Gods Eye Lake.
On the Isle of Faces, the weirwood trees stood thick and lush, their branches heavy with leaves.
Morning mist drifted through the forest, making the entire island feel like a dwelling place of ancient gods.
Arya and Gendry walked side by side toward the Green Men's sanctuary at the center of the island.
They had already spent some time here since being brought to the island by the Green Men.
Unlike Gendry, Arya—who had received noble education—understood the island's significance.
Since the pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest, this island had stood as a sacred land of peace, never involving itself in politics or the wars of kings.
The last time outsiders had come here was during the Dance of the Dragons, when Addam Velaryon had flown here on dragonback seeking divine guidance.
That was why Arya found everything here so strange.
She constantly wondered why the Green Men had saved them.
Deep down, she felt certain that their leader must have some hidden motive. Could it be... that he also wanted to support a prince?
She had tried to seek answers from the Green Men's leader, but she never managed to meet him.
Each time she asked, she was told the same thing—he was serving the old gods.
With no other choice, Arya and Gendry remained on the island, unable to leave.
Fortunately, the Green Men provided them with food and shelter.
Gendry, for his part, finally relaxed.
After being hunted for so long, this was the first time he could sleep without fear.
Until today.
The Green Men had informed them that their leader wished to see them.
Moments later, Arya and Gendry arrived at the temple, built from wood and stone.
They had no mind to admire its structure. They stepped directly inside.
The moment they entered the dim hall, they saw the Green Men's leader standing silently in the center.
In his hand was a letter.
The aged leader lifted his head at the sound of their footsteps. His eyes, as if capable of seeing through all secrets, swept over them.
Then he spoke, his voice like dry leaves brushing together.
"Children, news has come from the North. I believe you should know."
Arya's eyes lit up immediately. "What news? Has Winterfell sent people to take me back?"
The leader slowly shook his head.
"No. The Iron Islands invaded the North, but their army was defeated by Glover. The entire invading force has been destroyed."
"Glover?"
Gendry frowned in confusion.
But Arya suddenly broke into a smile. "It's Galon! It must be Galon, right?"
The leader did not answer.
But Arya was already jumping with excitement.
Gendry grew even more confused.
At the same time, however, the name Galon Glover firmly etched itself into his mind.
What neither of them noticed was that when Arya spoke Galon's name, a rare trace of satisfaction flickered in the Green Men leader's otherwise calm eyes.
"I heard from the guards that you wish to leave the Isle of Faces?"
He waited for Arya to nod before continuing.
"You must wait a little longer. The time of your fate has not yet arrived. The Lannisters still hold Harrenhal."
Arya ignored the cryptic, almost religious tone of his words and focused only on the important part.
The Lannisters were still at Harrenhal.
She let out a sigh. "Then how long do we have to wait?"
"Until the right time."
The leader gave them a long, meaningful look.
....
King's Landing. Small Council chamber.
"Go on then. What bad news do we have today?"
"Did the Tyrells refuse the alliance, or has Stannis made another move?"
Tyrion sat at the head of the table, staring at Varys.
Littlefinger had been sent to Bitterbridge to negotiate an alliance with House Tyrell.
Cersei and Pycelle were with Joffrey.
So today, it was only Tyrion and Varys.
Varys pulled a letter from his sleeve and handed it over, smiling. "Neither, my lord Hand. Today brings good news."
As Tyrion took the letter, Varys continued. "Word from the North. The Ironborn invasion has been crushed."
"I believe that with a single letter, we might even persuade the Iron Islands to turn to our side."
But Tyrion showed no joy.
Only a heavy seriousness settled over his face.
"Galon... Glover..."
"I truly underestimated you."
He read aloud softly.
"Captured Asha... victory at Hornwood... Victarion dead... the Iron Fleet destroyed..."
"The Iron Islands are no longer capable of war..."
The report was astonishing.
Even though Tyrion had already witnessed Galon's ability in Winterfell, he still found it hard to believe.
"By the gods... this was done by a boy barely in his teens?"
Varys nodded, equally impressed. "If the source were not reliable, I would doubt it myself."
Tyrion frowned, irritation rising within him.
He grabbed a goblet from the table and drained it in one gulp. "Another dangerous enemy..."
Varys looked puzzled.
"My lord Hand, surely not. He is just some northern lord."
Tyrion shook his head.
"That's because you've never met him. Trust me. If you had, you'd know—he looks exactly like the heroes from the songs."
The weight of that praise startled Varys. "I see... then I must pay closer attention to this Glover."
Tyrion set the matter aside and asked, "What about Stannis?"
Varys nodded.
"We've located his army. He will reach us within five days."
As he spoke, a faint, hidden satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
First the Young Wolf.
Now this Steel Fist Glover.
The outcome of this war was far from certain.
Fight... fight...
When all sides are weakened, the true king will rise.
Meanwhile, Tyrion's expression grew increasingly tense... The Battle of the Blackwater was approaching.
.....
The Riverlands, at Harrenhal.
Roose Bolton stood by the window of his chamber, reading a letter sent by Ramsay.
When he reached the part describing how most of Bolton's thousand men had been lost to Glover at Hornwood, a murderous glint flashed in his pale eyes.
"Glover..."
The angrier he became, the colder his expression turned.
"You think that by clinging to House Stark, you can stand above House Bolton?"
He crushed the letter into a ball and tossed it out the window into the rushing waters of the Green Fork.
Watching it sink beneath the current, Roose's eyes darkened.
"Ramsay... you fool."
"To be swayed by empty promises from Glover..."
Displeasure flickered across his face.
He had once believed Ramsay to be a passable heir. Now, he was no longer so sure.
"If Domeric had not died... I would never have let that fool take his place."
A trace of grief passed over his face. If he had the choice, he would skin Ramsay alive for killing his own brother.
"Wait..."
Then suddenly, another thought struck him.
"Infiltrating Winterfell with his own men... letting Bolton forces bear the brunt... currying favor with Karstark and Umber..."
"Glover... your ambitions are not small."
Roose tapped his fingers lightly against the stone window frame, deep in thought.
Then, a knock sounded at the door.
"Lord Bolton, my father invites you to the hall to discuss the marriage arrangements."
Roose turned and opened the door.
"Arrangements?"
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