Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Seven days and nights later...

Outside the Great Wall, deep in the Haunted Forest, a massive wolf with snow-white fur limped out of the trees, each step labored. The creature was immense—five meters in length and two meters tall at the shoulder. Even against the blanket of snow, it stood out like a ghost.

Clang!

The hurried ringing of a bell echoed from atop the Wall, a signal from the sentries.

"Every day, more wildlings enter the Wall. Security is getting worse," Cregan remarked, his voice filled with concern as he walked along the battlements. His face showed the strain of recent days.

Rhaegar, walking beside him, was resolute. "We must keep accepting them. The free folk govern themselves. If trouble arises, their tribal leaders must deal with it."

Ding-dong!

The bell tolled again, more urgently this time. Both men glanced up, and Rhaegar quickened his pace toward the watchtower. As soon as he reached it, his eyes caught sight of the enormous, snow-white wolf below.

"That's a direwolf—and it's white!?" Cregan exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock. It was the first time he'd ever seen a living embodiment of House Stark's sigil.

"There's someone on its back," Rhaegar said, his sharp eyesight catching the black-armored figure slumped across the wolf. Without hesitation, he turned and rushed down from the battlements.

When they reached the ground, they saw it clearly—the direwolf carried a rider, an Unsullied soldier clad in black armor. The Night's Watch hurriedly lowered the direwolf into the underground passage using a winch and a long ladder.

As the figure on the wolf's back slid to the ground and turned over, Rhaegar's heart froze.

"Grey Worm!?"

He rushed to the fallen warrior, disbelief and fear flooding his mind. Gently lifting the limp figure, he looked down at his trusted commander.

Shhhh!

The direwolf bared its teeth, growling low and menacing, poised to attack.

"Easy now. We mean no harm," Cregan said, approaching with his arms outstretched, trying to calm the beast.

The direwolf seemed to understand, its growl fading as it backed away warily, curling up in the corner. Its left hind leg was mangled, a large chunk of flesh missing, the wound festering. The bite marks were unmistakable—it had been injured by something far more deadly than the cold.

Cregan stood by, his breath heavy, shielding Rhaegar from danger.

"It's Grey Worm. He’s been attacked," Rhaegar muttered grimly as he inspected the wound. Grey Worm was deathly pale, his body rigid from cold and blood loss. A deep, penetrating wound marred his abdomen, and bite marks covered his limbs. He had clearly lost a significant amount of blood.

"Hold on, Grey Worm. I'll take you to the Maester," Rhaegar said, his voice thick with urgency as he lifted the commander in his arms and made his way back into Castle Black.

Grey Worm, the commander of 5,000 Unsullied and 3,000 Fearless, was one of Rhaegar’s most valuable and loyal assets. If not for the dire threat of the White Walkers, Rhaegar would never have risked sending him out on such a dangerous mission. But now, the worst had come to pass—Grey Worm was grievously injured, and those who had gone with him, including Robb, the small giant Porus, and the giant Nunu, were missing.

Kaboom!

Rhaegar kicked open the attic door of Castle Black’s library. "Tru, quickly, help me!" he called out in a low but commanding voice.

The attic was a clutter of alchemy tools and strange devices, the air thick with the pungent smells of potions and chemicals. A tall, rotund figure stood at an experimental table, carefully mixing a glowing green liquid.

"Be careful, Your Grace," Tru said in alarm, setting down the vial of green solution with care and wiping his hands on his grey Maester’s robe.

Rhaegar placed Grey Worm gently on the bed in the corner, his voice sharp with urgency. "Cut the nonsense, Tru—lives are at stake."

Tru looked slightly hurt but quickly set to work. He removed Grey Worm’s battered armor, his hands moving efficiently as he began the treatment. "Penetrating abdominal wound, but the object missed the vital organs... strange, though." He muttered to himself, then added, "There are many surface wounds. He’ll need a special solution to clean them."

Rhaegar stood by, watching as Tru worked with practiced skill. In no time, Grey Worm was wrapped in bandages, his body mummified in layers of cloth.

"The injuries are severe, especially the frostbite," Tru said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he took a deep breath. "But he's in excellent physical condition. He’ll pull through, I'm sure of it."

Rhaegar didn’t reply immediately. His gaze darkened, and suddenly, a black mist began to swirl from his right hand.

Ssssshhh...

From the mist, a flat, round serpent materialized, slithering onto Grey Worm’s bandaged body. The creature greedily absorbed the dark mist that enveloped him, its thin form coiling and shifting as it worked its magic.

Moments passed, and then—

"Cough, cough..."

Grey Worm coughed violently, a mouthful of foul blood spilling from his lips. His chest heaved as he sucked in a sharp breath of air.

"Are you all right?" Rhaegar asked, his voice filled with concern.

Grey Worm blinked, his eyes fluttering open. The moment he saw his king, emotions overwhelmed him, and tears welled up in his eyes. "The White Walkers... we encountered the White Walkers. Robb and the others... they got separated." His voice trembled as he recalled the harrowing ordeal.

They had been ambushed by an army of the dead, barely managing to fight their way out. But then a mounted White Walker appeared from the shadows, cold and arrogant, its ice-blue eyes filled with disdain for the living.

Grey Worm had seized an opening and fought the White Walker one-on-one, but his hardwood spear had been shattered into dust by the creature’s ice spear in a single blow. The next instant, the icy blade had pierced his abdomen, and the pain had overwhelmed him. When he awoke, the battlefield was silent and dark—Robb, the giants, and the rest were gone, leaving him unconscious and alone.

Fortunately, the direwolf had returned to the scene and, instead of devouring him, carried him to safety. He had barely survived.

"Your Grace," Grey Worm choked out, lowering his head in guilt, "Robb and the others have disappeared. What are we to do?" His voice broke, the weight of failure heavy on his shoulders.

"You focus on healing first," Rhaegar whispered, his tone soft yet commanding. He quietly summoned the power of the runes, pushing more energy into the serpent to speed up Grey Worm’s recovery.

Creak

The door swung open from outside, and a figure clad in green burst into the room.

Sniff, sniff...

The Child of the Forest’s nostrils flared slightly in surprise. “It’s the sacrificial power of the First Men... and the putrid stench of White Walkers.”

The small figure darted across the room, moving quickly to Grey Worm’s bedside, its bright green eyes scanning every detail. First, it spotted the serpent coiled around Grey Worm, its body exuding black mist, and a flicker of hatred crossed the Child’s face. Then, as it took in the sight of Grey Worm’s bandaged, mummy-like form, that hatred shifted to fear. It gingerly lifted Grey Worm’s scratched arm, inspecting it closely.

“Careful, he’s still injured,” Tru said, trying to nudge the Child of the Forest away.

The Child bared her teeth in a silent snarl, sending the plump Maester scrambling backward.

“Don’t scare him. He’s valuable,” Rhaegar said, grabbing the Child’s head and pushing it down gently while brushing aside her chestnut-colored hair.

This wasn’t an ordinary creature. Tru was skilled in alchemy and could create wildfire—a weapon more potent than oil, and more practical than a pumpkin bomb. It was invaluable for defending the Wall.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Tru nodded quickly, patting his head nervously while hugging his small, plump frame.

The Child’s gaze remained uneasy, his voice tense. “The White Walkers are here, aren’t they?”

The tension in the room thickened. The Child knew what it had smelled. Grey Worm’s wounds, particularly the bite marks, told the story—he had been attacked by a corpse bear, one of the terrifying creations of the White Walkers.

Rhaegar’s eyes darkened as he nodded. “Yes, the White Walkers are gathering an army outside the Wall, including their corpse bears.” The army of the dead was terrifying—no human force could stand against it for long. And with the dragons unwilling to cross the Wall, not yet acclimated to the freezing cold of the North, their strength was still uncertain. The enemy remained hidden in the shadows.

The Child of the Forest muttered, “If we want to defend the Wall, we have to go beyond it. If we find the Heart Tree in the lands beyond, the Greenseer will tell us how to defeat the White Walkers.”

“Aren’t you a Greenseer?” Rhaegar asked, frowning slightly.

The Child, with its brown skin, chestnut hair, and small stature, was a strange creature. Those with green eyes, like Terry, were typically the Greenseers of the tribe, gifted with the magical “Green Sight” that allowed them to see into the future.

“I am a Greenseer, but not the strongest,” the Child replied, its voice low and strained. “Only the most powerful Greenseer can see all—predict everything, including the weaknesses of the White Walkers.” The Child’s own powers, though impressive, were limited. Only the most gifted could match the threat of the undead.

Rhaegar fell silent, deep in thought. “My dragon can cross the Wall,” he said, “but the true strength of the White Walkers is still unknown.”

With Robb and the others still missing beyond the Wall, it was imperative to find a way to rescue them—and uncover more about the army of the dead. The Night King might still be dormant, but winter was coming fast. This might be their best chance.

“The White Walkers can raise the dead, but they themselves are not invincible,” the Child said eagerly, its green eyes glowing with hope. “If we can find the legendary Heart Tree and the strongest Greenseer, we can destroy them all.”

Rhaegar’s mind raced. He recalled the prophecies of Quaithe, the mysterious witch from Slaver’s Bay.

Two of her predictions had already proven accurate. The “dead dragon” likely referred to his second son, Aemon, though whether Aemon was alive or not remained unclear. Then there was the warning about the man with the wounded knee, which now seemed to suggest the dragons’ reluctance to cross the Wall—the magic protecting the Wall was strong, keeping both White Walkers and dragons at bay.

But the final prophecy, along with Vaegon the Dragonless’s last will, pointed East—to Asshai, the shadowed city. Quaithe had hinted that the solution to the White Walker threat lay there. Rhaegar trusted Quaithe’s cryptic wisdom more than the Child of the Forest’s wild claims. After all, the serpent by his side had once tricked him—but its abilities were beyond question.

“Rest and don’t think too much,” Rhaegar said softly to Grey Worm, withdrawing the serpent as he patted the commander’s shoulder. The Child of the Forest’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, waiting for an answer, but Rhaegar paid it no mind. Instead, he instructed Tru to keep a close watch over Grey Worm, then grabbed the Child by its curly brown hair and dragged it out of the room.

“The Wall must be defended, but on our terms,” Rhaegar muttered to himself as the door shut behind them.

...

Bay of Seals, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea

The Wall stretched thousands of miles from east to west, its easternmost edge jutting into the icy waters of the Bay of Seals. Along this colossal barrier, the Night’s Watch had built more than ten strongholds to defend against the threats of White Walkers and wildlings. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, guarding the eastern end, stood sentinel over the cold, unforgiving bay.

Splash!

Waves crashed against the shore, breaking on the ice drifting atop the frigid waters. A fleet of ships, bearing the green-and-white seahorse sigil of House Velaryon, docked at the stronghold. Thousands of soldiers disembarked with military precision, their boots crunching in the snow as they assembled.

Roar!

Above, a majestic red dragon, its scarlet scales shimmering in the winter sunlight, soared through the skies. A crown of fierce, horned crests circled its neck, and its massive wings beat furiously against the cold air as it patrolled the Wall. From the ground, it looked like a flash of red lightning cutting through the sky.

With a thundering rumble, the dragon descended, sending plumes of snow flying into the air as it landed.

“What’s the situation, Rhaenys?”

Corlys Velaryon, dressed in heavy cotton armor, stood calmly before the dragon. His gaze was sharp, but his posture was relaxed.

“Stay down, old girl,” Rhaenys Targaryen murmured to Meleys, the scarlet dragon, who shifted restlessly. “There aren’t many Night’s Watchmen here at Eastwatch, but no signs of wildlings attacking the city.”

Meleys, however, refused to cross the Wall. She sensed something beyond the frozen battlements that made her uneasy. Rhaenys understood her dragon’s reluctance.

“Don’t worry, the Night’s Watch aren’t that useless yet,” Corlys said with a reassuring smile. He took off his cloak and draped it over his wife’s shoulders.

Thanks to the Old King’s attention, the Night’s Watch had been granted large swaths of land and significant funding to repair their fortresses. Viserys had inherited his grandfather’s commitment, and under his reign, the Watch had remained strong, bolstered by royal support. Now, with Rhaegar on the throne, their strength rivaled that of the noble houses from the First Men.

Roar!

A light silver dragon suddenly soared overhead, gliding along the Wall’s edge and heading west over the Bay of Seals.

“Where is Laenor going?” Rhaenys asked, her voice edged with concern as she watched the silver dragon disappear into the distance. Something in her gut told her that danger awaited beyond the Wall.

Corlys followed her gaze, his expression turning serious. “The Bay of Seals has frozen early this year—we’re already behind schedule.” He paused before adding gravely, “Castle Black may need reinforcement. Laenor’s heading there to support them on our behalf.”

Rhaenys frowned, the tension in her chest building. “Viserys warned that the White Walkers are real. We can’t afford to take any risks.” She was mindful of the true purpose behind their journey north: to aid in the defense against the looming threat beyond the Wall.

“Don’t worry about him,” Corlys said confidently, puffing out his chest. “Laenor’s not the reckless boy he once was. He’s more than capable.” He glanced at his wife with a grin. “Besides, it’s not like the royal family has any spare dragons lying around.”

The House of Velaryon had long stood at the top of the Seven Kingdoms, the most reliable and powerful ally of House Targaryen. Their shared history from ancient Valyria bonded them in blood and fire.