House Among Chaotic Kingdoms

Votes for this Turn:

A1 - Combat - 12

A2 - Leisure - 0

A3 - Scholarly - 29

A4 - Diplomacy - 11

A5 - Language - 1

A6 - Communications - 0

S1 - Wikipedia - 38

S2 - Steam - 0

S3 - Paradox - 0

S4 - World - 14

Ideas for Our Minion:

Try to heal Shireen's Grayscale on our Behalf - 25

Go to Castle Black as a Healer - 15

Stay Local (No Cost) - 2

White Harbor to ask merchants how much damage the calamities caused - 2

Helping the Last Rite Order as a Healer - 2

Investigate Long Lake people's contentment/problems - 1

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Rolls for this Turn:

Personal: Wikipedia

Thanks to 1972 in Swedish football, there is now a minor boost to learning and performing leisure activities in the North.

While the gained skill persists outside of the North, the boost in performance does not.

(At least this means we get a slow passive gain to Acting/Lying Convincingly.)

World: Might and Magic Wiki

This roll (Dragon Crystal) was very straightforward because, of the three options, only one of them lines up with this quest.

“Draw a card OR gain 1 resource OR deal 1 damage to target creature.”

So as a result, we now gain 4 resources per turn from now on…

The excuse we can go with is that the tax situation has settled a bit.

So your uncle Ned now feels ok decreasing the amount going to the Winter-Preparation-Fund by the slightest fraction, to allow you a slightly larger allowance from now on.

Or we can just say a few more coins magically appear alongside your other ones periodically, and you've decided not to question it.

It’s up to you if this roll came with an explanation or not, but the important part is that we’re back up to 4 per turn from 3.

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Story:

Study with Sansa and Maester Luwin had a habit of wandering.

A lesson would start in one neat place, then end somewhere else entirely, usually somewhere larger, stranger, or more useful than where it began.

That day it started with medicine.

Not herbs first, not bones first, and not blood either, because the real question was who learned what, who shared it, who kept it, and why some cures spread while others stayed locked in a few careful hands until the wrong person died and took it with them.

Maester Luwin, being a maester, had clear thoughts on that.

Sansa liked the lesson at once because it came with names, order, and the sort of tidy shape she was always happy to gather up and keep.

You liked it too, though for simpler reasons, because medicine stopped feeling distant the moment somebody started coughing blood, burning with fever, or failing to wake when they ought.

That was where the Springlords came into it.

Maester Luwin admitted freely enough that they were skilled healers, and nobody sensible denied that much.

The Springlords had old methods, strange methods, and enough real successes behind them that even people who distrusted them still sent for them when things looked poor enough.

But then came the other side of it, because they kept too much to themselves, and that, to Maester Luwin, was the heart of the trouble.

A maester who learned something new was meant to write it down and send it outward, not keep it, not hide it, and not die with it.

If one man in Oldtown found a better way to treat fever, then people in White Harbor and Maidenpool ought to know it too.

That was the ideal anyway, and Maester Luwin believed in it hard enough that the point had teeth.

The Springlords, by contrast, kept their craft close, and that made them impressive while also making them suspect to people who liked their learning neat, copied, and sent by raven.

That part felt less like some old dry argument than it otherwise might have, because Berenice was not a story from a book.

She was yours, or near enough.

She had come down from the Springlords to serve you, and since arriving she had spent most of her time not in Winterfell proper but in Winter Town, where she worked on the kinds of hurts that filled ordinary life from one season to the next, with: cuts, burns, fevers, bad joints, birthing troubles, and all the other rough little miseries people could not afford to dress up into drama.

That had done good things for your name there too, because smallfolk remembered being helped, and remembered even better when they had not first been made to beg.

Sansa pointed that out during the lesson.

She said Winter Town had taken to Berenice quickly enough, and by extension had taken to you a little more warmly too.

That pleased you.

It pleased Maester Luwin too, though in the sort of measured way that suggested he liked the result more than the thinking behind it.

From there the lesson shifted toward newer advances, and how much had been gained simply because people had bothered to compare notes instead of hugging every scrap of useful knowledge to death.

Maester Luwin named some illnesses.

He named some old mistakes.

He named a few treatments once thought sound that had later been abandoned once enough people had the sense to admit they had done more harm than good.

Then he brought up greyscale, and the whole lesson seemed to settle a little around the name.

Not the child tales of it either, where it was spoken of like a curse sent by dark gods or old sins.

He meant the real sickness, the old one, the one that had terrified towns, shut gates, emptied roads, and put whole households into dread the moment one patch of hardening skin appeared where it ought not have been.

Greyscale had been feared for so long that most people no longer thought of it as a disease in quite the same way they thought of fever or flux.

It sat in the mind more like doom.

Something that arrived, spread, and took what it wanted unless luck or distance got in its way first.

Maester Luwin said that had always been part of what made it so terrible.

It did not simply sicken, it changed: skin hardened, color died, sensation went strangely in the places touched first.

And if the sickness was not halted, then it moved inward as surely as winter moved south, until the flesh was not even the worst of it anymore and the mind itself began to go.

That was why old accounts of greyscale so often ended with isolation, prayer, exile, fire, or silence.

Most people had not looked at it and seen a patient.

They had looked at it and seen a death that walked around for a while before finally lying down.

That was also why halting it mattered so much.

For most of its history, nobody expected a halt.

At best they hoped to slow it.

At best they cut away what they thought they could cut away.

At best they prayed over it, salved it, bound it, and watched the stone creep on regardless.

The miracle was not that pain could be eased for a while.

The miracle was that anyone had found a way to make the sickness stop where it stood and refuse it the rest of the body.

That was where Princess Shireen Baratheon came in.

Her greyscale had been halted while she was still a child, and that was the part that mattered.

It had stopped.

It had not taken her life.

It had not reached the worse endings waiting beyond the skin.

But it had still left its mark, because the sickness had been stayed, not undone, and her face remained scarred where the greyscale had already written itself before being checked.

Maester Luwin lingered there, because the point was not only that one princess had survived.

The point was that once a thing had been done once, and once enough details of it had been remembered, copied, compared, and argued over, it had a chance to be done again.

Shireen’s case mattered not merely because she lived, but because people had paid attention afterward.

Methods had been discussed.

Observations had been recorded.

Other children with early greyscale had since been treated with some success, not always cleanly and not always without scars, but with enough victories behind it now that no honest healer could call it a one time marvel and be done.

That gave the whole thing more weight.

Not safety, never safety.

Greyscale was still greyscale.

Too old, too feared, and too eager to ruin what it touched.

But now there was at least one narrow road through it where before there had been only dread, and that was the kind of change that altered how healers thought even when it did not yet alter how common people feared.

A sickness with a treatment was still frightening.

It was simply not the same as a sickness with none.

That part sat with you for a while.

You had never met Shireen, but the shape of it came easily enough, with: a little girl sick enough to frighten a court, a child saved but not wholly spared, and a princess who lived while still carrying the sickness written into her face afterward.

There was something in that which caught at you hard enough that even after Maester Luwin had moved on, your own thoughts had not.

Maybe it was simple sympathy.

Maybe it was because Berenice had become so ordinary a part of your affairs that your mind reached for her naturally.

Maybe it was because the Springlords sat in that odd place where they were not fully yours and yet still were, with their heartland in your lands and their name, at least a little, tied to your own.

Whatever the reason, once the thought came it stayed.

So after the lesson you found Berenice and asked her plainly whether she would go to Dragonstone and see if anything could be done for Princess Shireen’s scars.

Berenice did not answer at once.

She listened first.

Then she asked whether this was for the princess, for the royal family, or for the Springlords.

You said all three, because there was no point pretending otherwise.

You did feel for the girl.

That part was true enough.

You also knew that kindness shown to the royal family was not wasted.

And beyond even that, the Springlords had their seat in your lands, and you wanted the rest of Westeros to think of them as healers worth seeking rather than strange northerners who kept their best craft hidden in the woods and expected trust on faith alone.

That answer seemed to satisfy her well enough.

She did warn you, though, because Springlord methods, she said, worked less well on those who did not keep the old gods.

Not never, and not wholly useless either.

Just less deeply.

Just less surely.

A child of Dragonstone and the Seven would not answer their craft as a child of the North might.

Still, she said she would try, and that was enough for you.

Travel to Dragonstone and back was no small thing, so you gave her the savings you had managed to build up over time.

The whole little pile went with her.

Once the thing had been decided, there was no sense pretending you wanted to keep half your nerve hidden in your purse.

Berenice took it gravely enough, and in that moment the whole business stopped being an idea and became a quest.

The days before she left felt stranger than they ought to have.

Nothing looked very different.

Winterfell still stood where it always had.

Winter Town still smoked and muttered below.

Berenice still moved through the castle and town as she had before.

But now every ordinary thing about her had a little more weight hanging off it because soon enough she would be on the road instead of at hand, carrying your coin, your hope, and a question all the way to Dragonstone.

When the day came to see her off, you went to the gates of Winterfell yourself.

The carriages were ready by then.

The road was there waiting.

The little train meant for the journey looked both ordinary and important in the way such departures often did.

Berenice thanked you before she left.

Not lavishly, and not thinly either.

Then she said she would do what she could, which was the kind of promise worth hearing because it did not try to sound larger than itself.

So you watched her go out through the gates with all the savings you had managed to gather and all the hope you had chosen to spend with them, and for a while after she disappeared down the road you stood there thinking of Dragonstone, of Princess Shireen, of scars half healed and half lingering, and of the odd way one study session with Sansa and Maester Luwin had somehow ended with a healer riding halfway across the realm.

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Skills:

Combat:

(4) Westerosi CQC - 5/100 (+15) (Skilled In North) ←

(3) Westerosi Swordsmanship - 95/100 (+10)

(5) Northern Archery - 50/100 (+15) (Skilled)

(3) Northern Equestrianism - 69/100 (+7) (Knack)

(3) Heavy Armour - 65/100 (+17) (Skilled)

Diplomacy:

(5) Interpersonal Communication - 10/100 (+15) (Skilled) ←

(2) Public Speaking - 55/100 (+5) (Skilled)

(5) Management - 50/100 (+30) (Prodigious)

(2) Stewardship - 75/100 (+7) (Knack)

(2) Northern Law - 57/100 (+7) (Knack)

(2) Westerosi Law - 47/100 (+7) (Knack)

Language:

(4) Common Speaking - 100/100 (+15) (Knack)

(4) Old Tongue Speaking - 92/100 (+12) (Knack)

(3) Valyrian Speaking - 55/100 (+12) (Knack)

(4) Common Reading - 5/100 (+25) ←

(1) Westerosi Runes - 93/100 (+10)

(3) Valyrian Reading - 65/100 (+10)

Scholarly: (Knack in North)

(3) Math(s) - 85/100 (+25)

(3) Accounts - 85/100 (+25)

(5) Northern History - 30/100 (+30) (Knack) ←

(3) Westerosi History - 80/100 (+25)

(4) Northern Peoples - 45/100 (+25)

(3) Westerosi Peoples - 70/100 (+25)

Leisure: (Knack in North)

(3) Northern Hunting - 70/100 (+12)

(2) Fishing - 27/100 (+7)

(2) Swimming - 17/100 (+7)

(1) Seacraft - 13/100 (+3)

(1) Climbing - 17/100 (+7) (Skilled In North)

(1) Acting (Lying Convincingly) - 88/100 (+3)

(2) Gardening - 80/100 (+30) (Prodigious)

War:

(1) Strategy - 50/100 (+25) (Prodigious)

(1) Castrametation - 10/100 (+0)

(1) Poliorcetics - 10/100 (+0)

(1) Fleetcraft - 10/100 (+0)

(1) Battlewise (coup d’œil) - 10/100 (+0)

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Earning: 4

Spending: 20

Banked: 4

Spent: 20

Gained: ???

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Rolls for Next Turn:

T2 = Person/Event at Home

L6 = Mildly convenient

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Voting:

Main Actions: (+ = Low, ++ = Mid, +++ = High)

A1 - Train with Jon, and sometimes Rob and Theon, in the Yard. (Combat Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Jon + Theon, + Rob)

A2 - Go on Hunts With Jon and Sansa. (Equestrianism + Leisure Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Jon, ++ Sansa, + Ned, - - Cat)

A3 - Keep up your studies with your cousin, Sansa, and Maester Lewin. (Scholarly Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Sansa, + Cat, + Ned)

A4 - Act as your Uncle Ned’s page with Rob and Theon. (Diplomacy Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Ned, + Theon, + Rob)

A5 - Spend your time teaching/watching little Arya and your Wolves with Yara. (Language Focus)

(Reputation: ++ Arya, + Yara, + Ned)

A6 - Follow Rob until he shares his Friends and Activities with you. (Communications Focus)

(Reputation: +Rob, + Cat, + Ned)

Personal Rolls Sources:

S1 - Wikipedia (On Cooldown 1/2)

S2 - Steam Games

S3 - Paradox Wiki's (D30)

S4 - World Rolls List (D12)

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Information:

1 - Reputations as of Chapter 28

Jon - Friends (+)

Sansa - Close Friends

Arya - Friends

Cat - Friendly

Ned - Friends (-)

Rob - Good (-)

Theon - Ok (+)

Yara - Ok (+)

(Neutral → Fine → Ok → Good → Friendly → Friends → Close Friends → BFF’s)

(+) Means we’re one “+” with that person from it going up a rank.

(-) Means we’re one “-” with that person from it going down a rank.

2 - It’s been more than a year since we’ve done a turn with Uncle Ned, and he’s noticed.

Soon, we’re going to lose some reputation with him due to seeming to put less attention on learning to be a future lord than we should.

It’s not a major reputation loss, just a heads up that not taking an action enough turns in a row can have consequences as well.

Another Example:

Not going hunting enough turns in a row will cause Sansa to stop joining in on the hunting we’ve been doing passively in the background.

Though we’ve got plenty of time before this is an issue, since we did it on turn 25.

Or not working with Arya for long enough will cause her to lapse in her training, which Yara will blame on us for failing to keep encouraging her.

This one is also unlikely since we did it on turn 24.

But our last turn with uncle ned was Turn 21, and that represents more than a year since we’ve focused on Diplomacy, and he’s noticed.

(Technically, I should have taken 1 reputation from Uncle Ned starting this turn, but I realised that having this be one of the surprise quest mechanics is a bit unfair, so I extended the grace period by a turn to give this warning first.)

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Write-In/Questions:

1 - Do you think this chapter leaned too heavily on Meta-Knowledge, and should be avoided in the future?

Or do you think that because something can be justified with in-universe knowledge, that voters choosing it based on Meta-Knowledge is irrelevant?

There was a lot of interesting discussion about this on SB and QQ after the last chapter.

So I’d be interested to see if you think the solution I went with justifies the voted-for plan of action, or if your whole experience of this quest has been thrown off based on this chapter?