Chapter 397: The Awakening of an Assassin's Soul (Part 2)
Having witnessed the Mad King's daughter descend from the heavens into the center of Queenscrown's largest clearing, enter the castle accompanied by Egger, and finally be courteously escorted into that tower on the island, Arya was truly beginning to panic.
Ever since she was a little girl with a head full of knightly dreams who understood nothing of the world, her Master had been her idol. Back then in King's Landing, while her father—as Robert Baratheon's Hand—was busy cleaning up the drunken King's various messes and had no time for her, it was Egger who filled her dull days. To her eyes, the world of the Lord Commander (then Chief Logistics Officer), a man so tall she had to stand on her tiptoes and crane her neck just to reach him, was impossibly brilliant and colorful.
Bonds, industries, low-buy-high-sell schemes, businesses, or advanced new armies and weapons—she had no interest in any of it and understood it even less. The only thing Arya remembered was that by following her Master, she visited corners of King's Landing both inside and out that she otherwise never would have seen, met countless people beyond her reach, and spent innumerable hours of joy.
Those were the happiest days of her life.
In her eyes back then, her Master was the world's most romantic adventurer, the bravest slayer of Others, the most capable Night's Watch officer, the most patient and seasoned fencing teacher, and the most inventive and caring playmate.
Admittedly, as she grew up, her awakening reason made her realize that her impressions of him were largely subjective illusions processed by her naive, simple girl-brain. Her Master wasn't actually a peerless swordsman, nor an omnipotent mastermind with infinite energy and time. He was simply an adult who was smarter, kinder, more empathetic, and—of course—a bit more handsome than average.
But the intimate bond between them was already forged. Instead of his image fading, his status only climbed higher following a series of major events.
During the turmoil when the Iron Throne changed hands, she had been separated from her family due to a foolish adventure, stumbling headlong into the bloody and terrifying world of adults. At that dangerous precipice, her Master—who should have remained strictly neutral—unhesitatingly abandoned his position for her. He left the capital where he could have lived comfortably, masked his identity with ice-thin caution, and personally brought her back to a safe, warm home. Not only that, when the Ironborn invaded and the North became a treacherous land where one could hardly step outside, it was her Master who led the Gift's army like gods sent from heaven to drive out the raiders, bring back Robb and his army, and restore the North to the place she loved and recognized.
He surely did this for various strategic reasons, but Arya didn't want to think about that; she chose to believe he did it all for her. By then, his image had undergone a magnificent transformation: he was no longer just a close friend, but her grandest and most powerful protector, a pillar of security for the North. He effectively filled the massive void left by her father's murder, preventing her from sinking into permanent gloom or insecurity.
But beyond that, there were more... private things, not meant for others to know.
On the journey north from King's Landing, nearly home, the twelve-year-old Arya had experienced the awkwardness of her first flowering among a group of rough men. On that night—psychologically ashamed and bewildered, physically aching in agony—it was her Master who enveloped her in his broad chest and arms. He held her in that small, warm bedroll, talking to her, comforting her, and staying by her side until she slept. It was on that night, amidst the psychological closeness and physical comfort, that something ancient within her feminine physiology began to stir: the awakening of her sexual consciousness.
For the first time, she realized the difference between men and women. Her tall, strong Master felt as towering as a mountain, his steady body heat like the perfect hearth created by the gods, and the strange, non-perfumed scent he carried was unexpectedly pleasant. Tucked into his embrace, she felt warm and dizzy, much like the first time she'd snuck a large cup of Arbor Gold as a child, wishing she could simply melt away in his arms.
Looking back now, she realized that to her Master, a girl going through her first period was likely far from cute—it was probably a terrifying, awkward experience that he might not even remember fondly, or remember at all. But for Arya, it was an indelible memory from the most critical stage of her transition from childhood to young womanhood.
From that moment on, her feelings for Egger—initially pure admiration, worship, and closeness—began to mix with a trace of like. That complex, woman-to-man sentiment always accompanied by the strange pull of hormones.
She didn't believe a man as smart as her Master couldn't sense her strong affection. But Arya also understood that for him, the like of a twelve or thirteen-year-old girl—especially a Lady Stark—was not a blessing, but a thorny problem. He likely didn't want to respond, and thus had to act as if he were completely oblivious.
Arya understood even more that her Master had his own circles, his own career, and his own world; he couldn't always put her first. Her desperate attempts to be his little tag-along, to chase after and squeeze into his adult world, were often futile and meaningless. From another perspective, her Master was a grown man; he surely preferred women like Nina, Melisandre, or even Asha Greyjoy—women who were more mature, sexier, and most importantly, women he could actually be with without consequence.
In his eyes, she was likely just a flighty brat, a little nuisance, a troublemaker to be humored. He couldn't possibly have other thoughts.
Yet, she felt neither sad nor anxious about this: because her Master was a man of the Night's Watch. He couldn't marry, and he couldn't leave the Gift. She never had to worry that some woman would suddenly jump out and steal him away for good.
He was with Nina only because she was smart and capable—a useful subordinate. He was close to Melisandre only because he was being fooled by her religious nonsense or wanted to use her influence over the followers of R'hllor. Asha... she did have very long legs, but her Master wasn't that shallow; sure enough, he ignored her. As for Myrcella, she was indeed beautiful and sweet, and while Arya was annoyed by how the girl constantly clung to him lately, she understood: her insecure friend was just seeking the peace of mind found under a strong man's wing. Her Master's kindness to Myrcella was likely far more pity than love.
Only for her, his only apprentice, was his affection unclouded—or at least mostly free of ulterior motives.
She was special to him. The only one!
Though she couldn't say exactly why she was special, the thought gave her immense confidence.
If she waited patiently, grew up, and reached that point of mature bloom where he would realize this is a woman, not a girl, she was certain she could gain his singular attention and favor.
People often said she looked like her aunt Lyanna, a beauty so great she seduced the Mad King's son into committing acts of madness! If she stopped playing around all day and used her spare time to learn from Myrcella how to dress, how to behave properly, and how not to be annoying... she would surely be charming. Indeed, having only just begun to practice these things, the greedy stares and clumsy behavior of the Mountain Clan and Wildling boys at the Queenscrown school proved that it worked!
She gained more confidence from this: she might not be a great beauty, but she was definitely not ordinary. She had already grown tall enough to reach her Master's shoulder on tiptoes; in another year or two, she would surely possess enough charm to attract him. There might be many women in the world more beautiful than her, but none could be his second apprentice—not to mention she was a true Lady Stark and one of the best female sword-fighters in the Seven Kingdoms. She knew from eavesdropping on the guards' bragging that status, title, and skill always made a woman more attractive to a man!
The sense of achievement in conquering a Lady Stark with the blood of the wolf would surely be attractive to him, wouldn't it? Hehe... isn't that just what men like?
On the surface, she played the innocent girl who understood nothing, but in the secret, wild daydreams of the night, she frequently added this scenario, gloating over it and using it to bolster her resolve.
She hadn't been worried at all—not before.
But now, having personally watched Daenerys descend from the clouds on a dragon in the middle of the archery tournament, enter the castle with him, and be invited into that tower on the lake with such courtesy, Arya was truly panicking.
Why was her Master being so polite to the Mad King's daughter?
So what if she called herself Queen, was the last Targaryen, had an army and three dragons, held a long list of titles, and was so peerlessly beautiful she made even other women's hearts skip?
So what... so what... Despite her thoughts, Arya found with a sinking heart that Daenerys's attributes could not be dismissed with a simple so what. If the Dragon Queen defeated King Stannis and reclaimed the Iron Throne, she would, legally speaking, even have the power to pardon the Night's Watch, allowing her Master to take off his black clothes and become a free man.
Daenerys possessed the capital to tempt any man on earth—whether he liked women or not!
This was a rival she could never compete with, no matter how long she waited, how much she grew, or how she improved herself. For the first time in her life, Arya felt jealousy—a jealousy so strong it bordered on despair and hatred!
After fuming in a rage for a long time, Arya suddenly snapped out of it: Wait, why was she jealous? The issue wasn't the Dragon Queen's qualities at all. If she remembered correctly, wasn't the woman currently at war with King Stannis in the South to decide the fate of King's Landing and the Iron Throne?
Since the North supported King Stannis, wasn't she—as a Stark—in a state of war with this last Targaryen? Her Master was a close ally of the North, so wasn't the Dragon Queen his enemy too? Furthermore, hadn't her grandfather and uncle been tortured to death by the Mad King?
There was a blood feud between them. How could she have been so stupid as to treat her as a mere romantic rival? It was ridiculous!
In that instant, Arya felt that her training, the Needle Jon had given her, her mother's sudden grace in allowing her to come to Queenscrown... all of it was for a reason. Her Master was making a mistake, and she now had a way to help him correct it!
She had fantasized about being a knight since she was little, but since that was impossible, she would be an assassin—an assassin who specialized in killing bad people!
She should go kill the Mad King's daughter. It was for the peace and stability of the Seven Kingdoms, for the safety and happiness of all the residents of Westeros, and to avenge the blood of House Stark—it definitely wasn't because of jealousy!
Arya felt the Assassin's Soul sleeping deep within her awaken, a blazing killing intent flaring up. She immediately turned and went back to her room, finding the small thrusting sword that had never truly been used since it was forged—Needle.
Today, this little sword would drink blood for the first time: the blood of a Queen!
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