Chapter 137 Ordinary People
The Seastone Seat is the ancient throne of the Iron Islands.

It looks like a giant sea monster, carved from a black, shiny boulder. Legend has it that when the ancestors first set foot on Old Wyke Island, this boulder was lying on the beach of Old Wyke Island.

Euron Greyjoy sat upon his Seastone Chair, his dark eyes looking down upon the mortals who stalked beneath it.

He was disgusted by the narrow-mindedness, ignorance and vanity of these ordinary people, including his two sons.

The son he fed to the sea monster was better. But only a little. That son worked with him to awaken the sea monster in the deep sea, fight against the three-headed dragon, and drive the sea monster to salvage the wreckage of the Serenity. That child was really obedient. Just like his mother, the woman who always believed that it was just a game between them before her tongue was cut off and tied to the bow of the ship.

Euron likes quiet.

Since returning to the Iron Islands, he was no longer a quiet sailor.

Words are like the wind.

These ordinary people disgusted him.

They love to pray, but they don't realize that it is Him whom they should pray to, not their so-called God.

"Huh. Kingsmoot?"

Euron chuckled and the throne room fell silent.

His younger brother Aeron Damphair, like all the priests of the so-called gods of this world, knew nothing about this world and tried to prevent him from becoming the king of the Iron Islands in this way.

It's unnecessary.

They should have come to Pyke, kneeled before him, made him their king, as the raven message he had sent had requested, and then followed his orders to feast on the corpses of the world, reveling as their doom came as all of Westeros was heading for destruction.

But these mortals are always doing meaningless things. Isn't it enough for him to drown his opponents to please the Drowned God they call him? Why do they have to pin their hopes on this pathetic god to make the so-called decision?

Who knew more about gods than he did? Horse gods, fire gods, golden gods with jewel eyes, gods carved from cedar wood, gods carved on rocks, gods without form... He knew them all.

People offered sacrifices to what they believed to be gods, slaughtering goats, bulls, women and children in their name.

He has heard people pray in dozens of different languages.

People prayed to protect them from their enemies, to protect them from the darkness, to keep them alive, to protect them from his plunder and slaughter.

Thousands of gods, from Iban to Ashai, worshippers of any god would pray to their god when they saw his sails.

In that case, why not pray to him directly?

Those hypocritical gods... They were hypocritical, and even if they had so-called divine power, it was insignificant and could not stop him from killing them, doing so-called evil to them, letting their blood spill in the sea, and sowing his seeds into the bodies of their crying women...

Praying to the gods is just mortals not being able to see the truth.

It is he who decides their life and death. Why don't you fooled mortals kneel down and pray to him?
He had seen the shadows of the north, been to Asshai near the Shadowlands, been to the so-called Cursed Lands of Sothoryos, been to the ruins of Valyria, and fought the three-headed dragon.
The miracles and horrors he witnessed were beyond the imagination of mortals. His understanding of the gods and the attempts he made were also beyond the reach of mortals with all their wisdom and ambition. He had gone far enough, and he knew it.

Thus speak the Drowned God's priests: "No god shall ever sit upon the Seastone Seat!"

Now that he was on the Seastone Seat, what could those false gods do to him, helpless mortals at their mercy?
Even Euron could imagine that he could represent the supreme glory of the Drowned God more devoutly than the Drowned God's priests in the eyes of these mortals, perform their duties as Drowned God, and promote the ancient traditions of the Drowned God's people in front of his brother Aeron Damphair.
It only takes a little trick to fool and manipulate ordinary people.

Euron knew, he knew the truth about magic and gods, and if he could do what the gods could do, why couldn't he become a real god in this world?
His smiling eyes sparkled as he gave these mortals an answer: "Write back and tell them that I will go to the king selection meeting and will be chosen as the king."

-

Arya could feel the hollowness inside her. Not hunger or thirst, but emptiness, a nothingness.

The place where my brothers, sisters and parents were disappeared.

She had a headache, which had lasted for a few days but was still quite strong.

Arya knew she would never be able to fill the hole in her heart. It would never get better.

Sometimes tears often flow unconsciously, but as time goes by, all that is left is tiredness.

If possible, Arya didn't want to wake up at all. She closed her eyes and wanted to fall asleep again.

In her dream, she had never been to the Twins, had never seen the fire and blood there, had never heard the screams and wails there, she didn't know what happened there, and there was no hound around her.

In the dream, she was a wolf, tall, strong, agile and swift. She led a large pack of wolves. She ran faster than a horse and fought better than a lion. Whenever she bared her teeth, humans would hide from her.

In her dream, she would not be hungry, her fur would keep her warm, and she would not be afraid of the autumn rain or the cold wind.

In her dreams, she had many brothers and sisters, who came in groups, were fierce and terrifying, and would never leave.

Sandor Clegane lifted her up and shook her, commanding her in a harsh voice, "Little wolf, get up and feed that damn horse."

She didn't want to get up and tried to kick him, but he just laughed.

Cowards and Strangers always needed to be looked after. Arya didn't like Cowards, and they had come upon him wandering in the fields the morning after the massacre, without a rider. He had escaped, a weakling. Strangers would fight. The Hound no longer watched her as closely as before, and sometimes seemed not to care whether she stayed or went. She should have killed him in his sleep, or run away, but she never did, and she didn't know where to go.

She stayed with the hounds, rode every day, never slept in the same place twice, and avoided towns, villages, and castles as much as possible.

From time to time, a group of riders would pass through the winding field roads, holding high the twin-towered banners of House Frey.

"They're hunting down any Northmen that have escaped," the Hound said as they passed. "When you hear the hooves, duck your heads."

That day, in a mud pit far from the road, they came face to face with another survivor of the Twins, who said he was just a messenger, serving Lord Blackwood.

"The Yankees did it," he cried. "The Yankees with the little bloody man on their chests. I was there drinking wedding wine, waiting to be summoned by the king. The Yankees and I toasted his Lord Bolton, the Duke of Edmure, Lady Roslin and the King in the North, and then he wanted to kill me." He was almost dead, his lips were white, his eyes were black, and his wounds were full of pus and blood, smelling of decay, like a corpse. "Give me wine, please."

"If there was wine I would have drunk it," the hound told him. "I can give you water, and mercy."

The courier stared at him. "You are Sandor Clegane."

"Would you like some water?"

"Yes," he licked his pale lips and said, "and mercy, thank you."

The Hound handed the helmet to Arya and asked her to trek out to fetch some water, as the Riverlands had no shortage of ponds.

Seeing her coming back, the messenger tried his best to raise his body and use his mouth to catch the water. He swallowed as fast as she poured. He almost drank the whole helmet of water. The water he couldn't swallow flowed down his cheeks and seeped into the white wound from his neck to his shoulder, forming dark brown blood clots.

"That's great," he said. "It would be even better with some wine."

"So do I." The Hound thrust the dagger into the man's chest, almost gently, using the weight of his body to drive the tip of the blade into his heart. He drew the weapon free and wiped it over the dead body, looking at Arya. "That's where the heart is, little sister. That's how you kill."

There were several silver deer and copper coins in the messenger's pocket. The sword at his side was missing, leaving only a dagger that the Hound threw to Arya.

The Hound took off the dead man's boots and compared them. He found that they were too small for him and too big for Arya, so he put them back on the dead man. The mail armor on the dead man was not easy to carry, so Arya took the round helmet.

"The courier's horse must have been a good one, or he wouldn't have gotten this far," Clegane said, looking around. "What a pity. No one knows how long he's been here."

Arya found the mailbox hidden at his waist, picked it up, opened the lid, and found a rolled-up letter inside.

Before she could open it, the Hound snatched the roll of papers away.

"Damn, the seal of a three-headed dragon?" The Hound opened the roll of paper and spat in disbelief.

"What does it mean? What's in the letter?" The Hound was too tall, and Arya couldn't see the contents of the letter from the side.

"Targaryen Dragon King? Damn it, how many kings are there on this continent?" The Hound cursed.

"Targaryen?" Arya was curious. Seeing the Hound loosen his grip, she immediately reached out to grab the letter back. "Let me see it."

This is a letter from King Targaryen of Dragonstone to the river lords, ordering Robb to go north to take up the responsibility of protecting the North and go to the Wall to rescue.
Arya doesn't care about the Targaryens, but she cares about her other brother at the Wall: "What happened to the Wall?" I hope nothing happens to Jon.

The hound didn't answer her, but continued to overturn the mailbox.

Another letter was poured out.

There was blood on the letter, probably from the messenger crow that was shot down.

"Fuck!" the hound cursed. "You may become more valuable, little wolf girl. Which line of succession are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your brother Robb has no children, your brothers are all dead, your sister Sansa is in the hands of the Lannisters in King's Landing, and you are the only Stark heir outside." This letter was written by Targaryen to Flint in the North, but somehow it fell into the hands of Blackwood. Blackwood's messenger was originally going to deliver the letter to Robb.

"Robb is not dead! The Freys didn't have to kill them. Perhaps the Lord Frey has only captured them. Perhaps they are tied up in the dungeons, or being taken to King's Landing so that Joffrey can chop off their heads. We don't know. We should go back," she decided suddenly. "We should go back to the Twins to find my mother. She will not die. We should go and save her."

The Hound was also confused. He wanted to return Arya to her brother Robb in exchange for a large ransom and a place in his camp. This time when he fled from the Twins, he originally wanted to go to the Eyrie to find Arya's aunt Lysa in exchange for the ransom. But now, maybe he should choose Riverrun or find a way to send the girl to the North.

He didn't dare go to Dragonstone. What the Mountain had done meant that the Clegane family would never be forgiven by the Targaryens, and the Hound didn't want to be beheaded by the Targaryen King because of this damn surname.

The only thing that needs to be confirmed is how many troops this Targaryen king has and how much weight his letter carries on this continent.

The Hound heard the "Rains of Castamere" outside the Twins. Lannister was undoubtedly the winner now, and as a deserter of the Battle of the Blackwater, it was impossible for him to sell Arya to Lannister.

"No, Frey may spare your mother's life for a ransom. But there is no way I can get her out on my own," the Hound growled. "Look at this letter, little wolf girl. You may have other ways to save your mother - if she is not dead. But in seven hells, we must find a way to confirm whether this king's words have any influence in this area."

"What are you talking about, any other solution?"

"Find a bunch of ambitious people to support you as the goddamn Warden of the North. Seven Hells, it's impossible! But it's always right to go to Riverrun. Your great uncle Blackfish needs you no matter which side he's on. God bless him, he will pay the ransom for your skinny thing."

(End of this chapter)

Tap the screen to use advanced tools Tip: You can use left and right keyboard keys to browse between chapters.

You'll Also Like