The Gleam and Whispers of the Dragonglass Workshop
Inside the Dragonglass Workshop at Winterfell, the fire in the hearth crackled, casting a dark green glow on the many dragonglass ore pieces in the room. Illyrio squatted before a workbench, holding a newly polished dragonglass short-blade. His fingertips traced the edge—the blade had been ground into a curve, making it more suitable for close-quarters stabbing than a regular straight blade. The hilt was wrapped in wax-soaked deerskin for a non-slip grip in the snow. He had specially designed it for Miss Arya, knowing she preferred agile short weapons over long-handled spears.
"The blade you've ground is much sharper than anything in the Smithy," Miss Arya's voice suddenly came from the doorway. She was wearing black leather armor, her needle tucked at her waist, and she carried a cloth bag containing dried moss she had just collected from the forest (used to wipe dragonglass weapons to prevent dampness).
When Illyrio looked up, his gaze met hers. The morning light slanted in from the workshop's skylight, falling on her hair, shimmering with tiny golden specks, softening her usually sharp eyes. "You've come at a good time," he said, handing her the short-blade. "Try the feel of it. See if anything needs adjusting."
Miss Arya took the short-blade, her wrist turning lightly. The blade cut a cold gleam through the air, accurately piercing the wooden stake next to the workbench—the stake had the outline of a wight drawn on it, and the short-blade struck precisely into the "heart" position. "The weight is just right," she nodded in satisfaction, her fingertips caressing the deerskin hilt. "It's much handier than the dragonglass dagger I used before. How did you know I liked this curvature?"
"I guessed from watching your training movements," Illyrio smiled, turning back to polish another short-blade. What he didn't say was that he had been observing her from the corner of the training ground these past few days—when she used short weapons, she habitually used wrist strength, and a curved blade would make her stabs more effortless. The deerskin grip was also a consideration for the snowy weather in the North, where her sword-holding hand would often be stiff with cold.
Miss Arya walked to the workbench, put down her cloth bag, and helped sort and arrange the polished dragonglass weapons. The workshop was quiet, with only the sound of the hearth and the faint scrape of metal. Occasionally, a cold wind seeped through the door crack, but it didn't make the air harsh. She looked at Illyrio's focused profile and suddenly remembered the day they fought side-by-side in the Dragonstone warehouse—he had shielded her with a dragonglass dagger, his black robe splashed with Sow's Butter, yet she hadn't suffered a single scratch.
"Did you learn all this when you traveled in the East?" Miss Arya couldn't help but ask. She had heard Jon say that Illyrio knew many "exotic techniques"—improving Sow's Butter, designing warships, and even Daenerys's dragons were especially fond of him—yet no one knew exactly where he had learned it all.
"Something like that," Illyrio's movements paused, avoiding specific details. "In Pentos and Meereen, I learned forging from craftsmen and saw tactical records in some ancient documents." He didn't want to lie, but he also couldn't reveal the secret of his 穿越—he knew Miss Arya's wariness of "strangers," and if she knew he was from another world, the trust they had built would likely crumble instantly.
Miss Arya didn't press further; she just picked up a piece of dragonglass ore and helped hand it to the grinding stone. She didn't really care where his skills came from; she only knew that whenever there was danger, he would reliably stand in front, and whenever she posed tactical questions, he could provide feasible answers. This kind of "reliability" was something she had rarely felt during her many years of fleeing.
Suddenly, the fire in the hearth flared up, and sparks splattered onto a nearby pile of dry grass, instantly igniting a small flame. Miss Arya reacted extremely quickly, immediately grabbing the moss from her cloth bag and smothering it. Illyrio simultaneously reached out, covering the flame with a damp rag. Their hands accidentally brushed against each other. His fingertips carried the warmth of the hearth, while her hand was somewhat cool from years of holding a sword. The moment their fingertips touched, both paused for a second, then quickly moved away.
"Be careful," Illyrio was the first to speak, handing her the rag. "There's a lot of flammable dry grass and Sow's Butter here. A fire would be no small matter."
"I know," Miss Arya took the rag and lowered her head to wipe the workbench, but her ear tips subtly reddened. She remembered the warmth of his hand covering hers just now, which made her more flustered than the warmth of the hearth. She quickly changed the subject: "Bran said the Night King's vanguard has already reached the foot of the Wall. How are our Sow's Butter traps coming along?"
"Almost done," Illyrio pointed to the map on the workshop wall. "We've dug three Sow's Butter Ditches on the plains north of Winterfell, mixed with dragonglass powder. Once lit, they can burn for half an hour. I've also buried spikes along the ditches; wights will trip on them and fall right into the fire."
Miss Arya walked to the map, looking at the dense markings. She suddenly pointed to a canyon: "This is 'Snowblind Valley.' In winter, it gets very foggy, and visibility is poor. If wights bypass us through here, our Sow's Butter traps will be useless."
Illyrio's heart stirred—he had only considered the plains terrain before, forgetting about the frequent fog in the Northern canyons. "You've been there?"
"I went hunting there with Robb when I was little," Miss Arya's eyes dimmed, then quickly brightened. "The rock crevices there are very narrow, only wide enough for one person to pass. We could set up a 'dragonglass arrow formation' there, station ten archers, and as soon as wights enter, it'll be one arrow, one kill."
"Good idea," Illyrio immediately picked up a charcoal pencil and marked "Snowblind Valley Arrow Formation" on the map. "We'll go together this afternoon to check it out and determine the arrow range and the number of dragonglass arrows."
As Miss Arya nodded, the corners of her mouth unconsciously curved upwards. She found discussing tactics with Illyrio always easy—she didn't have to worry about being "too risky" like when arguing with Jon, nor did she have to consider "noble decorum" like when consulting with Sansa. He would listen carefully to her ideas, and even the small details she mentioned casually, he would keep in mind.
2. Reconnaissance and Unexpected Events in Snowblind Valley
The snow in the afternoon was heavier than in the morning, and the wind whipped snow particles against their faces like tiny needles. Illyrio and Miss Arya each rode a horse, followed by five archers carrying dragonglass arrows, heading towards Snowblind Valley. Hooves crunched in the snow, leaving a trail of deep footprints that were quickly covered by fresh snow.
"Snowblind Valley is just ahead," Miss Arya reined in her horse, pointing to the canyon entrance in the distance. The rock walls on both sides of the canyon were very high, covered with thick snow. The wind poured in from the valley entrance, making a "whooshing" sound, like ghost wails.
Illyrio took out a monocular telescope (he only told others it was a "thousand-mile mirror given by an Eastern merchant") and carefully observed the situation inside the valley: the valley path was narrow, the narrowest parts only wide enough for two horses abreast. There were many protruding rocks on the cliff face, perfect for setting up bows; there were several depressions in the middle of the valley path, suitable for hiding archers, and also allowing wights to gather there, facilitating arrow attacks.
"Let's go in and take a look," Illyrio put away the telescope, dismounted first, and led his horse into the valley path. Miss Arya followed closely, her hand on the needle at her waist—she always felt an indescribable oppression in this canyon, as if a pair of eyes were watching them from the shadows.
After walking about half a mile, the valley path suddenly narrowed, and the accumulated snow on the rock walls began to fall. "Watch out for an avalanche!" Miss Arya shouted, grabbing Illyrio's arm and pulling him behind a protruding rock. Almost simultaneously, the snow from above crashed down, blocking the valley path behind them.
"Good thing you reacted quickly," Illyrio panted, looking at the thick snowdrift behind him, a wave of fear washing over him. If Miss Arya hadn't pulled him, he would probably have been buried under the snow.
"The snow here was already loose; our horses' hooves shook the rock wall," Miss Arya released his arm, but found her hand was still trembling slightly—in that instant, she had only one thought: he couldn't be buried under the snow.
The archers also rushed over, trying to clear the snowdrift, but found it was too thick to dig through. "My Lord, we're trapped!" an archer said anxiously. "The snow at the valley entrance is still falling; we can't get out!"
Illyrio walked to the rock wall and tapped the rock with his hand—the rock was very hard, but there was a tiny crack. "Don't panic," he pulled out a tinderbox from his 懷 and, lighting it, brought it close to the crack. "This crack leads outside; we can dig a passage along it." He turned to Miss Arya and said, "You and I will dig together. Have the archers stand guard to prevent any wights from coming."
Miss Arya nodded, pulled a dagger from her boot, and began digging snow along the crack. Illyrio used a short axe to chip away at the frozen rock. The two worked together with exceptional 默契—he chipped away the rock, she cleared the 碎 snow. Occasionally, snow particles would fall into their collars, and the other would instinctively help brush them off, their movements as natural as if they had done it a thousand times.
After about an hour of digging, the passage was finally wide enough for one person to pass through.
Lord Illyrio sent the archers out first, staying behind himself, and only followed Miss Arya out after she had climbed through.
As soon as she exited the passage, Miss Arya noticed that his arm was bleeding — he had accidentally been cut by a rock shard while chiseling, and the wound was still dusted with snow.
"You're hurt," Miss Arya frowned, pulling his arm over and carefully bandaging it with a clean strip of cloth she took from her pocket.
Her movements were light, her fingertips avoiding the wound, yet Lord Illyrio still felt a tickle — not from the wound, but the subtle tremor as her fingertips brushed his skin.
"It's nothing, a small matter," Lord Illyrio tried to pull his arm back, but she held it firm.
"If the wound isn't treated, it will freeze," Miss Arya's voice was serious, her gaze focused intently on the wound, her long eyelashes casting a shallow shadow beneath her eyelids.
Lord Illyrio looked at her profile and suddenly felt that the northern winter wasn't so cold after all, and even the snowflakes in the wind carried a hint of warmth.
After bandaging the wound, Miss Arya handed him the remaining cloth strips: "Remember to change it daily and don't get it wet."
With that, she turned to lead her horse, not daring to look into his eyes again — she was afraid he would see the panic in her eyes, and even more afraid he had heard her too-fast heartbeat while she was bandaging him.
Lord Illyrio took the cloth strips, looked at her retreating back, and couldn't help but smile.
He knew his feelings for Miss Arya had gone beyond "comrades-in-arms," but he didn't dare to speak — she had experienced too much betrayal and suffering, and was more cautious about relationships than anyone else.
He was afraid that if he revealed his feelings, even their current unspoken understanding would be lost.
Chapter 3: Winterfell's Night and Worries
It was already dark when they returned to Winterfell.
Jon was waiting for them at the castle gatehouse, and seeing them return safely, he breathed a sigh of relief: "Bran just used his Greensight to see an avalanche in Snowblind Valley, and we thought something had happened to you."
"Thanks to Miss Arya, we escaped through a crevice," Lord Illyrio said, deliberately avoiding mentioning his injury — he didn't want Jon to worry, nor did he want anyone else to notice the unusual dynamic between him and Miss Arya.
Bran was waiting for them in the Great Hall, sitting in his wheelchair.
When he saw Lord Illyrio, his eyes held a hint of inquiry, but he said nothing, merely handing Miss Arya a note: "This is the movement of the wights near Snowblind Valley.
They might approach the valley entrance tonight, so you need to send people to guard your arrow formation in advance."
Miss Arya took the note, read it carefully, and then handed it to Lord Illyrio: "We'll go arrange the archers first thing tomorrow morning, and bring some barrels of Sow's Butter.
If there are too many wights, we can light the Sow's Butter to block them."
"I'll go with you," Jon said, "The Night King's vanguard is faster than we imagined, and every defense of Winterfell cannot afford to fail."
That night, the lights were still on in Winterfell's Great Hall.
Sansa was tallying food reserves, Daenerys and Tyrion were discussing dragon deployment, and Lord Illyrio was in a corner revising the defense blueprints for Snowblind Valley.
Miss Arya sat beside him, helping him organize the charcoal pencils for annotations.
"I want to personally lead the archers stationed in Snowblind Valley tomorrow," Miss Arya suddenly said, her voice very soft, audible only to Lord Illyrio.
"Why?" Lord Illyrio looked up at her, "It's too dangerous there.
If the wights break through the arrow formation, you'll be trapped."
"I'm familiar with the terrain there, and I know how to respond better than anyone," Miss Arya's gaze was firm, "Besides, my needle can kill wights, and the dragonglass short-blade was made by your own hands.
I'll be fine."
Lord Illyrio was silent for a moment, knowing her stubbornness — once she made a decision, no one could change it.
"Then I'll go with you," he said, "I'll bring the flame-thrower nozzle, which can help you fend off the wights' attacks."
Miss Arya looked at him, a warm current flowing through her heart.
She knew he was worried about her, but she didn't refuse — she actually wanted him to stay by her side, even if it was just standing together in the snow, it would make her feel safe.
Late at night, the people in the Great Hall gradually dispersed.
Lord Illyrio and Miss Arya walked back to their quarters together; snow was still falling, and moonlight pierced through the clouds, casting a faint silver glow on the snow.
They walked side by side, not speaking, yet neither felt awkward.
As they neared Miss Arya's quarters, she suddenly stopped and turned to Lord Illyrio: "Tomorrow... be careful."
"You too," Lord Illyrio looked into her eyes; in the moonlight, her gaze seemed filled with starlight, making him want to draw closer, yet fearing he would disturb her.
Miss Arya nodded, then turned and ran into her quarters.
The moment the door closed, she leaned against it, her hand pressed to her chest — her heart was pounding, even more intensely than during a fight with wights.
She knew her feelings for Lord Illyrio had changed; this "difference" made her flustered, yet she couldn't help but anticipate it.
Lord Illyrio stood outside the door, looking at the closed room, and touched the bandage on his arm — her fingertips' warmth still lingered there.
He knew that in this war against the Night King, no one knew who would survive, or what the future held, but he would do his best to protect her, to protect this girl who made him feel warmth in a strange world.
Chapter 4: The Final Chapter of Preparation and the Eve of the Storm
Early the next morning, Lord Illyrio and Miss Arya, along with twenty archers, rushed to Snowblind Valley to set up defenses.
They secured arrow racks to the rock walls, neatly arranged dragonglass arrows in quivers, and buried barrels of Sow's Butter on both sides of the valley pass, connecting them with ropes to form "trigger traps" — as soon as a wight stepped on a rope, the Sow's Butter barrels would tip over, forming a wall of fire when ignited.
"The archers will be divided into two teams, ten people per team, stationed behind the rocks on either side of the valley pass," Lord Illyrio ordered the archers, "When you see wights approaching, first shoot their legs to make them fall, then shoot their hearts.
If there are too many wights, ignite the Sow's Butter barrels; don't fight them head-on."
Miss Arya, meanwhile, set up "decoys" at the valley entrance — straw dummies dressed in Night's Watch black cloaks to attract the wights' attention.
"Wights are attracted by the scent of living people; these dummies can buy us time and give us a chance to shoot," she explained to Lord Illyrio, her eyes filled with confidence.
After setting up the defenses, the two stood at the valley entrance, looking at the distant snowfield.
The wind grew stronger, and the snowflakes stung their faces, but it only made their gazes more resolute.
"The Night King's army should arrive tomorrow," Miss Arya said softly, "I wonder if Bran can see us winning."
"Whether he can see it or not, we will win," Lord Illyrio said, "We have dragonglass, Sow's Butter, dragonflame, and each other."
When he said "each other," his voice was soft, yet it clearly reached Miss Arya's ears.
Miss Arya turned to look at him, meeting his gaze directly.
His eyes were serious, lacking his usual calm, and instead held a tenderness she had never seen before.
Her heart began to pound again, and she quickly turned to look at the snowfield, but couldn't suppress the smile on her lips.
Just then, hoofbeats sounded in the distance — it was a messenger sent by Jon, riding his horse, looking flustered: "Lord Illyrio, Miss Arya, Bran used his Greensight to see that the Night King's army has changed its route and is heading towards Snowblind Valley, expected to arrive tonight!"
The two exchanged a look, both seeing determination in the other's eyes.
"Tell the archers to prepare," Lord Illyrio told the messenger, "Tell Jon to send fifty more Sow's Butter barrels from the second line of defense; we must hold them in Snowblind Valley!"
After the messenger left, Miss Arya walked over to Lord Illyrio, drawing her needle, its blade glinting silver in the sunlight: "Are you ready?"
"Always," Lord Illyrio drew the dragonglass dagger from his waist, gently tapping it against her sword, producing a crisp sound.
The wind in Snowblind Valley grew fiercer, but it couldn't dispel the unspoken understanding and warmth between them.
They knew that tonight's battle would be difficult, and some might even sacrifice their lives, but they would stand together, with sword and fire, to block the Night King's advance, protect Winterfell, and protect each other.
As night gradually fell, the dragonglass arrows on the arrow racks in Snowblind Valley gleamed coldly; the Sow's Butter barrels beside the valley pass quietly awaited the moment they would be ignited.
Lord Illyrio and Miss Arya stood at the valley entrance, watching the increasingly close "blue light points" in the distance — those were the eyes of the wights, the Night King's vanguard.
"After tonight, we'll know if we can wait for spring," Miss Arya said softly.
"We will," Lord Illyrio looked at her, his voice firm, "As long as we are together, we will surely wait for it."