Lynn looked at the bristling little girl before him and suddenly felt a headache coming on.
Ignoring Arya's wary gaze, he reached out and ruffled her neatly combed hair.
"What's going on in that little head of yours?"
Lynn's tone carried a helpless fondness, easily diffusing Arya's hostile aura.
"Your sister just went through something terrible. She was in a bad mood and came to talk to me. Isn't that normal?"
"And you, instead of comforting her, you made her cry. Just wait until Lord Ned comes back and deals with you."
With just a few words, Lynn turned an awkward drama into a family soap opera about an insensible younger sister upsetting her heartbroken older sister.
Arya pouted. Although she felt Lynn made sense, the inexplicable annoyance in her heart wouldn't go away.
"Go check on your sister."
Lynn nudged her shoulder.
"Sisters can talk things out."
Arya hesitated, but finally nodded, walking away while looking back every three steps.
Of course, Lynn confiscated her Needle.
He didn't want to see this impulsive girl do anything foolish.
After all, the sisters had always had a strained relationship.
Although Lynn knew Arya only drew her sword to scare Sansa, he was still worried.
Watching Arya disappear at the end of the corridor, Lynn closed the study door.
The Stark daughters were each more difficult than the last.
---
When Arya found Sansa, she was lying on her bed, shoulders shaking, clearly still crying.
Hearing the door open, Sansa sat up abruptly, glaring at Arya with red eyes.
"What are you doing here? To laugh at me?"
"I'm not!"
Arya was stunned by her shout and retorted instinctively.
Seeing her sister's tear-stained face, a trace of guilt rose in Arya's heart.
It seemed... she really had messed things up.
"I... I just..."
Arya clenched her fists, not knowing what to say.
The room fell into an awkward silence.
Finally, Sansa spoke first.
She wiped her tears, seeming to exhaust all her weakness in that brief cry.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, looking at her sister.
In those blue eyes was a calmness and complexity Arya had never seen before.
"Arya, sit down."
Sansa's voice was no longer embarrassed, but carried a strange calm.
Arya walked hesitantly to the bed and sat down.
"Do you think I like Lord Lynn?"
Sansa cut straight to the chase.
Arya's cheeks blushed slightly, but she nodded stubbornly.
"Then what kind of woman do you think Lord Lynn should like?"
Sansa asked again.
Arya was stunned.
In her opinion, Lord Lynn was so strong, so gentle, he deserved the best woman in the world.
But she couldn't say exactly what kind.
Sometimes she even felt she wasn't worthy...
"Arya, you only see Lord Lynn's current glory."
Sansa's voice was soft, but it struck Arya's heart.
"Have you ever thought about how he got here?"
"He isn't like us, born a Stark, a daughter of the Lord of Winterfell."
"He has no ancient name, no rich fief, not even a family to rely on."
"When we first met him, he was just an ordinary Night's Watchman."
Sansa's gaze turned to the window, as if piercing the walls of the Red Keep to see the vast and barren North.
"Everything he has, he carved out bit by bit from a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood with his sword and his life."
"Do you think he wants to be this King Beyond the Wall?"
"Those are hundreds of thousands of mouths waiting to be fed, a burden pressing on his shoulders alone!"
"Do you think he wants to marry Princess Myrcella?"
Sansa turned her gaze back to Arya.
In those blue eyes, there was a pity Arya couldn't understand.
"He isn't Joffrey, that fool!"
"Lynn knows better than anyone what kind of people the Lannisters are."
"But he must marry Myrcella."
"Because Lord Lynn came from nothing. In this man-eating place called King's Landing, every step he takes is like treading on thin ice."
"He needs a powerful ally, a status that allows him to stand firm."
"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.
Like teaching an ignorant child, and like convincing herself.
"This is politics, a transaction."
"He is using his marriage to buy a chance to breathe and develop for himself and the hundreds of thousands of people behind him."
Arya was completely stunned.
She had never thought about the problem from this angle.
In her black-and-white world, like was like, hate was hate.
Lannisters were bad, so marrying them was a bad thing.
And the Starks had a good relationship with Lynn, and she liked Lynn because he told stories and supported her, so she liked Lynn and should marry him.
So, a Stark-Lynn marriage was a good thing.
But Sansa's words were like a key, opening the door to a crueler world for her.
Arya suddenly remembered the weariness always present in Lynn's eyes, remembered the figure standing alone on the balcony gazing North.
It turned out that under his strong and reliable appearance, he bore such heavy shackles?
She really hadn't thought about this.
"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 wild boy."
"When have you ever truly cared about what others think?"
Sansa stood up and walked to Arya.
She reached out and gently stroked Arya's cheek, her movements unprecedentedly gentle.
"Arya, I know you like Lord Lynn very much. Me too."
"I swear, no woman under heaven can refuse Lord Lynn."
"If there is, she must not be a woman."
Sansa admitted it frankly.
Seeing Arya's expression turning dangerous again, Sansa quickly added:
"But our liking cannot become his burden."
"True liking isn't possession, nor is it vigorous and intense like in the songs."
Wisdom shone in Sansa's eyes.
That light felt unfamiliar to Arya, yet inexplicably convincing.
"True liking is understanding, support."
"It's seeing him in trouble and trying to pull him up, not willfully causing him trouble."
"It's understanding that when he has to make sacrifices for a greater goal, choosing to stand by his side and become his strongest backing."
"Wait until one day, when he no longer needs to use marriage to trade for status, no longer needs to look at anyone's face..."
Sansa's voice lowered.
But in her blue eyes, a bright and persistent flame ignited.
"By then, he will have the qualification and ability to choose the woman he truly wants."
"So, what you need to do is fully support him."
"That way, when he is glorious, he will remember your support when he was down."
"Instead of pestering him unreasonably like you are now."
"Do you understand, Arya?"
Arya looked at her sister, at her face slightly flushed with excitement.
She suddenly felt she had never truly known Sansa.
She was no longer the silly girl who only knew love songs and lemon cakes.
The wind and frost of King's Landing had quietly grown her into a rose with thorns where no one noticed.
"I... I understand."
Arya lowered her head, whispering.
The unwillingness and awkwardness in her heart seemed so childish and ridiculous in front of Sansa's words.
She was indeed... too willful.
Whether it was Myrcella before or Sansa now.
She felt bad seeing other women get close to Lynn.
It felt like someone was carving her heart with a knife!
It was 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 sincerely to Sansa for the first time.
Sansa smiled.
That smile was like sunshine after rain, warm and bright.
She pulled Arya back to sit on the bed.
The sisters leaned their heads together, as if back in Winterfell.
"So, what we need to do now is quietly support him."
Sansa's voice carried a hint of slyness.
"For example, help him keep an eye on that woman named Liana, don't let her cause trouble for Lord Lynn."
"Of course, there are other things you can do to help Lord Lynn."
Then... what can help him?
Arya's little brain spun rapidly.
For the first time, she racked her brains for such a "major" political issue.
Watching her sister's cute, thoughtful appearance, a weird arc curled the corner of Sansa's mouth unnoticed.
---
Seven days passed in a flash in the boiling pot of oil that was King's Landing.
In these seven days, the entire city fell into a morbid frenzy.
From the taverns of Flea Bottom to the banquet halls of the Red Keep, everyone was discussing the upcoming duel.
The Mountain vs. The Hound!
This wasn't just a trial determining the life or death of "Littlefinger" Petyr Baelish.
It was the settlement of a blood feud accumulated over twenty years.
It was a fratricide watched by all of Westeros!
The casinos offered astonishing odds, with the vast majority betting on the Mountain to win.
After all, Ser Gregor Clegane's demon-like body and brutal record were deeply rooted in people's hearts.
And Sandor Clegane, though a fierce warrior, always seemed dim in front of his monster brother.
On the day of the duel, the sky was gloomy, threatening rain.
Torches and braziers were planted all around the tourney grounds outside the Red Keep, illuminating the surroundings red.
It was already a sea of people.
Even the city walls were packed with commoners wanting to catch a glimpse!
On the high platform, the most powerful people in Westeros were all present.
King Robert wore a golden doublet, but it couldn't hide his increasingly bloated figure and the impatience on his face.
Queen Cersei sat by his side, expressionless, no emotion visible in her green eyes.
Prince Joffrey was also allowed to watch.
He sat beside his mother, face still pale, but his eyes were locked on the entrance of the grounds, seemingly looking for something.
Ned Stark and his two daughters sat on the other side, looking solemn.
The Tyrell grandmother and granddaughter from Highgarden looked relaxed, as if watching an interesting play.
As for Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish looked confident of victory.
Lynn sat beside Ned, calmly drinking sour wine.
His gaze swept the venue, taking in everyone's expressions.
Everything was proceeding according to his script.
As a dull horn sounded, the iron gates at both ends of the tourney grounds were slowly pulled open.
Thud, thud, thud...
Heavy footsteps came from one side.
A giant supporting the sky and earth appeared in everyone's sight.
Gregor Clegane!
He wore heavy black steel armor.
There were no decorations on the armor, only the family crest, mottled bloodstains, and terrifying scratches.
Gregor held a two-handed greatsword almost half a person's height!
The blade was broad, reflecting a heart-palpitating cold light under the gloomy sky.
With every step he took, the entire tourney ground seemed to tremble slightly.
The murderous aura emanating from him seemed to drop the temperature of the entire venue by several degrees.
Unparalleled oppression.
The noise in the stands vanished instantly.
Everyone was awed by the aura of this humanoid beast.
At the other end of the grounds, a relatively "small" figure walked out slowly.
Sandor Clegane.
He wasn't wearing his signature dog helm, revealing the half of his face burned hideously by fire.
He also wore black armor, holding an ordinary knight's longsword.
He just stood there calmly.
But in those grey eyes, the fire of hatred capable of burning everything was blazing.
The brothers faced each other from a distance.
On the high platform, the High Septon stepped forward.
In his long, tedious voice, he read the procedure of the trial.
"...In the name of the Seven, by the warrior's soul, judge good and evil, decide life and death!"
"Let the duel begin!"
The moment the words fell!
"ROAR——!!!"
The Mountain let out a roar not like a human, but a beast.
His massive body charged out violently with a speed completely inconsistent with his size!
He raised the greatsword high and slashed viciously at Sandor's head!
That strike carried a howl that tore the air, as if to split the ground in two!
Everyone's heart was in their throat at this moment!