Ya know, one of the few things I realized after signing up to help Lysa with the rebuilding was the fact that, in this setting, information moved like a fucking slug after a night of partying and drinking. That also meant, then, that people, in general, moved even slower – in this case, the same slug after a night of partying, but that slug is now a middle aged man who hasn't exercised in years. So, after Lysa's Maester, whose name I'd already forgotten, sent out the ravens to House Stark, asking for aid and resources, I found myself with... not much to do, honestly, while we waited for whatever aid House Stark would be sending. If they sent any at all. House Stark and the North in general weren't exactly bursting with resources; in fact, the North was probably the poorest region in Westeros, despite its size. So, while House Stark ruled the north and commanded vast resources of their own, sailing out and helping Bear Island, an isolated place in the middle of the sea, seemed a bit of a stretch.
It'd been about a month, since then, and most of the work came in the form of repairing what damage had been done to the Mormont Keep, which I had my undead do, since the best kind of labor was either cheap or free.
Of course, I had plenty of help from the Maester, whose knowledge proved invaluable in the treatment of hardwood and the creation of concrete bricks, with my undead legions serving as the labor. Furthermore, Lysa decided that, since Bear Island's population had been greatly reduced by the Wildling Invasion, it was a good idea to gather every single citizen under her demesne in one place in an effort to build an entirely new city, more defensible, where the resources could be consolidated. Apparently, if the people of Bear Island weren't situated so far away from each other, then the Wildlings would not have devastated them as much.
I kind of agreed with that, but I was no expert in medieval city-building and, since the Maester agreed with Lysa's idea, then it was probably good. Either way, they had access to cheap and relentless labor as my undead workforce of unpaid interns required neither rest nor sleep, did not drink water and definitely needed no food. And so, plans for a new town were drawn up, including proper sewage and whatnot – nothing I cared about too much. The town was to be known simply as Bearington, because Lysa asked my advice for a name and it was the best I could come up with.
Hence, the town of Bearington was born, crafted from the bony fingers of my undead minions. Or, at the very least, by minion laid the foundations of it. Something of this scale would likely take decades to actually finish. But, considering my minions didn't tire or complain about poor working conditions – and that working them ragged didn't seem to damage them in any way – plenty of ditches and furrows and all sorts of weird earthen formations were carved around Mormont Keep. No idea what any of them actually were for, since I didn't care too much, but by the Maester's own words, this was incredible progress. After that, I had my undead build log cabins for the villagers who opted to stay close to Mormont Keep in the hopes of being among the first to claim land when the town of Bearington was actually formally built.
The villagers were somewhat able to get used to Nightfury's looming shadow. They no longer panicked when they saw him, at least, which was good. They also no longer panicked when they saw me, but I could tell, from their eyes, that they wished I was anywhere but around them; they said nothing, of course, seeing as I had an army of the dead, a dragon, and magic, and I also built their houses for them. Luckily, Lysa Mormont had my back. I wasn't an idiot. I knew she still had a really strong crush on me. She was also indebted to me, the favor notwithstanding. And those were two things I vehemently didn't want to take advantage of. Still, she did a swell job of reminding the peasantry that it was only by my hand that the Wildlings were slaughtered and that they were given a second chance at life.
And also because a lot of the food came from me. As it turns out, skeletal minions were really useful for fishing and crabbing. And, boy oh boy, Bear Island had a fuckton of salmon and King Crab, which was known to the locals as 'Long-legs', a rare and elusive creature, given how treacherous the surrounding waters were and how dangerous crabbing actually was. I also caught a bunch of lobster, but those guys were a bit harder to actually catch. And, even deeper underwater, were giant fucking oysters. Honestly, Bear Island was freakishly wealthy in terms of seafood and I guess the only thing that held the people back was the weather and the cold. Still, my skeletons didn't give a shit about drowning. And so, about a hundred of them waded out into the sea once a week to try and catch as much food as they could.
And they caught a lot, which would then be salted and smoked. And, in the case of the 'Long-legs' and the lobster, cooked, salted, air-dried, and then smoked. The Bear Islanders were really fond of preserved food, which was understandable, given their conditions. But it couldn't have been healthy for them, right? Whatever the case, for the first time in a very long time, Bear Island had a surplus of food.
More than that, I also used my [Restoration] spells to heal the sickly, of which there were only a few who were willing to be healed by me.
So, while I got a lot of stares, none of the villagers actually bothered me. None of them spoke to me, either, but it's not like I had to say to them or that they had anything to say that was of any particular interest to me.
I also used some that time to find as many Wildling corpses as I could, raising them all up to be my servants in death, bringing my total number of undead minions to a grant five hundred. Quite a lot, actually, and that was only accounting for the corpses that were still in decent enough condition to be raised into undeath. The rest were eaten by Nightfury.
"It's like a giant, fire-breathing, danger dog." Halga summarized my thoughts for me as she stared at the Fatalis, once more, yelp and chase after the log my minions threw into the air. I wish I could say that it'd be easy to forget just how dangerous this creature actually was, but then I'd be lying. Because one look was all it took to remind every living being just how dangerous Nightfury actually was.
"Close enough," I shrugged, turning to Halga. "You hungry? I'm making lunch. On the menu is crab and fish and crab and fish, cooked in a butter sauce, and some stale bread from yesterday."
"Not exactly," Halga shook her head. I did not miss the gauntness of her cheeks or the thinning of her limbs. Ever since her exposure to the pure Necrotic Energies, Halga became almost sickly in demeanor. I healed her every chance as I could and that was probably the only reason she was still alive. No matter what I fed her or how much she ate, or how many times I tried to heal her, Halga continued to deteriorate. Not even [Unnatural Healing], which I unlocked after using [Natural Healing] on about a dozen villagers, did anything to alleviate her constant deterioration. "But I'm going to eat anyway. Wouldn't want to die too early, right?"
I didn't want her to die. My game plan, then, was to prolong her life as much as I can, all the while healing as many people as I can and unlocking more and more of the [Restoration] skill tree until I'd eventually get something that can push back her sickness. Shaking my head, I walked up to her and used a combination of [Natural Healing] and [Unnatural Healing]; one sped up her body's natural healing, while the other flooded her with some kind of light magic that, as I understood, had the same basic function as stem cells, just faster.
The latter spell made me tired, which I figured must've been the cost of using it.
Her shriveled muscles returned and her skin took on a more vibrant complexion. By my estimation, it'd be another five days before she deteriorated again. Still, I forced a smile. "There, good as new. Now, let's get something to eat; I'm freaking hungry."
I left my skeletons on auto-pilot in the infinite game of fetch with Nightfury, who didn't seem at all bothered that I'd be leaving to eat lunch. If he got bored, then I knew he'd just fly away and start roaming around the island. Nightfury would scare a bunch of people, like that, but he wouldn't kill any of them – at least, not unless they tried anything stupid, like attacking a dragon with pitchforks and spears.
Halga and I made our way to the village, only to be met by commotion as, if my eyes didn't deceive me, a whole fleet of ships was spotted on the horizon. "Well, the wolf boys are finally here."
The moment I saw the Stark ships, I realized right then and there that I'd have to keep my skeletons under wraps – for now – just to make sure the wolf boys weren't scared off the moment they walked out of their ships. So, I had my undead minions hide in the woods, stopping their activities; it'd slow things down a lot, but it was no longer my problem, honestly. By my count, there were probably less than three hundred or so Starks – or Stark Representatives, at least – about to disembark from their ships. They weren't enemies. These were civilizedfolk – here to offer their aid to Lysa Mormont.
I didn't need to scare the shit out of them, even if that would be pretty funny. No, I'm pretty sure the mere sight of my magic would have these people on edge immediately.
I had to keep Nightfury hidden too, which wouldn't be too much of a problem as my not-so-little Fatalis had sequestered for himself a cozy little cave, high up in the mountains of Bear Island and had very likely fallen asleep. And would only wake up when I called him. That was honestly a very interesting development as, moments earlier, he'd been playing fetch with my skeletons. I wasn't sure what drove him to sleep. Must've been boredom. But, hey, I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I eyed the Stark men and women, each of them dressed in furs and leathers. Hardy folk. I wondered, briefly, if the Lord Stark was actually with them, before dismissing that thought entirely. It certainly was possible, but it would be too dangerous and, not to mention, outright unnecessary. More than likely, these people were led by someone of the Stark Household, someone of high position, but wasn't so important that their death would bump up the succession. Or, at least, that's what I'd do if I was the Lord Stark. No way I was sending anyone too important to Bear Island, which was pretty much the first place the Wildlings always attacked whenever the fuckers felt like going south for fun and recreation.
So, they were here to help, which also meant my time on this island was ending.
Of course, if these guys proved hostile in any way, then I wouldn't hesitate to slaughter them. I didn't spend all this time, helping Lysa, only for some other people to come and ruin shit for her. They weren't Wildlings, definitely not, but I do remember Eddard Stark being somewhat of an outlier among Starks – the one guy who wasn't an impulsive asshole and also gave quite a lot of value to the concept of honor.
My skeletons in the woods and Nightfury asleep in the mountains, I stepped forward and joined the villagers who'd gathered at the very edge of the unfinished dock, built by my undead like so many of the unfinished structures around us. There were about a hundred people around me, most of whom offered me a very generous berth as I approached. Only Halga stood at my side.
I'd gotten used to it at this point. And, it was an inevitability, anyway. Being a Necromancer meant the brunt of my power would come from my undead armies and not the big fireballs I'd be shooting from my fingers. I still wanted the fireballs, but I was stuck with being the Lich King 2.0 for now.
"They actually came," Halga muttered.
I nodded. "Yep. Now, I'll wait and see if these guys mean well or if they'll cause trouble for Lysa."
"Why'd you hide your... err... undead minions, Jason?" Halga suddenly asked, eyebrows raised as she glanced around, searching for my unpaid interns when, moments earlier, this place was swarming with them as they dug ditches and placed iron stakes in the ground or whatever random thing Maester Bernard instructed them to do that I couldn't be bothered to learn about.
"Might spook the Starks," I answered, shrugging. Halga nodded. "I mean, everyone around us is already kind of used to it and even they're spooked by my skeletons. So, unless it becomes necessary, then I'd prefer to keep my undead minions hidden, mostly for Lysa's sake."
"I understand." Halga said. "But, what I don't understand is your refusal to take her hand. Any man in your position would've taken it, you know. Lysa Mormont is beautiful, young, and bountiful where it counts; and she's strong and willful. Why refuse her hand?"
Good question.
"Ah, I guess I never really told you." I said, realizing just now that Halga's never really brought this topic up before. And no one really ever asked me, either, not even Lysa herself, though I did leave her with a pretty big hint as to my preferences. "While I admire Lysa for the traits that you so kindly enumerated for me, I honestly have very little interest in her. I have no want or need for lands or power, and I certainly have no interest in ruling over anyone. And, most importantly, I don't want to marry someone I'm neither attracted to or in love with. Call me romantic, but I'd actually want to spend the rest of my days with someone I actually love, ya know?"
"And, also," I continued, clearing my throat. "I like older women – much older than Lysa. And, nope, I'm not about to share any details; so, don't ask."
"Older women, eh?" Halga repeated, smirking as she elbowed me. "Ones with matronly hips and heavy bosoms? Never figured you for being that sort of man, Jason. But, it seems you have good tastes; even I can see the appeal of such women. You would have loved Lysa's mother, then. Widowed, wide hips, and good tits; you'd have been smitten."
Amen, sister.
"Let's not talk more about this," I said, breathing in. "As enjoyable as the topic is, we have other things we need to focus on, yes?"
Halga snorted. "Sure, suit yourself. But, hey, looks like it's not their daughters the lords should be fearful for, but their wives!"
The Stark Fleet did not, unfortunately, find enough room in the docks for all their vessels. Instead, many of their ships laid anchor in the outlying beach, which was shallow enough for their ships to safely make berth, without fear of crashing into sharp rocks, which were an abundant feature everywhere else in Bear Island. Ultimately, their flagship, which I figured to be the most important vessel by virtue of all the decorations around it and the large wolf insignia of House Stark, docked in front of the infant city. Over my shoulder, I watched from my peripheral vision as Lysa Mormont, accompanied by her new house guard, warriors she handpicked from a bunch of brave volunteers, walked out of Mormont Keep and into the dock. Her guards, I mused, were little more than villagers who'd shown their bravery during the very brief, but very bloody occupation of the Wildlings, men and women who'd slain quite a number of the barbarians.
Lysa sent a glance my way and then smiled.
I smiled back as she gestured for me to stand at her side. I turned to Halga. "Come on. We should stand by Lysa Mormont's side. If shit goes down, it'll be easier to defend her."
Halga nodded and, as we walked towards Lysa Mormont, she asked, "Do you think the Lord Stark's men are going to attack her?"
"Nope, not at all," I said. "But a show of force is somewhat necessary. We don't want the Stark Envoy to think that Lysa's too weak. Otherwise, they'll try to take advantage of her during negotiations."
"Ah, I don't get it." Halga shrugged. "But, whatever."
Halga technically wasn't necessary for this, but she'd wormed her way into Lysa's good graces, after taking care of the young lady when she was knocked unconscious and was in need of aid. Halga was also a fearless warrior. She wasn't any good in the technical sense, but a spear was kind of a no-brainer weapon. And, if nothing else, Halga was freakishly strong for a woman of her size and build. So, she kind of became an unofficial member of Lysa's personal guard, but with way more freedom compared to the others due to being friends with Lysa Mormont herself.
"Well," I said. "Think of it this way: would you rather attack a man who's carrying a weapon or a man you has no weapon?"
Halga eyed me for a moment, before shrugging. "Of course, I'll attack the one without a weapon."
"Because he's less dangerous, right?" I asked. And Halga nodded. "It's kind of the same here. House Stark isn't an enemy, I think, but we don't want them to start thinking that Lysa's just someone they can push around. Sure, they're probably a lot stronger than her, since House Mormont currently cannot field any army whatsoever, but we don't want her to appear weak, either way."
"Ah, I think I kind of get it now." Halga nodded and smiled. "We show them that Lady Mormont's not someone they can just mess with or bully."
"Exactly!"
The first among the Stark Envoy to actually approach us was a tall, dark-haired woman with cold blue eyes. She was accompanied by a score of grizzled warriors, each one heavily armed and fully armored – not in plate, but in a combination of gambesons and mails, and heavy furs over their shoulders. I had no idea who the woman actually was, but – if the books were anything to go by – she was probably a member of House Stark, based entirely on her features. She honestly kind of reminded me of a more roughed-up Yennefer from the Witcher 3, with less curves and more muscles, a single scar running down her right eye, through her eyebrow.
She was also taller than me, by a full head. She was probably in her late thirties or very early forties.
Woah mama.
Lysa Mormont stepped forward and tipped her head. "Welcome to Bear Island, Lady Meera Stark; it is my honor to greet you. Please, forgive the lack of a... welcoming festivity. Bear Island has suffered greatly in the last few weeks and we've not had much time to rebuild."
"There is no need for pleasantries at all, Lady Mormont," The now-named Meera Stark answered, also tipping her head forward. Once again, here was a character who I had no idea even existed. But, as I figured, this time period in the history of Westeros probably wasn't so tumultuous, given the lack of recognizable characters, thus far. Shit, I'd already forgotten who the king was, but I remembered that I didn't recognize his name when Lysa told me. "My brother, Lord Brandon Stark, received your raven some time ago, and has deigned to send me to represent House Stark in this troubled times. I come with workers, provisions, building resources, and armed warriors to help you rebuild your home stronger and hardier than ever before. Forgive us for the delay, Lady Mormont, but we are here now and House Stark always stands ready to aid its vassals in their hour of need."
"And I humbly accept the aid of House Stark," Lysa Mormont said, before she gestured at Mormont Keep. "Come, Lady Stark, let us continue our discussions in my home. It might not be as grand as the castles in the mainland, but it is my home all the same. And, if nothing else, we do have plenty of food."
Lysa shot a glance at me when she said, 'food', knowing full well that I'd gathered pretty much all the food that everyone was eating at the moment. Not complaining, since having my unpaid interns perform all the menial tasks and chores boosted my fine control to high heaven. I could probably command them all now even with my eyes closed. Speaking of eyes, Lysa was doing a very good job of keeping all the attention to herself, issuing forth a very commanding presence that just demanded the eyes and ears of those who listened; she was a natural leader, I figured, one that would eventually lead her people to prosperity and wealth.
"Then, lead the way, Lady Mormont," Meera Stark smiled. "While we discuss and negotiate, perhaps the workers and warriors who accompanied me can begin establishing their tents and camps?"
"Of course, Lady Stark."
As we accompanied Lysa, I quietly moved all my undead as far away from this part of Bear Island as possible. Didn't want or need to spook the guests. If things went well enough, then I could finally leave tomorrow and start my adventure in the mainland.
(Don't mind the chapter number; I'm doing that to keep myself sane.)
"If it does not offend you, Lady Mormont, I would like to know how it is that you managed to drive out the Wildlings from Bear Island?" Lady Meera Stark, the hottest milf - maybe cougar – I've ever seen in my whole life, thus far, asked. And, goddamn, the way she spoke was just... woah mama. So, in conclusion, my dick hard. "When you sent the Raven to House Stark, we assumed the worst. But, it seems that, overall, you've maintained control over Bear Island, despite the loss of... your household."
But, oh boy; that wasn't an easy question to answer, was it? Because, technically, Lysa Mormont didn't really do much as I did pretty much all the heavy lifting. That wasn't to discredit her spirit, of course, seeing as – canonically – Lysa Mormont definitely won against the Wildlings somehow, since House Mormont still existed in canon, even if their stone castle was gone by the AGOT started or some other unrelated shit like that. So, the hard part, I figured, had to come from admitting to the fact that, over the last few weeks, pretty much the entirety of Bear Island has been rather dependent on yours truly, the most handsome necromancer Planetos has ever seen. Or, maybe not. Lysa Mormont didn't strike me as a particularly prideful sort, like Cersei or Tywing or... literally any other character from the books. And so she wouldn't really lie about making use of a sorcerer for her own gain, wouldn't she?
No problem.
They'd been talking for almost two hours now, pouring over contracts and other fine details as to the management and restoration of Bear Island, all of which was given free of charge by House Stark, apparently, in an act of magnanimity towards a subject in need. Bullshit. This was definitely a political maneuver, either meant to curry favor or to force Lysa into an arrangement of some kind. The Starks weren't known for being honorable before Ned Stark came along in AGOT. They weren't assholes or bastards, either, but I wouldn't really consider them to be honorable.
The Stark Delegation settled themselves on the opposite end of the negotiating table, with Meera Stark herself representing their interests and intentions. There were probably close to a hundred warriors on their side, fully armed and filthy. On our end... well... we didn't have a lot of warriors, aside from Lysa's new Household Guard and myself and Halga. Like I said, not a lot. But, of course, with my bullshit magic, the Stark warriors stood no fucking chance in a fight.
Not that it would ever come to that, given the breaking of bread and salt ceremony thing that granted them guest rights. And, if nothing else, guest rights were sacred across Westeros. And, in Lysa Mormont's halls, no blood would be spilled.
Our meeting, if it could be called that, was held in the dining hall, the only place large enough to actually house all the Stark Warriors as the Lord's hall was too narrow and, quite frankly, was badly in need of refurnishing. Not that Lysa spent a lot of time there, to be honest. When she wasn't walking about with her people, trying to figure out what problems ailed them and how best to deal with said problems, she was in her study... doing... something... not sure what exactly, but something that was probably important.
Whatever the case, aid was given and aid was accepted. Workers and craftsmen would work on rebuilding and continuing the work that was already done by my undead – very impressive work, I might add – in laying the foundations of the city that was to rise around Mormont Keep. Lysa, as far as I recall, still hadn't decided on a name for her new city. No rush. It wasn't even close to being finished, anyway, and, honestly, even I'd struggle to actually refer to it as a city, given its rather puny size. But, compared to the fishing villages and hamlets that dotted the island, then it was, I suppose, large and spacious.
Repairs would be made to the Mormont Keep itself as well, new defenses would be erected and all that jazz. And hundreds of sacks of dried grains and other foodstuffs that I didn't care to know about were to be distributed to the populace. Meera Stark even suggested the cultivation of a great deal of forest to be turned into farmland, something that House Mormont wasn't capable of before, but was now simply by the aid that was given to them.
All in all, the Starks really weren't kidding around with the help that they brought. So, I really had to wonder just what the fuck they were going to ask for, in exchange for all of this, because nothing in this world was ever free.
All the help also meant that Lysa Mormont was unlikely to lie to them to protect me and, honestly, it wasn't like I told her to keep my magic a secret. Sooner or later, the handsome Necromancer guy with an army of the dead was going to be known to the wider world. Oh, and I also had a dragon – can't forget about that. Luckily for everyone here, Nightfury was still asleep. How I knew that? No idea, actually. The more time I spent with the little guy, the more I came to realize that a weird connection was forming between us, like a bond. It wasn't anything like remote viewing, but it did allow us to share our thoughts with each other, kind of like a psychic connection, allowing me to know exactly how my nightmare city-killing dragon was feeling at all times and also a general feeling as to his general location.
At the moment, Nightfury wasn't feeling anything in particular – something close to contentment, perhaps? Whatever the case, the city-killing dragon was asleep and everyone was better off for it, because having to deal with the fallout of being a necromancer was bad enough. I did not yet want to deal with the consequences of being outed as a dragon rider. But, hey, if one of those consequences involved Meera Stark sleeping with me, then goddamn - I'm in.
Still, I breathed in and prepared for the inevitable.
"To tell you the truth, Lady Stark," Lysa began. Her voice cracked. She'd been here for a while and was likely exhausted from all of this. "I... hardly did anything of value. The truth is that the Wildlings were driven back by one man, one who wielded magic and commanded the dead to do his bidding, a Sorcerer of.... unimaginable power... and the kindest heart I've ever known."
Oh, good. At the very least, she didn't mention Nightfury.
Doubtful murmurs spread across the Stark Delegation. Meera Stark herself raised a brow as she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Magic, I recalled, was a known factor in Planetos, but only barely. ASOIAF was what fantasy fans referred to as Low Fantasy; magic was a real force and everyone knew about it, but you'd never find anyone flinging fireballs and blowing up entire armies by themselves, like in High Fantasy settings. As far as the people of Westeros were concerned, magic existed, but not the extent where it could threaten armies and certainly not to the extent that it could reanimate the dead and command them to fight. So, I very much understood the doubt in their eyes, the skepticism.
No doubt, Meera Stark probably thought Lysa Mormont had gone fucking mental.
"I..." Meera Stark's eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed. I saw it, in her look, that she was about to utter a very offensive remark, but stopped herself at the last moment. She was used to talking like that, I figured, like a freaking hooligan. Woah mama. Still, she breathed in and raised a hand to shush her warriors. "Is this... sorcerer still on Bear Island, Lady Mormont? If so, I would very much like to meet him and... verify his magic for myself. As you may know, my lady, this land is rife with mummers who seek to take advantage of those who... those who cannot see through their ruse."
I'm quite sure that Meera didn't mean that as an insult, but I wouldn't be shocked if Lysa construed it as one, anyway.
"Lord Jason Lee saved the entirety of Bear Island by himself, it is no-"
Before shit escalated, however, I decided it was time to steal the fucking show. I stood up, summoning the Great Boner in my grasp and willing forth embers of Necrotic Energies to start encircling my form, creating a shroud-like aura that looked rad as fuck. This way, I looked cool as shit, but also didn't waste any of the Necrotic Energies that I'd saved up from all the dead Wildlings. I honestly didn't have a lot left. But, the drip cannot be stopped.
A blue-green haze surrounded me and the very air around us shifted and grew colder. Fuck yeah. I saw my reflection on one of the silver goblets and my eyes were freaking glowing with Necrotic Energy. In that moment, I felt like the coolest goddamn piece of shit in the entire world. The eyes, I mused, really added that magical touch to really make me look like I was the real deal and, I suppose, as far as these people were concerned, I fucking was.
The Stark Delegates grew pale and afraid at the sight of me, the eyes of the seasoned warriors widened and many of them drew their swords – or, at least, they tried to, but Lady Meera Stark herself stood up and raised her hand to them, her black hair fluttering all over the place as my Necrotic Cloak caused the very air around me to start howling – didn't expect that shit, but it certainly added to the drip. She put up a brave front, I noted, but I knew fear when I saw it. And I saw it in her eyes and in her body language. Her skin was pale and her breathing hoarse. She was fucking terrified. But, she held her ground anyway. True courage, my father always used to tell me, was about facing one's fears and overcoming them; it didn't matter how scared shitless you actually were, as long as you stood your ground and held firm.
The edges of my robes fluttered around me as I stepped forward and walked towards Lady Meera Stark. And then, with a snap of my fingers, the Necrotic Energies retreated into my body and all the fancy light shows and cool shit disappeared.
"Greetings," I said, breaking the silence. I figured it was the best time to speak, seeing as I had full control over the room. Sure, even Lysa Mormont looked like she was just a little bit intimidated by me, but not nearly as much as the Stark Delegates. "I am Jason Lee, Sorcerer Supreme."
I slammed the Mighty Boner against the floor, producing a thunderous booming sound that I honestly had not intended – not even sure how it happened. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. So, I rolled with it. The Starks were fucking mesmerized by fear, wonder, amazement, and confusion. It was kind of funny, actually, seeing as, mere moments ago, their group had the upper hand in the negotiations. But now, they were fucking fumbling. "T'is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Stark."
"I can assure you," I continued, channeling just the tiniest bit of Necrotic Energy into my eyes to give that extra wow factor, which probably made me scarier than the scariest motherfucking thing these people had ever seen in their entire lives. "My powers are no ruse...."
I'm not even entirely sure why I'm bothering with this little show. But, then again, why do we ever do anything? Well, I'm doing it for my own entertainment and amusement, of course! To further accentuate my point, I brought out the skeletal minions I'd kept within Mormont Keep for security reasons. Only about a hundred or so. I only brought out about a dozen of them, however, and had them walk into the dining hall. And that was when the veteran Stark Warriors started screaming like frightened little girls. I may have overdone this.
The room was dead silent, save for the occasional clink of armor as one of the Stark warriors shifted nervously. It was like I had just dropped a dragon egg in the middle of their feast and told them it was a new delicacy. Fear, awe, and a healthy dose of confusion rippled through the delegation. Lady Meera Stark, for all her bravery, looked like she was one bad joke away from shitting herself.
And, boy oh boy, did I have plenty of jokes.
"W-what sorcery is this?" one of the Stark Warriors stammered, his voice cracking like a teenager hitting puberty. Man, that was pretty funny, because he actually was a teenager that looked right in the middle of puberty, huh.... Eh, whatever. "This is... this is witchcraft! The work of demons! My Lady Mormont, you consort with denizens from the Seven Hells!"
I almost laughed out loud. Witchcraft? Really? It's like they had never seen a necromancer before. Oh wait, they probably hadn't. Yeah, no one in Planetos, I think, had ever even heard of a Necromancer, though I suppose there were plenty of weird stories about the Long Night and how the dead were brought back to life by the Others or some other shit like that. Fortunately for them... no, not really. Unfortunately, for them, the Others were very much real and I'm almost pretty sure of the fact that they've, at the very least, noticed me or my use of Necromancy.
"Calm yourself, Ser," Meera said, her voice steady but her eyes still wide. Goddamn, she was hot. I could almost smell her fear, which was weird, but true, and yet she carried herself like a leader of men, someone they could look up to, someone who could make them shut the fuck up if they were being too noisy. "We are guests here; remember your courtesies."
Another warrior, older and more experienced but clearly just as freaked out, pointed a trembling finger at my skeletal minions and then at me. "He's raised the dead! This... this is an abomination! The gods will curse us all for being in the presence of such unholy power!"
"Oh, come on," I said, rolling my eyes. Okay, this was exactly the sort of drama I was hoping for – fucking bliss. I mean, a little drama made shit more interesting, especially for me. Dark Fantasy? Fuck that, I'm turning ASOIAF into a fucking telenovela. "Unholy? Really? These guys aren't even the creepy kind of undead. Look at them! They're practically model citizens compared to your average Lannister. And they don't smell bad, unlike some people!"
I glanced at Lysa, who was watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. She gave me a small nod, silently urging me to dial down the theatrics. Yeah, okay, point taken. I didn't want to give the poor bastards heart attacks. A part of me wanted to double down and make things even harder for myself in the future, but... eh, what for? I'd rather make friends than enemies, despite my love for drama and theatrics. Also, I couldn't turn ASOIAF into a telenovela, until I brushed up on my Spanish.
But, yep, that was definitely one of my main goals now: make everyone in Westeros and Essos speak Spanish and have them all act over dramatically. Surely, I'd find a spell for that eventually.
But, first things first.
"Listen up," I said, letting the necrotic glow in my eyes fade a little. "I'm not here to curse you or whatever weird superstition you've cooked up in your heads. I'm here to help. I saved Bear Island from the Wildlings, didn't I? You think that was an accident?"
"Help?" Meera finally found her voice, though it was tinged with uncertainty. "How can we trust that this... power of yours won't bring more harm than good?"
I spread my arms wide, the dramatic flourish accentuated by the fact that my robes were still billowing slightly from residual necrotic energy. "Have I harmed anyone here? Look around. Bear Island is still standing because of me. Lysa Mormont's people are alive because I stepped in. They have food to eat and shelter to live under, because of my unpaid interns!"
"Your what?"
"My skeletons! They have all that because of my skeletons!"
"But at what cost?" an older warrior muttered, glaring at me like I was the Night King himself. No no no no, I'm the upgrade. I'm better. But also probably worse, depending on my mood. Or, depending on how much the people of Planetos annoy me. That said, I expected all of this already. Magic, at least in Planetos, wasn't exactly useful or reliable, hence the saying that using magic was like using a sword without a handle or some shit like that. But my brand of magic was, frankly, fucking overpowered.
Honestly, who knows what I would've already done if I'd been an edgy, power-tripping teenager?
"At the cost of my time and energy," I shot back, grinning. Still, having said everything, arguing with people for no particular reason, especially when they were upset with me, was quite fun. "And believe me, my time is valuable. Look, I get it. Magic freaks you out. But you need to understand that it's a tool. Like a sword or a hammer or a cock. It's how you use it that matters."
Meera Stark took a deep breath, clearly trying to process everything.
"Very well, Sorcerer Supreme... Jason," she said, the title sounding strange coming from her lips. Fair enough. But it's not like there's a Doctor Strange in this world, ready to slap some sense into my nonsensical ass. "We will take your aid of House Mormont into consideration. House Stark has no quarrel with you, Sorcerer. I have no quarrel with you. But make no mistake, we will be watching closely."
"Knock yourselves out," I said with a grin. "I've got nothing to hide. Well, except maybe a few skeletons in the closet. And you can watch me as closely as you'd like."
I winked at her, enjoying the way her face flushed with a mix of irritation and something else I couldn't quite place.
As the Stark delegation slowly began to relax, albeit still wary, I noticed a few of Lysa's people peeking in from the doorway, their eyes wide with a mix of admiration and fear. Yeah, the word was out now. The sorcerer of Bear Island was not just a rumor. But I fucking swear to god if these dumbfucks started calling me the Boner King, I'd straight up lose it... right after laughing and probably pissing myself.
Lysa stepped forward, her voice calm and authoritative. "Thank you, Lady Stark, for your understanding. We welcome the aid of House Stark, and together we will ensure Bear Island prospers once more. To celebrate this... joyous occasion, I have prepared wine and food aplenty – as much as Bear Island can offer in these trying times, at least."
There was a murmur of agreement from the Stark Warriors, though many still glanced at me like I might sprout horns and start spitting fire at any moment. I gave them my best reassuring smile, which probably looked more like a hungry wolf baring its teeth. Still, they quickly relaxed, somewhat, when I had my skeletons back away and the servants walked in, carrying trays of wine and smoked meat, lobster, crabs, and whatever else I'd gathered for the people of Bear Island with my undead minions.
And, soon enough, the tense atmosphere devolved into a somewhat tense celebration as the Starks began eating and drinking, alongside Lysa's new household servants and warriors. The local wine was pretty good – very strong, but pretty good. It wasn't the kind of stuff you drank for the taste; nah, you drank that shit to get absolutely shitfaced.
As the festivities began, Meera Stark took a single step towards me, quite the contrast to everyone else in her party, who looked like they'd rather melt into the wall than be in the same place as me. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion, but her skin remained pale with fear. And I was pretty sure her left hand shook. When she spoke, however, Meera spoke loudly, for all to hear, and there was no break in her voice "Sorcerer Supreme Jason... what are your intentions?"
Huh. Hmm, should I be honest or-? Eh, whatever. I'm probably the strongest motherfucker in this world now, especially with Nightfury and a distinct lack of dragons on the Targaryens' side. And that meant I could say whatever I wanted and not give a shit what anyone thought of me or what I said. So, I spoke truly and freely. "Well, first and foremost, I'd like to sleep with you, because I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, thus far."
Meera's eyes widened and, despite everything, even a blind man could've seen the rush of red that suddenly appeared on her cheeks, like a fucking anime character. Not sure why she'd react like that, though, since I was pretty sure she looked at me the same way I'd look at a polar bear – with a fuckton of caution. But, damn it, it did look cute on her. I continued. "Aside from that, I'd like to explore the mainland, see its sights. Actually, I've heard many stories of Winterfell and I'd like to see it for myself."
The show made Winterfell look like a fucking joke, honestly. The books described it as a fucking epic place with tall and thick walls, and cool towers and shit. The one in the show was a damn disgrace. It didn't even have a damn moat. Castles were supposed to have moats! "After that, I'd move from one castle to another, one city to the next, see the world – see everything that can be seen. I'm an explorer at heart, Lady Stark. I'm not one to settle in one place or do just one thing."
Meera's cheeks burned red, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. Her eyes darted around, catching the curious and amused glances of her knights. Despite the embarrassment, she squared her shoulders, meeting my gaze head-on.
"You wish to explore Winterfell?" she asked, her voice tight with restrained irritation. "And then what? Do you plan to charm your way through the North with your... powers?"
I laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that caused a few nearby servants to jump. "Charm? That's one word for it. But no, I'm not looking to win a popularity contest. I just want to see the world, experience it. Maybe even find out what else this place has to offer."
"And what of Bear Island? Will you simply abandon it once you've had your fill of adventure?" Meera's tone was sharp, cutting through the laughter and conversations around us.
"Nah, Bear Island's in good hands," I replied, glancing at Lysa, who was overseeing the feast with a proud smile. "Lysa's got things under control here. Besides, I'm not planning on leaving them defenseless. I've got... measures in place."
"Measures?" Meera repeated, skepticism etched into her features.
"Yeah, measures," I said, leaning in slightly. "Let's just say, if any Wildlings or Ironborn decide to mess with Bear Island again, they're in for a nasty surprise. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."
And what was that trick, you might ask? Well, that trick was a single Skeleton I'd leave behind to act as my... metaphysical eyes and ears on Bear Island. If the discount vikings or the barbarians from the beyond the wall came knocking, then they'd be in for a very fun dragon-sized surprise when I came flying back on Nightfury.
Meera's eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, a loud, drunken voice interrupted us.
"Oi! Sorcerer!" one of the Stark knights bellowed, swaying unsteadily on his feet. His face was flushed with alcohol, and his words slurred together. Wait, the festivities only started like... thirty minutes ago. Was he already fucking drunk when they came here or what? "What... what gives you the right to speak to Lady Meera like that, huh?"
I turned to face the knight, keeping my expression neutral. Inside, however, I was giddy as shit. Drama of this caliber was precisely what I needed to turn Planetis into one big Telenovela. "Just having a conversation, bitch. No need to get your balls in a twist."
The knight staggered forward, knocking over a goblet in his path. "No... no, I don't like it. You... you're not one of us. You're... you're a damn witch! A demon!"
Ah, perfect.
"You're in your drink, Ser." I said, turning a side eye at Lysa, who seemed conflicted about the whole thing. I understood. On one hand, this son of a bitch was threatening me for... talking to Meera Stark – not sure why, but that was that. He was angry at me, but I was pretty sure the guy was just looking for a reason to start throwing hands. Fair. On the other hand, Lysa granted each of them guest rights, which were held sacred across the Seven Kingdoms, especially in the North. So, unless he really started a pretty big mess, I could kill him and I honestly didn't want to. The dude was just drunk – not a Wildling or an Ironborn. He didn't deserve to die just for the crime of existing in my vicinity. "Remember that which the North holds sacred, bitch."
Meera stepped in between us. The Stark woman pushed the bitch away from me, towards the other warriors who were far more level-headed, I figured. Honestly, I didn't understand why the dude even bothered with that; it's not like I didn't just make my little display of personal power. Even without my magic, my physical stats that got carried over meant I was probably about as strong as freaking Captain America – the MCU one, not the comic book version. And, yeah, I could fold the guy no problem. "Rorik, don't dishonor your vows. Sit down, enjoy your meal, and drink with your fellows. Do not disgrace House Stark with your behavior."
"He consorts with demons, my lady!" The man pointed an accusing finger right at me. Was this guy from White Harbor? That sort of opinion usually only came from the dudes who believed in the Faith of the Seven. Those who worshiped the Old Gods, like everyone else in the North, I figured, was more open to the idea of magic and sorcery – even if my version of it would freak them the fuck out. "Guest Rights are reserved for men – not monsters wearing the skin of one!"
Hmm, he had a point there. At this point, was I even still human or was I closer in stature to the Others, just lacking the cold and white skin?
Still, there was something about this whole mess that made no sense to me. I stepped forward, briefly laying a hand on Meera Stark's shoulder. "Dude, what are you even trying to do? Are you hoping to die; is that it? Do you want the dead to rip you apart at my command, huh? I don't get it; why try to start a fight with me, of all people? It can't possibly be because I spoke to the beautiful lady Meera, here, right?"
"You consort with demons!" The man, Rorik, screamed again. Meera Stark stepped aside with a shake of her head. "I challenge you to a duel, Sorcerer! Prove your worth as a man! No tricks! No magic! Just steel!"
All eyes turned to me, though Lysa closed hers and sighed. And, for the life of me I could not remember if Westeros had a dueling tradition or not. Or maybe it did and I just forgot, but this seemed more like a Braavosi Waterdancer thing. Still, I didn't give a flying fuck. I raised a brow. "Seriously? Yeah, I don't want to. Ask someone else, you grackle."
The room went even quieter, if that were possible. Meera Stark looked torn between amusement and frustration, while the other warriors exchanged uncertain glances. Ah, right, none of them knew what retard even meant. Silly me. Rorik's face twisted with rage.
"Coward!" he spat. I had to hand it to him; the dude was no longer swaying and staggering from the alcohol and he did look kind of ready for an actual fight. "You hide behind your dark arts because you know you're not a real man! Face me!"
I sighed, rubbing my temples. This was getting old fast. "Look, Rorik, right? I'm not going to indulge your drunken bravado. Go sit down before you do something you'll regret. Or before I end up doing something I really don't want to do."
But Rorik wasn't backing down. He drew his sword, the steel catching the light of the torches, casting an ominous gleam across the room. Gasps came from the crowd. The man kind of just broke Guest Rights by drawing steel at me. Oh, he was definitely still drunk, then. Rorik's face was red as he screamed once again. "Face me, Sorcerer! Or are you afraid to prove your worth?"
Before I could respond, Meera interjected, her voice like ice. Still, I saw it in her eyes: concern. She didn't want the old warrior to get himself killed. "Rorik, put your sword away. This is not the place for this. You dishonor yourself and House Stark with this...."
"No, Lady Stark," Rorik snarled, his eyes never leaving mine. Fair enough. This guy had platinum balls. He was idiot, but a brave one. "This... thing needs to be shown its place."
I looked at Lysa, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. She understood what needed to be done. Good. Because holy shit this guy was becoming annoying. After a moment, I sighed and shrugged. "Fine. Let's fight in the courtyard. But if you really wanna fight like a man then let's fight without weapons or armor. We use only our fists. Got a problem with that or are you gonna back out like a little bitch with your tail tucked between your legs?"
My reasoning was rather simple: there was far less of a risk of me accidentally killing the dude if I wasn't using an actual bladed weapon. Plus, it'd allow me to humiliate him without having to injure him too much. Again, Rorik was a religious nutjob, but he was neither a Wildling nor an Ironborn, which meant – all things considered – he probably wasn't a bad guy. But, if he annoyed me enough, however, well... at this point in time, I'm no longer a stranger to killing. Why should I be? I was the most powerful motherfucker on the entire planet.
Rorik's eyes narrowed. "Aye, I accept your challenge, Sorcerer."
Because I wanted to show off even more than I already did, I touched my [Zith Robes] and sent it straight into my [Bag of Holding], making it seem as if my clothes disappeared at touch, leaving me with only a pair of dark pants and boots. Shit it was cold here. But the gasps and wide eyes stopped me from shaking and making a fool of myself in front of everyone here. I might've forgotten about the fact that the [Zith Robes] essentially regulated my body's temperature perfectly so that I'd feel no discomfort no matter where I was, whether underneath the scorching deserts of Dorne or the biting cold of the Lands of Always Winter.
I did not miss the fact that both Lysa and Meera ogled me with barely-restrained gazes.
Heh. This form was hot as fuck, because I never would've gotten that kind of reaction if I'd been my old self.
Rorik barely flinched at my theatrics. The man's grip on his sword tightened before he threw it aside, the clang echoing in the now silent hall. He tore off his own armor, leaving him in a simple tunic and breeches. The guy was built, I'd give him that. Muscles rippled beneath his skin as he stepped forward, ready for a bare-knuckle brawl.
I motioned towards the door, and the crowd began to move outside, forming a loose circle in the courtyard. Torches were lit, casting flickering shadows across the space. The air was crisp, the night sky clear. I could see the stars winking down, as if they were eager spectators to the spectacle that was about to unfold – a spectacle of a fucking beatdown. The crowd formed a wide circle around us, including Lysa and her Household Guard with Halga, and Meera Stark and her warriors, many of whom did not look at all interested or amused by what was happening before them.
Hey, not my damn fault.
Rorik squared off against me, his fists raised. His face was set in a determined scowl, his breath coming out in visible puffs. He was a warrior through and through, and his eyes told me he wasn't about to back down. Fair enough. I had to respect his resolve, even if he was an idiot. My only dilemma now, I suppose, was weather or not I should end this quickly or draw out the fight and risk my nips falling off from the damn cold?
"Ready, Sorcerer?" he taunted, his voice a low growl. I could tell that he was similarly affected by the cold
I just smiled, flexing my fingers. "Let's dance, bitch."
The crowd held its breath as we circled each other. Rorik made the first move, lunging forward with a powerful right hook. I easily sidestepped, my reflexes far superior thanks to my carried-over physical stats. I landed a quick jab to his ribs, and he grunted, staggering back. Oh, I felt his bones rattling with those punches. And I really wasn't even trying. Huh... I realized right then and there that I honestly had no idea how strong I actually was.
Rorik's eyes blazed with anger. He came at me again, this time with more caution. He threw a series of punches, each one aimed at my head. I dodged and weaved, barely breaking a sweat. After a moment, Rorik made an all too telegraphed right straight. I surged forward and weaved under his fist and threw an attack of my own, right into his solar plexus. Food and drink and all sorts of nasty shit came spewing right out of his mouth as he fell to a knee onto the cold ground. I then grabbed him by the right ear and pulled his face straight onto the dirt, before grinning. "Had enough?"
I backed away as Rorik roared into the ground, bile and vomit spreading all over his face and beard. The rancid stench of alcohol and gastric juice filled the air. Ew. "Gross."
Rorik pushed himself onto his feet. He turned and charged at me, but I sidestepped again, tripping him up and sending him sprawling to the ground - again. The crowd gasped, some even laughed. I heard a few murmurs of approval from the crowd, many of whom were likely expecting me to cheat using sorcery, but were now finding themselves surprised by the fact that I, extraordinarily handsome man that I was, knew kung fu.
"Stay down, Rorik," Meera called, her voice tinged with both exasperation and concern. Yeah, that made sense. Rorik, man-child that he was, was losing this little fight like an absolute chump. "You're outmatched."
But Rorik wasn't listening. He scrambled to his feet, his pride not allowing him to concede. He should've done that. But he didn't. Because he was an idiot. No surprises there. He lunged at me one last time, and I decided it was time to end this farce. Before that, however, I was going to offer him one last chance. I raised a hand and caught his fist. "Rorik, admit defeat and this doesn't have to become painful."
"Never!" Rorik roared, trying to pull his hand away. I released my grasp and he stumbled back onto the ground. Dramatic. Just like a Telenovela. But how do I make this even more dramatic and nonsensical than it already was? I couldn't think of anything; so, I had my skeletons start doing the crab dance from Team Fortress 2. About a hundred eyebrows were raised and I was pretty sure one woman fainted.
Eh, good enough.
Rorik stood up again and, with a mighty roar, charged me yet again, likely hoping to perform a tackle, since he was physically more imposing than myself, even if I was a lot stronger. I didn't sidestep him, even if that would've been the smarter thing to do. Instead, I stepped forward, bent down, and surged up to grab him by the neck. I hoisted him up into the air. Rorik sputtered and kicked and struggled, but I held fast. Hmm... I was definitely a lot stronger than I thought I was, because Rorik was probably close to 90 kilograms and he didn't feel that heavy.
Rorik struggled, but it was futile. My fingers tightened as I spoke, my voice low and cold. For dramatic effect. "Yield, or I'll rip your head from your shoulders and turn the top of your skull into a damn dinner plate."
Nightfury chose that moment to arrive, his massive wings causing powerful gusts of wind as he came down from the sky and hovered above the castle, mouth wreathed in flame and eyes ablaze like bonfires. I then grinned as just about every single person around me, save for the natives of Bear Island began panicking. I grinned. "And I'll feed the rest of you to my dragon."