The Northern army had marched off to Riverlands to relieve them of the reaving Ironborn. Last Harry heard from Maester Luwin, the Northern army was near Moat Cailin. The army would then cross into Riverlands through the perilous path of the Neck. Then they would march for Seagard and relieve House Mallister along with the entire western Riverlands from the Ironborn invasion.

At least, that was the general plan. In war, plans may not necessarily survive in contact with the enemy. Harry has personal experience to attest that. You'd think having magic gives you an advantage over the muggles. The muggles of his world proved that magic, while certainly a powerful tool, was not all-powerful and it had its weaknesses.

The muggles were masters in biowarfare and they used their subtle weapons to unleash terrible diseases and viruses to cripple the wizarding army. At one point, the muggles even managed to cripple magic as well. There was a time when Harry would have scoffed if anyone told him muggles have the ability to cripple magic in the world. The muggles of his world proved him wrong and the muggles of this world once again repeated that feat.

He had thought they could not have advanced that far enough to cripple the magic of the entire world. Well, he was not sure magic was crippled all over the world but it was crippled in Winterfell. The only smudge of magic he could feel in Winterfell was from the Crypts, the Hot Springs underneath the castle and the Weirwood trees of the Godswood.

When Harry realized he could not bind magic outside his body indefinitely he started searching for the cause. Something was draining magic from Winterfell and perhaps even the North or Westeros for that matter. His failure to enchant weapons and armament of Winterfell's armoury certainly led him to this conclusion.

Thus, he began his search and he was no closer to find the reason.

The first place he looked for was inside Winterfell.

Winterfell is the ancestral seat of House Stark and was the capital of the North before Aegon's Conquest. According to Maester Luwin Winterfell is among one of the oldest castles in Westeros and one of the largest. While legends claim the castle was built by Brandon the Builder with the aid of Giants eight thousand years ago Maester Luwin dismissed such claims.

Harry agreed with the Maester.

Winterfell was burned down twice before Andals invaded Westeros by the Red Kings of Dreadfort. So, the claim of Winterfell being eight thousand years old falls flat. The outer walls stand eighty feet high while the inner gate stands 100 feet high. If legends are to be believed these two walls were built by giants.

An obvious lie that could be easily dismissed.

The oldest structure in Winterfell was the First Keep and that has been rebuilt before the Andal invasions. So, the claim of the walls being built by giants is just superficial claims.

Now, there was indeed a portion of the First Keep that remained unblemished by time and that was the Crypts.

The ancient Crypts remained untouched by the happenings of the outside world. Well, not entirely untouched as there were portions of the Crypts that were decaying or are under the process of deterioration. However, for Harry's keen senses he could feel the ancient magic woven around the Crypts and its two by two pillars along its length. It was one of the reasons why he spent so much time in the Crypts.

From his limited probing, he learned there was an ever-expanding charm woven into the structure of the Crypts. However, it was not a charm simply woven into the bricks by some wizard. The charm was somehow a self-charging runic work that seems to charge occasionally by absorbing magic from the Godswood. And try as he might, Harry could not find any runic inscriptions inside the Crypts. He was still looking but his search has so far turned up with no success.

He also theorized there is a preservation charm woven into the structure. For whatever reason, that piece of magic is not functioning everywhere. Perhaps, the runic inscriptions were shoddily done or a portion of the inscriptions are damaged. Whatever the case, he couldn't confirm his suspicions because he had yet to find the runic scripts.

As if that was not enough, the fabled hot springs of Winterfell was another magical marvel. Magic was positively thrumming in the hot springs. His senses would go haywire whenever he could sneak into the hot springs. It was a perilous journey to reach the very bottom of the First Keep. The hot springs lie far beneath the First Keep immersed in total darkness. This was also another place that made no sense if there was no magic involved.

For all the talk of hot springs, none in the castle had seen the fabled hot springs with their own eyes. That's mostly because of a common misconception. It is believed that the Great Keep is built around the natural hot springs. Nothing could be farther from the truth. If this was indeed the case, then there was no need for servants to make warm water for baths. They could have just taken the warm water from the hot springs.

The reason the servants could not do that was that the hot springs were not at all beneath the Great Keep. The hot springs lie beneath the First Keep and to access it one needs to evade some of the wreckage and find the Ironwood door far down the dungeons of the old structure.

Harry found it only by using the point-me spell.

While the hot springs was indeed a natural one there was no way it was keeping the whole castle warm by its sheer existence alone.

No. Magic was once again involved.

The water from the hot springs flows over to the pipes that are spread out across the castle. Water cannot simply flow through the pipes without something priming the movement. Natural flow has its limits and what he saw in Winterfell cannot be possible with the natural flow of water. So, something was forcing the water from the hot springs and circulating it through the different buildings within the castle walls.

The obvious culprit was magic as he was sure the First Men were not tech-savvy to invent a rotary pump when they were not even aware of steel.

Now, the third and last place of magical consecration was in the Godswood. He had some experience in dealing with magical trees in the Amazon forest and that experience warned him to bid his time. He didn't want to poke at the Heart tree without certain precautions. So, this left him with two options. He could investigate either the hot springs underneath the First Keep or he could look into the Crypt.

The hot springs would need to be examined by physically slipping into the water. With his present physical age that was suicide even with magic. It'd only take a small mistake for him to slip into a watery grave. So, exploring the crypts became the safer option.

If only it was so bloody simple, he thought as he stepped around another cluster of broken stones.

The deeper one goes into the crypt damages could be seen at a progressive rate. Yet, he could not find the runic scripts anywhere. The point-me spell and all known scanning spells in his repertory were ineffective in this endeavour. For some reason, even his natural sensing skills which he had honed over the years were failing him.

"Harry!"

It was Maester Luwin seeking him out once again. Letting out a disappointed sigh he looked around the stone faces of the Winter Kings of old. All of them were holding onto rusted swords while sitting on a throne. Only very few Starks had sculptures who were not kings or lords of Winterfell that remained in the crypts. Their towering statues seem to mock his inability to find their secrets.

But, Harry was not going to give up that easily. There was still one more method left to try out in his arsenal.

"Harrion! You have archery lessons to attend. If I've to come down, I'm going to ask Lady Stark to confine you to your room for a week."

Harry stopped at that threat and decided to cut his search short. It'd seem he'd have to find alternative ways to find the runic scripts.

"I'm coming!" he shouted back lest Maester Luwin decides to step in.

Picking up the oil lamp he made his way out of the dark halls of his ancestors. His footsteps echoed throughout the otherwise silent chamber as he made his way out.

It took him some time but he finally managed to arrive near the spiralling stone stair and began his climb. He was far below and searching in the older sections of the crypts which means he had quite a number of steps to climb. At the very top, he found Maester Luwin with an oil lamp of his own looking none too pleased.

"How many times have I told you not to wander into the crypts?" Maester Luwin asked him once he managed to climb out of the stairs.

"The Builder called me and I can't say no to the Builder cause he is the Builder!" Harry squeaked out with wide eyes.

If someone ever doubted his acting skills this particular piece would have shut them up. It turns out the trick to act like a child is to make as much trouble as possible and give the most ridiculous reasons for said trouble. He also took it as a credit when he saw Maester Luwin refused to correct him on his ghost claims, unlike the last few times. His ability to spell-forge swords has put doubt into the mind of Maester Luwin.

Eyeing the Valyrian Steel link on Maester Luwin's neck, he was not so surprised by the Maester's easy acceptance of his usage of magic. Harry was pleasantly surprised to know, while the Citadel disapproved of magic and its studies, they still hold a long tradition of exploring Higher Mysteries. That doesn't mean the Maester was wholly supportive of his magic nor does it mean the man had anything to contribute to his specific craft.

Despite Maester Luwin's studies in regards to Higher Mysteries, it remained theoretical studies. The Maesters of Citadel believes magic died with the death of the last of Targaryen dragons. Harry found this view interesting.

He knew for fact magic was not dead as he could feel it in the air around him. Nonetheless, magic was in serious peril. It was diminished in some sense due to reasons unknown yet pockets of magic remained. He was curious how the dragons supposedly fit into everything. But, that could wait cause first he had to grow up to a suitable age and then journey out of Winterfell to have his answers.

Harry noticed the strange and sometimes worshipping eyes of the castle's inhabitants following him. His apparent ability to cast Valyrian Steel sword had elevated him to something of an elite among the elite status. According to Septa Mordane, he was supposedly blessed by the Smith. The Old Gods followers believe he was blessed by the Old Gods of the Forest with magic. Some believe his story wholeheartedly that he was communicating with Brandon the Builder. Another group believed he is the reincarnation of the Builder.

Harry had openly laughed at Septa Mordane's face when she had made the ridiculous claim of his magic being a gift of the Smith.

"So, you are saying I am blessed by your imaginary God which I don't believe in? This God of yours sure seems to be out of touch with reality for blessing heretics with powers."

That was his response to the Septa's ridiculous claims. But, he had to give it to the woman. She was one stubborn woman who took his retort without rising to the bait. Instead, the Septa muttered a hasty goodbye to his mother and himself before retreating to Winterfell's Sept. Since then, he heard no tales of the Septa's whereabouts which he found very pleasant.

Now, the Old Gods are another matter entirely. Since he credited his ability to spell-forge on the ghost of Brandon the Builder he had to keep his silence on the claims of Old Gods followers. The claim was also politically safe considering he was living at the heart of First Men culture.

Despite his recent rise in popularity and literally being worshipped by the people of Winterfell, there were some who didn't give a damn. One such person was Celos Poole.

The man was thin like a chopstick and shorter than most men with sandy brown hair and black eyes. While a distant cousin of Vayon Poole, Celos was their archery and horse riding trainer.

Harry eyed his brothers who were practising with a bow. Owing to their young body they were only required to learn the basics of archery which was boring as hell.

"Look who decided to turn up? Thought you could escape training again, didn't ya?" growled Celos before dragging Harry by his hand towards the archery range.

"I wasn't trying to escape." Harry growled back as he rubbed his arm while Celos picked up a practice bow.

"You weren't? Then you wouldn't mind to show me the pose we practised yesterday wouldn't ya?" challenged Celos, looking expectantly at Harry with his black beady eyes.

Harry took the bow into his hand and tried to remember the exact pose. He kept his right foot behind his left foot while raising the bow with his left hand. With his right hand, he drew the string back and looked quizzically at Celos.

"Give a bend to those knees and keep them at least shoulder-width apart."

Harry followed the instructions and allowed himself to move into the position.

"Good." Celos muttered while circling Harry looking for any more defects. "Keep the drawn portion of the string just underneath your jaw or keep it close to your nose."

Harry stole a glance at his brothers and they were now out of their stances relaxing their arms.

A slap to the back of his head broke him away from observing his brothers.

"Eyes front Harrion. An archer does not know anything else but his target." Celos growled.

With a scowl, he focused on the boring task of holding a bow properly. It was going to be a long day.

XXXXXXXXX

It was a strange journey from Winterfell to the Neck.

The last time Eddard had led the Northern army was to save Lyanna and seek justice for his brother and father. He was inexperienced then and he had struggled to control the lords of the North. They were a rowdy bunch and it took all his patience to have them follow his orders.

This time around he found them far more malleable under his command.

"You are more at ease now, my lord. Command suits you."

Eddard glanced at his fellow lord and friend Howland Reed. Originally, the lord of Greywater Watch was his sister's friend. He still remembered the tale Howland told him before they embarked on their journey to Dorne. Howland had felt guilty that it was because of him, Lyanna came under Rhaegar's line of sight.

"Only I know how alienable it feels to be the Lord of Winterfell when it should have been Brandon. I was supposed to inherit Moat Cailin by my father's schemes. It was his wish to restore the castle to its former glory." said Eddard shaking his head ever so slightly to shake away memories that forced old wounds to reopen.

"That might be the case." Howland agreed curtly. "But, you are doing well. The lords of the North respect you."

Eddard let out a grim chuckle. "Not all of them. Lady Barbrey surely holds a grudge. She sent as less number of men as possible."

"No one in a position of power will be loved by everyone, my lord. Your lord father was respected by the lords of the North. That doesn't mean everyone loved him. There were quite a few who disagreed with many of his decisions and perhaps even disliked him for it. Yet, when a grave injustice was visited upon Lord Rickard the whole North rose to avenge him."

Edward nodded thoughtfully before patting the Lord of Greywater Watch on his shoulder. "You are right Howland. We find our true friends on the battlefield. I certainly did."

"If you consider me a friend then I should be by your side." said Howland making Eddard sigh.

In truth, Eddard would have loved to have Howland by his side. The last time he survived the war was because of Howland. If Howland was not present at the Tower then he would have most likely perished at the end of Arthur Dayne's sword.

Even now, thinking about Arthur Dayne caused him equal amounts of misery and hatred. The man had kept Lyanna locked up in the Tower just because some rapist prince ordered him so. The man also had the guts to prohibit him to see his sister! At that moment, it felt right to slay all the three Kingsguard.

On the other hand, he knew the three knight's were just doing their duty. They swore vows before the gods to serve their king. They served the Targaryens to their last breath and for that, they have his respect.

Arthur Dayne was the most skilled swordsman he ever crossed blades with and if it wasn't for Howland stabbing the Sword of the Morning from the back he wouldn't be alive. No matter how dishonourable the act was Howland saved him and brought him a few moments with his sister before she passed away. For that alone, Howland deserved his humble gratitude. The man had given him a chance to say goodbye and console his sister before she passed away. It was a debt that he could never repay.

"I'd rather you stay here in your home and watch your children grow Howland. War is a grim affair and I know your son is ill. Greywater fever was it?"

"A most common fever in the Neck. He will survive my lord." said Howland.

"I will pray to the gods old and new for his recovery. But your son needs his father more than anything else. Go and be with your family. The gods know that's what I prefer instead of this war." Eddard muttered, looking at the long lines of caravans tumbling along the Kingsroad escorted by loyal men of the North.

"Speaking of your family, how fares young Robb, Harrion and Jon?" asked Howland curiously.

A smile came to Eddard's face at the thought of his children. "They are doing well. Robb is the most excitable one, Harrion could give lessons to Lyanna on how to make trouble and Jon tends to be the responsible one."

"That's strange. I'd have expected Jon to be the troublemaker." commented Howland and together they shared a laugh in the memory of Lyanna.

For a moment, they stayed silent reminiscing of the past forgetting the troubles of the present.

"While Greywater Watch is far away from Winterfell we have heard rumours of Harrion's feat. Is it true that he forged Valyrian Steel swords and a full suit of armour?" asked Howland.

Eddard frowned as he didn't know what to feel about the whole mystery surrounding his second son. He didn't know whether to believe Harrion's claim of being taught by the ghost of Brandon the Builder to forge Valyrian Steel of all things! Despite his misgivings, he felt the gods have blessed his son with a great gift but a dangerous one.

Many would kill to own a Valyrian Sword. So it stands to reason, that his son who is now shown to have the knowledge to forge Valyrian Steel would be coveted by dangerous people once word of his accomplishment spreads. It was one of the reasons why he had increased Winterfell's guards before he left his home.

"The rumours are true." Eddard admitted with some reluctance. "I don't know exactly how but Harrion can forge Valyrian Steel. He claims he learned the art from the ghost of Brandon the Builder which doesn't make any sense."

"That's very intriguing." said Howland before looking incredulously at Eddard. "The ghost of Brandon the Builder taught him?"

"I know. It doesn't make any sense but that's what Harrion claims."

"I see." Howland mumbled while looking thoughtful.

"What are you thinking?" Eddard asked seeing the ponderous look on Howland's face.

"Have you considered Harrion might be a Greenseer?" asked Howland.

"A Greenseer? Surely, you jest my lord."

"Don't be so easily dismissive Lord Stark." Howland warned. "You do have the blood of Warg King running through your veins. How do you think your ancestors defeated the Marsh King?"

"I know not my lord. Talks of magic and myths are not my strong suits." Eddard admitted. If anything, he'd have to ask Benjen who was far more informed in the myths and magic. "For reasons beyond my understanding, my son has a unique gift. I just hope that gift serves him well and bring good fortune."

"If your son's gift involves forging Valyrian Steel then I think he will bring great fortune. I suspect offers will flow in from four corners of the world once his gifts are known." claimed Howland. "Speaking of which, are you going to show me your son's work?"

"I gave the Vlayrian Steel sword Harrion gave me to Ser Rodrick. The other one Harrion gifted it to Jory Cassel and charged him to protect me with the sword. As for the suit of armour, I have that in my tent." said Eddard

"Then let's go to your tent, my lord. I'd have an eyeful of the craft of the second Builder in House Stark."