As was customary for their diplomatic approach, Fili dispatched a raven ahead of the Vanguard to provide formal advance notice of their arrival.
Although the Old Bear, Jeor Mormont, canonically kept a highly intelligent, talking raven by his side, his bird was merely a uniquely trained mimic; it was entirely different from the ancient, supernaturally intelligent species that Fili commanded. The instantaneous, fluent message delivered by the Whent bird deeply unnerved the black brothers.
Amidst the increasingly tense, deeply paranoid atmosphere of the Night's Watch, the massive Harrenhal Vanguard marched upon Castle Black.
Because Roman was deeply paranoid about potential wildling ambushes near the Wall, the entire Whent force—both the heavy cavalry and the heavy infantry—marched fully armored. As they crested the final ridge, they looked like a terrifying, unstoppable tide of gleaming silver steel.
Standing on the wooden battlements of Castle Black, the ragged men of the Night's Watch whispered nervously among themselves.
"By the Gods, what exactly does House Whent want? Are they truly just here to drop off grain?"
"Look at the sheer amount of steel they wear! Could it be that the Riverlands intend to violently seize control of the Wall?"
"Use your head, you idiot!" a hardened ranger snapped. "It is freezing cold up here, and there is absolutely no gold to mine! What possible strategic point is there in conquering a block of ice? Do they just want to freeze their balls off fighting naked wildlings in the snow?"
The Old Bear entirely ignored the panicked gossip of his men; his stern, calculating gaze remained locked directly onto the massive, towering figure of Lord Roman Rivers.
Roman, however, was currently experiencing a deeply unexpected, internal crisis. The closer he rode toward the towering ice of the Wall, the more his physical body began to feel bizarrely uncoordinated. The suffocating pressure intensified with every single step his destrier took.
What is happening? Roman mentally gritted his teeth, feeling his blood boil. Is the ancient, foundational magic woven into the Wall actively reacting to my draconic presence?
Suppressing his profound physical discomfort, Roman gracefully dismounted and strode forward to meet the Lord Commander.
"Commander Mormont, it is a profound honor to finally meet you," Roman offered a respectful bow. "I am Roman Rivers. I stand before you on behalf of Lady Shella Whent to offer our continued, absolute logistical support to the Night's Watch."
The Old Bear looked at the towering young lord, noting that Roman's face was bizarrely pale and tense, and firmly shook his gauntleted hand.
"The honor is mine, Lord Rivers," Jeor rumbled. "Maester Aemon recently received a raven from the Citadel stating that Harrenhal had secured a terrifyingly powerful, highly promising young successor. Looking at your army, I presume they were speaking of you. Please, give my deepest regards to Lady Shella."
After the brief, formal exchange of pleasantries, Roman immediately ordered his men to begin unloading the massive supply train.
The Whent cargo this year was entirely different from standard noble donations. Not only was the sheer volume of grain physically doubled, but the quality of the goods had drastically transformed.
The Vanguard unloaded thousands of thick, heavily insulated winter cloaks, massive crates of complex, highly nutritious canned fruits and meats, and seemingly endless, heavy iron-bound chests filled with master-crafted steel tools, high-grade medicinal herbs, and massive bricks of pure coal.
"Lord Roman..." the Old Bear asked incredulously, picking up a flawless steel hunting knife. "Was all of this... produced locally within Harrenhal?"
Jeor Mormont had personally inventoried Harrenhal's relief supplies just a year ago. Never in the history of the Night's Watch had they received such an insanely extravagant haul. The Whents were casually unloading incredibly expensive, military-grade steel and pristine glass jars box after box, as if they were as cheap as dirt.
"The structural reality of Harrenhal has drastically evolved, Commander," Roman replied modestly. "We merely wish to share our new prosperity with the men who guard the realms of men."
"You have clearly governed your territory with terrifying efficiency, Lord Rivers," Jeor noted with deep respect.
"I would not presume to claim all the credit; I am simply a young man heavily supported by Lady Shella's wisdom," Roman smiled. "Now, if you are amenable, Lord Commander, I would greatly appreciate a formal tactical briefing regarding the current strategic situation of the Wall."
The Old Bear nodded grimly and immediately led Roman on a comprehensive tour of Castle Black and the primary defensive structures.
Simultaneously, Fili released her massive flock of magical ravens, ordering them to immediately begin aggressively patrolling the dense, frozen forests north of the Wall. Roman had strictly warned her to maintain absolute vigilance against any wildling raiding parties attempting to scale the ice while the Vanguard was vulnerable.
As Roman listened intently to the Old Bear's grim tactical assessment, he constantly looked up at the awe-inspiring, impossible height of the Great Wall.
It was hundreds of feet tall and impossibly wide. How in the name of the Seven can the Night's Watch, with their pathetically meager, starving forces, possibly defend this gargantuan behemoth?
Roman realized it was an absolute architectural miracle that the wildlings hadn't already breached the defenses and overrun the North. George R.R. Martin's architectural scale is truly magnificent, yet his canon manpower logistics are completely, ridiculously unbalanced.
This grim realization was exactly why Roman remained in a constant state of hyper-vigilance, aggressively militarizing Harrenhal. If the Wall fell, the Riverlands would be the next slaughterhouse.
At the end of the tour, Roman couldn't help but bluntly question the Commander.
"Lord Jeor, is it truly a viable tactical doctrine to rely solely on an underfunded, irregular penal colony to defend the most vital military structure in the known world? What happens if you encounter a truly massive, unified Northern threat?"
The Old Bear sighed heavily, fully aware of the pathetic, crippling weakness of the modern Night's Watch. But there was absolutely nothing he could do to force the Southern Kings to care.
"We stand our ground, Lord Roman. And we take it one frozen step at a time."
Eventually, Jeor led Roman into the massive, creaking counterweight elevator, ascending slowly to the absolute summit of the Great Wall.
As they rose higher into the freezing atmosphere, Roman's physical discomfort violently intensified into absolute agony.
Stepping off the elevator onto the highest, windswept precipice of the Wall, Roman gazed out into the True North. The Haunted Forest was a vast, terrifying expanse of white and black, with only a few jagged, frozen peaks visible in the distance.
Suddenly, Roman felt as if the very snow itself was shifting and flowing around him. The air grew suffocatingly dense, and he could vividly, physically feel an ancient, terrifyingly powerful gaze lock directly onto his soul.
Roman's draconic mind became violently confused, and he actually stumbled, temporarily losing his superhuman balance. The Old Bear, assuming the young lord was simply suffering from severe vertigo due to the sheer height, quickly stepped forward to physically support him.
But as Roman gasped for breath, his glowing blue eyes snapped open, and he finally pinpointed the exact source of his magical agony.
Across the impossibly vast expanse of the frozen North, a pair of ancient, inhuman, crystalline blue eyes met Roman's gaze.
The Night King.
The apocalyptic leader of the White Walkers was staring directly into Roman's soul. In that horrifying instant, the physical world entirely fell away, and both entities were violently violently violently dragged back into the metaphysical, misty dreamscape Roman had experienced the night he awakened.
It was exactly like his original transmigration vision. But this time, the Night King was not simply an observer. The ancient creature reached out with a hand of shattered ice, physically attempting to violently crush the radiant, burning dragon standing before him.
In that exact moment, the suppressed, apocalyptic draconic magic violently boiling within Roman's veins became entirely uncontrollable.
Roman violently snapped back to physical reality. He violently shoved the Old Bear backward.
"Do not come any closer!" Roman roared, his voice distorting into a terrifying, multi-layered draconic bellow. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!!"
Roman sprinted madly across the deserted, icy surface of the Wall, trying to put distance between himself and the mortal commander. Jeor, terrified the young lord was having a psychotic break and was about to throw himself off the seven-hundred-foot drop, drew his sword and rushed forward to tackle him.
But before Jeor could close the distance, a horrific, blinding explosion of pure, roaring White Flame and violently crackling blue lightning violently erupted directly out of Roman's physical body.
However, Roman retained just enough conscious control to prevent the apocalyptic energy from detonating downward. He knew with absolute certainty that if he unleashed the sheer kinetic force of his draconic magic directly onto the ice, the ancient magical foundations of the Wall would violently shatter long before the Night King ever arrived.
Screaming in agony, Roman violently thrust his hands upward, forcefully channeling the raging torrent of holy fire and lightning directly into the freezing sky, instantly violently igniting the atmosphere directly above the Great Wall.
It was late dusk, and the Northern sky had already darkened. The sudden, blindingly brilliant flash of pure white light and the deafening, concussive boom of thunder instantly caught the terrified attention of every single soul in Castle Black.
Down in the courtyard, the black brothers panicked, terrified the Wall itself was collapsing. But among the chaos, only Fili truly understood what was happening. She didn't feel fear; instead, she felt an overwhelming, ecstatic surge of ancient power.
As Roman's magical aura violently exploded, Fili's inherent connection to the natural world instantly amplified tenfold. As his designated Apostle, she was physically evolving in tandem with his magical ascension.
The violent burst of draconic energy atop the Wall lasted for only a dozen terrifying seconds. But the sheer, ambient heat radiating from the blast was so intensely absolute that the Old Bear and the Wall guards were left sweating profusely in their thick furs, the ice actively melting beneath their boots.
"Lord Roman! By the Seven, are you alright?!" Jeor gasped, sheathing his sword and rushing forward as the flames finally dissipated.
He reached out to help the gasping Roman up, but Roman weakly held up a smoking gauntlet to stop him.
"I saw them," Roman gritted out, his glowing eyes fixed entirely on the Northern horizon. "The White Walkers. They are actively gathering their strength in the deep North. Commander... we must aggressively prepare for war."
"The White Walkers?" Jeor retorted, his face pale with shock. "Lord Roman, that is impossible! They have been dead for eight thousand years! How could they possibly return now?"
Roman slowly pushed himself to his feet. He extended his right hand, and a small, perfectly controlled sphere of White Flame and blue lightning danced effortlessly across his palm.
"Commander," Roman said softly. "If an impossible, magical creature like me can suddenly appear and wield this power in Westeros... why is it so impossible for the ancient dead to break out of the Land of Always Winter?"
Seeing that the Old Bear still looked profoundly stunned, Roman pressed the historical logic. "Lord Jeor, have you forgotten? Barely a century and a half ago, massive dragons actively roamed the skies above the Seven Kingdoms. Magic is not a myth; it is a cycle."
Jeor Mormont wasn't ignorant; he knew the histories. The sacred vow of the Night's Watch explicitly demanded they guard the realms of men against all threats, including the White Walkers. But because the icy demons had been absent for millennia, the Watch's entire modern tactical focus had degraded into simply fighting starving wildlings.
Roman understood the deeper, canonical lore of Westeros: the existence of dragons and the ambient magic of the world were intrinsically, inextricably linked. When the Targaryen dragons died out, magic across the globe began to severely weaken, and the Northern winters became significantly harsher. Now that Roman (a true dragon) had arrived, the magical equilibrium was violently shifting.
Could it be that the Night King actively sensed my magical arrival and is accelerating his invasion timeline because of my presence? Roman pondered darkly.
However, Roman wasn't overly terrified of the Night King launching an immediate assault on Harrenhal. The ancient Wall was heavily enchanted with deeply woven warding magic, physically preventing the White Walkers and their wights from crossing the threshold.
As long as the Night King didn't somehow manage to magically hijack a flying dragon, the Wall would hold for years.
If the Seven Kingdoms were fully united, the White Walker threat honestly wasn't an unsolvable military problem; pure dragonglass, Valyrian steel, and concentrated fire could slaughter them.
The true, horrifying difficulty lay in the canonical fact that Westeros was destined to violently tear itself apart. Even with an apocalyptic, world-ending army marching on their borders, the psychotic, power-hungry lords of the South (like Cersei and Littlefinger) would absolutely choose to ignore the threat, actively backstabbing their allies just to line their own pockets and sit on a pointy iron chair.
They would refuse to acknowledge the threat until the dead were literally breaking down their doors.
Seeing Roman deep in grim thought, the Old Bear finally spoke, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of the revelation.
"We currently possess no physical evidence to prove the return of the White Walkers to the Iron Throne," Jeor stated grimly. "But I swear to you, Lord Roman, the Night's Watch will actively pivot our ranging missions to aggressively investigate this threat. Thank you for your profound warning, and for your miraculous support. House Whent shall forever remain a deeply honored friend to the Watch!"
Despite Roman's stubborn insistence that he was fine, the deeply shaken Commander forcibly escorted the young lord back to the elevator and down into Castle Black to rest.
During the descent, Jeor realized a profound, comforting truth. Although Roman's explosive flames and lightning were visually terrifying and possessed unimaginable destructive potential, when the young lord actively suppressed his killing intent, the lingering White Flame was completely harmless. It merely radiated a deeply comforting, pure warmth that didn't even singe Jeor's furs.
The moment Roman stepped into the muddy courtyard of Castle Black, Fili aggressively shoved past the Night's Watch guards and practically tackled him, desperately checking his armor for injuries.
Even after thoroughly verifying he was completely unharmed, the terrified girl refused to let go of his arm, deeply afraid that the terrifying magical aura she had sensed would harm him again.
Faced with a courtyard full of deeply unsettled, nervous black brothers, the Old Bear immediately ordered the cooks to prepare a massive feast, attempting to ease the tension in the name of the Seven Gods and hospitality.
The Whent soldiers, however, were completely relieved the moment they saw Roman stride out of the elevator completely unharmed. Having witnessed the apocalyptic power of his White Flame numerous times during the bandit purges, they were entirely unfazed by the magical display.
That night, the Vanguard was assigned to the heavily reinforced guest barracks within Castle Black. However, utilizing her standard excuse of "aggressively monitoring the Lord's physical health," Fili brazenly dragged her bedroll directly into Roman's private chambers.
"Fili," Roman sighed, sitting on the edge of his cot as he unbuckled his heavy steel gauntlets. "I highly suspect your true motivation for sleeping in my quarters is not entirely related to medical observation, is it?"
"Hehe," Fili giggled softly, puffing out her cheeks. "Well, Lord Roman, you certainly didn't order me to leave!"
Seeing the Apostle grinning foolishly at him from the floor, Roman shook his head affectionately and turned his attention back to the heavy parchment on his desk, continuing to draft his complex logistical report for Lady Shella.
Suddenly, Roman felt a pair of small, freezing hands gently grasp the sides of his head, slowly running through his thick black hair.
"Fili? What exactly are you doing?"
"Lord Roman..." Fili whispered, her voice laced with profound awe and slight confusion. "What are these two hard bumps growing out of the top of your skull?!"
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