Myrcella's heartbeat skipped.
She looked at the red-haired woman in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning on the frame.
Sunlight from behind outlined her fiery hair in brilliant crimson.
That face—always wild—showed an expression she'd never seen before. Serious.
"Shoot... my butt with arrows?"
Myrcella unconsciously repeated it, emerald eyes full of absurdity and confusion.
Too barbaric.
In King's Landing, the most vicious threat among noble ladies was spreading rumors at tea parties.
Or stealing someone's favored knight at a ball.
Then at night...
Shoot butts with arrows?
Seven gods above.
This was something drunk tavern brawlers would say.
Yet somehow, watching Ygritte's face trying to look fierce, Myrcella's fear dissipated considerably.
She even found it a bit... funny.
"If you learn well, I can teach you archery."
Seeing her threat seemingly ineffective, Ygritte stiffly added:
"Then you can shoot the butts of southern women you don't like."
Myrcella completely froze.
Her brain... seems a bit abnormal.
Above the Narrow Sea. Cloud peaks.
Bitter wind was blocked by an invisible barrier. Lynn felt no chill.
He sat on Winter's broad neck, overlooking that endless azure sea below.
The Westerosi continent had become a distant horizon.
The dragon's three heads each had roles.
The largest middle head vigilantly watched ahead, golden vertical pupils scanning everything on the sea surface.
The left head was somewhat drowsy, occasionally yawning, spewing small bursts of scorching dragon's breath, burning holes through passing clouds.
The right head was most lively.
It twisted its long neck, nuzzling Lynn's arm with its massive nose, throat making begging whimpers.
Lynn helplessly nodded, then silently gripped Winter tight.
Winter dove into the sea.
Moments later, it surfaced with a large fish.
Of course, Lynn's clothes were wet again.
Leaving the Wall, Lynn felt the burden on his shoulders lighten considerably.
Lord Commander. King-Beyond-the-Wall...
These titles brought power—and shackles.
A hundred thousand hungry mouths. The riddled North. That Night King and Greenseer hiding in the Land of Always Winter, plotting who knows what.
He'd temporarily left these matters to Jon and Mance.
He needed greater power. More resources.
And all of it lay on that broader continent.
Essos.
Pentos—one of the Free Cities.
A city built of red brick and tile.
Its magisters were filthy rich. Its merchants controlled eastern trade routes.
More importantly—there lived a magister named Illyrio Mopatis.
A fat man who liked investing in fallen nobles.
Lynn's goal was clear. He needed Illyrio's wealth and connections.
As for that Targaryen orphan Illyrio kept at home...
Ygritte was going mad.
Before leaving, Lynn had tossed her a heavy leather pouch filled with gleaming gold dragons.
But in her entire life, she'd never seen this much money.
Beyond the Wall, they used primitive barter.
One sheep for two bags of salt.
One fine bearskin for one reasonably sharp iron axe.
Money?
What's that?
Can you eat it?
She clutched the money pouch, storming into Jon Snow's quarters.
At that moment, Jon was suffering through mountain-high grain accounts.
"Snow boy!"
Ygritte slammed the pouch heavily on the table. Gold coins clinked crisply.
"I need a teacher!"
Jon looked up, bewildered.
"Teacher? For who?"
"That blonde girl! And..."
Ygritte's voice lowered, cheeks heating.
"And me."
Jon froze.
Watching Ygritte's awkward expression, he suddenly understood.
He sighed, pulling parchment and ink from a nearby shelf.
"What kind of teacher do you want?"
"The best! The smartest! Must know everything! I don't like people who know nothing!"
Ygritte said bluntly.
With Jon's help, a strangely worded letter was sent by raven to White Harbor.
The content was simple:
"From Castle Black. Need teacher. Instruct noble lady. Require most learned. Payment generous."
House Manderly receiving the letter was completely baffled.
Castle Black?
Needs what kind of etiquette teacher?
But the letter's mention of "payment generous" and the seal proving Lord Commander Lynn's authorization made them send someone.
Ten days later—
A nun named Elaina arrived at Castle Black with two attendants, travel-worn.
When this nun—who'd studied etiquette and history in Oldtown's Citadel—stepped into Castle Black's courtyard, she nearly fainted on the spot.
The air reeked of sweat, livestock, and cheap ale mixed together.
Wildlings in filthy furs. Giants carrying bone axes. Those ill-intentioned Night's Watch...
Seven gods—this is the seventh hell!
When brought before Ygritte and told this savage-looking red-haired woman was her employer, Sister Elaina felt her faith collapse.
The first lesson took place in a relatively clean room in the Lord Commander's tower.
Sister Elaina forced herself to endure discomfort, beginning to explain Westerosi heraldry to Princess Myrcella.
Ygritte sat in the corner, whittling an arrow shaft with a small knife while listening intently.
"...House Lannister's roaring lion symbolizes wealth and power."
"House Stark's direwolf represents Northern honor and resilience..."
Sister Elaina's voice was dry.
"Tch," Ygritte scoffed dismissively.
"What good is drawing lions and wolves? In a fight, you still need what's in your hands."
"I can shoot both lions and wolves dead! Two arrows max!"
Sister Elaina's lecture was interrupted.
She turned, looking at Ygritte like viewing a barbarian.
"This... lady."
"Sigils symbolize family honor, nobility flowing in blood..."
"Can nobility fill your belly?" Ygritte countered.
"We free folk tattoo what we've killed."
"That's honor!"
Sister Elaina trembled with rage, speechless.
Myrcella sat nearby, suppressing laughter, shoulders shaking.
She discovered—since this wildling woman arrived, boring lessons seemed much more interesting.
"Stop this useless stuff!"
Ygritte threw down her arrow shaft, standing.
"Teach her something useful!"
"Like navigating in snow, identifying poisonous ice mushrooms, setting traps with one rope!"
Sister Elaina's face went deathly pale.
She'd never imagined she'd need to teach a princess... wilderness survival skills?!
That evening, the lesson ended poorly.
Myrcella returned to her room, unexpectedly seeing Ygritte standing before the dressing mirror.
She clumsily imitated Sister Elaina, trying to straighten her back, tuck her chin, strike what she thought was a noble pose.
But the movement looked incredibly stiff and ridiculous on her.
"Your shoulders are too tense."
Myrcella's voice was soft.
Ygritte jumped.
Like a cat whose tail was stepped on, she instantly reverted to her aggressive posture.
"Mind your own business!"
Myrcella wasn't afraid. She approached, saying softly:
"He... Lord Lynn—he likes southern ladies, doesn't he?"
Ygritte's body stiffened.
She didn't answer. Those grey eyes—usually burning with flame—showed confusion and vulnerability for the first time.
Myrcella suddenly understood.
This savage, crude woman who knew nothing—she was just trying in her own way to get closer to that man.
Even if that way looked so clumsy and laughable.
When Winter landed on a secluded beach outside the city, Lynn smelled air completely different from Westeros.
That air carried spice's pungency, the sea's salt-dampness.
He changed into luxurious silk robes, appearing as a wealthy eastern merchant traveling here.
Pentos's streets were more crowded and noisy than King's Landing.
Dark-skinned Dothraki. Lys nobles carried in slave-borne litters. Shadowbinders from Asshai's Shadow Lands...
All walks of life converged here.
Lynn passed through crowds, walking directly toward the city's most magnificent square-towered magister's estate.
Illyrio Mopatis's residence.
He didn't even announce himself.
Because he knew—this estate's master would be eager to meet him.
Just as he approached those bronze and black iron gates, they suddenly opened from inside.
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