Arthur led Hakon and sixteen riders, charging forward.
He had rightfully taken the warhorses from Deep Valley City, and he had also sent over twenty captured wildling ponies, along with supplies, back to Dreadfort.
These could be used by his people to transport goods and serve as plow animals.
The edge of the High Mountain was already close, and Arthur could see his soldiers pulling at an old man.
Beside him, a donkey stood, and a dog barked wildly.
Arthur now knew who he was: Meribald, the barefoot septon of the Riverlands, a truly devout man, a truly good man.
"Stop!" Arthur called out, halting the rude soldiers, and dismounted swiftly.
Upon seeing Lord Arthur arrive, the soldiers respectfully made way.
Arthur walked up and helped the old man to his feet.
His hands were so large; Arthur held his hand and observed him.
His face was so weathered and rough, clearly from years of exposure to wind and sun.
His feet were bare, swollen, and covered with thick, hard calluses.
This was a truly good man, a barefoot septon; in the hierarchy of the Faith, his status was only slightly higher than that of the beggar brothers.
For over forty years, he had wandered throughout the Riverlands, presiding over weddings and confessions for the common folk, who, in turn, provided him with food and lodging.
He was accompanied by his dog and a donkey, which he used to transport food, distributing it to the poor in the villages he passed through.
When future wars arrived, this old man, with his meager strength, diligently mended the scars left by fire and sword in the Riverlands.
Meribald's gaze did not even fall upon Arthur; his eyes remained fixed on a pile of something not far away.
There, a small mound of wildling heads was piled up.
He stumbled, ignoring the dust and pain on his body, and slowly moved step by step towards that pile.
His trembling hand reached out, gently embracing a wildling's skull, as if it were not the head of a dead enemy, but a soul in need of solace.
An angry soldier stepped forward and roughly tugged at his robe again, pulling the old man abruptly to the ground.
The old man's body hit the ground with a thud, but he made no sound of pain.
He merely struggled, using his gaunt yet strong hands to prop himself up, and slowly rose again.
He began to pray for the dead wildling.
Arthur's gaze swept over the surrounding soldiers; their chests heaved, clearly indicating their immense anger towards the old septon.
"Old septon, they are wildlings," Arthur walked up, preventing the angry soldiers from harming the old man again.
Nearly two-thirds of his soldiers had lost everything, all, isolated in the world, with only hatred remaining, and these wildlings were the cause of it.
"Ser, I have been to Dreadfort," the old man looked at Arthur. "Your people all say you are a benevolent lord, and every one of them prayed to me, hoping the Seven would bless you on your campaign."
"This is rare in the Riverlands, and even throughout Westeros."
Meribald looked at Arthur, a faint smile on his face.
"As I traveled, people called you the guardian of the Riverlands' people."
"I have been here many times; the people here were all good people—Old John, Old Hawke—they provided me with lodging, they provided me with food, asking for nothing in return, and now they have all been cruelly murdered."
"Undoubtedly, they are guilty; they stole the hard-earned savings of others, and killed people they had never met and held no grudge against."
"Ser, I am not here to question your right to protect your people; I thank you, you have saved many lives."
"You protected the people, fulfilling a warrior's duty, but I must also fulfill the duty of the Seven. I recite prayers for these dead, so that the Father may judge their deeds in life justly."
Then he looked at the wildling's head before him: "Death is equal; the Stranger equally accepts all."
"But you should not do this, Ser, leaving these dead enemies exposed in the wilderness, as a testament to your power and a display of fear—this is not what a warrior should do."
"You expose these dead to the wilderness, displaying them for public humiliation, so that their souls may never rest in peace, wailing helplessly in the cold wind."
"Preventing them from going into the Stranger's embrace is a usurpation of the Father's judgment, a trampling of the Mother's mercy, and a desecration of the warrior's spirit."
Arthur remained silent to these accusations, offering no reply, but his soldiers grew enraged.
"Old man! Have you ever fought in a war!" The soldiers were furious, showing mercy to wildlings, and the old septon severely criticizing Arthur, their leader. "Do you know what the wildlings did to my family!!!!"
The old septon, stroking the dog that had come seeking affection, slowly began, "Of course, people called it the War of the Ninepenny Kings, but I saw neither a king nor earned a single copper penny; that was a war."
"And the people I went with are all dead. What were those islands called? The Stepstones?"
"Of course I know war; I have seen many wars in the Riverlands too."
"Common folk, who had never left their villages or their homes, until one day, the lord's summons arrived."
"They wore tattered clothes, broken shoes, and set out under the lord's magnificent banners. They had no weapons, only sickles and hoes."
"Fathers and sons, brothers, friends, embarked on the journey together."
"Fathers watched sons die, sons watched fathers die, older brothers watched younger brothers die, younger brothers watched older brothers die, or they all died together."
"Those who survived watched the victorious lord joyfully proclaim that he was now their master."
"Then they rushed to the next battlefield; their wounds never healed, their stomachs were never full, and their clothes and shoes disappeared during endless marches."
"One day, when they looked around, they finally realized that everyone around them was a stranger, the banners above their heads were indistinguishable, they didn't know where they were, or how to go home."
"War makes people lose their souls, lose themselves, and can never return to who they once were, living in such a muddled state until death."
"Hakon! Gather the soldiers!" Arthur looked at Hakon, pointing at the small hill and commanding, "Gather firewood, and burn them."
Arthur recalled the beginning of the campaign and how things were now.
The soldiers needed only a command, a glance from Arthur, to easily take another's life.
Those soldiers who joined Arthur out of hatred had lost everything, lost their souls; their only belief was revenge.
Everything comes at a price; there has never been loyalty without reason. For these lone wolves, Arthur helped them get revenge, and they became Arthur's most loyal hounds.
And the other hungry wolves, promised wealth and a future, were already accomplices, having participated in everything, tied to the same boat, unable to betray, only to follow him.
Whatever Arthur told them to do, they did. Anyone who stood in Arthur's way, they dared to kill, even a king before them.
Their souls had long since died; now, only desire, only hatred, only flesh remained alive in the world.
If one day he could not fulfill his promises, could not bring them wealth, the hungry wolves' loyalty would turn into hatred.
And if one day he forgave the wildlings, the lone wolves would kill him just as they killed Jon Snow.
Arthur thought of Jon Snow.
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