Chapter - 43

In the waning light of the late afternoon, I completed my work at Winterfell and made my way to my secret laboratory, buried deep beneath the forest.

The lab was as silent as ever, utterly devoid of life. Freya, the only other person who knew of this place, was engrossed in her studies at the clinic, leaving the space hauntingly empty.

I wound my way through the familiar corridors, delving deeper into the bowels of this labyrinth I had created until I arrived at an unremarkable door.

This room, unknown to anyone but myself, was designed specifically to house my most dangerous experiments.

Sparse and dimly lit, the chamber was only illuminated by the flicker of a single overhead light which was basically an aquarium with glowing fish in it, which cast ghostly shadows over the small collection of vials on the shelves.

Each vial held a swirling, dangerous concoction.

But I wasn't here for them today.

In the center of the room stood a lone pedestal, a recent addition that perhaps marked the beginning of my hoarding tendencies. I had set it up just the day before, intending it to be a placeholder for my newest acquisition.

As I walked toward it, the silence was abruptly broken by a sharp voice. "Finally decided to stop being a bitch after one little accident?" Vaylara taunted, her specter materializing from the pages of the grimoire, a haughty smirk curling her lips.

Meeting her gaze squarely, I responded firmly, "I don't appreciate things slipping out of my control."

The air thickened with tension as Vaylara's eyes narrowed, piercing through me as if she could uncover my deepest insecurities with a mere glance. Her skepticism was palpable, yet a flicker of curiosity sparked behind her scrutinizing eyes as she considered my resolve.

"Very well, I won't pry any further," she conceded,"But I need to know what we are going to be doing from now on," she said, folding her arms as she leaned against the cold, stone wall.

I thought about it for a second. After all the crazy shit that had gone down lately, both good and bad, I knew I had to be smarter about this.

I just have to do this methodically instead of rushing ahead.

"Teach me just the basics, and help me with the projects I have before throwing around spells I have no idea what is going on in," I finally said.

She nodded, her expression softening slightly. "That is understandable. It is what we should have done from the start," she admitted, floating closer to me.

"Have you given some thought to what you wish your first project to be?" she inquired, her tone now tinged with professional curiosity.

"Yes, I have. I've studied dragons sparsely; the only information I have on them are from the bones of a dragon that had been dead for centuries, and I understand that they are much more magical than I first thought."

"So, I envision crafting a dragon that will eclipse all others, a magnificent beast whose splendor and might will be the stuff of legends, unmatched by any other." I declared, my voice filled with a mix of excitement and a tinge of madness.

"That is quite a big task. Are you sure you don't want to start with something simpler?" she asked skeptically, her eyebrows raised in doubt.

Her question hung in the air between us, challenging yet not dismissive. I knew her concerns were valid—the complexity of creating a dragon, especially one like the one I had in mind, was immense. 

But she was forgetting something.

I grinned like a maniac. "Oh ye of little faith." 

I held up my right hand with a flourish, and in the next second a tiny dragon the size of my hand was created. 

"Or did you forget that I can craft flesh onto anything I want to do as long as I understand what I am doing"

In the blink of an eye the tiny dragon was encompassing the whole room.

I enjoyed the look of surprise on Vayara's face.

The dragon, however, as magnificent as it appeared, was merely a construct of flesh—it lacked the true essence of dragonkind.

"The only issue, you see, is what is essentially in front of you could as well easily be a dog in a different shape. It's no true dragon," I admitted, acknowledging the limitations of my current abilities.

Vaylara recovered, smirking back at me. "Well well, looks like we've both got a lot to learn from this little project of yours," she said, sounding excited and maybe something else I couldn't quite place.

"What are we waiting for then? There's no time like the present to start,"

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The travel so far had been rough, with the journey from Dragonstone to White Harbor completed in a single arduous stretch. 

Arriving at White Harbor gave her some of the respite she desperately needed. After what felt like an eternity confined within a ship, the sight of the bustling port brought a sense of relief.

The formalities were brief; it was clear they were expected. Lord Manderly, along with his daughter, announced they too would be traveling north. He mentioned it was for business but did not elaborate further. This meant that the next leg of their journey would be a slow one as well.

As they trudged on, winter started biting harder. Ellaria bundled up in furs she'd packed, cursing herself for not wearing them sooner.

Despite the slower pace and the biting cold, there was a certain peace to the journey. The landscape unfolded in a vast expanse of stark beauty, the barren trees standing like silent sentinels against the gray sky.

She couldn't help but think back to their missed opportunity at Dragonstone. They had narrowly missed crossing paths with the White Mage.

They would scarcely have believed the rumors just a few moons back, but there was only so much skepticism one could keep up against the hoard of rumors without believing that some of them might be true.

As Ellaria recalled the little girl they had met in the castle, she was struck by the vivid memory of her clear, unmarred skin—devoid of any sign of the sickness that once ravaged her. 

A sickness that had plagued the world and traded as curse of madness and death was healed in a few moments if the stories were true.

Her daughters were fascinated at the thought of meeting a sorcerer, of course, but they were too young to grasp the full implications of what was transpiring around them. She herself barely understood the depths of it.

As the road to Winterfell stretched ahead, winding through ancient woods and past silent, snow-draped fields, they edged closer to the answers she sought.

But the larger company was a welcome change. Traveling alongside a local lord promised not only protection but also the opportunity to glean deeper insights into the enigma of the North.

Ellaria and Oberyon engaged in amiable conversation within the slow-moving procession. Throughout these exchanges, they gradually unraveled more about the elusive mage.

It seemed that Lord Manderly himself had only met the mage once, despite the fact that he had visited Winterfell several times. 

"He only sees the really urgent cases himself," Manderly explained. "Everyone else gets his apprentice."

"He can actually teach his magic to others!" Oberyn blurted, looking shocked.

"Nothing like that," Lord Manderly corrected gently. "From what I've been told, his magic works uniquely for him alone. However, he can teach others the secrets of the flesh, enabling them to slowly achieve what he can do with but a touch."

Wasn't that a revelation? Even if the mage could not directly impart his magic, he was willing to pass on his knowledge of healing. 

That, in itself, was immensely valuable.

They eventually reached Winterfell without any trouble. 

The ancient stronghold loomed before them, its massive walls a testament to the storied history of the North. 

The sight of Winterfell was indeed impressive. She had seen magnificent castles in Sunspear and throughout her travels, but there was something distinctly ancient about this fortress. It radiated the weight of centuries, each stone imbued with the stark resilience of the North.

As they were let through the great gates, Oberyn, riding slightly ahead of her, turned back with a quizzical expression. "Have you noticed something, my love?" he asked.

"The people here would not be out of place in a city in Braavos,"

She glanced at the townsfolk milling about. She had envisioned the North as a land of rugged, insular warriors, but the faces she saw were diverse, their garments a tapestry of styles that one might indeed find in a cosmopolitan Braavosi square. 

This was not the Winterell she had expected. 

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Oberyn was practically bouncing with excitement. Every rumor, every whisper he'd heard about this trip promised it'd be one hell of a ride. And so far? It hadn't disappointed.

As Oberon and his entourage approached the entrance, a figure clad in the dark furs emerged to greet them. The voice that followed was as harsh and weathered as the land itself.

"Prince Martell, Lord Manderly, welcome to Winterfell," announced Eddard Stark, his title as Warden of the North as evident as the steel in his tone.

Oberon, his face breaking into a charming smile, responded with a graceful nod. "Lord Stark, we are honored by your hospitality. Allow me to present my paramour, Ellaria Sand, and my daughters, Nymeria and Obara."

After exchanging pleasantries, they were guided indoors, drawn by the promise of a much-needed meal.

"Your journey must have been exhausting, and the hour is late," Stark said, his voice echoing slightly in the vastness of the entryway. "Please, join my family for dinner, and afterward, I will have someone show you to your quarters," he offered, gesturing with a broad sweep of his arm toward the welcoming warmth of the great hall.

As they trailed their host, Ellaria, driven by her ever-curious nature, stepped forward. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Stark, but might we have the opportunity to meet with the White Mage today?"

Lord Stark halted, his gaze deepening in contemplation before he responded. "The Mage will be available tomorrow. He hasn't been in Winterfell for the past week."

The news was a letdown, but after such a lengthy anticipation, one more day seemed a minor delay.

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A/N: If you wish to read ahead you can find me on Pa treon