Chapter 101 The Raven's Trap
The Black Cells.
Tyrion Lannister's cell.
...An 'heir' cannot remain in this wretched cell forever.
Tyrion's face wore his usual mockery, and a new hint of greed.
He knew it was a lie.
But it was the most 'beautiful' lie he had ever heard.
Tywin's face showed a slight smile.
You won't be here for long.
That girl now controls the guards. Any public release would be prevented by her.
But her control is like a newly woven net, full of holes.
Tonight.
Tywin lowered his voice.
Your uncle Kevan will inspect the dungeons in the name of the hand of the king.
There will be a 'riot'.
In the chaos, a 'loyal' guard will 'accidentally' drop the keys at your cell door.
You know what to do.
Where should I go?
Tyrion asked.
Maegor's secret passage.
Tywin said, You know the entrance. There's a blocked vent right behind your cell.
Go there. Wait for me.
We shall 'enjoy' your 'map' properly.
What about Jaime, then?
Tyrion glanced at the silent figure in the adjacent cell.
Jaime is a'soldier'. And you are the 'mind'.
Tywin said coldly.
I need you now.
He turned and left.
Tyrion watched his father's retreating back and smiled.
The mind.
He muttered to himself.
Old man, you finally admit it.
...Raven's Nest, Sansa's study.
The atmosphere was heavy.
He went again.
Tom's (Little Raven's) report was brief and fatal.
The Lord (Tywin) went to the dungeon again. He went to the imp's (Tyrion's) cell again.
He stayed for ten minutes.
Sansa's fingers tapped lightly on the table.
The first time was a test.
He went a second time right after the King left.
This is 'incitement'.
Her gaze turned to Daario Naharis, who had just entered.
Has your 'guest' (Hallyne) spoken?
He has.
Daario's face was grim.
He's a madman. But even madmen speak 'truth'.
He kept muttering... 'holy water','symphony', and 'Little Demon'.
Sansa's pupils contracted.
He said he only knew about the 'warehouse'.
But the Little Demon Tyrion heard the 'entire piece' during the Battle of the Blackwater!
Daario cursed.
Damn it. The King and we both underestimated the imp!
He knows all the wildfire locations!
No.
Sansa slowly stood up.
The King did not underestimate him.
It was I who underestimated Tywin Lannister.
His torchbearer was captured by us.
So, he immediately activated his 'backup torch'.
Tyrion Lannister!
Sansa's brain worked rapidly.
What Tywin wants most now is to get Tyrion out of the cell.
He won't act openly. He will use trickery.
Daario.
Yes.
Bring your most elite Dragon Guards.
Dress them in Gold Cloaks and jailer uniforms.
Watch all the dungeon exits and secret passages for me.
Tonight, Tywin will make his move.
And we will set a trap.
You're going to catch him red-handed?
Daario was excited.
No.
Sansa shook her head.
I want Tyrion Lannister to know.
How ridiculous his good father's beautiful lies are.
...That night.
The Black Cells.
Everything played out according to Tywin's script.
At midnight.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted on the upper level of the dungeon.
Immediately after, Kevan Lannister ran down, holding a torch, 'in a panic'.
What's going on?! Guards! Guards!
Several disguised jailers immediately ran over 'in a panic'.
Lord hand of the king! There are prisoners fighting upstairs!
Quick! Go suppress them!
Kevan shouted.
In the 'chaos'.
Kevan 'accidentally' bumped into a 'confidant' guard.
A heavy string of cell keys 'clanged' to the ground.
It landed right at the door of Tyrion's cell.
Never mind! Go up now!
Kevan shouted, leading away all the 'jailers'.
The lower level of the dungeon was instantly empty.
Only that 'confidant' guard remained.
And Tyrion in his cell.
What a clumsy performance.
Although Tyrion said that, he still stood up excitedly.
The 'confidant' guard showed a smile.
He picked up the keys.
My Lord. Your 'inheritance' awaits you.
He stepped forward and inserted the key into the lock.
Yes. My 'inheritance'...
Tyrion rubbed his hands, full of joy.
Click.
The cell door opened.
Tyrion took his first step towards 'regained freedom'.
Just then.
Congratulations, Lord Lannister.
A cold female voice came from the darkness.
Tyrion's body instantly froze!
Sansa Stark, holding a lantern, slowly emerged from the shadows of the dungeon.
Behind her was Daario Naharis.
Further back, was a line of Dragon Guards with sharp blades.
They were silent like ghosts.
The 'confidant' guard's face instantly turned pale!
He was about to draw his sword.
Whoosh!
Daario's dagger had already been thrown, accurately piercing his throat.
The body fell.
...No... No...
Tyrion slowly retreated, back into his cell.
...You... How could you...
How could you know?
Tyrion asked tremblingly.
Because your father underestimated me.
Sansa walked to the cell door.
And you overestimated yourself.
Casterly Rock?
Sansa asked softly.
Heir?
Tyrion, in your father's eyes, you will always be just a monster and a tool.
His 'torch' is broken. So he came to you, the 'backup'.
The color drained from Tyrion's face.
He knew Sansa was telling the truth.
He had always known!
He was just deceiving himself!
Your performance is over.
There was no anger in Sansa's voice, only pure coldness.
Daario.
Lock him back up.
With chains.
Chained to the wall.
No!!
Tyrion let out a desperate scream.
...Oh, right.
Sansa stopped before turning to leave.
She glanced at the fallen keys on the ground.
She didn't pick them up.
She said to Daario:
Send someone to the hand of the king's office.
Tell him.
His keys are lost.
Tell him to come and retrieve them himself.
Chapter 102 Death
The Tower of the Hand, Tywin Lannister's study.
"Crack—!"
A priceless Lysene crystal goblet was crushed by a large hand!
Fragments and dark red wine, mixed with blood, dripped from Tywin's fingers. But he seemed to feel no pain.
"She knows?"
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
"She knows everything!"
Kevan Lannister's voice trembled. He slumped in his chair, as if he had aged ten years.
"That wasn't a riot, that was a trap!"
"Daario's men disguised themselves as our guards! Her people played the prisoners!"
"She was waiting for us to take the bait from the start!"
"Your trusted man was killed on the spot. Tyrion... Tyrionwas chained to the wall by her."
Kevan covered his face with both hands.
"Tywin, she... she sent a message to me."
Tywin slowly wiped the blood from his hand with a napkin.
"What message?"
"She told me... to go to her office..."
Kevan's voice was full of humiliation.
"To retrieve the key I 'dropped'."
"..."
Tywin's movements stopped.
He slowly raised his head, and for the first time, true flames burned in his pale green lion eyes.
Not anger, but destruction.
He was cornered by a girl, the daughter of Ned Stark, a girl he had never truly looked at.
His 'torch' had been removed.
His 'backup torch' was locked down.
His 'hand' was utterly terrified.
All his external 'fuses' had failed.
"She won," Kevan said despairingly, "We lost, Tywin. Let's surrender. For Jaime..."
"...Win?"
Tywin smiled. He walked to the window, looking at the gloomy Red Keep.
"She only won the game."
"But I haven't overturned the board yet."
"Tywin? What do you mean?"
"She's smart," Tywin whispered, "She knows all the 'fuses'."
"But she forgot one thing."
"She forgot the most fundamental 'fuse'."
"That is myself."
His hand pressed against the stone of the windowsill.
He knew what slumbered beneath his feet, in the deepest part of this tower.
His 'torchbearers' had been captured.
But he himself also knew how to light those 'treasures'.
(He had seen it at the Blackwater. He had heard of it in the Mad King's last days.)
All he needed was a torch.
And a determination to take everyone down with him.
"The game is over."
Tywin said calmly.
"The game with that girl is over."
"Now, I'm waiting for that 'King' to return."
"I'm going to play one last game with him."
Two days later.
On the walls of King's Landing.
Sansa Stark, wrapped in a grey fur cloak, stood in the cold wind.
She had been standing all morning.
Daario stood behind her, uncharacteristically silent.
He was now filled with awe for this 'little bird'.
"He's coming," Sansa whispered.
Daario narrowed his eyes, looking at the sky.
On the eastern horizon, a small black dot appeared.
The black dot was rapidly expanding at an incredible speed!
It wasn't the graceful circling of a dragon, but like a black cannonball flying in a straight line!
"Whoosh—!"
A few seconds later, Night Fury, carrying the smell of the sea and the fatigue of victory, landed heavily in the main courtyard of the Red Keep!
There were obvious repair marks on its tailfin (temporarily fixed with sails and planks).
Scars from being constricted by a sea monster's tentacles still remained on its scales.
But its gaze still looked down on everything.
Aegon dismounted the dragon.
His hair was disheveled by the sea wind, and his face bore several days of stubble.
He smelled of the sea and thunderstorms.
He strode towards Sansa and Daario, who had come from the city walls to meet him.
He offered no greeting; he simply unfastened his soaked gloves as he walked.
"Report," his voice was hoarse from the long flight.
Sansa walked up to him.
"Your Majesty. Euron is no longer a threat."
"But the 'monster' of the Red Keep remains."
"Speak."
Daario grinned.
"Your Majesty. Your 'raven', in these three days since you left..."
"Pulled out all the 'teeth' of that old lion."
Sansa calmly stated:
"The 'torchbearer' has been captured alive and is being held in the black cells. He confessed to Tywin's instigation."
"Tywin tried to turn Tyrion into a new 'torch'."
"I set a trap."
"Tywin's attempt to turn him failed. His trusted man was killed on the spot."
"Tyrion Lannister is now chained to the wall."
"The hand of the king attempted to participate in the jailbreak. I have already issued him a warning."
She paused.
"Currently. Tywin Lannister is completely isolated in the Tower of the Hand."
"All his external plots have failed."
"..."
Aegon stopped.
He looked at the Northern girl before him.
When he left, he had handed her a stalemate.
When he returned, she handed him a victory.
She not only held her ground.
She also counterattacked.
"Very good," Aegon showed a genuine smile.
"Very good, Sansa."
His gaze passed over Sansa's shoulder, towards the tall, solitary Tower of the Hand.
He knew that Tywin Lannister was watching him from behind that window.
"His teeth have been pulled out," Aegon said coldly.
"But his bomb remains."
"The game is over."
He resumed his steps, walking towards the tower.
"Now, it's time for me to finish it."
Chapter 103 The Lion's Cage
The Tower of the Hand.
Aegon entered this colossal tower of power alone.
He brought no Guardss, no Daario, and didn't even allow Sansa to follow him.
Night Fury rested wearily in the main courtyard; its deterrence from tearing apart the sea monster was enough to suppress all unrest within the Red Keep.
The King's footsteps echoed in the empty hall, clear and steady.
He ascended the spiral staircase, heading towards the study he had long ago allocated to Tywin.
He knew the old lion was waiting for him.
The study door was ajar.
Aegon pushed the door open.
Tywin Lannister stood by the window, his back to him.
Just like three days ago, he wore an immaculate black casual suit, embroidered with the Lannister lion in gold thread.
The wound on his hand was already bandaged, as if the crushed crystal goblet was merely an insignificant interlude.
He did not turn around.
"You're here," Tywin's voice was calm, betraying no emotion. "The sea monster is dead."
"It's dead," Aegon replied, closing the door behind him.
"You won the war at sea," Tywin slowly turned, his pale green lion eyes now unfathomably deep. "And your 'Raven' won the game within the castle."
"She did well," Aegon sat opposite Tywin's desk, as if he were the master here. "She captured your 'torch' and locked up your 'backup torch'. Your schemes, your stratagems, all failed."
..."Yes," Tywin admitted with unusual frankness. "You won the game."
He paused, a look Aegon had never seen before, almost pitying, appearing on his face.
..."But you, a self-proclaimed 'King,' made the most fatal mistake."
"Oh?"
"You came yourself," Tywin said. "You walked into this tower. Into the range of my 'fuse'."
"You know, don't you?" Tywin's gaze fell to the floor at his feet.
"Beneath this tower, beneath this entire Red Keep, sleeps my last 'army'. The Mad King's legacy."
"Your 'Raven' is clever; she removed all my external fuses. But she forgot one thing."
Tywin Lannister slowly raised a tinderbox from the desk.
..."She forgot that I, myself, am the last 'fuse'."
"I just need a spark," he gently opened the tinderbox, "and then throw it into the vent at my feet."
"Boom—"
"You, I, your Red Keep, your Night Fury, my sons... everything will turn to ashes in this green 'carnival'."
He looked at Aegon.
"This is my 'checkmate'."
"Now, King, let's discuss terms."
Silence fell in the study.
Aegon watched his performance quietly.
After a few seconds, Aegon laughed. He laughed aloud.
..."Terms?" Aegon retorted. "Duke Tywin, have you misunderstood something?"
"Do you think you hold a bargaining chip?"
"No."
"What you hold is your epitaph."
Tywin's smile froze.
"Let's analyze your 'checkmate'."
Aegon stood up and began to pace around the study, like a true strategist lecturing a backward student.
"Option one: You light the fire."
"We perish together. Do you win? No. You die, and your family heirs Jaime and Tyrion also die. Casterly Rock will have no successor. House Lannister, the 'glory' you spent your entire life preserving, will be completely extinguished in the great fire you personally ignited."
"You, Tywin Lannister, will be recorded in history as 'Mad King the Second'. A coward and a madman who couldn't lose a game and ultimately chose to destroy everything."
..."Is this the 'victory' you desire?"
Tywin's breathing grew heavy.
"Option two: You don't light the fire."
Aegon stopped in front of him, looking down at him.
"You don't light the fire. Then what? You wait for me to leave, and you continue to stay here, hugging your 'bomb'?"
"Why do you think I dared to come alone?"
Aegon walked back to the desk and picked up a jug of water.
"Sansa is dealing with your people."
"Do you think I did nothing?"
"While you were engrossed in your 'game' with her, my Dragon Guards, led by Daario, had already taken over the Alchemists' Guild."
"For the past three days, they and my Ravens have been doing one thing."
Aegon raised the jug high, then tilted it.
"Flooding."
Clear, cold water poured onto Tywin's expensive carpet, making a "whooshing" sound.
"They brought the original blueprints of the Red Keepfrom the Citadel. They found all the 'holy water' warehouses. They are using water to dilute them. Barrel after barrel."
"This takes time, of course."
"Perhaps these beneath your feet haven't been diluted yet. Perhaps if you light the fire now, we will still perish together."
Aegon put down the jug.
..."But, do you dare to gamble?"
"Do you dare to bet that your last deterrence hasn't turned into a pile of useless wastewater?"
"Do you dare to bet that what you ignite is not a great fire, but just a joke?"
Tywin Lannister's face, for the first time, lost all color.
He looked at the soaked carpet, as if seeing his last dignity being drowned.
He... he had been played.
The King going to fight the sea monster was an open conspiracy.
Sansa's game in the open was bait.
But the real killing move was underground! In the darkness! In the flooding!
..."You..." Tywin's voice trembled, and the tinderbox in his hand clattered to the floor.
"You have no 'checkmate', Tywin," Aegon's voice was cold as iron.
"You have nothing left."
"You are no longer the Master of Laws, nor are you a Duke."
"You are just a prisoner."
Aegon pulled open the study door.
Outside, Sansa Stark and Daario Naharis stood quietly.
Behind them were two rows of fully armed Dragon Guards.
"You lost," Aegon delivered his final judgment.
"You will not die. Death, for you, would be too merciful."
"You will live. You will be sent back to Casterly Rock, your 'lion's den'. But you will never be able to leave it."
"You will personally witness how your hand of the kingbrother, Kevan, 'loyally' serves me."
"You will personally witness how your son Jaime is exiled to the Night's Watch in the North for the crime of being the Kingslayer."
"You will personally witness how your son Tyrion uses his 'mind' to design sewers and granaries for my new world."
"You will live, Tywin. You will live and watch with your own eyes the 'Lannister' dynasty you spent your entire life building..."
"How it will serve me, serve the Targaryen."
..."No..."
Tywin Lannister let out a beast-like growl.
He lunged at Aegon!
His uninjured hand grabbed for the King's throat!
"Bang!"
Daario kicked out.
The old lion, Tywin Lannister, once the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, was kicked to the ground like a dead dog.
He lay in the cold puddle, coughing violently.
Aegon didn't even spare him another glance.
"Imprison him."
"The lion's game is over."
"Next."
Aegon met the ice-blue yet incredibly clear eyes of Sansa Stark.
"The 'Winter' of the North should awaken."
Chapter 104 The Awakening of the North
The shadow of the Tower of the Hand was cast behind them.
Tywin Lannister's roar, along with his dignity soaked in grime, was dragged into the dungeon by the Guards.
The heart of power in King's Landing completely changed hands that night.
Aegon did not immediately return to the Throne Room.
He did not go to comfort the weary dragons either.
He took Sansa Stark through the quiet courtyard and walked towards the Godswood of the Red Keep.
This was a forgotten corner of the South.
The weirwood still stood, its white bark pale in the moonlight.
The carved face bled red sap, as if silently weeping.
It was very quiet here. Only the rustling of the red leaves in the wind.
Aegon stopped before the weirwood.
He looked at Sansa.
"Tywin's failure is the end of an old era."
Aegon spoke, his voice echoing through the empty woods.
"And your victory is the beginning of a new era."
Sansa stood silently.
In the final gambit to overthrow Tywin, she displayed a calmness and ruthlessness far beyond her years.
She was no longer the little bird of King's Landing.
Nor was she Aegon's raven.
"I had you play the raven," Aegon said, "because a raven is a messenger, an eye, a claw hidden in the shadows."
"But now, I no longer need a raven."
Sansa looked up.
Her icy blue eyes reflected the red patterns of the weirwood, deep and calm.
"What do you need?" she asked.
"I need a wolf," Aegon's voice was decisive.
"I need Sansa Stark."
"I need the heir of Winterfell. The Warden of the North."
He turned to the weirwood.
"House Bolton is entrenched in your home. They thought the Lannister would always protect them."
"Now, the Lannister has fallen."
"But the threat in the North remains."
Aegon's hand rested on the weeping face of the weirwood.
"I need you to return to the North."
"I need you to rally all banners loyal to Stark."
"I need you to take back your home. With everything you've learned here."
"With your wisdom, your strategy, and your... anger."
Sansa was silent for a long time.
The wind stirred her auburn hair.
She thought of Littlefinger. She thought of Joffrey. She thought of Tywin.
She thought of all the lessons she had learned in King's Landing.
The schemes. The disguises. The ruthlessness.
She once thought these things had corrupted her.
But now, she understood.
These were not corruption.
These were armor.
These were weapons.
Winter needs claws.
"I need an army," Sansa finally spoke.
Her voice was no longer the clear tone of a maiden.
It became deep and firm, like the cold wind of a Northern winter.
"You have one," Aegon replied.
"I need command."
"Daario will lend you three thousand Black Dragon Guard. They are the most elite warriors. They will only obey your commands."
"I need supplies."
"The granaries of House Tyrell will be open to you. The wealth of The Reach will be your backing."
"I need a name."
Aegon smiled.
"You don't need a name."
"You are the name."
"You are Sansa Stark. Your return is the vengeance of the North."
He gazed at her.
"Go. Let Roose Bolton, and that bastard son of his..."
"Feel the true winter."
Sansa Stark slowly knelt beneath the weirwood.
But she was not praying.
She grabbed a handful of King's Landing dirt.
This land that had imprisoned her and taught her.
Then, she stood up and threw the dirt into the wind.
She turned and left the Godswood.
Her silhouette was no longer that of a little bird needing protection.
She was the storm.
She was the North.
Chapter 105 The King's Wolf
Sansa Stark walked alone through the corridors of the Red Keep.
Her footsteps echoed unusually clearly in the castle, which had just undergone a silent purge.
Soldiers of the Black Dragon Guard had replaced the red cloaks of House Lannister.
They watched the lady, who had just emerged from the Godswood, with indifferent yet respectful gazes.
She was no longer the King's 'raven'.
Nor was she House Lannister's 'little bird'.
"I need a wolf," Aegon's words echoed in her mind.
"You are the name."
She walked past the ruins of Maegor's Holdfast, past the room where she had been imprisoned.
This castle had once been her most magnificent cage.
Here, she had learned to smile, to obey, to hide herself with politeness and humility.
She was like a meticulously polished gem, beautiful, fragile, existing only to please others.
Littlefinger had taught her the rules of the game.
Cersei had taught her the cruelty of power.
Tywin had taught her the cold-bloodedness of family.
And Aegon had given her a hammer to smash it all.
Now, she was leaving here.
But she was not fleeing.
She was going to war.
She returned to the luxurious suite Aegon had assigned her.
She stood before the mirror, looking at herself.
A beautiful, auburn-haired maiden dressed in King's Landing silk.
Her face was still exquisite. Her posture was still elegant.
But her eyes, those icy blue eyes of House Tully, had changed.
There was no longer fear, no longer tears.
There was only a calm, snow-covered wasteland.
"Someone."
Her voice was not loud, but it was full of penetration.
Two handmaidens immediately pushed open the door and entered; they had been sent by Aegon to serve her.
"Take all the clothes here away," Sansa commanded.
The handmaidens froze.
"All the silk, all the brocade, all the jewels," Sansa turned to them, "Burn them, or give them to the city's prostitutes. I don't care."
"...My Lady?"
"I need new clothes."
Sansa's gaze fell on the distant northern sky outside the window.
"I need leather. I need wool. I need the heaviest, black-dyed fur cloaks."
"I need a pair of sturdy, high-laced boots that can tread in the snow."
"I need a fitted, dark grey gown that allows for movement. Its neckline must be high, and its cuffs narrow. I need no embroidery, except for one thing."
She turned to look at the two bewildered handmaidens.
"Embroider the direwolf of House Stark in silver thread on the chest."
"I need it ready before dark."
The handmaidens knelt in terror.
"My Lady, this...this is impossible. The best tailor would need several days..."
"Then find him for me. Tell him it's the Queen of the North's command."
Sansa's voice was devoid of any warmth.
"If he can't do it, I'll find someone who can. Or, I will go to meet my army in your servant's clothes. But you two will only be able to meet the King in your own skin."
The handmaidens scrambled out.
Sansa walked to the dressing table.
She picked up a pair of scissors.
She had once cherished her mother's beautiful hair.
But now she didn't need it.
She raised the scissors and, without hesitation, cut along her earlobe.
Large handfuls of auburn hair fell to the floor.
She cut her hair short, leaving it chin-length.
This made her look more like her brothers.
More like a wolf preparing to hunt.
She looked at the strange, short-haired, sharp-eyed person in the mirror.
"Hello, Sansa Stark," she whispered.
"...Welcome home."
Meanwhile, in the Map Room of the Red Keep.
Aegon stood before the giant painted map of Westeros.
Daario Naharis, the commander of the Black Dragon Guard, had just finished deploying the defenses of King's Landing.
"Your Majesty," Dario bowed. His leather armor still carried the scent of naval battle.
"Tywin Lannister is already in the deepest level of the dungeon. Ser Kevan has sworn allegiance in exchange for his son's life. Tyrion has been 'invited' to the Tower of the Hand by the 'ravens'...oh no, by Lady Sansa's guards. Jaime Lannister was found in the ruins of the Dragonpit; he has a broken leg, but he is alive."
"Very good," Aegon nodded.
"Next, Your Majesty? Are we attacking Casterly Rock, or clearing out The Reach?"
"Neither," Aegon's finger pointed to the north of the map.
"You," he turned to Dario.
"You will lead three thousand of the most elite Black Dragons. You will take enough gold. You will empty half of House Tyrell's granaries."
"...And then, you will hand all of this over to one person."
Dario frowned. "To whom?"
"Sansa Stark."
Daario Naharis showed a look of surprise for the first time.
He was a sellsword. A warrior.
The women he had seen were either playthings in bed or burdens needing protection.
"...Your Majesty?" He thought he had misheard.
"That...Stark girl?"
"She needs three thousand men? She needs gold and grain? Where is she going? To Winterfell for a feast?"
Dario's voice carried undisguised contempt.
"Dario."
Aegon's voice grew cold.
"You have seen my dragons. You have seen my power. But you have not seen her."
"How do you think Tywin Lannister fell?"
"Who do you think planned that 'flooding' open scheme?"
"Who do you think played House Lannister like a fiddle, forcing Tywin to embrace the idea of 'mutual destruction', yet saw through his final trump card...?"
"Was it that 'girl' you speak of?"
Dario's smile vanished.
He recalled the chaos of the past few days.
He was responsible for taking cities and fortresses; he was responsible for killing.
And that girl was responsible for psychological warfare.
"...She was your 'raven'," Dario whispered.
"She used to be," Aegon said, "But now, she is the wolf of the North. And you, Dario, are her fangs and claws."
Aegon approached him, looking him directly in the eyes.
"I am not ordering you to protect her."
"I am ordering you to obey her."
"She is your supreme commander. Her will is my will."
"To scorn her is to scorn me. And you know the consequences of scorning me."
"Winter in the North is cold. I need someone who can read a map and is absolutely loyal to be her sword."
"...Are you that sword?"
Chapter 106 The Mistress of Winter
Daario Naharis knelt on one knee.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I will obey your will."
"Very good. Go. Go to the barracks. Gather your men. Then, go meet your New Commander."
"Where is she?"
"She will come to you."
Twilight.
Outside King's Landing, the Black Dragon Guard camp.
Three thousand elite soldiers, who had just won two major battles by sea and land, were assembled on the training grounds.
They were sellswords, warriors, the "Storm" that had followed Aegon all the way from Essos.
They were confused, restless.
They had been told they had a New Commander.
They were going to leave King's Landing, head north, to that godforsaken land of ice and snow.
Daario Naharis stood at the front of the ranks. His expression, like his men's, was grim.
The camp gate was pushed open.
A person walked in.
A woman.
She wore a strange outfit they had never seen before.
It was not silk, nor was it armor.
It was a black, form-fitting, long dress made of a mix of leather and wool.
Her short hair fluttered in the wind.
Over her dress, she wore a heavy black fur cloak.
The cloak's collar was fastened with a large, pure silver wolf's head clasp.
She was beautiful.
But this beauty was not warm, it was cold.
Like a valyrian steel sword drawn from its sheath.
She walked alone through the gaze of three thousand soldiers.
Some of them began to whistle.
Others let out mocking snickers.
"Is this the camp follower the King sent?" someone whispered in Valyrian.
"Look at that figure, the journey to the North won't be boring."
Daario Naharis frowned, about to reprimand them.
But Sansa Stark stopped.
She turned her head, her ice-blue gaze accurately locking onto the sellsword captain who had laughed the loudest.
"You," she spoke.
Her voice was not loud, but it clearly carried across the entire noisy training ground.
All sounds ceased.
"What are you laughing at?"
The sellsword captain was a burly man seven feet tall. He froze for a moment, then grinned.
"I'm laughing that my new 'Commander'… is truly beautiful."
"Commander Dario."
Sansa did not look at the captain, but turned to Daario.
"The King told me these men are my swords."
"Yes, My Lady," Daario replied.
"This sword is too dull," Sansa said.
"And too dirty."
...My Lady?
"By military law, what is the crime for mocking a Commander during assembly?" Sansa asked.
Dario's pupils contracted.
"In the Black Dragon Guard," he said, word by word, "it is... a death sentence."
"Very good."
Sansa's gaze returned to the sellsword captain, whose smile had frozen on his face.
"Commander Dario, the King commands you to obey me."
...Yes.
"Then, execute it."
The entire training ground fell into dead silence.
Three thousand soldiers watched their "New Commander."
This woman, this "girl," was going to execute a highly decorated captain in her first minute in the barracks?
Was she mad?
Daario Naharis stared at Sansa.
He saw the ice field in her eyes.
There was no hesitation, no fear, no pity.
Only absolute order and absolute authority.
He understood.
The King was right.
This was not a little girl.
This was a queen.
Daario Naharis slowly drew his arakh.
"'Bloodbeard' of Astapor," Daario whispered the captain's name.
"You have violated military law."
"Commander?" The captain called "Bloodbeard" took a step back in disbelief.
...For a wh...
Swish—
A cold flash.
Daario's curved blade was faster than his words.
Blood splattered.
The burly captain clutched his neck and fell to his knees.
His eyes were still wide, staring at Sansa.
Sansa Stark walked forward expressionlessly.
She walked past the still twitching corpse.
She walked onto the command platform.
She stood before three thousand stunned and silent elite soldiers.
She took a map from under her cloak.
A map of the North.
She pinned it to the wooden board of the command platform.
"I am Sansa Stark. Heir to Winterfell. Your New Commander."
Her voice echoed across the silent training ground.
"You are warriors of the South. You are accustomed to sunshine, to wealth, to women."
...But, you are mine now.
"I will take you to a place you cannot imagine."
"There, there is no sunshine. No warmth. Only ice, snow, and death."
"That is my home."
She drew a dagger and plunged it fiercely into the map.
Into the location of Winterfell.
"Your enemies are House Bolton. They are flayers. They are traitors. They occupy my home."
"And we are going to hunt them."
"From today, you are to forget that you are 'Black Dragons'."
"You are to forget that you are sellswords."
"From today, you are the 'Winter Wolves'."
"You are the claws of my vengeance."
"You will learn to march in blizzards."
"You will learn to cleanse your weapons with ice and snow."
"You will learn to savor the wails of your enemies."
She raised her head, her ice-blue gaze sweeping over everyone.
"You will receive gold. You will receive land."
"But first, you must win this war for me."
"Is there anyone who doesn't want to go?"
She asked.
"Is there anyone who wants to stay in this warm King's Landing?"
"Is there anyone who wants to question me like him?"
She pointed to the corpse on the ground, which was beginning to grow cold.
No one dared to speak.
No one dared to move.
Three thousand hardened killers, at this moment, were completely subdued by the aura of one woman.
"Very good." Sansa put away her dagger.
"Commander Dario."
"Here, My Lady." Daario stepped forward, lowering his head.
"We will not take the land route. House Bolton awaits us at Moat Cailin."
She pointed to the east coast on the map.
"We will take the sea route. To White Harbor. Lord Wyman Manderly awaits us."
"Supplies, I have already ordered House Tyrell to begin loading the ships. Furs, winter clothes, grease, and provisions."
"We depart at dawn in three days."
Sansa Stark turned around.
Dressed in her black cloak, she descended from the command platform.
Just as she had arrived, alone.
She did not look back.
She left only one cold command.
"Have the soldiers begin sewing their new banners."
"A silver direwolf."
"Winter Is Coming."
Chapter 107 The Cornerstone of the New Order
Dawn.
The sky over King's Landing was a weary, greyish-white.
The Red Keep, that monstrous symbol of the Seven Kingdoms' power, was slowly awakening after a night of silent cleansing.
The air no longer carried the stench of sea monsters or the acrid smell of wildfire. Instead, there was a faint scent of lye mixed with clean water.
The Throne Room doors stood open. Servants were on their knees, diligently scrubbing the floor.
Aegon's Black Dragon Guard had replaced all Lannisterguards.
They stood like black statues in every corner.
Their murderous aura ensured the servants dared not slacken their movements in the slightest.
Aegon had not slept.
He stood alone, before the giant stained-glass window of the Throne Room.
He did not look at the ugly iron throne, forged from a thousand swords.
His gaze was fixed out the window, on the vast city that had just woken from its slumber, still oblivious to the shift in power from the previous night.
This city was his.
But what he felt was not the joy of conquest, but a heavy sense of responsibility.
He had won the war.
But his true challenge had only just begun.
He did not want a throne.
He wanted a new world.
"Your Grace."
Daario Naharis emerged from the shadows behind him.
His armor had been cleaned.
"She has departed," Daario's voice was low.
The "she" he spoke of was self-evident.
"She didn't ask for a tailor."
Daario added, "She altered the Northern uniforms herself. She cut her hair short. She executed a mercenary captain who mocked her."
There was a hint of awe in Daario's tone that he himself hadn't noticed.
"She gave her army a new name."
"The Winter Wolves."
"Good," Aegon nodded.
Sansa's transformation was even faster than he had expected.
The captive direwolf had finally bared its fangs.
"Our fleet has control of Blackwater Bay. House Manderly of White Harbor will receive our raven. The North is hers."
Aegon turned, the greyish-white morning light outlining his young, stern profile.
"Now, it's our turn. Daario, go to the dungeon. Bring Ser Kevan Lannister."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Don't bring him here." Aegon glanced at the empty throne, "Take him to the Map Room."
"As you command."
The Map Room.
This had once been where Tywin Lannister planned his strategies for Westeros.
Now, it belonged to Aegon.
Ser Kevan Lannister was brought in.
He wore no shackles, but his face was little better than a dead man's.
He had not slept all night.
He had listened to the muffled, beast-like growls of his brother, Tywin, from the other end of the dungeon.
He thought he was walking up these stairs to hear the final judgment on House Lannister.
He was ready for death.
However, when he entered the Map Room, he did not see a crowned tyrant.
Aegon stood before the massive map of Westeros, studying the terrain of the Westerlands.
He was not wearing Dragon-emblazoned armor.
He was dressed only in simple but well-made black plainclothes.
He stood there as if he were not a conqueror, but a scholar.
"Ser Kevan."
Aegon spoke, without turning around.
"Your Grace," Kevan's voice was hoarse.
"I looked at House Lannister's ledgers," Aegon said. "Lord Tywin was a very meticulous man. Every expenditure, every income was recorded."
Kevan's heart sank.
"Your Grace, House Lannister is willing to offer all its wealth."
"I do not want your wealth."
Aegon turned around.
"Gold cannot be eaten in the coming winter."
He looked at Kevan, his deep eyes seeming to pierce through all of Kevan's fears and calculations.
"I need order."
"Tywin Lannister is my prisoner. He will be imprisoned for life in Casterly Rock. He will watch with his own eyes how everything he built serves me."
"Jaime Lannister is my prisoner. He broke his vows. He will be sent to the North, to take the black, and guard the Wall. This is his best fate."
"What about my son...?" Kevan asked tremblingly. Lancel.
"Your son, Lancel," Aegon said. "He is a foolish religious fanatic. But he is also a deluded victim."
"He will lose all his inheritance rights. He will be sent to the Hightower in Oldtown. He will relearn what'service' means there."
Kevan Lannister closed his eyes.
Not a death sentence. Not extermination. This... was mercy?
No.
Kevan suddenly opened his eyes.
This was not mercy. This was a more thorough rule than death.
Aegon was dismantling House Lannister.
He took away Tywin's power, Jaime's honor, Lancel's future... What did that leave for him?
"And you, Ser Kevan."
Aegon's finger pointed at Casterly Rock on the map.
"You are a pragmatic man."
"You are loyal to your house. But you are more loyal to order."
"Tywin has fallen. The Westerlands cannot descend into chaos."
"I need someone to govern the Westerlands."
"I need you, Kevan Lannister, to be my Warden of the West."
Kevan looked up incredulously.
"Me?"
"You," Aegon confirmed.
"Are you not afraid I will betray you?"
"You will not," Aegon's voice was calm.
"Because Tywin lives in the past. And you, Kevan, live in the present."
"What I offer you is the only chance House Lannister has to continue."
"What are the conditions?" Kevan asked.
"Conditions."
Aegon walked closer to him.
"First, you will swear fealty to me in front of all King's Landing. Not as a Targaryen, but as the King, Aegon."
"Second, the Westerlands will immediately cease all military operations against the Riverlands. You will disband all private armies established by your brother."
"Third," Aegon's voice turned cold, "seven tenths of all food production in the Westerlands for the next ten years will be remitted to the Crown. All gold and iron mines will be centrally managed by the Crown."
"You are draining the Westerlands," Kevan gasped.
"No," Aegon corrected him, "I am feeding the entire kingdom."
"Winter is coming, Ser."
"I need food. I need steel. I need a unified will."
"Tywin bought loyalty with gold. I build a nation with bread."
"You have twenty-four hours to consider."
Aegon turned away, no longer looking at him.
"Daario, take the Ser downstairs. Give him the best room. The best food."
"And then."
"...Bring Tyrion Lannister."
Kevan Lannister looked deeply at Aegon. He said nothing more. He bowed his proud waist.
"No need to consider."
"I accept Your Grace's conditions."
"I pledge my fealty to you."
Tyrion Lannister was dragged into the Map Room.
He was still hungover. He thought this was the last moment of his life.
He thought the dragon-riding descendant of the Mad King would torture him in the cruelest way.
He had all his witty remarks and curses ready.
However, when he was thrown onto the cold floor, he looked up... and saw Aegon looking at a rolled parchment.
It was not a secret document. It was a blueprint of the Red Keep's sewers.
"Tyrion Lannister."
Aegon did not look up.
"Yes. Targaryen bastard," Tyrion replied with his usual sarcasm.
Aegon finally looked up, and he smiled.
"Do you know, Tyrion."
"In my homeland, 'wisdom' is the highest virtue."
"And the word 'imp' is only used to describe those empty-headed fools."
Tyrion was stunned.
"Your father, Tywin. He was very tall. But he was the most foolish imp I have ever seen."
"He guarded a mountain of gold, yet let the people of his capital drink water mixed with their own excrement."
"He won countless wars, yet did not know that a single plague could kill all his soldiers."
Tyrion sat up.
He completely failed to understand what this young king in front of him was saying.
"What do you want to say?"
"I want to say."
Aegon threw the sewer blueprint in front of Tyrion.
"Your nephew Joffrey is dead. Your sister Cersei is dead. Your father Tywin is a prisoner."
"House Lannister is finished."
"And you, Tyrion Lannister. You, the shame of this house. You, the kinslaying monster. You, the great mind..."
"You are free."
"What?"
"I will not kill you. Nor will I make you some damn lord."
Aegon crouched down, meeting Tyrion's gaze.
"I have a job for you."
"A job more important than being hand of the king."
"I want you to rebuild King's Landing."
Tyrion let out a harsh laugh.
"Rebuild? Me? Hahaha, do you want me to build it into a giant brothel?"
"No."
Aegon's expression was serious.
"I want you to clean up this city."
"I want you to design a brand new sewer system. I want clean water to flow into every home."
"I want you to expand the granaries. I want this city to be able to store enough food for a million people for three years."
"I want you to plan the streets. I want fire carriages to be able to reach any corner of the city within fifteen minutes."
Aegon stood up.
"Your father Tywin spent his life trying to establish a dynasty that would last for generations."
"He failed."
"And now I am giving you a chance. A truly immortal chance."
"I want you to build a city that can withstand winter."
"A city that can survive."
Aegon extended his hand.
"I don't need your loyalty, Tyrion."
"I need your brain."
"I want to appoint you as the City Architect of King's Landing."
"A ridiculous title. A dirty job. A position no one will notice."
"But, it is the cornerstone of my new order."
"Will you do it, or not?"
Tyrion Lannister looked at the hand extended to him.
All his life he had been mocked, despised.
He armed himself with alcohol and prostitutes.
He proved himself with schemes and cunning.
But never had anyone.
Never had anyone like this Aegon in front of him.
Seen through all his disguises.
And given him something he craved most deeply within his heart.
A purpose. A purpose of "building."
Tyrion did not take Aegon's hand.
He picked up the sewer blueprint from the floor.
He examined it carefully for a moment, then, he said in a hoarse voice:
"This blueprint is wrong."
"The slope of this floodgate is insufficient. Water will back up."
"Foolish. Utterly foolish."
He looked up, and the fire rekindled in his two eyes, one green, one black.
"Give me wine."
"Give me ten draftsmen."
"And, call all those old pedants from the Citadel."
"They owe me a life."
"And I, Tyrion Lannister, will build you the most goddamn clean toilet, like no other before or after it."
Aegon smiled, and withdrew his hand.
He knew that the Westerlands and King's Landing.
These two toughest nuts to crack, had been firmly nailed onto his new chessboard.
Evening.
Aegon finally ascended the steps leading to the Throne Room.
Kevan had already left.
Tyrion was already shouting in the Tower of the Hand's study, directing servants to move piles of books.
The Red Keep began to operate efficiently in a strange atmosphere.
Aegon walked into the empty Throne Room.
The lingering glow of the setting sun shone through the glass windows onto the grotesque iron throne.
It was like a crouching steel beast, exuding the rusty scent of blood and power.
Aegon walked forward, he did not sit down, he merely reached out and gently stroked the cold swords.
"This is what you wanted," he whispered. "...A chair."
He turned and left.
He did not sit on the iron throne.
Not once.
He walked to the balcony, looking at the city below that he was about to thoroughly transform.
"Winter is coming," he murmured into the cold wind.
"And I will build spring."
Chapter 108 The Judgment of the Kingslayer
The Throne Room.
The iron throne stood high above, looking down on everything.
But Aegon was not sitting there.
He stood below the throne, his feet on the empty space where the giant dragon bones once coiled.
The hall doors were tightly shut.
There were no courtiers watching, no whispering nobles.
Only the King and the prisoner about to be judged.
Kevan Lannister stood on one side of the hall.
He had changed into a plain black coat.
He was no longer a prisoner, but the Warden of the West. He was here as a witness, to witness the final end of the old Lannister.
Daario Naharis stood on the other side of the hall.
He was the King's sword, his hand resting on his scimitar, his presence a deterrent.
"Bring him in," Aegon's voice was calm.
The heavy side door was pushed open.
Two Black Dragon Guards dragged a man in.
No, they were dragging him.
Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.
He was once the most handsome knight in Westeros, he was once the Captain of the Kingsguard.
Now, he was just a disheveled prisoner.
His golden hair was dull, covered in dust and bloodstains.
His white cloak was torn, stained dark red.
One of his legs was crudely splinted with wood and cloth—it had been broken by collapsing stones in the ruins of the Dragonpit.
But he did not yield, his spine was still straight, and his emerald lion eyes were full of untamed mockery.
A Guard kicked the back of his knee, trying to make him kneel.
Jaime grunted, his knee hitting the hard floor with a dull thud.
But he still held his head high, looking directly at Aegon—this new King, so much younger than him.
"Targaryen," Jaime spoke. His voice was hoarse and cracked. "Another one, you're like cockroaches, impossible to kill."
"How do you plan to kill me?"
"With dragons? With fire?"
He grinned.
"Or do you want to do it yourself? Come on, King. Let me see your swordsmanship."
"Oh, I forgot. You only hide behind women, under the wings of dragons."
Daario frowned, his hand tightening on his hilt.
Aegon raised his hand to stop him.
He slowly descended the steps, walking to stand before Jaime Lannister.
He knelt down, meeting the Kingslayer's gaze at eye level.
"You killed my grandfather," Aegon said.
His tone was not a question, but a statement of fact.
"Yes," Jaime did not flinch. "Aerys Targaryen, he was a madman."
"He wanted to burn the entire city. He wanted to die with a million people."
"He was screaming, 'Burn them! Burn them!'"
"So I killed him."
Jaime's breathing became heavy.
"I slit his throat with one sword stroke, and I watched his blood flow across the Throne Room floor."
"I saved this city."
"I saved all of you."
"And you call me 'Kingslayer'."
"You use that word to curse me, to shame me."
"...Ha!"
He laughed again.
"So what about you? New King. Are you here to avenge that madman?"
The hall was silent.
Kevan Lannister watched Aegon nervously, he did not know how this young ruler would judge.
Aegon looked at Jaime quietly.
"You are right," Aegon began.
This answer froze Jaime's smile and stunned Kevan and Daario.
"You saved this city," Aegon stood up. "You prevented a mad slaughter, you prevented a wildfire catastrophe."
"Just a few days ago, your father Tywin Lannister wanted to do the same thing. He also wanted to burn all of us with wildfire."
"Ironic, isn't it?"
Jaime's pupils suddenly constricted. "...What?"
"You are a hero, Jaime Lannister," Aegon said, "You did the right thing seventeen years ago."
"But," Aegon's tone shifted. "You also broke your oath. You swore allegiance to the King, you swore to protect the royal family, you were a Kingsguard, your honor died the moment you killed Aerys."
"Honor?" Jaime growled, "Can honor save a million people?"
"No," Aegon replied. "So I will not kill you, I will not punish you for killing a madman."
Jaime looked up, completely bewildered. "...Then what do you want?"
"Your father Tywin, he will spend the rest of his life at Casterly Rock, as a prisoner. Your uncle Kevan," Aegonpointed to Kevan, "He will serve me. He is the new Warden of the West. Your brother Tyrion."
At the mention of that name, Jaime's body trembled violently.
"He is alive," Aegon said. "He is also serving me. He is rebuilding this city that he once saved. Your family, Jaime. Your name, it is finished, it is no longer a threat, it has become my tool."
Aegon walked back to the steps of the throne, his back to Jaime.
"You, Jaime Lannister. You are no longer a knight, you are no longer a Kingsguard, and you are no longer the heir of Lannister. You are nothing. You are a man without honor, a man without a home, a free man."
Jaime knelt there. His mind was blank.
Free? What did that mean?
"...I don't understand."
"I give you a choice," Aegon turned around. "A chance for atonement, a chance to regain honor, a chance to truly 'keep your oath'."
Aegon's gaze drifted to the distant North outside the window.
"The North. The Wall is there, the Night's Watch is there. They also swore an oath, they protect the realm, they defend against true darkness, their oath is for life."
"You want me to go to the Wall?" Jaime asked, disbelieving.
"I want you to put on the black," Aegon said. "I want you to go there, with your sword, with the rest of your life, to fulfill the oath you broke seventeen years ago. To be a true 'Guard'."
Jaime was silent.
The Wall, the end of the world.
A gathering place for criminals and exiles.
He, a Lannister, a Kingslayer, to join the Night's Watch? This was more absurd than killing him.
"What if I don't go?"
"You will go," Aegon was certain. "Because your brother Tyrion, his life is in my hands. Because your father Tywin, his remaining life is in my hands. Because your uncle Kevan, his family is in my hands. And you, Jaime, your ridiculous sense of honor—it is also in my hands."
"You will go. Because you have nothing left, and I have given you a 'mission'."
Aegon walked up the steps, he stopped before the iron throne, but he still did not sit down.
"You can choose to rot here, to accompany your father in the dungeon, to watch your leg rot away."
"Or."
"You can go North."
"To face the true winter."
"To die like a knight."
"Take him away," Aegon gave his final command. "Heal his leg. Give him a horse, a black cloak. Then send him to the North."
The Guards helped Jaime Lannister up.
Jaime did not resist, he just looked deeply at Aegon.
This young Targaryen, he did not use fire and blood, he used something more terrifying.
He used "order" and "mission" to conquer everyone, including him.
"I will go," Jaime said hoarsely. "But, Targaryen."
"One day, you will need a 'Kingslayer' like me."
"Because the throne always turns people into madmen."
Aegon did not answer, he just watched silently as Jaime Lannister was dragged out of the Throne Room.
The old era had ended.
The Lannister lion was utterly defeated.
And he, Aegon, his game had just begun.
The wolves of the North had set out, the foundations of King's Landing were being laid.
And the continent of Westeros... was about to welcome its true master.
Chapter 109 The Fog of White Harbor
Black sails sailed on the grey sea.
This was not the three-headed dragon banner of House Targaryen.
This was Sansa Stark's new banner.
A plain black flag, without any emblem.
The Winter Wolf Pack needed no emblem; they were claws in the shadows.
The flagship, 'Dragon's Fury,' had been renamed 'direwolf' by Sansa.
This name made the sailors and soldiers on board uneasy.
They were warriors from the South.
They came from the scorching continent of Essos.
They were accustomed to sunshine and spices.
And now, they were sailing towards the end of the world.
The cold was their first enemy.
The sea wind cut across the deck like a knife.
Waves crashed against the hull, quickly forming thin ice.
The soldiers wrapped themselves tightly in their newly issued black fur cloaks.
They huddled in the cabins, cursing the damned weather.
They missed the wine and women of King's Landing.
But their commander did not rest.
Sansa Stark stood at the bow.
She wore the black leather armor and wool dress she had designed herself.
She did not wear a hood.
Her short, auburn hair danced wildly in the wind.
The icy seawater splashed her cheeks.
She didn't care.
She didn't even shiver.
She was breathing.
This was the air of the North.
It was cold and pure, with the taste of salt and pine needles.
This was the taste of home.
All the perfumes of King's Landing could not compare to this breath of cold air.
It made her clear-headed.
It made her focused.
Daario Naharis approached her from behind.
He was wrapped in a bearskin coat twice as thick as Sansa's.
He looked terrible.
He was seasick.
But he was even more fed up with this woman's stubbornness.
"My Lady."
His voice was hoarse.
"We cannot go on."
"My soldiers are falling ill, the horses are dying, and our fresh water is almost freezing."
"This isn't war. This is suicide."
Sansa didn't turn around.
Her gaze was fixed on the thick mist ahead.
"How much longer?" she asked.
"How much longer for what?" Daario snapped.
"To reach White Harbor."
"The navigator says if we aren't swallowed by this damned fog, we'll see White Harbor's lighthouse by dawn tomorrow."
Daario walked over to her side.
"So I need a plan."
"My Lady."
"Your Winter Wolf Pack are elite warriors, but they are not Northmen; they won't last a mile in the snow."
"We need a secure stronghold, a warm hearth."
"So my plan is—"
Daario drew his scimitar and pointed it at the mist.
"At dawn, a full assault."
"Your direwolf will smash through the iron chains at White Harbor's mouth."
"My Black Dragon Guards will be on the walls at the first opportunity."
"Before that fat pig Lord Wyman Manderly can crawl out of his breakfast chair."
"I will bring you his head."
"Then White Harbor will be ours."
He sheathed his scimitar.
"A simple, brutal, but effective plan."
"A Southern plan."
Sansa finally turned around.
Her icy blue eyes seemed exceptionally bright under the grey sky.
"A foolish plan."
She said coldly.
Daario's eyebrows furrowed.
"My Lady?"
"You are the King's sword, Daario."
"You are skilled in killing, skilled in war."
"But you do not understand the North."
Sansa walked to the chart table in the center of the deck.
She pointed to the map of White Harbor.
"Do you know why Wyman Manderly is called 'the Fat Pig'?"
"Because Bolton and Frey's men shamed him so at the feast."
"Do you know that his son and heir is dead?"
"Dead at the Red Wedding."
"Betrayed and murdered by Frey and Bolton's men."
"Do you think he serves Bolton because he is a coward?"
"No."
"He serves because he is waiting."
"He is waiting for an opportunity for revenge."
"He is waiting for a Stark."
Daario was silent.
His war instincts told him this woman spoke the truth.
"Then what is your plan?"
"Your plan is to attack a fortified city with twenty thousand defenders with three thousand men."
"My plan—"
Sansa looked up.
"Is to win a fortified city with a name."
"And their fleet, their soldiers, their loyalty."
"We do not attack."
Sansa gave the order.
"At dawn, the fleet will stop in the mist, outside the range of the harbor's cannons."
"Lower all flags of peace."
"Then—"
She looked at Daario.
"You prepare a small boat."
"No Guards, no flags."
"Carrying only two people."
Daario's pupils contracted.
"Two people?"
"Me."
Sansa said.
"And you."
"No!"
Daario instinctively roared.
"Absolutely not!"
"This isn't bravery, this is foolishness! You are our commander!"
"What if Manderly is a trap? What if he captures you and hands you over to Roose Bolton?"
"You will ruin the King's entire plan!"
"If I send three thousand Southern sellswords to 'liberate' the North—"
Sansa's voice cut through the wind.
"I will be the one who ruins the King's plan."
"I will become another 'Conqueror,' another 'Targaryen.'"
"The North will never bow to fire and blood."
"They will only follow a Stark."
She looked directly at Daario.
"Your duty is to obey me, Daario."
"And now, my order is—"
"You will be my envoy, my'sword.'"
"And I—will personally knock on the door of the North."
"I want to see Wyman Manderly's loyalty with my own eyes."
"I want him to tell me himself."
"If the North still remembers—"
"Winter Is Coming."
Daario looked at her.
This woman.
This little bird who once trembled in King's Landing.
Now, her will was harder than the ice on this ocean.
He slowly lowered his proud head.
"I will prepare the best small boat."
"My Lady."
"And I will bring my two fastest blades."
Sansa nodded.
She turned around, facing the endless mist once more.
White Harbor.
Winterfell.
Bolton.
She was coming.
The mistress of the Winter Wolf Pack.
She was coming home.
Chapter 110 The Gate of Mist
Dawn.
The sea fog was like a cold, wet wall.
The *direwolf* and its fleet were anchored like ghosts in the mist.
The engines were off.
Three thousand Winter Wolf Pack waited in their cabins.
Silence enveloped the sea.
Only the gentle lapping of seawater against the hull could be heard.
A rope ladder hung from the side of the flagship.
Sansa Stark gripped the cold ropes.
She was the first to climb down.
Her movements were steady and decisive.
Without the slightest hesitation.
Daario Naharis followed closely behind.
He wore a face mask, revealing only a pair of sharp, uneasy eyes.
Two valyrian steel daggers were strapped to his back.
In his hand, he carried a heavy package.
It was a "gift" for Lord Manderly.
A small black dinghy waited below.
Two of the most loyal "Black Dragon" Guards held the oars.
Sansa landed steadily in the boat.
Daario jumped in after her.
The small boat dipped sharply.
"...My Lady."
Daario spoke in a low voice.
"If anything goes wrong, I will light this."
He patted a small leather pouch at his waist.
"A green signal flare."
"The fleet will open fire immediately."
"No."
Sansa interrupted him.
Her voice was colder than the sea wind.
"No signal flare."
"If I die."
She looked at the two rowing Guards.
"Your mission is not revenge."
"It is to return."
"Tell King Aegon: The North's gates are closed."
"Let him knock on them with his dragons."
Daario and the two Guards were stunned.
They saw no fear on the woman's face.
Only absolute calculation.
"Row."
Sansa commanded.
The small boat pulled away from the flagship.
Three seconds later.
The massive steel warship vanished into the thick fog.
As if it had never existed.
The small boat became the only existence in the endless grey void.
Waves rose and fell beneath their feet.
Daario's muscles were tense.
He hated this feeling.
He was a warrior.
His life was about control.
And now, his fate lay in this damned fog and a woman's decision.
Sansa, however, was calm.
She closed her eyes.
She was listening.
She heard sounds beyond the fog.
The cries of seagulls.
The ringing of a bell tower.
And the huge sound of chains dragging in the water.
"Stop."
She opened her eyes.
The rowing Guards immediately stopped.
"Just ahead," Sansa said.
She pointed to an impenetrable thick fog.
Daario narrowed his eyes.
He saw nothing.
"How do I know you..."
"Hush."
Sansa raised a finger.
A long, muffled horn blast pierced the mist.
Then a shout.
"What ship is in the mist?!"
The voice came from directly above them.
As if from the sky.
Daario looked up sharply.
A massive shadow loomed in the fog.
It was the walls of White Harbor.
A sea fortress built of white giant stones.
They were already at the foot of the walls.
The ballistas on the wall were already aimed at them.
"Answer!"
The voice from the wall became urgent.
"Otherwise, we fire!"
Daario cursed.
He instinctively drew his daggers.
He prepared to parry.
Sansa, however, pressed his wrist.
Her hand was cold but strong.
"I'll handle it."
Sansa Stark stood up.
On this swaying small boat.
She pulled down the hood of her cloak.
Revealing her auburn short hair and her pale but resolute face.
She raised her head, facing the invisible wall.
"I am Sansa Stark."
Her voice was not loud.
But in this silent mist, it carried far, clear and firm.
"Daughter of Eddard Stark of Winterfell."
"I have come home."
A deathly silence fell over the wall.
Even the cries of the seagulls disappeared.
Daario stared nervously upwards.
He could hear the Guards on the wall gasp.
And hurried footsteps.
"Stark?"
Someone whispered.
"Isn't she dead?"
"I demand."
Sansa continued.
"To see Lord Wyman Manderly."
"Now."
Another long silence.
Daario felt his heart about to leap out.
He would rather face a thousand enemies.
Than endure this minute of waiting.
"Quickly, My Lady," he urged, "...sit down. They will shoot..."
"Creak—"
A harsh metallic scraping sound rang out.
The thick fog in front of Sansa seemed to be torn open by invisible hands.
A massive iron water gate was slowly rising.
A pitch-black opening appeared at the base of the wall.
"Lord Manderly."
A hoarse voice came from the opening.
"Awaits you in the 'Wolf's Den', Miss Stark."
Daario breathed a sigh of relief.
But Sansa's expression remained cold.
"Go in," she told the oarsmen.
The small boat entered the pitch-black opening.
Daario looked back.
"My Lady. Those two Guards..."
"They stay here," Sansa said.
"If we are not out before sunset."
She turned to the two loyal Guards.
"Execute my final command."
"Return."
"Yes, My Lady," the Guards bowed their heads in acknowledgment.
The iron gate slammed shut behind them.
Splashing a huge amount of water.
Light disappeared.
The small boat entered a pitch-black darkness.
Only the sound of water.
And the crackling of torches burning in the distance.
They had entered the heart of White Harbor.
The "Wolf's Den."
An ancient sea fortress.
A labyrinth easy to defend, difficult to attack.
A tomb specifically prepared for Stark's enemies.
Or perhaps, a cradle for an ally.
The small boat docked.
A line of Manderly Guards, clad in silver chainmail and armed with tridents, stood on the pier.
Their faces were expressionless.
"This way, please."
The captain of the Guards said.
"His Lordship is in the 'Mermaid Hall'."
Sansa Stark stepped onto the pier.
Daario Naharis followed behind her.
His hand never left his sword hilt.
He was her sword.
And she.
Sansa Stark.
She was the will of the North.
She had entered this most dangerous gamble.
Using her name as the only stake.