"You Northerners are all set to become independent. In that case, the Long Night and the White Walkers don't really matter anymore," Dany said.
"How can it not matter?" Lord Eel asked in confusion.
"If Braavos were taken by the White Walkers, would you care?" Dany countered.
Lord Eel's fat face wrinkled up as he struggled to reply. "The White Walkers concern the survival of all humankind. If the North cannot hold, do you think the southern kingdoms can fare any better?
I believe your idea of a 'United Front Against the Dead' is excellent. Westeros should unite as one, rally the strength of all Seven Kingdoms, and support the Wall and the North together."
Who said Northerners were hard-headed?
Look at that—eating with one hand and cursing with the other. What a beautiful double standard!
Dany replied irritably, "Do you really think the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms have that kind of awareness? Would they agree to Northern independence while still exhausting themselves to help the North fend off disaster?"
"Well, the North isn't independent yet, is it?" Lord Eel said with an awkward smile.
"The issue of Northern independence isn't something you can discuss with me alone. When the Long Night truly arrives, I intend to call for a Great Council, where the nobles of all Seven Kingdoms will gather to discuss how to end it.
At that time, we'll also sort out the mess of the past few decades—Rhaegar and Lyanna, my father burning Lord Rickard, Tywin killing Rhaegar's children, Robert's death, Cersei's three bastards, Robb's broken oath, and Walder Frey's Red Wedding.Everyone will speak openly, proclaiming justice before all.
Then, you Northerners can face every noble of the Seven Kingdoms and apply for 'Brexit'—oh, I mean, to leave Westeros."
Lord Eel looked at the Dragon Queen with a complex expression. "Your Majesty truly has a broad mind and great foresight. Such a Great Council would be deeply meaningful.
These past years, the Seven Kingdoms have sunk into moral decay, traditions have crumbled, and people have lost their sense of virtue. A grand trial to cleanse the filth from our hearts is much needed."
Then he asked, "May I ask what the two issues you mentioned are?"
"First, Jon Stark. He has already declared himself King in the North."
"Jon Stark?" Lord Eel was stunned for a moment before realizing what she meant. "But isn't he a member of the Night's Watch? And a bastard besides."
"Did Lady Stoneheart not tell you that Robb named Jon as his heir to the North?"
"This is the first I've heard of it." Lord Eel's brows slowly furrowed.
As one of the most prominent Northern lords, he knew the Stark family's affairs very well.
Lady Catelyn had always despised that bastard and would never have allowed her son's crown to fall to him.
This was trouble.
One wolf leads the pack.
Two wolves, and the pack either splits—or they fight until one of them dies.
"The second issue is Stannis. In the name of a king, he's commanding a group of Northern lords to fight for the Starks' justice.
But without a doubt, his ultimate goal is the Iron Throne. You cannot serve two masters—helping me claim the Iron Throne while also allying with Stannis."
"This…" Lord Eel's brows tightened even more, the lines forming deep furrows on his forehead.
To be honest, meeting the Dragon Queen today was unexpected, but forming an alliance—or at least reaching an understanding—had been something he and Lady Catelyn had long discussed.
The reason was simple: the first law of the Game of Thrones—stand on the side of the victor.Only by cooperating with the winner could one ensure that any alliance would be honored. A loser's promises, no matter how pretty, were as worthless as blank parchment.
Lady Stoneheart might have lost her former kindness, but not her intelligence—though she hadn't had much of it to begin with.
So, when she had failed to kill the Dragon Queen in that stone cave, and Dany had spared her instead, she realized two things: the Dragon Queen was too powerful to fight head-on, and she was not as cruel as imagined.
A powerful Dragon Queen meant she had the best chance at the Iron Throne. A kind-hearted one meant she wouldn't slaughter her allies afterward.
Meanwhile, Stannis was indeed fighting the Boltons, the Freys, and the Lannisters on the Starks' behalf.The best outcome, then, was to ally with the Dragon Queen to secure the future, while letting Stannis do the hard work to secure the present.
But Stannis was neither stupid nor naive. He had already sent his Hand of the King—the Onion Knight—to White Harbor seeking an alliance, and at the Wall, he had repeatedly suggested cooperation with King Jon Stark.
After a long moment of thought, Lord Eel cautiously said, "Your Majesty, if you help Duke Rickon take Winterfell, then Stannis won't matter anymore.
You could either send him back to the Wall to rejoin the Night's Watch or give him some supplies and see him off with courtesy."
Good gods, how cold and ruthless!
That poor Stannis was freezing his arse off in the snow over a hundred kilometers away, fighting to help the Starks take Winterfell!
If anyone ever again claimed Northern nobles were straightforward and honest, Dany would argue otherwise till her last breath.
"Lord Fenniman, let me make this clear once more: before the Long Night ends, I will not involve myself in any power struggles within the Seven Kingdoms. A sacred oath cannot be broken."
Once again, Dany was grateful she had sworn that vow at the Wall long ago.
In a cesspit like Westeros, that vow had saved her from countless troubles—and spared her a river of pointless words.
"Alas!" Lord Eel sighed deeply and fell silent.
"My lord, my lord," said Ser Belwas softly.
"Oh?" Lord Eel came back to himself, puzzled. "What is it, Ser Belwas?"
Belwas swallowed his last bite of eel pie, wiped the cherry sauce from the corner of his mouth, and pointed toward the nearest oven. "That meat pie smells so good. Could Belwas have a slice?"
As if pricked by a needle, Lord Eel waved his hands anxiously. "No!"
"Uh…" Belwas's smile froze.
"That one's for Roose Bolton," Lord Eel explained quickly, realizing his tone had been too sharp.
The big bear's expression shifted. "Is it poisoned?"
"No, but it's a thousand times more terrifying than any poison," Lord Eel said hesitantly.
"What kind of meat pie could be worse than poison?" Garth asked curiously.
Lord Eel clamped his mouth shut and looked away.
Suddenly, an idea flashed through Dany's mind—there was a kind of meat pie far deadlier than poison.
"You didn't kill Bolton's son, or his wife, and bake them into pies for the Flayed Man to eat, did you?" Dany looked at Lord Eel in horror.
Lord Eel's eyes widened as he stared back at the Dragon Queen, equally horrified.
"Seven above! You didn't—" The knights all turned toward him in shock.
"No, no, not that," Lord Eel waved his hands frantically. "I mean, I thought about it, but…"
"Well, close enough!"
At last, Lord Eel gave up struggling and admitted the truth. "Yes, it was a human meat pie—a wedding gift for Ramsay Bolton.
Your Grace is my guest. I couldn't possibly serve you human flesh."
"Seven hells!"
Belwas began to gag.
"It feels like there's a hand scratching in Belwas's throat, someone trying to crawl out of his belly," the fat eunuch said pitifully, his round face pale.
Dany felt a sudden wave of relief that, in this freezing cold, she'd had no appetite for greasy food and only sipped a few cups of warm wine.
"Whose meat was it?" she asked.
"Made from the flesh of Rhaegar, Symon, and Jerry Frey. Frey pie!"
Lord Eel's gaze turned dark and cold. He growled, "Walder Frey violated the guest right and slaughtered my liege lord and many northern nobles. I wanted vengeance. I wanted Frey to suffer as the Rat Cook did—to eat his own children's flesh!Elis Frey and Hosteen Frey are leading two thousand Frey soldiers to help Roose Bolton hold the North. They're in Winterfell right now. They will eat my Frey pie."
A thousand curses sprang to Dany's mind all at once.
She was stunned by Lord Eel's ruthlessness, savagery, and loyalty—and by the thought of Elis eating Rhaegar's meat pie.
"The alliance is uncertain, but I personally don't oppose Northern independence, as long as you can persuade the other nobles at the future Great Council.
As for the Iron Throne, my stance remains the same: the one who ends the Long Night shall be king. Count, do not doubt it—the Long Night truly is coming."
The Frey pie was too disturbing, and the lingering aroma in the air made Dany restless. She quickly excused herself and rose to leave.
Cruel as his methods were, Lord Eel's loyalty to House Stark was almost enviable.
The same went for Bear Island and the mountain clans of the northwest.The North might be a harsh and desolate land, but it was filled with men of loyalty and honor—enough to stir both admiration and envy.
The rest of the journey passed without incident, and around three in the morning the next day, Dany arrived at Oldtown for the second time.
The two horsemen, Belwas, and the Great Bear stayed hidden in the woods outside the city.
Dany looped a chain around Drogon's claw, which Garth held onto, and together they descended quietly onto Maester Walgrave's tower.
Walgrave's name wasn't on the list of sinners Drogon had proclaimed, so the "Knights of Glory" wouldn't hunt him—there was no bounty.
As a result, his tower had no guards from the Citadel stationed nearby.
It was silent and secluded.
Other than a single apprentice tending to the old maester on the first floor, there was no one else.
Garth Hightower slipped easily into the tower.
Unfortunately, it was almost empty inside, and they found no useful letters or documents.
"Your Grace, Maester Walgrave suffers from dementia. He can't read or study anymore. Even the bookshelves in his study have been cleared out.
If there are no hidden chambers, perhaps only the items in this chest might offer some clues."
Dany looked down.
The wooden chest was small, its bronze lock pried open by Garth, revealing only a pitiful handful of belongings: a pouch of silver stags, a bundle of golden hair tied with a ribbon, a portrait of a woman who looked much like Walgrave, and a steel lobster-claw gauntlet once worn by a knight.
She didn't go down herself, instead leaving a soul mark on the right hand of her White Knight.
"What does this mean?" Dany frowned.
"The maester likely had a shameful past," Garth said.
"I'm not interested in affairs or illegitimate children," Dany replied. "I want to know what Rickard Stark and his maester Varys were plotting."
"Your Grace, notice this—the only token from a lover is a lock of hair. His longing for his son is hidden behind a feminine disguise in the portrait, suggesting he was cautious and restrained even in youth."
Finally, Garth concluded, "If Rickard and Varys truly conspired together, he would never have left behind something as dangerous as written letters."
"Hmm…"
On the bed, Walgrave opened his eyes wide, staring blankly at the two intruders, the muffled sound behind his gag like a series of snores.
He was demented, not paralyzed, nor mute, so Garth had gagged him as soon as they entered.
"Hmm, perhaps there's another way," Dany mused, stepping closer and pressing a finger to the old man's brow.
Her power to commune with trees had been sealed by the Three-Eyed Raven, but even a greenseer couldn't prevent her thoughts from entering another person's soul.
The old maester's soul was like a rotting, worm-eaten house, riddled with holes. Without needing her dragon's spirit, Dany's consciousness slipped inside with ease.
(End of Chapter)
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