Myrcella scurried back to her bedroom, tense, trembling, filled with anxiety and lingering fear.
She had never been so close to wildfire before, let alone used it herself. Although she had mentally labeled the liquid in the small bottle as "dangerous goods" after being reminded by Aegor, and was prepared for its flammability and power, she was still startled when she actually unscrewed the lid, poured it onto the support pillar of the stable's outer wall, and lit it with a match.
The dark green liquid had thickened from the cold, dripping down the wooden pillar embedded deep in the frozen ground in long vertical streaks. The moment the match got close, flames spread rapidly, igniting the entire thing from top to bottom. The improved wildfire could no longer be ignited by body temperature and had lost its explosive nature, but it was still excellent as a flammable substance. The sudden surge of green flames and the scorching heat forced the unprepared girl to stumble backward and land on the ground. Half a lock of her hair was singed, and the back of the hand that had held the match stung from a burn.
Her thick clothes cushioned the fall, and the pain from the minor burns on her hand and face faded quickly. But compared to the physical pain, the turmoil in her heart lingered far longer. She had taken great pains to choose the stable, a location far from the city center and uninhabited, for the arson. But after actually lighting the fire and watching for a moment nearby, she found that neither the speed of the blaze nor the way the situation developed matched her expectations. What was supposed to be a small fire, harmless to anyone, had, through a series of unforeseen consequences, snowballed into a full-blown crisis.
Our little princess, after being casually handed a box of matches and a small bottle of wildfire by Aegor earlier in the day, had hidden the two items in her clothing. She then used a believable excuse to slip past the guards and return to Winterfell. After that, she endured countless inner struggles before finally deciding to act as the Night's Watch had instructed.
There had been no flaws in Aegor's statement about Roose Bolton harboring rebellious intentions, but the lack of evidence was a flaw too glaring to ignore. Still, for reasons she couldn't fully explain, Myrcella had been swayed by his seriousness and sincerity... and the calm, concealed confidence beneath those traits. She couldn't help but want to believe him.
She didn't just believe that he wasn't lying. She believed he was confident he could take Winterfell.
Myrcella didn't realize that what had actually influenced her senses and judgment wasn't "sincerity" or "confidence" but the invisible, colorless, yet real power of a True Dragon. In any case, after much struggle between emotion and reason, she reached a conclusion. The question of which side Roose Bolton stood on could be set aside. Since the battle was bound to happen eventually, and Winterfell was doomed to fall, it was better to follow Aegor's suggestion and provide internal support. That way, he could take the castle more easily.
Based on what she had read in many history books, the easier it was for the attackers to win, the fewer casualties there would be. They would carry less anger and hatred, and be less likely to retaliate or commit slaughter after taking the castle. Given Aegor's past relationship with House Stark, after achieving his goal, he would surely restrain his men and not do anything excessive to the family.
That's right. When Myrcella first decided to start this fire, her motivation was to reduce casualties among the townspeople and House Stark. But now she saw that the army hadn't even launched its full assault yet, and the fire she had started had already harmed innocents.
How could she possibly remain calm?
In this state of panic, she still ran back to the main keep as originally planned, and happened to bump into the lord of the city and her protector, Robb Stark. At that moment, she felt so guilty she could barely stand straight. Luckily, Robb had let her return to her room without a second thought. Only then did she suppress the urge to confess everything.
Absentmindedly pushing open the door and entering the room, Myrcella found Arya standing by the bed, getting dressed.
"What are you doing?"
"Something's on fire outside. I'm going to take a look."
"Huh?" Myrcella immediately snapped out of her daze. "No, your brother gave orders to seal the keep's doors. No one is allowed in or out!"
"Oh, he's so annoying." Arya didn't doubt her, but she didn't stop moving either. She quickly put on her outer coat and stepped into her boots. "It's fine, I'll get them to open it for me."
"No. It's too chaotic outside right now. You can't go out."
Myrcella blocked the doorway, eyes wide. The fire she had started had already caused a disaster, and Aegor's assault was about to begin. She couldn't undo what had already happened, but at least she could prevent one more Stark from ending up in danger.
"What? Move." Arya looked at Myrcella in confusion, not understanding why she was acting so strangely or trying to order her around.
"You can't go out!" Myrcella repeated firmly, straightening her back and puffing out her chest, trying to make herself look taller.
"Move!" Arya placed her hands on her hips and glared. Seeing that Myrcella had no intention of stepping aside, she reached out to push her aside.
The second daughter of the Starks was already a year older than the "third daughter," and she trained with swords and knives regularly, so she was much stronger. But the two usually got along, and the situation wasn't a serious dispute. Arya didn't push with full strength... while Myrcella was using all her might to stop her. One holding back, one pushing forward, the two of them ended up locked in a stalemate, crowding the doorway. For a moment, it wasn't clear whether they were fighting or playing. As they struggled, neither gained the upper hand, until they finally managed to irritate the third young lady who was still lying in bed.
Sansa threw down the pillow she had been using to cover her ears and sat up, furious. "Arya! It's the middle of the night. Can't you stop messing around?"
As if answering her scolding with sound effects, two thunderous booms came from outside the window, one after another. The shockwaves made the entire main keep tremble slightly.
The three girls immediately quieted. They exchanged glances, then pressed against the window together and pulled open the wooden shutters to look outside.
Winterfell's inner walls were higher than the outer ones, and their room wasn't on the top floor of the keep, so their view was limited. They couldn't see the breached outer gates, nor the two long streams of torches approaching the east and north gates. But that didn't stop them from seeing the garrison camp nearby, now fully illuminated and bustling, or the sentries rushing about on the inner walls with oil lamps. Armed guards had been roused and were moving out from the city center with torches, heading down the streets in all directions. Even the alarm bell rang out moments later. Amid the urgent clang-clang-clang, the fire at the training ground stable still raged. The rising smoke, lit up by the flames, made the dust at the breached gates stand out clearly against the night. The entire Winterfell was enveloped in a heavy, suffocating sense of doom.
"By the Old Gods, it's the rebels... they've attacked!" Sansa covered her mouth in fright, tears welling in her eyes.
"Don't be scared. Robb will definitely beat them back. Look, everyone's already rushing to help," Myrcella whispered comfortingly, but her mind was elsewhere. The timing of the Gift Army's attack had aligned perfectly with the fire she had started. But what kind of weapon had they used to create such loud explosions? The innocent casualties caused by her mistake in choosing the fire's location couldn't be undone. But if Aegor hadn't lied, and if she really had helped seize the only chance to protect House Stark, that would still be a small comfort. Otherwise, she feared that even if she jumped into the roaring Trident, she wouldn't be able to wash away her guilt.
She stared blankly out the window for a long time, and only then noticed that the third girl hadn't spoken. The weight on her shoulder lightened. Arya had left the window and was now crawling under the bed, her backside sticking out as she searched for something. Half a minute later, she emerged, holding a long, slender object in her hand.
"What's that?"
"Needle." Arya drew the little sword with a sharp sound. Her eyes were red, and her voice choked. "He... he dared to attack Winterfell. Just wait. I'll stab him through and through!"
(To be continued.)
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