CHAPTER 148
Gods Eye Lake.
Upon the Isle of Faces, ancient weirwood trees stood lush and green, their dense canopies wrapped in drifting morning mist that gave the sacred island the appearance of a dwelling place for forgotten gods.
Arya and Gendry walked side by side along the forest path toward the Green Men's temple at the heart of the island.
The two of them had been brought here by the Green Men some time ago.
Unlike Gendry, Arya had received the education expected of a noble lady of House Stark and understood the Isle of Faces' history and significance.
Ever since the First Men and the Children of the Forest forged their ancient Pact, this island had remained sacred ground, a symbol of peace that never interfered in politics or the wars of kings.
The last famous outsider known to have visited the isle had been Addam Velaryon during the Dance of the Dragons, when he rode Seasmoke here seeking guidance from the old gods.
Because of this, Arya found herself increasingly puzzled during her stay.
She constantly wondered why the Green Men had gone out of their way to rescue her and Gendry.
Deep down, she was convinced their leader must have had another purpose.
"Is he also trying to choose the winning side?"
During the past several days, Arya had repeatedly tried to meet the Green Men's leader.
Each time she asked, however, the other Green Men politely refused, saying their leader was serving the old gods.
Unable to leave the island, Arya had no choice but to remain there with Gendry.
Fortunately, the Green Men freely provided them with food and shelter.
For Gendry, who had spent so long fleeing from one danger after another, these peaceful days were the first true rest he had enjoyed in a long time.
Everything changed today.
The Green Men finally informed Arya and Gendry that their leader wished to meet them.
A short while later, the pair arrived before the ancient temple, built from weathered timber and gray stone.
Without paying much attention to its exterior, they entered the dim interior.
Standing quietly in the center of the hall was the Green Men's leader who had rescued them.
His aged hand still held a freshly arrived letter.
Hearing their footsteps, the old man slowly raised his head.
His ancient eyes seemed capable of seeing through every secret in the world.
Then he spoke, his voice resembling dry leaves rustling beneath an autumn wind.
"Children..."
"News has arrived from the North."
"I believe you deserve to hear it."
Arya's eyes immediately lit up.
"What news?"
"Has Winterfell finally sent someone to bring me home?"
The Green Men's leader slowly shook his head.
"No."
"The Iron Islands invaded the North."
"But House Glover defeated them."
"The Ironborn invasion has been completely destroyed."
"Glover?"
Gendry frowned in confusion.
Arya, however, immediately broke into a joyful smile.
"Garon!"
"It must have been Garon, right?"
The Green Men's leader offered no reply.
Yet Arya no longer needed one.
She jumped excitedly, making Gendry even more confused than before.
Unnoticed by either of them, a rare trace of satisfaction flickered through the Green Men's leader's calm eyes when Garon's name was spoken.
"I've heard that you wish to leave the Isle of Faces."
Seeing Arya nod eagerly, he continued.
"You must remain a little longer."
"The moment destined for you has not yet arrived."
"Harrenhal still remains in Lannister hands."
Arya ignored the mysterious tone of his words.
She only heard one thing.
Harrenhal was still occupied.
She sighed helplessly.
"So how much longer do I have to wait?"
"Until the proper time."
The Green Men's leader looked deeply at both Arya and Gendry before answering with meaningful calm.
Meanwhile, in King's Landing, the Small Council convened once again.
"So..."
"What bad news awaits us today?"
"Has House Tyrell rejected our alliance?"
"Or has Stannis caused yet another headache?"
Tyrion Lannister sat at the head of the council table, looking toward Varys, Master of Whisperers.
Petyr Baelish had already departed for Bitterbridge on Tyrion's orders to negotiate an alliance with House Tyrell.
Queen Regent Cersei and Grand Maester Pycelle remained occupied with King Joffrey.
Today's meeting therefore consisted only of Tyrion and Varys.
Smiling pleasantly, Varys withdrew a folded letter from his sleeve and handed it across the table.
"Neither, my Lord Hand."
"Today's news is actually quite favorable."
He watched Tyrion unfold the parchment before continuing.
"The Iron Islands' three-pronged invasion of the North has failed."
"I believe a single letter from you could persuade the Kraken to seek common cause with us."
Tyrion silently read every line.
Rather than relief, his face gradually became heavier.
"Garon..."
"Glover..."
"I truly underestimated him."
"First he captured Asha Greyjoy."
"Then came the victory at Ox Horn Mountain."
"Victarion Greyjoy dead."
"The Iron Fleet destroyed."
"The Iron Islands can no longer threaten anyone for the time being."
The report before him was simply astonishing.
Although Tyrion had already witnessed Garon's talent while visiting Winterfell, the battle report still left him shaken.
"Gods..."
"Was all this truly accomplished by a boy barely grown?"
Varys also displayed perfectly measured surprise.
"I had much the same reaction."
"If the source had not been completely reliable, I might have questioned the report myself."
Tyrion frowned deeply before emptying the wine remaining in his goblet.
"Another dangerous man has entered the game."
Varys looked genuinely puzzled.
"My Lord Hand..."
"Surely you don't consider a young Glover from the Wolfswood such a threat?"
Tyrion slowly shook his head.
"That's only because you've never met him."
"Believe me."
"If you had, you'd understand that the heroes from the old songs ought to look exactly like him."
Such praise genuinely surprised Varys.
"It would seem I should begin paying much closer attention to Lord Glover."
After a brief silence, Tyrion asked again,
"What of Stannis?"
Varys nodded.
"Our scouts have confirmed his army's movements."
"At the earliest, they will arrive before King's Landing in five days."
While continuing his report, Varys quietly concealed the satisfaction hidden deep within his heart.
"First the Young Wolf."
"Now the Steel Fist of House Glover."
"It seems this war remains delightfully uncertain."
"Fight..."
"Fight until you're exhausted."
"Then Prince Aegon can emerge to claim what remains."
Even as those thoughts passed silently through his mind, he noticed Tyrion's increasingly grim expression.
The Battle of the Blackwater was drawing ever closer.
Far away in the Riverlands, at the Twins, Roose Bolton stood beside the window of his chamber dressed in full armor, quietly reading a letter sent by Ramsay Snow.
When he reached the report that over half of Bolton's thousand soldiers had been annihilated by Garon at Ox Horn Mountain, murderous intent slowly appeared within his pale eyes.
"Glover..."
"So..."
"You believe serving House Stark gives you the right to trample House Bolton?"
The angrier Roose became, the calmer his face appeared.
He slowly crushed the letter into a tight ball before tossing it through the open window.
It landed in the rushing waters of the Green Fork and disappeared beneath the current.
Watching it vanish, Roose's thoughts turned toward Ramsay.
"That fool..."
"To actually believe Glover's empty promises."
Displeasure briefly crossed his face.
There had once been a time when Roose considered Ramsay a barely acceptable heir.
Now he was no longer certain.
"If only Domeric had lived."
"Why would I ever have tolerated this bastard?"
"Gods..."
"Is this your punishment?"
The thought of Domeric brought genuine grief to his cold eyes.
Had circumstances permitted, Roose would gladly have flayed Ramsay alive and fed him to his own hounds.
Then another thought suddenly struck him.
"Wait..."
"Placing trusted men inside Winterfell."
"Using House Bolton as the spearhead."
"Winning over Torrhen's Square and Sea Dragon Point."
"Seeking the favor of Karstark and Umber."
"Garon..."
"Your ambitions may not be any smaller than mine."
Expressionless, Roose tapped one finger rhythmically against the stone windowsill while carefully considering Garon's true intentions.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock upon the chamber door.
"Lord Bolton."
"My father requests your presence in the great hall."
"He wishes to discuss the details of the marriage."
Roose opened the door.
"The details?"
"Have I not already chosen your sister as my bride?"
"Has Lord Walder Frey abandoned his promise regarding the dowry?"
Merrett Frey smiled politely.
"Of course not."
"My father simply wishes you to personally inspect the dowry."
"And..."
"He also wishes to discuss affairs concerning the North."
Roose immediately understood.
"In that case..."
"Lead the way."
The two men left together for the great hall.
Far away in Highgarden, beneath the shade of a rose-covered pavilion, Lady Olenna Tyrell quietly read the same report from the North.
Across from her sat Margaery Tyrell, happily eating grapes one by one.
Lady Olenna glanced toward her granddaughter before tossing the letter onto the stone table.
"My poor little rose."
"It's fortunate Renly preferred the company of handsome knights."
"Otherwise I truly would have worried for you."
Margaery merely pouted.
She had long grown accustomed to her grandmother's sharp tongue.
"Grandmother..."
She glanced curiously toward the letter.
"Is that more news about King Joffrey?"
Not long ago, Petyr Baelish had successfully negotiated the marriage alliance between House Lannister and House Tyrell.
Soon afterward, however, rumors about Joffrey spread throughout the realm.
Some claimed he was cruel beyond reason.
Others whispered he had been born of incest.
Lady Olenna ignored many rumors but investigated others thoroughly.
Now she slowly shook her head.
"No."
"This comes from the North."
"The North?"
Margaery blinked in surprise.
"Isn't the Young Wolf still campaigning in the Westerlands?"
"What could possibly be happening there?"
Lady Olenna gestured toward the letter.
"Read it yourself."
As Margaery unfolded the parchment, Olenna calmly continued.
"The Kraken truly gambled everything trying to avenge his son."
"He simply never imagined he'd lose his final heir in return."
Margaery's eyes widened.
One unfamiliar name became permanently etched into her memory.
"Garon..."
"Glover..."
"He captured Asha Greyjoy."
"Defeated Euron's invasion."
"Then slew Victarion Greyjoy at Ox Horn Mountain."
"The entire Ironborn invasion was shattered by him."
Lady Olenna's eyes briefly sharpened before relaxing once she remembered Garon's status.
"How curious."
"The frozen North has produced two remarkable commanders one after another."
"No wonder House Stark accepted a son of the Wolfswood."
"It seems he truly can fight."
Though her words carried faint disdain whenever she mentioned the Wolfswood, admiration still lingered beneath them.
"Very good."
"The Kraken has been humbled."
"Now it's the Lion's turn to worry."
"If House Lannister expects to marry my granddaughter..."
"A queen's crown alone will no longer be sufficient."
Margaery laughed softly.
"Grandmother..."
"Do you truly intend for me to marry Joffrey?"
"I've heard unpleasant stories about his temper."
Lady Olenna slowly straightened.
"We'll know the truth once this war is finished."
"And if the rumors prove accurate..."
Her eyes flashed coldly.
"Doesn't he have a younger brother?"
Margaery smiled brightly.
"Exactly."
"I only intend to become queen."
"As for which Baratheon sits upon the throne..."
"I couldn't care less."
Lady Olenna burst into satisfied laughter.
Meanwhile, in the Westerlands, Casterly Rock carried the scent of blood, smoke, and an approaching storm.
Robb Stark lay upon the luxurious bed prepared for him, his face pale and his lips cracked from fever.
During the fighting in the Westerlands, he had been struck by an arrow.
The wound had become infected, leaving him burning with fever for days.
Jeyne Westerling, daughter of Lord Gawen Westerling, had remained constantly at his bedside, nursing him with unwavering care until his condition slowly improved.
The moment Robb regained consciousness, fresh news arrived from Riverrun.
Garon Glover had completely crushed the Ironborn invasion of the North.
"Haha!"
"Excellent!"
"The North is safe."
"I must summon Garon south immediately."
"With him beside me, taking King's Landing will become far easier."
Robb's spirits instantly soared.
The campaign in the Westerlands had reached a frustrating stalemate.
More than ever, he wished Garon stood beside him.
"I'll march back to Riverrun first."
"Once Garon joins me..."
"We'll strike together."
"We'll bring down Joffrey."
His excitement quickly turned into violent coughing as the pain in his chest flared.
At that moment, the chamber door quietly opened.
Jeyne Westerling entered carrying a steaming bowl of medicine.
Seeing Robb coughing so violently, panic immediately filled her face.
She instinctively turned to summon help.
Robb quickly stopped her.
"It's nothing."
"I merely became too excited."
"Please don't worry."
Only then did Jeyne relax.
"Your Grace."
"It's time for your medicine."
Her soft voice soothed Robb's troubled heart.
Throughout his illness, her gentle care had gradually eased the enormous burdens resting upon his shoulders.
Without realizing it, affection had quietly taken root.
Yet the honor Ned Stark had instilled in him since childhood prevented Robb from crossing the line.
"Thank you."
With some effort, Robb pushed himself upright against the bed.
Jeyne sat carefully beside him.
She gently stirred the medicine, cooling each spoonful before bringing it toward his lips.
Watching her worried face from such close proximity, Robb felt something within him soften.
He could smell the faint fragrance of herbs mixed with the natural scent of the young noblewoman beside him.
"Your Grace."
"Please."
"Open your mouth."
When Robb remained motionless, she softly reminded him again.
His heart suddenly became flustered.
Feeling strangely shy, he obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the bitter medicine.
Yet his eyes never left her lowered lashes and flushed cheeks.
A feeling he had never experienced before quietly stirred inside him.
"Jeyne..."
he whispered.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
Her cheeks immediately reddened even further.
"Your Grace?"
Robb offered no reply.
Instead, he gently reached out and took hold of the hand holding the medicine bowl.
The bowl trembled.
A few drops spilled onto the blanket.
Jeyne let out a soft gasp but made no effort to pull away.
Panic flickered within her beautiful eyes, yet so did youthful uncertainty.
Mistaking her silence, Robb slowly drew her closer before leaning forward and gently pressing his lips against hers.
The medicine bowl slipped from her fingers, falling onto the carpet with a muffled sound as dark liquid spread across the floor.
Jeyne's startled gasp disappeared into the kiss.
She trembled softly but did not forcefully resist, allowing the young King in the North to hold her close.
Unable to distinguish hesitation from acceptance, Robb finally allowed emotion to overcome restraint.
Just as word of Garon Glover's victory over the Ironborn spread throughout every corner of Westeros, Garon himself had already reached the Stony Shore.
The next stage of his campaign was about to begin.
Crossing the sea.