GOT: Heir of Dreadfort

"Please don't be alarmed, Ser Domeric. I mean you no harm. I came here only to discuss the matter regarding my pet..."

Talk about a ridiculous way to start a negotiation.

This "mouse mage riding a cat," while slightly larger than an ordinary rodent, posed no real physical threat to Domeric.

What truly worried him, however, was the possibility of strange spells—like flames that could melt a man in seconds.

To be honest, Domeric had no desire to offend this mysterious mage, not unless she openly showed hostility or forced his hand.

So, he followed along for now.

"Pardon me, but may I ask why your pet broke into my mine, clashed with the guards, and caused considerable casualties? I thought my lands were under attack."

"I'm terribly sorry. One of my magical experiments required a specific mineral, and while searching for it, my pet unintentionally wandered into your territory..." The white mouse drooped her ears apologetically.

Her expression didn't seem insincere, and there was little reason to lie under the current circumstances.

"I see. So it was a misunderstanding.

I'll give the order to release your pet immediately, Mage. And rest assured, it hasn't been mistreated. We even prepared a hearty meal for it, and it seemed quite satisfied."

"Thank you, Ser Domeric. You truly are a reasonable man. From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were a good person." The white mouse gave a small curtsy, a proper noble's bow.

"Oh? You've seen me before?" Domeric raised an eyebrow.

"Of course! I've been watching you for three years." The white mouse sat down on the table, resting her little paws under her chin.

"Don't misunderstand. I arrived here before you did.

I remember when Lonely Mountain was just a desolate land, home to barely a hundred wildlings.

Then you came. In less than three years, you brought in over a hundred thousand people.

It's a miracle. Like magic itself.

In fact, Ser Domeric, the 'magic' you've created is far more powerful than any I've studied."

"You're saying... you live in Lonely Mountain too?" Domeric immediately picked up on the key point.

"My mage tower is quite close to your lands. I often find myself amazed by the changes here."

"Mage tower?"

Seeing Domeric's confused look, the white mouse explained,

"It's my place for conducting magical experiments. In Asshai, only those with sufficient power are permitted to build a mage tower."

She puffed up proudly, her expression practically begging for praise.

"However, my tower is always concealed behind a magical mist, so it's nearly impossible for you to detect it."

A self-generated fog-of-war? Domeric was speechless. A powerful mage had been living right next door to him, and he hadn't even known. A perfect case of "darkness under the lamp."

"Oh, and I heard my pet caused some damage to your domain. Please accept this as compensation..."

The white mouse deftly pulled out a pouch of golden dragons and tossed it over.

Domeric caught it. It was satisfyingly heavy, "It won't bring the dead back, but at least it might ease the lives of those who remain."

.....

Soon, under Domeric's order, the pet—currently inhabiting the mage's real body—was brought to his chamber.

The girl had meat juice smeared across her face, her dress stained with grease, her belly round from overeating. She looked absolutely stuffed and kept letting out content burps.

Meanwhile, over a hundred armored guards, led by Chief Knight Wendel and Castellan Ser Jorah, had surrounded the bedroom in a tight formation.

Wendel gave Domeric a signal, silently asking if they should attack.

Domeric calmly shook his head. The white mouse showed no signs of nervousness in front of such overwhelming numbers. Clearly, she had ways to escape if she wanted.

Now that the misunderstanding had been cleared up, there was no reason to antagonize a mage.

After all, there are a thousand ways to be a thief—but only one way to guard against them.

The white mouse pulled out a small wand from seemingly nowhere and whacked the girl—her own body—on the head while scolding her.

"Getting lost! Eating everything in sight! Do you even realize how much effort I went through to rescue you...?"

The girl was soon curled up on the floor, sobbing and whimpering.

The white mouse quickly realized she was striking her own body and stopped before doing too much damage.

"My apologies, Ser Domeric. This pet of mine is simply infuriating!" Her fur bristled with visible anger.

"I understand. Everyone has a mischievous pet now and then."

Domeric shrugged, watching the scene unfold with cool detachment.

"Well then, my business here is concluded. I won't trouble you further tonight. Farewell!"

The mouse had clearly noticed the growing number of guards and didn't wish to linger. She waved a paw to say goodbye.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, the white mouse led the girl—her pet—back into the shadows.

The darkness began to warp again. Just as it was about to vanish, a leaf-crafted invitation fluttered out:

"Oh, and Ser Domeric, if you ever wish to visit my mage tower, just place this invitation on the highest stone atop the mountain. My guards will lead you to me..."

The voice faded away.

The twisted shadows disappeared entirely. Domeric finally gave the order to investigate the surroundings.

Soon, one of the guards uncovered something unusual.

Prying up the floor, they found a series of mysterious runes etched into the spot where the shadow had emerged, inlaid with magical crystals. Clearly, it was a teleportation array used by the white mouse.

Wendel scratched his bald head awkwardly. "Lord Domeric, this was my failure."

"This wasn't your fault, Ser Wendel.

Our sentries are trained to watch for people, not mice. Honestly, I never imagined a mage would appear like that."

Domeric sighed, then raised his voice to address the room.

"Magic has returned. The tides of sorcery are rising again! From this moment onward, I expect every one of you to take this seriously.

I want you to ensure that from now on, not even a single mouse gets into this hall!"

"Yes, my lord!" the soldiers answered in unison, dropping to one knee.

....

"Lord Domeric, to prevent such incidents from happening again, I volunteer to protect you personally from now on!" Wendel declared.

"I do need a bodyguard, that's true. But it can't be you. I'd never survive your snoring."

Domeric couldn't help but jab.

"I could try breathing through my nose while I sleep. Maybe that would help," Wendel offered, completely earnest.

He was truly shaken. A mage had silently crept into the lord's bedroom—if anything had happened, Wendel would forever be branded a failure.

And in the world of nobility, once branded, your fate was sealed.

Just like that infamous "Kingslayer."

Domeric rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Most of his time was consumed by administrative matters. He did indeed need a personal bodyguard to keep watch for the unexpected.

But who?

Ah—Benita Antaryon!

That assassin from the House of Black and White.

"Where is that maid I brought back from Winterfell? Bring her to me."

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