Chapter 490: Farewell

The setting sun bathed the skies of King's Landing in golden hues.

Sansa Stark rested her hands on the ornate balcony railing, gazing out at the fading brilliance of the horizon.

"What does Son of the Seven mean?" Arya's voice cut through the evening air.

Today, Arya was unusually dressed in a pale green satin gown. Though she lacked her sister's regal grace, there was an undeniable charm in her lively and youthful appearance.

"It means the Son of the Seven Gods," Sansa replied.

"But isn't Sam—uh, the King—the son of Lord Randyll Tarly? And how could gods have mortal children?" Arya shot back.

Sansa turned and glared at her sister.

"First of all, you must not refer to His Majesty by name! Secondly, do you really think His Majesty is just an ordinary mortal?"

As she spoke, Sansa's mind wandered to the day she had seen the golden-haired, golden-eyed King atop his white dragon as they soared over King's Landing.

Anyone who witnessed that sight would feel a deep, almost instinctive urge to kneel, to worship, as if they had seen a living deity.

Moreover, the High Septon himself had proclaimed before the masses at the Great Sept of Baelor that King Samwell was the Son of the Seven—a godsent savior meant to lead humanity against the coming winter and its evils.

Given that, the fervent adoration flooding King's Landing was hardly surprising. Even the northern Stark family, who revered the Old Gods instead of the Seven, now held the King in awe and respect.

Well, perhaps Arya was the exception.

"I liked Sam better the way he used to be," Arya said. "This King, or Son of the Seven, feels so distant. You can't even meet him without waiting in a line forever..."

As a White Cloak approached, Arya quieted herself.

"Ladies, His Majesty will see you now."

"Thank you very much, Ser Loras," Sansa replied politely.

Loras Tyrell gave a courteous smile and turned to lead the way.

Sansa followed with Arya in tow, her gaze lingering on the knight before them.

The once-celebrated Knight of the Flowers seemed completely transformed.

Gone were the rose-emblazoned suits of armor, replaced by the pristine white of the Kingsguard. His once-youthful, handsome face was now weathered, etched with the hardships of life.

But it was his eyes that had changed the most.

Sansa vividly remembered the tourney at King's Landing four years ago, when Ser Loras had presented her with a rose, his eyes brimming with warmth and admiration.

Now, those same brown eyes held nothing but detachment.

Time had changed so much—for him, and for her.

When she first arrived in King's Landing, she had been so naïve, utterly enamored with the grandeur of the court, its endless silks, feasts, and tournaments. She'd even dreamt of becoming a queen.

But those dreams had long since shattered.

"Life isn't a song," Sansa thought, recalling something Petyr Baelish had once said to her. "One day you may look back and find yourself disappointed."

She couldn't deny it now. After everything she'd endured, she longed for Winterfell—once dismissed as dull and gray.

King's Landing, no matter how splendid, lacked warmth.

Winterfell, despite its icy climate, was home.

Lost in thought, Sansa didn't realize they had already entered the throne room.

The King wasn't seated on the Iron Throne but stood by an open glass window, gazing pensively at the vibrant sunset in the west.

"Your Majesty, Sansa and Arya Stark of House Stark are here," Loras announced.

"Good." Samwell turned, nodding for Loras to leave.

Sansa noted with relief that the King had returned to his usual brown-haired, dark-eyed appearance. She curtsied gracefully.

Even Arya refrained from her usual irreverence, bowing properly.

"There's no need to be so formal," Samwell said with a warm smile. "We're old friends, after all."

Hearing this, Arya immediately reverted to her usual bluntness:

"Your Majesty, are you really the Son of the Seven?"

"Arya!" Sansa scolded, glaring at her sister before turning to the King. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. She's young and doesn't understand proper decorum..."

"It's alright," Samwell said, waving off the apology. "Yes, Arya, I am. But in truth, we're all children of the gods. Even the lowest mortal carries a spark of divinity within them; they just don't know how to find it."

Arya tilted her head thoughtfully. "The old nurse at Winterfell used to say that when northerners die, their souls become part of the weirwood trees. She said the Old Gods watch the world through the trees' eyes."

Samwell's expression turned contemplative at her words, but he soon refocused.

"What brings you to see me?" he asked.

"We wanted to bid you farewell, Your Majesty," Sansa explained. "We're preparing to return to Winterfell and wanted to thank you in person. Without you, neither my sister nor I, nor House Stark , might have survived."

"Indeed, Your Majesty," Arya added. "And if you could bring our father and brother back from the Wall, that would be even better!"

Samwell shook his head gently.

"As King, I can grant your father and brother their freedom, but not their honor. If they were to abandon their vows and leave the Night's Watch, the people of the North wouldn't revere them as they once did. You should ask them first if they're willing to return."

The sisters fell silent.

As Northerners, they understood the sacred weight of the Night's Watch oath. Their father, with his unyielding sense of honor, would never break his vows.

Even Jaime Lannister—the infamous Kingslayer—had chosen not to betray his own oath.

"Don't be too disheartened," Samwell said, smiling reassuringly. "The northern winds are rising. Soon, not just your father and brother, but I and all the noble houses and warriors of the Seven Kingdoms will march to the Wall."

"Will there be more of those creatures from beyond the Wall?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Samwell replied gravely. "But far more terrifying than the ones that attacked King's Landing."

His gaze turned northward, as though piercing through the walls and vast distance to glimpse the far side of the Wall.

"They will be the greatest threat humanity has ever faced. We must give everything we have to overcome them." He looked back at the two girls and added, "When you return to Winterfell, prepare the people. If the battle goes poorly, you may need to lead the Northerners southward."

Sansa gasped. "Do you mean the creatures might breach the Wall?"

"It's possible," Samwell said, his eyes briefly flashing gold. "Even if they don't, winter's arrival will bring famine to the North. Better to lead your people south than let them starve or freeze. I'll ensure they are taken care of."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Sansa said, nodding firmly. "I'll discuss it with my mother once we return."

"When do you leave?" Samwell asked.

"Tomorrow," Sansa replied. "Our escort from Winterfell has already arrived in King's Landing. We'll finish packing tonight and depart at first light."

"What a coincidence," Samwell said. "I'm heading north tomorrow as well—to meet an old friend beyond the Wall."

Arya's eyes lit up. "Will you ride your dragon to the North, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," Samwell said with a nod.

"Can we come with you?" Arya asked eagerly. "I've never ridden a dragon before!"

Sansa's eyes also sparkled with interest, though she quickly tried to act composed. "Arya, don't trouble His Majesty. He has important matters to attend to..."

"It's no trouble," Samwell said with a chuckle. "Just make sure to dress warmly. It's cold up there."

"We Starks don't fear the cold!" Arya exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sansa said politely, though she couldn't hide her own excitement.

(End of Chapter)