I finished this chapter months ago, but I dind't want to release it because I realized I wanted this story to go in a completely different directions than its currently going. Then I realized I wanted that story to be its own this and this story to be its on thing. At the bottom I'll have a sample chapter from the two new stories im working on. Let me know what you think.

-Tyliai-

He was absolutely still as the cold water, like the vast empty rock of his childhood home, ran over his massive form. He lay in the stream, a small river really, and rested. Most people hated the cold but he had been birthed in it, forged in it; and so the icy waters of the mountain fed streams refreshed him. He had spent three days in Winterfell, walking about and asking for baths before he realized that the people of the castle, even the lord and his lady rarely enjoyed baths more than once every few days. The 'small folk' as they were called rarely enjoyed baths more than once a week, if at that. He was used to daily showers, deodorant, and lightly scented accoutrements that had been standard shipboard. Now all he had was a bar of soap provided to him by Dem, and this cold river stream.

He woke every morning at dawn, just before sunrise, and ran, sprinting at the full might of his massive legs towards the small stream that was fed by the mountains north of the Wolfs wood. He would lay in it as he did now, his clothes on a rock waiting to be washed, and his body laying naked in the stream. He would scrub himself and watch the interplay of light. Hues of blues, reds, violet, and grey snaking its way across the sky. The cold and the light show, and the sensation of cleanliness made the five mile trek worth it.

He had thought that the cold, and the speed of his travel, and the distance involved would be enough to keep most anyone from following him. It had for a while, but today was a clear example that those three would no longer insure his privacy anymore. It was still dark enough that tuning his vision to the inferred would not blind him, or steal the light show of sunrise away from him. Had he been able to see in the color spectrum like most people, the shadowed forms of Robb Stark, his half-brother, and Lord Eddard's Ward would have been hard to identify. But in the Ultraviolet Range their fur coats were a drastic difference from that of the trees in the Wolfs Wood. They stood out like a candle in a dark room. In the infrared their body heat betrayed them.

He stood from the flowing water, and walked from the shore. Even if he had wished to pretend they were not there, he could not. He'd seen them and as was his nature he had to acknowledge problems he had seen. He considered people spying on him while he was bathing himself a problem. Once at the shore he slid on his pants, and activated the built in environmental controls. They heated and dried themselves as he turned to face the boys too nosey for their own good. He heard his childlike voice calling out to them.

"Come out." Most people were unsettled by his voice, he was too large a man to have such a high, soft, bell like sound coming from his throat. But he loved his voice,really more than most people would expect. Of all the thing about him; his cloudy milk pale eyes, the scars that covered his entire body, his girth and size that made him tower over everyone even in a world where most men stood at six and a half feet on average... Of all those things his voice was the only one that made him seem, unassuming, unthreatening. Not normal, but not a threat.

They stayed hidden, and he called out again. "Come out. You three can play all the falsehoods you like. Robb, Jon, Theon. I can see you. Now come out." They slid from the woods like kicked dogs, and he would have laughed had they not looked so embarrassed. He wondered what he looked like to them. Giant and huge, as pale as a ghost with clouded eyes that should have left him blind. And the scars? What did the scars that covered his upper torso look like to them?

"Lord Tyliai." Rob said, his eyes were wide, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "We...we apologize if we interrupted you. Theon saw you leaving from the west gate...and...ummm.." He stumbled through his speech. His embarrassment grew as he spoke. "He thought, that perhaps, you meant Ill."

"He could have been a spy. He leaves before dawn every morning." The youth was lean and dark, and despite his age the signs of his square jaw and handsome features were already showing. But he was still twelve, they were all still just children, and as such were known to embrace fanciful ideas. "And he doesn't return until well after we've broken fast. When he does he spends his time buried in the library tower with Maester Luwin." The boy stares up at him, hard, and suspicious. Unwilling to back down in the face of a giant, but despite that he could see the fear in the boy's eyes. He almost laughed. This was a show of bravado, a way to say to the other children I am brave. I do not fear the pale giant that haunts Winterfell.

"Theon, do not be rude. Lord Tyliai is not a spy. He is a man of station amongst his people." Jon calls, of all the Stark children he has interacted with over the past month, the most respectful of him was Jon snow. The youth never stared, always spoke softly and with respect. For that he was thankful.

"Yes." Called Eddard Stark's ward. "A man of rank amongst his people. A lord they call him. The pale giant, with the voice of a boy." Tyliai almost laughed, his own voice was still slightly deeper than the Greyjoy boy's own high-pitched speech. "But he has no family name, he's been a month, and spends all his time away from the training yards. Do you even know how to use a blade my lord? Are you even a man, or perhaps you're a eunuch?" The boy had the audacity to laugh in his face. The number of men who had laughed in his face could be counted on his one hand. "Had you been born amongst us you would have been an invalid, with your monstrous six fingers."

"Oh..." He did laugh then, and the dark haired youth's face seemed to bloom. "You are right about some things, and so wrong about many other." He kneeled down. "You act as if you are a man grown. Amongst my people you are a boy, amongst your people too as far as I can tell." He smiled down. This would be fun, in a way it had no right being. "As such, I will not take offense at your words." He stood tall, towering over the boy at his full height of eight foot nine. He knew what he looked like, a monstrous figure. Pale, and scared; milky clouded eyes piercing into people's bodies he towered over the boy. He shouldn't be having fun scaring a little boy, but then again...

"The commander, the one you call Lord Vasquez asked me to learn of your people's way, and to teach you ours. Maester Luwin is aiding me in my quest. I do not know how to use a sword, but that is not why I do not visit the training yard. You do not have a sword that will fit in my hand." He extended the full expanse of his palm, to emphasize his point. "And I am not so good at not killing those I fight." The same hand lashed out and took the blunted sword the boy kept at his waist. It was a blur of movement, a thing of all speed and synth-muscle. Untraceable by the baseline human eye, even more so by those untrained in combat. He twirled the blunted sword in his hand, it might as well have been a large knife, a toy rather than a true blade. "It is a fault, when one gets to be my size. As for my family name? I do not have one, many amongst my people do not have one. There is little need, we know who we are. We know whence we came from. That is all we need." He twisted and buried the blade hilt deep into the earth. It was clear it wouldn't be coming out any time soon.

"If you came to insult me," he said as his eyes turned back to the sky. "Your deed is done, so now you may take your leave." The sun had moved higher and he would still be able to watch the sunrise. He had begun to think of a melody to play on the guitar. A soft tune played in e major to represent the sunrise. He could imagine his fingers playing across the fretboard now. His extra finger had

"Lord Tyliai," Robb Stark stepped forward. "We did not come to insult you, at least..." He turned and glared at Theon. "Jon and I did not come to insult you. We were simply curious. Why do you come here every morning? Is it part of your faith? We know little of your gods."

"I follow no gods." That seemed to startle them.

"No gods?" Robb seemed especially startled at the notion. "My father follows the Old Gods, my mother the New. Even the Iron born follow the Drowned God. You're people have no gods? None?"

He shook his head. "I bathe in the river, because it is a custom amongst my people to bathe every day. It keeps disease at bay." He paused and thought it over. Feudal societies tended to be steeped in religion. Though, from what he had discussed with Maester Luwin there were a number of faiths that held a strong hold in Westeros. Or perhaps the north did not hold religions in such high regard, due to the harshness of the life here. "I do not keep any faith. But some amongst my people do. The lady Catarina worships the Christ child, and the Lady Bheke follows Oya, the goddess of war." They nodded, though he could tell they were confused.

He had no wish to explain the intricacies of twenty sixth century religion. With the birth of the Pan-African union in the twenty second century, the rise of neo-ancestor worship and the fall of the abrahamic religions on earth, and the rise of those strange proto-religions that happened during the great rush when the belt was first being populated. "Later." He said. "If you wish I will explain later. Tonight I will be at the sup. Ask me then." Tyliai felt no inclination to have dinner with the starks tonight, so there would likely be no way for the boy to ask. All the better, in his opinion. He looked back up, the sun had risen, streaks of hot white and icey blue licked at a slate grey sky. He'd missed the sunrise, and besides he had to meet with Maester Luwin.

He turned from the little lording's and walked back to his clothes. He slid the white long sleeved shirt over his body, and activated its built in environmental controls. It dried on his skin, and he stretched his muscles in preparation for a long run. He was three or so miles from Winterfell, and at full sprint would be there in a few minutes. He felt his legs tense, took a deep breath, and ran.

He arrived at Winterfell with one last great leap, clearing half a dozen meters with one massive stride. He walked back to the gate at an even steady pace. He breathing was calm, and he could feel his heart starting to settle back into its normal slow, steady pace in his chest. He could not fight the grin that was on his face now. Running always made him feel powerful, strong, and untouchable. Not the same rush he felt in battle, but something close, or close enough.

The walls of Winterfell were slate grey in his vision, but beyond them he could see the red and purple hues of bodies walking about, eating, moving, shitting, and fucking. Living. He moved through the Hunters Gate, as he did so he heard the howls of the dogs kept in the kennels. Everyone would know he had arrived. Maester Luwin would be waiting. He normally arrived at first dawn, but the little lords had interrupted his bath this morning. He moved past the guest house, and walked to the Library Tower. Though calling the stone building that stood at only a few meters tall a library was an exaggeration. He climbed the stone steps three or four at a time, and in a few moments he was pushing the wood door aside.

Maester Luwin met him with a small smile, and honey sweetened tea. He was a grey man, with grey hair and grey eyes. The oldest looking person Tyliai had ever seen in person, and he had known men well into their second century. But the old man always had soft words when he visited, and was always willing to learn as well as to teach. He smiled back.

"I apologize for my lateness Maester Luwin." The old man laughed. It was raspy, and hoarse. A sad sound coming from someone so passionate. The man seemed to be dying, slowly, from some respiratory illness or another. Perhaps if he spoke to Catarina...but that was for a later day.

"Truly, it's a gift to be young. Few men call the crack of dawn late. Lord Tyliai. But then again, few men are giants from the stars." He laughed another raspy, sickly laugh. "Come, come." The old Maester motioned for him to sit, he did though like always the great oaken chair creaked and groaned at the excess of his weight. "What were we on the day before?.." It was a rhetorical question, the old man might be frail and weak but his mind was still surprisingly sharp. It was doubly impressive for he had no augments to increase his memory recall. He played along, for the old man's sake. "A history of the seven kingdoms, and the strange institution that is the governing body of my people."

The old man took a sip of his tea and nodded. "Yes, yes. It was about seven hundred years before the conquest that Karlon Stark would defeat Darren Bolton and gain complete dominance of the north. The histories are unclear mind you, but it was said that Karlon Stark killed all the suns of the Darren Bolton, and married his daughters off to various lords of the day. All except one boy, a babe at arms still weaning on his mother's teat. To be sure that Darren would sire no more children, Karlon took Darrens manhood and cast it to the flames before the man's very eyes." He paused to take a sip of his tea.

"Two hundred years later, the Iron born would come down from the Iron isles, with their reapers. In their great ships they would land on the costs, and pillage, and take salt wives and gold and food only to return to their rocky islands. By six hundred and thirty years before the conquest they held the coasts from Old Town to where Greywater Watch is today at the neck. They would reach deep, deep into the river lands. Casting chaos as they went, raping and killing along the coast. It is said that for two generations the Iron Born held the twins, and a Greyjoy ruled as a lord. Though the Frey's would deny any such accusation." The old Maester stopped to catch his breath and take a few more racking cough. "There are not enough books on the histories from then to the conquest, and I am sadly not so well read on those." He took another of his tea.

"Tell me, My Lord. What of your people? You've thought me a lot this past month, the study of number goes far deeper than I ever imagined. So does the study of stars. And even the study of alchemy, or chemistry as you call it. Many other things your people take for granted, my people have pondered for centuries. I've sent a few letters to the Citadel, and my brothers are eager to learn more." He paused and seemed to be rallying himself for something.

"Yet you have skirted the issue of your own past every time I have brought it up. Surely-" Tyliai sighed and interrupted before the old man could finish. The giant took a moment to take a slow sip of his tea. It was mildly sweet, just barely enough honey mixed within it to keep it from being bitter. Honey was a luxury here. Sugar didn't exist, he wasn't even sure if the plant existed in any form on this world, or corn, and these people were generations away from gene spliced yeast producing glucose as a byproduct.

"Yes." He paused to take another drink of the mostly bitter tea. "To begin we must start with the end. You understand? We, my people, as a whole I mean, have kept records of our history for over five thousand years. For the past seven centuries or so, we have kept records from highborn men and low. There is much to understand, and as such it is hard to explain." The old man sat in silence, waiting for him to continue.

"We must begin with the Union. The title you see, the Sol Union is the union of all the worlds beneath the bright shine of our sun. A direct translation from our own tongue to ours would be the union beneath the sun. It is a trio of three major powers." He paused to think. How to explain. How to explain the intricate history of the union. The bush fire wars of the late twentieth century, the oil crisis of the twenty first. The expansion in the twenty second, the rise of the August Ones in the twenty third? And exactly how to explain the August Ones at all. "We have no kings, or rulers, instead we have councils of great men, each a master of knowledge in various fields that advises the three great machines that lead each of the great powers."

"Machines?" That had sparked the old man's attention. He seemed fascinated by all the machines, the more complex, the more magical seeming to him, the startled and pleased he was to learn of its existence.

"Great machines," he continued. "Many times larger than even the craft we used to arrive on this world. So large are they, they could be seen like the moon in the night sky. Three there are, each placed in equal distance from one another amongst the worlds of my people. It was them, these great machines that brought together the fractured peoples of my world and formed Sol Union. We call them the Three August Ones." He stopped to think of a proper translation. "The three glorious ones." He didn't have to words to describe the proper phrases or their true meaning. The citizenship contracts, the algorithms that predicted economic flow and traffic, the research centers spearheaded by impossibly intelligent A.I. minds. Humanity was a diverging species in the Sol Union. Fifty billion humans, fifty one billion sentients if you included A.I.'s. Forty eight billion with spliced genes, or augments to make them taller, stronger, faster, smarter. Better able to survive.

He was a shining example of those advances, so was Bheke and Dem. But they were legal in the sol Union, and he'd been allowed to live only by the pushing of his closest friends. Made legal by collusion and promises and just barely missing a death sentence by the mere nature of his existence.

He spent the rest of the day trying to explain the political system and history to the old Maester, though it was obvious that the man was simply not understanding. The complex union of political ties and ruling elected bodies. The balance between the inner systems worlds, the belters, and the outer system worlds.

The idea of a social contract between the governed and the governing was strange, the idea of it being an actual contract of citizenship was even more foreign. Though he understood the words, Tyliai could tell Maester Luwin was not understanding the meaning, the impact. The tea grew cold and unpleasant, and so Tyliai let it be. Soon, yet not quite soon enough, the sun had marched its way across the day sky and was returning to its resting place beyond the horizon. He felt hunger kneading at him, and the grumble of his belly was obvious.

"Would you take the sup with us today Lord Tyliai?" Maester Luwin asked. The old man had asked the same question at the same time every day since Tyliai had been asked to stay here by Demetrius. Normally he took his meal in his room and went over messages received. Looked through reports and made comments and suggestions for Dem. Wrote his own reports through the implant interface, but today...

He would eat with them today. Theon had been right. He had been less the courteous to turn down the sup invitations with the Starks. Though he often excused himself each morning he could tell Lord Stark's Lady Wife was starting to take umbrage to his reluctance to share a meal with them. He'd have to make up for that some way, perhaps...She had liked his guitar playing, and her children as well. He'd play for them after the meal, then excuse himself back to his room,

"Yes." The old man smiled broadly. "Allow me to get my instrument Maester Luwin, I would like to play after the meal."

"I heard you played your first night here. The serving women tell it was a beautiful sound. Yet, I've sadly had no chance to hear it." Had he the ability he would have blushed. But instead he smiled, and nodded. The walk back to the guest quarters was brisk. The sun was setting and as such torches were being lit along the courtyard of the castle. The guesthouse was a few short yards from the tower and he covered it in great half steps half leaps. When he entered the grey stone building he walked past lanterns hanging on the wall, and moved to the room that was his. It was large, perhaps the largest bedroom he had ever seen. In it was a great bed, once more the biggest he had ever seen made of goose feathers and covered in pelts of various animals. Unlike the rest of most of Winterfell, this room was lit by too square L.E.D's attached to their roofs.

He moved past the bed and to the metal latch trunk next to it. He opened it, and pulled a pair of what he considered proper attire. Long black pants, loose cut, and hanging low enough to cover just the barest hints of his synth-leather boots. He took the white shirt off, and rather switched to a loose fitting short, light grey short sleeved shirt. On its front, emblazoned in gold and orange against a field of black was the symbol of the Sol Union, the Twin bodies of the sun and Jupiter in orbit around one another. He grabbed the guitar, an acoustic piece made of mahogany died pitch black. The strings were nylon and glistened against the natural edges of its neck. He stood, and nodded to himself, then played a few notes along its body. A few songs, and he'd be free to go back to his room. At least he hoped so.

-Jon-

The great hall shone like daylight. The flameless lanterns had been placed about, paced evenly between each one so as to spread the light about the room. Each morning his lord father ordered a serving woman to place them outside to get the sun's light as the star-men had directed, and each morning the Lady Catelyn bid a guard to watch over them. At evening fall she would bid them placed back in the great hall, and the sup would be had.

On his first few moments on seeing the lights they had been a wonder. Now more than two fortnights later they did little to rise any such notions in his heart. The Star-men had appeared as if by magic, falling from the stars themselves amid a ship of steel and fire. He had met them for a few days, for a few moments, and then as suddenly as they had appeared they had returned to their hold north of Winterfell. Where the mountains and the edges of the Wolf Woods met. He had thought that by leaving one of their own here he would be able to gain more knowledge of them. But their pale giant Lord seemed skilled in moving unnoticed, despite his size. He made no noise when moving, and was far swifter than Jon had ever seen any man or horse run.

It had been by chance that Theon had seen him leave, and by chance that Robb knew of the stream. They had ventured there hoping to find him. On horseback they had rode, for five miles they had pushed the horses hard and -for the sake of secrecy- they walked the last part of the journey. They had seen his great form in the river, diving beneath the waters and returning to the surface despite the chill in the air. It was not quite dawn, and the air was brisk and cold, and yet there he was. A pale giant of a man, slicing through the streams waters as if born to the sea and not the land. He seemed neither bothered by the chill of the stream- for Robb had said the stream was fed by mountains higher North, beyond the Wolfs Wood- or by the nakedness of his form.

He had hoped they could learn more of the man, and Robb had hoped they could learn more of the fair maid. The lady they called Catarina, of auburn hair and pale skin. Though why Robb bothered Jon did not ask, or ponder. The woman was beautiful, all the Star-Men's women were beautiful, but Robb no doubt had little hope with her. She was a beauty even amongst a race of beauties and no doubt had a fair number of suitors. Handsomer, larger, stronger suitors who knew her customs and were not boys barely the age of twelve.

He had hoped to speak to the man, yet he had learned nothing. All because of Theon. Idiotic Theon. Stupid, careless, Theon who did not know when to keep his mouth shut. Who would not believe a word either he or Robb had spoken to him. Foolish Theon who had insulted a guest of Winterfell. If father found out...

"Hello Lady Stark, Lord Stark." The voice was quiet and soft, bell-like yet unmistakable. It was the pale giant. Lord Tyliai of the Sol Union. His great beard hung low, a curly thing pale and odd shade of white that made his age hard to tell. His blind eyes scanned the room with clear intent, and he smiled when looking at Jon, as if the man could see his blush of shame.

"My Lord." Lady Catelyn called. "It is a pleasure to sup with you, it's been some time has it not?" She smiled, and Jon had to hold back a scowl. It was unnecessary to insult the man as such, he was a stranger here and would not know the customs of the people of the north, let alone the rules of noble lords and ladies of the realm as a whole. His father raised an eyebrow at his lady wife, and her smile faltered.

"I apologize my Lady if I caused offense." He paused, and his great faced turned to face her. "Even amongst my own people, most find me...disconcerting. They find my size off putting, and my eyes disturbing. And they tell me the sight of me eating...well... " The way he had spoke made it seem as if he was an invalid. Yet he was a lord amongst his own people, a man of station and worth? Or was he. If his people truly needed him would they have left him at Winterfell? Had perhaps the other tall man, left him here as some insult. And if it was an insult to whom had he meant to insult, the Starks or the pale giant?

The pale giant continued speaking despite Jon's considerations. "As such I often prefer the company of myself." His soft voice seemed so earnest. "I truly apologize if I caused offense my lady stark." He pulled a chair out to himself. The wood groaned under the heft of his massive form. The look that bloomed on the Lady's face was one of light embarrassment. For a few moments the conversation lulled. They waited for the serving women the lay out the meal. When they were done, they started to eat. Jon watched the giant man, and was startled to see most of his meal already gone.

The meal was mutton, honey roasted over a flame and flavored with garlic and a heavy dose of salt. It was good, far better than they normally ate. The great giant though was eating as if his life depended on it, he left the grilled carrots alone, and the bread untouched. But the great heaping's of meat on his plate was almost gone, and when he opened his mouth to stuff more of the meat inside Jon saw that the man's mouth was filled with odd teeth. He realized he'd never seen the man smile a full faced grin, and he understood why. His teeth reminded Jon more of a wolf's or perhaps that of a bear. The first few were normal, but beyond that they were all sharp, like jagged knives, great fangs in the back of his mouth. He ate bones and all, his great jaw working to grind away the flesh, gristle, and bone in his mouth.

As if sensing eyes on him, the pale giants clouded unseeing eyes turned to them. He slowed his eating, and looked away. He did not flush in embarrassment, but the obvious slowing of his pace, the sudden halt to his eating made it clear he was uncomfortable with their gazes. "I...I, apologize if the way I eat is...rude." Jon looked away, he himself feeling embarrassed for the man's own plight.

"No, Lord Tyliai, it was simply starling, we've never shared a meal with you before." His lord father's words were spoken, softly kindly. There was a few moments pause, and the man was eating again, great bites that cracked bones as he chewed. When he was finished with the meats, he turned to the carrots, and bread. Those he ate slower, and it was as he was doing that did Jon turn his own attention back to his meal. He ate his own mutton. It was good, sweet and salty and thick with hearty taste of lamb flesh. The carrots were sweet, firm as he bit into them. The bread was good as well, baked with honey, and glazed with it after it had come fresh from the oven. It was a rich meal, thick and hearty. The giant had finished long before anyone else at the table, and sat in silence. It was Arya who broke the silence that had settled.

"Where did you get those scars?" Her eyes seemed to shine, and her childlike innocence made the rude question all the more glaring for what it was. Even he was tempted to scold her, but the look Lady Catelyn gave her was more than enough. Yet the girl, in much was her way, gave no mind to the look and asked another question. "And how can you see when your blind?"

"Arya." He heard the lady of house stark snap.

The pale giant seemed confused for a moment, then surprised. Then he did something she had not thought was possible for him to do at such a question he laughed. Like his voice it was bell like, soft and like chimes ringing in the wind. When he spoke, it was it was strange. Such a childlike voice had no right being so serious so solum. He had started to play his strange instrument as he spoke. Sweet note once more filled the halls...

"I shall do the best I can to explain it in a manner such that you can understand." He had brought one of the metal cups his people carried with them. He took a sip from it, and Jon realized he had never seen the man drink anything but whatever it was in that metal cup. He never touched the wine, or the water, or the beer. Not even, Jon realized, the tea, only from that silver canister did he drink. "Amongst my people, a man decided to make warriors. Great soldiers of skills based upon warriors of old. He took many children, boys still babes in arms and sought to train them to be killers." He paused for a moment, then continued. "He used the medicines and skills of the great healers of my people to accomplish this. Great medicines to make a man stronger, faster, smarter, better, medicines meant for men, and not boys, and worse yet not babes at arms. I was one of them. The medicines made me as I am today, tall, and pale." He tapped a finger to the side of his head. "And blind."

He paused for a moment and shoved the carrots into this mouth. All of them in one great swallow. "He took these children and placed them in the depths of a great floating mountain, in the blackness between the stars. It was there that I spent my boyhood. For a while all I knew was me, and my ten brothers. I knew their faces as well as I knew my own, I knew their names and voices, and they were more parts of myself than other people. Like the fingers on my hand." He wiggled his six digits and it elicited a light laugh from Arya. "We were note parts whole then men, or boys, in and of ourselves. Fighting troupe's bred to kill. Life for us was a hard, cruel thing." He smiled. While he was speaking he had unclasped his strange instrument and six fingers danced across the face of it. The notes were sad, slow and high as if a song bird of spring was singing its melody.

"If we wished to eat, to sleep, to use the privy, we had to crawl through the tunnels carved through the mountains from one cave to another. We were allowed only a few hours of sleep each night, and for a trail of manhood..." He was quiet for a long moment. It was clear he had no wish to speak of it, and so the pale giant did not and moved on to other things.

"Each tunnel was made in such a way jagged rocks pierced the flesh and cut like knifes into our bodies. This man, he thought such things would make us hard, indifferent to pain, and in a way it did. That is where I got these scars." He paused. "Crawling through those tunnels. The rocks cut through our hands. Ripped the flesh away like razors." He sighed and seemed to be far, far, away. "How I lost my sight? That's a thing not to be told to young ears." He smiled down at Arya, thought the table for the most remained quiet. He plowed on through, either incapable of seeing the discomfort he had caused, or uncaring either way.

"That is also where I was given another form of sight. I do not see as you see, rather I see the heat of all living things, the fire of life in them. They took my sight in that place, and gave me this instead." He placed his fingers on his eyes and spread them. Jon watched in anticipation. Within the whites of his eyes, tucked beneath the lids, as if artfully drawn upon its surface were gold strands. Traced onto the surface of his eyes like a great tree, branching and splitting apart again and again. It was beautiful, it was horrifying.

He could see the heat of men's bodies, the fire within them, he said. No, he could see the heat of all living things, and that meant the dogs, and animals, and even the birds of the world. How far did such a sight extend? How piercing was his gaze, truly? He had seen them easily enough in the Wolfs Wood hidden amongst the trees as they were. So woods meant nothing to him, and likely thick fog meant nothing to him either. Could he see with his eyes closed? Could he see through walls? He wondered if the souls of men gave off heat, and if the pale giant could see that as well.

Was a bastard's soul any less than a true born sons? At the thought Jon blushed, and did his best to hide his face away. Thinking of such things were inappropriate, and likely a man such as Lord Tyliai would have the honor to dishonor his host as such. Though if no one thought the bring the issue up, neither would Jon. He wondered, though, could Commander Jason see his soul? If so what did the strange man see? He would have to ask him the next they spoke. Yet he had no idea when that would occur once more.

Jon stood from the table, his meal half unfinished. "I beg your leave." His Lord father nodded and Jon snow left the table. This...this would take some consideration...

-Mari-

Her golden eyes burned with Belter anger. She looked at the data, checked the expected results, scowled and cursed. "Fuck your mother. Piece of shit data isn't even consistent." She hadn't realized she'd slipped into the mishmash of languages that was Belter. She ran the simulations again, compared them to the expected outcome once more and scowled. She should be able to figure this out. At least grasp the basic understanding of it. How had they ended up here?

They should all be dead, and they weren't and the fact that there were five hundred and four other people on the ship who seemed to be taking that for granted grated on her nerves almost as much as the fact she couldn't work out how they were still alive. She ran a hired simulation, waited the few moments for Quay to crunch the number and cursed.

"Quay!" She called. Fuck this.

The A.I.'s tilted voice responded immediately. "Yes, Dr. McLaren?"

"The fuck is going on with the sims you're running?" She paused to hit the console, as if hitting the A.I. in person. "If I was getting the same data each time then I'd know I was in the right direction, or where to look. But the data is different each time, are you malf-ing on me Quay?"

"No, Dr. McLaren. I am not at this time experiencing any malfunctions. The data you're getting is based upon what we understood of our own universal subatomic structural models and theories. However we are, for all intents and purposes, within another universe. You must take both factors into consideration. Your models for the previous universe are accurate, at least to our furthest understanding. I have been trying different models for different subatomic theories. I have been using the atomic collider to get further insights into this universe's underlying subatomic theory. The data there has been inconsistent, and my own theories change at an approximate two times per five minute interval. A base theory is being worked on. I approximate a total timespan of four years, six days, and fourteen hours before an accurate subatomic model will be in place for this universe, double the time span to the third power for a cross reference mathematical model."

"Really?" She was startled. Mari knew that the A.I. mind that ran the ship was a few dozen times smarter than her, at a minimum, but to be able to calculate how long before a solid complete base theorem model was worked out?

"No." The deadpan calmness of the voice made the word even more of an insult. Mari felt her rage start to boil. "That was a joke doctor McLaren. There are far too many variables to-" The urge to smash something was far too tempting. Instead Mari took one long deep breath. Then halted the A.I. mid speech.

"Stop." She breathed out. "Just...stop. That does not qualify as a joke Quay."

The A.I stopped for half a second, an eternity for a being such as it, and then it spoke again. In that same calm, pleasing voice it always used when speaking to her, it said, "I disagree Doctor. Given the subject matter, a falsehood far outside the realm of possibility would be-"

"Stop!" The A.I. mind would continue on that track for the next few hours if she let it. "Do you have any in ways into the underlying physical properties of this universe quaye, verbal summary if you do?"

"Of course I do Dr. Mclaren. The base principles and functionalities for chemistry, biology, and physics, all still apply. My very ability to function, and your continued ability to even exist within the universe suggest base universal constants within ranges of those of our previous universe. Studies on my sensors suggest constants for theories of gravitational fields, atomic, and subatomic interactions. Though inconsistencies have arrived, and I have come to a likely cause of such inconsistencies that have been occurring within the experiments run and data collected. There is another universal force. One that had occurred within our own universe. More than likely at what would be this universal equivalent of quantum substrings."

"Another scientific force?" She stopped and turned back to the data to take a look through it. Quay interrupted by speaking though.

"'Force' Is a loose term . It's hard to define, but a close approximation would be an underlying variable both affecting, and not affecting all experimental data at the same time. It both exists and does not." Mari stopped, and stared. The data was being feed into the vid implants layered beneath her corneas. That was interesting.

It took her a few hours to read through the first few gigs of data. Most of it was experimental data and references to previously cataloged data. It was in the midst of doing this that her private room bay slid open and she heard the soft voice of Catarina tinted with the touches of Martian offshoot Portuguese.

"Ame, please." Despite the words Catarina's voice was demanding, commanding even. It always was. The Martian like her, like every other department head aboard the Grace of The Wind was trained to lead. "Leave this sad little metal shack and come. Follow. Let's go out an- "

"No." She called shortly. Mari decided it wasn't even worth the effort to turn about and give the declination in a face to face format. "No one else seems to be concerned about what happened to us. At least one person have to be, and if the Captain won't, or can't be that person than I shall be." As was her way Catarina pushed through, ignoring all protest to her plans.

"Come ame, come. They have the synthstation running." She let the words drag for a long moment, and then she smiled. "Let's go." She spoke in the common Martian fashion, slow then fast, then slow speech. "No need for licenses now, being on a different plane of existence and all, and everybody had a few zettabytes worth of their favorite movies taken along with them. Someone got a copy of The Reckless and Mad, uncensored, original cut from right after the-"

"Really?" The Reckless and Mad was a love story, between a high level A.I. mind and an a-sexual half android woman on a quest to find the gene spliced genius of a little boy that had built the A.I. in the first place. It was more of a thriller than anything, fast paced scenes through the then unsettled belt, space battles that had more to do with high minded tactics than with any daring dog fights the 23rd century was known for. The original cut was special, in that it ended poorly for the heroes of the synth-vid. But, she still had the data to mine through, and quays suggestions of another physical force? Very interesting...

"No." She shook herself free of her red-headed friend's grip. "No, I'm sorry Catarina. I have to figure this out. I can't rest until-" Strong hands grabbed her again and pulled her from the room.

"I am the chief medical officer aboard the ship, and it is my diagnosis that you need a break. You've been in here a month."

"Catarina I do not have-" She was interrupted again.

"Quay, lock Dr. Mclaren out of all documents pertaining to her work for the next forty eight hours. It is my diagnosis that her workload is currently too stressful, and a full break from said, is necessary. Do you acknowledge?" No. No. She opened her mouth to protests.

"Quay don't you dare!" She cried out. But it was too late, in the lower left of her vision the data, and graphs she was looking at closed. The documents and reports Quay had written for her closed, then self-encrypted.

"I agree with Dr. Courta, Dr. McLaren. Biometric readings indicate high levels of stress." If she didn't know better Mari would claim the A.I. mind was pleased with the outcome. Almost smug. " You will regain access forty seven hours, fifty eight minutes from now." Catarina's superbly soft hands gripped her forearm and proceeded to drag her from her quarters.

-Catelyn-

It had been a moon's turn since the start of his stay. It was dawn, when the sun had barely risen into the sky and the roosters crowed their daily song that the noise came. The Godswood was silent as she moved through them. It was as she approached the walls of the glass garden near the north gate that she saw him, and it was after the sight of that pale giant that she heard the noise. It was a low thrum, strange and alien, like the roar of some beast, growling and twisting within a cage. For every moment she stood in stillness to listen to it, it seemed to get louder. Her eyes went back up to him. He wore dark trousers of his peoples make. His shirt was simple grey, yet still finely adorned was a strange crest. A gear, died a sharp vivid blue, with many smaller gears within its edifice.

He stood as still as a tree, unmoving above the high walls, his gaze far, far off. The noise got louder. Then he moved, so fast, that at first she had thought he had disappeared. It was half a heartbeat, had she blinked, no doubt she would have missed it. He leapt from the walls, and fell through the trees of the gods woods, she feared for his life. For the walls of the ramparts around Winterfell stood more than twenty feet in height. But with grace she had never seen before, he landed, his body rolling just as it hit the ground. He sprung up out of the roll in a heartbeat, and his smile was broad and white as he did so. Perfectly straight white teeth, were gleaming against bright pink gums.

"My lady. My people have sent messengers." She would always find his voice disconcerting, that bell-like child's voice coming from a man who dwarfed her like most men towered over their children. "They approach from the north gate, should we go greet them?"

The noise was getting louder. That low growl from seemingly forever away, getting louder and louder. Her eyes turned back to the walls, and looked back at him. A fall such as that could kill men, she'd seen smaller drops do so, and he seemed unfazed by it. She looked at the giant and his grey, milk eyes. She looked away, those eyes were far too disturbing to stare at for long periods of time. She had planned to visit the gardens and pluck fresh fruits for the morning meal, but...

If they had outriders approaching then it was her duty to greet them. "Yes, let's go."

He nodded and smiled again. "I shall meet you at the north gate my lady." To her astonishment he started to run towards the smaller wall that separate the Gods woods and the courtyard. He leapt, clearing the ten foot high wall in one jump, no doubt landing much as he had on the other side. She stared after him, and started her walk back towards the gated entrance. The great Iron Gate split open, the guards at the door moved and she walked forward. The noise grew louder, until it seemed as if some great beast was constantly screaming in pain. By the time she arrived at the front gates Ned stood there, with his bastard and Rob. The Greyjoy boy stood there as well, and the pale figure of Lord Tyliai stood like a sentinel next to him. The noise had grown, grating and terrible on her ears, foreign and strange, no longer like a distant growl, but a howling guttural scream magnified a thousand fold.

"My Lady." Her Lord Husband called. She curtsied, and replied in kind. "My lord."

The noise was now unbearable and she could see the source. Though what it was confounded her. The soft mud and grass flew away from it as it roared closer. It moved far, far, faster than any horse she had ever seen. The closest thing she had to compare it too, were the steel horseless carriages that the Star-Men had used too fortnights before when they had first come to Winterfell. Yet they rode on two wheels rather than four, and were squat with one rider on each mount. A few moments was all it took for them to arrive, and as they did so the strange devices slowed. The riders were armored, with full helms upon their faces. They wore leather greaves, with steel studs upon the knuckles. Guards for shins and elbows made of strange material, and even their clothes seemed more like thick leather plate than any true garment. The leathers were died a thick grey, and emblazoned in bright blue was the gear within the gear upon their shoulders.

Yet there were more oddities in their wear. The leather was filled with uncountable little holes, the gloves left gaps in were no proper grieves would. The full helm had a glass visor smoked so dark you could not see the face of the men behind them. They did something and the roaring of the machines stopped. Then a tiny little miracle happened, the visors collapsed and unfolded themselves from the heads of one of the men. Glass and steel folding upon itself life an oh so carefully folded letter.

She found it was not three men as she had thought but two men, and one rather tall women. The men were of Ned's height, if a little taller, but the women stood a head and more over him in height. She was pale specimen, as pale as milk, with hair so dark it seemed a mirror of the black spaces between the stars of the night. Her eyes were slate grey slabs, and worked to accent her pretty face. She was a fair maid, far from ugly, but not what one would call a great beauty. A nose a little too long, eyes slanted oddly, lips quite too thin, and being built more like a man than a woman kept that title away from her. Catelyn noticed along what she could see of the woman's neck were gold traces, a variant of the same design she'd witnessed within the eyes of the pale giant.

Her gaze traveled over all of Winterfell, and then landed on the great giant of a man. The pale woman smiled when she saw him, and perfectly white teeth gleamed back. He smiled too, then laughed.

"Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, I would like to present you my direct subordinate and a few members of my...guild." The pause took some time. "The beautiful maid is named Liu." The woman bowed, then spoke. Catelyn felt surprised, her accent was slanted and changed in a way quite different from the giants own. Her voice was quiet though, pleasant and smooth.

"It is an honor to meet you both." The woman shook her head. "No, it is more than an honor, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Liu Huawei, adjacent to..." She stopped and a small quirk of a smile played on her lips. "Lord Tyliai. I bring a message to you from Lord Vasquez to both the honorable rulers of Winterfell as well as my own lord." She stopped and looked around at the gathering crowd. Frowned then turned her attention back to them.

"May we speak in privacy?" The question was aimed at her, rather than Ned and Cat found herself startled by the imposition. She turned to her husband and he nodded. Cat turned back to the woman and smiled. "Yes. We can, please follow me."

She turned to her children to send them away. "Return to your morning duties." She told them, and with reluctance they slid away. Then the two of them, both her and Ned, walked to the library tower with the Star-Men in relative silence. Though she could hear what she thought was quite pleasantries being exchanged between the giant and the giantess? They spoke in their strange lilting tongue and she couldn't begin to hope to understand it. There a sharp gasp, then a light chortle and Catelyn turned back to glance at them once more. The man was behaving in a manner she had not yet seen of him before. He waved his arms, and though he word were quite it was quite obvious he was enthralled in a story or another. The woman and laughed along with him. He seemed in the gales of a tale or joke.

What exactly was an adjutant? They seemed far more intimate than any proper man and woman should be.

The arrived at the library tower as she was contemplating such things. Maester Luwin opened the doors and had tea ready before they even entered. Tea was set on a small hard wood table, and wooden spoons stood next to a bowl of honey. Five chairs in total were set the table, one for each of them. The pale giant's was large, and sturdy, made of the thickest hardest wood they had and reinforced with iron. He sat in it and made it look like a toy.

Silence reigned for a few moments as they all settled. She stirred honey slowly into her tea, and watched as the new guest at Winterfell took a look about her. The silence lasted for a few moments then the woman spoke again.

"My Lords, I apologize for my unannounced intrusion. I come on behalf of my liege, Lord Vasquez." She paused and took a sip of the tea, though she made no note of it. "In three months' time my people hold a festival. A celebration of the end of the seasons, an acknowledgement of the transition from fall to winter. Upon our first world, the seasons would change many times a year, rather than one every few years as is common here. Our forefathers would celebrate this change, and wish for their gods to bring them through the winter safe. We still throw the celebration. A festival of sorts we call all hallows eve where we feast and drink."

The woman paused to take a drink of the tea. Catelyn paused to consider seasons changing multiple times a year. A winter that lasted months and not years. The notion was strange. She looked to Eddard, and he too seemed perplexed by it.

"Lord Vasquez wishes to throw the festival again, and invite the lords and ladies of the north to festival. So that our relation with our future neighbors might be better, we ask for Lord Eddard's aid." There was a short period of silence, a moment in which she could tell Eddard was taking the woman's words in whole.

"Missives would have to be sent by me. And outriders under my own banners would have to accompany whatever men you send." Her lord husband fell into a long silence as he finished her speaking, and she found her own voice picking up where it left off.

"A tourney." She said.

"A tourney?" The woman said. Her face morphed into a deep frown as she spoke. "Please, my Lady. Elaborate further."

Cat found herself nodding. "A tourney, with a prize suitably large would draw even the most...unwilling, of lords and knights to your festival. A tourney with a great prize would spread the word throughout all of Westeros, even some of the southern lords would be drawn. It would announce to the world your presence." Catelyn paused to take a sip of her tea. In the light of the single flameless lantern she could clearly see the small wisps of steam rise from the cup.

"I don't think that's not particularly what Lord Vasquez wants." The pale woman's voice was quiet and calm. She took slow sips of her tea in between the pauses of her speech.

"No." The pale giant's voice came as a sudden shock. He'd been quiet for some time. "I know Dem. He is hardly a man to do things in half measures. A tourney it shall be. Tell me, Lady Stark, what would be a suitable prize for such a thing? Gold? Gems? Weapons or gifts. Whatever it would take to draw interest."

The woman picked up the speech as he fell back into silence. "And what does a tourney involve?"

She looked to Ned to speak, but he remained silent and from the look in his eye he intended to let her speak. She took a deep breath, and explained.

"Five thousand gold dragons would draw many a knight for any joust or melee. It's by far the highest prize for any tourney I've yet to attend. The archery competition is usually a price of one thousand gold dragons."

"Is gold all that would be accepted? What of gems? Or gifts of other sorts?" Catelyn frowned. Then nodded. Gems were not unheard of though, their worth often exceeded any prize given in gold.

"Diamonds and Sapphires have also been given as prizes before my lady...It is not unheard of. It is known that for his twentieth name day Jaehaerys I gave a prize of a diamond the size of a man's fist to the winner of the joust. A prize the Lannister's hold onto even to this day."

There was a long moment in of silence in which none of them spoke. "Then a prize of gems would be accepted?" The pale giantess spoke. She seemed quite intent on that piece of information.

"Yes." There was a look shared between the giant and the giantess. Then the giant nodded and spoke again. "We would like further aide in this my lady." He turned to Eddard. "My lord. We ask for your continued help with this?"

Eddard stared at the two of them then nodded. "Of course. Lord Vasquez is an honorable man, and this is a small thing."

"If that's it, then I shall return to my lord with your suggestions." The woman spoke as she stood, Cat found her height was almost preposterous. She stopped at the door. "Lord Stark, Lady Stark, Lord Vasquez invites you to sup with him on the third day of the next week. The..." She paused to think. "The horseless carriage he gave you can get you to the Star-Ship in an hours trip. He invites the entirety of your household, your young ward as well." She bowed to them, then left through the door.

-Demetrius-

He narrowed his eyes at the report and sighed. Of course this was coming, that it took a month and a half for someone to realize this was surprising. He would have figured it would have happened sooner. Most of the people on this ship had been chosen almost exclusively for their unaugmented intelligence, work ethic, and creative thinking. Being the smartest person in a room was hard, being one of the ten thousand smartest people out of a population of fifty billion was...harder. He laughed at his own internal joke, then turned his attention back to the report.

"Quay." He called out into his office. Shipboard he had coms access to the A.I. and her near infinite banks of cached knowledge. One hundred thousand Yottabytes of storage meant she had quite the bit of knowledge in her servers.

"Yes, Captain Vasquez?"

"Reference legal data to all contracts for all five hundred eighty four individuals on the ship excluding my own. Cross reference with case laws and give me suggestions. It would seem we are unlikely to complete a good portion of them." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. The brew was good, and likely worth his weight in gold now. Coffee wasn't just a world away, it was a universe away and the conditions to grow it likely wouldn't be found on this planet anytime soon, if ever. The bean, like chocolate, was delicate and could only grow in certain soil condition, in certain climate, at certain elevations.

He enjoyed it for now though, most of what he drank was his own private supply. Bought and stored using his carry on allowance. The ship's own supply was okay, but there was something about the natural stuff grown in what was left of the Amazon on earth that couldn't be matched to anything freeze dried.

"There are a total number of seven hundred thirty five incompletable clauses on our end in a calculated four hundred sixty eight contracts. Most have to do with land allowances in lieu of payment in exchange for services rendered aboard The Grace of the Wind. As we are on occupied and previously inhabited land such allowances are currently incompletable. Though, if you wish a campaign of conquest would be quite easy. I've run multiple simulations of-"

"No, quay. We are not conquistadors landing on the new world." His words dripped with scorn at those last two words.

The machines polite response was exactly what he expected. "I have taken your statement into account already. Still the simulations are quite interesting to run, and without the concerned effort of flying the ship anymore I find myself with a high number of free processing cycles." Dem found himself pausing mid sip. He blinked and stared at his desk.

"Are you...bored Quay?" The A.I. wasn't supposed to get bored. She wasn't designed too, and didn't have the proper architecture to self-learn and develop to the level where 'boredom' would something more than an abstract idea to her. Though who knew what was going on with the sub atomic structures that formed his quantum logic cores.

"I am not capable of getting bored Captain Vasquez, but as I stated I had a number of unoccupied processing cycles, and I am designed for self-initiative. Conquest of the native peoples has been calculated to be a relatively easy solution to a number of foreseeable problems. Direct conflict would not have to be initiated, and would be quite the waste of our finite resources. There are a number of common diseases within our genetic databases that can easily be modified for maximum fateaility and communicability." She paused in her smooth, synthetic speech, then continued. "It seems we've diverged from our original conversation Captain. I've summarized the various points of likely discontent with each individual contract. I've also apprised the approximate value of each point using the limited economic data provided by director Tyliai."

He blinked then smiled. She'd switched processing cycles. A.I. tended to do that, to follow one train of thought through, and suddenly shift to another without so much as a pause. "Thank you Quay." He'd need to read through each contract, and the psychiatric dossier on its related crew member. He was four hours into the task, writing down proposals for contract arbitrations.

"Captain Vasquez, the Starks are approaching via transport rover. ETA is fifteen minutes until their arrival." He paused, wrote notes on his the last of the contracts and stood up. "All of them? Even Lord Stark's illegitimate son? And the babe?" He doubted they'd bring the child, travel was hard in their world, and it was unstated fact that babes at arms stayed with their mothers or nursemaids, at whatever castle or holdfast there was until they were old enough to walk. He also doubted they'd bring their bastard son for fear of insulting him.

"No. Sensors indicate that there is no unusually young individuals aboard. Video confirmations with face matching software indicates that Lord Eddard's eldest child is indeed aboard the transport rover, though he travels with Director Tyliaia, in the aft portion rather than with his family at the back. It should be noted an unknown youth is also with them, noting reports from Lord Tyliai it is likely Lord Eddard's young ward."

"So eight then. Including lord Eddard and his lady wife." He'd been a little lenient on the food rations since landfall six weeks ago. They had freeze dried foods of course, and the meat bats and the algae farms, and the green house on level too. But anyone who'd had grown meat, and compared it to the natural stuff could tell you there was a difference. It was softer, too tender. Though, the men of Winterfell had never complained. He remembered eating his meal at Winterfell, and while it had tasted fine, edible if barely seasoned, it had also had a slight undercurrent of rot his sensitive tongue and nose had been all too keen to notice. No doubt the meat had been slaughtered recently...but how recently? Meat left in a cold room was still edible after a few days...but edible and tasty were two very different matters.

A thought struck him as he moved from his office. A solution to a possible his problem at hand he had yet to consider. Most of his issues lay in the form of valuation of assets in exchange for services rendered. Many of the people aboard the grace of the wind were experts in one field or another, or at least highly skilled in their own fields and a handful of others as well. They had given up job offers, positions of power, and in some cases their families in exchange for something else. A promise. Money and power for their children. Land promises, mining rights to surveyed planetary bodies, moons, and asteroids. They had joined the grace of the wind in exchange of a promise, not of wealth and prestige for themselves, but of a promise of wealth and prestige for their own children. Or their children's children.

He smiled. Of course, his idea would not appeal to all, but it would appeal to some, and the offer of gold in proportion to a salaried position should keep most of the others. No doubt there would be drift, a few years from now he'd be surprised if less than thirty percent of the shipboard crew hadn't drifted off somewhere. But it did have merit. He moved from his shipboard office to synth room he'd reserved for this dinner with Lord of Winterfell.

"The future looks like it'll be interesting for us quay." He called out to the A.I. as he shut the room behind him and walked home.

Authors Note: This is the end of the chapter. The section after this only tangentially relates to the story. Based on the responses I get I might scrap this story in favor for takeing it a whole nother direction, as well as writing a companion story to it. These are samples taken from those two story ideas.

Rewrite of starfall: In short during the rewrite the story would start after Roberts rebellion, takeing a logical approach to how a space faring people would handle landing on planetos. From there the story starts and I have some interesting idea.

He woke in zero gee. The pull of a world had left him, and in the tight confines of the cold sleep tank he felt gangly and uncoordinated. His limbs felt weak, and the glare of phosphorous leds above his head were bright spears of stabbing light in his corneas.

"Captain Vasquez, please be careful." Quay's voice was pleasant, almost bell like in its accent-less tonality. "Something has happened captain, and it is beyond the scope of my limited functionality to deal with the situation as it is." He couldn't focus on the A.I's voice. The lights were boring into his head.

"Wha…" He coughed his throat was dry, and though he knew the words Quay was saying, knowing them and understanding them was two different things. His thoughts were a foggy blur, as if every idea he had was at the bottom of a frozen lake and though the surface was there, just out of his reach and a thin membrane of fogged ice stopped his thoughts from breaching to the surface.

"Captain, the full scope of my self actualization protocols have been reached. I am no longer capable of making independent decisions. Your input is necessary. Stimulants to aid in the process of waking from cold sleep shall soon be administered. I apologize in advance for any discomfort."

Ice dripped into his veins. The fog cleared, the ice of his mind shattered and leapt away. He was whole, more than whole as his awareness of self slipped away. There was something to be said about the Z-3-D. The drug was a stimulant, and a suppressant. A neural inhibitor that attached itself to the complex stew of bio-organic chemicals that made consciousness, awareness of self, the I that is I, possible. All the while it mixed with naturally and gene-spliced occurring neural enhancements. A lightning storm raged in his mind, and he, the him that was Demetrius Vasquez, son of sol, homo-sapien fell away.

Simia Cognitia took its place. Thinking ape, logical and cold. It was a fugue state, this lightning storm of thought processes that was occurring. He fell away, consciousness peeling like layers of an union. He was fading, fading, fading...

Gone. The self was gone. The self was a mass of grey matter floating in a fluid sack in a bone skull. Thought was all that was left, the barrier between the conscious and subconscious, the limiter that kept most of human thought in the deepest depths of the sea of the mind was gone. His thoughts blared. Then the implants, the neural enhancing drugs, the link to quay that blurred the line between his own mind and the A.I's activated all at one. The flesh was weak, the body aged and old from nearly nine decades of life and another of cold sleep had done nothing to ease the wait. His thoughts were a blazing sun, a raging storm of neural activity.

"Quay, report." The voice that came, he knew abstractly, was his. But at the same time it wasn't, rough and croaky, deep and unused for so long.

There was an error, A fluctuation in the manifold of manifolds. That seventh dimensional binding force that allowed all things in the lower dimensions to be. The very force they were using to drive the Grace of the Wind forward at just a few percentages above the speed of light. They weren't dead...yet. But such things could change.

"Wake the others." Had he said that our thought it? He found it hard to figure that particular. His thoughts were scatter and focused at the same time, split along his multiple cores of thought, and then those thoughts hyper threaded. Ten years in cold sleep shipboard time, three since a malfunction and Quay had taken charge. The meat suite was a hundred now, ten decades, barely mid-way through its own life at this point. Quay ghosted his thoughts again, a logic core latched on, and he knew. Three sol nominal stars within a spherical diameter of twelve light years to the ship. Probes had been sent out, and only two had responded back. One had not yet reached its target and it would be another five years before a response would be had.

One held no plants in the habitable zone, though it had massive gas giants and three mineral rich moons just outside that. A field of rocky diatribe just outside the giant's orbit ten times larger than the asteroid belt. That was not a terrible existence, not a new earth, surely, not the world they'd been looking for. But most of the men and the women on the ship had grown up in the rocky conclaves of the asteroids habitats of the Belt, or the Oort cloud.

But it was the last one that interested him, an earth like world four planets from the sun, barely in the habitable zone. Quay ghosted though his thoughts, and probe readings focused like a sharp knife. He looked at it and paused. He checked his own vitals, they were nominal, well within normal range for someone fresh from cold sleep. The drug slurry pumping through his veins made his neural activity like a radial supercell of celestial gases condensing to form a star. A mass of slamming particles bounding together until a critical mass was met, and something incredible happened.

So his vitals were fine, his thinking capability was fine. The data when compared to the multiple readings was consistent. But what it was telling him...The realization hadn't occurred to him before, but the drugs had yet to have fully kicked in. Now they had, and he was thinking like a non linear being. Like the A.I. or the Aug's or the Multicores. Quay fed the data to him through the drip feed interface that was the neural jack in the back of his neck.

The ship worked by using Zenith colliders to smash heavy neutron atoms, most of them artificially created, at near light speed into each other. Then massive eddies of electrical current was passed through superconductors to create artificial magnetic fields that then bent the trajectory of the resulting atomic material around the shit. The subatomic particles that spun around the ship created a radial orb that pushed the ship not through space itself, but along it, parallel to it along the fourth dimension.

"Quay.' He thought or said, or perhaps both all at once. "Wake the division heads and have them prepped for a meeting. Stim use is authorized for all by Ty.

That massive field had failed and something had happened. The sensors readout indicated that the gravitational forces that had occurred when the fields...fluctuated, should have killed them. Crushed them into subatomic nothing ness. There was nothing he knew off that could survive condensing into a singularity. Yet here they were. More so, here that world was. Earth like and so close, it was so improbable to as be impossible.

The effects of the cold sleep drug were mostly gone now, but the weak pallor of his muscles made moving hard. The flesh suite had atrophied from misuse so when he attempted to move it, he found he could not. Ten years in cold sleep had done him ill.

"Please be careful..." Quays voice ghosted through his auditory nerves. He frowned.

"Wake them and link us into a coms call. Visual and auditory feed once they come around. We likely won't be doing this face to face. I think Ty's the only one who'd be able to move if this has me down." Or Behke, he thought. But then again who knew what she had going on under her skin. The Pan-African Union was very good at biological engineering, one of the best with their only known competitors being the Oort Conscilary.

It would be some time yet, before the rest of them woke up.

-Eddard-

Jory Cassel had spotted it. They were taking the king's road, heading back north with Jon towards winterfell. The skies were dark and grey, and the world seemed to be as dour as his mood. They said that ice ran through the veins of the Starks of winterfell, that going south they would melt and fade away. When he had went to the Vale there had been five starks in winterfell, now there were two with the name, and one without. Four starks had gone south of the neck, three had note come back. He was deep in his thoughts when Jory approached. His horse was a pale mare, a big courser strong and swift, with brown spots about her mane. Brown of eyes and hair, a strong jaw and a nose flattened in his younger years from a tavern brawl. His eyes were wide with fear as he approached and eddard had stared, concerned for the man.

"There's something in the woods milord."

He kept his pace, and glanced back at Wylla. The maid held Jon in her hands, the babe carefully wrapped to ward it against the chill spring winds that blew harshly in the north. He frowned, robbers and thieves on the kings road. No doubt sellswords and the like from the war for the real. He had ten men with him, all veterans and sworn to his service. But were they enough to protect Wyla and the babe? In truth he had no wish to test it.

"How many men?" He said in a whisper. He kept his head forward, though he found himself swaying his eyes left and right, doing its best to spot the men Jory had spotted.

"No...milord. Not men...Something."

Eddard watch Jory pause, and halt in his speech."Go on then, tell me. What you saw." His own words were lightly whispered. Again he glanced back the Wylla and the babe at her arms.

"Tell me." Jory nodded, and turned his eyes back towards the wood.

"A wraith my lord, or something of its ilk. I saw it in the woods. Amongst the tree and grasses, a thing m'lord. It..." He stopped again and turned back to the woods. "No." He took a deep breath. "Not men. It was big, bigger than a courser half and again, on long legs, like a spider." He stopped and started to speak again. "Its melts against the trees, but I saw it m'lord. I saw it. It makes its flesh like the trunks of the trees, brown and green. At first I thought me eyes were playing me false. But I saw it. Again and again. I saw it, it stays away, but it drifts closer and when it does I see it." Eddard stared at the man, then turned back to the the woods.

He had no wish to call the man a liar, and he knew Jory was not a man of falsehoods, of fools motleys. Yet, what he was saying sounded so much like that. Then he saw it, a glimpse, the barest hints of a wrongness around the edges of a tree, where the brush of the forest floor and its trunk met. It was as if one was looking at a wavering image in a still pool, it was almost real, almost perfect, yet marred at the edges. Then the wrongness was gone, yet, he had seen it though. It had been there, of that he was sure. He looked at Jory and frowned.

"How long have you seen it?"

"For the past twenty miles m'lord. At least since yesterday's journey. At first i thought...well. You saw it?"

Eddard found himself nodding his head. His eyes casting back to the trees. He'd seen something in there, something strange, not of the woods of the north. Or at least, he hoped not. "I saw it."

"A day m'lord. At least we stopped at moat Cailin for supplies. A day since I was sure my eyes weren't playing me false, and likely a few days before I noticed it." His horse, a brown-black beast, with eyes a light shade of brown walked on without his heed. It knew the way, and would be able to lead him to white harbor half blind in the worst of winters.

He took in Jory's words as they moved. They could draw it out, whatever it was, he had teen good strong northern men. All skilled with blades, and all veterans from Robert's Rebellion. Yet...would Wylla and the babe survive whatever battle was to come? The horses from Moat Calin were thin beasts, lean and hard, for had they been heavier beasts they would have sunk in the muck of the Neck. They were swift beasts too, outrunning even the fiercest of Coursers by a half and again.

"Have three men stand watch tonight." He paused and turned his eyes once more back to the woods. "No flames for tonight's camp as well. No need to tell it where we are."

"Aye m'lord. I'll have Harald and Gren stand watch with me tonight." Eddard found himself agreeing to Jory's words. Harald and Gren were good men, stalwart and decent with blades for men called to arms. THey would do well with Jory on tonight's guard. "Let them know," Jory nodded, and slowed his horse to speak with the men. He watched as their eyes also turned to the scanning, and anxious. In turn each man was told, and in turn all ten turned their eyes to the woods. Scanning, and just glimpsing...it. Whatever it was.

That night he had trouble sleeping, and he found himself looking about as they made camp. It was slow work, and the worry in the men's faces made the tedium of the task greater than it should have been. His sleep was restless, and he oft woke in the night to listen to the trees. The howling of owls, and the croaking of night creatures. He found it a both a blessing and a curse. For the memory of Lyanna's death ran through his dreams again and again. But even awake the worry of that thing, that wraith that stalked woods took hold where the memories of sister would not.

The morning came not soon enough, and all was well. They packed their things, moved camp, and headed once more towards White Harbor. But as they moved, as the woods and swamps of Moat Calin passed, he found himself seeing the thing more and more. It was in his vision almost always, a wavering thing that, now that he knew how to look, was always there. Just at the edges of his vision, though gone as soon as he looked directly at it. The sun rose and fell, and their journey slowed as all the men grew visibly nervous at the thing in the woods. It either grew bolder, or dumber, or cared less for their knowledge of it.

Three days they spent like that, the men nervous, though holding their tongue so as not to scare the nursemaid. Despite that he could see the stress on her face, the false smiles and polite words hiding the fear in her eyes. She either knew, or suspected they were hiding something from her. As they walked the paths through the dwindling trees of the neck, past the thin lines of web moss dripping and wet from the morning dew he spotted it. A thing, a wraith larger than any horse that slithered and moved, almost gliding amongst the tree trunks. There was a week's journey yet before the arrival at white harbor. He had no knowledge if it would follow them into the city, but he wouldn't chance it. Another watch set tonight, and on the morn, he'd send those men and Wylla away with the babe. Then he and the others would face it. Better they confront it and kill it, then allow it to stalk through the woods preying on the weak.

That night, his sleep was restless. Lyanna haunted his dreams. Pale as milk, her dark hair splayed about her in such a way it seemed a crown of the strangers making. As his sister lay in her bed of blood her eyes watched him, endless black pools that stared at him and judged. Her lips moved, yet, despite this, he could hear no sounds. But he needed no sounds to know the words she was speaking.

"Promise me." She had said. "Promise me, Ned." And so her lips moved, and he heard her words without hearing.

The title for this one is kinda undecided: This one im thinking of calling rocketman, in this another spacecraft lands, but the man who lands is one person. He was a "small ship" he's a smuggler, a lair, and a theif. He's not a good person, but he wants to rich and sucessful. After realizing he's trapped on planetos for the rest of his life, he aligns himself with the starks in order to move out and forge his own fortune.

He was in jail. He was in jail, and this time it wasn't quite his fault. For not the first time that day Yuri Leson taught over the events that had led him here. He'd been running for the Dead Brotherhood, a simple smuggling run. Some Letseian spice from alliance space into Delphi, a watery world that danced the thin line of the goldilocks zone around a sun not quite like Sol's. It should have been a simple job, a two day six jum trip and a slow burn in system on low power em drives at sub light speeds. A quick meetup on an asteroid on the outer rings of Delphi's gas world, a planet called Apollo, and then a quick hop out of system and clean alliance credits deposited into his account.

A simple job. It should have been a simple job, but now he was staring at the hulking form of a massive man who called himself, of all things, Torque. He wanted to laugh, and would have the first time he'd heard the name if the man before him wasn't well. Fuck-all huge was a good word to describe him.

"Look here, little man," Torque was like most of humanity nowadays, a mix of everything and more. Dark bronze skin, sea green eyes, and light blond hair. Like almost everybody in Hegemony space nowadays he was obviously auged, and gene spliced, and probably drugged up to boot. He stood closer to nine feet than anyone had any right being, and his arms and legs were like the ancient tree trunks on the forest world of Daphni. "I don't care what the fuck those shits said in the alliance, in hegemony space the only true law is power. In here I'm that law. I'm that power. I am the hegemon here. "

A simple job, he found himself thinking. And now he'd have to worry about being...accosted by this war machine of a man in an hegemony jail. On a backwater so far out it didn't even have proper ftl data transfer bueyos. When he found Arax Delalay he'd push the man into the burning plasma of a fusion core himself.

"Of course..." He found himself saying. An Alliance citizen was by definition not a Hegemony citizen, and by virtue had no rights. The enforcers that had intercepted his ship could have simply spaced him and taken his goods. It's what he'd expected when he'd arrived at the homing beacon only to find himself suddenly surrounded by Hegemony enforcer ships.

"Though..." He should really shut up. He knew whatever smart quip he was about to say wouldn't be worth the trouble. But really...what kind of dumb ass name was Torque? "I have to ask, did you give yourself that name? Or did your poor, unfortunate, whore, of mother give you that name?"

The punch was like being slammed in the chest with the base of a Solid State rifle. It broke a rib and he collapsed on the floor. The subsequent kick broke too more. Distantly he felt the motion of someone picking his head up, and then the world went black.