Morning Mist and Bloody News in Pentos
The salty morning wind from the Narrow Sea swept across the saddle. Arya buried her chin in the fur collar of her Night's Watch cloak, her fingertips unconsciously caressing the hilt of needle. The cloak still carried the scent of smoke and wool, having been dried overnight by old veteran Hammund — the wrinkled Night's Watchman always claimed to have known her uncle Brandon. Whenever he said this, Arya would clench the parchment hidden in her bosom; the Direwolf outline sketched in charcoal on it had already softened from her body heat.
"The outer harbor of Pentos is just ahead," Captain Bery's shout pierced the wind. His bay horse snorted, puffing out white clouds of breath. "Remember the rules: no trouble, no revealing your Night's Watch identity — the local magisters aren't fond of black-clad men here."
Arya looked up, and the outline of Pentos gradually emerged from the morning mist: the spires of square brick towers pierced the clouds, merchant ships with colorful sails were anchored in the bay, and on the shore, slave traders were using whips to drive servants with copper collars to load and unload cargo. She remembered Syrio saying that the Prince of Pentos was merely a puppet, with real power held by the magisters; if the city-state ever suffered misfortune, the Prince would be sacrificed by having his throat cut.
When the group stopped at a small tavern outside the city, Arya used the excuse of feeding her horse to slip into the backyard. A beggar in the corner was pleading in valyrian, the familiar accent reminding her of her days in Braavos — The Kindly Man had once said that countless secrets were hidden in the languages of the Free Cities. Just as she was about to turn, she heard an argument from inside the tavern.
"...House Bolton's bastard killed his own father!" a merchant from Lys in purple silk slapped the table, wine spilling onto his sleeve embroidered with a golden rose. "Roose Bolton's body is still hanging from the walls of Winterfell, and I heard his young wife and newborn son were fed to the hounds."
Arya's blood instantly froze, and the bag of horse feed in her hand dropped to the ground with a 'clatter'. She steadied herself against a mottled wooden post, her nails digging deep into the rough wood grain — her mother died at the Red Wedding, Robb died at the bloody wedding, and now even the executioner who caused their deaths met an untimely end? But there was no mention of Jon, no mention of Sansa in this news; where were they?
"Keep it down!" A Pentos merchant at the next table hurriedly pressed his shoulder. "Lannister spies are everywhere. I heard that House Stark's bastard has been resurrected at the Wall and has united with the wildlings to take Castle Black. Now he and his sister Sansa are raising an army to fight House Bolton."
Resurrected? Arya almost rushed in to ask for details, but the instinct for restraint Syrio had taught her made her stop. She picked up the horse feed bag, pretending to be calm as she returned to the stables, only to bump into Hammund as she turned. The old veteran's eyes showed no surprise, only knowing sorrow: "I heard everything, child. Lord Jon is still alive, that's enough."
"Why did he resurrect?" Arya's voice trembled. "Didn't the Night's Watch say 'until death do us part'?"
Hammund pulled out a worn leather pouch from his bosom and poured out an old coin engraved with a Direwolf: "This was given to me by your uncle Brandon. People of House Stark never truly fall; just like the snow in the North, it seems to melt, but when spring comes, it covers the land again." He pressed the coin into her palm. "Captain Bery is going to see Magister Illyrio; we need to watch the horses carefully, this city has more thieves than rats."
Arya clutched the cold coin, feeling its raised patterns with her fingertips. She remembered Jon teaching her how to hold a sword, remembered her father saying "Winter Is Coming" in the courtyard of Winterfell; those memories she had deliberately suppressed suddenly surged. Just then, Bery emerged from the tavern with a corpulent man in a brocade robe. The man wore a jeweled collar around his neck, and he was indeed Illyrio Mopatis, the Magister of Pentos.
"...Queen Daenerys has already left Meereen," Illyrio's voice drifted over, thick with accent. "She has crossed Slaver's Bay with her Dothraki Riders and is now marching west along the valyrian Road, reportedly to conquer Westeros."
Arya's heart leaped. The person they were looking for was coming west? Did that mean she would soon meet this legendary dragon-riding queen, and soon find the strength to help Jon retake Winterfell?
Bery glanced back at her, his eyes signaling her to keep quiet. Illyrio handed the captain a sealed leather pouch, lowering his voice: "This is a letter for the Queen, it contains intelligence on Tyroshi sellswords. Tell her the Iron Bank has agreed to support her."
After Illyrio left, Bery walked over to Arya and tucked the leather pouch into her arms: "Keep this safe, it's more important than your sword. It seems we don't need to go to Meereen anymore; if we follow the valyrian Road east, we can catch up with the Queen's army."
"The valyrian Road?" Arya remembered the place name The Kindly Man had mentioned. "Doesn't that pass through the 'Demon's Road'?"
"Yes, but it's the fastest way." Bery's gaze swept over the Night's Watchmen in the group. "Hammund has been to Kohol and knows how to avoid the Dothraki Khalasar. We'll set off tomorrow morning."
That night, Arya lay on a pile of straw in the tavern, clutching the Direwolf coin in her hand, listening to the bells of Pentos outside the window. The cries of slaves came from afar, and the low snores of the Night's Watchmen nearby. She suddenly remembered every night in Braavos, when she thought she had lost her family forever, and had become a no one forever. But now, she had companions, a goal, and even hope of seeing Jon.
She quietly drew needle, its blade glinting coldly in the moonlight. "Father, Mother, Robb," she whispered, "I will soon avenge you."
II. Shadows of the Demon's Road and the Secret of the Night's Watch
On the third day after leaving Pentos, the group embarked on the valyrian Road. This ancient road, known as the "Dragon's Road," was paved with huge bluestone slabs, many of which were broken, revealing the blackened earth beneath. Dense forests lined both sides of the road, and occasionally fallen stone pillars and shattered statues could be seen, relics left from the Doom of valyrian.
"Watch your step for cracks," Hammund walked at the front of the group, pushing aside thorns by the roadside with his spear. "There might be venomous snakes hidden inside, and carrion dogs." His voice held a note of caution. "When I escorted the maester to Kohol back then, I saw the entire road blocked by Dothraki corpses."
Arya gripped the reins tightly, her gaze sweeping the shadows on both sides of the road. She wore the thick-soled leather boots provided by the Night's Watch, yet she could still feel the vibrations of the ground as she stepped on the broken flagstones. needle was hidden in the saddle's lining, ready to be drawn at any moment — ever since hearing the news of House Bolton in Pentos, she had not let her sword leave her side.
At noon, they rested by a ruin. Bery took out the letter given by Illyrio and carefully examined the wax seal in the sunlight: "This is the Iron Bank's mark, so Illyrio wasn't lying. The Tyroshi sellswords have betrayed Lannister and are preparing to defect to Daenerys."
"Tyrosh?" Arya remembered Syrio saying that the sellswords there liked to dye their beards bright colors. "Are they good fighters?"
"They're among the top three in cunning in the Free Cities," Hammund mumbled, chewing on hardtack. "But they only care about money; with the Iron Bank backing them, they'll definitely fight to the death." He suddenly lowered his voice. "Actually, our trip to find Daenerys isn't just Lord Jon's idea. The Night's Watch found traces of Others beyond the Wall. Those things are not afraid of swords; only dragonflame can kill them."
Arya's fingers suddenly froze. Others, a name she had only heard in old stories in Winterfell, actually existed? She remembered Bran always saying he dreamed of ice monsters; at the time, everyone thought it was just a child's fantasy.
"What do those things look like?" she pressed.
"Taller than men, skin like ice, eyes blue," Bery's face grew solemn. "Last winter, a ranger escaped back, saying his entire squad was killed by Others, and their bodies were turned into wights. After Lord Jon resurrected, the first thing he did was send us to find Daenerys — only her dragons can fight the Others."
Just then, hoofbeats came from afar. Bery immediately drew his sword, and the Night's Watchmen also grabbed their weapons, hiding behind the ruins. Arya held her breath, looking out through the cracks in the stone pillars, and saw a troop of riders in red armor approaching along the road. The emblem on their armor was a golden lion — Lannister men!
"Don't make a sound," Bery whispered. "They're delivering a message to Pentos; they won't stay long."
Arya watched the riders, her teeth grinding. Cersei Lannister's men, these were the ones who helped Joffrey chop off her father's head, and helped Bolton slaughter her family. Her hand slowly reached into the saddle's lining, her fingertips touching the hilt of needle.
"Don't be impulsive." Hammund pressed her shoulder, his eyes warning. "We're not here for revenge now; we're here for the North. If we kill them, we'll never catch up with Daenerys."
Arya took a deep breath, forcing herself to withdraw her hand. She watched the Lannister riders disappear at the end of the road, the hatred in her heart burning like fire. But she knew Hammund was right; revenge now would only ruin everything. Once they found Daenerys, once they allied with the Tyroshi sellswords, she would have plenty of opportunities to make Cersei pay a bloody price.
In the evening, the group arrived at a ruin known as the "City of Corpses." Vines climbed over broken walls and crumbling ruins, and the air was filled with the smell of decay. Bery decided to make camp there, sending two Night's Watchmen to gather firewood and assigning Arya and Hammund to keep watch.
"See that tower," Hammund pointed to a distant leaning stone tower. "That's the ruins of Asshai, destroyed by the Dothraki after the Doom of valyrian. Legend says fragments of valyrian steel are hidden inside, but no one dares to enter — it's said to be haunted by ghosts."
Arya looked up, the setting sun's afterglow shining on the stone tower, casting a long shadow. She suddenly remembered "seeing with all six senses" that Syrio had taught her, so she focused on listening to the sounds around her. In the wind, besides the rustling of leaves, there was a strange dragging sound, as if someone was pulling something heavy.
"Someone's there." She immediately gripped her spear and walked in the direction of the sound. Hammund followed, holding a torch.
Rounding a broken wall, they saw a person in a tattered cloak crouching on the ground, seemingly burying something. The person heard footsteps, suddenly stood up, revealing a scarred face. Arya recognized him — it was a Faceless Man from Braavos!
"Traitor!" the Faceless Man hissed, throwing a dagger.
Arya was prepared, sidestepping to avoid it, and simultaneously used her spear to block his second attack.
Hammond's torch smashed into him, setting the Faceless Man's cloak ablaze.
"It's The Kindly Man!" Arya shouted as she fought, "He wants to kill me!"
Although surrounded by fire, the Faceless Man's movements remained swift.
Arya remembered the Faceless Men's training techniques, deliberately exposed an opening, and when he lunged, she slammed the wooden shaft of her spear hard into his knee.
The Faceless Man cried out, falling to his knees, and Hammond seized the opportunity to deliver a final blow, ending his life.
"How did he find us here?" Hammond panted, kicking the Faceless Man's corpse.
Arya looked at the black and white emblem on the corpse's neck, a chill running down her spine.
The Faceless Men's pursuit never stopped; as long as she lived, they would keep searching.
She suddenly remembered what The Kindly Man had said: "Leave the House of Black and White, and you are no longer protected by the Many-Faced God."
"We need to leave here as soon as possible," Arya said, "There might be more than one Faceless Man."
Beric, hearing the commotion, rushed over and, seeing the Faceless Man's corpse, his expression turned grim: "It seems our whereabouts have been exposed.
We'll take turns on Night's Watch tonight and depart before dawn tomorrow."
Late into the night, Arya sat by the campfire, watching the dancing flames.
Hammond handed her a flask of hot mead: "Don't be afraid, child.
The Night's Watch never lets a companion face danger alone."
He paused, "Actually, I knew your mother.
I saw her once when she and your father went to Riverrun.
She was a brave woman, just like you."
Arya held the warm flask, her eyes reddening slightly.
She remembered her mother telling her stories in the Winterfell kitchen, and her mother's warm embrace.
These memories, once her most painful weakness, had now become her strongest armor.
"I will kill Cersei," she whispered, "And everyone who harmed my family."
Hammond patted her shoulder, saying nothing.
The campfire's light illuminated his face, revealing the wrinkles around his eyes and the scars on his neck—marks left by the Night's Watch fighting the Others beyond the Wall.
Arya knew that each of them carried their own mission, and each was fighting to survive.
III. Tyroshi Sellswords and Rumors of dragonflame
After leaving the City of Corpses, the group accelerated their pace.
The valyrian steel Road became increasingly desolate, with more and more ruins along the way, and occasionally they could see Dothraki hoof prints and campfire traces.
Hammond would climb the highest stone pillar every day to scan the horizon, ensuring there was no sign of a Khalasar.
On the evening of the fifth day, they finally saw the outline of Tyrosh.
This coastal city was built on a hillside, with red roofs scattered about, and countless warships docked in the harbor, their masts flying blue and green flags.
On the city walls stood sellswords in ornate armor, their beards dyed in various bright colors, holding gem-encrusted longswords.
"We need to find the Stormcrows' camp first." Beric looked at the letter in his hand, "Illyrio said they are in the valley west of the city."
As they entered the city, Arya deliberately pulled her hood low.
The streets of Tyrosh were crowded with people: spice merchants, belly dancers, and slave owners leading their slaves.
The air was filled with the scent of pear brandy and the salty smell of the sea, distinctly different from the scent of Braavos.
Indeed, there was a huge camp in the valley west of the city, with black raven banners flying from the tents.
The sellswords guarding the entrance stopped them, and only reluctantly let them in after Beric showed Illyrio's letter.
The camp was full of sellswords; some were drinking and gambling, some were practicing combat, and others were polishing the gems on their armor.
"Are you Jon Snow's people?" A man in a red cloak approached, his beard dyed purple, a scar across his face.
Arya recognized him—Daario Naharis, one of the leaders of the Stormcrows.
Beric nodded: "We are of the Night's Watch, sent by Lord Jon to seek out Queen Daenerys.
This is a letter from Archon Illyrio."
Daario took the letter, glanced at it cursorily, and tossed it to his deputy: "Her Majesty the Queen is still across Slaver's Bay, expected to arrive in Tyrosh in three days.
You've come at a good time; the Lannister fleet has already reached the Narrow Sea, and we need help."
"The Lannister fleet?" Arya couldn't help but ask, "Are they attacking Tyrosh?"
Daario laughed, revealing a set of white teeth: "Little girl, you know quite a lot.
That old woman Cersei is afraid of the Queen returning to claim her throne, so she sent twenty warships to intercept her.
But it doesn't matter; once the Queen's dragons arrive, those broken ships will turn to ash in an instant."
Dragons?
Arya's heart skipped a beat.
Was she finally going to see the legendary dragons?
Those creatures that could breathe fire and defeat the Others?
"How big are the Queen's dragons?" she pressed, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Bigger than this tent." Daario gestured, "The largest one is named Drogon, with black scales, and the fire he breathes can melt steel.
Last time in Meereen, he burned down three slave masters' estates in one go."
Arya imagined the dragons, feeling both excited and nervous.
If such creatures truly existed, then the Others were nothing, and Jon could easily reclaim Winterfell.
She suddenly remembered Bran's dream, where he dreamt of three dragons flying over Winterfell; was it not a dream, but a prophecy?
That night, they camped in the Stormcrows' encampment.
Arya lay in the tent, listening to the sellswords' singing and laughter outside, tossing and turning.
Daario said Daenerys would arrive in three days, meaning she would soon meet this queen, and soon acquire the strength to fight against Lannister Family and House Bolton.
In the middle of the night, she was awakened by an argument.
Stepping out of the tent, she saw Daario arguing with several sellsword leaders about something, a map spread on the ground.
She quietly hid behind a tent, straining her ears to listen.
"...The Lannister fleet has blockaded the Narrow Sea, we must escort the Queen to Pentos by land," a blonde sellsword said, "But the Demon Road is too dangerous, the Dothraki have been active in that area recently."
"What's there to fear?" Daario said dismissively, "With the Queen's dragons, the Dothraki will only beg on their knees.
Besides, Jon Snow's people have also arrived; they are familiar with the terrain of the North and can help us avoid the Others."
The Others were also active in this area?
Arya's heart sank.
If the Demon Road not only had Dothraki but also the Others, their journey would be even more dangerous.
But she did not flinch—for her family, for the North, she would brave any dangerous path.
Early the next morning, Daario brought news: Daenerys's vanguard had already arrived outside Tyrosh, and she herself would arrive in the afternoon.
Beric decided to take Arya to meet her, while Hammond and the other Night's Watchmen stayed at the camp to guard supplies.
On the way into the city, Arya saw the residents of Tyrosh flocking to the streets, holding flowers and banners, their faces alight with excitement.
"The Queen will free all slaves," a fruit seller woman told her, "No one will dare to whip us again."
Arya remembered the slaves she had seen in Pentos, their copper collars and numb eyes.
If Daenerys could truly free all slaves, then she must be a good queen, certainly worthy of Jon's trust.
In the afternoon, the sound of hooves and people's cheers came from afar.
Arya stood on her tiptoes, seeing a large procession approaching along the main road.
At the front were the Unsullied in golden armor, their spears adorned with hair-braided tassels, their steps perfectly synchronized.
Behind them were Dothraki Riders on warhorses, their braids adorned with bells, brandishing their arakhs.
In the center of the procession was a golden carriage, pulled by four white horses.
The curtains of the carriage were drawn open, revealing the face of a golden-haired woman—Daenerys Targaryen.
Her hair was as dazzling as the sun, her eyes were purple, and her face bore a majestic yet gentle smile.
Just then, a tremendous roar echoed through the sky.
Arya looked up, seeing three enormous creatures flying in the air, their wings blotting out the sun, their scales shimmering in the sunlight.
The largest black dragon, Drogon, let out a roar, spewing a stream of dragonflame that illuminated all of Tyrosh.
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers.
Arya couldn't help but clench her fists, tears glistening in her eyes.
She had finally seen dragons, finally seen the hope that could help them reclaim the North.
After Daenerys's carriage stopped, Beric immediately stepped forward and knelt on one knee: "Your Majesty, we are of the Night's Watch, sent by Lord Jon Snow to meet you.
We bring news from the North, and a promise of support from the Iron Bank."
Daenerys stepped down from the carriage, walked to Beric, and extended her hand: "Rise, Night's Watchman.
I have heard of Jon Snow; he is a brave man."
Her gaze swept over Arya, revealing a slight smile, "Who is this little girl?
She has the shadow of a Direwolf in her eyes."
Arya's heart pounded, she stepped forward, and knelt on one knee: "Your Majesty, I am Arya Stark, daughter of Winterfell.
I beg you to help us reclaim the North, defeat House Bolton and Lannister Family, and the coming Others."
Daenerys helped her up, gently stroking her hair: "Daughter of House Stark, I know your plight.
Do not worry, I will help you avenge yourselves, and I will help you protect the North.
Because we all have a common enemy, and we all yearn for justice and freedom."
The sun set, golden light spilling over Daenerys and onto Arya's face.
She looked at the Queen's gentle yet firm eyes, at the dragons flying in the sky, her heart filled with hope.
She knew that from this moment on, her journey had entered a new phase; she was getting closer to her family, closer to revenge, closer to Winterfell.
The Night's Watch cloak fluttered in the evening breeze, and needle felt warm at her waist.
Arya clenched her fists, silently thinking: "Jon, Sansa, Bran, I have found someone to help us.
Soon, we will be home."