Chapter 45

After leaving Count Grafstein's castle, the duke put the warm black sable cloak back on.

Before leaving, the count saw that he was fairly pleased with the maid who fetched his clothes, so he suggested giving the girl to him. The duke thanked him but declined.

"We don't use slaves," the duke recalled him saying, "but she still wishes to obey." The duke smiled and replied, "The North is too cold; a flower-like girl wouldn't survive there." Then he and his retinue left the count's towering castle.

At night, the mountain wind at the harbor varied from gentle to fierce; in the cold wind, the torches' flames struggled, twisted, and could be blown out at any moment, the chaotic light and burnt smell making eyes sore and heads dizzy. So the duke ordered the torches extinguished and returned to the villa under the dim moon behind the clouds and the specks of light from the harbor's beacon tower.

The moon was a waning crescent, revealing its curved hook like a mocking smile.

Scholars recorded the passage of years and months according to the changes of the full moon and the yearly variation in shadow length, and distributed calendars marking the change of years and eras to each lord; this is an important method the Seven Kingdoms use to determine a given year, month, and day, and also one of the few obligations lords have toward their subjects: they must announce to the populace the exact date of the current year, month, and day. Lords unable to fulfill this duty have their lands revoked—Duke Tywin, for example, stripped Lady Ryam of Redfort of her title and lands on this basis.

In practice, farmers and hunters have their own ways of handling and recording things, needing no constant reliance on their lords.

Some scholars think season and shadow length are partly related, but in fact, irregular seasons and irregular durations do not support this view. The Academy has recorded the lengths of seasons for nearly a thousand years, yet still found no pattern.

But the duke thought the idea had merit—longer shadows in winter mean colder weather, shorter shadows in summer mean hotter. Perhaps after suppressing the rebellion and uniting the North, he could ask scholars to study shadow length and its patterns more deeply.

Some foolish people think the change of seasons is related to dragons. Their basis is that, back when the Targaryen dragons still lived, summers generally lasted longer and winters shorter. Since the dragons disappeared, the situation has changed; they feel winters have grown longer and summers shorter.

This is likely their bold slander mocking the current court.

As for the North? Summers are shorter and milder, winters longer and fiercer. Winter is coming—this is the North's eternal theme—but it doesn't matter; my blade is sharper.

The duke felt a slight breeze stealing away the faint warmth at his neck, and he was sure the effect of the count's wine had completely dissipated here.

According to the count's plan, he could obtain much more grain and feed more Northmen, at the cost of selling off a Vale count who does not belong to him. It's a profitable deal.

Heh, the Royce family's history is no shorter than any of the Seven Kingdoms' families, but perhaps more than just his ancient house will be blown away this winter.

They returned the same way; when they passed the manor of Seagull Town, the road ahead was lit by light shining from the manor, and the duke believed that if one looked up from the harbor below, they would surely see the continuous lights stretching through the mountains.

The guard marched silently along the wide road cleared through the mountains; horse hooves on the firmly laid stone pavement gave a dull, heavy sound. In the distance, he also heard other noises.

"No no no, my dear my dear, by now I am certain you are not a foolish clown, but rather, rather, rather, you are my greatest, most beloved, most devoted knight..." a loud, clear theatrical female voice rang from the courtyard. The words were full of regret, excitement, and an unshakable resolve to follow unto death.

"Yes yes yes, my dear my dear, by now I know you are my most beloved queen; even if I am a foolish clown, I would gladly be your knight, even for just a moment—like a shooting star streaking across the horizon, like lightning lighting a house, like a galloping horse dashing past a narrow window... I will, I will, I will, unless the ice and snow of the Great Wall all melt, unless the Eyrie falls from the mountaintop..." a male voice, louder and lower, sang in waves, expressing his love for her.

The duke smirked. This is the closing part of the love story of Florian the Fool and Jonquil.

This song, in Bronn's Wood, changes the line "unless the Eyrie falls from the mountaintop" to "unless the heart tree of Raven's Tree Castle topples"; if in Winterfell, it becomes "unless Winterfell's glass garden loses its warmth"; if in King's Landing, it turns into "unless King's Landing lacks a great knight."

It is the most widespread and most beautiful opera in the Seven Kingdoms, and the actors' expressive power is the most crucial factor in whether it shines.

The duke knew why this play spreads so widely. Its lyrics praise an love that ordinary people cannot resist, a poison beloved by all youths. Moreover, in other similar plays, the infatuated are women and the brave are men, but here the infatuated are men and the brave are women, which endears it more to women. Yet for this reason, many criticize it as a play for fools and whores.

The duke paused briefly, then left after hearing the lively uproar from the courtyard.

Florian and Jonquil's love began in deceit but found fulfillment in steadfast faith and brave action; this is the play's inspiration for him.

Count Grafstein is deceiving him, but that doesn't matter, as long as the count holds firm to his faith and acts bravely.

The count's deceit, he can only ponder alone; if Chello were still here, he could share it.

Count Grafstein and Littlefinger will certainly launch an attack on House Royce when the time is right, but not when preparations are complete; rather, when they deem it appropriate, they will send the duke's letter to King's Landing, and then the Iron Throne will decide to move against Royce.

In other words, they will not use the duke's letter as a pretext for attack or a waiver, but as a means to provoke war between the Iron Throne and Royce; how far they can exploit that letter depends on how Littlefinger operates.

Vale affairs are none of the duke's concern.

Returning to the villa, the red-robed monk remained in the upstairs corner, watching as the duke dismounted. In the dim light, the duke could not see his expression, but he could still feel his smile.

"Summon Assara to the guest chamber," he ordered the guard beside him.

The guest chamber's hearth had just been lit, crackling; the air held dust and the smell of moldy firewood. He felt a bit chilly, so he did not take off his cloak.

He took a blank sheet of parchment, plucked a goose-quill pen, and began to write a reply following the story fabricated by Count Grafstein or Duke Baelish. He will send the letter to Grafstein tomorrow; after confirming it is correct and feasible, he will send it back, then have a trusted person watch the duke affix the seals of the North's Warden and the Duke of the Dreadfort, carefully seal it, and retrieve it.

The duke need not worry about when or how the letter will appear before the Iron Throne.

The duke picked up the pen, but felt it stiff, so he set it aside for a moment and leaned slightly back in his chair.

The grain purchase at Seagull Town has already been a great success; if the trade goes smoothly, he will be able to win over the various grain‑starved minor vassals and mountain clans within Stark lands through food, and he can also use a prolonged siege to force the doors of recalcitrant lords open.

As for more distant lords, I wish them to survive this winter; otherwise, when the snow melts, they will not see the flayed men's banners already raised before their castles.

Bentham knocked on the door; the duke shook the little bell beside him, so he pushed the door open and let Assara in.

The red‑robed monk had already changed into a fresh red robe; underneath it was a simple black long‑sleeve shirt.

"Cold?" the duke asked.

"I never feel cold," he replied with a smile, "R'hllor has already placed the fire within me."

"If it planted the fire in winter, nobody would need to feel cold."

He laughed. "That's funny; in fact, R'hllor once tried to sow the fire in winter, but he was thwarted and failed."

"I know what thwarted it—the nameless god, the evil god, the dark god." His cliché went no further than that.

He kept that smile, saying nothing more.

"Once we finish resupplying at Seagull Town we will head straight back to the North, expected in just a few days. Do you have anything you wish to say?"

"My lord, I have a great deal to say."

"There's still plenty of time before sleep; perhaps you can start with a part."

"Your army can return safely to the North. However many ships you set out with from Seagull Town, that many will arrive in the North."

"That's good news," the duke said.

"The woman the Duke of Harrenhal needs is now in the Three Sisters Islands." The red‑robed monk grinned.

"This might be good news, or it might be bad news."

Sansa Stark's return to the North will definitely win the Starks an important ally. Who that is remains uncertain. If the Starks choose to please Littlefinger, adding this still‑unfinished letter in hand, they could surely turn the whole Vale toward the Starks. That absolutely cannot be allowed.

"My lord, this is good news."

"Only if it can be used well is it good news; if it cannot be used, it is bad news."

"My lord, these past days I have studied many matters in detail; perhaps I can advise you."

The duke chuckled lightly, "When did you become a strategist?"

"My lord, I told you—I came for you." He laughed.

"Generally, people hearing those words should be glad, but when you say them I cannot feel glad. Assara, do you know why?"

Duke, please speak plainly.

You say you are a servant of the Red God. Since you are merely a servant, how can you come for me? How could I allow a god to come for me, if it is your god who arranged your coming—what is his purpose? Moreover, another servant of the Red God has already gone to Stannis.

The god has many servants; I do not understand his intentions.

Asaluo, you had better understand. Otherwise I will hear the screams of the red-robed monk being flayed tonight.

My lord, I cannot conceal this: among your enemies are enemies of the god. I only know this much, so I can only help you defeat all your enemies.

You say you can be a strategist? Now is the chance. Think: which of my enemies might pose a threat to the god, such that it would send a servant to aid me?

My lord, I'm not sure; it could be any of them. But from a strategist's perspective, it's nothing more than Stark or the King beyond the Wall.

Heh, you're terrible as a strategist; perhaps you'd be better off just being a monk. I'll tell you straight: I want that King beyond the Wall to take the Wall.

"I can't figure it out." He gave a bitter smile.

If he takes the Wall, which direction will he go?

South.

Which lords are in the south?

I'm not familiar with the North.

"Is that what a strategist does?" the duke began to laugh, "The south is the forest clans, the Mormonts, the Glovers, the Umbers, the Starks, perhaps also the Karstarks; they are enemies, not friends. Wildlings going south can more quickly clear my enemies for him. If he takes Winterfell, all the better—then I won't have to stain my hands with the blood of those Stark children."

The duke felt he had said too much. "Do you understand?"

At that time, my lord, you could lead your great army to defeat the wildlings in one fell swoop and occupy Winterfell as a liberator.