iron throne of ice and fire

Chapter 642 Each Person's Desire 2
Since serving Green, Sir Brienne has been his personal bodyguard, so you could say... she knows far too much.

Her thick lips moved slightly: "I...I think Lady Melisandre will resolve this issue for His Majesty soon."

Green's gaze was fixed on the unfolded parchment map, his eyes slowly sweeping over the Wall: "Hmm, it will take some more time."

After saying that, he picked up Florence's secret letter again.

Sir Yasser's letter was written in a humble tone. He first blamed the Florentine family's actions on Stannis's deception and blackmail, and his words were full of remorse.

Then, they expressed their willingness to submit to Green.

To show his sincerity, he frankly admitted that Stannis's only heir—Shireen Baratheon—was already under Florence's "protection."

He also stated that Florence's one thousand heavily armored cavalrymen would be at the king's disposal.

then.

As an ancient family in the Reach, Florent's only desire was to return to their ancestral homeland—Brightwater—and become the king's most obedient servant.

As he put down the letter, the sound of Green's fingers tapping on the armrest was particularly clear in the quiet study.

The letter made no mention of Stannis's wife, Serena Florence, the niece of Sir Axel.

Without Melisandre, Stannis's so-called "Herrscher Party" became a pipe dream, and Seris had lost her value.

As for Shirin...

After a pause, Green pulled his slightly off-tracking thoughts back to consider the price Florentino was willing to pay for submission.

Green's conclusion was—it's a double-edged sword.

House Florent has long lost its former glory, and even if they return to Brightwater, they will be easily trampled underfoot by Tyrell.

Most importantly, such crude methods will affect the close relationship between Clyburn and Tyrell, and given the price Florent is offering now... it's not worth it.

The cautious King Green would naturally also consider the slight possibility that Florence was feigning surrender.

Seeing Green stand up, Sir Brienne, who had been standing like a stone statue to the side, looked over.

Green got up from his chair, gestured for her to sit down, and then placed the ink-stained quill into her palm.

Brienne took it with a puzzled look, and Green's voice came from above her head: "I'll tell you, you write it down."

"Yes."

Green began to pace, his boots clattering dully on the Mill rug: "Sir Florent, the Seven Kingdoms welcome all loyal subjects home, but, in view of the crimes you have committed..."

Brienne wrote quickly, her words landing on the parchment almost simultaneously with Green's voice.

Moreover, her handwriting is also very beautiful.

"...The most I can allow you to do is wear black clothes as part of your contribution."

Green put his hands behind his back, paused, and continued, "However, the Targaryen Clyber royal family has not forgotten Florence's past contributions. The just king of the Seven Kingdoms sincerely hopes that you can find your way home. May the gods bless the Florent family, who have gone astray."

As he spoke, Green threw Florence's secret letter into the brazier, and only after it had completely burned to ashes did he turn his head and ask, "Is it finished?"

Sir Brienne bent down to examine him and nodded solemnly.

"Thank you."

Green went straight to the chair by the fireplace and sat down: "The wolfhound who delivers the letter should be at the Hunter's Inn in the village outside Winterfell (near the gate) right now. Go there and deliver the letter to him in person."

Brienne deftly rolled up the letter and sealed it with blue wax: "Your Majesty, is there anything I need to instruct you on?"

Green stared at the flickering fire and shook his head slightly: "Give him a few golden dragons as a reward, and remember to keep it out of sight of others."

"As ordered."

The heavy sound of the door closing came, and Green stretched.

He lamented to himself that ever since he became regent of the seven kingdoms, he had lost the thrill of being on the front lines.

now.

He could only stay in the warm, comfortable, and heavily guarded "royal palace" and secretly operate remotely.

There was a tiny bit of... pain.

The royal army underwent nearly a month of cold-weather acclimatization training, and with the active assistance of Winterfell's physicians, the soldiers' condition has significantly improved.

Tips for keeping warm, marching rhythm, and weapon maintenance, all learned through trial and error in the bitter cold... Green personally led the royal knights to compile these valuable experiences, preparing for the arrival of the main army.

"Mother."

Arya's weak voice reached her ears, and Lady Caitlin, who was writing with her head down, paused slightly.

She raised her deep blue eyes, and her brows furrowed slightly at her daughter's sudden intrusion.

But she quickly revealed a gentle, motherly expression.

Arya had recently complained a lot about her mother's arrangement that only her older sister was allowed to travel, so she took the initiative to approach her today.

Arya rested her small chin on the edge of the table, her cheeks puffed out: "I'm so bored."

Lady Catelyn sighed inwardly, gracefully setting down her quill: "Miss Stark, is there anything I can do for you?"

Arya looked at her mother suspiciously with her big eyes: "Mrs. Stark, are you feeling guilty?"

Caitlin shrugged: "Yes, I think I must apologize for the hurt I caused you."

Arya paused, looking at her mother's sincere expression, her little face scrunched up: "I want to forgive you, but I'm worried... if I forgive you too easily this time, you'll still favor Sansa next time."

Catelyn's heart softened at the sight of the little wolf girl's awkward yet earnest expression, and a warm feeling of maternal love instantly flowed through her limbs: "There won't be a next time, I promise, my Miss Stark."

Arya nodded calmly, like a little adult: "Alright, I'll believe you this time, Mrs. Stark."

Then, her eyes darted around, and she leaned closer: "Oh, and you also have to promise you'll never let Sister Mordan punish me with a brush!"

Caitlin couldn't help but purse her lips to keep from letting her smile slip out.

She cleared her throat, deliberately adding a touch of seriousness to her expression: "I'm sorry, but I have to refuse. Sister Mordan's brush is my sword, just like the sword at your waist. Swordswoman Arya, would you so easily disarm yourself?"

Arya was stunned. Her mother's reasoning was so sound that she had no way to refute it.

She complained, "Mom, but your 'weapon' is too scary!"

Lady Catelyn smiled slightly at her daughter: "As long as you don't climb out of windows, don't frequently soil your clothes, maintain proper dining manners, and don't frequently miss Maester Luwin and Sister Mordan's classes... perhaps the 'terrifying weapon' you mentioned will be put away in a box forever. What do you think of my proposal, my Miss Stark?"

Arya clutched her head and twisted her body, crying out, "Mommy, please spare me! I don't want to be Sansa! I want to be a knight, a lord!"

"Perhaps the Duke of Winterfell can grant your wish."

Lady Caitlin shrugged and added, "It seems Sister Mordan's brush will continue to perform its duties."

"Humph!"

Arya turned and ran towards the door, but when she got there, she suddenly turned back, her little face full of stubbornness: "Mrs. Stark, my forgiveness just now doesn't count! I'll consider whether to forgive you again when I'm in a better mood!"

The door slammed shut, and Mrs. Caitlin smiled helplessly, wondering when her youngest daughter would learn to walk with a light and elegant ladylike gait.

She picked up the quill pen again, and just as the tip was about to touch the parchment, she paused, Arya's voice suddenly echoing in her mind.

"I want to be a knight, a lord"—Arya had said this countless times. Before, she had only thought it was a child's joke, but for some reason, it gave her a jolt.

Could it be... perhaps... that Arya is serious?
Lady Caitlin subconsciously pressed down on the area between the large, full breasts, letting the young lady with the blood of Tully run rampant on the battlefield.

Gods, she felt dizzy just thinking about it.

however.

The reality she has to face is... can she really raise Arya, this little wolf girl, into a lady?
She had to admit that she seemed to have lost confidence long ago.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have allowed Ned to "appoint" Arya as the Swordswoman of Winterfell.

Oh, gods...

She first has to admit that she has failed as a teacher.

For the first time, Lady Caitlin wavered in her adherence to the "dogma" of ladylike conduct for the sake of her daughter.

(End of this chapter)