Bran looked intently at the tower.
"Why can't I go up?" he asked.
"Not yet, Bran. You'll get there," said the raven.
Bran left the raven's memory and arrived in the white room. He went to the computer and saw he had reached level 11 with 3 skill points.
He could improve wind with one more point, or focus on water.
The boy shook his head. Water was useful, but he wanted to improve his wind skill a little.
In reality, water had served him as a distraction in the True North. He could only summon ships with it, and of course, he didn't know how to handle them. He had concentrated on wind because he liked wind magic more—flying was his favorite magic. The truth was, he preferred to fully improve wind magic rather than water magic.
He left the white room and returned to the place near the tree. He saw Meera sitting in the shade and approached her, standing beside her.
"Anything new?" she asked curiously.
"No, the tower, father, and Arthur Dayne—always the same," he said.
The girl raised an eyebrow.
"Do you want anything else?" she asked.
"At least see inside the tower. But no, you're not ready yet, Bran," he said, imitating the raven.
Meera laughed.
Bran thought it was the most charming laugh he had ever heard: soft, but infectious.
"At least you could tell me what's there, or show me the Dance of Dragons, or the Dark Fire Rebellion," he said.
"I don't think training is entertainment," she told him.
A scream pierced the air. Bran saw Rickon fall while facing two Children of the Forest, who attacked with inhuman speed.
Bran looked at his younger brother and noticed his strength and speed were far superior to his.
'Maybe because I chose magic instead of physical abilities like him,' the boy thought.
He felt Meera's head tilt and rest on his shoulder.
He grew nervous with the physical contact—but at the same time, he seemed to enjoy it.
"He's improved," Meera whispered in his ear.
The boy felt his skin crawl at her soft words, as if she didn't notice what her mere touch was doing to him.
"Yes," he whispered.
Rickon attacked again. The Children expected it, but he didn't hesitate for a second. He clashed his metal blade against their dragonglass weapons, though they didn't seem to have any trouble matching him in strength or speed.
Rickon realized they possessed as much physical strength as someone three times their size—without large muscles. In his opinion, the Children had innate magic that aided them.
He punched one of them with his fist, sending him flying backward. The other attacked, but Rickon evaded and threw his dagger into the air. The boy dodged, but Rickon's foot swept the ground, knocking him down.
Rickon returned to the white room, reaching level 8 with 2 skill points.
He heard applause and saw Hodor clapping enthusiastically.
"Hodor," said the half-giant. Rickon greeted him.
Osha approached and patted his head.
"Very well, little lord," she said.
"I'm not that small," he complained.
He glanced at Bran and raised an eyebrow at Meera's position. She noticed, blushed, and quickly moved away. Bran seemed annoyed.
Sansa looked at the white room. She had leveled up after healing several of Jon's men since her arrival on the shores of the slave cities. She already had many points from her healing centers in Valyria. Turning to the console, she saw she had reached level 18 with 7 skill points.
She walked out and looked at her bastard brother, who was observing Astapor from a distance.
Jon surveyed the city a few kilometers away and didn't understand what had happened. He had come to make a preemptive attack on the walls, but he saw smoke rising from the city.
"It's intact… but damaged at the same time," he muttered.
"An attack?" Aegon asked.
Jon noticed dozens of riders outside the city.
"Dothraki," Jon Connington said.
"We can't go back," Jon Snow added.
Connington nodded.
"First, it's wise to gather information, and introduce yourself as king of Volantis and Valyria," Aegon clarified.
Sansa nodded, and the King of Valyria prepared himself.
They heard loud screams as Jon's army approached—around eight hundred men, plus forty healers. They waited an hour on the outskirts, unable to force their way in without intelligence.
The gates of the slave city opened.
Jon watched as a squadron of Unsullied escorted two women and two men.
The first woman had Valyrian features: silver-blond hair, purple eyes, and a slim build. Jon noticed she resembled Rhaenerys, but without the classic Dornish skin tone.
The second woman was taller, with dark skin and hair, a round face, and golden eyes—a slave, like those Jon had seen in Volantis.
The first man appeared Northern, with light brown hair and dark eyes.
Finally, a white-haired, strong, handsome man with blue eyes approached.
"Barristan," Jon Connington whispered.
Jon nodded.
"If there's no doubt, the other is a traitor from the North—Jorah Mormont, the disgrace of House Mormont," Jon added.
"Good morning. I am Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Astapor. What brings you here?" Daenerys said.
'The Mad King's daughter,' Jon thought.
But his eyes were on Jorah.
The man met Jon's gaze, trying to contain his fury. Jon's eyes grew colder.
"Sir Jorah Mormont, in the slave cities… did you find your calling, my lord?" Jon asked ironically.
This time, Jorah looked at the ground.
"Excuse me, I'm the queen here," Daenerys clarified.
"And I am the King of Valyria, the King of Volantis, lands your so-called city has desecrated," Jon replied.
Daenerys looked confused until an advisor whispered in her ear.
Meanwhile, Jon Connington and Barristan exchanged greetings.
Jon and Barristan exchanged thinly veiled insults, each aware of the other's history. When Barristan noticed Aegon, he paled.
"It can't be," he muttered.
"Oh, old friend, but it can. Unlike you, I kept my oath," Connington reproached him.
Aegon, meanwhile, felt uncomfortable under Barristan's gaze.
Daenerys finished receiving advice from her advisors.
"My apologies. It seems the former masters of Astapor opted for a cowardly attack. The people affected are no longer here," she said.
Jon raised an eyebrow.
"You deny responsibility? Yet you crown yourself queen of Astapor?" he asked.
"What the old masters did is their responsibility. What I do is mine," Daenerys replied.
"Nice story, but I know the masters of Astapor, Yunaki, and Meeren work together. If one attacks, it is because the others allowed it. They may be three cities, but they are one kingdom," Jon said.
Daenerys nodded.
"I agree. And as you see, your majesty… they are not here," she told him.
Jon was about to continue when Aegon intervened.
"Clearly," he said.
Jon turned to look at him.
"Come on, don't be like that. Clearly Queen Daenerys did us a favor by eliminating some enemies. There's no reason to be angry," Aegon added.
Sansa nodded.
"It's true," she said with a smile.
Jon frowned. Daenerys smiled.
Seeing she had gained an ally, she turned to Aegon, finally noticing his appearance.
'Rhaegar? Not impossible…' she thought, recalling a vision of her brother in Qarth.
"Who are you?" she asked, looking at Aegon.
"I apologize… Aunt. I am Aegon Targaryen, heir to your brother Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell," he said.
Daenerys shook her head.
"Aegon and Rhaenerys died at King's Landing," she said.
"Yes, that's what we made people believe, but both Rhaenerys and I survived," he said.
Daenerys struggled to believe it.
She loses her crown if Aegon lives. Typical of the Targaryens, 'they only want power,' Jon thought.
But she calmed down. Jon saw a spark of hope in her eyes, which surprised him.
'Or maybe not,' he thought.
"I don't know what's going on, but we're recovering from a battle now. You're welcome as long as you don't cause trouble," she explained to Jon.
"Is he hurt?" Sansa asked, pointing to Barristan's wrist, which bore a small wound.
"Just a scratch, my lady," he said.
Sansa immediately healed him. The others watched as the wound disappeared.
A few days later, they had rested in Astapor.
Daenerys and Jon discussed possible alliances against the masters of Yunaki and Meeren, but reached no agreement. They clearly did not get along.
Sansa, however, noticed that Jon disliked Daenerys because of her father, while Daenerys seemed to dislike Jon for being a Stark.
Sansa, meanwhile, had established a healing tent and cured every wounded person without asking for anything in return. This earned her the queen's gratitude and softened her attitude toward Sansa.
Aegon acted as a bridge between Jon and Daenerys, though he had to intervene in more than five arguments.
Jorah Mormont warned the queen not to be overconfident. He disliked Jon for being Ned's son, but Jon silenced him with a sharp remark about northern slavers.
Barristan stayed out of the arguments but sighed in relief when things calmed down.
Ghost ignored everything, happily guarding Sansa, who rewarded him with large pieces of meat.
Sansa admired the dragons, about five feet tall each. If Arya were here, she would spend hours with them. The dragons were intelligent and seemed to sense nearby threats. One dragon, Rhaegal, had a special appreciation for Aegon.
"Princess," a man with an injured hand said as he entered the tent.
"Have a seat," Sansa told him. His Phoenix fluttered around. Sansa healed him. He was the thirteenth injured person she had treated that day. Despite the help of thirteen summoned healers, Sansa remained the best.
A woman arrived and said, "Santa, please teach me. I want to be your apprentice."
"Teach you? Healing?" Sansa asked.
She nodded. Sansa smiled.
"Okay, bring me those wet rags," she said. The girl spent the afternoon learning concoctions Sansa had learned in Volantis, taught earlier by Talisa.
Sansa returned to the white room and checked the computer.
{Congratulations on getting an acolyte!
As a reward, you have obtained a skill point and gained a level!
Name: Sansa Stark
Title: Saint
Skill Points: 10
Level: 19 (0/5600)
Health: 950/950
Mana: 1750/1750
Attributes: Low
Skills: Blessed Magic Level 5
Do you want to spend ten skill points to upgrade Blessed Magic to Level 5? Yes/No}
She pressed Yes.
{Blessed Magic Level: 5
Cost: 250 mana per spell
Summon Phoenix: Summons a phoenix, which heals everything around you.
Upgrade 1: The phoenix can attack enemies with fire.
Upgrade 2: The phoenix grants mana and health regeneration for five minutes.}
Sansa nodded and left the white room.
Arya cursed her luck, locked in her room.
Her father had no way of knowing she had helped in the battle.
'Nymeria sold me out because she had to howl,' she thought, annoyed.
'Who discovered the Freys' plan? Who warned them? Who was prepared to face them? But no, Arya is grounded, and that was nothing compared to mother,' she thought.
Her mother was furious, pulling at Arya's ears so hard she feared they might tear.
"I just wanted to help," she murmured.
Then she shook her head.
"I should have stayed with Jon. He lets me do what I want," she muttered, annoyed.
No more training. No more infiltrations.
'My punishment is to stay in this damn room and knit like a… Sansa,' she thought, annoyed.
She let out a deep sigh and heard a moan. Her direwolf watched her curiously.
"Don't look at me. This is your fault," Arya scolded.
The she-wolf smiled maliciously.
"Well, I'm a wolf. What did you expect? That I wouldn't howl? It's my nature," she said.
"Save your nature for when it's needed. I won't be able to leave for a week. Where would I go with Jon? Father will warn him, he'll punish me, and worst of all, Sansa will see everything," Arya clarified.
The she-wolf laughed.
"I hate you."
[T/N: This chapter has been re-edited, and it's actually better than what Patreon received back in October… two years ago. Its quality now matches the latest chapters on Patreon.
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