Lord Yorks was again stumped by the question. He looked at the smile on Arthur's face, the sunlight shining on his young face, making his black eyes appear particularly deep.
He had a headache about why this young man kept asking such tricky and difficult-to-answer questions.
The old man laughed, shaking his head: "There are no so many 'what ifs,' young man."
"We once thought you would die in bed, but by the grace of the Seven Gods, you survived. Are we now to discuss your death back then?"
He patted Arthur's arm, and the two continued to walk forward, the old man's voice becoming low: "Lord Balon is a kind and generous person, even considered 'weak and incompetent' by outsiders."
"Precisely because of this, everyone bullies him, looks down on him, even including the vassals he himself enfeoffed."
"Young man, you really should thank Lord Balon. I have never seen him so resolute, even having a big argument with the vassals who accused you in Seaguard, ending unhappily."
"And you did not disappoint him."
"You reclaimed his rights, defended his authority, and did not waste his steadfast efforts in shielding you from all pressure."
Lord Yorks stopped, looking at Arthur solemnly.
"Your father, your elder brother, they were all loyal to Daedings Family. Their tragedy was absolutely not what Lord Balon wanted to see. While you were unconscious, Lord Balon personally went to the Sept to pray for you. This is something all soldiers on the front line know."
"You are a vassal of Daedings Family, the last person of the family. He did not want you to take any more risks. When he learned that Lady Roslyn had privately sent you to fight the wildlings, he was furious."
"So, when you returned victorious, he was genuinely happy for you."
Lord Yorks gently patted Arthur's shoulder: "Lord Balon asked me to tell you."
"Daedings Family will always be your strong backing."
The old man said no more, turning and slowly departing with his attendants.
Arthur stood still. What the old man said could be false, or true, perhaps just an attempt to win him over, as he had never met Balon Dading. However, in his memory, his father had always told him that Balon Dading was a very good person, but definitely not an excellent lord.
However, one can never judge a person based on their words or the words of others; ultimately, one must know them through their actions.
But in his view, if others are willing to help, it's a kindness; if they're not, it's their prerogative. All decisions were his own, so there was nothing to blame, as long as no one stabbed him in the back.
His own negotiations were settled; the rest was a matter for Daedings Family and the Legge Family, so leaving was fine.
Under Arthur's command, the army began to withdraw. Soldiers moved batches of supplies onto wagons. Arthur watched Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, stroll around the camp with his hands behind his back. If he didn't know it was his own camp, he would truly think he was the outsider.
That old man was like an old wolf inspecting his territory, his gaze finally resting on the several covered wagons loaded with winch-operated heavy crossbows.
He circled the wagons twice, then casually reached out to lift a corner of the tarpaulin, wanting to touch the cold, gleaming metal parts of the crossbow mechanism.
A hand suddenly reached out from the side and gently pressed down on his wrist.
Arthur's voice was smiling: "Lord Blackfish! This is not for giving away!"
Brynden Tully's hand froze in mid-air, a hint of awkwardness on his face.
He cleared his throat twice, withdrawing his hand: "This thing of yours is very good, too bad I don't have one."
Arthur smiled, not replying. What an old man with no sense of boundaries.
The Blackfish suddenly spoke, his voice very low: "If you need help with territorial disputes with the lords of the Vale, I can help you negotiate."
"Unlike an internal family issue, the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands are allies, and will always be allies."
Brynden Tully's eyes suddenly turned stern.
"So don't expect, or even consider, solving problems with force."
Arthur stopped, thoughtfully. So, this old man was here to warn him.
He spread his hands innocently: "Ser, I don't like war, I don't like fighting, I don't like disputes."
The Blackfish stared at him suspiciously for a long time before snorting from his nose.
Arthur looked at him with some curiosity: "Lord Blackfish, why do you want to help me?"
Brynden Tully turned his head and looked at the distant river: "Because I think you are very much like me. Neither of us fits in very well, and neither of us cares much for those damned rules."
Arthur also smiled. He gently shook his head: "We are not the same, Lord Blackfish."
The Blackfish heard this and turned back with interest: "Oh? How are we different?"
Arthur's gaze was clear and candid: "You call yourself the Blackfish, but deep down, you are still a Trout."
"No different from your brother, Lord Hoster."
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
The smile on the Blackfish's face slowly disappeared. His expression became serious, and his eyes deepened: "You must be careful, young man."
"Your luck won't always be this good."
"Those who play with swords will ultimately be wounded by swords."
Arthur smiled: "You see, this is where you and I are different."
He pointed at Brynden Tully, then pointed at himself.
"You are a Trout, I am a Lion."
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