Princess Myrcella's heart skipped a beat.
She looked at the red-haired woman by the door, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.
Sunlight streamed in from behind the woman, outlining her fiery red hair with a vibrant crimson halo.
The expression on that always wild face was one she had never seen before—serious.
"Shoot... my butt with an arrow?"
Princess Myrcella repeated subconsciously, her emerald eyes filled with absurdity and confusion.
This was too barbaric.
In King's Landing, the most vicious threat between noble ladies was merely spreading rumors about each other at a tea party.
Or stealing a favored knight at a ball.
And then, at night... shoot someone's butt with an arrow?
Seven Gods above!
This was something only a drunkard in a country tavern would say.
Yet, for some reason, looking at Ygritte's feigned fierce face, Princess Myrcella's fear dissipated considerably.
She even found it a little... amusing.
"If you learn well, I can teach you how to shoot a bow."
Seeing that her threat seemed ineffective, Ygritte added stiffly,
"Then, you can go shoot the butts of those southern women you don't like."
Princess Myrcella was utterly stunned.
She... her mind seemed a little off... Above the Narrow Sea, at the peak of the clouds.
The biting wind was blocked by an invisible barrier; Ser Lynn didn't even feel a trace of cold.
He sat on Winter's broad nape, looking down at the boundless azure sea below.
Westeros had become a distant horizon.
The dragon's three heads each had their roles.
The largest head in the middle gazed vigilantly forward, its golden vertical pupils scanning everything on the sea surface.
The left head was somewhat drowsy, occasionally yawning and exhaling a small puff of hot dragonfire, burning a large hole in a passing cloud.
The right head was the most active.
It twisted its long neck, rubbing its huge nose against Ser Lynn's arm, emitting a begging whimper from its throat.
Ser Lynn nodded helplessly, then silently gripped Winter tighter.
Winter plunged into the sea.
In a moment, it caught a large fish.
Of course, Ser Lynn's clothes were wet again.
Leaving the Wall, Ser Lynn felt the heavy burden on his shoulders lighten considerably.
Lord Commander, King-Beyond-the-Wall... these titles brought power, but also shackles.
A hundred thousand mouths to feed, a tattered North, and the Night King and Greenseer hidden in the Land of Always Winter, plotting who knows what.
He had temporarily entrusted these matters to Jon and Mance.
He needed greater power, more resources.
And all of this was on that vaster continent.
Essos.
Pentos, one of the Free Cities.
A city built of red bricks and tiles.
Its Magisters were rolling in wealth, its merchants controlled the trade routes to the East.
More importantly, there was a Magister there named Illyrio Mopatis.
A fat man who liked to invest in down-and-out nobles.
Ser Lynn's goal was clear: he needed Illyrio's wealth and connections.
As for the Targaryen orphan Illyrio kept in his home...
Ygritte was about to go crazy.
Before Ser Lynn left, he had given her a heavy leather pouch, filled with glittering gold dragons.
But in all her life, this was the first time she had seen so much money.
Beyond the Wall, they only used the most primitive bartering.
One sheep for two bags of salt.
A good bearskin could buy a reasonably sharp iron axe.
Money?
What was that?
Could it be eaten?
She took the money pouch and burst into Jon Snow's quarters in a flurry.
At that time, Jon was struggling with the mountain of grain accounts.
"Snow boy!"
Ygritte slammed the money pouch onto the table, the gold coins clinking crisply.
"I need a teacher!"
Jon looked up, staring at her blankly.
"A teacher? For whom?"
"That golden-haired girl! And..."
Ygritte's voice trailed off, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"And me."
Jon was stunned.
He looked at Ygritte's awkward demeanor and suddenly understood something.
He sighed, pulling out parchment and ink from a nearby shelf.
"What kind of teacher are you looking for?"
"The best! The smartest! Someone who knows everything! I don't like people who don't know anything!"
Ygritte said without ceremony.
With Jon's help, a strangely worded letter was sent via raven to White Harbor.
The content of the letter was simple.
"From Castle Black, a teacher is needed to instruct a noble lady. The most learned is required, generous remuneration."
House Manderly, who received the letter, was utterly bewildered.
Castle Black?
A feather-brained etiquette teacher?
But the four words "generous remuneration" mentioned in the letter, and the personal seal at the end of the letter, which was enough to prove Lord Commander Lynn's authorization, still made them send a candidate.
Ten days later.
A septa named Aeliana, accompanied by two attendants, arrived at Castle Black, covered in dust from her journey.
When this septa, who had studied etiquette and history in the Hightower of Oldtown, stepped into the courtyard of Castle Black, she nearly fainted on the spot.
The air was filled with a strange mixture of sweat, livestock, and cheap ale.
Wildlings in dirty furs, giants carrying bone axes, and those ill-tempered Night's Watchmen... Seven Gods, this was simply the Seven Hells!
When she was led before Ygritte and told that this seemingly savage red-haired woman was her employer, Septa Aeliana felt her faith crumble.
The first lesson took place in a relatively clean room in the Lord Commander's Tower.
Septa Aeliana, suppressing her discomfort, began to explain Westeros noble heraldry to Princess Myrcella.
Ygritte sat in the corner, whittling an arrow shaft with a small knife, while listening with pricked ears.
"...The roaring lion of House Lannister symbolizes wealth and power."
"The ice wolf of House Stark represents the glory and resilience of the North..."
Septa Aeliana's voice was dry.
"Tch," Ygritte scoffed, pouting.
"What's the use of drawing a lion and a wolf? When it comes to fighting, you still rely on the weapon in your hand."
"I can shoot both lions and wolves dead! Two arrows at most!"
Septa Aeliana's lecture was interrupted.
She turned her head, looking at Ygritte with the gaze one would give a savage.
"My lady..."
"A sigil is a symbol of family honor, the nobility that flows in the blood..."
"Can nobility be eaten?" Ygritte retorted.
"We Free Folk tattoo ourselves with the prey we've killed."
"That's what you call honor!"
Septa Aeliana's lips trembled with anger, but she couldn't utter a single word.
Princess Myrcella sat beside her, suppressing her laughter, her shoulders shaking.
She found that ever since this wild woman arrived, the dry lessons seemed to have become much more interesting.
"Don't talk about these useless things!"
Ygritte threw down the arrow shaft in her hand and stood up.
"Teach her something useful!"
"Like how to find your way in the Snow, how to distinguish poisonous ice mushrooms, how to set a trap with a rope!"
Septa Aeliana's face turned pale.
She had never imagined in her life that she would one day need to teach a princess these... wilderness survival skills??!
That night, the lesson ended unpleasantly.
Princess Myrcella returned to her room, only to unexpectedly see Ygritte standing in front of the dressing mirror.
She clumsily imitated Septa Aeliana, trying to straighten her back, tighten her chin, and strike a pose she thought was very noble.
But the movements on her seemed incredibly stiff and comical.
"Your shoulders are too tense."
Princess Myrcella's voice was soft.
Ygritte jumped.
Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, she instantly reverted to her fierce, claw-waving demeanor.
"Mind your own business!"
Princess Myrcella wasn't afraid; she walked over to Ygritte and said softly,
"He... Ser Lynn, he likes southern ladies, doesn't he?"
Ygritte's body stiffened.
She didn't answer, and for the first time, a hint of confusion and vulnerability appeared in her grey eyes, which usually burned with fire.
Princess Myrcella suddenly understood.
This wild, crude, ignorant woman was simply trying to get close to that man in her own way.
Even if that way seemed so clumsy and ridiculous... Pentos.
When Winter landed on a secluded beach outside the city, Ser Lynn smelled an air distinctly different from Westeros.
The air carried the pungency of spices and the salty dampness of the sea.
He changed into a luxurious silk robe, seemingly transforming into a wealthy Eastern merchant traveling through.
The streets of Pentos were even more crowded and bustling than King's Landing.
Dark-skinned Dothraki, Lysene nobles carried in palanquins by slaves, and shadowbinders from the Shadow Lands of Asshai... all sorts of people converged here.
Ser Lynn walked through the crowd, heading directly towards the most magnificent building in the city, the Magister's mansion with its square brick towers.
The mansion of Illyrio Mopatis.
He didn't even announce himself.
Because he knew that the owner of this mansion would be eager to see him.
Just as he was about to reach the great door cast from bronze and black iron, the door suddenly opened from within.
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