Chapter 32

Outside the window, lightning still flashed and thunder roared; a downpour poured over the island, making one feel that wind and waves could swallow the island at any moment. The count's hall was damp everywhere, but fortunately the fireplace still burned with a roaring fire, allowing one to feel a bit of warmth.

This was already the tenth day since he landed on the island, if his memory served him right. Over these ten days, each day had been such a violent storm, making it utterly impossible for any ship to dare leave the harbor. He felt that Melisandre must still be on this island.

No, she had no way to save me, and she would not come to save me. If the gods were merciful, she should have, on the very day of landing, found a way herself to go to Winterfell and tell Missandei the news, so that she would know her sister and protector remained on this damp island.

He sat at the table beneath the dais, and a servant brought him freshly baked bread and a sister's stew—leeks, turnips, barley, white and yellow rutabagas, clams, large chunks of cod meat and crab meat, and a thick layer of cream and butter cooked together into a stew.

In this cold, rainy season, being able to enjoy such fine food, Daifosi ought to express full gratitude, but he now does not know how to broach the subject; since the count was willing to extend his guest status from one day to ten, he was glad not to remind him whether his kindness had seriously overstepped.

He split the hot bread in half, steaming fragrance rising from within; it was good bread, but to him even a crumb would serve the same purpose. Before dawn tomorrow, he remained a guest.

He added no side dishes, took a bite of the steaming hot bread; its toasted, tender softness almost brought tears to his eyes. He quickly devoured half of it.

The remaining half he intended to eat slowly with the sister's stew. He used a dagger to crack open one claw of a king crab, extracted the meat and tossed it into his mouth—delicious. As a guest, his personal belongings and money had been returned, but if one day he were to go to prison, these would have to be given back.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the hall; a few seconds later he heard thunder.

Was it the storm that had extended his guest time? If so, he wished the storm would continue, feeling that once it stopped the count would have him loaded onto a cart and shipped to King's Landing.

He reached with his hand into the beautiful large bowl holding the stew, took out a large crab, tore it open down the middle, and sucked out the crab roe and meat chunks.

At that moment the count spoke and addressed him.

"Sir, you must be wondering why we still haven't sent you to prison?" the count said to him.

"The storm?" he said doubtfully. During this time, although he was treated as a guest, he was more like a hostage; he was not allowed to leave his little castle, nor were the servants allowed to speak much with him.

"The storm. That is indeed a reason. My dear granddaughter said, since no ship can send you to King's Landing, why not extend your stay as a guest? Anyway, a few more days don't matter, and she is willing to prepare extra food for you. Hehe, she's a good girl, right?" he said with a smile.

"For that, I am deeply grateful. Your granddaughter must be a very kind and beautiful girl."

"Jera is kind, and in my view also quite beautiful." The count lifted his wine cup and continued, "This is already the tenth day, right?"

Could it be that tomorrow he would become a prisoner? Daifosi thought.

"Yes, my lord count, since the day I landed on the island until today it has been ten days." He felt as if a lifetime had passed.

"Ah, I remember when I was still young, one day I went out hunting and found an injured goshawk; it was badly wounded, so I brought it back and had people treat it. After it healed, I suddenly thought of training it as a hunting hawk, but that goshawk, although it ate my food, simply would not submit. My father told me that to tame a hawk you must starve it, bother it, deprive it of sleep, and only after breaking it could you truly tame it. But I felt that having fed it for so long, to suddenly change methods—even if it submitted, it would eventually hate me, perhaps someday peck out my eye; so I simply, one morning—about this time, though without rain—set it free." The count set down his cup, sighed, "It merely flapped its wings and flew straight away; I thought it would at least circle above my head twice before leaving."

Daifosi felt he could understand this story.

"Sir, that hawk surely feels grateful for your care," if you don't try to make it submit, "but for a hawk, having it circle above your head is meaningless; it's not like a crow or a parrot that likes to chatter; they prefer to act when a friend truly faces difficulty."

"Hahaha! Although I'm on the island, I certainly don't lack mice and hares to eat," the count laughed.

"But a hawk can warn people of distant danger," Daifosi said.

"Not bad, Sir Daifosi. A hawk can do what other things cannot. However, what I want to talk about is not the hawk. During these ten days, some things have happened. Your desired northern allies may not be as fragile as I initially thought." He said.

Is this why he said these things today? "I would like to hear the details."

"Missandei gathered her followers, smashed the sea monster occupying Deepwood Motte, and captured the only daughter of the Iron Islands' king Balon Greyjoy." He swallowed a mouthful of beer, "Before that, she had already slain Balon the Great's last son. So, if Balon the Great were like any normal father, he ought to submit to the she-wolf!"

This is good, but far from enough to change Winterfell's passive situation.

"She seems to hate pirates—I think she herself is the biggest pirate—she slaughtered all the invading ironmen, putting their heads on the road from the North to the sea. The queen of love and beauty, perhaps should be called the 'beheading queen'."

This is good news, but the strength is weak, not enough to intimidate this count. Why is he saying this news?

"She has the determination to uphold trade order, which is good. We here are a smugglers' paradise, but we likewise despise pirates, just as we all dislike that man named Saan under Stannis. As for the ironborn, we have no fondness for them, nor any ill will; they never set foot in the Bite."

"Sir Daifosi, what do you think she will do with such an important captive?"

"If I am not mistaken, she could at least exchange it for the Iron Islands withdrawing from the North, thus removing the danger to Winterfell's western flank."

"I don't care about mainland affairs. I only know that if the lord of White Harbor, Manderly, does not oppose her, our business can continue; now that Winterfell has freed up its western side, Lord Manderly naturally will not act rashly, I suppose our trade will continue as well."

"Trade? Porcelain trade?"

"Oh, of course."

"Look at the large bowl before you—have you ever seen anything more beautiful than this? Let me tell you, this bowl might not be obtainable for an equal weight of gold. This is a gift from Missandei to me; of course, my liege the Marquess of Sunderland certainly received even more, not to mention that big fatty."

Daifosi suddenly felt his hand grow heavy. He had never spoken of ceremony; he had once used wooden bowls, tiles, even leaves as vessels, never imagining that one day as a captive he could eat from a bowl worth its weight in gold.

"The big fatty's heir was seized by the Iron Throne and made a prisoner, leading King's Landing to think it could pressure White Harbor—ha, as if that were simple; he is an unquestionable bannerman of the Lord of Winterfell, his family members also died horribly in the Red Wedding, making it hard for him to lightly break his oath and swallow dog dung. That son's affair might make the White Harbor count openly supporting Stark difficult, but who knows behind the scenes? At least my porcelain trade here continues unabated. If I may say, he has become overly timid; this way he cannot trick Tywin into returning his son."

But what he was thinking about was Stannis's cause. If Winterfell were not as fragile as he had previously thought, would they agree to recognize Stannis as king of the Seven Kingdoms?

"You said they might relieve the western pressure, but what about the east?" he inquired, wanting to learn as much as possible, and on this island who could know more than its count?

"The Dreadfort is certainly strong. If they seized the pottery kiln, then I would be willing to cooperate with them. However, Bolton would not choose White Harbor for trade; by that time I doubt he would think of sending me a bowl as well." The count also tore off a piece of hot bread, took a big bite, swallowed it after a long gulp, and continued: "In my view, Balon's children would be better off exchanging for Karhold; once they hold Karhold, the North becomes a chaotic free-for-all between the two houses, and even if Tywin were stronger, he could not help Bolton through the Neck. Thus, even if Stark lost Winterfell, they would not fall so easily. They have not been without losing a castle before. So, if the North were to be won by Stark, they would still be willing to support Stannis; I think your king still has some chance."

Daifosi, however, dared not be so certain.

"Are you doubtful as to why I suddenly wish to support Stannis?" the count seemed not to notice his expression, "These great families' feuds have never been anything good for us small folk. Long ago I learned from the history of the Three Sisters that if you want to turn things around, you must put your big stake on a weak side, but you will likely lose everything, lose with cold limbs and a trembling heart—for example, we supported the Blackfyre family a few times; but if you seek stability by putting your big stake on the strong side, you at most get a few scraps of leftover soup, possibly not even covering your losses; this too can be learned from the history of the Dance of the Dragons, when we supported the Blacks. And if you bet on the strong side and still unfortunately lose, it would be even worse…… I dare not imagine." He stopped speaking and stared at Daifosi.

"What?" he said.

"What was the name of your king's former prime minister?" he asked.

He understood the implication, he could not help but answer: "Aelister Florent."

"The Florents just don't grasp this principle. They are clearly nobles of the Riverlands, yet they ran far off to support Stannis, and now they have lost everything."

"No, Stannis will sooner or later give back Brightwater Keep to them, or give them Highgarden."

"Enough already—whether it's 'return' or 'give', he must first take it. The Florents perhaps eyed Highgarden, thus placing their heavy bet on Stannis. Ah, why argue with you about this? You only need to understand that the Lannisters will only give me gold for your sake, but what use is gold in these troubled times?"

Daifosi felt defeated again. The count brought forth the reasoning he himself should have produced; over these ten days he had never thought of it.

The count smiled and sighed.

"All right, Sir Daifosi, just remember I don't lack mice and rabbits. Although the storm continues, it will eventually cease; once it stops, you may continue on your way, as if you had never come here, like that hawk."