Chapter 6: Appa's Hunt
A week later, as Robb's army marched south toward destiny, I felt the familiar tingle that meant my abilities had refreshed. Seven days since my last flight, seven days of walking with the baggage train while watching Roose Bolton's men shadow my every movement.
They were subtle about it—professional soldiers who knew how to observe without being obvious. But I had system-enhanced reflexes and paranoia born of knowing exactly what Bolton was capable of. Every glance, every casual conversation, every moment when one of them happened to be wherever I was working.
Time to give them something else to watch.
The army made camp that evening in a river valley, sentries posted on the hills while cook fires dotted the darkness like fallen stars. I waited until the deepest part of night, when even the most dedicated watchers would be fighting sleep, before slipping away from my bedroll.
Moving through the camp required every stealth skill I'd developed. Bolton's men were positioned to monitor my movements, but they were expecting a servant trying to sneak messages or steal supplies. They weren't expecting someone with supernatural agility and perfect knowledge of their positions.
I ghosted between tents, using shadows and the system's enhanced reflexes to avoid detection. A stumbling drunk headed for the latrines, nothing more suspicious than a man with a weak bladder and poor timing.
The summoning site I'd chosen was a clearing half a mile from camp, hidden by trees and rocky outcroppings. Isolated enough for privacy, but close enough that I could return before dawn.
"Summon Appa," I thought, focusing on the image of my massive, gentle companion.
Reality folded, and twenty feet of flying bison materialized in the moonlight.
Appa looked magnificent in the darkness, his white fur almost glowing against the night sky. He made a soft rumbling sound of greeting, lowering his head so I could scratch behind his ears.
"Missed you too, buddy," I whispered. "But we've got work to do. Important work."
[Appa Summoning: Successful]
[Duration: 8 hours maximum]
[Upgrades Available: Stealth Flight Mode, Enhanced Speed]
[Mission Parameters: Continental Reconnaissance]
Climbing onto Appa's back was easier this time, my body remembering the rhythm from our previous flights. The thick fur provided perfect handholds, and the massive bison's movements were smooth as silk as he prepared for takeoff.
We launched into the night sky with barely a whisper of sound. Whatever physics governed Appa's flight, they were far removed from anything earthbound creatures had to deal with. He moved through the air like swimming through an invisible ocean, six legs paddling against currents only he could feel.
"First stop: Harrenhal," I called out over the wind. "Time to see what Tywin's really planning."
The flight south took less than two hours, the landscape flowing beneath us like a living map. Villages and castles marked with pinpricks of light, roads threading between hills and forests, the slow-moving dots that were other armies marching through the darkness.
But it was Harrenhal that took my breath away.
The ruined castle squatted beside the God's Eye like a cancer made of melted stone, its twisted towers reaching toward the sky like accusing fingers. Even from a thousand feet up, I could feel something wrong about the place—an aura of old suffering and fresh malice that made Appa snort nervously.
More immediately concerning were the thousands of cook fires spreading around the ruins like a constellation of war.
"Seven hells," I breathed, counting the clusters of light. "Tywin brought his entire host."
The numbers were staggering. Thirty thousand men, maybe more, camped in ordered formations that spoke of military discipline and overwhelming force. Lannister banners flew above pavilions that housed the greatest knights of the Westerlands, while mercenary companies from across the Narrow Sea added their own chaos to the mix.
[Aerial Reconnaissance: Critical Intelligence Gathered]
[Enemy Force Strength: 35,000 + Lannister Host]
[Command Structure: Tywin Lannister, Kevan Lannister, Gregor Clegane]
[Strategic Assessment: Overwhelming numerical superiority]
But numbers were only part of the story. I guided Appa in a wide circle around the camp, noting the positions of supply wagons, the location of command tents, the distribution of mounted forces versus infantry.
And there, in a protected area near the castle's ruins, I spotted something that made my blood run cold.
Barrels. Dozens of them, marked with symbols I recognized from the show—the alchemists' guild's mark for wildfire.
"Tyrion's already planning for the Battle of Blackwater," I murmured. "But that much wildfire... there's enough there to burn half of King's Landing."
[Strategic Resource Identified: Wildfire Stockpile]
[Estimated Quantity: 200+ barrels]
[Threat Assessment: Catastrophic if misused]
[Sabotage Opportunity: Available]
Time for the first of my interventions.
I had Appa hover while I dropped carefully prepared packages into the Lannister supply train. Pepper packets that would make food inedible, false orders that would redirect shipments to wrong destinations, and most importantly, packages containing concentrated skunk oil that would make life miserable for anyone who opened the wrong barrel.
The work required precision and timing. Each drop had to be calculated to avoid hitting people while maximizing confusion and inconvenience. Not killing—I wasn't ready to cross that line yet—but creating enough chaos to disrupt enemy operations.
[Supply Line Sabotage: Phase 1 Complete]
[Estimated Effectiveness: 15% operational reduction]
[Morale Impact: Significant]
[Detection Risk: Minimal]
"Next stop: Dragonstone," I told Appa. "Let's see what Stannis is planning."
The flight east took us over the Blackwater, where moonlight turned the great river into a ribbon of silver threading toward the capital. In the distance, I could see the lights of King's Landing, where Joffrey sat on his stolen throne and Cersei plotted against anyone who threatened her power.
But Dragonstone was what held my attention.
The ancient Targaryen stronghold rose from the sea like a dragon made of stone, its towers and walls carved to resemble sleeping beasts. Even in the darkness, I could see the fleet anchored in the harbor—hundreds of ships flying Stannis Baratheon's flaming heart banner.
"The Blackwater fleet," I realized. "Stannis is almost ready to move on King's Landing."
The ships were impressive, but I could also see their weaknesses. Wooden hulls that would burn beautifully if Tyrion's wildfire trap worked as intended. Crews that had probably never faced Greek fire in their lives. A fleet designed for conventional naval warfare, not the supernatural horror Tyrion was preparing.
[Naval Intelligence: Stannis Baratheon Fleet]
[Ship Count: 300+ vessels]
[Troop Capacity: 20,000+ soldiers]
[Vulnerability: High susceptibility to fire-based attacks]
I made mental notes about which ships carried Stannis's most valuable supporters—Davos Seaworth's vessel, the transports carrying knights who might be worth saving, the command ships that would need to survive for the realm's future stability.
But Stannis wasn't my only concern. I had Appa fly south, following the coast toward the Reach where another army was gathering.
Renly Baratheon's host was everything Stannis's wasn't—a glittering spectacle of southern chivalry that looked more like a tournament than a military campaign. Silk pavilions in rainbow colors, knights in polished armor that gleamed even by moonlight, an atmosphere of festival and celebration that spoke of men who had never faced real war.
"Eighty thousand men," I counted, watching the sprawling camp that seemed to go on forever. "But half of them are green boys playing at war."
The contrast with Tywin's professional army was stark. Renly had the numbers, but his host lacked the discipline and experience needed for serious campaigning. They were brave, certainly, and individually skilled, but they had no idea what they were marching toward.
[Southern Intelligence: Renly's Tournament Army]
[Force Strength: 80,000+ men]
[Combat Effectiveness: 60% due to inexperience]
[Political Stability: Dependent on Renly's survival]
I had Appa circle the camp, dropping supplies and messages at strategic locations. Information about Stannis's naval preparations that might reach the right ears. Warnings about shadowbinding and blood magic that could save lives if taken seriously. Strategic advice that might help the army function more effectively when the real fighting started.
But most importantly, I left coded warnings about the supernatural threats that would soon emerge. Melisandre's shadow assassins, the stirring beyond the Wall, the dragons hatching across the Narrow Sea. Information that seemed like prophecy or madness now, but which would prove vital when the impossible became reality.
[Information Network: Southern Drop Points Established]
[Strategic Warnings: Planted Successfully]
[Continental Awareness: +75% intelligence coverage]
The flight back north took us over King's Landing itself, and I couldn't resist a quick surveillance pass over the Red Keep. The castle where I'd started this journey looked different from above—smaller, more vulnerable, a cluster of towers and walls that seemed almost quaint compared to the armies gathering to tear it apart.
But it was still the heart of the realm, where decisions were made that affected millions of lives. I could see guards walking the walls, lights burning in windows where Cersei was probably planning new cruelties, the Sept of Baelor where Ned Stark had died to set all this in motion.
"Soon," I promised the city below. "All this ends soon, one way or another."
Dawn was breaking in the east as we returned to the river valley where Robb's army slept. I had Appa land in the same clearing where we'd started, taking a moment to scratch his ears and thank him for another perfect flight.
"See you in a week, buddy. And next time... I think we're going to need to be ready for battle."
Appa made a soft rumbling sound that might have been agreement, nuzzled my shoulder once, and then faded back to whatever dimension held him between summons.
[Reconnaissance Mission: Complete]
[Continental Intelligence: Updated]
[Strategic Positioning: All major armies located and assessed]
[Sabotage Operations: Phase 1 Initiated]
[Next Objective: Prepare for Whispering Wood]
I made my way back through the pre-dawn darkness, slipping between sentries who were more focused on watching for external threats than monitoring the movements of camp servants. By the time the army stirred to life, I was back in my bedroll, apparently having slept peacefully through the night.
But Roose Bolton's pale eyes found me during the morning's breaking of camp, studying me with the intensity of a man who knew something was wrong but couldn't prove it yet.
"Sleep well?" he asked quietly as he passed near my position.
"Like the dead, my lord," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "Nothing disturbs a servant's rest when he knows he's done his duty."
Bolton's smile was winter-cold. "Indeed. Duty is so important. I wonder... what does a servant consider his true duty to be?"
The question hung in the air between us, loaded with implications and threats. Bolton was still probing, still trying to understand what I was and what I represented.
"To serve faithfully and cause no trouble, my lord. Nothing more complicated than that."
"How wonderfully simple," Bolton whispered. "I do so admire simplicity. It makes everything so much... cleaner."
He drifted away like a pale shadow, but I could feel his attention like ice water on my spine. The Leech Lord was patient, methodical, and absolutely ruthless. He would keep watching, keep probing, until he found the answers he wanted.
But that was a problem for tomorrow. Today, I had intelligence that could change the course of the war—knowledge of enemy positions, strategic weaknesses, supply vulnerabilities. Information that could help Robb avoid the worst traps while positioning his forces for maximum advantage.
The War of Five Kings was entering its bloodiest phase, and I was right in the middle of it with abilities that could tip the balance.
Time to see if a servant with a flying bison could really change the fate of Westeros.
The game was accelerating, and winter was coming for everyone.
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