The capital, King's Landing.
Yoren, the senior wandering crow of the Night's Watch, had come south from the Wall and was now walking through the streets with Arya Stark. Notices calling for the arrest of Arya Stark were plastered all over King's Landing, and the city guards were actively searching for her.
Yet the two of them strolled openly through the streets and alleys as if nothing were wrong.
They weren't afraid of being recognized—because Yoren had already taken a dagger and hacked off Arya's tangled hair.
Arya still remembered that moment: as the breeze stirred, clumps of filthy brown hair scattered across the stone pavement, drifting toward the Great Sept where her father had been killed.
"I only take men and boys," Yoren said as he walked, speaking to Arya, whose head was now left with only a small, ragged patch of hair.
He planned to take her into the Night's Watch recruitment group. On the way to the Wall, they would pass by Winterfell.
Uncle Yoren said gravely, "It's easy enough to get out of the city, but once we're on the road, anything can happen. You've got a long way to go, and the people traveling with you aren't good sorts. I've rounded up thirty this time—old and young alike, all bound for the Wall. Most of them are grown criminals: thieves, poachers, rapers, the lot. They're not like your bastard brother, Jon Snow, with that kind of conscience."
"If you're discovered, half of them wouldn't hesitate to hand you over to the queen for a pardon and a few copper coins. The other half would do the same. Don't drink too much water—pissing's the biggest hassle. If you need to go, go off into the woods by yourself."
However, Yoren got one thing wrong. Relieving oneself wasn't the biggest trouble.
The biggest trouble was Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie.
Both were orphans. Yoren had rounded up quite a few street orphans, promising them that joining the Night's Watch would mean full bellies and shoes to wear.
At the gathering place for the recruits—
The chubby Hot Pie took a liking to Arya's Needle.
Needle was a Braavosi-style steel short sword Jon Snow had given Arya as a farewell gift before leaving to join the Night's Watch. Arya had even trained with it for a time under Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos.
Hot Pie shoved Arya to the ground. As she stared at the shouting fat boy, she thought coldly to herself:
Just wait. I'll see how you die.
Finally, her chance came. She grabbed the hand Hot Pie was using to snatch the sword, drew Needle, and pointed it straight at him.
"I've already killed one fat boy," she said. "Want to try your luck?"
Hot Pie fled in terror.
Fishing Village Port.
The newly appointed house steward, Dany, arrived in the backyard of the lord's manor.
Lynn was directing servants to carry bedding and mosquito nets out of the bedroom to be aired.
Westeros was still in the midst of a long summer. Even though Fishing Village Port lay in the North, a land that always seemed cold, the daytime sun could still be blazing hot.
Woolen bedding contained keratin, making it an ideal breeding ground for moth larvae—especially in coastal towns. Over time, quilts would grow damp, moldy, and foul-smelling.
That was why they needed to be aired frequently, to remove moisture and bacteria.
"My lord,"Dany bowed respectfully. "You sent for me?"
Lynn was instructing two servants to thread the bedding over a wooden pole and hang it on the drying rack. He turned and saw Dany standing at the doorway.
He nodded and explained why he had called her.
"The craftsmen we recruited don't have work for now anyway. Since they're idle, send some of them to the Cavalry Regiment camp to build a few temporary infirmaries and women soldiers' tents."
"Understood," Dany bowed. "No problem, my lord."
Lynn suddenly realized the plump servant woman in front of him had misunderstood his instructions—she was actually about to poke holes straight through the bedding with the pole.
"Put that pole down. I'll do it," he quickly stopped her.
Airing bedding was skilled work.
After personally finishing up with the quilts, Lynn turned around—only to find Dany still standing there, not having left.
"What is it?" Lynn asked. "Anything else?"
Dany nodded. "My lord, starting from today, the food reserves in the lord's manor will only be enough to feed everyone for eight days."
Lynn froze for a moment—and his scalp instantly went numb.
What kind of joke is this?No food meant death!
What was worse, the troop expansion system had already sent word that the Three Sisters had been occupied. He was preparing to expand recruitment. Without food, how was he supposed to support all those craftsmen?
"This is real trouble."
Lynn frowned, fully realizing how serious the situation was.
At any time, in any world, food was always the most critical issue.
His territory consisted almost entirely of fishermen. There were no farming peasants—an inherent disadvantage.
Nearby grain-producing regions were almost all concentrated in the Riverlands or the Trident basin. And right now, those areas were embroiled in the raging war between north and south.
The peasants there had probably already been displaced by the fighting.
He estimated that food shortages over the next few years would be the real crisis.
I absolutely have to find a solution.
Lynn calculated silently.
Reducing rations could buy time, but it wouldn't solve the root problem—and it would also hinder the commercial plans he had laid out.
"Let's go check the storeroom."
With no immediate answer, Lynn decided to see the situation for himself. He didn't have enough funds on hand; otherwise, he could have sent ships to White Harbor to buy supplies.
As he walked, Lynn pondered deeply. Dany and the guard captain Hood followed close behind.
They arrived at the kitchen basement of the manor—the only food storage area in the residence. About fifty square meters in size, it was lined with shelves holding bread, dried meat, salted fish, and round cabbages.
In the corner were several sealed barrels of ale and a few sacks of wheat flour.
The air was thick with the smell of food.
"That's all?"Lynn's expression darkened. Judging by this, Dany's estimate of eight days was already generous. For an adult eating three meals a day, this wouldn't even last five or six days.
"Yes, my lord," Dany replied. "That's everything. I had it inventoried—about four hundred portions of bread, two hundred and fifty portions of dried meat, and three hundred cabbages. The ale and flour are just what you see in the corner."
"Don't we usually buy a month's worth of supplies from traveling merchants?" Lynn asked. "And the Fishing Village market has fresh fish and sandy-soil vegetables every day."
Dany said helplessly, "I heard that recently, merchants have only been bringing smoked meat, sausages, and small amounts of salt, sugar, and spices. There hasn't been much real grain."
Lynn was startled at first—then his eyes narrowed."Was it bought up by Robb's army?"
Wars consumed vast amounts of food. Robb Stark's Northern army would definitely be buying up what little grain the North had.
"I heard it wasn't House Stark," Dany said. "Since the North allied with House Frey, grain from the Riverlands has been sufficient to supply the front lines."
"Oh?" Lynn frowned. "Then which great house is it?"
He was puzzled.
Guard Captain Hood spoke up, "It might be the ironborn. Yesterday, several Iron Islands merchant ships passed by Fishing Village Port. They were even buying grain in the eastern North."
Dany's small face filled with shock.
The Iron Islands lay in the west of Westeros. If their merchant ships were buying grain in the east and passing through Fishing Village Port, that meant they were heading to Widow's Watch. And even if they managed to buy grain, they couldn't sail directly back to the Iron Islands—they would have to ship it to the Neck, transport it over land, then send it by sea again.
Such a long, roundabout supply route was completely unexpected.
Dany was certain this would surprise everyone.
Lynn's brows knitted tightly. He was just as confused.
East of the North lay the lands of House Flint. Widow's Watch was their seat, located at the easternmost edge of the Northern Kingdom, right along the coast of the Narrow Sea.
Widow's Watch was said to have very fertile land.
After a long pause, Lynn let out a slow breath and muttered,"The Iron Islands are starting to stir. The North is about to become dangerous from within."
Dany didn't quite understand. "My lord, what did you say?"
Lynn didn't answer. He was deep in thought.
The Neck wasn't a battlefield right now. At this time, Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, should be gathering Northern forces there.
And at the same time, the ironborn were transporting grain from far away in the east, through the Neck, back to the Iron Islands.
If there wasn't something fishy going on, only a ghost would believe it.
Lynn remembered clearly: in A Song of Ice and Fire, Roose Bolton—known as the Leech Lord—had once been one of Robb Stark's most trusted commanders. Yet at the Red Wedding, it was Roose Bolton who personally drove a dagger into Robb's heart.
Before that, the ironborn rebelled. They raided the North, capturing Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, and Moat Cailin, and even sacked Winterfell, the Stark ancestral seat.
That left Robb's army trapped between enemies on both sides—and pushed him, in his grief, into accepting comfort from Jeyne Westerling, breaking his marriage pact with House Frey.
Which ultimately led to the Red Wedding.
Was all of this a grand game laid out far in advance?
If he weren't the lord of Fishing Village Port, would he even have noticed these signs?
The more Lynn thought about it, the more unsettled he became—so much so that he nearly stunned himself with his own conclusions.
Truly terrifying when you think it through. The ancients were right—there are some things better left unexamined.
...
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(End Chapter)