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"Please don't act rashly, Ser Domeric. I mean you no harm. I came only to speak with you—about my pet…"
Seven hells. Was that any way to "speak" with someone?
This "mage"—a mouse riding a cat—was only a bit larger than an ordinary rat. On its own, it posed no real physical threat to Domeric.
What truly worried him was whether this mage might suddenly unleash something unnatural—like that flame that could melt a man in an instant.
To be honest, Domeric did not want to make an enemy of a mysterious spellcaster—so long as she had not shown open hostility or forced the matter into a blood feud.
So he followed her lead.
"Forgive my bluntness, my lady mage. Why did your pet trespass into my mine and clash with my guards, causing considerable casualties? I believed my lands were under attack…"
"I'm very sorry." The white mouse's ears drooped in genuine regret. "My experiment required a particular mineral element. During the search, my pet wandered into your lands by accident…"
Her expression did not look feigned, and in this situation she had little reason to lie.
"I see. Then it was a misunderstanding." Domeric nodded once. "I'll give the order to release your pet at once, my lady. And for the record—I did not mistreat it. I even had a lavish meal prepared. It ate very well."
"Thank you, Ser Domeric. You really are a reasonable man." The white mouse bowed in a proper noble courtesy. "From the first time I saw you, I knew you were a good man."
"Oh?" Domeric frowned slightly. "You've seen me before?"
"Of course!" The mouse hopped onto the table and rested its tiny paws beneath its chin. "Don't misunderstand—I was here before you arrived.
"Three years ago, Lonely Hill was still an empty wilderness. There was only a wildling clan of fewer than a hundred living here.
"Then you came—and in less than three years, you gathered more than a hundred thousand souls to this place."
It shook its head in wonder.
"That's a miracle. It's almost like magic.
"Truth be told, the 'magic' you created is stronger than any spell I study."
"My lady mage… are you saying you live near Lonely Hill?" Domeric seized on the important point at once.
"My mage's tower is close to your lands. I've watched these changes for years, and I'm astonished every time."
"A mage's tower?"
Seeing Domeric's confusion, the mouse explained, pleased with itself:
"It's where I conduct my experiments. In Asshai, only a mage with sufficient power is permitted to build a tower."
Its smug little face clearly said: Go on. Praise me.
"My tower is cloaked in sorcerous mist year-round. Your people wouldn't find it easily."
So it came with its own fog-of-war. Domeric was speechless.
A spellcaster had been hiding near his lands—and he had known nothing of it.
A single phrase came to him, perfectly apt: hiding in plain sight.
"Oh—one more thing." The mouse rummaged behind itself and produced a heavy pouch, then tossed it across the room. "I've heard my pet caused you losses. This is compensation."
Domeric caught it and weighed it in his palm—solid and heavy.
"It won't restore the dead," the mouse said quietly, "but it may make life easier for those still living."
…
Soon, on Domeric's orders, the mage's "pet"—the girl whose body she had swapped with—was brought into the bedchamber.
The girl's face was smeared with grease and meat juices. Her dress was oily. Her belly was round as a barrel—clearly stuffed to bursting—and she kept letting out little burps.
Meanwhile, more than a hundred armored soldiers—helmed and mailed—packed the corridors and ringed the chamber under Ser Wendel and Ser Jorah's command.
Wendel made a hand signal, asking whether he should strike.
Domeric shook his head calmly.
The white mouse was not the least bit nervous. It plainly had a way to escape.
With the misunderstanding cleared, Domeric had no reason to provoke a mage.
After all—no man can guard against a thief every day for a thousand days.
The mouse produced a wand from nowhere and rapped the girl on the head repeatedly, scolding as it did.
"Getting lost—again! Stuffing yourself—again! Do you have any idea what it cost me to come rescue you?"
The girl collapsed to the floor, wailing.
Then the mouse froze—realizing it was striking its own body, merely swapped in the mishap of an experiment. It stopped at once.
"My apologies, Ser Domeric," the mouse said, fur standing on end. "This pet is maddening."
"I understand," Domeric said, spreading his hands. "Everyone ends up with a troublesome pet sooner or later."
"Now that it's settled—and given the late hour—I'll take my leave."
The mouse had noticed the growing number of guards and clearly had no desire to linger. It raised a tiny paw in farewell.
Under a hundred watchful eyes, the mouse led the pet-girl back toward the corner shadows.
The darkness twisted.
Just as it was about to vanish, a leaf-made invitation card fluttered out of the shadow and drifted toward Domeric.
"One more thing, Ser Domeric. If you wish to visit my tower, place this invitation on the highest stone atop the mountain. My sentries will guide you to me…"
The voice faded.
The twisting shadow disappeared entirely.
Only then did Domeric order a search.
Before long, a soldier found the problem.
They pried up the floorboards. Where the shadow had been, someone had carved intricate runes into the stone and set in numerous glittering crystals.
A spell circle.
A teleportation circle.
Wendel rubbed his bald head, mortified. "My lord… this is my failure."
"It is not," Domeric replied. "Your men have been trained to watch for people—not rats. Truth be told, I didn't expect a mage to appear in such a way either."
He exhaled, then raised his voice so every man could hear.
"Magic has returned, and the tide of sorcery is rising.
"From this moment on, I want every one of you to take that power seriously.
"I require this: from now on, not even a rat is to slip into this hall."
"Yes, my lord." The soldiers dropped to one knee.
…
"My lord, to prevent anything like this again, allow me to guard you personally from this day forward," Wendel volunteered at once.
"I do need a sworn guard at my side," Domeric said dryly. "But not you. I will not endure your snoring at arm's length."
"I can try breathing through my nose when I sleep," Wendel said earnestly. "Perhaps then I won't snore."
He truly was shaken. A mage had entered the lord's bedchamber without a sound.
If anything had happened to Domeric, Wendel would carry the stain of "failing to protect his liege" for the rest of his life.
In noble society, once you were branded, you were finished.
Even the notorious Kingslayer proved that.
Domeric rubbed his chin, thinking. Most of his time went to governance. He did need a close guard—someone alert to sudden dangers.
Then the answer came.
Benita Antaryon.
The woman from the House of Black and White.
"The handmaid I brought back from Winterfell," Domeric said. "Bring her to me."
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🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
📢 Dark Secrets Await in the North! 📢
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