Third Person POV
298 AC, Wintertown – Morning
The magical tent on Wintertown's outskirts glowed softly in the dawn, its enchanted warmth a shield against the northern chill. Dominic Augustus woke first stirring beside Daenerys and Missandei, who slept tangled in spider-silk sheets. He dressed in his commonfolk tunic, his eyes glinting with purpose. Daenerys, her hair black and eyes brown from the rune-etched ring, stirred next, followed by Missandei, whose dusky skin shone in the morning light.
"Morning, my loves," Dominic said, kissing each wife gently. "Ready for another day?"
Daenerys yawned, stretching. "After last night? Barely."
Missandei smirked, slipping into a woolen dress. "You're insatiable, Dom. But yes, I'm ready."
They gathered in the tent's kitchen, where Dominic made a breakfast of warm bread, honey-drizzled porridge, and smoked fish, using his Elder Wand to streamline the task. The trio ate heartily, laughing over yesterday's antics—Joffrey's humiliation chief among them.
"His face!" Daenerys giggled, mimicking the farting noise. "I almost felt bad for him."
"Don't," Dominic said, grinning. "He's a spoiled brat. A little embarrassment builds character."
After breakfast, Dominic handed each wife a small pouch, its expansion charm making it bottomless. "Explore Wintertown today. Buy what you like, see the sights. Meet me back here at midday."
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "You're not coming?"
"I've got business in Winterfell," he said, his tone cryptic. "Stay safe. These pouches are charmed with extension, and there are 10,000 golden dragons in it."
Missandei nodded, tucking the pouch into her cloak. "We'll be fine. Dany and I can handle a market."
"Famous last words," Dominic teased, winking. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, vanishing from sight, and Apparated to Winterfell's courtyard with a faint pop.
Winterfell
The courtyard bustled with morning activity—servants hauling firewood, guards drilling, and stableboys tending horses. Dominic, invisible, scanned for Jon Snow. He spotted the dark-haired youth near the armory, brooding as he sharpened a sword. There you are, Dominic thought, focusing his Grindelwald-honed Legilimency. Slipping into Jon's mind, he planted subtle suggestions: Travel to Uruk in Essos. Seek adventure for a year or two before joining the Night's Watch. The thoughts took root, natural and untraceable, nudging Jon's destiny toward Uruk.
Satisfied, Dominic roamed the courtyard, observing. In the godswood, he found Arya Stark, her small frame a blur of motion as she practiced with a wooden sword, her ferocity amplified by the Talia al-Ghul card he'd applied. Joffrey tries to cross her, he's in for a world of pain, Dominic thought, chuckling at the chaos she'd unleash. He watched her train for a while.
Entering the great hall, he spotted Joffrey Baratheon, his eyes red and shadowed, dark circles betraying a sleepless night. Rictumsempra's a gift that keeps giving, Dominic thought, grinning. With a flick of his wand, he cast another Rictumsempra. Joffrey erupted into uncontrollable laughter, collapsing to the floor, rolling as tears streamed down his face.
Myrcella and Tommen, nearby, giggled softly, their innocent amusement a contrast to Cersei and Jaime Lannister's alarm. "Joffrey, what's wrong?" Cersei asks, concerned, kneeling beside him, her emerald eyes wide with worry.
Joffrey gasped, trying to speak, but laughter choked his words. "Fetch the maester!" Cersei snapped at a servant, who scurried off.
Tyrion Lannister, watching from a corner, couldn't resist. "Seems the prince has found his true calling—court jester," he quipped, earning a venomous glare from Cersei.
"Spare me your wit, Tyrion," she hissed.
Tyrion offered a mock bow. "My sympathies, dear sister," he said, sauntering out, his smirk hidden.
Dominic, still invisible, slipped out of Winterfell, his mischief complete. That'll keep them busy, he thought, Apparating back to the tent.
Wintertown – Midday
Dominic prepared a midday meal in the tent's kitchen, conjuring a spread of roasted quail, buttered turnips, and cinnamon rolls. The aroma filled the air as Daenerys and Missandei returned, their pouches bulging with market finds—winter roses, fur-lined gloves, and a small carved direwolf figurine.
"Look at this!" Daenerys said, holding up the figurine. "It reminds me of the direwolf the Starks have."
Missandei displayed a bear pelt. "The merchants said they bought it from Last Hearth."
"It is," Dominic said, serving them plates. "How was Wintertown?"
"Lively," Daenerys said, biting into a roll. "People are worried about Bran, but they're also gossiping about Joffrey's… incident."
Missandei laughed. "You're a menace, Dom. Did you do anything else today?"
"Just a little errand," he said, winking. "Jon Snow's set to visit Uruk before he considers the Wall. We'll see him soon."
Daenerys's eyes lit up. "You did it? He'll come?"
"Planted the idea," Dominic said. "He'll think it's his own. Now, eat up. We're flying north next."
After the meal, Dominic released Dragonite and Charizard from his pokeball, their massive forms materializing outside the tent. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on all of them, cloaking the dragons and riders in invisibility. "To the Wall," he said, helping Daenerys and Missandei onto Dragonite while he mounted Charizard.
They soared into the sky, the cold wind rushing past, their charmed cloaks keeping them warm. By nightfall, they landed in a secluded valley, setting up the magical tent to rest. The next day, they continued, the Wall's distant shimmer growing closer. By afternoon, its colossal ice face loomed, a marvel of ancient magic.
Dominic returned Dragonite and Charizard to their Pokéballs, their forms vanishing. Still under Disillusionment Charms, the trio trekked toward the Wall, Castle Black's dark stone visible at its base. The air grew colder, the weight of the North's ancient duty pressing down.
Journey to the Wall
The flight to the Wall was breathtaking, the North's rugged beauty unfolding below—snow-dusted forests, frozen rivers, and stark hills. At night, they rested in the tent, sharing stories of Uruk's vibrancy and planning their approach to Castle Black. Daenerys, her Mera Mera no Mi sparking faintly in excitement, practiced Haki under Dominic's guidance, her Observation Haki sharpening.
By the next afternoon, the Wall towered above, its 700-foot ice face a testament to ancient magic. Dominic recalled Dragonite and Charizard, their Pokéballs secure in his inventory. Under Disillusionment Charms, they approached Castle Black, its crumbling towers a stark contrast to the Wall's grandeur. The Night's Watch patrolled, their black cloaks flapping in the wind, unaware of the invisible trio slipping closer.
Time to meet Aemon, Dominic thought, his mind already plotting their next move in the game of thrones.
Third Person POV
298 AC, Winterfell – Morning
In the solar of Winterfell, Lord Eddard Stark sat behind his heavy oak desk, the weight of the North on his shoulders. The room was sparse, warmed by a crackling hearth, its stone walls adorned with a single Stark banner. Jon Snow stood before him, his dark hair cut recently, his grey eyes steady but tinged with a restless spark. The air was thick with the gravity of their conversation.
"Jon," Ned began, his voice low and measured, "why this change of heart? Just yesterday, you were begging me to let you join the Night's Watch."
Jon shifted, his hands clasped behind his back. "I spoke with Uncle Benjen last night, Father. He told me more about the Wall—its hardships, what it truly means to take the black. And… Tyrion Lannister said something that stuck with me. He said the Wall's no place for dreams, only duty. I thought about it, long into the night. I'm not ready to give up the world yet. I want to see Essos, travel for a year or two, then join the Watch."
Ned studied his nephew, the boy he'd raised as his son to shield him from Robert's wrath. Jon's words carried conviction, but Ned sensed something deeper—a nudge he couldn't place. He's young, Ned thought, but he's got Lyanna's stubbornness. Sighing, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a leather pouch, the faint clink of coins echoing.
"There are fifty gold dragons here," Ned said, sliding the pouch across. "This will aid your travels in Essos. I'll send a letter to Lord Wyman Manderly in White Harbor, informing him of your purpose. He'll arrange a berth on a ship bound for Essos."
Jon's eyes widened, gratitude softening his features. "Thank you, Father."
Ned leaned back, his stern face softening. "Where will you go first?"
"Uruk," Jon replied without hesitation.
Ned nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good choice. We've strong trade ties with Uruk. Their seeds and goods—cheap, yet unmatched—have bolstered the North's stores. Don't cause trouble there, Jon. We need those relations intact."
"I won't," Jon promised.
"I'll note in the letter that you're headed to Uruk," Ned added, already mentally drafting the missive. "Be careful, Jon. Essos is not the North. Trust sparingly."
Jon gripped the pouch, his resolve firm. "I will. Thank you, Father."
With a nod, Jon turned and left the solar, the door closing softly behind him. Ned stared at the hearth, his thoughts heavy. He's leaving the North, but not the danger. The game of thrones was stirring, and Jon, unknowingly, was a piece on the board.