At this moment, King's Landing was desolate, filthy, cold, and gloomy—crammed with refugees, lacking any distinctive scenery or cuisine. When Dany left the Great Sept, it was already near dusk. She even rejected Barristan's suggestion to try some "hometown food"—who knew where that meat came from?
The two simply bought three large lemon-flavored loaves of white bread and a few fur coats from a roadside stall and left.
They didn't return the way they came. The northwest district was too chaotic, and Barristan worried that mobs might rob them—this wasn't paranoia. News of Dany handing over a sack of gold dragons to Strick must've spread. How many people were combing the streets for her?
Even though Dany chose to exit through the Gods' Gate to the northeast, even though they didn't delay a moment, after traveling three kilometers beyond the gate, night had fully fallen. The surroundings were desolate, and five riders in chainmail on scrawny horses suddenly surrounded them.
There was no need for Drogon or Rhaegal to act. Barristan took on three of them; Dany dealt with the remaining two. The five bandits only had time to fire a single volley of crossbow bolts—which clanged harmlessly off their armor and did nothing.
What followed was like slicing melons—necks chopped through, heads cleaved in two. The bandits attacking Dany died miserably on the spot.
The White Knight wiped the blood from his blade with a dead man's woolen sweater, his expression complex as he said, "They are the producers and source of the 'pork' in that brown stew. If there are no wolves nearby, by tomorrow someone will drag their corpses to Flea Bottom."
Dany frowned in deep thought. By her previous logic, she didn't care whether the Westerosi lived or died. She was content to farm in Slaver's Bay. She even had a valid excuse not to interfere in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms or the advance of the White Walkers—she was under siege by the allied forces!
—That was also why she deliberately delayed uniting the Dothraki.
With four dragons and the four to five thousand screamers she had gained from freeing slaves, Dany was confident she could unite the Dothraki within half a year.
And the best defense was a strong offense. She'd leave the Mother of Dragons Guard in Slaver's Bay and lead one hundred thousand screamers westward on a grand campaign. Qohor, Volantis, Myr, Norvos—even Braavos, with its powerful navy and mercenary-reliant army—none of them would stand a chance.
But what then, after she conquered all the Free Cities within two years?
She would have to deal with the retaliation and sabotage of the old ruling classes. She'd have to feed the Essosi, who weren't accustomed to storing grain for winter. She'd also be responsible for resisting the White Walkers—so busy and exhausted that, in the end, a dagger might be slipped into her back.
To deal with the weak yet cunning old Ghis nobles, she had already summoned a "lai maester." The ruling elites of the Free Cities were far more skilled in political maneuvering—how would she handle them? Even if a real lai maester arrived, it would be too much.
The old nobility was one problem. Even more terrifying was the entrenched Essosi way of life—southern city-states like Volantis, Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr rarely stored food for winter.
Looking at a map of the world of Ice and Fire, Braavos—the northernmost Free City—was barely at the same latitude as the Vale of Arryn in Westeros.
What did that mean?
The continent of Essos fell under subtropical, tropical, and equatorial climate zones. Most city-states lay within the tropical and equatorial regions, where many people had never seen snow, and winters brought no snowfall.
Just like how Garland Tyrell didn't understand why Garth was sending peasant soldiers home to harvest crops—after all, the Reach also bordered tropical and equatorial zones. It had a hot climate, short winters, and even in winter, there was enough sunlight to grow a batch of wheat.
Under normal circumstances, the Reach didn't store grain—if there were no grain exports, only a few of the poorest would starve in winter. The North, on the other hand, was the opposite—even if grain was stockpiled before summer's end, many would still starve in the winter, and raiding the Riverlands for food was routine.
Dany knew the Long Night was coming. She also knew that the Free Cities had very little grain stored. Most of their population would starve during the Long Night. If she rushed to conquer the western continent before then, she'd be a fool.
"Hold the position, bear the responsibility; don't hold it, don't bear it."
This saying could be interpreted as: if you hold the throne, you take the blame; if you don't, you don't.
If she conquered the Free Cities and became queen, then she had to take responsibility for the people under her rule. When food ran short and people starved, it would be the king they cursed. Some might even believe the Dragon Queen's cruelty brought about the Long Night.
On the other hand, if Dany stayed obediently in Slaver's Bay, waited for the allied forces to attack, and then the Long Night arrived, the people would instead curse the alliance's leaders for their unjust war—blaming them for provoking the heavens and causing the Long Night as divine punishment.
Then, at the end of the Long Night (after defeating the Night King), if Dany sent over whatever grain she had from Slaver's Bay to aid the survivors, she would become the prophesied savior of the world—the merciful and compassionate Goddess of Mercy.
The people of the world would remember her kindness. The liberation of the slaves would be seen as an act in accordance with heaven's will. House Targaryen would be recognized as the rightful dynasty.
Dany wasn't a fool. Naturally, she would choose the path most beneficial to herself.
But after personally seeing dozens of children in King's Landing pitifully gathered around a pot of brown stew, drooling with hunger, something stirred in her heart. The Long Night hadn't even begun, and already such tragedy was unfolding.
Once the Long Night came, how many cities like King's Landing would suffer? How many children would starve without even a drop of brown stew?
When the countless starved and frozen dead were no longer just cold statistics, but men, women, elders, youth, and children right in front of you—then glory and conquest no longer seemed so important.
Dany couldn't do much, but she decided she would try her best.
Maester Pylos was left by Dany on a small reef in Blackwater Bay, no more than 40 or 50 square meters in size. By the time the two dragons found that charred island, the night tide had already flooded half of it. The old maester huddled in a crevice, shivering, his lips purple from the cold.
Yes, he was still wearing that gray cotton robe from Oldtown.
"Heh, now you're truly feeling winter coming, aren't you?" Dany tossed him a sheepskin coat and remarked, "The Citadel should never have been placed in the southernmost tip of Westeros. Oldtown's environment is just too comfortable—so comfortable that you maesters have no sense of crisis or urgency. All you do is overthink everything all day."
"Most people in the country can't even get enough to eat, and you're all worrying about something as illusory as the 'real world.'"
"I've made up my mind," she stood up and announced to the old man, who was hastily putting on a sheepskin coat, "Once I ascend the throne, the Citadel must be relocated to the North."
The old maester had been devouring white bread, but upon hearing this, he froze mid-bite, crumbs still in his mouth, and asked in confusion, "Relocate to where?"
"The Wall, or Bear Island?"
Mormont would definitely be happy to see the Citadel move to Bear Island. A large number of maesters could rapidly boost Bear Island's economy, and the Lord of Bear Island would no longer have to worry about affording his demanding wife!
They didn't stay long on Ash Island—it was too small, too windy, and not suitable for an overnight stay. They flew another half hour north and landed in a grove of ginkgo trees. While the White Knight set up a tent for Dany, Big Black and Little White fetched two cows from a nearby castle.
Only Dany had a small three-square-meter tent to herself. The old knight and Barristan wrapped themselves in thick cloaks and fur capes by the campfire for the night.
Warming himself by the fire, the old maester said with a complicated expression, "Having dragons really is convenient—traveling a thousand miles in a day, coming and going freely."
"So you ordinary folks are just jealous?"
Dany sat cross-legged inside her tent, with the flap facing the fire, warm and cozy.
"Perhaps," the old man surprisingly didn't deny it. "But aside from fueling Targaryen arrogance and cruelty, dragons bring no real benefit to ruling the realm."
"Save that opinion for when you get to the Wall." Dany pulled the flap shut, then said to the White Knight who was slicing meat, "Let me check where Jano is."
"Jano? Who's that? What does she mean?" the old maester asked curiously.
"A knight-in-training, currently en route to Braavos. Her Grace is going to contact him through the glass candle."
"Glass candle... for long-distance communication?" The red-nosed old man widened his eyes in disbelief. "She knows sorcery?"
The White Knight paused—had this old man not noticed the spirit projection last night?
Now he looked a bit awkward and mumbled, "Her Grace has inherited part of Valyrian sorcery."
As he spoke, faint streaks of gray light suddenly flickered inside the tent and then quickly dimmed. About five minutes later, the flap opened, and Dany was greeted by two pairs of inquisitive eyes.
"Where is he now?"
"You actually lit the glass candle?"
Both men spoke at once, asking two different questions.
Dany merely cast a glance at the old maester and answered the White Knight, "Still drifting across the Narrow Sea. If nothing goes wrong, he should reach Braavos in about half a month."
Besides Darkstar, Dany also saw two Faceless Men—one of them the one-eyed woman. And Jaqen... well, it was embarrassing. Jaqen was cleaning the "magic jar," occasionally kissing and caressing it, murmuring, "Mother, your son is devoted."
Cold, mysterious, handsome—the most elite of the Faceless Men in Game of Thrones—was now utterly humiliated. Duped and degraded. Absolutely pathetic.
"What about Oldtown?" the White Knight asked again.
"Oldtown?"
"The Supernatural Assembly," the old knight reminded her.
"Ah, right. Today's the third day—I nearly forgot if you hadn't said anything." Dany chuckled awkwardly, then pulled the flap shut again. The glass candle lit up once more.
She had thought that with the distance increased to over two thousand kilometers, finding Marwyn's candle might be difficult. But within just three seconds, she encountered a familiar signal in the void.
Had he been waiting for her all this time?
Her spiritual energy extended, sorcery draining rapidly—it was at least ten times harder than before.
"Ah, Archmage, I finally reached you." Marwyn wiped sweat from his forehead, looking weary.
"This isn't the Citadel?" Dany looked around. It was a spacious, circular hall, over 400 square meters. Redwood floors, bookshelves lining the walls, the books neatly arranged. Clean and tidy.
Aside from Marwyn and Laresa, there was an elderly man with a long silver-white beard, and a middle-aged woman in white robes with black-framed glasses.
"Archmage, I am Leyton Hightower of Oldtown," the old man introduced himself, then gestured to the woman who was curiously observing the silver-gray light. "This is my eldest daughter, Moroya."
"Heh, Lord Leyton, do you know who I am?" Dany asked with a strange smile.
The old man let out a long sigh, then suddenly fell to his knees with a thud, wailing, "Your Grace Daenerys, the attempt to assassinate you had nothing to do with me or House Hightower!"
(End of Chapter)
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