From his kneeling position on the ground, Corbray glared menacingly at the three of them before spitting at the ground next to their feet. "I may die here today, but I die knowing that I will be embraced by the Seven-Who-Are-One for doing their work in removing the hellspawn that'd been growing in that whorish heretic's womb. But while I will be embraced by the Seven, you will rot in the Seven hells for your blasphemy! So, take my head, but know that in the end, I will have the last laugh!"
Shaking his head, Nox stepped forward until he was right in front of Corbray and squatted down. "I never took you for a devote and a theologist, Corbray. Especially with your preference towards young boys rather than women in your bed."
That little tidbit, which he'd plucked from Corbray's mind during his interrogation, drew quite a bit of murmuring as Corbray's aura spiked in anger. "Fuck you heretic hellspawn!"
Ignoring him, Nox began talking while motioning with his hands. "You see, I find myself quite the scholar of theology myself. Or rather the theology and beliefs across differing cultures. It's really a fascinating subject if you investigate it. Especially with how consistent they are with one another with some of their beliefs even as they decry each other for not being the 'correct' belief. And one of these reoccurring themes throughout most theologies is the idea of a hell, or a place for those who have done wrong in life and deserve punishment. Now the specifics might change, but the general idea of hell seems to be repetition. Having the same thing happen to you repeatedly for eternity. Usually some sort of torture, be it physical or mental."
"Is this how you plan on executing me, sorcerer? Lecturing me to death?" Corbray scoffed.
Smiling, Nox patted the man atop his head as if he were nothing but a pet. "Keep that bravado going, Corbray. You're going to need it." Rising, Nox lifted his hand and summoned the stone he'd been sitting on just before Nyra came to him. Setting the stone down before him, Nox rested his hand atop the waist high obelisk. "You won't die from my lecture, Corbray. In fact, you won't be 'dying' for some time yet. Death is quick. Final. And you…you made the grave mistake of taking away something that I loved. My son. Thus, you won't be dying until you fully learn just what it means to anger a Dark Lord of the Sith."
Motioning away the guards, Nox walked around Corbray so that he was behind the kneeling man as he rested his hands on his shoulders. "You see, this right here is what is known as a Rakatan Mind Prison. It took quite a bit of work on my part, mostly because I've never made one before and I was doing it completely from memory of the one that I saw before. What's going to happen is that I'm going to take your mind, your essence, your soul if you will, and transfer it into this obelisk here. You'll be kept alive and conscious of everything going on around you, yet you will be unable to interact with it at all. I've also modified it slightly to do a certain task. And that is too make your worst nightmares into a reality. Your reality. And one that you will repeat over and over again over the course of a thousand or perhaps even several hundred thousand years, pending on my rune work. I'm afraid I was in a bit of a rush to complete it, so I can't be entirely sure on my arithmetic."
Leaning over, Nox could almost smell the fear coming off Corbray as the man fought a clearly losing battle to keep his composure. "You see, I don't know if your Seven would send you to what you consider hell or not. And I am not one for taking chances, so I decided to build a hell for you to suffer in. Interesting, isn't it?"
"You're bluffing," Corbray hissed, trying and failing to keep his fear from getting the better of him.
Smiling, Nox patted the man on the shoulder one last time. "I don't bluff. Something that I assure you, you will have plenty of time to learn after I rip your soul out of your body and lock you into your new home."
Moving around so that he was once more standing between Corbray and the obelisk, Nox let his anger, his hatred for the piece of filth before him, to run rampant through his being. Holding his hands before him like he was holding a sphere, he drew heavily on the dark side of the force in preparation for ripping the man's consciousness out of his body and transferring it into the Mind Prison. Small wisps of manifested Force energy began forming between his hands as small arcs of Force lightning ran across his fingers and arms.
"Lord Stark!" Corbray yelled as his composure fled as he tried to move but found himself unable to do so as Nox held him in place with the Force. "You – You can't allow this! The block! Give me the block! Take my head! Don't–! You can't! Lord Royce! You can't just – no! No! Nnnnoooo!"
Corbray's voice broke into an unintelligible wail of agony as Nox pushed his hands forward. The tendrils of dark Force energy spread out from his hands and encompassed the condemned man. Gritting his teeth, Nox began breaking the man's very being away from his physical form.
It wasn't just the breaking away that was difficult. It was making sure that his consciousness couldn't slip away from him, which was like trying to hold onto a wet eel with his bare hands. If he'd had more time, there were rituals he could've performed to make this process easier. But that would've required not only delaying the execution by several weeks, but he would also have to find a spot that was secure and infrequently traveled to properly prepare just as his former Master Zash had done, or had planned to do, to him. But, while this particular method he was using was more difficult, it had the added benefit of being far more painful for the one whose mind was being removed.
Feeling the last feeble grasp on Corbray's mortal coil give way, Nox immediately shifted his feet and moved his hands. A sphere that had formed over Corbray and which now contained everything he was floated across the small distance. It collided with the obelisk and dissipated the moment the two touched as it was absorbed into the stone. Releasing his hold, Nox let the now lifeless body that'd once been Lyn Corbray fall face first to the ground.
The entire yard was silent as Nox approached the obelisk and rested his hand on the cold the stone. He could feel Corbray's spirit within the obelisk, and even though he had only just been condemned, he could sense the despair and agony coming from within the Mind Prison. "And so ends Lyn Corbray, the fool who thought he could bring harm to the loved ones of a Sith Lord and live to tell tale."
Leading the procession from the Sorcerer's Tower to the godswood, Ned found himself in a stupor as he tried to fully wrap his mind around what he'd just witnessed. His friend was many things; powerful, caring to those he loved, a teacher, a mentor, a scholar, and a man that routinely made the impossible seem possible. But as many positive qualities Ned knew that his friend possessed, he was not ignorant enough to overlook his friend's faults. He could be arrogant at times, condescending. But he had more than those, he could also be incredibly ruthless and vindictive to those who dared to cross him. Ned just never truly realized just how ruthless Nox could truly be until tonight. Creating a literal hell for an individual and then ripping their soul out of their body and trapping them in said hell. Even after all he'd seen and learned from Nox up until tonight, he would've thought such a thing impossible. But that was exactly what had happened here tonight. And it was a fate that did not sit easily with Ned.
But as unnatural as the execution was, Ned would not and could not fault his friend for what he'd done. Especially considering what Ned himself was about to do to the treasonous nobles. Executions were not just about simply killing. No. They were about making a statement to everyone else about the consequences of certain actions. And Nox had just made a very, very powerful statement. Just as he was about to do.
Coming into the clearing before the weirwood, Ned's heart began to beat wildly as he saw that his orders had been carried out. Five stakes, each taller than a man, had been erected in the godswood before the reflecting pool opposite of the weirwood. 'Father. Brother. Sister. Ancestors… Give me strength to do what must be done here tonight,' he prayed as he made to stand before the reflecting pool in front of the five stakes.
As he turned around, he saw that those who'd gathered to watch the execution had all begun spreading out, the light from their newly lit torches the only source of light in the godswood as the guards roughly positioned each of the five prisoners before a stake. Everyone, from his sons to the Lords and Ladies to even Nox knew what was about to happen here. And by the look on at least two of the condemned Lords faces, they were obviously not expecting to meet their end this way. And if he were being truthful with himself, this was perhaps the last thing Ned wanted to do. But his wants did not matter. The laws of the North were old and unforgiving. And this was the cost of betraying the North and breaking the laws of gods and men.
"Roose Bolton. Barbrey Dustin. Ludd Whitehill. Rodrik Ryswell. Harwood Stout." He began, making sure to meet each of them in the eye before moving on. "You five have been found guilty of attempted sedition and assassination. In the name of King Robert Baratheon the First I, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, do hereby sentence you to die by the Traitors Death. If you have any last words, speak them now for all to hear. For while you will meet with the gods tonight, you will not stand with them nor will you be able to reach for them. You will be with the gods, yet you will not hear them, see them, nor speak to them. And until the end of time, all will know of your transgressions against the laws of gods and men."
"Please, my Lord…I beg mercy!" Harwood Stout whimpered, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I – I didn't mean…I was forced –!"
"Had our roles been reversed as you and your cohorts intended, Stout, would you have granted my family and I such mercy as you are asking for now?!" Ned demanded of the man, making him whimper further and fold in on himself.
Next, Ludd Whitehill met his eyes, but his fear betrayed him as he took shook with fear of what was to come. "My family will live on…through my traitorous daughter…but they will live on. And one day, this will be revisited upon you a hundred-fold."
Ned didn't bother gracing the man with a response as he turned his attention to Rodrik Ryswell. "You killed my eldest son. Unmanned my two younger sons. Widowed my eldest daughter before she could ever have children of her own. My only regret standing here today, is that I did not get the chance to gut you like your fish of a wife before I died."
Glaring, Ned forced himself away from Rodrik and onto the next in line; Barbrey Dustin. The dowager Lady of Barrow Town was standing tall and looking at him with something that he had never seen from her before. Something almost akin to respect. "I didn't think you would have the strength to go through with this, Stark. But I can see that you have finally decided to shed those antlers and feathers and become a wolf once more." Barbrey said with a definite edge to her voice. "Too bad it took all this death for you to actually become a wolf of the north instead of a southern pretender wolf."
"I have always been a man of the North and a wolf, Barbrey," he countered, meeting her gaze head on. "Your hatred of me merely blinded you to that fact."
Moving over to the last of the condemned, Ned met the cold grey eyes of Roose Bolton for the last time. "You think you have won just because we failed? You are a fool Ned Stark. This is not the end. Merely the beginning of the end for the Starks."
"Perhaps, or perhaps not." Ned replied, forcing himself to remain calm. "As I have often been told by a friend, the only thing certain about the future is uncertainty. The time of the Starks may end in my time or perhaps a hundred lifetimes from now. But you, Roose, you will not be there to see it happen. Bind them."
Stepping back, Ned watched with a racing heart as his guards stripped the five condemned of their shirts, leaving the men bare chested and Barbrey in only her chest bindings. Without a single word spoken the men of Winterfell then forced each of them against a stake and raised their hands above their heads before tying them off onto a hook at the top. With their arms secured a second roped was then wound tightly around their chest to make sure that they could not move away from the stake. Not that they would be able to do so soon enough. Finished with their task, the men of Winterfell stepped away as Jory approached. A large two-handed war maul in his hands.
Taking the maul from his captain, Ned stepped forward once more. "Not since before the time of the dragons has any dared to violate the laws of gods and men in such a manner." He said loudly and clearly so that all could hear him. "The North is old and harsh. But we are a people who stand united. We were one while the rest of the southern kingdoms were still squabbling for control of one another. And for those who would seek to destroy that which we have built upon centuries of blood, there is only one fate awaiting them. May the gods have mercy on you. For I cannot and shall not."
Gripping the handle of the maul tightly, Ned made his way towards the end of the line of stakes and stood before Harwood Stout as the rest of those in the godswood remained completely silent. The man was shaking violently, and the front of his pants were soaked with his own piss. "My lord…" Stout moaned, "please…mer—AHH!"
Swinging the maul around his head, Ned brought the heavy blunt instrument down hard onto Stout's left knee. The former Lord from Barrow Town cried out in agony as the bones in his knee shattered under the weight of the maul. Part of Ned wanted to stop then and there. But he couldn't. The law wouldn't let him. And a much larger part, the part that remembered holding Cat's and Rickon's bloody bodies, was actually enjoying the sight of the man's suffering. Reversing his swing, Ned quickly brough the maul back around and struck down on his other knee, shattering it just the first before delivering two follow up swings to each of his arms. With his arms and legs broken, Stout went limp, the rope around his middle and the rope securing his arms above his head the only things keeping him upright.
Forcing himself to ignore the wailing of Stout, Ned pushed himself onto the next and went to stand before Ludd Whitehill. The former Lord had his eyes close and was shaking nearly as bad as Stout had been. Not giving himself time to think about what he was doing; Ned brought the maul down hard onto each of the man's knees and both of his arms. The man's bones shattered like they were nothing more than dry kindling. He repeated the process with Rodrik Ryswell, the only difference there being the Lord of the Rills didn't shake nor piss himself. He merely stared at Ned with hatred even as Ned shattered his legs and arms.
When he came to Barbrey, he involuntarily found himself pausing. She was a woman. Doing this to a woman was just… It was different than a man. Yet still, she had committed the same crime as the others. Her punishment had to be the same. So, with a heavy heart and forcibly blanked mind, Ned methodically brought the maul down on her legs and arms just as he had the others.
Lastly, Ned stood before Roose Bolton. The man who was the leader of the attempted insurrection. Pale eyes met the eyes of the wolf, yet despite staring his very death in the face the Leech Lord had no fear. Nor acceptance. He just stayed there, emotionless as if this were just another day for him. And that, more than anything, infuriated the Warden of the North more than anything else. The apathy Roose showed towards Ned's family, his own family, and his fellow conspirators. His anger fueling him, Ned swung the maul around with far more strength than he had the others. Roose's knees and arms didn't simply break under the force of the maul, they shattered. Each blow wrenching screams of pain from the Leech Lord that only served to make Ned want to hit him harder.
Dropping the maul, Ned held out his hand. Wordlessly, Jory deposited a dagger into his waiting hand. Forcing Roose's head to the side, he grabbed hold of the man's ear and placed the flat of the dagger against the side of his head. Pulling on his ear, he brought the dagger down and removed Roose's ear with a single swipe. Dropping the bloody appendage on the ground, he forced Roose's head the other direction and repeated the action to remove his other ear. The task done, he moved down the line removing the conspirator's ears one at a time without hesitation or mercy. By the time he'd finished with Stout, the five prisoners were hanging limply by the rope around their chest as the pain from their broken bones and severed ears kept them conscious and in constant agony.
Handing the dagger back off to Jory, Ned kept his mind empty as he was handed a metal poker with the end heated to the point where the metal glowed brightly. Without him needing to say so, his men moved up so that there were two next to each of the condemned and forced their eyes open. Leveling the poker at Stout's eyes, Ned didn't give himself time to think of the pleading look in the man's eye before he pressed the searing metal into first his right eye and then his left. Within mere moments, Ned had made his way down the line of the prisoners and each were blinded much in the same manner his friend had been when he was still but a child.
Handing the poker back off, he took the dagger back from Jory as his men worked with wedges of wood and tongs to force the prisoners' mouths open and pull their tongue out past their teeth. Ned's mind was completely devoid as he methodically removed the tongues of each prisoners, not caring as their blood got on his hands and clothes. Only after removing Stout's tongue did he allow himself a moment to collect himself. The five prisoners were little more than a collection of broken, bloodied bodies that were barely hanging onto life and consciousness. But their ordeal was not yet over. Pressing the edge of the dagger against Stout's stomach Ned drew the blade quickly across the man's middle. This cut was just deep enough to render the flesh and muscle, opening his stomach and allowing his guts to fall freely from his body onto the ground below. Then, just like he had done with the bones, ears, eyes and tongue, Ned walked down the line slicing each prisoners' stomachs open just enough to spill their guts out onto the ground.
After slicing open Roose Bolton, Ned handed the dagger back off and stepped away from the five still slowly dying prisoners. Despite having just brutalized the five condemned, an act that he knew Jon Arryn would never have approved of, Ned felt no shame nor remorse. In fact, he felt nothing. There was no satisfaction. No horror at what he'd done. Just…calm.
"Not since before the time of the dragons has such a crime warranted the Traitors Death," he said, speaking loudly over the dying moans of the condemned. "Remember well what you have seen here tonight. For the North remembers! And we have no mercy for those who break the laws of gods and men. Now, to bed, all of you. We have an early start in the morning…for we have more traitors to deal with in the south. And we will need to move quickly if we are to catch them all."
Not a single word was spoken as Ned marched away from the stakes that were holding onto the five still dying prisoners with Jon and Robb quickly falling into step beside him. There were no further words that needed to be said. The message given tonight spoke far louder than any words he could've uttered. And now…now the wolves would make sure that their message was delivered to the south once more.
The morning after the executions of the traitorous Northern Lords and Lady was a somber affair for everyone in Winterfell as most were still trying to come to terms with what they'd witnessed the night before. Add to the fact that most of the nobles had sent their families home that morning, and Winterfell suddenly felt a lot quieter than it had been in some time. The only sound within Winterfell was the steady knocking of training blades as they bashed against one another as the men of the North trained. And amid the dozens of training men, and even a few women, overseeing their training was Nox. The training regime that morning had been a rather impromptu affair that had begun with just Nox, his Apprentice, and his Acolytes. But soon enough word got out about their training and seemingly within minutes the entire courtyard was full of guards, Lords, and Ladies, all hoping to garner some attention from the famed Northern Sorcerer.
And he had granted their wish, though he was sure that many of them now wished they had not as Nox's form of 'encouragement' was usually demonstrated with a swift bout of Force lightning to motivate those he felt were lacking. But despite the brutal pace he set and his encouragement to not screw up, not one of those who came to the yard had left. Their anger at what had transpired and the thought of vengeance against those who had wronged them driving the men and women of the North to push themselves harder and harder.
As he passed by the Greatjon, who was struggling badly with getting used to fighting with only one arm, Nox's hand shot up as if he were making a motion to swat a fly. A high-pitched squeal came from behind him, followed quickly by more than a few choice words and the sound of several bodies hitting the ground. Turning around, Nox faced towards the pile of bodies, though mostly he was staring at the smallest member of the pile who was trying desperately to disentangle herself from the limbs of those she'd collided with.
"Another failure, Arya," Nox sighed as most of the training around them paused to watch what was going on. "You know the punishment. Fifty swings of the sword and two laps around the yard. Then, you will try again. If you fail again, then I will have you doing embroidering for the next three training sessions instead of training. And the rest of you, back to what you were doing unless you want to be made an example of as well."
Wisely, everyone immediately went back to their training as Arya quickly scrambled to her feet and ran off to start her punishment for failing once again. Unlike Jon, Robb, and Theon, who were currently sparring off to the side of the yard in a Robb and Theon versus Jon match, and Bran who was under the careful tutelage of Ser Rodrik Cassel, Arya's training for the day did not include sparring. Instead, he'd decided to focus on having her refine her rather unique Force ability. To that end, he'd given her a single task for the day. That task being to get within five paces of him without him noticing her. So far, she'd made five attempts at the seemingly simple task, and she'd failed on each attempt.
As Nox started to make his way back towards his Apprentice, he slowed his pace as he felt another presence enter the yard. Or rather, two presences. After several long moments, all movement in the yard stopped and stared in open disbelief at what they were seeing. Standing just outside the training yard, looking more than slightly uncomfortable in the breeches and leather padding covering her body, was Sansa Stark. Standing just behind the eldest daughter of Lord Stark was her newly named sworn sword, the former Wildling woman Osha wearing leather armor complete with her newly acquired sword-spear sheathed but held in her left hand.
"Sansa," Nox greeted the young girl. "You're late. Training began hours ago."
The young wolf girl looked more than slightly uncomfortable as she stood before him shifting her feet back and forth. "I – I'm sorry, Lord Nox. But I – I wasn't sure how I shou – ah!"
Hands covering her head, Sansa ducked out of the path of the wooden training sword that Nox had sent spiraling her way. But the wooden blade never even got close to the young girl as Osha quickly stepped in its path and snatched it out of the air.
"Tomorrow," Nox said flatly. "You will catch it. Not Osha."
"Um, yes, Lord Nox." Sansa stuttered, taking the wooden training sword from Osha and holding it awkwardly.
"For being late, you will work with your sister today, Sansa," Nox ordered, motioning towards where Arya was practicing her down strikes with her training sword. "You'll start with fifty swings of the sword, then follow along with your sister's current regime before coming back to me. Understand?"
Sansa frowned as she looked over at where Arya was located. No doubt she thought that he would be training her directly from the start. And while he had every intention of doing just that, he needed to test her first. See if she truly was ready to learn.
"As you will, Lord Nox," Sansa responded, awkwardly bowing to him before making her way over to Arya.
"And what 'bout me, Sorcerer?" Osha asked, staying in place even as her charge walked away. "Lord wolf wanted ya to train me to make sure I was capable of protectin his little wolves."
"He did, did he?" Nox asked, slowly approaching Osha with his hands at his sides. "Then, let us see what I'm working with."
Summoning another tourney blade to his open hand, Nox spun in a tight circle as he used the Force to propel himself up and over Osha while simultaneously striking down at her exposed neck and shoulder. But Osha proved quicker than he'd anticipated as she dropped into a roll across the ground to avoid his strike and coming back to her feet just as Nox himself landed. Her excitement peaked as the sheath left her weapon, revealing the Valyrian steel for all to see as she charged at him. Tossing the tourney blade aside, Nox summoned his lightsaber into his hand and activated it just in time to parry Osha's well controlled thrust.
Instead of locking blades with him, Osha turned with the parry, spinning around in a tight circle and building up momentum as she adjusted her grip to the end of the sword's hilt to increase the strength of the coming blow. A blow that struck nothing but air as Nox slid his feet back just enough to let the tip of the blade pass within a few inches of his face. As soon as the blade was clear, he shifted again and lunged, stopping the tip of his lightsaber but a hair's breadth from her exposed throat.
"Solid form and footwork," he summarized, stepping back from Osha. "But your tendency to overextend will be your undoing. The spear, and your sword-spear, have the advantage of reach. Yet you must not let that advantage become a disadvantage. Again."
Osha took his words to heart as their next round began with her being far more cautious than the last as she tried not to overextend herself this time around. But that caution proved to be her undoing as Nox went on the offensive with a flurry of attacks using ataru and knocking her on her ass within a minute.
"Too cautious," Nox chided, waiting for Osha to get back to her feet.
Snarling, Osha went on the offensive with a series of quick thrusts to varying parts of his body. Each thrust was met with either an equally quick parry or simple move by Nox to avoid the blade completely. The bout went longer than the previous two, but quickly enough Osha began to get frustrated at not even being able to come close to landing a blow and her movements started to become far more forced and erratic.
"Use and control your anger and frustration," Nox growled, stepping in close to Osha and driving his fist into her midsection, dropping her to the ground. "Do not let them use you."
Gripping her weapon, Osha slowly got back to her feet. Her anger and humiliation were such that she was shaking trying to control them while around them the men and women of the North chuckled or outright laughed at her.
"They think you're nothing," Nox said, quietly enough so that it was only the two of them who could hear. "They think you don't deserve the honor and respect Lord Stark has bestowed upon you. They think you're nothing more than a barbarian who doesn't know her ass from a hole in the ground. Show them that they're wrong. Show them what it means to be a spearwife, Osha. Show them that Lord Stark's and my own faith in you is not misplaced."
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