He would have loved to spend weeks in the secluded garden with Daenerys and the dragons. Unfortunately, they had no such luxury. Daenerys still needed to pacify Yunkai and start marching on Meereen, and he needed to fix Astapor.
The only change, it was no longer about proving himself to Daenerys. No, he needed to fix Astapor, simply because he was their future king. Not how he expected to end up when he came here. He was merely hoping for a few silver tickets, maybe a gold before he departed and found a place to establish himself slowly.
Not that he was complaining.
The first thing he did after leaving Daenerys' side was to utilize his nascent trading company to purchase a lot of grain and arrange two deliveries, one fifth being delivered by a ship, while the rest delivered by a caravan.
He even convinced Daario to lend him fifty riders to keep an eye on the caravan. The ship would arrive at its destination in three days, while the caravan would likely take two weeks.
While he was arranging those, he also activated his gold reward.
[Immutable]
{Rare Trait: Your body refuses to change. You are incredibly resistant to abilities that would try to change, anyone trying to change you without your consent has to wrestle control over you first. Abilities like rot or wither inducement, sickness inducement, biokinesis, etc. are automatically resisted.}
He had no idea whether he would face anything capable of such a thing, but nonetheless, he was happy to receive it. The idea of his body changing without his consent was scary enough.
After he had arranged the caravans, he left Yunkai with two horses, as he wanted to rush to Astapor. Once he found a nice cave to hide the horses, he sneaked back to Yunkai. He had two things to do. First, thanks to his new detective trait, he was able to quickly find the location of a few Wise Masters with the potential to be troubling.
He didn't need to deal with them directly. All he needed was to create a commotion to get the attention of the Unsullied patrolling, and Grey Worm handled the rest.
Then, he moved to his other objective. He carefully danced among the tall buildings of Yunkai shining under the moonlight. His presence was merely a whisper as he moved impossibly fast, Momentum once again active.
Soon, he reached his destination. Sansa's chambers, granted by Daenerys to fit her position as a Lady Paramount, deep within the complex, a quiet suite overlooking the gardens where night-blooming jasmine scented the air.
It was guarded well, but no matter how well it was guarded, Rohar couldn't be noticed. Especially since he knew everything about the location. He entered silently, bolting it behind him.
Sansa stood by the window, silhouetted in moonlight. She wore a thin linen shift that clung to her curves, auburn hair unbound and cascading like a river of fire. She was no longer the fragile girl of King's Landing; the pain and struggle had forged her into something stronger, her blue eyes sharp with purpose.
But tonight, they softened when she saw him.
"Rohar," she breathed, crossing to him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of wine and longing. "You're here. I thought you had already left for Astapor."
He held her close, hands tracing the familiar lines of her back. "I'm here, my red fire." A teasing smile curved his lips. "I didn't want to leave before saying my goodbyes privately, even though I will return soon."
Sansa pulled back, cheeks flushing. She took his hand, leading him to the wide bed draped in silk. Candles flickered on the table, casting warm glows across her skin. "Good. Because we need to talk."
Rohar obeyed, shedding his cloak. The room was warm, scented with her. Sansa paced a moment, then sat beside him, fingers twisting in her lap. Shy, guarded Sansa, but with a fire he'd kindled.
"I've been thinking," she said softly. "About us. About the future. About what you asked… Daenerys marches on Meereen soon. Wars loom. And I… I want something permanent. Something of you. I don't care what will happen in the future. I'll force the North to accept."
His pulse quickened. It was already his plan, but seeing her take the initiative was nice. "Talk openly, my beautiful lady."
She met his eyes, bold now. "Impregnate me, Rohar. Give me your child. Bind us forever."
The words hung in the air, electric. Rohar stared, amused at her declaration. It was big, far beyond politics; the thought ignited something primal. He wanted it. He wanted her.
"You're sure?" he asked, voice rough. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her lip. "You know that—"
"I won't be the only one, yes I do," she said. "Doesn't matter. I love you. I owe you everything. And in this mad world… I want our child to carry your strength, my blood. A new line."
Rohar kissed her, gently at first, turning fierce and possessive. "Then I'll give it to you. With relish."
He stood, pulling her with him. His hands roamed, shedding her shift in one smooth motion. Naked, she was breathtaking. Her skin glowed in the sunlight, breasts full and rosy-tipped, the gentle swell of her hips promising fertility. Sansa tugged at his clothes until they were both bare. Her eyes raked over him, lingering on his hardness, already aching for her.
They tumbled onto the bed, mouths fused, hands exploring. Rohar kissed down her neck, sucking bruises that would hide under her gowns. Sansa arched, moaning softly. "Now," she whispered. "Don't tease. Fill me."
"Oh, Sansa. You know I never leave a lady wanting. We have all night."
His mouth found her breast, tongue circling the nipple while his hand slipped between her thighs. She was wet, ready, clit swollen under his thumb. Sansa gasped, hips bucking. "Rohar—please—"
He ignored her begging, his lips exploring every inch of her body, gently. Just like Daenerys ached for domination, Sansa ached for gentleness. Not always, but when it mattered…
"Please," she begged repeatedly while he worshipped her body, until she started slurring her words.
Only then did he position himself, the head of his cock nudging her entrance. "Look at me."
Their eyes locked as he thrust deep, burying to the hilt in one slow, deliberate stroke. Sansa cried out, legs wrapping around him, heels digging into his back. The heat, the tightness, the affection… it was exquisite.
Rohar groaned, holding still a moment to savor.
Then he moved, long, deep thrusts designed to claim, to breed. Each one punched the air from her lungs, her walls clenching around him. Sansa met every stroke, hips rising, nails raking his shoulders. "Yes—gods—deeper. Give me your seed."
The words fueled him. He fucked her harder, the bed creaking under them. Sweat slicked their bodies; the room filled with gasps and the wet slap of flesh. But, just like before, he extended her joy, waiting for her joy to reach the peak before he filled her.
Unlike Daenerys, where he had to battle a dark curse, Sansa's fertile womb accepted his seed greedily.
[Feat Achieved! Growing the wolf pack
+1x Gold Random Gacha ticket]
[Feat Achieved! The prophecy of ice and fire … from a certain point of view
+1x Diamond Random Gacha ticket]
"Are you alright, Rohar?" Sansa asked, despite her daze. "You look … startled."
"Not startled, just happy," he said and kissed her. "I can feel it; you're pregnant."
She looked sceptical. "It's impossible—"
"Sansa, you must have realized I'm not entirely normal by now," he said. "Just accept that I can sense it. You're pregnant. We're going to have a beautiful baby."
Her eyes widened, his seriousness enough to make her believe. Admittedly, considering Daenerys could command dragons, some early awareness about pregnancy was not exactly difficult to believe. "Really?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, even as he flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her ass up, entering from behind. The new angle let him drive deeper, hand reaching around to rub her clit. "There's no harm in making sure, right?"
"Right?" Sansa moaned. "Let's make sure."
As he continued invading, he started thinking about the rewards. Growing the wolf pack was obvious, just a similar achievement to what he got with Daenerys. The real surprise was the prophecy of ice and fire. The implication was rather obvious that it only triggered because both Daenerys and Sansa were pregnant.
But, the other parts, like the vague reference to a prophecy, and the vague reference to its completion by a technicality. He had a feeling it was trouble, but considering the reward was the single highest ticket he had received, it was worth it.
Hopefully.
They changed positions again, their eyes locking as he thrust deep, burying himself to the hilt aggressively while he drew her moans, determined to melt her with pleasure before leaving.
He fucked her hard; the bed creaking under the force, silk sheets twisting around them. Sweat slicked their bodies; the room filled with her gasps, his grunts, the wet slap of flesh on flesh.
Sansa sobbed into the pillows, climax building like a storm. This time, she fell unconscious…
He stayed in bed with her, enjoying her warmth for a long moment while he whispered his prayers.
[Magician]
{Elite Trait: You are a natural-born Magician, making you naturally talented in the mystical arts, allowing you to learn, understand, and develop magic far faster, and you have a unique intuition when it comes to matters of magic.}
The reward for his gold ticket was incredible enough, particularly since his upcoming focus on magic; not just to potentially improve his rewards consistently, but to keep Daenerys and Sansa safe.
The system had implied that the magic of the world was growing stronger. Meaning, eventually, he would face enemies using magic, which was hardly something he welcomed.
The reward from the diamond, on the other hand…
[Anathema]
{Legendary Trait: Your existence is one that opposes the Gods and Divine. You have a massive resistance to any Divine influence or Authorities, and against any Divine opponent, your physical and magical abilities are massively increased.}
He gulped even as he felt something shift. Something that was impossible to discern even as he found his mind sparking. A destiny against the gods and the divine.
Was that his true destiny? Is that why he had been chosen, as a weapon to strike against the rival divines? If so, how did he feel about it? Maybe it depended on which divinity was the target. The Lord of Light, with its followers happily burning everyone; the Drowned God of the Iron Islanders who promoted just another version of slavery; seemingly nonexistent seven divines of the Seven Kingdoms; the old gods of the North …
Maybe all of them … or none of them.
He took a deep breath and focused on the present. He already received his sign he had been looking for. He needed to understand and process it, and whatever he was destined to face would eventually reveal itself.
Until then, he needed to make sure Slaver's Bay lost any right to be called as such.
He pulled himself from Sansa's soft arms, changed, and left the city.
He had a city to save.
&&&
He didn't pick his horses. Instead, he pushed the Momentum to the limit while he ran the distance between Yunkai and Astapor. Before, it would have left him exhausted, but he had long noticed that, living near Daenerys, the abilities didn't strain him much, particularly the relatively low-impact ones like Momentum.
Finally, with the ability to sense magic, he could see the reason. Magic was all around him, and activating his ability pulled that energy toward him to fuel it.
But, as he ran toward Astapor, it wasn't the only thing he had noticed. His limited perception and understanding of magic meant that after a certain density, it was impossible for him to measure it, like trying to measure the depth of the sea by dipping his finger in.
However, it didn't take long for him to realize that the analogy was more accurate than he had expected. While one might struggle to measure the depth of the sea by dipping a finger, that method worked while dipping his finger into a small patch of water.
Worse, he didn't need to move particularly far away from Daenerys and her dragons for the magic to dwindle into almost nothing. Merely twenty miles away from Yunkai, the magic density had been lowered until he could start noticing fluctuations. Fifty miles, and there was no water around anymore, merely a thick mist.
A thick mist that was curling and twisting. Worse, he could sense that the mist was steadily moving in two directions, being tugged by two forces, one directly to the west, one toward the north.
Neither tug gave him a good impression. It made him tingle with disgust, a vague feeling that he could trace back to his newest trait, Anathema.
Meaning, neither the disappearance nor the reappearance of magic was natural; or merely something simple.
However, once he reached Astapor and sneaked inside the city, he stopped thinking about magic. Not because it wasn't important, but he had long learned that importance was not the only reason for prioritizing a task.
Reports Daenerys warned her about the growing dangers; and that was assuming those writing the reports understood the risk accurately. He doubted that. He also knew how easily truth could be hidden from the eyes of a lord; so he couldn't enter officially and hope to learn the truth.
Some of the details, like the demolished sections, were the same. He could sense that, merely two days had been enough to change the aura of the city completely. There was a thick sense of despair in the city, with freedmen looking sad and exhausted. It seemed that,
He would never forget the way the hunger looked on people's faces. It seemed that, the moment Daenery's army had gotten far enough, her enemies started to undermine Astapor. Even a glance was enough to confirm that the situation was worse than the reports suggested.
The question was how bad … and who was doing their best to make the situation worse.
He faded into the shadows, wrapping a dirty cloak around him to disguise as another hungry ex-slave, knowing that it would allow him to see everything much better.
Things didn't get any better as he walked. Freedmen in ragged cloth sat against walls and stared at every corner, eyes flat and distant. Children huddled around bowls that held nothing. A few men argued over a sack that looked suspiciously light. A woman with a bandaged arm rocked back and forth, whispering a prayer to a god Rohar didn't know.
The state was bad … but whispers were worse. Most of the hungry ex-slaves languished, but the others spoke. Some argued that they wanted to kill them with hunger, the others claimed that the council Daenerys had assigned had been bought by Wise Master. Some tried to argue for an armed rebellion, others suggested that taking a ship to Volantis and selling themselves back into slavery just to fill their stomachs.
He knew Daenerys would have been shocked at the suggestion, but he knew them to be serious. Because, unlike Daenerys, he knew the true meaning of hunger, the kind that wormed into one's stomach until it not only drained the body, but the soul.
It was a reason he purchased as much grain as he could move between the cities without even checking. For him to achieve anything, the city couldn't be starving.
He didn't leave immediately. He knew that, while Daenerys had a tendency to view things simplistically, she wasn't stupid or merciless enough to strip Astapor's grain reserves.
Meaning, the starvation was likely part of the plot. Meaning, he needed to search. Not because he needed the evidence, as after teaching her how to tame her dragons … as well as taming her directly, he knew that he could just declare something and she would accept.
However, he didn't want to act that way. For one, acting without evidence would alienate the rest of the council; and worse, they might start doubting Daenerys' competency. It would be a pointless distraction.
Then, there was the source of the unrest. If he recklessly smashed their plot, it would mean he had no idea who was pulling the strings. Volantis and Meereen were the obvious answers, but he needed more accurate answers. Which merchants were working for them? Were the council just incompetent and didn't understand how bad the situation truly was, or were they collaborating with the enemies?
Everything was possible, as here the structure was not just rotten but shattered, and other people didn't have a supernatural source of understanding to guide him.
But, before he could even reach the council chambers, he noticed a few men approaching the hungry people, and carefully dropping some freshly baked bread. It was not charity, Rohar decided, as every time they gave bread, they were mentioning a name.
Cleon.
For him, it didn't take long to understand who Cleon was. An ex-slave, one that had risen suspiciously quickly in the chaos. He had his men, he had his own bakeries to process and distribute the bread, his name whispered as a savior.
A few mentions might have been a coincidence. A constant slew was different. Then, once he arrived at the council area, he found out that the area was already surrounded by people that looked well fed and strong, armed with sticks, beating away anyone that tried to get close, all the while shouting that they worked for the council.
Seeing them going back to the same base as the people distributing the bread gave another idea.
Curious, he dug more about Cleon, and quickly realized that he was holding most critical parts of the city in his hands either directly or through proxies, while blaming everything on the council. None of those details were in the reports Daenerys received, suggesting he interfered with them as well.
Rohar had to admit. It was a good plan. He might have even respected the ambition he showed and tried recruiting him if it wasn't for one fact. An ex-slave willing to let tens of thousands of other freedmen starve just for power was never someone he would forgive.
Taking him down would have been easy, but he had already convinced most of the city that he was their only savior. Something more spectacular was needed to take him down.
Luckily, he had just the perfect bait for the situation. The ship full of grain he ordered, about to arrive in a few hours