these weapons, why we kept them secret." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "And once they start looking closer, they'll find everything else - the factories, the automatons, all of it."
"And with Roose sending the dagger south accompanied by who knows what information…." Robb added, letting the implication hang in the air.
Owen watched as Eddard sighed heavily, the weight of the situation visible in the slump of his shoulders. The firelight cast deep shadows across his face, making him look older than his years.
"You're right," Eddard said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Robert will come to Winterfell. And the rest of the southern houses will follow. There can be no doubt about that." He stood and walked to the window, gazing out into the darkness. "I wrote off their concerns in my letter months ago, assured them all was well. But with physical proof..."
Owen nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. The magical map still hovered between them, the red dot over King's Landing seeming to mock their carefully laid plans.
"Owen," Eddard turned back to face him, "will your illusions not hold when they come north?"
Owen met his good-father's gaze steadily. "You already know the answer to that, my lord. The illusions cannot be maintained constantly - they're too taxing on my strength." He gestured to the map, where the sprawling expanse of the North lay before them. "Even now, I can only maintain them in specific large areas and for limited periods. If we tried to keep them active during the royal visit..."
He shook his head. "At best, the royal family would think themselves mad when the illusions faltered. At worst, they'd believe the entire North to be cursed." Owen's fingers traced the edge of the table as he continued, "Besides, with the dagger as proof of our capabilities, what would be the use? They already know something is different here after rumors reaching them these 4 years. Trying to hide it now would only make us appear more suspicious."
Years of careful secrecy, undone by a single act of betrayal. Owen thought of all the developments they'd managed to keep hidden - the factories humming with activity, the automated workers going about their tasks, the restored fortifications bristling with advanced defenses. Soon, all of it would be exposed to southern scrutiny.
Owen fell silent, his mind racing through the implications of their situation. The magical map continued to hover between them, casting its eerie red glow across the solar. The dot over King's Landing pulsed steadily, a constant reminder of Roose Bolton's betrayal.
He thought about the years of careful planning, the deliberate pace at which they'd introduced improvements to avoid drawing attention. All that caution, all that restraint - and for what? The truth would come out now, one way or another.
Something shifted in Owen's expression as a new resolve took hold. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor.
"Fuck it," he declared, earning raised eyebrows from all three men. "We have hidden enough. Roose Bolton still needs to pay for his betrayal, but I think we are done hiding, Lord Eddard."
Owen's voice hardened as he continued, his hands planted firmly on the table. "It's time the South saw how the North has grown, and we show them that whatever they see or discover, there is nothing they can do about it. The North has become a power greater than all the other kingdoms pulled together, and if they want a fight..."
He looked at them with dangerous eyes, his expression fierce in the flickering firelight. "We give them one. We arm Northern men with our new weapons, we ready our fleet and unleash the Dwemer automatons, the spiders and the Dwarven Colossi, and show them the new Northern might."
Owen watched as Maester Luwin's face contorted, the old man clearly preparing to voice objections to such a bold stance. The chains around his neck clinked as he shifted in his seat, but before he could speak, Robb burst in with passionate support.
"Owen is right," Robb declared, his young face alight with conviction. He began pacing the solar, his boots clicking against the stone floor. "The South has never shown the North true respect or consideration, even after you helped put King Robert on the throne."
Owen noticed how Robb's hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke, his voice rising with each point. The young heir to Winterfell gestured at the magical map still hovering above them, its red dots casting an ethereal glow across his features.
"When have they ever exempted us from taxes? When have they offered us fair prices for our goods or lower prices when we needed food?" Robb's voice grew harder, bitter. "They mock our ways, look down on our beliefs, treat us like backwards barbarians."
Owen watched Lord Eddard's face carefully as his son continued. The Lord of Winterfell remained stoic, but there was a tension in his jaw that hadn't been there before.
"And now they'll come north," Robb continued, his voice filled with indignation, "expecting us to reveal all our secrets, to hand over our advantages?" He slammed his hand on the table, making the wine cups rattle. "NO!"
Robb turned to face his father directly, his young face set with determination. "We should be as the Kings of Winter once more and declare Indepe—"
"NO!"
Lord Eddard's shout cracked through the solar like thunder, silencing Robb mid-word. The room fell instantly quiet.
Owen watched as Eddard's harsh breathing filled the solar, the older man's face lined with the weight of memory. The Lord of Winterfell's shout had shocked them all into silence, and Owen could see how his good-father's hands trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of the table.
"I am sorry but no, Robb," Eddard's voice came out rough, strained. "I swore an oath to Robert, Robb. Swore on my honor as did every lord in Westeros."
Owen noted how Eddard's knuckles whitened against the dark wood of the table. The magical map still cast its red glow across the solar, but now the light seemed to deepen the shadows under Lord Stark's eyes.
"The last thing Westeros needs is a civil war." Eddard's voice grew firmer, though Owen could hear the pain beneath his words. "The Greyjoy's tried the same and bled for it and all that is left of the main line is Balon and his daughter and two uncles, one of them a mad reaver who cuts out the tongues of his crew."
Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Eddard's grey eyes swept across them all. There was something haunted in that gaze, something that spoke of horrors witnessed firsthand.
"Perhaps we could defeat the other kingdoms as we are. Perhaps we could take them all on at once now that we have Owen and all he has created." Eddard's voice grew heavy with emotion. "But none of you have seen war. I have, and I will not put any more innocent men and women through that hell."
Owen watched as Eddard's face grew distant, lost in memories of a darker time. The firelight cast deep shadows across his features, making him look older than his years.
"You speak of a war for independence as if it will be glorious," Eddard said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Let me tell you what war truly is." He sank heavily into his chair, his shoulders bowing under the weight of remembrance.
"I was barely older than you, Robb, when my father and brother were summoned to King's Landing." Eddard's hands clenched on the arms of his chair. "Brandon had ridden there in a rage after Rhaegar took Lyanna. My father went to answer for him." His voice cracked slightly. "Neither of them came home."
Owen felt a chill run through him as Eddard continued, his voice growing hoarse. "You Know the tale. The Mad King had my father burned alive in his armor while Brandon..." He swallowed hard. "Brandon strangled himself trying to reach a sword to save him. I wasn't there, but the screams... they say the screams echoed through the Red Keep for hours."
The solar fell deathly quiet. Even Robb had stopped pacing, his earlier passion dampened by the raw pain in his father's voice.
"Then came the rebellion. Gods, we were so young, so sure of ourselves." Eddard's eyes grew distant. "Village after village burned. Not just soldiers dying, but farmers, craftsmen, women, children. I saw a mother trying to shield her babe from arrows with her own body. Both died anyway."
Owen watched as Eddard's hand trembled slightly as he reached for his wine cup. "The Riverlands burned. The Stormlands bled. Every kingdom suffered. I led men I'd grown up with to their deaths. Boys I'd trained with in Winterfell's yard, gone in an instant to a stray arrow or a lucky sword thrust."
"And when it was done?" Eddard's voice grew bitter. "My father dead. Brandon dead. Sweet Lyanna..." His voice broke. "I found her in a tower in Dorne, dying in a bed of blood. All that was left was me and Benjen, and the weight of a war that had torn the realm apart."
Owen saw tears glinting in Eddard's eyes, though none fell. "So no, Robb. No matter how strong we are, no matter what weapons or machines we possess, I will not lead the North into another war. Not while there's any other choice. The price... the price is too high."
Owen watched as Eddard composed himself, the raw emotion from his earlier words still lingering in the air. The Lord of Winterfell straightened in his chair, his shoulders squaring as he addressed them all.
"We will wait," Eddard declared, his voice steady once more. "If Robert comes North, then we will reveal everything. There's no point in hiding what we've built anymore." He gestured to the magical map still hovering above them. "Concessions will need to be made, yes, but we can show the North's new power without bloodshed, without the need for war."
Maester Luwin nodded quietly, the chains around his neck clinking softly. Owen watched as Robb seemed to deflate at his father's words, the young heir's earlier passion dissipating like morning mist.
But Owen couldn't stay silent. He leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly before him on the table. "My lord, that would be a mistake." His voice was firm, though respectful. "The more the South sees of our strength, the more they will demand from us. They won't be satisfied with simple explanations or minor concessions."
Owen's mind raced through the possibilities, remembering everything he knew about the southern kingdoms and their appetite for power from the books, their ambitions and wants. "They'll want our weapons, our machines, our methods of production. They'll demand access to our resources, our technology." He shook his head firmly. "Sometimes fighting to show strength is the only way to maintain it. To keep what we've built."
Eddard looked at Owen wearily, the firelight casting deep shadows across his face. The weight of his memories, so recently shared, still seemed to hang heavy on his shoulders.
"That may be true, Owen," Eddard admitted, his voice heavy with resignation. "But you are my bannerman as well as my Goodson, and I am your liege lord. You swore an oath to me, as I swore to Robert." He met Owen's gaze steadily. "I expect you to follow my word in this."
Owen fell silent, studying the man known throughout the North as the Quiet Wolf. The firelight shined on his face, highlighting the steel in his grey eyes. Here was the core of what made House Stark endure - not just honor or duty, but the unwavering expectation of loyalty from those who served them on command.
Owen's fingers twitched at his sides as his mind raced through possibilities. The Temple of Solomon had granted him knowledge of countless spells and enchantments. With just a few words, he could alter Lord Eddard's thoughts, plant suggestions that would make him eager for conflict. The magic would be subtle, undetectable - a slight shift in perspective here, a nudge toward aggression there. Lord Stark would never know his mind had been touched.
But even as Owen considered it, disgust rose in his throat. The mere thought of manipulating his good-father's mind made him feel unclean. Lord Eddard had welcomed him into his family, trusted him with his daughter's happiness, supported his innovations that transformed the North. Using magic to betray that trust would make Owen no better than the enemies they faced.
His hand trembled as he pushed the dark thoughts away. Lord Stark was still waiting, his expression unchanged, expecting Owen's compliance. Despite all of Owen's power - the magical abilities, the technological advances, the economic prosperity he'd brought to the North - in this moment he was simply a bannerman facing his liege lord.
Owen bowed his head slightly, accepting the command. "As you wish, Lord Stark."
Owen rose from his chair, the weight of their discussion settling heavily on his shoulders. The magical map still cast its ethereal glow across the solar, but its strategic importance seemed diminished now in the face of Lord Stark's unwavering stance.
"Perhaps it would be best to end our discussion here," Owen suggested, his voice carefully neutral. "We can plan more regarding Roose Bolton's betrayal and the Crown's eventual visit at a later time."
He watched as Eddard nodded silently, his face still bearing traces of the raw emotion from his earlier revelations. Robb and Maester Luwin took their leave first, their footsteps echoing down the stone corridor. Owen moved to follow them, snapping his fingers for the map to disappear, but paused at the doorway, one hand resting on the heavy wooden frame.
Turning back to face his good-father, Owen felt the power of the Celestial Forge thrumming beneath his skin, within his soul, a reminder of the strength he possessed. His voice dropped low, carrying an edge sharper than Valyrian steel.
"I won't pretend to understand these feelings that stop you from starting this fight, my lord, but I will respect it as I swore." Owen's eyes hardened, glinting like frost in the dim light. "However, if any of the royal family or those who come north dare even think or mention harming me or sansa..." He paused, letting the weight of his next words fill the air between them. "I won't hesitate to make them suffer a fate worse than a thousand deaths."
The threat hung in the air, as tangible as the magic that powered Owen's creations. Their eyes met across the solar - steel grey meeting intense blue - and Lord Stark simply nodded.
Owen watched Sansa delicately cut into her honeyed porridge, her movements precise and graceful even in this simple act. Morning light streamed through the high windows of Winterfell's great hall, catching the copper highlights in her auburn hair. The hall was relatively empty at this early hour, with only a few servants moving quietly about their duties.
He took a sip of mint tea, appreciating the comfortable silence between them. They had already discussed the previous night's events over in bed, where he'd explained Lord Stark's position on revealing the North's advancements to the South. Sansa had listened, her blue eyes reflecting both concern and understanding as he detailed the likely concessions they would need to make when the royal party arrived.
"Do you truly think they'll demand much from us?" Sansa asked softly, breaking their peaceful quiet. She placed her spoon down beside her bowl, her fingers tracing the rim absently.
Owen reached across the table to take her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "They'll try. Your father believes we can manage their demands without conflict, but..." He sighed, remembering the intensity of last night's discussion. "From the history lessons maester Luwin gave me, The South has always taken what they wanted from the North and never anything back."
Sansa nodded, her expression thoughtful. "And what of Lord Bolton?" Her voice carried an edge of steel beneath its gentle tone. The Boltons' betrayal had struck close to home when he had told her, something within her hating that a northerner had been responsible for their betrayal.
"He'll have to be dealt with," Owen replied, his voice low despite their relative privacy. "Preferably before the king arrives, but if not, then certainly after the royal party departs. We can't leave such a threat unchecked." He squeezed her hand gently, noting how she didn't flinch at the implied violence. Four years of marriage had changed them both.
"You seem more tense since last night," she observed quietly, her blue eyes studying his face with the perceptiveness that had only grown sharper during their years together.
Owen exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around hers. "I wanted your father to fight. I pushed for it, tried to convince him." He met her gaze, letting her see the raw truth in his eyes. "But I wasn't thinking about the North, not really. Not about protecting our advancements or the wealth we've built."
His free hand reached across the table to cover hers where it rested on her stomach. "All I could think about was protecting you. Both of you." His voice grew rough with emotion. "The thought of anyone from the South trying to harm you or our child..."
A soft smile curved Sansa's lips as she turned her hand to intertwine their fingers. "Owen. My love," she said gently, "you've taught me well these past years. I know healing magic now, can weave flames with a thought." Her eyes sparkled with quiet confidence. "I can protect myself and our little one."
To demonstrate, she let a small flame dance across her fingertips before extinguishing it, careful to keep the display hidden from any watching eyes in the great hall. "You made sure I would never be defenseless."
Owen sighed, running his thumb across Sansa's knuckles. "I know, but still, I was thinking about making you more stronger-" he began to say when the doors that led to the living quarters from the main hall opened with a bang.
A guard rushed in, his boots echoing against the stone floor as he approached their table. He bowed quickly, his breath coming in short bursts. "My lord, my lady - Lord Stark has summoned you both to his solar immediately."
Owen and Sansa exchanged glances, their earlier conversation forgotten. They rose from the table, Owen's hand automatically finding the small of Sansa's back as they made their way through Winterfell's corridors.
The solar was already crowded when they arrived. Lord Eddard sat behind his desk, his face grave as he studied a piece of parchment in his hands. Maester Luwin stood at his shoulder, chains clinking softly as he leaned forward to read. Lady Catelyn perched on the edge of a chair, her fingers twisting anxiously in her lap. Robb and his wife Wynafryd stood near the window, while young Bran sat cross-legged on a low stool, his eyes wide with curiosity.
Lord Eddard looked up as they entered, holding up an opened letter. The wax seal caught the morning light - half a prancing stag, half a rampant lion, the official mark of House Baratheon of King's Landing. The royal family's correspondence had arrived. And it was not alone.
Owen's eyes swept over the collection of letters on Lord Stark's desk, taking in the various noble house seals. The green wax of House Tyrell's rose, the leaping trout of the Tullys, the sun and spear of Martell, and the proud lion of Lannister - all lay waiting to be opened, though their contents were painfully obvious.
"It seems the entire realm wishes to visit Winterfell," Eddard said dryly, placing the royal letter down among its unopened companions. His grey eyes met Owen's for a moment, carrying the weight of their discussion from the previous night.
Owen felt Sansa's hand tighten in his as she took in the sight of all those letters. The South wasn't just coming - it was descending upon them en masse, like ravens to a battlefield.
Eddard turned to Maester Luwin, his voice carrying the quiet authority that had ruled the North for decades. "Send ravens to all our bannermen. Tell them King Robert rides for Winterfell, and he brings the South with him." He paused, his hand resting heavily on his desk. "The time for secrets has passed. The North must present a united front when they arrive."
Maester Luwin bowed slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. "I'll prepare the messages at once, my lord. Shall I include instructions for them to gather here?"
"Yes," Eddard confirmed. "The North must show its strength together. Even those who hold only minor keeps should attend." His eyes flickered briefly to Owen. "It's time to show them everything we've built."