The question burned: Was magic a learned skill, accessible to anyone with the will to study it? Or was it a bloodright, locked within specific lineages and races?
If it was the former, Jon would be ecstatic.
Imagine—if he could uncover the underlying laws of magic, then with his "otherworldly" perspective and relentless ambition, he could do more than just cast a few spells. He could build an entire legion of battle-mages.
But if Qyburn was right—if magic was an inheritance of blood—then the game changed completely.
Take Jon himself. Yes, he had the System. But the powers the System unlocked—like the "Blood of the Dragon" trait—were likely dormant abilities belonging to Jon Snow (Stark) or Jon Targaryen.
Without that specific lineage, Qyburn's Wildfire would have reduced him to ash, System or no System.
Viewing it through the lens of Jon Targaryen, everything made sense.
The Targaryens came from Valyria. The Valyrians harnessed dragons. Dragons were creatures of fire made flesh. Therefore, the purest Valyrian bloodlines—like the Targaryens—carried an innate resistance to heat and flame.
Jon felt this theory was the most plausible. It was logically consistent.
If Qyburn's hypothesis held water, then what about the other half of his blood? What about the Stark side? Aside from an affinity with direwolves and warging, what other frozen surprises lay dormant in the blood of the First Men, waiting to be awakened?
Lost in this brainstorming session, Jon couldn't suppress a grin. He fell into a feverish daydream of future power.
Across the table, Qyburn watched his master closely. A flicker of confusion crossed the necromancer's dead eyes, quickly replaced by deep, calculating thought.
---
### Seeds Sown in the South
While Jon was fleeing King's Landing with his caravan, the messengers he had dispatched were finally reaching their destinations.
Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, received Jon's letter and fell into deep contemplation.
Barristan the Bold had spent years guarding the Usurper, Robert Baratheon. He was a man of immense strength and wisdom, and though he had little direct contact with Jon, he knew of him.
Jon's victory in the archery contest at the Hand's Tourney proved his skill. His intervention to save Ser Loras Tyrell from the Mountain's blade proved his character.
Based on these two facts, Barristan did not dismiss the warning out of hand. However, he questioned the source.
Barristan had lived through wars, rebellions, and decades of court intrigue. He knew that knowing a threat existed was one thing; verifying it was another.
Even without Jon's letter, Barristan was confident he could handle any assassin.
But Jon's warning implied the threat came from within the King's inner circle.
Jon had been careful. He hadn't named names. He didn't tell Barristan to cut down Lancel Lannister.
He needed Lancel to do his job—just enough to incapacitate Robert, not kill him. A vegetative or invalid King would save everyone: Cersei, Ned Stark, and Jon himself.
To ensure this delicate balance, Jon had sent a second letter, which arrived in the hands of Ser Loras Tyrell slightly later.
The content of this one was far more explosive:
> "Greetings, Ser Loras."
> "I write to you in confidence. By the time you read this, Lord Renly may be approaching grave danger."
> "If you truly wish to protect your friend and the interests of Highgarden, heed my words: Keep His Grace the King in the Stormlands for as long as possible."
> "Furthermore, for reasons I cannot commit to paper, I urge you to surround the King with reliable knights. And, if possible... ensure the King eats much, but drinks little. Just in case."
> — Jon Stark
Ser Loras read the letter in silence. After a long pause, he tossed the parchment into the fireplace, watching it curl into ash. Then, he turned back to the bed where Renly lay.
"What is it? Another love letter from some swooning maiden?" Renly teased.
"Hah. I can't help it if I'm irresistible," Loras quipped back.
With the banter over, a very different kind of wrestling match—one not suitable for public viewing—resumed, prompting the guards outside to discreetly move further down the hall.
---
### The Watcher on the Wall
Aside from these political maneuvers, another of Jon's schemes finally bore fruit.
This time, dark wings brought dark words—but welcome ones. A reply from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
Just as Jon had predicted, Jeor Mormont—the Old Bear—had accepted the Baron's proposal after only a brief hesitation.
Attached to the acceptance was a laundry list of supplies the Watch desperately needed: recruits, heavy woolens, fur cloaks, and food of every variety.
The Old Bear also hinted that weapons, tools, and even a smith would be greatly appreciated.
Reading this "shopping list," Jon didn't frown. He smiled.
He folded the letter and handed it to Qyburn, seeking his new advisor's perspective.
"Maester Qyburn, what are your thoughts? Specifically, regarding the necessity of the Night's Watch..."
Qyburn took the letter, processing the question.
"Master..."
"Call me Baron, or simply Jon," Jon interrupted, correcting the title that made his skin crawl.
"Very well. Since it is the Master's wish..." Qyburn nodded, his voice rasping.
The disgraced Maester then laid out his view.
The Night's Watch was absolutely necessary. It represented an ancient pact and a physical barrier.
According to records in the Hightower of Oldtown, the Wall was not just a marvel of engineering; it was a magical construct, imbued with forgotten power.
Even though the Maesters of the Citadel publicly worked to erase the influence of magic from the world, they unanimously upheld the legitimacy of the Watch and its vows. There was a reason for that contradiction.
However, to Qyburn, this was mostly sheep comforting themselves with fairy tales. Unless he could walk the snows beyond the Wall and see a White Walker or a wight with his own eyes, he remained a skeptic of the supernatural threat—though highly interested in the necromantic possibilities.
Jon looked at the man. He couldn't tell if Qyburn genuinely doubted the threat or if he was just itching for a chance to collect "samples" of the undead.
But there was plenty of time for that later. Jon turned his attention back to the list in his hand.