Bloodthirsty wolf demon, blood demon? Are they talking about me?
Arya thought in a daze.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!" She smashed her small head against the wooden board above, shouting, "Let me out! Who's outside? Hurry and let me out!"
"Ah, the blood demon is roaring," a soldier outside cried in alarm.
Then another bout of chaos broke out.
"Ignore her. Our objective is the Scourge Fortress."
A man's reprimanding voice came faintly from ahead. After that, the shouting soldiers quieted down.
Though several years had passed, Arya recognized the man's voice instantly. It was the Imp.
Then she roughly deduced her current situation: the Dragon Queen was leading the Westerlands volunteer army, rushing around to hunt the wights. Yesterday, they had likely approached Casterly Rock. After capturing her, the Queen brought her to the volunteer army's camp.
"What about Nymeria?"
She thought of her direwolf.
In the next instant, her soul left her body and entered a vigorous one.
The darkness and cramped space vanished. She arrived on a vast, dim, and icy snowfield.
Nymeria was running across the snow.
Now she began running as well.
There was a harness around her neck. She was pulling a sled.
Arya glanced back and happened to meet the Dragon Queen's half-smiling gaze.
"Awwooo!" Arya was startled. Her rhythmic steps faltered, and the sled shook.
"Crack!" A whip lashed across her back. The pain made her howl again. Instinctively, following the direwolf's nature, she resumed her previous running rhythm.
Arya felt both aggrieved and fearful.
Long ago, she had already been somewhat afraid of the Dragon Queen. Their first meeting by the Trident had been terrible. For a long time, that true dragon's roar, which seemed to shatter her soul, had been her nightmare.
Later, she trained hard, hoping to dispel that shadow through growing strength. She succeeded halfway. The Deathwing that burned Braavos left a second haunting image in her mind.
Afterward, she came into contact with extraordinary power, the Death Scripture. She was transformed, and nothing could make her afraid anymore.
And the Dragon Queen's gentle and approachable demeanor at Winterfell had also helped heal her trauma.
But last night's storm, enduring hours inside a tornado, fainting and waking repeatedly, only to faint again, had changed everything.
Arya swore that if there were a wind purgatory among the seven hells, she had experienced its torment last night.
Thus, her fear of the Dragon Queen resurfaced once more.
This should not have happened. She, Arya, had roamed across two continents for years. Even the famed House of Black and White had been played in her hands. She pretended to be brainwashed while secretly maintaining her true self through her wolf spirit.
Well, that was her nature.
Back when she first met Joffrey at the age of nine, she had dared to strike at him with a sword and even set her wolf on him, biting his hand badly.
Most people feel uneasy the first time they kill and need guidance. For example, Eddard often took the Stark boys to watch executions with Ice.
Arya killed for the first time at nine. No one had taught her how to kill, yet she did it on her own. Swift, ruthless, and precise, she stabbed a stable boy through the heart without the slightest psychological burden.
"Stay still! Stop shaking around!"
The Dragon Queen, clad in silver-blue armor, sat firmly on the sled. A deep blue brocade cloak draped over her like a coat, making her look imposing.
Arya ran in frustration, being scolded like a dog. The resentment in her heart grew, and she abruptly ended the wolf state.
Back in the "little coffin," Arya wondered why Nymeria was so obedient, even pulling a sled for outsiders.
Then she thought of the Dragon Queen's methods and sighed inwardly for her companion. She also complained to herself—why didn't the Dragon Queen ride a dragon? Why torment her direwolf instead?
If she had asked Daenerys directly, she would have replied: because riding a direwolf sled felt better.
"Arya!" Suddenly, Bran's voice sounded in her ear without warning.
"Bran?" Arya quickly asked, "What is the Dragon Queen planning? Where am I now?"
"You're locked in a wooden box, placed on a sled bus. Over a hundred thousand wights have gathered on the northern coast of the Scourge Fortress. The Dragon Queen is leading the Westerlands volunteers there."
Then Bran explained the Queen's arrangements.
"Daenerys is right. Only through a fair trial can hatred truly end.
If you are not tried, the Lannisters will hate us. A Lannister always pays his debts.
Even if we eliminate the remaining two Lannisters, the nobles and people of the Westerlands are not fools. They will bury their hatred and wait for the day the Starks weaken. Perhaps in the future, there will be no Starks left in the Seven Kingdoms."
Hearing this, Arya felt calm instead.
"I'm not afraid of death. If someone must bear responsibility, then kill me.
My vengeance is complete. You are all safe. I have no more attachments."
"Maybe… you won't have to die," Bran said uncertainly, yet firmly. "We will all help you. You're not alone."
"I'm not afraid of death," Arya repeated, then complained, "They can judge me or kill me, but why does Daenerys call me 'blood demon'?"
"She didn't give you that nickname," Bran's tone became strange. "At dawn today, the Dragon Queen carried you into the air and publicly announced the trial. What you did at Casterly Rock and the Crag is now known to everyone.
So the people of the Westerlands both hate and fear you. They call you the greatest mass murderer in the world.
They say you killed 1.5 million people. The blood of 1.5 million could dye the Sunset Sea red, so they call you 'blood demon.'
And because of your direwolf, Tyrion publicly called you 'wolf child,' letting others know about your wolf spirit. Some now call you 'bloodthirsty wolf demon.'"
"In short, your reputation now echoes across the Westerlands and the Seven Kingdoms. Ordinary people fear you more than the Night King.
In the future, your deeds will shock the world. Be prepared. Stay strong. Don't be crushed by rumors," Bran said worriedly.
"I… will I become like the demon in Old Nan's stories, like the Rat Cook, remembered for thousands of years?" Arya asked tremblingly.
Bran fell silent for a long time before softly saying, "The future is beyond us."
Arya was on the verge of tears. "Bran, do you remember? When we were children, you said you would become a white knight like Barristan. I said I would become a heroine like Nymeria. But I became a demon.
I only wanted to kill the Freys, to avenge Robb, our mother, and thousands of Northern soldiers. The fall of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands was never what I wanted."
Though Arya was a child of blood, the awakening of the Stark "wolf-blood" had filled her with dreams of becoming a heroine since childhood.
She was not afraid to sacrifice her life for revenge or family, but being remembered as a demon like the Rat Cook for thousands of years was unbearable.
"Sigh, this is fate." Bran sighed, then encouraged her again. "In a few days, during the trial, remember to defend yourself.
If you act arrogantly and say, 'I did it, come kill me,' others won't sympathize. They'll just vent their anger on you.
From now on, history books and plays will depict you slaughtering millions.
If you explain everything clearly and remove misunderstandings, they may stop calling you 'blood demon.'"
"May?" Arya raised her voice.
Bran said helplessly, "Even if you clear yourself of killing 1.5 million people, what about the eight hundred lives at Casterly Rock? That cannot be denied.
'Blood Demon Arya' will likely be your label forever, unless you accomplish something even more extraordinary in the future."
"I'm willing to kill wights," Arya said quickly. "Now that my revenge is done, I have no attachments. I can focus on fighting them."
"You must survive this first…"
Then Bran went on at length, teaching his second sister how to act like a pitiful fallen girl.
Sophistry would be useless. No one was foolish, and Arya had been caught red-handed by the Dragon Queen outside the Crag.
Faced with ironclad evidence, playing the victim and begging for mercy became the only option.
Count Quentyn Banefort had received a raven from Fairy Isle last night, informing him that the Dragon Queen was leading the Westerlands volunteers toward the Scourge Fortress.
At first, he was uncertain.
As the lord of the fortress, his castle had not been besieged by wights, so he had not requested aid. Why did the Dragon Queen know about the threat before he did?
But regardless of his doubts, he was deeply grateful that she had come to help.
So early in the morning, he led his family knights to the southern side of the castle to look out.
In normal times, he would have sent people to greet visitors at the border, even for Lannister nobles. But times had changed. The fall of the Westerlands had shocked the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms far more deeply than the Battle of Winterfell.
"They're here! Such large sail sleds! So fast!" Around ten in the morning, a soldier on the watchtower shouted.
Sail sleds were not a new invention of Daenerys, but sled buses like those used by the Westerlands volunteers were appearing for the first time.
Eight-meter-long sled buses sped across the snow. Their twenty-centimeter-wide runners kicked up clouds of powder. In the center stood a mast ten meters tall, with a huge triangular sail billowing like the full chest of a young maiden, brimming with vitality.
The sails bore the sigils of various houses: the five-colored dragon of Targaryen leading, followed by the three-headed red dragon of the super bastard, the golden lion of Lannister, and the three silver ships of House Farman of Fair Isle.
Their speed was nearly equal to galloping horses. One hundred fifty sleds racing together created a magnificent sight.
They did not stop outside the fortress but continued north toward the coastline.
However, one sled pulled by a dog broke away and headed to the castle gate, loudly delivering the Queen's command to Count Quentyn on the walls: dispatch elite knights to follow the convoy to the northern coast fifteen kilometers away.
The count had already received orders the previous night and prepared his sleds and troops. Upon hearing the message, he immediately opened the gates, mounted his horse, and followed.
"Damn it, we've been fooled by the wights!"
After running for over an hour and finally reaching the giant wolf-drawn sled, the count saw the Dragon Queen, furious.
(End of Chapter)
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