GOT: Chapter 397/398

Chapter 397: The Awakened Assassin’s Soul (Part 1)

Through the mouths of countless spectators who fled the arena, news quickly spread that the Three Dragons had come to Crown Town for a visit, not an attack. After confirming their safety, the residents, who had initially been terrified, became curious about the Queen who arrived riding a dragon.

This sight caused another commotion.

For the Night's Watch, the Mountain Clans, and the people of the New Gift, who were mostly bachelors, Asha Greyjoy, Lady Melisandre, and the two young ladies visiting from Winterfell were already rare beauties. Yet compared to them, Daenerys Targaryen's appearance seemed to belong to an entirely different realm of allure. Her identity as a Dragonrider only added to her charm, captivating both men and women alike. The crowd's eagerness to watch and follow her caused immense strain on security. Fortunately, the arena was close to the Inner Keep. With an entire squad of Logistics Department soldiers forming a human wall to clear the path, Aegor managed, with effort and time, to finally escort the Queen safely to the fortress.


---

There are so many people in the New Gift? Varys said there were only thirty to forty thousand. Could they all have gathered in Crown Town?

Having not been in such a large crowd for a long time, Daenerys felt dizzy. It took her half a minute standing in the courtyard of Crown Town's Inner Keep to regain her clarity.

"Why are there so many people… Never mind, where is the library?"

"Your Grace, your identity is sensitive. I do not recommend you go to the library," Aegor said after giving brief instructions to the guards. "Please follow me and wait in a place I've prepared for you. I will fetch the book for you myself."

"Where?" Daenerys asked warily. It couldn't possibly be the dungeon, could it? She studied Aegor, but since she was alone and excessive caution was pointless, she could only hope he had no sinister intentions, or that the presence of her three dragons would be deterrent enough. She continued to follow him.

"Your Grace, do you know why this place is called Crown Town?"

She didn't.

Having been adrift across the Narrow Sea since birth, always fleeing assassins sent by Robert Baratheon, Daenerys never had the chance to study history or listen to tales of the Seven Kingdoms like Myrcella, who had grown up in the Red Keep surrounded by maesters and septas.

Still, the answer wasn't hard to guess. Crown Town. Queen's Crown. The meaning was obvious.

Daenerys pouted. "Some queen visited here and donated her crown to the Night's Watch?"

"Close, but much more than that," Aegor said with a faint smile. "Your ancestor, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, known as 'The Conciliator', and his wife, Queen Alysanne Targaryen, 'The Good', once came to the Wall during a major Wildling invasion to aid the Night's Watch. Among other things, Queen Alysanne helped the Watch build a new fortress, Deep Lake, to replace the Nightfort, which they could no longer maintain. She also granted the Watch new land from the North. We are now standing on that land, known as the New Gift. Without her righteous deed, Crown Town would still be an obscure northern village. The Night's Watch renamed Snowgate, where she stayed during her visit, to Queen's Gate. The small, nameless village where she spent a single night was named Crown Town."

"So where are you taking me?" Aegor's respectful tone toward Queen Alysanne reassured Daenerys slightly, but his evasive answers made her even more suspicious.

"This is the lake at the center of Crown Town, and the entire town is built around it. The tower on the small island in the middle is where Queen Alysanne slept for one night. Afterward, the villagers painted the top of the tower gold, forming a perfect circle like a crown, which is why it's called Crown Town, not Queen's Village."

While talking, Aegor led Daenerys across a wooden bridge and into the tower.

It was a watchtower left by villagers a century ago to guard against Wildlings. Later, it was reinforced by the first batch of the Logistics Department pioneers and used as the initial "gilded cage" to house the Pyromancers, providing shelter while preventing them from wandering about. As Crown Town developed and living standards improved, the alchemists no longer complained or wanted to return south. Their experiments gradually turned into production, and when research on powder ratios and bomb improvements began, those experiments were moved to the Inner Keep or even to the industrial district outside the city.

With personnel withdrawn and equipment moved, the tower was eventually left idle, containing only a few tables, chairs, cabinets, and empty beds, becoming a backup building.

...

"A good story. Thank you for your patience, Commander," Daenerys said coolly, though her tone softened slightly. "But with all due respect, my concern right now is rescuing the Seven Kingdoms, which my ancestors ruled for generations, from the usurpers. I have little interest in visiting the bedroom where an ancestor once spent a single night."

"You misunderstand," Aegor replied. "I arranged for you to stay here because the island has only one path and one tower, with a single entrance. By stationing a few guards, I can ensure your safety from anyone in Crown Town."

Damn, as soon as he said it, Aegor realized that easy-to-guard places also made excellent prisons. If he were to confine Daenerys here like the Pyromancers, this would indeed become a gilded cage for a beauty... He quickly dismissed the impractical thought. "You must be tired and thirsty after your long flight. The kitchen will send food and hot soup at once. Do your dragons need feeding?"

"No need. They ate before I came," Daenerys said as she walked around the room, running her fingers over a chair. There was no dust, proof it was maintained regularly. "I hope to see that book before dinner. I trust the Commander can fulfill this small wish."

"As you wish. Please sit, Your Grace. I will return shortly."


---

Aegor left the tower, ordering the guards to light the fireplace for warmth, have the kitchen deliver food and drink, and guard the place closely.

He then hurried back to the core of the fortress where he lived, to meet his other guests.

What should a man do when an enthusiastic reader rides a dragon to demand the next chapter, but he hasn't written a single word? Seeking urgent advice.

That was a joke, of course. He wasn't going to discuss Daenerys with anyone. When he went to Dragonstone to present The Prince (Part 1) to the Queen, Aegor had already planned how he would respond when she inevitably asked about the second half. He felt confident.

Still, though his draft was ready, he wanted to review it before meeting her again. More importantly, he needed to stabilize the two factions—those loyal to Stannis and those loyal to Stark—to ensure they believed Daenerys had come to help face the White Walkers, not to conspire with the Night's Watch in rebellion.

The residential quarters were close together, making it easy to find people.

"Aegor!" Melisandre called, her face grave as she lowered her voice. "Time is short. Now that she is here, you must find a way to keep her. Delay her for a day, as long as possible, until the final battle begins. The Three Dragons will be a powerful weapon against the wights."

"Are you not going to speak with her?"

"Speak about what? I was Stannis's advisor."

"I will handle it. We can talk later," Aegor said, nodding to end the conversation quickly.

He didn't want to waste words with the Red Priestess now. He understood her nature well: though she served Stannis in name, she was truly a high priestess of the Lord of Light. She would not act against someone she believed to be the Prophet destined for the final battle.

The key now was to calm Beric Dondarrion and the soldiers from Winterfell, to prevent them from sending false reports to Stannis or the Warden of the North.

"Do not worry, Commander. We will not be informants, nor treat you as an enemy just because you hosted the Targaryen Queen," said the Lord of Black Harbour, far more open-minded than expected. As an elder noble, he even advised Aegor, the new Lord of the Gift, "But be cautious. If you respond poorly to the Lord of Winterfell's questioning, the North's full support for the coming battle could be at risk. Take my advice: no matter who asks, do not overexplain. Stick to two points: 'The Night's Watch is neutral' and 'Guest right is sacred and inviolable.' No one can publicly accuse you for respecting tradition."

"Is that girl really Daenerys Targaryen?" Thoros asked, clearly having drunk too much. His eyes widened. "If every woman in the Targaryen family looks like that, then that damned 'Blessed by the Gods' Baelor truly deserved to be cut into a thousand pieces!"

Baelor? Aegor was confused at first, then realized he meant King Baelor I Targaryen, the man who built the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing. That fanatically devout King had starved himself, claiming food was sinful, and abstained from women, claiming intimacy was impure. To avoid temptation from his three sisters, whom he was supposed to marry under Valyrian tradition, he locked them in the Maidenvault, forbidding contact with any man.

When Aegor had first heard the story, he found it absurd. But thinking again—if all Targaryen women looked like Daenerys—it suddenly seemed understandable.

"Lord Aegor… you see, I'm the archery champion, right?" the archer Angei asked awkwardly. "That Queen interrupted my competition. Do you think she might want to meet me… to apologize or something?"

What nonsense is this?

Aegor rolled his eyes, but the interruption helped him calm down. The Lord of Black Harbour's advice was sound. He didn't need to appease or explain to anyone. He was the master of this place. As long as he stood firm and publicly declared that guests could not harm one another under his roof, the law of guest right would be his best shield.

"My Lord!" Myrcella came running up, her face flushed.

"What is it?" Aegor asked, lowering his head. He expected another clever suggestion from the little princess and was even looking forward to it.

"Arya… Arya just went back to her room, grabbed her Needle, and ran off. I don't know where she went!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 398: The Awakened Assassin’s Soul (Part 2)

Witnessing the Mad King's daughter descend from the sky, land in the largest open space in Crown Town, and then enter the castle accompanied by Aegor before being politely escorted into the tower on the Lake Isle, Arya felt truly unsettled.

From the time she was a little girl, full of knightly dreams and innocent admiration, her Master had been her idol. Back in King's Landing, when Father, as Robert Baratheon's Hand, was constantly occupied with cleaning up the drunken King's messes, he had little time for her. It was Aegor who filled her dull days. To her, the world of the Night's Watch Chief Logistics Officer—so tall she had to stand on tiptoe to meet his eyes—seemed dazzling and full of color.

Bonds, trade routes, enterprises, and industries that bought low and sold high, new armies and weapons beyond their time—she neither understood nor cared about any of that. What Arya remembered most was that, following Master, she had visited many corners of King's Landing and beyond, met countless people she otherwise never would have, seen many things unknown to her before, and spent many happy hours.

Those were the happiest days of her life.

In her eyes then, Master was the most romantic adventurer in the world, the bravest slayer of Others, the most capable officer of the Night's Watch, the most patient and skillful sword master, and the most imaginative playmate.

Of course, as she grew older and her mind matured, she began to realize that all her impressions were childish fantasies. Master was not the invincible swordsman she once believed him to be, nor an all-powerful genius with endless energy. He was simply a Lord who was wiser, kinder, and more understanding than most men, and perhaps, a bit more handsome.

But the bond between them had already been forged. His image and place in her heart not only did not diminish but were elevated by the great events that followed.

When the Iron Throne changed hands and chaos swept the realm, Arya, separated from her family after a reckless adventure, had fallen into the bloody, terrifying world of adults. At that dangerous time, Master, who should have remained neutral, abandoned his position for her. He left his comfortable life in the Seven Kingdoms, carefully hid her identity, and personally brought her to safety. Later, when the Ironborn invaded and the North fell into peril, it was again Master who led the Gift's army like soldiers descending from the heavens, drove out the raiders, brought Robb and his host back, and restored the North to the land she loved and knew.

Perhaps Master had done these things for various reasons, but Arya never cared to think too deeply about it. She simply believed he had done it all for her.

By that time, Master's image had transformed magnificently. He was no longer just a close friend, but also the most powerful protector and one of the pillars supporting the North's safety. He filled the void left in her heart by her father's death, shielding her from despair and insecurity.

But there were also things… more private, things no one else knew.

When returning North from King's Landing, just as they neared home, the twelve-year-old girl had her first period—awkwardly, among a group of men. That night, ashamed, frightened, and in pain, it was Master who held her in his strong arms, speaking softly and comforting her as she lay trembling on a thin mat until she fell asleep. It was on that night, amidst the comfort and closeness, that something deep within her awakened.

She first realized the difference between men and women. The tall, strong Master seemed as solid as a mountain, his warmth like the perfect fire to ward off the cold. Even the faint scent of him, neither fragrant nor foul, became strangely pleasant. Nestled in his embrace, she felt as dizzy and flushed as she had the first time she tasted Arbor wine, almost wishing she could melt in his arms forever.

To Master, that night had likely been awkward and uncomfortable, perhaps even forgotten entirely. But to Arya, it became an unforgettable memory—the moment she crossed from child to maiden.

From that day, her feelings for Aegor, once pure admiration and affection, began to mix with something new, something deeper. A subtle fondness, not merely from admiration, but from the budding heart of a woman.

She refused to believe that such a perceptive man could not feel her affection. Yet Arya understood that, to Master, the fondness of a twelve or thirteen-year-old girl, a Stark no less, could only be troublesome. He could not return it, and so he had to pretend not to notice.

Arya also knew he had his own world, his own duties, and his own life. Her attempts to follow him everywhere, desperate to enter his adult world, were mostly futile. And besides, Master was a Lord. He likely preferred mature, graceful, and alluring women—like Nina, Melisandre, or even Asha Greyjoy.

To him, she was nothing more than a mischievous girl, to be humored and indulged, nothing more.

But she was not sad about this. Because Master was a man of the Night's Watch, sworn to neither marry nor leave the Gift, she never had to worry about another woman taking him away.

His closeness with Nina was only because she was capable and trustworthy. His connection with Melisandre was out of necessity, to use her influence over the followers of the Red God. As for Asha, her master was not such a vulgar man. He paid her no real attention.

As for Myrcella, though beautiful and kind, her closeness to Master was clearly born of fear and the need for protection, not love. Master's affection for her was pity, not passion.

Only for her, his only apprentice, was his affection pure.

She was special to him—the only one.

Although she could not say what made her special, the thought gave her confidence. As long as she waited patiently, until she grew and matured, until the day he looked at her and thought, "this is a woman, not a child," she would gain his attention and his heart.

People often said she resembled Daenerys, that famed beauty who could tempt the Mad King's son into folly. As long as she stopped being so wild, learned from Myrcella how to dress and behave, she would be charming too. She had already started practicing, and the way the young men from the Mountain Clans and the Free Folk at Crown Town's school stared at her proved that it was working.

That gave her confidence. She might not be the most beautiful girl, but she was far from plain. She was already tall enough to reach Master's height when standing on tiptoe. In another year or two, she would surely have the charm to attract him. There might be women more beautiful than her, but none could ever be his second apprentice. And she was Arya Stark, one of the best young swordfighters in the Seven Kingdoms.

She had heard the guards brag about her talents. A woman's skill, bloodline, and spirit could make her all the more captivating. Surely, the pride of winning the heart of a Stark, one with the "wolf's blood," would tempt even him.

On the surface, she remained an innocent girl. But in the quiet of night, in her wildest thoughts, she often imagined it, blushing with secret delight and drawing courage from those dreams.

...

She had never been flustered before.

But now, seeing Daenerys Targaryen ride a dragon down from the sky, land in the middle of the archery field, and walk beside Master before being escorted into that lakeside tower, Arya felt something she had never felt before—panic.

Why was Master being so polite to the Mad King's daughter?

Wasn't she just someone who called herself Queen, the last Targaryen, with an army and three dragons, burdened with titles, and beautiful enough to move even women? Wasn't she just…?

But no matter how many times she repeated "wasn't she just," Arya knew that what Daenerys possessed could not be dismissed so simply. If she could defeat Stannis and reclaim the Iron Throne, she would even have the power to pardon the Night's Watch, to free Master from his vows.

Daenerys had the means to tempt anyone—man or woman.

She was an opponent Arya could never hope to match, no matter how much she waited or grew. For the first time, Arya felt true jealousy, a fierce and painful jealousy that bordered on hatred.

After brooding in anger and envy, Arya suddenly realized something. No, why should she be jealous? The issue was not Daenerys's beauty or charm. Wasn't she, right now, at war with King Stannis over the Iron Throne?

The North supported Stannis. As a Stark, didn't that make Arya Daenerys's enemy? And since Master was the North's ally, wasn't Daenerys his enemy as well?

Moreover, her grandfather and great-uncle had been murdered by the Mad King himself. There was blood between their houses. How could she see Daenerys merely as a rival in love? That was absurd.

At that thought, everything suddenly became clear. Her training, her sword Needle, even her Mother's rare permission to come to Crown Town—it all had meaning now. Master was making a mistake, and she had the means to correct it.

Since she could not become a knight, she would become an assassin, one who killed only the wicked.

She would kill the Mad King's daughter—for the peace of the Seven Kingdoms, for the safety of Westeros, and to avenge the Stark bloodline.

Arya felt something awaken within her, the "Assassin's Soul" that had slept deep in her heart. A fierce killing intent surged through her. She rushed back to her room and found her thin sword, Needle, which had never been stained with blood since it was forged.

Today, this small sword would taste blood for the first time—the blood of a Queen.

(To be continued.)