"You look frightening right now, like a block of ice without any emotion," Sansa said worriedly.
"I am a Faceless Man," Arya replied calmly, raising an eyebrow.
"Have you been practicing some kind of meditation technique?" Sansa asked.
"That is my secret." Arya avoided answering directly.
Sansa's expression grew grave. "The day before Aegon was killed, the five of us siblings united our souls. At that time, a cold and terrifying will followed your spiritual power and caused Bran to suffer greatly."
"Oh, right. Has Bran contacted you? He has become the Three-Eyed Raven."
Arya hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "That day, when my soul returned to my body, he came to me."
"He really went to you." Sansa's face darkened, and she felt deeply unsettled.
Aegon had been captured and later burned to death. It was a knot in her heart that she could not untie. The Three-Eyed Raven clearly knew everything. Jon had clearly been calling for his help beneath the heart tree of Winterfell. Why had Bran stood by and watched coldly as the tragedy unfolded upon her?
Bran had helped Jon and helped Arya. Why not help her?
Arya noticed the change in her sister's mood, but she assumed Sansa was worried about her, so she explained, "My meditation method comes from the House of Black and White. It is extremely powerful, but it has a flaw. It partially transforms one into a White Walker."
"Turn into a White Walker?" Sansa was horrified.
Arya glanced back at Brienne and the Hound, who were peering over curiously, and lowered her voice. "Keep your voice down. Do not let the others hear."
Sansa walked over to her sister with a grim expression. She touched Arya's face, then, ignoring her struggle, reached into her collar and pressed her hand against her left chest.
"Your body temperature is abnormal. It is far lower than that of an ordinary person." Sansa's pretty face turned pale, her voice trembling.
"I think this is just fine," Arya said indifferently.
"But you are almost becoming a White Walker," Sansa said anxiously.
"I know what I am doing. I will not let myself fully transform into one."
"You really can turn into a White Walker?" Sansa's voice shook.
"Bran has deduced the nature of my meditation method. It is very powerful and even involves the Song of the Dead, yet its foundation is extremely sinister.
"Only those with firm willpower can avoid straying onto the wrong path after cultivating it. Do not worry. My will is as solid as rock," Arya said confidently.
"The Song of the Dead?" Sansa looked confused.
"It is the Law of Death. It can allow a mortal to become the God of Death." Arya's eyes gleamed.
"What if you fail?" Sansa asked anxiously.
"If I fail, I might become a monster," Arya said solemnly.
"Ah, then you must stop practicing it," Sansa cried out.
"An ordinary Faceless Man cannot even get past the Hound. How could I manage without cultivating the Holy Scripture of Death?
"And even if I become a White Walker, I will still be one with an independent will. When that time comes, I will first help you kill the White Walker King, then kill myself."
"The White Walker King would never guard against another White Walker." Arya's gaze was cold and resolute.
While Sansa flew toward Winterfell with Arya and the Hound, Barristan appeared outside King's Landing as the representative of the Dragon Queen.
The Hand of the King, Randyll Tarly, crossed the Blackwater and met the old knight near the Kingswood on the southern bank.
Watching the surging river flow eastward into the sea, Barristan sighed. "Meeting you here in this way truly pains me. Do you understand what I mean?"
On Randyll Tarly's granite-hard face appeared a trace of shared embarrassment and discomfort.
"The moral decay and collapse of order in Westeros began with the Mad King. Ever since he slaughtered Rickard Stark and his son, visiting another lord's castle to negotiate or to wed has seemed more dangerous than going to the battlefield."
"His Majesty Aerys may have been wrong in the way he executed Duke Rickard, but perhaps he had his own difficulties at the time," the old knight said, frowning as he offered a defense for his former liege.
"If being tormented by a mad gene counts as a difficulty, then so be it," Randyll replied flatly.
"Let us not discuss this today. The matter between His Majesty Aerys and Duke Rickard will ultimately be resolved at the Grand Council convened by the Queen."
Barristan shook his head and turned to the purpose of his visit. "Stannis has refused a ceasefire, but Her Majesty demands that you hand over one hundred tons of wildfire."
Randyll Tarly's eyelids twitched slightly as he said coldly, "Do you think I will yield?"
"The Queen said that if you refuse, she would not mind replacing the master of the Iron Throne within a single day with someone more mindful of the greater good," Barristan replied gently.
Randyll's rigid expression finally cracked as he growled angrily, "She is too arrogant. King's Landing has forty thousand troops and hundreds of scorpions designed to shoot down dragons."
"Lord Tarly, please think calmly. For whom does the Queen want the wildfire? Is it to conquer the realm for herself?
"No. She wants it only to fight the White Walkers and to save Westeros.
"The full title of the King of the Seven Kingdoms is 'King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm.' Tell me, who among Cersei and Euron truly qualifies as Protector of the Realm?" Barristan said earnestly.
The anger on Randyll's face froze.
He fell silent.
After a long while, he said hoarsely, "Why does she pressure the Iron Throne instead of forcing Stannis to stop the air raids on King's Landing?"
"Because Stannis is in Winterfell, while the Iron Throne has shown no response at all to the White Walkers marching south."
"To hand over one hundred tons of wildfire for nothing would be difficult for me to explain to the council. Wildfire can not only burn the encircling Vale army, but also block the White Walkers if they reach the gates of King's Landing," Randyll said heavily.
"You want gold? Grain?" Barristan asked with a frown.
"I want dragonglass. I need to equip every soldier in King's Landing with a dragonglass weapon."
Barristan's expression turned strange, and he slowly shook his head.
Randyl Tarly's brows knitted into a deep furrow. "Weapons for forty thousand men are indeed a bit too many. Then make it half. We can rotate their use."
"No, you misunderstand me. Dragonstone is willing to provide King's Landing with five hundred thousand dragonglass spearheads, completely free of charge," Old Barristan said softly.
"Five hundred thousand is no small number. Can you make that decision on Daenerys's behalf?" Randyl Tarly asked uncertainly.
"Her Grace is willing to grant dragonglass weapons free of charge to all humans who resist the Others. She cares neither for gold nor for whether you swear fealty to her. Saving the world is her only purpose."
Randyl Tarly stood stunned for a long while. "I can transport one hundred tons of wildfire, but you must agree to one condition. Take my son, Dickon, to Winterfell."
"Are you certain?"
"I very much want to go myself, to lead King's Landing—no, at least the men of Horn Hill—to block the Others' march south. The Hand of the King should defend Westeros, should he not?" Randyl Tarly's eyes dimmed. "But I cannot. Defending the capital and protecting the king are also the Hand's duties."
"Perhaps you could have Euron reconcile with Stannis. Hand King's Landing over to Davos. Let Euron and Cersei withdraw to Highgarden. The Reach also needs to be fortified," Old Barristan suggested.
"It is a good idea, unfortunately…" Randyl Tarly shook his head bitterly. "When the lords of the Vale rebelled last time, Davos led the wyvern legion and burned Euron's great camp outside Duskendale. He failed to blow Euron to pieces, but he… I heard that part of him was burned beyond repair. With hatred that deep, how could there be reconciliation?"
Although the temperature had dropped below freezing and the sun had gone dark, for greater safety the Dragon Queen's wyvern riders still transported a batch of "Tyrion oil" from Dragonstone to increase the stability of the wildfire.
Outside the River Gate, a large group of alchemists were busy refilling wildfire into glass jars.
Each time a batch was loaded, a wyvern would fly from the south bank to the north dock, lift the wildfire bombs, and immediately head for Winterfell.
There was not a moment's delay.
Not only the wyverns had come. Daenerys's three great dragons had arrived as well.
Two dragons circled overhead on watch, while the third descended to lift more than a ton of wildfire at a time.
"Hey, ser, someone's looking for you." As the great black dragon landed, causing an uproar among the residents and sailors at the river dock, a scruffy little beggar boy with frostbitten cheeks approached Barristan, tossed down a paper ball, and quickly slipped back into the crowd.
Old Barristan lowered his head, picked up the paper ball, and froze when he opened it.
Your old brother is going to Winterfell and hopes you can give him a lift.
"Old brother? Who? Why is this written so vaguely?"
Perplexed, the old knight unconsciously stepped forward, trying to spot the little beggar in the crowd.
Common folk, seeing the White Knight with white enamel set upon his chest and a white cloak draped behind him, made way with expressions of awe and admiration.
Even those who pointed at him did not block his path.
Suddenly, a limping man in a tattered sheepskin coat, his face hidden behind a filthy beard, staggered forward as if drunk. He did not dodge or give way, and moved straight toward the sword hanging at Barristan's left hip.
"Careful, Ser Selmy!"
Though the bearded man looked like a beggar, he also wore a sword at his left waist. The two guards beside Barristan immediately stepped forward, alert, and restrained him.
The cripple did not struggle. He merely lifted his head sharply and locked eyes with Barristan.
"Ah, you—" Barristan's expression changed drastically. He pushed aside the two guards, seized the cripple's right arm, and walked back.
"What are you doing here?" Barristan asked in a low voice.
"Heh, I didn't expect that even reduced to this state, you would still recognize me at a glance. I was just about to announce my name," the bearded man said, limping awkwardly to keep up with the White Knight.
"Even if you turned to ashes, I would know you." Barristan snorted, unconsciously slowing his pace. "I heard you lost your right hand. Why are you lame in your left leg?"
"My right hand is gone, and my left leg is crippled as well," the bearded man replied bitterly.
Barristan led him all the way onto the large seagoing ship on the Blackwater that was loading wildfire jars. Only after entering the captain's cabin on the second deck did he relax and release the man's arm.
Forty wyverns could not carry all the wildfire at once. The remainder would be shipped to Dragonstone by sea and then gradually transferred to Winterfell.
After they sat down, Barristan threw the note onto the bearded man's chest and said coldly, "You are not my brother."
At first the bearded man looked puzzled. After picking up the note and reading it, he understood.
Casually tossing the paper to the floor, he said with a grin, "Varys wrote that. I know my place. In my current state, I cannot aspire to be the Queen's Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Hand of the King."
"Jaime, stop your glib talk. Why are you dressed like this? Why have you come to me?" Barristan said coldly.
The scruffy cripple before him was none other than the once dashing and powerful Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister.
"Though Varys forced my coarse, bearded face against your cold backside, he was not lying. I need your help."
"What are you going to Winterfell for?" Barristan asked, frowning.
The smile vanished from Jaime's face. Bitterness and helplessness crept across his features, carving visible lines along his cheeks before climbing to his brows. "If I do not go to Winterfell now, what else can I do?
I do not know what I should do, but I am absolutely certain that I do not want to make any more mistakes.
At least this time, I can be completely certain that fighting the Others and defending Westeros cannot possibly be wrong."
Seeing the deepened wrinkles on his face, Barristan guessed that his younger comrade's life these past two years must have been harsh. He could not help but ask, "Cersei is in the Red Keep, and the Lannister army is in King's Landing. Why are you dressed like this? It seems you are hiding from someone."
A flash of bone-deep hatred crossed Jaime's bright blue eyes as he gritted his teeth.
"Euron!"
(End of chapter)
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