Lynn looked at the fuming little girl in front of him and for a moment felt a headache coming on.
He reached out, ignoring Arya's wary gaze, and ruffled her neatly combed hair.
"What's going through that head of yours?"
Lynn's tone held a hint of helpless indulgence, easily defusing Arya's aggressive stance.
"Your sister just went through something so awful; she's in a bad mood and came to talk to me. Isn't that perfectly normal?"
"And you, instead of comforting her, you made her cry. Just wait until Ned Stark gets back; he'll deal with you."
In a few words, Lynn turned an awkward scene into a family drama where the insensitive younger sister upset her heartbroken older sister.
Arya pouted. Although she felt Lynn made sense, the inexplicable annoyance in her heart lingered.
"Go check on your sister, now."
Lynn pushed her shoulder.
"Between sisters, what can't be talked about properly?"
Arya hesitated, then finally nodded, walking away but looking back every few steps.
Of course, her needle had been confiscated by Lynn.
He didn't want this impulsive girl doing anything foolish.
After all, the two sisters' relationship had always been at odds.
Although Lynn knew Arya only wanted to draw her sword to scare Sansa, he was still a little uneasy.
Watching Arya disappear at the end of the corridor, Lynn finally closed the study door.
These two daughters of House Stark, one more difficult than the other...
When Arya found Sansa, Sansa was lying on her bed, her shoulders still heaving, clearly still crying.
Hearing the door open, Sansa sat up abruptly, glaring at Arya with reddened eyes.
"What are you doing here? To laugh at me?"
"I'm not!"
Arya was startled by her shout and instinctively retorted.
Seeing her sister's tear-streaked face, a hint of guilt rose in Arya's heart.
She seemed... to have really messed things up.
"I... I just..."
Arya clenched her fists, unsure what to say.
An awkward silence fell over the room.
Eventually, Sansa spoke first.
She wiped away her tears, seemingly having exhausted all her weakness in that brief cry.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, looking at her sister.
In her blue eyes was a calmness and complexity Arya had never seen before.
"Arya, sit down."
Sansa's voice was no longer distressed; instead, it carried a strange calm.
Arya hesitantly walked to the bedside and sat down.
"Do you think I like Lynn?"
Sansa was direct.
Arya's cheeks flushed slightly, but she still stubbornly nodded.
"Then what kind of woman do you think Lynn should like?"
Sansa asked again.
Arya was stunned.
In her eyes, Lynn was so powerful, so gentle; he deserved the best woman in the world.
But what kind exactly, she couldn't say.
Sometimes she even felt she wasn't worthy...
"Arya, you only see Lynn's current glory."
Sansa's voice was soft, but it struck a chord with Arya.
"Have you ever thought about how he got to where he is today?"
"He's not like us, born a Stark, a daughter of the Duke of Winterfell."
"He has no ancient surname, no rich fief, not even a family he can rely on."
"When he first met us, he was just an ordinary Night's Watchman, nothing more."
Sansa's gaze drifted out the window, as if it could pierce through the walls of the The Red Keep and see the vast yet barren North.
"Everything he possesses, he fought for himself, with his sword, with his life, piece by piece from a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood."
"Do you think he wants to be the king-beyond-the-wall?"
"That's hundreds of thousands of wildlings with hungry mouths, a heavy burden on his shoulders alone!"
"Do you think he wants to marry Princess Myrcella?"
Sansa's gaze returned to Arya.
In those blue eyes was a hint of pity that Arya couldn't understand.
"He's not that fool Joffrey!"
"Lynn knows better than anyone what kind of people the Lannisters are."
"But he must marry Myrcella."
"Because Lynn comes from humble origins. In King's Landing, this man-eating place, every step he takes is like treading on thin ice."
"He needs a powerful ally, he needs an identity that can give him a firm foothold."
"Marrying the King's daughter is the fastest and most effective way to elevate his status."
"This isn't love, Arya."
Sansa said, word by word.
It was as if she was teaching an innocent child, and also as if she was convincing herself.
"This is politics, a transaction."
"He is using his marriage to buy himself, and the hundreds of thousands of people behind him, a chance to breathe and develop."
Arya was completely stunned.
She had never considered the problem from this angle.
In her black-and-white world, liking was liking, and disliking was disliking.
The Lannisters were bad people, so marrying into their family was a bad thing.
And House Stark had a good relationship with Lynn, and she herself liked Lynn because he told stories and always supported her, so she felt she must marry Lynn.
Therefore, a marriage alliance between House Stark and Lynn would be a good thing.
But Sansa's words were like a key, opening the door to a much more cruel world for her.
Arya suddenly remembered Lynn's eyes, which always carried a hint of fatigue, and she remembered his back as he stood alone on the balcony gazing north.
So, beneath his powerful and reliable exterior, he was actually burdened by such heavy shackles?
These were things she truly hadn't considered.
"I..."
Arya opened her mouth, feeling her throat dry.
"I didn't know..."
"Of course you didn't know."
There was no mockery in Sansa's tone, only a faint sadness.
"You only know how to play with swords and run around like a tomboy."
"When have you ever truly cared about what others were thinking?"
Sansa stood up and walked over to Arya.
She reached out and gently stroked Arya's cheek, with a tenderness she had never shown before.
"Arya, I know you like Lynn very much, and so do I."
"I swear, there isn't a woman in the entire world who could refuse Lynn."
"If there is, she must not be a woman."
Sansa admitted it frankly.
Seeing Arya's expression starting to turn dangerous again, Sansa quickly added,
"But our liking cannot become a burden to him."
"True liking isn't possession, nor is it as dramatic as the songs sing."
Sansa's eyes sparkled with wisdom.
That light felt somewhat unfamiliar to Arya, yet she found herself inexplicably convinced.
"True liking is understanding, it is support."
"It's seeing him in a difficult situation and finding a way to help him, instead of capriciously causing him trouble."
"It's understanding that he has to make sacrifices for a greater goal and choosing to stand by him, becoming his most solid backing."
"And one day, when he no longer needs to use marriage to gain status, when he no longer needs to cater to anyone's whims..."
Sansa's voice trailed off.
But in her blue eyes, a bright and persistent flame ignited.
"Only then will he be qualified, and only then will he be able, to choose the woman he truly desires."
"So, what you need to do is support him wholeheartedly."
"That way, when he is glorious, he will remember your support for him when he was down and out."
"Instead of being as unreasonable as you are now."
"Do you understand, Arya?"
Arya looked at her sister, at her face flushed slightly with emotion.
She suddenly felt as if she had never truly known Sansa.
She was no longer the silly girl who only knew love songs and lemon cakes.
The hardships of King's Landing had quietly transformed her into a thorny rose in a way no one had noticed.
"I... I understand."
Arya lowered her head and said softly.
The bit of resentment and awkwardness in her heart seemed so childish and ridiculous in the face of Sansa's words.
She really was... too willful.
Whether it was Myrcella before, or Sansa now.
As soon as she saw other women being close to Lynn, she felt terrible.
That feeling was like someone was carving out her heart with a knife!
It was truly too painful.
She couldn't control her jealousy.
But now, Sansa's words, strangely, made her feel less terrible.
"I'm sorry, Sister."
Arya apologized to Sansa for the first time sincerely.
Sansa smiled.
That smile was like the sun after a spring rain, warm and bright.
She pulled Arya back to sit beside her on the bed.
The sisters leaned their heads together, just like they used to in Winterfell.
"So, what we need to do now is quietly support him."
Sansa's voice held a hint of cunning.
"For example, help him keep a close eye on that woman named Liana, and make sure she doesn't cause trouble for Lynn."
"Of course, you can also do other things to help Lynn."
Then... what else could she do to help him?
Arya's little brain whirred rapidly.
For the first time, she was racking her brains over such a "major" political issue.
Looking at her sister's adorably pensive expression, Sansa's lips curved into a subtle, eerie smile that no one noticed...
Seven days, in the great boiling pot of King's Landing, passed in a flash.
During these seven days, the entire city was gripped by a morbid frenzy.
From the taverns of Flea Bottom to the banquet halls of the The Red Keep, everyone was discussing the upcoming duel.
The Mountain versus The Hound!
This was not just a trial by combat to decide the fate of Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish.
It was also the culmination of two decades of deep-seated blood feud.
It was a fratricidal battle that all of Westeros watched with bated breath!
The betting houses offered astonishing odds, with the vast majority betting on The Mountain to win.
After all, Ser Gregor Clegane's god-like physique and brutal combat record were already deeply ingrained in people's minds.
And Sandor Clegane, though a fierce warrior himself, always seemed to pale in comparison to his monstrous brother.
On the day of the duel, the sky was overcast, as if it was going to rain.
The tourney grounds outside the The Red Keep were lined with torches and braziers, casting a fiery glow on everything around.
The place was already packed with people.
Even the city walls were filled with commoners eager to witness the spectacle!
On the high platform, the most powerful people in Westeros were all present.
King Robert, dressed in a golden gown, could not hide his increasingly bloated figure and the impatience on his face.
Queen Cersei sat beside him, expressionless, her green eyes revealing no emotion.
Prince Joffrey was also permitted to observe the battle.
He sat beside his mother, his face still pale, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the arena, seemingly searching for something.
Ned Stark and his two daughters sat on the other side, looking solemn.
The Tyrell grandfather and granddaughter from Highgarden, on the other hand, looked relaxed, as if they were just there to watch an amusing play.
As for Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, he wore an expression of absolute confidence.
Lynn sat beside Ned, calmly sipping the tart wine in his cup.
His gaze swept across the entire arena, taking in everyone's expressions.
Everything was proceeding according to the script he had written.
As a dull horn blast sounded, the iron gates at both ends of the tourney grounds were slowly pulled open.
"Thump, thump, thump..."
Heavy footsteps came from one side.
A towering giant appeared in everyone's sight.
Gregor Clegane!
He wore heavy black steel armor.
There were no decorations on the armor, only his family crest and mottled bloodstains and horrifying scratches.
Gregor held a two-handed greatsword that was almost Half-man tall!
The blade was wide, gleaming with a chilling light under the overcast sky.
With every step he took, the entire tourney grounds seemed to tremble slightly from his footfalls.
The aura of slaughter emanating from him seemed to lower the temperature of the entire arena by several degrees.
An unparalleled sense of oppression.
The clamor from the stands instantly vanished.
Everyone was awestruck by the presence of this human beast.
At the other end of the tourney grounds, a relatively "slender" figure slowly emerged.
Sandor Clegane.
He wasn't wearing his iconic dog-head helmet, revealing the half of his face horribly scarred by fire.
He, too, wore black armor, holding a common knight's longsword.
He simply stood there calmly.
But in his gray eyes, a burning hatred blazed, enough to consume everything.
The two brothers stood facing each other from a distance.
On the high platform, the High Septon stepped forward.
With his long and tedious voice, he read out the trial procedures.
"...In the name of the Seven, by the soul of the Warrior, judgment of good and evil, determination of life and death!"
"Let the duel begin!"
The moment the words fell!
"ROAR—!!!"
The Mountain let out a bestial roar, not human in sound.
His massive body charged forward with a furious speed completely at odds with his size!
He raised his greatsword high and brought it down fiercely towards Sandor's head!
That single swing, accompanied by a whistling sound that tore through the air, seemed as if it would split the very ground in two!
Everyone's hearts were in their throats at that moment!
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