Chapter 111 Mermaid Hall
The path to the 'Wolf's Den' was dark and long.
The flagstones underfoot were slippery, and the air was thick with the salty tang of the sea, mixed with the scent of ancient fish oil and mold.
Torches burned on the walls, their light dancing on the damp stone carvings of mermaids and sea monsters.
Daario Naharis walked behind Sansa, his hand always on his sword hilt, his eyes scanning every dark corner like a hawk, every Manderly Guardsman holding a trident.
These Northmen were silent and tall, dressed in silver-green chainmail, their gazes devoid of curiosity, only coldness.
Sansa, however, did not flinch.
Her hands were tucked into her black cloak, her steps steady.
She observed the thickness of the stone walls, the number of Guardsmen, and the defensive structure of this ancient fortress.
She calculated that if this were a trap, her and Daario's chances of survival were zero.
Therefore, she could not let it be a trap.
They passed through a low archway, and the space suddenly opened up.
This was the 'Merman's' Hall, the center of power in White Harbor.
The hall was vast and empty, with huge whale skeletons hanging from the rafters, and the floor was paved with polished green marble, like a shimmering sea.
A massive brazier burned in the center of the hall, smoke swirling with the scent of pine resin, yet unable to mask the pervasive smell of food and ale.
Dozens of House Manderly's vassals and knights sat on either side, their conversations and feasting halted.
All eyes were fixed on the entrance, on Sansa and Daario.
And at the far end of the hall, on the high 'Merman Throne,' sat a man, an extremely obese man—Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, the wealthiest lord in the North.
His body almost overflowed from the wide chair, and his layered chins were covered in grease.
He was laboriously stuffing a huge turkey leg into his mouth, his breathing heavy, like a worn-out bellows.
"...Bring...bring her...up," he mumbled, his voice muffled by food.
Sansa walked forward alone, Daario stopped in the center of the hall.
He stood there like a black statue, his very presence a threat.
Sansa reached the bottom of the steps; she did not curtsy, but merely pulled down her hood, revealing her pale yet incredibly calm face and her ice-blue eyes.
A collective gasp echoed through the hall.
"...It's her."
"...The Stark girl."
"...She's alive."
Wyman Manderly stopped chewing, his small eyes, almost squeezed shut by fat, stared intently at Sansa.
"They said Sansa Stark was dead," his voice was hoarse.
"They said you married Roose Bolton's bastard son."
"...You are Lady Bolton."
"I am not," Sansa's voice was clear and firm.
"I am Sansa Stark."
"That 'Lady Bolton' was a deception, a lie to appease the North."
"Roose Bolton betrayed my family."
"He slaughtered my mother and brother."
"Now, he occupies my home."
Wyman Manderly's face showed no expression.
He picked up another cup of wine.
"The North has yielded," he took a large gulp.
"Bolton is Warden of the North. Frey is my 'ally,'" his voice was full of sarcasm.
"And you, a dead girl, what have you brought?"
"A Southerner with a scimitar?"
The atmosphere in the hall instantly froze.
Several Manderly knights' hands went to their sword hilts, and Daario subtly shifted his stance.
Sansa did not look back.
"I bring the King's decree," she said.
"I bring the Targaryen fleet."
"Targaryen?" Lord Manderly laughed, his laughter making his fat tremble.
"The Mad King's descendant?"
"The North shed so much blood to get rid of the Targaryens!"
"Now, you want me to kneel to a new Targaryen?"
"A Stark daughter has become a dragon's lackey?!"
"Aegon Targaryen is not the Mad King," Sansa met his gaze.
"He is Rhaegar's son."
"He is my King, and he is your King."
"He destroyed Euron Greyjoy's fleet, he killed the sea monster."
"He captured Tywin Lannister."
"He sent Jaime Lannister to the Wall."
"He is the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."
Each of Sansa's words struck the hall like a heavy hammer.
The Northmen vassals, who had initially been hostile, now showed shock on their faces.
Tywin Lannister... captured?
The Kingslayer... went to the Wall?
"And I," Sansa took a step forward.
"Am his Warden of the North."
"I am the commander of the Winter Wolf Pack."
"Three thousand elite soldiers of the 'Black Dragon' Guard, hundreds of Targaryen warships."
"Are now anchored outside your harbor."
She finally bared her fangs.
"I am not here to ask for your help, Lord Wyman."
"I am here to give you a choice."
"Choice?" Manderly's laughter stopped.
"Yes."
"The choice is to open your gates, welcome your Queen, and together with me, reclaim Winterfell and avenge your son."
"...Or," Sansa's voice turned icy, "choose to continue being the 'fat pig' of House Bolton and House Frey."
"And then, let my three thousand 'wolves' and the King's dragonflame 'knock' on your gates."
The hall was deathly silent.
All the Northmen held their breath.
They looked at the short-haired girl standing in the center of the hall.
She was not a Stark, she was Ned Stark's daughter, she was Catelyn Tully's daughter, she was the embodiment of ice and fire, she was the North's vengeance.
Wyman Manderly's narrowed small eyes gazed at Sansafor a full minute.
His breathing was still heavy. He slowly put down the wine cup in his hand and waved his fat hand at the two sides of the hall.
"All of you, leave," he commanded.
The knights hesitated.
"My Lord?"
"I said, all of you, leave!" Lord Manderly let out a roar that did not match his physique!
"Let me and my Queen... speak alone."
The Guardsmen and vassals exchanged glances, and finally, they all bowed and exited the hall.
The heavy oak doors closed behind them.
Daario still stood in the center of the hall; he did not move.
Now, only three people and the huge brazier remained in the hall.
Wyman Manderly's expression changed.
The foolish, gluttonous look vanished, replaced by a profound sadness and an icy anger.
He looked at Sansa.
"They said, at the wedding," his voice trembled.
"They cut off Robb Stark's head."
"And sewed his direwolf's head onto it."
"They called him the 'Wolf King'."
Sansa's body trembled violently, her fingernails digging deep into her palms. "...Yes."
"My son, Wendel," Lord Manderly's eyes welled with tears, his fat trembling.
"He was Robb's sworn shield, he protected his King..."
"They cut off his head too."
"House Frey, House Bolton."
"They thought I had submitted."
"They thought I, this fat coward, would only eat and drink."
"They thought I had forgotten!"
He slammed his massive fist onto the armrest of the throne!
"I have not forgotten!!"
"The North has not forgotten!!"
"My soldiers are starving, but my granaries are full!"
"My fleet is in the harbor, my knights are training!"
"I am waiting! I am waiting for a Stark!!"
"I am waiting for my liege to come home!!"
Wyman Manderly struggled to rise from the throne with his corpulent body.
The effort left him breathless, but he still descended the steps.
He walked to Sansa Stark, and this fattest lord of the North slowly knelt, his massive body hitting the marble floor with a heavy thud.
"The North remembers House Stark's kindness."
"The North also remembers House Bolton's betrayal."
He looked up, tears streaming down his aged face.
"White Harbor, my fleet, my soldiers, my wealth."
"...And my life, Wyman Manderly's life."
"All belong to you."
"My Queen."
"My Queen of the North."
Chapter 112 The Wolf's Den Alliance
Inside the Merman's Court, the pine resin in the braziers crackled.
Wyman Manderly, the Lord of White Harbor, still knelt before Sansa Stark.
His corpulent body trembled, not from cold, but from long-suppressed anger and excitement.
Sansa Stark extended her hand, clad in a black leather glove; she did not help him up but gently placed it on his shoulder.
"Rise, Lord Manderly." Her voice was still icy, but that iciness carried a trace of the North's characteristic resilience. "Revenge doesn't require kneeling, it requires standing."
Wyman Manderly gasped heavily, leaning on the armrest of the "Merman's Throne" to painstakingly support himself as he stood up.
Tears streamed down his fleshy face.
"My Queen," he said hoarsely, "My Queen. You... you've returned. You've finally returned."
"Daario." Sansa did not turn her head, speaking to the man in the center of the hall. "Bring up the 'gift'."
Daario Naharis's taut body finally relaxed.
He slowly unslung the heavy bundle from his back, carried it up the steps, and tossed it with a thud at Wyman Manderly's feet.
The bundle opened, revealing not gold or jewels, but cold steel.
"This is?" Lord Manderly lowered his head, seeing a brand-new set of black dragon-scale plate armor and a replica Blackfyre battle-axe forged from valyrian steel, all Targaryen armaments.
"The King's sincerity," Daario said in stilted Westerosi Common Tongue. "Three thousand sets, enough to arm your elite knights."
Wyman Manderly reached out, his trembling hand caressing the cold dragon-scale plates.
This was ten thousand times more precious than gold; it was a weapon of war.
"He... King Aegon, he..."
"The King gives steel," Sansa interrupted him.
"And I give promises. I promise the heads of Roose Boltonand Ramsay Bolton; I promise House Frey will pay for their blood debts in the North; I promise the direwolfbanner of Winterfell will rise again."
Sansa looked directly at Manderly. "But I need your help, Lord. I need your 'lie'."
Wyman Manderly's breath hitched. "Lie?"
"Yes." Sansa walked to the giant map of the North in the hall.
"My fleet is hidden in the fog, three thousand soldiers are waiting. But Bolton and Frey's 'eyes' are also spread throughout this city.
If they knew the Stark heir had appeared in White Harborwith a Targaryen army... Roose Bolton would immediately fortify Winterfell and gather all his forces.
He would hang Rickon, or any 'Stark' he could find, on the castle walls.
He would plunge the entire North into a bloody war."
"I don't want a bloody war." Sansa's voice deepened. "I want a 'hunt'."
"The North has already shed too much blood. I don't want the families loyal to me to die in vain again. I want to use the sharpest blade, at the most precise moment, to plunge into Bolton's heart."
Wyman Manderly's eyes lit up.
He wiped away the tears from his face; the obese 'coward' was completely gone, replaced by a shrewd Northern lord.
"You mean... 'deception'."
"Roose Bolton and House Frey are pressing you," Sansasaid. "They are urging you to hand over more taxes and grain to 'feed' their army at Winterfell. They are even pressing you to fulfill the 'marriage contract'."
"Yes." Manderly's voice was filled with disgust. "Three Freys, two of Frey's grandsons, are living in my castle right now. They are supervising me, enjoying my food, and waiting for my granddaughter. I wish I could chop them up and make them into pies."
"You will," Sansa gave him a cold smile. "But not now. Now you must 'embrace' them."
"What do you want me to do?"
"You must continue to play your 'fat pig'." Sansa walked closer to him. "You must host grand feasts, tell everyone you have submitted. You must agree to all the marriage contracts. You must 'arrest' me."
Daario suddenly looked up! "My Lady?!"
"You must 'arrest' me and my Guards," Sansa continued calmly. "A 'fraud' claiming to be Sansa Stark, and a Targaryen 'messenger'."
"Then, you must immediately send ravens to Winterfellwith good news. Tell Roose Bolton that you have captured King Aegon's envoy, and captured a 'traitor' attempting to overthrow the North. You will personally escort this 'great gift' to Winterfell to demonstrate your 'loyalty' to him."
Wyman Manderly was stunned.
He looked at this girl, barely a teenager, as if seeing the shadows of Tywin Lannister and Roose Bolton.
No, she was more terrifying than them—she was using herself as bait.
"No, My Queen." Lord Manderly shook his head sharply. "This is too dangerous! Winterfell is Bolton's stronghold, that bastard's slaughterhouse! I cannot let Ned Stark's daughter go there to die!"
"I am not going to die," Sansa said. "I am going to 'open the gates'."
Her gaze turned to Daario. "Daario."
"Present."
"Your three thousand 'Winter Wolf Pack' will not enter White Harbor. They will hide with the fleet to the north. They will don Northern armor and take the new weapons bestowed by the King. They will wait, wait for me to enter Winterfell, wait for my 'raven' to fly out."
"How do you know your raven can fly out?" Daario asked.
"Because Roose Bolton will 'invite' Wyman Manderly to his victory feast." Sansa's lips curved into a cold arc.
"He will invite all the Northern lords to witness my demise. He wants to humiliate Stark and Targaryenbefore everyone. He will lower his guard, and that will be his last dinner of his life."
Wyman Manderly's breathing grew ragged.
He understood completely; this was a desperate gamble, a mad plan using the Stark bloodline as a stake. This was... "The Red Wedding." Lord Manderly said, trembling. "You want to reenact the 'Red Wedding' at Winterfell. Only this time, we are the hunters, and Bolton and Freyare the prey."
"The North remembers." Sansa's voice was light yet heavy as steel. "And Starks always pay their debts."
"I need your acting, Lord. I need your loyalty. I need you to protect me into Winterfell. Do you dare?"
Wyman Manderly looked at Sansa Stark, his eyes burning with the fire of vengeance. He suddenly pulled the hall's alarm bell!
"Guards!" he roared outside. "Someone! Guards! Guards! Seize them! Seize these two Targaryen traitors!"
The great doors burst open! A hundred Manderly Guardsrushed in! Daario instantly drew his twin blades, shielding Sansa!
"Don't move." Sansa pressed his hand down.
Facing a hundred spears pointed at her, she slowly raised her hands, a triumphant smile on her face. "The game has begun."
Chapter 113 The Fake Prisoner
"Seize them! Seize these two Targaryen traitors!"
Lord Manderly's roar echoed through the Merman's Court, filled with "righteous" fury and a fleeting excitement.
The great doors burst open!
Manderly Guards, fully armed and waiting outside, surged in like a tide, their heavy iron boots clanking loudly on the marble floor.
"Protect the lady!"
Daario Naharis's reaction was as swift as lightning.
His instincts as a King of Mercenaries erupted instantly; he roared, and his two valyrian steel daggers were already drawn, guarding Sansa Stark.
He was like an enraged leopard, exuding suffocating killing intent, ready to unleash a massacre.
"Don't move!"
"Drop your weapons!"
Hundreds of White Harbor Guards, armed with spears and shields, surrounded them, the sharp tips of their spears glinting coldly in the firelight.
"Daario, stop!"
Just at this tense moment, Sansa's cold and calm voice rang out.
She slowly walked out from behind Daario, facing the hundreds of spears pointed at her, without the slightest fear on her face.
"We are envoys of His Majesty King Aegon!" Sansadeclared loudly, her words meant for the "eyes" hidden in the shadows, "Lord Manderly, do you dare attack the King's envoys? This is treason!"
"Treason?!" Wyman Manderly's fat face squeezed out an angry smile; he played the part perfectly.
"Your father, Ned Stark, was the traitor! And you, Sansa Stark, you have betrayed the North to serve that southern Targaryen tyrant!"
He turned to his Guards and waved his hand:
"That man resisted, break his legs! As for this woman... take her alive! The Warden of the North, Duke Bolton, will surely be very pleased with this 'great gift'!"
"Yes!"
The Guards swarmed forward!
Killing intent flashed in Daario's eyes; he was about to strike like a whirlwind but received Sansa's hidden yet resolute gaze—proceed as planned.
"Roar!"
Daario let out an unwilling roar of anger; he was "forced" to fight several Guard captains.
He deliberately only defended, not attacked, showcasing his formidable martial prowess, but ultimately he was "outnumbered," struck hard in the chest by a charging tower shield, and then seven or eight spears pressed down, pinning him firmly to the ground.
Sansa, however, did not resist.
She merely held her head high, proudly, like her mother Catelyn Tully, allowing two crude Guards to grab her arms.
Just then, three men in lavish attire emerged from the shadows of the hall.
The sigil on their chests was the twin towers of House Frey.
Leading them was Rhaegar Frey, a tall, thin, horse-faced young man, his eyes filled with the arrogance and lechery characteristic of House Frey.
"What a splendid scene, Lord Manderly." Rhaegar Freyclapped his hands, slowly walking over, his gaze shamelessly roving over Sansa's cloak-wrapped curves.
"I was wondering when you would finally make up your mind and pledge your belated loyalty to our great Duke Bolton."
Wyman Manderly immediately put on a fawning smile, laboriously bowing his corpulent body: "Lord Frey, you jest. My loyalty, Wyman Manderly's loyalty, to Duke Bolton is as clear as the sun and moon! See, as soon as I caught these two traitors, I immediately prepared to report the good news to Your Grace!"
"Very good." Rhaegar Frey nodded in satisfaction.
He walked up to Sansa, reached out, and roughly pinched Sansa's chin.
"Tsk, tsk, look who it is? The North's most beautiful little bird, now a Targaryen lapdog."
He taunted in that repulsive tone, "My father will be very pleased to see you. Perhaps, before handing you over to that bastard Ramsay Bolton, a few of us brothers could first... 'entertain' you, the Pearl of the North?"
"Pfft!"
A mouthful of spit, mixed with Sansa's disgust, was spat forcefully onto Rhaegar Frey's face.
"Smack!!"
Rhaegar Frey flew into a rage, backhanding Sansa, knocking her to the ground.
"Bitch! You seek death!"
"Lord Frey!" Wyman Manderly, seeing this, quickly stepped forward to intervene, "Calm down, calm down! This woman is a 'great gift' for Duke Bolton! What if... what if she gets hurt, we'll have trouble explaining!"
Rhaegar Frey wiped the spit from his face, then glanced at Daario, who was being held down like a growling beast, and finally snorted coldly, withdrawing his hand.
"Hmph, you're right."
He looked down at Sansa on the ground, his eyes filled with cruel pleasure.
"Lock them in the 'Wolf's Den'! Chain them with the thickest iron chains! Guard them strictly!"
"I, personally, will write to Duke Bolton!" Wyman Manderly immediately interjected.
"No," Rhaegar Frey interrupted him, a sinister smile on his face, "We will write the letter. And you, Lord Manderly, to show your'sincerity,' you must personally escort them to Winterfell."
The fat on Wyman Manderly's face trembled, a flicker of fear in his eyes, but it quickly turned to submission.
"...As you command, Lord Frey."
Sansa was roughly dragged up by the Guards.
In the last moment before being dragged out of the hall, she turned her head and looked at Rhaegar Frey, who was wiping his cheek.
In those icy blue eyes, there was no fear, no anger.
Only a stillness, like the dead of a northern winter.
Chapter 114 The King's "New Favorite"
As Sansa Stark began her dangerous hunt in the North, Blackheart Aegon's rule in the Red Keep in King's Landing entered a new phase.
He had thoroughly intimidated all opposing forces in the Seven Kingdoms with Tywin Lannister's surrender and Stannis's crushing defeat.
The Westerlands and Riverlands had, in fact, submitted to his dragon's might.
And now, he was enjoying his first 'holiday' as king.
Inside the Royal Gardens, the sun was just right.
Aegon, for once, shed his black dragon scale armor, changing into a well-tailored black silk casual outfit, embroidered with a three-headed dragon sigil in dark red gold thread.
He was leisurely leaning back in a lounge chair, eyes closed in rest.
His handsome face, a fusion of a modern soul and Targaryen blood, under the sun, had less of a tyrannical air and more of a languid sexiness.
A intoxicating fragrance, mixed with the scent of roses, wafted over.
"Your Majesty," a voice as sweet and soft as an oriole's song echoed in his ear.
Aegon slowly opened his eyes.
He saw Margaery Tyrell, his soon-to-be officially crowned 'Queen,' standing gracefully before him, holding a delicate plate of lemon cakes dusted with powdered sugar.
Today, she wore a pale green gown, its skirt flowing like blooming flowers, perfectly accentuating her slender waist and full bosom.
Her brown, doe-like eyes were filled with just the right amount of adoration and a hint of tentative affection.
"You haven't had a good rest for three consecutive days," Margaery placed the cake on a small table nearby, a hint of playful reproach in her voice, "Even a true dragon needs rest, doesn't she?"
"A king can never truly rest, my Queen," Aegon smiled.
He knew this woman was sent by the Queen of Thorns to 'monitor' him, and also to 'please' him.
He also knew that this woman possessed the finest 'political acting skill' in Westeros.
He was happy to play along with her.
"I heard from my grandmother that you sent Miss Sansa Stark to the North?" Margaery asked casually as she poured him some iced wine.
"Yes," Aegon picked up the goblet.
"How dangerous that place is," Margaery's face showed a worried expression, "House Bolton are all cruel flayers. How can Miss Sansa manage by herself?"
"She is not alone," Aegon took a sip of wine, looking at her meaningfully, "She has my three thousand 'wolves' with her."
"But that is the North after all..." Margaery sat on an embroidered stool beside him, her body unconsciously leaning closer to him. The intoxicating rose scent grew stronger.
"Your Majesty," she raised her flawless face, speaking in an almost pleading tone, "Are you still thinking of her?"
Aegon put down his wine glass.
He looked at the pitiful face before him, a face capable of making any man feel pity.
He knew this was her true purpose for coming today.
She was testing how much weight Sansa Stark held on her path to becoming 'Queen'.
"What do you think?" Aegon replied with a question.
He slowly reached out his hand, gently hooking Margaery's smooth chin with his finger.
This gesture was aggressive and flirtatious.
Margaery's body stiffened slightly.
A captivating blush instantly spread across her cheeks, and her breathing quickened.
"I don't know..." She lowered her gaze, her long eyelashes trembling like butterfly wings.
"Sansa is my sword," Aegon's voice was low and magnetic.
He slowly leaned closer to her ear, "She is meant to clear obstacles and slay enemies for me."
He could clearly smell the sweet fragrance from her hair and neck.
"And you, Margaery..." His lips were almost touching her delicate earlobe, "You are my Rose, meant to adorn my bloody throne's garden."
These suggestive, hinting words sent a shiver through Margaery's entire body!
She felt as if her body was about to melt.
She knew this man was conquering her with his unparalleled charm.
And she was willing to be conquered by him.
Just as the atmosphere in the garden became incredibly intimate and something was about to happen, a cold, emotionless voice abruptly rang out.
"Your Majesty."
Melisandre, like a red phantom, had appeared at the garden entrance at some unknown moment.
Her red eyes, burning with fire, coldly swept over Margaery, who was almost falling into the king's arms, a hint of imperceptible hostility flashing in her eyes.
"The flames have shown me the future again," She ignored Margaery's instantly stiff expression, walking directly in front of Aegon, "The Wall is about to collapse. The 'Cold God' of the North has awakened. And your aunt, far away in Essos..."
Melisandre's face showed a solemn expression.
"She received your 'gift.' And she has prepared a return gift for you."
Chapter 115 Daenerys Targaryen's "Return Gift"
Melisandre's words were like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing the ambiguous flames that had just ignited in the garden.
Margaery Tyrell subtly straightened up, increasing the distance between herself and Aegon.
The intoxicating blush on her face had faded, replaced by the dignified and appropriate smile expected of a queen.
But her hands, clasped at her sides and trembling slightly, still betrayed her inner displeasure.
She hated the Red Priestess, hated her for always appearing at the most crucial moments, and even more, hated her for sharing secrets that should have belonged only to her and the King, with eyes that seemed to see through everything.
Aegon, however, seemed unconcerned.
He didn't even turn to look at Melisandre, merely picked up the unfinished glass of wine and swirled it gently.
"A return gift?" he chuckled, his tone full of disdain, "Is it the claws of her three little lizards, or the tears of her Unsullied slaves?"
"No, Your Majesty," Melisandre's voice was unusually grave, "Neither. The flames showed me a fleet, a massive fleet of steel from Braavos!"
Aegon's hand, swirling the wine glass, suddenly paused!
"Braavos?" He spun around abruptly, his black dragon eyes instantly becoming as sharp as knives, "How could she possibly persuade the Iron Bank of Braavos?!"
Braavos, the most powerful, wealthiest, and most neutral of the nine Free Cities.
They are bankers, assassins, merchants.
They never participate in any kingdom's civil wars.
They only believe in one thing — gold.
And Daenerys, a destitute little girl struggling in Slaver's Bay, where would she get the money to hire the Iron Bank's fleet?
"I don't know, Your Majesty," Melisandre slowly shook her head, "The sacred fire only showed me the outcome, not the process. I only saw that the fleet, flying the purple seahorse banner, had already sailed from Tyrosh. Their target isn't you, but..."
Her gaze fell upon a place on the map that no one had expected.
"Dragonstone."
"What?!" This time, even Aegon sprang to his feet! For the first time, his face, which always seemed to be in control, showed genuine shock!
Dragonstone!
After Stannis's defeat, he only took Stannis himself, Melisandre, and most of the dragonglass.
But the island still held Stannis's daughter, ShireenBaratheon, and his wife Selyse Florent, as well as thousands of leaderless remnants of Stannis's forces!
Daenerys had actually bypassed him and gone directly to take over Dragonstone?!
"How did she do it?" Aegon paced back and forth in the garden.
His mind was racing! Braavos... the Iron Bank... Daenerys... how were these seemingly unrelated clues connected?
"It's a key," a feminine voice, as if rising from the ground, suddenly echoed at the garden's entrance.
"The Spider" Varys had silently appeared there at some unknown point. A bitter smile hung on his plump face.
"Your Majesty, you seem to have forgotten someone. A key who also carries Targaryen blood."
"Who?"
"The sister of 'Bloodraven' Brynden Rivers, and the wife of 'Brightflame' Aerion, the lover of Ser Duncan the Tall. The last Targaryen widow, exiled from Dragonstone to Braavos by Robert Baratheon during the War of the Five Kings — Shiera Seastar."
"It's her!" A gravity Aegon had never seen before flashed in Varys's eyes, "It was she who, with her world-shattering beauty and wisdom, convinced the Iron Bankof Braavos! It was she who secretly funded Daenerys! She is Daenerys's biggest trump card!"
"And now," Varys's voice became incredibly dry, "She has already landed on Dragonstone with Daenerys's envoy and the Braavosi fleet. Stannis's wife, Selyse, that foolish, fanatical woman, after seeing this legendary Targaryenelder and Daenerys's three dragons, has already led all of Stannis's remaining forces to swear fealty to Daenerys, the mother of dragons."
This news was like a heavy hammer, striking Aegon's heart!
He had calculated everything, calculating Tywin, calculating Stannis, calculating Tyrell, but he had overlooked this most terrifying variable hidden in the dust of history!
Daenerys, in a way he had never anticipated, had bloodlessly taken his Targaryen Family's ancestral seat!
She now also possessed a powerful fleet and a springboard to land in Westeros!
"What a Daenerys Targaryen!" An unprecedented chill erupted in Aegon's eyes.
He looked at Varys and said coldly, "Is this the good news your little birds bring me?"
"No, Your Majesty," Varys wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, "This is just the appetizer. The real main course comes from the North." He swallowed with difficulty.
"Just now, a raven from Castle Black arrived in King's Landing. An urgent plea for aid from Lord Commander Jon Snow of the Night's Watch." Varys's body trembled slightly.
"Your Majesty... the Wall has fallen."
Chapter 116 The Long Night Descends
"...The Wall, it fell."
These four words, like four sharp ice blades from the Land of Always Winter, instantly pierced through the brief and false peace in the royal garden.
Margaery Tyrell's face, always adorned with a perfect smile, for the first time drained of all color, becoming as pale as a sheet.
Melisandre's red eyes, burning with fire, also contracted violently at this moment, filled with unbelievable terror.
"No...impossible..." she whispered in a lost voice, "The holy fire foretold 'The Long Night is coming'...not 'The Long Night has arrived'!
"The prophecy, was it wrong?"
"Prophecy, it is never wrong."
Aegon's voice, at this moment, was unusually calm.
It was the suffocating calm before a storm.
He slowly turned around, looking at Varys, who had brought this doomsday news.
"Speak," he uttered only one word.
"It's...it's Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." Varys's voice was shrill with fear, "Lord Commander Jon Snow sent word that three days ago, without any warning..."
"The sea, it froze."
"From the sea outside Eastwatch, all the way to the end of the Shivering Sea."
"And then..."
"'They' walked across the ice."
"Tens of thousands of the dead."
"They bypassed The Wall."
"Eastwatch fell first, all of the Night's Watch were annihilated."
"Jon Snow is leading the remaining forces from Castle Black and the Shadow Tower on the west coast, abandoning The Wall...retreating south."
"They are the last line of defense for the North."
"And their enemy..."
Varys trembled like a leaf in the wind.
"Is the entire army of the dead from the North."
"And..."
"The Night King."
"The Night King."
Aegon slowly chewed on this name.
All his overt schemes and stratagems used against Tywin, Stannis, Daenerys...seemed so ridiculous and childish in the face of the absolute and unreasonable cataclysm of 'The Long Night'.
"Haha..."
He suddenly let out a low laugh.
"Hahahahaha—!!"
The laughter grew louder, more frantic!
He laughed so hard he bent over, tears almost welling up!
"Your Grace?" Margaery was so startled by his appearance that she backed away repeatedly.
"Interesting..."
Aegon abruptly stopped laughing!
In his black dragon eyes, a black flame erupted, more terrifying and tyrannical than the Night King's ice!
"An 'aunt' stabbed me in the back!"
"A group of 'dead men' set fire to my northern gate!"
"They are forcing me..."
"Varys!" he roared.
"Here! Your Grace!"
"Transmit my command! Immediately, in my name, AegonI, issue a 'Bloodraven' proclamation to all living lords of the Seven Kingdoms!"
"Tell them: 'The War of the Five Kings' is over!"
"Now, it is the war of the living against the dead!"
"All lords who refuse to answer my call and fight against 'The Long Night' together..."
"Shall be regarded as allies of the dead!"
"I will personally lead dragonflame to erase them and their castles from the map of Westeros before the Others arrive!!"
"Melisandre!"
"Here! My King!" The Red Priestess's eyes once again burned with fervent flames, infected by Aegon's almost insane battle intent.
"You and your 'lord of light,' haven't you always been waiting for 'the prince that was promised'?"
"Now, I have come!"
"Go! Return to Dragonstone immediately! Use all your magic and shadows!"
"I don't care what method you use—deception, assassination, or seduction!"
"I want you to bring me the head of that messenger of Daenerys, who just landed on Dragonstone, and the head of that so-called 'Targaryen widow' Hela..."
"Within ten days!!"
"As for Daenerys's fleet..." Aegon's face showed a cruel smile, "Let her stay on Dragonstone. I will personally go and greet her!"
"Margaery!" He finally looked at the new queen, who was pale with fright.
"Here...Your Grace..."
"You and your grandmother, return to The Reachimmediately!"
"I need everything from you!"
"Grain! Gold! And your fifty thousand unharmed troops!"
"Tell the Queen of Thorns, the game is over."
"Now it is total mobilization."
"If House Tyrell wishes to remain Wardens of the South after The Long Night..."
"Then give your all!"
"Otherwise..."
His gaze swept over everyone present.
"Winter will consume everything."
"And I..."
He abruptly turned and strode towards the exit of the Red Keep!
"Am going to see the people who need me most!"
"Your Grace! Where are you going?" Varys cried out in alarm, "King's Landing needs you!"
Aegon did not look back.
He left behind only a cold, murderous back.
And an answer that made everyone tremble:
"The North!"
"My 'wolf pack' is still there!"
"My'sister' is still there!"
"I am going to bring them home!"
Chapter 117 The Wedding Banquet in the Wolf's Den
While news of the "collapse of the Wall" was spreading like a plague on its way south, White Harbor in the North was "lucky" to still enjoy that last, strange calm before the storm.
Lord Wyman Manderly was holding an unprecedented, grand "wedding feast" in his Mermaid Hall!
He was marrying his twelve-year-old granddaughter, Wylla Manderly, to Rhaegar Frey of House Frey!
The entire White Harbor was decorated with lanterns and colorful banners.
But beneath those festive decorations, an unsettling undercurrent surged.
In the dungeon of the Wolf's Den.
Sansa Stark and Daario Naharis were calmly staying in their cells.
Sansa sat in the corner, using a small piece of charcoal, acquired from who knows where, to draw the internal structure of Winterfell on the ground.
"Knock knock."
The iron door of the cell was gently knocked.
Lord Wyman Manderly's plump butler, dressed in a brand new suit, walked in.
He bowed deeply and respectfully to Sansa.
"Miss Stark, the 'groom' and his guests have already taken their seats."
"Very good." Sansa nodded.
She pulled on the wide, hooded maid's robe that had been prepared earlier, concealing herself and the black Winter Wolf Pack battle uniform she was already wearing beneath it in the shadows.
"Daario."
"Here."
"Are your 'gifts' ready?"
Daario grinned.
He pulled out three huge, tightly wrapped meat pies from his embrace.
"Freshly baked," he chuckled softly in his eerie Tyroshi accent, "ingredients I 'selected' myself."
"The North remembers."
Sansa put on her hood, covering her cold yet beautiful face.
"Let's go."
"It's time for Bolton and Frey to taste… the bitter fruit of their own making."
---
White Harbor, Mermaid Hall.
Tonight, it was brightly lit and packed with people.
The long tables in the hall were laden with roasted meats, mead, and the North's unique black bread.
Lord Wyman Manderly sat at the head table, his plump face wreathed in smiles.
Beside him sat three special "distinguished guests"—emissaries sent by Roose Bolton, and representatives of House Frey: Jerry Frey and Rhaegar Frey.
They were there to oversee the wedding feast and receive House Manderly's allegiance.
"Hahahahaha, Lord Manderly!" Rhaegar Frey raised his wine cup, his horse-like face full of smugness and disdain, "You are too kind! To prepare such a lavish dinner for my nephew's wedding!"
"Not at all, not at all." Lord Wyman's face jiggled with his laughter, "It is my honor, my great honor, for Lord Freyand Lord Bolton's emissaries to personally visit White Harbor!"
As he spoke, he grabbed a huge turkey leg and shoved it fiercely into his mouth.
As if he truly was the cowardly lord who only knew how to eat and drink.
"However…" Jerry Frey, a more somber-looking middle-aged man, put down his wine cup and looked around suspiciously, "Lord, where are those two Targaryentraitors you captured?"
"Didn't you say you would display them as spoils of war at this feast?"
"Especially that… Sansa Stark. I hear she's becoming quite… flavorful."
His words drew a burst of lewd laughter from several House Frey members present.
Inside the hall, the local White Harbor nobles, forced to attend the ceremony, angrily lowered their heads and gripped their knives and forks.
"Soon, soon." Wyman Manderly was still smiling, "Lord Frey, don't rush. The best part is always saved for last, isn't it?"
"Now, please allow me to present tonight's most special main course!"
He clapped his hands sharply.
"Boom—boom—boom—"
The hall's drummer suddenly struck the war drums!
The drumbeats were heavy and oppressive!
The House Frey members' expressions changed slightly.
Why did these drumbeats sound so much like… the Rains of Castamere?!
"Lord Manderly!" Rhaegar Frey's smile froze, "What is the meaning of this?!"
"No meaning at all, Lord."
Wyman Manderly slowly stood up.
His plump, trembling body actually stopped trembling at this moment.
His always squinted, seemingly dim eyes suddenly opened wide at this moment!
There was no hint of drunkenness in them!
Only a bone-chilling killing intent, like the ice of the North!
"I just…"
His voice was no longer fawning, no longer trembling.
It became deep and resonant!
"Wish to invite our esteemed guests, who have traveled so far, to taste White Harbor's most authentic 'Frey Pie'!"
He waved his hand sharply!
"Serve the dishes!!!"
At his command!
All the side doors on both sides of the hall burst open!
But out came not maids carrying dishes!
But hundreds of fully armed Manderly guards, clad in silver chainmail, wielding tridents and battle axes!!!
There was no expression on their faces!
Only the flames of vengeance!
"Clang!"
Rhaegar Frey and Jerry Frey, along with the dozen or so House Frey retinues and the House Bolton emissaries, suddenly stood up and drew their swords!
"Manderly! Are you mad?! Do you dare to rebel?!" Rhaegar Frey roared, feigning courage.
"Rebel?"
Wyman Manderly laughed.
He laughed until tears streamed down his face.
"I, Wyman Manderly, was born a Northerner, and I will die a Northerner's ghost!"
"I only pledge allegiance to the Stark of Winterfell!"
"And you…"
His gaze swept over the Freys and Bolton emissaries, who were already pale with fear.
"You treacherous, filthy, guest-slaughtering bastards!"
"You violated the North's oldest and most sacred 'guest right'!"
"You think we in the North…"
He suddenly drew the huge greatsword hidden beneath his throne!
The blade pointed directly at Rhaegar Frey's throat!
"Will truly forget?!"
"No!!!"
"The North—Never—Forgets!!!"
"Kill—!!!!"
With Wyman Manderly's sorrowful roar, suppressed for years!
Hundreds of Manderly guards, like a vengeful tide, swarmed towards the terrified noble guests!
A long-planned, one-sided massacre unfolded in the Mermaid Hall!
Chapter 118 The Wolf Pack's Feast
Mermaid Hall instantly became a bloody slaughterhouse!
Although the guards of House Frey also drew their swords in resistance, their opposition seemed so pale and powerless in front of the Manderly guards, who outnumbered them several times over and whose hearts were already filled with towering rage!
"Pfft!"
Rhaegar Frey, the horse-faced man who had just been fantasizing about 'entertaining' Sansa, was the first to be split in half, man and chair, by Lord Wyman Manderly's greatsword!
Blood and guts splattered all over the table!
"Father!!!"
Jerry Frey's eyes were bloodshot with fury; just as he was about to counterattack, three or four sharp tridents simultaneously pierced his chest!
He was hoisted high into the air, like a dying fish!
"For... Robb... the King!!!" an old Manderly soldier roared, severing his head with a single stroke!
The envoy from House Bolton didn't even have a chance to resist!
Just as he tried to pull a dagger from his Huai, he was pinned down onto the dining table by two White Harbornobles who pounced on him from behind!
"Flaying? You bastard!"
"I'll let you taste this too!!!"
A sharp carving knife sliced across his face... The entire hall was filled with screams, curses, and the Maniacal laughter of revenge!
And just as this bloody feast reached its climax, behind the main seat of the hall, the massive Merfolk tapestry was slowly pulled aside, revealing a dark secret passage leading to the Wolf's Den.
Sansa Stark and Daario Naharis walked out side by side.
They were like masters of death, arriving from hell, treading through blood.
Sansa had already shed her maid's robe.
She was wearing her black Winter Wolf Pack combat uniform, and her black fur cloak flapped in the firelight and the scent of blood.
A drop of warm blood stained her cold yet beautiful face.
She merely wiped it away gently with her finger.
Then, she walked over to the terrified musician, who was responsible for playing, and picked up the Northern lute.
"Ding—dong—"
The clear, desolate sound of the lute, characteristic of the North, abruptly drowned out all the screams and sounds of slaughter.
All the Manderly guards who were fighting unconsciously stopped their movements and turned to look at the woman standing in the pool of blood, playing the lute alone.
Sansa Stark.
Ned Stark's daughter.
She had returned.
As she played, she slowly sang an ancient Northern song in her voice, clear as an icy spring but devoid of any emotion:
"...Gray eyes, gaze upon the white snow."
"...Wolves of the ice fields, howl in the wind."
"...Our home is shattered."
"...Blood debts cannot be forgotten."
"...The North remembers, that Red Wedding."
"...The North remembers, that treacherous knife."
"...Winter is coming."
"...And the Stark..."
Her voice suddenly rose sharply!
"...Always pays its debts!!!"
"Roar—!!!!"
"Long live the Stark!!!"
"The North never forgets!!!"
All the Northerners present were in tears at this moment! They raised their weapons and let out earth-shattering roars!
And just then, Daario Naharis also walked to the main dining table at the opportune moment.
He placed the three large, still steaming... 'Frey pies'...
heavily in the center of the table!
"Gentlemen," he grinned in his broken Common Tongue, "His Majesty the King Aegon Targaryen, and Queen Sansa Stark of the North, jointly present to you..."
"...the return gift for the 'Red Wedding'."
"Please enjoy."
Chapter 119 The Wolf Pack Heads North
The blood in Mermaid Hall flowed all night long.
When the first ray of sunlight shone into White Harborthe next day, the city was already completely "clean."
Lord Manderly, Wyman Manderly, offered his pledge of allegiance to his new queen, Sansa Stark, in the most Northern and cruelest way.
All the spies and envoys of House Frey and House Boltonin White Harbor were slaughtered at that wedding feast.
And those three Frey pies, exuding a strange meaty aroma, were ordered by Lord Manderly to be hung high above the gates of White Harbor.
"Let this be known throughout the North!"
"The fate of traitors!"
This news, like wildfire, spread throughout the entire North within just three days!
Those Northern lords who dared not speak out under Roose Bolton's reign of terror—House Glover, House Mormont, House Hornwood… when they heard that Ned Stark's daughter, Sansa, had returned to the North with King Aegon the Dragon King's army and the loyalty of House Manderly, the fire of revenge that had long been frozen in their hearts was instantly ignited!
The North, this sleeping direwolf, had finally awakened!
...White Harbor, the docks.
Sansa Stark, dressed in her black Winter Wolf Packcombat uniform, stood on the deck of the direwolf.
Behind her were three thousand murderous Winter Wolf Pack, already re-equipped with Northern armor.
Their banners had been changed to a black background with a silver direwolf!
Beneath their feet were hundreds of grain ships "requisitioned" from House Tyrell.
The ships were fully loaded with grain, weapons, and winter furs sent by King Aegon.
And on the docks, Lord Manderly, Wyman Manderly, personally led his two thousand elite White HarborKnights, kneeling on one knee before Sansa.
"My Queen!" His voice was loud and full of fighting spirit, "White Harbor, and my two thousand men, are willing to follow you! Straight to Winterfell!"
"No."
Sansa slowly shook her head. Her voice was cold and filled with undeniable authority.
"Lord Manderly, your mission is more important than attacking Winterfell."
She pointed to two places on the map—Moat Cailin and the Dreadfort.
"Roose Bolton must have received the news by now. He is consolidating his forces, fortifying Winterfell. And his retreat route," she pointed to Moat Cailin to the south, "and his stronghold, are exposed before us!"
"I need you, Wyman Manderly, to lead your two thousand knights and all the Northern families who answer your call, to immediately head south! Go and reclaim Moat Cailin for me! Block those Southern scum from House Bolton and House Frey in the North! Don't let a single person escape back to the South!"
"This…" Wyman Manderly hesitated, "But, my Queen, your safety…"
"My safety?"
Sansa's lips curved into a cold arc. She turned her head and glanced at the King of Mercenaries behind her.
"Daario Naharis."
"Present, my lady." Daario grinned.
"You and your three thousand Wolves will take the fastest ships, sailing upstream along the White Knife. I want you to appear within five days at…" Her finger pressed heavily on the place on the map that made all Northerners change color, "…the Dreadfort."
"Bolton's stronghold?!" A flicker of excited cold light flashed in Daario's eyes, "I like this plan! But, my lady, what about you? You are the banner of Stark. Are you not coming with us?"
"Me?"
Sansa picked up a small, pre-prepared satchel and the valyrian steel rapier Aegon had given her from the deck.
"I will go alone to a place none of you can go. A place more important than Winterfell and the Dreadfort."
"Where are you going?!" Daario and Wyman both paled in shock!
Sansa slowly raised her head, looking towards the distant, frozen northwest.
"Bear Island," she said softly, "I'm going to see my 'sister'."
...Lyanna Mormont.
"Aegon the Dragon King has already ascended the iron throne in King's Landing, and the Queen of the North needs another loyal and brave young direwolf to be her hand of the king."
---
While Sansa Stark laid out her game of revenge in the North, King's Landing welcomed an unprecedented spring.
Under Blackheart Aegon's iron rule and Queen of ThornsOlenna's "generous" financial support, this city, ravaged by war and famine, miraculously restored order.
The newly appointed "City Builder" Tyrion Lannisterseemed to have found new life after being released from the dungeon by Aegon.
He no longer touched a drop of wine, nor did he touch a woman.
He immersed himself twenty-four hours a day in the sewers and construction sites of King's Landing!
He roared, directing tens of thousands of sappers and prisoners of war.
"Stupid! Utterly stupid! The slope of this spillway is wrong again! Do you want the King's bedroom to be filled with piss and shit?!"
"And here! The granary's vent! Why is it facing west?! Do you want all the wheat from The Reach to mold within three days?!"
"Redo it! Redo all of it!!!"
He threw himself into this unprecedented urban transformation with an almost obsessive, frantic passion.
And Aegon gave the imp unprecedented power and trust.
He even assigned the newly formed city garrison, commanded by Bronn, to Tyrion's unified command… In the Throne Room.
Aegon was meeting with another important ally—the envoy from the Iron Bank, Tycho Nestoris from Braavos.
"His Majesty the King Targaryen." Tycho Nestoris, the shrewd and rigid banker, bowed slightly, "I represent the Iron Bank of Braavos in congratulating your ascension. And I bring a gift."
He handed over a parchment.
"The Iron Bank is willing to waive all debts owed by the late King Robert Baratheon. And," he paused, "we are willing to offer you a loan at the lowest interest rate on the entire continent, enough to win any war."
"Oh?"
Aegon sat on the iron throne, watching him with interest.
"When did the Iron Bank start doing charity?"
"The Iron Bank never does charity," Tycho Nestorisreplied expressionlessly, "We only invest in the future. And Your Majesty…" A subtle glint flashed in his eyes, "…and your endless supply of dragonglass and valyrian steel, enough to counter the Long Night, are the only future for Westeros."
"Hahahaha…" Aegon laughed.
"Well said."
He knew these bankers, whose senses were sharper than hounds, had smelled "money." They wanted to monopolize the exclusive business of valyrian steel in his hands!
"However," Tycho Nestoris's tone shifted, "the Iron Bankhas a small request."
"Speak."
"We hope His Majesty the King can quickly deal with an unstable factor. One who is wantonly destroying commercial rules in Slaver's Bay, inciting slave rebellions, and causing the Iron Bank heavy losses in Essos…"
"Targaryen."
"Daenerys Targaryen."
He finally revealed his true intentions. They wanted to use him to kill. They wanted Aegon to personally deal with his "aunt" far away in Essos.
The smile on Aegon's face slowly faded as he looked at this self-important Braavosi banker.
"Are you teaching me how to do things?"
The cold voice caused the temperature in the hall to drop abruptly! Night Fury sensed his master's anger and let out a low roar over the Red Keep!
Cold sweat instantly beaded on Tycho Nestoris's forehead.
"No… I wouldn't dare, Your Majesty! This is just… a suggestion!"
"Hmph." Aegon snorted coldly.
"Go back and tell your masters, I can sell you my valyrian steel, and I can sell you my dragonglass. But…"
He slowly stood up, and the suffocating pressure belonging to Blackheart Aegon erupted!
"My Targaryen Family's 'family matters'! It's not for you usurers to…"
"Interfere!!!"
"As for Daenerys…"
A complex cold light flashed in his eyes.
"She is mine. And only I can 'deal with' her personally."
Chapter 120 Meereen's Gift
Essos, Slaver's Bay, Meereen.
Unlike the turbulent reconstruction of King's Landing, this pyramid city was enveloped in an atmosphere of restless anxiety.
Daenerys Targaryen stood on the balcony of her Great Pyramid, overlooking her city.
Her beautiful face was etched with fatigue and anger.
"Have they come again?" Her voice was cold and hoarse.
"Yes, Khaleesi," Ser Barristan Selmy, who stood behind her, replied with a solemn expression.
"The Wise Masters of Yunkai have once again assembled their allied forces. This time, they've also brought the Volantene fleet and the newly recruited Second Sons. They've blockaded Meereen's port, food is already scarce in the city, and the bloody flux is spreading through the crowded refugee camps."
"Jorah..." Daenerys subconsciously called out the name she knew best.
But as soon as the words left her lips, she froze abruptly, a flash of biting pain in her eyes.
Jorah Mormont had been exiled by her; she was now alone.
"Your Grace," Ser Barristan bowed his head, "You shouldn't have let him go. We... we need him."
"I don't need traitors!" Daenerys's voice suddenly turned sharp!
She spun around abruptly, her violet eyes burning with fury!
"And all of this is because of... him!"
She was referring to Blackheart Aegon, who was far away in Westeros and claimed to be her "nephew"!
It was his malicious letter that ripped open the wound she least wanted to face, stripping away her last bit of "trust"!
"Does he think he's won?! Does he think if he destroys my Bear, I'll just surrender?! No! The more he wants to see me abandoned by all... the more I will live! The more I will grow strong!"
"Ser Barristan!" she commanded.
"Here, Your Grace."
"Didn't you say you were the greatest knight in Westeros? Then prove it to me now! Go and command my Unsullied in Jorah's place! I want you to crush those Wise Masters and flies surrounding us out there before tomorrow's sunset!"
"Your Grace..." Ser Barristan looked troubled, "I... I am a knight, I excel in duels, but... commanding a large army, I..."
"I don't care what you excel at or not!" Daenerysinterrupted him roughly, "I am your Queen! I command you to win!"
"Yes... yes, Your Grace." Ser Barristan could only reluctantly accept the order and withdraw.
Daenerys stood alone on the balcony.
Her three dragons—Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion—also seemed to sense their mother's anxiety and fury, circling restlessly above the pyramid, emitting threatening roars.
"Soon... my darlings..." she murmured to the sky, "Soon... once we've settled everything here... we'll go home. Go back and reclaim everything that belongs to us! Whether it's the iron throne... or... that damned 'nephew'!"
However, just as Daenerys found herself in a desperate situation of internal and external troubles in Meereen, a "gift" she never dreamed of was speeding across the Narrow Sea towards her... Three days later.
Meereen's port remained blockaded by the Volantene fleet.
Yet, on this day, a small, incredibly fast fleet, flying purple seahorse banners, tore through the Volantene blockade like a sharp sword.
The Volantene warships didn't even dare to fire a single bolt at them.
Because they all recognized them as messenger ships of the Iron Bank of Braavos.
No one in all of Essos dared to attack the Iron Bank's ships.
The leading Braavosi warship slowly docked at the pier, under the astonished gaze of Meereen's defenders.
A shrewd and capable banker, dressed in distinctive Braavosi attire, and a man cloaked in black, his face obscured, disembarked.
They walked directly towards the Great Pyramid.
"...What?!"
Daenerys was utterly stunned after hearing the envoy's purpose in her Throne Room!
"You... you mean..."
"Your esteemed Majesty, Queen Daenerys Targaryen." The banker, Tycho Nestoris, bowed with neither humility nor arrogance.
"After evaluating your potential and the risks posed by your opponents in Westeros... we at the Iron Bank of Braavos have unanimously concluded. You are the future worth investing in. We are willing to provide you with everything you need! Money, fleets, weapons... as long as you can agree to one small condition."
"What condition?" Daenerys's breathing quickened.
"Overthrow that so-called king in King's Landing who insulted the Iron Bank!" Tycho Nestoris said coldly, "And..."
He stepped aside, revealing the silent, black-cloaked man behind him.
"Accept our first gift to you."
The man slowly pulled down his hood, revealing a weathered, scarred face, yet still filled with steadfastness and loyalty.
The moment Daenerys saw that face, she clapped a hand over her mouth! Tears instantly streamed from her eyes!
"Jorah?"
The one who had come was none other than the Jorah Mormont she had exiled!
"Khaleesi." Jorah Mormont knelt on one knee, his voice hoarse and filled with the excitement of rediscovering something lost, "I have returned. I have brought you..."
He pointed towards the direction of the docks.
"The Golden Company, enough to crush the Yunkai allied forces!!!"