GOT: A Transmigrator's Conquest

Jory stood by the window, looking out at the courtyard filled with moonlight in of Winterfell. His mind was occupied, but there was a sense of unease that remained in the back of his mind. He couldn't shake it, though he didn't know why.

He had noticed that Stannon had been acting a bit weird since he came to Winterfell. But that wasn't out of ordinary as everyone need some time to adapt to certain things and places.

As he stood there, lost in thought, a soft knock echoed through his room. It was rare for anyone to visit him at this hour. He walked slowly to the door, wondering who it could be.

When he opened it, a guard stood there, his face familiar but not entirely. The guard nodded respectfully. "Ser Jory," he said, his voice calm. "Lord Stark has summoned you."

Jory raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. "At this hour?" he asked.

The guard gave a small, reassuring smile. "Yes, Ser. It's urgent."

Jory paused for a moment, considering. Though it was late, he had always been loyal to Lord Stark, and it wouldn't do to refuse a summons. With a nod, he stepped aside, allowing the guard to lead the way.

The guard led him through the quiet castle, and soon they arrived at a door Jory recognized. The guard knocked lightly and then opened it, revealing a small, candlelit room where Lord Stark sat, waiting.

"Jory," Lord Stark greeted, his expression calm but serious. "Come in."

Jory entered, closing the door behind him. Whatever the matter was, it didn't seem to be an immediate threat, but the seriousness in Stark's tone told him that this was no simple matter.

"Sit," Ned said, motioning to the chair across from him. "There's a task I need to discuss with you."

Jory lowered himself into the chair, watching the lord closely. "Of course, my lord. What do you require of me?"

Ned leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "I need you to return to King's Landing—with Ser Barristan Selmy."

"May I ask what's happened, my lord?" Jory spoke cautiously.

Ned's eyes flicked to the door briefly before he answered. "I'll explain everything when Ser Barristan arrives. This is not a matter to be spoken of lightly, and his presence is necessary for what I have to share."

Jory nodded, recognizing the unspoken command. "As you say, my lord."

For a moment, silence settled between them. Then, Lord Stark spoke again, his tone softer. "How was your time at the Red Keep?"

Jory straightened in his chair. "It was... interesting, my lord. The court is full of politics and intrigue. Your nephew, however, is a fine boy."

Ned Stark's face softened slightly, but his eyes still carried their usual seriousness. "And what did you think of him?"

Jory paused before answering, choosing his words carefully. "He's mature for his age. He understands more than most children ever would. He doesn't act like other boys his age—there's no reckless playfulness or silly laughter. He listens and speaks only when he has something important to say. He's sharp, but there's a sadness in him. It's hard to miss."

Ned nodded, a troubled look crossing his face. "He's the heir, after all. That's not a light burden, and it weighs heavy even on a child."

"I hope you don't resent me for sending you so far away," Ned continued, his voice softer. "I needed someone I trust to protect him. You were the right choice, Jory."

Jory bowed his head respectfully. "How could I blame you, my lord? It is my duty to obey and protect your nephew. He is not just a child but the future of this realm. I will guard him with my life."

A moment of silence passed between them. Then, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," Ned called.

The door opened, and Ser Barristan Selmy stepped in. Even in his older years, the knight carried himself with honor and strength. His reputation was known across the realm.

"Ser Barristan," Ned greeted, rising to his feet. "Thank you for coming. I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"It was, my lord," Ser Barristan replied, his voice calm. "What's required of me?"

"Sit with us," Ned said, gesturing to a seat. "We'll share a drink before we begin."

Jory watched silently, still trying to figure out what was going on. The uneasiness he was feeling continued to grow.

"My lord," Jory said hesitantly, "how can someone of my status drink with you, a lord, and Ser Barristan, a man of such renown?"

Ned chuckled, a rare warmth in his tone. "Ah, Jory, you're wrong again. I'm not drinking with a mere knight. I'm drinking with a man who has proven his loyalty to me time and again. Didn't I command you to not say such things in front of me already?"

Jory bowed his head again in gratitude, though he still felt a little out of place.

Jory had no idea whether the person whose appearance he had taken had drunk with Ned in earlier years. From all the details he was able to gather, there was no such information of this happening.

The North had always been a land shrouded in mystery, where gathering accurate information about House Stark was no small matter. The harsh climate and the fiercely loyal people made it difficult for outsiders to infiltrate and uncover secrets. If some details had slipped through the cracks during the process, it wouldn't be considered unusual. Such things had happened before, and they would likely happen again.

Furthermore, there was no plausible way for Stark to deduce his true identity. Every move he had made was calculated and precise, leaving no room for error or suspicion. From what he could recall, his actions and words had been flawless at every turn, carefully crafted to maintain his cover. Even the most experienced observer would struggle to find a crack in the facade he had so meticulously built.

Still, there was always a risk, no matter how small. The North was a place where rumors had a way of spreading like wildfire, fueled by whispers in the cold winds. One misstep, however insignificant, could be enough to unravel everything. But as far as he could tell, no such slip had occurred from his side —at least, not yet.

Jory lookover as Lord Stark opened the bottle, releasing the rich, earthy scent of the wine into the room. His nose twitched involuntarily—a reflex from years spent around poisons and potions. His senses, finely attuned to detect the faintest traces of toxins, locked onto the wine in Lord Stark's glass.

Jory closed his eyes for a moment, letting his awareness extend to the surrounding scents. The wine was rich and earthy, with no bitter or unusual odors. It was safe. His years of experience in dealing with poison definitely wouldn't betray him.

Stark poured the wine into their glasses, offering one to Jory and one to Ser Barristan. "Drink," Ned said.

Jory accepted the glass without hesitation, taking a small sip as he made a point of savoring the smooth taste.

The wine's warmth began to spread through him, but Jory's mind remained sharp. He had a strong tolerance, which he had developed over a few years. But he had no intention of letting it show. He took another sip, tilting his head back, allowing his movements to appear clumsy. His body swayed just a little more than it needed to, making it feel like the wine seemed to be more than what he could handle.

Ser Barristan, unmoved, took a deep drink without a slightest bit of concern. His years of experience in drinking had made him unshakable.

The three men continued drinking in silence. The more Jory was offered to drink, the more he could feel the warmth spreading through his chest, but his senses were still alert. He kept his focus sharp, pretending to let the alcohol dull his edges.

Another round was poured, and Jory took the glass, but this time he acted as though he could barely hold it. He staggered slightly, slurring his words even more as he raised the glass to his lips. "Ah, I can handle it," he muttered to no one in particular, his voice heavy with the pretense of drunkenness.

Although he was not heavily drunk, he definitely would reach that stage soon if the two old men didn't stop pouring him even more wine.

Ser Barristan, ever observant, looked at him. "Jory," he said, his voice firm and low. "I don't believe I've ever seen you so... relaxed."

Jory chuckled, hiding the unease in his smile. "Aye, Ser Barristan," he slurred, his words deliberately slow. "It's the drink." He took another large sip, letting the alcohol loosen his tongue. Although he was about drunk, he could still escape from here if the two men attacked him.

Ned Stark, who had been silently observing, set his glass down with a soft thud. He stood up and walked towards the window.

"Ser Barristan, Jory." Ned said, "Thank you for protecting my nephew. Your presence has been invaluable, especially with everything going on in the capital."

Jory blinked slowly, his mind catching up with the words. He nodded, still playing the role of the completely wasted knight. "It's... it's just our duty, my lord." His voice wavered just enough to seem more sluggish than it should have been.

Ser Barristan gave a small nod, his eyes sharp. "Indeed, my lord. But why have you called us here tonight? There's more to this meeting than just a toast."

Ned's face hardened for a moment, then softened again. He set his glass down and waved his hand dismissively and then looked at Jory. "Just a minute, Ser Barristan. Before that—Oren, come here and stand beside me."

"Yes, my lor—" Jory stopped suddenly, realizing he had answered to a different name.

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he forgot about the wine as the shock of the words hit him. Oren. He hadn't heard that name in years, not since everything had changed. For a brief second, it felt like the time in the room had stopped, and panic washed over him.

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