Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 272: Viserys Knows Nothing!

"This is impossible!"

Jorah found himself in unfamiliar territory, discussing matters he had little expertise in. As soon as he finished outlining Viserys's plan, it was met with immediate rejection. The older members of the Night's Watch dismissed it outright, convinced that Jorah had no grasp of the realities north of the Wall. The very idea of moving the wildlings south of the Wall seemed delusional to them.

The Night's Watch had been tasked with guarding the realm for centuries, and their primary mission had always been to protect against wildling incursions. Allowing the wildlings south of the Wall felt akin to inviting danger into their own home. The leadership almost unanimously opposed Viserys's proposal. Only Maester Aemon considered its potential, but despite his long service and deep respect within the order, he had no say in the final decision.

"Ser, do not be hasty," Jorah urged, trying to maintain his composure.

"I have with me His Grace's detailed plan for dealing with the wildlings." He reached into his tunic, produced a letter, and handed it to the Old Bear. As he did, he recited, "First, the wildling nobles must send their sons as squires to the Night's Watch and surrender all their gold and silver. Their men will serve the Watch, and only the women and children will be allowed to pass south of the Wall."

Viserys's plan bore similarities to the strategy Jon Snow would later employ in the original timeline, but with one significant difference: when Jon negotiated with the wildlings, they were already desperate, driven to the brink by war and harsh winter. The wildlings in Viserys's time were still strong and defiant, making such conditions much harder to enforce.

Predictably, Aemon raised this concern. In response, Jorah relayed Viserys's words: "His Grace said, 'First defeat the weak, then the strong, and those who are neither will fall into our hands.'"

Viserys's confident strategy impressed Aemon, who thought, 'This is the mindset of a true great and powerful lord.'

"In our grasp! In our grasp! In our grasp!" The Old Bear's raven squawked, echoing the sentiment.

"To ensure the wildlings accept these terms, His Grace has brought thousands of elite soldiers—and three dragons!"

"Doesn't he have seven?" Ser Alliser interjected, his tone laced with skepticism.

Jorah suppressed a sigh, knowing that if Regis were present, he'd likely be eager to provoke a fight. He explained, "The others remain in Tyrosh."

"Why didn't he bring them all?" Alliser pressed further.

At this point, Jorah's patience was wearing thin, but he remained calm. "Because Tyrosh also needs protection."

"Doesn't he have a large enough army? Can't he protect both—"

"Enough!" The Old Bear cut him off, his voice sharp. Whether it was Alliser's rudeness or sensing Jorah's growing irritation, Jeor Mormont decided it was time to end the interrogation.

When Tywin Lannister tricked the gates of King’s Landing open, Ser Alliser Thorne was still fighting for the Targaryens. Captured after the fall, he chose the Night’s Watch over death. More than ten years of enduring the harsh conditions of the Wall had kindled a deep resentment in him toward the Targaryens. Perhaps, in his mind, if Aerys had not let the gates fall, he would never have been condemned to a life of suffering in this frozen wasteland.

Having served in King’s Landing, Alliser had seen the skeletal remains of dragons of all sizes. He remembered the sight of a young dragon’s bones—barely larger than a lamb, its thickest bone not even as thick as his wrist. And then there was the Black Dread, whose massive jaws could swallow a wagon whole.

When Viserys had boldly challenged Robert Baratheon to a duel, Alliser had silently cursed him, hoping the young Targaryen would meet his end. He couldn’t understand why Viserys had come to the Wall instead of preparing for war.

After the meeting, the Old Bear announced that they would clear out rooms and barracks to accommodate Viserys’s soldiers. The Night’s Watch had once boasted 10,000 men, so finding space for a thousand was not difficult.

...

Once everyone had left, the only thing between Jorah and his father, Jeor Mormont, was their strained father-son relationship. Jeor, his rage uncontained, unleashed a flurry of punches on Jorah. His fists, as large as dinner plates, landed heavily on Jorah’s chest and back, avoiding only his face. Jorah, gritting his teeth, neither resisted nor dodged. The sound of his father’s fists hitting his body echoed through the room like thunder.

As the blows rained down, a line from a song “composed” by Viserys flashed through Jorah’s mind: “Like a father’s scolding, a mother’s weeping, it will never be forgotten.”

When Jeor finally calmed down, he asked about Jorah’s current situation.

"His Grace has appointed me commander of Lys’s infantry and given me a mansion," Jorah explained, trying to catch his breath. "You’re getting older, Father. If you ever want to leave the Night’s Watch, I think His Grace—"

"Shut up!" Jeor snapped, cutting him off.

The cold wind howled outside the window, making the room feel even more silent. After a long pause, Jorah hesitantly broke the quiet. "By the way, Father, Lynesse is pregnant. What do you think we should name the baby?"

"Is it yours?" Jeor’s voice dripped with biting sarcasm, leaving Jorah speechless.

"Is it yours? Is it yours? Is it yours?" the raven echoed, its repetition only deepening the tension.

It was said that Jeor’s raven had a peculiar talent: though it could only repeat words from conversations, it always seemed to grasp the essence of what was said. Despite his father’s scorn, Jorah knew the child was his. Of that, he was certain.

After learning about Jorah’s recent situation, the Old Bear unceremoniously kicked him out. Jorah wandered through Castle Black alone, overhearing the mutterings of his fellow brothers. "If I’d known, I would’ve gone to Viserys instead of ending up in this shithole. I’d have gone straight to the Free Cities," some grumbled. But Jorah paid them no mind. How could they possibly understand what he had endured?

Two days later, Castle Black buzzed with activity as the Old Bear himself led a contingent to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to greet Viserys. Viserys had set sail from Claw Isle, joining the fleet sent by Roth from Braavos. Briefly, he had considered visiting Falia, but he decided against it. There was still work to be done at the Wall, and the Undying Ones needed to be dealt with. Any delay could give his enemies time to cause trouble.

Accompanying Viserys to the Wall was Jalifah, a captain who had once urged him to wear his crown and ambush pirates with him. But the Jalifah who stood beside him now was different—gone was the carefree, easygoing demeanor. A sense of restraint had taken its place. Jalifah felt deep regret over his earlier actions, especially urging Viserys to bring the crown, and he silently hoped Viserys had forgotten the matter.

"Jalifah, you will oversee the handover of supplies to the Night's Watch," Viserys instructed as he caught sight of Jorah and the others waiting for him.

"Yes, Your Grace," Jalifah replied with respectful formality.

Yet, despite the polite exchange, a great wall was in front of them.