A Game of Thrones and Gacha 49 (Patreon)

“Lord Manderly, you are slow. Maybe you should ride less and run more,” Rohar called from the top of the open gate, which revealed tied-down Ironborn, lined up.

“Congratulations on your victory, Lord Rohar,” Manderly responded loudly. Rohar decided that it was an acceptable way to call while sidestepping whether he was a Targaryen or not.

Though, as Viserion grew stronger and stronger, that question was losing its importance, especially with his latest Ability once again boosting its growth.

As he led Lord Manderly and his forces inside, Rohar couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He didn’t expect much from the garrison, but the sight of a hundred men, each too busy getting drunk to pay proper attention to their surroundings, was even worse than he had expected.

The only benefit of handling it quickly, he had time to use his Building ability to repair some of the biggest problems, rebuild the towers, and fix the weak points on the walls. It still looked horrible, but it was even stronger against a siege.

Even the rewards had been lackluster.

[Feat Achieved! Capture Moat Cailin

+1x Silver Random Gacha ticket]

[Musk]

{Uncommon Trait: Your smell really good, a bit arousing even.}

At this point, he hardly needed any assistance seducing people.

"You took it," Manderly said once his soldiers were busy moving the Ironborn. "In one night. Alone."

"They were drunk and distracted. It wasn't even a real fight. At least Yunkai, I had to actually try,” he admitted with a sigh.

"Even so," Manderly shook his head. "The Ironborn held this castle for months."

“Because everyone else had more critical tasks. It’s how pests work.”

“What should we do with the Ironborn?”

Rohar shrugged. “I don’t know. With the wildling army, the Wall could use some reinforcement, and if they can be trusted to follow their vows, let them take it. If any among them had committed anything too bad, just execute them. Until the end of the battle, House Manderly will have command over Moat Cailin. But don’t expect it to continue after the battle.”

He nodded. “Expanding trade with Essos is a far bigger reward for my house than a castle that needs extensive repairs,” he admitted.

Sansa had been waiting in the back, letting the military handover proceed without interference. She had learned when to lead and when to let others work in Essos, which was more valuable than many lords realized.

“You’re going to leave,” she said.

"Yes, I need to fly north," Rohar told her quietly while Manderly organized his garrison. "There are things I need to check before we make our next move."

"Winterfell?" she asked immediately.

"First stop. Then Castle Black."

Her expression shifted at the mention of the Wall, worry mixed to lingering dread that the wildling reports had stirred. "Wildling army?"

“That’s a threat,” he admitted. “But, I don’t like the mention of an army of the dead. That’s dangerous,” he said.

“Be careful,” she said, squeezing his hand.

"I have magic and a dragon," he reminded her.

"Dragons can't protect you from everything."

He kissed her forehead. "I'll be back within a week. Hold Moat Cailin, coordinate with Manderly on mobilizing the other houses. By the time I return, I want ravens sent to every loyal house in the North."

"And the disloyal ones?"

"Let them wonder. Uncertainty is a weapon. Make sure that there are patrols,” he said. “A Bolton ambush would complicate things.”

She nodded, steel in her eyes.

However, remembering the issue, he didn’t leave immediately. He spends several minutes searching for an adult bear. Luckily, North had many of them, and he finally used his familiar ability on the largest one, and demanded him to stay near Sansa.

Just in case.

Then, he reached Winterfell, once again leaving Viserion at some distance, but exploring it, he found that it was still empty, with men killed and people scattered. Even the glass gardens that Sansa had described with such reverence were shattered.

He could see that the signs of battle, as well as deliberate destruction, his eyes too sharp to miss some of the details. The fires had been set from inside, not by an invading force. Deliberate destruction, probably strategic.

He guessed they were the result of the supposed retaking of the castle by the Boltons. He didn't linger on the damage. Winterfell could be rebuilt, especially with his magic. The loss of mementos was worse for Sansa, but it was more important.

Unfortunately, one way or another, he wasn’t able to find anything. Everything was months old, even his abilities helpless to solve.

It required capturing and interrogating Roose’s bastard, who was the one that was supposed to save Winterfell.

He once again used his Building ability to fix the worst issues without fixing the looks. Winterfell was a symbol; it would look better if Sansa were the one who officially repaired it.

Also, he had more urgent things to focus on.

Like a wildling army … possibly running away from an army of the dead.

&&&

Castle Black was not what he expected.

From the air, the Wall was exactly as impressive as the stories claimed. Seven hundred feet of ice stretching from horizon to horizon, catching the light in shades of blue and white that seemed almost alive.

What truly caught his attention was the mana embedded in its structure, almost like a bubble, pushing away … something. That something from the other side of the wall gave him a warning buzz, the kind he only felt in one place.

The Ruins of Valyria.

Triggering his Anathema trait was not good news.

Not at all.

It was enough to change his initial plan of scouting the other side of the wall with Viserion. He didn’t know what was there, but the last thing he needed was to alert whatever was at the other side.

It was why he landed Viserion ten miles south of Castle Black, in a sheltered valley where the dragon could rest alarming anyone, and used Momentum to cover the rest of the distance, slowing down to a more acceptable pace only when the castle was visible.

[Feat Achieved! Discover the Wall

+1x Gold Random Gacha ticket]

[Cardboard World]

{Uncommon Trait: You have complete and perfect control over your own strength and the power you exert, even with enough power to shatter a planet, you can still easily punch with low enough force to not hurt a foam brick.}

He hummed. It was a valuable trait, especially with magic.

The Watch spotted him only when he was at the gates, which was not encouraging. Their patrols were thin. Too thin.

"State your business," the lead ranger called.

"My name is Rohar. I'm an envoy representing Queen Daenerys Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark, Warden of the North. I'm here to meet the Lord Commander."

The names earned reactions from the guards. “Wait a moment,” one of them declared, and disappeared to report, while the other kept his crossbow pointed at him.

It was a sorry sight, but it was nothing compared to the view from inside.

Castle Black was a grim place, somehow looking worse than Winterfell, which had been burned down and was empty. It probably had something to do with the men wearing black, mostly tired, underfed, and hopeless.

Also, very few.

He had expected it to be bad, but this was even worse than he had expected. The ranger led him inside of a hall, where two men waited. One, he didn’t recognize. The other, he recognized from Sansa’s descriptions. Jon Snow. Even without that, he probably would have recognized him.

Dark hair, grey eyes, a long face that carried the same stubborn set as his half-sister's despite their different coloring. There was no doubt about his identity as a Stark.

“My lord. I’m Alliser Thorne, acting Lord Commander,” he said to the older man, his excitement clear. “The rangers informed me that you bring news from Queen Daenerys.”

He didn’t miss the glance Jon threw toward Thorne, as if he didn’t recognize the man.

That didn’t surprise Rohar. He recognized the name Thorne, one of the Targaryen loyalists that had been sent to the Wall because they refused to bend to knee to Robert. And, a glance at him, and the attitude of the others, confirmed the rest. Thorne was probably competent yet bitter, in a way being forced to serve two decades in a castle leaning against a huge wall of ice could.

“Yes. We have heard about the trouble here, and Queen Daenerys is committed to supporting the North and House Stark, which is the first Westeros house to declare their support,” he said.

That made Jon and Thorne look at each other, almost sheepish. Rohar could imagine what was happening. Jon’s father was the leading figure taking down the Targaryen Dynasty, meaning Thorne probably resented him.

“Sansa is back in the North. That’s good news,” Jon said, hesitant. Rohar noted that Thorne almost interrupted him out of reflex, but stopped. “She’s my half-sister,” he explained.

[Feat Achieved! Meet Jon ‘Snow’

+1x Gold Random Gacha ticket]

That surprised him. No tickets for Thorne was not a surprise. But a gold for just meeting Jon, and the way it mentioned Snow…

Something to be looked at.

“I know. She mentions you fondly,” he said. Jon looked confused, which didn’t surprise Rohar. Sansa mentioned Jon, including the guilt she felt treating him badly by following the guidance of Septa. “We can talk about it later, when we’re not facing an emergency. What’s the status?”

That made both of them gulp. “I know it’s hard to believe, but—“

“The army of the dead. Yeah, I believe it. No one builds a wall seven hundred feet tall just to keep a bunch of wildling away,” he said. He could also feel something dark and dirty on the other side of the wall, but he didn’t want to lead with that.

That made both of them sigh, no doubt glad that they didn’t have to try to convince him, which would have required a dangerous expedition.

“However, the more immediate threat is the wildlings,” Thorne started. “Their numbers are vast. Almost a hundred thousand, and all wildlings know how to use weapons. They are not an army, but…”

“You don’t have an army here as well.”

“We did our best, but Watch is neglected.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Rohar said. “It’s the fault of Robert and Aerys, and the mess with so-called five kings hardly helped.”

They paused. “May I ask about … the Queen?” he said.

“Yes, Daenerys Targaryen. The liberator,” he said. “She has already conquered two of the largest slaver cities and liberated all slaves. She already has an army, and their numbers are growing. Not to mention, the Starks are not the only house that realizes Targaryens represent the rightful rule,” he added.

He started with that, because getting Thorne’s goodwill was the easiest way to operate, especially since Jon seemed to be smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“And … rumors about the dragons?” he asked.

“Not rumors,” he said. “Viserion, Rhaegal, and Drogon. Three majestic displays of House Targaryen. All hatched by Queen Daenerys Targaryen."

"Dragons," Thorne repeated, awed. A man who had spent two decades probably wondering whether his loyalty had been a mistake, only to receive a sign. It was almost like a religious experience. "Real dragons?"

Jon spoke next, his voice quieter but more direct. "You mentioned Sansa."

"Sansa is alive, safe, and currently at Moat Cailin, which our forces have already liberated, and currently occupying with Lord Manderly. She’s safe.”

Something cracked in Jon's composure. Not much, a tightening of the jaw, a brightness in the eyes. "She's safe," he repeated.

Rohar could see that he wanted to ask more. “We can talk about personal matters later. First, I need to understand exactly what the problem is, and see what the best way is to protect the North and the rest of Westeros. Which problem is the more immediate one? Wildlings, or the dead.”

"The wildlings are the immediate problem," Jon said. “They are currently hesitating because they believe we have thousands of people guarding our castles, not that most of them are empty.”

“They are running away from the dead, right?” he asked.

“That’s what we believe, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous,” Thorne said.

Rohar nodded. “What’s the situation?”

“We are already dealing with some advance parties harrying us from the south, trying to split our forces. Worse, we have mutineers holed up in the North, and if wildlings find them and learn about our numbers, things would go from bad to worse,” Jon started.

Rohar could see that Thorne was not happy about it, either the interruption or the information, but his identity as a Targaryen supporter made Thorne stay silent.

“Alright, that looks like a priority, as much as catching the Wildlings in the South,” he said. “Ideally, we need to capture them and see if there’s a way to actually get some of them to our side.”

The reaction was exactly what he expected. Thorne exploded. "Absolutely not. They are monsters, cannibals, and savages. We've been fighting those savages for centuries. They raid, they steal, and they murder."

“So did Gregor Clegane, but people called him a knight,” Rohar countered.

That made Thorne pause. “That’s different.”

“The only difference is that he listened to the orders … somewhat. He’s not the only monster like that. I have killed half of the King’s Guards, and believe me, they were not any different from Wildlings.”

“They are wild animals. They can’t be controlled.”

Rohar sighed. “Look. You have to understand one thing, Thorne. Queen Daenerys is different. She actually cares about people. She saved slaves, ignoring the arguments of the slavers that without their authority, the cities would collapse. It didn’t. It thrived.”

“Wildlings aren’t slaves,” Thorne said.

“Actually, you would be surprised how many Wildlings had found their way to Slaver’s Bay as commodities. They were no different from any other slave, happy to be free, working productively and following laws.”

He focused on Thorne, because Jon seemed to be amenable to the idea already.

“They don’t bend the knee,” Thorne said, as if it were decisive.

“Daenerys doesn’t care about that. They can even stay independent as long as they follow some basic laws. No murder, no raiding, no rape.”

“They don’t do anything else,” Thorne argued.

Rohar sighed, touched the ground, which was already rock-solid. “Even here, the land is impossible to farm. It must be even worse on the other side of the wall. They have no option.”

“Jon,” Thorne said. “Tell him about the wildlings.”

Jon seemed to be unhappy about it, but he spoke. "I've lived with the wildlings. Some of them are as civilized as any smallfolk. Others are raiders and murderers who would slit your throat for your boots. These have no honor, and ignore their words once they are on the other side. Once they are here, they will be impossible to control."

“Not to mention, the brothers will not follow it,” Thorne said. “Watch has fought the wildlings for thousands of years. The idea of allying with them is abhorrent.”

Rohar sighed. Frankly, if it wasn’t for Jon giving him a suspiciously high ticket just for meeting, he was tempted to just beat them, repeat the same for the rest of the Watch, kill anyone that complained, and take over.

The Night’s Watch was worse than useless. Limited numbers, no discipline. Worse, they were clearly stubborn in a way that could only grow by living in an icy wasteland. He could explain to them how easily people could change once they were offered a combination of respect and guaranteed food.

He decided to go with something more direct than a speech.

"Pretty speeches won't convince the Watch," Thorne said, but his tone had lost its aggressive edge. "You'd need something more to make the brothers accept wildlings fighting alongside them. Follow me."

He declared that in a way he expected to be obeyed. They obeyed.

As he walked, he remembered Maester Aemon. “Is Maester Aemon still here?” he asked.

“Yes,” Thorne said.

“I want to meet with him if he’s amenable,” he said.

That made them look confused, but Thorne looked at Jon. “Go and see if Maester Aemon can accept visitors.”

Then, alone, Thorne looked at him. “My lord. I understand your inclination, but believe me, Wildlings are worse than you think.”

“Probably,” Rohar admitted. “The North is still going through a civil war, and the nearest castles belong to Karstarks and Umbers, with their armies still at the other side of the Neck. The Boltons sit between us and the rest of the North, making getting reinforcements impossible. Tell me what else we can do to stop the Wildlings. Or, worse, can we defend the wall if the dead decides to attack in a month?”

Thorne paused. “We failed—“

“No, you didn’t fail. Seven Kingdoms failed the watch,” Rohar said, then leaned forward. “Look, it’s clear that the Night’s Watch had long lost its real value, and needs to be changed. I promise that serving for Watch will once again be a source of pride. And, as one of the leaders that held the fort during its worst period, you’ll be the honored as the man who stymied the tide. Your name will be in the history books for serving with honor twice over, while men like Tywin and Robert will be vilified as incompetents.”

Rohar didn’t promise freedom or anything else. He could see Thorne just wanted something more than bitterness. Honor was a free currency.

Thorne had already looked as if he promised him a real castle. His loyalty was already secured, and he didn’t even see Viserion. Sometimes, Rohar had trouble understanding how the nobles thought.

Soon, however, Jon returned. “He’s awake, and ready to accept visitors. Please remember that he’s a frail old man.”

“Naturally,” Rohar said, though the moment he saw him, Rohar paused. Old and blind, maybe … but frail. Not in any way that mattered.

Rohar knelt beside the old man's chair and spoke softly. "Maester Aemon. My name is Rohar. I serve your grandniece, my Queen. Daenerys Targaryen."

[Feat Achieved! Meet Aemon Targaryen

+1x Silver Random Gacha ticket]

The old man's milky eyes widened, and his hand found Rohar's arm with surprising strength. "Daenerys," he whispered. "She is alive? Well?"

“She not only lives but thrives,” he said. “She already conquered Slaver’s Bay and freed the slaves. She is already hailed as the liberator.”

Aemon paused. “Jon, Thorne, give us a minute,” he said. For all his supposed fraility, the order was unmistakable, and both of them followed. Once they were alone, he whispered. “What about … rumors of dragons?” he whispered.

“True,” he said. Then, paused. “And, one of them is close enough, if you want to meet him. Viserion.”

Aemon’s hand trembled. “How?” he asked.

“Complicated enough that we can talk later,” he said. “For some reasons, I’m reluctant to bring him near the Wall, but if you’re feeling strong enough to ride for five miles, you can meet him as well.”

“You want to show him to Thorne and Jon,” Aemon said. “That way, they will listen to you.”

“Yes. Thorne and Jon are good men, but…”

“They are not ready to lead the Watch through such a crisis. I had hopes for Jon, but he’s too young. I understand.” Then, he paused. “Are we … family?” Aemon whispered.

“One way or another, we are,” Rohar responded. He could see that it was the whisper of an old man searching for kingship. And, technically, he was still the future husband of Aemon’s grandniece, qualifying him as family.

“I will travel,” he said as he stood up, trembling. Rohar touched, using magic to heal him somewhat. It wasn’t full treatment, but it was enough to make sure he could travel the distance.

“Maester Aemon—“ Thorne started.

“I will travel as well,” Aemon said, his tone even more commanding than before. “Sam, get a horse and follow me as well.” A fat man split from the rest, and attended Maester Aemon.

Their departure made the rest of the Watch shuffle, but no one said anything, which didn’t surprise Rohar. His observation made it clear that there were two main factions, one led by Jon, the other led by Thorne. And, Aemon was respected by everyone.

No one stupid enough to question when three men moved together.

They rode in silence, until they arrived at the valley in question. “Leave the horses here and follow me on foot,” he said, mostly because he didn’t want horses to spook and break their neck.

It would be a waste. Then, they took a turn, and saw Viserion.

The reactions were amusing.

Sam made a sound like a deflating wineskin and sat down heavily in the snow. Thorne stopped walking, his eyes wide with wonder. For a Targaryen loyalist, a dragon was the ultimate proof.

Jon stared with an expression that combined awe and fear … and something more.

Aemon couldn't see the dragon. But he could feel the heat, radiating across the snowy valley like a furnace. He could hear the deep, resonant breathing. “Viserion, come here,” he said. He didn’t need to, but it helped.

He approached Maester Aemon, and obediently presented his head. Aemon caressed its scales. "A dragon," Aemon whispered, tears tracking down his weathered cheeks. "After all these years. A dragon."

"His name is Viserion," Rohar said quietly. "And he's the reason you don't have to worry about wildlings acting out. Because if they try to act out, or leave the designated area, they will deal with him. You say Wildlings respect power. Well, Viserion is power."

Viserion preened at the compliments, his wings opening wide.

Thorne paused. “My lord. Are you … a dragon rider?” Rohar nodded. Thorne knelt immediately.

“Yes, though the official term is King Consort once we take over King’s Landing,” he said, dropping another bomb. He wanted to escalate that part slowly, but the combined threat of wildlings and the potential army of the dead meant it was worth the potential complications.

It helped that the North was even more weakened than the reports suggested; so much so that no one would go against Sansa marrying the same man as the Queen. On the contrary, they might actually accept.

However, soon, he communicated with a happy Viserion, only to learn something interesting. Viserion could smell similarities with Aemon and Daenerys … but he could smell the same familiarity in Jon.

He was also a Targaryen. Apparently.

Who knew Lord Stark had in him to seduce a Targaryen secretly?