Chapter 126

After seeing off the Braavosi, Mei felt a wave of relief and could not wait to peel off the faceless man's face.

Countless images, experiences, and fragmented stories peeled away from her mind, leaving only endless regret and a tearing, stabbing pain.

If her mental fortitude were not stronger, suddenly receiving so much information from the dead faceless man and then suddenly losing so much information would have caused her to faint outright.

There is magical power in the face, without a doubt.

Without Melisandre's help, she could not have worn this face on her own, nor could she have spoken authentic Braavosi to deceive the visiting Braavosi. However, she faintly felt that, for the temple, what mattered might not be the life or death of the faceless man, but precisely this face, which seemed to represent some kind of authority and passport.

She didn't care. She still had other problems before her.

She advocated attacking the King Beyond the Wall first, taking advantage of Bolton's not yet having returned to the North to march on the Wall, but her strategy was unanimously opposed by the members of the council.

She remembered her argument method: she began by stating the duty of defending the North, used the danger of wildlings entering the Wall as background, enticed with the benefits of subduing the wildlings, and concluded with the great honor of defending the North.

All of that was useless. Ser Rodrik stroked his white beard, glared at her, and seemed to be judging whether she was truly that "foolish".

She certainly knew this opinion would be opposed, but she had no real intention of marching on the Wall; this proposal was merely to avoid strong opposition when she sent part of her private forces, namely Cedric's cavalry, to the Wall.

In the war at the Wall, the support she could provide for Qiongen amounted to only five hundred elite cavalry, which might be more useful in combat than the two thousand mountain clansmen.

"Your Highness, Qiongen has his own destiny; we should trust him. I trained him myself, I believe in his ability, and you should trust your brother as well." His tone was firm and reassuring, "A boy must undergo trials to become a man; the harsher the trial, the stronger his growth. In short, Your Highness, we can entrust the Wall to him and the mountain clansmen he has gathered; even if we cannot defeat the so-called King Beyond the Wall, holding the Wall is no problem."

Ser Mertyn and Ser Roffe nodded beside him, while Brother Charyl also smiled faintly. With that, the matter was settled.

"Furthermore, now that the Red Knight Cedric has led his cavalry back to the North, we can take advantage of our great victory in the south and issue a summons to our supporters." Ser Roffe gazed at Mei.

"A summons? I recall that a lord may only call upon his vassals and subjects once a year, and each call may not exceed three months." She was not yet familiar with this feudal obligation; had it been Robb or Qiongen, she would certainly have known it well.

"Your Highness, calculating this is complicated; since the Usurper's War—no, since the great Robert's Rebellion overthrew the Targaryen dynasty, the North has issued two summonses: one against the Iron Islands' rebellion, and one when the young wolf went south. Those two summonses have already exhausted the normal summoning rights, so this time we are issuing a compulsory summons." Brother Charyl explained the situation clearly in a relaxed tone.

"Does gathering cavalry from the Stark lands not count?" Mei asked curiously.

"Your Highness, the cavalry you raise in your lands are paid according to your own mercenary standards, so they cannot be counted as a summons at all, let alone a compulsory one." Ser Roffe replied.

"The North is truly poor; I only spent a few thousand gold dragons to hire nearly a thousand cavalry from my lands. Ah, now they have returned to the North, still bearing spoils; when they return to their own estates, I expect other adventurous youths will join." Winterfell is not lacking money; for this, she could only be grateful to the pirates who die at sea and to the North's abundant kaolin, porcelain stone, coal, and timber.

"Porcelain is a matter of luck. She does not know what kaolin or porcelain stone is; when she goes out, she simply picks up some stones and decent-looking clay to fire. Following ordinary pottery making, she designed a kiln capable of holding porcelain, but by raising the temperature and firing time, she actually transformed the original pottery into porcelain. Thereafter it became a continual problem of finding suitable raw materials."

"She knew high temperature could transform many substances, pottery and porcelain being typical examples; even, she felt, as long as her 'vessel' passed muster, she could continue raising the furnace temperature, melt ore, and then produce steel as quickly and efficiently as possible, without needing smiths to use their closely guarded secret methods to slowly turn iron into steel."

"The difference between iron and steel mainly lies in their carbon content, right? Which has more carbon, steel or iron? What proportion of carbon yields the hardest, sharpest edge? She doesn't know, but anyway, roughly speaking, if you burn iron ore and coal together you'll get iron, and if you can melt steel and iron, you can slowly experiment with many things."

"If she knew the composition of gunpowder, that would be even better; unfortunately, she only remembers carbon. What remains? Salt?"

"She admits she never had any interest in these things; even porcelain was merely a fleeting childhood thought, and back then she even wanted to make a dish her personal sigil!"

"The cavalry have returned to Winterfell; Your Highness, what arrangements do you have?" Ser Roffe asked.

"I'm afraid there's not much we can arrange; they've taken too much loot and probably just want to go home." She suddenly felt a bit troubled, "To get them home quickly, we can exchange their spoils at the market outside the city and prepare the supplies they might need to buy. I hope this can be done within two days. By the third day, when they are back home, everyone will know their spoils are rich, and perhaps they can entice some poor relatives to come help me."

"If it's truly as Your Highness says and the spoils are abundant, I worry they'll return home and never want to go out to fight again." Brother Charyl said, "Since they need three days to get home, our summons would be better issued the day after tomorrow."

"I agree. I still have plenty of gold, and if the shipment from Twin Rivers arrives, I could have even more. Brother Charyl, first try issuing a levy rather than a compulsory summons, saying Winterfell can pay according to mercenary standards. Ah, Brother Charyl, talent is scarce; I hope you can help me again form a civil service corps, since these mercenaries must be paid, the muster rolls, home addresses, pay, compensation, and payment methods all need literate officials to handle." This is a huge hassle, but in a mature military system it is also the most basic thing.

"But even this basic thing was previously lacking, which almost indicates that the participants' greatest profit comes from plunder, and the loss most to be avoided is injury or death."

"The source of profit determines military discipline; avoiding injury and death affects combat effectiveness."

"How did lords solve this problem? For military discipline they would enact harsh rules; for combat effectiveness they would exalt valor and honor. To make this model sustainable, they also needed to occasionally loosen the reins, letting soldiers partake in plunder, so that the usual strict rules could be enforced, maintaining soldiers' tolerance through work and rest, and as for the plunder gains, they would again become proof of valor and honor."

"She was very familiar with such bandit armies; when cavalry charged, they were often the first to collapse. In a major battle, such troops might merely be excess baggage."

"Mr. Fen," she said, looking at the new overseer of Winterfell, "this evening Cedric's cavalry will return to Winterfell; I need you to arrange a welcome feast for them and also open Winterfell's hot springs for our warriors. Besides, tomorrow Winterfell will hold a winter swimming race around the city moat; all this needs preparation, and the prizes will be from me..."

The library door was pushed open with a creak, and Hurry walked in swiftly.

"Your Highness, someone from the Dreadfort has come. He says he is Rickon Bolton's envoy."

The nobles looked at each other.

"Konikonton has already killed the spies he arranged, clean as a whistle; now they cannot be saved." Mei stood up, "Konikonton has already killed the spies he arranged, clean as a whistle; now they cannot be saved."

The heads of those traitors seemed to be hung on the city walls; she paid no heed.

"Neither early nor late, but of all times, this is the moment." Lord Roffe slammed the table, "Rick Bolton isn't even the head of House Bolton; his envoy can only say something unpleasant to hear. Your Highness, I see no need to meet him."

"Not bad, Your Highness can just chase them off." Ser Rodrik shook his white beard, "Bolton's forces have the advantage; they probably couldn't say anything nice anyway."

"Winter has come; many troops are both an advantage and a disadvantage. I don't expect them to say anything pleasant. They only decided to come to Winterfell now; it seems they have received Roose Bolton's orders—why don't we investigate?" She walked straight to the door, "Hurry, have someone bring the envoy here!"

"Yes, Your Highness." Hurry had already exchanged his rough fur for a servant's garb, with an extra thick leather coat over it; now he darted out of here like a wild boar.

He has energy, but lacks the steadiness of some nobles or knights. There's no rush; naturally there will be time to train him gradually.

"Your Highness, perhaps you should take in some children from other families as servants." Ser Rodrik watched Hurry run out, dissatisfied with this mountain clansman, "The supporters of Winterfell have sent many children to the castle; they should also be fortunate to serve by your side."

"If we're talking about servants, Ser Rodrik, you're an old knight yourself; why not look for more servants?" Mei poured a cup from the warm wine jug on the table and handed it to Ser Rodrik, "Ser, you have long served the Starks; after the victory in war, I cannot give you the Dreadfort, but I intend to make you governor of the Riverlands, and at that time you will need many knights to serve you."

"The Riverlands?" Roose Frey's smile almost slipped off, as if becoming governor of the Riverlands were him, "What areas does the governorship include?"

Rodrik glared at him angrily, his face flushed red, but his beard covered most of his face; it was unclear whether this was due to the sudden reward or because Mei had poured him a cup of hot wine.

"That's a sizable fief. Do you need me to fetch a map now, my lord?" Mei laughed, "It guards the mouth of the Riverlands, bordering the Widow's Watch, Oldtown, and White Harbor; only a powerful vassal can hold his ground there. I also hope there will be a port city facing east there."

"Your Highness, I am too old; I no longer have the ambition to found a legacy." Ser Rodrik sighed.

"Ser Blackfish told me the same, but I don't care whether he has children or is too old; as long as he or his heir can hold that place, that's enough. You're the same; moreover, you have a daughter Bethany Frey. So, you need to find her a suitable husband."

"If we're talking about husbands, you're the one who really needs one." The ball was kicked back again.